“Never mind Tim just now, there’s a good soul. Is Dad back? Ah! I thought he wasn’t. Well, Janet, just take care of Polly for a bit, will you? I’ll have to snatch up a few things and go myself. I’m afraid Dad has been kept somewhere, or perhaps Carrots can’t get along. Goodness knows!”
Max ran through the house to the surgery, shouting explanations while he went, while Janet packed Tim off in disgrace to the stables, and proceeded to bestow on Polly a share of her own tea. Presently Max came flying back with a small bag in one hand.
“Keep Polly here for an hour, Janet,” the boy called out. “I’ll be back by then, and Tim can carry her home.”
But the hour passed by and Max did not return.
Down in Lumber’s Yard reigned a degree of excitement which seemed keenly enjoyed by the sharers in it. The news that Bell Baker had been burned to death was the first rumour, but this gradually modified itself into something approaching fact. Mrs. Baker was a decent woman, whom a bad husband kept in a condition of miserable poverty. It was on behalf of her little Polly that Max, some weeks earlier, had begged from Frances a “three-year-old frock”.
The entry to Lumber’s Yard was by a narrow foot-path, and this Max found blocked up by a gesticulating group of women. The men were congregated in the yard itself—a three-sided court with tumble-down cottages round it.
“’Ere’s Master Max!” was the general cry, as the boy ran up the path.
“Out of the way, good folks,” cried Max authoritatively, and the women parted to let him through, then closed their ranks and followed in a body to the Bakers’ door. This Max unceremoniously pushed open,—and then as coolly shut and locked in the face of the would-be busybodies. He had seen that the one respectable neighbour Mrs. Baker possessed was already by the poor woman’s side, and that thus he was secure of necessary aid.
The boy’s manner changed when he was fairly in possession of the place. He went across to the truckle-bed on which the sufferer lay, and, bending over her, asked softly if he could do anything for her relief. The pity of the tender-hearted was in his eyes, the skill of the expert in his hands, while he gently cut away burned clothing and applied proper dressing to the cruel hurts. Max had been thoroughly trained by his father in the application of first aid to cases of accident, and had found plenty of opportunities to make his knowledge of practical use.
No more urgent need than that of Mrs. Baker had yet presented itself to his personal care, and after a moment’s thought he determined to take a further responsibility on his boyish shoulders.