‘I’m afraid that’s a story,’ said Emmeline, gravely, ‘and it’s very wicked to tell stories, besides being silly, for you might know I shouldn’t believe anything so absurd.’
Emmeline spoke out of the wisdom she had gained from her little story-books, in which ragged street-urchins were always pictured as breakfasting on dry bread—if, indeed, they had any breakfast at all. But, as a matter of fact, Diamond Jubilee’s statement was not altogether without foundation. There had been times in Mother Grimes’ establishment when money became mysteriously plentiful, and at such times she and Diamond Jubilee and the other little boys who lived with her, had fared with reckless luxury till the last penny had been spent. To be sure, there had been other times when they had really had almost as little to eat as Emmeline imagined—indeed, they had been passing through one of those uncomfortable intervals just lately, which accounted for Diamond Jubilee’s willingness to let himself be adopted—but the memory of that and all the other disagreeables of his former life was fast losing its vividness.
‘I did used to have meat breakfasts,’ he repeated stubbornly.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Emmeline, severely. ‘But I haven’t time to talk about that just now. What I wanted to say was to tell you how vexed I am to hear that you spent last night in the summer-house. Why, just suppose Mr. Brown had found you there when he came to work this morning! There would have been a dreadful fuss, and you would have been sent back to Mother Grimes!’
‘And do you reckon I’d mind that?’ he asked, scornfully. ‘I’d a deal sooner be with her than with you, I can tell you.’
Emmeline took this for mere bravado, but she turned rather white, none the less, and it was with an effort that she recovered herself and said gently: ‘I don’t think you mean that. Anyhow, I hope you’ll try and be a brave boy to-night, and not make a fuss about sleeping in your own little house. It’s true it is rather bare just at present, but think how many poor little boys have no house at all to sleep in.’
‘Lor! how she do jaw!’ exclaimed Diamond Jubilee, with a rude laugh.
If Emmeline had been white a minute before, she turned crimson now.
‘You are a very naughty, ungrateful boy!’ she cried, as the tears rushed to her eyes, ‘and I’m not going to waste any more time bothering about you. Give me that glass, please,’ and, having snatched it out of his hands, she ran across the lane into their own garden, feeling more hurt and angry than she had ever done in her life before.
She calmed down a little after she had rushed upstairs to her own room and rinsed out the glass, and by the time she had dabbed her eyes with a wet sponge and dried them with a towel, she had almost forgiven Diamond Jubilee.