"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not."
"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of Joe—I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect there is worse behind."
"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set out together.
The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience Harrison.
"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was! and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea. But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off.
As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said—
"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much."
"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you."
That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said—"You go and sit with Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I am glad for you!"
"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker—bless her—and every one is the better for being alongside of her."