Tommy rose rubbing his forehead, and crying quietly. He did not dare say a word. It was well for him he did not. Clare, perplexed and anxious about the baby, was in no mood to accept annoyance from Tommy. But the urchin remaining silent, the elder boy’s indignation began immediately to settle down.
The infant lay motionless, its little heart beating doubtfully, like the ticking of a clock off the level, as if the last beat might be indeed the last.
“We must get into the house, Tommy!” said Clare.
“Yes, Clare,” answered Tommy, very meekly, and went off like a shot to renew investigation at the other end of the house. He was back in a moment, his face as radiant with success as such a face could be, with such a craving little body under it.
“Come, come,” he cried. “We can get in quite easy. I ha’ been in!”
The keen-eyed monkey had found a cellar-window, sunk a little below the level of the ground—a long, narrow, horizontal slip, with a grating over its small area not fastened down. He had lifted it, and pushed open the window, which went inward on rusty hinges—so rusty that they would not quite close again. That he had been in was a lie. He knew better than go first! He belonged to the school of No. 1!—all mean beggars.
Clare hastened after him.
“Gi’ me the kid, an’ you get in; you can reach up for it better, ’cause ye’re taller,” said Tommy.
“Is it much of a drop?” asked Clare.
“Nothing much,” answered Tommy.