"I should love it dearly," he answered; "and I'll get tea ready whilst you're away. Be sure you come back, Sandy; I'm so sorry for you, I can't say how sorry. But perhaps some day your mother will become good, and be like my mother."
Across Sandy's mind there glanced a happy thought of his mother, with a bright, cheerful face, and wearing blue ribbons in her white cap, like Mrs. Shafto; and of a kitchen like this, with its clean floor, and comfortable chairs, and warm fire. But it all vanished away in an instant; and he fancied he could see her instead, with her red and swollen face, dressed in dirty rags, and lying in a drunken sleep upon the floor. That was his mother, and little Gip's!
It was not long before he was walking away at a brisk pace beside Mrs. Shafto, in the direction of the alley where little Gip had been born. Mrs. Shafto had a good deal to say to him as they paced along about himself and Gip. If they did not find her at home, she said, she would speak to her husband about it. He was a very learned man, and could give as good advice as anybody she knew; and perhaps, if he felt well enough, he would go with him to the police-stations, and make inquiries there about the missing child.
Sandy had never thought of going to the police, whom he looked upon as his and Gip's natural enemies, with no interest in them, except to cuff him and order him about his business when he was too pressing in trying to sell his fusees. He was very doubtful whether they would not cuff him if he went troubling them about little Gip; but Mrs. Shafto talked in so hopeful a strain that he felt his spirits rise as if he were sure of finding her when they reached the alley.
They did reach it at last: and Sandy rushed up the stairs, and tried to lift the latch of their old room. But the door was fast locked, and no shrill little voice answered him, when he called Gip through the keyhole, in the hope that her mother had left her there for safety. His spirits sank again. There was no key in the lock, so it must have been fastened from the outside. They descended the dirty, creaking staircase again, Mrs. Shafto keeping her skirts well from the wall; and Sandy knocked at the door of the neighbour who lived in the front room on the ground-floor.
The man who opened it greeted him with a low, jeering laugh.
"Come arskin' after your mother, eh?" he said. "Well! she's gone, and a good riddance, I say. She was always a tearin' and a stormin' up and down the alley, till there wasn't a moment's peace and quietness. All women is averse to peace and quiet; but I never see one like Nance Carroll for blusterousness. She were larfed at so about losin' her baby as she couldn't bear it, and she made off on Friday. The key's here, but there's nothink left in the room but the bed, and that goes to the landlord. Have I seen little Gip? No, no. She's at the bottom of the river long ago, I bet. Babies aren't lost like that, you know, if they haven't been made quiet. It were high time for your mother to make off, for the police were beginnin' to poke their noses up this alley; and arskin' some very ill-convenient questions."
"Do you think the poor little creature has been made away with?" enquired Mrs. Shafto, with a faltering voice.
The man winked, and nodded significantly; half smiling at her ignorance of human nature, as he closed the door in their faces.
Sandy sat down on the lowest step of the staircase, and hid his face in his hands, rocking, himself to and fro.