He has golden hair, very fair skin, and blue eyes. Any one either bringing the child back, or coming with information which shall lead to his recovery, shall receive Ten Pounds Reward.
Chapter Eleven.
Hannah was unsuccessful in her search for coarse needlework. Badly and miserably paid as such work was, the slop-shops had their full complement of workers, and had nothing to give her, even though she went so far as to promise to do the work for even more wretched prices than had hitherto been given.
She was obliged to leave Roy the next day, and again the next, and for these two days the drops were each time resorted to. On the evening of the third day, she had obtained some partial success. She was given half-a-dozen shirts to make. These shirts were of the coarsest check, and Hannah would obtain tenpence for each. She was in quite good spirits, for she could now work and stay at home with Roy.
But there was a change in little Roy. He was no longer the laughing, rosy, healthy child whom Hannah had brought to her cellar. His blue eyes were heavy, his movements languid, and his fair skin was assuming that waxen tint which Hannah had noticed in Mrs Martin’s baby over the way. Hannah was a strangely ignorant woman, and she never associated this change in little Roy with the drops which he had taken now for three days in succession. She saw a vast difference in him, but she concluded that such was the way with all children. Through how many, many changes had her Davie gone? Why, at his very best he never looked half as healthy as little Roy did at his worst. No, she was not the least uneasy about the little fellow. But as he now had grown troublesome and restless at night, she gave him a few more drops from the fatal mixture, and when taking these he went off into feverish and fitful slumber, she congratulated herself on possessing so valuable a remedy.
While the shirts were being made she stayed quietly at home with the little boy, who in his waking moments would stand gravely and quietly by her knee, now and then putting up a small hot hand to stroke her cheeks, exclaiming as he did so in his broken English, “Pitty yed face, pitty yed face.” Then adding, as he raised his heavenly blue eyes to hers, “’Oy ’oves ’oo vevy much.”
At these words, uttered so innocently by the little child, down would go Hannah’s work, needle, and thimble, and he would find himself clasped tightly to her bosom; while down the red cheeks, which he had praised, would flow large salt tears which had lain locked up and frozen since Davie died. Yes, Roy was becoming more and more a necessity to Hannah Searles, and a treasure without which she did not now believe she could find life endurable.
One evening, leaving the child asleep, she went into the court. She was gossiping with a neighbour, and enjoying the sensation of the outside air, which was at least better than the cellar atmosphere which she had quitted, when Meg Harris came up to her. Meg and Faith had found a shelter for themselves in another house in this court, and now Meg came up alone to speak to Hannah.