“This yere’s the other mother, and this yere’s the child,” said Hannah, pushing Roy forward where what light there was might fall upon his white face. “So you ere the one as ha’ killed my lad. Ay, but I’ll be even wid yer, see ef I ain’t.”
“I meant no harm indeed, neighbour. I did it fur the best,” said the poor woman, shrinking from Hannah’s wild and angry eyes. “I’m main sorry fur yer. I never guessed as you had a child of yer h’own. I thought you had only that wee Davie wot died last spring. But, howsomedever, that ere young ’un don’t look so bad as mine. Take him to a doctor at once. I’m real, real sorry as I did him an injury.”
“Wot doctor?” said Hannah eagerly. “I’ll furgive yer, neighbour, ef yer’ll help me to save him. Wot’s the name o’ the doctor?”
“The doctor wot is saving mine is called Slade, he lives in Tummill Street, half a mile away; go to him at once, he may be to home now.”
The woman went away, and Hannah lost not an instant in acting on the advice given to her. She wrapped her old shawl round little Roy, and forgetting even to close her cellar door, went out. The fog was less thick, and the gas made the place far brighter than it had been by day. Hannah walked briskly, for little Roy had laid his heavy head on her shoulder, and he felt cold in her arms. But she walked with hope going before and by her side. If the neighbour’s baby, who was so much worse than Roy, might yet recover, why surely he might. Her heart danced at the thought. Yes, God was not going to snatch this second treasure away. How very good she would be in future for such a loving mercy as this! She reached the doctor’s door, saw the name on the plate, and pulled the bell. In a moment a little maid opened it. But alas! the doctor was not at home, he was out at church, and so was the missis; he would be back in about an hour; would the woman call again in an hour? Hannah’s heart sank within her; the night had turned very chilly, and little Roy, sleeping heavily in her arms, seemed to grow colder and colder; dare she keep him in the winter streets for a whole hour?
“Look yere, my lass,” she said suddenly, “ef I may come in and rest anywhere in the house wid this little sickly young ’un, I don’t mind how long it be. He’s werry sick I’m feared, and I’m main terrified to have him out in this east wind. May we wait inside, my little maid?”
The little servant-girl had to refuse, however, though she did so with tears in her eyes. She was left in sole charge of the house. It was more than her place was worth to let any one in while master and missis were at church!
Hannah did not abuse her, but she turned away, with a feeling as though her feet were weighted with lead. What should she do with little Roy? she dare not keep him for a whole hour in the cold, cold street. Ah! there was one refuge, and it was close—a public-house shed its cheerful light upon the scene. There, in a place so warm and snug both she and the child might wait in shelter, in warmth and safety, and she had sixpence in her pocket, and she might spend twopence in gin. If little Roy were spared to her she meant never to drink again, but to-night she must have one little dram, for her heart was very low.