The crowd was too thick for Jill to see what attracted them, but a sound, full, strong, and sweet, drew her attention. She was walking quickly past the people, but this sound arrested her steps. It caused the colour to flame into her cheeks, and an angry light to leap out of her eyes. With a rapid, deft movement she pushed her way through the people. She guessed, even before her eyes assured her of the fact, what was the matter.
“Go it again, Poll Robinson!” shouted the men. “Oh! you took that note prime. You never wor in better voice. Go it again, my beauty! Now then, let’s listen, all of us, to handsome Poll Robinson. You give us another song, Poll, now then.”
A tall, powerfully-built woman of about five-and-thirty was standing in the middle of the street; her bonnet was pushed on one side of her head, her dress was slovenly, her steps sadly unsteady. She was trying to dance for the benefit of the assembled company, and at the same time was sending up full rich notes, from a throat of vast compass, into the summer night.
The song she sang was “Cherry Ripe.” The crowd jostled one another, and applauded her loudly. When Jill burst like a young Fury into their midst, one or two of the men, and some of the women, were joining with hearty abandon in the chorus:
“Cherry ripe, cherry ripe,
Ripe, I cry—
Full and fair ones,
Come and buy!”
“Go it, Poll, go it!” they shouted again. “That’s better! that’s prime! Wish I could buy ’em, makes my mouth water to hear on ’em. Oh! you are in fine voice to-night, Poll Robinson.”
“You let her be,” said Jill. “Oh! for shame ain’t you cowards? Don’t you see as she don’t know rightly what she’s doing? Oh! I ’ate you—I ’ate you all. Don’t you see for yourselves she’s took mor’n she ought? Do you think she would sing to you like that ef she knew the reason why? No one ever tried harder to be good than poor mother. She never takes a drop except when the pain’s too bad to be borne. Oh! ain’t you cowards, every single one on yer? Here, mother, come home with me at once. You make way, you bad, cowardly men and women. Go home to your own beds, and let mother and me go to ours. Come along, mother, it’s Jill! Come home with me at once. No, you ain’t to sing any more. I’ll pay you all out for this, neighbours, see ef I don’t.”
She took the woman under her wing, and, going quickly through the astonished, half-cowed, half-amused people, entered the house.