“Oh! now, my dear, I see you don’t know nothing about the matter, or you wouldn’t speak of any king or queen in the breath with my King. Come and have a bit of dinner with me, and then I’ll tell you about my King.”
“I ain’t ’ungry,” said Flo; “but I’d real like to ’ear o’ that King as wants me. Would ’ee make a swell o’ me, missis?”
“He can raise you very high, little girl,” said the woman; and taking Flo’s hand, they walked together in silence.
“You was fond of poor Jenks?” said the little woman at last.
“Yes, ma’am; ’ee wasn’t a bad sort o’ a feller. But ’ee shouldn’t ’ave tempted the little chap. I don’t go fur to blame Jenks, ma’am, fur ’ee ’adn’t no mother—but ’ee shouldn’t ’ave tempted Dick.”
At these words the little woman withdrew her hand from Flo’s, and pulling out her handkerchief, applied it to her eyes; and Flo, wondering what made her cry, and what made her appear so sad altogether, walked again by her side in silence.
They passed down several streets until at last they came to one of those courts hidden away from the general thoroughfares, so well-known to London district visitors. There are Sun streets in London, where the sun never shines—there are Jubilee courts, where feasts are never held, where Satan and his evil spirits are the only beings that can rejoice.
This place was called Pine Apple Court, and doubtless a few years ago it as nearly resembled Cherry Court and May-Blossom Court as three peas resemble each other; but now, as Flo and the little woman walked into it, it really and truly, as far as sweetness and purity went, was worthy of its name. Here, in the midst of London, was actually a place where the decent poor might live in comfort and respectability. (One of Miss Octavia Hill’s courts.) The freshly-painted, white-washed houses had creepers twining against them; and before the doors was a nicely-cared-for piece of ground, where trees were planted, where the women could dry their clothes, and where, out of school-hours, the children could play.
The little woman conducted Flo across this pleasant court into one of the freshest and cleanest of the white-washed houses, where she brought her into a room on the ground floor, as bright as gay chintz curtains to the windows, neat paper on the walls, and the perfect purity which the constant use of soap and water produces, could make it. The polished steels in the grate shone again, a little clock ticked on the mantel-piece, and a square of crimson drugget stood before the fire-place. The window-sash was wide open, and on the ledge stood two flower-pots, one containing a tea-rose, the other a geranium in full blossom.
The rose was ticketed, prize 1st, and stood in a gaily ornamented pot, doubtless its prize at the last poor people’s flower show. Had Flo ever heard of Paradise she would have supposed that she had reached it; as it was she believed that she had come to some place of rest, some sweet spot where weary limbs, and weary hearts too, might get some repose. She sat down thankfully on a small stool pointed out to her by her hostess and gazed around.