The Little Princess of Tower Hill

by L. T. Meade

"Yes," answered Pepper, half-sobbing, and feeling very gently with his toes the motion of Trusty's tail; for Trusty, hearing his name mentioned so often, was beating it softly up and down.

"And does yer know wy you was called Pepper?" continued Tom, by no means intending to abate the point and the object of his lecture by the break in Pepper's voice.

"Tell us," said the little child again.

"You was christened Hen-e-ry [Henry]; but, lor! Pepper, that wor no name fur yer. That name meant some 'un soft and h'easy. But, bless yer, young 'un! there wor nothink soft nor h'easy about yer. What a firebrand yer were—flying h'out at h'everybody—so touchy and sparky-like, that mother wor sure you 'ad got a taste o' the fire as poor Trusty saved yer from, until, at last, there wor no name 'ud suit yer but Pepper. Lor, lad, wot a spirrit yer 'ad then!"

With these words Tom turned himself round on his pillow, and, having spoken his mind, and being in consequence quite comfortable, dropped quickly to sleep. But to poor little Pepper, listening breathlessly for another word, that first snore of Tom's was a very dreadful one. He knew then that there was no hope that night of any further words with Tom. He must lie all night under the heavy weight of Tom's displeasure; for, of course, Tom was angry, or he would never have turned away with such despairing and contemptuous words on his lips. As Pepper thought of this he could not quite keep down a rising sob, for the Tom who he felt was angry with him meant father, mother, conscience—everything—to the poor little fellow.

And Tom had cause for his anger; this was what gave it its sting. There was no doubt that Pepper was not at all the spirited little boy he had been during his mother's lifetime—the brave little plucky fellow, who was afraid of no one, and who never would stoop to a mean act. How well he remembered that scene a few months ago, when a rough boy had flung a stone at Trusty—yes! and hit him, and made him howl with the cruel pain he had inflicted; and then how Pepper had fought for him, and given his cowardly assailant a black eye, and afterward how his mother and Tom had praised him. Oh, how different he was now from then! His tears flowed copiously as he thought of it all.

But the times were also different. Since his mother's death he had spent his days so much alone, and those long days, spent in the old attic with no companion but Trusty, had depressed his spirit and undermined his nerves. The unselfish, affectionate little boy found new and strange thoughts filling his poor little heart—thoughts to which, during his mother's lifetime, he was altogether a stranger. He wished he was strong and big like Tom, and could go out and sweep a crossing. It was dreadful to stay at home all day doing nothing but thinking, and thinking, as he now knew, bad thoughts. For the idea suggested by that wild, queer Irish boy downstairs would not go away again.

That boy had said with contempt, with even cutting sarcasm, how silly, how absurd it was of two poor little beggars like himself and Tom to have to support a great, large dog like Trusty; how hard it was to have to pay Trusty's tax; how worse than ridiculous to have to share their morsel of food with Trusty; and Pepper had pondered over these words so often that his heart had grown sour and bitter against the old dog who had once saved his life.

But not to-night. To-night, as he lay in his bed and sobbed, that heart was rising up and saying hard things against itself. Tom, with rough kindness, had torn the veil from his eyes, and he saw that he had gone down several pegs in the moral scale since his mother's death. Could his mother come back to him now, would she recognize her own bright-spirited little Pepper in this poor, weak, selfish boy? He could bear his own thoughts no longer; he must not wake Tom, but he could at least make it up with Trusty. He crept softly down in the bed until he reached the place where the old dog lay, and then he put his arms round him and half-strangled him with hugs and kisses.

"Oh, Trusty!" he said, "I does love yer, and I 'opes as God 'ull always let me be a real sperrited little 'un. I means h'always to stand up fur yer, Trusty; and I'll be as fiery as red pepper to any 'un as says a word agen yer, Trusty."