“You may come in and sit by the fire; there’s no train for two hours yet. It’s not six o’clock. Come in, you poor little things, and rest, and I’ll give you some nice hot tea. But you must tell me all the truth, for I know you’ve run away from somewhere,” she said.
“No,” said Lilias, looking her in the face. “Oh no, I have not run away from anywhere. My little brother was not happy, and I came to fetch him, that is all. I did not run away.”
“And what sort of people was it that sent a baby like you?” said the woman. “Come in, you poor little things, and sit by the fire. What could your mother be thinking of to send you—— ”
“We have not got any mother.” Nello took no share in this conversation. He was quite lost in the delight of the hard old settle that stood by the fire. Nestling up into the corner he thought he should like to fall asleep there, and never move any more. “We have not got any mother,” Lilias said, “and who could come but me? No one. I travelled all night, and now I am going to take him home. We are children without any mother.” Lilias could not but know that these words were a sure passport to any woman’s heart.
“You poor little things!” the woman said, with the tears in her eyes. Whether it has its origin in the self-complacency of womankind, it is difficult to say, but whereas men are generally untouched by the unhappiness of being fatherless, women are without defence in most cases before a motherless child. Such a plea has instant recognition with high and low. No mother!—everything is pardoned, everything conceded to a creature with such a plea. She was not quite satisfied with the story, which seemed to her very improbable, but she could not refuse her succour to the motherless children. Her little shop, such as it was, had no visitors till much later in the day, when the village children went past her door to school. She had made her own tea, which stood keeping itself hot upon the hob, and she came in hastily and put out cups and saucers, and shared the hot and comfortable fluid, though it was very weak and would not have suited more fastidious palates than the children’s. What life it seemed to pour into their wearied little frames! The bread was coarse and stale, but it tasted like bread from heaven. Nello in his corner of the settle began to blink and nod. He was even falling asleep, when suddenly a gig rattled past the windows. The child sprang up in a moment. “Oh, Lily, Lily!” he cried in horror, “they are after me! what shall I do?”
The woman had gone to the back of the house with the cups they had used, and so was not near to hear this revelation.
“Who is it?” cried Lilias, peering out of the window. She was restored to herself, and the name of an enemy, a pursuer, put her on her mettle. She had never encountered such a thing before, but she knew everything about it, how to behave. “Come, Nello, come,” she said, “we will go out the back way while nobody is looking. Let us go away, let us go away before any one can come here.”
Lilias seized some of the cakes which the woman had put in paper for them; wonderful productions, which nothing but a child’s appetite could contemplate, and put down two shillings in the centre of the table. On second thoughts it seemed better to her to go out at the front and get round under cover of the hedge to the wood on the other side of the station, which appeared temptingly near, rather than incur the risk of speaking to the woman. It did not occur to her that her own presence was enough to put any one completely off the scent who was seeking Nello. She got him away out of the house successfully, and through the gap behind the hedge where was a little footpath. “Now we must run—run! We must get past, while they are asking at the station. We must not say a word to the woman or any one. Oh, Nello, run—run!” Nello, still more anxious than she was, managed to run for a little way, but only for a little way. He broke down of all places in the world opposite to the station, where Mr. Swan was standing talking to the keeper. When Nello saw him through the hedge he turned round and clasped his sister convulsively, hiding his face on her shoulder. Lilias did not dare to say a word. They were hid from view, yet any movement might betray them, or any sound. She stood with trembling limbs, bearing Nello’s weight upon her shoulder, and watched through the hawthorn bush.
“Nobody has been here, not a mouse, far less a little boy. The train is not due for two hours,” said the station-keeper.