“Come, I think we will go now,” said Sir Richard, rising hastily. “Good-night, Mrs Frog, I shall probably see you again—at least—you shall hear from me. Now, Di—say good-night to your boy.”
In a few minutes Sir Richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts of the comparatively fresher air of the court.
“The old screw,” growled Bobby, when the door was shut. “’E didn’t leave us so much as a single bob—not even a brown, though ’e pretends that six of ’em ain’t much.”
“Don’t be hard on him, Bobby,” said Hetty, drying her eyes; “he spoke very kind, you know, an’ p’raps he means to help us afterwards.”
“Spoke kind,” retorted the indignant boy; “I tell ’ee wot, Hetty, you’re far too soft an’ forgivin’. I s’pose that’s wot they teaches you in Sunday-school at George Yard—eh? Vill speakin’ kind feed us, vill it clothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin’s!”
The door opened at that moment, and Number 666 re-entered.
“The gentleman sent me back to give you this, Mrs Frog,” laying a sovereign on the rickety table. “He said he didn’t like to offer it to you himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but I told him he needn’t be afraid on that score! Was I right, Missis? Look well after it, now, an’ see that Ned don’t get his fingers on it.”
Giles left the room, and Mrs Frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondled it for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quite sure of its reality. Then wrapping it carefully in a piece of old newspaper, she thrust it into her bosom.
Bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his face to the wall. He did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray, for, mentally he said, “I beg your parding, old gen’l’m’n, an’ I on’y pray that a lot of fellers like you may come ’ere sometimes to ’urt our feelin’s in that vay!”
At that moment Hetty bent over the bed, and, softly kissing her brother’s dirty face, whispered, “Yes, Bobby, that’s what they teach me in Sunday-school at George Yard.”