At present he was at ease, for he did not mean to go farther than the King’s Head. So he made the little woman quite happy by his effusive tenderness, and still more by the information that she might wait up for his return. What pleasanter intimation could a loving wife receive?
The village was in darkness, for gas had not yet found its way into Kingshope. The feeble glint of a candle here and there looked like a dull glowworm striving to keep up a semblance of life. The half-dozen shops with their oil-lamps were a little brighter than the houses; but their innermost corners were dark and mysterious. Even the King’s Head and Cherry Tree wore such veils upon their faces that a stranger would have passed by without suspecting that these were hostelries within the gates of which was to be found good entertainment for man and beast, and where on market-days and fair-days were held high revels.
In one of the darkest parts of the street there was a little window illuminated by a single ‘dip:’ that ‘dip’ revealed a jumble of sweetmeats, cheap, gaudy toys, and penny picture-books. The eager eyes of a group of children discovered there a palace of wonder and delight, filled with objects of surpassing interest and ambition. There was a wooden sword which young Hodge regarded as more powerful than his father’s spade and pick-axe: there was a gilt gingerbread man with a cocked-hat, which was looked upon with breathless admiration as a correct model of the Prince of Wales in all the splendour of royal attire. There was a brief discussion as to whether the cocked-hat should not have been a gold crown, which was undoubtedly the proper headgear for a prince. This, however, was settled by a mite of a girl, who suggested that the cocked-hat was worn when the Prince went out for a walk, and the crown when he was in the palace.
Next in attractive power was a greenish bottle full of brandy-balls; and the children’s teeth watered as they gazed upon it. A Lord Mayor’s dinner must be a small thing compared with that window with its jumble of sweets and toys.
‘Wouldn’t you like to have some of these nice things? How happy we would be if life could be all gilt gingerbread and brandy-balls!’
That was exactly what they had been thinking, and an appalled silence fell upon the little group, as they turned to stare at the wizard who had read their desire through the backs of their heads. But they all knew the kindly face of the gentleman who was looking at them so pleasantly. They did not note the shade of sadness and pity that was in his eyes. The faces of the younger children broadened into smiles of expectation: the elder ones hung their heads a little—shy, doubting, hoping, and vaguely fearing that they had been caught doing something wrong.
Mr Beecham patted one of them on the head—a child of about six years.
‘Suppose you had sixpence, Totty, what would you do?’
‘Buy all the shop.’
‘And what then?’