Part 27 (1/2)

”Do you know Forshay's cottages? They are a long way up Yates Street.

We occupy No. 4.”

Forshay's cottages were a collection of little cabins that had been erected on a lot at the corner of Cook and Yates Streets. They have long since disappeared. They were of one story and each cottage contained three rooms--a kitchen and two other rooms. I could scarcely imagine a refined person such as the lady before me occupying those miserable quarters; but then, you know, necessity knows no law.

The girl thanked me and Barclay accompanied her to the corner of Yates Street. He seemed to be trying to induce her to do something she did not approve of, for she shook her head with an air of determination and resolve and hurried away.

Barclay came back to the office and said: ”I am English myself, but the silliest creature in the world is an Englishman who, having once been well off, finds himself stranded. His pride will not allow him to accept favors. I knew that girl's father and mother in Gra.s.s Valley. The old gentleman lost a fortune at quartz mining. His partner, a Mr. Maloney, a Dublin man and graduate of Trinity College, having sunk his own and his wife's money in the mine, poisoned his wife, three children and himself with strychnine three years ago. By the way, I met a Gra.s.s Valley man this morning. His name is Robert Homfray, a civil engineer. He tells me he is located here permanently. He and his brother lost a great deal of money in the Gra.s.s Valley mines, and we talked over the Maloney tragedy, with the circ.u.mstances of which he was familiar, but the strangest part of the story is that three months ago the property was reopened and the very first shot that was fired in the tunnel laid bare a rich vein. Had Maloney fired one more charge he would have been rich. As it was he died a murderer and a suicide. Poor fellow! In a day or two I will tell you more. But let us return to the poetry. What will you do with it?”

”I fear I shall have to reject it.”

”No, no,” he cried. ”Accept it! This morning I went to the home of the family, which consists of Mr. Forbes, who is crippled with rheumatism, his excellent wife, the young lady from whom we have just parted and a little boy of seven. They are in actual want. I offered to lend them money to buy common necessaries and Forbes rejected the offer in language that was insulting. Go immediately to the cottage. Tell the girl that you have accepted the poem and give her this (handing me a twenty-dollar gold piece) as the appraised value of her production. Then return to the Hotel de France and await developments.”

I repaired to the cottages. The road was long and muddy. There were neither sidewalks nor streets and it was a difficult matter to navigate the sea of mud that lay between Wharf and Cook Streets. The young lady answered my knock. She almost fainted when I told her the poem had been accepted and that the fee was twenty dollars. I placed the coin in her hand.

”Mamma! Papa!” she cried, and running inside the house I heard her say, ”My poem has been accepted and the gentleman from the _Colonist_ office has brought me twenty dollars.”

”Thank G.o.d!” I heard a woman's voice exclaim. ”I never lost faith, for what does Christ say, Ellen, 'Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened.' On this holy day--our Saviour's birthday--we have sought and we have found.”

This was followed by a sound as of someone crying, and then the girl flew back to the door.

”Oh! sir,” she said, ”I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your goodness.”

”Not at all,” I lied. ”You have earned it and you owe me no thanks. I shall be glad to receive and pay for any other contributions you may send.” I did not add, though, that they would not be published, although they would be paid for.

A little boy with a troubled face and a pinched look now approached the front door. He was neatly but poorly dressed.

”Oh! Nellie, what is the matter?” he asked anxiously.

”Johnnie,” answered Nellie. ”I have earned twenty dollars, and we shall have a Christmas dinner, and you shall have a drum, too.” As she said this she caught the little fellow in her arms and kissed him and pressed his wan cheek against her own.

”Shall we have a turkey, Nellie?” he asked.

”Yes, dear,” she said.

”And a plum pudding, too, with nice sauce that burns when you put a match to it, and shall I have two helpings?” he asked.

”Yes, and you shall set fire to the sauce and have two helpings, Johnnie.”

”Won't that be nice,” he exclaimed gleefully. ”But, Nellie, will papa get medicine to make him well again?”

”Yes, Johnnie.”

”And mamma--will she get back all the pretty things she sent away to pay the rent with?”

”Hush, Johnnie,” said the girl with an apologetic look at me.

”And you, Nellie, will you get back your warm cloak that the man with a long nose took away?”

”Hush, dear,” she said. ”Go inside now; I wish to speak to this gentleman.” She closed the front door and asked me, all the stores being closed, how she would be able to get the materials for the dinner and to redeem her promise to Johnnie.