Part 122 (2/2)

Curious arithmetic! Left out No. 1.

”I flout thee not, fair mistress. My princess charged me strictly, 'Seek the best craftsmen; but I will no hard bargains; make them content with me, and me with them.'”

The next minute Margaret was on her knees kissing little Gerard in the cradle, and showering four gold pieces on him again and again, and relating the whole occurrence to him in very broken Dutch.

”And oh what a good princess: wasn't she? We will pray for her, won't we, my lambkin; when we are old enough?”

Martin came in furious. ”They will not change it. I trow they think I stole it.”

”I am beholden to thee,” said Margaret, hastily, and almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Martin, and wrapped it up again, and restored it to its hiding-place.

Ere these unexpected funds were spent, she got to her ironing and starching again. In the midst of which Martin sickened; and died after an illness of nine days.

Nearly all of her money went to bury him decently.

He was gone; and there was an empty chair by her fireside. For he had preferred the hearth to the sun as soon as the Busybody was gone.

Margaret would not allow anybody to sit in this chair now. Yet whenever she let her eye dwell too long on it, vacant, it was sure to cost her a tear.

And now there was n.o.body to carry her linen home. To do it herself she must leave little Gerard in charge of a neighbour. But she dared not trust such a treasure to mortal; and besides she could not bear him out of her sight for hours and hours. So she set inquiries on foot for a boy to carry her basket on Sat.u.r.day and Monday.

A plump, fresh-coloured youth, called Luke Peterson, who looked fifteen, but was eighteen, came in, and blus.h.i.+ng, and twiddling his bonnet, asked her if a man would not serve her turn as well as a boy.

Before he spoke she was saying to herself, ”This boy will just do.”

But she took the cue, and said, ”Nay; but a man will maybe seek more than I can well pay.”

”Not I,” said Luke, warmly. ”Why, Mistress Margaret, I am your neighbour, and I do very well at the coopering. I can carry your basket for you before or after my day's work, and welcome. You have no need to pay _me_ anything. 'Tisn't as if we were strangers, ye know.”

”Why, Master Luke, I know your face, for that matter; but I cannot call to mind that ever a word pa.s.sed between us.”

”Oh yes, you did, Mistress Margaret. What have you forgotten? One day you were trying to carry your baby and eke your pitcher full o' water: and, quo' I, 'Give me the baby to carry.' 'Nay,' says you, 'I'll give you the pitcher, and keep the bairn myself:' and I carried the pitcher home, and you took it from me at this door, and you said to me, 'I am muckle obliged to you, young man,' with such a sweet voice; not like the folk in this street speak to a body.”

”I do mind now, Master Luke; and methinks it was the least I could say.”

”Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say as much every time I carry your basket, I care not how often I bear it, nor how far.”

”Nay, nay,” said Margaret, colouring faintly. ”I would not put upon good nature. You are young, Master Luke, and kindly. Say I give you your supper on Sat.u.r.day night, when you bring the linen home, and your dawn-mete o' Monday; would that make us anyways even?”

”As you please; only say not I sought a couple o' diets, I, for such a trifle as yon.”

With chubby-faced Luke's timely a.s.sistance, and the health and strength which Heaven gave this poor young woman, to balance her many ills, the house went pretty smoothly awhile. But the heart became more and more troubled by Gerard's long and now most mysterious silence.

And then that mental torture, Suspense, began to tear her heavy heart with his hot pinchers, till she cried often and vehemently, ”Oh, that I could know the worst.”

While she was in this state, one day she heard a heavy step mount the stair. She started and trembled. ”That is no step that I know. Ill tidings!”

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