Part 17 (1/2)

”Thou had'st better have had a gla.s.s at the Spread Eagle,” said he, compa.s.sionately.

”No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?” said he, longing for a good cry un.o.bserved under the bed-clothes.

”Where's he to sleep?” asked the husband of the wife.

”Nay,” said she, still offended on Jack's account, ”that's thy look-out.

He's thy flesh and blood, not mine.”

”Come, wife,” said uncle John, ”he's an orphan, poor chap. An orphan is kin to every one.”

She was softened directly, for she had much kindness in her, although this evening she had been so much put out.

”There's no place for him but with Jack and d.i.c.k. We've the baby, and the other three are packed close enough.”

She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped to talk with him for a minute or two, for her husband's words had smitten her heart, and she was sorry for the ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.

”Jack and d.i.c.k are never in bed till we come, and it's work enough to catch them then on fine evenings,” said she, as she took the candle away.

Tom tried to speak to G.o.d as his mother had taught him, out of the fulness of his little heart, which was heavy enough that night. He tried to think how she would have wished him to speak and to do, and when he felt puzzled with the remembrance of the scene of disorder and anger which he had seen, he earnestly prayed G.o.d would make and keep clear his path before him. And then he fell asleep.

He had had a long dream of other and happier days, and had thought he was once more taking a Sunday evening walk with his mother, when he was roughly wakened up by his cousins.

”I say, lad, you're lying right across the bed. You must get up, and let d.i.c.k and me come in, and then creep into the s.p.a.ce that's left.”

Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got into bed, and then squabbled about the largest share. It ended in a kicking match, during which Tom stood s.h.i.+vering by the bedside.

”I'm sure we're pinched enough as it is,” said d.i.c.k at last. ”And why they've put Tom in with us I can't think. But I'll not stand it. Tom shan't sleep with us. He may lie on the floor, if he likes. I'll not hinder him.”

He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather surprised when he heard the little fellow quietly lie down, and cover himself as well as he could with his clothes. After some more quarrelling, Jack and d.i.c.k fell asleep. But in the middle of the night d.i.c.k awoke, and heard by Tom's breathing that he was still awake, and was crying gently.

”What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?” asked d.i.c.k.

”Oh, no--I don't care for that--if--oh! if mother were but alive,”

little Tom sobbed aloud.

”I say,” said d.i.c.k, after a pause. ”There's room at my back, if you'll creep in. There! don't be afraid--why, how cold you are, lad.”

d.i.c.k was sorry for his cousin's loss, but could not speak about it.

However, his kind tone sank into Tom's heart, and he fell asleep once more.

The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were not inclined to talk. Jack and d.i.c.k put on their clothes as fast as possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind of basin or mug to wash in; there was none--not even a jug of water in the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs, found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were playing in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the soap was kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it. Then he went back to the bedroom; but on entering it from the fresh air, the smell was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three people had been breathing the air all night, and had used up every particle many times over and over again; and each time that it had been sent out from the lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed again. They had not felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it; they had only felt tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but now that Tom came back again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive nature. He went to the window to try and open it. It was what people call a ”Yorks.h.i.+re light,” where you know one-half has to be pushed on one side. It was very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long time. Tom pushed against it with all his might; at length it gave way with a jerk; and the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the floor in a hundred little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw what he had done. He would have been sorry to have done mischief at any time, but he had seen enough of his aunt the evening before to find out that she was sharp, and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to begin the first day in his new home by getting into a sc.r.a.pe. He sat down on the bedside, and began to cry. But the morning air blowing in upon him, refreshed him, and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as he washed himself in the pure, cold water. ”She can't be cross with me longer than a day; by to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a day.”

d.i.c.k came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.

”My word, Tom! but you'll catch it!” exclaimed he, when he saw the broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom.

”Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right through the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but she was on the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught hold of him and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!”

Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt's anger; d.i.c.k became more and more sorry for him.