A LUCKY NUMBER.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7, 9 January 1902, Page 6

A LUCKY NUMBER.

(By GEEALDINE E. GLASGOW). "Does it bite?" said Kitty in a shrill voice. "Oh, no! It's only got one yet/ said Maggie, importantly, "so there's Dothing to bite on. Just you feeHt! Put; your finger firm on the gum." Kitty knelt down before the baby, and put a finger gingerly into his mouth. "There's a lot of you, isn't there?" she asked, looking up at Maggie. "Yes," said Maggie, . cheerfully, "there's eleven cf us—father says it's an unlucky number!" "Perhaps you'll make up the dozen.'' suggested Kitty. Her grimy finger was Still exploring the baby's mouth, and he was easing his hot gums against it. He cried when she took it out. He was a connoisseur in the taste of fingers, and he liked Kitty's. "Perhaps we shall," said Maggie, indifferently; "Mother says we could do with less, but she doesn't mean it." She hugged the baby, and hoisted it higher in her arms. "Come and see him put to bed," she said, hospitably. "One more or less don't signify; and he is so pretty. We've got a regular cradle for him —Father's so handy." "Would your mother mind?" said Kitty. ' She knew how unwelcome a visitor would be in her own miserable home; but she wanted to come very much, and Maggie's voice was reassuring. "Oh, it's the more the merrier with us. You can help get them to bed; -we'll pretend I'm the head and you're the nursery maid." Maggie rose from the steps with alacrity, and gathered the smiling baby closer to her. "Come on," she said, "and don't you mind if mother's a bit cross. She often is at night— the house gets too full, and it's hot in summer. We don't get much rest." The little procession started down the street, and Maggie staggered under her load. Her brown hair hung dlamply across her forehead, and stuck out in two neat plaits behind. Her figure looked very frail, but her eyes were . alive and bright—grey, Irish eyes, with long, black lashes! She brushed her hand across them impatiently: "They tangle so," she said. "You should cut them," said Kitty, dispassionately. When they had reached the little, stuffy court it seemed full of children, and Maggie had to exert all her authority to make a passage for herself and Kitty. Children strewed the siteps of the forlorn houses—sitting where they had been put. Bigger children played at noisy games on the istone pavement, and here and there a tired woman, with draggled skirts, stood in a doorway, and screeched to a woman on the opposite side. A young lady in a grey dress came in with Maggie; and, as they met at the foot of the stairs, she stepped back smiling. Her hands were full of roses, and the . colour seemed to have flown into her cheeks. "Oh, what a heavy, heavy baby," she said; "but I am sure he is as good as gold. I was taking some flowers to the cripple girl upstairs, but I must spare you one, you look so happy." "I am happy, Miss," said Maggie, colouring; "and I'm very beholden for the rose. Mother lived in the country once, and trod buttercups under her feet —so she says, Miss." "Ah, you would like the country!" said the young lady. "I'm not so sure," said Maggie. They were toiling side by side up the noisy, narrow stairs, and again the children were streaming down to join 'the excited players in the yard. As Maggie paused and opened a door on the second landing the young lady paused, too, to take breath. "Are you the only ones?" she asked. "Lor, no, Miss," said Maggie, with her grey eyes very wide open. "There's eleven of us! It fills the rooms nicely, there's three of them. Father's in good work." '"Eleven?" said the young lady. "Yes, only eleven," said Maggie, cheerfully. "Father says it's an unlucky number —neither here nor there, as you might say." She smiled, showing1 all her white teeth, and, as she held the door, the young lady saw a group of children, of all sizes, clustered about a table, and a small, tired woman bending j over the fire. "Its' time you were getting them to bed," she heard her say; and then the door shut, and she went slowly on upstairs. Maggie plumped^ thet baby down upon the nearest knee, and scattered | ;tl--; smaller members of the family right am". lef'\ "I'll put Thomas McGregor first," she said, "and Morel can help me —it's her turn; the boys can do themselves if Anne undoes their buttons, and I've l-ought up Kitty Eaikes for ,a treat." "We've about enough of our own," said her mother, stooping over the fire; "not," with a quick instinct of hospitality, "but \ hat she is very -welcome! I don't know, someumes, if we mightn't do with lest." "How you do talk, mother" said Maggie. I j ±mt both arms tight round Thomas McGregor, and hugge I him. "It's just that you're a bit tired—-but you ne^c1 't do no more. Kitty will svir tlie supper, and you Bit like a lady, and see me gc him off." Her mother sank into a chair, &1--j..- 100 tired to speak. "I sup os 3 ~ am a b' 1 tired," she said; "and it makes me peevish." "See what I've brought you!" said Maggie.

She laid the spray of roses on the faded black knee, and leant down to sniff at them. "They are like the cour :-y, aren't they, mother?" she said; ' - '<• Thomas McGregor was that anxious to get them—see to him sniffing at them now—and if he got them he wouldn't have them for a buttonhole ■ —not he. He'd have them in his mouth in a minute —that's where everything goes." Her mother fingered the flowers affectionately. "The scent of them fills the place," she said. "Now, sit you down, Maggie, and get the bairn off, and I'll see to their prayers. I'm expecting father in every minute; he's late now, and the boys romp so when he comes, and I feel a bit tired —I can't think why, Maggie!" "Well, 1 feel tired myself sometimes," said Maggie. She had the baby on her knee again, and was untying and unbuttoning with experienced hands. Thomas McGregor did not bear it patiently. He expressed his grief and rage at ■having to go to bed at all in pitiful lamentations; but Maggie was firm, and presently he was quite good again, sitting up in his cradle with wide-lopen eyes, exactly like Maggie's, being fed out of a saucer, <with bread and milk. The boys were undressed by this time, with Kitty's help, and so was the last baby, and the last baby but one. One after another they knelt with folded hands to say their prayers, and then scrambled off to bed, leaving only a little group about the supper table, washing up and tidying. Their mother rose stiffly, and laid the bunch ,of roses on the table. Thomas McGregor immediately lifted his head and turned uneasily. One fat hand showed decided symptoms of reaching out, but Maggie was too quick for him. "No, you don't," she said; "you just lay your face to the wall and go off like a good boy. I've got the darning to do, and I'm not going to rock you —you needn't think it! But you've got to go to sleep against Father comes in." Thomas McGregor artfully closed one eye, and pushed a crumpled thumb into his mouth. He had every intention lof keeping awake, so that Maggie should not be able to take her foot from the rocker, but presently there was a little snore and a movement of the blanket. Maggie peered over anxiously, and then pulled her mother's gown. "See to him," she said; "isn't he perfectly lovely? I think he's prettier than Alexander was, or Anne." She took her foot off the rocker, and picked up the crumpled bit of muslin that served to keep the light from his eyes, tucking it round him as if he had been a noisy canary. The other children laughed and talked amongst themselves, but Thomas McGregor was asleep at last, and it would take more than the voices of his brothers and sisters to rouse him. Maggie dragged a basket from under the table, and began to sew. Her mlother sat stiffly upright, with her tired arms, bare to the elbow, stretched out in front of her. She did not say much, Imt once she roused herself with a quick sigh. "1 don't wish to grumble," she said; "but the house do seem full sometimes." "It's lively," said Maggie, biting off her thread. "Oh, yes, it's lively enough." Maggie sat with the bitten thread in her hand, listening. Her face beamed. "That's father's step," she said. "Susan, you get out the tumbler and the jug. No, motner, don't you stir; he'll be up directly." i The steps outside the door paused, and a hand fumbled at the lock. The crazy door burst open and showed two figures on the landing—one a tall man, with broad shoulders and a flaxen head; the other a mite of a child, in a holland pinafore, and with a blue ribbon in her hair. "I've brought you a surprise, mother," the man said, in a loud, jovial voice. On his wife's worn face there was a look of almost tearful surprise, but she sat down on the nearest chair, and held out her arms. He strode across the room, and laid her on his wife's knee, and instinctively the toilworn hands closed round her, drawing the rosy face against the woman's heart. "I knew one more wouldn't make no difference to you," her husband said triumphantly. "I'm in good wages, and there's plenty to see to her. Her father was a good workman —summer and winter we've worked together nigh on four years—and now the mother's gone, too! See, Nettie—her name's Nettie, she tells me— see where I've brought you?" Nettie put up a brown little hand and stroked the woman's pale cheeks. Thomas McGregor stirred under his curtain, and stretched himself, but I Maggie's foot on the rocker sent him off again. Her face beaming with joy, she looked across the sea of heads at the newcomer. "Does it make a lucky number, father?" she asked in a cheerful voice. "Oh, it's a deal luckier —a round dozen." His wife sighed; but the next minute, as if ashamed of the momentary peevishness, she stooped and kissed the child. "There's always room for one more," she said.