CHAPTER XXIV.

Otago Witness, Issue 1449, 30 August 1879, Page 22

CHAPTER XXIV.

'^Sj.'v'l^^i^.xxiv.-' r.rliw^araw,. v cqld evening in Novemljer, and, a-genuine Scotch mist enshrouded th% prospect. The gas in the streets of GU^sgowJ .burned\with a .sickly hue—one wondered, it kept alight at all, in such an Ibtmpjsphere.hiiThe shops-and thoroughf%cg«biwex6 u comparatively deserted, .but tb^ejrflaring, gin; i palaces .at the'corner of ej?ery street-, were, thrsnged; and little ksoja pfyj^etctied.! .beings, consisting of mQney nor credit, prgwj^d ,r.ound the .entrances, .that they ioMgjiit, aii,lpast, .oatqh^a glimpse' of. the iighti,an^dvwarath;^thin,*,as the folding djQpra^pwung upen.to admit fresh victims, they did not ,consider $|ia^f ijj.waa jfoeir-mpney which had gone Jp.jcrejkt*. that very comfort from which >;iiowf excluded. ', , f)j"jtf^B/'npt> to; 'be, expected that- such oroVda s^ftuld .be quiet, or very choice in their Language^ j a matter of fact, that ,cpileote4,round, the door of the Man's. "Eriend -was neither, and the bar man,had several ,times threatened to send fprj,a"-ppiiceman. They paid no .attention,7tp the threat; their condition could iiot,- fie .worse than it was already. IndeedLto many of them a cell at the Station would be a boon, since, if not forjbunate enough to get locked up, they would, have to spend the night in the streets as best they could. One can't do everything, and how was it to be expected that these poor creatures should be able to provide, homes for themselves, as well as luxuries for the publicans 1 -, Presently, emerging from gloom into tbie light of the flaring lamp, conies our old friend, Dr Gordon. Muffled as he is, we know him at once. That firm, quick step and tall,,manly figure would tell us, even without the aid of the rich, deep voice, as he stoops to spsak to a little girl. "Why, Maggie, my woman, what brings you here on such a night ? And , Alick, ,too V*. The child he addressed was a little mite, of. a-thing,* apparently about ten years ,'old. She had crouched up against the ;wall, to be out of the way of tho people, and in her lap, huddled up in an old ; plaid; lay what appeared to be an infant, was, in reality, Maggie's little cripy pled brother, Alick, who, though eight • years old, was as helpless and nearly as . small as a child of one. , " Please, I'm waitin' for mither ; Bhe's .ben the hoose," answered Maggie, who .looked upon the doctor as her especial :,friend —not without reason. . t "But why did you. not wait at home, . child? This^ is no night for Alick to be put —nor you either, for that matter." - ," I wis frichted, sir," returned Maggie. _ tc Auld Davie an' his wife were feclitin' awfu'. I wis feart they'd fa' through on fi us. An' the rats were rinnin' a' aboot the . room, an' we couldna' bide it langer, sac - we cam' tae seek my mither." "Stay you here, and I will go and .' fetph. her out," replied Dr Gordon ; and elbowing his way to the door, he entered. > What a contrast! The light of a large fire and of gas glittered on mirrors, pic- •; tures, and shining glass. Behind the . counter gay dresses and luxury; beforo .. it, rags and wretchedness —the one the , outcome of the other. ; • Steadying herself by .one hand on the ' counter, and holding her glass to be re- ' filled' with the other, stood the woman Br . Gordon sought, She had been handsome i pace, but amftll toe of it remained, A

pale, unwholesome-looking face, large black eyes, glittering with unnatural lustre, and hair hanging in short elf-locks round her ears. Small trace of beauty here. Once she had been proud of her looks, especially of her long and glossy hair, but now that hair was sold for drink. Dr Gordon laid his hand on her shoulder. "You must come with me, Mrs Allison," he said, firmly ; "the children are waiting outside in the rain for yon." ; With an oath, iho woman shook off his hand, and not only refused to go, but launched out into a tirade of abuse against the doctor, who had many a time saved lier and her children from starvation. The barman at last interfered, and insolently ordered Dr Gordon to quit the house. Seeing the utfcer uselessness^ of staying longer, he obeyed; but turning at the door, exclaimed : " Her blood be upon your head, if you give that woman a drop more drink this night." AVhereat the barman laughed impudently, as he handed the woman her glass refilled <with gin. Some hours later, having spent her last penny, she was turned out, and being too drunk to reach home, laid herself down in the gutter ;— to be taken up next morning — dead. Margaret M 'Donald was the daughter of a respectable farmer. When only seventeen she was wooed and won by David Allison, who owned an adjoining | farm, which had been occupied by his "forebears" for generations. Shortly after the birth of Maggie, Mrs Allison developed a taste for strong drink. No entreaties or remonstrances were of any avail with her. In a drunken fit she fell, with little Alick in her arms,' and crippled him for life. At last her husband was compelled to give up his farm. He came to Glasgow, but did not long survive. Sorrow and disgrace killed him : his children had been left orphans indeed, about a year ago. To return' to them. , ' When the doctor reappeared without her mother, poor Maggie's heart sank ; if lie could not bring her out, nothing could, ;and Maggie must carry little Alick back jto the miserable room, with its colony of rats, which she called home. ■ But' Dr Gordon decided otherwise. .Taking Alick in his arms, and bidding Maggie follow, he led the way, through the mist and gathering darkness, into a quiet, respectable street near by, and stopping at one of the houses/ rang the bell. His summons was answered so quickly that it seemed as if he had been expected, ,and our old acquaintance, Mrs .Craig, stood on. the.threqhold. " Is't you, doctor ?" she asked, peering out into thenighc. , " Eh ! .but I'm gled ye'rs come ; she's been wearyin' sair for ye." " She ! Who ?" asked Dr Gordon, stepping inside. "Did you send for me V * " 'Deed did 1 ; tauld Sandy no' tae return withoot ye, an' he's no' back yet. But what's this ye've got 1" she added, glancing at Maggie and the bundle in Dr Gordon's arm 3. "A couple of little waifs, to whom I want you to be a' mother, for this night at least," was the reply. "That will I," assented Mrs Craig, heartily. " Here, Nancy," she continued, turning to the servanb, " tak' them ben an' let them sup some parritch. I'se warrant they're hungry enough. An' noo, doctor, come up at ance ; though I'm feart ye can dae naething, puir thing." " Who is it 1" inquired the doctor. "Aye, weel may ye spear, for ye wad never guess. It's jist Miss Isabel." " Who ?" cried l>r Gordon. "Miss Esther's twin, Miss Isabel. I suppose I octft tae say 'v-istress Euston. " t "When did she come?" "I'se jist tell ye a' aboot it, doctor. This afternoon I wis oot, ssein' after a new lodger, an' I cam' back roon' by my auld hame — Mr Boss's, ye ken, doctor. Weel, when I got a'maist in front o't, a puir, ill-lookin' body, wi' twa bairnies clingin' tae her skirts, gaed up the steps an' rang the bell. I dinna' ken what garred me dae't, but I a'maist stoppit tae listen, an' heard her spear for Mr Ross, an' the lassie say they'd a' gane tae New Zealand this lang time. Wi' that the puir thing staggered doun, like she were gaun tae faint, an' I heard her mutter, 'Father, Esther, all gone. What shall I do.? Oh ! what shall Ido V Then I kent her, an' brocht her richt aff hame ; put her tae bed, an' sent for you ; though she tell'd me she badna' a'e bawbee. As j is iliat wad stop me ; an' I'se warrant it'll j no' stop you either, doctor," concluded ; the worthy woman, half -breathless with '< her long story. ! " Indeed no," answered Dr Gordon. " You did quite right. Poor thing ! I will go to her at once. "What ails her V " Consumption, if ever I paw it. She has an awfu' cough. Whisht ! she's may be asleep." And they softly entered Mra Craig's best bedroom, whore poor Isabel lay.