Our Novelettes.

Western Star, Issue 1540, 28 February 1891, Page 2 (Supplement)

Our Novelettes.

POOR LITTLE JUDY!

* Shilling a pot, ma’am. Yes ; I’ll go make it,’ answers Mrs Tooley; and, with a vicious glance at Bird, she leaves the room. * Well of all the thieves I ever clapped eyes on, that woman is the biggest,’ declares Bird, shaking her fist at the closed door. ‘ You let me run out, ma’am, and get some tea. A shilling a pot, indeed !* ‘To-morrow, Bird—to morrow,' replies Miss Griffin soothingly. ‘As you know, a few pounds more or lees is nothing to me. * No matter, ma’am.“l am nob going to stand still and see you cheated,’ declares Bird resolutely. ‘lf you have got too much money you can give it to a charity; there is no need to waste it on the likes of her.’ And Bird keeps to her resolve. Many and fierce are the battles between her and Mrs Tooley; commencing that very night—when she contemptuously takes a cotton pillow-case off Miss Griffin’s pillow and demands a linen one—and ending only with their sojourn in town.

For the first few days Miss Griffin r e vels in a round of shopping ; and so numerous are her purchases in the way of artistic draperies, art crockery, and light pieces of furniture that most of them have to be packed straight off to the Hermitage, while the remainder, much Mrs Tooley’s indignation, are used to beautify their London lodgings. The business which she transacts at the drapers is still more bewildering• so wonderful are the bargains presented to her notice that, as she owns, she cannot resist them — carpets, rugs, glove?, ties, sheets, towels, hose, curtains, calico, flannel, costumes, hats, bonnets, ribbons, counterpanes. Sbesifs still and beams while they are spread out around her ; gives an undecided sigh, and ends bv purchasing some pounds’ worth of goods which she does not in the least need. On the third day however Miss Griffin to the conclusion that she has done shopping enough for the present, and decides to turn her attention to sight-seeing. ‘And where shall we begin?’ asks Judy, with a well-pleased smile, for she has found the shopping rather tiring work, and is not sorry to hear of the change in the programme. * Oh, the Crystal Palace, my dear !’ answers Miss Griffin decidedly. * I have never been there in my life, and from all accounts it is a most wonderful place.’ * Will you fake Bird ? inquires Judy, helping herself to a plentiful supply of marmalade, for they are at breakfast. 1 1 think not,’ answers Miss Griffin doubtfully. ‘ Bird is a most estimable woman, and I am sure Mrs Tooley would impose upon us frightfully if she were not with ns in town ; but it is awkward taking a maid about with one, and——’

Her explanation is cut short by the sudden appearance of their landlady, brandishing a remarkably tarnished fork and looking quite ferocious.

* Please, Miss Griffin, I want to know if it is your pleasure that that menial ’ —pointing tragically at Bird in the background—■* should use my best plated goods to toast your bread with ?’

‘Why didn’t you take the toasting-fork, Bird ?’ asks Miss Griffin mildly. * Toa«ting- f ork indeed!’ cries Bird, walking into the mom and boldly control ting her enemy. ‘ Why, the toasting-fork in this house, ma’am, has to act as a kitchen poker, and as a gridimn on which she ’-—biasing out the word at Mrs Tooley—' cooks her rodherrings. Is such an article fit to use for any lady’s toast?'

‘You sha’n’t use my best silver any way,’ says Mrs Toolev defiantly ; and then, subsiding into a fit of weeeping, which she has found very effective with Miss Griffin, she continues plaintively, ‘ Those very forks my departed darling gave mo not a week before his death, and said he to me’— sob—“My dearest wife ’ ’ —sob—“ ‘ when these you sec remember «... ’»» me. * I am sure Bird won’t do it again,’ observes Misss Griffin soothingly. Then the widow thinks it time to arouse herself from her sorrowful reminiscences and take a more practical view of her grievance. ‘ What is done can’t be undone,’ sbe says mournfully, feeling the prongs of the fork. ‘ I had better throw it away in the dust bin, and then it won’t break my heart every time I clap eves on it.* ‘How much do you value it at, Mrs Tooley ?’ demands Miss Griffin, taking out her purse. * Its money value, ma’am, I consider Sve-and-six,’ answeri Mrs Tooley; * but (he memories connector! with it can never be replaced.’ ‘ Please, ma’am, it is only German silver and dear at sixpence,’ interposes Bird hurriedly. But Mi«s Griffin onlv smiles, savs * Hush !’ r> provingly, and lays the money on the table. The faithful servant groans aloud when the landlady has taken her departure, and then asks—

* Whv do you stop hero, ma’am, to be robbed ?’

‘ Because I dislike new faces, Bird, and I can afford to pay for peace of mind. I don t want the trouble of changing rooms.’

* I sha’n’t have ony mind loft if I stop here long,’ declares Bird solemnly; ‘ and, as for changing rooms, ma’am, you couldn’t change for the worse.’

‘l'm not going to try it,’ answers Miss Griffin quietly but decidedly j and then she explains toiler maid her plans for the day. ‘ I hope you don’t want me,’ says Bird anxiously. 1 No, Bird; so if you have any business of your own you can see about it.’ ‘Well, yes, ma’am. I’ve got to buy a toasting-fork.’ answers the maid triumphantly, ‘and then I sha’n’t spod no more of the ‘ dear departed’s ’ German silver.’ • You shouldn’t speak so,’ reproves Miss Griffin; but, all the same, she joins a little in Judy’s hearty laugh. It happens I hat Miss Griffin has chosen rather an unfortunate day for her first sightseeing expedition. There is a flower-show at the Palace, and it has been rumoured that Royalty will bo present. Consequently cabs are scarce, the train is crowded, and by the time Miss Griffin reaches her destination she is heartily wishing she had never set out, and feels fearful nvsgivings that she shall never get back to Kensington in safety. Judy however, though confused by the unusual bustle around her, by no means loses her presence of mind. Having reached the Palace, she sees no earthlv use of leaving it again without seeing anything ; for, as she justly argues, it will be quite as easy to get bank later in the day as now. It takes her some time to calm Miss Griffin’s fears ; but at length she succeeds to a certain extent, by dint of taking her quite away from the crowd and finding her a quiet seat, where she can watch the throng without being crushed or jostled. ‘ And now, auntie, I’ll leave you here and look round a bit,’ says the girl, rising eagerly from her seat, when Miss Griffin’s cheerfulness has returned.

‘ My dear, I think you had better not leave —you might get lost,’ objects Mias Sarah, with a quivering sigh. * Get lost,’ repeats Judy, laughing merrily —* Of course I sha’n’t! You sit still where you are, auntie, and I’ll bo back iu ten

minutes by your watch,’ * Do be careful, cries Miss Griffin nervously in answer to Judy’s backward smile as she moves away and mingles with the crowd. No sooner however does she lose signs oi the feathers in Judy’s hat than she is panicstricken; instead of sitting still where Judy left her, she leaves her seat and pushes her way almost frantically in the direction she last saw her darling. Once in the crowd all idea of her locality deserts her; she hurries this way, and that way, knocking against people and begging their pardon, until at last the whole scene becomes a kind of nightmare, and it seems to her that she has been wandering among the human maze for hours, when once more she discovers a tolerably quiet spot. But where is the seat on which Judy left her F After searching for it in vain, she seats herself on another, from sheer inability to stand, and gives way to a fit of utter depression. How long is it since she parted from Judy ? bhe fumbles nervously for her watch to see—but the watch is gone. That however, m the noor lady’s present frame of mind, is a trifle ; [till on ma ing the discovery, she begins to weep softly and hopelessly. What m she to How will she ever find Judy agam? What will become of her poor dear innocent darling, lost in a London crowd. . Suddenly a voice at her elbow breaks in upon her melancholy meditations. •You seem to be in trouble, madam ; can 1 tom ber ””BtSngEM?deh» « a toll ■»«»■» “ ''S ll dust-cost, and with a white hat. His features are regular and somewhat sharp, his eyes We brown, and restless-the lower part of Ids face almost hidden by a heavy moustache "fjTiSlb toubb,’ to. P o„d, * m, regards ber wilb ft look c£ pity and asks again in a conventional tone—- < Can I do anything for you f ‘ I fear not,’ answers Miss Griffin, with a hopeless sigh. * Anything lost m that fl c ™wd —pointing despairingly at the people flo.k.ng past—* could not be easily found. v «Well no—l suppose not, assents the stranger,’ gazing vaguely at the direction indicated. ‘So you have lost some valuable ? i X have lost my watch ; but that is nothing, answers Miss Griffin, pointing with a tearful smile at the dangling chain which still hangs from her waist. ‘Of course I should never have fretted about that; but-but—her voice beginning to quaver-'I have lost dear Your pet dog. I suppose?’ says the stranger, interested, but slightly contemp U ‘Oh, no I’ returns Miss Griffin quickly. ‘ Judy—Julia—Miss Bamsbaw, I mean—is my daughter —my adopted daughter of CJUVBO.’ , , .. The stranger bows, and then smiles a reassuring smile, . . , ■Ob, a young lady ought not to bo very difficult to find!’ be says, with a laugh, ■ How long ago did you lose her ? Miss Griffin tells him the whole story as briefly as she can. although she has no great aptitude for condensing matter. She tells him that she is a stranger to London, that it is her first day’s sight-seeing, and that Judy would leave her to look around, and how she ran after her, and got quite confused m the crowd—how long ago she cannot possibly say, having lost her watch. , , The strange gentleman listens to her story with wonderful patience and politeness, though once or twice he cannot quite suppress a smile. When Miss Griffin has finished, he says very kindly— T ‘ If you describe the young lady to me, i shall doubtless be able to find her. I know the Palace as well as I know my father s estate, and if she is anywhere within the building I think I may safely promise to bring her back to yon.’ ... ‘ Oh, how kind! I can never thank you enough «’ cries Miss Griffin, clasping her hands in her gratitude and looking up into the stranger’s face almost reverentially. < Don’t mention it. What is Miss-Miss—-your adopted daughter like?’ * Oh, Judy is tall and slight, with gray eyes and beautiful fair hair !’ answers Miss Griffin comprehensively. . The stranger smiles a worldly-wise but indulgent smile. , , ‘ You must remember there are hundreds of girls answering to your description,’ ho says gently. , ~ * How stupid of me—oh, so there are. admits Miss Griffin, as two tall fair girls with smiling gray eyes pass within a foot ot her seat. ‘ And lam sure I don t know how to describe her any better! Oh, I wish she squinted, or had a harelip or something distinctive!’ , , < Toll me how she is dressed P suggests the stranger. « Ob, of course!’ replies Miss Griffin, with a grateful sigh, ‘ You will know her at once by her dress—she has on a crushed strawbeuj hat with white feathers, a vary light gray jacket, and a crushed-strawberry dress. ‘ Ah, I think that will do !’ says the stranger musingly. ‘I am not very clear as to crushedstrawberry, but I presume it is a kind ot pink ‘Yes, a rather dirty-lookmg, faded-pink, agrees Miss Griffin, in a somewhat disparaging tone. She does rot herself much admire the ossthetic tints which have so taken Judy’s more youthful fancy. «I shall find you here on my return ? questions the stranger with a doubtful smile. ‘ You won’t move again ?—because, if so, even I might find some difficulty in bringing you and your adopted daughter together. i x won’t move if you don’t come back for hours,’ answers Miss Griffin with great energy. * Let me see—what is the young lady’s surname ? It would be awkward not to know her name.’ . _ . ‘ Yes, of course. Her name is Earnshaw—at least’ wo think her name is Earnshaw—that is what she is called, at any rate,’ explains Mirs Griffin, to whoso innocent mind it seems untruthful to toll oven a stranger decidedly that Judy is the daughter of her old friend. ,

Not unnaturaly the stranger looks both surprised an amused. • I understand—Miss Earnshaw,’ ho says with a smile; and then, raising his hat, he moves away Jo begin his quest. Ho has not been gone more than ten minutes when, to Mbs Griffin's unspeakable relief, he appears accompanied by Judy. • Oli, auntie, why did you move and give me such a fright ?’ crier the girl, as Miss Griffin leaves her seat and runs forward a few steps to meet them. ‘ My dear Judy, I was so terribly afraid you would get lost!’ explains the old lady naively. • And you lost yourself instead,’ says Judy, laughing. ‘No matter, dear, we are together again, thanks to this gentleman’s kindness ’ —turning with a look of gratitude towards the till figure standing a little in the background. ‘Oh, pray don't mention it!' says the stranger, smiling down at Judy, and displaying a set of very white teeth. 1 I am only too pleased to have been of use. May I be allowed to remain with you until the gentlemen of your party come up?’ <We have no gentlemen,’ explains Miss Griffin plaintively. ‘Wo are quite alone. The stranger kits his brows in apparently deep thought for n moment; then ho says impulsively—

‘lt is scarcely safe for ladies to viat a place of this sort alone.' ‘Oh, thanks —we are right enough now, and I shall take good care not to leave auntie alone again !’ answers Judy. ‘ The fright has quite upset me,’ admits Miss Griffin. ‘I think we had better get some lunch, if wo can, and then take a cab home.* «I will show you where to get. a good lunch, interposes the stranger; and then very differentially he offers his arm to Miss Griffin, who is visibly trembling. After installing them be summe rs waiter, and stands aside while Miss Griffin gives her order ; then, with a smile and a farewell bow, he is just moving away when an exclamation from that lady arrests him. Turning once more he sees a desperate look on her face. ' Judy, Judy,’ she cries, ‘ my purse is gone . What shall I do ?* Judy looks as if undecided whether to laug.i or cry. ‘ Have you any money, Judy ?’ The girl shakes her head. * You told me to leave my purse a', home, auntie, lest my pocket should be picked. Don’t you remember ?’ ‘So I did ! Oh, dear—oh, dear!’ murmurs the distracted lady, putting her hand to her brow. * And I have oriercd that dreadful lunch, and can’t pay for it! Jud.v, how can you laugh ?’—almost tearfully. * I dare say they will put us in prison.’ ‘ I can’t help laughing, auntie —it word Ibe such fun !’ rejoins Judy, who is certainly not so much impressed as she ought to be by the situation. • You have been most unfortunate, ’ observes the stranger, who has been listening with an amused smile. ‘Your watch, your puiso —why, really, madam, your visit to the Palace will have cost you a fortune soon.’ ‘ Oh,’ exclaims Miss Griffin, with a profound sigh of relief, ' I was afraid you had gone ! The money does not matter in the least—l don’t mind losing it; but I wish enough had been left me to pay for my lunch.’ ‘ Be good enough to allow mo to settle for that,’ says the gentlemen, smiling. _ ‘Oh, I couldn’t!’ answers Miss Griffin, looking flurried and very much troubled. ‘But, my dear madam, a trifle like that need not distress you. Would you rot, gladly do it for any one in the same position?’ ‘ Of course —so 1 would,’ egrtes Miss Griffin her brow clearing. ‘Thank you; I am sure Judy and 1 arc much oblige d to you.’ ‘Auntie,’ interrupts Judy, with a slight flush tinting her cheeks—‘if the gentleman were to leave you his address you could send him the money.’ l Of course—ah, Judy, ho v clever you are ! cries Miss Griffin, in genuine admiration. ‘Oh, certainly, if it would make you more happy to repay it!’ says the Granger in iulgently. ‘Here is my card ’—producin g one from a very bulging pocket-book —‘ but would it not be more simple if you would almw mo to call for the money —say to-morrow ?’ ‘ But would that not be a trouble to you ? asks Miss Griffin, who has glanced ah the card, and scon that he boasts the prefix ‘ Hono'iiable ’ to his name. ‘ Not in the least. I shall be only too delighted; ’ and for a momont his glance rests admiringly on Judy. ‘And now, since this most oppressive debt is to be paid so soon’— with a laugh—' how much shall I leave with you—five pounds, ten —what will you have P ‘No. one will bo enough,’ replies Miss Griffin*; ‘and then there won’t be much over for me to lose, you know.’ The gentleman smiles assent, depo-ita a sovereign beside Miss Griffin’s plate, makes a note of her address in his voluminous pocketbook, raises his hut and takes his departure. 1 Ob, I am glad ho has gone at last! exclaims Judy, with a little grimace. ‘ How ungrateful of you, Judy !’ remonstrates Miss Griffin. ‘I am sure I don’t know what we should have done without him I must write home and tell Sam all about our adventure. He is always compl lin’iig of the selfishness of the present gm ration, and I really think this disinterested ki idness on the patt of a total stranger ought to do something towards rc-e tiblishing I is faith in human nature.’ •I have no faith in that man!’ remarks Judy, shaking her head. Miss Griffin stares at the girl in amazement, and heaves a profound sigh. ‘ I think yours must be a very suspicious nature, Judy,’ she says reflectively. * Has he not left us proof positive of Irs kindness of heart’—touching the gold piece beside her. ‘ For all he knew to the contrary, wo migot have been impestore.’ ‘ Ab, that is a new view of the cise !' replies Judy. ‘So we might have been ; only, auntie darling, I defy any one to take you for an impostor. ‘ By-tho-way, I suppose that money is good ?’—taking up the sovereign and regarding it suspiciously. ‘ My dear Judy, members of the aristocracy are not in the habit of carrying false coin,’ says Miss Griffin reprovingly ; ‘ and what you dislike in our new acquaintance I can’s make out.’

‘ Nor I either —unless It is that the man is too flowery and grandiloquent!' admits Judy. • By-the-way, auntie, how do you know that he belongs to the ar stocraey P’ ‘ His manner was quite enough for me,’ answers the old lady, with a smile of conscious superiority. ‘ Doubtless his card will convince even you 1’

Judy takes the card, and reads aloud for Miss Griffin’s edification, ‘ The Hoa. Alexander Callaghan.’ ‘Now then, what do you say t > that ?’ asks M'ss Griffin triumphantly. ‘I think that lam awfully oblige! to the Hon. Alexander for leaving us the wherewithal tp get a good lunch,’ says Judy practically. ‘Hero it comes, auntio. Tin's is ours, I think —chicken and claret. Oh,* dear me, I am as hungry as a hunter 1’ Boihladiesdofulljusticot ithe meal paidfor by their new friends money ; and Judy meekly owns that she is an ungrateful little wretch when the waiter returns with the change from the Hon. Alexander Callaghan’s golden sovereign. CIIAI’CEIi IV.

Miss Griffin's chivalrous frien-1 allots two days to pass by before he avails himself of her invitation to call; and th >t borrowed sovereign weighs heavily on the (rood lady's 'iiind._ She has no means of returning it. for there is no address on the card in her possession, and her thoughts are veering towards the ‘agony column’ of the Timet, when In pu‘s an end to her embarrassment by mat ing his appearance. The Hon. Alexander Cal'aghan calls just when Miss Griffin is indulging in afternoon ton, and very sociably consents to take a cup. In fact, he has not been fire minutes in the room before he seems quite at home there, and makes himself exceedingly agreeable—indeed, according to Judy's idea, oppressively so. The blend of tea which Miss Gridin afire's ho thinks perfection—it is so deliciously fragrant—might he ask for the address ? He has never tasted any pound cake like bets since the days of his boyhood ! What a clever idea of hers to got her cake sort up once a week from home ! The butt r loo — any one can see what a genius she has for domestic comfort!

( To he continued.)