CHAPTER II
MRS. BINDLE'S WASHING-DAY
I
Shoooooooossssh!
Like a silver flash, the contents of a water-jug descended upon the backof the moth-eaten sandy cat, engaged in excavating Mrs. Bindle'sgeranium-bed.
A curve of yellow, and Mrs. Sawney's "Sandy" had taken the dividing wallbetween No. 7 and No. 9 in one movement--and the drama was over.
Mrs. Bindle closed her parlour-window. She refilled the jug, placing itready for the next delinquent and then returned to her domestic duties.
On the other side of a thin partitioning wall, Mrs. Sawney left thewindow from which she had viewed her cat's attack upon Mrs. Bindle'sgeranium-bed, and Mrs. Bindle's counter-attack upon Sandy's person.Passing into the small passage she opened the front door, her lips setin a determined line.
"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy," she called, in accents that caused Sandy,now three gardens away, to pause in the act of shaking his variousmembers one by one, in an endeavour to disembarrass himself of thecontents of Mrs. Bindle's water-jug.
"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy," cooed Mrs. Sawney. "Poor pussy."
The tone of his mistress' voice rendered Sandy suspicious as to herintentions. He was a cat who had fought his way from kittenhood to athree-year-old, and that with the loss of nothing more conspicuous thanthe tip of his left ear. He could not remember the time when he had notbeen engaged in warfare, either predatory or defensive, and he hadaccumulated much wisdom in the process.
"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. Puss, puss, puss." Mrs. Sawney's tone grewin mellowness as her anger increased. "Poor pussy."
With a final shake of his near hind leg, Sandy put two more gardensbetween himself and that voice, and proceeded to damn to-morrow'sweather by washing clean over his right ear.
Mrs. Sawney closed her front-door and retired to the regions that knewher best. In her heart was a great anger. Water had been thrown over hercat, an act which, according to Mrs. Sawney's code of ethics,constituted a personal affront.
It was Monday, and with Mrs. Sawney the effect of the Monday-morningfeeling, coupled with the purifying of the domestic linen, was a soretrial to her never very philosophical nature.
"To-morrow'll be _'er_ washing-day," she muttered, as she poked down theclothes in the bubbling copper with a long stick, bleached and furred byconstant immersion in boiling water. "I'll show 'er, throwing waterover my cat, the stuck-up baggage!"
Late that afternoon, she called upon Mrs. Grimps, who lived at No. 5, toreturn the scrubbing-board she had borrowed that morning. With Mrs.Sawney, to borrow was to manifest the qualities of neighbourliness, andone of her grievances against Mrs. Bindle was that she was "too stuck upto borrow a pin."
Had Sandy heard the sentiments that fell from his mistress's lips thatafternoon, and had he not been the Ulysses among cats that heundoubtedly was, he would have become convinced that a new heaven or anew earth was in prospect. As it was, Sandy was two streets away,engaged in an affair with a lady of piebald appearance and coydemeanour.
When, half an hour later, Mrs. Sawney returned to No. 9, her expressionwas even more grim. The sight of the pink tie-ups with which the whitelace curtains at No. 7 were looped back, rendered her forgetful of herrecently expressed sentiments. She sent Sandy at express speed from hersight, and soundly boxed Harriet's ears. Mrs. Sawney was annoyed.
II
All her life Mrs. Bindle had been exclusive. She prided herself upon thefact that she was never to be seen gossiping upon doorstep, or atgarden-gate. In consequence, she was regarded as "a stuck-up cat"; shecalled it keeping herself to herself.
Another cause of her unpopularity with the housewives of Fenton Streetwas the way she stared at their windows as she passed. There was in thatlook criticism and disdain, and it inspired her neighbours with fury,the more so because of their impotence.
Mrs. Bindle judged a woman by her windows--and by the same tokencondemned her. Fenton Street knew it, and treasured up the memory.
It was this attitude towards their windows, more than Mrs. Bindle'sexclusiveness in the matter of front-door, or back-door gossip, thatmade for her unpopularity with those among whom circumstances and thejerry-builder had ordained that she should spend her days. She regardedit as a virtue not to be on speaking terms with anyone in the street.
For the most part, Mrs. Bindle and her immediate neighbours lived in astate of armed neutrality. On the one side was Mrs. Sawney, a lath of awoman with an insatiable appetite for scandal and the mouth of a scold,whose windows were, in Mrs. Bindle's opinion, a disgrace; on the otherwas Mrs. Grimps, a big, jolly-looking woman, who laughed loudly atthings, about which Mrs. Bindle did not even permit herself to think.
In spite of the armistice that prevailed, there were occasions whenslumbering dislike would develop into open hostilities. The strategyemployed was almost invariably the same, just as were the forcesengaged.
These encounters generally took place on Tuesdays, Mrs. Bindle'swashing-day. To a woman, Fenton Street washed on Monday, and the fact ofMrs. Bindle selecting Tuesday for the cleansing her household linen was,in the eyes of other housewives, a direct challenge. It was an endeavourto vaunt her own superiority, and Fenton Street, despite its cockneygood-nature, found it impossible to forgive what it regarded as "swank".
The result was that occasionally Fenton Street gave tongue, sometimesthrough the medium of its offspring; at others from the lips of thewomen themselves.
Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. Sawney had conceived a clever strategy, which neverfailed in its effect upon their victim. On Mrs. Bindle's washing-days,when hostilities had been decided on, Mrs. Grimps would go up to theback-bedroom window, whilst Mrs. Sawney would stand at her back-door, orconversely. From these positions, the fences being low, they had anexcellent view of the back garden of No. 7, and would carry on aconversation, the subject of which would be Mrs. Bindle, or the garmentsshe was exposing to the public gaze.
The two women seemed to find a never-ending source of interest in theirneighbour's laundry. Being intensely refined in all such matters, Mrs.Bindle subjected her weekly wash to a strict censorship, drying the moreintimate garments before the kitchen fire. This evoked frankly-expressedspeculation between her two enemies as to how anyone could live withoutchange of clothing.
In her heart, Mrs. Bindle had come to dislike, almost to dread,washing-days, although she in no way mitigated her uncompromisingattitude towards her neighbours.
When, on the Wednesday morning following one of these one-sided battles,Mrs. Bindle went out shopping, her glances at the front-windows of Mrs.Grimps's house, or those of Mrs. Sawney, according to the direction shetook, were steadier and more critical than ever. Mrs. Bindle was not oneto strike her flag to the enemy.
Soon after nine on the Tuesday morning after Sandy had constitutedhimself a casus belli, Mrs. Bindle emerged from her scullery carrying abasketful of clothes, on the top of which lay a handful of clothes-pegs.Placing the basket on the ground, she proceeded to wipe with a cloth theclothes-line, which Bindle had put up before breakfast.
The sight of her neat, angular form in the garden was the signal forMrs. Grimps to come to her back door, whilst Mrs. Sawney ascended herstairs. A moment later, the back window of No. 9 was thrown up with aflourish, and the hard face of Sandy's mistress appeared.
It was a curious circumstance that, although there was never anypre-arrangement, Mrs. Sawney always seemed to appear at the window justas Mrs. Grimps emerged from her back door, or the order would bereversed. Never had they been known both to appear together, either atwindow or at door. Their mutual understanding seemed to be that of theancient pair in the old-fashioned weather-indicator.
"Good morning, Mrs. Grimps," called Mrs. Sawney from her post ofvantage.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sawney," responded Mrs. Grimps. "Beautiful day,ain't it?"
"Fine dryin' weather," responded Mrs. Sawney.
"I see you got your washin' finished early yes'day."
"Yes, an' a rare lot the
re was this week," said Mrs. Sawney, settlingher arms comfortably upon the window-sill. "You 'ad a tidy bit, too, Isee."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Grimps, picking a back-tooth with a hair-pin. "Mr.Grimps is like Mr. Sawney, must 'ave 'is clean pair o' pants every week,'e must, an' a shirt an' vest, too. I tell 'im he ought to 'ave been amillionaire."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Sawney, "I sometimes wishes my 'usband would be contentwith calico linings to 'is trousers, like some folks I could name. 'E'safraid o' them rubbin' 'im, 'e says; but then 'e always was clean in 'is'abits."
This remark was directly levelled at Mrs. Bindle's censorship ofeverything appertaining to nether-laundry.
"Well, I must say I sympathises with 'im," remarked Mrs. Grimps,returning the hair-pin to where it belonged. "When I sees some folks'washing, I says to myself, I says, 'Wot can they wear underneath?'"
"An' well you might, Mrs. Grimps," cried Mrs. Sawney meaningly. "P'rapsthey spend the money on pink ribbons to tie up their lace curtains. It'sall very well to make a show with yer windows, but," with the air of onewho has made an important discovery, "you can't be clean unless you'reclean all over, I says."
Whilst these remarks were being bandied to and fro over her head, Mrs.Bindle had been engaged in pegging to the clothes-line the first batchof her week's wash. Her face was grimmer and harder than usual, andthere was in her eyes a cold, grey look, suggestive of an iron control.
"Yes," proceeded Mrs. Grimps, "I always 'ave said an' always shall, thatit's the underneaths wot count."
Mrs. Bindle stuck a peg in the corner of a tablecloth and, takinganother from her mouth, she proceeded to the other end of the tableclothand jabbed that, too, astride the line.
"'Always 'ave dainty linjerry, 'Arriet,' my pore mother used to say,"continued Mrs. Sawney, "an' I always 'ave. After all, who wants threepillow-cases a week?"
This was in the nature of a direct challenge, as Mrs. Bindle had juststepped back from attaching to the line a third pillow-case, whichimmediately proceeded to balloon itself into joyous abandon.
"If you _are_ religious, you didn't ought to be cruel to dumb animals,"announced Mrs. Grimps, "throwin' water over the pore creatures."
"That sort never is kind to any think but theirselves," commented Mrs.Sawney, with the air of one who is well-versed in the ways of thedevout.
Each time Mrs. Bindle emerged from her scullery that morning, her tworelentless neighbours appeared as if by magic, and oblique pleasantriesebbed and flowed above her head.
The episode of Mrs. Bindle's lock-out was discussed in detail. The"goody-goody" qualities affected by "some people" were commented on inrelation to the more brutal instincts they occasionally manifested.
The treatment that certain pleasant-spoken husbands, whom it was "apleasure to meet," received from their wives, whose faces were like"vinegar on the point of a needle," left both Mrs. Grimps and Mrs.Sawney incapable of expressing the indignation that was within them.
When Bindle came home to dinner, he found "Mrs. B. with a temper wot 'adgot a nasty edge on it," as he expressed it to one of his mates on hisreturn to work. He was too wise, however, to venture an enquiry as tothe cause. He realised that to ask for the wind might mean reaping thewhirlwind.
Immediately after the meal, Mrs. Bindle proceeded to clear the lines tomake room for another batch. She hoped to get done whilst her neighbourswere at dinner; but she had not been in the garden half-a-minute beforeher tormentors appeared.
"I been thinkin' of keepin' a few fowls," remarked Mrs. Sawney, hermouth full of bread and cheese, "jest a 'andful of cocks an' a few'ens," and she winked down at Mrs. Grimps, as Mrs. Bindle pegged a lacewindow-curtain on the line, having first subjected it to a vigorousrubbing with a duster.
"An' very nice too," agreed Mrs. Grimps; "I must say I likes an egg formy tea," she added, "only them cocks do fight so."
"Well, I shouldn't get too many," continued Mrs. Sawney, "say threecocks an' three 'ens. They ought to get on nicely together."
These remarks had reference to a one-time project of Mrs. Bindle tosupply her table with new-laid eggs, in the pursuit of which she hadpurchased three pairs of birds, equally divided as to sex.
"That was the only time I ever enjoyed a bit o' cock-fightin' on myown," Bindle was wont to remark, when telling the story of Mrs. Bindle'sapplication of the rule of monogamy to a fowl-run.
He had made one endeavour to enlighten Mrs. Bindle upon the fact thatthe domestic cock (she insisted on the term "rooster") had neitherrounded Cape Turk, nor weathered Seraglio Point; but he was told not tobe disgusting, Mrs. Bindle's invariable rejoinder when sex matterscropped up. He had therefore desisted, enjoying to the full Mrs.Bindle's efforts to police her new colony.
In those days, the Bindle's back garden had been a riot of flyingfeathers, belligerent cocks and squawking hens, chivvied about by Mrs.Bindle, armed with mop or broom.
Mrs. Sawney and a Mrs. Telcher, who had preceded Mrs. Grimps in theoccupancy of No. 5, had sat at their bedroom windows, laughing until thetears ran down their dubious cheeks and their sides ached. When theirmirth permitted, they had tendered advice; but for the most part theywere so weak from laughing that speech was denied them.
Mrs. Bindle's knowledge of the ways of fowls was limited; but itembraced one important piece of information--that without "roosters",hens would not lay. When Bindle had striven to set her right, he hadbeen silenced with the inevitable, "Don't be disgusting."
She had reasoned that if hens were stimulated to lay by the presence ofthe "male bird", then a cavalier each would surely result in anincreased output.
The fowls, however, had disappeared as suddenly as they had come, andthereafter Bindle realised that it was neither safe nor politic to referto the subject. It had taken a plate of rice, hurled at his head fromthe other side of the kitchen, to bring him to this philosophical frameof mind.
For weeks afterwards, the children of Fenton Street would greet Mrs.Bindle's appearance with strange crowing noises, which pleased them andconvulsed their parents; for Mrs. Bindle's fowls had become _the_ jokeof the neighbourhood.
"I must say I likes a man wots got a pleasant word for everyone,"remarked Mrs. Sawney, some two hours later, as Mrs. Bindle picked up theclothes-basket containing the last of the day's wash, and made for thescullery door, "even when 'e ain't 'appy in 'is 'ome life," she added,as the scullery door banged-to for the day, and Mrs. Grimps concurred asshe disappeared, to catch-up with the day's work as best she could, andprepare the children's tea.
III
That evening at supper, Bindle heard what had been withheld from Mrs.Grimps and Mrs. Sawney--Mrs. Bindle's opinion of her neighbours. Withgreat dexterity, she managed to link him up with their misdeeds. Heshould have got on as his brother-in-law, Mr. Hearty, had got on, andthen she would not have been forced to reside in a neighbourhood soutterly dead to all sense of refinement and proper conduct.
Bindle had come to regard Tuesdays as days of wrath, and he usuallymanaged to slip out after supper with as little ostentation as possible.Reasoning that religion and cleanliness were productive of such mentaldisturbances, he was frankly for what he called "a dirty 'eathen"; buthe was wise enough to keep his views to himself.
"If you were a man you'd stop it," she stormed, "allowing me to beinsulted as I've been to-day."
"But 'ow can I stop you an' them a-scrappin'?" he protested, withcorrugated forehead.
"You can go in and tell them that you won't have it."
"But then Sawney an' Grimps would start on me."
"That's what it is, you're afraid," she cried, triumphantly. "If you wasa man you'd hit back; but you're not."
"But I ain't a-goin' to start fightin' because some one says I don'twear----"
"Stop it!"
And Bindle stopped it.
"Why don't you do something like Mr. Hearty?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, ashe pushed back his chair and rose. She was determined not to be deprivedof her scapegoat, at least not without another offensive.
He paused before replying, making sure that his line of retreat wasopen. The greengrocering success of her brother-in-law was used by Mrs.Bindle as a whip of scorpions.
"'Earty don't do things," he replied, sidling towards the door. "'E doespeople," and with footwork that would have made a champion fly-weightenvious, he was out in the passage before Mrs. Bindle could retort.
Long and late that night she pondered over the indignities to which shehad been subjected during the day. There were wanton moments when sheyearned to be able to display to the neighbours the whole of herlaundry--and Bindle's. Herself a connoisseur of garments that passedthrough the wash-tub, she knew that those of her house could hold theirown, as joyously white and playful in the breeze as any that herneighbours were able to produce.
She had suffered with a still tongue; yet it had not turned aside wrath,particularly her own wrath. Instinctively, her thoughts reverted to thetime when an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth were regarded aslegal tender.
All that night and the next day she pondered. When Bindle returned onthe Wednesday evening, he found her almost light-hearted. "GospelBells", Mrs. Bindle's favourite hymn, was going with a rare swing, andduring the meal that followed, she was bordering on the conversational.
Several times he regarded her curiously.
"Somethink's up," he muttered; but, too wise in his experience, he madeno endeavour to probe the mystery.
For the rest of the week Mrs. Bindle spent every odd moment she couldspare from her domestic duties in collecting what she mentally describedas "rubbish". She went through each room with a toothcomb. By Saturdaynight, she had accumulated in the wash-house, a pile of odds and endswhich, as Bindle said, would have been enough to start a rag-and-boneshop.
Curiously enough, Mrs. Bindle did not resent his remark; instead shealmost smiled, so marked was her expression of grim complacency.
On Sunday at chapel, she sang with a vigour and fervency that attractedto her the curious gaze of more than one pair of eyes.
"Mrs. B.'s got somethink in 'er stockin'," mumbled Bindle, as he rosefrom the supper-table that night. "Never seen 'er so cheerio in all mypuff. I 'ope it ain't drink."
Monday morning dawned, and Mrs. Bindle was up an hour earlier thanusual, still almost blithe in her manner.
"Shouldn't be surprised if she's a-goin' to run away with ole 'Earty,"muttered Bindle, as he took from her almost gracious hands his thirdcup of tea at breakfast.
"You sings like a two-year-old, Lizzie," he ventured. "I like themlittle twiddley bits wot you been puttin' into that 'ymn."
The "twiddley bits" to which Bindle referred was her rendering of"bells," as a word of three syllables, "be-e-ells."
"You get on with your breakfast," was her retort; but there was about itneither reproach nor rancour.
Again he looked at her curiously.
"Can't make 'er out these last few days," he muttered, as he rose andpicked up his cap. "Somethink's up!"
Mrs. Bindle proceeded to wash-up the breakfast things to the tune of"Hold the Fort." From time to time during the morning, she would glanceout of the window to see if Mrs. Grimps, or Mrs. Sawney had yet begun to"hang-out".
They were usually late; but this morning they were later than usual. Itwas after ten before Mrs. Grimps appeared with the first basket of wetclothes. She was followed a few minutes later by Mrs. Sawney.
The two women exchanged greetings, the day was too busy a one foranything more.
As they pegged the various items of the week's wash to their respectivelines, Mrs. Bindle watched from the back-bedroom window, her eyes likepoints of steel, her lips a grim grey line. She was experiencing thesensations of the general who sees the enemy delivered into his hands.
As soon as Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. Sawney had returned to their wash-tubs,Mrs. Bindle descended to the scullery, where lay the heap of rubbish shehad collected during the previous week. With great deliberation sheproceeded to stuff it into a clothes-basket, by means of which shetransported the mass to the bottom of the garden, a proceeding whichrequired several journeys.
Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps were too busily occupied to concernthemselves with the movements of their neighbour.
Her task completed, Mrs. Bindle returned to her domestic duties, and indue time ate a solitary dinner, Bindle being engaged too far away toadmit of his sharing it with her. She then proceeded upstairs to performher toilette, as on Monday afternoons she always arranged to go out"dressed". This in itself was a direct challenge to Fenton Street, whichhad to stay at home and attend to the cleansing of its linen.
Her toilette finished, Mrs. Bindle slipped into the back bedroom. Below,her two neighbours were engaged in hanging-out the second instalment oftheir wash, the first batch having been gathered-in ready for themangle. After that, they would eat their mid-day meal. Although nogossip, Mrs. Bindle was not unobservant, and she knew the movements ofher neighbours as well as they knew hers.
A quarter of an hour later, the front door of No. 7 banged-to. Mrs.Bindle, in brown alpaca, a brown bonnet with a dash of purple, andbiscuit-coloured gloves, was going to see her niece, Millie Dixon, neeHearty, with whom she had arranged to spend the afternoon.
IV
"Mrs. Sawney! Mrs. Sawney! Come and look at your clothes!"
Mrs. Grimps, her hands on the top of the fence, shouted her thrillingappeal across the intervening garden.
Mrs. Sawney appeared, as if propelled from her scullery door by someunseen force.
For a moment she stood blinking stupidly, as dense volumes of smut-ladensmoke ascended to the blueness of heaven from the garden of No. 7. Itwas only the smoke, however, that ascended. One glance at the piebaldgarments hanging from her linen-lines was sufficient to convince Mrs.Sawney of that.
"It's that woman," she almost screamed, as she began to pound at thefence dividing her garden from that of Mrs. Bindle. "I'll show 'er."
"Yes; but what about the----" Mrs. Grimps broke-off, stifled by a volumeof dense black smoke that curled across to her. "Look at them smuts."
Mrs. Bindle had taken the precaution of adding some paraffin and colzaoil to her bonfire, which was now blazing merrily, sending forth anever-increasing deluge of smuts, as if conscious of what was expected ofit.
Mrs. Sawney continued to bang on the fence, whilst Mrs. Grimps dashedthrough her house and proceeded to pound at Mrs. Bindle's front doorwith a vigour born of hate and desperation.
"She's gorn out."
The information was vouchsafed by a little boy in petticoats, who hadtoddled uncertainly from the other side of the street, and now stoodclinging to the railings with grubby hands.
Mrs. Grimps scurried back again to the scene of disaster.
She was just in time to see Mrs. Sawney take what appeared to be thetail-end of a header into Mrs. Bindle's back-garden, displaying in theprocess a pair of stockings that owed little to the wash-tub, and lessto the darning-needle.
"Get some water," she gasped, as she picked herself up and once moreconsigned her hosiery to the seclusion of her skirts. Mrs. Grimps dashedinto the scullery.
A minute later she re-appeared with a large pail, from which waterslopped as she walked. With much grunting and a considerable wetting ofher own clothes, she succeeded in passing it over the fence to herneighbour.
With one hand grasping the handle and the other the rim at the base,Mrs. Sawney staggered towards the fire and inverted the pail. Then, witha scream, she dropped the pail, threw her apron over her head, and ranfrom the cloud of steam and the deluge of blacks that her rash act hadoccasioned.
"'Urt yerself?" enquired Mrs. Grimps, solicitously as she gazedmournfully at her ruined "wash", upon which big flakes of black weredescending like locusts upon the fair lands of Pharaoh.
Mrs. Sawney removed the apron from her head, and blinked up at the sky,as if to assure herself that the blessing of sight was still hers.
"The wicked cat!" she vociferated, when she found that no damage hadbeen done. "Come on, let's put it out,"
she exhorted as, with a swiftmovement, she picked up the pail and handed it over the fence to thewaiting Mrs. Grimps.
Ten minutes later, the fire was extinguished; but the washing wasruined.
Mrs. Sawney gazed across the fence at a dishevelled caricature of Mrs.Grimps, with the full consciousness that she herself must look evenworse. She also realised that she had to make the return journey overthe fence, under the critical eyes of Mrs. Grimps, and that to climb afence without an exposure of leg was an impossibility.
Both women were wet to the skin, as neither had proved expert in thehanding of brimming pails of water over a wooden fence; both werespotted like the pard; both were in their hearts breathing direvengeance upon the perpetrator of the outrage, who just at that momentwas alighting from a tram at Hammersmith.
* * * * *
Throughout that afternoon, Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps waited;grim-lipped and hard-eyed they waited. Fenton Street was to seesomething that it had not even dreamed of. Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimpshad decided unanimously to "show 'er."
Their offspring had been instructed that, at the sight of Mrs. Bindle,they were to return hot-foot and report.
The children had told their friends, and their friends had told theirmothers, with the result that not only Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps; butevery housewife in Fenton Street was on the qui vive.
Soon after six there were cries of "Here she comes," as if Mrs. Bindlehad been the Boat Race, followed by a sudden stampede of children.
Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps rushed to action-quarters. Mrs. Sawney gavea stir to a pail of blacklead and water behind the front door, whilstMrs. Grimps seized a soft broom, which she had saturated in water usedfor washing-up the dinner-things.
The children clustered round the gate, and hung on to the railings.Housewives came to their doors, or appeared at their bedroom windows.Fenton Street loved Drama, the bigger the "D" with which it was spelled,the more they enjoyed it.
Behind their front doors, Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps waited andwatched. Suddenly the crowd that had attached itself to the railingsbegan to melt away, and the babel of clattering voices died down.Several women were seen to leave their garden-gates and walk up thestreet. Still the two grim-faced women waited behind their"street-doors."
At length, as the last child left the railings and tore up the street,both women decided that something must have happened.
The sight of Mrs. Sawney at her door brought Mrs. Grimps to hers, justas Harriet, the nine years old daughter of Mrs. Sawney, rushed upbreathless.
"She's comin'," gasped the child, whereat both women disappeared, Mrs.Sawney to grasp the handle of her pail, and Mrs. Grimps to seize herbroom.
When Mrs. Bindle appeared, the centre of an eddying mass of children,with a few women on the outer fringe, she was carrying in her arms achild of about five, who was whimpering pitifully. Her bonnet hadslipped back, her right hand, from which the biscuit-coloured glove hadbeen removed, was stained with blood, whilst her umbrella was beingcarried, as if it were a sacred relic, by a curly-headed little lad whowas living his hour.
At the sight of the procession, Mrs. Sawney let the handle of her pailfall with a clang, whilst Mrs. Grimps dropped her broom.
"It's my 'Ector," she screamed, as she bolted down the garden path. "Oh,my God! 'e's dead."
"Get some hot water," ordered Mrs. Bindle, as she pushed the motheraside and entered the gate. "He's cut his leg."
Followed by Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Grimps bolted into the house. There wassomething in Mrs. Bindle's tone that brooked of no delay.
Watched by Mrs. Grimps, Mrs. Sawney, and several of their friends, Mrs.Bindle washed the wound and bound it up with clean white rag, in placeof her own blood-soaked handkerchief, and she did her work with thethoroughness with which she did everything.
When she had finished, she took the child in her arms, and for an hoursoothed it with the assurance that it was "the bravest little preciousin all the world." When she made to transfer her burden to its mother'sarms, the uproar that ensued decided Mrs. Bindle to continue herministrations.
It was ten o'clock before she finally left Mrs. Grimps's house, and shedid so without a word.
"Who'd 'ave thought it!" remarked Mrs. Sawney, as Mrs. Bindle closed thegate.
"She's got a way with kids," admitted Mrs. Grimps. "I will say that for'er," and in turning back along the dark hall, she fell over the broomwith which she had intended to greet her neighbour.
Mrs. Sawney returned to her own house and hurled a saucepan at Sandy, acircumstance which kept him from home for two days and three nights--hewas not a cat to take undue risks.