Two Little Waifs

  CHAPTER IV.

  "WHAT IS TO BE DONE?"

  "That is the question."

  HAMLET.

  Yes, "what was to be done?" That was certainly the question. Mr. Martonlooked at his wife for a moment or two without replying. Then he seemedto take a sudden resolution.

  "We can't stay here all the morning, that's about all I can say atpresent," he said. "Come along, we'd better go to the nearest hotel andthink over matters."

  So off they all set again--Mr. Marton and the rugs, Mrs. Marton andGladys, Leonie and Roger--another porter being got hold of to bring suchof the bags, etc., as were not left at the station with the big luggage.Gladys walked along as if in a dream; she did not even wake up to noticethe great wide street and all the carriages, and omnibuses, and carts,and people as they crossed to the hotel in front of the station. Shehardly even noticed that all the voices about her were talking in alanguage she did not understand--she was completely dazed--the onlywords which remained clearly in her brain were the strange ones whichMr. Marton had made use of--"a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake.""No mistake," that must mean that Papa's not coming to the station wasnot a mistake, but that there was some reason for it. But "a kettle offish," what _could_ that have to do with it all? She completely lostherself in puzzling about it. Why she did not simply ask Mrs. Marton toexplain it I cannot tell. Perhaps the distressed anxious expression onthat young lady's own face had something to do with her not doing so.

  Arrived at the hotel, and before a good fire in a large dining-room atthat early hour quite empty, a slight look of relief came over all thefaces. It was something to get warmed at least! And Mr. Marton orderedthe hot chocolate for which Roger had been pining, before he saidanything else. It came almost at once, and Leonie established thechildren at one of the little tables, drinking her own coffee standing,that she might attend to them and join in the talking of her master andmistress if they wished it.

  Roger began to feel pretty comfortable. He had not the least idea wherehe was--he had never before in his life been at a hotel, and would nothave known what it meant--but to find himself warmed and fed and Gladysbeside him was enough for the moment; and even Gladys herself began tofeel a very little less stupefied and confused. Mr. and Mrs. Marton, atanother table, talked gravely and in a low voice. At last Mr. Martoncalled Leonie.

  "Come here a minute," he said, "and see if you can throw any light onthe matter. You are more at home in Paris than we are. Mrs. Marton and Iare at our wits' end. If we had a few days to spare it would not be sobad, but we have not. Our berths are taken, and we cannot afford to losethree passages."

  "Mine too, sir," said Leonie. "Is mine taken too?"

  "Of course it is. You didn't suppose you were going as cabin-boy, didyou?" said Mr. Marton rather crossly, though I don't think his being alittle cross was to be wondered at. Poor Leonie looked very snubbed.

  "I was only wondering," she said meekly, "if I could have stayed behindwith the poor children till----"

  "Impossible," said Mr. Marton; "lose your passage for a day or two'sdelay in their father's fetching them. If I thought it was more thanthat I would send them back to England," he added, turning to his wife.

  "And poor Mrs. Lacy so ill! Oh no, that would never do," she said.

  "And there's much more involved than our passages," he went on. "It's asmuch as my appointment is worth to miss this mail. It's justthis--Captain Bertram is either here, or has been detained atMarseilles. If he's still there, we can look him up when we get thereto-morrow; if he's in Paris, and has made some stupid mistake, we mustget his address at Marseilles, he's sure to have left it at the hotelthere for letters following him, and telegraph back to him here. I neverdid know anything so senseless as Susan Lacy's not making him give aParis address," he added.

  "He was only to arrive here yesterday or the day before," said Mrs.Marton.

  "But the friends who were to have a nurse ready for the children? Weshould have had _some_ address."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Marton self-reproachfully. "I wish I had thought ofit. But Susan was so _sure_ all would be right. And certainly, in caseof anything preventing Captain Bertram's coming, it was only natural tosuppose he would have telegraphed, or sent some one else, or done_something_."

  "Well--all things considered," said Mr. Marton, "it seems to me the bestthing to do is to leave the children here, _even_ if we had a choice,which I must say I don't see! For I don't know how I could send themback to England, nor what their friends there might find to say if Idid--nor can we----"

  "Take them on to Marseilles with us?" interrupted Mrs. Marton. "Oh,Phillip, would not that be better?"

  "And find that their father had just started for Paris?" replied herhusband. "And then think of the expense. Here, they are much nearer athand if they have to be fetched back to England."

  Mrs. Marton was silent. Suddenly another idea struck her. She startedup.

  "Supposing Captain Bertram has come to the station since we left," sheexclaimed. "He may be there now."

  Mr. Marton gave a little laugh.

  "No fear," he said "Every official in the place knows the whole story.I managed to explain it, and told them to send him over here."

  "And what are you thinking of doing, then? _Where_ can we leave them?"

  Mr. Marton looked at his watch.

  "That's just the point," he said. "We've only three hours unless we putoff till the night express, and that is running it too fine. Any littledetention and we might miss the boat."

  "We've run it too fine already, I fear," said Mrs. Marton dolefully."It's been my fault, Phillip--the wanting to stay in England till thelast minute."

  "It's Susan Lacy's fault, or Bertram's fault, or both our faults forbeing too good-natured," said Mr. Marton gloomily. "But that's not thequestion now. I don't think we _should_ put off going, for--anotherreason--it would leave us no time to look up Bertram at Marseilles. Onlyif we had had a few hours, I could have found some decent people toleave the children with here, some good 'pension,' or----"

  "But such places are all so dear, and we have to consider the moneytoo."

  "Yes," said Mr. Marton, "we have _literally_ to do so. I've only just incash what we need for ourselves, and I couldn't cash a cheque here allin a minute, for my name is not known. But something must be fixed, andat once. I wonder if it would be any good if I were to consult themanager of this hotel? I----"

  "Pardon," said Leonie, suddenly interrupting. "I have an idea. Myaunt--she is really my cousin, but I call her aunt--you know her byname, Madame?" she went on, turning to Mrs. Marton. "My mother oftenspoke of her"--for Mrs. Marton's family had known Leonie's mother longago when she had been a nurse in England--"Madame Nestor. They areupholsterers in the Rue Verte, not very far from here, quite in thecentre of Paris. They are very good people--of course, quite in a littleway; but honest and good. They would do their best, just for a few days!It would be better than leaving the dear babies with those we knewnothing of. I think I could persuade them, if I start at once!" Shebegan drawing her gloves on while she was speaking. And she had spokenso fast and confusedly that for a moment or two both Mr. and Mrs. Martonstared at her, not clearly taking in what she meant.

  "Shall I go, Madame?" she said, with a little impatience. "There is notime to lose. Of course if you do not like the idea--I would not havethought of it except that all is so difficult, so unexpected."

  "Not like it?" said Mr. Marton; "on the contrary I think it's a capitalidea. The children would be in safe hands, and at worst it can't be formore than a couple of days. If Captain Bertram has been detained atMarseilles by illness or anything----"

  "That's not likely," interrupted Mrs. Marton, "he would have written ortelegraphed."

  "Well, then, if it's some stupid mistake about the day, he'll come offat once when we tell him where they are. I was only going to say that,at worst, if he _is_ ill, or anything wrong, we'll telegraph to SusanLacy from Marseilles and she'll send over for them somehow."

  "
Should we not telegraph to her at once from here?"

  Mr. Marton considered.

  "I don't see the use," he said at last. "We can tell her nothingcertain, nothing that she should act on yet. And it would only worry theold lady for nothing."

  "I'm afraid she's too ill to be told anything about it," said Mrs.Marton.

  "Then the more reason for waiting. But here we are losing the preciousminutes, and Leonie all ready to start. Off with you, Leonie, as fast asever you can, and see what you can do. Take a cab and make him drivefast," he called after her, for she had started off almost with hisfirst words. "She's a very good sort of a girl," he added, turning tohis wife.

  "Yes, she always has her wits about her in an emergency," agreed Mrs.Marton. "I do hope," she went on, "that what we are doing will turn outfor the best. I really never did know anything so unfortunate, and----"

  "Is it all because of the kettle of fish? Did Papa tumble over it? Oh, I_wish_ you'd tell me!" said a pathetic little voice at her side, andturning round Mrs. Marton caught sight of Gladys, her hands clasped, hersmall white face and dark eyes gazing up beseechingly. It had grown toomuch for her at last, the bewilderment and the strangeness, and the notunderstanding. And the change from the cramped-up railway carriage andthe warm breakfast had refreshed her a little, so that gradually herideas were growing less confused. She had sat on patiently at the tablelong after she had finished her chocolate, though Roger was stilloccupied in feeding himself by tiny spoonfuls. He had never had anythingin the way of food more interesting than this chocolate, for it wasstill hot, and whenever he left it for a moment a skin grew over thetop, which it was quite a business to clear away--catching now and thensnatches of the eager anxious talk that was going on among the bigpeople. And at last when Leonie hurried out of the room, evidently senton a message, Gladys felt that she must find out what was the matter andwhat it all meant. But the topmost idea in her poor little brain wasstill the kettle of fish.

  "If Papa has hurt himself," Gladys went on, "I think it would be betterto tell me. I'd so much rather know. I'm not so very little, Mrs.Marton, Mrs. Lacy used to tell me things."

  Mrs. Marton stooped down and put her arms round the pathetic littlefigure.

  "Oh, I wish I could take you with me all the way. Oh! I'm so sorry foryou, my poor little pet," she exclaimed girlishly. "But indeed we arenot keeping anything from you. I only wish we had anything to tell. Wedon't know ourselves; we have no idea why your father has not come."

  "But the kettle of fish?" repeated Gladys.

  Mrs. Marton stared at her a moment, and then looked up at her husband.He grew a little red.

  "It must have been I that said it," he explained. "It is only anexpression; a way of speaking, little Gladys. It means when--whenpeople are rather bothered, you know--and can't tell what to do. Isuppose it comes from somebody once upon a time having had more fishthan there was room for in their kettle, and not knowing what to do withthem."

  "Then we're the fish--Roger and I--I suppose, that you don't know whatto do with?" said Gladys, her countenance clearing a little. "I'm verysorry. But I think Papa'll come soon; don't you?"

  "Yes, I do," replied Mr. Marton. "Something must have kept him atMarseilles, or else he's mistaken the day after all."

  "I thought you said it was 'no mistake!'" said Gladys.

  Mr. Marton gave a little groan.

  "Oh, you're a dreadful little person and no--there, I was just going tosay it again! That's only an expression too, Gladys. It means, 'to besure,' or 'no doubt about it,' though I suppose it is a little what onecalls 'slang.' But you don't know anything about that, do you?"

  "No," said Gladys simply, "I don't know what it means."

  "And I haven't time to tell you, for we must explain to you what we'rethinking of doing. You tell her, Lilly. I'm going about the luggage,"he added, turning to his wife, for he was dreadfully tender-hearted,though he was such a big strong young man, and he was afraid of poorGladys beginning to cry or clinging to them and begging them not toleave her and Roger alone in Paris, when she understood what wasintended.

  But Gladys was not the kind of child to do so. She listened attentively,and seemed proud of being treated like a big girl, and almost beforeMrs. Marton had done speaking she had her sensible little answer ready.

  "Yes, I see," she said. "It is much better for us to stay here, for Papamight come _very_ soon, mightn't he? Only, supposing he came thisafternoon he wouldn't know where we were?"

  "Mr. Marton will give the address at the station, in case your Papainquires there, as he very likely would, if a lady and gentleman and twochildren arrived there from England this morning. And he will also leavethe address _here_, for so many people come here from the station. Andwhen we get to Marseilles, we will at once go to the hotel where hewas--where he is still, perhaps; if he has left, he is pretty sure tohave given an address."

  "And if he's not there--if you can't find him--what will you do then?"said Gladys, opening wide her eyes and gazing up in her friend's face.

  Mrs. Marton hesitated.

  "I suppose if we really could not find your father at once, we shouldhave to write or telegraph to Miss Susan."

  Gladys looked more distressed than she had yet done.

  "Don't do that, please," she said, clasping her hands together in theway she sometimes did. "I'd much rather stay here a little longer tillPapa comes. It would be such a trouble to Miss Susan--I know she didthink we were a great trouble sometimes--and it would make Mrs. Lacy cryperhaps to have to say good-bye again, and she's so ill."

  "Yes, I know she is," said Mrs. Marton, surprised at the little girl'sthoughtfulness. "But you know, dear, we'd have to let them know, andthen most likely they'd send over for you."

  "But Papa's _sure_ to come," said Gladys. "It would only be waiting alittle, and I don't mind much, and I don't think Roger will, not if I'mwith him. Will they be kind to us, do you think, those friends ofLeonie's?"

  "I'm sure they will; otherwise you know, dear, we wouldn't leave youwith them. Of course it will only be for a day or two, for they arequite plain people, with quite a little house."

  "I don't mind, not if they're kind to us," said Gladys. "But, oh! I dowish you weren't going away."

  "So do I," said Mrs. Marton, who felt really very nearly breaking downherself. The sort of quiet resignation about Gladys was very touching,much more so than if she had burst out into sobs and tears. It wasperhaps as well that just at that moment Mr. Marton came back, andsaying something in a low voice to his wife, drew her out of the room,where in the passage stood Leonie.

  "Back already," exclaimed Mrs. Marton in surprise.

  "Oh yes," Leonie replied, "it was not far, and the coachman drove fast.But I thought it better not to speak before the children. It is a verylittle place, Madame. I wonder if it will do." She seemed anxious and alittle afraid of what she had proposed.

  "But can they take them? That is the principal question," said Mr.Marton.

  "Oh yes," said Leonie. "My aunt is goodness itself. She understands itall quite well, and would do her best; and it would certainly be betterthan to leave them with strangers, and would cost much less; only--thepoor children!--all is so small and so cramped. Just two or three littlerooms behind the shop; and they have been used to an English nursery,and all so nice."

  "I don't think they have been spoilt in some ways," said Mrs. Marton."Poor little Gladys seems to mind nothing if she is sure of kindness.Besides, what else _can_ we do? And it is very kind of your aunt toconsent, Leonie."

  "Yes, Madame. It is not for gain that she does it. Indeed it will not begain, for she must find a room for her son, and arrange his room for thedear children. They have little beds among the furniture, so that willbe easy; and all is very clean--my aunt is a good manager--but only----"

  Leonie looked very anxious.

  "Oh I'm sure it will be all right," said Mr. Marton. "I think we hadbetter take them at once--I've got the luggage out--and then we can seefor ourselves."
r />   The children were soon ready. Gladys had been employing the time intrying to explain to poor little Roger the new change that was beforethem. He did not find it easy to understand, but, as Gladys had said, hedid not seem to mind anything so long as he was sure he was not to beseparated from his sister.

  A few minutes' drive brought them to the Rue Verte. It was a narrowstreet--narrow, at least in comparison with the wide new ones of thepresent day, for it was in an old-fashioned part of Paris, in the verycentre of one of the busiest quarters of the town; but it was quiterespectable, and the people one saw were all well-dressed and well-to-dolooking. Still Mr. Marton looked about him uneasily.

  "Dreadfully crowded place," he said; "must be very stuffy in warmweather. I'm glad it isn't summer; we _couldn't_ have left them here inthat case."

  And when the cab stopped before a low door leading into a long narrowshop, filled with sofas and chairs, and great rolls of stuffs for makingcurtains and beds and mattresses in the background, Mr. Marton's facedid not grow any brighter. But it did brighten up, and so did hiswife's, when from the farther end of the shop, a glass door, evidentlyleading into a little sitting-room, opened, and an elderly woman, with awhite frilled cap and a bright healthy face, with the kindliestexpression in the world, came forward eagerly.

  "Pardon," she said in French, "I had not thought the ladies would behere so soon. But all will be ready directly. And are these the dearchildren?" she went on, her pleasant face growing still pleasanter.

  "Yes," said Mrs. Marton, who held Gladys by one hand and Roger by theother, "these are the two little strangers you are going to be so kindas to take care of for a day or two. It is very kind of you, MadameNestor, and I hope it will not give you much trouble. Leonie hasexplained all to you?"

  "Oh yes," replied Madame Nestor, "poor darlings! What a disappointmentto them not to have been met by their dear Papa! But he will come soon,and they will not be too unhappy with us."

  Mrs. Marton turned to the children.

  "What does she say? Is she the new nurse?" whispered Roger, whose ideas,notwithstanding Gladys's explanations, were still very confused. It wasnot a very bad guess, for Madame Nestor's good-humoured face and cleancap gave her very much the look of a nurse of the old-fashioned kind.Mrs. Marton stooped down and kissed the little puzzled face.

  "No, dear," she said, "she's not your nurse. She is Leonie's aunt, andshe's going to take care of you for a few days till your Papa comes. Andshe says she will be very, very kind to you."

  But Roger looked doubtful.

  "Why doesn't she talk p'operly?" he said, drawing back.

  Mrs. Marton looked rather distressed. In the hurry and confusion she hadnot thought of this other difficulty--that the children would notunderstand what their new friends said to them! Gladys seemed to feel byinstinct what Mrs. Marton was thinking.

  "I'll try to learn French," she said softly, "and then I can tellRoger."

  Leonie pressed forward.

  "Is she not a dear child?" she said, and then she quickly explained toher aunt what Gladys had whispered. The old lady seemed greatly pleased.

  "My son speaks a little English," she said, with evident pride. "He isnot at home now, but in the evening, when he is not busy, he must talkwith our little demoiselle."

  "That's a good thing," exclaimed Mr. Marton, who felt the greatestsympathy with Roger, for his own French would have been sadly at faulthad he had to say more than two or three words in it.

  Then Madame Nestor took Mrs. Marton to see the little room she waspreparing for her little guests. It was already undergoing a goodcleaning, so its appearance was not very tempting, but it would not havedone to seem anything but pleased.

  "Anyway it will be _clean_," thought Mrs. Marton, "but it is very darkand small." For though it was the best bedroom, the window looked out onto a narrow sort of court between the houses, whence but little lightcould find its way in, and Mrs. Marton could not help sighing a littleas she made her way back to the shop, where Mr. Marton was explaining toLeonie about the money he was leaving with Madame Nestor.

  "It's all I can possibly spare," he said, "and it is English money. Buttell your aunt she is _sure_ to hear in a day or two, and she will befully repaid for any other expense she may have."

  "Oh dear, yes," said Leonie, "my aunt is not at all afraid about that.She has heard too much of the goodness of Madame's family to have anyfears about anything Madame wishes. Her only trouble is whether the poorchildren will be happy."

  "I feel sure it will not be Madame Nestor's fault if they are not," saidMrs. Marton, turning to the kind old woman. It was all she could say,for she felt by no means sure that the poor little things would be ableto be happy in such strange circumstances. The tears filled her eyes asshe kissed them again for the last time, and it was with a heavy heartshe got back into the cab which was to take her husband and herself andLeonie to the Marseilles station. Mr. Marton was very little happierthan his wife.

  "I wish to goodness Susan Lacy had managed her affairs herself," hegrumbled. "Poor little souls! I shall be thankful to know that they aresafe with their father."

  Leonie was sobbing audibly in her pocket-handkerchief.

  "My aunt will be very kind to them, so far as she understands. That isthe only consolation," she said, amidst her tears.