whotook the child's trembling hand in hers. A few moments of patientsumming up of evidence, and then the magistrate asked the prisoners ifthey had anything to say for themselves.
"Please, I'll never do it no more," said poor little Dick, in a tonewhich nearly broke his sister's heart; but Jenks, the older and morehardened offender, was silent.
Then the sentence was made known. Dick, in consideration of his youth,and its being a first offence, was only to go to a reformatory school,but Jenks was doomed to Wandsworth House of Correction for nine longmonths.
CHAPTER TEN.
THE LITTLE WOMAN IN BLACK.
"Come home with me," said the little woman by Flo's side.
She had thrown up her veil now, and the face the child saw was nearly aspale and sad as her own. She hardly noticed it, however, she wasabsorbed in a recognition. The little woman in black had the gentlevoice and kind eyes, the little woman in black _was_ her friend of theDerby Day.
"My dear, I am real glad to find you again. You shall come to my houseand have a bit of dinner."
"No, ma'am," said Flo, shaking away her hand, "I knows yer, ma'am, andyou is werry kind. But I'm not a goin' 'ome wid yer, missis; I'm not'spectable to be in yer 'ouse. Dick, 'ee be a thief and in prison, I'mnot 'spectable no more."
Flo said this without tears, and defiantly.
"Oh, my dear, you are quite respectable enough for me. You are poor andin trouble, child--just the one that Jesus Christ wants; and surely ifthe King of Glory wants you, I may want you too."
"Wot's glory?" asked Flo.
"Glory, child; that's where the King lives."
"Ain't kings and queens the same?"
"Oh! now, my dear, I see you don't know nothing about the matter, or youwouldn't speak of any king or queen in the breath with my King. Comeand have a bit of dinner with me, and then I'll tell you about my King."
"I ain't 'ungry," said Flo; "but I'd real like to 'ear o' that King aswants me. Would 'ee make a swell o' me, missis?"
"He can raise you very high, little girl," said the woman; and takingFlo's hand, they walked together in silence.
"You was fond of poor Jenks?" said the little woman at last.
"Yes, ma'am; 'ee wasn't a bad sort o' a feller. But 'ee shouldn't 'avetempted the little chap. I don't go fur to blame Jenks, ma'am, fur 'ee'adn't no mother--but 'ee shouldn't 'ave tempted Dick."
At these words the little woman withdrew her hand from Flo's, andpulling out her handkerchief, applied it to her eyes; and Flo, wonderingwhat made her cry, and what made her appear so sad altogether, walkedagain by her side in silence.
They passed down several streets until at last they came to one of thosecourts hidden away from the general thoroughfares, so well-known toLondon district visitors. There are Sun streets in London, where thesun never shines--there are Jubilee courts, where feasts are never held,where Satan and his evil spirits are the only beings that can rejoice.
This place was called Pine Apple Court, and doubtless a few years ago itas nearly resembled Cherry Court and May-Blossom Court as three peasresemble each other; but now, as Flo and the little woman walked intoit, it really and truly, as far as sweetness and purity went, was worthyof its name. Here, in the midst of London, was actually a place wherethe decent poor might live in comfort and respectability. [One of MissOctavia Hill's courts.] The freshly-painted, white-washed houses hadcreepers twining against them; and before the doors was anicely-cared-for piece of ground, where trees were planted, where thewomen could dry their clothes, and where, out of school-hours, thechildren could play.
The little woman conducted Flo across this pleasant court into one ofthe freshest and cleanest of the white-washed houses, where she broughther into a room on the ground floor, as bright as gay chintz curtains tothe windows, neat paper on the walls, and the perfect purity which theconstant use of soap and water produces, could make it. The polishedsteels in the grate shone again, a little clock ticked on themantel-piece, and a square of crimson drugget stood before thefire-place. The window-sash was wide open, and on the ledge stood twoflower-pots, one containing a tea-rose, the other a geranium in fullblossom.
The rose was ticketed, prize 1st, and stood in a gaily ornamented pot,doubtless its prize at the last poor people's flower show. Had Flo everheard of Paradise she would have supposed that she had reached it; as itwas she believed that she had come to some place of rest, some sweetspot where weary limbs, and weary hearts too, might get some repose.She sat down thankfully on a small stool pointed out to her by herhostess and gazed around.
"Please, ma'am," she said presently, "wot am I to call yer?"
At this question the little woman paused, and a faint colour came intoher pale cheeks.
"Why, now," she said, "that's a curious thing, but my name's Jenks, sameas that poor fellow they put in prison this morning--Mrs Jenks is myname, little Darrell."
"Yes, missis," replied Flo respectfully.
She had admired Mrs Jenks very much on the Derby Day, but now herfeelings of wonder and admiration amounted almost to fear. For aughtshe could tell the owner of such a room might be a "Dook's" wife indisguise.
"You sit in this chair and rest," said Mrs Jenks, "and I'll see aboutdinner."
And Flo did rest, partly stunned by what she had witnessed andundergone, partly soothed by the novel scene now before her.
Mrs Jenks had made her take off mother's old bonnet, and had placed herin the very softest of easy-chairs, where she could lie back and gaze atthe little woman, with a wonder, a hunger of spiritual want, a sadnessof some unexplained desire, all shining out of her eyes.
There were baked potatoes in a small oven at the side of the fire-place,and over the potatoes some nice pieces of hot bacon, and Mrs Jenks madecoffee, fragrant coffee, such as Flo had never tasted, and toastedbread, and buttered it. Then she drew a little table up close to theopen window, and placed a snowy cloth on it, then plates, and knives andforks, and then the potatoes and bacon, the coffee and toast; and whenall was ready she put a chair for Flo, and another for herself.
But before they began to eat a more astonishing thing still happened.The little woman stood up, and folded her hands, and closed her eyes,and said these words:--
"I thank Thee, my God, for the dinner Thou hast given me; but more thanall I thank Thee that Thou hast let me have one of thy outcast littleones to share it with."
Then she opened her eyes, and bustled about, and helped Flo. And Flo,who had found her appetite come back in full vigour at the first smellof the coffee and bacon, ate very heartily of Mrs Jenks' liberalhelpings, leaning back in her chair when she had finished, with quite apink flush on her thin cheeks, and the hunger of bodily want gone out ofher eyes.
"Now," said the little woman, after all the plates and dishes werewashed up and put away, "Now," she said, "I will get to my work, and youshall tell me all that story over again. All about your poor dearmother and the boys, and when that poor fellow with the same name asmine came to live with you."
"Yes," answered Flo, whose little heart was so drawn to Mrs Jenks, andso comforted by her, that any words she asked her to say came easily toher lips; and the story of the Derby Day was repeated with fullerconfidence by the child, and listened to with fuller understanding onthe part of her kind listener. Flo told over again all about hermother, and mother's death, and the promise they had given mother--thenof their own lives, and what hard work translating was, and how littleDick earned by his broom and crossing--finally how Jenks came, and howgood-natured he was at first, and how glad they were to have him, andhow they wondered what his trade was, and how he had promised to teachthem both his trade.
Then at last, on the day she saw Regent Street and the Queen, and tasted'ot roast goose for the first time, then too she discovered that Jenkswas a thief. Then she related her interview with Jenks, and how he hadpromised to leave Dick alone, and _not_ to teach him his wicked trade,and how on those terms she had allowed him to remain in the cellar; andthen at last, when she was
feeling so sure and so happy, he had deceivedher, and now she was in great trouble, in great and bitter trouble, boththe boys in prison, both thieves, and now mother could never rest anymore.
Here Flo broke down and sobbed bitterly.
"I think if I were you, I would leave all that about your dear mother toGod, my child," said little Mrs Jenks. "His ways are not as our ways.If I were you, I would not fret about your mother--I would just leaveher to God."
"Who is God?" asked Flo, stopping her tears and looking up.
"Who is God?" repeated Mrs Jenks. "Why, He's the