Scamp and I: A Story of City By-Ways

tell it all to, what awonderful thing that He could hear her, without her having to get up togo to Him.

  Her ideas of God were misty, very misty, she had not the leastconception where Heaven was, or what it was, she only knew there _was_ aGod, there _was_ a Heaven--a God for her, a Heaven for her; and with allher ignorance, many of the gifted, and mighty, and learned of the earthdo not know as much. Now for the first time she would pray. Shethought of no difficulty in making her petition known to God.

  No more hard to tell Him of a want than it was, when her mother lived,to tell her of a desire or longing that possessed her.

  "Please, I wants fur Janey or somebody to come to the cellar aforelong," she said; "I wants a sup of water werry bad, and somethink toeat. And there is two shillings stored away in mother's old bonnet-box.Janey'd buy lots of wittles wid it. She'd be glad to come, 'cause I'dpay 'er, and I'm werry faint like. You'd 'ave to fetch 'er, please,God, 'cause she's not at 'ome, but away to the paper factory--but youthat is real kind won't mind that."

  Then Flo lay still and listened, and waited.

  She had made her request, and now the answer would come any moment.

  Any instant Janey's quick step and the sound of her crutch might beheard outside, and she would look in with her surprised face, to saythat notwithstanding her employer's anger she had been fetched away byGod Himself, and meant to wait on Flo all day.

  And then Flo pictured how quickly she would send Janey out, and howeagerly and willingly, with a whole bright shilling in her greedy littlehand, Janey would go; and how she would commission her to buy two largemutton bones for Scamp, and a jug of cold, cold water, and a hice--forFlo felt more thirsty than hungry now--for herself.

  For half-an-hour she lay very patient, straining her ears to catchJaney's expected footstep; but when that time, and more than that timepassed, and every footfall still went by on the other side, she grewfirst fretful, then anxious, then doubtful. She had never prayedbefore, but Mrs Jenks had told her that assuredly when she did pray ananswer would come.

  Well, she had prayed, she had spoken to God very distinctly, and toldHim exactly what she wanted, but no answer came. He was to fetch Janeyto her, and no Janey arrived. She had not made a hard request of Him,--she had only begged that a little child, as poor as herself, should comeand give her a cup of cold water,--but the child never appeared, andFlo's parched lips were still unmoistened. How strange of Mrs Jenks totell her God would hear and answer prayer--not a bit of it. At least Hewould not hear little prayers like hers. Very likely He was too busylistening to the Queen's prayers, and to the great people's prayers.The great, rich people always had the best of everything, why shouldthey not have the best of God's time too?

  Or, perhaps--and this was a worse and darker thought--perhaps there wasno God; perhaps all Mrs Jenks' talk of yesterday had been just a prettyfable--perhaps wicked Mrs Jenks had been deceiving her all the time!The more Flo considered, the more did she believe this probable.

  After all, it was very unlikely that she should have lived so long andnever, until yesterday, have heard anything of God and heaven, veryunlikely that her mother should have lived her much longer life withoutknowing of these things! If there was a good time coming, was it likelythat her mother should have lived and died without ever hearing of it?Slowly and reluctantly Flo gave up the hope that had brightened andrendered endurable the last four-and-twenty hours. She had no Father inheaven, there was no God! Great sobs broke from the poor little thing,a great agony of grief seemed to rend her very life in two.

  She cried her heart out, then again sank into uneasy slumber. Allthrough the long hours of that burning summer day the child lay, nowsleeping fitfully, now starting in feverish fright and expectancy. Atlast, as evening came on, and the air, cooler elsewhere, seemed to growhotter and hotter in this wretched spot, she started upright, sufferingmore intense pangs of hunger than she had hitherto known. Be her agonywhat it might, she must crawl, though on her knees, to the cupboard,where she knew a very old and mouldy crust still was. She rolledherself round off the straw, and then managed to move about two or threefeet on the damp floor. But further movement of any description wasimpossible; the agony of her injured foot was greater than the agony ofher hunger; she must stay still--by no possible means could she even getback to her wretched bed. She was past all reasoning or any power ofconsecutive thought now; she was alive to nothing but her intense bodilysuffering. Every nerve ached, every limb burned; her lips were blackand parched, her tongue withered in her mouth; what words she uttered inher half-unconsciousness, could hardly be distinguished.

  In a much milder degree, it is true, Scamp had also spent an uneasyday--Scamp too had tried to sleep off his great hunger. It was at itsheight now, as he crouched by Flo's side on the floor. During the timeof his captivity he had been well fed, he had left behind him a largeplatter of broken meat; since Flo had set him free neither bite nor suphad passed his lips. Hungry in the morning, without doubt he wasravenously hungry now, and being of the genus designated "knowing," sawclearly that the time had come for him to set his wits to work. As arule he partook of Flo's spirit, and was, in truth, an honest dog; buthe had a clause in his code of morals which taught him that when no mangave to him, then it would be right for him to help himself.

  He had proved the necessity of this rule once or twice in hisadventurous life, and had further proved himself a clever andaccomplished thief.

  He had some butchers' shops in his mind's eye now, some temptingbutchers' shops, that he had cunningly noticed when returning home withFlo yesterday.

  From those butchers' stalls hung pork chops, and mutton chops, readycut, all prepared to be received into his capacious jaws. A leisurelywalk down the street, a little daring, a sudden spring, and the prizewould be his.

  Should he go and satisfy this terrible hunger, and feel comfortable oncemore? Why did he not go? why did he not at once go?

  Why? because he had a heart,--not a human heart, which often,notwithstanding all that is said about it, is cold, and callous, andindifferent enough, but a great faithful dog's heart. With considerabledisquietude he had watched Flo all day. Not for nothing had she lain sostill, not for nothing had such piercing moans come from her lips, notfor nothing did she look so pale, and drawn, and suffering now.Drooping his ears, bending his head, and frowning deeply, he reflected,in dog-fashion, how Flo too had tasted no meat and drank no water thatday.

  She too was hungry and in a worse plight than him--it was his boundenduty to provide her with food. What should he bring her? A bone?

  Bones were delicious, but strange to say neither Flo, nor Dick, norJenks ever ate them!

  A nice pork or mutton chop: how good they were--too good for a hungrydog to think about patiently, as he reflected that a chop, if he couldget it, would be only supper, and not too large a supper, for one.

  No, he must give up that butcher's meat in which his spirit delightedand attack the bread shops.

  A loaf of bread would satisfy them both!

  Rising to his feet, and bestowing on Flo one or two looks of intenseintelligence, looks which said as plainly as possible, "I have not anidea of deserting you, I am going for our supper," he started off.

  Up the ladder with nimble steps he went, and then, by a succession ofcunning dives, along the street, until he came to the butchers' stalls.

  Here his demeanour totally changed, he no longer looked timid and cowed:the currish element very prominent when, with his tail between his legs,he had scuttled up Duncan Street, now had vanished; he walked along thecentre of the road soberly and calmly, a meditative look in his eyes,like a dog that has just partaken of a good dinner, and is out for aconstitutional: not one glance did he cast at the tempting morsels, sonear and yet so far.

  A baker's cart turned the corner--this was what Scamp wanted, andexpected. He joined the cart unknown to the baker's boy, he walkeddemurely behind, to all appearance guarding the tempting, freshly-bakedloaves. His eye was on them and yet
not on them.

  To the passers-by he looked like a very faithful, good kind of dog, whowould fasten his teeth into the leg of any one who attempted toappropriate his master's property.

  More than one little hungry street _gamin_, on thieving intent, wishedhim anything but well as he passed.

  The cart stopped at several doors, the bread was delivered, but still noopportunity of securing a supper for himself and Flo arose.

  Scamp's lucky star was, however, in the ascendant.

  At number 14, Q--Street, Jerry, the baker's boy, had brought MrsSimpson's little bill, and evinced to that worthy woman a very righteousdesire to have it settled.

  Mrs Simpson, whose wishes differed from Jerry's, thought mercy, notjustice, should be exercised in the matter of bills owing _from_herself, when owing _to_ herself the case was different. In the disputethat ensued,