CHAPTER II

ROBIN IN REQUEST

"MOTHER, mother, here's news—such good news!"

Robin's voice was full of joy and excitement as he hurried into the kitchen, where his mother was seated close to the window which looked into the court. It was the afternoon subsequent to the day on which Richard Burt had returned home the worse for drink and had served his wife so brutally.

"Good news?" echoed Mrs. Burt, a faint, incredulous smile flitting across her pale, careworn face. "Good news for 'us,' Robin?"

"Yes, indeed, mother. But you're ill!" he cried, in accents of concern, as he noticed her countenance bore signs of pain.

"I'm not well," she admitted; "you know, dear, I haven't felt very strong of late; I get a pain here." She pressed her hand to her side as she spoke. "No, it's not where he hit me," she continued hastily, as she observed a wrathful gleam in her little son's eyes; "he bruised me a bit, but I don't take much notice of a few bruises nowadays. Tell me your news, my dear."

"Oh, yes! You'll be so pleased, mother. Something wonderful has happened. It was like this. You know Sam Brown, and how he always bullies me just because he's older and stronger than I am? Well, I was coming home from school this afternoon when Sam overtook me and began cheeking me, calling me names, and laughing at my clothes—oh, mother you needn't look so sorry; really I didn't mind—that is, not much. A lady we met heard what Sam was saying, and she stopped and looked at him, and he cleared out as quick as he could. She was such a pretty lady, with beautiful brown eyes, and her voice sounded so kind—"

"Then she spoke to you, Robin?" Mrs. Burt interposed, her interest now thoroughly aroused.

"Yes. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'So they call you Ragged Robin, do they?'

"And I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'

"She looked at me very hard and smiled, and I got very red, because I was wondering what she thought of my shabby clothes.

"'I've a little boy of my own about your age,' she said. 'Where do you live?'

"I told her. She said she didn't know Sun Court, but she expected she would be able to find it, and she asked me my name and if I'd like to earn some money out of school hours. I told her I wanted to get a job, but it was very difficult to find one that I could suit, although I could shine boots and clean knives as well as any boy.

"'Well, I'll engage you for a model, and I'll pay you a shilling an hour,' she said. 'Can you come for a couple of hours twice a week? I want to put you into a picture, and you'll have to keep very still whilst I take your likeness—that's being a model, you know.'

"I was so surprised I didn't know what to say, but I felt I could have jumped for joy, and I think she saw I was very, very glad. She's coming to see you to-morrow; and, oh, mother, don't you call this good news?"

"Yes, dear, indeed it is," Mrs. Burt replied. Her face had brightened considerably whilst her little son had been talking. "Did the lady tell you her name?" she inquired.

"No. But she wrote down your name on a card, and asked me all sorts of questions about you, mother. I told her that you hadn't been well lately, and—and that father treated you badly—"

"Oh, Robin! You should not have mentioned that."

"Why not? It's true." The boy met his mother's reproachful gaze with one of defiance; then his expression softened, and he continued:

"I don't know what made me tell her, I'm sure, but she looked so kind I felt I could tell her anything. I thought if she wanted to put me into a picture she'd like me to wear better clothes, so I told her I was sorry I hadn't another suit; and then she said she meant to take my likeness just as I am. Fancy that! And fancy her offering me a shilling an hour to do nothing—only to keep still!"

"I expect you'll find it rather trying doing that," Mrs. Burt remarked with a smile; "you're usually such a restless boy."

"Anyway, I do hope I shall get the job, mother."

"I'm sure I hope so too, dear. Are you ready for tea? The kettle's on the oil-stove; it will boil directly."

"Where's father?" Robin inquired.

"Gone to Devonport to see if he can get work at the dockyard. He's ashamed of himself to-day. I haven't done much myself this afternoon; I've felt too weak and dispirited to stir about, and I haven't seen a creature to speak to but old Mr. Blamey, who came to the door to know how I was; he's always very attentive and kind."

"Yes," assented Robin; "folks say he's mazed, but I don't think he is."

"Mazed?" exclaimed Mrs. Burt. "To my mind he's a deal more sane than most people," she declared emphatically.

"They say so because he's so very religious," Robin explained.

"He's a good man, Robin, and I'm certain the love of God is in his heart, for he's always ready to put himself out of the way to do anyone a kind turn; and he's happy—so few people are that in this world!"

"He says one can't be happy without Jesus," remarked Robin, thoughtfully.

"He's right, my dear. I think there's no doubt that our old neighbour has found Jesus, and you know the Bible tells us that 'they that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing.' Mr. Blamey reminded me of that this afternoon; his words came in season, for I've been very troubled and unhappy of late, and I've kept my sorrows to myself instead of laying them before the Lord. I fear I've been a faithless woman. Ah, Robin, Sam Brown little guessed that he was doing you a good turn by jeering at you this afternoon. I expect it was really the unkind remarks he was making which drew the lady's attention to you."

"I hope she won't change her mind about me," said Robin uneasily; "perhaps she will find out that Sun Court isn't a nice place," he added, with a sigh.

"Don't meet trouble half way," advised his mother; "I've an idea that the lady will prove as good as her word."

Mrs. Burt was right in her surmise, for the following afternoon the expected visitor arrived. The old cobbler looked after her with approving eyes as she passed his window, for seldom was such a sweet face seen in Sun Court. She introduced herself to Robin's mother as Mrs. Groves, and explained that her home was at Newlyn, in Cornwall, and that she and her little son had been lodging in Plymouth for the past month, and would in all probability remain several weeks longer.

"My boy is an only child, like yours," she said, "and I think the two must be about the same age. How old is Robin?"

"Ten years and a few months, ma'am," Mrs. Burt replied.

"Gilbert—that is my little boy's name—is not quite ten. Unfortunately, he is far from being a strong child; his health has always been a cause of anxiety to me. He was very ill a short while since, and my reason for coming to Plymouth was that he might be treated by a celebrated doctor. My husband is an artist, and he has several pupils at Newlyn, so he could not possibly leave to be with us here. I am an artist, too, and the instant I saw your little son I longed to paint him. He is just the model I want. You will let him come to me, will you not?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, thank you," Mrs. Burt hastened to respond, with mingled thankfulness and gratitude in her voice, "and I do hope he'll keep still and give you every satisfaction. I'm sure he'll try to do so. He's really a very good, obedient boy, ma'am, and—and the greatest comfort I have," she concluded with a break in her voice.

"I can well understand that. He looks a dear little fellow, and he has a frank way of speaking, which I noticed at once."

Mrs. Groves did not mention Robin's stepfather, and he was not at home during her call, having been successful in obtaining work as a labourer at Devonport dockyard.

By the time Robin returned from school it had been settled that he was to present himself on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, after four o'clock, at the house on the Hoe where Mrs. Groves was lodging, and that he was to have his tea there and serve as a model for a couple of hours afterwards.

How gratified Robin felt as he accompanied Mrs. Groves to the entrance of the court, where a cab was waiting for her. A group of boys who had stood by, staring in amazement at him and his companion, accosted him as the cab drove off.

"I say, you're looking up in the world, young 'un," remarked a big lad called Dick Farrant, with a knowing wink.

"Who's the swell, Robin?" asked another.

"A lady who's going to put me into a picture," Robin replied, in a dignified manner; "I'm to be her model. She's been to see my mother," he added, with a touch of pardonable pride in his tone.

"Going to put you into a picture!" cried Dick Farrant, sceptically. "Get on! You don't expect us to believe such an unlikely wheeze as that, do you?"

"It's quite true," declared Robin, his earnest voice carrying conviction with it; "but you can believe it or not as you like. She's an artist, and her name is Mrs. Groves, and she's the prettiest and nicest lady I ever spoke to in my life."

The boys looked at Robin in amusement and laughed derisively. Some ladies had queer fancies, they no doubt thought. The idea of anyone wanting to paint a likeness of Robin, with his pale, thin face and solemn grey eyes!

"And she's so kind and generous," proceeded Robin; "she's going to pay me a shilling an hour just to stand still and do nothing. I shall earn four shillings a week."

"Humph!" ejaculated Dick Farrant, in evident surprise. "I suppose she'll dress you up?" he suggested curiously, his eyes travelling meaningly over the little boy's shabby clothes.

Robin shook his head; whereupon the others exchanged amazed glances, then burst into roars of laughter again. It struck them all as exceedingly funny that the lady, so handsome and well-dressed herself, should be desirous of painting their insignificant neighbour in his rags.

Robin flushed angrily, but he was in too good spirits to feel annoyance long, and there was no cloud on his face when, a few minutes later, he rejoined his mother. To his delight he found her waiting for him with a smiling face.

"What do you think of her, mother?" he inquired, of course referring to their late visitor.

"I think she's a kind, good lady, my dear," Mrs. Burt replied; "she talked to me so pleasantly, and spoke so nicely of you. Who is that?" she asked, as a knock was heard at the door.

"It's Mr. Blamey," said Robin, going to look. "Oh, Mr. Blamey, do come in and let mother tell you all about the lady!" he cried excitedly, drawing the old cobbler into the kitchen and giving him a chair. "It's all been arranged," he continued; "I'm to be her model and earn a shilling an hour. Isn't it splendid?"

"Yes, indeed," Jasper responded, "and I'm very, very glad to hear it."

He sat down and listened whilst Mrs. Burt gave him an account of Mrs. Groves's visit. When she had finished, he nodded his head and said:

"I congratulate you, Robin. It won't be so easy being a model as you think, but it will teach you patience, and that's a lesson good for everyone to learn. I saw the lady, and I liked her face—it was very pleasant and kind."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Burt, "I noticed that, too. She said that she thought her little boy was a bit taller than mine, and if so some of his cast-off clothes might fit Robin, and she promised he should have them; but she's going to paint him in the suit he has on; she says she does not want him to look spick and span in the picture. I do wonder what the picture is to be!"

"I expect I shall soon find that out, mother," said Robin; "I feel curious about it, like you."

The old cobbler now rose to go. "I think, from what I have heard, that God has raised up a friend for you," he observed, addressing Mrs. Burt.

"I am very grateful to Him for having done so," she answered earnestly.

And Robin from the depths of his heart was grateful, too.