CHAPTER X.

Maggie goes to the Doctor's House.

ALTHOUGH when he awoke the next morning he felt very poorly, John Griffin insisted on rising and going about his work as usual. He had not been long in the shop, when little Maggie ran in, duster in hand, ready for her self-appointed duty. But, turning to the spot where the jug had always stood, she was surprised to find its place empty.

"Oh, grandfather," she exclaimed, "what have you done with my jug? I can't see it anywhere."

"Why, I've actually sold it at last, Maggie," he replied; "what do you think of that?" Though Griffin had felt rather doubtful how the child would take this news, he was not prepared to see such dismay as her face now expressed.

"Sold it?" she cried. "Sold mamma's pretty jug! Oh, grandfather, you don't mean that you have done 'that?'"

"But, my dear, you knew the jug was for sale, did you not?" replied the china-dealer. "I put it in the window hoping some one would take a fancy to it and buy it."

"Yes, I knew that; but I did not think you would really sell it," replied the child, inconsistently; "and oh, how could you sell it and send it away without ever telling me? Now I shall never be able to dust it any more." And Maggie burst into tears, and began to sob in the hearty, unrestrained way which gives such relief in childish sorrows.

The sight of her distress made old Griffin miserable. He had never seen Maggie cry thus before, and he felt as if he were a monster of cruelty.

"Come, come, Maggie; don't take on so," he said. "I did not think you would be so silly. Don't you want to know how much money I got for the jug? Look here," he added, opening a drawer as he spoke, "here it is—five bright sovereigns and five bright shillings! And it's all yours, Maggie; I don't mean to touch a penny of it. Isn't that better than keeping the jug?"

"No, I don't care for the old money!" cried Maggie, passionately. "I would much rather have had the jug. I wish the money were all at the bottom of the sea, rather than you should have sold the jug."

"Now, Maggie, you are a naughty girl," said Griffin, losing patience with her as her sobs redoubled in intensity; "you know I did it for your good, and it's very ungrateful of you to make such a fuss. I can't have you here, if you're going to make that noise; you'll frighten all my customers away."

It was the first time John Griffin had spoken to her so sharply; and, startled by the change in his manner, and not without a dim consciousness that she really was a very naughty girl, Maggie went sobbing to tell her grief to Mrs. Griffin.

Left by himself, Griffin felt almost as unhappy as the child. Many things combined to make him feel ill at ease. His bodily discomfort was considerable, and he had the fear of an illness before him; whilst his mind persistently dwelt on the Worcester jug, and the way in which he had deceived Colonel Platten regarding it. Yet he could not immediately resolve to set the wrong right, for the fear of losing his "little maid" caused him to shrink from telling her story to the colonel.

The sound of Maggie's sobs came to Griffin's ears from the inner room, and as he heard them he said to himself: "Poor little maid, I am afraid I was too hard on her. I did not think her heart was so set upon the jug."

At last the sound of sobbing died away, and there was stillness in the house. After a while Griffin heard a light step coming along the passage; then the door of the shop was pushed a little way open, and Maggie timidly looked in.

"Come in, my dear; don't be afraid," said old Griffin, encouragingly.

Maggie crept gently to his side, and said in a voice still suggestive of tears: "Grandfather, I'm sorry I was so naughty to you just now; will you forgive me?"

Old Griffin bent down and kissed her. "Of course, my dear, of course," he said; "don't think any more of what I said. I'm a cross old man, especially when I feel as I do this morning."

As he spoke, John Griffin thought that perhaps he ought to ask Maggie's forgiveness, for he could not feel sure that he had not wronged her a second time with respect to the old Worcester jug.

"Do you feel very bad?" asked the child, gently.

"Bad enough," returned the old man; "I can't breathe without pain. But there, there! It's no use making a fuss."

But, unwilling though he was to make a fuss, ere evening came old Griffin was forced to give in and own that he felt very ill.

Mrs. Griffin was greatly alarmed to find her husband assailed by a similar attack to that from which he had suffered so severely twelve months before.

"I am afraid he is going to be very ill," she said to Maggie, when she came downstairs from her husband's room, having done everything which her wisdom could suggest to check the progress of the mischief; "I wish Dr. Thornton could see him. I wonder who would fetch him for me?"

"I'll go, granny," cried Maggie, eagerly; "I know where Dr. Thornton lives. Grandfather showed me the house one day, when we were coming from the Hoe."

"Wouldn't you be afraid to go?" asked Mrs. Griffin. "It's getting late. I scarcely like to let you."

"Oh, I am not a bit afraid," said Maggie; "I'll run very fast all the way, and I'll ask Dr. Thornton to come as quickly as possible."

"Well, I don't know what to say," replied Mrs. Griffin, divided between anxiety for her husband and fear for the child's safety; "you'll promise me to be very careful in crossing the roads?"

"Yes, yes," said Maggie, accepting this as consent, and hastily putting on her hat.

Mrs. Griffin hesitated no longer, but pinning a warm shawl round the child, despatched her to fetch the doctor.

Maggie ran quickly up the lane, and in a marvellously short time arrived breathless at the doctor's door.

"Is Dr. Thornton at home, please?" she asked of the servant who opened the door.

"No, he is not," she replied; "but we expect him every moment. Won't you come in, and wait till he comes?"

It seemed to Maggie that this was the best thing to do under the circumstances, so she stepped into the hall, and seated herself on the chair to which the servant pointed.

The interior of the doctor's house looked bright and pleasant to the child's eyes. She observed with pleasure the coloured oil-cloth, the pretty stair-carpet, with its glittering rods, and the cunningly devised lamp that hung from the ceiling. But presently a fairer sight than any of these objects gladdened Maggie's eyes. A fairy-like vision appeared on the staircase—a young lady, dressed in dazzling white, with bright ornaments on her neck and wrists, and flowers in her hair. She ran lightly down the steps; then, startled at seeing Maggie, she stood for a moment looking wonderingly at her.

Maggie recognized her as the pretty lady whom Dr. Thornton had brought to see John Griffin's curiosities. She was looking lovelier than ever now, with a bright flush on her cheeks, her dark eyes shining like gems, and her coral lips slightly parted, as she stood by the child's side breathing rapidly.

"Why are you waiting here, little girl?" she asked.

"I am waiting for the doctor," replied Maggie; "I want him to come to grandfather; he is very ill."

"I do not think he will be able to come to-night," said the young lady; "won't to-morrow do as well?"

"Oh no! It would be so much better if the doctor could come to-night," said Maggie; "he is really very ill, he can hardly breathe."

Maud Thornton drew a short, impatient sigh. "What is your name?" she asked. "I fancy I have seen you before. I seem to know your face."

"I am Maggie, Mr. Griffin's little girl,—Mr. Griffin of the old curiosity shop, you know."

"Ah, to be sure, 'that' place. I remember now that I saw you there when we bought our plates. And so Mr. Griffin is ill?"

Maggie was about to reply, when the hall door was suddenly opened by a latch-key, and the doctor came in.

Mrs. Thornton shivered and shrank before the breath of cold air that entered with him.

The doctor's first glance fell on his wife, and he exclaimed in astonishment at her appearance:

"My dear! Dressed like that, you are not going out to-night?"

"But I am, Leslie," she replied, in a tone of determination; "have you forgotten Mrs. Thompson's ball?"

"No, dear, I have not forgotten it," he replied, gently; "but I told you this morning that I thought you ought not to go. After being so ill for the last three days, you are running a very serious risk in venturing out this bitter night in that thin dress, and to a ball of all places. I hoped you had given up the idea of going."

"Then you were very much mistaken," she replied; "do you think I can give up so easily a pleasure I have been counting on for weeks? And as for my having been very ill, you know it was only a cough and a pain at my side. But you doctors like to make a grand fuss over nothing. I would never have married a doctor had I known what fidgety husbands they make."

A look of pain crossed Leslie's face. "Don't say that, love," he said, "I can't bear to hear you say it, even in jest. You must go to-night if your heart is set upon it; but pray put on plenty of wraps, and be very careful. If we doctors are fidgety, it is because we know to what serious consequences a neglected cold may lead."

As he spoke, Dr. Thornton turned to put down his hat, and for the first time became aware of Maggie's presence.

"What little girl is this?" he asked in surprise.

"Oh, she waited to see you," replied his wife; "her grandfather is ill. But don't go there to-night," she added, in a whisper; "I want you to get ready at once to accompany me to Mrs. Thompson's."

"If the man is very ill, I must go to-night," said Leslie. Then turning to Maggie, he asked, "What is your grandfather's name, my child?"

"John Griffin," answered Maggie.

"What, John Griffin of the china shop? Is he ill again? I'm sorry for that. I hope it's nothing serious."

"Yes, please, sir, he's very bad," said Maggie, solemnly; "and Mrs. Griffin told me to say that she would be very much obliged to you if you would come as soon as possible."

"I'll come almost directly," said the doctor; "you run home now, I shall be there nearly as soon as you are."

Mrs. Thornton walked into the dining-room with a frown on her pretty face. "It's always thus," she said to herself, angrily; "he never can go anywhere with me! I wish he were not a doctor. But I will go to-night, if I go by myself."

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