CHAPTER IV.

PEARL.

THE last shilling changed, and yet no work to be had! That was, indeed, a very serious matter, which made even Fan look grave. And the nights were very chill now; it rained often and the wind howled. A shilling does not last long when two hungry young things are eating it up; and all too soon this shilling was gone, and nothing left but a crust of bread. They shared the crust next morning and wandered on.

After some time they came to a place where some men were repairing the road. A cart, with the horse standing by it munching some hay, was tilted up under the hedge. The men were at a little distance and a turn in the road concealed them, although their voices sounded quite near. In the cart was a half-open basket, containing a great piece of home-made bread and some cheese. Ben saw it; he looked quickly round—there was no one to see. Quick as lightning the food was in his hand, and hidden in his bundle.

"Come along, child," he said, roughly, to Fan, who had stopped short in horror; "do you want me to be caught? Come away quickly; here's enough to keep us from starving to-day, anyhow."

Fan ran up to him, threw her arms round him, and with agony in the eyes she raised to the blue sky over her head, she whispered—

"Oh, do forgive! Do forgive him!" Then catching Ben's hand, she hurried on. "Put it back. No one sees us, except God—and He saw you take it. Put it back—quick, quick."

"You don't mind starving, then?"

"Put it back," she repeated. "God will take care of us—only don't do this."

Ben pitched the bread and cheese back into the basket, and let the child pull him on. They passed the men safely; no one had observed them.

In dead silence they went on for some time. Then Ben, who had been stalking on in front, looked back over his shoulder and said gruffly—"I've done the like of that often before now, Fan."

Poor Fan, who was trotting rather than walking to keep pace with his long strides, looked up at him with such love in her eyes that it was all he could do not to burst into tears.

"You didn't know then that it was a sin," she said. "You'll never do the like again; I know that."

"I did know," Ben replied.

"But you didn't think of it," she persisted. "I know you won't do it any more."

"Then we may as well lay down and die; that's about it," he said.

"'Indeed,' no, Bennie darling; we'll beg. There's no sin in begging, you know. Look, there's such a pretty cottage, with nice flowers all up the walk. You rest a bit, Ben, while I run up to that house and beg."

"A big strong chap like me to be driven to begging," cried Ben, desperately. He would not have felt half so disgraced by taking the bread and cheese. "No, no, Fan; you rest, and I'll go. There might be a wicked dog about, and I'd rather go myself."

"But, Ben, you 'won't' do that, will you?"

"I won't, there, I promise you."

Glad to rest her weary limbs, the child sank down on a stone by the wayside. Ben went up to the cottage, and, after some hesitation, knocked at the door. It was promptly opened by a tall old woman of a very severe and wrathful expression of countenance, who said crossly—

"And, pray, what do you want?"

"I thought, perhaps, ma'am, you could give me work," Ben answered, meekly.

"Well, I can't, then. I can do all my own work yet, thank Heaven. Is it only to ask idle questions that you called me away from my dinner?"

Ben did not stop to point out that to ask for work could hardly with justice be termed an idle question; there was such a good smell issuing from the door, as if the dinner he had interrupted were very appetising, that it made the poor fellow hungrier than ever, and he said hurriedly—

"Then maybe, ma'am, you'd give me something—a little food? I've a sister—"

"Ill in bed, and no food to give her!" interrupted the old woman. "Are you sure you haven't a mother dead, and no money to bury her, and a father with a broken leg? Get you gone, you great idle vagabone. Break stones on the road, and earn your bread! A big lad like you to beg! Be off now, or I'll set the dogs at you. Here, Fury! Here, Snap!"

But poor Ben was gone. In all his wanderings he had never been so rudely treated, and he flew down the narrow flower-bordered path almost as if the dogs in question were at his heels.

"Come away, Fan, dear. She's got dogs, and she says she'll set them on us; and I haven't so much as a stick to keep them off."

So they wandered on again, and the old woman went back again to her plentiful dinner. I trust it is not wrong to hope that it disagreed with her!

Park palings bordered one side of the road now, and fine trees shaded the two forlorn creatures. Fan was faint and sleepy from hunger; her feet dragged along in the white dust, and her eyes were closing, but she tried to smile whenever Ben looked at her.

"Fan," he said, at last, "is this the way God takes care of you?"

"I don't understand it at all," the child answered, with a little sob. "But He was very tired once, and sat down beside a well; and asked a woman who came there with a pitcher to give Him a drink of water."

"Why didn't He take the water when the well was so handy? I'd have stooped down and had some without the woman's help."

"I don't know why He didn't. Oh, Ben, I am 'so' sleepy; let us get into the wood here and rest."

"Yes, you shall rest, and I will go on a bit, and see if I can find some one that will listen to me, at least. Here's a gate; I'll lift you over—there. Come along a bit of this path that you may not be seen from the road."

A nice smooth path through the wood (they had left the park palings behind them) presently brought them to what looked like a toy cottage, of which the door stood open. It was roughly built, but neatly finished inside, and fitted up with a tiny fireplace, a table, and some chairs, a cupboard in one corner with glass doors, showing plates and cups ranged in rows; and in the other corner a tall press. Both cupboard and press were locked. They had ventured in, seeing no one about, but Ben thought it would not do to remain there.

"Come, Fan, and I'll make you a snug hiding-place behind this house; that will be a good shelter for you, and—Why, bless the child! She's fast asleep already."

The poor little weary thing! She had slipped down all in a heap on the rough floor, and was, indeed, fast asleep. Ben had not the heart to disturb her.

"Even if they come in, they can't harm the child," he muttered. "I'll just let her be."

He wrapped her up in the brown shawl, and taking off his jacket, rolled it up to make a pillow for the little weary head. Then he went away, leaving the door open, as Fan might awake, and not be able to open it. He ran back to the high road, and hastened on, to try once more to find work, or help of some kind.

Now this place—wood, park, cottage, and all—belonged to Mr. Harewood, a very rich man, and a great man in those parts. A little further on, Ben would come to a grand gate, with a lodge and a lodge-keeper. And if he could coax said lodge-keeper to let him in, he would presently reach a venerable, many gabled house with numerous windows shining in the sun, bright flowers all about, sweet scents filling the air, peacocks strutting to and fro, dogs lying before the door, in fact, every token of wealth and comfort; more than comfort, for there was an air of happiness about the whole place.

Mr. Harewood was a kind master, and a most affectionate husband and father. He was very fond of his five fine boys, but he was more than fond of his gentle, loving daughter, Pearl. A name which exactly suited her, for she was white and pure, and fair to look upon, and very precious to those who had the good fortune to know her. She was her father's chief treasure, the joy of his life; and there was nothing that jolly, loud-voiced, hard-riding, hospitable Squire Harewood would not have done to please his daughter.

Fortunately for Pearl, her mother was a wise woman, and so she was not spoiled. It certainly did seem as if so sweet a child could hardly be spoiled by any amount of indulgence, but still, as no one is perfect, it was well for Pearl that she had a mother as well as a father.

Pearl was now the only child at home. The youngest of her five brothers, hitherto her companion and playfellow, had gone to school at last, and Pearl had felt the loss very much. Many were the plans devised by her father for her amusement, lest his darling should fret, which, to do her justice, Pearl tried hard not to do.

Nevertheless, as summer drew on, the child missed her brother very much. And Mr. Harewood looked about anxiously for some new interest, something in which Frank had never borne part, to occupy her mind. So it happened one day, when they were riding home together from a visit to a great farm some way off, Pearl said to her father—

"Did you see Nelly Patterson making the bread, papa? It looked such delightful work; and Nelly is not much older than I am. Oh, papa, it would be so nice to make bread, and pies, and things, and have a little oven, all my own. Turner—" (the housekeeper) "only thinks me in her way if I go to her to learn, but I'm sure I could cook and bake, and it would be such fun."

"Funny stuff your bread would be," remarked Mr. Harewood, and said no more. But he had got the idea he wanted, and was privately rejoicing over it.

Next day he told Pearl not to go into the beech drive until he gave her leave. And when she looked surprised, he told her that he thought the fairies were at work there, and it was better not to disturb them. And not another word would he say, though Pearl coaxed him all the evening.

Then Mrs. Harewood went to the nearest town on a shopping expedition. And a cart went next day to bring home her purchases; and she would neither take Pearl with her, nor tell her what she went to buy. So Pearl was on tip-toe with curiosity, for she much suspected that some delightful surprise was preparing for her. She and her pleasant young governess, Miss Ayrton, had many talks about it, but Miss Ayrton was not in the secret, whatever it was.

However, one bright day (it was the very day on which I first introduced you to Ben, in the lane leading to the Lee farm), Mr. Harewood walked into the school-room just at the hour when lesson books were being put away. With him came Mrs. Harewood, ready dressed for walking.

"Pearl," said Mr. Harewood, "can you spare time to come and see what the fairies have been about in the beech drive?"

"Oh, you darling papa! You are the nicest fairy I ever heard of. What is it, papa? Do tell me. I cannot wait until I get there."

"I'm sorry for that, my dear. For the queen fairy, when I saw her just now, standing in the door of—"

"Tom!" cried Mrs. Harewood, warningly.

"Well, never mind where she stood,—she told me the whole affair, every stick and—"

"Tom, dear!" cried his wife again. "You know you wanted to keep it secret."

"I shan't say another word except just this, everything would vanish away in half a second, if I told you what it is before you get there. So come along, Pearlie! Miss Ayrton, you come too."

Pearl seized her hat, and set off at a pace which soon obliged her mother to cry for mercy. The day was hot, and no one over twelve years old would have thought of running. So they walked—only Pearl had to dance along, just to ease her impatience. Behold, when they had paced along two-thirds of the drive, they came upon a little cottage, quite new to Pearl. It was very small, but it contained two tiny rooms; the larger fitted up with a kitchen range of minute proportions, tables, chairs, a cupboard stored with household utensils, and a press to hold stores—and very well stored was this press, too, by Mrs. Harewood's care.

Pearl's delight in her new possession was very great, and all through that summer she had taken the greatest pleasure in it. Gathering dry sticks to kindle her fire, compounding wonderful cakes and pies and baking them in the little oven, boiling potatoes, giving a tea-party to a few select friends, entertaining Frank at a dinner-party during the holidays; all these were entrancing amusements, and Miss Ayrton was by no means too old or too wise to enjoy them too.

Need I tell you that it was into this little toy house that poor weary Fan had found her way? Pearl generally locked the door, but having been in a hurry the evening before, she had forgotten even to shut it.

Lessons were over for the day, and Pearl was on the way to her cottage, carrying a basket of supplies. Miss Ayrton had a letter to write, but was to follow soon; and Pearl meant to have the fire lighted, the kettle boiling, and a cake in the oven before she came.

"Now, how careless of me to leave the door open! Papa desired me always to lock it, for fear any one might get in. And I declare, here is a little girl asleep on the floor. How very wrong of her, but she looks so tired. Still I shall just wake her up and tell her to go away, for I know papa would be vexed if I let her stay."

It was not easy to rouse poor Fan. And when she was awake, she looked so feeble and frightened, and stared with such wondering blue eyes at the dainty little lady before her, that Pearl quite forgot to bid her go away.

"Little girl," she said, "you look dreadful! So white and thin. What is the matter with you?"

"I—I'm hungry. And tired, and—frightened, miss," faltered Fan.

"Don't be frightened, though. You are quite safe here, indeed. And if you are hungry you shall have some bread. Is it not well that I brought some, for fear the cake would go wrong? And some milk. I can run home for some more for ourselves. Eat this, you poor little dear—wait, though, until I give you a cup and plate."

Fan's look when she took the bread, Pearl Harewood never forgot. It made the tenderly nurtured child feel perfectly faint and sick for a moment. To her astonishment, however, the child did not eat quite half the bread, and only drank a very little milk.

"I wish you would eat more, little girl," said Pearl. "You don't feel ill, do you?"

"No, miss; I feel quite well now. But may I keep this for Ben? He's worse than me, because he is big and strong, and wants more food than I do."

"Who is Ben?"

"My brother, miss. He is gone on to see if anybody will help us, or give him work. He will come back for me very soon; he only left me because I could not keep awake any longer. I thought I was going to die."

"You poor little thing! Where do you live?"

"We've been going about, miss, Ben trying to get work. He is very strong, and willing, and clever, and so good to me, miss. But no one seems to want work done for them; an old woman in a pretty cottage out that way," pointing in the direction she fancied she had come from, "was even angry, and said she 'd set dogs upon us."

"Granny Thirlston, I am sure. I wish she would not be so cross," said Pearl. "Eat all that bread, little girl, and I will get some more for your brother. Now I must make my cake and light my fire, or Miss Ayrton will be here before I have anything ready for her. Sit on that chair by the window, and eat every bit of the bread."

A command most easy and pleasant to obey! Fan did not leave a crumb, and was in the very act of swallowing the last drop of the delicious milk, when Miss Ayrton made her appearance.

"Why, Pearl!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Whom have you here?"

Pearl laughed; such a pleasant, merry laugh, that poor frightened Fan, who had risen, and was performing a series of nervous curtseys with her cup in one hand and her hat in the other, smiled too, and looked less alarmed.

"It is a little girl whom I found here asleep. She wandered in, poor little thing! And fell asleep, she was so tired and hungry. If you had only seen her! She looks quite different now. Her brother will come for her in a short time; he went to try and get work."

Fan, though still very thin, had quite lost the look of recent severe illness, having got sunburned during her wanderings; and her hair had grown long enough to present a respectable appearance again. She was not a pretty child, but she was a very gentle, pleasant-looking little creature, with very frank, honest blue eyes. Moreover, thanks to poor despoiled Etty Spence's blue frock, she was tolerably clean and tidy, save for her very battered hat and shoes. Miss Ayrton, therefore, was not alarmed to see her so near her precious charge, though she said—

"I almost think your papa would not like your having her here, Pearl, but yet you could not turn her out until her brother comes. You must have left the door open. That was careless, dear. Is your brother quite a big boy, little one? For there was a lad at the hall door when I came out, and I think he was asking for work."

"Yes, ma'am; Ben's fourteen, and very strong and big."

"Mrs. Harewood was speaking to him. He said he had left his sister at a cottage not far off, but I never thought of this cottage."

"We thought some one lived here, ma'am, and was out at work; and then I was so very tired that I think I fell asleep before Ben could tell what to do."

A few questions drew from Fan an account of their adventures. She told how her mother and baby brother had died. "But it was a long time ago," she said, and honestly thought so, too; for the time since that had happened seemed longer than all the rest of her ten years. Her father, she said, was "in trouble." And Ben took her away because, if not she must have gone to the workhouse. Fan had no intention to deceive her hearers, or to conceal anything, but neither did she wish to say a word that could give them a bad idea of Ben. And so she merely answered Miss Ayrton's questions; and had she been an accomplished deceiver, instead of a very innocent child, she could not have managed matters better!

"Father was in trouble" meant a great deal in Fan's diction, but conveyed very little to Miss Ayrton and Pearl, who were so interested that they let the fire go out, and forgot the half-made cake.

"Think of the poor things wandering here and there, and not able to get work!" said Pearl. "Were you not very frightened, little girl?"

"No, ma'am," Fan answered very quietly. "Why should I? 'He' is as near us in the country as in the street; indeed, I think it feels as if He was nearer. And He takes care of us. Only this morning I thought perhaps He had forgotten; and now you see He sent us help. He brought us here."

"Who did, child?" said Miss Ayrton.

"The Lord Jesus, ma'am. He promised, you know. It's in the Bible, 'Ask, and ye shall receive;' and about the fowls of the air, you know, 'Are ye not much better than the sparrows?' And I asked every night and morning. And, oh ma'am, 'could' you please tell me this—When He was weary and sat by the well, and asked the woman for a drink, why didn't He just stoop down and take the water? Ben said that to-day, and I did not know."

Miss Ayrton looked hard at the child. Was she talking in this way to make an impression, or was it natural? Poor Fan! She looked very innocent, it seemed hard to suspect her of such deceit, and Miss Ayrton answered the question.

"Water is very scarce in that country, and the wells are very deep. Probably no water could be got from that well without a rope and a pitcher which you could let down. You know the woman said to Him 'the well is deep.'"

"So she did, ma'am; I'd forgotten that."

"Here comes some one, Miss Ayrton," said Pearl. "I suppose this is Ben."

"Yes, miss, this is our Ben. Come here, Ben," Fan cried, as the lad stopped short at the door, somewhat abashed. "This young lady found me here asleep, and she gave me milk and bread, Ben, and promised me more for you. Oh, Ben," she whispered, running up to him, "you see we were not forgotten."

"Come in, Ben," said Pearl, kindly.

"Thank you, miss. But I see we've no right to be here at all. I did not think it was a summer-house, like, miss, or I would not have made so free. I thought 'twas a real cottage, and then Fan fell asleep before I could look round. Come, Fan, I've got plenty of dinner for both of us."

"I think you were up at the house when I came out," said Miss Ayrton. "Was it there they gave you some dinner?"

"Yes, miss, and the lady bid me come again to-morrow, and she would give me some weeding to do. So I must look-out for some place for us to sleep in. Come, Fan. The lady was very kind."

"That is my mother," said Pearl; "and bring Fan with you when you come to-morrow, please, for I want to see her again. If you like to rest here and eat your dinner, you may, for Miss Ayrton and I must go home for our luncheon to-day. I can run down in the evening and lock the doors."

"Oh no, miss, thank you! I couldn't give you the trouble. It's such a fine day, too, that it's no hardship to be out. Now, Fan. Good morning, miss, and thank you kindly."

Fan made her very best curtsey, and a queer little performance it was. Then she ran after Ben down the path, her face radiant with smiles.

"Oh, Miss Ayrton, is not this like a story in a book?" exclaimed Pearl. "And is not Fan a nice child? And is not that a kind boy? Did you remark how kindly he looked at her when he spoke? And she seemed so pleased to see him again. Oh, they must not wander about any more—they must stay here, and Ben can work in the garden, and—"

She remained silent for a moment or two, and then burst out, with a cry of delight—

"Oh, I have thought of a plan, such a lovely, delightful plan; and I must run at once and get papa to say yes to it."

"But you must come home first, and have something to eat, Pearl. It won't do to go without luncheon, even for a nice little girl and a lovely plan."

"Don't laugh at me," cried Pearl gaily; "for I assure you this is the best plan I ever made in my life."

No sooner had Pearl eaten a very hasty meal, than she inquired where her father was likely to be found, and set forth in search of him, full of her new plan, and longing to get his consent to it. And truly that must have been a very wild plan to which Mr. Harewood would have refused consent, if Pearl had set her heart upon it.

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