CHAPTER III.

THE NEIGHBOURS.

"LOOK here, Maria, we shall have to move out of this place, I can see; I don't mean to put up with the fellows grumbling any longer. Last night one of them threatened to break my windows if I didn't give up my work at the docks, as if it was my fault that the men had to work on contract. They've been at it for a month now."

Mrs. Rutter sighed. "I wish you had never been made a foreman," she said in a tone of desperation. "We was ever so much happier when you was just a workman with about half the wages."

"What do you mean?" demanded her husband fiercely.

"Why, that money don't always bring happiness," replied his wife evasively, looking half afraid of what she had said.

"What have you got to complain of?" he said. "Don't you have plenty to eat and drink? Ain't you got the best furnished house in the street? Ain't we better off than anybody in the neighbourhood? I've just bought another house, one where there's some good steady tenants, and where the rents ain't so high but they'll bear raising a bit."

"You never was so anxious to make money when you just had—"

"There, go into the kitchen and cry there," commanded her husband. "Only don't keep the fire burning in waste."

The poor woman went out sobbing. In spite of the house being the best furnished in the street, she was constantly being told that to have a fire these chilly evenings was waste, although it had been the custom to have one until her husband had begun to grow rich, when he had declared that such indulgence was a wilful waste.

She sat down by the few embers of the dying fire and shivered. Presently her husband went out, and she heard angry voices outside. Doubtless it was some of the tenants come to beg for further time to pay the rent, for these were constantly coming on such errands.

Just now, however, it, seemed as though they were rather noisy over it, and stones rattled against the window shutters. To her relief, the latch key was heard turning in the lock the next minute, and her husband came in. He was not a coward, but he looked white and frightened as he came into the kitchen.

"Why! What is the matter?" she asked, looking even paler than her husband.

"Oh, some of the men out there are about as foolish as you are," he said uneasily. "They actually want me to try and alter the plan upon which the work is done in the docks, as if I could do anything in it."

"But I've heard you say it wasn't a fair way of doing things," put in his wife.

"But suppose it isn't, can I alter it do you think?" he demanded, turning angrily upon her.

It was always so now. Whatever put him out of temper, he always visited it upon her, and so now, as he could not go out because of the angry crowd in the street, he vented his anger upon her, while she sat and bore it meekly but tearfully, silently wishing they were as poor now as when her husband worked in the docks, and never dreamed of being the possessor of more than a pound a week in the way of income. They had been happy and content then, and her husband could afford time to go with her to the mission service sometimes.

But all this had altered when he was made a foreman and began to buy houses of his own. Then the mission service was not good enough for them, he said, they ought to go to a church where they knew nobody, but might be thought people of importance—not that he went himself, for Sunday had to be given up to looking over accounts, and calculations about rents and repairs, and how a shilling could be put on here and there to make his houses more profitable.

The poor woman sighed as she thought of it all, while her husband grumbled on and the crowd outside seemed to grow more violent. It became plain at last that Rutter would not be able to go out again that night, and so he took off his boots and sat down in the dreary little kitchen to eat his supper of bread and cheese.

The crowd outside waited and raged on against the foreman, but finding at last that he did not mean to come out again that night they at length dispersed.

"We must get away from here to-morrow," said Rutter when they went upstairs. "I've bought a house a little way out, and we'll get into it at once. I shall send to say I am ill and can't go to work in the morning, and we'll be away before those fellows get back at night."

"But the woman's coming to wash in the morning," said Mrs. Rutter in some dismay, for she did not like being taken from all her friends.

"If the woman's coming, she can help you pack up. But you need not let her know where we are going, for these rough fellows are not easy to manage when they are in a rage, and I don't want them to find out where I am going."

So when Mrs. Chaplin came the next morning, she heard to her dismay that her work for the future would be lessened, for it was scarcely likely that she would be able to get another day's washing in the neighbourhood.

Another thing, she had known Mrs. Rutter a long time. They used to be friends when they first came to the neighbourhood. She had felt inclined to envy her friend's good fortune when the improvement in their circumstances first took place, but she soon began to see that somehow riches did not bring happiness or content to the Rutters, and she often pitied the poor woman more now than when they were both struggling to make ends meet, as they did sometimes in those old days.

Since then they had been getting steadily poorer and the Rutters richer, but the more anxious and unhappy as it seemed to Mrs. Chaplin. She helped with the packing all day and saw the furniture put into the van, but as Mrs. Rutter was not allowed to know where they were going, she could not tell her friend, much as she might wish to do so.

When she got home, another piece of news awaited her.

Annie Brown, who insisted upon coming in to see Winny sometimes, burst into the room just after she got back, exclaiming: "I say Mrs. Chaplin, Rutter has bought this house and is going to raise all the rents!"

"Nonsense!" replied Mrs. Chaplin. "I should have heard about that, if it had been true, for I have been working there to-day."

She would not say a word about the moving, for fear Annie should find out which way they had gone and follow them. She would be quite capable of doing this, and telling those who had made the disturbance last night that they might repeat it.

"You'll find out that what I say is true enough; and what we shall do, I don't know, for father's foot is bad, and there's nobody but me to earn a penny now."

The girl worked at a match factory near, and though the work was regular, the wages were small, and only sufficient for her own maintenance, so that it was impossible for them to make up the rent until her father was able to go to work again. This matter was discussed by the Chaplins after she had gone, for they felt very sorry for her.

"I wish she went to Sunday-school," said Winny, "for I can't help liking her though she is rough and rude sometimes."

"She never did go to Sunday-school," put in Letty with her mouth full of bread and treacle, for they were late with the tea again, and she was very hungry.

"I believe if I could only go again, I could get Annie to go with me. I was telling her the other day how kind my teacher was in bringing me books to read and coming to see me nearly every week, and I could see she wished somebody cared for her like that. But, you see, she lost her mother when she was a little girl, and her father never troubled about sending her to Sunday-school, for they used to clean the place up on a Sunday, and so she has never learned any better, poor girl."

"You'll miss the Rutters, mother," remarked Chaplin rousing himself after a long silence.

"Yes, that I shall," she replied with a sigh "I've known them so long—ever since we first came to live here. Why, the children used to go together to the Sunday-school, before they got on in the world and took to going so far away to church."

"Did we, mother? I don't remember!" exclaimed Letty in some surprise.

"No, I suppose not, and they don't want it remembered, I daresay. For it has changed them getting on in the world, and I don't believe Mrs. Rutter cared to have me think that she used to live next door to me at one time, and that I've helped her to the price of a loaf to get tea before Rutter came home. Ah! They were happier days for both of us, I believe, in spite of the houses they own and the good wages he makes."

Chaplin did not seem inclined to talk to-night, and so he took no notice of what was said, but sat with his head in his hand and his elbow on the table, evidently pondering deeply over some matter that engaged his attention.

"I don't know that the chaps are quite fair to Rutter," he said after a long silence, during which Mrs. Chaplin had been putting the tea things away.

"What do you mean?" asked his wife, looking round from the cupboard in her surprise.

"Well, about the way he makes his money. The fellows grumble and carry on, and threaten this and that, but what wants altering is the method on which we are paid. Labourers and foremen alike."

Mrs. Chaplin frowned. "I wish you'd leave all that sort of thing alone," she said.

Poor woman! She had such a horror of strikes, and for underpaid labourers to think of doing anything beyond a little occasional grumbling filled her with dismay.

But Winny always had a word ready for any little family hitch of the kind. "Don't you think we might leave the matter in God's hands, mother?" she said.

"Yes, yes, my dear, that is what I want your father to do," said Mrs. Chaplin a little impatiently.

"But, you see, mother," began Chaplin.

And then there came a tap at the door, and Annie Brown put her head in again. "Father's foot seems worse to-night," she said in an anxious tone. "I wish you would come and look at it, Mrs. Chaplin."

"You'd better go, mother," said Chaplin glancing at his wife. He knew that she did not care much about the Browns. They were not nice people to know, certainly, but Annie had taken a great liking for his poor Winny, and that fact went far to reconcile Chaplin to being neighbourly and civil to them, and that was why he urged his wife to go and see the man's injured foot.

Being thus urged, she had no excuse for holding back, and so determined to make the best of matters. She found her neighbour's room much more clean and tidy than she expected, considering how Annie had been brought up. Brown himself was a rough blustering fellow, much given to swearing in an ordinary way; but he looked as sheepish as a schoolboy now, for he had a vague notion that the Chaplins were "stuck up" though they were so poor. But he was ruled by his daughter Annie, much as Chaplin was by his Winny, and as she said Mrs. Chaplin must see his foot, he had submitted.

"It's very good of you to come and look at a cove like me," he said when Mrs. Chaplin wished him "good-evening." And the meek way he spoke almost made his visitor laugh, and dispelled all her fear of the man.

"You hurt your foot in the docks, I suppose?" she said, not knowing what else she ought to say.

It was perhaps about the worst question she could have put, for he broke into a torrent of oaths, blaming the foreman for being in such a hurry and so causing the accident. It was not Rutter, but another man something like him, and Brown was very bitter about the whole matter.

"Hush, father, hush!" interposed Annie. "I told you to mind how you behaved, didn't I? Don't mind him, Mrs. Chaplin, his bark is a deal worse than his bite," she added turning to her visitor.

Mrs. Chaplin half wished she had not come, but Annie was so anxious for her to see the injured foot, that she could not go back without looking at it.

"Dear me! What have you been doing to it?" she said when the rag was removed and she saw the inflamed state it was in.

"Ointment," said Annie laconically.

"I don't think it can suit it, then," said Mrs. Chaplin. "Go down and tell Letty to give you all the warm water there is in the kettle. It must be well washed and bathed before we can do anything else to it. What a pity you did not go to the hospital and have it dressed," said Mrs. Chaplin when Annie had gone down for the water. "It would have been almost well by this time if you had done that."

"And what was to become of the little un while I was there?" he demanded almost angrily.

"The little one!" repeated Mrs. Chaplin in some amazement.

"Aye, my Annie I mean. What would become of her if I wasn't here to take care of her?"

Annie had used the same words in reference to her father when she had been asked to go to Sunday-school on Sunday afternoons.

"Who would take care of daddy if I went away and left him by himself?" she had asked when Winny had suggested that there was a class for big girls at the mission Sunday-school.

Mrs. Chaplin smiled at the idea of the rough noisy Annie not being able to take care of herself, but as it seemed to be the rooted idea that neither could do without the other, she did not try to disturb it.

When the hot water was brought she carefully washed the foot, Annie looking on.

"I'll know what to do next time," she said, when the foot being thoroughly cleansed, Mrs. Chaplin bound up the wounds in clean wet rags, telling Annie to take care that they were kept wet, and then in a day or two, he would be able to put his shoe on again.

"How much longer am I to be kept in here?" demanded Brown impatiently.

For answer, his daughter gave him a playful box on the ears.

"Take that," she said. "Have you forgotten what I told you about little Winny downstairs, the prettiest girl in the street, and she ain't been out of that back room for nearly a year now; has she, Mrs. Chaplin?"

"It's a year come June since my Winny went outside the door," said her mother with a touch of pride and tenderness in her tone. "But she hopes to go out again and see the green fields and the country this summer. Miss Lavender, her teacher, has promised to get her a ticket for some home, that she may go for a fortnight."

"Oh! I say, that will be fine for her, wont it?" exclaimed the match girl. "I went to Greenwich Park one Easter Monday, and the trees and the grass was fine, I tell you. Yes, Winny will like that."

As Mrs. Chaplin left the room, Annie followed her, and went a little way across the landing. "I want to ask you just one other thing. They've brought you a lot more sacks to sew, or they will bring 'em presently, and I want you to let my daddy come in when Winny reads to you while you're sewing 'em."

"How do you know I shall have sacks to sew to-morrow?" Mrs. Chaplin asked in some surprise.

She had wondered how it was she had got so much of this work lately, and that Annie knew she was likely to get more, was still more surprising.

"Perhaps I dreamt it," laughed the girl; "but if my dream comes true, and you have some sacks to sew to-morrow, you'll let daddy come and listen to Winny reading, won't you?"

"Yes, he may come," said Mrs. Chaplin a little dubiously, for it was against all her rules of life to be on friendly terms with people like the Browns, and she wondered what was to come of such an innovation.

Soon after she got back to her own room, a bundle of sacks was brought for her to make, and she felt sure then that Annie Brown had some hand in getting this work for her, for the girl said as she put the bundle down, "Annie told mother she was pretty sure you could do them, and that we might take your word that you would if you promised."

"Well, I shall be very glad of the work, as it happens, for some people have moved away to-day that I used to wash for, and so I am thankful for anything that comes in my way."

"All right! You shall have all we can spare," said the girl as she shut the door.

Sack-making was hard work, and ill paid too, as most women's work is, but still Mrs. Chaplin was very glad of it, more especially as it was work she could do at home, and so be able to keep Winny company, for it was very dull for her when her mother had to go out to work, for then she was left alone for the greater part of the day.

Once a week, her Sunday-school teacher came to spend an hour with her, and she generally contrived that it should be when Winny was likely to be alone. But even with this break, if the girl felt unusually ill, as she often did on these days, the time passed very slowly, although she always contrived to meet every one who came in with a cheerful smile of welcome.

Miss Lavender, who knew the girl most intimately, was anxious that she should go into the hospital, but mother and father and Winny herself opposed the plan, and the doctor who came to see her sometimes did not recommend it very strongly. The little home was a happy one in spite of its poverty, and he doubted whether more could be done for her in one of the great London hospitals than was being done here. If she could go away with her mother and father to some country cottage home, it would be a different thing; then she might have a chance of getting over her weakness. But as this seemed quite out of the question, Miss Lavender had set her heart upon trying the next best thing—sending her to a country cottage home for a fortnight.

Not that either she or her teacher would ever admit that she was hardly used in being shut out of so many of the pleasures of life.

"God is fair and just to all," the lady would say when some of her class, who had known Winny when she was able to run about, bemoaned her fate as being a very cruel one. "It may seem cruel to us, I admit," said the lady, "but you know things are not always what they seem. If God has taken Winny from the enjoyment of some things we think it impossible to live without, you must remember we are not called to do without them. We know what these are to us; but we cannot know the secret pleasures God gives to Winny, nor the opportunities of usefulness that comes in her way. I happen to know that, by her patience and her firm belief in what I have just said to you, Winny is exercising an influence on her friends and neighbours that makes her life one of the most useful as well as the most happy, for she is quite sure that she is doing God's will as she lies there on her couch, and what higher life can anyone desire? Our Winny is one of the happiest girls I know," concluded the lady.

"She always seems happy," said one.

"Oh! It isn't seeming; her happiness is real and true and deep in spite of the pain she often suffers, and that she never goes outside that one room. I want you to believe this, and so does she."

It is not easy, perhaps, for girls who had all the vivacity of girlhood in them to believe that one, wholly shut out from the pleasures they could enjoy, could yet be happy. But Miss Lavender, while telling them that they ought to show every kindness in their power to their afflicted schoolfellow, said they might yet believe that in her case at least, there were such compensations—that she could yet be happy, though she knew nothing now of the fun and frolic that interested them.

"These things are good for you, dear," she said to a little girl who spoke of giving up play; "that would not be natural, and therefore not good for you. If God was to lay you aside for quiet work for him, he would give you pleasures you knew nothing of now; but not if you willfully set aside the natural order of things, and refuse what he sees to be good for you."

"Was it good for Winny, then, to be ill?" asked one.

"Yes, dear, it must have been. He had some work for Winny to do that nobody could do so well, and this being so, he gives her pleasures that we know nothing of. It is always so, if people would only believe it and in God's fairness to all his children. But instead of this, we worry and fume, and think if we were only in other circumstances, we should be happier and more useful."

By such talks as these, Winny became the best known girl in the class, although she had not left the little back room for more than a year.