CHAPTER VII.

REPENTANCE.

JACK was elated over the success that had attended his efforts thus far. And although at the little village where he passed the second night of his wanderings, he could hear nothing of the cavalcade of vans, or which road they had taken, he felt so sure he was on the right track that he went on again the next day, and again saw traces of a camp-fire, which reassured him. And he felt confident now that he should soon overtake the company he was in search of.

He had to spend his money for food and lodging now, and, careful as he was, the last shilling was changed on Thursday, and he seemed no nearer finding his sister than when he first started from home.

He must have lost the track of those he was in search of, too, he began to fear; for he could hear nothing of fair-folks or show-vans in the town he had now reached. The only gypsy vans that had been seen in that neighbourhood were the travelling hawkers, who sold brooms, brushes, baskets, and mats, and displayed their wares outside the vans. Two of these had perambulated the neighbourhood a few days previously, he was told; and he began to fear that he must have been misled by the camp-fires of these itinerant dealers, and so lost the trail of those he was in search of.

So there was nothing for it but to look about for work where he was. But Jack was not so successful here as he had been at the first town he made his stopping-place.

Nobody wanted a lock mended or a pipe repaired, or at least they did not feel disposed to employ a stranger like this lad. So the poor fellow was soon reduced to great distress, and began to fear he should have to sell some of his tools for subsistence, when he met a gentleman who was in search of a workman who could stop a leaky pipe at once. No one he had met with could undertake to do it until the next day, and therefore he was glad to employ Jack.

He soon did the job, neatly and effectively, and the gentleman was so pleased with the way it was done, that he gave him a bath to repair and paint, and several other articles of domestic use to put in order, which he did in an outhouse the next day.

By this means a few shillings were earned, and the week came to an end. And on Sunday, he started off on another route; for he had heard of a fair being held a few miles off, and he did not doubt that the Stanleys would make for this point, and here he should catch them.

But alas for his hopes! He reached the fair-ground in time to see the close of the frolic, but no van bore the name of Stanley, and no one had seen any shows answering to the description of theirs.

Weary and disheartened, the poor fellow decided to stay here long enough to receive a letter from his mother, and hear how she and his father were, and whether the bit of rag he had sent home in his last letter was a piece of Lizzie's frock.

So again he went in search of work. The gentleman for whom he had done the repairing had kindly written a letter giving his name and address as reference, and stating what he had done for him in the way of repairs. He had likewise recommended him to go to a certain shop in the High Street, where he himself was known to the proprietor, and it so happened that they were pressed with work just then, and glad to take on an extra hand, especially as he was recommended by some one so well known.

So Jack decided to stay there for a week or two, and earn a little money before he went any further. The answer to his letter came in due course from his mother, who was very glad to have heard from her boy. She was well, she said, but there was very little improvement in his father's condition. The bit of stuff he had sent in his previous letter was certainly a piece of one of Lizzie's frocks, and looked as though it had been torn off the hem at the bottom. They had received no news of her, and the police seem to have given up all hope of tracing her now, wrote poor Mrs. Betts.

And Jack could read the unwritten prayer these words contained, and he said aloud as he read them: "Never fear, Mother, I don't mean to give up the search till I have found these people, and make them tell me what they have done with her."

And this assurance he sent to his mother that night, telling them at the same time that he had got work that might last a week or two, and that he intended to stay there and save a little money to travel with. There was some chance that they might come to a fair that would be held in a neighbouring town in a few weeks' time; for he had made it his business to inquire about all the fairs that were held within a dozen miles of this place.

To hear that the bit of rag he had found was a piece of his sister's frock was some encouragement at least, for it proved that if she was not actually with them, they must know something about her.

So Jack went on with his work, and proved himself a steady, capable, painstaking workman, giving satisfaction to his employer, and making himself helpful and agreeable to his fellow-workmen. He made no secret of the errand that had brought him into the neighbourhood, and all who heard his story sympathized with him, and many wrote to friends at a distance asking them to notice all the travelling companies of show people that came near them, and to give information at once if any of the name of Stanley should appear.

Jack was thankful indeed for these efforts made on his behalf; for as he was earning money now, if news came that the vans he was in search had appeared in a certain neighbourhood, he could go by railway to some point near the place, and so reach them before they had time to get away.

So he wrote and told his mother of all this, and that he thought he could not do better than stay where he was, as work was brisk; another thing, as winter was coming on now, they might be expected to turn up at their old quarters nearer home, in which case, they would doubtless soon hear of them and Lizzie too.

But, although he wrote thus hopefully to his mother, he could not help growing bitter against his sister as the weeks went on and no news came from her. Whatever her motive might have been for going away, surely she might have written a line to assure her mother of her safety. She could write, she knew her mother's address, whereas they were cut off from all knowledge of her or where she might be found.

She was a wicked cruel girl, he assured himself sometimes, and at others he made up his mind she had been killed or was kept in such close confinement somewhere that she could not communicate with anyone. On the whole, he was more inclined to take this view of the matter; in which case, he agreed she could not be travelling with this gypsy party, or she could surely find some opportunity of making her escape, if she had wished to do so, or of writing a letter if she had felt so disposed.

He and Lizzie had both attended Sunday-school; but it was small comfort to him at first to think of what he had learned there—that God cares for his people, and had promised to protect them in all dangers and difficulties.

Lizzie had learned this; but she had clearly placed herself in the way of temptation and danger, and how could she expect that God would take care of her then. At length, however, he began to understand, through his own love for the silly wilful girl, that God would not cease to care for her and protect her because she had been foolish and wilful, but it might well be that he would punish her for what she had done; and who could tell, but that in letting her have her own way for a little while, he was going to teach her the folly of her wilfulness and discontent? For Jack knew all about this, and had often tried to reason her out of it.

This view of the matter comforted the poor fellow a good deal; and when he kneeled down at night, he never failed to pray for Lizzie as well as his mother and father, beseeching God to guide and protect her wherever she might be, and to bring her home safely at last. It helped to make him patient under this long weary waiting for news. For although he contrived to go to several fairs during the autumn, in the hope of seeing the Stanley vans, they never appeared at any of the places, and, indeed, it seemed as though the whole company had vanished from the sight of living men.

If the police had only tried to trace them when they first went away, they would doubtless soon have been found. But they scouted the notion of gypsies running off with a girl of fifteen, and never would entertain it, though Mrs. Betts went to them with the scrap of rag Jack had found, and assured them it was a piece of one of Lizzie's frocks. They questioned and cross-questioned her as to where this piece of stuff had been found, and when they learned that it had been picked up on a common at some distance, and not in the immediate neighbourhood of the fair-folks, they simply declined to take any action in the matter, and assured the anxious mother that these people were not likely to have run away with her daughter.

Meanwhile poor Lizzie was having a hard time of it, and, in addition to the actual hardships of her lot, was most unhappy now upon her mother's account; for she felt sure that her mysterious disappearance would be a source of great anxiety to her. She had not thought of this at all at first. But then it must be remembered that she anticipated having a fortune soon after she left home; and to be able to write and tell her mother she was a rich lady would compensate her, she thought, for any anxiety she might have suffered.

Lizzie had learned by this time how vain that hope had been from the very first. It was hard to give it up—to think that the miserable life she had entered upon was to have no end. But when she thought of her mother, and the unhappiness she had caused her, she could not but feel that it was a just punishment for her ingratitude and discontent.

How gladly she would have gone back to Mrs. Spencer's now, to escape from her present masters and mistresses; for the whole company she was with, contrived to make poor Lizzie feel that she was their slave, since she would not be their companion and join in their riotous fun. Her refusal to do this at first was scarcely noticed. Mrs. Stanley said she was bound to be sulky when she found the promised fortune was never likely to fall into her hands. And so, during the time they were on the race-course, they left her a good deal to herself, and if she was tired, she was allowed to rest in peace when the show was closed for the night.

But it would not do to let her continue this mode of behaviour any longer. She had joined their company of her own free will, and they would put up with no fine-lady airs. If they chose to be jolly when they were in luck, why, they were not going to have her sour face spoiling their pleasure, nor should she set up for being better than they; and she was told this plainly before they reached the next halting-place, which was on the borders of Scotland. Here a popular fair was held every year, and by dint of hurrying they contrived to reach the fair-ground on Sunday night, and had the shows and roundabouts ready to commence business early on Monday morning.

They had to be up nearly all night, and when the necessary work was at length accomplished, Mrs. Stanley brought out a bottle of gin and a glass, to treat all the company to a dose before they lay down for the few hours' rest that they might hope to snatch before the business of the next day began.

"No, thank you," said Lizzie, when the woman came to the door of the van whore she had thrown herself down on a sack of straw to try and get a little rest.

"Take it," said the woman. "It'll do yer good."

"No, thank you," repeated Lizzie. "I promised Mother once I would never drink anything like that."

"Ha, ha! That's a good un, that is," said Mrs. Stanley with a harsh laugh. "A lot you care for your mother, don't yer. You needn't think to come it over me with that tale. I don't mean to put up with no more o' them obstinate tricks. You best take hold o' this glass, and drink down every drop o' this gin."

Lizzie hesitated for a moment. Should she yield and drink it for peace sake. She sat up on her sack of straw, and by the dim light of the tallow candle which she carried she looked in the angry inflamed face of Mrs. Stanley.

"I can't drink it," she said firmly, after a pause. "If I never see my mother again, I won't break this one promise I gave her."

"Now, look here. I'm your mother now, and your my gal—remember that; and all as I tell you to do you've got to do. Ah! And call me 'Mother' too," said the angry woman, forgetting all prudence in her passion.

Now Lizzie, as she trudged at the side of the van that day, had been comparing her own dear unselfish mother with this woman, who seemed to consider that her children only existed to be a source of gain to her. For poor sickly Tottie had been provided with a large basket filled with laces, buttons, servants' caps, and various small articles, that would afford her an excuse for calling at the various houses they passed, where she could also offer to tell fortunes to those silly enough to listen to her. The girl had begged and pleaded that she did not feel well enough to do this, and did not sufficiently understand the business of fortune-telling; but her mother would take no excuse. Money must be got in, she said; and, now she had secured another girl for the show, Tottie must make money with her basket.

Lizzie had heard the altercation between mother and daughter, and it brought forcibly before her mental gaze her own dear mother, and the care that had been taken of her—Lizzie—when she was ill once. And so to be asked now to use the precious sacred name of "mother" to the woman who had so cruelly deceived her, was too revolting to be thought of.

"No, no, I will never do that," she said passionately, carried away by the strong feeling that the woman's words had evoked.

"What? You dare to tell me you won't do a thing I bid you do!" said the woman in a tone of wrath. "Now I say you shall call me 'Mother,' and shall say it now too!" exclaimed the virago, setting down the glass of gin she held in her hand, and stepping inside the van to take summary vengeance on the girl who had defied her.

Several others of the company had gathered round by this time, and Stanley himself, who knew what was impending, elbowed his way to the front. He did not often interfere with his wife's management, for he knew she could do it a good deal better than he could, but when he saw she was likely to spoil a chance of making money for the sake of her temper, he would put in a word of reason.

So following her into the van, he laid his hand upon her shoulder, and whispered, "Look here now, don't you go and spile that gal for her day's work to-morrow, jist for the sake of your temper. She's to be worth her weight in gold to us, yer know; but she won't be worth a brass farthing if yer kicks up a row with her, and whacks her as you've whacked Tottie sometimes."

"Now, you go down and mind yer own business, and let me manage this young vixen my own way," said the woman, speaking very loud, and giving her husband a push that almost sent him down the steps of the van. He caught hold of the door-post, however, and saved himself, and then seized his wife's arm as she picked up a heavy leather strap to beat Lizzie with.

"Don't be a fool now," he hissed in her ears. "Don't you know the police are about, and if she screams, they'll come to know what's a matter."

"What do I care for the police? They can't do nothing to me. I didn't carry her off. She came to me and begged me to be a mother to her, 'cos she couldn't abide her own mother, and the hard place she was at," said Mrs. Stanley, turning upon her husband, and flourishing the strap in her hand still.

"Well, never mind; we don't want no police round here now. We want an hour's pitch before the work begins," said the man in a reasoning tone.

"And I mean to be a mother to that gal," said Mrs. Stanley, still shaking the strap at her threateningly.

"You put that strap down and come away. If you lay her up, as you will do if you once begin, you'll be sorry for it yerself to-morrow. If you hadn't had a drop too much out of that bottle, you wouldn't begin a row just as we've come to a fresh place. Do you want us to get kicked off the ground before the fair begins?" demanded Stanley.

He was beginning to lose his temper now. He did not often venture to interfere with anything his wife thought fit to do; but he knew well enough that she would never have taken this course if she had not drunk pretty freely, and the idea that money might be lost, all through this fit of temper, provoked him.

"I'll give it to her," said Mrs. Stanley still threateningly, but in wavering tones now.

"All right! Give it to her as much as you like when the fair is over, and it won't interfere with business," said the man.

"Ah! And I will," said Mrs. Stanley, dropping the strap and looking vengefully at Lizzie. "I'll let her know whether she's to defy me as she did her other mother. I'll teach her a different lesson, I'll warrant," and she slowly turned and went down the steps after her husband.

Lizzie crept back to her hard dirty bed trembling in every limb, but firm in her resolve neither to drink gin nor call this woman "mother." She might beat her, but she would never yield. And that night Lizzie kneeled down at the side of her sack, and prayed to God to help her, and to comfort and help the dear mother she had forsaken.