Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/391

Charles Dickens] her money, and taken possession of her book, and he politely held open the door for her. A small, dirty snow was falling thickly: the pavements were already wet, for it thawed as it fell; and the darkness seemed to have come on suddenly, perhaps from contrast with the bright gaslight inside. Mary stood still for a moment bewildered; then tried, in the failing light, to hail an omnibus; but the man took no notice of her signal, and she perceived that his vehicle was over-loaded already. It was disagreeable to find herself belated so far from home, especially as she was very tired and laden with small parcels which were troublesome to carry; but Mary was always more disposed to make light of misadventures than to turn them into heavy grievances, so she prepared to walk. As she put up her umbrella, a voice close to her said, "I beg your pardon. Have you no carriage here? no cab?"

"No," she answered frankly, looking straight up into the speaker's face, as her custom was. She then perceived that the speaker was the gentleman whom she had seen before, and moreover that his face was young and pleasant,—"but it doesn't matter—I am a good walker."

"But it is coming on to snow harder. I have a cab waiting here. Will you allow me to put you into it?"

"Oh! no! you are very kind, but indeed I would rather walk; I think it is going to clear." Herewith, as if to contradict her, came a gust of wind and sleet which nearly knocked her over. The stranger laughed. Mary could not help following his example, and next moment found that he was handing her into a Hansom cab. She made one more horrified protest.

"Oh! no, I can't think of it. What will you do! With that box of books too"

"I will wait here, and send for another cab; it is no inconvenience to me, I assure you. Where shall I tell him to drive?"

A rapid calculation passed through Mary's mind. "How far can I go for a shilling?"

"To the further end of Piccadilly, if you please," she said, and it struck her that there was a little look of vexation, of disappointment even, on the face of her kind friend, as he bowed and raised his hat, as respectfully as if the little parcel-laden woman in her old plaid cloak had been a royal princess.

"Oh! dear, I know he'll catch cold, and then it'll be all my fault!" was Mary's first reflection; "one thing is, I shall never know it, if he does. If only I could have dared to ask him to get in too! When I first came from home I really think I should have done so—but I know better now. Well! this is comfortable certainly; much better than that stuffy omnibus. And how delightful to have got my book!"

And she went off into a vision of the pleasure which her gift would bring to the hard-working, underpaid curate, whose cultivated mind and scholarly tastes were always suffering a famine, as his daughter well knew.

In a very short time she had reached the house, and was seated by the snug fire in the school-room, wrapped in a warm shawl while her dress was drying, and thoroughly enjoying the mutton chops and tea brought to her by Susan, the little school-room maid, who regarded her as the first of human beings.

"You must not forget all your learning, Susan, while I am away," said she; "I have set you ever so many copies, and I think now you can manage to write to me by yourself, can't you? And ah! Susan, my canary-bird, and my poor geraniums—I trust them all to you."

Susan promised the utmost attention, while she stowed away package after package in Miss Mackworth's trunk, with more zeal than dexterity, as Mary soon perceived.

"Oh, take care!" she cried, springing up to the defence of Cilla's prettinesses: then checking herself, as Susan looked blank and vaguely self-reproachful, "thank you, that is very nice,—but I can finish packing myself now, if you will hand me the things. There were a few moments of busy silence. "Now, Susan, I want something small and soft, just to fill up this corner. Is there anything that will do?"

"Yes, miss," responded Susan; "here's a brown-paper parcel as will just fit in," and she handed to Mary a small parcel carefully tied with pack-thread and further secured with sealing-wax.

"What can this be?" exclaimed Mary; "how carefully the shop-people have done it up. Are you sure it is one of my things, Susan?"

Twas here on the sofy, miss, along with the rest."

"Oh! then, it must be all right; Cilla's gloves, I suppose," she said, fingering it, and finding its contents soft and yielding; "anyhow, it will just do to fill up my corner. Now, Susan, please come, and help me with the cover of my box. It looks as if it didn't mean to shut. That's it! Beautifully shut! And now for the direction."

With a thrill of satisfaction which made it hard to keep her pen steady, she wrote in her bold clear hand the well-known and dearly loved address, of Farley-in-the-Fields, Brigham.