Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/518

17, 1859.] knows! says I,  and  then  she  laid  down  her  head, and very  likely  she’s  stayed  there  since.”

He motioned  me  to  sit  on  a bench,  and  then,  at my  invitation,  he  also  sat  down,  when  the  silence that ensued  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  make many observations,  each  of  which  strengthened my opinion  of  the  poverty  of  the  Munro  family.

“Don’t let  me  keep  you  from  your  dinner,” I said, in  order  to  discover  whether  he  had  any  in prospect.

He appeared  uneasy  for  an  instant; then, with rather  a grim  smile,  ho  replied. “Sorrow an’t an  appetiteable  sauce.”

I strongly suspected  that  other  causes  than sorrow kept  him  from  eating,  and  longed  to  offer him some  money  to  procure  a meal; but  there  was a certain dignity  in  the  handsome  old  Englishman that held  back  my  purse,  and  made  me  feel  that  a case  of  distress  cannot  always  be  relieved  by  money. He seemed  to  read  my  thoughts,  for  said  he:

“I don’t deny  it’s  hard  times; and  if  you  were pleased to  lend  me  a loan  ’twould  be  more  than  a kindness,  for  I’m  sadly  gone  back  along;  since Bessie went  away,  my  time’s  been  spent  in  seeking for her,  instead  of  in  bringing  down  pigeons.”

He resolutely  refused  the  trifle  I proffered,  but finally agreed  to  receive  it  as  a loan,  to  be  paid  in weekly  instalments  of  game.

“Well, I’m  glad  your  debt  will  oblige  you  to use  your  gun  again,  for  the  exercise  will  help  you to forget  your  trouble,”  I unfortunately  said,  in taking  leave  of  him.

He gave  me  a look  that  might  have  been quizzical but  for  the  tone  that  accompanied  it:

“Them that’s  got  grey  hair  in  their  head  can’t ride the  old  soldier  over  trouble  in  that  way.”

The following  week  I found  a pair  of  bronze-wing pigeons and  three  common  parrots  lying  on  the hall table; they  were  marked,  “paid  for.”  Beside them lay  a little  three-cornered  note,  which  ran thus: —

Honored Sir, — Bessie  is  loging  at  the  Blk  Bear  in Golburn  Street. She won’t  see  me,  but  verry  like  she will speak  with  a stranger,  when  you  cold  tell  her  that if she  don’t  want  this  forrin  mold  to  cover  her  poor  old father and  mother  she  will  come  home  again  to  them that’s her  tru  friends,  to  say  nothing  of  him  that’s her God  in  heaven. So no  more  from  Mr. and Mrs. Munro,  from  your  humble  servent,  John  Munro.

Interpreting this  into  a request  that  I would  go to  Bessie,  I set  out  for  the  Black  Bear,  and  asked if one  Bessie  Munro  lodged  there. After some hesitation, it  was  admitted  that  she  did,  but  was too ill  to  see  any  one. I perceived this  to  be  a falsehood,  and  was  turning  in  my  mind  how  to    accomplish  an  interview,  when  a portly,  forbidding- looking woman  came  from  behind  a large  folding screen that  divided  the  tap-room  from  their  private apartment. Not knowing  the  answer  I had already received,  she  inquired  my  business; and, on being  told,  she  deliberately  stated  that  Bessie had only  that  minute  “ran  out  on  an  arrant.” A foolish smile  passed  from  face  to  face,  and taking advantage  of  the  confusion,  I said,  in  a voice  of  authority,  “Will  any  person  have  the goodness to  call  Bessie  Munro: I shall  begin  to think  she  is  detained  against  her  will,  unless  I hear  to  the  contrary  from  her  own  lips.”

“And that  you  shan’t!” cried  the  portly woman. “She’s a quiet,  indefensive  lodger,  and she shan’t  be  defied  in  my  own  house. I took pity on  her  when  they  that  bore  her  drove  her  to doors——”

“Hush! no more  of  such  falsehoods. You know Bessie’s  history  as  well  as  I do,”  I said: on which  the  woman  dashed  like  a tempest  behind the screen,  and,  led  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  I followed  her  into  the  private  room. There, standing on  tiptoe,  and  listening  with  every  eager feature, was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  young women I have  ever  seen. Possession was  in  my favour; so  having  obtained  a footing  I kept  it,  in spite  of  the  landlady’s  abuse. I advanced to  the young  woman,  and  said:

“You need  not  tell  me  you  are  Bessie  Munro; your likeness  to  your  father  has  already  told  me that. I am come  to  beg  you  to  return  to  your home; both your  parents  are  willing  to  forgive you: it is  in  your  power  to  make  them  very happy again.”

“Oh, sir! I could  never  face  them  again; mother  might  forgive  me,  but  father  says  he’ll