My Doggie and I by R. M. Ballantyne (series like harry potter TXT) 📕

the instruction of some of the poor neglected boys and lads who idled about in the dreary back streets of our aristocratic neighbourhood. The boys had become so fond of her that they were eager to attend, and usually assembled round the door of the class-room before the hour.

My protégé, Robin Slidder, was of course one of her warmest adherents. He was standing that night apart from the other boys, contemplating the proceedings of two combative sparrows which quarrelled over a crumb of bread on the pavement, and had just come to the conclusion that men and sparrows had some qualities in common, when he was attracted by a low whistle, and, looking up, beheld the Slogger peeping round a neighbouring corner.

“Hallo! Slog—Villum I mean; how are you? Come along. Vell, I am glad to see you, for, d’you know, arter you failed me that day at the Black Bull, I have bin givin’ you a pretty bad character, an’ callin’ you no end o’ bad names.”

“Is that what your ‘angel’ teaches you, Robin?”

“Vell, not exactly, but you’ll hear wot she teaches for yourself to-night, I ’ope. Come, I’m right glad to see you, Villum. What was it that prevented you that day, eh?”

When the Slogger had explained and cleared his character, Robin asked him eagerly if he had ascertained anything further about the girl whom he and Brassey had robbed.

“Of course I have,” said the Slogger, “and it’s a curious suckumstance that ’er place of abode—so Sally says—is in the Vest End, not wery far from here. She gave me the street and the name, but wasn’t quite sure of the number.”

“Vell, come along, let’s hear all about it,” said Robin impatiently.

“Wy, wot’s all your ’urry?” returned the Slogger slowly; “I ain’t goin’ away till I’ve heerd wot your angel’s got to say, you know. Besides, I must go arter your meeting’s over an watch the ’ouse till I see the gal an’ make sure that it’s her, for Sally may have bin mistook, you know.”

“You don’t know her name, do you?” asked Robin; “it wasn’t Edie Willis, now, was it?”

“’Ow should I know ’er name?” answered the Slogger. “D’you think I stopped to inquire w’en I ’elped to relieve ’er of ’er propity?”

“Ah, I suppose not. Vell, I suppose you’ve no objection to my goin’ to watch along wi’ you.”

“None wotsomever; on’y remember, if it do turn out to be ’er, you won’t betray me. Honour bright! She may be revengeful, you know, an’ might ’ave me took up if she got ’old of me.”

Robin Slidder faithfully and earnestly pledged himself. While he was speaking there was a general movement among the lads and boys towards the class-room, for Miss Blythe was seen coming towards them. The two friends moved with the rest. Just as he was about to enter the door, Robin missed his companion, and, looking back, saw him bending down, and holding his sides as if in pain.

“Wot’s wrong now?” he inquired, returning to him.

“Oh! I’m took so bad,” said the Slogger, looking very red, and rubbing himself; “a old complaint as I thought I was cured of. Oh, dear! you’ll ’ave to excuge me, Robin. I’ll go an’ take a turn, an’ come in if I gits better. If not, I’ll meet you round the corner arter it’s over.”

So saying, the Slogger, turning round, walked quickly away, and his little friend entered the class-room in a state of mind pendulating between disgust and despair, for he had no expectation of seeing the slippery Slogger again that night.

When the meeting was over, Miss Blythe returned home. I saw her enter the library. No one else was there, I knew. The gas had not yet been lighted, and only a faint flicker from the fire illumined the room. Unable to bear the state of uncertainty under which my mind still laboured, I resolved to make assurance doubly sure, or quit the house—and England—for ever!

I spare the reader the details. Suffice it to say that after much entreaty, I got her to admit that she loved me, but she refused to accept me until she had told me her whole history.

“Then I’m sure of you now,” said I, in triumph; “for, be your history what it may, I’ll never give you up, dearest Lilly—”

“Don’t call me Lilly,” she said in a low, quiet tone; “it is only a pet name which the little ones here gave me on my first coming to them. Call me Edith.”

“I will,” said I, with enthusiasm, “a far more beautiful name. I’ll—”

“Hallo! hi! Mellon, are you there?”

For the second time that day Dr McTougall interrupted me, but I was proof against annoyance now.

“Yes, I am here,” I shouted, running downstairs. “Surely Dumps is not burning himself again—eh?”

“Oh no,” returned my friend, with a laugh—“only a telegram. However, it’s important enough to require prompt attention. The Gordons in Bingley Manor—you know them—telegraph me to run down immediately; old lady ill. Now, it unfortunately happens that I have an engagement this evening which positively cannot be put off, so I must send you. Besides, I know well enough what it is. They’re easily alarmed, and I’m convinced it is just the old story. However, the summons must be obeyed. You will go for me. The train starts in half an hour. You will have plenty of time to catch it, if you make haste. You’ll have to stay all night. No return train till to-morrow, being an out-of-the-way place. There, off with you. Put the telegram in your pocket for the address.”

So saying, the doctor put on his hat and left the house.

Summoning Robin Slidder, I bade him pack a few things into my travelling-bag while I wrote a note. When he had finished he told me of his interview with the Slogger. I was greatly interested, and asked if he had gone to see his friend after the meeting.

“No, sir, I didn’t. I meant to, but Miss Blythe wanted me to walk ’ome with ’er, it was so dark, an’ w’en I went back he had gone.”

“Pity, Robin—a great pity,” said I, hastily strapping up my bag, “but no doubt he’ll come here again to see you.—Now, don’t forget to take over that parcel of tea and sugar, etcetera, to Mrs Willis. Go as soon as you can.” Saying this, I left the house.

The new residence of the old woman being now so near to Hoboy Crescent the parcel was soon delivered, and Robin officiated at the opening of it, also at the preparing and consuming of some of its contents. Of course he chatted vigorously, as was his wont, but was particularly careful to make not the most distant allusion to the Slogger or his reports, being anxious not to arouse her hopes until he should have some evidence that they were on a true scent. Indeed, he was so fearful of letting slip some word or remark on the subject and thereby awakening suspicion and giving needless pain, that he abstained from all reference to the meeting of that evening, and launched out instead into wonderful and puzzling theological speculations, of which he was very fond.

Meanwhile I was carried swiftly into the country. The lamp in my carriage was too dim to permit of reading; I therefore wrapped myself in my rug and indulged in pleasant meditations.

It was past midnight when I arrived at the station for Bingley Manor, where I found a gig awaiting me. A sharp drive of half an hour and I was at the mansion door.

Dr McTougall was right. There was little the matter with old Mrs Gordon, but the family were nervous, and rich—hence my visit. I did what was necessary for the patient, comforted the rest by my presence, had a sound night’s rest, an early breakfast, a pleasant drive in the fresh frosty air, and a brief wait of five minutes, when the punctual train came up.

There is something inexpressibly delightful in a ride, on a sharp frosty morning, in an express train. I have always felt a wild bounding sensation of joy in rapid motion. The pace at which we went that morning was exceptionally charming. Had I known that the engine-driver was intoxicated perhaps it might not have been quite so exhilarating, but I did not know that. I sat comfortably in my corner thinking of Edith, and gazing with placid benignity at the frosted trees and bushes which sparkled in the red wintry sun.

Yes, it was a glorious ride! I never had a better. The part of the country through which we passed was lovely. One can always gaze comfortably at the distant landscape from a railway carriage, however great the speed. As for the immediate foreground, it reminded me of a race—houses, trees, farms, towns, villages, hamlets, horses, sheep, cattle, poultry, hayricks, brickfields, were among the competitors in that race. They rushed in mad confusion to the rear. I exulted in the pace. Not so a stout elderly gentleman in the opposite corner, who evidently disliked it—so true is it that “one man’s meat is another’s poison.”

“There is no reason to fear, sir,” said I, with a smile, by way of reassuring him. “This is a most excellently managed line—one never hears of accidents on it.”

“Too fast just now, anyhow,” returned the elderly gentleman testily.

Just then the whistle was heard sounding violently.

“That is a sign of safety,” said I; “shows that they are on the alert.”

A severe application of the brakes caused me to stop abruptly, and the elderly man to seize the arms of his seat with a convulsive grasp.

Suddenly there was a mighty crash. The sensations in my mind that followed were suggestive of cannons, rockets, bombs, fireworks, serpents, shooting-stars, and tumbling débris. Then—all was dark and silent as the grave!