Now you can come with me if you like, or you can stay away; I don't care which, but I'm a-going, so please yourself." And with that she turned round, and never looked at Janet again, but walked straight out from under the arch with Janet's money in her hand. What could Janet do but follow her? Frightened and miserable, she began to run after her. For five minutes she hurried on, keeping up with her as well as she could. And then Tabby stopped at a small eating-shop, and condescended for a moment to turn her head. "Oh, you've been a-thinking better of it! You're beginning to want your supper, are you," she said derisively as Janet came up. "Well, serve you right if I wouldn't let you have it now, but there, do you see that pudding?" And with her brown, skinny finger she pointed suddenly to a composition that was smoking in the windows, and the black eyes gleamed as she looked up into Janet's face. "That's what I'm a going to buy. My eye! ain't it good?" She shot into the shop, leaving Janet on the pavement, and in two or three minutes came back with a good-sized parcel in her hand. "I've got it! Sixpennorth of it. Such a lump! Now then, look sharp!" And before Janet knew what she was about to do, she had dived in amongst the horses' legs, and was over at the other side of the street. With trepidation, but yet with a kind of desperate courage, Janet followed her, and for ten minutes Tabby went on rapidly threading her way round corners, through alleys, along busy thoroughfares, poor Janet keeping up with her as she best could, till at last she plunged into a narrow court, and stood still before an open door. She stood here just long enough for Janet to come up with her, and then, merely giving her companion a nod of the head, she vanished inside the house, and Janet could only follow her through the darkness (for it was almost night now) by the sound of her steps. She had begun to climb a steep narrow stair, up which she went from story to story, poor little Janet eagerly following her, and stumbling and tumbling in the gloom a dozen times over, until they reached the top of the house, and here at last Tabby paused again. There was a little glimmer of light coming in upon them from a skylight above their heads. "Now, if mother's in, won't you catch it!" Tabby suddenly said. "Shall I?" asked Janet faintly, shrinking back. "Won't you? That's all! I wouldn't be in your shoes for something." And then, having raised her guest's spirits with this kind hint of a stirring welcome, Tabby opened a door before her, and went in. CHAPTER VIII. To Janet's great relief, for her companion's last words had made her shiver, the room they entered seemed empty. "It's all right; she ain't here. I didn't think she would be," said Tabby. "I only said it to give you a turn. She don't almost ever come home till late. Sometimes she stops out working, and sometimes she stops out drinking, and sometimes she stops out 'cause she's too far gone to come in. Come along now; hold the candle till I get a light. Why, can't you hold it steadier than that? Óne 'ud think you was starved with cold." "No, I'm not cold," replied Janet. But her hand was shaking nevertheless, and she put the candle down upon a table as soon as Tabby had lighted it. What a wretched, poverty-stricken room it was! So bare, so dirty, so comfortless! In one corner there was an unmade bed, with the tumbled bedclothes lying in a heap upon it; an old deal table' stood on the uncovered floor, and two or three chairs with broken seats; there were the ashes of past fires lying in the grate; there were dirty cups upon the table, a dirty saucepan standing on the hob, dirty clothes hanging up against the walls. Janet turned sick as she looked round her. She had been in many a poor woman's room before now, but never in one like this. "Now, if you ain't hungry, I am," said Tabby after a moment or two's silence, during which she had trimmed the wick of the candle with a hair-pin, and swept the crumbs off part of the table with the skirt of her frock. "If you ain't hungry, I am; so I'm going to set to." And she unrolled her parcel; and, proceeding at once to business with a beautiful simplicity, took up a lump of pudding in her fingers and transferred it straight to her mouth. She ate it off the paper in which she had brought it home, and she ate it without the help of fork, or spoon, or knife, or plate. After she had taken a few mouthfuls she paused a moment and looked in a speculative way into Janet's face. "If you wants any, you'd better look sharp," she said. "What ails you at it?" "Oh, n-nothing," replied Janet, faintly, and stretched out her hand, and took up a lump of pudding too. But she was so sick and frightened that though she took it up she could not eat it, but put it to her lips and drew it back again, and then all at once flushed up and burst out crying. "My eye, you are a soft one! said Tabby when she saw this proceeding, and she stared at Janet with round, wideopened eyes. Indeed, the sight seemed so surprising to her that for nearly a minute she sat with a piece of pudding arrested half-way on its passage to her lips, quite absorbed by the curious spectacle before her. 66 Well, you're the greatest gaby ever I knew. What's the good o' crying? You've got some good victuals; you ain't starved yet," she said at last. "Oh yes, I know! Oh, it isn't that! But what what - what am I to do?" sobbed poor little Janet, and dropped her pudding back upon the table, and looked at Tabby so eagerly and piteously that, hardened street-gipsy as she was, Tabby did not quite like it. "What are you to do? La! what does anybody do? You'll get on somehow, like the rest of us," said Tabby bluntly, not much accustomed to administering consolation. "You'll have to grow a little sharper though, or you won't be much hand at it. How do you think I'd get on if I wasn't sharp? My eye! fancy me sitting blubbering like a baby! Why, how old are you? I'll bet that you're as old as me; not that I'm sure how old I am," said Tabby frankly. "But I ain't more than seven — or eight or nine. You're much about that too, I should say; ain't you?" "I'm just eight," said Janet. "There now; I guessed you was. And to think of you blubbering still, as if you was two or three! Why, if you go on like this for nothing at all, what would you do if some one whopped you?" And having crushed Janet by this contemptuous question, Tabby addressed herself to her supper again, and went on comfortably with her meal. ing either of before or after. But Janet could hardly think of the present moment at all; she could only think of the misery that she had suffered already, and of the unknown trouble that she had still to face. 66 "Well, I can't do much more, I'm thinking," said Tabby at last, pausing in her labours and smacking her lips. There, if you wants that last bit you may have it;" and she pointed with her greasy finger to a fragment still remaining of the feast. "Thank you," said Janet meekly, and put forward her hand to take it; and then suddenly stopped, and, "I can't eat it now, but I think I think I'll put it in my pocket," she said timidly. "Put it in your pocket!" exclaimed Tabby instantly at this proposal, seizing the piece of pudding in her own hand, with a look in her face like a young tigress. "You've no more right to put it in your pocket than I have. It's my pudding just as much as yours." "But you've had nearly the whole of it already," pleaded Janet. "Well, and if I have, whose fault was that? I didn't stop you from having it, did I? Put it in your pocket, you mean thing!" and she glared at Janet with a pair of eyes like two small fires. "I thought I might have it to take away. I thought, when I had had so little of it began Janet wistfully. But Tabby had already burst into a torrent of abuse, and there was nothing for it but for Janet to break off her sentence and hold her tongue. The little vagabond poured out her bad words, and as she shot them out she ate the pudding up, till pudding and abuse both came to an end together; then, licking her lips, she concluded the ceremonies of the table by wiping the fat off her hands upon her frock, and crushing the paper which had held their supper into a ball, which she courteously launched at Janet's head. Janet ducked to avoid the blow, and then sadly got upon her feet. "I think I had better go now," she said, almost in a whisper. "Where d' you want to go to?" asked Tabby instantly. "I don't want to go anywhere," said Janet. Janet, too, took up her piece of pudding once more and tried to eat it; but there was a lump in her throat, and she could hardly swallow. She was trying with all the power of her little brain to think what was to become of her where she was to go when her supper was ended-where she was to spend even this first night. Careless little Tabby was munching away mother 'll make a row, of course, but with all her might, enjoying the pleasure I dare say she'll be drunk when she comes of the moment, and apparently not think-in to-night, and so she won't know noth "Then why can't you stop where you are?" said Tabby. "Come," she said suddenly, "I'll tell you what you're such fun that if you like to stop here a bit "Oh yes," said Janet quickly. "You'd be safest on the floor, I dare say; and then, you see, I could throw an old gown over you, so that mother'll never notice, whether she comes home drunk or not. Only, I say, mind when you wake up in the morning you don't move. Just you keep an eye on me, and when I says ing till morning; and then, when she sees you, if you'll just do like me, and give her as good as you get, and won't mind a slap or two, she'll leave you alone soon enough. For, bless you, if we gets our own living, what does it matter to her? And then we can go out together, you and me; and la! if you don't come round them with that prim face o' yours! I looks so wicked, let me see when I says, Pudding,' you know, nobody'll give me nothing (that's why I has to take it so often), but if I had a meek face like yours wouldn't I make a mint o' money! Oh, my eye! wouldn't I!" cried Tabby, looking as if her mouth was watering at the very thought. "Come, now," she said, sharply, "would you like to stop?" “I—I don't know," said Janet, hesitatingly. She was standing up; she had been feeling for the last few minutes as if she would be glad to go anywhere out of this wretched place, and yet suddenly when she thought of herself again in the dark, unknown streets, wandering homeless amongst them, it seemed to her as if any shelter that was offered her was a thing to grasp at even a shelter like this, with a drunken woman and a little streetthief. She looked wistfully and hesitatingly at Tabby. 66 Do you think it would be best to stop? I don't know I can't think -only-oh, I've nowhere else to go!" the poor little soul cried out suddenly. then jump up like a shot, and we'll have it "No," said Janet quickly. you?" "I should think I had! I saw one well - a week ago." "Oh!" said Janet, rather with a gasp. "Oh yes, there's plenty of them to be seen. If you goes to the right places they're as plenty as blackberries. I'll tell you about one or two, shall I?" "If you would like to," said Janet a little faintly. "Well, the first ghost ever I saw was in a churchyard," said Tabby, fixing her eyes on Janet with rather a wicked twinkle in them. "That's the nat'ral place for them, ain't it? Well, I was a-sitting late at night upon a tombstone 66 But why were you doing that?" asked Janet, hastily. "Well, if I was you I'd stop," said Tabby, in a business-like way. "Good offers don't come twice. Look now; I'll tell you what we'll do. You'll have to stop somewhere, and I'm a-thinking, "Why shouldn't I ha' been doing it? though you might tuck in at the bottom of La, I sits anywhere. Sometimes it's on a the bed, yet if mother was to kick out in tombstone, and sometimes it's on a doorthe night step. I don't care. I was a-sitting on a "Oh, I could sleep upon the floor- -or tombstone, eating a bit o' cake, and what anywhere," said Janet. do you think I saw? As sure as you're "Yes; but I say, I'm a-thinking, sup-alive I saw something white a-crawling on pose we has a lark? Suppose you gets into bed instead of me, and lets mother find you there in the morning. Only if she was to hit you, perhaps, and give you a black eye," said Tabby, seeing upon reflection some slight objections to this plan. "Oh yes; I would rather sleep upon the floor," exclaimed Janet hastily. 66 'Well, you see, if mother was to get into one of her tantrums when she found out about you, she might smash you before you knew where you was; that's all. It won't matter if you're a bit away from her; but just to wake up, you know, and find you close to her feet the ground, and presently it rose up, and up, and up, till it was -oh, such a height! and it was all wrapped up in a great white sheet, and it had its arms stretched out, like this, and it came nearer and nearer," said Tabby, stretching out her own arms as she spoke, and advancing her face till it nearly touched her companion's, "and then, all at once - all at once - bo! cried Tabby with a sudden shout, and burst out laughing as Janet gave a cry, and leapt up on her seat. "There now, you looks just as if you thought the ghost was a-coming! What fun you are!" cried Tabby the next moment, rubbing her small brown hands together. "Come, I'll tell you another | Janet's horror-struck face with the next story, shall I? I'll tell you a true one this words arrested on her lips. time; such a story! It'll make your flesh creep." "But couldn't you - couldn't you tell some pretty stories?" interrupted Janet rather piteously. "I don't care about stories that frighten one at least, not so very much." - "Oh, but I do," said Tabby. "I think there's nothing like 'em, and when you tells stories you must choose what suits yourself, you know. Let me see, what was I a-going to say? Oh, I know. Once upon a time-no," said Tabby, interrupting herself, "that's how the fairy stories begin, and this ain't about fairies; it's about dead people. Stories about dead people don't begin like that. Wait a bit. There was a man once who fell ill," said Tabby, after a moment's thought, “and died, and when he was dead they buried him. And the day they buried him somebody said to somebody else that he'd go and dig him up again. Or let me see- no, he didn't say that; but he said he'd go and dig down till he reached his coffin and hammer another nail into it." "But why should he do that?" asked Janet, opening her eyes very wide. "Did did he think he wasn't properly nailed?" "He didn't care whether he was properly nailed or not," said Tabby contemptuously. "It wasn't that. He wanted to show that he wasn't afraid,- don't you see? They was a-talking together, they two, and says one to the other, 'You think there's such things as ghosts; and there ain't no such things as ghosts. When a man's dead, he's dead, and there's an end of him. I'm no more afraid of a dead man than a living one.' And then says the other, Well, if you ain't, go and dig down to Dick's' (we'll call him Dick) – 'go and dig down to Dick's coffin and knock another nail into it, and then,' says he, if you does that I'll believe you.' So they made a bet on it, and the man that said he wasn't afraid took a hammer and nails, and a big spade, and went late at night to the churchyard, and began to dig away at Dick's grave. And he dug away, and dug away, till he got down to the coffin; and when he had got down to the coffin he jumped into the hole, and got upon his knees on the coffin-lid, and took a long nail and hammered it in; and then, just as he was a-going to get up again—what do you think?" and Tabby suddenly paused here, and looked into VOL. XIV. 727 LIVING AGE. "Wh― what?" said Janet, breathless. "All at once, as he was a-going to get up again from his knees he found that the dead man had caught him, tight!" "Oh!" cried Janet, gasping. "Yes, so tight that he couldn't move — just as if he'd got hold of his coat with a great strong hand. And the man-the man that was alive,`you know — was in such a fright that he gave a great scream, as if he'd been shot, and then he fainted right away. And - and that was the end of him," said Tabby, bringing her story to a conclusion rather abruptly; "for when some other people come in the morning, they found him a-lying on the coffin-lid quite dead, and just think!-it hadn't been a ghost that had laid hold of him at all, but he'd nailed himself to the coffin by driving in the nail through his coattail. Wasn't it a joke! Now, ain't that a good story?" asked Tabby, cheerfully, with her face all on a broad grin. I am afraid that Janet's enjoyment of the story had not been quite so keen as could have been wished. Tabby had, it is true, quite fulfilled her promise that she would make her companion's flesh creep; but some people don't care about getting their flesh set creeping, and to tell the truth Janet was one of these. "Ye-es, I suppose it's a good story," she said hesitatingly, in reply to Tabby's question.. "It's a-a very good story, I suppose - only - it's rather horrid, isn't it?" "Horrid? I should think it was! Why, that's the fun of it," cried Tabby scornfully. "I don't care tuppence for stories that don't give you a crawly feeling, you know. There ain't no good in 'em if they don't do that. I'd like to hear the sort of story you'd tell, though! My eye, wouldn't it be a milk-and-water one! Come, fire away at something, just for the fun of the thing," said Tabby, with her mischievous eyes gleaming. It was strange, perhaps, that Janet should not find herself encouraged by this pleasant invitation to begin the narration of a tale forthwith, but I am obliged to confess that, instead of "firing away" when Tabby bid her, she felt very much as if her tongue was beginning to cleave to the roof of her mouth, and for the life of her she could not think of any story that seemed likely to have charms for Tabby's ear. "I'm not good at telling stories. I don't know many. I'm afraid I'm very stupid," | body help being fond of it? Oh, think of she said, looking timidly in her compan- awakening in the morning with the birds ion's face. "Well, I guess you are," answered Tabby frankly; "you must be if you can't make stories. Why, I can make 'em as fast as I can speak. But, come now, you can't but know some. It don't matter whether they're good or bad. Just tell anything. You can tell a true one if you can't do no better. Surely," said Tabby, who, I fear, had rather a contempt for truth, "surely you can tell a true story at any rate?" "I don't know. I I can tell you things I used to do," said Janet hesitatingly. There won't be much fun in hearing them, I should think," replied Tabby with undisguised scorn. "But come along if you can't do nothing better - let's hear about 'em." "I used to be so happy when I was little," said Janet, beginning in rather a faint voice, for she had not much hope of interesting her companion. "You know I didn't live here in London then; I used to live in the country, far away.". "Why, that's just like me," said Tabby. "What, did you ever live in the country?" asked Janet eagerly, with her face lighting up. "Oh yes, I did once," replied Tabby carelessly. "I've most forgot everything about it now. I was born there; and then father died; and then mother come up to London. Mother belonged to London, and she found the country dull, you know." "I can't think how anybody can find the country dull,” said Janet, with a longing sigh. er. singing outside your windows! Think of getting up and running out into the green fields, and going and getting flowers and blackberries, and sitting in the woods! I used to have a little pony that I rode upon; it wasn't mine, but somebody lent it to me. Just think of riding on a pony along the pretty country lanes, with the trees over your head, and the honeysuckle in the hedges, and all the wild roses, and the foxglove, and the buttercups, and the violets!" "Set a beggar on horseback! Oh, my eye, if I had a pony wouldn't I whop it and make it go!" said Tabby. "And we had such a pretty gardena dear old garden, full of fruit-trees and flowers, and we had a cow, and cocks and hens, and once we had a goat." แ "I knows about goats," said Tabby. "They has one down in the next street, at the blacksmith's; and oh, ain't he vicious!" "Ours wasn't vicious," said Janet quickly. "He was quite young, and he used to play so prettily. But still I liked the cow best. She was such a dear old cow. She knew me quite well, and she used to turn round and low when she heard me coming; and often and often in the afternoons papa and I used to go at milking-time and get new milk-oh, such rich, warm, beautiful milk! They thought it was good for poor papa, but it never seemed to do him any good," said Janet, with a sudden sad drop in her voice. 66 Why was he ill?" asked Tabby bluntly. "Yes, he was ill. He was dying - he was dying for a long, long time," said Janet half aloud. "He was a clergyman, and he used to work so hard. He was always with the poor people, teaching them, and reading to them, and doing them good. He used to work all day, and sometimes at night he would be so tired that he could hardly speak." "Oh, you would, if you was like mothThere ain't enough going on there to suit her. There ain't theatres, you know, nor them dancing-places, nor nothing," said Tabby coolly, quite unconscious of the strange look on Janet's face. “Oh, the country never does for the likes of her. It's very well for little 'uns like you "Serve him right," said Tabby sharply. and me, 'cause we can get fun out of any-"What's the good o' anybody working thing; but grown-up people seems differ- that way when they're not obliged? ent somehow. It needs such a deal to daresay all the people would ha' done just make them jolly. I wonder what the as well without him." country would seem like now! I shouldn't mind seeing it again once in a while." "I wish I could see it again!" said Janet fervently. "Why? was you so fond of it?" asked Tabby. "Fond of it!" echoed Janet, with a little break in her voice; "how could any "But it was his business to work," explained Janet indignantly. "He wouldn't have been happy if he hadn't done it. He went on working till-till-till he just died at last." "Like the old horses do," said Tabby. "I saw one to-day a dreadful old beast and he was a-pulling a cart with stones |