A Pair of Clogs | Page 6

making a lucky hit, he took it in his mouth, carried it to her, and
placed it with gentle care close to her ear. This time Mossoo had done
the right thing, for when she saw what he had brought, a watery little
smile gleamed through baby's tears, her sobs ceased, she sat up and
seized the clog triumphantly. Waving it about in her small uncertain
hands, she hit the friendly poodle smartly on the nose with it as he
stood near; then leaning forward, grasped his drooping moustache and
pulled it, which hurt him still more; but he did not cease to wag his tail

with pleasure at his success.
From that day "Mossy," as she called the dog, was added to the number
of baby's friends--the other two were Bennie and the little clog. To this
last she confided, in language of her own, much that no one else
understood, and Seraminta did not again attempt to take it from her.
She was thankful that the child had something to soothe her in the
stormy fits of crying which came when she was offended or thwarted in
her will. At such times she would kick and struggle until her little
strength was exhausted, and at last drop off to sleep with the clog
cuddled up to her breast. Seraminta began to feel doubtful as to the
advantages of her theft, and Perrin, the gypsy man, swore at his wife
and reproached her in the strongest language for having brought the
child away.
"I tell you what, my gal," he said one day, "the proper place for that
child's the house, an' that's where she'll go soon as I git a chance. She've
the sperrit of a duchess an' as 'orty in her ways as a queen. She'll never
be no good to us in our line o' bizness, an' I'm not agoin' to keep her."
They wrangled and quarrelled over the subject continually, for
Seraminta, partly from obstinacy, and partly because the child was so
handsome, wished to keep her, and teach her to perform with the
poodle in the streets. But all the while she had an inward feeling that
Perrin would outwit her, and get his own way. And this turned out to be
the case.
Travelling slowly but steadily along, sometimes stopping a day or so in
a large town, where Seraminta played the tambourine in the streets, and
Mossoo danced, they had now left the north far behind them. They
were bound for certain races near London, and long before they arrived
there Perrin had determined to get rid of the child whom he daily
disliked more; he would leave her in the workhouse, and the burden
would be off his hands. Baby's lucky star, however, was shining, and a
better home was waiting for her.
One evening after a long dusty journey they came to a tiny village in a
pleasant valley; Perrin had made up his mind to reach the town, two

miles further on, before they stopped for the night, but by this time the
whole party was so tired and jaded that he saw it would be impossible
to push on. The donkey-cart came slowly down the hill past the
vicarage, and the vicar's wife cutting roses in her garden stopped her
work to look at it. At Seraminta seated in the cart with her knees almost
as high as her nose, and her yellow handkerchief twisted round her
head; at the dark Perrin, striding along by the donkey's side; at Mossoo,
still adorned with his last dancing ribbon, but ragged and shabby, and
so very very tired that he limped along on three legs; at the brown
children among the bundles in the cart; and finally at baby. There her
eyes rested in admiration: "What a lovely little child!" she said to
herself. Baby was seated between the two boys, talking happily to
herself; her head was bare, and her bush of golden hair was all the more
striking from its contrast with her walnut-stained skin. It made a spot
like sunlight in the midst of its dusky surroundings.
"Austin! Austin!" called out the vicar's wife excitedly as the cart moved
slowly past. There was no answer for a moment, and she called again,
until Austin appeared in the porch. He was a middle-aged grey-haired
clergyman, with bulging blue eyes and stooping shoulders; in his hand
he held a large pink rose. "Look," said his wife, "do look quickly at that
beautiful child. Did you ever see such hair?" The Reverend Austin
Vallance looked.
"An ill-looking set, to be sure," he said. "I must tell Joe to leave Brutus
unchained to-night."
"But the child," said his wife, taking hold of his arm eagerly, "isn't she
wonderful? She's like an Italian child."