Herb of Grace | Page 5

had not yet dulled the edge of his enjoyment; now, as ever,
it soothed and tranquillised him to turn from the noisy crowded streets
into this quiet spot with its gray old buildings, its patch of grass, and
the broad wide steps up and down which men, hurrying silently, passed
and repassed intent on the day's work.
As usual at this hour, the flagged court was crowded by pigeons,
strutting fearlessly between the feet of the passers-by, and filling the air
with their soft cooing voices.
"Ah, my friend the cobbler," he said to himself, and he moved a little
nearer to watch the pretty sight. A child's perambulator--a very shabby,
rickety concern--had been pushed against the fence, and its occupant, a
girl, evidently a cripple, was throwing corn to the eager winged
creatures. Two or three, more fearless than the others, had flown on to
the perambulator and were pecking out of the child's hands. Presently
she caught one and hugged it to her thin little bosom. "Oh dad, look
here--oh daddy, see, its dear little head is all green and purple. I want to
kiss it--I do--I love it so."
"Better put it down, Kit--the poor thing is scared," returned the man,
and the child reluctantly let it fly. It made straight for the distant roofs
behind them, but the rest of the pigeons still strutted and pecked round
the perambulator with tiny mincing steps, like court ladies practising
the minuet. Malcolm looked on with unabated relish--the homely idyll
always charmed him.
He had never spoken to the crippled child or her father, although they
had often crossed his path at this hour; nevertheless he regarded them
as old friends.

More than once he had made up his mind to accost them, but he was
reserved by nature and it cost him an effort to take the initiative. In his
case silence was always golden; in his own cynical language, he
refused to tout for a cheap popularity by saying pleasant things to
strangers.
They were not an attractive pair. The cobbler was a thin meagre little
man, with a round back, bow-legs, a sharp pinched face, and pale blue
eyes that seemed to look dejectedly at life.
The child was the image of her father, only in her case the defects were
more accentuated: her face was still more pinched, and absolutely
colourless, and the large blue-gray eyes were out of proportion to the
other features. A fringe of red hair, curled very stiffly, and set round the
small face like a large frill, gave her a curiously weird look. Some
woman's hand must have curled it and tied the wide limp bows of her
sunbonnet under the sharp little chin.
Neither of them seemed to notice Malcolm Herrick's scrutiny, they
were so absorbed by the pigeons; but the scanty supply of corn had
soon been scattered, and the guests were flying off by twos and threes.
"Oh see, dad!" exclaimed the child in her shrill little voice. "Oh, my!
ain't it heavenly to cut capers like that in the air; it is like the
merry-go-rounds at the fair," and then Kit clapped her hands as another
pretty creature rose softly and fluttered away in the distance.
The air had been growing more sultry and oppressive every moment; a
heavy storm was evidently gathering--already a few heat-drops had
fallen. Malcolm was a man who noticed details; he perceived at once
that the ragged cover of the perambulator offered a flimsy and
insufficient protection. Then he glanced at the umbrella in his hand; it
was a dandified article, with a handsomely carved handle.
The two voices that usually wrangled within his breast for the mastery
made themselves heard.
"It is perfectly impossible for you to offer the umbrella that Anna gave

you to that brat," murmured common-sense; "very likely her father
would pawn it for gin."
"But the child looks ill," remonstrated impulse. "Anna would be sure to
think of the poor mite first." But it was doubtful which voice would
have prevailed but for a chance word.
"Oh, dad, there is a big drop--it quite splashed my face. Ma'am said the
rain would drown us." Then the man, whose wits had been wool-
gathering, looked up in alarm, and began fumbling with Kit's shawl.
"Dear sakes," he muttered, "who would have thought it! But it is just
my luck. You will be drenched before I get you in, Kit, and Ma'am will
scold us for the rest of the day."
"Will you take this umbrella for the child, my good man?" observed
Malcolm pleasantly. "I am close to my chambers. You can let me have
it back to-morrow morning." Then, as the man regarded him in dazed
astonishment, he gave him his address. "Perhaps you may as well let