Post Haste | Page 6

text, "God is love." This hung at the foot
of the bed, so as to be the first object to greet the girl's eyes on awaking
each morning. Below it hung a row of photographs, embracing the late
Reverend James Maylands, his widow, his son Philip, his distant
relative Madge, and the baby. These were so arranged as to catch the
faint gleam of light that penetrated the window; but as there was a
twenty-foot brick wall in front of the window at a distance of two yards,

the gleam, even on a summer noon, was not intense. In winter it was
barely sufficient to render darkness visible.
Poor May Maylands! It was a tremendous change to her from the free
air and green fields of Ireland to a small back street in the heart of
London; but necessity had required the change. Her mother's income
could not comfortably support the family. Her own salary, besides
supporting herself, was devoted to the enlargement of that income, and
as it amounted to only 50 pounds a year, there was not much left to pay
for lodgings, etcetera. It is true Miss Lillycrop would have gladly
furnished May with board and lodging free, but her house was in the
neighbourhood of Pimlico, and May's duties made it necessary that she
should live within a short distance of the General Post-Office. Miss
Lillycrop had heard of the Flints as being good-hearted and trusty
people, and advised her cousin to board with them, at least until some
better arrangement could be made for her. Meanwhile May was to go
and spend part of every Sunday with Miss Lillycrop at Number 9 Purr
Street.
"Well, Grannie," said May, returning to the front room, where the
sausages were already hissing deliciously, "what news have you for me
to-night?"
She sat down beside the old woman, took her hand and spoke in that
cheery, cosy, confidential way which renders some women so
attractive.
"Deed, May, there's little but the auld story--Mercies, mornin', noon,
and night. But, oo ay, I was maist forgettin'; Miss Lillycrap was here,
an left ye a message o' some sort."
"And what was the message, Grannie?"
"She's gone and forgot it," said Solomon Flint, putting the sausages on
the table, which had already been spread for supper by a stout little girl
who was the sole domestic of the house and attendant on Mrs Flint.
"You've no chance of getting it now, Miss May, for I've noticed that
when the old 'ooman once forgets a thing it don't come back to her--

except, p'r'aps, a week or two afterwards. Come now, draw in and go to
work. But, p'r'aps, Dollops may have heard the message. Hallo!
Dollops! come here, and bring the kettle with you."
Dollops--the little girl above referred to--was particularly small and shy,
ineffably stupid, and remarkably fat. It was the last quality which
induced Solomon to call her Dollops. Her hair and garments stuck out
from her in wild dishevelment, but she was not dirty. Nothing
belonging to Mrs Flint was allowed to become dirty.
"Did you see Miss Lillycrop, Dollops?" asked Solomon, as the child
emerged from some sort of back kitchen.
"Yes, sir, I did; I saw'd 'er a-goin' hout."
"Did you hear her leave a message?"
"Yes, sir, I did. I 'eard 'er say to missis, `Be sure that you give May
Maylands my love, an tell 'er wotever she do to keep 'er feet dry, an'
don't forgit the message, an' say I'm so glad about it, though it's not
much to speak of arter all!'"
"What was she so glad about?" demanded Solomon.
"I dun know, sir. She said no more in my 'earin' than that. I only comed
in w'en she was a-goin' hout. P'r'aps it was about the findin' of 'er
gloves in 'er pocket w'en she was a talkin' to missis, which she thought
she'd lost, though they wasn't wuth pickin' up out of the--"
"Pooh! be off to your pots an' pans, child," said Flint, turning to his
grandmother, who sat staring at the sausages with a blank expression.
"You can't remember it, I s'pose, eh?"
Mrs Flint shook her head and began to eat.
"That's right, old 'ooman," said her grandson, patting her shoulder;
"heap up the coals, mayhap it'll revive the memory."
But Mrs Flint's memory was not so easily revived. She became more

abstracted than usual in her efforts to recover it. Supper passed and was
cleared away. The old woman was placed in her easy chair in front of
the fire with the cat--her chief evening amusement--on her knee; the
letter-carrier went out for his evening walk; Dollops proceeded
miscellaneously to clean up and smash the crockery, and May sat down
to indite an epistle to the inmates of Rocky