Rivers of Ice | Page 8

a meaning glance on her,
and slipped a small coin into her hand. The dirty, sweet-faced damsel
replied by a remarkably knowing wink--all of which by-play, with the
reason for it, was as clear to Captain Wopper as if it had been
elaborately explained to him. But the Captain was a discreet man. He
became deeply absorbed in daguerreotypes and sauce-pan lids above
the fireplace, to the exclusion of all else.
"You've forgotten the bag, ma'am," said the Captain, drawing his chair
nearer the table.
"So I have; dear me, what is it?" cried Mrs Roby, taking it up. "It's
heavy."
"Gold!" said the Captain.
"Gold?" exclaimed the old nurse.
"Ay, nuggets," said the seaman, opening it and emptying its contents on
the table.
As the old nurse gazed on the yellow heap her black eyes glittered with
pleasure, as though they had derived additional lustre from the precious
metal, and she drew them towards her with a trembling, almost greedy,
motion, at sight of which Captain Wopper's countenance became
troubled.
"And did Willie send this to me, dear boy?"
"He did, ma'am, hoping that it would be of use in the way of making
your home more comfortable, and enabling you to keep a better table."
He glanced uneasily round the poor room and at the small loaf as he
spoke, and the old woman observed the glance.

"It is very kind of him, very kind," continued Mrs Roby. "What may it
be worth, now?"
"Forty pounds, more or less," answered the Captain.
Again the old woman's eyes sparkled greedily, and again the seaman's
countenance fell.
"Surely, ma'am," said the Captain, gravely, "things must be uncommon
dear in London, for you tell me that Willum has sent you a deal of
money in time past, but you don't seem to be much the better for it."
"Captain Wopper," said Mrs Roby, putting her hand lightly on the
Captain's arm as it lay on the table, and looking earnestly into his face,
"if you had not been an old and valued friend of my dear Willie-- which
I learn that you are from his letter--I would have said your remark was
a rude one; but, being what you are, I don't mind telling you that I save
up every penny I can scrape together for little Netta White, the girl that
has just gone out to fetch the butter. Although she's not well cared
for,--owing to her mother, who's a washerwoman, bein' overburdened
with work and a drunken husband,--she's one of the dearest creeters I
ever did see. Bless you, sir, you'd be amazed if you knew all the kind
and thoughtful things that untrained and uncared for child does, and
never thinks she's doing anything more than other people. It's all along
of her mother's spirit, which is as good as gold. Some months ago Little
Netta happened to be up here when I was at tea, and, seeing the
difficulty I had to move about with my old rheumatic limbs, she said
she'd come and set out my tea and breakfast for me; and she's done it,
sir, from that time to this, expecting nothing fur it, and thinking I'm too
poor to give her anything. But she's mistaken," continued Mrs Roby,
with a triumphant twinkle in her black eyes, "she doesn't know that I've
made a confidant of her brother Gillie, and give him a sixpence now
and then to give to his mother without telling where he got it, and she
doesn't know that I'm saving up to be able to leave something to her
when I'm called home--it can't be long, now; it can't be long."
"Old 'ooman," cried Captain Wopper, whose face had brightened
wonderfully during this explanation, "give us your flip--your hand. I

honour your heart, ma'am, and I've no respect whatever for your brain!"
"I'm not sure that that's a compliment," said Mrs Roby, with a smile.
Captain Wopper assured her with much solemnity that it might or
might not be a compliment, but it was a fact. "Why, look here," said he,
"you go and starve yourself, and deny yourself all sorts of little
comforts-- what then? Why, you'll die long before your time, which is
very like taking the law into your own hands, ma'am, and then you
won't leave to Netta nearly as much as you might if you had taken care
of yourself and lived longer, and saved up after a reasonable fashion.
It's sheer madness. Why, ma'am, you're starving now, but I'll put a stop
to that. Don't you mind, now, whether I'm rude or not. You can't expect
anything else from an old gold-digger, who has lived for years where
there were no women except such as appeared to be made of mahogany,
with nothing to cover 'em