The Unclassed | Page 8

in Milton Street. On the front-door was a brass-plate
which bore the inscription: "Mrs. Ledward, Dressmaker;" in the
window of the ground-floor was a large card announcing that
"Apartments" were vacant. The only light was one which appeared in
the top storey, and there Ida knew that her mother was waiting for her,
with tea ready on the table as usual. Mrs. Starr was seldom at home
during the child's dinner-hour, and Ida had not seen her at all to-day.
For it was only occasionally that she shared her mother's bedroom; it
was the rule for her to sleep with Mrs. Ledward, the landlady, who was
a widow and without children. The arrangement had held ever since Ida
could remember; when she had become old enough to ask for an
explanation of this, among other singularities in their mode of life, she
was told that her mother slept badly, and must have the bed to herself.
But the night had come on, and every moment of delay doubtless
increased the anxiety she was causing. Ida went up to the door, stood
on tiptoe to reach the knocker, and gave her usual two distinct raps.
Mrs. Ledward opened the door to her in person; a large woman, with
pressed lips and eyes that squinted very badly; attired, however, neatly,
and looking as good-natured as a woman who was at once landlady and
dressmaker could be expected to look.
"How 's 't you're so late?" she asked, without looking at the child; her
eyes, as far as one could guess, fixed upon the houses opposite, her
hands in the little pocket on each side of her apron. "Your mother's
poorly."
"Oh, then I shall sleep with her to-night?" exclaimed Ida, forgetting her
trouble for the moment in this happy foresight
"Dessay," returned Mrs. Ledward laconically.
Ida left her still standing in the doorway, and ran stairs. The chamber
she went into--after knocking and receiving permission to enter,
according to the rule which had been impressed upon her-- was a

tolerably-furnished bedroom, which, with its bright fire, tasteful little
lamp, white coverlets and general air of fresh orderliness, made a
comfortable appearance. The air was scented, too, with some pleasant
odour of a not too pungent kind. But the table lacked one customary
feature; no tea was laid as it was wont to be at this hour. The child
gazed round in surprise. Her mother was in bed, lying back on raised
pillows, and with a restless, half-pettish look on her face.
"Where have you been?" she asked querulously, her voice husky and
feeble, as if from a severe cold. "Why are you so late?"
Ida did not answer at once, but went straight to the bed and offered the
accustomed kiss. Her mother waved her off.
"No, no; don't kiss me. Can't you see what a sore throat I've got? You
might catch it. And I haven't got you any tea," she went on, her face
growing to a calmer expression as she gazed at the child "Ain't I a
naughty mother? But it serves you half right for being late. Come and
kiss me; I don't think it's catching. No, perhaps you'd better not."
But Ida started forward at the granted leave, and kissed her warmly.
"There now," went on the hoarse voice complainingly, "I shouldn't
wonder if you catch it, and we shall both be laid up at once. Oh, Ida, I
do feel that poorly, I do! It's the draught under the door; what else can it
be? I do, I do feel that poorly!"
She began to cry miserably. Ida forgot all about the tale she had to tell;
her own eyes overflowed in sympathy. She put her arm under her
mother's neck, and pressed cheek to cheek tenderly.
"Oh, how hot you are, mother! Shall I get you a cup of tea, dear?
Wouldn't it make your throat better?"
"Perhaps it would; I don't know. Don't go away, not just yet. You'll
have to be a mother to me to-night, Ida. I almost feel I could go to sleep,
if you held me like that."
She closed her eyes, but only for a moment, then started up anxiously.
"What am I thinking about! Of course you want your tea."
"No, no; indeed I don't, mother."
"Nonsense; of course you do. See, the kettle is on the bob, and I think
it's full. Go away; you make me hotter. Let me see you get your tea,
and then perhaps it'll make me feel I could drink a cup. There, you've
put your hair all out of order; let me smooth it. Don't trouble to lay the
cloth; just use the tray; it's in the cupboard."

Ida obeyed, and set about the preparations. Compare her face with that
which rested sideways