Wikkey | Page 4

emerged from her own
domain on the ground floor. "Mrs. Evans, I have brought this
boy"--then he paused, not knowing how to enter upon the needful
explanation under the chilling influence of Mrs. Evans' severe and
respectful silence.
"I dare say you are surprised," he went on at last in desperation; "but
the poor child is terribly ill, dying, I think, and if you could do
anything."
"Of course, Mr. Lawrence, you do as you think proper," Mrs. Evans
returned, preserving her severest manner, though she eyed Wikkey with
some curiosity; "only if you had mentioned when you engaged my
rooms that you intended turning them into a refuge for vagabonds, it
would have been more satisfactory to all parties."
"I know all that. I know its very inconsiderate of me, and I am very
sorry; but you see the little fellow is so bad--he looks just like little
Robin, nurse."
Mrs. Evans sniffed at the comparison, but the allusion to the child she
had so fondly tended, as he sank into an early grave, had its effect;
together with the seldom revived appellation of "nurse," and her
mollified manner encouraged Lawrence to continue.

"If you wouldn't mind getting a hot bath ready in the kitchen, I will
manage without troubling you."
"I hope, Mr. Lawrence, that I know my place better than that," was the
reply, and forthwith Mrs. Evans, who, beneath a somewhat stern
exterior, possessed a really good heart, took Wikkey under her wing,
administered warmth and restoratives, washed the grimy little form,
cropped and scrubbed the matted locks, and soon the boy, dreamily
conscious and wondrously happy, was lying before a blazing fire, clean
and fair to look on, enveloped in one of Mrs. Evans' own night-dresses.
Then the question arose, where was Wikkey to pass the night, followed
by a whispered dialogue and emphatic "Nothing will be safe" from the
lady of the house. All of which the boy perfectly understanding, he
remarked:
"I aint a prig; I'll not take nothink."
There was a touch of injured innocence in the tone; it was simply the
statement of a fact which might easily have been otherwise, and the
entire matter-of-factness of the assertion inspired Lawrence with a good
deal of confidence, together with the cough which returned on the
slightest movement, and would effectually prevent a noiseless evasion
on the part of poor Wikkey. So once more he was lifted up in the strong
arms and carried to a sofa in Lawrence's own room, where snugly
tucked up in blankets, he soon fell asleep. His benefactor, after
prolonged meditation in his arm-chair, likewise betook himself to rest,
having decided that a doctor must be the first consideration on the
following morning, and that the next step would be to consult Reg--Reg
would be able to advise him: it was his business to understand about
such matters.
A terrible fit of coughing proceeding from the sofa awoke Lawrence
next morning, startling him into sudden recollection of the evening's
adventure; and when the shutters were opened Wikkey looked so
fearfully wan and exhausted in the pale gray light, that he made all
speed to summon Mrs. Evans, and to go himself for the doctor. The
examination of the patient did not last long, and at its conclusion the
doctor muttered something about the "workhouse--as of course, Mr.

Granby, you are not prepared----" The look of imploring agony which
flashed from the large, wide-open eyes made Lawrence sign to the
doctor to follow him into another room; but before leaving Wikkey he
gave him an encouraging nod, saying:
"All right, Wikkey. I'll come back. Well," he said, as they entered the
sitting-room, "what do you think of him?"
"Think? There's not much thinking in the matter; the boy is dying, Mr.
Granby, and if you wish to remove him you had better do so at once."
"How long will it be?"
"A week or so, I should say, or it might be sooner, though these cases
sometimes linger longer than one expects. The mischief is of long
standing, and this is the end."
Lawrence remained for some time lost in thought.
"Poor little chap!" he said at last, sadly.
"Well, thank you, doctor. Good-morning."
"Do you wish any steps taken with regard to the workhouse, Mr.
Granby?" asked the doctor, preparing to depart.
Wikkey's beseeching eyes rose up before Lawrence, and he stammered
out hastily:
"No--no thank you; not just at present. I'll think about it;" and the
doctor took his leave, wondering whether it could be possible that Mr.
Granby intended to keep the boy; he was not much used to such
Quixotic proceedings.
Lawrence stood debating with himself.
"Should he send Wikkey to the workhouse? What should he do with a
boy dying in the house? How should he