Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (have you read this book txt) 📖
- Author: Various None
Book online «Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (have you read this book txt) 📖». Author Various None
The Forenoon, She Once More Entered The Big Kitchen In Kennedy'S
Lodgings, She Was Greeted With The Startling Intelligence That The Whole
Wishart Family Were In Prison.
The Room Was As Full As Before. Six Women Were Sitting In The Middle Of
The Floor Teasing Out An Old Hair Mattress. There Was The Same Odor Of
Cooking, Early As It Was, And The Same Medley Of Noises, But The People
Were Different. The Basket-Making Cripple Was Gone, And In His Place By
The Window Sat A Big Irish Beggar-Woman, Who Was Keeping Up A
Conversation With Some One (A Compatriot Evidently) In a Window Of The
Close Behind.
The Mistress Of The House Came Forward. She Was A Decent-Looking Little
Woman, But Had Rather A Hard Face, Expressive Of Care And Anxiety. On
Recognizing Her Visitor She Curtsied: "The Wisharts, Mem? Yes, They'Re
A' In Jail."
Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 85
"All In Jail?" Echoed Miss Mackenzie. "Will You Come Outside And Speak
To Me? There Are So Many People--"
"Eh Yes, Mem: I'M Sure Ye Fin' The Room Closs. Eh Yes, Mem, The Wisharts
Are A' In The Lock-Up."
They Were Standing Outside In The Passage, And Mrs. Kennedy Held The
Door Closed By The Latch, Which She Kept Firmly Grasped In Her Hand. It
Struck Miss Mackenzie As Being An Odd Way To Secure Privacy For A
Privileged Communication, To Fasten The Door Of Their Room Upon Those
Inside. It Was Expressive, However.
"Ye See, Mem," Began The Landlady, "Wishart'S No A Very Bad Man--Jist
Weak In The Heid Like--But'S Wife Is Jist Something Awfu', An' I Could
Not Let Her Bide In a Decent Lodging-House. We Hae To Dra' The Line
Somewhere, And I Dra' It Low Enough, But She Wis Far Below That. Eh,
She'S Jist Terrible! Wishart Has A Sister In Glasgae Verra Weel To Do,
An' I H'Ard Him Say He'D Gie The Lassie To Her If It Wer Na For The
Wife. The Day The School-Board Gentleman Wis Here She Came Back: She'D
Been Away, Ye Ken, And She Said She'D Become A T'Otaller, An' So I Sed
She Micht Stay; But, Ye See, When Nicht Came On She An' Wishart Gaed Out
Thegither, An' Jist To Celebrate Their Bein' Frien'S Again She An' Him
Gaed Intil A Public, An' She Got Uproarious Drunk, An' The Polis Took
Her Up. Wishart Wis No Sae Bad, Sae They Let Him Come Hame; But, Ye See,
He Had Tasted The Drink, An' Wanted Mair, An' He Hadna Ony Money. Ye
See, He'D Promised The Gentleman Who Came Here That He Widna Send Baubie
Oot To Sing Again. But He _Did_ Send Her Oot Then To Sing For Money For
Him, An' The Polis Had Been Put To Watch Her, An' Saw Her Beg, An' Took
Her Up To The Office, An' Came Back Here For Wishart. An' So Before The
Day Was Dune They Were A' Lockit Up Thegither."
Such Was The Story Related To Miss Mackenzie. What Was To Be Done With
Baubie Now? It Was Hardly Fair That She Should Be Sent To A Reformatory
Among Criminal Children. She Had Committed No Crime, And There Was That
Empty Bed At The Home For Little Girls. She Determined To Attend The
Sheriff-Court On Monday Morning And Ask To Be Given The Custody Of
Baubie.
When Monday Morning Came, Ten O'Clock Saw Miss Mackenzie Established In
A Seat Immediately Below The Sheriff'S High Bench. The Wisharts Were
Among The First Batch Tried, And Made Their Appearance From A Side-Door.
Mrs. Wishart Came First, Stepping Along With A Resolute, Brazen Bearing
That Contrasted With Her Husband'S Timid, Shuffling Gait. She Was A
Gypsy-Looking Woman, With Wandering, Defiant Black Eyes, And Her Red
Face Had The Sign-Manual Of Vice Stamped Upon It. After Her Came Baubie,
A Red-Tartan-Covered Mite, Shrinking Back And Keeping As Close To Her
Father As She Could. Baubie Had Favored Her Mother As To Complexion:
That Was Plain. The Top Of Her Rough Head And Her Wild Brown Eyes Were
Just Visible Over The Panel As She Stared Round Her, Taking In With
Composure And Astuteness Everything That Was Going On. She Was The Most
Self-Possessed Of Her Party, For Under Mrs. Wishart'S Active Brazenness
There Could Easily Be Seen Fear And A Certain Measure Of Remorse Hiding
Themselves; And Wishart Seemed To Be But One Remove From Imbecility.
Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 86
The Charges Were Read With A Running Commentary Of Bad Language From
Mrs. Wishart As Her Offences Were Detailed; Wishart Blinked In a
Helpless, Pathetic Way; Baubie, Who Seemed To Consider Herself As
Associated With Him Alone In The Charge, Assumed An Air Of Indifference
And Sucked Her Thumb, Meantime Watching Miss Mackenzie Furtively. She
Felt Puzzled To Account For Her Presence There, But It Never Entered Her
Head To Connect That Fact With Herself In any Way.
"Guilty Or Not Guilty?" Asked The Sheriff-Clerk.
"There'S A Kin' Lady In coort," Stammered Wishart, "An' She Kens A'
Aboot It."
"Guilty Or Not Guilty?" Reiterated The Clerk: "This Is Not The Time To
Speak." "She Kens It A', An' She Wis To Tak' The Lassie."
"Guilty Or Not Guilty? You Must Plead, And You Can Say What You Like
Afterward." Wishart Stopped, Not Without An Appealing Look At The Kind
Lady, And Pleaded Guilty Meekly. A Policeman With A Scratched Face And
One Hand Plastered Up Testified To The Extravagances Mrs. Wishart Had
Committed On The Strength Of Her Conversion To Teetotal Principles.
Baubic Heard It All Impassively, Her Face Only Betraying Anything Like
Keen Interest While The Police-Officer Was Detailing His Injuries. Three
Months' Imprisonment Was The Sentence On Margaret Mactear Or Wishart.
Then Wishart'S Sentence Was Pronounced--Sixty Days.
He And Baubie Drew Nearer To Each Other, Wishart With A Despairing,
Helpless Look. Baubie'S Eyes Looked Like Those Of A Hare Taken In a Gin.
Not One Word Had Been Said About Her. She Was Not To Go With Her Father.
What Was To Become Of Her? She Was Not Long Left In doubt As To Her
Fate.
"I Will Take The Child, Sheriff," Said Miss Mackenzie Eagerly And
Anxiously. "I Came Here Purposely To Offer Her A Home In The Refuge."
"Policeman, Hand Over The Child To This Lady At Once," Said The
Sheriff.--
"Nothing Could Be Better, Miss Mackenzie. It Is Very Good Of You To
Volunteer To Take Charge Of Her."
Mrs. Wishart Disappeared With A Parting Volley Of Blasphemy; Her
Husband, Casting, As He Went, A Wistful Look At Miss Mackenzie, Shambled
Fecklessly After The Partner Of His Joys And Sorrows; And The Child
Remained Alone Behind. The Policeman Took Her By An Arm And Drew Her
Forward To Make Room For A Fresh Consignment Of Wickedness From The
Cells At The Side. Baubie Breathed A Short Sigh As The Door Closed Upon
Her Parents, Shook Back Her Hair, And Looked Up At Miss Mackenzie, As If
To Announce Her Readiness And Good Will. Not One Vestige Of Her Internal
Mental Attitude Could Be Gathered From Her Sun-And Wind-Beaten Little
Countenance. There Was No Rebelliousness, Neither Was There Guilt. One
Would Almost Have Thought She Had Been Told Beforehand What Was To
Happen, So Cool And Collected Was She.
"Now, Baubie, I Am Going To Take You Home. Come, Child."
Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 87Pleased With Her Success, Miss Mackenzie, So Speaking, Took The Little
Waif'S Hand And Led Her Out Of The Police-Court Into The High Street.
She Hardly Dared To Conjecture That It Was Baubie Wishart'S First Visit
To That Place, But As She Stood On The Entrance-Steps And Shook Out Her
Skirts With A Sense Of Relief, She Breathed A Sincere Hope That It Might
Be The Child'S Last.
A Cab Was Waiting. Baubie, To Her Intense Delight And No Less
Astonishment, Was Requested To Occupy The Front Seat. Miss Mackenzie
Gave The Driver His Order And Got In, Facing The Red Tartan Bundle.
"Were You Ever In a Cab Before?" Asked Miss Mackenzie.
"Na, Niver," Replied Baubie In a Rapt Tone And Without Looking At Her
Questioner, So Intent Was She On Staring Out Of The Windows, Between
Both Of Which She Divided Her Attention Impartially.
They Were Driving Down The Mound, And The Outlook, Usually So
Far-Reaching From That Vantage-Ground, Was Bounded By A Thick Sea-Fog
That The East Wind Was Carrying Up From The Forth And Dispensing With
Lavish Hands On All Sides. The Buildings Had A Grim, Black Look, As If A
Premature Old Age Had Come Upon Them, And The Black Pinnacles Of The
Monument Stood Out Sharply Defined In clear-Cut, Harsh Distinctness
Against The Floating Gray Background. There Were Not Many People
Stirring In The Streets. It Was A Depressing Atmosphere, And Miss
Mackenzie Observed Before Long That Baubie Either Seemed To Have Become
Influenced By It Or That The Novelty Of The Cab-Ride Had Worn Off
Completely. They Crossed The Water Of Leith, Worn To A Mere Brown Thread
Owing To The Long Drought, By Stockbridge Street Bridge, And A Few Yards
From It Found Themselves Before A Gray Stone House Separated From The
Street By A Grass-Plot Surrounded By A Stone Wall: Inside The Wall Grew
Chestnut And Poplar Trees, Which In Summer Must Have Shaded The Place
Agreeably, But Which This Day, In The Cold Gray Mist, Seemed Almost
Funereal In Their Gloomy Blackness. The Gate Was Opened From Within The
Wall As Soon As Miss Mackenzie Rang, And She And Baubie Walked Up The
Little Flagged Path Together. As The Gate Clanged To Behind Them Baubie
Looked Back Involuntarily And Sighed.
"Don'T Fear, Lassie," Said Her Guide: "They Will Be Very Kind To You
Here. And It Will Be Just A Good Home For You."
It May Be Questioned Whether This Promise Of A Good Home Awoke Any
Pleasing Associations Or Carried With It Any Definite Meaning To Baubie
Wishart'S Mind. She Glanced Up As If To Show That She Understood, But
Her Eyes Turned Then And Rested On The Square Front Of The Little
Old-Fashioned Gray House With Its Six Staring Windows And Its Front
Circumscribed By The Wall And The Black Poplars And Naked Chestnuts, And
She Choked Down Another Sigh.
"Now, Mrs. Duncan," Miss Mackenzie Was Saying To A Comfortably-Dressed
Elderly Woman, "Here'S Your New Girl, Baubie Wishart."
"Eh, Ye'Ve Been Successful Then, Miss Mackenzie?"
"Oh Dear, Yes: The Sheriff Made No Objection. And Now, Mrs. Duncan, I
Comments (0)