Chapter XIX: A Very Narrow Escape

PATTIE knew that she had not the smallest fraction of time to spare. Dot's resistance was giving way, and Mrs. Cragg had all but gained the victory. To scream would be useless. Mrs. Cragg would listen to no warning of hers.

She flung herself wildly across the space between, full against Mrs. Cragg, and Mrs. Cragg went down in a heap upon the bed, the glass of liquid being jerked out of her hand and shattered upon the floor. Pattie, with the force of her own impetus, went down upon Mrs. Cragg, and Dot was in some danger of being demolished.

"You rude, unmannerly girl, you!" shrieked Mrs. Cragg, pulling herself up and glaring at Pattie. "You dare to treat me so! You—you—you—" breath and words failing her together. "I'll tell Mr. Cragg the sort of way you go on! See if I don't!"

Mrs. Cragg shook herself, and pulled down her sleeves, which had been dragged out of position in the scuffle.

"Never saw such behaviour in my life! But I can tell you I'm not going to submit to this sort of thing. I'll have you turned out of the house! I'll have you made to remember yourself another time. It's disgraceful!"

Pattie was seated upon the side of the bed, white as ashes, gasping for breath, and clutching Dot, as if to save the child from some terrible danger. Dot had become composed the moment she had Pattie by her side. Pattie's gaze met Mrs. Cragg's furious eyes, but to speak at first was impossible. That short horror had robbed her of all strength. Dot whimpered, and then put her finger into her mouth.

At length Pattie found power to point to the bottle upon the table, and to whisper hoarsely,—

"Look! It is poison!"

Mrs. Cragg did look, and understood. Suddenly her fury died away, and she stood, convicted, trembling, almost stunned with the awful knowledge that, but for Pattie's prompt action, she might have killed her own little child.

The dead silence was broken by Pattie's sobs. Dot's arms were round her neck, pulling her down.

"Pattie, why you cly? Pattie own darling. Pattie mustn't cly. Pattie stay with Dot."

Pattie could do nothing but "cly" for a while. The morning had been one long strain, and this final fright broke her down. She hid her face in Dot's pillow and sobbed helplessly.

But presently the silence of the other who was present crept into her consciousness; and she lifted her head to look around. Mrs. Cragg sat apart, grey and wordless. All the self-assertion was for once washed-out of her. She had no excuse to offer, no self-defence to put forward. That abashed face was new to Pattie. She could not see in it the Mrs. Cragg whom she had hitherto known.

"Is ma-ma angly?" asked Dot's little voice.

"No, Dot. I think ma-ma is sorry," replied Pattie's trembling tones.

Mrs. Cragg neither moved nor looked round.

"I'm sorry to have had to be so rough," at length faltered Pattie, her chest heaving still. "I couldn't help it, you know. There was no time. If I had not made haste—"

Then a new fear swept across her.

"Did Dot take any? Mrs. Cragg, are you sure?—did she drink any of that stuff?"

"No," was the answer; "not one drop."

"If she had—"

The girl shuddered; then, standing up, she went nearer to Mrs. Cragg.

"You didn't know, of course. You didn't think what you were doing. I suppose you fancied it was her medicine."

"Dot pointed to the mantelshelf. I asked her."

"No. That stood there. It oughtn't to have been. But we kept the medicine in the cupboard. That is only meant for—" Pattie broke down afresh. "It ought not to have been left anywhere within reach," she went on presently. "But, oh, if I had not been in time—"

"If Mrs. Smithers hadn't been to see me, she'd have had it all ever so long ago," muttered Mrs. Cragg. "And if you hadn't come back just when you did—"

Mrs. Cragg spoke in a strange, husky voice, and before Pattie could answer she asked abruptly:

"If Dot had drunk that, would she have died?" Pattie whispered a "Yes." Mrs. Cragg's shoulders shook, and Pattie's hand came on her kindly.

"I don't know, I'm sure, whatever makes you so nice to me," faltered Mrs. Cragg. "You've behaved uncommon well, I must say. And I've treated you bad, I know that. I don't know whatever made me. But I shan't forget this. I shan't ever forget it." Mrs. Cragg began to choke and gulp. Dot seemed inclined to go to sleep after the morning's agitations.

"Don't keep her awake," whispered Pattie; and Mrs. Cragg did her best to cry in subdued tones—not an easy matter, since self-command was not one of her virtues.

By the time Dot was soundly off, Mrs. Cragg spoke again:

"Pattie, you don't know what I've been and done! I've told Mrs. Smithers all about you."

"Yes; I know you have."

"I mean—about your father. I felt cross, and so I said it out. If you'd known that, you wouldn't, perhaps, have—"

"Not have tried to save dear little Dot!" Pattie spoke in amazed accents. "You can't think so, surely! I would do anything for Dot. Mrs. Smithers told me when I was out. She did not say that she had heard it from you, but of course—" Pattie stopped.

"I am very sorry," she said quietly, "because everybody will hear it now. But still, if you will let me stay a little longer to take care of Dot, I would rather do it. I should like to be sure that she is taken care of properly, till she is well."

"I don't wonder you think I'm not fit to look after her!"

"I don't think you are a good nurse," came in reply. "A nurse would be more careful. But, after this, you will never make such a mistake again. And I do think nurse and I have been to blame, leaving out a bottle of poisonous stuff where anybody might get hold of it. In an old medicine bottle too! I can't think how we could! It's a lesson to me as well as to you."

Mrs. Cragg gazed at Pattie with troubled eyes.

"I've treated you uncommon ill," she said.

"But you are sorry now. You will be kinder from to-day, won't you?" asked Pattie, putting her hand into Mrs. Cragg's. "You will try to like me more than you have done?"

"And, Pattie, you don't mind—what I've been and told Mrs. Smithers?"

"Yes, I do mind. I can't help minding very much. It is a question of my father's good name; and I must mind that. But it is done, and I have to bear it. I shouldn't make things any better by going away, and making dear little Dot unhappy. Only, may I say one thing? I do want very much that Dot should never hear about this. I mean, I want her never to know that you could find out my secret as you did, and that you have broken your promise not to tell. Don't let it come to her ears."

Mrs. Cragg broke into almost a laugh.

"I should have thought it would be me, not you, to want that," she said. "And Dot's such a baby!"

"But she understands. Dot notices everything. And she has to learn what goodness and truth are—through you. She ought to know first what God is—through you. Don't you see what I mean? When I think of my mother, it helps me to know how true and loving God is. How can Dot learn in any other way? I can talk to her, but words don't mean much. Dot ought to learn the lesson—through you—through what you are."

Mrs. Cragg's head hung low. This went home like a dagger-thrust. If Dot were to form her childish notion of God from what her mother was, it might well be asked what would be the picture of God in that little mind?

Then she burst afresh into tears.

Dot's accident had at the first opened Mrs. Cragg's eyes to the reality of what her child was to her; but after tempers and ill-moods had obscured the lesson. Now, far more sharply, a second time it had come. In the hour when she stood, glass in hand, recklessly striving to force between Dot's lips that which would have rendered her a childless woman, and when Pattie had dashed the fearful peril aside, Mrs. Cragg became a changed person.

The change could not be otherwise than gradual in its working; yet in actual fact it was abrupt. Hitherto Mrs. Cragg's life-attitude had been away from good and towards evil. She had lived for herself only, not for God, not for those who were about her. Now, as in a flash, she had learnt to know something of her true self, to realise something of whither that self-pleasing attitude might lead her. Thenceforward her face was to be turned another way. Hard fighting would lie before her; but from this day she did fight, she did not merely drift. She began to wish to be more like Pattie.

Also she began ardently to wish for more of her little Dot's affection. Not now because she was jealous of Pattie, but because she found how much of the sweet child-love she had thrown away.

Dot bore no malice. When Mrs. Cragg set herself to amuse the little one, Dot magnanimously accepted all attentions. But at any moment she would turn from Mrs. Cragg, with a cry of joy, to "Pattie or Dadda." There was no cry of joy when Mrs. Cragg appeared. It would take long before Dot could forget the past.

Cragg was told by his wife the terrible story of little Dot's narrow escape. Pattie had promised to say nothing; but Mrs. Cragg showed that her penitence was real by confessing it herself. Cragg was much overcome by the thought of what might have been—but for Pattie.

"My dear, I don't know how you feel," he said, "but I feel that nothing we can do for her will be too much—after this!"

"I think so too, Mr. Cragg. And I'd like Pattie never to leave us."

Cragg surveyed his wife seriously.

"You wish it now. But, by-and-by—when you begin to forget—"

"I shan't forget. I never shall. I couldn't—how could I? It isn't like a common thing happening. Just think—what it is that Pattie saved me from! No, I'd like Pattie to stop with us always. And I want to say something else too. I really am sorry now that I've spent such a lot lately, and I do mean to do better. I mean to be more careful. It hasn't been right."

Cragg came near and gave his wife a kiss.

"I'm glad you feel so, my dear," he said kindly. "It's a great relief to my mind."

"I mean to save all I can. And I'll spend as little as ever I can do with, till that bill is paid. I will really, Mr. Cragg. And—I think I shan't be so much with Mrs. Smithers. She hasn't been a nice friend."

"I hope it will all come true as you purpose, my dear," Cragg said gravely.

For a moment Mrs. Cragg was tempted to be angry, recognising the doubt in her husband's tone. Then she remembered that she had not been careful always to keep her word. Better than being angry was to resolve afresh, not in her own strength, and to show in the course of time that her intentions and promises were worthy of reliance.