Chapter XVI: Poor Moll!

While Bryda was running wildly down the lane Cousin Salome had a very unusual sort of visitor. An untidy girl, who had taken more time to put ribbons in her hair than to brush it, and whose necklace of glass beads matched ill with her unmended frock, stood by the couch of the gentle invalid. It had taken a long while for Moll Dawson to gather courage to come up to the house, though Cousin Salome had sent many messages by her maid; but here she was at last, looking half-impudent, half-bashful, and altogether uncomfortable, till Cousin Salome gradually melted her shyness by talking about the adventure of the bull, and about Bryda, and Beppo, and various other things. Then gently she began to talk about the girl's own past life, and again Moll spoke in the hard, defiant voice, which told how truly unhappy she was.

"Did you ever go to church?" asked Cousin Salome.

"Yes, I went into a church once," said Moll thoughtfully, "'an' I heard a preachin', and the parson talked about children of wrath, and the bad place waiting for 'em."

"Oh, yes, I can read and write after a fashion," she went on, in answer to Cousin Salome's questions. "I went to school only half-time, and worked in the factory the other, so as not to have too much school."

And Moll drew herself up, and laughed and showed her white teeth, and was, to all appearance, quite proud of being so naughty. But all the same she gave a little sigh as she looked again at the invalid's white, sweet face, and pitying eyes.

"I reckon you've always been good," she went on rapidly. "It isn't hard for the likes of you neither."

She looked round the white, quiet room, and Cousin Salome looked, too, and she sighed a moment before she smiled again with a happier thought. Ah, there were temptations in that still, comfortable room, too. Evil spirits would enter even there, and whisper discontent, and fretfulness, and impatience to the sufferer who had lain there so long; but Salome smiled again, because she knew that the promise was for her and for poor Moll, "When thou passest through the waters I am with thee."

And in her gentle, low-toned voice she began to tell the poor ignorant girl of that good Shepherd who gave his life for the sheep.

"Even for me!" said Moll, at last, and buried her face in her hands and sobbed. It seemed too good to be true.

Cousin Salome's maid, hearing the sobs, came from the next room, fearing that the invalid would be over-tired; and, by way of making a change of conversation, began to tell how she had been in the garden, of Hayes' wrath; and Beppo's punishment.

"And no wonder he should turn out badly, ma'am," she said; "they tramping foreigners aren't likely to come to good. Let him go to the Union, I say."

Moll Dawson had listened attentively. Now she rose, put on her crushed hat, and smoothed its showy but shabby red feather.

"I'll come again--may I, miss?" she said. "It's like going to heaven to come in here."

Salome gave her a ready welcome, and Moll's heavy step became a careful tiptoe walk as she crossed the room.

Once outside the house, however, Moll walked fast enough to the garden, and there went all round the walks till she found Mr. Hayes. He had finished his round of the vineries, and was going to the tool-house, to carry out his threat to Beppo, when this wild looking girl met him.

"Mr. Hayes," she said, "you let that foreign boy go, will you? He never took your peaches, no more nor you did yourself."

"Oh!" said Hayes, looking at her with no pleased eyes, as she spoke thus boldly; "perhaps you know who did take them, if you're so sure it wasn't Beppo?"

"Perhaps I do!" retorted Moll coolly; "anyhow, you'll not flog a boy as hasn't done anything, I suppose?"

"Unless I know who was the thief I shall suppose it was Beppo," replied Hayes sulkily. "Why, he owned it himself; but if you can prove some one else did it, and that the stone came into his pocket quite by accident, why, then, of course, I shall believe you, Moll Dawson."

He spoke in tones of utter contempt; indeed, poor Moll was not often treated with much respect.

She stood still a moment, with her eyes cast down; then, as Hayes began to move, with a great effort she said, "Well, there, then, I took them; will that satisfy you?"

"You did?" said Hayes, scowling at her. "I fancy you are telling lies, Moll Dawson; they come easier to you than the truth, I know."

Moll colored crimson, but did not answer.

"I suppose you put the stone into Beppo's pocket so as he should be accused," went on Hayes, looking searchingly at her.

Moll nodded in silence.

"I don't know who to believe, or what to to believe," he answered; "I _know_ somebody's telling lies, and perhaps it's both of you. Anyhow----"

Here he walked off to the tool-house and unlocked the door.

"Come out!" he said roughly. And Beppo came looking quite collected now.

"Look here, young un," said Hayes in a very much softened tone, "I've boys of my own, and I'd be sorry to flog one of them if he didn't deserve it. Just you look up at me now, and tell me the whole truth."

Beppo looked up in the gardener's face, and his dark eyes were calm and clear; he did not look like a criminal.

His broken English was rather funny, but Hayes soon understood that he had in truth done a small piece of mischief. His foot slipped as he was working, and he fell against a melon-frame and broke a pane of glass. A cut on one finger showed that he spoke the truth. As to the peaches, he would rather starve than touch one of them. "And I very sorry for you, Mr. Hayes," he added.

Hayes was quite touched.

"Go home and get your dinner. I quite believe you, my boy," he said. "Stay, come in and have a bit of dinner with my wife and young folks."

Beppo went, and from that day forward had a steady friend in Hayes.

"As for you, Moll Dawson," said the gardener sharply, "you get along out of this. And if ever I catch you anywhere near the garden again you'll go before the magistrate, as sure as my name's Hayes."

Moll turned away without a word, and went slowly back to the village.

Light was coming slowly to her dark mind as the dawn comes on a troubled sea. She had told a lie to Hayes--for what reason we shall see; but she did not understand yet that it was a sin. "A white lie," she called it, a lie told for a good purpose. Thinking over all that Cousin Salome had said to her, she went slowly home and sought her brother Jim. Close to the house she met him.

"Jim," she said, "I've told a lie to save you to-day; now you do something for me."

"All right, old girl," said Jim, indifferently; "one lie more or less don't matter much, I reckon. What do you want out of me?"

"I said _I_ stole the peaches, instead of you," said Moll, going on with her story.

"My stars!" cried Jim. "What a go! I wonder old Hayes didn't half murder you! What did he say?"

"Never you mind," said Moll. "I've got you out of a hole, and that's enough for you. Now you do something for me--tit for tat, Jim."

"What's up now?" asked her brother, struck by a gentleness in her tone which was quite new.

"Leave yon old carpenter and his coin alone," said she. "Look here, Jim, I never asked you to leave a good job like that for me before, but do you give up robbing him, there's a good lad."

"Why, whatever has come to the girl? And you the first to put it in my head to get in at night, and make the old chap show where he keeps those miserly savings o' his you say he hides in his house!"

"Do you let him alone, Jim," entreated Moll. "I know you and Harry Crowther mean to get in to-morrow night, and no one'll hinder, for the old man's house stands a bit away. I'll not help in the job, Jim, and if you give up too----"

"What will you give me?" sneered Jim. "Make it worth my while, Moll, and I might think of it."

"How can I?" said Moll. "Give it up, Jim. Suppose you got caught?"

"You mean to round on me!" said Jim savagely, seizing her arm as he spoke, and crushing it in his strong fingers till Moll had to set her teeth not to scream aloud. "You want to get your brother a nice pleasant time in jail! You're a nice loving sister, you are! Now, look you here, Moll; you do that, and I'll break every bone in your body as soon as ever I get out again."

"I'm not _quite_ so mean," answered Moll; "I never would get you into trouble, Jim, and that you know as well as I do. But I'll do my best to get you and Harry Crowther, too, to let an old man alone. What's to be done with yon little dark-eyed chap, him they call Beppo, or some such outlandish name, if you get all the old man's savings? Precious little you care who starves so long as you get all you want. Come now, do this one thing for me, like a good lad, Jim," she went on, with a rough effort at coaxing him.

But Jim only told her to mind her own business. So Moll went away and left him.

All the rest of the day she kept wondering how this robbery could be prevented, and at last, as the evening closed in, an idea struck her. If no inducement could prevail on Jim, she had this plan to fall back on.

She would not "round on" Jim; that is, she would tell no tales. She would not tell tales, or give warning to his intended victims, but she had an idea of her own. Whether she was able to carry it out with success we shall see.