Chapter XIII: John Monday Is Confidential

IT was a hot afternoon at the beginning of July. The air was sultry, as though a thunderstorm was not far off; and the sky was enveloped in a haze of grey mist, which, though it hid the sun, made the atmosphere not one whit less oppressive.

John Monday, in charge of his master's shop, was seated on a high stool behind the counter, idly swinging his long legs, and yawning occasionally as though weary of the day. Peering through the dusty window, he saw the street was unusually quiet, for few folks were about, and the children were not yet let loose from the board schools. A couple of babies, old enough to toddle, were playing in the gutter on the opposite side of the way. John Monday watched them with some amusement, and laughed to himself when one put a handful of dust on the other's head. This ill-treatment brought about a quarrel, which was settled by a blow from a small fist that, however, hit sufficiently hard to evoke a yell of mingled wrath and pain from the first offender. The next minute a slatternly woman appeared upon the scene, and after administering a shower of smart slaps on the bare arms of each child, dragged them into a doorway near by, and thus left the street free from any human presence.

John Monday sighed, and wished someone would come into the shop. He slipped off his stool, and going to the door stood on the step gazing up and down the street. At first there was not a living being within sight, but presently a figure appeared around the corner—a big man, clad in a tweed suit, bearing a large market-basket covered with a snowy linen cloth. He was evidently a countryman, judging from his healthy, ruddy countenance, and a stranger in Haughton, the boy decided, as he noted how the big man stared about him.

When the stranger caught sight of John Monday, he quickened his footsteps, and advanced towards him with a good-humoured smile on his face.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Harding lives?" he asked politely. "Mr. Harding, the watchmaker and jeweller?"

"Yes, I can," was the reply; "he lives here."

"Here!"

The stranger was evidently greatly astonished, for he took a step backwards, and gazed at the house with such a look of blank dismay on his countenance that John Monday almost laughed. Then he read Mr. Harding's name on the sign-board above the shop window, and exclaimed—

"Well, I never! To think that this should be the place! Well, I am surprised!"

"Do you want to see Mr. Harding?" the boy inquired.

"Yes—at least, I wanted to see his little cousin. Is she in?"

"No; she isn't home from school yet, but she'll be back by-and-by. Will you call again, or perhaps you'd like to come inside and wait?"

"I think I'd better wait. I've carried this basket from the station, and it's rather heavy."

John Monday led the way into the shop, and gave the newcomer a chair. The big man sat down, and, after placing his basket on the floor, took from his pocket a red handkerchief, with which he wiped his heated face.

"It's uncommonly warm," he remarked. He looked at the boy, who had perched himself on the high stool behind the counter, and a kindly twinkle came into his eyes. "I think you must be John Monday," he said; "my little niece has spoken of you in her letters."

"Then you are Uncle Dick—Mr. Dawson?"

"Yes. I thought I'd give Mousey a surprise."

"She will be pleased! She's for ever talking of you and her aunt."

"Bless her little heart!" Mr. Dawson exclaimed. "How is the dear child?"

"Quite well. She goes to school every day, you know, and is growing uncommonly sharp."

Mr. Dawson's face beamed with pleasure on hearing this; but it clouded as he glanced around him.

"This is a dull place," he said thoughtfully. "Eliza would be surprised if she saw her cousin's house—and he supposed to be so well-to-do, too."

"So he is," John Monday responded; "but he's that saving and mean he won't spend a penny more than he can possibly help."

"And yet he has behaved most generously to Mousey."

"I suppose so. He's sent her to a good school, and he minds what she says, though he'd hate to think anyone noticed it. I hardly ever open my mouth before him without he snaps out something sharp and nasty—sometimes I feel I'd a deal rather be in the workhouse than here."

"Dear! dear!" said Mr. Dawson; "I'm afraid you're discontented with your lot in life. Are you learning to be a jeweller?"

"Yes; but I hate the work. I should like to be a market gardener."

"I suppose Mousey has told you that's my trade?"

John Monday nodded. He was greatly attracted by Mr. Dawson's kind face, which seemed to express his goodwill towards the world in general.

"I love the country," the boy said earnestly; "when I've a holiday I go for a long walk to where the air's fresh, and the birds sing, and I feel as though I'd give anything to live where I could learn all about the trees and flowers; but what's the good of talking like this when it's my fate to be in this miserable hole all day long?"

He broke off, growing crimson, as though ashamed of having spoken so freely to a stranger.

Mr. Dawson regarded him with sympathetic eyes as he inquired—

"What do you mean by fate, young man? What I call Providence, I suppose. You take my word for it, when God has work for you in the country He will send you there, and till He does I reckon your duty's here, and I'd try to do it cheerfully, if I were you. Who is supposed to clean this shop?"

"I am," John Monday answered, surprised at the question. He was secretly much gratified at being called a young man.

"Well, then, if I were you, I'd, get soap and water, and a duster, and set to work to clean that dirty window," Mr. Dawson advised. "It strikes me your duty lies close at hand for the present, even staring you in the face."

The lad looked abashed, but his companion had spoken so kindly that he could not be offended. Before anything more could be said, Mr. Harding was seen in the street, and in another moment he entered the shop. He shook hands cordially with Mr. Dawson, and said he was delighted to see him; but why had that stupid boy kept him in the shop instead of showing him into the parlour?

Mr. Dawson replied that he had quite enjoyed a talk with John Monday, and they had spent a very pleasant time together. Then he picked up his big market-basket from the floor, and followed Mr. Harding into the parlour, where he placed his burden upon the table.

"It holds a pair of chickens, and a few vegetables and flowers, which I've brought as a present, if you'll kindly accept it," he explained. "My wife reared the chickens herself, so she knows their age to a day, and can answer for their being tender; and, of course, I grew the other things in my gardens."

Mr. Harding was profuse in thanks, and called Maria to carry the basket into the kitchen and empty it there. Afterwards, he insisted on Mr. Dawson taking the easiest chair in the room, and seating himself near by, prepared to entertain his guest.

"Mousey'll be home directly," he said; "you know she goes to school? She's getting on very well, I'm pleased to say—very well; in fact, I've no fault to find with her, for she's a good, obedient child."

"I'm sure she is," Mr. Dawson responded. He thought the parlour was even duller than the shop, and he added hesitatingly, "Do you think she is happy?"

"Yes, I believe she is," Mr. Harding answered; "she has made friends at school, and one in particular, the daughter of a fellow townsman. I cannot have children running in and out here, but I raise no objection to Mousey visiting at her friend's home. Really, I see very little of the child. My whole time, nearly, is devoted to business."

"It must make a great difference having Mousey in the house—I mean, it must be much brighter and more cheerful. That assistant of yours seems an open-spoken lad."

"John Monday? Oh, he's well enough in his way, but he's very slow-witted. He suits my purpose, though. Ah, here comes Mousey!"

The glass door was thrown open, and the little girl rushed into the parlour with her face aglow with excitement, having been informed by John Monday that a visitor awaited her within. She flung herself into Mr. Dawson's arms, and, much to his dismay, burst into a flood of tears, hiding her face against his breast. He soon discovered, however, that she was crying from excessive joy, for presently she looked up and smiled at him, whispering that she was as glad as glad could be, and there was no one like him, so kind, so dear, in the whole wide world!