Chapter III: The Neighbours

"WELL, Sue, you've made things look uncommon comfortable, and that I must say!" Dunn observed cheerfully, after supper. "You and Nannie must have worked uncommon hard too."

"There's one comfort in working hard for you: that you don't pass it all over as if it was nothing," said Susan.

"Nice sort of chap I should be, if I did! Why, it's as clean!—And the dishes as shiny!—It's almost like the old home kitchen, Sue!" Richard Dunn could not resist one sigh. "And I'm sure you've made the parlour look beautiful. Curtains up, and all!"

"Only there's no garden, father," Susie said plaintively.

"No more there is, Susie. But I'll make some good big window-boxes, as soon as ever I can get time, and we'll fill them quite full. And a lot of plants can stand inside the window of the parlour too."

"Mayn't we have some mignonette?" asked Susie.

"To be sure we will. You and Nannie shall have a box of it, all to yourselves, up at your bedroom window. Won't that be nice? Why, Nannie,—haven't you done enough yet to-day?" As she came in, with her neat little brown hat on.

"Dick and I are just going round into the next street, father, for some stout thread. It'll be wanted in the morning, and I don't want to have to go out then."

"Got lots more to do indoors, eh? But you mustn't toil too hard, my girl."

Nancy smiled and said, "There's no fear, father."

She did not seem overdone by the day's work, standing there in her print dress, with a pretty colour on her cheeks.

"I'm much more afraid for mother. She always will do so much."

"Well, you're a good girl, Nannie,—always trying to save her trouble."

"I should just hope so," Nancy answered. "I don't see much goodness in that."

Richard Dunn took her hand, and pulled her down for a hearty kiss. He was a very affectionate father, and he never seemed ashamed to show his affection.

"I'm sure of one thing," he said, "and that is, that God's blessing is on such a daughter as Nannie!"

Nancy's bright eyes grew moist with feeling. "It's nice to hear you say so, father," she whispered; and then she stood up. "Come, Dick, I don't want to be out late," she said.

Dick was eight years old—a rosy merry boy. He ran off beside his sister, chattering.

"I've had a warning about Nannie to-day," said Susan. Dunn pricked up his ears. "Mrs. Mason came to see us,—walked straight in through our open door, without a 'with your leave,' or 'by your leave.' I didn't quite like it, but I do believe she meant kindly. She lives over the way, and she seems a nice sort of body, only such a talker. And she begged me not to let Nancy work in a factory. She did really!"

Susan flushed up at the recollection. Dunn burst out laughing.

"Our Nancy work in a factory! That's a good 'un! Not if I can help it, Sue!"

"She did really!" repeated Susan.

Dunn seemed to enjoy the idea as a capital joke. He laughed heartily. "Our Nannie! I should think so! Not but what they may be good girls enough,—factory girls, I mean! But our Nannie! As if we'd ever let her!"

"Well, I'm glad you can think it funny, Richard, for I declare I couldn't at first. But of course Mrs. Mason meant it kindly. And oh, the things she told me! There's mothers here, with little ones, away all day at the factories, and not a soul at home to see after the poor mites. Even when the men get good wages, the wives will often go out to work, just because they don't like the dulness of home. Dulness, indeed! I wonder what women were made for!

"And there's young girls too, our Nancy's age, getting their ten or twelve shillings a week, and setting up independent for themselves, and won't hear a word from anybody, Mrs. Mason says. Not but what there's good girls among them, as you say, good honest steady girls, I don't doubt, who make a fight against what's wrong. But there's too many of the other sort among them as well,—some who won't live with their parents at all, but go off and board with strangers. Think of that. Our Nannie's age,—and girls younger than her too, —and the fathers and mothers without a scrap of control over them! Why, if I had a child like that, it would break my heart."

"Bad! Very bad!" Dunn said musingly. "It's just what was written long ago in the Bible,—'disobedient to parents,' you know, that's to be on the earth in the last days. Seems to me there's a vast deal of 'disobedience to parents' in our days."

"And a lot of blame lies with the parents themselves," said Susan. "If fathers and mothers are both away from their children all day long, it passes me how the children are to be trained. Just toss 'em out into the world, and let 'em sink or swim. That's all the training many of them have at all, poor little things!"

"True enough, I'm afraid," said Dunn.

"Mrs. Mason was telling me about the Gardiners next door," resumed Susan. "The eldest girl is in one of the factories; and her parents daren't ever say one word of blame to her for anything, lest she should go straight off and board with somebody else. That's a nice state of things, isn't it? And the Handcocks on our other side,—Mrs. Handcock is out all day long at the factory, and her husband and children may fare as they can,—she don't care."

"I say, Sue,—seems to me Mrs. Mason is something of a gossip," remonstrated Dunn.

Susan blushed. "Yes; only you see we've got to find out a little about the neighbours, Richard, or we shall get dragged in to know a lot of people that we hadn't ought to know."

"I don't see that. Nobody can drag us into acquaintances against our will," said Dunn. "We had best be careful, that's all, and not get intimate with anybody in a hurry."

"What's all that noise about?" Susan exclaimed.

The noise swelled; and both Dunn and his wife left the kitchen, going to the front door.

People had done the same in neighbouring cottages. "What can be the matter?" one and another was asking.

Shouts and yells seemed to sweep past near at hand, and people could be seen running fast along a cross-road at the end. None came past "Woodbine Cottage."

"I wish Nancy and Dick were at home," Susan said uneasily; "I don't like this."

"Which way did they go? I'd better find them," said Dunn.

Susan pointed out what she believed to be the right direction. She could not feel sure, but Nancy had spoken of shops in the next street.

Dunn started off immediately at a brisk pace, and Susan stood in the doorway, watching and listening anxiously. The shouts continued, but lessened somewhat, as if from increased distance.

"Mother, do you think Nannie will be frightened?" asked Susie, holding her mother's hand.

"I don't know, dear. I hope not. Perhaps it wasn't really near her,—but father will see."

"Can't think whatever in the world it's all about!" a woman remarked, lounging listlessly at the door of "Rose Cottage," to Susan's left. She was a careworn slatternly unhappy-looking woman: and the smudged faces and dirty frocks of the children by her side were unpleasant to see.

"Mother!" wailed one dismally, "Mother—Jacky's pinched me!"

"I didn't," screamed Jacky's shrill tones.

"He did, mother!"

"Have done with your quarrelling, will you! I declare, you're all the plague of my life!" And two or three sounding slaps were administered round with great impartiality, producing a burst of shrieking sobs.

"Be quiet, now,—will you! If you don't hold your tongues, I'll slap you both again, that I will!" cried Mrs. Gardiner. "There's no peace in life with your squabbling."

The children certainly did not hold their tongues, and Mrs. Gardiner lugged two or three of them indoors, bestowing a shake upon each by the way.

"Mother, was that little girl naughty?" asked Susie's wondering tones. "The boy really did pinch her, and he made ugly faces too—I saw him."

"I'm afraid the mother didn't take much trouble to find out who was wrong," Susan said softly, and not very wisely, perhaps. There was no need to call the child's attention to Mrs. Gardiner's shortcomings.

Susie's small voice sounded clearly in answer, "Dick doesn't pinch me. I'm so glad he doesn't. But he did scratch me once, mother,—don't you know? And father made him go straight to bed, and Dick was so sorry after. He went and got me two big bull's-eyes. And you didn't slap me, did you? 'Cause it wasn't my fault?"

"Well done, little 'un!" laughed a hearty voice on the other side.

Susan glanced towards the big broad-shouldered working-man, seated in the doorway of "Myrtle Cottage," smoking. She rather liked his look, and she liked too the way in which a puny little boy had confidently climbed upon "father's knee." That spoke well for the man. Susan was much less attracted by the hard features and gaudy cap of the woman who stood behind him, drawn out by the noise. But she felt very anxious, and she could not refrain from asking, "I suppose you can't tell me what's the matter?"

"No, missis, I can't," the man answered civilly. His name was Handcock, as Susan guessed rightly; and he alone, of all the men within sight, had not started off to see what was up. "Shouldn't wonder if it's a lot of boys chasing a cat."

But the voices were those of men, not boys; and almost immediately a cry came down the street: "Mad dog! Mad dog!"