Patty waited for two great tears to run quietly down two little cheeks; and then she expressed some contempt of the dog, and a strong desire to hear some more about the happy turns of the day.
“Don’t ’e be jealous, now, Patty, I tell ’a. ’E ickle yite dog can eat, but ’e can’t. And happy turns of the day is yen a geat big gal is two years old with a ickle bother. And he can’t say nuffin, ’cos he grow too strong enough, and ’e young yady must repy; and ayebody yooks at ’a, and yaffs, and put ’e gasses up, and say, ‘ ’Hot a ’cocious ickle fin!’ And my dear papa say, ‘ ’Hot a good gal!’ and mama come and tiss ’a all over a’most, and then ’e all have some more puddeny-pie!”
Overcome with that last memory, she could go no further; and being unable to give her pies, I felt myself bound to abandon any more inquiries. For that child scarcely ever roared, so as to obtain relief; but seemed with a kind of self-control—such as unlucky people form, however early in their lives—to take her troubles inwardly, and to be full to the very lip of them, without the power of spilling. This, though a comfort to other people, is far worse for themselves, I fear. And I knew that she did love pastry rarely; for one day, after a fine pair of soles, I said to the two children, “Now, put your little hands together, and thank God for a good dinner.” Bunny did this in a grateful manner, but Bardie said, “No, I ’ont, old Davy; I’ll thank God when I gets puddeny-pie.”
Upon the whole, I concluded thus, that the little creature was after all (and as might have been expected with any other child almost) too young, in the third year of her age, to maintain any clear ideas of place, or time, or names, or doings, or anything that might establish from her own words only, whence she came or who she was. However, I now knew quite enough, if the right people ever came to seek for her, to “ ’dentify” her, as she expressed it to that stupid Coroner.
Moxy Thomas came to fetch her back to Sker, in a few days’ time. I was now resolved to keep her, and she resolved to stay with me—and doubtless I had first right to her. But when I saw poor Moxy’s face, and called to mind her desolation, and when she kissed my fishy hand to let her have this comfort, after all the Lord had taken from her, I could not find it in my heart to stand to my own interest. It came across me too that Bardie scarcely throve on so much fish; and we never had any butcher’s meat, or meat of any kind at all, unless I took shares in a pig, after saving up money for Christmas, or contrived to defend myself against the hares that would run at me so, when I happened to come through a gate at night.
So with a clearly-pronounced brave roar, having more music than Bunny’s in it, and enough to wash a great deal of “dust” out of her woefully lingering eyes, away she went in Moxy’s arms, with Patty Green in her own looking likely to get wet through. And Bunny stuck her thumbs into my legs, which she had a knack of doing, especially after sucking them; so thus we stood, at our cottage door, looking after Bardie; and I took off my hat, and she spread her hand out, in the intervals of woe; and little thought either of us, I daresay, of the many troubles in store for us both.
Only before that grievous parting, she had done a little thing which certainly did amaze me. And if anybody knows the like, I shall be glad to hear of it. I had a snug and tidy locker very near the fireplace, wherein I kept some little trifles; such as Bunny had an eye for, but was gradually broken into distant admiration. One morning I came suddenly in from looking to my night-lines, and a pretty scene I saw. The door of my cupboard was wide open, and there stood little Bardie giving a finishing lick to her fingers. Bunny also in the corner, with her black eyes staring, as if at the end of the world itself. However, her pinafore was full.
No sooner did my grandchild see me, than she rushed away with shrieks, casting down all stolen goods in agony of conscience. I expected Bardie to do the same; but to my great wonderment up she walked and faced me.
“Must I beat poor Patty Geen?” The tears were in her eyes at having to propose so sad a thing. And she stroked the doll, to comfort her.
“Beat poor Patty!” said I, in amazement. “Why, what harm has Patty done?”
“Nare she have been, all ’e time, stealing ’a soogar, old Davy!” And she looked at me as if she had done a good turn by the information. I scarcely knew what to do, I declare; for her doll was so truly alive to her, that she might and perhaps did believe it. However, I shut her in my little bedroom, until her heart was almost broken; and then I tried to reason with her, on the subject of telling lies; but she could not understand what they were; until I said what I was forced to do, when I went among bad people.
That evening, after she was gone, and while I was very dull about it, finding poor Bunny so slow and stupid, and nothing to keep me wide awake—there I was bound to be wide awake, more than at Petty Sessions even, when mine enemies throng against me. For almost before I had smoked two pipes, or made up my mind what to do with myself, finding a hollow inside of me, the great
