Johnny Ludlow, Sixth Series — Background and Themes

ahern was heard talking angrily to him; and that night he--he died."

She had dropped her voice to a whisper. The Squire spoke.

"Died! Was it a natural death?"

"No. A jury decided that he was insane; and he was buried here in the churchyard. Such a heap of claims and debts came to light, it was said. Mr. Peahern left his lawyer to pay them all, and went abroad with his poor wife for change of scene. It has been a great grief to me. I feel so sorry for them."

"Then, is the house shut up?"

"No. Two servants are left in it--the two housemaids. The cook, who had lived with them five and twenty years and was dreadfully affected at the calamity, went with her mistress. Nice, good-natured young women are these two that are left, running in most days to ask if they can do anything for me."

"It is good to have such neighbours," said the Squire. "And I hope you'll get on, my dear. How came you to be at this place at all?"

"It was through Mr. Lockett," she answered--the clergyman who had been so much with her husband before he died, and who had kept up a correspondence with her. Mr. Lockett's brother was in practice as a doctor at Saltwater, and they thought she might perhaps do well if she came to it. So Mary's friends had screwed a point or two to put her into the house, and gave her besides a ten-pound note to start with.

"I tell you what it is, young Joe: if you run and reve yourself into that scarlet heat, you shan't come here with me again."

"But I like to race with the donkeys," replied young Joe. "I can run almost as fast as they, Johnny. I like to see the donkeys."

"Wouldn't it be better to ride a donkey, lad?"

He shook his head. "I have never had a ride but once," he answered: "I've no sixpences for it. That once Matilda treated me. She brings me on the sands."

"Matilda at No. 7--Mr. Peahern's."

"Well, if you are a good boy, young Joe, and stay by me, you shall have a ride as soon as the donkeys come back."

They were fine sands. I sat down on a bench with a book; little Joe strained his eyes to look after the donkeys in the distance, cantering off with some young shavers like himself on their backs, their nursemaids walking quickly after them. Poor little Joe!--he had the gentlest, meekest face in the world, with his thoughtful look and nice eyes--waited and watched in quiet patience. The sands were crowded with people this afternoon; organs were playing, dancing dolls exhibiting; and vessels with their white sails spread glided smoothly up and down on the sparkling sea.

"And will you really pay the sixpence?" asked the little fellow presently. "They won't let me get on for less."

"Really and truly, Joe. I'll take you for a row in a boat some calm day, if mamma will allow you to go."

Joe looked grave. "I don't _much_ like the water, please," said he, timidly. "Alfred Dale went on it in a boat and fell in, and was nearly drowned. He comes to mamma's school."

"Then we'll let the boats alone, Joe. There's Punch! He is going to set himself up yonder: wouldn't you like to run and see him?"

"But I might miss the donkeys," answered Joe.

He stood by me quietly, gazing in the direction taken by the donkeys; evidently they were his primary attraction. The other child, Mary, who was a baby when her father died (poor Baked Pie, as we boys used to call him at Frost's), was in Wales with Mrs. Blair's people. They had taken the child for a few months, until she saw whether she should get along at Saltwater.

But we thought she would get along. Her school was a morning school for little boys of good parentage, all of whom paid liberal terms; and she would be able to let her best rooms for at least six months in the year.

"There's Matilda! Oh, there's Matilda!"

It was quite a loud shout for little Joe. Looking up, I saw him rush to a rather good-looking young woman, neatly dressed in a black-and-white print gown and small shawl of the same, with black ribbons crossed on her straw bonnet. Servants did not dress fine enough to set the Thames on fire in those days. Joe dragged her triumphantly up to me. She was one of the housemaids at No. 7.

"It's Matilda," he said; and the young woman curtsied. "And I am going to have a donkey-ride, Matilda; Mr. Johnny Ludlow's going to give the sixpence for me!"