A Voice from the Past
Oernoohe chestnuts were ing into flower, Maggie had brought her chair outside the front door and was seated there with a book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the s of jasmine on the projeg porch at her right and threw leafy shadows on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searg for something that was not disclosed by the sunshi had been a more miserable day than usual: her father, after a visit of Wakems had had a paroxysm e, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the se had left a lasting terror in Maggies mind. The thought had risen, that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happeo speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The kee of all dread with her was, lest her father should add to his present misfortuhe wretess of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The battered school-book of Toms which she held on her knees, could give her no fortitude uhe pressure of that dread, and again and again her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeiher the chestnut trees nor the distant horizon, but only future ses of home-sorrow. Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pa his back, and followed closely by a bull-terrier of brindled coat and defiant aspect.
`O Bob, its you! said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased reition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the recolle of Bobs generosity. `Im so glad to see you.
`Thank you, Miss, said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted face, but immediately relieving himself of some apanying embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of disgust, `Get out wi you, you thunderin sawney!
`My brother is not at home yet, Bob, said Maggie, `he is always at St Oggs in the daytime.
`Well, Miss, said Bob, `I should be glad to see Mr Tom - but that isnt just what Im e for - look here!
Bob was i of depositing his pa the doorstep, and with it a row of small books fasteogether with string. Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to call Maggies attention, but rather something which he had carried under his arm, ed in a red handkerchief.
`See here! he said again, laying the red parcel ohers and unfolding it, `you wont think Im a-makin too free, Miss, I hope, but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you a bit for them as youve lost; for I heared you speak o picturs - an as for picturs, look here!
The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated `Keepsake and six or seven numbers of a `Portrait Gallery, in royal octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of Gee the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed ium and voluminous neckcloth.
`Theres all sorts o genelmen here, Bob went on, turning over the leaves with some excitement, `wi all sorts o noses - an some bald an some wi wigs - Parlament genelmen, I re. An here, he added, opening the `Keepsake, `heres ladies for you, some wi curly hair and some wismooth, an some a-smiling wi their heads o one side ansome as if they was goin to cry - lo