The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

JOHN GRIFFIN sat long alone, waiting for his wife to return. He grew uneasy as one quarter of an hour after another passed, and yet she did not come. It was but a few steps to Mrs. Cook's lodgings, what could be keeping her so long?

But at last he heard the sound of a vehicle stopping before the door of his house, and in a few moments his wife entered, bearing triumphantly in her arms what appeared to be a large bundle.

"I've got her, John," was all she said, and then she placed her bundle lightly on the hearth-rug, and ran back to dismiss the cabman, whom she had been obliged to employ.

The bundle stirred after Mrs. Griffin had placed it on the rug. A little white hand found an opening in the closely-wound shawl; and as it pushed the wrapping back, John saw a pair of dark eyes looking at him.

"How do you do, my dear? " he asked.

The child smiled faintly, but made no other response.

Griffin now noticed that her face was pale and wasted, and her eyes dull and heavy.

Just then his wife came bustling back.

"Why, what's the matter with the little maid? " he asked. "Is she bad?"

"Yes, poor little darling; and no wonder, you'd say, if you saw the place where I found her," replied Mrs. Griffin, in a tone of indignation; "a nasty, cold garret, John, close under the roof, with the wind coming in through the chinks enough to freeze you. And as for dirt! If you'll believe me, the dust was an inch thick on the floor. All the poor dear had to lie on was a heap of flocks, and a bit of a cobweb of a blanket to cover her. Mrs. Cook says the child has been bad for the last fortnight; but it's my belief that she has half-starved her. I had to fetch a cab to bring her home in, for she was too weak to walk, and I'm not strong enough to carry her so far, though 'tis but a little way. Now, wait a bit, my darling, whilst I get you some nice good beef-tea."

Mrs. Griffin talked fast to keep down the emotion which threatened to overcome her. She now brought a saucepan, and in a few minutes had warmed over the fire some of the excellent beef-tea which she had made for her husband. Then, lifting the little girl on to her lap, she gently fed her with spoonfuls of the warm broth, into which she had crumbled some bread.

Griffin leaned forward in his chair to watch the child being fed. To his joy, Maggie did not refuse the food, but took it with evident relish. She tried to sit up for a moment, and take a look round the room; but, weak and dizzy, her head quickly sank back on Mrs. Griffin's shoulder.

"Poor little maid! " said old Griffin, tenderly. "Poor little maid!"

"It was well I went when I did, John," said Mrs. Griffin; "I believe Mrs. Cook had forgotten the child's existence, and would have left her to starve. She was in drink as usual, and made high words about being troubled with beggarly brats."

Maggie had opened her eyes again on hearing Mrs. Cook's name, and her face wore a frightened look.

"You won't send me back to her? " she asked, in a feeble voice.

"No, that we won't, dear, you may be sure of that," returned Mrs. Griffin; "you shall never see that horrid woman again, if I can help it. Poor little dear, see how thin she has grown, Griffin. Still I hope that all she wants is good nursing and feeding. I'll take her upstairs now, give her a nice warm bath, and put her to bed."

Maggie nestled in the old woman's arms with an air of intense satisfaction, and pressing her to her bosom with a mother's tenderness, Mrs. Griffin carried her away.

When John Griffin went upstairs, half-an-hour later, he found Maggie snugly established in a little bed in a corner of their room. Polly had been wont to sleep in that cot. It was like a revival of bygone days to see it occupied once more.

"Come and look at her, John," said his wife; "she looks so sweet, poor little darling!"