Great Porter Square: A Mystery. Volume 2. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
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Название: Great Porter Square: A Mystery. Volume 2
Автор: Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
Издательство: Public Domain
Жанр: Зарубежная классика
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“A glass of water!” “Poor child!” “Go and fetch a little brandy!” “Fetch a policeman!” “She’s shamming!” “Starving, more likely!” “Starving? she’s got three boxes of matches in her hands!” “Well, you brute, she can’t eat matches!”
These and other cries greeted Becky as she opened the door, and looked out into the Square.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, striving to push her way into the crowd, which did not willingly yield to her.
It was a poor child, her clothes in rags, who had fainted on the flagstones before the house.
“She’s coming to!” exclaimed a woman.
The child opened her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” asked a man, roughly.
“I came to see the ghost!” replied the child, in a weak, pleading little voice.
The people laughed; they did not see the pathetic side of the picture.
But the child’s voice, faint as it was, reached Becky’s heart. It was a voice familiar to her. She pushed through the crowd vigorously, and bent over the child.
“Blanche!” screamed the child, bursting into hysterical sobs. “O, Blanche! Blanche!”
It was Fanny, the little match girl.
“Hush, Fanny!” whispered Becky. “Hush my dear!”
She raised the poor child in her arms, and a shudder of pain and compassion escaped her as she felt how light the little body was. Fanny’s face was covered with tears, and through her tears she laughed, and clung to Becky.
“I know her,” said Becky to the people, “I will take care of her.”
And kissing the thin, dirty face of the laughing, sobbing, clinging child, Becky carried her into the house, and closed the street-door upon the crowd.
“Well, I’m blowed!” exclaimed the man who had distinguished himself by his rough words. “If this ’ere ain’t the rummiest Square in London!”
CHAPTER XXIII
“JUSTICE” SENDS A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE “EVENING MOON.”
CLOSER and closer did the little match girl cling to Becky, as she was carried through the dark passage and down the narrow stairs to the kitchen. Then, and then only, did Becky clearly perceive how thin and wan her humble little friend had grown. Fanny’s dark eyes loomed out of their sunken sockets like dusky moons, her cheeks had fallen in, her lips were colourless; her clothes consisted of but two garments, a frock and a petticoat, in rags. Becky’s eyes overflowed as she contemplated the piteous picture, and Fanny’s eyes also became filled with tears – not in pity for herself, but in sympathy with Becky.
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