CHAPTER IX.

IN THE GREAT BABYLON.

THE postman was hurrying down a small street in the neighbourhood of the British Museum, only waiting at each house long enough to fling the letters into the boxes, or on to the counters of the shops, but when he reached a small shop of a nondescript character, half "booksellers," half. "Berlin Wool warehouse," as it was pretentiously designated in large gilt letters on the front, he stopped in his headlong career, and, with a smile, he said to a faded elderly person behind the counter, "I've brought something for you this morning, ma'am."

"Oh, thank you," said she, as though she thought the postman was doing something quite out of the ordinary path of duty by bringing so unimportant a person as herself a letter; then with a changed tone, she added, "but this is not Stephen's day for writing; dear me, I hope there's nothing wrong."

The postman could not wait to hear whether the letter brought good or evil tidings, and left the poor lady with trembling fingers fumbling about for her spectacles. At last she succeeded in finding them, and read the following letter:

"Dearest Mother, I am sure you will be pleased to hear that you are to see your boy on Friday night—”

"Dear, dear, lost his situation already," said the mother; "this is a blow-but we must expect nothing but trouble in this world.” She sat for some minutes with her thin pale hands folded upon the letter, then with a sigh she went on reading to the end. "Mr Champneys has asked me to run up to London to buy some drawing materials for the young ladies; he was kind enough to say he thought I should be glad of an opportunity of seeing my mother—and you may be sure I was not unwilling to undertake the journey; I am to stay with you till Monday evening, hurrah! so I shall be able to take you to church on Sunday, dear.

"I am beginning to like the people here very much, they are all so kind to me; but I will tell you all about them when I see you. Your ever attached son, Stephen Rivers."

"Praise the Lord!" was the good woman's ejaculation on finishing her son's letter, "when shall I overcome that sinful disposition to anticipate evil? Surely I ought to be thankful to God for giving me such a son!" She took up the letter and read it carefully through again; then she said to herself, "Young ladies! I thought the Rector was a single man. I hope the boy won't get any silly notions into his head. It will only make him discontented to mix with people above him; not but what he's good enough for any one though, and his father was a gentleman if ever there was one."

After a little more meditation, and again reading the letter carefully through, Mrs Rivers thought she must see about getting things ready for her son's arrival. So she went into her little parlour, which had a lively view of a paved court surrounded by brick walls, and rang

the bell. As no one answered, she went to the top of the stairs and shouted "Jemima, Jemima." Presently a shuffling was heard in the passage, and Jemima appeared, -a young lady with a rough red head, very astonished eyes, and an open mouth.

"Did you call, Mum?" she asked.

"Yes, Jemima; I rang and called too. Now, you must set to work like a good girl."

"Please 'm, I always am a-setting to work."

Yes, you are a good girl; but I want you to be better than ever to-day, for what do you think? Mr Stephen is coming home!"

At this announcement the girl's mouth widened into a broad grin, and displayed two rows of faultless teeth. "Lor', Mum," she exclaimed, "whenever is he acoming?"

"He's coming to-morrow night, and we must make everything look nice and clean to welcome him."

"Yes, and get him a jolly good supper, Mum. I think he'd like tripe now, Mum."

"No, not tripe; I will go out this evening and choose something myself. Now, I must go back to the shop; can I trust you, Jemima, to clean up Mr Stephen's room?"

"Just can't you, Mum, that's all," answered Jemima, who returned to the lower regions in a high state of delight. Stephen was her hero,—and well he might be, for he had rescued her from the slavery in which she had passed the first years of her miserable existence.

In some unaccountable way a desire had seized the child Jemima to learn, and she had managed to find her way to a night-school, where Stephen used to

teach. The poor girl was then acting as a sort of maidof-all-work in a low lodging-house, kept by an old brute of a man whom she called Daddy, though she was, as it proved, in no way related to him. He took a fiendish delight in stopping any little pleasure that happened to come in Jemima's way; and, when he discovered that she was learning to read, he beat her cruelly and forbade her to go near the school again. For a few nights he locked her up in her miserable garret, but the first time that, in a drunken fit, he forgot to do so, she managed to escape and went straight to the school, for she had begun to feel a divine hunger which would not be appeased.

Stephen had, from the first, been interested in the child, who, in spite of her dirt and rags, looked so bright and intelligent. When she appeared this night, with a pale, frightened face, he asked her where she had been, and if she were ill. With hysterical sobs she began her pitiful story.

"We must not Stephen, kindly.

interrupt the school now," said "Wait here, poor child, till lessons are over, and then I will talk to you."

On learning her tale, Stephen at once made up his mind not to allow her to return to her master; so he took the child to a Refuge for that night, where, for the first time in her life she had a bath, and slept on a decent bed. The next morning Stephen went to the court where the girl said her Daddy lived, and bearded the lion in his den. He found, as he had expected, that the man was a coward, and trembled at the very mention of the police, though he abused poor Jemima, and called her every evil name under the sun, and

declared that she had cheated and robbed him, and that he had always been a good father to her; but the result of it all was that when he saw that Stephen was neither to be bullied nor frightened, and moreover, that he did not believe a word of his story, the old wretch began to drivel and shed a few drunkard's tears; and at last he promised that if his visitor would "tip him a sov.' he would give up all claim to the possession of Jemima.

Now, sovereigns were not very plentiful with poor Stephen, who had only a few shillings in his pocket, but he promised to return that evening with the required sum, and gave the man a shilling as an instalment. The old creature did not expect to see anything more of Stephen or his money, but he determined to ferret out Jemima, and get her into his clutches again by hook or by crook, for he intended to make money out of her somehow.

However, very much to his astonishment, Stephen did keep his appointment, and brought a bright gold sovereign, which Daddy bit and tested in every possible way, and found to be a true coin of the realm. But, besides the sovereign, Stephen brought a policeman with him, who was witness to the bargain, and who succeeded in making the wretch believe that something very terrible would happen to himself if he ever attempted to tamper with Jemima.

And now the question was, what to do with Jemima herself? The matron of the Refuge promised to keep her till some other home should be found; and there she remained for nearly a year, and earned such an excellent character, that Stephen induced his mother

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