gone for bad, you mean. He'll come to a nice end, and I'll help him to it if I can. So the old hunks discharged Tom Barley, did he? Well, I settled his hash for him, at all events."
"It shows what influence you have over the master," observed Mrs. Pamflett.
"I'll have more before I've done with him. Hallo! Just hear how they're laughing upstairs. I say, mother, couldn't you call Phœbe down here? I don't care about giving her the flowers with all that lot looking on and sniggering. Just you go and whisper to her that a gentleman wants very particularly to see her. Wait a minute; is my scarf right?"
"Yes, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett, and was about to leave him, when he cried again, nervously:
"Wait a minute, can't you? What a hurry you're in. What would you say to her, mother, when you give 'em to her?"
"Wish her many happy returns of the day, Jeremiah; and you might ask if she will give you a cup of tea. That will give you an excuse for following her; she can't very well leave the people upstairs long to themselves."
"All right; I'll do it." And Jeremiah struck an attitude, and waited for Phœbe, who had received a message, not that "a gentleman" wanted particularly to see her, but that a friend was below who was anxious to wish her many happy returns. When Phœbe heard this, she thought for a moment that it might be faithful Tom Barley, whom Mrs. Pamflett, in her good-nature, had allowed to enter, and she was startled when she saw Jeremiah Pamflett.
"It's me, miss," said that worthy. "You're not sorry, I hope?"
"No," she said, awkwardly; "not at all."
"Seeing it was your birthday," said Jeremiah, "I thought I'd give you an agreeable surprise. Just look at this." He took the blue paper off the bouquet, and held it up for her admiration.
"It is very pretty," said Phœbe.
"I should rather say it was. It cost enough, anyhow: eight and six I gave for it."
He paused for a reply, and Phœbe said, "Yes?" not knowing what else to say.
"Half a guinea they asked, but I beat 'em down. They do try to take you in, the shopkeepers; but I get up a little too early for them. When they try their games on me, they try 'em on the wrong party. Don't you think so?" He made a motion with his elbow, with the intention of digging it playfully into her side; but she shrank back, and frustrated his amiable design. "I went to Covent Garden myself to pick it out." He paused again, and as she did not speak, he thought, "Hang it! why doesn't she say something?" comforting himself, however, with the reflection that his resplendent appearance had "regularly knocked her over," as he would have openly expressed it in his choice vernacular. Feeling that he was not getting along as well as he wished, he wound up with, "For you, miss; wishing you many happy returns of the day."
"You are very kind," said Phœbe, having no option but to accept the bouquet, "to spend so much money upon me."
"Oh," said Jeremiah, boastfully, "I can do a thing swell when I've a mind to. I never laid out so much on flowers before, but I wouldn't mind doing it again – for you, miss."
"Pray don't think of it," said Phœbe, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry.
"Well, I won't say whether I will or not. It all depends." He spread himself out airily in order that she might have a good view of him. He took off his hat, touched his curled hair gingerly, put his left arm akimbo, and stood at ease, with his right leg out-stretched. He was rather proud of his manners, and thought he was making an impression. The question whether Phœbe should laugh or cry was determined by his attitude, and Jeremiah was somewhat confounded as a light hysterical laugh escaped her.
"What at, miss?" he asked, the smirk on his face changing to a frown.
"At that boy," said Phœbe, looking at the back of him; "he is so funny."
Jeremiah, turning, really saw a ragged little boy approaching them. It was a fortunate escape for Phœbe, who went toward the little fellow and asked him what he wanted.
"I wants to see the young lady of the 'ouse," said the boy. "Are you 'er?"
"Yes."
"I'm to give yer this, and run away."
A faithful messenger. He gave a small brown paper parcel to Phœbe, and scuttled away as fast as his little legs would carry him. Phœbe, wondering, opened the parcel, and there lay a few wild daisies, accompanied by a piece of white paper, upon which was written, "With Tom Barley's humble duty. For ever and ever." It was shocking writing, and Phœbe had some difficulty in deciphering it; but it brought the tears to her eyes. She put the paper in her pocket, and pinned the daisies at her bosom.
"I beg your pardon for leaving you," said Phœbe to Jeremiah. "And now I must go to my friends."
"You might offer me a cup of tea, miss," he said.
"Yes, I will, though I am afraid it is almost cold."
"Nothing can be cold where you are, miss," said Jeremiah, gallantly. "I'll come up with you. Why do you wear those rubbishing flowers? You can pick 'em up in the fields."
"They are from an old friend," said Phœbe, loyally. "I value them quite as much as if they had cost – " She stopped, frightened at her rashness; she was about to add, "eight and six." Jeremiah completed the sentence for her, supplying the precise words in her mind.
"As if they cost eight and six, miss," he said, quietly. There was a venom in his voice which made her shudder. "I'll think of that."
She felt it necessary to mollify him, and though she hated herself for her duplicity, she was very gracious to him as they ascended the stairs, so that when they entered the room his equanimity was restored. It may have been the grandeur of his appearance, or perhaps it was something in Phœbe's face, that caused an awkward pause in the merriment upon their entrance. Fortunately for the situation, Mrs. Pamflett was in the room, and as Phœbe made no attempt to introduce Jeremiah to the company, Mrs. Pamflett said, in a distinct, measured voice, "My son, Mr. Pamflett, Mr. Farebrother's manager."
Mr. Lethbridge rose and offered the young man his hand.
"Glad to know you," said Jeremiah. "You're Mr. Lethbridge. How do you do, all of you?"
Mrs. Lethbridge inclined her head, perceiving that something was wrong. Fanny with difficulty repressed a giggle, Bob looked supercilious, while Fred Cornwall scarcely glanced at the new arrival.
"Will you give Mr. Pamflett a cup of tea, aunt?" said Phœbe.
"No," said Jeremiah, "not from your aunt, if you please; from you. Then I sha'n't want any sugar in it. Anything the matter with you, miss?" He addressed this question to Fanny, from whom an uncertain sound of laughter was proceeding.
"Something in my throat," replied Miss Fanny.
"Shall I slap you on the back, miss?"
"No, no!" cried Fanny, suddenly quite sobered.
Jeremiah drank his tea quite slowly, looking alternately from one to the other. There was a dead silence in the room.
"Shall my niece pour you out another cup?" asked Mrs. Lethbridge, politely.
"If it will oblige her," said Jeremiah, with cold malignity, "she may."
Without a word Phœbe poured out the tea and
