A Big Temptation

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Title:     A Big Temptation
Author: L. T. Meade [More Titles by Meade]

Netty stood on the doorstep of a rickety old house and nursed the baby. She was ten years old and had the perfectly white face of a child who had never felt any fresher air than that which blows in a London court.

It is true that the year before she had gone with her brother Ben into the country. The Ladies' Committee of the Holiday Fund had arranged the matter, and Netty and Ben had gone away. They had spent a whole delicious fortnight in a place where trees waved, and the air blew fresh, and there were lots of wildflowers to pick; and she had run about under the trees, and slept at night in the tiniest little room in the world, and in the cleanest bed, and had awakened each morning to hear the doves cooing and the birds singing, and she had thought then that no happiness could be greater than hers.

This had happened a year ago, and since then a new baby had arrived, and the baby was rather sickly, and whenever Netty was not at school she was lugging the baby about or trying to rock him to sleep. She was baby's nurse, and she was not at all sorry, for she loved the baby and the occupation gave her time to dream.

Netty had big dark-blue eyes, which showed bigger and darker than ever in the midst of her white little face. She could talk to the baby about the country. How often she had told him the story of that brief fortnight!

"And you know, baby, there were real flowers growing; we picked them, Ben and I, and we rolled about in the grass; yes, we did. You needn't believe it unless you like, baby, but we did. Oh! it was fine. I had no headaches there, and I could eat almost anything, and if you never heard doves cooing, why, you never heard what's really pretty. But never mind: your time will come--not yet awhile, but some day."

On this particular July afternoon the sun was so hot and the air so close that even Netty could not find it in her heart to be cheerful.

"Oh, dear!" she said, with a deep sigh, "I do wish it were my turn for the country this year. I would take you with me--yes, I would, baby. I wouldn't mind a bit lugging you about, though you are getting heavy. I wish it were my luck to be going this year, but there isn't a chance."

She had scarcely uttered the last words before Ben's face was seen peeping at her from behind a corner.

Ben was a year older than his sister; he had long trousers very much patched about the knees, and a shock head of rough red hair. Next to baby, Netty loved him best in the world. He beckoned to her now, looking very knowing.

"I say, come here--here's a lark," he said; "come round the corner and I'll show you something."

Netty jumped up and, staggering under the weight of the heavy baby, approached the spot where Ben was waiting for her.

"Such a lark!" he continued; "you never heard tell anything like it. I say, Netty, what do you say to the seaside for a whole day, you and me together? We can go, yes, we can. To-morrow's the day; I have the tickets. What do you say?"

"Say?" cried Netty; "why, of course I say go; but it isn't true--it can't be true."

"Yes, it is," answered Ben. "I was standing by the scholars at the school-house as they was coming out, and they were all getting their tickets for the seaside treat, and I dashed in behind another boy, and a teacher came round giving out the tickets and I grabbed two. He said to me: 'Are you a Sunday scholar?' and I said: 'Yes, I am,' and there was a big crowd and no one listened. I got two tickets, one for you and one for me, and we'll go to-morrow. It's to a place called Southend. There's a special train for us, and we'll take our chance. Oh, isn't it fun? We'll see the waves and we'll feel the breezes and we'll bathe. My word! I don't know whether I'm standing on my head or my heels."

"Do show me the tickets, Ben," said Netty.

Ben thrust his hand into his trousers pocket and presently brought out two little pieces of cardboard on which the magical words were written which would take him and his sister to the school feast.

"There," he said; "it's all right--as right as can be."

"But that isn't your name, Ben; it's Tom Minchin, Tom Minchin and a number."

"Well, and I'll be Tom Minchin for to-morrow," said Ben; "and you'll be his sister Susy Minchin. We'll drop our own names for the day."

"But what about the real Tom and Susy Minchin? Won't they come and find out everything, and won't they be disappointed?" said Netty, who had a strong sense of justice in her little nature.

"Let them be: it's our turn for a bit of fun. Perhaps they won't come, as they weren't there to-day. Anyhow, we'll risk it. I'm going, but you needn't be Susy Minchin unless you like."

"Oh, I'll be Susy," answered Netty, after a moment's anxious reflection; "but we must take baby. What's to be done with baby? Mother said I was to take charge of him all to-morrow, as she's going out charing. I can't leave baby--that I can't, Ben."

"If you take the baby we'll be found out," said Ben.

"Well, I must risk it," said Netty; "I can't help it. You can go as Tom Minchin, Ben, and if they turn me back on account of the baby--why, they must, that's all."

"They won't let baby come, so you had best leave him at home. There's old Mrs. Court can look after him," said Ben, indicating an old woman who sometimes took care of babies for twopence a day.

"I never thought of Mrs. Court," said Netty, in a reflective voice; "but where's the use? I haven't the twopence."

"I believe I could manage that," said Ben; "it's worth a good try, isn't it?"

"Well, let us run and ask her," said Netty; "it would be a great pity if I didn't get off with the rest of you. Do let me look at the tickets once more, Ben."

Ben condescended to give Netty one more peep.

"Don't you forget when they're calling out our names that you are Susy Minchin," he said; "and now if I can get twopence Mrs. Court will look after baby."

Netty kissed the baby on its little mouth.

"I'd take you if I could, baby," she said; "but oh, the sea! the sea! I just do pine for it. I'll bring you back lots of shells, baby, that I will, and you won't mind old Mrs. Court for once, and I'll have such tales to tell you when I come back."

So Netty went to find old Mrs. Court, and between them they arranged for the baby's comfort on the following day and Mrs. Court was to have her twopence in the evening.

But the best-made plans do not always come to pass, for Netty that evening received a lecture from her Mother on the subject of Mrs. Court.

"What is this I hear?" cried the good woman; "that you mean to give baby to the care of that old woman! Not a bit of it! I wouldn't allow the baby to be seen in her rooms for all you could give me. What do you want to get rid of the baby for? And what are you trying to hide from me, Netty?"

"It's nothing really, Mother; it's just that Ben and I are going to walk to Battersea Park, and we've a penny apiece to buy buns. You won't stop us going, Mother?"

"Now aren't you an unnatural girl!" cried Mrs. Floss. "Why shouldn't you take the poor baby with you? Wouldn't he like a sight of the park and the green trees as well as you? If you take the baby with you, I'll give you each another penny, and an extra one for the baby, and you can all have a good time; now what do you say?"

"I suppose I must do it, Mother," answered Netty; "and you're very kind," she hastened to add.

Mrs. Floss was far too busy to spend any more time talking to Netty. She regarded the affair as absolutely settled, and went downstairs to tell Mrs. Court that she was not to have the pleasure of looking after the baby the following day.

The next morning broke gloriously fine. Even as early as six o'clock it was intensely hot in the attic where Netty slept. She had laid out all her best things the night before--her blue cotton frock, carefully washed and mangled, her cape to match, her sailor hat, somewhat ragged round the brim, but not very dirty; even her cotton gloves. These last she regarded as great treasures, and imagined that they would give a distinctly genteel air to her appearance.

As there was no possible way out of it, she must take the baby, too, and she must just trust to luck to pulling the thing through. She knew enough about tramways and omnibuses and railway carriages to be aware that a baby in arms costs nothing, and she did not mind little Dan's weight--she was accustomed to it; and she would like very much, as far as she herself was concerned, to take him to the seaside.

Accordingly, the baby was also got early out of his wooden cot, and dressed in his very best clothes. The baby's best frock was made of Turkey-red cotton, very faded, and he had a small worn-out fifth-hand sun-bonnet tied under his chin, and his little legs were bare, but that did not matter--it was, indeed, rather an advantage this hot weather.

Ben frowned very much when he saw the baby.

"Now, what do you mean by this?" he cried; "how can you be Susy Minchin dragging that big baby about with you? You give it to Mrs. Court."

"No, no," pleaded poor Netty; "Mother said I wasn't to leave baby with Mrs. Court; we must bring Dan with us. There, Ben, you won't say no."

Ben looked decidedly cross, but Netty had a very coaxing way with her.

"Come along then," he said roughly; but there was a tenderness in that rough tone, and Netty knew that her cause was won. It never occurred to Ben to offer to carry the baby for Netty, but he made up his mind that he must smuggle it through somehow.

The pair reached the great station in good time, and were joined by a lot of other children, and several teachers and Sunday-school superintendents of all sorts, and also several clergymen.

Ben and Netty soon mingled with the crowd and were marched in orderly array past a gentleman who looked at each ticket and took down each name as they went by. When it came to Ben's turn he called out manfully: "Tom Minchin," nudging Netty at the same time.

"Susy Minchin," she said. But here the little party were called to halt.

"Susy Minchin, what are you doing with that baby?" said Mr. Stokes, the curate.

Poor little Netty, _alias_ Susy, found herself turning red and then pale.

"Please, sir," she said, dropping a curtsey that she was accustomed to make to her Board-school teacher, "please, I couldn't come without Dan."

"But I didn't know that Mrs. Minchin had a young baby," said the curate, who was very young and fair-haired himself, and looked much puzzled what to do.

"It would kill me to go back now, sir," said Netty, and there was such a passion of entreaty in her soft eyes and such a tremble round her pale lips that the young curate looked at a pretty girl who was standing near, and the pretty girl said:

"Oh! poor little dear, she shan't be disappointed. I would rather take the baby myself."

"But it's against the rules," said the curate, "and others may take advantage of it."

"You shan't be prevented from going, little Susy Minchin," said the girl, now coming forward. "Give me the baby until you are all well started; then you shall have it back again."

No sooner said than done--little Daniel was quickly transferred to the arms of the fair-haired and very beautiful young lady, and Netty, _alias_ Susy, marched on in triumph.

"That was well done; I call that young lady a brick," whispered Netty to Ben, but Ben replied:

"Be quiet, and come along."

They reached the great train and were huddled into their compartments, and then slowly but surely it got up steam and moved out of the station, and then, gathering speed, flew past the ugly houses, past the rows of hot and dingy streets, into the pure, fresh lovely country.

Netty caught her breath in her rapture, her eyes shone with pure happiness, but in the midst of all her rejoicings a sudden memory of little Dan came to distress her.

"I have brought his bottle with me," she said, tapping her pocket, "and he'll be hungry by now. I wish the lady would give him back."

"You stay quiet," said Ben, nudging her; "where's the use of bothering?"

The train flew through the country faster and faster, the air blew more and more fresh against Netty's cheeks. She began to sniff. Could that delicious smell be the smell of the sea, the great, rolling blue sea which she had never seen, but which she had so often dreamed about?

There was another little white-faced girl who sat near Netty, and Netty asked her if she thought they were getting near the sea. She had a sharp face and had been to the sea before, and she rather despised Netty for her ignorance. Poor Netty was about to sink back into her seat with a feeling of disappointment when a grave-looking lady who had the charge of the compartment said, in a quiet voice:

"We cannot reach the sea for a long time yet, little girl, but I see you are much pleased and very much interested in everything; would you like to come and sit near me?"

All too willingly Netty changed her seat, and presently she and the kind lady entered into a vigorous conversation. Netty confessed how anxious she was about the baby. She tapped the bottle in her pocket and described how she had made the necessary food with milk and water and a pinch of sugar.

"Dan will be fretting for his lunch by now," she said; "I do wish I could get hold of him."

"We shall be stopping at a big station in two or three minutes now," said the lady, whose name was Mrs. Holmes, "and I will get out and find Miss Pryce, who, I think from your description, must be the lady who has charge of the little one. I will bring him back to you then. But what a very audacious little girl you are to think that a baby would be allowed to come to the Sunday treat."

"I could not have come without him," replied Netty.

"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Holmes.

Poor Netty was on the point of saying Netty Floss, but at that moment she caught Ben's eye and his warning glance saved her from making a startling revelation.

"Susy Minchin," she answered.

"Minchin! I know the Minchins well. How is your Mother? I have not seen her for some time."

"Very well, indeed," answered Netty, flushing brightly. Her heart beat with a sudden feeling of alarm. This was quite terrible news. The kind lady knew her supposed Mother, Mrs. Minchin. Netty had not the faintest idea what Mrs. Minchin was like; she did not know how many there were in family, but a dreadful memory now darted through her brain--the curate had said that he did not believe that the Minchins had a young baby.

Suppose this lady who knew Mrs. Minchin so well should remember that fact, then what should she do?

The train stopped, Mrs. Holmes got out, and presently returned with the baby.

"By the way," she said, as she placed the child in Netty's arms, "is this your little brother?"

"No, ma'am, my little cousin," answered Netty, whose distress had rendered her wonderfully sharp and indifferent to the many lies she was telling. "He's my little cousin, ma'am, but I love him as if he were my own brother."

"So I can see, and he seems a dear little fellow, but what pale cheeks! Do you give the poor baby enough to eat?"

The baby was smiling in that inconsequent and yet fascinating way which babies of a certain age adopt.

His lips were forming into pretty three-corners, and his eyes were blinking, and when he saw the bottle which Netty drew out of her pocket he stretched out his little arms with delight and cooed with satisfaction.

Soon several of the other children clustered round little Dan and began to fuss about him, and when they thrust sweets into his mouth he thought the fun excellent and crowed and laughed and flung his arms in the air.

"The sea will do him a sight of good, the darling," said Netty, kissing him with rapture.

Soon afterwards they reached Southend, and then the real pleasure of the day began. Never as long as she lived could Netty forget that exciting and wonderful day--the happiness of running along those sands, of picking up those shells for herself, of sitting with Dan in her arms and letting the soft sea breezes blow over her face; then, as the waves came nearer and nearer, the darting away with little screams of frightened rapture. Oh! there never in all the world could be a second day like this! Then, too, the baby himself entered into the fun, and the best of the whole thing was that before the day was over the baby, the only baby in the whole party, began to assume the airs of a master, for all the children noticed him, and the ladies noticed him, and even the curates and the rector noticed him, and they all said: "What a pale-faced and yet what a sweet baby he is!"

And several offered to carry him, until Netty felt that he was quite a diadem in her crown, and a most honourable and distinguished appendage.

"See," she whispered to Ben, in the height of her joy, "did you ever see anything like the fuss they're making over our Dan? Wasn't I right to bring him?"

"Oh! don't bother," cried Ben; "I'm going to play with some boys at the other side of the beach, and won't be back for a couple of hours."

Plenty of food was given to the happy children, and they returned home dead-tired, some of them half-asleep, but all with dreams of bliss which would remain in their hearts for many a long day.

Perhaps of all the children who went to that school feast there was no happier than Netty. She forgot her own wrong-doing in thinking of the delightful scenes she had so lately witnessed, and fell asleep that night holding the baby in her arms in a state of absolute bliss; but alas! clouds were already coming over her sky.

Early in the morning she awoke to find that Dan was hot and restless. Dan, although he had enjoyed himself vastly the day before, had not been treated judiciously. The many sweet-meats that the children had insisted on giving him had upset his baby digestion. He awoke peevish, heavy-eyed, and highly feverish. Netty, who idolised him, went straight to her Mother to ask her opinion with regard to him.

"He's not well," said Netty; "he's not well a bit. I had best go at once and see the doctor, or take him round to the sixpenny dispensary."

Mrs. Floss turned towards the bed where the baby lay, pulled down the clothes, and looked at him.

"There's nothing the matter with the child," she said. "Don't you get fussing with your silly ways; the child's all right."

"He's not, Mother. I am sure he ought to have medicine of some sort."

"There, there, don't be silly," said the woman. "I am going out for a day's charing, and have no time to be bothered. Look after Dan and do your duty. I expect he took a chill yesterday when you took him to Battersea Park; so now you must stay at home and nurse him back to health."

Poor little Netty smiled rather faintly.

"You're looking dead-beat yourself," said the woman. "I can't make out what's come to all of you. There's Ben hadn't any appetite for his good plain breakfast. Now, you go and look after baby; I'm glad it's Saturday: you needn't be at school."

The day was hot, even hotter than the previous one. Mrs. Floss started off on her charing expedition, and Netty sat on the doorstep with the sick baby. Dan grew worse each moment. He could scarcely open his languid eyes, his little face was deadly pale, and at times a shudder ran through his frame.

Mrs. Court came and looked at him ominously. "You'd better have left him with me," she said. "He's eaten something that has disagreed with him, and now he'll have convulsions and die."

"Oh! don't say such cruel things," cried poor Netty.

Mrs. Court hobbled back to her room, and Netty sat on with an awestruck look on her face. Presently she stooped down and kissed the baby on his brow. He was stirring restlessly. Netty felt that she loved him better even than Ben, better than anything else in the world.

"Don't you go, and die, baby," she said, in a low whisper. And now the baby, just as if he heard the words and understood them, opened his sweet blue eyes, and looked her full in the face, and then he gave a faint smile and shut his eyes again, and she heard him breathing quickly, and the next moment a spasm crossed his little face.

Netty could stand it no longer.

"I must take him to someone; but I haven't a penny in the world. Oh! what shall I do? I know: I'll go to Mrs. Holmes, that kind lady; she'll tell me what to do for Dan. She may punish me, she may do what she likes, for I'll tell her the whole gospel truth, if only she'll save Dan."

Netty staggered to her feet; there was resolution on her little face.

Mrs. Holmes had taken a fancy to the child who loved the baby so well, and on parting the night before she had said to her:

"I have just moved into a new house, Susy Minchin, and as perhaps you do not know of the change, will you tell your Mother this is my new address," and then she repeated it slowly twice to the child: "5, George-street, Bloomsbury. Now, you will remember that, little girl, won't you? and when I want your Mother to come to do a day's charing I will let her know."

Netty had scarcely listened at the time. What did it matter to her? for she was not Susy Minchin: she was Netty Floss.

But now like a ray of sunshine the memory of this address crossed her mind.

George-street, Bloomsbury, was a long way off, but Netty was a brave walker. It took two hours, carrying that heavy baby, to get there, and as she walked the baby's face frightened her more and more, but with the aid of several friendly policemen she did get at last to George-street. She walked up the steps of the tall house and sounded the knocker, and waited with great anxiety until the door was opened. It was opened, not by a servant, who in all probability would have sent Netty away, but by no less a person than Mrs. Holmes herself.

"Why, Susy!" cried the lady, starting back; "who would suppose that I should see you here, and the dear baby too? What is the matter?"

"Oh! let me in," panted poor Netty; "do, please, and I ain't Susy--I'm Netty, and this ain't my little cousin--he's my own brother, and he's bad, very bad. Oh, ma'am, I'm such a miserable girl!"

In great astonishment Mrs. Holmes did allow the little girl to come into the house. She took her into a small room and looked at once at the baby. One glance showed her that he was very ill indeed.

"My dear child," she said, "what a good thing you came when you did. In an hour's time the poor baby might have died."

Mrs. Holmes rang the bell briskly.

"Bring a hot bath here and some mustard immediately," she said to the servant; "and be quick, please, and then go round to Dr. Ross at the corner and say that Mrs. Holmes wants to see him at once."

All these things were done. The baby was taken out of Netty's arms, undressed, and put into the bath. The doctor called, felt his little swollen gums, and said they were really at the root of the mischief. He lanced them and the baby got immediate relief. In less than an hour he was lying in a soft sleep in Netty's arms.

"He will do now," said Dr. Ross; "but if matters had been postponed I would not have given much chance of his life."

"And now, Susy, what is it?" said Mrs. Holmes, looking for the first time attentively at the child. "Don't cry, my dear, the little fellow will live; but what was that you said to me about _not_ being Susy?"

"Oh! I must tell you," cried Netty; "I know you'll turn me out, but it doesn't matter now, for you have saved baby's life."

And then she did tell her story; with sobs, bitter sobs, she told it, and somehow Mrs. Holmes had never felt nearer crying in her life than as she listened.

At last the poor little accusing voice was silent, and Netty looked up with swollen eyes of misery to receive her sentence.

"You did very wrong, of course, Netty," said Mrs. Holmes; "and I shall be obliged to tell my Vicar, for we must enquire immediately where Tom and Susy Minchin really were. But, my dear child, I am not going to be very angry with you. I think when Daniel suffered so much this morning you received your punishment, and I am not going to give you another. I mean to forgive you, and to try to give you a chance in life."

"Oh, you're an angel," said poor Netty; "will you be my friend even though I have done this?"

"You must promise never to do anything of the kind again."

"Do you think I would want to?" said Netty; "and will you please forgive Ben too, ma'am; he isn't bad really, but we did so _pine_ to look at the sea. We had never seen it, and it was _such a big temptation_."

"I quite understand," said Mrs. Holmes, and she stooped and kissed Netty. "I will come round this evening to your house in order to see your Mother," she said. "I am going to be your friend in the future."

Mrs. Holmes was as good as her word. The baby quickly got well again, Netty and Ben were forgiven, and were made _bona-fide_ scholars at the Sunday-school. When the school feast came round the following year they were able to go to the feast, and as a matter of course had tickets; but a greater treat was in store, for there was a special ticket sent by the Ladies' Committee to no less a person than Dan himself. He was the only baby allowed to come, and he had his own ticket.

[The end]
L. T. Meade's short story: A Big Temptation

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