Oh! Christina!/Chapter 3
III
A ZEALOUS APPRENTICE
ON Friday nights Christina went to bed with her hair in a score of tight, thin pigtails, and on Saturday mornings she paid especial attention to her toilet generally; for on Saturdays Miss Purvis allowed her to stand behind the counter, and even to serve those customers who desired such simple wares as newspapers and pins. Miss Purvis hoped that her niece might thus learn something of the stationery and fancy-goods trade, while Christina, a few months after her first appearance in the shop, was privately of the opinion that she could have run the business a great deal better than her aunt.
Christina chafed in secret at not being permitted to attend to any customer, irrespective of his or her requirements. She felt that there were many occasions when Miss Purvis failed to effect a sale through sheer lack of repartee—though, of course, that word was not in Christina's vocabulary. But the word "gab" was, and the girl's inward remark was frequently to this effect—
"If she gi'ed them mair gab they wud buy mair."
But Miss Purvis was too genteel and dignified to chaff or persuade customers.
"I endeavour to stock the best of everything, and I can do no more," she said on one occasion, when a lady had refused to pay fourpence for a hair-net because she had seen them advertised somewhere or other at seven for a shilling.
"But ye should ha'e tell't her the chape yins was rotten rubbidge," said Christina.
"Were," Miss Purvis gently replied. "And the word rotten is not a nice one. Old wood might sometimes be correctly described as rotten"
"An' whiles aiples an' plooms an' ither frit," Christina put in. "I yinst got a"
"Hush!" Miss Purvis shuddered.
"Weel, ye should ha'e tell't the leddy the chape yins was"
"The lady should have known that for herself."
"If I was you, auntie, I wud keep naethin' but chape rubbidge—an' sell it dear when I got the chance. Ay, wud I!"
"That will do, Christina. You know quite well that honesty is the best policy."
Christina smiled. "I suppose ye mean that cheatery 'll choke ye," she said.
"That will do, Christina."
"I dinna believe it. I've seen plenty cheatery, but I never seen it choke onybody," pursued Christina. "I never seen onybody chokit but a baby, an' it was a bit ham that done it, an' the baby was ower wee—it wasna a year auld—for to cheat onybody."
Miss Purvis could not refrain from pointing out that tender infants did not get ham.
"They dae in Glesca. I've seen babies gettin' wulks[1]; ay, an'"
Christina could not understand why at this point her aunt suddenly embraced her, and in a husky voice called her "a poor neglected child."
On a certain chilly Saturday forenoon in January aunt and niece were at their posts behind the counter. Miss Purvis sat beside the till, crocheting. Christina was adding to the lustre of the stock of hatpins; she breathed loudly on each massive "gem," and then polished it with a handful of tissue paper. She liked handling the hatpins better than anything in the shop. Their richness appealed to her. Once Miss Purvis had come in from Sunday evening service to behold her niece, who had a cold, strutting before the small mirror with every pin in the shop thrust through her plain straw hat.
But Christina's thoughts on this forenoon were not confined to the glittering vanities. She had done a good stroke of business earlier in the day, and she still brooded upon it with exquisite satisfaction. It was a secret which she would not have shared, even with her aunt.
Just as the morning boat was taking the pier a gentleman—a stranger to Christina—had rushed into the shop, thrown down a penny, and gasped for a morning paper. The morning papers had been sold out, but Christina, with a bright smile, handed him a copy of the previous day's issue. Through the window she had watched him staggering down the pier with a heavy bag, and had felt proud and happy ever since.
"That's the wey to keep a shope," she told herself. "Mavbe he didna get readin' yesterday's paper," she added, and felt quite virtuous.
There had been a long lull in the forenoon's business—not an unusual happening—but at last there were signs that a customer was at hand. The door-handle, which was rather loose, rattled warningly and a face was pressed against the semi-opaque glass. Then the door opened a couple of inches and remained in that position. A sound of whispering reached the ears of Miss Purvis and Christina, both of whom were now standing at attention.
At the end of a minute the door closed, and a coin was heard to drop on the doorstep. The ring of metal was followed by a shuffling of feet. Then a silence, during which two faces were pressed against the glass.
Once more the door was opened, this time sufficiently wide to admit a little boy, of four years of age, whose fat countenance was exceeding solemn. The little boy was followed by his sister, a little girl, of seven or so, whose expression was no less serious. Very gravely they advanced towards the counter. Christina knew them quite well, but pretended she had never seen them before.
The little girl, fixing a cold eye on Miss Purvis and jerking her head sideways in the direction of the little boy, said—
"He's wantin' to buy something."
"And what does he want to buy, my dear?" Miss Purvis asked pleasantly.
"He doesna ken," said the little girl.
"Ay, I ken!" said the little boy in a voice hoarse with excitement or indignation—perhaps both.
"Weel, what dae ye want to buy?"
"A penny thing."
Miss Purvis turned to the little boy. "Is it a toy you wish to buy?" she inquired kindly.
The little boy gaped, and his sister replied—
"He wudna tell me, but I suppose it's a toy. It's a toy ye're wantin', Jimsie?"
Jimsie shook his head violently.
"Come on, noo, Jimsie, tell us what ye're wantin' to buy," his sister said persuasively. "Come on, tell us!"
"A scooter," said the boy in a low voice.
"But ye canna get a scooter. Maw said ye wasna to get a scooter, an' ye promised ye wudna ask for yin."
"But I want yin."
The little girl turned from him impatiently. "Ha'e ye ony scooters?" she demanded, with a warning wink at Miss Purvis.
Miss Purvis looked blank.
"She means things for sookin' in watter an' scootin' it oot again," put in Christina; adding, "we dinna keep them."
"No; I don't keep them, my dear," said Miss Purvis.
"There, ye see, Jimsie! " the little girl cried triumphantly. "She doesna keep scooters, so ye canna get yin."
Whereupon Jimsie sobbed freely till the penny slipped from his clutch, and he forgot his grief in searching for it.
"Christina," said Miss Purvis, "bring forward some toys. Perhaps James will see something he fancies."
"I canna see onything," complained Jimsie, whose nose was touching the edge of the counter.
Promptly his sister seized him in her arms, and bundled him upon a chair standing against the counter, on which Christina had just laid a small tin boat on wheels and a monkey on a stick.
"Bring a lot of toys," whispered Miss Purvis.
"If I bring a lot, he'll no' ken what to choose," muttered her niece.
"Do as I tell you, Christina!"
"Hooch, ay!" said Christina resignedly, and brought a dozen different articles.
Jimsie began to play with the monkey on the stick. Christina watched the monkey going up and down till she could bear it no longer.
"Are ye gaun to buy it, Jimsie?" she asked sharply.
"Hush, Christina!" said her aunt.
"It's nane o' your business, Teeny," said the little girl, putting out her tongue.
Christina ignored her. "If ye spile the works, ye'll ha'e to buy it!" she said to the little boy.
"Hush, Christina!"
The little boy laid down the monkey, and Christina snatched it from the counter.
"He'll maybe buy it yet," said Jimsie's sisster. "He aye tak's a whiley to mak' up his mind. See, Jimsie! Here an' awfu' nice wee boat"
"It winna sail," the boy objected.
"But it'll hurl.[2] Wud ye no' like a watch an' chain? Eh? Weel, here a wee motor-caur. Is that no' nate, Jimsie? I'm shair ye wud like it fine. Ye wud like the trumpet? Blaw it, Jimsie. It's fine an' lood."
Jimsie blew it till he was breathless.
"If he blaws it again, he'll ha'e to buy it," said Christina in a loud whisper.
"Hush, Christina!"
After further consideration, Jimsie decided against the trumpet. Christina removed it from the counter and scrutinized it to see if he had bitten the mouth-piece.
"Weel, Jimsie," the little girl inquired, "if ye're no' for the trumpet, what are ye for?"
"I dinna ken," replied Jimsie, as he picked up a toy in each hand.
"I tell't ye, auntie! " Christina muttered. "He canna chose his pick wi' sae mony things."
"Hush, Christina!"
"Oh, hush-a-baw-baby!" said Christina crossly.
At the end of twenty minutes the little boy slid from his chair, and, drawing down his sister's shoulder, whispered earnestly in her ear.
"Ye should ha'e said that afore," said his sister, without, however, any displeasure. In fact, she smiled a little smile of satisfaction.
She turned to Miss Purvis and calmly said—
"He wants to buy sweeties wi' his penny."
Then, taking hands, the twain moved to the door.
A moment later Christina had whipped round the counter, and was at the door ere they could close it. The children fled.
"Christina, where are you going?"
Without answering, Christina ran out.
In a few minutes she reappeared, smiling cheerfully, and gently pushing the children before her.
"He's gaun to buy the monkey," she announced to her aunt. At the same time she took the monkey from the far-end of the counter, where she had left it, and handed it to Jimsie, receiving his penny in exchange.
She then guided the silent children, who had rather a dazed look, to the door, and saw them safely outside.
"Christina," said Miss Purvis, on recovering from her amazement, "what did you say to those children?"
"Never heed," returned Christina, spinning the warm penny on the counter.
"You must tell me."
"Oh, weel, I jist tell't them I wud gi'e them the nick"
"The what?"
"The polis—ye ken awfu' little, auntie."
"The police!" Miss Purvis exclaimed, ignoring the depreciatory remark. "What for?"
"For pretendin' they was gaun to buy, an' no' buyin'. So they was feart, an' cam' back an' bocht the monkey. There ye are! That's the second penny—that's a penny I've saved ye the day. What's ado?"
"Oh, Christina, Christina! I'm vexed with you!"
"Hoo that?"
Miss Purvis drew herself up. She pointed to the penny on the counter.
"That's your Saturday penny, Christina"
"Thenk ye, auntie."
"You will run after the children at once, give them that penny, and tell them to buy sweets with it—from yourself."
"No' likely!"
"Then I must do so myself," said Miss Purvis.
There was a silence.
"Aweel," said the girl slowly. "I'll gang." She went round to the door. "What'll I dae if he's broke the monkey?"
"You have nothing to do with the monkey. I expect you'll find the little boy crying because of your cruelty."
Christina's expression softened. "I didna mean for to be crool," she said. "I—I'll gi'e him ma penny."
She went out, and closed the door behind her. Then she opened it a few inches.
"A' the same," she said, more in sorrow than in anger, "ye dinna ken hoo to keep a shope, auntie."