# Her Benny/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
ROUGHING IT.
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God, the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.
Wordsworth.
ext morning Benny was stirring early, and when the first faint rays of the coming day peeped through the dust-begrimed and patched-up window, they saw the little fellow busily engaged in gathering together what things he and Nelly possessed previous to their final departure from home.
Nelly still slept on, and several times the brother paused and looked fondly down upon the fair face of the sleeping child. She looked very ​beautiful, Benny thought, as she lay sleeping there, with a pink spot glowing on either cheek, and the long flaxen hair thrown carelessly back from the pale forehead. Once or twice she murmured in her sleep, and the same happy smile spread over her face that he had noticed the evening before when she sat gazing into Joe Wrag's fire.
"I wonder what she's a dreamin' on?" he murmured to himself. "Perhaps she sees the hills and flowers and trees agin."
Then he set to work again turning over a heap of rubbish that had been pushed as far back as possible under the stairs. At length a joyful exclamation burst from his lips as he came upon a small heap of potatoes.
"Here's a fortin', an' no mistake; Nell and I'll be able to walk off the lot."
And he brought them out into the room, and wrapped them in an old handkerchief his stepmother used to tie round ler head when she went out. There were scarcely twenty potatoes altogether, but to Benny they seemed almost an inexhaustible supply.
This being done, he sat down beside his sleeping sister and waited until he should hear any movement in the room above. Gradually the cold grey light of the morning stole into the room, revealing all its squalor and dinginess, and Benny felt that he and Nelly would have to make their escape soon, or else they might be prevented. He felt very loth to awake his sister, she slept so sweetly, and he did not know where ​they might find a shelter when darkness covered the earth again. But there was no help for it. His father might awake any moment, and the neighbours would soon be stirring in the court and in Bowker's Row. So bending over her, he pressed his lips upon her brow. But she did not move.
"Nelly," he whispered, "it's time to be movin'."
Slowly the great round eyes opened, and looked languidly up into his face.
"Come stir your pegs, Nell, or we'll be too late."
"Oh, ay," she said as the recollections of the previous evening came back to her. We 'as to be off to-day, ain't we?"
"Ay, my gal, we's goin' on our own 'ook now, so look alive."
"Does yer think we's doin' right, Benny?"
"'Course we is, Nell; I'll take care o' you, never fear."
Thus reassured, she followed Benny silently out of the house and into Bowker's Row; then seeing that no one was about, they set off at a quick trot in the direction from whence they had come the previous night.
Nelly had the utmost confidence in Benny's sagacity, and though she had doubted for a moment whether they were doing the wisest thing in the course they were taking, yet she had little doubt that her brother would be equal to any emergency, and that he would find her a home of some sort. Moreover, she had a vague, undefined feeling that they could not be worse off, whatever might happen. To see her ​Benny punished as she had so frequently done of late was "pain and grief" to her: not only had he suffered the pinchings of cold and hunger during the day, but he had been compelled to bring home a certain amount every night, or else take the consequences of their father's senseless anger.
And as the child thought of these things she could not wonder that Benny had resolved to run away and seek a home somewhere else. But what of herself? She had on the whole been much better treated, and she thought perhaps, her father did not well know what he was doing last night, as he was in drink. Ought she then to run away? "Ay, but I cannot leave Benny," was her mental response; and having settled that question, she seemed perfectly satisfied to share the fortunes of her brother, whatever they might be, and help him as best she could to fight the battle of life.
As for Benny, he had no qualms of conscience about the matter. He had never heard the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother," and even if he had, it would not have troubled him on the present occasion. He had a feeling that he had been wronged, cruelly wronged, and that he ought not to stand it any longer. Once the question had crossed his mind, "Had he any right to take those potatoes?" But he answered the question to himself by saying, "Ain't I brought home haaf a bob every night for th' week, an' then bin kept without supper? By jabbers, I's paid for those taters, and I'll eat 'em."
Moreover, his notions of right and wrong were of the vaguest ​character. He had some dim recollection of his mother, and how she used to tell him it was wrong to steal, and to tell lies, and to cheat. But the more he tried to recall it, the vaguer the recollection became. Yet sometimes when he was tempted to steal, and would look around to see that no one was watching him, a voice within him would whisper, "Don't, Benny, it is wrong to steal," and he would turn away with a sigh, feeling that there was something in that voice he dared not disobey.
In after years he held firmly to the belief that his own mother was permitted to be the guardian angel of his childhood, and that it was she who whispered to him when he was tempted to do wrong. He has also been heard to say, that though he regarded it as very wrong for children under ordinary circumstances, to leave their home without their parents' consent, yet in his case he thought his action perfectly justifiable.
But we must leave this question, with the hope that none of the children who read this story may be driven by cruelty and wrong to a similar course of action, and must follow the little waifs as they threaded their way through the dingy streets that cold December morning. Their object was to reach Joe Wrag's fire before his watch ended, and in this they were successful. Joe was standing before his hut, rubbing his hands over the still glowing grate, though Benny noticed that the fire was burning low.
We's brought some taters from home, may we cook 'em on ​yer fire, Joe?" said Benny, putting on as bold a face as he could.
Joe looked at the children for a moment without speaking.
"Please do, Joe, like a good man," chimed in Nelly's plaintive voice.
"Come along with yer, then. But how are 'e out so airly?"
"Lots o' bisness on hand," was Benny's prompt reply.
"There's some'at up wi' you youngsters, I reckon. But yer not goin' to eat all these taters at once, are yer?"
"Oh, no!" said Benny, "we on'y want two apiece, and we want you to keep the rest till we comes agin."
"Very likely story," said Joe gruffly. "Where's yer bin stealing 'em from?"
"Oh, nowheres, Joe," said Nelly. "We bringed 'em from home, we did, for sure."
"Well, ain't that a-stealin' on 'em?"
"No!" said Benny stoutly. "I's tooked 'em home haaf a bob every night for t' week, and they b'longs to me."
Joe shook his head dubiously as if not certain of the soundness of Benny's logic, but made no further reply. He, however, gave his aid to the children in cooking their potatoes, which were soon done to a nicety, and even gave them a piece of bread, the remains of his own morning's repast. Thus fortified, the children were soon ready for the duties of the day.
Their first business was to go into Park Lane and get in a stock of matches for the day's sale; this done, they separated and went their different ways, agreeing to meet in the shadow ​of St. George's Church at twelve o'clock, and at four to report progress.
Nelly's stand was near the junction of Lord Street, Church Street, Paradise Street, and Whitechapel, going occasionally as far as the "Sailor's Home." Benny, on the other hand, waited about near the landing stage, selling his matches if he could, but at the same time looking out for an opportunity of carrying some gentleman's bag.
But to-day Benny had another object in view, and that was to discover, if possible, some place where he and his sister might sleep when night came on. He knew of a place where for the payment of a penny each they might sleep in a cellar on some dirty straw amongst a lot of rough boys. But somehow Benny shrank from introducing his sister to such company as there assembled night after night. He must find some place where they could be alone, if possible, though he felt that that would be no easy matter.
The day was beautifully fine, with a clear frosty sky, and both Benny and his sister carried on a brisk sale in fusees, and when they met at noon they were in high spirits over the proceeds of the day. Still Benny had found no place as yet where to spend the night.
During the afternoon, however, his attention was directed to some sailors who were caulking a boat not far from the George's Dock. The boat he noticed was turned bottom upward, and that it had one end stove in; evidently it had had rough handling somewhere. And besides this, Benny noticed that there was a large quantity of hemp and tow on ​which the sailors were kneeling while at their work. Several times during the afternoon he took a look at the sailors, and when at length he saw them lift up the boat and push the tow underneath, his mind was made up.
"Stunnin'!" he ejaculated; I b'lieve we is in luck's way to-day. Couldna have bin better if it were a-made for us."
Punctually at four o'clock the children were at their trysting-place. They were both in high spirits, for their profits were larger than they had been for many a day past. Benny especially was in high glee, for he had the prospect of a comfortable lodging-place for the night, without any fear of his father's fury, and was consequently eager to communicate his discovery to Nelly.
"Golly, Nell," was his greeting, using his favourite expression, "it's a heap too cold to stick in one place. Let's off into Park Lane, and git a feed; we can 'ford it to-night."
And off they started, hand in hand. The place to which they directed their steps was not the most select, the character of the customers being of no consequence, so long as the money was forthcoming. This fact was well known to Benny, so he entered, leading his sister by the hand, without any trepidation. It was a long narrow room in which they found themselves, with several small tables at regular intervals down the sides. A bright fire was burning at the farther end of the room, near which Benny took his seat, requesting that "two penny loaves might be brought, and a pennorth of cheese."
​They remained as long as they dared, then again sought the wintry streets. But the keen frosty air made them long for shelter, and once more they sought the glowing grate of honest Joe Wrag. The old man seemed pleased to see them, and made room for them in his hut, though he said little. Oh, how the fire glowed and crackled in the keen frosty air, revealing to little Nelly Bates scenes of wondrous beauty! And as Joe watched her face glowing in the firelight he muttered to himself, "Purty little hangel; I hopes she'll grow up good, or—or die—ay, or die!"
It was after eight o'clock when they left Joe's warm hut, for Nelly had pleaded so hard to stay that he could not deny her request. She seemed to be twining herself around the old man's heart in a wonderful manner, and but for his fury of a wife he would have taken her to his own home when it became known to him that the children were homeless.
It did not take them long to reach the boat; and having satisfied themselves that they were not noticed, they crept underneath in a "jiffey," as Benny would have expressed it.
"Brimstone and treacle!" said Benny, as he put his hand on the large heap of tow; "ain't this sumpshus? We'll be as snug as Jonah 'ere."
"Ay, Benny, this is fine."
"Let's shut out all the daylight fust, Nell, and then the cold won't get in."
Thanks to the abundance of tow this was not difficult, and ​soon the children were cuddled in each other's arms, feeling warmer than they had felt for many a night past. It was a long time, however, before they could get to sleep. To Nelly especially was it strange. And thoughts too deep for them to express kept crowding into their minds, keeping them wide awake.
At length, however, a feeling of drowsiness began to creep over them, and they were just dropping off to sleep when they were startled by a footstep near them, and a hoarse voice muttering, as if in anguish, "O Death, what dost thou mean?"
For a moment, the children clutched each other in terror; then they heard the footsteps dying away in the distance, and their confidence returned again.
"Who could it be?" said Nelly.
"A bobby, I 'specks," said Benny; "but he ain't catched us, so we's safe 'nough now."
For awhile after they lay listening, but no other footsteps disturbed them, and soon balmy sleep stole over them, sealing their eyelids, and giving rest to their weary little heads and hearts.