Part 39 (1/2)

”You are the lady who got scolded,” says Tombo gravely. ”Why was my mother so angry with you?”

”It is not polite to ask questions,” puts in Eleanor hastily.

”But she ought not to be cross,” continues Tombo, ”because you must be good, you're white, like Mrs. Quinton, and mother never rows her. Who are you?” placing his tiny fingers against her cheek, and stroking it gently.

”I am your granny, dear, and you will never see me again. But you must think of me sometimes, and remember that I loved you.”

She strains him to her heart pa.s.sionately.

”You're crying!” says Tombo. ”That's naughty. Oh! don't cry,” shaking her in a sudden frenzy of fear. ”Granny, Granny!”

Children always dread to see their elders give way to any emotion, and the little fellow's terror brings back Mrs. Blum's composure.

”There, darling, see, I am smiling,” she says, her faded eyes lighting up through a mist of tears.

”I think it is very nice to have a Granny, and I want to keep her always.”

”That is impossible, dearest. You must be a good boy, and not ask mother questions.”

Eleanor brings him sweets and cakes, which he readily devours, sharing them with the dog, who jumps up, startling Mrs. Blum, on whose knees young Tombo is seated.

”You must trot home soon,” says Eleanor, glancing nervously at the time, and fearing every moment lest Elizabeth should sweep in like a tragedy queen, and s.n.a.t.c.h her offspring from Mrs. Blum's arms.

”Yes, soon,” sighs his grandmother, holding him as if she will never let him go. She detaches a small gold locket from her chain, in which is a lock of Elizabeth's hair.

”You may keep this darling,” she murmurs, ”to remember Granny by.”

She looks tenderly at the pale, flaxen lock of hair, which grew on little Beth's baby forehead.

”Don't lose it, Tombo, for it is very precious--one of Granny's dearest treasures. Mother will recognise it and know the hair inside. Tell her you must keep it always, because she played with it as a little girl.”

The boy gazes in awe at the locket.

”Didn't it cost a lot of money?” he asks.

Mrs. Blum smiles at the remark.

”You are an odd child,” she says, placing him on the ground.

”Have you nothing you can give Granny?” whispers Eleanor in his ear.

Tombo draws a small whistle from his pocket and carries it with an air of triumph to Mrs. Blum.

”This is for you, Granny. It is all my own, so don't be afraid.

Quartey M'Ba gave it to me for a dead 'minah' I found in the jungle.”

She takes the little whistle tremblingly.