Of Human Bondage

  The day broke gray and dull. The clouds hung
heavily, and there was a rawness in the air that suggested snow. A
woman servant came into a room in which a child was sleeping and
drew the curtains. She glanced mechanically at the house opposite,
a stucco house with a portico, and went to the child's bed.

  "Wake up, Philip," she said.

  She pulled down the bed-clothes, took him in her
arms, and carried him downstairs. He was only half awake.

  "Your mother wants you," she said.

  She opened the door of a room on the floor below and
took the child over to a bed in which a woman was lying. It was his
mother. She stretched out her arms, and the child nestled by her
side. He did not ask why he had been awakened. The woman kissed his
eyes, and with thin, small hands felt the warm body through his
white flannel nightgown. She pressed him closer to herself.

  "Are you sleepy, darling?" she said.

  Her voice was so weak that it seemed to come already
from a great distance. The child did not answer, but smiled
comfortably. He was very happy in the large, warm bed, with those
soft arms about him. He tried to make himself smaller still as he
cuddled up against his mother, and he kissed her sleepily. In a
moment he closed his eyes and was fast asleep. The doctor came
forwards and stood by the bed-side.

  "Oh, don't take him away yet," she moaned.

  The doctor, without answering, looked at her
gravely. Knowing she would not be allowed to keep the child much
longer, the woman kissed him again; and she passed her hand down
his body till she came to his feet; she held the right foot in her
hand and felt the five small toes; and then slowly passed her hand
over the left one. She gave a sob.

  "What's the matter?" said the doctor. "You're
tired."

  She shook her head, unable to speak, and the tears
rolled down her cheeks. The doctor bent down.

  "Let me take him."

  She was too weak to resist his wish, and she gave
the child up. The doctor handed him back to his nurse.

  "You'd better put him back in his own bed."

  "Very well, sir." The little boy, still sleeping,
was taken away. His mother sobbed now broken-heartedly.

  "What will happen to him, poor child?"

  The monthly nurse tried to quiet her, and presently,
from exhaustion, the crying ceased. The doctor walked to a table on
the other side of the room, upon which, under a towel, lay the body
of a still-born child. He lifted the towel and looked. He was
hidden from the bed by a screen, but the woman guessed what he was
doing.

  "Was it a girl or a boy?" she whispered to the
nurse.

  "Another boy."

  The woman did not answer. In a moment the child's
nurse came back. She approached the bed.

  "Master Philip never woke up," she said. There was a
pause. Then the doctor felt his patient's pulse once more.

  "I don't think there's anything I can do just now,"
he said. "I'll call again after breakfast."

  "I'll show you out, sir," said the child's
nurse.

  They walked downstairs in silence. In the hall the
doctor stopped.

  "You've sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law,
haven't you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "D'you know at what time he'll be here?"

  "No, sir, I'm expecting a telegram."

  "What about the little boy? I should think he'd be
better out of the way."

  "Miss Watkin said she'd take him, sir."

  "Who's she?"

  "She's his godmother, sir. D'you think Mrs. Carey
will get over it, sir?"

  The doctor shook his head.

  It was a week later. Philip was sitting on the floor
in the drawing-room at Miss Watkin's house in Onslow gardens. He
was an only child and used to amusing himself. The room was filled
with massive furniture, and on each of the sofas were three big
cushions. There was a cushion too in each arm-chair. All these he
had taken and, with the help of the gilt rout chairs, light and
easy to move, had made an elaborate cave in which he could hide
himself from the Red Indians who were lurking behind the curtains.
He put his ear to the floor and listened to the herd of buffaloes
that raced across the prairie. Presently, hearing the door open, he
held his breath so that he might not be discovered; but a violent
hand piled away a chair and the cushions fell down.

  "You naughty boy, Miss Watkin WILL be cross with
you."

  "Hulloa, Emma!" he said.

  The nurse bent down and kissed him, then began to
shake out the cushions, and put them back in their places.

  "Am I to come home?" he asked.

  "Yes, I've come to fetch you."

  "You've got a new dress on."

  It was in eighteen-eighty-five, and she wore a
bustle. Her gown was of black velvet, with tight sleeves and
sloping shoulders, and the skirt had three large flounces. She wore
a black bonnet with velvet strings. She hesitated. The question she
had expected did not come, and so she could not give the answer she
had prepared.

  "Aren't you going to ask how your mamma is?" she
said at length.

  "Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"

  Now she was ready.

  "Your mamma is quite well and happy."

  "Oh, I am glad."

  "Your mamma's gone away. You won't ever see her any
more." Philip did not know what she meant.

  "Why not?"

  "Your mamma's in heaven."

  She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not
quite understand, cried too. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with
fair hair and large features. She came from Devonshire and,
notwithstanding her many years of service in London, had never lost
the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased her emotion, and she
pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely the pity of
that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quite
unselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to
strangers. But in a little while she pulled herself together.

  "Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you," she
said. "Go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home."

  "I don't want to say good-bye," he answered,
instinctively anxious to hide his tears.

  "Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."

  He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was
waiting for him in the hall. He heard the sound of voices in the
study behind the dining-room. He paused. He knew that Miss Watkin
and her sister were talking to friends, and it seemed to him – he
was nine years old – that if he went in they would be sorry for
him.

  "I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss
Watkin."

  "I think you'd better," said Emma.

  "Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.

  He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma
knocked at the door and walked in. He heard her speak.

  "Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you,
miss."

  There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and
Philip limped in. Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red
face and dyed hair. In those days to dye the hair excited comment,
and Philip had heard much gossip at home when his godmother's
changed colour. She lived with an elder sister, who had resigned
herself contentedly to old age. Two ladies, whom Philip did not
know, were calling, and they looked at him curiously.

  "My poor child," said Miss Watkin, opening her
arms.

  She began to cry. Philip understood now why she had
not been in to luncheon and why she wore a black dress. She could
not speak.

  "I've got to go home," said Philip, at last.

  He disengaged himself from Miss Watkin's arms, and
she kissed him again. Then he went to her sister and bade her
good-bye too. One of the strange ladies asked if she might kiss
him, and he gravely gave her permission. Though crying, he keenly
enjoyed the sensation he was causing; he would have been glad to
stay a little longer to be made much of, but felt they expected him
to go, so he said that Emma was waiting for him. He went out of the
room. Emma had gone downstairs to speak with a friend in the
basement, and he waited for her on the landing. He heard Henrietta
Watkin's voice.

  "His mother was my greatest friend. I can't bear to
think that she's dead."

  "You oughtn't to have gone to the funeral,
Henrietta," said her sister. "I knew it would upset you."

  Then one of the strangers spoke.

  "Poor little boy, it's dreadful to think of him
quite alone in the world. I see he limps."

  "Yes, he's got a club-foot. It was such a grief to
his mother."

  Then Emma came back. They called a hansom, and she
told the driver where to go.