DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22217#0082
70 THE BROKEN CAIRNGORM.
destined to torment me and others by adopting, when he should
be a few years older.
I had made a pretty shrewd guess at Jess's sentence, for the
list of previous convictions was so strong against her that she
was awarded exactly the number of years I had named. I
was convinced by that time that she did not grieve over the
punishment at all, but over her separation from her child, and
I remember thinking—" We are poor judges of one another.
What a strong hold could be taken of that woman through that
child, if one only knew how to use the power."
Dickie was allowed to see his mother once before she was
sent to the Penitentiary, and then he went back to the Poor-
house. He was a good deal cleaner by that time, and had on
different clothing, but there was one plaything, or fetish, with
which he had resolutely refused to part, and that still hung
from his neck. It was a broken cairngorm stone, with a hole
drilled at one end, through which a bit of twine had been
drawn, that he might suspend the trinket from his neck. I
had noticed the stone when I took him to the office with his
mother, but merely glanced at it, thinking that it was but an
imitation moulded in yellow glass. I was mistaken, for it was
part of a real stone, and had probably been set in some stolen
brooch which had been broken up for the metal.
It was of no great value, but it pleased Dickie, and kept him
from wearying during his long confinement in the Poorhouse,
which to him was as irksome as being shut up in a prison. He
was a lively, spirited boy, and had never been checked or
curbed, so it may be imagined he got into as many scrapes as
the average boy of his age.
However, in spite of his mischief and wild pranks, Dickie had
a soft spot in his heart, and could be tamed by a gentle word
or appeal when lashing had been tried in vain. When he had
been about eighteen months in the Poorhouse, a poor knife-
grinder was admitted for a day or two, who told Dickie such
grand romances of his free life on the road that the boy took an
insatiable longing for freedom. Squinting Jerry was the man's
name, but though he had an evil look, he was really an honest
fellow.
Jerry had been driven to the Poorhouse for a night's shelter,
and while there had been laid up for a day or two with a bad
leg which troubled him at times, but as soon as he was able to
move he hastened to quit the oppressive confinement. Before
he had done so, Dickie, by a series of pathetic appeals, had
destined to torment me and others by adopting, when he should
be a few years older.
I had made a pretty shrewd guess at Jess's sentence, for the
list of previous convictions was so strong against her that she
was awarded exactly the number of years I had named. I
was convinced by that time that she did not grieve over the
punishment at all, but over her separation from her child, and
I remember thinking—" We are poor judges of one another.
What a strong hold could be taken of that woman through that
child, if one only knew how to use the power."
Dickie was allowed to see his mother once before she was
sent to the Penitentiary, and then he went back to the Poor-
house. He was a good deal cleaner by that time, and had on
different clothing, but there was one plaything, or fetish, with
which he had resolutely refused to part, and that still hung
from his neck. It was a broken cairngorm stone, with a hole
drilled at one end, through which a bit of twine had been
drawn, that he might suspend the trinket from his neck. I
had noticed the stone when I took him to the office with his
mother, but merely glanced at it, thinking that it was but an
imitation moulded in yellow glass. I was mistaken, for it was
part of a real stone, and had probably been set in some stolen
brooch which had been broken up for the metal.
It was of no great value, but it pleased Dickie, and kept him
from wearying during his long confinement in the Poorhouse,
which to him was as irksome as being shut up in a prison. He
was a lively, spirited boy, and had never been checked or
curbed, so it may be imagined he got into as many scrapes as
the average boy of his age.
However, in spite of his mischief and wild pranks, Dickie had
a soft spot in his heart, and could be tamed by a gentle word
or appeal when lashing had been tried in vain. When he had
been about eighteen months in the Poorhouse, a poor knife-
grinder was admitted for a day or two, who told Dickie such
grand romances of his free life on the road that the boy took an
insatiable longing for freedom. Squinting Jerry was the man's
name, but though he had an evil look, he was really an honest
fellow.
Jerry had been driven to the Poorhouse for a night's shelter,
and while there had been laid up for a day or two with a bad
leg which troubled him at times, but as soon as he was able to
move he hastened to quit the oppressive confinement. Before
he had done so, Dickie, by a series of pathetic appeals, had