Chapter 9

AULD LANG SYNE

What to do with her ladyship's threepence? Tommy finally decided to drop
it into the charity-box that had once contained his penny. They held it
over the slit together, Elspeth almost in tears because it was such a
large sum to give away, but Tommy looking noble he was so proud of
himself; and when he said "Three!" they let go.

There followed days of excitement centred round their money-box. Shovel
introduced Tommy to a boy what said as after a bit you forget how much
money was in your box, and then when you opened it, oh, Lor'! there is
more than you thought, so he and Elspeth gave this plan a week's trial,
affecting not to know how much they had gathered, but when they unlocked
it, the sum was still only eightpence; so then Tommy told the liar to
come on, and they fought while the horrified Elspeth prayed, and Tommy
licked him, a result due to one of the famous Thrums left-handers then
on exhibition in that street for the first time, as taught the victor by
Petey Whamond the younger, late of Tillyloss.

The money did come in, once in spate (twopence from Bob in twenty-four
hours), but usually so slowly that they saw it resting on the way, and
then, when they listened intently, they could hear the thud of Hogmanay.
The last halfpenny was a special aggravation, strolling about, just out
of reach, with all the swagger of sixpence, but at last Elspeth had it,
and after that, the sooner Hogmanay came the better.

They concealed their excitement under too many wrappings, but their
mother suspected nothing. When she was dressing on the morning of
Hogmanay, her stockings happened to be at the other side of the room,
and they were such a long way off that she rested on the way to them. At
the meagre breakfast she said what a heavy teapot that was, and Tommy
thought this funny, but the salt had gone from the joke when he
remembered it afterwards. And when she was ready to go off to her work
she hesitated at the door, looking at her bed and from it to her
children as if in two minds, and then went quietly downstairs.

The distance seems greater than ever to-day, poor woman, and you stop
longer at the corners, where rude men jeer at you. Scarcely can you push
open the door of the dancing-school or lift the pail; the fire has gone
out, you must again go on your knees before it, and again the smoke
makes you cough. Gaunt slattern, fighting to bring up the phlegm, was it
really you for whom another woman gave her life, and thought it a rich
reward to get dressing you once in your long clothes, when she called
you her beautiful, and smiled, and smiling, died? Well, well; but take
courage, Jean Myles. The long road still lies straight up hill, but your
climbing is near an end.