Jerry's Reward Part 6

"What are we going to do about it, children?" asked Mrs. Morton.

Each was for making amends in some way, and all blubbered out at once, but one--I think it was Henry Clay--cried louder than the rest:

"Le's go over, and tell 'em how sorry we are, and how we'll never make fun of him again as long as we live."

This sentiment met with enthusiastic approval, and they were all for rus.h.i.+ng to the cottage in a body when Mrs. Morton stopped them.

"Wait, children; it would never do to startle the invalid with such a crowd. One of you must first go and ask Mrs. Myer when it will be convenient for her to see us. Who shall it be?"

And strange to say, every chick and child called out the same name right away. Can you guess whose it was?

Little Miss Outcast.

In a short time Mimy returned with the word that Mrs. Myer would love to see the children at any and all times, but they must be sure to come while Jerry was at home, as he would be so pleased.

"An' I didn't tell her a word of what we are going to say," reported Mimy.

The time was discussed, and the following day at noon was selected. Then some highly important arrangements were made; and after every last one had been pledged to secrecy the meeting adjourned.

During the next twenty-four hours Jefferson Square resembled an ant-hill after a big boy has trod on it. Such rus.h.i.+ng around and talking in excited groups; such goings out and comings in; such wagons colliding at front doors leaving bulky parcels; such errand boys breathless with carrying huge bundles! The like was never seen before.

Mrs. Myer from her window across the common did not know what to make of it. She thought at first that every one of her rich neighbours must be going to give a party; though after reflection she decided that this could not be, for if all of them were having parties, who would be left to come to them? She was very much at sea.

As the silver tones of the convent bell said it was twelve o'clock, a gay procession formed on the sidewalk in front of the Mortons'. First came the little children, and each carried something: shoes, stockings, socks, flannels--all of the very best quality. Next came the middle-sized ones with blankets, sheets, and real feather pillows. Then the biggest ones with china, gla.s.s, earthenware, and all such things.

After them followed the nurses, carrying the babies, and each baby had a gold coin clasped tight in its little fat hand. Then the mothers, trying to keep the gang in order, brought dresses, shawls, and warm winter clothes. The children wore their best clothes and their freshest ribbons, and could not keep in place for a single minute.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AFTER THEM FOLLOWED THE NURSES, CARRYING THE BABIES."]

The weather was built on purpose. It had been winter and it was going to be winter, but somehow one little spring day, balmy and fine, slipped in for the occasion. The poor people around got wind of the affair, and streamed over the common. Even the Penitents climbed the back wall of the convent and sat on top of the broken bottles to see the show. Only the nuns went on as if nothing were happening--telling their beads and singing their Ave Marias in ignorance of worldly events, as all good nuns should be.

Then Mrs. Morton gave the signal, and the children clasped hands, and marched across the common, singing at the tops of their lungs. To Peggy and Jerry, drawn to the window by the commotion, it was the sweetest sound they had ever heard since the voices of their dear little babes had been hushed.

Nearer and nearer they came, the little Outcasts, in the post of honour, leading. They did not have anything to be sorry for, but everybody wanted them and they wanted to come. They crowded into the door of the cottage, and nearly buried the aged couple with gifts,--all of them talking at once.

Each child came up and, shaking the worthy couple by the hand, promised never to be thoughtless and wicked again.

After this ceremony, Jerry, overcoming his shyness, made the effort of his life. He thanked the children and their parents in a speech that Peggy afterward described as being "just too beautiful, winding up as it did with real poetry made up mostly from his own head."

And she told the truth. The old fellow had a roguish twinkle in his gray eye as, pointing to the piles of blankets and pillows, he said:

"Though Paddy on the Turnpike Could never count eleven, When children all brought feather beds He an' Peggy tho't they was in Heaven."

THE END.

_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_

The Little Colonel.

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel proves to be the grandfather of the child.

The Giant Scissors.

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France,--the wonderful house with the gate of The Giant Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa, the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate.

Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "House Party" and the "Holidays."

Two Little Knights of Kentucky, WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights," Malcolm and Keith, little Southern aristocrats, whose chivalrous natures lead them through a series of interesting adventures.

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people, written, in the author's sympathetic and entertaining manner.

Big Brother.

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of which has appealed to so many thousands.

Ole Mammy's Torment.

"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a cla.s.sic of Southern life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.

The Story of Dago.

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.

_By EDITH ROBINSON_

A Little Puritan's First Christmas: A STORY OF COLONIAL TIMES IN BOSTON.

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her "unregenerate" brother, Sam.

A Little Daughter of Liberty.