Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends Part 16

"Is she gone a great _way_ off? Can't she get me _ever_?" said the frightened child, peeping round the room as if she expected to see her jump out of the closet, or spring from under the bed. "Will you keep hold of my hand all the time when it comes night? Can't they get me _then_?"

"No, no, my darling--never, never. Come here and sit on my knee. Now, tell me, how came you to live with Bridget?"

"I was going to school," said Edith, "and I stopped to look at some pretty pictures in a shop window, when this Bridget came up to me and said, 'Which of them do you like best, dear?'--and I said, 'The little boy asleep on the dog's neck;' and she said, 'If you will come round the corner with me, I will give you one just like it;' and I said, 'No; I shall be late at school, and my mamma wouldn't like it;' and then she said it wouldn't take but a minute, and she led me into an alley, and when she got there she threw her shawl over my head, and ran with me; and when she took the shawl off, I was in a house with some Irish people, and Bridget said, 'I've got her!--she will do nicely, sure, to play the tambourine. Won't the pretty face of her bring the s.h.i.+llings?'

"And then I cried, and begged them to take me back to mamma; and Bridget held up a great stick, and said, 'Do you see that?' and then she took off the clothes I had on, and put on these, and brought the tambourine, and told me how to play it; and when my fingers trembled so that I couldn't, she shook me, and pulled my hair, and said I should have nothing to eat till I learned to do it; and I begged and begged her to take me home. I told her mamma would cry all night, and papa, too, and little Henry,--but she hurt me with the stick so (pulling up her sleeve, and showing me the blue spots on her arms); and then I was afraid she would kill me, and so I tried to learn, because I thought if I minded her, perhaps she would let me see mamma;--but she never did; and I slept in the cellar with her nights, and in the day time, before light, she takes me out into the country to play. See, my feet are very sore"--(and she pulled off the heavy, coa.r.s.e shoes and showed me the blisters on them.)

"Won't _you_ take me to see my mamma, _quick_?" said Edith, putting her little arms round my neck, as if she were afraid I would feel hurt because she wanted to leave me so soon.

"Just as fast as old Dobbin can carry you, my darling," said I, "if you will only tell me where to find her."

Little Edith began to cry.

"Perhaps she is dead," said she, sobbing.

"Oh, I hope not," said I, (the thought of restoring the little one had been so delightful to me); "cheer up, my darling,--now tell me where to find your father. What does he do for a living, Edith?"

"He has a shop," said Edith, "and knives, and forks, and scissors, and iron things in it."

"Oh, I know; he is what we call a hardware merchant."

"Yes," said Edith, "that's it."

"Well, where's the shop?"

"In the city," said Edith, "in ---- street. My papa's name is ---- Grosvenor, Esquire."

"Well, we'll find him, Jim and I. Here's the horse and wagon, my little musician, so jump in."

Jim whipped up, and away we jolted into town, little Edith clinging tightly to my arm, for fear of Bridget.

Two hours and we were in ---- street. I went into a confectioner's with little Edith, while Jim drove to her father's store.

Edith grew very impatient--a bright red spot came upon her cheek--and she walked often to the window and looked out.

In about half an hour I saw Jim coming back up the street, and at his side a fine looking, tall man, of thirty.

"There's Jim," said I to Edith--

"And papa! and papa!--oh, _it is_ papa--my own papa"--and she rushed to the door with the speed of an antelope.

How can I describe to you that meeting, when I couldn't see it for my tears? but I heard kisses and sobs, thick and fast, and the words, "Dear papa," and "My blessed, lost Edith."

Well, nothing would do, but Jim and I must go home and see mamma, too, who had never been outside of the door since her poor little girl was taken away.

We drove to the house--Edith, and I and Jim, staying below stairs, while Mr. G---- went to prepare his wife for the joyful news.

Presently we heard a heavy fall upon the floor. The joy was too intense. Edith's mother had fainted! She opened her eyes--it was not a dream! There was her little lost darling before her! She held her at arm's length--she clasped her to her breast--she kissed my hands--then she ran weeping to her husband--then back to Edith, till the pantomime became too painful.

"Je-ru-sa-lem!" said Jim.

THE BROKER'S WINDOW BY GASLIGHT.

Last evening I was walking in Broadway. The shop windows were brilliant with gas, and bright silks, and satins, and jewels were all spread out in the windows in the most tempting manner; all was gayety, bustle, hurry, drive, and confusion; omnibuses, carts, carriages, drays, military, music; people flocking to concerts, shows, and theatres; people flocking _in_ town, and people flocking _out_; fas.h.i.+ons in _one_ window--coffins in the _next_; beggars and millionaires, ministers and play-actors, chimney-sweeps and ex-presidents, all in a heap.

I sauntered along dreamily, looking at them all, and wondering where all those myriads of people ate, and drank, and slept; how they had all laughed and wept; how soon they would all die off, one by one, without being missed, while strangers, just as busy, would fill their places, and die in turn, to give place to others.

Over my head the stars shone on, just as brightly as they did ages ago, when Bethlehem's babe was born--just as they will ages hence, when n.o.body will know that you or I ever thrilled with joy, or sighed with sorrow, beneath them.

But I am not going to preach to you;--the panorama made me _think_; that's all. Well, I sauntered along, and presently came in sight of a broker's window, (ask your papa what a broker is,) in a bas.e.m.e.nt, quite down upon the pavement. The window seat was covered with black velvet, and on it lay little glittering heaps of money, in gold and silver;--some quarters--some half-dollars--some dollars--some five dollar and some ten dollar pieces.

I shouldn't have looked twice after _them_, but, crouched down upon the sidewalk, so close to the broker's window that his face almost touched it, was a little boy about ten years old. His ragged little cap was pushed carelessly back; his long, dark hair fell round his face, and his eyes were fixed upon that money with an intensity of gaze, that seemed to render him perfectly unconscious of the presence of any one about him.

I touched my companion's arm, and we stopped and looked at the boy some moments, and then pa.s.sed on. But I couldn't go away, I wanted so much to know what that little boy was thinking about. So we went back again, and watched him a few minutes longer. He had not moved from his position. There he sat, with his little chin in his hand, building air castles.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" said I, touching him gently on the shoulder.

He started, and the bright color flushed to his very temples. I fancied that I had frightened him, or wounded his feelings. Perhaps he imagined that I thought he was trying to _steal_ that money. So I said quickly, "Don't be afraid of me; I only felt curious to know what your thoughts were. I love little children. Now tell me--you were wis.h.i.+ng all that bright money was _yours_, were you not?"

"Yes," said he, veiling his great dark eyes with their long lashes.

"I thought so," said I; "and now, supposing you had it, what would you do with it, my darling?"

Now, very likely you think he told me of the kites, and tops, and b.a.l.l.s, and horses, and marbles that he would buy with it.

No--he looked up earnestly in my face for a minute, as if he would read _my_ thoughts, and then he said, with his great eyes swimming in tears, "I would give it all to my mother."

I didn't care _whose_ boy he was--he was _mine_ then. So I just kissed him, and tried to keep from crying myself, while I asked him where he lived.

He told me in ---- Court; and then we took hold of his hands and went home with him.

Such a home!

A little low room, with one small window, and no furniture in it, except an old rickety bedstead, upon which lay a woman about thirty years old, wasting away in a consumption.

Her large eyes glittered like stars, and on each cheek burned a bright red fever-spot. An old shawl was thrown on the bed for a counterpane.

She had neither sheets nor blankets, and the chill night air blew through the broken window-panes, making her cough so fearfully that I thought she must die _then_.

Little Angelo crept to my side, and pointing to the bed, said, "That's why I wanted the money."

Well, this was her story, which (in broken English) she told us (between her coughing spells): About a year before, she came over to this country from Italy with her husband. He was a very bad man, and as soon as he landed from the s.h.i.+p he ran off with all their money, and left his wife to take care of herself and little Angelo.

They wandered all about, and came near getting into some very bad places, (which was what her naughty husband _wished_ her to do, I suppose.) Sometimes they slept in old sheds, and behind barrels, or anywhere where they could find a shelter for the night out of harm's way. Poor Mrs. Cicchi was delicate, and could not bear such cruel exposure. She took a violent cold, and that brought on a quick consumption; and now there she lay, in that miserable room, in a strange country, _dying_!

Poor little Angelo! well might he look wistfully at the money in the broker's window.