A Sunny Little Lass Part 7

Billy flung himself beside his mate and, also, slept; and though Glory intended to keep her eyes wide open "till grandpa comes," she placed herself near them and rested her own tired head on Billy's shoulder, and, presently, followed their example.

Half an hour later, the Lane policeman sauntered by, glanced into the dim interior, and saw the group of indistinct forms huddled together in dreamless slumber on their bed of bare boards. Then he softly closed the door upon them, murmuring in pity, "Poor little chummies! Life's goin'

to be as hard for 'em as the floor they lie on. But the Lane'd seem darker 'n 'tis if they wasn't in it."

CHAPTER VII

A Guardian Angel

City newsboys are early astir, and the shadows had but begun to lift themselves from Elbow Lane when Billy punched Nick in the ribs to rouse him and, with finger on lip, pointed to Glory still asleep.

The very poor pity the poor, and with a chivalric kindness which would have done credit to better reared lads, these two waifs of the streets stole softly from the littlest house without waking its small mistress.

When they were out upon the sidewalk, Billy shook his head and whispered, as if even there he might disturb her, "Poor little kid! He ain't never comin' back, sure! An' me an' you 's got the job o' lookin'

after her, same 's he'd a liked. He was good to me, the cap'n was. An'

I'm thinkin' Meg-Laundress's 'll be the best place to stow her. Hey?"

"Meg can't. She's chuck full. They ain't a corner o' her room but what's slep' in, an' you know it," responded Nick, hitching his b.u.t.tonless knickers a trifle higher beneath the string-waistband which kept them in place.

"Where then, pard?"

Nick hesitated. On the day before he had developed a generosity which had surprised himself quite as much as it had Glory; but, if allowed room, generosity is a plant of rapid growth, so that now the once n.i.g.g.ardly boy was ready with a plan that was even more astonis.h.i.+ng. His thin face flushed and he pretended to pick a sliver from his foot as he answered:

"Let's me an' you hire the littles' house an' pay the rent ourselves an'

Goober Glory do our cookin' an' sewin' an'--an'--quit yer foolin', Billy b.u.t.tons! This ain't no make-b'lieve, this ain't. I plumb mean it."

For, the instant of its suggestion, this wild scheme had sent the partner of Nick Dodd's fortunes to turning somersaults which would have befitted an acrobat. To put his head where his feet should be was Billy's only way of relieving his emotion and he brought his gymnastics to an end, some distance down the Lane, by a.s.suming a military uprightness and bowing profoundly to Nick, who joined him.

"That's the ticket, pard! We'll do it! We'll do it! Wish to goodness I'd been the one to hatch it out, but does ye proud, parson. An' how 'bout it? S'pose we two could sleep in his hammick?" asked Billy, his eagerness already outstripping Nick's, as his liberality had always been greater.

Nick shook his head. Launched upon a course of reckless extravagance, he now hesitated at nothing.

"Nope. Nothin'. What's the matter buyin' 'nother? An', say, we can sling 'em one top th' other, like them berths in a sleepin' car, an' take turns which 'd be upper, which lower. 'Fore winter we'd get in a blanket an' piller, though wouldn't care much for 'em, in such a snug place, an'----"

"An'," interrupted Billy, "we'd go snooks on the grub. Glory'd do her part chuckin' in, 'sides the housekeep. My! 'Twould be a home, a reg'lar home, 'at I hain't never had! Cracky! I--I 'most hope he never does come now, though fer Take-a-St.i.tch--maybe----"

"He won't never. Don't ye scare on it, never. Say! Let's hurry through our sellin' an' get it fixed. An' we're late, a'ready."

"All right!" and with visions of a delightful importance, that made them feel as if they were grown men, the little fellows scampered away through the morning twilight to obtain their day's supply of newspapers, still damp from the press, for they had long ago learned that 'tis the early newsboy who catches the nickels and of these they must now have many. Neither realized that a property owner, even of a "littlest house," would not be apt to trust it to a pair of youngsters like themselves, though to their credit it was that had their dream become reality, they would have done their utmost to follow the example of the former tenant to "pay as you go."

They had long been shrilling themselves hoa.r.s.e with their cries of "Sun'

'Eral'Jour'Wor--rul'! Pape's!" before Glory woke and found herself alone. By the light in the room and the hunger she felt, she knew that it must again be very late; and a feeling that her grandfather would be displeased with her indolence sent her to her feet with such speed that she awoke Bo'sn, till then slumbering soundly.

Bo'sn was no longer young and, stiff from an all day's tramp--for he had faithfully followed the little girl's tireless search of yesterday--he rose slowly and stretched himself painfully, with a growl at his own aching joints. Then he sniffed suspiciously at the floor where the newsboys had slept and, nosing his master's hammock, howled dismally.

Having slept without undressing, Glory's toilet was soon made and though a dash of cold water banished drowsiness from her eyes it made them see more clearly how empty and desolate the "littlest house" had now become, so desolate that she could not stay in it and running to Meg-Laundress's crowded apartment, she burst in, demanding, "Has he come? Has anybody in the Lane seen my grandpa?"

Meg desisted from spanking the "baddest o' them twins" and set the small miscreant upon the sudsy floor before she answered, cheerfully, "Not yet, honey. 'Tain't scurce time to be lookin' fer him, I reckon. When them old sailors gets swappin' yarns needn't----"

"But, Meg dear, he ain't at any one of their houses. I've been to the hull lot--two er three times to each one, a-yest'day--an' he wasn't. An'

they think--I dastn't think what they think! An' I thought maybe--he always liked you, Meg-Laundress, an' said you done his s.h.i.+rts to beat.

Oh, Meg, Meg, what shall I do? Whatever shall I do?"

The warm-hearted washerwoman thrilled with pity for the forsaken child yet she put on her most brilliant surface-smile and answered promptly:

"Do? Why, do jest what Jane an' me laid out to have ye do. An' that is, eat a grand breakfast. We ain't such old friends o' the cap'n's an' yet go let his folks starve. Me an' Jane, we done it together, an' the grocer-man threw in the rolls. There's a cunnin' little piece o'

porterhouse's ever ye see, an' 'taties--biled to the queen's taste with their brown jackets on. Two of 'em, an' no scantin', nuther. No, you small rapscallions, ye clear out! 'Tain't none your breakfasts, ye hear?

It's Goober Glory's an'--you all, the half-dozen on ye, best clear out way beyant th' Elbow an' watch out fer the banan' man! If he comes to the Lane, ma's got a good wash on hand, an'--_who knows?_"

Away scampered Meg's brood of children, a.s.sorted sizes, yet one and all with a longing for "banan' cheap!" and sure that no amount of coaxing would give them a share in the savory breakfast which the two toiling women had provided for Glory.

Left comfortably free from crowding, Meg bustled about, removing from the small oven the belated "steak an' 'taties" which had long been drying there. In this removal, she clumsily tilted the boiler in which her "wash" was bubbling and flavored the meal with a dash of soapsuds, but Glory was more hungry than critical, and far more grateful than either. Smiles and tears both came as she caught Meg's wet hand and kissed it ecstatically, which action brought a suspicious moisture to Meg's own eyes and caused her to exclaim, with playful reproof:

"If you ain't the beatin'est one fer huggin' an' kissin'! Well, then, set to; an' hear me tell: this is what me an' Jane has settled, how the very minute the cap'n heaves in sight down the Lane, on I claps the very pattron o' that same stuff ye're eatin' for him, an' calls it breakfast, dinner, er supper, as the case is. When folks have been off visitin', like he has, they can't 'spect to find things ready to hand to their own houses, same's if they'd been round all the time. Now, eat, an' 'let your victuals stop yer mouth'!"

This was luxurious food for one accustomed to an oatmeal diet and Glory heartily enjoyed it, although she wished she could have given it to her grandfather instead, but she wasn't one to borrow trouble and relied upon Meg's word that a similar repast should be forthcoming when the seaman required it. She did not know that the very odor of the food set the washerwoman's own mouth to watering and that she had to swallow fast and often, to convince herself that her own breakfast of warmed-over coffee and second-hand rolls was wholly sufficient. In any case, both she and Posy Jane had delighted in their self-sacrifice for the little "Queen of the Lane," in their hearts believing that the child was now orphaned, indeed.

It is amazing how, when one is extremely hungry, even two whole potatoes will disappear, and very speedily Glory found that the cracked plate from which she had eaten was entirely empty, but, also, that the uncomfortable hunger had disappeared with its vanished contents. She sprang up, ran to the spigot, washed and wiped the plate, and restored it to its place on Meg's scanty cupboard, then announced:

"I shall tell my grandpa how good all you dear, dear folks has been to me while he--he was off a-visitin'. An' he'll do somethin' nice for you, too, he will. My grandfather says 'giff-gaff makes good friends,' an'

'one kind turn 'serves another.' He knows a lot, grandpa does; an' me an' him both thanks you, Meg-Laundress--you darlin'!"

Away around the big neck of the woman at the tub went Glory's slender arms, and when the patient toiler released herself from this inconvenient embrace, there was something besides soapsuds glistening on her hot cheek.

"Bless ye an' save ye, honey sweetness, an' may yer guardian angel keep ye in close sight, the hull endurin' time!" cried the laundress, wiping her eyes with a wet towel to disguise that other moisture which had gathered in them. "An' now, be off with ye to the little Eyetalian with the high-soundin' name. Sure, 'twas Nick, the parson, hisself, what seen them fifty-five centses was in the right hands, an' not scattered by that power o' young ones as was hangin' round when the lady give 'em."

"Did he take them? Oh, I'm so glad an' it's queer he should ha' forgot to tell me last night. Never mind, though. I ain't goin' to peddle to-day. I shan't peddle no more till I find grandpa. I couldn't. I couldn't holler even, worth listenin'. An' who'd buy off a girl what can't holler?"

"Hmm. I don' know. Hollerin's the life o' your trade, same's rub-a-dub-dubbin' 's the life o' mine, er puttin' the freshest flower to the front the bunch is o' Jane's. But, land, 'Queenie,' you best not wait fer the cap'n. Best keep a doin', an' onct you're at it again, the holler'll come all right. Like myself--jest let me stan' up afore this here tub an' the wash begins to do itself, unbeknownst like. Don't you idle. Keep peddlin' er patchin', though peddlin's the least lonesome, an' the time'll fly like lightnin'. It's them 'at don't do nothin' 'at don't know what to do. Ain't many them sort in the Lane, though, thank the dear Lord. Hey? What?"

For Glory still lingered in the doorway and her face showed that she had no intention of following the laundress's most sensible advice. So when that loquacious woman paused so long that the little girl "could get a word in edgewise," she firmly stated:

"No Meg, dear Meg, I shan't peddle a single goober till I've found my grandpa. Every minute of every hour I'm awake I shall keep a-lookin'. He hain't got n.o.body but me left an' I hain't got n.o.body but him. What belongs, I mean. 'Course, they's all you dear Lane folks an' I love you, every one. But me an' him--I--I must, _must_ find him. I'm goin' to start right away now, an'--thank you, thank you an' dear Posy Jane--an'--good-bye!"

This time it was Meg who caught the other in her arms and under pretense of smoothing tumbled curls, hugged the child in motherly yearning over her; then she gave her a very clean-smelling, sudsy kiss and pushed her toward the door, crying rather huskily:

"Well, run away now, any gate. If to peddlin' 'twould be best; if to s'archin' fer one old blind man in this big Ne' York what's full of 'em as haymows o' needles, so be it, an' good luck to ye. But what am I to be preachin' work an' practicin' play? Off with ye an' hender me no more!"

So to the tune of a vigorous rub-a-dub-dub, Glory vanished from her good friend's sight, though the hearts of both would have ached could they have foreseen how long delayed would be their next meeting.

Comforted and now wholly hopeful that her determined search would have a speedy, happy ending, Take-a-St.i.tch hurried back to the littlest house whose narrow door stood open to its widest, yet she paused on the threshold, amazed, incredulous, not daring to enter and scarcely daring to breathe, lest she disturb the wonderful vision which confronted her.

For the desolate home was no longer desolate. There was one within who seemed to fill its dim interior with a radiance and beauty beyond anything the child of the Lane had ever dreamed. Meg's words and wish returned to her and, clasping her hands, she cried in rapture, "Oh! it's come! My Guardian Angel!"