Kitabı oku: «Jessie's Parrot», sayfa 2
"Maybe that man who lived in a tub did not," said Lily. "Maggie, I was very much interested in that man when you wrote to me about him, and I meant to ask you a little more about him, but I did not think he could be a wise man. What was his name?"
"Mr. Diogenes," said Maggie; "and the reason they called the old cross-patch a wise man was because wise men were very scarce in those days. They only had seven in all that country; but when you are as far as I am in Parley's History you will learn all about them."
"I wonder what did make that little girl look so sorry," said Bessie, unable to forget the look of disappointment so plainly visible on the child's face.
"I think, darling," said Miss Ashton, "that she expected pennies when she saw you were about to throw something out, and so was not satisfied with the candies. There was something interesting and sweet in her face."
"Here are some more poor children," said Bessie; "let's drop some sugar-plums to them and see if they care about them."
There could be no doubt as to the approbation of these new recipients of the bounty of our little friends. At first it was difficult to tell whether the pleasure was most enjoyed by those within the omnibus who scattered with liberal hand, or by the outsiders who gathered the harvest; but as the enthusiasm of these last drew new claimants, and all waxed more and more clamorous, it soon became an annoyance, and Miss Ashton was obliged to put a stop to the shower, which had already received a check, as some of the younger children were becoming frightened.
But Patrick and the driver were forced to threaten the obstreperous crowd, and even to call for the aid of a policeman before they could be scattered, so that this diversion did not end so agreeably.
There was one thing gained, however, in Miss Ashton's opinion; and this was that the greater part of the sugar-plums had been disposed of, without hurt to her young charge.
Not that she objected to sugar-plums altogether. Do not think, my little readers, that she was, as Maggie would have said, so "wanting in sense," as that; but she had been rather appalled by the sight of the numerous tempting looking parcels that were produced, to say nothing of Mabel's over-abundant supply.
Our gay party made the round of the park, stopping for a while at any place of interest, and now and then alighting if they were so inclined. They hung for some time about the paddock where the deer are kept, putting their little hands through the palings and trying to tempt the pretty, gentle creatures to come nearer. But the deer were not to be persuaded and although they watched the children with their mild, soft eyes in a very amiable manner, they held aloof and would not condescend to a closer acquaintance.
The swans were less timid, and, as the children flocked down to the border of the lake with their hands full of crackers and bread, came swimming up, arching their graceful necks, and looking eagerly for the bits with which they were speedily treated. It was enchanting to see them so friendly, and to have them feed from one's very hand.
The old gray arsenal, with its collection of wild animals, was not to be visited until after they had taken their lunch. As they passed the Casino on their way up through the park, Patrick had been left there to make all ready for them; and now they drove back and alighted. Pleasant and mild though the day was, the ground was still too cold and the air too fresh to permit of lunching out of doors; and, although the children entreated that they might be permitted to do so, Miss Ashton was too wise to yield.
The lunch was not quite ready when they reached the Casino, and the children were permitted to wander around and amuse themselves as they pleased for a few moments, provided they did not lose sight of the house, or go beyond call.
Bessie, Lily, and Belle had strolled a short distance away together, and had disappeared from the view of Maggie, Nellie, and Dora, who stood at the head of a short flight of stone steps leading up to the Casino. They had but gone around the other side of the hedge, however, and could not be far off.
Suddenly Lily and Belle came flying back with frightened faces, and rushed breathless and panting to where the other children stood.
Then Belle turned, and exclaimed, —
"Where's Bessie? Didn't Bessie come?"
No Bessie was to be seen, certainly; and Maggie, noticing the startled faces of the other children, took alarm at once for her little sister, and started forward, crying, —
"Where is she? What has happened? Where's my Bessie?"
Before Belle or Lily could speak, Hattie darted from behind the hedge, laughing and mischievous; and, pointing her finger at the crimson faces of the two little ones, cried triumphantly, —
"Oh! didn't I take you in? Didn't I give you a fright, though?"
"What is it? Where's Bessie?" said Maggie again.
Hattie sat down upon the lower step, and doubling herself over and rocking back and forth, said between paroxysms of laughter, —
"Oh, dear! Bessie is round there talking to the old fellow. She's all right. Didn't I play you two geese a nice trick, though? How you did run! I didn't think you could be so taken in. Oh, what fun!"
"What!" exclaimed Lily, indignation taking the place of her alarm, "were you tricking us? Didn't he try to take your hair? Hattie, Hattie! you mean, mean girl! And you told us a real wicked story, too. How dare you do it?" And Lily stamped her foot at Hattie, in a real passion at the trick which had been played upon her.
The effect was different upon Belle. She was a sensitive little thing, easily overcome by any undue excitement; and, throwing herself upon Maggie, she burst into a violent fit of sobbing and crying.
Miss Ashton and her friends heard and came to inquire into the trouble; and Hattie was now rather frightened herself as she saw the effect of her foolish deceit.
Lily indignantly told the story, which amounted to this. It was a well-known fact, and had unfortunately come to the ears of our little girls, that some man had lately attacked several children, and suddenly severed the hair from their heads, making off as fast as possible after he had done so. He did this for the sake of the hair, which he probably sold; but he was, of course, a bad man and a thief, and the children all felt much dread of him.
So when Hattie had come flying up to Bessie, Belle, and Lily, without any hat, and seemingly in a state of the wildest excitement, and had told them, with every appearance of truth and of being herself excessively frightened, that "that old man there" had snatched off her hat and tried to cut her hair, they had readily believed her – as an old man was really there – and had turned about and run away in great alarm. They had been terrified half out of their senses; and now here was Hattie confessing – yes, glorying, till Miss Ashton came – that she had "tricked" them, that she was "only in fun," it was all "a joke."
But her triumph was speedily brought to an end, when Miss Ashton saw Belle's state, and heard how it had been brought about. She sternly reprimanded Hattie, and bade her go into the house, and remain there.
But where was Bessie?
The other children declared that "an old man was really there;" and, in spite of Hattie's confession that she had only been joking, Maggie's mind was filled with visions of her little sister's sunny curls in the hands of a ruffian; and away she flew in search of her, quite regardless of any supposed risk to her own wealth of dark, waving ringlets.
III.
JESSIE AND HER GRANDFATHER
WHERE was Bessie?
When Lily and Belle turned to run from the figure which Hattie pointed out as that of the man who attacked her, she started with them, quite as much alarmed as the other two; and, if they thought about it at all, they imagined she was close behind them. But she had gone only a few steps when she heard a voice, a weak voice, calling after herself and her companions, and saying, —
"Don't be afraid, little girls; don't run away, little ladies. Couldn't ye stop a minute to help an old man?"
Something in the tones touched the tender little heart of Bessie; and she checked her steps, ready to start again, however, on the shortest notice, and looked back at the old man.
A very old man he seemed, and a very feeble old man, scarcely able, if he had the will, to run after active little girls, or to do them any harm. His hair was very white, and his face pinched and thin; but he looked kind and gentle, as Bessie saw, even from the distance at which she stood; and her fears died away as she looked at him.
The old man sat upon a bank; and Bessie stood hesitating and watching him, trying to make up her mind to go and ask if he was in trouble. She saw that he had dropped his stick, which had rolled away, and lay on the ground just beyond his reach.
"Would you do an old man a kindness, and give him his stick, little Miss?" he called to her, pointing at the same time to the cane. "Why did ye all run that way? I wouldn't hurt a hair of your heads, more than I would of my own Jessie's."
This reference to the "hair on their heads" was rather unfortunate, for it startled Bessie again, and brought back the cause for alarm. Was the old man really in trouble, and unable to reach his stick? she thought, or was this only a trap to catch her, and deprive her of her curls?
So she stood still, hesitating; and the old man, as if in despair of receiving any help from her, tried to raise himself a little, and stretched out his trembling hand towards the stick. But it was useless; it lay too far; he could not rise without its aid, and he sank back again, looking more helpless and feeble than before. This was too much for Bessie. She could not bear to see suffering and not try to relieve it; and it seemed to her that it would be cruel and wicked not to lend a helping hand to this poor old creature.
"Please, dear Father in heaven, not to let him hurt me," she whispered softly to herself; and then walked slowly towards the old man, her little heart beating painfully, it must be confessed, in spite of her petition, and the trust that it would be heard.
Keeping at as great a distance as it would allow, she stooped for the stick, and held it out at arm's length to the owner.
"Now may He that blesses the cup of cold water given in His name reward you," said the old man, as he took it from the timid little hand; "but why are you frightened at me, dear, and why did the other little ones run as if they were scared half out of their lives? When you passed all in the big stage, laughing and so gay, it put a warmth into my heart that hasn't been there for many a day, and I b'lieve it was your own loving, little face that smiled back at me as I waved my hat to you for a blessing on your joy. Why, I wouldn't hurt a living thing; least of all, little girls that always mind me of my Jessie. Though it's different enough that you are from her, my poor lamb," he added in a lower tone, which Bessie could not have heard had she not now drawn nearer to him.
For with the first words of the old man's speech, all fear had vanished from her mind. He had called down a blessing on her in a name which she knew and loved, and she could not be afraid of him longer. Besides, now that she looked at him more closely and with unprejudiced eyes, she recognized him, and remembered how, as he said, when the stage had passed him with its merry load, he had taken off his hat and feebly cheered and waved to them as they went by.
"Don't you try to cut off little girls' hair?" she could not help asking, in spite of her new confidence.
"I?" answered the old man surprised; "and why would I do that? Ah! I see. Did you take me for that fellow? My little lady, they have him fast in jail, as he deserves; but how did you ever think I would do a thing like that?"
"A little girl said you tried to cut hers," answered the child.
"Then that little girl slandered an old man who had never harmed her," he said gravely. "I understand; she's frightened you for her own fun, or whatever it may be. Well, I'm up now," – he had slowly and painfully raised himself by the help of his cane, – "and I'd better be moving away, or the sight of me after that may spoil your pleasure. It was hard in her to turn you against one who would never have harmed you; but you're a sensible little lady, and a kind, and you'll never be the worse for doing a good turn to an old man."
"Don't go away," said Bessie, "the other children won't be afraid of you when I tell them Hattie – was – was – mistaken." Bessie feared that Hattie's tale was more than a mistake, but she would not accuse her until she was sure. "They won't want you to go away, poor, lame man."
"Jessie stays so long," he answered, looking about him helplessly. "She sat me here to rest a while, and I think she can't know how long she's been gone."
Before Bessie could speak again, around the hedge came Maggie, who stopped short in amazement at seeing her sister standing talking sociably to the dreaded old man. And with her curls all safe!
Maggie could hardly believe her own eyes. She went forward more slowly, till Bessie called to her, —
"O Maggie, dear! this old man wouldn't hurt us, or cut our hair for any thing. He likes little girls, and it made him feel badly because we ran away from him, and he is going away now 'cause he thinks we don't like him. Come and tell him not to."
Timid Maggie, feeling very doubtful, but determined to share her sister's risk, whatever that might be – she had almost forgotten that Hattie had confessed she only wanted to trick them all – drew still nearer, and taking Bessie's hand, gazed up at the old man with eyes in which pity and sympathy began to struggle with her former fear. He looked so poor and feeble and helpless, so little like doing harm to any one.
And now came Dora and Gracie, who had followed Maggie in search of Bessie; and as the little group gathered about the old man, Bessie said, —
"Where is your Jessie? Can we call her to you?"
"I can't tell, little Miss," he answered. "I've been sitting here more than an hour, I take it. Jessie was so eager about her parrot that she has maybe forgotten how long she's been away. Ah! there she comes now."
As he spoke, a child came running towards them, but seeing the group about her grandfather, paused in amazement at a short distance.
It was the very same little girl to whom they had thrown sugar-plums but an hour since, and who had looked so disappointed. The children recognized her immediately.
"Why! that's the little girl who was not pleased with our sugar-plums," said Bessie. "Is that your Jessie?"
The old man beckoned to her, and she came forward.
"This is my Jessie, Miss," he answered, "and a good girl she is too. I don't know what her old grandfather would do without her. She's given up the dearest thing she had for me, bless her!"
Jessie was now standing beside her grandfather, blushing and hanging her head at the notice thus drawn upon her.
"What was that?" asked Dora.
"Her parrot, Miss. A splendid parrot that her father, who's now dead and gone, brought her from beyond the seas. You'd think he was a human creature 'most, to hear him talk, and she loved him next to her old grandfather; but she parted with him for my sake."
"Didn't you like him?" asked Bessie.
"Yes, indeed, Miss. I was 'most as fond of the bird as she was herself; but it wasn't to be helped. You see I was sick so long, and the doctor bid me take a medicine that cost a deal of money, to drive the pain out of my bones; and how were we to get it when we'd not enough to buy bread from day to day, or to pay the rent that was due? So she sold her bird, for I can't do a hand's turn of work just yet."
"That was good of her," said Gracie; "did she get all the money she wanted for him?"
"More than we expected, Miss, for the man that keeps the house here," pointing to the Casino, "gave her ten dollars for him. And he lets her see him every day, and says when the summer is over she may have him back for eight dollars if she can raise it. For Poll draws people to the refreshment place, you see, with his funny ways, and his wonderful talk, and the keeper thinks he'll get two dollars worth out of him before the summer is over. But, Jessie 'll never raise all that money, though I have put by my pride, and let her ask charity here of the folks in the Park."
"And I don't feel that I ought to take it for that, either," said Jessie, as soon as the talkative old man paused for breath, and let her have a chance to speak, "'cause grandfather needs so many things, and the rent will be falling due before long again, so I must save up for straws and ribbon."
"For what?" asked Bessie, while at the same moment Dora said, —
"Why don't you find some work and earn money that way?"
"For straws and ribbon, Miss," said Jessie, answering Bessie's question first; then turning to Dora, she added, —
"I would work, Miss, and I do, when I have the things. I make little baskets and catchalls, and allumette holders of ribbon and straw and beads, and I sell them wherever I can; but the stock was all gone long ago, and I've no more to begin on."
"But," said Dora, "if people give you money, why don't you take that to buy your materials?"
Jessie shook her head sadly.
"It has taken every cent that's been given to me to buy just bread enough for me and grandfather to eat, Miss," she said; "there was nothing to spare for any thing else, and any way it is an uncertain thing, the selling of the baskets, till the weather is pleasant and warm, and people like to stop. Now, you see, is the time for me to be making them ready; but there's no use in thinking about it, and as for Poll," —
Jessie's sigh and filling eyes told of the despair with which she thought of the recovery of her pet.
"I have some money in my charity-box at home," said Maggie eagerly; "I'll give you some to buy straws and ribbon. I have no money with me, but Miss Ashton will lend me some for such a good purpose, I know, and I'll pay her as soon as we go home. I'll run and ask her."
But there was no need, for there was Miss Ashton come in search of her stray lambs, and in two minutes she had heard the story.
Heard it, but scarcely understood it, for that was difficult with one and another putting in a word, patching it out in various bits; to say nothing of the circumstance that our little girls themselves scarcely understood what they were talking about.
Jessie and her grandfather – who had nothing to say now that the lady had come, and who stood close to one another, the old man holding his hat in his hand and leaning on his stick – were somewhat confused themselves by the chatter and flutter of the eager little talkers; and when Miss Ashton turned to the latter and began to inquire into his story, his usual flow of words seemed to have failed him.
Miss Ashton spoke to Jessie.
"Grandfather was just telling the little ladies about my Polly, ma'am," she said modestly. "If they'd like to see him he's in the house there. And if you'd like to have him show off he'll talk better for me than for any one else, and I'll go and coax him."
"Oh! can we go and see him?" said Bessie; and Jessie once more saying, yes, and that she would go with them, the little girls ran off, while Miss Ashton remained to hear the old man's story.
It was a sad, but by no means an uncommon one. Jessie's mother had died when she was a baby. Her father, who was mate on a sailing-vessel, had been drowned at sea about two years ago. Until his death, his wages, together with what the old man made at stone-cutting, had supported them all in comfort. And even after that, the grandfather and the child had continued to keep along on what the former earned. Jessie, who was twelve years old, had been to school pretty steadily till a year ago, could "read and write and do up sums," and had also learned to sew.
But about that time the grandfather had taken a heavy cold, from being thoroughly wet with rain while at his work; and, neglecting to change his clothes, it had settled in all his joints, and a long and painful rheumatic illness followed. All the last summer he had lain bound hand and foot, the pretty trifles which Jessie had learned to make the sole support of the two. But with the winter the sale of her little wares had fallen off, poverty and suffering had increased upon them, and they had gone from bad to worse, till, as he had told the little girls, Jessie had been forced to sell her beloved parrot to keep a roof above their heads, and to buy the medicine so much needed for her grandfather. They had some help from the church at which they attended, but that was little. And now that it was warmer weather, and Jessie could begin to sell her wares, she had no money to buy materials, and he had consented that she should ask charity of passers-by, and so gain a few shillings to begin her trade.
They lived over there in a sad, tumble-down place, the old man said, "and he never thought to bring his Jessie to that; but the Lord had His own ways, and when He saw fit, He could take them out of this trouble."
The story was told with a straightforward simplicity, and a natural pathos which went far to convince Miss Ashton that it must be true; but she took down the name and address of the clergyman of whom the old man spoke. This gentleman lived in one of the streets bordering on the Park, and Miss Ashton resolved to see him and hear his report before she left for home. If these poor people were really in such need, and deserving of help, she could not let them suffer longer than was necessary.
She told old Malcolm – for that he said was his name – that he did not do well to rest upon the bank. The ground, she said, was not yet warm enough for his aching bones.
But he answered that it was far better than the damp, cold shanty where he and Jessie had lived for the last two months, for here on a bright day he had the sunshine, and the fresh, clear air, and little of either of these ever found their way into the miserable cabin.
Malcolm's language and manner, as well as those of his grand-daughter, showed that he had indeed been used to "better days;" and he seemed so patient and uncomplaining that Miss Ashton felt much interested in him, and anxious to do something for his relief.
She bade him come farther on, and find a seat upon a pleasant, sunny bench, where she would furnish him and Jessie with some food; but when she said this, he told her some of the little ones of her party were afraid of him, and he did not wish to trouble them.
He looked troubled himself when he said this; and Miss Ashton had to tell him that one of her young scholars had been so foolish and wrong as to tell a falsehood – she could call it nothing less – to frighten the others; but that they all knew the truth now, and would be afraid of him no longer.
