Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends Part 18

Directly after, thinking of an errand I wished to do, I put on my bonnet and walked out.

I had pa.s.sed several blocks, when I came to an alley where I heard voices. The speakers had their backs turned to me, but I could see them. It was the child who had just left me, and the woman who had beat her for meddling with the barrel of cinders.

"You did it _well_," said the woman. "I couldn't have _made believe cry_ better myself. I knew she'd call you in. Did she give you all these? and these? and these?" (holding up the dresses.) "That's good. I can sell them to the second-hand clothes shop there, for money;--_you_ may have that bit of money she gave you, to buy yourself a string of beads, because you cried so well. Which story did you tell her, hey?"

"The one you told me this morning"--said the child; "all about the cellar, and the water in it, and how father was killed on the railroad track. Didn't she give me a good breakfast, though?" And the child stretched up her arms and yawned.

Well, I was not sorry that I gave her that breakfast, or those clothes, or that money; I was sorry to see a little child so deceitful; but, do you know it is better _sometimes_ to be mistaken than _never_ to _trust_?--better sometimes even to _lose a little_, than with icy words to crush from out a despairing heart, the last hope of a tempted, starving, fellow creature!

That's the way I comforted myself, dear children, as I walked along home.

THE BOY PEDLAR.

Rain, rain, rain! How the drops come down! I wonder if anybody beside myself will get out doors to-day?

Ah, yes! There's a little boy, not much bigger than Tom Thumb. He's a little merchant, as true as the world, and has a box strapped on his back. Now he wants to sell me something.

"Corset lacings?" Never use such things, my dear.

"Paste blacking?" Wear patent leather.

"Ear-rings?" I leave those to the Indians.

"Combs? hooks and eyes? pins? needles? tape? scissors? spools?"

Oh, you little rogue--come in here; where did you come from, hey?

"I am an Englishman."

No, you are not.

"Well, my father was. I was born in Hamburgh."

That's it; now, how came you to be selling these things?

"I'm doing it to try to pay my own board. I pay ten s.h.i.+llings a week.

My brother has gone to California. By and by, perhaps, he will come home, and send me to school. Buy anything, to-day, ma'am?"

Of course I shall. I haven't seen such an enterprising young man since I left off pinafores. I'll buy all the pins you have; for since I came here to New-York, I see so many things to make me sigh, that my hooks and eyes keep flying off like Peggotty's b.u.t.tons. There--run along, now, and don't you come this way again, with that little glib tongue, and those bright eyes, or you'll empty my purse entirely!

Oh dear! oh dear, he is knocked down crossing the street; he's killed!

No he is not!--

Yes he is!--

No--he's up--safe and sound. Now he rubs the mud out of his eyes, and says, just as coolly as if he had not barely escaped with his skin.

"Where's my box?"

"Never mind the box," say the crowd, "as long as _you_ are not hurt."

"But I _do_," said the little Dutchman, "for that's the way I get my living, selling these things. Oh dear--the box is broke, and everything is spoiled."

"Make up a purse for him," says a gentleman, pa.s.sing round his hat.

Coppers, and s.h.i.+llings, and quarters, and half dollars flow into the hat, and finally a dollar bill.

"There," said the gentleman, smiling, "now take that home to your mother, my boy."

"My mother is dead," sobbed the child.

"Pa.s.s round the hat _again_," said the gentleman--a tear in his eye.

The crowd responded with another handful of coppers and s.h.i.+llings and quarters.

Ah, little Hans, who is it who saith, "Leave thy fatherless children with me; I will preserve them alive?"

THE NEW COOK.

"What a funny new cook Mamma has!"

"Yes, and how she starts every time the bell rings, as if somebody were coming to catch her, and what a wild look she has in her eyes. She makes good cake, though, don't she, Louise? a great deal better than black Sally's;--and then Sally had such a temper! Do you remember how she sent the gridiron across the kitchen, after the chamber-maid, because she had mislaid the dish-cloth?--how I _did_ laugh!"

"I remember it. But what do you suppose makes this new cook act so oddly when the bell rings? I heard Mamma say she was 'one of the nervous sort.' It would be good fun to play a trick on her and frighten her; wouldn't it? You know the dark entry by the parlor door, Louise?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know there are plenty of old clothes, and things, hanging up there, and she has to pa.s.s by them, when she goes up and down stairs."

"Yes."

"Well, suppose we hide behind those coats, and just as she comes along, both of us make a spring at her?--won't that be fun?"

"Capital!" said Louise, "but won't Mamma punish us?"

"Of course, if she finds us out; but we mustn't _get_ found out. What is the use of having feet, if you can't scamper with them? Betsey of course will be too frightened to see who did it, and before anybody else comes, we shall get out of the way."