Little Pollie Part 5

"Let me die! let me die!" she cried, wildly struggling to free herself from st.u.r.dy Sally's strong grasp.

"No, I won't!" was the reply. "Here, Pollie, you hold hard too."

"Oh, in mercy, in pity, let me die!" sobbed the unhappy creature in her agony. "Oh, if you only knew how I want to be at rest for ever!" and again she struggled franticly to escape from the saving hands that held her.

"Now, if yer don't get down and sit quiet on this seat, I'll call that there peeler, and then he'll take yer to Bow Street," exclaimed the undaunted Sally. "Ain't yer 'shamed to talk like that? Now, come, I'll call him if yer don't do what I say."

Frightened by this threat, or perhaps seeing how fruitless were her feeble struggles against the strong grasp of her preserver, the unhappy girl--she was but a girl--shrank down submissively on to the seat, still trembling and moaning, whilst brave-hearted Sally stood over her to prevent any further attempt at self-destruction. Pollie looked on in bewildered surprise at this sad scene, not knowing what to make of it; but she still kept her hold on the woman's dress, as if her small strength could be of any service; but Sally had told her to "hold on,"

and so she obeyed.

The woman was now sobbing bitterly. It was more than the child could bear to see any one in tears, so laying her little hand tenderly upon the sorrow-bowed head, she said very gently--

"Please don't cry, ma'am; it makes Sally and me so sad."

At that soft touch and soothing voice the woman looked up, and then the two children saw that she was very beautiful even now,--mere wreck as she seemed to be of all that is pure and lovely.

"Child!" she cried, "do you know what you touch?--a wretch not fit to crawl the earth much less be touched by innocent hands like yours."

Pollie shrank back in terror at these words, and the tone in which they were uttered, but Sally was equal to any emergency.

"Come, come," she exclaimed, "don't yer talk like that, frightening this little gal in that way; you just quiet yourself, and then we'll see yer safe home."

"Home!" was the response. "I have none, only the streets or the river."

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried practical Sally. "No home!" repeated little Pollie; "how sad!"

"Now what's to be done?" debated the elder girl, somewhat puzzled as to the course to be pursued; "here's night coming on, and we can't leave you here, yer know."

"Let us take her home to my mother," exclaimed the child; "mother will know what to do."

But Sally hesitated.

"Perhaps she might not like it," she observed.

"Oh, I am sure mother won't mind, she is so good and so kind."

All the time the children were discussing what was to be done, the unhappy creature sat there, never heeding what was said, but still sobbing and moaning, and apparently utterly exhausted.

"Well, then, there's nothing else to be done that I see, so come along, young woman;" and so saying, Sally Grimes grasped her firmly by the arm, thus forcing her to rise.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, gazing wildly around.

"To Pollie's mother," was the reply.

But the woman hung back and strove to free herself.

"I will not go!" she cried; "let me stay here, leave me to myself."

However, there is much to be said in favour of strength of will. Sally Grimes, young as she was, possessed it in a wonderful degree; therefore, without wasting another word, she compelled the forlorn creature to go with her, little Pollie still keeping hold of the poor thing's dress.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LOST ONE FOUND.

Mrs. Turner sat alone, busily sewing, but she heard her darling's well-known step come pattering up the stairs; so she put on the tea-kettle directly, for she knew the little one would be tired and hungry; and forthwith it began to sing cheerily, filling the room with its homely melody, as though it would say "Pollie is coming," "Pollie is coming;" and somehow the mother felt cheered. It may be the kettle's fancied greeting was but the echo of her own loving heart.

Time was too precious to be wasted, so the widow continued her work, and the light from the one candle being centred to the spot where she sat, the entry was consequently dark; but on looking up with a smile of greeting, expecting only to see Pollie, she was surprised to see her hesitate on the threshold, apparently clutching some one tightly by the dress: but directly she saw her mother, she seemed to feel she might let go her hold, her charge was safe; so running in, she threw her arms around her neck and whispered--

"O mother, darling, this poor lady has no home; let her stay here to-night."

The widow rose from her seat in some surprise, but before she could say a word, trusty Sally Grimes led in the woman, and then in a moment Mrs.

Turner comprehended it all. She saw a poor lost girl, and she thought of her own innocent little one; then came into her heart those merciful words--

"Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more."

With womanly tenderness she took the poor s.h.i.+vering creature by the hand, seated her close to the fire, saying gently--

"G.o.d help you, my poor child, you are welcome here."

Then the flood-gates of the unhappy girl's heart were opened, and leaning her head on the widow's shoulder she sobbed aloud.

Meanwhile Pollie, a.s.sisted by her faithful friend, was busy getting the tea ready, thinking it would refresh their strange visitor; and whilst Sally cut some bread-and-b.u.t.ter the child arranged her violets in a cup, to make, as she said, "the table look pretty." But the stranger was unable to partake of the simple meal; she seemed utterly worn and weary, for, leaning her head upon the arm of the chair, she lapsed into an apathetic sleep, as though completely exhausted.

Whilst she thus slept, Sally Grimes (who had been invited to remain) told Mrs. Turner in a whisper all that had taken place that evening.

"May G.o.d bless you, my dear," said the widow fervently; "you are indeed a good girl."

"But Pollie helped me," exclaimed the warm-hearted girl.

The mother looked at her delicate little child, and smiled to think of those tiny hands doing their part in saving this woman.

Then she turned for counsel to Sally.

"I have but this one bed," she said hesitatingly, "and--and--I should not like her to sleep with Pollie; what shall I do?"

"Let us make her a nice bed on the floor," suggested the child.

"That's the thing!" a.s.sented Sally, and the widow agreeing to the plan, they soon had a comfortable bed ready for the stranger. The poor creature suffered them to remove her hat and dress, then they laid her down, and she rested, thankful for the shelter so cheerfully given, humble though it was.

She was still very beautiful. Her golden brown hair, released from its ma.s.sive braids, fell in rippling waves around her; the long black lashes, now that the eyes were closed, lay like a silken fringe upon the pale and wasted cheeks. Yes, she was very beautiful; and as the good Samaritans stood looking at her (the children with wondering pity), the widow thought of the time when this lost girl was tenderly loved by parents, who perhaps were even now sorrowing for their erring child.

It was getting late, and as it was Pollie's bedtime the mother and child prepared to read their evening chapter. Sally, too, sat down by the fire to listen, wondering in her own mind what they were about. It was all so strange to this poor London waif, this cleanly, peaceful home, this simple wors.h.i.+p.

The appointed chapter for this evening was the parable of the Good Shepherd, and the girl's attention was riveted by those words of Divine love and mercy.

"And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear My voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd."