HER BENNY.
A STORY OF STREET LIFE.
BY
SILAS K. HOCKING,
AUTHOR OF "ALEC GREEN," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY H. TUCK.
LONDON
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.,
BEDFORD STREET, STRAND.
[Frontispiece: BENNY AND NELLY BATES IN THE HUT OF JOE WRAG.--_See p._ 30]
TO
My Bairns
(GOD BLESS THEM!)
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED
WITH MUCH
AFFECTION.
PREFACE.
My pastoral work, during a three years' residence in Liverpool, called
me frequently into some of the poorest neighbourhoods of that town,
where I became acquainted with some of the originals of this story.
It was not until I had seen the little Arabs of the streets in their
homes--if such haunts of wretchedness be worthy of that name--that I
felt that interest in, and sympathy for them, that I have experienced
ever since. Getting to know them in their homes, I was glad to stop
and speak to them in the streets, and give them a word of sympathy and
encouragement. They are not all bad, as many people seem to think.
Many of them try hard to earn an honest living, though they find it a
difficult matter, especially when at home they receive no encouragement,
while in the streets temptation is being continually put in their way by
those of whom "Perks" so justly complained.
The grouping of the characters that figure in the story is purely
fictitious, but not the characters themselves. Benny and little Nell,
Perks and Joe Wrag, Granny and Eva Lawrence, are drawn from life. I knew
them well. Some of them are alive to-day, others have gone to their rest.
For the interest my little story has awakened in both old and young,
in its serial form, I am rejoiced and thankful; and if, in the more
permanent and attractive style it now assumes, it shall awaken any
sympathy for the poor little waifs of our streets, I shall have my
reward.
SILAS K. HOCKING.
_October_ 21_st_, 1879.
CONTENTS
I. Brother and Sister
II. Addler's Hall
III. Roughing it
IV. A Friend in need
V. "O Death! what dost thou mean?"
VI. In which Benny makes a Discovery
VII. Two Visits
VIII. In which Joe Wrag has a Vision
IX. Tempted
X. In the Woods
XI. Benny Prays
XII. Fading away
XIII. The Tide turns
XIV. A Glimpse of Paradise
XV. A terrible Alternative
XVI. An Experiment
XVII. Perks again
XVIII. Adrift
XIX. The Border-Land
XX. Life at the Farm
XXI. An Accident
XXII. Recognition
XXIII. The Question settled
XXIV. The Reward of Well-doing
CHAPTER I.
Brother and Sister.
Perhaps while in our glowing grate
The cheerful blaze is rising higher
There's some one sitting desolate
Without a spark of fire.
Oh, what are we, that God hath blessed
Our winter homes and made them glad,
While other hearts are sore distressed,
While other homes are sad?
It was getting dark, though the Town Hall clock had only just
struck four. But a fog had hung all over Liverpool since morning,
and everything was as damp and dismal as it well could be; and now,
as evening came on, the fog had settled into a downright drizzle,
converting the streets into what seemed to Nelly Bates (who was
crouched in the shadow of St. George's Church) to be endless puddles.
"I wish Benny would come," said she to herself. "I wonder what has kept
him? He said he'd be here when the clock struck four."
And she wrapped her tattered clothes more closely around her, and looked
eagerly down Lord Street and up and down Castle Street. But no Benny
appeared in sight.
"I'm glad as how they's lightin' the lamps, anyhow. It'll make it feel a
bit warmer, I reckon," she went on, "for it's terrible cold. But Benny
won't be long now, nohow. I hope he's sold all his fusees."
And she looked wistfully at the unsold matches lying in her lap. Then,
after a pause, she went on again,
"I's had desp'rate bad luck to-day. I reckon the gen'lmen thinks it too
much trouble to take off their gloves to get at the coppers. I wonder if
they know what it is to be cold and hungry like me?"
And the child moved a little farther into the shadow of the church, to
escape the keen cold blast that swept up from the river.
Little Nelly Bates was a delicate-looking child, with a pale, thoughtful
face, and big, round, dreamy-looking eyes. She had none of that wolfish
expression that so often characterizes the street Arabs of our large
towns and cities; but, on the contrary, there was an air of refinement
about her that was difficult to account for. Poor little waif! Her own
mother she could not remember. She had only known a stepmother--a cruel,
drunken woman; and, alas! her father was no better. Almost as soon as
she could walk she had been sent into the streets with her brother
Benny, who was a year older, to get her living as best she could. Never
knowing a parent's love, the affections of these two children had gone
out to each other. Each to each was more than all the world beside. At
the time our story opens Nelly was nine years of age, and Benny, as we
said, a year older.
Still the minutes dragged along, and Benny came not. The 'busses were
crowded with people outside and in, wrapped in huge warm overcoats, and
all down Lord Street she watched the hurrying crowds bending their steps
homewards. And she tried to picture their cheerful homes, with great
blazing fires, and happy children running to greet them, and wondered
how none of them ever paused to notice her, shivering there in the
shadow of the church.
At length the great clocks all around began to strike five, and Benny
had not come; a sense of unutterable loneliness crept over the child,
and she began to cry. Besides, she was hungry and cold, and there was
a great fear in her heart that something had befallen her brother. The
last stroke of the Town Hall clock, however, had scarcely died away
when she heard the patter of bare feet around the corner, and the next
moment her brother, panting and breathless, stood before her.
"Oh, Nell!" he burst out, "I's just soft, I is. I's missed a hour in
the time. I never did think I was sich a fool. But can't be helped now,
nohow."
"I was afraid you'd got hurt, Benny; but I don't care now you're all
right," said Nelly, looking proudly at the flushed face of her sturdy
young brother.
"Me hurt? Oh, never fear! I knows how to take care of myself. But what
luck, Nell?"
"Bad, Benny, very bad. Nobody wanted matches to-day."
For a moment Benny was silent, then he burst out,
"By golly, Nell! what's us to do? You know what the guv'nor said when we
came away this morning?"
"Ay," said Nelly. "But 'ave you 'ad bad luck too?"
"Horful, Nell--simply horful!"
And for a moment the children looked at each other in blank dismay. Just
then a gentleman was seen crossing the street carrying a portmanteau.
"Here's a gent with a portmantle," whispered Benny to his sister. "I'll
try my luck! Foller me, Nell, as quick as you can." And off he darted
across the street.
"Carry yer bag, sir?" said he, stepping in front of the gentleman; and
there was something very appealing in his tone as he spoke.
The gentleman looked kindly down into the two honest-looking eyes that
flashed in the gaslight.
"What will you take the bag to the ferry for?" he inquired.
"For what you please to give," said Benny sturdily. "Times is bad at
present, and little chaps like us is glad to 'ave what we catches."
"Oh, that's it, is it? But I'm afraid this bag is too heavy for you."
"Oh, never fear," said Benny, as he got hold of the portmanteau. "I'se
'mazing strong, and I ken carry this like winkin'." And he trotted down
the street before the gentleman in a way that showed he was in earnest
about the matter.
The gentleman looked after the little fellow with an amused smile, but
volunteered no further remark.
Meanwhile little Nelly, who had become stiff and cramped with cold,
followed at a little distance, taking care, however, that Benny did
not get out of her sight. On reaching the bridge that led down to the
landing-stage, Benny turned round, and, seeing his sister behind,
shouted back,
"Stay here, Nell, till I come back--I'll be no time sca'ce." And down
the bridge he trotted, evidently glad that he was so near laying down
his burden.
"Woodside boat, sir?" said he, turning round to the gentleman.
"Yes, my lad."
"Here we is, then, jist in time." And down the gangway he went at a
sharp trot, and into the saloon, letting the bag down on one of the
seats with a thump. "There you be, sir. Couldn't a-been sarved quicker
by a bigger chap."
"All right, my little fellow," and he held out his hand.
Benny's eyes gleamed as he caught sight of something white between the
gentleman's finger and thumb.
"Be jabbers! it's a thrip'ny," was his mental soliloquy, as he eagerly
clutched the coin; and bowing his thanks as politely as he knew how,
he dashed up the gangway with the fleetness of the wind, muttering to
himself, "Shouldn't wonder if 't was a fo'penny, arter all." Standing
under a lamp, he took the coin out of his mouth and looked at it. "Oh,
glory!" he ejaculated; "if 't ain't haaf a bob. Murder and turf! this
are a catch!" And he turned two somersaults on the stage by way of
expressing his delight, unfortunately, however, planting his foot in his
second revolution in the stomach of a young gentleman who was hurrying
down to catch the boat.
The gentleman soon recovered his sudden loss of wind, though the dirty
footprint on his immaculate coat was not so easily removed.
"Beg pardon," said Benny, in a fright, and hurried away just in time to
escape a vigorous kick aimed at him by the infuriated young gentleman.
"My stars and stockings!" he soliloquized, as he hurried up the bridge
to join his sister. "If he 'ad a-catched me, I'd a-got a wolloping, an'
no mistake. Hallo, Nell! what's a matter?" he said, as he saw great
tears on the cheeks of his little crouching sister.
"I'se so cold, Benny--oh, so very cold!" sobbed the little girl.
"Never mind, Nelly, I'll soon get yer warmed up. Look here, I'se got
haaf a bob, and a good warming into the bargain. Now for a roast tater,
my gal, and you'll feel as right as ninepence."
And, taking his sister by the hand, they hurried away at a quick trot,
lessening their pace only when they were quite out of breath, and Nelly
declared she was quite warm.
"Here's the tater man," said Benny; "now for't, my gal. Pennorth o'
taters--hot, plaise, an' a good sprinkle o' salt," said Benny, with
quite an air of importance.
"All right, my young gent, 'ere you are;" and the man put three
moderate-sized potatoes into Benny's outstretched palms.
"Now for old Joe's fire, Nell, where the roads is a-mendin';" and once
more they hurried away at the same quick trot.
In the next street they caught sight of the glowing grate of Joe Wrag,
the night watchman, and of Joe himself, sitting in the doorway of his
little wooden hut.
"You ax him, Nell," whispered Benny; "he winna say no to you."
"May we eat our taters by your fire, Joe?" said the plaintive voice of
little Nelly, as she placed her tiny hand on the fence, on which a red
light was burning.
"What dost 'a say, little woman?" said Joe, in a rough though not
unkindly voice.
"May we eat our taters by your fire, please--Benny an' me?"
"Ay, ay, my little 'arties. Come along, I'll make room for 'e here;" and
honest old Joe moved aside to make room for the little waifs who sought
shelter from the biting cold.
"By golly, Nell!" said Benny, as he felt the grateful warmth of the
fire, and dug his teeth into the potato, "ain't this sumpshus?"
"Ay, Benny," was all the child's answer, as she greedily devoured the
two potatoes that Benny had insisted was her share.
Then there was silence between them for awhile, and Joe went out and
heaped more fuel on the grate, while Nelly kept her eyes steadily
fixed on the fire. What did the child see as she gazed into its glowing
depths? For ever and anon a sweet smile played around the corners of her
mouth, and spread over her pale thoughtful face, lighting it up with
a wonderful beauty, and smoothing out the lines of care that at other
times were only too visible.
Meanwhile Benny was busily engaged counting his money. Fourpence he
laid aside for the purpose of purchasing stock for the morrow's sale, a
penny he had spent in potatoes, and still he had threepence to the good,
besides the sixpence the gentleman gave him, which was clear profit. The
sixpence was evidently a great prize to him, for he looked at it long
and earnestly.
"Wish I could keep it for mysel'," he muttered; "but it's no go--the
guv'nor will 'ave to 'ave it. But the coppers I'll keep 'ginst bad
times. Here, Nell," he said, nudging his sister, "you keep these 'ere
coppers; and then if the guv'nor axes me if I has any more, I can tell
him no."
"All right, Benny." And again the great round eyes sought the glowing
grate, and the sweet smile played over her face once more.
"What are 'e looking at, Nell?" said Benny, after a pause. "You look as
'appy as a dead duck in a saucepan."
"Oh, Benny, I see such beautiful pictures in the fire. Don't you
'members on fine days how we looks across the river and sees the great
hills 'way behind Birkenhead, such miles an' miles away?"
"Ay, I 'members. I'll take 'e across the river some day, Nell, when I'se
richer."
"Will 'e, Benny? I shall be so glad. But I sees great hills in the fire,
an' trees, an' pools, an' little rivers, an' oh! such lots of purty
things."
"Queer!" said Benny. "I don't see nowt o' sort."
Then there was silence again, and Joe--who had been to see that the
lamps at each end of the torn-up street were all right--came up.
"How are 'e now, my 'arties? Are 'e warmer'n you was?"
"Ay, Joe, we's nice now," said Nelly; "an' we's much 'bliged to you for
lettin' us come."
"Oh, ye're welcome. But ain't it time you was to home?"
"What's o'clock?" said Benny.
"Seven, all to a minit or so."
"Ay, then, we must be off," said the children in chorus; and wishing Joe
good night, they darted off into the wet, cold street, and disappeared
in the gloom.
"Purty little hangel!" said Joe, as he stood looking up the street long
after they had disappeared. "I wonder what will become o' her when she
grows up?"