We have in New York city a number of kind-hearted ladies and gentlemen,
who have arranged a plan by which the little girls and boys of our
streets are taken in great boat-loads to different parts of the country
round about, where they spend a week or two playing in the green fields,
eating good food and drinking rich milk, and enjoying themselves to
their heart's content, gaining meanwhile a stock of health and strength
that lasts them many days after their return to the warm city.
On a hot evening in July one of these excursions left the New York pier,
bound for the beautiful country bordering on Lake Champlain. A steamer
had been chartered for the trip as far as Troy, and from there a railway
train was to take the children to the lake.
From end to end the great boat was filled with wonder-eyed and rather
awe-stricken little girls, and somewhat subdued but mischievous-looking
boys. All of them were provided with luggage for a two weeks' stay in
the country, but there seemed to be a great difference in their ideas of
how much to bring. A little paper bag tied with a piece of string, and
an empty basket, were all one very serene-looking little fellow had
brought. Many of the girls brought their wardrobes packed in their
school satchels, and one little lass had under her arm such a box as a
gentleman's suit generally comes home in from the tailor's.
In the wistful little faces that peered out over the rail could be read
stories too sad to be more than hinted at to our young people. Here were
little girls and boys who had never felt the green sod under their feet,
nor picked a flower, but who had spent all their lives penned up in
great towering houses, their only play-ground the burning roof, a
hundred feet above the streets.
It did not take the little passengers long to get used to their
surroundings, and long before the darkness came the decks of the good
steamer _Minnie Cornell_ were alive with such pranks as only city
urchins ever think of. At nine o'clock, mattresses were spread upon the
cabin floors, and without any special preparation, except that some of
the boys took off their hats and stuffed them into their coat pockets,
the children lay down to sleep.
Long before the sun came up next morning the forward deck swarmed with
little folks eager to catch the first glimpse of green fields and blue
hills. It was here that your artist saw a bright little boy holding a
very large satchel, on which was painted in eccentric letters, "Jerry
Doyle, Avenue A." Beside him a tiny little fellow sat swinging his feet
in a very contented manner.
"Me and Tim are havin' a boss time," said Jerry. "We had a state-room on
de cabin floor, layin' crosswise on a mattress. We didn't allow any
snorin', and when any feller tried it, we hauled him round the deck by
the heels till he quit. There was a man there to see we didn't none of
us walk in our sleep. I don't believe he enjoyed hisself much."
Here Tim interrupted the thread of his brother's narrative to inquire
what that crooked thing was on the bank, and Jerry, who had been up to
Tompkins Square once, replied that it was a tree.
At Troy, four hundred and sixty-seven happy but very hungry youngsters
left the boat, and marched through the streets, like an invading army,
to a public hall, where tables loaded down with good things awaited
them.
It would be impossible to tell whether their host, Mr. Shepard Tappan,
or his little guests, enjoyed the occasion most. I rather think that one
little fellow who climbed up on the platform, and drummed upon the grand
piano with his fists, while some of the boys pelted him with biscuits,
had the best time of all.
On the way to the dépôt, after breakfast, all the early risers of Troy
were out waiting to see the children pass by.
When the special train drew up at a little station on the shore of Lake
Champlain, a very lively gentleman, with a note-book in his hand, jumped
to the ground, followed by fifty or sixty little folks, who were no
sooner off the cars than they rushed into the field of buttercups and
daisies that skirted the track to gather bouquets.
After shaking hands very rapidly with the foremost of a group of
kind-hearted farmers who had come down to welcome their little guests,
and handing one of them a list of the children's names, the lively
gentleman was on the cars again, and the train was out of sight in a
moment.
My friends Jerry and Tim were among the number to get off at the
station, and a few days after, while riding by a fine old farm-house, I
was greeted by a "Hi, mister!" from Jerry himself.
"Me and Tim is puttin' up at this hotel," said he. "You oughter see me
apartments! Mrs. Bromley is the lady what lives here. Tim calls Mr.
Bromley 'Father.' He promised to take Tim out with him to hoe corn or
'taters, or somepin this mornin'; so as soon as breakfast was over, Tim
shoulders the hoe, and says he, 'Come, father, if you want to hoe, come
with me; you must hurry up.' Didn't they smile! Of course I don't say
nothin' to them," continued Jerry, confidentially, "but I think the milk
out here is kind of thick. We all went to church Sunday. I rode on
horseback this mornin'. The horses here is more frisky than the
street-car horses, and there ain't no lumps on their knees. There ain't
any milkmen or organ-grinders like there is on Avenue A, but I like to
wade in brooks better than our gutter."
Here a little girl came up, with a wreath of daisies around her head,
and little Tim ran round her chasing a butterfly. Jerry ran to help him,
and the happy children soon disappeared in the tall shrubbery of the
farm-yard.