as I had heard her say more than once to a schoolmate at lunch-time,
"Let's go halves."
She understood at once, laughed, and took the bunch, saying with
twinkling eyes,--
"Oh, thank you! they are beauties!"
Then, as we went on to the corner together, I told her why I did it, and
recalled the car-ride.
"I'd forgotten all about that, but my conductor is very kind, and always
waits for me," she said, evidently surprised that a stranger should take
an interest in her small self.
I did not have half time enough with her, for a bell rang, and away she
skipped, looking back to nod and smile at the queer lady who had taken a
fancy to her.
A few days afterward a fine nosegay of flowers was left at the door for
me, and when I asked the servant who sent them he answered,--
"A little girl asked if a lame lady didn't live here, and when I said
yes, she told me to give you these, and say the grapes were very nice."
I knew at once who it was, and enjoyed the funny message immensely; for
when one leads a quiet life, little things interest and amuse.
Christmas was close by, and I planned a return for the flowers, of a
sort, that I fancied my young friend would appreciate.
I knew that Christmas week would be a holiday, so, the day before it
began, I went to the school just before recess, and left a frosted plum
cake, directed to "Miss Goldilocks, from she knows who."
At first I did not know how to address my nice white parcel, for I never
had heard the child's name. But after thinking over the matter, I
remembered that she was the only girl there with yellow curls hanging
down her back, so I decided to risk the cake with the above direction.
The maid who took it in (for my girl went to a private school) smiled,
and said at once she knew who I meant. I left my cake, and strolled
round the corner to the house of a friend, there to wait and watch for
the success of my joke, for the girls always went that way at recess.
Presently the little hats began to go bobbing by, the silent street to
echo with laughter, and the sidewalk to bloom with gay gowns, for the
girls were all out in winter colors now.
From behind a curtain I peeped at them, and saw, with great
satisfaction, that nearly all had bits of my cake in their hands, and
were talking it over with the most flattering interest. My particular
little girl, with a friend on each arm, passed so near me that I could
see the happy look in her eyes, and hear her say, with a toss of the
bright hair,--
"Mother will plan it for me, and I can get it done by New Year. Won't it
be fun to hang it on the door some day, and then run?"
I fancied that she meant to make something for me, and waited with
patience, wondering how this odd frolic with my little school-girl would
end.
New Year's Day came and passed, but no gift hung on my door; so I made
up my mind it was all a mistake, and, being pretty busy about that time,
thought no more of the matter till some weeks later, as I came into town
one day after a visit in the country.
I am fond of observing faces, and seldom forget one if anything has
particularly attracted my attention to it. So this morning, as I rode
along, I looked at the conductor, as there was no one else to observe,
and he had a pleasant sort of face. Somehow, it looked familiar, and
after thinking idly about it for a minute, I remembered where I had
seen it before.
He was the man who waited for "little missy," and I at once began to
hope that she would come again, for I wanted to ask about the holidays,
remembering how "fond of fun" she was.
When we came to the South End Square, where I met her first, I looked
out, expecting to see the little figure running down the wide path
again, and quite willing to wait for it a long time if necessary. But no
one was to be seen but two boys and a dog. The car did not stop, and
though the conductor looked out that way, his hand was not on the strap,
and no smile on his face.
"Don't you wait for the little girl now?" I asked, feeling disappointed
at not seeing my pretty friend again.
"I wish I could, ma'am," answered the man, understanding at once, though
of course he did not remember me.
"New rules, perhaps?" I added, as he did not explain, but stood
fingering his punch, and never minding an old lady, wildly waving her
bag at him from the sidewalk.
"No, ma'am; but it's no use waiting for little missy any more,
because"--here he leaned in and said, very low,--"she is dead;" then
turned sharply round, rung the bell, put the old lady in and shut the
door.
How grieved I was to have that pleasant friendship end so sadly, for I
had planned many small surprises for my girl, and now I could do no
more, could never know all about her, never see the sunny face again, or
win another word from lips that seemed made for smiling.
Only a little school-girl, yet how many friends she seemed to have,
making them unconsciously by her gentle manners, generous actions, and
innocent light-heartedness. I could not bear to think what home must be
without her, for I am sure I was right in believing her a good, sweet
child, because real character shows itself in little things, and the
heart that always keeps in tune makes its music heard everywhere.
The busy man of the horse-car found time to miss her, the schoolmates
evidently mourned their queen, for when I met them they walked quietly,
talked low, and several wore black bows upon the sleeve; while I,
although I never knew her name, or learned a single fact about her, felt
the sweetness of her happy nature, and have not yet forgotten my little
school-girl.
X.
WHAT A SHOVEL DID.
As my friend stood by the window, watching the "soft falling snow," I
saw him smile,--a thoughtful yet a very happy smile, and, anxious to
know what brought it, I asked,--
"What do you see out there?"
"Myself," was the answer that made me stare in surprise, as I joined him
and looked curiously into the street.
All I saw was a man shovelling snow; and, thoroughly puzzled, I turned
to Richard, demanding an explanation. He laughed, and answered
readily,--
"While we wait for Kate and the children, I'll tell you a little
adventure of mine. It may be useful to you some day.
"Fifteen years ago, on a Sunday morning like this, I stood at the window
of a fireless, shabby little room, without one cent in my pocket, and
no prospect of getting one.
"I had gone supperless to bed, and spent the long night asking, 'What
shall I do?' and, receiving no reply but that which is so hard for eager
youth to accept, 'Wait and trust.'
"I was alone in the world, with no fortune but my own talent, and even
that I was beginning to doubt, because it brought no money. For a year I
had worked and hoped, with a brave spirit; had written my life into
poems and tales; tried a play; turned critic and reviewed books; offered
my pen and time to any one who would employ them, and now was ready for
the hardest literary work, and the poorest pay, for starvation stared me
in the face.
"All my ventures failed, and my paper boats freighted with so many high
hopes, went down one after another, leaving me to despair. The last
wreck lay on my table then,--a novel, worn with much journeying to and
fro, on which I had staked my last chance, and lost it.
"As I stood there at my window, cold and hungry, solitary and
despairing, I said to myself, in a desperate mood,--
"'It is all a mistake; I have no talent, and there is no room in the
world for me, so the quicker I get out of it the better.'
"Just then a little chap came from a gate opposite, with a shovel on his
shoulder, and trudged away, whistling shrilly, to look for a job. I
watched him out of sight, thinking bitterly,--
"'Now look at the injustice of it! Here am I, a young man full of
brains, starving because no one will give me a chance; and there is that
ignorant little fellow making a living with an old shovel!'"
A voice seemed to answer me, saying,--
"'Why don't you do the same? If brains don't pay, try muscles, and thank
God that you have health.'
"Of course it was only my own pluck and common sense; but I declare to
you I was as much struck by the new idea as if a strange voice _had_
actually spoken; and I answered, heartily,--
"'As I live I _will_ try it! and not give up while there is any honest
work for these hands to do.'
"With sudden energy I put on my shabbiest clothes,--and they were _very_
shabby, of course, added an old cap and rough comforter, as disguise,
and stole down to the shed where I had seen a shovel. It was early, and
the house was very quiet, for the other lodgers were hard workers all
the week, and took their rest Sunday morning.
"Unseen by the sleepy girl making her fires, I got the shovel and stole
away by the back gate, feeling like a boy out on a frolic. It was bitter
cold, and a heavy snow-storm had raged all night. The streets were full
of drifts, and the city looked as if dead, for no one was stirring yet
but milkmen, and other poor fellows like me, seeking for an early job.
"I made my way to the West End, and was trying to decide at which of the
tall houses to apply first, when the door of one opened, and a pretty
housemaid appeared, broom in hand.
"At sight of the snowy wilderness she looked dismayed, and with a few
unavailing strokes of her broom at the drift on the steps, was about to
go in, when her eye fell on me.
"My shovel explained my mission, and she beckoned with an imperious wave
of her duster to the shabby man opposite. I ploughed across, and
received in silence the order to--
"'Clear them steps and sidewalk, and sweep 'em nice, for our folks
always go to church, rain or shine.'
"Then leaving her broom outside, the maid slammed the door with a
shiver, and I fell to work manfully. It was a heavy job, and my hands,
unused to any heavier tool than a pen, were soon blistered; but I tugged
away, and presently found myself much stimulated by the critical and
approving glances bestowed upon me by the pretty girl, taking breakfast
in the basement with a buxom cook and a friend, who had evidently
dropped in on her way home from early Mass.
"I was a young fellow, and in spite of my late despair, the fun of the
thing tickled me immensely, and I laughed behind my old tippet, as I
shovelled and swept with a vigor that caused the stout cook to smile
upon me.
"When the job was done, and I went to the lower door for my well-earned
pay, the maid said, with condescension, as she glanced coquettishly at
my ruddy face and eyes that twinkled under the old cap, I suspect,--
"'You can wait here while I run up, and get the money, if master is
awake.'
"'Ye haven't the heart of a woman, Mary, to kape the poor crater out
there when it's kilt wid the could he is,' said the buxom cook; adding,
in a motherly tone, 'Come in wid yez, my man, and set till the fire, for
it's bitter weather the day.'
"'Faix an' it is, ma'm, thankin' ye kindly,' I answered, with a fine
brogue, for as a lad I had played the Irishman with success.
"The good soul warmed to me at once, and, filling a mug with coffee,
gave it to me with a hearty--
"'A hot sup will do you no harrum, me b'y, and sure in the blessid
Christmas time that's just fore-ninst us, the master won't begrudge ye a
breakfast; so take a biscuit and a sassage, for it's like ye haven't had
a mouthful betwixt your lips the day.'
"'That I will,' said I; 'and it's good luck and a long life to ye I'm
drinkin' in this illegint coffee.'
"'Bless the b'y! but it's a grateful heart he has, and a blue eye as
like my Pat as two pays,' cried the cook, regarding me with increasing
favor, as I bolted the breakfast which I should have been too proud to
accept from any hand less humble.
"Here the guest asked a question concerning Pat, and instantly the
mother gushed into praises of her boy, telling in a few picturesque
words, as only an Irishwoman could do it, how Pat had come to 'Ameriky'
first when things went hard with them in the 'ould country,' and how
good he was in sending home his wages till she could join him.
"How she came, but could not find her 'b'y, because of the loss of the
letter with his address, and how for a year she waited and watched, sure
that he would find her at last. How the saints had an eye on him, and
one happy day answered her prayers in a way that she considered 'aquil
to any merrycle ever seen.' For, looking up from her work, who should
she see, in a fine livery, sitting on the box of a fine carriage at the
master's door, but 'her own b'y, like a king in his glory.'
"'Arrah, ye should have seen me go up thim steps, Katy, and my Pat come
off that box like an angel flyin', and the way he tuk me in his arms,
never mindin' his illigint coat, and me all dirt a-blackin' me range.
Ah'r, but I was a happy crayter that day!'
"Here the good soul stopped to wipe away the tears that were shining on
her fat cheeks, and Mary appeared with a dollar, 'for master said it was
a tough job and well done.'
"'May his bed be aisy above, darlin', and many thanks, and the
compliments of the sayson to ye, ladies.'
"With which grateful farewell I trudged away, well pleased at the
success of my first attempt. Refreshed and cheered by the kindness of my
humble hostess, I took heart, and worked away at my next job with
redoubled energy, and by the time the first bells rang for church, I had
three dollars in my pocket. My blood danced in my veins, and all my
despair seemed shovelled away with the snow I had cleared from other
people's paths.
"My back ached, and my palms were sore, but heart and soul were in tune
again, and hurrying home, I dressed and went to church, feeling that a
special thanksgiving was due for the lesson I had learned.
"Christmas garlands hung upon the walls, Christmas music rolled through
the church, and Christmas sermon, prayer, and psalm cheered the hearts
of all. But the shabby young man in the back seat found such beauty and
comfort in the service of that day that he never forgot it, for it was
the turning-point of his life."
My friend fell silent for a minute, and I sat, contrasting that past of
his, with the happy present, for he was a prosperous man now, with an
honored name, a comfortable fortune, and best of all, a noble wife, and
some brave lads to follow in his footsteps.
Presently I could not resist asking,--
"Did you go on shovelling, Dick?"
"Not long, for there was no need of it, thanks to Pat's mother," he
answered smiling.
"Come, I _must_ have all the story, for I know it has a sequel!"
"A very happy one. Yes, I owe to that kind soul and her little story,
the turn that Fortune gave her wheel. Nay, rather say, the touch of
nature that makes the whole world kin. For when I went home that day, I
sat down and made a simple tale from the hint she gave, and something of
her own humor and pathos must have got into it, for it was accepted, and
more stories solicited, to my great surprise.
"I wrote it to please myself, for I was in a happy mood; and though my
room was cold, the sun shone; though my closet was bare, honest money
was in my pocket, and I felt as rich as a king.
"I remember I laughed at myself as I posted the manuscript on Monday
morning, called it infatuation, and thought no more of it for days,
being busy with my new friend, the shovel.
"Snow was gone, but coal remained, and I put in tons of it with a will,
for this active labor was the tonic my overwrought nerves needed, and my
spirits rose wonderfully, as muscles earned the daily bread that brains
had failed to win.
"Ah! but they brought me something better than bread, dearer than fame;
and to that old shovel I owe the happiness of my life! The very day I
got the letter accepting the little story, I was gaily putting in my
last ton of coal, for I felt that now I might take up the pen again,
since in a kitchen I had discovered the magic that wins listeners.
"Bless my heart! how I worked and how I whistled, I was so happy, and
felt so lifted above all doubt and fear by the knowledge that my talent
was _not_ a failure, and the fact that my own strong arms could keep the
wolf from the door!
"I was so busy that I had not observed a lady watching me from the
window. She had opened it to feed the hungry sparrows, and my whistle
caught her ear, for it was an air she knew, and had heard a certain
young man sing before he dropped out of her circle, and left her
wondering sadly what had befallen him.
"All this I learned afterward; then I unconsciously piped away till my
job was done, wiped my hot face, and went in to get my money. To my
surprise I was told to 'go into the dining room, and missis would
attend to it.'
"I went and found myself face to face, not with 'missis,' but the woman
I had loved hopelessly but faithfully all that hard year, since I had
gone away to fight my battle alone.
"For a moment I believed she did not know me, in my shabby suit and
besmirched face. But she did, and with a world of feeling in her own
sweet face, she offered me, not money, but her hand, saying in a voice
that made my heart leap up,--
"'Richard, I was afraid you had gone down as so many disappointed young
men go when their ambitious hopes fail; but I am so glad, so proud to
see in your face that you still work and wait, like a brave and honest
man. I _must_ speak to you!'
"What could I do after that but hold the white hand fast in both my
grimy ones, while I told my little story, and the hope that had come at
last. Heaven knows I told it very badly, for those tender eyes were upon
me all the time, so full of unspoken love and pity, admiration and
respect, that I felt like one in a glorified dream, and forgot I was a
coal-heaver.
"That was the last of it, though, and the next time I came to see my
Kate it was with clean hands, that carried her, as a first love-token,
the little tale which was the foundation-stone of this happy home."
He stopped there, and his face brightened beautifully, for the sound of
little feet approached, and childish voices cried eagerly,--
"Papa! papa! the snow has come! May we go and shovel off the steps?"
"Yes, my lads, and mind you do it well; for some day you may have to
earn your breakfast," answered Dick, as three fine boys came prancing
in, full of delight at the first snow-fall.
"These fellows have a passion for shovelling which they inherit from
their father," he added, with a twinkle of the eye that told Mrs. Kate
what we had been talking about.
It was sweet to see with what tender pride she took the hand he
stretched out to her, and holding it in both her own, said, with her
eyes upon her boys,--
"I hope they _will_ inherit not only their father's respect for honest
work, but the genius that can see and paint truth and beauty in the
humble things of this world."
XI.
CLAMS.
A GHOST STORY.
"I haven't a room in the house, ma'am, but if you don't mind going down
to the cottage, and coming up here to your meals, I can accommodate you,
and would be glad to," said Mrs. Grant, in answer to my demand for
board.
"Where is the cottage?" and I looked about me, feeling ready to accept
anything in the way of shelter, after the long, hot journey from
broiling Boston, to breezy York Harbor.
"Right down there, just a step, you see. It's all in order, and next
week it will be full, for many folks prefer it because of the quiet."
At the end of a precipitous path, which offered every facility for
accidents of all sorts, from a sprained ankle to a broken neck, stood
the cottage, a little white building with a pretty woodbine over the
porch, gay flowers in the garden, and the blue Atlantic rolling up at
the foot of the cliff.
"A regular 'Cottage by the Sea.' It will suit me exactly if I can have
that front upper room. I don't mind being alone, so have my trunk taken
down, please, and I'll get ready for tea," said I, congratulating myself
on my good luck. Alas, how little I knew what a night of terror I was to
pass in that picturesque abode!
An hour later, refreshed by my tea and invigorated by the delicious
coolness, I plunged recklessly into the gayeties of the season, and
accepted two invitations for the evening,--one to a stroll on Sunset
Hill, the other to a clam-bake on the beach.
The stroll came first, and while my friend paused at one of the
fishily-fragrant houses by the way, to interview her washerwoman, I went
on to the hill-top, where a nautical old gentleman with a spy-glass,
welcomed me with the amiable remark,--
"Pretty likely place for a prospeck."
Entering into a conversation with this ancient mariner, I asked if he
knew any legend or stories concerning the old houses all about us.
"Sights of 'em; but it aint allers the _old_ places as has the most
stories concernin' 'em. Why, that cottage down yonder aint more 'n fifty
year old, and they say there's been a lot of ghosts seen there, owin' to
a man's killin' of himself in the back bedroom."
"What, that house at the end of the lane?" I asked, with sudden
interest.
"Jes' so; nice place, but lonesome and dampish. Ghosts and toadstools is
apt to locate in houses of that sort," placidly responded the venerable
tar.
The dampness scared me more than the goblins, for I never saw a ghost
yet, but I had been haunted by rheumatism, and found it a hard fiend to
exorcise.
"I've taken a room there, so I'm rather interested in knowing what
company I'm to have."
"Took a room, hev you? Wal, I dare say you won't be troubled. Some folks
have a knack of seeing sperrits, and then agin some hasn't. My wife is
uncommon powerful that way, but I aint; my sight's dreadful poor for
that sort of critter."
There was such a sly twinkle in the starboard eye of the old fellow as
he spoke, that I laughed outright, and asked, sociably,--
"Has she ever seen the ghosts of the cottage? I think _I_ have rather a
knack that way, and I'd like to know what to expect."
"No, her sort is the rappin' kind. Down yonder the only ghost I take
much stock in is old Bezee Tucker's. He killed himself in the back
bedroom, and some folks say they've heard him groanin' there nights, and
a drippin' sound; he bled to death, you know. It was kep' quiet at the
time, and is forgotten now by all but a few old chaps like me. Bezee was
allers civil to the ladies, so I guess he won't bother you, ma'am;" and
the old fellow laughed.
"If he does, I'll let you know;" and with that I departed, for my friend
called to me that the beach party was clamoring for our company.
In the delights of that festive hour, I forgot the croaking of the
ancient mariner, for I was about to taste a clam for the first time in
my life, and it was a most absorbing moment. Perched about on the rocks
like hungry penguins, we watched the jovial cooks with breathless
interest, as they struggled with refractory frying-pans, fish that
stubbornly refused to brown, steaming seaweed and hot stones.
A certain captivating little Margie waited upon me so prettily that I
should have been tempted to try a sea porcupine unskinned if she had
offered it, so irresistible was her chirping way of saying, "Oh, here's
a perfectly lovely one! Do take him by his little black head and eat him
quick."
So beguiled, I indulged recklessly in clams, served hot between two
shells, little dreaming what a price I was to pay for that marine
banquet.
We kept up till late, and then I was left at my own door by my friend,
who informed me that York was a very primitive, safe place, where people
slept with unlocked doors, and nothing ever went amiss o'nights.
I said nothing of the ghosts, being ashamed to own that I quaked a
little at the idea of the "back bedroom," as I shut out the friendly
faces and bolted myself in.
A lamp and matches stood in the hall, and lighting the lamp, I whisked
up stairs with suspicious rapidity, locked my door and retired to bed,
firmly refusing to own even to myself that I had ever heard the name of
Bezee Tucker.
Being very tired, I soon fell asleep; but fried potatoes and a dozen or
two of hot clams are not viands best fitted to insure quiet repose, so a
fit of nightmare brought me to a realizing sense of my indiscretion.
From a chaos of wild dreams was finally evolved a gigantic clam, whose
mission it was to devour me as I had devoured its relatives. The sharp
shells gaped before me, a solemn voice said, "Take her by her little
head and eat her quick." Retribution was at hand, and, with a despairing
effort to escape by diving, I bumped my head smartly against the wall,
and woke up feeling as if there was an earthquake under the bed.
Collecting my scattered wits, I tried to compose myself to slumber
again; but alas! that fatal feast had murdered sleep, and I vainly tried
to lull my wakeful senses with the rustle of woodbine leaves about the
window, and the breaking waves upon the beach.