One very, very wet evening a forlorn little pigeon, with rumpled
feathers and weary wings, came knocking at the door of a nursery in
which were two children.
They heard the knock, and going to the window, saw to their
astonishment, the poor unhappy bird. It was not long before the sash was
thrown up, and the rain-soaked wanderer brought in, and fed and petted
to its heart's content.
"I wonder what brought the darling here?" said Donald, the elder of the
two children.
"It just _were_ a darlin'; 'at's why it camed," remarked Miss Baby.
"But I am sure it must have had some reason for coming. Baby," Donald
insisted. "It came for something."
"For its tea," suggested Baby, doubtfully.
"Oh, Baby, Baby, you're always thinking about your tea," said Donald,
with contempt.
"No, Donnie, me isn't. But you said it had camed for somesin."
"I meant, to tell us something."
"Do pigeons talk, Donnie?" Baby's eyes opened very wide.
"Yes, but we can't understand them. I feel that this pigeon wants to
speak to us. I wonder where it came from? I wonder whether mother will
let us keep it? Come down to the drawing-room, and we'll ask her."
Hand in hand the two proceeded to the drawing-room, Baby a little
anxious lest their elder brother should wish to "'sect" the treasure.
But Donald told her that only dead birds were dissected, not living
ones. The grown-up members of the family were as much surprised at and
pleased with the little stranger as the children had been. For the next
week it was warmly loved and tenderly taken care of, and at the end of
that time they found out all about it.
On Sunday, Auntie, who had been lunching with her nieces and nephews,
said: "Children, I am not going to church this afternoon. I shall stay
here and tell you a story I heard while visiting among my poor people
yesterday. Shall you like that?"
"Oh yes!" cried the children, rapturously.
"Will it be big?" inquired Baby.
"Yes; but you may go to sleep if you get tired."
"All right," said Baby, and Auntie began:
In one of the dreariest parts of our old town there lived, not long
ago, a widow with three little children, two girls and a boy. She
had to work very hard to keep them in food and clothing. Every
morning before it was light she had to go away to her work. She
would creep softly out of bed, dress very quietly, tidy up the
room, build the fire, and set out the children's breakfast, and
then, with a kiss on each sleeping face, she would go away out into
the cold.
By-and-by the sun would find its way into the room, and the oldest
girl would open her eyes, jump briskly up like a brave little
woman, light the fire, and set on the kettle. Though only nine
years old, she knew how to work, and believed, as very few seem to
do, that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well.
When breakfast was almost ready, Nellie would call her brother, and
then, stooping over the little sister, would kiss her pretty parted
lips. Presently the dark lashes would rise, and a pair of deep gray
eyes, very solemn for a moment, would stare into the loving face.
And then the dimples would come, the dark eyes would twinkle, and
the baby would be wide awake.
The great trial of the day came after breakfast, for Nellie and
Bill must go to school, and for three or four hours poor Bab,
barely three years old, must stay all alone. Her mother and sister
were very sorry to leave her by herself, but it could not be
helped. The sweet child was so good about it that it comforted
them.
"What do you do when we are away?" said her mother one day.
"Me fink you is comin' back," she answered, smiling, as usual.
Before going to school Nellie always took the coals off the fire,
and put them on the side to cool, set a tin cup of water and a
little bit of bread on a chair for Bab, and with a final hug
hurried off with her brother to the school at the bottom of the
court.
[Illustration: BAB AT THE WINDOW.]
As the door closed, Bab always gave a very little sigh, and set to
work to find some amusement. Sometimes she played for a long time
with a wooden footstool which she called her boy; and sometimes, if
she felt cold, she crept into bed and fell asleep. But she loved
best to stand by the window. The top of her head just came to the
lowest pane, and she could not see into the street, but only up
into the sky and gaze at the clouds. How Bab loved those clouds!
especially the great shining ones that lay still, like huge
mountains far away on the horizon. She was a little afraid of the
black clouds, but she would stretch out her arms to the bright
ones and whisper, "Oh, you booful country! Bab would like to be in
you, for always and always!"
Sometimes she had not even the clouds to keep her company, for the
whole sky would be one gray mass, and then Bab had hard work to
keep from crying, and she wished and wished that her brother and
sister would come home. The moment she heard them on the stairs she
forgot her troubles, and when Nell looked in at the door she found
a laughing face, and the jolly voice soon rang out louder than
ever. The happy afternoon quite made up for the long weary morning.
As soon as Nellie had cleared away their dinners she wrapped Bab up
in a warm shawl, and the three took a walk to the big street which
ran near by. At the corner of this street was a candy shop, which
the children thought splendid. Sometimes they would spend nearly an
hour peering in at the window, and telling each other what they
would buy "when they were rich."
Something else besides candy drew them to this corner. A nurse and
two children, a boy and a girl, often passed up and down the
street. The little boy wore a sailor suit, with bright buttons, and
the little girl, just the age of Bab, had a lovely dress, trimmed
with lace, and a Leghorn hat. Such a hat! Nellie used to think that
if she could once see Bab dressed like that she would be perfectly
happy.
The poor children liked looking at the pretty clothes of their more
fortunate brother and sister, but still more did they enjoy looking
at their faces. They were so kind and bright, and often they smiled
cheerily at their little admirers. Little did they know what a ray
of sunshine these smiles shed into the lives of these little ones.
A day seemed quite empty to Nellie and her charges when they did
not catch a glimpse of their "little gentry."
Sometimes Bill, Nellie, and Bab ventured farther than the candy
shop. They liked to look at the grand windows, especially those of
one wonderful toy shop. Nellie and Bab never complained because
they could not possess the treasures displayed. It did not occur to
them to desire them. They were perfectly contented just to look at
them. But Bill's face was sometimes dark, and once he said to
Nellie, with a frown:
"Doesn't it seem hard that we get nothing, that even dear Bab can
not have anything? I should like to give her something to play with
when we are away."
The grief that Bab had nothing to play with was an old one. Nellie
and Bill had often tried to contrive some way of getting a
plaything for Bab, and once they had enticed a stray dog into their
room, but it soon escaped, and Bab was lonelier than ever. A cat,
too, had been tried, but one fine night took her departure to the
roof, never to return.
"Never mind, Billy," answered Nellie, "we can look at the lovely
things, and that is nearly as good as having them."
Bill did not reply. His face was long. His eyes looked as if tears
were not far off.
"Nell," he said, "I don't see why it is that we can never have any
of the beautiful things that other children have. I am sure we try
to be good."
"Oh, hush, Bill! here are the little gentry," whispered Nellie.
"The little gentry" were standing gazing in at the window too, or
at least the baby was. The boy was looking at Bill with a
questioning expression.
"Well," asked Nurse, "have you made up your minds what you are
going to spend your money upon?"
"Es," answered the baby.
The little boy stood still, turning his shilling over and over in
his hand.
"Come along, Master Dreamer," cried Nurse, as she entered the shop.
"Have you not made up your mind what to spend your shilling upon?"
"Yes," answered the little fellow, with a sort of sigh.
Nurse had disappeared. Blushing furiously, the boy pressed his
bright shilling into Bill's rough little hand.
"No, no," said Bill.
"I would rather," stammered the little gentleman, not waiting for
thanks. He ran into the store, and stood quietly by while the baby
spent her shilling, and when Nurse asked why he did not spend his,
he climbed on a chair and whispered something in her ear.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]