When young Stephen Welland was conducted by John Seaward the missionary
into a large field dotted with trees, close to where his accident had
happened, he found that the children and their guardians were busily
engaged in making arrangements for the spending of an enjoyable day.
And then he also found that this was not a mere monster excursion of
ordinary Sunday-schools, but one of exceedingly poor children, whose
garments, faces, and general condition, told too surely that they
belonged to the lowest grade in the social scale.
"Yes," said the missionary, in reply to some question from Welland, "the
agency at George Yard, to which I have referred, has a wide-embracing
influence--though but a small lump of leaven when compared with the mass
of corruption around it. This is a flock of the ragged and utterly
forlorn, to many of whom green fields and fresh air are absolutely new,
but we have other flocks besides these."
"Indeed! Well, now I look at them more carefully, I see that their
garments do speak of squalid poverty. I have never before seen such a
ragged crew, though I have sometimes encountered individuals of the
class on the streets."
"Hm!" coughed the missionary with a peculiar smile. "They are not so
ragged as they were. Neither are they as ragged as they will be in an
hour or two."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that these very rough little ones have to receive peculiar
treatment before we can give them such an outing as they are having
to-day. As you see, swings and see-saws have been put up here, toys are
now being distributed, and a plentiful feast will ere long be
forthcoming, through the kindness of a Christian gentleman whose heart
the Lord has inclined to `consider the poor,' but before we could
venture to move the little band, much of their ragged clothing had to be
stitched up to prevent it falling off on the journey, and we had to make
them move carefully on their way to the train--for vans have brought us
only part of the way. Now that they are here, our minds are somewhat
relieved, but I suspect that the effect of games and romping will undo
much of our handiwork. Come, let us watch them."
The youth and the missionary advanced towards a group of the children,
whose souls, for the time being, were steeped in a see-saw. This
instrument of delight consisted of a strong plank balanced on the trunk
of a noble tree which had been recently felled, with many others, to
thin the woods of the philanthropist's park. It was an enormous
see-saw! such as the ragged creatures had never before seen--perhaps
never conceived of, their experiences in such joys having been hitherto
confined to small bits of broken plank placed over empty beer barrels,
or back-yard fences. No fewer than eight children were able to find
accommodation on it at one and the same time, besides one of the bigger
boys to straddle in the centre; and it required the utmost vigilance on
the part of a young man teacher at one end of the machine, and Hetty
Frog at the other end, to prevent the little ragamuffins at either
extremity from being forced off.
Already the missionary's anticipation in regard to the undoing of their
labour had begun to be verified. There were at least four of the eight
whose nether garments had succumbed to the effort made in mounting the
plank, and various patches of flesh-colour revealed the fact that the
poor little wearers were innocent of flannels. But it was summer-time,
and the fact had little effect either on wearers or spectators. The
missionary, however, was not so absorbed in the present but that he felt
impelled to remark to Welland: "That is their winter as well as summer
clothing."
The bicyclist said nothing in reply, but the remark was not lost upon
him.
"Now, Dick Swiller," said the young man teacher, "I see what you're up
to. You mustn't do it!"
Richard Swiller, who was a particularly rugged as well as ragged boy of
about thirteen, not being in the habit of taking advice, did do it.
That is, he sent his end of the plank up with such violence that the
other end came to the ground with a shock which caused those who sat
there to gasp, while it all but unseated most of those who were on the
higher end. Indeed one very small and pinched but intelligent little
boy, named by his companions Blobby, who looked as if Time, through the
influence of privation and suffering, had been dwindling instead of
developing him,--actually did come off with a cry of alarm, which,
however, changed into a laugh of glee when he found himself in his
teacher's arms, instead of lying "busted on the ground," as he
afterwards expressed it when relating the incident to an admiring
audience of fellow ragamuffins in the slums of Spitalfields.
Blobby was immediately restored to his lost position, and Swiller was
degraded, besides being made to stand behind a large tree for a quarter
of an hour in forced inaction, so that he might have time to meditate on
the evil consequences of disobedience.
"Take care, Robin," said Hetty, to a very small but astonishingly
energetic fellow, at her end of the see-saw, who was impressed with the
notion that he was doing good service by wriggling his own body up and
down, "if you go on so, you'll push Lilly Snow off."
Robin, unlike Dick, was obedient. He ceased his efforts, and thereby
saved the last button which held his much too small waistcoat across his
bare bosom.
"What a sweet face the child she calls Lilly Snow has--if it were only
clean," observed Welland. "A little soap and water with a hair brush
would make her quite beautiful."
"Yes, she is very pretty," said the missionary and the kindly smile with
which he had been watching the fun vanished, as he added in a sorrowful
voice, "her case is a very sad one, dear child. Her mother is a poor
but deserving woman who earns a little now and then by tailoring, but
she has been crushed for years by a wicked and drunken husband who has
at last deserted her. We know not where he is, perhaps dead. Five
times has her home been broken up by him, and many a time has she with
her little one been obliged to sit on doorsteps all night, when
homeless. Little Lilly attends our Sunday-school regularly, and Hetty
is her teacher. It is not long since Hetty herself was a scholar, and I
know that she is very anxious to lead Lilly to the Lord. The sufferings
and sorrows to which this poor child has been exposed have told upon her
severely, and I fear that her health will give way. A day in the
country like this may do her good perhaps."
As the missionary spoke little Lilly threw up her arms and uttered a cry
of alarm. Robin, although obedient, was short of memory, and his
energetic spirit being too strong for his excitable little frame he had
recommenced his wriggling, with the effect of bursting the last button
off his waistcoat and thrusting Lilly off the plank. She was received,
however, on Hetty's breast, who fell with her to the ground.
"Not hurt, Hetty!" exclaimed the missionary, running forward to help the
girl up.
"Oh! no, sir," replied Hetty with a short laugh, as she rose and placed
Lilly on a safer part of the see-saw.
"Come here, Hetty," said John Seaward, "and rest a while. You have done
enough just now; let some one else take your place."
After repairing the buttonless waistcoat with a pin and giving its owner
a caution, Hetty went and sat down on the grass beside the missionary.
"How is Bobby?" asked the latter, "I have not found a moment to speak to
you till now."
"Thank you, sir, he's better; much better. I fear he will be well too
soon."
"How so? That's a strange remark, my girl."
"It may seem strange, sir, but--you know--father's very fond of Bobby."
"Well, Hetty, that's not a bad sign of your father."
"Oh but, sir, father sits at his bedside when he's sober, an' has such
long talks with him about robberies and burglaries, and presses him very
hard to agree to go out with him when he's well. I can't bear to hear
it, for dear Bobby seems to listen to what he says, though sometimes he
refuses, and defies him to do his worst, especially when he--"
"Stay, dear girl. It is very very sad, but don't tell me anything more
about your father. Tell it all to Jesus, Hetty. He not only
sympathises with, but is able to save--even to the uttermost."
"Yes, thank God for that `uttermost,'" said the poor girl, clasping her
hands quickly together. "Oh, I understood that when He saved _me_, and
I will trust to it now."
"And the gentleman who called on you,--has he been again?" asked the
missionary.
"No, sir, he has only come once, but he has sent his butler three or
four times with some money for us, and always with the message that it
is from Miss Diana, to be divided between Bobby and me. Unfortunately
father chanced to be at home the first time he came and got it all, so
we got none of it. But he was out the other times. The butler is an
oldish man, and a very strange one. He went about our court crying."
"Crying! Hetty, that's a curious condition for an oldish butler to be
in."
"Oh, of course I don't mean cryin' out like a baby," said Hetty, looking
down with a modest smile, "but I saw tears in his eyes, and sometimes
they got on his cheeks. I can't think what's the matter with him."
Whatever Mr Seaward thought on this point he said nothing, but asked if
Bobby was able to go out.
Oh yes, he was quite able to walk about now with a little help, Hetty
said, and she had taken several walks with him and tried to get him to
speak about his soul, but he only laughed at that, and said he had too
much trouble with his body to think about his soul--there was time
enough for that!
They were interrupted at this point by a merry shout of glee, and,
looking up, found that young Welland had mounted the see-saw, taken
Lilly Snow in front of him, had Dick Swiller reinstated to
counterbalance his extra weight, and was enjoying himself in a most
hilarious manner among the fluttering rags. Assuredly, the fluttering
rags did not enjoy themselves a whit less hilariously than he.
In this condition he was found by the owner of the grounds, George
Brisbane, Esquire, of Lively Hall, who, accompanied by his wife, and a
tall, dignified friend with a little girl, approached the see-saw.
"I am glad you enjoy yourself so much, my young friend," he said to
Welland; "to which of the ragged schools may you belong?"
In much confusion--for he was rather shy--Welland made several abortive
efforts to check the see-saw, which efforts Dick Swiller resisted to the
uttermost, to the intense amusement of a little girl who held Mrs
Brisbane's hand. At last he succeeded in arresting it and leaped off.
"I beg pardon," he said, taking off his cap to the lady as he advanced,
"for intruding uninvited on--"
"Pray don't speak of intrusion," interrupted Mr Brisbane, extending his
hand; "if you are here as Mr Seaward's friend you are a welcome guest.
Your only intrusion was among the little ones, but as they seem not to
resent it neither do I."
Welland grasped the proffered hand. "Thank you very much," he returned,
"but I can scarcely lay claim to Mr Seaward's friendship. The fact is,
I am here in consequence of an accident to my bicycle."
"Oh! then you _are_ one of the poor unfortunates after all," said the
host. "Come, you are doubly welcome. Not hurt much, I hope. No?
That's all right. But don't let me keep you from your amusements.
Remember, we shall expect you at the feast on the lawn. You see, Sir
Richard," he added, turning to his dignified friend, "when we go in for
this sort of thing we don't do it by halves. To have any lasting
effect, it must make a deep impression. So we have got up all sorts of
amusements, as you observe, and shall have no fewer than two good feeds.
Come, let us visit some other--Why, what are you gazing at so
intently?"
He might well ask the question, for Sir Richard Brandon had just
observed Hetty Frog, and she, unaccustomed to such marked attention, was
gazing in perplexed confusion on the ground. At the same time little
Di, having caught sight of her, quitted Mrs Brisbane, ran towards her
with a delighted scream, and clasping her hand in both of hers,
proclaimed her the sister of "my boy!"
Hetty's was not the nature to refuse such affection. Though among the
poorest of the poor, and clothed in the shabbiest and most patchy of
garments, (which in her case, however, were neat, clean and well
mended), she was rich in a loving disposition; so that, forgetting
herself and the presence of others, she stooped and folded the little
girl in her arms. And, when the soft brown hair and pale pretty face of
Poverty were thus seen as it were co-mingling with the golden locks and
rosy cheeks of Wealth, even Sir Richard was forced to admit to himself
that it was not after all a very outrageous piece of impropriety!
"Oh! I'm _so_ glad to hear that he's much better, and been out too! I
would have come to see him again long long ago, but p--"
She checked herself, for Mrs Screwbury had carefully explained to her
that no good girl ever said anything against her parents; and little Di
had swallowed the lesson, for, when not led by passion, she was
extremely teachable.
"And oh!" she continued, opening her great blue lakelets to their widest
state of solemnity, "you haven't the smallest bit of notion how I have
dreamt about my boy--and my policeman too! I never can get over the
feeling that they might both have been killed, and if they had, you
know, it would have been me that did it; only think! I would have--
been--a murderer! P'raps they'd have hanged me!"
"But they weren't killed, dear," said Hetty, unable to restrain a smile
at the awful solemnity of the child, and the terrible fate referred to.
"No--I'm _so_ glad, but I can't get over it," continued Di, while those
near to her stood quietly by unable to avoid overhearing, even if they
had wished to do so. "And they do such strange things in my dreams,"
continued Di, "you can't think. Only last night I was in our
basket-cart--the dream-one, you know, not the real one--and the
dream-pony ran away again, and gave my boy such a dreadful knock that he
fell flat down on his back, tumbled over two or three times, and rose
up--a policeman! Not _my_ policeman, you know, but quite another one
that I had never seen before! But the very oddest thing of all was that
it made me so angry that I jumped with all my might on to his breast,
and when I got there it wasn't the policeman but the pony! and it was
dead--quite dead, for I had killed it, and I wasn't sorry at all--not a
bit!"
This was too much for Hetty, who burst into a laugh, and Sir Richard
thought it time to go and see the games that were going on in other
parts of the field, accompanied by Welland and the missionary, while
Hetty returned to her special pet Lilly Snow.
And, truly, if "one touch of nature makes the whole world kin," there
were touches of nature enough seen that day among these outcasts of
society to have warranted their claiming kin with the whole world.
Leap-frog was greatly in favour, because the practitioners could abandon
themselves to a squirrel-and-cat sort of bound on the soft grass, which
they had never dared to indulge in on the London pavements. It was a
trying game, however, to the rags, which not only betrayed their
character to the eye by the exhibition of flesh-tints through numerous
holes, but addressed themselves also to the ears by means of frequent
and explosive rendings. Pins, however, were applied to the worst of
these with admirable though temporary effect, and the fun became faster
and more furious,--especially so when the points of some of the pins
touched up the flesh-tints unexpectedly.
On these occasions the touches of nature became strongly pronounced--
expressing themselves generally in a yell. Another evidence of worldly
kinship was, that the touched-up ones, instead of attributing the
misfortune to accident, were prone to turn round with fierce scowl and
doubled fists under the impression that a guilty comrade was in rear!
The proceedings were totally arrested for one hour at mid-day, when
unlimited food was issued, and many of the forlorn ones began to feel
the rare sensation of being stuffed quite full and rendered incapable of
wishing for more! But this was a mere interlude. Like little giants
refreshed they rose up again to play--to swing, to leap, to wrestle, to
ramble, to gather flowers, to roll on the grass, to bask in the
gladdening sunshine, and, in some cases, to thank God for all His
mercies, in spite of the latent feeling of regret that there was so
little of all that enjoyment in the slums, and dark courts, and filthy
back-streets of the monster city.
Of course all the pins were extracted in this second act of the play,
and innumerable new and gaping wounds were introduced into the clothing,
insomuch that all ordinary civilised people, except philanthropists,
would have been shocked with the appearance of the little ones.
But it was during the third and closing act of the play that the affair
culminated. The scene was laid on the lawn in front of Mr Brisbane's
mansion.
Enter, at one end of the lawn, a band of small and dirty but flushed and
happy boys and girls, in rags which might appropriately be styled
ribbons. At the other end of the lawn a train of domestics bearing
trays with tea, cakes, buns, pies, fruits, and other delectable things,
to which the ragged army sits down.
Enter host and hostess, with Sir Richard, friends and attendants.
(_Host_.)--after asking a blessing--"My little friends, this afternoon
we meet to eat, and only one request have I to make--that you shall do
your duty well." (Small boy in ribbons.--"Von't I, just!") "No platter
shall return to my house till it be empty. No little one shall quit
these premises till he be full; what cannot be eaten must be carried
away."
(The ragged army cheers.)
(_Host_.)--"Enough. Fall-to."
(They fall-to.)
(_Little boy_ in tatters, pausing.)--"_I_ shan't fall two, I'll fall
three or four."
(_Another little boy_, in worse tatters.)--"So shall I."
(_First little boy_.)--"I say, Jim, wot would mother say if she was
here?"
(_Jim_.)--"She'd say nothin'. 'Er mouth 'ud be too full to speak."
(Prolonged silence. Only mastication heard, mingled with a few cases of
choking, which are promptly dealt with.)
(_Blobby_, with a sigh.)--"I say, Robin, I'm gettin' tight."
(_Robin_, with a gasp.)--"So am I; I'm about bustin'."
(_Blobby_, coming to another pause.)--"I say, Robin, I'm as full as I
can 'old. So's all my pockits, an' there's some left over!"
(_Robin--sharply_.)--"Stick it in your 'at, then."
(Blobby takes off his billycock, thrusts the remnant of food therein,
and puts it on.)
Enter the brass band of the neighbouring village, (the bandsmen being
boys), which plays a selection of airs, and sends a few of the smaller
ragamuffins to sleep.
(_Sir Richard Brandon_, confidentially to his friend.)--"It is an
amazing sight."
(_Host_.)--"Would that it were a more common sight!"
Enter more domestics with more tea, buns, and fruit; but the army is
glutted, and the pockets are brought into requisition: much pinning
being a necessary consequence.
(_Lilly Snow_, softly.)--"It's like 'eaven!"
(_Hetty_, remonstratingly.)--"Oh! Lilly, 'eaven is quite different."
(_Dick Swiller_.)--"I'm sorry for it. Couldn't be much 'appier to my
mind."
(_Host_.)--"Now, dear boys and girls, before we close the proceedings of
this happy day, my excellent friend, your missionary, Mr Seaward, will
say a few words."
John Seaward steps to the front, and says a few words--says them so
well, too, so simply, so kindly, yet so heartily, that the army is
roused to a pitch of great enthusiasm; but we leave this speech to the
reader's imagination: after which--_Exeunt Omnes_.
And, as the curtain of night falls on these ragged ones, scattered now,
many of them, to varied homes of vice, and filth, and misery, the heavy
eyelids close to open again, perchance, in ecstatic dreams of food, and
fun and green fields, fresh air and sunshine, which impress them more or
less with the idea embodied in the aphorism, that "God made the country,
but man made the town."