PADDY MAKES THE EFFORT OF HIS LIFE
To make up for lost time Jerry hurried early to his work the next
morning. He had finished his duties at the convent, and was on his way
to the wharf when he met Mr. Morton, who stopped to shake hands and
inquire how Peggy had stood the fright. Naturally they talked over the
night's adventure.
Mr. Morton had several items of news, for the nurse had been arrested,
and had made a full confession. If successful, the robbery was to have
been the prelude for more in the same neighbourhood. It had been
carefully planned by a gang of professional thieves. The pistol-shot
had been fired by a confederate not only to inform the burglars that
they had been discovered, but to decoy the police from the scene of
action so that the thieves could make their escape.
"They did not count on your big stick, Jerry. Had it not been for you,
every man of them would have gotten away."
"Sure they wouldn't, sir. Some of them would have been caught. But them
p'lices are curious creeters. Now if I already had as many thieves on my
hands as I could well look after, it never would have entered my head to
go on a wild-goose chase after others. There's no accountin' for them
p'lices' minds, anyway. And as for their bodies--well, did you ever see
one that was not that fat that any thief at all couldn't outrun?"
Mr. Morton laughed. "I suppose they get them that way so they will stay
where they are put."
"And so they can't run away from the thieves," added Jerry. "Now for all
that I'm crooked, being thin, I'm nimble."
"Indeed you are; and furthermore, you have such good judgment that you
saved the battle last night."
"I didn't mean that," cried Jerry, in distress and embarrassment.
"Nobody could have done any less than I did."
"You mean any more, man. To my dying day I shall never forget what I
owe you nor the sound of the whack of that stick. But, see here, Jerry,
you are not going to the wharf to-day?"
"Please, sir, I have to."
"No, you don't. You are getting old, and ought not to work so hard. My
wife and I have been making inquiries, and we know all about you and
your sick wife. How would you like to be janitor in the building where
I have my office?"
"I'd like it, sir, if you think I'd suit. Are they needing a new man?"
"I heard only yesterday the present man had given notice, and I promised
to be on the lookout for a new one. I think the place would suit you,
and you it--it pays a fair salary." And here Mr. Morton named a sum that
seemed so large to poor Jerry that his eyes nearly popped out of his
head.
"Ah, I never could be worth all that, sir! But what a great thing it
would be for Peggy!" And visions of unburnt coal in large lumps and real
feather pillows and other luxuries for his suffering wife passed through
his mind.
"I am sure you can fill the position admirably, and the salary is not
half so large as you deserve. Come along and we will apply without loss
of time."
Applying was a mere form, as Mr. Morton's recommendation was enough. The
new janitor was engaged, and promised to enter upon his duties as soon
as the convent could find a man to take his place.
Before this happened, Jefferson Square experienced a complete upsetting.
All the children were summoned to meet in Mrs. Morton's long
drawing-room, and came trooping to see what was wanted: the Earlys, the
Rickersons, the Bakers, the Longs, the Adamses, the Morton children
themselves, and, last of all, Mrs. Outcast with Mimy and the six other
little Outcasts trailing behind. You may be sure none of them were late.
The curiosity of the children was roused to its highest pitch. They
couldn't imagine what kind of a party it was going to be with chairs in
rows like church. And when they were all seated Mrs. Morton looked so
serious, that Addy Gravvy whispered to his neighbour, "I know--it's a
funeral."
Then Mrs. Morton made them a long speech. She told a story of a worthy
old man working from morning till night to provide the barest
necessities for his sick wife; she told of that wife's patience, of her
cruel accident and suffering, of her devotion to her husband; she
repeated the story of the way both of them had risked their lives to
save the property of neighbours who barely knew of their existence. Then
she drew a picture of twenty-one thoughtless little imps, jibing and
jeering the hardworking man who was worth all the rest of the square put
together--fathers and mothers included--and by the time she reached this
point all twenty-one of the imps, and seven others who were not imps,
were boohooing and bellowing in a way that was a caution.
"What are we going to do about it, children?" asked Mrs. Morton.
Each was for making amends in some way, and all blubbered out at once,
but one--I think it was Henry Clay--cried louder than the rest:
"Le's go over, and tell 'em how sorry we are, and how we'll never make
fun of him again as long as we live."
This sentiment met with enthusiastic approval, and they were all for
rushing to the cottage in a body when Mrs. Morton stopped them.
"Wait, children; it would never do to startle the invalid with such a
crowd. One of you must first go and ask Mrs. Myer when it will be
convenient for her to see us. Who shall it be?"
And strange to say, every chick and child called out the same name right
away. Can you guess whose it was?
Little Miss Outcast.
In a short time Mimy returned with the word that Mrs. Myer would love to
see the children at any and all times, but they must be sure to come
while Jerry was at home, as he would be so pleased.
"An' I didn't tell her a word of what we are going to say," reported
Mimy.
The time was discussed, and the following day at noon was selected. Then
some highly important arrangements were made; and after every last one
had been pledged to secrecy the meeting adjourned.
During the next twenty-four hours Jefferson Square resembled an ant-hill
after a big boy has trod on it. Such rushing around and talking in
excited groups; such goings out and comings in; such wagons colliding at
front doors leaving bulky parcels; such errand boys breathless with
carrying huge bundles! The like was never seen before.
Mrs. Myer from her window across the common did not know what to make of
it. She thought at first that every one of her rich neighbours must be
going to give a party; though after reflection she decided that this
could not be, for if all of them were having parties, who would be left
to come to them? She was very much at sea.
As the silver tones of the convent bell said it was twelve o'clock, a
gay procession formed on the sidewalk in front of the Mortons'. First
came the little children, and each carried something: shoes, stockings,
socks, flannels--all of the very best quality. Next came the
middle-sized ones with blankets, sheets, and real feather pillows. Then
the biggest ones with china, glass, earthenware, and all such things.
After them followed the nurses, carrying the babies, and each baby had a
gold coin clasped tight in its little fat hand. Then the mothers, trying
to keep the gang in order, brought dresses, shawls, and warm winter
clothes. The children wore their best clothes and their freshest
ribbons, and could not keep in place for a single minute.
[Illustration: "AFTER THEM FOLLOWED THE NURSES, CARRYING THE BABIES."]
The weather was built on purpose. It had been winter and it was going to
be winter, but somehow one little spring day, balmy and fine, slipped in
for the occasion. The poor people around got wind of the affair, and
streamed over the common. Even the Penitents climbed the back wall of
the convent and sat on top of the broken bottles to see the show. Only
the nuns went on as if nothing were happening--telling their beads and
singing their Ave Marias in ignorance of worldly events, as all good
nuns should be.
Then Mrs. Morton gave the signal, and the children clasped hands, and
marched across the common, singing at the tops of their lungs. To Peggy
and Jerry, drawn to the window by the commotion, it was the sweetest
sound they had ever heard since the voices of their dear little babes
had been hushed.
Nearer and nearer they came, the little Outcasts, in the post of honour,
leading. They did not have anything to be sorry for, but everybody
wanted them and they wanted to come. They crowded into the door of the
cottage, and nearly buried the aged couple with gifts,--all of them
talking at once.
Each child came up and, shaking the worthy couple by the hand, promised
never to be thoughtless and wicked again.
After this ceremony, Jerry, overcoming his shyness, made the effort of
his life. He thanked the children and their parents in a speech that
Peggy afterward described as being "just too beautiful, winding up as it
did with real poetry made up mostly from his own head."
And she told the truth. The old fellow had a roguish twinkle in his gray
eye as, pointing to the piles of blankets and pillows, he said:
"Though Paddy on the Turnpike
Could never count eleven,
When children all brought feather beds
He an' Peggy tho't they was in Heaven."
THE END.
COSY CORNER SERIES
It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain
only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not
only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those
who feel with them in their joys and sorrows,--stories that shall be
most particularly adapted for reading aloud in the family circle.
The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and
each volume has a separate attractive cover design.
Each, 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50
_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_
The Little Colonel.
The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small
girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied
resemblance to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel proves to be the
grandfather of the child.
The Giant Scissors.
This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France,--the
wonderful house with the gate of The Giant Scissors, Jules, her little
playmate, Sister Denisa, the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate.
Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes
shares with her the delightful experiences of the "House Party" and the
"Holidays."
Two Little Knights of Kentucky,
WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.
In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of
the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights," Malcolm
and Keith, little Southern aristocrats, whose chivalrous natures lead
them through a series of interesting adventures.
Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.
The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn
of the issue of this volume for young people, written, in the author's
sympathetic and entertaining manner.
Big Brother.
A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small
boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale, the pathos
and beauty of which has appealed to so many thousands.
Ole Mammy's Torment.
"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a classic of Southern
life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells
how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.
The Story of Dago.
In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey,
owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the account
of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.
_By EDITH ROBINSON_
A Little Puritan's First Christmas:
A STORY OF COLONIAL TIMES IN BOSTON.
A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her
"unregenerate" brother, Sam.
A Little Daughter of Liberty.
The author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation from
her introduction, as follows:
"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is
another ride,--untold in verse or story, its records preserved only in
family papers or shadowy legend, the ride of Anthony Severn was no less
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."
A Loyal Little Maid.
A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the
child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George
Washington and Alexander Hamilton, and in the end becomes the wife of
the latter.
A Little Puritan Rebel.
Like Miss Robinson's successful story of "A Loyal Little Maid," this is
another historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant
Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.
A Little Puritan Pioneer.
The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at
Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to the list of
favorites so well known to the young people in "A Little Puritan Rebel,"
etc.
_By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)_
A Dog of Flanders: A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Too well and favorably known to require description.
The Nürnberg Stove.
This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.
A Provence Rose.
A story perfect in sweetness and in grace.
Findelkind.
A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman.
_By MISS MULOCK_
The Little Lame Prince.
A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of
the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.
Adventures of a Brownie.
The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is
a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him.
His Little Mother.
Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of
delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive
dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers.
Little Sunshine's Holiday.
An attractive story of a summer outing. "Little Sunshine" is another of
those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly
famous.