Another Stage of the Journey
The ferry-house where the policeman had found Glory and her "Angel" was
also the terminus of a great railway. Beyond the waiting-room were iron
gates, always swinging to and fro, for the passage of countless
travelers; and from the gates stretched rows of shining tracks. Puffing
engines moved in and out upon these, drawing mighty carriages that
rumbled after with a deafening noise. Gatemen shouted the names of the
outgoing trains, whistles blew, trunk-vans rattled, and on every side
excited people called to one another some confusing direction.
Glory, with Bonny Angel in her arms, had hurried up to one of these iron
gates, feeling that if she could but dash through and place that barrier
between herself and the too-faithful policeman, she would be free at
last. But the chance of so doing was long delayed. That particular
gateman appeared to prevent anybody passing him who did not show a bit
of printed cardboard, as he called, "Tickets! have your tickets ready!"
And, oh, in what a glorious voice he so directed them!
"My heart! If I could holler goobers like he does them car-trains,
folks'd jest have to buy, whether er no!" thought the little peddler, so
rapt in listening that she forgot everything else; till, at one louder
yell than all, the child in her arms shrieked in terror. At which the
gateman whirled round, leaving a space behind him, and Glory darted
through.
Neither the official nor she knew that she was doing a prohibited thing;
for he supposed she was hurrying to overtake some older party of
travelers and she knew nothing of station rules. Once past this gate,
she found herself in dangerous nearness to the many trains and could
walk neither this way nor that without some guard shouting after her,
"Take care, there!"
She dared not put Bonny Angel down even if the child would have
consented, and, continually, the rumblings and whistlings grew more
confusing. In comparison with this great shed, Elbow Lane, that Miss
Bonnicastle had found so noisy, seemed a haven of quietude and Glory
heartily wished herself back in it.
There must be a way out of this dreadful place, and the bewildered
little girl tried to find it. Yet there behind her rose a high brick
wall in which there was no doorway, on the left were the waiting or
moving trains and their shouting guards, and on the right that iron
fence with its rolling gates and opposing gatemen, and, also, that
policeman who would have taken Bonny Angel from her. Before her rose the
north-side wall of the building, that, at first glance, seemed as
unbroken a barrier as its counterpart on the south; but closer
inspection discovered a low, open archway through which men occasionally
passed.
"Whatever's beyond here can't be no worse," thought Take-a-Stitch, and
hurried through the opening. But once beyond it, she could only exclaim,
"Why, Bonny Angel, it's just the same, all tracks an' cars, though
'tain't got no roof over! My, I don't know how to go--an' I wish they
would keep still a minute an' let a body think!"
Even older people would have been confused in such a place, with
detached engines here and there, snorting and puffing back and forth in
a seemingly senseless way, its many tracks, and its wider outdoor
resemblance to the great shed she had left.
"Guess this is what Posy Jane 'd call 'hoppin' out the fryin'-pan inter
the fire,' Bonny Angel. It's worse an' more of it, an' I want to get
quit of it soon's I can. 'Tain't no ways likely grandpa's hereabouts,
an'----My, but you're a hefty little darlin'! If I wasn't afraid to let
you, I'd have ye walk a spell. But you might get runned over by some
them ingines what won't stay still no place an' I dastn't, you dear,
precious sweetness, you! I shan't put you down till I drop, 'less we get
out o' this sudden."
But even as she clasped her beloved burden the closer, Bonny Angel set
this decision at naught by kicking herself free from the girl too small
and weary to prevent; and once upon the ground, off she set along a
particularly shining track, cooing and shrieking her delight at her own
mischievousness.
"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Glory, and started in pursuit. Of course, she
could run much faster than her "Guardian," but that tiny person had a
way of darting sidewise, here and there, and thus eluding capture just
as it seemed certain.
Fortunately, the direction she had chosen led outward and away from the
maze of steel lines, and, finding no harm come of it and the child so
happy, Glory gave up trying to catch and simply followed her. Just then,
too, there came into view the sight of green tree-tops and a glimpse of
the river, and these encouraged her to proceed. Indeed, she was now more
afraid to go back than to go forward, and Bonny Angel's strange
contentment in the care of a stranger, like herself, renewed a belief
that she was other than mere mortal, and so above the common needs of
babies.
Reasoned this "Little Mother" of Elbow Lane, "If she was just plain baby
an' not no 'Angel,' she'd a-cried fer her ma, an' she hain't never, not
onct. She hain't cried fer crusts, neither, like Meg-Laundress's twins
is always doin'. 'Course, them cakes what th' Apple Kate give her was
sweet an' a lot of 'em. The crumbs I et when Bonny Angel fired the bag
away was jest like sugar. My, prime! Some day, when I get rich, an' they
ain't nobody else a-wantin' 'em, I'll buy myself some cakes ezackly like
them was. I will so--if they ain't nobody else. But, there, Glory Beck,
you quit thinkin' 'bout eatin' 'less first you know, you'll be hungry
an' your stummick'll get that horrid feel again. Hi, I b'lieve it's
comin' a'ready an' yet I had that splendid breakfast!"
Somehow, the idea of food occurred to this trio of travelers at one and
the same time. Bo'sn crept up to his mistress and rubbed his sides
against her legs, dumbly pleading for rest and refreshment. He was very
tired, for a dog, and as confused as Take-a-Stitch by these strange
surroundings, and acted as if unwilling to go further afield. At every
possible chance now, he would lie down on the ground and remain there
until his companions were so far in advance that he feared to be lost
himself. Surely he felt that this long road was the wrong road, where he
would listen in vain for the tap-tap of his master's cane and the scent
of his master's footsteps.
As for Bonny Angel, she suddenly paused in the midst of her mischievous
gaiety, put up her lip and began to howl as loudly and dismally as any
common Lane baby could have done. Then when her new nurse hurried to
her, distressed and self-reproachful for not having carried her all the
way, down the little one flung herself prone in the dirt and rolled and
kicked most lustily.
Glory did her utmost, but she could neither quiet nor lift the
struggling "Angel," and finally she ceased her efforts and, with arms
akimbo and the wisdom of experience coolly addressed her charge:
"See here, Bonny Angel! You're the sweetest thing in the world, but
that's jest spunk, that is. You're homesick, I s'pose, an' tired an'
hungry, an' want your ma, an' all them bad things together makes you
feel ye don't know how! I feel that-a-way myself, a-times, but I don't
go rollin' in mud puddles an' sp'ilin' my nice silk coats, I don't. I
wouldn't besmutch myself so not fer nothin'. My, but you be a sight! An'
only this mornin' 't ever was you was that lovely!"
When Take-a-Stitch treated Bonny Angel as she would have treated any
other infant, the result proved her wisdom. As soon as comforting
ceased, the child's rebellion to it also ceased; and when, shocked by
its condition, the girl stooped to examine the once dainty coat, its
small wearer scrambled to her feet, lifted her tear-stained face to be
kissed, smiled dazzlingly, and cried merrily, "Bonny come!"
"Oh, you surely are an 'Angel,' you beautifullest thing!" said Glory,
again raising the child in her arms and starting onward once more. She
had no idea whither they were going and Bonny Angel had ceased to point
the way with her tiny forefinger, but she cuddled her curly head on her
nurse's shoulder and presently fell asleep.
The tracks diminished in number as they proceeded till they came to a
point where but few remained. Some ran straight on along the river bank,
though this was hidden by outlying small buildings; and some branched
westward around the bluff whereon grew those green trees and sloped the
terraces seen from the boat. Here, after a halt of admiration, Glory
found it growing exceedingly dark, and wondered if it had already become
nightfall.
"It seems forever an' ever since we started, but I didn't think 'twas
nigh bedtime. An', oh, my! Where will we sleep, an' shall I ever, ever
find my grandpa!"
It was, indeed, nearing the end of the day but it was a mass of heavy
clouds which had so suddenly darkened the world, clouds so black and
threatening that the workmen scattered along the tracks, busy with pick
and shovel, began to throw down their tools and make for the nearest
shelter. One man, with a coat over his head to protect him from the
already falling drops hurried past Glory, where she stood holding Bonny
Angel, and advised:
"Best not tarry, children, but scud for home. There's a terrible storm
coming." But he did not stop to see that they followed his advice nor
inquire if any home they had.
Poor Glory's heart sank. She was not afraid of any storm for herself
though she had never heard wind roar and wail as this did now, but how
could she bear to have her "Guardian" suffer. Even Meg's healthy
youngsters sometimes had croup and frightened their mother "outen her
seventy senses," and the croup usually followed a prolonged playing in
flooded gutters during a rain storm.
"I must find a place! Oh, there must be a place somewhere! She mustn't
get the croup an' die on me--she mustn't. Ain't I got to take her to her
ma, an' how could I tell her I let the baby die? Oh, where?"
With an agonized glance in every direction and a closer enfolding of the
sleeping child--over whose head she promptly threw her own abbreviated
skirt--she discovered, at last, a haven of refuge.
"My heart! That's littler 'an the littlest house, but it's big enough
fer us, you sweetest honey darlin', an' it must ha' growed a-purpose,
all in a minute, just fer us, like them fairy-lamp-an'-Aladdin yarns
what grandpa used to tell me! An' now I know fer true she is a surely
'Guardian Angel,' an' is tooken care of every time, 'cause a minute ago
that littler than the littlest wasn't there at all, for I never saw it
an' I should. An' now 'tis, an' we're in it an'----Oh, how glad I am!"
While these thoughts were passing through her mind Glory had been
staggering forward as swiftly as the wind and the burden she carried
would allow and she reached the shelter none too soon. The very instant
she passed within, the rain came down in torrents and the tiny structure
swayed dizzily in the gale.
"Littler than the littlest" it was, indeed; only a railway switchman's
"box," erected to shelter him in just such emergencies and from the cold
of winter nights. It had tiny windows and a narrow door; and, placing
Bonny Angel on the corner bench--its only furnishing--Take-a-Stitch
hastened to make all secure. The lightning flashed and the thunder
rolled, but still and happily the worn-out "Guardian" slept; so that,
herself overcome by fatigue and the closeness of the atmosphere the now
vagrant "Queen of Elbow Lane" dropped in a heap on the floor and also
slept.
This switch-box was one but seldom used and nobody came near it till
morning. Then a passing road-hand, on his way to work, fancied it a good
place wherein to eat his breakfast and opened the door. His cry of
surprise at sight of its strange occupants roused them both, and sent
Glory to her feet with an answering cry; while Bonny Angel merely opened
her eyes, stared sleepily around, and smilingly announced: "Bonny come!"
"Bless us, me honey, so you did! But it's meself'd like to be knowin'
where from an' how long sence the pair of ye got your job on the
railroad?"
There was nothing to fear about this man, as Goober Glory saw at once.
His homely face was gay with good health and good nature and the
sunshiny morning after the storm seemed not more sunshiny than he. But
his curiosity was great and he did not rest till it was satisfied by a
full recital of all that had happened to the straying children and their
plans for the future were explained.
The man's face grew grave and he shook his head with misgiving: "Lookin'
for a lot of lost people, is it, then? Hmm. An', that may be more'n of a
job than straightenin' crooked rails what the storm washed away, as I
must be doin' to onct. Too big a job to be tacklin' on empty stummicks,
betoken; so here, the two of yez, fall in an' taste this bread an' meat
an' couple o' cold spuds, an' let me get on to me own affairs."
Opening his tin pail, he made a cup of its inverted top, into which he
poured a lot of cold tea and offered it to Glory, who in turn, promptly
presented it to the now clamorous Bonny, and had the pleasure of seeing
the little one drink deeply before she discovered for herself that it
was not her accustomed milk, and rejected the remainder. Both the
workman and Take-a-Stitch laughed at the little one's wry face, while
having divided the bread and meat into three fair portions, all fell to
with a will, so that soon not a crumb was left.
"Ah, that was prime!" cried Glory, smacking her lips; "and you're the
primest sort of man to give it to us. I hope I'll have something to give
you some time," she finished a little wistfully, and keenly regarding
various rents in his clothes. "If I had my needle an' thread I might
work it out, maybe. You need mendin' dreadful."
"Betoken! So I do. An' be ye a colleen 'at's handy with them sort o'
tools?"
"Indeed, I can sew!" cried Glory, triumphantly. "It's 'cause of that the
Elbowers call me 'Mend-a-Hole,' or 'Take-a-Stitch,' whichever happens.
Why--why--I earn money--real money--sewin' the Lane folks up!"
"An' yet bein' that mite of a thing ye are!" returned this new friend,
admiringly. "Well then, 'tis out to me sister's husband's cousin's house
I'm wishin' ye was this instant. For of all the folks needs the mendin'
an' patchin', 'tis she, with her seven own childer, an' her ten boardin'
'hands,' an' her own man, that was gardener to some great folks beyant,
laid up with the chills an' not able to do a hand's turn for himself,
barrin' eatin' an' drinkin' fair, when the victuals is ready. He can
play a good knife an' fork, still, thanks be, an' it's hopin' he'll soon
be playin' his shovel an' spade just as lively, but that's no more here
nor yet there. There's miles betwixt this an' yon, an'----Hello! Aye,
hello-a-oa!"
The sudden break in Timothy Dowd's chatter was caused by the hailing of
some fellow workmen who had rumbled up to them a hand-car over a near-by
track and had signaled him to join them.
"For it's not down track but up you're to go, Tim, the washouts bein'
worst beyond. Step aboard, we've to hustle."
Timothy picked up his tools and started to comply, when his glance fell
once more upon the eager face of Goober Glory and pity for her made him
hesitate. Then a bright idea flashed through his brain and he demanded
of the man who had accosted him, "How fur be ye goin'?"
"To the trestle beyond Simpson's. Hurry up. Step on."
For only answer, Timothy immediately swung Glory up to the little
platform car, depositing Bonny Angel beside her with equal speed, then
made room for himself among the surprised trackmen already grouped
there. Yet beyond another astonished "Hello!" no comment was made and
the hand-car bumped forward again toward its destination.
However, it wasn't Timothy Dowd's habit to be silent when he could find
anything to say, so he was presently explaining in his loud-voiced,
jolly way that here was a "pair o' angels that he'd found floating round
in the mud and was goin' to bestow 'em where they'd do the most good.
An' that's to Mary Fogarty's, indeed. Her of the sharp tongue an' warm
heart an' houseful of creatures, every blessed one of that same rippin'
off buttons that constant, an' her livin' the very pattern of handiness
to Simpson's trestle an' couldn't have been planned no better not
if----Hi, baby, how goes it?"
This to Bonny Angel, whose eyes had shone with delight when first the
car had rolled forward, but who now grew frightened and began to whimper
dismally, which set Glory's own heart beating sorrowfully and spoiled
her pleasure in this novel ride. Springing up she would have taken Bonny
Angel from Timothy's arms into her own had he not rudely pushed her down
again, commanding sternly:
"Try that no more, colleen, lest ye'd be after murderin' the pair of us!
Sit flat, sit flat, girl, an' cut no monkey-shines with nobody, a-ridin'
on a hand-car."
Glory had not thought of danger, though her new friend had not
over-rated it. In obedience to this unexpected sternness, she crouched
motionless beside him, though she firmly clutched at Bonny's skirts and
began to think this her hardest experience yet, till after a time, at
sight of a gamboling squirrel, the little one forgot her fear and
laughed out gleefully. Then Glory laughed, too, for already her tiny
"Guardian" could influence every mood, so dearly had she grown to love
the child thus thrown upon her care.
How the fences and the fields raced by! How the birds sang and the
flowers bloomed! And how very, very soon the queer little car stopped
short at a skeleton bridge over a noisy creek! There all the workmen
leaped to the ground and hastily prepared for labor. Even Timothy had no
further time to talk but coolly setting the children upon a bank pointed
to a house across the fields and ordered Glory, "Go there an' tell your
story, an' tell Mary Fogarty I sent ye."
Then he fell to his own tasks and Take-a-Stitch had no choice save
obedience.
For a little distance, there was fascination in the meadow for both
small wanderers; but soon Bonny Angel's feet lagged and she put up her
arms with that mute pleading to be carried which Glory could not resist,
yet the little creature soon grew intolerably heavy, and her face buried
beneath her nurse's chin seemed to burn into the flesh, the blue eyes
closed, the whole plump little body settled limp and inert, and a swift
alarm shot through the other's heart.
"Oh, oh, I believe she's sick! Do 'Angels' ever get sick? But she isn't
a truly 'Angel,' I know now. She's just somebody's lost baby. Queer!
Grandpa so old an' she so young should both of 'em get lost to onct, an'
only me to look out for 'em! Yet, maybe, that Mary Fogarty woman'll help
us out. I hope she'll be like Meg-Laundress, or darlin' Posy Jane.
Strange, how long these fields are. Longer'n the longest avenue there is
an' not one single house the hull length. Why ain't there houses, I
wonder. Wake up, Bonny precious! We're almost there."
But when they reached the door of the Queen Anne cottage, which was
intended to be picturesque and had succeeded in being merely extremely
dirty, and out of which swarmed a horde of youngsters each more soiled
than the other, Glory's heart sank. For the big woman who followed the
horde was not in the least like either old friend of Elbow Lane. Her
voice was harsh and forbidding as she demanded, "Well, an' who are you;
an' what are you wantin' here?"
"Timothy sent us," answered Glory, meekly.
"Huh! He did, did he? Well, he never had sense. Now, into the house with
ye, every born child of ye!" she rejoined, indifferently, and "shooed"
her own brood, like a flock of chickens, back into the cottage, then
slammed its door in the visitor's face.