ROSE AGAIN IN TROUBLE.
Leaving Ben Gibson on the track of Mr. Martin, we must return to Rose,
and inquire how she fared in her new home at Brooklyn. Mrs. Waters had
already taken a strong prejudice against her, on account of the
misrepresentations of her daughter Fanny. If Fanny was an angel, as her
mother represented, then angels must be very disagreeable people to live
with. The little girl was rude, selfish, and had a violent temper. Had
Mr. Martin stood by Rose, her treatment would have been much better, for
policy would have led Mrs. Waters to treat her with distinguished
consideration; but as parental fondness was not a weakness of her
stepfather, the boarding-house keeper felt under no restraint.
"What shall I do if your little girl behaves badly, Mr. Martin?" said
Mrs. Waters, as he was about to leave the house in the morning.
"Punish her, ma'am. You needn't feel no delicacy about it. I'll stand by
you. She's a bad, troublesome girl, and a good whipping every day is
just what she needs. Do you hear that, miss?"
Rose did not answer, but her lip quivered a little. It seemed hard to
the little girl, fresh from the atmosphere of love by which she had been
surrounded in her recent home, to be treated with such injustice and
unfairness.
"Why don't you answer, miss?" roared James Martin, savagely. "Didn't you
hear what I said?"
"Yes," said Rose.
"Mind you remember it, then. If you don't behave yourself, Mrs. Waters
has my full permission to punish you, and if she don't punish you
enough, I'll give you a little extra when I get home. I shall ask her to
report to me about you. Do you hear?"
"Yes."
"Yes! Where's your manners? Say 'Yes, sir.'"
"Yes, sir."
"Mind you remember then. And there's one thing more. Don't you go to run
away. If you do, it'll be the worse for your brother."
With this parting threat he went out of the house.
"Now, children," said Mrs. Waters, "go out and play. I'm up to my elbows
in work, and I can't have you in the way."
"Where shall we go?" asked Rose.
"Out in the back yard."
"I don't want to go out in the back yard," said Fanny; "there aint
anything to do there."
"Well, go out into the street then, if you want to."
"Yes, I'd rather go there."
Rose followed Fanny into the street in rather a listless manner, for she
did not expect much enjoyment.
"Now, what shall we do?" asked Fanny.
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Rose.
"I know where there's a candy-shop."
"Do you?"
"Yes, just at the corner. Do you like candy?"
"Yes, pretty well."
"You haven't got any money, have you?" said Fanny, insinuatingly.
"No, I haven't," answered Rose.
"I wish you had. I like candy, but mother won't give me any money to buy
any. She's real mean."
"Do you call your mother mean?" said Rose, rather shocked.
"Yes, she might give me a penny. Oh, there's a hand-organ. Come, let's
go and hear it."
An Italian, with a hand-organ, had taken his station before a house in
the next block. There was a half-grown girl with a tambourine in his
company, and, best of all, a monkey was perched on the performer's
shoulder, with his tail curled up in a ring, and his head covered with a
red cap, and his sharp little eyes roving from one to another of the
motley group drawn around the organ, keenly watching for the stray
pennies which were bestowed as much for the sake of seeing the monkey
pick them up, as a compensation for the music, which was of rather an
inferior order, even for a hand-organ.
"Let's go and hear the organ," repeated Fanny.
To this proposal Rose made no objection. Children are not critical in
music, and the tunes which issued from the wheezy organ had their
attraction for her. The monkey was equally attractive, with his queer,
brown face, and Rose was very willing to go nearer with her companion.
[Illustration: "AINT HE A FUNNY MONKEY?"]
"Aint he a funny monkey?" said Fanny. "He took off his hat to me. I wish
I had a penny to throw to him, though I don't think I'd give it to him.
I'd rather spend it for candy," she added, after a little reflection.
Here the organ struck up "Old Dog Tray," that veteran melody, which
celebrates, in rather doleful measure, the fidelity and kindness of its
canine hero. But the small crowd of listeners were not appreciative, as
in response to the strains only a solitary penny was forthcoming, and
this was thrown by a butcher's boy, who chanced to be passing. The
Italian, concluding probably that he was not likely to realize a fortune
in that locality, shouldered his hand-organ, and moved up the street.
"Let's go after him," said Fanny.
"Shall you know the way back?" said Rose.
"Yes, I know well enough," said Fanny, carelessly.
Rose accordingly followed her without hesitation, and when the Italian
again stopped, the two little girls made a part of his audience. After
going through his series of tunes, and gathering a small stock of
pennies, the organ-grinder again started on his travels. Rose and Fanny,
having no better amusement before them, still kept his company, and this
continued for an hour or two.
By this time they had unconsciously got a considerable distance from
home. There is no knowing how far they would have gone, had not the
tambourine player detected Fanny in picking up a penny which had been
thrown for the musicians. Fanny, supposing that she was not observed,
slipped it into her pocket slily, intending to spend it for candy on her
way home. But she was considerably alarmed when the girl, her dark face
full of indignation, ran forward, and, seizing her by the arm, shook
her, uttering the while an incoherent medley of Italian and English.
"What's the row? What has the little girl done?" asked a man in the
group.
"She one tief. She took penny, and put in her pocket," said the Italian
girl, continuing to shake her.
Fanny protested with tears that she had not done it, but a boy near by
testified that he had seen her do it. With shame and mortification,
Fanny was obliged to produce the purloined penny, and give it to the
monkey, who, in spite of her intended dishonesty, had the politeness to
remove his hat, and make her a very ceremonious bow.
"I should think you'd be ashamed of yourselves," said a stout woman,
addressing both little girls.
"I didn't take the penny," said Rose, resenting the imputation; "I
wouldn't steal for anything."
"She wanted me to take it," said Fanny, maliciously, "so that I could
buy some candy for her."
"That's a story," said Rose, indignantly; "I didn't know you meant to do
it, till I saw you slip it into your pocket."
"I've no doubt one's as bad as the other," said the woman, with
commendable impartiality.
"Go 'way," said the tambourine girl; "you steal some more penny."
"Come away, Fanny," said Rose; "I'm ashamed to stay here any longer, and
I should think you would be."
As circumstances made the neighborhood of the musicians rather
unpleasant, Fanny condescended to adopt the suggestion of her companion.
"I guess I'll go home," she said. "I'm hungry, and ma'll give me some
gingerbread. She won't give you any, for you're a bad girl."
"What are you?" retorted Rose.
"I'm a good girl."
"I never heard of a good girl's stealing," said Rose.
"If you say that again, I'll strike you," said Fanny, who was rather
sensitive about the charge, particularly as it happened to be true.
Rose was not fond of disputing, and made no reply, but waited for Fanny
to show her the way home. But this Fanny was unable to do. She had
followed the organ-grinder round so many corners that she had quite lost
her reckoning, and had no idea where she was. She stood undecided and
looked helplessly around her.
"I don't know where to go," she said.
"Don't you know the way home?" asked Rose.
"No," answered Fanny, almost ready to cry.
Rose hardly knew whether to be glad or to be sorry. If she should be
lost, and not find her way back to the boarding-house, there would be
this comfort at least, that she would be separated from Mr. Martin.
Still she was not quite prepared to live in the streets, and didn't know
how to go to work to find her brother. Besides, Mr. Martin had
threatened to harm him in case she ran away. So, on the whole, she was
rather in hopes that Fanny would remember the way.
"We'd better go straight along," suggested Rose, "and perhaps we shall
find your house."
As Fanny had no better plan to propose, they determined to adopt this
plan. Neither had taken any particular notice of the way by which they
had come, and were therefore unable to recognize any land marks. So,
instead of nearing home, they were actually getting farther and farther
away from it, and there is no knowing where they would finally have
brought up, if in turning a corner they had not found themselves all at
once face to face with Mrs. Waters herself. It may be explained that the
latter, after an hour, not hearing the voices of the children outside,
had become alarmed, and started in pursuit. She had already had a long
and weary walk, and it was only by the merest chance that she caught
sight of them. This long walk, with the anxiety which she had felt, had
not improved her temper, but made her angry, so that she was eager to
vent her indignation upon the two children.
"What do you mean, you little plagues, by running away?" she asked,
seizing each child roughly by the arm. "Here I've been rushing round the
streets after you, neglecting my work, for a good hour."
"She wanted to go," said Fanny, pointing to Rose.
"So she led you away, did she?" asked Mrs. Waters, giving Rose a rough
shake.
"Yes, she wanted me to go after an organ," said Fanny, seeing a way to
screen herself at the expense of her companion, and like a mean little
coward availing herself of it.
"So this is another one of your tricks, miss, is it?" demanded Mrs.
Waters, angrily.
"It isn't true," said Rose. "She asked me to go."
"Oh, no doubt; you can lie as fast as you can talk," said Mrs. Waters.
"I thought all the while that Fanny was too good a girl to give her
mother so much trouble. It was only to oblige you that she went off.
That comes of having such a bad girl in the family. I shan't keep you
long, for you'll be sure to spoil my Fanny, who was one of the best
little girls in the neighborhood till you came to lead her into
mischief. But I'll come up with you, miss, you may depend upon that.
Your father told me I might punish you, and I mean to do it; just wait
till we get home, that's all."
Here Mrs. Waters paused more from lack of breath, than because she had
given full expression to her feelings. She relaxed her hold upon Fanny,
but continued to grasp Rose roughly by the shoulder, dragging her
rapidly along.
Rose saw that it was of no use to defend herself. Mrs. Waters was
determined to find her guilty, and would not believe any statement she
might make. So she ran along to adapt herself to the pace of the angry
woman beside her.
They soon reached the house, and entered, Mrs. Waters pushing Rose
before.
"Now for your punishment," said Mrs. Waters, grimly, "I'm going to lock
you up down cellar."
"Oh, don't," said Rose, terrified. "I don't want to go down in the dark
cellar;" for, like most children, she had a dread of darkness.
But Mrs. Waters was inexorable. She opened the door of the cellar, and
compelled the little girl to descend the dark staircase. Then she
slammed the door, and left her sobbing on the lowest step.
Poor Rose! She felt that she had indeed fallen among enemies.