SIN AND SORROW.
ONE morning Daisy Grant was out in the yard back of her father's house.
It was a small spot covered with green grass. It was not large enough
to run about and play in, but Daisy's papa had bought a little tent
for her, and set it up out there. She had two little chairs in it, and
when the days were warm enough she brought out her dolls and toys, and
played there. She was humming her little hymn,—
"Jesus loves me, this I know,"
as she rocked her dolly in its little willow cradle, when suddenly
looking up, she saw Katy, with her eyes very huge with wonder and
delight.
"Come and see my dolly," said Daisy.
Katy had never seen so many pretty things before, and she could hardly
speak, so great was her delight.
Daisy went on rocking her baby, and occasionally she would hum a few
words of her hymn.
The words "Jesus loves me," caught Katy's ear, and she said:
"How do you know Jesus loves you?"
"'Cause I do—mamma said so; and my verse last Sunday said, 'Suffer
little children to come unto me,' and it was Jesus that said it, and He
called them to come to Him, and He took them up in his lap."
"I wish I had been there then," said Katy.
"Why, that is just what the hymn says. Don't you know it?" and Daisy's
clear voice caroled out:
"'Oh, I wish that His hands had been placed on my head.
That His arms had been thrown around me.'"
"Yes, I do wish so," said Katy, and the words ended in a sob, and two
big tears rolled down her cheeks.
This bright spring morning with its singing birds and fresh green on
the grass and trees, and Daisy's pretty things, and Daisy herself, so
clean and sweet, made Katy see just how dirty and forlorn she was, and
what a great thing it would be to have some one to care for her.
Daisy was at her side in an instant, saying:
"Don't cry, Katy; mamma says He loves me just the same as He did them,
and He will love you too, I know He will."
"Oh, no; He don't love such ragged, dirty children as I am, I know,
'cause nobody does. The other day there was such a pretty little girl
going along just before me. She had on a blue silk dress, and a white
fur cloak, and a pretty little fur hat with a feather, and long hair
just like yours. A nice gentleman came by us; he looked so pleasant,
and he was tall and handsome, and had a cane with a gold head, too.
"When he got up to her, he stopped and smiled at her, and put his hand
under her chin and said, 'Well, little darling, where are you going?'
"He said a good many nice things to her, but he didn't say a word to
me. I had to run away, I felt so bad; I was afraid I would cry right
out loud. I s'pose Jesus would act that same way to me if he came
along."
"I'm sure He wouldn't," said Daisy, "because he loves everybody; my
teacher said so. But I must go in now; I hear mamma tapping on the
window for me. Good-by, Katy; don't feel bad any more."
Oh, if somebody could only have made the poor little one believe how
very much Jesus loves all such homeless, sad children as she, and that
He does not care for fine clothes or a pretty face, if He only sees
love in the heart for Him. But after all, she felt comforted a little
because Daisy was so sure he loved everybody. And that night, when she
went to bed, she tried to remember her little prayer beginning,—
"'Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me.'"
One day, Mrs. Grant was looking over a trunk-full of Daisy's clothes,
so as to determine what she needed new for spring. She put those that
Daisy could not wear any more in a pile on a chair. There were a good
many of them.
"After all," she thought, "why may I not please the child by letting
her give some of these half-worn things to that little Katy that she
thinks so much of? Perhaps they will be as good as thrown away, but we
can try it, at least."
So she selected a dark print dress and long-sleeved gingham apron, some
brown and white stockings, and a pair of boots that were still very
good. With these, she put some under-clothes, a wide-brimmed brown
straw hat, and a little woolen shawl of gay plaids. She called Daisy
and told her that, when Katy came, she might come into the kitchen, and
that Jane, the nursemaid, would help her put on the clothes.
"Oh, that is splendid," said Daisy; "that is better than to give me
some nice thing, you good, good mamma. There she comes now!"
And the little girl, almost beside herself with delight, ran to call
Katy, and tell her the good news. The clothes were brought down, but
Katy said, after they had all been examined and admired:
"I can't put on such nice clothes; my hands and face are too dirty, and
I never have a chance to wash them much now."
Jane was a kind-hearted girl, and felt sorry for Katy, so she said,
"Well, come and take a wash, then."
She took her into the servant's bath-room and gave her a nice bath and
combed her hair; it was still in short curls around her head. Nancy
occasionally took the shears and chopped off the brown hair close to
her head, but the little curls would soon come out again in spite of
anything.
Then Katy was dressed in the nice clothes, and Daisy looked on dancing
and clapping her hands, and saying:
"Why, they just fit you. Why, Katy, you look real pretty."
Katy looked at herself and then at Daisy, and when she began to say,
"Oh, it is so nice," something choked her so that she didn't say
anything.
"Now you take good care of your nice clothes," said Jane.
"Yes, I will," said Katy, "certain true, if old Nancy lets me keep
them; I'm 'most afraid she won't, though."
She gathered up her old ones into a bundle, and went as fast as she
could to a spot that she remembered passing the day before.
It was a vacant lot where a house had been burned down, and the
blackened ruins still remained there. She went to the edge, and threw
her bundle into the deep, dark place that had been the cellar. Then she
almost laughed outright as she said,—
"Nobody 'll ever see the old duds again."
Then Katy took up her basket and went on with her begging, for it was
getting near noon, and she had not gathered up much yet.
But she soon found that, for some reason, she did not get as much as
usual. At one place the cook said:
"Oh, you look pretty well off in your fine clothes, I guess I'll save
the pieces for them as needs it more."
And when she asked for pennies, as usual, one lady said:
"Why, my little girl, you look rather comfortable; I don't think there
can be any need of your begging."
But it was getting dark, and she must go home even though she had but
a scanty supply in her basket. But how could she meet Peter with so
little? He would whip her almost to death.
"Oh, dear," sighed Katy. "I wish I didn't have to go back at all. If I
could only go off somewhere and live with some nice folks now since I
have got these nice clothes."
But where could she go in the dark, in the big city?
"Oh, what shall I do?" said Katy, to herself.
She was standing near a baker's shop, and the baker's boy was going
back and forth with the warm loaves. He stepped to the back part of the
shop for a moment.
"Nobody is looking," said Katy, and quick as thought she slipped one of
the loaves into her basket, and darted round the corner out of sight.
The boy came back, jumped on his cart and drove away. He did not know
that any one had taken a loaf from him, but there was an Eye that
looked down through the darkness and saw it. Katy ran along as fast as
she could go, thinking at every step that somebody would run after her
and call her a thief, but nobody did. Then she began to breathe more
freely and walk a little slower, but the Eye that saw her take it,
followed her through the long street, and looked right down into her
heart, and then Katy cried out:
"Oh dear! What did make me do it? Oh, I wish I hadn't! He'll never love
me now, I know He won't. I guess I'll go and take it back, but I'm
afraid, for maybe that man will put me in jail."
So she went slowly and opened the door into the cellar.
Peter and Nancy stared. They thought for an instant it was some
stranger little girl, and were about to ask her who she was, and what
she wanted, for really the little girl in the brown hat and bright
shawl and pretty dress, did not look much like the Katy that they were
used to seeing.
They were well pleased with the warm loaf, although they suspected how
Katy came by it, and they gave her an unusually large piece of bread
with molasses on it, and sent her to bed.
They did not say much about the clothes, but they had their own plans
about them.
Katy went to bed, but she did not take her clothes off. She feared if
she did that she would never see them again. She took her dolly in her
arms, and tried to go to sleep, but she could nut. She did not say her
prayers,—she was afraid to pray. She had never stolen anything before.
Although she had been among bad people a great while, her conscience
told her that she had been guilty of a great sin. She had not forgotten
her dear mamma yet and her teachings. So, instead of falling asleep
very soon, as she was in the habit of doing, she cried, and tossed
about, and when she did sleep, she dreamed that a man was taking her to
jail.
In the morning, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was
Nancy sewing on an old dress. This was an unusual thing, for Nancy did
not use her needle much. Katy began to tremble, for she thought at once
that Nancy was sewing together some more rags for her.
Sure enough! For pretty soon Nancy said:
"Now you can get up, and get out o' them good clothes just as quick
as you can, and put these on. Do you s'pose anybody will give you any
pieces or money when you're dresses like a lady?"
Katy scrambled out of bed in a great passion. She forgot that she was
only a very little girl, and that Nancy was strong and rough.
"No, I won't," she screamed. "These are my clothes. Daisy gave them to
me, and she told me to keep them, and I will, and you shan't take them,
and you're a mean old thing. So!"
Nancy was in a rage herself by this time, and she flew at Katy and
pounded her with her great fists, and stripped the clothes from her,
shaking her till Katy's breath was nearly gone, then she threw the
clothes at her and said:
"Now, put them on, and don't you have any more such tantrums, or I'll
break every bone in your body. If you make away with them clothes,
you'll go without, I can tell you. We got you to earn our living, and
you 'bain't' goin' to rig yourself up like a lady."
Katy was almost broken-hearted. She threw herself down on her bed again
and cried as if she would never stop. To go out again in such old rags,
when she had been dressed up so nice yesterday. It was too bad! Too
bad! And what would Daisy say, and how could she ever meet her again?
She felt very sick and sore from the blows she had received, but the
hard-hearted woman made her get up and go out as usual. She was passing
listlessly along one of the principal streets, not caring where she
went except to keep away from the street that Daisy lived on, when a
voice said:
"Why, Katy! Is that you?"
Sure enough, there was Daisy standing in the door of a store.
"O Katy!" said Daisy. "Where are your nice clothes? Why, you look worse
than ever."
Then Katy threw down her basket, and threw herself down on the
pavement, and cried until Daisy was almost frightened. She did not know
that any one could cry so.
"O Katy! Don't cry! Don't cry! Tell me all about it. I 'know' about
it! The wicked old things! Took the clothes away that mamma gave you,
didn't they? Never mind,—maybe you can get away from them some day, and
live with some nice people. We are going to the country pretty soon.
Maybe I can find somebody there that hasn't any little girl and wants
one,—some good, pleasant folks, and they'll send for you; won't that be
nice?"
"Mamma used to talk about the country," said Katy. "What kind of a
place is it?"
"Why, don't you know? It's a b-e-a-u-tiful place. The grass is so
green—great, big fields of it, too,—and the trees are full of white
flowers, and it always smells so sweet, and the birds sing, and we go
berrying, and get pretty mosses and wintergreens. It's just nice, I
tell you."
Daisy's mamma called her just at this point, and Katy went on her way,
wandering up and down.
She had a sore little heart; partly on account of the clothes being
taken from her, and partly because her conscience troubled her about
the bread. She tried to forget it, but she could not, every naughty
thing seemed so much naughtier since she had heard more about Jesus.
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