GIOVANNI'S ROOM.
"OCHONE! an' it's weary work climbin' thim stairs," groaned Mrs.
Ginniss, pausing upon the landing outside the organ-grinder's door.
"An' mabbe she's wid him still. Anyway, I'll see, and save the
coomin' down agin."
With these words, Mrs. Ginniss gave a modest rap upon the door, and,
as it remained unanswered, a somewhat louder one, calling at the
same time,--
"Misther Jovarny! Misther Jovarny, I say! Is it out yees still are?"
The question remaining unanswered, the good woman waited no longer,
but, climbing the remaining flight of stairs took the key of her
room from the shelf in Teddy's closet where it had been left, and
unlocked the door.
"Cherry, darlint, be ye widin?" asked she, throwing it open; and
then, recollecting herself, added,--
"An' sure how could she, be, widout she kim in trew the kayhole?
But, blissid Vargin! where would they be all the day long?"
So saying, Mrs. Ginniss threw up the window, and looked anxiously
down the street in the direction where Giovanni and Cherry had that
morning disappeared.
Nothing was to be seen of them; but, just turning the corner, came
Teddy, his straw-hat pushed back upon his forehead, and his steps
slow and undecided. He was thinking wearily, as he often thought of
late, that the time had come when he could no longer withhold his
little sister from the friends to whom she really belonged; and it
was not alone the heat of the August night that brought the great
drops of perspiration to the boy's forehead, or drew the white line
around his mouth.
"It's quicker nor that you'll stip, my b'y, whin you hear the little
sisther's not in yit, an' it's wid Jovarny she is," muttered Mrs.
Ginniss; and, half dreading the entrance of her son, she applied
herself so diligently to making a fire in preparation for supper,
that she did not appear to notice him.
"Good-evening, mother. Where's Cherry?" asked Teddy, throwing
himself wearily into a chair just inside the door.
"An' is it yersilf, gossoon? An' it's the big hate is in it
intirely."
"Yes: it's hot enough. Where's Cherry?"
"Takin' a little walk, honey. You wouldn't be shuttin' the poor
child into the house this wedder, sure?"
"Taking a walk!-what, alone!" exclaimed Teddy, sitting upright very
suddenly.
"Of coorse not. Misther Jovarny was perlite enough to ax her; an'
she wor that wild to go, I couldn't say her no."
"I wish you had said no, mother. I hate to let her be with that
fellow, anyway. I'd have taken her to walk myself, if I was twice as
tired. How long have they been gone?"
And Teddy, in his turn, looked anxiously out at the window, but saw
nothing more than the squalid street weltering in the last rays of
the August sun; a knot of children fighting in the gutter over the
body of a dead cat; an old-clothes man sauntering wearily along the
pavement, and a dog, with lolling tongue and blood-shot eyes,
following close at his heels.
"How long have they been out? asked Teddy again, as he drew in his
head, and looked full at his mother, whose confusion struck him with
a sudden dismay.
"O mother!" cried he, "what is it? There's more than you're telling
me amiss. How long is she gone?"
"Sure an' I didn't mind the clock whin they wint," said Mrs.
Ginniss, still struggling to avoid the shock she felt approaching.
"No, no; but you can tell! O mother! do speak out, for the love of
God! I can see how scared you are, though you won't say it. Tell me
right out all there is to tell."
"An' it's no great there is to till, Teddy darlint; on'y this
mornin', whin I was sint for to Ann Dolan (an' she that bad it's
dead we thought she wor one spell, but for Docther Wintworth),
Jovarny kim up, an' axed might the child go for a walk to the
Gardens wid him; an' I jist puttin' on me shawl to go out, an' not
wantin' to take the little crather in wid a sick woman, nor yet to
lock the door on her, an' lave her to fret. So I says she might go
wid him; and, whin she coom home, I tould Jovarny to open the door
wid the kay an' let her in, an' showed her the dinner on the shelf
by: an' if it's harm that's coom to her, it's harder on me than on
yersilf it'll fall; an' my heart is bruck, is bruck intirely."
Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Ginniss fell into at chair,
and gave way to the agitation and alarm she had so long suppressed;
but Teddy, ordinarily so kind, and tender of his mother, stared at
her blankly, and repeated,--
"This morning! How early this morning?"
"I wor jist afther washin' the bit breakfast-dishes," sobbed Mrs.
Ginniss.
"Twelve hours or near!" exclaimed Teddy in dismay. "And is it to the
Gardens he said he'd take her?"
"Shure an' did he!"
"To the Public Gardens, the City Gardens, just by the Commons?"
persisted Teddy.
"Jist the Gardens wor all he said; an' towld me the shwans that wor
in it, an' the bit posies."
"Yes: there's swans there, and posies enough," muttered Teddy, and,
snatching the hat he had thrown upon a chair as he entered, rushed
out of the room and down the stairs at headlong speed.
But, before he could possibly have reached the Garden, the sun had
set, all visitors were excluded, and the gate-keeper had gone home.
Nothing daunted, Teddy scaled the high iron fence; ran rapidly
through all the paths, arbors, nooks, and corners of the place; and
finally returned over the fence, just in time, to be collared by a
policeman, who had been watching him: but so sincere was the boy's
tone and manner, as he assured the official that he was after no
harm but was looking for his little sister, who had been taken away
from home, and, as he feared, lost, that the guardian of the public
peace not only released him, but inquired with some interest into
the particulars of the case; saying that he had been likely to
notice any one remaining in the Garden longer than usual.
Teddy, with anxious minuteness, described the appearance both of the
lost child and the "organ-fellow," as he called Giovanni; and gave
the particulars of their leaving home as his mother had given them
to him. The policeman listened attentively, but shook his head at
the end.
"Haven't seen any sich," said he. "Them I-talian fellers is a bad
lot; and I shouldn't wonder if he'd took off the child to learn her
to play a tambourine, and go round picking up croppers for him.
You'd better wait till morning; and, if they don't turn up, her
mother can go and tell the chief about it."
"Chief of police?" asked Teddy.
"Yes; but it ain't always he can do any thing. There was that little
gal, a year ago pretty nigh, belonged to a man by the name of
Legrange. She was lost, and they offered a reward of ten thousand
dollars finally; but she warn't never heard from. You see, there's
sich a many children all about: and come to change their clothes,
and crop their hair, it's hard to tell t'other from which," said the
policeman meditatively; and then, suddenly resuming his official
dignity, added, "You mustn't never get over that fence again,
though: mind that, young man."
"Thank you, sir," said Teddy, turning away to hide the guilty
confusion of his face; and, as he hurried home, he anxiously
revolved the idea of applying to the police for aid, should Cherry
remain absent after the next morning. But Teddy knew something of
the law, and had too often seen better hidden secrets than his own
ferreted out and brought to the light by its searching finger, to
wish to trust himself within its grasp; at any rate, just yet.
"If I find her, I'll give her up, and tell all, and never touch the
reward; but how can I go and say she's lost again?" thought Teddy,
with a sick heart. And when, running up the stairs, his quick eyes
caught sight of his mother's face, his own turned so ghastly white,
that she ran toward him, crying,--
"An' is it dead you've found her, Teddy?"
"Worse; for she's lost; and all that comes to her is on my
shoulders," said Teddy hoarsely, as he stood just within the door,
looking hungrily about the room, as if he hoped, in some forgotten
corner, to light upon his lost treasure.
"Did Jovarny take his organ and the monkey?" asked he suddenly.
"Sure, and he didn't; for I mind luckin' afther him going down the
street."
"Then he'll be back!" exclaimed the boy eagerly; but the next moment
the new hope died out of his face, and he muttered,--
"He might have taken them before. Anyway, I'll soon see;" and,
running down the stairs, Teddy applied his sturdy shoulder and knee
to the rickety door of the Italian's room. Neither door nor lock was
fitted to withstand much force, and, with a sharp sound of rending
wood and breaking iron, they flew apart; and Teddy, stepping over
the threshold, glanced eagerly around. The room was stripped of
everything except the poor furniture, which Teddy knew the Italian
had hired with it, and the wooden box where he had kept his clothes.
Of this the key remained in the lock; and, the boy, lifting the lid,
soon discovered that a few worthless rags were all that remained.
"He's gone, and she with him!" groaned Teddy, dropping the
box-cover, and standing upright to look again through the deserted
room. His mother stood in the doorway.
"Och, Teddy! an' it's desaved us intirely he has,--the black-hearted
crather; an' may the cuss O' Crom'ell stick to him day an' night,
an' turn his sleep to wakin', an' his mate to pizen, till all I wish
him is wished out!"
"It's no good cursing or wishing, mother," said Teddy bitterly. "If
there was, I'd curse myself the first; for it's on me it had ought
to fall."
"Sorra a bit of that, thin, Teddy mavourneen; for iver an' always it
was yersilf that wor tinder an' careful uv her that's gone; an'
yersilf it wor that saved the life of her, the night she first come
home to us; an' it's none but good that iver yees did her in all the
days of yer life; an', if there's any blame to be had betwixt us,
it's on yer poor owld mother it should be laid,--her that loved the
purty darlint as if she'd been her own, an', if she's lost, will
carry a brucken heart to her grave wid mournin' afther her. O wurra,
wurra, acushla machree! Och the heavy day an' the black night that's
in it! Holy Jasus, have mercy on us! Spake the good word for us,
blissid Vargin! Saint Bridget (that's me own namesake), stip up an'
intersade for us now, if iver; for black is the nade we have uv
help."
Falling upon her knees, and pulling a rosary of wooden beads from
her bosom, the Irish woman pursued her petitions, mingling them with
tears and exclamations more or less pathetic and grotesque; while
Teddy, seated upon the Italian's empty box, his head between his
hands, his elbows upon his knees, his eyes fixed steadily upon the
floor, gave up his young heart a prey to such remorse as might fitly
punish even a heavier crime than that of which his conscience
accused him.