TOM FINDS HER MOTHER.
Tom sat back in her seat and enjoyed the prospect from the windows, as
the train sped along. She felt in unusually good spirits, knowing that
she had put granny entirely off the track, and that there was no
immediate chance of her recapture.
“If I only had that money granny took from me, I’d be all right,” she
said to herself. However, her board and lodging were paid at Mrs.
Murphy’s for a week in advance, and that was something.
About forty miles from New York a number of passengers got into the
cars. The seats were mostly occupied, but the one beside Tom was
untaken. A gentleman advanced up the aisle with a lady, looking about
him for a seat.
“Is this seat engaged?” he inquired of Tom.
“No,” answered Tom.
“Then you had better sit here, Rebecca,” said the gentleman. “I think
you will have no trouble. You won’t forget where you are to go,—Mrs.
Thurston’s, West Twenty-Fifth Street. I can’t recall the number, but a
glance in the Directory will settle that.”
“I wish you knew the number,” said the lady.
“It was very careless of me to lose it, I confess. Still, I think you
will have no trouble. But good-by, I must hurry out, or I shall be
left.”
“Good-by. Let me see you soon.”
The gentleman got out, and the lady settled down into her seat, and
looked about her. Finally her glance rested on her young companion. She
was inclined to be social, and accordingly opened a conversation with
Tom.
“Are you going to New York?” she inquired.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I suppose you live there?”
“Yes.”
“I have never been there, and know nothing at all about the city.”
“It’s a big place,” remarked Tom.
“Yes, I suppose so. I have always lived in the country, and I am afraid
I shan’t feel at home there. But my sister, who is boarding with a Mrs.
Thurston, who keeps a large boarding-house on West Twenty-Fifth Street,
has invited me to come up and spend a few weeks, and so I have got
started.”
“I guess you’ll like it,” said Tom.
“Do you live anywhere near West Twenty-Fifth Street?”
“Not now,” said Tom. “I did live in West Sixteenth Street, but I don’t
now.”
“Are you travelling alone?”
“Yes,” said Tom.
“I suppose you live with your father and mother?”
“I haven’t got any,” answered Tom, laconically.
“I suppose you are well acquainted with the city?”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I know it like a book.”
The fact was, that Tom knew it a great deal better than a book, for her
book-knowledge, as we very well know, was by no means extensive.
“Do you board?”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I board with Mrs. Murphy, in Mulberry Street.”
It struck the lady that Murphy was an Irish name, but the name of the
street suggested nothing to her. She judged from Tom’s appearance that
she belonged to a family in comfortable circumstances.
“I wish I knew the number of Mrs. Thurston’s house,” said the lady
rather anxiously. “I’m so afraid I shan’t find it.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Tom, “I’ll go with you, if you want me to.”
“I wish you would,” said the lady, much relieved. “It would be a great
favor.”
“I s’pose you won’t mind givin’ me a quarter,” added Tom, with a sharp
eye to the main chance; not unreasonably, since she was penniless.
“I’ll give you double that amount,” said the lady, “and thank you into
the bargain. I’m not much used to travelling, and feel as helpless as a
child.”
“I’ll take care of you,” said Tom, confidently. “I’ll take you to Mrs.
Thurston’s right side up with care.”
“She talks rather singularly,” thought the lady; but Tom’s confident
tone inspired her with corresponding confidence, and she enjoyed the
rest of her journey much more than she would otherwise have done. Tom’s
request for compensation did not surprise her, for she reflected that
children have always a use for money.
At length they reached the city, and Tom and her companion got out of
the cars.
“Come right along,” said Tom, taking the lady by the hand as if she were
a child.
“Carriage, ma’am?” asked several hackmen.
“Perhaps I’d better take a carriage,” said the lady, whose name, by the
way, was Mrs. Parmenter.
“Just as you say,” said Tom.
“I’ve got a nice carriage, ma’am. This way, please,” said a burly
driver.
“Look here, mister, what are you going to charge?” demanded Tom.
“Where do you want to go?”
“To Mrs. Thurston’s, West Twenty-Fifth street.”
“Whereabouts in the street? What number?”
“The lady don’t know.”
“Then how am I to carry you there?”
“Look into the Directory,” said Tom. “If it’s too much trouble for you,
we’ll take another man.”
The hackman made no further objections, but resolved to increase his
charge to compensate for the extra trouble. But here again Tom defeated
him, compelling him to agree to a price considerably less than he at
first demanded.
“Young lady,” said he, paying an involuntary tribute to Tom’s
shrewdness, “you’re about as sharp as they make ’em.”
“That’s so,” said Tom. “You’re right the first time.”
Mrs. Parmenter and Tom entered the carriage, and the driver mounted his
box.
“I don’t see how you dared to talk to that man so,” said the lady. “I
should have paid him whatever he asked.”
“Then you’d have got awfully cheated,” said Tom. “I know their tricks.”
“I’m sure I’m much obliged to you. I don’t know how I should have got
along without you.”
“I’ve always lived in the city,” said Tom; “so I’ve got my eye-teeth
cut. They can’t cheat me easy.”
“I’m afraid I’m selfish in taking you with me,” said Mrs. Parmenter. “I
hope your friends won’t be alarmed at your coming home late.”
“I don’t think they will,” said Tom, laughing.
“You said you had no relatives living in the city?”
“Not now. My granny’s just left New York. She’s travellin’ for her
health,” added Tom, with a burst of merriment, at which Mrs. Parmenter
was rather surprised.
“Where has she gone?”
“Out West. I went a little way with her, just to oblige. She was awful
sorry to part with me, granny was;” and Tom laughed again in a manner
that quite puzzled her companion, who mentally decided that Tom was a
very odd girl indeed.
“After we get to Mrs. Thurston’s,” said Mrs. Parmenter, “I’ll tell the
driver to carry you home. Shall I?”
Tom fancied the sensation she would produce in Mulberry Street, if she
should drive up to the door of the humble tenement house in which she
boarded, and declined the offer. She might have accepted, for the joke
of it, but she saw that the hackman took her for a young lady, and she
did not wish to let him discover the unfashionable locality in which she
made her home.
“Never mind,” said Tom. “I’d just as lieves ride in the cars.”
They stopped at a drug-store, and the driver, going in, ascertained
without difficulty, by an examination of the Directory, the number of
Mrs. Thurston’s boarding-house. A few minutes later, he drew up in front
of a very good-looking house, and, jumping from the box, opened the
door.
“Is this Mrs. Thurston’s?” asked Mrs. Parmenter.
“Yes, ma’am; it’s the number that’s put down in the Directory.”
“I’ll ring the bell and see,” said Tom.
She ran up the steps, and rang a loud peal, which was quickly answered.
“Is this Mrs. Thurston’s?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then here’s a lady that’s coming in,” said Tom. “It’s the right place,”
she added, going back to the carriage where Mrs. Parmenter was engaged
in paying the driver.
“Now, my dear,” said Mrs. Parmenter, “I hope you’ll accept this for your
kindness in guiding me.”
She drew a dollar from her purse, and handed it to Tom.
“Thank you,” said Tom, quite elated. “I’m glad I come with you.”
Mrs. Parmenter was about to enter the house, when another lady descended
the steps. It was Mrs. Lindsay, who had been recommended to this house,
as the reader may remember, by the Wall Street lawyer. She no sooner saw
Tom than she became excited, and grasped the balustrade for support.
“Child,” she said, eagerly, “what is your name?”
“Tom,” answered our heroine, surprised.
“Tom?”
“That’s what they call me. Jane is my real name.”
“Do you know a woman named Margaret Walsh?” continued Mrs. Lindsay, her
emotion increasing.
“Why, that’s my granny,” said Tom, surprised.
There was no more room for doubt. Mrs. Lindsay opened her arms.
“Found at last!” she exclaimed. “My dear, dear child!”
“Are you my mother?” asked Tom, in amazement.
“Yes, Jenny, your own mother, never again, I hope, to be separated from
you;” and Mrs. Lindsay clasped the astonished girl to her arms.
“You don’t look a bit like granny,” she said, scanning the refined and
beautiful features of her mother.
“You mean Margaret,” said Mrs. Lindsay, with a shudder. “She is a wicked
woman. It was she who stole you away from me years ago.”
“I played such a trick on her,” said Tom, laughing. “She wanted to carry
me off out West; but I left her, and she’s goin’ on alone.”
“Come in, my darling,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “Your home is with your mother
henceforth. You have much to tell me. I want to know how you have passed
all these years of cruel separation.”
She took Tom up to her own chamber, and drew from her the whole story.
Many parts gave her pain, as Tom recounted her privations and
ill-treatment; but deep thankfulness came at the end, because the child
so long-lost was at last restored.
“To-morrow I must buy you some new clothes,” said she. “Are these all
you have?”
“Yes,” said Tom, “they are a good deal nicer than I used to wear.”
“You shall have better still. I will try to make up to you for your past
privations.”
“I want to go out a little while,” said Tom. “I’d like to tell Mrs.
Murphy what’s happened to me. You see, I paid her for a week’s board,
and she’ll wonder where I am.”
“I can’t trust you out of my sight,” said Mrs. Lindsay; “but I’ll go
with you if you wish it.”
“Yes, I should like that.”
Great was the astonishment of worthy Mrs. Murphy, when Tom came up to
her stand with a handsomely dressed and stylish lady, whom she
introduced as her mother. I will not attempt to repeat the ejaculations
in which she indulged, nor her delight when Mrs. Lindsay bought one of
her apples for Tom, and paid for it with a ten-dollar bill, refusing
change.
“Shure, your mother’s a rale leddy, Tom dear,” she said; “and it’s I
that’s glad of it, for your sake.”
Mrs. Lindsay ordered dinner for herself and Tom in her own room, not
wishing to introduce her to her fellow-boarders until she had supplied
her with a more suitable wardrobe, for Tom’s dress was by this time
soiled and dirty. When the lawyer came up in the evening, his surprise
was great to find the child, whom he had exhausted his legal skill to
discover, already restored to her mother. He offered his sincere
congratulations, and, it may here be remarked, was handsomely paid for
the trouble he had taken in the matter.
By the next post, at Tom’s request, a letter was sent by Mrs. Lindsay to
the farmer’s wife who had sheltered Tom, enclosing the amount of money
paid for the railroad ticket, and thanking her earnestly for the
kindness shown to her child. Much to Tom’s delight, an extra ten dollars
was enclosed as a present to James Hooper from her.