CONCLUSION.
When Tom was suitably dressed, it was easy to perceive a strong
resemblance between her mother and herself. This resemblance was
affected, to be sure, by a careless, independent expression produced by
the strange life she had led as a street Arab. No doubt her new life
would soften and refine her manners, and make her more like girls of her
own age.
Having no further occasion to remain in New York, Mrs. Lindsay took the
train for Philadelphia the next day, where Tom, whom we must now call
Jane Lindsay, found herself in an elegant home, surrounded by all that
wealth could supply. Her mother lost no time in supplying her with
teachers, that the defects of her education might be remedied. These
were great, as we know, but Jane—I had nearly said Tom—was quick, and
her ambition was excited, so that the progress which she made was indeed
remarkable. At the end of the year she was as far advanced as most girls
of her age.
At first our heroine found the change in her life not altogether
agreeable. She missed the free life of the streets, which, in spite of
all its privations and discomforts, is not without a charm to the
homeless young Arabs that swarm about the streets. But in a short time
she acquired new tastes, never, however, losing that fresh and buoyant
spirit, and sturdy independence, which had enabled her to fight her way
when she was compelled to do so. It was evident that Jane, whether from
her natural tendencies or her past experiences, was not likely to settle
down into one of those average, stereotyped, uninteresting young ladies
that abound in our modern society. Nature was sure to assert itself in a
certain piquancy and freshness of manner, which, added to her personal
attraction, will, I think, eventually make Tom—the name slipped from my
pen unintentionally—a great favorite in society. Her faults, at some of
which I have hinted, she did not at once get rid of; but the influence
of an excellent mother will, I am convinced, in time eradicate most of
them.
When James Lindsay learned that his sister-in-law had recovered her
child, he went abroad without seeing her, being ashamed no doubt to meet
one whom he had so deeply injured, and there was no difficulty in
reclaiming the property, the income of which had for some years been
wrongly diverted to his use.
Such of my readers as have conceived an admiration for granny may be
interested to learn that she kept on in her western journey, hoping to
come upon Tom somewhere; but of course she was disappointed. She arrived
at length in Chicago, and, having a considerable sum of money in her
possession, decided to stay there. She did not venture to open
communication with James Lindsay, lest he should take from her the money
she had at present, on account of her careless guardianship. Hiring a
room, she gave herself up to the delights of drinking and smoking. The
last habit proved fatal, when, one afternoon, she lay down with her
lighted pipe in her mouth. Falling asleep, the pipe fell upon the bed,
setting on fire the bedclothes, and next the clothing of Margaret
herself. Whether she was suffocated before awakening, or whether she
awoke too late for rescue, was never ascertained. Certain it is,
however, that when the smell of smoke called in the neighbors, granny
was quite dead, expiating by her tragical end the sins of her miserable
career.
I must sketch one more scene, and then this chronicle of Tom’s
adventurous life will close.
Fifteen months after Tom made the acquaintance of Captain Barnes, that
worthy officer returned to New York. He at once repaired to the house of
his sister, Mrs. Merton, expecting to find Tom. He had thought of her
very often while at sea, and pictured with pleasure the improvement
which she would exhibit after a year’s training and education.
“I have no child. I probably shall never have one,” he said to himself.
“If Jenny has become such a girl as I hope, I will formally adopt her,
and when I have become too old to go to sea, we will make a pleasant and
cosey little home together, and she shall cheer my declining years.”
Such thoughts as these warmed the heart of the sailor, and made him
anxious for the voyage to close. He had heard nothing from his sister
since he left, and was, therefore, ignorant of the fact that Tom was no
longer in her charge.
When he reached his sister’s house, and had kissed her and his nieces,
he inquired eagerly:—
“Where’s Jane? Has she improved?”
“Then you haven’t heard, Albert,” said his sister, not without
embarrassment, for she was about to deceive him.
“Heard! What is there to hear?” he said impatiently.
“Jane has not been with me for a year.”
“What has become of her?”
“Indeed I don’t know. She remained with me three months after you left,
and then suddenly disappeared. She must have got tired of a life so
different from that she had been accustomed to lead, and determined to
go back to her street life.”
“I am deeply grieved to hear it,” said Captain Barnes. “I have
anticipated meeting her with so much pleasure. And have you never seen
her since?”
“Never.”
“I thought you might accidentally have met her in the street.”
“No.”
“Had she improved while she did stay?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, with hesitation, “that is, a little. She was
not quite so wild and rude as at first; but I don’t think she would ever
have made up the deficiencies of her early training.”
Captain Barnes paced the floor, deeply disturbed. His disappointment was
a great one.
“I shall try to trace her,” he said at length. “I will apply to the
police for help.”
“That’s the best thing to do, uncle,” said Mary, with a sneer. “Very
likely you’ll find her at Blackwell’s Island.”
“For shame, niece,” said her uncle, sternly. “You might have a little
more charity for a poor girl who has not had your advantages.”
Mary was abashed, and regretted that she had spoken so unguardedly, for
she hoped to produce a favorable impression upon her uncle, in the hope
of becoming his heiress.
The silence was broken by the stopping of a carriage before the door.
Mary flew to the window.
“O mother,” she said, “there’s a beautiful carriage at the door, with a
coachman in livery, and there’s a lady and a young girl, elegantly
dressed, getting out.”
Quite a sensation was produced by the intelligence.
A moment later, and the servant brought in the cards of Mrs. Lindsay and
Miss Lindsay.
“I don’t remember the name,” said Mrs. Merton, “but you may show the
ladies in, Hannah.”
Directly afterwards Mrs. Lindsay and our heroine entered the room. They
were visiting friends in New York, and Jane had induced her mother to
call at the house where she had learned her first lessons in
civilization. She was very different now from the young Arab of fifteen
months since. She was now a young lady in manners, and her handsome
dress set off a face which had always been attractive. Neither Mrs.
Merton nor Mary dreamed of associating this brilliant young lady with
the girl whom they had driven from the house by a false charge.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Lindsay,” said Mrs. Merton, deferentially. “Won’t
you and the young lady take seats?”
“You are no doubt surprised to see me,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “but my
daughter wished me to call. She was for three months, she tells me, a
member of your family.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Merton, in surprise, “I think there must be some
mistake. I don’t remember that Miss Lindsay ever boarded with me.”
“Don’t you remember Tom?” asked Jane, looking up, and addressing Mrs.
Merton in something of her old tone.
“Good gracious! You don’t mean to say—” ejaculated the landlady, while
Mary opened wide her eyes in astonishment and dismay.
“For years,” explained Mrs. Lindsay, “my daughter was lost to me through
the cruel schemes of one whom I deemed a faithful friend; but, thank
God, she was restored to me within a week after she left your house.”
“Was that the reason of your leaving, Jane?” asked Captain Barnes.
“Mother,” said Jane, cordially grasping the hand of the captain, “this
is the kind gentleman who first found me in the street, and provided me
with a home.”
“Accept a mother’s gratitude,” said Mrs. Lindsay, simply, but with deep
feeling.
“I was sure you would turn out right, Jane,” said the captain, his face
glowing with pleasure. “Then you left my sister, because you found your
mother?”
“No, that was not the reason,” said Jane, looking significantly at Mrs.
Merton, who, knowing that she had suspected her of what was really her
daughter’s fault, felt confused and embarrassed.
“There was a—a little misunderstanding,” she stammered, “for which I
hope Miss Lindsay will excuse me. I found out my mistake afterwards.”
No further explanation was then given, but Captain Barnes required and
obtained an explanation afterwards. He blamed his sister severely, and
Mary even more, and that young lady’s prospects of becoming her uncle’s
heiress are now very slender.
“I hope, Captain Barnes,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “you will come to
Philadelphia and pass a few days at my house. Nothing would please my
daughter more, nor myself.”
The good captain finally accepted this invitation, though with
diffidence, and henceforth never arrived in port without visiting his
former protegée, where he always found a warm welcome.
And so my story ends. My heroine is now a young lady, not at all like
the “Tattered Tom” whose acquaintance we first made at the
street-crossing. For her sake, her mother loses no opportunity of
succoring those homeless waifs, who, like her own daughter, are exposed
to the discomforts and privations of the street, and through her
liberality and active benevolence more than one young Arab has been
reclaimed, and is likely to fill a respectable place in society.
The next story of this series will be
PAUL, THE PEDDLER;
OR,
THE FORTUNES OF A YOUNG STREET MERCHANT.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Breakwater Series.
BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.
Price $1.00 per Volume.
_I._ _=JOANNA DARLING=; or, The Home at Breakwater._
The story of a little orphan girl of twelve, told in so touching a
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_II._ =_THE BOY FROM BRAMLEY._=
The story of a shy, ill-treated orphan boy of twelve, whose whole life
is changed by a few kind words, and a small gift from a benevolent
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collision, and you rejoice in his upward steps to position and fortune.
_III._ _=HOPE DARROW.= A Little Girl’s Story._
Hope, a little girl of nine, and her big brother Lewis, are orphans
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_IV._ _=MAX MEREDITH’S MILLENNIUM.=_
A manly lad of twelve is the hero of this the best story for boys you
ever read. Try the opening chapter, and you won’t close the book till
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Miss Townsend has a great reputation as a writer of mature books, and
this series for boys and girls from ten upward has won her a host of
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Sunday-school librarians say these books wear out in service, they are
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VERONICA;
=Or, the Light House Keeper.=
Handsome cloth. Price, 75 cents.
Veronica’s father was lost at sea. She lived with her grandparents, on
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The fairy story of a Magic Horn, if heard at sea, would banish all
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A prettier story for a little boy or girl is not published.
----------
COUNTESS KATE.
=By MISS YONGE.=
Author of “The Heir of Redcliffe,” etc.
Handsome cloth binding. 2 Illustrations. Price, $1.25.
Girls, from ten upward, will thank this gifted English authoress for
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The evil and discomforts of _pride_ is the lesson of this lovely story.
As soon as it gets known, thousands of copies will be sold, and every
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is second only to “Faith Gartney.”
----------
THE BOYS AT CHEQUASSET.
By MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY. Author of “Faith Gartney’s Girlhood.”
Handsome cloth. Price, $1.25.
This is the book which first won for this distinguished authoress her
great reputation. It is written for boys from ten upward.
A city boy moves into the country, and enters whole-souled into the
freedom and novelty this life offers him.
Great projects are undertaken, but a lack of _perseverance_ and _order_
proves a serious drawback to his enjoyment.
The mania for collecting birds’ eggs seizes him, and the necessity of
order to preserve what he won by such hard labor is “the little leaven”
which in time “leavened the whole lump.”
----------
THE FRENCH ROBINSON CRUSOE;
=JEAN BELIN.=
A COMPANION TO SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.
4 Illustrations. Handsome Cloth. Price, $1.25.
One of the most fascinating, and one of the best Juvenile Books written.
It tells the story of a little waif picked up in Paris streets, cared
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and gaining what to him was still higher. Every boy praises it.
----------
MILLY;
Or, The Hidden Cross.
A Story of School-Girl Life.
Handsome Cloth binding. Price $1.00.
BOARDING-SCHOOL LIFE!
In this book we have a perfect photograph of a bevy of lovely, positive
girls, enthusiastic, jolly, jealous, cliquish, true to their favorites,
preparing and participating in the closing examination and public
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a noble character, pure, lovely, religious,—a leader. She wore a “hidden
cross,” which was once, through anger and jealousy of one of her
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bore a “hidden cross” unknown to all, even to her widowed mother, till
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one of her companions ever forgot.
Every school-girl in the land should read this lovely story.
----------
JUDGE NOT; or, Hester Powers’ Girlhood.
Handsome Cloth binding. Price, $1.00.
In the lovely English village of “West Oakland,” a costly monument
bearing this inscription, “JUDGE NOT,” arrests the attention, and
excites the curiosity of every summer tourist. Hester Powers, a village
beauty, is the heroine, and this striking monument, with its simple yet
eloquent inscription, is the atonement made by her high-born companion
for the hasty judgment that crushed her. Don’t fail to read it.
----------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
75.5 and licked him.[”] Added.
149.13 “I’[ll] get my aunt to come round to-morrow Restored.
153.11 “340 Bleecker Street.[”] Added.
194.11 down those stairs.[”] Added.
256.6 “I like you best,” said [John]. _sic_:
James.
258.16 farmer,[” / “]and your grandmother can pay it Replaced.
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