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THE STORY OF PATSY
by
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
Author of _The Birds' Christmas Carol_
[Illustration: "PATSY MINDING THE KENNETT BABY."]
[Illustration: VIGNETTE.]
To
H.C.A.
IN REMEMBRANCE OF GLADNESS GIVEN TO SORROWFUL LITTLE LIVES
"The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west--
But the young; young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others
In the country of the free."
MRS. BROWNING.
The original Story of Patsy was written and sold some seven years ago
for the benefit of the Silver Street Free Kindergartens in San
Francisco. Now that it is for the first time placed in the hands of
publishers, I have at their request added new material, so that the
present story is more than double the length of the original brief
sketch.
K.D.W.
New York, March, 1889.
CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
* * * * *
_"Patsy minding the Kennett Baby."_ _Frontispiece_
_Vignette._ _Title_
I. THE SILVER STREET KINDERGARTEN.
II. PATSY COMES TO CALL.
_"Here's an orange I brung yer!"_
III. TWO 'PRENTICE HANDS AT PHILANTHROPY.
_Miss Helen._
IV. BEHIND THE SCENES.
_"The boys at my side prattle together."_
_"Here is the hat!"_
V. I SEEK PATSY, AND MEET THE DUCHESS OF ANNA STREET.
_"The Story of Victor."_
VI. A LITTLE "HOODLUM'S" VIRTUE KINDLES AT THE TOUCH OF JOY.
_Carlotty Griggs "being a Butterfly."_
_Paulina's "good-mornings to Johnny Cass."_
VII. PATSY FINDS HIS THREE LOST YEARS.
_"He sat silently by the window."_
_Tail Piece._
CHAPTER I.
THE SILVER STREET KINDERGARTEN.
"It makes a heaven-wide difference whether the soul of the child is
regarded as a piece of blank paper, to be written upon, or as a
living power, to be quickened by sympathy, to be educated by
truth."
It had been a long, wearisome day at the Free Kindergarten, and I was
alone in the silent, deserted room. Gone were all the little heads,
yellow and black, curly and smooth; the dancing, restless, curious eyes;
the too mischievous, naughty, eager hands and noisy feet; the merry
voices that had made the great room human, but now left it quiet and
empty. Eighty pairs of tiny boots had clattered down the stairs; eighty
baby woes had been relieved; eighty little torn coats pulled on with
patient hands; eighty shabby little hats, not one with a "strawberry
mark" to distinguish it from any other, had been distributed with
infinite discrimination among their possessors; numberless sloppy kisses
had been pressed upon a willing cheek or hand, and another day was over.
No,--not quite over, after all. A murderous yell from below brought me
to my feet, and I flew like an anxious hen to my brood. One small
quarrel in the hall; very small, but it must be inquired into on the way
to the greater one. Mercedes McGafferty had taunted Jenny Crawhall with
being Irish. The fact that she herself had been born in Cork about three
years previous did not trouble her in the least. Jenny, in a voice
choked with sobs, and with the stamp of a tiny foot, was announcing
hotly that she was "NOT Irish, no sech a thing,--she was Plesberterian!"
I was not quite clear whether this was a theological or racial
controversy, but I settled it speedily, and they ran off together hand
in hand. I hastened to the steps. The yells had come from Joe Guinee and
Mike Higgins, who were fighting for the possession of a banana; a
banana, too, that should have been fought for, if at all, many days
before,--a banana better suited, in its respectable old age, to peaceful
consumption than the fortunes of war. My unexpected apparition had such
an effect that I might have been an avenging angel. The boys dropped the
banana simultaneously, and it fell to the steps quite exhausted, in such
a condition that whoever proved to be in the right would get but little
enjoyment from it.
"O my boys, my boys!" I exclaimed, "did you forget so soon? What shall
we do? Must Miss Kate follow you everywhere? If that is the only way in
which you can be good, we might as well give up trying. Must I watch you
to the corner every day, no matter how tired I am?"
Two grimy little shirt bosoms heaved with shame and anger; two pairs of
eyes hid themselves under protecting lids; two pairs of moist and
stained hands sought the shelter of charitable pockets,--then the cause
of war was declared by Mike sulkily.
"Joe Guinee hooked my bernanner."
"I never!" said Joe hotly. "I swapped with him f'r a peach, 'n he e't
the peach at noon-time, 'n then wouldn't gimme no bernanner."
"The peach warn't no good," Mike interpolated swiftly, seeing my
expression,--"it warn't no good, Miss Kate. When I come to eat it I had
ter chuck half of it away, 'nd then Joe Guinee went t' my lunch bucket
and hooked my bernanner!"
I sat down on the top step, motioned the culprits to do likewise, and
then began dispensing justice tempered with mercy for the twenty-fifth
time that day. "Mike, you say Joe took your banana?"
"Yes 'm,--he hooked it."
"Same thing. You have your words and I have mine, and I've told you
before that mine mean just as much and sound a little better. But I
thought that you changed that banana for a peach, and ate the peach?"
"I did."
"Then, why wasn't that banana Joe's?--you had taken his peach."
"He hadn't oughter hooked--took it out o' my bucket."
"No, and you ought not to have put it _into_ your bucket."
"He hooked--took what warn't his."
"You _kept_ what wasn't yours. How do you expect to have a good fruit
store, either of you, by and by, and have people buy your things, if you
haven't any idea of making a good square trade? Do try to be honest; and
if you make an exchange stick to it; fighting over a thing never makes
it any better. Look at that banana!--is it any good to either of you
now?" (Pause. The still small voice was busy, but no sound was heard
save the distant whistle of the janitor.)
"I could bring another one to Joe to-morrer," said Mike, looking at his
ragged boot and scratching it along the edge of the step.
"I don't want yer to, 'f the peach was sour 'n you had ter chuck it
away," responded Joe amiably.
"Yes, I think he ought to bring the banana; he made the trade with his
eyes open, and the peach didn't look sour, for I saw you squeezing it
when you ought to have been singing your morning hymn,--I thought you
would get into trouble with it then. Now is it all right, Mike?--that's
good! And Joe, don't go poking into other people's lunch baskets. If you
hadn't done that, you silly boy," I philosophized whimsically for my own
edification, "you would have been a victim; but you descended to the
level of your adversary, and you are now simply another little rascal."
We walked down the quiet, narrow street to the corner,--a proceeding I
had intended to omit that day, as it was always as exciting as an
afternoon tea, and I did not feel equal to the social chats that would
be pressed upon me by the neighborhood "ladies." One of my good
policemen was there as usual, and saluted me profoundly. He had carried
the last baby over the crossing, and guided all the venturesome small
boys through the maze of trucks and horse-cars,--a difficult and
thankless task, as they absolutely courted decapitation,--it being an
unwritten law of conduct that each boy should weave his way through the
horses' legs if practicable, and if not, should see how near he could
come to grazing the wheels. Exactly at twelve o'clock, and again at two
each day, in rain or sunshine, a couple of huge fatherly persons in
brass buttons appeared on that corner and assisted us in getting our
youngsters into streets of safety. Nobody had ever asked them to come,
their chief had not detailed them for that special duty; and I could
never have been bold enough to suggest that a guardian of the peace with
an immaculate uniform should carry to and fro a crowd of small urchins
with dusty boots and sticky hands.
But everybody loved that Silver Street corner, where the quiet little
street met the larger noisy one! Not a horse-car driver but looked at
his brake and glanced up the street before he took his car across. The
truckmen all drove slowly, calling "Hi, there!" genially to any
youngster within half a block.
And it was a pleasant scene enough to one who had a part in it, who was
able to care for simple people, who could be glad to see them happy,
sorry to see them sad, and willing to live among them a part of each
day, and bring a little sunshine and hope into their lives.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Donohue! All safely across?"
"All safe, miss! Sorry you troubled to come down, miss. I can be
depended on for this corner, miss, an' ye niver need bother yerself
about the childern after ye've once turned 'em loose, miss. An' might I
be so bold, seein' as how I might not have a better chance--would ye be
so kind as to favor me with yer last name, miss? the truth bein' that
ivery one calls ye Miss Kate, an' the policemen of this ward is gettin'
up rather a ch'ice thing in Christmas cards to presint to ye, come
Christmas, because, if ye'll excuse the liberty, miss, they do regard
you as belongin' to the special police!"
I laughed, thanked him for the intended honor, which had been mentioned
to me before, and gave him my card, not without a spasm of terror lest
the entire police force should invade my dwelling.
The "baker lady" across the street caught my eye, smiled, and sent over
a hot bun in a brown paper bag. The "grocery lady" called over in a
clear, ringing tone, "Would you be so kind, 'm, as to step inside on
your way 'ome and fetch 'Enry a bit of work, 'm? 'Enry 'as the 'ooping
cough, 'm, and I don't know 'owever I'm goin' to keep 'im at 'ome
another day, 'm, he pines for school so!"
I give a nod which means, Certainly!
Mrs. Weiss appeared at her window above the grocery with a cloth wound
about her head; appeared, and then vanished mysteriously. Very well, Mr.
Weiss,--you know what to expect! I gave you fair warning last time, and
I shall be as good as my word! Good heavens! Is that--it can't be--yes,
it is--a new McDonald baby at the saloon door! And there was such a
superfluity of the McDonald clan before! One more wretched little human
soul precipitated without a welcome into such a family circle as that!
It set me thinking, as I walked slowly back and toiled up the steps. "I
suppose most people would call this a hard and monotonous life," I
mused. "There is an eternal regularity in the succession of amusing and
heart-breaking incidents, but it is not monotonous, for I am too close
to all the problems that bother this workaday world,--so close that they
touch me on every side. No missionary can come so near to these people.
I am so close that I can feel the daily throb of their need, and they
can feel the throb of my sympathy. Oh! it is work fit for a saviour of
men, and what--what can I do with it?"
I sank into my small rocking-chair, and, clasping my arms over my head,
bent it upon the table and closed my eyes.
The dazzling California sunshine streamed in at the western windows,
touched the gold-fish globes with rosy glory, glittered on the brass
bird-cages, flung a splendid halo round the meek head of the Madonna
above my table, and poured a flood of grateful heat over my shoulders.
The clatter of a tin pail outside the door, the uncertain turning of a
knob by a hand too small to grasp it: "I forgitted my lunch bucket, 'n
had to come back five blocks. Good-by, Miss Kate." (Kiss.) "Good-by,
little man; run along." Another step, and a curly little red head pushes
itself apologetically through the open door. "You never dave me back my
string and buzzer, Miss Kate." "Here it is; leave it at home to-morrow
if you can, dear,--will you?"
Silence again, this time continued and profound. Mrs. Weiss was
evidently not coming to-day to ask me if she should give blow for blow
in her next connubial fracas. I was thankful to be spared until the
morrow, when I should perhaps have greater strength to attack Mr. Weiss,
and see what I could do for Mrs. Pulaski's dropsy, and find a mourning
bonnet and shawl for the Gabilondo's funeral and clothes for the new
Higgins twins. (Oh, Mrs. Higgins, would not one have sufficed you?)
The events of the day march through my tired brain; so tired! so tired!
and just a bit discouraged and sad too. Had I been patient enough with
the children? Had I forgiven cheerfully enough the seventy times seven
sins of omission and commission? Had I poured out the love--bountiful,
disinterested, long-suffering--of which God shows us the measure and
fullness? Had I--But the sun dropped lower and lower behind the dull
brown hills, and exhausted nature found a momentary forgetfulness in
sleep.