A Sunny Little Lass

She reasoned swiftly. The baby was hers, by right, till that sad day of which she had not dreamed when she must restore it to its “folks,” whoever and wherever they were. She would so restore it, though it break her heart; yet better her own heart breaking than that mother-heart of which the vender spoke. To her search for grandpa, in which Bonny Angel was guide, was now added a search for these unknown “folks” to whom she must give the little one up. That was all. It was very simple and very hard to do, till one thought came to cheer her courage. By the time she found these unknown people she would, also, have found Captain Simon Beck! She had been supremely happy with him, always, and she would be happy again; yet how dear, how dear this little comrade of a day had become!

Glory’s decisions never wavered. Once made, she acted upon them without hesitation. She now turned to the policeman, who had written some further items in his book and was now putting it into his pocket, and said, “You needn’t bother, Mister P’liceman, to find ’em. I’ll take Bonny Angel home my own self.”

“Hey? What? Do know where she belongs, after all? You been fooling me with your talk?” he asked quickly, and now with face becoming very stern indeed. He was sadly used to dealing with deceit but hated to find it in one so young as Goober Glory.

“No, sir. I never. But I will. I’d rather an’ I must–I must! Oh, I can’t let her go to that terr’ble station house where thievers an’ bad folks go, an’ she so white an’ pure an’ little an’ sweet! I can’t. She mustn’t. She shan’t! So there.”

At her own enumeration of Bonny Angel’s charms, the girl’s heart thrilled afresh with love and admiration, and, catching her again into her close embrace, she fell to rapturously kissing the small face that was now “sweet” in truth, from the sticky drops the child had licked.

“Nonsense! If you don’t know where she belongs, nor have any money to spend in finding out, the station’s the only place. It’s the first place, too, she’ll be looked for, and she’ll be well cared for till claimed. You can go along with her, maybe, since you appear to be lost, too,” remarked the officer. “But I’m wasting time. You stop right here by Apple Kate’s stand, while I step yonder and telephone headquarters. A man’ll come over next boat and take you both back.”

The chance of going “back” to the city whose very paving stones now seemed dear to her did, for an instant, stagger Glory’s decision. But only for an instant. Bonny Angel was still the guide. It was Bonny Angel who had brought them to this further shore where, beyond this great, noisy ferry-house were those green terraces and waving trees. It was here, separated by the wide river from all familiar scenes, that her search must go on.

A customer came to the stand and occupied Apple Kate’s attention, at the same time the wharf policeman walked away to send his message concerning little Bonny. That moment was Glory’s opportunity, and she improved it, thinking with good reason:

“If onct he gets a-hold on us he won’t leave us go. He’d think it wouldn’t be right, for a p’liceman. Well, then, he shan’t get a-hold!”

A few minutes later, when her patron had passed on, Apple Kate looked around and missed the children, but supposed they had followed the officer. Yet when he came back to the stand, he denied that they had done so and angrily inquired “why she couldn’t keep an eye on them and oblige a man, while he just rung up headquarters?”

To which she as crisply replied, “Huh! My eyes has had all sight o’ them they want, and they’ll trouble you nor me no more. They’ve skipped, so you might ’s well trot back and ring down whatever you’ve rung up. They’ve skipped.”

CHAPTER X

Another Stage of the Journey

The ferry-house where the policeman had found Glory and her “Angel” was also the terminus of a great railway. Beyond the waiting-room were iron gates, always swinging to and fro, for the passage of countless travelers; and from the gates stretched rows of shining tracks. Puffing engines moved in and out upon these, drawing mighty carriages that rumbled after with a deafening noise. Gatemen shouted the names of the outgoing trains, whistles blew, trunk-vans rattled, and on every side excited people called to one another some confusing direction.

Glory, with Bonny Angel in her arms, had hurried up to one of these iron gates, feeling that if she could but dash through and place that barrier between herself and the too-faithful policeman, she would be free at last. But the chance of so doing was long delayed. That particular gateman appeared to prevent anybody passing him who did not show a bit of printed cardboard, as he called, “Tickets! have your tickets ready!”

And, oh, in what a glorious voice he so directed them!

“My heart! If I could holler goobers like he does them car-trains, folks’d jest have to buy, whether er no!” thought the little peddler, so rapt in listening that she forgot everything else; till, at one louder yell than all, the child in her arms shrieked in terror. At which the gateman whirled round, leaving a space behind him, and Glory darted through.

Neither the official nor she knew that she was doing a prohibited thing; for he supposed she was hurrying to overtake some older party of travelers and she knew nothing of station rules. Once past this gate, she found herself in dangerous nearness to the many trains and could walk neither this way nor that without some guard shouting after her, “Take care, there!”

She dared not put Bonny Angel down even if the child would have consented, and, continually, the rumblings and whistlings grew more confusing. In comparison with this great shed, Elbow Lane, that Miss Bonnicastle had found so noisy, seemed a haven of quietude and Glory heartily wished herself back in it.

There must be a way out of this dreadful place, and the bewildered little girl tried to find it. Yet there behind her rose a high brick wall in which there was no doorway, on the left were the waiting or moving trains and their shouting guards, and on the right that iron fence with its rolling gates and opposing gatemen, and, also, that policeman who would have taken Bonny Angel from her. Before her rose the north-side wall of the building, that, at first glance, seemed as unbroken a barrier as its counterpart on the south; but closer inspection discovered a low, open archway through which men occasionally passed.

“Whatever’s beyond here can’t be no worse,” thought Take-a-Stitch, and hurried through the opening. But once beyond it, she could only exclaim, “Why, Bonny Angel, it’s just the same, all tracks an’ cars, though ’tain’t got no roof over! My, I don’t know how to go–an’ I wish they would keep still a minute an’ let a body think!”

Even older people would have been confused in such a place, with detached engines here and there, snorting and puffing back and forth in a seemingly senseless way, its many tracks, and its wider outdoor resemblance to the great shed she had left.

“Guess this is what Posy Jane ’d call ‘hoppin’ out the fryin’-pan inter the fire,’ Bonny Angel. It’s worse an’ more of it, an’ I want to get quit of it soon’s I can. ’Tain’t no ways likely grandpa’s hereabouts, an’ – My, but you’re a hefty little darlin’! If I wasn’t afraid to let you, I’d have ye walk a spell. But you might get runned over by some them ingines what won’t stay still no place an’ I dastn’t, you dear, precious sweetness, you! I shan’t put you down till I drop, ’less we get out o’ this sudden.”

But even as she clasped her beloved burden the closer, Bonny Angel set this decision at naught by kicking herself free from the girl too small and weary to prevent; and once upon the ground, off she set along a particularly shining track, cooing and shrieking her delight at her own mischievousness.

“Oh! oh! oh!” screamed Glory, and started in pursuit. Of course, she could run much faster than her “Guardian,” but that tiny person had a way of darting sidewise, here and there, and thus eluding capture just as it seemed certain.

Fortunately, the direction she had chosen led outward and away from the maze of steel lines, and, finding no harm come of it and the child so happy, Glory gave up trying to catch and simply followed her. Just then, too, there came into view the sight of green tree-tops and a glimpse of the river, and these encouraged her to proceed. Indeed, she was now more afraid to go back than to go forward, and Bonny Angel’s strange contentment in the care of a stranger, like herself, renewed a belief that she was other than mere mortal, and so above the common needs of babies.

Reasoned this “Little Mother” of Elbow Lane, “If she was just plain baby an’ not no ‘Angel,’ she’d a-cried fer her ma, an’ she hain’t never, not onct. She hain’t cried fer crusts, neither, like Meg-Laundress’s twins is always doin’. ’Course, them cakes what th’ Apple Kate give her was sweet an’ a lot of ’em. The crumbs I et when Bonny Angel fired the bag away was jest like sugar. My, prime! Some day, when I get rich, an’ they ain’t nobody else a-wantin’ ’em, I’ll buy myself some cakes ezackly like them was. I will so–if they ain’t nobody else. But, there, Glory Beck, you quit thinkin’ ’bout eatin’ ’less first you know, you’ll be hungry an’ your stummick’ll get that horrid feel again. Hi, I b’lieve it’s comin’ a’ready an’ yet I had that splendid breakfast!”

Somehow, the idea of food occurred to this trio of travelers at one and the same time. Bo’sn crept up to his mistress and rubbed his sides against her legs, dumbly pleading for rest and refreshment. He was very tired, for a dog, and as confused as Take-a-Stitch by these strange surroundings, and acted as if unwilling to go further afield. At every possible chance now, he would lie down on the ground and remain there until his companions were so far in advance that he feared to be lost himself. Surely he felt that this long road was the wrong road, where he would listen in vain for the tap-tap of his master’s cane and the scent of his master’s footsteps.

As for Bonny Angel, she suddenly paused in the midst of her mischievous gaiety, put up her lip and began to howl as loudly and dismally as any common Lane baby could have done. Then when her new nurse hurried to her, distressed and self-reproachful for not having carried her all the way, down the little one flung herself prone in the dirt and rolled and kicked most lustily.

Glory did her utmost, but she could neither quiet nor lift the struggling “Angel,” and finally she ceased her efforts and, with arms akimbo and the wisdom of experience coolly addressed her charge:

“See here, Bonny Angel! You’re the sweetest thing in the world, but that’s jest spunk, that is. You’re homesick, I s’pose, an’ tired an’ hungry, an’ want your ma, an’ all them bad things together makes you feel ye don’t know how! I feel that-a-way myself, a-times, but I don’t go rollin’ in mud puddles an’ sp’ilin’ my nice silk coats, I don’t. I wouldn’t besmutch myself so not fer nothin’. My, but you be a sight! An’ only this mornin’ ’t ever was you was that lovely!”

When Take-a-Stitch treated Bonny Angel as she would have treated any other infant, the result proved her wisdom. As soon as comforting ceased, the child’s rebellion to it also ceased; and when, shocked by its condition, the girl stooped to examine the once dainty coat, its small wearer scrambled to her feet, lifted her tear-stained face to be kissed, smiled dazzlingly, and cried merrily, “Bonny come!”

“Oh, you surely are an ‘Angel,’ you beautifullest thing!” said Glory, again raising the child in her arms and starting onward once more. She had no idea whither they were going and Bonny Angel had ceased to point the way with her tiny forefinger, but she cuddled her curly head on her nurse’s shoulder and presently fell asleep.

The tracks diminished in number as they proceeded till they came to a point where but few remained. Some ran straight on along the river bank, though this was hidden by outlying small buildings; and some branched westward around the bluff whereon grew those green trees and sloped the terraces seen from the boat. Here, after a halt of admiration, Glory found it growing exceedingly dark, and wondered if it had already become nightfall.

“It seems forever an’ ever since we started, but I didn’t think ’twas nigh bedtime. An’, oh, my! Where will we sleep, an’ shall I ever, ever find my grandpa!”

It was, indeed, nearing the end of the day but it was a mass of heavy clouds which had so suddenly darkened the world, clouds so black and threatening that the workmen scattered along the tracks, busy with pick and shovel, began to throw down their tools and make for the nearest shelter. One man, with a coat over his head to protect him from the already falling drops hurried past Glory, where she stood holding Bonny Angel, and advised:

“Best not tarry, children, but scud for home. There’s a terrible storm coming.” But he did not stop to see that they followed his advice nor inquire if any home they had.

Poor Glory’s heart sank. She was not afraid of any storm for herself though she had never heard wind roar and wail as this did now, but how could she bear to have her “Guardian” suffer. Even Meg’s healthy youngsters sometimes had croup and frightened their mother “outen her seventy senses,” and the croup usually followed a prolonged playing in flooded gutters during a rain storm.

“I must find a place! Oh, there must be a place somewhere! She mustn’t get the croup an’ die on me–she mustn’t. Ain’t I got to take her to her ma, an’ how could I tell her I let the baby die? Oh, where?”

With an agonized glance in every direction and a closer enfolding of the sleeping child–over whose head she promptly threw her own abbreviated skirt–she discovered, at last, a haven of refuge.

“My heart! That’s littler ’an the littlest house, but it’s big enough fer us, you sweetest honey darlin’, an’ it must ha’ growed a-purpose, all in a minute, just fer us, like them fairy-lamp-an’-Aladdin yarns what grandpa used to tell me! An’ now I know fer true she is a surely ‘Guardian Angel,’ an’ is tooken care of every time, ’cause a minute ago that littler than the littlest wasn’t there at all, for I never saw it an’ I should. An’ now ’tis, an’ we’re in it an’ – Oh, how glad I am!”

While these thoughts were passing through her mind Glory had been staggering forward as swiftly as the wind and the burden she carried would allow and she reached the shelter none too soon. The very instant she passed within, the rain came down in torrents and the tiny structure swayed dizzily in the gale.

“Littler than the littlest” it was, indeed; only a railway switchman’s “box,” erected to shelter him in just such emergencies and from the cold of winter nights. It had tiny windows and a narrow door; and, placing Bonny Angel on the corner bench–its only furnishing–Take-a-Stitch hastened to make all secure. The lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, but still and happily the worn-out “Guardian” slept; so that, herself overcome by fatigue and the closeness of the atmosphere the now vagrant “Queen of Elbow Lane” dropped in a heap on the floor and also slept.

This switch-box was one but seldom used and nobody came near it till morning. Then a passing road-hand, on his way to work, fancied it a good place wherein to eat his breakfast and opened the door. His cry of surprise at sight of its strange occupants roused them both, and sent Glory to her feet with an answering cry; while Bonny Angel merely opened her eyes, stared sleepily around, and smilingly announced: “Bonny come!”

“Bless us, me honey, so you did! But it’s meself’d like to be knowin’ where from an’ how long sence the pair of ye got your job on the railroad?”

There was nothing to fear about this man, as Goober Glory saw at once. His homely face was gay with good health and good nature and the sunshiny morning after the storm seemed not more sunshiny than he. But his curiosity was great and he did not rest till it was satisfied by a full recital of all that had happened to the straying children and their plans for the future were explained.

The man’s face grew grave and he shook his head with misgiving: “Lookin’ for a lot of lost people, is it, then? Hmm. An’, that may be more’n of a job than straightenin’ crooked rails what the storm washed away, as I must be doin’ to onct. Too big a job to be tacklin’ on empty stummicks, betoken; so here, the two of yez, fall in an’ taste this bread an’ meat an’ couple o’ cold spuds, an’ let me get on to me own affairs.”

Opening his tin pail, he made a cup of its inverted top, into which he poured a lot of cold tea and offered it to Glory, who in turn, promptly presented it to the now clamorous Bonny, and had the pleasure of seeing the little one drink deeply before she discovered for herself that it was not her accustomed milk, and rejected the remainder. Both the workman and Take-a-Stitch laughed at the little one’s wry face, while having divided the bread and meat into three fair portions, all fell to with a will, so that soon not a crumb was left.

“Ah, that was prime!” cried Glory, smacking her lips; “and you’re the primest sort of man to give it to us. I hope I’ll have something to give you some time,” she finished a little wistfully, and keenly regarding various rents in his clothes. “If I had my needle an’ thread I might work it out, maybe. You need mendin’ dreadful.”

“Betoken! So I do. An’ be ye a colleen ’at’s handy with them sort o’ tools?”