THE LITTLE BEGGAR-GIRL.
Oneday, when uncle Joe could think of no story to tell, he read to the children one which he had borrowed from a friend, and which was entitled “The Little Beggar-Girl.” The story was as follows:—
There were once two beggar-children, named Paul and Nora. Paul was ugly and cross; but Nora was so sweet-tempered, that nothing could make her speak an unkind word. She had beautiful eyes, and her hair was of a golden brown. These children had no home, and not a single friend in the world. On pleasant nights they slept in a market-cart; but, if it was rainy, they crept underneath. It was their business to wander about the city, begging whatever they could.
One day Paul found an old basket with the handle gone. “Now,” said he, “we will go into the bone business.”
“And then won’t you beat me any more?” said Nora.
“Not if you mind me,” said Paul, “and beg something nice for me every day. What have you got there?”
THE LITTLE BEGGAR-GIRL.
THE LITTLE BEGGAR-GIRL.
THE LITTLE BEGGAR-GIRL.
Nora showed him some bits of bread and dry cake, achicken-bone, and a bunch of grapes, which an old gentleman had given her because her eyelashes were like those of his dear little grandchild who had died years before.
“Why didn’t you get more grapes?” said Paul. “I could eat twenty times as many. Here, you may have three, and the whole of that chicken-bone.”
Nora threw her arms about his neck, and said, “O Paul, how good it is to have a brother! If I didn’t have you, I shouldn’t have anybody.”
That night they crept under the cart; for it was rainy. But first they covered the ground with some old straw. “How good it is to have a cart over us,” said Nora, “and straw to sleep on!” But Paul bade her stop talking; for he was tired.
After he was asleep, Nora crept out to pay a visit to her window. She called it her window. It was on the back-piazza of a nice house. The curtains hung apart a little, leaving a crack; and every night she paid a visit here to watch the undressing and putting to bed of a little girl.
She could see the laughing face as it peeped through the long, white night-gown, and the rosy toes as they came out of their stockings. She could see the little girl’s arms holding tight around the mother’s neck, and the mother’s arms holding tight her little girl. She could also both see and hear the kisses; and, by putting her ear close to the window, could sometimes catch the very words of the evening hymn. Nothing seemed to her half as beautiful as this; for it was the only singing of that kind she had ever heard.
But on this particular night she dared not stay longat the window; for Paul had said they must start out of the city by daybreak to look for bones, and had bade her go to sleep early. She only waited to see the little girl’s hair brushed, and then to see her spat the water about in the wash-bowl.
After creeping under the cart, where Paul was sleeping, she put out her hands to catch the rain-drops, and washed her face. Molly the rag-picker had given her an old comb she had found in a dirt-barrel, and a faded handkerchief. For these she had given a bit of cake. To be sure, the cake was dry, and required a stone to break it; but it contained two plums; and, when Molly made the trade, she was thinking of her little lame boy at home. And so Nora sat up in the straw, and combed out her pretty hair. It was long (for there was no one to cut it), and of a most lovely color. To tell the truth, there was not a child in all the street whose hair was half as beautiful.
“I cannot be undressed,” she thought, “because I have no night-clothes; and I cannot be kissed or sung to sleep, because I have only Paul. And Paul—he couldn’t; oh, no! Paul doesn’t know the way; but I can do this.”
And, while thinking such thoughts as these, she combed out her long hair just as she had seen the little girl’s mother do; and, by tying the three-cornered handkerchief under her chin, she kept it smooth.
The next morning they set forth at sunrise to search for bones, swinging the basket between them.
“How bright the sun shines!” said Nora: “now our clothes will dry.” And, when they were out of the city, she said, “No matter for shoes now, Paul, the grass is so soft.”
“You are always being pleased about something,” said Paul. “Anybody would think you had every thing you want.”
Nora was still for a moment; and then she said, “Oh, no, Paul! I want one thing a great deal: I think about it every night and every day.”
“What is it?” said Paul. “Can’t you beg for one?”
“No,” said she, “I couldn’t.”
“Why don’t you tell?” said Paul, speaking crossly.
“I don’t like to say it,” said Nora.
“Tell,” said Paul, giving her a push, “or I’ll strike you.”
Nora crept up close to him, and whispered, “I want somebody to call me darling.”
“You’re a ninny,” said Paul: “you don’t know any thing.I’ll call you darling. Darling, hold up the basket.”
“But that isn’t real,” said Nora: “you don’t know the right way; and the darling isn’t in your eyes,—not at all. Yesterday I met a little girl,—as little as I. Her shoes were pretty, and a kind lady was walking with her; and, when they came to a crossing, the lady said, ‘Come this way, my darling;’ and it was in her eyes. You couldn’t learn to say it right, Paul; for you are only a brother, and can’t speak so softly. Did we two have a mother ever, Paul?”
“To be sure we did!” said Paul: “she used to rock you in the cradle, and tell me stories. I wasn’t but four then: now I’m eight, and most nine.”
“Was she like Molly?” asked Nora.
“Not a bit! her face was white, and so were her hands,—jolly white. She used to cry, and sew lace.”
“Cry?—a mother cry? What for?”
“Can’t say; hungry, maybe. Sometimes father hit her. But stop talking, can’t you? I want to run down this hill: catch hold.”
As they were walking along the road, at the bottom of the hill, breathing fast from running so hard, they met a wicked-looking man, whose whiskers were black and very heavy. His nose was long, and hooked over at the end. He had a short-waisted coat with a peaked tail. He laughed almost every time he spoke.
When he saw Paul and Nora, he said, “Where are you going, children?—going to take a walk? He, he, he!”
“To pick up bones,” said Paul. “I know a man that buys them.”
“I’ll buy your bones,” said the man, “and give you a good price for them. My shop is in this yellow brick house. Come this evening; come about eight; come to the back-door. Is this your little sister?”
“Yes,” said Paul.
“Well, bring your sister. I like your little sister. He, he, he! Good-morning, and good-luck to you.” Then he patted Nora’s head, and went away, laughing, “He, he, he!”
It was hard work for Nora, walking far out of town, and climbing fences, looking for bones which had been thrown out, or hidden by dogs; and many times they were driven away by cross servants.
“It’s all your fault,” said Paul. “You are always peeping in at windows. If you don’t stop it, I’ll strike you.”
“I only want to see what the little girls do,” said Nora. “They go up the steps, and the door shuts; and then, when I can’t see them any more,—then what do they do, Paul?”
“How should I know?” said Paul. “Can’t you stop talking, and give me something to eat? What have you got?”
Nora showed him all her broken bits, and then untied the corner of her handkerchief. There were a few pennies tied up there, given her by a lady who was pleased with her pleasant face. “What shall we do with these, Paul?” said she.
“Well,” said Paul, “I think—I think I’ll buy a cigar. I never had a cigar.”
“To be sure!” said Nora: “a boy ought to have a cigar.”
And, while Paul smoked his cigar, she sat upon a stone near by, watching the smoke. He leaned back against a tree, puffing away, with his feet crossed high up on a rock. Nora was so pleased!
“How glad I am I’ve got you!” said she. “If I didn’t have you, I shouldn’t have anybody. When I grow up, maybe I’ll be your mother, and give you good things.”
“You’re a little fool!” said Paul. “Stop your talk now, and go look for more bones. There’s no need of both of us sitting idle.”
“Oh, my feet ache so!” said Nora. But she minded Paul, and went searching about till he called her to go back to the city.
The walk back was so tiresome, that Nora almost dropped down from weariness. “O Paul!” said she,“my hands are too little; and they are sore, and my feet are too. I can’t hold on. Oh! it’s going, Paul! it’s going!”
Paul gave her a blow across the shoulders. “There!” said he. “Let that basket go down again, will you? Hurry up! Who wants everybody staring?”
Nora’s bare feet were bleeding, her arms ached, and her shoulders smarted where his hand came down. She was so little!—so very little! Poor thing! she did her best.
Upon reaching the yellow brick house, Paul and Nora walked directly in at the back-door, as they had been told. The wicked-looking man came to meet them, and took them into a room very low in the walls, and hung round with bird-cages. In these cages were canary-birds,—a great many canary-birds; also Java sparrows and mocking-birds. The room smelt strong of soap. In a door leading to the next apartment there were two squares of glass set: through this small window they could see a man’s face, tipped a little backwards, which the hand of another man was covering with soap-foam. By this they knew it must be a barber’s shop.
The wicked-looking man took Nora by the hand, and said, as he placed her in a chair, “All right, my little lady,—he, he, he! All right, my little beauty! I want to cut off your hair.”
“Oh, no! oh, no!” said Nora; and she covered her head with both hands.
“Oh, yes! oh, yes!” said the man. “I won’t charge you any thing,—not a penny: cheap enough,—he, he,he!” The wicked-looking man wanted Nora’s beautiful hair to make up into curls, such as ladies buy. He came close up with his shears.
“Oh, I want it, I want it!” said Nora, beginning to cry.
“Let the man have it, can’t you?” said Paul.
“Oh, I can’t let him! I can’t, I can’t!” said Nora, sobbing.
“Why not? what’s the use of it?” said Paul.
“Oh!” said Nora, “because—because—I like it. And I have no boots, and no night-clothes, and nobody to lead me; and so—and so—I want it.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the man. “I’ll give you something for it. What do you want most?—he, he, he! Think now. Isn’t there any thing you want most?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nora; for she remembered what she had told Paul in the morning.
“Well,” said the man, “I thought so. What is it? Say.”
“I don’t like to speak it,” said Nora.
“Don’t like to? Why?”
“Because,” said Nora, sobbing, “you haven’t—it seems like—as if you couldn’t.”
Paul burst out laughing. “She wants somebody to call her darling,” said he.
“To call herwhat?”
“To call her darling.” And then he burst out laughing again; and the man raised both hands, and put up his shoulders, and burst out laughing, and they both laughed together.
At last the man took a walk round among his bird-cages,and said, “Come, I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll give you a bird. If you’ll give me your hair, I’ll give you a bird.”
“A live one?” asked Nora.
“Yes, a live one. And, besides that, your hair will grow: then you will have both.”
“Will it sing?” asked Nora.
“When he’s old enough,” said the man. “And here’s a little basket to keep him in. It used to be a strawberry-basket. I’ll put some wool in it. It looks like a bird’s nest. I’ll hang it round your neck with this long string. There, how do you like that?—he, he, he!”
He hung it around her neck. The bird looked up into her face with its bright little eyes. Nora put down her lips, and kissed it. Then she looked up at the man, and said faintly, “I will.”
The man caught up his great shears, and in less than five minutes Nora’s hair lay spread out upon the table. She turned away from it, weeping.
But Paul pulled her roughly along; and she soon dried her tears by saying over to herself, “It will grow; it will grow. And I have two now,—the bird and Paul. Before I had but one,—Paul: now two,—Paul and the bird, the bird and Paul,—two.”
For a whole week after this, Nora could think of nothing but her bird. It was lame. The man had cheated her: he had given her a bird that would not sell. But Nora loved it all the better for this. She would sit on the curb-stone, and let it pick crumbs from her mouth. While she was walking about, the bird hung from her neck in its little basket. Nights, she let it sleep in her bosom.
Very often, ladies and gentlemen passing along the street would stop when they saw her feeding her bird. They seemed to think it a very pretty sight. Or if people met her walking, the basket hanging around her neck, with the bird’s head peeping out, they would turn and say, “Now, isn’t that cunning?”
But one day, at the end of the week, Paul came from fighting with some boys: they had beaten him, and this had made him mad and cross. Nora had begged nothing very nice that day. He called her lazy, and came behind, as she was feeding her bird, and knocked it upon the pavement.
“There!” said he: “now you will do something.”
The bird was killed. Nora caught it to her bosom, and sobbed out, “O Paul! my little bird! O Paul!” Then she lay down upon the pavement, and cried aloud. Paul ran off, and presently a policeman came and ordered her up.
Nora had now lost her only comfort: no, not her only comfort; for she could still watch the little girls walking with beautiful ladies; and could still listen, standing upon the back-piazza, to the singing of evening hymns. And one day she discovered something which gave her great joy.
Without knowing that she could, without meaning to try to sing, she herself sang. At first it was only a faint, humming noise: but she started with pleasure; for it was the very tune in which the lady sang hymns to her little girl. She tried again, and louder; then louder still; and at last cried out, “O Paul! it’s just the same! it’s just the same! I didn’t think I could! How could I, Paul?—how did I sing?”
That was a hard summer for Nora. They had to go every day out of town: and wearisome work it was, climbing fences, and walking over the rough ways; and very few pennies did they get.
When winter came, they fared still worse. Nora begged a few clothes for herself and Paul; but all they could get were not enough to prevent them from suffering with cold. On nights when they had not even a penny apiece to pay for a place on the floor in some filthy garret or cellar, they piled up what old straw the cartmen would give them, and crept under that, in the best place they could find.
One very cold evening, when they had no shelter, Paul said, “Now to-night we shall surely freeze to death.”
“Oh, no!” said Nora: “I know where there are such heaps of straw! A man came and emptied a whole bedful on a vacant lot just back of a church.”
And when it grew dark they brought bundles of this straw, and made a bed of it in an archway under the church.
“Now, if we only had something for a blanket!” said Paul: “can’t you beg something for a blanket?”
“Oh, no!” said Nora; “it is so cold! Let me stay here.”
“Go, I tell you,” said Paul.
“Oh! I don’t want to beg in the evening,” said Nora.
“You shall go,” said Paul; and he gave her a push.
Then, as he grew very cross, she said, “I’ll try, Paul,” and ran off in the dark.
It was a bitter cold night: the sharp wind cut through her thin garments like a knife. Men stamped to keeptheir feet from freezing. Ladies hid their faces behind their furs. Scarcely any one spoke; but all went hurrying on, eager to get out of the cold.
“None of these people have anything to give me for a blanket,” thought little Nora.
She ventured to beg at a few houses: but the servants shut the doors in her face; and she could hear them answer to the people above stairs, “Only a beggar-girl.”
For all it was so cold, Nora could not pass the window of the back-piazza without looking in for a moment. The curtain was partly drawn aside. No one was in the room; but through the door she could see another larger room, brilliantly lighted. There were wax candles burning, and a bright fire was blazing in the fireplace. There were vases of flowers upon the table, and the walls were hung-with large pictures in shining gilt frames. Around the fire many people were seated, and the little girl was there kissing them all good-night. Nora could see them catch her up in their arms. One gave her a ride on his foot, another gave her a toss in the air, and one made believe put her in his pocket; and to every one the little girl gave a kiss on both cheeks.
Then her mother led her into the room where Nora had so many times watched the going to bed; and Nora saw, as she had often seen before, the white shoulders catch kisses when the dress slipped off, then the bright face peep through the night-gown and catch a kiss, and the little rosy feet put up to have their toes counted. Then there were huggings, and showers of kisses; and the little girl was laid in her crib, and blankets tucked close about her.
Next came the evening hymn, which the mother sang, sitting by the crib. Poor little Nora was almost benumbed with cold; but this singing was so sweet, she must stop just a few moments longer. Wrapping her thin shawl tightly about her, she stood bending over, her ear close to the window, that not a note might be lost.
And soon, almost without knowing it, she, too, was singing. But, as Nora had never learned any hymns, she could only sing what was in her mind: “Nora is cold; Nora has no blanket; Nora cannot kiss any mother.”
She sang very softly at first; but her voice would come out. It grew louder every moment; and this so delighted her, that she forgot where she was, forgot the cold, forgot every thing except the joy of the music. And, when the tune ran high, her voice rang out so loud and clear, that a policeman came toward the gate; and then Nora was frightened, and ran away. She ran back to the place where Paul was lying. He was asleep now. She crept in among the straw, and sat there shivering, looking up at the stars. She looked up at the stars: but she was thinking of the good-night kisses in the lighted room around the fireside, and of the little girl lying asleep in her crib, with the loving mother watching near; and the more these pleasant thoughts passed through her mind, the more lonely and sorrowful she felt.
“O Paul!” she whispered, “if I didn’t have you, I shouldn’t have anybody in the world. Good-night, Paul.” She put her arms softly around him, stroked his hair, and then tucked her thin shawl closely about him, just as the lady had tucked the blankets about her littlegirl, and kissed him. “Good-night, Paul,” she whispered again.
Then she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and began to sing, but very softly, lest some one should hear. She sang of the blazing fire, of the candles burning, of the flowers, of the pictures, of the undressing, of the kisses, of the sleeping child, and then of other little children walking in the streets, led by beautiful ladies.
Then it seemed as if she herself were one of these little girls. In her dream, she, too, was dressed in gay clothes, warmed herself by glowing fires, or was led along sunny streets by a gentle lady: and all the while she seemed to keep on singing; and everybody—the loving mothers and the pretty children—sang with her, until the whole air was filled with music. Her little bird, too, seemed to be there, and was singing with the rest: he came and nestled in her bosom.
Then in this beautiful dream she found herself sitting alone, clothed in white garments, in the midst of a soft, silvery light. A river rolled at her feet, beyond which hung, like a veil, a thin, shining mist. It was from behind this mist that the light was shed about her. Still the music kept on, but far more loud and sweet. It came from beyond the river; and she heard a voice in the air, saying, “Come and sing with the angel-children.”
Then she arose, and stood gazing like a lost child, not knowing how to cross the stream. But instantly a smile spread over her face; for she saw standing near, upon a bridge of flowers, a lady, in whose face were exceeding beauty and sweetness. She stretched forth to Nora her hands, saying in gentlest tones, “Comethis way, my darling.” And Nora trembled with joy, and smiled still more brightly; for the countenance of the lady was beaming with love, and the darling was in her eyes as she clasped to her bosom her own dear little child.
At early dawn a policeman found Paul lying in the straw asleep; and leaning upon his shoulder was the face of his little sister, stiff and cold in death. But the smile of joy was still there, and was witnessed by hundreds that day; for a great many people came to see the little frozen beggar-girl who had passed from her life of sorrow with so sweet a smile.
One of these persons, after hearing the policemen, beggar-woman, and others tell what they knew of Nora’s life, took one long look at her face as she lay there like a child smiling in its sleep; then went home and wrote the above story of the Little Beggar-Girl.