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• I4lt"
VOLUME L
OXFOIU), N. 0., 'WEDNESDAY, MAUOD. 3, 1875.
K EMBER y.
SFx:EU'T:i’:!>
YliOM. THE CKATTEHBOX.
CSSTL®.
citAPTnn rii.—co'JfTimjKD rnoM i.ast ■svkkk.
Tvrouty-throe is oT,rly in
life to fed it a biirdon, hut Mi's.
liankin fdt it such. At sixteen
sho had been a bright, happy
girl, silly and vain, no doubt, but
she had had little teaching, and
licr prettp’ face brouglit licr nuiny
flattering speeches.
No speeches were so pleasant
to silly Jenny M hito as good-
looking Joe Rankin’s; and she
bad only known him soiiie few
weeks wlien, with no thought for
the future, their banns wore put
up, and Joe and Jane became
man and wife. Ihit wedding rib
bons and smiling faces do n(»t last
forever; neither do good looks
bring work, or silly, idle wxird-s
manage the money and home.
Joe Wits not over stead)', to be
gin with, and Jenny knew noth
ing of ma)iagement: and W'hen
there was no tire or (*,onubrt in
the small room which they called
hoin.e, doe went back to his old
companions at tlie public liouse,
and Jennyaoon felt wliat it was to
having ‘nothing coming in’to pay
for food, fli-e or bhclter, or to suf
fer bilierly wlieu Joe IkkI work,
ami his earnings weiai spent in
the flariigt gin ])alaco instead ol
on tliii'.gs for his home.
EviU grow quickly, and ])y the
time two babies wmre added to
their home, Jenny was a Wr>rn,
hard-worked woman, taking in
washing, - doing charing, and
gruinbiing at lier life and its mis-
(;riert. Not that she did not love
]»er husband. Deej) in her heart
she loveil idm fondly and truly,
and though she gave him hard
words, and failed in making his
home happy, she tlmuglifc no one
so liandsonie and kind, and ex
cused and })ltied his faults.
Time added a third baby to
their family, and scarcely was
poor Jenny about again, wlien,
without a word of warning, Joe
disapi>eared, leayiug his poor
you2}g wife and three small chil
dren to fight as they might with
their pt)verty.
It was in one of her useless
walks in searcli of her husband
that Jenny Rankin liad fallen in
with our Polly. The acquaint
ance began by Polly’s offer to
lielp the poor, tired, Iialf-starved
young motlicr, to take her tliroe
crying babies home. And it had
grown into an almost daily visit,
as rarely did twenty-four hours
pass over, Avithout Polly’s pre
senting herself in tlio little back
attic, eitlicr to play with the chil
dren, or give a hand to the wash
ing, or to listen, half puzzled, but
comforting, to tlie self-reproaclics
for the past and Avonders for tlie
future of poor, sad Mrs. Rankin.
Polly spent many a long hour
in Mrs" Rankin’s attic, and might
have lived there pretty near, but
for Ibe cbild’s inbred deiicac)'.
No matter how liungvy the little
woman was, the more inontion of
food Avas enough to send her olf.
The usual end to her stay Avith
]\Irs. Rankin Avas, ‘avgH, there, I
Avili just run doAvn and fill A'our
kettle, and then I’ll bo off; Lottie
Jones Avill A'er\' likely be.AA’anting
me or, inay-be, if slio doesn’t,
Grannie may Iiavo come home a
hit earli3r.’
And a bright afternooTi it was
for i.xAor, dirty little Polly, if Lot
tie Jones did Avant her. Most of
us, knovs'ingly or unknowingly,
haA'e our fidry land and fairies,
and PoliA'’s fairy land AA-as Mr.
June’s ])arlor, and her fairA', Ixis
only daughter, little eight-years
old Lottie.
Mr. Jones, as aa'o saw at the
beginning of tliis story, Avas th.e
overseer of the dust heap, and lie
rented of I^Irs. Kelliek lier two
best rooms. lie and Iiis Avife Avero
comfortable, respectable people,
Avlio liked to have a neat, cosy
home, and aboAm all, to liave theii'
only cliild, Lottie, all that aa'us
tidy in dress, behavior and bring
ing 11)), according to their station.
Polly’s knowledge of Lottie
Avas of a limited kind, and to
Avitlfin the last two years had
at a distance.
About two Avlnters ben re the
time of Avliich J am Arritlng, Lot
tie liad a sortou>s illness, during
Avhicb ]‘oj]\' acted as medicine
carrier; and her anxiety for the
sick cluld’s Avell-doing so bundled
the anxious father and motiier,
that since that time their acquaint
ance laid increased; tlnuigli Polly
still felt luuv inferior she Avas to
the ‘grand’ friend. Still her ad
miration for h.er OA'crcame OAmry-
thing, and the pleasunx of a (piar-
ter of an Iioxir’s talk on the stairs,
or a hasty call from Lottie, to
(vome rq) to tlic lauding outside
h'.n* ))arent’s room to see some new
frock or toy, Avas never dimmed
bv a shade of .‘nvy, or marred 'bA'
the thought tliat she Awas expected
to bo at l^ottie’s bec.k and call.
in the dull struggling life of
‘Nobody’s Child,’ tlie sweetest
music she almost ever heiird was
Lottie’s A'oice calling over lltc
bannisters, ‘Polly, 1 Avant you
here a bit,’ and the brightest pic
ture sb.e knoAv was Lottie’s smil
ing face, Avith its rosy clieeks and
bright blue eyes, shaded by her
sunny curls.
CHAl^TKli IV. rOLI.Y’S AV'OP.K.
Our last chapter was only
meant to throw a little liglit on
Polly’s life and friends, and I
mu.st now go back to the con
cluding AA'ords of tlie second chap
ter, and remind you that ‘Polly
had the key next day, xhougli it
was not giA'cn her with a good
grace.’
‘And there is the key,’ growled
the old Avoman after giAung Polly
her bread for the day, ‘and if you
lose it, or keep mo AA'aitiiig, see if
you ever haA’e it again.’
Pc'lly’s heart sank a bit Avhen
she cast her eyes round the little
room, into aa’IiIcIi the faint light
of a dull Novomher day had hard
ly as yet penetrated, and she had
almost finished her bit of bread
before she rememhored her dog-
friends. Starting np she paid her
usual vi.sit to them and Alaster
Ta])p, and was soon hack again,
and busy with the old broom and
pail. Slie was so occupied wfith
her work tiiat she liardly heeded
how time w'as speeding, when she
was stavtleel by a voice, saying,
‘I'olly !’ close beside her. Turning
round she saiv Lotty’s face peer
ing- ill at the door, and presontiy
the wliolo of I’.or small fignro was
.standing within the room.
Wiait a strango contrast the
two ciiildi-en pi-esented! IiOttie,
with her round face, lihio eyes,
and shining curls, looked sadly
(Hit of jiiace in tlie damp little
kitchen, while. Tolly’s small -pale
face, all black with dirt, and her
ill-clad figure, seemed jiart and
parcel of flie jilr.ce. As if to make
the contrast stronger a hunt No
vember sunbeam liad stole-n in at
tlie w'iudow and seemed to linger
lovingly about .Lottie, and to
leave Tolly to look darker and
dirtier than over, as she knelt by
her pail in tlio shadow by the
fireplace.
‘Whatever are you doing, Tol
ly ?’ asked Miss la.'ttie. ‘1 have
called you over so niany times !
\Vh\', you are as black las a tink
er !■'
‘I should just think I was,’ re
plied Toll'.-, rising from her knees,
an-d wiping her hands on her
frock. ‘Grannie ha,s let me clean
np instead of her, and you can’t
think wliat a job 1 have liad.
You never would believe ivliat a
lot of dirt there '.va.s. Y'ou see
Grannie’s clothes bring back such
a lot of dust from the heap, let
alone ni\' coming in and out. But
doson’t it look clean siie con
tinued, stopjiing- back a jiaco, and
surveying- her w-evk with head on
one side.
‘Ye-e-Os,’ aiie’.vercd Lottic-,somc-
what doubtfully, to tliose oye.s the
damp, ill-cleaned room, after her
own tidy, bright liome, looked
wretcheilness itself.
But Tolly was not diiK-ouTagod
by the liesitating- reply to her
ipicstion. Tlio work had brought
its own reward, as honest work
always does, and Tolly’s eyes
brightened as she stirvop-tsl the
■resnlt of her labors.
‘I’ve most done now,’ she con
tinued ; ‘there’s only the fire to
lay re.ady, and the plate.s to have
a good wash, and then I nmst
give myself a hit of a clean be-
ibre I go round to Mrs. Rankin’s.
I stipjioso it is jiast twelve, from
your being come liome from
school V
‘I’ast twelve indeed,’ replied
Lottie, ‘I should just think it -s-as.
Whv, we have had dinner and
mother has washed up, and it is
nearly time for nie to go hack to
•school again. Wliy, it is nearly
two o’clock!’
‘To think of its having taken
me all this time !’ exclaimed Tol
ly. ‘But I thought it must be
lateish, as the work had made me
liungry. Well, if you don’t want
mo for nothing- pnrticnlar, I’llj-ost
finish up, and have a bit of some
thing and be off.’
‘No,’ said Lottie, ‘it was not
anj-tliing very particular I want
ed you for. I liad not anything
to do, and thought you might like
to know that mother has got mo
a purple merino for best, and I
am to have my tuscan hat trim
med up with velvet to match.’
So saying-, Lottie departed,
leaving Tolly to put what she
thought w-ero fimshing touclies,
and to eat her reuiainiiig crust of
bread. It was a v'ery th-y one,
hut Folly ate it with great relish
after her work, and looked round
with admiring ej’es at the state of
tlio room. Gradually her mind
-svandored away from whiit was
before lier to Lottie’s talk of tlio
pm-jde merino and velvet, and on
to her own pet vision of hoiv some
day she herself would have a now
print frock and capo, that no one
else had ever worn, ami a straw-
bonnet ivith red ribbons, with
striiigs that would always keep it
oil lier head, and that tlien she
ivouid he able to go with t!-.c
schooi-chi!di-cii for their treat in
the summer. It had often been
described to her, and her small
niiiid wandered through the de
lights of the start in the red-cur
tained vans; the arrival in the
country with hoautifn! trese and
grass like those in Victoria Square,
only a great deal better; the piic-
nic meal on the grass with as
much meat and bread ‘as ever
p-ou can eat,’ to sap- nothing of
colli pudding afterwards; the af
ternoon -wandering about in the
warm sunshino picking Map-, or
plap-ing games, or singing till it
was time to meet for tea.’ ‘Oil, it
would bo verp-, verp- nice!’ and
Tolly clasped her little black
hands and wondered whether such
a pleasure would ever fall to her
lot. ‘i expect not,’ she said, half
aloud as she rose, and jmsliing
back her hair, til'd on her big
black bonnet, and turned to go
out, adding, as she took her last
look, ‘The kettle is filled, and the
fire is all laid, I do wonder what
Grannie wilt sap-.’
She placed the key' within the
bosom of h.er dress, and w-as pass
ing out into th-e street when she
paused, and after a moment’s hes
itation turned back, and tapping
timidlp- at Mrs. Kellick’s aX)r,
drew forth the key again, and
placing it in tlie landladp-’s hands,
said, ‘Grannie grave me the kep-
this morning, and I was just go
ing to take it out 'ivith me when I
thought I might drop it or some-
tiling, or very likelp’ she might
be in first, so would p-ou just
mind it and give it her, U' I’m not
back ?’ Prudent little woman!
perhaps the time when p-ou will
liavo no need to think for others
is not so verp- far off. It has not
cuite come p-et, so go on and see
whether or no p-o'd ai-e wanted in
the back attie.
Yes, slio was sadlp- wanted.
Mrs. Rankin’s work had been
■sla^k of late, and since she last
saw' PoUp- her troubles had been
added to bp- the loss of eighteou-
peiice,—no large sura certalnlp-,
but shillings and sixpences were
scp.rce articles with poor Mrs.
liaukin, and tins monop- had been
her hope for bread and fire for
her littlo ones for several dap-s to
come. The poor woman, xveak
with want and anxietp-, was sit
ting before the empty fireplace,
as Tollp- entered, sobbing bitterlp-,
while the habp- slept on the heap
of straw which formed the onlp-
bed, and the two elder childi-en
sat cowering by her feet crying
for food.
‘Is that p-Q-d, Pol!p- l’ sobbed
she. ‘I thought I had seen the
last of p-ou as I have of most
things !’
‘Why; whatever is the matter
now V answered Polly cheerfully:
‘it is only- two dap-s ago I was
round here, and then p-ou thoug-lit
tilings were looking up a bit’
So I misrht then,’ ans'.vGred
Mrs. Eankin, ‘hut it is verv dif
ferent now-. Mrs. Jones is ill and
has a nurso in who will do her
w-a.shivig, BO there’s an end of mp-
bit there for the present. Mrs.
Buiicc’s eiglitocnpenoe 1 managyx)
to drop coming home this morn
ing, no where’s the use of my trp^
ing to keep going when everp'-
thing goes like this? The chil
dren had tlie last jfiece of bread
to-dav, and I liaveii’t w-liere to
turn for mors, or for coals neith
er ! Ah ! its verp- liard, and I am
pi-ettp- nigh tired of trp-ing.’ Tlie
poor creature buried Iter face in
her hands and rocked herself to
and fro, -A-hilo Pollp' -wondered
what she could do or .sap- to com
fort her ; and by wap- of begin
ning she picked up the two eldor
ehildi-en and set them in the -win
dow-seat, promising if thep' would
not erp' she -would have a good
game ‘when mother was better.’
Tlien turning herself to Mrs. Han-
kin, she said,—
‘There now-, don’t take on so;
things do look black to be sure,
buttliep- have done that times and
times before, and so-mething has
always turned up.’
‘Tliep- never were so bad before,’
cried the poor woman ; ‘the rent
is behind awful, and I’m almost
afraid to go in and out, for fear
Mrs. Robinson should tell me I
must go. AYhere to, I -n-onder?
I've pawned everything and I’ve
no one to turn to. Mrs. B-nnee’s
washing- onlp" comes once a fort
night, Mrs. J( nea is ill, and the
others who used to give me a bit
of w-ork are dead or gone away,
or too poor, or something There’s
nothing left, it seems to mo, but
for me and the children to get out
of the w-or!d as fast as w-e can.
We’ie not rvanted in it, that’s
clear; and I’m sure it’s not so
pleasant as to make one wish to
stoj) longer. Whp-,’ she continu
ed, rising from her seat and pac
ing lip and down the room, ffhat
girl up Windmill Street that
drowned herself last week was
onlp- a p-ear older than me, and
hadn’t had half the tro-uble I have
had. Ah I she was a wise one,
she -H'as, to give it all up.’
Polip- started back at those
words, and the wild, hard look in
Mrs, Rankin’s ep-ea made her
heart beat. After a few taomeBts,
glie found courage to say, ‘PleasO
don’t talk like that, it do sound so
dreadful. I recollect ever so long
ago hearing Grandfather- (that's
Mr. Furmedgs, p-ou laiow) say sB
how no one has a right to get out
of the w-orld before his time, that
God gives us oui- lives, and that
it is murder to take them.
. ‘Mr. Furmedgs wasn’t starving
himself, and hadn’t three starving
little children neither,’ groaned
Mrs. Ran^:in.
‘Can’t you get the House to
help p-ou a bit morel’ asied Pollp-.
‘iluch p-ou /mow about the
House,’ answered her companion;
‘never a hit more than a loaf and
a sliiliing will they give me, be-
ca-jso tliep' say I can -work, and
so I would till I dropped if I
could onlp' get it. Then they say
I ought to be drafted into the
parish I came from, but I can’t
bear to leave this room ; why, it
is the one Joe brought me home
to after wo wire married, and
where ho left mo ; and if lie was
to come hac7c and find me gone,
whp- most liAelp’ we should never
meet again.’