^ 4
VOLUME I.
OXFORD, x\. C., WEDNESDAY, MAKCiI 10 1875.
NUMBER 10.
SSIiECTEB §TORY.
FBOM THE CH.VrTERBOX,
NOBODT’S CIIM-D.
CHAPTER IV.—CONTINUED FROM EAST WEEK,
The memory of her husband
softened the hard look in her face,
and she sobbed again, so that she
frightened the two elder children
who clung to Polly, and asked in
whispers what made ‘manimie so
bad.”
‘ Sire will be better soon,’ an
swered Poll}', trying to soothe
the frightened little things, though
she herself was well-nigh as bad
as they were, and she felt much
inclined to sit down and cry too.
But crying was never much in
Polly’s way. Her short, hard
life had given her many reasons
for tears, but she had found them
of no use, and she had learned to
think that as she was ‘Nobody’s
Child,’ so nobody much cared
whether she was happy or sad,
and also that she was happiest
serving others.
Polly’s poor little heart ached
for her sad compa,nion, but what
could she do to help her in any
way I She had no bread, no
money to give, and no friends to
send her to for help.
But an answer to Polly’s wishes
for help for Jane Rankin was
closer at hand than eitlier of them
thought. As the former hesitated
as to what she should next say,
faintl y through the ill-closed win
dow stole in the chiming of a
church bell, and as its notes
reached her ear, returning hope
cheered her heart and brightened
her taco.
‘What a stupid I am to be sure!’
.she suddenly exclaimed, ‘never
to have thought of that before.’
‘What I’ asked Mrs. Rankin,
struck by the change in the child’s
voice.
‘Why, now look here,’ said the
child, ‘there’s the bell up at Christ
Church just struck up for the five-
o’clock service, and if you will
just put on your bonnet, we will
take the children and go. It is
warm there. Why many’s the
time wdien I have been ivell-nigh
perished with cold, 1 have heard
that bell calling me to go in and
get warm and comfortable. 1
used to go regular therp on Sun
day nights when Grandfather was
alive.’
‘Why, my clothes are not fit to
go in,’ replied Mrs. Rankin, look
ing down on her tattered dress.
‘Oh, that don’t matter,’ replied
Polly; ‘people don’t notice you a
bit, and there’s not such a many
as on Sundays. We will get a
seat close by the stove, and it is
so warm and quiet. They have
the prayers just ^he same as Sun
days, and hymns too. Now if
they would only sing “Guard us
waking,” I’m sure you would like
it. They help poor people there
too, after the prayers are 'Over.
Why, I have often seen a dozen
or more waiting, and they go into
the vestry, and see the parson,
and they get money, and tickets
on the shops. I daresay they
would help you, if you was to go
and tell them how bad off you
are.’
By this time the party were
ready to start, and though the
bell had stopped before they
readied the churcli, they slipped
in and took their places by the
stove.
To the poor, broken-spirited
woman, the peace and quiet of the
church were more resting than
aught else could have been just
then. In earlier years, church-
going had not been an unknown
tiling to her, but w'lieu her pretty
face ha.d begun to attract atten
tion, carelessness and flattered
vanity had made her forget all
else. Of late, care had taken the
place of carelessness, and some
such thoughts as, ‘What’s the use
of my going I I have so much on
my mind, I can’t pay attention,’
had made her give up church-go-
ing.^
For some minutes she sat with
her face buried in Iier hands, feel
ing nothing but that she was
quiet and warm, and that others
round her were joining in such
words, as, ‘We have erred and
strayed like lost sheep,’ ‘But
Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon
us;’ and b3--and-bye, ‘Give us
this day our daily bread, and for
give us our trespasses.’ Could it
all be real f Did God reaJhj think
of the like of her ? Work brought
her bread ; could God have any
thing to do with sending her and
her little ones food, or the work
which brought it ?
And then her thoughts traveled
far away to work, and trouble,
and Joe, till they wore again re
called by the voices of the choir,
singing again and again that ‘His
mercy endureth for ever.’ Was
there mercy then for her I and
woidd that mercy help her to
keep the little ones by her side
from starving ? Would it forgive
her wicked thoughts of putting an
end to her misei'ies, and would it
bring back her Joe ? Ah I I think
slie never in after-life forgot that
13fith Psalm; or ever heard it
without its recalling to her mind,
how, on this same evening, when
the day’s le.ssons had been read,
and more quiet prayers said, she
felt her sleeve pulled, and heard
Polly whisper, ‘It is the very one
I wanted.’ Neither could she
ever forget the look of her small
companion’s face, as with clasped
hands (all black and toil-stained)
she followed, in her quavering
child’s voice, the choir as they
sang—•
‘Guard us waking, guard us sleeping,
And, when we die,
May we in Thy mighty keeping
All peaceful lie.’
Soon, however, they W'ere
again in the streets, with home-
w'ard-bound steps, and brighter
faces and lighter hearts, for had
not Mrs. Rankin after prayers told
her story in the vestry, and re
ceived a shilling and an order for
coals to help her for to-night, and
had, what were as good almost,
kind words and a promise that
some one should come and see her
on the morrow ?
‘I tell you what, Polly,’ said
she; ‘we will just cross over to
White’s for a loaf, and then the
coal-place will be only a few
doors off, so we will bring in the
order and ask the man to bring
round the coals as quick as he
can. Just catch hold of Janie,
she is so thoughtless in the streets,
and I will bring Tommy along
with me.”
Polly turned quickly to where
.I.anie the moment befoi’e had
been trotting by her mother’s
side, and talking in her lisping
way of where she had been, but
she bad wandered on, and now-
stood some ten or twelve yards in
advance smilingly awaiting them
in the roadway of a side street.
A moment more and there was a
shout, and both Mrs. Rankin and
Polly saw a cab turn sharply into
the street where Janie stood. A
cry of terror hurst from the lips
of both, and one, if not both,
sprang forward.
How quickly a crowd gathers
even in unfrequented jiiirts of
London, and how quickly too
any evil tidings fly! Ere three
minutes have passed there is a
general notion halfway down the
main thoroughfare and through
the length and breadth of the side
street, that there has been an ‘ac
cident,’ that ‘some one has been
run over.” Heads appear at win
dows, doors open, and people run
quickly to the street corner.
When we last looked, there
was only a smiling child standing
there. Now there is a pushing-
crowd of men, rvomen, and chil
noon, afternoon, and early eve
ning passed without bringing his
little friend and helper, he had be
come so anxious that he closed
his small shop, and ventured forth
in quest of news. I think Poll}',
il she could have seen him, would
have been surprised at her old
friend. He had always to her
looked such a big, grand ‘idd gen
tleman,’ sitting in his tiny abode,
and she would hardly have known
him in the bent, ill-clad figure,
that took its way so slowly along
the streets, and looked so shrunk
and small. At Mrs. Kellick’s he
learnt all about the accident, and
also to wliat hospital the child
had been taken, and, though he
returned to his ‘ lean-to’ home, it
was only to turn over in his mind
the thought of how dull his life
would be, till his jug and farthing
were again carried awa.y of a
morning by his trusty little mes
senger, and to plan how ho would
himself go the next morning to
the hos]iital where she was, and if
possible see for Iiimself how she
was getting on. The first day he
could only glean from the porter
that ‘it was not a visiting da}!,’
and he ‘wasn’t sure which case
dren, and on every hand may be Polly was, as three accident cases
heard such words as, ‘Stand back,’
Send for a doctor,’ or ‘She is bad
hurt by the looks of her.’ There
is no lack of women anxious to
gK'O help, but a roughly-dressed
man seems to have made himself
head nurse, and to take upon him
self to order what shall be done.
‘Yes, bring a shutter,’ he said
quietly, ‘ive must take her to the
liospital. Then stand hack, and
some one roll up my jacket to go
under her head. Now forward
quietly, and keep step.’
And so forth from the midst of
the crowd was carried the sense
less form of ‘Nobody’s Child,’
while on the pavement stood Mrs.
Rankin, clasping closely her own
saved Janie, but with et'es fixed
on the poor crushed body being
borne from her, and on the man’s
form so quietly tending it. ‘Could
it be that that was her Joe I and
had Polly thus been the means of
giving her back, not her child
alone, hut also her child’s father!’
had been brought in the night be
fore, but lie would find out.
This was not much, but Master
Tapp, with nought of love to
CHAPTER V. POLLY S REST.
‘I can’t say more than I know,
can III asked both Mr. Stuart,
the house-surgeon, and Mrs. Lamb,
the nurse in the Abraham ward,
and all they told me, was that
No. 40, which I suppose is the
“Polly” you are asking after, is
very bad, though she was con
scious when they passed her at
dinner-time. It is no use you
asking to see her! There’s par
ticular days when patient’s friends
are admitted, and this isn’t one.
Why, if people was to be let in
just whenever they asked, there
would never be no peace in any
of the wards, and an old man like
you ought to know better than to
go bothering to be let in I I have
done all I can, and I have told
you all I could find out about
No. 40, so just you go home. She
is no relation of yours, you said?’
‘No, sir,’ humbly replied Polly’s
old friend, Mr. Tapp, for he it was,
who for the last three days had
been seeking tidings of‘Nobody’s
Child,’ from the porter at St. Laz
arus Hospit il.
He had missed her the morning
after the accident, and when
make his life lovely save this
poor child’s daily visits, was not
to he daunted at once. He went
the next day, but only to learn
that ‘No. 40 hadn’t said much, but
must be the child Polly he was
after,’ and that ‘it was no use his
waiting to see her, as onl}! near
relations were allowed to see
cases rvliere perfect quiet was
necessary.’
The third day’s news for the
old man ivas that at the begin
ning of this chapter, which was
not delivered in a very amiable
tone of voice, for St. Lazarus’
porter was cross and tired of an
swering inquiries, especially about
No. 40.
‘Why, whatever is it about No.
40 that makes such a lot of peo
ple want to know about her !’ he
bad asked Mrs. Lamb, the Abra
ham head nurse, when she passed
dovm to dinner. ‘I can’t make
out as how many of them are her
relations. I’ve had an old man
twice asking, to say nothing of a
dirty old woman, as said she
ou/iM to go in, seeing as how the
child belonged to her, and that
man as brought her in, who comes
with a young woman that looks
like his wife. Then to-day I had
Iv.Yo new people asking, both very
respectable. An old woman who
said the child lived in her house ;
and another, agood-looking young
woman, with a light-haired little
girl, who said they knew her very
well.’
‘Well, Mr. Porter,’ reirlied Mrs.
Lamb, ‘I don’t wonder at it; I al
ways was fond of children, and
have had pretty much to do with
them, and though this poor little
thing has not been more than half
conscious, yet there is something
about her that draws you out to
her; she is the patientest little
thing as I ever saw, and the doc
tors say she must suffer awful.
There’s no bones broken, but it is
one of those internal injuries that
give such di-eadful suffering.’
Let ns go up with Mrs. Lamli
when she returns to the Abraham
ward, and see little Polly under
these new circumstances. The
ward is like all other -irards, a
bright long room with rows of
neat beds, most of them tenanted.
It is the accident ward ol the hos
pital in the women’s wing, and
Polly over yonder in the bed in
the comer is the only child-pa
tient there is.
She looked very small for her
years as she lay in the blue cov
ered bed with closed eyes and
tighlly-clasped hands, and clasp
ed much as they were when she
last sung her favorite hymn, the
night ol the accident. Tketi they
wm’e black and toiled-staiiied
with work for others, and the ac
tion was one of unconscious rev
erence : now they have laaiii ten-
derly baiiied 1,}! others, and are
clean and fair and child-like, and
are clasped tightly to help her
to bear her pain. They have
done their work for others, and
are only wanted now a little long
er for their owner’s use. She has
been a little easier to-day, and
has smiled faintly at good Mrs.
Lamb, and ventured even a
dreamy “Thank you, sir,” to Mr.
Stuart, the house-surgeon, when
he came to her this morning.
Mrs. Lamb is a cheery, gentle
soul, and her motherly slroking
back of the dark hair, and kind
account of who had been to ask
after her, soothed the little maid,
and made her stretch out one poor
little hand to be held by her
nurse.
Suffering had taken all the wo
manly independence from her,
and left her only the little child,
pleased even in the midst of her
pain at the things around her, the
bright picture of the Good Shep
herd over the mantlepiece, the
bunch of clirysanthemums in a
jug hard by, sent by Mrs. Lamb’s
daughter in Kent, and even the
pink and -white cup she has her
toast-and-water in.
My story is well-nigh ended,
but 1 must ask my readers to
come once more with me to the
Abraham wai-d in the St. Lazarus
hospital
Iwo more days have passed
over it, one of them has a ‘visit-
ing day,’ and Polly hcs had a ri it
from ‘Grannie,’ so c'eaned up for
the occasion that she had liardh'
known her, and also one from
Mrs._ Rankin, whose tender words
of pity and thanks hare puzzled
her somewhat. ‘What had she
done to deserve them? if she
hadn’t run forward the cab would
have gone over Janie, and it
would have been far worse for
such a little thing to have had the
pain.’ She was a bit wear-v dur
ing the end of the visit, and had
but a mist}! idea of the storv,
-which a.s .she related it made airs,
Rankin’s face look so bright.
‘And fancy. Poll}!, all that day
I had been grumbling arid crying
so, help was really close at h’aml
for Joe’s job was finished, and
he and his mates were come back
to London,andbeen atthe“ Cross
bow,’’ for two days or more, as
he said he could not find courage
enoug-h to come, and look me
up, without making some inqui
ries first in the neighborhood for
fear he should find me and the
(Continual on fourth page.)