Newspapers / The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, … / Nov. 17, 1875, edition 1 / Page 1
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From tho Comjiuuioii. ]n¥ 8C5!OOE-«mi.. BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT. The first time that I saw lior was one autumn morning- as 1 rode to town in a liorse-car. It was early, and inj only fellow- passenger was a crusty old geu- tleinan, who sat in a corner, read ing his paper; so w'hen the car stojtped, 1 glanced out to see who came next, hoping it -would be a pleasanter person. No one ap peared for a minute, and the car stood still, ivliile both driver and oonduetor looked in the same di rection without a sign of impa- tioucG. I looked also, but all 1 could see was a little girl runuing across tlto park, as girls of twelve or thirteen seldom run now-a- dajs, if any one can see them. •Are yon waiting for her V I asked of the pleasant-faced con ductor, who stood with his hand on tho bell, and a good-natured aciilo in his eyes. 'Vos, ma’am, we always stop lor little missy,’ he answered; and just then up she came, all rosy and breathless with her run. ‘ Thank you ver}^ much. I’m hats to-day, and was afraid I should miss my car,’ she said, as ho helped her iu vvith a fatherly air that was pleasant to see. Taking a corner seat, she smoothed tho curly locks, disturb ed b}- the wind, put on her gloves, and settled her books in her lap, thiui -.nodestly glanced from thp old goiitler.um in the opposite cor ner to the lady near by. Such a 'bi-ight little face as I saw under tiio brown hat-rim, happy blue eyi's, dimple.s in the ruddy cheeks, and the iunocout expression which makes a y(mng- girl so sweet an object to old eyes ! The crusty geiitleman evideiit- Iv agreed with mo, for he peeped (iver tlie top of tho paper at his pluasan.t little neiglibor as she sat studying a lesson, and cheering Inn.sclf with occasional sniffs at a ].>osy of mignonette and sweet When the old gentleman caught jiiV eve, he dived out of sight v.-: .!. a’ loud ‘Hem !’ but he was pe.'ping again directly, for there ivas something irrosistably attrac tive about the unconscious lassie opposite ; and one could no more hi'ip looking at her than at a ]^.)voly flower or a playful kitten. Presently site shut her book with a decided ]mt, and an air of relief that amused me. bhe saw tho half smile I could not repress, seemed to understand my smypa- thy, and said with a laugh, "‘It HYW a hard lesson, but Tve got it!’ So we began to talk about school aud lessons, and I soon discovered that tlie girl was a clever scholar, whose only draw back was, as she confided to me, a ‘love of fun.’ We were just getting quite friendly, when several young men got in, one of whom stm-ed at tho pretty child till oven she observ ed it, autl showed prat she did by the color that came and went in her cheeks. It annoyed me as much as if she had been my own little daughter, for I like modes ty, and have often been troubled by the forward manners of school girls, who seemed to enjoy being looked at. So I helped this one out of her little trouble by mak ing room between tho old genrlo- man and myself, and motioning Her to come and sit there. She understood srt once, thank ed me with a look, and nestled into the safe place so gratefully, tliat the old gentleman glared over his spectacles at the rude person who had disturbed the serenity of tho child. Then we nnnblod along again, the car getting- fuller aud fuller as wo got dowi! town. Presciitl}- iin Irish woman, with a babj", got iu, and before I could offer m\- seat, my little seliool-girl was out of hers, with a polite,— ‘Please take it, ma’ain, I can stiiiid perfectly well.’ It was prettily done, and I val ued the small courtesy all the more, because it evidently cost the bashful creature an effort to staud up alone in a car- full of sti-ang-ers ; especially as she could not reach the strap to stead) her self, and found it difficulty to stand comfortably. Then it was diat the ci-usty man showed ho-w he appreciated my girl’s good manners, for he hooked Ids cane in the strap, and gave it to her, .stiyiiig, witli a smile that lighted up his rough face like siiushiue,— ‘Hold on to that, my dear.’ ‘Ah,’ thought I, ‘how little wo can judge from appearances. Thi.s grim old soul is a gentleman, af ter all.’ Turuisig- her face towards us, the gh-1 held o)) to tiie .stout cauc, and swayed easily to and fro a.s we bumped o-ver the ri\i)a. The Irish woman’s baby, a sickly lit- tlo thing, was attracted by the flowers, aud put iut a .small hand to touclr them, with a wistful look at the bright faco above. ‘Will baby have some ?’ said my girl, and made tho little crea- tiire hap))y with a gay sweet pea and some rod leaves. ‘Bless your heart, lionc)-, it’s fond ho is of the like o’ them, and seldom he gets any,’ said the mother, gratefully, as she settled baby’s dirty hood, atid wrajtped the old sha-.vl ruund his foot. Baby stared liard at the giver of posies, but his hona.st blue eyes gave no offence, and soon the two were so friendly that ba- b)^ boldly clutched at the bright buttons on her sack, ami crow ed with deliglit when he got one, while we all smiled at tho pretty play, and ivere sorry -when tho little lady, with a bo-a- and a smile to us, got out at the church cor ner. ‘Now I shall probably never see that child again, yet what' a pleasant picture sh.o loaves in my memory,’ I thought to myself, as I caught a last glimpse of tho brown hat, going round the cor ner. But I did see her again many times that ivintor, for not long af ter, as I passed down a certain street near ray -iviuter qiwters, 1 came upon a flock of girls, eating their luncheon as they walked to and fro on the sunny side,—pret ty. merry creatures, all laughing and chattering at once, as they tossed apples from hand to hand, munched candy, or - compared cookies, I went slowly, to enjoy tlie sight, as I do when I meet a party of sparrows on tlie Com mon, aud was -wondering what would become of so many bud ding women, when, all of a sud den, I saw »Hy little school-girl. Yes, I knew her in a minute, for she wore the same brown hat, a-iid the rosy face was sparkling with fun, as sh.e told secrets witli a chosen friend, while eating a wliolesoiue slice of bread and but ter as only a hungry school-girl could. She did not recognize mo, but I took a good look at her as I wont by, longing to know what the particular secret was that ended in such a gale of laughter. After that, 1 often saw my girl ag I took my walks abroad, and one day could not resist speaking to her ivhen I mot her alone, for usually lior mates clustered round her like bees about their queen, which pleased me, since it show ed liow much they loved the sun shiny child. 1 had a paper of grapes in ray hand, and when I saw ner com ing, wluskod out a haudsomo bunch all ready to offer, for I had made up my mind to speak this time, olio was reading a paper, but looked up to give me the in side of the walk. Before her eyes could fall again, I lield out tho grapes and said, just as I had heard her say more than once to a schoolmate at lunch-time, ‘Let’s go halves.’ She understood at once, laugh ed, and took the bunch, saying, with twinkling eyes,— ‘C thank you f they are beau ties !’ Then, as we went on to the corner together, I told lior why 1 did it, and recalled the car-ride. ‘Td forgotton all about that, but mv conductor is very kind, and always waits for me,’ .she said, evidently surin-ised that a stranger slioutd take an interest in lioi' small self. I did not hare half time enough whh her, for a bell rang, and away she skipped, looking back to nod and smile at the queer la dy who had taken a fancy to her. A few days afterward a fine nosegay of flowers was left at the door for mo, and when I asked the sei-yant who sent them, he an swered,— ‘A little g-irl asked if a lame lady didn’t live here, and when I said yes, she told me to give you these, and say, ‘The grapes were very nice.’ 1 knew at once who it was, aud enjoyed the funii)-' message im mensely, for when one leads a quiet life, little things interest and amuse. Christmas was close by, and I planned a return for the flowers, of a sort that I fancied my young friend would appreciate. 1 know that Christmas week would bo a holiday, so the day before it began, I went to the scliool just before recess, and left a frosted, plummy oako, directed to ‘Miss Goldilocks, from she knows who.’ At fi-.-st I did not know how to address my nice, wiiito parce\ for 1 never had heard the cliild’s name. But after thinking over the matter, I remembered that she was the onh- girl there with vollow curls hanging down her back, so 1 decided to risk the cake with the above direction. The maid who took it in (for my girl went to a private school) smiled, and said at once she kn-ew who I meant. 1 left my cake and strolled round tlie comer to the liou.se of a friend, there to wait and watch for the success of my joke, for the girls always went tliat way at recess. I’resentlv the little liats began to go bobbing by, the silent street to echo with laughter, ami the sidewalk to bloom with gay goiviis, for tho girls were all out in winter colors now. From behind a curtain I peep ed at them, and saw, with great satisfaction, that nearly all liad bits of my cake in their hands, and were talking it over with the most Ilallering interest. My jiar- ticular little girl, with a friend on each arm, passed so near me that I could SCO tho happy lookiu her ev'Cs, and hoar lior say, with a Li)ss of tho briglit hair,— ‘Mother will plan it for me, aud I can get it done by New iear. Won't It be full to hang it on the door some day, and then run I’ 1 fancied tliat she meant to make soiiiething for me, and wait ed with patience, wondering how this odd frolic with my little school-girl would end. New Year’s Day came and passed, but no gift hung on mv' door; so I made up my iiiiud it was all a mislako, and being jirctty busy about that time, tlumght no more of the matter till .some weeks later, as I came into town one day after a visit in the country. 1 am fond of observing faces, aud seldom forgctoiio if aiivthing has (lartirularly attracted my at tention to it. i-jo this luoriiiug, as 1 rode along, I looked at tiic conductor, as Lliere was no one else to observe, and lie had a pleasant sort of face. Somehow, it looked familiar, and after thiiik- iug idly about it for a minute, 1 iGmembered where I had seen it beioro. Ho was tho man who waited for ‘little missy,’ aud I at once be gan to hope that she would come again, for I wanted to ask about the holidays, remembering- how ‘fond of fun’ she was. MTien wo came to tlie South Fnd Square, where I met her first, 1 looked out, expecting to see the littlo figure running down the wide path again, ami quite willing to wait for it a long time if necessary. But no one was to be seen but two boys and a dog. Tho ear did not stop, aud though tho conductor locd-ted out that way, his hand was not on the strap, and no smile on his face. ‘Don’t you wait for the littlo girl now!’ I asked, feeling disap pointed at not seeing- my prutt)- friend again. ‘I wish I could, ma’am,’ an swered tho mail, understanding at once, llioug'li of course ho did not reniouiber me. ‘New rules, [icrhaps I’ I added, as ha did not explain, but stood fingering his punch, and never miudiug an old lady,’wildly wav ing her bag at him from the side walk. ‘No, ma’am; but it’s no use waiting for little missy any more, because'—here lie leaned iu aiid said very low,—‘she is dead;) then turned slinrply round, rung the bell, put the old lady in and shut the door. How grieved I was to have that pleasant fricudsliip end so sadly, for I had plauuoil imiu-sr small surprises for my girl, ami now I could do no more, could never know all about her, uevet* see tho sunny face again, or -win another word from lips that seem ed made 'O.- smiling-. Only a littlo sehotd girl, yet how many friends she seemed to have, making them unconscious ly l)y her gentle maunoi-s, goiier- ou.s actions, ami innocent light heartedness. I could not bear to think what home must be with out lier, for 1 .qm sure I was right iu believing her a good,, siveot child, because real charac ter shows itself iu little thiu«;a, and the heart that always keeps iu tune makes its music heard every wliere, Tbe busy man of the horse-car found time to nii.sB her, the school mates evidently mounied their ]ueeii, for when 1 met them tliey walked quietly, talked loiv, aud several wore black bows upou the s'eove; while I, although I never knew her uamo, or learned a sin gle fact about her, felt the sweetr ness of her happy nature, aud liave not yet forgotten tuy little .school-girl. To® Mpcti ilassiBctt. The Loudon Oraphk gives an amusing account of a man who wasn’t rescued from drowning by two dogs: d'ho iiistiiiet of Newfoundland dogs to stive a drowning person has been somewhat painfully tested by an iiulucky Frenchman. Ho was walking in the country with a friend, who possessed a magnifiooiit Newfoundland, and incautiously questioned the truth of tho iuiimars sagacity. Tlie dog’s master, vexed at the slur cast on his favorite, gave his rieiid a push, and knocked him into a shallow river. ‘Turk’ im mediately sprang in, and seizing one of tlie tails of the immersed man’s coat commenced to swim for laud, l^nfortunstely, another Newfoundland trotting along tho other side of the river, saw the affair, aud also came to the rescue. Dog uiimber two seized the otlier tail of the coat, and wished to swim back to his master. Turk held last and struggled for Ilia side, and the owner of the eoaf cried iu vain for help. At last tho coat gai'o way, and each Newfouudlaud swam proudly liQiiie with a pieoo of cloth iu lu& mouth, so that Turk’s master was obliged to plunge iu himself to save his friend. A few days ago, the paiideroua machinery of the Patterson cot ton-factory came to a sudden and uiiaocountablo halt. Tho ivator was drawn off' and a search m- when lo, a monster eel was found eiitaugled in the tm-bine wheel ■10 looms and -1,000 spindles sto])- ped by a single eel. That sounds like an eel-a-borate fi,sli-story, but ids vauclied for by good citizens with jiiiizzes of oel-ongatod sol- enmity.—Makigh Sent'md. He is alone wise who can ac- coinmo late himseli to ail the cui'l- tingeucios of life.
The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Nov. 17, 1875, edition 1
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