The Story of Patsy.

by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin.

CHAPTER I.

THE SILVER STREET KINDERGARTEN.

"It makes a heaven-wide difference whether the soul of the child is regarded as a piece of blank paper, to be written upon, or as a living power, to be quickened by sympathy, to be educated by truth."

It had been a long, wearisome day at the Free Kindergarten, and I was alone in the silent, deserted room. Gone were all the little heads, yellow and black, curly and smooth; the dancing, restless, curious eyes; the too mischievous, naughty, eager hands and noisy feet; the merry voices that had made the great room human, but now left it quiet and empty. Eighty pairs of tiny boots had clattered down the stairs; eighty baby woes had been relieved; eighty little torn coats pulled on with patient hands; eighty shabby little hats, not one with a "strawberry mark" to distinguish it from any other, had been distributed with infinite discrimination among their possessors; numberless sloppy kisses had been pressed upon a willing cheek or hand, and another day was over.

No,--not quite over, after all. A murderous yell from below brought me to my feet, and I flew like an anxious hen to my brood. One small quarrel in the hall; very small, but it must be inquired into on the way to the greater one. Mercedes McGafferty had taunted Jenny Crawhall with being Irish. The fact that she herself had been born in Cork about three years previous did not trouble her in the least. Jenny, in a voice choked with sobs, and with the stamp of a tiny foot, was announcing hotly that she was "NOT Irish, no sech a thing,--she was Plesberterian!"

I was not quite clear whether this was a theological or racial controversy, but I settled it speedily, and they ran off together hand in hand. I hastened to the steps. The yells had come from Joe Guinee and Mike Higgins, who were fighting for the possession of a banana; a banana, too, that should have been fought for, if at all, many days before,--a banana better suited, in its respectable old age, to peaceful consumption than the fortunes of war. My unexpected apparition had such an effect that I might have been an avenging angel. The boys dropped the banana simultaneously, and it fell to the steps quite exhausted, in such a condition that whoever proved to be in the right would get but little enjoyment from it.

"O my boys, my boys!" I exclaimed, "did you forget so soon? What shall we do? Must Miss Kate follow you everywhere? If that is the only way in which you can be good, we might as well give up trying. Must I watch you to the corner every day, no matter how tired I am?"

Two grimy little shirt bosoms heaved with shame and anger; two pairs of eyes hid themselves under protecting lids; two pairs of moist and stained hands sought the shelter of charitable pockets,--then the cause of war was declared by Mike sulkily.

"Joe Guinee hooked my bernanner."

"I never!" said Joe hotly. "I swapped with him f'r a peach, 'n he e't the peach at noon-time, 'n then wouldn't gimme no bernanner."

"The peach warn't no good," Mike interpolated swiftly, seeing my expression,--"it warn't no good, Miss Kate. When I come to eat it I had ter chuck half of it away, 'nd then Joe Guinee went t' my lunch bucket and hooked my bernanner!"

I sat down on the top step, motioned the culprits to do likewise, and then began dispensing justice tempered with mercy for the twenty-fifth time that day. "Mike, you say Joe took your banana?"

"Yes 'm,--he hooked it."

"Same thing. You have your words and I have mine, and I've told you before that mine mean just as much and sound a little better. But I thought that you changed that banana for a peach, and ate the peach?"

"I did."

"Then, why wasn't that banana Joe's?--you had taken his peach."

"He hadn't oughter hooked--took it out o' my bucket."

"No, and you ought not to have put it _into_ your bucket."

"He hooked--took what warn't his."

"You _kept_ what wasn't yours. How do you expect to have a good fruit store, either of you, by and by, and have people buy your things, if you haven't any idea of making a good square trade? Do try to be honest; and if you make an exchange stick to it; fighting over a thing never makes it any better. Look at that banana!--is it any good to either of you now?" (Pause. The still small voice was busy, but no sound was heard save the distant whistle of the janitor.)

"I could bring another one to Joe to-morrer," said Mike, looking at his ragged boot and scratching it along the edge of the step.

"I don't want yer to, 'f the peach was sour 'n you had ter chuck it away," responded Joe amiably.

"Yes, I think he ought to bring the banana; he made the trade with his eyes open, and the peach didn't look sour, for I saw you squeezing it when you ought to have been singing your morning hymn,--I thought you would get into trouble with it then. Now is it all right, Mike?--that's good! And Joe, don't go poking into other people's lunch baskets. If you hadn't done that, you silly boy," I philosophized whimsically for my own edification, "you would have been a victim; but you descended to the level of your adversary, and you are now simply another little rascal."

We walked down the quiet, narrow street to the corner,--a proceeding I had intended to omit that day, as it was always as exciting as an afternoon tea, and I did not feel equal to the social chats that would be pressed upon me by the neighborhood "ladies." One of my good policemen was there as usual, and saluted me profoundly. He had carried the last baby over the crossing, and guided all the venturesome small boys through the maze of trucks and horse-cars,--a difficult and thankless task, as they absolutely courted decapitation,--it being an unwritten law of conduct that each boy should weave his way through the horses' legs if practicable, and if not, should see how near he could come to grazing the wheels. Exactly at twelve o'clock, and again at two each day, in rain or sunshine, a couple of huge fatherly persons in bra.s.s b.u.t.tons appeared on that corner and a.s.sisted us in getting our youngsters into streets of safety. n.o.body had ever asked them to come, their chief had not detailed them for that special duty; and I could never have been bold enough to suggest that a guardian of the peace with an immaculate uniform should carry to and fro a crowd of small urchins with dusty boots and sticky hands.

But everybody loved that Silver Street corner, where the quiet little street met the larger noisy one! Not a horse-car driver but looked at his brake and glanced up the street before he took his car across. The truckmen all drove slowly, calling "Hi, there!" genially to any youngster within half a block.

And it was a pleasant scene enough to one who had a part in it, who was able to care for simple people, who could be glad to see them happy, sorry to see them sad, and willing to live among them a part of each day, and bring a little sunshine and hope into their lives.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Donohue! All safely across?"

"All safe, miss! Sorry you troubled to come down, miss. I can be depended on for this corner, miss, an' ye niver need bother yerself about the childern after ye've once turned 'em loose, miss. An' might I be so bold, seein' as how I might not have a better chance--would ye be so kind as to favor me with yer last name, miss? the truth bein' that ivery one calls ye Miss Kate, an' the policemen of this ward is gettin'

up rather a ch'ice thing in Christmas cards to presint to ye, come Christmas, because, if ye'll excuse the liberty, miss, they do regard you as belongin' to the special police!"

I laughed, thanked him for the intended honor, which had been mentioned to me before, and gave him my card, not without a spasm of terror lest the entire police force should invade my dwelling.

The "baker lady" across the street caught my eye, smiled, and sent over a hot bun in a brown paper bag. The "grocery lady" called over in a clear, ringing tone, "Would you be so kind, 'm, as to step inside on your way 'ome and fetch 'Enry a bit of work, 'm? 'Enry 'as the 'ooping cough, 'm, and I don't know 'owever I'm goin' to keep 'im at 'ome another day, 'm, he pines for school so!"

I give a nod which means, Certainly!

Mrs. Weiss appeared at her window above the grocery with a cloth wound about her head; appeared, and then vanished mysteriously. Very well, Mr.

Weiss,--you know what to expect! I gave you fair warning last time, and I shall be as good as my word! Good heavens! Is that--it can't be--yes, it is--a new McDonald baby at the saloon door! And there was such a superfluity of the McDonald clan before! One more wretched little human soul precipitated without a welcome into such a family circle as that!

It set me thinking, as I walked slowly back and toiled up the steps. "I suppose most people would call this a hard and monotonous life," I mused. "There is an eternal regularity in the succession of amusing and heart-breaking incidents, but it is not monotonous, for I am too close to all the problems that bother this workaday world,--so close that they touch me on every side. No missionary can come so near to these people.

I am so close that I can feel the daily throb of their need, and they can feel the throb of my sympathy. Oh! it is work fit for a saviour of men, and what--what can I do with it?"

I sank into my small rocking-chair, and, clasping my arms over my head, bent it upon the table and closed my eyes.

The dazzling California sunshine streamed in at the western windows, touched the gold-fish globes with rosy glory, glittered on the bra.s.s bird-cages, flung a splendid halo round the meek head of the Madonna above my table, and poured a flood of grateful heat over my shoulders.

The clatter of a tin pail outside the door, the uncertain turning of a k.n.o.b by a hand too small to grasp it: "I forgitted my lunch bucket, 'n had to come back five blocks. Good-by, Miss Kate." (Kiss.) "Good-by, little man; run along." Another step, and a curly little red head pushes itself apologetically through the open door. "You never dave me back my string and buzzer, Miss Kate." "Here it is; leave it at home to-morrow if you can, dear,--will you?"

Silence again, this time continued and profound. Mrs. Weiss was evidently not coming to-day to ask me if she should give blow for blow in her next connubial fracas. I was thankful to be spared until the morrow, when I should perhaps have greater strength to attack Mr. Weiss, and see what I could do for Mrs. Pulaski's dropsy, and find a mourning bonnet and shawl for the Gabilondo's funeral and clothes for the new Higgins twins. (Oh, Mrs. Higgins, would not one have sufficed you?)

The events of the day march through my tired brain; so tired! so tired!

and just a bit discouraged and sad too. Had I been patient enough with the children? Had I forgiven cheerfully enough the seventy times seven sins of omission and commission? Had I poured out the love--bountiful, disinterested, long-suffering--of which G.o.d shows us the measure and fullness? Had I--But the sun dropped lower and lower behind the dull brown hills, and exhausted nature found a momentary forgetfulness in sleep.

CHAPTER II.

PATSY COMES TO CALL.

"When a'ither bairnies are hushed to their hame By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'?

'Tis the puir doited loonie,--the mitherless bairn!"

Suddenly I was awakened by a subdued and apologetic cough. Starting from my nap, I sat bolt upright in astonishment, for quietly ensconced in a small red chair by my table, and sitting still as a mouse, was the weirdest apparition ever seen in human form. A boy, seeming--how many years old shall I say? for in some ways he might have been a century old when he was born--looking, in fact, as if he had never been young, and would never grow older. He had a shrunken, somewhat deformed body, a curious, melancholy face, and such a head of dust-colored hair that he might have been shocked for a door-mat. The sole redeemers of the countenance were two big, pathetic, soft dark eyes, so appealing that one could hardly meet their glance without feeling instinctively in one's pocket for a biscuit or a ten-cent piece. But such a face! He had apparently made an attempt at a toilet without the aid of a mirror, for there was a clean circle like a race-track round his nose, which member reared its crest, untouched and grimy, from the centre, like a sort of judge's stand, while the dusky rim outside represented the s.p.a.ce for audience seats.

I gazed at this astonishing diagram of a countenance for a minute, spellbound, thinking it resembled nothing so much as a geological map, marked with coal deposits. And as for his clothes, his jacket was ragged and arbitrarily docked at the waist, while one of his trousers-legs was slit up at the side, and flapped hither and thither when he moved, like a lug-sail in a calm.

"Well, sir," said I at length, waking up to my duties as hostess, "did you come to see me?"

"Yes, I did."