Peterkin
Gabrielle Emilie Jackson,
Mrs. Gabrielle Emilie Snow Jackson





Copyright, 1912
BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY


CONTENTS
CHAPTR
I SAILING TOWARD THE PROMISED LAND. 9
II A LITTLE DERELICT . . . . . . 23
III SEEKING His FORTUNE . . . . . 35
IV OPEN SESAME . . . . . . . . 43
V WHAT THE MAGICAL WORDS OPENED. 54
VI IN THE LAND OF SONG AND FLOWERS. 65


PETERKIN
ardent hopes lay far off upon the starboard bow,
a faint blue line. The well-dressed, happy people
upon the upper deck looked upon their less fortu-
nate fellow-beings with divers emotions: some
pityingly, some indifferently, some kindly, some
with open repugnance. In one group a young
girl, lovely as the morning light enveloping her,
smiled and waved her hand to a little tad of seven
or eight who stood near a frail-looking man, and a
tired-looking woman, his bright, dark eyes darting
from one object to another, his white, even little
teeth gleaming as he smiled upon the world-at-
large. He held an object which caused the girl to
clap her hands and laugh aloud; it was so gro-
tesque: a huge green cotton umbrella as tall as
himself, and very nearly as thick through. As she
looked at him the ship rolled just enough to bring
the sunlight across his face, when up popped the
comical umbrella, instantly turning its small
bearer into a toadstool of enormous proportions.
Cocking his parapluie at a rakish angle, he smiled
IO


TOWARD THE PROMISED LAND
up at the girl, a smile so sunny, so winning and
trustful that she cried:
“Oh, I must find out who or what that funny
little kid is!"
“And how do you hope to do so, dear?” asked an
older woman at whose side she stood and whom
she so strongly resembled as to leave no doubt of
their relationship. The words were accompanied
by a smile and a lighting of the eyes as though in
the object of her question the speaker's whole
world centred as, indeed, it did, for in her
daughter's lovely young girlhood wondrous spon-
taneity and sunshiny disposition Emilie Minot had
found her inspiration for life, for the necessary
effort for existence, in short, for any desire to live
since her husband's tragic death when Loraine was
a tiny child.
“Oh, I don't know, but if I wish hard enough it's
sure to happen. But, Mother, look-look at him!
Isn't he the cunningest little chap you ever
saw ?"
II


TOWARD THE PROMISED LAND
The lady looked puzzled. Where had she seen
that smiling face before. She could not recall.
Laying her hand upon the funny little dark green
Russian cassock she asked:
"Your name?"
A negative head-shake was the only reply.
“Nicholas? John? Ivan? Peter ?”
Frantic nods in the affirmative. An answering
nod and smile from the lady.
"Peter? Peter ?”
“Petrovitch,” was the funny answer.
“Peterkin. Peter-kin.”
"Pee-pee-ter-keen,” was the smiling reply. He
understood.
“I shall come to see you again some day very
soon. I must hear you sing again.”
Peter's face was blank. The girl understood.
“I'll get Dombroski to tell him. He speak-a
Americano and ze Roosh, too. We go to buy da
gum. Thank-a you lady.”
The lady went her way resolved to learn more
21


PETERKIN
up. In that vast city what was one family of
Russian emigrants? Much less one small Russian
boy.
Disappointed Emilie Minot returned to her
home in a near-by suburb and told the sunshiny
daughter of her failure to find the little lad of
the futelike voice in whom their interest had
grown so keen, and for whom a place might have
been found in St. John's choir, had all gone well.
He became a mere incident in their lives, until
something made him a very real factor.
But to Peter.
Many a time had he thought in a vague way of
the donor of the coin. She must, of course, be at
least a Kniajna (Princess) for only a princess
would have a purseful of golden coins. He
wished in a vague way that he might see her again,
but princesses did not often stray into the world
of humble-folk. He remembered her face, but
had no recollection of its association with the
long voyage across the great ocean or the lovely
30


A LITTLE DERELICT
young girl on shipboard. He had seen only the
girl at that time.
And what was it the princess lady had called
him? Pee-pee-ter-kin. A droll name. Perhaps
that was his name in the American tongue. He
would remember that name and if ever asked his
name would give it in American instead of Rus-
sian. He liked the Americans. They smiled oft-
ener than the Russians and Peter liked smiles.
He was beginning to smile again himself, though
the woman with whom he now lived kept him
pretty busy. She was busy herself making won-
derful clusters of flowers from silks and muslins,
and Peter had to sit for hours twisting stems and
doing other curious things to help her. But as the
spring days grew warmer and lovelier, Peterkin,
as we shall henceforth call him, longed for the real
flowers which he had known in Russia, for their
home had been in the suburbs of a great city and
wild flowers grew abundantly in its woods and
fields. With the artist's soul dominating his
31


A LITTLE DERELICT
noon Peterkin paused to look at the gay pictures
on some of the covers, posters and advertisements.
The proprietor, a boy about eighteen or nineteen
cried:
"Hey Dago, pipe de high-brows! Some class
to that goil, ain't there now?"
Now Peterkin had picked up a good bit of Eng-
lish during the seven months spent in America,
and he knew he was no Dago.
“I no Dago. I come out of the great Russhia.
I serve the Tzar!” he answered, drawing himself
up proudly.
“Ah, g'wan! Czar nothin'! You serve the
President o’ the 'Nited States. D’cher git that?
We ain't got no Czars near the 'Merican Eagle.
Ours ain't got but one head, but she's some bird.
See!"
Peterkin didn't see, but he smiled and the smile
won the day. Then he asked:
“What all those ?"
“Books, magazines, noospapers. Tell yer
33


PETERKIN
whose only breathing place it was, and who, dur-
ing the long spring evenings, practically lived
there.
In the adjoining flathouse lived a family which
had come from the same province in Russia. In
this family were ten children, and two of them
girls, but little older than Peterkin, had elected
themselves his guides, philosophers, and friends.
He sought them out. Did they know anything
about that big house at the end of the street ?
Sure they knew. It was a gold mine, that big
house.
“Did they make books like his father's and
mother's Bible, in which was written the date of
his parents' marriage and his own birth ?”
"No they won't to make Bibles, and they
wouldn't to make your kind of Bibles anyways.
They ain't to know Greek Church Bibles nor Jew-
ish Bibles. No, it was stylish books they would to
make in that big house so ladies can dress up fine
and grand and their children be elegant. Yes, it
36


CHAPTER IV
OPEN SESAME
N OW many curious things take place in the
office of the editor of a big magazine, some
of which have been expected as a matter of course
to take place, but many, many others, far beyond
the liveliest imagination of the most imaginative
editorial staff.
The editor of this particular magazine had
passed through many remarkable experiences,
amusing, pathetic, trying, pleasing, but never in
all the ten years during which she had sat at that
big desk, and so ably directed its staff, had such a
remarkable scene as this one occurred.
But she was equal to the situation. The small
human being who had rushed across the room
speaking wholly unintelligible words so rapidly
43


PETERKIN
and with such intense emotion was a bonny lad,
bright of face, sweet, clean, wholesome, and the
eyes in which tears seemed to well were as dark,
expressive and beautiful as a fawn's; the voice ex-
quisitely soft and musical. It had not been so
many years since Mrs. VanCourtlandt's little son
had cast himself upon her knees when eager to
have some childish wish granted, though he was
now in Yale and the very core of her heart. So,
the maternal instinct which rarely fails true
womanhood, rose to the emergency in a splendid
manner in spite of the many eyes upon her, for the
office was a busy one and the staff numerous. She
slipped an arm about the little figure and drew
him close to her side as she asked:
“Why, little man, who are you and where did
you come from? How in this world did you ever
reach the thirteenth story of this great building?
Did someone send or bring you? And now that
you are here what can I do for you? Can you
speak English ?”
44


"ORDS OPENED
ok him in her arms to
He buried his head
not to sob.
am not afraid and—
yut her for an inspira-
rl who is going up, I
gentleman leading a
ld by the hand came
45 not more than six
the spring sunshine.
'tuation. The child
1 the terrified Peter-
iny, silk-gloved one
raid, and, besides, a
re coming up with me,
ye.”
the lovely, imperious
he led him into the iron


PETERKIN
vet touch across its strings, the clear, sweet voice
was singing in his native tongue:
“God the all-merciful! earth hath forsaken
Thy ways of blessedness, slighted Thy word:
Bid not Thy wrath in its terrors awaken;
Give to us peace in our time, O Lord!
“God, the all-wise! by the fire of Thy chastening,
Earth shall to freedom and truth be restored;
Through the thick darkness Thy kingdom is
hastening;
Thou wilt give peace in Thy time, O Lord!
“So will Thy people with thankful devotion,
Praise Him who saved them from peril and
sword;
Shouting in chorus, from ocean to ocean,
Peace to the nations, and praise to the Lord.”
It was the only hymn or song he knew; the
sole expression of his loneliness, his yearning.
60


IN LAND OF SONG AND FLOWERS
Powell lovely and fascinating in a white lace
gown, Mr. Powell, the ever delightful, genial
host. And the adopted son?
Ah! Who will recognise in the handsome,
manly, courtly little lad the same Peterkin who
from the steerage smiled up from beneath his
green cotton umbrella? The smile which won his
fortune in the great new world.
Two years have done wonders for the little im-
migrant who came from a land of persecution to
one of freedom—to a land which recognised and
valued his fine instincts and the wonderful talent
inherited from parents gently born but reduced to
pitiful poverty through oppression. Peterkin has
grown tall and sturdy during these two years.
Grown also in grace of person and manner under
the new Matischka's and Batka's loving care. He
calls them by those odd names and they, keen of
sympathy and understanding, realise why. He
has won their hearts by his sunshine and gentle-
ness, and profited beyond belief by their training.
69


PETERKIN
A knowledge of their language came quickly under
skilful teachers, and though he still speaks with
a slight accent, and frequently introduces one of
his own musical Russian words into his conversa-
tion, his vocabulary is surprisingly wide for a ten-
year-old lad.
And to-day he stands beside his foster-parents
assisting them to receive their numerous guests.
A courtly bow, a warm hand-clasp, an unassuming
word in response to their greeting, a bonny little
lad in his white duck suit, his broad sailor collar
of rich red, his patent-leather pumps. Entirely
free from self-consciousness, no trace of self-
conceit.
It is the day upon which Mr. and Mrs. Powell
give their annual musicale. When St. John's
choir gives its wonderful selections taken from the
year's work, a testimony of what the year's efforts
have developed.
From the big living-room the guests move for-
ward to the music room, a truly wonderful room,
70


IN LAND OF SONG AND FLOWERS
smothered, crushed, killed in the parent, but find-
ing such exquisite expression in the son. No pains
have been spared and the reward of the two years
is in every way beyond this good man's wildest
dreams.
The rich chords of the piano fill the room with
their harmony, and then the fairy hidden in the
violin,—an instrument whose beauty and value
Mr. Powell had instantly recognised,-lifts her
silvery voice under Peterkin's magical touch. It
seems as though the tenants of Elfin Land have
crept upon the mortals sitting there, bringing with
them the denizens of the woodland back of the
bungalow, for there sweet and soft are the
thrush's notes, the catbird's clear whistle, the
warbler's trills and the robin's evensong, as well
as the Slumber-Lied of the German mother, and
the weird strains of other folk songs. A strange,
thrilling, compelling medley all, all given by the
fairy of the violin over whom little Peterkin holds
absolute sway. Truly, he has haled her forth as
73