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 "irvw- 

 
 IN AMITY COURT. Page 36.
 
 THE 
 
 CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 LOUISE M. TIIUESTON, 
 
 AUTIIOB OF "HOW CHARLEY ROBERTS BECAME A MAN," " HOV *"*. tOBEBTS 
 GAINED HER EDUCATION." " HOME IN THB WEST." 
 
 "There are gains for all our losses, 
 
 There arc balms for all our pain; 
 But, when youth, the dream, departs, 
 It takes something from our hearts. 
 And it never comes again. 
 
 "Something beautiful Is vanished. 
 
 And we sigh for it in vain: 
 We behold it everywhere, 
 On the earth and in the air. 
 But it never comes again." 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 10 MILK STREET
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 15J3, 
 
 BY LEE AND SHEPARD, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 gttwatrir 
 
 ANDREW CHAMBRE CAMPBELL, 
 
 2229062
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. HANNAH CRAIG 9 
 
 IL AMITY COURT 22 
 
 III. THE BIRDS' NEST . 33 
 
 IV. THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL 44 
 
 V. COBDEN AND Co 67 
 
 VI. BRISK BUSINESS . . . . . . . .69 
 
 VII. PLANS 82 
 
 VIII. "AMITY MEG" . .94 
 
 IX. WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY 101 
 
 X. JEMMY'S LUCK 116 
 
 XI. THE LADIES 128 
 
 XII. THE LANDLORD 143 
 
 XIII. ONE LESS 157 
 
 XIV. Louis LE&RANGE 174 
 
 XV. BEING A GIRL 188 
 
 XVI. MR. SAUNDERS'S OPERATIONS .... 199 
 
 XVII. A RECOGNITION 212 
 
 XVIII. RESTORATION .... .221
 
 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HANNAH CRAIG. 
 
 JAMES CRAIG'S barber-shop in Campfields was 
 closed. It had been closed for a week. There was 
 a strip of black crape hanging from the door-knob, and 
 another from the striped pole. Inside the shop the yellow 
 shades cast a subdued light. 'Everything was set in a 
 solemn sort of order. There was not a brush or a razor 
 awry in its place ; and a gloomy silence reigned where 
 but few weeks since were plenty of lounging talkers, 
 plenty of news and gossip retailed, and plenty of busi- 
 ness done. 
 
 Beyond the shop were the little parlor and kitchen 
 of James's home. But these too showed an unwonted 
 stillness and an unnatural order. The parlor was a 
 bedroom as well. A plump, ruddy-faced boy lay 
 asleep in a large crib, and on the pillow of the other
 
 10 THE CHILDREN OP AMITT COURT. 
 
 bed a cloud of fine black hair shaded the delicate and 
 strangeh' womanly face of a little girl. 
 
 In a low rocker by the table sat the mother and 
 widow. She had been putting a few needful stitches 
 into a little garment for Jemmy, and now leaned 
 back wearily, and rocked slowly and thoughtfully to 
 and fro. Her moorl was restless. The sorrow and 
 anxiety that had filled the past week had settled into a 
 steady purpose. She could no longer stay here, and 
 she had now decided what was wisest to be done. In 
 the city she had many acquaintances, and could there 
 find plenty of such work as she could best do. In 
 Campfields was little opportunit} 1 - for her to earn a 
 livelihood. She must go to New York. Hannah was 
 an excellent laundress. Many wealthy fimilies who 
 had known her in the ten long years she had been Mrs. 
 Roberts' nurse for Eva, would perhaps yet remember 
 her. From them she hoped to secure employment. At 
 any rate, the effort should be made, and the sooner the 
 better. So she had set to-morrow as the day to leave her 
 home, go to New York, and see what could be done. 
 The children should go with her. They had never seen 
 the city, and there had been too much of gloom over 
 their young lives in the past weeks of their father's 
 sickness and death. She could leave them at the house 
 of her old friend, Jane Cook, who was nurse for Mrs. 
 True's Minnie when she was at Mrs. Roberts'. Jane
 
 HANNAH CRAIG. 11 
 
 Cook was married now, and lived in a decent house in 
 the lower part of the city. The children would have a 
 fine day, watching the passers from Jane's window. 
 
 These plans had all been made a day or two ago. 
 Hannah was only dreamily thinking them over and 
 approving them as she sat rocking so slowly. Lines 
 of care had come into her face in the last few years. 
 She was also troubled with a growing deafness, and the 
 effort to hear had added to its anxious expression. But 
 she was resting now. Her mind went back to those 
 years happy years before her marriage when she 
 served in the grand house of Mrs. Roberts in New 
 York City, when she took care of Eva, who, like her 
 own Nora, never made any trouble, and there was only 
 pleasure in the care. It was two years since Charley 
 and Eva Roberts had come out to see her before going 
 away to the West. How she wished there was one of 
 all the Roberts family in New York City now, to whom 
 she could go for advice and assistance ! But they 
 were till far away. So, with a sigh, Hannah arose, 
 laid away her work, and began to prepare for the 
 night. 
 
 As she moved about the room, the little black head 
 stirred. A pair of soft black eyes peeped through the 
 long lashes, and watched her movements. Hannah was 
 not long in observing it, and smiled down at them as 
 she turned towards the bed.
 
 12 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " What is the matter, mamma? You looked as if 
 you -wanted to cry," said Nora. 
 
 "Did I?" replied Hannah, absently. "I was 
 thinking." 
 
 " "What were J T OU thinking about? Papa? " 
 
 " No, not just then. I was wishing Miss Eva were in 
 New York, so I could go and talk with her. It would 
 be such a comfort ! " 
 
 " Perhaps she is there." 
 
 " No. She went away to Chicago." 
 
 " But that was a long, long time ago. She may 
 iave come back now." 
 
 " No. She has not come back." 
 
 " Why ? Is n't she ever coming back ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " She will come back to see you, sometime." 
 
 " O, no ! She would never come all the way for 
 that." 
 
 " Well, then, to see other folks. Are n't there lots 
 of folks in New York she knows and will want to see ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. Perhaps she will come sometime." 
 And Hannah was somehow comforted by the thought, 
 as she often before had been by the kind child-thoughts 
 of little Nora. . " If I could only find the card they left 
 with their address on it, 1 think I would write to Miss 
 Eva. But it is lost." 
 
 " I 'm afraid Jemmy got it," gravely suggested Nora.
 
 HANNAH CRAIG. 13 
 
 Jemmy did so much mischief, he generally had the 
 credit of all that was clone or suspected. But now he 
 slept unconsciously through the charge. 
 
 '"1 remember her. mamma,." ~esnmed Nora, after a 
 dreamy silence ' Miss Eva was just like the picture 
 of an angei in my story-book, that I got for speaking 
 a piece in Sunday school. She nad just such pretty, 
 shining, j-ellow hair curling all down her neck and 
 shoulders, only the angel's hair was n't curled nicely, 
 and hers was, and just such dear, pleasant blue eyes. 
 I was a little girl then. It was ever so long ago." 
 
 Hannah smiled ; then she said, " Miss Eva was about 
 the best-behaved little girl I ever knew." 
 
 " If I am very good, mamma, shall I ever grow to 
 look like her ? like an angel, I mean ? " asked Nora, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I think you will. You often remind me of 
 her," replied Hannah, as she smoothed the jet-black 
 hair over the pillow, and kissed her little girl. 
 
 " I don't see how I can," said Nora, slowly, holding 
 up her hair to the light and looking through it. " I 
 don't look at all like her, and my hair has n't turned 
 yellow a bit." 
 
 " You can never make 3'our hair j-ellow or your eyes 
 blue," said Hannah ; " but being good will bring the 
 lovingness and kindness up into your face as it is in 
 Eva's."
 
 14 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COUKT. 
 
 Nora was not satisfied. She lay, holding up her hair 
 and gazing at it with a sad and thoughtful face. Han- 
 nah saw it, and the tears came into her eyes. This 
 thoughtful, earnest child-woman was the greatest bless- 
 ing and comfort of her life. She loved her with a re- 
 spect, as well as strength, which few mothers mingle in 
 their parental affections. 
 
 Tears were gathering in Nora's dark eyes too. 
 
 "Angels never have black hair," she said, slowly and 
 softly, with a quiver of her rosy lips. She was afraid 
 her dark locks might shut her out of angelhood forever. 
 
 " I don't believe that," said Hannah, quietly. 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 " No. It's nonsense." 
 
 " What is nonsense ? " 
 
 " That angels should not be as likely to have dark 
 hair as light. Angels are only people." 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked Nora, in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes. Your papa is an angel now." 
 
 " I know it," said Nora, in a hushed voice. 
 
 " But his hair is n't yellow," Hannah continued, com- 
 ing to the bedside again. 
 
 " Unless unless he has changed it," suggested Nora. 
 
 " If he has, I suppose you can," replied the mother, 
 smiling to see the light come back to Nora's face, as 
 she said, in a tone of relief, 
 
 " So I can."
 
 HAXNAH CRAIG. 15 
 
 Then Hannah put out the light, and soon both were 
 asleep. 
 
 Jemmy made sure of their being wide awake early 
 next morning. Going to the city was an event in his 
 life only to be compared with one other, and that was 
 the circus which had been in town last summer, and to 
 which he had been taken, as a great treat, by Lester 
 Gree. Jemmy had reckoned by it ever since. Every- 
 thing happened either before or after the circus, in his 
 calendar. 
 
 Breakfast was soon over, and everything in the 
 kitchen had once more assumed the prim order of the 
 previous evening. If Hannah found work, she meant 
 to move her furniture soon. But while a doubt re- 
 mained, she would leave her home as it was, that she 
 might retreat thither if necessary. She packed a few 
 needful clothes in a large valise, for she might be gone 
 somo da}*s, if Jane could keep her. Then all, at last, 
 was ready. Nora and Jemmy, in their little best suits 
 of buff linen, were two as neat and pretty children 
 as were often seen. Hannah, too, plainly attired in 
 black, had quite the air of a lady, as she stepped out 
 from the door of her homo, and turned the key. For 
 the first timo i;x many years, that key went into her 
 pocket instead of under the blind. 
 
 Mr. Beeler, the grocer, was passing as she came 
 through the little side yard to the street.
 
 16 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Ah ! you are starting? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I was coming to bring you. the key," she 
 replied. 
 
 " All right. I '11 do the best I can," he said, " and 
 I hope by the time you return, I shall have found a 
 man to take the lease of the shop off your hands." 
 
 " Thank you hearty sir," said Hannah, gratefully ; 
 " but I shall perhaps come back to-night. Perhaps not 
 for two or three days. I can't tell till I get there, and 
 find out how things are." 
 
 " No, of course not. Well, whether you come back 
 to-night or three months hence, you will find all safe 
 here and ready for you ; and always plenty of old 
 friends in Campfields to greet you. I don't know what 
 Lester Gree will do, without your children to play 
 with." And Mr. Beeler patted Nora's pink cheeks. 
 
 " Everybody has been very kind, I am sure, sir, ever 
 since the day that Mrs. Gree came down to help me 
 when Mrs. Roberts died, till now. I wish I could 
 see my way clear to stay here, for such good neigh- 
 bors." 
 
 " Perhaps you will find better ones in the city," 
 replied Mr. Beeler, cheerily ; " at any rate, let us hope 
 so." And, with a friendly hand-shake, and good-by, Mr. 
 Beeler left her. 
 
 " Come, Jemmy," said Hannah. 
 
 A very jovial laugh was Jeimny's Only reply. He
 
 IIANXAII CRAIG. 17 
 
 was at the moment in hot pursuit of an uncommonly 
 stout and fleet grasshopper. 
 
 " Jemmy, mamma's waiting," called Nora. 
 
 Jemmy sprang at the grasshopper and came down 
 unsuccessfully, plump on his clean linen knees, in a 
 very damp anil disreputable portion of the street-gut- 
 ter. Sir Grasshopper settled his chin in his neck-cloth 
 and contemplated his downfall with serenity from a 
 neighboring succory-stem. 
 
 " I '11 'ave Mm now ! " cried the undaunted sports- 
 man, scrambling to his feet. 
 
 Hannah hastened towards him with more energy than 
 patience. Jemmy opened his mouth with a scream of 
 defiance, and ran. Hannah could not make a spectacle 
 ef herself by pursuing, and stopped, vexed and dis- 
 mayed. Nora grasped her mother's hand. 
 
 "If you'll walk along, mamma, I'll bring him. 
 He '11 come with me." 
 
 It was not the first time Nora had helped her mother 
 to conciliate and persuade this difficult little scion of 
 humanity. And Nora's successes had long ago proved 
 her judgment and ability. Hannah } r ielded, and walked 
 on. Nora stood still by the roadside, and in a very few 
 moments, by her quietness and quickness, had captured 
 a fine specimen of the grasshopper family. 
 
 u I 've got one, Jemmy ! See if it is trie one you 
 were after."
 
 18 THE CHILDUEX OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Jemmy believed in Nora as he did in no one else. 
 She never deceived him. Though greatl}- surprised at 
 such a sudden capture, he came at once to see. She 
 opened her hand a crack for him to peep, and there 
 sat the grasshopper, with a look of surprised solem- 
 nity. 
 
 " I should n't wonder but 'e 's the very one," an- 
 nounced Jemmy, oracularly. " Looks like 'im. 'Ow 
 did you catch 'im so quick ? " 
 
 " I was careful not to scare him." 
 
 " I don't know but I believe the one I saw was a 
 leetle bigger. Let mo see again." 
 
 Jemmy looked again, and the grasshopper very natu- 
 rally jumped for the open crack of his prison. Jem- 
 my started back with blinking eyes. 
 
 " Let 's hurry and show him to mamma before he gets 
 away ! " said Xora. 
 
 Jommy was eager enough to do that, and they soon 
 overtook Hannah. 
 
 It was a bright sunny morning, anl 0:1 the piazza, 
 all around the little station, stood groups of men going 
 into the city. The coming train was already in sight, 
 and Hannah had just time to secure her ticket before it 
 came to a stop alongside the platform. "When they 
 wcry fairly moving, Jemmy, with dilated eyes and his 
 ruddy little face close to the window, held his breath 
 with delight, at the whizzing panorama before him. All
 
 HANNAH CRAIG. 19 
 
 the way he kept shouting, above the din of the cars, 
 to Nora close at his side, to look at the cows, houses, 
 streets, and people as they flew along. Once a fright- 
 ened horse caught their attention. Then a row of bo} r s, 
 on a fence, who waved their caps and cheered the pass- 
 ing train. Everything was wonderful, exciting, and 
 delightful to the children. Hut to Hannah, as the cars 
 
 C? ' 
 
 bore her nearer the city she had once known so well, a 
 strange dread took possession of her. There came an 
 unaccountable sinking at her heart. The hope that had 
 buoyed her up heretofore seemed forsaking her in the 
 time of greatest need. She longed to be safely back 
 in Canipfields. 
 
 Meanwhile the cars flew swiftly on, and entered 
 the city, and her busy day must begin. The first thing 
 was to take the children to Jane Cook's ; then she 
 could go about freely to arrange other matters. This 
 first task was, however, a hard one. It was a long walk. 
 Coaches and horse-cars would not much shorten it, and 
 she could not afford a carriage. She took the plump 
 valise in one hand, and vigorously grasped Jemmy's wrist 
 with the other. Nora walked as his guard on the other 
 side, anA hold his other hand. Jt made a convenient 
 f>rin of infantry troop for the anxious mother, but was 
 anj'thing but satisfactory to the eager, inquiring eyes of 
 Jemmy. Always something he wanted to see was 
 hidden by mother's dress, or Nora's broad-brimmed
 
 20 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 summer hat. He stretched his neck first one way, then, 
 another. Innumerable things he wanted to see a sec- 
 ond time, he missed after the first glimpse. Only the 
 continual appearance of new wonders prevented him 
 from screaming with vexation at losing sight so rapidly 
 of old ones. He sprang forward to see the last of an 
 advertising wagon, around Hannah and the valise. He 
 lagged a step to gaze at a baby in a basement window 
 they were passing. But Hannah had a good grip on 
 his little wrist, and she never relaxed it for any strain 
 that came upon it, perhaps the struggles only tight- 
 ened it. Nora's attention was divided between Jem- 
 my's talk, her care over him, and her own interest in 
 the busy city streets. ' The noise seemed to stun her, 
 but Jemmy liked it. It gave him an opportunity for 
 the full exercise of his excellent lungs. 
 
 Hannah walked on, her eyes wandering about for 
 familiar buildings and landmarks. She had just found 
 one, and started to cross the street. 
 
 " My shoe 's untied ! " suddenly cried Jemmy, hang- 
 ing back. 
 
 " Never mind," said Hannah, looking up and down 
 the street, and seeing that now was a good time to 
 cross. 
 
 * I step on it ! I shall tumble down ! " shouted 
 Jemmy. 
 
 Nora stooped and tucked in the straggling string.
 
 HANNAH CRAIG. 21 
 
 Hannah watched her, then clutching the valise and 
 Jemmy, stepped from the sidewalk. Jemmy gave one 
 scream of objection and fright. Hannah pushed on, 
 half dragging him with her. Jemmy struggled, and 
 wrested away his hand just as something struck Han- 
 nah, and she fell. Jemmy went racing down the side- 
 walk. Nora followed, not daring to lose sight of him. 
 Hannah lay senseless and alone, in the street, in the 
 track of a runaway horse. 
 
 Of course a crowd instantly gathered. As her 
 valise seemed to show her a stranger in the city, 
 and as no one knew* anything about her, the police 
 placed her in the empty wagon that had done the 
 mischief, as the runaway horse, quickly captured, 
 was being led back, and bore her away. Five 
 minutes afterwards the crowd had again dispersed ; 
 the street was as busy as ever ; and no trace re- 
 mained of the accident, unless one had the curiosity 
 to inspect the paving in one spot, where a few spatters 
 of blood had stained the stones.
 
 22 THE CHILDREN OF AillTY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AMITY COURT. 
 
 STUMBLING on a broken brick, Jemmy fell over 
 upon a doorstep, and there he lifted up his voice, 
 and wept as only Jemmy could weep. In truth, the 
 child was in a terrible fright, and his previous excite- 
 ment strengthened and intensified it. His quick eyes 
 and ears had seen and heard the approaching danger, 
 though his speech was too slow to tell of it, and his 
 blind efforts to escape it had been only disregarded as 
 one of his many unfounded objections to doing as his 
 mother desired. Nora was quickly beside him. She 
 threw herself down, panting, upon the doorstep, and 
 lifted his flushed face into her arms. 
 
 "What is the matter, Jemmy? There, hush now, 
 and tell Nora, won't you ? " 
 
 Jemmy only nestled closer to her, and sobbed bit- 
 terly, though more quietly. When at length he was 
 almost still, with only occasional long fluttering breaths 
 to tell of the pain that had torn his little heart, Nora 
 said,
 
 AMITY COURT. 23 
 
 " Now we '11 go and find mamma." She had been 
 wondering that her mother had not, before now, come to 
 find them. But Jemmy broke into a bitter wail at this 
 suggestion. 
 
 " O, I don't want to ! She '11 be all smashed hup. 
 Oo-oo ! " 
 
 ' Hush, hush, Jemmy ! don't cry any more. Mamma 
 will be waiting for us, and not know where we are." 
 
 " No, she won't ! The great wild 'orse was coming, 
 and 'e ran over 'er ! Oo ! " moaned Jemmy, for he had 
 seen his mother fall, while Nora, in looking after him, 
 had not. She remembered now the clatter and rush 
 of a flying horse and wagon, and her bright cheeks 
 paled at the thought that her mamma could scarcely 
 have got out of the way of it. But she answered, in 
 her usual trusting, cheery way, 
 
 " Perhaps not. I guess mamma got out of the way." 
 
 " No, she did n't ! I saw 'cr fall down, and the 
 'orse Ooo ! " 
 
 "You did? Then perhaps she is hurt somehow, so 
 she can't come to look for us. "VVe must go and find 
 her. And then we will carry the valise for her, won't 
 we? Do }'ou believe 3*011 can carry half of it? " 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Jemmy, stoutly. " Hi could carry the 
 'ole of it ! " And his face lighted up with the prospect 
 of testing his strength. 
 
 So Nora rose, and hand in hand they walked back
 
 24 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 along the busy sidewalk towards the spot where they 
 had lost their mother. They walked a long way ; 
 they looked careful ly and earnestly at every woman 
 they met. But nowhere could they find their mother. 
 
 " I think we must have come by the place," said 
 Nora. " Let 's go back.*' 
 
 They went back far down the long sidewalk again 
 Still with no success. 
 
 4 - 1 wish I knew just where it was," said Nora, stop- 
 ping to gaze anxiously across the street. 
 
 44 What are you looking for, little girl?" asked a 
 passer, 
 
 " Looking for mother," replied Nora. " She is right 
 along here somewhere looking for us." 
 
 The stranger said, " O, well, you '11 soon find her 
 then," and went on. 
 
 Others spoke to the two little wanderers, and receiv- 
 ing the same answer, passed on. The children grew 
 very tired, and looking down a quiet court, Jemmy 
 said, 
 
 <; Let 's go in there and sit down ; I 'm so tired ! " 
 
 There was no passing of carriages here, for the court 
 led nowhere. Across the end was a broken fence, and 
 bej'ond it was the river. The sun lay blistering hot 
 down the length of the court, but there was beginning 
 to grow a narrow ribbon of shadow on one side. The 
 houses were huddled against one another, houses
 
 AMITY COURT. 25 
 
 of all sizes, heights, and styles, for it had once been a 
 respectable aud desirable place of residence. Here and 
 there were blocks of decent brick, the old settlers, 
 and crowded in between were shabby wooden buildings. 
 It was in the doorway of one of these that Nora and 
 Jemmy sat down to rest. Jemmy pillowed his browu 
 head on Nora's lap, and, quickly putting aside all care 
 and anxiety, he fell asleep, safe and happy in little 
 Nora's protecting arms. It was not so easy for Nora 
 to forget her trouble. Yet. sitting so still, lulled by 
 the quiet breathings of Jemmy on her lap, the soothing 
 influence did at last overcome her excitement, and, rest- 
 ing her head on the lintel beside her, she too slept. 
 
 Few people were astir in the court, and those few 
 were too well accustomed to the sight of stray children 
 to notice these. Biddy Crowley, coming home from her 
 day's wash, said, " La sakes, now where did they come 
 from, the darlints?" as she stepped over Jemmy to 
 enter the door. But she did not waken them to in- 
 quire. 
 
 The shadow had stretched across the court, and was 
 creeping, tier by tier, up the windows of the opposite 
 houses, when Jemmy awoke. He sat up and gazed 
 about in wonder. The movement awoke Nora, and 
 for a moment the two children stared about and at each 
 other in silence. Then memory returned, and Nora 
 sighed. But Jemmy was quite recruited by his sleep,
 
 26 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 and, seeing some children of his own size playing in a 
 gutter opposite, cried, 
 
 " Let 's go over there, and play a while with them. 
 Till mamma comes, you know," he added, as he saw 
 doubt in Nora's face. 
 
 u She won't find us," said Nora. 
 
 "Yes, she will. There's the street, just out there, 
 and when she goes by she '11 look right down here and 
 know us by our linen clothes ! " And Jemmy sprang up 
 and started Yet the strangeness and newness of the 
 city threw a sha.la of coyness over his usually confident 
 air, and he turned, half-way across, to wait for Nora, 
 and take her hand. 
 
 They walked over and stood by the group, three 
 nondescript, half-clothed children, who were piling up 
 chips and bits of rubbish into an edifice of some inches 
 in height. The builders took no notice of the little 
 strangers who stood by looking on. They pretended 
 not to be conscious of their presence. Nora was try- 
 ing to find some pleasant word or way of beginning 
 talk with them. But Jemmy could not wait ; and just 
 as the edifice towered to a proud height, he put out his 
 foot, and with a little poke knocked it all down. lie 
 did not mean to be rude or ill-tempered. It had always 
 been his way, when he had built up his block houses, 
 to have the fun of seeing them tumble down. Indeed, 
 to him the destruction seemed often the best part of
 
 AMITY COURT. 27 
 
 the play. Not so ran the faith of the little Amity 
 Courters. A 3*0!! of anger arose from the youngor 
 ones. But the larger boy seized a handful of slimy 
 dirt from the gutter, and flung it full in Jemmy's face. 
 Jeumry's mouth being open for a laugh, some of the 
 dirt went in. This indignity was felt to be a mad- 
 dening outrage. Little Jemmy was never so angry 
 before. Quicker than Nora could stop him, he sprang 
 like a tiger at the boy, pounding and shaking him in. 
 an utterly unscientific, but very hearty manner. The 
 other children cheered. A fight was a species of 
 entertainment with which they were quite familiar. 
 More children rushed out to see it. Then, as their 
 native seemed getting the worst of it at the hands of 
 the stranger, a bigger boy came to his assistance. 
 
 Nora had been trying from the first to pnll Jemmy 
 awaj- from his aggressive onset, but it must be con- 
 fessed that she redoubled her exertions when she found 
 him the sufferer. Then he would gladly have yielded 
 to her efforts to disengage him, but tlie big boy held 
 him with one hand while lie struck him with the other. 
 Nora began to cr} T , and at last, in desperation, wrappe I 
 both arms about Jemmy, bowed her head over him, and 
 let the blows fall on her own shoulders. 
 
 A quick patter of bare feet came down tbe sidewalk. 
 
 " Hi, Bill ! rare fellow ! Can lick a little girl, can't 
 ye?"
 
 28 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 The blows ceased, and Bill turned, panting and angry, 
 on the new-comer. But instead of commencing a new 
 fight, he said, in a shamed voice, 
 
 " I wasn't licking the girl. 'Twas the boy that was 
 pitching into little Pat Crowley." 
 
 t; What bo} r ? " And crouching, with his hands on his 
 knees, and a shrewd, puckering smile about his droll 
 mouth, Ned peeped under Nora's arms to get a view of 
 Jemmy. " Sure enough ! There is one, I declare ! 
 The girl is rather small to be a match for you, but 
 the boy is so drea/lfnl little, I did n't see him at all ! " 
 
 " They are strangers, anyway," retorted Bill. " Look 
 at their good clothes." 
 
 Nora led Jemmy to a quiet doorway, where he sobbed 
 a long time, partly perhaps with fright and pain, but 
 probably a great deal more from unappeased anger. A 
 terrible heart-sinking had come upon both the children. 
 It was hunger. But the excitement and anxiety of the 
 day made them unconscious what ailed them. 
 
 Boys came trooping into the court now, group after 
 group, many munching cakes or doughnuts as they 
 came. Grown men and women came into it also, some 
 carrying little empty tin pails, some a saw, some an 
 axe. some picks ; many were quite empty-handed. As 
 the sun went down, Amity Court seemed to wake up. 
 Every house was full of life. The open windows each 
 framed a group of frowsy heads, and dozens of loung-
 
 AMITY COURT. 29 
 
 ing inhabitants swarmed upon the doorsteps and filled 
 the narrow sidewalks. The houses were like ant-hills. 
 Coarse voices called back and forth in the gathering 
 dusk ; games of tag and tease occupied the street. 
 And the evening shadows drew closer their kind cur- 
 tain over the half-clothed people who loitered about, 
 resting from the day's toil, and the dirty, pinched-up 
 children who raced and shouted at their play. 
 
 Nora and Jemmy were obliged to leave the doorway 
 where they had sought refuge. The owners wanted it. 
 They stood by the corner of a narrow passage that led 
 through into the back yards. They stood till they 
 could stand no longer ; then they sat down upon the 
 pavement. Plenty of tired women were sitting on the 
 sidewalk about them, so it seemed quite in fashion for 
 them to do so too. In the darkness their good clothes 
 did not mark them as strangers. No one noticed or 
 spoke to them. Sitting there, again sleep came to their 
 relief, and the hum of the voices about them only lulled 
 them more deeply in its embrace. 
 
 The chill of midnight awoke Nora. The court was 
 empty, and still as death. She could not stay there on 
 the cold stones any longer. She half roused Jemmy ; 
 and, leading him to the wooden steps of one of the 
 shabbiest houses, they crept up into the doorway, and 
 soon were again asleep. 
 
 Jemmy was early awake in the morning, but no ear-
 
 30 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 lier than many others in Amity Court. The houses 
 showed signs of movements within, but there was no 
 such running over at doors and windows as last night. 
 The men with dinner-pails and tools were going, one by 
 one or in groups, out'of the court to their day's work. 
 Then went the boys, chatting and chaffing together. 
 Nora saw Bill and Ni-d among them, but they were not 
 together. Ned was with a smaller boy, to whom he was 
 talking earnestly ; Bill was playing rudely with a party 
 of rougher boys. Nora tried to hide, with Jemmy, 
 under the open lid of the hatchway of a cellar. She 
 could not bear to be seen and mocked for good clothes 
 again. At last the men and boys seemed all gone, and 
 the children crept out of their hiding-place. They felt 
 very weak and faint ; their heads were dizzy and light 
 with fasting. Jernmy was ready to cry with a sort of 
 dumb misery he could not explain. But his eye 
 caught the water sparkling across the end of the court. 
 
 " I want to go and see the water ! " he said, in for- 
 lornest accents. 
 
 Nora led him where he could look through the broken 
 fence, and see, far out on the river, steamers and sail- 
 boats gliding to and fro. The novel sight interested 
 him for a while. Nora, too, enjoyed it, but soon some- 
 thing nearer called her attention. A large boy had 
 come up from a little slanting path by the river with a 
 hand-cart, and left it before the door of the great brick
 
 AMITY COURT. 31 
 
 house next the water. He went in and up the stairs, 
 which Nora could see, as the door stood wide open. 
 That was the fashion with all the doors in Amity 
 Court. Soon he came down with a huge sack, very full 
 and plump, on his back. And behind him came a girl 
 not quite so large, and she too had a full sack on her 
 back. Foth sacks were placed in the hand-cart. They 
 seemed not very heavy, though so very big. Then the 
 boy and girl went back, and soon returned with two 
 more sacks, which they also piled on the little hand- 
 cart. The boy brought down one more, and then the 
 cart was heaped so full that he had to tie a rope over 
 the bags to keep them from rolling off. Nora could not 
 help coming nearer. She liked to 333 them fill tlio cart, 
 and to hear their kind and cheery voices. She hardly 
 knew why, but it was because these were pleasant- 
 looking and well-behaved children, and that could not 
 be said of most of the residents of Amity Court. 
 
 " All right, Tom ! Now throw me the other end," 
 said the girl, who was hidden behind the piled cart, 
 trying to fasten the rope over it. 
 
 " Now it will ride," said Tom, giving the load a 
 shake to test it. 
 
 Just then Jemmy turned, and missed Nora from his 
 side. With a scream he looked about for her, and she 
 quickly ran to him. 
 
 " Come and see what a load Tom has got," she said,
 
 32 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 pointing to the cart which was just beginning to move 
 away. 
 
 Jemmy stared with wide eyes, and Nora stood 
 with him watching it going out of the court. The little 
 girl who had helped load it also stood on the sidewalk 
 watching it. 
 
 Then she turned, and saw the two little strangers. 
 She smiled at them pleasantly. It was the first bit 
 of encouragement the children had found. Instinc- 
 tively they moved towards her. 
 
 "Please, could you give us something to eat? We 
 are very hungiy," said Nora. 
 
 "Are you? Why, yes, we can spare you a break- 
 fast," replied the pleasant-faced little girl. " Come up- 
 stairs, and I '11 get it for you."
 
 THE BIRDS' NEST. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BIRDS' NEST. 
 
 rwas not merely up one flight, nor two, that the 
 pleasant-faced girl led Nora and Jemmy. But at 
 the top of the fourth she paused, and did not go up any 
 more stairs, for the excellent reason that there were no 
 more. Just overhead, the sun shone in upon the little 
 cramped upper hall through a skylight in the roof. A 
 door that stood ajar she pushed open, and the children 
 followed her into a long, low room that reached quite 
 across tlu house, and had windows front and back, aa 
 well as two at the side looking directly out on the 
 shining river. There were two beds in the room, one 
 tucked away in a corner on the floor, the other dig- 
 nified with a cot-frame of ample dimensions. In tho 
 latter was a movement as they entered. A little body, 
 bolstered up to a sitting posture, leaned forward to 
 catch the first glimpse of the strangers, whose unfa- 
 miliar footsteps had been noted far down the long 
 flights of stairs. 
 
 " Here is company to breakfast, Harry," said the
 
 34 THE CIIILURKN OF AMITY COUUT. 
 
 hostess, going to a cupboard between the chimney and 
 one of the front corners of the long room. 
 
 " \Vc don't have company very often, and I'm glad 
 to see 3"ou," said Harry, feeling, with a child's quick 
 instinct, a sort of kinship with Nora, and reaching a 
 puny little hand to shake hands with her. 
 
 Nora came to the bedside, and gave her hand 
 shyly, saying, 
 
 " We are not company. We lost our mother, ami 
 why, I suppose we are just beggars." Then, as 
 the force of this dreadful name came over her, Nora 
 suddenly sat down on the floor, in a great clutter of 
 rags that were strewed around Harry's bed, and began 
 to cry. 
 
 " O, don't ! " said Harry, in a heart-broken voice, 
 leaning over the bedside to look down with pitying 
 eyes upon her. u Bess, do come and take her ! " 
 
 Bess turned from setting out some bread and baker's 
 cakes, and came quickly. But Jemmy, whose first 
 moments on entering had been busy with a severe 
 survey of the new premises, caught Nora's last words, 
 and, looking down, saw her crying. With one shriek 
 of terrified sorrow, he flung himself down beside her, 
 and wailed forth his despair, at sight of Nora his 
 stronghold of comfort and refuge in tears, in a series 
 of the most woful moans that ever greeted mortal ear. 
 Bess stopped half-way to Nora, startled by this nevr
 
 THE BIRDS* NEST. 35 
 
 outbreak. But the emergency instantly hushed Nora's 
 grief. Brushing back her own tears, she raised Jemmy 
 in her arms, and soothingly told him that they were 
 going to have something to eat now, and " wouldn't 
 it taste good?" Jemrny looked up in her face, and, 
 finding her no longer crying, consented to accept con- 
 solation and breakfast. 
 
 Bess Canton little knew how much of a charity she 
 was undertaking when she agreed to give these two 
 hungry little strangers a breakfast It was a twenty- 
 four hours' fast that the}' were breaking ; and many 
 a piece of bread and many a baker's cake it required to 
 make quite good so long a fast, and utterly destroy their 
 health}' appetites. But Bess was not thinking of that. 
 
 "You were very hungry, weren't you?" she said, 
 watching them with kindly eyes, as they ate so eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Nora. 
 
 " I never was so 'ungr}- 'fore in hall my life," vouch- 
 safed Jemmy, with his mouth full of doughnut. 
 
 " Tell me where you came from, " was the next 
 query. 
 
 " Campfielrls," said Nora. 
 
 " It's way off long wa} r we came in cars," ejac- 
 ulated Jemmy. 
 
 " But 3 r ou said you lost your mother. When was 
 that?" 
 
 "Yesterday walking along that street," replied
 
 36 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Nora, indicating the other end of the court with s wave 
 of her hand. ' ; Jemmy ran away, and I ran after him, 
 and when we went back " 
 
 " No, first the great wild 'orse came," interrupted 
 Jemmy ; "I saw 'im, and mamma did ii't, and Nora 
 did n't. So hi ran away, and Nora ran too, but mamma 
 stayed, and was all runded over." 
 
 " When we went back," continued Nora, " we 
 couldn't find her." 
 
 "Are you sure you went back to the same place?" 
 asked Bess. 
 
 " We went all along the street," said Nora ; " we 
 could n't tell just the place, but we must have gone by 
 it, and we could n't see mother anywhere ; but I think 
 she will come by and by. She '11 be looking for us, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes," assented Bess, gravely. But in her heart 
 she thought that probably the children's mother would 
 never again come to look for them. 
 
 When Nora rind Jemmy had finished their breakfast, 
 Bess put away the few fragments that remained, and 
 tied on her hat hurriedly. 
 
 " Now, I must go .down to help Tom," she said ; 
 
 u and I shall have to run, I guess. You can sta}' here, 
 
 ' if you like, till I come back. It is very pleasant to 
 
 look out 'of the window at the ships. Would you like 
 
 to stay ? "
 
 THK BIRDS' NEST. 37 
 
 Bess looked at Nora for an answer. Nora looked at 
 Jemmy. As neither replied, Bess said to Jemmy, 
 
 u Would you like to stay here and watch the ships on 
 the river till I come back ? " 
 
 ' Yes," acquiesced Jemmy, climbing on a chair at 
 one of the south windows overlooking the water. He 
 was in just that condition of good humor that is agreea- 
 ble to any and every proposition, and that often comes, 
 as in this case, from a thorough internal physical satis- 
 faction. 
 
 So it was agreed that they should remain. But the 
 arrangement was not made without reference to Harry's 
 wish. Bess's eyes had sought his when the meal was 
 ended, and r^ad their desire to retain this new company 
 that had drifted i.i upon them. It was to Nora, not 
 Jemmy, that the wish had reference. But the two 
 were not to be distinguished, and Harry already en- 
 dured Jemmy for Nora's sake, in these first few mo- 
 ments of their acquaintance. 
 
 Jemmy was veiy quiet at the window, after Bess had 
 gone. He was tired His unusual sleeping accommo- 
 dations must answer for that. Then all his } T oung 
 strength and vitality were at present employed to digest 
 his hearty breakfast. Nora, drawn by the gentle ways 
 and indescribable attractions of the little boy in bed, 
 approached, and sat down on the foot of the cot. She 
 did not speak. She did not know whut to say. But
 
 38 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 she liked to watch him, for two reasons. He was very 
 much after the pattern of the an el in her skry-book 
 at home To be sure, the angel's hair was long and 
 streaming, and his was cut short, as a boy's should be. 
 But his was of the golden yellow color that always 
 suggested heaven and glory to her childish mind ; and 
 it rolled itself up into rings all around his fair pale 
 face. His e} r es were very blue and bright, as soft and 
 gentle as angels' eyes should be, but somehow too sad. 
 Nora did not think this all out. She only felt a vague, 
 dumb happiness in looking at him, and an idea of 
 angels was mixed up in her mind with her idea of him. 
 Harry was older than Nora, though no larger. He 
 was very busy all the time, as he sat up in bed ; and 
 this was the second reason she found so much interest 
 in watching him. A long bag, twice as long as any 
 that Tom had carried away on the cart, indeed, a bag 
 made by ripping out the bottom of one like those, and 
 sewing the sides on the top of another, was beside 
 him, standing on the floor, its top within easy reach of 
 his little arms The bug was stuffed full of rags of all 
 sizes, shapes, and colors. Harry was sorting them. 
 He threw the white rags on one side his bed, and the 
 colored ones on the other. Sometimes he found very 
 pretty bits of calico or dress good-i ; but generally the 
 rags were old and faded, sometimes not at all clean or 
 nice to handle. Harry only hurried over such patches
 
 THE BIRDS' NEST. 39 
 
 in his rag-bag, and Bess took care in filling it to put 
 in as little as possible of the disagreeable kind. Soon 
 Nora saw how he divided them, and began to help. 
 They spoke little, but a silent sj-mpathy was growing 
 up between them, expressed chiefly by pleasant glances 
 from their bright 63-68. Nora p tied Hairy, and wanted 
 to hell) him because he had to stay in bed, and loved 
 him because he had an angvl face. Harry pitied Nora 
 because she looked so sad and had lost her mother, as 
 had the Canton children not long since ; and he loved 
 .her, too, for the tender care siie showed for Jemmy. 
 Little Jemmy, meanwhile, at the window was so unrea- 
 sonably quiet that Nora turned to look, and found his 
 head sunk upon the sill, in the glaring sunshine, his 
 round eyes f;ist closed in sleep. 
 
 "Jemmy's gone to sleep. I 'm glad ; he must be so 
 tired," she said to Harry. 
 
 " He might lie on the other bed. The sun is too hot 
 for him there," said Harry. 
 
 So Nora, half waking him, led him to the bed in the 
 corner, where he soon w s comfortably sleeping^ 
 
 Then Harry and Nora began to talk gradually more 
 and more. Harry fir^t told how they earned money by 
 picking over the rags. Tom went out with the hand-cart 
 and collected th. m first. Some he picked up in back 
 streets and alleys, and at the ba . k-doors of factories; 
 those were the dirty ones. Some were given him for
 
 40 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 taking them away, but those were not worth much, and 
 some he bought for a cent of two a pound Then he 
 and Bess would sort them, there were different kinds 
 of sorting to be done. He did only the sorting of col- 
 ored from white cotton rags. Bess picked out the silk, 
 the leather, and the paper. "When they were sorted, 
 Tom took them away again, and sold them at the best 
 places for good prices. 
 
 " Mother always had a rag-bag," said Nora. 
 
 But Harry was shy of talking about her mother. It 
 seemed as if it must be a painful subject. lie did not 
 realize how far from Nora's mind was any fear of never 
 finding her mother again. He had seen the grave look 
 in Bess's face, and understood it. He said nothing of 
 Nora's mother, just as Nora said nothing of his being 
 in bed, because she felt sure it was something dreadful 
 that kept him there. He was evidently not sick. His 
 clear bright eyes, his cheerful smile, the busy work of 
 his fair little hands, all proved that no pain was in his 
 small body, no fever dimmed and wasted his life Yet 
 only from his wai t up did he seem alive lie leaned 
 forward, or rested back upon his pillows, lie worked 
 briskly with hands and arms ; his head nnd face 
 moved and lighted up with quick, keen interest. But 
 as stationary as a rose iu its garden patch, or a flower 
 upon a tree, was little Harry Canton in his wide cot- 
 bed.
 
 THE BIRDS' NEST. 41 
 
 Nora told him, in return for his story about the rags, 
 how she and Jemmy used to play with mud-turtles in 
 Campfields brook, and turn them on their backs to see 
 them " beg " ; but how they always took care to turn 
 them back again, right side up, before leaving them, 
 because Lester Gree had told them that the poor 
 turtles could never turn over themselves, and would die 
 so, if left on their backs. Harry listened with interest, 
 yet his pale face saddened slightly as he said, 
 
 " We used to live in the country when father was a 
 minister." 
 
 " Was your father a minister?" asked Nora, in some 
 awe at conversing so familiarly with the child of such a 
 dignitary. 
 
 u Yes ; but it was ever so long ago, when I was very 
 little, no bigger than Jemmy." 
 
 Nora was rather relieved at this explanation, and 
 Harry went on to give more of his history. 
 
 " Father was sick, very sick, for a long time. We 
 came to the city to see a doctor here. It was a won- 
 derful doctor who could cure everything and everybody. 
 But he did not cure my father. I did n't know much 
 about it then. Sometimes, since, I have heard Tom 
 and Bess speak of those times when we first came to the 
 city. Welivedin a better house, had more rooms, and 
 we did not work we little ones ; biit mother did, 
 she was always at work. Then father died. That was
 
 42 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 long ago, two or three years, I guess. Pretty soon 
 after that we moved into another house where we had 
 fewer rooms. Then into another, where we had only 
 two rooms. Last summer we came here. But it is 
 pretty cold here in the winter. In the summer it does 
 very well. I heard Tom say that we must get away 
 from here before winter comes again, or we shall all 
 freeze." 
 
 " Don't you have a fire in the winter?" asked Nora, 
 with her earnest little face full of interest. 
 
 " O, yes, all we can. But it costs lots of money, and 
 it does n't warm the room any. The wind blows in so 
 at the cracks in winter ! Mother used to sit close to 
 the chimney there, with her feet to the fire and the sun- 
 shine on her back, and then she said she was very com- 
 fortable. But sometimes there was not any sunshine, 
 and the snow sifted in through the roof, and made it 
 damp and chilly. Then mother would cough all day 
 long. But she kept on sewing just the same. 'T was 
 then that she thought about the rag business, and sent 
 Bess out when it was pleasant to gather all she could 
 find. For a long while Bess would come with such 
 little lots. But by and by she learned where to go to 
 find them, and what places had them to sell or give 
 away, and then some days she used to get more than 
 she could bring home at one load. Then mother said 
 we must have a hand-cart. She took off her ring, it
 
 THE BIRDS* NEST. 43 
 
 was a beauty, and told Tom to go and turn it into a 
 hand-cart. That sounds like fairy-tale ways of doing, 
 I know ; but I suppose Tom only sold the ring, and 
 bought the hand-cart with the money. That was when 
 spring was coming, I know, because, after the hand-cart 
 was bought, mother let me sort rags. She would not 
 let me bef jre, because they were so cold to handle ; 
 she was afraid I might take cold from them and be sick." 
 
 Nora was silent when Harry seemed to have made an 
 end of his recital. There were many things she would 
 have liked to know, but she forbore to ask. They sorted 
 a long time in silence, till a great yawn from Xora drew 
 Harry's attention. 
 
 " You are tired. Where did yoa sleep last night? " 
 
 " On the sidewalk and some doorsteps." 
 
 "You did? Could you sleep there?" 
 
 " We had n't anywhere to go, 3*011 know. I did n't 
 sleep as sound as I do in bed." 
 
 ' Of course not," cried Harry, with a merry smile. 
 " Now I '11 tell you what 3*011 must do. Go and lie 
 down on that bed with Jemmy, and have a good nap till 
 Bess and Tom come back." 
 
 Nora hesitated ; but Harry insisted, and -she at last 
 consented. AVit'.i her head upon the pillow, she fixed 
 her gentle black eyes on Hany's sunny head, and let 
 the pleasant vision be her last, as the white lids slowly 
 slipped down, and Nora fell into a comfortable and 
 restful slumber. 
 
 \
 
 - 44 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 " T "WOULD as soon as you, Bess, if we only could," 
 JL said Tom Canton, rummaging rapidly in the 
 great heaps of rags he had tumbled from some large 
 sacks, upon the floor under the rear windows of the 
 ]ong room. 
 
 Bess was setting out an afternoon meal between the 
 front windows at the farther end of their house. She 
 made no answer, save by a little sigh, and a mournful 
 glance towards the bed upon the floor, where lay Nora 
 and Jemmy, still asleep. 
 
 "You see,' : continued Tom, '' everything is changing 
 with the war. We do but barely manage to live now. 
 I don't see how we shall make out to do that when 
 winter comes. And prices are going up, and rags are 
 scarce and high. Sometimes, Bess, I am afraid we 
 shall starve, ourselves. So how can we take those two 
 children in? They can sleep here, of Course, but we 
 cannot possibly feed and clothe them ; so it is better
 
 THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL. 45 
 
 they should go where they can be better cared for. 
 They are too young to be put to work." 
 
 Bess only sighed again, but this time the sigh was 
 taken up, and echoed from the small cot-bed, where 
 Harry, wearied with his work, lay back upon his pillows, 
 pale and still. Bess heard it as well as Tom. Both 
 glanced towards him, and then went silently on with 
 their work. 
 
 " Ned's coming ! " said Harry, in a glad, soft voice, 
 a moment later. 
 
 The door opened and closed, admitting a figure so 
 full of life drollery, and shrewdness in every line and 
 motion, as to suggest wonder how it could have entered 
 
 oo 
 
 without a heralding of boisterous noise. Harry raised 
 his face with a welcoming smile, Ne 1 took it between 
 two rough, grimy little paws, anl grinned into it cheer- 
 fully. Anybody but Ned would have kissed it. 
 
 " Business is just snapping," was Ned's first remark ; 
 and, thrusting his hands into the two pockets of his 
 baggy pantaloons, he rattled the cents therein, then put 
 down a wad of very dirty little green rags upon the 
 dinner-table. 
 
 " See there ! And t!:e evening trade not begun yet ! 
 Thought perhaps you'd li e some before night, so I 
 ran home with it." 
 
 Bess looked across to Tom. Tom was busy, and kept 
 his eyes on his work. She gave one happy smile to the
 
 46 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 generous provider who brought home his gains so freely. 
 Ned grinned back, but it was a grin of more sober and 
 thoughtful a character than the one he had bestowed on 
 Harry. His gray eyes showed a;i earnest, kind light. 
 His white, eve:i teeth slippe;! back behind the shrewd 
 lips, and hid quito out of sight. His glance of hearty 
 good-will for the moment ontdazzled tlie great brown 
 patches of freckle on the stubbed, turned-up nose, 
 and the smaller, fainter ones upon his tough young 
 cheeks. For that moment Ned Canton's plain face was 
 quite lovable. Then the mischief and the swagger 
 came back. 
 
 " Pretty soon, Bess, I '11 support the whole family of 
 you. Tom can go into a connting-rc ^m, and we can 
 all live like th3 gentlefolks we are." 
 
 'All but the newsboy who has to pa)' the bills," said 
 Tom. " You will not grow A-ery wealth} 7 at your trade. 
 I never heard of an}' one who did." 
 
 "Well, there 's a first tims to everything," returned 
 Ned, with his hand luxuriating among the jingling cop- 
 pers in his pocket. 
 
 " But you see Bess and I are earning less now than 
 before the war. The war is killing our business." 
 
 " Is it? It is the making of mine. There was s, 
 battle yesterday, and the papers go to-day as fast as 
 I can make change." 
 
 " I shall have to flu 1 something else to do. In a
 
 THE BIKDS IX COUNCIL. 47 
 
 week there will be no more rag-picking for me. It will 
 take more capital to carry on tho trads than we can 
 raise." 
 
 "O, how do you know? Perhaps I can," replied 
 Ned, with a cheerful look, not without suggestion of a 
 mystery soin2wlisre in hi > most interior thought. But 
 Tom asked no questions. It wa? a very common look 
 with Ned when he was hunting for an idea. 
 
 " Besides," continued To:n, " here are two children 
 who have drifted in on Bess, and she wants to keep them 
 with us. But they are too little to do anything. Look 
 at them ! " 
 
 Ned's e}'cs grew round. lie walked down the long 
 room and looked at Nora and Jcmmj', flung down so 
 wearily on his own couch, Nora's arm thrown across 
 Jemmy as if to protect him even in sleep. For a mo- 
 ment lie looked. Then he whistled, very Ion t, an. I very 
 low, not to wake them. Then the pucker slipped out 
 of his lips, and his customary grin took its place. 
 
 " If that is n't the litt'e chap I saw fighting in the 
 court ! Only he did n't get on well at it, and so the girl 
 stepped in and took it herself.' Shu's a brick that 
 little girl. Come, now, she could sell papers. There's 
 room for new-comers in the business. She could sell 
 for me, and I could get stock for her. Come now, Tom, 
 what 's better than that? " 
 
 " Do you suppose she would like it ? I should so like
 
 48 THE CHILDUEN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 to have her stay ! " said Harry, gently. But Tom made 
 no reply. 
 
 u It would be hard, rough work. You ought not to 
 put her into it," said Bess, gravely. 
 
 " I 'il agree she shall get a living ; that is, pay for 
 the feeding of herself and the boy. When it comes to 
 clothes, she must beg some, I suppose," Ned added, 
 in a lower tone, " if she can't buy them." 
 
 ' What do you say, Tom?" asked Bess. 
 
 " Hullo ! " cried Ned, dropping into his former droll 
 attitude, hands on his knees and chin raised, his keen 
 eyes arid inquisitive nose taking on an air of interested 
 inquiry. Little Nora was sitting up on the bed, and 
 her soft, dark eyes were raised in strong entreaty to the 
 unconscious face of Tom, who stood as arbiter of her 
 fate. 
 
 "Please do let us stay," she pleaded ; " it's so nice 
 here, and so near for mother to find us ! I '11 do any- 
 thing you say, and so will Jemmy, won't 3-011?" she 
 broke off. as Jemmy rolled over his sleepy red face at 
 sound of her voice. 
 
 " Ye-es," with both fists in his eyes, Jemmy replied. 
 
 41 We '11 be very good." 
 
 Tom glanced up and smiled at her._ Bess saw it, and 
 answered for him. 
 
 "Tom would like you to stay, as well as I, if we 
 can manage to get enough to eat."
 
 THE BIKDS IN COUNCIL. 49 
 
 " 0, we won't eat much \" cried Nora. And Bess 
 smiled, remembering the breakfast. " Just till mother 
 comes, you know." The smile faded, and Bess turned 
 away her face. 
 
 " Come now, Bess, if we are going to have anything 
 to eat, 1 want mine now ! " cried Ned. 
 
 " It is all read}'," was the reply. 
 
 Bess carried some of the bread and buns to Harry. 
 Tom left his rags, and began to wash his hands. There 
 were not chairs enough for all, so Ned stood up, and 
 Jemmy shared Nora's. Thus they made a cheerful 
 meal, enlivened by some droll stories, of which Ned had 
 always a stock on hand. When they had finished, 
 which was soon, he turned suddenly to Nora. 
 
 " Come, now, I want you to go with me and sell 
 papers for the evening's trade. 'T will be brisk to-night." 
 
 Nora looked up in his face with startled eyes, that 
 needed no words of surprise or inquiry. 
 
 " You said you 'd do anything we said, and you see 
 you '11 have to earn as much as you eat, you and the 
 little chap." 
 
 " But I don't know how ! " stammered Nora. 
 
 "0, I '11 show you, easy 'nough. Come ! " 
 
 Nora took up her little straw hat, and put on 
 Jemmy's. 
 
 " He can't go," succinctly stated Ned. 
 
 Nora, obediently took off the hat from Jemmy's head.
 
 50 THE CHILDUEN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 ' Yes, hi will go too ! " screamed Jemmy, with great 
 emphasis. 
 
 A puzzled look crossed Nora's face. She had always 
 yielded to Jemmy's imperative will, but now she felt 
 there was some one else to be considered. The two 
 influences balanced, and produced momentary inaction. 
 
 u No, you won't, my man," said Ned, who was accus- 
 tomed to bsing "considered something of a ruler among 
 small boys <; Come, now, stay here like a good boy, 
 and we '11 come back by and by." 
 
 " Hi sa}- I will go ! " shouted Jemmy ; and, seizing 
 his hat, he put it on again. 
 
 " But, Jemmy," began Nora, softby, " I am afraid you 
 might get lost from me, and then what should I do? " 
 
 " Find me," concisely replied the young lord of 
 creation. 
 
 " But supposing I couldn't, any more than we know 
 where to find mother ? " 
 
 " Hi '11 keep close hold of j'ou," said Jemmy, in a 
 conciliatory tone. 
 
 " Butj'ou 'd better stay at home," pat in Ne.l. 
 
 " But Hi won't ! 'T ain't 'ome, nor nothing like it." 
 
 " Come," said Ned, twitching Nora's sleeve for f 
 strategic exit. 
 
 But Jemmy was too quick, and caught her other arm. 
 
 " Could n't he go? " falteringly asked Nora, torn by 
 the two.
 
 THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL. 51 
 
 " You M lose him just as certain as he did," said 
 Ned. "Or else you'd be so busy looking after him, 
 you would n't sell the papers." 
 
 " Take one of the sack-ropes and tie them together," 
 suggested Bess. 
 
 Ned grinned. He picked up one of the ropes that 
 were used to tie the sack-mouths, and saying, tersely, 
 " Come on, then," led the way down-stairs. Nora and 
 Jemmy quickly followed, and soon their steps were lost 
 to little Harry's listening ears. 
 
 Bess had cleared the table, and cleaned the few 
 plates. She was busy now making the bed for Harry. 
 She had first taken up the pale, thin child in her 
 motherly arms, and, wrapping an old shawl about 
 him, given him to Tom. It was a regular morning 
 and afternoon duty with them : a relic of the old 
 home-days, when they felt they had a real home. 
 Tom sut down in the one low rocker, that had been 
 the mother's chair, and holding Harry in his arms as 
 gently and tenderly as had that mother, rocked softly 
 iind slowly the little burden. It rested the child from 
 his weary bed. It was the happiest part of his day, 
 those two half-hours when Tom and Bess took turns to 
 hold and rock h'm. When the bed was thrown open and 
 tossed up for an airing, Bess came and sat beside them. 
 
 "Do you suppose I shall ever grow any bigger?" 
 said Harry, softly.
 
 52 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 "0, yes!" Tom answered, cheerfully. "I can 
 remember when you were not half so large as now, 
 out at Briarwood. 
 
 "But I haven't grown any since I came into the 
 city." 
 
 " Not so much, I suppose. None of us have. If we 
 were only rich enough to go back to Briarwood, you 
 would begin to grow," said .Bess. 
 
 " "Well, we shan't go," said Harry, with a mournful 
 sort of resignation. 
 
 " But you will grow some, here." 
 
 "I don't want to; because then I shall get too big 
 to be rocked. And how shall I ever bear it to lie in 
 bed all the time, and be too big to be taken up and 
 rocked ? " 
 
 '' O, is that it?" said Bess, with brightened face. 
 " We '11 always rock you, if you grow as big as Tom." 
 
 " You could n't." 
 
 " Yes, I could. I could rock Tom now.'' 
 
 "Not if he took his feet up? " cried Harry, laughter 
 creeping up in his blue eyes and delicate face. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! Let me take him now, Tom ; it 's my 
 turn " 
 
 -' I 'm not tired," said Tom. 
 
 u O, I did n't suppose you were," replied Bess ; " I 
 never am. But you can have him while I am spreading 
 up the bed, so I want him now."
 
 THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL. 53 
 
 Tom yielded the locker and his burden; Bess 
 rocked, and meanwhile sang a little song their mother 
 taught them long ago. And Harry smiled sweetly, as 
 the motion and the music lulled the weariness from his 
 poor little body. 
 
 " I didn't do much to-day. See ! " he said, pointing 
 to the rags he had sorted, when Bess had returned him 
 to Tom's care. " Seems to me I don't do nearly so 
 much in a day as when I first began." 
 
 " Th re's no need 3*011 should now. We shall have 
 veiy few more rags to sort," replied Tom. 
 
 " And what will you do then ? " 
 
 u 0, something else. I don't know exactly what, 
 yet," Tom said, absently. 
 
 The fresh bed stood ready, but Tom and Harry lin- 
 gered yet some time, talking pleasantly of many little 
 things. Then Harry was laid back upon the snowy 
 sheets, the other bed boasted no such luxury, and 
 Tom took up his hat. 
 
 " 1 am going again, Bess/' he said ; " come and help 
 me." 
 
 "Bess followed him down the many stairs, saying, 
 " Where are 3-011 going now? I thought 3-011 could get 
 no more to-d:!}-." 
 
 In the open doorway Tom sat down, and Bess sat 
 down beside him. The afternoon sun shone slanting 
 on the river, and sparkled up into Amity Court. She
 
 54 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 lifted her earnest, kindly face to his ; but Tom turned a 
 look of helpless trouble in reply. He had hid it from 
 Ilariy, but now he must pour out all his anxiety and 
 despair for Bess to soothe and brighten. 
 
 " If we had, say, fifty dollars, we could go on, and 
 make money perhaps. But as it is, we must give up." 
 
 u For want of money ? " said Bess, with a faint smile. 
 " What a pity we are not rich rag-pickers ! " 
 
 " It is a pit}-, and no laughing either," Tom replied, 
 gloomily. " I was just beginning to see how to make 
 both ends meet and perhaps save a few dollars towards 
 winter. I thought it would all go on smoothly and 
 safely, now I had got started." 
 
 " And did you mean to be always a rag-picker ? " 
 asked Bess, gravely. 
 
 " Of course not ! " was the indignant reply. 
 
 " Then now 's the time to do something better." 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know yet what But when we can't 
 do the old way, there 's always a new wa}', gener- 
 ally a better way, only we must try hard, and seek 
 bravely in order to find it. I believe that just because 
 you can't pick rags any more, you will find something 
 better to do." 
 
 " I wish I did," said Tom, gloomily. 
 
 " Try." 
 
 " But I don't know anything about it, nor do you."
 
 THE BIRDS IN COUNCIL. 55 
 
 " God does," replied Bess, softly ; " and if we try, We 
 shall find out." 
 
 " Somehow, seems as if " hesitated Tom, " I should 
 feel better if I knew myself." 
 
 A puzzled little smile came on Bess's face. " Of 
 course," she said, " or there would n't be anything to 
 make 3^011 try. Have you been to see Cobden & Co. 
 again?" she asked, suddenly. 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 " You said Mr. Saunders promised you the next 
 chance." 
 
 " Yes ; and I went every week, till New-year's ; and 
 I 've been every month since till " Tom stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Why not go a^ain now?" 
 
 " I suppose I shall, some day. But it won't do any 
 good. I have n't any hope there. Mr. Saunders is only 
 the ' Co ' ; he is n't Mr. Cobden nor Mr. "Waters. If 
 it had been the nice old gentleman who lost his pocket- 
 book and was helped out of a street row by me, it 
 would perhaps have amounted to something for me ; 
 for his word is law there. Or if Mr. Waters had taken 
 a fancy to me. he could have put me into a good place. 
 But, you see, I don't think Mr. Saunders can" 
 
 " You can go and try." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " Well, go to-day, won't you?"
 
 56 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Why, just to make a beginning. ' To-day is the 
 very best clay we have,' mother used to say." 
 
 " Yes ; but if I put it off, I keep the chance. 
 After I go, and get ' No ' for an answer, it is lost." 
 
 " Then you do hope a little, after all," cried Bess, 
 merrily, as Tom moved away up the court.
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 57 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 
 
 MR. COBDEN'S white hair was too utterly snowy 
 to have grown any whiter in the last five years. 
 His full, round, red face was just as round and as red. 
 Something of the old strength and energy of manner 
 had perhaps slipped away from him. The firm lines of 
 his mouth and chin were a little relaxed. Ilis step was 
 more feeble, and his stout walking-stick had grown to 
 be a friend for use rather than for amusement. lie 
 came late to the counting-room, as was his custom. 
 He lingered for a few words with Mr. Saunders at the 
 desk in the outer office. Then he went on, to the busi- 
 ness parlor beyond. 
 
 There, at a handsome desk, sat Mr. Waters, the 
 practical head of the firm, deep in a pile of papers that 
 were spread before him. His crisp black hair, with its 
 irrepressible kink, was tossed and tumbled by the 
 worrying of las nervous finger. His black brows were 
 bent in a most unpromising scowl. His black eyes 
 glowered in an anxious, gloomy manner.
 
 58 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Mr. Cobden entered in the blandest humor. Put- 
 ting down his heavy gold-headed stick, and rubbing his 
 hands gently and cheerfully, he tottered up to his 
 nephew's chair. Mr. Waters wheeled suddenly about, 
 at his approach, and shoved the papers aside. The 
 gloomy scowl would linger ; but he placed a chair for 
 his uncle, and greeted him carelessly, as is the wont 
 between business men who meet daily. 
 
 "That's a good thing a good thing of Saun- 
 ders ! " began the old man. " "We shall make a cool 
 twenty thousand by it. He's developing a talent for 
 business. Keeps his eyes open like a wide-awake 
 man. Can't imagine how he managed to get such a 
 bargain." 
 
 " Yes ; Saunders seems to hare made a pretty neat 
 thing of that agreement," replied Mr. Waters, ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " Saunders is going to make a smart business man. 
 Whoever the goose is that has agreed to import him 
 a, bill of goods at such prices must get badly bitten. 
 But we can afford it if he can; hey, Dick?" 
 
 " Ye-es," with an absent shuffle of his papers. 
 
 " Another year we must settle new terms for Saun- 
 ders. His services will be worth more. We must 
 allow him something handsome ; hey, Dick? Don't 
 you think he ought to share more equally with us?'* 
 
 "How much capital docs he represent?"
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 59 
 
 ""Well, not much, not much, I admit. Very few 
 thousand, I know. But it's all he has got, you see. 
 And that's just -what we put in! Hey, Dick?" 
 
 Mr. Waters laughed. It was an uncomfortable 
 and rather a disagreeable laugh. But it answered 
 every purpose as well as a better one. Mr. Cobden 
 laughed too, in a pleased, simple-hearted manner ; and 
 perceiving that his nephew was preoccupied and dis- 
 traught, walked away to his own desk at the other side 
 of the room, and sat down there. 
 
 Very few books or papers cumbered Mr. Cobden's 
 desk. What few belonged there were not in so frequent 
 use as to prevent their being kept in excellent and 
 orderly arrangement. Mr. Cobden sat down, and 
 looked at them in rapt contemplation. lie was trying 
 to think of something to do with them. He had years 
 ago given up all active participation in the business of 
 the firm which in his earlier manhood he had founded 
 and fostered. But he loved to watch its growth and 
 prosperity. He loved to hear of all its interests, risks, 
 and good fortune. It was the darling of his heart ; 
 and for i's sake, having no children of his own, he had 
 adopted his nephew, Kichard Waters, and made him 
 his own successor, to take the helm that he knew him- 
 self no longer able to hold. But his whole life was 
 still in and for the firm. It grieved him sometimes 
 that there was nothing he could do for it. It grieved
 
 CO THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 him now, as he sat staring blankly at his own private 
 books and papers. How dusty they were for want of 
 constant use? They might at least be dusted, and so 
 look as if they were in busy requisition. But it was 
 not his business to dust the office, and he did not know 
 where to find the feather-brush. 
 
 "Where's Louis?" he inquired of Mr. Saunders, 
 putting his head through the door into the outer office. 
 
 " Don't know. lie has n't come." 
 
 " Not come ! " And Mr. Cobden brought his whole 
 portly person through the door, and went up to Mr. 
 Saunders' desk. " Not come ! " consulting" his watch. 
 "Why, 'tis twelve o'clock!" 
 
 " I know it. I 'm afraid he is sick." 
 
 "Well, but if he is sick, you know, he may not come 
 for a week." 
 
 Mr. Saunders was reading a letter, and did not 
 immediately reply. 
 
 " Everything is getting dusty and dirty," pursued 
 Mr. Cobden, fretfully. *' You must get some one else 
 at once. The place is n't fi f , to live in to-day." And he 
 kicked under the table a wad of crumpled paper that 
 had escaped the waste-basket. 
 
 " Patrick swept out this morning," quietly replied 
 Mr. Saunders, laying down the letter he had finished 
 reading. 
 
 " My desk is so dusty I can't touch it," grumbled
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 61 
 
 the old man again, displaying a grimy cuff that had 
 leaned too closely upon the objectionable piece of 
 furniture. 
 
 Mr. Saunclers smiled merrily. "When he was not too 
 busy, Mr. Cobden's fretfulness was apt to be an amuse- 
 ment to him. Jf busy, it was an intolerable annoy- 
 ance, and required a'.l his patience and self-control to 
 restrain hasty and angry replies. Now, however, he 
 was not very busy, and on account of the success 
 of his last project was in the best of humor ; so he 
 walked into the parlor, took the feather-brush from its 
 peg in the closet, and neatly and carefully dusted off 
 ever} r inch of Mr. Cobden's desk and chair. His con- 
 descension was even so extensive, that, having begun, 
 he went on and dusted all the furniture of the hand- 
 somely appointed room. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Waters sat gloomily bowed over his 
 desk, his eyes gazing blankly, his face black and drawn, 
 and his whole consciousness absent from what trans- 
 pired around him ; and Mr. Cobden indulged in little 
 disconnected phrases of talk, in whiffs, as he stumped 
 up and down the room with his cane. 
 
 "Boys ought to be regular reliable. / always 
 was when boy. Times changed, Louis LeGrange 
 was never just the boy for this place. Unstiddy. Off 
 a day here and a day there. Tidy boy. Well-behaved. 
 But unstiddy."
 
 62 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " He has been sick, you know," suggested Mr Saun- 
 clers. 
 
 " No business to be sick. I 'rn never sick. Get an- 
 other bo} T to-morrow to-day. One that'll stick 
 stiddy to business." 
 
 Mr. Saunders had finished dusting, and returned to 
 his desk. But the duty of getting a new boy was by 
 no means on his mind. Patrick could sweep out. One 
 of the clerks could dust and tidy up sufficiently to sat- 
 isfy fussy old Mr. Cobden ; and there was little need 
 of a boy. 
 
 A rustle of soft silks startled the business ears that 
 heard that sound but seldom in these grim precincts. 
 In at the open door of the office swept the sheeny, sibi- 
 lant robes, and on through the doorway of the office 
 parlor. Mr. Waters heard, and the slight sound woke 
 him from the revery which more obtrusive interruptions 
 had failed to break. 
 
 Mrs. "Waters sailed across the office parlor, wearing 
 her sweetest smile, and stood behind her husband's 
 chair. 
 
 The crisp, black hair and frowning brows became 
 alert, but Mr. Waters did not raise his eyes or turn his 
 head. He had seized a pen, at the first warning rustle 
 of her approaching silks, and was now so intent in 
 copying a bill that happened to lie before him, that he
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 63 
 
 seemed utterly incapable of noticing anything that 
 might transpire. 
 
 " I told you I woulci come down, Richard, and so I 
 have," she said, in amiable accents 
 
 Mr. Waters raised his head and looked at her, with 
 mi angry glance in his black eyes that suggested any- 
 thing but pleasure at her fidelity to the promise, or 
 strong mutual affection between the man and wife thus 
 placed, for the moment, face to face. 
 
 But the lady feigned unconsciousness of whatever 
 might be disagreeable in the reception she met, and 
 continued, 
 
 " Ma and Ria have been over to see me this morning*, 
 and ma thinks it will hardly cost so much as I said. 
 Perhaps a hundred or two less. And if it isn't con- 
 venient for you to furnish the two hundred I want to- 
 day, ma will let me have it, and you can repay her in a 
 few days." 
 
 Another flash from the black eyes. Mr. Waters rose, 
 and walked once or twice across the floor. Then he 
 passed hastily through the outer oflicc. But he stopped 
 at the warehouse door. Out-ide was Mr Meredith's 
 elegant carriage, and in it s:it Mrs. Meredith and her 
 beautiful widowed daughter. Mrs. Meredith nodded, 
 and shook her little delicately gloved hand at him mer- 
 rily, as she greeted him. Mr. Waters returned the 
 " Good-morning" gruffly.
 
 64 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 " You must n't keep Sophy long ! " she said. " We 
 are waiting, you see." 
 
 " She had not told me that," he said, with a more 
 gracious bow for the fair young widow who had shrunk 
 back into the corner and her crapes at his approach. 
 u I must go out on an errand for her ; but I '11 be back 
 in n few minutes."/ 
 
 Then he hastened down the sidewalk. He had only 
 thought, at first, to escape from his wife ; now he 
 thought no more of that. There was no escape. Mrs. 
 Waters wanted two hundred dollars to spend in prelim- 
 inary repairing and enlarging her costly wardrobe for a 
 summer trip among the watering-places with her mother. 
 Mr. Waters wanted all the money he could command, 
 for some business ventures of his own. Such little 
 contretemps frequently occurred between them, owing 
 to an utter want of unity in their interests. Generally 
 Mr. Waters was master of the situation. To-day Mrs. 
 Meredith was arrayed with her daughter against him ; 
 and he was vanquished. Ten minutes later he re-en- 
 tered the counting-room, silently laid the required 
 money before his wife,- and t.irned his back upon her 
 Mr. Waters cultivated taciturnity in all his family 
 relations. He considered it dignified to do so. Per- 
 haps he admired the virtue more because it was one 
 in which his wife was sadly deficient. 
 
 The more angry Mrs. Waters was, the faster she
 
 T 
 
 COBDEN AND CO. 65 
 
 talked ; 1 he more angry Mr. Waters was, the more 
 utterly and implacably silent he became. It would be 
 hard to decide which method was the more irritating 
 and exasperating to the other. 
 
 Mrs. Waters gathered up the money iuto her pocket- 
 oook, and with a very cheery good -morning, addressed 
 airily towards the square shoulders of her inattentive 
 spouse, who was watching the evolutions of a flock of 
 pigeons on the rear slope of an opposite roof, she 
 swept out to the carriage, and was driven away. 
 
 When she was gone, Mr. Waters left the window and 
 again sat down at his desk, with the old frown on his 
 brow. He had not addressed one word to his wife, nor 
 did he, for hours, speak to any one. He was busily por- 
 ing over plans and expedients in the business world that 
 formed the chief arena of his life. 
 
 Tom Canton came bravely up the warehouse steps, 
 but he stopped at the door of the counting-room. He 
 missed a face he had learned to look eagerly for, one 
 that had always a smile for him. It was that of Louis 
 LeGrange. He was not there. Louis had heard Tom's 
 frequent applications, had pitied his many disappoint- 
 ments, and once had followed him to the door to offer 
 his sympathy and say how glad he should be if they 
 only would take Tom, for he was sure he would be a 
 pleasant work-fellow. It had cheered Tom's heart won- 
 derfully, though he knew the boy was a friend who
 
 66 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 could have no power to aid him. To-day he missed 
 those great, clear eyes that had alwa}*s looked out from 
 the fair, .delicate face with pleasant welcome for him. 
 He stood, hat in hand, just inside the door. A clerk 
 looked up, and asked his errand. 
 
 " I came in to see if there was work enough to need 
 another boy here," said Tom, slowly, all the time won- 
 dering where Louis was. 
 
 " There is a boy wanted, I believe ; is n't there, Mr. 
 Saunders ? " said the clerk. 
 
 " Call to-morrow, and I '11 see," was the curt reply, 
 without turning the head. 
 
 Tom was astonished, hurt ; but surely Mr. Saun- 
 ders did not know it was he. Mr. Saunders had prom- 
 ised him, last winter, the next chance there was in the 
 warehouse. Tom came forward, and stood before Mr. 
 Saunders' desk. 
 
 " Is there a place for a bo}' now? " 
 
 " O, it's you, is it?" sairi M\ Saunlers, a little 
 less ungraciously. " "Well, I can't tell exactty, to-day. 
 Louis has n't come, but he may bo here to-morrow." 
 
 " O, I don't want to take awa}- Louis's place!" 
 cried Tom, full of generosity for his friend. 
 
 " Xo, of course not," quickly assented Mr. Saunders. 
 u And so, you see, I don't like to make any talk about 
 it, now that is, until I hear from him." 
 
 "What's that? What's that?" cried Mr. Cobden,
 
 COBDEtf AND CO. 67 
 
 suddenly, as his Avhite head and rosy face popped out 
 from the office-parlor. " No keeping places for lads 
 that nre n't stiddy at their work. Who is this lad? 
 .Some one you know? " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Sauuders. Then seeing the angry 
 color flash into Tom's face at this denial of him, he 
 hastily added, " Not exactlj' what yon would call an 
 acquaintance, knowing all his lineage back for three 
 or four generations, but I know him personally a 
 little." 
 
 " Well, what do } - ou know of him ? " interrogated the 
 old man. 
 
 " I know nothing against him, except that he is 
 poor,'' replied Mr. Saunder.s, with a luu_;h. 
 
 " Might be cured might be cured ! " cried Mr. 
 Cobdcn, laughing heartily. " Was poor myself once. 
 Got over it, though. Come to-morrow morning in good 
 season, lad, and have the office swept and dusted, and 
 put in good shape. I hate an untidy office. Mind 
 now ! At half-past seven, sharp ! I like a lad that '3 
 smart and lively." 
 
 "Louis will probably be here to-morrow," coolly 
 suggested Mr. Saunders. 
 
 " Can't help it can't help it ! Should have been 
 here to-day ! Mind and be on hand ! " And warningly 
 shaking his heavy stick at him, Mr. Cobden retreated 
 to the inner office.
 
 68 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Tom bowed assent, but still hardly knew whether to 
 consider himself engaged to work for the firm or not. 
 He stood irresolute ; when Mr. Saunders, who had 
 ignored his presence the moment Mr. Cobden was gone, 
 suddenly turned on him, saying, 
 
 ' Did n't you understand Mr. Cobden to hire you for 
 to-morrow? He does n't want anything of you to-day." 
 
 Tom hastily bowed and retired. Hut it was all too 
 strange and surprising for him to realize, until after he 
 had talked it over with Bess, and accustomed his mind 
 to it by hearing the glad congratulations of his 
 brothers. 
 
 Louis LeGrange did not come next morning, but 
 Mr. Saunders contrived to intimate to Tom that he was 
 only employed temporality till Louis should return. 
 Mr. Cobden, however, in the office-parlor, praised Tom's 
 quick readiness, and said, " Keep on and improve, my 
 lad, and you shall find a good place here. Remember 
 you are on trial now on trial ; and your prospects all 
 depend on yourself." 
 
 Tom, counting Mr. Cobden a more influential patron 
 than Mr. Saunders, was accordingly encouraged, and 
 felt secure in his position. But he did sometimes 
 wonder what had become of Louis LeGrange.
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 
 
 NED stopped on the front steps and tied the rope 
 around Jemmy's waist, knotting it firmly behind. 
 Jemmy essayed remonstrance, but Ned coolly told him 
 that no rope meant not going, while Nora suggested, 
 " Perhaps we shall find mamma somewhere in the 
 street." Thus persuaded, Jemmy submitted, and they 
 walked up the court, Nora holding Jemmy by the hand, 
 while Ned ostensibly " carried the rope," carried it, 
 however, with a good, firm grip that would not have 
 yielded to any sudden strain. Ned had already seen 
 enough of Jemmy's peculiarly enterprising disposition 
 to be on his guard against surprises. 
 
 It was some distance to the newspaper office, and 
 Jemmy saw a great many interesting and curious 
 objects that challenged investigation. But in some 
 remarkable way he had already come to stand in consid- 
 erable awe of Ned, a boy who could stop a fight by 
 mere word of mouth, without fisty emphasis, who seemed
 
 70 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 to have command of unlimited resources, and carried 
 unimagmed riches of nickels in his trowser-pockets. 
 Jemmy had submitted to him with unusual docility, as 
 soou as the chink of desirable pennies proved to him 
 Ned's wonderful ability. Thus it was that, notwith- 
 standing the temptations of the waj-, the little party 
 reached the newspaper office without any serious acci- 
 dent, or even sharp skirmishing. 
 
 Ned quickty secured a large package of the evening 
 papers, and they again started forth. In a doorway 
 Ned divided the papers, counting carefully the number 
 he gave to Nora. 
 
 " Here are twenty papers to begin with," he said, 
 " and now I '11 give you a dollar in pennies to make 
 change. Three from ten are how many ? " he asked, 
 suddenly. 
 
 "What?" queried Nora anxiously, holding Jemmy's 
 wrist firmly while he squirmed to catch sight of a tall 
 man in scarlet uniform, who happened to be passing. 
 
 " TVliew ! " whistled Ned. " I never thought about 
 the arithmetic. Supposed, of course, you could make 
 change " 
 
 " Perhaps I can,"* ventured Nora. " How do you 
 make it?" 
 
 Ned laughed. " Not till you can count." 
 
 " I can count," protested Nora. 
 
 " Let 's hear," ordered Ned, with attention.
 
 BBISK BUSINESS. 71 
 
 Nora counted rapidly till Ned stopped her iu the fifties. 
 
 " How far can you go on in that way : " he asked. 
 
 " To a hundred." 
 
 " Well, the papers are three cents apiece. Now if 
 a man gave you a ten-cent scrip, what should you do? " 
 
 " Why ask him if he hadn't got three cents," hes- 
 itated Nora. 
 
 Ned laugliL'd again. " You never traded much," he 
 said, with a shade of disappointment following the 
 laugh. " Supposing he had n't got the three cents, if 
 he had, he would have given them to you in the first 
 place, could n't you give him back pennies enough to 
 make up for what he gave you too much?" 
 
 " O, yes," said Nora, brightening. k ' Jemmy, don't 
 pull so ! " 
 
 " How many?" asked Ned. 
 
 Nora picked up the end of Jemmy's rope and handed 
 it to Ned. Then she took a handful of the pennies Ned 
 had put in her pocket, counted out ten, and put the 
 surplus back, took three into the other hand, and after 
 rapidly counting the remainder, announced the change 
 to be seven cents. 
 
 Ned looked on through this somewhat complicated 
 performance, though Nora both move, I and counte 1 rap- 
 idly, with rather a doubtful face 
 
 " I don't know whether they will care to stop for all 
 that," he said, slowly.
 
 72 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Then they would n't get the seven cents," said Nora, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 Ned laughed again. " No, so they would n't. I 
 guess you '11 manage somehow," ha added, with bright-, 
 ening face. Then he proceeded to give some instruc- 
 tions, taking care to fix in her mind the amount of 
 change to be made from a five, ten, and twenty-five cent 
 piece, saying she would hardly have occasion to change 
 anything else. He tied Jemmy with rather a short 
 rope to the iron clamp of the shutter of a large show- 
 window, Nora meanwhile calling his attention to the 
 beauties theiein displayed. Ned also pointed out to 
 Nora the tall building opposite with a colored sign, the 
 two adjacent corners, and the flag on a neighboring 
 roof. Bidding her keep near the place and offer a 
 paper to every man who passed, Ned moved away, 
 promising to return sooa and see how she got on. 
 
 "Nora, see! O, Nora, there's a hand-organ!" 
 shrieked Jemmj-, struggling vainty with his rope. 
 
 " Get out the way, youngster ! " said a gruff, but 
 not unkind voice, as a burly man shoved Jemmy^ and 
 his tether back into the doorway. Then Nora ran 
 bade from her curbstone to say, 
 
 " You must n't call me, Jemmy, because I shall be 
 so busy I can't hear you ; and 3*ou must n't stretch 
 the rope across the sidewalk, or the people will fall 
 over it. Sit down here on the step, and watch all the
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 73 
 
 people, and see if you can find mamma. I have to 
 ask the men to buy papers, so I don't see the women. 
 You must keep watch of them. Now, be a good boy, 
 Jemmy, won't 3'ou?" 
 
 "Ye-es," was the grave reply, the blue eyes of 
 the speaker fixed on the passing throng. 
 
 " Paper, sir? Paper, sir? Have a paper sir?" 
 
 It was not at all like the usual shrill tones of news* 
 venders. One after another stopped, with a smile for 
 the timid little face and voice, and produced the requi- 
 site pennies to purchase of the news- girl. She changed 
 fives and tens successfully many times, though some- 
 what to the amusement of the waiting customer. The 
 afternoon was waning ; the sidewalk became crowded. 
 Ned had been twice to look at her, and supply her with 
 more papers. Ho was stationed some two blocks 
 lower down the street. Jemmy would get into fre- 
 quent dilemmas with his tether, impatience, and ex- 
 citement ; but Nora managed to keep him tolerably 
 contented, and yet have time for her work. She 
 scarcely dared look up into the faces. Seeing so many 
 strange "ones frightened hi-r ; and some of them were 
 anything but pleasant or sunshiny. So she kept her 
 timid, black eyes on the pavement, and offered her 
 papers before each pair of advancing legs. One hand 
 that took a paper offered in payment a half-dollar. 
 
 Nora looked at it aghast. She had utterly forgotten
 
 74 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 how it was slie was to change the twenty-five cent piece, 
 and this she saw had a fifty on it, and so perhaps 
 was n't a twenty-five cent piece at all. Puzzled and 
 frightened, she lifted a pleading face to her customer. 
 
 " Can't you change it?" he asked, kindty. 
 
 " No, sir ; I don't know how," she said, sadly. 
 
 " O, is that all? Let me see your change, and I '11 
 show 3-011 how." 
 
 Nora took out a handful of scrip, pennies, and post- 
 age-stamp? from her pocket, and held it up in both 
 hands for ths gentleman's inspection. As she did so 
 she looked up once more into his face. There was a 
 smile on it, half of amusement and half of kindness; 
 his hair poeped in soft, brown waves from beneath a 
 light, straw hat; beard, thin and brown, shaded his 
 mouth and chin ; and a pair of gentle, deep, brown 
 ej'es were looking quietly down on the mass of dirty 
 cash offeree! for his choice. Nora was glad when the 
 dainty-gloved fingers selected the cleanest piece. It 
 seemed appropriate. Then he went on turning it over 
 gingerly, and picking out other pieces. Nora stood 
 quietlv, her papers tucked under her arm, her littte 
 s;r.n:ner hat fallen back on her shoulders, and the fins 
 i Lick hair in a frizzy cloud around her flushed face, joo- 
 tle,l often by the passers, both hands upstrctched with 
 the change, and her mind full of wonder at the number 
 of pieces it took to make change for fifty cents. A
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 75 
 
 sudden shriek from Jemmy sent a cringe of dread over 
 the poor little girl. What had happened now there 
 was no knowing. She jammed the change back in her 
 pocket, and, followed by her customer, rushed away 
 in season to catch a glimpse of Jemmy's red and dis- 
 torted face over the shoulder of a tall policeman, who 
 was carrying him off bodily. 
 
 " O, pleasa 'plaasa, sir ! ' criel Xora, catching the 
 stern officer by the skirt of his dark blue coat, " don't 
 carry him oif ! He's my Jemmy," she added, in reply 
 to his look of surprise. " He '11 be good, sir, he '11 be 
 very good, if 3*011 '11 only put him down. I '11 take care 
 of him." 
 
 " Can't have him tied there across the sidewalk," 
 said the officer, decidedly. "I've chucked' him back 
 into that doorway three times this afternoon already. 
 I ought to have carried him away befo. e now." 
 
 " But hi won't go out of the doorway again ; will 
 you, Jemmy ? " 
 
 " No," was the cowed answer. Jemmy had ceased 
 his tempest of expostulation when Xora came to the 
 rescue, and was now sniffling mildly, and wiping his 
 face on his sleeve. 
 
 The officer looked about in perplexity. It was his duty 
 to keep the streets clear, but he didn't like to be cruel. 
 
 " You had better take y our brother home," he said to 
 Nora.
 
 76 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 " So I will very soon. Bat I don't know the way, 
 till Ned comes for me." 
 
 " He will hardly malce any more trouble to-night," 
 said Mortimer Salsb\ r , with a pleasant smile in mouth 
 and C3 r es, as he stood, still holding his newly-bought 
 paper in one hand, and some bits of money in the 
 other. 
 
 "Well, we'll see, "replied officer Staut, doubtfully, 
 as he put Jemmy on his feet again, and twisted his 
 tether round his waist, with a laugh. 
 
 ' I want two cents more," said Mr. Salsb} T to Nora. 
 
 " Confound two cents ! You won't break if we go 
 without 'em ! " exclaimed another gentleman, who, 
 Nora now first, noticed, was waiting for Mr. Salsby. 
 
 But Mr. Salsby vouchsafed no reply to the snappish 
 words, and having received the two cents explained to 
 Nora that two twenty-fives made fifty, and then slowly 
 counted over the change to her. Nora listened atten- 
 tively, for she knew she must learn. 
 
 " Thank 3-011, sir," she said, looking up with pleased 
 face, and thinking how kind he was, and that no one 
 else had spoken a single word to her. To be sure, he 
 would not, if she could have changed his money. But 
 Nora did not think of that. 
 
 " It is new work for you, I see," the gentleman said. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I never did it till to-da} r . But I '11 soon 
 learn ; and Jemmy '11 bo good when he gets used to it."
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 77 
 
 Jemmy had kept tight hold of Nora's dress, ever 
 since the policeman set him on his feet again. 
 
 Mr. Salsb}^ took a silver quarter from his vest- 
 pocket, saying, 
 
 " There 's a luck-penny for your first day. I '11 
 hope to buy papers of you again sometime." 
 
 " Not if it takes her so long to make change," 
 growled Mr. Waters, as they walked away, leaving 
 Nora overcome with gratitude, and a rush of tears that 
 had somehow come crowding into her eyes, though she 
 had not the least desire to cry. " "Women never do 
 have any idea of money." 
 
 Mr. Salsby looked gravely in his companion's face. 
 "Then you call her a woman?" 
 
 " She will be if she grows up," was the careless 
 reply, and Mr. Salsby's eyes wandered disappointedly 
 away. " They are all alike women," contempt- 
 uously added Mr. Waters, with an angry, discontented 
 cloud in his sharp e3 - es. 
 
 ' I think if your acquaintance had been more 
 extended, you would be of a different mind. It does 
 not follow that no woman knows the value of money 
 because some do not." 
 
 "They are all alike. Mrs. Meredith, Mrs. Donald- 
 son, and my wife," muttered Mr. Waters. " All 
 Merediths, and all alike, tlis whole family." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " was the half-earnest, half-laughing
 
 78 THE CHILDKEX OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 exclamation. " There is marked difference in the 
 character of the ladies you have seen fit to introduce. 
 A family similarity of course there is, but it is of the 
 Roberts family, please observe, not the Meredith." 
 
 Mr. Waters stopped short in his walk for a moment, 
 as if it were a ne\v thought to him, then went mood- 
 ily on. 
 
 "What is the matter with 3*011 to-day, Waters?" 
 resumed Mr. Salsby, more cheerily. 
 
 '' Well, I am savage, I admit. I have just planned a 
 fine new branch for the business, and we want to intro- 
 duce it immediately ; and as things stand now, our 
 capital is all in, and we must negotiate a loan some- 
 where before we can enlarge as we want to. I hate to 
 work on borrowed capital. We should aim to pay it 
 off, fast as possible. But we must begin so. I would 
 not favor undertaking it, if it was n't going to be a 
 specially good thing. Have n't you got a few spare 
 thousand to invest at a big per cent? " 
 
 " You know my propert} r is all in real estate." 
 
 " You might sell some. This would pay better." 
 
 " No, I would raiher not do that. Why don't you 
 put off enlarging for tha present, while every thing is so 
 high? When the war is over, such a change will come 
 easier." 
 
 " Ah, but now is just the time to make it go ! By 
 and by will be too late."
 
 BIUSK BUSINESS. 79 
 
 The}' had reached the door of Mr. Waters' handsome 
 house, and with a few words of farewell, parted. 
 
 Meanwhile Nora still stood in her place, offering her 
 papers, and selling many to the passers on the now 
 teeming sidewalk. 
 
 " Stay close by me," she said earnestly to Jemmy. 
 And Jemmy seemed to have no disposition to disobey. 
 
 The crowd jostled and hurried by. The sale of 
 papers slackened ; Nora looked about, and found no 
 Jemmy at her side. It was perhaps five minutes since 
 she last felt him pull at her dress, and lean close against 
 her to avoid being brushed away by the hurrying people. 
 Nora looked up and down the sidewalk, dodging in and 
 out among the passers. But no Jeruiny could she find. 
 She called, but her voice seemed to go only a few 
 inches from her, and served merely to fix .many wonder- 
 ing ('} - es on herself. When she had searched as far as she 
 dared to go from her post, and found no trace of him, 
 she stepped in an agony of terror within the doorway 
 where he had first been placod. She was growing very 
 tired ; and the heat, weariness, and fear were too much 
 for her to bear. There was nothing to be done but 
 wait for Ned. She dared not go away. And how long 
 it seemed since Ned had brought her the last papers! 
 Dropping her head in her hands upon her lap, the sobs 
 came choking in her throat, and would not be crowded 
 back.
 
 80 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Here he is, Nora ; don't cry," said Ned's cheerful 
 voice ; and Nora looked up to see Jemmy standing 
 beside her, with a decidedly crestfallen and disgusted 
 air. 
 
 Jemmy had been tempted by a monkey, riding home 
 on a hand-organ. He followed it only a few steps. 
 Seeing this, the organ-grinder asked if he would like to 
 feed the monkey. Of course, Jemmy would like noth- 
 ing better. The man said, " If you will go along to a 
 place where I can set down the organ, you shall feed the 
 monkey with a cake." And Jemmy went. At first 
 very willingly ; but when they had crossed a street he 
 began to hesitate, and the organ grinder took hold 
 of his wrist just as everybody else always did. Then 
 it was that a pair of sharp eyes spied him out, and 
 Ned's salutation, more energetic than complimentary, 
 sounded in his ears. 
 
 " Here, you little rat ! what are you running off with 
 that monkey for ? " 
 
 The organ-grinder obsequiously explained, that he 
 was going to let him see the monkey eat his supper. 
 Perhaps he would not have yielded up his captive so 
 readily, were it not for Officer Staut who stood near, 
 looking sternly on. 
 
 *' Come, we '11 go home now," said Ned. " It is time 
 this young traveller was asleep, and you too." 
 
 Snug in the twilight of the " birds' nest," they told
 
 BRISK BUSINESS. 81 
 
 their adventures ami. counted their money. Jemmy 
 could with difficulty keep awake till his supper was 
 eaten. 
 
 Tom was there too, with his good news ; and joy 
 and happiness prevailed. 
 
 " This has been such a nice day ! " said Harry, turn- 
 ing his blue eyes from one to another with loving looks, 
 each one a caress. *' I wish things would happen, 
 and people come here every day." 
 
 " If people came every day, there would have to be 
 people going away too," said Bess, " and that would 
 not be so pleasant." 
 
 "I'm so glad Nora can stay," replied Harry, softly. 
 
 Nora went timidly and kissed him good-night. A 
 third bed had been arranged on the floor. A curtain 
 that hung against the wall was stretched across, divid- 
 ing the room. Ned was soon asleep beside Jemmy. 
 Tom took what had before been Bess's place in Harry's 
 cot ; while Bess and Nora made themselves as com- 
 fortable as they could in the new bed curtained off in a 
 corner. Tired out, but all very happy, they slept 
 soundly till the sun peeped in with the morning.
 
 82 THE CUiLDiitX OF AMITY COUSI. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 " /~\UEER work for a girl," said Tom Canton, look- 
 
 ^\j ing dubiously after the retreating figures of Ned 
 and Nora as they went softly out, taking Jemmy with 
 them, early the next morning. 
 
 Tom and Bess were moving quietly about without 
 shoes, for II any was not }-et awake. The little invalid 
 was generally wakeful all the first part of the night, 
 and found his best sleep after one or two o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 Ned's business required an early start, and the 
 children had all learned the gentleness that tender 
 care of a weaker dear one never fails to impart. So 
 Harry slept softly, while Tom noiselessly sorted their 
 last sack of rags, and Bess sat mending some of Ned's 
 sadly worn clothes. At Tom's words she looked up 
 with a troubled glance, but did not speak. 
 
 At length Harry moved, lifted his arms with a weary 
 little yawn, and said ' Good-morning " pleasantly.
 
 PLANS. 83 
 
 "Had a good sleep?" asked Bess, with a bright 
 smile of morning welcome. 
 
 " Yes Has Ned been long gone? " 
 
 " Half an hour." 
 
 "And Nora?" 
 
 " She went with him." 
 
 " I think we had better send them to the asylum," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " O, don't ! " said Harry. 
 
 And Bess added, " Not yet." 
 
 " It will be only putting it off," said Tom, " for in 
 the end we shall have to take them there when we go 
 ourselves." 
 
 " O, no ! " cried Bess, heartily. " How can you say 
 so, Tom, when 3-011 have just got work yourself, and we 
 shall all do better than ever, soon ? " 
 
 " Don't you know that I may be turned off any day 
 from my new place? I have not a particle of confi- 
 dence iu that Saunders, and I know he does n't want 
 me to stay. Even if I stay, my pay will be little more 
 than I have been earning, and you. will have nothing 
 at all to do." 
 
 " You arc greatly mistaken, Tom Canton, if you 
 think I am going to do nothing," replied Bess, 
 warmly. 
 
 'You'll have to do that till you get something to 
 do," retorted Tom, gloomily.
 
 84 THE CHILDREN OF AMITf COURT. 
 
 "Of course. And getting something is just what I 
 am going about." 
 
 " The getting is neither pleasant nor profitable, only 
 the doing pays." 
 
 Bess laughed uneasily. " You have got up wrong 
 side out this morning." 
 
 Tom looked up with a forced smile, that instantly 
 gave place to his former expression of grave concern. 
 " Perhaps so ; but really, Bess, things don't look quite 
 clear to me, if they have mended a little. I would as 
 lief starve quickly from having nothing to eat, as by 
 inches for never having enough.'' 
 
 " O, Tom, how can you?" cried Bess, glancing anx- 
 iously at Harry, whom she did not like to have hear 
 such discouraging talk. 
 
 " Well, I '11 hold my tongue." 
 
 " And I 've been thinking, Tom, of how to arrange 
 things. I have a plan already. I can sell papers with 
 Ned and Nora. Ned says there can't be too many in 
 that business since the war." 
 
 " You 're too old," said Tom, decidedly. 
 
 'Too old? "Why, } r ou sold papers till six months 
 ago ! and I 'in only just thirteen. I 'm not too old at 
 thirteen, if you were not at fifteen." 
 
 " You 're a girl," oracularly pronounced Tom. 
 
 Bess colored painfully, and was silent. She felt for 
 some reason too much shamed by this simple statement
 
 PLANS. 85 
 
 to (lure open her mouth further. Yet why, she could 
 not imagine. Neither could Ilany, and he asked, 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 Tom glanced up, but did not at once reply. The 
 truth was, he did not know how. 
 
 " Girls have to eat all the same," pursued Harry, 
 thoughtfully, " and sometimes they have to earn what 
 they eat." 
 
 " Which is a great pit}'," said Tom, earnestly. 
 
 " I don't think so," said Bess, quietly. 
 
 A long silence followed. Harry broke it. 
 
 " Tom, why don't you tell us just why you don't want 
 Bess to sell papers ? " 
 
 " I have told you." 
 
 " Being a girl is no reason." 
 
 " Yes, it is ; because newsboys lead a rough life ; they 
 swear, and do and say all manner of coarse, low things !" 
 
 "Well, you didn't; and you don't suppose Bess 
 would ? " 
 
 " Xo, but I don't want her to see and know anything 
 about it." 
 
 "Well, Tom, I should n't," said Bess. "I don't 
 believe they would ever be rude to me, because I should 
 never be rude to them, and because well, perhaps 
 because I am a girl ! " 
 
 *' Of course they would n't be rude to you, but you 
 would see and hear coarse, profane talk."
 
 66 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Really, Tom, I had no thought of associating with 
 newsboys any more than I have before. Having 
 two brothers in the business, I could n't help some 
 acquaintance with that dreadful race. I presume 
 there are other good boys who sell papers. And I 
 make 1113' friends, not for their happening to be in the 
 same work, but because they are worth having for 
 friends." 
 
 "Then there's the exposure in the street, all 
 day." 
 
 " O, I was used to that when I went for rags ! We 
 can't have such storms as last winter." 
 
 "I did n't mean that. But pushing round among 
 strangers all day long. Suppose some one should 
 carry yon off ? '' 
 
 Bess laughed out heartily. " Why, Tom Canton, 
 what an absurd idea! Nobody could, unless I were 
 fool enough to follow a monkey or some such thing, as 
 Jemmy did. And you know I have sense enough to 
 attend to my business, and call a policeman if any one 
 hinders me." 
 
 " Tom 's cross about something this morning," said 
 ITarry, consolingly. 
 
 " I 'm sorry he is so set against it," Bess said, 
 gravely, " because there is real!y nothing else I can 
 find to do just now. I 've thought over everything, 
 and so, I shall have to sell papers." It was very
 
 PLANS. 87 
 
 quietly and softly said, but there was firm resolve under 
 the gentleness. 
 
 " I shall be very much displeased, Bess, if yon do," 
 said Tom, with authority. 
 
 Bess dropp d her work in her lap, and rocked in the 
 mother's low rocker, silently, with her eyes gazing 
 straight forward as if they would look far down the dim 
 future. But there was no doubt in their clear depths, 
 no wavering about the still, grave mouth. 
 
 " Don't be cross, Tom," pleaded Harry. " I'm sure 
 Bess would n't do anything that was n't best to be done." 
 
 But Tom made no reply as he hurried on with his 
 work, anxious to finish and sell these last rags before 
 he began the day's work at his new place. 
 
 "And Tom,'' persisted Harry, turning his pure, pale 
 little face upon the pillow, " what 's the use of all this 
 fussing about boys' work and girls' work ? There is n't 
 really any difference, except what yon think into it 
 yourself." 
 
 Tom raised his head, and looked thoughtfully at the 
 delicate face turned towards him. 
 
 " Yon know, when we were little, we all used to play 
 and talk and think the same, and Bess was just like 
 the rest of us, we never thought of telling her she 
 was a girl. And I know she thinks and feels just as 
 you do now. And there is n't really any difference, 
 only in your thinking about it."
 
 88 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 It was Tom's turn to blush now. Bess rose, and 
 began setting out Harry's breakfast. Tom stuffed the 
 sorted rags into their several sacks. Harry had hit a 
 deeper truth than he himself quite understood. 
 
 Bess came and took him in her arms to the table 
 for his breakfast. Tom shouldered his sacks, and car- 
 ried them down-stairs. He would not return till night. 
 Bess and Harry were left alone for the day. After 
 breakfast, Harry was laid in -his bed till Bess had put 
 away his dishes. Then she took him up, and rocked 
 him for half an hour. 
 
 " I Ve got a plan too, Bess," Harry said, as he rested 
 a flushed cheek on her shoulder, and half closed his 
 eyes in the languor of painless weakness. 
 
 " Where did you get it?" asked Bess, with assumed 
 asperity and a very contradictory smile. 
 
 " 0, don't go to being ' very much displeased,' " 
 returned Harry, with a comic counterfeit of Tom's 
 manner. 
 
 " What is it?" said Bess. 
 
 " I remember a story you read to me once, of a boy 
 who was sick, and who earned money by carving pretty 
 things out of wood, brackets, frames, and such things. 
 And I was thinking perhaps I could learn to do some 
 such thing." 
 
 Harry paused, and Bess rocked silently. 
 
 " Are you ' very much displeased ' ? " he asked, with
 
 PLANS. 89 
 
 an earnest voice, that belied the effort for pleasantry in 
 the words. 
 
 "No, Harry, of course not. I was only thinking 
 how we could manage it. You would need a nice knife 
 and then some wood. But first you would need prac- 
 tice, and you could have that with Tom's old knife 
 he could get it sharpened for you and any soft pine 
 we could pick up for you where there is a building 
 going up. Then you want nice wood when you have 
 learned." 
 
 " And I want pencil and paper to draw the figures I 
 will carve. I love dearly to draw figures." 
 
 "Yes," assented Bess, still thinking, as she rocked 
 slowly. 
 
 " Meg 's coming," said Harry, as, far down the long 
 stairs, were heard slow, irregular footsteps ascending. 
 
 " So she is," Bess answered, listening. 
 
 " Poor Meg ! " Harry added, his face softening with 
 
 pity. 
 
 The door opened. It was poor Meg indeed. She 
 came in a couple of steps, and halted, hesitating. 
 
 " Come in, Meg," said Bess, pleasantly. 
 
 Meg shut the door and moved towards a chair. She 
 was certainly the forlorncst creature that could be seen 
 in much searching. No one knew who she was or 
 whence she came. She happened. The oldest inhabi- 
 tant of Amity Court remembered her as a six-year-old
 
 90 THE CHILDRKN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 child, who lived iii the court. But she never belonged 
 particularly to any one. When she was hungry, no one 
 refused her a crust. In one way or another, also, she 
 had always contrived to have a gown to cover her, 
 though she had little else. In whatsoever house night 
 found her, there she was allowed to sleep. Every one 
 pitied her. Meg paid for the favors she received, by 
 man}' a small service gladly rendered. She was even 
 more grateful for an opportunity to be useful, than for 
 the daily bread that was pitifully, though kindly, given. 
 
 Meg was dimly conscious that she was not quite as 
 other folks. Wherein lay the difference she could not 
 divine. That there was a difference she felt, no less 
 keenly because vaguely, in a hundred little incidents of 
 every day ; and the feeling went eating through her 
 heart, i:i a blind pain, all day long. 
 
 " What are you doing to-day, Meg?" asked Bess. 
 
 " Nothing," sho answered, with listless vacancy. 
 "Do you know of anything?" she asked, suddenly, 
 brightening with the hope. 
 
 " No, Meg. I 'm sorry. I don't even know what 
 to do myself." 
 
 " I shall have something for you to do by and by, 
 Meg," said Harry. 
 
 "Wi'.lyou? What is't? Something I can? "were 
 the eager questions, as Meg bent forward on her chair, 
 she never sat in a chair, but roosted awkwardly on
 
 PLANS. 9 1 
 
 the edge of it. Her faded eyes brighteued as they 
 gazed hungrily out from her pinched and sallow face. 
 Her wide mouth widened yet more for a smile. 
 
 " I '11 lay you down on the other bed, Hariy," said 
 Bess, " while I make yours." 
 
 " O ! could n't I ? " cried Meg, suddenly, springing 
 forward, with her long, thin arms outstretched. "I'd 
 like to hold him." 
 
 " Only Tom and I hold him," said Bess, walking on 
 towards the other bed. 
 
 The truth was, " Amity Meg " was not altogether an 
 inviting person for such a service. How could she 
 be? Still, the look of bitter pain that came crushing 
 down over her hopeless old-} T oung face went to the 
 heart of both Bess and Harry. Bess stayed her steps, 
 and looked down into Ilany's eyes. Harry said, 
 
 " I 'd rather Meg held me." 
 
 The smile of delight on that wan, simple face repaid 
 the boy for his own sacrifice, as the ready arms cradled 
 him gently a ; a mother's, and carried him back to the 
 rocker. 
 
 Bess made the bed, while Harry explained to Meg 
 his plan of carving, and asked her to bring him 
 bits of soft pine wood from the refuse of carpenters 
 at some new building. Harry found his nurse not 
 only less disagreeable than he expected, but quite 
 soothing and comforting. When Bess was ready to
 
 92 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 go out for her slender marketing, Harry chose to 
 remain with Meg, instead of going again into his bed. 
 They made a curious picture, the castaway, " Amity 
 Meg," and the delicate, crippled Harry Canton. The 
 vacant, simple, staring look had quite gone out of 
 Meg's face, it always went when she took a child 
 in her arms. The sharp angularity of her features 
 seemed softened in the tenderness that flooded them. 
 The dull 63 r cs were love-lighted. The long arms lost 
 their awkward listlessness, and became elastic and 
 gentle. Even the harsh brush of unkempt hair, rusty 
 and uneven, fell like a kind curtain to conceal defects. 
 
 Hugged to the hollow chest of this sad representa- 
 tive of a city's refuse population, lay the fair, sweet 
 face of Harry Canton. Beaming with gentle pleasure 
 in the rest afforded his weary little body, happy in know- 
 ing that Meg was as glad as himself, Harry's blue eyes 
 shone softly, and his sweet lips wore a smile that de- 
 lighted Meg, and was not more pure and lovely than 
 Meg's own, though the face was so strangely unlike. 
 
 Bess stopped in the doorway to look at them when 
 she returned. She could not help smiling, too, as she 
 saw them so happy together. 
 
 "Now, I'll go back to my bed," said Harry; and 
 Meg put him tenderly down. 
 
 " You look better than when you came in, Meg," said 
 Bess.
 
 PLANS. 93 
 
 Meg stood up, squared out her sharp elbows akimbo, 
 and sighed, 
 
 "I wasn't feeling just right to-day," she answered, 
 slowly, the old vacant look creeping back to her face. 
 " But seemed as if I got over it while I had him." 
 
 " Are you sick? " asked Bess, anxiously. 
 
 " I don't know," was the simple reply ; " do yon think 
 I am ? " 
 
 " Seems to me you don't look quite as usual." And 
 Bess scanned her face with perhaps a shade more keen- 
 ness than sympathy. 
 
 Meg went and looked out the window. The sun was 
 
 gleaming brightly on the river. She turned away and 
 
 # 
 
 sat down again. 
 
 " Sometimes it 's a snapping in my head, and some- 
 times it's a heaviness in my legs," she said, "but I 
 often has pains that nobody asks about, and they go off, 
 by and by." 
 
 " Poor Meg ! I suppose you do," said Bess, with a 
 heart full of sudden pity. 
 
 " I 'm going to borrow Biddy Crowley's Mikey, and 
 take him out for a walk," Meg answered, hastily. 
 
 "You do love babies, don't you, Meg?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm, they never pities me." And with the words, 
 Meg was gone. They heard her heavy tramp down the 
 many stairs, and then on the sidewalk outside.
 
 94 THE CHILDREN OF AiilTY 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "AMITY MEG." 
 
 TT was high noon in Amity Court. The sun blazed 
 -*- up and down its dirty length, and gleamed back 
 from the still surface of the sluggish river. Meg walked 
 slowly up the scorching pavement, but the heat sick- 
 ened her. The throbbing pain came back to her thin 
 temples, and her eyes grew blind in the glare. She sat 
 down on a doorstep, and longed to crawl away where 
 no one could see her, and where she might try to forget 
 herself and her misery. She rose and staggered down 
 a deserted cellarway. It was cool and shady there. 
 Her head felt better, though she shivered with the 
 damp chill of the place. On the dusty boards of the 
 floor she lay down. She had found the solitude she 
 craved, and it was grateful to her. Meg was but an 
 untaught animal, with a few glimmerings of something 
 human and higher. So, like an animal wounded or 
 suffering, she stole away alone to stolidly endure the 
 strange misery she could not understand. Meg seemed
 
 " AMITY MEG." 95 
 
 to have s-lept tliere on the mouldy floor of the old cel- 
 lar. Thrown down in a careless, awkward abandon, 
 the rough hair falling over her homely, yearning face, 
 the vacant eyes closed, the simple unthinking head pil- 
 lowed on her bony arms, Meg found herself, hours after- 
 wards, slowly rousing from a sort of stupor. She 
 dragged herself to her feet, and looked up the open 
 cellarway. The sun had slid far down the afternoon 
 side of the sky. 
 
 u Biddy Crowley will let me take the baby now," 
 Meg thought. " It was too hot before." 
 
 The pain was almost gone from Meg's head, but it 
 felt light and dizzy. 
 
 u It must be hungry I am," she said aloud, as she 
 steadied her steps by the brick walls of the house. 
 " I '11 ask Biddy for a bit of bread just to put strength 
 into me." 
 
 Biddy Crowley was busy, and baby was crying. It 
 was very hot in her stifled room, where she was obliged 
 to have a fire to iron. She was but too glad that baby 
 should be taken out, and every one knew that " Amity 
 Meg" was a nio^t trusty nurse. She willingly gave her 
 tlu- bit of bread she asked, and even added a mouthful 
 'of meat for a relish. Meg took Bab}- Crowley on one 
 arm, and her repast in the other hand, and walked up 
 the court to the street to u look at the horses." She 
 had to sit down on a step, for her limbs were weak, and
 
 96 THE CHILDREN OF AMI TV COURT. 
 
 Baby Crowlcy was a plump round little fellow, of active 
 disposition, who kicked and crowed heartily as* soon as 
 he was outside the house. Meg tried to eat the bread 
 and meat, but she did not feel hungry. The first 
 mouthful sufficed, and the meat proved anything but a 
 relish ; the very smell of it sickened her. A little dog 
 came sniffing and begging for it, and Meg fed him. It 
 amused baby much more than eating it herself would 
 have done, so Meg was satisfied. 
 
 Finally Baby grew tired, or restful perhaps, with the 
 fresher out-door air, and the pleasant change of scene 
 after a day in his mother's cramped, hot kitchen. His 
 round face dropped on Meg's arm, his bright eyes grew 
 hazy, and the white lids came sliding slowly over them. 
 Baby Crowle}' was asleep, and Meg rocked him softly 
 with a swaying motion of her long arms and lank body. 
 
 Strangers passing stopped to pity. One offered a 
 few pennies, which Meg took thankfully, and slipped 
 away in her ragged pocket. But it was pity always 
 pity. Only a baby could feel and understand the one 
 sweet spot in poor Meg's heart, and love her for it. 
 Only a bab} r never saw the dirt and squalor, never 
 noticed her awkward splay hands and feet, her long, 
 lank limbs, her unkempt hair and vacant face ; but did 
 see the humble, holy light that came trembling up into 
 those dull eyes, hopeless, pleading with the one prayer 
 " Let me love you." Babies always granted it. Babies
 
 " AMITY MEG." 97 
 
 always went freely into Meg's yearning arms. Babies 
 graciously suffered her love. If they never returned it 
 adequately, they at least appreciated it. Not the most 
 irate screamer in Amity Court but would silence his 
 elocution for Meg's persuasion, and condescend to smile 
 into her asking eyes. Meg was scarcely sixteen, but 
 she might have been thirty-five, with that disheartened 
 face and poverty-aged body. She was only half-witted 
 ' Amity Meg\' 
 
 Baby Crowley woke and began to dance and play. 
 Meg walked up the street with him. But the plump 
 child was very heavy, heavier than was ever a baby 
 before to Meg's willing arms. She did not care to 
 sit down again. The air seemed close and hot. 
 Down the court she could see hazy clouds dimming the 
 sun. There was a cool breath from the river. Meg 
 went through the court, and looked over the water. She 
 crept slowly and faintly along the zigzag path that 
 went sliding sidcwise down the river-bank, and stood 
 on the brink. It was a muddy, oozy shore ; the water 
 dragged sluggishly along, black and still. 
 
 Farther down, a small boat was tied to a post driven 
 iu the bank. Meg determined to get into the boat. 
 There she could sit and rock Eab\-, and play in the 
 water for his amusement. It was easy work to draw 
 the boat ashore, and Meg stepped in. It was of no 
 consequence that she wet her stockingiess feet and
 
 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 spattered her clingy gown. They were cooler to her 
 burning skin for the water, ami cou'd not look more 
 shabby. Little cared " Amity Meg " for shabbiuess. 
 
 The boat rocked pleasantly ; and splashing the watef 
 with one hand pleased Baby Crowley to his utter con- 
 tent. A cool breeze came stealing over the river, and 
 the gathering clouds obscured the sun. ^eg would 
 have liked to lie down in the bottom of the sloppy 
 boat, and sleep again. But she could not leave baby ; 
 so she rocked and splashed, and amused her own weary 
 heart with watching the bright smile come and go in 
 the little face, the earnest stare, the growing laugh, all 
 so sweetly unconscious and so happy with only her 
 only '' poor Amity Meg " to please him. 
 
 The clouds came drifting up thicker and faster over 
 the sun and the sky. The breeze grew fresher and 
 stronger. Meg shivered. Raw chills went creeping 
 down her back, and hot flashes like flame shot up into 
 her temples. Her head throbbed again, and her eyes 
 scarce saw the baby that lay rolling on her lap. 
 
 " It is too cold," she murmured. " Baby will 
 sneeze." 
 
 She moved to the bow, and pulled at the rope to 
 draw the boat nearer shore. The rope was but loosely 
 tied, and the knot would bear no such strain as this. 
 It slipped, and the heavy rope fell in the water. 
 
 Meg was quick in danger. She laid baby down on
 
 " AMITY MEG." 99 
 
 the boat's bare ribs, and jumped out into the water. It 
 was not deep, but the slimy, yielding bottom was poor 
 footing in which to stand and shove the boat ashore. 
 The craft proved contraiy, and showed a decided pref- 
 erence for going down stream, though the still water 
 scarcely seemed to have a current. At last the bows were 
 grounded. Meg lifted Baby in her arms. Her knees 
 tottered ; she caught the boat with one hand to steady 
 hc.Tsi.-lf, for she could not stand alone. Her dizzied 
 head swam with the swimming water. She took one 
 step, holding the boat-side fast. It was not four feet 
 to the river's edge, but she could not gain it. The boat 
 veered round ; its bows had drifted and were free again. 
 Meg gathered all her strength, bracing her feet in the 
 muddy river-bed, and threw the baby high upon the 
 shore. He cried, of course, but more with fright than 
 hurt, for the wet bank was a harmless landing-place. 
 AVitli the effort, Meg toppled over in the stream. Cov- 
 ered with mud she scrambled up, and feebly clutched 
 the boat's stern as it drifted past. She had untied it, 
 she must drag it back and tie it, was her dim idea of 
 duty, as she held it by the edge. But first she brushed 
 aside the wet and draggled hair to sec where baby was. 
 Dirt}-, doubtless, but quite safe, lay Baby Crowley, 
 we'.l up the bank. lie was staring now, with big, 
 round eyes at Meg staggcrinjr to hold the tugging boat 
 
 / o oo o oo ~ 
 
 that would drift down the river. The love-light flickered
 
 100 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COUUT. 
 
 up in Meg's eyes once more. Baby saw it, and smiled 
 back. Meg tried to speak, to call to him ; but the voice 
 would not come. She only waved her hand, nodded 
 her head, and smiled " Amity Meg's " own simple but 
 loving smile to answer Baby Crowley's. Then she 
 turned to the struggling boat to drag it shoreward. 
 But the treacherous mud gave way beneath her. She 
 stumbled. The headstrong boat wrested itse'.f from 
 her hands, and went dancing mockingly away. Meg 
 looked after it with pained wonder as it went. Then 
 she turned to baby. Again the mute smile passed 
 between these two dumb creatures, their smile the 
 one sure, though faint, token of their humanity. 
 Then the dizzying water eddied through her blinded 
 eyes ; the uncertain footing grew more doubtful ; 
 the long arms stretched once more towards baby, as 
 the shaking knees bent, and " Amity Meg " sank in 
 the shallow slimy river, and rose no more. 
 
 An hour later, distracted Biddy Crowley found her 
 baby crawling in the mud by the river-side. Three 
 days after, Amity Meg's mud-smeared face was recog- 
 nized in the dead-house. Its vacant look quite gone, 
 it wore only the same child-like smile that gleamed 
 across, it when she turned it last on Baby Crowley 
 by the river, and stretched her arms to take him.
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 101 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 
 
 'lyrOTWITIISTANDING the misfortunes of Jem- 
 *- ^ niy's first day, he was firm in his determination 
 to go again with Nora, when next she went to sell 
 papers. Nora had so vividly depicted to him the ter- 
 rible results of being picked up by the police, or led 
 away by " monkey-men," as Jemmy called the organ- 
 grinders, that he was greatly impressed, and gave tokens 
 of a wholesome fear of separation from her, an 1 the 
 strong desire to keep always within range of her pro- 
 tection. The novel sights of city streets were losing 
 their crazing influence upon him, and he found it pos- 
 sible, amid their excitement, to exercise some thought 
 of what became of himself. The conviction of the 
 necessity for this care and consideration, which were 
 faculties he had never before had occasion to use, 
 since Nora could not exercise them for him, was the 
 successful incentive to this great exertion, and produced 
 a very gratifying change in his behavior. lie became
 
 102 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. . 
 
 so faithful a follower of Nora's movements, that she 
 gradual!}' lost the worrying anxiety with which she had 
 been always tortured when he was with her ; and at the 
 end of a week she could even enjoy his company as 
 heartily as she used in quiet old Campfields, when they 
 played together by the sleepy village street. Mean- 
 while thoughtful little Nora was already learning the 
 way about the city. She had never yet gone alone 
 from Amity Court to the newspaper offices, but she often 
 went out to meet Ned as he returned with his load of 
 papers. It saved her a long walk, if he got the papers 
 and brought them up the city for her. In tho upper 
 streets of New York Nora could go about without fear 
 of being lost ; for Tom had instructed her, if perplexed, 
 to ask a policeman for Amity Court. Though in great 
 awe of policemen, Nora had once had resort to this 
 plan, and found herself so near home, that had she used 
 her own eyes wisely, and been familiar with the prin- 
 cipal buildings near, she could not have failed to know 
 where it was herself. 
 
 There was one favorite field of business with Nora. 
 It consisted of two or three long quiet streets, with 
 stately houses on either side, freshly-washed sidewalks, 
 and clean, well-swept, and sprinkled middles, an 
 occasional tree shading a patch of tho stones or a few 
 windows of a neighboring house. Here, between eight 
 and nine in the morning, was a constant stream of fine-
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMT. 103 
 
 looking, well-dressed men passing out to the avenue on 
 their way down town. Almost every one of them would 
 buy a paper, if asked. It was just what they wanted to 
 read in the coach or car. Nora liked the quiet of these 
 streets. She had never learned to call her papers, like 
 the newsboys, and this peculiarity specially fitted her 
 for such localities. Residents of these streets liked to 
 have their papers brought by a quiet-mannered, unob- 
 trusive little gi 1. Nora kept near tho avenue end of 
 the street ; and as, one by one, she saw them coming, 
 on one side or the other, she hastened up with her 
 papers Sometimes they camo so fast she could not 
 meet them all and would send Jemmy trotting across 
 with a paper in his hand to a regular customer while 
 she was busy on the o'her sidewalk. Jemmy liked that, 
 and always came back proud as a king, with the pen- 
 nies clutched fast in his little fist Sometimes nurses 
 came out with the little children of these comfortable- 
 seeming gentlemen, and walked slowly up and down 
 the sunny sidewalks, leading by the hand or pushing in 
 baby-carriages the little ones. Then Jemmy looked 
 with longing eyes. lie did so want to play with. these 
 little boys and girls not so big as he ! But the. nurses 
 alwa3'S acted as non-conductors a;i 1 repalled his shy* 
 advances towards a nearer view of the often too white 
 little faces in their dainty laces, snowy robes, and taste- 
 ful costumes. If the pampered babies looked long-
 
 104 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 ingly towards the sunburned plumpness of Jemmy 
 Craig, their carriages were straightway faced about upon 
 a totally different view, and they saw only pavements, 
 flagging, stone walls, and cast-iron fences. Jemmy 
 made no progress towards acquaintance with any of 
 them. 
 
 It was a sultry afternoon. Ned had just brought up 
 the evening edition. Nora stood on t'.ie curbstone of 
 the great avenue selling her papers busily Jemmy 
 wandered up and down, keeping her always in sight, 
 watching the passing crowds, in which spectacle, how- 
 ever, he no longer found the fascination it had at first 
 presented. An incessant, panorama inevitably palls on 
 the taste, even the panorauia of city life, on the eager- 
 ness of a country child. Jemmy had found a rather 
 dirty piece of wrapping-paper blowing about, and was 
 trying to fold it up to make a soldier's cap, as Ned had 
 taught him. Suddenly a chirping little voice said, 
 close by his side, 
 
 " I know you." 
 
 Jemmy looked up in surprise. At his elbow stood 
 one of the rich children from the quiet street where 
 Nora sold papers in the morning. She was much 
 smaller than Jemmy, but looked older. S'.ie had curl- 
 ing black hair that was now sadly degcne: atcd from its 
 usual smooth neatness. Her sharp gray-blue eyes had 
 a, wise old look. And her dainty white dress, with blue
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 105 
 
 ribbons and wonderful blue boots, such as Jemmy had 
 never seen before, were simply miraculous, and stamped 
 her as undoubtedly of curious and fairy origin. But 
 Jemm}- only answered coolly, 
 
 ' : Yes, I know you." 
 
 "What are you making?" asked Miss Blue-boots, 
 with condescending interest. 
 
 " Soldier-cap," was the preoccupied reply. 
 
 " Wish I had some paper to make one, too." 
 
 "Come and see my cubby-house," suddenly Jemmy 
 said, throwing down the dirty paper-cap and springing 
 to his feet. 
 
 The little blue boots followed him to the next corner, 
 where he crept under a half dozen steps, and peeped 
 out at her from enshrouding darkness with a face beam- 
 ing with delight. 
 
 " Come in here ! Plenty of room," said he, hospit- 
 ably, crowding himself up closety against the farther 
 side. 
 
 Little Blue-boots looked at her white dress, and s*ood 
 irresolute. Then she lifted her dress gingerly, and 
 saying, 
 
 " It won't show if I do dirty my unclc-r-skirt," she 
 stepped in and sat down by Jemmy. 
 
 Jemmy's face shone all over for a moment, but his 
 tongue was tied with pleasure. Then he suddenly 
 remembered that he could not see Nora, nor could sho
 
 10G THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 see him. He stood up, bent double under the stairs, 
 and began stepping over the blue boots to get out. 
 
 " Where are 3*011 going?" she asked, angrity, at this 
 seeming faithlessness of sudden desertion. 
 
 " I must tell Xora ; wait, and I'll come right back." 
 
 "If you don't, }-ou won't find me here," said Blue- 
 boots, decidedly. "I can't stay but a few minutes, 
 anyway." 
 
 Jemmy found Xora, and told her he was going to 
 play under (he s'.eps, and she must remember and not 
 go away and leave him. Xora promised, with a smile ; 
 it was so pleasant for her that he thought to come and 
 tell her, she wanted to kiss him for it, but refrained lest 
 he should prove too much occupied otherwise, and ob- 
 ject. Jemmy did not stop to mention little Miss Blue- 
 boots under the steps , but hurried back to find her calmly 
 digging a hole in the dirt with a chip, and seemingly 
 indifferent as to whether he ever appeared again or not. 
 
 "Where's your mother?" asked Jemmy. 
 
 " Gone out in the carriage with Grandma and 
 Auntie." 
 
 " Why does n't she ever let me speak to you in the 
 morning ? " 
 
 ' ' She ? You never saw my mamma That 's only 
 the nurse ! " 
 
 " O ! " replied Jemnry, with a very indistinct idea 
 of what a nurse was. " Is she cross ? "
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 107 
 
 " Rather. Everybody is, yon. know, except Auntie. 
 I never heard her cross, but I suppose she is some- 
 times." 
 
 " Nora is n't ever cross, nor Bess ; sometimes Tom 
 is, and Ned. Harry never is," was Jemmy's audible 
 inventoiy of his acquaintance, in reply. 
 
 "Who are they? Have 3-011 got so many brothers 
 and sisters ? " 
 
 "No Yes some of them," answered Jemmy, 
 rather puzzled to sort them out. 
 
 " You must have nice times p'aj'ing ! Does your 
 mamma let you all go in the street to play alone?" 
 
 " Our mamma Nora's and my mamma got runded 
 all over in the street ; and the rest have n't got any 
 never had any." 
 
 Little Blue-boots laughed rather doubtfully ; but on 
 second thought, Jemmy's earnestness scorned convin- 
 cing, for si ic replied, 
 
 " I shou'd think it would be grand fun. Where do 
 you live?" 
 
 " Amity Court," said Jemmy, with parrot-like prompt- 
 ness, 'i hat answer had been carefully impressed on his 
 mind. 
 
 " I don't know where that is " 
 
 u Nor I either," was the grave coincidence. 
 
 The little girl laughed again She had not a very 
 pleasant laugh, but Jem 1113- did not much mind that, it
 
 103 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 was so nice to see those blue Loots, with their toes 
 standing straight up before his eyes ! He reached out 
 one chubb} r brown hand to touch them. 
 
 " Don't ! You '11 spot them. I have to be so careful ; 
 even' drop of water spots 'em," explained the owner, in 
 half-apology for her ill-nature. 
 
 And Jemmy stared at the little fairy lady in hopeless 
 wonder. 
 
 " Let 's play something," she said, suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, let's," returned Jemmy, amiabl}'. 
 
 " I 'm a rich lady and live here ; and you are my ser- 
 vant. You must clean up here for me, it is very dirty. 
 Get some more paper, and carpet the ground for me to 
 sit down." 
 
 Jemmy accepted his condition of servitude with ex- 
 treme docility, and began at once to hoe out the corners 
 with a chip. Little Blue-boots edged round out of the 
 way of his house-cleaning with gracious condescension, 
 and gave orders with great freedom ; but not always with 
 gracious consideration or sweetness. It was delightful 
 to Jemmy to have some one of his own age to play with, 
 and especially some one in a white dress and blue boots, 
 and it did n't so much matter if she was rather cross 
 and exacting. 
 
 When he had hoed out all the corners with the chip, 
 he proceeded to scrape the refuse hit > the street. 
 
 " Here's some paper." And he drew out a small and 
 very dirty piece from his gathered rubbish.
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 109 
 
 " 'T is n't big enough," decided Blue-boots. Indeed, 
 it was but a few inches and very dingy. 
 
 But Jemmy discovered a faint semblance of a picture 
 on it, and so tucked it in his little pocket for investi- 
 gation at some futfire moment of greater leisure. 
 
 ' What are you going to do with it?" asked Blue- 
 boots. 
 
 " Look at it, by and by. There 's a picture. I can 
 rub the dirt off." And Jemmy diligently scooped up 
 the rubbish in both hands, and went and threw it in 
 the gutter. 
 
 " Your hands are dirtier than ever," said Blue-boots, 
 with a glance of disgust, as he returned. 
 
 t: I 'ni going to wash \m," said Jemmy ; and he dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 There was a pump not out of sight of Nora, in a 
 tin}' park, and thither Jemmy ran and scrubbed his fat, 
 b:own hands with great good-will and little science, for 
 they were not much cleaner after all. 
 
 " Nora. I want a paper," he said, in his most aggressive 
 tone, because he knew he was asking a great thing, and 
 expected objection 
 
 ' A paper ! What for ? " asked Nora, kindly. Jemmy 
 was behaving so well, she wished she could give him 
 one. 
 
 " Just to spread, you know," spreading out his little 
 fists.
 
 * 
 
 110 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Nora laughed. " Here 's an old one the others came 
 wrapped in ; that will do, won't it?'' 
 
 " Yes," murmured Jemmy, in a flutter of suppressed 
 
 delight. 
 
 H 
 Begging Miss Blue-boots to step out for a moment, 
 
 he proceeded to spread the paper nicely. It was just 
 large enough to cover the ground under the steps, and 
 it made such a clean, nice little house. 
 
 " Now you can come in," he cried, creeping to the 
 farther side. 
 
 But while Jemmy was on his hands and knees, with 
 his head in the hole and his little heels only visible out- 
 side, Officer Staut, pacing slowly b_y, was attracted by 
 the singular and very inappropriate apparition of little 
 Blue-boots, bonnctlcss and alone, standing on the 
 jostled sidewalk of the great avenue. When Jemmy 
 turned to call her, he saw, through the opening that 
 formed their door, a cringe of dread and terror pass 
 over little Blue-boots' face and form, and he saw, too, a 
 great hand holding her shoulder. 
 
 " Where did }-ou come from, little girl?" asked the 
 officer, kindly. 
 
 The little runaway wriggled out of his grasp, and 
 turned to loolc sharply into his face before answering. 
 But she saw there so much grave authority that she 
 only said, sulkily, 
 
 " Home."
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMT. Ill 
 
 " Why didn't you put on your hat, to keep the sun 
 ofi?" 
 
 " Did n't want to. 'T was shady in front of the house, 
 and I 'in going right back there in a minute." 
 
 " Come, now, and I '11 go with you. Some one may 
 be frightened and think you are lost." 
 
 " I ain't read}- to go now." And Blue-boots stepped 
 coolly into Jemmy's cubby-house, and sat down on the 
 rustling newspapers. 
 
 Officer Staut looked puzzled. He had seen the child 
 on the avenue an hour ago, when a man was asking 
 the way of him. He meant to have taken care of her 
 then, but when he turned to find her she had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " Come," said he, more decidedly ; " you have been 
 here a long while, and it is time you went home. Will 
 you come with me, or shall I pick you up and carry you ?" 
 
 "You'd better go," advised Jemmy. "lie almost 
 carried me off, once." 
 
 Thus instructed, little Blue-boots crept out and Jem- 
 my crawled after. 
 
 " Hulloa ! " laughed Officer Staut. " So you are here 
 too." 
 
 Jemmy shook in his shoes, but stood very straight 
 and brave and silent. 
 
 " Now where do you live?" asked the officer, holding 
 the little girl's arm firmly in his strong grasp.
 
 112 TUB CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 "Down there," pointing. ''I'd rather go alone," 
 she said, struggling to be free. 
 
 " You might not find it alone. What 's the street 
 and number?" 
 
 " /don't know,'' she answered, lifting a little face of 
 disgusted indignation at the expectation of her being 
 acquainted with such plebeian information. 
 
 ' O, you don't? Then unless you know the way to 
 go there, I shall have to take you to the police-station. 
 What 's your name ? " was his sudden question, as a last 
 resort. 
 
 But Blue-boots had twisted the end of her sash round 
 into her mouth, and was sulkily silent. 
 
 Jemmy was horror-struck at the mention of the po- 
 lice-station, and rushed with a sudden scream towards 
 Nora. 
 
 " Don't let him ! Don't let him I O, Nora, don't ! " 
 
 " What is it, Jemmy?" anxiously inquired Nora, 
 reaching an arm to receive him, while she handed a pur- 
 chased paper to a passer with the other hand. 
 
 "He's going to the great man carry her off. 
 Don't let him ! " And he pointed amid a tempest of 
 sobs to where little Blue-boots still struggled fitfully and 
 angrily with the policeman. 
 
 Officer Staut stood regarding Nora. He had often 
 noticed her, as he paced his beat. He had always a 
 kindly turn towards children. He knew that Jemmy
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO JEMMY. 113 
 
 came and went with her, no more barricading the side- 
 walk with a tether. He had seen her motherly care of 
 him, and earnest attention to her rather unusual busi- 
 ness, and placed her high in his approbation as an un- 
 commonly reliable child He now advanced towards 
 her, leading the little girl. Jemmy retreated behind 
 Nora, clinging to her dress, and crying " Don't, 
 don't ! " in agonized tones. 
 
 "Do you know anything about this little girl?" 
 asked the officer of Nora. 
 
 ' No, sir," answered Nora, trembling a little herself, 
 she did not know why. 
 
 ' I shall have to take her to the station if I can't find 
 out where she lives. Can't you tell me the street and 
 number?" he added, more persuasively, to the child. 
 
 u I know," cried Jemmy, explosively, from under 
 Nora's elbow. 
 
 Officer Staut looked doubtful. 
 
 " Where is it?" asked Nora. 
 
 " Down, where you went this morning." 
 
 "Where the penny was lost?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered, joyfully, with brightened face. 
 
 " That was C Street," said Nora. 
 
 " Suppose you let me take this little man along with 
 me," said Officer Staut. "I'll bring him back again, 
 all safe, when we have found the house." 
 
 But Jemmy objected. It was only after long coax-
 
 114 THE CHII.DRRN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 ing fi om Nora, and repeated protestation fi oin Officer 
 Staut that nothing should harm him, and he should be 
 brought safely back to Nora, that he was at last per- 
 suaded to go 
 
 Little Bine-boots, who had never ventured out with- 
 out an attendant, or been taught any self-reliance, had 
 no idea of locality, and scarcely knew the familiar 
 street from an}^ other when they entered it. But 
 Jemmy, accustomed, though so lately, to look about him 
 with observant eyes, recognized the place at once. 
 
 He could have found the very crack in the bricks 
 where the truant penny was lost, and easily pointed 
 out the house where he had seen little Blue-boots with 
 the nurse and a wee baby come down the steps for a 
 walk that very morning. He knew the place by the 
 flowering -bush in the narrow grass plat, and the little 
 dogs' heads grinning on the posts of the cast-iron 
 railings. 
 
 " Waters," said Officer Staut, as they stood on the 
 steps after he had rung the bell. 
 
 "That's my pa's name," snapped little Blue-boots. 
 It was Ihe first word she had spoken. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me so before?" 
 
 But the door was opened and the runaway darted in, 
 and vanished in the dusk of the richly-furnished hall. 
 
 Her disappearance made it a little awkward for 
 Officer Staut about explaining his errand to the liveried
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO .TKMMY. 115 
 
 footman, who stood expectant with well-bred surprise 
 tempered 1)}' respect for his badge. 
 
 Before his story was stated, even in his succinct 
 manner, a mellifluous voice called over the dim stair- 
 way, 
 
 '* Tell the man to come in, Thompson. We must 
 see him." 
 
 The footman immediately extended a pressing invita- 
 tion to enter, and Officer Staut stepped into the hall and 
 sat down, with litt'.e Jemmy keeping remarkably fast 
 hold of one of his big fingers and staring very hard out 
 of his round eyes. Such soft carpets, such wide high 
 stairs, such smooth white tables, Jemmy never saw 
 before ! There was a gorgeonsness increased, in the 
 vague dusk of the house, by his own alert imagination 
 that exceeded the wildest tales Nora had ever read or 
 told to him of fairy-land or heaven. It made him hold 
 his breath and Officer Staut' s finger with corresponding 
 intensity ; and his wondering admiration of little Blue- 
 boots, who lived among such surroundings, grew big to 
 painfulness. But when three magnificent ladies, in 
 rustling sweeping dresses, with unnaturally beautiful 
 faces, soft voices, and gracious manner, came floating 
 down Hit! broad stairs, one of them leading little Blue- 
 boots and looking very much displeased at her, Jemmy's 
 eyes could be no bigger or rounder ; his stout Pttle 
 heart forgot till about beating, and his lungs did nol 
 feel the want of air for some minutes.
 
 116 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JEMMY'S LUCK. 
 
 " rMELL us how you found our darling little Bella," 
 
 J- said the foremost and oldest of the three ladies, 
 with a smile so sweet that Jemmy thought she must 
 be an angel, not having learned that too much sweet- 
 ness is as bad as too little. " We had only just returned 
 from driving, and were quite distracted at finding she 
 had run away." 
 
 Officer Staut briefly stated that he had found her 
 playing on the avenue with this little boy, whereat 
 Jemmy put a finger in his mouth, and looked bashful 
 for the first time in his life. 
 
 " Bella, how could you?" exclaimed Bella's mother, 
 giving her a little shake by the arm, an.l looking, if 
 possible, more displeased than before. 
 
 OHIcer Staut proceeded .to state that it was by 
 Jemmy's aid that he had been able to bring her home, 
 as only he could tell where she lived. 
 
 "He's a nice little boy," said softly the third lady,
 
 JEMMY'S LUCK. 117 
 
 who was dressed till in black, and had a very lovely 
 face, with timid, gentle eyes. And Bella's auntie came 
 around to Jemmy's side and asked his name. 
 
 " Jemnvy Craig," he said, with bated breath. 
 
 " Some low creature ! " said Mrs. Waters, with a toss 
 of her head, a head heavy with the most elaborate of 
 coiffures, composed of innumerable rolls, braids, puffs, 
 and curls of richly-tinted brown hair. 
 
 " He was a good boy to show the way home for 
 Bella," said Mrs. Meredith, with gracious condescen- 
 sion. ''You'd better give him something, Sophy. 
 . One does n't like to be in debt to such people." 
 
 Jemmy's eyes sparkled for a moment. He thought 
 nothing less delightful than such candy as he had seen 
 in show-windows could be the gift of these grand 
 ladies in this elegant house. 
 
 Mrs. Waters was busy eliciting further particulars 
 from Officer Staut and Bella. 
 
 The pretty auntie had taken a chair, and brought 
 Jemmy to her side. 
 
 " Where do you live? " was her first question. 
 
 " Amity Court," was the ready answer. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know where that is," she said. 
 " Do your father and mother live there?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Whom do you live with? " 
 
 " Tom Canton, and Bess and Ned and Harry. Nora 
 lives there too."
 
 118 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Arc these your brothers and sisters? " 
 
 " Only Nora." 
 
 'And do they these Cantons live with their 
 father and mother ? " 
 
 ' No ; they did n't have any." 
 
 " And I suppose you haA r e n't an}', either?" 
 
 " Not just now. They packed up nry father in a 
 great long box, and mother got runded hall over in the 
 street. Dou't know when they '11 come back." 
 
 " But who takes care of all thesa children? " 
 
 " Nobody." 
 
 " But where do you get food and clothes? " 
 
 " O, we earn that, selling papers, Nora does, and 
 I help." 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson looked tenderly at the brave, sturdy 
 little fellow who had answered all her questions so 
 readily, smoothed his rough brown hair wi.h one of her 
 jewelled white hands, and sighed softly. She was 
 wishing that she had not been left quite childless in 
 her widowhood, and thinking, while so many children 
 were motherless, why need she be always childless? 
 Could she not take some of these little ones who needed 
 her as much as she felt she needed them ; and thus try, 
 in her small ranue, to right some of the world's cruel 
 
 ^ ; O 
 
 wrong? But she could not say it. There were ham- 
 pering circumstances that hemmed iu the rich widow, 
 free and untrammelled as she seemed, crushed her
 
 JEMMY'S LUCK. 119 
 
 truer, better longings, and forced her into a life she 
 would not herself have chosen. So she only stroked 
 Jemmy Craig's rough hair, and sighed. 
 
 "Are you the auntie?" ventured Jemmy. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Donaldson, with a smile- 
 'Why?" 
 
 '' She told me you were n't ever cross, like the rest." 
 
 A funny surprise passed over Mrs. Donaldson's 
 handsome face, and she could scarcely avoid a little 
 laugh. 
 
 " And you have always plenty to eat, these boys 
 and girls you tell me of? " she resumed, with a judi- 
 cious change of subject. 
 
 " Ye-es," replied Jemmy, absently. He was staring 
 at a deer's head of remarkably life-like appearance 
 on the wall. Its bright eyes, open mouth, and lolling 
 tongue fascinated him. 
 
 "And are they all as nice children as you?" she 
 pursued. 
 
 "Ye-es all but Harry. lie don't ever get out 
 of bed. Don't know what ails him." 
 
 ' Does n't he? Is he a nice, pleasant, pretty boy? " 
 
 "Ye-es, he's nice, like you, clean and pretty." 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson had to laugh out at this sally, and 
 Mrs. Meredith turned quickly at the unusual sound. 
 
 " What is it? " she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " He says I am clean and pretty," repeated she,
 
 120 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 laughing again. It was a very pleasant, low, rippling 
 laugh, and Jemmy liked it ; but a dim idea of absurdity 
 in the statement, as she gave it, made him exclaim, 
 
 " No ! I said Harry was." 
 
 " Come ! " said Officer Staut, " your sister will think 
 I am not going to bring you back." And offering on^ 
 of his big fingers again, he bowed respectfully, and 
 before Jemmy had time for one thorough farewell look, 
 he was in the street. The great door of the wonderful 
 house was closed, and all its beauty and marvels were 
 vanished forever from his eager eyes. It was small 
 consolation to hold in his hand a bit of green paper 
 that Officer Staut said was a " quarter," and which 
 Jemmy dimly remembered, in the last dazed moment, 
 little Blue-boots' mamma had given him, with the same 
 displeased look with which she regarded Bella. 
 
 It was all a fairy-like dream to Jemmy, from the mo- 
 ment of his entering to his leaving the grand home of 
 little Bella. The strange sights, the rich furnishings, 
 the beautiful ladies, all were painted indelibly in the 
 pages of his young memory. Wondering dumbly, 
 he trotted along, holding Officer Staut's finger, till ho 
 reached the avenue, and found Nora again. 
 
 It was shady on the avenue, when Jemmy returned 
 to Nora. He sat down on the curbstone, close by a 
 lamp-post, and meditated for a long time on the strange 
 events of the afternoon. There were some straws
 
 JEMMY'S LUCX. 121 
 
 from a passing wagon of goods blown against the curb. 
 Jemmy began to play with them. Nora brought him 
 half the doughnut she was eating ; the rind of a banana 
 formed quite an accession to his limited stock of toys. 
 He was growing skilful in eliciting much amusement 
 from small means. It occurred to his ingenious mind 
 to make a house like Bella's. The straws were placed 
 as boundary lines, and a strip of banana rind formed 
 
 
 
 the stairs ; a chip represented the white-topped, shin- 
 ing table ; a sprig of weed stuck into a crack was the 
 deer's head. Then bits of the banana rind would do 
 for the chairs and sofa that stood in the spacious hall. 
 It was quite elaboratel}' laid out, and Jemmy was lost 
 in study over the plan, when an unthinking foot was 
 coming down in the midst of it. Jemmy almost for- 
 got that a man was probably intimately connected with 
 that foot. lie saw only the imminent destruction of his 
 elaborate ground-plan of Bella's grand hall. lie caught 
 the foot, just above the ancle, in both arms, and guided 
 it outside his limited territor)-. Of course he almost 
 tripped up a certain well-dressed gentleman by this 
 mano3uvre, but he never raised his head. Too intent 
 upon his work to notice anything not therewith con- 
 nected, when once the threatening foot was removed, 
 he went quietly on arranging and contemplating the 
 plan. 
 
 Mr. Salsby regained his equilibrium as well as he
 
 122 TIIE CHILDREN Of AMITY COURT. 
 
 could, and stood regarding the ruddy, busy, little 
 fellow with an amused smile in his pleasant eyes and 
 hiding in his brown beard. 
 
 "What is that?" he asked, at length. 
 
 Jemmy, never dreaming that any one could be accost- 
 ing him, pursued his occupation without vouchsafing 
 any reply. The grave, earnest air and abstracted at- 
 tention only amused Mr. Salsby still more, and, stand- 
 ing by the lamp-post, he watched the child's play for 
 some minutes. 
 
 Suddenly Jemmy observed the two feet emulating 
 the black post itself in stationary repose, and glanced 
 hastily along up to the face. He could not remember 
 where he had seen it before, though he had a dim idea 
 that it was familiar. 
 
 "What arc you making?" asked the gentleman 
 again. 
 
 " A house," said Jemmj*, looking down at it. 
 
 Mr. Salsby's imagination was hardly equal to seeing 
 the resemblance. lie regarded Jemmy as the chief 
 curiosity. But as he still remained, instead of going 
 away, as the child naturally expected of him, Jemmy 
 proceeded to an explanation, 
 
 "'Ere's the front door That's the stairs, and 
 that 's the sofa. 'Ere 's the white table, with a smooth, 
 shining top ; and these are chairs. That 's the w.-y 
 it is at Bella's."
 
 LUCK. 123 
 
 " At Bella's ? " repeated Mr. Salsby. 
 
 " Her name 's Bella "Waters, and she lives in a great 
 'and some 'ouse. I 've been there." 
 
 "So }~ou go to see Bella Waters?" said the gen- 
 tleman, a funny twinkle coming in his eyes, as he 
 thought of all Mrs. Waters' natural objection to such 
 a playmate for her Bella. 
 
 " No ; I did n't go to see her," said Jemmy, substi- 
 tuting short straws for the banana rind, as more 
 accurately representing the staircase. 
 
 " What is your name, my little man?" 
 
 Jemmy looked up. He liked to be called a " little 
 man," because he had observed that it was invariably 
 a token of approbation. So he gave his name with 
 great dignity, and added, " She came to see me." 
 
 "Paper, sir?" And Mr. Salsby turned to see 
 Nora Craig's fair little face raised to him with offered 
 news. Instantly he remembered her, and Jemmy's 
 former danger of capture by the policeman. lie 
 produced the requisite pennies, and took a paper. 
 
 " And this is your sister?" he asked. 
 
 As Jemmy did not answer, Nora said, "Yes, sir." 
 
 "How do you get along selling papers? Do you 
 like it as well as ever? '' 
 
 "It does very well. I get lots of mone3 r by it. 
 But I have kept the piece you gave me. Ned told 
 toe to carry it for luck."
 
 124 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " But she lets me wear it ! " cried Jernmy, proudly, 
 pulling at a string around his neck, and bringing up 
 the shining bit of silver, strung upon it by a hole 
 punched therein. 
 
 " Then I'm afraid the luck will be 3 r ours," said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Paper, sir? " said Nora, as a man stopped near her. 
 And Mr. Salsby turned as if to go away ; but he came 
 back again. 
 
 " Who is Ned? " he asked of Jemmy. 
 
 Jeminy stared a moment, and then answered, " News- 
 boy?" 
 
 " But Ned who ? " 
 
 "O, Ned Canton" 
 
 " And where do 3*011 live ? " 
 
 Jemmy thought everybody was asking where he lived 
 to-day. But he gave the answer dutifully. 
 
 Nora had returned meanwhile, and she added, 
 
 " "We live with Tom Canton and Bess. We all live 
 together, because there isn't an}' one else to live with. 
 But Jemmy and I are only staying there till our mother 
 comes back. We 've lost her somewhere, but she '11 
 come for us by and by." 
 
 " So you live in Amity Court? And do you all sell 
 papers and earn a living by it ? " 
 
 " O, no ; only Ned and I do that. Tom is doing
 
 JEMMY'S LUCK. 125 
 
 something else in an office, I believe, I don't know 
 just what, Jemmy and Harry can't do anything, and 
 Bess says she is going to sell papers if she can't find 
 anything else to do." 
 
 " Six of yo:i? " exclaimed Mr. Salsby, in surprise. 
 
 "Tom said we might stay with them if we could earn 
 enough," explaimed Nora, not quite knowing what she 
 was expected to say. 
 
 " And do you have a nice house to live in ? " 
 
 " It's a very large room and looks out on the river. 
 It is up top of the house, you see." 
 
 " I must go down and see how it is," said Mr. 
 Salsby, more to himself than to. Nora, as he walked 
 away. 
 
 The interruption had spoiled Jemmy's interest in his 
 play. lie swept the gathered straws out of their mystic 
 arrangement into the street again. He stared vacantly 
 about him, and was glad when Ned came to say they 
 could go home. 
 
 But at home his mood changed. He was eager to tell 
 to Bess and Harry all the wonderful events of this most 
 remarkable day, and he dwelt long on the wonderful 
 dress and house of little Bella Waters, the beautiful 
 ladies, and the strange coincidence that Bella had said 
 every bod}- was cross except the pretty auntie who had 
 talked with him. To Harry the recital was as good as 
 a story-book. He listened with deepest interest, and
 
 126 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 asked many questions which it delighted Jemmy to 
 answer. Nora gave a full account of the man who had 
 twice manifested so kindly an interest in them, and 
 startled Bess by the announcement that he was coming 
 to see them, for he had said so. 
 
 " lie could n't mean it," Bess said, as if reassuring 
 herself from her dread of a strange visitor. 
 
 " Perhaps he '11 help us/' said Harry, hopefully. 
 " J '11 tell him how I want to carve pretty things and 
 earn something, and he may want to buy some if he i 
 rich." 
 
 Meanwhile Jemmy sat still and demure, in the last 
 lingering light of the late sunset that shone faintly in 
 at the window .overlooking the river. He was gravely 
 examining the bit of paper with a picture on it that he 
 had found under the steps. The dirt was easily brushed 
 off; Jemmy did it with his jacket-sleeve, which was very 
 convenient. It had once been of some bright hue, that 
 was not yet quite all faded out A colored picture was a 
 treasure Jemmy had not dreamed of possessing. There 
 was a man's head, and on the other side a very much 
 larger picture ; so complicated was this side that by 
 the waning light Jemmv could not make it out at all. 
 
 O O / 
 
 There were a great many curious letters and little pic- 
 tures crowded upon this wonderful bit of paper. It was 
 quite the most remarkable thing Jemmy had evei 
 seen.
 
 JEMMY'S LCCK. 127 
 
 " Come, Jemmy, lot 's go to bed," said Nora. " I'm 
 eo tired." 
 
 "Wish I could see what's on here," said Jemmy, 
 with sleepy moderation. 
 
 " Come," said Nora, beginning to unbutton his little 
 jacket. 
 
 " I '11 take it to bed, and then I '11 see it in the morn- 
 ing," Jemmy said. 
 
 " Yes." And Nora lifted him down from the chair on 
 which he had been standing. 
 
 As she did so her eye fell on the valued paper. 
 
 " Why, Jemmy, where did you get that? " 
 
 " Under the steps where I played house with the little 
 girl," answered Jemmy, wilh a } r asvn. 
 
 u Let me see it. I believe it 's money. Bess, come 
 and see." 
 
 Bess came, and opened wide her bright eyes as she 
 looked. And then the tears came into them, as she 
 exclaimed joyfully, 
 
 " O, Nora ! it 's a ten dollar bill ! ''
 
 128 TUB CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE LADIES. 
 
 MRS. DONALDSON was very silent and thought- 
 ful next day. In vain her mother discoursed 
 variedly upon such topics as were her wont, the 
 weather, what to wear, and the coming journey. 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson answered absently or not at all, till 
 Mrs. Meredith caught the infection, and was silent 
 also. 
 
 Thus the forenoon wore along, till Mrs. Donaldson 
 said abruptly, 
 
 " Where is the need of my going to the water with 
 you and Sophy ? " 
 
 "IVh}', where 'd be the pleasure, if you didn't?" 
 exclaimed her astonished mother. 
 
 " I think I could make myself quite as happy to 
 stay at home with father." 
 
 " But it would spoil our trip Sophy's and mine. 
 Don't go to making a nun of yourself, Ria. You are a 
 young woman yet, not twenty -five, and as handsome as
 
 THE LADIES. 129 
 
 ever you were ; and I am not going to let you mew your- 
 self up, and settle down to caps and knitting- work." 
 
 " You know tatting is the only knitting I ever 
 learned," returned the younger lady, with a faint smile, 
 " and I shall not need caps for some time, my hair is 
 so good. But, ma, I dread going into society again. 
 Seems as if it would be so much better if I should keep 
 another year of mourning." 
 
 " Nonsense ! why you are growing older every year, 
 child! Do you remember that? You'll never be any 
 younger or more beautiful than you are now. ' Make 
 your hay while the sun shines,' my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson rose and walked away to the win- 
 dow, with a pained look on her fair, gentle face. She 
 had been indulging in day-dreams this morning. She 
 had been thinking of the little boy she saw yesterday, 
 who had no parents, and needed just such care as she 
 longed to give. More and more had grown in her heart 
 the wish to take some orphan child, and give it the care 
 that would, she knew, prove, like mercy, 
 
 " Twice blessed; 
 It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." 
 
 If only her mother and sister would go without her 
 on their proposed trip to the watering-places this sum- 
 mer, how easily could she, while left at home with her 
 kind father, talk over with him her feelings and wishes ; 
 and, with his approbation and support, which she felt
 
 130 T.'IS CIIlLD^S'f OP AMITY COCWT. 
 
 could be readily gained, might she not find a motherless 
 child for her childless heart that had been aching with 
 overburdening mother-love ever since her own dead 
 baby was laid in her arms two years ago? 
 
 But to be freed from this journey, that was the 
 difficult part of the plan. Her mother would not give 
 her up. Mrs. Meredith's fascinations of airy graces 
 and insinuating sweetness were beginning to set uneasily 
 over her too customary frown and pettishness. Mrs. 
 Waters had not yet found her sharp ways softened or 
 toned by the roughness of her married life to pleasing 
 address. Alone the two ladies were scarcel}' attractive, 
 would elicit little attention ; but as the escort of the rich 
 widow from Scotland, who, besides being mistress of 
 vaguely untold wealth, was possessed of unusual per- 
 sonal attractions in beauty and sweetness, their position 
 would be quite different. Mrs. Meredith wns shrewd 
 enough to see all this, and would not for a moment hear 
 of losing her widowed daughter's companionship. 
 
 So Mrs. Donaldson sat down again, and relapsed into 
 silence. It was almost as hard now, after the few 
 years in her husband's ancestral home, where life-long 
 servants took from her every care and duty, as it had 
 been in her girlhood, for her to oppose her own 
 will to that of any one else, or to instigate any sort of 
 proceedings for the furtherance of her own views un- 
 approved and unencouraged by the approbation of her
 
 THE LADIES. 131 
 
 parents. She was sadly unequal to laying out and con 
 smnmating well-wrought plans for a given purpose. 
 Enterprise was farthest from Mrs. Donaldson's cata- 
 logue of virtues. Stul she sat, and dreamed of the 
 ruddy, earnest, little man, and longed to see again his 
 bright eyes, and hear his cool, decided answers. 
 
 One thing Mrs. Donaldson had learned since her 
 girlhood, to sometimes take prompt actions with her 
 impulses. They seldom led her into error, and often 
 opened a way she could not before devise to her desired 
 end. No\v she started up suddenly and pulled the bell, 
 saying, 
 
 " I am going to ride." 
 
 " Where are you going? " asked Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 " Wherever my fancy leads me," she answered, mer- 
 rily, as she tripped away to prepare herself. 
 
 When she returned to the little morning parlor in 
 which they had been sitting, Mrs. Meredith had also 
 put on a riding costume, and was chatting in very 
 lively manner with Mrs. Waters, who had just come. 
 
 " I thought I should like a drive too, Ria, dear," 
 said Mrs. Meredith ; " and Soph)' says she will go, so 
 there will be a pleasant party of us " 
 
 "Yes, that's very kind of you," replied Mrs. Don- 
 aldson, absently, after she had welcomed her sister. 
 As she had planned the ride with the hope of going 
 alone, and the intention of visiting Amity Court, she
 
 132 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 was scarcely so much charmed with the arrangement as 
 she wished to appear. But she would not interfere 
 with their plans, and so followed them into the car- 
 riage with her usual docility. 
 
 " Which way? " asked the footman, as he closed the 
 door. 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson expected her companions would have 
 some choice, so did not give the order. 
 
 u Where is it? " cried Mrs. Meredith, gayly, turning 
 to her ; " where does your fancy lead you, Madame 
 Fanciful?" 
 
 Finding the decision thus suddenly thrust upon her- 
 self, Mrs. Donaldson said hastily, " Amity Court," more 
 because she had no time to frame a different plan, 
 than because she really cared to drive there with her 
 present coinpan}'. 
 
 "Where is Amity Court?" asked Mrs. Waters. 
 
 " I don't exactly know," Mrs. Donaldson replied, 
 timidly. 
 
 But it seemed the driver did ; for he was driving 
 rapidly on, and the wheels, spinning merrily, soon 
 turned into the narrow limits of that poverty- haunted 
 place. The horses halted. 
 
 " Which house, rnarm?" asked the footman at the 
 door. 
 
 " You '11 have to ask some one where the Canton chil- 
 dren live," said Mrs. Donaldson, with some hesitation.
 
 THE LADIES. 133 
 
 It was an hour past noon, and the children were all 
 at home, except Tom, for their noonday rest. 
 
 " There are some strangers coming," said Harry, to 
 whose patient, listening ears every footstep of the house 
 was familiar. 
 
 Ned cut short his interesting story of a little lost 
 dog that had figured in to-day's adventures, and all the 
 children held their heads statue-like to listen for so long 
 that they looked like a group of frightened rabbits with 
 sensitive ears erect. 
 
 The approaching tread of strangely gentle feet, 
 accompanied with the faint rustle of voluminous 
 robes, was a long time in reaching the upper landing 
 just outside their door. But there at last it stopped, 
 and a timid knock startled the silent and astonished 
 children. 
 
 Bess opened the door, and politely asked her elegant 
 visitors to enter. There was a little stiffness about 
 their entrance. \Vhen Mrs. Donaldson had declared 
 her intention of going to see the Cantons, Mrs. Mere- 
 dith had bestowed all manner of contempt on the idea. 
 Yet sliC persisted not only in carrying it out, but also 
 in leaving the carriage and acconapan} - ing her daughtei 
 on the visit. She was anxious to see where she went 
 and what she did She could not have her falling into 
 any foolish extravagance for some low creatures, or, 
 worse yet, getting personally interested in orphan
 
 134 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 children, in this miserable portion of the city, and 
 perhaps driving here alone to visit them. She could 
 not sufficiently congratulate herself on having come 
 out to-day with Mrs. Donaldson for the ride. If there 
 was stiffness, awkwardness, embarrassment, so much 
 the better. Mrs. Meredith meant to be as awe-inspir- 
 ing as she could ; and, to do her justice, she certainly 
 knew how to exercise a strong repellent power if she 
 chose. 
 
 Bess, who welcomed very prettily Mrs. Donaldson's 
 sweet face, felt chilled and crushed most unpleasantly 
 by the haughty gaze and manner of the other two ladies. 
 Jemmy, recognizing at once the "pretty auntie" of 
 Bella Waters, was smitten with a wave of hospitality, 
 and, leaving his dinner, he walked straight to her, 
 holding out his hand. But he said nothing. He 
 tried to think what it was his mother used to say when 
 friends came that she was glad to see. He wanted 
 very much to say something, but the words would 
 not come. So he only stood with his brown little 
 hand clasped in her daintily gloved one, staring up 
 into her lovely face with a bright smile of welcome. 
 Meanwhile, Bess had placed chairs for the other ladies, 
 and they had settled their ample dresses, and sat 
 proudly upright, regarding the surroundings with a 
 disdainful air. 
 
 "So this is your home?" asked Mrs. Donaldson,
 
 THE LADIES. 135 
 
 as she took the chair Bess offered, and looked into 
 Jemmy's admiring eyes. 
 
 " Ye-es ; I live here just now, awhile," he an- 
 swered, slowl}'. Then catching Nora's hand, and 
 leading her forward, he said, " This is Nora." 
 
 "Nora Canton, is it?" 
 
 " Nora Craig," cried Jemmy, quickly. 
 
 " He 's my brother," explained Nora. 
 
 " 0, yes ! " 
 
 " And this is Bess," pursued Jemmy, taking her by 
 the hand to draw her towards the lady. 
 
 Bess, embarrassed by the other ladies, who were 
 looking coolly around the room, made a timid courtesy, 
 and retired to a chair b} r the table. 
 
 "And that's Ned, and that's Harry in the bed," 
 Jemmy said, hastily pointing and enumerating. 
 
 Having finished doing the honors of this rapid intro- 
 duction, Jemmy became suddenly aware of the Gorgon 
 gaze of Bella's mamma, and relapsed into a most 
 unnatural shyness. 
 
 " Is Harry sick? " asked Mrs. Donaldson. 
 
 Jemmy was staring straight in the face of Mrs. 
 Waters, who, already out-stared by him, had transferred 
 her regards to the most disreputable looking one of the 
 family, in bagg}' trowscrs, g imy hands, shaggy, uncut 
 and not over-well combed hair, and fseckled. homely 
 face, Ned, the new&boy. Ned's appearance never did
 
 136 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 him any great credit, and he was, if possible, more 
 unprepossessing than usual to-day, owing to recent 
 accidents to his clothes. But notwithstanding these 
 disadvartages, Ned bore the ordeal of her scrutiny 
 with admirable indifference, even bestowing a grin of 
 approval on her own elegant attire, which suited his 
 taste exactl}-, and mentally resolving that his wife 
 should have just such a suit sometime, when he got 
 rich. 
 
 " No, marm," said Bess, in answer to Mrs. Donald- 
 son's kind inquiry concerning Harry. " Pie is quite 
 well." 
 
 " I always thought he was sick ! " exclaimed Jemmy, 
 bounding suddenly to the bedside, where little Harry 
 sat, propped up on his pillows, the coverlet drawn 
 upon his lap. and his threadbare jacket made from one 
 of his father's old coats of fine broadcloth, buttoned 
 neatly to his chin, where a narrow white collar relieved 
 his pale face. Harry was always dressed more nicely 
 than the others. There was nothing to soil or even 
 wear his clothes, and his sensitive, transparent skin 
 seemed fitted only for finer fabrics. 
 
 "Why don't you get up. then? You shan't lie in 
 bed if 3*011 're not sick !" And Jemmy tore aside the 
 coverlet and caught Harry around the waist. A white 
 spasm of dread crossed Harry's face. 
 
 Jemmy started suddenly back with dumb horror in
 
 THE LADIES. 137 
 
 his round eyes, and ran to Nora. Burying his face in 
 her lap, he gave vent to a series of mournful cries, as if 
 he would never be comforted. 
 
 "What is the matter, Jemmy?" asked Nora, ten- 
 derly. 
 
 U O! he hasn't he hasn't got any legs! Oo- 
 oo-oo ! " 
 
 Nora knew it, and tried to calm Jemmy. 
 
 Ilfiny turned away his face, and toars of shame and 
 pain rolled down his pale cheeks, while Bess sheltered 
 him with herself from the astonished gaze of the ladies, 
 and said gentle, loving words of comfort. Even Mrs. 
 Meredith relaxed a little her severe elegance, and said 
 " Poor boy ! " in her silvery accents. But Mrs. Waters 
 was simply annoyed, and showed it plainly. 
 
 The painful moment brought Ned into prominence. 
 He felt the need of a diversion of thought, and was 
 ready to furnish it. Mrs. Donaldson was trying to aid 
 Nora in pacifying Jemm}'. Mrs. Meredith had ven- 
 tured a word in commiseration for Harry. Mrs. Waters 
 alone sat erect and unsympathetic. 
 
 Stepping from his corner, where he had not relin- 
 quished sly bites of his lunch, spite of the august com- 
 pany, Ned addressed her as being the most formidable 
 of the party, and also the least occupied with any 
 interest in the turn which affairs had taken. 
 
 " Please, marm, I like }'our dress very much. I don't
 
 138 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 see one like it, or half so handsome, from one year's 
 end to another." 
 
 " I don't know how you should be likely to," replied 
 Mrs. Waters, with a toss of her head and contemptu- 
 ous curl of her lip . 
 
 " O, we of the newspaper-perambulating corps see 
 almost everything. We see lots of grandeur some- 
 times, but the grandeur never sees us, of course." 
 
 Mrs. Waters made no reply, unless another toss of 
 her head were such. 
 
 "It'sver}' sad al>out Harry," said Mrs. Meredith. 
 " So 3'oung ! How did he lose his limbs? " 
 
 A little pain cra:np cairn in Ned's face, as he an- 
 swered, bravely, though in a lower tone, that Harry 
 might not hear, 
 
 " lie never had any. Born so." 
 
 Words failed even Mrs. Meredith. She tried to ex- 
 press sj'mpathy, pity, regret, in her face, but horrified 
 surprise would predominate. Even Mrs. Waters looked 
 astonished. 
 
 Ned did not like the prevailing sentiment. It hurt 
 the Cantons, always, to be forced to acknowledge that 
 Harry was so terribly different from other folks. They 
 knew so well that in many ways he was infinitely bettor 
 and lovelier than average humanity, that the}' shrank 
 from common pit}' and commiseration. 
 
 ** I 'm sorry you took the trouble to come up all these
 
 THE LADIES. 139 
 
 stairs to make us a visit," Ned began aggressively, and 
 speaking pointedly to Mrs. Meredith and Mrs. Waters, 
 with his back to Mrs. Donaldson, that she might not 
 be included in the remark. " I don't think you had 
 any special call to, and 3~ou might ha' known 3" on M 
 find something to shock such fine feelings as yours 
 are." 
 
 " Mrs. Donaldson is ready to go now, I presume," 
 said Mrs. Meredith, turning to her daughter, who was 
 still bending over .Jemmy. With Nora's help the little 
 fellow had been diverted from his agonized frame of 
 mind, and was regaining his usual equilibrium. 
 
 " It was I who wanted to come here to see you," said 
 Mrs. Donaldson to Ned, in a doubtful voice. " But I am 
 sorry if you think it was taking too great a liberty ; I 
 know I' was not invited." 
 
 " I did n't say yon" Ned answered, confused with 
 this applica'ion of his words. " You came because you 
 wanted to, and of course we are glad to see such com- 
 pany. But these ladies never wanted to come, and now 
 they they " 
 
 Ned stopped, at a loss to expi-ess his objection or 
 complaint against the fine ladies who were already 
 nearly out ( of the room. 
 
 " Ma}- I come a^ain, if I will come alone?'* asked 
 Mrs. Donaldson, in a low tone 
 
 Ned was growing very uncomfortable in his embar-
 
 140 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 rassment. But good feeling overcame shame, ami he 
 said, earnestly, 
 
 " Please, you knoio I did n't mean you. You are 
 kind and good, and we could n't help being glad if you 
 should come." 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson smiled half sadly, yet she was happj' 
 a tearful kind of happiness that she had succeeded 
 in making one hearty friend. 
 
 " Then I shall come again, sometime." Will you be 
 glad to see me ? " she asked, as she bent over Harry, 
 and took his fair, thin hand in hers. 
 
 " O, yes, marm ! " said he ; " but I think you 'd 
 better not bring the others. They would not enjoy 
 coming, and we don't," he added, hesitatingly. 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson smiled. " I '11 remember," she said ; 
 and shaking hands kindly with each one, she followed 
 the sound of the retreating robes of the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 " What ever induced you to want to go to such a 
 place?" exclaimed Mrs. Meredith, in her usual lan- 
 guid tones, when they were once more seated in the 
 carriage, and whirling away to more pleasant scenes. 
 
 " Ria seems to have some low tastes," observed 
 Mrs. Waters ; " I suppose she learned them in Scotland, 
 visiting the tenantry. It is quite the fashion there to 
 play Lady Bountiful and cultivate tender interest in the 
 poor, is n't it? You '11 find it isn't so stylish here."
 
 THE LADIES. 
 
 " I 'm sure this experience will cure you of ever try- 
 ing it again." said Mrs. Meredith. " You will see 
 that our poor are not at all like tidy, decent peasantry. 
 It is natural they should not be. Because here in a 
 free country, nobody has any business to be po >r. Only 
 the shiftless, miserable, idle classes are so ; the better, 
 more decent, and industrious people can live very com- 
 fortably without help. Charity, in New York, is only 
 encouragement to idleness." 
 
 Mrs. Donaldson did not rep!}*. 
 
 "There's an elegant turnout," said Mrs. "Waters. 
 And so the conversation drifted away to the more com- 
 mon topics of style, fashion, and the coming summer 
 journey. 
 
 Mrs. Doirddson was silent, but not convinced. She 
 could not argue the -subject ; but she remembered that, 
 even were her mother's h ;rd theory true, these were 
 only children. Six orphans, trying to earn a living 
 with their scanty knowledge and opportunity ; four of 
 them toiling to support one, a cripple, and one scarce 
 more than a baby, besides themselves. The anxious 
 motherliness of Bess and Nora, the brave earnestness 
 of shrewd, wide-awake Xcd, the newsboy, all touched 
 her hungry heart, and made her long to see them again, 
 when no adverse influence should prevent her entering, 
 as heartily and kindly as she felt, into the story of 
 their life and plans. She longed to help them, but she
 
 142 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 did not yet sec how it could be done. Meanwhile she 
 resolved to talk with her father about them, and to come 
 soon to see them a^ain, taking care that no one should 
 accompany her. 
 
 But it was not easy to carry out any plan so directly 
 at variance with the whole tenor of Mrs. Meredith's 
 life and occupations. There was always plenty of more 
 fashionable emplo3 T ment for Mrs. Donaldson, and 
 scarcely an hour in the day was free from her mother's 
 demands upon her compan}\ Thus it was many long 
 weeks before she again saw any of these child re a of 
 Amity Court.
 
 THE LANDLORD. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LANDLORD. 
 
 " T AM so glad we have the rent ready ! " said Bess, 
 
 -- as she rocked Harry, one very warm morning. 
 All the other children were away at their work, for 
 even little Jemmy was becoming quite useful in selling 
 papers, and added no mean amount to the day's receipts. 
 
 ' ' It was good of Jemmy to give up his money so 
 readily," was Harry's reply. 
 
 " Yes," said Bess, laughingly ; " it seemed almost 
 like cheating him, he had so little idea of what ten 
 dollars is worth ! But what else could we do ? " 
 
 " I think he understood it," said Harry. " Xora and 
 I explained to him that it would pay the rent and buy 
 a nice Sunday dinner for all of us, and leave enough 
 to buy him a little wheelbarrow to hold Nora's papers, 
 too, which was what he chose instead of the drum, at 
 last, though he did want the drum very much." 
 
 "What did he know about rent?" said Bess, laugh- 
 ing.
 
 144 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 u We told him, and he understood. Why, Bess, 
 Jemmy isn't stupid, and rent is not very hard to 
 understand." 
 
 " Well, no, I suppose not ; bat I had never heard of 
 it when I was at his age." 
 
 u I think children can understand the same things 
 grown folks can ; and I should think folks would tell 
 them all about their affairs. It must be a great deal 
 pleasauter. When I was little," said Harry, with a sigh, 
 " ami used to lie all day with nothing to think about, but 
 some little story you read for me, it was dreadfully hard. 
 You "know how fussy and cross I was, and how I used 
 to inoan and cry. 'T wasn't because I ached, as folks 
 thought. 'T was only because I had n't anything to 
 think of that interested me. After father was sick, and 
 we came to the city, and I heard all about the trouble, 
 somehow I was n't nearly so unhappy. Mother used to 
 try to hide things from me, but I would n't let her. 
 She thought it was hard to tell me trouble, but it was 
 not half so hard as not having anything to think about. 
 Truly, Bess, the happy part of my life has been since 
 the trouble came, especially since I picked rags, and 
 knew I was helping." 
 
 ' When I get so I can carve," resumed Harry, after 
 a pause, in which Bess still rocked softl}', but held him 
 more closely and lovingly, " I shall be so glad ! I drew 
 a design to-day, but it was too fine for me to carve.
 
 T1IK LAKDLOHD. 145 
 
 To-day I moan to try and cut something just to be 
 getting used to handling the knife and the wood. But 
 I am dreadfully lazy to-day, seems as if I 'd like to 
 have you rock me all day. I suppose it is because it 
 is so hot." 
 
 " I wish this room was n't so hot," said Bess, looking 
 anxiously at the wide uncurtained and blindless win- 
 dows, where the sun's straight rays beat steadily in from 
 his first rise in the morning till his last blinlc at night. 
 
 u There are some men walking about the house. 
 They may come up here. You 'd better pat me back 
 in bed," said Harry. 
 
 " Perhaps it 's the landlord," suggested Bess, as she 
 laid him comfortably and tenderly on the cot. " It 
 is time for him." 
 
 " It is n't his step," answered Harry. " But then he 
 may have sent another man." 
 
 The footsteps continued to tramp about the house, 
 now on one floor, then oa another, till at last they 
 reached the upper landing, and there was a knock at 
 the door of the Cantons' room. 
 
 Two gentlemen stood outside and bowed, as Bess 
 opened the door. Neither of them was the landlord's 
 agent Avho had collected the rents ever since the Can- 
 tons had lived in Amity Court. 
 
 " Good-morning, good-morning ! " said quickly the 
 elder of the two, a bustling, nervous, little old man who 
 10
 
 14G T1IIC CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 stepped back with a deferential flourish, to allow the 
 other gentleman to enter first. 
 
 " This is the landlord, come to look after his tene- 
 ments and tenants," he continued, following hastily into 
 the room, and himself placing a chair for Mr. Salsby, 
 before Bess had time to do so. " Not every landlord 
 would take so much trouble. Now, this seems a good, 
 large, aiiy room, sir. One could n't want a better tene- 
 ment than this, I 'm sure." 
 
 Mr. Salsby smiled roguishly as he remarked, " I can't 
 tell how I should like it till I have lived here." 
 
 " O, for yourself, sir, I did n't mean, of course." 
 
 Mr. Salsby turned his chair to Bess, who had retreated 
 and sat down on Harry's bed, wondering what all this 
 visit might mean, and rejoicing more and more, in her 
 heart, that she had the rent ready. The landlord 
 could not be intending to send them out, for they had 
 always paid it promptly each month. 
 
 " How do you like the room? " Mr. Salsby asked of 
 her. 
 
 " Very well, sir. It i.i large anl airy. We like that, 
 but it does get very hot here, daj's, in summer." 
 
 "Yes, I perceive that," said the landlord, smiling, 
 and wiping his forehead with a dainty handkerchief. 
 " Mr. Jenks, do you observe any change in tempera- 
 ture between this and the cellar of the block, where 
 we began our survey ? "
 
 THE LANDLORD. 147 
 
 " Well yes, sir yes," replied Mr. Jenks, in quick, 
 jerky tones " But you can't expect no one can ex- 
 pect a garret to be as cool as a cellar in summer." 
 
 " Not quite, I suppose," returned Mr. Salsby, with a 
 calmness very noticeable in its contrast with Mr. Jenks. 
 " What do you say, little lady ; what do you think 
 would improve your tenement?" 
 
 "We used to have blinds at home, sir," replied Bess, 
 timidly. 
 
 The answer showed so plainly that " at home " had 
 been something better than her present surroundings, 
 that Mr. Salsby was interested. 
 
 " Then you shall have blinds here," he answered, 
 quickly. u Now will you tell me what is your name, 
 and where was your home before you came here ? " 
 
 Bess replied with a short sketch of the family history, 
 and the loss of their parents, ending with a summing- 
 up of their present condition. 
 
 11 So we all live h"re, and have paid our rent every 
 month. I have it ready to-day. Tom has got a place 
 in an office now. Ned and Nora sell papers, and 
 Jemmy helps, though he is only five years old, but 
 he is large of his age, and seems older. Harry is 
 learning to carve and will earn something again, as 
 soon as he can, and I arn going to work very soon. I 
 go out part of t'.ie day now." 
 
 " What do you do?"
 
 1 18 THE CIIILDRKN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Bess did not like to confess that slie sold papers, 
 after all that Tom had said. She could not help a 
 blush and look of shame. 
 
 " She sells papers, like Nora," said Harry, quietly. 
 And Bess was relieved to observe that the gentleman 
 seemed to have none of Tom's objections to the work. 
 
 " Very good tenants ; very good indeed, I should 
 think," observed Mr. Jenks, suddenly blowing his nose, 
 with his usual impetuosity. 
 
 Mr. Salsby sat gloomily silent, thinking that had the 
 room been comfortably tight and warm last winter, 
 these children might not now be motherless. Such 
 a sharp paia of remorse came over him, as he thought 
 of the terrible result of what was certainly his remiss- 
 ness, and for which he spared himself no jot of blame, 
 that he could not answer, and only sat looking sadly 
 and thoughtfully down at the floor. 
 
 " Here is the rent, sir," Bess said, offering the money. 
 
 Mr. Salsby looked up quickly. His voice was want- 
 ing, or he would have bid her keep it. But Mr. Jenks 
 hastened to take the money, and proceeded to fumble 
 the papers of his pocket-book, till ho found a signed 
 receipt for it. 
 
 %t It is all right. I am Mr. Salsby's agent. I am to 
 have the care of these tenements in future ; I shall 
 collect the rents and make any repairs necessary. All 
 complaints, requests for blinds, and so forth," he said
 
 THE LANDLORD. 149 
 
 with a laugh, " will be addressed to me, and," he added, 
 with a respectful bow to the landlord, " with your 
 sanction, promptly carried out." 
 
 " I shall not fail to look at the buildings myself also, 
 Mr. Jenks," said the landlord. 
 
 " No need, not the least need ; and, excuse me, but 
 if you have an agent, it is best to trust him, you 
 know." 
 
 "I do trust you," was the polite reply ; " but," with a 
 smile, " I shall also take care that you shall not forget 
 anything. My former agent had a very poor memory. 
 He often forgot my orders. I shall go and look for 
 myseif, to be sure that 3-011 do not forget." 
 
 The little old man bowed hastiby, and replied, " Cer- 
 tainly, sir, certainly," with great conciliation. 
 
 Boss was wondering whether the agent would prove 
 as kind as the landlord, and very glad to know that Mr. 
 SaLsby intended to keep watch of his tenants for him- 
 self, in future. 
 
 Meanwhile there was a sound of coming steps on the 
 stairs, and voices, too, were heard. Ned came scam- 
 pering up, not noisily, for he was barefooted, and very 
 light fo< >',t>. I also, and hitting the door a thud with his 
 heel to open it, he rolled himself in like a wheel, arms 
 and legs for spokes, in a very unique and scientific 
 method of somersault It was a trick he had learned 
 to amuse baby Harry in his careless youth, and had not
 
 150 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 practised since graver duties had devolved upon him. 
 lie ceased revolving, and stood erect before Harry's 
 bed, but also before two strange gentlemen. More- 
 over, this unusual method of progress being somewhat 
 at variance with attraction of gravitation, the pennies 
 forsook his baggy pockets, while his heels were upper- 
 most, and went earthward in a shower, rolling mer- 
 rily away into corners, under beds and chairs, as 
 if themselves intent on a good game of " hide-and- 
 seek." 
 
 Ned stood astonished and abashed, as Nora and 
 Jemmy pushed in at the half-open door. The uneasiest 
 of grins spread on his queer little face, and diving his 
 hands into his nearly empty pockets, he muttered, 
 
 " I forgot all about the coppers." 
 
 Ned's object being, however, to amuse Harry, the 
 effort must be considered an eminent success. Harry 
 laughed and laughed, till he had to hold with both hands 
 the sides of his curly head, it ached so Jemmy and 
 Nora ran to pick up the pennies, laughing gayly at the 
 fun. Even the two gentlemen could not resist the ab- 
 surdity of the entrance ; and poor Bess, puzzled and 
 frightened, was glad to follow their good-natured exam- 
 ple and laugh with them. Thsnjshe hastened to intro- 
 duce to them Ned, as her brother, the newsboy. She 
 
 * 
 
 said it proudly, with a look of honest trust and admira- 
 tion at the droll, kind-hearted, keen-witted little fellow,
 
 THE LANDLORD. 151 
 
 that both gentlemen could not but see, and rate Ned 
 therefore the higher in their opinion. 
 
 "Bess had the money for you today, sir, all right, 
 I believe,'' said Ned, in a business tone, not quite cer- 
 tain to which gentleman the remark should be addressed. 
 
 " Yes, all right, quite right," quickly replied Mr. 
 Jenks, running his fingers through his thin gray hair, 
 and wondering how much longer Mr. Salsby was going 
 to sit broiling in this hot attic. " I gave her the 
 receipt." 
 
 " And there shall be blinds added to keep out this 
 terrible sun," said Mr Salsby. u Do not forget, Mr. 
 Jenks, and have them on as soon as possible ; not 
 another day without them. Then you will find it a com- 
 fortable tenement, I hope " he added, turning to Ned. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; for summer." 
 
 " Yes, I understand ; I will have it made snug and 
 warm before another winter. It cannot be really 
 habitable in cold weather. I will have that done also, 
 in due season." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," cried Xed and Bess together. 
 
 "And what is the matter with your sick brother?" 
 asked Mr. Salsby. ' Has he been sick long?" 
 
 " He is not sick, sir, but crippled," replied Bess. 
 
 " I '11 tell yer," said Jemmy, tugging at his coat skirt, 
 to call his eyes down to himself. 
 
 " Hush, Jemmy," said Nora ; adding, in a whisper.
 
 152 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Harry won't like it." And Jemmy forbore the delight 
 of giving information to the gentleman. 
 
 " Seems to me he does not look well," said the land' 
 lord, kindly, taking Harry's hand in his, as he stood by 
 the bedside. " His face is flushed, his eyes are hazy, 
 and his hand is very hot." 
 
 "Aren't you well, Harry?" asked Bess, tenderl}-, 
 bending over him and smoothing away the light curly 
 hair from his burning face. 
 
 " O, yes, I 'in well," said Harry, freeing his hand from 
 Mr. Salsby's to draw it across his eyes, " only it is so 
 hot here, it makes my head ache. It will go when the 
 sun goes down, and the cool night comes on. We have 
 fine, cool nights here, sir," Harry continued, to Mr. 
 Salsb}' ; "the wind blows in fresh from the river and 
 away out at sea. "We can hear the water lap and plash 
 all the time. I like the place for that reason and for 
 many others, and I shall be glad if we can stay here 
 next winter and have it comfortable." 
 
 " You shall have it comfortable, little man," said 
 Mr. Salsb}'. " And, Mr. Jenks, don't forget to have 
 the blinds put up to-night, or to-morrow morning 
 early." 
 
 "They'll need painting, sir," suggested Mr. Jenks, 
 wiping off his face, which was growing quite rosy. 
 
 " Find some already painted. Or have them put up 
 without," said the landlord, impatiently.
 
 THE LANDLORD. 153 
 
 Mr. Jenks stared, opened his mouth to say that 
 would be shiftless and wasteful, but shut it again in 
 silence. 
 
 Nora had picked up the last of the pennies, and 
 brought them to Ned. 
 
 " And you have introduced the innovation of letting 
 girls sell papers, with boys?" said Mr. Salsby, smiling 
 roguishly upon Xed, as he was returning the specie 
 Nora brought to his pockets. 
 
 " Not exactly," replied Ned. " Nora sells papers, 
 but she does n't keep round with us boys at all, and 
 I've given out distinctly that I'll lick the first fellow 
 that does n't let her alone, and leave her a clear field 
 and fair chance. They know me ; and so they don't 
 run her. She has her haunts and sells there ; and they 
 just go somewhere else " 
 
 Bess looked up, astonished. So did Harry. Nora, 
 having been privately instructed by Ned concerning 
 this arrangement long ago, only said simply, as if re- 
 porting to Ned, 
 
 " They have all kept away, and behaved well." 
 
 " The threat must ba very effectual, if it frightens 
 all the newsboys of the city into respectful submis- 
 sion," said Mr. Sulsby, not ver}^ much pleased w'.th 
 the story. 
 
 Ned laughed good-humoredly. " O, I only said that ; 
 it 's all talk, an emphatic way of making a request.
 
 154 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 They understood it, and you would, if if you were 
 much acquainted with newsboys, sir," Ned ended, mak- 
 ing up in respectfulness of tone for the words, and 
 looking up in Mr Salsby's face with bright, honest eyes. 
 " I never had a fight with a newsboy but once since 
 I've been in the trade, an 1 then the rest all said it was 
 right ; and if I could n't have won without, they would 
 have helped me. But it was better I should beat him 
 alone, if I could, of course ; and I did." And Ned 
 turned away, a little ashame 1 of what ssomed like tell- 
 ing cf his own exploits. 
 
 " I shall look in here to see you a^ain," said Mr. 
 Salsby, " and I hope the blinds will take all the flush 
 out of Hany's cheeks." 
 
 " I hope sOj too," echoed Bess. 
 
 " And if you get oat of work, or into any trouble, 
 very likely I can help you in some way." And with a 
 departing bow, the gentlemen went out and down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Very fine children ; quite remarkable, altogether," 
 said Mr. Jenks, as they regained the sidewalk. 
 
 " Decidedly my most interesting tenants," said Mr. 
 Salsby, with a pleasant smile, remembering some of the 
 other rooms they had visited, the slatternly house-keep- 
 ing, and coarse, rough occupants, with maay complaints, 
 tardy rent, and bad manners. 
 
 " Those children, I '11 wager now, will get on better
 
 THE LANDLORD. 155 
 
 than half the grown people do around here. Because 
 they seem to know how to plan and provide." 
 
 " They come of good family, and have evidently 
 had some schooling in the cares of life already." 
 
 " O, yes. No doubt, r,o doubt ! " 
 
 Nora sat perched on the foot of Harry's cot. 
 " Was n't he nice, Bess ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He 's the same one who was so kind to me, and 
 gave me the silver piece that Jemmy wears. I think 
 he is the nicest gentleman I ever saw." 
 
 " It 's jolly having such a good landlord," said pro- 
 saic Ned. ' The other was a sharp, rough one." 
 
 " Ah, but he was the agent. It is the same land- 
 lord," said Bess ; " he has only changed his agent, and 
 I did not like Mr. Jcnks so very much." 
 
 " Nor I, either," said Harry. 
 
 " But he says he is coming himself to see that ever}-- 
 thing is right," said Nora. " He will do as he promises. 
 He said the othor day, in the street, that he must co:ne 
 here but I did n't suppose he would. And now he 
 has." 
 
 " lie c:une to look after his houses, not after us," 
 pronounced Ned. 
 
 ' But he is looking after us the blinds, you know," 
 said Bess. 
 
 " We have n't got 'era yet," said Ned, quietly and
 
 156 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 doubtfully, " but I hope we shall have 'em," he added, 
 seeing Harry's face sadden at his doubt. 
 
 " I am sure we shall," said Bess. 
 
 " I wonder," began Nora, slowly, " I wonder if he 
 ivould know anything about Eva Roberts." And she 
 sighed deeply. " I did so want to ask those ladies, the 
 pretty one, I mean, if she knew her. Somehow I 
 thought perhaps she might, for Miss Eva was very fine 
 and dressed beautifully, like them. But Jemmy cried 
 so I could n't get a chance, and then I forgot it just as 
 she went away. I remembered her again to-day, when 
 I saw the gentleman. But I suppose he would n't know 
 her. If I could only find her, perhaps she would help 
 us to find mamma." 
 
 " The lady said she was corning again, and then you 
 can ask her," said Harry. 
 
 " I certainly will," said Nora.
 
 ONE LESS. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ONE LESS. 
 
 EE what I have found ! " said Nora, pushing open 
 the door, one hot afternoon, and pouring out 
 a pile of little blocks and chips of soft pine wood upon 
 Harry's bed. " There are lots of 'em, and Jemmy has 
 filled his barrow with them." 
 
 The bits and ends of mouldings had suggested to the 
 children Harry's carving ; and feeling sure, from the 
 curious shapes of these, that the material must bo suit- 
 able, they hastened to bring home a large quantity. 
 
 " They are nice," said Hany, sitting up to turn them 
 over and feel them, " and they do smell so fresh and 
 and woody O, I 'd like to see the country again ! " 
 And Harry's longing eyes seemed looking straight 
 through the walls of their attic room, over the broad, 
 slow river, to where cool, flickering breezes toyed with 
 innumerable merry green leaves, and nobody talked but 
 the squirrels and crickets. 
 
 " Shall I bring your knife? " cried Nora, joyfully.
 
 158 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Yes, I '11 try what I can do, but I can never cut so 
 smooth as this is, you know. This is machine work." 
 
 " How do you know?" 
 
 " Because I know no knife could cut it so smoothly, 
 and no hand so true and even. It is n't such figures as 
 these that I want to make, but lace^work patterns, or 
 leaves and vines, like those we find in the woods. God 
 does not try to make his tree-trunks and his vine-stems 
 all polished off smooth. He likes the roughness, and 
 the room to grow and change. And I like it best, too." 
 And with the words Harry drew a long sigh. 
 
 All the last week he ha 1 boen longing for tlie cool 
 airs of the woods, and the sweet, still life of the coun- 
 try. Perhaps it was only the bitter heat of his attic 
 room, and the scorching glare of sunshine on the river 
 reflected upon the whitewashed rafters over his head. 
 The blinds had not yet come, and the summer's heat 
 was unabated. Sometimes, as he lay there alone, the 
 hot roof seemed to come down slowly nearer and nearer 
 to his flashed face, and the sun filtered through it, as 
 through gauze. Sometimes he wished the roof and walls 
 were torn away. It would be cooler out in the sun's 
 fiercest rays, where a breath of air could yet play unfet- 
 tered. The thin roof only sifted out the air and let in 
 all the heat. Then his head ached all the time. That 
 was the heat, too 
 
 But he took his knife, and sat up, when Xora brougk-
 
 ONE LESS. 159 
 
 the blocks. Jemmy tumbled the contents of his barrow 
 into a corner, when, with considerable difficulty and 
 Nora's help, he had got them up-stairs. Then the two 
 children went back to their work, and Harry was again 
 left alone. He found the thinnest piece of the wood, 
 and sketching with pencil the vague outline of a vine 
 upon a trellis, he began to carve. It was hard work. 
 There seemed to be no strength in his slender hands, 
 and his arms ached to his shoulders with the effort. 
 He had to stop often to rest them. Still he toiled on, 
 sometimes clasping a hand over his forehead where the 
 throbbing pain blinded his eyes, and blurred the del- 
 icate tracery of his pencil. Busied with his work, and 
 the struggle with pain and weakness, he did not hear a 
 light step on the stairs, till Mr. Salsby, clad all in the 
 coolest of white linen, stood within the room. 
 
 " No blinds yet ! " were his first words " I '11 go 
 down and see Mr. Jenks at once ; it is two days since 
 they were to be put up. So you are alone to-day.'' 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Harry, with a glad smile, " I 'most 
 always am. They have to go away to work, you know." 
 
 " And arc 3*011 better to-day? " 
 
 " I guess so, but it's so hot. you see," he added. 
 
 " Yes, terrible ! " replied Mr. Salsby, glancing frown- 
 ingly at the windows. " And you are not so well? " 
 
 " My head aches more. I suppose that 's the heat. 
 And my eyes, sometimes I can't see. I 've been
 
 160 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 trying to work a little, but the heat has taken away all 
 my strength." 
 
 "I'm afraid you hadn't much to begin with," said 
 the landlord, sadly. " What do you want to make you 
 comfortable ? " 
 
 " I should like, if it would n't be too much trouble, 
 sir," Harry stammered, " for you to pour me a cup of 
 water. There 's some in the pitcher." 
 
 Mr. Salsby laughed, and went with alacrity. The 
 simplicity of the request seemed out of all comparison 
 with ilarry's hesitancy about asking it. 
 
 '" But this is warm water. I '11 get some fresher," 
 said Mr. Salsby. 
 
 " O, no ! " cried Harry. But the gentleman was 
 gone ; and after a time returned with not only cool 
 water, but lemons and sugar, from which ho com- 
 pounded the most delicious drink Harry had ever 
 tasted. Then Mr. Salsby proceeded to use a Avhole 
 pailful of water in sprinkling the floor of the room, 
 till it mitigated the scorch of the air, and seemed 
 even to excite faint breezes through the windows and 
 door. 
 
 " s"ow I am going to send up those blinds," said 
 the landlord, gayly, with a very bright and happy 
 smile on his handsome face. " And I shall come 
 again early to-morrow morning, to see if the}' are 
 here. I hope you will be feeling better by that time.
 
 ONE LESS. 161 
 
 Good-bye." And he shook hands with Harry as he went 
 :nvay. 
 
 But the smile, so gay and happ3 r , died away, as he felt 
 the feverish heat of that tiny palm, and saw the painful 
 gaze of the blue eyes, dull and hazy with suffering. 
 He did order the blinds ; and so peremptorily, that 
 the}' were, with much noise and clatter in the Canton 
 household, put on early the next morning. He did 
 more ; for before visiting his tenants next day, he 
 secured the company of a doctor, who was to see 
 what could be done for little crippled Ilany, and give 
 him any relief possible. The patient, feeble, suffering 
 little fellow woke a great interest in the kind landlord's 
 heart. Such a child was hardly fit for this world, and 
 could not long inhabit it ; but whatever could be done 
 by science and care to make comfortable and easy his 
 short stay, Mortimer Salsby resolved should be done 
 for little Harry Canton. To separate him from his 
 brothers and sister, he saw would be only the crudest 
 kindness. Whatever was done must be clone without 
 breaking the little family that clung together so strong- 
 ly, now' th-.it only the orphaned little ones remained. 
 But a better tenement could certainly be found for them, 
 better work for Bess, perhaps ; and many delicacies for 
 a sick child's appetite, and many hints for care and 
 nursing from a doctor's knowledge and skill, his purse 
 could supply. There were many calls on the time and 
 11
 
 162 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 attention of this wealthy young lau llord, but he did 
 not forget Harry. He was now, for the first time, be- 
 ginning to feel the responsibility involved in his wide 
 possessions, and by personal care an 1 interest for his 
 tenants he was trying to faithfully serve in the stew- 
 ardship of wealth. 
 
 One by one the children came home for their dinner, 
 till all but Tom, who never came at noon, were gath 1 
 ered in the long room. Then Harry told about his 
 visitor, and all were pleased and grateful for his kind- 
 ness, and delighted with the sprinkled floor, which had 
 done much to relieve the oppressive, smothering heat 
 of the place Even Ned felt convinced now that the 
 blinds would be soon hung, and the room screened 
 from the sun's glare. They brought more water and 
 again drenched the drying boards, while Bess rocked 
 Harry in her loving arms as long as she could stay 
 from the " evening trade." 
 
 " I '11 go down for the new editions now." sai I Ned, 
 as soon as he had finished his lunch and brought more 
 water. Nora an 1 Jem:nj r were splashing the floor, and 
 finding great fun in the operation. " Don't fail to meet 
 me half an hour hence." And Ned scampered down the 
 stairs and was gone. 
 
 ' How cool and fresh it seems ! " said Bess, as the 
 damp floor began to steam. 
 
 * I wish I had some on my face and hands," said 
 Harry.
 
 ONE LESS. 1G3 
 
 ' ; Why, so you shall," cried Bess ; and soon she was 
 bathing tenderly the hot checks and burning palms. 
 
 But the half hour was soon over, and all three must 
 go to meet Ned Harry" was laid lovingly back on his 
 couch, and left once more alone in the long, low, tire- 
 some attic. 
 
 Next morning the Cantons were later than usual in 
 starting for the day's work. The excitement of Mr. 
 Jenks' appearance with two men and a set of window- 
 blinds delayed them. The blinds were nicely painted 
 a cool green, and after considerable tramping and talk- 
 ing, sorting of hinges and driving of screws, they were 
 finally hung and the room pleasantly darkened by them. 
 The mellow light was sweetly refreshing to Harry's 
 dazzled, aching eyes. When the floor was brushed 
 clean of dusty footprints from the departed workmen, 
 and once more freshly sprinkled, there was an air of 
 shady comfort in the room, to which it had long been a 
 stranger. Nora and Jemmy hastened away to meet 
 Ned, after the sprinkling was ended This exercise 
 had at once become their most delightful recreation. 
 IVss shook out the coverlet of the cot, and took up 
 Harry for the accustomed rocking. 
 
 It was while he sat wearily i;i the rocker alone, and 
 Bess was preparing the bed, that Mr. Salsby and 
 another gentleman came gently up and knocked at the 
 half-open door. Mr. Salsby carried a large bundle,
 
 164 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 which he at once deposited on the table, and then re- 
 turning, inquired earnestly and kindly for Harry's 
 health. The morning was just as warm as had "been 
 every one for many days past. But Harry thought the 
 changes in the room had eased his head and he should be 
 quite well if he were onlj r a little stronger. Bess came 
 and took him back to the bed, where sitting up against 
 the pillows he was more like " other folks," as she 
 always wished him to appear. 
 
 " This looks more as it ought," said Mr. Salsby, 
 glancing about, and observing that his device of 
 sprinkling had been caught up and followed by the 
 children. 
 
 " The blinds make it very pleasant," said Bess ; 
 " and it seems a great deal cooler." 
 
 " But it t'sn'J, much," replied Mr. Salsby, with a 
 laugh. He said no more, for he had not j-et found a 
 suitable place to which to move the children ; and, 
 until he should find that, it was worse than useless to 
 encourage discontent with their present home. 
 
 Meanwhile the strange gentleman was regarding 
 Harry with glances of keen inquiry, but he said 
 nothing to him until Mr. Salsby should open the 
 way. 
 
 " Yesterday," the landlord said, " I found Harry 
 alone, and he seemed in so much pain and distress, 
 that I have brought this gentleman, Dr. Meucheu, to
 
 ONE LESS. 1G5 
 
 see him to-day, hoping he can tell us something else 
 to do to make him more comfortable and happy." 
 
 "O, you don't think it's very kind of you, sir 
 but you don't think Harry is sick, do you?" cried Bess. 
 
 " I hope not," replied Mr. Salsby, soothingly ; " but 
 he has suffered more than he would tell from the heat." 
 
 " I 'm so sorry ! " murmured Bess. 
 
 "But I'm better to-da} r ," Harry said, flushing up 
 painfull}', as the doctor came to the bedside and took 
 his wrist gently in his professional fingers. 
 
 " Do }'ou have much appetite ? " asked Dr. Menchen. 
 
 " Sometimes," replied Harry, indefinitely. 
 
 " He never eats much," said Bess. ' And he ha*s 
 not wanted anything at all for three days back; but 
 I made him eat, just to please me ; for I knew he 
 would get so weak if he didn't." 
 
 Mr. Salsb} r went to his bundle on the table, and 
 opening it, produced tempting oranges, bananas, and 
 a pineapple. 
 
 " Will something of this sort bring an appetite? " he 
 asked, offering one of the fairest oranges. 
 
 Harry's face brightened. 
 
 " O, yes ! " he answered. 
 
 Mr. Salsby deftly prepared it, rolling it first in his 
 hands, then cutting out with the point of a knife a 
 small round hole at the top, where Harry's lips were 
 soon busy applying the powers of suction.
 
 166 THE CHILDRKX OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 The doctor sat by looking on, now and then asking 
 a few more questions. But his presence did not inter- 
 fere with Harry's pleasure in the orange, nor with 
 Bess's delight in seeing him eat it. 
 
 " It is so very good of you, sir, to bring him fruit," 
 said Cess, the tears gathering in her eyes. " We can 
 never thaii'c you enough." 
 
 " Don't try," said the landlord, gravely ; and, rising, 
 he walked away to the window. He could not forget the 
 story of the poor mother of these children, shivering 
 her feeble life out in this cold garret, while he was 
 away pleasuring among his friends at the West, whom 
 d little care and oversight of his houses would per- 
 haps have saved to them for many years. 
 
 "You don't think him sick, do you, Doctor?" Bess 
 asked of the ph} T sician. 
 
 ' I will tell you the truth, little woman," the doctor 
 replied, looking kindly into her face, " and it is not so 
 very bad after all. He seems to me to have the scarlet 
 fever. Has he been exposed to it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I 'in sure. No, have you, Harry ? " 
 
 " No, I don't know unless, do you suppose Meg 
 had scarlet fever? She was sick, you know." 
 
 Bess grew pale, and looked up anxiously in the 
 doctor's face. 
 
 " Never mind," said Dr. Menchen, cheerily. " Every- 
 body has scarlet fever once, and then it 's over with.
 
 ONE LESS. 167 
 
 We will try and bring him safely through it, and per- 
 haps afterwards we can find something else to do for 
 him. We will try" 
 
 Bess was cheered, and even Harry smiled, though 
 the tears dimmed his eyes, and his lips twitched bitterly. 
 
 " I 'in always sick and good for nothing ! " he said, 
 with clicking voice. 
 
 " O, Harry ! " sobbed Bess. 
 
 " I'm sorry," Harry said, repentantly. 
 
 It was his one only complaint. He had never spoken, 
 of his headache and weariness. And afterward he only 
 lay quite still, enduring, but never murmuring at the 
 suffering that must be borne. 
 
 Dr. Mem-hen gave directions, and wrote a prescrip- 
 tion, which Mr. Salsby afterwards had put up, and him- 
 self brought to the sick child and administered his 
 first dose. The gentlemen went away, both promising 
 to come again next day. Bess went out to her duty of 
 selling newspapers, with slo'.v step, hating the work, and 
 longing to stay by Harry's bedside. But ths work 
 must be done, or the family purse would bj quite too 
 low for the family expenses. 
 
 Bess had been able to relieve the doctor's anxiety 
 somewhat by telling him that the older children had all 
 been through the scarlet fever many years ago, when 
 Hany, a puny, sickly baby was carefully screened 
 from taking it. But as she went down tha avenue she
 
 168 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 remembered Xora and Jemmy. What should be done 
 with them? And was it not already too late to do 
 anything ? for they must already have had the oppor- 
 tunity of taking the fever. She saw Nora at her post, 
 and going to her, said, 
 
 " There's been a doctor to see Harry. The landlord 
 brought him. And he says Harry is going to have the 
 scarlet fever." 
 
 Nora looked up earnestly in Bess's grave face, and 
 said, 
 
 "Is he much sick? Jemnry and I had it, a while 
 ago, last summer, I think, and we were scarcely 
 sick abed at all." 
 
 " Then you have had it ! " exclaimed Bess, with great 
 relief. 
 
 " Yes, we 've had it," jeplied Nora. 
 
 " It was you and Jemmy that made me anxious. All 
 of us have had it. But Harry was very little then, and 
 was kept away from us so he need not take it." 
 
 " Is he much sick?" asked Nora again. 
 
 " He does not seem 'so, now. I thought nothing but 
 the heat ailed him. Harry thinks he took it of * Amity 
 Meg'" 
 
 " Jemmy says the Crowley baby is sick. I guess 
 that's the fever, too," said Nora. 
 
 Bess sold papers with heavy, anxious heart that 
 day, and as soon as she saw the crowd thinning and
 
 ONE LESS. 169 
 
 the best of the day over, she hastened back to the little 
 boy at home. 
 
 Harry looked brightly up to greet her ; but hl.3 face 
 was burning, his eyes drooped quickly into a du'l, un- 
 seeing languor, and his faint breath was shgrt and- 
 quick, between his parched lips. He had not eaten the 
 oranges or bananas Bess left beside his bed within 
 reach. lie said he was better, his head did not ache 
 so sharply, and was only dull and heavy ; " getting 
 well," he called it. He took one or two sips of the 
 fresh orange Bess offered, but seemed too languid to 
 raise it himself to his lips, and only lay very quiet, with 
 always a reassuring smile when Bess bent tenderly to 
 look into his face, and the cheery answer, " getting 
 better, getting quite well," for every anxious question. 
 
 Both Mr. Salsby and the doctor came, next day. 
 They said little ; there was little to be said or done. 
 
 " The fever must run," Dr. Menchen told Bess, " and 
 it is already some days along. lie has been more ill 
 than you knew. But we will do all we can to make 
 him comfortable, and hope it ma}' be a light run. That 
 is all we can do." 
 
 Bess sta3^cd at homo after that, and waited on Harry 
 with everything her loving heart could devise for his ease 
 and comfort. Harry thanked her with a smile, but he 
 seldom spoke. It seemed too much exertion. All day 
 long he lay motionless and silent, with sometimes only a
 
 170 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY CO0RT. 
 
 little, very little, faint fluttering sigh. He took the orange 
 juice or pineapple syrup that Bess brought to his lips, and 
 returned the same patient, grateful smile. But the light 
 in his eyes grew more rare, and his smiles more faint. 
 
 On the third day the doctor sat long by his side, and 
 when he went away Mr. Salsby went with him. Half 
 an hour later Mr. Salsb}' looked in once more. Harry 
 lay just as before. Tom had come home, and was sit- 
 ting on the bed's edge gently fanning the sultry air 
 about the little sti.l face. Mr. Salsby beckoned Bess 
 aside, and asked, hesitatingly, 
 
 " Shall 3 - ou watch with him? " 
 
 "To-night?" she asked, a breathless fear stopping 
 her heart-beats suddenly. 
 
 " Have you done so? Shall you to-night?" 
 
 " We have not yet. We sleep so near, and I wake 
 very quickly. It would be easy for him to just speak 
 to me, and I should hear and come at once." 
 
 " Yes, easy, I know ; but he might not do it, might 
 not know there was any need." 
 
 " /> there any need?" asked Bess. 
 
 " There might be. But we cannot tell." 
 
 " And you think he may die?" 
 
 " It is possible," said Mortimer Salsby, gently, " an:l 
 possible not, but you want to bo forewarned. You d > 
 not want, if it should come, he should be alone to bear 
 the dread without a word of cheer."
 
 ONE LESS. 171 
 
 " Must I tell him?" whispered Bess, her face 
 bowed in her hands, but every sound stifled lest it reach 
 other ears. 
 
 " You know him best. Which would he prefer? " 
 
 Bess stood silent and trembling. 
 
 "Shall I come in, by and by, later in the evening, 
 and stay with you a part of the night?" 
 
 " If you would " Bess murmured, wiping the tears 
 from her face, and preparing to take her place again by 
 Harry's bed. " Will you please, sir, take Tom down- 
 stairs and tell him?" 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 " I can't, for we can't both leave Harry. Tell Ned 
 and Tom both, please." 
 
 Down by the silent river, Mortimer Salsby told the 
 boys that their little crippled brother perhaps was dying, 
 might not live to see another morning ; \ip-stairs, Nora 
 and Jemmy went quietly asleep as usual ; Bess sat alone 
 as watcher by Ilariy's side. The boys came back. Ned 
 lay down to sleep, after a very loving and tender good- 
 night. Only Tom and Bess sat in the long, low garret 
 where one feeble candle, placed upon the floor, cast un- 
 natural shadows rather than gave light. At half-past ten 
 Mr. Salsby softly entered. He bowed silently, glanced 
 at the bed and at the two sad-faced watchers, and asked 
 no question, spoke no word, but sat down by one of the 
 front windows and remained there, motionless as the rest.
 
 172 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 An hour later Harry moved. Bess was beside him, 
 and Tom came also. 
 
 " What is it?" Harry asked, wonderingly. 
 
 " What is what?" returned Tom. 
 
 " Something strange," he murmured, " you don't go 
 to bed. The candle 's on the floor. There 's some one 
 over there by the window. Who is it? 
 
 " It is the kind landlord, at the window," whispered 
 Bess. " He came in to see how you are. And Tom 
 and I are sitting up." 
 
 " For me ? " he asked, quickly. 
 
 " Why, yes, for a while," Bess answered. 
 
 " It is just as you did for mother," Harry said, 
 thoughtfully. " Am I so sick? " 
 
 " Not so sick as mother was, we hope," Tom replied, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Bess ! " Harry turned his faint eyes full on Bess's 
 face, " is it, perhaps, dying? " 
 
 Bess smoothed the bright rings from off his temples, 
 and could not answer. 
 
 ' Tell me, Bess," he pleaded. 
 : " Per haps," she whispered, slowly. 
 
 The bright smile that had been for days almost a 
 stranger to Harry's f.ice came suddenly back. He 
 heaved a little sigh and whispered, 
 
 " Don't be sorry, Bess. Tom ; don't any of you foi 
 I 'm so glad ! Father and mother are waiting for me,
 
 ONE LESS. 173 
 
 and it will be so much happier than lying here any 
 longer." 
 
 Bess kissed his forehead, and the tears fell on his 
 face. 
 
 " O, don't ! " lie begged. 
 
 Tom knelt by the bed and laid his cheek on Harry's 
 hand. Long they lingered silent'y. 
 
 At last Harry sighed faintly. He was weary. Tom 
 and Bess shook the pillows, p'aced him gently on them, 
 and went back to their sad, breathless watching. 
 
 Hours passed. Often they looked, to be quite sure 
 that feeble breath still flickered to and fro across the 
 parted lips. The gray of morning was dimming the 
 candle's shadows, when the long watch ended. Mr. 
 Salsby rose and came to the bedside. The fixed half- 
 open eyes saw nothing ; the nerveless hands were cold ; 
 and no more the life-breath floated through the peaceful, 
 smiling lips. 
 
 Just when it was, not one of them could tell ; but 
 Harry's soul had passed away to join his waiting 
 parents in that new world, where weariness and life- 
 long trouble cease, and our best life begins afresh.
 
 174 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LOUIS LEGRANGE. 
 
 f MHE sitting-room was small, with only two back 
 J- windows ; but it was not only neat and clean, it 
 was also cheery and tasteful, though few ornaments 
 were afforded . 
 
 There was little of the habitual worship of comfort so 
 common in American homes. No rocking-chair, no 
 lounge, not even an easy-chair was to be seen. But a 
 few straight-backed, slender-framed seats, with cush- 
 ions of blue damask, were placed here and there, in 
 convenient carelessness. The carpet, though worn and 
 faded, was of a soft, brown shade that harmonized well 
 with the chairs. Some boo'vs were in a little case on 
 the wall. The table was heaped with sewing, beneath 
 which peeped corners of newspapers. It was hard to 
 tell the station of the occupants, by the furnishing of 
 the room. So many things were wanting that are 
 deemed first necessities, and so many things were there 
 that the poor seldom have.
 
 LOUIS LEGHANGE. 175 
 
 Off the little sitting-room opened a, bed-chamber 
 scarcely larger than a closet, but it held a bed and toilet 
 bureau. The wardrobe stood in the sitting-room. 
 
 It was afternoon. The early su:i had long since left 
 these east windows. One blind was already open a 
 crack to give light to the footprints of a hurrying nee- 
 dle. A lady sat by the window very busy at her work. 
 It was a brilliant stuff, and her needle set fine stitches 
 of gay embroidery, such as only deft and delicate fin- 
 gers, guided by an artis'.'s eye and judgment, could pro- 
 duce. The lady was neither old nor young To-day, 
 as her head bent more earnestly over the work, and lit- 
 tle wrinkles of troubled thought gathered on her smooth, 
 clear brow, she was older than her wont. But her face 
 could brighten quickly into youth, and her trim, alert 
 figure, her cheery, heartsome wa} ? s, gave a merry, almost 
 girlish, appearance to a woman already past the half- 
 way stage of life. 
 
 There was a rustic from the little bedroom, and out 
 through its half-open door came a pale, slight boy of 
 about thirteen. He moved languidly, and soon sat down 
 near his mother. 
 
 "Do you feel like sitting up awhile?" asked Mrs. 
 LeGrange, with a glance of loving welcome. 
 
 14 1 am much stronger to-day," replied Louis, bravely. 
 
 " I think you do look better." 
 
 " And I want to go down to the office."
 
 17G THE CI1ILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Not to-day." 
 
 " Yes, to-day. I am so afraid Cobden & Co. will 
 put another boy in my place." 
 
 " Did n't the gentleman say he would keep it for 
 you ? " 
 
 " O, }*es, for a day or two. But now it is three weeks 
 or more, and he cannot keep it much longer. Let me 
 go to-day, mother dear ; I '11 not bs gone long." 
 
 " You have not yet eaten anything sufficiently 
 strengthening for such a walk. "Wait till to-morrow, 
 and I will have a bit of nice beefsteak for your break- 
 fast, and then perhaps you can find strength for it " 
 
 Louis was silent, and acquiesced with a little sigh. 
 
 " I don't know what we shall do if I lose my place," 
 he said, some minutes later, resting his elbows on the 
 table's edge. 
 
 " But you won't lose it," returned his mother, cheerily. 
 " And now I must tell you what my letter said." 
 
 " Your letter ; have you had a letter?" 
 
 " Yes ; there was one this morning from your Uncle 
 Victor. He is coming to America by the next steamer ; 
 he may bo here almost as soon as his letter." 
 
 " O, mother, will he help us?" 
 
 "It will be a great blessing to have him near us, for 
 counsel and sympathy at least. If you lose your place, 
 he may know what to advise, in order to get another. 
 But since the failure that was marked in the last French
 
 LOUIS LEGHANGE. 177 
 
 paper, he must be as poor as we, and can never take 
 you into business like his son, as used to be our hope." 
 
 " What else did the letter say?" 
 
 "Nothing. It was evidently written just in the 
 hurry and excitement of starting." 
 
 Louis went back, and lay down in the little bedroom. 
 He did not yet sit up all clay, though the fever had 
 passed away after only a slight attack. He was not a 
 robust boy ; perhaps for that reason sickness dealt 
 lightly with him. 
 
 Soon he heard his mother's light steps moving briskly 
 about, and before many minutes she called him. 
 
 " Do you feel like coining to tea, Louis? " 
 
 He came directly, and took the chair beside the little 
 tea-tray, where was sot out their delicate though frugal 
 supper. 
 
 At that moment there was a knock at the door of 
 the room, and instantly thereupon it was opened, and 
 an unmistakably Irish voice, proceeding from the out- 
 side chaos of a dark entry, said : 
 
 ' There's a gintleman down-stairs inquiring for Mrs. 
 LeG range ; will he walk up ? " 
 
 " Did he send his card ? " 
 
 " An' he did n't, thin ; but he said as his name was 
 LeGrange, too, I 'in thinking." 
 
 Mrs. LeGrange brushed past Bridget in the entry, 
 and hastened down the stairs. In the hall stood a man 
 12
 
 178 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COUUT. 
 
 of very foreign appearance, whom she greeted with a 
 gentle, airy cordiality, and at once invited np to the lit- 
 tle sitting-room. There Louh was quick to recognize 
 the Uncle Victor whom he had found so kind a friend 
 five years ago, when they passed the last year of his 
 father's life in France. 
 
 " Cut you are changed, you are ill," said the lady, 
 gazing anxiously at the pale, drawn face displayed in 
 the clearer light of her little parlor. 
 
 " It was a rough vo}*age," he replied. " I have 
 suffered much on the way, and am not yet myself, I 
 find." And he leaned a heavy elbow upon the table. 
 
 " Go and lie down on Louis's bed while I pour you 
 a cup of tea ; that will refresh and revive you. Go, 
 that 's a good brother, and I '11 soon nurse you back to 
 your health." 
 
 " I thought I should be all right when once I was on 
 land again," he said, as the white spasm again crossed 
 his face ; and, rising, he followed Mrs. LeGrange to the 
 bedroom, and submitted to be treated as an invalid. 
 
 Louis brought the tea, and his uncle tasted it ; but 
 he could not eat the delicate bit of supper that accom- 
 panied it. He was too ill to talk ; and the many ques- 
 tions Mrs. LeGrange longed to as'c were silenced, and 
 postponed till a better day. But the next day saw him 
 no better, nor many after it. 
 
 Louis LeGrange went to see Cobden & Co., in the
 
 LOUIS LEGRANGE. 179 
 
 faint hopo that the place he had vacated abruptly when 
 his sudden sickness prostrated him, might be yet open 
 to him. Mr. Saunders had promised to keep it for 
 him in case of his absence from sickness, but then that 
 was for occasional days ; and this absence had been for 
 weeks. He was not so much surprised, as discouraged, 
 on entering the warehouse, to find Tom Canton em- 
 ployed at what had formerly been his work. 
 
 Tom was sweeping the outer office when Louis 
 appeared. Mr. Saunders and the firm had not yet come 
 in. The two clerks were opening their desks, and 
 arranging books and papers for the day's work. 
 
 " So you are here?" said Louis LeGrange, stopping 
 in the doorway. 
 
 "Yes, and you are come back for your place?" 
 returned Tom, dubiously. 
 
 The two boys stood for a moment regarding each 
 other. It was rather an awkward meeting. Louis was 
 bitterly disappointed at losing his position, and Tom 
 felt as if he ought to relinquish it to him, yet knew not 
 what else to do himself. 
 
 " Wait a minute till I Ve done sweeping," Tom said. 
 When it was finished, Tom came and stood by Louis. 
 " Have you been sick?" he asked, noting the pale face 
 and thin hands. 
 
 " Yes. I have just come out for the first time. How 
 long have you been here ? "
 
 ISO TIIK CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Three or four weeks. I happened to come in tlie 
 very first day you were absent." 
 
 u And you were engaged at once?" Louis asked, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " I was told to come the next day, Mr. Cobden 
 engaged me ; Mr. Saunders did not seem to like it ; I 
 don't think he has ever been pleased to have me here " 
 
 Louis looked a little relieved. " Mr. Saunders prom- 
 ised to keep the place for me," he explained, " and so 
 I had hoped he would." 
 
 " O, he did try to," exclaimed Tom, in his turn 
 relieved with the idea that Mr. Sauuders was actuated 
 by no dislike or aversion for himself. " lie said all he 
 could for 3 r ou, but Mr. Cobden would have me come." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad for you," Louis said kindly, though 
 sadly. " It is a good place. Mr. Saunders is a little 
 queer sometimes, but if you do just as he says and ask 
 no questions, he will like you and be kind to you." 
 
 " I have never thought he liked me," Tom said, look- 
 ing inquiringly down into Louis's face. 
 
 Louis was not only two or three 3 r ears j-ounger than 
 Tom, but also a great deal smaller. His delicacy and 
 child-like appearance were only the more noticeable 
 beside Tom's stalwart growth and manly air, as he 
 returned a wondering look to Tom's glance. 
 
 ' I 'm sure I don't know," Louis aaid. " Has he ever 
 scolded you?"
 
 LOUIS LEGRANGE. 181 
 
 " No," replied Tom. 
 
 " Then you must be mistaken," Louis said, as he rose 
 to go. " There 's no use in my waiting." 
 
 "Yes," cried Tom. " I 'm only on trial. They may 
 want to have } T OU back again." 
 
 " You did n't tell me you were on trial." 
 
 " I supposed you would know it. Here comes Mr. 
 Saunders already." 
 
 Mr. Saunders entered with a hurried, absorbed air, 
 nodded carelessly to the clerks, but bestowed no notice 
 on Tom. Seeing Louis, he suddenly exclaimed, pleas- 
 antly : 
 
 " So you are come back ! I am glad of that. Been 
 sick all this time ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Louis, timidly. 
 
 " We 've had a boy here while you were gone ; but 
 you'll be on hand now, I suppose?" 
 
 " After to-day, sir, I think I could," said Louis ; " but 
 I am not so strong yet as I used to be." 
 
 " O, never mrnd ; we can favor you a little and you'll 
 soon come right." 
 
 Torn had never before heard Mr. Saunders speak 
 so cordially, though he was sometimes very defer- 
 ential and polite to Mr. Cobden. He wondered what 
 made the difference between himself and Louis, and 
 why Mr. Saunders so disliked him and so favored 
 Louis.
 
 182 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," Louis said. "Shall I come to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes ; come early, and have everything extra neat 
 and tidy, or the old gentleman may not be glad to sec 
 you." And with a laugh Mr. Saunders turned to his 
 books. 
 
 Louis looked longingly at Tom, and lingered. 
 "Please, sir, will Tom stay too?" he asked, loth to 
 take his own good-fortune at Tom's cost. 
 
 " Tom?" said Mr. Saunders. " No ; his time will be 
 out when you come back. He only came while you were 
 away." 
 
 "What's that? What's that?" cried a testy voice. 
 
 Mr. Saunders turned suddenly. Old Mr. Cobden 
 stood in the doorway, heated, panting, and excited, with 
 a very red face and a very purple nose. 
 
 "What's that about Tom? I like Tom. He stays 
 here. Who's this? Louis LeGrange? Where have 
 you been all this time? Why don't you stick to busi- 
 ness if you undertake it?" And the old gentleman 
 stopped, quite out of breath, and taking off his broad- 
 brimmed summer hat, wiped his streaming forehead 
 with a large, white silk handkerchief. 
 
 Louis was evidently very much afraid of old Mr. 
 Cobden. He shrank from the brusque, explosive talk 
 that Tom overlooked and forgot in the real kind-hearted- 
 ness that lay behind it. He cast down his eyes, and 
 spoke scarcely above a whisper, as he replied,
 
 LOUIS LEGKANGE. 183 
 
 " I hare been sick, sir." 
 
 " Look as if you were now," was the rather unsym- 
 pathetic rejoinder. " I 'm sorry for you, lad, but Tom 
 is here now, and he has done well, worked stiddy and 
 faithful, not off and on as you were, and Tom stays. 
 You must look out for some other place, and take care 
 to fill it better when you get it." 
 
 Mr. Cobden passed on into the office parlor. Louis 
 dropped his fd/,e i a Irb hands, and the tears would come. 
 He was weak, raw 1 , bad borne his disappointment bravely, 
 but the harsh wvds, so undeserved, were more than he 
 could endure. The tears grew to sobs, and he sank 
 back in the raair he had quitted when Mr. Cobden 
 addressed h'ai. 
 
 Every one was silent. The scratching of the clerks' 
 pens was plainly audible. Tom stood with pitying face 
 turned to Louis. He longed to go and comfort him, 
 and would have done so l^d he not been seated so near 
 Mr. Saunders. An intense mutual antipathy seemed 
 growing between these two. Mr. Saunders sat like a 
 statue for a few minutes ; then taking out his pocket- 
 book, he extracted therefrom a ten-dollar bill, and 
 crumpling it in his hand, returned the book to his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Here, Louis, I 'm sorry. Take this to last till you 
 get a new place, and send to me for a character if you 
 like," he said, quietly, as he tucked the bill into Louis's
 
 184 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 hand. Then he returned to his work, and did not again 
 look up. 
 
 Louis gazed in surprise at the money, and profusely 
 thanked him. Tom thought it was a large amount ; 
 Mr. Saunders was certainly a generous, kind-hearted 
 man. 
 
 " Good-b}-, Louis," Tom said, following him out at 
 the door. " I 'm glad Mr. Saunders gave you that, and 
 I wish 3*011 had your place again, I 'm sure, since you 
 suit him so much better than I can. I hope you will 
 soon find another as good. It will be a great help to 
 you to be able to refer to him." 
 
 " Yes, and the money is so welcome ; for mother is 
 almost at her last dollar, and Uncle Victor is come and 
 is very sick. I don't know what I shall do, if I cannot 
 soon get work." 
 
 " Come and tell me, when you do," said Tom. 
 
 " If I can. But why not^pome and sec me some 
 time? I shall be so glad to see you, and especially if I 
 don't get work, and am feeling sad and discouraged." 
 
 " So I will," Tom answered, heartily. 
 
 Louis told him where he lived, and the two bovs 
 parted kindly at the door of the building, just as Mr. 
 Waters made his rather tardy appearance for the day. 
 
 Louis walked slowly and feebly homeward. He felt 
 too weak to hasten, nor did the .news he brought have 
 any tendency to quicken his pace. He remembered
 
 LOUIS I.KGRANGE. 185 
 
 that his sickness had already diminished his mother's 
 slender resources. He had been so longing for the time 
 when he should be able to go to work again ! He feared 
 his mother often worked late at night. He thought she 
 looked worn and weary, her step had less of its ac- 
 customed spring, her talk less of sparkle and merri- 
 ment. Mother is getting tired, he thought, as hs 
 noted the forced cheerfulness after he had told her his 
 story. 
 
 It was long ere he found work. 
 
 The pretty embroidery got. less and less attention for 
 the next week after the arrival of Louis's uncle. And 
 in the moments when there was opportunity for it, the 
 tiny care-wrinkles came more thickly in the smooth 
 forehead of the little hostess. Where she had looked 
 for aid, for strength, and counsel, she found none ; 
 but only a care she hardly dared assume, and an a Ided 
 burden of labor and expense for her already worn 
 frame and almost exhausted puree. The light burned 
 late each night in Mrs. LeGrange's parlor, and the nim- 
 ble little needle flew fast under its flickering rays. 
 Early as the summer's early sunrise, too, was that busy 
 bit of bright steel at work. Still she tried bravely to 
 keep cheerful. When her own money and the ten dollars 
 from Mr. Saunders was all gone, she knew not what to 
 do. But as her blithe needle flew and her busy thoughts 
 kept time to it, she remembered the sick man's pocket-
 
 186 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COUBX. 
 
 book, which fell upon the floor one day as she was about 
 to hang up his coat in the wardrobe. 
 
 " Victor," she said, timidly, but cheerily still, " my 
 money is all gone. Have you an}- ? " 
 
 From beneath his pillow he drew out the pocket-book, 
 and handed it to her, saying, faintly, " There 's plenty." 
 
 It looked plenty certain!} 1 , bat the bills seemed all 
 small ones. She took ten dollars, and thankfully re- 
 turned the book. 
 
 " "When that 's gone, come again," he said, in the same 
 husky, unnatural voice of fever and pain. 
 
 But as the weeks rolled by, Victor LeGrange began 
 to mend. Slowly the wasting of disease gave place to 
 return of blooming health. And the small bills were 
 not quite all abstracted from the pocket-book he so 
 freely offered for the family use. So the roses began 
 also to return to the bright face of Mrs. LeGrange. 
 Her guest could sit up, and tell her pleasant tales of 
 his travels, and his hopes for the new life in America. 
 
 " Was it the failure that decided you to come here?" 
 she asked, one day. 
 
 "What failure?" 
 
 Mrs. LeGrange took from her work-basket a tiny 
 scrap she had cut from the paper, that announced the 
 failure of the business in which she well knew all 
 his property had been placed. 
 
 " O, no," he answered, carelessly ; " but I had luck
 
 LOUIS LEGRANGE. 187 
 
 there. I had withdrawn in order to come here, only 
 one week before the failure." 
 
 "And you lost nothing?" exclaimed the little 
 woman, color coming and going brightly in her cheeks, 
 and tears welling into her eyes. 
 
 " I lost nothing," he answered. Then, seeing her 
 silence and emotion, he added, "' Did you think I had 
 come here a ruined man ? " 
 
 "I thought I did think you were poor, Victor, 
 and I so hated to be using your money ; but I could 
 not earn enough myself, and 1 could not let you suffer 
 while you had plenty to provide for yourself." 
 
 " You took little enough, I am sure," replied Victor 
 LeG range. " Some time we must make a truer settle- 
 ment."' 
 
 So it happened that Louis LeGrange needed no more 
 to look for a place. His uncle was already engaged 
 witli a large importing house, and Louis, under his 
 direction, was soon employed by the same firm. It was 
 eas}' work, too, compared with that for Cobden & Co. 
 Victor LeGrange took a quiet house in a pleasanter 
 part of the city, and Mrs. LeGrange made it a very 
 snug and pretty little home. So it was that when Tom 
 Canton went to sec Louis he could not find him ; and 
 Louis's surprise, delight, and excitement at the new and 
 happy turn affairs had taken for him, were so great, 
 that it was many weeks before he thought to go and 
 see Tom.
 
 188 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BEING A GIRL. 
 
 BESS still sold papers. At first she did not much 
 mind the change of work, rather liked being out- 
 of-doors, seeing so many people, speaking with this 
 and that customer, though it was only a word about 
 the paper. But almost eveiy one asked her some 
 question if only to hear her speak. Sometimes it 
 was "What papers?" sometimes "Which edition?" 
 or "What's new to-night?" and Bess answered al- 
 ways with simple politeness, and a clear voice, whose 
 cheery tones reassured herself and pleased every 
 one. Still, Tom was no more satisfied with her 
 worlc than at first. He would, any time, have hailed 
 the opportunit} r for some more quiet emplo3 r meut, but 
 the difficulty was to find any which she could attempt, 
 and still remain with her brothers. For some time the 
 care of Harry kept her at home many hours of the da)-, 
 Ned supplying her with papers or taking off her hands 
 what remained unsold when she needed to return to
 
 BEING A GIRL. 189 
 
 him. But when Harry's sweet face was forever gone 
 from the pillows of the cot-bed in the long, low attic, 
 and nothing necessitated going home from morning to 
 night, the arrangements of the Canton children were 
 changed. They no longer came together for the noon- 
 time. A bun or a doughnut -bought and eaten in the 
 street formed their lunch, and sufficed them till night. 
 Although the landlord had kindly befriended them by 
 attending to the last sad duties for little Harry, and 
 even defrayed the chief expenses, yet they found that, 
 notwithstanding the flourishing condition of the news- 
 paper trade, and the large force of their numbers 
 therein employed, the gains were hardly equal to their 
 expectations. Ned still made good receipts each day. 
 Nora and Jemmy brought in about half as much ; but 
 poor Bess found her little sum of daily earnings rather 
 diminished than increased as she continued her work. 
 She had hoped for a steady waxing of her profits, but 
 they seemed on a steady wane instead. She did not 
 dare tell Tom. She wondered wherein lay the cause. 
 Even Nora and Jemmy did better than she. To add to 
 her discomfort, she became also aware of a growing 
 dislike even disgust for the occupation. Was it 
 that her class of customers was changing, or was it 
 only that she was growing to dislike them? Hut 
 it seemed to poor, discouraged, heart-sick Bess, that 
 the men who bought of her were verv coarse and
 
 190 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 repulsive. Or was it only that she hated selling papers 
 because she made no better success at it? She cast 
 about in her mind for something else to do. It wa? 
 evident she did not earn her own share of the family 
 expenses. Something more and better she must do 
 She longed to ask Tom's advice and aid ; but she knew 
 he was not a genius at devising and pointing out new 
 ways, and besides, a sense of shame in confessing that 
 she had begun to believe he was right, and selling 
 papers was very unpleasant work for a girl, deterred 
 her from confiding in him. 
 
 Ned, springing in and out of horse-cars and omni- 
 buses, jumping hither and yon, wherever there seemed 
 chance of a customer, alert, active, quick-witted, Ned 
 the newsboy could sell in a day almost twice as many 
 papers as the other three. Nora was more aided by hei 
 tender years, and Jemmy's presence and enterprise- 
 than she knew. These two went always in company 
 and together managed to do a very tolerable day's work 
 But Bess had always to set out alone. Ned was out 
 of the question as a companion ; and she knew that 
 to accompany Nora would be only to take trade out 
 of her hands, and would really be no gain to the 
 general good. So Bess wandered away rather aim- 
 lessly. She wanted to find some quiet streets like 
 those where Nora sold in the mornings. But Nora 
 had found all but two in that part of the city ; and in
 
 BEING A GIKL. 191 
 
 those two was posted a cliild, a mere bit, scarce 
 six years old, who was supplied with the news, 
 and attempting to sell. Bess felt herself too large a 
 girl to enter into competition, and relinquished the 
 field. If she sought any of the busy corners, a crowd 
 of boys in the same avocation was sure to be there 
 congregated. True, Ned had pre-empted a claim for 
 her, as for Nora, on one block of the avenue ; but no 
 one could live on that alone. Indeed, Bess found 
 herself at great disadvantage with both Ned and 
 Nora. She could not emulate Ned's activity and 
 impudence. Nor yet did her almost full-grown appear- 
 ance awake the kindly interest that so generally 
 greeted Nora. The very newsbo} T s, who would give 
 way to such a little girl as Nora, were inclined to 
 push their own claims, quite indifferent to Bess and 
 her success. Failures did not stimulate, the}" dis- 
 couraged Bess. As day by day she sadly counted 
 up and acknowledged to Ned her petty cash, not only 
 did her face become grieved and troubled, but her 
 heart sank with a terrible self-depreciation and mor- 
 tification. It was just as Tom had said, " Girls 
 couldn't sell papers." 
 
 The little that Bess earned was better than nothing ; 
 so she still went out daily. She hated the busy, bus- 
 tling streets, she hated the glare of the hot sunshine, 
 the restless tread of the endless crowd, the stare of
 
 192 THE CUILDREX OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 strange eyes, the sound of strange voices. She started 
 out each morning with a shrinking dread ; she lingered 
 all day and offere 1 her news with a hopeless anticipa- 
 tion of refusal, and the little pain-droop in the corners 
 of her mouth deepened as the day wore on ; till at last 
 the dusk of evening released her, and she hastened 
 homeward with a sense of relief and a heart lighter 
 for the moment than since she woke at early day-break. 
 Such days could not continue. Whether Bess would 
 have set out with equal vigor to make some change, 
 had her work proved as profitable as she expected, is 
 perhaps doubtful. She might have endured the pain 
 for the sake of the aid she could bring to her brothers. 
 But as things were, there was no possible motive to con- 
 tinue, save only till other employment could be found. 
 
 It was a sultry, though cloudy forenoon. Bess stood 
 in her usual place on the avenue ; her hat had fallen 
 back upon her shoulders, her papers lay unsold in the 
 folio under her arm, her face was growing to its too 
 common expression of hopeless disappointment and 
 pain. Xed ran to her from some blocks above, and 
 claimed more than half her bundle. 
 
 ' Give them to me. I can sell them. There 's a 
 rush, up at the hotel ; people coming by the coachful 
 and the papers go like lightning." - And off ran Xed, 
 leaving Bess lighter at heart, as also in the package 
 under her arm.
 
 BEING A GIRL. 193 
 
 Then her own papers began to go more readily, as 
 if her brightened face made better sales. Only two 
 or three remained. She counted them with a pleased 
 smile, thinking " when these are gone I'll go home till 
 it is time for afternoon editions." And looking up she 
 found another customer at her side offering the pennies 
 in one hand, while he tried to draw out a paper with 
 the other. Bess glanced up with surprised delight, 
 saying to herself " only two more." 
 
 The man noticed her smile ; and, flattering himself 
 that it Avas somewhat of a personal compliment, lin- 
 gered a moment, saying, 
 
 " You are nearly sold out." 
 
 " Yes," Bess replied, checking the words " I am so 
 glad,'' that were ready to follow. 
 
 She did not like the man's face. It was fat and 
 coarse and disagreeable. Sometimes it seemed to Bess 
 that everybody looked just so, there was such a predom- 
 inance of such faces in the city. 
 
 " You do a pretty good business?" 
 
 Bess opened her mouth to explain ; but remembering 
 that the disposal of her papers to Ned would make too 
 long a stoiy, said nothing. 
 
 " Like it? " continued the man, folding up the paper 
 very small to put it in his breast-pocket. 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 "Sorry!" he returned, with a lazy laugh. "I'll 
 
 13
 
 194 THE CHILDREN OP AMITT COURT. 
 
 come round and bay of you to-morrow." And suddenly 
 chucking Bess under the chin, with the added words 
 " little girl " to excuse the familiarity, and another 
 laugh, he turned away. 
 
 Bess stood straight and still, and her dark eyes shot 
 some very angry glances, and then slowly filled with 
 tears. She took out her handkerchief to stop them, 
 but used it to rub her insulted little chin instead. 
 
 " I will go home," she thought Indeed, she could 
 scarcely keep from crying then and there. 
 
 " Papers?" asked a voice ; and looking up, Bess saw 
 a round, red face indeed, but, though not lacking flesh, 
 it was a very different one from the other. A rim of 
 white hair was just inside the brim of the broad, low- 
 crowned hat, and a gold-headed cane was sticking out 
 pompousl}" from under his arm. 
 
 Bess dashed away her tears, and drew out another 
 paper. 
 
 " What is the matter with 3*011, my dear ? " asked the 
 old gentleman, so kindly that Bess longed to tell him 
 all her troubles. 
 
 " O, I wish I could find something to do besides scll- 
 i:;g papers ! " she exclaimed, passionately. 
 
 " Do you? Well, to be sure, to be sure," he added, 
 suddenl}', remembering that hers might not be either a 
 pleasant or an easy life, especially if, as seemed likely, 
 she had known something better.
 
 BEING A GIRL. 195 
 
 Standing a moment, looking at her thoughtfully, he 
 seemed at last to come to a conclusion of his cogita- 
 tions satisfactory to himself. 
 
 ' Come with me ! . I 'm going down town. I'll see 
 what can be found for you. I '11 sec ; no harm in try- 
 ing. You 're willing to work, I hope?" 
 
 " O, yes," answered Bess, eagerly. 
 
 Then the old gentleman called an omnibus, put Bess 
 in, and entered after her. Bess could not tell what 
 made her so light-hearted. She liked the old gentleman, 
 he had such a kind, earnest face, and spoke so cheerily ; 
 and she felt quite sure he was going to do something 
 very kind for her, though her wildest imaginations failed 
 to suggest what, further than that it was work of some 
 kind, doubtless pleasanter than selling papers, and prob- 
 ably quite as remunerative. It could not well be less 
 of either. 
 
 When the old gentleman got out, Bess followed, and 
 he led her in at the door of a large warehouse, and 
 stopped before the desk of a small, dark, nervous little 
 man. 
 
 " Is n't there room for a new hand in the making-up 
 room?" asked the old gentleman. 
 
 " I don't know, sir. Sands, the foreman., can tell 
 
 you." 
 
 To Sands, the foreman, the old gentleman went, with 
 Bess in a state of breathless wonder. It was a large
 
 196 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 carpet warehouse through which they were passing. 
 Mr. Sands spoke through a tube, and soon a young 
 woman appeared. 
 
 " Here is a new hand at making up," said Mr. Sands. 
 ' Put her on that small, cheap hall-carpet that is or- 
 dered for to-morrow." 
 
 The young woman bowed, and turned to lead Bess 
 away. 
 
 " She '11 have fifty cents a day for the first week," 
 said the old gentleman, " paid each night. Afterwards, 
 increase as she improves. You are on trial, remember, 
 on trial. If you do well, you '11 have a good place." 
 
 So Bess knew the old gentleman belonged to the es- 
 tablishment, and she would be likely to see him again. 
 She was glad of that. She felt as if he would take care 
 of her, and keep her out of all future trouble. 
 
 In the sewing-room she found some twenty young 
 women and girls at work. Two men were measuring 
 and cutting carpets at one end of the room, which was 
 large, low, and very hot. The woman who had led her 
 up many stairs to this room, asked her if she could sew 
 well, to which Hess was very glad to reply in the affir- 
 mative. She was then placed on a low chair, beside a 
 small and, Bess thought, very ugly carpet, and instructed 
 how to sew together the parts that formed a most 
 curious figure, and was supposed to represent the floor- 
 area of a hall in a gothic cottage.
 
 BKING A GIRL. 197 
 
 Bess came home when the day's work ended, in gay- 
 est spirits. She had not been so happy since their 
 mother was with them. As she tripped lightly along, 
 her eyes full of happy light, and the hateful old folio, 
 with its one remaining paper, rolled up under her arm, 
 Tom overtook her. She could not wait, and hastened 
 to tell him her good fortune. Tom was glad with her, 
 though a little puzzled at her delight. 
 
 " Fifty cents a day is not such a princely sum," he 
 ventured to remark, when they were at home, and Bess 
 was setting out a supper of the bread and milk they 
 had bought. 
 
 " No, but it is as much as I have been earning, and 
 it is to be increased." 
 
 " I 'm afraid sewing carpets is hard work." 
 
 " Of course it is ! " replied Bess, with a cheery laugh, 
 straightening her tired back. 
 
 " And not nearly so pleasant as selling papers." 
 
 " O, Tom ! anything is better than that." 
 
 " What made you do it, then ? " 
 
 " For money, of course." 
 
 " But T thought you liked it." 
 
 " Why, Tom, how could you?" 
 
 "If you didn't like it, what made you insist upon 
 doing it? " 
 
 " Because I could find nothing else to do, and we 
 must have money."
 
 193 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " We could have got along ; I would never have let 
 yon, if I had known." 
 
 " Then you should have found something better for 
 me to do." 
 
 " But if I could n't ? " 
 
 " I know. That 's why I had to sell papers. It is 
 easy to find fault, but not alwa}'s so easy to suggest 
 improvements. And you know I must do something." 
 
 " And you really did n't want to do it?" 
 
 " Probably I hated it as badly as you could for me, 
 after I came to know what noisy, unpleasant work it 
 was. I certainly did n't need your telling me I ' was a 
 girl ' to make ma gladly choose something more fit for 
 a girl, if I could have found any such." 
 
 " Bess, I '11 never tell you you are a girt again, as 
 long as I live ! " said Tom, putting his arms round her 
 neck with a sudden hug, and a suspicious mistiness in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You need n't," Bess answered, gravely, " for I 've 
 found it out for myself," with a mortifying recollection 
 of her disagreeable morning customer, whom she had 
 omitted to mention. 
 
 Then thrusting the water-pitcher into Tom's hands, 
 she cried, 
 
 " There, run for some water ! I hear Ned and the 
 children coming up-stairs."
 
 MR. SAUNDERS'3 OPERATIONS. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Mil. SAUNDERS'S OPERATIONS. 
 
 TOM and Bess walked down together to their work 
 next day. Their ways seemed to coincide re- 
 markably. When Tom stopped at the door of Cobden 
 & Co.'s warehouse, Bess exclaimed, 
 
 " Now, I 've only to run round to that narrow alley, 
 and go in at a back door." 
 
 Tom looked astonished. " Show me," he said, mov- 
 ing on in the direction indicated. They turned the 
 corner, and stopped at a side door that was used by all 
 the carpet girls last night, and that Bes^ knew was to 
 be open at seven for their return in the morning. 
 
 " Why, Bess, 3-011 are at work for Cobden & Co., 
 too. It must have been Mr. Cobden who brought you 
 here." 
 
 Bess laughed out merrily, and Tom's face shone with 
 delight at the discovery. 
 
 " Is n't it nice?" she said. 
 
 "The very jolliest thing in the world; we'll lunch 
 together," was Tom's practical reply.
 
 200 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Tom went back to the front door, which he opened 
 with his key, and was soon very busy about his usual 
 work. It seemed as if the very knowledge that Bess 
 was in the building made the day shorter and work 
 easier to him. At noon he took the lunch he had pro- 
 vided for himself, and went up into the ' making-up 
 room " to eat it with her. It was ver}* pleasant for botli 
 of them. Bess told him at night that she thought the 
 foreman was more kindly to her. and the woman who 
 acted as overseer and director did not hurry her so 
 much, after she knew she was Tom's sister. And Tom 
 was sure that ol.l Mr. Cobden was quite delighted on 
 learning that he was a brother of tlia girl he had sent 
 to work in the " raaking-up room'' yesterday. The 
 brother and sister seemed so happy in the slight com- 
 panionship their work allowed, that ever}- one grew to 
 like them, as if reflecting the affection they felt for 
 each other. Even Mr. Saunders was slowly receiving 
 Tom into his favor, and treated him with far more 
 kindliness than formerly. 
 
 But Mr Saunders was often anxious and abstracted 
 now. His first successful venture brought the effort 
 for another, and care and trouble accompanied. 
 
 "When will the next shipment arrive?" asked Mr. 
 V.'aters one da}', suddenly, of Mr. Saunders. 
 
 The junior partner started. '-Not just at present," 
 ho answered, with embarrassment. u It is clue, I know, 
 but accidents may delay it."
 
 MR. SAUXDEKS'S OPEUATIONS. 201 
 
 " You know all about it, I '11 warrant," put in old 
 Mr. Cobclen. " Shrewd man, you are, Saunders. Let 
 us hope there will be no accidents. It would be 
 remarkably convenient if it were hei'e now. One of our 
 old customers is on from California, and we might sell 
 him a fine bill of goods if those new styles were only 
 in. Lut he won't return under a day or two longer, and 
 they may come." 
 
 Mr. Saunders pricked his ears with a peculiarly keen 
 attention at this piece of news. But he said nothing, 
 till Mr. Cobden was about leaving in the afternoon. 
 
 " I may not be in as early as usual to-morrow morn- 
 ing. I thought I 'd speak of it that you need not be 
 wondering." 
 
 " O, very well, very well; very good of you to 
 mention it." 
 
 " Next morning Mr. Saunders was very late. After 
 what he had said, no one would have been surprised, 
 were it not for what happened before he came. It was 
 about eleven ; Mr. Cobden and Mr. Waters were seated 
 at their desks. The office parlor was quiet as a country 
 meadow, which was nothing unusual, when no callers 
 were present. A knock at the door was quickly fol- 
 lowed b}- the entrance of a thin, shabbily-dressed man, 
 who proceeded at once to the desk of the elder gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "Mr. Cobden, I presume?" he said.
 
 202 THE CHILDKEN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Mr. Cobden nodded. 
 
 " Member of the firm?" wns the next question, with 
 1 backward wave towards Mr. "Waters. 
 
 The old gentleman nodded again, and began to 
 assume an expression of inquiry. 
 
 ' Then I will proceed at ouce to business. You are 
 aware that smuggling is considered contrary to law 
 in almost an}- country. So I am here to tell you that, 
 confiscation being the penalty on such goods, your last 
 cargo of carpets that was landed last ni^ht from the 
 steamer ' : Tom Thumb," out on the Connecticut coast, 
 will not reach you. The whole amount was secured after 
 it was loaded into wagons for transportation to you." 
 
 " It is an outrageous lie ! " thundered Mr. Cobden. 
 " There has never been a stroke or a thought of smug- 
 gling in 'this firm ! " 
 
 " Were n't you expecting a cargo at this time?" 
 
 " Not a smuggled cargo ! " 
 
 The custom-house officer looked puzzled and discom- 
 fited. He produced from his breast-pocket a wide, flat 
 leather case of papers, and, taking out the first one, 
 handed it to Mr. Cobden. 
 
 " Will you take oath that that is not the bill of lad- 
 ing of your cargo ? " 
 
 " I '11 take oath that anything is not that is smug- 
 gled," he replied, without looking at the offered paper. 
 
 Mr. Waters rose, and came behind the officer's chair.
 
 MR. SAUNDERS'S OPERATIONS. 203 
 
 " Had n't you better look at the paper?" lie suggested 
 to his uncle. 
 
 " No ! I won't look at aiv^thing that 's brought here 
 to prove against me a thing I never did never thought 
 of doing. It 's all an outrageous lie ! " 
 
 But over the stranger's shoulder Mr. Waters caught 
 a glimpse of familiar items, which he himself had 
 stipulated should be in Mr. Saunders's next order for 
 shipment. 
 
 " Let us hear your story,'' said Mr. Waters, more 
 civilly. " My uncle is justly indignant, for certainly 
 unlawful trade is not the intention of this firm ; but 
 whether his indignation is rightly directed upon you 
 remians to be proved." 
 
 Mr. Colxlcn fidgeted in his chair, and turned his 
 back half round upon the two, at this conciliatory 
 speech. But he listened and did not interpose. 
 
 " I have told my story once alread}"," said the 
 stranger, rather testily. u The little steamer ' Tom 
 Thumb ' last night landed a small cargo in a lonely spot 
 on the Connecticut shore. The goods were brought in 
 boats, and put aboard wagons which were directed to 
 
 unload at store-rooms, No. 14 South L Street. The 
 
 same man who superintended the landing, returned to 
 the city by rail, and is to be on hand to see to the stor- 
 ing 'icre. Having those items sent on by telegraph, it 
 was msy to ascertain that the designated rooms belong"
 
 204 TUE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 to the firm of Cobden & Co. We have waited only for 
 the arrival of our detective with this bill of goods. 
 The teams are on the road, but will reach a different 
 destination from your elegant warehouse. Sorry, gen- 
 tlemen," he said, smiling serenely, " but it is our 
 unpleasant duty to interfere with all these little ope- 
 rations in contraband goods." 
 
 Mr. Cobden, irritated past endurance by this last 
 tantalizing speech, rose .hastily, and with angry glare at 
 the suave gentleman, began pacing furiously up and 
 down the room, stamping his stout cane heavily at every 
 step. Mr Waters remained cool and immovable. 
 
 " It may be, as you say, that a cargo of goods for 
 the firm was unlawfully landed last night, but we were 
 quite ignorant of the transaction, and should not have 
 suffered it had we known it." 
 
 " Of course," replied the gentlemanly official, quickly. 
 
 *f{^ 
 
 " I was sure of that. Firms never do sanction such 
 transactions. I never knew one in all my experience 
 which has been quite large I never knew one that was 
 not utterty igi:orant of all such transactions, and bitterly 
 opposed to them from the first. O, I knew you would 
 not uphold the act, but yet as it happens, singularly 
 enough, that j'ou are so intimately associated in the 
 operation that you will be sure to be the parties who 
 lose by it, I came in to tell you what had become of 
 your goods."
 
 MR. SAUNDERS'S OPERATIONS. 205 
 
 Even this did not move Mr. Waters. Mr. Cobden 
 staj r ed his angry footseps behind the stranger's chair 
 and half lifted his cane ; but he softly put it down again 
 and walked as before. Mr. Waters continued, 
 
 " We have intrusted some of our buying to our con- 
 fidential head clerk It seems we have been more 
 confidential than he has, for he has never fully explained 
 to us how it was that he could procure goods at remark- 
 abl} r low rates." 
 
 ' Then this has been going on for some timo? " sud- 
 denly fi.ished forth the sharp official. 
 
 Mr. Waters' black eyes sparkled, and he remained 
 silent, an ominous token with him. 
 
 Mr. Cobden planted himself squarely before the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Now, sir, I presume your business is about finished 
 here." 
 
 " Very nearly, sir. I would like a reply as to how 
 many such cargoes yon have received." 
 
 " We don't know ; and, if we did, you can't com- 
 pel any man to testify against himself. We wish you 
 good-day, sir." 
 
 The gentleman rose, fooling that exit was growing 
 momentarily more desirable, if not necessary, and, with 
 a bow, retired. 
 
 Mr. Cobden threw himself into his chair, and breathed 
 hard. Mr. Waters withdrew to his own place, and
 
 20G THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 both sat silent for more than an hour. At last Mr. 
 Cobden raised his head suddenly. 
 
 " Will Saunders come back?" he asked. 
 
 " Why not? " returned Mr. Waters. 
 
 And again silence reigned for an hour, at which time 
 Mr. Saunders himself entered. It had been the bitter- 
 est da}' of all his life. There \vas nothing he valued 
 more than the honorable position ho had hell for a year 
 past in the firm of Cobden & Co. 
 
 It was in a weak moment that the opportunity of 
 smuggling in some goods had been presented to him, 
 and, dazzled with the wealth it promised, and perhaps 
 also a little with the danger, he had undertaken to carry 
 out the suggestion and cheat the government, though 
 he was far too honest to have done the same with an 
 individual. " Our country," beyond the mere land of 
 it, sometimes comes to represent something mythical ; 
 and our government a fabrication that should ever pro- 
 tect and aid its citizens, claiming nothing of them in 
 return. 
 
 Mr. Saunders believed that though the goods wero 
 lost, there was no possibility of an exposure of the linn 
 to the opprobrium of the transaction. The bales bore 
 no name. lie was glad of this, and ready to take the 
 whole blame of the matter, but to bear the whole loss 
 was a harder thing to do. Coming in, he sat down 
 before Mr. Cobden, and told his story. Doing so, the
 
 MR. SADNDERS'S OPERATIONS. 207 
 
 full meanness, of the operation seemed to appear to him, 
 for the first time, as he was obliged t,) see it through the 
 eyes of other men. Sometimes such a view makes a 
 bitter difference in the appearance of one's own con- 
 duct. The angiT had already died in old Mr. Cobden's 
 heart ; it had bubbled over and spent itself, and now he 
 felt only pity for the young man, who, in a time of temp- 
 tation, had failed. Not so Mr. Waters. His indignation 
 had been bottled in silence, and was as incorrigible as 
 in its first nascent strength. It was a startling sur- 
 prise to Mr. Saunders, when he had finished his recital 
 and expressed his contrition, to be answered by the 
 slinging tones of Mr. Waters, 
 
 " We have heard these business items once this morn- 
 ing, from the custom-house officer. We did not know 
 your personal sentiments. It is gratifying that you do 
 not intend to continue in these smuggling operations, 
 though it probably would not in future so much affect 
 M.S, as heretofore." 
 
 " There, there ! Dick," cried old Mr. Cobden, " don't 
 go on in that way. There 's the very devil in you whe 
 yon are mad." 
 
 "But he said the k custom-house officer'!" stanr 
 mered Mr. Saunders. 
 
 " Yes, he lias been here to notify us of the facts," 
 returned Mr. Cobden, with mild regret and true kind- 
 ness.
 
 203 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Then I will at least set you right there," said Mr. 
 Saunclcrs, and he hastily left the parlor. It was a 
 relief to him to escape for a while from the crushing 
 influence of Mr. Waters' presence, and he wanted to 
 think how he could further repair the wrong he had 
 done his employers. But it is not an easy matter to 
 right a wrong that falls only on character. When once 
 the idea had gained ground in the minds of custom- 
 house officers that Cobden & Co. had been engaged in 
 smuggling, it was next to impossible to eradicate it. 
 After long argument and free confession that he him- 
 self had alone been concerned in the shameful matter 
 which the firm ha 1 never known or suspected, he was 
 still obliged to return feeling that he had not yet suc- 
 ceeded in restoring his employers to the honorable 
 consideration they had always held. He felt that the 
 consequences of his greedy effort for gain were far 
 more wide and lasting than hs had ever dreamed they 
 could be ; and, worse yet, they fell not where they hon- 
 estly belonged, on himself, but oa those who had been 
 his kindest friends 
 
 When he again entered the office-parlor, Mr. Waters 
 had been called away. This was a great relief. He 
 could talk far more easily with Mr. Cobden alone, for 
 he knew the old gentleman felt kindly towards him *pite 
 of his evil-doing. No one could be more severe and 
 fretful for small delinquencies than old Mr. Cobden;
 
 MR. SAUNDEUS'S OPERATIONS. 209 
 
 bat he carried, under all his sharpness, a charitable 
 heart, and in a real emergency was unexpectedly 
 generous. 
 
 " I am at your service, sir," Mr. Saunders said, 
 standing before him, hat in hand, with even more peni- 
 tence than he had felt before. " I have been to the 
 custom-house and set you right there, as far as telling 
 the truth could do so. If you would like to go over the 
 books with me I will run over them, and leave them so 
 they can be readily understood by whoever takes them." 
 
 Mr. Cobden put on his gold-bowed glasses, and stared 
 hard into Mr. Saunders's face. 
 
 "What now?" he asked, slowly. "Aren't your 
 books right?" 
 
 " I believe so," was the modest reply. 
 
 " I believe so, too," returned the old gentleman. 
 " I believe, too, that you mean to keep them so. 
 Don't disappoint me; that's all." 
 
 Mr. Saunders stood irresolute. Then he answered 
 slowly, " I do mean to keep them so. Sometime before 
 I die, I hope to pay back all the loss I have caused 
 you, but it will take years to do that ; and of course 
 you do not want to retain me in your employ. It 
 would be too much like countenancing what I have 
 done." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried the old man, eagerly. " You 
 will stay in your old place, do your old work, and be 
 li
 
 210 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 the best man we have in the building yet. Don't let 
 me hear a word about leaving. You know we could n't 
 supply your place under three } T ears* instruction of 
 same other man. Let this matter be a lesson to you, 
 and then we shall want no better man than you. There, 
 go ! " And he turned about in his chair, presenting 
 only his broad, round shoulders. 
 
 But Mr. Saunders lingered. Such generosity was 
 more utterly crushing than Mr. Waters' an^er, or any 
 amount of upbraiding. Anger, reproaches, he had 
 merited ; but to be reminded of his value to the firm, 
 and retained in his old place just as before, was a new 
 kind of punishment. His hands trembled, and could 
 hardly retain their hold of the summer straw hat. 
 Under his yellow beard his lips twitched and quivered, 
 and great tears came slowly creeping into his aston- 
 ished eyes. 
 
 " You are too kind," he murmured, " and Mr. 
 Waters may not " 
 
 " Mr. Waters always agrees with what I judge best," 
 returned Mr. Cobden, with sudden loftiness. "It is 
 all right ; now go." 
 
 Mr. Saunders seized the little round red hand of the 
 old gentleman, and gave it one hearty wring that told 
 more than many words, saying, 
 
 " You shall never repent it, neither you nor Mr. 
 Waters."
 
 MR. SAUXDF.KSS OPERATIONS. 211 
 
 Then ho went into the outer office, and took his place 
 at his desk. Before that day was ended, Tom Canton 
 felt tho change in Mr. Sanndcrs's voice and manner. 
 All the old arbitrary wa} r s left him. He was busy as 
 ever, but more kindly. He set about saving up from his 
 generous salary the requisite sum to repay to the firm 
 the loss he had occasioned it. Ten years afterwards the 
 payment was made, but old Mr. Cobden was not then 
 living to receive it ; and in all those years the firm did 
 not find in its employment a more faithful, devoted, and 
 withal kindly man, than Mr. Saunders.
 
 212 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A RECOGNITION. 
 
 "TTOTV nice Jemmy looks in his new suit," Nora 
 -*--*- said to Bess, as they were preparing for their 
 early morning exodus. 
 
 " Yes," said Bess, " he looks as nice as when he first 
 came here." 
 
 " That was so long ago," Jernmy remarked, with 
 his chin at an unnatural elevation, giving his voice a 
 choking sound, for Nora was buttoning his jacket at 
 the neck. 
 
 " How long is it?" asked Nora. 
 
 u Six weeks," said Tom. 
 
 " And don't we earn enough?" asked Nora. 
 
 " O, yes," said Bess, cheerily. " 
 
 " We manage to get along, with the new work Bess 
 and I have now, and Mr. Salsby's letting us put off 
 paying the rent till next month," said Tom, more anx- 
 iously. " But it is going to be hard work to have the 
 two months' rent ready, when next month conies."
 
 A HF.COGNITION. 213 
 
 " We shall manage it," Bess said, hopefully ; and Tom 
 half smiled at her certainty about it. ' I must get 
 Biddy Crowley to wash your dress next, Nora," Bess 
 continued ; " Jemmy's looks so nice." 
 
 " Yes, do," said Jemmy. 
 
 Tom looked grave, but said nothing ; washing seemed 
 to him so expensive. 
 
 " I wish 3011 had a clean dress, too," Jemrny said, 
 as they walked along to meet Ned. " Then mamma 
 would know you ; but you never looked like that when 
 she took care of us." 
 
 " I should know her," said Nora. But the thought 
 grieved her notwithstanding. She felt ashamed of her 
 soiled and tumbled little dress, and remembered, with a 
 sad heaviness of heart, how fresh and nice it had been 
 when she first put it on, to go to New York, the morn- 
 ing that she left Campfields. It seemed a year ago, 
 instead of six weeks. \Vas her mother never coming to 
 find them ? And thinking such tilings, little Nora grew 
 so sad she could have cried. But she drove away the 
 sad thoughts, saying, 
 
 " Come, Jemmy, let 's run a little way." 
 
 The run soon ended. It was too warm. Besides, 
 Nora put her hand to her head, and noticed, for the first 
 time, that there was a heavy pain in her temples. " It 
 will go away, by and by," she thought, and went about 
 tier usual work. The day grew hotter and more sultry.
 
 2-1 THIS CniLDIlEX' OV AMITY COURT. 
 
 People did not seem to want the papers. It was hot 
 enou h for noon, long before noon came. The two 
 children were glad to creep into a shady spot, and sit 
 down for their luncheon. Nora smoothed down hor 
 dress with an air of disgust, and sighed. 
 
 " You must have it done to-night," announced Jem- 
 my, gravely ; for Biddy Crowley washed and ironed the 
 children's clothes at night, as they had but one suit 
 apiece. " It is ever so lon^ since it was washed." 
 
 " It was clean for Harry's funeral," Nora said, 
 softly. 
 
 " Yes, so was mine." And then the sad reminiscence 
 left them in silence. 
 
 As the noon wore on, the sun's rays grew fainter and 
 disappeared. Soft breezes of cooler air now and then 
 stole through the city streets. People began to look 
 anxiously upward as the}' hurried along. The cars and 
 omnibuses were crowded. The first, fresh breaths of 
 cooler air became cold gusts, and swept up the fine dust 
 of the streets into thick clouds. Men held on their 
 hats and buttoned their linen coats ; women c'asped 
 closer their flying draperies, and bont their heads to 
 meet the blast. Xora and Jemmy crept away to a shel- 
 tered doorway, and waited very still and quiet. From 
 their covert they watched the more care-laden ones who 
 had nice clothes to save, or a long way to go. But the 
 two children had no troubles. They were safe from th6
 
 A RECOGNITION. 215 
 
 drench of the shower, and they enjoyed the fresh breath 
 of the clouds and the funny sights of the street. 
 
 By and by the rain came ; first, a few astonished 
 drops, plump on the dry, hot sidewalk ; then a gust 
 brought a flock of them ; then a lull, and another pat- 
 ter of great drops. Two or three times this farce was 
 enacted, and then down came the shower, pelting and 
 dashing, splashing against the pavements, and washing 
 down the spouts and gutters. 0, it was a delicious rain ! 
 It was hard to keep Jemmy out of it ; it smelt so fresh 
 and felt so good, he longed to stand outside and let it 
 rain on him. Even he was a martyr to good clothes. 
 Nora could not let him spoil the clean suit Biddy had 
 just washed for him. The washing had cost too 
 much. 
 
 At last the shower was over ; the sun came smiling 
 out upon the drenched city, that seemed to smile mer- 
 rily back from its glistening stones, rippling streams, 
 and shining roofs. The air was fresh and cool, People 
 came tripping daintily out of their temporary shelters ; 
 and Nora and Jemmy went back to their work of sell- 
 ing papers. Ned had brought the evening editions just 
 before the storm came But now nobody wanted them. 
 Jt grew very discouraging. 
 
 " Let's go somewhere else," said Jemmy. 
 
 " I 'm sure I don t know where," Nora replied, with a 
 weary little sigh.
 
 216 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Down to the station where the cars come in, is a 
 good place," Jemmy suggested. 
 
 " "Well," slowly acquiesced Nora. 
 
 It was very busy at the station. The rain made no 
 difference there Trains came and went all the same, and 
 plenty of people came and went in them. Nora found 
 many customers for the evening papers. Jemmy, too, 
 was very useful in making sales. He scampered all about 
 the dim, cavernous place, across the tracks and through 
 the outward bound trains, to Nora's constant anxiety. 
 Out on the surrounding porch stood groups of reunited 
 friends, or parties looking for carriages Innumerable 
 coaches were drawn up there. Private equipages of 
 all degrees of grandeur, and the various styles of city 
 vehicles for conveying passengers. In among them 
 Jemmy dodged, or up and down amid the waiting peo- 
 ple on the platform. It was just what he liked, and he 
 was having his fill. He was very successful. Ever}' 
 one seemed willing to buy of the clean, bright, little 
 fellow. A gentleman at a carriage window beckoned. 
 Jemmy brought him a paper, and, turning to go back by 
 a different route, he leaped across a dirty puddle, arms 
 extended, papers in one hand and pennies in the other. 
 But as he sprang, a treacherous stone gave way, his foot 
 slipped, and down came Jemmy full length in the mud. 
 
 Jemmy was past his old habit of screaming. It had 
 disappeared since he had been received as partner in
 
 A RECOGNITION. 217 
 
 the paper-trade with Nora. Perhaps he recognized the 
 incompatibility of the demonstration with the dignity 
 of his position ; perhaps the dignified position pre- 
 vented the desire to express his feelings in that wa}-, 
 or abolished the feelings. However it had come about, 
 certain it is that Jemmy no longer lifted up his voice 
 in bitter wailing on every adequate occasion. One 
 shout, as a sort of signal to Nora, and Jemmy began 
 picking himself out of the mud like a brave little fel- 
 low. Nora flew to his side, but could only gaze in 
 blank dismay at the sheeted blackness of the little 
 clean linen suit. It was too bad ! 
 
 " "We must go straight home, Jemmy ! " she said, 
 sadly and gravely. 
 
 The gentleman in the carriage looked back, pityingly. 
 The carriage stopped again, unable to get ont of the 
 press of other travel. Nora looked up at it, and stood 
 as if suddenly chilled to a statue. For there were two 
 faces at the windows, and the other was that of a very 
 fair, sweet lady, with blue eyes full of kindness, and a 
 weallh of golden curls turned over a comb, peeping 
 from under the lace of her bonnet and veil. 
 
 Nora left Jemmy, and walked up to the carriage side 
 as if a magnet drew her there. 
 
 "Please do you know Miss Eva Roberts?" she 
 asked, for the lady's face seemed almost exactly like 
 the one she could just remember as that of the Miss
 
 218 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 Eva who had come to see her mother in Campfields so 
 long ago. 
 
 " There is n't any such person now," answered the 
 gentleman, quickly. 
 
 And Nora looked at him in surprise. But there was 
 a roguish twinkle i:i his eyes that seemed to be very 
 much arnused at something. 
 
 " AYliat is it you want?" asked the lady, kindly. " I 
 am Eva Roberts." 
 
 " O ! " cried Nora, looking up in delight. But some- 
 how sobs would come, and bur) ing her face in her hands, 
 she felt laughter and tears struggle for mastery of 
 her face. 
 
 " Open the door, Frank, and let me talk with her," 
 said the lady. 
 
 And soon Nora was silting inside the coach, drying 
 her tears, and hushing her joyful sobs to be able to speak ; 
 while Jemm}' stood by the door scraping off the mud, 
 to be fit to get into the carriage also. As he had fallen 
 on his face, he thought he might sit on the cushions 
 without injuring them. 
 
 " Now tell me what 3*011 wanted to see Eva Roberts 
 for," the lady asked, when the driver had been ordered 
 to wait. 
 
 " Because we 've lost our mother ; it 's ever so many 
 weeks now. We can't find her, and we thought per. 
 haps you could. She was wanting to see you."
 
 A RECOGNITION. 219 
 
 " But who is your mother? What is your name? " 
 
 " Nora Craig, and that's Jemmy." 
 
 " Nora Craig ! " cried the fair lady in delight ; and 
 before the astonished Nora could wink, Mrs. True had 
 taken her little brown chin in her gloved hand and 
 kissed her. 
 
 That brought the tears again. 
 
 "And you remember us? and 3*011 '11 help us find 
 mother ? " Nora said, brokenly, fighting bravely to keep 
 from crying, and let the smiles come without any quiv- 
 ers at her lips 
 
 " Certainly I will." 
 
 " Isn't it an omen of good luck, or something of that 
 sort, to bo met in this way by children, on the way to a 
 new home ? " asked the smiling gentleman, with more 
 seriousness in his pleasant eyes 
 
 " I don't know ; perhaps so," replied the young wife, 
 with a happy look on her face, as she reached a hand 
 to help Jemmy in, and told him to sit beside Mr. True. 
 " It seems so to me ; I am so glad to see them ! You 
 must te'.l mo all about it, where you live, and how you 
 lost your mother, so we can find her." 
 
 " We live in Amity Court," said Jemmy. 
 
 " Then we had better drive there first, and leave this 
 ^ oung man a-soak," laughed Frank True. 
 
 u O, dear! what ever shall I do with him? Don't 
 touch against the gentleman, Jemmy, or against ihc side
 
 220 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 of the carriage," said Nora, with a care-worn air that 
 quite touched the motherly heart of our old friend Eva 
 Roberts. 
 
 As the}' rode, Nora explained how Jemmy's suit had 
 been washed and ironed last night, and she was hoping 
 to have hers clean to-morrow, she had saved money 
 for it, but now Jemmy's must be washed" again. And 
 Eva True told Nora she had just come from Chicago 
 with her husband, and was to live in New York. She 
 had been travelling a long time and could not stop to- 
 day to hear all her story, but she would come to-morrow, 
 at noon, after she had been home, and was rested, and 
 able to help them find their mother. She kissed both 
 the children at parting, and Frank True gave Nora a 
 dollar-bill, saying, 
 
 " That will make both your little suits clean before 
 to-morrow, won't it ? " 
 
 " O, yes ! " cried Nora, joyfully. 
 
 Then they stood on the steps and watched the car- 
 riage drive away, and caught a last look at the sweet 
 face of their new friend, as it turned the corner. When 
 even the two trunks on the rack behind had disappeared, 
 and the rumble of the wheels was lost amid that of 
 myriad others, Nora and Jemmy turned and went up- 
 stairs .
 
 RESTORATION. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RESTORATION. 
 
 THERE were twelve little narrow cot-beds in one 
 room. The frames were all of iron, and painted 
 green. The coverlets were all white, and tucked snugly 
 in at the sides. In some of the beds la)' pale and 
 weary women, who seemed to enjoy the peace and quiet 
 of the place. On others, patients tired, though dressed, 
 were lying on the outside, being not yet able to sit up 
 all da)'. Other cots were smooth and neat as when first 
 spread up for the day. By one of these sat a pale, 
 thin woman with an anxious face. On the floor before 
 and around her lay many things that she was busily 
 putting into a valise. One or two garments were evi- 
 dently her own ; but then there were little night-gowns 
 and a clean light suit for a little boy. But no children 
 were to be seen at the hospital. Where were the own- 
 ers of those little garments she folded so tenderly away 
 in the great valise ? Alas ! that was the question that 
 had haunted the half-crazed mind of the longing mother
 
 222 THE CHILDREN CF AMITY COURT. 
 
 these many weeks. Xo sooner had the surgeon re- 
 placed the bones of her injured head, and conscious- 
 ness returned, than Hannah Craig's first painful breath 
 framed the question, 
 
 * Where are my children? " 
 
 Ko one knew. Not one of those who nursed her 
 tender!}' all these weeks, could find the slightest clew of 
 the little ones that the poor woman pined for, in a help- 
 less agony, every day. There was nothing but to get 
 well, and then go herse!f to seek for them. So Han- 
 nah set about getting well. She was a sturdy, healthy 
 woman, and the bones in her broken limbs soon knit 
 firmly together ; but the wounded head was a more 
 serious affair. Her anxiety did not help the matter, 
 and it was a long, slow piece of work for both doctor 
 and patient, before the fractured skull and tender 
 brain beneath were so healed that the kind physi.'ian 
 pronounced it safe for her to leave the hospital. 
 
 But the time had come at last ; and the few posses- 
 sions that had been brought with her to the hospital, 
 Hannah eagerly put into the valise once more, and 
 prepared, with an anxious sort of joy, to go forth on 
 the search she so longed to begin, yet dreaded, lest 
 it fail. She was still weak. The carriage that before 
 she could not afford, must be afforded now. She 
 drove to Jane Cook's, where she left her valise and 
 told her story, to the great wonder and kind sympathy
 
 RESTORATION. 223 
 
 of her old friend. Then she went out on foot. First 
 the police-station was visited, but no such lost children 
 had been found and reported there. Then she went to 
 the street where the accident had occurred. She walked 
 back and forth in an aimless way, and made some in- 
 quiries at one or two poor little stores near the spot 
 where she had lost them. But no one knew. How 
 should an}' one remember for two whole months, if he 
 had known at the time ? The unusual exertion wearied 
 Hannah out of all proportion to the distance she 
 walked. The discouragement wearied her yet more. 
 She must return to Jane's for this day, and try again 
 to-morrow. But how to try ? She did not know what 
 more she could do ; and it seemed very hopeless walk- 
 ing up and down these great busy city streets, with their 
 hurrying, indifferent throngs, that seemed to have swept 
 away and swallowed up forever her children. 
 
 As she thought thus, walking feebly down the wide 
 sidewalk of the avenue, Hannah felt a dizzying faint- 
 ness come over her. She had eaten nothing since her 
 breakfast at llie hospital and it was now far past noon. 
 She sat down in a doorstep till the faintness should 
 pass away. People stared at her as they passed. 
 She was too well-dressed and lady-like in appearance 
 to be sitting there. One woman asked if she was 
 sick. 
 
 " No ; only a little weak and faint. It will be gone
 
 224 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 in a moment/' said Hannah. And with a glance of 
 kindly sympathy the woman moved reluctantly on. 
 
 The policeman kept an eye on her, as he paced back 
 and forth. The newsboys on the curbstone noticed her, 
 and a man in the store brought her a glass of water. 
 The water refreshed her, and she said, thankfully, 
 
 " I shall be all right in a moment with that," as she 
 returned the glass. 
 
 Ned watched her from the farther side of the walk. 
 He was sorry for her ; and then, too, the face troubled 
 him, for it seemed as if he had somewhere seen it 
 before. 
 
 "See the paper, marm, while you rest?" he said, 
 thrusting a copy into her hand, more from a desire to 
 do something kindly for her, than because she was 
 likely to want it. 
 
 Hannah took it mechanically, with a faint " Thank 
 you." She held it, but did not try to read it. The diz- 
 ziness came back for a moment, and she rested her head 
 on her hand. As the blur passed away from h T eyes, 
 and she found herself staring fixedly at the tightly- 
 clenched paper, a name seemed to form itself before 
 her bewildered sight. She rubbed her eyes, and feared 
 she was again becoming delirious. Yet there it was, 
 her own name, printed in the paper. What could it 
 mean ? Slowly the surprise brought back her scattered 
 senses, and she read the notice :
 
 RESTOKATION. 225 
 
 HANNAH CRAIG 
 
 can learn something of her children* by calling at No. 25 
 F Street. 
 
 How the paper danced again before her eyes ! But 
 it was joy, and not despair, now, and her strength 
 seemed returning. 
 
 She fumbled nervously in her pocket for pennies to 
 pay the sewsboy ; but Ned only answered, heartily, 
 
 " Keep it, inarm ; that 's what I gave it to you for. I 
 on'y wished it was something that would do you good." 
 
 k ' It has done me good, then, young man ; for it has 
 told me just what I wanted to know. And I thank you 
 a hundred times for putting it into my hand ! I should 
 never have thought of buying a paper." 
 
 " Is there anything else I can do for you, marm?" 
 said Ned, feeling an interest in the strange, yet familiar 
 face, that he could not himself explain or understand. 
 
 " I shall have to go in a carriage," said Hannah, 
 " for I find I can't walk/' And she took hold of the 
 lamp-post to steady herself, as the dreadful faintness 
 seemed returning. ''"Will you be so kind as to fetch 
 one for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " cried Ned, who would like no fun 
 better than such au errand. ' ; Come into this store and 
 sit down, and I '11 have a carriage here in five minutes." 
 
 Eva Roberts, who was now Mrs. Frank True, did
 
 22G THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 not forget her promise to tlio children, and the next 
 da}' at the appointed hour she was toiling up the long 
 flights of stairs to the homo of tho Canton children. 
 Xora and Jemmy were awaiting her, and eagerly told 
 their little story. The lady's face grew grave as she 
 listened, but she would not tell them of the fear she 
 felt lest their mother should never again be found and 
 restored to them. 
 
 " Bat, come, I must take you home with jpe now," 
 she said. " We will talk the matter all over, and see 
 what can be done." 
 
 " O, I knew you 'd help us, and make everything 
 come out right, i f only we could find you ! " Nora 
 cried, joyfully. "But we didn't know where to find 
 you ; and mother said 3*011 were away in Chicago to 
 live, and might not come back for a long time. But 
 I always remembered 3*011." 
 
 "Did }*ou?" said Eva, smiling. "I have been 
 living in Chicago for two years past ; but now I have 
 come back to New York to stay. Come, get 3'our 
 hats, and we will go." 
 
 44 Hullo ! "' was Jemmy's su l;len ami jo3'ful excla- 
 mation. He had been very quiet during Mrs. Truc's 
 visit ; for he did not at all remember her, and he was 
 trying to decide how he should like her. But now an 
 old friend appeared, and ho dropped the difficult 
 problem to run forward and welcome him.
 
 RESTORATION. 227 
 
 The others turned, and saw the landlord standing 
 in the doorway. 
 
 Mrs. True rose and held out her hand to him, with 
 a merry little laugh. 
 
 " Well, this is very odd ! " she said. 
 
 " So I think," he replied, drawing a chair and sit- 
 ting down, with one of Jemmy's plump little hands 
 clasped in his. " When did you arrive?" 
 
 " Only yesterday. Those children met me the very 
 first thing. They are the children of my old nurse, 
 Hannah Craig." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Mr. Salsby, looking at the chil- 
 dren with new interest. 
 
 " I am going to take them home with me, and see 
 what can be done for them. They seem to be drifting 
 about in a very helpless condition." 
 
 " She is going to find our mother," said Nora, con- 
 fidently. 
 
 " I am going to try," replied Mrs. True. 
 
 " But, if you please," said Nora, " I don't like to go 
 off' without telling Ned. He will be wondering, and 
 think something has happened to us." 
 
 " Write on a card, and leave it here," suggested Mr. 
 Salsby ; and as Mrs. True had none with her, he pro- 
 duced one, and wrote the needed information, placing 
 it conspicuously in the middle of the table, where Bess 
 could not fail to see it.
 
 228 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 " But tell me how I came to find you here ? " asked 
 Mrs. True, as she and Mr. Salsby rose to go. 
 
 " He 's the landlord ; did n't you know ? " Jemmy 
 volunteered. 
 
 " I found this family of children the Cantons here 
 in one of my houses, where they had suffered through 
 a long, cold winter, and lost their mother, perhaps in 
 consequence of the ill-kept and unrepaired condition 
 of the building ; and I felt I owed them a debt that 
 I have not yet been, shall never be able to pay. I 
 have concluded to make this room tight and com- 
 fortable, put into it sufficient suitable and convenient 
 furniture, and look after them carefully myself that 
 they come to no want this winter. In that way they 
 can keep together, and have a home of their own 
 for a while longer. Then before another year is 
 past, they must be better provided for in some 
 way. I can't tell yet how to do it. Tom will do 
 very well where he is ; but Bess and Ned must be 
 put to school. I feel as if the mother who died 
 in this cold, cheerless attic of mine, last winter, 
 had left to me the duty of providing for her chil- 
 dren. One the little invalid and cripple has died 
 this summer. He has gone to better care than earth 
 could afford him. But the rest are mine." Tears 
 stood in the kind, brown eyes of the young landlord, 
 as he told the conviction that had come upon him, on
 
 RESTORATION. 229 
 
 the night when he watched by little Harry. He held 
 Jemmy's hand closer ; and Jemmy, no way resenting 
 the tightened clasp, as used to be his wont, half uncon- 
 sciously with his round, brown fingers smoothed softly 
 the slender, long, white hand of the fine gentleman. 
 
 Tears were in Mrs. True's eyes, too. She wanted to 
 speak to him, to say how she appreciated and sym- 
 pathized in his resolve. But the words did not come, 
 so she only looked up with a grave and gentle smile, 
 as she tied on Nora's hat. 
 
 " And these two seem to be mine," she said, as she 
 took Nora's hand. 
 
 " Until we find mother," answered Nora. 
 
 At the outer door Mr. Salsby bade them good- 
 morning, and Mrs. True with the two children walked 
 
 rapidly away to F Street, where in a pleasant 
 
 house was her new home. 
 
 The children's story was again rehearsed when Mr. 
 True came home to dinner, and he promised to institute 
 inquiries at the police-stations concerning what became 
 of the woman who was run over in Kirk Street nearly 
 two months ago, and also to put a notice in the papers. 
 Still, to both the prospect looked very discouraging 
 that they should ever hear more than that Hannah was 
 dead and long since buried in the stranger's lot in 
 some distant church-yard. 
 
 Nora and Jemmy remained with Mrs. True, and the
 
 230 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 more willingly as little Nora was greatly worn down 
 with the hard work and anxiety she had undergone for 
 so long. Now that she felt it lifted from her, she sank 
 into a sort of listless languor from which it was difficult 
 to arouse her. She lay quietly on the sofa. She com- 
 plained of no pain or sickness, but her eyes were con- 
 stantly closed in a light doze, and she cared little to 
 look up, speak, or even to rise and eat at the regular 
 meal-times. Mrs. True felt anxious about her all day 
 long. Jemmy, however, was wide awake and full of 
 delight at his new position. He declared the house was 
 almost as grand as that of Bella "Waters, and revelled 
 exceedingly in the dignity of living in one so nearly 
 like hers. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of the second day that a 
 carriage stopped before the door, and the tidy little 
 servant-girl announced a lady down-stairs. 
 
 " What name ? " asked Mrs. True. 
 
 " She only sent up the newspaper for you to read 
 that," replied the girl, presenting the paper and pointing 
 out the advertisement for Hannah Craig. 
 
 Mrs. True turned white with surprise and pleasure. 
 She stopped a moment irresolute. But she would run 
 no risk of disappointing the children, so she went down 
 alone to see what the news might be. 
 
 In the parlor she started with shocked wonder at the 
 thin, worn, almost haggard face of Hannah Craig.
 
 RESTORATION. 231 
 
 No less astonished was Hannah to see, in place of the 
 strange grand lady she expected, her own Eva Roberts. 
 
 " Miss Eva ! " she cried, and then she laughed and 
 sobbed together. This first glad surprise prepared her 
 for more good news. 
 
 " Hannah, you poor, poor Hannah ! What has hap- 
 pened to you?" murmured Mrs. True, taking her 
 weeping old nurse in her arms, and putting her ten- 
 derly back in a chair, while she gently loosened the 
 strings, and removed her bonnet. 
 
 "First, please, where are the children?" asked 
 Hannah, brokenly, as she wiped her face, and tried to 
 calm her shaken nerves. 
 
 " Up-stairs, all well and safe. I '11 call them." 
 
 " Yes, do ! " 
 
 In a moment more, Nora had sprung into her 
 mother's arms, and Jemmy was rolling on the floor at 
 her feet in an ecstasy of rejoicing that found appropriate 
 vent in shouts of laughter. Jemmy laughed, but little 
 Norn could only weep, while the joyful mother, weak with 
 her long sickness, her weary day's search and disappoint- 
 ments, and her fasting, wept and laughed together in 
 an incoherent manner. Mrs. True observed it, and 
 guessed the weakness that produced it. Gently she 
 drew the children up and soothed them, finding time 
 meanwhile to ring, and order a cup of tea and lunch for 
 her guest, as she insisted Hannah should be. The
 
 232 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 carriage was dismissed, a messenger sent for the valise 
 from Jane Cook's house, with a little note of explana- 
 tion from Mrs. True ; and, after the lunch, Hannah 
 was persuaded to lie down and rest, with the children 
 still beside her. She could not bear to have them out 
 of her sight. IJer eager eyes feasted on their bright 
 happy faces, but Mrs. True insisted on deferring the 
 story of their adventures till to-morrow. AH the lan- 
 guor and Ustlessness seemed to go out of Nora with 
 her mother's return. 
 
 " I knew you would come. I knew we should find 
 you," she said, Qver and over, returning her mother's 
 eager, happy gaze with one almost the same. 
 
 Hannah Crai^ was really better than she seemed. 
 The day's exertion and trial had been too much for her ; 
 but its happy ending, with the added rest and qiuct 
 Mrs. True gladly afforded her, soon restored her strength. 
 Taking her children with her, she spent a day or two 
 with Jane Cook. B.ut before she started on the business 
 of seeking opportunities for laundry-work, Mrs. True 
 learned all her plan an,d gladly volunteered to see what 
 she could do for her. It was little, perhaps ; but she 
 could at least talk with her aunt Meredith, and no one 
 had more of such work than she, though she was seldom 
 willing to put out any of it. Uut Mrs. Meredith 
 remembered Hannah, and might make a change in her 
 favor. Mrs. Donaldson was quite exultant when she
 
 RESTORATION. 233 
 
 found that little Jemmy Craig was one so well deserv- 
 ing of the interest she had felt in him. But there was 
 no occasion now for her to think of adopting him. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith and her daughters were on the eve of 
 departure for their long-projected journey, when Eva 
 True called to talk about Hannah, and were in great 
 distress at having just discovered the cook to be dis- 
 honest. They did not like to go away and leave her in 
 the house as they had intended ; yet there was no time 
 to find another. And just here Hannah proved what 
 Mrs. Meredith unhesitatingly pronounced a " God- 
 send." She could plainly see "the hand of Provi- 
 dence " in the chance that relieved her of her trouble 
 and promoted her intended journey. Hannah was faith- 
 ful and reliable. She should come and take the cook's 
 place ; keep the house open and in order for Mr. 
 Meredith, and ready against her return. 
 
 Eva went home and made the proposal to Hannah. 
 The tears and smiles came over Hannah's face, as she 
 said, 
 
 " Well, now, it would be happy-like to be working 
 in the old house again ; but I should miss seeing your 
 face, Miss Eva, sadly." 
 
 " O, I shall run over and see how yon are getting 
 along, very often,' was the reply. 
 
 "And I wouldn't like to stay after t'ae lady comes 
 back, you know," stipulated Hannah.
 
 234 THE CHILDREN OP AMITY COURT. 
 
 " Of course not ; I don't think she will want you to 
 do that. But it will give you a chance to find rooms 
 for yourself, and I think there '11 be no trouble about 
 your finding work." 
 
 So Hannah agreed to keep the familiar house, no-.v 
 Mrs. Meredith's, open and in order while the ladies were 
 away. 
 
 Mr. Salsby, calling on Mrs. True and inquiring for 
 the children, heard the story of their mother, and later 
 proved a most efficient friend in securing for her the 
 work she wanted. 
 
 It was nearly sunset, ten long weeks from the bright 
 June morning when Hannah Craig and her children 
 left their quiet home to go to New York. Mr. Beeler 
 had just locked the door of the little barber-shop, 
 and bowed farewell to a man who walked away down 
 the street. Mr. Beeler passed on, and, stopping a 
 moment, looked up gravely at the house-door that had 
 so long been closed. lie sighed and shook his head, 
 saying, half aloud, 
 
 " I hops it's all right. The man is good, and will 
 be a sure tenant. She wanted it let ; but why does n't 
 she write?'' 
 
 He started at a tug upon his coat-skirt. Jemmy 
 Craig's round face laughed up into his, as he cried, 
 
 " How d'you do, Mr. Beeler?" 
 
 And there was Hannah, with Nora, hurrying towards
 
 RESTORATION. 2J5 
 
 him. He looked wll sorts of anxious inquiries, as he 
 shook their hands warmly ; but he asked no questions, 
 and took them all away home with him to supper. 
 There his soft-voiced, sad-eyed daughter, Ceely, come 
 only a few weeks ago from Chicago, gave them a 
 kindly welcome, and a warm tea which greatly re- 
 freshed Hannah, and was certainly well patronized 
 by the children. 
 
 Hannah insisted on returning to her own hou^e 
 for the night ; and, the long pleasant summer evening 
 favoring her, she opened and aired it, and had begun 
 to feel quite at home in it once more before she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Mr. Beeler had found a desirable customer to take 
 the lease of the place which Hannah could no longer 
 use to advantage. A few days later, and the change 
 was made. Hannah cleared her house, packed away 
 her furniture, and went back to the city, where Mrs. 
 Meredith had impatiently waited for her two days 
 beyond the appointed lime for their departure. When 
 the summer days were over, and the ladies returned, 
 Mr. Salsby had repaired and refitted in tidy, comfort- 
 able fashion the end house in Amity Court ; and on 
 the first floor were just the right kind of two rooms 
 for Hannah Craig. The Cantons were made quite 
 comfortable in their attic ; and though they worked 
 busily all winter, Bess left the carpet-room, and had
 
 236 THE CHILDREN OF AMITY COURT. 
 
 work supplied at home. Part of it Was sewing, and 
 part was helping Hannah iron^ for which she had her 
 pay by the hour, and at which she soori became 
 almost as expert and dainty with delicate fabrics as 
 her teacher, Hannah, herself. 
 
 Mr. Salsby did not rest when he had repaired the 
 end house of Amity Court. He went on refitting all 
 the buildings he owned there. When it was half done^ 
 the other landlords of the Court, seeing how the con- 
 dition and character of the tenants rose with the 
 improvements, followed the good example, and Amity 
 Court grew to have quite a different appearance, 
 
 " It's fine days we've fallen on, when the landlords 
 will right up the houses for us," said Biddy Crowley, 
 as she surveyed with delight her enlarged and well- 
 appointed kitchen. " An' it 'g all those childer, too." 
 
 And throughout the place, every cheered and pleased 
 tenant of ft neatly-kept house firmly believes to this 
 day that the new and sadly-needed improvements all 
 came at first through those six clean, industrious, well- 
 behaved children of Amity Court.
 
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