Hilda's Mascot Part 1

HILDA'S MASCOT.

by Mary E. Ireland.

CHAPTER I-THE EBONY BOX

One evening many years ago a man, accompanied by a girl and a boy, was pa.s.sing slowly along one of the streets of Baltimore that led to an orphan asylum.

He was above medium height, and although past thirty, was youthful, almost boyish in appearance, with his fair complexion, blonde hair and slight moustache; a handsome man save for the pallor and attenuation of his clear-cut features and the look of hopeless grief in his fine eyes.

His left hand, white and shapely, held that of the little boy who was chatting merrily, and in his right was a package-of which, though bulky, he appeared as oblivious as though his hand were empty.

Beside him walked the girl, whose watchful interest in the package betokened ownership, though intrusted for a time to another's care, but for the safety of which she was responsible.

She had the clear olive complexion, black hair and the brilliant black eyes of the boy, but unlike him, was thin and almost as pallid as the man. But there was no la.s.situde in her movements; instead they were full of energy, and her meagre face, while intelligent and attractive, lacked repose and the promise of patient endurance of life's trials and disappointments.

"We never were on this street before," she commented, after walking several squares in silence. "Where are we going; tell me?"

There was no response, and she continued, "Does mamma know that you are taking Horace and me away from her? Why don't you talk?"

A sigh, almost a groan, escaped the lips of the man, and he whispered some words which the children did not understand.

An angry flush arose to the girl's face, and her eyes sparkled with the tears that filled them.

"I won't go one step further unless you tell me where we are going," she said, halting and stamping her foot impatiently.

The man seemed to rouse from his abstraction with effort, and in a voice scarcely audible to the eager listener, replied, "We are going where you will see many children, where you will have enough to eat, a comfortable bed and good clothes; you will have a much better home than the one you are leaving."

"But I have good clothes now and pretty ones," and she looked with an air of satisfaction upon the package. "Will mamma come?"

The man trembled with suppressed emotion, which was noticed by the boy, who looked up into his face and waited for the answer.

"Your mother will be given a home where she will suffer no more sorrow nor distress of body or mind," he answered, and again relapsed into silence until they reached the asylum, were admitted and stood in the presence of the matron.

"Have you brought these children for admission?" she asked.

The man nodded; he could not summon voice to speak.

"Where is your permit?"

For answer he turned as quickly as his weakness would allow, placed the package upon a chair and left the building.

"Well, this is a strange proceeding, I must say," commented the matron, looking from the window at the retreating figure pa.s.sing down the walk with uncertain steps. "Is that man your father?"

Something in the tone and manner aroused the quick temper of the girl and she refused to answer, and silenced the boy by a look when appeal was made to him.

"What is your name?" continued the matron, turning again to her.

"Jerusha Flint."

"How old are you?"

"Ten last June."

"Is the boy your brother?"

"Yes."

"What is his name and age?"

"Horace Flint, and six years."

"Where is your mother?" was next asked.

"At home, sick."

"Who sent you here?"

"n.o.body; we came to have a good home and plenty to eat. I have pretty clothes in there; I helped mamma make them," and she nodded complacently toward the package on the chair.

"You helped indeed," smiled the matron, glancing down at the diminutive creature before her.

"I did help! I can sew!" cried Jerusha, trembling with anger and weakness; "mamma taught me, and says I sew well for a child. See, here is my thimble," and she took it from her pocket and placed it upon her thin finger.

"Yes, for a child; we do not expect much from a girl of ten. Let me see your clothes."

This request brought a gratified smile to the grave lips of the little girl; she untied the package with deft fingers and took from it a pink cashmere gown, soft and fine in texture, made in the latest style and with artistic skill.

"Who gave you this lovely dress, child?"

"Mamma, I told you. We made it out of one she wore at boarding-school, and this, and this," and she took up one of dark blue cashmere, and one of crimson, both of the finest grade.

"But, child, these beautiful dresses will be of no use here."

"They _will_ be of use," cried Jerusha excitedly. "I heard mamma say that if my grandfather would take me to his home I would wear pretty clothes like these every day."

"But you are not at your grandfather's; you are in an orphan asylum, and must wear that uniform."

"What is an asylum, and what is a uniform?" was asked wonderingly.

"Come to the school-room and I will show you," and leading the way, she opened the door into a large room where a number of children were studying their lessons for the next day.

"Now you see the way the girls dress here, and you will dress the same if you stay."

"But I will not dress that way, and I will wear my pretty dresses or I will not stay."

"We will see first whether you can stay," commented the matron coldly.

"In the meantime you will remain in this room and listen to the children during the half hour they study, then you can go with them to the playground," and she signalled to one of the teachers to give the newcomer a place.