The Story of Patsy Part 2

"Fits! Good gracious, child! What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I has 'em" (composedly). "I kicks the footboard clean off when I has 'em bad, all along o' my losin' them three year! Why, yer got an orgind, hain't yer? Where's the handle fur to make it go? Couldn't I blow it for yer?"

"It's a piano, not an organ; it doesn't need blowing."

"Oh, yes, I see one in a s'loon; I seen such an orful pretty lady play on one. She give her silk dress a _swish_ to one side, so! and then she c.o.c.ked her head over sideways like a bird, and then her hands, all jinglin' over with rings, went a-whizzin' up and down them black and white teeth just like sixty!"

"You know, Patsy, I can't bear to have my little Kindergarten boys stand around the saloon doors; it isn't a good place, and if you want to be good men you must learn to be good little boys first, don't you see?"

"Well, I wanted some kind of fun. I seen a cirkis wunst,--that was fun!

I seen it through a hole; it takes four bits to git inside the tent, and me and another feller found a big hole and went halveys on it. First he give a peek, and then I give a peek, and he was bigger'n me, and he took orful long peeks, he did, 'nd when it come my turn the ladies had just allers jumped _through_ the hoops, or the horses was gone out; 'nd bimeby he said mebbe we might give the hole a stretch and make it a little mite bigger, it wouldn't do no harm, 'nd I'd better cut it, 'cos his fingers was lame; 'nd I just cutted it a little mite, 'n' a cop come up behind and h'isted us and I never seen no more cirkis; but I went to Sunday-school wunst, and it warn't so much fun as the cirkis!"

I thought I would not begin moral lectures at once, but seize a more opportune time to compare the relative claims of Sunday-school and circus.

"You've got things fixed up mighty handy here, haven't yer? It's most as good as Woodward's Gardens,--fishes--'nd c'nary birds--'nd flowers--'nd pictures--is there stories to any of 'em?"

"Stories to every single one, Patsy! We've just turned that corner by the little girl feeding chickens, and to-morrow we shall begin on that splendid dog by the window."

Patsy's face was absolutely radiant with excitement. "Jiminy! I'm glad I got in in time for that!--'nd ain't that a bear by the door thar?"

"Yes; that's a mother bear with cubs."

"Has he got a story too?"

"Everything has a story in this room."

"Jiminy! 'ts lucky I didn't miss that one! There's a splendid bear in a s'loon on Fourth Street,--mebbe the man would leave him go a spell if you told him what a nice place you hed up here. Say, them fishes keep it up lively, don't they?--s'pose they're playin' tag?"

"I shouldn't wonder," I said smilingly; "it looks like it. Now, Patsy, I must be going home, but you shall come to-morrow, at nine o'clock surely, remember! and the children will be so glad to have another little friend. You'll dress yourself nice and clean, won't you?"

"Well, I should smile! but these is the best I got. I got another part to this hat, though, and another pocket belongs with these britches."

(He alternated the crown and rim of a hat, but was never extravagant enough to wear them at one time.) "Ain't I clean? I cleaned myself by the feelin'!"

"Here's a gla.s.s, dear; how do you think you succeeded?"

"Jiminy! I didn't get much of a sweep on that, did I now? But don't you fret, I've got the lay of it now, and I'll just polish her off red-hot to-morrer, 'n don't you forgit it!"

"Patsy, here's a warm bun and a gla.s.s of milk; let's eat and drink together, because this is the beginning of our friendship; but please don't talk street words to Miss Kate; she doesn't like them. I'll do everything I can to make you have a good time, and you'll try to do a few things to please me, won't you?"

Patsy looked embarra.s.sed, ate his bit of bun in silence, and after twirling his hat-crown for a few seconds. .h.i.tched out of the door with a backward glance and muttered remark which must have been intended for farewell.

CHAPTER III.

TWO 'PRENTICE HANDS AT PHILANTHROPY.

"With aching hands and bleeding feet, We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day and wish 't were done.

Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern."

Patsy had scarcely gone when the door opened again the least bit, and a sunny face looked in, that of my friend and helper.

"Not gone yet, Kate?"

"No, but I thought I sent you away long ago."

"Yes, I know, but I've been to see Danny Kern's mother: there is nothing to be done; we must do our best and leave it there. Was that a boy I met on the stairs?"

"Yes,--that is, he is a boy in the sense that he is not a girl. Oh, Helen, such a story! We must take him!"

She sank helplessly on one of the children's tables. "Now, my dear guide, philosopher, and friend, did you happen to notice my babies this morning? They were legion! Our mothers must have heard that the Flower Mission intended giving us some Thanksgiving dinners, for there were our five inevitable little cat's-paws,--the identical five that applied just before the Christmas tree, disappeared in vacation, turned up the day before we went to the Mechanics' Fair, were lost to sight the day after, presented themselves previous to the Woodward's Garden expedition, and then went into retirement till to-day. Where am I going to 'sit' another child, pray? They were two in a seat and a dozen on the floor this morning. It isn't fair to them, in one sense, for they don't get half enough attention."

"You are right, dear; work half done is worse than wasted; but it isn't fair to this child to leave him where he is."

"Oh, I know. I feel Fridayish, to tell the truth. I shall love humanity again by Monday. Have we money for more chairs or benches?"

"Certainly not."

"You'll have to print an appeal for chairs; and the children may wear out the floor sitting on it before the right people read it!"

"Yes; and oh, Helen, a printed appeal is such a dead thing, after all.

If I could only fix on a printed page Danny Kern's smile when he conquered his temper yesterday, put into type that hand clasp of Mrs.

Finnigan's that sent such a thrill of promise to our hearts, show a subscriber Mrs. Guinee's quivering lips when she thanked us for the change in Joe,--why, we shouldn't need money very long."

"That is true. What a week we have had, Kate,--like a little piece of the millennium!"

"You must not be disappointed if next week isn't as good; that could hardly be. Let's see,--Mrs. Daniels began it on Monday morning, didn't she, by giving the caps for the boys?"

"Yes," groaned Helen dismally, "a generous but misguided benefactress!

Forty-three caps precisely alike save as to size! What scenes of carnage we shall witness when we distribute them three times a day!"

"We must remedy that by sewing labels into the crowns, each marked with the child's name in indelible ink."

"Exactly,--what a charming task! I shall have to write my cherubs'

names, I suppose,--most of them will take a yard of tape apiece. I already recall Paulina Strozynski, Mercedes McGafferty, and Sigismund Braunschweiger."

"And I, Maria Virginia de Rejas Perkins, Halfdan Christiansen, and Americo Vespucci Garibaldi."

"This is our greatest misfortune since the donation of the thirty-seven little red plaid shawls. Well, good-night. By the way, what's his name?"

"Patsy Dennis. I shall take him. I'll tell you more on Monday. Please step into Gilbert's and buy a comfortable little cane-seated armchair, larger than these, and ask one of your good Samaritans to make a soft cushion for it. We'll give him the table that we had made for Johnny Ca.s.s. Poor Johnny! I am sorry he has a successor so soon."

In five minutes I was taking my homeward walk, mind and heart full of my elfish visitor, with his strange and ancient thoughts, his sharp speeches and queer fancies. Would he ever come back, or would one of those terrible spasms end his life before I was permitted to help and ease his crooked body, or pour a bit of mother-love into his starved little heart?

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS HELEN.]