Jessie's Parrot

by Joanna H. Mathews

  III.

  _JESSIE AND HER GRANDFATHER._

  Where was Bessie?

  When Lily and Belle turned to run from the figure which Hattie pointedout as that of the man who attacked her, she started with them, quiteas much alarmed as the other two; and, if they thought about it at all,they imagined she was close behind them. But she had gone only a fewsteps when she heard a voice, a weak voice, calling after herself andher companions, and saying,--

  "Don't be afraid, little girls; don't run away, little ladies. Couldn'tye stop a minute to help an old man?"

  Something in the tones touched the tender little heart of Bessie; andshe checked her steps, ready to start again, however, on the shortestnotice, and looked back at the old man.

  A very old man he seemed, and a very feeble old man, scarcely able, ifhe had the will, to run after active little girls, or to do them anyharm. His hair was very white, and his face pinched and thin; but helooked kind and gentle, as Bessie saw, even from the distance at whichshe stood; and her fears died away as she looked at him.

  The old man sat upon a bank; and Bessie stood hesitating and watchinghim, trying to make up her mind to go and ask if he was in trouble. Shesaw that he had dropped his stick, which had rolled away, and lay onthe ground just beyond his reach.

  "Would you do an old man a kindness, and give him his stick, littleMiss?" he called to her, pointing at the same time to the cane. "Whydid ye all run that way? I wouldn't hurt a hair of your heads, morethan I would of my own Jessie's."

  This reference to the "hair on their heads" was rather unfortunate, forit startled Bessie again, and brought back the cause for alarm. Was theold man really in trouble, and unable to reach his stick? she thought,or was this only a trap to catch her, and deprive her of her curls?

  So she stood still, hesitating; and the old man, as if in despair ofreceiving any help from her, tried to raise himself a little, andstretched out his trembling hand towards the stick. But it was useless;it lay too far; he could not rise without its aid, and he sank backagain, looking more helpless and feeble than before. This was too muchfor Bessie. She could not bear to see suffering and not try to relieveit; and it seemed to her that it would be cruel and wicked not to lenda helping hand to this poor old creature.

  "Please, dear Father in heaven, not to let him hurt me," she whisperedsoftly to herself; and then walked slowly towards the old man, herlittle heart beating painfully, it must be confessed, in spite of herpetition, and the trust that it would be heard.

  Keeping at as great a distance as it would allow, she stooped for thestick, and held it out at arm's length to the owner.

  "Now may He that blesses the cup of cold water given in His name rewardyou," said the old man, as he took it from the timid little hand; "butwhy are you frightened at me, dear, and why did the other little onesrun as if they were scared half out of their lives? When you passed allin the big stage, laughing and so gay, it put a warmth into my heartthat hasn't been there for many a day, and I b'lieve it was your ownloving, little face that smiled back at me as I waved my hat to youfor a blessing on your joy. Why, I wouldn't hurt a living thing; leastof all, little girls that always mind me of my Jessie. Though it'sdifferent enough that you are from her, my poor lamb," he added in alower tone, which Bessie could not have heard had she not now drawnnearer to him.

  For with the first words of the old man's speech, all fear had vanishedfrom her mind. He had called down a blessing on her in a name which sheknew and loved, and she could not be afraid of him longer. Besides,now that she looked at him more closely and with unprejudiced eyes,she recognized him, and remembered how, as he said, when the stage hadpassed him with its merry load, he had taken off his hat and feeblycheered and waved to them as they went by.

  "Don't you try to cut off little girls' hair?" she could not helpasking, in spite of her new confidence.

  "I?" answered the old man surprised; "and why would I do that? Ah! Isee. Did you take me for _that_ fellow? My little lady, they have himfast in jail, as he deserves; but how did you ever think I would do athing like that?"

  "A little girl said you tried to cut hers," answered the child.

  "Then that little girl slandered an old man who had never harmed her,"he said gravely. "I understand; she's frightened you for her own fun,or whatever it may be. Well, I'm up now,"--he had slowly and painfullyraised himself by the help of his cane,--"and I'd better be movingaway, or the sight of me after that may spoil your pleasure. It washard in her to turn you against one who would never have harmed you;but you're a sensible little lady, and a kind, and you'll never be theworse for doing a good turn to an old man."

  "Don't go away," said Bessie, "the other children won't be afraid ofyou when I tell them Hattie--was--was--mistaken." Bessie feared thatHattie's tale was more than a mistake, but she would not accuse heruntil she was sure. "They won't want you to go away, poor, lame man."

  "Jessie stays so long," he answered, looking about him helplessly. "Shesat me here to rest a while, and I think she can't know how long she'sbeen gone."

  Before Bessie could speak again, around the hedge came Maggie, whostopped short in amazement at seeing her sister standing talkingsociably to the dreaded old man. And with her curls all safe!

  Maggie could hardly believe her own eyes. She went forward more slowly,till Bessie called to her,--

  "O Maggie, dear! this old man wouldn't hurt us, or cut our hair for anything. He likes little girls, and it made him feel badly because we ranaway from him, and he is going away now 'cause he thinks we don't likehim. Come and tell him not to."

  Timid Maggie, feeling very doubtful, but determined to share hersister's risk, whatever that might be--she had almost forgotten thatHattie had confessed she only wanted to trick them all--drew stillnearer, and taking Bessie's hand, gazed up at the old man with eyesin which pity and sympathy began to struggle with her former fear. Helooked so poor and feeble and helpless, so little like doing harm toany one.

  And now came Dora and Gracie, who had followed Maggie in search ofBessie; and as the little group gathered about the old man, Bessiesaid,--

  "Where is your Jessie? Can we call her to you?"

  "I can't tell, little Miss," he answered. "I've been sitting here morethan an hour, I take it. Jessie was so eager about her parrot that shehas maybe forgotten how long she's been away. Ah! there she comes now."

  As he spoke, a child came running towards them, but seeing the groupabout her grandfather, paused in amazement at a short distance.

  It was the very same little girl to whom they had thrown sugar-plumsbut an hour since, and who had looked so disappointed. The childrenrecognized her immediately.

  "Why! that's the little girl who was not pleased with our sugar-plums,"said Bessie. "Is that your Jessie?"

  The old man beckoned to her, and she came forward.

  "This is my Jessie, Miss," he answered, "and a good girl she is too. Idon't know what her old grandfather would do without her. She's givenup the dearest thing she had for me, bless her!"

  Jessie was now standing beside her grandfather, blushing and hangingher head at the notice thus drawn upon her.

  "What was that?" asked Dora.

  "Her parrot, Miss. A splendid parrot that her father, who's now deadand gone, brought her from beyond the seas. You'd think he was a humancreature 'most, to hear him talk, and she loved him next to her oldgrandfather; but she parted with him for my sake."

  "Didn't you like him?" asked Bessie.

  "Yes, indeed, Miss. I was 'most as fond of the bird as she was herself;but it wasn't to be helped. You see I was sick so long, and the doctorbid me take a medicine that cost a deal of money, to drive the painout of my bones; and how were we to get it when we'd not enough to buybread from day to day, or to pay the rent that was due? So she soldher bird, for I can't do a hand's turn of work just yet."

  "That was good of her," said Gracie; "did she get all the money shewanted for him?"

  "More than we expected, Miss, for the man that keeps th
e house here,"pointing to the Casino, "gave her ten dollars for him. And he lets hersee him every day, and says when the summer is over she may have himback for eight dollars if she can raise it. For Poll draws people tothe refreshment place, you see, with his funny ways, and his wonderfultalk, and the keeper thinks he'll get two dollars worth out of himbefore the summer is over. But, Jessie 'll never raise all that money,though I have put by my pride, and let her ask charity here of thefolks in the Park."

  "And I don't feel that I ought to take it for that, either," saidJessie, as soon as the talkative old man paused for breath, and let herhave a chance to speak, "'cause grandfather needs so many things, andthe rent will be falling due before long again, so I must save up forstraws and ribbon."

  "For what?" asked Bessie, while at the same moment Dora said,--

  "Why don't you find some work and earn money that way?"

  "For straws and ribbon, Miss," said Jessie, answering Bessie's questionfirst; then turning to Dora, she added,--

  "I would work, Miss, and I do, when I have the things. I make littlebaskets and catchalls, and allumette holders of ribbon and straw andbeads, and I sell them wherever I can; but the stock was all gone longago, and I've no more to begin on."

  "But," said Dora, "if people give you money, why don't you take that tobuy your materials?"

  Jessie shook her head sadly.

  "It has taken every cent that's been given to me to buy just breadenough for me and grandfather to eat, Miss," she said; "there wasnothing to spare for any thing else, and any way it is an uncertainthing, the selling of the baskets, till the weather is pleasant andwarm, and people like to stop. Now, you see, is the time for me to bemaking them ready; but there's no use in thinking about it, and as forPoll,"--

  Jessie's sigh and filling eyes told of the despair with which shethought of the recovery of her pet.

  "I have some money in my charity-box at home," said Maggie eagerly;"I'll give you some to buy straws and ribbon. I have no money with me,but Miss Ashton will lend me some for such a good purpose, I know, andI'll pay her as soon as we go home. I'll run and ask her."

  But there was no need, for there was Miss Ashton come in search of herstray lambs, and in two minutes she had heard the story.

  Heard it, but scarcely understood it, for that was difficult with oneand another putting in a word, patching it out in various bits; to saynothing of the circumstance that our little girls themselves scarcelyunderstood what they were talking about.

  Jessie and her grandfather--who had nothing to say now that the ladyhad come, and who stood close to one another, the old man holdinghis hat in his hand and leaning on his stick--were somewhat confusedthemselves by the chatter and flutter of the eager little talkers; andwhen Miss Ashton turned to the latter and began to inquire into hisstory, his usual flow of words seemed to have failed him.

  Miss Ashton spoke to Jessie.

  "Grandfather was just telling the little ladies about my Polly, ma'am,"she said modestly. "If they'd like to see him he's in the house there.And if you'd like to have him show off he'll talk better for me thanfor any one else, and I'll go and coax him."

  "Oh! can we go and see him?" said Bessie; and Jessie once more saying,yes, and that she would go with them, the little girls ran off, whileMiss Ashton remained to hear the old man's story.

  It was a sad, but by no means an uncommon one. Jessie's mother had diedwhen she was a baby. Her father, who was mate on a sailing-vessel, hadbeen drowned at sea about two years ago. Until his death, his wages,together with what the old man made at stone-cutting, had supportedthem all in comfort. And even after that, the grandfather and the childhad continued to keep along on what the former earned. Jessie, who wastwelve years old, had been to school pretty steadily till a year ago,could "read and write and do up sums," and had also learned to sew.

  But about that time the grandfather had taken a heavy cold, from beingthoroughly wet with rain while at his work; and, neglecting to changehis clothes, it had settled in all his joints, and a long and painfulrheumatic illness followed. All the last summer he had lain bound handand foot, the pretty trifles which Jessie had learned to make thesole support of the two. But with the winter the sale of her littlewares had fallen off, poverty and suffering had increased upon them,and they had gone from bad to worse, till, as he had told the littlegirls, Jessie had been forced to sell her beloved parrot to keep aroof above their heads, and to buy the medicine so much needed for hergrandfather. They had some help from the church at which they attended,but that was little. And now that it was warmer weather, and Jessiecould begin to sell her wares, she had no money to buy materials, andhe had consented that she should ask charity of passers-by, and so gaina few shillings to begin her trade.

  They lived over there in a sad, tumble-down place, the old man said,"and he never thought to bring his Jessie to that; but the Lord had Hisown ways, and when He saw fit, He could take them out of this trouble."

  The story was told with a straightforward simplicity, and a naturalpathos which went far to convince Miss Ashton that it must be true; butshe took down the name and address of the clergyman of whom the old manspoke. This gentleman lived in one of the streets bordering on thePark, and Miss Ashton resolved to see him and hear his report beforeshe left for home. If these poor people were really in such need,and deserving of help, she could not let them suffer longer than wasnecessary.

  She told old Malcolm--for that he said was his name--that he did notdo well to rest upon the bank. The ground, she said, was not yet warmenough for his aching bones.

  But he answered that it was far better than the damp, cold shanty wherehe and Jessie had lived for the last two months, for here on a brightday he had the sunshine, and the fresh, clear air, and little of eitherof these ever found their way into the miserable cabin.

  Malcolm's language and manner, as well as those of his grand-daughter,showed that he had indeed been used to "better days;" and he seemed sopatient and uncomplaining that Miss Ashton felt much interested in him,and anxious to do something for his relief.

  She bade him come farther on, and find a seat upon a pleasant, sunnybench, where she would furnish him and Jessie with some food; but whenshe said this, he told her some of the little ones of her party wereafraid of him, and he did not wish to trouble them.

  He looked troubled himself when he said this; and Miss Ashton had totell him that one of her young scholars had been so foolish and wrongas to tell a falsehood--she could call it nothing less--to frighten theothers; but that they all knew the truth now, and would be afraid ofhim no longer.