berty would scarcely have sat there so securely, though, if she had known who was making his way, through all the downtown maze, towards the very house in front of which she and tim had settled themselves.
perhaps my young readers have not forgotten the aunt emily of whom little mary spoke in a former chapter. this house belonged to that very aunt emily; and the fine carriage, with the handsome bay horses, which was drawn up in front of the door, and upon the merits of which tim was expatiating, belonged to mrs. grey, who, with her little grand-daughter, was making a morning visit to aunt emily.
while the old ladies were gossiping together,[pg 79] little mary sat by the window watching the passing stages, and looking out for dr. john, who had promised to return that way when his business down town was finished, and take them with him to visit a hospital where some of the patients were under his care. when berty and tim came and sat down in front of the gate, mary turned her attention a little from the stages and began watching them.
berty’s pale face and weary look soon interested her very much; for, ever since that talk with cousin john she had been looking out for some one whom she could help. here was, perhaps, the very case she wanted, for these children were certainly poor enough, and the little girl especially looked very sad; but how could she begin? just then, aunt emily, whose only notion of entertaining children seemed to consist in feeding them, ordered a plate of cakes brought in for mary to eat. mary was not at all hungry, so she only broke off a little corner of one, not to seem rude, and set the plate upon the window-seat. then it occurred to her that perhaps the little girl[pg 80] was hungry and might like some of the cakes. at least it would give her a good excuse for talking a little.
“aunt emily,” said she, “there is a little girl and boy out here by the steps, and they look hungry. may i give them some of my cakes?”
“if there are more than you want, my dear,” answered the old lady; “but mind and don’t go very near them, polly, or you may catch some disease.”
very glad of this permission, mary took the plate of cakes in her hand and went out upon the steps. hearing the door close, tim and berty looked round, and seeing the little girl coming down the steps, supposed she was coming out of the gate, and rose to go away.
“don’t go away, please,” said mary. “i was only coming to bring you some cakes. my aunty gave me some, and there were more than i wanted, so i brought some out for you. wouldn’t you like some?” and she held the plate out to them over the little iron gate.
the cakes looked very inviting, and the [pg 81]little girl’s manner was so courteous that it would have seemed quite uncivil to refuse; so tim made his best bow, and berty dropped a courtesy, while each took a cake.
“oh, take more, take them all; i meant them all for you,” said mary, still holding out the plate. “if there are too many to eat now, you can put them in your pockets and take them home.”
“take them, berty,” said tim, “since the little miss is so kind. i can put them in my basket for you, and the childer will be glad of them; they don’t get such every day, ye know.”
“so you have some brothers and sisters?” said mary, after the plate was emptied and the contents stowed in tim’s basket. “how many?”
“there are four younger than me, miss,” answered berty: “two boys and two girls.”
“and i have two,—a brother and sister. mine are twins. are any of yours twins?”
“no, miss; we all come in a row. mother said we are like little steps,” said berty.
“you have a mother, then. my father and mother are dead; there are only the[pg 82] babies and i,” said little mary, sorrowfully.
“are they?” cried berty, drawing nearer to mary with a shy feeling of sympathy. “so are mine, too; and there are only the children and me, except uncle gottlieb in the old country; and we cannot hear from him since mother died.”
“what!” cried mary, in amazement. “have you nobody to take care of you? no grandmother, or cousin, or aunt?”
“no, miss; we have only each other.”
“but who feeds you, then? who buys your clothes for you?”
“we have not much, miss,” said berty, simply. “but what we have we get ourselves, my brother and i; the others are too little.”
“but how can you?” cried mary, utterly unable to understand such destitution. “you are too little to work yourself, and your brother,” glancing at tim, “is not very big. how can you take care of so many?”
“we pick things from the gutters, miss,” said berty, “and sometimes we sweep the crossing; and mrs. flanagan forgives us the rent.”
[pg 83]
“oh, it is very sad!” cried mary, clasping her hands; “it is much worse than us. cousin john said there were others much worse off than i, but i did not see how it could be. he said i could help them. can i help you? i have not any money here, but i have some at home. will you come there and let me give you some? i should like so much to help you if i might.”
berty scarcely knew how to answer these eager questions, so unexpected and so kind. what answer she would have made i cannot tell; for, while she was considering, a stage stopped in front of the gate, and mary called out eagerly, “there is cousin john! oh, cousin john! have you found the pocket-book? have you some money with you? here is a little girl who has no father or mother, and i want—”
little mary never finished her sentence, for berty heard that word “pocket-book,” saw and recognized the strange gentleman getting out of the stage, and, putting both hands to her bosom, darted, with a wild cry of terror, out into the street. tim dropped his basket and sprang after her; but he was[pg 84] too late,—the stage-horses, frightened by the cry, had started on, trampling poor berty under their feet.
there was a moment’s confusion, little mary and the stage-passengers screaming, and tim, the doctor, and mrs. grey’s coachman all springing to the horses’ heads while a little crowd of people gathered round. then dr. john pushed his way through it, bearing berty in his arms, bleeding, bruised, and quite insensible.
“don’t bring her in here, john! pray don’t!” called out aunt emily from the window,—to which she and mrs. grey had been attracted by mary’s cries,—as she saw the young doctor turning towards the steps. “she’ll die, or there’ll have to be some operation, and i never could bear it in the world. don’t bring her here.”
dr. john made an impatient gesture, and looked appealingly towards mrs. grey: “shall i take her home, grandmother?”
“certainly, john,” said the good lady, “if you do not think it too far. she is not dead?”
“no; only fainted,” said the doctor, “and[pg 85] shockingly hurt. bring me out some hartshorn, and lend me your handkerchiefs, some of you,” added he, bearing the child towards the carriage.
“cousin john,” said mary, pushing her way through the crowd, “why don’t you take her to the hospital? it is so much nearer, and you were going there, you know.”
“the very thing. you have more sense than any of us, polly,” cried the doctor, springing into the carriage with berty still in his arms. “drive to the hospital, tom, carefully, but as quickly as possible.”
“and her brother,—here’s her brother. pray, let him go with you, cousin,” said mary, pushing poor, frightened, anxious tim towards the carriage-door.
“certainly. jump in, my little fellow,” said the doctor, kindly.
