what had bird o’more been doing these many days? it did not need the skill of a magician to tell why even her notes to her laurelville friends had been brief at best and then finally ceased. a single peep at her surroundings would have told the tale, and the more completely she became merged in them, the more hopeless she felt them to be.
her weekly work in distributing the flowers was a bright spot indeed, as well as her visits to tessie; but as she looked forward to the time when frost would kill the blossoms, the flower mission be closed, and the liberty of streets and parks cut off for confinement in the dark flat, her heart sank indeed.
all her hopes were centred about going to school, and the possibilities of meeting teachers who would understand her desire to learn, and help her with sympathy. meanwhile, the city summer had told upon her country-bred body even more than on her sensitive temperament, and she[243] grew thinner every day, until finally her aunt was compelled to see it in spite of herself, and promised to take her down to coney island or rockaway beach “some day” when she was not busy, to freshen her up a bit; but that day never came, and as little billy was constantly improving, her uncle had eyes only for him. in fact, the change in the little cripple was little short of marvellous. of course his lameness remained, but his cheeks were round, his lips had lost their blue tint, and to hear him cry or complain was a rare sound indeed. that all this came of bird’s devoted care her uncle was quite convinced; for it was she who gave billy his morning bath, and managed,—no easy task,—that the battered tub should not again be used for a cupboard. it was bird who took his food into the fire-escape bower, and coaxed and tempted him until he had eaten sufficient, and it was she who put him nightly into the little bed opposite her own and taught him to say, as a little prayer, the verse of the hymn her own mother had sung to her in the misty long ago:—
“jesus, gentle shepherd, hear me;
bless thy little lamb to-night:
through the darkness be thou near me;
keep me safe till morning light.”
[244]
but for billy, bird could not have endured through that dreadful summer. as it was, she often fingered her “keepsake,” still hanging about her neck, the thought comforting her that with the mysterious coin in it she could get back once more to the little village that seemed like heaven to her, no matter what happened after. often, in fact, the only thing that kept her from running away was the belief that if her good friends could take her permanently, they would have sent for her, and pride, heroic pride, born of old and new england, was still strong in ladybird.
“she’ll perk up when school begins and she gets acquainted with girls her own age,” said o’more, cheerfully, as his attention was called to her pale cheeks by his wife. “i’m owin’ her good will for what she’s done for billy, else i most wish i’d left her up there with those hayseeds that wanted her. somehow she don’t fit in here, for all that she never complains. she’s different from us, and she makes me uncomfortable, lookin’ so solemn at me if i chance to take off my coat and collar of a night at supper to ease up a bit. terence was different from us, too, and it’s bred in the bone.”
“let well enough alone,” said mrs. o’more, glad to have billy so completely taken off her[245] hands; “folks can’t afford to be different to their own, unless they’ve got the price. i’ve made her a good dress out of a remnant of bright plaid i bought, so next week she can shell off them shabby black duds that give me the shivers every time i see them. maybe fixin’ up like other girls ’ll bring her to and liven her. she’s queer though, sure enough, don’t give no sass, and it ain’t natural; i never seen a girl her age before that didn’t talk back, and sometimes it riles me to see her keep so close shet when i up and let fly.”
in september school began, but this brought further disappointment, for bird had hoped to find a friend at least in the teacher. she was, however, graded according to her size and age, not ability, as if she had been a wooden box, and found herself in an overcrowded room, a weak-eyed little italian, with brass earrings, seated on one side of her, and the polish sausage-seller’s daughter on the other, her dirty hands heavy with glass rings, which caused her to keep whispering behind bird’s back as to her lack of jewellery and style; while at the first recess this little slav told the astonished bird, “if yer tink to get in vid us, you’ll got to pomp you ’air; dis crowt, we’s stylish barticular—ve iss.”
as to the teacher in trim shirt-waist, with pretty[246] hands and hair, to whom the class recited in chorus, bird longed to speak to her, to touch her, but she fled to a purer atmosphere as soon as school was out, and was remote as the stars.
as the weather grew cool, the fire-escape arbour was abandoned; they could spend less time out of doors, and bird felt caged indeed. the engine-house now was the limit of their walks, for it grew dark very soon after school was out. still they never tired of seeing the horses dash out, and billy called big dave “my fireman,” and used to shout to him as he passed in the street. so the autumn passed.
it was a clear, cold afternoon a little before christmas; the shops were gay with pretty things, and the streets with people. billy was in a fever of excitement because his father, who had left home on a business trip a few days before, had promised him a christmas tree, and bird had gone out to buy the candles and some little toys to put on it, at a street stall. billy, however, did not go, for he was not to see the toys until christmas eve.
bird wandered across to broadway at 23rd street, and then followed the stream of shoppers southward. was it only a year since last christmas when she[247] had helped trim the tree at sunday-school in laurelville and had sung the treble-solo part in—
“watchman! tell us of the night;
what the signs of promise are.”
would there ever again be any signs of promise for her? somehow she had never before felt so lonely for her father as in that merry crowd. she wondered if he saw and was disappointed in her, and what lammy was doing. going up on the hill probably with the other village children to cut the christmas tree and greens for church.
not minding where she went, she followed the crowd on past and around union square and down town again. then realizing that she was facing away from home and had not bought her candles, she looked up and saw on the opposite side of the street a beautiful gray stone church. at one side and joined to it was what looked like a house set well back from the street, from which it was separated by a wide garden. people were going in and out of the church by twos and threes.
a voice seemed to call bird, and she too crossed broadway and timidly pushed open the swinging door.
at first she could see nothing, as the only lights in the church were near the chancel. then different[248] objects began to outline themselves. there was no service going on, the people having come in merely for a few quiet moments.
bird stood quite still in the little open space by a side door back of the pews; it was the first really peaceful time she had known since the day that she and lammy carried the red peonies to the hillside graveyard, and as she thought of it, she seemed to smell the sweet spruce fragrance of those runaway christmas trees that watched where her parents slept.
a flock of little choir boys trooped in from an opposite door for the final practice of their christmas carols and grouped themselves in the stalls. next a quiver of sound rushed through the church as the great organ drew its breath and swelled its lungs, as if humming the melody before breaking into voice. then above its tones rang a clear boy-soprano.
“watchman! tell us of the night
what the signs of promise are.”
and the chorus answered—
“traveller! o’er yon mountain height,
see that glory-beaming star.”
the answering echo quivered in bird’s throat, suffocating her, and as, unable to stand, she knelt[249] trembling upon the floor the odour of spruce again enveloped her, and groping, she found that she was really leaning against a pile of small trees that had been brought there to decorate the church for christmas eve, and as the door opened, men came in bringing more—dozens and dozens of them, it seemed.
bird picked up a broken twig, and in spite of its sharpness pressed it against her face, kissing it passionately, never noticing that she was directly in the passage between the door and aisle, where presently a gentleman coming hurriedly in stumbled over her.
he was about to pass on with a curt apology, but glancing down, he saw that it was a little girl, and that though comfortably dressed and not actually poor, her face showed signs of distress and tears, so he stopped.
“what is it, my child?” he said. “have you lost your way, or what? come here and sit in this pew while you tell me about it. i’ve a daughter at home only a couple of years older than you, and she doesn’t like to have any one sad at christmas time.”
it was months since any one had spoken to bird in the gentle tongue that had been her father’s and[250] was her own, and though the tears started anew, she made haste to obey, lest he should suddenly disappear like all her pleasant dreams.
he was an alert, middle-aged man of affairs. he had a fine presence and keen eyes and, without making her feel that he was prying, succeeded in drawing out the bare facts of her story, nothing more, so that he had no idea that the trouble was more than a country-bred child’s homesickness at being shut up in the city, and having to go to school instead of reading all day long and trying to paint flowers.
“so you used to live in laurelville?” he said; “why, i have a country place near there, not far from northboro, my native town, where i built an art school, and i have little city girls come to us there every summer for a playtime. if you will remember and write, or come to me when the next summer vacation begins, you shall be one of them. meanwhile keep this, my address.” he handed her a card and passed on, for he was a good man and rich, with many people to make happy at christmas time, and to be both rich and good in new york one must work very hard indeed.
going out into the street again, bird read the name on the card before slipping it into her pocket.[251] wonder of wonders! it was clarke, the same as that of the wall-paper manufacturer whose manager had asked terry to make designs for him. of course he must be marion clarke’s father. the address was different from the one of the factory, but bird knew enough of the city now to guess that this number on the card was of his house, and she now remembered that people had said that he conducted many various manufactories.
so he had built the school of design at northboro that she had dreamed about ever since she went there with her father to look at an exhibition of drawings! could it be that this card was the christmas sign of hope and promise to her? she almost flew homeward after buying the candles and little toys, and laughed and chatted so cheerfully with billy when she gave him his supper, that her cousin larry, who had always teased her for being set up, remarked to his mother, “ladybird is coming down from her perch some; maybe she’ll get to be like us, after all.” but it was upward, not downward, that the brave, clipped wings were struggling.
between christmas and new year there came a snow-storm, and then bitterly cold weather. in laurelville snow meant sleighing, coasting, bracing[252] air, and rosy cheeks; in east 24th street it signified soaked skirts, sodden shoes, and sore throats, while for billy it brought unhappy shut-in days, for his crutch slipped dangerously in icy weather.
one evening mrs. o’more was called out to sit with a sick neighbour. she told bird not to wait up as she might be late, and she would take the key with her, as the boys had keys of their own if they came in first.
bird was used to thus staying shut into the flat alone, and so after she heard the key turn in the door of their narrow hallway, she amused herself for perhaps an hour by drawing, and then went to bed. she had been dragging billy about on his sled up and down the street all the afternoon, so she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
it must have been a couple of hours after when she waked up suddenly and tried vainly to think where she was. the room felt hot and airless, and a strange smell of scorched leather filled the air. she managed to get on her feet, pulled on a few clothes, and tried to open a side window, but it stuck fast. going to the front, she raised the sash, and as she did so, a cloud of smoke poured into the room, while the shouts and clashing of gongs in the street told what it was that had wakened her—the fire-engines! the[253] great sales stables with their tons of hay and straw were on fire, and the house also, while in the street all was in an uproar of frightened horses and men.
rushing back to her room, she shook billy awake and, wrapping a few clothes about him, dragged him toward the hall door. it was locked of course, as mrs. o’more had taken the key. by this time the smoke and flames were pouring in the front windows. ah, the fire-escape! through the kitchen she struggled, and out on to the icy balcony, having the sense to close the window behind her.
the back yards were full of firemen, and excited people hung from the windows of opposite buildings. bird tried to raise the trap in the floor door, but the boxes of frozen earth that had held the morning-glories bore it down, making it useless, and the one below was hopelessly heaped with litter.
would nobody see her? billy clung to her, sobbing pitifully, for he was lightly covered, and shivered with cold as well as fear. the window-frame inside was catching, and heat also came up from below. was this the end? must the wild bird die in her cage?
suddenly a great shout arose in the rear; people had seen and were pointing them out. up came the firemen, climbing, clinging, battering down the obstructions[254] before them. ah, those wonderful firemen that keep our faith in old-time valour!
a moment more, and an axe struck open the prisoned trap-door, a head came through, and a voice cried, “good god, it’s bird and little billy!”
“dave, my fireman!” sobbed the boy, flinging himself into the strong arms. “take him,” commanded bird, as the man hesitated an instant; “i can follow.” down the ladder they went step by step until the flames from the lower story crept through and stopped them again, and the slender fire ladder, held by strong arms, shot up to them, and dave’s mate grasped bird and carried her down to safety. then the firemen cheered, and tears rolled down big dave’s cheeks unchecked.
kind, if rough, people took them in and warmed and fed them, and more kind people guided mrs. o’more to them when she rushed frantically home. but little billy had suffered a nervous shock, and lay there moaning and seeming to think that the fire still pursued him.
“he will need great care and nursing to pull him through, for he is naturally delicate,” said the doctor the next day when they had moved into a couple of furnished rooms that were rented to mrs. o’more by a friend in a near-by street until she[255] could pull herself together, as they had lost everything. “he must either go to a hospital or have a nurse,” continued the doctor, gravely. but mrs. o’more could not be made to see it.
“his father’d never forgive me if i put him out o’ me hands,” she said; “he’ll pick up from the fright after a bit, and what with john away, and never saving a cent of cash no more than the boys, and the business all burned out along with us, i’ve not money in hand for the wasting on nurses.”
bird knew better,—knew that billy was very sick, and she could not let him die so. ah! the keepsake, the precious coin! now was the time to spend it, for there could be no greater necessity than this. what if it was not enough? even if it was not much, it might do until her uncle got back, and then she knew billy would have care if his father begged in the street for it.
going away in a corner, she unfastened the silver chain and detached the little bag from it. with difficulty she ripped the thong stitches, but instead of a coin, out of many wrappings fell a slender band of gold set with one large diamond. as she turned the ring over in surprise, some letters within caught her eye—“bertha rawley, from her godfather, j. s.”
[256]
this was the name of terence o’more’s mother, and the ring had been a wedding gift from her godfather, and the one valuable possession that she had clung to all her troubled life. but bird knew nothing of this.
what could bird do with it? she pondered—her city life had made her shrewd; she knew the miseries of the poor who went to the pawn shops, and guessed that any one in the neighbourhood might undervalue the ring, or likely enough say that she stole it.
mr. clarke—she would go to him! now was the time! she borrowed a hat and wrap from the woman of whom the rooms were rented and stole out. in an hour she came back with a triumphant look upon her face, and laying a roll of bills before her aunt, said, “i’ve sold my keepsake; now we will have a nurse for billy right away.”
after she understood about the money, and found that it was one hundred dollars, mrs. o’more broke down and cried like a baby, telling bird that she was a real lady and no mistake. and then adding, to bird’s indignation, “i wonder did you get the value o’ the ring, or did he cheat you, the old skin!” but, nevertheless, the nurse came, and not an hour too soon.
[257]
meanwhile a certain rich man sat at his library desk, holding a diamond ring in his hand, saying, half aloud: “i believe the girl’s story, though i suppose most people would say she stole the ring, or was given it by those who did. it is healthier to believe than to doubt. i shall investigate the matter to-morrow and keep the ring for the child. it is a fine stone worth four times the sum i gave her, but she would not take any more than the one hundred dollars, nor was it wise for me to press her. ah! letters inside! bertha rawley! she said her grandmother was an englishwoman. that new superintendent of the northboro art school is named rawley. he studied at south kensington. i wonder if they could be related. o’more. i think that name comes into that mill farm deed mix-up. i will write to rawley at once and see what is known about the girl in laurelville, for something tells me that child is ‘one of these little ones’ who should be helped.”
