Jack Chiddy-there you are smiling again At the name, which I own is both common and plain- Year in and year out, on a section of plates. Simple enough was the work, with no change But to see that both lines were in gauge and range ; All to keep fast trains from giving a jolt. Strange when one thinks where a hero may rise, But the story? you say. Well, I'm coming to that, You see it? Well, right on the bank at the top, One sharp cry of terror burst forth from us all, Then one of our mates snatched a glance at his watch, At our breath, then a cry, that thrill'd our hearts through My God! the 'Flying Dutchman' is overdue!" Hark, straight from over the hill we could hear And there on the rail lay that huge mass of stone, "Now, for your life, Jack!" for Chiddy had flown Down the bank, and three leaps brought him close to the stone. Not of his own life, for wife and child's sake, Thought he, but the hundreds that now were at stake. 'Twas the work of a moment. With terrible strength There was one sharp whistle, a roar, and a crash Of coiling smoke, and a glitter and gleam Of iron and steel, and then down fell the steam. Not a breath could we draw, but stood blank with dismay As the train tore along, making up for delay; Till at last from us all burst a shout and a cheer, When we knew that the "Dutchman" had pass'd and was clear. And Chiddy? Ah me! you will pardon these tears, Brave Jack Chiddy! Now you don't sneer At the name which I own is but harsh to the ear; ALEXANDER ANDERSON. LITTLE MARY. BY ELLICE HOPKINS, AUTHOR OF "WORK AMONG WORKING MEN." IT T was raining with the soft, warm, straight | father stopped and said ironically, "She's a rain of spring. The golden eave-drops of nice-looking girl, ain't she?" Whilst I was the laburnums in the cottage gardens dripped saying a few grave words to him about the upon me as I passed; the delicate plumes child, and receiving the excuse that his wife of lilac were hung with momentary jewels, had left him, and he had no home and no one and all around wereto take care of her, the child pulled him by the coat and said, "Show the lady the pretty picture." This was at once produced and displayed to me, "the pretty picture" being a photograph of the father lying dead drunk, the man taking off his cap and displaying his bald head, from which every atom of hair had been singed in some fire, to show me how very like it was. "Cool whispers rippling round the caves, I was just thinking what a lovely world it was, as lovely in this soft floating grey veil as it was the day before in its spring sunshine, when a sweep passed me. I do not know that I should have noticed the man particularly had he not been followed by two children, a boy and a girl. I simply stood aghast in the middle of a puddle and stared stupidly at them. The boy looked degraded enough, and evidently belonged to that class of homeless "gamins" whom, in revolutionary France, Victor Hugo describes as possessed with two unattainable ideals-" to upset the government and mend their own trousers "—but who in our more peaceful and matter-of-fact England are chiefly associated with pitch and toss, of coppers, not governments, much cadgering and general "up to no good." But the little girl-how shall I describe her? She was clad in an old greatcoat; a piece of faded print was tied with a bit of tape round her to do duty for a skirt; her feet were bare; shadowing her little impish face she wore an old wideawake, and she was literally as black as a coal. Evidently she had been used for sweeping chimneys. There they stood, that outcome of the great human world and of nineteenthcentury civilisation, in the midst of all that blossom and verdure, their degradation standing out all the more painfully in that pure, sweet, sacred setting. Seeing me stand still gazing at them, the Would I passed on with a saddened heart, but I suppose, like the hundreds who had passed those two children by on the other side, it would not have occurred to me that I could do anything, and I should have forgotten all about them, had I not belonged to an "Association for the Care of Friendless Girls."* to God that every educated woman with a happy home and well-cared-for children of her own would belong to such an association, and our degraded children would soon cease out of the land! In vain I tried to escape the thought of that child, in vain I pleaded that I had come to U for perfect rest; "Thy vows were upon me, O Lord," and I felt I must care for those friendless children. I was just making up my mind to go round to all the low public-houses and inquire for them, when, to my joy, the very next morning I caught sight of the boy just outside It rained harder than my garden gate. ever; the lad was so wet and grimy I dared not have him inside the passage, and I can see the poor little forlorn object as I stood talking with him just outside the doorway, every now and then tilting his head side * See "Preventive Work among Girls,"" Ladies' Associations for the Care of Friendless Girls," and "Work in Brighton," 15th Thousand, 6d. Hatchards, Piccadilly. His story was much what I expected. His father was a confirmed drunkard, and his mother had been so knocked about that she had herself taken to drinking, and had finally deserted them, and now they tramped about the country, their father, when intoxicated, often cruelly ill using them. I found the boy could not read or write, never went to any school or place of worship, and was literally in heathen ignorance. He was most anxious to escape from his awful slavery, and when I suggested sending him to a school, where he would be apprenticed to a trade, he exclaimed, "Ma'am, it would make a gentleman of me! " I had concluded from his size that he was about twelve, but, on asking his age, he told me he was sixteen. I exclaimed in dismay, "Oh, you are a little one!" “Well, ma'am,” he said apologetically, "I ain't big; but you see I have had a deal agin me. I gave him my address, and told him to ask for a letter at Burwash, as they were going to sweep chimneys for the next week in that neighbourhood. I was then just leaving U-, and my last sight of my son, as I proudly called him, was lying in the mud on his stomach, with his arms behind him, picking up a halfpenny with his lips out of a puddle, the admired of all beholders. I at once wrote to the Hon. Thomas Pelham and to Dr. Barnardo about the children, stating that I had no funds to pay for the boy, but that our Association would give a donation with the girl. Dr. Barnardo most kindly consented to take the boy free; the little girl was to be sent to the Ilford Village Homes under Mr. and Mrs. Saltau, which we had already had good reason to think very highly of. But by the time all arrangements were made and the papers procured to be filled up, it was long past the time when I had told the boy to call at the Burwash post-office. They were tramps, they had no settled home, they could none of them read, and there was all England to wander over for stray jobs in the way of chimney-sweeping. How was I to find them? It was much like setting out in search of two flies that had stung one and own away. If there is one thing I have learned more than another in these sceptical days, it is the omnipotency of faith. All things are pos sible to him that believeth." I knew that the great Shepherd of the sheep knew where his lost lambs were, and would guide me to them. "God has love, and I have faith," in David Grey's lovely dying words; and that was enough. I first wrote to an uncle, whose address I had got from the boy, their only self-supporting relation. I received a scarcely decipherable letter back, to say that he could do nothing for the poor children as his wife was ill, and no one could do anything with the little girl. He did not even know where they were to be found, and felt sure the Evifather would refuse to part with them. dently the man was very poor and ignorant. I then wrote to the neighbouring clergy, and asked them to keep watch for me, which they kindly promised to do. Before two weeks were passed I received a letter from the Vicar of Burwash stating that in his parish visitations he had observed two miserable children sitting on a bag of soot by the wayside, and feeling sure from the looks of them they were the children I was in search of, he had at once accosted them, and found they were. He then hunted up the father in a public-house, and found that he was willing to part with the girl if I would come over to U U— and fetch her, but he refused to give up the boy. Owing to a mistake in the arrangements, I again lost sight of them for a time, but my indefatigable vicar again caught them, and with a thankful heart I started off to U———, an hour's rail from Brighton, to claim the little girl, and with faith that I should get the boy too. On arriving I found the sweep and the two children waiting for me. The sight of the poor little degraded mite to be handed over into my keeping made my eyes fill with tears, and, as much to ease the ache of my own heart as anything else, I stooped down and said, "You are God's little girl; will you come with me and be taught to love God and be a good, happy little girl?" At once, with the touching trustfulness of childhood, she thrust her little black hand into mine, and, lifting her queer little gipsy face up to mine, said, "Shall I have a doll and little gals to play with? Boys do knock one about so. Í should like a little gal to play with." We had to turn into a public-house to fill in the papers. "I am so black, them there won't have me; they like the clean sort," said the man, pointing with his thumb to the coffee-shed which I had suggested as preferable. A hint that, I thought, to our teetotal friends. All sorts are welcome at the gin-hullaballo'd, they punched one another, they shop. behaved like young savages, but I knew I had got thern safe. All the while that I was filling in the papers the publican, regardless of my presence, was addressing "God's little girl" as, "You young devil you, can't you keep still ?" Evidently she was held in small estimation. But in vain I made any approaches to getting the boy. He swore I should not have the lad, and got so angry that I had to leave and go back to the station, waiting the arrival of the train. I have, however, great faith in friendly talk, and I sat down and entered into chat with the man. Once or twice the boy broke in with a piteous entreaty to his father to let him go with the lady, and was shut up with an angry word and a threatened cuff. No, nothing but death should ever part him from the lad. Suddenly, in the middle of a talk about the wet season and the state of the crops, the man turned round and said, "You shall have him for ten shillings." me. But my difficulties were renewed at the other end of my journey. They were SO dirty not a fly would take them, and my house was some distance from the station, and I was far too tired to walk. At length I bribed a broken-down fly to convey us, and arrived at my own door feeling much aged, but still cheered at the beaming faces of my two servants and fellow-helpers in my work, who rushed out to greet my two jewels, "rejected of man and despised," but exquisitely precious to our hearts. When, however, they got the little girl into her bath she cursed and swore so awfully and used her teeth so freely, that cleanliness on that occasion did not come next to godliness. Their clothes had to be burned then and there; the state of living filth they were in was indescribable. They ate with their hands, having no notion of using a knife and fork; "That's a lie!" retorted poor Jack. "You know you did it yourself, Polly, when you were tight the other day and fell down.” "Done !" I exclaimed. Quick, let us and on being asked how she had broken one fill in the papers before the train starts." of her front teeth, at first the child said, So I bought my son for ten shillings. "Jack did it." And yet the man, bad as he was, touched I don't think it was only the ten shillings, but also a lingering sense of all that I had been saying about the lad's good, that made him give him up. I wondered whether he, too, had been a degraded lad with none to have pity on him. He kept pacing up and down on the opposite side of the station, whilst I and the children were waiting for the train, the tears making pink wormy channels down his poor sooty cheeks, evidently in sore trouble at parting with the lad. As ill-luck would have it, the train was half an hour late. I thought it would never come. To the last, I did not know whether that imp of a child would not be off. Her brother and I were perpetually making forlorn darts after her. Never did I so sympathize with the man whose pig bolted in a crowded London thoroughfare just as it had been driven with much labour to its destination, while the man stood stock still, and, clutching at his hair in a frenzy of despair, exclaimed, "Blowed if it won't run all up Cheapside!" But when at length the train did draw up never did I find myself such an unpopular character with my black following. Looks of loathing turned me from all doors, and it was not till, at last, I got a guard to lock me up in an empty compartment with my two "wild beasties" that I began to draw a free breath. They roared, they danced, they "Oh yes, so I did," she answered affably. "I was so drunk I couldn't stand !" Only nine years old, this child of our Christian civilisation! By the afternoon we had got them rigged out in decent clothing, and looking quite clean and respectable, and they started, under the care of my own servant, for London. Alas! it was only the outside of the platter we had cleaned. The little girl's behaviour was such that every one had to leave the carriage, and my unfortunate servant heaved no slight sigh of relief when, at length, she handed them over to the agent, who was in waiting for them at the London station. My heart sank at the very thought of them. Surely it was a task beyond any human power to reclaim them: the boy was too old, and the girl too utterly wild and savage. Could anything be done with such waste and cruelly misused material? To my surprise and joy, I heard from time to time that both were doing well, and were very happy! Only lately have I had a simple and unpretending record from little Mary's cottage mother of all that lay behind that brief report. One immense advantage of the cottage system adopted at Ilford over the old-fashioned, detestable barrack system, is that it admits of classification, not only of the children, but also of the "mothers." Little Mary was put with the cottage mother who was most likely to be able to manage her, and was always under one loving, firm hand, not under half-a-dozen. For the first eight days it was as if a little wild savage had been admitted into the peaceful home. She bit and pinched the children, till the youngest, called "the baby," a little three-year-old child, was ill from sheer fright of her. Her skin was as hard and tanned as leather from constant exposure, and bore the scars of ill treatment. She would turn the tap and splash the water all about, and on being rebuked would say, “Oh, but I want to get white like the other little gals." She had never slept in a bed, and it was impossible to get her to lie straight in one. The instant the mother's eye and hand were removed she would curl herself up in a little brown heap on the pillow, or she would pull all the bed-clothes off her own and the other children's beds and sleep on the floor. It was impossible to make her keep on her clothes. She would be dressed in the morning, and half an hour after would appear in the same state as "When wild in woods the noble savage ran." Her shoes were the greatest offence of all, and she was in the habit of running out on the wet veranda with her shoeless feet, and then pattering up the clean stairs and jumping on her white counterpaned bed with her muddy stockings. She had apparently no knowledge of God or sense of His presence. The only thing she had any reverence for was the moon. On one occasion, when the children were going to evening service, and a beautiful moon was shining, one of them pointed to it, exclaiming, "Oh, mother, look what a beautiful moon!" Little Mary caught hold of her hand and cried, "Yer mustn't point at the blessed moon like that, and yer | mustn't talk about it!" Was it from constantly sleeping under hedges and in barns, and waking up and seeing that bright calm eye looking at her, that some sense of a mysterious Presence had come upon the child? Her only idea of prayer was a sort of heathen incantation of unmeaning words jumbled together; her "form of prayer was generally, "Our Father chart in heaven : Hollered by thy name: Kingdom come. Amen: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, On four angels round my bed: Good night father, good night mother, good night uncles, and good night everyboby. Amen." This curious spiritual exercise was accompanied with other exercises in the shape of pinching the child next her, pulling the blind tassel to pieces, dabbing at a passing fly, &c. one occasion, when the poor, much-tired cottage mother was pouring out her heart in prayer for the poor child, and asking God to change her heart, and telling Him how very naughty she was, and how she liked to do wrong things rather than right, the child exclaimed quite out loud, "Yes, that I do; it's iver so much nicer to do wrong things than right!" The At last things came to a crisis. mother heard the child go out on the veranda, and then with her little wet feet, as usual, run pattering up-stairs into her bedroom. She had a sort of human affection for her bed, and would be found cuddling it, and saying, "Oh, my dear, dear bed!" mother went up-stairs, and said The Now, Mary, you must put on some dry stockings and keep on your slippers." Her large dark eyes flashed fire, and, doubling her little brown fists, she said"I won't!" Mary, you will.” One of the elder girls advanced with the clean stockings; but with a well-planted blow she knocked her backward. Another came forward to take the post of danger; but the mother interfered, and said— No, Mary, I will not let you ill-treat the children. I will put the stockings on myself." The child struggled with all her strength, but did not offer to strike her; and having gained the victory, the mother left the room, feeling utterly done. One of the elder children came to the child, and began talking to her in sweet childish fashion, how it made them all so unhappy to see her so rude to their mother, and then began telling her about our Lord, how He loved us, and how He came on the earth, and “ was poor just like us," and hadn't a nice bed to lie on when He was tired, and how He died for us, because He loved us so very, very much. The child looked up in her face and said "Yer don't believe that now, do yer?" "Yes, I do; and oh, Mary, to please Jesus, will you ask mother's forgiveness? "Well, yes. I will." And the child flew down-stairs and burst like a November squib into mother's room. |