£2,000 Reward!

Preface

. ►Kg!" -STSPjT is perhaps becoming that I should rR ItH preface this little story by a few re- ** marks as to why, following another profession, I should venture to appear before the public as an authoress. In the first place, I must crave the indulgence of my readers for the many short-comings, in every sense, which I am sure this little volume contains. It may by some be deemed presumptuous in me to assume the character I am doing; but, if the result of many pleasant hours' relaxation from other and severer matters insures my readers a tithe of the pleasure it has given to me in its production, I shall be more than rewarded. It may interest some to know how and where it was I picked up the idea of my little hero. VI Preface. It was on a wild winter's night that I was returning from a friend's house opposite to where I lived, where, with one of my little daughters, I had spent a pleasant evening, when I was struck with the sound of a childish voice close to me.

Turning round whence the voice came, I saw a cherub of a child, rushing along in the highest glee with hands outstretched. The little creature was not more than four years of age ; his hair was long, fair, and waving; and, as the lamplight fell upon his tresses, flowing in the wind, they looked like burnished silver. He was clad in the scantiest manner possible; he had neither shoes nor stockings on his feet; his little cotton frock was cut very low at the neck and short at the skirt; and as to the sleeves, there were none worth calling such. I watched the little merry thing for a moment or so, and saw it run to a poor woman who sat at the corner on a basket at an apple stall, who was struggling with an umbrella which would persist in turning almost inside out with the wind. There was a girl of eight or nine years of age standing by her side, with a young child in her arms, and who was incessantly calling "Jemmy" to the child I first observed.

Some what struck with what I supposed to ne one Preface. VII family, I went nearer and spoke to the poor woman, when I learned that these were her children ; and, from the character of the whole, it occurred to me that they might make a good subject for a picture. Accordingly, as it was near to my own house I asked the woman to call upon me with the children, some day when she was at liberty. Shortly after she did so, and I was more than ever pleased with the romantic beauty of the little boy. It is not necessary for me to say more of him except that he often sat for me, and I made several sketches from him, and that I felt much attached to my little friend. He was a bright, intelligent child, who had been born and bred so far amidst much poverty and distress; he was singularly innocent and guileless, yet sharp and shrewd for his age.

But time went by, and, in the vicissitudes of life, I lost sight of him ind his family till one day he called alone. I was shocked at his appearance; he was clean, but looked sadly shrunken and emaciated : his poor little face was swollen, his beautiful hair had been partly cut away, his eyes were sunken and wan-looking, and he had a distressing cough. I saw him very often after Preface. VIII this, and I stood by his bedside, when, the ligh fading from his eyes, he felt about the clothes for my hand, and, holding it tight with his little fingers, distinctly uttered the words, "The Lady;" then, with a gentle sigh, passed away from this life. He is now in the bosom of his Saviour, a little stray lamb gathered by the gentle Shep herd, who said, ' For of such is the kingdom of Heaven." This was the child which partly suggested my story, and my first intention was to cut short the life of "Little Jem" in the following tale; but my children could not endure that one in whose fortune they felt much interest should come to so sad an end ; and so I indulged their fancy by prolonging his life, and I hope he will live to enjoy the acquaintanceship of a large class of readers, and that he will be a source of pleasure to all to whom he has the honour to be in troduced. ELIZA A. MELVILLE. £2.000 REWARD.

Chapter I

b"71|5|| ITTLE JEM was restless in his sleep, fizmt and strange dreams took possession _~^__l of him; at length he awoke, and clinging very close to the old woman at whose side he lay, said aloud, — "Granny! Granny! Jemmy wants some water; Jemmy wants some water, Granny." But he got no answer, when, drawing himself still closer to her, thinking she was asleep, and pulling himself up by her night-cap strings, he gazed wistfully in her face. It looked still and pale, and when he put his little hand upon her cheek, it felt so cold that the child began to be frightened. She was indeed asleep; but it e Little fern. 2 was the "sleep that knows no waking;" for she had quietly, in the dark hours of the night, passed through death into the eternal life. Innocently unconscious of the mystery of dying, he again lay down, and hid his little face upon her bosom; but, feeling a strange awe and a sense of loneliness upon him, he rose up a second time, troubled and restless, and gazed upon her, as the full pale moon now lit up the aged features of his Granny.

Wonderingly at length he turned from her, and fixing his dark eyes upon the moon, fancied that he saw the outline of his Granny's face marked upon its shining surface; and, as he continued to look, he really thought that the moon was looking and smiling at him in return. Hastily slipping down from the bed, and going to the window, which he easily opened, as he had often done before, in order to watch the boys playing in the court, he repeated aloud a little verse which his Granny was accustomed to sing to him. Scarcely had he begun it, however, when he seemed afraid of his own voice, and felt a strange tremor stealing over him that was quite new; and, hardly knowing what he did, he hurriedly put on the few rags which were his clothes, and returning to the head of !*►** Alone with the Dead. 3 the bed, looked long and hard at the still and silent face of her he had only known to love.

A mystery seemed to surround him which he could not comprehend. Alone with the dead, in this poor chamber, and with no sound to break the solemn silence, save only the harsh monotonous ticking of the crazy old clock in the corner, the moon shining through the open window, upon the black and grimy walls of the poor houses surrounding the court, and inside the room itself, casting its effulgence upon the tangled bed-clothes, and the gaunt and quiet form of his poor Granny, he looked around in terror. The meagre articles of furniture seemed to stand more than usually silent in their accustomed places, and to be looking at him, whilst from the dim dark shadows a something he could not understand seemed to be watching him. His little face whitened as pale as that of the poor dead form; his eyes dilated and opened to the full; a shiver ran through him, and with a half sob, half-shriek, he ran and, again climbing by the broken chair, got through the window, and dropping outside, he ran away from the court as fast as his little legs would carry him.

The cool fresh air, the exercise, and the cheerful light of the moon, and the lamps in the streets, soon freed the little fellow from the fascination which had taken hold upon him whilst in the house; and although the moon, which had such a charm for him, set before long, yet the bright beams of morning were beginning to cast their rays across the heavens, and to light up the sky with the gorgeous hues in which Aurora loves to inaugurate the day, and in gazing at them he almost forgot his sorrow and his Granny. It is surprising how he tramped along through the interminable streets of London, not knowing or caring where he was going, but continuing his course, happy in the enjoyment of so much freedom. Being accustomed to a very precarious and hap-hazard manner of being fed, the absence of special meal-times he did not feel; but being fortunate enough to be passing a door when a kind old body was throwing some crumbs and broken bread to her chickens, he stopped to watch, and the old lady seeing his wistful look at a rather larger piece of bread than usual, kindly threw him a hunk, and, observing him eagerly bite at it, went in and fetched him as much as he could hold, cramming the rest in his pockets, and telling him to go home and give it to his brothers.

So he eat and was satisfied, and had to spare, and drank at the Jemmy and the Moon. 5 fountains which a kind God has put it into the minds of good people to erect for the poor thirsty wayfarers of crowded London. The first day passed pleasantly enough, but as the shades of night drew on he grew tired, and began to cry, but no one heeded him; he was knocked and jostled about by the passers, he was exhausted and frightened, and he ran this way and that way, calling for his Granny, and never rested till the moon rose over the house-tops — the great round moon, which stared him in the face, and, as the night before, seemed to laugh at him. The lights of the lamps seemed dim by the moon's brightness, and he cried, — "O Granny, Granny, do come down to Jemmy; you are up in the moon; I do see you peeping at me, like you said you would."

At length he grew so wretched that, thinking if he got up higher he might, perhaps, reach his Granny, he made an attempt to climb a lamp post. He was not successful at first, but he tried, and tried, and tried again, and at last, with hard endeavour, he managed to succeed in reaching about half-way up, and there he clung, his little bright face turned anxiously to the moon; but, alas, he found he could not reach it, and his little straining eyes filled with tears, as he found that even yet he could not get to his Granny. Poor little Jem, he had never been awake so many consecutive hours before; and, his strength failing him, he was fain to slip down again; and it was well he did, for just then he espied a "bobby," as he called the policeman, coming round the corner of the quiet square; so he took to his heels and dived into the dark shadow of the first mews he saw, and, groping his way inwards, happily came upon a heap of straw in an open shed, where, covering himself over, he coiled himself up and was soon fast asleep.

At early dawn, the ostler came down the mews whistling his morning tune, where many a little grimy London sparrow had already twittered and hopped about, industriously in search of its early breakfast; but still Jemmy slept on; no dreams disturbed him; he was oblivious to all his sorrows and his hardships. The man, seeing the little fellow, looked hard at him, and muttered to himself, — "Poor little chap, sleep on a bit; mebbe ye wor hard put to, to find a bed." Having looked after his horses, and seeing the child still in a profound sleep, he called to his wife to come and look at the poor little ragged rascal who had got possession of his straw; and Kindheartedness. 7 on her doing so, woman-like, her first exclamation was, — "Poor little thing! I wonder who he belongs to. Why, he must have been here all night, John.

I wonder, now, if he was hungry when he came in here? Bless his pretty face, he don't look a common child; now does he, John?" " Well, well, common or no common, I'll take my davy, when he wakes him up, he'll peck above a bit, as some other folks as I know on '11 do, if ye '11 only get summut for 'em to peck at." And so the kind-hearted woman, taking the hint, hurried up to her rooms over the stable to get the breakfast ready, not forgetting, whilst apportioning Jack the stable-boy his share of the hot coffee and bread-and-dripping, to lay by the same for poor Jem ; and shortly afterwards taking it to him, and finding him still asleep, she was about to waken him, when her husband called out, — "It won't not do him no harm to sleep, missus; I'd let him have a lot of it; he mayn't get such a cosey crib another night.

Leave him his coffee; he'll peck when he wakens, never fear." And so she left him, leaving his breakfast on a horse-block close at hand. Scarcely had she turned her back, when the ostler, taking a pair Little Jen.. 8 or horses out, the noise of their hoofs on the stones of the yard, wakened little Jem, when up he started, rubbed his eyes, and stared around, and there, lo! what did he see — close at his hand? At first he thought, surely his Granny was there, and for a moment he was still and waited; but the smell of the coffee was too great a temptation to withstand long, so, without further ceremony, he attacked the coffee and bread with an appetite which only a little hungry boy can realize. Whilst busy about his breakfast, he began to think that he had never seen his Granny in that place, and before he had quite finished he re membered she was in the moon, and he began to wonder and have doubts whether he ought to have touched that breakfast at all; it might be for some one else, and the thoughts of the "bobby" began to disturb his mind, and he was frightened; so, hastily swallowing the last dregs of the coffee, and cramming the last bit of crust into his mouth, he stealthily peeped about, and seeing no one, he sneaked out of the mews, and scampered off, fearful of being followed and punished for having eaten some one else's breakfast.

And so poor little Jem had a fair start for another day; for, although houseless. Sleeping Places. 9 homeless, and friendless, yet that Special Provi dence which feedeth even the fowls of the air, had watched over and provided for this poor child. Jem had made his escape some minutes before the kind "missus" returned, for she was a busy housewife and had many domestic matters to attend to ; but when she did come back and found he had eaten the food, and vanished, she felt somewhat disappointed, and looked all round the mews in vain to find him. Her husband had a good laugh at her when he returned to dinner, and said, — "Oh, missus, you're not up to 'em: they're a kind o' sort of little rascals as mostly fights shy o' being in one place long." However, before he left the stable at night he looked in the shed to see if the little urchin was there; but Jem was far away from that spot.

It was surprising how far his little legs would carry him; going he knew not where, sometimes he would join in play with other children he had never seen before; sometimes he would sit on a door-step and fall to sleep; and more than once he even capered with other children to the music of an organ. Days and weeks passed in this strange and adventurous manner. Some times he would pass the night huddled in a Little Jem 10 dark court; sometimes he would lie crouched, with others of the pariahs of great London, in the dry corners of a railway arch; again, he would creep into a cellar, and more than once curl himself up under the wide portal of some magnificent mansion, where last had entered the representative of wealth and fashion, returning from some ball, or rout, or theatre. Now and then some kind heart, touched with the open round face and flowing curly hair, the bright dark eyes, and the rags, would throw him a penny or two, and then, if near nightfall, he would be sure to buy himself a hot potato — like he was used to do when his Granny was alive.

Sometimes, prowling in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden Market, he would make an early breakfast on the damaged fruit and vegetables which were thrown aside by the farmers and vendors, and, with others of his tribe, retire under the Piazza, where, sitting down on the curb, he would eat with a relish which many of the sons of wealth and indolence might envy. One day a kind old gentleman, who took a benevolent interest in little boys, watched him as he stood flattening his nose against the window of a cookshop; and patting him on the head, went in and told the shopman to give him a A London Waif. 11 lump of plum-pudding. This made the poor child happier than a king, and he put his face as though to kiss his benefactor, in perfect in nocence; and the old gentleman looked at him again and again, and after he had passed on many steps, he turned to watch him, and finally whistled to attract his notice, and threw him a penny.

He loved a penny: it always bought him "'ot taters," as he called them, or a couple of jam tarts; and it was surprising how soon he learnt the value of ha'pence, and to form a correct estimate of what he could purchase with the few pence that happened to come into his possession. The source of human happiness is wonderful, and, like God's mercies, "past finding out." Here was this poor child, a waif and stray in creation, living a hap hazard existence, and yet his lot was one of a good deal of childish happiness. Never having known the comforts of a home or the affection of a parent, he had ho sense of the restrictions of life, and when his appetite was appeased he chirped along like a little bird, and was to all intents and purposes supremely happy. "Surely the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb."

Chapter II

"^ was a c0'^ November night; the damp few Kg! and fog hung like a funeral pall upon _■__! **_j| the streets of London. The rain fell in a drizzling mist, which blurred and gave a weird and almost unearthly appearance to the street lamps and lights in the shops. The cold was of that searching character which seemed to creep and crawl, and somehow get to the bone; whilst the muddy, slushy roads and pave ment chilled the feet, and conveyed a sense ot wretchedness and misery which only those who know from experience what it is to tread the streets of the great metropolis on such a night can understand. On such a night stood poor little Jem, alone, half-starved, and shivering with cold. All his playmates had gone to their homes; but there he stood alone, with a desperate cold clinging to his poor little half-clad frame.

He looked first one way and Out in the Cold. 13 then another, but no one noticed him. People hurried past seeking their homes; but Jemmy had no home. No one cared for him; no one loved him; no one thought to stop and speak a word to the crying child, — " Alas, for the rarity Of Christian charity ! as in hopeless misery he stood trembling and shaking with cold and hunger on that wretched night. Waiting till a cab had passed, he dashed across the road, thinking, from the light of the gin palace reflected across, that he could find shelter there ; but in making this attempt his little foot slipped, and a rough boy jumped over him, and, whistling, carelessly left him sprawling on the ground. He was literally covered with mud, and his hands being hurt, and smarting from his fall, in utter despair, he cried piteously for his Granny.

It would have softened the hardest heart to have witnessed his sorrow; but no one saw or observed him. At length he crawled to the pavement, and stood under the flaring light of the gas-jets, sobbing intensely; but, finding no one noticed him, he altered his tone, and rubbing the tears from his eyes on his little apology for a sleeve, he said, — "I good now, moon; do come and peep at Jemmy. Fs so cold! I's so hungry!" and then in a whisper he said, "Granny, Granny," and burst afresh into tears. At this moment a poor-looking woman with a bundle in her arms passed by; but, though almost bootless, she had a warm shawl on her back. No one could see her face, she was so bound up with a handkerchief across her bonnet; he thought it must be his Granny, and positively shrieked, and, clinging to her gown, cried, — "Oh, Granny!

Granny! Granny! did you come out of the moon again? Take Jemmy home! Oh, take me home!" The poor woman stopped a moment, and looking at the child, while the rain began to pour in torrents, asked the little fellow if he was lost ; but all she could get out of him was, — "I so cold! Take me home." "Is your mother in that public-house?" she asked; but he gave her no answer, only sobbed and looked up at her, at the same time clinging closer and closer to her side. "I must not take you, child," she said. "Who's in there?" pointing to the door. "Oh, no! no!" he cried. "Granny's not there. Granny's gone away. You be Granny." Motherly Feeling. 15 And then he muttered many rambling words about the moon, and his Granny, and the cold. It was a long and partly unintelligible tale; so she could not stop in the wet; but wrapping her shawl round him, she hastened on with him.

More than once she stooped down and said, " Tell me, poor child, what's your name. Are you sure your Granny's not in that public-house, because, if she be, I'll take you back there." "Oh, no," he said; "Granny's not there at all." So the good woman said to herself, " I'll take him on anyhow. It won't do no harm. I'll hear more about him when I get him home. Poor little thing, many a one would do the same for this 'ere one I got in my arms; and if they wouldn't, they ought to." Thus soliloquizing, she moved rapidly along, whilst patter, patter went his little feet, up one street and down another, hastening to her home. At length they entered a dirty court, so gloomy and dark you could scarcely see your hand before you. Jemmy clung close to his protector, not caring whither she took him. He felt quite safe, and thought he was going home at last; and yet, somehow, she seemed strange to him.

She looked bigger and stronger, and her voice, he thought, was different to his own Granny's, and yet it must be his Granny, too; for she had, to his eye, the same big dark shawl on, and she tucked him under it out of the rain, the same as his own Granny used to do. At last they turned into a dark door-way, at the far corner of the no-thoroughfare of a court, groped their way up a flight of naked creaking stairs, until they reached the third landing. Hardly had they done so, when a door on the flight above them opened, and a little girl, about ten years of age, the image of her mother, came down to meet them. It was quite dark in the passage, so she said in a low voice, — "Mother, is that you? Who have you got with you?" "Yes; it's me; go on, my dear; and, here, take his hand. It's a little child I've found.

Has your father been in to-day?" "Yes, mother; but he only came up a minute, and said he shouldn't come again for a month at least ; and he took them two books what the lady gived you; and he did so shout, mother, and said he was a-starving. He couldn't stand mother, hardly, he couldn't; and then, mother, he said he'd never come back no more, he wouldn't" A New Home. 17 "Hold your noise, Polly. Go on, my boy — right to the top. Help him up, Polly, that's a good girl." By this time they had reached the top landing, where before them was an open door, which showed, by a rushlight and a bright bit of fire, that the little girl had been expecting her mother. The kettle was boiling, and a large pan of potatoes stood smoking on the hob, all ready for supper. Poor Mrs. Morgan let go her load, which ap peared to be a bundle of clothes, but was in reality a poor little crippled boy, about two years old, which she ever carried about with her.

She could not leave him at home ; for, owing to his hump-back, she said he was never safe out of sight. Poor Jem had been dragged upstairs in silence. How his poor little tired legs had managed to mount the broken stairs it is hard to say. He looked pale and wretched; was covered with wet mud ; had scarcely a rag upon him; but as he looked round the room in wonderment, there was an expression of confi dence in his countenance; his face was so sweetly innocent and peculiarly childlike, few people could have looked upon such a boy without being interested in him; for his regular features c were small, and set off with dark-blue violet eyes, and a head of silken curly hair gave him at once a remarkable and picturesque appearance. " Go to the fire, my boy," said Mrs. Morgan, taking off his wet jacket.

"Here Polly, what can ye find to put round him? Where's that old skirt of mine? Oh, here's a shawl that'll do," reaching an old plaid one down from the knob of the cupboard-door. "Look at his poor feet ! Bless the lad, what a sight he be 1 Here, Polly, take hold o' baby a minute." And saying this, she set herself to work to wrap him up, and to get off her own wet shawl; for it was pretty well drenched through. "Who is he, mother? do tell, mother?" said Polly several times, staring at the little stranger with her great big eyes. "Is he another little brother? Mother, what's his name?" Polly talked so fast she did not give Mrs. Morgan time to reply. At length she answered, — "If you'll hold your tongue, Polly, and sit down with baby quiet, I'll tell ye all I know about him. Why, you're enough to frighten him.

Look, he's quite trembling with the cold," said she, as she wiped a tear from her own eye. " It's not much I knows of him. I just found him a-shivering and crying under the window of a Mother and Daughter. 19 public, and as I was a-passing he laid hold o' my gownd and called me his Granny, and cried for something to eat; and he looked so badly like, I hadn't the heart to leave the poor thing. So, as it was raining, I just tucked him under my shawl, and brought him here for a bit and a sup; for, goodness knows, he looked to want it bad enough." "Lor, mother! why, what's his name? What's yer name, little boy, eh ? what's yer name ? Look, mother, he don't answer, he don't." "Do hold that tongue o' yours, gell I tell yer, yer enough to frighten him." Mrs. Morgan thought of nothing but getting him some food, and, giving him a hunch of of bread to begin with, she sat herself down opposite to him.

But his eyes continually turned towards the potatoes on the table. Oh, how those potatoes reminded him of his home ! "Would yer like some o' those potatoes, dear?" she said. He did not speak, but looked wistfully and longingly at them, and nodded his head. Mrs. Morgan smiled to see him without hesi tation cram his little mouth full, proving how hungry and eager he was. Having had some bot tea, he wonderfully warmed up, and look ing Mrs. Morgan hard in the face, he shyly said, — "Ah, but yer not mine Granny, yer ain't;" and mumbled out, "I thought yer was, but ye ain't. I know it be's Granny's gownd and Granny's shawl, though." Then, looking hard at Polly, he blurted out, "Are you what her calls Polly?" And turning to the fire again, without waiting her answer, as if abashed at his own boldness, he looked at it in shy silence.