The story of a little poet

Prefatory Note

HE characters of the three children in this story — the hero and his brother and sister — are taken from life. Woven throughout the book is a collection of original sayings that have been jotted down from time to time during the early childhood of the three children, and also of some letters they wrote and poetry they composed.

S. C. T.

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List of Illustrations

The Little Poet

Frontispiece

“ Then in a clear sweet voice he sang

Baby Grace

Roy Arlington

“ He gave one spring and was in her arms ” . . . .

“ ‘ Dear old Ned,’ he said ”

“ ‘ I will read the letter and find out what it all means’ ”

“ His little heart under the sailor blouse was actually palpitating with joy ”

The Beechwood Drive

“ Paul and Roy rowed the blind man and his daughter, while in a smaller boat Hulda took Grace and Nero ”

“ She stared in wonder at the little singer ” ....

“ With his hand on the dog’s collar, and the doll clasped in his arm, he walked across the hall to the stairway ”

“ Then again their faces would grow quite serious, and they would sit side by side under the tree ”...

“ 64 ^

“ 82 ^

“ 1 19 “ 130

“ 150

“ 165 “ 227

“ 304 “ 326

The Story of a Tittle Poet

Chapter I

I T was not surprising that many turned to take a second look at him or stopped to gaze more closely in his face ; for he was a very attractive-looking child at any time, but especially so on this beautiful afternoon in early May.

His light brown cloth knickerbockers and dark brown velvet jacket were very becoming, while the brown velvet sailor hat set off the golden locks and clear white skin to perfection. The short jaunty jacket was open, displaying a daintily tucked white shirt-front.

He was not very tall for his age, which fact, together with his finely cut features, and loose wavy ringlets falling over his ears and about his neck, gave him the appearance of a child not more than seven years of age, though in reality he was nearly nine.

It had never occurred to him that he was beautiful, and as he stood on the corner of one of the thoroughfares in a large city, with his hands in his pockets, gazing with wonder and curiosity at an old organ-grinder, a few feet distant from him, he was quite unconscious of the admiring eyes turned upon him, and the frequent remarks made about his face and hair.

He had been standing still for some moments, looking steadily at the old man, who was indeed a forlorn object. His clothes were threadbare, his face thin and drawn; and, saddest of all, he was blind. A printed band around his hat stated that fact; it was this that made him especially attractive to Paul Arlington.

“ I am blind,” he read, and stood as if rooted to the spot, so great was the effect upon his little sensitive heart.

Finally he took from his pocket a small leather purse, and, taking from it a silver quarter, he stepped up close to the organ, and dropped it in the tin cup that lay on top to receive whatever “ Charity” was disposed to give.

The old man heard the welcome jingle, bowed his thanks, then took the silver piece out to place it safely in his pocket. When he felt its size, he involuntarily bowed again, very ’low indeed, for it was rarely that he had the pleasure of taking a quarter from the cup ; and such a generous giver surely deserved especial thanks.

“ But,” thought the old man, “ whoever he was, he has passed on by this time, and there is no use in my thanking him again.”

He was greatly mistaken, however, for the generous giver had not passed on, but was still standing quite near him. Indeed, he leaned over the old man, and his sweet voice said, “ Isn’t this a beautiful day, sir? I know that it is a good one for your business, for so many people are on the street.”

The wrinkled hand dropped the handle, and the blind man turned his head in the direction of the voice, rolling his sightless eyes in a manner that made little Paul’s heart beat quite fast, so dreadful did it seem to him. The old man’s lips moved as though he was trying to speak, but Paul did not hear a sound, though he put his head down quite close. Suddenly the organ-grinder turned his head in its former position, and, taking the handle of the organ again, continued grinding out, “ There 's beauty in a merry heart,” as though nothing had happened to interrupt him.

“ Something must be the matter with his voice. He may have a bad cold, and can ’t talk, or perhaps he is a little deaf,” thought Paul. “ I will speak louder.” So he leaned over so closely that the golden locks mingled with the long straggly white ones of the old man’s ; then he said quite loudly, “ I guess you did not hear me, sir. Is n’t this a beautiful afternoon? ”

“ There is no mistake this time. It is meant for me, after all,” thought the old man, for although the voice had seemed quite near before, he had come to the conclusion that it could not be intended for him, and that the words must have been meant for some one else. But when he felt the pressure of a small hand on his shoulder, and heard the same childish voice close to his ear, he knew that there could be no mistake, and it thrilled his heart with an unspeakable joy to think a little child thought it worth his while to speak a few kind words to him. Again he dropped the handle, and, turning his head as before, said in a very husky and trembling voice, “ Who are you, child ? ”

“ My name is Paul Arlington. I am visiting my grandma on Spruce Street. Her name is Mrs. Wesley. You know her, don’t you? ”

The old man shook his head, and Paul was surprised to learn he did not know her. “ I thought everybody knew who Grandma Wesley was,” he continued. “ But I will bring her around some time, and make you acquainted with her.”

The organ-grinder actually smiled at this, and stretched out his hand to feel the little figure at his side ; he longed to look at him if only for an instant, for his sweet voice and innocent manners had quite won his heart.

“ I love to visit my grandma,” continued Paul, after a pause, “ because there is so much to see in the city, so many different kinds of people on the streets, and I love to watch them all. You see, I live in the country, where sometimes I do not see any one on the road for an hour.”

“ You do not like to watch poor people like me, do you?” asked the old man, growing very much interested, and forgetting all about his organ.

“ Yes, I always watch the poor more than any others,” replied Paul, placing his hand on the old man’s shoulder as he spoke. “ I love them, and always wonder how and where they live, and wish I was a millionaire so I could buy nice homes for them all.”

“ Would you mind stooping a bit, child, and let me feel your face and hair? For I am blind, you see, and it is the only way I have of telling how people look.”

“ Certainly,” answered Paul, stooping immediately and taking off his hat, while the old man passed his hand softly over the golden locks, then the face and shoulders. “ An angel’s face,” he muttered, as though speaking to himself. But Paul caught the words, and laughed outright as he straightened up again, and said, “ Oh, dear, no. I ’m not an angel. You don’t know what a bad boy I am sometimes. I can get dreadful cross too, and you know angels never do,” and Paul laughed again, at the very thought.

“ Are you alone, child? ”

“Yes, all alone this afternoon. Grandma says she thinks I am old enough now to take walks by myself when I come to the city. I am very glad I saw you

and became acquainted with you, Mr. What did

you say your name was?”

“ Graves,” replied the old man.

“ Graves ! ” repeated Paul, thinking the name suited the organ-grinder exactly, and that he never saw a graver man in all his life. But he said aloud, “ I am very glad to know you, Mr. Graves, and if you will tell me where you live, I will go to see you some time.” — “For,” thought Paul, “this will be a good chance for me to see how organ-grinders live.”

“ Where I live, is no place for the likes of you,” said the organ-grinder, shaking his head sorrowfully.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I don’t mind where it is. I would go,” said Paul, thinking perhaps the old man was ashamed of his poor home. “Do you live all alone?”

“ Only me and my little Hester, and it ’s a good piece from here.”

“ Is your Hester Mrs. Graves?”

“ No, she is my little girl ; my poor little lame daughter, who keeps house for me, and — ” Here the old man paused, and brushed a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, shaking his head all the while ; his hands and even his body seemed to shake at intervals, as though he had a chill.

Paul’s little heart was overflowing with sympathy when he saw the emotion caused by speaking of his lame child, and for a moment he could think of nothing to say, while he thought, “ I wish I could do something for him.” And his beautiful blue-gray eyes blinked away in a quick nervous fashion that they had when anything appealed to his sympathies.

Finally he said, “ You need not tell me any more about your little girl if it makes you sad. Of course I would like to hear all about her, but maybe some other time you can tell me better.’ ,

The old man had controlled himself somewhat, and was about to speak again, when they were both startled by a voice close beside them, —

“ What do you mean by making yourself so familiar with this child?” said an officer, addressing the blind man.

“ I ’m not making myself familiar. He spoke to me first, and sure there can be no harm in my answering the child. I meant no harm, sir ; I meant no harm,” repeated the blind man, in a trembling voice, turning on his stool and grasping the handle of the organ, trying to appear indifferent to Paul, for he thought, “There is no knowing what this officer might do. Drag me to the stationhouse, perhaps, and such a disgrace would surely kill my little Hester.”

“ No ! indeed, he meant no harm at all, sir,” said Paul, boldly. “ He is a very good man, and every time I come to the city I mean to speak to him.”

“Tut, tut, little fellow. This is no place for you, and I think you had better be running home to your parents, for I am sure they do not know you are alone on the streets, and selecting companions such as he,” said the officer, pointing to the poor trembling organ-grinder as he spoke.

A number of pedestrians had been attracted by the little scene, and surrounded Paul with eager faces, anxious to hear the conversation.

“ My parents do not live here,” said Paul ; “ but my grandma knows I have gone out for a walk, and she would not care at all if I talked to Mr. Graves.”

Every one smiled at this ; even the officer was greatly amused, while with the others he looked down on the sweet upturned face and the dignified little figure standing quite close to the old organ-grinder, as though to protect him and to take his part, no matter what the officer might do or say.

“Well ! well! you are a strange little chap,” he said, speaking kindly, and patting Paul on the shoulder.

“ Oh ! isn’t he a dear? ” said a lady.

“ I never saw such a lovely face,” remarked another. “ And to think of him talking to an organ-grinder, and so indignant at the officer for interfering.”

“ Well ! I would interfere too,” another lady spoke up. “ If he were my child, he would not be out alone wandering the streets of a large city.”

Suddenly Paul grew conscious of the many eyes turned upon him, and thought he had better be moving on. He stooped over quite close to the organ-grinder first, however, and said, “ Won’t you please tell me where you live, Mr. Graves? for I would like to go and see you some day, just as soon as I can.” He took from his pocket a little memorandum book, and stood with it open, pencil in hand, with a very business-like air, waiting to hear what the old man said.

He hesitated a moment, then in a husky voice said: “ Number sixteen, Hunter Street, third floor,” for “who knows,” he thought, “ maybe this child might send some one to help my little Hester. Then I can die in peace.”

Hester was all he thought of nowadays, and it was for her support only he desired to live ; for this reason he would risk again the officer’s displeasure by answering the child’s question. But this time the officer said nothing. With an amused smile he watched all Paul did with great curiosity.

After putting the address down, Paul placed the book in his pocket and said sweetly, “ Good-by, Mr. Graves.” His expression and voice changed somewhat when he glanced up at the officer and said the same to him ; then noticing the many ladies and gentlemen looking at him with smiling faces, he raised his hat politely, and making his way through them walked rapidly down the street with his hands in his pockets, while they looked after him in wonder and admiration.

Chapter II

O N, on, he walked, never looking to the right or left, gazing straight ahead, with a far-off look in his eyes. He passed all the beautiful stores, with their gayly decked windows, which had been such an attraction when he first started out that afternoon, but now he did not even glance at them, for he was thinking of the poor blind man, and wishing he was very rich, that he might be able to buy him new clothes and plenty to eat every day.

“ I know he is half starved,” he thought, “ for I have seen half-starved children brought to 4 Glenwood Home,’ and I know the look. It is the worst kind a poor person can have, and makes me shiver when I think of it.” Suddenly his face brightened, as though a sunbeam had struck it, and taking his hands from his pockets, he clasped and unclasped them again and again in perfect ecstasy at the bright idea that had just occurred to him.

“ It will be the very thing. I will invite him out to Beechwood to spend the day. He can bring his little lame daughter too ; even if he is blind, he can feel the grass under his feet, and enjoy the cool breezes while he sits under the shady trees, and rests from his organ all day. I will take him a row on the creek too, give him lots to eat, and maybe mother will find some better clothes for him.”

io The Story of a Little Poet

“ I am so glad I happened to think of it. I will ask mother as soon as I get home. I am sure she will not sayno. ” So his thoughts ran, when suddenly he thought .he had better return to his grandmother’s and consult her about it. Then looking around him for the first time since he left the organ-grinder, he found he had wandered into a neighborhood entirely new and strange to him.

No matter which way he turned, he could see no familiar object. “ I must be lost,” he thought, but that fact did not seem to alarm him at all, and he concluded to ask some one to direct him to his grandmother’s house. He was just about to address a man passing near him, when he was arrested by the sound of loud, angry voices in a narrow street just below the corner where he stood, and, turning, he saw a group of ragamuffins surrounding an object on a cellar door.

At first he could not see what it was. He started to walk toward them, his curiosity greatly aroused, when they separated, and with jeers and laughter made way for the leader of the group, a boy of about twelve years, who was dragging a poor ragged little girl roughly by the arm. “ Git up, git up, yer lazy thing, and don’t pretend yer sick,” he shouted, while his companions laughed the louder, as though they thought it a great joke.

When Paul saw the poor, thin, ragged child, with haggard face, matted hair, and sleeves actually hanging from her shoulders in shreds, he stood for a moment as if petrified.

In his whole life he had never witnessed a scene like this, nor heard a coarse word ; in fact, it was the first time that he had ever seen a cruel act, — was it any won-

The Story of a Little Poet i i

der he was shocked ? The old organ-grinder was forgotten entirely; his condition paled into insignificance compared with that of this forlorn child.

With every nerve tingling in his body, his face flushed with the inward emotion this scene had caused, he ran up to the heartless leader, and held his arm in a grip of which one would not have thought him capable.

“ Don’t ! don’t do that again ! ” he said, looking right into the eyes of Bill Jones, the terror among the children of that neighborhood.

Had an angel dropped suddenly from the skies in their midst, these children could not have been more surprised, when they turned and saw a beautiful boy, and heard a sweet voice speak words in behalf of the little waif they were taking such pleasure in tormenting.

Bill Jones had dropped the arm of the child, and turned fiercely to see who dared interfere with him ; but imagine his surprise when he saw a face upturned to his, such as he had never seen before, and heard a voice trembling with emotion, imploring him to cease his rough treatment of the poor neglected child.

For the first time in his life he actually felt ashamed of himself. He could not have told why, but somehow Paul’s gaze seemed to penetrate into his very heart. He did not attempt to shake off the hand that still held him firmly, and Paul continued, —

“You did not mean to hurt her, did you?” hardly thinking it was possible for any human being actually to desire to cause pain and suffering to a weak and helpless creature, and that one a little child.

Bill Jones only shuffled his feet and shrugged his shoulders at this question. Then Paul stooped over the child who lay on the cellar door, with closed eyes, moaning occasionally, and apparently unconscious of what had just taken place.

He pushed back the matted hair from her face, and tears came to his eyes when he saw the big bruises on her arms, caused by Bill Jones’s cruelty. So sweetly did he talk to her that the group of ragamuffins looked on in silent wonder, with wide-open eyes. They had never heard such words in their lives, nor ever seen a child like this, so it was not surprising that they were silenced.

“ Won’t you open your eyes, little girl,” he asked, “ and tell me what is the matter?” But the child only moaned in reply.

By this time Bill Jones had gained some courage and thought he would try to make excuses for his actions.

“Well! she’s jist a lazy thing, anyhow, and sits all day a sucken her fingers. She won’t work, or beg, or anythink.”

“ But can’t you see she is sick, and how can she work?” said Paul.

“ That ’s only a trick of hern ; she hain’t sick any more en I am. Her mother says she ’s lazy, and won’t help her earn a cent,” continued Bill Jones.

“ Well ! I know she is sick,” persisted Paul, sitting down beside the child and raising her head in his lap. “ And she is nearly starved too,” he went on, gazing on the haggard face. “ I have seen children brought to Glenwood Home who were sick from not having enough to eat, and I know how they look.”

“ Yes, I think she is starvin’,” a little girl ventured to say, “ fer she told me this mornin’ she had nothink to eat fer two days. Her mother drinks all the time and wants Moll to beg for her, and if she don’t git anythink, she beats her.”

“ Oh, how dreadful ! ” said Paul, interested now in the new speaker, who seemed to know a great deal about Moll.

“ Do you know where she lives? ” he asked.

“ Yes, right over there in that cellar room.”

“ In a cellar room ! ” exclaimed Paul, more and more amazed. He had never heard of any one living in a cellar before. “ She shall never go back to it again,” he thought. “ I will take her to grandma’s with me, and then I will get her into Glenwood Home.”

“ Do you feel better, little girl? ” he asked, seeing that she was opening her eyes and staring in a bewildered way into his face, as he bent over her. She had been somewhat dazed for a time, and had not realized what had just taken place, but now she was coming to herself again, and the first thing she seemed to be conscious of was a sweet voice, that sounded far off, but was growing nearer all the time. Then she opened her eyes and saw a beautiful face bending over her, surrounded by thick golden locks, and heard the same voice now quite near.

She could scarcely realize at first that it was a real live child ; it seemed to her more like one of those strange fancies that her poor little tired brain had so often conjured, since she had become so weak and ill; but no, that could not be, for the face still remained, and was growing more distinct every moment.

“ Will some one go and buy some bread or biscuit ?” asked Paul of the group. “ She is getting better now; and perhaps if she has something to eat, she will feel strong enough to walk.”

“ I know where there ’s a shop,” said Bill Jones, “ and I ’ll git yer some.”

“All right,” said Paul. “What is your name?”

“ Bill Jones,” he replied.

“ Please get me as much as you can with this, Bill,” said Paul, taking a dime from his purse, while the children all made eyes at each other, and were about to remark that Bill had better not be trusted with money, and that they knew he would never return. No one, however, had the courage to say this, for all the children were in fear and dread of gaining his ill-will. There was no telling what he would do if he discovered the one who told, and so they only looked and listened in silence when Paul said, “ Here ’s the money. Get as much as you can.”

“You feel better now, don’t you, little girl?” he asked. “ I have sent for some bread for you. I know you are hungry.”

Moll opened her eyes now very wide ; it was all coming back to her. Where was Bill Jones, with his ugly face, his threats and jeers? She looked about her wildly for a moment, but did not see him.

“Just a few minutes, Moll,” continued Paul, “and Bill will be here with some bread for you.”

What! Bill Jones gone to buy her bread? How strange! and what was the meaning of it all? She stared into the face bending over her, then at those surrounding her. She was bewildered and unable to comprehend the sudden change in her companions.

“ What could have happened ?” she thought. Soon she began to realize that the child leaning over her must have something to do with it all. She tried to take hold of him with her trembling fingers, that he might not vanish away ; for somehow she felt perfectly safe as long as she could see him.

At this moment they were all astonished to see Bill Jones actually returning, and in his arms a bag of biscuits.

“ I got two for a cent, ’cause they was a little stale,” he said, grinning, pleased with what he thought a very good bargain, as he placed the bag beside Paul.

“ Thank you,” said Paul, in such a polite manner that the little ragamuffins made eyes at each other again. They had been astonished at Bill Jones’s willingness to perform the errand, and were now amazed to find that he had really purchased the biscuit as Paul had desired, and returned with them.

The starving child clutched wildly at Paul when she saw the biscuits. Her first impulse was to grab one, that she might quickly ease the gnawing pain of intense hunger; but something in the face above restrained her, and she trembled all over as she lay and watched him break off a piece, and when he handed it to her, she acted like a little wild animal, not taking time in her eagerness to chew it.

Paul then reached out a row of biscuit on a piece of paper toward the children, and told them each to take one, which they readily did, without a second invitation.

In a moment every crumb had disappeared. They reminded him of animals which he had seen at the Zoo, quickly devouring what was thrown to them, then looking up, silently begging for more.

“ I am sorry I cannot give you more to-day,” he said. “ You see, Moll is hungrier than you, and there are only a few left. But some day I will come again and bring a large basket of good things.”

Again all made eyes at each other, and shuffled their feet, not knowing what to do or say.

The very fact of Paul trusting him with money created a desire in the heart of Bill Jones to show this strange child that he was not as bad as he perhaps had first imagined.

He knew well enough what his companions thought when the money was -placed in his hand, and he determined that for once he would surprise them. He could not imagine why this boy should have so trusted him, after what he saw; but innocent little Paul knew nothing of the world and its wickedness, and did not realize that because Bill Jones was cruel he would very likely be dishonest too.

And it was after all his innocence and trustfulness that appealed to Bill Jones in a way that he had never felt before. Had Paul acted in any other way, very likely he would have taken a different stand toward him altogether.

“ I kin tell yer all about her ef yer want ter know,” he said, awkwardly shuffling his feet, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

“ I wish you would,” said Paul, breaking off pieces of biscuit and handing them to Moll.

“ Well ! I know she has lived in the cellar over there all her life, and she alius tries her best to git out of beggin’. Her mother’s a tougher, I tell yer; but she can’t make her beg, even if she beats her nearly to death. She jist makes up her mind she won’t do it, and she won’t. She hain’t got no father or sister or brother, but jist lives alone with her mother, and she ’s drunk all the time. Golly ! I ’m afeard of her myself, when I see her shaking a club at the cellar door. Hain’t that so? ” he asked, turning to his companions.

“ Yes, ’t is,” they replied, for they knew even Bill had been seen to run when Moll’s mother was in a rage and appeared at the door with a club.

Paul’s eyes were filling very fast as he listened to this harrowing tale and imagined what Moll’s life must be in such a home.

“ If she is beaten so much at home, how is it you could be so cruel to her when she comes out?” he asked, looking up in Bill Jones’s face with a searching look that made the latter drop his eyes. “I should think you would all feel so sorry for her that you would be very kind to her when she comes on the street,” continued Paul.