Part 24 (2/2)

The tired missionary forgot his fatigue.

”Tom,” said he, springing up, ”I will go and see what is the matter. Who is this Madalina?”

”She is an Italian rag-picker's daughter, sir--they live in Cow Bay--I used to lodge with them sometimes. That is, the mother picks rags, and the father goes with the hand-organ and monkey.”

”Ah, that is where the little tambourine girl came from that we have now in school. There is a quarrel, I suppose, and the little girl has come for me.”

Tom went down stairs, with a heart as light as his step, ”which,” said Mr. P., ”I followed, I must acknowledge, rather heavily, for I did not quite relish the idea of being wakened out of a comfortable evening nap, to do police duty in Cow Bay, and I fear there might not have been quite as much suavity in my tone and manner towards the rag-picker's daughter, as we ought to use when speaking to those poor children, for I recollect the words were, 'What do you want?' instead of, 'What can I do for you, my child--come tell me, and don't cry any more.'”

”I don't want to be a beggar girl. I want to be like my cousin Juliana.”

”Juliana--Juliana. I don't know her.”

”It is the little tambourine girl, sir,” said Tom.

”Oh, I see now. Juliana is your cousin, then. Come here Madalina; let me look at you, and I will talk about it. Did Juliana tell you to come here?”

”Yes, sir; she has told me a good many times, but they would not let me.

I am afraid to stay there to-night, they are drinking and fighting so bad.”

”I thought so; and you want me to go and stop them; is that it?”

”No, sir. I want to stay here.”

”Oh, a poor little girl flying for fear from her own parents, because they are drinking and fighting so.”

He drew her forward into the light, and looked upon as fine a set of features as he ever saw. Her hair, which, as a matter of course, was black almost as the raven's wing, and subsequently, when cleaned of dirt and its accompaniments, became almost as glossy, overshadowed a pair of the keenest, yet mildest, black eyes I ever met with. Her skin was dark, partly natural, and partly the effect of the sun upon its unwashed, unsheltered surface. Her teeth, oh! what a set of teeth! which, she afterward told me, she kept clean by a habit she had of eating charcoal.

She was about twelve years old, slim form, rather tall, but delicate structure. Her dress consisted of a dirty cotton frock, reaching a little below the knees, and nothing else. Barefooted, bareheaded, almost naked, at the hour of midnight, of a cold March night, a little innocent child, wandering through the streets of New York, vainly plying the words, ”Please give me a penny, sir,” to well-fed, comfortably-dressed men, whose feelings have grown callous by constantly hearing such words from such objects, to whom to give is not to relieve, but rather encourage to continue in the pursuit of such ill-gotten means of prolonging life, without any prospect of benefit to themselves or their fellow-creatures.

”Then you don't want to beg, Madalina! Why not?”

”Because people push me, and curse me, and to-day one man kicked me right here, sir.” And she laid her hand upon her stomach, and a little groan of anguish and accusation against the unfeeling monster who had done the deed, went to the recording angel, and was set down in the black catalogue of rum-selling crimes, for a day of retribution yet to come.

”Kicked you! What for? Were you saucy?”

”No, sir; I am never saucy. My mother says if I am saucy, men won't give me anything. I must be very quiet, and not talk any, nor answer any questions.”

”Then how came he to kick you?”

”I don't know, sir; I did not say a word, I only went into one of those nice rooms in Broadway, where they have such beautiful gla.s.s bottles and tumblers, and looking-gla.s.ses, and such a sight of all sorts of liquor, and where so many fine gentlemen go and sit, and talk, and laugh, and drink, and smoke; and I just went along and held out my hand to the gentlemen, when one of them told me to open my mouth, and shut my eyes, and hold out my hand, and he would give me a s.h.i.+lling. Now look what he did--he put his cigar all burning in my hand, and shut it up and held it there.”

Horrible! she opened her hand, and showed three fingers and a palm all in a blister.

”Oh, sir, that is nothing to what another one did. He put a great nasty chaw of tobacco in my mouth, and then I could not help crying; then the man who sells the liquor, he ran out from behind the counter, and how he did swear, and caught me by the hair, and pulled me down on the floor, and kicked me so I could hardly get away. But he told me if I did not he would set the dogs on me and tear me to pieces.”

”What did you go into such a place for?”

<script>