Part 41 (2/2)

And Luclarion herself,--in a dark cotton print gown, a plain strip of white about the throat,--even that was cotton, not linen, and two of them could be run together in ten minutes for a cent,--and a black alpacca ap.r.o.n, never soiled or crumpled, but washed and ironed when it needed, like anything else,--her hair smoothly gathered back under a small white half-handkerchief cap, plain-hemmed,--was the sermon alive; with the soul of it, the inner sweetness and purity, looking out at them from clear pleasant eyes, and lips cheery with a smile that lay behind them.

She had come down there just to do as G.o.d told her to be a neighbor, and to let her light s.h.i.+ne. He would see about the glorifying.

She did not try to make money out of her candy, or her ginger-nuts; she kept those to entice the little children in; to tempt them to come again when they had once done an errand, shyly, or saucily, or hang-doggedly,--it made little difference which to her,--in her shop.

”I'll tell you what it's like,” Hazel said, when she came in and up-stairs the first Sat.u.r.day afternoon with Desire, and showed and explained to her proudly all Luclarion's ways and blessed inventions. ”It's like your mother and mine throwing crumbs to make the pigeons come, when they were little girls, and lived in Boston,--I mean _here_!”

Hazel waked up at the end of her sentence, suddenly, as we all do sometimes, out of talking or thinking, to the consciousness that it was _here_ that she had mentally got round to.

Desire had never heard of the crumbs or the pigeons. Mrs. Ledwith had always been in such a hurry, living on, that she never stopped to tell her children the sweet old tales of how she _had_ lived. Her child-life had not ripened in her as it had done in Frank.

Desire and Hazel went up-stairs and looked at the empty room. It was light and pleasant; dormer windows opened out on a great area of roofs, above which was blue sky; upon which, poor clothes fluttered in the wind, or cats walked and stretched themselves safely and lazily in the sun.

”I always _do_ like roofs!” said Hazel. ”The nicest thing in 'Mutual Friend' is Jenny Wren up on the Jew's roof, being dead. It seems like getting up over the world, and leaving it all covered up and put away.”

”Except the old clothes,” said Desire.

”They're _washed_” answered Hazel, promptly; and never stopped to think of the meaning.

Then she jumped down from the window, along under which a great beam made a bench to stand on, and looked about the chamber.

”A swing to begin with,” she said. ”Why what is that? Luclarion's got one!”

Knotted up under two great staples that held it, was the long loop of clean new rope; the notched board rested against the chimney below.

”It's all ready! Let's go down and catch one! Luclarion, we've come to tea,” she announced, as they reached the sitting-room. ”There's the shop bell!”

In the shop was a woman with touzled hair and a gown with placket split from gathers to hem, showing the ribs of a dirty skeleton skirt. A child with one garment on,--some sort of woolen thing that had never been a clean color, and was all gutter-color now,--the woman holding the child by the hand here, in a safe place, in a way these mothers have who turn their children out in the street dirt and scramble without any hand to hold. No wonder, though, perhaps; in the strangeness and unfitness of the safe, pure place, doubtless they feel an uneasy instinct that the poor little vagabonds have got astray, and need some holding.

”Give us a four-cent loaf!” said the woman, roughly, her eyes lowering under crossly furrowed brows, as she flung two coins upon the little counter.

Luclarion took down one, looked at it, saw that it had a pale side, and exchanged it for another.

”Here is a nice crusty one,” she said pleasantly, turning to wrap it in a sheet of paper.

”None o' yer gammon! Give it here; there's your money; come along, Crazybug!” And she grabbed the loaf without a wrapper, and twitched the child.

Hazel sat still. She knew there was no use. But Desire with her point-black determination, went right at the boy, took hold of his hand, dirt and all; it was disagreeable, therefore she thought she must do it.

”Don't you want to come and swing?” she said.

”---- yer swing! and yer imperdence! Clear out! He's got swings enough to home! Go to ----, and be ----, you ---- ---- ----!”

Out of the mother's mouth poured a volley of horrible words, like a hailstorm of h.e.l.l.

Desire fell back, as from a blinding shock of she knew not what.

Luclarion came round the counter, quite calmly.

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