LITTLE MISS ODDITY

“‘Tain’t Nothin’ but an Old Weed!”

Little Miss Oddity
By
AMY E. BLANCHARD
Author of “A Dear Little Girl,” “Mistress May,” etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY IDA WAUGH

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1902,
By George W. Jacobs & Co.
Published July, 1902.

Contents

Illustrations

THE BACK YARD

CHAPTER I
THE BACK YARD

It was a queer jumbled up place, that back yard of the house where Cassy and Jerry Law lived; old barrels tumbled to pieces in one corner, empty tomato cans rolled against cast-off shoes in another; here bits of broken crockery wedged themselves in between a lot of shingles, and there a pile of iron scraps crowded against a bottomless chair; on a clothes-line flapped several pairs of overalls and a stunted little tree bore upon its branches sundry stockings of various sizes and conditions.

It was a discouraging looking place, but Cassy, intently bending over a pile of dirt near the bottomless chair, did not heed anything but the fact that two tiny green shoots were poking themselves up from the unpromising soil. She was a thin-faced, bright-eyed child, not pretty, but with an eager, wistful expression, and as her face lit up with a sudden smile she looked unusually intelligent.

“Jerry, come here,” she cried; “I’ve got a garden.”

“Sho!” returned Jerry, “I don’t believe it.”

“I have so; just you come and look at it.” Cassy tossed back the locks of brown hair that hung over her eyes and softly patted with her two small hands the dry earth around the springing blades of green. Jerry came nearer. “It’s truly growing,” Cassy went on. “I didn’t stick it in the ground myself to make believe; just see.”

Jerry bent his sandy-colored head nearer to the object of his sister’s admiration.

“’Tain’t nothin’ but a old weed,” he decided at last.

“How do you know?”

“I just believe it.”

“Well, you don’t know, and I think it is just as good to believe it will grow to be a beautiful flower.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Jerry said.

“Why not?”

“’Cause.”

“But just maybe,” Cassy insisted pleadingly. “Why couldn’t it? I don’t see why not.”

“’Cause,” repeated Jerry, “I never saw no flowers growing in this back yard.”

“But Mrs. Boyle has some right next door, and oh, Jerry, Mrs. Schaff across the street has some great big lovely red ones. Please let’s hope this will be a flower.”

“Well,” replied Jerry, doubtfully, “I’ll pretend, but if it isn’t, you mustn’t say: Now, Jerry, what made you let me believe in it?”

“I won’t; I truly won’t.”

“All the same,” said Jerry, “I don’t see how you can keep it from being trampled on.”

Cassy looked alarmed.

“You see it’s right out here where anybody can pull it up or do anything. Billy Miles would rather tear it to pieces than not if he thought you wanted to keep it.”

Cassy’s distress increased. “Couldn’t we hide it or something?”

“We might for a little while, but if it should grow and grow why then anybody could find it out.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Cassy, “it’s like Moses when they had to put him in the bulrushes. Maybe it will be a little wee bit of a flower and after a while we could come and dig it up and set it in the window. I know what I’ll do; I’ll set that old chair over it and then maybe nobody will notice it.”

“There’s a piece of chicken wire off over there,” said Jerry, good-naturedly. “I’ll get that and sort of twist it around the chair, then it will make a fence for it. Sh! There’s Billy, and if he sees us he will play the mischief with any fun of ours.”

Cassy arose hastily to her feet and faced the back door from which Billy’s form was just issuing. There was no love lost between Billy and the Law children.

“What yer doin’?” questioned Billy, looking suspiciously at Cassy’s defiant attitude.

“Nothin’.”

“Humph! I don’t believe ye.”

Cassy spread out her hands.

“Well, see, am I doing anything? Did you think I was eating strawberries or swinging in a hammock?”

“You’re too smart,” returned Billy. He came over and peered around. “You’ve got somethin’ in among those cans.”

Cassy tossed up her chin.

“You’re welcome to all you find in them.”

Billy turned one over with his foot, looked among the scraps of iron and then said:

“You’re just bluffin’, but I’ll find out.” And he climbed the fence into the next yard.

As soon as his stout legs had disappeared Cassy whirled the old chair around till it stood over her treasured plant. Jerry disengaged the strip of chicken wire from its surroundings and contrived a sort of coop-like structure which did not attract the eye, yet kept the small green shoots safely hidden without excluding the light and air.

“Now let’s go tell mother,” said Cassy, and took to her heels, Jerry following.

Up the shabby dark stairway they ran, Cassy stepping lightly, Jerry, boy-like, with clattering tread. Mrs. Law glanced up from her sewing as they entered. “We’ve got a garden,” said Cassy in a loud whisper.

“What do you mean?” inquired her mother, breaking off her thread with a snap.

“We have truly,” Cassy insisted. “It’s under an old chair in the back yard.”

“That’s a queer place for a garden,” responded her mother, rethreading her needle and taking swift stitches.

“Yes, but it happened itself, you know, and so we have to have it there. We’re so afraid Billy Miles will pull it up. Jerry thinks maybe it’s a weed, but we’re going to hope it’s a flower, a real flower. What would you like it to be, mother, a rose?”

“I’m afraid that would be setting my hopes too high. Let me see, perhaps it might be a morning-glory.”

“Are they pretty, morning-glories?”

“Yes, very.”

“What color?”

“All colors, but the common ones are generally purple or blue.”

“I’d like them to be blue. What do they look like?”

“They grow on a vine, and the flowers are little vase-like cups that open first thing in the morning and close when the sun shines on them.”

“But they open the next day?”

“No, not the same flower, but others do. They bloom very freely, although each one lasts only a little while.”

“Do they smell sweet?”

“I never noticed that they did.”

Cassy was not entirely satisfied with this description and sat very still thinking about it. After awhile she broke out with: “You don’t think it could be any other kind of a flower?”

“Oh, I didn’t say so. Of course it might be. We can tell very soon. I know the leaves of a morning-glory, and when I get time I will go down and look at your plant. Yes, I know morning-glories well enough. There used to be a great mass of them over the back fence where we used to live; all colors, blue and pink and lovely white ones striped. I used to think they were very beautiful.” She sighed and worked faster. “Don’t go out, Jerry,” she said presently. “This work must go home this evening.”

“May I go with Jerry?” asked Cassy.

Her mother hesitated and then replied, “Yes, but don’t stay.”

Spring was well on its way as open windows and doorsteps swarming with children showed, but in this narrow street there were no perfume-laden airs; it seemed instead that all the foul odors were made more evident by the warmer weather, and as the brother and sister made their way through the slovenly groups of loungers, there was little to make them realize the beauty of a world where green trees and sweetly smelling orchards made the heart glad.

They took their way along soberly enough, Jerry lugging the big bundle and his sister trotting along by his side. From the narrow street they turned into a broader one where shops of all kinds were arrayed along the way. Into one of these the children turned, delivered their bundle and hurried out. They never tarried long at the place, for they did not feel comfortable under the old Jew’s sharp eyes, and did not enjoy being stared at by the two big boys who were always there, too.

“We did hurry,” said Cassy when they reached the corner. “And see, Jerry, there are trees with tiny green leaves on them behind that wall. I have always wanted so much to see what was behind that wall. Do you believe you could climb it?”

“Yes, ’course I could, but the cops wouldn’t let me.”

“I do want to know so much,” repeated Cassy wistfully. “There is a gate, you know, but it’s boards, and it’s always shut tight. Can’t we walk around that way now? It won’t take us long and it’s so much nicer than the other way.”

“I don’t know why,” said Jerry. “Brick walls ain’t so awful pretty.”

“No, but the trees are getting green; little bits of baby leaves are coming out on them and we can see them above the wall. Let us go that way.”

“All right,” agreed Jerry.

They trotted along till the brick wall was reached and then Cassy exclaimed excitedly: “Oh, Jerry, I believe the gate is open; there is a man there with a wheelbarrow. Oh, do hurry.”

She ran forward as fast as her legs would carry her and sure enough the gate was open and beyond it smiled such a garden as Cassy had never before seen. Tulips, red and yellow, flaunted themselves in their little round beds, daffodils nodded sunnily from the borders, primroses and pansies, flowering bush and early shrub were all in bloom. Cassy drew a long breath of delight. Was ever anything ever so beautiful? Her eager little face was bent forward and her big eyes were taking in the whole scene when the gardener came out trundling his wheelbarrow.

“Take care, sis,” he warned, “don’t stand in the way.”

“Oh!” Cassy exclaimed, scarcely noticing what he said. “Oh, isn’t it beautiful?”

The gardener smiled.

“’Tain’t so bad. You can step inside the gate out of the way, if you want to.”

“And Jerry, too?” Cassy asked as her brother came up.

The gardener looked suspiciously at Jerry. He had reasons for not thinking well of small boys.

“He’d better stay outside,” he said; but seeing Cassy’s disappointed face he yielded. “If you’ll keep right there by the gate I guess you’ll do no harm,” he told Jerry, and the two children stepped inside.

Such a waft of sweet odors as met them, and such a glory of color. The gardener glanced at Cassy’s rapt face as he trundled in his last load of sand, and he looked pleased.

“You like it pretty well, don’t you?” he said. “If I had time I’d show you about, but I’ve got to get some plants potted before night, and I’ve got to shut the gate now,” he added regretfully.

Cassy turned slowly, her eyes still lingering upon the borders.

“She’s wanted to see the inside of this place more’n anything,” Jerry confided to the gardener as Cassy’s steps lagged, “but the gate ain’t ever been open before.”

“Then I’m glad it happened to be this time when you were by,” said the gardener heartily. “Some day if you happen to see me when I’ve got time I’ll take you all over the garden.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you. I’d love that. Have you any morning-glories?”

The man laughed.

“No, pesky things; they grow so fast that they’d get the best of me in no time; though, now I think of it, there were some by the kitchen door last year. The cook planted them, and I guess they’ll come up again this summer too plentiful for my use. Do you like ’em, sis?”

“I never saw any,” Cassy told him. “But I want to.”

She turned away as the gardener made ready to shut the gate, and all the way home she had scarcely a word to say. “It was like the garden of Eden,” she said under her breath once.

“I think he might have given us some flowers,” said Jerry.

“Maybe he couldn’t,” returned Cassy. “They aren’t his. I think he was very good to let us go in. Oh, Jerry, how happy, how happy people must be who have a garden like that.”

There was excuse enough for their having tarried when they reached home at dusk to find their simple little supper of mush and molasses ready for them. Cassy could talk of nothing but the garden, and all night long she dreamed of nodding flowers and green trees.

In the morning her first thought was of the two green shoots under the old chair in the back yard. Perhaps the plant needed water; she would go down and see before any one was up. Carefully carrying a cupful of water she went down the rickety steps which led to the back yard.

The little green shoots had stretched further up out of the dry earth, to the child’s delight. Lifting the chair with a cautious look around she poured the water upon the earth and watched it sink into the ground. She crouched there for some time as if she would discover the plant’s manner of growing.

At last she arose with a sigh. Such a poor little garden compared to the one she had seen yesterday, but what possibilities did it not hold? This tiny plant might yet show gorgeous blooms of red and yellow, or send forth big bunches of pink. Her thoughts went rioting along when they were interrupted by a hoarse laugh, and looking up startled, she saw the grinning face of Billy Miles peering over the fence.

“I caught ye,” he jeered. “I seen ye. What yer got buried there?”

“Nothing,” returned Cassy stoutly.

“Yer another,” retorted Billy, clambering over the fence. “What yer got in that cup?”

Cassy turned the cup upside down, but Billy was not satisfied. He came threateningly towards her, taking no heed of where he was stepping.

“Oh, take care,” cried Cassy, forgetting caution in her alarm lest his heavy tread should crush her precious plant.

Billy looked down.

“Ye tried to fool me,” he cried, seeing the moist circle out of which stretched the green shoots.

“I didn’t, either.”

Billy for answer gave a savage kick and snap went the little stalk. Cassy burst into tears, picked up her treasured plant and went flying up-stairs. She laid the tiny stalk before her mother, and hiding her face in her hands sobbed bitterly.

Jerry, still frowsy and unkempt, issued from his bit of a room.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, looking at Cassy in concern. For answer Mrs. Law held up the broken stalk, and Jerry looked his sympathy.

“Never mind, don’t cry so, dear,” Mrs. Law said at last. “Very likely it wouldn’t have lived anyhow.”

“How did it happen?” whispered Jerry.

“Billy Miles,” Cassy whispered back, choking down her sobs. “He saw me watering it and he got mad and kicked it to death. Oh, my poor little flower that was going to be a morning-glory. It was, wasn’t it, mother?”

Mrs. Law examined the broken leaves.

“I think perhaps it was,” she replied.

“Won’t it live if I plant it in a box?” asked Cassy, this new hope causing her tears to cease.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll get even with Billy Miles,” muttered Jerry; then louder he said, “Cheer up, Cass; I’ll get you a real, righty flower, see if I don’t.” He looked at his mother for encouragement.

“How will you do it?” asked Cassy, interested.

“Never you mind. I will, honest, I will. I’ll tell mother.” And drawing Mrs. Law to one side he confided to her his plan.

All day long Jerry was absent, and when Cassy asked where he was, her mother only smiled, though if the truth were known he was not very far away, for he was keeping watch by the gate in the garden wall. If that gardener should but once appear Jerry knew well what he meant to do. He did not come home even to dinner, but munched a crust he had stuffed in his pocket, and kept his eye on the gate.

“He might just be coming out to dinner now,” the boy murmured to himself, “and I’d be sure to miss him if I left.” But no gardener appeared till late. The clock had struck six and the streets were full of workmen returning to their homes when the gate did open and out stepped the gardener, dinner bucket in hand. He had no sooner appeared than Jerry met him, outwardly as bold as a lion, but inwardly anxious.

“Mr. Gardener,” he began.

The man scowled down at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Out with it.”

“Nothing much,” returned Jerry, “at least, you see—you know me and my sister were here looking at your garden yesterday.”

“Yes, I remember now. Well?”

“And you know—” Jerry went on to tell his story of the broken plant, concluding with: “so I thought some time, you know, you might have an extra plant, just a little bit of a one, that you wouldn’t miss, and if you’d sell it cheap, I’d work it out, the pay, I mean. I could help to wheel that sand, you know.”

The man’s face broke into a smile.

“All right, sonny; it’s a bargain. I must go home now, but you come around Monday, and sister shall get a plant.”

“Shall I come to this gate?” asked Jerry eagerly. “When?”

“No, not here; round at the other side. We don’t often open this gate, only to take in loads of dirt and such, and when I am late I go out this way. You go all the way around to the other side and you’ll see an iron railing; there’s another gate there; go in and knock at the back door and say you want to see John McClure. Come about twelve o’clock and bring sissy.” He nodded and passed on, leaving Jerry in a state of extreme satisfaction, and ready to make for home with scurrying legs and a large appetite.

IN THE GARDEN

CHAPTER II
IN THE GARDEN

“Where have you been all day?” Cassy asked as Jerry came blundering in.

“You can’t guess,” he returned.

“Down by the wharf?”

Jerry shook his head. “Somewhere you like. I stayed outside ’most all day, but I got in at last; you know where.”

“Not the garden.”

“Yes, sir, the garden, and what’s more we’re going to see it on Monday. I had a talk with the gardener; his name is John McClure.”

“Really?” Cassy clapped her hands.

“Yes, really.” Jerry winked at his mother. That was not all there was to tell, but he meant to keep the rest a secret.

“I’m glad it’s Saturday night,” said Cassy after a silence, “for now I’ll have all the time I want for thinking about it, for I’ll have no lessons to study and to bother me. Besides, mother won’t have to work to-morrow and she can tell us all about the house where we were born. How long has it been since we left it, mother?”

“Six years,” Mrs. Law told her.

“I remember it a little,” said Jerry. “I remember father, too.”

“I wish I did,” said Cassy sorrowfully. “Don’t let’s talk about that now. Tell us what you did to-day.”

“I went to market and did my errands first, but there were not many baskets to take home this morning, and then I went and sat out on the curbstone by the wall and waited. Gee! but that’s a big place; it takes up ’most a square, and it’s awful pretty up there. I saw a shiny carriage stop at the door and a lady and a boy got out. I’d like to be that boy.”

“Was he just your size?” asked Cassy, interested.

“No, lots bigger, but he looked friendly; he kind of smiled when he saw me there.”

“Come, children, it’s cleaning up time,” said Mrs. Law. “We must get ready for Sunday; my last buttonhole is finished. I expect Jerry is as hungry as a bear.”

“I am as hungry as two bears,” Jerry assured her. “What are we going to have for supper? I don’t care much what it is, so there is enough of it.”

“Don’t tell him what it is,” said Cassy.

Jerry approached the little stove where something was simmering and sending out savory odors. He lifted the lid.

“Stew!” he cried.

“Yes, with dumplings in it. You shouldn’t have taken off the lid, Jerry, it will spoil them.”

“Never mind, it is all ready to dish up,” Mrs. Law told him.

“My, but it smells good,” said Jerry with much satisfaction. “Did you make plenty of dumplings, mother? They are jolly good with molasses on them.”

“I hope I made enough,” his mother told him. “Cassy and I did not take a hearty dinner, for you were not here, and so we decided to have a hot supper.”

“We don’t have such good things every day,” Jerry remarked, drawing up his chair. “I wonder if we’ll ever have lots and lots to eat; meat every day and dessert. My! it must be fine. I’ll bet that boy I saw to-day has all that.”

“I don’t believe he has dessert every day; I don’t believe anybody has,” Cassy asserted, eyeing her mother as she dished out a plentiful supply of stew upon Jerry’s plate.

“Ho! I’ll bet some people do. Don’t you, mother?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Did you use to?” Cassy asked.

“I believe we did.”

“Were we as rich as that?” Cassy looked her surprise.

“We were not rich at all, but we were very comfortable and very content.” Mrs. Law gave a little sigh.

“Just wait till I grow up, and we will be again,” said Jerry, pausing with a big piece of dumpling on his fork.

“That’s so long,” sighed Cassy.

But to Jerry with a plentiful meal before him to-morrows were pleasant anticipations, and he replied: “Pshaw! no it isn’t.”

Cassy glanced up and caught her mother’s tired look.

“Well, no it isn’t,” she agreed; “it won’t be any time, and I’ll be grown up, too, and mother won’t have a thing to do but——”

“‘Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,’” Mrs. Law put in.

“‘And feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream,’” Cassy finished the line. “I saw strawberries in one of the shops yesterday.”

“I’d rather have dumplings any day,” Jerry decided, having finished eating his stew, and being now ready to attack the dumplings and molasses. To tell the truth, the dumplings formed the principal part of the stew and the meat was very scarce, but the children rather rejoiced at that, and completed their meal with much satisfaction. Then there were many little duties to be done, and of all the rooms in the tenement it is safe to say that Mrs. Law’s was in decidedly the best order for Sunday.

Cassy could hardly wait till noon time Monday, and though she was usually a pretty good scholar, she made many mistakes that morning, and was only aroused to a sense of her inattention when it suddenly dawned upon her that she might be kept in and that would be a calamity too dreadful to contemplate.

At last twelve o’clock came, and she found Jerry waiting outside the school door.

“Come along,” he cried. “We don’t want to lose any time.” And catching her by the arm he hurried her along the street till they reached the long wall.

“Aren’t you going to wait at the gate?” Cassy asked as Jerry, without pausing, went on.

“No, we are to go around to the other side. ’Way round where the horses go into the stable.”

They found no difficulty in getting in, and, after walking the length of the garden path, they came upon their friend, the gardener, sitting on a wheelbarrow. He looked up as they came near.

“Well, here you are,” he greeted them cordially. “Didn’t forget the time. Sun’s noon high and a few minutes past. Now then, my little lass, we’ll go find your plant; I’ve got it safe and sound for you.”

Cassy’s eyes opened wide.

“My little plant?”

“Yes, didn’t brother tell you?”

Cassy shook her head.

“You’re a sly little lad,” he said, pinching Jerry’s ear. “I thought that was what you came for.”

“I thought it was just to see the flowers,” said Cassy.

“You can do that, too, but we’ll pick out yours first. I slipped a lot of geraniums a while ago; they’re easy cared for and are good bloomers; no trouble if you give them a sunny window and a little water. Now then.” He stopped before a row of potted geraniums already showing their gay blooms of red and pink. “Take your pick,” he said.

“Oh!” Cassy crouched down and looked lovingly from one to the other. How could she decide among so many? However, finally, after changing her mind frequently, she halted between a crimson and a lovely pink. Then she sought Jerry’s advice, and he spoke for the red one, but Cassy thought her mother would like the pink one; it was such a lovely color, and finally that was selected; Cassy, hugging it to her, fairly kissed the little flower.

“How good you are,” she said. “Oh, Mr. McClure, what a lovely father you must be.”

John McClure threw back his head and laughed.

“I’m no father at all,” he said; “I’m a lone man with neither chick nor child.”

“I think that is a great pity,” said Cassy, gravely. “I have been thinking of you living in a pretty little house with morning-glories climbing over the porch.”

“And all the place I’ve got is a room in a workman’s boarding-house.”

“I wish you did have a cottage.”

“I’ve wished the same more than once, but it doesn’t seem to come my way. Come now, we’ll go see the rest of the flowers.”

“I’m afraid we shall miss our dinner if we do that,” Jerry put in.

“Oh, I’d rather miss my dinner than not see the flowers,” Cassy told him.

“You would?” Mr. McClure looked pleased.

Just then they saw a boy coming down the path. He had a cheery bright face, and Cassy concluded he must be the one of whom Jerry had told her.

“Well, John,” the boy cried, “I see you have company.”

“Yes, Mr. Rock. This young lass here says she’d rather look at the flowers than eat her dinner. What do you think of that?”

“That she’s a girl after your own heart. But why can’t she do both?” The boy smiled down at Cassy as if expecting her to answer.

“Because we couldn’t get home and back to school in time and see the flowers too, and I do so want to see the flowers.” She looked wistfully at Jerry.

“And I suppose your brother would rather eat his dinner,” said Rock. “I think we can manage it. I’ll run in and get you a sandwich or something, so you won’t starve.” He was gone like a flash, his long legs covering the ground with great strides.

“That’s just like Mr. Rock,” said John McClure. “Come along, children, we’ll be looking at the flowers, and Mr. Rock will see that you don’t go hungry.”

“But——” Cassy looked confused. “I—mother——Do you think mother would like it, Jerry?”

“What?” John interrupted. “I’ll venture to say she’ll not object to your taking a bit of a sandwich from Mr. Rock. Just make yourselves easy, and if you think there’ll be any trouble I’ll go and explain it to her myself. By the way, you won’t want to take your geranium to school, sis; you’d better leave it here and call for it on your way home. Come now; these are the tulips.” And he began to guide them around the garden showing them all manner of sweet or showy flowers.

They were not half way around when Rock appeared bearing a tray on which were two glasses of milk, a pile of sandwiches and two generous slices of pie. He set the tray down on a bench under a spreading tree.

“I say, John, it’s a jolly place to eat, out here, this fine day. I’ve a mind to bring something for myself. Don’t begin your lunch, children, till I come back.” And he was off again, returning in a few minutes with more sandwiches, some crackers and half a pie. “Now,” he said, “I call this great. Pitch in, youngsters. Come along, John, bring your dinner-bucket, and we’ll have a lively time.”

Cassy and Jerry were rather shy at first, but Rock soon made them feel at home, and they thought they had never tasted anything so good as those chicken sandwiches and that apple pie.

“There!” exclaimed Rock, as the last crumb disappeared, “I enjoyed that a great deal more than if I had eaten my lunch indoors. I went to the country for over Sunday and when I got back this morning it was too late for school; the train was an hour late. I found mother wasn’t going to be at home to lunch, so, if you hadn’t been here to keep me company, I’d have eaten a solitary meal indoors. By the way, what time do you go back to school?”

Jerry told him, and he pulled out his watch.

“Then you’ll have to scamper,” he cried.

“You’re coming back to get your geranium,” John charged Cassy, and she smiled up at him with such a sunny expression that John saw there was little danger of her forgetting.

“Those are nice little things,” said Rock as he watched the two children depart.

“That they are, Mr. Rock,” returned John.

“I wonder where they live,” said Rock.

“In one of the tenements beyond the square, so they tell me.”

“Pshaw! that’s not a very nice place, and those children seem neat and well-behaved, and they speak well, too.”

“They’re fatherless,” said John, “and it’s likely their mother has a hard time to get along, and can afford to live nowhere else, but they’re different from most of the gang down that way; I saw that the first day when they stood by the gate and looked in.” And he told Rock of how he had first met the children.

“I’m going to learn more about them,” Rock declared. “I’ll be here when they come back after school. That little girl’s face is a perfect sunbeam when she smiles, and the boy is a manly, honest little fellow.”

True to his word Rock was there when the children returned.

“Where do you live?” he asked them.

“On Orchard Street,” they told him.

“Have you always lived there?”

“No,” said Cassy, “we used to live in a lovely little house near the city, and there were morning-glories growing over the porch.” She looked at John.

“By the way,” said that worthy, “I told you I’d see about the morning-glories. I believe I’ve some seed in the tool-house. You’re welcome to ’em, and if you plant ’em they’ll be likely to grow, and you can train ’em over your window. Have you a good yard?”

“No,” Cassy said; “we have three rooms on the top floor, one big room and two little ones. Mother likes it up where we are because it is nearer the sky, and there is no one above us.”

“Sensible woman,” said John, nodding approvingly.

“And you’ve no yard? Well, you can plant the seeds in a box on the window-sill, unless you like to have a garden in the common yard.”

“Oh, we can’t. Billy Miles won’t let us.” And Cassy told the story of her treasured morning-glory, and of its destruction. Rock and John listened gravely. “And I was so sorry,” said Cassy, “for I had always wanted to see a morning-glory, because mother tells how they grew over our porch where we used to live. We would be there now if papa had lived.”

“How long since he died?” Rock asked, sympathetically.

“Six years. I wasn’t three years old, and Jerry was about five. Papa got hurt on the railroad, you know, and he never got well.”

“Yes,” spoke up Jerry. “And mother said some people said she ought to have lots of money from the railroad, because it was their fault, but she tried and they put her off, and she couldn’t afford to have a lawyer, so she just had to give up.”

Rock listened attentively. “I wish she’d come and see papa, he’s a railroad man, and maybe he could tell her what to do.”

“Mother hasn’t any time,” said Cassy, shaking her head gravely. “She makes buttonholes all the time; she has to so as to get us something to eat and to pay the rent, but when we are big we shall not let her do it.”

“Of course not,” said John. “Well, youngsters, I’ve got to go to work. You must come around again some day and tell me how the morning-glories are coming on. There is your geranium, my little lass.”

“And here’s a bunch of violets for your mother,” said Rock. “Tell me your mother’s name and just where you live. Some day I might want to call on you.” He smiled at Cassy as he held out the sweet-smelling violets, and the children, as happy as lords, went off, Jerry carrying his own and Cassy’s books and the little girl holding her geranium carefully with one hand, and in the other bearing the violets which she sniffed frequently as she went along.

WHERE IS JERRY?

CHAPTER III
WHERE IS JERRY?

Carrying her plant in triumph, Cassy appeared before her mother.

“See, see,” she cried out, “just see! Isn’t it lovely? And look at these violets. Oh, mother, we’ve had the loveliest time, and Jerry has some morning-glory seeds in his pocket. You don’t know all we’ve been doing. Were you worried that we didn’t come home to dinner? Did you think we were kept in?”

“No, for I thought it probable that the charms of that garden would prove too much for you, yet I thought I should have two half-starved children to come home to supper.”

“But we’re not half-starved. We had—oh, mother, it’s just like a story. Tell her about it, Jerry, while I put my flower in the window, and give the violets a drink of water.” She set the flower-pot carefully on the sill, and then stood off to see the effect. Truly the gay pink blossom did brighten up the bare room, while the scent of the violets filled the air. “I feel so rich,” said Cassy. “I never had such a lovely day.”

“And how about the lessons?” asked Mrs. Law.

Cassy looked a little crestfallen.

“The lessons weren’t quite as good as they are sometimes. You see,” she came close to her mother and fumbled uneasily with the hem of her apron. “You see, mother, I couldn’t help thinking about the garden all the time, and I came near being kept in ’cause I didn’t pay attention. Wouldn’t that have been dreadful?”

“It would have been pretty bad, for it has never happened to you, and I would have been very sorry to have had you come home with such a report.”

“But I remembered just in time, and I did pay attention the rest of the day. Are you tired, you poor mother, sitting here stitching, stitching all day long? If I could only have brought you a piece of that pie.”

“Do you think that would have rested me? I am not so very tired, for this is only Monday, you know.”

“Oh, Jerry,” Cassy turned to her brother, “we forgot to tell her what the nice boy said. Is he a boy or a young gentleman?”

“Oh, he’s just a boy,” said Jerry grandly, with the judgment of his superior years.

“His name is Rock, Rock Hardy, but his mother’s name is Dallas. That is the old Dallas place, you know, where the garden is, and Rock—Mr. Rock?” She looked inquiringly at Jerry who answered, “No, just Rock; he told me to call him that. His real name is Rockwell, but they call him Rock for short.”

“Well then, Rock said that he wished you would come to see his father. He is a railroad man and maybe he could get you that money.”

Mrs. Law shook her head.

“That was very kind, I am sure, but I could not think of troubling a stranger. No doubt the boy might think his father would be interested, but that was only his idea, and I couldn’t think of calling on Mr. Dallas upon such an invitation. I suppose the gentleman is Mr. Dallas, and Rock Hardy is his stepson.”

“Yes, he is, and I think Mr. Dallas must be very nice, for Rock is so fond of him.” Cassy looked disappointed that her mother had not been willing to go right off to see Mr. Dallas. She had dreamed that great things would come of it, and now her hopes were blasted. But it did not take from the memory of the day’s pleasure, and she went about the room, setting the table for supper, and attending to her little duties, singing softly.

There was not much in the room; a few cheap chairs, one a large rocker, a table covered with a red cloth, a kitchen safe and a small cook-stove; the windows were hung with cheap white curtains, but the floor was bare of carpet, though it had been stained. The house was an old one, and was let out in rooms to tenants who could afford only a small rent, consequently the neighborhood was now none of the best. There was an ill smell of cooking in the halls, and the sound of a constant banging of doors, and the shuffle of heavy feet on the bare stairs could always be heard.

The top floor Mrs. Law thought by far the most desirable, although it was the cheapest, and with her children near her, away from the confusion and noise below, she felt that it was as much of a home as she could hope for.

“Every Now and Then Flora was Carried Over and Shown the Geranium”

It was hard to keep sturdy Jerry from mixing with the neighborhood boys, but though he had learned many of their rough ways and much of their speech, he was not without good principles, and was careful not to bring the language of the street into his home. His faults were not such as came from an evil heart, and his love for his mother and sister would cause any one to forgive him many mistakes.

Cassy was such a mother-child that she shrank from the children in the house, and when she was at home from school rarely played with them. She would rather stay with her mother. Her principal playmate was a battered doll, which she had owned since she was a baby. It was the last gift from her father, and she prized it above all her possessions.

The next afternoon she established herself in a corner with her doll, Flora, and carried on a long whispered conversation with her. Every now and then Flora was carried over and shown the geranium, and made to peer into the box which held the morning-glory seeds. At last the daylight waned and Mrs. Law moved nearer the window.

“It’s ’most bedtime, but I’ll tell you a story before you go to bed,” she heard Cassy say to her doll. “Listen, and it will give you something to think about while you are trying to go to sleep. Once there was a little girl ’bout as big as me, and she had a mother and a brother and she hadn’t any money at all, but they all wanted some, so her mother went to see a gentleman who knew where there was lots of railroad money, and he gave a whole lot of it to her mother ’cause her husband had been hurt in a railroad accident, and so the little girl had a whole window full of flowers and violets every day, and chicken sandwiches and apple pie, but she didn’t get a new doll, only a new silk dress for her old one—a blue silk dress just like the sky, and oh yes—they had a nice little house with morning-glories growing all over the porch, and the little girl’s mother didn’t have to make any more buttonholes or sew any more on the sewing-machine; she sat on a velvet chair and ate the chicken sandwiches and apple pie all day.”

At this point Mrs. Law laughed. “Didn’t she get rather tired of that?” she asked.

“Oh, mother, were you listening?”

“I couldn’t very well help hearing.”

“That’s a new story,” said Cassy, gravely undressing her doll. “I’ve never told it to Flora before. It’s not quite a true story, but I wish it was, don’t you?”

“All but the occupation of the little girl’s mother. I think she would get dreadfully tired of sitting on a velvet chair, and of eating sandwiches and pie all day.”

Cassy laughed.

“I don’t believe I’d get tired of them. Come, Flora, you must go to bed. I’ll give you one more sniff of violets before you go.” And after being allowed once more to bury her snub nose in the bunch of violets, Flora was put to bed, her crib being a wooden footstool turned upside down, and her covers being some old bits of cotton cloth.

“Go call Jerry and we’ll have supper,” said Mrs. Law.

Cassy placed the violets carefully in the middle of the table, and leaving her mother to dish up the oat-meal, she went in search of Jerry. Hearing voices in the back yard she first went there, but there was no sign of him, and she went next to the front door, which generally stood wide open. She looked up and down the dingy street, but saw nothing of her brother. She ran down the steps looking to right and left. At the corner she saw Billy Miles with a group of boys.

“Who ye lookin’ fer?” asked Billy.

“I’m looking for Jerry,” Cassy told him. “Have you seen anything of him?”

“I seen him ’bout an hour ago,” he returned, winking at the other boys, who broke out into a loud laugh.

Cassy looked at them sharply.

“You know where he is,” she said positively. “I think you might tell me.”

“I don’t have to,” said Billy teasingly. “Go look for your precious brother if you want him. He’s so stuck up I guess you’ll find him on top of a telegraph pole.”

Another loud laugh followed this witty remark, and Cassy turned away feeling that Jerry was in some place of which the boys knew, and that they had been the means of keeping him there. She well knew that to go home and tell her mother or to get the policeman on the beat to help her would be a sure means of bringing future trouble upon both herself and Jerry, so she determined to hunt for him herself.

She ran down the street calling, “Jerry, Jerry, where are you?” But after making a long search and finding no sign of her brother, she went back home discouraged.

“Jerry isn’t anywhere,” she announced to her mother. “What shall we do?”

“Perhaps he has gone on an errand for some one. He does that sometimes, you know. We will have supper and save his.”

Jerry very often did turn an honest penny by running errands after school hours, and his absence could easily be accounted for on that score, but still Cassy was not satisfied. Somehow the recollection of Billy’s teasing grin remained with her, and she ate her supper very soberly.

“Mother,” she said after she had finished, “do you mind if I go around to the garden and see if Jerry is there? I don’t feel very sure about his going on an errand.”

Her mother smiled.

“Why, my dear, you are not worrying, are you? I think Jerry will be here soon.”

“I know,—but—Billy Miles—I believe he knew where he was—and please, mother——”

“Well dear, if you will hurry right back, you may go. It will soon be dark, and I don’t want my little girl to be out in the streets so late.”

“I’ll come right back,” Cassy promised earnestly; “I will truly, mother.”

“Very well, run along, though I cannot see why you think you will find Jerry there.”

“Maybe Mr. McClure is working late; sometimes he does and Jerry may be helping him.”

“Very well,” her mother repeated, “run along as fast as you can.”