In Wild Rose Time. Douglas Amanda M.
for Patsey,” suggested Bess, her pale face in a glow.
They chose one with a pink border, thinking of the wild roses that had brought such great good luck.
“And here is a blue belt ribbon for the little girl,” said the lady. “It’s been in the window, and has two faded places, but you can tie them in the bow.”
Dil had been struggling between economy and a belt ribbon. She raised her brown eyes so full of delight that words were hardly needed.
They packed up their goods and departed. Bess wore her cap, and held up her head like a real lady. I doubt if there were two happier children in the whole city.
Dusk was beginning to fall; but all the stores were in a glow, and now people were coming out again after supper. They seldom stayed this late, but to-night they were quite safe. And oh, how splendid it all was! the happiness of a lifetime.
Bess kept turning partly round and talking out her delight. Pain and weariness were forgotten. They laughed in sheer gladness. If John Travis could have seen them, he would have said he had never in his life made such an investment of five dollars.
“And we’ve only spent a little over two. Oh, what a lot of things you can buy when you have some money! An’, Dil, we’ll put away a good bit, so’s when there ain’t many babies mother won’t bang you. Oh, she’d kill us both dead an’ take the money if she knew, wouldn’t she?”
“She would that,” subjoined Dil grimly.
Poor Dil had been banged pretty severely in her short day. Last spring Mrs. Quinn had been complained of, as the “banging” had been so severe that Dil had fainted, and had to keep her bed several days.
“Oh, I wisht we wasn’t ever going home,” sighed Bess. “If I had two good legs we’d run away like that Mullin girl. An’ now that I’ve got some clo’es, I’m sorry we can’t go right off. Nex’ spring – how many months, Dil?”
August was almost ended. Seven long, weary months at the best.
“There’s Thanksgivin’ an’ Christmas, an’ – an’ St. Patrick’s; that’s in March, I know. An’ after that it gen’ally comes warm. Oh, it seems as if I couldn’t wait! But the man will come with Christiana, an’ then we’ll find how to go without gettin’ lost or makin’ a mistake. Ain’t it queer? I should think everybody’d want to go.”
The big eyes were full of wonder.
“Well, you see the people who have money an’ things an’ flowers an’ journeys an’ live in grand houses don’t need to be in a hurry. ’Tain’t of so much account to them. An’ I guess people haven’t got the straight of it, someway.”
Poor Dil! She wasn’t very straight in her own mind. If God could give people so much, why didn’t he do it now? Or if they had to go to heaven for it, why wasn’t it made plain, and you could be let to start whenever you desired?
Bess’s confidence gave her a curiously apprehensive feeling. Suppose there wasn’t any heaven? The mystery was incomprehensible.
It was late when they reached home. Oh, the sickening heat and smells! But at this hour on Saturday night the court was comparatively quiet. The revelry began later.
Dan sat on the stoop crying. He had been in a fight, and the under dog at that, and had one black eye, and his jacket torn to ribbons.
“An’ mother’ll wollop me for the jacket,” he whimpered.
“Come an’ have yer eye tied up with cold water. I did a bit of work this afternoon, an’ got some goodies, an’ you shall have some. Oh, it’s pritty bad, Dan. Take my penny an’ go buy an oyster, – that’ll help get the black out.”
Dan was mightily tempted to spend the penny otherwise, but the thought of the goodies restrained him. Dil took Bess and the “treasures” up-stairs, and laid her gently on the old lounge. She had everything put away when Dan returned, so she washed his face and bound up his eye.
He ceased sniffling, and cried, “O golly!” at the sight of two luscious bananas. “Dil, ye wor in luck! I didn’t even see a chance to snivy on an apple. Store folks is mighty s’picious, watchin’ out.”
“O Dan! It’s wicked to steal!”
“None o’ yer gals’ gaff!” said Dan with his mouth full. “Snivyin’ somethin’ ter eat ain’t no stealin’. An’ I’m hungry as an elefunt.”
Dil fixed him some supper, and he devoured it with the apparent capacity of the elephant. Then, as he was very tired and used up, he tumbled on his straw pallet in his mother’s room, and in five minutes was asleep.
Now the young conspirators had to consider about a hiding-place for their unaccustomed treasures.
“I’ll tell you,” and Bess laughed shrewdly, “we’ll make a bank under the cushion of the wagon.” At the risk of smothering Dan, they had shut his door. “Mother wouldn’t dast to tumble me out, and no one knows. An’ we’ll call it somethin’ else. We’ll never say m – ”
“Yes.” Dil put it in the paper bag, and then she made the night bed on top of it. What a fortune it was! They glanced furtively at each other, as if questioning their right to it.
“Mammy seldom does look round,” said Dil; “an’ I’ll clear the room up on Fridays, I sometimes do. An’ I’ll tell her I made the dress, if she spies it out. No, that would be a lie, an’ tellin’ lies roughs you up inside, though sometimes it’s better than bein’ banged. Bess, dear, I wish it was all true ’bout heaven.”
“It is true, I feel it all over me.”
Poor Dil sighed softly. She wasn’t so sure.
Then she bathed Bess, and threw away the ragged garments. Bess was tired, but bright and happy. They stowed away their purchases, and were all settled when Owen came in. No one would have guessed the rare holiday.
Barker’s Court was beginning its weekly orgy – singing, swearing, dancing, fighting, and fortunate if there was not an arrest or two. But Dil was so tired that she slept through it all, forgetting about the money, and not even haunted by dreams.
It was past midnight when Mrs. Quinn returned, to find everything still within. She tumbled across her bed, and slept the sleep of a drunken woman until Sunday noon.
Dil looked after the breakfast. Dan’s eye was much improved. Out of an old bundle she found a jacket a size or two beyond him, but the children of the slums are not critical. The boys went out to roam the streets. Patsey sidled in with a knowing wink towards Mrs. Quinn’s chamber door. It was nearly always safe on Sunday morning. He had a handful of flowers.
They gave him his “hankercher.” But somehow they couldn’t tell him of their adventure.
“But yous oughtn’t ’er spend yer tin on me,” he said with awkward gratefulness. “Yous don’t have much look fer scrapin’ it up.”
“But you’re alwers so good to us,” returned Bess, in her sweet, plaintive tone.
“An’ when yous want a nickel or two, let me know,” he said with manly tenderness.
Dil made her mother a cup of strong coffee, and brushed out her long black hair, still handsome enough for a woman of fashion to envy. She had made a big Irish stew for dinner, and when the house was cleared up, she had leave to take Bess out. But they did not go to the square to-day. They rambled up and down some of the nicer streets, where the houses were closed and the people away, and speculated about the journey to heaven in the spring. Alas! There were hundreds more who did not even know there was a heaven, or for what the church bells rang, or why Sunday came.
The week was melting hot. One of the babies had a very sick day, and died that night. Several others in the court died, but the summer was always hard on babies. Mrs. Quinn had a day off, and went up to Glen Island. Children and babies were taken away for a day or a week; but Dil was too busy, and it would have been no pleasure for Bess to go without her. But some way they were overlooked.
The