CHAPTER XXI.
GIOVANNI'S ROOM.
"OCHONE! an' it's weary work climbin' thim stairs," groaned Mrs.
Ginniss, pausing upon the landing outside the organ-grinder's door.
"An' mabbe she's wid him still. Anyway, I'll see, and save the coomin' down agin."
With these words, Mrs. Ginniss gave a modest rap upon the door, and, as it remained unanswered, a somewhat louder one, calling at the same time,—
"Misther Jovarny! Misther Jovarny, I say! Is it out yees still are?"
The question remaining unanswered, the good woman waited no longer, but, climbing the remaining flight of stairs took the key of her room from the shelf in Teddy's closet where it had been left, and unlocked the door.
"Cherry, darlint, be ye widin?" asked she, throwing it open; and then, recollecting herself, added,—
"An' sure how could she, be, widout she kim in trew the kayhole?
But, blissid Vargin! where would they be all the day long?"
So saying, Mrs. Ginniss threw up the window, and looked anxiously down the street in the direction where Giovanni and Cherry had that morning disappeared.
Nothing was to be seen of them; but, just turning the corner, came Teddy, his straw-hat pushed back upon his forehead, and his steps slow and undecided. He was thinking wearily, as he often thought of late, that the time had come when he could no longer withhold his little sister from the friends to whom she really belonged; and it was not alone the heat of the August night that brought the great drops of perspiration to the boy's forehead, or drew the white line around his mouth.
"It's quicker nor that you'll stip, my b'y, whin you hear the little sisther's not in yit, an' it's wid Jovarny she is," muttered Mrs. Ginniss; and, half dreading the entrance of her son, she applied herself so diligently to making a fire in preparation for supper, that she did not appear to notice him.
"Good-evening, mother. Where's Cherry?" asked Teddy, throwing himself wearily into a chair just inside the door.
"An' is it yersilf, gossoon? An' it's the big hate is in it intirely."
"Yes: it's hot enough. Where's Cherry?"
"Takin' a little walk, honey. You wouldn't be shuttin' the poor child into the house this wedder, sure?"
"Taking a walk!-what, alone!" exclaimed Teddy, sitting upright very suddenly.
"Of coorse not. Misther Jovarny was perlite enough to ax her; an' she wor that wild to go, I couldn't say her no."
"I wish you had said no, mother. I hate to let her be with that fellow, anyway. I'd have taken her to walk myself, if I was twice as tired. How long have they been gone?"
And Teddy, in his turn, looked anxiously out at the window, but saw nothing more than the squalid street weltering in the last rays of the August sun; a knot of children fighting in the gutter over the body of a dead cat; an old-clothes man sauntering wearily along the pavement, and a dog, with lolling tongue and blood-shot eyes, following close at his heels.
"How long have they been out? asked Teddy again, as he drew in his head, and looked full at his mother, whose confusion struck him with a sudden dismay.
"O mother!" cried he, "what is it? There's more than you're telling me amiss. How long is she gone?"
"Sure an' I didn't mind the clock whin they wint," said Mrs.
Ginniss, still struggling to avoid the shock she felt approaching.
"No, no; but you can tell! O mother! do speak out, for the love of God! I can see how scared you are, though you won't say it. Tell me right out all there is to tell."
"An' it's no great there is to till, Teddy darlint; on'y this mornin', whin I was sint for to Ann Dolan (an' she that bad it's dead we thought she wor one spell, but for Docther Wintworth), Jovarny kim up, an' axed might the child go for a walk to the Gardens wid him; an' I jist puttin' on me shawl to go out, an' not wantin' to take the little crather in wid a sick woman, nor yet to lock the door on her, an' lave her to fret. So I says she might go wid him; and, whin she coom home, I tould Jovarny to open the door wid the kay an' let her in, an' showed her the dinner on the shelf by: an' if it's harm that's coom to her, it's harder on me than on yersilf it'll fall; an' my heart is bruck, is bruck intirely."
Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Ginniss fell into at chair, and gave way to the agitation and alarm she had so long suppressed; but Teddy, ordinarily so kind, and tender of his mother, stared at her blankly, and repeated,—
"This morning! How early this morning?"
"I wor jist afther washin' the bit breakfast-dishes," sobbed Mrs.
Ginniss.
"Twelve hours or near!" exclaimed Teddy in dismay. "And is it to the
Gardens he said he'd take her?"
"Shure an' did he!"
"To the Public Gardens, the City Gardens, just by the Commons?" persisted Teddy.
"Jist the Gardens wor all he said; an' towld me the shwans that wor in it, an' the bit posies."
"Yes: there's swans there, and posies enough," muttered Teddy, and, snatching the hat he had thrown upon a chair as he entered, rushed out of the room and down the stairs at headlong speed.
But, before he could possibly have reached the Garden, the sun had set, all visitors were excluded, and the gate-keeper had gone home. Nothing daunted, Teddy scaled the high iron fence; ran rapidly through all the paths, arbors, nooks, and corners of the place; and finally returned over the fence, just in time, to be collared by a policeman, who had been watching him: but so sincere was the boy's tone and manner, as he assured the official that he was after no harm but was looking for his little sister, who had been taken away from home, and, as he feared, lost, that the guardian of the public peace not only released him, but inquired with some interest into the particulars of the case; saying that he had been likely to notice any one remaining in the Garden longer than usual.
Teddy, with anxious minuteness, described the appearance both of the lost child and the "organ-fellow," as he called Giovanni; and gave the particulars of their leaving home as his mother had given them to him. The policeman listened attentively, but shook his head at the end.
"Haven't seen any sich," said he. "Them I-talian fellers is a bad lot; and I shouldn't wonder if he'd took off the child to learn her to play a tambourine, and go round picking up croppers for him. You'd better wait till morning; and, if they don't turn up, her mother can go and tell the chief about it."
"Chief of police?" asked Teddy.
"Yes; but it ain't always he can do any thing. There was that little gal, a year ago pretty nigh, belonged to a man by the name of Legrange. She was lost, and they offered a reward of ten thousand dollars finally; but she warn't never heard from. You see, there's sich a many children all about: and come to change their clothes, and crop their hair, it's hard to tell t'other from which," said the policeman meditatively; and then, suddenly resuming his official dignity, added, "You mustn't never get over that fence again, though: mind that, young man."
"Thank you, sir," said Teddy, turning away to hide the guilty confusion of his face; and, as he hurried home, he anxiously revolved the idea of applying to the police for aid, should Cherry remain absent after the next morning. But Teddy knew something of the law, and had too often seen better hidden secrets than his own ferreted out and brought to the light by its searching finger, to wish to trust himself within its grasp; at any rate, just yet.
"If I find her, I'll give her up, and tell all, and never touch the reward; but how can I go and say she's lost again?" thought Teddy, with a sick heart. And when, running up the stairs, his quick eyes caught sight of his mother's face, his own turned so ghastly white, that she ran toward him, crying,—
"An' is it dead you've found her, Teddy?"
"Worse; for she's lost; and all that comes to her is on my shoulders," said Teddy hoarsely, as he stood just within the door, looking hungrily about the room, as if he hoped, in some forgotten corner, to light upon his lost treasure.
"Did Jovarny take his organ and the monkey?" asked he suddenly.
"Sure, and he didn't; for I mind luckin' afther him going down the street."
"Then he'll be back!" exclaimed the boy eagerly; but the next moment the new hope died out of his face, and he muttered,—
"He might have taken them before. Anyway, I'll soon see;" and, running down the stairs, Teddy applied his sturdy shoulder and knee to the rickety door of the Italian's room. Neither door nor lock was fitted to withstand much force, and, with a sharp sound of rending wood and breaking iron, they flew apart; and Teddy, stepping over the threshold, glanced eagerly around. The room was stripped of everything except the poor furniture, which Teddy knew the Italian had hired with it, and the wooden box where he had kept his clothes. Of this the key remained in the lock; and, the boy, lifting the lid, soon discovered that a few worthless rags were all that remained.
"He's gone, and she with him!" groaned Teddy, dropping the box-cover, and standing upright to look again through the deserted room. His mother stood in the doorway.
"Och, Teddy! an' it's desaved us intirely he has,—the black-hearted crather; an' may the cuss O' Crom'ell stick to him day an' night, an' turn his sleep to wakin', an' his mate to pizen, till all I wish him is wished out!"
"It's no good cursing or wishing, mother," said Teddy bitterly. "If there was, I'd curse myself the first; for it's on me it had ought to fall."
"Sorra a bit of that, thin, Teddy mavourneen; for iver an' always it was yersilf that wor tinder an' careful uv her that's gone; an' yersilf it wor that saved the life of her, the night she first come home to us; an' it's none but good that iver yees did her in all the days of yer life; an', if there's any blame to be had betwixt us, it's on yer poor owld mother it should be laid,—her that loved the purty darlint as if she'd been her own, an', if she's lost, will carry a brucken heart to her grave wid mournin' afther her. O wurra, wurra, acushla machree! Och the heavy day an' the black night that's in it! Holy Jasus, have mercy on us! Spake the good word for us, blissid Vargin! Saint Bridget (that's me own namesake), stip up an' intersade for us now, if iver; for black is the nade we have uv help."
Falling upon her knees, and pulling a rosary of wooden beads from her bosom, the Irish woman pursued her petitions, mingling them with tears and exclamations more or less pathetic and grotesque; while Teddy, seated upon the Italian's empty box, his head between his hands, his elbows upon his knees, his eyes fixed steadily upon the floor, gave up his young heart a prey to such remorse as might fitly punish even a heavier crime than that of which his conscience accused him.