So she sat and cried, and worried herself almost sick, instead of looking at little Rosa, and then stepping out, with a brave heart, and saying: I have been rich; I am now poor:—I want some work to do. She couldn't bring her mind to that; so, as I told you, she disappeared, nobody knew whither, and the world went on just the same without her.
Other gay carriages rolled up and down Broadway, with the glittering harness, and sleek horses, and pampered servants; bearing ladies as gay and as pretty as Mrs. Simon. None of them asked what had become of their old friend; they were all too busy about their own affairs; frolicking and dancing away their lives, just as if they were to live that way forever.
Where was Mrs. Simon? If you had looked into a house where wicked people dwell, who live by breaking all God's commandments, there you would have found her and little Rosa.
Was she happy there? Can any body be happy who makes up his mind to do wrong? No; poor woman; she dreaded nothing so much as her own thoughts; and sometimes when Rosa bounded into the room, she would start us if a serpent had stung her. She didn't think when she went there, that sickness and death would come to her in that wretched place; but they did. And what was to become of little, innocent Rosa? Must she die and leave her there? The thought of it made great drops of agony start out on her pale face. She looked about her. There were none there who feared either God or man, and her moments were fast numbering. She called to her bedside one of the inmates who had been kind to her—a young girl, whose heart was not hard and stony. She said to her, with her hands clasped,
"Promise me, before I die, that you will get Rosa away from this wretched place—quick—promise!"
"I will, I will!" said the young girl, wiping the death-damp from her forehead.
The grave closed over poor Mrs. Simon and her errors; and poor little Rosa sobbed as if she had been the best mother in the world; and then the young girl, of whom I have spoken, whispered to Rosa that she would be kind to her,—and so she was; for Mrs. Simon's death had made her think of a great many good thoughts, and she wanted to get away, too, and live where God was feared.
Now you know who were in the carriage that was driving away with the police officer. It was that young girl and little Rosa. The man in whose house she lived, caught her going away with the child, and cut her with a knife that such people always carry. That's why the blood was on her cheek, and on Rosa's dress. And then, in the struggle to get Rosa away, he broke her little arm with his rough grasp; so she had it "in a sling." Perhaps they might not have got away at all, had not a police-man heard their screams and helped them off. The man in whose house they had been, was sent to "The Tombs" (a place in New York for such people,) and then he was sentenced to the Penitentiary; and Rosa was very glad to hear that, because she trembled all over for fear he would get her again.
Dear little Rosa! the fright, and her grief, and the broken arm together, threw her into a fever; and for a long while it was feared she would die; but you will be glad to know that she got well, and that I have seen her since, with her face as full of sunshine as if a cloud had never passed over it; and that I have heard her, with some other little children, in a school, saying: "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not;" and you can't tell how happy this made me, after hearing her sad story.
Are you not glad that there are good, true, kind hearts left in the world, who remember that Jesus said, "Feed my lambs"?