“I wish to thank you for your kindness, sir. You see, Rob and I used to be old cronies; but we have not seen each other for over two years. But here we are at home. How glad mother will be to see me, and you, too, Rob, and Deacon Cornhill, I am sure. But, dear me! here I have not brought her a crumb to eat. How could I have forgotten it?”
“Is it possible you live here, Joey? But go right in with Deacon Cornhill, while I go after something for her and you to eat. I will be back soon. Chick can shift for himself.”
“Buy something good,” said Mr. Cornhill, pulling out his well-filled pocketbook and handing Rob a five-dollar bill, which, however, he made the exchange for one of a smaller denomination.
If Deacon Cornhill had learned to like bluff, hearty Little Hickory, he was not less pleased with the bravehearted girl, whose only name, as far as he had found out, had that decided masculine ring of Joe.
“If the leetle one is willing, I’ll step in and see her mother.”
“Of course, sir; come right in. But you must be prepared to find scanty room. Our house is so small—that is, narrow, our rooms are not more than three feet wide. Still, now we have got used to them, we get along quite comfortably.”
Deacon Cornhill, by this time, was prepared to be surprised at nothing in New York; but this dwelling fairly staggered his senses. The entire width of this building, which was four stories in height, was scarcely five feet, outside measure. Was it a wonder the man, fresh from the country, where space is a matter of small consideration, was amazed at this peculiar structure, with its long, narrow apartments, where he could barely turn around? It seemed that at some time the land upon which it stood had been a matter of contention, until finally the owner, to spite his neighbor, had erected this tall, narrow building on his limited grounds.
It was occupied, at this time, by three families, one of whom was the Willets, mother and daughter, Josephine, Rob’s “Little Joe.”
Deacon Cornhill, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment, was ushered into the presence of the invalid woman, who, after giving Joey a joyous greeting, received him in a manner which told that she had been well bred.
“But I am so helpless here,” she said. “I feel very grateful to you for befriending Joe, who is my mainstay. I must have been taken to the poorhouse soon after I was obliged to give up work but for her. And she cannot stand it much longer, poor thing! It has been so hard since my husband died. Ah! John and I never dreamed of what was in store for us when we left our old home in Maine to begin a new life in the big city. It was a new life, but a hard one. He was a good mechanic, but we had not been here two years before he was taken down with the fever. Of course, as soon as he stopped work his wages stopped, and when he died I was without a penny, and Joey a little girl. How many times have I pined for the old home, but, alas! I shall never see it!”