On this beautiful October afternoon the grass, lately mowed, looked like an emerald carpet spread down. The sunbeams and the shadows chased each other across it, as the leaves of the trees stirred in the gentle breeze. Now and then some dry, crisp leaves fell around Janet, for there had been a frost already in the early autumn.
Little Janet was very hungry, and the look of starvation in her young eyes was enough to melt a heart of stone. She kept her feet carefully on the path, for fear of touching the grass, for all around she saw the signs, “Keep off the grass,” and she was afraid of trespassing.
At last a thought struck her. She could make herself look a little better! Putting her hand in her bosom, she pulled out the stockings the Bishop had given her. Taking off her ragged, rusty shoes, she carefully drew them on.
They were very different now from what they were when the Bishop took them off the tree and handed them to her. In each one there was a hole in the toe and a hole in the heel, and a number of other smaller holes all the way up, until they all joined at the top to make a ragged edge. It was not easy to get the torn stockings on, but she pulled them up tight, and tied a bit of string around them to keep them in place. Then she pulled them about so as to show the fewest holes, and dexterously drew the old shoes over them. She patted the stockings lovingly, as her thoughts went back to that Christmas and the tree in the church, saying softly to herself: “And the Bishop said to me, ‘God bless you, my child! Remember to keep yourself clean and pure to the end of your life.’ And he looked up at that sugar boy with the shining wings on the top of the tree. Now I wonder who that was, and what he meant when he said, ‘God bless you, my child’? Who is God? ‘Remember to keep yourself clean to the end of your life.’ I’m ragged, but I guess I’m clean. And pure, he said, too. I wonder what ‘pure’ means? I can’t make it all out. I do wish grand people would say words poor, ragged little girls like me could make out; but I suppose the Bishop couldn’t do that. And I’ll never know what he wanted me to do. Well! I’ll try to find them boats Roy told me about.”
She looked carefully around, and, watching her chance when the policeman’s back was turned towards her, she passed behind him across the walk, and then sped away to the water’s edge, still hiding behind trees and bushes.
When she got to the water, she was struck dumb with the beautiful scenes around her. On the top of the bank, on the drive, walked another policeman. She skipped behind a tree at the edge of the water. Then she saw ducks, swans, and geese, swimming right up to the land. She saw troops of children of all ages, children of the rich, beautiful, with plump cheeks and curly hair, and such lovely clothes. She saw little tots, with bonnets almost as large as themselves. They were joyous and happy, laughing and talking as they fed the feathered tribe. To Janet’s horror, these favored children pulled grass by the handfuls, and fed the waterfowl, while the policemen talked to the nurses on the drive. Little Janet always had before her eyes the sign, “Keep off the grass.”
A pretty child dropped a biscuit on the ground. Janet’s hungry eyes were fixed upon it, but she dared not touch it, for fear of the dreaded policeman. The lovely child looked up and caught the glance; and, like children in their fraternal, natural way, she said, “Do you want it, little girl?” Janet nodded, and the child picked it up and gave it to her, to feed the swans with.
Just then the nurse looked up from her novel and saw the child talking and handing something to this ragged little creature. She screamed, with horror in her voice, “Susie! Come here this instant! What are you doing with that ragged vagrant?” And to Janet: “Be off with you! I’ll tell the policeman to take you away. Such vagabonds as you are not allowed in the park!”
Janet moved off with a full heart, wondering why she had not good clothes and pretty curls like those children, and why the nurses and every one drove her away from them. She was too weary and bewildered to think any more. She was near the boat-house, so, sitting down on the steps, she ate her biscuit, and dipped up water in her hand and drank it to quench her thirst. At the top of the bank she saw more policemen, but they were interested in more important things; so she passed on by the edge of the water until she came to a hill densely covered with trees and bushes. She turned away from the drive and climbed the hill.
When she got to the top, she sat down on the ground and took off her stockings because the twigs caught in the holes and tripped her. She took one off slowly, and dropped it on the walk in a little heap, and then its mate in another little heap.