“I shall ask father to take it to the Mayor. He won’t be so unreasonable as to refuse us; no one could.”
Joanna had written out Aunty’s story, in her own simple, direct way. She told how this nice, neat, pleasant old person had been turned out of the Park; how the children all had liked her, and found it convenient to buy at her table; and how she never scolded if they dropped papers and nutshells about, but took her own little pan and brush and swept them away; she was so orderly. She ended her letter with a petition that the Mayor would be so good to the children, and this excellent old grandmother, as to let her go back to her old seat.
If the Mayor could refuse, we could not; so our names went down on the paper; and before the ink was dry, off ran Joanna. The hall-door slammed, and we saw her with all her friends run up the steps of the neighboring houses, full of excitement and hope.
Nearly all the families that lived in the great houses of Washington Square were rich; and some of them proud and selfish, perhaps; for money sometimes does sad mischief to the hearts of people. We asked ourselves, “What will they care for old Aunty?”
Whatever their tempers might be, however, when the lady or gentleman came and saw the bright, eager faces, and the young eyes glistening with sympathy, and the little hands pointing out there at the aged woman on the sidewalk,—while they were in their gilded and cushioned houses,—they could not refuse a name, and the list swelled fast.
At one house lived three Jewesses, who were so pleased with the children’s scheme, that they not only gave their own names, but obtained many more. “They are Jews, ma’am, but they’re Christians!” said Aunty afterwards; by which she meant, it is not names, but actions, that prove us followers of the loving, compassionate Christ.
So large was the Square, so many houses to visit, that the ladies’ help was very welcome. They could state Aunty’s case with propriety; and what with their words and the children’s eloquent faces, all went well.
So the paper was filled with signatures, and Joanna’s father took it to the Mayor. He smiled, and signed his name, in big letters, to an order that Aunty should return at once to her old seat, and have all the privileges she had ever enjoyed in the Park; and the next morning there she was, in her own old corner!
As soon as she came, the children ran out to welcome her. As she shook hands with them, and looked up in their pleased faces, we saw her again and again wipe the tears from her old eyes.
Everybody that spoke to Aunty that day, congratulated her; and when the schools in the neighborhood were dismissed, the scholars and teachers went together, in procession, and bought everything Aunty had to sell; till the poor old woman could only cover her face and cry, to think that she had so many friends. If ever you go to the Parade Ground, in New York, you may talk with old Aunty, and ask her if this story is not true.