At the North Street corner the pale little mother left the car with the heavy overcoat over one arm, and the pocket-book, with what change she had been able to find, in her hand, while Harold, tugging at her sleeve, was heard to say, “Mamma, I want that candy this minute!”
At Reed Street came three passengers, a boy about the size of the one who had left us, and two little girls, one perhaps seven, and the other not over four. The boy was freckled-faced, and by no means so handsome as Harold. His clothes were very neat, but of the coarse, common sort worn by children of the moderately poor. The little girls beside him were as neat as wax—faces and hands and hair in perfect order; but their sacks and hats were of last year’s fashion—perhaps older still than that—and I fancy Harold would have laughed outright at the little old overcoat which hung over the boy’s arm.
A SHOCKING EXPERIENCE.
They took their seats quietly, and made no disturbance of any sort. But there were so few in the car, and we were passing at that time through such a quiet street, that I could hear distinctly the words they spoke to one another.
“Better put on your sack, Janie,” said the boy, with a thoughtful air, looking at the older sister, “the wind blows in pretty strong here.” Janie immediately arose and began tugging at her sack. The boy, with the manners of a gentleman accustomed to the work, took hold of it at the shoulders and skillfully steered the little arms into place, pulling it down behind, and bestowing meanwhile side glances upon the little sister.
“Sit still, Bessie, that’s a good girl. No, don’t stand, dear; mamma wouldn’t like you to stand, the cars shake so.”
Down sat Bessie again, trying to put herself squarely on the seat. Failing in this her protector turned next to her, lifted her plump little form into place, then straightened her hat and returned a confiding smile which she gave him. Meantime the car was filling up, and in a few minutes every seat was taken. There came next a middle-aged woman, black of face, and very shabby as to toilet, with a market basket on her arm. Quick as thought the little gentleman arose, and touching her arm motioned her to his seat. Then Janie reached forward for his overcoat. “Let me hold your overcoat, Charlie,” she said, “because you haven’t any seat.”
“O, no!” said Charlie, smiling back at her, “I can carry it as well as not. Bessie dear, don’t climb up that way, you will fall.”
Down sat Bessie, who had mounted on her fat little knees to look out of the window.