On Sunday, Auntie, who had been lunching with her nieces and nephews, said: "Children, I am not going to church this afternoon. I shall stay here and tell you a story I heard while visiting among my poor people yesterday. Shall you like that?"
"Oh yes!" cried the children, rapturously.
"Will it be big?" inquired Baby.
"Yes; but you may go to sleep if you get tired."
"All right," said Baby, and Auntie began:
In one of the dreariest parts of our old town there lived, not long ago, a widow with three little children, two girls and a boy. She had to work very hard to keep them in food and clothing. Every morning before it was light she had to go away to her work. She would creep softly out of bed, dress very quietly, tidy up the room, build the fire, and set out the children's breakfast, and then, with a kiss on each sleeping face, she would go away out into the cold.
By-and-by the sun would find its way into the room, and the oldest girl would open her eyes, jump briskly up like a brave little woman, light the fire, and set on the kettle. Though only nine years old, she knew how to work, and believed, as very few seem to do, that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well.
When breakfast was almost ready, Nellie would call her brother, and then, stooping over the little sister, would kiss her pretty parted lips. Presently the dark lashes would rise, and a pair of deep gray eyes, very solemn for a moment, would stare into the loving face. And then the dimples would come, the dark eyes would twinkle, and the baby would be wide awake.
The great trial of the day came after breakfast, for Nellie and Bill must go to school, and for three or four hours poor Bab, barely three years old, must stay all alone. Her mother and sister were very sorry to leave her by herself, but it could not be helped. The sweet child was so good about it that it comforted them.
"What do you do when we are away?" said her mother one day.
"Me fink you is comin' back," she answered, smiling, as usual.
Before going to school Nellie always took the coals off the fire, and put them on the side to cool, set a tin cup of water and a little bit of bread on a chair for Bab, and with a final hug hurried off with her brother to the school at the bottom of the court.
BAB AT THE WINDOW.
As the door closed, Bab always gave a very little sigh, and set to work to find some amusement. Sometimes she played for a long time with a wooden footstool which she called her boy; and sometimes, if she felt cold, she crept into bed and fell asleep. But she loved best to stand by the window. The top of her head just came to the lowest pane, and she could not see into the street, but only up into the sky and gaze at the clouds. How Bab loved those clouds! especially the great shining ones that lay still, like huge mountains far away on the horizon. She was a little afraid of the black clouds, but she would stretch out her arms to the bright ones and whisper, "Oh, you booful country! Bab would like to be in you, for always and always!"
Sometimes she had not even the clouds to keep her company, for the whole sky would be one gray mass, and then Bab had hard work to keep from crying, and she wished and wished that her brother and sister would come home. The moment she heard them on the stairs she forgot her troubles, and when Nell looked in at the door she found a laughing face, and the jolly voice soon rang out louder than ever. The happy afternoon quite made up for the long weary morning.
As soon as Nellie had cleared away their dinners she wrapped Bab up in a warm shawl, and the three took a walk to the big street which ran near by. At the corner of this street was a candy shop, which the children thought splendid. Sometimes they would spend nearly an hour peering in at the window, and telling each other what they would buy "when they were rich."
Something else besides candy drew them to this corner. A nurse and two children, a boy and a girl, often passed up and down the street. The little boy wore a sailor suit, with bright buttons, and the little girl, just the age of Bab, had a lovely dress, trimmed with lace, and a Leghorn hat. Such a hat! Nellie used to think that if she could once see Bab dressed like that she would be perfectly happy.
The poor children liked looking at the pretty clothes of their more fortunate brother and sister, but still more did they enjoy looking at their faces. They were so kind and bright, and often they smiled cheerily at their little admirers. Little did they know what a ray of sunshine these smiles shed into the lives of these little ones. A day seemed quite empty to Nellie and her charges when they did not catch a glimpse of their "little gentry."
Sometimes Bill, Nellie, and Bab ventured farther than the candy shop. They liked to look at the grand windows, especially those of one wonderful toy shop. Nellie and Bab never complained because they could not possess the treasures displayed. It did not occur to them to desire them. They were perfectly contented just to look at them. But Bill's face was sometimes dark, and once he said to Nellie, with a frown:
"Doesn't it seem hard that we get nothing, that even dear Bab can not have anything? I should like to give her something to play with when we are away."
The grief that Bab had nothing to play with was an old one. Nellie and Bill had often tried to contrive some way of getting a plaything for Bab, and once they had enticed a stray dog into their room, but it soon escaped, and Bab was lonelier than ever. A cat, too, had been tried, but one fine night took her departure to the roof, never to return.
"Never mind, Billy," answered Nellie, "we can look at the lovely things, and that is nearly as good as having them."
Bill did not reply. His face was long. His eyes looked as if tears were not far off.
"Nell," he said, "I don't see why it is that we can never have any of the beautiful things that other children have. I am sure we try to be good."
"Oh, hush, Bill! here are the little gentry," whispered Nellie.
"The little gentry" were standing gazing in at the window too, or at least the baby was. The boy was looking at Bill with a questioning expression.
"Well," asked Nurse, "have you made up your minds what you are going to spend your money upon?"
"Es," answered the baby.
The little boy stood still, turning his shilling over and over in his hand.
"Come along, Master Dreamer," cried Nurse, as she entered the shop. "Have you not made up your mind what to spend your shilling upon?"
"Yes," answered the little fellow, with a sort of sigh.
Nurse had disappeared. Blushing furiously, the boy pressed his bright shilling into Bill's rough little hand.
"No, no," said Bill.
"I would rather," stammered the little gentleman, not waiting for thanks. He ran into the store, and stood quietly by while the baby spent her shilling, and when Nurse asked why he did not spend his, he climbed on a chair and whispered something in her ear.