Josiah in New York;

OR,

A COUPON FROM THE FRESH AIR FUND.

BY
JAMES OTIS,

AUTHOR OF “TOBY TYLER,” “LITTLE JOE,” “JACK THE HUNCHBACK,” ETC.

BOSTON:
A. I. BRADLEY & CO.
1893.

Copyright, 1893,
BY
A. I. Bradley & Co.

All Rights Reserved.

CONTENTS.

JOSIAH IN NEW YORK;
OR,
A COUPON FROM THE FRESH AIR FUND.

CHAPTER I.
THE SHINDLE FARM.

On this particular day an almanac would not have been needed to prove to the visitor at the Shindle Farm that winter was near at hand.

The wide-spreading trees leading from the road to the low-studded house, which made up in breadth what it lacked in height, had already put on their autumnal dress of crimson, gold, and brown, embroidered here and there with green left over from the last summer’s wardrobe. The enormous barn was crowded to overflowing with fruits of the harvest. Mows were heaped high with sweet-scented hay, and the corn-bins filled almost to bursting. The granaries seemed to groan under their heavy burdens, and the sleek cattle, noting the lack of grass in the pastures, looked into the building now and then with an air of satisfaction because of the ample supply of food housed for their especial benefit.

The broad fields, so lately beautified with waving grass, golden grain, and nodding plumes of vegetables, were waiting for the mantle of snow with which they were to be covered until spring should come again.

The yellow pumpkins, dotting the brown earth like nuggets of gold, were all that remained uncared for among the varied fruits of Farmer Shindle’s industry.

The barn-yard fowls were fat, and looked so contented that it seemed certain they could have no forebodings of the Thanksgiving soon to come, while the sheep were comparing their new wool coats as if proud of the perfect-fitting garments.

In the roomy kitchen, whose well-scrubbed floor contrasted vividly with the bright brick hearth, were festoons of apples threaded on strings, like a Christmas-tree’s pop-corn ornaments, and hung on convenient pegs by the thrifty housewife, who bent solicitously over the huge porcelain kettle wherein pumpkin rind was being converted into imitation citron.

Everything about the farm, animate or inanimate, appeared to be aware of winter’s approach; and none so plainly gave evidence of this fact as did the heir of the Shindle estate, Master Josiah.

He was concluding his share of the harvest labors by tying together large bunches of herbs which were to be hung in the broad-beamed attic to serve, at no distant day, either as pleasing condiments for the table, or distasteful tea for Josiah when his stomach should rebel against too heavy a burden.

He well knew the uses to which these herbs would be put, and treated them correspondingly.

The sage and summer savory were fastened together with tender care, and a far-away look of happy anticipation came into his eyes as he thought of the Thanksgiving turkey; while the pennyroyal and thoroughwort were bound up roughly and tightly, as if he wished to avenge himself in advance on the disagreeable mixtures these herbs would form for his especial benefit.

This was to be the last of his duties on the farm for several days; and the most careless observer could have told, from his movements as well as the expression on his face, that some very decided change was near at hand.

Every few moments he ran to his room where a well-worn but serviceable leather valise stood half-packed with a miscellaneous assortment of wearing apparel and trinkets, and, after a hasty survey of the odd collection, returned to his work, each time consulting with his mother as to the possibility of a storm in the near future.

Three months previous Mr. Shindle had received as boarders from New York, five beneficiaries of the Fresh Air Fund in the persons of the Bartlett twins, their brother Tom, and Bob and little Jimmy Green.

These visitors, three of whom were too young to get into very much mischief, had spent a week at the farm; six whole days of pleasure unalloyed, save at certain intervals, and when they returned to their homes it was with the distinct understanding that Josiah should pay them a visit as soon after the harvesting was ended as might be convenient.

Master Shindle’s parents had been parties to this agreement; and from the time he bade farewell to Bob and Tom at the railroad station, probably not a single day passed without his speaking of the promised visit.

He had never seen anything larger in the way of a town than Berry’s Corner, where he lived, and which comprised not more than twenty buildings, including one store, a blacksmith’s shop, and the post-office.

Josiah’s anticipations were probably more keen than if no obstacles had arisen which threatened to prevent the long-promised visit.

A week previous Farmer Shindle discovered that there was a possibility of his being unable to go to the city at the time set by his son, because of business which called him in another direction; and for several days it seemed as if Josiah would be obliged to defer the journey.

The first arrangement was that his father should accompany him to New York, and come after him at the expiration of a week; for neither Mr. nor Mrs. Shindle believed their son could, with safety, travel so far alone.

As a matter of course the boy’s disappointment was great; and, after several long and grave consultations, it was decided that if a letter could be received from either Master Bartlett or Master Green, announcing a willingness to meet him at the station in Jersey City, he should be allowed to go unattended.

Josiah himself carried the letter addressed to “Thomas Bartlett, Baker’s Court, New York, N.Y.,” to the post-office; and during the next three days the government employee at Berry’s Corner had a very vivid idea of the responsibility of his position, for the Shindle heir visited the office at least twice in every twenty-four hours, intimating more than once that the important missive might have been sent in the wrong direction, or mislaid at that point.

Undoubtedly the postmaster felt relieved when it was possible for him to deliver the reply directed to Farmer Shindle in not particularly graceful penmanship; and Josiah was in a fever of excitement until he learned the contents.

Tom and Bob promised to be at the railroad station on the Jersey-City side of the river, awaiting the arrival of the train which would leave Berry’s Corner at eleven o’clock Monday forenoon; and they assured the farmer and his wife, more forcibly than elegantly, that there was not the slightest danger in allowing Master Shindle to travel alone, because of the watchful care they would have over him at the terminus of the journey.

Finally the day came, as all days will, whether they be for good or evil, which had been set for Josiah’s departure.

At eight o’clock in the morning he had scrubbed his freckled face twice in such a vigorous manner as threatened to rub off the skin, while his tow-colored hair was combed into a painful state of exactness.

Josiah was forced to complete the labor of caring for the herbs, which should have been performed on the Saturday previous; and after the last bunch had been carried into the attic he was at liberty once more to inspect his baggage with a view of again assuring himself that everything was in its proper place.

“The first thing I do after meeting Tom and Bob will be to sell them woodchuck skins,” he said to his mother, as he came from his chamber arrayed in a new suit of clothes, and staggering under the weight of the huge valise. “Towser has bit one pretty bad, an’ father says nobody will be crazy enough to buy them; but Bob told me there were lots of stores in New York where nothin’ but fur was kept, an’ of course they’ll want woodchucks.”

“Don’t count too strongly on getting much money from that source, Josiah,” his mother said mildly. “You have got three dollars, and that ought to be enough to spend in one week.”

“So it will if I don’t have to pay too big a price for the presents I want to get you and father.”

“Don’t bother about us, my son, but enjoy yourself, and we will be just as glad to see you empty-handed when Saturday comes, as if you brought half the things in the city. Give me your hand-kerchief so I can tie the money in one corner. Father’s going to pay for the railroad-ticket, and you won’t have any use for it until you get to New York.”

Josiah had no intention of carrying his wealth in the manner proposed, for if Tom and Bob should see it in such a receptacle they would call him “green.”

He had provided himself with the proper outfit at the expense of no small amount of time, and several of his most cherished treasures, by trading with one of the neighbor’s boys for an old calf-skin wallet many sizes too large for himself or his money. There were two holes in it; but by the judicious use of glue and a piece of one of the woodchuck skins, he had repaired the damages until, in his eyes at least, the ancient pocket-book was as good as new.

There were many pennies in Josiah’s hoard; and after these had been placed in the well-worn calf-skin, and the whole stowed snugly in the inside pocket of his coat, a stranger might have fancied he was slightly deformed; but this, according to the young traveler’s ideas, was rather a pleasing addition, since, if the true nature of the protuberance was discovered, he would be looked upon as a capitalist.

For at least the tenth time Mrs. Shindle laid down rules governing his conduct during the six days he was to be absent from the farm.

“Don’t run around in the grass and get your feet wet, unless you change your stockings at once; and be sure to do exactly as Mrs. Bartlett tells you. Don’t wade in the brooks; and you must not wear Tom’s mother’s life out bringing home all sorts of wild animals, as you do here. It is very well to have woodchucks, crows, and foxes in the country; but in the city, where there is so much less room to move around, it will be terribly unhandy.”

Josiah promised faithfully to heed these injunctions; and after giving his boots one more coating of tallow, locking the unwieldy valise, and drawing his coat over the huge pocket-book, he was ready to start for the station.

As a matter of course, it was necessary to bid adieu to the pet calf, who was so well acquainted with the entire family that he did not hesitate about entering the house whenever the doors were left open; and, strange as it may seem, the animal exhibited no signs of grief at his master’s departure.

He butted his head against Josiah’s stomach, intimating that he was ready for another pail of milk; but the boy did not think it advisable to run the risk of soiling his clothes; therefore, kissing the demonstrative calf directly between the eyes, he clambered into the wagon, which was drawn up in front of the kitchen door.

Then he leaned down from the lofty perch to kiss his mother, as she once more repeated the well-meant advice; and, by an earnest application of the whip, the fat horses were started down the lane, while Towser ran on ahead, barking and wagging his short tail, ignorant of the fact that his master was about to undertake so long and seemingly dangerous a journey.

When the farm-house was shut out from view as the wagon turned into the highway, a very large and uncomfortable lump came into Josiah’s throat; and, despite the past three months’ anticipations, he began to feel sorry such a visit had ever been contemplated.

Of course he wanted to see New York, and meet Tom and Bob, as well as the twins and Jimmy; but this leaving his mother was by no means pleasant, and it is probable he would have turned back then and there, if he could have done so without absolutely saying he was homesick, even before the farm was lost to view.

Every yard of distance traversed caused the lump in the traveler’s throat to grow larger, and he was forced to shut his teeth tightly to prevent a veritable sob from escaping.

He realized now more fully than ever before what a good friend a fellow’s mother is.

He was ashamed to let his father know the state of his feelings, and on arriving at the station remained suspiciously silent.

The tears were too near his eyelids to permit of speech without giving them an opportunity to flow, and he paid no attention to his best clothes as he took Towser in his arms and kissed him again and again.

Every thump of the dog’s tail against his side seemed like a reproach because he was willing to go away even for so short a time; and when, with many a puff and hiss, the steaming engine brought the long train of cars to a standstill, the traveler could not even bid his father adieu.

“Be a good boy, Josiah; don’t get into mischief; and I’ll come for you bright and early Saturday.”

Without replying, Josiah went quickly into the cars lest his tears should be seen; and seating himself at the window he watched Towser, who ran back and forth on the platform in the greatest anxiety because his young master had disappeared from view.

This was not calculated to dispel the sorrow in the boy’s heart; and when the train moved away, Towser following to the very borders of the settlement, Josiah could control his feelings no longer.

Leaning his head on the window-frame, he gave full sway to grief; and when the tears had ceased flowing sufficiently for him to look out once more, there was no familiar object in sight.

Berry’s Corner was far away; and as he thought of this fact there might have been another shower of tears if the newsboy had not thrown into the seat a package of candy with, perhaps, the well-meant advice:—

“Better buy that, bub! Only ten cents, an’ a prize in every lot! It’ll kinder keep your mind off the calves you’re leavin’ behind.”

This last remark may have been intended as a joke; but Josiah’s heart was too sore to admit of his taking it as such, and he answered indignantly:—

“If you ever owned a calf as good as mine, you’d be sorry to leave him.”

“Full-blooded Jersey, I suppose? Eighty to a hundred quarts of milk when you fill the pail with water?” the boy said with a chuckle of satisfaction, and then added impatiently, “Come, pay me for that candy! I can’t stand here all day!”

Josiah was dimly conscious of the fact that he had not agreed to make the purchase; but the boy’s tone was so peremptory that the huge pocket-book was drawn forth with no slight difficulty, much to the amusement of the candy vendor.

After this financial transaction was completed, and Josiah had opened the package only to find the cheapest of brass pins as a prize, the first attack of homesickness began to pass away.

He was angry because of having been cheated; and this fact, together with the panorama which could be seen from the window, so diverted his attention that, for the time being, he forgot both the calf and Towser.

CHAPTER II.
THE ARRIVAL.

A glance at the plethoric pocket-book caused the boy on the train to feel a kindly interest in the traveler from Berry’s Corner; and as a result of this one-sided friendship Josiah, in a comparatively short time, had two more brass pins with their accompaniment of candy, a roll of colored pictures, and three bananas.

If the distance had been longer, to this collection would have been added the news-agent’s broken-bladed knife; for he had already begun to make overtures toward such a sale when the train rolled into the station, and the journey was at an end.

“Jersey City!” the conductor shouted, and the newsboy said imploringly:—

“Hold on a while. You’ll have plenty of time; the cars won’t be pulled out for twenty minutes yet, and I’ve got a lot of things to trade.”

Josiah paid no attention to the young man’s request. His one desire was to meet Tom and Bob as soon as possible, and there was no question in his mind but that they were at this moment standing on the platform ready to receive him.

He fancied the general arrangement of the station would be similar to the one at Berry’s Corner, and, therefore, anticipated but little trouble in finding his friends.

Staggering under the weight of the heavy valise, he hurried to the door, despite the news-agent’s attempts to detain him, and, stepping down on the platform, looked about him in bewilderment.

Crowds of people hurrying to and fro as if their very lives depended upon reaching a certain point at a given time; trucks of baggage; odd, crate-like carts with tiny wheels, drawn by well-groomed horses, and the impatient panting of the engines, all served to confuse him greatly and frighten him not a little.

Had he been sufficiently friendly with the newsboy to have confided in him as to his intended course after leaving the cars, he might have been told that Tom and Bob could not get into the train-shed, but would be obliged to wait outside near the ferry-slip.

Since he was ignorant regarding the rules governing the waiting friends of passengers, he considered it necessary to remain exactly where he had alighted, arguing with himself that the boys might have been detained at home, and would soon arrive.

No one paid any attention to him.

Each person was bent on his or her business or pleasure; and the boy from the country, with his satchel beside him, stood looking first in one direction and then another for those who were to introduce him to city life.

When the passengers from the incoming train had alighted, many people came from the waiting-rooms to embark in the several cars which had been made ready for departure; and this change in the living current was to Josiah most perplexing.

He fancied he was in the station proper, and believed the new-comers had simply chanced to enter from the street in such large groups.

For a time he was interested in the bustle and confusion everywhere around him, and then came the thought that possibly his friends might be on the outside.

“I reckon that’s where they’re waitin’; an’ I’ve been standin’ here like a bump on a log, showin’ folks jest how green I am.”

Although Josiah was not ashamed of living at Berry’s Corner, he hoped it might be possible to pass as a city boy, for he had a certain dread of appearing “countrified.”

In order to prevent any possibility of this, he decided not to ask a single question relative to locations; but to follow in the direction taken by his fellow-passengers half an hour previous.

A sign-board bearing the name “Jersey City” attracted his attention; and he argued with himself that since this was the point where he was to meet the boys, he could not go astray by pursuing the path thus marked out.

The natural result was that he found himself in the street opposite Taylor’s Hotel, almost deafened by the clatter of wheels, the cries of street vendors, and bewildered by the apparently inextricable tangle of vehicles.

Tom and Bob were nowhere to be seen.

Standing with his back against an awning-post and his valise at his feet, he spent another long, weary time of waiting; but all in vain.

A feeling of utter desolation and homesickness came over him, and he began to question whether his proper course would not be to return to the farm immediately.

A desire to be free from the bewildering bustle prompted him to do so; but the wish to see the big city of which he had heard so much, overbalanced the homesickness.

Two hours had elapsed since he alighted from the train, and there was no longer any good reason to believe his friends’ non-appearance the result of accidental delay.

They must either have forgotten the time set for his arrival, or made some mistake as to the station at which he would land.

“I ought to be big enough to find my way around a city, even if I never was in one before,” he said to himself. “I reckon ’most anybody can tell me where Baker’s Court is, an’ I’ll jest give Bob an’ Tom a s’prise.”

The longer he revolved the plan in his mind the more feasible did it seem; and when the hands of the neighboring clock pointed to half-past two, he started valiantly forward toward the entrance of the ferry-slip.

Greatly to his surprise the ticket-taker called sharply to him at the moment when his valise had become wedged across the narrow passage in such a manner that he was forced to come to a halt, much to the annoyance of a stout lady immediately behind him, who was urged forward by the throng in the rear.

“Two cents!” the man cried, tapping impatiently on the ledge in front of him, and the stout lady said quite sharply:—

“Why don’t you have your money ready before coming inside, boy, and not delay people in this manner?”

“I didn’t know I had to pay anything; father bought me a ticket from Berry’s Corner to New York,” and Josiah allowed his valise to drop dangerously near the stout lady’s feet, as he began to explain more fully why he was impeding travel in such a manner.

“Never mind all that,” she said irritably. “Pay the money, and let me get past!”

Josiah tried to obey both these commands at the same moment.

With one hand he seized the valise, while with the other he attempted to extricate the huge pocket-book from its resting place, succeeding only in causing the anger of the lady to increase.

In the meantime other persons were arriving, and, much against their will, were obliged to see the boat on which they had intended to take passage depart, while they were yet outside the gate.

The many commands for Josiah to “move on,” “get out,” and “don’t stay there all day,” so bewildered the boy that he remained silent and motionless as if unable to decide whether he should give his attention first to the valise or the pocket-book.

The ticket agent came to his relief by saying:—

“Step inside until you can find your money, and let the other passengers through.”

Josiah understood this command, and obeyed instantly, heeding not the angry glances which were bestowed upon him as the long-delayed throng succeeded in reaching the slip.

Then, working more leisurely, after considerable difficulty he succeeded in extricating his money from the depth of pocket and pocket-book, and paid the amount demanded.

This done, he marched on board the first boat which appeared ready to leave.

Again did the fates decide against Josiah’s meeting his friends.

The boat on which he took passage was the one bound for Desbrosses Street, while Tom and Bob, if they had concluded to wait any longer on the chance of his coming, would be devoting their attention to the Courtland Street ferry.

Josiah had never been on a steamboat before; and he found very much to occupy his attention, not only on board, but in the scene upon the river.

The largest stream he had ever seen was the trout brook at Berry’s Corner, and this broad expanse of water astonished him.

It was several moments before he could convince himself that he was not upon the Atlantic Ocean. The many craft of every description darting here and there, filled him with wonder and amazement; and so interested was he in all around, that when the boat was made fast at the ferry slip on the New York side, he paid no attention to the fact of its being necessary to go ashore.

Standing at the after end of the steamer, he remained looking out over the river until one of the deck-hands asked:—

“Did you just come aboard, sonny?” intending, of course, to inquire if he was a passenger from that side of the river.

“Yes,” Josiah replied, unconscious of the flight of time. “Say, is this the harbor or the bay?”

“It’s the North River, sonny. Where are you bound for?”

“Well, you see, I jest come from Berry’s Corner, an’ am goin’ to Baker’s Court to visit Bob an’ Tom.”

The man was called away at this moment by the arrival of several heavy teams; and Josiah was so deeply occupied with the strange sights that the boat had started, and was nearly across once more before he became aware that there had been any stop made.

Then he asked one of the passengers standing near by, how long it would be before they arrived at New York.

“We are leaving that side now. Are you going to Jersey City?”

“Why, I’ve jest come from there!”

“Didn’t get off, eh? So you are trying to cheat the ferry company out of two cents?”

“No, I ain’t either. I paid the money before comin’ aboard.”

“Then you should have landed when the boat stopped.”

“But what shall I do now? I want to go to New York.”

“Stay here till the boat starts again, and then keep your wits about you, if you can, long enough to understand when she stops.”

Josiah was beginning to realize he had made a mistake, and, in order to be certain of the proper direction, looked around for the station when the boat entered the slip.

As a matter of course, he failed to see any such building, and in a troubled frame of mind remained leaning against the rail with his precious valise between his feet until the deck-hand approached once more.

“Say, why don’t you get off?” the man demanded.

“’Cause I want to go to Baker’s Court.”

“Well, what’s to hinder you?”

“Has the boat got there?”

“Got where?”

“Why, to Baker’s Court.”

“Look here, young feller, what are you givin’ me? Where is Baker’s Court, anyhow?”

“It’s where Tom an’ Bob live in New York, of course.”

“We’ve just come from there. Now, when the boat stops again take a sneak, do you hear? Go over to the forward end where you can see when she is in the dock, if you’re so dumb you can’t tell whether she’s movin’ or not.”

Josiah obeyed meekly, and when the steamer entered the slip on the opposite side of the river he took very good care to follow the passengers; but, a short time later, deeply regretted having done so.

The streets were thronged with vehicles to a greater extent than he had ever seen the streets at home, even when a circus was in town; and no one appeared to have a care whether he was crushed beneath the feet of the horses, or forced to remain on the sidewalk.

It was this apparent selfishness which struck the boy from the country more forcibly than anything he had experienced since his departure from home.

Even the ladies jostled him as he lingered on the crossings to ascertain whether the teams on the right or the left were the most likely to run him down; and the gentlemen had no hesitation in pushing him to this side or that, as best suited their convenience.

“Seems to me folks are in an awful hurry here. It must be there’s somethin’ goin’ on. I’ve come to town to see all there is, an’ reckon I’ll foller the crowd for a while. There’ll be plenty of time to find Baker’s Court after I’ve had a look at the show.”

Josiah followed the pedestrians with no slight difficulty, owing to the weight of his valise.

He failed to see any evidence of a “show,” other than such as was obtainable from the shop windows.

Changing his valise from one hand to the other at short intervals, he continued on until it seemed as if several miles had been traversed, when he stopped in dismay.

“This won’t do! I’ll get lost the first I know, an’ then there will be a muss! I reckon I would have to spend as much as twenty-five cents if I wanted to stay all night in a hotel.”

It was time he made some inquiries as to the location of Baker’s Court, and he began by attempting to stop the next gentleman who passed.

“Get out of the way! I have nothing for you.”

“But I want”—

The gentleman had hurried on without waiting to hear the explanation, and Josiah eagerly turned to another.

In this second case he met with the same rebuff; and after attempting four times to make the necessary inquiries, it dawned upon him that he was mistaken for a beggar.

“The people here must be fools if they can’t answer a civil question,” he said to himself. “I’m sure there ain’t anybody up our way who wouldn’t tell a feller where he oughter go.”

“What’s the matter, bub?” and a big, blue-coated policeman halted directly in front of Josiah.

“I wanter find Baker’s Court, an’ nobody’ll tell me the way. They act as if I was beggin’.”

“Baker’s Court, eh? I wonder where that is?” the officer muttered half to himself.

“That’s what I wonder, too. You see, Tom an’ Bob ’greed to meet me at the station, but didn’t come, an’ I thought it wouldn’t be much trouble to find their house.”

“Where do you live?”

“At Berry’s Corner, an’ I’m here to stay a whole week. You see, the Bartlett twins, an’ Tom an’ Bob, an’ Bob’s brother Jimmy, was out to the farm this summer, an’ said when they left if I’d come here they’d give me an awful good time, so”—

The policeman, instead of listening, was referring to a book which he had taken from his pocket; and, finding that no attention was paid to his story, Josiah ceased speaking.

“Baker’s Court runs off West Broadway, and that is a long distance from here. I reckon you’ll have hard work to find it; but after you’ve walked half an hour or so, ask some policeman, and he’ll tell you.”

“Half an hour or so!” Josiah repeated in dismay.

“Yes, I allow it will take that long, and if you don’t stir yourself right lively you won’t get there before dark.”

Once more Josiah lifted the huge valise, and, following the direction pointed out by the officer, pursued his weary way with a heart quite as heavy as the burden in his hand, because of the possibility of being lost in the crowded streets, where, as he believed, so many terrible deeds of violence were perpetrated upon unsuspecting travelers.

CHAPTER III.
A FRIEND IN NEED.

“I oughter gone home,” Josiah said to himself as he trudged slowly along, his burden growing heavier each moment. “Now it begins to look as if I stood a good chance of being lost, and what’ll become of me if I don’t find Tom and Bob before dark?”

He made no attempt to answer his own question, but resolved to follow implicitly the directions given by the policeman, taking advantage of every opportunity to note the time, in order that he might not walk a single minute less than the full number set by the officer.

The half-hour came to an end, however, and the dark shadows of evening were beginning to lengthen, much to the young traveler’s uneasiness, when he arrived at an open square, at one end of which could be seen a number of cabs, and on either side horse-car after horse-car until Josiah fancied all of these vehicles ever made had been brought here for inspection.

He halted.

It was easier to wait for a policeman than to search for one; and he remained at what he afterward learned was the junction of the Bowery and Chatham Square, a long while without seeing any guardians of the peace.

A short distance below his halting-place, gaudy transparencies already lighted up the dime museums, and along the edge of the sidewalk was a row of street vendors, who were crying their wares in such a variety of tones as to make a most discordant noise.

The night was fast approaching.

It was necessary Josiah should ask some one to direct him to his friend’s home.

He was on the point of speaking with an Italian chestnut vendor, when a tiny girl, hardly more than ten years of age, clad in a ragged dress which had originally been brown, with the remains of a faded shawl over her shoulders, and the veriest apology of a straw hat on her head, stepped in front of him as she asked:—

“Don’t you want to buy some matches?”

Josiah dropped his valise and looked at her in astonishment. That a child so small should be out on the street at such an hour, was quite as surprising to him as that she should be insufficiently clad on a night when thick clothing seemed an absolute necessity.

He stood gazing at her as if she was some curiosity which had escaped from the museum below, until she repeated the question, and then he replied gravely:—

“I don’t believe so; you see, I haven’t learned to smoke, an’ what would I do with ’em?”

The girl continued her search for customers, Josiah watching her intently, forgetting for the time being his own forlorn condition as he noted the many efforts and equally as many failures to dispose of her wares.

Ten minutes passed, and she had not sold a single box.

Just for an instant there was a lull in the living tide, and the child had again approached Josiah, but without paying any attention to him.

“Do you sell matches all the time?” he asked.

“That’s what I have to do now. I tried to get into the newspaper business, but didn’t dare to jump on an’ off the cars same as the boys do, so couldn’t make very much at it.”

“It don’t strike me you’re earnin’ a great sight of money at what you’re doin’ now. Haven’t sold a thing since I’ve been standin’ here.”

“No,” she said with a half-suppressed sigh, “somehow people don’t seem to want to buy matches on the street. I got rid of ten cents’ worth to one man, though, this afternoon.’

“How much profit was there in the trade?”

The girl looked up at Josiah inquiringly.

The boy repeated his question in another form.

“How much money did you make when you sold that lot?”

“Oh! I get a couple of boxes for one cent an’ sell ’em for two, so half I take in is mine.”

“Do your folks live ’round here?”

“I haven’t got any. If I had I don’t reckon I’d be sellin’ matches.”

“I s’pose you live somewhere, though?”

“Oh, yes, old Mother Hunter lets me stay to her house for fifty cents a week.”

“S’pose you don’t have money enough to pay her?”

“Then I guess she’d make me leave, same as Miss Spear did.”

“Who’s Miss Spear?”

“She’s the woman I went to live with when mother died, and ’twas an awful place. She used to drink terrible, an’ two or three times gave me a downright good whippin’ ’cause I didn’t bring home as much money as she thought I oughter make.”

“What right did she have to whip you? She ain’t any relation, is she?”

“Of course not; but you see I was livin’ with her, an’ had to pay what I promised, though when trade was good she used to want more. So I got a chance to go with Mother Hunter.”

“Do you like this sort of business?”

“Indeed I don’t.”

“Why not try something else?”

“I wish I could. I thought I’d like to get a place in a store as cash girl, but I was so small nobody wanted me, an’ besides, I didn’t have any decent clothes. You see, if a girl like me gets that kind of a job, she’s got to dress up mighty fine.”

“Well,” Josiah said as he stepped back a few paces and surveyed her critically, “there’s one thing certain, you ain’t dressed very fine now.”

“I know it,” the girl said half apologetically, as she looked down at her faded gown; “but when a feller’s got on the best she owns, what you goin’ to do ’bout it?”

Josiah was unable to answer this question. He had never seen any one who looked so thoroughly wretched, as far as outside appearance was concerned, not even the tramps who occasionally stopped at the farm-house for food, and instinctively his hand went to that portion of his vest underneath which rested the huge pocket-book.

“I haven’t got much money,” he said slowly, as if weighing some important question in his mind; “but I’ll tell you what it is, little girl; I’m willin’ to give you some of it to help along, ’cause it don’t seem to me as if you was goin’ to earn much of anything to-night.”

The match-girl looked at him a moment, as if determining whether he was serious in making this generous offer, and then said with what might have been a laugh:—

“If you’re goin’ to stay in New York very long I guess you’ll need all the money you’ve brought, an’ I must take care of myself same’s I’ve been doin’. Say, where do you live?”

“At Berry’s Corner.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a good ways from here. I come in on the cars to visit Tom an’ Bob. They wasn’t at the station, an’ I’ve been huntin’ ever since for ’em. Looks like I was goin’ to have a pretty hard job. A policeman told me to keep right on walkin’ half an hour, an’ then ask the way, so I reckon it wouldn’t do any harm to find out if you know where Baker’s Court is?”

The girl stood for an instant as if in deepest thought, and then replied slowly:—

“No, I’m sure I don’t know anything about it. What street is it near?”

“The policeman said it led out of West Broadway.”

“Oh, I know where that is. It may be quite a ways though, an’ I wouldn’t like to leave here till business was over.”

“Will you go then?”

“Of course; there’s nothin’ else to do but to hang ’round Mother Hunter’s, an’ that ain’t very pleasant.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sadie Mitchell.”

Just at that moment conversation was interrupted by the tide of travel, which had set in once more past that particular spot; and Sadie bent all her energies to the disposal of her wares, while Josiah looked around for a convenient place in which to remain with his satchel until the business for the day could be brought to a close.

Now that he had the promise of a guide, and one in whom he felt every confidence, he no longer had any anxiety regarding his ability to find the friends whom he proposed to visit.

Not until night had come was the girl willing to abandon her efforts toward procuring the amount of money which Mother Hunter might demand; and, despite his occupation of watching the ever changing sea of faces before him, Josiah grew impatient.

“If we don’t start pretty soon I’m ’fraid we won’t get there before mornin’,” he said, with just a shade of petulance in his tones. “Is it very much of a walk from here?”

“It might be, an’ then again it mightn’t. You see, I don’t know how far out West Broadway it is. I’d have started sooner; but it’s been dreadful hard sellin’ matches to-night, an’ I expect there’ll be an awful row when I get home.”

“When are you goin’?”

“Now; but I must stop into the house just a minute before we try to find Baker’s Court.”

“When will you get supper?”

“Oh I’ll run across somethin’ by an’ by. I don’t s’pose Mother Hunter’s got much of anything, so it won’t take me long to do my eatin’.”

Josiah, who had been accustomed to having his meals regularly, was astonished at the indifference displayed by his new acquaintance regarding this matter; and as he looked at her critically while trying to learn whether she was attempting to make sport of him, the fact that he was decidedly hungry presented itself.

Owing to the excitement of the morning his breakfast had been a light one, and since then he had had nothing but candy with which to satisfy the cravings of his stomach.

What seemed like a very happy thought occurred to him.

“Is there any place ’round here where we could get somethin’ to eat?” he asked abruptly.

“Of course. You can go to the Jim Fisk restaurant an’ fill yourself up for fifteen cents; but that’s a good deal of money to give for one supper. When trade’s been good I sometimes pay a dime down to Mose Pearson’s for a great big bowl of soup, an’ as much bread an’ butter as I want.”

Josiah was silent a moment, and then said with the air of one who has fully decided an important matter:—

“Look here, Sadie, if you an’ I can get a big supper for fifteen cents, we’re goin’ to have it, though it will make me kinder short on the presents I was thinkin’ of buyin’ for father an’ mother; but they won’t care when I tell ’em how I spent it.”

The match-girl’s eyes opened wide with astonishment and delight.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked, evidently fancying he was making sport of her, and then added almost in the same breath, “I don’t think you’d better do anything of the kind. It’s too much to put out jest for the sake of swellin’.”

“I guess I can stand it,” Josiah said loftily. “I never was to the city before, an’ it ain’t likely’s I shall get here again very soon, so we’ll make the most of it while I’m on a good time. Besides, I must have somethin’ to eat, an’ I want you to stay with me so’s to show me where Tom an’ Bob live.”

Sadie made no further objection, for to have spread before her a fifteen-cent meal at the Jim Fisk restaurant seemed the acme of happiness.

“What will I do with my matches?” she asked.

“You haven’t got so many but I can put ’em in my pocket.”

“An’ I’ll carry the tray in my hand. You see, if I’m goin’ there with you I wouldn’t like folks to think I’d been standin’ out here since mornin’ sellin’ matches, an’ was blowin’ in all I’d made.”

“There’s no danger of that; they’ll believe we just come from the country, an’ have got more money than we know what to do with,” Josiah said with a consequential air as he lifted the heavy valise, and stood waiting for Sadie to lead the way.

With the prospect of such a meal before her the match-girl did not delay; and as soon as Josiah signified that he was ready, she started toward Chatham Street at a pace which caused the boy, burdened as he was, no slight difficulty to equal.

Both the young people were a little timid at entering such a magnificent establishment as this restaurant appeared to be; but, aided by one of the waiters, for business was not very brisk just at this time, they were soon seated at a table which might have looked more inviting had it been less conspicuous for coffee stains on the cloth.

“What do you want?” the waiter asked, with the air of one who is not disposed to spend too much time upon his customers.

“Bring us all you’ve got for fifteen cents apiece,” Josiah replied; and the man repeated the order in what seemed to the boy from the country like a foreign tongue.

“Ain’t this just gorgeous?” Sadie whispered when they were comparatively alone. “I never was in here but twice before, an’ I’d be perfectly happy if I could always eat in such a fine place.”

“You ought to come out to the farm an’ see how mother gets supper,” Josiah said proudly. “We always have clean table-cloths, an’ the dishes ain’t so heavy’s these; though I don’t know but the more they weigh the more they cost,” he added reflectively.

Then he described to her his home at Berry’s Corner; told her of Towser and the pet calf, until once more the sickness for home assailed him.

The sight of the food, however, had a beneficial effect upon his mind; and in a very short time the vision of the Shindle Farm had faded away in the distance, leaving before him the pleasing knowledge that he was hungry, and had plenty with which to satisfy that desire.

To Sadie the half-hour spent in the restaurant was one of unalloyed pleasure. She thought everything around her was magnificent, and fancied that in no other place could food be prepared in such an inviting and appetizing manner.

“There!” she said as she ate the last kernel of rice which had helped to make up the pudding, and the meal was at an end, “Now I don’t care what Mother Hunter says. I ain’t hungry any more, an’ it don’t seem as if I ever will be agin. What a lucky thing for me you happened to come along, an’ wanted to find your chums. I expect I’ll be waitin’ ’round here every night hopin’ to see somebody from Berry’s Corner, so’s to have such an awful good time as we’ve had.”

To Josiah the supper had not been particularly appetizing, owing to the fact that he was contrasting the food with that prepared by his mother, and the result was decidedly in favor of the meals at the Shindle Farm.

It made him very comfortable in mind that he had been able to give the little match-girl so much pleasure, however; and, after emerging from the restaurant to where the gaudy lights of the dime museum could be seen, another brilliant scheme entered his mind.

“Say, how much do they charge to go in there?” he asked.

“Ten cents.”

“Then we’ll go.”

“That will make half a dollar you’ve spent since you saw me, an’ it’s too much for one day,” Sadie said in a whisper, as if the enormous amount terrified her.

“I don’t care if it’s a dollar, we’re goin’ into that circus,” Josiah said resolutely, as he changed his valise from one hand to the other in order to rest his arm, and walked rapidly toward what was announced by the posters to be the “Oriental Palace of Wonders.”

CHAPTER IV.
A SYSTEMATIC SEARCH.

Josiah did not regret his reckless extravagance in spending twenty cents for admission to the “circus.”

Without seeing the collection of alleged wonders he never could have believed so many strange and odd things ever had an existence, and not until fully two hours had elapsed was he willing to listen to Sadie’s oft-repeated assertion that it “was time to go home.”

Very reluctantly he allowed himself to be led out of the building, and once on the sidewalk again found it necessary to place the valise on the curb in order that he might the better free his mind.

“Well, I declare! It beats anything I ever saw or heard tell of! Do you s’pose that fat woman could be all alive, or was she blowed up the way we do toads out our way?”

“She was a truly woman,” Sadie replied. “I used to know where one of them kind of people lived, an’ she was so big she couldn’t hardly get into a hoss car. If you want to see a dime show that’s better’n this one, you oughter go up on the Bowery. All the boys say it’s just gorgeous.”

“When I sell my woodchuck skins I’ll go, an’ you shall come along too. We’ll stay all the afternoon, ’cause Bob an’ Tom’ll be with us, an’ I reckon they’ll want to see it as much as I do.”

Sadie made no reply to this generous proposition, possibly because she did not believe it would ever be carried into effect; and Josiah, taking up his valise once more, followed as she led him toward Mother Hunter’s.

Now that the glamour of the “circus” was partially dispelled by the more prosaic appearance of surrounding objects, the boy from Berry’s Corner began to question himself as to whether he had not, as his companion suggested, spent too much money.

“I s’pose mother would think I was gettin’ reckless,” he said to himself, “an’ I reckon it comes pretty nigh bein’ true; but p’rhaps the woodchuck skins will bring a good price, so it won’t make very much difference after all. I guess I’d better sell ’em before I go to that other show.”

Having thus quieted his conscience, Josiah was enabled to take more heed of his own movements, and asked his companion:—

“How far do you live from here?”

“It’s quite a walk; but you see I want to go there before we begin to find Baker’s Court, ’cause I don’t know where the place is, an’ it may take us a good while. Mother Hunter will be jest ravin’ if I ain’t back to give her some money pretty soon.”

“How much have you got for her?”

“Eight cents.”

“That won’t buy a great deal.”

“It’ll be better’n nothin’, an’ kinder keep her quiet. If she knows I ain’t got any more she can’t say very much, though she does raise awful rows when I don’t bring home enough to pay for fillin’ her bottle.”

“What bottle?”

“The one she drinks from, of course. She gets terrible drunk sometimes, an’ lays right down on the floor.”

“An’ do you stay in the house then?” Josiah asked.

“Of course. Where else could I go? You see, that is my home so long as I pay what she asks, an’ it’s got to be there or on the street, though I did walk ’round one night when she was on a tantrum.”

Josiah was shocked. He knew that at Berry’s Coiner on certain occasions, Daniel Downs was known to be intoxicated, and it always caused a great deal of excitement in the little settlement: but that women could so far demean themselves had never entered his mind, and more than once he decided Sadie must be mistaken.

It was destined he should have positive proof of the truth of the statement; for when they arrived at the building, and after he had followed her through an unlighted hall to as wretched a room as he had ever seen, the girl stood pointing to what at first looked like a bundle of rags on the floor.

“There she is! She must have been out beggin’, ’cause I know there wasn’t any money in the house when I left.”

One hasty glance at the unconscious woman was sufficient for the boy from the country, and, turning away to avoid looking at her, he asked Sadie:—

“Now what are you goin’ to do?”

“Try to find your chums, of course.”

“I mean after that?”