Little Pollie
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Gertrude P. Dyer >> Little Pollie
[Illustration: "I say, Pollie, how many have yer sold?" Page 8.]
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LITTLE POLLIE
OR
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
BY
GERTRUDE P. DYER
Author of "Armour Clad," "How Hettie Caught the Sunbeams," etc.
NEW EDITION
John F. Shaw & Co., Ltd.,
Publishers,
3, Pilgrim Street, London, E.C.
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CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. POLLIE STARTS IN BUSINESS 7
II. WHO HAD THE VIOLETS? 17
III. HOW POLLIE SPENT HER MONEY 27
IV. MRS. FLANAGAN 36
V. THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN 42
VI. ON WATERLOO BRIDGE 52
VII. THE LOST ONE FOUND 65
VIII. SALLY'S FIRST SUNDAY AT CHURCH 73
IX. CRIPPLED JIMMY 81
X. NORA 95
XI. CHRISTMAS EVE 104
XII. IN THE SPRING-TIME 113
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LITTLE POLLIE.
CHAPTER I.
POLLIE STARTS IN BUSINESS.
"A penny a bunch; only a penny, sweet violets," cried a soft little
voice, just outside the Bank of England, one morning in early spring;
"only a penny a bunch!"
But the throng of busy clerks hurrying on to their various places of
business heard not that childish voice amidst the confused din of
omnibus and cabs, and so she stood, timidly uttering her cry--"Sweet
violets!"--unheeded by the passers-by.
She was a fragile little creature of about ten years old, small for her
age, with shy yet trustful eyes, and soft, brown, curly hair; and as she
stood there, clad in a black frock and a straw hat, well worn, it is
true, but free from tatters, with a piece of crape neatly fastened
around it, had any one amidst that busy multitude paused to look at the
little flower-seller, they would have wondered why so young a child was
trusted alone in that noisy, bustling place.
"I say, Pollie, how many have yer sold, eh?" exclaimed another girl,
coming up to her--quite a different type of girlhood, a regular London
arab, one who from her very cradle (if ever she possessed such a luxury)
had battled through life heedless of all rubs and bruises, ready to hold
her own against the entire world, and yet with much of hidden goodness
beneath the rugged surface.
"Only two bunches," replied little Pollie, somewhat sadly.
"Only two!" repeated the other. "My eye! yer won't make a fortin, that's
sartin!"
"The people don't seem to see me, not even hear me," said the child.
"'Cos why, you don't shout loud enuff," explained the bigger girl. "If
yer wants to get on in the world, yer must make a noise somehow. Make
the folks hear; never minds if yer deafens 'em, they'll pay 'tention to
yer then. See how I does it."
At that moment four smart youths came strolling leisurely along
arm-in-arm, trying to appear as though merely out on pleasure, though
they knew full well they must be in their office and at their desks
before the clock struck ten.
These were just the customers for Sally Grimes, and away she rushed full
upon them, her thin ragged shawl flying in the wind, and her rough hair,
from which the net had fallen, following the example of the shawl; and
as she reached the somewhat startled youths, who almost stumbled over
her, she held her only remaining posy right in their faces, screaming
out in a harsh grating voice, rendered harsh by her street training--
"Now, then, gents, this last bunch--only a penny!"
Polly looked on in utter amazement. It is true she did not understand
Sally's logic, but she saw plainly that the sweet violets were sold, for
presently back came the girl, crying out--
"That's the way to do it. I've sold all mine; now let's see what you've
got left. Why, ten more bunches! Come, give us two or three, I'll get
rid of 'em for yer; I'll bring yer back the money. Look sharp, I see
some folks a-comin'."
And without further parley she snatched up several of the dainty little
bunches tied up so neatly by Pollie's mother, and rushed off in pursuit
of purchasers.
She was certainly very fortunate, for in spite of a stern-looking
policeman who was watching her movements, she sold them, speedily
returning with the money to little Pollie, who by this time was getting
almost bewildered with the noise around.
"There, my gal," said the kind girl, "there's the money for yer; look,
six pennies. My! ain't yer rich. Now I'm off to Covent Garding to the
old 'ooman--mother, I means, yer know. There St. Poll's a-strikin' ten;
good-bye."
So saying, the friendly Sally Grimes darted off amidst the crowd,
leaving the child to manage for herself, and very lonely she felt after
her good-natured ally was gone.
It was Pollie Turner's first attempt at selling flowers, and this her
first day.
No wonder the poor child felt shy and sad, for she could remember the
time when "father" used to come home at eventide to the small but cosy
cottage in that green lane, far, far away in the pleasant country; and
she used to stand at the gate to watch for his coming, sometimes running
half-way up the lane to meet him, and he would perch her on his
shoulder, where she felt, oh! so safe, and bring her home to mother. Or
she would climb his knee as he sat by the fire, and watch dear mother
get the nice supper; but father was dead now. She had seen the pretty
daisies growing above his grassy grave in that distant churchyard; and
the mother, who had come up to London hoping to do better, was so ill
and weak, scarcely able to do the needlework with which to gain food
for them both.
And Mrs. Flanagan had proposed the plan of Pollie starting in business.
So this is how it had all come about.
Pollie stood silently thinking over these events of the happy times gone
by, when some one touched her arm softly, and then she looked up into
the sweet face of a lady, whose kind eyes were bent half-sadly,
half-pityingly upon her.
"Are you selling these violets, my child?" she asked; and her voice was
so sweet.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then will you let me have three bunches?"
Pollie with a smile put them into her hand, and the lady, after thanking
her, placed the money for them in the child's basket, and went towards a
carriage that was drawn up near the Royal Exchange.
The child, lost in admiration at such a nice lady, followed her with her
eyes, never thinking to look at the money she had given for the flowers,
until glancing into the basket to see how many bunches were still left,
she beheld a shilling shining amidst the dingy coppers. Eager to return
the money to its rightful owner, little Pollie darted amongst the people
who thronged the pavement, ran across the road at the risk of being run
over, and reached the lady just as she was stepping into her carriage.
"Please, ma'am, please," she faltered quite out of breath, and at the
same time pulling her violently by the dress.
"Let go, you little vagabond!" exclaimed the indignant footman, taking
Pollie by the arm to pull her away.
Fortunately the lady turned on hearing her servant speak thus, and saw
the child struggling in his grip.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Please, ma'am, this," cried Pollie, holding up the shilling.
"That is for the violets you sold to me."
"Oh no, ma'am, it is all wrong," exclaimed the child excitedly; "those
flowers are but three-pence--a penny a bunch; that's all. Here is your
money, ma'am!"
The lady gazed earnestly into the little girl's flushed face, as she
asked--
"Why did you not keep that shilling?"
"Because it was not mine," was the answer.
"I should not have known but that the money was correct. You did not say
the price of your flowers, my child."
"God knew the price," said Pollie reverentially, "and He would have
been angry with me for cheating you, ma'am."
"Who taught you of God?" asked the lady softly, as she bent down to the
little one.
"Mother!" was the reply.
"And is your mother dead?" she questioned, perceiving for the first time
the child's poor mourning.
"No, ma'am, but father is, and mother is so ill and weak," and the shy
brown eyes filled with tears.
"Poor child, poor little child," murmured the lady compassionately.
"What is your name?" she asked after a pause, "and where do you live?"
Pollie gave the desired information.
"Well then, Pollie," said her new friend kindly, "here is the money for
the violets; and take this shilling: it will buy something for your
mother, perhaps. I shall come and see you one day."
So saying she patted Pollie's thin cheeks with a soft loving touch;
then stepping into the carriage was driven away, leaving Pollie in a
state of wonderful happiness at so much kindness from so nice a lady.
"Oh dear!" she thought, "I am rich now. I must make haste home to
mother, and I've two bunches of violets still left. Mother shall have
one and Mrs. Flanagan the other."
CHAPTER II.
WHO HAD THE VIOLETS!
Pollie tied up the money securely in the corner of her clean
pocket-handkerchief, and with a light heart proceeded towards "home,"
which was situated in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane.
It was a long way for so young a child to traverse alone; but the
children of the poor early learn to be self-reliant. Therefore she
heeded not the dangers of the London streets, but threaded her way
along; and if at times she felt afraid of a crossing, or some hurried
foot-passenger hustled her roughly, a sweet text, taught by her
dearly-loved mother, came to her mind, bringing a feeling of safety
along with it.
This was little Pollie's comfort--"Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be
not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help
thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness."
And so she pursued her onward way, in her child's faith, trusting in Him
to safely guide.
As she was turning up Drury Court she met Lizzie Stevens, a young woman
who lived opposite to them, and who earned a scanty living by working
for cheap tailors. Often had the child looked from the window, and
across the Court watched the poor girl bending her pale face over her
work, never pausing to rest, but for ever stitch, stitch. However, the
young seamstress had seen her little neighbour watching her, and once or
twice had nodded to her, and so a sort of acquaintance had sprung up
between them; indeed, on several occasions they had met, and the child's
prattle had cheered the lonely work-girl.
"Where have you been, Pollie?" she asked as they went up Drury Court
together, the poor girl staggering under the weight of a huge
bundle--the child kindly keeping pace with her, though longing to run
home with her budget of good news to mother.
"I've been selling violets. Mrs. Flanagan got them for me, and I've sold
them all but two bunches--see!"
And she lifted up a cloth which she had placed over the sweet flowers to
prevent them fading too quickly.
"Oh, how sweet they are!" exclaimed Lizzie Stevens, and she stopped, and
putting her heavy bundle down on a door-step, bent her pale face over
the flowers to inhale their perfume.
When she raised her face it was whiter than before, and on the violets
something was glistening. Pollie at first thought it was a dew-drop, but
when she looked up into her neighbour's eyes she saw they were full of
tears--_one_ was resting on the flowers!
"Why are you crying?" asked the child softly; "are you ill?"
"Oh no, Pollie," she sobbed forth; "but those sweet flowers recall the
time when I was a little girl like you, and gathered them in the lanes
near my happy home--before mother died."
"Is your mother dead, then? Oh dear, I am so sorry," said the child with
earnest pity.
"Yes, I am all alone in the world; no one to love or care for me," she
exclaimed passionately. "Ah, I wish I was dead too."
"Don't say so," said Pollie soothingly; "God cares for you, and loves
you dearly."
"I sometimes think even He forgets me," moaned the poor girl, "when I
see rich folks having all things they desire, and such as me almost
starving, working night and day for a mere crust."
"I once said so to mother," remarked the child, "but she opened our
Bible, and bade me read a verse she pointed out. Shall I tell you what
it was?"
"Yes," was the reply.
Pollie folded her hands, and repeated--
"Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for
me, lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be
poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."
And then she turned to another to comfort me, and this is it--
"Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication
with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the
peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts
and minds through Christ Jesus."
When the child ceased speaking, she looked up into the face of her
listener, whose head was bent in reverence to God.
"O Pollie!" she said at last, as again taking up her heavy load she
proceeded slowly onwards, "I wish I had a good mother."
"Come over to us sometimes," said the child, eagerly.
"Will your mother let me?" was the question.
"Yes, I am sure she will; she is so good," was the reply.
And then the two friends went on up Drury Lane, not speaking much; but
as they were parting Lizzie stooped down, and kissing the child
lovingly, said softly--
"Good-bye, and thank you, little Pollie."
"Would you like a bunch of violets?" she asked. "I can divide the other
between mother and Mrs Flanagan."
The poor seamstress was unable to speak from emotion, but held out her
hand with trembling eagerness for the flowers.
How glad was the child in being able to give a pleasure to her lonely
neighbour. She felt more joy in seeing Lizzie Stevens' glad smile than
even in the magnificent sum of money wrapped in her handkerchief; for
she experienced "it is more blessed to give than to receive;" and after
seeing her friend disappear through the dingy doorway which led to the
garret called her "home," she turned with a light heart into the entry
which led to her own place, eager to see mother and tell her all; but in
doing so almost fell over a little cripple boy who sat crouched on the
door-steps.
"O Jimmy! did I hurt you?" she asked in alarm.
"No. Everybody knocks me about; I'se used to it," was his answer.
"Poor Jimmy!" said the little girl. "Where's your mother?"
"Down there, drunk again," he replied, pointing his thin finger in the
direction of what in other houses would be the kitchen, but which was
his "home," if it could be dignified by so sacred a name.
Pollie looked sorrowfully on the poor boy, whose thin, wizened face,
with large, hungry eyes, was placed on a shrunk and distorted body. His
mother was the pest of the court, always drunk, and in her drunken fury
beating her wretched offspring. Half-starved and half-clothed, he
passed his time on the door-step, gazing vacantly at the passers-by,
uncared for, unloved amidst the many.
"Poor Jimmy!" repeated the little girl. "Would you like some of my sweet
violets?"
The boy, unused to even a breath of kindness, gazed some few seconds at
her with his eager eyes.
"You be Pollie Turner, bain't yer, what lives upstairs with yer mother?"
he asked at last.
"Yes," she replied, and repeated her question, as she took some of the
flowers from her last bunch. "Would you like these?"
He held out his claw-like hand--so dirty that Pollie almost shrank from
touching it as she gave him the violets. He took them without a word of
thanks, but as she was moving away he called out--
"I say, did yer make these?"
"No, Jimmy," she replied, as she came back to him; "God made them."
"God!" he repeated, "Who's He; Him's mighty clever to fix up these
little bits of things, bain't He?"
The little girl was for a moment shocked, then she felt a tender pity
for the poor boy.
"O Jimmy, don't you know who God is?" she gently asked.
He shook his head; so she went on--
"God is our Father in heaven," and she pointed upwards. "He made these
sweet flowers, and us also, and He sent His dear Son to die for us, so
that all our sins should be taken away. And when Jesus (that is the name
of God's dear Son) was here on earth, He gave sight to the blind, healed
the sick, and was for ever doing good; but now He is in heaven, and
still He loves us, oh, so dearly, and wishes us all to come to Him."
"Does He want me?" asked the outcast doubtfully; "He don't know me."
"Oh yes, He knows you, Jimmy, and loves you too; once Jesus blessed
little children like you and me, and said, 'Suffer little children to
come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of
heaven.'"
"The kingdom of heaven!" repeated poor benighted Jimmy musingly--it was
the first time he had ever heard those blessed words--"where be that,
Polly?"
"It is where God lives, and where we shall go when we die if we believe
in the Saviour and love and pray to God."
"How do you pray?" he asked, fixing his keen eyes upon her, as though
hungering for the bread of life.
But before she could reply, a loud, harsh voice was heard uttering
frightful oaths, and a lumbering tread came stumbling up the cellar
stairs. The poor boy knew full well who was coming, and with a terrified
look started up and hobbled off, supported by his clumsy crutches, round
the corner of the house, whilst Pollie, who went in terror of the
drunken woman, ran hastily up the dirty staircase, which served for all
the inmates of the crowded house.
CHAPTER III.
HOW POLLY SPENT HER MONEY.
The first two or three flights of stairs were thickly strewn with mud
and dust from the feet of the different lodgers; but when Pollie reached
the last landing she felt it was home indeed. The stairs were as clean
and white as hands could scrub them--no dirt was to be seen here,--and
outside her mother's door was a little mat on which to rub the shoes
before entering. It was quite a relief to reach this part of the house.
There were only two rooms at the top part of the tenement--one inhabited
by good Mrs Flanagan, the other by Pollie and her mother; and though the
apartments were small, and the narrow windows overlooked the
chimney-pots and tiles, yet they felt it such an advantage to be up
here, removed, as it were, from the noisy people who lived in the same
dwelling; each room, in fact, was let out to separate families, some of
them very rough and boisterous.
Pollie tapped at her mother's door, and then peeped merrily in. There
sat that good and gentle woman, busily working close by the narrow
window, so as to get as much light as possible for her delicate
needlework.
The tea-things were already on the table, which was spread with a clean
white cloth, and the kettle sang a cheery welcome to little Pollie; for
though it was only three o'clock, it was tea-time for them, since dinner
was an almost unknown luxury to this poor mother and child.
"Here I am, mother dear!" she cried, putting in her bright face, which
was as sunshine to the lonely widow's heart.
"O Pollie, I am so glad you have come home; I was getting so anxious
and afraid, and the time seemed so long without you, my child."
Then the little girl ran in and threw her arms around her mother's neck.
"Only look here!" she cried delightedly, when after a loving kiss she
proceeded to display her riches; "see, mother," she said, arranging the
money all in a row on the table, the bright shilling flanked on either
side by five brown pennies; "are we not rich now? sixpence must be paid
to kind Mrs. Flanagan for the sweet violets she got for me, and then we
shall have one shilling and fourpence left, and I shall buy lots of
things for you, mother darling," she concluded, clapping her hands in
glee.
The widow smiled cheerfully as she folded up her work, and prepared to
get their simple meal of tea and bread, listening the while as the child
related the events of the morning.
"And now, mother," she pursued, "I must divide these dear sweet violets
between you and Mrs. Flanagan."
"Then here are two little cups which will be just the thing for them,"
said the happy mother, whose pale face grew brighter as she gazed on the
delighted child.
With the greatest care Pollie divided the flowers equally, and when
putting theirs in the window, so that they might still see some of the
blue sky, as she expressed it, she looked across the Court towards
Lizzie Stevens' home. Yes, there she was, Pollie could see, busy plying
her needle, and there were the violets also, in a broken jam jar close
by her as she sat at work; and raising her pale face towards them, as
though they were old friends returned to her, she caught sight of little
Pollie arranging _her_ bouquet in the window; so with a bright smile
(unwonted visitor to those wan lips) kissed her hand in token of
recognition, and then pointed to the flowers. Pollie quite understood
this little pantomime, and nodded her curly head a great many times to
her opposite neighbour in proof of her so doing.
"Come to tea, my child," said the mother, who had cut some slices of
bread for the frugal repast, but which she had no appetite to eat.
"Wait a bit, mammie dear, I must do some shopping first," exclaimed
Pollie; "I shall not be long." And away she ran, gaily laughing at her
mother's look of surprise.
Down the stairs she went, then out into the Court; and just round the
corner in Drury Lane was a greengrocer's shop, in the window of which
hung a label "New-laid Eggs."
I fear that label told a fiction, but Pollie believed in it, and thought
the eggs were laid by the identical hens she saw earning a scanty living
by pecking in the gutters and among the cabs and carts; so with a
feeling of being very womanly, and tightly grasping the precious
shilling in her hand, she took courage to approach the shopkeeper, who
stood with arms akimbo in the doorway, flanked on one side by potatoes
in bins, and on the other by cabbages and turnips in huge baskets.
"Please, ma'am," said Pollie, "will you let me have a new-laid egg for
mother?"
The woman took an egg from a basket and gave it to her.
"If you please, is it quite fresh? because mother is so poorly, and I
want it to do her good."
The shopkeeper looked at the earnest little face, and somehow felt she
could not tell an untruth to the child, the brown eyes were raised so
trustingly.
"Well, my little gal, I can't say as it be quite fresh, but it's as good
as any you'll get about here."
"Then I'd better not have it," said the child, giving it back to the
woman again; "only I did so want to get her something nice for her
tea,--she can't eat much." And the lips quivered with suppressed sorrow
at the disappointment.
"Why don't you get her a bit of meat instead?" asked the woman; "that'll
do her good, I warrant!"
"Will this buy some?" questioned the child with brightened eyes, and
opening her hand she showed the shilling. "To be sure it will. Here,
give it to me; I'll go and get you one pound of nice pieces at my
brother's next door, if you'll just mind the shop till I come back; you
can be trusted, I see," replied the mistress of the place, whose woman's
heart was touched by the little girl's distress.
Pollie stood where she was left, guarding the baskets with watchful
eyes. Fortunately no mischievous people were about, so the vegetables
were safe, though it was with no small relief she saw their owner return
with such nice pieces of meat wrapped up in clean paper.
"There," said the greengrocer's wife (whose name was Mrs. Smith, by the
way), "these are good and fresh; my brother let me choose them, and have
them cheap too, only fourpence a pound!"
"Oh, thank you, thank you, ma'am!" cried Pollie, holding up her face to
kiss the kind woman, who, totally unused to such affectionate gratitude
in the poor little waifs about Drury Lane, bent down and returned the
caress with a feeling of unwonted tenderness tugging at her heart.
"And now, please, I should like a bunch of water-cresses for Mrs.
Flanagan," said the child. "I know she is very fond of them with her
tea."
"What are you going to buy for yourself?" asked the shopkeeper, as,
after handing Pollie the freshest bunch in the basket, she stood
watching her tiny customer.
The little girl hesitated; at length she said--
"Well, if I don't get something, mother will want me to eat this meat,
and I mean her to have it all; so I'll buy two little pies in Russell
Court,--one for me, and one for poor little crippled Jimmy."
"You're a good gal," exclaimed the woman. "Here, put these taters in
your basket; maybe your mother would like 'em with the meat, they boil
nice and mealy."
Pollie was so grateful to Mrs. Smith for the kind thought, and held out
her money to pay for this luxury; but to her surprise she told her to
put it back into her pocket--the "taters" were a gift for her mother,
and patting her cheek, bade her run home quickly, and always "be a good
gal."