Mary Elizabeth

Mary Elizabeth was a little girl with a long name. She was poor, she was sick, she was ragged, she was dirty, she wascold, she was hungry, she was frightened. Slie had no home, she had no mother, she had no father, she had no sister, she had no grandinother, and no kitten. She had no supper, she had no dinner, she had had no breakt'ast. She had no shoes and hail no hood, she had no mittens, she had no flannels. She had no place to go to, and nobody to care whether she went or not. In fact, Mary Elizabeth had not uiuch of anything'but a short pink calicó dress, a lïttle red cottou-and-wool shawl and her long name. Beside this, she had a pair of old rubbers too large for her. They flopped on the pavement as she walked. She was walking up Washington street in Boston. It was late iu the afternoon of a bitter Jauuary day. Already the lamp lighters were coming with their long poles, and gas lights began to flash upon the grayness- neither day nor night - through which the child watched the people inoving dimly, with a wonder in her heart. This wonder was as confused as the half-light in which the crowd hurried by. '"God made so many people," thought Mary Elizabeth, "he must have made so many suppers. Seems as if there'd ought to be one for one extra little girl." But she thought this in a gentle way ; very gently for a girl who had no shoes, no 'flanneïs, no hood, no home, no mother, no dinner, no bed, no supper. She was a very gentle little girl. All girls who dadn't auything were not like Mary Elizabeth. She roorned with a girl "out towards Charleston who was different. That girl's name was Jo. They slept in a box that an Irishwonian let theui have in an old shed. The shed was too cold for her cow, and she could not use it ; so she told Jo and Mary Elizabeth that they might have it as well as not. Mary Elizabeth thought her very kiud. There was this difference between Jo and Mary Elizabeth : when Jo was hungry, she stole ; whefi Mary Elizabeth was hungry, she begged. ün the night of which I speak, she begged hard. It is very wrong to beg, we all know. It is wrong to give to beggars, we all know, too; we have been told so a great many times. Still, if I had been as hungry as Mary Elizabeth, I presume I should have begged, too. Whether I should have given her anything if I had been on Washington street that January night, how can I teil? At any rate, nobody did. Some told her to go to the orphan's Home. Some said: "Ask the pólice." Some people Bhook their heads, and more people did nothing at all. One lady told her to go to St. Priscilla and Aquila Society, and Mary Elizabeth said: "Tliauk you ma'am," politely. She had never heard of Aquila and Priscilla. She thought they must be policemen. Another lady bade her go to au orlice and be registered, and Mary Elizabeth said : "Ma'amf" So now she was shuffling up Washington street - I might say flopping up Washington street- in the old rubbers, and the pink dréss and red shawl, not knowing exactly what to do next; peeping into people's faces, timidly looking away from them; hesitating; íieart sick - for a very little girl can be very heart sick - colder, she thought every minute, and hungrier each hour than she was before. Poor Mary Elizabeth ! Poor Mary Elizabeth left Washington street at last, where everybody had homes and suppers without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and turned into a short, bright, showy street, where stood a great hotel. Everybody in Boston knows, and a great many people out of Boston know, that hotel ; in fact, they know it so well that I will not ïnention the name of it, because it was against the rules of the house for beggars to be admitted, and perhapa the proprietor would not like it if I told iiow this one especial little beggar jxot iuto his well conducted house. Indeed, precisely how she got in uobody kuows. Whether the door-keeper was away, or busy, or sick ; or careless, or whether the head-waiter at the dining-room door was so tall that he couldn't see so short a besgar, or whether the clerk at the desk was so noisy that he couldn't liear so still a beggar, or whatever it was Mary Elizabeth did get in- bythe doorkeeper, past the head-waiter,"under the shadow of the clerk - over the sinooth, marble floor. The child crept on. She came to the office door and stood still. She looked around her with wide eyes. She had never seen a place like that. Lights flashed overit, many and bright. Gentlemen nat in it smoking and reading. They were all warm. Not one of them looked as if he had had no dinner and no supper and no breakfast. "How many extra suppers," thonght the little girl, "it must ha' taken to feed 'em all." She pronounced it "extry." ''How many extry suppers! I guess may be there'll be oue for me in here." There was a little noise, a very little one, strange to the warm, bright, wellordered room. It was not the rustling of the Boston Advertiser, or the Transcript, or Post; it was not the slight rap-rapping of a cigar stump, as the asnea feil iroin someone's white hands ; nobody coughed and nobody swore. It was a different sound. It wás the sound of an old rubber, much too large, flopping on the marble floor. Severa] gentlemen glanced at their own well-shod and well-brushed feet, then up and around the room. Mary Elizabeth stood in the muidle of it, in her pink calicó dress and red plaid shawl. The shawl was tied over her head, and about her neek with a ;ged tippet. She looked very tïinny and round behind, like wooden women in Xoah's Ark. Her liare feet showed in the old rubbers. She began to slmftie about the room, liolding out one pie nuie nana. One or two of the gentlemen Laughed ; Borne frowned : more did nothing at all ; most did not notice the child. One said : "What's the matter here?" Mary Elizabeth fiopped 011. She went from one to another, lesa timidly; a kind of desperation had taken possession of her. The odora from the dining room carne iu of strong hot coffee, and ange roast meats, Mary Elizabeth thoughtof Jo. it seemed'to lier she was so hungry, that if she could not get ;; supper, she should jump up and run and rush about, and snatch somethinir, and steal like Ju. She held out her hand, hut only said: "l'm hungry !" A gentleman called her. He was the gentleman who had asked, "What's the matter here ?" He called her in behind his "New York Times," which was big enough to hide three of Mary Elizabeth, and when he saw that nobody was looking, he gave her a five cent piece, iu a hurry, as if he had done a sin, and quickly said : "There, there, fhild ! go now, go! Then he begau to read the Tunes quite hard and fast, and to look severe, as one does who never gives anything to beggars, as a matter of principie. But nobody else gave anything to Mary Elizabeth, She shuffled from one to another, hopelessly. Every gentleman shook his head. One called for a waiter to puther out. This frightened her, and she stood still. Over by a window, in a lonely corner of the grëat room, a young man was sitting, apart from the others. Mary Elizabeth had seen that young man when she first came in, but he had not seen her. He had not seen anything nor auybody. He sat with his elbows on the'table, and his face buried iu his arias. He was a well dressed young man, with brown, curling hair. Mary Elizabeth wondered why he looked so miserable, and why he sat alone. She thought, perhaps, if he weren't so happy as the other gentlemen, he would Be more sorry for cold and hungry girls. She hesitated, then flopped aloug, and directly up to him. One or two gentlemen laid down their papers, and watched this ; they smiled and nodded at eacli other. The child did not see them, to wonder why. She went up and put her hand upon the young man's arm. He started. The brown, curly head lifted itself from the shelter of his arins; a young face looked sharply at the beggar girl - a beautiful young face it might have been. It was haggard now, and dreadful to look at- bloated, and badly marked with the unmistakable marks of a wicked week's debauch. He roughly said : " What do you want?" " I'm hungry," said Mary EHzabttk. " I can't help that. Go away." " I haven't had anything to eat for a whole day- a whole day!" repeated the child. Her lips quivered. But she spoke distinctly. Her voice sounded through the room. One gentleman after another had laid down his paper or his pipe. Several were watching this little scène. " Goaway I" repeated the youug man, irritably. " Don't bother me. I haven't had anything to eat for three, days I" His face went down into his arnis again. Mary Elizabeth etood staring at the brown, curling hair. She stood perfectly still for some moments. She evidently was greatly puzzled. She walked "away a little distance, then stopped, and thought it over. And now, paper after paper, and pipe after cigar went down. Every gentleman in the room began to look on. The young man, with the beautiful brown curls, and dissipated, disgraced and hidden face, was not stiller than the rest. The little figure in the pink calicó and red shawl, and big rubbers stood for a moment silent amoug them all. The waiter came to take her out, but the gentlemen motioned him away. Mary Elizabeth turned her five-cent piece over and over slowly in her purple hand. Her hand shook. The tears came. The smell of the dinner from the dining-room grew savory and strong. The child put the piece of money to her lips as if she could have eaten it, then turued, and, without further hesitation, went back. She touched the young man - on the bright curls this time - with her trembling little hand. The room was so still now that what she said rang out to tlie corridor, where the waiters stood, with the clerk behind looking over the desk to see. " I'm sorry you are so hungry. If you haven't had auything for three days, you must be hungrier than me. I've got five cents. A gentleman gave it to me. I wish you would take it. I ve only gone one day. You eau get some supper with it, and - may be - I - eau get some, somewhere ! I wish you'd please to take it!" Mary Elizabeth stood quite still, holding out her five cent piece. She did uot understand tlie sound and the stir that weut all over the bright room. She dil uot see that some of the gentlemen coughed and wiped their spectaeles. She did not know why the brown curls before her carne up with such a start, nor why the young man's wasted face flushed red and hot with noble shame. She did not in the least understand why he flung the fiye-cent piece apon the table, and snatching her iu his arms lield her iast, and hid lüs face on her plaid shawl and sobbed. Nor did she know what could be the reasou that nobody seemed amused to see this gentleman cry; but that the gentleman wlio had given her the money came up, and some more came up, and they gathered round, and she in the midst of them, and they all spoke kiudly, and the young man with the bad face that might have been so beautiful stood up, still clinging to lier, and saul aloud : " She's shained me before you all, and she's shamed me to myself ! 111 learn a lessou frorn this beggar, so help me God!" So then he took the child upou his knee, and the gentlemen carne up to listen, and the young man asked her what was lier name. "Mary Elizabeth, sir." " Ñames used to mean things- in the Bible - when I was as little as you. I read the Bible then. Does Mary Elizabeth mean Angel oi Kebuke?" "8irt" " Where do you live, Mary Elizabeth?" " Nowhere, sir." " Where do you sleep?" "In Mrs. Ü'Flynn's slied, sir. It's too cold for the cows. She'a so kind, she Iets ns stay." " VVhom do you stay with?" " Nobody, only Jo." " Is Jo your brother?" . "No, sir. Jo is a girl. I haven't got only Jo.7' " What does Jo do for a living?" " She - gets it, sir." " And what do you do?" " beg. It's better than to - get it, sir, I think." " Where's vour mother?" "Dead." "Whatdid she die of?" " Drink, sir," said Mary Elizabeth, in her distinct and gentle tone. "Ah, well. And your father?" " He is dead. He died in prison." "What sent him to prison?" " Drink, sir." "Oh::i " I b.ad i brother once," continued Mary Elizabeth, who grew quite eloquent with so large an audience, "but he died, too." " What did he die of?" " Drink, sir, said the child, cheerfully. "I do want my supper," she added, after a pause, speaking in a whisper, as if to Jo or to herself, " and Jo'll be wondering forme." " Wait, then," said the young man ; " I'll see if I can't beg enough to get you your supper." " í thought there must be an extra one among so mauy folks!" cried Mary Elizabeth; for now she thought, she would get back her live cents. Sure enough ; the young man put the five cents into his hat, to begin with. Then he took out his purse, and put in something that rnade less noise than the five-cent piece, and something more, and more, and more. Then he passed around the great room, walking still imsteadily, and the gentleman who gave the fivè cents and all the gentlemen, put something into the young man 's hat. So when he carne back to the table, he emptied the hat and counted the rnoney, and truly, it was forty dollars. " Forty dollars!" Mary Elizabeth looked frightened. She did not understand. " It's yours," said the young man. " Now, come to supper. But see ! this gentleman who gave you the five-cent pieee shall take care of the rnoney for you. You can trust him. He's got a wiíe, too. But we'll come to supper, now." "Yes, yes," said the gentleman, coming up. " She knows all about every orphan in this city, 1 believe. She'll know what ought to be done with you. She'll take care of you." "But Jo will wonder," said Mary Elizabeth, loyally. " I can't leave Jo. And I must go back and thank Mrs. Ü'Flynn for the shed." "Oh, yes, yes; we'll fix all that," said the gentleman, " and Jo, too. A little girl with forty dollars needn't sleep in a cow-shed. But don't you want your supper?" "Why, yes," said Mary Elizabeth; "Ido."" So the young man took her by the hand, and the gentleman whose wife knew all about what to do with orpbans took her by the other hand, and one or two more gentlemen followed, and they all went out into the dining-room, and put Mary Elizabeth in a chair at a marble table, and asked her what she wanted for her supper. Mary Elizabeth said that a little dry toast and a cup of milk would do nicely. So all the gentlemen laughed. And she wondered why. And the young man with the brown curls laughed, too, and began to look quite happy. But he ordered chicken, and crauberry sauce, and mashed potatoes, and celery, and rolls, and butter, and tomatoes, and an ice creain, and a cup of tea, and nuts, and raisins, and cake, and custard ; and apples, and grapes, and Mary Elizabeth sat in her pink dress and red shawl, and ate the whole; and why it didn't kill her nobody knows; but it didn't. The young man with the face that might have been beautiful - that might yet be, one would have thought, who had seeu him then - stood watchiug the little girl. " She 's preached me a better sermon," he said, below his breath ; "better than all the ministers I ever heard in all the churches. May God bless her ! I wish there were a thousand like her in this selfish world!" And when I heard about it, I wished so, too. And this is the end of Marv