J. Cole

J. Cole, by Emma Gellibrand

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Title: J. Cole
Author: Emma Gellibrand
Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7357] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on April 20, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1
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[Illustration: "'WHO ARE YOU, MY CHILD?' I SAID'--Page 3 (Frontispiece)]

J. COLE
BY
EMMA GELLIBRAND

J. COLE.
"HONNERD MADAM,
"Wich i hav seed in the paper a page Boy wanted, and begs to say J. Cole is over thertene, and I can clene plate, wich my brutther is under a butler and lernd me, and I can wate, and no how to clene winders and boots. J. Cole opes you will let me cum. I arsks 8 and all found. if you do my washin I will take sevven. J. Cole will serve you well and opes to giv sattisfaxshun. i can cum tomorrer. J. COLE.
"P.S.--He is not verry torl but growin. My brutther is a verry good hite. i am sharp and can rede and rite and can hadd figgers if you like."
* * * * * * *
CHAPTER I.
I had advertised for a page-boy, and having puzzled through some dozens of answers, more or less illegible and impossible to understand, had come to the last one of the packet, of which the above is an exact copy.
The epistle was enclosed in a clumsy envelope, evidently home-made, with the aid of scissors and gum, and was written on a half-sheet of letter-paper, in a large hand, with many blots and smears, on pencilled lines.
There was something quaint and straightforward in the letter, in spite of the utter ignorance of grammar and spelling; and while I smiled at the evident pride in the "brutther" who was a "verry good hite," and the offer to take less wages if "I would do his washin," I found myself wondering what sort of waif upon the sea of life was this not very tall person, over thirteen, who "would serve me well."
I had many letters to answer and several appointments to make, and had scarcely made up my mind whether or not to trouble to write to my accomplished correspondent, who was "sharp, and could rede and rite, and hadd figgers," when, a shadow falling on the ground by me as I sat by the open window, I looked up, and saw, standing opposite my chair, a boy,--the very smallest boy, with the very largest blue eyes I ever saw. The clothes on his little limbs were evidently meant for somebody almost double his size, but they were clean and tidy.
In one hand he held a bundle, tied in a red handkerchief, and in the other a bunch of wild-flowers that bore signs of having travelled far in the heat of the sun, their blossoms hanging down, dusty and fading, and their petals dropping one by one on the ground.
"Who are you, my child?" I said, "and what do you want?"
At my question the boy placed his flowers on my table, and, pulling off his cap, made a queer movement with his feet, as though he were trying to step backwards with both at once, and said, in a voice so deep that it quite startled me, so strangely did it seem to belong to the size of the clothes, and not the wearer,--
"Please'm, it's J. Cole; and I've come to live with yer. I've brought all my clothes, and every think."
For the moment I felt a little bewildered, so impossible did it seem that the small specimen of humanity before me was actually intending to enter anybody's service; he looked so childish and wistful, and yet with a certain honesty of purpose shining out of those big, wide- open eyes, that interested me in him, and made me want to know more of him.
"You are very small to go into service," I said, "and I am afraid you