Jerrys Reward | Page 2

"Lost my hankshuff yesterday, Found it to-day, Filled it full 'er water,
En dashed it away."
He sang the words twice, and then he let the handkerchief fall behind
little Nell Morton, but she was watching, so she grabbed it and chased
Addy Gravvy, trying to catch him before he could get round the circle
into her place. He ran so fast he would have beaten her had not Willie
Baker stuck out his foot, tripping him up so that little Nell easily caught
him.
Addy Gravvy protested: "That's no fair, I won't go in the middle." For
whoever got caught had to go in the middle until the close of the game.
"She is so little," explained Willie, "that she never could have caught

anybody."
"Then she oughtn't to play," said Addy Gravvy.
At this the children all began talking at once, for Nell was a favourite,
and matters were looking serious, when suddenly a shadow crossed the
bar of light made by the Mortons' open front door.
"Paddy!" "Paddy!" cried a dozen frightened ones, and the little group
took to their heels.
In two minutes the street was as silent as midnight, the only person left
being a little old man whose back was bent almost double. He turned
and looked after the children and gave a long, deep sigh.
CHAPTER II.
THE SHADOW
Of course you wish to know all about the crooked man whose very
shadow caused the children to stop their play and scamper to their
homes.
You remember I told you that one side of Jefferson Square was
occupied by the Convent of the Good Shepherd and the common? Well,
this convent was a source of much interest and not a little awe to the
children. They were always curious to know what was going on behind
those high brick walls.
Nothing in the shape of a man, except the priests, was ever allowed
inside the convent. You can judge, then, of the flutter it caused when
one day at noon, as the children from their windows opposite were
watching the penitents playing in the garden in their blue dresses and
white caps, they saw a little man go boldly in their midst and with a
shovel begin turning up the soil.
To be sure he was old and ugly; his back was bent like a hoop, and his
long nose almost touched his toes as he leaned over his shovel--but all

the same he was a man.
"I wonder who on earth he can be!" said Fanny Morton, and the nurse
who was peering over her head thoughtlessly replied:
"One of Satan's own imps."
They did not see the newcomer for a long time after, then one morning
the word passed that he was there. This time the big iron gates at the
side were open, and he was wheeling barrows of coal into the convent
cellar.
The next meeting was on the common where he was raking over old
rubbish and abstracting rags and bits of iron. The children were about
to speak to him when something in his brown and wrinkled face
recalled the nurse-girl's remark about "Satan's imps," so they were
afraid and ran home.
I do not know who started it, but soon he came to be known as "Paddy
on the Turnpike," and just what this meant would be hard to say. While
we all know that Paddys are common enough in cities, still there wasn't
a turnpike for this one to be on within five miles of Jefferson Square.
Although the children were afraid of the old man, they could not help
teasing him whenever they got a chance. It seemed reckless and brave
to shout out something and then take to their heels. They dared not
come too near, for the same nurse-girl, seeing the sensation that her
first remark had created, added another more astonishing, to the effect
that Paddy had traded his soul to the devil, and was hunting the rubbish
on the common over, for sufficient money to buy it back. Which was,
of course, sheer nonsense, and if the children had been as good as all
children should be, they never for a moment would have believed such
a stupid untruth.
By degrees they grew bolder. They would creep behind when he was
bending over his ash pile, nearer and nearer. Then they would shout
something about the devil and his bartered soul, thinking they were
brave indeed. Once they approached so near that they almost touched

him, but he turned around suddenly and reached out his rake as if he
were going to rake them all in. At this a panic seized them, and they ran
like young deer.
[Illustration: "HE TURNED AROUND SUDDENLY."]
Finally Henry Clay Morton made a rhyme about him, and