Little Pollie | Page 7

all suffering, and that she was destitute, and her
sweet baby Nora fatherless.
But time soothed her anguish; she must be up and doing, and for many
years she struggled on, working to keep a home for herself and child;
and proud she was of her darling, her beautiful Nora, who grew up a
sweet flower of loveliness from a rugged parent stem, with all the
beauty of her father's nation and something of the sweetness of English
grace.
Well might the poor mother be proud of her only treasure. What delight
it was to see this rare beauty brightening the lowly home! But the
mother's idol was of clay; in worshipping the creature with such fond
idolatry, she almost forgot the merciful Creator.
One sad night, on returning home from Covent Garden, where she was
constantly employed by a fruiterer and florist, she found the place
empty, no one to greet her now. Nora was gone, lost in that turbid
stream which flows through our city.

Oftentimes, as the lonely mother wended her way at night through the
streets on her return from work, would she look with a shudder into the
faces of those poor wretches who flaunted by fearing yet hoping to see
her lost child. But the name of Nora never passed her lips. No one who
knew Mrs. Flanagan imagined of this canker at her heart; that page of
her life was folded down, and closed to prying eyes; it was only when
alone with God that on bended knees she prayed Him to bring the poor
wanderer home.
"Ah, my bird!" she cried, as Pollie came joyfully dancing into the room.
"Here you are, then; I thought from what your mother said that such a
lot of money had turned you a bit crazed."
Pollie did not reply, but pursed up her lips with a look of supreme
importance as she placed her basket on the table, and proceeded to take
out its contents.
"There, mother dearie," she exclaimed with delight as she displayed the
meat; "that's for you. You must eat every tiny bit of it, so let us try
some directly. See, dear Mrs Flanagan, I bought these water-cresses for
you. Shall I fetch your tea-pot? For let us all have tea together to-day,
like on Sundays; this is such a happy day."
And she ran across the landing without waiting for a reply, to bring the
little brown tea-pot, which on the Sabbath always found a place on Mrs.
Turner's table; for that day was hailed as a peaceful festival by these
two lonely widows, who kept God's day in sincerity and truth.
When the busy child came back, she set to work to carefully wash the
cresses, arranging them afterwards in a pretty plate of her own, and
then, placing them and the violets she had saved in front of the kind old
woman, lifted up her bright face for a kiss.
But Mrs Flanagan was unable even to say "Thank you, my bird."
Her face was buried in her blue checked apron. She muttered
something about her eyes being weak, and when after a little while she
looked up, and lovingly kissed the child, Pollie feared they must be

very bad indeed, they were so red, just as though she had been crying.
"Ah, my little one," she said in a husky voice "may God ever keep you
pure and simple in heart; yea, even as a little child!"
By this time the meat was fried, the tea made, and everything in
readiness for this wonderful banquet--at least so Pollie deemed it. How
happy they were! Mrs Flanagan had recovered her usual spirits, and
indulged in many a hearty laugh at the child's plans of what she should
now do for mother, and the widow looked on with her quiet smile,
happy in her child's happiness, glad because she was listening to her
merry prattle; and though the meal was but scanty, no dainty dishes to
tempt the appetite, yet the wisest man has said,--
"Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred
therewith."
CHAPTER V.
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.
Well, the days passed on, and little Pollie pursued her work of selling
violets; for those sweet flowers are a long time in season, bearing
bravely the March winds and April showers, as though desirous of
gladdening the earth as long as possible. All honour, then, to these
hardy little blossoms.
So day after day found Pollie in the same spot where we first saw her,
until at last the little brown-eyed girl became well known to the
passers-by. Kind old gentlemen, fathers, or it may be grandfathers some
of them, thought of their own more fortunate children, whose lives
were so much easier, and