The Story of Patsy | Page 2

the only way in which you can be good, we might as well give up trying. Must I watch you to the corner every day, no matter how tired I am?"
Two grimy little shirt bosoms heaved with shame and anger; two pairs of eyes hid themselves under protecting lids; two pairs of moist and stained hands sought the shelter of charitable pockets,--then the cause of war was declared by Mike sulkily.
"Joe Guinee hooked my bernanner."
"I never!" said Joe hotly. "I swapped with him f'r a peach, 'n he e't the peach at noon-time, 'n then wouldn't gimme no bernanner."
"The peach warn't no good," Mike interpolated swiftly, seeing my expression,--"it warn't no good, Miss Kate. When I come to eat it I had ter chuck half of it away, 'nd then Joe Guinee went t' my lunch bucket and hooked my bernanner!"
I sat down on the top step, motioned the culprits to do likewise, and then began dispensing justice tempered with mercy for the twenty-fifth time that day. "Mike, you say Joe took your banana?"
"Yes 'm,--he hooked it."
"Same thing. You have your words and I have mine, and I've told you before that mine mean just as much and sound a little better. But I thought that you changed that banana for a peach, and ate the peach?"
"I did."
"Then, why wasn't that banana Joe's?--you had taken his peach."
"He hadn't oughter hooked--took it out o' my bucket."
"No, and you ought not to have put it into your bucket."
"He hooked--took what warn't his."
"You kept what wasn't yours. How do you expect to have a good fruit store, either of you, by and by, and have people buy your things, if you haven't any idea of making a good square trade? Do try to be honest; and if you make an exchange stick to it; fighting over a thing never makes it any better. Look at that banana!--is it any good to either of you now?" (Pause. The still small voice was busy, but no sound was heard save the distant whistle of the janitor.)
"I could bring another one to Joe to-morrer," said Mike, looking at his ragged boot and scratching it along the edge of the step.
"I don't want yer to, 'f the peach was sour 'n you had ter chuck it away," responded Joe amiably.
"Yes, I think he ought to bring the banana; he made the trade with his eyes open, and the peach didn't look sour, for I saw you squeezing it when you ought to have been singing your morning hymn,--I thought you would get into trouble with it then. Now is it all right, Mike?--that's good! And Joe, don't go poking into other people's lunch baskets. If you hadn't done that, you silly boy," I philosophized whimsically for my own edification, "you would have been a victim; but you descended to the level of your adversary, and you are now simply another little rascal."
We walked down the quiet, narrow street to the corner,--a proceeding I had intended to omit that day, as it was always as exciting as an afternoon tea, and I did not feel equal to the social chats that would be pressed upon me by the neighborhood "ladies." One of my good policemen was there as usual, and saluted me profoundly. He had carried the last baby over the crossing, and guided all the venturesome small boys through the maze of trucks and horse-cars,--a difficult and thankless task, as they absolutely courted decapitation,--it being an unwritten law of conduct that each boy should weave his way through the horses' legs if practicable, and if not, should see how near he could come to grazing the wheels. Exactly at twelve o'clock, and again at two each day, in rain or sunshine, a couple of huge fatherly persons in brass buttons appeared on that corner and assisted us in getting our youngsters into streets of safety. Nobody had ever asked them to come, their chief had not detailed them for that special duty; and I could never have been bold enough to suggest that a guardian of the peace with an immaculate uniform should carry to and fro a crowd of small urchins with dusty boots and sticky hands.
But everybody loved that Silver Street corner, where the quiet little street met the larger noisy one! Not a horse-car driver but looked at his brake and glanced up the street before he took his car across. The truckmen all drove slowly, calling "Hi, there!" genially to any youngster within half a block.
And it was a pleasant scene enough to one who had a part in it, who was able to care for simple people, who could be glad to see them happy, sorry to see them sad, and willing to live among them a part of each day, and