The Story of Patsy | Page 2

to the steps quite
exhausted, in such a condition that whoever proved to be in the right
would get but little enjoyment from it.
"O my boys, my boys!" I exclaimed, "did you forget so soon? What
shall we do? Must Miss Kate follow you everywhere? If that is 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