The Story of Patsy | Page 6

his

fingers was lame; 'nd I just cutted it a little mite, 'n' a cop come up
behind and h'isted us and I never seen no more cirkis; but I went to
Sunday-school wunst, and it warn't so much fun as the cirkis!"
I thought I would not begin moral lectures at once, but seize a more
opportune time to compare the relative claims of Sunday-school and
circus.
"You've got things fixed up mighty handy here, haven't yer? It's most
as good as Woodward's Gardens,--fishes--'nd c'nary birds--'nd
flowers--'nd pictures--is there stories to any of 'em?"
"Stories to every single one, Patsy! We've just turned that corner by the
little girl feeding chickens, and to-morrow we shall begin on that
splendid dog by the window."
Patsy's face was absolutely radiant with excitement. "Jiminy! I'm glad I
got in in time for that!--'nd ain't that a bear by the door thar?"
"Yes; that's a mother bear with cubs."
"Has he got a story too?"
"Everything has a story in this room."
"Jiminy! 'ts lucky I didn't miss that one! There's a splendid bear in a
s'loon on Fourth Street,--mebbe the man would leave him go a spell if
you told him what a nice place you hed up here. Say, them fishes keep
it up lively, don't they?--s'pose they're playin' tag?"
"I shouldn't wonder," I said smilingly; "it looks like it. Now, Patsy, I
must be going home, but you shall come to-morrow, at nine o'clock
surely, remember! and the children will be so glad to have another little
friend. You'll dress yourself nice and clean, won't you?"
"Well, I should smile! but these is the best I got. I got another part to
this hat, though, and another pocket belongs with these britches." (He
alternated the crown and rim of a hat, but was never extravagant

enough to wear them at one time.) "Ain't I clean? I cleaned myself by
the feelin'!"
"Here's a glass, dear; how do you think you succeeded?"
"Jiminy! I didn't get much of a sweep on that, did I now? But don't you
fret, I've got the lay of it now, and I'll just polish her off red-hot
to-morrer, 'n don't you forgit it!"
"Patsy, here's a warm bun and a glass of milk; let's eat and drink
together, because this is the beginning of our friendship; but please
don't talk street words to Miss Kate; she doesn't like them. I'll do
everything I can to make you have a good time, and you'll try to do a
few things to please me, won't you?"
Patsy looked embarrassed, ate his bit of bun in silence, and after
twirling his hat-crown for a few seconds hitched out of the door with a
backward glance and muttered remark which must have been intended
for farewell.
CHAPTER III.
TWO 'PRENTICE HANDS AT PHILANTHROPY.
"With aching hands and bleeding feet, We dig and heap, lay stone on
stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day and wish 't
were done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we
discern."
Patsy had scarcely gone when the door opened again the least bit, and a
sunny face looked in, that of my friend and helper.
"Not gone yet, Kate?"
"No, but I thought I sent you away long ago."
"Yes, I know, but I've been to see Danny Kern's mother: there is
nothing to be done; we must do our best and leave it there. Was that a

boy I met on the stairs?"
"Yes,--that is, he is a boy in the sense that he is not a girl. Oh, Helen,
such a story! We must take him!"
She sank helplessly on one of the children's tables. "Now, my dear
guide, philosopher, and friend, did you happen to notice my babies this
morning? They were legion! Our mothers must have heard that the
Flower Mission intended giving us some Thanksgiving dinners, for
there were our five inevitable little cat's-paws,--the identical five that
applied just before the Christmas tree, disappeared in vacation, turned
up the day before we went to the Mechanics' Fair, were lost to sight the
day after, presented themselves previous to the Woodward's Garden
expedition, and then went into retirement till to-day. Where am I going
to 'sit' another child, pray? They were two in a seat and a dozen on the
floor this morning. It isn't fair to them, in one sense, for they don't get
half enough attention."
"You are right, dear; work half done is worse than wasted; but it isn't
fair to this child to leave him where he is."
"Oh, I know. I feel Fridayish, to tell the truth. I shall love humanity
again by Monday. Have we money for more chairs or benches?"
"Certainly not."
"You'll have to