The Story of Patsy | Page 8

over and over before you go to sleep. This will lift fear off
of Lafayette, fear of being late and he will get there in time.
Yours for Good, MRS. POWERS, Mental Heeler.
Oh, what a naughty, ignorant, amusing, hypocritical, pathetic world it
is! I tuck the note in my pocket to brighten the day for Helen, and we
pass on.
As we progress we gather into our train Levi, Jacob, David, Moses,
Elias, and the other prophets and patriarchs who belong to our band.
We hasten the steps of the infant Garibaldi, who is devouring refuse
fruit from his mother's store, and stop finally to pluck a small Dennis
Kearney from the coal-hod, where he has been put for safe-keeping.
The day has really begun, and with its first service the hands grow
willing and the heart is filled with sunshine.
As the boys at my side prattle together of the "percession" and the
"sojers" they saw yesterday, I wish longingly that I could be
transported with my tiny hosts to the sunny, quiet country on this clear,
lovely morning.
[Illustration: "THE BOYS AT MY SIDE PRATTLE TOGETHER."]
I think of my own joyous childhood, spent in the sweet companionship
of fishes, brooks, and butterflies, birds, crickets, grasshoppers,
whispering trees and fragrant wild flowers, and the thousand and one
playfellows of Nature which the good God has placed within reach of
the happy country children. I think of the shining eyes of my little
Lucys and Bridgets and Rachels could I turn them loose in a field of
golden buttercups and daisies, with sweet wild strawberries hidden at
their roots; of the merry glee of my dear boisterous little prophets and
patriots, if I could set them catching tadpoles in a clear wayside pool,
or hunting hens' nests in the alder bushes behind the barn, or pulling
yellow cow lilies in the pond, or wading for cat-o'-nine-tails, with their
ragged little trousers tucked above their knees. And oh! hardest of all to

bear, I think of our poor little invalids, so young to struggle with
languor and pain! Just to imagine the joy of my poor, lame boys and
my weary, pale, and peevish children, so different from the bright-eyed,
apple-cheeked darlings of well-to-do parents,--mere babies, who, from
morning till night, seldom or never know what it is to cuddle down
warmly into the natural rest of a mother's loving bosom!
* * * * *
Monday morning came and went,--Monday afternoon also; it was now
two o'clock, and to my surprise and disappointment Patsy had not
appeared. The new chair with its pretty red cushion stood expectant but
empty. Helen had put a coat of shellac on poor Johnny Cass's table,
freshened up its squared top with new lines of red paint, and placed a
little silver vase of flowers on it. Our Lady Bountiful had come in to
pay for the chair and see the boy, but alas! there was no boy to see. The
children were all ready for him. They knew that he was a sick boy, like
Johnny Cass, tired, and not able to run and jump, and that they must be
good to him as they had been to Johnny. This was the idea of the
majority; but I do not deny that there was a small minority which
professed no interest and promised no virtue. Our four walls contained
a miniature world,--a world with its best foot forward, too, but it was
not heaven.
At quarter past two I went into Helen's little room, where she was
drawing exquisite illustrations on a blackboard for next day's "morning
talk."
"Helen, the children say that a family of Kennetts live at 32 Anna Street,
and I am going to see why Patsy didn't come. Oh yes, I know that there
are boys enough without running after them, but we must have this
particular boy, whether he wants to come or not, for he is sui generis.
He shall sit on that cushion
"'And sew a fine seam, And feast upon strawberries, Sugar and
cream!'"
"I think a taste for martyrdom is just as difficult to eradicate from the

system as a taste for blood," Helen remarked whimsically. "Very well,
run on and I'll 'receive' in your absence. I could say with Antony, 'Lend
me your ears,' for I shall need them. Have you any commands?"
"Just a few. Please tell Paulina Strozynski's big brother that he must call
for her earlier, and not leave her sitting on the steps so long. Tell Mrs.
Hickok that if she sends us another child whom she knows to be down
with the chicken-pox, we won't take in her two youngest when they're
old enough. Don't give Mrs. Slamberg any aprons. She returned the
little undershirts and drawers that I