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BCA A AVA UAVACACACACACACA-AUA ACA A A A A A AAA A
OME BOOKS.
BY COUSIN ALIOR.
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Pr.in- Colors by T. Sinclair PR
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“NO SUCH WORD AS FAILâ€
OR,
Che Children's Sourney,
BY
ALICE B. NEAL.
NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
. 200 BROADWAY, |
1852,
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New-York.
eect pee eee ee RT ea
- In the Clerk’s
HOME BOOKS!
Do you not like the sound, dear children? You are
not strangers to Cousin Alice, many of you, at least, for
she has often met you at home, after school duties were
over, and the many games were ended, and you have
listened in the pleasant twilight to the tales that she has
brought for you. “Home Books,†I shall call these,
because all things gentle, and beautiful, and pure, should
be gathered in home’s happy influences—and there is
a charm in its every association. So when I come to
the fireside, I shall hope to be a welcome guest, and
_ we will talk of many strange and lovely things—that
is, if you are interested in my first little history of
“THe CHILDREN’s JouRNEY.â€
November 3d,
Pd
ae a ah *
Be
Roda a3He ot
XI.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE Loss, eeeoeeoevneveee ee ee eeeenee eeee eee océéteaenen
PLANING)... cececscvccescocscecetse cece svncetoudede 21
Goes POM, 2... cccccdvcvccscceccovcvccesccsseness 85
Tus Fimer STEP,....ccccscccccces Cnnccovese seenenet 47
THE ARREST, eeeeeeee eevee eeen ee seeeeseseececeecesesOn
A Warw LA. oc cccesvs'coovce 0b ksee dodccncdsesnee
Naw FRIBNDS, occ ccccsccccccccce coscscceseapeneuene
THE DEPARTURE,....ccccccceces occocdccocetes sonnaeeee
Ww TRIALS, ..5.ccesccccccccece cccccccescccsesscesmee
\
5 , 4 J ~ 3 oe
OR eee 4s ee Bee 6 4 are 8 8 wee ee
% Ss
me af,
Ninth, 5 P48 Se
ah
“NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL,â€
OR,
Che Chiltren’s Jourmey.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOSS.
“Now you see, Eddy, I have to study hard, for
pretty soon I shall be large enough to learn a
trade like father.â€
«“ But you never get time to play marbles with
me any more, Robert; and mother doesn’t like -
me to go with those boys in the court.â€
“That's because they swear, and call bad
names, Eddy.â€
“Oh, dear, I don’t like to go to school.†And
the little fellow uttered a sigh of weariness, as he
toiled on over the heated pavements, with his elder
brother. He had a bright, childish face, with
10 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
flaxen curls, and blue eyes, that lighted up with a
smile. The elder boy, tall and slender, with
darker eyes and hair, was very proud and fond of
him, and it was a great trouble that he must deny
Eddy any thing. But he was already thoughtful
beyond his years, and when he saw his mother
pale and troubled, he longed for the time to come,
when he could assist in earning the livelihood for
which she struggled.
Poor Mary Lewis—she had been always gentle
and delicate. She was not fit to be a poor man’s
wife. Misfortune after misfortune had come
upon them—sickness, poverty, and at last actual
want. And now was the hardest trial of all, sep-
aration from her husband, who went from city to
city seeking employment, until at last his quest
was ended in the far West, hundreds of miles
* from his lonely family.
Mrs. Lewis had won the rare virtue of pa-
tience in the midst of her sorrows, and now she
was looking forward to the time when he could
send for them. But they were deeply in debt,
and this must first be discharged, and then it
required a large sum, for poor people, to take the
three as far as Pittsburgh.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. . 11
They lived in one room of a house upon which
the sun scarcely shone. It was far back in a
narrow, dirty court, shut in by the high walls of
surrounding dwellings, with only a tiny strip of
blue sky to be seen from the window. All the
inhabitants of the court were poor people, who
had always been poor, and had never learned that
“neatness is the elegance of poverty.â€â€”Their
rooms were in dirt and disorder, their persons
were untidy, and the narrow lane was half filled
with the filth and offal from their dwellings. No
wonder that Mrs. Lewis would not let her bright-
eyed Eddy play with the ragged children who
clustered around the door steps. It was not their
poverty,—she was as poor as they,—but their rude,
ignorant language shocked her, and she well knew
that “evil communications corrupt†even the purest
hearts. 3
Sometimes she thought sadly of her early
married life. How bright it seemed to her now!
Too bright to have been more than a dream. The
two neat rooms, which her husband had furnished
so nicely, and the little garden-ground which it
was his pleasure to cultivate. That was in the
days of plentiful work and good wages, when she
12 «0 SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
had nothing to do but keep every thing in order
about her and tend their dark-eyed child. Robert,
she called him, for his father’s sake. And now
this weary separation, and day after day of toil,
setting the stitches through the hard leather—for
she bound shoes for a large manufactory—while
her aching eyes almost refused to guide the needle.
She bore up bravely, but her health was weakened,
and when good news came that her husband had
~ found regular and profitable employment, she was
too ill to write in return.
@ Through all her trouble, through all her sick-
ness, Robert, now nine years of age, had been her
comforter, and her nurse. He was so like his
father, gentle, thoughtful, and considerate. He
brought the water, and made the little fire, smooth-
ed the pillows as a girl might have done, and
amused his sturdy, mischievous little brother,
when his merriment became too boisterous.
That was in the cold, dark days of early spring;
it was mid-summer now, and Mrs. Lewis was at her
work again, pale, and weaker than before; but
she could not bear that Robert should lose the
advantages of the excellent public school, where
even their books were supplied. Eddy was sent
OR: THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 18
with him now, for the first time, but it was more
to keep him out of the bad associations of the
court than for study.
There had been some plan proposed for closing
the schools this sultry weather, for it was the fear-
ful summer of 1849, when the cholera swept
through the crowded cities of our land. But those
who had control, wisely determined that it was far
better for the children to be quietly employed, in
large well-ventilated apartments, than packed in
the narrow dirty streets from which many of them
came.
It was a season of terror to whole communi-
ties. The houses of the rich were closed, and
their owners fled from before the pestilence to
cool country retreats, where, alas, it often followed
them, when they deemed themselves most secure.
But the poor—there was no escape for them.
They must live on in the close unhealthy atmos-
phere—often weakened by a miserable diet, and
unavoidable exposure. It was sorrowful enough
for those who could gather their loved ones
together, and watch over them—but that was
nothing to anxiety for the absent. Any day, any
hour, the fatal news might come, and Mrs. Lewis
14 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
prayed more fervently for the husband she loved
so well, and thanked her Heavenly Father more
earnestly, when nightfall came, that her children
were still spared to her.
For the scourge had at last reached their city.
She had heard of it, afar off, and trembled; but
now it had followed the course of the noble Hud-
son, creeping inland from the great metropolis of
New-York, until it had reached the busy city,
which was now their home. Only the day before,
two of their neighbors had been borne away in the
death agony, and she shuddered as she hurried
passed their wretched dwellings, with the thought,
“who will be next to go?â€
It was late in the hot July afternoon, when the
boys were going wearily homewards. The walk
was long, and they usually carried a luncheon of
bread, and did not return until all the lessons were
over. Eddy lagged behind, for the child was
unused to the confinement of the school-room, and
hated it, and Robert could scarcely get him past
the shop windows, that looked so tempting with
their display of cakes, and candies as beautiful
and transparent as the fruit of Aladin’s Garden,
he was so fond of hearing about.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 15
“Ah, if mother would only give me some of
those pennies you bring her from the storeâ€â€™â€”
pleaded the little fellow. “I think she might,
and I would buy her some too.â€
“Poor mother has hard work enough, Eddy,
to get us bread and potatoes, and our clothes.
That’s the reason we don’t have nice new coats
like the other boys, and your apron has such a
great patch. Come, come, I shan’t be home time
enough to take the shoes—and then I guess you'll
have to go without supper as well as the candy.â€
So they left the broad street, and crossed the
square, to the other side of the town, where the
pavement was narrower, and the stores were dark
little places, with stale cakes or fruit, lying close
to the dirty window-pane. The air was heated,
and burdened with unwholesome odors, and swarms
of children, with unwashed faces, and uncombed
hair, were lying about upon the steps, or playing
in the filthy puddles that were collected in the
street. Once they met a man with bloodshot
eyes, reeling home from a dram-shop, and then
their path was blocked up by a knot of women
quarreling with most abusive words, from some
trivial dispute.
16 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
These were sad sights for young children, and
one of the greatest evils to which they could be
exposed. Better, far, a crust of bread, in the
wide open country; with fresh air sweeping down
from the high hills, and God’s own works teaching
purity and wisdom.
There seemed an unusual stillness in the court
when they reached it. There was not so many
people sitting in the doors, or leaning from the
windows. Noone spoke to them, though one little
girl came after Robert, but her mother called her
back, and shut the door violently. )
“'That’s Betty, Robert,†said Eddy. “Mother
likes Betty, but her mother is so cross. I hate
cross people, don’t you ?â€
Robert did not answer him, for a heavy weight
seemed to sink down on his heart, as they came-in
sight of his mother’s window, and she was not
sitting there to watch for them. Something had
happened—she was very sick, perhaps! and
quitting Eddy’s hand, he ran up the steep narrow
stairs. His mother was not there, where she had
received them day after day, on their return.
Her work-basket was on the chair—her thimble
in the window—but the room was disordered, and
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 17
strange. The curtain had a lonely, dismal sound,
as it flapped against a chair pushed near it.
“Mother!†called Robert; as people some-
times cry out in a doubtful dream; he began to
tremble with horrid fears, and went back again
from the landing, for he had gone out at first,
thinking to look for her in some neighbor’s room.
“Mother! where are you, Mother?†He
called again, and then he saw that she was there—
but lying upon the bed in a deep, deep sleep;
so deep, that he could not waken her, with all
his cries and moans. Nor did Eddy’s sweet
voice and childish caresses recall her to conscious-
ness.
It was the sleep of DEATH.
He saw that her hands were locked so tightly,
that the blood had settled with deep purple stains
about the nails—her hair was unbound, and
matted about the sharp, thin face. The eyes were
not closed; but there was no life there; no smile
of ounete for her frightened hiidiven 3 only a
glassy, rigid stare, that was too horrible to look
upon.
Then there was a trampling upon the stairs.
It might have been at once or hours after, he could
Q*
18 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
>
not remember. The faces of the men were
strange to him, but he knew the kind-hearted
neighbor who tried to comfort them. But he
broke away from her, though Eddy nestled upon
her knee with loud and frightened sobs. He
clung to that dear form, that was now straightened
for the burial. But the men had their task to
accomplish, and they put him one side, while they
laid his mother in the rude coffin they had
brought, hurriedly, as if they wished all was over.
Not another glance at that dear face! No, more
caresses from those gentle hands! The lid was
closed, and they bore their burden to a lonely,
nameless grave !
It was almost like madness, the frenzy that
came over the poor child, as they slowly descended
the creaking staircase. Some one held him back
when he would have followed them ; and restrained
him again when he turned to spring from the
open window. Then he dashed himself upon the
floor, and writhed, and moaned, as he heard them
talking of his mother.
“Tt was a dreadful thing,†they said. “So
sudden and such a hopeless case.â€
“And the poor children,†a voice answered.
“Sorra a friend was there to look for them.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 19
After a while he comprehended it all. It was
the cholera they had so much dreaded. No
wonder thatwhis mother had been a victim, weak
‘and feeble, shut up in the close court day after
day, bending over her needle. She was ill all
night—he remembered it now, that once he awoke
and saw her leaning from the window as if to
catch a breath of cooler air. And she was 80
very, very pale in the morning, he had begged her
to lie down, but she only smiled, and told him
“perhaps there would be good news from father
to-day, and that would be all the rest and medicine
she needed.â€
Yes, she called them back, and kissed them
over again, after they had started for school !
Ah, how sadly all these recollections came
thronging to the heart of the poor lonely child.
How tenderly she had said, “my son!†and
he should never hear that dear voice again!
Fresh sobs and tears, and it seemed as if his
heart must break.
By-and-by all was still. They had tried in
vain to win him from his grief, and the only neigh-
bor who had dared to enter the infected room had
carried away his little brother, who, sobbing, had
fallen asleep.
e
.-
20 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
There was a bright moonlight streaming into
the room, and making it almost as bright as day.
He was no coward, and the loneliness did not
appal him. His mother had taught him that
“the darkness and the light are both alike†to our
Heavenly Father, who watches over us through the
silent night. But oh, the fearful loneliness, as
he came to understand all that I have told you;
and to feel that his mother was gone for ever !
It was the first night he could remember, for
many years, that he had not knelt at her side to
ask God’s protection in sleep; and as this thought
came to him, he remembered the beautiful things
she had told him, about His unchanging love and
goodness. He tried, in his childish way, to ask
that Friend to comfort him. It was not a formal
prayer, but the breathing of a sincere, trustful spi-
rit, for the aid of One it believed to be all-powerful.
It brought a feeling of peace and trust with its
very expression, and even while his lips moved,
weariness and grief overcame him, and he slept
where many a one older, and perhaps braver,
would have trembled to remain.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 21
CHAPTER II. 7
PLANNING.
Hx did not wake again until the morning light
came streaming in the window. Early as it was,
the sun’s rays were powerful, and he rose lan-
guidly, and leaning on his elbow, looked about
him. It was a long time before he could remem-
ber what had happened. He knew it was some-
thing strange and fearful, for he was alone, and
the room had an unnatural look. His eyes wan-
dered ‘to the table. There were their clean clothes
piled up, ready to put away in the drawer, and a
bundle of unbound shoes, just as the shop-boy had
left them with their parcel of thread, and the long
leather strips. The bureau drawer was open, and
half the contents tossed upon the floor, as if some
one had been making a hasty search there. But
the bed—empty and disordered—that recalled
every thing to him, though he tried to think that
he had been ill, and it was a horrid dream.
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22 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
It was hardly possible to realize, that one day
had deprived him of the care of so dear a mother,
and had left him alone in the world with Eddy.
He longed to see that bright little face again.
He could not cry, although he felt more anguish
than his young life had ever known before. His
lips were dry and parched, and his eyes ached,
with the bitter weeping of the night. He remem-
bered that Mrs. Brown had taken his little brother
away, and now he would go and find her, and
perhaps she could tell him how it had all hap-
pened.
But Eddy was too young to know what he had
lost. He was playing with Mrs. Brown's children,
for it was late in the day, though the fragments
of breakfast were standing upon the table.
Mrs. Brown, herself, was rocking to and fro,
with a little girlin her arms. The child’s face
was deadly pale, and it seemed to be in pain, for
it moaned without stopping. The mother had
no time to talk with him, but pointed to the table,
as if inviting him to eat, and went on with the
crooning sound with which she was trying to com-
fort the sick child. Robert was too sick at heart
to eat. He took upa bit of bread, but he could
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 23
not finish it, and seeing that the children were
screaming and quarrelling in the play, he called
Eddy to him, and tried to hush them.
“When is mother coming home?’—was the
first thing his little brother asked him.
“Hush, Eddyâ€â€”it seemed wrong to speak her
. hame.
“ But I want to know,†persisted the little fel-
low. “Mrs. Brown says she has gone away, and
John says she is never coming back again, and
we've got to go to the poor-house. Have we,
Robby?â€
It was the first time a thought of the future
had crossed his mind. What was to become of
them, indeed, without a relation that he knew of,
and they had no home now. It would be long
weeks before their father could know about what
had happened, and send for them.
“Say—won’t mother come home again?
Doesn’t John tell stories?†Eddy had put his
arm about his brother’s neck, and was flashing a
look of defiance at John, who seemed determined
to hold to what he had said, nevertheless.
“No,†Robert said, softly —“ Mother never can
come back again. She is dead.â€
24 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
“But why didn’t she take us too?†Alas!
the last thought of the poor helpless mother had
been a wish that she could indeed take her chil-
dren with her. It was not selfish—but she knew
in the keen agony of that last moment, that she
was leaving them friendless and alone. No, not
alone, for she died commending them to the Friend
above all others.
The sick child’s moans had become frightful
to listen to, and the mother beckoned Robert to
~ come to her. |
“You must go for the doctherâ€â€”said she, in @
low, frightened voice —‘for the docther forninst
the corner—he as was wid y’r mother, an lives
in the red brick house wid the shutthers.â€
Robert was older than any of the little group
about him. He saw, in 2 moment, that no time
was to be lost, and before the rest of the children
had reached the door—for they followed him in a
body—he was half-way down the court.
He knew the house very well. The physician
who sometimes came to see his mother lived
there; and his light carriage was standing before
the door waiting for him to go on his daily round
of visits. Robert hurried on, for fear he should |
, OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 25
miss him, but he was just in time to stop him, as
he stood on the very threshold of the shop, for he
was an apothecary as well as physician—giving
some directions to the lad behind the counter
“You must come, sir—now, right away,†the
boy said, seizing the doctor’s coat in his eagerness
to attract attention. “Winny Brown—her mother
sent for you, and she’s dreadfully sick, sir.â€.
“Winny Brown!†said the doctor, as if trying
to recall the name of a patient.
“Yes, sir, up in the court, Ludlow’s Court,
sir—where you used to come.â€
“ Ah—I remember now; I was there only
yesterday for a cholera patient. One of the worst
cases I ever saw. No chance for hope.†@
Robert’s heart beat violently—he knew it was
his mother the doctor spoke of; poor little Winny
was for a moment forgotten. .
“ Another case, no doubt—the cholera makes
clean work of it in those alleys. Brown—that
was the name of the woman who staid by the poor
creature.â€
“Please, sir, do comeâ€â€”urged Robert, for the
thought of Mrs. Brown’s rough, but honest kind-
ness, recalled to him the urgency of the case.
26 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL;†6
“Tn one moment, my little lad—one moment.
James, see that those pills go directly to Miss
Johnson. The powders are for her father—and
mind you, don’t give prussic acid for salts—as a
young fellow down town did yesterday, and has
got to pay for it. If the child dies, it’s a prison
job. Have the horse all ready. when I come back.
I haven’t a moment to lose these times.â€
So, snatching up a vial of some active remedy,
and talking to James as he went, the doctor
started on his benevolent errand: benevolent in
every sense of the word, for he knew there was
little recompense to be gained in Ludlow’s Court.
Its miserable inhabitants could scarcely provide
food. Medical attendance was a luxury they must
be dependent upon charity for.
“So it’s a-child,â€-he said to Robert, talking
as fast ag he walked. “ And when was it taken
—and what have they done for it ?â€
“I don’t know, sir, but it’s very sick, and Mrs.
Brown doesn’t seem to know any thing but that,
and she told me to come for you.â€
. “Yowre not one of Mrs. Brown’s children ?â€
asked the doctor suddenly, struck by the purity of
the child’s voice and accent. ‘“ You are not Irish ?â€
&.,
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 27
_ “Qh, no; but she was so good to my mother,
and she took care of Eddy last night, and I’m
afraid Winny took the sickness in our room.â€
« Why! you're one of those very children. I
ought to have known you before, but I was think-
ing about that stupid James. He'll sell arsenic
for sulphur, some day» So it was your mother!
poor little fellow; why I remember her calling
you a famous nurse last spring. Poor woman,
her trouble was soon over.â€
The tears sprang to Robert’s eyes. The doc-
tor’s tone was so kind, and it brought his present
trouble to fresh remembrance.
“Tf your mother had not been so weak,
she was the last one to take the cholera,†contin-
ued the doctor. “She was always so neat, and
kept, things so tidy about her. Now no wonder
half’ the people take every epidemic that’s going,
they live more like swine than human beings.
Cold water is one of the best preservatives of
health, whatever it may be as a cure. And then
their food, half the time too rich for any one to
digest, badly cooked, and eaten in haste. The
worst of it is, they always have to make up for it;
and the famine is as bad for them as the feast.
28 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL 7
But do you know what you are t0 do now, that this
good mother of yours is gone?â€
«“T should like to go to my father, sir.â€
« But travelling costs money, and Mrs. Brown
took charge of all that was jin your room last
night. It wouldn't take you further than New-
York.†|
- Robert’s face fell. This was the only thought
that had comforted him. What would become of
them indeed !
“Mrs. Brown and I talked it over last night.
She’s a rough jewel of a woman, and I always
liked your mother somehow. So I thought what
could be done for you boys. There was only one
thing we could think of. What do you suppose
I was going to do, after my day’s work was over ?
Get a permit for you to go out on the farm, as we
call it, until your father could send to you.â€
- Robert knew he must mean the poor-house,
and John had overheard the conversation no doubt.
That was what he had told Eddy.
He was too young to understand what an alms
house was, but he had always associated it with
disgrace. Eddy, young as he was, had learned
the same feeling. He could not help it. His
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 29
- face colored to a deep crimson, when the doctor
asked him how he thought he would like it.
But they had reached Ludlow’s Court, and he
was spared the answer, for the doctor was soon at
Mrs. Brown’s side, and placed his hand upon the
cold forehead of the moaning little Winny. The
boy was glad to feel of some use to good Mrs.
Brown. He brought the water and heated it for
the hot bath the doctor ordered, and ran back
to the office to get some laudanum drops from
James. In half an hour the child seemed easier,
and the doctor took leave promising to come again
at noon.
Winny did not die. She was one of the few
of the many cases in Ludlow’s Court that resisted
the attack of this fearful disease. When good
Doctor Cook came in, as he had promised, the
worst symptoms had disappeared, and the grateful
mother poured out her thanks in a torrent of
gratitude.
Robert all this while did not approach his
friend of the morning. He was trying to comfort
Eddy, who was now crying bitterly for his mother.
John teazed him, and he was tired of play. He
30 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
began to understand that his mother would not
return.
“Come, come, this won’t do,†said Dr. Cook,
turning suddenly round. “ Crying, my little fel-
low! Why, be a man, like your brother there.â€
Robert had shrunk from the doctor’s notice, for
he feared that he had come to tell him they were
to be taken to the alms-house. He had been
brooding over it all the morning, and*it seemed
more and more like disgrace, a feeling that many
poor people are taught from infancy. But Robert
remembered how his mother had feared the
necessity when she was ill. She had been the
daughter of a small farmer in. the country, and
brought up with a feeling of honest pride in the
independence of her parents.
“I’m not as good as my word,†said the doctor
a moment after. “I have not had time to attend
to that little matter for you yet. Mrs. Brown
will have to take care of you another night. But
she won't grumble at that I guess just now.
You won't like it out there at first perhaps; but
there’s nothing like getting used to new quarters.
Only lazy people dread it, and you are any thing
but lazy, I’ll answer for it.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 31
“ Please, sir’—Robert began.
“Well, what’s to please me ?—out with it.â€
“T know you are very ep we wouldn’t
like to go—Eddy and me.â€
But what will you do?†asked the physician,
more seriously. “ You must not be foolish, and
Mrs. Brown has all these “ childer†of her own to
see to. Besides—bread and butter costs some-
thing, and where is the small change to come
from ?â€
_ The doctor came over to the window and pat-
ted him on the head as he spoke.
“T[’m sure we could find father ;â€â€”the child
had been resolving every thing in his mind through
the day, but he had no more idea of distance than
he had of means. “We could walk—and some-
times beg a ride, sir.†|
“Your poor little feet could give out long be-
fore you had gone fifty miles, and it’s more than
ten times fifty. No, no, that can’t be thought
of.â€
“Indeed, sir, I would rather walk every step
of the way—and carry Eddy.â€
The doctor looked down into the clear eyes
turned on him with so much earnestness, and was
32 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
“struck by the determination which his words and
tone evinced.
“I do believe you'd manage it,†he said, in-
voluntarily thinking aloud; there was so much
manliness and honesty in the expression of his
face, remarkable for one so young.
“You are your mother’s own boy. I only wish
I could afford to pay your expenses myself.â€
But the doctor’s generosity was limited by a
very narrow purse, and he had daily more calls
-upon his: naturally benevolent heart than a
wealthier man could have satisfied. However—
all praise be to him for it—he did what he could
when he found that the boy’s determination
was not to be shaken. He found a purchaser
for the few articles of furniture,—a part of the
wedding gifts poor Mary Lewis had prized so
much—in the pawnbroker on the corner. He
knew it was less than the well-made articles were
worth, but ten dollars seemed a fortuné to Robert,
and he did not know that the other five had been
added by the doctor himself. Mrs. Brown pro-
duced three more, the little hoard of their mother,
and a few shillings in change were found in her
work-basket. The well-saved but slender ward-
vr —
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a
\ sat ace
. oe no a
=
Ber:
BH Pe
eee =
rae
ait ae saan
Iie. Ri. oe LY ia pa
Yi
if,
G ee
i Vy, Z
ti Sa, Tp. “
UE hi
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 33
robe she had possessed, was by the doctor’s advice
given to their kind neighbor, and their own, we!l-
mended but wonderfully neat and clean, was tied
in a large handkerchief ready for the journey.
All these little preparations took until the after-
noon of the next day. The doctor had written their
father’s address upon a card, which he charged
Robert to be very careful of, and he had taken a
map to show them the towns through which they
must pass. Nor did his kindness stop here. He
drove them in his own light carriage to the wharf—
after a tearful leave-taking of Mrs. Brown, John,
and Winny—saying that he had an errand that
way. What his errand was, may be guessed from
the fact that he interceded with the captain of a
boat, for a free deck passage down the river, and
then bade them good-by hurriedly, as if he was
already beyond his time, shaking Robert by the
hand as if he had been a man, and patting Eddy’s
curly little head, as he told him to be a good boy
and mind his brother.
“T shall hear of that boy yet,†he said to him-
self, as he turned to take a last look at them ag
the boat moved off. “I'd trust him to take care
of himself any where.â€
34 _ “NO SUCH WORD As FAIL ;â€
So farewell to kind Doctor Cook, one of those
“good Samaritans†who adorns his profession,
bringing light and hope to the sick room, and
consolation to the chamber of death. And though
his good deeds were not done to be seen of man,
“verily he has his reward.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 30
CHAPTER III.
GOING EORTH.
Roser did not feel, when the doctor bade him
good-by, that he had left behind the very few
who had any interest in the children of the poor
mechanic. The world is not filled with such men,
as the physician had proved himself to be, and
people generally have quite too much to think of
to become deeply interested in entire strangers.
The two children sat in one corner of the deck
with their arms around each other, and the pre-
cious bundle swinging from Robert’s arm. There
were few passengers in that part of the boat, for
the emigrants are mostly on their way Westward,
and very few people who had not urgent business
ventured to enter New-York, while the cholera
was at its height. The doctor had thought of their
exposure to it, among other difficulties attending
their journey; but the panic was universal, and
he came to the conclusion, that it was no worse in
36 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
proportion to the population, than in their own
city. It was a hazardous undertaking in every
point of view, but somehow he had great faith in
Robert’s determination, and he feared lest the con-
finement and rude intercourse of the alms-house
should break so fine a spirit.
So there was no one to notice them or talk to
them for a long time, but Eddy was fully occupied
_ and interested in watching the monotonous revolu-
tions of the engine, and listening to the strange
clang of the machinery, which gave as it were life
and motion to the iron arms. Robert looked at
the long foaming track they were leaving behind,
at the green shores by which they passed; and
though the gentle motion soothed him, he thought
of his mother, and how much she would have
enjoyed the fresh air, and the beautiful scenery.
He had scarcely any recollection of the country,
but his mother had often described to them her
early home, amid the hills that bordered this very
river, and he watched them as they glided by,
wondering if he had not seen the very one on
which the homestead stood.
Then he thought of the great change the last
two days had made. He could scarcely believe
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 37
he was the same boy that had fulfilled his regular
daily tasks, without any care, except a wish to
assist his mother, and so kindly watched over by
her. Now she was lost to him, and he had been
suddenly thrust upon the world, not only to make
his own way through its difficulties, but also to
provide for their mother’s darling child, little
Eddy.
By this time, Eddy had become in some meas-
ure accustomed to the novelty of all around him,
and was quite tired of sitting still in one position.
Robert followed him as he ran about the deck from
one side to the other, in constant terror, lest he
should fall overboard, notwithstanding the high
railing made it perfectly secure. By and by they
ventured nearer the cabin, where the first class
passengers were seated in groups, some reading,
some talking, and all looking very comfortable for
a warm day.
“Oh, only see,†Eddy cried out, “what pretty
things! Do come here, Robby !†and his brother
followed, more to keep him out of mischief, than to
admire the pretty things.
But he was quite dazzled by what he saw.
He had never imagined such magnificence: the
38 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
white and gilded walls, the rich curtains of the
berths, the beautiful mirror, and above all, Eddy’s
especial admiration, the chandelier, with its glit-
tering pendants flashing to and fro with the motion
of the boat. He almost thought the flowers scat-
tered over the soft velvet carpet were real; and
wondered how the people could walk about on them
so carelessly. The ladies, who were lolling on
the sofas and in the rocking chairs, how beautiful
they were, too! It seemed as if they were born -
to live in the midst of these lovely things. Their
shining hair was smoothly parted, not tucked
back, like Mrs. Brown’s, with a broken comb, and
their white hands were covered with rings, that
sparkled almost as beautifully as the drops on the
chandelier. They did not look as if they. knew
what it was to work. Poor Mrs. Lewis wore no
rings but the plain gold circle given at her mar-
riage, and her hands were cut and blackened
by drawing the stout thread through them, ‘hour
after hour. Robert wondered if these ladies knew
there were poor people who had to work so hard
to earn their bread.
And as he thought this, a child—it was just
what he had imagined an angel must be—with
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 39
blue eyes and long golden curls, came to one of
these very ladies and called her “ mamma.â€
The lady was reading, and did not seem to
wish to be disturbed, for she said, “ Nurse,†to a
neat looking mulatto woman, “take Lily on deck
awhile.â€
The little girl walked away very quietly, as if
she were well pleased with the arrangement, and
they came towards the door where the boys were
standing. Robert almost held his breath while
she passed by. The fluttering drapery of her
white dress touched his sleeve, and he looked into
her large beautiful eyes. He scarcely knew that
she was gone, for his eyes were fixed on her in
strange admiration. He had often wished for a
sister. He had sometimes fancied what she would
be like, and how proud he would be of her, and what
care he would take of her. He had never seen
any thing so lovely as this child before. She was
so delicate and pure. So unlike the little girls he
had seen at school, in their chintz dresses and stiff
brown hair. : |
Eddy seemed to share his admiration.
“What a pretty little girl—wouldn’t you like to
play with her, brother?†he said.
40 “Wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
So the two instantly followed to where the
child was playing with her nurse, under an awn-
ing. They watched her graceful movements for
a long time. Every one seemed to admire her.
The ladies who were walking up and down stop-
ped io ask her name of the gratified nurse, and
the gentlemen tried to bribe her away with sweet-
meats, which she refused. At last she seemed to
notice Robert, who had drawn as near as he dared
to, and was still watching her intently. Then she
slid down from her nurse’s knee, and came up to
him, for there were no other children on deck, and
she began to be tired of the servant.
“Her name is Lily’—he said softly, not seeing
that Eddy had crept away. “Lily is such a pretty
name, just like a flower.â€
“Did you call me?†said the little girl, coming
close to him with all the frankness of childhood.
Robert colored, for he did not think he had
spoken aloud.
“Ayre you going to New-York?†said she
again, as if determined to make him speak.
“Yes,†he answered, hesitatingly. It seemed
wrong for him to be talking with such a beautiful
vision.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 41
“Does your father live there? where is your
mamma? I don’t see her.â€
Robert’s lip trembled at the question. “I
have no mother,†he said. “She died, and she
has gone to heaven.â€
“Poor little boy!†and Lily’s eyes grew dim
with the quick sympathy of her loving heart.
“ Haven’t you got any little sister?â€
“No, there’s only Eddy and me. Eddy is a
great deal younger than I am.â€
“Was that the little boy I saw with you? I
wish I had alittle brother. Mamma has only Lily,
and papa—where’s your papa? she asked sud-
_denly, as if it had just been suggested to her
mind.
“A great ways off. I have not seen him for
a year. But we are going to him now, and I hope
we shall always stay there.†?
“ But who takes care of you ?†persisted Lily,
looking up into her young companion’s face with an
eager glance. “ Mamma, and Catharine, and Uncle
John takecareof me. Have you got an Uncle John?â€
Just then a tall handsome man came out upon
deck. He had a curling beard and moustache,
and his fine face had a haughty air as he looked
4*
42 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
around him; more especially when he saw Lily,
who was now close to Robert, in conversation with
a boy, evidently belonging to one of the deck pas-
sengers. |
“ Lily—Lily, come here,†he called, rather
sharply.
“That’s Uncle John, and I must goâ€â€”said the
child. “He seems cross sometimes, but he never
scolds very hard.â€
“Qome, child,†said the uncle, approaching
them.
Lily looked up into Robert’s sad face, for the
animation with which he had chatted with her was
fading away; and in the innocence of her heart
she would have put her arms about his neck and
kissed him; the only way of consolation known to
her. But her uncle was looking on, and Catha-
rine, with a frightened air, now came to separate
them, so she only put her little white hand in his
and said— Don’t ery—I’ll come and talk to you
again.â€
But the boy also heard the fretful remon-
strance of the nurse, who saw Lily’s uncle was
displeased, and the gentleman himself said, almost
angrily—
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 43
“Pm ashamed of you, Lily—talking with such
a little vagabond. Can’t you find any other com-
panion than a beggar. boy ?â€
“He’s not a beggar boy,†the child answered
daringly —“ and I like to talk to him.â€
But the last was lost to Robert, who heard
only the uncle’s insulting words, and anger and
mortification took the place of the gentle feelings
that had been welling up in his heart. He could
not understand why Lily should not be allowed to
talk with him, or how he looked like a beggar. If
the gentleman had but taken pains to glance a
second time, he would not have been afraid of any
contamination from the mind mirrored forth in that
gentle, honest face. But he judged only from
first appearances, like many of his class, and the
boy’s clothes, fashioned by his mother’s hand, were
‘unfashionably though neatly made, and had more
than one repair in the shape of darns or a patch.
Had he been a rich man’s chilff the linen collar,
with its jaunty tie, the fine Leghorn hat, apd the
gloves shielding his hands from exposure to the
sun, would all have spoken in his favor, and the
uncle had doubtless smiled at the display of
juvenile gallantry. As it was, Robert had his
44 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
first lesson in those social distinctions which—
to our shame be it spoken—separate the rich
and poor, even in our own country ; no matter
what may be the claims of refinement and in-
telligence.
Poor child! It was not the only blow his sen-
sitive nature was to receive. Little do we estimate
the “weight of words.†They may bruise many a
wounded spirit, even when lightly spoken, and
forgotten as soon as said.
Lily’s uncle deposited the child at her mother’s
side, and shortly after lighted a costly cigar and
walked to the other end of the boat, to enjoy its
delicious fragrance. Robert with swelling heart,
to which all his trouble seemed recalled with
double force, called Eddy to him, and crouched
down behind a coil of ropes—to escape the obser-
vation of all. And there he sat brooding over his ©
mother’s death, and the uncertainty of the search
he had undertaken, which now for the first time
appalled him. At first it had been but a vague
desire. Any thing to escape the terror of the
alms-house, and to see his father again. Then all
had been hurry and excitement, with no chance for
reflection. Eddy, weary with the fatigues of the
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 45
preceding days, and untroubled by the past or
future, had fallen asleep with his head upon Ro-
beri’s knee. His brother stooped down and kissed
his forehead tenderly, as a girl might have done,
for he remembered how fondly his mothershad
bent over her youngest born. “ Her sunny boy,â€
she used to call him, when his rich ringing laugh
came to dispel all sombre thought, or his caresses,
boisterous though they were, brought smiles to
her faded face. ?
Gradually the glorious sunset faded into a
- deepening twilight. The outlines of the shore be-
came indistinct, and the mountains seemed to heave
up like giants in the pathway. Now and then they
would pass some town or village with its cheerful
hum and clustering lights, breaking upon the
darkness and stillness. The deck would be
crowded for a moment by departing or arriving
passengers ; then the hoarse voices of the sailors,
as they drew the wet ropes through their toil-
hardened hands, and the quick trampling of feet
died away, and all was quiet again. There was a
steady gleam of light from the cabin windows—he
knew Lily was there, and the thought was almost
like companionship. By and by—the flare of the
46 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
blaze reflected upon the water,—the paler stars
overhead became blended and confused. The
clank of the machinery sounded afar off—and the
boy had forgotten his troubles in sleep.
«
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 47
»
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST STEP.
Wuar a change from the quiet of nature upon
which his eyes had closed, was the scene which
greeted him when he woke! The shock of the
boat striking her wharf had roused him, and Eddy
was awake to, rubbing his eyes still sleepily but
good-naturedly, as if he wondered where they were,
and what was to be done next. All was bustle
and confusion around them. The sailors were
trampling about the decks, and one of them
rudely pushed them one side, and asked them if
they “did not know better than to stand in the
wayâ€
Trunks, carpet-bags, and boxes were ‘dau
around them, for the baggage room was open, and
sleepy cross-looking passengers were pointing out
their property. Cabmen with their long whips
were crowding the gangway, shouting—“ Carriage
sir’—“Trving House Coach ?’—“take you right
48 “0 SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
up Broadway, sir’—and a hundred other cries,
which were quite a foreign language to our inex-
perienced travellers. * Sometimes there were joyful
greetings exchanged between those who had just
arrived, and friends who came to meet them, with
rapid inquiries for “all at home†or compliments
upon the good looks of those returning. It was
a busy, animated scene, all eager, all excited, after
the remains of the drowsiness had passed away,
and Robert, alive to new impressions, was deeply
interested.
Presently he heard a voice that sounded fa-
miliar, and turned just in time to see Lily hurried
into an elegant carriage, waiting upon the wharf.
Her mother, looking very lovely. was already
seated there, and Uncle John came bustling along
with a dressing-case under his arm, giving some
direction to a porter, about a pile of baggage
which belonged to them. Robert sprang to the
railing and waved his hand to Lily. He could
not help it, even though they all saw him. He
could not tell whether she noticed it or not,—but
she leaned back from the carriage window, until it
was out of sight, watching the boat. Perhaps she
was thinking of him, at any rate—and he could see
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 49
her, as lovely as before with the curls falling about
her face, and her sweet smile.
Now she was gone—the only one who had
spoken a kind word to him since he had parted
from his friends; for the captain, whose easy good ~
nature had given them their passage, was too busy
to bestow a thought upon his friend the doctor’s
proteges, and they had instinctively avoided the
notice of the passengers. But though no one
watched for them, or came to conduct them to a
home where loving ones waited them, they must
leave the boat and mingle with the crowd. Robert
lingered for a long time, even with Eddy pulling
him by the arm, for the child longed to see what
was before him, and the boat had been explored
the night before. His brother felt as if he was
leaving the last thing that connected him with his
old home, his few friends, and the memory of his
mother. He looked out upon the wharf, crowded
with bales, and boxes, and drays—and his heart
failed him. Fora moment he half resolved to
remain on board, and return in the boat. But the
alms-house—and the cruel overseer he had heard
the poor people in the court talk about! No,
that would not do—for his father might never
50 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL e
hear he was there, and they would be left to
grow up with no one to care for them, or love
them.
There was no return ; for in another moment
he had crossed the plank, leading Eddy by the
hand, and carrying the bundle. Now for the
frst time he was to act for himself, for both of
them, and to prove whether he really had that
courageous spirit the doctor fancied he had dis-
covered.
The faces of the crowd were all strange.
Every one seemed in haste, jostling each other,
and running almost under the wheels of the car-
riages. The wharf was crowded with steamboats,
many of them larger than the one they had just
left. Bells were ringing, the hiss of escaping
steam mingling with their clangor, and a distant
roaring of wheels ‘nereased the din. The boys
stood bewildered, not knowing which way to take,
or what to seek. Eddy, in alarm, clung more
tightly to his prother’s hand, and impeded his
movements.
They could not be long stationary, however, in
the busy metropolis. They were jostled from side
to side, and Eddy was nearly knocked into the
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. ol
water by a bale of hay from a barge that was un-
loading at the slip. He was not hurt, but he was
terribly frightened, and his sobs added to Robert’s
perplexity.
“ But it will never do,†he thought to himself,
“to give it up at the beginning ;†and so he stifled
his own fear, and said cheerfully,
“T guess we'll get some breakfast, won’t we,
Eddy ? perhaps we'll feel better then.â€
Robert unconsciously had spoken a bit of true
philosophy. Troubles look lighter after a hearty
meal, and hunger is one of the most dispiriting
influences under which we can act.
By this time, they had reached one of the streets
which front the wharves of this immense harbor,
and before them was one of those stalls, which look
so tempting on the street-corners of large cities.
There were nuts, and cakes, and candies, in great
profusion, and fruit, stale to be sure, but with the
best side put towards customers, and this was
presided over by a countrywoman of Mrs. Brown’s,
who, seeing the wistful eyes, called out—
“Well, honeys, an’ what ’ll ye’s be afther buy-
ing?†“Oh, give me a cake, Robby, please,†said
Eddy, who had quite brightened up with the pros-
52 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
pect of breakfast, “ and an orange. I think an
orange would be so nice.†|
«wo for sixpence,†said the woman, turning
her wares, that they might be seen to advantage
“ an’ one o’ thim candy sticks in the bargain.â€
It was certainly very tempting to two children
who had eaten nothing since noon of the day be-
fore, and who had the money in their own hands
to spend as they pleased. Robert turned over the
two sixpences and the pennies which his pocket
contained, but then he remembered what he had
been advised by the thoughtful doctor, to “eat no
trash, especially cakes, and avoid half-ripe fruit
like poison.â€
It was a great act of self-denial, almost heroic,
as he saw Eddy’s longing eyes already desiring
the dainties. But now the boy’s spirit began to
show itself, for he drew his brother away, while
the old woman’s cunning smiles changed to uncom-
plimentary remarks, to say the least, as they
passed on. It was not in the least romantic-—but
Robert’s first purchase on his own account was
half a pound of hard crackers, and some salt fish, at
a little grocery-cellar near by. But they made a
hearty breakfast I can assure you, sitting down
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. o3
upon the steps of a large unoccupied warehouse,
and needing no plates, or knives and forks.
It was then, for the first time, Robert thought
of their toilettes, as he saw Kddy’s tangled curls
peeping from beneath the coarse palm-leaf hat.
But appliances for a comfortable bath are ‘not to
be met with on street-corners, and he was obliged
to content himself with smoothing down Eddy’s
hair and his own, as best he could, and tying |
afresh the bits of ribbon in their collars.
When one has lost a friend there are little
things happening many times a day to bring them
freshly to recollection. It was their mother’s
hand that had always adjusted with loving vanity
this part of their simple dress. Robert remem-
bered, with a thrill of pain, the kiss that had
always followed it, as he took his school books and
bade her good-bye. Once more that strange
bewildered feeling came over him, that he was
acting in a dream, and he should wake and find it
SO.
They went on more bravely now. The remains
of breakfast stored in the bundle of clean clothes
for another meal, and they had grown accustomed
to the bustle and confusion around them. They
5*
54 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
had asked the man from whom they had made
their purchases, where the Philadelphia cars went
from, and he had told them as well as he could,
but bade them inquire as they went along, of any
one they might chance to meet. The cars would
not go now until afternoon, he said, and they had
plenty of time to “ walk around a bit.â€
Robert was not sorry for this. He had read
about the great metropolis often, and had fancied
he should enjoy a visit to it very much. Trinity
Church with its high steeple, how he should like
alook from the top of it. And there was the
City Hall, and the Battery, that were described in
his geography. But they saw none of these fine
sights—for Robert found their small city, large
as it had seemed to him, was only a village in
comparison to New-York. The streets ran into
each other oddly enough, and though he tried to
follow the man’s directions, he soon lost all the
landmarks that had been pointed out to him, and
wandered on, hoping every moment to come on
some public building he would recognize from the
pictures he had seen of them. But houses in
pictures and. real houses are two very different
things, and though he must have passed very
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. oo
near Trinity Church, and crossed Broadway, he
did not know the one or the other—but seemed to
be only in a maze of busy streets, where every
one looked as if they were hurrying for life, and
had no time to stop and tell people the way. On
and on, wandered the children, still hand in hand,
and like Eddy’s favorite little people of romance,
the babes in the woods. The streets grew nar-
rower and more crooked,—the people they met
were like a different race from those they had first
seen. Squalor, and want, and wretchedness, were
everywhere around them, and though they had
always, since their remembrance at least, lived
among the poor, they could but wonder at the
misery which now met their eyes.
Children no larger than themseles were fight-
ing and quarrelling at the corners, and even in
the middle of the street. Robert, who had been
so carefully guarded from evil influences, shud-
dered as the holy Name he had been taught so
much reverence for, was coarsely taken in vain.
The court had contained both destitute and wicked
people, but here there was street upon street of
wretched dilapidated houses swarming with miser-
able inhabitants. And all this is within a stone’s
56 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
throw almost of the great thoroughfare, where
wealth and elegance roll as ina tide, and thou-
sands are daily changing hands; adding yet more
to the coffers of the rich, and, it may be, taking a
part of their miserable pittance from the poor.
The heat of the sun grew more and more
intense. They had wandered miles without know-
ing it, and their feet began to be sadly weary. It
was already afternoon, and the sunshine beat upon
the filthy pavement, or was reflected with a glow
still more intense from the walls. Shade, there
was none, save now and then a dilapidated awning
over some corner store, where vegetables, meat,
household articles and liquors were sold indiscrim-
inately, to any one who called for them. It was
in one of these®uninviting shops, that Robert first
ventured to inquire the way. A woman witha
baby on her arm was waiting at the counter for
change to the quarter she had given for a small
roll of butter. The child had large hollow eyes,
as one prematurely old, and the mother was thin,
and stooped asif with labor or illness. A dirty little
girl, with a bold saucy face, stared at them curi-
ously, as she offered a suspicious looking bottle to -
be filled at the back counter. She had a small
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. ST
dark loaf of bread wrapped in a handkerchief, and
this was probably the whole dinner of her family.
Robert waited patiently until both customers were
served, and the man behind the counter called out,
“ Well, younker, what are you after ?â€
“Can you tell me the way to the Philadelphia
cars ?â€â€”he asked timidly, for the man had a coarse
disagreeable face, and did not look as if he would
disturb himself very much to oblige any body.
He eyed them with a curious gaze, before he
said any thing, looking first at their faces, and then
at their bundle.
“What do you want with the Philadelphia
cars, eh? Going on your travels ?â€
“We are going to Philadelphia, sir,†Robert
answered, as politely as he could, yet moving to-
wards the door, for somehow he felt uncomfortable.
“Oh, ye are, are ye. Got your baggage I
suppose. How comes your pa to let ye travel
alone. Come, don’t move off so fast. I haven’t
told ye the way yet. S’pose ye stop here a minute
while Dan’l minds the shop, and I'll go and bring
somebody, as can show ye right where ye want to
go.â€
“ Dan’l†was a boy who had been all this time
58 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
rinsing stone bottles at the corner-pump. He
seemed very small of his age, and had a sharp,
thin face, with a cunning glance of the eye, that
was any thing but an agreeable expression. He
could not have been much older than Robert, but
as his father observed he could already “drive
a fust rate bargain,†and was often left at the
counter.
“Set down, set down,†said the man as he
went out. “I won’t keep you waiting long. An
eye on customers, eh, Dan’l!†and then he wink-
ed to the young hopeful, as much as to say, “keep
a sharp look-out.â€
He was as true as his word, and did not keep
them long, but returned with a tall man who wore
a star on hig breast, such as Robert had seen in
the pictures of Napoleon. While the grocer was
absent Robert had been thinking that he had
wronged him after all, for it was certainly very
good in him to leave his shop to oblige them—and
now seeing so fine a gentleman with him—he
imagined it must be a captain at least, and made
him a very polite bow, as he came towards them.
But the officer took no notice whatever of his
civility. “So these are the chaps, are they,†said
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 59
he, “pretty young to be in such business? Come
along, sonny,—what’s in that there bundle 2?â€
He seized Eddy’s hand, rather roughly, Robert
thought, but he cooly said—
“Will you take us to the cars, sir ?â€
“Pretty good that,†the man said, laughing
with the grocer, as if it was an excellent joke.
“Yes, Dll take ye a road you'll travel pretty often
with this beginning.â€
“Don’t let’s go with him, Robby,†said Eddy,
shrinking back. Please don’t, brother—you find
the way.â€
“Too late for that now, my young Jack Sprat,
—here, give us that bundle, and hurry up.â€
“You cum to the wrong shop,†the grocer
added with another of these disagreeable leers.
“Next time you try shop-lifting, don’t walk right
into the mouth of the police.†7
Robert knew that “shop-lifting†meant steal-
ing; that, too, was a part of his education in the
court, where honesty was not considered “the
best policy†by many juvenile offenders. He be-
gan to understand what the man meant, and drew
back indignantly.
“Pm not a thief,†he said, his color mounting,
60 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
and his eyes flashing with shame and anger. He
who had never taken the value of a penny that did
not belong to him! He could not believe for a
- moment, that any one would dare to accuse him of
such a thing.
“ All very fine,†said the policeman—for the
star was a badge of his office ;—“ but I’ve heard
such things before. Of course, you ain’t going to
own up. But here’s proof against you,†and he
shook the bundle in his face.
“Those are my clothes, and Eddy’s, and the
money is mine too!†exclaimed the boy, choking
with mingled terror and mortification.
“Oh ho! so there’s money, too! He'll put it
in safe-keeping for you,†said the grocer; “so off
with you; and, Dan’l, you see what people gets by
such tricks.â€
Resistance or remonstrance was all in vain.
The policeman would not stop to examine the
bundle. He took the word of his friend, the
grocer, that it contained stolen goods, and the
man himself seemed to think he had done a parti-
cularly praiseworthy action in delivering two such
juvenile offenders into custody. “Dan’l†followed
them down the street, as the policeman hurried
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 61
them along, grasping a hand of each in a hold it
was in vain to think of escaping from,—making
various impertinent gestures, and calling out “stop
thief!†every time they passed a knot of boys on
the corners.
Poor Robert! It was more than his proud,
sensitive nature could bear, for, nothing loath, the
young idlers joined their delighted young perse-
cutor in the hue and cry, and even men and
women looked on with apparent curiosity, at what
was not an unfrequent occurrence in that quarter
of the city. Eddy’s fright had subsided into a
kind of vague terror and wonder, but Robert felt
every curious glance, every ribald word, and was
hurried on with downcast eyes and blushing
cheeks, as if he had been indeed the culprit he
seemed.
62 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
CHAPTER V.
THE ARREST.
Ir seemed as if the walk would never come to
anend. Weary little Eddy lagged far behind,
and was ordered to keep up in no very gentle lan-
guage. They passed through streets more like
those Robert had seen in the first of the day.
Old clothes were. swinging from wooden frames
above the store doors—bright articles of fancy
jewelry were displayed in glass cases. Pawn-
brokers’ shops with the three golden balls attract-
ed the needy at almost every corner, with an-
nouncements of “ money loaned on the smallest
deposits,†and itinerant venders of soap, matches,
fruits, and candies, jostled them at every step.
But Robert scarcely looked about him, until at
last the policeman tapped him on the shoulder, and
said—
“Look here, you young rascal! That’s where
the city will give you board and lodging for noth-
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 63
ing. That building’s the Tombs, my fine bird.
Splendid hotel—excellent rooms—and nice accom-
modations !â€
There was something very dismal in the name,
and still more so was the: building itself as it
loomed up from the end of the street they had
entered. It was surrounded by dingy houses, and
was dingy itself, though massive in its structure
and proportions. It was built of dark stone, in a
style Robert had never seen before, and looked as
strong as the castles of old times of which he had
read. He knew it was a prison, and shuddered,
but his heart would have lost all hope, could he
have seen through those heavy walls, and looked
upon the unhappiness, and the sin of those whom
they separated from the outer world.
“You won’t stay there long, to be sure, for
being its July, they’ll give you country lodgings,
you and that little brother of yours. You ought
to be ashamed to drag him into such mischief !
I s’pose you know mean going down below,—to the
Penitentary,†continued the man who seemed to
be in a talkative humor.
But Robert answered nothing. A sickening
fear of the prison came over him, and the alms-
64 “NO SUCH WORD. AS FAIL ;â€
house was a bright picture beside it. Eddy too-—
must he be shut up in a close stifling cell, when even
the pleasant school-room had been so wearisome ?
He would die—Eddy would die—and he be left
alone to bear the anguish and the shame. But
had the policeman the power he threatened?
Could he close the prison doors upon them—and
cut off all life and hope? Perhaps he could get
some one to write to Doctor Cook, and he would
prove that they were honest boys.
They were honest! Yes, he had been think-
ing of punishment as inevitable. The policeman
could not prove any thing against them, and the
Judge would believe that he told the truth.
Ah, poor child! little did he know how easily
innocence is confounded with guilt,—and the very
place in which he had been found would tell
against him, for many juvenile offenders against
the laws of God and man had been traced to those
miserable precincts. No wonder that the children
who have known no other home learn speedily the
only education open to them, a knowledge of theft
and deception, which they see practised every
where around. How can they be expected to
obey laws of which they have never heard? “ Thow
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 65
shalt not steal,†has never been taught to them,
and a dread of detection is their only conscience.
Twelve, rang loudly from a neighboring church
clock, as they were led like guilty culprits up
those wide stone steps, and into an immense hall
supported by large columns, like those at the
entrance. Eddy shrunk back, with undefined
terror. Every thing was so strange and gloomy.
The very coolness, after the hot sunshine without,
seemed disagreeable. The hall was filled with
groups of people, hanging about the different
doors which opened from it. Coarse oaths and
exclamations, resounded on all sides; several
policemen, with their glittering stars, were trying
to keep something like order, and welcomed the
new comer with “what’s in hand now?†as he
brought forward his little prisoners.
“You're rather late,†one said, “there wa’nt
much to dispose of this morning, and Justice
Drinker has just gone into his private den, so
there’s no getting at him. You'd better put these
young people in the lock-up at once.â€
“What did he lift?†another inquired care-
lessly, pointing at Robert with his thumb.
“Qh, I haven’t looked into things yet, but
66 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
Jones, the grocer in Catharine-street, near my
beat, caught him at it, and it didn’t take much
science after that, you know !â€
“He didn’t catch me at any thing,†interrupted
Robert, whose resentment overcame his fear.
“ Bless me! he’s as bold as though he’d served
his time down below. Sing’ler how they all plead
‘not guilty,’ †said the man.
“Indeed he did not! and I only stopped into
the store to inquire the way to the Philadelphia
cars. I never stole a pin in my life, and
I wouldn’t if I was starving !â€
“Don’t cry, Robby,†said Eddy, comfortingly, .
stealing closer to his brother, for tears were run-
ning down the boy’s face. “He’s a bad wicked
man, and [ hate him, and I'll tell the doctor of
him, I will !â€
The policemen broke into a broad laugh, at
this chlidish threat, and the unconscious gesture of
menace which accompanied it. Buttheir boisterous
mirth was hushed, and they touched their hats re-
spectfully, as a door near them opened, and two
gentlemen came out, theone making his parting
compliments, and the other with a pen in his hand,
as if he had just risen from a desk.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 67
The children were directly in*the way, and
Eddy, with all the fearlessness and confidence of
childhood, looked up, with his arm still about Rob-
ert’s neck, and said appealingly—
“Shall these bad, naughty men take my
brother to prison, sir ?â€
The policeman grasped his collar with a threat;
but the gentleman with the pen motioned him
away.
“What’s all this, Jenkins?†What has he
been doing? Just bring them in here to me,†he
said mildly, re-entering the other room.
The child’s face had something so earnest, so
winning in it, that, hurried as he was, he could
but notice it. So he placed himself at the desk
again, and the boys were led in before him.
“Two young vagrants, sir, that were prowling
about Baker-street, and trying to get off out of
the city with this bundle. They went into the
store of a friend of mine, and began asking about
the Philadelphia cars. They being over in J ersey
City made him think strange at first; he began to
question them, and found this big one tried to get
off. But I was right in the neighborhood, and
took charge of them. That’s a bad street—Baker-
68 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
street—and there’s been a good bit of lifting one
way and another going on.â€
« And what have you to say to all this?†asked
the Justice—for it was he—of Robert, who had now
dried his tears, and confronted the policeman as
he made his complaint.
“T was in the store sir, but I hadn’t touched
a thing there, or anywhere else. I only went to
ask my way, and I wanted to know how to get
back to the river.â€
«And where did you come from, my little
man?†His listener was evidently interested
in the frank straightforward answer he had re-
ceived.
“Fyrom Albany, last night, Eddy and me.â€
“Fyom Albany? and how came your father to
let two such children start off alone? Just
examine their bundle, Jenkins.â€
Encouraged by the kindly tone, it was but na-
tural for Robert to tell their simple history. Its
very childishness vouched for its truth, and its
trials created a feeling of pity, that they should
have been added to by this error. The Justice
had evidently wished to believe it—nay, in his
heart of hearts, he did not doubt an item of Ro-
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 69
bert’s narrative, but experience had made him
cautious, and he only said—
“Well, Jenkins !†to the man, who now looked
up with a chagrined, disappointed air from his
search.
“JT don’t find much, sir—only a parcel of
clothes that’s seen pretty good service. But this
looks suspicious—a purse with ten dollars and
some silver.†|
“It was my mother’s purse,†Robert said
eagerly—“she always kept her money in it, and
the doctor gave it to me, with the pay for selling
the furniture.†|
“What was your mother’s name?’ was the
next inquiry.
“Mary Lewis, sir.†°
The policeman held up the purse. It was
one of those so much in vogue a few years since,
of beads wrought upon canvas witha steel clasp—
and there were the initials in white letters, M. L..
Poor Mrs. Lewis! It was the only piece of
“fancy needlework†in which her busy fingers
were ever engaged, a relic of better days, which
she had cherished with care.
“This all looks right. I’m afraid your zeal
70 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
for the,service has carried you a little too far,
my man,†Justice Drinker said, looking severely
at the now somewhat humbled officer; “ these
boys,†pointing to Robert, * ought to have help
rather than hindrance. As you’ve taken charge
of them, suppose you continue your supervision
as far as the Jersey City ferry. See that they
get on board, and tell them how they are to man-
age about the cars. Now send Allan in, 1 want
to speak with him.â€
As soon as the policeman had retired, the kind
man, stern though he sometimes seemed of neces-
sity, patted Eddy upon the head, and called Rob-
ert a “brave little fellow.†“ But it was rather
unlucky for you,†he said, “ that you lost your way
in such a bad neighborhood. Remember to keep
in the broad streets another time.†And then
as Jenkins returned he delivered them to the care
of subordinates; and before Robert could thank
him he had returned to his writing, the pen mov-
ing with almost incredible velocity to make up for
lost time.
At first Robert would rather have dispensed
with the attendance of the crest-fallen Mr. Jen-
kins; but the man had a heart after all, only he
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 71
had seen so many tricks in young offenders, and
had heard so many well-arranged stories, that he
was “slow to believe.†Whether it was this heart
asserting its right to a voice, with feelings harden-
ed by a long course of similar occupation, or the
reprimand he had just. received, the policeman
was unusually gracious. Eddy resisted every
invitation to take his hand, however. He re-
membered the cruel gripe of those huge fingers,
and shrunk from a second encounter.
“Now, don’t fight shy,†Mr. Jenkins said,
appealingly, as it was indeed his earnest wish
to make amends. “It was all along of that Dan’l
Jones. His eyes is too sharp altogether, and my
business is my business, you know. But I’m
sorry for it—and you'd better just let me carry
that bundle. Somebody might snatch at it.â€
Robert did not like to give up his property,
but he was forgiving as well as unsuspicious, and
the man in his rude way certainly seemed peni-
tent. He proved it, moreover, by taking them to
a cheap eating-house, when he found they had
eaten nothing for many hours, and calling for
meat and potatoes and plenty of bread. They
made a famous dinner, which he paid for from his
12 “NWO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
own purse, and telling them good-naturedly to
make the most of it, and eat heartily, for they
wouldn’t have such a dinner given to them every
day. He did not seem at all like the same man,
that Eddy had called “naughty and wicked†an
hour before. Nor did the streets seem the same
as they came out once more. ‘Every thing had
taken a new aspect, for fear and dread had given
place to a light-heartedness Robert had not felt
since before his mother’s death.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURYEY. 73
CHAPTER VI.
TROUBLE, '
Ropert thought that the wharf looked natural,
and found, much to his amazement, it was next to
the one at which they had that morning landed.
The man had evidently misdirected them, or per-
haps had not understood their inquiry. But there
was no time for regret—the ferry-boat was just
ready to push off, and swinging†Eddy across the
narrow gulf, every instant widening, Mr. Jenkins
bade them take care of the tickets he had just
procured, and:took his leave.
They followed the motley crowd of men, wo-
men and babies, into the depot, when they reach-
ed the Jersey shore, and in a very few minutes
were snugly seated in the cars, and flying along
towards Philadelphia. There was very little in-
cident between the two cities. No one but the
conductor spoke to them, and he only asked to see
their tickets, looked at them sharply and passed
T4 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
7
on. But they made the acquaintance of a rough ,
sailor-looking man, from beneath whose feet
Robert rescued the beloved bundle, just as they
were leaving the cars, and he very good-naturedly
directed them to a little lodging house, where for a
shilling—a “levy†the man called it,—they were
allowed a bed and their breakfast.
The stranger’s forethought saved them + a
great deal of annoyance, for it was late in the
evening when they arrived, and Robert was look-
ing with dismay at the long row of shining lights,
knowing that he must soon set foot in a strange
city to seek for shelter.
The man at the lodgings could not give them
any information about their future course ; and the
doctor in his general directions had omitted to tell
them the name of their next stopping-place. But
this seemed a trifling disadvantage to Robert,
whose courage had all returned with the comfort-
able sleep in a comparatively good bed, and a
thorough wash, which he enjoyed quite as much
as his breakfast. Cleanliness was the first in
Mary Lewis’s list of household virtues, and, by
Robert’s care, the two looked almost as tidy as she
would have made them, when they once more set
forth hand in hand.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 15
It was rather discouraging at first. “There
was no Pittsburgh railroad, or boatâ€â€”they were
told, and opinions seemed divided as to what route
they had better take. But at last they came to
a very broad street, with a railroad track pass-
ing through it, and espied a depot not far from
them.
“Pll go in and ask here, Eddy,†Robert said,
“some of the men will tell us.â€
Now it so happened that the man of whom he
inquired was very busy loading a car with iron,
and he did not stop as he answered quickly to
Robert’s question—
“Allright, my little man—we leave for Potts-
ville in less than no time.â€
“ But will that be where we want to go?†the
boy said again. ,
“Why, of course, if you know your own busi-
ness—you'd better jump aboard pretty quick ; out
of the way, there !â€â€”and a great ringing bar of
iron came hurtling over their heads into the freight
car.
“Isn't it lucky, Eddy—we hit it the very first
thing.†Robert felt very brave as he walked up
to the ticket office, and asked what was the fare to
16 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
Pottsville. And then after they were safely in
the cars, and the whistle had shrieked its long
warning note, and they were off, out of the city
and away among the green fields, he could not for-
bear recounting all their adventures with a great
deal of satisfaction, and drew bright pictures for
the future. |
“Don’t you think we’ve got along bravely,
Eddy? And it wasn’t so much matter about Mr.
Jenkins. He was so good after all.â€
“Only he scolded you first so, Robby. If I
only had been a man—gracious, if I wouldn’t have
knocked him down !â€
It was a large speech for a little fellow to
make, and Robert reproved him with all the
gravity of older years and longer experience, for
using bad words, and indulging such a belligerent
temper.
“But ‘gracious’ isn’t a bad word. Mrs.
Brown used to say ‘my gracious, and ‘good gra-
cious,†too. “I never heard Mrs. Brown swear,â€
persisted Eddy. |
“You never heard mother say so, though—
and I guess you wouldn’t have said it before her,
either.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. TT
Eddy knew that very well. “ Mother wouldn’t
like itâ€â€”was a touchstone to all their words and
actions; and I have a fancy that if all children
would make this a rule there would be far less
rudeness and coarseness in their play and conver-
sation. They seem to think it manly to slip out
words when they are together, that they would
blush to have their parents hear.
“ But I didn’t like Mr. Jones at all from the
first, or Daniel either.â€
“And Daniel’s such an ugly nameâ€â€”suggest-
ed Eddy. |
“Wouldn’t you like to see Dr. Cook again, and
Mrs. Brownâ€â€”
“ And Winny, but John said we’d have to go
to. the poor-house. I don’t like John! He made
a slip-knot once, and pulled it so tight around my
foot, and don’t you remember he tore my kite ?â€
“ But mother mended it, and said we must re-
turn good for evil.†And this suggested a long
reverie to Robert, as that conversation with his
mother came back to his recollection, and he be-
gan to wonder why God, who was so good and
kind, had taken away their mother and left them
alone. “The Uses of Adversity,†was a study
7%
78 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
which he had just commenced, and one whose
kindest teachings seem most like unkindness.
Then the boy wondered to find himself so much
older in the past few days. But it did not seem
like a few days, now, to look back upon their
events. It was as if whole weeks had intervened,
and even his mother’s face rose dim and indistinct,
except as he had last seen her; but that he could
not bear to dwell upon, for the first feeling of
agony returned with a pang like real physical
pain.
So he drove the recollection from his thoughis,
and in place of that ghastly vision, came a sweet
child’s face. It was Lily’s, just as she had looked
up into his eyes, as she said “poor little boy.â€
Mrs. Brown had been kind, and Dr. Cook had
tried to comfort him, but the sympathy of a child’s
heart had been the first to touch his own deeply.
So the day went on, Eddy asking a thousand
curious questions, as a bright lad naturally would
when every thing was so newand strange. Whien
they came to a long curve, and could see the loco-
motive sweeping ahead, and the long train of cars
crawling after it like a gigantic serpent, he would
clap his hands in delight at the deep fiery breath-
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 79
ings of the iron steed; but as the down train
passed them thundering along, almost with the ra-
pidity of lightning, he actually turned pale with
a momentary fear, and, as was his custom at such
moments, clung to Robert, as if nothing could
harm him under that dear brother’s protection.
It was a lesson to many children we have seen,
the perfect trust and confidence of the one, and
the loving protection of the other. No quarrel-
ling, no fretfulness ; for Robert would almost have
given life itself for Eddy’s safety, and Eddy’s
‘sunny temper kept alive the hopes and the resolu-
tions that had been formed at first for his sake.
We have known many a boy, manly in all other
things, who would consider it a great sacrifice to
give up even a favorite plaything, because it was
his own. Robert scarcely knew the feeling, for
from his earliest recollection Eddy had been the
pet and darling of all. <
The crackers of yesterday made a capital
lunch, so they were not in the least hungry or
weary when they arrived at the place of their des-
tination. It was a long, scattered town or village,
and as they had no luggage to encumber them,
they soon commenced exploring it. But they had
80 NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
not gone far before Robert recollected that he had
better inquire first how they were to proceed, and
he found a man lolling by the hotel or tavern with
his hands in his pockets, as if he had nothing to
do but answer questions.
“No Pittsburgh, indeed !†and he broke into a
laugh that half frightened Robert; it reminded
him of Mr. Jones, the grocer. “ Why, you’re on
the wrong track, entirely. If you want to go to
Pittsburgh, you’d better start back the way you
came. What on earth sent you up here to these
coal diggings ?â€
It was only too true. And a bystander ex- -
plained that they should have taken the Harris-
burgh cars instead of the Pottsville train. Both
were towards the interior of the State, but so far
as getting on to Pittsburgh was concerned, they
might as well be in Philadelphia.
“There’s a train starts right off,†said the first
speaker, “ and if you don’t want to lose time you'd
better go back in it.â€
It was the first real disappointment, and Rob-
ert’s elation gave wey fora moment. If he had
‘not been ashamed he could have cried before
them all; for besides the loss of time, and having
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 81
to go the route over again, two dollars was no trifle
for them to lose out of their small fund. But
Robert gulped down the tears, and walked away
to the depot without speaking, for fear his un-
steadiness of voice should discover his trouble to
Eddy, who, as usual, was content to do just as
Robert said.
The depot was full of people hanging about.
Men packing the baggage car, close by the side
of the locomotive that stood there with its burn-
ished face hissing and foaming, as if it was impa-
tient to be gone on its rapid journey. The boys
sat down upon the first seat that offered itself, and
Robert leaned’ his head upon his hand, the very
picture of despondency.
“Here, you young rascal—get off that trunk!â€
was the first word addressed to him by a porter
who came to look after some baggage that had
been placed in his care.
“There’s no use in getting into a fever, Jacob,
this hot day,†interposed a pleasant voice, “I
don’t suppose the boys have hurt the trunk.â€
Robert looked up gratefully. The speaker
was a tall benevolent-looking man, with kindly
eyes, and though already gray-haired, his step
82 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
had all the firmness of youth. He patted Kddy’s
curls, with his ungloved hand, which was soft and
beautifully formed ; and the child looked up with a
bright smile, for he knew he had found a friend.
“That's a fine fellow !†said he, still smiling,
“and this is your brother, I suppose. Waiting
for your father, eh?†For he supposed, from the
coarse clothes and the bundle which they carried,
that they belonged to some emigrants just arrived,
to seek for work in the -coal mines, which make
Pottsville such an important inland town.
“No, sir, we are all alone ;†Robert said. “I
hope you have not run away !†and the gentleman
tried to look severe ; but he did not succeed very
well, for it was not at all a natural expression to
his face.
“Qh, no!†and the quick flush mounted to
Robert’s face, at suspicion. “ Indeed, sir, we are
going to find my father.â€
“T hope he doesn’t live very far off. You
don’t look as if you were much used to travelling.
But there goes that whistle, and I shall lose my
place ; have you got your tickets ?â€
Robert had not thought of them.
“ Well, never mind, jump in, and [ll talk to
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 83
the conductor ; though it’s the best plan to attend
to all these things before you start.â€
“¢Be sure you're right—then go ahead,’ as my
boys say,†he continued, as they were seated, the
boys in front of him, for he had lifted Eddy up
himself. “It’s a good principle.â€
Robert smiled a little. “I think so, too, sir;
and if I had done so, we shouldn’t have been here
now.†.
“T thought so. I thought there was a story
about it, somehow. Come, tell me all about it ;â€
and, encouraged by his kindly manner, Robert
poured out all his troubles to his new acquaint-
ance. The gentleman listened with great atten-
tion, and Robert thought he saw a tear twinkle in
his eyes, as he described his ‘mother’s sudden
death and their loneliness. Perhaps he was mis-
taken about this, for gentlemen who have lived to*
see the storms and calms of sixty years, very rare-
ly have tears to bestow upon every sorrow. But
certain it is that his handkerchief came into use
divers times, and once he looked very hard at the
sky out of the narrow window.
“A good lesson to you,†said he, as Robert
ended with their unlucky mistake. “But such
84 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
-gtudies are not always as pleasant or easy a8
geography with the use of the globes, are they?
However, it all helps to make men of you, and
some good will come of it I dare say. ‘I don’t like
to promise young people; I don’t think it’s best,
generally speaking ; but 1 must say I think you’ve
done right not to go to the alms-house as long as
you could keep out of it. There’s no disgrace in
the thing itself when you cannot help it, and
Providence seems to shut all other doors on you.
But the world’s a large place, and there’s many
other ways for young people to get a living. I
worked hard myself when I was a boy.â€
You never would have thought so from that
small white hand, which now held Eddy’s in a
kindly clasp.
“Yes, my mother taught me—I know what a
‘blessing a good mother is—a little sentence I have
never forgotten :
‘Act well your part—
There all the honor lies.’
«“ But whatever is our duty in life we must do it
thoroughly. Boys nowadays—rich men’s sons
at any rate—are brought up to think that they are
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. *85
to do nothing—not even think for themselves,
until they are men grown. They must. go to
school—and go to college—all very well to be
sure ; education is a great thing; but while they
depend on books alone they will never be edu-
cated.â€
“Perhaps I’m going a little too deep for you
though,†he added, seeing Eddy’s eyes wandering
about the car, although Robert drank in every
word eagerly. “I like what you tell me about
your mother. She was a good woman, I don’t
doubt it ; and there’s ‘no blessing, as I said before,
like a good mother. Why evetrnow—and it’s years
and years since my mother died in my arms,
never a day goes by that I don’t think of her, and
when I have done right it seems to me she knows
and approves of it—and this thought has helped
me out of many a trouble and temptation. Now
your father,â€â€”
And here Eddy, too, had something to tell.
How there was nobody in the world so good as
father, or made such capital tops, or told such
grand stories about lions and tigers. And Robert
added that once he had set him a copy, just before
he went away—‘ Honesty and Industryâ€â€”and
8
86 “0 SUCH WORD. AS FAIL ;â€
another that he liked to write better still, because
+t sounded like poetry—*There’s no such word
as fail.â€
« And I thought of that,†said the boy, “ when
Dr. Cook first tried to make me think I could
never find father, and I said it to myself just as
you came along.â€
“JT wish you would tell me your name,†Eddy
rather unceremoniously interrupted ; “ I don’t like
to say sir all the time.â€
The gentleman laughed good-naturedly, “Hall,â€
said he, “that’s my name. I sometimes sign it,
“your obedient servant, Thomas Hall.†But if
I was writing to you, now, I should say “your
friend.†|
Robert understood the kindness, that this
gave him a right to think of Mr. Hall as a friend
he had felt that he was, from the first. Few
such friends as Dr. Cook and Mr. Hall in one
week! but honesty and courage always raise
friends.
“ But what are you going to do now?†Mr.
Hall asked presently. “If 1 had only known this
before we started, I could have sent you over to
Harrisburgh, without half the trouble. As it is,
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 8T
I think I had better attend to our friend the con-
ductor, with ‘show your tickets, gentlemen’—a
call I get very well accustomed to.â€
The conductor, with tickets in one hand, and
bank notes thrust through the fingers of the other,
was very polite to Mr. Hall, who seemed to be a
person of some consequence in his eyes. Robert
took out his mother’s little purse, but Mr. Hall’s
porte-monnaie was already open, and when he had
shown his own ticket, he put two bright gold dol-
lars into the conductor’s hand, and pointed to the
boys.
“Put up your purse my little fellow,†he said,
as the conductor passed on. You will want all
that’s in it, and more too, before you come to your
journey’s end. Have you thought what you should
do when it gives out ?†|
“ No, sir—but Dr. Cook was so good to me,
and you are so good, we shall get along I am sure.
Don’t you think God sent you to me to speak so
kindly and help us along? And He will take care
of us, I know—I always think so when I lie down
to sleep every night.
~A shade passed over Mr. Hall’s face as the
boy spoke his simple, earnest faith. He was not
88 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
the only one who can feel the pathos of the
ballad—
“But now, ’tis little joy—
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.â€
Manhood’s trust has been tried to the very core;
+t has been buffeted by doubts and weakened by
temptation, but the pure, earnest heart of the
child says, without question or without fear—‘ Our
Father who art in heaven ?â€
“You are right to put confidence in
friends, my lad,†Mr. Hall said—“and above all in
our best friend, our Creator. Still He has
placed us here to act for ourselves, and it will not do
to depend too much on proffered kindness. There’s
many a man been ruined by sitting still for his
friends to help him. But I know you will look
out for yourself as long as you can, and I do not
fear but you will succeed. ‘“There’s no such word
as failâ€â€”—that’s an excellent motto, and you'll find
one in Proverbs better still—* In all thy ways
acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths.â€
It will last you through the journey of life, that is,
if your “ways†are right and just. Make it a
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 89
first principle, never to do any thing that you know
to be wrong, even in the greatest strait of doubt
and darkness. That will be acknowledging Him,
who is justice itself.â€
“ Are you going to Philadelphia, sir?†asked
Eddy, who was restless enough whenever he did
not exactly understand what Mr. Hall was saying,
anl whose questions sometimes came rather mal
apropos.
No, I’m only goingas faras Reading to-night. I
wish for your sakes I was going home. I should
like to see you well started in the right direction ;
but let me see how I can manage it for you.â€
He sat as’ if thinking a moment, and then
taking out a pencil, he wrote something on the
back of a letter, and gave it to Robert.’ “If you
can make out that direction to-morrow, you'll find
some more friends in Locust-street; and mind
youtellthem that I said so. And I would advise you
after this to take a second-class car; you can
travel cheaper, and you must begin to learn ecdh-
omy, as well as honesty and industry. With the
three, any man, by God’s blessing, will succeed in
the world.â€
Robert placed the slip of paper in his bundle
g*
90 “wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL om
without looking at it, and felt as if he could never
be grateful enough to Mr. Hall. Indeed, he told
him so—but Mr. Hall did not seem to wish any
‘thanks, but began to amuse Eddy with stories of
his travels. He had been in England, and France,
and Russia, even, and had seen many wonderful
things. “The boys were both so deeply interested,
that it did not seem a quarter of an hour before
they reached Reading. Here their pleasant com-
panion left them with a hearty shake of the hand ;
but he came back to the car window, and said
to Eddy, as if it had been the greatest secret in
the world—
“ Be good—and you'll be happy-â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 91
CHAPTER VIL.
A NEW LESSON.
Trix boys had been so interested in Mr. Hall’s
conversation, that they had not noticed any other
of the passengers; but the train had scarcely
moved on again before the man who had been
lounging on the hotel steps came in behind the
conductor, slamming the door, and sat down very
near them. Robert did not like his appearance at
all. He was dressed in a short sack coat with
immense buttons, his hat was set very much on
one side, and he had a showy gold chain displayed
over his satin vest “with seals, and a huge key.
There was a strong odor of cigar smoke about
him, and he talked in a loud important voice to
the man next him, about “Reading stock†and
“ Pottsville coal.†You would have thought he
owned a whole mine at least. |
But he did not seem to notice the boys at all,
ond presently Robert began to make calculations
92 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL a
about their means, and how to make the most of
what was remaining. He took out the purse, and
found that though ten dollars had seemed a for-
tune at first, it melted away very rapidly. There
was a dollar and a half for each of them from New-
York, two dollars to Pottsville—just half of
their little fund—and though he did not know the
exact distance to Pittsburgh, he had an idea that
it was much further than they had already trav-
elled. A quarter of a dollar in change would buy
them two more meals, but altogether the prospect
was not very cheering. “ However,†thought
Robert, “we will go as far as it will take us, and we.
have got feet and will walk the rest of the way,â€
he added aloud, “ can’t we, Eddy?†Ashe looked
up he saw the man with the jaunty hat, who had
now finished his conversation, staring very closely
at them; and though he tuned his head away
directly, he soon came over and took Mr. Hall’s
‘vacant seat.
“Do you know who that was you were talking
with just now ?†said he, curiously. 3
«Mr. Hall,†was Eddy’s prompt reply. “And
where did you get acquainted with him? Ain't
a relation, is he ?â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 93
— “No, but he’s a friend,†Robert answered,
firmly. Yet for all that, he could not help wish-
ing the man would take his eyes from his face.
His bold, searching stare, made him very uncom-
fortable.
“Well, I'll tell you more than that. He owns
half of Pottsville, and sends more coal to Phila-
delphia every year, than any one about. He
could give you a hundred dollars right out and
never feel it: S’pose he did remember you in
parting, didn’t he ? Something pretty handsome!
eh ?â€
Robert hardly knew what to answer. It
seemed very rude and impertinent to question
them, but perhaps it was not intended so.
“An eagle perhaps,†said the man again,
eyeing Robert’s bundle, “or perhaps a couple of
them.†|
“He didn’t give Robby any thing but a little
piece of paper,†Eddy answered. .
« Oh, an order then, or perhaps @ check. S’pose
you show it to me.†|
“T haven’t looked at it myself,†Robert said
stoutly.
“ Oh, come now, don’t be so uppish ; I thought
94 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL -
you were fond of talking to strangers. Ain’t you
afraid of the cholera?†he took a new theme, as if
to make Robert forget his question. “It’s getting
dreadful bad in Philadelphia. Twenty new cases
yesterday. Most every body’s going out of town.â€
They had scarcely thought of fear, when in
actual danger; but though Robert felt that the
stranger was only trying to make them uncom-
fortable, he wished there had been nothing said
about the cholera.
« And out West—oh, my | they’re dying by
hundreds! Whole boat-loads of people go off, on
the rivers, captain, crews and all. In New Orleans
they dig great ditches, and shovel the people into
them, anyhow, some not dead yet. It’s as much
as a body’s life’s worth to pass through one of |
them Western or Southern towns, Pittsburgh
especially. J shouldn’t like to risk it.â€
Robert wondered if he had heard them tell
Mr. Hall their destination. He surely could not
be so cruel as to talk so if he had.
«“ Now, if you're travelling alone,†continued
his persecutor, “ T’d advise you to look pretty
sharp after the dollars and cents. “Lain’t every
man that. puts his hands in his pocket as easy as
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 95
Mr. Hall, and shovels out the gold pieces. How
much was it you said he gave you?†he asked
abruptly, as if he had forgotten something he had
been told.
“Not any thing! we told you before,†Robert
answered, almost angrily. He was sure now that
their new acquaintance was very impertinent.
“Oh yes,—only that order you take such
good care of. I remember you didn’t think ’twas
worth while to show it to me. Stowed away safe
in that bundle I suppose,†and he glanced towards
it, lying upon the seat beside him.
“ Don’t talk to him, Robby,†whispered Eady,
whose quick instincts attracted or repelled him
towards every one they met.
“ Well, younkers—you don’t seem in the least
bit sociable—so I guess I'll take a nap,†and suit-
ing the action to the word, he laid his head back
upon the seat, and covered his face with his pocket
handkerchief. Eddy, too, seemed tired, and laid
his head down upon Robert’s shoulder. The
light grew misty, as evening came on, and thus
they swiftly approached the city.
“Wake up, Eddy,†Robert said, as the lights
began to stretch forward in continuous lines. A
96 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL -
moment more and they were shooting .under the
high walls of the depot. It was quite dark, and
the passengers began to rise, and grope about for
their umbrellas, canes, and carpet-bags, and before
the motion of the cars had ceased, the passage-
- way between the seats was choked with an eager
crowd, all striving to be first. Still Eddy was
decidedly sleepy, and by the time Robert had
succeeded in fairly rousing him—they were almost
alone. The depot lamps lighted up the interior,
but when they came to look for the bundle it was
gone !
Robert could not believe it at first. He search-
ed under the seat, and for several seats back of
them; he even lifted up the cushions, although it
was impossible for any thing so bulky to be
beneath them. It was all in vain. There was @
pair of overshoes, a lady had forgotten,—a brown
paper book, a young gentleman had finished read-
ing, and did not consider worth carrying of.
Otherwise the cars were empty.
And now the patter of feet, upon the platform
ceased. The voices of the cabmen died in the
distance—and a workman passing through with a
lantern warned them that the depot would soon be
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 97
closed for the night. Robert, almost frantic with
the loss, for small as it was their all was included,
appealed to him to help them. Still no trace
could be discovered. It was just as well they
gave up the search. The precious bundle was safe-
ly under the loose sack coat of their late neigh-
bor, who had borne it off—aided by the darkness
and confusion of their arrival. He was nothing
less than a professed pick-pocket and gambler,
who had met with a run of ill luck at both pro-
fogsions while in the country, and in his present
poverty no theft was too mean oF trifling for his
notice. He did not count so much upon the
money which he knew the bundle contained, as
upon the draft, which, from snatches of their con-
versation he had overheard, and being well aware
of that gentleman’s wealth and generosity, he
supposed had been given them.
What was his disappointment on arriving at his
lodgings, to find only the back of a ‘letter with
these words: |
“My dear children—
“These boys will tell their own story. Act as
your hearts dictate. At any rate I shall expect
you to see them safely embarked for Pittsburgh.â€
Q
98 “wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
The note was torn into shreds, and thrown
from the window; the five dollar bill placed in
his purse, and the clothes turned, with a “ pshaw !â€
into an empty closet. No wonder that the bundle
could not be found!
Imagine, if you can, the fright and bitter dis-
appointment with which the search was at last
abandoned. No one in the depot took any notice
of them; and as they entered the street they
were homeless, penniless, and aimless. If they
had had the direction Mr. Hall gave them they
might have had some hope. As.it was, Robert could
not even remember the name of the street ; and if
he had done so, it would have been scarcely pos-
sible to find it at this late hour.
It was a hot, moonless, summer night. The
air seemed close and stifling, coming as they did
from the open mountain country. There was a
ow growl of thunder afar off—and lurid flashes
of lightning gleamed from the ragged clouds. No
home in all that wide city to shield them from the
coming storm! On and on they wandered, some-
times travelling through narrow, obstructed streets,
and then stopping to rest on the steps of some
large mansion deserted by its owners for the sum-
: OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 99
mer months. Room there, and to spare--spa-
cious halls—comfortable apartments—luxurious
beds, and yet our poor little wanderers were shel-
terless. |
It was almost midnight, and still the elder boy
had not dared to beg—such petitions were foreign
to his lips. They had reached a broad street,
silent except from the red gleams of light thrown
from the many colored lanterns of some low tavern
or eating-house, and the noisy brawls of those |
who frequented them. Eddy’s wearied limbs
were failing beneath him, and he complained that
his head had ached all the afternoon. How many
mothers that night were watching the sleep of
their beloved children, comfortably housed and
tenderly cared for! and in a distant city Robert
Lewis was dreaming a waking dream of a happy
and speedy reunion with the wife and little ones, |
for whom he toiled, and saved every farthing of
his wages. Yet they were alone in their need—
no, not alone, for “not one sparrow falls to the
ground’—
“Don’t give up, Eddy! that’s a good boy.
Keep fast hold of my hand and I shall think of
something soon,†Robert said, cheerily ; though
100 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;†’
had he been alone he would have given up him-
self long before. So it is, that having to act for
others, we are oftentimes ourselves supported.
“ See what a great curious shed that is down
the middle of the street, and lights all through it.
What do you suppose it can be ?â€
“TJ don’t know,†the child answered, fretfully.
“Oh, brother, my head is so bad—and my shoes ©
hurt my feet every step I take.â€
“Why I think it must be the market,†Robert
went on, for he was trying to divert Eddy’s mind
from his troubles. “Yes, it certainly is the
market, and all empty. And there are benches
all along, and a roof overhead. Dear me! what
a nice place it will be to sleep! I never thought
of the market before. A great deal better than
cold stone steps, or begging, isn’t it? Just see !
Come in, Eddy, it’s beginning to rain, and here is
a bench all boarded up, so it won’t touch us.â€
The rain was indeed commencing, and Eddy
was only too glad to accept even the semblance of
a shelter. The benches, as Robert called them,
were the stalls, which were now empty, and stood
like a row of long wide tables against the side of
the market-house.
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 101
“We can play it’s a steamboat—can’t we,
Eddy? And this is a cabin, and there are berths
all along. O, it’s funny to have a cabin all to
ourselves !†|
So talking still encouragingly and cheerfully—
though every time he thought of the bundle, his
heart sunk like lead—the unselfish boy made the
best pillow he could for his little brother, from his
own jacket, which he folded up carefully, to be as
soft as possible. “We have a famous bed-room
to-night, so go to sleep, and your head will be bet-
ter, and perhaps to-morrowâ€â€”
“Yes, perhaps to-morrow will bring some
hope,†he would have said, but Eddy’s deep breath-
ings soon told that he had forgotten even his ill-
ness in sleep. Robert was awake much longer,
for he had not even a jacket between his head and
the rough planks. Besides, the storm had come
in all its fury, and the rain poured in sheets upon
the roof above them, dashing in, with cold wet
showers, upon the brick pavement at every open-
ing. Then, too, anxious thought would not let him
rest, for he was in a strange city with not a friend
to whom he could go even for advice, or a penny
for to-morrow’s food. But at last there slid into
g*
102 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
his mind, just as his thoughts grew mingled and
indistinct, his mother’s favorite text: “ Thou wilt
keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed
on thee’ —and then he dreamed that he was stand-
ing by that dear mother, as he often had done
while she sat at work. Her Bible was lying upon
the window-sill, and from it he read the text he
had just recalled. But when he stooped to receive
his mother’s kiss, she faded before him, and left
him standing with outstretched arms. |
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 108
CHAPTER VIII.
NEW FRIENDS.
“Some little vagabonds that ought to be taken
to the station house!†he heard a gruff voice say ;
while a rude shake roused him from sleep.
He started, and sat upright in an instant,
with his arm instinctively stretched over Eddy,
to save him from such a harsh awakening. It
was early morning—the faint gray light just
breaking through the east. The storm had all
passed by, and there was the promise of a lovely
day. A countryman, with a huge basket of early
potatoes, and cabbages piled up to an immense
height upon his arm, was standing near the stall,
and evidently out of humor, at having been prevent-
ed depositing his load upon it.
“Tt’s enough to make a mother’s heart ache,â€
a woman’s voice answered, “to see such young
children going to ruin in this way. They'd be
better off in the Penitentiary, Mister Allen.â€
‘
104 (wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
Come,†said the individual thus addressed,
“T can’t stand here all day with my arm breaking,
to suit their convenience,†and with the disen-
gaged hand he would very speedily have helped
Robert to the ground, if he had not sprung to the
side of the market-woman, and said, in a tone of
entreaty— aS
“Pll wake Eddy, sir; don’t .be cross to him,
please; he was sick last night and tired—and we
did not mean to get in your way.†» Bi
“Roll the cabbages under the stall, Mister
Allen,†the market-woman said, “and set the
potatoes down here. Hurry up them tomatoses,
too, for people will be on the ground early this
morning.†Then, as the man obeyed her orders,
she listened to Robert’s explanation of their loss
and destitution, and waited with exemplary pa-
tience, considering that the market now began to
be thronged. with other hucksters, until Eddy was
roused. Poor little Eddy was really ill. He could
scarcely stand, even leaning upon Robert, for his
head grew dizzy, and he could not recollect where
they were, or what had befallen them.
“TJ believe he’s hungry,†said-she, compassion-
ately. ‘ “ Here, Uncle John, just hand two saucers
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 105
of good hot oysters, out of that tin of yours, and
a couple of crackers—“ and then seating Eddy on
a camp stool, that had been bought for her own
convenience, she placed the savory soup before the
hungry children. The very model of a Philadel- .
phia market-woman was Mrs. McGonegal; large,
even, plump, from shoulder to waist, with a round,
smiling, honest face you would have trusted any
where, but nevertheless keen hazel eyes, that were
rarely themselves deceived. She had not thought
of doubting Robert’s simple story, for an honest
heart is a kind of touchstone to detect any thing
like deceit ; and while she bustled about, arranging
her vegetables to attract the eyes of early cus-
tomers, she found time to pity the “poor little or-
phans,†as she insisted on calling them to “Uncle
John,†the coffee and oyster man, who served break-
fast to these early risers. .
“Poor little fellows! their mother died of the
cholera! We haint had a bit of it in our neigh-
borhood so far. That’s because we all keep so
‘sweet and clean up in Kinsington, I tell Nancy.
Why didn’t you eat your oysters, my little man 2
Aint you got any appetite this cool morning ?
That was a blessed. shower last night—cooled off
+ tts wt
106 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
the heat considerable. Yesterday was dreadful
weather for the cholera. Haint seen the Ledger
yet I s’pose, to know how many deaths there was.
Aint them splendid mercers, Miss Logan ? you
scan’t raise such out of Jersey, I’ll be bound. See
them two little fellows here. Somebody stole
every cent they had, and all their clothes! What
dreadful mean people there is in this world—
what'll you charge for blueberries this morning ?â€
But in spite of Mrs. McGonegal’s kindness,
and the tempting odor of the oyster stew, even
though oysters were out of season everywhere but
in market, Eddy could not eat. His limbs were
weak, and he laid his head down upon @ corner of
the stall, while Robert sat in silent dismay at
this new calamity. .
«“ Bless me ! how hot this child’s hands are.?â€
Mrs. McGonegal exclaimed, as she came up, in her
motherly way, to see if he had any fever. And
while Robert was thinking that, after all, the alms-
house was their only réfuge, she had settled it
all in her quick bustling way, waiting on her best
customers all the while.
«Just try to keep him comfortable until my
Nancy-comes. She was tying up the flowers, and
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 107
won't be here before six. She’ll take you home,
both of you. It’s only a cold, so don’t fret about
him, my little man, and he'll be about as well as
ever by to-morrow. Glad to see you this morning,
Mr. Andrews. Here’s your tomatoses, all ready,
and string beans, and dewberries ; you see I know
what you generally call for. Look out there,
young man! don’t be knocking that child with your
big basket. No, there aint any bokays yet, Miss ;
my Nancy will bring ’em all fresh—here she |
comes now. That size is a levy, and them, a
quarter. Aint these pinks sweet ?â€
Nancy proved to be as good-tempered and —
kind-hearted as her excellent mother. She wil-
lingly promised to take the boys home, and get a
doctor for Eddy. Mrs. McGonegal’s charity was
simple and uncalculating. She only knew that
the child was sick and had no one to take care of
him, and her motherly heart yearned over them
both. So she found time to pack them all off inan
omnibus, for she had walked a long way herself
that morning, and then returned to her bargains
and her customers as briskly as ever; setting
forth the merits of her turnips, squashes, and “ to-
matoses,†as briskly as if she had not just done
108 “Wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
a good deed, which to many would have been the
cause of a week’s self-congratulation.
We often hear the expression—* What should
T have done if it had not been for this or that ?â€
here are often straits in the journey of life that
seem impassable, but before despair can quite
overcome us, some way of escape is made to those
who have a humble and childlike trust in Provi-
dence. The very necessity that compelled our
weary little travellers to seek shelter in the empty
market-house, brought them one of their kindest
friends, and taught Robert how simple and unos-
tentatious true benevolence can be.
Eddy was really very ill. Mrs. McGonegal
found him-in a raging fever when she returned
from her daily duties, and their own mother could
not have nursed him more tenderly, than she did ;
rocking him to sleep as if he had been an infant in
her capacious arms, and smoothing back his tan-
‘gled curls, as gently as if her hand had not been
used to toil. But for her, Robert too would have
sunk under this new anxiety. While the fever
was at its height he never left the bedside, but
sat for hours holding the hot hand of the moaning
little sufferer, and saying, “Oh don’t, Eddy—
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JouURNEY. 109
please don’t,†when his delirium grew violent, and
he tried to spring from the bed. But most sor-
rowful of all were the low mournful cries of “ Oh
mother, mother !â€â€”“where are you, mother,
mother, mother !â€â€”which he would repeat acy
and again, while the tears streamed down Robert's
face, do all he could to prevent it. He was sure
Eddy was going to die, and tortured himself, as
his imaginative mind would naturally do, with
thoughts of his father’s sorrow when he came to
know that two of his dear ones were gone, and his
own loneliness if the grave should cover this dar-
ling child, for whom the past week had given him
almost a parent’s care and tenderness.
But the fever abated, and though weak and
thin, Eddy came to know Robert once more, and to
love good Mrs. McGonegal and Nancy, although he
did not know who they were, for their kindness to
him. Oh, how happy these days of convalescence
were in spite of the uncertainty still before them!
Childlike, Eddy thought only of the present hour,
and Robert was full of hope, for a neighbor had
dispatched a letter to Robert Lewis, Pittsburgh,
almost the first day they had come under her roof,
dictated by their kind hostess, to tell him that his.
110 “Wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
children were safe under her care, and no doubt
he would send for them.
Mrs. McGonegal had well said they were too
néat to dread the cholera. Her tiny house, with
t two rooms on the floor, and one above, were
as neat as Nancy could make them. The kitchen
tins shone like silver, and the rag carpet, Nancy’s
work too, was free from even a shred of lint,
when the morning’s “cleaning up†was accom-
plished. Thelittle parlor had only been used on state
occasions, but now a cot-bed for Eddy was placed
there, a great sacrifice on the part of their hostess,
who had heretofore only opened it for a tea-drink-
ing, or a neighborly visit on Sunday afternoon.
Eddy thought the curious shell ornaments on the
mantelpiece, brought from over the sea by Nan-
cy’s brother, who was now gone on a long voyage,
the most beautiful things he had ever beheld, and
he was never weary of looking at the gayly-colored
_ prints upon the wall, particularly the “ Sailor’s
Adieuâ€â€”where a very spruce sailor boy in a
shining tarpaulin hat, with whole yards of black
ribbon, was pressing the hand of a slender young
latly in a remarkably bright red dress, with a black
‘silk apron, and green neck-ribbon. Eddy sup-
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JouRNEY. 111
posed it to be a veritable portrait of Mrs. McGon-
egal’s absent son, but thought the young lady was
not much like Nancy.
But the best of all, was when he was wéll
enough to be brought into the kitchen, and ae
by the open door, in the old patchwork covere
chair, that had-been Nancy’s grandmother’s. -The
garden was the pride of Mrs. McGonegal’s estab-
lishment. It was curious to see such a bright
spot of green in the crowded neighborhood ;
but there are many such in the thriving district
in which it is located. Every inch of mould had
been made the most of, and the trellis over the
door was covered with luxuriant honeysuckles,
still in blossom, late as was the season. Climbing
rose-trees threw a shade over the narrow grass-
plat, and trim garden beds filled up the rest of
the small area, with clumps of late blooming flow-
ers, from which Nancy’s “bokays†were made.
Every morning it was her pleasant task to tie the
fragrant buds and blossoms which were sold at her
mother’s stall, making no inconsiderable addition
to their small revenue. This garden was a new
and ever increasing delight to Eddy. They had
never owned even the smallest patch of ground to
112- «wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
cultivate, and their mother’s box of mignonette
was almost the only flower they had ever seen
To lie in this comfortable arm-chair, with the sun-
shine tempered by the waving foliage, and watch-
- = the shadows flicker over the grass, or the bright-
winged insects that were attracted by the fra-
grance of the flowers, While Nancy sat busily sew-
ing beside him, was the greatest happiness Eddy
had ever known. He was contented to have Rob-
ert away for hours, and sometimes he would tell
him what beautiful dreams had come to his mind
in these half-sleeping; half-waking moods.
As soon as Eddy was well enough to leave,
Robert had commenced making himself useful to
his entertainer. Every morning he was up long
before the sun, and carried her baskets to market,
trudging square after square without fatigue, and
through the busy morning hours he watched the
stall, and filled the peck measures with potatoes
and beans, and even took change from cus-
tomers when Mrs. McGonegal was very busy.
The market-woman was delighted with her pro-
tege’s industry and cleverness. So much so, that
she began to wonder what she should ever do
without him, or Eddy either, as to that matter,
when his father wrote to claim them.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 118
But nothing was heard from Pittsburgh. One
day after another slipped by. August had come,
and still Mrs. McGonegal intercepted the letter-
carrier, or spelled over the advertised list of the
Ledger, in vain. Robert began to return to hig
first anxious thoughts, for Eddy was getting well
enough to travel, and kind as Mrs. McGonegal
was she could not take care of them always. He
had overheard a neighbor advise her to “ ship those
young boys as soon as possible, for they would
be eating her out of house and home.†‘True, the
good woman answered stoutly, that “her money
was her own, and she had a right to do what she
pleased with it, besides the oldest one was paying
his way now.†But he knew she could do without
his services, and the neighbor, though rough, was
reasonable.
He was standing in the market in a very dis-
consolate mood one morning thinking of all these
things, and trying to turn over some plan for
earning enough money to forward him on his
journey. Crowds were hurrying past him, each
one intent on his or her errand, and caring very
little for the knocks or pushes they gave others
in accomplishing it. There were women with
10*
114 «nwo SUCH WORD A® FAIL 5â€
butter-kettles, and negro servants with their well-
filed baskets. Now ® little girl tasting butter
as if she had marketed all her life, short as it Was,
or a shrewd housekeeper, bargaining for early
@eaches, that were blushing with their downy
cheeks against the fresh, green leaves: The
butcher next them was cutting away unmercifully
at some beef, thinning off steak after steak, fresh
and juicy enough to have tempted even a Graham-
ite, or stopping to wipe his hands upon his snow-
white apron before he received change from the
pretty servant girl, his last purchaser.
A gentleman stopped at Mrs. McGonegal’s
stall just then, an old customer it would seem, for
she dropped many courtesies, while she measured
the fruit he had purchased ‘nto a nice willow-
basket, which he carried himself. A bright half-
eagle was tendered in payment for it, and Robert
thought with two of these, and people waste
them so here, or think nothing about them, I
could get to my father.â€
«“ So the berries are all gone,†said the gentle-
man, as he received the change, with another of
Mrs, McGonegal’s best courtesies. * “ My good
lady will be quite disappointed, for she intended
to rreserve them. l know.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 115
Robert started. The voice was very familiar,
one whose kindly accents he had often recalled, and
the figure could be none other. It was indeed
Mr. Hall, the friend he had so often thought of,
and sought for, wandering through many streets,»
in the hope of seeing his name upon the door-
plate, or perhaps being so fortunate as to meet
him.
Mr. Hall was as much astonished as Robert,
and looked almost as well pleased.
“ Well, well,†said he, “what’s all this? Why
I expected you were in Pittsburgh long ago, my
little captain. And where’s that bright little bro-
ther of yours, and how do you happen to be under
Mrs. McGonegal’s charge? Why we’re old friends,
Mrs.: McGonegal and myself! Though we don’t
see so much of each other ‘lately since ’ve moved
up town.â€
Mrs. McGonegal was delighted to find that “ the
kind Pottsville gentleman†she had heard so much
about was her favorite customer. She took upon
herself to relate the mishap which had befallen
them, and moreover expatiated on Robert’s “ handi-
ness†and honesty. As for Eddy—“he was the
dearest, sweetest little fellow, and Nancy was so
116 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL a
fond of him, he was 80 much company for her, and
just what her Samuel was at his age.â€
«But I suppose you have not given up your
‘ntention of finding your father 2’ Mr. Hall in-
quired, as the good woman was called away. |
“No indeed, sir, but no letter comes from
father, and I’m afraid Mrs. McGonegal don’t
know how to direct right. And we have no
money. She's very good, and Nancy too. Nancy
made this jacket herself, for all our clothes were
in the bundle; but I shouldn’t like to ask her
to lend me ten dollars when I wasn’t certain
you know, Mr. Hall, that I could pay her back
again.â€
There was a very disconsolate tone in Robert’s
voice, for he had thought every point of the case
over and over again. * Mr. Hall looked at his
basket and said—‘ Do you think you could carry
a good sized cantelope from this to Broad-street ?
and Eddy, is he well enough to take @ long
walk ?†.
«© yes, sir,†Robert answered eagerly to both
questions.
« Well then, Spruce-street is just beyond Wal-
nut, and you have to pase Broad before you come to
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 117
my house. Mrs. McGonegal—one moment if you
please,—will you send this little fellow with a
good cantelope to me, about this fime to-morrow,
or two of them if they are not very large ?. My
good lady is very particular about cantelopes.â€
And away walked Mr. Hall, bidding Robert to
be sure not to lose himself, or the cantelopes
either. |
Mrs. McGonegal seemed to expect a, great
deal from this visit. She told the boys they must
be sure and behave themselves, at least six times
over before they started, and turned Eddy round
by the shoulders to be sure Nancy had made him
tidy, calling in Mrs. Logan the while, to see how
she had brought him up again.
“You see, Miss Logan,†she said confidentially
after they had departed, “that Robert’s pining
himself to death, for all he seems so handy and
cheerful, about seeing his father, which is only na-
tural considering they’re orphans.†The good
lady seemed to think fathers went for nothing, in
the way of taking care of children. “To be sure
I’m willin’ to keep ’em and do by ’em as if they
were my own, and Nancy don’t grumble a bit about
extra work. But the oldest one would never be
118 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL a
contented, and I’d give him the money out and
out to go with, only this has been such a miserable
season for people in our line. So long as this
cholera lasts, we can’t do much in the way of vege-
tables, that’s certain. So ready money’s pretty
scarce with Nancy and me, till my Samuel comes
home. ‘That’s the reason [’m ‘so particular about
' their behaving at Mr. Hall’s, for he’s a gentleman
every bit. We market-women can pretty soon
tell who’s mean and who's not. You never catch
him beating down.†-
There was very little difficulty in finding Mr.
Hall’s, for the name was on the door-plate, only
you had to go uP the high marble steps to read it.
Mr. Hall himself, with the morning paper in his
hands, was just going ‘nto the parlor, and came for-
ward as he saw the cantelopes, to welcome them.
Eddy had now quite recovered, though looking
more delicate than when their friend had first met
them. Nancy’s blue check pinafore, made from
an old market-apron of her mother’s, was neatly
tied, and altogether Mr. Hall was by no means
ashamed of his proteges a* he ushered them into
a room where @ pleasant family circle was assem
bled.
OR, THE CHILDREN’ s#ourney. 119 °
There was “the good Mdy,†as he always
called Mrs. Hall, with the iest smile in her
large brown eyes, seated upon a lounge with a
well-filled work basket beside her. Ae little lame
boy borrowed a pair of scissors from it, and was
busily employed in cutting clothes for the paper
dolls his sister, older than himself, was manufac-
turing. The mother of the children, who was. Mr. _
Hall’s oldest daughter, was by the window, and
two other young ladies completed the group.
The little boy quitted his paper-cutting the
instant his.grandfather entered, and sprung up
with the air of a privileged favorite to meet him. -
He was almost as old as’ Robért, _but illness had
made%fim more delicate in face and: figure. For
all that his smile’ was sunshine itself lighting the
whole face with-theerful intelligence.
“Are these the little boys, grandpa?†he
said, looking at them curiously, but not rudely,
and then he offered to take Eddy’s hat and putt
on the table.
The new comers at first clung close to Mr.
Hall, abashed at seeing so many strangers all
looking towards them. But Mrs. Hall was as kind
as her husband, and one of the young ladies,
120 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
“ Aunt Addy†the children called her, brought a
bunch of fruit and cake.to rest them after their
long walk. So they soon lost their painful timidity
and answered the ladies, for they had many ques-
tions to ask, about their journey and Mrs. Me-
Gonegal, as politely as if they had received every
advantage of wealth and education. After all,
wealth has very little to do with good manners, in
‘tself considered. The poorest child can readily |
follow the only true rule which we know for good
behavior :
“Politeness is to do and say
The kindest thing, in the kindest way.â€
Judged by this, many who are “rich and increased.
with goods†will,come far below the very servants
they employ.
So Eddy began to look round him, and admire
the tall mirrors, and the open piano. He won-
dered what the piano was for, until Miss Clarice,
seeing his eyes wander towards it, asked him if
he liked music, and called her little niece to play
for them, which she did very sweetly ; Robert
thinking he should never be tired of listening.
Mr.: Hall enjoyed the whole scene. He was
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 121
pleased to see his grandchildren behave so pro-
perly, and to find that his wife quite agreed
with him jn thinking Robert and Eddy worthy of
the notice and thought he had bestowed upon them.
While his sister was playing, Harry had climbed
upon his grandfather’s knee, and asked him why
he did not send the little boys to their father.
“ But it will take money,†Mr Hall said, “ and
I have to spend a great deal to keep such a com-
fortable home for you to come nr pay me
visits.â€
“But grandfather, if I had the money I would
give it to them. If papa was only here I’d have
it soon enough. †The child seemed half angry
and mortified, that Mr. Hall did not immediately
furnish them all that was necessary.
“Stop a minute, Harry.â€
“Well, papa likes to have us generous, Mary
and me. We could have it in a minute, I know.â€
“And I like to have you generous, too, my
child, but not on money belonging to other people.â€
“Tf papa gave it to me, it would be mine,
grandfather.â€
“Yes, if he gave it to you to buy a new coat
for instance, and you choose to go without the
122 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
coat, and give the boys the money, that now
would be true generosity.â€
“Oh, I’'d do that, ?m sure, I have plenty of
coats.†|
“But something that you liked better than a
coat. Now, for instance, your grandmother and my-
self always make you a present when you come to
visit us. We were out this morning and saw just
such a paint-box as | heard you say you would
like. There was every sort of drawing-material in
one division—the most complete thing of the kind
I have seen in a long time, and it was marked
twelve dollars.â€
Harry’s eyes sparkled at the description. It
was just what he had wanted for a long time, for
he already drew and painted quite nicely.
“ Suppose I were to give you the twelve dollars
instead, what would you do with it?â€
It was a hard point to decide. Mr. Hall saw
his smiles disappear, as if he were considering
the matter very deeply; and, to give him time,
called Mary, who had just risen from the piano.
“How much was the Cornelian bracelet you
saw at Bailey’s yesterday, my little lady ?†he
said, looking round to see that the boys were
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JoURNEY. 123
occupied. But they were talking with Miss
Clarice about some pictures she had brought to
show them: Harry’s mother came over and sat
down on the lounge near her father. She was
evidently very much interested in the discussion.
“Only eight dollars, grandpapa! And it was
so lovely, just what Annie Spicer used to wear
last winter at dancing school; and I wanted
mamma to buy it for me, but she said my coral
one must do till my next birthday.†She put her
little white hands on “ grandfather’s†shoulder, as
if she had a half suspicion that he was going to
be very indulgent and present it to her.
But he seemed to forget about the bracelet, for
he said suddenly: “Don’t you pity those poor
little fellows, Mary ?â€
“Yes, indeed, only I was afraid at first be-
cause their mother died of the cholera, and that’s
so dreadful. But I remember it was ever so
many weeks ago.â€
“Harry wishes I would give them money
enough to go to their father, but I tell him I am
not made of money. If I have to give little
people Cornelian bracelets and paint-boxes »
“Qh, are you? Will you, grandpapa?†and
124 “Wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
a vision of Annie Spicer’s Cornelian bracelets,
contrasted with the lovely one at Bailey’s, with its
wrought golden clasp, was certainly very enchant-
ing.
“JT will let you have your choice, and Harry
too. Now there isa half-eagle, and three little
bright gold dollars,—here are twelve for you,
Harry. You can go out with Janette and pur-
chase your presents, or you can give the money to
the poor children you pity somuch.†+
«Would you, mother?†Harry said, his small
hand almost running over with the bright half
dollars his grandfather had piled into it.
« Choose for yourself, my dear,†she answered,
smiling a little, yet, nevertheless, anxious to see
how they would decide.
It was curious to watch the struggle. The
children, one on each side of Mr. Hall, looked up
‘nto each other’s faces, to their mother, and then
down upon the tempting coin. Harry’s quick, gen-
erous nature was the first to yield. He slid across
the room without saying a word to any one, and
holding up Eddy’s pinafore, poured the whole
shower into it, and turning to the others ejaculat-
ed, “There!†And then Mary, with something
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JouRNEY. 126
more of reluctance—for the bracelet had long
been coveted—yet nevertheless honestly, added
her’ offering. |
You can imagine the surprise and gratitude of
Robert, who had been too much absorbed in the
wonderful pictures of London to notice any thing
that was passing. And this time there was an
actual dewiness in Mr. Hall’s blue eyes, as he
kissed his grandchildren again and again. He
was so pleased at their decision, and at the happi-
ness which sparkled in the eyes of the wanderers,
when they came really to comprehend their good
fortune.
11*
126 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
CHAPTER IX.
THE DEPARTURE.
Ir was hard to say whether good Mrs. McGone-
gal felt more pain than pleasure, when she found
that her schemes were realized, and she was going
to lose her little guests. First she counted over
the money, to be sure there was enough to take
them to their journey’s end. Then she would
place Eddy upon her knee, and wish he was her
own boy, while she rocked him to and fro. Or he
would be as suddenly set down again, for she had
just remembered that she must take them toa
ready-made clothing store the very next morning,
and get them at least a suit apiece, and Nancy
was desired to cut up another apron and make
two more pinafores at least, for there would be no
one to do their washing for them.
“Clear to Pittsburgh; all alone! Poor little
fellows! Nancy, if they only had some one to see
to’em: But somehow I’d trust Robert a good
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JOURNEY. 127
ways, and he knows considerable more than he
did when he started, that’s a fact. Why since
he’s been in market with me he’s as good as a
“ ready reckoner,†and you ought to see him make
change for a five dollar bill. He'll be a rich man
yet, mark my words—and then you must come
and live in Philadelphy, and market with your
poor old aunty McGonegal. Won’t you, Eddy?
Oh, dear, I’m all in such a fluster, to think Mr.
Hall should have done just what I knew he would!
But I can’t bear t@ talk about their going. T’ve
got kind of used tosthem somehow.â€
The purchases were made next morning, and
a discarded satchel of little Harry’s made quite a
nice carpet-bag, which was not so easily lost as a
bundle; and could be carried by a strap across
the shoulders. Besides, warned by experience,
Nancy manufactured a kind of money-belt for
Robert to wear around his waste beneath his jacket,
which was more secure than any purse could have
been.
The day came for their departure. Robert,
longing for it, yet dreading the parting with his
kind friends, and shrinking a little from once more
venturing out upon the world, had scarcely ‘closed
his eyes during the night.
128 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
As it was not a regular market-day, Mrs.
McGonegal intrusted the care of her stall to her
friend and neighbor Mrs. Logan, and made break-
fast for them herself. It was a perfect feast in
its way, that breakfast—every thing that the boys ~
liked best had been gathered together. But
Robert could not touch the toast or the omelette,
though he tried very hard. to do so, and he set
down a heaping saucer of peaches and cream be-
fore it was half finished. Mrs.. McGonegal kept
urging them to eat, but somehosy she did not ap-
pear-to have much of an appetite herself, and
Nancy cried outright, as she brushed Eddy’s curls
for the last time, and brought his little straw
hat.
Eddy, by the way, was the only one who did
not feel the parting deeply. He loved Nancy
and her mother, and was sorry to leave the gar-
den. But he liked change of all things, restless
little Eddy, and besides he had taken a fancy du-
ring his illness, that he would certainly see his®
mother again when they had once found his
father.
I don’t know how Nancy and her mother could
ever have borne the final leave-taking, had not the
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 129
postman called just as they were starting for the
- cars, with a ship letter, they instantly recognized as
coming from “ Samwvil,†with the good news of a
fortunate voyage and his speedy return.
“Oh dear, misfortunes never come single!â€
Mrs. McGonegal exclaimed, for she had a great
liking for proverbs, and had confounded “eventsâ€
with “ misfortunes.â€
So Nancy put the precious letter in her pocket;
and off they all started for the Harrisburg cars,
where Mr. Hall was tomeet them. Mrs. McGone-
gal, more ina flutter than ever,.and wearing a
bright red shawl “ Samwil†had brought from
China, led Eddy by the hand, and Robert carried
their wardrobe carefully packed in the neat leather
satchel. He seemed to have grown older and
taller in the past six weeks, and there was a reso-
lute air about him, that had taken the place of
timidity, though it was equally far from unpleas-
ant boldness.
* So thought Mr. Hall, as he helped Harry and
Mary, and their mamma, from a carriage, and.
joined the little group on the platform of the depot.
The children had come to be rewarded for their
generous self-denial, by seeing the happiness they
130 “=o SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
had conferred ; and Harry pointedly told his sister
“he could do very well with the old paint-box, and
thought this was better than a dozen trumpery
@ bracelets †Mary did not agree with his esti-
mates of bracelets generally, but she was cer-
tainly glad that they decided as they did.
«I wish I was going to take a great long jour- -
ney,†Harry said, thinking himself bound to be
polite, and agreeable to the young travellers. “I
intend to travela great deal when | am a man,
and go to France where papa has been, and perhaps
to the north pole, like Sir John Franklin. Don’t
you think it must be splendid there, with those
great, large, monstrous icebergs ! and a fur cap
all over your face but your nose and eyes ! wouldn’t
I look queer ?â€
He was a merry little fellow, and laughed
heartily at the picture he drew of such an unusual
costume. Robert had never heard of Sir John
Franklin, or Lady Jane, or the northwest. passage
either ; and when Harry explained it to him—for he
had read a great deal about it with his father—
he could not be made to understand the use of it,
after it was found. Wherein he was very much
like older people we could mention. There was
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 181
still plenty of time, for Mrs. McGonegal always
liked to be in season, and Mr. Hall had a favorite
maxim, “ punctuality is the soul of business.†It
was by attending to this, as well as the rules he .
had before given Robert, that he had won his
present position of wealth and usefulness ; for he
was one of those by no means rare examples in
American life of “ self-made men.â€
Then Mary remembered a package from aunt
Addy, of some luncheon, which was left in the
carriage; and away she ran to bring it. Aunt
Addy was very proud of her talent for cake-mak-
ing, as well she might be, and Miss Clarice had
added a book for Robert’s amusement in the canal-
boat. She had taken the same journey herself,
and knew from experience how dull canal travel-
ling might prove. You would have thought some
tenderly-loved child was about to leave home for the
first time, had you watched that little group, after
the cars begtn to move off slowly, leaving them
still upon the platform.
Robert and Eddy looked back as long as they
could distinguish any thing, and saw Nancy very
grave, Mrs. McGonegal, with her clean white apron
up to her eyes, and the children waving their
182 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL;â€
handkerchiefs in the most approved method. Then
Robert noticed Mr. Hall go back and say some-
thing to the good woman who had been most like
a mother to them in their need. He knew it was
something kind, for she smiled and courtesied.
The children’s mamma kissed her hand, there was
one more wave of Harry’s handkerchief—and they
were out of sight.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JouRNEY. 1838
CHAPTER X.
NEW TRIALS.
Ir would extend our little story into two large
volumes, were we to linger minutely upon the cir-
cumstances of the journey to Pittsburgh. It was
as pleasant as could have been expected, from the
kindness of the friends who had arranged it for
them, and:there was no more unfortunate mistakes,
for Mr. Hall had taken care to teach Robert the
name of every town they were to stop at where a
change was to be made, and the fare of every boat
and car on the route. Robert had once read a
story called “ Eyes and No Eyesâ€â€”and he made
the best possible use of his, I can assure you,
noting a great many curious and wonderful things,
that boys who travelled with the care of a father
or tutor never would have noticed. Eddy’s bright
face, and invariable good temper, made him the
favorite with all who inquired their history, though
they wondered at the strength of purpose, and the
12
134 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
resolution that had induced Robert ever to think
of such a scheme, or to carry it on through the
many difficulties and discouragements they had
met.
The part of the journey Robert liked least of
all, was canal travelling. The boat crept on so
slowly—more slowly than ever, it seemed, as they
neared Pittsburgh, the goal of all their hopes.
The low narrow cabin was crowded with emigrants,
many of whom had just arrived in this country,
but had already found, that it was not what their
vivid imaginations had pictured it—a land where
gold was to be had for the asking, and houses like
palaces only awaited their acceptance. Irish and
German were huddled together with their children,
and “bits of baggage ;†some homesick for the
“fader land;†and others, remembering the want
and privation from which they had escaped, were
determined to have comfort at least for their
wives and little ones. More than one sickened
beneath the hot sun, and the fatigues of so long a
journey, but almost by a miracle they were spared
the fatal panic of the cholera, which swept off so,
many who reached the land of promise but to
die.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 180
This was partly owing to the good sense of the
captain, a rough but honest-hearted “ fresh-water-
sailorâ€â€”who would not permit any vegetables, but
potatoes that he knew were sound, to be used
among them, and prohibited any thing like fruit.
The captain was Eddy’s especial friend. The
child seemed to find a peculiar charm in the black,
coarse beard, that half covered his sunburnt face,
and music in the rough tones in which he issued
his commands. Many a nice walk by the margin
of the canal was managed for them by the cap-
tain, and sometimes the driver mounted the fear-
less little fellow on the back of the patient, plod-
ding horse, that toiled on in sun and shade, with
the same measured tread, and face of wonderful
gravity. Sometimes there were bouquets of late
blossoms to be gathered, blossoms yet bright and
fresh, as they grew close by the water’s edge, and
curious waving ferns, or the fly-flower, with its
purple seed cups. These Robert brought as an
offering to the German woman whose whole time
and care were given to her sick child, wasting
away under a slow, scorching fever. It was pitiful
to watch that poor woman neglected by her hus-
band, far away from her own people, and watching
136 “Wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
with fixed, wearied despair, the flames of life die
out. Many a kind office had Robert silently per-
formed for her, and though he could not understand
a word of the strange language in which she
thanked him, he felt happier when he saw her sad,
grateful eyes uplifted. |
The sick child loved the flowers, and noticed »
them more than any thing that was given to her.
Perhaps she had: memories, young as she was, of
another land. At any rate, she would hold them
for hours, in her thin, wasted hand; turning over
the leaves, or pulling the pointed petals, some-
times smiling faintly; then her mother would press
her close and closer to her heart, as if she could
not yet part with the dying one. |
But the time was approaching when these new
associations must be broken up. They were
nearing Pittsburgh, at last; the huge black can-
opy which hung over the city day and night was
pointed out to them just as the sun set ; and through
the dull, misty rain, that had come on with night-
fall, they saw once more the gleaming of lights
which had been so often a landmark on their jour-
ney. Robert could scarcely believe it true, that
the end was indeed reached. | That this was the
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 187
place from which those cheering letters had come
to his poor mother, the very postmark making
her eyes brighten and her cheek flush! He could
not account for the feeling, but he almost wished
they were not there. He fairly trembled, and
grew pale as he thought that in another hour they
would be clasped in their father’s arms.
It was not very cheerful, it is true, arriving
late in the evening, in a damp, misty rain that
penetrated every pore, and commencing a search
for the manufactory in which their father was
engaged. Just as they were leaving the boat
they heard some one inquire, “how many deaths
to-day?†It seemed as if there was no escape
from the track of the pestilence, and for the first
time Robert thought ‘“ perhaps my father is dead!â€
It came with a cold, icy chill, and the more he
strove to shake it off, the more closely it clung to
him. “That was perhaps the reason Mrs. Mc-
Gonegal’s letter had'never been answered! Per-
haps they were indeed orphans !â€
The driving mist struck his face, as with Eddy
close beside him he left the boat. “What would
become of them if this fear was realized! Once
more alone, almost penniless, and among strangers!
138 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
True, they had been so before, but then there was
hope to cheer them on. Now all would be blank
and aimless.â€
It was a hard struggle for that lonely young
heart, that had already borne so much. He could
scarcely speak cheerfully to Eddy, who slipped
upon the moist pavement, as he trudged sleepily
along. The endless rows of lights twinkled
through the thick air, the rumble of wheels dis-
tracted him, for he had heard only the low ripple
of the water for so long.
What, despairing at the very goal! Nay,
that would never do! and this surely was not the
time to distrust the watchful care of Providence
that had tenderly guided them thus far. Cheerily
on! and now they have reached the dark walls of
the huge building to which the captain had direct-
ed them. It was the manufactory of their father’s
employer. Late as it was, the workmen were still
busy, and he could see the dim figures flitting to
and fro in the crimson glare that streamed out
upon the night. There was a strange roaring, as
of flame, a clanking of machinery, that seemed to
shake the very walls. It was almost frightful to
stand there in the night, and watch, and listen.
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 139
The huge framed doors of the lower story
were half open, as if to let in the cooler atmos-
phere, and no one noticed them as they slipped
through, and stood where the red glare of the
forges did not reach.
“Perhaps we shall see father, Eddy,†Robert
_ whispered. “I should know him in a minute, and
then we will surprise him.â€
But he never could have recognized any of
those swart and blackened figures, as the father -
of his recollection. He had read in the book of
German fairy tales Miss Clarice had given him,
a story of demons at work forging chains for the
victims of their spells; and this was all he could
think of, as the rush and stir went on. At last
he returned to ask of a workman who came to
refresh himself with a draught from the stone
pitcher, near which they stood, “ if Mr. Robert
Lewis worked here ?â€
“ Lewis—Lewis,†the man said, wiping his hot
face with his sleeve. ‘Yes, I remember some-
thing about him. He’s in the other department,
though. Go down them stairs, and across the
yard, and you'll be likely to find him somewhere
in the casting-room.â€
140 «No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
With a heart still beating fast with hope and
fear, followed by Eddy, Robert obeyed the man’s
directions. The manufactory was in the form of
a hollow square, with one side wanting, and the
casting-room, as the man had called it, opened
into the yard. A heat that was almost intolera-
ble rushed forth, and there was @ roar as of a.
fierce wind, as the air was sucked up by the huge
fre of the furnace. There were not so many
workmen here, and their faces were protected by
masks, as they moved quickly before the mouth of
the red, flaming cavern. Eddy drew back affright-
ed, but Robert entered the building—his feet sink-
ing into the sand, with which the floor was thickly
covered, at. every step—yjust as the bars were re-
moved, and the liquid, fiery mass, that had been
seething for days, came rushing forth like a
stream of molten lava, into the sandy bed that
waited to receive it. Oh, how glorious, yet how
fearful it was!—that fiery serpent licking the
dust in its course, and stayed only by the
bounds which it could not overleap. Though his
face and eyeballs were scorched, Robert stood as
‘¢ fascinated, forgetful for the moment of his
errand in that strange place.
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 141
There was a hurry, and a bustling to and fro,
for many minutes, but when the stir had ceased.
Robert fancied he saw his father leaning out of an
aperture—window it could scarcely be called—of
the apartment, and drinking in the fresh air. It
was his height—his air; and not waiting to see
what had become of Eddy, he es forward to
meet—only disappointment.
No wonder that a feeling almost like numbness
came over him, or that he clutched the rough
wooden beams for support. It was all explained
now why there was no answer to the letter.
Robert Lewis had left Pittsburgh many weeks
ago, the man said; removed to another manufac-
tory belonging to the same owner, but located in
Cincinnati. The man, who seemed kind-hearted
enough, told him that it was a long distance down
the Ohio, but people were almost afraid to go
there now, the cholera was so bad. The partner
who resided there had been down with it, and
some one had to be sent in his place. He had
known Robert Lewis very well, and was sorry to
part with him, but they offered higher wages to
those who would go to Cincinnati, and he seemed
to care a great deal about the money.
142 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
Robert knew full well why he had cared, but
this disappointment, at the very moment of antici-
pated success, was almost too much even for his
philosophy. The man seemed to be interested in
his trouble, and went out with him to look for
Eddy, who was crouching in the heavy shadow of
the yard, and wondering why his father did not
come to him. Poor children! once more in uncer-
tainty and sorrow.
The man advised them to go back to their
friend on the canal boat, who could tell them much
better than himself, how to proceed on their jour-
ney, and with a sick heart, Robert turned away
from the huge noisy forges, that had been beacons
of hope to him but an hour before.
We never know how much we can bear until
we come to have the trial; and trouble looked
calmly in the face grows less with the very effort
to comprehend it. The captain was astonished, but
very glad to see them again, and said, if they had
come ten minutes later, they might have knocked
all night before they. had found lodgings in the
“Mary Ann.†It did not seem half so far to
Cincinnati, or one quarter as difficult a journey,
by the time they had talked the matter all over
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 143
with him. A boat started the next afternoon, for
the river. was unusually high for the season, and
they would only have to lie by at Wheeling to
take up passengers, the only long stop they would
make. He promised them jestingly not to charge
them foo much for a bed and breakfast, and when
he counted the little remnant of their fund, man-
aged to slip in a half-dollar, that just made out
their passage-money.
“Now if that father of your’s hasn’t taken it
into his wise head to start on for St. Louis—for
when some men get agoing West, they don’t seem
to know where to,gjop—you'll track him in about
four days, according to my calculation. Maybe
sooner. And tell him from me, that if he don’t
wont this youngster, he can send him back to me,
just as soon as he likes. And you shall be second
" left-tenant of the “ Mary ane, †that you shall,
Mister Eddy.†«
With all his coarseness the captain had a little
romance in his nature, and before he went to bed
that night,she took his wife’s Bible from a little
locker, where he always kept it, and sat down
under the swinging light to read a chapter, more
to keep a promise to her, we fear, than for any
144 “WO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
great love he had for the Holy Book. Robert
took it up when he had finished, and saw their
names written together on the fly-leaf, and a lock
of heavy brown hair put beneath the steel clasps.
He turned over the leaves until he came to Pro-
verbs, and found the text Mr. Hall had given him
to remember ; and then, as he was closing the vol-
ume, a pencil-mark on one of the Psalms arrested
his notice. It had evidently been made by the
captain’s wife, for there was a date on the margin,
and Robert read with renewed hope and comfort—
“ Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose
mind is stayed on Thee.†@-
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 145
CHAPTER XI.
OLD FRIENDS.
ONncE more upon the deck of a steamboat! Once
more we find the eventful journey recommenced,
with the same object in view, a home, and a pa-
rent’s care. Yet the scene around them was un-
like any thing* they had ever witnessed before,
and the confusion surpassed even that of the
wharves at New-York city. Boxes and bales,
piled so high they feared to walk beneath them;
hens cackling from the coops in which they were
secured ; furniture in all kinds of packing cases,
barrels of every sort of liquid, people in almost an
infinite variety of costume. Now a band of emi-
grants, with their chests and bundles, came ‘to
claim their places on the forward deck; the women
with only their plaited hair as a covering for their
heads, and brown bare arms, that seemed strong
enough for field-labor. Then an elegant carriage
deposited its load of nicely dressed passengers,
18
146 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
with every means and appliance for making them-
selves comfortable on their long voyage. . Orange-
women crowded the deck,. and the news-boys
screamed at the top of their lungs, “ the last No-
vel by Jamesâ€â€”or “ the arrival of the Steamer,
ten days later from Europe.†It was all exciting,
and Robert scarcely found time to wonder at the
strange appearance of the boat itself,—as it dip-
ped almost to the water’s edge, so heavily was it
burdened, with its three tiers of cabins, and the ma-
chinery all on deck, and exposed to full view. His
only idea of a steamboat was those she had seen on
the North River, but this was very far inferior m
neatness or elegance, and, altogether, entirely un-
like what he had expected.
The bell rang for the last time just as a car-
riage drove up with furious haste. Robert’s atten-
tion was attracted by the cries of the men on the
wharf—*yow'll be too late,†and a gentleman
opened the door himself, and threw down the steps
the instant it stopped. He had seen that curling
beard, those dark flashing eyes before. It was an
indistinct remembrance, but the face of the lady
he assisted to alight was also familiar. Two por-
ters snatched up the trunks and tossed them upon
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JoURNEY. 147
the deck—the captain politely helped the lady to
cross the plank, and the gentleman reappeared.
hurrying a mulatto nurse, who carried a child in
her arms. ¥
Robert did not need to be told who the child
was. One glance was sufficient. Those soft curls
were Lily’s—Lily’s only—and as she put out her
hands to be set upon deck, Robert could scarcely re-
strain acryof joy. He had thought of hersooften—
his little comforter! and he had never hoped to
meet her again. Now she was so near him, he
could almost touch her with his hands; and he
heard that same sweet voice, half in petulance,
begging to be set down, “for she was not a baby,
and did not like to be carried !â€
Lily’s mamma did not seem as beautiful as when
he had last seen her. There was a worn, anxious
look, though this might have been only the effect
of travel. But “Uncle John†was just the same,
with a proud glance and a proud tread. He had
the identical dressing-case, which seemed his
inseparable companion. Robert shrunk back as
he came near, but he need not have done so; the
gentleman had long since forgotten the plebeian
acquaintance of his niece, and was too much en-
148 “wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL mf
grossed in himself, and his own consequence, to
notice any one. A feeling almost like hatred
came into the boy’s heart; but he checked it, for
he knew it was unholy, and he remembered his
mother’s rule, “good for evil.â€
After they had moved off down the stream,
and the cloud of smoke that hangs over the city
day and night alone marked its site, Robert still
lingered near where Lily had passed, and at last
he was rewarded by a glimpse of her holding the
hand of Catharine, whohad come on some message
forher mamma. There was a carpet-bag missing,
and while one of the hands made search for it,
Catharine held quite a confidential chat with one
of the negro waiters, who seemed to be an old ac-
quaintance. Lily being thus left to herself began
to look around for something to do, and Robert
came from behind a bale which had hidden him,
and almost too happy to speak, stole near her.
«What do you want, little boy?†she said,
starting back as if she would have gone to Catha-
rine for protection. The manner and the look
which accompanied it, were so like her uncle’s !
She evidently did not recognize him.
' “Have you forgotten me, little Lily ?†he said,
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 149
his quick sensitive nature pained, that any one he
had thought so much about could have forgotten
him.
He did not know the unwearied care, the lavish
expenditure that was exhausted on her pleasures ;
one following another in quick succession. But
“The poor make few new friends â€â€”
and true it is that—
“They love the better, far,
Those that their Farner sends.â€
He would have gone away, but she called him
back with “How do you know my name is Lily ?â€
“You told me, or I heard them call you so, a
long time ago on the boat.â€
“ Are you the little boy without any mother?â€
she asked eagerly. Oh,I remember now. “When
we came from Niagara, you had a brother with
curls like mine, only shorter. Where is your
brother? And you haven’t got any bundle now-—
you look as if you were going to school with that
satchel.â€
She was just the same in heart. too. Frank,
winning, half curious, half playful. Robert for-
13*
150 “NO SUCH WORD AS ‘FAIL 5â€
gave her forgetfulness, when he saw the smile he
remembered so well break through her parted lips.
“J think you had a hat then, and I did not
know you in that nice little cap. Has your
brother a cap too? Did your father give them to
you ?â€
“No, Mrs. McGonegal bought them-for us.â€
“Mrs. McGonegal? What a funny name!
She’s your aunt, I suppose. Does she live with
your father? My poor papa is very sick,†she
added, coming closer, and looking behind to see if
Catharine was noticing her movements. But the
dark damsel was showing her ivory teeth, in
a smiling return to the compliments of her
admirer.
“ Mamma had a letter, and that made her sick
too, and Uncle John looked very sorry, and then
we had to come right away home, ever so far.
Mamma cries when I say my prayers—I don't
think she likes to have me say ‘Our Father,’ for
she tells me always, perhaps I have no papa.â€
There was a new bond of sympathy between
the two. Robert could not bear to see her look
so grave, though ; and tried in his turn to comfort
her.
OR, THE’ CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 1651
They could not remain long sorrowful; it was
not in the nature of childhood ; and Lily’s attention
was directed to the curious groups that were scat-
tered about the deck. “ Don’t you think this a very
ugly boat?†she said ; “ so dirty and all; not abit like
that beautiful one when we came from Niagara.
And mamma has such a mean little room up there,
all alone with Catharine and me. Why it isn’t
large enough for a doll’s house, and it’s so warm.â€
From the boat they began to talk about the river.
Robert was just going to ask Lily if her father
lived in Cincinnati, or how far they were going,
when Catharine was seen approaching, and they
quietly separated, the boy remembering a rebuke,
he did not care to receive again.
It seemed like a commencement of good fortune
once again to see Lily, and Robert turned to look
for Eddy, feeling very much more certain that he
should find his father in Cincinnati, than he had
been two hours before. But Eddy had been by no
means idle during his absence, and had wandered
off in an exploring expedition in the neighborhood
of the machinery, which he thought very strange
and curious indeed. Robert was of the same
opinion, and as they were both of them careful
152 “Wo SUCH WORD AS #AIL a
not to get in the way, they were allowed to stand
for some time unmolested. The fire fed by the
huge piles of wood reminded him of the iron-
works he had seen the night before, and then he
began to wonder how the steam could drive such a
huge boat through the water. The machinery
worked so regularly—those iron bolts and levers
moved in their appointed duties like living crea-
tures. :
“J wonder how they manage it, Eddy. There
was the locomotive starting off, all of its own
accord, just like a horse, eating fire instead of
oats, and this works so beautifully. When I am
a man I will study, and know all about such
things. I should like to make a locomotive my-
self.†.
« Should you, my little man Y one of the fire-
men said. The boys thought he was only a fire-
man at first, until some one came to him for orders.
He was tall, with a massive figure, which was dis-
played in the careless costume he wore. The
sleeves of the blue check shirt were rolled up,
and it was thrown open at the throat, showing the
muscular strength of his frame. For all his
swarthy complexion, and blackened hands, there
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 1658
was a good-natured twinkle of the eyes, that for-
bade any fear of so terrible a personage. Eddy,
at any rate, had none, for by way of introduction,
he said, “This is my brother Robert, sir—is this
your boat ?â€
“Hardly !†said the man, with another smile.
“Though I guess I think about as much of her as
her owners. I am what they call an assistant
engineer, and I’ve been every trip but five, she
has ever made. What was that I heard about
horses eating oats and fire?â€
This was the introduction of a long chat with
the good-tempered engineer, who was one of those
instances that seem to confirm the proverb that
good-nature is always the accompaniment of great
physical strength. He did not seem to have a
great deal to do, but managed a crank now and then
in answer to a little bell that tinkled close beside
him. Yet this little was very important, as he
explained to them in answer to Robert’s questions.
The boy showed more than his usual eagerness
for knowledge, and understood even complicated
matters so readily, that the engineer, whose name
was Barlow, took a great deal of trouble to teach
him. He was very fond of children, he said, and
154 “wo suCH WORD AS FAIL 3â€
wondered what two such boys were doing all
alone. The history of their journey seemed not
less interesting to him, than it had done to many
others, and when supper came for him, just before
dark, he shared it with them, talking all the while.
Rddy was delighted with Mr. Barlow. He was
so like his friend, the captain ; and his wonder
and admiration were at their height when, to show
them his great strength, he poised a huge iron bar
the boys could not lift both together, as easily as
if it had been @ staff of wood.
“Do you stay Up here all night ?†Eddy asked,
as the twilight began to close, and the fiery track
of the boat became more distinct upon the dark
waters. i
«No, we take turns. Mine lasts till twelve
o’clock, then O’Brien takes my place, while 1
turn in. But l should think it is high time for
chickens to go to roost now. Loud better choose
out a soft plank and take this pea-jacket of mine
for a pillow. Don’t go near those Germans, if you
can help it,—there’s 10 knowing who's got the
ship fever.â€
It was certainly very thoughtful in Mr. Barlow
' to give them the jacket. Eddy was soon fast asleep;
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JouRNEY. 155
but Robert, full of thought as usual, watched the
stars overhead, as they glided smoothly onward,
and thought of the first night of their journey,
when the cabin lights marked the resting-place
of Lily. How strange it was that they should
meet again, and upon a boat, too! Once he saw
Lily’s uncle, walking up and down with his cigar.
A diamond ring glittered on the finger which
knocked away the long tip of silvery ashes.
“How rich and happy he must be,†thought the
boy; “and can see Lily every day!†Then he
heard the loud clank of the machinery, and the
jar of the whole boat with every stroke. He
had heard some gentlemen ask Mr. Barlow, if
accidents were not very frequent; and they re-
counted one that had happened to them upon the
Mississippi. It was certainly a terrible scene
that they had described. But the boy’s last
thought as he commended himself and brother to
the watchful care of their Father in heaven was—
“ Thou wilt keep us in perfect peace.â€
156 (yo SUCH WORD AS FAIL oe
CHAPTER XIL
THE PERIL
THERE Was ® sudden shock—a loud hissing
sound—screams such as he had never heard
before—a running to and fro—objects reeling be-
fore his eyes! Such strang® bewildering shapes!
Was he still dreaming t
Alas! if it had been but a dream. His last
waking ~thoughts connected with the present
moment. He heard some one shriek, “ The boat
is sinking!†and though the cause was 4 mystery,
it was even 60! And Eddy was gone—no one
answered his calls. He felt the boat settling
slowly to the bottom-—the water came pouring
over the deck—he could scarcely gain the stairs
before it was above his knee. “Eddy! Eddy !â€
he screamed, toiling uP the stairs. It seemed
as if he should never reach the top, for they were
checked by people, some half dressed, others as
‘they had sprung from their beds,—screaming,
a OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 15T
mourning, calling for a brother, a wife or child,
lost in the melée below. The beautiful saloon
was deserted; and, frightened as he was, he re-
membered to look to the door of the room which
Lily had pointed out as belonging to her mother.
It was empty; they, too, were seeking safety still
beyond. He must have lost many minutes in
recalling himself from sleep, or else the work of
destruction progressed with fearful rapidity ; for,
as he reached the upper deck, the water was full
of people who had sprung overboard—some in wild
terror, others in the hope of saving life. The bell
was tolling dismally above the shrieks, the groans,
the impassioned prayers—and there was a gurg-
ling, rushing sound as the water gained every
moment upon the doomed vessel.
There was scarcely a creature beside himself
who had reached the upper deck. All the boats
had been manned, and were filling. with women
and children, but yet there were many clinging to
the guard which surrounded the state-rooms, half
frenzied by the peril of their situation, and unable
to use the means of escape had they been placed
within their reach. Below, in the thickest crowd,
he could distinguish a tall, powerful figure, moving
14
158 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
here and there, assisting those who were embark:
ing, and trying to calm the agony of fear that
reigned every where. It was the engineer, calm
and resolute, when every one around was unman-
ned. He saw the boy leaning over to him, and
beckoned him to jump from the railing into his
arms. It was a fearful leap; but there was not
even time to grow giddy in contemplation of it.
Those strong arms bore up their burden brave-
ly. “There is not a moment to lose—your brother
is safe—I can swim to shore with him—you must
take your chance, but we are within a mile of
Wheeling, and the water will soon be covered
with boats. Keep your head above water—per-
fectly still.†All this was said as he prepared to
lash him to a cane settee that was floating near
them-—for the water had now reached the second
deck at the point where they stood.
It was said far more speedily than I can write,
or you can read, amid sounds that were too appal-
ling to be ever forgotten. ‘ Now, you will float,â€
Mr. Barlow said. “It is your last chance—many
would be glad even of this;†and just at that
instant Robert heard a voice whose agony thrilled
him even in his own fear. The front of the boat was
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JoURNEY. 159
still above the water—for they had struck a low
bank or shoal, and the boat had now taken fire,
and by the fierce flicking flame Robert saw Lily’s
arms stretched out to him. She was all alone—
no protector now—and a figure that he knew
was her uncle leaped into the water, and struck
out boldly for the shore. He had deserted her in
this deadly peril, for he knew his strength would
not save them both. Quick as thought another
turn of the rope bound her to Robert’s side. Mr.
Barlow seemed to comprehend all ;—and then, with
the boy’s arm clasping her slight figure, while his
face was pale with fear and resolution, they were
alone on the wide waters.
Only once again was the proud, selfish man,
who had deserted Lily, seen in life. A ghastly face
—the hair drenched and stiffened—the eyes glar-
ing wildly—rose close beside them. Then a low, )
bubbling ery, and the waters had closed over him
for ever. Robert saw this by the fearful light of
the burning vessel, which now threw a broad, red
flame over the unearthly scene. Many with )
themselves were buoyed up by a frail support, to
drift awhile in fancied security, and then to “sink
like lead†to a watery grave. Afar off were the
160 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
scattered lights of a town, towards which they
slowly drifted with the tide, and a dip of oars was
heard coming nearer and nearer.
It was a strange, sad sight, those two so young
and helpless in the very arms of death, and cling-
ing to each other in a dumb silence, amid the tu-
mult. Protected only by a thin night-dress, the
child shivered at the contact with the water, which
dipped over her white limbs, and straightened the
golden curls to a damp, clinging mass.. The ter-
ror had paralyzed her, and she could only lie with
her head upon Robert’s shoulder, and her eyes
fixed on the red light of the conflagration.
Robert never knew how long they drifted thus.
It seemed as if hours—nay, days had passed. He
felt Lily’s hold relax, her head drooped more
heavily, and he could scarcely sustain her weight.
Then he shouted for help, for his strength was
failing him; though could he have saved his own
life by unwinding her arms, and casting her off,
he would not have touched them. There was no
answer but that dismal tolling bell, for the shrieks
had died away in the distance, and even the stroke
of the alarm was muffled and indistinct. Still
another shout, louder than before, and more ago-
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 161
nizing. The rope had parted, she was sliding from
his arms—they must both die! and then came a
deadly faintness, a confused, low, ringing sound—
darkness—silence—as the waves received them
both.
Life returned, but slowly—very slowly. He
was surrounded by strange faces, and Lily was
gone from him. But he was in safety, and upon
land. Hetried to ask what had become of Lily—
if Eddy was there—but he sank back upon the
pillow unable to articulate a word, again insensi-
ble.. When he awoke—for sleep succeeded the
faintness—Mr. Barlow was bending over him,
and told him that he should see Eddy soon. He
would scarcely have known the engineer, for his
close curling hair was burnt to the very roots, and
there was a bandage over one cheek. But his
Samson-like strength was not gone, for he lifted
Robert as if he had been an infant, and carried
him to an open window.
«Lily, where is she?†was his first question ;
and Mr. Barlow answered that the little girl was
14*
162 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
with her mother, who had been saved; and she
remembered who had taken care of her. Mr. Bar-
low had seen them both that day, and told the
lady to whom she owed the preservation of her
darling child. A boat, hastening to the wreck,
had rescued them, and the people of Wheeling had
extended every kindness and hospitality to the
sufferers. Then Eddy came, wild with delight to
see his brother once more, and told him how Mr.
Barlow had brought him to land, and they had
found Robert at the same house “asleep,†Eddy
said ; and his preserver did not explain that it was
a trance more like death, from which the physi-
cians had feared he would never awaken. He
proved a most attentive nurse, and carried Eddy
away, when he saw the deathlike paleness coming
over Robert’s face again. The boy had just re-
called the last glaring look of the drowning man—
Lily’s uncle—and he wondered if her mother knew
what had become of him.
So sudden had been the shock and alarm, that
though they were near the shore many perished
before aid could reach them. Mr. Barlow had
staid until the last moment, and then, true to his
promise, rescued the child who had interested him
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 1638
so the night before. It had been a fearful night,
and many will never forget the wreck of “The
Waveâ€â€”or the agony of suspense which they endur-
ed clinging to its side, with the water washing over
them, and a banner of flame threatening destruc-
tion to them.
It was not until the next afternoon that Mr.
Barlow would suffer his wards to go out into the
air again; and then Robert found, to his dismay,
that Lily and her mamma had gone on in a boat
that had passed in the morning. They were again
separated, and this time with little hope of a re-
union. For if. his wishes were accomplished, there
would be no more journeyings, and the child of a
poor artisan was not likely to be thrown otherwise
into the sphere of life in which Lily’s lot was
cast. He felt as if her mother might at least
have allowed them to meet again; but he was some-
what comforted, when Mr. Barlow showed him a
note he had received from her, inquiring for Ro-
bert’s health, and saying that though she was now
almost destitute of means, having saved nothing
from the wreck, she hoped some day to be able to
reward him. So ended his bright dream, of
having Lily for a friend—‘sister,†he always
164 «No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
called her in his mind—on their way to Cincinnati.
Mr. Barlow now began to talk of their resuming
the journey. He had assumed the care of them
during their stay, but it was necessary for him to
return to his family at Pittsburgh. There were
many kind offers of assistance, and he found little
difficulty in procuring a passage for them in the
next passing boat.
« God bless you!†he said as he left them ; and
he made Robert promise to send word by the very
first opportunity if they were successful in their
quest. .
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 165
CHAPTER XIII.
AND LAST.
How beautiful was their first glimpse of the
queen city of the West, as after a long but pleas-
ant voyage it was before them, in all its thriving
prosperity, a monument to American enterprise and |
industry. And they were weary, and travel
worn—and Robert longed for rest and relief from
the care and anxiety which now pressed so heavily
upon him.
“T do not know which way to go, Eddy,†he
said. “Nobody on the boat seems to know where
father works, but we can inquire, and he must be
here.†Yet as he said it with energy of tone, he
was far less confident in spirit, for repeated disap-
pointments had taught him wisdom, and plans had
less of hope but were more securely based.
“Do you remember what the Justice said,
‘Keep in the broad streets? I guess we will walk
166 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
up here. Somehow I feel as if we were going to
meet father without looking for him.â€
But the feeling did not prove true, as they
rounded square after square, looking into the face
of every passer-by ; and reading the signs of every
building that looked like a manufactory. It was
no great wonder that they did not meet workmen
going to their daily toils. They were in the most
fashionable part of the city, and it was the hour
for the gay morning promenade.
«JT don’t believe any body knows father,†Kd-
dy said despondingly, as they stopped to hold a
kind of counsel under the coolness of a shade tree
‘n Fourth-street. “They don’t look as if they
did, I’m sure. Oh, Robby, see there—see there !â€
“ Robby†did look, and could scarcely believe
his happiness when the door of a beautiful house
near them opened, and Lily with Catherine came
out upon the steps. She saw them in an instant,
and sprang down like a fairy, as she was—heedless
of the calls and remonstrances of the girl. She
was dressed in white, but with a broad black sash,
that made her look more delicate than ever.
“ Oh Catherine—Catherine, it’s my little boy.
It is, Catherine—come and help me to bring him
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 167
to mamma. Mamma wants to see him. Did you
get well? come this very. minuteâ€â€”and yielding
passively to her earnestness, she led him with both
hands into the hall, Catherine following with the
astonished Eddy.
The hall was dark and cool. So were the par-
lors, so dark that Robert could scarcely see Lily’s
mamma lying on a couch, looking very ill and
pale. She was dressed in deep mourning, and all
the sparkling rings were laid aside, but she looked
none the less lovely, and Robert thought he never
had heard a sweeter voice than when she spoke to
him. She kissed him too—the poor little wander-
ing child—in the first impulse of her gratitude,
parting the hair from his forehead that she might
look into his eyes, just as his own sweet mother
had done. Robert never forgot that kiss, and
from that moment nothing would have been too
hard for him to accomplish for her sake.
“ And you saved my darling Lily, that horri-
ble night!†She shuddered slightly and pressed
« hand for a moment over her eyes. Robert looked
at her dark dress, and wondered if Lily’s father
was really dead, but he did not dare to ask. Eve-
ry thing in the room was very beautiful now that
168 “No SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
he could distinguish objects. ‘There were pictures
in heavy gilt frames, and white motionless statues,
though searcely whiter than the lady herself. A.
chandelier directly above them, with glittering
pendents, made a soft musical murmur, as the
breeze stole in from the long garden door, slightly
ajar, through which he caught a glimpse of vines
and shrubbery. There was an ottoman by the sofa, —
on which Lily had been sitting, and this she moved
out for Eddy, still keeping fast hold of Robert’s
hand as if she was afraid of losing him again.
“ Your papa will be very glad you have found
your little friends, my dear. He is in the library.
Catherine, will you speak to him 2—Lily will not
have her walk this morning.†|
But for papa, Lily could leave Robert a mo-
ment ; and before he had time to feel very happy
that his fears were not true, she reappeared,
leading a gentleman much older than he had ex-
pected to see, but very quiet and gentle in his
manner.
“ And this is the brave little fellow,†he said,
taking Robert’s hand kindly. “ We owe you a
great. deal, my boy, words are scarcely the thing
to show you how much we think our debt.â€
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JourNnEY. 169
You may readily imagine the happiness that
filled the boy’s heart, and his confusion when he
attempted to answer these friendly words. His
own unsuccessful quest was for a moment forgot-
ten. But Lily talked for him.
“He shall always live with us now, shan’t he,
papa, and be my brother, and you will be his papa
too. Oh, how nice!†and she clapped her hands in
delight atthe charming idea.
“Not quite so fast, my little lady—Master
Robert may prefer his own father. So he is in
Cincinnati, you think! What is the name of his
employer ?â€â€™
“Mr. Lawson,†Robert answered. “The firm
is Morris and Lawson, and the gentleman was
very sick with the cholera the man told me.†*
“Why, my dear!†ejaculated Lily’s mamma,
starting, with more animation than she had yet
shown.
The gentleman.smiled, and Lily gave the first
explanation by exclaiming, “ Uncle Morris, papa ?
does he know Uncle Morris in Pittsburg ?â€
“So your father’s name is Robert Lewis!
Well, mine is Mr. Lawson, and I think we shall
not have much difficulty in finding him, as he hap-
15
170 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL o
pens to be the most valuable man in our establish-
ment.â€
Oh, was it indeed so 2 Was his long quest
indeed ended? The boy tried to speak, but his
happiness was almost like grief, and he sobbed
aloud. Had he been told there were yet miles
between them, or even death itself—he might
have borne it bravely, but the high-wrought reso-
lution gave way before the blessed certainty. He
covered his face and turned away, even from
Eddy’s consolations ; he could not bear to have
them see his weakness. The little fellow’s face was
clouded in a moment to see his brother apparently
unhappy again——he could not understand it at all.
But Mr. Lawson understood it, for he went
quiétly from the room and beckoned Lily’s mamma
to follow, leaving the children alone together. He
was seated in the library again half an hour after
with a book before him, and Mrs. Lawson at his
side, when some one was shown in by the servant,
and a fine-looking person, evidently a workman
from his rough dress and toil-hardened hands, but
nevertheless with a manly air, touched his hat
respectfully, as he said—
“J came at once, sir, thinking you had changed
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 171
your mind about the new machinery—and the
men are all at a stand still.â€
“T have other business just now, Lewis,†Mr.
Lawson answered. ‘Some friends of yours from
the North are stopping with me.†Mr. Lewis
looked as if he thought there must be some mis-
take, but said, “Yes, sir ?†in a tone of inquiry.
In another moment both the boys were in his
arms, for they were just returning from the garden
with Lily ; and Robert knew that voice, though so
many months had passed since he had heard its
accents.
As the children say—*they were all so hap-
py!†It was hard to tell which of the spectators
enjoyed the meeting most. But no one spoke after
that one exclamation, ‘Oh, my children—my own
children !â€â€”-until Eddy, feeling a large round tear
fall on his face, looked up very reprovingly with—
“ For shame, father! a great man like you ery !â€
It was very like Eddy, and no doubt he really
thought it was not at all proper, considering the
circumstances, and that Mr. Lawson was present.
They were the first tears the strong-hearted man
had shed since the terrible letter announcing his
wife’s death, and that his children had gone in
172 “wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL -
search of him. Dr. Cook had been very kind, but
though by the aid of the police and Mr. Jen-
kins they had been traced to the Philadelphia
cars, all clue to them was there lost. Day after
day he watched every item of newspaper intelli-
gence, and had turned sick-hearted from the Post-
Office with the invariable answer, “ nothing for
you, sir.â€
Now this harrowing suspense was ended when
he least expected it, as is often the case with our
life-trials; and seeing Eddy so like his beloved
mother, no wonder tears came to the relief of his
swelling heart.
We are afraid the men would have remained
“at a stand still†for a long time, if Mr. Lawson
had not dispatched a servant once more to the
manufactory.
«“ But what became of them all?â€
Well, curious little questioner, perhaps we
could not tell you better than by copying a letter
Mr. Hall was very glad to receive from Robert
‘only last week, and which was read aloud by “the
a
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JouRNEY. 1738
good lady†to her happy grandchildren, who were
once more on a visit to Philadelphia.
So we will imagine ourselves in the family cir-
cle; Aunt Addy ather sewing, Miss Clarice pausing
in the act of trying ona most becoming and bride-
like crape bonnet, and the children one on each
side of their grandfather as Mrs. Hall unfolds the
double sheet and reads—
My DEAR KIND FRIEND :—
Eddy and me were so glad to get your little
letter, and know you still remember us. You ask
me what we are doing? In the first place we
have a nice little house of our own now, witha
garden and all complete. We moved in a month
ago. Mr. Lawson built it, you would think just
for us, it suits so nicely, but father is going to pay
for it a low price, just as heis able. Mr. Lawson
wanted to give it to him, but he said he would feel
more independent to earn his house, and | think
soto. Who do you think is our housekeeper?
Why Mrs. Brown! Father got a place for her
husband in the foundry, and I helped.to send them
the money to move on here. Wasn’t that nice?
You don’t know howI enjoyed it. Mrs. Brown is
15*
174 «wo SUCH WORD AS FAIL ;â€
not a bit like Insn people. She was brought up
in a gentleman’s family at home, and has very neat
ways. I like Winny very much, and she has
grown a great deal. John helps in the packing
room. Eddy goes to school, and so does Winny.
I suppose you will wonder how I came to have
money to send to Mrs. Brown. Well, I will tell
you. Mr. Lawson took me into the counting-house
when I first came here, for he gaid I was not strong
enough for any thing else. Miss Lily was 80
funny. She said she did not want tosee me with
black hands and face ! ;
So I went of errands, and kept every thing
nice, and had plenty of time to read and study. I
am to learn book-keeping next winter—and Latin
at evening school. But what I want to study
most is Geometry ; I will tell you why, by and by.
What pleased me most was, that from the very
first, Mr. Lawson used to send me to the bank
with checks. Sometimes I have had a thousand
dollars in my own hands. Don’t you think it
shows he thinks I would not steal any? But, as
I was going to tell you, he gives me @ HUNDRED
dollars, this year! and father lets me have it all
myself to teach me economy he says. So he gave
OR, THE CHILDREN’S JOURNEY. 175
me permission to send Mrs. Brown ten dollars.
And now I want to ask a great favor of you,
though I am most afraid to, as you would not let
father pay back the money to Master Harry and
Miss Mary. Please give my. love to them when
you write; and to Mrs. Hall and the young
ladies, and Eddy’s too, and father’s respects.
(Father is so good—Mr. Lawson says 80 too, and
he is now the head man in the working rooms.) I
have sent a box to Mrs. McGonegal with more of
my own money, a whole new tea-set, all white.
I used to hear her say she meant to have one
when she was rich. And there is a shawl for
Nancy, who is going to be married, I suppose you
know.
Eddy wanted to send something too. So
father thought of our daguerreotypes, and we had
them taken, both together. I want you to look at
them, and you will see how tall I have grown,
and how Eddy has altered. Father paid for the
daguerreotypes. Don’t you think Mrs. McGonegal
will be pleased? and as I did not know how she
would get it, father thought he had better direct
it to your care, which is the favor I wanted to
ask. :
176 “NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL 5â€
Mrs. Brown says, she saw Dr. Cook before
she came away, and he says he would like to see
us very much.
Mr. Lawson often puts me in mind of you,
sir. The good way he talks I mean. He was a
poor boy, too, once ; but Mrs. Lawson was always
rich. So was Miss Lily’s uncle John, who was
drowned that dreadful night. Mrs. Lawson has
taken off her mourning for him, and looks a great
deal better than she used to. I do not see Miss
Lily very often. She is grown almost a young
lady, and begins to play on the piano like Miss
Mary. But she is just as good and pretty as
ever. [Here a sentence was very carfully mark-
ed out, evidently referring to Miss Lily.]
And now I will tell you why I want to study
geometry. Mr. Lawson says I must understand
mathematics thoroughly before I can be a good
machinist, and build locomotives, which is what I
mean to do, when 1 am grown up. I say, I mean
to, because I remember what I call my motto:
“ Theres no such word as fail.â€
I have written a longer letter than I meant to,
but I found I had so much to say. I hope I have
not tired you.
OR, THE CHILDREN’s JOURNEY. 1177
Good-by, sir, with all our loves; for we often °
talk about you, and wonder what would have
become of Eddy and me, if we had not met you.
I sign myself with a great deal of respect,
| Rospert Lewis.
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Contents.
The ‘Two Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless. Tne Minute Fairies.
{ Have and O Hadf, The Hemp wat Long Nose. The Lily Fairy and the
Silver Beam. ‘The Wonderful Watch. The Red and White Rose Trees.
The Diamond F ountain. The Magical Key.
Chough this is a small book, it is, mechanically, exceedingly beautiful, he-
ing illustrated with spirited woodcuts from Original Designs. But that is its
least merit. It is one of the most entertaining, and decidedly one of the bes
juveniles that have issued from the prolific press of this city. We speak ad
visedly. It is long since we found time to read through a juvenile book, se
near Christmas, when the name of this class of volumes is legion ; but this
charmed us so much that we were unwilling to lay it down after once com
mencing it. The first story, —" The Two Voives, or the Shadow and the
Shadowless,’’—is a sweet thing, as is alsd the one entitled, * The Diamo nd
Fountain.â€â€™ Indeed, the whole number, and there are ten, will be read with
avidity. Their moral is as pure as their style is enchanting.—Com. Adv.
D. Appleton g Co. have just ready,
A NEW UNIFORM SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
BY AMEREL.
COMPRISING
{. CHRISTMAS STORIES, for Good Children. Illustrated. 16mo,
if, WINTER HOLIDAYS. A Story for Children. Illustrated. 16mo.
(ll. THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS. A Story for Children. Illus, 16n>
1V. GEORGE’S ADVENTURES IN THE COUNTRY. Illus. lime.
Vv THE CHILD'S STORY BOOK. A Holiday Gift. Illus. lime.
VL THE LITTLE GIFT-BOOK. For Good Boys and Girls. Illus jémo
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Package Processing Log
Package Processing Log
12/15/2014 12:53:46 PM Error Log for UF00002222_00001 processed at: 12/15/2014 12:53:46 PM
12/15/2014 12:53:46 PM
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12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00116.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00116.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00117.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00117.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00118.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00118.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00119.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00119.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00120.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00120.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00121.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00121.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00122.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00122.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00123.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00123.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00124.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00124.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00125.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00125.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00126.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00126.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00127.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00127.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00128.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00128.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00129.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00129.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00130.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00130.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00131.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00131.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00132.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00132.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00133.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00133.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00134.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00134.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00135.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00135.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00136.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00136.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00137.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00137.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00138.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00138.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00139.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00139.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00140.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00140.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00141.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00141.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00142.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00142.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00143.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00143.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00144.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00144.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00145.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00145.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00146.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00146.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00147.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00147.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00148.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00148.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00149.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00149.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00150.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00150.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00151.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00151.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:49 PM 00152.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00152.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00153.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00153.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00154.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00154.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00155.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00155.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00156.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00156.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00157.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00157.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00158.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00158.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00159.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00159.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00160.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00160.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00161.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00161.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00162.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00162.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00163.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00163.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00164.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00164.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00165.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00165.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00166.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00166.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00167.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00167.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00168.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00168.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00169.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00169.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00170.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00170.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00171.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00171.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00172.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00172.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00173.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00173.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00174.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00174.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00175.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00175.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00176.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00176.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00177.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00177.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00178.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00178.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00179.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00179.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00180.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00180.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00181.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00181.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00182.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00182.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00183.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00183.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00184.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00184.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00185.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00185.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00186.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00186.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00187.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00187.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00188.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00188.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00189.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00189.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00190.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM 00190.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM cover4.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM cover4.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM spine.jpg is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM spine.jp2 is specified in the METS file but not included in the submission package!
12/15/2014 12:53:50 PM
xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID EU9GJWOA6_91POG4 INGEST_TIME 2016-12-03T00:11:49Z PACKAGE UF00002222_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
FILES