# Poor Cecco/Chapter 7

Chapter VII
JENSINA
They had passed such a pleasant evening, once the storm was over, that it seemed a pity to say good-bye to the little dog again in the morning, and watch him trot off, leading his old man securely on a string along the path to the town. He walked very jauntily, a few steps ahead of the blind man and a little faster, so that every now and then he had to pause and turn his head back, as if to say: “How slow you are this morning! We shall never get to the bridge and start business at this rate!”
Poor Cecco and Bulka waited long enough to wave their paws at him at the bend of the road; then they turned their face towards the open field. But first they stopped to say good-morning to Mrs. Greypuss, who sat was her washing her face on the doorstep, with her three little kittens playing near her. The-old-woman-with-the-broom they did not see, but they were careful not to go too near her house, from which they could hear a great sound of sweeping and clattering of saucepans.
The cottages where the little black dog and Mrs. Greypuss and the-old-woman-with-the-broom lived stood on the ​edge of a big and very untidy field. The field was untidy because, being close to the road, and belonging to no one in particular, the dustmen had used it to dump all the ashes and tin cans and broken crockery that no one wanted to have about. But the weeds grew very tall and thick, to hide the untidiness that the dustmen made, and however fast the dustmen brought their loads of rubbish the weeds always managed to grow a little faster, so on the whole the field was not nearly as bad-looking as it might have been.
And certainly all sorts of curious and useful things lay here, for any one who had time to look about—bits of old automobiles, and lamp-chimneys and oil-stoves, and racked china plates with most beautiful patterns on them, and here and there a perfectly good boot or coffeepot—and all these things, having been thoroughly washed by the night’s rain, were displayed among the fresh green weeds like goods in a huge shop-window. Bulka in particular, never having seen such attractive objects going to waste before, was continually wanting to stop and pick something up, and as the things he wanted were nearly all too big for him to carry, Poor Cecco had a hard time dragging him past them by the paw. And every moment Bulka kept exclaiming: “I’m sure Tubby would like that!” or, “Can’t we take this home to Gladys?”
Presently, seated beside one of the largest ash-heaps, they met a little wooden doll. She was tidily dressed in ​a check gingham apron, which she had made herself, with a pink mallow-blossom on her head, and was so pleased to see visitors that she jumped up at once when she saw them coming and clapped her hands.
Her name, she told them, was Jensina, and she had been living alone on this ash-heap for weeks and weeks and weeks. She was an industrious little person, one could see at once, and had not wasted her time, for when she led them presently round the side of the ash-heap there stood a cosy little house which she had built herself, out of an old soap-box, and of which she had every reason to be proud. She had spread a bit of carpet on the floor and made a sofa to sleep on, and pillows stuffed with thistle down, and she had hung the walls with scraps of wall-paper and fine pictures of tomatoes and peach-orchards saved from old fruit cans. She had even a little kitchen with plates and egg-cups and a real coffeepot, and all these things she had gathered one by one on the dump-heaps and brought home. Only the coffeepot, being too large, had to stand outside, but it looked very well there, and gave an air of hospitality to the place.
While they sat on the sofa at her invitation, and breakfasted on some canned salmon and graham cracker which she had very luckily brought home just before the stone yesterday, the wooden doll told them her story.
“From the earliest time I can remember,” she said, “I lived with a family of travelling gypsies. They were ​kindly, hard-working people, and I spent very happy days in their company. By day we travelled the roads in a cart drawn by an old white horse, and while the women and children worked at making brooms and baskets which they sold by the way, the men did odd jobs of tinkering, mending saucepans and pails for the farmers’ wives at different houses where we stopped, and in that way I saw a great deal of the country, besides learning much gypsy lore, and picking up several trades that are useful to know. At night, when the horse was taken from the wagon and turned out to graze, supper was cooked at an open fire by the roadside, and after that the family would gather round and sing songs and tell old stories, and though there might be little to eat every one was gay and happy.
“In winter, when the cold weather set in, they joined a circus in one of the small towns, and found employment there, till the summer came round once more. I had wonderful dresses in those days, for my gypsy child would sew them out of scraps of silk and lace from the circus-riders’ costumes, that the old wardrobe women gave her to play with. It was a fine life with the circus, but I liked still better the rides in the old wagon under the open sky, and the evenings round the fire at night.
“Yes, I was happy with my gypsies, and I should be with them now had not an accident happened.
“One day the little girl left me lying too near the step of the wagon, and when the horse started I was presently ​jolted out and dropped by the roadside. Though I called for help no one heard me. There I lay till a workman passing by, picked me up and took me home to his children.
“They were kind children enough, but not so kind as my gypsy child; they could never love me so well, for they had other dolls of their own, and presently they gave me away. So I passed from hand to hand, each time faring a little worse, until the last family with whom T lived changed house. They did not trouble to take me with them, so I was thrown out here, with the rest of the household rubbish, on the ash-heap.
“Still, I don’t complain, for I am used to freedom and independence; all that I learned with the gypsies has stood me in good stead, and as you see I have not wasted my time.”
“Indeed,” said Poor Cecco, looking about him, “you have made a very comfortable house here.”
The wooden doll smiled, for to tell the truth she felt not a little proud of her house, and was glad of some one to show it off to.
“It isn’t so bad,” she agreed, “and I must say there is always a living to be picked up in a place like this, especially by one who has been taught to use his wits. I even thought of starting a store here, if only there were some customers. No, the only thing I have against it is the loneliness. Just think, you are the only visitors I have received in all this time, unless you may count the
JENSINA’S COTTAGE
“Indeed,” said Poor Cecco, looking about him, “you have made a very comfortable house here!”
Jensina smiled, for to tell the truth she felt not a little proud of her house, and was glad of some one to show it off to.
​rats, who are really of another class—neighbourly, but rowdy in their habits and by no means to be trusted. In fact, they think nothing of dropping in here and helping themselves to whatever they choose, claiming that everything in the field belongs to them. I have thought many times of moving, if only for the sake of change. Besides, I come of a gypsy family, and that always makes it hard to stay in one place.”
“Why don’t you join us?’ asked Poor Cecco. “We are out to see the world, and it would be pleasant to have another companion.”
And Bulka, who all this while had been silent, licking the last of the canned salmon from his paws, said at once: “Yes, do!”
Jensina agreed—she was really tired of living alone on the ash-heap—and being a person of action, at once set about packing up, with the help of Poor Cecco, those belongings which she especially treasured. These were a green glass scent bottle stopper, the half of a broken silver brooch, the top of a catsup bottle which made an excellent drinking-cup and one other small object wrapped in silver-paper, which she would not show him. “For this,” as she said, “this is a secret which I dare not tell, even to you!”
To these Poor Cecco added his four pennies, and then, taking off her frock for greater freedom in walking, Jensina tied the things up in it, making a neat bundle which Poor Cecco willingly offered to carry.
​Meantime, Bulka, who could not resist poking about the ash-heap, had found a damaged string of blue beads, brought to light by the heavy rain, which would make a marvellous present for Tubby. They were almost embedded in the earth; he seized one end of the string and was just giving it a strong tug when a great grey rat poked his head from among the weeds.
The rat, who looked very savage, began to twitch his nose and show his teeth, but Bulka clung to the beads manfully, although he was more than a little frightened. The rat came forward, sniffing the air, his whiskers twinkling, stretching out his body and leaving his hind feet behind him as long as possible, in the way rats do when they feel uncertain. Suddenly the string of beads came loose from the mud; Bulka fell back, uttering a loud howl, and at that very instant the rat opened his mouth to bite. In the flash of an eye, it seemed, there were rats all about him—grey rats, brown rats, black rats—all with long yellow teeth and snakelike tails.
Bulka, clutching his beads, set up a shriek for help, and immediately Poor Cecco and Jensina came scrambling over the crest of the ash-heap.
When she saw the rats Jensina for a second turned pale.
“See,” she exclaimed, “they are blocking our way! They have been listening, they know that I am going to leave them and now they are sorry! Bark, Poor Cecco, bark! It is our only chance!”
​while Poor Cecco charged down the ash-heap, barking as he had never barked before, Jensina snatched pieces of cinder and crockery from the ground and flung them at the rats with all her strength—so desperately that she very nearly threw herself after them.
Even then the rats would not give way, until Jensina, seeing the fight was unequal, said: “Well, there is only one thing to be done. We must take our chance!” And raising herself on tiptoe and waving her arms, she called out several words in rat language, which she had learned during her stay in the field.
The effect was instantaneous. The rats, with looks of amazement, horror and alarm, turned at once and rushed off through the weeds. In a second there was not one left in sight!
The battle was over, but the friends were in sore plight. Bulka had been bitten twice, Poor Cecco was hoarse from barking, and Jensina had slipped on the ash-heap and rolled from top to bottom, grazing herself severely.
“Horrid mean things!” she cried, rubbing her knees and picking up her bundle, which had come undone in the skirmish. “They think they own everything here, and that no one has any rights but them. I’m glad I am going with you, for now nothing would induce me to stay here any longer!”
“At least,” said Poor Cecco, “they have gone now, so we have nothing to fear.”
​“They have gone for the moment,” Jensina said, “but we must make haste, for I fear there is very little time to lose, and I shall be much mistaken if we have seen the last of them!”
Sawdust was oozing from Bulka’s wound, but for once he didn’t mind; he had the blue beads for Tubby and that was all he could think about for the moment. Jensina bound a dock-leaf over the bite, declaring that this was the best cure for injuries, and then, tightly holding paws, they made their escape as fast as they could over the ash-heap, not feeling really safe until they had reached the edge of the road.