New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1874-11-08
TOpsy Tumble.

She wasn't bad sort of q girl for one
who had been brought up in an alley all
her days, living with old Mother Hart ever
since she was large enough to gather chips
Topsy Tumble, and nobody knew anything
about her parents or relatives. Her hair
was long and matted, her face tanned to a
brown; her nose always bore stain of dirt,
and she had stone bruises on her feet, and
chapped hands and sore heels, just like the
ragged boys with whom she played. The
society OF the alley rather cut Topsy
Tumble, but she was Independent, and
she made faces at society from the
the top Of coal sheds, and allowed her.
self to be harnessed up beside Bob White
when the boys wanted blooded team to
draw cracking load down around the rail-
road crossing.
The alley was unusually quiet the other
week. Topsy Tumble was sick. Mother
Hart said 80 when Bob White went to see
if Topsy wanted to trade her old jack knife
for small dog, which he had picked up on
Atwater street. 1t was strange thing, her
illness. For eleven years she had rolled
in the dirt, waded through the snow, and
splashed around in the mud and nobody
had ever heard her complain of anything
more than stubbet toe. Bob conldn't
make it out. He and Bill Davis and Sam
Sharp and Chip Larkins sat in the shade of
truck wagon going to decay and talked
it over 1t would be- hard on mother Hart
and they wondered if T0psy would get well
in time to go with them the next week.
Inc doctor said it was bad fever, and
most of the folks in John Brown alley
called IN to say that they would sit up
nights and do anything they could. Topsy
was out OF her head, talking strange things.
and, after looking at the flushed face and
listening to her mutterings, Bob White
called the boys together on top of a coal
shed, and there was lump in his throat as
he whispered:
"Boys, Topsy's -soin' to die"
The boys looked around over the sheds
and made no reply. and by and by they
slid down one by one and went home.
There was no more dog sighting in tho al
ley-nO pounding of tire-alarms on the old
steamboat boiler and then rushing the
"masheen' up to the corner. Columbus
Jones brought his rooster down and wanted
to bet a kite that it could clean out any
chicken in John Brown alley. but the boys
had no enthusiasm.
TOpsy grew worse. The doctor called
twice u day, but his medicine didn't touch
the case, and he told Mother Hart that Top
sy must die. The old woman felt little
weak and her eyes grew misty. 1t had been
q score Of years since she had wept for grief,
thought OF death.
The neighbors came in, and they tip-toed
across the room and kept the babies still
that the dying girl might hear no harsh
sound. Bob White and his chums hung
around the door awhile, and finally gath
cred courage to pull OFT their hats and enter
the house. Mother Hart motiOned for them
to take seats on the bench at the foot of the
bed, and she whispered in weak voice:
R.h I'm ofp
Topsy!"
Bob wiped his eyes and his chin o,;v.
cred. and some OF the boys broke clear
down and wep,.
Topsy was unconscious. The boys won.
dered at the pallor Of her face and the
wilderness of her hands and they saw tina.
her matted hair had been cut short. The
women shed tears. Mother Hart KEEP: wip.
ing her eyes on her apron, and the boys
wondered if sitting there wasn't something
like going to meeting.
''She was good girl. Topsy was" wh;s.
pered one of the women.
"And so willing to help her mother" said
another.
"And she stood up for John Brown alley"
added Bob White, sob in his throat.
Darkness settled down aud they almost
lost sight of tho white face. No one
moved. Some of the babies fell asleep and
the mothers trotted them softly. and the
BOYS almost dozed as they sat crooked up
on the bench. The shadows Of night grew
deeper. and the rattle of truck going
home sounded painfully loud and harsh.
Mother Hart moved softly over and lighted
the oil lamp. and as she held it up the
woman said 'poor DEAR" and Bob White
leaned over on Chip Larkings' shoulde. and
sobbed aloud.
Tspsy Tumble was dead:
The little soul. never washed by mothers
made better by word about
drinking in the knowledge
that only the body dies-had crossed the
dark valley alone, having only the tears and
hearsaches of the jewellers in John Brown
alley to plead its case with the angels
De::oi: Press.