The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1876-11-03
JIM.

ton, Jim and /, but we did not know it.
The big world into which we came was
filled to overhowing with just such puny,
unwashed, ill-fed little wretches as we
were, but we didn't know it, and so we
came unconscious into the sunless, teem-
ing alley, where countless others like
ourselves herded. We didn't know we
were q problem, Jim and 1; we didn't
know that we and our kind were battling
the wisdom of statesmen, Jim and L; but
If we had known all about it, doubt if
we could nave occupied the situation
more philosophically. We slept as
quietly in the under ground cellar, down
whose oozy steps the rain and ruin of
years made slippery passage or bestowed
ourselves as naturally, if need be, under
some stranded wayside cart, as if it were
precisely the thing Heaven had adapted
us for from the beginning.
Jim was older and bigger than 1; a
tall, likely lad, fifteen of these harden
ing and toughening years had made him
keen and sharp as terrier, and just the
lad to look after a forlorn little waif of a
girl like myself. And Jim, after he had
blacked boots all day or sold newspapers
all afternoon, was sure to look after me,
and we took supper together out of the
same bowl of porridge.
Jim wasn't my brother, oh mol !
used to wish he was my brother, though,
sometimes, just because was so proud
of him.
The old man that kept the cellar, you
see, had picked Jim up from somewhere
when his folks died, and picked me up
from somewhere when my folks died,
and 80 we had somehow fallen together
all along.
Just down beyond the jog of our alley,
where it turned q sort of gray corner,
and was darker and dirtier than ever
just there stood an old gray church with
q clock in the tower; an old, old mossy
church, with an old, old clock that
passed its withered hands over its wiz
ened face, and looked sleepily through
them down into our alley on one side,
and into noisy, busy thoroughfare on
the other. This old clock had dozed
there until its head was all on one side,
and you couldn't be sure whether it told
the right time or not; but of a summer
afternoon, when it was getting quite
dusk down in our alley, a red ray from
the setting sun used to settle for min
ute right down on the face of the sleepy
old clock; then it would seem to rouse
up out of pleasant dream, and strike
the hour as sharp as need be, and then I
knew it was time to look out for Jim.
I'd see him turn the corner with his old
straw hat on, and his old patched shoes,
or barefoot maybe, for that matter, and
we'd set off for stroll together-a stroll
TO the wharves.
We generally haunted the wharves,
Jim and /, when we went pleasuring.
They were so grand, the wharves, SO
busy, the wharves, 80 full of light and
fresh air, the wharves, 80 altogether
different from our alley, with the ships
crowding around them, and the hutter-
ing flags here and there on the masts,
and the busy sailors getting in freights.
Sometimes Jim would get job for half
an hour, and leave me lurking among
the cotton bales, or sitting solitary in
some safe corner till he came back. He
always came back. And then sometimes
we would linger about there till night
fall. Then the wharf was solemn and
silent, and you could hear the water
rushing up against the great beams un-
derneath, and see here and there light
cleaning from some lone lantern among
the shrouds, and the gray water stretch.
ing beyond, we knew not whittier; and
il Jim and / had owned it all we couldn't
have loved it better.
But one day Jim got job that lasted
longer than usual, and 1 grew scared
and uneasy as night came on and he
didn't come back. Wandering from the
place where he had set me, shy and fear
some as a water rat, but as determined
looked for him everywhere, but il
vain; then / went back to my post, fol
hadn't he said, as he always said. "Don'
be afraid, Jenny; for I'll come back fol
sure, you know" And then / waiteC
and waited, till finally 1 fell asleeI
among the bales and barrels, and forgo
my troubles.
In the morning, q forlorn and desc
late little creature enough, / learned
from some compassionate 'longshoremei
that the great ship where Jim had beer
work had sailed away with hin
abroad. A wild and passionate burst o
weeping greeted this news, and pitifu
throng of people gathered about me
freight men and sailors mostly, bu
among them suddenly appeared tn
quiet face of a Quaker lady, who was dis
tributing books among the sailors