The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-09-30
JIM

overlooking with just such puny, unwashed,
ill-fed little wretches as we were, but We
didn't know it, and so we came uncon
scious into the sunless, teeming alley, where
countless others like ourselves herded. We
didn't know we were a problem, Jim and
| I; 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 have occupied the
situation more philosophically. We slept
as quietly in the underground cellar, down
whose oozy steps the rain and ruin of years
made slippery passage, or bestowed our
selves as naturally, if need be, under some
stranded wayside cart, as if it were pre-
cisely the thing Heaven had adapted US for
from the beginning.
jim was older and bigger than l tall,
likely lad, fifteen of these hardening and
tougheniug years had made him keen and
sharp as a terrier, and just the lad to look
| after a forlorn waif of little girl like
myself. And Jim, after he had BACKED
boots all day, or sold newspapers of an
! 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 no. l used
to wish he aoas my brother though, some
times, just because l was so proud of him.
The old man that kept the cellar, you
see, had picked Jim up from some where
when his folks died, and picked me up from
some where when my folks died, and so we
had somehow fallen together all along.
Just down beyond the jog of our alley,
where it turned sort of gray corner, and
was darker and dirtier than ever-;just there
there stood an old gray church with a clock
in the tower; an old, old messy church, and
an old, old clock that passed it's withered
hands over its wizened face, and looked
sleepily through them down into our alley
on one side, and into busy, noisy thor
oughfare on the other. This old clock had
dozed there till its head was all on one side,
and you couldn't be sure whether it told
the right time or not; but of summer
afternoon, when it was getting quite dusk
down in our alley, red ray from the set
ting sun used to settle for minute 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 l knew it was
time to look out for Jim. I'd see him turn
the corner, with his old straw hat on, and
his patched shoes, or bare foot 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 a pieasuring. They
were so grand, the wharves, SO busy, the
wharves, so full of light and fresh air, the
wharves, so altogether different from our
alley, with the ships crowding round them,
! and the fluttering flags here and there on
the masts, and the busy sailors getting in
! freights. Sometimes Jim would get job
for 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 nightfall. Then the
wharf was solemn and silent, and you could
hear the water rushing up against the great
beams underneath, and see here and there
a light cleaning from some lone lantern
among the shrouds, and the gray water
stretching beyond, we knew not whittier;
and if jim and l had owned it all, we
couldn't have loved it better.
But one day Jim got job that lasted
longer than usual, and l 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 fearsome as water
rat, but as determined, | looked for him
every where, but in vain; then went back
to my post, for hadn't he said, as he always
said, "Don't be afraid Jenny; I'll come
back, for sure, you know?' And then
waited and waited, till finally fell asleep
among the bales and barrels, and forgot
my troubles.
In the morning, a forlorn and deSolate
little creature enough, l learned from some
compassionate longshoreman that the great
ship where Jim had been at work had sailed
away with him aboard. A wild and pas
| =
and a pitiful throng of people gathered
about me, freight men and sailors mostly,
but among them suddenly appeared the
quiet face of Quaker lady, who was dis
tlibuting books among the sailors. They
told her my fate, and seeing me utterly
friendess, she wiped my tear,stained face
with a white handkerchief, and took me
| away. l had no friends. l was no better
than masterless dog, and worth far less.
But she took me to great, clean, bare, and
quiet place-an institution they called it
where there were many others as homeless
and wretched as |. And there they washed
me and made me so clean and fresh that |
thought the real me, the ragged. red eyed,
unkempt surplus atom of humanity that
had been me, was flown away over seas
with Jim, and this rosy checked child was
another me, newly come into the world.
Then one day there came a grand and
stately lady, who took me away to live with
her, and be her own little girl This lady
wore shining silks, and lived in splendid
house. and had lad in velvet Jacket
who was about as big as jim. 1t was all
like strange bright dream, if could have
only forgotten Jim. But could not.
Jim was surplus population no longer;
perhaps he was drowned; his ragged jacket
and crownless hat might be buried now
away down under the sea. Nobody about
me now wore patched Shoes or trowsers
out at the knees, and nobody, it seemed to
me, not even Louis, who was so kind and
good to me, not even he, had an eye as
bright and soft as Jm's, or hand as warm
And so l never forgot Jim, but always in
my heart of hearts seemed listening and
waiting for him.
Sometimes l used to lure Louis down to
the wharves, and always when walked by
myself my steps turned thitherward, and
thus it was that never lost sight of the
ships, and dimly, family, unreasonably,