The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1879-01-17
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A Tale of Everyday Life.


paper, and the ragged lad who was standing
undr gas-lamp to decipher the words writ
| ten npon it, was so poor a scholar that he
spelled them out with difficulty.
| "No-yes, that's it, number twenty
something oh it's a three no faint, it's
a five number twenty five Dalby street, is
it T.? Do street begin with a C.? I knows
now, it's Crescen'! Dalby Crescen'; and
that's the IDENTICAL place that poor mother
took me to when came up to London,
before the cold and the want of vittles kill
ed her."
| The lad drew the sleeve of his miserable
Jacket across his eyes and shivered-not SO
much because the biting wind of the Decem-
ter night was chilling his attenuated frame,
IS in sorrowful recollections of the sad
hearted woman he had seen perish from star
walton, ON just such a winters night as the
present one.
She took me there" he unused. 81
was very little lad at the time, but I've
never forgot how she held me up t. look in
at the windows at the gay folks that was
| lancing and says she, Len, if we had our
| rights, there is where ace should live Fan
cy me- that's never had decent shoe to my
| foot, nor a good meal since she died, living
| iu grand house like that I'll go and
have another look at it tomorrow, see if l
don't"
A shrill cry for GO Len " made him hur-
riedly hide the scrap of paper, and retort
with sulIen well, what's up now? can't
fellow have minute to himself without
being yelled after. I'm a-coming, amt %
And Len, the outcast, the homeless orphan
who, having a curious aversion to joining
either of the bands of thieves and roughs
amongst whom he lived, was the drudge of
low lodging g-house-shuffled back to the
kitchen of his mistress. She was virago,
who paid his services with scraps of broken
victuals, share of straw pallet when it
could he spared, a corner Of the dirty floor
W hen it couldn't, and many blows and
hard words, that the once bright, sweet
tempered boy, whose mother was still re-
membered in st. Giles as "the lettle lady"
was fast becoming brutalized
sc Len has been turning over his boards,
a dissipated vagrant facetiously suggested,
when he was fercely asked where he had
been skulking. "He knows as Christmas
is coming, and he's going to make us a
handsome present all round" "
"Maybe I could do that if I had my
rights" murmured Len, whose thoughts
were still dwelling ON the words of his dead
mother.
There was a roar of laughter from his
rough companions, and the virago came to-
wards him with appraised hand, vociferating
"I'll right We, l will, you Dragging vaga-
bond =" But sturdy little Irish apple-w wo-
man who had been sitting in the chimney
corner taking blast of the pipe, suddenly
interfered in the victims behalf.
"YeIl let the boy alone, mistress It's
the drop O whisky Civ him has got into
his head, and made him quare. Come here,
Len and sit quiet till the sinses has come
back to ye."
"What made we say that? I amt had
no whisky" said the lad, as she unceremo-
niously pushed him down on the upturned
basket that formed her own seat.
"Whisht, land Wasn't it to save your
bones from that great blacksmith's fist of
hers Why do ye vex her, seein' this Is
all the home ye have? What We're ye
a-doin' when she called an called, and could
get no answer out o ye!"
Len glanced over his shoulder to make
sure no one was listening, before he replied.
Looking over bit of paper got ont of
the big box under her bed, !" and he jerked
his thumb in the direction of Mrs. Betsy
Grimsby. "When mother died there was
a little bundle O them papers under her pill
low, and chain and locket that she wore
round her neck, and wouldn't part with,
even when she were too i'll to work, and l
cried at her knee for bread. Old Betsy has
sold the chain, but I'll have the papers some
s.Sure then, if they're your own, why
shouldn't ye?" observed the apple woman,
coolly, and Len nodded and whispered
again.
81 drew this one out through crack,
but the others is tied together and she new
er lets the key Of the box go out of her own
hands"
But another shout for Len put an end to
the colloquy, and Irish Bridget had forgQts
ten it when two days afterwards the lad
slouched past the corner of the busy thor
oughfare at which she retailed her fruit and
nuts, on his way to the handsome mansion
in Dalby Crescent. -
1t was Christmas eve. The weather was
bright, but piercingly cold and Len, who
for some days past had been conscious of
strange aches and pains IN all his limbs, was
blue with the cold, when he dragged himself
wearily to the ratings in front of No. 25.
There he stood, and looked down the area
and through the windows of the great kitch-
en-, in which plump cook and a couple of
attendant satellites were rolling out paste
for mince-pies, and making other dainties
for the morrow, regardless of the half-starv-
ed lad who watched them.
"Who lives here ," Len asked of news
paper boy who had stopped to gaze with
him, and only laughed derisively, when
Miss Cook, with threatening shake of her
rolling pin, made signs to both Of them to
go away.
Lives here, Why, Capel, esquire, the
great banker. Hasnt ye heard of him %
Len started. 9" My mothers name was
Capel-Mary Capel they put it on her cof-
fn.
"My wigs +" exclaimed the vender of pa.
per, incredulously. Then you must be