Mexico weekly ledger., 1881-06-23
LITTLE -.
The Story Of . Street Wsif.
IDetroit poSt


the hour of two o'clock, a a reporter
was passing up through Lincoln Park,
his attention was attracted toward a
dark mass lying against the lattice work
of the summer house in the park afore-
said. A few steps brought him near to
the object, when a tiny little girl raised
herself up from the ground and yawned
feebly, suddenly opened a pair of re-
markedly bright eyes, and fastened them
on the scribe in a dazed sort of way that
betokened that the little waif, whoever
she was, had hardly returned from the
"Land of Nod"
"Well, little one" quoth he of the
pencil, "what are you doing here this
time of night"
The child looked inquiringly upward
to the q%uestioner and said:
"Oh, Mister, you amt going for to
take me up, are you7 l amt done any
thing. hadn't any place to 60, and oh!
I'm SC tiredl"
And the little head, covered with a
tangled mass of brown hair, nodded once
or twice and then fell YEARLY forward
on the gravel walk.
Her age was about seven years, and,
though the little face was covered with
dirt and the brown hair fell in unkempt
profusion v the meagre shoulders, yet
something about her seemed to say that
whatever she was now time was when
she had known something of the brigh-
ter side of life. Her clothing was of the
commonest description; one stocking was
gone, and the little foot and ankle were
incased in a cast-off shoe u world too large.
Passing an arm around the child she was
lifted from her recumbent position, and
in a moment her head fell over on the
reporters shoulder, and she was once
more soundly in the land of dreams.
I'll tell you what III do" said the
officer. II know a kind-hearted old Ia
dy, a relative of mine, over on-street,
and will take the child over there, and l
guess..mother H-will find a place for
So, raising the still sleeping child Gin
his strong arms, the police officer, follow
ed by the reporter, proceeded to the
house designated.
The next morning a call was made at
the house visited the night before, but
the old lady welcomed the reporter rath-
er sorrowfully, saying:
"I'm afraid yell never find anythin'
about the child, for she's wild, ravin',
crazy wild fevor this mornin'. She's
talkin' about herself, but l can't make
head or tail what she's sayin'."
Going up a pair of rickety stairs, the
reporter was ushed in a scantily furnish
ed room, and on a little cot in one cor
ner lay the little waif, tossing about in
delirium. She had been bathed and her
J :ombed, but the large eyes glared
wind, - her fingers picked nervously
at the beo-cA .hes. As she looked at the
intruder a CLEAN of intelligence flashed
across her pinched countenance, but it
was only for a moment, and she relapsed
into a semi-conscious condition, broken
by muttered words. Leaning over the
bed the visitor caught g few words:
won't you give me a penny, Sill?
I'm hungry, and, obi 30 tired, and |
amt got any place to Sleep"
For almost an hour the child rambled
on, often coherently, and then relapsing
into a confused medley, Enough. was
learned, however, to convince the writer
that she had doubtless been deserted by
her parents and left to live or die, as the
case might be, in the city. The assis-
lance OF a physician was procured, but
he said at once that her system and her
mind were completely shattered by her
exposure and suffering, and that she
would not recover.
For two days the waif fought against
the encroachments of disease, but the
end came about four o'clock on Friday
afternoon. Only the old lady, the physi-
clan and the reporter were by the bed
side. A few moments before her death
she opened her eyes and reached one
hand out toward the reporter, whom she
recognized with q smile. AS he bent
over her she said:
"You were good to me, mister. Oh,
l know you; l remember you down to
the park ever so long ago, and you
brought me up here, didn't you"
Her voice grew very faint, and the
good physician, with his hand on her
wrist, gravely bowed his head.
eyes, you've all been so good to me.
l know I amt much good, for I'm only
eve years old and amt got any home,
and l guess no one thinks or cares any
thing about m e My names is Jess
not Jessie, only Jesuit Pm-tired-
in-and-guess-pll-sleep," and in a
moment the doctor rose, and while the
kind old lady pushed back the damp
masses of hair from the child's forehead,
and closed the eyes from which the life
had forever gone, the reporter bid a men,
tai good-by to his little friend, whose
troubles were over, and passed. out into
the street to ponder on the episode, one
out Of many which the outside world
never know.