The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1883-08-30
WHERE'S THE FIRE?
A Heroine in Spite Of Ragged Shawl
and Tattered Dress.
by Wills B. Auen.I
I wonder if they are so different! y

by Wills B. Auen.l
az wonder if they are so different"
Edith Moreton's pretty young forehead had
puzzled little wrinkle as she stopped rowing
for a moment and leaned forward, with the
oar-blades ripping through the water, and the
muslin sleeves falling back from her brown
wrists.
tAre they so different, Cousin john"
Her companion gave an impatient twitch to
his straw hat.
"Why, of counsel They are not like you,
Edith. They are ignorant and poor and-and
not clean, you know. They were born to it,
and they like it."
/" But it doesn't seem right heard lady
on the piazza this morning say something about
those creatures in such way that | thought
she was speaking of rats or snakes. 1t turned
out she meant the convicts who attacked their
keepers ut the prison last July"
Edith spoke warmly, as she was apt TO do
when she once took up a subject She was one
Of those earnest girls with whom young men
at summer hotels are rather shy of entering
into conversation. She was only fifteen, and
one by one the terribly real problems Of the
day were marShailing themselves before her.
She would not pass them by with gay laugh,
after the prevailing mode of her merry COM
panions She felt somehow that it belonged TO
her 10 help the world aud make it better, as
well as to missionaries and other good people
upon whose shoulders we so willingly pack
responsibilities.
at must be the way these people live and
are brought mp that makes them so rough and
bad. Ism there any way TO help them?"
. None that amounts to much. Besides, that
isn't our business. There are men enough who
do nothing else-are paid for it-missionaries
and the like. And you can't make everybody
rich, you know. The Bible itself says, Ye
have the poor always with you"
4
to have them" replied Edith, slowly
well, they're here, and We may as well
make the best of it,
But what is the best? That's Just IT,"
"What is the use of your thinking about it
You can't do anything, and you dou't even
know the kind of people we're talking of; the
North Enders, for instance. You have never
seen and touched them; and if you should
meet them face to face, don't believe you
would care for any further acquaintance.
They're simply disgusting"
Edith said no more on the subject, and just
as the sun dropped into the arms Of the waiting
pines on the hill they reached the little wharf
on the river-bank, moored the boat and walked
up TO the hotel where she was spending the
summer. She went straight to her mothers
room, and, after her fashion, rs straight to the
point.
Mother, want to go into the city right
away, and spend day with Aunt Augusta
But, my child, it's tea-time already, and
there's hop tonight. Besides, you cannot go
alone at this hour. You had better wait till
morning"
Mother, so much want to go now. The
train leaves in fifteen minutes. Alice can go
with me. don't care for the hop. anyway;
it's too warm to dance Please, mother? ?"
Of course energetic little Edith had her way,
and with Alice. her mothers maid, seated by
her side, was soon whirling along toward the
city, with strong resolve in her mind.
I'll walk up to aunty's from the depot, and
tomorrow / viii go down to North street
with Cousin WILL
The train stopped at all the small stations,
and was delayed by various causes so that it
was quite dark when she started on her walk
She was glad, after all, TO find the streets we'll
lighted, and filed with respectable looking
people
While Edith and her attendant were making
their way along Washington street in the dark.
another girl about thirteen years Of age, named
Bridget Flanagan, was standing on the third
gallery of the Crystal Palace, in the good city
of BOSTON, looking down into Lincoln street.
Bridget was delicate and siekly child, her
pale cheeks and slender limbs showing an in
innate acquaintance with want and misery.
Like Edith. she was wondering whether any
thing could be done to aid the poor. Not that
any such words passed through her mind.
Dear me, no. l doubt if she would have even
known what :" aid meant, that word being in
her mind associated solely with lemons of a
shriveled and speekled character. Il she had
spoken her thoughts, which she sometimes had
queer way of doing, she might have said
something like this: Don't / wish | could git
out @ this! An the rich folks wild all the
money they wants, an nothin' TO do but buy
fans an use 'em mp. Ny amt it hot?"
1t was hot. There was a man playing on q
hand-organ in the street below, and not only
crowd Of children and idlers surrounded him
as he stood before O brilliantly lighted liquor
store, but the long rickety galleries which run
in front of each floor in the Palace were full
of halfdressed, red-faced women and children,
who leaned on the dirty railing and listened
to the music, just as the guests at the Pines
at the same time We're listening to their orches-
ira Of a dozen pieces.
In the gallery overhead Bridget heard two
women dancing and shouting noisiiy Some
where in the building child was crying loudly
IN different key from the hand-organ. Bridget
didn't notice these things particularly; she was
used to them. Only there came over the young
human girl-heart which was beating beneath
the rags in the midst Of this wretcheduess q
sick longing for-what? Bridget did not know.
Its the hot weather it is" she said to her.
self; it is usin' me up intirely. III just go
an have bit av a walk"
Accordingly she issued forth, and walked
slowly down Lincoln street toward the Albany
Station. The air was sitting, and as Bridget
reached the corner she saw the groups of be-
lated people hurrylng cut to the Newtons and
Wellesley, where they might cool themselves
in the pure air, with whatever means of COM
fort money could purchase
Edith Moreton and Bridget Flanagan both
reflected upon this as they unconsciously drew
nearer and nearer together. Edith was tired,
and was beginning to look for a horse-car TO
take her to her aunt's house. The little Irish
girl had turned and left her Palace" until
She was now near the head of Sammer street.
Ten steps further and they met upon the
corner, with the great gilded eagles wings out
stretched above their heads. Both paused for
q moment. Edith was dressed as she had been
in the boat-all in white, with pretty fluffy
ostrich feather eurying around her broad straw
hat, and feecy shawl thrown over her shout
ders. Bridgets shawl was not feecy and her
dress was not white Nor did she wear lawn
shoes
What either would have said do not know.
Perhaps nothing. But at that moment some
thing happened.
Look o thatn cried Bridget.
"Seew cried Edith at the same ploment:
and they both pointed to the third story of q
high granite block across the street. One of
the windows was slightly open, and through
this narrow space delicate curl of blue smoke
hoated softly out, laughed noiselessly TO Itself,