The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1885-01-03
A TRUE CHRISTMAS STORY.
Mothers Hope and Daughters Crime
The Romance of ReaIity-Cold and
Hunger, Warmth and Plenty.

shop windows were brilliant with gas
and electricity; light and VAIN on the
inside cold and discomfort everywhere
on the outside. Express wagons dash
here and there with their freight of
holiday goods the street cars crackle,
the elevated trains roar and everything
Is astir. Private carriages are driven
carefully through the press. The coach
men are warm in fur and the horses are
covered with comfortable blankets.
Stand on the corner of Sixth avenue
and Fourteenth street, where the crowd
is densest and watch awhile. Women
in warm fIlr,lined cloaks, women in
costly skins Of animals, women in satin,
women in cloth, some shivering with
the scantiness Of their clothing. Men
with bundles in their arms and bundles
hanging out of their pockets men
without bundles and with very few
pockets to put anything in, all rushing,
pushing, a good-natured throng going
up and down and across with unceasing
clatter. 1t is practically Christmas Eve
and everybody is happy. Even the
tramp rejoices at the expected liberali-
ty of the saloon-keeper. Everybody
is smiling.
Everybody?
No; not everybody. Standing back
near the corner and in the shadow of
the house is a woman. Her clothes,
Heaven help her, would be scanty in
September. Around her body and
head is wrapped plaid shawl, the like
of which the coachman sitting on his
box within twenty feet of her would
not use to wipe the dust from his car
riage her hands are bare and pale and
thin her hair is stringy and gray; her
face-despair.
Oh yes, but she's tramp, profess
sional beggar hundreds say to them
selves as they hurry by scarcely deign-
ing to look at her.
But is she?
For an hour she has been standing
where she is and not once has she asked
aims of any one. Presently, pushing
through the crowd, comes a tall man
with peculiar face. No man in New
York is better known. His pictures
are to be found on every side, his name
is household word where English is
spoken. His face is strong and hard
his eye has cold glitter; he walks
slowly, seemingly engrossed in his own
thoughts. But the great arch of his
forehead means benevolence, if the
conformation of mans head means
anything. People stare at him, police
men touch their caps to him as he
passes. Slowly he comes along, a
marked man among thousands. He
nems the woman. Suddenly the eye
that seems to see nothing sees her.
The grave face looks graver He turns
out Of the tide and hands her some
thing. She is not quick enough, and
the coin rolls on the pavement at her
feet. The grave man stoops and picks
it up, despite her protest, and puts it
in her hand. The long, thin fingers
close over it. 1t is the largest they
have held for many day. The pale,
watery eyes fill with tears. The man
with sterner face and a colder eye
passes on. The woman remains. She
looks at the coin and seems to hest
tate then starts slowly toward the west
side of the city with the money in her
hand. Despite her rags there is some
thing graceful in her walk ; something
peculiar in the poise of her head.
A pawnbroker's shop!
The narrow door swings on its hinges
with much creakins, for pawnbrokers'
hinges are nearly always rusty. Within
a long counter and at one end num-
Der of box stalls. Behind the counter
several men with bushy boards and
sharp, questioning eyes. Before the
counter motley throng, for it is Christ
mas Eve to the pawnbroker, too. The
requests for advances are tremblingly
made ; the answers are short, sharp and
decisive. There is no appeal from the
dread judgments of these autocrats of
the poor.
''Sure, them two feather pillows is
worth more than seventy five cents"
says little woman scarcely five feet
high. 81 guy four dollars a piece for
them when my husband was my hus-
band"
"Seventy-fve cents or l don't want
them" was the clinching reply.
"This ring cost eighty dollars" says
a woman of better appearance than her
neighbors.
Fifteen dollars" was the laconic
answer.
'Please, sir, will take this out, said
the woman from Fourteenth street, lay
ing down her bright silver dollar and
ticket.
ooh, you are here again after that
picture, are you? Let me see, you had
twenty-five cents on it-four months
interest and storage, sixty cents, says
the man, giving back the change and a
little miniature of child and its
father. That's the fourth time that
woman has had that thing in" con-
tinued the pawnbroker to one Of the
others. q suppose you would rather
get that out than eat, eh?"
"Oh, sir, l prize it very highly. 1t
is all have left of happy DAYS"