Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-01-05

gladden. the dim eyes of poor little Tim,
the cripple, who lives in the same
crowded tenement house, and whose slen
der life she has held through long, cold
months by many meal denied herself.
The wind blows the brown curls around
the sweet face; the great, dark eyes look
out through the fast falling snowflake:
eagerly up into the passing faces. The
timid cry, "Violets, only one bunch,
catches the ear of young lady in near
carriage. She must have them to wear to-
night-so the violets are sold.
At last Nellie, the city's little flower
girl, nay leave her post. With her pen.
MES and fresh roll for Tim clasped close
beneath her scanty shawl, she flies home.
ward-a dark shadow through that white
air, as across her pure, white life are daily
thrown scenes of misery and crime.
At the top of a crowded tenement
house, above numerous dark flights Of
stairs, within desolate room, in which a
Pickering candle bares its misery, an aged
couple bend with withered hands above a
cold stove in which the small fire has
long since died out The door opens and
age trembles with fear as their drink
wrecked, grey-haired son stumbles for
ward Hardly has the door closed when a
slender child, with eager, dark eyes and
snow-covered curls, enters. With an oath
the wretch turns, unsteadily grasps the
slender wrist and savagely snatches the
money she has brought.
Ten o'clock. The night is thick, white
and noiseless as the snow drifts steadily
down. A small, quivering figure creeps
down the morrow, snowlined street; and
as the front door of near saloon opens at
timid touch the noisy crowd of men in
its warm, gilded interior momentarily
quiet as the shrinking, childish figure
slips to the bar with frightened look in
the wide, stained eyes. AS she grasps
the large beer pitcher, from whose brim
trails the heavy foam of misery and want,
and then goes outward, few lips that
have not yet lost all compassion mutter
pityingly, Little Nellie, the waif; poor
child That man has driven her here
again. He's drunk-drunk, as usual"
1t is nearly noon, and the gay, hurrying
shoppers proclaim it the day before Christ
mas; day cold, white and only threaten
ingly clear "Tom, the bootblack," misses
his little neighbor, and wonders at her alb
sence. The little flower girl, with her
sweet, bright blooms, has never missed a
day at her post in many a long month.
But to-day, at this late hour, she comes
outward through the doorway of the house
which has always supplied her with flow
ers with her basket but half filled, after a
long entreaty for only a few lunches,
which she must buy on credit. The fair,
young face is pale and drawn, the great
eyes hollow and tear-swollen, for no food
has she tasted since yesterday, and, more
terrible. her feeble grandparents are starry
ing back in that tenement house, depend
ing on her for food at the coming night
food 10 place of the flowers yet to be sold.
Blindly down the street she half staggers,
and suddenly jostles against lady lean
ing faint and helpless against doorway.
Quickly the soft, dark eyes open wide and
plaintive child-like tones ask to be Of
assistance. The woman looks helplessly
around, thinks of her home, blocks away,
and then suddenly of her sister, with
whom she started out, and who is at a
ladies' meeting, interested in foreign mis-
sionary work.
"Child, if you could go for my sister she
would procure me help. Do you you know
where the Women's Christian Temperance
Union Hall is-the large building with
w. C. T. U. in large gilt letters? Run
quickly. 1 am dreadful faint" One
glance at the white face and the child
needs no hurrying word.
At the meeting, in the midst of ami
mated discussions and eager plans to aid
the needy subjects on Africa's distant
shores, the great doors swung open and
the child messenger stands among them.
| Forgotten are the pangs of hunger, the
pain and the bitter trials that even now
cluster round young feet; but her heart
beats only in pity for anothers distress as
she hurriedly delivers her message. The
ladies, gathering their furs about them.
quickly assist their frightened sister of,
and little Nellie slips back over the snow
covered street to find her flowers and re-
cover by eager haste the time she has lost
on her errand.
Back at her old stand on the wind
blown corner, through the fast darkening
hours as the winter afternoon draws to an
early close, sounds the plaintive child-cry
pleading for buyers of her flowers. The
soft, white snow has begun to fall anew,
the deepening shadows have already called
forth pale, early lights through the great
streets, yet only one single penny is clasped
in the cold, numb hand of the little wall
standing in the gathering gloom, on whose
aching arm hangs the basket with its
weight of fragrant unsold flowers One by
one the great glass doors are closing, the
ceaseless tramp of business slackens, and
the crowd of restless humanity is hurrying
homeward. Gloom and despair seem set
Ting fast over the barred head of the little
orphan, Drawing her faded shawl closer
about her, she creeps aimlessly down the
wide street. She cannot 60 back to that
cold, dark room, where the old couple wait
longingly for the bread she cannot bring.
1t is Christmas Eve. Within an i'm
mense theater, from whose entrance a
great bali of electric light sheds its pale,
cold moonlights thousands of entranced
souls watch the mimic life played out
behind the footlights, but it is only a
ragged waif Of the streets that sees a
deeper tragedy preparing under the great
theater's very walls, as back in dark,
narrow alley skirting that portion of the
building where the structure is more frag-
lie and unstable, the dark form of human
wretch crazed by revenge or bitter hatred
adds the last armful to the many piles of
cotton and other combustibles he has
placed against the building. Then sprink-
ling the whole mass with oil he
grinds his teeth with satisfaction, strikes
halfdozen feeble flames and
hurriedly escapes in the darkness. Then
a slender child, homeless and starving,
crouched near the light of the great cleo
trio lamp, slips down to the scene of the
| fend's work. Quickly slender lines of
flame spring upward through the whole
mass-tiny lights which the cold hand of
the frightened child can easily smother as
they spring. She dares not leave for a
second to seek aid, or the fire may spring
beyond control. Bravely she works to
hold in check by her small hands the
blaze that threatens to burst forth, until
gradually faster and larger the tongues APP
pear. Her b7nds are blistered, and with
her shawl she has smothered innumerable
bursting flames. Her small strength can