St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1890-04-27
A TOUCHING PICTURE
Drawn from an Incident,
Some Time Since, Of st.
Paul Life.
Last Hours in the Life Of a
Kid Killed by a Run
away.
A White Flower From the
Arid Desert of a Local
Phryne's Life.
The Boys Seant Hoard Willed
to the Girl Who Nursed
Him.

"Poor little fellow, will he die, do you
thiuk?' ask half a dozen people in a
breath, as the bleeding and unconscious
form of ragged urchin is dragged by 4
strong hand from the street and carried
TO place of safety on the curb.
"What is the matter, policeman? Is
the little fellow hurt?" asks tender
hearted maiden, who, true to the in
sticts of her sex, is surveying the be-
draggled little form on the ttagstones,
with an anxious face.
ooh. it's only street Arab" says
some one, and the speaker passes on
needless of the misery at his feet. True
enough. Only street Arab-one of the
race Of nomadS to &c found populating
the streets and alleys of every city In
the country. Only a street Arab, this
little curly-haired lad with the pinched
white features and raiment of rags
only a street Arab, run over by draY.
That doesn't matter much, who will
sorrow here?
One tiny arm still hugs tightly a few
damp. mud-bespattered copies Ct the
GLOBE; the ragged cap has fallen from
the baby head, and the raven ringlets
which need combing, oh, so sadly, hang
in tangled abandon about the pale brow,
almost hiding in their profuslon a gap
ing wound from which the blood flows
fast.
Near by stand half dozen of his fell
lows. some as tiny and fragile as him.
self. others bigger and stronger. They
have gathered at little distance and
stand there with awed, frightened faces.
surveying the motionlesS form of their
former companion. Only a few mo-
ments earlier he had been one among
them, as ready with jest as the best OF
the coterie, despite his rags and the
chill wind that pierced them, causing
the little teeth to chatter even as he
smiled, and giving to the brave little
face blush tinge, such as the old
masters in art delighted to throw about
their painted heroes and heroines.
What will you do with him"' asks a
bystander.
man in blue.
All, yes; here is the patrol wagon.
Round the corner with sweep it comes,
and pulls up with a busineSS-like cras h
at the curb.
Tenderly the pale little body is lifted
in. The pain inflicted by the act, care
fully as it is performed, brings the Suf-
fering child back to momentary con-
seriousness. The big black eyes unclose
and rest for q moment upon the sad
faced little group below, and the thin
pale face. with the dark stains of blood
upon it, brightens into smile of fare
well.
$50 long, Mike. so 10" His lips
frame the parting words, but the sound
never reaches his comrades OF the curb
1t is lost in sigh and shiver of pain
as the wagon iolts off in the direction of
the hospital.
"a hopeless case. quite hopeless -
saws the hospital doctor, turning to q
Young lady who has been silent wit
ness of the examination, "the injuries
are mostly internal; the hemorrhages
will kill him."
''Is there no hope, doctor" pleads the
slightly built girl with the earnest face
''can nothing save him."
Nothing, j am afraid, nothing al
ALL" is the verdict The lad is but &
weakling at best, and he is badly hurt
very badly hurt"
With half stifled sob she turned
away. this little maid of the slight form
and beautiful, kindly face. Her deer
gray eyes are sutfused with tears of bit
ter sorrow.
God knows best" she said; "God
knows best"
HAS he no parents?" inquired the
surgeon.
"He has mother" is the reply in g
low tone. but oh, doctor. such a moth
er. such terrible mother. No, the
poor little fellow had no home, abso
lutely none: but he has been cared fol
at the home. He had not been there
long. but he was such good child; 81
very good and SO different from some OF
Them
"The home," says faint voice. "whe
said something about the home? L;
this the home? Where is Miss Grace
oh, tell Miss Grace to come to me
please do" continues the voice il
pleading tones.
No need for second bidding. She is
there at his side in an instant. this
young girl in the gown of somher black
Her loving arms steal about the neck OF
the poor little supplicant, her. cheek is
pressed to his.
a smile of contentment lights up the
bows face, a smile that smooths away
the lines left there thus early by suffer
ing and exposure.
"You are SO good" he says; kiss me
Miss Grace"
Does she hesitate? No. He is only
little street Arab-only a crushed wal
of humanity whom nobody owns, no
body at all. and she is a gentleWomaI
born: vet she kisses him. not once, Blu
many times, this young foster mother
Her tears fall among and dampen the
tangled curls on the white pillow; he
hand clasps the neglected little one o
the child.
"Shall / die, Miss Grace? Am hur
very bad?''
Let us hope not, my dear. You mus
be quiet, though. very quiet.
Even as she spoke the blood poured
forth in a crimson torrent from between
the baby lips. and it seems that the enc
has come. No. he rallies again, but h
is weaker, ever so much weaker.
The next will be the last says tn
surgeon, in a voice of warning. "H
cannot live an hour
Miss Grace" says the child in feebl
accents, ''l'm going to doe. and / W. all
10 pray the prayer you taught me-"
The two heads bowed together, and i
low. earnest tones she prayed for him
Drayed that God would be merciful
the Door little Outcast for the sake
him who said: "Suffer little childre
to come unto me"
The prayer was said, the earnest pie
fer 1ers %ea and still the little pale face
Tho street Arab remained buried in hi
holy hands. sour Father" he ha
said after her he had loved SO well, an
then it seemed but gave silent assent I
the words OF the prayer she had offere
for him.
Jimmy" she said, Jimmy dear, al
YOU asleep?"