At the sound of the child's voice, the eldest boy in the
group turned round and stared at her carelessly. He was
sixteen or seventeen years old, apparently, but might
have been a year younger, for the houseless wanderers of
city streets look old and knowing long before their childhood
has gone by. This boy was clad almost handsomely—
splendidly indeed, compared with his companions—and had
a careless, reckless air, which had evidently procured him
the chiefship among his comrades. In all their occupations,
as newsboys, paper-carriers, errand-runners, and

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

petty thieves, Beau Sam or Sam Beau—or Wide-Awake,
as the friends of this gentleman preferred calling him—
was easily the chief and leader.

Ellie had seen him often, and they would frequently
exchange salutations, and walk some distance together,
when they met; and thus, as the child came up now and
called to Charley, Wide-Awake turned round, and, in the
technical phrase, “hailed her.”

“I say! my eyes! you've been beggin'!”

“No, indeed, I have not, Sam,” said the child, “but it is
so cold I can't stop. Come on home, Charley, wont you?”

Charley grumbled, and first took up one bare foot, then
the other, undecidedly.

“We aint a-goin' to let him go. He's goin' to be one
of our party,” said one of the boys in the last stage of
dilapidation.

“Oh, no!” said Ellie, stepping back from the speaker
with irrepressible dislike, for he was one of the most
dangerous young thieves in the whole neighbourhood;
“Oh, no! Charley don't want to go with you.”

“I tell you he does!” said the boy, with a swagger;
“and we're goin' now to —.”

“Oh, no! Charley!” cried the child: “do not go with
him. Indeed, indeed, he will make you bad; you are so
little, and—and—”

Ellie turned away to repress a sob. Her heart overburdened
with anxiety and grief for her sick uncle, could
scarcely stand this new trial, and she almost burst into
tears.

“Go it!” cried the tattered boy; “she's goin' to cry,

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

she is. Come on, young 'un—I'll treat you to hot
coffee and brile. Come on!”

Charley stood whimpering and undecided. A mere
little bit of a child, it is scarcely wonderful that he should
have been tempted by the offers of the boy, which were
now all summed up in the shape of hot coffee and a hot
broil.

The boy saw his advantage, and taking Charley by the
arm, made a face at Ellie, and drew him away.

“Oh, no, no, don't go, Charley! don't go!” cried
Ellie, dropping her armful of wood, and putting her arm
round the child; “Oh, no! you must not go.”

“He shall, I tell you! Now you jest take your hand
off o' his shoulder, will you?”

This request was accompanied by a gesture to the
effect that Ellie would immediately repent any interference
if she dared to persevere. This was evidently the meaning
of the young bully. But as the Moor says, “Who
can control his fate?” Just as the threatening arm was
raised, another fist came in contact with the tattered
boy's head, and he found himself immediately engaged in a
combat with Wide-Awake, who until the moment of
attack, had watched this contest with philosophic interest,
leaning against a lamp-post, and picking his teeth.

The battle was not long, and by the time Ellie had
picked up her armful of wood, and taken Charley by the
hand, (he looked very sorry now,) Wide-Awake's victory
was achieved. A last kick sent his adversary into the
gutter, whereupon he was hailed with shouts as more than
ever chief and commander. Wide-Awake received these

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

tokens of public approbation with much indifference, and
assuming his former careless and rakish position against
the lamp-post, said to Charley—

“Now, you young man, go home, and mind your sister,
and don't come around this crowd. You better not. If
I see you with any of 'em, I'll lick you.”

Charley whimpered at this, and took up his feet one
after the other.

“I say,” added Wide-Awake confidentially, as Ellie
turned tearfully toward home; “the old organ grinder
over ther's dead. Did you know it?”

“Oh no! Is he?” said Ellie.

“Yes he is.”

“But Lucia is—”

“You mean she aint got nobody—don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Well she aint, but I'm goin' to try and help her.”

“That's very good in you, Sam—I'll go and see her—
as soon as—when—very soon, I mean, Sam,” said Ellie,
thinking of her sick uncle, and hurrying away. “I'm
very much obliged to you, Sam—good bye.”

And Ellie hastened homeward. Charley was quite submissive
and repentant now, and watched the bed and the fire
alternately. Ellie knelt down and arranged the splinters and
put some bits of coal on them, and blew it until it kindled.
She then rose, and taking an old tumbler and a pewter
spoon from the shelf, set it by the medicine in order to
administer the draught as soon as the sick man awaked.

The child did all this with strange energy and calmness

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

—indeed she seemed to be scarcely herself. But yesterday
a timid child, now almost a woman—poor little
woman of eleven!—she almost wondered at herself.

Sitting by the small fire she leaned her head upon her
hand, and pondered long and deeply, until her very brain
ached, indeed, with the new weight of cares. Everything
now was to be done by herself—there was nothing “in
the house”—and her uncle was sick. Food, fuel, medicine—
all these were necessary to his existence. Where
were they to come from? Ellie's lip trembled as she
thought of it, and she restrained with difficulty the tears
which filled her eyes.

It was the habit of this child, however, to make an
actual practical use of that faith which so many of us keep
for seasons of discourse and devotion, and quietly repudiate
as an element which should enter into everyday life—
doing away with our fears, and yet not making us remiss
in resolute endeavor. Ellie's faith was warm and living,
and if in the presence of these terrifying obstacles her
weak heart trembled, he did not doubt, or give way to
despondency.

About noon Joe Lacklitter woke and turned in his old
bed. Ellie was at his side with a look of love and pity
and tenderness which was beautiful to see.

The fever had, if anything, gained upon him, and his
cheeks were burning.

The child brought the medicine, and administered it as
the label directed; then beat up his pillow, and brought
him a hot cup of tea and the toast.

“I might have made you a little soup, dear Uncle Joe,”

p506-032 [figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

she said, tenderly; “for there's a little piece of meat left,
but I thought it would be too strong, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I couldn't 'a' teched it—I couldn't,” said
Joe, with a sickly smile; “you're a good girl,—a good
girl. I think I might try a little tea.”

Ellie hastened to place the old pillow behind his back,
and held the cup to his lips. He drank, and after eating
a mouthful of the toast, lay down again. The child carefully
covered him, and assuming a cheerful smile, said he
would soon be better. Joe smiled himself, and muttering
again, “a good girl! a good girl!” sank into uneasy
slumber.