66 And how came you to leave the old woman you say you used to live with ?" Again the child was silent, until the question having been twice repeated, he looked up in Carter's face, and said 66 If I tell you why, you wont take me back again to her?" "I don't know; that will depend upon circumstances. You know you must have somebody to take charge of you." Then I shan't tell you," said the child, who possessed a readiness of speech and a precocity beyond his years. 66 "Well, Henry, if you don't tell me, I shall have to take you to a justice, who will perhaps send you to prison as a little vagrant, and how will you like that?" "I would sooner go to prison than go back to Mother Shipley," said the boy, passionately, bursting into tears as he spoke. "They can only flog me there, and they will give me plenty to eat. Jem Wilton told me so, and he's been in prison many a time.” Joseph Carter felt that he had gained a point in eliciting even this burst of passionate feeling from the child, and he hastened to follow it up by saying in a soothing tone of voice 66 Come, come, my dear, don't cry; tell me why you left the old woman, Mother Shipley, as you call her; and if you had good reason for it, you shan't go back again.' 66 "I ran away because she beat me; see here (pointing to the wheals and bruises upon his shoulders,) it's a long time ago now, and the marks pain me yet.” 'Poor thing! said the compassionate cartman, as he examined the marks of cruelty; "why did she beat you thus ?" "Because I was hungry and took some rags and sold 'em to get money to buy something to eat." "But don't you know that it is wrong to steal, even if we are hungry ?" "No-Mother Shipley used to steal, and I used to steal for her, and so did other boys and girls. The rags was mine as much as they was hers. I gathered 'em for her." do 66 Poor child! you have been trained in a sad school. How you know that Mother Shipley is not your mother ?" "Because she told me so; she wasn't my mother any more than she was the other boys' and gals' mother." "And since you ran away, what have you been doing for a living?" "Nothing," replied the child, doggedly. 66 Nothing! but you must have done something. How dia you get food and lodging, if you did nothing?" "Sometimes I begged, and gentlemen would give me a copper, and sometimes I swept crossings; but the weather was too fine for me to get much sweeping. And when I seed anything and nobody seed me, I stole it and sold it." And where have you been lodging since you ran away from the old woman ?" "I have been lying about in places. I used to sleep under a door-step down by the Battery; and yesterday it snowed, and I swept crossings all day, but the big boys and gals pushed me away, and at last they took my money from me; and when I went to the doorway to sleep, it was wet and the rain was dripping through, and I was shaking with the cold; and So I walked up Broadway, crying, till you found me. I cried cos I hadn't had anything to eat all day." "I guess you wont make anything of that young 'un; he's a reg'lar hard case; better send him away about his business,” said the landlord. 66 No-I wont do that just yet, at any rate," replied Joseph. "I must go back to the store; I'll leave the poor thing here awhile, until I think what can be done." It was with the greatest reluctance that the landlord and landlady of the tavern would allow the child to remain any longer; but Joseph at last prevailed upon them, promising to call and take him away in the course of the day; and having gained his end, he went back to South-street. Fortunately for Joseph-at least, he thought it fortunate on that day, for his thoughts were running, in spite of his work, upon the forlorn, pitiable object he had left at the tavernthere was not a great deal for him to do: so he was free to leave-yet still, as he bent his steps in the direction of the tavern, he could not decide what it was best for him to do. 66 Sometimes he thought that he was foolish to trouble himself any longer about the child. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, as badly off as he, in the city," he thought, half aloud. "I have aided him, poor thing! and given him a night's lodging, and for once have provided him with a full meal. I have done my part. If everybody was to do as much for others, there would soon be an end of this distress. I have a family of my own to support, and have to work hard enough to support them. I think Howsen gave the best advice when he recommended me to send him adrift again -but yet, I have children of my own, and supposing any. thing should happen to me, or to their mother, and they were left-my poor little Nelly might become like this poor stray waif of humanity; and if spirits, after death, are permitted to look down, and see what is going on in the sphere they have left, and watch over those whom they have loved here below, how happy should I be, how grateful to the man or woman who would rescue my child from the path of vice! This poor fellow is doubtless an orphan; perhaps his parents are watching me." He had reached the corner of Cedar-street, and was about to turn down; for a moment he hesitated, and then hurried along further up Broadway. "I will go and see Justice Slocomb, at any rate," said he; "perhaps he will advise me how to act.'" A few minutes' walk brought him to the residence of the Justice, in Park-row; and he stopped and knocked at the door. "Is the Justice at home?" he asked of the servant; and having been answered in the affirmative, he gave his name, and was admitted. "Well, Carter," said the Justice, to whom he was known, "what is it you want? are you applying for a renewal of your appointment as city watchman. I am well satisfied with your conduct, and it has already been decided that you shall be retained." I thank you, sir," said Joseph; "but I did not call on that business. I heard of that, yesterday, and am very grateful for the good opinion that the gentlemen of the Board entertain of me. I called, sir, respecting a poor child whom I found last night, starving with cold and hunger in Broadway. He has no parents, sir, and no home; and I was thinking, perhaps you could advise me what to do about him." "Why-where is he, Carter ?" 66 I got him shelter at Howsen's, in Cedar-street, last night, sir; and he is there now. I gave him his supper last night, and Mrs. Howsen gave him his breakfast this morning; and now they advise me to send him adrift. I thought I would take the liberty of calling upon you, and asking your advice. Perhaps you can tell me what had best be done ?" "Indeed, Carter," replied the Justice, "I think Howsen's advice was good. I don't see that we can do anything in this case. You see, if we did, we should soon have our hands full." "And must the poor boy be cast adrift again, to starve or thieve to go from one vice to another, till he meets a premature grave ?" "I fear there is no remedy, Carter. As to starving, there's no fear of that: these little vagabonds are always ready with some pitiful story or other; but I warrant me they always pick up enough to eat and drink, even if they thieve for it." "But is not that a dreadful thing to contemplate, Mr. Slocomb? There surely should be more provision for these cases. 66 The thing is impossible whilst they are so numerous. When the case is very urgent, and the party strongly recommended, we do what we can; but we cannot attend to all." "But this poor child, sir," pleaded the watchman 66 "The Is just in the position of hundreds of other poor childrenneither better nor worse," interrupted the Justice. city cannot provide for all the poor and destitute. I cannot, of course, provide for every beggar-child that is picked up in the streets, and I don't suppose you, with your scant means, and having children of your own, would care to adopt such a child as he you describe, and make him a companion and an instructor in vice and crime to your own children?" Joseph Carter did not reply to this speech; but bidding the Justice good day, he left the house. "A strange man, and yet an honest, kind-hearted, trustworthy fellow that Joseph Carter," said the Justice, as he watched the retreating form of the cartman from the window. "He has, however, strange ideas of benevolence. If he were a rich man, he would be one of those singular beings who pride themselves upon their philanthropy; but the idea is preposterous, for a man in his position to take up the cause of every little vagrant urchin he picks up in the street." As Joseph walked away, he kept revolving in his mind what had best be done with regard to the little boy. "I see," said he to himself," that no one will take interest in him, and yet I cannot bear the thought of sending him adrift again. Still I can't support him-nor would Mary choose to have him about the house, mingling with our children, if I could." Still the thought seemed to cling to him, that he was an outcast, thrown by Providence in his way; he did not know how to act, and in this dilemma, instead of going to Cedarstreet, as he had intended, he turned off in the direction of his own house-for it was near the dinner hour-and he knew that his wife would be expecting him. During dinner, Joseph continued very thoughtful; his wife feared he was ill, and at length asked him the question. 66 No, Mary, no," he replied, "I am well enough, thank God. But I was thinking, as I looked at our children, how thankful we ought to be that we are enabled by our joint labours to provide them food, and clothing, and lodging, and schooling; and what a shocking thing it would be, if it should please God to take us from them before they are able to provide for themselves. They might be reduced to starvation, Mary, and be led into temptations of every kind-into vice and crime." "Lor! Joseph," exclaimed his wife, "how strangely you talk. I declare you make my flesh creep to hear you. What could put such thoughts into your head?" "The thought, Mary, of the sad condition of the poor little creature I told you of this morning. He might, perhaps, for anything we know, have been the child of parents who thought as much of him as we do of our darlings; and now what is he? Mary, let us pray that our children be preserved from temptation." "Ah! poor thing!" rejoined Mary Carter, "it is pitiful to think there is so much distress in the world. We are only very poor people, Joseph, and yet we have enough to support us in comfort; there are thousands and tens of thousands worse off than we. What does the hymn say? 'Not more than others we deserve, Yet God has given us more.' We ought to be thankful." "So we ought-more thankful than we are; and yet, Mary, it always appears to me to be a selfish sort of thankfulness that leads us to rejoice that we are better off than others, quite as good in the sight of God as we." There was a silence of some minutes; both Joseph Carter and his wife were absorbed in the thoughts that this conversation had given birth to. At length Joseph, looking earnestly at his wife, observed"We had one more child, our youngest darling, who has been removed from us as we believe, wisely removed—and yet, Mary, we could have wished the babe to have lived. We have to work hard; but we have found, and still shall find, sufficient food for our family, however large." "I trust and believe that we should, Joseph; but how strangely you talk to-day. I don't like to hear you speak so. Surely you must be ill, or downcast in mind." "No, Mary, I told you I am well as ever I was; but I was thinking, that for a time, at least, one more mouth in our family to feed would make no difference. I can't bear the idea of sending that poor child adrift again. It seems to me |