Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 December 1887 — LITTLE DAN’L. [ARTICLE]

LITTLE DAN’L.

A STOBY OF LIFE AMONG THE POOH. “Dan’l! Dan’l!” Dan i did not stop, but Phil Beynolds, the old shoemaker, did. What was the use of ca 1ing after a boy who all you could see of him was his flying heels and his yellow hair blown out by the wind. Old Phil scratched his head. He had grown fond of the boy in the three months they bad lived in the same bouse. People in tenement houses hjjve time to grow fona of each other, just as they have to hate. Phil went buck to his cobbling for fortunately he had work, though more than one in that big teeming household had not. What was this? There was a sadden invasion of the court by a crowd of men and boys, some women and girls, too, and in the midst stood poor little Dan’l, grasped fast in tbe clutches of a policeman. In an instant every window but one was thrown open and filled with a motley crowd; not that the sight of a policeman was rare in Cherry Alley, but any exestement was a godsend to these unfortunate victims of an untoward destiny. Phil put down his work and was soon talking to the policeman and trying to comfort little Dan’l, for the child was sobbing and trembling. “I tell you there’s no mistake,” said the policeman, gruffly; ‘ the boy was trying to cut down a turkey ’’ “The size of him!” interpolated the chorus around them, while some gamins executed a sort of war dance on the outskirt of the crowd with an accompaniment of “Ya! Ya !” as if in admiring encouragement of one who, though small ,was thus aspiring. “Jackson’s a good man,” continued the policeman, quelling the unseemly inteuruption with a look; “else he’d haul this young one up. He saw he was a new hand, ’most a baby.” “If be let him off, wliat are you doing with him ?” said Phil, attempting to draw flhe little fellow to him. The policeman put one finger to his nose and winked at his questioner; then raising i is voice so all might hear:—“Mr. Jackson let him off this time, ’cos it was his first offence, but let him catch him agin or any of you (the policeman raised his club and nhookit at the departing crowd) and he’ll have you all up.” Then he turned to Phil. “Whoge brat is this, anyhow? He oughtn’t to be in the streets along with them vermin—they’ll corrupt good manners, sure. You take him—you seem to know him—keep watch over him. Mr. Jackson says his mother’s sick and told me to take him home. I’ve done my part; you do yours” —and with a nod the burly officer of the law strutted off. He knew old Phil, and had done his duty in frightening the boy. He felt a throb of self-satisfaction as he reflected he might have been more severe. Cherry alley was quiet again. Some of them shrugged their shoulders as they saw old Phil lead the boy to his room. “He is just fool enough to take on about that child,” one said, “and old mother Dowd—she is attending to the sick woman now—she is another of the same sort.” And it was fortunate she was there, as the noise of the excitement roused poor little Daniel’s mother. “What is the matter?” she asked in a whisper. “Just those boys making too much noise, as usual, they’re going now.” Mother Dowd spoke with the assurance of one who felt she might say anything; poor Mrs. Lausdon could not help herself. “Where is —Daniel?” was the next question. “Is he there?” “He’s gone with old Phil,” said her voluntary nurse reassuringly, and she glanced again out or the window, longing to know wliat the double had been. Bnt she had to curb her curiosity, for Mrs. Lansdon had relapsed into an almoet unconscious condition and was munnudng confused words about husband and children, now, alas! all gone but Daniel, and him she was leaving. Her husband had been a seafaring man, a captain, and Mothei Dowd’s a sailor, so there was sympathy between the two women, and the latter had done all she could; but how little that was! * * * * * * “Yes; Mr. Darrow is at home,” answered the butler. “Show the gentleman in here,” was Mr. Dairow’s orders, and, with many a grimace behind his back, the butler showed the ‘gentleman’ into the dining .room, where Mr. Beginald Darrow sat alone over his wine.” “Ah! Good evening, Reynolds. Have a glass of wine ? No ? Well,’ then, sit down and tell me what success you had this afternoon.” Reynolds sat down on the edge of one of the leather-covered chairs:— • “No success at all, and I’m worn out with their promises to pay, which mean not to pay ” “Well, you have the alternative, Reynolds," sharply broke in Mr. Darrow. “I know that, sir; but to hear them talk about s ckness and ” “Never mind how they talk, Reynolds—l don’t care about that. It is how they act that concerns us. Why, instead of waiting for their 'onvenience I was thinking of raising the ent.” “You can’t this year, sir,” said Reynolds, stolidly. “No, but I’ll tell yon what I can do. I’ll Sut every one of them out of the place if they on’t pay up before the new year. If those rents are not collected within a week, Reynolds, as much as I think of you, I’ll have to get some one else to do the work;” and Mr. Darrow rose as a sign that the interview was over. ‘‘Get some one else to do his dirty work,” muttered Reynolds as he departed, pu ling his overcoat up about his ears, “and so he may fOr all I care, but I know a thing or two about tbe business, as he calls it, which he wouldn’t like people to know, especially ids uucte, Mr. Isaac Darrow.” So grumbled Phil. Reynolds, for it was the old cobbler who collected the rents for Mr. Darrow, as he wended his way to his homo. Mr. Darrow in no very good humor joined his family in the parlor. Isabella, his pet, perched herself on his knee, but her childisu prattle and little assumption of womanly ways failed to amuse him. “Papa, you know Christmas is coming. What are you going to give me? Oh, papa! 1 want some money to buy something for Uncle Isaac.” “Uncle Isaac,” ejaculated Mr. Darrow under his breath, and putting her down he rose and went up stairs. Even his favorite child irritated him; everything gulled him; even the luxuries of bis home we;e so many reminders of his precarious footing in Wall street. Note were falling due and there was no money with which to meet them. His family he had brought up to think they had but to ask to get anything they wanted. He had charge of the

row of tenant houses in Cherry alley belonging to his ancle, collecting the rents and paying out tbe necessary money for repairs. He, too, required some one under him and employed Phil Reynolds. “Yes—sh, yes. I feel a little better to-dav and before lam worse again—I want to talk to you about—my boy;” and the poor mother, with an effort, put a trembling, attenuated hand on Dan’i’a. yellow locks as he sat on the bed by her. * • Mother Dowd had called in Old Phil at Mrs. Lansdon’s request. “You’ve always been so kind to ns—to him —since we came, and I may not be here much longer—l wanted to ask if you would take my boy. He has no one in tne world no one. Yon will do that—promise me;” and the dying woman held out her hands to the old shoemaker. Phil Reynolds at sixty years of age, with scarcely money to bnrv him, was asked to take the care of a child eight years old, and all because he had admired the little fellow for his blue eyes and yellow locks, that reminded him of the Kathleen ho had left behind him in Ireland forty years before. “You will take him—you will not refuse my last request?” Mrs. Lansdon’s voice died away in a fit of coughing. Poor old Phil was vanquished. Holding out his hand, he drew little Dan’l toward him. •Til promise I’ll take care of him.” “There is a trunk full of his clothes, and anything else of value that I have—keep for him—for you.” None too soon had she spoken to old Phil. Coming in early the next morning Mother Dowd found the sufferer lying peacefully at rest. There was a 6milo on her face. The doctor said she had passed away in her sleep. Certainly little Dan’l knew nothing of it, for Phil carried him still asleep to his room, and it was not until later in the day he missed hia mother. Then, as the truth was explained, the little fellow refused to be comforted. “And how is the poor thing to be buried ?” asked Mother Dowd of Phil as they stood togother in that little room, to which the majesty of death gave a certain dignity not denied to the humblest abode. Phil started. He had not thought of that; but he determined at once that little Dan’l’s mother should have a decent burial if it took all his hard-earned savings. Better t-hat he should go to the Potter’s Field than that poor creature who had seen better days. ****** The more shiftless tenants rejoiced at anything that could give them a respite. Mother Dowd had given all the time she could spare to little Dan’l, who, with the elasticity of youth, was becoming reconciled to his new quarters, though there were days when his sorrow overcame him. Between times old Phil had been able to give some money to Mr. Darrow, though to the latter it seemed like a drop in the bucket. One afternoon, three days before Christmas. Phil was busier than usual finishing a pair of shoes to be delivered that night. He had to work pretty hard now, for there were two to support. “What is it, Phil?” he asked, as the little fellow rose from where he was playing. “You won’t let the policeman get me, will you ?’’ Dan’l had been afraid of policemen ever since he had been so ignominiously brought home that day. He had told Phil how it all happened. His mamma, he said, was talking about Santa Claus not coming to them that Christmas, saying that they would have no turkey, and "the little fellow, thinking no harm, had tried to get a turkey for his mamma at Mr. Jackson’s store. At Dan’l’s exclamation about the policeman, Phil turned round and saw Mr. Isaac Darrow. “Well, Reynolds, I find you still at work,” he said, as he entered the room and sat down for a few moments’ chat. “Eb, bless my soul, who is this?” he added, looking down at Phil’s protege, as the little boy, rather frightened at the gruff tones of the old gentleman, clung to him. “This—why this” —making a desperate effort —“this is to be my little boy.” “Your boy! Where in the world did he cyme from?” “I’ll tell you,” said Phil; but before he could again proceed with his story he was interrupted. “Reynolds! Phil! Phil, I say! "Where did you get this?” Isaac Darrow gasped as he held out a letter he had picked tip from among "the things with which Daniel was playing. “Don’t you see this letter, man. addressed to me—my name in full? It is yellow with age;” and the old man’s hand trembled as he opened it. He scarcely glanced through it until he reached the signature. It was not a very long letter and was signed with the name of Daniel Lansdown. “It was written five years ago,” said Phil, looking at the date, and filled with an excitement equal tothe others. “If you could only have had it before ” “Had it before? How could I have had it before—there’s no address on it—only my name?” “That poor woman!” ejaculated Phil. • “What poor woman? What do you know about the matter? If you had this letter why did you not give it to me?” “I never saw the letter until you showed it to me ” Isaac Darrow looked at him incredulously. “I—l picked this letter up here, right at your feet.” Phil resorted to his usual resource in case of a dilemma and scratched his head. Then, as if a sudden light had dawned upon him, he said slowly:— •‘I do remember now, some letters inDan’l’s trunk; I meant to look ’em over.” “Then you know the Lansdons! Where are they?” For answer old Phil pointed above. “Dead!” ejaculated Isaac Darrow. “What, all of them ? He speaks of his wife and little son, the last of three children, and reminds me of my promise years ago to help him in case of need. Why, man,” he added, “he saved my life when he was a mere lad. I was wrecked off South America. He brought me to land—to life. I swore if ever he needed a friend ” “He does not, but the child does. This is his boy—all that iB left—ttie mother died last week.” Mother Dowd was called in to corroborate old Phil’s statement. Other letters proved there was no mistake. Isaac Darrow said he would take care of the boy, and the next day his carriage came for little Dan’l and his humble belongings.