Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 September 1890 — THE LITTLE FOLKS. [ARTICLE]

THE LITTLE FOLKS.

Uttle Jerry. ' “You won’t forget any of the places, will you. Jerry?” “No, father.” “And you won’t leave pint cans at any of the places where you’d ought to leave quarts ?” “No, sir.” “And remember what I told you about Miss Perkins. She’s to have an extra pint to day, and you’re to leave it in the basement. She leaves the door unlocked on purpose, ’cause she said she can’t bear milk after it’s froze; and it's so stinging cold this morning it’d be froze clear through ’fore it was taken in if it wasn’t put inside, Jerry?” “I’ll put it just where you say, father —in the basement.” “All right; that’s a good boy. I hate to send you out alone this way, Jerry, and I shan’t do it again soon. Drive careful, and get home soon as you can.” “Yes, I will,” replied Jerry, as he climbed into the milk wagon standing in his father’s barh-yard, and took the lines into his hands. It was just four o’clock in the morning of a cold winter day, and little Jerry Hawes was only ten years old. He was to drive two mile* to the city, alone, in the cold and darkness of a January morning. And, after reaching the city, he was to go rattling around over the stony streets, leaving milk at sixteen different places, and then drive home again, with the wind almost lifting him from the seat of the wagon, and the snow in his face. His father had a small dairy, and supplied sixteen families with milk. He carried it around himself, but on this particular morning he had to go to a distant city on an important errand, and must be off before daylight if he would reach home that night. He had tried in vain to get some one to deliver the milk to his customers that morning, and Jerry had himself proposed carrying it. “I know all the places,” he said, “for I’ve often gone with you in the sum-mer-time. I’m not a bit afraid, and I know I can deliver the milk as well as anybodv.”

He was a robust and courageous little fellow, but he did feel a little timid as he turned into the woods which hid his father’s house from view. And it was colder than he expected to find it. The lines felt like bands of ice in his hands, even through his thick mittens. His teeth chattered, and he put the lines between his knees while he swung his little arms around and clapped his hands together. Finally, Jerry tied the lines together and threw them over the dashboard, while he jumped out and ran along by the side of the horse and cart to rid himself of the numbness in his feet and legs. And so they entered the deserted streets of the city, Jerry and the cart and old Bally, the horse. There was no life nor stir in the city streets. All the houses were dark, but the street lamps were burning; and Jerry seemed to feel a sense of companionship and friendlinens in their twinkling lights. He came to the first place at which he was to leave milk, a tall, gloomy looking house. He climbed down from the cart and hurried through a dark, covered entrance-way to the rear of the house, put the two-quart can of milk down, and ran back to the cart, glad to be with it and old Bally again. So he went to the end of his route bravely and manfully. There was but one can left in the cart, and that was for Miss Perkins, an old lady who lived in a large and beautiful house at the end of a handsome street. Jerry remembered all his father had said about finding the basement door unlocked, and about putting the milk inside where it would not be frozen. He found the rear room unlocked, but dreaded to open it and step into the dark little entrance, at the end of which theie was a second door securely locked; but this little hallway was not so dark as Jerry expected to find it. The second door had in its upper half a sash, through which a bright light was streaming. Jerry stood on his tiptoes and peered through the glass, he hardly knew why for he was not one of your idly curious kind of boys. He had an instinctive feeling that something was wrong; and what he saw caused the little milkman to utter a low exclamation of wonder and affright—the whole basement seemed to be a mass of smoke and flames! He knew nothing about fire-alarm boxes. Indeed, he was so dazed and terrified for a moment that he did not seem to know anything at all! Then he ran wildly out into the yard and around the house, his shrill, childish voice piercing the frosty air with its cry of “Fire! fire! fire!” He ran up the broad front steps, and kicked and. hammered on the great oaken door, crying out wildly, “Fire, Miss Perkins! Oh, Miss Perkins! Y’our house is on fire! F-i-r-e 1 F-i-r-e!” Old Bally, shivering with drooping head at the gate, pricked up his ears and turned his head toward the house, while Jerry jumped up and down in his excitement, shrieking out the dreaded cry of “fire” with every breath. The front parlor windows reached to the floor of the wide piazza in front of them, and were made of a single sheet of glass. In his excitement and eagerness to arouse the inmates of the house, Jerry ran to one of these long windows and kicked in the glass with his stout boots. Then he crawled into the room, and into a great hall, just as some one came to the head of the stairs, lamp in hand. It was Miss Perkins herself, with a great scarlet blanket thrown around her. Jerry ran wildly up the stairs, shouting—“ Fire, ma’am! fire! The cellar is all on fire!” “Goodness mercy!” shrieked Miss Perkins, “I thought I smelled smoke. Give the alarm, somebody!” But Jerry’s shrill, childish voice had given the alarm, both within and without the house. Servants eame running down the stairs, the street was tilling with people, a policeman was trying to kick in the doors, a fire-en-gine came around the corner with a great rush and noise. “Old Bally will be scared out of his senses,” was Jerry's mental comment,

as he rushed out of the house, fast finding with smoke and flames. But some one had kindly led old*. Bally away, and hitched him to a., lamp-post up the street; and there Jerry found him, half an hour later, after hearing the fireman crying out—“lt’s all out now. We can save the-* house yet. ” And Jerry drove home, in the dawnof the new day, too excited to mind the cold. The short winter day was drawing to a close when Jerry came home from, school that night. He had walked more than a mile,, and burst into the house, crying out, “Whew! but it’s cold! I tell vow it’ll ” He stopped short when he saw a. strange lady sitting by the fireside, a. short, stout lady, with gray hair showing under her handsome bonnet. “Ah! this is the little boy I’ve been, waiting for, is it ?” she said, when Jerrycame in. “Come and shake hands with me, won’t you ? I’ve driven out. to tell you how grateful I am for what you did this morning. My house andi myself might have been burned, had it. not been for you. You are a very brave and good little boy, I am sure;. and I want to become better acquainted? with you.” My story would have to be twice as long as it is if I were to tell you of allt the good and pleasant and helpfull things that came into Jerry’s heretofore rather dreary life.through his “becoming acquainted” with Miss Marcia,. Perkins.— Exchange.