Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1881 — BREAD ON THE "WATERS. [ARTICLE]

BREAD ON THE "WATERS.

It is now many years ago since I, Mary Rivers, performed the one eccentric act of my life. I was old enough at.thattime to have grown prim and “governessy,” and years spent in preaching propriety to young ladies had had their effect upon me, aud J knew, that it’would never do in my pcsition’to be spoken of as 'peculiar. And yet—. But you shall hear. I had at that time an engagement in Mrs. family to finish the education of an only daughter. The house was a large double building, and the study, or schoolroom, was in a wing across the hall. Next it was a handsome, well furnished apartment, which had been given to me as a bedroom. It was removed - from all the . other bedrooms of the house, and at night I wa« entirely alone. However, J had no fears of tlie supernatural, and no terrors of any sort, and the room suited me. On this nigh’. I had retired as usual, , and the phole household slumbered, included, when I was aroused by something— I hardly knew what — a sound, a movement, perhaus merely an impresslen. Whatever it was. it induced me to rise and open my door a little. Instantly a draught of cold air struck me, ami. I thought that the hall door was opt n. “Who is there?” I cried, aloud, but all was dark and utterly silent, save for such a little velvety pet ara*at would, make, in crossing a marble floor. However, Jhe draught Lad no business to be there, and I stepp- <1 baok to my-room and Tit a wax candle which stood on my stand, and came out again with my dressing gown wrapped ’about me. » The door was not open, but a window—one of two on either side of the hall—had been lifted, and I heard a heavy clatter as of the dropping of articles of iron or steel in a heap, Somethin; - was wrong. With a sort of ' tremor, rattier of excitement than fear, creeping over me, I ran up stairs amt knocked at Mr. Pemberton’s door, crying:

“Thieves are in the house.” In a moment more my employer and.his brother were both in the lower hall, armed with pistols, ami a search was made of every room pn tir.it Hour but my own. As. I had been there, there was nd thought of finding any one in the aphrtmtut. The police Were sent ft r, ami some Burglars’ tools x were discovered outside the open window.

They explained that the window must have been opened in order to admit some small boy who could open -the door for them. A'small boy indeed he must have been to get in at those long, narrow slip.-; but nothing had yet been done, and after a while all returned to their own apartments, tH sleep, if possible. “But shan’t you be timid in your lonely room? Won’t you go up stairs aud sleep with Florence?” asked Mrs: Pemberton. “I’m sure it’s dreadful for you to be down here alone, Miss Rivera.” How glad I am to-day that my nervee were steady enough to allow me to decline the offer, and laugh at any idea of fear On my part: but a governess cannot yield to fine-lady terrors, and I> as I have said, bad occupied that position all my life. I retired to bed again, knowing the house safe for the night at least.and was

jiist about dropping off to sleep when I -felt, rather than heard, some one creep from under my bed. My deor was locked. Whoever it was, I was alone with him—one never thinks of * her”in such circumstances, and the darkness was the worst of all. I struck"a light at once. Someone tried to blow it out aud failed. I clutched at the dark object near me, and found it to be the wrist of a small boy; and now we stood face to face, and I held him tight and looked at him. A child of ten rears

—not more—a little, slender, dark creature dressed in a dark blue shirt aud pantaloons, and with list slippers on his feet- His bead was almost shaven < it w'as cropped so closely, and he looked rather like a little gnome than a child. I knew at Once that he was the S»->y the burglars Ihad* slipped through the window —a tight squeeze for even this* slim thing fluttering iu my gra<p. > “Be quit 6, child,”. I said; “I am not going to hurt you. I suppose you are only a tool of thoee wicked men. Sit down there and let me look at you/’ He sat down, looking at me iu terror.

‘•You must tell me i he truth,” I said, “I here with the burglars?’’ He nodded. . “They put you through the window to open our door?” “Yes,” he said. “Did your mother know ofit?’,l asked. • “I never had any mother,” he answered. “And your father?” - ‘“Daddy. Daddy was hung for killeg a man,” said the child. “Do you like this sort of life,” I asked. • He looked at me “I d’no,” he answered. • '.'•l mean going out with these men to rob houses?” I asked. “No,” replied the boy; “I’m afraid of the dark. Once they shooted me, and it bled. I like to go to bed and sleep nights. I wish they’d let me.” ' >u Poor little wretch!” I sighed to myself. When I had called fur help again he would be sent to a police station, and thence to some prison school or reformatory. better than the life he now led; but, after all, what a miserable fate. lam one of the women who really love children, and it struck me that the child wag pretty, and had a good he. d. Wnat a pleasant task it would be to reform him. To educate,him; to save him from all that lay before him. Had I been a rich woman, I should have seen my way clear to the attempt, but a spinster governess—yet after all—- “ Child,” I said, “what is your name?” “ Ben,” he answered. ~. “Wen, Ben,” I said, “arc they good* w these people ycu live with? Do you like you happv, or would you like to live t'yfferently?” * “I’d like,” said poor little Ben, “Io pave plenty to eat, and go to esbuol

with other fellers. I get whippings, and am hungry sometimes. I don’t belong to no one, and nobody cares for me. I don’t live anywhere regular.” “You’d like to go to school, eh?” I ssked. r “Yes, like fellers,” replied Ben. “I went to school once to get in, but the lady said to go away. I had dirty feet. Jim said you could sneak lots of things in school if you was smart He did, but he had shoes.” • It seemed a hopelees case. However, even yet I could not bring myself to hand the boy over to Mr. Pemberton, who assuredly would glvp him to the police. There was a way iu which I could help him If he were not really fond of bis companioas, and older in crime than he seemed, but to do so I, must be very bautious. The character* of a female Don Quixote would not be a good one for a governess. “Ben,” I said, “I want to help you, to keep you from going* back to those people, and to put you to school,” He looked at me wouderingly. “If anyone else In the house knows that you are here, you will be given to the police,” I said. “It will now soon be day. You must let me lock you up in this room until dark, and you must make no noise. I will give you plenty to eat. Remember, it is for your good.” f He nodded. The experience of his life bad taught him to understand the necessity of concealment as other children do not.

“I’ll be mum,” he said. “Don’t fear me; 111 lI 1 1l be mum.” Aud from that time until dawn I sat and.looked at him without saying any more. It was easy enough to provide him y> jth food tbat day, but my conscience was heavy. Glad enough ‘was I when night came, an<T in the darkness I smuggled the little creatutp out of the bouse, aud holding his hand, went straight to the clergyman of the church I regularly attended. He was a good man, devoted to bis calling, and I knew him to take a great interest in the redemption of such waifs as Ben, and that he was secretary of an association for such objects. Mr. Dale received me in his study, and I left little Ben In the hall, and not feellug quite sure of the safety of the hats and coats upon the stand, whispered to the servant to watch him.

Once within the study, I told a truthful story to Mr. Dale. “He is already a little thief, I suppose,” I added; “but he is very young. Will you help me to save him? Will you send him to your firm school, keeping the secret of his antecedents? I will pay you for bis outfit; his Clothes, trunk, etc., and for his journey “That will be the duty of the society.” replied tne reverend ge i tieman, “I will report the case. If lam permitted to send him he shall go. Meanwhile—wait a moment—” He arose and left the room, and soon returned. “Meanwhile,” he continued, “my Housekeeper will take charge of him. He can stay here.” A mouth from that day iilt’e Den Gray was sent away to the Jefferson farm school. He wore a stout cloth suit and cap, and had a small trunk full of clothing. He was proud aud happy, and though he did not know the words of gratitude, I could see that he was thankful. I gave him a lecture on good behavior, and kissed him as we parted. No one had ever kissed him before, I believe.

He started, looked at me, aud his chin quivered; but the guard was crying, “fake you seats, please,” the five other little hoys and their guardian, who were his companions, grew impatient, and so we parted. I was not insane enough to tell of my v-capade—it might Jiave lost mo my place; out soon I heard from Mr. Dale that my waif bad > reached his d’-dinaiion, behaved well, aud was happy. A year later he wrote me a l.' tttr thanking me for my goodness. 1 fancied it was dictated to him, and thought little of it, save as a proof that my til rts to help him were successful.

Years glided bv —fifteen years. They hud not been happy ones for me. I lost my friends. I was lonely. My eyes failed me, and I could no longer teach fine embroidery-—-and flower painting,*whioii were my specialties. At last I fell ill. In paying doctors and nurses all my small savings melted, and when I had recovered my health so as to look into my affairs, 1 fdlind myself an elderly woman, with only a few pounds in the world, and no prospect for a position. The lodging-house keeper with whom I lived, though not a cruel woman, felt anxious to be rid of one who soon might b“ unable to pay her way, and my advertisements brought no answers. People wanted yomiger and more fashionable governesses. I was seeking a place in a shop, and finding there also they desired only pretty young girls, when, one day, returning weary and footsore, I was told that a gentleman wished to see me, and, hoping for a new employer, hurried up-stairs to my room. Some one advanced to meet me. A slender young man, dark eyed and dark haired, who held out his hand and said, “Miss Rivers, I knew you at once, but I scarcely think you can remember little Ben Gray.” Little Ben Gray! I was astonished lieyoyd expression. This was a gentleman. if ever one spoke. “Yon were so good to me, so angel- ; ;c,” proceeded this gentleman. “I did not know how good you were then, I was such a little brute; but every year , I learnt better to understand what you had done for me. I have been very fortunate. An old doctor took me into his surgery when I left school. lam a surgeon in decent practice myself now, and lam married. I told my wife my story, and she knows all yo’u, did for me. My mission to London was to find you. We saw your advertisement in the paper, and* knew you were still earning your own bread. Madam, if you will come with me to my home a wawn welcome will be yours. The motner I never knew will seem to have been given me. My wife longs for your presence. Do not reflise us the privilege of making you.hrfppy.” Refuse! Ah, he little knew towhat a pass 1 had come! 1 I thanked him with tears, and I went with him. His home bas been my home ever since, and his children call me Aunt Mary.