Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 March 1879 — THE BABY S PICTURE. [ARTICLE]

THE BABY S PICTURE.

Miss Arethusa Peppard was out of temper. She said she was “ mad.” But it must have been a mild kind of madness, for her pleasant voice had only a dash of sharpness, and no tire flashed from her soft brown eyes. But she was out of temper; no doubt about that, and no wonder. She had left her mite of a cottage early that April morning, and gone over to New York to shop, and in the very first store she entered—a store crowded with people buying seeds, and bulbs, and plants her pocketbook, containing her halfmonthly allowance, had bijen stolen, and she had been obliged to return to Summertown without the young lettuces, and cabbages, and onion sets, and parsley, and radish seeds that she had intended the very next day to plant in her mite of a garden. And every day lost in a garden in early spring, as everybody knows, or ought to know, is a loss indeed, and there’s nothing in the world so exasperating to an amateur gardener, as everybody also knows, or ought to know, than to hear from a neighboring amateur gardener: “ Good-morning, Miss Peppard. How backward you are this year! Your radishes are just showing, and we’ve had at least a dozen a day for three days past. And our parsley’s up, and our onions doing nicely. And you used to be so forward!” So Miss Pepoard, who was a dear little sweet-faceu, wonderfully bright old lady, living in the neatest and most comfortable manner on asmall income, with a faithful colored servant-woman a few years younger than herself, a rolly-poly dog, a tortoise-shell cat and three birds, had two reasons for being sorely vexed, the loss of her money and the loss of the days which she had expected would start the green things a-growing.

*• All the money I had,” she said to Peteona—called Ona for short—as she rocked nervously back and forth in her rocking-chair, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed. “I only wish I could catch the thief. I’d send him to Jail as sure as grass is green.” “ Dat’s sho’ enuff, Miss Peppar’”— Peteona always dropped the “d” “ an’ it’d sarve ’em zackly right, w’en dey war ketched, to be drug to de lockup by de heels.” Then after a slight pause, which was Ona’s way she added an after-thought: “Dono, dough; s’pose dey might as well take de pore wretch by de head.” •‘All the money 1 had,” repeated Miss Peppard; “ five-and-twenty dollars; ana 1 can’t get any more for two weeks, for borrow 1 never did and never will. Arid there’s'tEe garden all laid out and ready for planting, and Mrs. Brown sets out her lettuces and cabbage plants to-morrow morning, and she’ll be sending them here with her compliments—her compliments, indeed!—before ours have begun to head.” “ “If she do, I’ll frow ’em ober de fence,” said Ona. “Better eat them, dough, I guess. Her complimen’s can’t hurt ’em.” “And, oh! my conscience!” Miss Peppard went on (she could invoke her “conscience” thus lightly, dear old lady, because she had nothing on it), “baby’s picture was in that pocketbook. And I can’t get another. Polly said it was the last, and the photographer don’t come that way but once a year.” “ Well, well, you are a pore soul,” sympathized Peteona, “to go an’ lose dat ar picter—dat lubly thing jus’ like a homed angel. An’ yer sister's onliest chile—’cept five. Wish I had dat robber yere dis. minnit; I’d box his ears so he couldtPt’set down fur a week.”

“Ho wouldn’t be here long,” said her mistress. “Of all things in the wide world, I hate a thief. I’d have him put where he'd steal nothing for a year or two at least.” “Might beashe; dar’s she-robbers,” suggested Ona; “an’dey’s all wuss den caterpillars. Caterpillars takes yo’ things right’fore yo’ eyes—don’t sneak in jo’ pockit. Take a cup of tea, Miss JPeppar’. Dar’s no use frettin’ no mo’. An’ de cat’s ben a-settin’ on yer skirt for half an hour, wantin’ you to notice her, pore thing. She jus’ came in off de po’ch a mipnit ago.” Miss Peppard took the tea, and spoke to the cat; but she couldn’t help fretting; and she slept but little that night, and awoke the next morning almost as vexed as ever, and denounced the thief at intervals of about half an hour from breakfast until dinner, although Peteona emphatically remarked: “ Dar’s no use cursin’ an’ swearin'. Miss Peppar’; can't do no good. Wish I had dat robbin’ debbil here, dough.” But after dinner, for which Ona served a soothing little stew and a cooling cream custard, the old lady became a little calmer, and retired to her own room' to write a letter toher Sister Polly, who lived away off in Michigan; and she had just written: “And I can’t make a strawberry bed this summer, as I intended, andl’llhaveto wear my old bonnet, and, dear! dear! how Isb all miss baby’s picturel” When Peteona opened the door sans ceremonie, as she always did, and walked in with a mysterious air. “ Pusson want to see you. Miss Peppar’—man pusson. ’Bout a boy’s age, 1 guess.” “ WhaJ does he look like, and where did you leave him?” asked the old lady, laying down her pen and looking a little alarmed. • -“4)ut-oa. de. po’ch.. J look. de. da’.. An’ he’s a dirty, ragged feller. Shall I broom him off, Mias Peppar’ ? Looks

as dough beort to be broomed off—or gib ■umfin to eat—pore, bony, dirty soul.” “I’ll come right down,” said Miss Peppard; and down she went. And there on the porch stood a dirty, ragged, forlorn-looking boy of about twelve years of age, looking exceedingly “ bony” and half-starved, sure enough. He pulled off bis apology for a cap when Miss Peppard opened the door, but said never a word until the old lady asked him, in a mild voice she never spoke unkindly to dirt and rags: “Well, my boy, what do you want?” “Then you lost your pocket-book yisterday?” he blurted out. “ Yes,” said she, eagerly. “ That is, it was stolen from me; for I felt in my pocket a moment before I missed it. Do you know the thief?” “I’m him,” was the answer; and he raised a pair of dark eyes, that looked like the eyes of a hunted animal, to her face. “My conscience!” exclaimed the old lady, and fell into a chair that stood near, while Peteona darted out and seized him, shouting: “Golly! gotyo’ wish mighty soon dis time, Miss Peppar’. Run for de Constable. I’ll hold him. Could ho|d a dozen like him—or two or free.” “ Let him alone, Ona,” said her mistress, while the boy stood without making the slightest resistance. “Ain’t he to be drug to de lock-up?” asked Ona, with a toss of her turbaned head. “ Wait till we hear what he has to say,” said Miss Peppard. Then turning to trie boy, she asked, as mildly as ever: “Of course you haven’t brought me back ” “Yes, I have,” interrupted he. “ Here ’tis, money and all, ’cept what I had to take to fetch me out here. I found your name in it on a card, and where you lived.” “But, bless you!” exclaimed the old lady, more and more surprised, “ what made you take it if you were going to bring it back? Come into the kitchen and tell me all about it. Ona. give him a drink of milk.”

“ By de Lor’Harry!” said Ona, rolling up her eyes until nothing but the whites were visible, “ nebber hear of such a ting long as 1 lib—gibbin’ hullsale robbers .drinks of milk in my clean kitchen! An’ I shan’t do it. ’Spect robbers gits thirsty as well as odder folks, dough.” And she handed him the milk, which he drank eagerly. “ Now go on,” said Miss Peppard. •.‘TFAydid you steal my pocket-book? and why, having stolen it, did you bring it back? Are you a thief?” “S’pose—l—am,” hestammered; “I don’t want to be no more. I wouldn’t, ’a took it a year ago, when my mother was alive; but she died, and father he went to prison soon after for beatin’ another man; and I hadn’t no friends; and it’s hard gittin’ along when your mother’s dead, and you hain’t no friends, and your father’s in prison.” “’Tain't soft, dat’s de fac’,” said Peteona, gravely. “So I fell in with a gang of bad fellers, but I never stole nothin’ but things to eat till yisterday. I come out of the House of Refuge two weeks ago ” “House of Refuse!” exclaimed Peteona, holding up her hands. “An’ a settin’ in my clean kitchen, on my clean 011-clof! Wot nex’?”

“ I was there for breakin’ a winder and sassin’ a cop,” said the boy, with a show of indignation, “ and nothin’ else, though they did try to make me out a reg’Tar bad un.” And then he went on, under the influence of Miss Peppard’s steady gaze: “And the fellers said I was a softy not to have the game as well as the name, and so 1 went into the store ’cause I seen a lot of folks there, and-1 stole your pocket-book. And—” dropping his eyes and his voice—“ there was a picter of a little baby in it.” “My Sister Polly's child!” cried Miss Peppard, her wrinkled cheeks beginning to glow. “Her onliest child—’cept five,” said Peteona.

“ And it looks like,” continued the boy, bursting into tears—“ it looks like —my—little —sister.” “Your little sister?” repeated Miss Peppard, her own eyes tilling with tears. “Is she— with her mother?” “’8 to be hoped she be,” said Ona, with a sniff, “orsome odder place whar she’ll be washed. Her brudder's dirty nufl for a hull fam’ly.” “She's in a place ten miles or more from here,” said the boy, “ with a woman who used to know mother. Mother gave her fifty dollars just afore she died. She managed to save it and hide it from father somehow, to keep Dolly till my aunt in California could send for her; but my aunt's dead, too, and I’m afraid Dolly’ll have to go in the Orphan Asylum, after all. Father don’t care nothin’ ’bout her. But if she does, if I’m a good boy, I can go to see her; but if Pm a thief— And when I saw that picture I said I wiUrbe good. It seemed as though the baby was a-lookin' at me and wantin’ me to kiss her. Nobody evpr kissed me but hdr**‘and my mother. Here's your pocket-book.” Miss Peppard took it from his hand, opened it, found its contents as he had described them, and then sat for full five minutes in deep thought. “ You want to be a good, honest boy,” she - said at last, “so as to be a credit instead of a shame to your baby sister?”

“ Yes,” answered the boy. , a “It’s mostly yes, ma'am, in dese parts,” corrected Ona. “ Well, I'll try you,” said Miss Peppard. “ You!”—starting from his chair. “ Yes, I. I want some plants and seeds from the store where you sto—took the pocketbook, and I am going to trust, you to get them for me. But before you go there, do you know any place where you can buy a suit of clothes, from shoes to hat, for a very little money ?' ’ “Yes, ma’am.” answered the boy, in a voice that already had,'a ring of hope in it. “ Secondhand Bobby’s?” .

“ Well, go to second-hand Robert’s, buy the clothes— By-the-bye, what is your name?” , “Dick Poplar.” theold you can take a bath?” “ S to be hoped hedo,” said Peteona. “ Yes, ma’am.” “ Take a bath, put on the newvlothes, throw”—with a slight motion of disgust—” the old ones away—” “’S to be hoped he will,” said Pcteona. “ Then go to the seed store and give them the note I will write for you. And here are two five-dollar bills.” “ An’ dar money is soon parted!” exclaimed Peteona. matter ’bout de. fust word.” '< But the bov fell on his knees before Miss Peppard and sobbed outright. ”An he 11 nebber come back ainy mo’,” sang Ona, at the top of her

voice, as she went about her work that afternoon after Dick's departure —“no, he'll nebbor come hack any mo’.” But he did. Just as the sun was sinking in the west, a nice-looking, dark-eyed, dark-haired boy, dressed tn a suit of gray clothes a little too large for him, and carrying a package in his arms, came up the garden path to the door of the mite of a cottags. It was Dick, so changed, Peteona scarcely knew him, and the package contained the seeds and onion sets and young lettuces and cabbages, and before dark he had planted them all, under the superintendence of Miss Peppard, in the mite of a garden, and Mrs. Brown had no chanoe of sending her “ compliments” that season. “ And now, ma’am,” said Dick, after supper, “I’ll go. I thank you ever so much, and I wish my mother had krown you.” “P’r’haps she knows her now," said Ona.

“AndlunZZbe a good boy—l will, judged. ” “With the help cf God,” said Miss Peppard, solemnly. “With the help of God,” repeated the boy, in a low voice. “ But I guess you’d better stay here to-night,” continued Miss Peppard. “You can sleep in the wood house. Peteona will make you up a comfortable bed there.” “Sha’n’t do no such ting!” said Peteona, defiantly. “ Ona!” reproved her mistress. “Till my disbes is washed, I mean, Miss Peppar’,” said Ona. “And then to-morrow morning you can start for that baby. I’ve always wanted a baby. Cats arid dogs and birds are well enougbin their way, but a baby is worth them all.” “Golly! now you're talkin’, Miss Peppar’ !” shouted Ona. I's always wanted a baby—a wile baby—too. Nigger babies ain’t much account. Jus’ as waluble to dar mudders, dough, I s’pose. Niggers is such fools!” “ And if you choose to stay in Summertown,” said Miss Peppard, “you may have a home here until you can better yourself. There’s plenty of work for you; and the youth upon whom we have depended for errands and garden help, etc., is ” “ A drefful smart, nice, perlite boy!” chimed in ’Ona; “ as lazy and sassy as he can lib. An’ I’ll call you in de mornin’ w’en de birds arise, an’ we’ll hab dat ar angel here in a jiffy; an’ won’t- de cat an’ dog an’ birds look pale w’en dar noses is outer j’int. But dar noses ’ll be as straight as ebber.” The very nextnightasweet baby girl with great blue eyes and fair curls sat upon Miss Peppard’s lap, looking wonderingly about, as she ate her supper of bread and milk, at Peteona ana the dog and the cat-and-birds, whose noses, were as straight as ever. And before long Dick Poplar became the most pop’lar—dreadful, 1 know, but 1 couldn’t help it—boy in that neighborhood, he was so clever, so obliging, and not a bit “sassy.” “ De Lor’ works in funny ways, sho’ enuf,” said Peteona, one April day, .about a year after the return of Miss Peppard’s pocket-book. “ Who’d b’lieve me and Miss Peppar’ ebber wanted Dick drug to de lock-up by de heels? An’ all de time he was a-bring-in’ me. an’ Miss Peppar’ de lubliest chunk ob sugar, de sweetest honey-bug of a chile dat ebber coaxed ole Peteona for ginger-snaps. She shall hab more, de Lor’ bress and sabe her!”—pouring them from the cake-box into the little uplifted apron. “Peteona ’ll bake dem de hull liblong day, for ebber an’ ebber, for de blue-eyed darlin’—wid a little time lef’ out for her odder work.” —Harper's Weekly.