Jessica’s First Prayer and Jessica’s Mother

Jessica’s First Prayer

Jessica’s Mother

Hesba Stretton

New York H. M. Caldwell Co. Publishers

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE COFFEE-STALL AND ITS KEEPER.

In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges which span the streets of London there could be seen, a few years ago, from five o’clock every morning until half-past eight, a tidily set out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which stood two large tin cans with a small fire of charcoal burning under each, so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their way to6 their daily toil. The coffee-stall was a favorite one, for besides being under shelter, which was of great consequence upon rainy mornings, it was also in so private a niche that the customers taking their out-of-door breakfast were not too much exposed to notice; and, moreover, the coffee-stall keeper was a quiet man, who cared only to serve the busy workmen without hindering them by any gossip. He was a tall, spare, elderly man, with a singularly solemn face and a manner which was grave and secret. Nobody knew either his name or dwelling-place; unless it might be the policeman who strode past the

coffee-stall every half-hour and nodded familiarly to the solemn man behind it. There were very few who cared to make any inquiries about him; but those who did could only discover that7 he kept the furniture of his stall at a neighboring coffee-house, whither he wheeled his trestle and board and crockery every day not later than half-past eight in the morning; after which he was wont to glide away with a soft footstep and a mysterious and fugitive air, with many backward and sidelong glances, as if he dreaded observation, until he was lost among the crowds which thronged the streets. No one had ever had the persevering curiosity to track him all the way to his house, or to find out his other means of gaining a livelihood; but in general his stall was surrounded by customers, whom he served with silent seriousness, and who did not grudge to pay him his charge for the refreshing coffee he supplied to them.

For several years the crowd of work-people8 had paused by the coffee-stall under the railway-arch, when one morning, in a partial lull of his business, the owner became suddenly aware of a pair of very bright dark eyes being fastened upon him and the slices of bread and butter on his board, with a gaze as hungry as that of a mouse which has been driven by famine into a trap. A thin and meagre face belonged to the eyes, which was half hidden by a mass of matted hair hanging over the forehead and down the neck—the only covering which the head or neck had; for a tattered frock, scarcely fastened together with broken strings, was slipping down over the shivering shoulders of the little girl. Stooping down to a basket behind his stall, he caught sight of two bare little feet curling up from the damp pavement, as the child lifted up first9 one and then other and laid them one over another to gain a momentary feeling of warmth. Whoever the wretched child was, she did not speak; only at every steaming cupful which he poured out of his

can her dark eyes gleamed hungrily, and he could hear her smack her thin lips as if in fancy she was tasting the warm and fragrant coffee.

“Oh, come now,” he said at last, when only one boy was left taking his breakfast leisurely, and he leaned over his stall to speak in a low and quiet tone, “why don’t you go away, little girl? Come, come; you’re staying too long, you know.”

“I’m just going, sir,” she answered, shrugging her small shoulders to draw her frock up higher about her neck; “only it’s raining cats and dogs outside; and mother’s been away all night,10 and she took the key with her; and it’s so nice to smell the coffee; and the police has left off worriting me while I’ve been here. He thinks I’m a customer taking my breakfast.” And the child laughed a shrill laugh of mockery at herself and the policeman.

“You’ve had no breakfast, I suppose,” said the coffee-stall keeper, in the same low and confidential voice, and leaning over his stall till his face nearly touched the thin, sharp features of the child.

“No,” she replied, coolly, “and I shall want my dinner dreadful bad afore I get it, I know. You don’t often feel dreadful hungry, do you, sir? I’m not griped yet, you know; but afore I taste my dinner it’ll be pretty bad, I tell you. Ah! very bad indeed!”

She turned away with a knowing nod,11 as much as to say she had one experience in life to which he was quite a stranger; but before she had gone half a dozen steps she heard the quiet voice calling to her in rather louder tones, and in an instant she was back at the stall.

“Slip in here,” said the owner, in a cautious whisper; “here’s a little coffee left and a few crusts. There. You must never come again, you know. I never give to beggars; and if you’d begged I’d have called the police. There; put your poor feet towards the fire. Now, aren’t you comfortable?”

The child looked up with a face of intense satisfaction. She was seated upon an empty basket, with her feet near the pan of charcoal, and a cup of steaming coffee on her lap; but her mouth was too full for her to reply except by a very deep nod, which expressed unbounded12 delight. The man was busy for a while packing up his crockery; but every now and then he stopped to look down upon her, and to shake his head.

“What’s your name?” he asked, at length; “but there, never mind! I don’t care what it is. What’s your name to do with me, I wonder?”

“It’s Jessica,” said the girl: “but mother and every body calls me Jess. You’d be tired of being called Jess, if you were me. It’s Jess here, and Jess there: and every body wanting me to go errands. And they think nothing of giving me smacks, and kicks, and pinches. Look here!”

Whether her arms were black and blue from the cold or from ill-usage he could not tell; but he shook his head again seriously and the child felt encouraged to go on.

13 “I wish I could stay here for ever and ever, just as I am!” she cried. “But you’re going away, I know; and I’m never to come again, or you’ll set the police on me!”

“Yes,” said the coffee-stall keeper very softly; and looking round to see if there were any other ragged children within sight, “if you’ll promise not to come again for a whole week, and not to tell any body else, you may come once more. I’ll give you one other treat. But you must be off now.”

“I’m off, sir,” she said, sharply; “but if you’ve a errand I could go on I’d do it all right, I would. Let me carry some of your things.”

“No, no,” cried the man; “you run away, like a good girl; and, mind! I’m not to see you again for a whole week.”

“All right,” answered Jess, setting14 off down the rainy street at a quick run, as if to show her willing agreement to the bargain; while the coffee-stall keeper, with many a cautious glance around him, removed his stock in trade to the coffee-house near at hand, and was seen no more for the rest of the day in the neighborhood of the railway-bridge.

CHAPTER II. JESSICA’S TEMPTATION.

Her part of the bargain Jessica faithfully kept; and though the solemn and silent man under the dark shadow of the bridge looked for her every morning as he served his customers, he caught no glimpse of her wan face and thin little frame. But when the appointed time was finished she presented herself at the stall, with her hungry eyes fastened again upon the piles of buns and bread and butter, which were fast disappearing before the demands of the buyers. The business was at its height, and the famished child stood quietly on one side16 watching for the throng to melt away. But as soon as the nearest church clock had chimed eight she drew a little nearer to the stall, and at a signal from its owner she slipped between the trestles of his stand and took up her former position on the empty basket. To his eyes she seemed even a little thinner, and certainly more ragged, than before; and he laid a whole bun, a stale one which was left from yesterday’s stock, upon her lap, as she lifted the cup of coffee to her lips with both her benumbed hands.

“What’s your name?” she asked, looking up to him with her keen eyes.

“Why,” he answered, hesitatingly, as if he was reluctant to tell so much of himself, “my christened name is Daniel.”

17 “And where do you live, Mr. Dan’el?” she inquired.

“Oh, come now!” he exclaimed, “if you’re going to be impudent, you’d better march off. What business is it of yours where I live? I don’t want to know where you live, I can tell you.”

“I didn’t mean no offence,” said Jess humbly; “only I thought I’d like to know where a good man like you lived. You’re a very good man, aren’t you, Mr. Dan’el?”

“I don’t know,” he answered uneasily; “I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are, you know,” continued Jess. “You make good coffee; prime! And buns too! And I’ve been watching you hundreds of times afore you saw me, and the police leaves you alone, and never tells you to move on.18 Oh, yes! you must be a very good man.”

Daniel sighed, and fidgeted about his crockery with a grave and occupied air, as if he were pondering over the child’s notion of goodness. He made good coffee, and the police left him alone! It was quite true; yet still as he counted up the store of pence which had accumulated in his strong canvas bag, he sighed again still more heavily. He purposely let one of his pennies fall upon the muddy pavement, and went on counting the rest busily, while he furtively watched the little girl sitting at his feet. Without a shade of change upon her small face she covered the penny with her foot and drew it in carefully towards her, while she continued to chatter fluently to him. For a moment a feeling of pain shot a pang through19 Daniel’s heart; and then he congratulated himself on having entrapped the young thief. It was time to be leaving now; but before he went he would make her move her bare foot and disclose the penny concealed beneath it, and then he would warn her never to venture near his stall again. This was her gratitude, he thought; he had given her two breakfasts and more

kindness than he had shown to any fellow-creature for many a long year, and at the first chance the young jade turned upon him and robbed him! He was brooding over it painfully in his mind when Jessica’s uplifted face changed suddenly, a dark flush crept over her pale cheeks, and the tears started to her eyes. She stooped down, and picking up the coin from among the mud she rubbed it bright and clean upon her20 rags and laid it upon the stall close to his hand, but without speaking a word. Daniel looked down upon her solemnly and searchingly.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Please, Mr. Dan’el,” she answered, “it dropped, and you didn’t hear it.”

“Jess,” he said sternly, “tell me all about it.”

“Oh, please,” she sobbed, “I never had a penny of my own but once; and it rolled close to my foot; and you didn’t see it; and I hid it up sharp; and then I thought how kind you’d been, and how good the coffee and buns are, and how you let me warm myself at your fire; and, please, I couldn’t keep the penny any longer. You’ll never let me come again, I guess.”

Daniel turned away for a moment, busying himself with putting his cups21 and saucers into the basket, while Jessica stood by trembling, with the large tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. The snug, dark corner, with its warm fire of charcoal and its fragrant smell of coffee, had been a paradise to her for these two brief spans of time; but she had been guilty of the sin which would drive her from it. All beyond the railway-arch the streets stretched away, cold and dreary, with no friendly face to meet hers and no warm cups of coffee to refresh her; yet she was only lingering sorrowfully to hear the words spoken which should forbid her to return to this pleasant spot. Mr. Daniel turned round at last, and met her tearful gaze, with a look of strange emotion upon his own solemn face.

“Jess,” he said, “I could never have done it myself. But you may come here22 every Wednesday morning, as this is a Wednesday, and there’ll always be a cup of coffee for you.”

She thought he meant that he could not have hidden the penny under his foot, and she went away a little saddened and subdued, notwithstanding her great delight in the expectation of such a treat every week; while Daniel, pondering over the struggle that must have passed through her childish mind, went on his way, from time to time shaking his head, muttering to himself, “I couldn’t have done it myself: I never could have done it myself.”

CHAPTER III. AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS.

Week after week, through the three last months of the year, Jessica appeared every Wednesday at the coffee-stall and, after waiting patiently till the close of the breakfasting business, received her pittance from the charity of her new friend. After a while Daniel allowed her to carry some of his load to the coffee-house, but he never suffered her to follow him farther, and he was always particular to watch her out of sight before he turned off through the intricate mazes of the streets in the direction of his own home. Neither did he encourage24 her to ask him any more questions; and often but very few words passed between them during Jessica’s breakfast time.

As to Jessica’s home, she made no secret of it, and Daniel might have followed her any time he pleased. It was a single room, which had once been a hay-loft, over the stable of an old inn, now in use for two or three donkeys, the property of costermongers dwelling in the court about it. The mode of entrance was by a wooden ladder, whose rungs were crazy and broken, and which led up through a trap-door in the floor of the loft. The interior of the home was as desolate and comfortless as that of the stable below, with only a litter of straw for the bedding and a few bricks and boards for the furniture. Every thing that could be pawned had disappeared25 long ago, and Jessica’s mother often lamented that she could not thus dispose of her child. Yet Jessica was hardly a burden to her. It was a long time since she had taken any care to provide her with food or clothing, and the girl had to earn or beg for herself the meat which kept a scanty life within her. Jess was the drudge and errand-girl of the court; and what with being cuffed

and beaten by her mother, and overworked and ill-used by her numerous employers, her life was a hard one. But now there was always Wednesday morning to count upon and look forward to; and by and by a second scene of amazed delight opened upon her.

Jessica had wandered far away from home in the early darkness of a winter’s evening, after a violent outbreak of her drunken mother, and she was still sobbing26 now and then with long-drawn sobs of pain and weariness, when she saw a little way before her the tall, well-known figure of her friend Mr. Daniel. He was dressed in a suit of black, with a white neckcloth, and he was pacing with brisk yet measured steps along the lighted streets. Jessica felt afraid of speaking to him, but she followed at a little distance, until presently he stopped before the iron gates of a large building and, unlocking them, passed on to the arched doorway, and with a heavy key opened the folding-doors and entered in. The child stole after him but paused for a few minutes, trembling upon the threshold, until the gleam of a light lit up within tempted her to venture a few steps forward, and to push a little way open an inner door, covered with crimson baize, only so far as to enable27 her to peep through at the inside. Then, growing bolder by degrees, she crept through herself, drawing the

door to noiselessly behind her. The place was in partial gloom, but Daniel was kindling every gaslight, and each minute lit it up in more striking grandeur. She stood in a carpeted aisle, with high oaken pews on each side almost as black as ebony. A gallery of the same dark old oak ran round the walls, resting upon massive pillars, behind one of which she was partly concealed, gazing with eager eyes at Daniel, as he mounted the pulpit steps and kindled the lights there, disclosing to her curious delight the glittering pipes of an organ behind it. Before long the slow and soft-footed chapel-keeper disappeared for a moment or two into a vestry; and Jessica, availing herself of his short absence, stole28 silently up under the shelter of the dark pews until she reached the steps of the organ loft, with its golden show. But at this moment Mr. Daniel appeared again, arrayed in a long gown of black serge; and as she stood spell-bound gazing at the strange appearance of her patron, his eyes fell upon her, and he also was struck speechless for a

minute, with an air of amazement and dismay upon his grave face.

“Come, now,” he exclaimed, harshly, as soon as he could recover his presence of mind, “you must take yourself out of this. This isn’t any place for such as you. It’s for ladies and gentlemen; so you must run away sharp before any body comes. How did you ever find your way here?”

He had come very close to her, and bent down to whisper in her ear, looking29 nervously round to the entrance all the time. Jessica’s eager tongue was loosened.

“Mother beat me,” she said, “and turned me into the streets, and I see you there, so I followed you up. I’ll run away this minute, Mr. Daniel; but it’s a nice place. What do the ladies and gentlemen do when they come here? Tell me, and I’ll be off sharp.”

“They come here to pray,” whispered Daniel.

“What is pray?” asked Jessica.

“Bless the child!” cried Daniel, in perplexity. “Why, they kneel down in those pews; most of them sit, though; and the minister up in the pulpit tells God what they want.”

Jessica gazed into his face with such an air of bewilderment that a faint30 smile crept over the sedate features of the pew-opener.

“What is a minister and God?” she said; “and do ladies and gentlemen want any thing? I thought they’d every thing they wanted, Mr. Daniel.”

“Oh!” cried Daniel, “you must be off, you know. They’ll be coming in a minute, and they’d be shocked to see a ragged little heathen like you. This is the pulpit, where the minister stands and preaches to ’em; and there are the pews, where they sit to listen to him, or to go to sleep, may be; and that’s the organ to play music to their singing. There, I’ve told you every thing, and you must never come again; never.”

“Mr. Daniel,” said Jessica, “I don’t know nothing about it. Isn’t there a dark little corner somewhere that I could hide in?”

31 “No, no,” interrupted Daniel impatiently; “we couldn’t do with such a little heathen, with no shoes or bonnet on. Come, now, it’s only a quarter to the time, and somebody will be here in a minute. Run away, do!”

Jessica retraced her steps slowly to the crimson door, casting many a longing look backwards; but Mr. Daniel stood at the end of the aisle, frowning upon her whenever she glanced behind. She gained the lobby at last, but already some one was approaching the chapel door, and beneath the lamp at the gate stood one of her natural enemies, a policeman. Her heart beat fast, but she was quickwitted, and in another instant she spied a place of concealment behind one of the doors, into which she crept for safety until the policeman passed on upon his beat.