WILLIE THE WAIF

BY MINIE HERBERT

FULLY ILLUSTRATED

LONDON S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME. 7

II. A FRIEND IN NEED

III. THE MISSION SCHOOL

IV. A VISITOR FOR WILLIE

V. THE CHRISTMAS TREAT

VI. LITTLE BERTRAM

WILLIE THE WAIF

—-o—-

CHAPTER I

RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME

One hot summer's day the sun was trying to shine into a poor, miserable alley in London. There are some places in that great city where even the sun cannot find its way, and Primrose Place was one of them.

It was a very narrow court, and the houses on both sides were so high that the people who lived there had never seen the sunbeams shining on the pavement or glinting on the windows. But even supposing the sun could have shone into the court, it would not have been able to pierce into the rooms, for the windows were too dirty. Most of them were broken and patched with brown paper. The doors of the houses always stood open, so that people could go in and out without knocking. Very few of them could afford to pay enough rent to have two rooms all to themselves, so that a whole family was generally huddled into one room, in which they had to live during the day and sleep at night. But most of the daytime was spent by the inhabitants of Primrose Place out of doors, lounging about on the pavement, or sitting on the doorsteps.

On this day, if you had walked down the court, you would have seen groups of women standing round the doors gossiping, with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and nothing on their heads. This was the way they all spent their time when they were not in the beershops, one of which stood, as usual, at each corner of the court. These women never had time to clean their rooms, even if they had known they were dirty. But this fact they did not know. They had never seen them any other way and they had become so used to their surroundings that they never noticed the dirt.

The children ran about the court or played in the gutter, barefooted and bareheaded. Poor little things! there was nobody in Primrose Place to love or care for them, or teach them to be good. Their mothers would not be troubled by them, and the children kept out of their way as much as possible, and, of course, got into that of every body else. This was the cause of a great deal of quarrelling among the mothers, because, although they didn't care for their children themselves, they wouldn't let any one else find fault with them. At the present time three or four boys were playing at buttons. One of them accused another of cheating, which he denied. This led to angry words, then to blows, when suddenly one of the mothers called out:—-"'Ere, you Tom, just you leave my Bill alone, or I'll warm yer!" This was taken up by Tom's mother, and the women fought the children's battle. In such scenes the children of Primrose Place grew up—-miserable, dirty, and generally neglected.

Sitting alone on the pavement that evening, huddled close to the wall, was a little boy of six or seven years of age. His fair hair hung in tangled curls all round his head. His clothes, which had never been made for him, were much too large, and so ragged that they could scarcely hold together. As he sat there, with his little bare feet stretched out on the pavement, he seemed to be watching for somebody, for he kept continually; looking towards the end of the court which opened out on to the main road. All at once he started up eagerly as [the one for whom he had been watching turned the corner.] This was his brother, a boy about ten years of age, a tired, miserable-looking little fellow, carrying in his hand a broom. He had been spending the day trying to earn a few pence by sweeping a crossing. His anxious face changed the instant he caught sight of his little brother, for these two were all the world to each other.

"I'm so glad you've come 'ome Bob," said Willie. "I've been waitin' such a long time for yer."

"Poor little chap! I'm a bit late to-day, and I s'pose yer feel lonely. Ain't yer 'ad no one to play with?"

"No," he replied. "All the boys tease and make such a noise. It makes my 'ead ache. But it's all right now you've come 'ome," he added cheerfully.

Bob looked down at the fragile little figure at his side and a great lump seemed to rise in his throat, almost choking him, as he thought how thin Willie was; and he wished that he could make haste and grow up to be a man, so that he could earn a lot of money and buy nice things for him to eat. "But s'pose Willie should die before then!" The thought was too dreadful, and he put it away directly it came.

"See, Willie," he said, "what I've got for yer!" and he held up a large penny bun before the child.

Willie clapped his hands. "Oh, Bob, is that for me, really? Let's sit down 'ere and eat it."

The child sat down on the kerbstone, pulled his brother down beside him, and broke the bun in halves. One half he handed to Bob, and would take no refusal. So the two children soon devoured it between them.

"I say, Bob," said Willie, when they had finished, "'ave yer 'ad a good day to-day?"

"No," said Bob sadly. "Yer see there's no mud about and when there's no mud the people don't take any notice of yer——"

"Oh, dear!" said Willie. "Father'll whack yer. I wish yer 'adn't bought me the bun."

"I don't, care," responded the other wearily "He may whack me if 'e likes, it don't matter, you shan't be 'ungry if I can 'elp it. Is father indoors?"

"Yes," said Willie, beginning to cry, "and I'm so frightened. 'E 'it me this morning. I dunno what's the matter. 'E's been awful angry all day, and now 'e'll beat you. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

Bob's face flushed, and he clenched his hands. For himself he didn't care, but he did care when anything hurt Willie. He couldn't stand that, and he wouldn't. He sat still for a moment lost in thought. At last he sprang up, saying:—-"Come on, Willie, we won't go 'ome to-night, we'll find somewhere to sleep. Father shan't 'it yer again. We'll go right away."

Willie got up willingly. He had implicit faith in his brother. Whatever Bob said or did was sure to be right. He followed him without a word as Bob led the way up one street and down another, till his little legs began to ache. But it didn't seem as though they could stop, for every time they sat down on a doorstep the policeman came and told them to "Move on!" At last Bob turned into the park, and they sat down under a tree, when Willie soon fell fast asleep. Bob laid the tired little head against his shoulder, and although he became cramped with sitting so long in one position, he would not move for fear of waking him.

As he sat there he naturally began to think. What were they going to do? Whatever happened he would take care of Willie. He would have to find another crossing, and Willie would have to go with him. At any rate they would always be together, and nobody should hit Willie again. He knew his father wouldn't come to look for them. He would be only too glad to be rid of them. Were all fathers like his? he wondered. He didn't think so, because he had seen some children running along by the side of their father, and they even laughed and looked as though they were glad. He laughed sometimes at some of the queer things Willie said, but he never laughed if his father was there. No, they couldn't all be alike.

As he sat there thinking, it had become quite dark, and presently he heard the park-keeper calling, "All out!" Very gently he roused the little sleeper, and again they trudged along, on and on, till at last they found themselves at Covent Garden Market, and there Bob resolve to stay for the night. They crept into an empty barrel, and locked in each other's arms they were soon fast asleep.

CHAPTER II

A FRIEND IN NEED

The two boys were awake early next for business begins early in Covent Garden, and they soon had to leave the shelter of their barrel, for barrels had to be used for other purposes than to serve as bedrooms for little boys. Besides, Bob felt that he had no time now that he had Willie to provide for.

"Come, Willie," he said, "we must have a wash the fust thing, and then we must earn some money to buy our breakfast with."

"Why, where can we wash?" asked Willie.

"Oh, I know a fust-rate place," answered Rob. "I think it was just made for boys like you and me wot ain't got no 'ome."

Willie placed his hand in his brother's, and off the two boys ran, until they reached Trafalgar Square. Willie shouted with glee at the sight of so much water. Never had he enjoyed himself so much as he did that morning as he splashed about in the water, and never had he felt so clean as he did when he had finished.

"Now," said Bob, "jist you run up and down 'ere as fast as you can; yer'll soon dry."

Willie did as he was told, and soon felt dry and quite hungry; but he was a thoughtful little fellow, and determined to wait bravely until Bob could get something for him to eat.

"Are yer dry, Willie?" asked Bob.

"Should jist think I am," replied Willie; "feel me."

"Come on, then; let's go and see if we can find some work. Ain't yer 'ungry?"

"Little." said Willie briefly.

Dame Fortune was kind to these poor little waifs this morning, for they had not gone far on their travels when Willie's sharp eye spied something on the ground. Eagerly he ran forward, and picked up a small silver coin, which he held up with high glee for his brother to see.

"Why, Willie," exclaimed Bob, "you are lucky! That's a real silver sixpence. Now you shall have a jolly good breakfast."

"Oh, yes," said Willie, "I am 'ungry. Ain't yer Bob?"

With light hearts the two boys went on, talking eagerly as to how the sixpence should be spent. To these two poor little street arabs it seemed almost unlimited wealth, for never in their short lives had they had so much money to spend. Bob was determined to give Willie a treat, so, without saying where they were going, he led the way to St. James's Park, where they found a man in charge of a stall, with a cow standing near by. With a very important air Bob marched up to the man, and asked for two glasses of milk. The man looked at them rather suspiciously. In their ragged clothes they looked very different from most of the people who came to buy milk.

"Have you any money?" he asked.

"'Course we 'ave," answered Bob proudly. "Show 'im, Willie."

Willie held up his hand and showed the man the shining coin.

"Why, where, did you get that?" asked the man. That's a lot of money for a little chap like you to have."

"I found it," said Willie, "and now we're goin' to 'ave some breakfast, ain't we, Bob?"

The children ate their meal ravenously, the man watching them meanwhile.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked when they had finished.

"Find a crossin', fust thing," answered Bib.

"Well, good luck to you," said the man.

But Bob did not find it very easy work. It had been a dry season, and the crossings were not muddy, so that there was very little to do. One or two people, attracted by Willie's sweet face, gave him a copper, and just before dinner a gentleman asked Bob to hold his horse, for which he gave him threepence; and so they dragged on during the day, but it was very hot, and poor little Willie soon got tired.

"Never mind, Willie," said Bob, "we'll go and sit in the park again presently. Let's stay a little longer."

So Willie sat down on a doorstep and waited while Bob tried to earn a little more. But at last he gave up in despair, and, taking Willie's hand, they turned off into the park. Bob brought some bread-and-cheese from his pocket, and with a drink of water from the fountain, they made their evening meal.

"I wonder if father'll try to find us," said Willie. "You won't ever let me go back, will yer, Bob?"

"Not if I knows it," said Bob. "Yer'll 'ave to be my kid now, Willie; some day yer shall 'ave a broom o' yer own. I'll 'ave to teach yer the bizness."

Willie clapped his hands delightedly.

"That'll be jolly! Then I shall be able to earn some money."

That night, and many succeeding ones, were spent by the children in the open air. Sometimes under archways or on doorsteps, and sometimes in the friendly shelter of the old barrels. While the summer lasted, and the nights were dry and warm, Bob did not mind, he thought it would not hurt Willie, but when the cold weather began it made him very anxious.

"Why don't yer try my place where I sleep?" said another crossing-sweeper to him one day, when he told him his trouble. "The little 'un 'ud keep warm there." And he painted in glowing colours the glories of the cheap lodging-house where he had slept the night before.

"'Ow much?" asked Bob.

"Tuppence a 'ead," was the reply.

So Bob determined if he could possibly earn money that Willie should have a roof over his head that night. By the time the day's work was ended he found he had just sixpence in his pocket. He thought he would spend two of the pennies for their supper and send Willie into the lodging-house alone. Then he would have two pennies left for their breakfast.

But little Willie would not hear of any such arrangement. "No, Bob," he said piteously, "don't make me go away from yer. Let me stay with yer to-night; I don't mind bein' cold."

But to this Bob would not consent. If Willie would not go in alone, why, he must go with him. Perhaps he would get a job early to-morrow, and that would pay for their breakfast. But it was a wretched night the children spent; the place was with men, some of whom crowding round the fire were trying to cook their suppers, while others were quarrelling in different parts of the room. The children lay locked in each other's arms too frightened to move, as the loud, angry voices fell upon their ears, and it was late at night before the noise ceased and they were able to sleep.

They were wakened early in the morning, for some of the men were up and off almost before daybreak; and Bob thought he had better be on the move too, for money must be earned somehow before Willie could have his breakfast.

They were just about to start when they heard the voice of the landlady calling to them. She had noticed how pinched and starved they looked when they came in the night before and felt sorry for them.

"Come in here, little 'uns," she said, putting her head out of the room door. "Bless me, you look famished. Got any breakfast?"

"No," said Bob; "we was going to see if we could earn some money, so's we could buy some."

"Where's yer mother?" she asked shortly.

"She's been dead a long while," answered Bob.

"Yes," chimed in Willie. "Mother's dead, and we've runned away from father. He beat us."

"Poor little chap!" said the woman, looking at the younger boy. And then she made him sit by the fire, while she poured out two cups of steaming hot coffee. It was very weak, hardly more than coloured water, but to the little waifs it was the most delicious thing they had tasted for months, and as they drank their coffee and ate their bread and butter, the woman's heart warmed towards them. She smiled several times at Willie's chatter, as he told of the life on the streets.

"Soon's we can get enuf money," he said, "Bob'll buy me a broom, then I'll 'elp."

"Wouldn't you like to help now?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "but brooms cost a lot o' money."

"So they do," said the woman. "Besides, you're not big enough yet, but you could sell some matches, couldn't you? See, I'll lend you this sixpence to get some with," and then she told Bob the best place to buy them, and how his little brother was to sell them.

Willie's eyes gleamed with delight, but all he could say was, "Oh, Bob!"

The little fellow proved a splendid salesman. However ragged his clothes might be, his face was always clean, for the boys never missed their morning wash in Trafalgar Square, and he found several customers, who were attracted by his bright face and cheery voice as he called out "Box o' lights, sir! box o' lights!" and his happiness reached its height when he was able to put into Bob's hand quite a heap of pennies, the result of his morning's efforts.

When the evening came they made their way back to the lodging-house, buying, on their way, half a loaf and some cheese to take in for their supper. Bob had a good day himself so that he had managed to save threepence towards paying back the sixpence their kind friend had lent them in the morning, and it was with a face flushed with pride that he offered it to her.

"No, laddie," she said; "wait until you can afford it better."

"Please take it," he urged. "We've done well to-day, Willie and me."

So Mrs. Blair took the money, but she insisted on their lying down in a corner of her room, instead of going into the common kitchen.

"And you must come every night," she said. "I've been thinking to-day that if I had a little boy of my own I should like one with a face like Willie's. Bless him!" And the kind woman kissed the child tenderly.

"That was nice," said the child. "Nobody ever did that afore."

So the two children were always sure of a shelter for the night. Sometimes they were gone in the morning before Mrs. Blair was about, but if not, she always put fresh water into her tea or coffee-pot and gave them a hot drink. She was a very poor woman herself and it was as much as she could do for the little ones. But she did it gladly.

CHAPTER III

THE MISSION SCHOOL

The children were not always so successful as on the day when Willie first began to sell his matches. Sometimes, indeed, they took scarcely anything, and poor little Willie would get tired and faint through having to go all day with nothing eat.

One day Bob saw a gentleman jump off his horse and look for some one to hold it while he went into a shops. He darted up to him and asked to be allowed to do it.

"You don't look very big, my lad," said the gentleman; "but you may try. Don't let him run away."

Bob found it hard work, for the gentleman was a long time, and the pony was restive, but he was a plucky little chap and would not give in. The gentleman had been keeping his eye on him through the shop-window, and when he came out he said—"Well done, my boy! You'll make a fine man some day," and he thrust a shilling into the boy's hand.

Bob was overjoyed with his good fortune as he showed it to Willie. "See 'ere, Willie," he said. "We'll 'ave a tuck-in to-night." And on the way to Mrs. Blair's they stood some time before a pastrycook's, trying to make up their minds which of the good things they should buy. First they thought they would like one thing and then another, but at last decided upon some meat pies, which, nicely arranged in the window, looked very tempting to the hungry boys.

Mrs. Blair was delighted to hear of their success. Handing her the change, Bob said—-

"Please'm, will yer mind this money for me?" He had long before paid her the remaining three-pence that he owed.

"'Course I will," she said. "Are you saving up?"

"Yes'm; you see it's gettin' cold now, and Willie's clothes is awful thin. I want to git 'im some more."

"So they are," she answered. "Yours too, I think."

"Oh, them don't matter," he replied. "But Willie's on'y a little chap; I must take care on 'im."

Mrs. Blair was often touched when she noticed this boy's devotion to his little brother. He never seemed to care what hardships he went through himself, but Willie must be shielded at all costs.

It took a long time to save up the required sum, but at length Bob managed it, and one night the boy came in with an old coat and a pair of shoes tucked under his arm. Of course the coat was not a very good fit, and the shoes were too large: but Bob had picked up the two at an old clothes-shop for two shillings, and they were the best he could do. At any rate, they were whole, and they would keep Willie warm.

It was a miserably foggy evening in November. The roads were frightfully dirty, and Bob worked with all his might to keep the crossing clean; but the people all seemed in too much of a hurry to take any notice of the little sweeper, and Willie fared no better with his matches. Fairly worn out and tired, the little fellow began to cry.