The ferry-house where the policeman had found Glory and her “Angel” was also the terminus of a great railway. Beyond the waiting-room were iron gates, always swinging to and fro, for the passage of countless1 travelers; and from the gates stretched rows of shining tracks. Puffing2 engines moved in and out upon these, drawing mighty3 carriages that rumbled4 after with a deafening5 noise. Gatemen shouted the names of the outgoing trains, whistles blew, trunk-vans rattled6, and on every side excited people called to one another some confusing direction.
Glory, with Bonny Angel in her arms, had hurried up to one of these iron gates, feeling that if she could but dash through and place that barrier between herself and the too-faithful policeman, she would be free at last. But the chance of so doing was long delayed. That particular gateman appeared to prevent anybody passing him who did not show a bit of printed cardboard, as he called, “Tickets! have your tickets ready!”
And, oh, in what a glorious voice he so directed them!
“My heart! If I could holler goobers like he does them car-trains, folks’d jest have to buy, whether er no!” thought the little peddler, so rapt in listening that she forgot everything else; till, at one louder yell than all, the child in her arms shrieked7 in terror. At which the gateman whirled round, leaving a space behind him, and Glory darted8 through.
Neither the official nor she knew that she was doing a prohibited thing; for he supposed she was hurrying to overtake some older party of travelers and she knew nothing of station rules. Once past this gate, she found herself in dangerous nearness to the many trains and could walk neither this way nor that without some guard shouting after her, “Take care, there!”
She dared not put Bonny Angel down even if the child would have consented, and, continually, the rumblings and whistlings grew more confusing. In comparison with this great shed, Elbow Lane, that Miss Bonnicastle had found so noisy, seemed a haven9 of quietude and Glory heartily10 wished herself back in it.
There must be a way out of this dreadful place, and the bewildered little girl tried to find it. Yet there behind her rose a high brick wall in which there was no doorway11, on the left were the waiting or moving trains and their shouting guards, and on the right that iron fence with its rolling gates and opposing gatemen, and, also, that policeman who would have taken Bonny Angel from her. Before her rose the north-side wall of the building, that, at first glance, seemed as unbroken a barrier as its counterpart on the south; but closer inspection12 discovered a low, open archway through which men occasionally passed.
“Whatever’s beyond here can’t be no worse,” thought Take-a-Stitch, and hurried through the opening. But once beyond it, she could only exclaim, “Why, Bonny Angel, it’s just the same, all tracks an’ cars, though ’tain’t got no roof over! My, I don’t know how to go–an’ I wish they would keep still a minute an’ let a body think!”
Even older people would have been confused in such a place, with detached engines here and there, snorting and puffing back and forth13 in a seemingly senseless way, its many tracks, and its wider outdoor resemblance to the great shed she had left.
“Guess this is what Posy Jane ’d call ‘hoppin’ out the fryin’-pan inter14 the fire,’ Bonny Angel. It’s worse an’ more of it, an’ I want to get quit of it soon’s I can. ’Tain’t no ways likely grandpa’s hereabouts, an’―My, but you’re a hefty little darlin’! If I wasn’t afraid to let you, I’d have ye walk a spell. But you might get runned over by some them ingines what won’t stay still no place an’ I dastn’t, you dear, precious sweetness, you! I shan’t put you down till I drop, ’less we get out o’ this sudden.”
But even as she clasped her beloved burden the closer, Bonny Angel set this decision at naught15 by kicking herself free from the girl too small and weary to prevent; and once upon the ground, off she set along a particularly shining track, cooing and shrieking16 her delight at her own mischievousness18.
“Oh! oh! oh!” screamed Glory, and started in pursuit. Of course, she could run much faster than her “Guardian,” but that tiny person had a way of darting19 sidewise, here and there, and thus eluding20 capture just as it seemed certain.
Fortunately, the direction she had chosen led outward and away from the maze21 of steel lines, and, finding no harm come of it and the child so happy, Glory gave up trying to catch and simply followed her. Just then, too, there came into view the sight of green tree-tops and a glimpse of the river, and these encouraged her to proceed. Indeed, she was now more afraid to go back than to go forward, and Bonny Angel’s strange contentment in the care of a stranger, like herself, renewed a belief that she was other than mere22 mortal, and so above the common needs of babies.
Reasoned this “Little Mother” of Elbow Lane, “If she was just plain baby an’ not no ‘Angel,’ she’d a-cried fer her ma, an’ she hain’t never, not onct. She hain’t cried fer crusts, neither, like Meg-Laundress’s twins is always doin’. ’Course, them cakes what th’ Apple Kate give her was sweet an’ a lot of ’em. The crumbs24 I et when Bonny Angel fired the bag away was jest like sugar. My, prime! Some day, when I get rich, an’ they ain’t nobody else a-wantin’ ’em, I’ll buy myself some cakes ezackly like them was. I will so–if they ain’t nobody else. But, there, Glory Beck, you quit thinkin’ ’bout eatin’ ’less first you know, you’ll be hungry an’ your stummick’ll get that horrid25 feel again. Hi, I b’lieve it’s comin’ a’ready an’ yet I had that splendid breakfast!”
Somehow, the idea of food occurred to this trio of travelers at one and the same time. Bo’sn crept up to his mistress and rubbed his sides against her legs, dumbly pleading for rest and refreshment26. He was very tired, for a dog, and as confused as Take-a-Stitch by these strange surroundings, and acted as if unwilling27 to go further afield. At every possible chance now, he would lie down on the ground and remain there until his companions were so far in advance that he feared to be lost himself. Surely he felt that this long road was the wrong road, where he would listen in vain for the tap-tap of his master’s cane28 and the scent29 of his master’s footsteps.
As for Bonny Angel, she suddenly paused in the midst of her mischievous17 gaiety, put up her lip and began to howl as loudly and dismally30 as any common Lane baby could have done. Then when her new nurse hurried to her, distressed31 and self-reproachful for not having carried her all the way, down the little one flung herself prone32 in the dirt and rolled and kicked most lustily.
Glory did her utmost, but she could neither quiet nor lift the struggling “Angel,” and finally she ceased her efforts and, with arms akimbo and the wisdom of experience coolly addressed her charge:
“See here, Bonny Angel! You’re the sweetest thing in the world, but that’s jest spunk33, that is. You’re homesick, I s’pose, an’ tired an’ hungry, an’ want your ma, an’ all them bad things together makes you feel ye don’t know how! I feel that-a-way myself, a-times, but I don’t go rollin’ in mud puddles34 an’ sp’ilin’ my nice silk coats, I don’t. I wouldn’t besmutch myself so not fer nothin’. My, but you be a sight! An’ only this mornin’ ’t ever was you was that lovely!”
When Take-a-Stitch treated Bonny Angel as she would have treated any other infant, the result proved her wisdom. As soon as comforting ceased, the child’s rebellion to it also ceased; and when, shocked by its condition, the girl stooped to examine the once dainty coat, its small wearer scrambled35 to her feet, lifted her tear-stained face to be kissed, smiled dazzlingly, and cried merrily, “Bonny come!”
“Oh, you surely are an ‘Angel,’ you beautifullest thing!” said Glory, again raising the child in her arms and starting onward36 once more. She had no idea whither they were going and Bonny Angel had ceased to point the way with her tiny forefinger37, but she cuddled her curly head on her nurse’s shoulder and presently fell asleep.
The tracks diminished in number as they proceeded till they came to a point where but few remained. Some ran straight on along the river bank, though this was hidden by outlying small buildings; and some branched westward38 around the bluff39 whereon grew those green trees and sloped the terraces seen from the boat. Here, after a halt of admiration40, Glory found it growing exceedingly dark, and wondered if it had already become nightfall.
“It seems forever an’ ever since we started, but I didn’t think ’twas nigh bedtime. An’, oh, my! Where will we sleep, an’ shall I ever, ever find my grandpa!”
It was, indeed, nearing the end of the day but it was a mass of heavy clouds which had so suddenly darkened the world, clouds so black and threatening that the workmen scattered41 along the tracks, busy with pick and shovel42, began to throw down their tools and make for the nearest shelter. One man, with a coat over his head to protect him from the already falling drops hurried past Glory, where she stood holding Bonny Angel, and advised:
“Best not tarry, children, but scud43 for home. There’s a terrible storm coming.” But he did not stop to see that they followed his advice nor inquire if any home they had.
Poor Glory’s heart sank. She was not afraid of any storm for herself though she had never heard wind roar and wail44 as this did now, but how could she bear to have her “Guardian” suffer. Even Meg’s healthy youngsters sometimes had croup and frightened their mother “outen her seventy senses,” and the croup usually followed a prolonged playing in flooded gutters45 during a rain storm.
“I must find a place! Oh, there must be a ............