Golden Days for Boys and Girls Part 12

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MAMIE'S LETTER TO HEAVEN.

BY J. W. WATSON, AUTHOR OF "BEAUTIFUL SNOW."

An humble room in a tenement house, Four stories above the street, Where a scanty fire, a scanty light, And a scanty larder meet; A woman sits at her daily toil, Plying the needle and thread; Her face is pallid with want and care, And her hand as heavy as lead.

There she sits with her weary thought, While the tears drop full and fast; There she sits and st.i.tches away, With her memory in the past; Beside her, perched on her little stool, Sits Mamie, a six-year-old, Who says she is never hungry at all, And never admits she is cold.

There she sits and chatters away, Not seeing her mother's tears; "Mamma, 'tis a month since winter came, And I think to me it appears That the Lord will never find us out, If He's anything to give, Unless we can, some way, let Him know The street and the number we live.

"You see, mamma, last winter He pa.s.sed, While papa was sick in bed; He doesn't know we are here, mamma, And He doesn't know papa is dead; And so it happened all winter long We didn't have anything nice, And so I think it would only be fair If He came this winter twice.

"Do you 'member, mamma, that little, old man Who gave me the bright, new cent?

Well, it wouldn't buy much to eat, mamma, And it would not pay for the rent; So I bought a sheet of paper, mamma, And I've written a letter in print-- It's written to heaven direct, mamma, And I've given Him just a hint.

"Shall I read it aloud to you, mamma?

Yes! Well, this is what I have said: 'Dear Lord, my name is Mamie St. Clair, And dear, darling papa is dead; I live forty-four in the street they call Fourth, And the cold of the winter is here; My mamma is poor, and I go to school, And I hope you will send this year.

"'I hope you will send mamma a new dress Of something that's warm and nice, A paper of flour, some loaves of bread, And a couple of pounds of rice; And dear, loving Lord, do, if you feel rich, You could send her some shoes to wear, And two or three pounds of beef for soup, Or anything else you can spare.

"'I've heard my dear mamma say many a time That a chicken would do her much good, And so, dear Lord, if chickens is cheap, A chicken also, if you could; With three pails of coal, if it isn't too much, And some stuff for mamma's lame knee, And oh, my dear Lord, pray don't think me mean, But a dear little dolly for me.'

"That's all, my dear mamma, and now let me run And send it to heaven at once, For if He don't get it by Christmas time, He surely will think me a dunce."

The letter was posted, the letter was scanned, With numberless grins by the men Whose duty it was to a.s.sort all the waifs That came from the wonderful pen.

"Now where's the dear Lord?" said one of these men; "That's me," said another, quite grave.

"Here's a letter, then!"--tossing the missive to him, "And a twopenny stamp you will save."

The letter was opened, the letter was read, There were very few tearless eyes; The reader looked round on the silent group, And then, with a nod, he cries:

"Now, boys, there is something in this that I like-- It's nature right straight up to win, And we've all of us got to be lords right here-- So here is my dot to begin."

The dollars flew down on the table like snow, They came from the crowd's great heart, A letter was written by proxy and signed, The proposer to play the part.

And so it came off upon one winter night That there happened this strange affair; A tapping came soft at Mamie's door, And a very old man stood there; He was clad from his head to his feet so warm, And his beard it was long and white.

"Good-even!" he said, as he pushed in a box Then vanished quite out of their sight.

They were speechless, and only could stare at the box Directed to Mamie St. Clair, From "The Lord in Heaven." What did it all mean?

And a letter beside was there-- A letter from heaven read: "Be a good girl, And never do anything ill; Love mamma as well as you do to-day."

And a fifty-dollar bill.

If I wrote from now till the crack of doom, I could tell no more than this.

It was all packed down in that wonderful box, And the dolly--oh, gracious! what bliss!

And in time that letter to heaven direct Sent many and many a friend, And perhaps a new papa--who knows?--may be sent By heaven itself, in the end.

Striking out for Themselves.

BY F. H. SWEET.

"Reckon we'll get 'em burned out by Tuesday week, Tom, and be ready for Pylant's oranges. Suppose the old fellow will want us to take pay in town lots, though."

"He'll get left if he does;" and the lad by the fire removed the skillet of fried bacon from the coals and put the coffee-pot in its place. "I'm willing to work out a five-acre lot, but don't want any towns. Say, Dave, what do you think of the party going to Punta Ra.s.sa?" he added, as he thrust a stick into the bean-pot to see what prospect there was for an early supper.

"Well, from what I hear, I fancy there is plenty of good land to be homesteaded in that section, and if we didn't have a good job here, I'd be for joining them. I begin to feel a little anxious to have some land where we can be starting trees of our own."

"Same here; but the land will come in good time, and while we've got a week's rations of bacon and hominy ahead, I shan't kick against luck.

But grub's ready."

Both lads fell to with a relish. Beans seemed to be the central dish at almost every meal, and yet they somehow never seemed to tire of them.

They had encountered a good many hard knocks since leaving their Western home, but were evidently none the worse for them.

Dave Freeman, the son of a hard-working Kansas farmer, had come South to better his prospects, and with a deep but unexpressed longing to help the home folks.

At Flomaton, or Pensacola Junction, as it is now called, he had fallen in with Tom Byrne, an Indiana boy, and the two had soon become fast friends.

By getting occasional jobs along the way, and not infrequently "tramping it," they had reached their present quarters, near Panasofkee, in Sumter County.

Here they had taken a contract from a "papertown" proprietor to clear five acres of land for seventy-five dollars.

This was a low figure, as the ground was full of palmetto roots, and not only were the trees to be cleared from the land, but all stumps to be burned out.

The boys already had been at work over two months, and hoped that another week would complete the job. On the first, their employer was to commence gathering his oranges, and they expected several weeks'

employment with him.

Although the work of clearing was very hard, the boys were rugged and hearty, and thoroughly enjoyed their novel surroundings.

After finis.h.i.+ng their beans, they put away the few dishes, and began the round of their stumps. Here and there one was dying out, and new fuel had to be piled around it. As one stump burned out, it was dragged from its hole and placed against the roots of another.

And so, from one stump to another, adding fuel to this or dragging that away, their faces covered with soot, and looking more like negroes than white folks, the boys darted around, shouting gleefully to each other whenever one of the tall pines burned through and came cras.h.i.+ng to the ground.

A little to one side, and out of reach of the fires, the boys had built a little six-by-ten shanty, where they kept their belongings and occasionally slept. More frequently, however, they slung their hammock between two pines, near the camp-fire.

At first, the peculiar roar of the alligators from the swamp near by had disturbed their rest, but they very soon got accustomed to it, and also to the startling challenge of a large bat, which is apt to frighten strangers by its sudden appearance and shrill cry.

A few days before the boys finished their contract, a party of surveyors stopped at their shanty to get a drink of water, and to see if they could get them for a couple of days.

As the pay offered was good, the boys were glad to accept it, and five minutes were sufficient to put their few belongings into the shanty and to nail up the door.

It took the party some hours to reach their destination, and as soon as they had partaken of a lunch, they began to survey a site for a new town.

The boys had seen a great many "paper towns" since they came to Florida, but as a rule had taken little interest in them. They were usually ventures of men who did not have money enough to make their speculations a success.