Little Pollie / Or a Bunch of Violets

"A penny a bunch; only a penny, sweet violets," cried a soft little voice, just outside the Bank of England, one morning in early spring; "only a penny a bunch!"

But the throng of busy clerks hurrying on to their various places of business heard not that childish voice amidst the confused din of omnibus and cabs, and so she stood, timidly uttering her cry-"Sweet violets!"-unheeded by the passers-by.

She was a fragile little creature of about ten years old, small for her age, with shy yet trustful eyes, and soft, brown, curly hair; and as she stood there, clad in a black frock and a straw hat, well worn, it is true, but free from tatters, with a piece of crape neatly fastened around it, had any one amidst that busy multitude paused to look at the little flower-seller, they would have wondered why so young a child was trusted alone in that noisy, bustling place.

"I say, Pollie, how many have yer sold, eh?" exclaimed another girl, coming up to her-quite a different type of girlhood, a regular London arab, one who from her very cradle (if ever she possessed such a luxury) had battled through life heedless of all rubs and bruises, ready to hold her own against the entire world, and yet with much of hidden goodness beneath the rugged surface.

"Only two bunches," replied little Pollie, somewhat sadly.

"Only two!" repeated the other. "My eye! yer won't make a fortin, that's sartin!"

"The people don't seem to see me, not even hear me," said the child.

"'Cos why, you don't shout loud enuff," explained the bigger girl. "If yer wants to get on in the world, yer must make a noise somehow. Make the folks hear; never minds if yer deafens 'em, they'll pay 'tention to yer then. See how I does it."

At that moment four smart youths came strolling leisurely along arm-in-arm, trying to appear as though merely out on pleasure, though they knew full well they must be in their office and at their desks before the clock struck ten.

These were just the customers for Sally Grimes, and away she rushed full upon them, her thin ragged shawl flying in the wind, and her rough hair, from which the net had fallen, following the example of the shawl; and as she reached the somewhat startled youths, who almost stumbled over her, she held her only remaining posy right in their faces, screaming out in a harsh grating voice, rendered harsh by her street training-

"Now, then, gents, this last bunch-only a penny!"

Polly looked on in utter amazement. It is true she did not understand Sally's logic, but she saw plainly that the sweet violets were sold, for presently back came the girl, crying out-

"That's the way to do it. I've sold all mine; now let's see what you've got left. Why, ten more bunches! Come, give us two or three, I'll get rid of 'em for yer; I'll bring yer back the money. Look sharp, I see some folks a-comin'."

And without further parley she snatched up several of the dainty little bunches tied up so neatly by Pollie's mother, and rushed off in pursuit of purchasers.

She was certainly very fortunate, for in spite of a stern-looking policeman who was watching her movements, she sold them, speedily returning with the money to little Pollie, who by this time was getting almost bewildered with the noise around.

"There, my gal," said the kind girl, "there's the money for yer; look, six pennies. My! ain't yer rich. Now I'm off to Covent Garding to the old 'ooman-mother, I means, yer know. There St. Poll's a-strikin' ten; good-bye."

So saying, the friendly Sally Grimes darted off amidst the crowd, leaving the child to manage for herself, and very lonely she felt after her good-natured ally was gone.

It was Pollie Turner's first attempt at selling flowers, and this her first day.

No wonder the poor child felt shy and sad, for she could remember the time when "father" used to come home at eventide to the small but cosy cottage in that green lane, far, far away in the pleasant country; and she used to stand at the gate to watch for his coming, sometimes running half-way up the lane to meet him, and he would perch her on his shoulder, where she felt, oh! so safe, and bring her home to mother. Or she would climb his knee as he sat by the fire, and watch dear mother get the nice supper; but father was dead now. She had seen the pretty daisies growing above his grassy grave in that distant churchyard; and the mother, who had come up to London hoping to do better, was so ill and weak, scarcely able to do the needlework with which to gain food for them both.

And Mrs. Flanagan had proposed the plan of Pollie starting in business. So this is how it had all come about.

Pollie stood silently thinking over these events of the happy times gone by, when some one touched her arm softly, and then she looked up into the sweet face of a lady, whose kind eyes were bent half-sadly, half-pityingly upon her.

"Are you selling these violets, my child?" she asked; and her voice was so sweet.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then will you let me have three bunches?"

Pollie with a smile put them into her hand, and the lady, after thanking her, placed the money for them in the child's basket, and went towards a carriage that was drawn up near the Royal Exchange.

The child, lost in admiration at such a nice lady, followed her with her eyes, never thinking to look at the money she had given for the flowers, until glancing into the basket to see how many bunches were still left, she beheld a shilling shining amidst the dingy coppers. Eager to return the money to its rightful owner, little Pollie darted amongst the people who thronged the pavement, ran across the road at the risk of being run over, and reached the lady just as she was stepping into her carriage.

"Please, ma'am, please," she faltered quite out of breath, and at the same time pulling her violently by the dress.

"Let go, you little vagabond!" exclaimed the indignant footman, taking Pollie by the arm to pull her away.

Fortunately the lady turned on hearing her servant speak thus, and saw the child struggling in his grip.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"Please, ma'am, this," cried Pollie, holding up the shilling.

"That is for the violets you sold to me."

"Oh no, ma'am, it is all wrong," exclaimed the child excitedly; "those flowers are but three-pence-a penny a bunch; that's all. Here is your money, ma'am!"

The lady gazed earnestly into the little girl's flushed face, as she asked-

"Why did you not keep that shilling?"

"Because it was not mine," was the answer.

"I should not have known but that the money was correct. You did not say the price of your flowers, my child."

"God knew the price," said Pollie reverentially, "and He would have been angry with me for cheating you, ma'am."

"Who taught you of God?" asked the lady softly, as she bent down to the little one.

"Mother!" was the reply.

"And is your mother dead?" she questioned, perceiving for the first time the child's poor mourning.

"No, ma'am, but father is, and mother is so ill and weak," and the shy brown eyes filled with tears.

"Poor child, poor little child," murmured the lady compassionately. "What is your name?" she asked after a pause, "and where do you live?"

Pollie gave the desired information.

"Well then, Pollie," said her new friend kindly, "here is the money for the violets; and take this shilling: it will buy something for your mother, perhaps. I shall come and see you one day."

So saying she patted Pollie's thin cheeks with a soft loving touch; then stepping into the carriage was driven away, leaving Pollie in a state of wonderful happiness at so much kindness from so nice a lady.

"Oh dear!" she thought, "I am rich now. I must make haste home to mother, and I've two bunches of violets still left. Mother shall have one and Mrs. Flanagan the other."

* * *

Pollie tied up the money securely in the corner of her clean pocket-handkerchief, and with a light heart proceeded towards "home," which was situated in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane.

It was a long way for so young a child to traverse alone; but the children of the poor early learn to be self-reliant. Therefore she heeded not the dangers of the London streets, but threaded her way along; and if at times she felt afraid of a crossing, or some hurried foot-passenger hustled her roughly, a sweet text, taught by her dearly-loved mother, came to her mind, bringing a feeling of safety along with it.

This was little Pollie's comfort-"Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness." And so she pursued her onward way, in her child's faith, trusting in Him to safely guide.

As she was turning up Drury Court she met Lizzie Stevens, a young woman who lived opposite to them, and who earned a scanty living by working for cheap tailors. Often had the child looked from the window, and across the Court watched the poor girl bending her pale face over her work, never pausing to rest, but for ever stitch, stitch. However, the young seamstress had seen her little neighbour watching her, and once or twice had nodded to her, and so a sort of acquaintance had sprung up between them; indeed, on several occasions they had met, and the child's prattle had cheered the lonely work-girl.

"Where have you been, Pollie?" she asked as they went up Drury Court together, the poor girl staggering under the weight of a huge bundle-the child kindly keeping pace with her, though longing to run home with her budget of good news to mother.

"I've been selling violets. Mrs. Flanagan got them for me, and I've sold them all but two bunches-see!"

And she lifted up a cloth which she had placed over the sweet flowers to prevent them fading too quickly.

"Oh, how sweet they are!" exclaimed Lizzie Stevens, and she stopped, and putting her heavy bundle down on a door-step, bent her pale face over the flowers to inhale their perfume.

When she raised her face it was whiter than before, and on the violets something was glistening. Pollie at first thought it was a dew-drop, but when she looked up into her neighbour's eyes she saw they were full of tears-one was resting on the flowers!

"Why are you crying?" asked the child softly; "are you ill?"

"Oh no, Pollie," she sobbed forth; "but those sweet flowers recall the time when I was a little girl like you, and gathered them in the lanes near my happy home-before mother died."

"Is your mother dead, then? Oh dear, I am so sorry," said the child with earnest pity.

"Yes, I am all alone in the world; no one to love or care for me," she exclaimed passionately. "Ah, I wish I was dead too."

"Don't say so," said Pollie soothingly; "God cares for you, and loves you dearly."

"I sometimes think even He forgets me," moaned the poor girl, "when I see rich folks having all things they desire, and such as me almost starving, working night and day for a mere crust."

"I once said so to mother," remarked the child, "but she opened our Bible, and bade me read a verse she pointed out. Shall I tell you what it was?"

"Yes," was the reply.

Pollie folded her hands, and repeated-

"Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me, lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."

And then she turned to another to comfort me, and this is it-

"Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

When the child ceased speaking, she looked up into the face of her listener, whose head was bent in reverence to God.

"O Pollie!" she said at last, as again taking up her heavy load she proceeded slowly onwards, "I wish I had a good mother."

"Come over to us sometimes," said the child, eagerly.

"Will your mother let me?" was the question.

"Yes, I am sure she will; she is so good," was the reply.

And then the two friends went on up Drury Lane, not speaking much; but as they were parting Lizzie stooped down, and kissing the child lovingly, said softly-

"Good-bye, and thank you, little Pollie."

"Would you like a bunch of violets?" she asked. "I can divide the other between mother and Mrs Flanagan."

The poor seamstress was unable to speak from emotion, but held out her hand with trembling eagerness for the flowers.

How glad was the child in being able to give a pleasure to her lonely neighbour. She felt more joy in seeing Lizzie Stevens' glad smile than even in the magnificent sum of money wrapped in her handkerchief; for she experienced "it is more blessed to give than to receive;" and after seeing her friend disappear through the dingy doorway which led to the garret called her "home," she turned with a light heart into the entry which led to her own place, eager to see mother and tell her all; but in doing so almost fell over a little cripple boy who sat crouched on the door-steps.

"O Jimmy! did I hurt you?" she asked in alarm.

"No. Everybody knocks me about; I'se used to it," was his answer.

"Poor Jimmy!" said the little girl. "Where's your mother?"

"Down there, drunk again," he replied, pointing his thin finger in the direction of what in other houses would be the kitchen, but which was his "home," if it could be dignified by so sacred a name.

Pollie looked sorrowfully on the poor boy, whose thin, wizened face, with large, hungry eyes, was placed on a shrunk and distorted body. His mother was the pest of the court, always drunk, and in her drunken fury beating her wretched offspring. Half-starved and half-clothed, he passed his time on the door-step, gazing vacantly at the passers-by, uncared for, unloved amidst the many.

"Poor Jimmy!" repeated the little girl. "Would you like some of my sweet violets?"

The boy, unused to even a breath of kindness, gazed some few seconds at her with his eager eyes.

"You be Pollie Turner, bain't yer, what lives upstairs with yer mother?" he asked at last.

"Yes," she replied, and repeated her question, as she took some of the flowers from her last bunch. "Would you like these?"

He held out his claw-like hand-so dirty that Pollie almost shrank from touching it as she gave him the violets. He took them without a word of thanks, but as she was moving away he called out-

"I say, did yer make these?"

"No, Jimmy," she replied, as she came back to him; "God made them."

"God!" he repeated, "Who's He; Him's mighty clever to fix up these little bits of things, bain't He?"

The little girl was for a moment shocked, then she felt a tender pity for the poor boy.

"O Jimmy, don't you know who God is?" she gently asked.

He shook his head; so she went on-

"God is our Father in heaven," and she pointed upwards. "He made these sweet flowers, and us also, and He sent His dear Son to die for us, so that all our sins should be taken away. And when Jesus (that is the name of God's dear Son) was here on earth, He gave sight to the blind, healed the sick, and was for ever doing good; but now He is in heaven, and still He loves us, oh, so dearly, and wishes us all to come to Him."

"Does He want me?" asked the outcast doubtfully; "He don't know me."

"Oh yes, He knows you, Jimmy, and loves you too; once Jesus blessed little children like you and me, and said, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'"

"The kingdom of heaven!" repeated poor benighted Jimmy musingly-it was the first time he had ever heard those blessed words-"where be that, Polly?"

"It is where God lives, and where we shall go when we die if we believe in the Saviour and love and pray to God."

"How do you pray?" he asked, fixing his keen eyes upon her, as though hungering for the bread of life.

But before she could reply, a loud, harsh voice was heard uttering frightful oaths, and a lumbering tread came stumbling up the cellar stairs. The poor boy knew full well who was coming, and with a terrified look started up and hobbled off, supported by his clumsy crutches, round the corner of the house, whilst Pollie, who went in terror of the drunken woman, ran hastily up the dirty staircase, which served for all the inmates of the crowded house.

* * *

The first two or three flights of stairs were thickly strewn with mud and dust from the feet of the different lodgers; but when Pollie reached the last landing she felt it was home indeed. The stairs were as clean and white as hands could scrub them-no dirt was to be seen here,-and outside her mother's door was a little mat on which to rub the shoes before entering. It was quite a relief to reach this part of the house.

There were only two rooms at the top part of the tenement-one inhabited by good Mrs Flanagan, the other by Pollie and her mother; and though the apartments were small, and the narrow windows overlooked the chimney-pots and tiles, yet they felt it such an advantage to be up here, removed, as it were, from the noisy people who lived in the same dwelling; each room, in fact, was let out to separate families, some of them very rough and boisterous.

Pollie tapped at her mother's door, and then peeped merrily in. There sat that good and gentle woman, busily working close by the narrow window, so as to get as much light as possible for her delicate needlework.

The tea-things were already on the table, which was spread with a clean white cloth, and the kettle sang a cheery welcome to little Pollie; for though it was only three o'clock, it was tea-time for them, since dinner was an almost unknown luxury to this poor mother and child.

"Here I am, mother dear!" she cried, putting in her bright face, which was as sunshine to the lonely widow's heart.

"O Pollie, I am so glad you have come home; I was getting so anxious and afraid, and the time seemed so long without you, my child."

Then the little girl ran in and threw her arms around her mother's neck.

"Only look here!" she cried delightedly, when after a loving kiss she proceeded to display her riches; "see, mother," she said, arranging the money all in a row on the table, the bright shilling flanked on either side by five brown pennies; "are we not rich now? sixpence must be paid to kind Mrs. Flanagan for the sweet violets she got for me, and then we shall have one shilling and fourpence left, and I shall buy lots of things for you, mother darling," she concluded, clapping her hands in glee.

The widow smiled cheerfully as she folded up her work, and prepared to get their simple meal of tea and bread, listening the while as the child related the events of the morning.

"And now, mother," she pursued, "I must divide these dear sweet violets between you and Mrs. Flanagan."

"Then here are two little cups which will be just the thing for them," said the happy mother, whose pale face grew brighter as she gazed on the delighted child.

With the greatest care Pollie divided the flowers equally, and when putting theirs in the window, so that they might still see some of the blue sky, as she expressed it, she looked across the Court towards Lizzie Stevens' home. Yes, there she was, Pollie could see, busy plying her needle, and there were the violets also, in a broken jam jar close by her as she sat at work; and raising her pale face towards them, as though they were old friends returned to her, she caught sight of little Pollie arranging her bouquet in the window; so with a bright smile (unwonted visitor to those wan lips) kissed her hand in token of recognition, and then pointed to the flowers. Pollie quite understood this little pantomime, and nodded her curly head a great many times to her opposite neighbour in proof of her so doing.

"Come to tea, my child," said the mother, who had cut some slices of bread for the frugal repast, but which she had no appetite to eat.

"Wait a bit, mammie dear, I must do some shopping first," exclaimed Pollie; "I shall not be long." And away she ran, gaily laughing at her mother's look of surprise.

Down the stairs she went, then out into the Court; and just round the corner in Drury Lane was a greengrocer's shop, in the window of which hung a label "New-laid Eggs."

I fear that label told a fiction, but Pollie believed in it, and thought the eggs were laid by the identical hens she saw earning a scanty living by pecking in the gutters and among the cabs and carts; so with a feeling of being very womanly, and tightly grasping the precious shilling in her hand, she took courage to approach the shopkeeper, who stood with arms akimbo in the doorway, flanked on one side by potatoes in bins, and on the other by cabbages and turnips in huge baskets.

"Please, ma'am," said Pollie, "will you let me have a new-laid egg for mother?"

The woman took an egg from a basket and gave it to her.

"If you please, is it quite fresh? because mother is so poorly, and I want it to do her good."

The shopkeeper looked at the earnest little face, and somehow felt she could not tell an untruth to the child, the brown eyes were raised so trustingly.

"Well, my little gal, I can't say as it be quite fresh, but it's as good as any you'll get about here."

"Then I'd better not have it," said the child, giving it back to the woman again; "only I did so want to get her something nice for her tea,-she can't eat much." And the lips quivered with suppressed sorrow at the disappointment.

"Why don't you get her a bit of meat instead?" asked the woman; "that'll do her good, I warrant!"

"Will this buy some?" questioned the child with brightened eyes, and opening her hand she showed the shilling. "To be sure it will. Here, give it to me; I'll go and get you one pound of nice pieces at my brother's next door, if you'll just mind the shop till I come back; you can be trusted, I see," replied the mistress of the place, whose woman's heart was touched by the little girl's distress.

Pollie stood where she was left, guarding the baskets with watchful eyes. Fortunately no mischievous people were about, so the vegetables were safe, though it was with no small relief she saw their owner return with such nice pieces of meat wrapped up in clean paper.

"There," said the greengrocer's wife (whose name was Mrs. Smith, by the way), "these are good and fresh; my brother let me choose them, and have them cheap too, only fourpence a pound!"

"Oh, thank you, thank you, ma'am!" cried Pollie, holding up her face to kiss the kind woman, who, totally unused to such affectionate gratitude in the poor little waifs about Drury Lane, bent down and returned the caress with a feeling of unwonted tenderness tugging at her heart.

"And now, please, I should like a bunch of water-cresses for Mrs. Flanagan," said the child. "I know she is very fond of them with her tea."

"What are you going to buy for yourself?" asked the shopkeeper, as, after handing Pollie the freshest bunch in the basket, she stood watching her tiny customer.

The little girl hesitated; at length she said-

"Well, if I don't get something, mother will want me to eat this meat, and I mean her to have it all; so I'll buy two little pies in Russell Court,-one for me, and one for poor little crippled Jimmy."

"You're a good gal," exclaimed the woman. "Here, put these taters in your basket; maybe your mother would like 'em with the meat, they boil nice and mealy."

Pollie was so grateful to Mrs. Smith for the kind thought, and held out her money to pay for this luxury; but to her surprise she told her to put it back into her pocket-the "taters" were a gift for her mother, and patting her cheek, bade her run home quickly, and always "be a good gal."

* * *