Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 by Glimpses of Louisa (v2.1)

forgit in a hurry; and the woman that stood by me when I
was down is the woman I believe in, and can take my bread from without shame.
Hooray for Biddy Flanagin! God bless her!" and, as if to find a vent for
the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe led off the cheer,
which the children shrilly echoed, and I joined heartily.
                            
"I shall come for you in a few days; so cuddle the baby and make much of
the children before you part. It won't take you long to pack up, will it?"
I asked, as we subsided with a general laugh.
                            
"I reckon not as I don't own any clothes but what I set in, except a
couple of old shirts and them socks. My hat's stoppin' up the winder, and my
old coat is my bed-cover. I'm awful shabby, ma'am, and that's one reason I
don't go out more. I can hobble some, but I ain't got used to bein' a scarecrow
yet," and Joe glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the line to
the ragged suit he wore, with a resigned expression that made me long to rush
out and buy up half the contents of Oak Hall on the spot.
                            
Curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with promises of speedy
transportation for Joe, and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of parting
for the young Flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while Joe waved the baby
like a triumphal banner till I got round the corner.
                            
There was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new institution that
it only needed a word in the right ear to set things going; and then, with a
long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, Joe Collins was taken up and
safely landed in the Home he so much needed and so well deserved.
                            
A happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find, and if a visitor
wants an enthusiastic guide about the place, Joe is the one to take, for all is
comfort, sunshine, and good-will to him; and he unconsciously shows how great
the need of this refuge is, as he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out
its beauties, conveniences, and delights with his one arm, while his face
shines, and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully,—
                            
"The State don't forget us, you see, and this is a Home wuth havin'.
    Long life to
it!"
   
     

POPPIES AND WHEAT
 
 
   
                            
AS the great steamer swung round into the stream the cloud of white
handkerchiefs waving on the wharf melted away, the last good-byes grew fainter,
and those who went and those who stayed felt that the parting was over,—
                            "It may be for years, and it may be forever," as
the song says.
                            
With only one of the many groups on the deck need we concern ourselves, and a
few words will introduce our fellow-travellers. A brisk middle-aged lady leaned
on the arm of a middle-aged gentleman in spectacles, both wearing the calmly cheerful
air of people used to such scenes, and conscious only of the relief change of
place brings to active minds and busy lives.
                            
Before them stood two girls, evidently their charges, and as evidently not
sisters, for in all respects they were a great contrast. The younger was a gay
creature of seventeen, in an effective costume of navy-blue and white, with
bright hair blowing in the wind, sparkling eyes roving everywhere, lively
tongue going, and an air of girlish excitement pleasant to see. Both hands were
full of farewell bouquets, which she surveyed with more pride than tenderness
as she glanced at another group of girls less blessed with floral offerings.
                            
Her companion was a small, quiet person, some years older