Little Pollie / Or a Bunch of Violets

We heed not its passing, and forget in the turmoil of worldly care

ttle P

, the golden grain. Gently had she led Sally Grimes to seek for higher things, and every S

up her hard labour of working for the slopshops, and now helped the widow in her lighter and more remunerative toil. It is true they had to work early and late to keep the house (such as it was) above them-the wolf from the door; but they

how they would pause in their work to watch her as she merrily counted over her money,

which she always insisted on doing to save "mother" the trouble; indeed, I think the t

ere the air felt purer and fresher, and sitting down would watch the boats on the river. Sally usually joined them, and these little rests from toil constituted their simple pleasures. How deliciously cool the breezes felt, so different to the heated atmosphere

ms and dahlias. She often wondered what she should do when winter came and there were no sweet flowers to sell. It grieved

ed back the curls from the anxious little face,

or she remembered that "There i

rchasing bouquets that day. Even Sally's basket still remained filled, and she was always a more successful seller than timid little Pollie; so the elder girl had proposed trying westward for better luck. Better luck they certainly had, for th

rowd gathered around the door. Men were there speaking in hoarse whispers, women talking with bated breath as though afraid to speak aloud, and the bewildered child could

ould be at her long absence! The poor child became frightened, almost to tears, totally unable to force her way through the mob, which was increasing every moment, when looking round for some

r and ventured timid

rs. Smith,

ou doing out so late, and in this

ollie sobbed; "oh,

"here, policeman, do get this poor child through that

shment he took her up in his arms, to carry her through the

out from open room doors; yet with all this unwonted stir, there seemed to be a strange hush

from one to another in trembling alarm,

o the speaker she recognised a woman who lived in t

e child, with undefined dre

th me; he keeps

sped in hers, she followed the woman down the dirty

lay little Jimmy. By his side, holding him in her arms, knelt Mrs. Turner, whilst a gentleman, evidently the parish doctor, was bathing his head, from which the blood was flowing. Lizzie Stevens was there, steeping linen in a basin for the doctor, and another policeman, no one else. I forgot. Cr

irectly she saw he

hat is it?"

ard her, softly

bly murmured, and turne

de him. He smiled as though at peace, and

e kingdom of heaven? Will Jesus put

for sobbing, but she laid her so

men, used as they were to similar scenes, were deeply moved at the dying boy's love for his little friend. His eyes were closed, but his disengaged hand wandered feebl

lie. Let me say the prayer you taught me." He tried to fold his hands as s

the sleep of death," he murmure

d away safely into the f

Misery exchanged for perfect bliss-

painful to look upon, with the touch of immortality became lovely; for the dead child's face bore the impress of an angel's

ther, sobbing convulsively an

or Jimmy is now with God, free from all so

d by a harsh voic

me get at him! I say, what

, had approached the spot where the dead child lay. She da

r; like I've done many a

ing further mischief, or even touching the boy, for, laying

st take you to Bow Street, to answer the

taken away from the place, shrieking and swearing, leaving her dead