Her Benny: A Story of Street Life. Hocking Silas Kitto

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      Her Benny: A Story of Street Life

TOMy Bairns(GOD BLESS THEM!)THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATEDWITH MUCHAFFECTION

      PREFACE

      My pastoral work, during a three years' residence in Liverpool, called me frequently into some of the poorest neighbourhoods of that town, where I became acquainted with some of the originals of this story. It was not until I had seen the little Arabs of the streets in their homes – if such haunts of wretchedness be worthy of that name – that I felt that interest in, and sympathy for them, that I have experienced ever since. Getting to know them in their homes, I was glad to stop and speak to them in the streets, and give them a word of sympathy and encouragement. They are not all bad, as many people seem to think. Many of them try hard to earn an honest living, though they find it a difficult matter, especially when at home they receive no encouragement, while in the streets temptation is being continually put in their way by those of whom "Perks" so justly complained.

      The grouping of the characters that figure in the story is purely fictitious, but not the characters themselves. Benny and little Nell, Perks and Joe Wrag, Granny and Eva Lawrence, are drawn from life. I knew them well. Some of them are alive to-day, others have gone to their rest.

      For the interest my little story has awakened in both old and young, in its serial form, I am rejoiced and thankful; and if, in the more permanent and attractive style it now assumes, it shall awaken any sympathy for the poor little waifs of our streets, I shall have my reward.

      SILAS K. HOCKING.

      October 21st, 1879.

      CHAPTER I.

      Brother and Sister

      Perhaps while in our glowing grate

      The cheerful blaze is rising higher

      There's some one sitting desolate

      Without a spark of fire.

      Oh, what are we, that God hath blessed

      Our winter homes and made them glad,

      While other hearts are sore distressed,

      While other homes are sad?

      It was getting dark, though the Town Hall clock had only just struck four. But a fog had hung all over Liverpool since morning, and everything was as damp and dismal as it well could be; and now, as evening came on, the fog had settled into a downright drizzle, converting the streets into what seemed to Nelly Bates (who was crouched in the shadow of St. George's Church) to be endless puddles.

      "I wish Benny would come," said she to herself. "I wonder what has kept him? He said he'd be here when the clock struck four."

      And she wrapped her tattered clothes more closely around her, and looked eagerly down Lord Street and up and down Castle Street. But no Benny appeared in sight.

      "I'm glad as how they's lightin' the lamps, anyhow. It'll make it feel a bit warmer, I reckon," she went on, "for it's terrible cold. But Benny won't be long now, nohow. I hope he's sold all his fusees."

      And she looked wistfully at the unsold matches lying in her lap. Then, after a pause, she went on again,

      "I's had desp'rate bad luck to-day. I reckon the gen'lmen thinks it too much trouble to take off their gloves to get at the coppers. I wonder if they know what it is to be cold and hungry like me?"

      And the child moved a little farther into the shadow of the church, to escape the keen cold blast that swept up from the river.

      Little Nelly Bates was a delicate-looking child, with a pale, thoughtful face, and big, round, dreamy-looking eyes. She had none of that wolfish expression that so often characterizes the street Arabs of our large towns and cities; but, on the contrary, there was an air of refinement about her that was difficult to account for. Poor little waif! Her own mother she could not remember. She had only known a stepmother – a cruel, drunken woman; and, alas! her father was no better. Almost as soon as she could walk she had been sent into the streets with her brother Benny, who was a year older, to get her living as best she could. Never knowing a parent's love, the affections of these two children had gone out to each other. Each to each was more than all the world beside. At the time our story opens Nelly was nine years of age, and Benny, as we said, a year older.

      Still the minutes dragged along, and Benny came not. The 'busses were crowded with people outside and in, wrapped in huge warm overcoats, and all down Lord Street she watched the hurrying crowds bending their steps homewards. And she tried to picture their cheerful homes, with great blazing fires, and happy children running to greet them, and wondered how none of them ever paused to notice her, shivering there in the shadow of the church.

      At length the great clocks all around began to strike five, and Benny had not come; a sense of unutterable loneliness crept over the child, and she began to cry. Besides, she was hungry and cold, and there was a great fear in her heart that something had befallen her brother. The last stroke of the Town Hall clock, however, had scarcely died away when she heard the patter of bare feet around the corner, and the next moment her brother, panting and breathless, stood before her.

      "Oh, Nell!" he burst out, "I's just soft, I is. I's missed a hour in the time. I never did think I was sich a fool. But can't be helped now, nohow."

      "I was afraid you'd got hurt, Benny; but I don't care now you're all right," said Nelly, looking proudly at the flushed face of her sturdy young brother.

      "Me hurt? Oh, never fear! I knows how to take care of myself. But what luck, Nell?"

      "Bad, Benny, very bad. Nobody wanted matches to-day."

      For a moment Benny was silent, then he burst out,

      "By golly, Nell! what's us to do? You know what the guv'nor said when we came away this morning?"

      "Ay," said Nelly. "But 'ave you 'ad bad luck too?"

      "Horful, Nell – simply horful!"

      And for a moment the children looked at each other in blank dismay. Just then a gentleman was seen crossing the street carrying a portmanteau.

      "Here's a gent with a portmantle," whispered Benny to his sister. "I'll try my luck! Foller me, Nell, as quick as you can." And off he darted across the street.

      "Carry yer bag, sir?" said he, stepping in front of the gentleman; and there was something very appealing in his tone as he spoke.

      The gentleman looked kindly down into the two honest-looking eyes that flashed in the gaslight.

      "What will you take the bag to the ferry for?" he inquired.

      "For what you please to give," said Benny sturdily. "Times is bad at present, and little chaps like us is glad to 'ave what we catches."

      "Oh, that's it, is it? But I'm afraid this bag is too heavy for you."

      "Oh, never fear," said Benny, as he got hold of the portmanteau. "I'se 'mazing strong, and I ken carry this like winkin'." And he trotted down the street before the gentleman in a way that showed he was in earnest about the matter.

      The gentleman looked after the little fellow with an amused smile, but volunteered no further remark.

      Meanwhile little Nelly, who had become stiff and cramped with cold, followed at a little distance, taking care, СКАЧАТЬ