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Updated: June 13, 2025
"My darling, my Nora! you've come back at last to your poor old mother! Nothing but death shall part us now!" A feeling of Sabbath peace stole over little Pollie as she issued forth from her humble home on her way to Sunday-school. All was still, so quiet; the very court, usually noisy, seemed hushed.
"Ah, Pollie be a comfort to you," observed the other old friend; "and how she do grow, to be sure! Well, well, bless her heart, she won't have to rough it, my dear leastways I hope not, nor be led to go wrong like my poor Nora; still she'll have her sorrows, like the rest on us."
My dear Dollie, Pollie, Sallie, Marthie, or any other of my young friends whose names end in ie who have favored me by reading thus far, the chances are three out of four that I could take the last novel but three that you read, change the scene from England to France, change the time from now to the seventeenth century, make the men swear by St.
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.
"Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." Well, the days passed on, and little Pollie pursued her work of selling violets; for those sweet flowers are a long time in season, bearing bravely the March winds and April showers, as though desirous of gladdening the earth as long as possible. All honour, then, to these hardy little blossoms.
Pollie, however, would not consent to her friend's extravagance on her behalf, so the two children paid each their halfpenny and passed on to the Bridge. It was a lovely evening, and though April, yet it was not too cold, so they seated themselves in one of the recesses, and for a time were amused by watching the boats on the river, chatting merrily, as only children can.
But Sally rubbed her nose thoughtfully with a corner of her apron, uncertain what to say on the subject. "Don't they whop yer at school?" she asked, after deliberating. To her astonishment, quiet little Pollie burst into such a merry laugh. "No, indeed!" she exclaimed, when her mirth had subsided. "The teachers are far too kind for that. Oh, I know you would like it, so do come."
"Oh then!" exclaimed Pollie, laughing, "I must just let myself in, and wait for mother; I know where she puts our key. Good-night, Jimmy dear." And she was going up the stairs when she felt the little cripple boy gently pull her frock to detain her.
Little Pollie clung to her mother, sobbing convulsively and hiding her face in her dress. "Hush, my darling," soothed the widow; "poor Jimmy is now with God, free from all sorrow or pain. Think what his joy must be!" They were startled by a harsh voice screeching out "That ain't my Jimmy! Let me get at him! I say, what be you folks doing here?"
Pollie looked on in bewildered surprise at this sad scene, not knowing what to make of it; but she still kept her hold on the woman's dress, as if her small strength could be of any service; but Sally had told her to "hold on," and so she obeyed. The woman was now sobbing bitterly.
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