Little Pollie | Page 3

haste home to
mother, and I've two bunches of violets still left. Mother shall have one
and Mrs. Flanagan the other."
CHAPTER II.
WHO HAD THE VIOLETS!
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