Children of the Tenements | Page 5

"We just had
Bellevue on the 'phone, and Hansche is all right. She will be out to-day.

The gas poisoned her, that was all. For that the police will settle with
the landlord, or we will. You go back there and get your money back,
and go and hire a flat. This is Christmas, and don't you forget it!"
And they pushed the pedler and little Abe, made fast upon a gorgeous
sled that suddenly appeared from somewhere, out into the street, and
gave them a rousing cheer as they turned the corner going east, Adam
dragging the sled and little Abe seated on his throne, perfectly and
radiantly happy.

A STORY OF BLEECKER STREET
Mrs. Kane had put the baby to bed. The regular breathing from two
little cribs in different corners told her that her day's work was nearing
its end. She paused at the window in the middle of her picking-up to
look out at the autumn evening. The house stood on the bank of the
East River near where the Harlem joins it. Below ran the swift stream,
with the early twilight stealing over it from the near shore; across the
water the myriad windows in the Children's Hospital glowed red in the
sunset. From the shipyard, where men were working overtime, came up
the sound of hammering and careless laughter.
The peacefulness of the scene rested the tired woman. She stood
absorbed, without noticing that the door behind her was opened swiftly
and that some one came in. It was only when the baby, wakening, sat
up in bed and asked with wide, wondering eyes, "Who is that?" that she
turned to see.
Just inside the door stood a strange woman. A glance at her dress
showed her to be an escaped prisoner. A number of such from the
Island were employed under guard in the adjoining hospital, and Mrs.
Kane saw them daily. Her first impulse was to call to the men working
below, but something in the stranger's look and attitude checked her.
She went over to the child's bed and stood by it.
"How did you get out?" she asked, confronting the woman. The

question rose to her lips mechanically.
The woman answered with a toss of her head toward the hospital. She
was young yet, but her face was old. Debauchery had left deep scars
upon it. Her black hair hung in disorder.
"They'll be after me," she said hurriedly. Her voice was hoarse; it kept
the promise of the face. "Don't let them. Hide me there--anywhere."
She glanced uneasily from the open closet to the door of the inner
room.
Mrs. Kane's face hardened. The stranger was a convict, a thief perhaps.
Why should she--A door slammed below, and there were excited voices
in the hall, the tread of heavy steps on the stairs. The fugitive listened.
"That's them," she said. "Quick! lemme get in! O God!" she pleaded
with desperate entreaty, as Mrs. Kane stood coldly unresponsive, "you
have your baby. I haven't seen mine in seven months, and they never
wrote. I'll never have the chance again."
The steps had halted in the second-floor hall. They were on the last
flight of stairs now. The mother's heart relented.
"Here," she said, "go in."
The bedroom door had barely closed upon the fugitive when a man in a
prison-keeper's garb stuck his head in from the hall. He saw only the
mother and the baby in its crib.
"Hang the woman!" he growled. "Did yez--"
A voice called from the lower hall: "Hey, Billy! she ain't in there. She
give us the slip, sure."
The keeper withdrew his head, growling. In the street the hue and cry
was raised; a prisoner had escaped.
When all was quiet, Mrs. Kane opened the bedroom door. She had a
dark wrapper and an old gray shawl on her arm.

"Go," she said, not unkindly, and laid them on the bed; "Go to your
child."
The woman caught at her hand with a sob, but she withdrew it hastily
and went back to her baby's crib.
The moon shone upon the hushed streets, when a woman, hooded in a
gray shawl, walked rapidly down Fifth Street, eying the tenements with
a searching look as she passed. On the stoop of one, a knot of mothers
were discussing their household affairs, idling a bit after the day's work.
The woman halted in front of the group, and was about to ask a
question, when one of the women arose with the exclamation:--
"Mother of God! it's Mame."
"Well," said the woman, testily, "and what if it is? Am I a spook that ye
need stare at me so? Ye knowed me well enough before. Where is
Will?"
There was no answer. The women looked at one