The Island of Faith by Margaret E. Sangster
V
ROSE-MARIE COMES TO THE RESCUE
Rose-Marie's hand upon the small boy's coat collar was not gentle. Withsurprising strength, for she was small and slight, she jerked him aside.
"You wicked child!" she exclaimed, and the Young Doctor would havechuckled to hear her tone. "You wicked child, what are you doing?"
Without waiting for an answer she knelt beside the pitiful little animalthat was tied to the bench, and with trembling fingers unloosed the cordthat held it, noting as she did so how its bones showed, even through itscoat of fur. When it was at liberty she gathered it close to her breastand turned to face the boy.
He had not tried to run away. Even with the anger surging through her,Rose-Marie admitted that the child was not--in one sense--a coward. Hehad waited, brazenly perhaps, to hear what she had to say. With blazingeyes she said it:
"Why," she questioned, and the anger that made her eyes blaze also put atremor into her voice, "why were you deliberately hurting this kitten?Don't you know that kittens can feel pain just as much as you can feelpain? Don't you know that it is wicked to make anything suffer? Why wereyou so wicked?"
The boy looked up at her with sullen, dark eyes. The grim twist at onecorner of his mouth became more pronounced.
"Aw," he said gruffly, "why don't yer mind yer own business?"
If Rose-Marie's hands had been free, she would have taken the boysuddenly and firmly by both shoulders. She felt an overwhelming desire toshake him--to shake him until his teeth chattered. But both of her handswere busy, soothing the gray kitten that shivered against her breast.
"I am minding my own business," she told the boy. "It's my business togive help where it's needed, and this kitten," she cuddled it closer,"certainly needed help! Haven't you ever been told that you should bekind? Like," she faltered, "like Jesus was kind? He wouldn't have hurtanything. He loved animals--and He loved boys, too. Why don't you try tobe the sort of a boy He could love? Why do you try to be bad--to dowrong things?"
The eyes of the child were even more sullen--the twist of his mouth waseven more grim as he listened to Rose-Marie. But when she had finishedspeaking, he answered her--and still he did not try to run away.
"Wot," he questioned, almost in the words of the Young Doctor, "wot doyou know about things that's right an' things that's wrong? It ain't badt' hurt animals--not if they're little enough so as they ain't able t'hurt you!"
Rose-Marie sat down, very suddenly, upon the bench. In all of herlife--her sheltered, glad life--she had never heard such a brutal creedspoken, and from the lips of a child! Her eyes, searching his face, sawthat he was not trying to be funny, or saucy, or smart. Curiously enoughshe noted that he was quite sincere--that, to him, the torturing of akitten was only a part of the day with its various struggles andamusements. When she spoke again her tone was gentle--as gentle as thetone with which the other slum children, who came to the SettlementHouse, were familiar.
"Whoever told you," she questioned, "that it's not wrong to hurt ananimal, so long as it can't fight back?"
The boy eyed her strangely. Rose-Marie could almost detect a gleam oflatent interest in his dark eyes. And then, as if he had gained a sort ofconfidence in her, he answered.
"Nobody never told me," he said gruffly. "But I _know_."
The kitten against Rose-Marie's breast cried piteously. Perhaps it wasthe hopelessness of the cry that made her want so desperately to make theboy understand. Conquering the loathing she had felt toward him shemanaged the ghost of a smile.
"I wish," she said, and the smile became firmer, brighter, as she saidit, "I wish that you'd sit down, here, beside me. I want to tell youabout the animals that I've had for pets--and about how they loved me. Ihad a white dog once; his name was Dick. He used to go to the store forme, he used to carry my bundles home in his mouth--and he did tricks--"
The boy had seated himself, gingerly, on the bench. He interrupted her,and his voice was eager.
"Did yer have t' beat him," he questioned, "t' make him do the tricks?Did he bleed when yer beat him?"
Again Rose-Marie gasped. She leaned forward until her face was on a levelwith the boy's face.
"Why," she asked him, "do you think that the only way to teach an animalis to teach him by cruelty? I taught my dog tricks by being kind andsweet to him. Why do you talk of beatings--I couldn't hurt anything, evenif I disliked it, until it _bled_!"
The small boy drew back from Rose-Marie. His expression was vaguelypuzzled--it seemed almost as if he did not comprehend what herwords meant.
"My pa beats me," he said suddenly, "always he beats me--when he'sdrunk! An' sometimes he beats me when he ain't. He beats Ma, too, an'he uster beat Jim, 'n' Ella. He don't dare beat Jim now, though"--thisproudly--"Jim's as big as he is now, an' Ella--nobody'd dast lay ahand on Ella ..." almost as suddenly as he had started to talk, theboy stopped.
For the moment the episode of the kitten was a forgotten thing. There wasonly pity, only a blank sort of horror, on Rose-Marie's face.
"Doesn't your father love you--any of you?" she asked.
"Naw." The boy's mouth was a straight line--a straight and very bitterline, for such a young mouth. "Naw, he only loves his booze. He hits meall th' time--an' he's four times as big as me! An' so I hit whoever'ssmaller'n I am. An' even if they cry I don't care. I hate things that'slittle--that can't take care o' themselves. Everything had oughter beable t' take care of itself!"
"Haven't you"--again Rose-Marie asked a question--"haven't you ever lovedanything that was smaller than you are? Haven't you ever had a pet?Haven't you ever felt that you must protect and take care of some one--orsomething? Haven't you?"
All at once the boy was smiling, and the smile lit up his small, darkface as a candle, slowly flickering, brings cheer and brightness to adull, lonely room.
"I love Lily," he told her. "I wouldn't let nobody touch Lily! If Pa somuch as spoke mean to her--I'd kill him. I'd kill him with a knife!"
Rose-Marie shuddered inwardly at the thought. But her voice was very evenas she spoke.
"Who is Lily?" she asked.
The boy had slid down along the bench. He was so close to her that hisshabby coat sleeve touched her blue one.
"Lily's my kid sister," he said, and, miracle of miracles, his voice helda note of tenderness. "Say--Miss, I'm sorry I hurt th' cat."
With a sudden feeling of warmth Rose-Marie moved just a fraction of aninch closer to the boy. She knew, somehow, that his small, curiouslyabject apology was in a way related to the "kid sister"; she knew, almostinstinctively, that this Lily who could make a smile come to the darklittle face, who could make a tenderness dwell in those hard young eyes,was the only avenue by which she could reach this strange child. Shespoke to him suddenly, impulsively.
"I'd like to see your Lily; I'd like to see her, awfully," she toldhim. "Will you bring her some time to call on me? I live at theSettlement House."
A subtle change had come over the child's face. He slid, hurriedly, fromthe bench.
"Oh," he said, "yer one o' them! You sing hymns 'n' pray 'n' tell folkst' take baths. I know. Well, I can't bring Lily t' see you--not ever!"
Rose-Marie had also risen to her feet.
"Then," she said eagerly, "let me come and see Lily. Where do you live?"
The boy's eyes had fallen. It was plain that he did not want toanswer--that he was experiencing the almost inarticulate embarrassment ofchildhood.
"We live," he told her at last, "in that house over there." His pointingfinger indicated the largest and grimiest of the tenements that loomed,dark and high, above the squalor of a side street. "But you wouldn'twanter come--there!"
Rose-Marie caught her breath sharply. She was remembering how theSuperintendent had forbidden her to do visiting, how the Young Doctorhad laughed at her desire to be of service. She knew what they would sayif she told them that she was going into a tenement to see a strangechild named Lily. Perhaps that was why her voice had an excited ring asshe answered.
"My name's Bennie Volsky," the boy said slowly. "We're up five flights,in th' back. D'yer really mean that you'll come--an' see Lily?"
Rose-Marie nodded soberly. How could the child know that her heart wasall athrob with the call of a great adventure?
"Yes, I mean it," she told him. "When shall I come?"
The boy's grubby hand shot out and rested upon her sleeve.
"Come to-morrow afternoon," he told her. "Say, yer all right!" He turned,swiftly, and ran through the crowd, and in a moment had disappeared likea small drab-coloured city chameleon.
Rose-Marie, standing by the bench, watched the place where he haddisappeared. And then, all at once, she turned swiftly--just asswiftly as the boy had--and started back across the park toward theSettlement House.
"I won't tell them!" she was saying over and over in her heart, as shewent, "I won't tell them! They wouldn't let me go, if I did.... I won'ttell them!"
The kitten was still held tight in her arms. It rested, quitecontentedly, against her blue coat. Perhaps it knew that there was awarm, friendly place--even for little frightened animals--in theSettlement House.