J. Cole
Gellibrand, Emma
English
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[Illustration: "'WHO ARE YOU, MY CHILD?' I SAID'--Page 3
(_Frontispiece_)]
J. COLE
BY
EMMA GELLIBRAND
J. COLE.
"HONNERD MADAM,
"Wich i hav seed in the paper a page Boy wanted, and begs to say J.
Cole is over thertene, and I can clene plate, wich my brutther is
under a butler and lernd me, and I can wate, and no how to clene
winders and boots. J. Cole opes you will let me cum. I arsks 8 and
all found. if you do my washin I will take sevven. J. Cole will serve
you well and opes to giv sattisfaxshun. i can cum tomorrer.
J. COLE.
"P.S.--He is not verry torl but growin. My brutther is a verry good
hite. i am sharp and can rede and rite and can hadd figgers if you
like."
* * * * * * *
CHAPTER I.
I had advertised for a page-boy, and having puzzled through some
dozens of answers, more or less illegible and impossible to
understand, had come to the last one of the packet, of which the
above is an exact copy.
The epistle was enclosed in a clumsy envelope, evidently home-made,
with the aid of scissors and gum, and was written on a half-sheet of
letter-paper, in a large hand, with many blots and smears, on
pencilled lines.
There was something quaint and straightforward in the letter, in
spite of the utter ignorance of grammar and spelling; and while I
smiled at the evident pride in the "brutther" who was a "verry good
hite," and the offer to take less wages if "I would do his washin," I
found myself wondering what sort of waif upon the sea of life was
this not very tall person, over thirteen, who "would serve me well."
I had many letters to answer and several appointments to make, and
had scarcely made up my mind whether or not to trouble to write to my
accomplished correspondent, who was "sharp, and could rede and rite,
and hadd figgers," when, a shadow falling on the ground by me as I
sat by the open window, I looked up, and saw, standing opposite my
chair, a boy,--the very smallest boy, with the very largest blue eyes
I ever saw. The clothes on his little limbs were evidently meant for
somebody almost double his size, but they were clean and tidy.
In one hand he held a bundle, tied in a red handkerchief, and in the
other a bunch of wild-flowers that bore signs of having travelled far
in the heat of the sun, their blossoms hanging down, dusty and
fading, and their petals dropping one by one on the ground.
"Who are you, my child?" I said, "and what do you want?"
At my question the boy placed his flowers on my table, and, pulling
off his cap, made a queer movement with his feet, as though he were
trying to step backwards with both at once, and said, in a voice so
deep that it quite startled me, so strangely did it seem to belong to
the size of the clothes, and not the wearer,--
"Please'm, it's J. Cole; and I've come to live with yer. I've brought
all my clothes, and every think."
For the moment I felt a little bewildered, so impossible did it seem
that the small specimen of humanity before me was actually intending
to enter anybody's service; he looked so childish and wistful, and
yet with a certain honesty of purpose shining out of those big, wide-
open eyes, that interested me in him, and made me want to know more
of him.
"You are very small to go into service," I said, "and I am afraid you
could not do the work I should require; besides, you should have
waited to hear from me, and then have come to see me, if I wanted you
to do so."
"Yes, I know I'm not very big," said the boy, nervously fidgeting
with his bundle; "leastways not in hite; but my arms is that long,
they'll reach ever so 'igh above my 'ed, and as for bein' strong, you
should jest see me lift my father's big market basket when it's
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