Читать книгу Zula - H. Esselstyn Lindley - Страница 7

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She took the basket and started for the city. She was very lucky for she sold more than she expected. The afternoon had nearly passed before her stock was gone. She wandered down High street, giving her basket to a little Irish beggar girl. She had not the slightest idea of where she should go, but she had made up her mind never to go back to Crisp and his mother, and if she were compelled to lie in the street she would never go back to live the life she had led.

“Out of the road, you little beggar,” called out a finely dressed boy, who was riding a bicycle, at the same time striking the wheels against Zula’s limbs and tearing an ugly rent in the flesh.

She turned quickly and catching the wheel held it as she looked straight into the boy’s face.

“What are you doing? You saucy thing,” he said, returning her searching glance.

“I am trying to see how you look,” she answered, “and I won’t never forget you.”

“I don’t ask you to; get out of my way or I’ll knock you down.”

“You ain’t a bit nice, if you do live in the city,” Zula said, and letting go the wheel she stepped aside and 30 stooping examined the smarting limb, from which the blood was flowing over her foot.

“Did he hurt you much, little girl?” asked a voice beside her.

Zula looked up, and beheld a lady who was about to enter the gate near where she stood. Her face was round and fair and her black silk dress and mantle lent a striking charm to the fair face and silvery hair.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked again. “Oh, dear, yes; see the blood.”

Zula’s heart was deeply touched. Kind words were so seldom spoken to her, that the lady’s words caused the tears to start.

“Don’t cry; it’s too bad, I know, but run home and get your mama to do it up for you.”

“I hain’t got any mama nor any home,” Zula said. “I hain’t got anybody to do it up for me.”

“Oh, that is too bad; well, come into my house and I will have Mary fix it up for you.”

She led Zula to the kitchen, where Mary, the servant girl, was busy finishing up the supper work.

“Well, now, Mrs. Platts, who have you got there?” Mary asked, in surprise.

“Why, it’s a little girl whom some rude boy ran against with his wheel, and you see how badly he has hurt her.”

The tears were still lingering on Zula’s cheeks.

“Poor dear,” Mary said; “why it’s terribly scratched. Where do you live, little girl?”

“I don’t live anywhere,” Zula answered, the tears again coming to her eyes.

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“Well, then, where do you stay?”

“I don’t stay anywhere. I hain’t got anywhere to stay. Can’t I stay here to-night? I’ll sleep in the woodshed, and you can lock the door so I can’t steal anything.”

“Why, do you steal?” Mrs. Platts asked, in her kindly way.

“Sometimes I do.”

“Why, that is dreadfully wicked; don’t you know it is?”

“No.”

“It is, though.”

“Well, I won’t steal from you if you will let me stay in your shed all night.”

“I don’t see how we can have you around if you steal,” said Mary.

“But I won’t steal if you will let me stay; sure I won’t.”

“Why, who have we here, I wonder?”

Zula looked up and saw a portly, good-natured gentleman standing in the doorway, that led to the dining-room. She thought she had never seen a look as pleasant as that which beamed from the blue eyes, under the gold-bowed spectacles.

“It is a little girl who was hurt by a rude boy, and she says she has no home, and wants to stay all night, and will sleep in the woodshed. She says she steals sometimes, but we can lock her up if we want to.”

Mrs. Platts looked in pity, as she uttered the last sentence.

“A very honest thief, I should judge,” said Mr. 32 Platts, laughing at Zula’s remark. “I never before saw one honest enough to put people on their guard.”

“Shall we allow her to stay in the woodhouse?” Mrs. Platts asked of her husband.

“It seems to me that you might find a better place than that for her to sleep; she would be afraid to sleep there.”

“No, I ain’t afraid,” said Zula, brushing back her long black hair. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.”

“But you will be when the gas is lit, and we are in the house, and you out there in the dark.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Why do you wish to stay out there?” Mrs. Platts asked.

“’Cause I ain’t fit to stay in the house; I’m too—too bad looking.”

“What shall we do with her? I hate to turn her out again, but I suppose we will be compelled to.”

“Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these ye did it unto me,” said Mr. Platts, in a low voice. “Let her stay until morning at all events.”

“Why, to be sure she can sleep in the little bedroom off the kitchen, and I can go upstairs for to-night,” said Mary. “I think she will be all right if she has a bath, and she can wear some of my clothes, if they are too large.”

Mary’s heart was touched at the sight of Zula’s tears, but the keenest pity filled her heart when she saw the purple marks made by the lash across the tapering shoulders.

“Why, child,” she said, “what is this?”

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“How came these long black marks on you shoulders?”

“Won’t you never tell if I’ll tell you?”

“No.”

“Sure? ’Cause if they’d find me they’d kill me.”

“Oh, dear, who would kill you?”

“Why, Crisp.”

“And who is Crisp?”

“Why, he’s my brother,” Zula said, lowering her voice to a soft whisper, “and if he finds me he’ll kill me.”

“Crisp,” Mary repeated. “What a funny name. But I thought you said you had no home.”

“Well, I hain’t got any, my mam she lets Crisp whip me and they kept me two days and all night without anything to eat and they tied me down to the ground, and I couldn’t hardly get up and then I was so lame, and when I got here that nasty boy run against me and hurt me, and it just seems as though I was made to hurt.”

“Poor little girl; it’s too bad. What is your name?”

“I hain’t got any name but Zula.”

“Zula? Well, I am sure that is a pretty name; but goodness! What a lovely head of hair for such a little mite as you. I wish I had it.”

“I wish I didn’t have it, for Crisp pulls it so hard that it seems to me I can’t stand it.”

“The wretch,” said Mary, energetically.

“I’ll never go and live with Crisp again if I can find any other place; would you, lady?”

“No,” Mary answered, thinking how odd and gypsy-like the expression sounded.

In the morning, Mary, after much persuasion, obtained 34 Zula’s consent to let Mrs. Platts know her story.

“She must have a home somewhere,” she said, “but for the present let her remain with us.”

So it was decided that Zula should stay. A seamstress was hired and a neat outfit of clothing made for Zula, who when she was dressed and her luxuriant hair braided and tied with bright ribbons, the change was so great that Mrs. Platts remarked that she really thought she was pretty, but when she first came she thought she was as black as a gypsy.

“Have you never been to school?”

“No—no, sir; we don’t go to school.”

“Did you not know it was wrong to steal?”

“No, sir; nobody ever told me it was wrong—nobody but one lady, and she was—oh, so sweet.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name; why it was June. I’ll never forget her face; I can see it now, and his, too.”

“His; whose?”

“I don’t know his name, but he was so kind to me.”

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