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Poor and Proud-Part1_Oliver Optic(1822-1897)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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skill in backing out before the water got too hot. On the whole,

he rather enjoyed the pun; and he had the condescension to laugh



heartily, though somewhat unnaturally, at the jest.

"Will you give me a flounder, Tommy?" said the little ragged



girl, as she glanced into his well-filled basket.

"What do you want of him, Katy?" asked Tommy turning round and



gazing up into her sad, pale face.

Katy hesitated; her bosom heaved, and her lips compressed, as



though she feared to answer the question.

"To eat," she replied, at last, in a husky tone.



"What's the matter, Katy?"

The face of the child seemed to wear a load of care and anxiety,



and as the young fisherman gazed a tear started from her eye, and

slid down her cheek. Tommy's heart melted as he saw this



exhibition of sorrow. He wondered what could ail her.

"My mother is sick," replied Katy, dashing away the tell-tale



tear.

"I know that; but what do you want of flounders?"



"We have nothing to eat now," said Katy, bursting into tears.

"Mother has not been able to do any work for more than three



months: and we haven't got any money now. It's all gone. I

haven't had any breakfast to-day."



"Take 'em all, Katy!" exclaimed Tommy, jumping up from his seat

on the capsill of the pier. "How will you carry them? Here, I



will string 'em for you."

Tommy was all energy now, and thrust his hands down into the



depths of his pockets in search of a piece of twine. Those

repositories of small stores did not contain a string, however;



but mixed up with a piece of cord, a slate pencil, an iron hinge,

two marbles, a brass ring, and six inches of stovepipe chain,



were two cents, which the owner thereof carefully picked out of

the heap of miscellaneous articles and thrust them into the hand



of Katy.

"Here, take them; and as you go by the grocery at the corner of



the court, buy a two-cent roll," whispered he. "Got a bit o'

string, Johnny?" he added aloud, as Katy began to protest against



taking the money.

"Hain't got none; but I'll give you a piece of my fish line, if



you want," replied the bully, who was now unusually obliging.

"There's a piece of spunyarn, that's just the thing I want;" and



Tommy ran half way up the pier to the bridge, picked up the line,

and commenced stringing the flounders on it.



"I don't want them all, Tommy; only give me two or three. I never

shall forget you, Tommy," said Katy, her eyes suffused with tears



of gratitude.

"I'm sorry things go so bad with you, Katy, and I wish I could do



something more for you."

"I don't want anything more. Don't put any more on the string.



There's six. We can't eat any more."

"Well, then, I'll bring you some more to-morrow," replied Tommy,



as he handed her the string of fish. "Stop a minute; here's a

first-rate tom-cod; let me put him on;" and he took the string



and added the fish to his gift.

"I never shall forget you, Tommy; I shall only borrow the two



cents; I will pay you again some time," said she, in a low tone,

so that Johnny could not hear her.



"Never mind 'em, Katy. Don't go hungry again for a minute. Come

to me, and I'll help you to something or other."



"Thank you, Tommy;" and with a lighter heart than she had brought

with her, she hastened up the pier, no doubt anticipating a rich



feast from the string of fish.

The pier of the new South Boston bridge was then, as now, a



favorite resort for juvenile fishermen. Flounders, tom-cod, and

eels, to say nothing of an occasional sculpin, which boys still



persist in calling "crahpies," or "crahooners," used to furnish

abundant sport to a motley group of youngsters wherein the sons



of merchants mingled democratically with the dirty, ragged

children of the "Ten-footers" in the vicinity. The pier was



neutral ground, and Frederic Augustus made a friend of Michael or

Dennis, and probably neither was much damaged by this free



companionship; for Michael or Dennis often proves to be more of a

gentleman in his rags and dirty face than Frederic Augustus in



his broadcloth and white linen.

Katy walked as fast as her little feet would carry her, till she



came to a court leading out of Essex Street. The bells were

ringing for one o'clock as she entered the grocery at the corner






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