Missing children -- Juvenile fiction; Social classes -- Juvenile fiction
The princess moved uneasily when she was first laid upon the bed of
straw, and the boys literally held their breath in suspense, fearing she
would awaken; but, after a few moments, the child lay quietly, and
Plums said, in a tone of satisfaction:
"I know a good bit about kids, I do, 'cause old Mis' Carter had sich a
raft of 'em, an' I lived with her 'most a year. The right way is to
chuck 'em 'round jest as you want to, an' they'll stand it; but once you
begin to fuss with 'em, there's no end of a row."
"The princess ain't anything like Mis' Carter's youngsters."
"No, I don't know as she is; but I guess the same kind of handlin' will
fetch her 'round all right in the long run. Can't you eat some peanuts?"
"I've had enough, an', besides, we must leave somethin' to give the
princess, 'cause she'll be hungry in the mornin'."
"Yes, I s'pose we must. It always makes me feel bad to stop when there's
good things in the house," and Master Plummer told his friend of the
"great time" he had had on a certain rainy day, when it would have been
useless to attend to business, and the larder was well filled.
"I kept right on eatin', from mornin' till it was time to go to bed;
didn't rush, you know, but stuck at it."
"Didn't it make you sick?"
"Well, I did have a pretty bad ache before mornin'; but jest as likely
as not that would have come whether I'd eat anything or not. Mis' Carter
says if I don't stop bein' so hungry all the time I'll fill up a
glutton's grave, but how can a feller keep from wantin' something to
eat?"
"I don't s'pose it's anybody's business, Plums, what you do, so long as
you pay the bills; but it does seem to me that it would be better if
you'd get on more of a hustle when you're at work, an' stop thinkin' so
much about vittles. I can't see how you earn money enough to keep this
thing up."
"Seems like I've got some push to me if I do it, don't it?" Master
Plummer replied, complacently, and there the conversation came to an
end.
Plums, having ministered to his appetite, stretched himself at full
length on the ground, and it seemed to Joe as if he had but just assumed
that position when his heavy breathing told that he had fallen asleep.
Now and then from the street beyond could be heard the rumbling of a
carriage, sounding unusually loud owing to the stillness of the night.
At intervals the hum of voices told that belated seekers after pleasure
were returning home, and, in fact, everything reminded the ruined fruit
merchant that the time for rest was at hand.
Joe's eyelids were heavy with sleep, yet he resisted the impulse to
close them, because it seemed necessary he should watch over the
princess.
The candle, having burned down to the neck of the bottle in which it had
been placed, spluttered and fretted because its life was so nearly at an
end, and Joe replaced it with a fresh one.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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