Not Guilty; or, Barefoot Billy's Fortune — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

eae No. 76, THE NUGGET LIBRARY. OES ga —$— — ————————eeeeoeoeaewqwqs>= —S—aesaaeee { } ‘ ; ‘em grow up and bless you yet. The little girl is growin’ nicely, and the boy is doing well at the shop.” Molly thus encouraged the poor widow, and during her last illness brought in little comforts and sat with her, and helped take care of the children, in her rude way. The widow died, and Molly superintended her quiet burial. There were few mourners, and no relatives at the funeral, except the boy and girl. Molly had the body of Mrs. Robson placed in @ grave near that of her husband, at Copp’s Hill. And thus, at last, the parents of Barefoot Billy and Cally Robson lay side by side in their final resting-place. When the earth was thrown upon the coffin of their loved mother, the little orphans turned slowly away from the grave, to go—alas, they knew not wither. But Molly Grabett lingered beside them, and, in her rough but friendly manner, tried to cheer and comfort them. ‘“‘Where are you going, Billy?” she inquired. ‘‘T don’t know, Molly—back to the shop, I suppose.”’ ‘‘And then?” pursued the woman. “T can’t tell,” responded Billy. ‘‘An’ me, too,’’ said Cally, looking up in the old woman’s face inquiringly. A tear filled Molly’s eye, which she quickly brushed away. ‘‘Mamma said God would take care of us,’ murmured the lit- tle girl; ‘‘and He will—won’t He, Molly?” ‘‘Yes—yes—little ‘un. Come with me now.” “Sha’n’t we go home no more, Melly?” inquired Cally, inno- cently. ‘*Home ?” she replied, half to herself; “home, Cally? You have no home now. But you shall not want for shelter while I has a ruff over my ’ed, nor while I havea crust. Come!’ she con- tinued, taking the children’s hand in her own. ‘‘God will pro- vide for us all. We willleanon Him. He will not forsake the fatherless and they that put their trust in Him. Come!”’ “To your home, Molly?” ‘‘Yer,”’ replied the old woman. ‘‘I’ve plenty o’ room and enough for us all, thank Heaven, at present. You shall go to the store, Billy, and get your three dollars a week, an’ I'll see to your clo’es and meals. Cally shall help me in my little shop, an’ can be very useful. We'll live together, an’ I’ll be a mother to you both till you can do semethin’ better for yourselfs. It isn’t much L’ve got, but God is over all. We sha’n’t suffer. Billy’s earnins’ are consid’able—an’ we'll get on,’”’ concluded Molly, hopefully, as the trio moved away from the grave-yard. But new troubles were directly before them, which they little anticipated. CHAPTER VI. WAS BAREFOOT BILLY A THIRF? Barefoot Billy had been absent from his place two days, in at- tendance upon the death and funeral of his mother. On return- ing to the store he was astounded to hear his employer announce to him that his services would no longer be required in that es- tablishment. “T couldn’t help it, sir,” said Barefoot Billy, humbly, as the tears started afresh at the thought of being thus summarily dis- charged on account of his absence, which he imagined to be the cause. ‘You couldn’t, eh?” ‘*No, sir.”’ “Then you admit your guilt, do you?” “Guilt, sir!” exclaimed Barefoot Billy, looking up suddenly eoreeen his tears, and utterly confounded at these threatening words. ‘“Well, no matter. Go home and tell your mother I don’t want you any longer. I don't see how you had the cheek to come here again—I don’t.”’ ‘I haven’t got no mother!” said Barefoot Billy, bursting again into tears. “No mother! What’s the matter, boy?” “Mother’s dead, sir.”’ “Dead? When?” ‘‘An’ buried, sir—yesterday.”’ ‘Well, I’m sorry. Here’s your money for this week. I can’t help it. But you must go away from here. I can’t have you here any more. ‘That gentleman’s pocket-book can’t be found, and he’s one of my best customers. He says there was no one here but you when he paid his bill except me. He left it in this store—you went off directly after he went out. You haven’t been seen for three days since. I can’t -have nobody ’round me that night his mother died, but the insinuations of his employer as- tounded him. Was he cies rete of being the wrongful possessor of the missing pocket-book? “You don't Mhink me a thief, do you, sir?” asked Barefoot Billy, when the light broke in upon him, at length. *“T hope not, sir, any way.” Pare ‘‘T don’t know nothin’ about it,” continued the master, indif- ferently. ‘I didn’t steal it, at any rate. This I know. You were the only other person in the shop at the time it was lost. The man can’t find it, and you can judge who is naturally sus- pected. This comes of takin’ strange boys into our stores, of whom we know nothin’. I sha’n’t do it again. Now, you can go. I won’t have even suspicious boys ’round me. Find the pocket-book, or restore it, an’ I'll forgive you. But you must look sharp. The police are put on your track. You can’t go fur with it. Now—go!” Barefoot Billy went ont of that place where he had been so hardly worked, though fairly paid, for the best part of a year, with a crushed spirit. He knew no more about the lost pocket-book than did his dead mother, and on arriving home he told Molly the whole story. The ire of Dame Grabett was aroused at this cruel allegation against the boy, and his subsequent discharge. ‘What kind of a pocket-book was it?” asked she. “T don’t know, Molly; I never saw it,’ replied Barefoot Billy, honestly and frankly. ‘‘Was there money in it?” ‘So I suppose. He didn’t say.” *‘And he thinks yon stole it?’’ ‘Plainly, ‘cause he says ‘bring it back an’ Ill forgive you.’ tithes I bring it? I don’t know nothin’ of it, an’ they can’t nd it.” ‘‘Tt'3 a bad job, Billy.” ‘‘He says the p’lice is lookin’ after me sharp,” continued the lad, alarmed, ‘‘S’pose they nab me; then I'll go up for cer- tain.”’ “Why, Billy?” “Oh, I hain’t gotno friend ’at ll help me out o’ this scrape, you see, an’ [’ll go up, sure.” ‘‘No friend?” said the woman. ‘‘An’ where is Molly Grabett all this time, I’d like to know?” ‘*Well, Molly, you’ll stand by me. thief, do you?” “No, indeed, Ido not. If they take you up I'll go wi’ you, and go your bail; and we'll see ’bout this, to be sure,” said Molly, bravely. ‘Heaven forgive this man. But he’s a liar ~ when he says you stole the money, I think.” ‘‘He on’y says he and I was the two persons in the shop after the man went out and lost it, and that one of us is the thief, which he isn’t; that’s what he says, Molly.’’ “Well, I call that a pooty powerful insinivation, any way,” concluded Molly, turning aside to answer the shop-bell, and a customer, who just then entered. Molly went into the front shop at the sound of the bell, and instead of finding a patron there, was confronted by a well- known officer of the police force. ‘*How are you, Molly?” he said. ‘‘Where’s Barefoot Bully?” ‘‘What d’ you want o’ him, Grabb?” asked the woman, quickly, suspecting the cause of this person’s visit to her place. ‘Oh, he’s here, yer know. ‘Tain’t no use o’ tryin’ to dodge the issoo with me, Molly,”’ said the officer. ‘‘What issoo?”’ “T want the boy, I tell yer. stealin’ a wallet o’ money.” ‘Who says he stole it?”” demanded Molly, sharply, ‘“‘Never mind—that’s about the sum an’ substance o’ the charge ag’in him. So trot him ont.” Barefoot Billy was quickly forthcoming. ‘‘Come, youngster,”’ said the officer, ‘‘you’re wanted.” Molly then hastily put on her old straw bonnet and plaid shawl, and started off behind the officer and Barefoot Billy, to- ward the city court. : The case was at once examined. The tailor apne i the Reet told his story, and sat down. a anes ‘“Were you ever up here before?” asked the jud trembling Barefoot Billy. a ee ‘‘No, sir. I never wasin no store before, with no hard-hearted master to charge me with stealin’ a thing I don’ about, as true’s I’m livin’.” S nt know anything ‘*You never have been in court before?” You don’t think I’m a I got a warrant fer him, for ‘‘No, sir—never.”’ ‘First offense,” said the judge. ‘‘Where’s the ness in this case—the loser of the wallet?” he cont over some papers. No answer came to this query. phasis. / This was the first that Barefoot Billy had heard of any lost pocket-book. He remembered the circumstance of the payment of the customer’s bill, just before he went home hurriedly on the ) ain’t honest—and I won’t,” concluded the storekeeper, with em- , Principal wit- inued, looking v@ - ' pS aA PS at | beak’ & . “ TN -¥ ¢ Pia Zu i . 4s . - ‘.* * ‘ = \e Pal tia > ‘ > - -~ . ee é ; + P 4 > 4 , ro oe ee " AF Oe OE on Sr ips .. . ° . - ; / rT” Y 4.3 ' anf) r ™~ a, <.* alfa’. 4 -. ras "| . : | SW bee 4 RY 23). > OARS ee Ree ee ee a ee ; ‘ f ; . enn Oe oboe: ¥ hP VW ite ‘ Le al Y . le > 3; , ~~, F5, +»: w ao % 3 > < ° ev} , : . ' » [> 7 7