Rough and Ready

"I wish we didn't get out so quick," she said.

"Do you like being on the water, Rosie?"

"Ever so much," replied the little girl.

"Then we will take a longer excursion some day soon. We can go to Staten Island. That will be six miles each way."

"That will be nice. I hope we can go soon."

They soon reached the Brooklyn side, and disembarked with the throng of fellow-passengers. A car was waiting the boat's arrival, on which they saw "Greenwood" printed.

"Jump on board quick," said Rough and Ready, "or you won't get seats."

Miss Manning barely got a seat. She took Rose in her lap, and the newsboy stood out on the platform with the conductor. The ride was a pleasant one to all three, but no incidents happened worth noting. When Rufus settled the fare, the conductor said jocosely, "Your wife and child, I suppose?"

"No," said the newsboy, "all my children are grown up and out of the way. They don't give me any trouble."

"That's where you're lucky," said the conductor. "It's more than I can say."

"Have you a family?"

"Yes, I have a wife and four children, and precious hard work I find it to support them on my small wages. But it's no use asking any more."

"That's my sister, the little girl I mean," said Rufus, "The other is a friend who looks after her. I have to support her; but that's only one, while you have five."

"She looks like a nice little girl. She is about the size of my oldest girl."

"She's a dear little sister," said the newsboy, warmly. "I should feel very lonely without her."

He little thought as he spoke that the loneliness to which he referred was speedily to come upon him. But we will not anticipate.

They got out at the entrance of the cemetery, and entered the grounds. Greenwood Cemetery, of which all my readers have probably heard, is very extensive, the grounds comprising over three hundred acres. It is situated about two and a half miles from the South Ferry, on what is now known as Gowanus Heights. Its elevated position enables it to command charming views of the bay and harbor of New York; with its islands and forts, the twin cities of New York and Brooklyn, the New Jersey shore, the long lines of city wharves, with their forests of masts, and an extensive view of the ocean. The numerous and beautiful trees crowning the elevations, the costly monuments, the winding paths, so intersecting each other as almost to make a labyrinth, render this a charming spot, and death assumes a less repulsive aspect amid such surroundings.

"How beautiful it is!" said Miss Manning, gazing about her thoughtfully. "I have never been here before."

"I never came but once," said the newsboy, "and that was a good while ago."

Little Rose was charmed, and darted first into one path, then into another, and was about to pluck some flowers, until she was told that this was against the regulations.

"What a lot of dead people live here!" she said, as from a little height they saw white stones and monuments rising on every side.

"She has used the right word, after all, Rufus," said Miss Manning; "for death is only the introduction to another life. I sometimes think that those whose bodies lie here are not wholly insensible to the beauty by which they are surrounded."

"I don't know," said the newsboy, "I never thought much about it till mother died. I wish she had been buried here. I think it would be a comfort to me. Poor mother! she had a hard life;" and he sighed. "I want Rose to have a happier one."

"Let us hope she will. Have you heard anything of Mr. Martin lately?"

She carefully avoided using the word "stepfather" for she had observed that even this recognition of relationship was distasteful to the boy, who had imbibed a bitter prejudice against the man who had wrecked his mother's happiness, and undoubtedly abridged her life by several years.

"No, I have not seen him since the day after I took Rose away from Leonard Street. I think he cannot be in the city, or he would have come round to where I was selling papers. I expected he would be round before to ask me for some money."

"What do you think has become of him?"

"Maybe he has gone back into the country. I hope he has, for I should feel safer about Rose."

Here the conversation closed for the time. They rambled on without any particular aim, wherever fancy dictated. They came upon most of the notable monuments, including that of the sea-captain, and that of Miss Canda, the young heiress, who, dying by a violent accident, with no one to inherit her wealth, it was decided that it should all be expended upon a costly monument, which has ever since been one of the chief ornaments of the cemetery.

At length they began to think of returning, but had some difficulty at first in finding their way to the gate, so perplexing is the maze of paths.

"I don't know but we shall have to stay here all night," said Rufus. "How should you like that, Rose?"

"I wouldn't care," said the little girl. "I think the grass would make a nice soft bed."

But to this necessity they were not reduced, as after a while they emerged into a broad path that led down to the gateway. They passed through it, and got on board a horse-car.

"I think we will go to Fulton Ferry this time," said Rough and Ready. "It will give us a little change."

He did not realize to what misfortune this choice of his would lead, or he would not have made it; but we cannot foresee what our most trifling decisions may lead to. In due time they got on board the Fulton ferry-boat, and went into the ladies' cabin. They didn't see a man who followed their motions with an eager gaze, mingled with malice. It was James Martin, who saw Rose now for the first time since she was taken from Leonard Street by her brother.

"This is lucky!" he muttered to himself. "I will find out where she lives, and then it will be a pretty tight cage, or I shall be able to secure the bird."

But there was danger that, if he followed in person, the newsboy might look back, and, perceiving his design, foil it by going in the wrong direction. He quickly decided what to do. There was a half-grown boy near by whom he knew slightly.

"Here, boy," said he,"do you want to earn half a dollar?"

"Yes," said the boy.

"Then you must follow some people whom I will point out to you, and find out where they live. Don't let them see that they are followed."

"All right, sir."

When Rough and Ready got out of the boat with his two companions, they were followed at a little distance by this boy; but of this they were quite unaware.

CHAPTER XIII.

ROSE AND HER ENEMY

James Martin waited at the Fulton Ferry for the return of his emissary. But he had to wait a long time, as the lodgings occupied by Miss Manning and little Rose were rather more than a mile distant, and their progress was somewhat delayed by their stopping to listen to a little Italian boy and his sister, who were singing near the head of Fulton Street. Then there was a difficulty in crossing Broadway, on account of the stream of vehicles. Owing to these causes, it was an hour and a quarter before the messenger returned. James Martin had about made up his mind that the boy had given up the quest, and was starting away in vexation and disappointment, just as he appeared in sight.

"Well, you've been gone long enough," he said, roughly. "Why didn't you stay all night?"

"I came as quick as I could. It's a long ways," said the boy. "Then they stopped two or three times."

"Did you find out where they lived?" asked Martin, eagerly.

"Yes, I followed 'em clear to the door."

"Where is it?"

"Where's the half dollar you promised me?" said the boy, with commendable caution.

"I'll give it to you when you've told me where it is."

"I want it first."

"Do you think I won't give it to you?" demanded Martin, angrily.

"Maybe you will, and maybe you won't. I never saw you before."

"I'll give you the money as soon as you tell me."

"It's No. 125 Centre Street."

"All right, my lad, I'll pay you when I get ready as long as you've made such a fuss about it."

"Well," said the boy, coolly, "I guess you won't make any more out of it than I do."

"Why not?" asked Martin suspiciously.

"Because I've told you the wrong street and number."

"Is that so?"

"If you don't believe it, go to 125 Centre Street, and see if you can find them."

"You're a young rascal," said Martin, angry at being foiled.

"Maybe I am; but I don't mean to be cheated by you or any other man."

"I've a good mind to give you a thrashing."

"You'd better if you want to sleep in the station-house to-night," returned the boy, not in the least alarmed.

"So you were going to tell me the wrong place, and take my money, were you?"

"No; if you'd given me the money, I'd have told you right afterwards."

"Well, here's your money," said Martin, taking out fifty cents.

"I want seventy-five cents now."

"What for?"

"Because you tried to cheat me."

"Then I won't give you anything."

"All right. Then you must find out for yourself where they live."

"Come, boy, don't be foolish. Here's your fifty cents."

"Keep it yourself till there's twenty-five more."

Further effort proving unavailing, James Martin recalled the boy, who had already started to go, and very unwillingly complied with his demand.

"Well," said the boy, depositing the money carefully in his pocket, "now I'll tell you. It's No. – Franklin Street, near the North River."

"Are you telling me the truth?" asked Martin, suspiciously, for he would never have thought of this quarter.

"Yes, it's the truth. If you don't believe it, you can go and see for yourself."

"Franklin Street!" repeated Martin to himself. "Perhaps it's true. The boy's a deep one. He thought I wouldn't find him out there. Perhaps he'll find himself mistaken. I'd like to see him when he finds the girl gone."

James Martin, not relying wholly on the boy's information, determined to go round and find the place indicated, and see if he couldn't ascertain definitely whether it was correct. If so, he would lay his plans accordingly.

Following up this determination, twenty minutes later found him standing in front of the house. But he could not, without inquiring, obtain the desired information, and this he hardly liked to do, lest it should be reported to Rough and Ready, and so put him on his guard.

He stood undecided what to do; but chance favored him. While he was considering, he saw the newsboy himself come up the street and enter the house, with a loaf of bread under his arm. He was just returning from a bakery near by, and the bread was to form a part of the supper to which all three brought excellent appetites.

James Martin crouched back in a door-way, in order to escape observation, at the same time pulling his hat over his eyes. The precaution, however, proved unnecessary, for the newsboy never looked across the street, and was far enough from suspecting the danger that menaced the little household. He was thinking rather of the nice supper,—a little better than usual,—which was being prepared in honor of the holiday, and thinking how much more pleasantly they were situated than in the room at Leonard Street, on the other side of the city.

"It's all right!" muttered Martin to himself with satisfaction. "The boy told me the truth, and I don't mind the seventy-five cents, as long as I've found out where they live. They'll find I aint so easily fooled as I might be. A day or two'll tell the story."

He had learned all he wished to know, and walked back to Broadway, where it is unnecessary to follow him.

The next day Rose and Miss Manning were sitting together in the neat little room to which both had become attached. Miss Manning was sewing as usual. Rose was sitting on a stool at her feet, with her eyes fixed on a small reading-book.

"I think I know my lesson, Miss Manning," she said at last, raising her eyes.

"Very well, Rose, I am ready to hear you."

The seamstress laid down her work, and Rose standing by her side, read the lesson to her without a mistake.

"Didn't I say it well, Miss Manning?" she asked, proudly.

"Yes, Rose, you are doing famously; I am quite proud of my pupil."

"I shall soon get through my book. Then Rufie will have to buy me another."

"I have no doubt he will be very glad to do so, Rose. He is very anxious that you should get along fast."

"Isn't he a good boy, Miss Manning?"

"Yes, he is a very kind, considerate brother."

"I like it so much better than when I lived with—Mr. Martin. Do you think I shall ever see him again, Miss Manning?"

"I cannot tell, Rose. I hope not; for I do not think you would be happy with him."

"He used to drink rum, and it made him so cross I used to be afraid of him."

"Rum ruins a great many people, Rose."

"I don't see how anybody can like it," said the little girl. "Once fath—I mean Mr. Martin, brought some home in a bottle, and when he was out, I thought I would just taste a little—"

"O Rose!"

"Only a very little, a tiny spoonful, to see how it tasted. But it was so strong, and tasted so bad, I could not swallow it. I don't see how anybody can like it."

"Yes, Rose, it does seem strange. But I am going to ask you to go on a little errand for me."

"I should like to go," said the little girl, jumping up. "What is it, Miss Manning?"

"I need a spool of cotton. You know the little store round the corner."

"Lindsay's?"

"Yes. I should like to have you go there and buy me another spool, the same number as this. I will give you the spool, so that you can show it to the man behind the counter."

"Yes, Miss Manning."

"Here are ten cents. You can bring me back the change. If you want to, you can stop at the candy-shop, and buy a stick of candy out of what is left."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Manning. Shan't I buy you a stick too?"

"No, Rose, I have got over my love for candy."

"Didn't you use to like it when you were a little girl?"

"Yes, Rose; but now make haste, for I have only a needleful of cotton left, and I want to finish this work to-night, if I can."

Rose put on her bonnet, and went downstairs, proud of the commission with which she was intrusted. She was actually going shopping, just as grown women do, and this gave her a feeling of dignity which made her carry her little form with unusual erectness. She little suspected that the danger which her brother and herself most dreaded lay in wait for her in the street beneath; that she was about to be torn from the pleasant home which she had begun to enjoy so much. Nor did Miss Manning suspect to what peril she was exposing her young charge, and what grief she was unconsciously laying up for Rufus and herself.

James Martin was lurking near the house, and had been lounging about there for three or four hours He had notified his employer in the morning that he had business in New York, and should be unable to work that day. He had also given notice to his landlady that he expected to bring his daughter home that night, and he wanted her to prepare accommodations for her.

With the design of procuring her he had come over and repaired to Franklin Street; but Rose and Miss Manning seldom stirred out in the morning, and he had watched and waited in vain until now. He had made several visits to a neighboring groggery and indulged in potations which helped to while away the time, but he was getting very impatient, when, to his great joy, he saw Rose come out upon the sidewalk, and alone, which was better still. He had made up his mind to claim her, even if she were accompanied by Miss Manning; but this might excite a disturbance, and he knew there would be danger of interference from the police, which he did not court. So he considered it a remarkable stroke of good luck when he saw Rose coming out alone.

"There she is," he said to himself. "I'll soon nab her. But I wonder where she is going."

He might have seized her at once, but he thought it best not to do so. Very likely there might be somebody who might witness the seizure, who would know that she was living with Miss Manning, and might be inclined to interfere. He thought it would be better to follow her a little distance, and effect the capture in another locality.

Rose pursued her way, unconscious of the danger that menaced her. She entered the store, made her purchase, and it wasn't till she had gone a little away from the store that she felt a heavy hand upon her shoulder, and, looking round, to her indescribable dismay and terror, recognized her stepfather.

CHAPTER XIV.

ROSE KIDNAPPED

"So I've found you at last," said James Martin, looking grimly at Rose, bending over so that the fumes of his breath, tainted with liquor, seemed to scorch her innocent cheek.

"Let me go," said Rose, terrified and ready to cry.

"Let you go!" repeated Martin, with a sneer. "Is that all the welcome you've got for me, after I've taken the pains to come clear over from Brooklyn to find you? No, I can't let you go; I'm your father, and you must go with me."

"I can't, indeed I can't," said Rose, in distress "I want to stay with Rufie and Miss Manning."

"I can't allow it. I'm your father, and I'm responsible for you. Your brother aint fit to have charge of you. Come along."

He seized her by the shoulder, and began to push her along.

"I don't want to go," said Rose, crying. "I don't want to leave Rufie."

"I don't care what you want," said Martin, roughly."You've got to come with me, anyhow. As for your brother, I don't want him. He'd be trying to kidnap you again. I might have put him in prison for it; but I'll let him go this time, if you don't make any fuss."

"What is the matter?" asked a policeman, who came up as Rose was struggling weakly in the grasp of her stepfather. "What are you pulling along the little girl for?"

"Because she won't come without," said Martin. "She ran away from home with her brother a few weeks ago, and I've just found her."

"Is she your child?"

"Yes."

"Is that true?" asked the policeman, not particularly prepossessed in Martin's favor by his personal appearance, his face being unusually inflamed by his morning potations. His question was of course directed to Rose.

"No, I aint his child now," said Rose. "Rufie has the care of me."

"And who is Rufie?"

"He is my brother."

"He's a young rascal," said Martin, "up to all sorts of mischief. He'll lie and steal, and anything else that's bad. He aint fit to have charge of Rose."

"It isn't true," said the little girl, indignantly. "He doesn't lie nor steal. He's the best boy that ever lived."

"I haven't anything to do with that," said the policeman. "The question is, is this your father?"

"He was mother's husband," said Rose, reluctantly.

"Then he is your stepfather."

"Don't let him take me away," said Rose, imploringly.

"If he's your stepfather, I can't stop him. But, hark you, my man, I advise you to be kind to the little girl. If you are not, I hope she'll run away from you. You look as if you'd been drinking pretty hard this morning."

"It's the trouble I've had about her that made me drink," said Martin, apologetically. "I was afraid she wasn't taken good care of. Come along now, Rose. He says you must go."

"Let me go and speak to Miss Manning first," entreated Rose. "I've got a spool of cotton I've just bought for her."

"I'm not such a fool as that," said Martin. "I've looked for you long enough, and now I've got you I mean to hold on to you."

"But Miss Manning won't know where I am," pleaded Rose.

"It's none of her business where you are. She aint no relation of yours."

"But she's been very kind to me."

"She was kind enough to keep you away from me, she hasn't anything to do with you, and I don't mean she shall ever see you again."

Poor Rose! the thought that she was to be forever separated from her kind friend, Miss Manning, smote her with a sharp sorrow, and she began to cry bitterly.

"Stop your whimpering," said Martin, roughly, "or I'll give you something to cry about."

But, even with this threat hanging over her, Rose could not check the flow of her tears. Those persons whom they met looked with sympathy at the pretty little girl, who was roughly pulled along by the red-faced, rough-looking man; and more than one would have been glad to interfere if he had felt authorized to do so.

James Martin did not relish the public attention drawn to them by Rose's tears, for he knew instinctively that the sympathy would be with her, and not with himself. As soon as possible he got the child on board a horse-car bound for the South Ferry. This was something of an improvement, for he was no longer obliged to drag her along. But even in the cars her tears continued to flow.

"What's the matter with your little girl?" asked a kind, motherly-looking woman, who had a daughter at home about Rose's age, and whose sympathies were therefore more readily excited by the appearance of distress in the child's face.

"She's been behaving badly, ma'am," said Martin.

"She doesn't look like a bad child," said the good woman, kindly.

"You can't tell by her looks," said Martin. "Maybe you'd think, to look at her, that she was one of the best children out; but she's very troublesome."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You should try to be good, my dear," said the woman, gently.

Rose didn't reply, but continued to shed tears.

"She's got a brother that's a regular bad one," continued Mr. Martin. "He's a little scamp, if there ever was one. Would you believe it, ma'am, he induced his sister to run away from home some weeks ago, and ever since I've been hunting all around to find her?"

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the other, interested. "Where did you find her, if I may be allowed to ask?"

"In a low place, in the western part of the city," said Mr. Martin. "It wasn't a fit place for a child like her. Her brother carried her away from a good home, just out of spite, because he got angry with me."

"It must have made you feel very anxious."

"Yes," said Mr. Martin, pathetically. "It worried me so I couldn't sleep nights. I've been hunting night and day for her ever since, but it's only to-day that I got track of her. She's crying now because she didn't want to leave the woman her brother placed her with."

"I'm sorry to hear it. My dear, you will be better off at home than among strangers. Don't you think you will?"

"No, I shan't," said Rose. "Miss Manning was a good woman, and was very kind to me."

"She isn't old enough to judge," said Martin, shrugging his shoulders.

"No, of course not. Where do you live?"

"In Brooklyn."

"Well, good-by; I get out here."

"Good-by, ma'am. I hope you won't have so much trouble with your children as I have."

"I am sure your little girl will be better when she gets home."

"I hope so, ma'am."

Rose did not speak. She was too much distressed, and, child as she was, she had an instinctive feeling that her stepfather was false and hypocritical, and she did not feel spirit enough to contradict his assertions about herself and Rufus.

At length they reached the ferry, and embarked on the ferry-boat.

Rose no longer tried to get away. In the first place, she was now so far away from home that she would not have known her way back. Besides, she saw that Mr. Martin was determined to carry her with him, and that resistance would be quite useless, so in silent misery she submitted herself to what it seemed impossible to escape.

They got into the cars on the other side, and the trip passed without incident.

"We get out here," said Mr. Martin, when they had been riding about half an hour.

Rose meekly obeyed his summons, and followed him out of the car.

"Now, young lady," said Mr. Martin, sternly, "I am going to give you a piece of advice. Are you listening?"

"Yes," said Rose, dispiritedly.

"Then you had better give up snivelling at once. It aint going to do you any good. Maybe, if you behave well, I'll let your brother see you after a while, but if you kick up a fuss you'll never see him again in the world. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I hope you do. Anyway, you'd better. I live over here now. I've took board for you and myself in the house of a woman that's got a girl about as big as you. If you aint foolish you'll have a good time playing with her."