SUE FLYAWAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 2098, 10 May 1894, Page 45

SUE FLYAWAY.

In Two Chaptebs, Chapter 11. The months passed away, till winter had come again. Though Mrs Applebaum had written several letters to Sue, she had received no answer, for the very good reason that the grandmother had intercepted and destroyed them all. One scrawl she did get from the child, saying : " O how orful it is'here. o how luvle ib wer thare. giv' my luv tv peper an' tv yu an' farther, o yu dere man an' wuman i want to se yu so mutch." Then Mrs Applebaum wrote directly to Granny Belden. The answer was short, but not sweet. She told the farmer and his wife that they'd better let Sue alone, trying to make her discontented with the only home she had or ever was likely to have, and, furthermore, they might make up their minds never to lay their eyes on the child again, for she'd had too much nonsense about birds and flowers and brooks and such trash put in her head when she was with them the last summer. But Sue, though she never heard from them, never lost faith in them, and not a night passed that she did not say the prayer they had taught her and add, " And O dear God, bless father and mother Applebaum, and if I am very, very good, please let me see them again." And the little girl did try her best to be "very, very good"; but ib seemed as though she could not please her old grandmother, who grew crosser and crosser as she grew feebler and feebler every day. At last the old woman was so weak she 'could not rise from her bed, and in the middle of December she died, leaving Susie without a relative in the world. Some of the neighbours took care of her till the funeral was over, and for several days after, and then she heard them talking about what was to be done with her. That she must go to the orphan asylum was the decision. But Susie had her own plan, though she said nothing. And when the money that had been raised by the sale of her grandmother's bits of furniture was given her, she sewed it all but sdol (it was but five-and-twenty) in the bosom of her dress, made up her few possessions in a neat bundle, and waited patiently for the afternoon of December 24. It came ; and then, without bidding any one good-bye, for fear of the questions they might ask her, she slipped out of the house and ran as hastily as the icy pavements would permit, uutil she reached the avenue down which the Wildflower Mission children had marched that eventful July day. She remembered the way quite well, and an hour's walk brought her to the ferry. She crossed to New York, reached the other ferry safely, and bought a ticket for Greenhill, and as the boat did not start for half an hour, and she began to feel hungry, she got some coffee and cakes from an old man who kept a little stand near by and swallowed them hurriedly, all the

time glancing over her shoulder to see if any \ one had come after her. Poor little orphan girl, she need not have feared, for no one gave her a thought after the first surprise at her sudden disappearance. The boat pushed out of the dock at last, grating against the huge pieces of ice with which the river was filled. There were but few passengers on board, and they had evidently been to New York for Christmas presents, for they all carried large parcels. It was very unlike her former sail on the same boat. Then the sky was bright with sunset clouds, the waves were bright with reflections, the banks and hills on each side were covered with green grass and pretty flowers, and the air was clear and balmy. Now a dull grey sky, chill grey water, snow-clad hills and banks, and cold winter winds. But Sue's eyes and cheeks glowed, and her heart beat joyously as she firmly grasped her small bundle and gazei out into the fast-falling darkness. It was 9 o'clock by the time the boat had arrived at the landing near the station from which Sue had to take the cars. She was juhfc in time to be helped on board by a friendly brakeman, and away she went for another hour's travel, this time by rail. That at an end, she had only a hope of finding samebody with a waggon who would take her to the farm. But she never faltered for a moment, but munched away at some crackers and cheese she had put in her pocket, sang a verse or two of a hymn she had learned at the mission over and over softly to herself, and talked a little to a young working woman who was going home to spend Christmas with her parents at the village just beyond Greenhill. "Greenhill," shouted the conductor. Sue started up, bade her new acquaintance goodbye, and in a moment more she stood alone on the platform, and the train rattled on. She looked around. Not a soul was in sight, and for the first time since she started on her journey, her heart sank within her ; but she plucked up courage again and went into the little room where the telegraph operator sat. " Well, little girl," said he, looking at her with astonishment, " where did you come from ? " " I corned from Brooklyn," answered Sue, ••and I want to go to Farmer Applebaum's." "Oh! you do,'" said the young man. "Well, I'm blessed if I know how you'll get there, unless Zeb Lamed will take you along on his sled. I expect him here shortly for a message I have for him. He's going within a mile of Applebaum's, and the night has turned out quite bright. If he takea you that far you could walk the rest, couldn't you P It's a straight road." "Oh ! yes, indeed," said Sue. " I've walked more'u that many an' many a time on wust nights and in wust weather than this." •• Well, I guess he'll stow you away among the Christmas trees — he's a-bringin' a load of 'em— and take you as near the farmer's as he can. Sit down and warm yourself till he comes." Susie obeyed, and sat patiently waiting until

the jingling of sleigh-bells was heard. Then she ran to the door, and there was Zeb Lamed and his sled loaded with young evergreen trees. " Hallo ! Jack. Got my telegram ? " he shouted as he came stamping in and clapping his numb hands (numb with the cold, in spite of the thick mittens he had on) loudly together. •' Yes ; here ib is," said Jack, handing him a strip of paper, " and I've something else for you too. Here's a little girl, 'way from Brooklyn, wants you to take her as near as you can to Mr Applebaum's. Will you do it?" ••Why, of course, I will. I'll take her to Sweetbrier lane, and then it's only a short cut to his house, and the lane's cleared of snow, 'cause I saw the farmer comin' down it with the snow plough as I drove past this afternoon, I couldn't turn up there myself on account of the big load I have ; it's too narrer, and I'm late anyhow. What do you say, Sis ? Would you know your way by the lane ? Have you been there ? " »' Often an' often," answered Sue, "an' I know the way as good as Ijknow my A B C.'s, an' I'll giv' you a quarter " •• There, there ; I don't want your quarber. Bundle in, and off we'il go. : ' And snuggled among the spicy-smelling Christmas trees, away W6nt our brave little traveller once more. The night was still bright when Zab pub Sue down at the head of the lane, gave her a tiny, tiny Christmas tree, wished her a " Merry Christmas," and drove on, But she had not been five minutes on her way when the sky clouded, the wind began to roar, and snowflakes as big as her fist fell fast and thick, and she found herself battliDg with a heavy winter storm. The snow blinded her ; her feet and hands became icy cold ; but still she struggled on, hugging the tiny Christmas tree to her breast with one arm and her bundle with the other, Two or three times she felt so tired and drowsy she was tempted to lie down and sleep, but she wouldn'b yield to the temptation. " Don't b'lieve I'd ever wake up agin if I did," she said, " an' if I kin keep on I'll gib there sure at last. Glad I ain't gob Pepper to carry this time." And she did fight her way on for what seemed to her, in the darkness and cold, a long, long time, but which was in reality only about 10 minutes, and then a light streamed out upon her pathway and the Christmas bells began to ring. She had reached her longed-for home at last. The big dog came bounding towards her with a menacing bark as she opsned the gate, but it was changed to one of welcome when he saw who it was. The front door opened. Mr Applebaum stood in it, a lamp in his hand. His wife peered over his shoulder. "Why, mother, who can it be at this time o' night ? " he said. And for answer a little snow-covered figure, bearing a tiny Christmas tree in its arms, fell at his feet aßd gasped out, "It's me, dear Father Applebaum ; it's me, dear Mother Applebaum— your ■ Christmas preseut,"

"The Lord be thanked!" exclaimed the' farmer's wife as she stooped and gathered the little wanderer in her motheriy arms, ' ' for never has He sent me a more welcome one." "Then you do want me," said Sue, when she was seated before the tire in the kitchen, with Pepper, plumper than ever, in her lap. "I thought you would. So when granny died, I says to myself, 'I'll be Sue Flyaway wunst more, au' I'll fly away to Greenhill, an' then I'll be Susan Belden Applebautn all tho rest of my life.' " "So you shall, dearie," said Mrs Applebaum ; " and now you must go to bed, and so must we, or we'll ha tired and tleepy on Merry Christmas, and that would never do." They weren't tired and sleepy on Merry Christmas, but were just as jolly and wideawake as could be, and two of the farmer's sons came from California — one of them bringing his wife and boy baby — to see their father and mother. Such a pleasant surprise as that was ! They stayed two mouth?, and when they went away Sue was richer by two lOdol gold pieces than when they came. And the next Christmas what a party they had at Farmer Applebaum's ! No ltss tbau 50 of the children belonging to the Wild flower Mission were there, and the Christmas tree — the loveliest that was ever seen— reached to the ceiling of the dining room, and wa3 hung with hundreds of beautiful and useful things. And this party had come in response to a written iuvitafion, which leid thus : " Miss Susan Belden Applebaum requests the pleasure of the company of the children and teachers of the Wildilower Mission at a Christmas party to be held at Applebaum farm, and to last from the evening of the 24-th to the morning of the 25bh of December, all expenses to and from the farm to bo paid by Miss Susan Belden Applebaum " ; and down in one corner was written, " Sue Flyaway." And the expenses were paid by Miss Susan Belden Applebaum. She had, if you remember, 22d0l left her by her grandmother, and her brothers by adoption gave her 20dol more. This Father and Mother Applebaum made her keep, adding a little to it now and then, and when she expreFsed a wish to give it as a gift to her former schoolmates they readily agreed, and proposed that it should be spent in fares to bring the children for a merry Christmas visit. The neighbours entered into the spirit of the thing, and poultry of all kinds, hams, pork and beans, cakes, candles, and many other things were generously contributed. Zeb Lamed, for hisdoaat'on, brought tbe tall Christmas tree and a box of pretty coloured tapers to light it with. Even tho young telegraph operator, hearing of the affair, said he must "chip in," and ho "chipped in" to the extent of a box of raisins, two dozen lemony and twice as many oranges. That party was like a vision of fairyland to those poor children. They talked about it for months — yes, for years — after. It was the sunniest spot in their young lives. And when

it was all over, and the guests had gone off in the train, waving hats and handkerchiefs and givingcheer after cheerfor Sue Flyaway, thelittle girl leaned back in the sleigh that had brought her and the kitten to see them off, and with glad tears streaming down her face, she said : " Can you b'lieve, Pepper, when you remember that day you flied into the candy shop, an' I flied after you, an' you broke ther man's jar an' spilt his candies — can you b'lieve .that you're you an' me is me ? " — Margaret Eytinoe, in the Detroit Free Press.