
Little Ella and the Beggar (1856)
This short Christmas story appeared in the December 1856 issue of The Lily:
“Go away you naughty little beggar—you shall not sit on my father’s steps—go right away,”—and the angry little speaker wrapped in her warm furs, eyed the shadowy thinly clad child with no friendly expression as she took up her little bundle of broken bread and stole timidly off the marble steps where she had stopped for a moment to rest her tired little feet. “And don’t you ever come here again,” continued the child, springing down one or two of the steps, and frightening the other so much by the movement that she began running, and in her haste to escape, she slipped upon the ice and fell, at which her little tormenter burst into a peal of merry laughter.
“Was that my little daughter Ella that I heard speaking so unkindly?” uttered a grave voice behind the still laughing child. The merriment was stilled, and little Ella dropped her eyes, abashed by the reproachful glance cast upon her by her father who had been an unobserved spectator of the scene.
“Was that your voice Ella?” repeated Mr. Hersey in a sterner tone.
“Yes papa—but it was only a little beggar girl—and she was so dirty. Mamma gave me leave to come out on the steps and play, and I expected Susan Linden to come too, and I’m sure I should not want her to see me sitting here with my pretty new pelisse on, and that beggar girl here too, and she had such a dirty bundle in her hand, papa. Why I think she was real impudent to come here and sit down with her old torn dress on our nice white steps, don’t you papa?” she added, emboldened by the smile which she saw playing for an instant on her father’s face.
“Is my daughter any better than the little beggar because she has on a cashmere frock and new pelisse, rather than a torn calico?” questioned Mr. Hersey.
“Why papa,” said Ella, “I always thought I was better than a beggar.” (more…)