Old Rodman

 

On State Street lived old Rodman

A rich man hard and cold

None ever saw him friendly

But all knew of his gold.

 

He’s lived there many years now

With servants all alone

His face is always scowling

His heart is hard as stone.

 

Some tell a tale of sorrow

That many years ago

When cold December’s skies were gray

And grounds were white with snow

 

In a cabin on a hillside

A mother dying lay

Beside her stood a boy of ten

And on the floor at play.

 

A blue-eyed baby three years old

Looks up with wondering eyes

What makes Dear Mother lay so still?

What makes Big Brother cry?

 

“Mothers gone to heaven”

The boy stooped down and said

She’s happy now with father

But folks will say she’s dead.

 

She told me to take care of you

To teach you to be true

And then some day we’ll go to them

Up in the sky so blue.

 

The baby takes a tiny hand

And wipes a tear from Brothers eye.

And says, “If Mother Dear is happy now

Dear Brother don’t you cry.

 

“I’ll grow up big and keep your house

And we’ll together stay

And that will please Dear Mother

When she looks down this way”

 

Alas! For Baby’s hopes and plans

The neighbors came that day

They said, “A boy of ten can work

But Baby we’ll take away.

 

We’ll take her to the orphan home.

There she’ll be treated well

Some one may adopt her –

A rich man – who can tell,”

 

In vain were Brothers pleadings

They took the child away

A widow soon adopted her

He saw her last that day.

 

The lad did work, and when at last

A man he’d grown to be

He bought the house on State Street

“I’ll make her a home,” said he

 

I’ll search this wide world over

My Sister I will find

And this big house one State Street

Shall be her home and mine.

 

Alas for Brother’s hopes and plans

Alas for home and hearth

For it seemed that Baby Sister

Had vanished from the earth.

 

At last with heart grown weary

Of search with no reward

He settled down on State Street

And let his heart grow hard.

 

II.

 

A ragged shivering newsboy

One paper left to sell

Accosts Old Rodman on the street

“Buy it sir, and I’ll do well”

 

Yes, I’ll take home to Mother

Milk and a loaf of bread

And Little Gracie shall have both

Before she goes to bed.”

 

The prattling of the newsboy

Seems to awake a spark

Of pity and love for the needy

Buried deep in Old Rodman’s heart.

 

He gives some coins to the urchin

Go buy your needs he said

Hurry them home to your Mother

So Gracie can go to bed.

 

“Then hurry, I’ll wait at this corner

We’ll go to the shop and find

Every toy that a boy of your age could want

‘Tis a Christmas whim of mine.”

 

The small boy hurries homeward

But returns with slower tread

“Sir, I thank you for the offered toys

But I’d rather have something instead.

 

Gracie is only a baby

You see she is only three

She hasn’t any shoes to wear

Daddy is dead you see.

 

I can only sell enough papers

To buy our daily bread

Mother’s not strong and most everyday

She has to keep to her bed.

 

If it’s all the same to you Sir

We’ll just buy shoes for Grace

I know it will surprise them

And ‘twill brighten Dear Mothers face.

 

I didn’t know what size she’d wear

So I brought her picture to tell

I think if you’ll just look you’ll know

What size will fit her well.

 

Old Rodman takes the picture

Half-regretting his generous nod

He gives a glance to the Baby

Is it possible? Oh Dear God!

 

‘Tis a face like Baby Sister

He lost long years ago

“Quick boy show me where you live

Oh child don’t be so slow”

 

Well, yes, you have guessed the secret

He is uncle to Little Grace

Her Mother’s his long lost sister

But, look at Old Rodman’s face.

 

The long-worn scowl is forgotten

Yes of course he took them home

And the big empty house on State Street

Is no longer just cold gray stone.

 

Written by Ida May Schaffer