Johnny in the Library

Johnny flattened his nose against the windowpane as he stared at the rows and rows of books on the shelves within the room.

  "Wow, what a lot of books,” he exclaimed underneath his breath, "must be millions and billions of books.” He took his eye off the books to look at the children seated on low chairs around a long table. Some were reading sot1y, and others were looking at pictures, and there was sweet music coming from a big box in the corner.

"Boy, they lucky, eh?" muttered Johnny to himself, "and they sure dress nice."

This last thought caused him to look down at his own hands and bare feet. How dirty they were. The children inside looked so clean. Johnny b1ushed with shame. An idea struck him, and away he dashed to a fountain nearby.

There he proceeded to wash—first, his hands and then his face and lastly his feet. The fact that he had no soap did not matter much to him, as he had long got used to doing without it. When he was satisfied that he was as clean as possible, he looked down at himself with pride. 

“Guess I’m nice and clean just like those children in there." Then he noticed his clothes, how torn and dirty they were. No, he was not like the children in the book room. They were nicely dressed, and their hair combed. ’I’ll never be like them,’ he sighed sadly, "for I ain't got no more clothes but these."

Seeing that he could do nothing more to improve his appearance, Johnny went back to the window to have a last look at the children. By this time, a lady had entered the room and was speaking to the children. The children seemed glad to see her, and she smiled with them a whole lot.

     Johnny pressed closer to the window to see if he could hear anything of what the lady was saying. Just then, the lady turned and looked straight through the window where he was. He quickly ducked behind the window, his little heart beating with fright. "Did she notice him?” he wondered. " Would she come out and drive and away and call him 'scamp' as others did?" Johnny dared not look through the window again until he thought all was safe. Then he finally took a peep. He did not see the nice lady, and as he strained his eyes all ever the room, his fright increased. Perhaps she had gone to call the police.

"I'd better get away from here fast," he said to himself. Just then, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and as he turned, he looked up into the smiling face of the lady of the book room. No one had smiled with Johnny since his mother died, and his heart missed a beat.

"The Library is closed to the public," the lady said. "But we are just about to start our Story Hour. Would you like to come in and sit with the other children and listen to the story?"

“I’d sure like to come, Mam," stammered Johnny, "but I 'ent have no pretty clothes, Mam."

"That’s alright, son. Come just as you are,” said the lady, with kindness showing all over her face. So, Johnny trudged behind the lady, but when they reached the door, Johnny paused.

“What’s the matter, son?” asked the lady.

“I guess I shouldn’t come,” he replied, his eyes filling with tears, “cause I can’t read, an’ I can’t write.”

"No one will ask you to read or write," said the lady kindly, "come along and just listen.” 

Johnny had never felt so strange and out of place in all his nine years, but after the lady began to tell the story, Johnny forgot everything else, so absorbed was he in the beautiful story. Johnny felt as though he were lifted out of this world into a new and more wonderfu1 one, and the music which went with the story calmed his perturbed  litt1e soul and left him in a state of ecstasy. It was over too soon, and oh how Johnny wished it could go on forever.  But everyone was getting up, and the kind lady was saying goodbye to the children.

"Did you enjoy the Story Hour, little boy?" The book room lady was talking to him, and Johnny's voice choked with emotion as he answered. “It was wonderful, Mam, wonderful and beautiful. Did you get that awesome story from that book?”

"Yes. If you come again next week, you will hear another story from another book. Would you like that?"

"Yes, thank you, Mam. Do all the books tell stories?”

"No,” replied the lady, and she explained that some books tell about famous people, and some books tell about countries, and some teach you how to make and do things. Johnny was very much interested, but when the lady finished, he burst into tears.

“What is the matter, fellow?" asked the lady putting her arms around him. “Will you tell me what is troubling you?”

Then Johnny told her that his greatest wish was to go to schoo1 and to learn to read and write, but how all his hope shattered when his mother died and left him alone in the world. He was always hiding from the government people because he did not want to be deported. He told her how he had to struggle and beg for a piece of bread. How he stood at the street corner every morning and watched the other children going to school, and how he wished and wished that he cou1d read for himself the lovely stories in books. When he had finished speaking, he suddenly pulled away from the lady and ran towards the door, but the lady caught him before he had time to get away.

"Wait, Johnny," she said, “don’t go. You are just the kind of boy I was looking for. I need a  boy to run errands for me, to do my shopping, and do little jobs around the house. Since you have no home, will you take this job? I'll teach you to read and write as a payment. Would you like that, Johnny?”

"You bet I would,” smiled Johnny happily as a vision of a brighter future flashed before his eyes.