Kitabı oku: «Jack, the Fire Dog», sayfa 4
CHAPTER SEVENTH
IT is time to follow the little blind boy to his new home. After a short time the sleigh turned into a quiet, narrow street and stopped before a small house. There was a look of unusual neatness about it, from the carefully brushed steps to the freshly washed windows and spotless curtains. The small bay window of the front parlor was filled with plants and trailing vines, and in the midst of them hung a shining brass bird-cage, the bird singing so loudly that his blithe voice reached the ears of the occupants of the sleigh.
The front door was thrown open, not just far enough for a person to enter, but wide open as if in welcome, and in the doorway stood a stout woman with gray hair and a motherly, smiling face.
“Here is the new boy I have brought you, Mrs. Hanlon,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and I think you will find him as good as they make them.”
“I am sure I shall, sir,” she replied in a cheery voice that just suited her pleasant face; as she looked down at the blind boy’s patient face, she added to herself, “poor little soul!”
“You must manage to make him as plump and rosy as Sam is,” said Mr. Ledwell. “If you can’t do it, I don’t know who can.”
“I will do my best, sir, never fear,” replied Mrs. Hanlon; “but come in out of the cold, sir. I hope you will be satisfied with the room I’ve fixed up for the little boy. I took the front chamber up one flight, because you said he must have all the sun he could get, and the furniture you sent for it is beautiful.”
She led the way upstairs, holding Billy fast by the hand. The blind boy’s keen instinct, as soon as he heard the pleasant voice and felt the kind touch of her hands, told him into what motherly care he had fallen, and he followed her with perfect confidence. She opened the door of the chamber that was now to be his, and even Sam, accustomed to every luxury in his beautiful home, thought this one of the prettiest rooms he had ever seen.
“Oh, Billy,” he exclaimed excitedly, “you don’t know how pretty it is. There’s a little white bed with beautiful pink roses all over it, and a little white bureau, and white chairs, and there are pretty white curtains at the windows tied back with pink ribbons; and there are such be-au-ti-ful plants in the window, and there are real nice pictures hanging around. There’s a dog that looks just like Fire-Jack.”
“This is your own little room, Billy,” said kind Mr. Ledwell, “and I hope you will be very happy here. Before long, you know, you will be able to see for yourself how everything looks.”
“Yes,” said Sam, eagerly, “it’s only a few days now until Christmas, and I’m praying away like everything.”
“Oh, the dear child!” said Mrs. Hanlon, watching Sam’s excited face.
“It may not come quite so soon as Christmas, Sam,” Grandpapa said.
“Oh, yes, it will, Grandpapa,” replied Sam, confidently. “It’s to be my Christmas present, you know. Didn’t my little pony come when I asked for it?”
“Well, I hope it will,” answered Grandpapa, “but you mustn’t be disappointed if it doesn’t come the very day you expect it.”
“Why, of course it will! You see if it doesn’t!” said Sam, with his decided nod.
Mrs. Hanlon had indeed made a very attractive room with the aid of the furniture Mr. Ledwell had so generously given. “He is one who never does anything by halves,” Mrs. Hanlon had said, when she saw the neat white furniture. A cheap, brightly figured spread for the bed and simple curtains for the windows, in which she placed a few of her many plants, made a pretty, cosey room. Mr. Ledwell had also sent a few pictures of children and animals that would take the fancy of any boy or girl.
“Well,” said Mr. Ledwell, at last, “now that we have seen Billy so comfortably settled in his new home, we must be thinking about our own home. Grandmamma will think we are lost if we are not in season for lunch.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think she will,” answered Sam.
Then Grandpapa saw that Sam evidently had something on his mind, because he was not ready to start, as he usually was. “What is it, Sam?” he asked.
“I am thinking that it will be kind of lonesome here for Billy the very first day,” replied Sam. “Couldn’t I stay to lunch with him?”
“I think it would be more polite to wait till you are invited, Sam,” said Mr. Ledwell.
“Oh, do let him stay to dinner, sir,” said Mrs. Hanlon, eagerly. “He hasn’t been here for a long time, and I have missed him dreadfully.”
“I am afraid it will put you to too much trouble,” answered Mr. Ledwell.
“No, indeed, sir, it’s no trouble at all. It’s a real pleasure.”
“Well, if you are sure he will not be in the way, I will leave him.”
So Sam was allowed to stay to lunch, with Billy, and it would be hard to say which was the more pleased with the arrangement.
One of the greatest treats Sam knew, was to occasionally make a visit to this old friend of the family. He was treated like a king on these visits, for Mrs. Hanlon thought that nothing could be too good for the son of the baby she had nursed. She always cooked the dishes she knew he liked, and then followed what he liked best of all,—stories about his papa when he was a little boy.
“I think these are the very prettiest dishes I ever saw,” said Sam, as they sat down at the neatly spread table in the cosey dining-room. “I wish we had some just like them.”
“They ain’t much by the side of the beautiful ones you have at home.”
“Oh, yes, they are,” replied Sam. “You ought to see them, Billy. They’ve got beautiful red and yellow flowers painted all around the edges.”
“Things always look and taste better to us when we’re out visiting than when we’re at home,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “I don’t see what makes you like to come here so well, Sam, when you have everything so nice at home.”
“I like your food,” replied Sam, “it is a great deal nicer than what we have.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Hanlon.
Somehow it happened that the dinner was what Sam liked best, and he thought it very strange; but Mrs. Hanlon wanted the little blind boy to feel at home as soon as possible, and she had what she thought the boys would like.
There was beafsteak that Sam liked so much, and baked potatoes, that Mrs. Hanlon always let him open and spread himself, and sweet cranberry sauce, exactly the way he liked it, and hot biscuits, as white and fluffy as cotton wool when he broke them open, so much nicer than the cold rolls or bread and butter he had at home. Then, when they had eaten all these things, there was a nice little pudding with the cold, hard sauce Sam liked so well.
The best part of this was that Sam was allowed to prepare his own food all by himself, instead of having it cut up for him just as if he were a baby. To be sure, his knife sometimes slipped when he was cutting his meat, and a little gravy would be spilled on the white tablecloth; and once or twice a piece of meat flew off his plate and lighted in the middle of the table, but Mrs. Hanlon didn’t care one bit, and she thought he did splendidly, so Sam didn’t feel badly at all about it.
Poor Billy had to have his food prepared for him, but he managed to feed himself very well, and everything tasted as good to him as it did to Sam. There was very little talking during the dinner, both boys were so hungry, but when they were through and Mrs. Hanlon was washing the dishes in the little pantry, they followed her there. Sam told her all about the Christmas presents he was to give, all except the one he had for her, and he told her she must hang up the very largest stocking she had, and he was afraid the present wouldn’t go in then. She must hang up one for Billy, too, he said, because he would have some presents.
“Does Santa Claus bring all the presents, Sam?” asked poor little Billy, whose experience in presents had been very limited.
“No,” replied Sam, very decidedly, “I don’t believe he does. Why, he couldn’t get around to all the places, you know. Even God Himself would have to hustle.”
“Did I ever tell you what your papa did one Christmas, Sam?” asked Mrs. Hanlon.
“No, you never did. Do tell us, please.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Hanlon, as she wrung out her dishcloth, “you two boys go into the parlor, and just as soon as I get my dishes put away I’ll come in and tell you about it.”
So the two boys went into the parlor to wait for the promised story, and Sam, to while away the time, told Billy about the present he had for Mrs. Hanlon, first extracting a solemn promise that he would keep the secret to himself, and not on any account breathe a word of it to Mrs. Hanlon. Billy having pledged his word, Sam in a loud whisper, which could easily have reached the ears of their hostess if she had happened to be listening, explained that his Grandmamma had bought a warm fur muff for her, and that he had bought her a beautiful necktie, all with his own money which he had saved for the purpose.
“Now be sure you don’t tell her, Billy, for it would spoil all her pleasure if she knew what was coming;” and Billy once more promised solemnly not to breathe a word about it.
“You mustn’t hint, either, Billy, for that is just as bad; she might guess, you know;” and Billy promised to be on his guard.
Soon Mrs. Hanlon came in, and seating herself in her sewing-chair, took up some mending and announced that she was ready to begin her story. Sam drew a low chair close to hers for Billy, seating himself directly in front of her, where he could keep his eyes on her face and not lose a single word.
“We’re all ready, Mrs. Hanlon,” said Sam, hitching his hassock a little nearer in his impatience to have her begin.
“Well, Sam, when your papa was a little boy younger than you are, he had a little bank made of iron and painted to look just like a real bank where they keep money. It had a chimney on top with a hole big enough to drop a nickel in, and he used to save all he got and drop them in that way. He said he was going to keep putting them in until it was full, and then he was going to open it and buy Christmas presents with the money. It would have taken a bank as big as the State House to hold nickels enough to buy all the presents he promised. He was going to give me a gold watch and chain and ever so many other things that cost ever so much. And he was going to give Cook a silk dress and a pair of gold spectacles, and if he had money enough he said he should buy her a little horse and carriage to take her to church in, because she had grown kind of lame standing on her feet so much cooking. He had promised all the others just as handsome presents, and he was so happy talking about them that we enjoyed them as much as if we really had them.
“Well, a few days before Christmas he was out walking with me, and we passed a store not far from where we lived that was full of beautiful candy of all kinds. In front of the windows there was a group of poor children looking in and enjoying the bright paper boxes and plates piled up with tempting candy.
“They were all talking together and saying what kinds of candy they would give one another if they had money enough to buy it. They looked real happy, too, choosing the candy they didn’t have any money to buy.
“‘Poor things!’ I said, ‘I don’t suppose they will have any Christmas presents at all.’
“‘Haven’t they got any money at all?’ your papa asks.
“‘No, I don’t suppose they ever had a cent of their own, unless somebody gave it to them.’
“‘Don’t they ever have any candy at all, or any Christmas presents?’ asks your papa.
“‘I don’t believe they do,’ I answers, ‘but they look just as happy as if they did, and candy isn’t good for little folks, it makes them sick.’
“‘It doesn’t make me sick,’ says your papa, ‘and it tastes real good.’
“He looked very hard at the children, and I could see he felt very badly about their not having any candy, and pretty soon I took him home, for I didn’t want him to worry.
“Well, after we got home, your grandmamma called me into her chamber to do something for her, and I left your papa looking out of the nursery window at the passing. I often left him alone with the door open, and he played nicely by himself. It took me quite a little time to do what your grandmamma wanted of me, and when I went back to the nursery, not a sign of your papa was to be seen. I thought perhaps he had slipped down to the kitchen, he was so fond of talking to Cook, so I didn’t feel anxious about him; but when I went down to the kitchen and found he was not there, I can tell you I was pretty well scared. I hunted through the house, but not a soul had seen him. The parlor girl said she had heard the front door open a little while before, but she didn’t notice who went out.
“All at once I thought of those children looking in at the candy store, that your father had felt so sorry for. So off I started for it, and I can tell you it didn’t take me very long to get there. Well, what do you think I saw?”
“I don’t know,” replied Sam, breathlessly; “what was it?”
“Well, there stood your papa without any hat or coat on, and with his little bank under one arm. He had unlocked it, and he was giving out the nickels to the children just as fast as he could take them out, bless his warm little heart! I never saw such a sight of children as there were about him; where they could come from in such a little time was a mystery; but there they were, crowding around him, and as fast as one got a nickel, off he would run, and I don’t doubt sent others back too.
“I can see your papa now just as plain as if it was yesterday. There he stood in his little black velvet suit, with his hair blowing every which way, and his eyes shining like stars, he was so happy.
“He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, and called out, just as happy, ‘They can have Christmas presents now, Mary. They have all got some money, and they can buy just what they’ve a mind to.’
“‘What in the world shall I do without my gold watch and chain, and all the other nice presents you were going to give me?’ I says.
“He looks rather crestfallen for a minute, as if that side of the question hadn’t occurred to him before; then he says brightly,—
“‘You won’t mind waiting till next Christmas, will you, Mary? Papa will give me some money to buy something for you with, and these poor little children didn’t have any money at all.’”
“What did Grandpapa and Grandmamma say to him when he got home?” asked Sam.
“Oh, bless you, they didn’t mind. He was a real chip off the old block. In their family giving comes as easily as breathing.”
Other stories followed this one, and by and by the sleigh came to take Sam home; and Billy bade him good-bye without a single homesick feeling. What little homeless child could have failed to feel at home in such surroundings?
CHAPTER EIGHTH
A FLOCK of pigeons were walking about in front of the engine-house, picking up the handful of grain that one of the firemen had thrown out to them. They were not all walking about, to speak accurately,—one, the little black and white lame pigeon, was hopping, with one little pink foot held closely against his warm feathers. Jack the Scrapper, the large handsome dark-blue pigeon with the rainbow neck, was darting in and out among the flock, seizing upon the largest grains, and pecking at every pigeon who came in his way.
The pigeons always got out of the way when they saw the Scrapper coming towards them. Sometimes a bold young pigeon would face him, and stand his ground for a while, but he didn’t keep up his resistance very long. The Scrapper was so much stronger and bolder that he always got the better of the others in the end, and was worse than ever after these triumphs.
The nearest the Scrapper ever came to defeat was when he was attacked by the six-months white squab. The squab was large and strong for his age, and as good-natured as the Scrapper was ill-natured. He had long borne the Scrapper’s bullying ways with an ill grace, and once seeing the bully peck sharply one of the mother pigeons who had meekly brought up several broods in a most judicious manner, the spirited squab could contain himself no longer, and flew at the bully with great fury. Young as the white squab was, the Scrapper had to exert himself to subdue him, and the valiant squab held out to the last. Although conquered by brute force, his spirit was as dauntless as ever, and he vowed dire vengeance so soon as he should have grown to his full strength.
The white squab had mild eyes and a gentle disposition. He never picked a quarrel, but never took an insult or saw the weak abused if he could help it. These traits made him very popular with the flock, and many of the older pigeons, as they saw him growing stronger and larger, foretold that Dick the Scrapper would have to look out for himself when the plucky squab should have attained his growth. Meanwhile the squab himself said nothing on the subject, but went on his way good-naturedly, growing stronger every day and pluming his feathers with great care. He showed no fear of the Scrapper and never got out of his way as the others did, but it was noticed that the Scrapper never tried to take the white squab’s food away, nor ever pecked at him to make him get out of his path. Perhaps he too saw how strong and big the plucky squab was growing.
This day the flock of pigeons were feeding in front of the engine-house, and the sparrows soon joined them, hopping in and out among the pigeons so adroitly that even the Scrapper often found his food vanish from before his very eyes just as he was on the eve of picking it up. While they were thus engaged, the two dogs, Jack and Boxer, came around the corner of the engine house, each with a bone in his mouth, and they lay down in the sun in front of the engine-house to eat their lunch in quiet.
The sparrows eyed the two dogs eagerly, hoping that something would be left for them, for sparrows like to pick a bone as well as dogs do; and the pigeons walked about, bobbing their pretty heads and cooing to each other in low tones.
The two dogs were a long time at their repast, for it takes time for a dog to crack a bone and get at the marrow, which is the sweetest morsel of all. Not a word passed between them until the bones had been cracked and the marrow eaten; then they allowed the sparrows to approach and get what morsels they could from the pieces left.
After they had both lapped their chops in a genteel manner, they began to talk about the matter that so interested the Fire-Dog.
“Now that the blind kid is so well looked after, the next step is to find his mother. Mr. Ledwell is trying to hunt her up, but it takes time.”
“The humans go about those things in such a round-about way,” said Boxer, who was in an excellent humor after his savory lunch. “If they knew enough to trust us a little more, they would do better.”
“I believe that the woman is dead,” said the Fire-Dog.
“No, she isn’t,” twittered a voice near by, and one of the sparrows lighted in front of the two dogs. “No, she isn’t dead, for I’ve seen her, and know just where she is.”
“How did you happen to find out so much?” asked Jack. “It is more than likely that it isn’t Billy’s mother at all. You never saw her.”
“Yes, I have seen her,” twittered the sparrow. “We were there when she fell down on the sidewalk, and we waited around until the ambulance came and took her away. We flew after it, too, to see what was going on, and we saw it stop before a big building, and saw them take her out and carry her in.”
“Very likely she was dead,” said Jack. “You couldn’t tell that, or she may have died since.”
“No, she wasn’t dead. I could tell by the way they carried her. I know she hasn’t died since, because I’ve seen her since through the window. I light on a big tree that grows in front of the window, and I can see just as plainly as if I were in the room.”
“It all sounds very well,” said business-like Jack, “but for all that you may be mistaken. It may have been some other woman.”
“I am not mistaken,” chirped the sparrow. “Here is a pigeon who has talked with her, and he can tell you more about her than I can. I don’t believe in trusting people too far, so I keep out of reach, but this speckled pigeon can tell you more about her than I can. Come on, Pepper and Salt, and tell Jack the Fire-Dog what you know about the blind kid’s mother.”
The black and white pigeon hopped fearlessly up to the two dogs, and modestly began his story:—
“You see, I can go ‘most anywhere because I’m lame and nobody would hurt a lame pigeon.”
“Except Dick the Scrapper,” cooed a young pigeon in tones too low to reach the Scrapper himself.
“Our friend the sparrow here had told me about the sick woman. He was pretty sure it was the blind kid’s mother, but he didn’t dare to go too near. (You know some people don’t like to have sparrows around.) So I agreed to light on the window-sill and try to find out more. The sick woman has begun to sit up now, and every day at about noon she sits in an armchair close to the window. She looks awfully sick yet. Well, the nurse who takes care of her sprinkled some crumbs on the window-sill, and when I ate them she was ever so pleased. ‘I believe he would let us touch him, he looks so tame,’ she said one day; and the nurse said, ‘I don’t believe it, he’d fly off if you put your hand out towards him.’ I didn’t, though, and she was more pleased still when I hopped in and let her stroke my feathers. ‘Poor little thing, he’s lame!’ she said when she saw my crippled foot. ‘Oh, how my poor little boy would love you! He couldn’t see you, though, for he’s blind!’ and then she fell to crying and wondering what had become of her poor blind boy. The nurse tried to comfort her, and I did my best to make her understand that the blind kid was all right; but she didn’t take in what I said. I go to see her every day, and rack my brains to think of some way of bringing them together. I’ve tried to make Reordan follow me, but he hadn’t sense enough to know what I wanted. So what can we do about it?”
“Nothing that I know of,” replied Jack. “So long as humans can’t understand our language so well as we understand theirs, they will be greatly hampered. It is a great misfortune.”
The bull-dog Boxer had listened with much interest to the stories of the sparrow and the pigeon, occasionally licking his chops or shivering slightly,—signs that he was deeply moved. As the Fire-Dog finished his remark, he growled out,—
“Force them to it! That’s the only way!”
“But how?” asked the Fire-Dog. “That’s easier said than done. How would you propose going to work?”
“Seize them by the trouser’s leg and make them follow you.”
“And be taken for a mad dog,” remarked Jack.
“I shouldn’t care what they took me for,” replied Boxer, “so long as I carried my point. If I once got a good grip, they’d follow.”
“Unless the trousers gave way,” remarked the Fire-Dog. “I’d bet on your grip, Boxer. But, after all, that wouldn’t work, you know. We’ve got to wait until the humans find out about it in their own slow way.”
A country wagon came by just then, and away fluttered the pigeons and sparrows. Under the wagon trotted the large farm-dog who had told the Fire-Dog about Toby.
“Any news of Toby?” he called out when he caught sight of the Fire-Dog.
“Not much. I know where he is, though. I’ve seen him.”
“You don’t say so? Well, why doesn’t he come home? He hasn’t gone back on his old friends, has he? They say city life is kind of enticing. I never had any desire to try it myself.”
“He has fallen into kind hands,” replied the Fire-Dog. “They are poor people, but kind. I gave him your message, and he said he meant to escape the first chance that offered. He may and then again he may not. He struck me as kind of soft. Not a great deal of spirit, I should say.”
“You struck it right,” replied the farm-dog. “There isn’t a better-meaning dog than Toby, but he isn’t very strong-minded.”
“From what I have heard about him, he must be a perfect fool,” growled Boxer.
“Have you seen him?” inquired the farm-dog, bristling at once, for dogs don’t like to have their friends insulted.
“No, and I don’t want to,” growled Boxer. “Hearing is bad enough, let alone seeing.”
“Will you be kind enough to make that statement again?” asked the farm-dog, marching up to the bull-dog with his legs and tail very stiff, and a ridge of hair standing up straight on his back.
“As many times as you like,” replied the bull-dog, who had risen to his feet and had begun to walk in a wide circle around the farm-dog.
“Now look here,” said the Fire-Dog, “fighting isn’t allowed on our premises. If you want to fight, you must do it somewhere else. For my part, I don’t see any occasion for fighting. I’ve led such a busy life that I haven’t had any time to waste in that way, even if I had had the inclination for it.”
“This is a question of honor,” replied the farm-dog, “and there is only one way for dogs of spirit to settle it. Your friend there has insulted a friend of mine, and unless he takes back his words we will fight it out.”
“Take back my words?” growled Boxer. “What do you take me for?”
At this point a sudden and unexpected interruption came. The gong in the engine-house struck sharply. The three grays came rushing out of their stalls, and took their places in front of the engine. The harness was let down from the pulleys that held it, and fastened into place. The fire under the boiler was lighted, the driver was in his seat, the men on the engine, and with a clatter of hoofs out they dashed, Jack barking his maddest and bounding ahead in such excitement that all other thoughts were driven out of his head.
As for the two dogs who a moment before were ready to engage in mortal combat, they were so engrossed by the sudden interruption and the excitement, that for the time everything else was forgotten. To the farm-dog this was a novel sight, different from the way they did things in his quiet town, and not a particle of the scene escaped him. The bull-dog, with his natural pertinacity, was the first to return to the subject of their late quarrel; but the farm-dog’s owner, who had missed him, came back to hunt him up, and led him off, much to his disappointment and the bull-dog’s also.
“Wait till the next time!” he snarled as he was led away.
“You’ll find me on hand!” growled Boxer.
Boxer was not usually so ill-natured as he appeared in this episode, but it is true that he was of a peppery disposition, and not averse to picking a quarrel. He would have given anything to have been a fire-dog like Jack, and his disposition had become rather soured in consequence. He was a steadfast friend, on the whole, and would have given his life, if necessary, for his old friend Jack, whose good disposition made him beloved of all.
So Boxer departed for home, thinking hard all the way, for he was a conscientious dog in spite of his pugnacious temper, and, although he would not have acknowledged it, he secretly wished that he had not been so disagreeable to the farm-dog.
“What is the reason,” said Boxer to himself, “that when I so much desire friends, I do the very thing to turn them against me? I suppose it is because I was born so and can’t help it.”
If the farm-dog had seen the bull-dog on his return, playing with his master’s little children, he would never have recognized him as the same dog. They rolled over together on the floor, and no lap-dog could have been gentler or more considerate than the bull-dog with his massive jaws and grim expression. Thus it is with bull-dogs.
