WE must not forget Toby, the little yellow dog with the black, turned-up nose. We left him comfortable and happy in his new home. The children grew fonder of him every day, and their mother found him no trouble at all and a cheerful companion when her children were at school. He was a quiet little fellow, and after the children had left for school and the morning’s housework was done, the mother would take up her sewing, while Toby would seat himself near by where he could watch her as she sewed. Whenever she looked up and glanced toward him he would wag his tail and smile in the way dogs smile. If she spoke to him, how fast his tail would go, and he would almost lose his balance on the chair, he wriggled so hard. The affectionate little dog had not forgotten how kindly she had received him the night the children brought him into the house, and he felt very grateful to her.
Then, when the children came home, what a rejoicing there was! Little Toby always heard their steps on the stairs before the mother did. At the first sound he would prick up his ears and move just the tip of his tail, for he was not quite sure if the steps he heard were really those of the children. Then, as the steps came nearer and he felt a little more certain, his tail moved a little faster; and at last, when there was no longer any doubt, his tail wagged as fast as he could make it go, and he would run whining to the door. How he did wriggle his little body as he jumped on them and tried hard to tell them how glad he was to see them!
Then Johnny, and usually the two girls also, would take him out for a run before supper. It was not like the runs he used to have in the fields in his country home, but it was very pleasant after being pent up in those small rooms.
The most unpleasant part of this new life was the fact that great care had to be taken in order to keep him out of the way of the father of the family, who did not like dogs. Whenever the children heard their father’s step on the stairs, they always caught Toby up and whisked him into Johnny’s little dark room, where he had to stay, as still as a mouse, so long as the father was in the house. This was easily enough done at night, but in the daytime it was pretty hard for the active little dog to stay quietly in the dark room where there was not even a window to look out of.
The father of the family, who didn’t like dogs, was just the kind of man whom dogs didn’t like any better than he did them. Somehow or other he always found dogs to be in his way. If a dog happened to be taking a nap on the floor or on the sidewalk, instead of stepping to one side so as not to disturb him, he always growled, “It is strange dogs always manage to lie just where they are most in the way.” Or if a dog barked to let people know somebody was coming, he would exclaim, “What a nuisance that dog is with his barking!” In fact, whatever a dog does is considered to be the wrong thing by such people, so it is no wonder that dogs are not fond of them.
Toby had seen the father through a crack of the door and had heard his voice, and he understood just what kind of a man he was, and that it would be safer for him to keep out of his way.
Things went on in this way for almost a week, Toby being always hustled out of sight so soon as the father’s step was heard on the stairs. At last, however, Toby forgot all prudence and betrayed himself.
It was a clear, cold night, and Toby had been taken out by Johnny for a run. The air was so crisp and cold that it was just right for a smart run, and the boy and dog returned with sharp appetites for supper. Toby’s keen little turned-up nose smelt the savory fumes of sausage long before they reached the top story, and he knew that a portion of it would be his—it would be mixed with bread and moistened with hot water and perhaps a little gravy, but Toby knew just how good it would taste. His sense of smell had not deceived him; as they entered the kitchen, there were the sausages still sizzling on the stove and smelling better even than they had at a distance.
“You shall have your share when we are through, little fellow,” said the mother in her kind voice; and Toby knew she would keep her promise, even if she went without any herself.
The table was set, the sausages dished, and the family seated around the table, while Toby watched them with greedy eyes and watering mouth. Suddenly the mother exclaimed,—
“There is Father coming! Run and put the dog out of sight, Johnny; he mustn’t be bothered by him.”
So Johnny caught Toby up in his arms and hustled him off into his dark room. He couldn’t bear to leave the little fellow alone in the dark; so he left the door just ajar, that a crack of light might enter to comfort him.
Toby had heard the step and recognized it long before the mother had, but he didn’t want to leave those tempting sausages. They didn’t come his way every day.
“Father is tired to-night,” said the mother in a low tone to the children, “so you must be very good and quiet.”
The children knew by experience that when Father was tired he was always cross and easily irritated. Mother was often tired, too, but it did not make her cross, and the children learned to keep out of the way as much as possible when Father came home “tired,” as he so often did.
There was never much conversation when Father was “tired,” and Toby in his dark hiding-place could hear the rattling of dishes and could smell the delicious odor of the sausages. Father had not been expected so early, and Mother had bought a nice piece of steak for his supper, but there was not time to cook it then, so the supply of sausages was rather short. Each of the children, as was their custom since Toby had been an inmate of the family, saved a little piece for him; but they were very fond of sausages, and they did not have such luxuries very often, so it really required no little sacrifice on their part. As for Maysie, the piece she laid aside for Toby grew smaller and smaller as she made up her mind to take just one more taste and then another. At last it dwindled down to almost the size of a pea, and Maysie said to herself,—
“It isn’t worth while to save such a little piece, it won’t be even a taste;” so she ate that too.
The mother, however, seeing how small a portion the little dog was likely to receive, ate very little of her portion.
At last the silence was broken by Maysie, who could never keep still very long.
“There was a fire to-day right back of our schoolhouse, mother,” she said, “and there were ever and ever so many engines there, and do you mind the big black and white dog that came to our fire and found little blind Billy? Well, he was there, too, and I patted him and he was very kind to me.”
“He probably belonged to one of the engines,” replied Mother. “I have heard that dogs sometimes do and that they go to fires whenever the engine goes.”
“And a fine nuisance they must be, too!” muttered Father. “The men must be fools to stand it. They always manage to get in the way when they are least wanted.”
Now Toby from the next room had heard every word of the conversation. When Maysie told about the black and white dog that belonged to one of the fire-engines, Toby at once recalled the dog answering to that description whom he had seen lying in front of the engine-house, and who had taken such an interest in him. When he heard Father speaking of him as a “nuisance,” it was too much for Toby, and, forgetting that he was not to show himself, he darted through the partly opened door, and boldly presenting himself before the startled family, declared that it was not true, that the black and white engine-dog was not a nuisance, but a kind and obliging fellow!
“Where in the world did that dog come from?” demanded the father, angrily. “How comes he to be snarling and growling around here?”
Although Toby was doing his best to defend the character of his friend and was quite eloquent in dog language, it sounded to the ears of the family like snarling and growling.
The children were too frightened to answer, and Mother undertook to explain.
“It is a poor little lost dog the children found,” she said. “He was half-starved and cold, and I let them take him in. He is a good little fellow and doesn’t do any harm.”
“Doesn’t do any harm!” growled Father. “It is no harm, is it, to eat us out of house and home, I suppose? I don’t work hard to feed lazy dogs, let me tell you.”
“He eats very little,” said Mother, as she looked at poor Toby, who stood shivering with fear as he heard the harsh tones of the father of the family, and began to realize how imprudent he had been. “The children each save a little from their portions, and it doesn’t cost any more to keep him.”
“Turn him out!” ordered Father. “Here, you cur! you get out of this;” and as he held the door open, out darted the little dog, expecting to feel Father’s heavy boot as he went through.
Downstairs rushed poor Toby, so frightened it was a wonder he didn’t fall headlong on his way. When he reached the street and felt the cold night air, he stood still, uncertain where to go. The cold air had seemed very pleasant to him when he had run races with Johnny, with the prospect of a good supper and warm quarters before him; but now what had he to look forward to? Roaming about the streets all night, hungry and cold, was very different. The wind was sharp, and it blew through Toby’s thin hair as he crouched on the steps of the tenement-house. All at once he bethought him of the old shed where he had been tied before the children had taken him into the house. It was cold and cheerless, but better than nothing.
Toby groped his way to the shed, and sought the farther corner where his bed had been made before. As he approached, a large rat started up. Toby could hear him as he scurried away. There was a very little of the straw left that the children had made his bed of; probably the rats had carried the rest off to make their beds.
Toby sat down and tried to think what he had better do. He thought of the warm, light kitchen from which he had been so cruelly driven, and of the children crying to see him sent out into the cold. He recalled, too, the kind and patient face of the mother of the family, and the many kindnesses he had received at her hands.
“What a difference there is in people!” murmured poor Toby to himself, as he thought of the kind reception he had met from the mother, and then of the harsh voice that had sent him out into the cold night.
“Well, crying won’t mend matters,” said Toby to himself. “I’ll wait until daylight, and then I’ll try my luck at finding my old home.”
He crouched upon the thin layer of straw which was all that protected him from the cold floor of the shed. The bleak wind blew in through the door, and forced its way through the large cracks in the sides of the building, and Toby grew colder and colder. To stay there and perhaps freeze to death some cold night was out of the question, and Toby made up his mind that he would start out as soon as daylight dawned, and try to find his way to the kind engine-dog who had been so good to him.
“If I were not so small that anybody could easily pick me up and carry me off, I shouldn’t care so much; but I’m so small I shouldn’t stand much chance.”
By and by Toby’s quick ears caught the sound of footsteps that he knew were coming his way. “I thought she would hunt me up,” said Toby to himself; “it is just like her.”
The steps came nearer and nearer, and at last, standing in the doorway of the shed, he could see in the darkness the dim outlines of the form of the children’s mother. “Doggy, Doggy!” she called softly, “are you there?”
“Here I am!” answered Toby with a bark of joy, and with a bound he was at her feet and trying to jump up and lick her hands.
“I have brought you something to eat, poor little fellow!” said the kind woman, as she set a plate before him. It was the larger part of her sausage that she had saved for him, mixed with bread and potato, and it was warm. How good it did taste to the hungry little dog! and it put warmth into his half-frozen little body, too.
The kind woman stayed for some time, petting the little dog and telling him how sorry she was for him; and Toby tried hard in his dog’s way to say that she need not feel so bad about it, and that he didn’t mind it much, for he couldn’t bear to see her kind heart so touched. She had brought a piece of an old woollen shawl with her, and before she left she wrapped him up in it and told him she would bring him some dinner the next day.
Then Toby was left alone once more, and the wind blew in at the open door and through the wide cracks, and the rats scurried by him; but Toby didn’t mind all this so much as he did before, because the warm food had put warmth into his body and the kind words had warmed his heart. He even fell asleep under the old woollen shawl, and when he next opened his eyes the first rays of daylight were stealing in through the doorway.
Toby started up at once, for he had intended to start even earlier than this. As he passed to the street, he glanced up at the home from which he had been driven. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of one of the children or of the mother, but instead of that he heard on the stairs the heavy tread of the father starting out to his work, and away sped Toby without stopping to look behind him.
Jack the Fire-Dog was right in his estimate of Toby’s character. He was not a dog of much strength of mind, and instead of hiding out of sight until the man he so dreaded had passed, and then quietly making up his mind which way he should go, as a stronger-minded dog would have done, he rushed blindly along until he was out of breath. Then he stopped and looked about him. Everything was new and strange to him. What should he do?
CHAPTER TENTH
THE more Toby tried to think out a plan for action, the more undecided he became, as is always the way with weak natures. The sun was now up, and the great city was stirring with life. Wagons from the outlying towns were coming into the city, shops were being opened, and sidewalks and front steps were being washed and swept. But in the midst of all this busy life not a soul had a thought for the poor little lost dog. One boy, carrying a can of milk, did stop to pat him, but he had no time to waste, and passed on.
“Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” moaned Toby, helplessly. “Such a big, big world, and no place for me!”
At the corner of a distant street he saw a group of dogs, all larger than he was. They seemed, by the sound of their voices, to be quarrelling, and Toby did not dare venture near them. He knew by experience that when dogs are in a quarrelsome state of mind they are on the lookout for some object upon which to vent their excitement, and it was more than likely that they would turn the current of this excitement upon him, a stranger in the city. City dogs, too, as a general thing, do not like dogs from the country.
While Toby looked, the voices grew louder and more angry, and Toby knew that the next move would be a general scrimmage, in which each dog would blindly fight with the one nearest him, or, what was worse still, all of them would attack one of the number. It is only the meanest kind of dogs who do that, but tramp-street dogs are apt to do it. “What if they should all fall upon me?” said timid little Toby; and without stopping to see more, off he set at full speed.
The streets were now broader, and there were dwelling-houses everywhere, instead of shops. Gradually the city was growing farther and farther away, and before long fields and groups of trees were seen. Toby turned into a broad avenue, and suddenly found himself in the country. Broad fields lay around him, and just beyond appeared forest trees. A pond, now frozen over, stood in one of the fields, and on it were groups of happy children skating or playing games. Toby had never heard of a park, and he wondered to see the roads so level and everything so trim and neat. He stopped to rest and watch the children on the ice. Soon the attention of the children was attracted to him.
Toby was fond of children, and when he saw a little boy coming towards him he began to wag his tail in greeting. Then he jumped upon him and tried to express his pleasure at meeting anybody who had a kind word for him.
“Poor little fellow!” said the boy, stooping to pat the lost dog. “I am afraid you are lost, and I think I had better take you to the Home.” As he spoke, he took a leash from his pocket and was about to fasten it to Toby’s collar, when away darted Toby as fast as his legs could carry him.
“The foolish little dog!” exclaimed the boy, as he rolled up his leash and put it back in his pocket. “I could have found a nice home for you if you hadn’t been so silly.”
Toby did not know that this boy had saved the lives of many stray dogs by taking them to the Home provided for those unfortunates. He always carried a leash in his pocket for that purpose, and his bright young eyes were very quick to detect a stray dog.
All that Toby knew about these public homes was what he had seen and heard of the poorhouse in his native town. He had seen old men and women sitting out on the benches under the trees in the summer time, and he had seen their faces looking out of the windows in the winter time. They looked to him very listless and forlorn, but he did not know what would have been the fate of these aged people if they had not had the shelter of this home. He had also heard people say, “Why, I had rather go to the poorhouse than do that,” and so he had come to consider that going to such an institution was about the worst thing that could happen to anybody. A poorhouse for dogs Toby thought must be a dreadful place, and he resolved that he would rather roam the streets at the risk of starving or freezing than allow himself to be taken to one.
So Toby ran until he reached the woods that he saw before him, and when he found that the boy was not following him he slackened his pace. Everything seemed very quiet and peaceful about him. Occasionally a crow cawed from one of the tall hemlocks, the harsh voices of blue-jays reached him from the clumps of neighboring trees, and the squirrels, running along the branches or jumping from tree to tree, chatted in a friendly manner with one another. Sparrows were there also, as happy and satisfied with themselves as if their constant twittering were melodious songs.
Toby watched all these inhabitants of the woods with great interest, for the country-bred dog had often watched them, and he knew their ways. It was soon evident to Toby that these little creatures were expecting something to take place, and something of a pleasant nature, too, for they were all in a happy mood. The sparrows flew backward and forward, sometimes disappearing for a while, but always turning up again as cheerful as ever. A flock of pigeons also appeared, and, alighting on the snow, some walked about in search of any stray morsels of food which might have been overlooked, while others took advantage of this opportunity to put their plumage in order.
Toby, curious to see what it could be that these little creatures were expecting, secreted himself behind a clump of barberry bushes and waited. He thought his presence was not noticed, but he was mistaken. The bright little eyes of the nuthatch were on him, and he was trying his best to find out something about the stranger. Creeping along the under side of a large limb that grew near the spot where Toby sat hidden, the bright eyes watched every motion, for nuthatches are timid birds and very suspicious of strangers.
All at once the sparrows who had disappeared from sight came flying back in great excitement, twittering as they flew: “Coming! Coming! He is almost here!” and immediately secured favorable positions on the outskirts of the party.
No sooner had the sparrows settled themselves, than a sleigh drawn by two handsome horses was seen approaching at a rapid rate. In the sleigh were two little boys and a middle-aged gentleman. One of the boys sprang out as soon as the sleigh stopped, and Toby noticed that he had a basket in his hand. The other boy sat still until the gentleman alighted and lifted him carefully out.
“Here they are, Billy!” exclaimed the little boy who had jumped out. “They are all here, and Dick the Scrapper is here too, just as cross as ever. Oh, you ought to see how handsome the squirrels look!”
“Can’t he see for himself, without that smart little chap telling him?” muttered Toby to himself.
“No, he can’t,” replied a voice from above. “Don’t you see that he is not a seeing child?”
Toby started, to find that he had been overheard, and looking up saw the little nuthatch hanging head downward, eying him sharply.
“I didn’t know you were there,” murmured Toby, taken greatly by surprise.
“I know you didn’t. I’ve been watching you for some time, and I can see that you are a lost dog.”
Meanwhile Sam was scattering the contents of his basket far and wide, reserving the finest of the nuts to tempt the squirrels to eat from his hand. He did not forget the little blind boy, and gave the largest share to him to hold.
As Toby looked from the face of the little boy who was lending his eyes to his blind friend to the genial one of his grandpapa, he began to be puzzled. “Where have I seen those faces before?” he said to himself. “I am sure I have seen them somewhere. I know I have heard the gentleman’s voice, too. You don’t hear such a pleasant one every day;” and Toby shuddered as he recalled the harsh tones of the father of the family.
Suddenly the vision of three children and a little dog looking longingly in at the tempting display of a bake-shop rose before Toby’s eyes, and he exclaimed aloud: “I have it! That is the gentleman who gave the cakes to little Maysie! and how good they did taste!”
“I thought I heard a dog bark!” cried the little boy who had brought the basket. “Didn’t you hear him, Grandpa?”
“Yes,” replied the gentleman, “and it came from behind those bushes.”
Sam ran around the clump of barberry bushes, and there crouched Toby, trembling with excitement and anxiety. The kindly expression in the little boy’s face, and the pleasant tones of his voice, however, won the confidence of the timid little dog, and he made no resistance when Sam stooped and took him up in his arms.
“He is a lost dog,” said Grandpapa, gently stroking Toby’s head. “It will never do for him to wander around in this bleak place. We must look after him.”
“I will wrap him up in the fur robe, and then he will be as warm as toast,” replied Sam, carrying the little dog to the sleigh. When he was placed in one corner of the roomy sleigh, on the soft cushion, and the warm fur robe securely tucked about him, Toby was as comfortable as any dog could hope to be.
Sam did not linger so long as usual this morning, feeding the birds and squirrels. Finding a stray dog was an unusual excitement for him, and he was eager to look after him. So he quickly emptied the contents of his basket upon the snow, and the party started for home, leaving the crumbs and nuts to be eaten at leisure.
Toby sat between the two boys, each having an arm around him, and the sleigh started. Toby had never had a sleigh-ride before, and the rapid motion of the sleigh, with the jingling of the bells quite excited him. He sat up very straight, and pricked up his ears, while his little black turned-up nose sniffed the fresh cool air.
“I can keep him, can’t I, Grandpapa?” asked Sam, hugging the little dog closely to him; and Toby listened anxiously for the answer.
“I am afraid Grandmamma would not like the idea of having him around the house,” replied Grandpapa. “A city house isn’t a good place to keep a dog in.”
“But I could keep him tied up in the washroom.” Toby looked anxiously from one to the other, while his fate was being settled.
“Oh, he would be a very unhappy little dog tied up by himself, Sam,” said Grandpapa.
“Well, he could play out in the back yard, you know, and he could go to drive with us,” pleaded Sam.
“He wouldn’t be happy kept so, Sam. He would feel like a little prisoner. I am sure by his looks that he came from the country, and he has probably had open fields to run about in. I don’t believe he was ever kept tied.”
“What can we do with him, then?” asked Sam. “If he can’t tell us where his home is, how can we take him back? I hope you don’t mean to have the poor little fellow lost again;” and Sam’s face grew as anxious as Toby’s.
“Of course I mean to provide for him, Sam,” said Grandpapa. “It is true we can’t take him to his own home, as he isn’t able to speak and tell us where it is, but we will do the next best thing. We will take him to the Home that receives all the stray dogs and cats that are taken there. It is called the ‘Animal Rescue League.’”
At these words Toby took alarm and gave a great bound to free himself. In another instant he would have leapt from the sleigh, but Sam was ready for him and tightened his grasp on the foolish little fellow.
“Why, he tried to jump out of the sleigh,” said Sam. “Do you suppose he heard what you said, Grandpapa?”
“Dogs often seem to understand what is said about them,” replied Grandpapa; “but he would be very foolish to object to being taken to such a pleasant place. He will have the kindest care until a good home is found for him.”
“Will they let him play?” asked Sam, greatly interested, and continuing to keep a strong hold upon the struggling Toby.
“Certainly they will, and he will find other dogs there too. I don’t doubt he will have a fine time.”
Foolish Toby kept up his struggles at intervals, for he couldn’t bear the thought of being taken to the Home. “A dog’s poorhouse, that is what it is,” he said to himself.
“I wonder how they happened to think of making a home for dogs that are lost,” said Sam.
“I can tell you what I know about it,” said Grandpapa. “A very tender-hearted lady who loves dogs and cats, thought there should be some place in the city where lost and neglected animals could be sent. So she went about to see people, and wrote letters about it until she got people sufficiently interested to give money towards it. Then they hired a house in the middle of the city, and all the stray dogs and cats people find are taken there and kindly cared for.”
“That lady must be very kind,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “I should like to see her.”
“Perhaps you will some day. They had a Christmas-tree for the dogs and cats last year, and I’m told they all had a fine time.”
Sam burst out laughing, and Billy laughed too, to think of a Christmas-tree for dogs and cats.
“I suppose they put on it all sorts of things that dogs and cats like,” said Sam, “bones and cakes and all such things.”
“Perhaps they put on some things for them to play with,” said Billy, who had listened with great interest to all Mr. Ledwell had said about the Home.
“I shouldn’t wonder if they did,” said Grandpapa.
“And I guess they put saucers of milk and plates of nice food under the tree,” said Billy, who had a good deal of imagination.
Toby listened to this conversation and ceased to struggle. All this sounded very well, if it were true, but he expected to find at the Home dogs sitting about listlessly, just as he had seen the old people at the poorhouse in his town. The story of the Christmas-tree pleased him greatly. “Perhaps, after all, it is not so bad as I expected,” said Toby to himself, as the sleigh stopped.
“Here we are!” said Grandpapa, as he got out and took Toby in his arms.
“It doesn’t look like a Home,” said poor Toby to himself. He had expected to see a large brick building standing by itself like the poorhouse. “It looks just like the other houses.”
“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” said Mr. Ledwell, as he felt Toby tremble. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You stay in the sleigh with Billy, Sam. I will bring you both to see the little dog when he feels at home.”
Mr. Ledwell entered the house and set the little dog on the floor. Poor Toby was so limp from fear that he could hardly stand, but remained in the spot where he was placed with drooping head and tail.
“I have brought you a new dog,” said Mr. Ledwell, addressing a rosy-cheeked young woman. “Have you a place for him?”
“He doesn’t take up much room, that is certain,” replied the young woman, stooping to pat the frightened little creature. “Yes, I guess we can manage it.”
At these words in rushed two little terriers, and bouncing upon the limp and terrified Toby, at once knocked him over in their attempt to engage him in play.
“You ought to be more polite to strangers,” said the rosy-cheeked young woman, picking up Toby and putting him on a chair out of the reach of the two lively terriers, who pretended that they had treed their game and took short runs up to the chair, barking themselves into a state of great excitement.
“We’ll give him something to eat, and he’ll soon be all right,” said the pleasant young woman.
The excitement of the terriers over the new arrival had telegraphed the news throughout the Home, and the deep voices of large dogs and the high voices of smaller ones all extended a welcome to the little wanderer. Their tones told of kind treatment and comfort, and Toby was comforted. “How different,” he thought, “from a poorhouse! This must be a good place!”
CHAPTER ELEVENTH
ON the morning of the day before Christmas Sam awoke unusually early, and jumped out of bed so soon as his eyes were fully open.
“I must hurry as fast as I can,” he said to Mary, “for I shall be awfully busy all day;” and while he was dressing he talked about the presents he was to give. “And the best of all is the present I am going to have myself,” he added. “I suppose you know what that is.”
“Is it the little dog-cart for your pony it is?” asked Mary.
“No, indeed it is not!” exclaimed Sam, contemptuously. “It is something ever and ever so much better than that. Just think, poor Billy is going to see, and I sha’n’t have to lend him my eyes any more.”
“Won’t that be nice!” said Mary; but his grandpapa from the door of his dressing-room heard Sam’s words with a heavy heart.
“What shall we do about it?” he asked Grandmamma when he had repeated their little grandson’s words. “I think we ought to explain about the operation that Billy must undergo; but we have let him think so long that Billy will see by Christmas he will take it very hard. I thought the boy would be all right by Christmas time, and I wanted Sam to be spared the pain of knowing what poor Billy would have to go through.”
“I thought so, too,” replied Grandmamma, “and I don’t like to disturb Sam’s innocent faith. I don’t know how he will take it.”
At this point in burst Sam, full of excitement.
“I shall have to hustle around to get through before night,” he said in his decided way. “We shall have to start right after breakfast to get the wreaths and things to hang up, sha’n’t we, Grandmamma? And we mustn’t forget to bring some for Billy, too, you know.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend the money in something Billy could enjoy more?” asked Grandmamma. “You know wreaths and garlands are only to look at, and poor Billy can’t see yet.”
“But he will see them to-morrow, don’t you see?” said Sam, triumphantly. “You forget, Grandmamma, about my Christmas present, I guess.”
“My dear boy,” said Grandmamma, gently, “don’t feel so sure about Billy’s seeing exactly on Christmas Day. It may come a little later, you know.”
“Oh, no, it won’t!” replied Sam, decidedly. “You will see, Grandmamma!” and he was off before his grandmother could answer.
So soon as breakfast was over, during which Sam was so excited that he ate very little, the sleigh came around to the door, and Sam and his grandmother started for the evergreens. It was quite a long drive to the big market, for they always bought them there, because the little boy enjoyed so much seeing the large building arrayed in its Christmas dress.
The streets, as they approached the business part of the city, were crowded even at that early hour. Everybody carried packages, and every face seemed to have caught the spirit of Christmas, which is a loving and generous spirit. The shop windows were gay with bright colors and garlands of evergreen, and groups of people were collected in front of the most attractive of these windows. In one of them was a real Christmas scene, and Sam wanted so much to look at it that his grandmother told the driver to stop. By standing up on the seat of the sleigh, Sam got a splendid view. It was a winter scene, with snow on the trees and on the ground, and there was Santa Claus sitting in his little sleigh, which was piled full of presents, and four beautiful little reindeer were harnessed to it. The crowd in front of this window reached out to the street, and on the outside, waiting to take advantage of an opening to slip through and get a view of the window, were three children, a boy and two girls.
Mrs. Ledwell, who was always ready to see just what was needed, caught sight of these children who were waiting so patiently for their turn to come. Seeing them look toward the sleigh and at Sam, who was so intent in watching the beautiful Santa Claus that he had not noticed them, she saw that they looked as if they recognized her little grandson.
“Say, Maysie,” said the boy, pulling his little sister by the sleeve, “do you mind the time when the gentleman gave us the nice cakes?”
“Of course I does,” replied Maysie, promptly.
“That is the same sleigh he was in, and the same horses, and it is the same boy, for I minded the fur cap of him.”
Mrs. Ledwell beckoned to the children to come nearer. “Did you say you had seen this little boy before?” she asked kindly.
“Yes, once,” replied Johnny, promptly.
“It was the time the gentleman gave us the cakes,” said Maysie, eagerly. “They tasted awful good;” and Maysie almost smacked her lips at the thought of them.
The elder sister gave Maysie’s dress a little pull. “I’m not going to ask for any,” replied Maysie, in a loud whisper, “so you needn’t twitch my dress so hard.”
A smile came over Mrs. Ledwell’s face. “Would you like to buy some cakes to-day?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Maysie, promptly, “but I’d rather buy a doll.”
“Why, Maysie,” said her sister, reproachfully, “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself.”
“I ain’t,” replied Maysie, without any appearance of mortification. “She asked me, so there!”
“Yes, I asked her,” said Mrs. Ledwell, “and there is no harm in telling what she wants most, for Santa Claus is about, you know, at this time, and he has very sharp ears.”
“Do you suppose he heard what I said?” asked Maysie, straining her neck to get a glimpse of the Santa Claus in the window.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “You will find out to-morrow. Now tell me where you live, Maysie.”
Maysie rattled off the address in a loud voice, for she hoped that Santa Claus would overhear it and send the doll she wanted so much.
Mrs. Ledwell then left Sam sitting in the sleigh, and entered the store. She picked out a beautiful doll, a pretty chatelaine bag, and a boy’s sled, and ordered them to be sent to the address Maysie had given her. Then with a glow at her warm heart, to think of the pleasure these gifts would carry with them, she joined her little grandson.
“Do you remember to have seen those children before, Sam?” she asked, as they drove along.
“Yes, I remember them,” replied Sam. “They were looking in at the cakes in the bake-shop window, and Grandpapa bought them a great bagful of them. They looked as if they didn’t have cakes every day, Grandpapa said.”
Sam had taken no special notice of the dog the little boy had with him on that occasion, or he would probably have recognized the lost dog he had found in the park as the same one.
The market was soon reached, and Sam and his grandmother went up the steps. The front of the large building was piled high with long garlands of evergreen for trimming, and green wreaths bright with red berries. Christmas-trees and branches of holly filled every vacant nook. Here also were groups of children, eager to obtain as many glimpses as possible of the Christmas pleasures they could not expect to have.
Mrs. Ledwell’s tender heart was touched at the sight of the little patient faces, and her ready hand went straight to her well-filled purse. She knew by experience that these little people would be there, and had provided a goodly supply of change. “Sam,” she said to her little grandson, “would you like to give those children something for Christmas?”
“Yes, indeed I should, Grandmamma,” replied the little boy, delightedly.
Each child seized the coin Sam held out to him, and darted away with his prize with the speed of the wind. Very few stopped to express thanks for the gift, but the happy faces spoke more eloquently than words could have done.
“They remind me of chickens snatching up a worm and running off that the others may not take it away from them,” said Mrs. Ledwell to herself, as she watched the little waifs darting off with their presents.
“I just wish Grandpapa could have seen how happy those little children looked to think they could buy something for Christmas,” said Sam, as he followed his grandmother into the market.
“Oh, Grandpapa is feeling very happy to-day,” she replied, “for he has been sending Christmas dinners to a great many little boys and girls.”
“It smells just like Christmas here, doesn’t it, Grandmamma?” said Sam, as they passed down the long building, the stalls on both sides tastefully decorated with evergreens and bright berries.
“Now, Sam,” said Grandmamma, stopping before one of the stalls, “we must pick out a nice turkey for Mrs. Hanlon and Billy.”
“You must give me a very nice turkey, Mr. Spear,” said Sam, trying to talk as Grandpapa did.
“I’ll do the best I can for you,” replied Mr. Spear; and after looking over a pile of turkeys he selected a fine, plump one and placed it before the little boy.
“I don’t like the looks of that bird,” said Sam, with a very decided air.
“Why, Sam,” said his grandmother, “what do you mean?”
“I don’t like the looks of those legs,” said Sam in the same decided manner.
“What is the matter with them?” asked Mr. Spear, greatly amused at the little boy’s grown-up air.
“I don’t like the color of them,” persisted Sam.
“Why, what color do you expect them to be?” asked Mr. Spear, trying to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what other color they could very well be.”
“Oh, yes, they could!” replied Sam, shrewdly. “I want a turkey with yellow legs, because they are the best.”
“I don’t know as I ever saw a turkey with yellow legs,” replied Mr. Spear, gravely. “If I had one, I would give it to you.”
“Why, Sam,” said Grandmamma, who had been greatly amused at the conversation, “what made you ask for a turkey with yellow legs? They are always lead-color, like this one.”
“Grandpapa always asks for yellow-legged ones. He says the blue-legged ones are not fit to eat,” replied Sam, “and you know that Grandpapa is very particular.”
“I guess he’s thinking of chickens,” said Mr. Spear, “and has got ’em kind of mixed up with turkeys in his mind.”
“That must be it,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “Well, I will have this one and another just like it. You would like to send one to the little children we saw looking at Santa Claus, wouldn’t you, Sam?”
Then cranberries and apples and potatoes were bought to go with the turkeys, and some huge squashes took Sam’s fancy so greatly that one was sent with each turkey.
After that, wreaths and garlands were selected and piled upon the seat opposite Sam and his grandmother, and they drove home, the fragrance from the evergreens mingling with the crisp air.
After lunch, came what Sam considered about the best part of Christmas, the pleasant task of distributing presents at the houses of their friends. Sam liked to do this all by himself, it gave him such a grown-up feeling. So soon after lunch the sleigh was brought around and piled high with packages of every size and shape, each one neatly addressed. Then Sam was tucked in on the back seat all by himself, and he looked like a little rosy Santa Claus, with his fur cap, the fur robes, and the presents piled high about him.
Whenever they stopped to leave a present, Sam would run up the steps and always leave word that the present must not on any account be seen until Christmas morning. He left Billy’s and Mrs. Hanlon’s presents until the last because he took the most interest in them and wanted to make a call on them, besides.
Sam found them both in the cosey parlor, Mrs. Hanlon sewing and at the same time telling stories to the little blind boy. Billy had improved very much in appearance in this new home. He was never left alone, as he had to be so much of the time at the engine-house, and his face lost much of the sad expression it had before he came here. Both Mrs. Hanlon and Billy were delighted to see their little visitor, who came in with his arms piled high with packages and his face beaming with happiness.
“You mustn’t either of you look into the packages or try to find out what is in them,” he said, as he laid them down on the sofa.
“No, indeed, we shouldn’t think of such a thing,” Mrs. Hanlon assured him. “There wouldn’t be any surprise for us if we knew what we were going to have.”
Sam made quite a little call, and told Billy about his visit to the big market and what he saw there; and then he told him about the three children he saw trying to look in at the window where Santa Claus was. He told him all about that wonderful Santa Claus, too, how exactly like a real live man he looked, about the four beautiful little reindeer harnessed to his sleigh, and how natural the snow and the trees looked.
Billy listened to all this with great interest, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had seen it as Sam had. When Sam told him about the three children, and said that the little one who wanted a doll so much was called “Maysie,” Billy said,—
“Why, that was the name of one of the children who were so good to me that time they took my mother away.”
“Perhaps it was the same one,” said Sam. Billy, however, could not tell how the little girl looked, so they could not be sure.
“If I see them again,” said Sam, “I will ask them if they are the same ones.”
When Sam thought it was time for him to go, he repeated his instructions in regard to the presents, and extracted a promise from both not to exercise any undue curiosity to find out what their presents were. When Mrs. Hanlon followed him to the door, he confided to her that his present to Billy was a little fire-engine that would throw a real stream of water, and he thought it would be of great use, as they could water the plants with it. “We can make believe there is a fire and can turn the hose on just as real engines do,” he added.
“It must be beautiful,” said Mrs. Hanlon, “but I wish the poor child could see it;” and she gave a deep sigh.
“But he will,” replied Sam, brightly. “You haven’t forgotten what I told you about my Christmas present, have you?”
“No, indeed, I remember; I only hope you won’t be disappointed!”
“Of course it will come. It is sure to,” replied Sam, confidently. “Didn’t my little pony come all right?” And with a happy good-bye Sam ran down the steps and jumped into the sleigh.
“Dear little soul!” said Mrs. Hanlon, looking after him as he waved his hand gayly at her. “How disappointed he will be!” and the tears stood in her kind eyes as she closed the door and joined the little blind boy.