WHEN Sam went to bed that night, he pulled his window-shades to the very top of the window, that he might awake as early as possible. This arrangement had the desired effect, for when Mary came in he had examined all the presents that were in his Christmas stocking and was nearly dressed besides.
“I will tell you why I am in such a hurry,” he said in answer to Mary’s look of surprise. “I want to go over to see Billy the very first thing.”
“Oh, you must wait until after breakfast,” said Mary. “It is a very cold morning, and Billy is probably abed and fast asleep yet.”
“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Sam. “He’ll be sure to be up. So give me my coat and cap, Mary, please.”
“Indeed, your grandmamma wouldn’t like to have you go out so early,” said Mary, “and such a beautiful breakfast as Cook has got!”
“I don’t care about that, Mary,” replied Sam, decidedly. “I must see Billy the very first thing. I know the way very well.”
In vain Mary tried to persuade the little boy to wait until after breakfast, but he was so persistent she knew he would go alone if she refused to go with him; so she very reluctantly agreed to go. She dared not disturb his grandparents at so early an hour, or she would have appealed to them to decide the matter. So the two started out on their expedition.
Sam had never been in the streets at so early an hour. The sun rises late at this season of the year, and its bright rays were just streaming over the tall house-tops as Sam and Mary sallied forth. Most of the families in the neighborhood were still in bed, but the houses were being put in order for the day. Front steps were being swept down, front doors dusted, parlor shades drawn up, and sidewalks cleaned. Colonies of sparrows perched among the trees and secreted in the branches of the vines that grew against the houses, had not yet finished their morning hymns, and their joyous twittering was heard on every side.
The air was so cold that Mary made her little charge walk briskly, and by the time they reached Mrs. Hanlon’s house his cheeks were glowing. They found Billy dressed and holding the engine in his lap. Sam gave a keen glance at the little blind boy, who sat passing his hands caressingly over the beautiful toy, but his eyes were not bent upon it,—they were fixed straight before him in the same old way.
“Billy,” cried Sam earnestly, as he watched the blind boy’s patient face, “can you see it with your eyes?”
“No,” replied Billy, cheerfully, “but I know just how it looks because I can feel it, you know.”
“Can’t you really see the pretty red wheels and the shining brass and everything?” said Sam, very earnestly. “Try real hard, Billy, and perhaps you can.”
“No,” said Billy, gently, “but you can tell me all about it, and we can play with it all the same.”
A great change came over Sam. The bright color left his cheeks, and his lips began to quiver. Kindly Mrs. Hanlon knew what was going on in the little boy’s mind, and she tried to take him in her motherly arms to comfort him; but he broke away from her and ran downstairs and out of the door. Mary followed him, but she found it hard to keep pace with him as he rushed at full speed along the streets. He paid no heed to her entreaties to stop, and arrived breathless at his grandpapa’s house.
Mrs. Ledwell, who was about to go down to breakfast, was startled to see her little grandson appear in such a breathless and excited state.
“Grandmamma,” he exclaimed, “I am never going to pray to God again as long as I live!”
“Why, Sam!” exclaimed his astonished grandmother, “what do you mean?”
“Billy can’t see,” he answered, “and here I have been praying and praying for all this time; and Mary says there is a pony dog-cart for me in the stable, and I didn’t want it! I just wanted to have Billy see!” and Sam threw himself upon the lounge and burst into a violent fit of sobbing.
Mrs. Ledwell hardly knew what to do, but she did the best thing she could possibly have done. She let the little boy expend the violence of his grief, and then she seated herself by him and gently stroked the hair back from his hot forehead. When the weeping grew less violent and she knew the little boy could listen, she said,—
“You must remember, Sam, that there are a great many little boys and girls all over the world asking God for different things, and he can’t answer all at once. It takes a long time, you know, so you must be patient and wait a little longer.”
“But I didn’t ask for anything else,” sobbed Sam, “and he has gone and sent me the dog-cart, after all; and I was very particular to say that I didn’t want it.”
“By next summer, Sam, I am quite sure that Billy can see, and think what fine drives you and he can have together!”
“Summer is a long way off,” replied Sam, “and I did so want Billy to see now!”
“We can’t have things come about just as we want them, my dear little boy,” said Grandmamma.
“I sha’n’t pray any more, just the same,” said Sam, decidedly.
“Billy is in a comfortable home and has found kind friends, and Grandpapa will soon find out where his mother is; and then by and by Billy will see, and then how happy he will be! There are a great many little boys worse off than Billy is, so if I were you I would try to be patient.”
Sam was silent for a while, and his grandmother knew that he was thinking the matter over in his sensible mind.
“I suppose there must be an awful lot of boys and girls asking God for all sorts of things,” he said.
“Indeed, there are,” said Grandmamma, “and just think how much happier Billy is than he was when you first saw him!”
“Well,” said Sam in his old decided manner, “I guess I had better keep on praying a little while longer.”
“I think so, too, dear,” replied Grandmamma; “and now we’ll go down to breakfast and be as cheerful as we can, because if we look unhappy we shall make everybody about us so, and we want all to have a very pleasant Christmas.”
So Sam, like the sensible, conscientious little fellow he was, wiped his eyes very carefully with his pocket-handkerchief and assumed a cheerful smile,—very much the kind of expression, his grandmother thought, that people have when they are sitting for a photograph and the artist tells them to “look pleasant.” It was rather a forced smile, to be sure, but before breakfast was half over, Grandpapa, under whose genial influence nobody could be long unhappy, had brought real smiles back to the little boy’s face, and they were laughing and joking together as if there were no such things as unhappiness and suffering in all the world.
“Now I will tell you my plan,” said Grandmamma, “and you can see how you like it. I shall be busy this morning, for I must call on my old ladies at the Home and see if they are having a happy Christmas, but I propose that you two take a nice sleigh-ride and invite Billy to go with you. Then you can bring him home for lunch, and in the afternoon a few boys and girls are coming, and you can play games together. How does my plan strike you?”
“It strikes me very pleasantly,” replied Grandpapa, “and will suit me exactly, for I have to see a man who lives out of town and shall be glad of the company of the youngsters. What do you say, Sam?”
“I think it will be very nice,” replied Sam, “and I guess Billy will think so too.”
“Suppose we stop at the ‘Animal Rescue League’ and see how our little dog is getting on,” said Grandpapa.
“Can’t we take some cakes to him?” asked Sam. “I don’t believe he knows it is Christmas.”
“Yes, we will take cakes enough to go all around,” said Grandpapa.
A little later, Sam and his grandpapa, with a box full of cookies and sweet biscuits, called for Billy. The little blind boy was delighted at the prospect of such a happy day, and he beamed with smiles as his faithful friend Sam led him carefully down the steps to the sleigh, while Mrs. Hanlon, looking just as happy, watched them from the door.
“What have you in that package that you take such care of?” asked Mr. Ledwell, who observed that the little boy carried a package in one hand.
“It is a Christmas present for Jack,” replied Billy.
“Why, Grandpapa, we forgot all about him!” exclaimed Sam. “Isn’t it too bad?”
“We have cakes enough to spare him a few,” replied Grandpapa.
“Of course, I couldn’t forget about Jack,” said Billy, “because he saved my life, you know.”
“The dear little soul has been worrying about what to give Jack for a Christmas present,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “He has saved up some of the money you gave him for presents, and I told him I thought Jack would appreciate some nice bones more than anything else. So what does he do but ask the butcher to sell him some of the very nicest bones he had, with plenty of meat on them.”
“And what do you think, Sam? When I told him they were for Jack, he wouldn’t take any money for them! He said he should like to give something towards a present for the Fire-Dog, because he is such a nice dog.”
“You see,” said Billy confidentially to Sam, as they drove to the engine-house, “I can make a present to Mrs. Hanlon now, because the butcher wouldn’t let me pay for Jack’s present. Do you suppose she would mind if it doesn’t come just exactly at Christmas?”
“I don’t believe she would mind very much,” replied Sam, who remembered that the Christmas present he so much wanted did not come on time.
“Will you go with me some day and buy something for her, Sam?”
“Yes,” replied Sam, “and we will pick out something real nice!”
The Fire-Dog was at home and rejoiced to see them, especially the little blind boy whose life he had saved. He was much gratified too, at the present Billy brought him. One large bone was given him, which he at once took in his mouth and walked off with to eat by himself, a proud and happy dog. The rest of the package was left in Reordan’s charge to be given according to his judgment, and a dessert from Sam’s box of cakes was added.
There was not time to stop and watch Jack enjoy his repast, as the boys would have liked to do, so they had to leave before he was half through. Jack was very hungry, but he was such a polite dog that he never forgot his good manners, and whenever the boys spoke to him, wagged his tail and smiled, to let them know how much he appreciated the attention.
“You ought to see how he enjoys that bone, Billy,” said Sam, as they drove off; and Billy looked just as happy as if he had seen it.
Such a barking as greeted them when they entered the building of the Animal Rescue League! All the dogs who were around came running to see who it was and to find out if another stray dog had been brought in; and among them, barking his loudest, was little Toby, as happy and as much at home as any of them. He recognized his old friends at once, and tried by every means a dog knows, to express his gratitude.
“They act as if they know it is Christmas,” said Sam.
“So they do,” said the man who had charge of them, “and they are going to have a Christmas-tree just like folks. They do seem to know something is up, they and the cats too. The cats are going around with their tails straight up in the air, and they play with one another just as if they had lost their senses.”
“This little boy has brought some cakes for the dogs,” said Mr. Ledwell; and Sam presented his box.
“They will come in very handy when they have the tree,” replied the man.
Then the visitors were taken over the building and shown all the inmates, even to some big dogs out in the yard. All looked happy and contented, and showed the best of care. Some kittens especially took the children’s fancy, and Sam explained to Billy how they looked when they were playing. One was lying on his back, kicking, clawing and biting a worsted ball he had to play with, and another was running sideways with his back arched and his tail fluffed out, as if he were dreadfully frightened at something; while another had pounced upon one of them and made believe he was going to eat him up. The mother of this lively family was pretending to take a nap, but her half-opened eyes and fond and happy purring showed that she was enjoying the romps of her darlings as much as they did themselves.
It was hard for the children to leave this entertaining place, and especially hard to resist the affectionate entreaties of the dogs, who were delighted to see visitors. They had to go, however, for a long drive out of town was before them, and they departed after a while, all the dogs who could reach the windows barking a joyous farewell as they drove off.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH
SOMEHOW or other on Christmas morning everything takes on a festive, joyous tone. The very sleigh-bells seem to ring out more merrily than usual, and the children’s voices in their play seem more joyous than on other days. Even the shy sparrows seem to grow bolder, and twitter more loudly than usual. The dogs, too, seem possessed of unusually gay spirits, and bound through the streets as if they were thinking of the good Christmas dinner that awaits them.
The two little boys in the sleigh felt this Christmas influence and partook of the prevailing joyous spirit. We will leave them for a time and return to some other acquaintances,—the three children who had cared for the lost Toby.
Great was the grief of the children when they saw the little dog turned out into the cold, dark streets, but they did not dare to express their feelings before their father. Directly after supper they went to bed, and the mother soon went in to their rooms to comfort them. The two girls were nearly heart-broken, but the mother reminded them that the little dog would be likely to seek the shed for shelter, and she promised to look after him and give him a good supper.
“He wanted some of the sausages so much,” sobbed Maysie, “and I ate up the piece I was saving for him, and I am so sorry!”
“He shall have some sausage, dear, so don’t worry so about him. I will cover him up with something warm, and in the morning you can take him to the home for lost dogs. They will find a good place for him, I am sure, a much better one than we could give him.”
This hopeful prospect comforted the little girls, and from them the mother sought Johnny in his dark bedroom. He was lying very still, and answered in a voice that he tried to make sound as usual, but the mother knew he was trying hard to make it cheerful. As with a loving hand she put back the hair from his forehead, she felt it hot, and as her hand brushed against his cheeks she found them moist, and she knew he had been crying, although he tried so hard to conceal the fact.
“Don’t fret about the little dog, Johnny,” said the kind mother. “He’ll be sure to go to the shed where you kept him before, and I’ll look after him.”
“It was so mean to send him out, and this such a cold night, too!” exclaimed Johnny, indignantly.
“Hush, dear!” said the gentle mother. “You mustn’t forget that Father is tired and things worry him. He didn’t mean to be unkind.”
“It was awfully mean,” replied Johnny, “and him such a little fellow, too!”
Then the mother told of her plan to send the little dog to the refuge provided for all homeless animals, and, as she drew the pleasant picture of the home the little wanderer would be sure to find, Johnny allowed himself to be comforted as his sisters had been, and, feeling that Mother would look after the wandering dog, he forgot his anxieties and fell asleep.
We have seen how the mother found the forsaken dog and fed and warmed him, and how he at last found shelter in the very home to which they intended to carry him.
The following morning when the children hastened to the shed they found it empty, and great was their grief. They searched for him for days, of course without avail. Oh, if they could have seen the little creature in the happy home he had found!
On Christmas morning they were almost wild with delight at the presents kind Mrs. Ledwell had sent them. As for Maysie, she could hardly believe that she was the owner of such a beautiful doll, and she handled it with great awe.
“I really believe that Santa Claus heard what I said!” exclaimed Maysie. “You know the lady said he had very sharp ears.”
The big turkey, too, gave the children almost as much pleasure, and they crowded around the mother while she cleaned it, and singed off the pin-feathers by holding it over a piece of burning newspaper. They had to see it safely stowed away in the oven, too; such a large, handsome turkey had never come their way before.
“Now you had better all go and take a walk in the streets where the nice houses are,” said Mother. “The windows will be all trimmed up with wreaths and garlands, and perhaps you will get a sight of some Christmas-trees, for people often have them Christmas Eve.”
The mother thought it as well to get the children out of the way for a while, for she did not have a Christmas dinner to cook every day, and she wanted to do full justice to all the good things sent them; and how could she do this with three curious children following her about and getting under foot at every step?
So the three started, Hannah wearing her new chatelaine bag in a position in which she decided it would show to the greatest advantage, Johnny proudly drawing his new sled after him, and Maysie with her doll perched on her arm in a position to show off her beautiful clothes and at the same time take in the sights. The lost dog was not forgotten, and at every step they were on the lookout, hoping to catch a glimpse of him at any moment.
Their way led by the engine-house, in front of which lay the Fire-Dog, finishing one of the large bones that the blind boy had brought him for a Christmas present. They stopped to pat him and to look at a flock of pigeons feeding there. They watched the large blue pigeon, Dick the Scrapper, who walked in among them snapping up the best morsels and pecking any of the pigeons who came in his way. They noticed, too, the handsome white squab, so strong and yet so mild-looking; but the one that pleased them most of all was the lame black and white pigeon. He was so tame that he ate out of their hands and even allowed them to stroke his feathers.
The lame pigeon soon began to act in a very strange manner. He would fly a few steps, and then look back at the children as if he expected them to follow him. This he did so many times the children were certain this was what he wanted. So they followed, and as soon as the little lame pigeon saw this he flew off again, waiting for them to overtake him. This was kept up until the children found themselves in a part of the city where they had never before been.
“We mustn’t go any farther,” said Hannah, “or we shall be late for dinner, and Mother will be anxious.”
“I am very hungry,” said Maysie, as visions of the beautiful turkey roasting in the oven rose before her mind, “and my feet are very tired too.”
“It can’t be much farther,” said Johnny, “and I am certain that the little pigeon wants something. You just sit on my sled, Maysie, and I’ll give you a ride.”
This plan was very agreeable to Maysie, and she seated herself on the sled with her doll in her lap, while her brother and sister drew her over the snow.
They had not much farther to go. To their surprise the lame pigeon turned in at a driveway and flew toward a large brick building enclosed by high walls.
“What can it mean?” said Hannah. Perhaps the little lame pigeon didn’t mean anything, after all.
But the little lame pigeon did mean something. He had recognized the children as the ones who took little Billy home when his mother had fallen in the street, and he had taken this means to induce them to follow him and discover the sick woman at one of the windows of the hospital. With a noisy fluttering of his wings he flew up to one of the windows and alighted on the sill. A pale, sick-looking woman was seated in a chair close to the window, and the children saw a nurse come to the window and open it. In hopped the little lame pigeon and alighted on an arm of the sick woman’s chair.
“Why, Johnny!” exclaimed Hannah. “Do you mind the face of the sick woman up there? It is blind Billy’s mother.”
“How do you know it is?” asked Johnny. “You never saw her but the once.”
“I know that, but I minded her hair, because it is just like Billy’s, so soft and curly, and she looks just the way Billy’s mother looked.”
“Perhaps they brought her here because it is a place where they put sick people,” said Johnny, who was convinced by his sister’s positive manner.
“Now, if we only knew where Billy is, it would be all right,” said Hannah.
“Perhaps she has found him,” said Johnny.
“I don’t believe she has, because she would look happy, and just see the sad look of her!”
The sick woman did indeed present a forlorn appearance, even the children’s young eyes could detect that, as she sat with her head laid against the back of the chair, stroking the feathers of the little pigeon.
They stood looking up at the window for some time, and gazing curiously at the large building before them.
“I suppose it is full of sick people,” said Johnny.
“I wonder if there are any little children there!” said Hannah. “Do you suppose the sick people know it is Christmas Day?”
This reminded Maysie of the Christmas dinner cooking at home, and she exclaimed:
“I am just as hungry as I can be, and I know it is ever so long after dinner-time.”
The other two children now became aware of the fact that they were hungry too, and, fearing to be late to dinner, they set off on a run toward home, with Maysie on the sled. Before they had gone far, they heard the jingle of sleigh-bells and the voices of children coming up behind them, and seeing a large sleigh and pair of horses in the road, they drew the sled to one side to allow it to pass.
In the sleigh sat a gentleman and two little boys. The children at once recognized the pleasant face of the gentleman. He was the one who had bought the cakes for Maysie. It would have been strange if they had not recognized him, for where was there another such sweet-tempered, happy countenance, and who else possessed such a pleasant, genial voice? So intent were they in watching the gentleman that they did not look at the two boys who were with him until just as the sleigh, which went slowly, was opposite them, they caught a glimpse of the little blind boy.
“Billy! Oh, Billy! Is that you?” screamed the two elder children in one breath.
“Stop!” called Mr. Ledwell to the driver, and the sleigh stopped in front of the children.
The blind boy had heard their voices, and recognized them with the quick perception that the blind possess. He turned quite pale with excitement, and stood up in the sleigh.
“Where are you?” he cried, feeling about him with outstretched hands.
“Here we are,” said Hannah, coming close to the sleigh. “The three of us are here. Oh, Billy, we didn’t know what had become of you and we were awfully sorry.”
“And your mother is over in that big house yonder!” exclaimed Johnny, excitedly. “We saw her sitting up at the window, and she looks awful sick!”
“Oh, Mother! Mother!” screamed Billy, struggling to free himself from the fur robe in order to get out of the sleigh. “Please, Mr. Ledwell, let me go to my mother! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” and the poor child, feeling his utter helplessness, sank back upon his seat and burst into tears.
“Try to compose yourself, Billy,” said Mr. Ledwell, kindly, “and we will find out all about it, and if your mother is really here you shall be taken to her at once.”
He then questioned the children, who told him about the lame pigeon who made them follow him, and who flew up to a window of the big house where they saw Billy’s mother.
“I am sure it was Billy’s mother,” said Hannah, positively, “because I minded her hair and the look of her face.”
Mr. Ledwell turned back, and going in to the hospital made inquiries concerning the sick woman the children had seen at the window. They were not mistaken, and in a few minutes Billy was in his mother’s arms.
After the excitement of the meeting had passed, Billy told his mother all that had happened since the dreadful day when she was taken away from him. He told of the kind children who had given him all they had to give, a shelter and what food they could spare, and how Jack the Fire-Dog saved his life. He told, too, about the kind-hearted firemen and his life at the engine-house, and about Sam and his grandpapa and the comfortable home he now had.
The poor woman could not find words to thank the kind gentleman who had done so much for her blind son, and when she tried to express her gratitude to him, he told her the best way to do it was to get well as fast as possible and come and live with her son.
“I am anxious to find work, so that I can take care of him,” said the sick woman. “As soon as I am well I am sure I can find something to do.”
“The first thing to be done is to get strong,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and then we will think about working. I propose that as soon as you are well enough you go to Billy, where you can have the best of care. You will improve much faster there than you can here, surrounded by sickness and suffering.”
The patient was pronounced not able to leave the hospital just then, but was promised that she should go so soon as it was deemed prudent.
So Billy took leave of his mother, happy at the promise of a visit the next day. They found Sam with the three children seated in the sleigh, and the new sled tied to one of the runners.
“I thought we had better take the children home, because they were afraid they would be late to their Christmas dinner,” Sam explained. “Do you think they will crowd you very much, Grandpapa? We will squeeze as close together as we can, and Maysie is almost a baby, you know.”
“I shouldn’t mind a little crowding on Christmas Day,” said Grandpapa. “Here, Baby, you can sit in my lap.”
“I am as big as Johnny,” replied Maysie, who was ambitious to be considered big.
Sam looked just as happy as Billy, thinking that the little blind boy had found his mother. He sat silent for some time, and his grandpapa, seeing his thoughtful, happy face, said,—
“Well, Sam, what are you thinking about?”
“I am thinking how glad I am that Billy has found his mother,” he replied, “and I guess God thought He’d send this Christmas present because He didn’t find time to send the one I asked for.”
So Sam’s Christmas turned out to be a much happier one than he had thought it was going to be, and the three children who had helped bring about this happy state of affairs reached home just as the big turkey was taken out of the oven.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH
IT is some time since we have heard from the engine-house, and a change has taken place since we last looked in. The off horse was quite old, and the headlong speed at which the horses were obliged to go whenever an alarm was sounded, began to tell heavily on him. He was an ambitious fellow, and strained every nerve to keep pace with his mates and do his share of the work, but he was a tired horse when the scene of the fire was reached, and soon an order came for the off horse to give up his place to a younger and stronger one.
This order filled the kind hearts of the company with sorrow, for old Jim was a great favorite. When the news reached them, there was silence for a while, then warm-hearted Reordan burst out impetuously,—
“If old Jim goes, I go too. There isn’t one of us that has done his work faithfuller than old Jim has!”
“That’s so, he’s done his duty right slap up. What would the others be without old Jim, I’d like to know? They always take their cue from him,” said another.
“I’ve always made it as easy as I could for old Jim,” said the driver, “and have done my best to make the other two do their share of the work; but the knowing old fellow won’t have it, and isn’t satisfied unless his nose is just a grain ahead of the others, so he can feel he is doing his share and a little more.”
“He’s acted just like a Christian,” said another, “and if we do our duty as well as old Jim has done his, we sha’n’t have anything to answer for.”
“Get rid of him!” exclaimed a young man. “A nice return to make for his faithful service! It makes me sick to think how horses are turned off when they begin to lose their usefulness! Just think of old Jim sold to some old junk pedler or such, and being starved and beaten after all the good work he has done! It wouldn’t break the Fire Department to pension him, and they ought to do it!”
“They ought to, but whether they will is another thing,” said Reordan. “They will say that they can’t afford to pension off all the old horses in the department.”
“Well, if they can’t afford it, we can,” replied the young man. “What do you say to starting a fund for old Jim’s support, and boarding him out for the rest of his life?”
What could they say, but one thing, for courage and generosity go hand in hand, and to men who daily risk their lives to save those of others, as do our brave firemen, a dollar doesn’t look so big as it does to smaller natures.
After this decision the hearts of all were lightened, but parting with their old friend came hard.
“Let’s get him out of the way before the new horse comes,” said Reordan. “It would hurt his feelings to see a new horse in the stall that has been his for so long.”
The others felt as Reordan did, and just before the new horse arrived, old Jim came out of his stall for the last time. The intelligent creature turned his eyes on the men gathered to bid him farewell, and rubbed his nose affectionately against the shoulders of those who stood nearest him.
“He knows he’s being sent off just as well as we do,” said one, “and he’s trying to say good-bye to us.”
He certainly did know it, for his large, mild eyes had the sorrowful look that all dumb creatures have at leaving old friends.
“He looks kind of reproachful,” said one, “just as if he thought we hadn’t appreciated the good work he’s done for us.”
The men had bought a warm blanket for the old horse, knowing that he was going to a country stable which was not so warm as his stall in the engine-house. This was buckled on him, and he was led away. At the door he hesitated a moment, and looked back at his old home; then, with drooping head, he left for his new quarters.
“Be good to him,” said the captain to the man who had come to take the old horse to his new home. “The best you’ve got isn’t any too good for old Jim.”
“We’ll take good care of him,” replied the man. “You don’t need to worry about him.”
They watched the old horse so long as he was in sight, and nothing was said for some time. Then Reordan spoke,—
“Well, it’s a comfort to think we’ve done the best we could for the old horse. He’ll have plenty to eat and a good place to sleep in, and he will have as comfortable an old age as we can give him.”
Jack the Fire-Dog had, of course, known what was going on, and his heart was every bit as sad as the men’s.
“I suppose I’m a fool to feel so bad about it,” he confided to his friend Boxer, “but I can’t help it. We’ve been to a good many fires together, first and last, old Jim and I. My turn will come next, I suppose. I’m not so young as I once was, and old dogs are in the way.”
Such remarks as these had a most depressing effect upon his friend Boxer, for there is no dog more attached to his friends and more sympathetic than a bull-dog, although he is so reserved that he does not find it easy to express his feelings.
Boxer pondered over the situation, and the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that something must be done. He was on hand when the old engine-horse was taken away from the home that had been his for so long, and, as he looked at his friend Jack’s mournful face and heard him softly crying to himself, Boxer could bear it no longer.
“It is true that they will be sending him away next,” he muttered to himself; and as his indignation increased he cast his eyes about for something upon which to vent his anger. The man leading old Jim away caught his attention, and without stopping to consider the justice of his act, in true bull-dog fashion he rushed after them and seized the man by the leg of his trousers.
A commotion at once arose. Old Jim, startled at the sudden attack, started back, twitching the halter-rope out of the man’s hand, while the man struggled to free his leg from the bull-dog’s grip.
A bull-dog’s grip is a very peculiar thing. When he becomes excited, his jaws, which are very strong and formed differently from those of other dogs, become tightly locked. A spasm of the jaw seizes him, and it is impossible for him to unlock them himself until the spasm has passed. So Boxer held on, with his eyes set and his feet braced.
Now that old Jim was free, he stood still and looked on to see how the affair was coming out. He was not the only spectator, for quite a crowd collected at once. Varied was the advice given to make the bull-dog loose his grip, and poor Boxer would have been roughly handled had not Reordan seen the commotion and run to the spot. In a twinkling he had out a sulphur match, and, lighting it, held it as near the dog’s nose as he could without burning it.
The suffocating fumes of the sulphur match did their work, and Boxer gasped for breath. Thus his jaws were unlocked, and the man was freed. After such an excitement a dog always feels weak and shaky, and Boxer returned to his friend Jack with drooping tail and unsteady legs.
“Well, I never before saw a bull-dog made to quit his hold that way,” said one of the on-lookers.
“It’s the best way,” replied Reordan. “It’s a bull-dog’s nature to hold on when once he gets started, and he doesn’t know how to stop. There’s no use pounding him to make him let go. He simply can’t do it till the spasm in his jaw lets up, and I don’t know any better way to bring it about than this.”
“What did he tackle me for, anyway?” asked the man. “I didn’t do anything to him, and the first thing I knew he grabbed me by the leg.”
“He probably thought you didn’t have any business to take the horse off. He hangs round the engine-house a good deal;” and Reordan stroked old Jim’s nose, for the old horse had come up behind him and put his head over his shoulder.
“Well, if my trousers stood that, I guess they’ll stand all the work I’ll give ’em for quite a spell,” said the farmer good-naturedly, as he took Jim’s halter and started for home. “Say,” he added, as he saw Reordan’s eyes resting sadly on old Jim, “don’t you worry about the horse. I’ll look after him all right.”
This assurance lightened Reordan’s heart, and he returned to the engine-house feeling that the best had been done for old Jim that could be done.
The new off-horse arrived that day,—a fine young gray, with all the restless life that only a young creature possesses. He was a superb fellow, and he knew it, judging from the proud way in which he carried himself. He was so full of life that he couldn’t bring himself to walk sedately, but entered the engine-house with a springy step that showed his colt days were not far behind him. When he was brought to a stand-still, he pawed the floor in an impatient manner, as if he demanded instant attention.
“Do they expect that colt to take the place of old Jim?” asked one of the men.
“Oh, he’ll learn the whole business in a short time,” replied the man who brought him. “He’s very intelligent.”
“Well, if the department don’t mind laying out their money in repairs, I don’t doubt he’ll learn in time, but I don’t like the look of his eye,” said the driver.
“What’s the matter with his eye?” demanded the man.
“It’s a skittish eye,” replied the driver,—“shows too much of the white to suit me.”
“I’d be willing to pay for all the machines he smashes,” replied the man; but the driver did not change his mind.
The new off-horse took possession of old Jim’s stall as if it were his by right, and made himself at home immediately. He was very intelligent, it is true, and he learned his duties very soon, but still his youth was against him. He started off with the engine as if the whole thing were great sport and gotten up especially for his entertainment; and if the other two horses had not kept him back, there would have been a runaway engine the very first time he was taken out. He enjoyed going to a fire of all things, because he could use his strong muscles and let off some of the young life he didn’t know what to do with, but he didn’t like coming back. The other two horses were quite ready to go home at a gentle trot, but not so the new horse; and as they lumbered along he felt that it devolved upon him to give a little style to the team. He certainly did it, and many turned to watch the fine knee action and spirited bearing of the new engine-horse.
One day his youthful spirits got the better of the new horse. The department was called out to a fire in the business section of the city, and Engine 33 left the engine-house in a mad rush at full speed, as usual. When about half-way down the slope of the hill, a man on a bicycle came suddenly around the corner from a side street. The new horse was taken by surprise and shied badly. All the movements of such a powerful young horse are vigorous, and the engine was thrown against a lamp-post and wrecked.
When the chief heard of the accident, he remembered the dog who always ran in front of the engine, and he at once said that the dog was the cause of the accident and that they must get rid of him. “It is enough to make any horse shy to have a dog getting under his feet,” he said.
It was in vain for the firemen to explain that Jack had nothing whatever to do with the accident; the chief refused to be convinced.
The order concerning Jack, however, was not obeyed, for how could they part with their old friend Jack?
The driver was right in his opinion of the new horse. He certainly was skittish, and before long a second accident came. This time the order to get rid of Jack must be obeyed, and the question arose what to do with him.
Mr. Ledwell being the kind of man to whom everybody in trouble appealed, Reordan at once sought him and told him the story. “We can’t have old Jack killed,” he said, “because he is one of us!”
“Of course you can’t,” replied Mr. Ledwell, “we must find a good home for him.”
“You see, sir, Jack has been in the business so many years he wouldn’t feel at home anywhere except in an engine-house, and if we gave him to any other company the chief would find it out, and ’twould be just as bad. I don’t see what we can do. The poor fellow would grieve himself to death if he wasn’t in the Fire Department.”
“And so he shall be,” replied Mr. Ledwell, heartily. “There is an engine in the town where I live in the summer, and I’ll write and ask them to take Jack. They will be sure to do it.”
Reordan’s face brightened. “It would be very kind of you, sir, and just like you. After Jack got used to it, he’d be sure to feel at home, and the men couldn’t help liking him.”
“Of course they will,” replied Mr. Ledwell, “and we shall look after him too. Sam will make it his special business to see that he is well cared for.”
So Jack’s fate was settled, and, with a heart even sadder at parting than were those of the firemen, he was taken to his new home. Boxer was quite desperate in his grief, and wanted to make an assault on every one at once and settle the matter in that way; but gentle-hearted Jack accepted his fate with the same fortitude that had led him to follow through the thickest of the fire the fortunes of the firemen he so loved.