IKEY'S ACCIDENT.
The days grew shorter and cooler, the leaves began to flutter down,
and each morning, from her sitting-room window, Miss Brown watched the
children start for school.
First the little girls, tossing good-by kisses to Aunt Zelie, ran down
the walk to join Dora or Elsie; then a few minutes later Ikey was at
the gate whistling for Carl. In the five months since Ikey had come to
stay with his grandparents the boys had become almost inseparable.
Dr. Isaac Clinton Ford was a surgeon in the navy, and having been
ordered to the Mediterranean, his wife, whose health was not good,
followed him, with their little daughter, while young Isaac was sent
to his father's old home. Warmly attached to it himself, Dr. Ford
could think of no better place for his son, and old Mr. and Mrs. Ford
felt that it would be almost like having their boy again, from whom
they had had only brief visits for eighteen years.
Unfortunately, neither took into account that young Isaac was totally
unlike the quiet, studious boy his father had been. It was a question
which suffered most during those first weeks, the elderly people
whose lives had moved on like clockwork for so many years, or the
mischievous, fun-loving boy suddenly introduced into their household.
The Fords' was a tall, three-story, stone front house, with everything
about it inside and out in immaculate order. The stone steps and walk
were spotless, the windows shone, and the shades and curtains were
arranged in the most exact manner. The only flowers were three
oleanders in tubs, and these partook of the general tidiness.
It is easy to see that a boy without any deep regard for spotless
stones, who labored under the delusion that windows were made to look
out of, and who did not hesitate to push curtains aside and open
blinds, who whistled when his grandfather was taking his nap, left his
things lying about, and teased the snappish old pug was destined to be
a trial. On the other hand, the change from a free and easy home life,
with a mother as merry-hearted as himself and a father who was more of
a boy at forty than he had been at twelve, to that humdrum routine
would have been trying to wiser people than Ikey.
No wonder the first weeks were full of miserable homesickness. Life
would have been unendurable if the Hazeltines had not discovered him.
Ikey was ready to meet them more than half way, and before long became
their boon companion.
Mrs. Howard, the children's aunt, guessed how matters stood, for she
had lived across the street from the Fords most of her life; so she
went to his grandmother, and asked her to let Ikey play with Carl and
the little girls every day.
Mrs. Ford consented, feeling surprised and gratified; and unwilling to
be lacking in hospitality, she allowed her grandson and his friends
the freedom of the back yard, on condition that they would respect the
front. Before the summer was over she had become so used to the sound
of the children's voices that she no longer found it necessary to go
to the window every five minutes to see what they were doing.
Ikey had a genius for getting hurt. Cuts, bumps, and bruises were
matters of every-day occurrence, and were accepted with a heroism born
of long familiarity. But one morning when he and Carl were on their
way to school he met with an accident which was unusually hard to
bear.
As they were passing a high board fence they heard a great barking and
growling, as if a lot of dogs were tearing one another to pieces.
"What in the world!" exclaimed Carl, trying to find some crack or
knothole.
"You can't see in that way," Ikey cried scornfully, and giving a
spring he grasped the top of the fence and drew himself up to look
over.
Exactly how it happened he could never tell; probably his curiosity
was resented, for before he had time to see anything, some sharp
teeth made themselves felt, and he dropped down groaning, "My nose! My
nose!" Carl was very much alarmed at sight of the blood that streamed
down from his face, but had presence of mind to remember a doctor's
office in the next block.
"Your nose isn't all gone, is it?" he asked anxiously, as he led the
way.
"No, I think there is some of it left," came in muffled tones from the
handkerchief Ikey held to his face.
Fortunately the doctor was in and dressed the wound, pronouncing it
not serious, but advising his patient not to be in such a hurry to
investigate strange dogs another time, or he might lose the whole of
his nose instead of only a slice.
Relieved that it was no worse, and not being in the habit of making a
fuss over his hurts, Ikey decided to go on to school.
Perhaps if he could have looked in the glass he would not have been so
ready, for the yellow plaster did not add to his beauty.
Now all danger was over, Carl could not contain himself, but laughed
and laughed till his friend's feelings were somewhat hurt.
They were late of course, and created a sensation when they entered,
and the suppressed amusement among the boys became an uproar at
recess. It was decidedly trying to be the object of so much school-boy
wit; to hear over and over again: "Ikey, what ails your
nose?"--"Can't you wear it in a sling?"--"Or put a shade over it?"--or
to see on the blackboard lines adapted from Mother Goose:
"It used to be a blackbird, so the story goes,
But now it is a puppy dog that nips off his nose."
He stood it bravely till school was over, but on the way home, at
sight of the girls on the corner he made a sudden dive across the
street.
"Where is Ikey going?" Louise asked, in surprise, of Carl and Aleck.
"He has lost his nose," answered the latter.
"Has he gone to look for it?" laughed Dora.
"Tell us what you mean," said Bess.
With much laughter the boys told the story.
"It is mean of you to make fun. Suppose it was your nose?" and Louise
held on to her own.
"Perhaps it won't turn up any more," suggested Bess.
"I am afraid he won't go to the ball-game; that will be too bad," said
Carl.
They were all going with Uncle William to see a game of foot-ball that
afternoon, and there was only time for a hasty lunch before they
started. Carl ran over to beg Ikey to go in spite of his
disfigurement, but a melancholy voice from the third-story landing
declined so positively that there was nothing left to be said.
From behind the curtains Ikey watched the party start off, and felt
very unhappy at not being with them.
That was a miserable afternoon! His grandmother's exclamations and
questions had only made matters worse, and he took refuge in his room,
declining to eat any lunch.
Before long he succeeded in convincing himself that nobody cared for
him, except, perhaps, his father and mother, who were so far away.
Maybe the others would be sorry when he died of hydrophobia. He had
heard that people often had it when they were bitten by dogs, and it
seemed very probable that this would be his fate.
Absorbed in his misery, he hardly knew how time passed, till some one
knocked at his door. He lay on the couch with his face buried in the
pillows, and thinking it was the housemaid he said, "Come in," without
looking up.
The hand that touched his head, however, was not Katie's, nor the
voice that said, "You poor boy!"
It was Mrs. Howard, or Aunt Zelie as he always called her in his
thoughts.
Overwhelmed with mingled delight and dismay, he could only struggle to
a sitting position, with his handkerchief to his nose and not a word
to say.
She did not appear to notice this, but talked on, and in some way it
came about that presently his aching head was down on the pillows
again, and her soft hand was smoothing back his hair, just as Mamma
did, while she told him that Mr. Hazeltine had inquired about the
dogs, and found that they were only very large and lively puppies, not
at all vicious.
Ikey heaved a sigh of relief, and managed to thank her for her
thoughtfulness. Then they talked of other things, and he actually lit
the gas--for it was growing dark--that she might see the photographs
of his mother and sister.
Before Aunt Zelie left they were even laughing together over his funny
accident, and when with a kiss on his forehead she was gone, it was a
much happier boy she left on the sofa.
There was sure to be a tonic in her petting, and Ikey got up and
washed his face, looking bravely in the glass meanwhile. Then he went
meekly downstairs and enjoyed his dinner. Mrs. Ford never petted
anyone, she did not know how; but she showed her sympathy by offering
her grandson all sorts of good things to eat.
At the most exciting moment of the foot-ball game Louise exclaimed:
"We haven't done anything to help Ikey, and he is really and truly our
neighbor!"
"We will try to find something to take him," said Uncle William.
There was little to be had in that part of the town, so they turned it
into a joke, and it was a most remarkable collection that Carl and
Aleck displayed in the Fords' sitting-room that night.
There was a toy balloon, a beetle that ran all over the room in a
life-like manner, a jumping jack, and some popcorn balls.
Old Mr. Ford declared he had not laughed so much in twenty years as he
did at the antics of the boys and the beetle. His bedtime passed
before he knew it.
Ikey went to sleep with the balloon tied to the head of his bed,
feeling that after all his friends _did_ care. The next day the doctor
replaced the ugly yellow plaster with something white that was more
pleasant to look at, and in a short time his nose was as well as ever,
except for a slight scar.
Bess had thought of giving a masquerade ball in his honor, to be held
in the star chamber, and at which he was to appear as "The Man in the
Iron Mask," but owing to his rapid recovery it was given up. She was
rather disappointed, for it seemed an interesting way in which to help
a neighbor in affliction. She and Louise were very anxious to be
helpers, but were not content with small every-day opportunities.
"I can't think of things as Dora does," she complained to Aunt Zelie
one evening.
"What has Dora been doing?" her aunt asked.
"Oh, it was at school to-day, when we were reading together at recess
in a new story book of Elsie's. There was Elsie and Constance, Dora,
Louise and I, and that meek little Mamie Garland kept walking up and
down looking at us. Nobody likes her, because she is a telltale. Then
before we knew what she was going to do Dora jumped up and ran after
Mamie, and asked her if she didn't want to hear the story. You could
see she was surprised, but she came, and Louise made room for her."
"And did she spoil the story?"
"No--not really, but it is nicer to have just the people you like. But
I suppose it is pretty mean to go on having a nice time when somebody
else isn't--even if you don't like them--and not ask them."
Aunt Zelie smiled at this remarkable sentence. "It is easy to be
selfish with our good times," she said; "but don't be discouraged, you
will be more quick to see an opportunity next time. If I am not
mistaken I saw a little girl put away her book to play with her small
sister not so very long ago."
"Do you think that would count?" Bess asked earnestly.
"I certainly do," answered her aunt, pinching the rosy cheek.