LITTLE CHRIS
Polly dreaded the next meeting with her Cousin Floyd, for she
anticipated his disappointment at her decision. But he took the news
cheerfully.
"Just wait till we get you down to our house!" he laughed. "We'll give
you so good a time you'll forget there ever was a Fair Harbor."
Polly smiled contentedly. This was so much pleasanter than her uncle's
insistence.
Yet when his eyes were free to look upon her, his gayety vanished.
"So like my mother!" he murmured. "Not the eyes,--hers were blue,--but
the mouth and the expression of the face--yes, and the forehead!--they
are mother's right over again!" His lips drooped sorrowfully. "You
bring her back to me better than a picture. It is a shame," he
regretted, "when you belong to us, that we can't have you under our
roof!"
"I'm sorry," Polly sighed. "I wish I could be in two places."
"One would be quite enough," laughed Floyd, "if only that were New
York. Oh, come on, Polly! We'll have no end of a good time."
She shook her head slowly, the red fluttering on her cheeks. "I
can't," she told him; "truly I can't!"
"All right," he responded, and touched the subject no more; yet Polly
was troubled at the seriousness of his face. Finding relatives was not
complete joy after all.
The good-byes, which came soon, brought no further word from him in
regard to her decision; but he urged an early visit, to which Polly
and her parents agreed.
The taxicab that carried Floyd and his luggage to the station was
barely out of sight when Polly spied a familiar little figure on the
hospital walk.
"There's Moses Cohn!" she cried. "I wonder what he is coming for."
"Hullo, Polly!" was the friendly call, the freckled face under the
shabby hat shining with delight.
She waved him a welcome, dancing about in the cold of the morning
until he came up. They went inside together, Moses eagerly unfolding
his errand.
"I've been tellin' a kid 'bout Dr. Dudley and you," he began. "He's
sick, awful sick, and his father wouldn't have no doctor, and Chris he
keeps a-growin' worser 'n worser. So I said how Dr. Dudley could cure
him quicker 'n lightnin', and I guess he'll bring him up--he 'most
promised."
"It might be better for me to see him first," observed the physician.
"No, sir! he said 'xpressly for you not to come!"
"Then I can send the ambulance--"
"No, he don't want that neither! He's goin' to bring him right in his
arms. Why, I could myself--easy! He's the littlest kid, an' han'some!
My, he's a beaut! Jus' wait till you see him! He ain't but nine years
old. He goes to my school, or did before he was sick. His father's got
the money--you bet! An' my! he thinks that kid's it! He is, too! I
guess they'll be here pretty soon--he 'most promised."
On the strength of Moses Cohn's story, Dr. Dudley ordered a bed to be
prepared for the probable patient; but he did not arrive until evening
and Polly had given up his coming. Then the father insisted on a
private room for his little son, remaining himself to see that
everything was provided for his comfort.
"Good-bye, Chris! Keep up a big bluff! Daddy'll be here in the morning
sure!" That was what the attending nurse overheard of the parting. A
minute after the door had shut, she discovered her little patient
shedding silent tears for "daddy"; but he brightened quickly at her
cheering words, and soon dropped into a quiet sleep.
Polly was anxious to see the boy of whom Moses had told her, but the
slow fever from which he was suffering kept him a stranger for many
days. When, at last, she was allowed to pay him a visit, even Moses'
description of his friend had not prepared her for the beautiful wisp
of a lad with the sky-blue eyes and the red-gold hair. Polly thought
she had never seen so lovely a face. Her smile brought a shy response
from the pillow, though talk did not at once flourish.
"Father says you are better," Polly ventured.
Only a wee nod answered her.
"I've been wanting to come in before," she persevered. "Moses Cohn
told me about you."
A faint smile.
"Do you like it here at the hospital?" Polly questioned adroitly.
No smile now, only an added wistfulness. Then courtesy brought a soft
response.
"I like it evenings, when daddy comes."
"It's nice you have him to come to see you. I used to wish I had
somebody. There was only Aunt Jane, and I guess she was too busy."
"Were you sick, too?" The sky-blue eyes showed interest.
"I was hurt, and they brought me here. I lived in the hospital ever so
long."
"Weren't you lonesome?"
"No, only once in a while, when I saw other folks having company. I
was in the ward, you know. After I got acquainted with father--he
wasn't my father then--I didn't mind. Don't you just love father?
Everybody does!"
"Yes; he's nice," smiled the boy. "How did he come to be your father?"
"He and mother adopted me. My own papa and mamma are in Heaven."
"Oh! are they? That's where mommy is. Daddy is all I've got. I wish
you'd come and see daddy sometime. He gets here every night right
after six o'clock."
"I'd love to!" Polly beamed. "Fathers are beautiful, I think. Of
course, mothers are--but fathers!" Her curls gave the emphasis.
"I know!" cried little Chris, his eyes ashine. "Daddy's the dearest
that ever was! Why, if anything should happen to daddy--there might,
while I'm here and can't take care of him!--oh, I don't know what I
should do!" Fear crept over the sweet face.
"I wouldn't worry about it," counseled Polly cheerily. "Big men can
take care of themselves better than little folks like us can."
"Daddy isn't very big," confided Chris in a low tone; "but he's
strong, strong as anything! I guess there couldn't much hurt him,
could there?" he smiled reassuringly.
"No, indeed!" assented Polly.
"He is so strong he brought me 'way up here in his arms," the lad
exulted, "and he wasn't tired a bit! I wish he could come and stay
with me daytimes," the wistful voice went on, "but he has to sleep
then. He watches, you know."
"And you have to stay alone all night?" Polly's eyes showed sympathy.
"Oh! daddy doesn't go away till after I'm asleep," the lad explained,
"and he is home again before I wake up. A nice woman in the next room
comes in if I call her. I never did but once, and that was when I fell
out of bed. I gave a little cry before I knew anything. It didn't hurt
me a mite, but she was scared, and daddy was, too. He wouldn't leave
me the next night."
Dr. Dudley's entrance put a stop to the talk, and presently Polly said
good-bye, carrying away with her a happy picture of Moses Cohn's
protege.
When Polly first saw "daddy" she was conscious of disappointment. The
slight man with the cold black eyes and the hard-lined mouth did not
tally with her thought of "the dearest that ever was." Yet his
greeting was pleasant, and whenever he spoke to his little son a
tenderness stole into his voice that made her regard him with more
lenient eyes, and before her visit was over he proved himself so
fascinating an entertainer, she went away feeling that the opinion of
little Chris was not after all so very far from the truth.
One night "daddy" did not appear, until the sick boy, who for hours
had strained his ears for the step he loved, was in a state of
agitation which the combined efforts of nurse and physician failed to
calm.
At last Polly was summoned, and although her arguments were not unlike
those put forth by the others, they were made in such simple faith as
to carry greater force.
"He'd come if he was alive! I know he would!" the boy had been
tearfully reiterating. "He must be dead--oh, daddy! daddy!"
Polly entered in time to hear the last. She skipped straight to the
cot.
"Now, Chris, just listen to me! Your daddy isn't dead!"
"How do you know?" he asked weakly. There was a touch of hope in the
doubting tone.
"Why, we'd have heard of it long before this, if he were," she
reasoned rashly.
"We might not," he objected.
"Oh, yes, we should have!" she insisted. "Because everybody knows
you're at the hospital, and they'd send word to father first thing."
"They would, wouldn't they?" he brightened.
"Of course," she returned confidently.
"But why doesn't he come?" he persisted.
"Oh, I don't know," she replied cheerfully. "Maybe he had to go away
on business--father does sometimes, and can't stop for anything. But I
wouldn't worry another bit, if I were you. When he comes and tells you
all about it, you'll wonder why you didn't think it was all
right--just as it is."
Chris said nothing, only gazed into Polly's face, as if to gather
even more assurance than her words had given him.
"I'm going to tell you about a blizzard we had last winter," Polly
went on, "when father went to New York and mother was sick, and I was
all alone." Then, seeing she had her hearer's attention, she began the
story of the well-remembered February day.
Her voice was soft and soothing, and before the tale was half-told the
sky-blue eyes closed and the tired little boy was asleep. This was
well, as the messenger who had finally been sent to Mr. Morrow's
boarding-place returned with the word that the man had not been there
since early the previous day, and nobody knew where he had gone.
The next morning Chris received from his father a short letter saying
that urgent business had suddenly called him to New York, where he had
been most unexpectedly detained so that he might not be able to return
home under a day or two, but that he should come to the hospital just
as soon as he arrived in Fair Harbor. A number of beautiful post-cards
were inclosed in the envelope, one of which was immediately laid aside
for Polly, and then at once exchanged for another that might be a bit
more attractive. This exchange went on for some time, until she had
been allotted them all in turn, and the nurse was finally called into
counsel for a last decision.
When Polly came in for a flying visit before school, she was given her
present, which she received with genuine pleasure, for the little card
was an exquisite creation, and the fact that Chris wished her to have
the very prettiest of his treasures made it doubly dear.
Three days dragged by before Mr. Morrow again appeared at the
hospital. Then it was at a much later hour than usual, and the small
boy was asleep. His father insisted on awakening him, however, and
their meeting, the nurse asserted, was not without tears on both
sides.
On the day that little Chris was to leave the hospital, Polly paid him
a long visit, and there were many plans and promises for the future.
It was arranged that Chris should come up to see Polly at least every
Saturday, as soon as he was well enough, and until that time Polly
was to ride across the city with her father to visit him. When, at
last, the six o'clock bell told of a supper that would soon be coming
in on a tray, and of the one awaiting Polly at home, the good-byes had
to be said. Then the lad drew from beneath his pillow a small leather
case.
"I wanted to give you something," he said wistfully, "so daddy bought
me this. I hope you'll like it. I think it's pretty."
Polly opened the dainty box, to find, on a cushion of white velvet, an
exquisite pansy pin, with green-gold leaves, the blossom studded with
sapphires and diamonds.
"Oh, how beautiful!" she cried delightedly. "I never saw anything so
lovely."
"I thought you'd like it," he beamed. "Just hold it up to your
neck--it looks sweet there! You'll keep it always to remember me by,
won't you?"
"Forever," promised Polly. "Oh, it is so nice of your father to buy it
for me!"
"He's always nice," praised Chris. "There couldn't be anybody better."
And for the moment Polly almost agreed with him.
But when Dr. Dudley saw the pretty ornament he looked grave.
"It is far too expensive a present for you to accept," he objected.
"Diamonds and sapphires are costly stones. This must be worth a great
deal of money."
"Can't I keep it then?" questioned Polly plaintively. "It will break
Chris's heart if I don't."
"We needn't decide the matter to-night." He looked across the table to
his wife. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I don't know," was the doubtful reply. "How can Mr. Morrow buy such
jewelry, do you suppose? A night watchman's position cannot bring him
very high wages."
The Doctor shook his head, and narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he
began to talk of other things.
Meantime Polly was in distress. What would Chris say, if she had to
give back his beautiful present which she had promised always to keep?
The next afternoon Dr. Dudley brought the matter to a climax by
driving over to see the father of little Chris. Perhaps a talk with
him would put things in a different light. Thus reasoning, he rang
the doorbell at Mr. Morrow's boarding-house.
"They ain't here," began the woman who answered his summons. "They got
off, bag and baggage, before breakfast, this morning. He paid up all
right," she exulted, "an' when they do that I'm done with 'em. He was
a good payin' man straight along, I'll say that for him; but where
he's gone I do' know no more 'n West Peak!"
Questioning among the boarders brought no satisfaction, and the Doctor
returned home mystified and suspicious.
It was long before Polly saw little Chris again.