BOB AND STRAY MAKE AN ENEMY
THE first time Mrs. Mead called on her new lodger to receive her
rent, which had to be paid weekly, she looked around the attic
approvingly, so dainty and clean was everything; then she raised her
eyebrows in surprise, for seated at the little round table near the
window was Jackie, a picture of contentment, his head bent over a
picture book Mrs. Winter had lent him.
"Why, Jackie, how comes it you are here?" Mrs. Mead inquired. Without
waiting for a reply she turned to Mrs. Winter, and said—"I hope he
doesn't worry you; you must send him away if he does."
"Oh, he doesn't!" Mrs. Winter assured her. "I love having him with
me, and he didn't know what to do with himself as there's no school
to-day."
"Such a mistake giving children a whole holiday on Saturday!" Mrs.
Mead grumbled, "I'm sure they don't need it; though I admit I'm glad
to have Bob at home to run errands, as Saturday is always my busiest
day."
Mrs. Winter paid her rent, and had her rent-book receipted. Then Mrs.
Mead observed Stray, who was lying on a mat before the fireplace.
"He seems a well-behaved, quiet dog," she remarked, "and you keep him
very clean; his coat looks in good condition, as though it was
brushed pretty often."
"It is, every day," Mrs. Winter replied smiling.
"I brushed and combed him this morning," Jackie informed his aunt
eagerly; "and, afterwards, he jumped up and licked my face, so he
must like me, mustn't he?"
Mrs. Mead nodded.
"It must cost you something to feed him, Mrs. Winter," she said.
"I'll tell Lizzie to save our scraps for him in future."
Every day after that a plate of scraps was sent up to Mrs. Winter's
attic from the kitchen, so that now Stray was better fed than he had
ever been in his life before.
Swiftly passed the summer days, then came August when the schools
were closed for a month. It was really no holiday for Bob, because
his aunt kept him running errands and allowed him no time to himself.
Only on Sundays did he get any rest.
Mrs. Mead always took her nephews to church with her on Sunday
mornings. During the remainder of the day she did not trouble about
them, as long as they kept out of her way; so when one Sunday
afternoon, on their return from Sunday school, Mrs. Winter asked them
to take tea with her they accepted her invitation at once.
Jackie was now quite at home in Mrs. Winter's attic; but Bob had
never been there before. They had their tea at the little round table
near the window. It was a very frugal repast of bread not very
thickly buttered, and weak tea; but both Bob and Jackie enjoyed it
a great deal more than they had ever enjoyed a Sunday tea with Aunt
Martha. Bob thought Mrs. Winter the nicest old woman he had ever
known. He told her about their old home in the country, and talked to
her of his father; then began to ask questions.
"Has your husband been dead long, Mrs. Winter?" he inquired.
"Nigh twenty years, my dear," she answered; "he was a sailor—a good,
God-fearing man. His ship went down with all hands in a storm."
"Oh, then he was drowned!" Bob exclaimed, looking at her
sympathetically. "Haven't you any children?" was his next question.
"I had one, a little boy; but when he was about the age of Jackie
I had to part with him—God took him to Himself," Mrs. Winter replied.
There was a look of pain on her face for a minute, then it gave place
to a brighter look. "I'm fond of boys for my own boy's sake," she
added smiling, "so you two will always find a welcome here whenever
you may care to come."
That first Sunday tea in Mrs. Winter's attic was followed by others,
and the friendship between the old woman and the brothers grew apace.
Stray had taken a great liking to Bob; so Mrs. Winter was very glad
to let Bob take him out sometimes, whilst the boy was delighted to
have the dog for company when he was running errands for Aunt Martha.
One evening, at the end of August, Bob, who had been sent late
to deliver a heavy load of potatoes at a house a long distance from
Mrs. Mead's shop, was returning with his empty basket, accompanied by
Stray, when he saw a crowd around the entrance of a big building
which he knew to be a hospital for wounded soldiers, and paused to
inquire what was doing.
"There's going to be a concert to-night for the patients," someone
told him, "and a great lady is going to sing—people are waiting
to see her."
"A great lady?" said Bob inquiringly. "Who?"
"Lady Margaret Browning," was the reply, "she's an earl's daughter.
Her husband, Captain Browning, is in France where the fighting is."
"Oh, then he's a soldier!" Bob exclaimed, adding proudly, "So's my
father!"
A young lady passing, leaning on the arm of an elderly gentleman,
caught the ring of affectionate pride in Bob's voice, and looked back
over her shoulder at the boy with a smile so full of goodwill and
understanding that she won his heart completely. She was wearing
a long, dark cloak, and a hood was pulled over her head, but the hem
of a white silk gown showed under the cloak. Bob only noticed that
she was young, and that her face, with its large grey eyes, was the
sweetest he had ever seen. He watched her disappear, with her
companion in the crowd, and was about to go on his way himself when
he caught sight of something sparkling on the pavement not a yard
from him, and picked it up. It proved to be a small brooch, shaped
like a sword, the hilt of which was set with bright red stones.
He moved under a lamp to examine it.
"Hulloa, youngster!" said a voice behind him at that moment, "what's
that you've got there?"
It was a big boy called Tom Smith who had addressed him, whose father
kept a pawnshop a few doors from Mrs. Mead's shop. Bob disliked Tom
because he was a bully, but he was not afraid of him.
"It's something I've found," he answered. "No!" as the other boy
would have taken it from him—"I'm not going to part with it!"
Tom laughed.
"'Finding's keeping'!" he quoted. "You might let me look at it,
though!"
Bob did so. Tom looked at it in silence for a minute, then said—
"I see. It's only one of those cheap brooches you can buy anywhere
for sixpence-halfpenny. Like to sell it I'll give you a shilling
for it."
Bob was shrewd enough to know that if Tom really valued the brooch
at only sixpence-halfpenny he would not offer to buy it for as much
again nearly as it was worth, so he said he intended to keep it.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Tom cried angrily, with a threatening look.
"I'll see about that!"
He tried to snatch the brooch from Bob, but failed. The next moment
Stray, all his teeth showing, had flown at him.
"Call him off!" he shouted, "call him off! He's got me by the leg!"
But Stray had only got him by the leg of his trousers fortunately.
He dropped his hold the instant Bob bade him do so, and followed Bob
quietly when he walked away.
Tom Smith was now in a furious passion.
"I'll be even with you for this!" he yelled after Bob, "with you and
that ugly brute of a dog, too! Mark my words—I'll be even with you
both!"