John Randolph did some hard thinking during the weeks which followed
Richard Trueman's death. It was no light task which he had so cheerfully
imposed upon himself. The boy was constitutionally delicate and fretted
so constantly after his father that his health began to suffer, and it
grew to be a very pale face which welcomed John with a smile when he
returned from the office. The style of living was bad for him. He was
alone all day, except for an occasional visit from the good-natured
German woman who kept their rooms, and, although he was a voracious
reader, the doctor had forbidden all thought of study for a year, even
had there been a school near enough for him to attend, where John would
have been willing to send him. He ought to be where the air was pure and
the surroundings cheerful. John would have preferred to put up with the
discomfort of his present quarters and lay by the addition to his salary
towards the more speedy realization of his day-dream, but John Randolph
had never found much time to think of himself; there were always so many
other people in the world to be attended to.
"Dick, my boy," he said cheerily one evening, after they had finished
what he pronounced a sumptuous repast, "I have a presentiment that this
month will witness a turning point in our career. I believe you and I
are going to become suburbanites."
The boy's sad eyes grew wide with wonder.
"What do you mean, John?"
"Well you see, Dick True, it is this way. As soon as I get my
degree--earn the right to put M.D. after my name, you know,--I am going
to take two rubber bags, fill one with sunshine and one with pure air,
full of the scent of rose leaves and clover and strawberries--ah, Dick,
you'd like to smell that, wouldn't you?--and carry one in each pocket;
then, when my patients come to me for advice, the first dose I shall
give them will be out of my rubber bags, and in six cases out of ten I
believe they'll get better without any drug at all. You see, Dick True,
the trouble is, our Father has given us a whole world full of air and
sunlight to be happy in, and we poison the air with smoke and shut
ourselves away from the sunshine in boxes of brick and mortar, only
letting a stray beam come in occasionally through slits in the walls
which we call windows. It's no wonder we are such poor, miserable
concerns. You can't fancy an Indian suffering from nervous prostration,
can you, Dick? and it doesn't strike you as probable that Robinson
Crusoe had any predisposition to lung trouble? So you see, Dick True, as
it is a poor doctor who is afraid of his own medicine, I am going to
prescribe it first of all for ourselves, and we will go where
unadulterated oxygen may be had for the smelling, and we can draw in
sunshine with every breath."
The pale face brightened.
"Oh, that will be lovely! I do get so tired of these old streets. But
John,--"
"Well, Dick?"
"Why do you keep calling me Dick True all the time?"
John laughed. "Just to remind you that you must be a true boy before you
can really be a True-man, Dick. I want you to be in the best company.
Jesus Christ is the truth, you know, Dick."
"Jesus Christ," repeated the boy thoughtfully. "I wish I knew him, John,
as well as you do."
"If you love, you will know," said John, the light which the boy loved
to watch creeping into his eyes. "He is the best friend we will ever
have, Dick, you and I."
He opened several papers as he spoke and ran his eyes over the
advertising columns. "H'm, I don't like the sound of these," he said,
"they promise too much. Hot and cold water baths and gas and the
advantages of a private family and city privileges. Everyone seems to
keep the 'best table in the city.' That's curious, isn't it, Dick? And
nearly everyone has the most convenient location. Dick, my boy, it's one
thing to say we are going to do a thing, it's another thing to do it. I
expect this suburban question is going to be a puzzle to you and me."
And so it proved. Day after day John searched the papers in vain, until
it seemed as if a suburban residence was the one thing in life
unattainable. But the long lane of disappointment had its turning at
length, and he hurried home to Dick, paper in hand.
"Dick, Dick True, we've found it at last! Listen:
"Two gentlemen can be pleasantly accommodated at 'The Willows.' Address
Miss Chillingworth, University P.O. Box 123.
"The University Post Office is just near the College, you know, Dick, so
it is in a good location. Two gentlemen--that means you and me, Dick;
and 'The Willows' means running brooks, or ought to, if they are any
sort of respectable trees."
The boy clapped his hands. "When can we go, John?"
John laughed. "Not so fast, Dick. There may be other gentlemen in
Marlborough on the lookout for a suburban residence. I addressed Miss
Chillingworth on paper this morning, telling her I should give myself
the pleasure of addressing her in person to-morrow. It is a half
holiday, you know, Dick. I like the ring of this advertisement. There is
no fuss and feathers about it. She doesn't offer city privileges and
promise ice cream with every meal."
"But, John," said the boy, ruefully, "we're not gentlemen. You don't
wear a silk hat, you know, and I have no white shirts--nothing but these
paper fronts. I hate paper fronts! They're such shams!
"Oh, ho! Dick, so you're pining for frills, eh? Well, if it will make
you feel more comfortable, we'll go down to Stewart's and get fitted out
to your satisfaction. But don't forget that you can be a gentleman in
homespun as well as broadcloth, Dick. Real diamonds don't need to borrow
any luster from their setting; only the paste do that."
The next afternoon John strode along in the direction of 'The Willows'
to the accompaniment of a merry whistle. It did him good to get out into
the open country once more, and he felt sure it would be worth a king's
ransom to Dick; but when he came in sight of the house he hesitated.
There must be some mistake. This was not the sort of house to open its
doors to boarders. "Poor Dick!" he soliloquized, "no wonder you felt a
premonitory sense of the fitness of frills! Well, I'll go and inquire.
They can only say 'No,' and that won't annihilate me."
He was ushered into Miss Diana's presence, and on the instant forgot
everything but Miss Diana herself. Before he realized what he was doing
he had explained the reason of his seeking a suburban home, and, drawn
on by her gentle sympathy, was telling her the story of his life. Miss
Diana had a way of compelling confidence, and the people who gave it to
her never afterwards regretted the gift. With the straightforwardness
which was a part of his nature he told his story. It never occurred to
him that there was anything peculiar about it, yet when he had finished
there were tears in his listener's eyes.
When at length he rose to go, everything was settled between them.
John's eyes wandered round the room and then rested again with a
curious sense of pleasure upon Miss Diana's face.
"I cannot begin to thank you," he said, gratefully, "for allowing us to
come here. I never dared to hope that my poor little Dick would have
such an education as this home will be to him, but I feel sure you will
learn to like Dick True."
Miss Diana held out her hand, with a smile. "I think I shall like you as
well as Dick," she said.
* * * * *
Weeks and months flew past and the household at 'The Willows' was a very
happy one. Unavella was in great glee over the success of her scheme.
"I used ter think," she confided to her bosom friend, "thet boarders wuz
good fer nuthin' 'cept ter be an aggervation an' a plague; but I
couldn't think o' nuthin' else ter do, an' I made up my mind I'd ruther
put up with 'em than lose Miss Di-an, even ef their antics did make me
gray-headed afore the year wuz out. But I needn't hev worritted. Two
sech obligin' young fellers I never did see, an' never expect ter agin
in this world. They don't never seem comfortable 'cept when they're
helpin' a body. An' Mr. John's whistle ez enuff ter put sunshine inter
the Deluge! I used ter think we wuz ez happy ez birds--Miss Di-an an'
me--but I declare the house seems lonesum now when he leaves in the
mornin'. He's alluz at it, whistle, whistle, whistle. 'Tain't none o'
them screechin' whistles that takes the top off of your head an' leaves
the inside a' hummin', but it's jest as soft an' sweet an' low!
Sometimes I think he's prayin', it's that lovely. It's my belief it puts
Miss Di-an in mind o' someone, fer she jest sets in the porch, when he's
a' tinkerin' round in the evenings or dig-gin' in the gardin--he's never
satisfied unless everything's jest kep spick an' span--an' there's the
sweetest smile on her face, an' the dreamy look in her eyes thet folks'
eyes don't never hev 'cept when they're episodin' with their past.
"An' the way they foller her about an' treat her jest ez ef she wuz a
princess! I declare, it makes my heart warm. The young one called her
his little mother the other night, an' Mr. John sez, sez he, 'Ye
couldn't hev a sweeter, Dick, nor a dearer.' He makes me think of one o'
them folks in poetry what wuz alluz a' ridin' round with banners an' a
spear."
"A knight?" suggested her friend, who had just indulged a literary taste
by purchasing a paper covered edition of Sir Walter Scott.
"Yes, that's what I mean. An' I sez to myself,--'ef they wuz like he
is, an' wuz ez plenty in the Middle Ages ez they make 'em out ter be,
then it's a pity we wuzn't back right in the center uv 'em,' sez I."
"Lady Di! Lady Di!" and little Dick came hurrying into the library where
Miss Diana was sitting in the gloaming. "John wants you to come out and
see if you like the new flowers he is planting. He says I must be sure
to put your shawl on, for the dew is falling."
Miss Diana's eyes grew misty as her little cavalier adjusted her wrap.
"Why do you give me that name, Dick?" she asked. Only one other had ever
given it to her before, in the long ago.
"What? Lady Di?" answered the boy. "Oh, we always call you that, John
and I. Our Lady Di. John says you make him think of the elect lady, in
the Bible, you know."
And Miss Diana, as she passed the shelves, laid her hand caressingly
upon the beloved books with a happy smile. God had sent her the right
ones!