A REBELLIOUS BOY
The next morning when Colonel Wainright entered the cheery, sun-flooded
breakfast-room, he saw a slender girl standing by the window looking out
at the glistening white orchard. She turned with a truly radiant face.
“Oh, Colonel,” she exclaimed, “isn’t this the most wonderful, sparkling
day? I will have to confess that I have never seen anything so beautiful
in the city, for there, even in the parks, the snow becomes sooty almost
as soon as it has fallen.”
The elderly gentleman was indeed pleased and he said heartily: “Well,
little lady, I am glad that there is at least one thing that you like in
our country village. Aha! Here is Alfred. Good morning, lad, I judge by
your ruddy face that you have already been out-of-doors.”
“Indeed I have,” the boy replied as they took their places at the table.
“I saw a chap shoveling and so I went out to help him. Who is he,
Colonel? Sort of a surly boy, I thought. He only grunted when I asked if
he didn’t think the snow was great.”
“He is Danny O’Neil,” the old gentleman replied. “His father is a tenant
on one of my farms and he has had a great deal of trouble with the boy,
he tells me. Danny is seventeen and has sort of taken the bit in his
mouth. He doesn’t want to go to school nor help his father on the farm.
Mr. O’Neil came to me yesterday and asked my advice about sending Danny
to a reform school. I advised him not to do so unless he feared the boy
might do something really criminal. Then I suggested that he send the lad
over here to take the place of my man Patrick, who has gone to Ireland to
visit his old parents. I thought, perhaps, if Danny were earning good
wages, that might straighten him out. I wish you would talk with him,
Alfred. I’m sure it would do him good.”
“I will, sir,” the boy replied. “There must be some reason that doesn’t
show on the surface for Danny O’Neil’s rebelliousness. Perhaps his father
doesn’t understand him.”
Mrs Gray smiled over the silver coffee urn at the boy and nodded
encouragement. “That often leads to a lot of trouble and unhappiness, as
I have reason to know,” she replied.
An hour later, true to his promise, Alfred tried to make friends with
Danny O’Neil. Having procured another wooden shovel from the tool shed,
he was tossing snow from the front walk which had not been entirely
cleaned off since the blizzard. He did not wish his efforts to become
acquainted with Danny to seem too pointed, and so he had taken this way
to make them appear natural, but the other boy was taciturn, giving no
information about himself or his plans, answering all direct questions
with monosyllables. Discouraged, Alfred was about to give up when he
heard the jolly jingling of sleigh bells, and to his surprise saw a
two-seated cutter, drawn by a familiar big dapple mare and driven by Bob.
Rose sat at his side, while Doris and Jack were on the back seat.
They sang out merry greetings as they approached and came to a halt near
where the two boys were working. Jack leaped out and, after a wave of his
hand toward the Morrison boy, he turned to the other with, “Hello, old
Dan, how are you? I haven’t laid eyes on you in twenty moons. Why don’t
you ever come around?” adding by way of explanation to Alfred: “Danny
O’Neil and I were champion snowballers when we were kids. I always chose
him to be on my side when I was captain of the Brick School gang.” Then
to the still sullen-looking boy, who kept on shoveling: “I haven’t seen a
thing of you since you stopped going to school. You made a mistake to
drop out, Dan.” Fearing that he was embarrassing the still silent boy,
Jack turned to explain their early visit. “We four are a committee on
arrangement. Stopped by to tell you and your sister to be ready along
about two. We’ll call for you.”
Doris, seeing Geraldine in the doorway, skipped up the front steps for a
few words, and on her return, seeing that Danny was alone, she stopped
and spoke to him in a low voice. “Danny O’Neil,” she said. “I’ve often
wished I could see you to tell you how my heart aches for you since your
mother died. Every week, when I drove out to your little farm to get
fresh eggs for my mother, Mrs. O’Neil was so cheerful and brave, although
we know now that she must have been suffering for a long time. She was
always telling me that her one desire was to save enough money to send
you up to the Dorchester Art School. She showed me things you drew,
Danny. I’m sure you have talent. I hope you’ll carry out her wishes.
Won’t you try, Danny, for her sake?”
The boy for a moment seemed to find it hard to speak, then he said in a
tone gruff with emotion: “If I can get hold of any money, I will. It’s
all that’s left, now Ma’s gone.”
“But, Dan, if you’re working for the Colonel, you can save that money,
can’t you?”
“Not much I can’t! The old man gets it paid to him. That’s how much
_I’ll_ get it.” His voice expressed bitterness and hatred.
Rose was calling and so, with a pitying expression in her eyes, Doris
said, “Good-bye, Danny,” and skipped away. After they were gone, Alfred
tried once more to be friendly, but found the surly lad even less
inclined to talk than before, and so he went indoors to prepare for the
afternoon frolic.