It was such a pretty bicycle! Tony fondled the glittering spokes and
examined the pedals with the air of a connoisseur. He forgot the hump
on his back, and his solitary little house on the outskirts of the
village in the joy of his new possession.
Only the night before Mrs. Carroll had sent for him and given it to
him. "Arthur wanted you to have it;" she said with a tremor in her
voice. Between Tony and the delicate child for whom the wheel was
bought, there had been a strong bond of sympathy. Tony was always ready
to talk to him, or to take him to the woods, and Arthur was the only
human being Tony knew, aside from Mrs. Carroll, who did not jeer at the
hump on his back, or shrink from him as though he were an evil thing.
When Arthur died, Tony felt a terrible sense of loss, although he was a
man in years and his friend was but a child.
On account of his deformity, the wheel was none too small. If he could
only ride it! He shivered as he thought of the shout of derision which
would inevitably be his share, should he venture to ride it through the
village streets. But there was the long smooth stretch of road which
led to the next town, and there were innumerable paths through the
woods that he knew and loved. The people in the village need never know
that he had it. He could ride out there and no one be the wiser.
He pushed it into his bedroom and shut the door. He had one other
treasure--an old flute; and in spite of the cruel hump it was a very
happy Tony who went to sleep that night, with one hand stretched out
upon the saddle of the beautiful new wheel.
His father had been a shoemaker and by lifelong toil had left a little
competence to his son. Tony knew the trade also and sometimes worked
at it. All that he was thus enabled to make by his own efforts, he
invested in books at the store in the next town. He felt dimly that it
would not be right to use his father's money in this way, but his own
was a different matter.
There was a tiny paint-box too, with which he sometimes copied the
pictures in the books. On the white wall of his bedroom was a poor copy
of a Madonna, whose beauty he felt, but could not express. In some way,
the Madonna took the place of the mother he had never known, and whose
picture, even, he had never seen.
Man though he was in years, Tony had dreams of a soft hand brushing
back his hair, and sweet cool lips pressed against his own. When he
came back from his weekly trips to the village store, stung to the
quick by the taunts and derisions of his fellow-men, he had sobbed
himself to sleep many a time longing for that gracious hollow in a
woman's shoulder, which seemed made for such as he.
With the first streaks of dawn, Tony started for the woods with his
bicycle. There was a wide shady path, well hidden by trees, and here,
he made his first attempts. It seemed a long, long time before he
could ride even a little way, and the hard falls bruised, but did not
discourage him. Day after day, in the early light, he led his silent
steed to the secret place and returned after nightfall that none might
see him.
The trees at the side of the path were more of a help than a hindrance.
Often he had restored his balance by reaching out to a friendly trunk.
The feeling of confidence which every bicyclist remembers, came at
last, and he rode up and down the path, making the turns at the end
with perfect ease, until he dropped off from sheer weariness.
The next day he took his flute and his wheel and a bit of lunch into
the woods. He rode on the path until he was a bit tired, and then sat
down on the grass and began to play. He knew no music but what the
birds had taught him, and the simple little melodies he had heard his
father hum.
Call after call of the mocking-bird and robin he imitated on his flute,
until the little creatures flocked around him as if he had been one of
them.
Tony found the purest pleasure in the society of his feathered friends.
They never noticed his crooked body, but with that unfailing sight
which seems to belong to birds and animals, recognised the soul
within, and knew that they need have no fear of him.
At that very minute, a robin was perched upon the handle-bar of his
wheel, his bright eyes fixed upon Tony, who was calling to him with his
own voice in such a wonderful way that the red-breasted visitor was
well-nigh dumb with astonishment.
With a sudden cry of alarm, Sir Robin fluttered into a tree above and
Tony looked up to behold a strange and altogether lovely thing.
It was only a pretty girl in a well-made bicycle suit of blue corduroy,
with her wheel beside her, but to Tony she was even more beautiful than
the Madonna.
"Excuse me," she said; "but I simply couldn't help stopping to listen."
Tony blushed uncomfortably but he made no reply.
"It must be a great pleasure to be able to call the birds to you like
that," she went on; "I really envy you the gift."
He was transfixed with delight. This beautiful straight human being
actually envied him the tiny bit of music he could make with his flute!
His primitive hospitality came to the rescue.
"Won't you sit down?" he said timidly.
She was very willing to sit down, and almost before he knew it, he
found himself telling her about his little cabin, the father who
brought him up, and how Mrs. Carroll had given him the bicycle because
he had been good to her little boy before he died.
She admired the wheel very much and talked over its good points with
Tony until he felt perfectly at ease. She asked him his name and gave
him her own. She was Miss Atherton, staying in a house just outside the
village with her invalid brother.
The doctor thought the air of the woods would be good for him, so she
had "packed up, bag and baggage," as she expressed it, and brought her
horse, bicycle, piano and a trained nurse to the village for the summer.
She wanted Tony to come and see them the very next morning and bring
his flute. Her brother would enjoy the music and he could come up on
his wheel and stay all day.
She waved her hand to him as she rode away through the woods towards
her home.
It was the first time Tony had ever been asked to visit any one except
the little boy who had died. He remembered every detail of her face
and dress, the velvety softness of the corduroy, the tiny watch at her
belt, and the brown eyes, so much like those of the Madonna, that he
felt as if he had known her always. But one thing troubled him. She did
not seem to see the curve between his shoulders. Perhaps it was because
he was leaning against a tree all the time she was there. If she had
seen it, she would certainly have spoken of it. She might not make fun
of him, but she would surely have pitied him, which was almost as bad.
Even Mrs. Carroll who was always kind, did that. No, Miss Atherton had
not seen it, and his dread of her discovering it was the one flaw in
his present anticipations.
She, herself, in a pretty white gown, welcomed him at the door. Mr.
Atherton lay in an invalid chair with a table at his side, and shook
hands graciously with Tony.
It was such a happy day! He learned the first moves in chess and Miss
Atherton played a tender, running accompaniment on the piano to the
bird music he made with his flute.
They all had luncheon on the wide veranda and Tony had not dreamed such
dainty things were possible.
They talked of their travels in Europe and Egypt, before Mr. Atherton
was taken ill, and showed him pictures of wonderful things in the lands
across the sea. She read aloud and sang softly to the half-hushed
chords her brother picked out on the guitar, and Tony in a perfect
wilderness of enjoyment, forgot all about his crooked shoulders.
That day was the first in a long series of happy ones. He learned to
play chess well enough to make himself a formidable antagonist, and
after Miss Atherton taught him the notes on the piano he found them on
the flute, and began to play simple melodies from the music. Sometimes
they all played together, very softly in the twilight--piano, flute and
guitar; until it became time for the invalid to be wheeled into his
room. Sometimes even after that, Tony would sit on the veranda while
she sang or talked to him. Through the long night he dreamed of her,
as many a lover dreams of his sweetheart. Beautiful Miss Atherton! He
worshipped her from afar off, as a child looks at a star.
It was Tony who knew where the violets grew, and who in the dim silence
of dawn laid handfuls of them at her door. And it was he who brought
her a great sheaf of pond-lilies, dripping and sweet.
"Oh, Tony!" she cried, "where do they grow?"