SUNSHINE.
MRS. DEAN had taken entire charge of the invalid and the house, and so
many of the neighbors insisted on aiding her that Gladys and Seth were
pushed aside as if they had been strangers.
At midnight, when one of the volunteer nurses announced that Aunt
Hannah was resting as comfortably as could be expected under the
circumstances, Gladys, in obedience to Mrs. Dean’s peremptory command,
went to bed; but Seth positively refused to leave the kitchen.
“Somethin’ that I could do might turn up, an’ I count on bein’ ready
for it,” he said when the neighbor urged him to lie down. “Snip an’
I’ll stay here; an’ if we get sleepy, what’s to hinder our takin’ a
nap on the couch?”
So eager was the boy for an opportunity to serve Aunt Hannah that he
resolutely kept his eyes open during the remainder of the night lest
the volunteer nurses should fail to waken him if his services were
needed; and to accomplish this he made frequent excursions out of
doors, where the wind swept the “sand” from his eyes.
With the first light of dawn he set about effacing so far as might be
possible all traces of fire from the kitchen, and was washing the
floor when Mrs. Dean came out from the foreroom.
“Well, I do declare!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Hannah Morse said
you was a handy boy ’round the house, but this is a little more’n I
expected. I wish my William could take a few lessons from you.”
“I didn’t count on gettin’ the floor very clean,” Seth replied
modestly, but secretly delighted with the unequivocal praise. “If the
oil and smut is taken off it’ll be easier to put things into shape.”
“You’re doin’ wonderfully, my boy, an’ when I tell Hannah Morse,
she’ll be pleased, ’cause a speck of dirt anywhere about the house
does fret her mortally bad.”
Seth did not venture to look up lest Mrs. Dean should see the joy in
his eyes, for to his mind the good woman could do him no greater
service than give the invalid an account of his desire to be useful in
the household.
“Is Aunt Hannah burned very much?” he asked, as the nurse set about
making herself a cup of tea.
“I allow it’ll be a full month before she gets around again. At first
I was afraid she’d broken some bones; but Mrs. Stubbs declares it’s
only a bad sprain. It seems that she had a headache, an’ came for the
camphor bottle, when she slipped an’ fell against the table. The
wonder to me is that this house wasn’t burned to the ground.”
Then Mrs. Dean questioned Seth as to himself, and his reasons for
coming into the country in search of work; but the boy did not
consider it necessary to give any more information than pleased him,
although the good woman was most searching in her inquiries.
Then Gladys entered the kitchen, and the two children made
preparations for breakfast, after Seth had brought to an end his
self-imposed task of washing the floor.
Mr. Dean came over to milk White-Face, and Seth insisted that he be
allowed to try his hand at the work, claiming that if Aunt Hannah was
to be a helpless invalid during a full month, as Mrs. Dean had
predicted, it was absolutely necessary he be able to care for the
cow.
The old adage that “a willing pupil is an apt one” was verified in
this case, for the lad succeeded so well in his efforts that Mr. Dean
declared it would not be necessary for him to come to the Morse farm
again, so far as caring for the cow was concerned.
Very proud was Seth when he brought the pail of foaming milk into the
kitchen with the announcement that he had done nearly all the work,
and Gladys ran to tell Aunt Hannah what she considered exceedingly
good news.
During the next two days either Mrs. Dean or Mrs. Stubbs ruled over
the Morse household by virtue of their supposed rights as nurses, and
in all this time Seth had not been allowed to see the invalid.
Gladys visited the foreroom from time to time, reporting that Aunt
Hannah was “doing as well as could be expected,” and Seth had reason
to believe the little woman’s suffering would now abate unless some
unexpected change in her condition prevented.
The neighbors sent newspapers and books for Gladys to read to her aunt
during such moments as she was able to listen, and while the girl was
thus employed Seth busied himself in the kitchen, taking great pride
in keeping every article neat and cleanly, as Aunt Hannah herself
would have done.
Then came the hour which the boy had been looking forward to with
mingled hope and fear. He had fully decided to tell all his story to
the little woman who had been so kind to him, and was resolved that
the unpleasant task should be accomplished at the earliest
opportunity.
It was nearly noon; the good neighbors were at their own homes for a
brief visit, and Gladys came from the foreroom, where she had been
reading the daily paper aloud, saying to Seth:
“Aunt Hannah thinks I ought to run out of doors a little while because
I have stayed in the house so long. There isn’t the least bit of need;
but I must go, else she’ll worry herself sick. She says you can sit
with her, an’ I’ll take Snippey with me, for he’s needing fresh air
more than I am.”
Just for a moment Seth hesitated; the time had come when he must, if
ever, carry his good resolutions into effect, and there was little
doubt in his mind but that Aunt Hannah would insist upon his leaving
the farm without delay once she knew all his wickedness.
Gladys did not give him very much time for reflection. With Snip at
her heels she hurried down the road, and Seth knew he must not leave
the invalid alone many moments.
Aunt Hannah’s eyes were open when he entered the foreroom, and but for
that fact he might almost have believed she was dead, so pale was her
face. The bandaged hands were outside the coverings, and Seth had been
told that she could not move them unaided, except at the cost of most
severe pain.
“I knew you would be forced to come when Gladys went out, and that was
why I sent her. We two—you an’ I—need to have a quiet chat together,
and there is little opportunity unless we are alone in the house.”
Seth’s face was flushed crimson; he believed Aunt Hannah had come to
the conclusion that he must not be allowed to remain at the farm any
longer unless he confessed why it had been necessary to leave New
York, and his one desire was to speak before she should be able to
make a demand.
“I ought’er——”
He stammered and stopped, unable to begin exactly as he desired, and
the little woman said quietly, but in a tone which told that the
words came from her heart:
“You have saved the old home, an’ my life as well, Seth. Even if I had
hesitated at making you one of the family, I could not do so now,
after owing you so much.”
“Don’t talk like that, Aunt Hannah! Don’t tell ’bout what you owe me!”
Seth cried tearfully. “It’s the other way, an’ Snip an’ I are mighty
lucky, if for no other reason than that we’ve seen you. Wait a
minute,” he pleaded as the invalid was about to speak. “Ever since you
got hurt I’ve wanted to tell everything you asked the other day, an’ I
promised Snip an’ myself that I’d do it the very first chance. If
it——”
“There is no need of your tellin’ me, my child, unless you really
think it necessary. I have no doubts as to your honesty, and truly
hope that your wanderings are over.”
“We shall have to go; but I’m bound to tell the truth now, ’cause I
know you think I was tryin’ to steal somethin’ when we were only goin’
to run away so’s you wouldn’t know what I’ve done.”
“My dear boy,” and Aunt Hannah vainly tried to raise her head, “I
never thought for a single minute that you came downstairs for any
other purpose than to leave the house secretly.”
“An’ that’s jest the truth. Now don’t say a word till I’ve told you
all about it, an’ please not look at me.”
Then, speaking hurriedly lest she should interrupt him in what was an
exceedingly difficult task, Seth told of the advertisement, of the
counterfeit money he had unwittingly passed, and of his flight, aided
by Teddy and Tim.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he concluded, amid his sobs; “but I reckon
I’d tried to get rid of it some time, ’cause I couldn’t afford to lose
so much money. Of course they’ll put me in jail, if the detectives
catch me, an’ if I should be locked up for ever so many years, won’t
you let Gladys take care of poor little Snippey?”
“Come here an’ kiss me, Seth,” Aunt Hannah said softly. “I wish I
could put my hand on your head! And you’ve been frightened out of your
wits because of that counterfeit nickel?” she added when he had
obeyed. “You poor little child! If you had told me, your troubles
would soon have come to an end; but you must understand that in this
world the only honest course is to atone for your faults, rather than
run away from them. The good Book says that ‘your sins shall find you
out,’ and it is true, my dear, as true as is every word that has come
to us from God. But I’m not allowin’ that you have committed any
grievous sin in this matter. Do you know, Gladys read your story in
the paper before I sent her for a walk, and that is why I wanted to be
alone with you.”
Seth looked up in surprise which was almost bewilderment, and Aunt
Hannah continued with a bright smile that was like unto the sunshine
after a shower:
“Take up the newspaper lying on the table. I told Gladys to fold it so
you might find the article I wanted you to read.”
Seth did as she directed, but without glancing at the printed sheet.
“Can you read, dear?”
“Not very well, ’cause I have to spell out the big words.”
“Hold it before my eyes while I make the attempt. There isn’t very
much of a story; but it will mean a great deal to you, I hope.”
Seth was wholly at a loss to understand the little woman’s meaning;
but he did as she directed, and listened without any great show of
enthusiasm to the following:
Messrs. Symonds & Symonds, the well-known attorneys of Pine
Street, are willing to confess that they are not well informed
regarding the character of the average newsboy of this city, and
by such ignorance have defeated their own ends. Several days ago
the gentlemen were notified by a professional brother in San
Francisco that a client of his, lately deceased, had bequeathed to
one Seth Barrows the sum of five thousand dollars. All the
information that could be given concerning the heir was that he
had been living with a certain family in Jersey City, and was now
believed to be selling newspapers in this city. His age was stated
as about eleven years, and he owed his good fortune to the fact
that the dead man was his uncle.
“It is not a simple matter to find any particular street merchant
in New York City; but Messrs. Symonds & Symonds began their search
by advertising in the newspapers for the lad. As has been since
learned, the friends of the young heir saw the notice which had
been inserted by the attorneys, and straightway believed the lad
was wanted because of some crime committed. The boy himself must
have had a guilty conscience, for he fled without delay, carrying
with him into exile a small white terrier, his only worldly
possession. The moral of this incident is, that when you want to
find a boy of the streets, be careful to state exactly why you
desire to see him, otherwise the game may give you the slip rather
than take chances of being brought face to face with the officers
of the law.”
It was not until Aunt Hannah had concluded that Seth appeared to
understand he was the boy referred to, and then he asked excitedly:
“Do you suppose the Seth Barrows told about there can be me?”
“Of course, my dear. Isn’t this your story just as you have repeated
it to me?”
“But there isn’t anybody who’d leave me so much money as that, Aunt
Hannah! There’s a big mistake somewhere.”
“Do you remember of ever hearing that you had an uncle in California?”
“Indeed I don’t. I thought Snip was all the relation I had in the
world.”
“Why did the man in Jersey City allow you to live with him?”
“I don’t know. I had pretty good clothes then, an’ didn’t have to
work, ’cause I was too small.”
“Well,” the little woman said with a sigh, as if the exertion of
talking had wearied her, “I don’t pretend to be able to straighten out
the snarl; but I’m certain you are the boy spoken of in the newspaper
story, for it isn’t reasonable to suppose that two lads of the same
age have lately run away from New York because of an advertisement.
The money must be yours, my dear, and instead of being a homeless
wanderer, you’re quite a wealthy gentleman.”
“I wouldn’t take the chances of goin’ to see about it,” Seth said
thoughtfully, “’cause what we’ve read may be only a trap to catch me.”
“Now, don’t be too suspicious, my dear. I’m not countin’ on your going
into that wicked city just yet. I’ve sent for Nathan Dean, an’ you may
be sure he’ll get at the bottom of the matter, for he’s a master hand
at such work.”
Then Mrs. Dean entered to take up her duties of nurse once more, and
Seth went into the barn, where he could be alone to think over the
strange turn which his affairs appeared to be taking.
Gladys joined him half an hour later, and asked abruptly:
“What did Aunt Hannah say to you?”
“Why do you think she counted on talkin’ to me?”
“Because I read that story in the newspaper. Then she wanted me to go
out for a walk, and said I’d better ask Mr. Dean to come over this
afternoon. I couldn’t help knowing it was about you; but didn’t say
anything to her because Mrs. Dean thinks she oughtn’t to be excited.
Did you tell her why you and Snippey ran away?”
“Of course I did, an’ was countin’ on doin’ that same thing the first
chance I had to speak with her alone, though I made sure she’d send me
away.”
Then Seth repeated that which he had told Aunt Hannah, and while he
was thus engaged Mr. Dean entered the house.
During the two days which followed, Gladys and Seth held long
conversations regarding the possible good fortune which might come to
the latter; but nothing definite was known until the hour when Aunt
Hannah was allowed to sit in an easy-chair for the first time since
the accident.
Then it was that Mr. Dean returned from New York, and came to make his
report.
There was no longer any question but that it was really Seth’s uncle
who had lately died in San Francisco, or that he had bequeathed the
sum of five thousand dollars to his nephew.
It appeared, according to Mr. Dean’s story, as learned from Messrs.
Symonds & Symonds, that Daniel Barrows had cared for his brother’s
child to the extent of paying Richard Genet of Jersey City a certain
sum of money each year to provide for and clothe the lad. Mr. Genet
having died suddenly, and without leaving anything to show whom Seth
had claims upon, the boy was left to his own devices, while his uncle,
because of carelessness or indifference, made no effort to learn what
might have become of the child.
There were certain formalities of law to be complied with before the
inheritance would be paid, among which was the naming of a guardian
for the heir.
Aunt Hannah declared that it was her duty as well as pleasure to make
the lame boy one of her family, and to such end Mr. Dean had several
conferences with Symonds & Symonds, after which the little woman was
duly appointed guardian of the heir.
There is little more that can be told regarding those who now live on
the Morse farm, for the very good reason that all which has been
related took place only a few months ago; but at some time in the
future, if the readers so please, it shall be the duty of the author
to set down what befell Aunt Hannah, Seth, Gladys, and Snip after the
inheritance was paid.
That they were a very happy family goes without saying, for who could
be discontented or fretful in Aunt Hannah’s home? And in the days to
come, when Father Time lays his hand heavily upon the little woman,
Seth knows that then, if not before, he can repay her in some degree
for the kindness shown when he and Snip were fugitives, fleeing from
nothing worse than a newspaper advertisement.
THE END.