OLD OLIVER'S MASTER.
Very early in the morning, before the tardy daylight could creep into the
darkened room, old Oliver was up and busy. He had been in the habit of
doing for himself, as he called it, ever since his daughter had forsaken
him, and he was by nature fastidiously clean and neat. But now there
would be additional duties for him during the next three days; for there
would be Dolly to wash, and dress, and provide breakfast for. Every few
minutes he stole a look at her lying still asleep; and as soon as he
discovered symptoms of awaking, he hastily lifted Beppo on to the bed,
that her opening eyes should be greeted by some familiar sight. She
stretched out her wonderful little hands, and caught hold of the dog's
rough head before venturing to lift her eyelids, while Oliver looked on
in speechless delight. At length she ventured to peep slyly at him, and
then addressed herself to Beppo.
"What am I to call ris funny old man, Beppo?" she asked.
"I am your grandpa, my darling," said Oliver, in his softest voice.
"Are you God-bless-gan-pa?" inquired Dolly, sitting up on her pillow, and
staring very hard with her blue eyes into his wrinkled face.
"Yes, I am," he answered, looking at her anxiously.
"Dolly knows," she said, counting upon her little fingers; "rere's
father, and mammy, and Beppo; and now rere's gan-pa. Dolly'll get up
now."
She flung her arms suddenly about his neck and kissed him, while old
Oliver trembled with intense joy. It was quite a marvel to him how she
helped him to dress her, laughing merrily at the strange mistakes he made
in putting on her clothes the wrong side before; and when he assured her
that her mother would come back very soon, she seemed satisfied to put up
with any passing inconvenience. The shop, with its duties, and the
necessity of getting in his daily stock of newspapers, entirely slipped
his memory; and he was only recalled to it by a very loud rapping at the
door as he was pouring out Dolly's breakfast. To his great surprise he
discovered that he had forgotten to take down his shutters, though it was
past the hour when his best customers passed by.
The person knocking proved to be none other than Tony, who greeted the
old man's appearance with a prolonged whistle, and a grave and
reproachful stare.
"Come," he said, in a tone of remonstrance, "this'll never do, you know.
Business is business, and must be minded. You pretty nearly frightened
me into fits; anybody could have knocked me down with a straw when I see
the shutters up. How is she?"
"She's very well, thank you, my boy," answered Oliver, meekly.
"Mother not turned up, I guess?" said Tony.
"No; she comes on Friday," he replied.
Tony winked, and put his tongue into his cheek; but he gave utterance to
no remark until after the shutters were in their place. Then he surveyed
himself as well as he could, with an air of satisfaction. His face and
hands were clean, and his skin looked very white through the holes in his
tattered clothes; even his feet, except for an unavoidable under surface
of dust, were unsoiled. His jacket and trousers appeared somewhat more
torn than the evening before; but they bore every mark of having been
washed also.
"Washed myself early in the morning, afore the bobbies were much about,"
remarked Tony, "in the fountains at Charing Cross; but I hadn't time to
get my rags done, so I did 'em down under the bridge, when the tide were
going down; but I could only give 'em a bit of a swill and a ring out.
Anyhow, I'm a bit cleaner this morning than last night, master."
"To be sure, to be sure," answered Oliver. "Come in, my boy, and I'll
give you a bit of breakfast with her and me."
"You haven't got sich a thing as a daily paper, have you?" asked Tony, in
a patronizing tone.
"Not to-day's paper, I'm afraid," he said.
"I'm afraid not," continued Tony; "overslept yourself, eh? Not as I can
read myself; but there are folks going by as can, and might p'raps buy
one here as well as anywhere else. Shall I run and get 'em for you, now
I'm on my legs?"
Oliver looked questioningly at the boy, who returned a frank, honest
gaze, and said, "Honour bright!" as he held out his hand for the money.
There was some doubt in the old man's mind after Tony had disappeared as
to whether he had not done a very foolish thing; but he soon forgot it
when he returned to the breakfast-table; and long before he himself could
have reached the place and returned, Tony was back again with his right
number of papers.
Before many minutes Tony was sitting upon an old box at a little distance
from the table, where Oliver sat with his grandchild. A basin of coffee
and a large hunch of bread rested upon his knees, and Beppo was sniffing
round him with a doubtful air. Dolly was shy in this strange company,
and ate her breakfast with a sedate gravity which filled both her
companions with astonishment and admiration. When the meal was finished,
old Oliver took his daughter's letter from his waistcoat pocket and read
it aloud to Tony, who listened with undivided interest.
"Then she's your own little 'un," he said, with a sigh of disappointment.
"You'll never give her up to me, if you get tired of her,--nor to the
p'lice neither," he added, with a brightening face.
"No, no, no!" answered Oliver, emphatically. "Besides, her mother's
coming on Friday. I wouldn't give her up for all the world, bless her!"
"And he's 'listed!" said Tony, in a tone of envy. "They wouldn't take me
yet a while, if I offered to go. But who's that she speaks of?--'for
Christ's sake, if I am worthy to use his name.' Who is he?"
"Don't you know?" asked Oliver.
"No, never heard tell of him before," he answered. "Is he any friend o'
yours?" [A]
[Footnote A: It may be necessary to assure some readers that this
ignorance is not exaggerated. The City Mission Reports, and similar
records, show that such cases are too frequent.]
"Ay!" said Oliver; "he's my only friend, my best friend. And he's my
master, besides."
"And she thinks he'd be angry if you turned the little girl away?"
pursued Tony.
"Yes, yes; he'd be very angry," said old Oliver, thoughtfully; "it 'ud
grieve him to his heart. Why, he's always loved little children, and
never had them turned away from himself, whatever he was doing. If she
hadn't been my own little girl, I daren't have turned her out of my
doors. No, no, dear Lord, thee knows as I'd have taken care of her, for
thy sake."
He spoke absently, in a low voice, as though talking to some person
whom Tony could not see, and the boy was silent a minute or two,
thinking busily.
"How long have you worked for that master o' yours?" he asked, at last.
"Not very long," replied Oliver, regretfully. "I used to fancy I was
working for him years and years ago; but, dear me! it was poor sort
o'work; and now I can't do very much. Only he knows how old I am, and he
doesn't care so that I love him, which I do, Tony."
"I should think so!" said the boy, falling again into busy thought, from
which he aroused himself by getting up from his box, and rubbing his
fingers through his wet and tangled hair.
"He takes to children and little 'uns?" he said, in a questioning tone.
"Ay, dearly!" answered old Oliver.
"I reckon he'd scarcely take me for a man yet," said Tony, at the same
time drawing himself up to his full height; "though I don't know as I
should care to work for him. I'd rather have a crossing, and be my own
master. But if I get hard up, do you think he'd take to me, if you spoke
a word for me?"
"Are you sure you don't know anything about him?" asked Oliver.
"Not I; how should I?" answered Tony. "Why, you don't s'pose as I know
all the great folks in London, though I've seen sights and sights of 'em
riding about in their carriages. I told you I weren't much bigger nor her
there when mother died, and I've picked up my living up and down the
streets anyhow, and other lads have helped me on, till I can help 'em on
now. It don't cost much to keep a boy on the streets. There's nothink to
pay for coals, or rent, or beds, or furniture, or anythink; only your
victuals, and a rag now and then. All I want's a broom and a crossing,
and then shouldn't I get along just? But I don't know how to get 'em."
"Perhaps the Lord Jesus would give them to you, if you'd ask him," said
Oliver, earnestly.
"Who's he?" inquired Tony, with an eager face.
"Him--Christ. It's his other name," answered the old man.
"Ah! I see," he said, nodding. "Well, if I can't get 'em myself,
I'll think about it. He'll want me to work for him, you know. Where
does he live?"
"I'll tell you all about him, if you'll come to see me," replied Oliver.
"Well," said the boy, "I'll just look in after Friday, and see if the
little 'un's mother's come back. Goodbye,--good-bye, little miss."
He could take Dolly's hand into his own this morning, and he looked down
curiously at it,--a small, rosy, dimpled hand, such as he had never seen
before so closely. A lump rose in his throat, and his eyelids smarted
with tears again. It was such a little thing, such a pretty little thing,
he said to himself, covering it fondly with his other hand. There was no
fear that Tony would forget to come back to old Oliver's house.
"Thank you for my breakfast," he said, with a choking voice; "only if
I do come to see you, it'll be to see her again--not for anythink as
I can get."