TONY'S FUTURE PROSPECTS.
Old Oliver and Dolly made several visits to Tony while he was in the
hospital. Every Sunday afternoon they went back to it, until its great
door, and wide staircase, and sunny ward, became almost as familiar to
them as their own dull little house. Tony recovered quickly, yet he was
there some weeks before the doctor pronounced him strong enough to turn
out again to rough it in the world. As he grew better he learned a number
of things which were making him a wiser, as well as a stronger boy,
before the time came for him to leave.
The day before he was to go out of hospital, his friend, Mr. Ross, who
had been often to see him, called for the last time, and found him in the
room where the little patients who were nearly well were at play
together. Some of them were making believe to have a feast, with a small
dinner-service of wooden plates and dishes, and a few bits of
orange-peel, and biscuits; but Tony was sitting quietly and gravely on
one side, looking on from a distance. He had never learned to play.
"Antony," said Mr. Ross--he was the only person who ever called him
Antony, and it seemed to make more of a man of him--"what are you
thinking to do when you leave here to-morrow?"
"I s'pose I must go back to my crossing," answered Tony, looking
very grave.
"No, I think I can do better for you than that," said his friend, "I
have a sister living out in the country, about fifty miles from London;
and she wants a boy to help the gardener, and run on errands for the
house. She has promised to provide you with a home, and clothing, and to
send you to school for two years, till you are about twelve, for we
think you must be about ten years old now; and after that you shall have
settled wages."
Tony listened with a quick throbbing of his heart and a contraction in
his throat, which hindered him from speaking all at once when Mr. Ross
had finished. What a grand thing it would be for himself! But then there
were old Oliver and Dolly to be remembered.
"It 'ud do first-rate for me," he said at last, "and I'd try my best to
help in the garden; but I couldn't never leave Mr. Oliver and the little
girl. She'd fret ever so; and he's gone so forgetful he'd lose his own
head, if he could anyhow. Why! of a morning they sell him any papers as
they've too many of. Sometimes it's all the 'Star,' and sometimes it's
all the 'Standard;' and them as buys one won't have the other. I don't
know why, I'm sure. But you see when I go for 'em I say twenty-five this,
and thirteen that, and I count 'em over pretty sharp, I can tell you;
though I couldn't read at all afore I came here, but I could tell which
was which easy enough. Then he'd never think to open his shop some
mornings; and other mornings he'd open at four or five o'clock, just when
he woke of hisself. No. I must stay and take care of 'em a bit; but thank
you, sir, all the same."
He had spoken so gravely and thoughtfully that his reasons went directly
to the heart of Mr. Ross; but he asked him one more question, before he
could let his good plan for the boy drop.
"What has he done for you, Antony? Is he any relation of yours?"
"No, no!" cried Tony, his eyes growing bright, "I haven't got any
relation in all the world; but he took me in out of love, and let me
sleep comfortable under the counter, instead of in the streets. I love
him, and Dolly, I do. I'll stay by 'em as long as ever I live, if I have
to sweep a crossing till I'm an old man like him. Besides, I hear him
speak a good word for me often and often to his Master; and I s'pose
nobody else 'ud do that."
"What master?" inquired Mr. Ross.
"Him," answered Tony, pointing to a picture of the Saviour blessing young
children, "he's always talking to him as if he could see him, and he
tells him everythink. No, it 'ud be better for me to stay with him and
Dolly, and keep hard by my crossing, than go away from 'em, and have
clothes, and lodging, and schooling for nothink."
"I think it would," said Mr. Ross, "so you must go on as you are, Antony,
till I can find you something better than a crossing. You are looking
very well, my boy; that's a nice, warm suit of clothes you have on,
better than the rags you came in by a long way."
It was a sailor's suit, sent to the hospital by some mother, whose boy
had perhaps outgrown it; or, it may be, whose boy had been taken away
from all her tender care for him. It was of good, rough, thick blue
cloth, and fitted Tony well. He had grown a good deal during his
illness, and his face had become whiter and more refined; his hair, too,
was cut to a proper length, and parted down the side, no longer lying
about his head in a tangled mass. He coloured up with pleasure as Mr.
Ross looked approvingly at him.
"They've lent it me till I go out," he said, with a tone slightly
regretful in his voice, "I only wish Dolly could have seen me in it, and
her aunt Charlotte. My own things were too ragged for me to wear 'em in a
place like this."
"They've given it to you, Antony," replied Mr. Ross, "those are the
clothes you will go home in to-morrow."
It seemed too much for Tony to believe, though a nurse who was sitting by
and sewing away busily, told him it was quite true. He was intensely
happy all the rest of the day, often standing up, and almost straining
his neck to get a satisfactory view of his own back, and stroking the nap
of his blue trousers with a fondling touch. They would all see him in it;
old Oliver, Dolly, and aunt Charlotte. There would be no question now as
to his fitness for taking Dolly out for a walk; he would be dressed well
enough to attend upon a princess. This made famous amends for the pair
of old boots he had lost the night he broke his leg; a loss he had often
silently lamented over in his own mind. The nurse told him she was
patching up his old clothes, and making him a cap, to wear when he was at
work on his crossing, for the new ones were much too good for that; and
Tony felt as rich as if a large fortune had been left to him.
It was a very joyful thing to go home again. Dolly was a little shy at
first of this new Tony, so different from the poor, ragged, wild-looking
old Tony; but a very short time was enough to make her familiar with his
nice blue suit, and the anchor-buttons upon it. He found his place under
the counter all nicely papered to keep the draughts out; and a little
chaff mattress, made by aunt Charlotte, laid down instead of the shavings
upon the floor. It was even pleasanter to be here than in the hospital.
But Tony found it hard work to go back to his crossing in the morning;
and he could not make out what was the matter with himself, he felt so
cross and idle. His old clothes seemed really such horrid rags that he
could scarcely bear to feel them about him; and if any passer-by looked
closely at him, he went red and hot all over. He was not so successful
as he thought he had been before his accident, or as he thought he ought
to be; for the roads were getting cleaner with the drier weather, and few
persons considered it necessary to give him a copper for his almost
needless labour. Worst of all,--Clever Dog Tom found him out, and would
come often to see him; sometimes jeering him for his poor spirit in being
content with such low work, and sometimes boasting of the fine things he
could do, and displaying the fine clothes he could wear. It was truly
very hard work for Tony, after his long holiday at the hospital, where he
had had as much luxury and attention as a rich man's son.
But at home in the evening Tony felt all right again. Old Oliver set him
to learn to read and write, and he was making rapid progress, more rapid
than Dolly, who began at the same time, but who was apt to look upon it
all as only another kind of game, of which she grew more quickly tired
than of hide-and-seek. There was no one to check her, or to make her
understand it was real, serious work: neither old Oliver nor Tony could
find any fault with their darling. Now and then there came letters from
her mother, full of anxious questions about her, and loving messages to
her, telling her to be a good girl till she came back, but never saying
a word as to when there was any chance of her returning to England. In
one of these letters she sent word that a little sister was come for her
out in India, who was just like what Dolly herself had been when she was
a baby; but neither Oliver nor Tony could quite believe that. There never
had been such a child as Dolly; there never would be again.