"FAIRCHANCE."
Malcolm did his best to atone to Virginia for what she had suffered from
the forgetfulness of the two little Indians, but poor Keith was too ill
to remember anything about it. He did not know his father and mother
when they came, and tossed restlessly about, talking wildly of things
they could not understand. It was the first time he had ever been so
ill, and as they watched him lying there day after day, burning with
fever, and growing white and thin, a great fear came upon them that he
would never be any better.
No one put that fear into words, but little by little it crept from
heart to heart like a wintry fog, until the whole house felt its chill.
The sweet spring sounds and odours came rushing in at every window from
the sunny world outside, but it might as well have been mid-winter. No
one paid any heed while that little life hung in the balance. The
servants went through the house on tiptoe. Malcolm and Virginia haunted
the halls to discover from the grave faces of the older people what they
were afraid to ask, and Mrs. Maclntyre was kept busy answering the
inquiries of the neighbours. Scarcely an hour passed that some one did
not come to ask about Keith, to leave flowers, or to proffer kindly
services. Everybody who knew the little fellow loved him. His bright
smile and winning manner had made him a host of friends.
There was no lack of attention. His father and mother, Miss Allison, and
the nurse watched every breath, every pulse-beat; and a dozen times in
the night his grandmother stole to the door to look anxiously at the wan
little face on the pillow.
"It is so strange," said his mother to the nurse one day. "He keeps
talking about a white flower. He says that he can't right the wrong
unless he wears it, and that Jonesy will have to be shut up and never
find his brother again. What do you suppose he means?"
The nurse shook her head. She did not know. Just then Mrs. Maclntyre
heard her name called softly, "Elise," and her husband beckoned her to
come out into the hall. "I want to show you something in Allison's
room," he said, leading her down the hall to his sister's apartment. On
each side of the low writing-desk stood a large photograph, one of
Malcolm in his suit of mail, the other of Keith in the costume of
jewel-embroidered velvet, like the little Duke of Gloster's.
"Oh, Sydney! How beautiful!" she exclaimed, as she swept across the room
and knelt down before the desk for a better view. Leaning her arms on
the desk, she looked into Keith's pictured face with hungry eyes. "Isn't
he lovely?" she repeated. "Oh, he'll never look like that again! I know
it! I know it!" she sobbed, remembering how white was the little face on
the pillow that she had just left.
Mr. Maclntyre bent over her, his own handsome face white and haggard. He
looked ill himself, from the constant watching and anxiety. "I'd give
anything in the world that I own! Everything!" he groaned. "I'd do
anything, sacrifice anything, to see him as well and sturdy as he
looks there!"
Then he caught up the picture. "What's this written underneath?" he
asked, "It is in Keith's own handwriting: '_Live pure speak truth, right
the wrong, follow the king. Else wherefore born_?'
"What does it mean, Allison?" he asked, turning to his sister, who was
resting on a couch by the window. "It is written under Malcolm's
picture, too."
"The dear little Sir Galahads," she said, "I sent for you to tell you
about them. The boys intended the pictures as a surprise for you and
Elise, so we never sent them. They wanted to tell you themselves about
the Benefit and the little waif they gave it for."
She took a little pin from a jewel-case under the sofa pillows, and
reaching over, dropped it in her brother's hand. It was a tiny flower of
white enamel, with a diamond dewdrop in the centre.
"You may have noticed Malcolm wearing one like it," she said, and then
she told them the story of Jonesy and the bear and all that their coming
had led to: the Benefit, the new order of knighthood, and the awakening
of the boys to a noble purpose.
"The boys fully expect you to stand by them in all this, Sydney," she
said, in conclusion, "and play fairy godfather for Jonesy henceforth and
for ever. One night, when Keith came up to confess some mischief he had
been into during the day, he said:
"'Aunt Allison, this wearing the white flower of a blameless life isn't
as easy as it is cracked up to be; but having this little pin helps a
lot. I just put my hand on that like the real knights used to do on
their sword-hilts, and repeat my motto. It will be easier when papa
comes home. Since I've known Jonesy, and heard him tell about the hard
times some people have that he knows, it seems to me there's an awful
lot of wrong in the world for somebody to set right. Some nights I can
hardly go to sleep for thinking about it, and wishing that I were grown
up so that I could begin to do my part. I wish papa could be here now.
He'd make a splendid knight; he is so big and good and handsome. I don't
s'pose King Arthur himself was any better or braver than my father is.'"
A tear splashed down from the mother's eyes as she listened, and,
falling on the tiny white flower as it lay in her husband's hand,
glistened beside the dewdrop centre like another diamond.
"Oh, Sydney!" she exclaimed, in a heart-broken way. Something very like
a sob shook the man's broad shoulders, and, turning abruptly, he strode
out of the room.
Down in the dim, green library, where the blinds had been drawn to keep
it cool, he threw himself into a chair beside the table. Propping
Keith's picture up in front of him against a pile of books, he leaned
forward, gazing at it earnestly. He had never realised before how much
he loved the little son, who hour by hour seemed slowly slipping farther
away from him. The pictured face looked full into his as if it would
speak. It wore the same sweet, trustful expression that had shone there
the night he talked to Jonesy of the Hall of the Shields; the same
childish purity that had moved the old professor to lay his hands upon
his head and call him Galahad.
All that gentle birth, college breeding, wealth, and travel could give a
man, were Sydney Maclntyre's, and yet, measuring himself by Keith's
standard of knighthood, he felt himself sadly lacking. He had given
liberally to charities hundreds of dollars, because it was often easier
for him to write out a check than to listen to somebody's tale of
suffering. But aside from that he had left the old world to wag on as
best it could, with its grievous load of wrong and sorrow.
A man is not apt to trouble himself as to how it wags for those outside
his circle of friends, when the generations before him have spent their
time laying up a fortune for him to enjoy. But this man was beginning to
trouble himself about it now, as he paced restlessly up and down the
room. He was not thinking now about the things that usually occupied
him, his social duties, his home or club, or yacht or horses or kennels.
He was not planning some new pleasure for his friends or family, he was
wondering what he could do to be worthy of the exalted regard in which
he was held by his little sons. What wrong could he set right, to prove
himself really as noble as they thought him? He was their ideal of all
that was generous and manly, and yet--
"What have I ever done," he asked himself, "to make them think so? If I
were to be taken out of the world to-morrow, I would be leaving it
exactly as I found it. Who could point to my coffin and say, 'Laws are
better, politics are purer, or times are not so hard for the masses now,
because this one man willed to lift up his fellows as far as the might
of one strong life can reach?' But they will say that of Malcolm, and
Keith, if he lives--ah, if he lives!"
An hour later the door opened, and Malcolm came in, softly. "Keith is
asking for you, papa," he said, with a timid glance into his father's
haggard face. Then he came nearer, and slipped his hand into the man's
strong fingers, and together they went up the stairs to answer
the summons.
"Did you want me, Keith?"
The head did not turn on the pillow. The languid eyes opened only
half-way, but there was recognition in them now, and one little hand was
raised to lay itself lovingly against his father's cheek.
"What is it, son?"
The weak little voice tried to answer, but the words came only in gasps.
"Brother knows--about Jonesy--keep him from being a tramp! Please let
me, papa--do that much good--in my life 'else wherefore--born?'"
"What is it, Keith?" asked his father, bending over him. "Papa doesn't
exactly understand. But you can have anything you want, my boy.
Anything! I'll do whatever you ask."
"Malcolm knows," was the answer. Then the voice seemed somewhat
stronger for an instant, and a faint smile touched Keith's lips. "Give
my half of the bear to Ginger. Now--may I have--my--white--flower?"
Throwing back his coat, his father unpinned the little badge from his
vest, where he had fastened it for safe-keeping a short time before in
the library. A pleased expression flitted over the child's face, as he
saw where it had been resting, and when it was fastened in the front of
his little embroidered nightshirt, his hand closed over the pin as if it
were something very precious, and he were afraid of losing it again.
"Wearing the white flower," they heard him whisper, and then the little
knight slept.
* * * * *
It was hours afterward when he roused again,--hours when the faintest
noise had not been allowed in the house; when the servants had been sent
to the cottage, and Unc' Henry stationed at the front gate; that no one
might drive up the avenue.
Virginia, in a hammock on the veranda, scarcely dared draw a deep breath
till she heard the doctor coming down the stairs, just before dark.
Then she knew by his face that prayers and skill and tender nursing had
not been in vain, and that Keith would live.
* * * * *
So much can happen in a week. In the seven days that followed Keith
gradually grew strong enough to be propped up in bed a little while at a
time; Captain Dudley and his wife came home from Cuba, and Mr. Maclntyre
began to carry out the promise he had made to Keith that day when they
feared most he could not live.
The whole Valley rejoiced in the first and second happenings, and were
too much occupied in them to notice the third. Carriages rolled in and
out of the great entrance gate all day long, for Mrs. Dudley had always
been a favourite with the old neighbours, and they gave a warm welcome
to her and her gallant husband. Virginia followed her father and mother
about like a loving shadow, and Keith was so interested in the wonderful
stories they told of their Cuban experiences that he never noticed how
much his father and Malcolm were away from home. Sometimes they would
be gone all day together, consulting with the old professor, overseeing
carpenters, or making hasty trips to the city. Jonesy's home, that had
been so long only a beautiful air-castle, was rapidly taking shape in
wood and stone, and the painters would soon be at work on it.
Mr. Maclntyre had never been more surprised than he was when Malcolm
unfolded their plan to him. It did not seem possible that two children
could have thought of it all, and arranged every detail without the help
of some older head.
"It just grew," said Malcolm, in explanation. "First Keith said how
lovely it would have been if we had made enough money at the Benefit to
have bought a home for Jonesy in the country, where he could have a fair
chance to grow up a good man. Just a comfortable little cottage with a
garden, where he could be out-of-doors all the time, instead of in the
dirty city streets; then nobody could call him a 'child of the slums'
any more. Then we said it would be better if there were some fields back
of the garden, so that he could learn to be a farmer when he was older,
and have some way to make a living. We talked about it every night when
we went to bed, and kept putting a little more and a little more to it,
until it was as real to us as if we had truly seen such a place. There
were vines on the porches, and a big Newfoundland dog on the front
steps, and a cow and calf in the pasture, and a gentle old horse that
could plough and that Jonesy could ride to water.
"We told Ginger, and she thought of a lot more things; some little
speckled pigs in a pen and kittens in the hay-mow, and ducks on the
pond, and an orchard, and roses in the yard. She said we ought to call
the place 'Fairchance,' because that's what it would mean for Jonesy and
Barney (you know we would send for Barney first thing we did, of
course), and it was Ginger who first thought of getting some nice man
and his wife to take care of the boys. She said there are plenty of
people who would be glad to do it, just for the sake of having such a
good home. Ginger said if we could do all that, and keep Jonesy and his
brother from growing up to be tramps like the man we bought the bear
from, it would be serving our country just as much as if we went to war
and fought for it. Ginger is a crank about being a patriot. You ought
to hear her talk about it. And Aunt Allison said that 'an ounce of
prevention is worth a pound of cure,' and that to build such a place as
our 'Fairchance' would be a deed worthy of any true knight."
"How are you expecting to bring this wonderful thing to pass?" asked his
father, as Malcolm stopped to take breath. "Do you expect to wave a wand
and see it spring up out of the earth?"
"Of course not, papa!" said Malcolm, a little provoked by his father's
teasing smile. "We were going to ask you to let us take the money that
grandfather left us in his will. We won't need it when we are grown, for
we can earn plenty ourselves then, and it seems too bad to have it laid
away doing nobody any good, when we need it so much now to right this
wrong of Jonesy's."
"But it is not laid away," answered Mr. MacIntyre. "It is invested in
such a way that it is earning you more money every year; and more than
that, it was left in trust for you, so that it cannot be touched until
you are twenty-one."
"Oh, papa!" cried Malcolm, bitterly disappointed. He had hard work to
keep back the tears for a moment; then a happy thought made his face
brighten. "You could lend us the money, and we would pay you back when
we are of age. You know you promised Keith you would do anything he
wanted, and that is what he was trying to ask for?"
Mr. Maclntyre put his arm around the earnest little fellow, and drew him
to his knee, smiling down into the upturned face that waited eagerly for
his answer.
"I only asked that to hear what you would say, my son," was the answer.
"You need have no worry about the money. I'll keep my promise to Keith,
and Jonesy shall have his home. I'm not a knight, but I'm proud to be
the father of two such valiant champions. Please God, you'll not be
alone in your battles after this, to right the world's wrongs. I'll be
your faithful squire, or, as we'd say in these days, a sort of silent
partner in the enterprise."
Several days after this a deed was recorded in the county court-house,
conveying a large piece of property from old Colonel Lloyd to Malcolm
and Keith Maclntyre. It was the place adjoining "The Locusts," on which
stood a fine old homestead that had been vacant for several years. The
day after its purchase a force of carpenters and painters were set to
work, and two coloured men began clearing out the tangle of bushes in
the long-neglected garden.
Jonesy know nothing of what was going on, and wondered at the long
conversations which took place between the old professor and Mr.
Maclntyre, always in German. It was the professor who found some one to
take care of the home, as Virginia had suggested. He recommended a
countryman of his, Carl Sudsberger, who had long been a teacher like
himself. He was a gentle old soul who loved children and understood
them, and a more motherly creature than his wife could not well be
imagined. Everything throve under her thrifty management, and she had no
patience with laziness or waste. Any boy in whose bringing up she had a
hand would be able to make his way in the world when the time came
for it.
Mrs. Dudley and Miss Allison helped choose the furnishings, but Virginia
felt that the pleasure of it was all hers, for she was taken to the city
every time they went, and allowed a voice in everything. Several trips
were necessary before the house was complete, but by the last week in
May it was ready from attic to cellar.
It was the "Fairchance" that the boys had planned so long, with its
rose-bordered paths, the orchard and garden and outlying fields. Nothing
had been forgotten, from the big Newfoundland dog on the doorstep, to
the ducks on the pond, and the little speckled pigs in the pen. The day
that Keith was able to walk down-stairs for the first time, Mr.
Maclntyre went to Chicago, taking Jonesy with him, to find Barney and
bring him back. He was gone several days, and when he returned there
were three boys with him instead of two: Jonesy, Barney, and a little
fellow about five years old, still in dresses.
Malcolm met them at the train, and eyed the small newcomer with
curiosity. "It is a little chap that Barney had taken under his wing,"
explained Mr. Maclntyre. "Its mother was dead, and I found it was
entirely dependent on Barney for support. They slept together in the
same cellar, and shared whatever he happened to earn, just as Jonesy
did. I hadn't the heart to leave him behind, although I didn't relish
the idea of travelling with such a kindergarten. Would you believe it,
Dodds (that's the little fellow's name) _never saw a tree in his life_
until yesterday? He had never been out of the slums where he was born,
not even to the avenues of the city where he could have seen them. It
was too far for him to walk alone, and street-cars were out of the
question for him,--as much out of reach of his empty pockets as
the moon."
"Never saw a tree!" echoed Malcolm, with a thrill of horror in his voice
that a life could be so bare in its knowledge of beauty. "Oh, papa, how
much 'Fairchance' will mean to him, then! Oh, I'm so glad, and
Keith--why, Keith will want to stand on his head!"
They drove directly to the new place. It was late in the afternoon, and
the sunshine threw long, waving shadows across the yard. Mrs. Sudsberger
sat on the front porch knitting. A warm breeze blowing in from the
garden stirred the white window curtains behind her with soft
flutterings. The coloured woman in the kitchen was singing as she moved
around preparing supper, and her voice floated cheerily around the
corner of the house:
"Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' fer to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet char-i-_ot_, comin' fer to carry me home!"
A Jersey cow lowed at the pasture bars, and from away over in the
woodland came the cooing of a dove. Three little waifs had found
a home.
Mr. Maclntyre looked from the commonplace countenances of the boys
climbing out of the carriage to Malcolm's noble face. "It is a doubtful
experiment," he said to himself. "They may never amount to anything, but
at least they shall have a chance to see what clean, honest, country
living can do for them." And then there swept across his heart, with a
warm, generous rush, the impulse to do as much for every other
unfortunate child he could reach, whose only heritage is the poverty and
crime of city slums. He had seen so much in that one short visit. The
misery of it haunted him, and it was with a happiness as boyish and keen
as Malcolm's that he led these children he had rescued into the home
that was to be theirs henceforth.
Keith did not see "Fairchance" until Memorial Day. Then they took him
over in the carriage in the afternoon, and showed him every nook and
corner of the place. There were six boys there now, for room had been
made for two little fellows from Louisville, whom Mr. Maclntyre had
found at the Newsboys' Home. "I've no doubt but that there'll always be
more coming," he said to Mr. Sudsberger, with a smile, as he led them
in. "When you once let a little water trickle through the dyke, the
whole sea is apt to come pouring in."
"Happy the heart that is swept with such high tides," answered the old
German. "It is left the richer by such floods."
Several families in the Valley were invited to come late in the
afternoon to a flag-raising. The great silk flag was Virginia's gift,
and Captain Dudley made the presentation speech. He wore his uniform in
honour of the occasion. This was a part of what he said:
"This Memorial Day, throughout this wide-spread land of ours, over every
mound that marks a soldier's dust, some hand is stretched to drop a
flower in tender tribute. Over her heroic dead a grateful country
wreathes the red of her roses, the white of her lilies, and the blue of
her forget-me-nots, repeating even in the sweet syllables of the flowers
the symbol of her patriotism,--the red, white, and blue of her
war-stained banner.
"My friends, I have followed the old flag into more than one battle. I
have seen men charge after it through blinding smoke and hail of
bullets, and I have seen them die for it. No one feels more deeply than
I what a glorious thing it is to die for one's country, but I want to
say to these little lads looking up at this great flag fluttering over
us, that it is not half so noble, half so brave, as to live for it, to
give yourselves in untiring, every-day living to your country's good. To
'let _all_ the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, thy God's, and
truth's.' I would rather have that said of me, that I did that, than to
be the greatest general of my day. I would rather be the founder of
homes like this one than to manoeuvre successfully the greatest battles.
"May the 'Two Little Knights of Kentucky' go on, out through the land,
carrying their motto with them, until the last wrong is righted, and
wherever the old flag floats a 'fair chance' may be found for every one
that lives beneath it. And may these Stars and Stripes, as they rise and
fall on the winds of this peaceful valley, whisper continuously that
same motto, until its lessons of truth and purity and unselfish service
have been blazoned on the hearts of every boy who calls this home. May
it help to make him a true knight in his country's cause."
There was music after that, and then old Colonel Lloyd made a speech,
and Virginia and the Little Colonel gathered roses out of the old
garden, so that every one could wear a bunch. A little later they had
supper on the lawn, picnic fashion, and then drove home in the cool of
the evening, when all the meadows were full of soft flashings from the
fairy torches of a million fireflies.
With Keith safely covered up in a hammock, they lingered on the porch
long after the stars came out, and the dew lay heavy on the roses. They
were building other air-castles now, to be rebuilt some day, as Jonesy's
home had been; only these were still larger and better. The older people
were planning, too, and all the good that grew out of that quiet evening
talk can never be known until that day comes when the King shall read
all the names in his Hall of the Shields.
"It has been such a beautiful day," said Virginia, leaning her head
happily against her mother's shoulder. Then she started up, suddenly
remembering something. "Oh, papa!" she cried, "let's end it as they do
at the fort, with the bugle-call. I'll run and get my old bugle, and you
play 'taps.'"
A few minutes later the silvery notes went floating out on the warm
night air, through all the peaceful valley; over the mounds in the
little churchyard, wreathed now with their fresh memorial roses; past
"The Locusts" where the Little Colonel lay a-dreaming. Over the woods
and fields they floated, until they reached the flag that kept its
fluttering vigil over "Fairchance."
Jonesy sat up in bed to listen. Many a reveille would sound before his
full awakening to all that the two little knights had made possible for
him, but the sweet, dim dream of the future that stole into his grateful
little heart was an earnest of what was in store for him. Then the
bugle-call, falling through the starlight like a benediction, closed the
happy day with its peaceful "Good night."
THE END.