[Frontispiece: "SAM, HALF CARRYING, HALF DRAGGING FRED, ... STAGGERED
OUT INTO THE OPEN AIR."--Page 275.]
HALF A DOZEN BOYS
_AN EVERY-DAY STORY_
BY
ANNA CHAPIN RAY
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
46 EAST FOURTEENTH STREET (UNION SQUARE)
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY T. Y. CROWELL & Co.
TO
E. E. J.,
THE ORIGINAL OF MY ROB,
IN MEMORY OF MANY PLEASANT HOURS WE HAVE
SPENT TOGETHER,
THIS LITTLE STORY IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"'An every-day story;' I should think it was!" is the exclamation of
that much-dreaded being, the critic, as he hastily turns over these
simple pages. But that is just what it is meant to be. Most of our
boys live every-day lives, with few exciting adventures or narrow
escapes. And although they greedily absorb the highly spiced tales
of youthful pirates and ruffians that are only too common in these
days, by reading them they realize the more keenly the humdrum nature
of their own surroundings, and too often are led to wish for the
excitement of the other life. But, after all, it is the simple round
of school and games, the frolics and scrapes, which seem so
unimportant to their elders, that go to make up the sum of a boy's
happiness or misery; and if this be so outside of books, why is it
not equally true within their covers?
Every New England town can show a Teddy, a Phil, and a Fred, more or
less thinly disguised, while Rob and Fuzz, without any disguise at
all, are even now important members of one small community.
With this warning as to the commonplace nature of our boys and of
their doings, and this slight explanation of its cause, the writer
steps aside, and leaves the Half Dozen Boys to tell their own story.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. Introduces Some New Friends
II. Fred
III. The Beginning of the Fight
IV. The Other Boys
V. Walks and Talks
VI. Fred's New Home
VII. "And when the fight is fierce"
VIII. King Winter
IX. The I.I.'s
X. Rob and Fred Entertain Callers
XI. The Disadvantages of Science
XII. Their Summer Outing
XIII. The Boys Meet an Old Friend
XIV. Phil's Fight
XV. "Greater love hath no man"
XVI. A Literary Evening
XVII. Rob Assists at an Important Interview
XVIII. "The Victor's Crown of Gold"
HALF A DOZEN BOYS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCES SOME NEW FRIENDS.
"'That among all the changes and chances of this mortal life,'
intoned the musical voice of the rector, "'they may ever be defended
by Thy most gracious and ready help, through Jesus Christ our Lord.'"
"Amen," responded the kneeling choir.
There was a moment of perfect quiet, as all bowed in silent prayer,
and then the organist softly began to play the first lines of
Barnby's All Saints' Hymn, "For all the Saints," and the boys rose
for their recessional. Their bright, happy faces smiled down for a
moment on the waiting congregation, and then their voices rose in the
inspiring old hymn.
As the white-robed figures came down the steps from the pretty
chancel, singing,--
"Oh, may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"
more than one person in the congregation was touched by the solemn
prayer, almost thoughtlessly offered. The eyes of one of their
hearers grew misty as she watched the boyish faces, and tried to
fancy the battles in store for the young soldiers.
As the leaders passed her, they gave her a bright smile of
recognition, while high and clear rang their voices,--
"'But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
* * * * *
The King of Glory passes on His way."
And the line went on out into the choir room, from which came the
final Amen.
The people moved down the aisle, laughing and chatting, but the young
woman of whom we spoke stood a moment, waiting until she was joined
by one of the choir leaders, a bright-faced lad of thirteen. He came
up to her, holding, for convenience, his hat in his teeth, while he
pulled on his overcoat. His cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes
shone with the excitement of the music, but his face was unusually
sober.
"Well, Rob?"
"Oh, cousin Bess, have you heard about Fred?"
"What is it, my dear? I hope all is going well with him. But wait a
moment; I must speak to Mrs. Read. Then I'll come and hear all about
it."
Rob fidgeted about the door of the cosy little church until his
cousin joined him. To go home from evening service without her,
would have been to deprive Rob of one of his weekly pleasures.
Cousin Bess was his confidante, adviser, and oracle; and to-night,
seeing the boy was really anxious to talk with her, she hurried her
interview with the garrulous mother of eleven children, and, leaving
half told the tale of Tommy's mumps and Sallie's teeth, she turned to
the door, and, with Rob at her side, stepped out into the cold
November starlight. The boy shivered a little.
"Cold, Rob? You'd better turn up your collar, after being in the
warm church, and in your heavy robes, too."
"I'm not cold," he said hoarsely.
"What is it, dear? Is anything the matter?"
"It's Fred. He's come home from Boston, and he's lots worse. The
doctor says he can't ever see again as long as he lives." And Rob
tried to swallow a great lump in his throat, as he told of his
friend's trouble.
"Why, Rob, what do you mean? When did he come home? Who told you?"
"Phil told me just now. He came home late last night, and Phil met
his father to-day. The trouble's all gone into his opposite nerve,
Phil said, and they say he'll be blind forever. Isn't it awful,
cousin Bess?"
"Indeed it is, my boy," said Bess, too much shocked by Rob's tidings
even to smile over his "opposite nerve." "But I don't see what this
can have to do with his eyes. I do hope there is some mistake."
"I'm afraid there isn't," said Rob, shaking his head doubtfully.
"You see, Phil saw Mr. Allen just this noon."
"I know; but his eyes have never troubled him, have they?"
"Not much. A year ago, I guess 'twas, he stayed out of school about
a week, 'cause it hurt him to read. But perhaps it isn't so bad as
they think."
"Poor Fred!" said Bess, drawing her little cousin closer to her side,
as she thought of the suffering of this other boy. "If this is true,
he has a sad, sad life before him. You boys, Rob, must do all you
can to help him, when he gets strong enough to see you again. You
can do so much for him if you only try. I know my boy will, won't
he?"
"Why, yes. But how can we, cousin Bess?"
"In ever so many little ways. Go to see him, read to him, talk to
him, only not about things he can't do; get him to go out with
you,--anything to keep him from feeling he is left out in the cold,
and you boys get on just as well without him."
They walked on in silence for a moment, and then Bess asked,--
"Rob, do you remember the third verse of your recessional hymn?"
"I don't know. What was it?"
"'Oh, may Thy soldiers,'" quoted Bess, and Rob took up the line, half
under his breath. When he had finished it,--
"Well, what about it?" he asked.
"I was thinking to-night, as you came out singing it, that I wondered
what fighting you boys would have to do. Fred has come to his, but
the 'victor's crown of gold' will be very hard for him to win, I am
afraid."
"Why, cousin Bess?"
"Rob, my boy, suppose all at once you had to just drop right out of
all your boy fun and games, couldn't read or study, or even go to
walk alone; do you think it would be real easy to always be bright
and cheerful, never complain or be cross? It is just by bearing this
trouble like a man and a hero that the 'victor's crown' will come to
Fred. It will not be a very happy life to live. But we will hope
Phil made some mistake. Almost anything would be better than for him
to be blind all his life; and I can't see what should bring it on.
Did Phil say how he is now?"
"Mr. Allen said he was better, and asked Phil to go to see him before
long."
"I hope he will, and you too, Rob," said Bess, and then added, "How
well the music went to-night," hoping to turn her cousin's thoughts
into a more cheerful line. But it was of no use.
"Fred was just coming into the choir when he was taken ill. The boys
all wanted him, for he has a first-rate voice; but I suppose he can't
now. We'd been planning for his coming as soon as he got well, and
he's only a little shorter than I, so he'd have sat next either Phil
or me."
"I didn't know he sang," answered Bess. "But here we are at home.
Won't you come in, Rob?"
"No, I must go home and go right to bed. I was out late last night,
you know. Good-night." And the boy turned to go on as Bess called
after him,--
"Sweet dreams to you, my boy! And come up to-morrow after school. I
shall go down to see Fred in the afternoon, and I can tell you more
about him then."
She went into the house, stopping a moment in the hall to take off
her hat and fur-trimmed coat, and then, pushing aside the portière,
she entered the bright, pretty room, where her mother sat reading.
The light from the fire, blazing on the andirons, flickered over the
walls, showing a few fine pictures, some dainty bits of bric-à-brac,
and, scattered around and among all, many books. But the prettiest
thing in the room was the white-haired woman who sat by the table in
a low chair. Her gentle expression and the loving, kindly look in
her eyes plainly spoke the word mother; and a real mother she was,
not only to her own flock, now all married and gone except this one
daughter, but as well to all the young men and maidens, boys and
girls, that ever came into her way. Years of delicate health had
kept her much at home, but her parlor was the favorite resort of
love-lorn maidens, ambitious youths, and small urchins whose broken
kite-tails needed prompt attention. Not one of them left her without
feeling better for her loving words of advice or consolation; her
ears were always open, and to each she could and did give the one
thing most needed.
Bess pushed a low stool to her side, and sat down on it, with her arm
in her mother's lap.
"Did you have a pleasant service?" asked the older lady, laying down
her book, and giving her daughter's hair a caressing pat.
"Very. Mr. Washburn did so well to-night, better than usual, and the
music was"--
What it was, Mrs. Carter was never destined to know, for at the sound
of her daughter's voice, there was a sudden uprising in the willow
basket by the fire, and out jumped a small gray dog, who stretched
himself for a moment, and then darted straight at his mistress, and
climbed into her lap with sundry growls and yelps of pleasure,
wagging, not his tail only, but his whole body, clear to his curly
head. Standing up in her lap, he struck out with his forepaws, with
an utter disregard for her comfort, and only intent on giving her a
cordial welcome. Bess bore it meekly for a time, but a vigorous
scratch on her cheek was too much for even her patience, and she
pushed the dog gently down with a "That will do, Fuzz"; so he trotted
away, and began to search diligently in all the corners of the room.
"Did Rob come up with you, as usual?" asked Mrs. Carter, when quiet
was once more restored.
"Oh, yes; I can always depend on him. What a dear boy he is! Oh,
Fuzz! have you found your ball?"
For Fuzz had returned on the scene, and brought with him the object
of his search, a small, soft ball that he could easily hold in his
mouth, or, when he preferred, carry it hooked on one of his teeth and
hanging out at the side of his mouth. Now, rolling it up towards
Bess, but just out of her reach, he ran back a few steps, flattened
himself on the carpet, wagged his morsel of a tail convulsively, and
rolled his eyes, first at the ball then at Bess. But Bess was in no
mood to play, however much Fuzz might desire it. She was just
beginning to tell her mother about Fred, when the dog, seeing that
the suggestive wag of his tail had no influence, uttered a loud,
sharp bark.
"No, no, Fuzz!" said Bess, frowning on the excited little creature.
"I'm too tired, and I don't feel like playing."
But Fuzz was deaf to her remonstrances, and again gave vent to his
feelings in the same bark, but this time, to add to his powers of
persuasion, he sat up on his haunches, dropping his little forepaws
in a supplicating fashion, while the stumpy tail still wagged
furiously. It was not to be withstood. As usually happened in that
house, Fuzz conquered; and Bess rose, took the ball, and threw it
into the darkest corner, hoping to gain a moment's rest while the dog
hunted up his treasure. Fuzz scrambled after it, his sharp little
claws catching in the carpet as he ran, and in another moment he had
deposited it at the feet of Bess, and run back as before. Experience
had taught his mistress that when Fuzz wished to play, she must obey
his will, and keep him running after the ball until, tired out, he
should be ready to go back to his cushioned basket.
In the intervals of her attentions to Fuzz, she told her mother Rob's
account of Fred, and then went on to speak of the people she had
seen, of the sermon, and of other bits of news likely to interest her
home-abiding mother. A few moments' rest from Fuzz were succeeded by
howls from the next room, at first low and mournful, but as these
proved unavailing they gradually turned into the same deafening barks
that had before carried his point.
"Oh, you tiresome puppy!" exclaimed Bess, in despair.
Rising, she went to the next room, where, in front of a tall
bookcase, lay Fuzz, pawing wildly at the narrow crack that separated
it from the floor, in the hope of rolling out his cherished ball.
For the twentieth time that day Bess resigned herself to the
inevitable, and, kneeling down on the floor, with difficulty she
reached under the bookcase, grasped the ball with the tips of her
fingers and drew it out, while Fuzz, utterly regardless of her nerves
and her Sunday gown, capered back and forth over her, barking madly
all the time.
Fuzz was the ruling member of the Carter family. Two years before,
Bess, scorning Dominie Sampson, the family collie, had been anxious
to own a toy terrier, and her indulgent father had for months been
watching for an opportunity to gratify his daughter's wish, when one
day he came triumphantly home, and from his pocket produced a tiny,
squirming ball of wool. The ball, on being set down on the floor,
disclosed four wee paws, a dot of a tail, two huge ears, a short
black nose, and an overwhelming tendency to tumble over on it.
Uttering feeble barks, the absurd little creature toddled up to Mrs.
Carter's ball of yarn that had fallen from her lap, tried to take it
in his mouth, tangled himself up in it, broke the thread, and then
stood meditatively viewing the ruin he had worked. For a moment Bess
and her mother looked at each other in despair, and then they began
to laugh. From that time the puppy's destiny was an established fact.
Fuzz, as he was named, rapidly grew from the dimensions of a
six-weeks-old puppy to three times the size of his ancestors. Though
bought at a high price for his exceptionally small size, his long,
silky blue hair, and his equally blue blood, it must be confessed
that in all these respects Fuzz was weighed in the balance and found
wanting. His silky blue coat was almost white, and, instead of
sweeping the ground, as should the hair of a truly aristocratic Skye
terrier, it curled in tight short rings about his head and face, and
from there gradually dwindled away until, at his tail, he was only
covered with a few sparse locks, through which his darker gray skin
was plainly visible. His baskets, collars, and other belongings were
rapidly outgrown, and the new ones substituted for them soon shared
the same fate. And, as if to keep pace with his body, his temper and
will grew at the same time; for the disposition of the dog was an
uncertain quantity. Though no one ever spent twenty-four hours in
the house with him without yielding to his fascinations, strangers
and chance callers, one and all, detested him. In spite of words and
blows, Fuzz would run out and bark whenever the bell rang. And on
some occasions he varied the monotony by firmly seizing the new-comer
by the clothing, greatly to the resentment of the chosen few whom he
favored with this attention. Tying him up or shutting him in a room
by himself proved of no avail, for, in the one case, he invariably
bit the string in two; and, in the other, his small paws scratched
the door with such zeal that varnish and paint vanished before his
attacks, while his voice was meanwhile raised in protest against his
durance vile. Two years fraught with bitter experience had taught
Mrs. Carter and Bess that the dog's will was law, and when once his
bark was heard the person nearest him hurried to do his bidding.
Such was Fuzz, who, while we have been making his acquaintance, had
retired, ball and all, into his basket by the fire, where he made his
bed by pawing and mouthing his rug into a lump in one corner, and
then settled himself to his well-earned repose, occasionally opening
one eye and growling sleepily when the fire gave an unusually loud
crackle.
For a long time the mother and daughter sat in the fitful light,
talking of different matters, until Bess once more spoke of Fred.
"Doesn't it seem hard and cruel, mother, to just shut out that active
boy from everything he most enjoys? I can't see any cause for it at
all; and yet there can be no mistake."
"Poor little boy!" said Mrs. Carter, gently pushing her daughter's
hair back from her face. "He has a hard life before him, and no one
to help him bear it, though he will have everything that money can
give. His father and mother are not the ones to teach him how much
that is good he still has left; and he looks to me like a boy that
will take this very hard."
"Who wouldn't?" said Bess impetuously. Then she added, "What a shame
you couldn't have been Fred's mother! You ought to have the
bringing-up of all the boys in the country."
"I should probably have been the worst possible mother for most of
them," replied Mrs. Carter, with a smile. "But when shall you go to
see how Fred is? I think you almost ought to go soon, for the boy is
so fond of you."
"I told Rob I should go to-morrow; and oh, how I dread it! I don't
know at all how I shall find him: whether he is over his old trouble,
or whether he can see now. I suppose I ought to go, though. Poor
Rob was quite upset by the news."
"He is a sympathetic boy and very fond of Fred. I wish he would go
to see him when he can. He is so gentle he wouldn't tire him; and
his quiet fun would be the best possible medicine for the poor child."
"Rob promised to go when he might. I think it took all his heroism,
for he is so afraid of Mrs. Allen. Why, now I think of it, she was
at church this morning, for I remember noticing her new bonnet. How
strange for her to leave Fred his first day at home!"
"I fancy that is her way of doing," said Mrs. Carter as she rose from
her chair. "Well, I think I shall say good-night to you, my
daughter."
A few moments later Bess followed her up the stairs, singing softly
as she went,--
"'And win with them the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!'"