and into one of these the girls climbed, and then they found the seats
belonging to Mrs. Rawson and Nan, and put the extra wraps up in the
rack for them and pushed up the window, and did everything else that
they could think of for the comfort of the travellers.
Then one of them pinned a great bunch of deliciously fragrant violets
to Nan's dress, and another fastened a tiny silver cross above the
violets, as she whispered,
"We've made you a member of our circle, Nan, dear, and this is our
badge."
And then Nan noticed that every one of the girls wore the tiny, silver
cross somewhere about her dress. She wondered what it meant and
determined to ask Mrs. Rawson later, but she could not talk much just
then--she was too happy with all those dear girls about her,
chattering to her and counting her in with themselves.
At last there was a rumble and a jar, and people began to fill up the
seats in the car and one of the girls looked at her watch and
exclaimed,
"We must say 'good-bye' girls, or we shall be carried off."
"Wouldn't it be fun if we could all go too, and stay for the week with
Mrs. Rawson?" cried another.
"Yes, indeed. If it weren't for school we might have done it."
"Now remember, Nan, we're all going to write to you because you belong
to our circle," whispered another, and then, some with a kiss, and
some with a warm handshake, they said, "good-bye," and hastened out of
the car and stood on the platform outside the car windows, calling out
more farewells and last words, and waving hands and handkerchiefs,
until the train drew out of the station.
Then Nan settled back in her comfortable seat with a happy light in
her dark eyes.
"I didn't suppose there were any such girls in all the world,
Mrs. Rawson," she said; "girls who would be so dearly kind to a
stranger like me."
"They certainly are dear girls. I think myself that there are not many
like them," Mrs. Rawson answered. "Some of them have been in my
Sunday-school class ever since they were nine years old."
"Perhaps that accounts for it," Nan answered, shyly, with one of her
quick, bright smiles. Then she turned to look out of the window and
her face changed, for there on a fence, close beside the track, stood
Theodore, eagerly scanning the windows as the train went by. Nan
snatched up Little Brother and held him to the window, and a smile
broke over the boy's face as he waved his hat in response. Then the
train gathered speed and flew on, and the boy went slowly back to his
work.
It was nearly sunset when the station where the travellers were to
stop, was reached. Nan's heart began to beat fast and she glanced
around somewhat anxiously as she stepped on to the platform, but the
next moment she found herself looking into Mrs. Hyde's face, and from
that instant all her fears and anxieties vanished.
Mrs. Hyde had no children of her own, but the very spirit of
motherliness seemed to look out of her eyes, and she took the two
strangers into her heart at sight. The baby, wearied with the long
journey had been fretting for the last hour, but no sooner did he find
himself in Mrs. Hyde's arms, than he settled down comfortably and went
to sleep and slept soundly through the three mile drive from the
station.
Mrs. Hyde did not say much to Nan during the drive, only by an
occasional word or smile, showing her that she was not forgotten,
while the two ladies talked together, but at last she laid her firm,
strong hand lightly on the girl's fingers, saying,
"Look, dear--you are almost home."
And Nan looked with happy eyes at a big, rambling, white house, shaded
by tall elms, and with wide piazzas on three sides. An old-fashioned
flower garden, with high box-bordered beds was at the back, and broad,
rolling acres, spread out on every side but one, where there was a
grove of grand old trees.
The late afternoon sunlight was throwing long, level beams across the
green lawn, touching everything with a golden light as they drove up
to the side door, and Nan said to herself,
"I don't see how anybody could help being well and happy here."
XIV. THEODORE GIVES CARROTS A CHANCE
Theodore dreaded to go home that night. After his work was done he
went to a restaurant for supper and then strolled on to the Common.
It was cool and pleasant there under the wide-spreading trees, and he
sat down on one of the benches and wondered what Nan was doing then
and how Little Brother had borne the long hours of travel.
When it was quite dark he went slowly homeward. Mrs. Hunt's door
stood open and he stopped to get the key which Nan was to leave there
for him. Jimmy sprang up and brought it to him, and Mrs. Hunt gave him
a kind word or two and asked him to come in and sit awhile, but he
said he was tired, and taking the key, he crossed the hall and
unlocked Nan's door. As he closed it behind him he gave a little
start, for he saw something move over by the window. The next instant
he realised that it was only Nan's chair which had rocked a little
from the jar of the closing door. The room was unlighted except for
the faint glimmer near the open windows.
As Theo sat down in the rocking-chair, a wave of loneliness and
homesickness swept over him. Nan and Little Brother had made all the
home feeling he had ever known, and never before had he felt so
absolutely alone and friendless as he did to-night.
Tag seemed to share the feeling too. He went sniffing about the room,
evidently searching for the two who were gone, and finally, with a
long breath like a sigh, he dropped down beside the rocking-chair and
rubbed his head against his master's hand with a low, troubled whine.
Theodore patted the rough head as he said,
"Pretty lonesome, ain't it, old fellow?" and Tag rapped the floor with
his tail and whined again.
For a long time the boy sat there gravely thinking. At last, with a
sigh, he said to himself, "Might's well go to bed. Don't feel like
doin' anything to-night."
He was used to undressing in the dark and he did not light the lamp,
but as he was about to get into bed his hand touched something smooth
and stiff that was lying on the pillow.
"It's a letter," he exclaimed, wonderingly, and he hastened to light
the lamp.
"Oh!" he cried, breathlessly, as he saw the bold, firm
handwriting. "It's from the bishop."
His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining and his fingers fairly
shaking with excitement as he held the letter carefully in his hands,
reading and rereading the address.
"THEODORE BRYAN,
Care of MRS. MARTIN."
He thought how many times he had sat beside the bishop's desk and
watched the pen travelling so rapidly across the paper. Theodore would
have known _that_ writing anywhere.
For a long time he did not open the letter. It was happiness enough to
know that it was there in his hands, the first letter he had ever
received. And to think that the bishop should have written it--to
him, Theodore Bryan! It was a pity that the bishop could not have seen
the boy's face as he stood looking with glowing eyes at the envelope.
At last he opened it and began to read the letter. It was a long one,
and as the boy read on and on, his breath came quicker and his eyes
grew dim, and when he had finished it his cheeks were wet, but he did
not know it. He was not thinking of himself. There were many who would
have given much for a letter from the bishop, but surely none could
have appreciated one more than did the lonely boy who stood there that
night in the dimly-lighted room poring over those closely written
pages. Again and again he read the whole letter, and many times he
read over one passage until the words were written in letters of light
on his heart. When at last he went to bed it was to lie awake for
hours with the letter held tightly in his hand, while he repeated to
himself those words that he was to remember as long as he lived.
"Mrs. Martin writes me that you are anxious to be assured of my
forgiveness. My dear boy, if you have ever wronged me I forgive you as
freely and fully as I hope for forgiveness myself; but, Theodore, had
you wronged me ever so deeply, it would all be blotted out by the joy
it gives me to know that you are a soldier of the Cross. I know that
you will be a faithful soldier--loyal even unto death--and may the
great Captain whom we both serve, have you ever in His holy keeping."
Over and over the boy repeated these words as he lay sleepless, but
full of deep happiness and peace. "Whom we both serve." The wise and
holy bishop and he, a poor ignorant street boy, were soldiers now
under the one great Captain. Faithful and loyal even unto death? Ah
yes, Theodore pledged himself anew to such service in the watches of
that night.
Nevertheless, the letter had brought to the boy a fresh
disappointment, for it informed him that the bishop had been ill ever
since he left the city, and that it had been decided that he should
remain away until October.
"Five months longer before I can see him," Theodore thought
sorrowfully, yet he could not grieve as he had done before. It almost
seemed as if he could feel the bishop's hand actually resting upon his
head, and see the kind eyes looking down into his. The boy had not
been so happy since he left the bishop's house as he was on this night
when he had expected to be so lonely and miserable.
"Oh if Nan only knew, how glad she would be," he thought more than
once.
He slept at last with the letter clutched tightly in his hand, and his
fingers had not loosed their hold when he awoke the next morning, nor
had the joy died out of his heart. His thoughts were very busy as he
dressed, and suddenly he stopped short, with one shoe on and the other
in his hand.
"That's it!" he cried aloud. "That's what the bishop meant that
Sunday! 'Ye are not your own. Ye are bought with a price.' The great
Captain's bought me for one of His soldiers, an' I've got to do what
He says. I never knew before just what that meant, but I do now." Then
he added, softly, "But I want to do what He says, anyhow."
Going forth in this spirit to his work, Theodore could hardly fail to
find something to do for his Captain.
Mrs. Hunt had decided to take up the work that Nan had been doing, and
to furnish supplies for the stand. She had the big basket all ready
when Theodore came from his room, and he and Jimmy set off with it for
the stand where both the boys now took their breakfasts.
Theodore was unusually quiet and thoughtful, and there was something
in his face that silenced Jimmy's lively tongue that morning. The two
boys had just gotten their stand ready for business, when Theodore
exclaimed, eagerly,
"There he is now!" and darted off.
Jimmy looked after him in wonder that turned to indignation, as he saw
Theo lay a detaining hand on the ragged jacket of Carrots, who was
slouching aimlessly along the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets,
and, after a little talk with him, bring him back to the stand.
"Well now, I like that!" muttered Jimmy under his breath. He glowered
darkly at Carrots as Theo drew him up to the stand, but Theodore
looked into Jimmy's face with a strange light in his eyes, as he
filled a plate for Carrots and poured him out a cup of coffee.
"Sh'ld think you'd better wait till he'd paid for what he jagged here
that last time," Jimmy muttered, with a scowling glance at the
culprit.
Carrots, overhearing the remark, grinned, and then winked impudently
at Jimmy, while he disposed with all speed of the contents of the
plate that Theodore had set before him. Once or twice he cast a
puzzled glance at the latter as if trying to discover some hidden
motive.
"Had 'nough?" Theo questioned, when plate and cup were empty.
"'Spect I might get outside of one or two o' them doughnuts," Carrots
answered, with another wink at Jimmy's clouded face.
When the doughnuts also had disappeared, Theo said, "Come along a bit
with me, Carrots," and the two walked off together, leaving Jimmy for
the first time savagely angry with his friend Theodore.
Carrots slouched along at Theo's side, with his narrow eyes roving
suspiciously from side to side in search of a possible policeman, into
whose hands he suspected that his companion might be scheming to
deliver him. He could not conceive the possibility of anybody's
failing to avenge a wrong if he had the chance.
"Carrots," began Theodore, "where do you sleep?"
"Can't catch me that way," thought Carrots to himself, as he answered
carelessly, "Oh anywheres 't I happen ter find myself when I'm
sleepy."
"No reg'lar place--no home?" questioned Theo.
"Nope."
"Well, I've paid rent up to the end of the month for the room I've
been sleepin' in, an' I shan't use it any more. You can sleep there
for nothin' for the next week if you like."
Carrots stopped short and gazed at his companion with his tongue in
his cheek.
"Think I'm a fool?" he asked, shortly.
"I do' know whether ye are or not. 'Seems to me you will be 'f ye say
'no' to my offer," and Theo looked straight into the shifty eyes of
his companion.
That straightforward look puzzled Carrots. It was more convincing than
any words. He studied Theo's face for a moment, then he burst out,
"What's your game, anyhow, Tode Bryan?"
"Carrots," exclaimed Theo, earnestly, "there's no game at all about
it. I've got the room, an' I don't need it, 'cause I've taken another
one. You're welcome to use this till the month's up. Now, what d'ye
say? Will ye take it or leave it?"
"I'll--take--it," rejoined Carrots, slowly.
"All right." Theo gave him the number, adding, "Come to my room
anytime 'fore ten for the key."
Then he hurried on, leaving Carrots in a maze of wonder, doubt and
indecision, for he could not yet believe that Theo meant honestly by
him.
As for Theo, he whistled cheerily as he hastened on, for he felt that
he had been doing a bit of his Captain's business. He was not in the
least deceived. He knew that Carrots was a "bad lot," as he expressed
it, but he said to himself, "I was a bad lot, too, not so very long
ago, an' I'll see if I can't do something for Carrots while I'm
a-huntin' for that Jack Finney."
Jimmy Hunt was on the lookout for Theodore that evening, and pounced
upon him the moment he appeared. Jimmy's face was still clouded, and
he made no response to his friend's cheery greeting. "I say, Theo," he
began, "I'd like to know what you meant by it, anyhow."
"What's the trouble, Jimmy? What do you mean?"
"What _d'you_ mean by luggin' that thievin', sarcy Carrots over
t' the stand this mornin' an' stuffin' him with grub, an' never askin'
him for a red cent?" Jimmy spoke in a deeply aggrieved tone.
"You won't lose anything by it, Jim. That comes out o' my share of the
profits," Theo answered, quickly.
"'Tain't that," responded Jimmy, hastily. "I wouldn't 'a' minded if it
had been any other feller but him. Say, Theo, what did make ye do it
anyhow? Think ye might tell me that."
Theodore looked down into the face lifted to his, half curiously, half
impatiently. "Jimmy," he said, gravely, "wouldn't you be glad if
somebody would lend a hand to Dick and help him make a man of
himself?"
Jimmy flushed. He was ashamed of his brother and mortified by Dick's
evil reputation.
"'Course," he answered, shortly, dropping his eyes.
"Well, Jimmy, I'd help Dick if I could, an' there's another feller
I've been huntin' for ever so long. 'Seem's if I can't find him
anywheres, an' so till I _do_ find him, I'm a-goin' to try to
pull Carrots up 'stead of him."
"Pull Carrots up!" echoed Jimmy, scornfully. "Tode, you must be soft
if you expect to make anything out o' such a bad lot as Carrots."
"There's a good spot in most chaps, I b'lieve, Jimmy, an' I guess
there's one in Carrots, if I can only find it. Anyhow, I'm a-goin' to
try for a while."
"Huh!" growled Jimmy. He said no more, but after this he watched Theo
and Carrots closely, and did a deal of earnest thinking on the
subject.
Carrots slept in Theodore's room for the next week--slipping softly up
and down the stairs, with furtive, suspicious glances into every dark
corner in the halls at night, and departing in the same fashion before
Theo was up in the morning. He uttered no word of gratitude, but Theo
knew better than to expect anything of that sort.
One night when he came in, Theodore sat with his door wide open, and
called out pleasantly,
"Come in a minute, Carrots."
The boy paused on the threshold until he had satisfied himself that
there was no one else in the room, then he sidled in and dropped
heavily on a chair.
"Wal', what's wanted?" he inquired, gruffly.
"Like to earn a little extra money to-morrow?" Theodore began.
"That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"On the kind o' work."
"Well, I should think you'd be ready for any kind of work," Theodore
remarked, with a quick glance at the ragged garments of the other.
Carrots grinned, carelessly. "Oh I ain't a swell like you," he
replied, casting, what he meant for a scornful look at the other boy's
clean outing shirt and decent suit. Theodore had reached the point now
where he had at least one clean shirt a week.
He ignored the remark and went on, "There's plenty of fellers that
would be glad of this job, but I want to give you the first chance at
it. Jimmy Hunt's goin' on an excursion to-morrow, an' can't run the
stand. You can run it if you want to."
Carrots gazed at him with mouth and eyes wide open.
"Me?" he exclaimed, incredulously. "You mean't you'll let me run
it--alone--'thout you bossin' the job?"
Theo nodded.
Carrots' mouth slowly stretched into a grin of mingled satisfaction
and derision, as he exclaimed, "All right. I'm your man!"
"Then be ready to go with me at half past six," replied Theo. Then he
added, "Look here--what's your real name? Tain't Carrots I know. If
you'll tell me what 'tis I'll call you by it."
"Do' want none o' yer callin'! Carrots's good 'nough for me, an' if
I'm suited, other folks needn't ter interfere," growled the boy, with
renewed suspicion.
"No need to get huffy 'bout it," rejoined Theodore. "It put me up a
peg when folks begun to call me Theodore 'stead of Tode or Toady, an'
so I thought you'd feel the same way. 'Course, if you like to be
Carrots, nobody cares."
"Humph!" grunted Carrots, and departed without further discussion of
the matter.
He was waiting in the hall when Theodore opened his door the next
morning and assisted handily enough about carrying the big basket and
arranging the stand. He did not, however, believe that Theo meant to
leave him actually in charge, until he found himself established
behind the neat counter with fifty cents in nickels and pennies in his
pocket, to make change.
"Wal', I'm blest!" he exclaimed, and then he grinned and chuckled and
slapped his sides with glee, while Theodore went off, thinking to
himself,
"It's a risk, but I had to give him his chance."
Many times during that morning he thought of Carrots and wondered how
he was getting on. It was a hot day and an unusually tiresome one for
Theodore, and it was later than usual when he returned to his
room. Before he had closed the door Jimmy Hunt ran across the hall
calling out,
"Say, Theo, where's the baskets an' things?"
Theodore's heart sank, but he answered quietly, "Haven't they been
brought back?"
"No. Who'd you get to run the stand, Theo?"
"Carrots."
"Theodore Bryan--you _didn't_!" exclaimed Jimmy, in such a tragic
tone, that Theo almost laughed outright. His amusement was the last
straw to Jimmy. He burst into a storm of scornful blame in the midst
of which Theo quietly stepped into his room and shut the door, leaving
Jimmy to fume and storm as much as he chose. That brought the boy to
himself. He began to cool down and to remember, that after all, the
stand belonged to Theodore, and he had a right to do as he pleased
with it. So after standing in the hall, kicking at the banisters for a
while, to relieve his feelings, Jimmy knocked at the closed door and
in response to Theo's "come in," he went in, in a somewhat calmer
state of mind.
"What you goin' to do in the mornin', Theo?" he began, in a subdued
tone.
"Have you been to the stand, Jim?"
"Yes, an' that scamp after he'd sold all the stuff went to work an'
auctioned off the dishes an' coffee-urn an' everything. Just skinned
the place out slick," Jimmy burst out, indignantly. "I went 'round to
see where the baskets was, an' some fellers told me all about it. They
said 'twas a red-headed chap done it, but I _couldn't_ b'lieve
you'd be green 'nough to trust that Carrots. Say, Theo, did you
re'ely think he'd do the square thing, by you?"
"Not much. I hoped he would an' I had to give him a chance, Jimmy?"
"Why'd you have to?" asked Jimmy, curiously.
"Where would I be now if somebody hadn't given me a chance, Jimmy?"
"Oh, you--you ain't Carrots. You're another sort."
"Yes, I'm another sort now, but I was bad as Carrots before I met Nan
an' Little Brother," answered Theo, earnestly. Then he added, "Don't
you worry 'bout the stand. I'll go out presently an' buy what's
wanted."
"An' ain't ye going to do nothin' ter that Carrots for this, neither?"
inquired Jimmy, anxiously.
"No, nothing. But, Jimmy, don't fret yourself about him. If he keeps
on as he's been doin', he'll soon find himself locked up."
"'N' he'd oughter be too," muttered Jimmy, as he went away, leaving
Theodore to think over the failure of his attempt. He was not much
surprised, though he had not expected quite such a clean sweep on
Carrots' part, and the loss was not heavy enough to embarrass him at
all. At Mr. Scott's suggestion, Theo had begun to deposit his extra
earnings in a savings bank and he had enough on hand to easily replace
the dishes and utensils lost, but he was disappointed and
disheartened. It seemed so useless to try to help one who would not
try to help himself. And yet he could not be quite discouraged since
he always remembered what he himself had once been.
He went out and bought what was needed and when he came back he found
Mr. Scott just turning away from his door. He hastened to unlock it
and the gentleman turned back, saying,
"I'm glad you came before I had got away, Theodore, for I want to talk
over that boys' club plan with you."
"I thought you'd forgot all about it," replied the boy, his face
brightening.
He had spoken to his teacher about this plan, and Mr. Scott had
answered, "Yes, something of the sort may be done, but if I were in
your place I wouldn't be in a hurry about it," and so the matter had
been left.
Now Mr. Scott looked thoughtfully about the room, saying, "You must
find this far more comfortable than the room you had before. Don't
you sleep better here, Theo?"
"Oh, yes, I don't feel so tired in the morning."
"No, because you have the windows here and can have better air; but,
Theo, do you realise how it would be if you should use this for a
club-room? Some of the boys would be here every evening, and you'd
have to have lights burning, and by the time you were ready to go to
bed, the room would be very hot and stuffy--full of bad air. Besides
you would have to be here all the time. You couldn't trust such boys
in your room alone."
Theodore thought of Carrots, and his face was grave and disturbed as
he answered, slowly, "'Spect you're right, Mr. Scott, but I do hate to
give up the plan."
"Perhaps we won't give it up, only change it a little. Have you ever
been in the large front room, upstairs?"
Theodore shook his head, with a look of surprise, that his teacher
should know anything about the rooms upstairs.
Mr. Scott added, "Well then, suppose you come up with me now, and take
a look at it. I have the key."
Wondering much, the boy followed his teacher up the stairs to a large
room with two windows on each side.
"How would this do for your clubroom, Theodore?" Mr. Scott inquired.
"This? Oh, this would be fine--but Mr. Scott, it would cost a pile
for this."
"Rather more than for yours, of course, but now this is the way of it,
Theodore. I liked your plan about the club, but I didn't like the idea
of your giving up your own room to it, so I spoke to several gentlemen
of my acquaintance about the matter, and they all wanted to have a
hand in it. So they each gave me a sum of money, and then I
interviewed your landlord and rented this room. He is going to have it
whitewashed, and then we shall have the floor thoroughly scrubbed and
outside blinds put on these sunny windows. Then we shall put in some
tables and chairs and some plain pine shelves for the books and papers
that we are going to collect from our friends, and if you like, some
of us will give the boys a talk on current events once a week or so."
"What's current events?" interposed Theo, quickly.
"You'll soon find out. Now then, Theo, we must have somebody to take
charge of this room. Can you do it?"