THE END OF IT ALL.
Breathless with haste and excitement, Towsley rushed into the
editorial rooms of the _Express_ office and sank into the nearest
chair to recover himself.
For a moment the group of men in the place regarded him without
recognition; then one reporter exclaimed:
"Why, it's Tows! Little Towsley of ours!" and gayly extended his hand
in greeting.
"Congratulations, young man!" cried another. "The hero of a snow-bank,
an adoption, a rescue! The staff is proud to welcome you back!"
A third whipped out pencil and pad and demanded:
"The facts. Straight. First-hand notes keep the right color. Make
another item for to-night."
But the boy had regained his speech and held up a protesting hand.
"Don't bother with that old stuff. The fellows said it had been in.
Has it?"
"Yes."
"Anybody else 'round--that don't belong to us?" asked the newsboy
cautiously, looking about the room for lurking strangers.
"Not a soul. What's up?"
"Got a good one. A regular ghosty one. Up to the house where I'm
livin' now."
"What's that? Don't swell so with pride, aristocrat!"
"Who's a-swelling? If you don't want it, never mind. I ain't suffering
to give it away. Don't know as Miss Lucy'd like it, any way."
It was rather late in the affair to think about that, however, and
Towsley put the possibility out of mind; or, with the true spirit of
newspaper enterprise, decided that private considerations should give
precedence to the public good. Yet what possible good the mysterious
ringing of an electric bell was to do the "public" it would be
difficult to say.
"Come, you rising young journalist! Give it out. Wouldn't go back on
your own paper, would you?"
Whereupon, Towsley related his modern ghost story, with such
embellishments as a very lively fancy could furnish; and the active
reporter took it down verbatim. After which he tossed his "copy" to
an office boy and put on his hat and top-coat.
"Come on, Tows. I'll go up with you and see the thing for myself."
"It's just as I said," remarked the lad, proudly.
"I'm not denying it. But if I can make two paragraphs go where one
would do, you're not the boy to hinder me, I suppose," answered the
other.
The cars had resumed their regular running, and the pair boarded one;
but when they left it at the corner of the Avenue where Miss Lucy
lived, the reporter looked about him and whistled.
"Well, I declare, boy! You're in clover. I wouldn't mind being adopted
myself. See that you introduce me properly to the lady. Mention her
name first, then present me. We want to do credit to our office, you
see."
Master Lionel Towsley had not before felt any personal proprietorship
in the big mansion; but he now ran lightly up its marble steps with a
new and delightful sense of returning to his home. To his touch upon
the door-bell nobody responded, and after several such demands had
failed to awake any response, the reason for it came to him.
"Maybe they've gone. Maybe they won't answer it. I'll run down to the
basement entry and try that."
So the reporter waited while the lad did so, and presently there came
a sound of eager feet within the front hall, and the door was flung
wide. It was Towsley, of course, and his face was flushed with
excitement and indignation, as he exclaimed:
"Come right straight in. Quick's you can. She's had a terrible time, I
guess, and they've done it!"
All that was clear to the reporter's mind of this announcement was
that he was desired to enter and follow his guide; which he did into
the cheerful basement breakfast-room, where Miss Armacost still sat.
She had not gone upstairs since first coming down that morning, and
she was white and tremulous. The sight of her troubled face aroused
not only all Towsley's chivalry, but that of the reporter also.
Instantly, he regretted that he had so promptly availed himself of the
newsboy's "ghost story," and had thought more of furnishing "copy"
than of a gentlewoman's feelings.
"For she's not the sort will like to have her private experiences made
public gossip," he reflected, ruefully. Also, that it was probably too
late, even now, to remedy the evil of his haste. The best course left
him was to apologize for his presence and offer his assistance in a
case of need.
But, for once, Miss Lucy was too much disturbed to care about
notoriety, and she eagerly accepted his offer of help.
"It's very silly of me. I see and know it perfectly; but this
inexplicable ringing has so infected my people that all, except
Jefferson, have gone away. Each made a plausible errand, for the
moment, yet each declared her intention of leaving for good and right
away. As for Jefferson, he claims to be unusually busy at the stable,
and only appears--even that very reluctantly--when I ring him up. I'm
not much used to doing my own errands, but Lionel's suggestion seems a
good one. If I could get hold of an electrician, that dreadful bell
might be made to keep still."
"Well, madam, I am not much of an electrician, but I do understand a
little about such matters. If you'll allow me to examine your wires I
may discover the difficulty. Meanwhile, if you wish, I'll step to the
nearest drug store and telephone our own man, who attends to the
building in which we are."
The color returned to Miss Lucy's face and the courage to her voice.
"Oh! if you will be so good! It would be a great favor to me. My life
runs so smoothly, in ordinary, that I find myself upset by the unusual
circumstances of the last few days. The blizzard, Sir Christopher's
death, Lionel's coming and terrible experience in the storm, and now
this extraordinary ringing of my door-bell, which even the neighbors
have heard and are inquiring about--altogether I--I am quite
unstrung."
Again the reporter thought regretfully of the item which would appear
in that evening's paper, and earnestly hoped she would not see it. He
determined to caution Towsley to keep her from doing so, if possible;
so he walked to the nearest drug store, rang up the electrician,
returned to the house, and proceeded to do a little investigating on
his own account.
Just then Molly arrived, for in her loneliness at the desertion of her
"girls" Miss Lucy had sent Jefferson to ask her presence. She had come
as soon as possible, which had not, however, been very promptly,
because it was market morning for her mother, and a few of the
to-be-expected accidents had befallen the twins.
"You see, Miss Armacost," said Molly, in explanation, "I was just
whisking down the kitchen to make all tidy for mother, and had put
Ivanora on one side the table and Idelia on the other. I gave Idelia a
bag of buttons to play with, and because Ivanora hadn't eaten much
breakfast I gave her a dish of molasses and some bread. I knew, of
course, she'd mess herself, but I thought it would keep her contented.
And it did!" she cried, going off into such a peal of laughter that
the reporter had to join.
"What'd she do, Molly?" asked Lionel.
"Why, I happened to set her alongside of father's chair. That has a
feather cushion in it and I didn't know there was a hole in its cover.
But there was, and Ivanora found it. I would have known she'd do that
if I'd suspected the hole. When I turned around to see if all was
right--my sake! There was that precious child all stuck up with
feathers till she looked like some big bird. The molasses on her hands
had made them stick as tight as burrs. They were all over her curls,
her face, her clothes--everything! Well! When I'd done laughing so I
could, I took her straight to the bath-tub and put her in, clothes and
all. It seemed the easiest way to keep other things clean. Of course,
I had to dress her all over again; and when I got back to see to
Idelia--she was in a state, too! She had her mouth full of buttons,
and I don't know how many she'd swallowed. I really don't. She was
tasting them to see if they were candy. There was a small cork in the
bag, and I declare! if that child hadn't put that up her nose! Such
mischiefs! Over two years old, and ought to know better!
"So, that's what kept me, Miss Armacost. I couldn't leave things in
such a fix for mother, so I stayed till I'd helped get everything
right. Mother has so much to do, always."
"I should think so, indeed. Your excuse is most reasonable and does
you credit."
The reporter had listened to the girl's story, but hastened below
stairs to examine the electric arrangements of the house. He could
make no helpful discoveries, however, and presently returned to the
breakfast-room and the company of the others.
His presence in the house had, however, quite restored Miss Lucy to a
normal condition of mind, for he had treated the curious bell-ringing
as a trivial matter, easily explainable by the expert he had summoned,
if not by himself; and he found the trio discussing the proposed
sleigh-ride that Miss Lucy wanted to give the friends of her new
charge.
"A sleigh-ride! For all the newsboys in town! Hurrah!" he cried,
entering into the spirit of the thing as if he were a boy himself. "My
dear Miss Armacost, you couldn't do anything that would give so much
pleasure. Think what such a treat means in this city! and fancy the
sparkling eyes of the little chaps! What can I do to help?"
"Plenty of things, if you have leisure and inclination."
"I certainly have the inclination, and I'll make the leisure."
"How many are there to go?"
The gentleman produced the ever-ready pad and pencil, and aided by
Lionel's suggestions made a list. It was a pretty big list, and Miss
Lucy wondered if suitable vehicles could be obtained.
"Surely. Only it should be settled at once. Others besides us will be
thinking of big sleighing parties. Moreover, if this sunshine holds
the snow will not last long. When would you like to give the ride?"
"When would be best?"
"This afternoon," broke in Lionel eagerly, and his friend the reporter
nodded.
"So soon? Could it be arranged?"
"Yes, indeed. Easily--if at all."
The lady laughed. "You newspaper people take my breath away with your
promptness. I'm so used to thinking things over a long while. But I
like it, I like it. I feel waked up by it."
"We newspaper folk don't have much time to 'think over' anything, do
we, Tows?" asked the gentleman of his fellow-laborer; and the lad
flushed with delight at this gay acceptance of himself into the
"force."
"No. Say, Miss Lucy, while we're waiting for that man, couldn't I run
down to the store and telephone for the sleighs?"
"_You?_ You--you, _child_? Could you do that?"
"Of course. Why not?"
"You--are so young."
"Oh, I've been around!" said the newsboy, airily.
"I'll do it myself, Tows. I think Miss Armacost would be better
satisfied, and I'd be surer myself," interrupted the reporter. "You
see, lad, it's her picnic."
"O--oh! I thought it was ours."
"So it is. Belongs to all of us."
The gentleman hurried away; and the moment he did so the bell began
again to ring. Towsley, and even Molly, looked frightened, but Miss
Lucy was now able to laugh at the incident; and when Molly asked,
earnestly:
"Do you suppose it _could_ be a ghost, after all?" she replied
indignantly:
"No, indeed. But what the gentleman said has reminded me of something
else. It must be a 'picnic,' after all. It wouldn't do to take those
hungry lads for a ride in the sharp air and then give them nothing to
eat afterward. They will have to be fed. We will have to hunt up a
caterer and hire a hall, I suppose, and----"
Miss Armacost's face expressed the fact that she was undertaking a
vast enterprise, and was rather frightened now by her own temerity.
"Oh! I'll tell you!" cried Molly eagerly.
"Tell what, child?"
"The boarding-house woman! She's the checker!"
"The what?"
"She's the one to feed them! Oh! please! It would be so splendid for
her, She's so poor, and has such trouble to pay rent and keep going.
She is too generous for her own good, father says, and keeps her
house too well. She would cook for them and they could eat in her big
dining-room. There'd be plenty of room, for she takes 'mealers' extra.
Oh! if you say so I'll run and call her over. Do you?"
Miss Armacost felt, for one brief moment, as if she were being turned
out of her own abode. When she decided to adopt Towsley, she did not
decide to open her doors to the whole of Side Street, or even
Newspaper Square. Yet here she was, she--the aristocratic Lucy
Armacost, who had hitherto associated with nobody whose pedigree could
not match her own for length and distinction--here was she, consorting
with newsboys, reporters, daughters of plumbers, boarding-house women,
and what not! What was worse, according to her past ideas, she had
never felt so interested, so warm and comfortable in her heart, in
short so human as she did now. So, after that brief interval of
reflection, she turned toward the bright-eyed Molly and nodded gayly:
"Run, my dear, and ask the lady if she can step over here for a little
while. When the gentleman returns and we learn about the stages, we
will hold a general consultation and get everything settled."
As if in emphasis of her decision again, just then, the door-bell gave
another of its mysterious rings; but to all who heard it there seemed
something quite joyous and full of anticipation in the peal. They all
tuned the sound, in fact, to their own happy thoughts.
Molly laughed and dashed out of the house; Lionel brought a stool and
sat by Miss Lucy's feet, and even old Jefferson ventured across from
the stable to warm himself at the kitchen range, and, incidentally, to
ask if his mistress needed anything.
"Yes, Jefferson, we need your voice in counsel. I have friends with me
this morning. A gentleman, a reporter from the _Express_ office; a
lady from Side Street is expected, and 'Jolly Molly'; besides, your
young master here. We are all planning to give a big sleigh-ride to
all the poor boys in town, or nearly all; and as you know the
prettiest and safest drives about the country, you might tell us where
to go. You see, after a turn in the park, I think they'll all enjoy a
regular country ride. Away and away, where there are evergreens that
they may break, if they choose, and holly bushes bright with berries,
that are not prohibited like private property. You are to take the
horses and our own sleigh and Molly's mother and Molly, while--well,
I'll hunt up somebody to look after the twins while they're gone;
and--here comes the gentleman back, and that must be the electrician
he is bringing with him."
"I've 'phoned for the sleighs and engaged enough to carry all the boys
in the city; but we can't have them till to-morrow!" cried the
reporter gayly. "If I've gone beyond your limit, I'll help foot the
bill. Or I and the other men at the office; I know I can pledge for
them a share of the expense. This is our electrician--and, if you
please, I'll just go down with him and find out what happens. I'm
always interested to 'see things.'"
In a few moments there came out from that lower space where the two
men were working a hearty peal of laughter; and eager to impart the
solution of the ghost story, the reporter rejoined them.
"Mice! Just mice--'and nothing more!'" quoted the amused Mr. Graham.
"_Mice!_ How in the world could mice ring an electric bell?" asked
Miss Armacost, as greatly astonished as relieved.
"Much more easily than any other kind."
Then he went on to explain something about "insulations," "gnawing,"
"running across and completing the circuit," and a deal more of
technical description, which confused Miss Lucy quite as much as it
did all the others who heard it.
"Well," declared the lady, after vainly trying to comprehend what
seemed so exceedingly simple to Mr. Graham and the electrician, "I
don't care at all about all that. Since it's only a mouse, let's
forget that subject and get on to a more interesting one--our picnic
sleigh-ride. Here come Molly and a lady; I suppose the one who is to
help us feed our guests."
It was all very quickly settled, as everything is into which the heart
really enters; the happy boarding-house keeper started for market with
injunctions from Miss Armacost to "spare no expense and select the
best," and quite sure in her own heart that her labor would be well
paid for. Besides, she was so kindly herself that, had there been no
remuneration for her services, she would gladly have given them. Being
a fine cook, and now assured that she would not have to "pinch"
anywhere or run herself into the dreaded "debt," she went to work with
a will; and the stall-keepers down at Lexington Market fairly opened
their eyes at the orders she gave with such a lavish hand.
"Newsboys? sleigh-ride? free dinner afterward? Well, of course we'll
help. No; don't take that turkey. It's an old one. Here; I'll pick out
a lot for you. How many? My sake! That is a heap, indeed! Well, you
just go across and get your cranberries and celery and other stuff,
and I'll send my wagon up with you to carry the whole business."
"Wonderful, how one generous deed begets another!" thought the happy
woman, whose face had lost its chronic expression of worriment, and
who thought nothing of the hours she would have to spend over a hot
range, since her doing so was to help in gladdening the hearts of
earth's unfortunate little ones.
"If the snow will only last!" cried Molly Johns, as she took a last
peep out of the window on the evening before the "sleigh-ride day," as
it was ever after designated.
"Oh! it will last, lassie," answered father Johns, cheerily. "Get you
to bed, my child, and to sleep, if you can. What honors have we come
to, in our humble Side Street! and all because of a little kindness in
the first place. Here are mother and you to go sleighing in a grand
equipage, with feathers flying and a mortal-proud coachy on the front
seat, heading a procession of the wildest, happiest youngsters in the
world. Get you to bed, daughter, without a fear. Do you suppose the
dear Lord will let anything arise to prevent the joy He has planned
for the morrow? No, indeed."
Nothing did arise. At twelve o'clock precisely, because that was the
warmest, sunniest hour of the day, the big, big sleigh which had to be
drawn by eight gray horses, it was so long and awkward, drew into
place in Newspaper Square. There were other sleighs, too, and every
one was heaped with robes and blankets; so that the little half-clad
youngsters who were to ride in them should be well protected from the
cold. There were horns and trumpets--"What is a ride without a
trumpet?" demanded reporter Graham, who provided the rackety
things--and bells and baskets of sandwiches, "just to keep one
contented till the great dinner came on."
So they started, and old Jefferson forgot to be a trifle haughty, as
he realized that he was the leader of that happy, happy procession. Be
sure he led them a lovely road all about the charming park, and then
far beyond, into the open country, where the boys begged to be tumbled
out into a snow-drift for a regular pitched battle.
The halt was made, for who could refuse such a petition from a lad on
his first sleigh-ride? And for as long as the careful drivers would
permit their horses to stand, the snowballs flew through the air, and
the countryside was made to ring with the wild sport and laughter. All
this but aided appetite; and when at last the ride ended in astonished
Side Street, before the doorway of the boarding mistress, every
newsboy was so hungry he declared he "could eat his hat."
"Well, you won't have to!" cried somebody.
There was Doctor Frank, as sure as could be! He wasn't to be left out
of any such good times if he could help it. It was he, with Mr.
Graham, who marshalled the lads into something like order and planted
them all over the boarding mistress' house, wherever a spot could be
found for them to sit. But, if you please, Mr. Graham kept that
tell-tale pad of his right handy, and between whiles how he would
write! For he meant that a thoroughly interesting and inspiring
account of the day should be in that very night's paper.
"So that others may go and do likewise!" he thought, and for once
without the least concern how much "space" he could occupy and be paid
for.
At last it was all over. Everybody had eaten as much as he desired,
and the big sleighs came round to convey the lads back to Newspaper
Square, to the old lives of labor and, alas! poverty; but which were
to be far brighter, for a long time to come, because of that one day's
hilarious enjoyment.
In the cheery back parlor, that evening, Miss Lucy assembled a little
group of people. There were father Johns, and Doctor Frank, and Mr.
Graham; besides Molly and Towsley--I mean Lionel--sitting cosily
together on one of the very same satin sofas of which, such a little
while before, they had both been afraid.
With a slight hesitation, Miss Lucy began:
"I believe that this has been the happiest day of my life. I hope it
is a happiness which will continue, because it is the beginning of a
life for others. But I wish to make that life as wise as possible. I
am afraid of mistakes. I want your advice; the advice of every one
here present. I mean to adopt this boy, Towsley--the new Lionel
Armacost. Tell me, friends, how best can I rear him to be a blessing
to his race?"
For a moment nobody answered; then said father Johns, in his wise,
cheery way:
"Since our boy here is to be the beneficiary, let us hear his idea of
what _he_ would think best."
"Right, right!" said the reporter, who had faith in all his craft.
"Well, am I to tell?" asked the once shy newsboy eagerly.
"Yes, indeed. Tell freely, exactly; without a particle of hesitation."
"Yes, my dear, what would you like your future to be?"
"Well, then, Miss Lucy, I would like first of all to live right here
with you and to make you as happy, to take as good care of you, as I
can. But I wouldn't like to do it all alone! I'd like to have some
other fellows here, too. As many as you could afford to take. I'd like
each one to learn just what he likes. There's the Bugler. He's just
chock full of tunes. If he had a chance he might make beautiful music
some day, like them big duffers what wrote the operas, you know. I'd
give him music lessons if I could. I'd have Battles taught to be a
regular soldier or sailor. He's forever in a row, and he'd ought to do
the right kind of fighting, hadn't he?"
"Very sensibly put, Tows; go on," urged the reporter.
"Shiner's a whittler. He's always cutting things in the door frames
and buildings, and getting scolded by the folks that own them.
He ought to be a carpenter and whittle something worth while.
There--there are others--but I guess I'm planning too much."
"Not a bit, my dear. Yet you say nothing of yourself. What would you
like to become, Lionel?"
"I'd like to learn _everything_; and when I grow up I'll write for a
paper!"
It was such a characteristic wish that all the company laughed. Then
remarked father Johns:
"I reckon, Miss Armacost, that the lad's idea of a 'home,' an
'asylum,' is a place where poor children can be taught to become
useful bread-winners. Apparently, he doesn't think a life of rich
idleness can be the happiest."
"I know!" cried Molly eagerly. "The very thing that first brought him
here. Dear little Towsley wants to _divide his skates_!"
Miss Lucy laughed--such a merry, heart-young laugh, that everybody
forgot her hair was white and laughed with her.
"That's it, Molly; that's just it! We want to share our blessings. We
_will_ divide our skates, my dear; and we'll begin right away. All
that my little Lionel has pointed out shall certainly be done. This
shall become a 'home' indeed; a home of busy thrift, and hard study,
and joyous life, and open generosity. Towsley's experience--of his few
years, shall piece the inexperience of my many; and together, giving
of each other to each other, we will make this a model, practical
'home.'"
"Aye, aye. So you will, so you will, never fear," assured father Johns
cheerily. And so they did.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
words and intent.
2. In the list of books at the beginning of this etext, the titles
were typeset in bold. This is indicated by an equal sign (=) before
and after the boldface type.