THE next morning when the firemen were up and dressed, the blind boy
was still asleep. He looked even paler by daylight than he had the
night before, and his thin cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes
gave him a pathetic look.
“It would be a pity to send the blind kid off while he looks like
that. Let’s put some flesh on his bones and some color into his cheeks
first,” said soft-hearted Reordan.
“How do you propose to manage? Taking care of kids and running
fire-engines don’t go very well together,” said the captain.
“The work sha’n’t suffer,” replied Reordan. “A chap of his age, and
blind at that, that has looked after himself, won’t need much tending,
and the little he’ll need to eat won’t lighten my pocket much.”
“Well, then, keep him for a day or so if you like, I’ve no objections,”
replied the captain. “Here’s something toward his keep;” and he placed
a bill in Reordan’s hand.
“We’ll all chip in,” said another. “Here, Jack, pass around the hat for
the blind kid.”
The Fire-Dog took the hat in his mouth with great alacrity, and gravely
went from one to another of the men, each one of whom put in some
change.
“Reordan shall be treasurer of the blind kid’s fund,” said one.
“There’s enough already to buy more than he can eat in a week,” replied
Reordan, shaking up the hat to enjoy the jingling sound of the coins.
“Please will you show me where I can wash?” asked a gentle voice; and
there stood the blind kid, who had approached unnoticed. “If you will
show me once, I can find it for myself afterwards.”
“Here you are, young man,” replied Reordan, leading him to the sink
where the men washed. “Here’s the water-faucet, and here’s the soap;
and while you’re making your toilet I’ll step out and fetch your
breakfast.”
“Why not take him along with us?” asked one of the men.
“He isn’t in just the rig for a cold morning,” replied Reordan. “The
looks of the thing, to say nothing of his own feelings, goes against
it. Wait till he has a hat and coat. I’ll fetch his breakfast, and
while he’s eating it we’ll go for ours.”
“And when we come back we’ll hear his story, and see what account he
has to give of himself,” said another.
The boy made himself quite tidy, considering the poor clothes he had
on; and the men, after seating him at the table with a good breakfast
before him, went out for theirs.
How good it did taste to the poor little waif! Only hot coffee and
buttered rolls, but it was a feast for the poor child, who for several
weeks had eaten his meals whenever he could get them, and little enough
at that.
As the boy sat contentedly eating his breakfast, a slight sound near
his feet attracted his attention. “Is that you, Jack?” he quickly asked.
Jack replied by licking his hand and pressing closely to his side.
“Dear Jack!” said the blind boy, fondly laying his cheek upon the
faithful dog’s head. “If you hadn’t nestled so closely to me last night
and kept me warm, I believe I should have frozen to death. Here, you
shall have part of my breakfast, I don’t need it all;” and he offered
the Fire-Dog a generous piece of his buttered roll.
Jack took the offering very reluctantly, as if he would have preferred
to have the blind boy eat it himself, but accepted it in order not to
hurt his new friend’s feelings.
“You eat so slowly, I don’t believe it tastes so good to you as it does
to me, Jack,” said the blind boy, as Jack slowly chewed the soft roll,
“and it has butter on it too. I should think you would like that.”
Jack was trying hard to dispose of a mouthful his kind little friend
had just given him when the firemen returned from their breakfast. In
fact, Jack _did_ like the bread, but he thought he ought not to take
the blind boy’s breakfast. He looked really ashamed of himself when the
men entered and Reordan remarked,—
“Why, you mustn’t give your breakfast away to Jack, young chap, you
must eat it yourself. We’ve brought him some leavings from the place
where we take our meals, that he likes a great deal better than what
you’ve got. Aren’t you hungry, kid? Don’t you like your breakfast?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied the boy, quickly. “It tastes splendid; but Jack
was so good to me last night that I wanted to give him some of it.”
“Don’t you worry about him, Sonny,” replied one of the men. “We’ll look
out for Jack all right;” and he opened a package of bones and scraps
of meat which he set before Jack.
“Now, if you’ve had all you want to eat,” said the captain, who just
then entered, “suppose you give an account of yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy.
“Well,” said the captain, after waiting a moment in vain for the boy to
begin his story. “Where do you come from, and what’s your name? Haven’t
you got any father and mother?”
“My name is William,” replied the boy, “William Blake. I haven’t got
any father. He used to go to sea, and his ship got lost and they were
all drowned.”
“Haven’t you got any mother?” asked the captain.
The boy hesitated a moment. Then his lips began to tremble with
emotion, and after making several attempts to answer, he put his hands
before his sightless eyes and burst into violent weeping.
The tender-hearted men were overcome at the sight of the child’s
grief. He tried to stifle the sobs that shook his slender frame, but
his grief was too great for him to master. The brave men who never
hesitated to enter a burning building to rescue those who were in
danger, who never thought of their own lives when those of others were
menaced, broke down to see a little blind boy crying for his mother.
“Is your mother dead too?” asked the captain in a low voice, a great
contrast to his usual hearty tones.
“No, I don’t think she is. I don’t know,” sobbed the boy.
“Don’t you know where she is?” asked the captain, gently.
“No, sir,” replied the boy, trying hard to speak distinctly. “She fell
down, and she couldn’t speak to me nor move, and then they carried her
off in a wagon.”
“Don’t you know where they took her?”
“No, sir, they didn’t say anything about it.”
“Wasn’t there any one to look after you?”
“No, sir. There wasn’t any one who knew me.”
“What did you do then? Where did you go?”
“I didn’t know where to go. Some children came along and found me
crying, and they were real good to me. They said they knew a place
where I could stay until my mother came back. So they took me home with
them, and put me in a little room there was at the top of the house.”
“How did you manage to keep warm in this cold weather?”
“The children found some things to put over me. They got some hay from
a stable and made me a bed. It wasn’t very cold after I got used to it.”
“They probably took his mother to a hospital,” said the captain,
“unless she was—” He didn’t like to finish his sentence, for he had not
the heart to tell the poor boy that his mother might be dead.
“Come, little chap,” he continued, “dry your eyes and put a good face
on the matter. We will try to hunt up your mother, and we’ll look out
for you.”
“This is no place for a child,” said the captain later to the men. “You
can keep him here a day or two, and then you must turn him over to the
charities. Perhaps they’ll find his mother; at any rate, it is their
business to attend to such cases.”
The men thought this doctrine rather hard, and grumbled at it somewhat
among themselves. When, however, the next day, the captain brought in
a large bundle, saying briefly, as he laid it down, “Here is something
for the kid,” they changed their minds. The bundle contained a warm
overcoat, cap, and mittens.
The blind boy began at once to show the effects of the kind treatment
he now received. A better color came into his pale face and he grew
stronger every day. With this improvement of his body, his mind, too,
underwent a change. His face became cheerful and happy, and he was soon
playing about the engine-house with Jack.
“He begins to seem something like a child,” remarked Reordan one
evening, as Jack and the blind boy were playing together at “hide and
seek,” and the boy’s laugh rang out joyously whenever Jack found out
his hiding-place. “If he could only see, he’d be all right.”
It was astonishing how much the blind boy could do without the aid of
eyes, and in how many ways he succeeded in making himself useful. He
was never so happy as when he found he could do something for his kind
friends, and they often called upon him for little services that they
could have done much more quickly themselves, in order that he might
have the satisfaction of thinking he was of some use to them.
William was too long a name for such a small boy, in the opinion of the
firemen, so they used Billy instead. Several days passed, and yet Billy
was not turned over to the charities. An engine-house seems a strange
place for a child’s home, but Billy soon thought it the pleasantest
place in the world. Whenever the alarm sounded, Billy was as excited
even as Jack over it, and after the engine had clattered out of the
house, and the last sound of wheels and horses’ hoofs and Jack’s
barking had died away in the distance, Billy waited contentedly alone;
and every one, including Jack, was glad to see Billy’s face light up
with pleasure on their return. It was a touch of home life that was
very pleasant to these sturdy men who were denied the privilege of a
home.
“You ought not to keep the boy cooped up in this hot room all the
time,” remarked the captain one day. “Put on his things and send him
out on the sidewalk in the sun. No harm can come to him if he keeps in
front of the engine-house.”
So Billy had on his new coat and cap and mittens, and was led down to
the sidewalk, where the sun was shining brightly.
“Watch him, Jack!” was Reordan’s order, as the Fire-Dog followed them.
So Billy and Jack walked up and down in front of the engine-house,
Billy with his hand resting on Jack’s neck, and the intelligent dog
marching him back and forth with the regularity of a sentinel on guard.
The fresh air brought the color into Billy’s cheeks, and he looked very
happy and bright. When they had kept up this exercise for about half
an hour, two persons appeared, at whose approach Jack showed decided
symptoms of pleasure. He wagged his tail very fast, and whined with joy.
The new-comers were a middle-aged gentleman and a little boy somewhat
younger than Billy,—a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy, with a very
independent air, and he carried a little basket in his hand. The
gentleman was the little boy’s grandfather. I wish I could describe
him as he really was, but the nearest I can come to it is to say that
he was just the kind every boy and girl would choose if they had a
whole world full of grandpapas to choose from. Such a pleasant smile
when he looked at you! And such a pleasant voice when he spoke to you!
Why, you felt happier all the rest of the day after meeting him if
he only shook hands with you and said, “How do you do?” His laugh was
even pleasanter still, and he laughed very often; and when he was not
laughing his eyes were, they had such a happy, cheerful expression.
Billy could not _see_ the pleasant face, but he could hear the pleasant
voice, and those who have not the use of their eyes have something
within them that tells them how people look. So Billy formed a picture
in his mind of the little boy’s grandpapa, and Billy smiled too when
the little boy’s grandpapa spoke, as everybody else did.
“Jack, Jack, I’ve brought something nice for you, old fellow,” said
the little boy, whose name was Sam, and who had been eying Billy very
intently.
“What little boy is this?” asked Sam’s grandpapa. “Seems to me this is
a new face.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the blind boy. “I am Billy.”
“Oh. You are Billy! Well, where did you come from?”
“It’s a boy we found one night at the North End, Mr. Ledwell, and he
is blind,” said Reordan, who stood in the door of the engine-house and
now approached, touching his hat respectfully. “He didn’t have any one
to look after him, and some children took him in tow and hid him in a
kind of closet at the top of the tenement-house they lived in. When the
house got on fire, they cleared out so sudden that nobody thought of
the blind kid. If it hadn’t been for Jack here, he’d ’a’ been smothered
in a short time, the smoke was so thick. It isn’t the first life Jack
has saved.”
“Good old boy,” said Mr. Ledwell, patting the faithful dog’s head;
while Jack wagged his tail gently and looked modestly down, for it
always embarrassed him to be praised for what he considered his duty.
Meanwhile Sam was unpacking his basket, and Jack tried to be polite and
not to stare greedily at the tempting contents. He could not resist
the temptation, however, of looking out of the corner of one eye. What
he saw fairly made his mouth water. There were slices of cold meat,
none of your thin delicate ones, but nice _thick_ slices, just the kind
every dog likes, and, most delicious of all, there was a large bone
with tender morsels of meat on it, to say nothing of several mouthfuls
of gristle. Jack couldn’t help lapping his chops, as he thought of the
good time he would have gnawing that bone and cracking it to get at the
rich tasting marrow inside.
Sam handed Jack a slice of the meat, and he gave it just one roll with
his tongue and then swallowed it whole. Meat tastes better to dogs
eaten in that way,—they think it takes the taste out of it to chew it
too much. Another and still another slice followed, while Sam looked
contentedly on, enjoying the operation as much as the dog did.
“I think you’d better save the rest for his dinner, Reordan,” remarked
Sam, with his decided air. “He can have this bone, too, then, and I
have brought some of the cake he likes so much. You had better keep
that for his dessert;” and Sam took out a package of cake neatly
wrapped in paper.
The crumbs that remained in the basket were emptied upon the snow in
front of the engine-house, and the crumbs from a roll added to them.
Several sparrows seated on the roof of the building peered anxiously
over, intending to seize the first opportunity that presented itself to
eat them.
“Don’t let the sparrows eat all of them, Reordan,” said Sam, who had
very strict ideas of justice; “they must save some for the pigeons.
How’s the little lame pigeon?”
“He seemed to be all right the last time I saw him,” replied Reordan.
“Does Dick the Scrapper fight him away as much as ever?” asked Sam.
“Well, yes, he does hustle him around considerable when they are
feeding and he gets in the way; but that’s always the way with animals,
you know. The strongest ones get the first chance, and the others have
to take back seats.”
“I think it’s a very mean way,” said Sam. “I should think you’d stand
there with a stick and keep the Scrapper off while the lame one eats.”
“Oh, we’ll look after the little lame fellow, never fear. He’s as fat
as a partridge. He gets tamer every day, too. Yesterday he lit right on
my hand and stayed there quite a spell.”
“I wish he’d come around now,” said Sam.
“He will turn up very likely before you go. They come around pretty
often. The sparrows get ahead of them, though, they are so cute.”
Meanwhile Sam’s grandpapa was talking to the captain about the little
blind boy who had been so suddenly thrown upon their hands. Sam knew
what they were talking about, and he felt sure that his grandpapa would
find some way to make the blind boy happy, for Grandpapa could do
anything, he thought. Sam felt very sorry that the little boy could not
see, and he looked at him a long time. At last he said,—
“Hallo, Billy!”
“Hallo!” answered Billy in his soft voice; and the acquaintance was
begun.
“Here come the pigeons,” said Reordan, as a flock of birds came
sweeping around the corner of the street, and alighted in front of the
children. They at once began gobbling up the crumbs scattered for them,
while the sparrows flew down, and darting in among them, seized upon
the largest ones right from under the pigeons’ very eyes, flying up to
the roof to eat them in safety.
Among the pigeons was a speckled black and white one with very pink
feet; but one of his feet he kept drawn up against his soft feathers
and hopped about on the other one. He did not have a very fair chance
with the other stronger pigeons, for they crowded him out of the way,
and even pecked him when he attempted to seize upon a piece of bread.
The most quarrelsome of the pigeons was a handsome dark blue one with
rainbow feathers on his neck that glistened in the sunlight. This was
Dick the Scrapper. He had a very bold air, as if he had a better
right to the food than the others had. Sam was very indignant at his
treatment of the lame pigeon, and suddenly drove them all off except
the little lame one. The little speckled pigeon seemed to understand
what this was done for, and remained behind and ate a hearty meal. The
others were not much afraid of Sam, for they were very tame, but every
time they attempted to alight he would shoo them away. This he kept
up until he thought that the lame pigeon had eaten all he wanted, and
then he allowed the others to return. He picked up the lame pigeon and
it nestled contentedly in his arm. Billy caressed it too, and the two
children began to talk together, while Jack stood near by, wagging his
tail approvingly.
At last Mr. Ledwell came back to where the children were playing with
the lame pigeon, and they heard him say to the captain,—
“This will do very well for a little while, but of course you can’t
keep him here. We must find some other place for him.”
These words made Billy feel very sad, for he had become much attached
to his new home, and thought that if he were sent away, he would be
homeless and friendless again. The little pigeon who was lying in his
arms heard it too, and his bright eyes saw the look of disappointment
that came over the blind boy’s face. Jack, too, heard it, and made up
his mind that Billy should not leave the engine-house unless he went
too.
“I rather think that as I was the means of saving the boy’s life, I
have a right to say something about the matter,” said Jack to himself.
“They all think a great deal of me, and if I say he shall stay, I
rather think he _will_ stay.”