IT is time to follow the little blind boy to his new home. After a
short time the sleigh turned into a quiet, narrow street and stopped
before a small house. There was a look of unusual neatness about it,
from the carefully brushed steps to the freshly washed windows and
spotless curtains. The small bay window of the front parlor was filled
with plants and trailing vines, and in the midst of them hung a shining
brass bird-cage, the bird singing so loudly that his blithe voice
reached the ears of the occupants of the sleigh.
The front door was thrown open, not just far enough for a person to
enter, but _wide_ open as if in welcome, and in the doorway stood a
stout woman with gray hair and a motherly, smiling face.
“Here is the new boy I have brought you, Mrs. Hanlon,” said Mr.
Ledwell, “and I think you will find him as good as they make them.”
“I am sure I shall, sir,” she replied in a cheery voice that just
suited her pleasant face; as she looked down at the blind boy’s patient
face, she added to herself, “poor little soul!”
“You must manage to make him as plump and rosy as Sam is,” said Mr.
Ledwell. “If you can’t do it, I don’t know who can.”
“I will do my best, sir, never fear,” replied Mrs. Hanlon; “but come
in out of the cold, sir. I hope you will be satisfied with the room
I’ve fixed up for the little boy. I took the front chamber up one
flight, because you said he must have all the sun he could get, and the
furniture you sent for it is beautiful.”
She led the way upstairs, holding Billy fast by the hand. The blind
boy’s keen instinct, as soon as he heard the pleasant voice and felt
the kind touch of her hands, told him into what motherly care he had
fallen, and he followed her with perfect confidence. She opened the
door of the chamber that was now to be his, and even Sam, accustomed to
every luxury in his beautiful home, thought this one of the prettiest
rooms he had ever seen.
“Oh, Billy,” he exclaimed excitedly, “you don’t know how pretty it is.
There’s a little white bed with beautiful pink roses all over it, and
a little white bureau, and white chairs, and there are pretty white
curtains at the windows tied back with pink ribbons; and there are such
be-au-ti-ful plants in the window, and there are real nice pictures
hanging around. There’s a dog that looks just like Fire-Jack.”
“This is your own little room, Billy,” said kind Mr. Ledwell, “and I
hope you will be very happy here. Before long, you know, you will be
able to see for yourself how everything looks.”
“Yes,” said Sam, eagerly, “it’s only a few days now until Christmas,
and I’m praying away like everything.”
“Oh, the dear child!” said Mrs. Hanlon, watching Sam’s excited face.
“It may not come quite so soon as Christmas, Sam,” Grandpapa said.
“Oh, yes, it will, Grandpapa,” replied Sam, confidently. “It’s to be my
Christmas present, you know. Didn’t my little pony come when I asked
for it?”
“Well, I hope it will,” answered Grandpapa, “but you mustn’t be
disappointed if it doesn’t come the very day you expect it.”
“Why, of course it will! You see if it doesn’t!” said Sam, with his
decided nod.
Mrs. Hanlon had indeed made a very attractive room with the aid of the
furniture Mr. Ledwell had so generously given. “He is one who never
does anything by halves,” Mrs. Hanlon had said, when she saw the neat
white furniture. A cheap, brightly figured spread for the bed and
simple curtains for the windows, in which she placed a few of her many
plants, made a pretty, cosey room. Mr. Ledwell had also sent a few
pictures of children and animals that would take the fancy of any boy
or girl.
“Well,” said Mr. Ledwell, at last, “now that we have seen Billy so
comfortably settled in his new home, we must be thinking about our own
home. Grandmamma will think we are lost if we are not in season for
lunch.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think she will,” answered Sam.
Then Grandpapa saw that Sam evidently had something on his mind,
because he was not ready to start, as he usually was. “What is it,
Sam?” he asked.
“I am thinking that it will be kind of lonesome here for Billy the very
first day,” replied Sam. “Couldn’t I stay to lunch with him?”
“I think it would be more polite to wait till you are invited, Sam,”
said Mr. Ledwell.
“Oh, do let him stay to dinner, sir,” said Mrs. Hanlon, eagerly. “He
hasn’t been here for a long time, and I have missed him dreadfully.”
“I am afraid it will put you to too much trouble,” answered Mr. Ledwell.
“No, indeed, sir, it’s no trouble at all. It’s a real pleasure.”
“Well, if you are sure he will not be in the way, I will leave him.”
So Sam was allowed to stay to lunch, with Billy, and it would be hard
to say which was the more pleased with the arrangement.
One of the greatest treats Sam knew, was to occasionally make a visit
to this old friend of the family. He was treated like a king on these
visits, for Mrs. Hanlon thought that nothing could be too good for the
son of the baby she had nursed. She always cooked the dishes she knew
he liked, and then followed what he liked best of all,—stories about
his papa when he was a little boy.
“I think these are the very prettiest dishes I ever saw,” said Sam, as
they sat down at the neatly spread table in the cosey dining-room. “I
wish we had some just like them.”
[Illustration]
“They ain’t much by the side of the beautiful ones you have at home.”
“Oh, yes, they are,” replied Sam. “You ought to see them, Billy.
They’ve got beautiful red and yellow flowers painted all around the
edges.”
“Things always look and taste better to us when we’re out visiting than
when we’re at home,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “I don’t see what makes you like
to come here so well, Sam, when you have everything so nice at home.”
“I like your _food_,” replied Sam, “it is a great deal nicer than what
we have.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Hanlon.
Somehow it happened that the dinner was what Sam liked best, and he
thought it very strange; but Mrs. Hanlon wanted the little blind boy to
feel at home as soon as possible, and she had what she thought the boys
would like.
There was beafsteak that Sam liked so much, and baked potatoes,
that Mrs. Hanlon always let him open and spread himself, and sweet
cranberry sauce, exactly the way he liked it, and hot biscuits, as
white and fluffy as cotton wool when he broke them open, so much nicer
than the cold rolls or bread and butter he had at home. Then, when they
had eaten all these things, there was a nice little pudding with the
cold, hard sauce Sam liked so well.
The best part of this was that Sam was allowed to prepare his own food
all by himself, instead of having it cut up for him just as if he were
a baby. To be sure, his knife sometimes slipped when he was cutting
his meat, and a little gravy would be spilled on the white tablecloth;
and once or twice a piece of meat flew off his plate and lighted in
the middle of the table, but Mrs. Hanlon didn’t care one bit, and she
thought he did splendidly, so Sam didn’t feel badly at all about it.
Poor Billy had to have his food prepared for him, but he managed to
feed himself very well, and everything tasted as good to him as it did
to Sam. There was very little talking during the dinner, both boys
were so hungry, but when they were through and Mrs. Hanlon was washing
the dishes in the little pantry, they followed her there. Sam told
her all about the Christmas presents he was to give, all except the
one he had for her, and he told her she must hang up the very largest
stocking she had, and he was afraid the present wouldn’t go in then.
She must hang up one for Billy, too, he said, because he would have
some presents.
“Does Santa Claus bring all the presents, Sam?” asked poor little
Billy, whose experience in presents had been very limited.
“No,” replied Sam, very decidedly, “I don’t believe he does. Why, he
couldn’t get around to all the places, you know. Even God Himself would
have to hustle.”
“Did I ever tell you what your papa did one Christmas, Sam?” asked Mrs.
Hanlon.
“No, you never did. Do tell us, please.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Hanlon, as she wrung out her dishcloth, “you two boys
go into the parlor, and just as soon as I get my dishes put away I’ll
come in and tell you about it.”
So the two boys went into the parlor to wait for the promised story,
and Sam, to while away the time, told Billy about the present he had
for Mrs. Hanlon, first extracting a solemn promise that he would keep
the secret to himself, and not on any account breathe a word of it to
Mrs. Hanlon. Billy having pledged his word, Sam in a loud whisper,
which could easily have reached the ears of their hostess if she had
happened to be listening, explained that his Grandmamma had bought a
warm fur muff for her, and that he had bought her a beautiful necktie,
all with his own money which he had saved for the purpose.
“Now be sure you don’t tell her, Billy, for it would spoil all her
pleasure if she knew what was coming;” and Billy once more promised
solemnly not to breathe a word about it.
“You mustn’t hint, either, Billy, for that is just as bad; she might
guess, you know;” and Billy promised to be on his guard.
Soon Mrs. Hanlon came in, and seating herself in her sewing-chair, took
up some mending and announced that she was ready to begin her story.
Sam drew a low chair close to hers for Billy, seating himself directly
in front of her, where he could keep his eyes on her face and not lose
a single word.
“We’re all ready, Mrs. Hanlon,” said Sam, hitching his hassock a little
nearer in his impatience to have her begin.
“Well, Sam, when your papa was a little boy younger than you are, he
had a little bank made of iron and painted to look just like a real
bank where they keep money. It had a chimney on top with a hole big
enough to drop a nickel in, and he used to save all he got and drop
them in that way. He said he was going to keep putting them in until it
was full, and then he was going to open it and buy Christmas presents
with the money. It would have taken a bank as big as the State House to
hold nickels enough to buy all the presents he promised. He was going
to give me a gold watch and chain and ever so many other things that
cost ever so much. And he was going to give Cook a silk dress and a
pair of gold spectacles, and if he had money enough he said he should
buy her a little horse and carriage to take her to church in, because
she had grown kind of lame standing on her feet so much cooking. He had
promised all the others just as handsome presents, and he was so happy
talking about them that we enjoyed them as much as if we really had
them.
“Well, a few days before Christmas he was out walking with me, and we
passed a store not far from where we lived that was full of beautiful
candy of all kinds. In front of the windows there was a group of poor
children looking in and enjoying the bright paper boxes and plates
piled up with tempting candy.
“They were all talking together and saying what kinds of candy they
would give one another if they had money enough to buy it. They looked
real happy, too, choosing the candy they didn’t have any money to buy.
“‘Poor things!’ I said, ‘I don’t suppose they will have any Christmas
presents at all.’
“‘Haven’t they got any money at all?’ your papa asks.
“‘No, I don’t suppose they ever had a cent of their own, unless
somebody gave it to them.’
“‘Don’t they ever have any candy at all, or any Christmas presents?’
asks your papa.
“‘I don’t believe they do,’ I answers, ‘but they look just as happy as
if they did, and candy isn’t good for little folks, it makes them sick.’
“‘It doesn’t make me sick,’ says your papa, ‘and it tastes real good.’
“He looked very hard at the children, and I could see he felt very
badly about their not having any candy, and pretty soon I took him
home, for I didn’t want him to worry.
“Well, after we got home, your grandmamma called me into her chamber to
do something for her, and I left your papa looking out of the nursery
window at the passing. I often left him alone with the door open, and
he played nicely by himself. It took me quite a little time to do what
your grandmamma wanted of me, and when I went back to the nursery, not
a sign of your papa was to be seen. I thought perhaps he had slipped
down to the kitchen, he was so fond of talking to Cook, so I didn’t
feel anxious about him; but when I went down to the kitchen and found
he was not there, I can tell you I was pretty well scared. I hunted
through the house, but not a soul had seen him. The parlor girl said
she had heard the front door open a little while before, but she didn’t
notice who went out.
“All at once I thought of those children looking in at the candy store,
that your father had felt so sorry for. So off I started for it, and I
can tell you it didn’t take me very long to get there. Well, what do
you think I saw?”
“I don’t know,” replied Sam, breathlessly; “what was it?”
“Well, there stood your papa without any hat or coat on, and with his
little bank under one arm. He had unlocked it, and he was giving out
the nickels to the children just as fast as he could take them out,
bless his warm little heart! I never saw such a sight of children as
there were about him; where they could come from in such a little time
was a mystery; but there they were, crowding around him, and as fast as
one got a nickel, off he would run, and I don’t doubt sent others back
too.
“I can see your papa now just as plain as if it was yesterday. There
he stood in his little black velvet suit, with his hair blowing every
which way, and his eyes shining like stars, he was so happy.
“He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, and called out, just as
happy, ‘They can have Christmas presents now, Mary. They have all got
some money, and they can buy just what they’ve a mind to.’
“‘What in the world shall I do without my gold watch and chain, and all
the other nice presents you were going to give me?’ I says.
“He looks rather crestfallen for a minute, as if that side of the
question hadn’t occurred to him before; then he says brightly,—
“‘You won’t mind waiting till next Christmas, will you, Mary? Papa will
give me some money to buy something for you with, and these poor little
children didn’t have any money at all.’”
“What did Grandpapa and Grandmamma say to him when he got home?” asked
Sam.
“Oh, bless you, they didn’t mind. He was a real chip off the old block.
In their family giving comes as easily as breathing.”
Other stories followed this one, and by and by the sleigh came to
take Sam home; and Billy bade him good-bye without a single homesick
feeling. What little homeless child _could_ have failed to feel at home
in such surroundings?