SOMEHOW or other on Christmas morning everything takes on a festive,
joyous tone. The very sleigh-bells seem to ring out more merrily than
usual, and the children’s voices in their play seem more joyous than
on other days. Even the shy sparrows seem to grow bolder, and twitter
more loudly than usual. The dogs, too, seem possessed of unusually gay
spirits, and bound through the streets as if they were thinking of the
good Christmas dinner that awaits them.
The two little boys in the sleigh felt this Christmas influence and
partook of the prevailing joyous spirit. We will leave them for a time
and return to some other acquaintances,—the three children who had
cared for the lost Toby.
Great was the grief of the children when they saw the little dog turned
out into the cold, dark streets, but they did not dare to express
their feelings before their father. Directly after supper they went to
bed, and the mother soon went in to their rooms to comfort them. The
two girls were nearly heart-broken, but the mother reminded them that
the little dog would be likely to seek the shed for shelter, and she
promised to look after him and give him a good supper.
“He wanted some of the sausages so much,” sobbed Maysie, “and I ate up
the piece I was saving for him, and I am so sorry!”
“He shall have some sausage, dear, so don’t worry so about him. I will
cover him up with something warm, and in the morning you can take him
to the home for lost dogs. They will find a good place for him, I am
sure, a much better one than we could give him.”
This hopeful prospect comforted the little girls, and from them the
mother sought Johnny in his dark bedroom. He was lying very still,
and answered in a voice that he tried to make sound as usual, but the
mother knew he was trying hard to make it cheerful. As with a loving
hand she put back the hair from his forehead, she felt it hot, and as
her hand brushed against his cheeks she found them moist, and she knew
he had been crying, although he tried so hard to conceal the fact.
“Don’t fret about the little dog, Johnny,” said the kind mother. “He’ll
be sure to go to the shed where you kept him before, and I’ll look
after him.”
“It was so mean to send him out, and this such a cold night, too!”
exclaimed Johnny, indignantly.
“Hush, dear!” said the gentle mother. “You mustn’t forget that Father
is tired and things worry him. He didn’t mean to be unkind.”
“It was awfully mean,” replied Johnny, “and him such a little fellow,
too!”
Then the mother told of her plan to send the little dog to the refuge
provided for all homeless animals, and, as she drew the pleasant
picture of the home the little wanderer would be sure to find, Johnny
allowed himself to be comforted as his sisters had been, and, feeling
that Mother would look after the wandering dog, he forgot his anxieties
and fell asleep.
We have seen how the mother found the forsaken dog and fed and warmed
him, and how he at last found shelter in the very home to which they
intended to carry him.
The following morning when the children hastened to the shed they found
it empty, and great was their grief. They searched for him for days, of
course without avail. Oh, if they could have seen the little creature
in the happy home he had found!
On Christmas morning they were almost wild with delight at the presents
kind Mrs. Ledwell had sent them. As for Maysie, she could hardly
believe that she was the owner of such a beautiful doll, and she
handled it with great awe.
“I really believe that Santa Claus heard what I said!” exclaimed
Maysie. “You know the lady said he had very sharp ears.”
The big turkey, too, gave the children almost as much pleasure, and
they crowded around the mother while she cleaned it, and singed off the
pin-feathers by holding it over a piece of burning newspaper. They had
to see it safely stowed away in the oven, too; such a large, handsome
turkey had never come their way before.
“Now you had better all go and take a walk in the streets where the
nice houses are,” said Mother. “The windows will be all trimmed up
with wreaths and garlands, and perhaps you will get a sight of some
Christmas-trees, for people often have them Christmas Eve.”
The mother thought it as well to get the children out of the way for a
while, for she did not have a Christmas dinner to cook every day, and
she wanted to do full justice to all the good things sent them; and how
could she do this with three curious children following her about and
getting under foot at every step?
So the three started, Hannah wearing her new chatelaine bag in a
position in which she decided it would show to the greatest advantage,
Johnny proudly drawing his new sled after him, and Maysie with her doll
perched on her arm in a position to show off her beautiful clothes and
at the same time take in the sights. The lost dog was not forgotten,
and at every step they were on the lookout, hoping to catch a glimpse
of him at any moment.
Their way led by the engine-house, in front of which lay the Fire-Dog,
finishing one of the large bones that the blind boy had brought him for
a Christmas present. They stopped to pat him and to look at a flock of
pigeons feeding there. They watched the large blue pigeon, Dick the
Scrapper, who walked in among them snapping up the best morsels and
pecking any of the pigeons who came in his way. They noticed, too, the
handsome white squab, so strong and yet so mild-looking; but the one
that pleased them most of all was the lame black and white pigeon. He
was so tame that he ate out of their hands and even allowed them to
stroke his feathers.
The lame pigeon soon began to act in a very strange manner. He would
fly a few steps, and then look back at the children as if he expected
them to follow him. This he did so many times the children were certain
this was what he wanted. So they followed, and as soon as the little
lame pigeon saw this he flew off again, waiting for them to overtake
him. This was kept up until the children found themselves in a part of
the city where they had never before been.
“We mustn’t go any farther,” said Hannah, “or we shall be late for
dinner, and Mother will be anxious.”
“I am very hungry,” said Maysie, as visions of the beautiful turkey
roasting in the oven rose before her mind, “and my feet are very tired
too.”
“It can’t be much farther,” said Johnny, “and I am certain that the
little pigeon wants something. You just sit on my sled, Maysie, and
I’ll give you a ride.”
This plan was very agreeable to Maysie, and she seated herself on the
sled with her doll in her lap, while her brother and sister drew her
over the snow.
They had not much farther to go. To their surprise the lame pigeon
turned in at a driveway and flew toward a large brick building enclosed
by high walls.
“What can it mean?” said Hannah. Perhaps the little lame pigeon didn’t
mean anything, after all.
But the little lame pigeon did mean something. He had recognized the
children as the ones who took little Billy home when his mother had
fallen in the street, and he had taken this means to induce them to
follow him and discover the sick woman at one of the windows of the
hospital. With a noisy fluttering of his wings he flew up to one of the
windows and alighted on the sill. A pale, sick-looking woman was seated
in a chair close to the window, and the children saw a nurse come to
the window and open it. In hopped the little lame pigeon and alighted
on an arm of the sick woman’s chair.
“Why, Johnny!” exclaimed Hannah. “Do you mind the face of the sick
woman up there? It is blind Billy’s mother.”
“How do you know it is?” asked Johnny. “You never saw her but the once.”
“I know that, but I minded her hair, because it is just like Billy’s,
so soft and curly, and she looks just the way Billy’s mother looked.”
“Perhaps they brought her here because it is a place where they put
sick people,” said Johnny, who was convinced by his sister’s positive
manner.
“Now, if we only knew where Billy is, it would be all right,” said
Hannah.
“Perhaps she has found him,” said Johnny.
“I don’t believe she has, because she would look happy, and just see
the sad look of her!”
The sick woman did indeed present a forlorn appearance, even the
children’s young eyes could detect that, as she sat with her head laid
against the back of the chair, stroking the feathers of the little
pigeon.
They stood looking up at the window for some time, and gazing curiously
at the large building before them.
“I suppose it is full of sick people,” said Johnny.
“I wonder if there are any little children there!” said Hannah. “Do you
suppose the sick people know it is Christmas Day?”
This reminded Maysie of the Christmas dinner cooking at home, and she
exclaimed:
“I am just as hungry as I can be, and I know it is ever so long after
dinner-time.”
The other two children now became aware of the fact that they were
hungry too, and, fearing to be late to dinner, they set off on a run
toward home, with Maysie on the sled. Before they had gone far, they
heard the jingle of sleigh-bells and the voices of children coming up
behind them, and seeing a large sleigh and pair of horses in the road,
they drew the sled to one side to allow it to pass.
In the sleigh sat a gentleman and two little boys. The children at once
recognized the pleasant face of the gentleman. He was the one who had
bought the cakes for Maysie. It would have been strange if they had not
recognized him, for where was there another such sweet-tempered, happy
countenance, and who else possessed such a pleasant, genial voice? So
intent were they in watching the gentleman that they did not look at
the two boys who were with him until just as the sleigh, which went
slowly, was opposite them, they caught a glimpse of the little blind
boy.
“Billy! Oh, Billy! Is that you?” screamed the two elder children in one
breath.
“Stop!” called Mr. Ledwell to the driver, and the sleigh stopped in
front of the children.
The blind boy had heard their voices, and recognized them with the
quick perception that the blind possess. He turned quite pale with
excitement, and stood up in the sleigh.
“Where are you?” he cried, feeling about him with outstretched hands.
“Here we are,” said Hannah, coming close to the sleigh. “The three of
us are here. Oh, Billy, we didn’t know what had become of you and we
were awfully sorry.”
“And your mother is over in that big house yonder!” exclaimed Johnny,
excitedly. “We saw her sitting up at the window, and she looks awful
sick!”
“Oh, Mother! Mother!” screamed Billy, struggling to free himself from
the fur robe in order to get out of the sleigh. “Please, Mr. Ledwell,
let me go to my mother! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” and the
poor child, feeling his utter helplessness, sank back upon his seat and
burst into tears.
“Try to compose yourself, Billy,” said Mr. Ledwell, kindly, “and we
will find out all about it, and if your mother is really here you
shall be taken to her at once.”
He then questioned the children, who told him about the lame pigeon
who made them follow him, and who flew up to a window of the big house
where they saw Billy’s mother.
“I am sure it was Billy’s mother,” said Hannah, positively, “because I
minded her hair and the look of her face.”
Mr. Ledwell turned back, and going in to the hospital made inquiries
concerning the sick woman the children had seen at the window. They
were not mistaken, and in a few minutes Billy was in his mother’s arms.
After the excitement of the meeting had passed, Billy told his mother
all that had happened since the dreadful day when she was taken away
from him. He told of the kind children who had given him all they had
to give, a shelter and what food they could spare, and how Jack the
Fire-Dog saved his life. He told, too, about the kind-hearted firemen
and his life at the engine-house, and about Sam and his grandpapa and
the comfortable home he now had.
The poor woman could not find words to thank the kind gentleman who
had done so much for her blind son, and when she tried to express her
gratitude to him, he told her the best way to do it was to get well as
fast as possible and come and live with her son.
“I am anxious to find work, so that I can take care of him,” said the
sick woman. “As soon as I am well I am sure I can find something to do.”
“The first thing to be done is to get strong,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and
then we will think about working. I propose that as soon as you are
well enough you go to Billy, where you can have the best of care.
You will improve much faster there than you can here, surrounded by
sickness and suffering.”
The patient was pronounced not able to leave the hospital just then,
but was promised that she should go so soon as it was deemed prudent.
So Billy took leave of his mother, happy at the promise of a visit the
next day. They found Sam with the three children seated in the sleigh,
and the new sled tied to one of the runners.
“I thought we had better take the children home, because they were
afraid they would be late to their Christmas dinner,” Sam explained.
“Do you think they will crowd you very much, Grandpapa? We will squeeze
as close together as we can, and Maysie is almost a baby, you know.”
“I shouldn’t mind a little crowding on Christmas Day,” said Grandpapa.
“Here, Baby, you can sit in my lap.”
“I am as big as Johnny,” replied Maysie, who was ambitious to be
considered big.
Sam looked just as happy as Billy, thinking that the little blind boy
had found his mother. He sat silent for some time, and his grandpapa,
seeing his thoughtful, happy face, said,—
“Well, Sam, what are you thinking about?”
“I am thinking how glad I am that Billy has found his mother,” he
replied, “and I guess God thought He’d send this Christmas present
because He didn’t find time to send the one I asked for.”
So Sam’s Christmas turned out to be a much happier one than he had
thought it was going to be, and the three children who had helped bring
about this happy state of affairs reached home just as the big turkey
was taken out of the oven.