spreading over his honest face.
"He is, so there! He talks loud and kind o' scary, but he couldn't say
'no' to a kitten. Now, little Blue Coat, tell us who you are."
Samuel had quite regained his usual bright manner under the spell of
their hospitality, and he gladly told them of the home and loved ones he
had left behind in Devonshire. Pleased to see the Crispins interested,
he described many droll adventures of the boys at school, and these set
the worthy pair laughing mightily.
After dinner, Mr. Crispin showed his young visitor all the glories of
the toy-shop and the shoemaking den. Mrs. Crispin with much pride
exhibited four canaries, a yellow patchwork quilt, and a coral
breastpin; and Samuel was warmed to the heart by their simple
kindliness.
The afternoon wore away all too soon, and when he was leaving, Samuel
held Mrs. Crispin's hand tightly in both of his, as he tried to thank
her for the blessed visit.
"'Tain't nothing at all!" protested she earnestly. "Who wouldn't give a
nice-spoken lad a bite when he was faintin' with hungriness on the very
doorstep, an' him a Blue Coat, too? Now listen, Sammy; you are to come
here every Saturday. If we shouldn't be to home, you'll find the key
under the rubber door-mat, an' you can come right in an' help yourself
in the pantry. 'T ain't just that we feel sorry to see you starvin', but
we like children, we always did, 'specially nice ones, an' you seem so
gentlemanly mannered, an' we'd feel honored to have you here. Remember,
every Saturday, now, rain or shine."
His acquaintance with the shoemaker and his wife proved the greatest
relief to Samuel. Not only did a toothsome dinner await him every
leave-day in their modest parlor, but the whole-souled friendliness of
their innocent welcome cheered him through all the following days. The
Crispins looked forward to the Saturday visits as eagerly as did Samuel
himself, and this assurance gave the boy courage to come with
regularity.
During the springtime Mr. Crispin and Samuel even planned that the boy
should gain permission from the head master to leave Christ's Hospital
altogether and learn the shoemaking trade under Mr. Crispin's direction.
It was arranged that the shoemaker, instead of Samuel, should approach
Mr. Bowyer with the request, it being thought that his age and size
would carry more influence with the head master; but on the day set for
the interview Mr. Bowyer chanced to wear his "passy wig," and he
disposed of the subject by shouting violently,--
"'O'ds my life, man, what d'ye mean?" and pushing the astounded Crispin
bodily out of the room.
Samuel was so disappointed at the failure of the dazzling scheme, and so
mortified at the treatment his friend had received, that he was rushing
past Mr. Bowyer with the intention of apologizing to Mr. Crispin for
having drawn him into his own petty troubles, when the head master
stopped him.
"Some one is waiting to see you in my lower office, Master Coleridge."
"To see me, sir?"
Samuel was taken aback, for never before had any one paid him a call at
Christ's Hospital.
"Who can it be, I wonder. Surely Mrs. Crispin would not come here."
Crossing the threshold of the office, he descried a stalwart manly form
at the window.
The first glance seemed to stupefy the lad. He halted abruptly in the
doorway, his hands fell limply at his sides, and he seemed unable to
advance or retreat. It only needed a slight movement on the visitor's
part to break the tension, when Samuel bounded forward with a great cry,
and threw himself into the stranger's arms.
"Luke, Luke, my brother, my Luke, my Luke!"
"Here I am, little fellow. I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't write."
"Oh, Luke, you won't go away again and leave me here, will you? Please,
please tell me that you won't!"
"I shan't leave you alone in the city for a day," declared the young
man warmly. "I have come up to walk the London Hospital, so I shall be
within easy reach hereafter. Your holidays you shall spend with me, and
I have already arranged with the master to make you comfortable here at
school. Bless you, little fellow, you mustn't quite suffocate me with
your hugging, for I want to live and take good care of you. I have
waited and worked for this ever since you came to London, and now you're
going to have fair weather all round. Come along; I've just begged a
holiday for you. What should you like to do?"
"Introduce you to the Crispins."
"Very well. We'll get the Crispins, and go for a ride on the good old
river Thames."
"A boat ride! A boat ride! Luke, do you care if I ask Charles Lamb to go
with us?"
"Not a bit. This is the day when we are going to do just as we please,
you know."
"Oh, Luke, you're so good, and you'll like the Crispins, and Charles
'll like you--and--and--isn't the world beautiful to-day, Luke?"
In a cosy little parlor, at the top of a London stair, a dozen persons
were chatting together. The sounds of wind and rain upon the casement
only served to increase the warmth and brightness of the snug apartment.
Everybody seemed in the highest spirits, and finally one of the guests,
a man whom the others called "Southey," turned gayly to the hostess and
inquired with the ease of old friendship,--
"My good lady, when are we to have our supper? Please remember that
Wordsworth and I have journeyed all the way from Keswick solely for the
delight of supping with you. Do you realize that eleven o'clock has come
and gone?"
Mary Lamb laughed merrily, but shook her head with decision.
"Fifteen minutes more you must wait, so curb your hunger as best you
can. The guest of honor has not yet arrived, and when he comes, you will
all agree, I am sure, that it would be worth while to delay supper until
to-morrow, if only we might have him with us."
"A mystery! A mystery!" cried the visitors, and thereupon they began to
ply Miss Mary's brother with questions as to who the expected personage
might be.
To all these, the young host gave jovial but vague replies, exchanging
with his sister frequent nods and smiles over their heads.
Presently there sounded a quick step on the stair, and Charles Lamb
threw open the door, shouting joyfully,--
"Welcome, Samuel, my blessed old friend! Welcome, a thousand times!"
At his words, the guests sprang up with a single impulse, crying in
astonishment,--
"Coleridge!"
Then for an instant they turned their eyes away from the two who stood
clasping one another's hands in wordless, heartfelt greeting.
The silence endured but a moment; then the new-comer was quickly
surrounded, and the room rang with the hearty good-will of his
reception.
Charles hastened to relieve him of his travelling cloak and hat, Mary
summoned the party to the table, temptingly laid, and the guests sat
down to the enjoyment of the viands and the company of their unexpected
friend.
Samuel Coleridge had just returned after a two years' absence from
England, and the tales he related of his visit, the accounts he gave of
his adventures abroad, captivated the company. Every word that fell from
his lips was received with keen attention, and whether his mood was
grave or gay, serious or sprightly, his hearers sat enthralled.
"To be sure, Coleridge is a wonderful poet," whispered Southey to the
lady next him, "but in my judgment he talks even better than he writes."
"He holds us with his expressive eyes," mused Mary.
"I can see," decided Charles, "that his power lies in his magnetic
voice, the voice that charmed us all in the old school-days."
Whatever was the source of his singular influence, hours passed as the
visitors sat under the spell of Samuel's presence, and morning was
stealing across the threshold when they rose from the table and took
their departure.
Coleridge was the last to go, and when about to descend the stair, he
again clasped the hand of his host with a warm and fervent pressure.
"I am fond of them all," he said slowly, indicating those whose
footfalls still sounded in the passage below; "I am fond of them all:
Southey, Wordsworth, Lovell, and the rest; but you, Charles Lamb, you
are to me as though you had been born my younger brother."
THE LION THAT HELPED
[CANOVA]
"Tonin, Tonin, come out with us to the River! Luigi has built a raft,
and we're going to pole it down to the second bridge."
Five boys, bareheaded, barefooted, dirty-faced, and joyful, grouped
themselves before a mud-walled Alpine cabin, the last of a quaint
village row, while Pablo, their leader, hailed some one within.
Instantly there appeared in the doorway a boy of their own age, clad as
roughly and lightly as themselves. His blouse was loosened comfortably
at the throat, his trousers were rolled well above the knee, and over
these cool garments he wore a hempen working-apron which was held in
place by a stout cord attached to its upper corners and passing about
his neck. In one hand he held a small steel hammer, in the other a
chisel.
"Come on, Tonin," repeated Pablo, pointing excitedly toward the brook.
The lad in the doorway shook his head and lifted his chisel meaningly,
as though no additional explanation were needed.
"Oh, do, do!" urged the new-comers. "Leave your old stone-chipping for
an hour and come with us. We'll let you pole all the time if you will."
"I can't," returned the other briefly.
"Please come! Come along!" insisted four alluring voices, but Pablo
turned away impatiently.
"Leave that sullen Tonin alone! He'd rather bang away at his
grandfather's stones than go with us on the jolliest jaunt we could
name. Come on, and let him stay by himself."
Thereupon the boys ran swiftly down the adjoining slope, and Tonin
Canova stepped into the house with a shrug, as though glad to be rid of
them and their invitations. He did not tarry in the cleanly sunlit
cabin, but hurried out to the rear garden, where an old man wearing an
apron similar to his was busily tapping and chipping at a block of stone
erected upon wooden supports.
"Why didn't you go with the others?" inquired the stone-cutter, looking
up from his work. "You needn't have come back, because I have finished
the urn for the terrace of the Villa d'Asolo, and it is too late in the
afternoon to begin on the Monfumo altar ornaments. Besides, you have
stood by your work pretty hard lately, and I think every boy needs a
holiday once in a way."
"I don't want a holiday, grandfather."
"Bless us! What are you talking about? Who ever heard of a boy who
didn't want a holiday every day in the week, if he could get it?"
"I'd like to be free from working on your things, of course, but I don't
want to pole a raft. I'd rather carve my cherries, if you can do
without me the rest of the afternoon."
"Ho, ho!" chuckled the old man fondly; "you're just like me, Tonin: work
is play when it happens to be stone-work. Do your cherries, if you have
the mind."
"Hurrah! I can finish them to-day, and I'll do a pear next, and--see,
grandfather, by carnival-time I'll have plenty to sell," and throwing
open the door of a small rude cupboard set in the branches of a stunted
acacia, Tonin proudly displayed a collection of peaches, apples, and
grapes which his skilful fingers had wrought out of fragments of stone
left from old Pasino's cuttings. Next autumn, when all the villagers and
country folk of the province would assemble at Asolo for their carnival
and yearly frolic, Tonin would peddle his pretty fruit among the
pleasure-seekers, confident of filling his purse-bag with coins in
exchange for his wares. As he stood reviewing his handiwork, he smiled
slyly at thought of the gifts he would buy for the two old people who
adored him, and who had freely shared with him their roof and bread,
from his earliest infancy.
The stone-cutter's earnings were necessarily small, and for two years
Tonin had assisted him regularly at his work, cutting, carrying,
measuring, and delivering day by day. He seconded Pasino's efforts so
intelligently, and labored through the long hours with such manly
patience, that the scanty comforts in the Alpine cabin visibly
increased, and all the while the boy was learning the use of the cunning
edged tools which his grandfather wielded so dexterously. The lad's
name, as it appeared on the parish register, was Antonio, but to the
guileless aged pair who cared for him he was simply and always _Tonin_.
Hoof-beats, accompanied by a shout from the roadway, caused the
stone-cutter and the boy to hurry quickly to the hedgerow before the
cabin.
A mounted horseman wearing the livery of the Duke d'Asolo called out,
as with difficulty he brought his spirited steed to a standstill,--
"Pasino, you are wanted at the villa. Something in the picture gallery
needs to be done, and you are the only one to do it. The duke gives a
great banquet to-night, and the room must be in readiness. Vittori sent
me, and bids you to hurry as fast as you can."
"I'll follow you at once. Come, Tonin, mayhap you can be of service at
the villa also."
Off galloped the messenger, and down the road marched Pasino Canova,
bearing his tool-box upon his shoulder, while his barefooted grandson,
similarly equipped, trudged cheerily by his side.
The stone-cutter was frequently in demand at the Villa d'Asolo, for
besides the craft of his trade, the old man understood something of the
uses of plaster, stucco, and even marble. No other workman in this
remote hill country was so skilled, and for many years he had received
the friendly patronage of Giovanni Falier, Duke d'Asolo.
On the way, Pasino stopped for an instant before the entrance of a
gentleman's country residence. "This'" said he, "is the home of Toretto,
the great, great sculptor."
"Oh, grandfather, let's go in and look at his wonderful statues," begged
Tonin. "Please, grandfather! Surely he wouldn't care, for I came once
with Giuseppe Falier, and he allowed us to look at everything. Do,
grandfather!"
"Not to-day," objected the old man, hastily resuming his onward way; "we
have work to do, and have promised to hurry to the Villa d'Asolo as fast
as we can."
Tonin slowly followed Pasino down the road, looking backward over his
shoulder as long as the tall chimneys of Toretto's palace could be seen.
"Grandfather," said he thoughtfully, as a turning of the way shut the
sculptor's house from sight, "I'd rather be able to make a statue as
beautiful as the ones Toretto showed us that day than do anything else
in the whole world."
"Ah, that you might!" burst out the old man emphatically; "but, Tonin,
for such work the eyes, the fingers, the mind must be taught--taught,
Tonin, and--well, you know the rest: poor folk like us mustn't be gloomy
because we can't do fine works. Chances to learn such things cost so
much that none but gentlemen with bulging purses can afford them."
"I'm not gloomy, grandfather! You can teach me all that you know, and
when I am a man, I will take care of you and grandmother." Here the boy
began to whistle gayly, seeking to banish the look of sadness that had
rested for a moment on the old man's features.
Presently they reached the Villa d'Asolo, whose pillared gates were
thrown open to them by retainers. Across the terraces they took their
way, past arbors, gardens of blossoms, and plashing fountains, reaching
at last a postern door of the many-storied castle.
In the passage they were confronted by Giuseppe Falier, the duke's
youngest son, a handsome lad no older than Tonin. A serving-man attended
him, carrying a glass aquarium that contained numerous brilliant
goldfish. Boy and groom were preparing to depart through the door by
which the Canovas had entered, but at sight of the new-comers Giuseppe
halted.
"Hello, Tonin," he exclaimed; "come with me up to my cousin's house.
This is David's birthday, and I forgot all about it until this minute. I
didn't have any present to give him, so I decided I'd take the goldfish
out of the conservatory. He likes such things. I don't, myself. Come on,
and we'll have some fun. David has a new boat, and we'll make him take
it out."
Giuseppe's invitation was so frankly cordial that Tonin would have
joined him readily had he had no duties to perform. Giuseppe was a lad
of jovial spirit who chose his friends wherever he found good comrades,
quite regardless of rank and riches, and many were the half-days that he
and Tonin had spent together, exploring the hills and valleys round
about Asolo.
"I can't go to-day, Giuseppe," replied Tonin; "grandfather has something
to do in the picture gallery before the banquet to-night, and he is
likely to need me."
"My eye, but there will be a crowd of people here! One reason I'm going
up to David's is because I'm not allowed to stay up for the fun.
Good-by. I'll take you up to see the boat some day next week," and
beckoning the servant to follow with the aquarium, the young patrician
disappeared through the outer door, and the Canovas made their way up a
stately marble stair, and through a winding corridor until they came to
a long narrow apartment whose walls were hung with canvases.
Here they were greeted by Vittori, the stout and hoary seneschal of the
palace. He wore his crimson robe of office, and a stupendous bunch of
keys hung by a chain from his girdle, clanking as he walked.
He bustled up to the Canovas hurriedly, puffing and panting as from some
undue exertion.
"Ha, Pasino, you are the very man I most need to see. Those four deep
niches in the walls, two at either end of this gallery, are to be filled
with the statues which Toretto has just finished. The beastly things
were delivered yesterday, and Toretto himself promised to come to see
that they were set up properly, but instead, a message was brought from
him two hours ago saying that he had sprained his silly ankle and could
not stir from the house. The duke will be furious if his marble
doll-babies are not on view to-night, and as I wouldn't touch them
myself for fear of harming them with my clumsy fingers, I called you for
the business. There, in that further ante-room, you will find Toretto's
beauties inside the packing cases, and you are to get them safely into
these niches. My-o! My-o! What a load of care falls on a poor old man
who is keeper of a palace where one hundred noble guests are expected
for a feast! Nobody in all Venetia has more worries and
responsibilities. You may have as many men as you want, Pasino, and if
your eye spies out any need for decorations in this chamber, send for
what you wish. My-o! My-o! The carriages are beginning to arrive, and I
must make eleven more arrangements before the feast is ready. You have
plenty of time, for this room is not to be used until the ladies come up
at the end of the banquet, to drink their Persian coffee," and the
seneschal departed, accompanied by the sounds of his labored breathing
and jangling keys.
Pasino's task was a delicate one, and though Vittori sent four strong
men to aid him, the evening was nearly spent by the time the glistening
statues were released from their temporary prisons and lifted to their
pedestals in the gallery niches.
While they worked, sounds of music and subdued laughter floated up to
them, and fragrances and appetizing odors were continually wafted from
the banquet-hall below.
Tonin worked with the others, and when the sculptured nymphs were
brought to view, his delight knew no bounds. Taking up his position
before the last erected one, he stood with folded arms, silently,
wonderingly drinking in the beauties which Toretto's chisel had
effected. He was wholly lost to time and place and was quite unaware
that the servants had removed all traces of packing and litter, and that
a bevy of maids were now seated in the gallery, weaving garlands at
Pasino's order, for the festooning of the unfinished pedestals. He was
so absorbed in the snowy goddess before him that he was deaf to
everything until old Vittori's voice suddenly rent the gallery's
stillness with something between a groan and a shriek.
"Where is the aquarium? Who's seen my gold-fish? Answer, somebody, or
I'll throw you all out of the window! Oh, I shall be disgraced and
discharged and maybe half killed! Where is it? Why don't you speak?"
The seneschal's appearance, as well as his words, indicated unusual
excitement, for his scarlet robe was thrown open at the throat, his
frosty locks were rumpled, his uplifted hands were shaking, and his lips
were twitching uncannily.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?" demanded a dozen voices, but Tonin
darted across to the old man's side with the announcement--
"Giuseppe carried it away this afternoon as a present to his cousin
David."
"My-o! My-o! I am lost, I am done, I am dead!" ejaculated the seneschal,
wringing his hands.
"What's the trouble, Vittori?" asked Pasino, laying a quieting hand
upon the shoulder of his agitated friend.
"It is this," returned the seneschal hoarsely; "the duke ordered me to
send to the table a fresh ornamental centrepiece with each course,
making every one handsomer than the one used before it. I did so, and
all has now been served but the dessert, and that will be due in about
fifteen minutes. For this fancy piece I have filled a great tray with
Parma violets on snow, thousands of them--and in the midst of the
flowers I planned to set the aquarium of goldfish for a bit of color and
life. My-o! My-o! What shall I do?" and once again the seneschal fell to
moaning.
"Build a column of fruit in the centre of the tray," suggested Pasino.
"Impossible! I used a pyramid of apricots and nectarines for the second
course."
"Wouldn't a lighted candle or lamp do?" inquired Pasino, earnestly
endeavoring to find relief for the seneschal.
"No! No!" wailed Vittori; "lighted things would melt the snow."
"To be sure," agreed Pasino sympathetically.
"I know something that might be pretty," ventured Tonin timidly.
"What is it?" Vittori demanded.
For answer the boy turned from the seneschal and his fellow-retainers,
and whispered to Pasino apart. The old man's face brightened as he
received the boy's confidence.
"I don't know," he commented; "but it ought to be good--yes, yes, it
would be, it would indeed!"
"Then let him put it through," shouted the seneschal desperately. "I
can't wait to hear what it is, for I'm late now. Do as he says,
everybody, for I've got to trust my reputation to this stripling whether
I like it or not. Saints help him, for if the work is a failure, woe to
poor Vittori! Have your ornament ready in the lower rear passage, lad,
when the tray goes through to the banquet-room. Everything else shall
be taken in first, so that you may have as much time as possible."
Off went the harassed seneschal, and Tonin, beset with misgivings lest
he had been both rash and bold in his offer of assistance, addressed the
grooms with outward composure.
"Bring me a firkin of butter, a pail of the coldest spring water, and a
big china platter."
His orders were swiftly obeyed, and all looked on with expectant
interest while he directed a servant to dig from the cask as much butter
as could be heaped on the platter. Next he rolled back his sleeves and
plunged his hands into the water-pail, holding them there until they
were sufficiently cooled for his purpose, then attacking the butter with
his dripping fingers, he rolled and patted it into a goodly loaf, with
motions so quick and decisive that the spectators fairly blinked.
Seizing a small chisel and a pointed wooden blade from Pasino's
tool-chest, Tonin began to convert the meaningless dairy lump into a
form familiar to all beholders.
With the touch of his nimble instruments, attended by occasional taps
and pressures from his lithe brown fingers, the loaf vanished, and in
its place appeared a noble lion, quite as though Tonin's chisel had been
a magic wand which had freed the king of the forest from a stifling and
hideous disguise.
[Illustration: "In its place appeared a noble lion."]
The tawny beast, with his bushy head, slender body, powerful limbs, and
graceful tail, brought a torrent of babbling admiration from the
on-lookers; but Tonin, heedless of their chatter, sought out his
grandfather with questioning glance. He received a quiet nod from
Pasino, and drying his hands on a corner of his hempen apron, he caught
up the platter and carried it to the appointed place below stairs,
followed by Pasino and a train of chuckling servants.