The excitement had been great the night the Cubmaster of the Erlington
Pack had told his Cubs about the new badges. They had cheered themselves
hoarse. Swimming was, of course, the badge they wanted most, but, as the
Cubmaster pointed out, though it would be a ripping badge to get, there
was not a swimming-bath or river anywhere handy, and the sea was forty
miles away!
Athletes and Artists they had also voted for, but the Old Wolf reminded
them that the first use of a Wolf Cub is not to be able to jump very
high or draw very well, but to _serve other people_, and he suggested
that the first badge to be worked for should be the "House Orderly."
So on the following Friday night the twelve two-star Cubs had met
together to learn home craft. The first lesson had been nearly all taken
up with learning the very best way to light a fire. And before they went
home the Old Wolf had called them round him in an eager circle. "Cubs,"
he had said, "before we meet next week I want each of you to have
practised 'helping Mother,' and to have lit the fire at least once for
her. Now I want you all to think hard for three minutes by my watch, and
then each to tell me a good way in which you could help mother."
The Cubs thought hard with knitted brows. And when the three minutes was
up each told of a good way in which he could help. One could weed the
front garden; another could turn the mangle; one was going to
spring-clean the whole house, although it _was_ winter! One was going to
"bathe baby"--which made everyone laugh. Only one Cub, Dicky Dean,
failed to think of a way to help his mother. "Why, mother doesn't do
anything but sit on the drawing-room sofa and read!" thought Dicky.
"Come, Dicky, how can you help?" said the Cubmaster. There was a long
pause. Then someone giggled. "_His_ mother don't want no helping, sir,"
said a scornful voice; "she's got paid servants!"
"Silence, there!" said the Old Wolf sternly. Then turning to Dicky,
"Cheer up, old chap," he said; "you'll find a way if you try." And Dicky
went home thinking hard.
All the Cubs' mothers had been "awfully bucked," as one of the Cubs
said, when their sons took to cleaning everything and lighting fires and
making their beds themselves. But poor Dicky never seemed able to please
_his_ mother.
There was the time when he was standing on the step-ladder in the
street, cleaning the windows, and a very elegant lady, Mrs. Jones, had
called and been much shocked, so that mother was angry and had punished
Dicky, as though he were doing something wrong!
There was the time Cook was so furious because she found him about to
put a match to the kitchen fire, which he had laid himself at 6 A.M. as
a surprise for her. She had said he was a naughty little boy; he was
playing in her kitchen and trying to set the house afire! And then the
time mother was so cross because he had blacking on his hands and a
smudge on his nose. And when he had explained that he had been making
his boots lovely and black and shiny, like coal--and Cook's as well--she
had been still more angry, and said he must not be so mischievous, and
meddle with what did not concern him. Altogether, everything was very
sad. He went to bed one night feeling especially down in the dumps, for
his mother had again scolded him.
The next morning's post brought Mrs. Dean some very bad news. The bank
in which she had nearly all her money had closed its doors; it was
paying nothing at all, and she was left with a very little sum of money
and the house which her husband had built a few years before he died.
Her friend, Mrs. Jones, came to condole with her.
[Illustration: "There was the time he was standing on a step-ladder in
the street, cleaning the windows, and a very elegant lady, Mrs. Jones,
had called and been much shocked"]
When she had heard the whole sad story, she looked very serious.
"And you say you are going to dismiss both your servants? My dear Mrs.
Dean, what _will_ you do? Who will do the work for you?"
"Oh, _I_ don't know," sobbed Mrs. Dean. "I shall have to myself, I
suppose. It's hard, very hard. And it's not as if I had a daughter. I've
only Dicky--a great, helpless boy. Why, it's all we can do to keep him
out of mischief."
Mrs. Dean was very unhappy.
A few days later the maids went away. Dicky saw them off, watched their
cab rattle away, and then went into the garden to think out a great
plan. His chance had come at last!
That night he bumped his head five times on the pillow.
"I--will--wake--up--at--five," he said, with each bump. And then he
dropped off to sleep with a very happy heart.
In the grey dawn Dicky got up. He stole downstairs on tiptoe. He lit the
kitchen fire. He swept the rooms. He whitened the front-doorstep. He
blacked his mother's shoes. He laid the table for breakfast. He put on
the kettle. He rummaged in the larder and discovered some bacon and two
eggs; and he did it all in a whisper.
At 7.30, just as he had run up to his room for a wash, he heard his
mother calling.
"Yes, mother," he answered from his room.
"Dicky," she said, "get up at once, and come to my room in a quarter of
an hour, to look after baby while I get breakfast ready."
Dicky laughed to himself. "Yes, mother," he called.
On tiptoe he ran downstairs again. He made toast; he fried the eggs and
bacon (as he had been taught), and made the tea, and put everything on
the dining-room table. Then he went upstairs.
"Stay with baby, dear," said Mrs. Dean wearily, "while I go and get
breakfast ready. Oh, how I miss the maids! I'm so tired; baby's been
crying for nurse most of the night. There will be nothing but work all
day to get the house straight." She sighed, and went downstairs.
With beating heart, Dicky listened. He heard her go slowly down the
stairs. Then he heard her hurrying from the kitchen into the other
rooms. Then silence.
He could bear the suspense no longer. He ran softly to the bottom of the
staircase. Outside the dining-room door he paused. There was a sound
like a sob. Was she angry at what he had done?
"Mother," he said, in a shaky little voice, as he pushed the door open.
She was waiting for him with her arms outstretched. He threw himself
into them.
"Dicky," she said, "my dear little Dicky, did you do all this? The fire
alight, breakfast cooked, and everything?"
"Yes, mother," he panted, "and the doorstep looks lovely! Oh, I'm so
happy, mother. I always wanted to help, and I often tried. But you were
never pleased. Now, I shall always do all the work all the time, and you
will always be pleased, won't you?"
"Always, always," she said. "But we will work together--and, and play
together when the work is done, and, though we are very poor now, we
shall be very happy!"
"Yes," said Dicky. "We _shall_ be happy and when baby's old enough we'll
teach him to help, too, won't we?"
And that is how Dicky got his chance.