BAMBO'S FRIEND.
"After the night comes the morning,
After the winter the spring;
We can begin again, Dolly,
And be sorry for everything.
"We love, and so we are happy;
No beautiful thing ever ends;
'Tis good to cry and be sorry,
But better to kiss and be friends."
E. COXHEAD.
This evening the sisters were pacing arm in arm up and down the long,
wide gravel walk between the front door and the gate. Miss Turner looked
pinched and worn, with pale cheeks and great hollows about her eyes,
which were dim and dry as if from want of sleep. Her head was bent, her
step was slow like the step of an old person; and indeed she seemed
old--ten years older than the brisk and vigorous Aunt Catharine who had
trodden the same path with such a stately air only a week ago.
Miss Alice's gentle face also was thin and white. Her eyes, which were
big and gray like Darby's, and usually soft and calm in their glance,
were alert, bright, and restless, as if always on the watch for
something they could not see, while in her nut-brown hair there were
nearly twice as many silver streaks as had been visible when Darby and
Joan went away.
They had been speaking of the lost little ones, but now a silence had
fallen upon them which neither showed any desire to break. There was
nothing more to say except what had already been said over and over
again. Everything had been done that they and wise, kind neighbours
could do or suggest; and on the morrow Dr. King and Mr. Grey would put
the case into the hands of the Barchester police--more to satisfy Miss
Turner than from any faith in the result on their own part. The Firdale
men had done their best and failed; what cleverer would they be in
Barchester?
The air had grown chilly, although the sun was not yet set, and Miss
Turner shivered, as much from nervousness as from cold. Her sister was
drawing her within doors, when the latch of the gate clicked sharply,
and both ladies turned round to look in its direction.
And what did they see as the wide iron gate swung slowly back on its
hinges? The oddest looking group that had ever sought entrance to
Firgrove--the most pathetic, yet the most grotesque! First and foremost
was a small boy in soiled, sodden garments--hatless, unwashed,
unbrushed, tired, drooping, and travel-stained, yet with an expression
of unutterable gladness beaming from out a pair of clear gray eyes that
seemed far too big for the thin white face which they illumined. By his
side, holding fast by the boy's hand, stood a little girl--bedraggled,
unkempt, untidy, with a glimmer of pearly teeth, and great blue eyes
gleaming out from a mop of tangled curls that glittered as if they had
caught within their burnished strands all the sunbeams which had lighted
up that bright October day. And leaning against the pillar of the gate
was the third figure of the party, and the queerest--a tiny man, not
much taller than the little girl, with huge head, long arms, shrivelled,
haggard face, and deep-set, eager eyes--a dwarf, in short, and, at the
first glance, the most uncouth that ever was seen.
Miss Turner drew herself up in astonishment and annoyance at the
ill-timed intrusion of the three little tramps. A something in the
boy's eyes, however, arrested the words of rebuke and dismissal which
hung ready to fall from her lips, and she looked at them again before
stepping forward to shut the gate in their faces.
But Miss Alice's sight was quicker than her sister's, her instincts
truer, her faith stronger, and with a low, glad cry of "My dears! my
dears!" she sprang, swift as a girl, toward the children, bent down, and
Darby and Joan felt themselves gathered close and tight within Auntie
Alice's loving arms; while from Aunt Catharine's eyes the thankful tears
rained thick and fast, mingled with a shower of kisses, upon their
smiling, upturned faces.
"We's comed home again, Aunt Catharine," announced Joan cheerfully and
easily, as if the pair of them had just returned from church. "Is you
glad to see us?" she asked, smiling sweetly into her aunt's swimming
eyes.
"Yes, Joan, very, very glad; I don't think you'll ever know _how_ glad,"
answered Miss Turner gravely.
"Darby and me went away to look for the Happy Land--like what nurse
sings 'bout, don't you know?--far, far away," explained the little
girl. "But we didn't find it after goin' miles and miles and miles;
we only finded a old carawan, and some bad peoples, and Puck, and a
_ee-mornous_ (enormous) bear! Now we's back, and I's awful hung'y!
Is there any cake or cold puddin', or anythin' good for tea?" she
inquired anxiously, looking audaciously up into the familiar face of Aunt
Catharine--familiar, of course, yet with a something so new and strange
in its softened lines that the little one instinctively put up a dirty
hand and softly stroked her aunt's cheek, murmuring as she did so, in
her sweet, cooing voice, "Poor Aunt Catharine! Joan loves you, and
willn't never, never go away from you any more. Now, please tell me,
_is_ there anythin' good for tea?" she demanded.
"Joan!" exclaimed Darby in a shocked undertone, as if mere creature
comforts like cake and cold pudding were not to be thought of at such a
time. Then he addressed his aunt.
"Joan's quite correc'," he said, standing right in front of her, bravely
bent on confession of his naughtiness and getting it over as quickly as
possible, so that he could start fair with a clean sheet. "I was mad
because you punished me, and we made up a plan--at least I did--to run
away and find the Happy Land, and I coaxed Joan to come with me. It's
all my fault, Aunt Catharine; so whatever putting to bed or catechism
there is I'll take it, for I was the naughty one. But we found out that
there's no Happy Land at all--at least not like what I thought. Our
Happy Land's here at Firgrove, and oh, but we're glad to get back to
it!--Aren't we, Joan?"
"Yes, werry, werry glad," agreed Joan readily.
"And I'm never going to be disobedient or troublesome, never, never any
more, if you'll forgive me this time, Aunt Catharine, and let me begin
over again," begged the boy, slipping a grimy little paw into Aunt
Catharine's spotless hand.
"Forgive you, child!" cried Aunt Catharine, in a broken voice. "Why, of
course I'll forgive you, and we'll both begin over again, Darby," she
whispered.
"That's right," he replied cheerily. "And I'm going to try to make a
Happy Land all about me wherever I am. Mr. Bambo 'splained it to me ever
so nicely. He's very clever, you know. This is he," said Darby, pointing
to the dwarf, who still leaned, as if for support, against the pillar of
the gate.
Bambo advanced a step, tried to speak, but his voice was too hoarse to
be intelligible.
"He's my own dear dwarf!" declared Joan, patting the little man's
shoulder with gentle, caressing touch.
"He is called Bambo, but his real own name is Green--Jimmy Green; Green,
our gardener's grandson, Aunt Catharine," explained Darby in rapid
sentences. "The wicked man and woman took us to their caravan when we
were on our way to look for the Happy Land, and only for Bambo we should
not have known where to find it. We love him, Aunt Catharine, Auntie
Alice. He is ill--very ill, I think. Won't you please be good to him,
both of you?" pleaded the boy, in eager, coaxing accents.
The ladies looked from Darby to the dwarf in a bewildered way. Again he
attempted to explain his presence there, and again he failed. He was
about to steal quietly away--for was not his work done, his mission
accomplished?--when all at once the ground seemed to slip from beneath
his feet; he swayed, reeled, and with a low moan, as of a hurt animal,
fell on the grass border within the gate, at the very feet of the
children whose safety he had counted of so much more consequence than
his own life.
Darby flung himself on the ground beside the still, pathetic little
figure, and Joan, with sobs and cries, implored her dear dwarf to open
his eyes, to waken up and speak to his own little missy once more. But
the dwarf did not move or speak. His ears were deaf to Darby's tender
tones and Joan's insistent pleading.
At this moment Nurse Perry, with Eric in her arms, popped her head out
at the front door--just to get a breath of fresh air, as she would have
said. For a long minute she gazed at the group by the gate; then with a
loud cry, and dumping baby down upon the door mat, she flew along the
gravel path, and flinging her arms around the children, she laughed and
cried over them by turns.
"My precious pets!" she sobbed. "And have they come back to their poor
old Perry? And us thinkin' you was both dead and drownded in the canal.
Oh, did I ever!"
"There, nurse, that will do. You'd choke a fellow," declared Darby,
wriggling himself out of her clinging embrace. "Of course we're not
either dead or drowned. How can you be so silly?"
"Eh! and is it silly you call me for near frettin' myself into the grave
about you?" cried nurse, stung by Master Darby's want of feeling.--"Miss
Joan won't call nursie silly; sure you won't, lovey? And aren't you
glad to get back to your own Perry, and baby, and everything?"
"Yes, werry glad," agreed Joan readily; "and I hope you've got lots and
lots of jam and goodies for tea. Has you, nurse? 'cause I's as hung'y as
hung'y as anythin'!" she whimpered.
"Yes, darlin', there's a seed-cake and toast, and a whole pot of
beautiful strawberry jam that has never been touched. I couldn't eat
hardly a mouthful these days for picterin' my pretty lyin' in the mud at
the bottom of that slimy, smellin' canal," whined Perry, wiping her eyes
on the corner of a much-betrimmed white apron.
"That'll do, Perry," called out Miss Turner, in her usual brisk tones.
"Come here; I want you."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Perry meekly. "But oh, ma'am, what's _that_?" she
screamed, noticing for the first time the odd little object on the grass
over which the ladies were so anxiously bending. "What ever is it, Miss
Alice? Is it a _man_--_that_? and is he living?" the woman inquired in a
shocked whisper, drawing back her skirts, and gaping with eyes and mouth
at the quiet figure huddled in a little heap at Miss Turner's feet. Yet
when Perry had been made to understand that it was even to this small
creature they owed the safety and return of their darlings, she was as
warm in her expressions of gratitude and as eager to be kind to him as
her mistresses themselves.
Bambo was carried to a pleasant top room overlooking the lawn and the
cedar tree, and laid in a comfortable bed--the most comfortable in which
his poor body had ever lain in all his weary life. But its softness did
not soothe him; the down pillows were not restful; he paid no heed to
the cool freshness of the linen: for when he recovered from the stupor
into which he had sunk beside the gate, he was in the grip of an enemy
which he would have a hard fight to shake off. The wet and cold to which
he had been exposed without sufficient clothing, together with the
fatigue he had undergone, working on a constitution already in a
critical condition, had brought on pneumonia; and when Dr. King saw him,
late that night, he had little hope of being able to save his life.
The next morning, after a long, sound sleep and a good breakfast of
porridge and milk, Joan was as bright as a button, petted by Perry,
playing with baby, and teasing the pussies. Her troubles were behind,
and she did not talk much about her adventures.
But Darby was weak, wandering, and feverish. Dr. King said, however,
that his illness was merely the effect of excitement and the strain upon
a not over strong system. He would be all right in a few days. He
chattered incessantly of the Happy Land, Bruno, Joe, Moll, and the
monkey, but in broken snatches from which no reliable information could
be gleaned.
Miss Turner would have liked to send the police after the Harrises
without a single hour's delay. It was dreadful, she declared, to think
of such a wicked pair being permitted to wander at large, working
mischief without let or hindrance. But her friends advised her to wait
until Darby was well enough to be questioned; or possibly the dwarf
might yet be able to furnish such a clue to their haunts and habits as
should enable the police to pounce upon them unawares.
For a few days Darby continued in a low and feeble condition; then he
took a turn for the better, and soon he was strong enough to listen to
Joan's merry prattle, and to be amused by baby's funny attempts at
speaking. The weather was still mild and bright; so as soon as he was
able to be about he was allowed out into the garden, where the kittens
loved to sun themselves in the sheltered corner down by the boxwood
border.
Still Bambo's life hung trembling in the balance. The actual disease had
abated, but his weakness and want of vitality made his recovery seem
almost impossible. One hour he would revive somewhat, and the next sink
so low that Miss Turner and Miss Alice felt that at any moment the end
might come. Between them they kept constant watch beside the faithful
creature, feeling as if nothing that they might do could repay him for
the devotion which he had displayed towards the children. Bit by bit
they had gathered from Darby and Joan the story of their quest of the
Happy Land, what befell them by the way, and all that the dwarf had done
to deliver them from the clutches of Thieving Joe, and the captivity of
life dragged out within the narrow compass of the Satellite Circus
Company's old yellow caravan.
At last a day came when the poor dwarf smiled up into Miss Turner's
anxious face with a world of intelligence and gratitude in the eyes
whose sweet expression made the wan, pinched features look almost
beautiful to the aunt of Darby and Joan. She did not regard him as an
object utterly unlike other people, a bit of lumber for which the world
could have no real use or fitting place. She remembered only that by
this man's promptitude and courage two innocent, helpless children had
been rescued from a fate infinitely worse than a peaceful death, with a
green grave under the daisies, and those who loved them delivered from a
lifelong sorrow. So there were real gladness and true thankfulness in
Aunt Catharine's look and voice as she laid a cool hand upon the
invalid's brow, saying kindly,--
"You are better, are you not, Bambo?--that is, if it is Bambo I am to
call you."
"Yes, ma'am, I do feel better," answered the dwarf, in a low, quavering
voice. "And, please, call me Bambo; it is the name little master and
missy knows me by."
"You have been very ill, but you will soon be stronger and able to see
the children. They come to the door very often to ask for you."
A flush of pleasure crept into the dwarf's hollow cheeks. He was not
used to having anybody asking after his health, or interested in him in
any way. Then Miss Turner held a cup of nice strong soup to his lips,
and soon after he fell into a sweet, refreshing sleep, which lasted many
hours.
Dr. King was standing by the bedside when he awoke.
"You've had a close shave, my lad!" he said, in his quick, direct way.
"You'll pull through now though.--Plenty of nourishment and perfect
rest, that's all he wants in the meantime," added the doctor to Miss
Turner, as he hurried off to visit another patient, or perhaps to have a
little chat with Miss Alice, who was amusing Darby in the garden, where
the bees buzzed and worked about their hives along the sunny south wall.
After seeing the doctor down the stairs Miss Turner came back to the
dwarf, and as she entered the room she saw him turn his face away from
the window to the wall with a sigh, which filled her heart with pity for
the forlorn little being.
"Now, Bambo," she began, "you have done so much for me and mine that I
want you to let me be as kind to you as I know how. You have been more
than a friend to my dear nephew's children. I desire above all things to
be a friend to you."
"O ma'am, that is impossible," answered the dwarf in a choked voice.
"You are a lady, while I am nobody--an insignificant, despised object!
And don't you know who I really am? Green, your gardener's
grandson--Jimmy Green the dwarf, the boy who ran away from Firgrove long
ago, when you and Miss Alice were in foreign parts for your eddication!"
"I believe my sister and I were in Paris at that time," answered Miss
Turner lightly. "But what difference does the fact of your being Green's
grandson make, except to give you an additional claim upon our
friendliness? And, Bambo, your grandfather is truly sorry he treated you
harshly and unjustly in the past. He has asked me to tell you so, and to
say that instead of feeling ashamed of you now, he's really proud to
think what you have done for Master Darby and Miss Joan."
"'Twas nothing, nothing," murmured the dwarf in confusion, although his
beaming face plainly showed the gratification he felt at his
grandfather's message.
"And now," resumed Miss Turner, "if I am to be your friend, you must
tell me why you sighed so sadly just now. Come; you won't refuse, I am
sure," she added in a persuasive tone.
For a while there was silence in the room. Miss Turner waited for the
dwarf to speak. He kept his face towards the wall, and from time to time
put up a long, thin hand to wipe away the big tears that forced their
way beneath his closed eyelids to trickle slowly on to the snowy pillow
in which his head was half hidden.
At length he raised himself in the bed and looked straight at Miss
Turner. And as he met the kindly glance of her keen, true eyes, a quick
smile parted his lips and shone like a flicker of pale sunlight all over
his worn features.
"You are very good, ma'am, so good that because you ask me I will tell
you. Well, I was only wishing that I had not got better. I have been
ailing for a while back--since last spring--and I was kind of looking
forward to getting away home soon," said Bambo, as calmly as if he were
talking of a journey to Barchester. "You see, ma'am, it's this way," he
explained, in an apologetic tone. "When a body's made like me--just an
object for folks to pity, laugh, jeer, and peep at, without a real
friend--the world is a poor place in comparison to that one the Lord has
prepared and waiting for all who love Him and want to go there."
"Don't, Bambo, don't!" implored Miss Turner, looking at the dwarf
through a mist of tears. "You make me feel that I, who have always been
strong and well, am one of those who have done so little to make life a
less burdensome possession, a pleasanter thing for such as you. Do not
be so anxious to depart, dear friend. The little ones love you; your old
grandfather needs you. Here you shall always find a home. At Firgrove we
will make a place for you as soon as you shall be able to fill it.
Meantime you have nothing to do but try to get well. Perfect rest and
plenty of nourishment--these are the doctor's orders, and there's
nothing for it but obedience."
The dwarf drank in Miss Turner's words, hardly daring to believe he was
in his sober senses, for they sounded almost too good to be true. He to
stay on at Firgrove with the dear boy and sweet little missy! What had
he done that he should be so kindly treated, so generously dealt with?
Nothing, Bambo said to himself, less than nothing, for there had been
scarcely anything to do.
Nothing? Ah! was it nothing to be willing to lay down his life for those
friends of his? nothing to give the cup of cold water in the name of
Jesus to two of His children? "Verily, inasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
From that day the dwarf grew rapidly better, and before the flowers were
all gone out of the borders, or the last red and yellow leaves had
fluttered from the lime tree on the lawn, he was able to saunter up and
down the gravel paths, his hand on Darby's shoulder, the baby holding
fast by one of his fingers, with Joan and the kittens frolicking among
their feet, and racing here, there, and everywhere, all over the place.
He quite agreed with Miss Turner that from no mistaken feelings of mercy
or pity should Joe Harris be shielded from the reach of the law, so he
gave all the information that he could supply concerning the rascal's
favourite resorts and usual associates. He and the little ones pleaded
hard on Moll's behalf; but Dr. King declared that in her case the
receiver was as bad as the thief, and she would just have to take her
chance along with her husband.
Soon the Barchester police were on their track. They came across Tonio
wandering disconsolately about the streets, with only Puck for company.
He, however, knew nothing of the movements of his late master, except
that the caravan had been returned to its lawful owner, and that the
Satellite Circus Company, as a company, had ceased to exist.
But neither Joe, Moll, nor Bruno was anywhere to be found. They had a
long start of their pursuers; consequently they had disappeared as
completely as last year's snow, leaving not a trace behind.