OLD OLIVER'S MASTER.
Very early in the morning, before the tardy daylight could creep into
the darkened room, old Oliver was up and busy. He had been in the
habit of doing for himself, as he called it, ever since his daughter
had forsaken him, and he was by nature fastidiously clean and neat.
But now there would be additional duties for him during the next
three days; for there would be Dolly to wash, and dress, and provide
breakfast for. Every few minutes he stole a look at her lying still
asleep; and as soon as he discovered symptoms of awaking, he hastily
lifted Beppo on to the bed, that her opening eyes should be greeted
by some familiar sight. She stretched out her wonderful little
hands, and caught hold of the dog's rough head before venturing to
lift her eyelids, while Oliver looked on in speechless delight. At
length she ventured to peep slyly at him, and then addressed herself
to Beppo.
"What am I to call ris funny old man, Beppo?" she asked.
"I am your grandpa, my darling," said Oliver, in his softest voice.
"Are you God-bless-ganpa?" inquired Dolly, sitting up on her pillow,
and staring very hard with her blue eyes into his wrinkled face.
"Yes, I am," he answered, looking at her anxiously.
"Dolly knows," she said, counting upon her little fingers; "rere's
father, and mammy, and Beppo; and now rere's gan-pa. Dolly 'll get
up now."
She flung her arms suddenly about his neck and kissed him, while old
Oliver trembled with intense joy. It was quite a marvel to him how
she helped him to dress her, laughing merrily at the strange mistakes
he made in putting on her clothes the wrong side before; and when he
assured her that her mother would come back very soon, she seemed
satisfied to put up with any passing inconvenience. The shop, with
its duties, and the necessity of getting in his daily stock of
newspapers, entirely slipped his memory; and he was only recalled to
it by a very loud rapping at the door as he was pouring out Dolly's
breakfast. To his great surprise he discovered that he had forgotten
to take down his shutters, though it was past the hour when his best
customers passed by.
[Illustration: Tony]
The person knocking proved to be none other than Tony, who greeted
the old man's appearance with a prolonged whistle, and a grave and
reproachful stare.
"Come," he said, in a tone of remonstrance, "this'll never do, you
know. Business is business, and must be minded. You pretty nearly
frightened me into fits; anybody could have knocked me down with a
straw when I see the shutters up. How is she?"
"She's very well, thank you, my boy," answered Oliver, meekly.
"Mother not turned up, I guess?" said Tony.
"No; she comes on Friday," he replied.
Tony winked, and put his tongue into his cheek; but he gave utterance
to no remark until after the shutters were in their place. Then he
surveyed himself as well as he could, with an air of satisfaction.
His face and hands were clean, and his skin looked very white through
the holes in his tattered clothes; even his feet, except for an
unavoidable under surface of dust, were unsoiled. His jacket and
trousers appeared somewhat more torn than the evening before; but
they bore every mark of having been washed also.
"Washed myself early in the morning, afore the bobbies were much
about," remarked Tony, "in the fountains at Charing Cross; but I
hadn't time to get my rags done, so I did 'em down under the bridge,
when the tide were going down; but I could only give 'em a bit of a
swill and a ring out. Anyhow, I'm a bit cleaner this morning than
last night, master."
"To be sure, to be sure," answered Oliver. "Come in, my boy, and
I'll give you a bit of breakfast with her and me."
"You haven't got sich a thing as a daily paper, have you?" asked
Tony, in a patronizing tone.
"Not to-day's paper, I'm afraid," he said.
"I'm afraid not," continued Tony; "overslept yourself, eh? Not as I
can read myself; but there are folks going by as can, and might
p'raps buy one here as well as anywhere else. Shall I run and get
'em for you, now I'm on my legs?"
Oliver looked questioningly at the boy, who returned a frank, honest
gaze, and said, "Honour bright!" as he held out his hand for the
money. There was some doubt in the old man's mind after Tony had
disappeared as to whether he had not done a very foolish thing; but
he soon forgot it when he returned to the breakfast-table; and long
before he himself could have reached the place and returned, Tony was
back again with his right number of papers.
Before many minutes Tony was sitting upon an old box at a little
distance from the table, where Oliver sat with his grandchild. A
basin of coffee and a large hunch of bread rested upon his knees, and
Beppo was sniffing round him with a doubtful air. Dolly was shy in
this strange company, and ate her breakfast with a sedate gravity
which filled both her companions with astonishment and admiration.
When the meal was finished, old Oliver took his daughter's letter
from his waistcoat pocket and read it aloud to Tony, who listened
with undivided interest.
"Then she's your own little 'un," he said, with a sigh of
disappointment. "You'll never give her up to me, if you get tired of
her,--nor to the p'lice neither," he added, with a brightening face.
"No, no, no!" answered Oliver, emphatically. "Besides, her mother's
coming on Friday. I wouldn't give her up for all the world, bless
her!"
"And he's 'listed!" said Tony, in a tone of envy "They wouldn't take
me yet a while, if I offered to go. But who's that she speaks
of?--'for Christ's sake, if I am worthy to use his name.' Who is he?"
"Don't you know?" asked Oliver.
"No, never heard tell of him before," he answered, "Is he any friend
o' yours?"[*]
[*] It may be necessary to assure some readers that this ignorance is
not exaggerated. The City Mission Reports, and similar records, show
that such cases are too frequent.
"Ay!" said Oliver; "he's my only friend, my best friend. And he's my
master, besides."
"And she thinks he'd be angry if you turned the little girl away?"
pursued Tony.
"Yes, yes; he'd be very angry," said old Oliver, thoughtfully; "it
'ud grieve him to his heart. Why, he's always loved little children,
and never had them turned away from himself, whatever he was doing.
If she hadn't been my own little girl, I daren't have turned her out
of my doors. No, no, dear Lord, thee knows as I'd have taken care of
her, for thy sake."
He spoke absently, in a low voice, as though talking to some person
whom Tony could not see, and the boy was silent a minute or two,
thinking busily.
"How long have you worked for that master o' yours?" he asked, at
last.
"Not very long," replied Oliver, regretfully. "I used to fancy I was
working for him years and years ago; but, dear me! it was poor sort
o' work; and now I can't do very much. Only he knows how old I am,
and he doesn't care so that I love him, which I do, Tony."
"I should think so!" said the boy, falling again into busy thought,
from which he aroused himself by getting up from his box, and rubbing
his fingers through his wet and tangled hair.
"He takes to children and little 'uns?" he said, in a questioning
tone.
"Ay, dearly!" answered old Oliver.
"I reckon he'd scarcely take me for a man yet," said Tony, at the
same time drawing himself up to his full height; "though I don't know
as I should care to work for him. I'd rather have a crossing, and be
my own master. But if I get hard up, do you think he'd take to me,
if you spoke a word for me?"
"Are you sure you don't know anything about him?" asked Oliver.
"Not I; how should I?" answered Tony. "Why, you don't s'pose as I
know all the great folks in London, though I've seen sights and
sights of 'em riding about in their carriages. I told you I weren't
much bigger nor her there when mother died, and I've picked up my
living up and down the streets anyhow, and other lads have helped me
on, till I can help 'em on now. It don't cost much to keep a boy on
the streets. There's nothink to pay for coals, or rent, or beds, or
furniture, or anythink; only your victuals, and a rag now and then.
All I want's a broom and a crossing, and then shouldn't I get along
just? But I don't know how to get 'em."
"Perhaps the Lord Jesus would give them to you, if you'd ask him,"
said Oliver, earnestly.
"Who's he?" inquired Tony, with an eager face.
"Him--Christ. It's his other name," answered the old man.
"Ah! I see," he said, nodding. "Well, if I can't get 'em myself,
I'll think about it. He'll want me to work for him, you know. Where
does he live?"
"I'll tell you all about him, if you'll come to see me," replied
Oliver.
"Well," said the boy, "I'll just look in after Friday, and see if the
little 'un's mother's come back. Good-bye,--good-bye, little miss."
He could take Dolly's hand into his own this morning, and he looked
down curiously at it,--a small, rosy, dimpled hand, such as he had
never seen before so closely. A lump rose in his throat, and his
eyelids smarted with tears again. It was such a little thing, such a
pretty little thing, he said to himself, covering it fondly with his
other hand. There was no fear that Tony would forget to come back to
old Oliver's house.
"Thank you for my breakfast," he said, with a choking voice; "only if
I do come to see you, it'll be to see her again--not for anythink as
I can get."