TONY'S FUTURE PROSPECTS.
Old Oliver and Dolly made several visits to Tony while he was in the
hospital. Every Sunday afternoon they went back to it, until its
great door, and wide staircase, and sunny ward, became almost as
familiar to them as their own dull little house. Tony recovered
quickly, yet he was there some weeks before the doctor pronounced him
strong enough to turn out again to rough it in the world. As he grew
better he learned a number of things which were making him a wiser,
as well as a stronger boy, before the time came for him to leave.
The day before he was to go out of hospital, his friend, Mr. Ross,
who had been often to see him, called for the last time, and found
him in the room where the little patients who were nearly well were
at play together. Some of them were making believe to have a feast,
with a small dinner-service of wooden plates and dishes, and a few
bits of orange-peel, and biscuits; but Tony was sitting quietly and
gravely on one side, looking on from a distance. He had never
learned to play.
"Antony," said Mr. Ross--he was the only person who ever called him
Antony, and it seemed to make more of a man of him--"what are you
thinking to do when you leave here to-morrow?"
"I s'pose I must go back to my crossing," answered Tony, looking very
grave.
"No, I think I can do better for you than that," said his friend, "I
have a sister living out in the country, about fifty miles from
London; and she wants a boy to help the gardener, and run on errands
for the house. She has promised to provide you with a home, and
clothing, and to send you to school for two years, till you are about
twelve, for we think you must be about ten years old now; and after
that you shall have settled wages."
Tony listened with a quick throbbing of his heart and a contraction
in his throat, which hindered him from speaking all at once when Mr.
Ross had finished. What a grand thing it would be for himself! But
then there were old Oliver and Dolly to be remembered.
"It 'ud do first-rate for me," he said at last, "and I'd try my best
to help in the garden: but I couldn't never leave Mr. Oliver and the
little girl. She'd fret ever so; and he's gone so forgetful he'd
lose his own head, if he could anyhow. Why! of a morning they sell
him any papers as they've too many of. Sometimes it's all the
'Star,' and sometimes it's all the 'Standard;' and them as buys one
won't have the other. I don't know why, I'm sure. But you see when
I go for 'em I say twenty-five this, and thirteen that, and I count
'em over pretty sharp, I can tell you; though I couldn't read at all
afore I came here, but I could tell which was which easy enough.
Then he'd never think to open his shop some mornings; and other
mornings he'd open at four or five o'clock, just when he woke of
hisself. No. I must stay and take care of 'em a bit; but thank you,
sir, all the same."
He had spoken so gravely and thoughtfully that his reasons went
directly to the heart of Mr. Ross; but he asked him one more
question, before he could let his good plan for the boy drop.
"What has he done for you, Antony? Is he any relation of yours?"
"No, no!" cried Tony, his eyes growing bright, "I haven't got any
relation in all the world; but he took me in out of love, and let me
sleep comfortable under the counter, instead of in the streets. I
love him, and Dolly, I do. I'll stay by 'em as long as ever I live,
if I have to sweep a crossing till I'm an old man like him. Besides,
I hear him speak a good word for me often and often to his Master;
and I s'pose nobody else 'ud do that."
"What master?" inquired Mr. Ross..
"Him," answered Tony, pointing to a picture of the Saviour blessing
young children, "he's always talking to him as if he could see him,
and he tells him everythink. No, it 'ud be better for me to stay
with him and Dolly, and keep hard by my crossing, than go away from
'em, and have clothes, and lodging, and schooling for nothink."
"I think it would," said Mr. Ross, "so you must go on as you are,
Antony, till I can find you something better than a crossing. You
are looking very well, my boy; that's a nice, warm suit of clothes
you have on, better than the rags you came in by a long way."
It was a sailor's suit, sent to the hospital by some mother, whose
boy had perhaps outgrown it; or, it may be, whose boy had been taken
away from all her tender care for him. It was of good, rough, thick
blue cloth, and fitted Tony well. He had grown a good deal during
his illness, and his face had become whiter and more refined; his
hair, too, was cut to a proper length, and parted down the side, no
longer lying about his head in a tangled mass. He coloured up with
pleasure as Mr. Ross looked approvingly at him.
"They've lent it me till I go out," he said, with a tone slightly
regretful in his voice, "I only wish Dolly could have seen me in it,
and her aunt Charlotte. My own things were too ragged for me to wear
'em in a place like this."
"They've given it to you, Antony," replied Mr. Ross, "those are the
clothes you will go home in to-morrow."
It seemed too much for Tony to believe, though a nurse who was
sitting by and sewing away busily, told him it was quite true. He
was intensely happy all the rest of the day, often standing up, and
almost straining his neck to get a satisfactory view of his own back,
and stroking the nap of his blue trousers with a fondling touch.
They would all see him in it; old Oliver, Dolly, and aunt Charlotte.
There would be no question now as to his fitness for taking Dolly out
for a walk; he would be dressed well enough to attend upon a
princess. This made famous amends for the pair of old boots he had
lost the night he broke his leg; a loss he had often silently
lamented over in his own mind. The nurse told him she was patching
up his old clothes, and making him a cap, to wear when he was at work
on his crossing, for the new ones were much too good for that; and
Tony felt as rich as if a large fortune had been left to him.
It was a very joyful thing to go home again. Dolly was a little shy
at first of this new Tony, so different from the poor, ragged,
wild-looking old Tony; but a very short time was enough to make her
familiar with his nice blue suit, and the anchor-buttons upon it. He
found his place under the counter all nicely papered to keep the
draughts out; and a little chaff mattress, made by aunt Charlotte,
laid down instead of the shavings upon the floor. It was even
pleasanter to be here than in the hospital.
But Tony found it hard work to go back to his crossing in the
morning; and he could not make out what was the matter with himself,
he felt so cross and idle. His old clothes seemed really such horrid
rags that he could scarcely bear to feel them about him; and if any
passer-by looked closely at him, he went red and hot all over. He
was not so successful as he thought he had been before his accident,
or as he thought he ought to be; for the roads were getting cleaner
with the drier weather, and few persons considered it necessary to
give him a copper for his almost needless labour. Worst of
all,--Clever Dog Tom found him out, and would come often to see him;
sometimes jeering him for his poor spirit in being content with such
low work, and sometimes boasting of the fine things he could do, and
displaying the fine clothes he could wear. It was truly very hard
work for Tony, after his long holiday at the hospital, where he had
had as much luxury and attention as a rich man's son.
But at home in the evening Tony felt all right again. Old Oliver set
him to learn to read and write, and he was making rapid progress,
more rapid than Dolly, who began at the same time, but who was apt to
look upon it all as only another kind of game, of which she grew more
quickly tired than of hide-and-seek. There was no one to check her,
or to make her understand it was real, serious work: neither old
Oliver nor Tony could find any fault with their darling. Now and
then there came letters from her mother, full of anxious questions
about her, and loving messages to her, telling her to be a good girl
till she came back, but never saying a word as to when there was any
chance of her returning to England. In one of these letters she sent
word that a little sister was come for her out in India, who was just
like what Dolly herself had been when she was a baby; but neither
Oliver nor Tony could quite believe that. There never had been such
a child as Dolly; there never would be again.