A FRESH DAY DAWNS.
Old Oliver and Tony saw their darling buried in a little grave in a
cemetery miles away from their own home, and then they returned,
desolate and bereaved, to the deserted city, which seemed empty
indeed to them. The house had never looked so very dark and dreary
before. Yet from time to time old Oliver forgot that Dolly was gone
altogether, and could never come back; for he would call her in his
eager, quavering tones, or search for her in some of the
hiding-places, where she had often played at hide-and-seek with him.
When meal-times came round he would put out Dolly's plate and cup,
which had been bought on purpose for her, with gay flowers painted
upon them; and in the evening, over his pipe, when he had been used
to talk to his Lord, he now very often said nothing but repeat again
and again Dolly's little prayer, which he had himself taught her,
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild." It was quite plain to Tony that it
would never do to leave him alone in his house and shop.
"I've give up my place as errand-boy," he said to Mr. Ross, "'cause
the old master grows worse and worse for forgetting, and I must mind
shop for him now as well as I can. He's not off his head, as you may
say; he's sharp enough sometimes; but there's no trusting to him
being sharp always. He talks to Dolly as if she was here, and could
hear him, till I can't hardly bear it. But I'm very fond of
him,--fonder of him than anythink else, 'cept my little Dolly; and
I've made up my mind as his Master shall be my master, and he's
always ready to tell me all he knows about him. I'm no ways afeared
of not getting along."
Tony found that they got along very well. Mr. Ross made a point of
going in to visit them every week, and of seeing how the business
prospered in the boy's hands; and he put as much as he could in his
way. Sad and sorrowful as the days were, they passed over, one after
another, bringing with them at least the habit of living without
Dolly. Every Sunday afternoon, however, old Oliver and Tony walked
slowly through the streets, for the old man could only creep along
with Tony's help, till they reached the Children's Hospital; but they
never passed the door, nor entered in through it. Old Oliver would
stand for a few minutes leaning heavily on Tony's shoulder, and
trembling from head to foot, as his eyes wandered over all the front
of the building; and then a low, wailing cry would break from his
lips, "Dear Lord! there was no room for my little love, but thou hast
found room for her!"
It was a reopening of Tony's sorrow when aunt Charlotte came up from
the country to find that the little child had gone away altogether,
leaving only her tiny frocks and clothes, which were neatly folded up
in a drawer, where old Oliver treasured up a keepsake or two of his
wife's. She discovered, too, that old Oliver had forgotten to write
to Susan,--indeed, his hand had become too trembling to hold a
pen,--and she wrote herself; but her letter did not reach Calcutta
before Susan and her husband had left it, being homeward bound.
It was as nearly two years as it could well be since the summer
evening when Susan Raleigh had sent her little girl into old Oliver's
shop, bidding her be a good girl till she came home, and thinking it
would be only three days before she saw her again. It was nearly two
years, and an evening something like it, when the door was darkened
by the entrance of a tall, fine-looking man, dressed as a soldier,
but with one empty sleeve looped up across his chest. Tony was busy
behind the counter wrapping up magazines, which he was going to take
out the next morning, and the soldier looked very inquisitively at
him.
"Hallo! my lad, who are you?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.
"I'm Antony Oliver," he said; for of late he had taken to call
himself by his old master's name.
"Antony Oliver!" repeated the stranger; "I never heard of you before."
"Well, I'm only Tony," he answered; "but I live with old Mr. Oliver
now, and call him grandfather. He likes it, and it does me good.
It's like somebody belonging to me."
"Why! how long have you called him grandfather?" asked the soldier
again.
"Ever since our little Dolly died," said Tony, in a faltering voice.
"Dolly dead!" exclaimed the man, looking ready to fall down; for his
face went very white, and he leaned upon the counter with his one
hand. "Oh! my poor Susan!--my poor, dear girl!--however can I tell
her this bad news?"
"Who are you?" cried Tony. "Are you Dolly's father? Oh, she's dead!
She died last January, and we are more lonesome without her than you
can think."
"Let me see poor Susan's father," he said, after a minute or two, and
with a very troubled face.
"Ay, come in," said Tony, lifting up the flap of the counter, under
which Dolly had so often played at hide-and-seek. "He's more hisself
again; but his memory's bad yet. I know everythink about her,
though; because she was so fond of me, and me of her. Come in."
Raleigh entered the room, and saw old Oliver sitting in his
arm-chair, with a pipe in his hand, and a very tranquil look upon his
wrinkled face. The gas-light shone upon the glittering epaulettes
and white sash of the soldier, and the old man fastened upon him a
very keen, yet doubtful gaze of inquiry.
"Don't you know me, father?" cried Raleigh, almost unable to utter a
word. "It's your poor Susan's husband, and Dolly's father."
"Dolly's father!" repeated old Oliver, rising from his chair, and
resting his hand upon Raleigh's shoulder. "Do you know that the dear
Lord has taken her to be where he is in glory?"
"Yes, I know it," he said, with a sob.
He put the old man back in his seat, and drew a chair close up to
him. They sat thus together in sorrowful silence for some minutes,
until old Oliver laid his hand upon the empty sleeve on Raleigh's
breast.
"You've lost your arm," he said, pityingly.
"Ay!" answered Raleigh; "our colonel was set upon by a tiger in the
jungle, and I saved him; but the brute tore my arm, and craunched the
bone between his teeth till it had to come off. It's spoiled me for
a soldier."
"Yes, yes, poor fellow," answered old Oliver, "but the Lord knew all
about it."
"That he did," answered Raleigh; "and he's taught me a bit more about
himself than I used to know. I'm not spoiled to be His soldier. But
I don't know much about the service yet, and I shall want you to
teach me, father. You'll let me call you father, for poor Susan's
sake, won't you?"
"To be sure--to be sure," said old Oliver, keeping his hand still
upon the empty sleeve on Raleigh's breast.
"Well, father," he continued, "as I am not fit for a soldier, and as
the colonel was hurt too, we're all come home together. Only Susan's
gone straight on with her lady and our little girl, and sent me
through London to see after you and Dolly."
"Your little girl?" said Oliver questioningly.
"Yes, the one born in India. Her name's Mary, but we call her Polly.
Susan said it made her think of our little Dolly at home. Dear!
dear! I don't know however I shall let her know."
Another fit of silence fell upon them, and Tony left them together,
for it was time to put up the shop shutters. It seemed just like the
night when he had followed Susan and the little girl, and loitered
outside in the doorway opposite, to see what would happen after she
had left her in the shop. He fancied he was a ragged, shoeless boy
again, nobody loving him, or caring for him, and that he saw old
Oliver and Dolly standing on the step, looking out for the mother,
who had gone away, never, never to see her darling again. Tony's
heart was very full; and when he tried to whistle, he was obliged to
give it up, lest he should break out into sobs and crying. When he
went back into the house Raleigh was talking again.
"So Susan and me are to have one of the lodges of the colonel's
park," he said, "and I'm to be a sort of bailiff to look after the
other outdoor servants about the garden and premises. It's a house
with three bedrooms, and a very pleasant sort of little parlour, as
well as a kitchen and scullery place downstairs. You can see the
Wrekin from the parlour window, and the moon over it; and it's not so
far away but what we could get a spring-cart sometimes, and drive
over to your old home under the Wrekin. As soon as ever the
colonel's lady told Susan where it was, she cried out, 'That's the
very place for father!' You'd like to come and live with your own
Susan again, in your own country; wouldn't you now?"
"Yes, yes; for a little while," answered old Oliver, with a smile
upon his face.
Tony felt a strange and very painful shrinking at his heart. If the
old man went away to live with his daughter in the country, his home
would be lost to him, and he would have to go out into the great city
again alone, with nobody to love. He could get his living now in a
respectable manner, and there was no fear of his being driven to
sleep in Covent Garden, or under the bridges. But he would be alone,
and all the links which bound him to Dolly and old Oliver would be
snapped asunder. He wondered if the Lord Jesus would let such a
thing be.
"But I couldn't leave Tony," cried old Oliver, suddenly; and putting
on his spectacles to look for him.
"Come here, Tony. He's like my own son to me, bless him! He calls
me grandfather, and kept my heart up when I should have sunk very low
without him. My Master gave him to me the very same night he gave me
my little love. No, no; Dolly loved Tony, and Susan must come here
to see me, but I could never leave my boy."
Old Oliver had put his arm round Tony, drawing him closer and closer
to him as he spoke, until his withered cheek pressed fondly against
his face. Since Dolly died neither of them had felt such a thrill of
happiness as now.
"The colonel and his lady must be told about this," said Raleigh,
after he had heard all that Tony had been and done for old Oliver;
and when he was obliged to go away for the night, the soldier gave
him such a cordial grasp of the hand, as set all his fingers
tingling, and his heart throbbing with exultation.