Jack, the Fire Dog

“Well, if you are sure he will not be in the way, I will leave him.”

So Sam was allowed to stay to lunch, with Billy, and it would be hard to say which was the more pleased with the arrangement.

One of the greatest treats Sam knew, was to occasionally make a visit to this old friend of the family. He was treated like a king on these visits, for Mrs. Hanlon thought that nothing could be too good for the son of the baby she had nursed. She always cooked the dishes she knew he liked, and then followed what he liked best of all,—stories about his papa when he was a little boy.

“I think these are the very prettiest dishes I ever saw,” said Sam, as they sat down at the neatly spread table in the cosey dining-room. “I wish we had some just like them.”

“They ain’t much by the side of the beautiful ones you have at home.”

“Oh, yes, they are,” replied Sam. “You ought to see them, Billy. They’ve got beautiful red and yellow flowers painted all around the edges.”

“Things always look and taste better to us when we’re out visiting than when we’re at home,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “I don’t see what makes you like to come here so well, Sam, when you have everything so nice at home.”

“I like your food,” replied Sam, “it is a great deal nicer than what we have.”

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Hanlon.

Somehow it happened that the dinner was what Sam liked best, and he thought it very strange; but Mrs. Hanlon wanted the little blind boy to feel at home as soon as possible, and she had what she thought the boys would like.

There was beafsteak that Sam liked so much, and baked potatoes, that Mrs. Hanlon always let him open and spread himself, and sweet cranberry sauce, exactly the way he liked it, and hot biscuits, as white and fluffy as cotton wool when he broke them open, so much nicer than the cold rolls or bread and butter he had at home. Then, when they had eaten all these things, there was a nice little pudding with the cold, hard sauce Sam liked so well.

The best part of this was that Sam was allowed to prepare his own food all by himself, instead of having it cut up for him just as if he were a baby. To be sure, his knife sometimes slipped when he was cutting his meat, and a little gravy would be spilled on the white tablecloth; and once or twice a piece of meat flew off his plate and lighted in the middle of the table, but Mrs. Hanlon didn’t care one bit, and she thought he did splendidly, so Sam didn’t feel badly at all about it.

Poor Billy had to have his food prepared for him, but he managed to feed himself very well, and everything tasted as good to him as it did to Sam. There was very little talking during the dinner, both boys were so hungry, but when they were through and Mrs. Hanlon was washing the dishes in the little pantry, they followed her there. Sam told her all about the Christmas presents he was to give, all except the one he had for her, and he told her she must hang up the very largest stocking she had, and he was afraid the present wouldn’t go in then. She must hang up one for Billy, too, he said, because he would have some presents.

“Does Santa Claus bring all the presents, Sam?” asked poor little Billy, whose experience in presents had been very limited.

“No,” replied Sam, very decidedly, “I don’t believe he does. Why, he couldn’t get around to all the places, you know. Even God Himself would have to hustle.”

“Did I ever tell you what your papa did one Christmas, Sam?” asked Mrs. Hanlon.

“No, you never did. Do tell us, please.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Hanlon, as she wrung out her dishcloth, “you two boys go into the parlor, and just as soon as I get my dishes put away I’ll come in and tell you about it.”

So the two boys went into the parlor to wait for the promised story, and Sam, to while away the time, told Billy about the present he had for Mrs. Hanlon, first extracting a solemn promise that he would keep the secret to himself, and not on any account breathe a word of it to Mrs. Hanlon. Billy having pledged his word, Sam in a loud whisper, which could easily have reached the ears of their hostess if she had happened to be listening, explained that his Grandmamma had bought a warm fur muff for her, and that he had bought her a beautiful necktie, all with his own money which he had saved for the purpose.

“Now be sure you don’t tell her, Billy, for it would spoil all her pleasure if she knew what was coming;” and Billy once more promised solemnly not to breathe a word about it.

“You mustn’t hint, either, Billy, for that is just as bad; she might guess, you know;” and Billy promised to be on his guard.

Soon Mrs. Hanlon came in, and seating herself in her sewing-chair, took up some mending and announced that she was ready to begin her story. Sam drew a low chair close to hers for Billy, seating himself directly in front of her, where he could keep his eyes on her face and not lose a single word.

“We’re all ready, Mrs. Hanlon,” said Sam, hitching his hassock a little nearer in his impatience to have her begin.

“Well, Sam, when your papa was a little boy younger than you are, he had a little bank made of iron and painted to look just like a real bank where they keep money. It had a chimney on top with a hole big enough to drop a nickel in, and he used to save all he got and drop them in that way. He said he was going to keep putting them in until it was full, and then he was going to open it and buy Christmas presents with the money. It would have taken a bank as big as the State House to hold nickels enough to buy all the presents he promised. He was going to give me a gold watch and chain and ever so many other things that cost ever so much. And he was going to give Cook a silk dress and a pair of gold spectacles, and if he had money enough he said he should buy her a little horse and carriage to take her to church in, because she had grown kind of lame standing on her feet so much cooking. He had promised all the others just as handsome presents, and he was so happy talking about them that we enjoyed them as much as if we really had them.

“Well, a few days before Christmas he was out walking with me, and we passed a store not far from where we lived that was full of beautiful candy of all kinds. In front of the windows there was a group of poor children looking in and enjoying the bright paper boxes and plates piled up with tempting candy.

“They were all talking together and saying what kinds of candy they would give one another if they had money enough to buy it. They looked real happy, too, choosing the candy they didn’t have any money to buy.

“‘Poor things!’ I said, ‘I don’t suppose they will have any Christmas presents at all.’

“‘Haven’t they got any money at all?’ your papa asks.

“‘No, I don’t suppose they ever had a cent of their own, unless somebody gave it to them.’

“‘Don’t they ever have any candy at all, or any Christmas presents?’ asks your papa.

“‘I don’t believe they do,’ I answers, ‘but they look just as happy as if they did, and candy isn’t good for little folks, it makes them sick.’

“‘It doesn’t make me sick,’ says your papa, ‘and it tastes real good.’

“He looked very hard at the children, and I could see he felt very badly about their not having any candy, and pretty soon I took him home, for I didn’t want him to worry.

“Well, after we got home, your grandmamma called me into her chamber to do something for her, and I left your papa looking out of the nursery window at the passing. I often left him alone with the door open, and he played nicely by himself. It took me quite a little time to do what your grandmamma wanted of me, and when I went back to the nursery, not a sign of your papa was to be seen. I thought perhaps he had slipped down to the kitchen, he was so fond of talking to Cook, so I didn’t feel anxious about him; but when I went down to the kitchen and found he was not there, I can tell you I was pretty well scared. I hunted through the house, but not a soul had seen him. The parlor girl said she had heard the front door open a little while before, but she didn’t notice who went out.

“All at once I thought of those children looking in at the candy store, that your father had felt so sorry for. So off I started for it, and I can tell you it didn’t take me very long to get there. Well, what do you think I saw?”

“I don’t know,” replied Sam, breathlessly; “what was it?”

“Well, there stood your papa without any hat or coat on, and with his little bank under one arm. He had unlocked it, and he was giving out the nickels to the children just as fast as he could take them out, bless his warm little heart! I never saw such a sight of children as there were about him; where they could come from in such a little time was a mystery; but there they were, crowding around him, and as fast as one got a nickel, off he would run, and I don’t doubt sent others back too.

“I can see your papa now just as plain as if it was yesterday. There he stood in his little black velvet suit, with his hair blowing every which way, and his eyes shining like stars, he was so happy.

“He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, and called out, just as happy, ‘They can have Christmas presents now, Mary. They have all got some money, and they can buy just what they’ve a mind to.’

“‘What in the world shall I do without my gold watch and chain, and all the other nice presents you were going to give me?’ I says.

“He looks rather crestfallen for a minute, as if that side of the question hadn’t occurred to him before; then he says brightly,—

“‘You won’t mind waiting till next Christmas, will you, Mary? Papa will give me some money to buy something for you with, and these poor little children didn’t have any money at all.’”

“What did Grandpapa and Grandmamma say to him when he got home?” asked Sam.

“Oh, bless you, they didn’t mind. He was a real chip off the old block. In their family giving comes as easily as breathing.”

Other stories followed this one, and by and by the sleigh came to take Sam home; and Billy bade him good-bye without a single homesick feeling. What little homeless child could have failed to feel at home in such surroundings?

CHAPTER EIGHTH

A   FLOCK of pigeons were walking about in front of the engine-house, picking up the handful of grain that one of the firemen had thrown out to them. They were not all walking about, to speak accurately,—one, the little black and white lame pigeon, was hopping, with one little pink foot held closely against his warm feathers. Jack the Scrapper, the large handsome dark-blue pigeon with the rainbow neck, was darting in and out among the flock, seizing upon the largest grains, and pecking at every pigeon who came in his way.

The pigeons always got out of the way when they saw the Scrapper coming towards them. Sometimes a bold young pigeon would face him, and stand his ground for a while, but he didn’t keep up his resistance very long. The Scrapper was so much stronger and bolder that he always got the better of the others in the end, and was worse than ever after these triumphs.

The nearest the Scrapper ever came to defeat was when he was attacked by the six-months white squab. The squab was large and strong for his age, and as good-natured as the Scrapper was ill-natured. He had long borne the Scrapper’s bullying ways with an ill grace, and once seeing the bully peck sharply one of the mother pigeons who had meekly brought up several broods in a most judicious manner, the spirited squab could contain himself no longer, and flew at the bully with great fury. Young as the white squab was, the Scrapper had to exert himself to subdue him, and the valiant squab held out to the last. Although conquered by brute force, his spirit was as dauntless as ever, and he vowed dire vengeance so soon as he should have grown to his full strength.

The white squab had mild eyes and a gentle disposition. He never picked a quarrel, but never took an insult or saw the weak abused if he could help it. These traits made him very popular with the flock, and many of the older pigeons, as they saw him growing stronger and larger, foretold that Dick the Scrapper would have to look out for himself when the plucky squab should have attained his growth. Meanwhile the squab himself said nothing on the subject, but went on his way good-naturedly, growing stronger every day and pluming his feathers with great care. He showed no fear of the Scrapper and never got out of his way as the others did, but it was noticed that the Scrapper never tried to take the white squab’s food away, nor ever pecked at him to make him get out of his path. Perhaps he too saw how strong and big the plucky squab was growing.