Jack, the Fire Dog

“They remind me of chickens snatching up a worm and running off that the others may not take it away from them,” said Mrs. Ledwell to herself, as she watched the little waifs darting off with their presents.

“I just wish Grandpapa could have seen how happy those little children looked to think they could buy something for Christmas,” said Sam, as he followed his grandmother into the market.

“Oh, Grandpapa is feeling very happy to-day,” she replied, “for he has been sending Christmas dinners to a great many little boys and girls.”

“It smells just like Christmas here, doesn’t it, Grandmamma?” said Sam, as they passed down the long building, the stalls on both sides tastefully decorated with evergreens and bright berries.

“Now, Sam,” said Grandmamma, stopping before one of the stalls, “we must pick out a nice turkey for Mrs. Hanlon and Billy.”

“You must give me a very nice turkey, Mr. Spear,” said Sam, trying to talk as Grandpapa did.

“I’ll do the best I can for you,” replied Mr. Spear; and after looking over a pile of turkeys he selected a fine, plump one and placed it before the little boy.

“I don’t like the looks of that bird,” said Sam, with a very decided air.

“Why, Sam,” said his grandmother, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t like the looks of those legs,” said Sam in the same decided manner.

“What is the matter with them?” asked Mr. Spear, greatly amused at the little boy’s grown-up air.

“I don’t like the color of them,” persisted Sam.

“Why, what color do you expect them to be?” asked Mr. Spear, trying to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what other color they could very well be.”

“Oh, yes, they could!” replied Sam, shrewdly. “I want a turkey with yellow legs, because they are the best.”

“I don’t know as I ever saw a turkey with yellow legs,” replied Mr. Spear, gravely. “If I had one, I would give it to you.”

“Why, Sam,” said Grandmamma, who had been greatly amused at the conversation, “what made you ask for a turkey with yellow legs? They are always lead-color, like this one.”

“Grandpapa always asks for yellow-legged ones. He says the blue-legged ones are not fit to eat,” replied Sam, “and you know that Grandpapa is very particular.”

“I guess he’s thinking of chickens,” said Mr. Spear, “and has got ’em kind of mixed up with turkeys in his mind.”

“That must be it,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “Well, I will have this one and another just like it. You would like to send one to the little children we saw looking at Santa Claus, wouldn’t you, Sam?”

Then cranberries and apples and potatoes were bought to go with the turkeys, and some huge squashes took Sam’s fancy so greatly that one was sent with each turkey.

After that, wreaths and garlands were selected and piled upon the seat opposite Sam and his grandmother, and they drove home, the fragrance from the evergreens mingling with the crisp air.

After lunch, came what Sam considered about the best part of Christmas, the pleasant task of distributing presents at the houses of their friends. Sam liked to do this all by himself, it gave him such a grown-up feeling. So soon after lunch the sleigh was brought around and piled high with packages of every size and shape, each one neatly addressed. Then Sam was tucked in on the back seat all by himself, and he looked like a little rosy Santa Claus, with his fur cap, the fur robes, and the presents piled high about him.

Whenever they stopped to leave a present, Sam would run up the steps and always leave word that the present must not on any account be seen until Christmas morning. He left Billy’s and Mrs. Hanlon’s presents until the last because he took the most interest in them and wanted to make a call on them, besides.

Sam found them both in the cosey parlor, Mrs. Hanlon sewing and at the same time telling stories to the little blind boy. Billy had improved very much in appearance in this new home. He was never left alone, as he had to be so much of the time at the engine-house, and his face lost much of the sad expression it had before he came here. Both Mrs. Hanlon and Billy were delighted to see their little visitor, who came in with his arms piled high with packages and his face beaming with happiness.

“You mustn’t either of you look into the packages or try to find out what is in them,” he said, as he laid them down on the sofa.

“No, indeed, we shouldn’t think of such a thing,” Mrs. Hanlon assured him. “There wouldn’t be any surprise for us if we knew what we were going to have.”

Sam made quite a little call, and told Billy about his visit to the big market and what he saw there; and then he told him about the three children he saw trying to look in at the window where Santa Claus was. He told him all about that wonderful Santa Claus, too, how exactly like a real live man he looked, about the four beautiful little reindeer harnessed to his sleigh, and how natural the snow and the trees looked.

Billy listened to all this with great interest, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had seen it as Sam had. When Sam told him about the three children, and said that the little one who wanted a doll so much was called “Maysie,” Billy said,—

“Why, that was the name of one of the children who were so good to me that time they took my mother away.”

“Perhaps it was the same one,” said Sam. Billy, however, could not tell how the little girl looked, so they could not be sure.

“If I see them again,” said Sam, “I will ask them if they are the same ones.”

When Sam thought it was time for him to go, he repeated his instructions in regard to the presents, and extracted a promise from both not to exercise any undue curiosity to find out what their presents were. When Mrs. Hanlon followed him to the door, he confided to her that his present to Billy was a little fire-engine that would throw a real stream of water, and he thought it would be of great use, as they could water the plants with it. “We can make believe there is a fire and can turn the hose on just as real engines do,” he added.

“It must be beautiful,” said Mrs. Hanlon, “but I wish the poor child could see it;” and she gave a deep sigh.

“But he will,” replied Sam, brightly. “You haven’t forgotten what I told you about my Christmas present, have you?”

“No, indeed, I remember; I only hope you won’t be disappointed!”

“Of course it will come. It is sure to,” replied Sam, confidently. “Didn’t my little pony come all right?” And with a happy good-bye Sam ran down the steps and jumped into the sleigh.

“Dear little soul!” said Mrs. Hanlon, looking after him as he waved his hand gayly at her. “How disappointed he will be!” and the tears stood in her kind eyes as she closed the door and joined the little blind boy.

CHAPTER TWELFTH

WHEN Sam went to bed that night, he pulled his window-shades to the very top of the window, that he might awake as early as possible. This arrangement had the desired effect, for when Mary came in he had examined all the presents that were in his Christmas stocking and was nearly dressed besides.

“I will tell you why I am in such a hurry,” he said in answer to Mary’s look of surprise. “I want to go over to see Billy the very first thing.”

“Oh, you must wait until after breakfast,” said Mary. “It is a very cold morning, and Billy is probably abed and fast asleep yet.”

“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Sam. “He’ll be sure to be up. So give me my coat and cap, Mary, please.”

“Indeed, your grandmamma wouldn’t like to have you go out so early,” said Mary, “and such a beautiful breakfast as Cook has got!”

“I don’t care about that, Mary,” replied Sam, decidedly. “I must see Billy the very first thing. I know the way very well.”

In vain Mary tried to persuade the little boy to wait until after breakfast, but he was so persistent she knew he would go alone if she refused to go with him; so she very reluctantly agreed to go. She dared not disturb his grandparents at so early an hour, or she would have appealed to them to decide the matter. So the two started out on their expedition.

Sam had never been in the streets at so early an hour. The sun rises late at this season of the year, and its bright rays were just streaming over the tall house-tops as Sam and Mary sallied forth. Most of the families in the neighborhood were still in bed, but the houses were being put in order for the day. Front steps were being swept down, front doors dusted, parlor shades drawn up, and sidewalks cleaned. Colonies of sparrows perched among the trees and secreted in the branches of the vines that grew against the houses, had not yet finished their morning hymns, and their joyous twittering was heard on every side.

The air was so cold that Mary made her little charge walk briskly, and by the time they reached Mrs. Hanlon’s house his cheeks were glowing. They found Billy dressed and holding the engine in his lap. Sam gave a keen glance at the little blind boy, who sat passing his hands caressingly over the beautiful toy, but his eyes were not bent upon it,—they were fixed straight before him in the same old way.

“Billy,” cried Sam earnestly, as he watched the blind boy’s patient face, “can you see it with your eyes?”

“No,” replied Billy, cheerfully, “but I know just how it looks because I can feel it, you know.”

“Can’t you really see the pretty red wheels and the shining brass and everything?” said Sam, very earnestly. “Try real hard, Billy, and perhaps you can.”