Chapter XXVIII: Ben Decides the Matter for Himself (3)

"Well, what do you want?" asked Mr. Perkins, leisurely surveying Ben's sturdy figure from his greater height.

"A red woollen tippet, I think," said Ben.

"A red woollen tippet!" repeated the salesman, nearly falling backward. "Oh, we haven't got one in the store!"

"Haven't you?" asked Ben, very much disappointed, for he had set his heart on seeing that the boy who was to have those good warm clothes should have a red woollen tippet to tie around his throat, and perhaps go over his cap, and down around his ears, if it was very cold. Anyway, the ends were to tuck in the jacket. Ben knew just exactly how that tippet was to look when it was all fixed, ready for a sharp, cold, snowy day.

"Well, I can suit you," said the salesman, noting the disappointed tone; "we've got silk scarfs, nice ones, all--"

"Oh, I don't want a silk scarf," said Ben, quickly.

"Some of them are plaid; you don't know how fine they are. This way," and he stepped off.

But as Ben stood quite still, there was nothing for the salesman to do but to come back, which he did, quite discomfited.

"Have you got any caps?" asked Ben, leaving the red tippet out of the question as an impossibility in this shop.

"Caps? Oh, yes, this way," and away they went, down aisles, up in elevators, and into the department where nothing but headgear showed itself.

This time, knowing there were to be three boys provided for with suits, Ben picked out the same number of good, strong caps, the salesman all through the process plainly showing his disgust and disappointment at what he thought was to be a fine purchase, turning out to be such a poor trade. But Ben knew nothing of what was going on in the other one's mind, and would have cared still less, had he known, all his attention being absorbed in the bargain he was making for Madam Van Ruypen. At last the business was concluded.

"Do you keep gloves?" he asked, as they turned away.

"Yes," said the salesman, sullenly, and slapping the three cloth caps together disdainfully.

"Mittens?" asked Ben.

"No, indeed," said Mr. Perkins, emphatically. "Mittens, the very idea!" then he winked at a young man, who looked as if a wrinkle, by any chance, never existed in his clothes, and whose hair was evidently just fresh from the barber's. "We don't keep anything but first-class goods."

The other young man made no attempt to conceal his broad smile. And by this time Ben had considerable attention down the long store. He couldn't help but see it, and he held his head high, and his blue eyes flashed.

"Well, give me the money--" Mr. Perkins held out his hand, the one with the big ring on.

"I don't pay for them," said Ben.

"Well, I guess you do, young man," declared Mr. Perkins, in a high key, designed to impress the onlookers. "You've bought these caps," and he gave them another disdainful slap together, "and you'll pay for them, and now, right sharp off!" he added in a very unpleasant way.

"But I haven't bought them for myself," said Ben.

"Hey? Oh! What are you talking about?" Mr. Perkins whirled around at him. "Who sent you here, anyway?" glaring down at him.

"I haven't been sent," said Ben; "I came with the one who is going to buy them."

"Well, who is he? Take me to him." Mr. Perkins craned his neck this way and that, trying to see the friend of his customer.

"If you will follow me, you will see for yourself," said Ben, stepping off. When he paused by Madam Van Ruypen's chair, Mr. Perkins was in a bad state. His long limbs seemed wobbling under him, and his usually glib tongue appeared to be fastened to the roof of his mouth. He delivered up the caps with a limp and feeble hand, then cast an appealing eye down at Ben.

"Very good," said the old lady, without a glance at them. "Put them with these other articles," pointing to the suit left on the counter. "Now, then, Ben, are these all the things you can find here, pray tell?"

"Yes," said Ben, "they don't seem to keep what I want in this shop."

"Let me look again," cried Mr. Perkins, in great distress, "I think maybe I can find something to suit you. Don't go yet, I almost know we can find something," he kept on in such misery, saying the same thing over and over, that Madam Van Ruypen stared at him in amazement.

Meanwhile, the other young man, who had followed Ben and Mr. Perkins with his eye till they arrived at Madam Van Ruypen's chair, soon spread the astounding news that the boy who wanted mittens had good reason to hold his own against everybody, and was by no means a person to be safely laughed at. "And Perkins is having a fit," he wound up, to the group of salesmen unencumbered by customers.

"I don't think you can," said Ben, quickly; "I must try some other shop."

"But just come and let me show you some things," begged Mr. Perkins, in a frenzy.

"Oh, go along, Ben," said Madam Van Ruypen; "you might as well, for I must wait here until the other man brings down those extra suits."

So Ben had nothing to do but to move off with Mr. Perkins. When they had turned into a convenient corner, "See here," said the salesman, and his face paled, "you won't tell on me, will you?" His mouth twitched, and anxious wrinkles seemed to run all over his face, making him suddenly quite old and worn.

"What do you think?" said Ben, indignantly, and he turned on his heel in contempt.

"You see," Mr. Perkins hurried after him, and spoke as if his throat were parched, the words came out so jerkily, "I couldn't stay here a minute, you know, if the old man knew I'd treated any one belonging to her badly."

"I don't belong to her," said Ben.

"Well, you came with her," said Mr. Perkins, quite willing now to believe Ben much higher up yet, if that were possible, in the social scale. "And I've got a mother," he swallowed hard with a kind of choke, "and three sisters, and--"

"You needn't be afraid," Ben stopped the rest; "I give you my word I'll not speak of it."

"Honest Injun, now?" said Mr. Perkins, anxiously.

"I've given you my word," said Ben; "that's all I'll say," looking at him squarely.

Mr. Perkins drew a long breath, and the wrinkles seemed to drop right out of his face. "Thank you," he said. "Now, if you'll come this way, I'll show you some things that you want."

When the two joined the old lady there was quite a little array of articles in Mr. Perkins's hands, which he did not slap disdainfully together. To be sure there were no mittens; but there were some thick cloth gloves, and a stout, large handkerchief, and some heavy stockings. And as the other two suits had been brought down from the top floor, there was quite a respectable pile of purchases to be done up and put in the handsome brougham waiting at the door.

And Mr. Perkins insisted, also, on seeing them out, although the first salesman, by his manner, proclaimed it quite unnecessary, and the tall young man's "Thank you" was said last of all, and he appeared to look only at Ben.

"Quite a gentle-mannered young man," observed Madam Van Ruypen, as the carriage door was closed; "such a contrast to the ordinary, pert creature. I shall make an excuse to shop there again, and I shall insist upon having him wait upon me. Well, now, Ben, while we are driving to Birdsall's, where you can, maybe, get the articles you couldn't find here, let us think up some boys to give these things to." She pointed to the big bundle on the opposite seat, which, more for the pleasure of actually carrying it home, than because of the Christmas rush, she had decided to take with her.

"Don't you know the boys you are going to give the clothes to?" exclaimed Ben, turning in great astonishment to gaze at her.

"Dear me, no," said Madam Van Ruypen, with a laugh, "but that doesn't make any matter. There are boys enough who will like those things, I haven't any doubt. I only thought, seeing you've been such a help to me in buying them, that perhaps you'd think of the boys to fit them to. Well, there's the City Missionary Society; they'll tell me, probably."

Ben removed his gaze from the white puffs and Roman nose, and looked steadily out of the window. Gone seemed the city buildings and streets to give place to country lanes, with here and there a farm-house to break the stretch of long, snow-covered roads. If only he dared to say his thought!

"And as long as you can't help me," Madam Van Ruypen's voice had a little break in it, as if she were not, somehow, finding quite as much satisfaction in the expedition as she had hitherto enjoyed, "why, I suppose--"

"Why don't you send them to a country boy?" cried Ben, whirling suddenly around on the green leather seat, his blue eyes shining.

"Hey, what--why--" began the old lady. Then there was an awful pause. And just as Ben had made up his mind that the whole morning expedition had been made a failure, and by him, she broke out, "I have the very thing, and, Ben, there are three boys in that family. Only think, I've forgotten them all this time, since I saw them up in the mountains last summer."

Ben drew a long breath, and his face said, "Do tell me about them," though he couldn't say a word.

"There isn't much to tell," said the old lady in a shamefaced way, "for, being boys, I didn't somehow get interested in them. Their mother did my washing when I was at the hotel. Their father had died, you see."

"Oh," said Ben.

"And now it comes to me, though I didn't think much of it at the time, that the people at the hotel said the boys, that is the two older ones, had to walk three miles to school every day. It was only a little settlement, you see." Madam Van Ruypen didn't add that she had sent some money to the mother, on hearing this story, and then straightway forgot all about the matter.

"So now, oh, Ben, just think what you've made me remember! And we'll make the box just as big as we can. What do you want to buy now?" She turned on him eagerly.

"Mittens," said Ben, promptly, "and a red woollen tippet."

VII

"WHERE'S PIP?" AND JASPER TURNED BACK

"Something is the matter!" cried Polly, hoarsely. "Oh, Ben, I know there is!" She rushed up to him in the hall and seized his arm.

"Nonsense!" said Ben, but his cheek paled, and his blue eyes, usually so steady, didn't look at her. If Polly were frightened, something dreadful must have happened.

"There is, there is," repeated Polly, quite wildly, "for Aunty Whitney has gone to Grandpapa. And there's a telegram come,--and, oh, Ben, can it be Jasper?" With that Polly held so tightly to the sturdy arm she had grasped that at another time Ben would have cried, "Hands off, Polly!" This time he didn't even feel it.

"Oh, no, Polly," was all he could say reassuringly, yet his knees knocked together and everything for a moment seemed to swim before his eyes.

"I saw it myself. It was a telegram that Jane had," Polly was saying, between little sobs that cut Ben through and through like a knife. "And Christmas--" and she could get no farther.

"See here, Polly," Ben came to his senses enough to shake himself free, then he threw his arms around her and held her fast, "don't let us act like this until we know for sure. I'm going to find out" With that he rushed off, and Polly, too wild with distress to be left alone, stumbled after him down the hall, as he hurried to find Jane.

That individual was huddled down in a corner of the back hall which she fondly supposed cleverly concealed her, her apron up to her eyes, and mumbling something behind it to herself. Ben precipitated himself so suddenly upon her that there was no time for recovery of her composure. She dashed down the apron to look up at him and also see Polly at his heels.

"O my!" she began, dreadfully frightened at the sight of the two she most dreaded to meet at this moment.

"You might as well tell us, Jane," said Ben, swallowing very hard, and he reached out and seized Polly's hand, "because we know some bad news came. Now, what is it?" If Polly had pinched his arm in her fright, it was nothing to the grip he now gave her fingers, without his knowing it, while she threw her arm around his neck and held on.

"O my gracious!" Jane shook with fright, but she saw no way out of it but to tell, so she added, twisting her apron-end into a ball, "Yes, it did come, O me, O my!"

"It is about Jasper," said Ben, quietly.

"How'd you know, Master Ben?" cried Jane, in astonishment, remembering how she had become possessed of the news which yet couldn't have travelled through the house.

"Never mind, what is it?" demanded Ben, sharply. "Be quick now, Jane; you might as well tell us first as last."

"O me!" cried Jane, deserting the apron-end to wring her hands desperately, "I wish I hadn't listened. Oh, I can't tell you, don't make me!"

"Jane," Ben leaned over her as well as he could for Polly hanging to him, "you've just _got_ to tell us, so you might as well be quick about it. Don't you see you're only making us feel worse?"

As Ben wasn't given to long speeches, Jane had time to look up in surprise at his face, and then she made up her mind to tell the whole story.

"If you must know--but don't let 'em blame me 'cause I told you," she burst out.

"You shan't be blamed," promised Ben. "Go on."

"Well, there's been a fire at the school, and Master Jasper's hurt, burned, I guess, and--"

"Ben!" a voice rang through the hall.

"O mercy me!" Jane bounded to her feet, seized her feather duster, which implement she had been wielding when the fatal telegram had been handed in, and scuttled down the back hall.

"Ben, Ben! Does any one know where he is?" It was Aunty Whitney, whose gentle voice was never heard on such a key, and she was actually running down the hall, her pretty face all streaked with tears. "Oh, Ben, there isn't a moment to lose. Father wants you to go with him to Jasper. I can't tell you what for."

"I know," said Ben, quietly, while Polly stuffed her fingers into her mouth to keep from screaming.

Mrs. Whitney didn't stop to express any surprise, but her face looked relieved that he had heard the news.

"And you must catch the next train," she hurried on, her voice breaking; "oh, Ben, you must."

"I'm ready," cried Ben. He gave Polly one kiss, then pulled her arms away from his neck.

"Your mother says you can go, and she is getting your things together."

"I'll--I'll help put them up," said Polly, blindly staggering off after him as he rushed down the hall.

"No, no, Polly," cried Mrs. Whitney, "your mother said you must stay with me,--and Polly, I need you so badly." She opened her arms and Polly ran into them, and though there wasn't very much comforting done, it was good to be together.

And Thomas whirled up to the door, and Mr. King and Ben and Mr. King's valet got into the carriage, into which portmanteaus were thrown, and away the horses sprang in a mad rush to make the train. And it was all done in such bewildering haste that the group in the hall scarcely knew or understood anything until the big front door shut with a clang, and they were alone. And nothing to tell of it all but that dreadful yellow telegram lying on Mr. King's writing-table just where it had been thrown.

"Fire at school dormitory early this morning. Your son Jasper
hurt. Come at once.

"JACOB A. PRESBREY."

Polly never knew for long weeks afterward just how she got through that dreadful day, except that Joel and David had to be soothed, no one being able so well as herself to stop the howls of the former, who, on hearing the news, threw himself flat on the floor in a corner of Grandpapa's writing room, refusing all comfort. Little David crouched closely to him, and with never a word laid his head on his shoulder.

And afterward Polly found herself installed as Mrs. Whitney's little nurse, sitting upon the bed most of the time, and smoothing the soft, fair hair, as it lay on the pillow, with a trembling hand.

"You can't know what a comfort you are to me, Polly," every once in a while Mrs. Whitney would say, and reaching up a hand to feel for Polly's fingers.

"Am I?" said Polly, careful not to let the tears drop where they could be seen.

"Yes, indeed! And oh, Polly, I don't really believe that we ought to think the worst. God wouldn't let anything happen to our Jasper. He wouldn't, Polly." But Mrs. Whitney clutched the pillow, and turned her face into it and sobbed. And Polly smoothed her hair, and said not a word.

And all those terrible hours passed away--how, no one could tell. Outside they could hear Phronsie, who, of course, knew nothing of the blow that had fallen upon the household, gayly laughing and chattering away. She had been told that Grandpapa had gone away and that she must not go into his room; so she hadn't seen Joel and David. But Mother Fisher had hard work to keep the incessant calls for Polly from being sounded over the halls and stairs, and at last she took Phronsie into her room and closed the door.

"Now, Mother's baby," said Mrs. Fisher, seating herself on the wide haircloth sofa, and drawing Phronsie into her lap. How often had Jasper sat on this old sofa and told her his boyish confidences the same as her own children! She gave a groan at the thought of what might be happening now at that distant school.

"What is it, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie, in gentle surprise, and lifting a soft little hand to her mother's cheek.

"Oh, my pet," Mrs. Fisher drew Phronsie quickly to her breast, "you mustn't mind Mamsie."

"But you made a funny noise here, Mamsie," and Phronsie touched her mother's throat.

"Did I? Well, never mind, dear. Now I must tell you, you cannot have Polly to-day, Phronsie."

"But I want Polly," said Phronsie, regarding her mother with grave displeasure.

"Yes, I know, dear. But you cannot have her just to-day. Mother does not think it is best."

Phronsie's lip quivered and her brown eyes closed to squeeze the tears back. But despite all her efforts they would come, and two big ones rolled down her cheeks.

"And Mamsie will be very much disappointed in her little girl if she cries," went on Mrs. Fisher, "for Aunty Whitney needs Polly to-day. So Phronsie must be brave and let Polly stay with her."

"Is Aunty Whitney sick?" asked Phronsie, with sudden interest, her eyes flying open at once. For any one to be sick was to enlist her sympathy, and she at once gave up all thoughts of having Polly to herself.

"Yes, that is, she will be, I am afraid, if Polly does not stay with her," said Mother Fisher; "so you must be a good child, and not call for Polly."

"I will be good," said Phronsie, sliding down from her mother's lap, and folding her hands. "I will be good." She bobbed her yellow head. "And Aunty Whitney will get all well, because Polly is there."

Meanwhile the train bearing Mr. King and Ben was speeding swiftly on its way. For the first hour the old gentleman sat erect on his chair, gazing straight before him at the flying landscape, and with never a word for his companion. Then he suddenly turned with a little groan, and laid his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You are such a comfort to me," he said brokenly.

"Am I?" said Ben, all the color rushing to his face. He a comfort to Grandpapa! He hadn't gotten over wondering what had given him this honor of being allowed to go with him,--and now, to think of being a comfort!

"What I should have done without you, Ben, I cannot tell," Grandpapa was saying, his hand slipping down until it rested on Ben's woollen glove, "but, oh, my boy, I am so glad I have you."

Ben said never a word; he couldn't have spoken, it seemed to him, to save his life, but he lifted his blue eyes to the white, drawn face, and old Mr. King did not seem to feel anything lacking. And so, on and on; the revolutions of the wheels, the flashing in and out of strange cities, the long, steady, tireless plunge of the heavily laden express, by river and lake, hill-top and plain, only rang one refrain through every heart-throb, over and over, loud and clear above the reverberation of the train,--"What shall we find at our journey's end?"

And when it was reached at nightfall, Grandpapa still had Ben's fingers in his grasp; the valet rushed into the Pullman from another car, gathered up the luggage, and out all the passengers poured from the train. There on the platform was Dr. Presbrey himself.

"It is not so bad as we feared," were his first words, as he reached Mr. King's side; and, without waiting for a word, for he saw the old gentleman was beyond it, he led the way to his carriage.

"Stop a bit," Grandpapa made out to say through white lips, "a telegram--tell them at home." He looked at Ben, but Dr. Presbrey sprang back into the station, wrote it, sent it off, and was with them once more; and then it was only a matter of moments and Jasper was reached, at the master's house, where he had been carried after the fire.

"Don't go in," said one of a crowd of boys, who surrounded Ben on the steps, old Mr. King being in advance, a medical man and one or two teachers coming out of the house to meet the party. "Don't go in," he repeated, laying detaining hands on him; "it's perfectly awful in there; everybody's crying."

"He may want me," said Ben, hoarsely, nodding toward the white-haired old gentleman ahead, and trying to free himself. The other boys closed in around him.

"Oh, Dr. Smith won't let you get near him," volunteered one boy; "catch him!"--which proved to be true. Old Mr. King was just at the moment being ushered into the front parlor, and the medical man followed and closed the door with such a snap that it was impossible for any one else to even dream of entering.

"Now, what did I tell you?" said the boy, triumphantly.

"You're Ben, aren't you?" asked the first boy, who hadn't relinquished his hold, the other boys drawing up.

"Yes," said Ben.

"Well, we've heard all about you, and the rest of you. King talked just whole packs about you all."

"Don't," said Ben, and he put up his hand; everything seemed to turn suddenly dark.

"Hush up, Grayson, can't you have some sense?" said a tall, dark-haired boy, angrily, and by a speedy movement he had rescued Ben from the first grasp. "Now, then, come over to my room," he pointed to a long building on the west, "and I'll tell you all about it."

But Grayson had no mind to be so easily pushed off. "That's no fair," he cried; "I had him first."

"No, sir, take your hands off, I'm--" and he clutched Ben again, determined to fight to the end for possession.

"That's right. Get out, Tim," a dozen voices took it up in a subdued tone, it is true, but equally determined to see fair play.

And the tall, dark-haired boy, being shouldered off the steps, Ben soon found himself sitting down in the midst of Jasper's school companions, Grayson still hanging like a leech to him.

"You see we can't do anything but hang around here," one of the boys was saying, "and when anybody comes out, why, we hear a bit how he is."

"And to think it needn't have happened only for Pip,--O dear!" said a stout, chubby-cheeked boy, who didn't look as if he ever did anything but laugh and eat.

"Pip! He wasn't worth saving, little rat," exploded Tim, who, being on the outskirts of the crowd, had to vent his vexation over somebody.

"You'd better let King hear you say that," cried a boy, with a belligerent glance over at Tim. Then, as he remembered how little prospect there might be of Jasper's ever being troubled by the remark, he ground his teeth together to keep from saying more before Ben.

"See here, fellows." Grayson, having made first capture, deemed it his further duty to do the right thing by Ben. "We ought to tell him all about it. And I'll begin," and without more ado, he started off.

Ben clasped his woollen gloves tightly together, and looked over the heads of the boys up to the sky. Was it possible that the stars had ever twinkled in friendly fashion at them, as Polly and the other children had run out of the little brown house with him at such fortunate times when their mother had let them sit up; and the moon had beamed down on them too, so sociably that Polly made up little stories about their shining light, so that they had all grown to love them very dearly. Now, it seemed as if great tears were dropping out of the sky, and Ben shivered and listened, and gripped his hands tighter together than ever.

"You see, it began--well, no one knows how it did begin," Grayson was rushing on; "I think Beggins was drunk."

"What stuff!" ejaculated another boy, contemptuously. "Beggins never got off the handle; the Doctor would have fired him long ago."

"There must always be a first time," said Grayson, nowise discomfited. "Beggins is the night watchman," he explained to Ben. "Well, anyway,--hush up, fellows,--the fire broke out, we don't any of us know how. It doesn't signify. What we do know is that in about five minutes from the first alarm it got too hot for us in there." He hopped to his feet and pointed to the broken outline of a long building. Even in the dim light, Ben, dropping his gaze from the sky, could see the ruined chimney, the ragged side wall, and the blackened, crushed windows.

"And it was every one to save his skin. Great Scott! I'll never forget that yell that Toddy sent up. He's the teacher on our hall, Todd is," Grayson explained again, as he dropped into his seat beside Ben.

"Nor the bell clanging," put in another boy; "Christopher Columbus, I thought it was all day with us then!"

"And I couldn't find my clothes!"

"Well, 'twas no worse for you than for any of us," retorted the boy the other side of Grayson. "There wasn't a rag for any of us to get into but blankets, and sheets, and--"

"You see we were waked up out of a sound sleep; it was about three o'clock this morning," Grayson took the words out of any mouth that might be intending to explain, "so we just vamosed the ranch. I tell you, there was some tall sprinting. And King was with us; I remember seeing him. But he was last, and he looked back; then somebody sang out, 'Where's Pip?'"

"Pip?" Ben found his tongue, that had seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, enough for that one syllable.

"Oh, it isn't his real name," said Grayson, in a hurry to explain again before any one else could put in a word; "his own was so ridiculously long,--Cornelius Leffingwell,--only think, for such a mite of a chap,--so we had to call him Pip, you see. Well, somebody was fool enough to scream out, 'Where's Pip?' and Jasper turned back."

Ben clenched both hands tightly together in a grip that would have hurt but for the woollen gloves.

"And I roared out, 'Come along, King--'"

"And so did I."

"And I." The voices took it up, one after another.

"For it wasn't the time to look out for any skin but your own; it was as much as your life was worth to turn back," cried Grayson, bearing down on the other voices.

"Boys!" The big door back of them burst open suddenly, and a teacher's head appeared, making them all jump as if shot. "Go right away from these steps!"

"How is he?" Nothing seemed to dash Grayson, and he took time to ask this quite comfortably, still holding to Ben, while the other boys moved off the steps and around the corner of the master's house.

"Somewhat better. Be off with you!" The teacher waved his hand, and closed the door.

"That old Sterrett,--well, he's a dragon," declared Grayson, between his teeth, and, dragging Ben to a convenient angle, where the other boys soon gathered, the narrative was taken up where it had been dropped.

"I grabbed King, but you might as soon try to hold an eel. He _would_ go."

Ben groaned, and this time so heavily that Grayson pulled himself up short. "See here, I won't tell any more; you're going to keel over."

For answer he was in an instant whirled completely around on his two feet, and instead of his having any sort of a grasp on Ben, it was the visitor who held his coat collar in a woollen-gloved hand in such a way that it didn't seem as if Grayson were ever to be free again.

"Now tell everything you know! I can't wait! Be quick about it!"

It was the same face he had shown to Jane, and, just as she had done, Grayson made all possible haste to answer, "Oh, I will, I will!" the other boys in their astonishment staring silently at the two.

"Pip couldn't be found. He slept in the north wing, but he'd run into another boy's room, so King lost time, and if he hadn't screeched,--Pip, I mean,--why, he never would have got out. And there King--oh, well, he crawled under the bed,--Pip, I mean, nasty little beggar,--and there King found him, and dragged him out. He told us all about it,--Pip, I mean,--and King slung him on his back, and by that time it was no use to try for the stairs; the flames were roaring up like mad, so King tried for the roof of the 'Lab.' Had to go through Toddy's room, and jumped out of one of the windows. And he made it.--Oh, don't hang on to a fellow so!--And there we saw him, and the firemen got a ladder up, and, oh--" Here Grayson gave out and actually blubbered.

Ben looked around for some one to take up the tale. And the tall, dark-haired boy they had called "Tim," now seeing his opportunity, pushed up.

"It's better you should have the whole," he said; "without a bit of warning we saw the roof overhanging the 'Lab'--laboratory, of course, I mean--waver, and then fall, and we screamed to King to look out; it wouldn't have done any good if he had heard, for the chimney toppled, and some bricks knocked him over, and then he saw it coming and kept Pip underneath."

Ben's hand had fallen from the jacket collar to his side, and he didn't seem to breathe.

"You are to come. Mr. King wants you." Somebody reached through the crowd of boys, and drew him off and away.

VIII

"ANY ONE WHO WANTS TO PLEASE JASPER," SAID BEN, "HAD BETTER TAKE UP THIS CHAP"

And the first thing Ben knew, he was being hurried over the stairs and into Master Presbrey's big library. There stood Grandpapa, and, wonder of wonders, with a smile on his face!

"You are to see Jasper," said the old gentleman, briefly.

Ben staggered back, it was all so sudden, and stared up at the one the boys had called "Dr. Smith" standing near.

"Yes," said the gentleman, "he has asked for you." And without further ado Ben was piloted into the back room, and there, looking eagerly toward the door, was Jasper in the big bed and propped up with pillows.

"Halloo!" It was all either of them said at first; then Ben, with a lump in his throat, leaned over and grasped the fingers on the coverlet.

"You see I'm all right," said Jasper, his eyes roving affectionately all over Ben's square figure.

"Yes," nodded Ben.

"But it was good, though, to see Father and you." And Jasper's dark eyes beamed; then a wave of pain swept its trail over his face. And the doctor, seeing that, unceremoniously bundled Ben out of the room, and back to old Mr. King again.

But the next day, oh, that was joy! for Ben was not only let in again, but allowed to stay a good half-hour. And this time he found his tongue, for Dr. Smith said a little cheery talking was just the thing. So the budget of home news was undone, and Ben regaled Jasper, who hungrily took in every word.

"It's a shame I spoiled all the Christmas," murmured Jasper, his face in the pillow, his thoughts flying back to Polly and the others, busy with the preparations for that gay festival.

"Oh, that's no matter," said Ben, cheerily, "and perhaps you'll be able to come home soon, and we'll have it then."

"But it won't be Christmas," said Jasper, dejectedly.

"Well, but we can call it Christmas," said Ben, "so that'll be just as good." Then, for want of something else to say, he began on Mrs. Van Ruypen buying all sorts of things for poor people, of course with never a word of himself mixed up in it.

"Now isn't that fine?" cried Jasper, taken for the moment off from the loss of Christmas to the family, and bringing his face into view again.

"Yes," said Ben, "it is," and he went on so fast that Polly herself couldn't have told it better, Dr. Smith smiling to himself in satisfaction at the experiment of letting Ben in.

"Well, now, boys," he said at last, coming up to the bed, "time is up. But you can come in, maybe, this afternoon," to Ben.

"Oh, let him stay now!" begged Jasper.

"Can't," said the doctor, laconically. And off Ben went again. And this time he, too, smiled. And the first person he ran up against was a small boy, his hands full of little wads of paper bundles, crammed tightly together in his nervous fists.

"They're for him," said the small boy, emptying the fistful into Ben's hands, who involuntarily thrust his out, as it seemed to be expected of him.

"For whom?" asked Ben, in astonishment.

"Why, for him," said the boy, pointing with a set of sticky fingers he first put into his mouth, off toward Jasper's room. "Of course; hurry and give 'em to him before the doctor sees. It's candy." He couldn't repress his longing as his eyes now fell on the wads in Ben's hands. "I got 'em down town. Hurry up!" and his little face, pasty-colored and sharp, scowled at the delay.

"If you mean I'm to give these to Jasper," said Ben, holding the little packets toward the small figure, "I can't do any such thing; the doctor wouldn't like it."

"You are a 'fraid cat," said the boy, contemptuously; "but he won't hurt you, 'cause you're a stranger, so hurry up!" and he laid his sticky fingers on Ben's arm.

"But don't you understand that these things will hurt Jasper?" said Ben, kindly, into the scowling little face.

"Hoh! I guess not," said the boy, with another longing look at the little packets; "they'll make him well, do take 'em to him. O dear!" and his thin lips trembled, his sticky little fingers flew up to his eyes, and he turned his face to the wall.

"Now, I guess you're Pip," said Ben, hustling the little wads all into one hand, and putting the other on the small shoulder.

"Yes, I am," snivelled Pip, flattening his face against the wall, "and all the boys hate me, and say I've killed King, and--O dear!" he whined.

"Well, now, you just see here," Ben turned the little figure swiftly around; "no more of that."

It was so sudden that Pip released one pale eye from his sticky fingers to peer up at the big boy, and he stopped snivelling in amazement.

"The worst thing you can do for Jasper King is to carry on like this," said Ben, firmly. "Come, now, wipe your eyes," which Pip at once proceeded to do on his jacket sleeve, "and take your candy," and Ben dropped the little packets of sweets back into their owner's hands. "I'll tell Jasper all you wanted to do for him; it was nice of you." Ben was astounded to find how fast he was getting on in conversation. Really he hadn't supposed he could talk so much till he got this Pip on his hands. Meantime, his grasp still on the small shoulder, he was marching him off, and downstairs, and across the school yard, not exactly knowing what in the world to do with him after all.

"Great Scott! If that Pepper boy hasn't got Pip!" A dozen heads, their owners just released from recitation, were thrust up to the windows of a class room. Meantime Pip, in the familiar borders of the school yard, and remembering everything again with a rush, began to snivel once more, so that Ben was at his wits' end, and seeing a boy a good deal bigger than his companion coming down the long path, he hailed him unceremoniously.

"See here, can't you do something for him?" Ben bobbed his head down at the cowering shoulders. "Can't you play ball with him?" He said the first thing that came into his head.

"You must excuse me," said the boy, with an aristocratic air, and, not knowing Ben in the least, he looked him all over contemptuously. "King was my great friend. I don't know this little cad at all, nor you either," and he walked on.

Pip's head slunk down deeper yet between his shoulders at that, and he snivelled worse than ever.

"Come along, I'll play with you myself," said Ben. "Got a ball, Pip?"

"Ye-es," said Pip, between a snivel and a gasp, "but the fellows wo-on't let you play with me. O dear, boo-hoo-hoo!"

"Oh, yes, they will," said Ben. "Come, let's get your ball. Where's your room?"

So Pip, seeing that he was to have company all the way, led off somehow to his room, and the little wads of candy were placed in the bureau drawer. Once the ball was in Ben's hands he managed to follow him to a corner of the playground where, without any more words, Ben soon had him throwing and catching in such a rapid fashion there was no time for tears or anything else but the business in hand.

Meantime the boy they had met on the long path had marched off, very angry at having been spoken to by such a common-looking person in company with Pip, whom nobody had liked from the first, certainly not after the injury to their favorite, King. And nursing his wrath he projected himself into the class room where the heads of the boys were still at the windows.

"Something must be done with that Pip!" he fumed, throwing down his book on the first desk.

"What's the poor chap done now?" cried Tim, turning off from his window quite readily, as there was nothing more to be seen. "Can't you let up on him, Bony?"

"No," said Bony, called short for Bonaparte, much to his distress, for the great air which he assumed he fondly hoped was to bring him distinction, "and none of us ought to."

"It wasn't the poor little beggar's fault that King got hurt," said Tim, thrusting his hands in his pockets and lounging over toward Bony, "and we ought to remember that."

"Don't preach," cried Bony, derisively. "Well, he is such an insufferable little cad!" he brought up in disgust. "And that country lout--Great guns! how did that fellow dare to address me?" With that he began to fume up and down the room, puffing out his chest at every step.

"Has any one dared to speak to our Bony?" cried Tim, throwing his head back and blowing out his cheeks, in step and manner imitating as much as his long figure could, as he followed the other one down between the rows of desks.

"See here, now, Tim," Bony turned suddenly amid the roars of the delighted boys, "you quit that now," and he doubled up his fists in a rage.

"Excuse me, your high mightiness, if I object to being crushed," said Tim, coolly, and folding his fists, which were long and muscular like the rest of his body. "Now, then, Bony, if you like."

But Bony didn't like, taking refuge in, "You're no gentleman," and turning his back.

"I suppose not," said Tim, coolly, and regarding his fists affectionately, "but I don't see why these wouldn't do. I really can't see, Bony, why you object to them; they're a good pair."

"What's the row, anyway?" The boys, not to be balked out of all the fun, seeing that Bony would not fight, crowded around him. "What's upset you, Bony?"

"Enough to disturb any one," he cried, glad to vent injured feelings on something. "A common country fellow just now spoke to me on the long path; fancy that, will you? I never saw him in my life, and he took it upon himself to give me advice about Pip."

"What?" cried ever so many of the boys.

"Yes, just fancy. And there I had just come from seeing Mr. King," here Bony threw out his chest again and looked big. "I'd had a long talk with him; his father knew my father very well, _very_ well indeed, and he wants me to meet Ben Pepper that he brought here yesterday," and Bony paused to see the effect on his auditors.

"Well, you've met him," said one boy. Some of the others gave a long whistle.

"No such thing," retorted Bony. "I wasn't with your crowd when he got here last night," he added superciliously. "This is quite different,--quite in the social way,--and his grandfather is going to introduce us."

"You won't need any introduction," said Tim, with a chuckle. "Hush up, boys," for the room was in an uproar of cat-calls and peals of laughter.

"Yes, I will, too," said Bony, in a superior way, "for I never speak unless properly introduced. My set never does."

"Well, you've broken your rule for once then," said Tim, in a hush now, every boy holding himself in check to lose no word, "for that country lout with Pip was Ben Pepper."

Bony sat down on the nearest desk, his chest sank in, and he groped feebly with his hands, mumbling something--what, the boys couldn't have told, even if the babel that now set up around him had been less. And Mr. Sterrett coming in, and the other boys rushing out, he was presently asked if he were ill.

"No, sir," said Bony, getting up from the desk; "oh, no, sir, I--I only sat down a minute," and he slipped out, leaving his Bonaparte air behind him.

But if the boys didn't have any more fun with Bony, they did with the ball game going on between the two over in the playground corner, which they soon spied, and off they rushed there.

"Let us in, Pepper, will you?" cried Tim, his long legs getting there first.

"Sure," said Ben, his round cheeks all aglow with the exercise. "Now then, Pip, wait a bit," the ball just then getting ready to fly from the thin little hand.

Pip paused, his small pasty-colored face, that without having gained any color had quieted down from its nervousness, now took on a fresh alarm, and he looked ready to run.

"They're all going to play with us," said Ben, looking around brightly on the group as the other boys rushed up. "Now, then, Pip, we'll have a splendid game!"

"Yes, we'll play," cried the boys, in different keys. And before long the whole playground resounded with shouts of enjoyment. Ben couldn't play the most scientific game according to their rules, but he was a capital pitcher, and he took all errors in a sturdy good humor that kept things jolly. Altogether, by the time the game was over, everybody in it had voted that Pepper was worthy to be King's friend.

"You'll have that little chap at your heels every minute, after this," Tim nodded over toward Pip, who was running after, having lingered behind a bit to get his ball, as Ben struck off on the path leading to Master Presbrey's house.

"All right, let him come," said Ben.

"He'll be an awful nuisance," said Tim; "take my advice, Pepper, and drop him now."

"Can't," said Ben, "can't oblige," and his fingers closed on the thin little ones crowding into them, as Pip ran up to his other side.

"And I think any one who wants to please Jasper," said Ben,--he hated to preach, but it must be done,--"had better take up this chap."

Tim coughed and stuck his hands deeply in his pockets.

"I'm going down this way," said Ben, striking off on a side path, and he marched off with pip.

"I never knew such a chap," Tim waited for a crowd of the boys who had joined in the game to come up; "he's been here a little more than one day, and he leads us all by the nose. Boys, we've just got to take up that Pip, and we might as well do it handsomely as not."

IX

WHAT A HOME-COMING

Van sprang off the car steps and rushed up tumultuously to Polly in the midst of the group come down to the railroad station to meet the boys.

"O dear," he grumbled in a loud voice, "now we can't have any Christmas at all."

"Hulloa, Van--Hulloa, Percy." Pickering Dodge tried his best to cover this remark by an extra amount of hilarity, as he clapped each of the boys smartly on the back. "Well, you're an awful long time in getting here--I should say half an hour late."

"For shame, Van!" cried Percy at his heels, and edging off toward Polly.

"For shame?" repeated Van, hotly; "well, that's no more than you've been saying on the train,--'we can't have any Christmas,'--and you know it, Percy Whitney."

"Stop that, you little beggar." Pickering's long arm got possession of Van, who, instead of occupying the vantage-ground of first arrival, had now the vexation of seeing Percy in that coveted position.

"Why did you pull me back?" he cried in a small fury at hearing the bustle and excitement of the group he had just left so summarily.

"Because you were making yourself a nuisance. Fancy such a way to come home for the holidays, Van."

"There aren't to be any holidays," howled Van, his face very red. "Let me go, Pick," struggling violently to free himself from Pickering's long fingers.

"No, indeed." Pickering wound his fingers into a still tighter hold. "Not much, sir, until you stop those whines. How you can go on so, I don't see!"

By this time, Pickering, over his shoulder, had the ill luck to see Clare take the first place in marshalling off the party, a position he had fully expected to occupy himself whenever Jasper and Ben were away. All this didn't in the least add to his satisfaction. "Well, I wish you'd stayed back in your school," he declared in extreme irritation. And Alexia, running up, only made matters worse by crying out: "Come on, Van, I'm sure it's bad enough to bear all these dreadful things without coming clear down here for a boy like you. Do come on, we're all waiting for you." So it was a very gloomy party that finally became settled in the two carriages.

"I'm not going to sit with him," declared Van, having freed himself from Pickering, and bolting for the second carriage.

"No, you're coming with me," said Alexia, hurrying after him. "Come, Polly, here's a seat. Here," and she waved frantically.

But Polly was already in the other carriage. And seeing this, Alexia was about to desert her charge, when Thomas, on the box of the forward conveyance, whipped up and off it went.

"O dear me!" cried Alexia; "somebody stop it. Why, Polly Pepper was going with me," and she was just about to jump out.

"No use, Alexia," said Pickering, who at the last moment had found himself crowded out of carriage number one, and putting her to one side as he helped Cathie in, and then David, at last he got in himself. "Don't you see they're a good bit on the way home already?"

"Yes, and here I am shut up in here with all of you, whom I don't want in the least to go with," cried Alexia, in the greatest dismay, sitting down in her corner too suddenly for comfort, as the horses started up, and waving her hands frantically.

"Thank you," said Pickering, with a low bow, "I'm sure we all feel much obliged to you."

"Well, I don't," said Cathie, in a dudgeon, "feel obliged a single bit, and I'm sure I didn't want to come with you, Alexia, only there wasn't room in the other carriage, so I had to."

"And I thought Polly Pepper was surely coming in this carriage," ran on Alexia, too vexed to stop herself, and turning anything but a sweet countenance upon the rest of the carriage-load. "She started for it."

"Don't look so at me, Alexia," said Pickering. "I'm not to blame; Clare took her off."

"It's just like Clare--always meddling," said Alexia, thoroughly out of temper. "Van Whitney, you're sitting all over my coat, and it's my best one, too," and she turned and twitched it away with an angry hand.

"I didn't sit all over it," retorted Van, "and I didn't want to come with you, but you made me."

"Well, because you and Pickering were having such a fight. O me, I wish I'd let you alone," she added, sinking back into her corner.

But Van, much preferring Alexia to Pickering, couldn't say the same, so the carriage rolled on to a gloomy silence within.

"Oh, I say," began Pickering, after this had gone on for some minutes, "this is a sweet way to go to Mr. King's, isn't it?"

"Well, we can't help it," cried Alexia, flying up from her corner; "I'm sure, Pickering, you can't blame any of us. And I haven't got Polly Pepper; you know she was coming in here with me, and everything is just as bad as it can be."

"You're always tagging on to Polly Pepper; I'm glad you haven't got her this time," declared Cathie, in venom from her corner.

"Of course I'm always after Polly," said Alexia, decidedly, "when she's my very dearest friend. O my, don't I wish I could get out!"

"Well, you will pretty soon," said Pickering, coolly; "we'll all get out, for we'll be there in a minute. And then how we'll look, for we're supposed to be helping Mr. King's family, and they're in such trouble."

"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, in great distress, whirling around suddenly to look out of the window, her long, fight braids flying over her shoulder. "Pickering Dodge, we aren't near Mr. King's yet," she declared, peering out; "we haven't got to--oh, yes we have--O dear me, what shall we do?" and she flew back again into her corner.

"We've just got to do something," said Pickering, in a determined voice. Little David had been past speaking for some time, and, wedged in between Cathie and Pickering, had been chiefly occupied in twisting his hands, and trying not to think how very dreadful it all was, and how Mamsie would feel to see them all come in.

"We can't do anything," said Alexia, despairingly; "it's all as dreadful as it can be, and we can't help it," and she ran her long arms as far as she could into her muff, and hugged it up tightly.