Chapter IV: Part 4

“I am afraid Grandmamma would not like the idea of having him around the house,” replied Grandpapa. “A city house isn’t a good place to keep a dog in.”

“But I could keep him tied up in the washroom.” Toby looked anxiously from one to the other, while his fate was being settled.

“Oh, he would be a very unhappy little dog tied up by himself, Sam,” said Grandpapa.

“Well, he could play out in the back yard, you know, and he could go to drive with us,” pleaded Sam.

“He wouldn’t be happy kept so, Sam. He would feel like a little prisoner. I am sure by his looks that he came from the country, and he has probably had open fields to run about in. I don’t believe he was ever kept tied.”

“What can we do with him, then?” asked Sam. “If he can’t tell us where his home is, how can we take him back? I hope you don’t mean to have the poor little fellow lost again;” and Sam’s face grew as anxious as Toby’s.

“Of course I mean to provide for him, Sam,” said Grandpapa. “It is true we can’t take him to his own home, as he isn’t able to speak and tell us where it is, but we will do the next best thing. We will take him to the Home that receives all the stray dogs and cats that are taken there. It is called the ‘Animal Rescue League.’”

At these words Toby took alarm and gave a great bound to free himself. In another instant he would have leapt from the sleigh, but Sam was ready for him and tightened his grasp on the foolish little fellow.

“Why, he tried to jump out of the sleigh,” said Sam. “Do you suppose he heard what you said, Grandpapa?”

“Dogs often seem to understand what is said about them,” replied Grandpapa; “but he would be very foolish to object to being taken to such a pleasant place. He will have the kindest care until a good home is found for him.”

“Will they let him play?” asked Sam, greatly interested, and continuing to keep a strong hold upon the struggling Toby.

“Certainly they will, and he will find other dogs there too. I don’t doubt he will have a fine time.”

Foolish Toby kept up his struggles at intervals, for he couldn’t bear the thought of being taken to the Home. “A dog’s poorhouse, that is what it is,” he said to himself.

“I wonder how they happened to think of making a home for dogs that are lost,” said Sam.

“I can tell you what I know about it,” said Grandpapa. “A very tender-hearted lady who loves dogs and cats, thought there should be some place in the city where lost and neglected animals could be sent. So she went about to see people, and wrote letters about it until she got people sufficiently interested to give money towards it. Then they hired a house in the middle of the city, and all the stray dogs and cats people find are taken there and kindly cared for.”

“That lady must be very kind,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “I should like to see her.”

“Perhaps you will some day. They had a Christmas-tree for the dogs and cats last year, and I’m told they all had a fine time.”

Sam burst out laughing, and Billy laughed too, to think of a Christmas-tree for dogs and cats.

“I suppose they put on it all sorts of things that dogs and cats like,” said Sam, “bones and cakes and all such things.”

“Perhaps they put on some things for them to play with,” said Billy, who had listened with great interest to all Mr. Ledwell had said about the Home.

“I shouldn’t wonder if they did,” said Grandpapa.

“And I guess they put saucers of milk and plates of nice food under the tree,” said Billy, who had a good deal of imagination.

Toby listened to this conversation and ceased to struggle. All this sounded very well, if it were true, but he expected to find at the Home dogs sitting about listlessly, just as he had seen the old people at the poorhouse in his town. The story of the Christmas-tree pleased him greatly. “Perhaps, after all, it is not so bad as I expected,” said Toby to himself, as the sleigh stopped.

“Here we are!” said Grandpapa, as he got out and took Toby in his arms.

“It doesn’t look like a Home,” said poor Toby to himself. He had expected to see a large brick building standing by itself like the poorhouse. “It looks just like the other houses.”

“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” said Mr. Ledwell, as he felt Toby tremble. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You stay in the sleigh with Billy, Sam. I will bring you both to see the little dog when he feels at home.”

Mr. Ledwell entered the house and set the little dog on the floor. Poor Toby was so limp from fear that he could hardly stand, but remained in the spot where he was placed with drooping head and tail.

“I have brought you a new dog,” said Mr. Ledwell, addressing a rosy-cheeked young woman. “Have you a place for him?”

“He doesn’t take up much room, that is certain,” replied the young woman, stooping to pat the frightened little creature. “Yes, I guess we can manage it.”

At these words in rushed two little terriers, and bouncing upon the limp and terrified Toby, at once knocked him over in their attempt to engage him in play.

“You ought to be more polite to strangers,” said the rosy-cheeked young woman, picking up Toby and putting him on a chair out of the reach of the two lively terriers, who pretended that they had treed their game and took short runs up to the chair, barking themselves into a state of great excitement.

“We’ll give him something to eat, and he’ll soon be all right,” said the pleasant young woman.

The excitement of the terriers over the new arrival had telegraphed the news throughout the Home, and the deep voices of large dogs and the high voices of smaller ones all extended a welcome to the little wanderer. Their tones told of kind treatment and comfort, and Toby was comforted. “How different,” he thought, “from a poorhouse! This must be a good place!”

CHAPTER ELEVENTH

ON the morning of the day before Christmas Sam awoke unusually early, and jumped out of bed so soon as his eyes were fully open.

“I must hurry as fast as I can,” he said to Mary, “for I shall be awfully busy all day;” and while he was dressing he talked about the presents he was to give. “And the best of all is the present I am going to have myself,” he added. “I suppose you know what that is.”

“Is it the little dog-cart for your pony it is?” asked Mary.

“No, indeed it is not!” exclaimed Sam, contemptuously. “It is something ever and ever so much better than that. Just think, poor Billy is going to see, and I sha’n’t have to lend him my eyes any more.”

“Won’t that be nice!” said Mary; but his grandpapa from the door of his dressing-room heard Sam’s words with a heavy heart.

“What shall we do about it?” he asked Grandmamma when he had repeated their little grandson’s words. “I think we ought to explain about the operation that Billy must undergo; but we have let him think so long that Billy will see by Christmas he will take it very hard. I thought the boy would be all right by Christmas time, and I wanted Sam to be spared the pain of knowing what poor Billy would have to go through.”

“I thought so, too,” replied Grandmamma, “and I don’t like to disturb Sam’s innocent faith. I don’t know how he will take it.”

At this point in burst Sam, full of excitement.

“I shall have to hustle around to get through before night,” he said in his decided way. “We shall have to start right after breakfast to get the wreaths and things to hang up, sha’n’t we, Grandmamma? And we mustn’t forget to bring some for Billy, too, you know.”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend the money in something Billy could enjoy more?” asked Grandmamma. “You know wreaths and garlands are only to look at, and poor Billy can’t see yet.”

“But he _will_ see them to-morrow, don’t you see?” said Sam, triumphantly. “You forget, Grandmamma, about my Christmas present, I guess.”

“My dear boy,” said Grandmamma, gently, “don’t feel so sure about Billy’s seeing exactly on Christmas Day. It may come a little later, you know.”

“Oh, no, it won’t!” replied Sam, decidedly. “You will see, Grandmamma!” and he was off before his grandmother could answer.

So soon as breakfast was over, during which Sam was so excited that he ate very little, the sleigh came around to the door, and Sam and his grandmother started for the evergreens. It was quite a long drive to the big market, for they always bought them there, because the little boy enjoyed so much seeing the large building arrayed in its Christmas dress.

The streets, as they approached the business part of the city, were crowded even at that early hour. Everybody carried packages, and every face seemed to have caught the spirit of Christmas, which is a loving and generous spirit. The shop windows were gay with bright colors and garlands of evergreen, and groups of people were collected in front of the most attractive of these windows. In one of them was a real Christmas scene, and Sam wanted so much to look at it that his grandmother told the driver to stop. By standing up on the seat of the sleigh, Sam got a splendid view. It was a winter scene, with snow on the trees and on the ground, and there was Santa Claus sitting in his little sleigh, which was piled full of presents, and four beautiful little reindeer were harnessed to it. The crowd in front of this window reached out to the street, and on the outside, waiting to take advantage of an opening to slip through and get a view of the window, were three children, a boy and two girls.

Mrs. Ledwell, who was always ready to see just what was needed, caught sight of these children who were waiting so patiently for their turn to come. Seeing them look toward the sleigh and at Sam, who was so intent in watching the beautiful Santa Claus that he had not noticed them, she saw that they looked as if they recognized her little grandson.

“Say, Maysie,” said the boy, pulling his little sister by the sleeve, “do you mind the time when the gentleman gave us the nice cakes?”

“Of course I does,” replied Maysie, promptly.

“That is the same sleigh he was in, and the same horses, and it is the same boy, for I minded the fur cap of him.”

Mrs. Ledwell beckoned to the children to come nearer. “Did you say you had seen this little boy before?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, once,” replied Johnny, promptly.

“It was the time the gentleman gave us the cakes,” said Maysie, eagerly. “They tasted awful good;” and Maysie almost smacked her lips at the thought of them.

The elder sister gave Maysie’s dress a little pull. “I’m not going to ask for any,” replied Maysie, in a loud whisper, “so you needn’t twitch my dress so hard.”

A smile came over Mrs. Ledwell’s face. “Would you like to buy some cakes to-day?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Maysie, promptly, “but I’d rather buy a doll.”

“Why, Maysie,” said her sister, reproachfully, “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself.”

“I ain’t,” replied Maysie, without any appearance of mortification. “She asked me, so there!”

“Yes, I asked her,” said Mrs. Ledwell, “and there is no harm in telling what she wants most, for Santa Claus is about, you know, at this time, and he has very sharp ears.”

“Do you suppose he heard what I said?” asked Maysie, straining her neck to get a glimpse of the Santa Claus in the window.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “You will find out to-morrow. Now tell me where you live, Maysie.”

Maysie rattled off the address in a loud voice, for she hoped that Santa Claus would overhear it and send the doll she wanted so much.

Mrs. Ledwell then left Sam sitting in the sleigh, and entered the store. She picked out a beautiful doll, a pretty chatelaine bag, and a boy’s sled, and ordered them to be sent to the address Maysie had given her. Then with a glow at her warm heart, to think of the pleasure these gifts would carry with them, she joined her little grandson.

“Do you remember to have seen those children before, Sam?” she asked, as they drove along.

“Yes, I remember them,” replied Sam. “They were looking in at the cakes in the bake-shop window, and Grandpapa bought them a great bagful of them. They looked as if they didn’t have cakes every day, Grandpapa said.”

Sam had taken no special notice of the dog the little boy had with him on that occasion, or he would probably have recognized the lost dog he had found in the park as the same one.

The market was soon reached, and Sam and his grandmother went up the steps. The front of the large building was piled high with long garlands of evergreen for trimming, and green wreaths bright with red berries. Christmas-trees and branches of holly filled every vacant nook. Here also were groups of children, eager to obtain as many glimpses as possible of the Christmas pleasures they could not expect to have.

Mrs. Ledwell’s tender heart was touched at the sight of the little patient faces, and her ready hand went straight to her well-filled purse. She knew by experience that these little people would be there, and had provided a goodly supply of change. “Sam,” she said to her little grandson, “would you like to give those children something for Christmas?”

“Yes, indeed I should, Grandmamma,” replied the little boy, delightedly.

Each child seized the coin Sam held out to him, and darted away with his prize with the speed of the wind. Very few stopped to express thanks for the gift, but the happy faces spoke more eloquently than words could have done.

“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.”

“No,” said Billy, gently, “but you can tell me all about it, and we can play with it all the same.”

A great change came over Sam. The bright color left his cheeks, and his lips began to quiver. Kindly Mrs. Hanlon knew what was going on in the little boy’s mind, and she tried to take him in her motherly arms to comfort him; but he broke away from her and ran downstairs and out of the door. Mary followed him, but she found it hard to keep pace with him as he rushed at full speed along the streets. He paid no heed to her entreaties to stop, and arrived breathless at his grandpapa’s house.

Mrs. Ledwell, who was about to go down to breakfast, was startled to see her little grandson appear in such a breathless and excited state.

“Grandmamma,” he exclaimed, “I am never going to pray to God again as long as I live!”

“Why, Sam!” exclaimed his astonished grandmother, “what do you mean?”

“Billy can’t see,” he answered, “and here I have been praying and praying for all this time; and Mary says there is a pony dog-cart for me in the stable, and I didn’t want it! I just wanted to have Billy see!” and Sam threw himself upon the lounge and burst into a violent fit of sobbing.

Mrs. Ledwell hardly knew what to do, but she did the best thing she could possibly have done. She let the little boy expend the violence of his grief, and then she seated herself by him and gently stroked the hair back from his hot forehead. When the weeping grew less violent and she knew the little boy could listen, she said,—

“You must remember, Sam, that there are a great many little boys and girls all over the world asking God for different things, and he can’t answer all at once. It takes a long time, you know, so you must be patient and wait a little longer.”

“But I didn’t ask for anything else,” sobbed Sam, “and he has gone and sent me the dog-cart, after all; and I was _very particular_ to say that I didn’t want it.”

“By next summer, Sam, I am quite sure that Billy can see, and think what fine drives you and he can have together!”

“Summer is a long way off,” replied Sam, “and I _did_ so want Billy to see _now_!”

“We can’t have things come about just as we want them, my dear little boy,” said Grandmamma.

“I sha’n’t pray any more, just the same,” said Sam, decidedly.

“Billy is in a comfortable home and has found kind friends, and Grandpapa will soon find out where his mother is; and then by and by Billy will see, and then how happy he will be! There are a great many little boys worse off than Billy is, so if I were you I would try to be patient.”

Sam was silent for a while, and his grandmother knew that he was thinking the matter over in his sensible mind.

“I suppose there must be an awful lot of boys and girls asking God for all sorts of things,” he said.

“Indeed, there are,” said Grandmamma, “and just think how much happier Billy is than he was when you first saw him!”

“Well,” said Sam in his old decided manner, “I guess I had better keep on praying a little while longer.”

“I think so, too, dear,” replied Grandmamma; “and now we’ll go down to breakfast and be as cheerful as we can, because if we look unhappy we shall make everybody about us so, and we want all to have a very pleasant Christmas.”

So Sam, like the sensible, conscientious little fellow he was, wiped his eyes very carefully with his pocket-handkerchief and assumed a cheerful smile,—very much the kind of expression, his grandmother thought, that people have when they are sitting for a photograph and the artist tells them to “look pleasant.” It was rather a forced smile, to be sure, but before breakfast was half over, Grandpapa, under whose genial influence nobody could be long unhappy, had brought real smiles back to the little boy’s face, and they were laughing and joking together as if there were no such things as unhappiness and suffering in all the world.

“Now I will tell you my plan,” said Grandmamma, “and you can see how you like it. I shall be busy this morning, for I must call on my old ladies at the Home and see if they are having a happy Christmas, but I propose that you two take a nice sleigh-ride and invite Billy to go with you. Then you can bring him home for lunch, and in the afternoon a few boys and girls are coming, and you can play games together. How does my plan strike you?”

“It strikes me very pleasantly,” replied Grandpapa, “and will suit me exactly, for I have to see a man who lives out of town and shall be glad of the company of the youngsters. What do you say, Sam?”

“I think it will be very nice,” replied Sam, “and I guess Billy will think so too.”

“Suppose we stop at the ‘Animal Rescue League’ and see how our little dog is getting on,” said Grandpapa.

“Can’t we take some cakes to him?” asked Sam. “I don’t believe he knows it is Christmas.”

“Yes, we will take cakes enough to go all around,” said Grandpapa.

A little later, Sam and his grandpapa, with a box full of cookies and sweet biscuits, called for Billy. The little blind boy was delighted at the prospect of such a happy day, and he beamed with smiles as his faithful friend Sam led him carefully down the steps to the sleigh, while Mrs. Hanlon, looking just as happy, watched them from the door.

“What have you in that package that you take such care of?” asked Mr. Ledwell, who observed that the little boy carried a package in one hand.

“It is a Christmas present for Jack,” replied Billy.

“Why, Grandpapa, we forgot all about him!” exclaimed Sam. “Isn’t it too bad?”

“We have cakes enough to spare him a few,” replied Grandpapa.

“Of course, I couldn’t forget about Jack,” said Billy, “because he saved my life, you know.”

“The dear little soul has been worrying about what to give Jack for a Christmas present,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “He has saved up some of the money you gave him for presents, and I told him I thought Jack would appreciate some nice bones more than anything else. So what does he do but ask the butcher to sell him some of the very nicest bones he had, with plenty of meat on them.”

“And what do you think, Sam? When I told him they were for Jack, he wouldn’t take any money for them! He said he should like to give something towards a present for the Fire-Dog, because he is such a nice dog.”

“You see,” said Billy confidentially to Sam, as they drove to the engine-house, “I can make a present to Mrs. Hanlon now, because the butcher wouldn’t let me pay for Jack’s present. Do you suppose she would mind if it doesn’t come just exactly at Christmas?”

“I don’t believe she would mind _very much_,” replied Sam, who remembered that the Christmas present he so much wanted did not come on time.

“Will you go with me some day and buy something for her, Sam?”

“Yes,” replied Sam, “and we will pick out something real nice!”

The Fire-Dog was at home and rejoiced to see them, especially the little blind boy whose life he had saved. He was much gratified too, at the present Billy brought him. One large bone was given him, which he at once took in his mouth and walked off with to eat by himself, a proud and happy dog. The rest of the package was left in Reordan’s charge to be given according to his judgment, and a dessert from Sam’s box of cakes was added.

There was not time to stop and watch Jack enjoy his repast, as the boys would have liked to do, so they had to leave before he was half through. Jack was very hungry, but he was such a polite dog that he never forgot his good manners, and whenever the boys spoke to him, wagged his tail and smiled, to let them know how much he appreciated the attention.

“You ought to see how he enjoys that bone, Billy,” said Sam, as they drove off; and Billy looked just as happy as if he had seen it.

Such a barking as greeted them when they entered the building of the Animal Rescue League! All the dogs who were around came running to see who it was and to find out if another stray dog had been brought in; and among them, barking his loudest, was little Toby, as happy and as much at home as any of them. He recognized his old friends at once, and tried by every means a dog knows, to express his gratitude.

“They act as if they know it is Christmas,” said Sam.

“So they do,” said the man who had charge of them, “and they are going to have a Christmas-tree just like folks. They do seem to know something is up, they and the cats too. The cats are going around with their tails straight up in the air, and they play with one another just as if they had lost their senses.”

“This little boy has brought some cakes for the dogs,” said Mr. Ledwell; and Sam presented his box.

“They will come in very handy when they have the tree,” replied the man.

Then the visitors were taken over the building and shown all the inmates, even to some big dogs out in the yard. All looked happy and contented, and showed the best of care. Some kittens especially took the children’s fancy, and Sam explained to Billy how they looked when they were playing. One was lying on his back, kicking, clawing and biting a worsted ball he had to play with, and another was running sideways with his back arched and his tail fluffed out, as if he were dreadfully frightened at something; while another had pounced upon one of them and made believe he was going to eat him up. The mother of this lively family was pretending to take a nap, but her half-opened eyes and fond and happy purring showed that she was enjoying the romps of her darlings as much as they did themselves.

It was hard for the children to leave this entertaining place, and especially hard to resist the affectionate entreaties of the dogs, who were delighted to see visitors. They had to go, however, for a long drive out of town was before them, and they departed after a while, all the dogs who could reach the windows barking a joyous farewell as they drove off.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH

SOMEHOW or other on Christmas morning everything takes on a festive, joyous tone. The very sleigh-bells seem to ring out more merrily than usual, and the children’s voices in their play seem more joyous than on other days. Even the shy sparrows seem to grow bolder, and twitter more loudly than usual. The dogs, too, seem possessed of unusually gay spirits, and bound through the streets as if they were thinking of the good Christmas dinner that awaits them.

The two little boys in the sleigh felt this Christmas influence and partook of the prevailing joyous spirit. We will leave them for a time and return to some other acquaintances,—the three children who had cared for the lost Toby.

Great was the grief of the children when they saw the little dog turned out into the cold, dark streets, but they did not dare to express their feelings before their father. Directly after supper they went to bed, and the mother soon went in to their rooms to comfort them. The two girls were nearly heart-broken, but the mother reminded them that the little dog would be likely to seek the shed for shelter, and she promised to look after him and give him a good supper.

“He wanted some of the sausages so much,” sobbed Maysie, “and I ate up the piece I was saving for him, and I am so sorry!”

“He shall have some sausage, dear, so don’t worry so about him. I will cover him up with something warm, and in the morning you can take him to the home for lost dogs. They will find a good place for him, I am sure, a much better one than we could give him.”

This hopeful prospect comforted the little girls, and from them the mother sought Johnny in his dark bedroom. He was lying very still, and answered in a voice that he tried to make sound as usual, but the mother knew he was trying hard to make it cheerful. As with a loving hand she put back the hair from his forehead, she felt it hot, and as her hand brushed against his cheeks she found them moist, and she knew he had been crying, although he tried so hard to conceal the fact.

“Don’t fret about the little dog, Johnny,” said the kind mother. “He’ll be sure to go to the shed where you kept him before, and I’ll look after him.”

“It was so mean to send him out, and this such a cold night, too!” exclaimed Johnny, indignantly.

“Hush, dear!” said the gentle mother. “You mustn’t forget that Father is tired and things worry him. He didn’t mean to be unkind.”

“It was awfully mean,” replied Johnny, “and him such a little fellow, too!”

Then the mother told of her plan to send the little dog to the refuge provided for all homeless animals, and, as she drew the pleasant picture of the home the little wanderer would be sure to find, Johnny allowed himself to be comforted as his sisters had been, and, feeling that Mother would look after the wandering dog, he forgot his anxieties and fell asleep.

We have seen how the mother found the forsaken dog and fed and warmed him, and how he at last found shelter in the very home to which they intended to carry him.

The following morning when the children hastened to the shed they found it empty, and great was their grief. They searched for him for days, of course without avail. Oh, if they could have seen the little creature in the happy home he had found!

On Christmas morning they were almost wild with delight at the presents kind Mrs. Ledwell had sent them. As for Maysie, she could hardly believe that she was the owner of such a beautiful doll, and she handled it with great awe.

“I really believe that Santa Claus heard what I said!” exclaimed Maysie. “You know the lady said he had very sharp ears.”

The big turkey, too, gave the children almost as much pleasure, and they crowded around the mother while she cleaned it, and singed off the pin-feathers by holding it over a piece of burning newspaper. They had to see it safely stowed away in the oven, too; such a large, handsome turkey had never come their way before.

“Now you had better all go and take a walk in the streets where the nice houses are,” said Mother. “The windows will be all trimmed up with wreaths and garlands, and perhaps you will get a sight of some Christmas-trees, for people often have them Christmas Eve.”

The mother thought it as well to get the children out of the way for a while, for she did not have a Christmas dinner to cook every day, and she wanted to do full justice to all the good things sent them; and how could she do this with three curious children following her about and getting under foot at every step?

So the three started, Hannah wearing her new chatelaine bag in a position in which she decided it would show to the greatest advantage, Johnny proudly drawing his new sled after him, and Maysie with her doll perched on her arm in a position to show off her beautiful clothes and at the same time take in the sights. The lost dog was not forgotten, and at every step they were on the lookout, hoping to catch a glimpse of him at any moment.

Their way led by the engine-house, in front of which lay the Fire-Dog, finishing one of the large bones that the blind boy had brought him for a Christmas present. They stopped to pat him and to look at a flock of pigeons feeding there. They watched the large blue pigeon, Dick the Scrapper, who walked in among them snapping up the best morsels and pecking any of the pigeons who came in his way. They noticed, too, the handsome white squab, so strong and yet so mild-looking; but the one that pleased them most of all was the lame black and white pigeon. He was so tame that he ate out of their hands and even allowed them to stroke his feathers.

The lame pigeon soon began to act in a very strange manner. He would fly a few steps, and then look back at the children as if he expected them to follow him. This he did so many times the children were certain this was what he wanted. So they followed, and as soon as the little lame pigeon saw this he flew off again, waiting for them to overtake him. This was kept up until the children found themselves in a part of the city where they had never before been.

“We mustn’t go any farther,” said Hannah, “or we shall be late for dinner, and Mother will be anxious.”

“I am very hungry,” said Maysie, as visions of the beautiful turkey roasting in the oven rose before her mind, “and my feet are very tired too.”

“It can’t be much farther,” said Johnny, “and I am certain that the little pigeon wants something. You just sit on my sled, Maysie, and I’ll give you a ride.”

This plan was very agreeable to Maysie, and she seated herself on the sled with her doll in her lap, while her brother and sister drew her over the snow.

They had not much farther to go. To their surprise the lame pigeon turned in at a driveway and flew toward a large brick building enclosed by high walls.

“What can it mean?” said Hannah. Perhaps the little lame pigeon didn’t mean anything, after all.

But the little lame pigeon did mean something. He had recognized the children as the ones who took little Billy home when his mother had fallen in the street, and he had taken this means to induce them to follow him and discover the sick woman at one of the windows of the hospital. With a noisy fluttering of his wings he flew up to one of the windows and alighted on the sill. A pale, sick-looking woman was seated in a chair close to the window, and the children saw a nurse come to the window and open it. In hopped the little lame pigeon and alighted on an arm of the sick woman’s chair.

“Why, Johnny!” exclaimed Hannah. “Do you mind the face of the sick woman up there? It is blind Billy’s mother.”

“How do you know it is?” asked Johnny. “You never saw her but the once.”

“I know that, but I minded her hair, because it is just like Billy’s, so soft and curly, and she looks just the way Billy’s mother looked.”

“Perhaps they brought her here because it is a place where they put sick people,” said Johnny, who was convinced by his sister’s positive manner.

“Now, if we only knew where Billy is, it would be all right,” said Hannah.

“Perhaps she has found him,” said Johnny.

“I don’t believe she has, because she would look happy, and just see the sad look of her!”

The sick woman did indeed present a forlorn appearance, even the children’s young eyes could detect that, as she sat with her head laid against the back of the chair, stroking the feathers of the little pigeon.

They stood looking up at the window for some time, and gazing curiously at the large building before them.

“I suppose it is full of sick people,” said Johnny.

“I wonder if there are any little children there!” said Hannah. “Do you suppose the sick people know it is Christmas Day?”

This reminded Maysie of the Christmas dinner cooking at home, and she exclaimed:

“I am just as hungry as I can be, and I know it is ever so long after dinner-time.”

The other two children now became aware of the fact that they were hungry too, and, fearing to be late to dinner, they set off on a run toward home, with Maysie on the sled. Before they had gone far, they heard the jingle of sleigh-bells and the voices of children coming up behind them, and seeing a large sleigh and pair of horses in the road, they drew the sled to one side to allow it to pass.

In the sleigh sat a gentleman and two little boys. The children at once recognized the pleasant face of the gentleman. He was the one who had bought the cakes for Maysie. It would have been strange if they had not recognized him, for where was there another such sweet-tempered, happy countenance, and who else possessed such a pleasant, genial voice? So intent were they in watching the gentleman that they did not look at the two boys who were with him until just as the sleigh, which went slowly, was opposite them, they caught a glimpse of the little blind boy.

“Billy! Oh, Billy! Is that you?” screamed the two elder children in one breath.

“Stop!” called Mr. Ledwell to the driver, and the sleigh stopped in front of the children.

The blind boy had heard their voices, and recognized them with the quick perception that the blind possess. He turned quite pale with excitement, and stood up in the sleigh.

“Where are you?” he cried, feeling about him with outstretched hands.

“Here we are,” said Hannah, coming close to the sleigh. “The three of us are here. Oh, Billy, we didn’t know what had become of you and we were awfully sorry.”

“And your mother is over in that big house yonder!” exclaimed Johnny, excitedly. “We saw her sitting up at the window, and she looks awful sick!”

“Oh, Mother! Mother!” screamed Billy, struggling to free himself from the fur robe in order to get out of the sleigh. “Please, Mr. Ledwell, let me go to my mother! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” and the poor child, feeling his utter helplessness, sank back upon his seat and burst into tears.

“Try to compose yourself, Billy,” said Mr. Ledwell, kindly, “and we will find out all about it, and if your mother is really here you shall be taken to her at once.”

He then questioned the children, who told him about the lame pigeon who made them follow him, and who flew up to a window of the big house where they saw Billy’s mother.

“I am sure it was Billy’s mother,” said Hannah, positively, “because I minded her hair and the look of her face.”

Mr. Ledwell turned back, and going in to the hospital made inquiries concerning the sick woman the children had seen at the window. They were not mistaken, and in a few minutes Billy was in his mother’s arms.

After the excitement of the meeting had passed, Billy told his mother all that had happened since the dreadful day when she was taken away from him. He told of the kind children who had given him all they had to give, a shelter and what food they could spare, and how Jack the Fire-Dog saved his life. He told, too, about the kind-hearted firemen and his life at the engine-house, and about Sam and his grandpapa and the comfortable home he now had.

The poor woman could not find words to thank the kind gentleman who had done so much for her blind son, and when she tried to express her gratitude to him, he told her the best way to do it was to get well as fast as possible and come and live with her son.

“I am anxious to find work, so that I can take care of him,” said the sick woman. “As soon as I am well I am sure I can find something to do.”

“The first thing to be done is to get strong,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and then we will think about working. I propose that as soon as you are well enough you go to Billy, where you can have the best of care. You will improve much faster there than you can here, surrounded by sickness and suffering.”

The patient was pronounced not able to leave the hospital just then, but was promised that she should go so soon as it was deemed prudent.

So Billy took leave of his mother, happy at the promise of a visit the next day. They found Sam with the three children seated in the sleigh, and the new sled tied to one of the runners.

“I thought we had better take the children home, because they were afraid they would be late to their Christmas dinner,” Sam explained. “Do you think they will crowd you very much, Grandpapa? We will squeeze as close together as we can, and Maysie is almost a baby, you know.”

“I shouldn’t mind a little crowding on Christmas Day,” said Grandpapa. “Here, Baby, you can sit in my lap.”

“I am as big as Johnny,” replied Maysie, who was ambitious to be considered big.

Sam looked just as happy as Billy, thinking that the little blind boy had found his mother. He sat silent for some time, and his grandpapa, seeing his thoughtful, happy face, said,—

“Well, Sam, what are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking how glad I am that Billy has found his mother,” he replied, “and I guess God thought He’d send this Christmas present because He didn’t find time to send the one I asked for.”

So Sam’s Christmas turned out to be a much happier one than he had thought it was going to be, and the three children who had helped bring about this happy state of affairs reached home just as the big turkey was taken out of the oven.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

IT is some time since we have heard from the engine-house, and a change has taken place since we last looked in. The off horse was quite old, and the headlong speed at which the horses were obliged to go whenever an alarm was sounded, began to tell heavily on him. He was an ambitious fellow, and strained every nerve to keep pace with his mates and do his share of the work, but he was a tired horse when the scene of the fire was reached, and soon an order came for the off horse to give up his place to a younger and stronger one.

This order filled the kind hearts of the company with sorrow, for old Jim was a great favorite. When the news reached them, there was silence for a while, then warm-hearted Reordan burst out impetuously,—

“If old Jim goes, I go too. There isn’t one of us that has done his work faithfuller than old Jim has!”

“That’s so, he’s done his duty right slap up. What would the others be without old Jim, I’d like to know? They always take their cue from him,” said another.

“I’ve always made it as easy as I could for old Jim,” said the driver, “and have done my best to make the other two do their share of the work; but the knowing old fellow won’t have it, and isn’t satisfied unless his nose is just a grain ahead of the others, so he can feel he is doing his share and a little more.”

“He’s acted just like a Christian,” said another, “and if we do our duty as well as old Jim has done his, we sha’n’t have anything to answer for.”