Tiger and Tom and Other Stories for Boys Part 17

"I think I must have sprained my ankle," he replied.

The deformed boy knelt on the ice, and while the others cl.u.s.tered around, asking questions and offering suggestions, he quietly unbuckled his skates for him.

"I'll have to get home, I suppose," said Roger faintly; "but, boys, don't let this spoil your fun--don't come with me."

"May I go with you?" said the deformed boy. "I am not going to stay here any longer."

Roger thanked him, and a policeman coming up at that moment to inquire about the accident, a carriage was procured, Roger was put in, the deformed boy followed, and Roger was driven home.

"My fun is spoiled for this winter," he said, with a moan. "I know a fellow who sprained his ankle last year, and the doctor says perhaps he will never be able to skate again. What an unlucky thing for me!--it wasn't my fault either."

"No," added the deformed boy gently. "It was not your fault; and it was not my fault that my nurse let me fall when I was a baby and injured my back. I sometimes think it would have been better if she had killed me outright, though strong and well-formed people think it wicked for me to wish that."

The color which had left Roger's pale cheeks from his pain, rushed back for a moment, as he held out his hand and said:--

"I was a brute to you in the car this morning, but I didn't think what I was doing. Will you excuse me?"

"I know you didn't. Please don't say anything more about it. It is hard to pity the suffering of others unless we have felt pain ourselves."

Roger's sprain prevented him from skating again that season, and taught him also a lesson which let us hope he will remember all his lifetime.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bert in bed.]

BERT'S MONITORS

Bert was determined to go. He wouldn't ask his father, for he was very sure his father would say, No. He didn't quite like to disobey a positive command, so he would say nothing at all about the matter.

Bert was thirteen years old, and it was high time that he began to exercise his own judgment, at least when his own affairs were concerned,--so Bert thought.

He would like to know what harm his going down to the river for a quiet moonlight swim could possibly do to anybody. He would try it, at all events. Ned Sellars would be there, and Frank Peters. They didn't seem to care whether their parents liked it or not. Bert couldn't feel so, exactly; but, still, where was the sense in a boy's going to his father every time he turned round?

He was going. He had fully made up his mind to that. He went up to bed at the usual time, however, but his mother coming into his little bedroom about half an hour afterward, was surprised to find him almost hidden by blanket and quilt, though it was a warm night in August.

"Why, Bert, you'll smother. Do let me pull off some of these clothes."

But Bert held them tightly down. "I ain't cold, mother. I mean I ain't warm."

"Are you sick?"

"No'm."

"Two blankets and a quilt," laughed his mother, as she turned away. "I don't know what you're made of, Bert."

"And jacket and pants and stockings and shoes," thought Bert, as he snapped his fingers very softly under the weight of bedclothes.

The beautiful moon looked in at the little window. There had been times when Bert, gazing at her pure, pale face, had marveled that any boy could have the heart to do wrong when her soft light was s.h.i.+ning on him; but to-night she seemed to say, "Come on, come on. I tell no tales. The night indoors is warm and stifling. The river is cool and clear. My beams are there before you. Come on, come on!"

It seemed as if the hours had never lagged so heavily. Eleven o'clock was the time agreed upon.

Twice Bert found himself napping. Suppose he should go to sleep. The idea was not to be entertained for a moment. He sat up in the bed and listened, listened, listened, until at length the welcome strokes greeted his ear. He was tired and sleepy and stupid and very warm. He opened his door softly, and went down stairs. He did not dare unlock the front door, for grandpa's room was just across the hall, and grandpa always slept with one eye open. He crept through the kitchen, and found himself in the shed. Was ever anything more fortunate? The outer door was open.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_He opened the door softly, and went down stairs_."]

He took his hat from the nail, and just then a plaintive "mew" greeted his ear.

"Hus.h.!.+ Be still, Cuff," said he, in a whisper.

But Cuff wouldn't be still. She was very glad to see him, and was determined to tell him so.

"Mew, me-aw," called Billy, the mocking-bird, from his cage above.

"Dear me," thought Bert, "they'll wake father up as sure as the world."

But it was not unusual for Billy to sing in the night. Indeed, his midnight music was sometimes overpowering. Bert stood very still for a moment, but could hear no one stirring. He walked on a few steps, Cuff purring loudly, and rubbing her soft gray sides against him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Cat_]

"Bow, wow, wow, wow," barked the faithful watch-dog.

"Be quiet, Prince. Stop your noise!"

Prince knew his young master's voice, and, like Cuff, was delighted to be near him, and so gave expression to his feelings in a succession of loud quick barks.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Me-aw," called Billy_.]

"Hadn't you better go down, John?" asked Bert's mother, anxiously. "I'm afraid some one is trying to get in."

"They can't get farther than the shed," was the careless reply. "I left that open."

In a few moments all was quiet again. Prince lay down at Bert's feet, and Cuff stretched herself out beside him. Time was pa.s.sing. The boys would surely be there before him. Very carefully he crept toward the door, hardly daring to breathe, in his anxiety.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Bow, wow, wow_."]

But Prince had not been asleep. No, indeed! Restarted up at the first sound of his master's footsteps. It was very evident that something unusual was going on, and he was determined to be "in it."

"I must run as fast as I can," said Bert to himself. "Hit or miss, there's nothing else for me to do."

He was preparing to suit the action to the word, when Snow, the old family horse, who for a few days past had been allowed to wander about among the clover fields, put her white nose just inside the door and gave a loud and fiercely prolonged neigh.

"What next!" muttered Bert, between his teeth. "I shall expect to see some of the cows soon. I don't care if all the animals on the place come,--I'm going."

He was walking defiantly from the door, when he heard his mother's voice at her window. "I never can sleep, John, with a horse crying around. I wish you'd go down to see what the trouble is. And do lock the shed door. I haven't slept five minutes to-night."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_The old family horse_."]