My First Cruise Part 5

But at length his strength began to return to him a little, and then for the first time poor Tiny discovered that he was blind. And all the days and weeks that came and went were like one long, dark night. In those dreadful days our singer had nothing to do but to think, and the little beggar girl had nothing to do but to beg; for Tiny's charity and goodness of heart seemed to have all forsaken him, and one day in his anger he drove her out of his garret, and bade her return no more, for that the very thought of her was hateful to him. In doing this, Tiny brought a terrible calamity upon himself; he fell against his harp and broke it.

After that, while he sat pondering on the sad plight he was in, hungry and cold and blind, he suddenly started up. A new thought had come to him. "I will go home to my father's house," he said. "There is no other way for me. Oh, my mother!" and bitterly he wept as he p.r.o.nounced that name, and thought how little like her tender and serene love was the love of the best of all the friends he had found in that great city of the world.

As he started up so quickly in a sort of frenzy, his foot struck against the broken harp, and instantly the instrument gave forth a wailing sound, that pierced the poet's heart. He lifted up the harp: alas! it was _so_ broken he could do nothing with it; from his hands it fell back upon the floor where it had lain neglected, forgotten, so long. But Tiny's heart was now fairly awakened, and stooping to the floor, he raised the precious treasure again. "I will carry back the broken fragments," said he; "they shall go back to my father with me. The harp is his; I can do nothing more with it for ever. I have ruined it; I have done nothing for the world, as I promised him. A fine thing it is for me to go back to him in this dreadful plight. But if he says to me, 'Thou art no son of mine,' I will say, 'Father, I am no more _worthy_ to be called thy son; make me thy hired servant--only pay me in love.'"

And so saying, Tiny began to descend from his attic. Carefully he went down the stairs, ready to ask help of the first person whose voice he should hear. But he had groped his way as far as the street door, before he met a soul. As he stepped upon the threshold, and was about to move on into the street, a voice--a child's voice--said to him--

"I'm very hungry, sir."

The patient tone of the speaker arrested Tiny's steps, and he pondered a moment. It was the hearts that belonged to voices like this, which he had vowed to help! His own heart sunk within him at that thought.

"Wretched soul that I am," said he to himself, thinking of the opportunities which he had lost. But to the child he said--

"I'm blinder than a bat, and hungry, too. So I'm worse off than you are. Do you live about here?"

"Just round the corner," said the little girl.

"Is there a physician near here?" he asked next; for a now thought--a new hope, rather--had come into his heart.

"Yes, sir--very near. I know where it is," said the child. "I got him once for my mother."

"If you will lead me to him," said Tiny, his voice broken as his heart was, "I will do a good turn for you. You won't be the loser by it. Who takes care of you?"

"Of me, sir?" asked the girl, as if surprised that he should think that any one took care of her. "n.o.body. I'm all alone."

"Alone! alone!" repeated Tiny: "your hand is very little; you are a mite of a girl to be alone."

"They're all dead but me, every one of 'em. Yes, sir, they are."

"No mother?" said Tiny, with a choking voice--thinking of the kind heart and tender loving eyes away off in the lonely little cottage on the border of the forest--"no mother, little girl? Was _that_ what you said?"

"Dead," replied the child.

"Did you love her?" asked Tiny, the poet, while his heart wept burning tears.

The girl said not a word, but Tiny heard her sob, and held her hand close in his own, as though he would protect her, even if he were blind, while he said aloud--

"Lead me to the physician, little friend."

Quietly and swiftly she led him, and as they went, Tiny never once thought, What if any of the great folks who once courted and praised him should see him led on foot through the streets by a little beggar girl, himself looking hardly more respectable than the poorest of all beggars!

"Shall I ring the door bell?" asked she, at length coming to a sudden halt.

"King it," said he.

But before she could do that the house door opened, and the physician himself appeared, prepared for a drive; his carriage was already in waiting at the door.

"Here he is," exclaimed the girl; and at the same moment a gruff voice demanded--

"What do you want, you two, eh? Speak quick, for I'm off."

In one word Tiny told what it was he wanted.

"Blind, eh?" said the doctor, stooping and looking into the pale face of the unhappy singer; "_born_ blind! I can do nothing for you. John!

drive the horses away from that curb-stone."

He stepped forward, as he spoke, as if about to leave the children, but he stood still again the next minute, arrested by the sound of Tiny's indignant voice.

"Born blind!" the singer cried; "no more than you were, sir. If you knew how to use your eyes to any good purpose, you never would say such a thing. Since I was ill I've been blind, but never a moment before."

"Come into the house a minute," said the doctor, who had been carefully studying Tiny's face during the last few seconds. "Come in, and I'll soon settle that point for you."

"For yourself, you mean," said Tiny, in an under tone, as he and the beggar girl went in.

"What's that you carry?" said the physician. "Lay down your pack for a moment."

But Tiny would not do that. He had taken up his harp in much the same spirit as if it had been a cross, and he was determined never to lay it down again until he came to his father's house. So he merely said, "Don't call it a pack; it was a harp once, but now it's only some bits of wood and cord."

"Broken!" said the doctor; and you would have been in doubt, if you had heard him, as to whether he meant Tiny's harp or heart. "Broken! ah, ...;" and he seemed to get a little new light on the subject when he looked again into Tiny's face. "Ah," he said again, and still more thoughtfully; "now! about those eyes. You went into a great rage just now when I told you that you were born blind. On a closer examination of them, I am still tempted to think that if you were not born blind, you never had the full use of your eyes. How are you going to prove to me that I'm mistaken? If you can prove that it came after your sickness,"--he hesitated a little--"I'm not so sure but that something might be done for you."

At that Tiny's anger was not much lessened; and he was in doubt as to what he should do, until the child said to him, "Sing to him about your mother." The words had the effect of a broad ray of light streaming into a dark and dismal place, and without another word Tiny began to sing. His voice was faint and broken; it never once rose into a high strain of pride, as if he had his merits as a singer to support; he sung with tears, and such pathos as singer never did before, of his Mother and her Love. By the words of his song he brought her there into that very room, with her good and pleasant looks, her loving eyes and tender smile, so that they who heard could also behold her. He sung of all that she had been to him in his childhood, of the brightness she made in their home, of all that she had done for him, and concluded with the prayerful longing that his eyes might once more receive their sight, that so he might behold her.

"The doctor is weeping," whispered the little girl in Tiny's ear.

It was a long time before the doctor spoke; but at length he arose and laid some pieces of silver in Tiny's hand; and he said, "I cannot help you. But what you have to do is to go to the Beautiful Gate, and there you will find a physician famous for the cure of such cases as yours.

True enough you weren't _born_ blind--far from it. I ask your pardon for the mistake. I wish there were more blind in the way you were. Go your way to the Beautiful Gate."

As the doctor spoke he arose and walked quickly towards the door, and the children followed him out. All at once Tiny recollected that they had yet one very important thing to learn, and he cried out--

"But, sir, which way shall we go in order to arrive at the Beautiful Gate?"

Too late! while he spoke the doctor stepped into his carriage, the coachman closed the door with a loud bang and drove away, and Tiny and the little girl were left quite in the dark as to what they should do next. For a long time they stood still in perfect silence. At last Tiny said, "Lead the way, little girl, for I am blind and cannot see.

Come! we will go on, if you have an idea that we shall ever come to the BEAUTIFUL GATE."

"In all my life I never heard of it before," said she sadly.

"But I have," cried Tiny, trying to keep his courage up by speaking brave words. "Come on with me!" yet, in spite of his words, he held fast to the girl's hand, and she led him down the street.

Presently, towards nightfall, they came up to a crowd of people, a mob of men and boys who were quarrelling.

Well did Tiny understand the angry sound; and, as for the girl walking with him, she trembled with fear, and said, "Shall we turn down this street? They are having a terrible fight. I am afraid you will be hurt."

"Not I," said Tiny. "Is the sun near setting?"

"It has set," said the girl.

"And does the red light s.h.i.+ne on the men's faces?" asked the poet.

"Yes," answered the girl, wondering.