Alone in London Part 4

It looked very much like a long box, and was not much larger. Two or three beetles crawled sluggishly away as the light fell upon them, and dusty cobwebs festooned all the corners; but to Tony it seemed so magnificent an accommodation for sleeping, that he could scarcely believe he heard old Oliver aright. He looked up into his face with a sharp, incredulous gaze, ready to wink and thrust his tongue into his cheek, if there was the least sign of making game of him. But the old man was simply in earnest, and without a word Tony slipped down upon a heap of paper shavings strewed within, drew his ragged jacket up about his ears, and turned his face away, lest his tears should be seen. He felt, a minute or two after, that a piece of an old rug was laid over him, but he could say nothing; and old Oliver could not hear the sob which broke from his lips.

CHAPTER VIII.

NO PIPE FOR OLD OLIVER.

As some weeks went by, and no crossing and broom had been given to Tony, he began to suspect that Oliver was imposing upon him. Now that he slept under the counter, he could often hear the old man talking aloud to his invisible Friend as he smoked his pipe; and once or twice Tony crept noiselessly to the door and watched him, after he had finished smoking, kneel down and hide his face in his hands for some minutes together. But the boy could see nothing, and his wish had not been granted; even though, as he grew more instructed, he followed Oliver's example, and, kneeling down behind the counter, whispered out a prayer for it. To be sure his life was easier, especially the nights of it; for he never now went hungry and starved to bed upon some cold, hard door-step. But it was old Oliver who did that for him, not old Oliver's Master. So far as he knew, the Lord Jesus had taken no notice whatever of him; and the feeling, at first angry, softened down into a kind of patient grief, which was quickly dying away into indifference.

Oliver had done himself no bad turn by offering a shelter to the solitary lad. Tony always woke early in the morning, and if it rained he would run for the papers, before turning out to "find for himself" in the streets.

He generally took care to be out of the way at meal-times; for it was as much as the old man could do to provide for himself and Dolly. Sometimes Tony saw him at the till, counting over his pence with rather a troubled face. Once, after receiving a silver fourpenny piece, an extraordinary and undreamed of event, Tony dropped it, almost with a feeling of guilt, through the slit in the counter which communicated with the till. But Oliver was so bewildered by its presence among the coppers, that he was compelled to confess what he had done, saying it would have cost him more than that for lodgings these cold nights.

"No, no, Tony," said Oliver; "you're very useful, fetching my papers, and taking my little love out a-walking when the weather's fine. I ought to pay you something, instead of taking it of you."

"Keep it for Dolly," said Tony, bashfully, and pus.h.i.+ng the coin into her little hand.

"Sank 'oo," answered Dolly, accepting it promptly; "me'll give 'oo twenty kisses for it."

It seemed ample payment to Tony, who went down on his knees to have the kisses pressed upon his face, which had never felt a kiss since his mother died. But Oliver was not satisfied with the bargain, though he drew Dolly to him fondly, and left the money in her hand.

"It 'ud buy you a broom, Tony," he said.

"Oh, I've give up asking for a crossing," he answered, dejectedly; "for he never heard, or if he heard, he never cared; so it were no use going on teazing either him or me."

"But this money 'ud buy the broom," said Oliver; "and if you looked about you, you'd find the crossing. You never got such a bit of money before, did you?"

"No, never," replied Tony. "A tall, thin gentleman, with a dark face and very sharp eyes, gave it me for holding his horse, near Temple Bar. He says, 'Mind you spend that well, my lad.' I'd know him again anywhere."

"You ought to have bought a broom," said Oliver, looking down at Dolly's tightly-closed hand.

"Don't you go to take it of her," cried Tony. "Bless you! I'll get another some way. I never thought that were the way he'd give me a broom and a crossing. I thought it 'ud be sure to come direct."

"Well," said Oliver, after a little pause, "I'll save the fourpence for you. It'll only be going without my pipe for a few nights, that's all.

That's nothing, Tony."

It did not seem much to Tony, who had no idea as yet of the pleasures of smoking; yet he roused up just before falling into his deep sleep at night to step softly to the door, and look in upon Oliver. He was sitting in his arm-chair, with his pipe between his lips, but there was no tobacco in it; and he was holding more eager converse than ever with his unseen companion.

"Dear Lord!" he said, "I'd do ten times more than this for thee. Thou hast said, 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these, ye did it unto me.' Tony's one of thy little ones. Dear Lord, do thee give him a crossing, if it be thy blessed will. Do thee now, Lord."

Tony could hear no more, and he stole back to bed, his mind full of new and vague hopes. He dreamed of the fourpenny piece, and the gentleman who had given it, and of Dolly, who bought a wondrous broom with it, in his dream, which swept a beautiful crossing of itself. But old Oliver sat still a long time, talking half aloud; for his usual drowsiness did not come to him. It was nearly five months now since Dolly was left to him, and he felt his deafness and blindness growing upon him slowly. His infirmities were not yet so burdensome as to make him dependent upon others; but he felt himself gradually drawing near to such a state.

Dolly's clothes were getting sadly in want of mending; there was scarcely a fastening left upon them, and neither he nor Tony could sew on a b.u.t.ton or tape. It was a long time--a very long time--since his sister had been to see him; and, with the reluctancy of old age to any active exertion, he had put off from week to week the task of writing to her to tell her of Susan's departure, and the charge he had in his little grandchild. He made up his mind that he would do it tomorrow.

CHAPTER IX.

A NEW BROOM AND A CROSSING.

The morning was a fine soft, sunny December day, such as comes sometimes after a long season of rain and fog, and Tony proposed taking Dolly out for a walk through the streets, to which Oliver gladly consented, as it would give to him exactly the undisturbed leisure he needed for writing his letter to Charlotte. But Dolly was not in her usual spirits; on the contrary, she was grave and sober, and at length Tony, thinking she was tired, sat down on a door-step, and took her upon his knee, to tell her his dream of the wonderful broom which swept beautifully all by itself.

Dolly grew more and more pensive after hearing this, and sat silent for a long time, with her small head resting thoughtfully upon her hand, as she looked up and down the street.

"Dolly 'ud like to buy a boom," she said, at last, "a great, big boom; and gan-pa 'ill smoke his pipe again to-night. Dolly's growing a big girl; and me must be a good girl till mammy comes back. Let us go and buy a big boom, Tony."

For a few minutes Tony tried to shake her resolution, and persuade her to change her mind. He even tempted her with the sight of a doll in a shop-window; but she remained steadfast, and he was not sorry to give in at last. Since the idea had entered his head that the money had been given to him for the purpose of buying a broom, he had rather regretted parting with it, and he felt some anxiety lest he should not be allowed a second chance. Dolly's light-heartedness had returned, and she trotted cheerfully by his side as they walked on in search of a shop where they could make their purchase. It was some time before they found one, and they had already left behind them the busier thoroughfares, and had reached a knot of quieter streets where there were more foot-pa.s.sengers, for the fine morning had tempted many people out for pleasure as well as business. Tony was particular in his choice of a broom, but once bought, he carried it over his shoulder, and went on his way with Dolly in triumph.

They were pa.s.sing along chattering busily, when Tony's eyes fell upon a child about as old as Dolly, standing on the kerb-stone with a lady, who looked anxiously across to the other side of the broad and very dirty road, for the day before had been rainy. They were both finely dressed, and the little girl had on new boots of s.h.i.+ning leather, which it was evident she was very much afraid of soiling. For a minute Tony only looked on at their perplexity, but then he went up to them, holding Dolly by the hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A NEW BROOM AND A CROSSING]

"If you'll take care of my little girl," he said, "I'll carry your little girl across the road. I'm wery clean for a street-boy, all but my feet, 'cos I've got this little girl to take care of; and I'll do it wery gentle."

Both the lady and the child looked very searchingly into Tony's face. It was pale and meagre; but there was a pleasant smile upon it, and his eyes shone down upon the two children with a very loving light in them.

The lady took Dolly's hand in hers, nodding permission for him to carry her little child over to the other side, and she waited for him to come back to his own charge. Then she took out her purse, and put twopence into his hand.

"Thank ye, my lady," said Tony; "but I didn't do it for that. I'm only looking out for a crossing. Me and Dolly have bought this broom, and I'm looking out for a place to make a good crossing in."

"Why not make one here?" asked the lady.

It seemed a good place to try one in; there were four roads meeting, and a cab-stand close by. Plenty of people were pa.s.sing to and fro, and the middle of the road was very muddy. Tony begged a wisp of straw from a cabman, to make a seat for Dolly in the suns.h.i.+ne under a blank bit of wall, while he set to work with a will, feeling rather pleased than not that the broom would not sweep of itself. A crossing was speedily made, and for two or three hours Tony kept it well swept. By that time it was twelve o'clock, and Dolly's dinner would be ready for her before they could reach home, if old Oliver had not forgotten it. It seemed a great pity to leave his new post so early. Most pa.s.sers-by, certainly, had appeared not to see him at all; but he had already received fivepence halfpenny, chiefly in halfpence, from ladies who were out for their morning's walk; and Dolly was enjoying herself very much in the suns.h.i.+ne, receiving all the attention which he could spare from his crossing.

However a beginning was made. The broom and the crossing were his property; and Tony's heart, beat fast with pride and gladness as he carried the weary little Dolly all the way home again. He resolved to put by half of his morning's earnings towards replacing the fourpenny-piece she had given back to him; or perhaps he would buy her a beautiful doll, dressed like a real lady.

CHAPTER X.

HIGHLY RESPECTABLE.

As old Oliver was stooping over his desk on the counter, and bringing his dim eyes as close as he could to the letter he was writing, his shop-door was darkened by the unexpected entrance of his sister Charlotte herself.

She was dressed with her usual extreme neatness, bordering upon gentility, and she carried upon her arm a small fancy reticule, which contained some fresh eggs, and a few russet apples, brought up expressly from the country. Oliver welcomed her with more than ordinary pleasure, and led her at once into his room behind. Charlotte's quick eyes detected in an instant the traces of a child's dwelling there; and before Oliver could utter a word, she picked up a little frock, and was holding it out at arm's length, with an air of utter surprise and misgiving.

"Brother James!" she exclaimed, and her questioning voice, with its tone of amazement, rang very clearly into his ears.

"It's my little Dolly's," he answered, in haste; "poor Susan's little girl, who's gone out with her husband, young Raleigh, to India, because he's 'listed, and left her little girl with me, her grandfather. She came on the very last day you were here."

"Well, to be sure!" cried his sister, sinking down on a chair, but still keeping the torn little frock in her hand.

"I've had two letters from poor Susan," he continued, in a tremulous voice, "and I'll read them to you. The child's such a precious treasure to me, Charlotte--such a little love, a hundred times better than any gold; and now you're come to mend up her clothes a bit, and see what she wants for me, there's nothing else that I desire. I was writing about her to you when you came in."

"I thought you'd gone and picked up a lost child out of the streets,"

said Charlotte, with a sigh of relief.

"No, no; she's my own," he answered. "You hearken while I read poor Susan's letters, and then you'll understand all about it. I couldn't give her up for a hundred gold guineas--not for a deal more than that."