Part 5

"I'll trust you," said Madam Van Ruypen, waving him off summarily. So as there was nothing else to do, Ben followed the little man down what seemed an interminable number of aisles, at last pausing before a set of drawers, on either hand of which was a cabinet with doors.

"Now, here," said the salesman, swinging wide one of the doors, "is just the thing. It's for yourself, I suppose," and he took down with a deft hand a jacket and a pair of trousers.

"Oh, no, it isn't," Ben made haste to say, answering the question.

"Hey--oh!" the little man whirled around to stare at him,--"your brother then?"

"No," said Ben, growing hot and red in the face. "It isn't for any of us,--no one I know; she's going to give them away to some boy who--" he was going to say "needs them," but the salesman shut off the words from his mouth, and, clapping to the door, led the way off down another aisle to a counter where the suits were piled high; "I've got just the very thing for you here," he announced, twitching one out; "there, now, see that."

"But that is much too nice," said Ben, putting his finger on the fine goods, and wishing he were anywhere else in the world but in that store, and the perspiration began to trickle in little drops down his face.

"So?" the salesman leaned his hands meditatively on the counter, and surveyed him. "Well, I'll show you some other goods. Come this way," and again they traversed some more aisles, took an elevator, and went up what seemed to Ben a great many floors, at last coming out to a department which, as far as the eye could see, was stacked with thick, ready-made goods of serviceable materials.

"There," said the little man, giving quick, birdlike glances on either side, and, at last pausing, he slapped his hand smartly down on a small pile of suits, "is just the ticket for you."

"Yes," said Ben, and he ran his hand approvingly over the thick surface, "I guess it is; it looks good."

"And it is good," said the salesman, emphatically; "it'll outwear three of those other ones downstairs. We haven't but a few of these left. Now, how big is the boy you want it for?"

"I don't know," said Ben, helplessly.

"Well, we've got to have something to go by," said the salesman; "of course you can't buy at random and haphazard."

"She didn't say," said Ben, with a nod over in the direction supposed to be where Madam Van Ruypen was waiting several floors below for the transaction to be completed. "But she's going to give them to a boy," he added desperately, "and so I guess I'll pick out the very best you have for the money, and it'll be right. They'll fit some boy."

"Right you are," declared the salesman, delighted to have the matter satisfactorily arranged, and, pulling out a coat and jacket, he held them up before Ben's eyes. "Now that is the best money value we've got in the store. Fact. We're closing them out. Couldn't afford to give 'em at this low figure, but there's only these few left, and we don't allow remnants to bother us long, no, sir." He rattled on so fast that Ben, who was slowly going over the coat, which he had by this time gotten into his own hands, in a close examination as to buttons and buttonholes, only half heard him. Indeed, it wasn't in the least necessary, for he hadn't held the garment for a moment before he knew quite well that here was a good bargain, and one well fitted to warm some poor boy, and to wear well.

"You can't find fault," said the little man, in great satisfaction, when the whole suit had been gone over in this slow way, "'cause there ain't any. Fact! Well, do you want it?"

"How much is it?" asked Ben.

"Nine-fifty. It's worth three dollars more, but we're closing them out, as I told you, and we don't give room to remnants. It's a bargain if ever there was one. Fact! Do you want it?"

"Yes, if she says so," said Ben. And now his spirits quite rose, for it was a good thing, and he was not ashamed to show it to Madam Van Ruypen, or to any one else, as his selection. So the salesman flung the suit over his arm, and skipped off, followed by Ben. And they shot down the elevator and went back down all the aisles. There she sat, stiff and immovable, in her chair.

"Oh, only one?" she asked, as the salesman held up the bargain.

"I didn't know you wanted two," gasped Ben; "you didn't say so."

"Oh, I suppose I did not mention it. But have you been all this time picking out a paltry one?" She didn't even offer to touch the suit, and scarcely glanced at it.

"Do you like it?" asked Ben. "See, it's thick and warm, isn't it?" lifting the sleeve for her to see it the better.

"Oh, I suppose it will serve its purpose, and be warm enough," she said carelessly. "Well, now," to the salesman, "will you go back and bring another one, a smaller size, and stay, still another, for there must be some more boys in the family? There ought to be. No, you don't need to go, Ben; he can pick them out. Just the same quality, mind," and she dismissed the little man.

When he had disappeared, she cast an approving glance at the suit thrown across the counter. "Very well chosen," she said. "And now, see here, run down to the neckwear counter--or stay," and she raised her black glove.

A small army of salesmen seemed to rush to the scene, so many appeared. "What is it, madam?" for all knew, at least by sight, the wealthy old lady, who, try as hard as she might, never seemed to be able to make much impression on the Van Ruypen money-bags. "Take this boy to the different departments that he selects, and let him buy what pleases him," she said to the first salesman that reached her.

"Yes, madam," he said, well pleased, and leading off with Ben. But just then a floor-walker touched him on the shoulder, "Mr. Moses wants you," he said, "about those vests."

"Oh, all right," said the salesman; "here, Perkins," and beckoning to a tall young man, who appeared to Ben very much dressed up, he turned the boy over to him, and went off.

"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.