Part 13

“It was the month of March, and the Hygeia Hotel was a gay scene of life and beauty. Among the guests was a charming young woman, talented and rich, but also very lame. She could not walk without the aid of a crutch; but, notwithstanding this detraction, she fascinated everybody by her lovely manner and cheerful, sunny disposition. The gentleman who had bought Moselle, now called Duke, daily dined at the Hygeia, and in a particularly fortunate time was presented to the lame lady. He was, therefore, the envy of all the unmarried army officers who, with every one else, would delight in thinking of her as their friend. The young lady admired Duke very much, and often petted and caressed him, and the dog seemed proud and pleased to be in her company. However, the time came for the lame lady to return to her home in New York, and the dog was left alone with his master, though I might add, not alone, for everybody living at the ‘Point’ seemed to know Duke and would always praise his beauty. One old gentleman offered two hundred dollars for him once, but it was refused, his owner saying, ‘I will never sell Duke, though some day I may be tempted to give him away.’ Duke was taught many tricks while at the Fortress, among others, to carry letters. These he would hold in his mouth, but would neither tear them with his teeth, nor wet them with his tongue. He was also taught to ‘say his prayers,’ which he always did kneeling on a wooden chair, with his head resting with closed eyes on the back. When ‘Amen’ was said this was the signal to jump over the chair-back and shake himself as if pleased to have prayer-time over. One day, as the mail was being distributed, Duke, as was his wont, was standing near, and one of the officers putting a letter in the dog’s mouth, said: ‘Take that to your master. It’s from his friend, the lame lady.’ This the officer meant for a joke, but it was really true, and, as the letter concerned Duke, we will insert it here:

“‘DEAR MR. G——:

“‘According to promise, I write you the result of the operation, which I am sure you will be glad to learn is a complete success. My physicians say if I will have patience for another month I will then walk as well as anybody. Please give Duke an extra pat on my account, and whenever you feel constrained to part with him, remember

“‘Your friend “‘PAULINE JEROME.’

“That settles it!” exclaimed Duke’s master. ‘I learned last night I was soon to be sent to California, and I at once decided my good dog and I must separate. And now that he can have so kind a mistress, and I have this opportunity to win the gratitude of my lovely friend, what a fool I would be to hesitate longer. On my way to California, I will arrange to pass through New York City, and will then personally give my dog to Miss Jerome.’”

“Madeline, will you finish the story?”

“Six months have now passed since Duke exchanged his home at Fortress Monroe for the luxurious apartments of his beautiful mistress. The dog is constantly tended with the greatest care, groomed as tenderly as if made of human flesh. He sleeps in my lady’s room and seems truly aristocratic with his lordly bearing. His baby-blue satin ribbon bow, knotted into the solid gold collar, which bears his name and address, a Christmas gift from his mistress, causes him to appear what indeed he has become—almost spoiled with good fortune.

“But what a change a few short hours can make! That night there was a cry of ‘Fire!’ My! the alarm and panic it raised! for the fire was not noticed until there was so much flame and smoke that it was with the utmost difficulty the inmates of the house escaped with their lives. Nothing else was saved. Miss Jerome calling to a fireman, said: ‘Take care of my dog, and I will pay you well.’ The man, catching the dog harshly by the collar, fairly dragged him out of the burning building, for Duke seemed dazed with smoke and fright. But, on reaching the street, the dog was entirely beyond control, and, with wonderful strength freed himself from the man’s grasp, strong as it was, and dashed down the street. Miss Jerome offered at different times large rewards for his return; but it was useless, Duke and his mistress were never again to meet, he was as lost to her as if he had never existed. Several months passed, after the fire, and the dog once more found friends, a home, and his old name, Moselle. Peculiar events happen in life, and few more so than the following. Mr. and Mrs. Adams of whom this story first told, had gone to the South of France, hoping to recover the health of Mrs. Adams, on whose account it will be remembered the valued dog had to be parted with. They were accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and their children, Ned and May. The older people of this party were one morning talking on the lawn connected with the Hôtel de Grace, when Ned and May suddenly burst upon them accompanied by a large dog, who was jumping and tearing around as if wild with joy. Seeing Mr. Adams, he left the children, and, jumping on his lap, laid his head on his shoulder and moaned and actually seemed to weep with gladness. ‘This is Moselle, Moselle!’ shouted Ned; ‘we saw him with an old fiddler out here on the road. I thought he looked like my dear old dog, though he is so thin and starved looking, and I called “Moselle,” and you should have seen him run. Those long legs of his fairly raced to reach me. Indeed, he knocked me down. He was too happy to behave, wasn’t you, Moselle?’ and Ned tenderly smoothed his beautiful head, which he yet kept on his old master’s shoulder, as though they must never be separated again, while his tender brown eyes seemed to speak of affectionate content. The family never again parted with Moselle until he died, which sad event occurred towards the close of the same year. The dog’s exposures and privations after the fire, during his varied life, seemed to have weakened and injured him to such an extent that, though tender care was constantly lavished, it came too late. All that Mr. Adams ever learned of Moselle’s history, he heard from the fiddler, who had bought him from an old woman, who said he belonged to her son, and that they had had nothing but bad luck since the dog was theirs, and she would be glad to get rid of him at any price. The fiddler thought the son had stolen the dog, and, as he was himself having bad fortune, he determined to leave America and return to his own country, and had brought the dog over the sea, thinking in that way if there was any wrong dealing connected with the dog he would never be discovered. ‘But,’ said the old fiddler, gravely shaking his head, ‘I’ve always heard “wrong will out,” and I’m thankful to dispose of him for so liberal a compensation as you have so kindly made me.’ With these words, the fiddler folded his money over, thrust it in his pocket and walked away.”

“Thank you for such an entertaining story,” said Aunt Mary; “and now we will have our promised drive.”

ORRIN THE BOOTBLACK.

“Shine, shine, shine!” the cry was as earnest as it was pitiful. I rose from my seat in the cabin of the Fulton Ferry boat, for I was crossing from Brooklyn to New York at the time, and found the boy; one glance into his honest blue eyes did the rest.

I at once gave him my boots to blacken, regardless of the opinion of my man Dennis, that he had put on them an extra polish that morning, and, while the almost baby hand continued to shine them into as dazzling a glare as blackened boots could reach, I asked him his name, and, giving him my card, told him to call on me that evening at seven o’clock.

“Mr. Adams, you surely do not mean me to understand that your protégé, who to-night delivered the valedictory address in this honored college, and the bootblack are one and the same?”

“I do.”

The above conversation was between the President of the college and the senior member of the Board of Trustees.

“Yes; he is the same, and yet not the same, because then he was such a sad little fellow, and now he is full of jokes and wholesome pranks, a merry wit that gladdens my old days, and almost makes a boy of me again. At one time, though, I thought he would never laugh; it was such an apology for a smile that I first saw cross his prematurely wizened face. But how long ago it now seems! Let me see,” thoughtfully counting one, two, three on his fingers, “why, it must be twelve years since then. How time flies!”

“Yes, time always does fly, when we are busy and happy. But are you aware that your Orrin is one of our youngest men? He gave his age as twenty-two!”

“Quite correct.”

“Well, I am confounded at your information. I am as curious as I am interested. Would you mind some time telling me the rest of the boy’s story?”

“Not at all; why not spend to-morrow evening with me? You know we sail Saturday for the continent, and after that our movements are uncertain. Orrin has worked hard, and I have promised him this treat, and, though he does not know it, I am contemplating leaving him at Oxford for a year or two. By the way, I would like your opinion as to that. But one thing is sure—if he stays in England, I stay too. I could not put the ocean between us. You cannot imagine how my heart holds that boy; so, if you really want to hear my chap’s story, you would better come to-morrow night.”

“I will come.”

It was evening, and, when the two men were comfortably seated in Mr. Adams’ library, the following was told.

Mr. Adams prefaced the recital with the words: “I will photograph Orrin as he first appeared in my home, and then, as nearly as my memory can recall our conversation, I will give it. Twelve years ago, about seven o’clock in the evening, a maid told me that a small poorly-clad lad, with a box under his arm, was asking to see me. He had entered by the lower door. I directed her to bring him to me, and, strangely enough, in my comfortable lounging-chair, with the evening paper for companion, I had entirely forgotten the engagement I had made, but the girl’s words instantly recalled all, and, a few moments later, I was addressing him. His manner was neither shy nor bold. He appeared neither surprised nor bewildered. I did not note the confused air, which I could reasonably expect. He met my gaze with the honest, frank look that I first noticed, but he seemed sad, even painfully. He was such a small boy. He evidently was what is so rarely found—a gentleman. I almost exclaimed as he stood in the doorway, for I noticed the way he held his cap; Beau Brummell in his most happy days could not have done better, and the bow with which he answered my ‘good evening,’ as well as the response to my asking him to take a chair, made me say to myself, ‘Adams, you must look out, or this little bootblack will leave you leagues rearward in the manner question!’ His hair was dark, very glossy, and slightly curly. His face and hands almost shone with cleanliness. I especially noticed his nails, and, knowing his business, was surprised to find that they, also, were quite clean. His height was decidedly small for his age (he did not really seem to grow much until he was about seventeen years old, and then how he shot up! he is just six feet tall now); his clothes were not patched, but threadbare and ragged. The material was fine. His trousers only came to his knees, and both shoes and stockings were visibly the worse for wear. He was not a pretty boy, but a manly-looking little fellow. His complexion was fair, but pallid; indeed, the boy wore a starved, pinched look. His jacket, which was buttoned with brass buttons to the neck, hung on him, as if he had grown thinner since it was made. So much for my photograph. Now for our conversation, which will give you a better idea of the boy, than if only using my own words.

“‘Good evening, my little man.’

“‘Good evening, sir.’

“‘You blackened my boots so well this morning, I thought I would like to talk with you about your business to-night.’

“‘Thank you, sir.’

“‘How long have you been a bootblack?’

“‘Seven weeks.’

“‘Have you made much money?’

“‘I make more now than at first, sir.’

“‘How much is the most you have made a week?’

“‘Last week, sir, I made ninety-five cents.’

“‘How much is the least you ever made?’

“‘Fifteen, sir; that was my first week, when I was new in the business.’

“‘You live with your parents, I suppose?’

“‘No, sir.’

“‘Don’t live with your parents? Whom do you live with?’

“‘With myself.’

“‘You, a little midget like you, live by yourself! Where do you sleep?’

“‘Wherever I can find a place.’

“‘Where did you sleep last night?’

“‘You won’t tell, sir, if I tell you?’

“‘No.’

“‘Well, I’ve slept for three nights, now, in a covered wagon. It has been left outside, and, some way, no one has ever seen me crawl into it. Please don’t tell any one, sir. I really don’t hurt the wagon.’

“‘But why don’t you go home? Do your parents drink?’

“‘I have no home, sir; my parents are dead; they are both in heaven.’ And then the little hands hastily undid the few top buttons of his jacket, and untied a black shoe lace which served as a chain. Then, stepping nervously towards me, he said; ‘Would you like to see mamma’s picture?’

“I tell you what, sir, this action, united to the boy’s words, unmanned me. ‘John Adams,’ I asked myself, ‘you’ll befriend this boy?’ And John Adams answered, ‘I will.’

“The picture was painted on porcelain, a medallion resting on dark blue velvet; the whole was framed in a band of narrow gold. The woman was a blonde, delicate looking, but very beautiful. She had an intellectual face, and seemed of good birth. In age about twenty-five years.

“‘Has your mother been dead long?’ I next asked.

“‘She died when I was born, and I am ten years old. Papa gave me her picture, and I always wear it. I would starve, sir, but I would never part from it.’ I am sure the boy has it on now, but I would not like to ask him to show it to you. He is sensitive, and I would not risk hurting him.”

“No, indeed, I would not have you, if you were ever so willing. And what more, Mr. Adams? It is well I did not know of this while he was in college; I am afraid I should have spoiled him.”

“Well, I asked him if he had brothers or sisters. His reply was—

“‘I had one brother; he died a year ago.’

“‘How long since your father died?’

“‘Eight weeks, sir.’

“‘And you started at the boot-blacking business one week later?’

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘What was your father’s business?’

“‘When he was in business, he was a stockbroker.’

“‘A stockbroker!’ I exclaimed, although I was positive before, judging from his mother’s picture, that he was born above his present position. ‘And you say there was a time when your father was not in business. How long ago was that?’

“‘The last two years of his life, after he became blind.’

“‘Tell me all about it, my good boy.’

“‘My father, sir, must have made a great deal of money; we lived in such a handsome house.’

“‘As handsome as this?’

“Looking around before he replied,—

“‘Oh, yes, sir.’

“‘You say your mother was dead. Who, then, kept house for you?’

“‘Mrs. Prentiss, our housekeeper. I had a nurse first, Nurse Ann, and when I got to be a big boy, I had a governess. She taught me to read, write, and all I know. I have never been to school. We had several servants, and my father kept horses. It was the house in which mamma died, and everything, papa said, must be as she kept house. But, one day, I know not how it happened, my father lost a great deal of money, and a lot of strange people came to the house, and almost all of our beautiful things were sold. All the servants left but one, and my governess. Papa and I lived then in a few rooms. I used to hear papa talk about his eyes, at that time, and one day he went to see a doctor about them. When he came back he told me: ‘My son, I am going to be blind,’ and then explained to me exactly what that meant. He told me that the reason he would be blind was because he had used too much tobacco. My father smoked a great many cigars every day, and sometimes a pipe. He chewed tobacco too. I felt frightened when I heard all of this, and I remember I cried and papa comforted me. He afterwards asked me to repeat these words after him. ‘My papa was blind. His optic nerves were hurt because he used too much tobacco. I will never smoke or chew.’ My papa had me repeat these words until I knew them perfectly, and then I said them once every day to him until he died. I say them every day to myself now. My papa became blind very soon after we left our home, and about six months before he died he was sick most of the time. My governess left one day, and then I had no more lessons. And almost every day our things would be sold, until, when papa died, we had most nothing left. About a week after he was buried, some men came to our rooms, and then our girl left, and the men told me I must go too. I could not live there any more. They gave me my clothes, and one of the men gave me a dollar. I cried so hard that another man said he would take me home with him, and I could stay two or three nights at his house until I could get some work and make money for myself. That was why I became a bootblack. This man told me it was a good business, and, because I was so little and did not know what to do, the man and his wife made me a present of my outfit and told me to watch other bootblacks and cry out: “Shine, shine,” and so get business. The man gave me his boots to black while I stopped at the house and that taught me the way, for I never had blackened boots before. I stayed with these kind people for one week, and since then I have taken care of myself.’

“‘Have you no relations?’

“‘None I have ever seen. The day before papa died, he told me I was soon to be all alone in the world, that I had no relatives, and then he said: “Your relatives are all dead, my son, or dead to you.” That is all I know, sir.’

“My heart ached for the child as he finished, and I thought, let the consequence be what it would, he should not leave my house that night. I asked him his name.

“‘Orrin Thorndyke,’ was the reply.

“I told him he was to remain overnight with me, and that to-morrow I would investigate his story. This he readily did. He seemed to be satisfied to do exactly as he was told; he had evidently not yet gotten away from the manner of obeying his father. I think I told you he was prematurely old; his strange life had made him so. That night I scarcely slept, so full of plans was I for the future. As you know, I have always been a bachelor with plenty of money and no relatives who will ever need help through me. Before morning I decided that, if on investigation I found the bootblack’s story correct, I would at once adopt him and do for him as I would for an only son. This I have conscientiously tried to do, and, coming in and out of this house as the friend you are, I trust you think I have done right.”

“You certainly have.”

“I have noticed your admiration for my boy, and I have been very glad of it; and how well I remember the first time you saw him! You said I was to be congratulated in having for my protégé such a manly little fellow, and then you added, ‘Blood is sure, Adams, and I give up judging forever after, if good blood is not in this boy’s veins.’ Of course, when the child became mine, I wanted him to bear my name, but you never knew before that the Orrin Thorndyke part was his own. Some way, I could not ask him to part with it altogether, and so I had mine simply added.”

“Oh, what a man you are; it takes time to know you, Adams. And at last, I have found out why you so suddenly gave up smoking.”

“That is a fact. How could I smoke with that child’s story running not only in my ears, but through my heart? But what do you think of Orrin smoking three cigars every day!”

“Surely, you are joking!”

“No; I will tell you how he does it. When he was fourteen years of age, I gave him a monthly allowance, because I wished him to early learn the management of money. One day, shortly after, he came to me with the question, would I permit him to set aside the value of three five-cent cigars a day, and when the amount would reach five dollars he desired to put it in the bank and so open a smoking account. He also said he would regularly add to this amount as he could accumulate five dollars, and that he would not withdraw the money, but allow it to increase both principal and interest until he was thirty years of age, at which time he and I could decide what would be done with it. This I readily agreed to do. And now that he has been ‘smoking,’ as he puts it, three five-cent cigars every day for eight years, the amount already in the bank, at four per cent. interest, is not a small one. Why, in the first year, without interest, he saved nearly fifty-five dollars!”

“If only I had tried that scheme when I was fourteen years old, I would be a rich man now,” replied the President; “however, it is not yet too late to start the plan with my grandchildren.”

BREAKFAST-TABLE DECORATION.

“Mabel!”

“Well, mamma!”

“Come to breakfast, dearie.” The call was given through the wide lattice which opened on the garden. And at once the little girl obeyed the summons.

And what a charming picture was given when the child presented herself in the half-open doorway, with her big blue eyes, the blue of the sky overhead, cheeks that rivalled the peach blossom’s rich redness, and lips wide parted, with the merry laugh that rippled over and over the upturned face; for at that moment she was bubbling beyond control with mischief and sparkle, partly on account of the buoyancy of the early morning atmosphere, but mostly because of the raid she had made on the morning-glory vines, as her laden hands and arms could testify.

“I haven’t struck the right combination yet,” were her mother’s words, at the same time touching a majolica dish of flowers that served as ornament for the breakfast-table.

“Well, _I have_! An idea has just sprung on me, seized me, as it were! Stand still where you are, little sister, until Tom comes back again,” and then away the boy flew, in his clumsy energy tripping over an ottoman that was always at Mabel’s place at table, because she was not yet tall enough to put her feet on the floor.

It seemed but a second when he returned with a cut-glass bowl in his hands, filled within one-third of the top with fresh, cold water; and with an air of triumph he removed the majolica dish, depositing the bowl in its stead.

Then, going to the little girl, who had stood motionless in obedience to her big brother’s command, and with the words, “Let Tom have some of your pretty flowers,” he took first one and then another. The color values, as she held the morning-glories, appealed to him, there was such richness of reds, purples, lavenders and white, with their many intermediate shades, which blended softly with the green leaves, vines and tendrils. When he had taken enough to fill, not crowd the bowl, there were many exclamations of satisfaction, for all was harmony. The white tablecloth was a fitting background to the variety of color, and the delicate, graceful flowers gave such a pleasant welcome at this first meal of the new day.

Morning-glories should be oftener used for the breakfast-table. Try what you can do with them, boys and girls, and thus give a pleasant surprise to your mother. Another pretty table decoration would be to plant woodland vines, and also ferns, oxalis, and pretty wild grasses in an ornamental piece of earthenware, one that would add beauty to the dinner-table.

Take such a piece to the country with you, and remember to fill it with forest mould before you put in the woodland plants; it will be most pleasing, and prove a joy all winter if you will properly water it; that is, keep it wet, not soggy.

HOW THEY PLANTED THE NASTURTIUMS.