Part 7

“Oh, he would be a very unhappy little dog tied up by himself, Sam,” said Grandpapa.

“Well, he could play out in the back yard, you know, and he could go to drive with us,” pleaded Sam.

“He wouldn’t be happy kept so, Sam. He would feel like a little prisoner. I am sure by his looks that he came from the country, and he has probably had open fields to run about in. I don’t believe he was ever kept tied.”

“What can we do with him, then?” asked Sam. “If he can’t tell us where his home is, how can we take him back? I hope you don’t mean to have the poor little fellow lost again;” and Sam’s face grew as anxious as Toby’s.

“Of course I mean to provide for him, Sam,” said Grandpapa. “It is true we can’t take him to his own home, as he isn’t able to speak and tell us where it is, but we will do the next best thing. We will take him to the Home that receives all the stray dogs and cats that are taken there. It is called the ‘Animal Rescue League.’”

At these words Toby took alarm and gave a great bound to free himself. In another instant he would have leapt from the sleigh, but Sam was ready for him and tightened his grasp on the foolish little fellow.

“Why, he tried to jump out of the sleigh,” said Sam. “Do you suppose he heard what you said, Grandpapa?”

“Dogs often seem to understand what is said about them,” replied Grandpapa; “but he would be very foolish to object to being taken to such a pleasant place. He will have the kindest care until a good home is found for him.”

“Will they let him play?” asked Sam, greatly interested, and continuing to keep a strong hold upon the struggling Toby.

“Certainly they will, and he will find other dogs there too. I don’t doubt he will have a fine time.”

Foolish Toby kept up his struggles at intervals, for he couldn’t bear the thought of being taken to the Home. “A dog’s poorhouse, that is what it is,” he said to himself.

“I wonder how they happened to think of making a home for dogs that are lost,” said Sam.

“I can tell you what I know about it,” said Grandpapa. “A very tender-hearted lady who loves dogs and cats, thought there should be some place in the city where lost and neglected animals could be sent. So she went about to see people, and wrote letters about it until she got people sufficiently interested to give money towards it. Then they hired a house in the middle of the city, and all the stray dogs and cats people find are taken there and kindly cared for.”

“That lady must be very kind,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “I should like to see her.”

“Perhaps you will some day. They had a Christmas-tree for the dogs and cats last year, and I’m told they all had a fine time.”

Sam burst out laughing, and Billy laughed too, to think of a Christmas-tree for dogs and cats.

“I suppose they put on it all sorts of things that dogs and cats like,” said Sam, “bones and cakes and all such things.”

“Perhaps they put on some things for them to play with,” said Billy, who had listened with great interest to all Mr. Ledwell had said about the Home.

“I shouldn’t wonder if they did,” said Grandpapa.

“And I guess they put saucers of milk and plates of nice food under the tree,” said Billy, who had a good deal of imagination.

Toby listened to this conversation and ceased to struggle. All this sounded very well, if it were true, but he expected to find at the Home dogs sitting about listlessly, just as he had seen the old people at the poorhouse in his town. The story of the Christmas-tree pleased him greatly. “Perhaps, after all, it is not so bad as I expected,” said Toby to himself, as the sleigh stopped.

“Here we are!” said Grandpapa, as he got out and took Toby in his arms.

“It doesn’t look like a Home,” said poor Toby to himself. He had expected to see a large brick building standing by itself like the poorhouse. “It looks just like the other houses.”

“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” said Mr. Ledwell, as he felt Toby tremble. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You stay in the sleigh with Billy, Sam. I will bring you both to see the little dog when he feels at home.”

Mr. Ledwell entered the house and set the little dog on the floor. Poor Toby was so limp from fear that he could hardly stand, but remained in the spot where he was placed with drooping head and tail.

“I have brought you a new dog,” said Mr. Ledwell, addressing a rosy-cheeked young woman. “Have you a place for him?”

“He doesn’t take up much room, that is certain,” replied the young woman, stooping to pat the frightened little creature. “Yes, I guess we can manage it.”

At these words in rushed two little terriers, and bouncing upon the limp and terrified Toby, at once knocked him over in their attempt to engage him in play.

“You ought to be more polite to strangers,” said the rosy-cheeked young woman, picking up Toby and putting him on a chair out of the reach of the two lively terriers, who pretended that they had treed their game and took short runs up to the chair, barking themselves into a state of great excitement.

“We’ll give him something to eat, and he’ll soon be all right,” said the pleasant young woman.

The excitement of the terriers over the new arrival had telegraphed the news throughout the Home, and the deep voices of large dogs and the high voices of smaller ones all extended a welcome to the little wanderer. Their tones told of kind treatment and comfort, and Toby was comforted. “How different,” he thought, “from a poorhouse! This must be a good place!”

CHAPTER ELEVENTH

ON the morning of the day before Christmas Sam awoke unusually early, and jumped out of bed so soon as his eyes were fully open.

“I must hurry as fast as I can,” he said to Mary, “for I shall be awfully busy all day;” and while he was dressing he talked about the presents he was to give. “And the best of all is the present I am going to have myself,” he added. “I suppose you know what that is.”

“Is it the little dog-cart for your pony it is?” asked Mary.

“No, indeed it is not!” exclaimed Sam, contemptuously. “It is something ever and ever so much better than that. Just think, poor Billy is going to see, and I sha’n’t have to lend him my eyes any more.”

“Won’t that be nice!” said Mary; but his grandpapa from the door of his dressing-room heard Sam’s words with a heavy heart.

“What shall we do about it?” he asked Grandmamma when he had repeated their little grandson’s words. “I think we ought to explain about the operation that Billy must undergo; but we have let him think so long that Billy will see by Christmas he will take it very hard. I thought the boy would be all right by Christmas time, and I wanted Sam to be spared the pain of knowing what poor Billy would have to go through.”

“I thought so, too,” replied Grandmamma, “and I don’t like to disturb Sam’s innocent faith. I don’t know how he will take it.”

At this point in burst Sam, full of excitement.

“I shall have to hustle around to get through before night,” he said in his decided way. “We shall have to start right after breakfast to get the wreaths and things to hang up, sha’n’t we, Grandmamma? And we mustn’t forget to bring some for Billy, too, you know.”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend the money in something Billy could enjoy more?” asked Grandmamma. “You know wreaths and garlands are only to look at, and poor Billy can’t see yet.”

“But he _will_ see them to-morrow, don’t you see?” said Sam, triumphantly. “You forget, Grandmamma, about my Christmas present, I guess.”

“My dear boy,” said Grandmamma, gently, “don’t feel so sure about Billy’s seeing exactly on Christmas Day. It may come a little later, you know.”

“Oh, no, it won’t!” replied Sam, decidedly. “You will see, Grandmamma!” and he was off before his grandmother could answer.

So soon as breakfast was over, during which Sam was so excited that he ate very little, the sleigh came around to the door, and Sam and his grandmother started for the evergreens. It was quite a long drive to the big market, for they always bought them there, because the little boy enjoyed so much seeing the large building arrayed in its Christmas dress.

The streets, as they approached the business part of the city, were crowded even at that early hour. Everybody carried packages, and every face seemed to have caught the spirit of Christmas, which is a loving and generous spirit. The shop windows were gay with bright colors and garlands of evergreen, and groups of people were collected in front of the most attractive of these windows. In one of them was a real Christmas scene, and Sam wanted so much to look at it that his grandmother told the driver to stop. By standing up on the seat of the sleigh, Sam got a splendid view. It was a winter scene, with snow on the trees and on the ground, and there was Santa Claus sitting in his little sleigh, which was piled full of presents, and four beautiful little reindeer were harnessed to it. The crowd in front of this window reached out to the street, and on the outside, waiting to take advantage of an opening to slip through and get a view of the window, were three children, a boy and two girls.

Mrs. Ledwell, who was always ready to see just what was needed, caught sight of these children who were waiting so patiently for their turn to come. Seeing them look toward the sleigh and at Sam, who was so intent in watching the beautiful Santa Claus that he had not noticed them, she saw that they looked as if they recognized her little grandson.

“Say, Maysie,” said the boy, pulling his little sister by the sleeve, “do you mind the time when the gentleman gave us the nice cakes?”

“Of course I does,” replied Maysie, promptly.

“That is the same sleigh he was in, and the same horses, and it is the same boy, for I minded the fur cap of him.”

Mrs. Ledwell beckoned to the children to come nearer. “Did you say you had seen this little boy before?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, once,” replied Johnny, promptly.

“It was the time the gentleman gave us the cakes,” said Maysie, eagerly. “They tasted awful good;” and Maysie almost smacked her lips at the thought of them.

The elder sister gave Maysie’s dress a little pull. “I’m not going to ask for any,” replied Maysie, in a loud whisper, “so you needn’t twitch my dress so hard.”

A smile came over Mrs. Ledwell’s face. “Would you like to buy some cakes to-day?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Maysie, promptly, “but I’d rather buy a doll.”

“Why, Maysie,” said her sister, reproachfully, “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself.”

“I ain’t,” replied Maysie, without any appearance of mortification. “She asked me, so there!”

“Yes, I asked her,” said Mrs. Ledwell, “and there is no harm in telling what she wants most, for Santa Claus is about, you know, at this time, and he has very sharp ears.”

“Do you suppose he heard what I said?” asked Maysie, straining her neck to get a glimpse of the Santa Claus in the window.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “You will find out to-morrow. Now tell me where you live, Maysie.”

Maysie rattled off the address in a loud voice, for she hoped that Santa Claus would overhear it and send the doll she wanted so much.

Mrs. Ledwell then left Sam sitting in the sleigh, and entered the store. She picked out a beautiful doll, a pretty chatelaine bag, and a boy’s sled, and ordered them to be sent to the address Maysie had given her. Then with a glow at her warm heart, to think of the pleasure these gifts would carry with them, she joined her little grandson.

“Do you remember to have seen those children before, Sam?” she asked, as they drove along.

“Yes, I remember them,” replied Sam. “They were looking in at the cakes in the bake-shop window, and Grandpapa bought them a great bagful of them. They looked as if they didn’t have cakes every day, Grandpapa said.”

Sam had taken no special notice of the dog the little boy had with him on that occasion, or he would probably have recognized the lost dog he had found in the park as the same one.

The market was soon reached, and Sam and his grandmother went up the steps. The front of the large building was piled high with long garlands of evergreen for trimming, and green wreaths bright with red berries. Christmas-trees and branches of holly filled every vacant nook. Here also were groups of children, eager to obtain as many glimpses as possible of the Christmas pleasures they could not expect to have.

Mrs. Ledwell’s tender heart was touched at the sight of the little patient faces, and her ready hand went straight to her well-filled purse. She knew by experience that these little people would be there, and had provided a goodly supply of change. “Sam,” she said to her little grandson, “would you like to give those children something for Christmas?”

“Yes, indeed I should, Grandmamma,” replied the little boy, delightedly.

Each child seized the coin Sam held out to him, and darted away with his prize with the speed of the wind. Very few stopped to express thanks for the gift, but the happy faces spoke more eloquently than words could have done.

“They remind me of chickens snatching up a worm and running off that the others may not take it away from them,” said Mrs. Ledwell to herself, as she watched the little waifs darting off with their presents.

“I just wish Grandpapa could have seen how happy those little children looked to think they could buy something for Christmas,” said Sam, as he followed his grandmother into the market.

“Oh, Grandpapa is feeling very happy to-day,” she replied, “for he has been sending Christmas dinners to a great many little boys and girls.”

“It _smells_ just like Christmas here, doesn’t it, Grandmamma?” said Sam, as they passed down the long building, the stalls on both sides tastefully decorated with evergreens and bright berries.

“Now, Sam,” said Grandmamma, stopping before one of the stalls, “we must pick out a nice turkey for Mrs. Hanlon and Billy.”

“You must give me a very nice turkey, Mr. Spear,” said Sam, trying to talk as Grandpapa did.

“I’ll do the best I can for you,” replied Mr. Spear; and after looking over a pile of turkeys he selected a fine, plump one and placed it before the little boy.

“I don’t like the looks of that bird,” said Sam, with a very decided air.

“Why, Sam,” said his grandmother, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t like the looks of those legs,” said Sam in the same decided manner.

“What is the matter with them?” asked Mr. Spear, greatly amused at the little boy’s grown-up air.

“I don’t like the color of them,” persisted Sam.

“Why, what color do you expect them to be?” asked Mr. Spear, trying to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what other color they could very well be.”

“Oh, yes, they could!” replied Sam, shrewdly. “I want a turkey with yellow legs, because they are the best.”

“I don’t know as I ever saw a turkey with yellow legs,” replied Mr. Spear, gravely. “If I had one, I would give it to you.”

“Why, Sam,” said Grandmamma, who had been greatly amused at the conversation, “what made you ask for a turkey with yellow legs? They are always lead-color, like this one.”

“Grandpapa always asks for _yellow_-legged ones. He says the blue-legged ones are not fit to eat,” replied Sam, “and you know that Grandpapa is _very particular_.”

“I guess he’s thinking of _chickens_,” said Mr. Spear, “and has got ’em kind of mixed up with turkeys in his mind.”

“That must be it,” replied Mrs. Ledwell. “Well, I will have this one and another just like it. You would like to send one to the little children we saw looking at Santa Claus, wouldn’t you, Sam?”

Then cranberries and apples and potatoes were bought to go with the turkeys, and some huge squashes took Sam’s fancy so greatly that one was sent with each turkey.

After that, wreaths and garlands were selected and piled upon the seat opposite Sam and his grandmother, and they drove home, the fragrance from the evergreens mingling with the crisp air.

After lunch, came what Sam considered about the best part of Christmas, the pleasant task of distributing presents at the houses of their friends. Sam liked to do this all by himself, it gave him such a grown-up feeling. So soon after lunch the sleigh was brought around and piled high with packages of every size and shape, each one neatly addressed. Then Sam was tucked in on the back seat all by himself, and he looked like a little rosy Santa Claus, with his fur cap, the fur robes, and the presents piled high about him.

Whenever they stopped to leave a present, Sam would run up the steps and always leave word that the present must not on any account be seen until Christmas morning. He left Billy’s and Mrs. Hanlon’s presents until the last because he took the most interest in them and wanted to make a call on them, besides.

Sam found them both in the cosey parlor, Mrs. Hanlon sewing and at the same time telling stories to the little blind boy. Billy had improved very much in appearance in this new home. He was never left alone, as he had to be so much of the time at the engine-house, and his face lost much of the sad expression it had before he came here. Both Mrs. Hanlon and Billy were delighted to see their little visitor, who came in with his arms piled high with packages and his face beaming with happiness.

“You mustn’t either of you look into the packages or try to find out what is in them,” he said, as he laid them down on the sofa.

“No, indeed, we shouldn’t think of such a thing,” Mrs. Hanlon assured him. “There wouldn’t be any surprise for us if we knew what we were going to have.”

Sam made quite a little call, and told Billy about his visit to the big market and what he saw there; and then he told him about the three children he saw trying to look in at the window where Santa Claus was. He told him all about that wonderful Santa Claus, too, how exactly like a real live man he looked, about the four beautiful little reindeer harnessed to his sleigh, and how natural the snow and the trees looked.

Billy listened to all this with great interest, and seemed to enjoy it as much as if he had seen it as Sam had. When Sam told him about the three children, and said that the little one who wanted a doll so much was called “Maysie,” Billy said,—

“Why, that was the name of one of the children who were so good to me that time they took my mother away.”

“Perhaps it was the same one,” said Sam. Billy, however, could not tell how the little girl looked, so they could not be sure.

“If I see them again,” said Sam, “I will ask them if they are the same ones.”

When Sam thought it was time for him to go, he repeated his instructions in regard to the presents, and extracted a promise from both not to exercise any undue curiosity to find out what their presents were. When Mrs. Hanlon followed him to the door, he confided to her that his present to Billy was a little fire-engine that would throw a real stream of water, and he thought it would be of great use, as they could water the plants with it. “We can make believe there is a fire and can turn the hose on just as real engines do,” he added.

“It must be beautiful,” said Mrs. Hanlon, “but I wish the poor child could _see_ it;” and she gave a deep sigh.

“But he _will_,” replied Sam, brightly. “You haven’t forgotten what I told you about my Christmas present, have you?”

“No, indeed, I remember; I only hope you won’t be disappointed!”

“Of course it will come. It is sure to,” replied Sam, confidently. “Didn’t my little pony come all right?” And with a happy good-bye Sam ran down the steps and jumped into the sleigh.

“Dear little soul!” said Mrs. Hanlon, looking after him as he waved his hand gayly at her. “How disappointed he will be!” and the tears stood in her kind eyes as she closed the door and joined the little blind boy.

CHAPTER TWELFTH

WHEN Sam went to bed that night, he pulled his window-shades to the very top of the window, that he might awake as early as possible. This arrangement had the desired effect, for when Mary came in he had examined all the presents that were in his Christmas stocking and was nearly dressed besides.

“I will tell you why I am in such a hurry,” he said in answer to Mary’s look of surprise. “I want to go over to see Billy the very first thing.”

“Oh, you must wait until after breakfast,” said Mary. “It is a very cold morning, and Billy is probably abed and fast asleep yet.”

“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Sam. “He’ll be sure to be up. So give me my coat and cap, Mary, please.”

“Indeed, your grandmamma wouldn’t like to have you go out so early,” said Mary, “and such a beautiful breakfast as Cook has got!”

“I don’t care about that, Mary,” replied Sam, decidedly. “I _must_ see Billy the very first thing. I know the way very well.”

In vain Mary tried to persuade the little boy to wait until after breakfast, but he was so persistent she knew he would go alone if she refused to go with him; so she very reluctantly agreed to go. She dared not disturb his grandparents at so early an hour, or she would have appealed to them to decide the matter. So the two started out on their expedition.

Sam had never been in the streets at so early an hour. The sun rises late at this season of the year, and its bright rays were just streaming over the tall house-tops as Sam and Mary sallied forth. Most of the families in the neighborhood were still in bed, but the houses were being put in order for the day. Front steps were being swept down, front doors dusted, parlor shades drawn up, and sidewalks cleaned. Colonies of sparrows perched among the trees and secreted in the branches of the vines that grew against the houses, had not yet finished their morning hymns, and their joyous twittering was heard on every side.

The air was so cold that Mary made her little charge walk briskly, and by the time they reached Mrs. Hanlon’s house his cheeks were glowing. They found Billy dressed and holding the engine in his lap. Sam gave a keen glance at the little blind boy, who sat passing his hands caressingly over the beautiful toy, but his eyes were not bent upon it,—they were fixed straight before him in the same old way.

“Billy,” cried Sam earnestly, as he watched the blind boy’s patient face, “can you see it with your eyes?”

“No,” replied Billy, cheerfully, “but I know just how it looks because I can feel it, you know.”

“Can’t you really see the pretty red wheels and the shining brass and everything?” said Sam, very earnestly. “Try real hard, Billy, and perhaps you can.”

“No,” said Billy, gently, “but you can tell me all about it, and we can play with it all the same.”

A great change came over Sam. The bright color left his cheeks, and his lips began to quiver. Kindly Mrs. Hanlon knew what was going on in the little boy’s mind, and she tried to take him in her motherly arms to comfort him; but he broke away from her and ran downstairs and out of the door. Mary followed him, but she found it hard to keep pace with him as he rushed at full speed along the streets. He paid no heed to her entreaties to stop, and arrived breathless at his grandpapa’s house.

Mrs. Ledwell, who was about to go down to breakfast, was startled to see her little grandson appear in such a breathless and excited state.

“Grandmamma,” he exclaimed, “I am never going to pray to God again as long as I live!”

“Why, Sam!” exclaimed his astonished grandmother, “what do you mean?”

“Billy can’t see,” he answered, “and here I have been praying and praying for all this time; and Mary says there is a pony dog-cart for me in the stable, and I didn’t want it! I just wanted to have Billy see!” and Sam threw himself upon the lounge and burst into a violent fit of sobbing.

Mrs. Ledwell hardly knew what to do, but she did the best thing she could possibly have done. She let the little boy expend the violence of his grief, and then she seated herself by him and gently stroked the hair back from his hot forehead. When the weeping grew less violent and she knew the little boy could listen, she said,—