Jack, the Fire Dog

“I want to see Billy as sturdy as Sam,” Mr. Ledwell said to his mother. “He must go to school and play with other boys, or we shall have a girl-boy, which we don’t want. There is nothing that makes a boy so independent as roughing it with other boys.”

“I am afraid they will ridicule him for being different from them,” said Billy’s mother. “You know he has been kept from other children on account of his blindness.”

“I know it, and that is why he needs the companionship of other boys,” said Mr. Ledwell.

“But boys are so rough, and sometimes they are unkind to sensitive boys like Billy.”

“Boys are not unkind as a general thing; they are only thoughtless. Billy will become over-sensitive if you keep him tied to your apron-strings. He will have to meet all kinds of people, you know.”

So one morning Billy was sent to school with Sam, who called for him. As Billy’s mother, standing at the open door, watched the two boys start off together, the contrast between them was very marked, and she felt that Mr. Ledwell’s advice was of the very best. Billy, with the blue glasses that he was obliged to wear when out of doors, his blond hair falling in curly rings about his delicate face, which was radiant with smiles because he was at last going to a “seeing school” like other boys, did indeed have the air of a boy who has not mingled with other boys.

Sam trudged along on the outside of the sidewalk, his strong, sturdy figure in striking contrast to Billy’s slender one. Billy’s mother watched them so long as they were in sight. Then she slowly entered the house, saying to herself,—

“Poor boy, what a hard time he will have before he gets to be like other boys!”

Meanwhile, the two boys went on, Sam feeling very important to be entrusted with the care of Billy, and chatting all the way about his school-life. His grandmother had sent Mary with him, fearing the two boys would be careless in crossing the streets, but Sam’s dignity was hurt at this precaution.

“I am not a baby, Mary, to have a nurse tagging around after me,” he said, as soon as he was out of sight of his grandmother’s window, “so you can just go back again.”

This Mary did not dare do, as she had directions to keep with the boys; so after a serious conversation between her and her independent charge, they compromised matters in this way: Mary was to be allowed to follow at a respectful distance on the opposite sidewalk, provided she would not attempt to speak to Sam or make any sign to show that she had any connection with him. In this way Mary could keep an eye on her two charges and be on hand if her services were required. Sam threw occasional side glances in Mary’s direction to see if she were keeping the contract faithfully.

The two boys proceeded on their way for some time, Sam using great caution in piloting his friend across the streets, for Billy was afraid of being run over by the teams and carriages which were so constantly coming. The city sights were so new to the poor child, it was hard for him to calculate how long it would take for the teams he saw coming their way to reach them. This gave him a timid, undecided air, and Sam would often say when Billy stopped, fearing to cross, “Come along, Billy, there’s plenty of time to get over.” At this Billy would gain courage and start, but he always reached the other side before Sam did.

“Whatever you do, Billy, don’t ever stop half-way across and run back again,” Sam said, when Billy had been particularly nervous. “If you do, you’ll be sure to be run over, because the drivers don’t know what you are going to do. It would be better to stand still and let them turn out for you. They won’t run over you if you stand still.” And Billy, who thought Sam knew all about such things, promised to take his advice.

At the next corner they met a group of older boys on their way to school. They were in the mood to find amusement in anything that came their way, and as soon as they caught sight of the two little boys, one of their number called out, “Hullo, Blue Glasses!”

The color came into Billy’s cheeks, and Sam looked very defiant.

“Trying to be a girl? Look at his nice curls! Ain’t they sweet?” said another.

“What’s your name, Sissy?” called the largest of the group, a boy several years older than the two little boys. At the same time he took hold of Billy and made him stop. “What’s your name, I say!”

The slight and sensitive Billy, tightly held by the larger and stronger boy, was about to reply meekly, when Sam called out, “Don’t you tell him your name! It’s none of his business what your name is!”

“Oh, it isn’t, is it! He shall tell me his name and you shall tell me yours, too, and tell it first;” and letting Billy go, he seized Sam by the collar. “Come, out with it! Now what is it?”

“It’s none of your business,” replied Sam, stoutly, struggling to free himself from the strong grasp of the boy.

“Come, let the little fellow alone,” said one of his companions.

“He’s got to answer my question first. Come, youngster, what’s your name?” and he gave him a shake as he spoke.

“You let me alone!” cried Sam, who was working himself into a very excited state, and trying his best to free himself. “You just wait until I get hold of you!”

Billy had been standing helplessly by, wanting to assist Sam, but not knowing how to do it. At last, when he saw his best friend struggling in the grasp of the big boy, he suddenly became desperate, and, throwing down his luncheon basket, flew at the big boy and began hammering at his back with his weak fists.

All this had taken place in a much shorter time than it takes to relate it, and Mary, from the other side of the street, had seen what was going on, but she feared that Sam would resent her interference, so she watched to see that matters did not go too far. When Billy made his sudden attack, she quickly crossed over and released Sam from the big boy’s grasp.

“It’s a fine business for a big fellow like you to be after picking a quarrel with two little fellows! Why don’t you take one of your own size?”

The boy did really seem to be ashamed of himself, particularly as his friends did not uphold him, and he joined them in rather a shamefaced manner. Sam, however, was not satisfied with the settlement of the quarrel, and made a rush after him, but Mary caught him in time and held him fast.

“I’ll tell you what your name is,” he shouted, while he struggled to free himself from Mary’s tight grasp. “It’s a mean old bully! And you just wait till the next time I get a chance, that’s all!”

“It’s a shame for little boys to be fighting like the beasts that don’t know any better,” said Mary. “What would your grandmamma say if she came to hear of it? She would think it was just awful!”

“I don’t know about that,” said Sam, shrewdly.

Mary did not cross to the other side of the street again, but kept with her charges, and, until the schoolhouse was reached, improved the time in lecturing the two boys on the sin of fighting. Billy listened very meekly, and even Sam received the lecture in silence; but when Mary left them at the door, he said very seriously,—

“Mary, I sha’n’t begin a fight, but if a fellow hits me he’s got to look out!”

When Mary on her return related the story to Sam’s grandmamma and grandpapa, and told how valiantly Billy had gone to the rescue of his friend, Sam’s grandpapa only smiled with his eyes and said, “He’ll do!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH

BILLY’S mother was now so well that she was eager to begin work. “You have done so much for us,” she said to Mr. Ledwell, “that I cannot accept any more.”

“Have you thought of anything special to do?” asked Mr. Ledwell.

“I have thought a great deal about it,” she replied, “and I should be glad of any work that will support us. Since I have been so long idle I have realized, as I never did before, the fact that there are many children thrown upon the charity of the world as my boy was, but very few fall into such kind hands as he did. There are institutions to care for just such children, and if I could get a situation in one of them I should put my whole heart into the work, remembering the helpless position my boy was in. In caring for other forsaken children I would work off some of the deep sense of gratitude I feel.”

“It is a good scheme,” replied Mr. Ledwell, “and we will try to find a place for you. Feeling as you do, you are just the one to look after the poor little waifs. It takes time, though, to obtain such a position, and meantime I can give you employment in my business.”

So Billy’s mother began work at once, and at the end of the first week was able to hand to Mrs. Hanlon a sum for her own and Billy’s board.

Billy gained in strength and health every day, and soon was able to lay aside the blue spectacles.

“I should think you would have your hair cut just as short as it can be,” Sam one day suggested to his friend. “You see, it curls so that the fellows think it makes you look like a girl.”

So Billy gave his mother no peace until his hair was cut so short that there was no chance for it to form the curly rings to which the other boys so much objected, and Sam pronounced it a great improvement.

With the short hair Billy also acquired an air of confidence which made him look more like other boys, and he was no longer singled out as a butt for their rough jokes. He learned very fast, and his love for drawing helped to make him popular; for on stormy days, when the boys could not go out at recess, it was a great pleasure to have Billy draw pictures for them. His greatest pleasure was to draw on the blackboard, and his sketches, done with a bold, free hand, often gave as much pleasure to the teacher as they did to the pupils.

Before long came the time for Sam to go with his grandparents to their country home. Such good friends had the two boys become, that a separation would have been very hard for both. They were so unlike that each had a good influence on the other. Sam, full of spirit and health, would much rather spend his time out of doors than in learning his lessons, while Billy liked nothing better than to sit indoors, working hard at his drawing, or conscientiously studying his lessons, that he might keep up with the other children who had not been deprived of the use of their eyes.

Mr. Ledwell, who looked out so well for every one, proposed to Billy’s mother that she should live in a little house on his grounds that had been built for his gardener’s family. The present gardener, however, had no family, and lived with the other men employed on the place, and the house would make a cosey, comfortable home for Billy and his mother.

The latter by this time had obtained the situation she so much desired,—which was to look after homeless children. Her duty was to take these little waifs to homes that were willing to receive them, and to see that the little ones were happy and well cared for after being placed. This, of course, took her away from home all through the day, and she often returned tired from her day’s work. Giving so much motherly care to the neglected ones, who needed it so sadly, prevented her from giving her own boy the care he ought to have, and a pleasant way out of the difficulty was found by having good Mrs. Hanlon come down to the little cottage and take care of it and of Billy. In this way Billy was not neglected, and his mother could earn money for their support.

It was a happy day for the two boys when they alighted at the little station of Seaport. It was quite a distance to Sam’s grandpapa’s place, so they drove there in one of the station carriages. Billy noticed how glad all were to see Sam. Everybody seemed to know him, and to have a pleasant word for him, from the station master down to the colored porter. Sam was just as glad to see them, too, and asked after their families and how they had been through the long, cold winter.

It made Billy very happy to see how much everybody loved Sam, and for every kind word and look given to his friend he was more gratified than if he had received them himself. The grateful boy never forgot for a moment how kindly and generously his friend had received him when he was blind and forsaken.

As they passed the different houses in the village, Sam was kept busy in hailing old acquaintances and hearing their cordial “Glad to see you back again.”

They passed the engine-house, and there on the sidewalk in front of it lay Jack the Fire-Dog. Although he had never seen him before, Billy knew him even before Sam’s keen eyes discovered him. At the boys’ call the dog pricked up his ears and gazed searchingly at them; then, with all the power of his eloquent eyes and wagging tail, he tried to express his joy at meeting these old friends.

Of course the boys couldn’t go by without stopping for a moment,—no human boys could do that. So out they piled in a hurry, and before the carriage had come to a stop they were hugging and caressing their faithful friend. “Does he look anything as you thought he did, Billy?” asked Sam.

“Yes, just, only a great deal handsomer. Do you suppose he knows I am a seeing boy now, Sam?” asked Billy, anxiously.

“I shouldn’t wonder if he did, because I saw him looking at your eyes awful sharp the first thing.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he did, either,” said one of the firemen who had witnessed the meeting between the old friends. “He’s awfully knowing.”

They could not stop so long as they would have liked, however, because the driver of the station carriage was in a hurry to get back; so they had to leave the Fire-Dog. “You shall come to see us every day,” Sam called out, as the carriage started again, for the dog’s wistful eyes said how sorry he was to have them go; and the Fire-Dog did not wait for a second invitation, but presented himself about five minutes after the boys had reached home.

“First of all, I must take you about to show you everything on the place,” Sam said to Billy. So off they started, the boys followed closely by Jack, who seemed much older than he had in the days when he used to run with Engine 33.

First of all, there were the stables to be visited, where in a paddock was the black pony with the star on his forehead. He came trotting up to the fence to see the boys and rub his nose against them and beg for sugar. They had no sugar to give him, but a few handfuls of grass did just as well. After he found they had no more for him, he lay down and rolled over; then, after shaking himself, he came for more grass.

These stables were wonderful places, and had in them everything that boys, and most girls, love. There was a new colt only a few weeks old, but as tall as the black pony with the star in his forehead, although his legs were longer and not so prettily formed, and he had a short, bushy tail. Clumsy as he looked, however, he could run fast, for, after looking anxiously at the boys for an instant with his large, mild eyes, he darted off at full speed to join his mother at the other end of the field.

There was a litter of pups belonging to one of the grooms, young bull-terrier pups, with little fat, round bodies and very blunt, pink noses; and the mother dog evidently thought amiable Jack a fierce ogre, who wanted to eat them up, for she flew at him with great fury when he only wanted to admire them. So she had to be shut up in the harness-room, where she tore at the door and growled and barked so long as the boys and Jack stayed near her pups.

There were two little kittens, too, and they also seemed to consider innocent Jack a dangerous sort of fellow, for they arched their backs and spit at him whenever he happened to look their way.

When the stables had been explored, the two boys and Jack ran down to the beach. The tide was out, and they could walk far out on the smooth sand. This was very beautiful, but Sam’s favorite nook was the little cove where the fiddler-crabs lived. He was never tired of watching them at low tide, and trying to find out whether each had his own particular hole to hide in, or whether they darted into the first one they came to when surprised.

The two boys each singled out a crab and tried to keep his eyes on him to watch his movements, but they all looked so much alike that it was very confusing, and after an hour spent in this way Sam was no wiser than he was before.

Then the shells that had been washed up in the hard storms of the winter before, how beautiful they were, and how exciting it was to pick them out of the line of seaweed in which they were entangled! Billy had never dreamed of such pleasures, and they were as good as new to Sam, now that he had a companion to enjoy them with him. Thus the two happy boys spent the forenoon, while Jack wandered about the beach, sniffing into holes and examining the skeletons of the horse-shoes and crabs that had been thrown up by the winter storms. They found many delicate skeletons of baby horse-shoes, some not much larger than a silver quarter of a dollar, and perfect in shape.

“We must make a collection of curiosities,” Billy said,—“shells and horse-shoes and all such things.”

“I can show you where there are beautiful stones,” said Sam. “I have got a little bookcase where we can keep them, and we can label them just as they do in the Museum.”

As Sam spoke, the clear notes of a horn were heard from the direction of the house. “That’s for me,” said Sam. “They always blow that horn when they want me, and I guess it’s about time for lunch.”

So the two boys went toward the house, carrying as many of their “curiosities” as they could take, and Jack followed.

The fresh sea air had sharpened the appetites of the boys, and of Jack, too, but they spent as little time at the table as possible, they were in such a hurry to go back to their play on the beach.

In these pleasures the days passed so rapidly that Sam’s birthday came around before he had thought it was anywhere near the time for it. Jack appeared every day with great regularity, and never let them out of his sight. Even while they were eating their meals, he lay under the dining-room windows, in order that he might be on hand if they required his services.

“What should you like to do to celebrate your birthday, Sam?” asked his grandpapa one morning at the breakfast table.

“I know what I should like to do,” replied Sam, who usually knew just what he wanted, “but I don’t suppose there is any chance of my doing it.”

“What is it, Sam?”

“Well, you know those children who were so good to Billy? The ones you gave the cakes to, you know. Billy and I have been thinking how much they would like to be here and run on the beach and see the colt and the puppies. Billy said if he had lots of money he would just send for them to come here and have a good time. It is awfully hot in that part of the city where they live, Billy says, and it smells awfully bad, too.”

“I know it does, Sam,” replied Grandpapa, very seriously, “and I wish we could take all the children out of the hot city and let them run about in the fields and on the beach as you and Billy do.”

“I knew it couldn’t be done,” said Sam with a sigh.

“We can’t take care of all the children in the city, Sam,” replied Grandpapa, “but I think we can manage to give these three a taste of the country.”

“Oh, Grandpapa!” exclaimed Sam, and he was so overcome with joy at the prospect that he couldn’t find words to say how happy he was. His grandmother was very particular about his table manners, so he said, “Please excuse me a minute, Grandmamma,” and, jumping down from his chair, ran up to his grandfather and put his arms about him and hugged him until his face was quite red from the effort. “I think you are the very kindest man I ever saw, Grandpapa,” he said.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH

MR. LEDWELL was fully as kind as his little grandson thought him. That very day he went to several of the townspeople to ascertain if any of them were willing to take three city children as boarders for a few weeks. At last he found what he wanted. A young married woman with no children of her own was glad to oblige the man who was such a favorite with everybody, and at the same time earn a little money; for money is scarce in the country, where the means for earning it are so much less than in the city.

On a beautiful morning about a week later, the three children, beaming with happiness, alighted at Seaport station, to find Sam and Billy on the platform looking eagerly for them. Yet when they met, the natural shyness that children feel at meeting those whom they seldom see, overcame the three new-comers, and they found no words to express the pleasure and gratitude that was in their hearts, although their happy faces spoke for them. Sam, always business-like, was the first to speak and conduct them to the wagonette which was to take them to their boarding-place. When they were seated in the wagonette, facing one another, Maysie at last found voice,—

“Hallo, Billy!” she said, her face wreathed in smiles.

They were all a little shy of Sam at first, but they soon felt at their ease, for he pointed out the objects of interest as they drove along, and told them about the colt, the puppies, the kittens, and the wonderful things they would find on the beach.

“Is it hot in the city?” asked Sam.

“Just!” replied Johnny, briefly.

“I saw a horse that was killed entirely by the hot sun,” said Maysie.

“He wasn’t dead, Maysie,” said Johnny; “it is just overcome he was. They took him off in a big cart to the hospital.”

Soon the engine-house was passed, and there sat Jack, who knew them as soon as they came in sight. Sam insisted on taking him in, and Jack, who seldom had the pleasure of a drive, was very glad of the opportunity.

“He looks like the dog I saw to the fire that day I told you of,” said Maysie.

“It can’t be the same one,” replied Hannah, “for that one runs with one of the city engines, and he wouldn’t be so far from home.”

“But it is the same,” said Billy; and always glad to tell how faithful Jack saved his life on the night of the fire, he told the story to them, and how Jack happened to be so far away from his old home.

When they stopped at the pretty farm-house where the city children were to stay, a pleasant-faced woman came out to meet them and show them the rooms they were to occupy, and Sam and Billy left them there, promising to come for them in the afternoon, to show them all the things they had told them about.

The sweet air, the green fields, and the singing birds were what these city children had never before enjoyed, and nothing was lost on them. There was only one drawback to their perfect happiness, and that was the fact that Mother was not there to enjoy it with them.

“If Mother could only be here, too,” said Hannah, “how beautiful it would be!”

“But she said she should enjoy it just as much as we did, when we got home and told her about it,” said Maysie.

“I know she said so,” replied Hannah, “but it ain’t like smelling the beautiful air and seeing the fields and things.”

“But she won’t have so much work to do while we are away, and there won’t be no noise nor nothing,” said Maysie, who always took a hopeful view of things.

“The house will seem awful lonesome to her,” said Johnny, whom Hannah’s remark had made a little homesick.

“She told us to have as good a time as we could,” said Maysie, “and I’ve made up my mind to see everything and tell her all about it. Do you mind how pleased Mother is when we tell her things we’ve seen?”

“I know,” said Hannah with a sigh, “but I wish Mother could be here all the same.”

“But she can’t, you know,” said hopeful Maysie, “so what’s the use of fretting about what can’t be helped?”

“Maysie is right,” said Hannah, after a moment’s silence, for she began to see into what an unhappy mood they were drifting. “The best thing we can do is to get as strong and well as we can, and then we can help Mother more when we get home.”

“That’s so,” replied Johnny, once more cheerful; “and it’s the pocketful of shells and nice stones I’ll take home to her,—those the boy told us of.”

“And the day we go home we’ll take her a big bunch of the flowers the fields is full of,” said Hannah.

“And the kitten the boy promised me!” said Maysie.

“I don’t believe Father would let us keep a kitten,” said Johnny. “You know about the little dog!”

“Kittens isn’t dogs,” replied Maysie, confidently. “I know he wouldn’t send a kitten out on us.”