Alone in London Part 7

CHAPTER XV.

TONY'S FUTURE PROSPECTS.

Old Oliver and Dolly made several visits to Tony while he was in the hospital. Every Sunday afternoon they went back to it, until its great door, and wide staircase, and sunny ward, became almost as familiar to them as their own dull little house. Tony recovered quickly, yet he was there some weeks before the doctor p.r.o.nounced him strong enough to turn out again to rough it in the world. As he grew better he learned a number of things which were making him a wiser, as well as a stronger boy, before the time came for him to leave.

The day before he was to go out of hospital, his friend, Mr. Ross, who had been often to see him, called for the last time, and found him in the room where the little patients who were nearly well were at play together. Some of them were making believe to have a feast, with a small dinner-service of wooden plates and dishes, and a few bits of orange-peel, and biscuits; but Tony was sitting quietly and gravely on one side, looking on from a distance. He had never learned to play.

"Antony," said Mr. Ross--he was the only person who ever called him Antony, and it seemed to make more of a man of him--"what are you thinking to do when you leave here to-morrow?"

"I s'pose I must go back to my crossing," answered Tony, looking very grave.

"No, I think I can do better for you than that," said his friend, "I have a sister living out in the country, about fifty miles from London; and she wants a boy to help the gardener, and run on errands for the house. She has promised to provide you with a home, and clothing, and to send you to school for two years, till you are about twelve, for we think you must be about ten years old now; and after that you shall have settled wages."

Tony listened with a quick throbbing of his heart and a contraction in his throat, which hindered him from speaking all at once when Mr. Ross had finished. What a grand thing it would be for himself! But then there were old Oliver and Dolly to be remembered.

"It 'ud do first-rate for me," he said at last, "and I'd try my best to help in the garden; but I couldn't never leave Mr. Oliver and the little girl. She'd fret ever so; and he's gone so forgetful he'd lose his own head, if he could anyhow. Why! of a morning they sell him any papers as they've too many of. Sometimes it's all the 'Star,' and sometimes it's all the 'Standard;' and them as buys one won't have the other. I don't know why, I'm sure. But you see when I go for 'em I say twenty-five this, and thirteen that, and I count 'em over pretty sharp, I can tell you; though I couldn't read at all afore I came here, but I could tell which was which easy enough. Then he'd never think to open his shop some mornings; and other mornings he'd open at four or five o'clock, just when he woke of hisself. No. I must stay and take care of 'em a bit; but thank you, sir, all the same."

He had spoken so gravely and thoughtfully that his reasons went directly to the heart of Mr. Ross; but he asked him one more question, before he could let his good plan for the boy drop.

"What has he done for you, Antony? Is he any relation of yours?"

"No, no!" cried Tony, his eyes growing bright, "I haven't got any relation in all the world; but he took me in out of love, and let me sleep comfortable under the counter, instead of in the streets. I love him, and Dolly, I do. I'll stay by 'em as long as ever I live, if I have to sweep a crossing till I'm an old man like him. Besides, I hear him speak a good word for me often and often to his Master; and I s'pose n.o.body else 'ud do that."

"What master?" inquired Mr. Ross.

"Him," answered Tony, pointing to a picture of the Saviour blessing young children, "he's always talking to him as if he could see him, and he tells him everythink. No, it 'ud be better for me to stay with him and Dolly, and keep hard by my crossing, than go away from 'em, and have clothes, and lodging, and schooling for nothink."

"I think it would," said Mr. Ross, "so you must go on as you are, Antony, till I can find you something better than a crossing. You are looking very well, my boy; that's a nice, warm suit of clothes you have on, better than the rags you came in by a long way."

It was a sailor's suit, sent to the hospital by some mother, whose boy had perhaps outgrown it; or, it may be, whose boy had been taken away from all her tender care for him. It was of good, rough, thick blue cloth, and fitted Tony well. He had grown a good deal during his illness, and his face had become whiter and more refined; his hair, too, was cut to a proper length, and parted down the side, no longer lying about his head in a tangled ma.s.s. He coloured up with pleasure as Mr.

Ross looked approvingly at him.

"They've lent it me till I go out," he said, with a tone slightly regretful in his voice, "I only wish Dolly could have seen me in it, and her aunt Charlotte. My own things were too ragged for me to wear 'em in a place like this."

"They've given it to you, Antony," replied Mr. Ross, "those are the clothes you will go home in to-morrow."

It seemed too much for Tony to believe, though a nurse who was sitting by and sewing away busily, told him it was quite true. He was intensely happy all the rest of the day, often standing up, and almost straining his neck to get a satisfactory view of his own back, and stroking the nap of his blue trousers with a fondling touch. They would all see him in it; old Oliver, Dolly, and aunt Charlotte. There would be no question now as to his fitness for taking Dolly out for a walk; he would be dressed well enough to attend upon a princess. This made famous amends for the pair of old boots he had lost the night he broke his leg; a loss he had often silently lamented over in his own mind. The nurse told him she was patching up his old clothes, and making him a cap, to wear when he was at work on his crossing, for the new ones were much too good for that; and Tony felt as rich as if a large fortune had been left to him.

It was a very joyful thing to go home again. Dolly was a little shy at first of this new Tony, so different from the poor, ragged, wild-looking old Tony; but a very short time was enough to make her familiar with his nice blue suit, and the anchor-b.u.t.tons upon it. He found his place under the counter all nicely papered to keep the draughts out; and a little chaff mattress, made by aunt Charlotte, laid down instead of the shavings upon the floor. It was even pleasanter to be here than in the hospital.

But Tony found it hard work to go back to his crossing in the morning; and he could not make out what was the matter with himself, he felt so cross and idle. His old clothes seemed really such horrid rags that he could scarcely bear to feel them about him; and if any pa.s.ser-by looked closely at him, he went red and hot all over. He was not so successful as he thought he had been before his accident, or as he thought he ought to be; for the roads were getting cleaner with the drier weather, and few persons considered it necessary to give him a copper for his almost needless labour. Worst of all,--Clever Dog Tom found him out, and would come often to see him; sometimes jeering him for his poor spirit in being content with such low work, and sometimes boasting of the fine things he could do, and displaying the fine clothes he could wear. It was truly very hard work for Tony, after his long holiday at the hospital, where he had had as much luxury and attention as a rich man's son.

But at home in the evening Tony felt all right again. Old Oliver set him to learn to read and write, and he was making rapid progress, more rapid than Dolly, who began at the same time, but who was apt to look upon it all as only another kind of game, of which she grew more quickly tired than of hide-and-seek. There was no one to check her, or to make her understand it was real, serious work: neither old Oliver nor Tony could find any fault with their darling. Now and then there came letters from her mother, full of anxious questions about her, and loving messages to her, telling her to be a good girl till she came back, but never saying a word as to when there was any chance of her returning to England. In one of these letters she sent word that a little sister was come for her out in India, who was just like what Dolly herself had been when she was a baby; but neither Oliver nor Tony could quite believe that. There never had been such a child as Dolly; there never would be again.

CHAPTER XVI

A BUD FADING.

A second summer went by with its long, hot days, when the sun seemed to stand still in the sky, and to dart down its most sultry beams into the dustiest and closest streets. Out in the parks, and in the broad thoroughfares where the fresh breeze could sweep along early in the morning, and in the evening as soon as the air grew cooler, it was very pleasant weather; and the people who could put on light summer dresses enjoyed it very much. But away among the thickly-built and crowded houses, where there were thousands of persons breathing over and over again the same hot and stagnant atmosphere, it seemed as if the most delicate and weakly among them must be suffocated by the breathless heat.

Old Oliver suffered very greatly, but he said nothing about it; indeed he generally forgot the cause of his languor and feebleness. He never knew now the day of the week, nor the month of the year. If any one had told him in the dog-days of July that it was still April, he would only have answered gently that it was bright, warm weather for the time of year.

But about old times his memory was good enough; he could tell long stories of his boyhood, and describe the hills of his native place in such a manner as to set Tony full of longings after the country, with its cornfields, and meadows, and hedge-rows, which he had never seen. He remembered his Bible, too, and could repeat chapter after chapter describing his Master's life, as they sat together in the perpetual twilight of their room; for now that it was summer-time it did not seem right to keep the gas burning.

Tony's crossing had failed him altogether, for in dry weather n.o.body wanted it; but in this extremity Mr. Ross came to his aid, and procured him a place as errand-boy, where he was wanted from eight o'clock in the morning till seven at night; so that he could still open old Oliver's shop, and fetch him his right papers before he went out, and put the shutters up when he came back. To become an errand-boy was a good step forwards, and Tony was more than content. He never ran about bare-headed and barefooted now as he had done twelve months before; and he had made such good progress in reading and writing that he could already make out the directions upon the parcels he had to deliver, after they had been once read over to him. He did not object to the dry weather and clean streets as he had done when his living depended upon his crossing; on the contrary, he enjoyed the suns.h.i.+ne, and the crowds of gaily-dressed people, for he could hold up his head amongst them, and no longer went prowling about in the gutters searching after bits of orange-peel. He kicked them into the gutters instead, mindful of that accident which had befallen him, but which turned out so full of good for him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOLLY'S MONTHLY REGISTER.]

But, if there had been any eye to see it, a very slow, and very sad change was creeping over Dolly; so slowly indeed, that perhaps none but her mother's eye could have seen it at first. On the first of every month, which old Oliver knew by the magazines coming in, he marked how much his little love had grown by placing her against the side-post of the door, and making a thick pencil line where her curly head reached to.

He looked at this record often, smiling at the rate his little woman was growing taller; but it was really no wonder that his dim eyes, loving as they were, never saw how the rosy colour was dying away out of her cheeks, as gradually as the red glow fades away in the west after the sun has set, nor how the light grew fainter and fainter in her blue eyes, until they looked at him very heavily from under her drooping eyelids.

The house was too dark for any sight to see very clearly; the full, strong, healthy light of the sun, could not find its way into it, and day after day Dolly became more like one of those plants growing in shady places, which live and shoot up, but only put out pale and sickly leaves, and feeble buds. One by one, and by little and little, with degrees as small as her own tiny footsteps, she lost all her merry ways, dropping them, here one and there another, upon the path she was silently treading; as little children let fall the flowers they have gathered in the meadows, along their road homewards. Yet all the time old Oliver was loving and cheris.h.i.+ng her as the dearest of all treasures, second only to the Master whom he loved so fully; but he never discovered that there was any change in her. Dolly fell into very quiet ways, and would sit still for hours together, her arm around Beppo, and her sweet, patient little face, which was growing thin and hollow, turned towards the flickering light of the fire, while Oliver pottered toilsomely about his house, forgetting many things, but always ready with a smile and a fond word for his grand-daughter.

Just as Oliver was too old to feel any anxiety about Dolly, so Tony was too young, and knew too little of sickness and death. Moreover, when he came home in the evening, full of the business of the day, with a number of stories to tell of what had happened to him, and what he had seen, Dolly was always more lively, and had a feverish colour on her face, and a brilliant light in her eyes. He seemed to bring life and strength with him, and she liked him to nurse her on his knee, which did not grow tired and stiff like her grandfather's. How should Tony detect anything amiss with her? She never complained of feeling any pain, and he was glad for her to be very quiet and still while he was busy with his lessons.

But when the summer was ended, and after the damp warm fogs of November were over, and a keen, black frost set in sharply before Christmas--a frost which had none of the beauty of white lime and clear blue skies, but which hung over the city like a pall, and penetrated to every fireside with an icy breath; when only the strong and the healthy, who were well clothed and well fed, could meet it bravely, while the delicate, and sickly, and poverty-stricken, shrank before it, and were chilled through and through, then Dolly drooped and failed altogether.

Even old Oliver's dull ears began to hear a little cough, which seemed to echo from some grave not very far away; and when he drew his little love between his knees, and put on his spectacles to gaze into her face, the dearest face in all the world to him, even his eyes saw something of its wanness, and the hollow lines which had come upon it since the summer had pa.s.sed away. The old man felt troubled about her, yet he scarcely knew what to do. He bought sweetmeats to soothe her cough, and thought sometimes that he must ask somebody or other about a doctor for her; but his treacherous memory always let the thought slip out of his mind. He intended to take counsel with his sister when she came to see him; but aunt Charlotte was herself very ill with an attack of rheumatism, and could not get up to old Oliver's house.

CHAPTER XVII.

A VERY DARK SHADOW.

The Christmas week pa.s.sed by, and the new year came in, cold and bleak, but Tony was well secured against the weather, and liked the frosty air, which made it pleasant to run as fast as he could from place to place as he delivered his parcels. When boxing day came, which was half-holiday for him, he returned to the house at mid-day, carrying with him three mince-pies, which he had felt himself rich enough to buy in honour of the holiday. He had for a long time been reckoning upon shutting up shop for the whole afternoon, and upon going out for a long stroll through the streets with old Oliver and Dolly; and now that the hour was positively come he felt very light-hearted and full of spirits, defying the wind which wrestled with him at every turn. Dolly must be wrapped up well, he said to himself, and old Oliver must put on his drab great coat, with mother o' pearl b.u.t.tons, which he had brought up from the country forty years ago, and which was still good for keeping out the cold. He ran down the alley, and pa.s.sed through the shop whistling cheerily, and disdaining to lift the flap of the counter, he took a running vault over it, and landed at once inside the open kitchen-door.

But there was old Oliver sitting close to the fire, with Dolly on his knee, and her little head lying upon his breast, while the tears trickled slowly down his furrowed cheeks on to her pretty curls. Beppo was standing between his legs, licking Dolly's small hand, which hung languidly by her side. Her eyelids were closed, and her face was deadly white; but when Tony uttered a great cry of trouble, and fell on his knees before her, she opened her heavy eyes, and stretched out her cold thin hand to stroke his cheeks. "Dolly's so very ill, Tony," she murmured, "poor Dolly's very ill indeed."

"I don't know whatever is the matter with my little love," said the old man, in a low and trembling voice; "she fell down all of a sudden, and I thought she was dead, Tony; but she's coming round again now. Isn't my little love better now?"

"Yes, gan-pa, yes; Dolly's better," she answered faintly.

"Let me hold her, master," said Tony, his heart beating fast; "I can hold her stronger and more comfortable, maybe, than you. You're tired ever so, and you'd better get yourself a bit of dinner. Shall Tony nurse you now, Dolly?"

The little girl raised her arms to him, and Tony took her gently into his own, sitting down upon the old box in the chimney-corner, and putting her to nestle comfortably against him. Dolly closed her eyes again, and by-and-bye he knew that she had fallen into a light sleep, while old Oliver moved noiselessly to and fro, only now and then saying half aloud, in a tone of strange earnestness and entreaty, "Lord! dear Lord!"

After awhile the old man came and bent over them both, taking Dolly's arm softly between his withered fingers, and looking down at it with a shaking head.

"She's very thin, Tony; look at this little arm," he said, "wasting away!

wasting away! I've watched all my little ones waste away except my poor Susan. Couldn't there anything be done to save her?"

"Ay!" answered Tony, in an energetic whisper, while he clasped Dolly a little tighter in his arms; "ay! they could cure her easily at the hospital. Bless yer! there were little 'uns ten times worse than her as they sent home cured. Let us take her there as soon as ever she wakes up, and she'll be quite well directly, I promise you. The doctor knows me, and I'll speak to Mr. Ross for her. Do you get a bit of dinner, and hearten yourself up for it; and we'll set off as soon as she's awake."

Old Oliver turned away comforted, and prepared his own and Tony's dinner, and put a mince-pie into the oven to be ready to tempt Dolly's appet.i.te when she awoke. But she slept heavily all the afternoon till it was almost dark outside, and the lamps were being lit, when she awoke, restless and feverish.