[Illustration: Marion and the Crippled Boy. Page 207]
“I saw that bill drop from your hand, sir.” Marion laughed till all her dimples came into play. “But you can’t have it,” she insisted, as she saw his look of disappointment at being found out. “You’ve forfeited the right to it, and I shall add it to my fund for Neddy.”
“Pretty sharp practice that,” he grumbled, looking intensely relieved. “Well, good-day to you.”
The next time Marion went to the hospital a singular circumstance occurred,—a circumstance which unravelled for her quite a mystery.
She inquired for Neddy Carter, and was allowed to proceed at once to the convalescent ward. The boy was sitting in a low chair, which he had learned to wheel about with great rapidity. As soon as he saw her, his face brightened, and before he could reach her side he shouted,—
“Miss Howard! Miss Howard! Mr. Regy’s been here!”
“And he’s such a funny man,” said one of the older boys.
“I wish I had seen him,” was Marion’s answer. “What did he come for?”
“To see me. He was awful cross at first, and scolded me for getting under the wheel like sixty; but I know him, and he’s real good for all that; and I like him; and when I told him I didn’t get under the wheel on purpose he gave me this,” pulling a silver dollar from his pocket. “Will you please take it to help buy my wooden legs?”
“No, indeed; those will be ready when the doctor says you can wear them.”
“Mr. Regy says I’m to be a printer,” continued the boy, fixing his large brown eyes on hers; “and I’m to go to school at the Five Points, and learn to read and spell, and by-and-by, he says, there’s no knowing but I may be a great man, and print newspapers.”
Marion started. This was Mr. Lambert’s plan. Had he told Mr. Regy of it?
“How does Mr. Regy look?” This inquiry was addressed to one of the nurses, who was passing.
“Very oddly,” she replied, laughing. “He’s about fifty or sixty years old, very gray hair, which he wears long, floating over his shoulders.”
Marion laughed too as she said, “I’ve often heard of him, but I never saw him.”
Mr. Lambert was over sixty; but his hair, naturally light, had not turned gray, and was cut short to his head.
“He stoops a little,” added the nurse, “and makes frightful faces. Some of the little ones were afraid of him, but before he went away he coaxed them to sit in his lap and put their hands in his pockets, where they found nuts and raisins and candy in abundance. A lady came in to see a little cripple, and as she passed him surrounded by a group of them, Neddy’s chair rolled as close as he could get it, she remarked, smiling, ‘It’s a blessed work, sir.’”
“Mr. Regy had not seen her before, and he started to his feet, looking very angry.
“‘Troublesome little brats!’ he shouted, pushing them away.”
“Just like Mr. Lambert,” was Marion’s reflection. “How very strange there should be two such men!”
Just then she noticed that several of the boys were putting their heads together, whispering and gesturing as they looked toward her. Presently one came forward, and asked, timidly,—
“Will you please sing us a tune, Miss Howard?”
“How do you know I can sing?” she asked, with one of her brightest smiles.
“I heard you at the mission Sunday school. I’m Maurice Long, what used to be sent to the back seat for being allus in mischief.”
Maurice looked anything but humble, as he confessed his faults.
“Why, Maurice!” exclaimed Marion, holding out her hand. “You have grown so much I did not know you,—and you are so pale, too.”
“Yes, miss. Me and another boy got into a fight, and I had my head smashed in, and the p’lice brought me here. I’m going out next week.”
“O Maurice!”
Marion was interrupted by several voices shouting, “He’d fight agin, ma’am. He’d oughter. It was ter save a feller littler than him. Hurrah for Maurice!”
“How was it, Nurse? I want to hear the story.”
“Maurice had a chance to earn a dime carrying a bundle for a gentleman from the cars. A little fellow came along, leading a poor, half-starved dog of which he seemed very fond. Just then a big bully of a boy met them, and began to tease the dog. When his owner timidly begged to be let alone, the bully flew at him, and then Maurice thought it time to interfere. He caught the bully by the hair, and would not let go till he was terribly bruised. A policeman came up and arrested both the boys, just as Maurice fainted from loss of blood. The gentleman had seen the whole fight from beginning to end, and he followed the bully to the court-room and gave his testimony, and called Maurice a hero.”
“And a good fighter, too,” added Maurice, who had stood by, listening to all with a kind of proud humility.
“I am glad you were not fighting to defend your own rights,” said Marion, approvingly. “But who was the gentleman?”
“He gave his name as Lambert,” said the nurse. “There is a very curious sequel to the story,” she added, in a low tone, as they turned away.
“Mr. Lambert came here twice before Maurice was well enough to know him, and showed a good deal of anxiety till he was out of danger, growling to himself that he ought to have stopped the fight earlier. He gave the doctor some money for Maurice when he goes away; but the boy knows nothing of that yet. When Mr. Lambert saw Maurice he scolded him well; said a street fighter was a mean fellow and ought to be arrested, and hoped he should never hear of his street brawls again.
“His voice was so loud that some of the little ones began to cry, but Maurice spoke up rather saucily,—
“I’d fight for you, sir, to-morrow, if you was hit. I know you’re jolly, for all your scolding.’”
“Well,” said Marion, laughing heartily, “what did Mr. Lambert say to that?”
“Not a word that we could understand. He went away with his handkerchief to his face, but when he reached the street he shook all over with laughter.”
“Shall I sing for the children now?”
“They will be delighted to hear you.”
Standing in the midst of the ward, with the little ones pressing to her side, Marion sang the sweet melody set to the words,—
“Will you come where the sweet-briar grows,
Where the heath flower blossoms around?
Will you come where the hyacinth blows,
And the daisy just peeps from the ground?
There’s a bower by the side of yon lake,
’Tis the chosen abode of the rose;
Where the wings of the linnet awake
The leaves from their calm repose.”
Every word was distinctly enunciated, and the children, with bated breath and sparkling eyes, proved their appreciation by calling out, “More! Please, Miss Howard, sing more.” Smiling, she gave them the mocking-bird, which was followed by shouts of applause.