  The excitement had been great the night the Cubmaster of the Erlington Pack had told his Cubs about the new badges. They had cheered themselves hoarse. Swimming was, of course, the badge they wanted most, but, as the Cubmaster pointed out, though it would be a ripping badge to get, there was not a swimming-bath or river anywhere handy, and the sea was forty miles away! Athletes and Artists they had also voted for, but the Old Wolf reminded them that the first use of a Wolf Cub is not to be able to jump very high or draw very well, but to serve other people, and he suggested that the first badge to be worked for should be the “House Orderly.” So on the following Friday night the twelve two-star Cubs had met together to learn home craft. The first lesson had been nearly all taken up with learning the very best way to light a fire. And before they went home the Old Wolf had called them round him in an eager circle. “Cubs,” he had said, “before we meet next week I want each of you to have practised ‘helping Mother,’ and to have lit the fire at least once for her. Now I want you all to think hard for three minutes by my watch, and then each to tell me a good way in which you could help mother.” The Cubs thought hard with knitted brows. And when the three minutes was up each told of a good way in which he could help. One could weed the front garden; another could turn the mangle; one was going to spring-clean the whole house, although it was winter! One was going to “bathe baby”—which made everyone laugh. Only one Cub, Dicky Dean, failed to think of a way to help his mother. “Why, mother doesn’t do anything but sit on the drawing-room sofa and read!” thought Dicky. “Come, Dicky, how can you help?” said the Cubmaster. There was a long pause. Then someone giggled. “His mother don’t want no helping, sir,” said a scornful voice; “she’s got paid servants!” “Silence, there!” said the Old Wolf sternly. Then turning to Dicky, “Cheer up, old chap,” he said; “you’ll find a way if you try.” And Dicky went home thinking hard. All the Cubs’ mothers had been “awfully bucked,” as one of the Cubs said, when their sons took to cleaning everything and lighting fires and making their beds themselves. But poor Dicky never seemed able to please his mother. There was the time when he was standing on the step-ladder in the street, cleaning the windows, and a very elegant lady, Mrs. Jones, had called and been much shocked, so that mother was angry and had punished Dicky, as though he were doing something wrong! There was the time Cook was so furious because she found him about to put a match to the kitchen fire, which he had laid himself at 6 A.M. as a surprise for her. She had said he was a naughty little boy; he was playing in her kitchen and trying to set the house afire! And then the time mother was so cross because he had blacking on his hands and a smudge on his nose. And when he had explained that he had been making his boots lovely and black and shiny, like coal—and Cook’s as well—she had been still more angry, and said he must not be so mischievous, and meddle with what did not concern him. Altogether, everything was very sad. He went to bed one night feeling especially down in the dumps, for his mother had again scolded him. The next morning’s post brought Mrs. Dean some very bad news. The bank in which she had nearly all her money had closed its doors; it was paying nothing at all, and she was left with a very little sum of money and the house which her husband had built a few years before he died. Her friend, Mrs. Jones, came to condole with her. “There was the time he was standing on a step-ladder in the street, cleaning the windows, and a very elegant lady, Mrs. Jones, had called and been much shocked” When she had heard the whole sad story, she looked very serious. “And you say you are going to dismiss both your servants? My dear Mrs. Dean, what will you do? Who will do the work for you?” “Oh, I don’t know,” sobbed Mrs. Dean. “I shall have to myself, I suppose. It’s hard, very hard. And it’s not as if I had a daughter. I’ve only Dicky—a great, helpless boy. Why, it’s all we can do to keep him out of mischief.” Mrs. Dean was very unhappy. A few days later the maids went away. Dicky saw them off, watched their cab rattle away, and then went into the garden to think out a great plan. His chance had come at last! That night he bumped his head five times on the pillow. “I—will—wake—up—at—five,” he said, with each bump. And then he dropped off to sleep with a very happy heart. In the grey dawn Dicky got up. He stole downstairs on tiptoe. He lit the kitchen fire. He swept the rooms. He whitened the front-doorstep. He blacked his mother’s shoes. He laid the table for breakfast. He put on the kettle. He rummaged in the larder and discovered some bacon and two eggs; and he did it all in a whisper. At 7.30, just as he had run up to his room for a wash, he heard his mother calling. “Yes, mother,” he answered from his room. “Dicky,” she said, “get up at once, and come to my room in a quarter of an hour, to look after baby while I get breakfast ready.” Dicky laughed to himself. “Yes, mother,” he called. On tiptoe he ran downstairs again. He made toast; he fried the eggs and bacon (as he had been taught), and made the tea, and put everything on the dining-room table. Then he went upstairs. “Stay with baby, dear,” said Mrs. Dean wearily, “while I go and get breakfast ready. Oh, how I miss the maids! I’m so tired; baby’s been crying for nurse most of the night. There will be nothing but work all day to get the house straight.” She sighed, and went downstairs. With beating heart, Dicky listened. He heard her go slowly down the stairs. Then he heard her hurrying from the kitchen into the other rooms. Then silence. He could bear the suspense no longer. He ran softly to the bottom of the staircase. Outside the dining-room door he paused. There was a sound like a sob. Was she angry at what he had done? “Mother,” he said, in a shaky little voice, as he pushed the door open. She was waiting for him with her arms outstretched. He threw himself into them. “Dicky,” she said, “my dear little Dicky, did you do all this? The fire alight, breakfast cooked, and everything?” “Yes, mother,” he panted, “and the doorstep looks lovely! Oh, I’m so happy, mother. I always wanted to help, and I often tried. But you were never pleased. Now, I shall always do all the work all the time, and you will always be pleased, won’t you?” “Always, always,” she said. “But we will work together—and, and play together when the work is done, and, though we are very poor now, we shall be very happy!” “Yes,” said Dicky. “We shall be happy and when baby’s old enough we’ll teach him to help, too, won’t we?” And that is how Dicky got his chance. |
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