“Do you think God would have any objections to my asking Him to send us a stove?”

Blue was living with “Little Lord Fauntleroy,” and at the moment was so eager to know whether the young Lord lost his estate and his title that he absently queried, “H—m?”

It was only after the question had been patiently repeated that he came out of the story long enough to say, rather doubtfully, “N—no, I guess not.”

“Because we need one so bad,” Doodles went on, “and seeing it was his lightning that spoiled the old one, you know—of course, it was all right,” he hurried to add. “Maybe,” he continued thoughtfully, “He did it so He could have the chance to give us a new stove—if we asked for it. You know, He says He will give us anything that’s best for us, and I think that must be best for us, don’t you?”

Blue nodded smilingly, but returned at once to his book, and Doodles, with a wee breath of disappointment, gave up the one-sided talk. He craved a stronger assurance from his brother that a stove was a proper subject for prayer; but he could wait until the story was finished, and meanwhile he would venture to pray.

It happened that Doodles was alone when Captain Bligh fulfilled his promise, and he had much to tell his mother and Blue of what the genial Captain had said. But one thing he kept to himself. He was anxious to have the gift from Heaven come as a surprise to his mother. Thinking that the Captain was a suitable person to pass judgment on such a matter, he had referred to him his weighty question, and had received so prompt and hearty an approval of praying for what he wanted that no longer was he troubled with doubts.

“Jesus says, ‘Whatsoever ye ask, that will I do.’ Take the Lord at his word, my boy, and you will never go far wrong.”

That had been the Captain’s answer, and it comforted Doodles and strengthened his faith in such measure that his face was radiant and his soul went singing all the rest of the day.

“Mother needn’t worry any more,” he told himself. “God will surely send a stove before autumn.” And the prayer was constantly in his heart.

For a while Mrs. Stickney’s fears for Doodles lessened. The cooler weather after the big storm had revived his strength and the day in the country had seemed to add fresh power to his frail body. But as the heat increased again, he began to droop as before, and the mother wondered with a sickening dread how he was to endure the debilitating weeks of August that were close at hand. Must he stay in these oven-like rooms to die? Why should he be denied a breath of the great outdoors? She resolved to carry him downstairs that very evening and give him a taste of the open air, defiantly pushing aside her remembrance of the doctor’s warning, “You must be careful, very careful about lifting.” Then came the surprise.

About eleven o’clock in the forenoon a man slowly climbed the steep stairs, thumping something ahead of him. Doodles heard him plodding up, up, up, long before he reached the top flight. On he mounted, step by step. The listener grew eager. Was it the stove? Yet one man could not bring up a stove, unless it were a very little one. Perhaps it was not for them; it might be for the Frenchman that lodged in the front room on the other side, he had an express package the other day. For an instant Doodles began to lose interest. Then his eyes brightened again—the man was almost up! He grew breathless—a reddish yellow something popped into sight! It had wheels! It couldn’t be—but it was! It was a wheel chair! The man had stopped, puffing and smiling.

“Stickney?” he queried, “Master Julius Stickney,” reading from a card tied to one of the arms.

“Oh,” cried Doodles, “that’s me!”

The driver grinned, and rolled the chair inside.

“Want to try it?” he asked.

The next minute Doodles was in, almost too overpowered by delight to say his thanks; but he recollected just as the man was going.

Who could have sent it? He caught up the card and turned it over.

“With the gladdest wishes of the Salvation Army.”

“Captain Bligh! dear Captain Bligh!” he murmured, and gazed lovingly at the gift.

That it was not brand-new, Doodles never guessed, and he would not have cared if he had known. It was his wheel chair! In those first moments of ecstasy the boy longed for his mother and Blue to help him bear his bliss.

The wheels were tempting. He rolled himself back and forth, he ventured across the room, he went around the table both ways! How easy it was! Presently he was in the dim bedroom, exploring every corner as if he had never seen it before. He was brought to a sudden stand between the bed and the bureau, but finally managed to back out of the narrow place without harm. After that he was more careful; it would never do for Blue to catch him in such a predicament.

As soon as the brother’s footstep was heard, Doodles wheeled himself in front of the doorway, and sat motionless, pale with excitement.

“Where’d yer get it?” Blue had stopped on the upper step, and stood staring.

“Guess!” laughed the other.

“Captain Bligh.”

“Oh, you’re a splendid guesser!” admired Doodles, and promptly plunged into an account of the last hour.

Nobody knew what a burden was lifted from the mother’s heart by the kindness of the Captain and his associates; but the boys realized that she was uncommonly gay, and their own merriment increased. At the dinner table not a thought was given to the brief bill of fare, and the potatoes disappeared in unheard-of numbers. Doodles had a wheel chair! Doodles was going outdoors!

With the aid of the ready Joseph the chair was carried safely to the sidewalk and the small boy seated comfortably among his cushions. Then what a ride! Over to the park which Doodles had seen but from his window; around and around among its gorgeous beds of multicolored flowers; beside the pretty lake with its sparkling fountain and the darting gold fish; down to the bathing-pools where jolly youngsters were splashing about in the cool water; and finally through long avenues of arching elms, with tricksy little sunbeams playing tag all along the grassy plats that lined the sidewalks. Doodles was in a world of delight from the moment of starting until he turned the home corner. Then, for one short moment, sorrow seized him; but he suddenly remembered that to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow—through endless to-morrows—he could explore again the wonderland of outdoors, which was so brimming with beauty.

That night Doodles slept well, and at breakfast he looked brighter than usual, notwithstanding the fulfilled promise of increasing sultriness. By noon the heat had grown fierce, and Blue looked anxiously at his brother.

“I wonder,” he began, and then rushed off to find Joseph.

The result was that when the boys started down street they left Doodles waving his hand to them from the sidewalk in the shadow of The Flatiron.

“It is ever so much cooler here than it is upstairs,” he had chuckled delightedly, “and there’ll be so many folks to see!”

“We could to carry him down any time,” remarked Joseph, as they passed beyond sight of the happy little face.

For a few hours each day Blue was helping at the public library, and this afternoon he was asked to remain longer than usual, to assist one of the girls in arranging some new volumes. It need have detained him only a half-hour or so; but his mind was divided between books and Doodles, and he worked with frantic haste; in consequence he made mistakes and had to run back and forth to rectify matters.

“You are very careless to-day,” observed the young woman. “I thought I could rely on you.”

With flushed face and uneven breath the boy went on with his task. He worked slowly this time, realizing that hurry would doubtless bring only more blunders. At last he was released; but it was half-past four! He sped from the building like a frightened hare. Doodles must be very tired, sitting there on the sidewalk all these hours. What would he think? He was probably worrying his little heart out. Blue bounded recklessly along, nearly overturning a small girl who was in his way. With a hurried word of apology he dashed on.

His first glimpse of the spot where he had last seen his brother showed him that it was vacant. The sidewalk was swarming with boys and girls—a glance told him that they were not of the immediate neighborhood. Had anything—oh! had anything happened? There was the wheel chair,—but Doodles was not in it! Who—? It was Sim Sweeney! And Doodles, big-eyed with terror, was sitting on the lowest step of the market!

Blue’s feet barely touched the ground. Some of the children saw him coming, and fled. Sim Sweeney, trying to wheel through the screaming troop that blocked his way, knew naught of the flying figure with the blazing eyes until he was suddenly shoved from his seat by one frantic thrust. But before Blue could obtain possession of the chair Sim’s cronies were upon him, and the fiercest fight followed that The Flatiron had ever seen.

Blue struck out boldly, here, there, on every side; but five against one makes too ill balanced a combat, and the victim’s part became still more hazardous by Mame Sweeney’s joining the assault. Blue would not knowingly hit a girl, and when Sim’s sister added her fiery little fists to those of the others, the boy was in a desperate strait.

“A—a—h!” It was a long-drawn battle cry, right in the ears of the attacking party. But the few that heard gave it small notice. In any event its source would have brought it only derision. Joseph Sitnitsky had never been known to lift an arm against anybody, and not a boy among them but would have scorned the question of being worsted by him in a fight—not a boy except Blue, and he was too much engaged in returning blows with interest even to know that Joseph was near.

For weeks afterward it was marveled over,—how “that little tiger of a Jew,” employing all the arts of hand-to-hand conflict, which had been so rigidly taught him, felled those five bullies to the ground and chased Sim’s sister and Sim himself as far as the corner, before stopping to see if his friend were injured or to comfort Doodles.

Blue declared that he was able to help carry his brother upstairs, where Granny O’Donnell promptly mingled sympathy and lamentations with soap and water and healing salve. By the time Mrs. Stickney arrived, things were plodding along about as usual. Even Doodles, in admiration of his brother’s pluck and Joseph’s prowess, forgot his fright and was eager to talk of what ever afterwards was referred to as The Flatiron fight.