Rena I. Halsey

On and on she rode, peering through the gloaming until her eyes ached, ever conscious of the “throb, throb,” of the car directly behind her. What a mistake, she thought dismally, to have ventured on these lonely roads alone. And, O dear! how her mother would worry when she failed to arrive home on time.

Suddenly she stopped and stared fixedly through the gray light, and then her heart leaped, for down the road a little distance, trudging slowly and uncertainly beside the mountain-ditch, were four little figures. Oh, they must be those boys, but she had sent for only three.

With a glad thrill of hope urging her forward, the machine responded to her touch, and in a moment she had reached the boys, one of whom, at the sound of the oncoming car, had swung around, and was staring at her with large, liquid brown eyes. The girl suddenly decided that he must be the Italian lad, who the ticket-agent had said wore an embroidered vest, and carried a violin under his arm. Yes, there was the violin! Nathalie brought her car to a sudden stop, and called out, “Hello there, boys; hello!”

At the sound of the girl’s call all four swung about and faced her, while a boyish, gruff voice answered: “Hello yourself. What do you want?”

Nathalie laughed happily, for a sudden intuition told her that her search was over. And then she said: “Why, I am looking for some little boys, who were to have come from New York on the White Mountain express. Are you the ones?”

A chorus of trebles piped excitedly, “Yes, mum; we comed off the train,” while the tallest lad, to whom a smaller child of six or seven was nervously clinging, stepped forward. As he lifted his ragged cap he cried politely, “Be you Miss Nathalie Page?” The girl, as she stared down at the questioner, saw a close-cropped head of reddish hair, and a freckled face of an unhealthy pallor, from which two sharp blue eyes were anxiously peering.

“Yes, I’m Miss Nathalie Page,” responded the girl, with a note of relief in her voice, not only glad that she had found the boys, but at the sudden thought that her tormentor would now let her alone, for, with four boys to keep her company, he would not dare to molest her.

“I’m awfully sorry not to have met you at the station,” she went on regretfully, “but something happened to my machine and I was detained on the road. But I did not know that there would be four of you,” she added a little doubtfully. But before she could finish her sentence, the lad who had constituted himself the spokesman for the group, silently handed her a letter.

Nathalie tore it open, and then hastily read it. She was so excited, however, by the many events that had crowded one upon the other that she did not sense its full meaning. Recognizing the signature, “Elizabeth Van Vorst,” she cried hastily, “Well, it’s all right, boys; jump into the car,” as she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her coat. Nathalie immediately saw that a second invitation would not be needed, as the boys made a wild lunge forward, scrambling and pushing each other, as if to see which one would get there first, all but the little chap, who stood whimpering by the side of the car.

“Now, boys, no pushing or pulling,” cried Nathalie with a laugh in her voice, “for there’s plenty of room, and you’re all going home with me. But here, you big one, get out and put that little kid up by me, for the poor tot must be hungry and tired.”

“Sure, he is, Miss,” replied the older lad, who evidently was his brother, jumping down and lifting him up into the seat by Nathalie, despite his kicks and protests that he wanted to sit with Danny.

“Ah, there, kid,” coaxed the bigger boy softly, “don’t be a girl. Show you’re a boy. Sit up there nice-like. Sure the leddy won’t eat yer.” This suggestion of being a girl had a magical effect upon the child, for he immediately ceased to whimper, and settled back in the seat with a repressed sniffle.

Nathalie turned the car around,—the man who had been following her had long since disappeared in the darkness,—and was soon speeding towards home. She glanced every now and then at the three figures on the back seat, who sat as still as three blind mice, snuggling up to each other for warmth, while the little chap at her side clutched her frantically as he lurched forward every time the car swung around a corner, or bumped over a “thank-you-ma’am.”

“Here, kiddie,” cried the girl presently, suddenly looking down at the child, whose big, reddish-brown eyes were staring up at her half fearfully from out of a wan, white face. “Put your head on my lap! There, that’s it,” as the child, to her surprise snuggled up to her, and then silently obeyed. “Now look up,” she added laughingly, “and count the stars.”

Although this injunction brought forth a chuckle from the back seat, it sufficed to keep the little one quiet, and the girl, as she drove rapidly on, could hear him droning, “One, two, three,—” until, with a drowsy little sigh, the counting ceased, and the girl saw that he was asleep.

It was almost nine o’clock when Nathalie whirled under the dimly burning lantern of the porte-cochÈre at Seven Pillars, where, on the veranda, Janet and her mother were anxiously watching for her.

“Oh, Nathalie, I have been so worried about you,” began her mother plaintively. “I will never let you go off this way again.” But her lamentations were cut short as her daughter cried, “Oh, it’s all right, mumsie; something happened to the car and detained me. But do help me get these hungry boys into the house, for the poor things are just dead with the long ride and for something to eat.”

Several minutes later, as the girl came hurrying from the kitchen, where she had been to see if the boys’ supper was ready, she found them lined up in the hall, four pathetically weary little figures. Their pale faces were smeared with railroad dust, and their foreheads oozed perspiration, but their eyes were bright and expectantly keen, on the alert for the something good that they knew was coming.

As her eyes swept smilingly down the line, the smile suddenly wavered, as her glance was arrested by the thin, emaciated face of a strange grayish whiteness,—of a peasant lad, who, bewildered with dumb amazement, was staring at her with a dogged look, his dark eyes haunted, as it were, by an expression of fear.

He was huddling something in his right arm, a yellowish-brown thing that squirmed and twisted uneasily, while the left sleeve of his soiled shirt-waist, strapped with one suspender, was pinned to his shoulder in an empty, flat way that was infinitely pathetic, for the little lad had only one arm!

The girl stared back at the boy with a suppressed cry, as into memory flashed the many stories she had heard of the Belgian and French children who had been so mercilessly ill-treated and maimed by the German soldiers. Oh, this must be one of those refugees. Yes, she dimly remembered now, seeing the word “Belgian” in Mrs. Van Vorst’s letter, which she had read so quickly. With sudden effort, her natural kindliness coming to her aid, she smiled into the fear-haunted eyes, crying gently, as she softly touched him on the one arm, “Is that your dog? Oh, I love dogs. What is his name?”

A sudden flash of joyful relief radiated from the boy’s face, momentarily driving away that dulled, cowlike bewilderment from his eyes. It was a look that caused Nathalie’s heart to quiver with pain, for it was the look of some dumb animal that had been wantonly punished or brutally hurt by the hand it loved; a look that haunted her for many days, constantly urging her to try and say something, or do something, so as to drive it away.

The next moment a little yellow-brown terrier was crouching on the floor at his master’s feet, while thumping the floor with his tail, and licking his hand, then trying to crawl up his trousers’ leg, as if to get back to the shelter of that one lonely arm.

“Is that your dog? Oh, I love dogs!”—Page 184.

“Oh, the poor animal must be hungry,” exclaimed Mrs. Page, just as the boy had given his name as Tige. “But come, children,” she added, “and get your suppers; and the dog, too,” patting the brown head of the refugee, while a look of infinite pity shone from her kindly eyes.

The boys needed no further urging, as Danny, with a wild hoot of delight, yelled, “Come on, fellers; it’s eats.” And then, notwithstanding Nathalie’s well-laid plans that each one should have a good wash-up before eating, they made a straight run for the kitchen.

Here they were soon putting down everything in sight in a way that almost frightened the girl, as she suddenly realized the care and responsibility she had taken upon herself. And that one-armed boy! O dear! she had never thought of such a thing as that.

But if they didn’t have their wash before supper, they had it very soon after, as the girl marched each one separately to the washbowl in the bathroom, and, after making him duck his head in the water, proceeded to give it a vigorous shampoo, notwithstanding sundry squirms and twists, for Nathalie believed in taking things by the forelock, and they just must be clean.

Then the scrubbed one, after being supplied with towels and soap, was informed that he must give himself a good scrubbing in the tub, and if he failed to do it properly, he would have to do it all over again. Nathalie’s somewhat severe admonition was met with stony silence on the part of her victims, unless it was a rather loud, “Gee whiz, fellers; here’s me for a swim!” that involuntarily escaped Danny, the older boy, when he found himself before the well-filled bath-tub.

When it came to the little chap’s turn, Nathalie’s young heart revolted at letting him go through the washing process all by himself, as he was so little, tired, and sleepy, so she said that she would give him his bath. To her surprise he began to whimper, while his older brother protested most vehemently that he could bathe him.

“Oh, no,” returned the young lady decidedly; and a few moments later her charge was standing in the bath-tub, ready for his scrubbing, Nathalie meanwhile talking to him gently, as if to quiet his fears.

Some time later, with a red, heated face, the young girl emerged from the room, dragging a little white-robed figure by the hand, whose face was, strange to say, wreathed in dimples. “Here, dear, you get into Miss Natty’s bed,” said the girl, leading the child into her room, “and brother will stay with you until I return,” motioning to Danny, who had been waiting outside the bathroom, with a strange, worried look on his face.

“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Nathalie a moment later, as she came rushing out to the porch. “What do you think? Oh, I never was so surprised in my life!” “Why, Nathalie, what is the matter with you?” ejaculated Janet, as she placed her arm caressingly around the girl. “You are as white as a ghost, and you’re all of a tremble.”

“Oh, I’ve had such a scare,—such a terrible surprise,” stammered the girl. And then she broke into a little laugh as she cried: “Oh, mother, you know the littlest chap? Well, he isn’t a boy at all; he’s a girl!”

“A girl!” echoed three voices simultaneously, and then Mrs. Page gave a laugh, a laugh in which every one joined.

It did not take Nathalie long to relate her experiences in the bathroom, and then she remarked: “I wonder if Mrs. Van Vorst knew he was a girl. It’s awfully funny. Oh, I’ll read her letter again.”

The next moment, with the letter opened before her, she was slowly reading aloud:

“Dear Nathalie:

“I am sending you four boys instead of three. The fourth lad is a one-armed Belgian refugee, and his story is so pitiful I am sure, when you come to learn it, you will be glad I sent him to you. A Buffalo lady sent word to the Belgian Relief Committee that she would take one of a number of refugees recently arrived from France. But when she found that the poor lad had been mutilated by the Germans, her heart weakened. She claimed that she could not stand unpleasant things—what about the sufferings of the boy?—and returned him to the committee.

“A member of the committee, hearing that I was looking for some boys, and being greatly distressed over the cruelty of the case, begged me to send him to you, if only for a little while, so as to give them a chance to place him later. I, of course, will be responsible for any expense he will be to you. I am sorry, but I had no opportunity to clothe him. He seems a strange, docile child. I think he is still living in the horrors of hell, from those terrible eyes of his. Oh, it is heart-breaking, but I know that you love children, dear, and I am sure that you are just the one to bring something of the child in him back to his face again.

“His story is one of many. His village was overrun by the German soldiery, and the brave little lad, while trying to defend his mother from the atrocity of a German officer, was bayoneted, and finally lost his arm. His mother was carried away into Germany, but the boy believes her dead. I will not tell you the rest of the story, for some day he may want to unburden his child mind and tell you his pitiful take himself. His little yellow dog has been his comrade through all of his weary wanderings, the only thing that remains to him of his once happy home, and no one had the heart to take it from him.

“The Italian lad was found wandering in the streets on the East Side, making an effort to support himself by playing on his violin, as his aged grandfather,—he seems to have been an orphan,—who was a hurdy-gurdy man, had just died. The two brothers were found living in a cellar, where Danny, the older one, had been trying to support his brother, after the death of the aged woman who had had charge of them. He sold papers, but, when sick and unable to do so, was found half-starved in the cellar. It is hoped that the bracing breezes of the mountain air, with good healthy food, will make new children of these boys.

“Dear Nathalie, if you could only realize the bigness of the work you have undertaken in taking these slum children into a wonder-land of healthy living, the beauties and wonders of which will mean to them a new and glorified world. God bless you, dear, is all I can say and pray.

“No, this letter proves that Mrs. Van Vorst did not know that the child was a girl,” said Nathalie, as she tucked the letter in her shirt-waist. “But, mother, what shall I do about it?” she continued, in such a dejected voice that her mother burst out laughing.

“Don’t do anything about it, daughter,” Mrs. Page replied, still laughing. “A girl is as good as a boy any day, and we will just set to work, this very minute, and rig up some clothes from some of your old things, for the child to wear.”

“Oh, I think she will make a lovely girl, with those great brown eyes of hers,” cried Janet, enthusiastically. “And she has dimples, too. I know we can make the sweetest thing of her, and—”

But Nathalie didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was so overjoyed to think it had turned out all right, that she was in a hurry to reassure Danny, whom she realized had been greatly worried over the circumstance. But how did they come to dress the child as a boy? she queried as she hurried into the room, where the now little girl had fallen fast asleep in Nathalie’s bed, while her brother watched beside her with a white, frightened face.

“Tell me, Danny,” inquired Nathalie gently, as she laid her hand on the boy’s head, “how did you come to make a boy of your sister?”

A quick sob broke from the lad. And then, with a stiffening of his chin, as if with the resolution that he would not give way, while furtively wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he told how, when Granny Maguire died, and his little sister’s clothes, after a time, wore out, he had been compelled to clothe her in his cast-off rags, because he had no others, and he didn’t know where to get them.

“She didn’t like it no way at first,” the lad’s blue eyes twinkled, “but she got kind o’ used to it, an’ then I promised that when she growed big I’d let her be a girl. And whin the leddy that does the settlement work comed round and wanted me to go ter the country I couldn’t leave the kid, and when she said he could come too, I didn’t squeal on meself, but jest kept mumlike, for they wouldn’t have let her come wid me if they knowed she was a girl. Sure, marm, we’ll have ter wait till morning to go back,” the lad tried to steady his voice, “fur the boss wid the brass buttons on the train told me there ain’t no train till then. Can we walk to the station, do yer think?” he inquired pleadingly.

“But you’re not going back, Danny,” replied Nathalie. “You’re going to stay right here with me, as long as you’re good and mind me. It doesn’t make a bit of difference if your sister is not a boy. I wrote for three boys, for I thought boys could take care of themselves in a way. Then, as we have no servants here, and I get tired sometimes with so much to do, I thought that boys would be more of a help. But we’ll dress your sister as a girl, and—Oh, don’t cry, Danny,” for the boy had turned his head aside, and was silently struggling with his sobs.

But they were sobs of joy, as Nathalie soon discovered, as, with a final shake of his thin shoulders, he faced about and cried: “Oh, thank you, ma’am. No, I ain’t no blubberin’ calf, but sure I just couldn’t let the kid go back alone—and—But Gee, leddy, it sure is heaven up here with these big hills—and the green trees—and the flowers—And, leddy,” he pulled at Nathalie’s sleeve as she turned to go away, “I kin be a sight o’ help ter yer, for I knows how to wash dishes, and I kin cook too, a good bit.”

“Oh, that will be just fine, Danny,” enthused Nathalie, “for I am wild to have a man chef, and I’ll let you wash all the dishes you want to, for that’s a job I hate. And, Danny,” said the girl, patting the boy’s shoulder gently, “we are going to make it as near like Heaven up here as we can. But come, son, you must be tired.” And then she led the boy up-stairs to the upper floor, where, in a large corner-room, she had taken the other boys, who were undressed and ready to tumble into the three beds.

After directing Danny to sleep in the double bed, as he was the largest, so that each one of the smaller boys could have a bed to himself, she showed them the closet and how to hang up their clothes,—what little they had, they had brought tied up in handkerchiefs, or on their backs,—she turned to go. “Yes, and you must be sure to get up, every one of you, when you hear the big bell ring in the morning.”

She had reached the door, after bidding them goodnight, when a sudden thought turned her back. And then Nathalie had her first solemn moments with her boys, as she told each one that, before getting in bed, he must say his prayers, so as to thank God for the good things that had been given them that day. The little Italian lad immediately drew out his rosary and began to say his beads, but Danny scratched his head in a dubious sort of way, and mumbled that it was so long since he had said his prayers that he couldn’t remember what he was to say.

But this forgetfulness on Danny’s part was soon remedied, as the girl made him kneel by her in the moonlight that streamed through the window, and solemnly repeat, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” adding a few words as a suggestion to the boy as to what he should add to the prayer. Danny, with a brighter face, now began to prepare for bed, and Nathalie, as she again turned to leave the room, stopped to speak with the refugee. And then the girl’s eyes grew moist, for he had stolen into the darkest corner of the room, and, with his one hand solemnly upraised, was repeating a prayer softly to himself, while the little yellow cur stood at attention by his side.