  Danny O’Neil, meanwhile having skated across the lake, had returned to his work as he had promised Doris that he would. The Colonel was away and the lad hurriedly did the tasks expected of him. When these were finished, he went to his barren room over the garage, and, throwing himself down on his bed, he sobbed and sobbed. “Oh, Mom,” he said aloud, “I don’t know how I’m going to get on without you. There’s nobody now that cares, but I promised you I’d be brave and go straight, and I’ll try, Mom, but it’s hard, hard!” There was a light tap on the door and the boy sat up and hurriedly drew his coat sleeve over his eyes. Then he rose and opened it. There stood the dearest little old lady, dressed in gray. She was smiling at him in a most loving way and she said: “Danny, I’m the Colonel’s new housekeeper. I want to look after everyone living on the place, and so I came out to see what I can do for you.” The lad wondered if this little woman had heard what he, believing himself to be alone, had said but a moment before. Mrs. Gray had indeed heard and she longed to take the lonely, motherless boy in her arms and try to comfort him, but, since she could not do this, she hurriedly planned to try in some measure to fill the place of the dear one the lad had so recently lost. Mrs. Gray took the Colonel into her confidence and that kindly man said: “Well, well, I might have known how lonely the boy would be without his mother. I remember how proud she was of him, and, come to think of it, she asked me at one time if there wasn’t some school where he could go without much expense and study drawing. She said he was always making pictures on his books or on anything that was handy, and it caused a good deal of trouble between the boy and his father, because Mr. O’Neil declared that only a shiftless, no account would idle his time away making pictures. I’m glad you spoke to me about the lad, Mrs. Gray. I’ll send for him this evening perhaps, and have a talk with him. In the meantime, do anything you wish to make his quarters more comfortable.” That very morning, at the housekeeper’s request, the Colonel sent Danny on an errand which would necessitate his being away for several hours. During that time two easy chairs that were not needed in the big house were taken to the boy’s room in the garage. Curtains made of colored prints were hung at the windows and another piece covered the bureau on which stood a picture of the mother who had so loved her son. Mrs. Gray, with the Colonel’s permission, looked through his library and found several books that a boy would enjoy, “Ivanhoe,” “The Last of the Mohicans,” and a complete set of the writings of Mark Twain. These, with a few pictures, gave the room, formerly so barren, a pleasant, home-like appearance. The little woman was busily renovating the lad’s bed when Danny returned. “Mrs. Gray,” he said, and there was a catch in his voice, “have you been doing all this just for me?” “Why of course Danny-boy,” that little woman replied brightly. “What is a housekeeper for, if not to make things cheerful and tidy?” Then she hurried on to say, “The Colonel would like you to come to his study tonight at eight.” When the boy was alone, he stood gazing out at the snowy fields, although he did not see them. He was wondering if by any chance the Colonel had heard of the highway robbery, and was going to rebuke him, perhaps discharge him. Half an hour later he was called to the house by Mrs. Gray. “You’re wanted at the phone,” she said. “It’s a lassie with a sweet voice as is askin’ for you,” she added. The boy was sure that it must be Doris who wished to speak to him, and he was right. “Danny, come over to my house tonight at eight o’clock promptly. I have something important to tell you.” The lad turned away. Perhaps Doris knew that the sheriff was again on his trail and wanted to warn him. What should he do, and how could he explain his absence to the Colonel? As Danny was leaving the telephone, he met the housekeeper, who smiled at him pleasantly. “Mrs. Gray,” the boy said, “a friend has just called up and asked me to be in town tonight at eight. Do you think the Colonel would be willing to see me at another hour?” “I’m sure of it,” the little old lady replied. “He is alone in his study now. Wait here. Danny, and I will ask him.” A moment later she returned and told the boy that the Colonel would see him. Almost fearfully the lad entered the pleasant room, where the walls, lined with books, statues and paintings, told the artistic and literary taste of the gentleman who spent there many quiet hours each day. The kindly welcome that Danny received banished his fear, and when he left the study half an hour later, in his heart there was a new hope and a strengthened resolve. He whistled as he tramped into town that evening, and when Doris opened the door at his ring, his radiant face was so unlike the one she had last seen in the cabin, she marveled at the change. “Do tell me what has happened,” she said as soon as they were seated. “It’s almost too wonderful to believe,” the boy exclaimed. “It seems that last year my mother asked the Colonel’s advice about sending me to some inexpensive art school, and today he told me that if I still desired to go, he would help me accomplish that end. I’m to prove that I can stick at a thing by working for him faithfully all winter and then, in the spring, he will permit me to go to the Dorchester Art Institute. The days will be long, and I can be up with the birds and work in the garage and garden before I go to the city and again when I return. I want to do commercial drawing of some sort.” Then the boy paused and a deep flush mounted his face. “Good Angel,” he said, “I forgot that you probably think of me as a criminal and a highwayman.” “Indeed I do not,” Doris protested. “I’m so happy for you, and I just know that you will make good, but, Danny, you haven’t asked me about the gold. I want you to know that it has been returned.” The boy’s sensitive face expressed his great relief, then, unexpectedly, tears brimmed his eyes. “Doris,” he said, “the rest of my life will not be long enough to atone for that terrible wrong. I hope I may be able to do a real service for that old man some day.” “I know you will, Danny,” the girl put her hand lightly on his arm. “Now, I want you to promise me that we will never again mention or even think of what happened. Promise me, Danny.” Before the boy could reply, the door bell had pealed and laughing voices were heard without. The lad rose at once. “Danny, don’t go!” Doris urged. “Geraldine and Alfred and some of the others are out there, and they would be glad to meet you.” The brightness left the boy’s face, and he said bitterly, “You are wrong, Good Angel. Geraldine Morrison has never spoken a pleasant word to me. You must remember I am only their gardener.” The bell was ringing insistently and so Doris swung open the door. A laughing crowd of girls and boys trooped into the hall. Danny tried to leave but Bob stopped him. “Hello, Dan,” he said good-naturedly, “don’t hurry away on our account. The more the merrier, you know.” “Have you met Miss Morrison?” he asked, then quickly added: “Of course you have. I forgot at the minute that you both live at the Colonel’s.” Geraldine, pretending not to have heard her name, was talking to Doris and her back was toward the boys. Bob noticed this, and then he realized that the proud city girl might consider Danny’s position in the Wainright home a menial one. “Sorry you are going, Dan,” Alfred now came forward. “Why don’t you wait and ride home with Sis and me?” “Thanks,” the other replied as he reached for his great coat. “I think I would better be going now.” Suddenly there was a crashing noise in their midst, and a loosely wrapped bundle containing a pair of skates fell to the floor from beneath Danny’s coat. “Why, Doris,” Peggy exclaimed in astonishment, “those are your skates, aren’t they? This morning when I asked if I might borrow them, you said you weren’t able to find them.” Bob hurried to the rescue. “Guess you must have left them in the sleigh. Good thing Danny found them for you. Well, so long, old man, if you must go. See you again.” When the Irish boy had gone Doris glanced at Bob, wondering if he had surmised that Danny O’Neil was the real highwayman, but that boy said nothing to confirm her suspicion that evening nor ever after. However, Bob did know, and he determined that he would do all he could to help Danny O’Neil. “Take off your things and stay a while,” Doris urged, but Merry shook her head. “No, we just came to get you. We’re so noisy when we’re all together, I know we would disturb your mother. Mums and Dad have gone to a concert and good old Katie doesn’t mind how much noise we make, so put on your duds and let’s go through the hedge. Jack shoveled a path today from your door to ours. One of his daily good deeds.” The Drexels and Lees were next-door neighbors with a pine hedge between them, but of course there was a gate in it. Fifteen minutes later they were in the big comfortable Lee library with the victrola turned on. Jack at once asked Geraldine to dance with him, and since she thought him nicest of all the boys, she was pleased to accept. After a time he led her to the settee in front of the fireplace, on which a log was burning. “I’d rather talk a while,” he said, but, instead of talking, he sat looking into the fire. Geraldine, glancing at him, thought how good-looking he was. At last she asked lightly, “Are your thoughts worth a penny?” Then she added, “I don’t believe that you even know that you are here.” The boy laughed as he replied: “I will have to confess that my thoughts had taken me far away. I was traveling years into the future when you recalled me to the present.” Then, because of the girl’s very evident interest, the lad continued: “Dad and I had a heart to heart talk this morning. He thinks that if I plan taking up his business of building and contracting, I would better begin to specialize along those lines, but I told him that, first of all, I want to go West and try cattle ranching.” “Oh, Jack, what a dreadful thing to do!” the girl protested. The boy’s face was radiant as he replied: “You are mistaken. It’s great out there!” But it was quite evident that his companion did not agree with him. “A man who goes out to live on a desert ranch must expect to be a bachelor all his life,” Geraldine ventured, “for no girl of our class would want to live in such a desolate place.” The boy looked up brightly. “Wrong again, Geraldine!” he said. “The girl I would want to marry would love it out there.” Then he laughingly added: “You see, I never intend to marry until I find someone who will be as fine a little homemaker as my mother is. Mom could be a rich man’s wife or a poor man’s wife and shine in either position. She can make her own dresses and hats if need be and enjoy doing it, and, as for cooking, Kate can’t compare with her. Of course I wouldn’t expect my wife to be a drudge, but I do want her to know how to do all of the things that make home a place of solid comfort. None of these pretty, dolled-up, society girls for me!” The lad was not looking at his listener and so he did not know that the rose in her cheeks had deepened, or that she was biting her lips angrily. Although she had no real reason for thinking so, she was convinced Jack was expressing his very poor opinion of her, Geraldine Morrison. She rose and said coldly, “It is late. Alfred and I must be going.” That night she cried for a long time, though she could not have told why, and she decided that the very next morning she would ask the Colonel to permit her to return to the city where the boys admired and understood her. |
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