Under the Lilacs (3 page)

It produced a great effect, however; for even “teacher” was interested, and told such amazing tales of a juggler she
once saw, that doughnuts were left forgotten in dinner baskets, and wedges of pie remained suspended in the air for several
minutes at a time, instead of vanishing with miraculous rapidity as usual. At afternoon recess, which the girls had first,
Bab nearly dislocated every joint of her little body trying to imitate the poodle’s antics. She had practiced on her bed with
great success, but the woodshed floor was a different thing, as her knees and elbows soon testified.

“It looked just as easy as anything; I don’t see how he did it,” she said, coming down with a bump after vainly attempting
to walk on her hands.

“My gracious, there he is this very minute!” cried Betty, who sat on a little woodpile near the door.

There was a general rush, and sixteen small girls gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold Cinderella’s magic coach,
instead of one forlorn dog trotting by through the mud.

“Oh, do call him in and make him dance!” cried the girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded as if a flock of sparrows
had taken possession of the shed.

“I
will call him — he knows
me,”
and Bab scrambled up, forgetting how she had chased the poodle and called him names two days ago.

He evidently had not forgotten, however; for, though he paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not approach, but stood
dripping in the rain, with his frills much bedraggled, while his tasseled tail wagged slowly, and his pink nose pointed suggestively
to the pails and baskets, nearly empty now.

“He’s hungry; give him something to eat, and then he’ll see that we don’t want to hurt him,” suggested Sally, starting a contribution
with her last bit of bread and butter.

Bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the odds and ends; then tried to beguile the poor beast in to eat and be comforted.
But he only came as far as the door, and, sitting up, begged with such imploring eyes that Bab put down the pail and stepped
back, saying pitifully—

“The poor thing is starved; let him eat all he wants, and we won’t touch him.”

The girls drew back with little clucks of interest and compassion; but I regret to say their charity was not rewarded as they
expected, for, the minute the coast was clear, the dog marched boldly up, seized the handle of the pail in his mouth, and
was off with it, galloping down the road at a great pace. Shrieks arose from the children, especially Bab and Betty, basely
bereaved of their new dinner pail; but no one could follow the thief, for the bell rang, and in they went, so much excited
that the boys rushed tumultuously forth to discover the cause.

By the time school was over the sun was out, and Bab and Betty hastened home to tell their wrongs and be comforted by mother,
who did it most effectually.

“Never mind, dears, I’ll get you another pail, if he doesn’t bring it back as he did before. As it is too wet for you to play
out, you shall go and see the old coach house as I promised. Keep on your rubbers and come along.”

This delightful prospect much assuaged their woe, and away they went, skipping gaily down the graveled path, while Mrs. Moss
followed, with skirts well tucked up, and a great bunch of keys in her hand, for she lived at the Lodge, and had charge of
the premises.

The small door of the coach house was fastened inside, but the large one had a padlock on it; and this being quickly unfastened,
one half swung open, and the little girls ran in, too eager and curious even to cry out when they found
themselves at last in possession of the long-coveted old carriage. A dusty, musty concern enough; but it had a high seat,
a door, steps that let down, and many other charms which rendered it most desirable in the eyes of children.

Bab made straight for the box and Betty for the door; but both came tumbling down faster than they went up, when from the
gloom of the interior came a shrill bark, and a low voice saying quickly, “Down, Sancho! down!”

“Who is there?” demanded Mrs. Moss, in a stern tone, backing toward the door with both children clinging to her skirts.

The well-known curly white head was popped out of the broken window, and a mild whine seemed to say, “Don’t be alarmed, ladies;
we won’t hurt you.”

“Come out this minute, or I shall have to come and get you,” called Mrs. Moss, growing very brave all of a sudden as she caught
sight of a pair of small, dusty shoes under the coach.

“Yes, ’m, I’m coming as fast as I can,” answered a meek voice, as what appeared to be a bundle of rags leaped out of the dark,
followed by the poodle, who immediately sat down at the bare feet of his owner with a watchful air, as if ready to assault
anyone who might approach too near.

“Now, then, who are you, and how did you get here?” asked Mrs. Moss, trying to speak sternly, though her motherly eyes were
already full of pity as they rested on the forlorn little figure before her.

C
HAPTER
3

“P
lease, ’m, my name is Ben Brown, and I’m travelin’.”

“Where are you going?”

“Anywheres to get work.”

“What sort of work can you do?”

“All kinds. I’m used to horses.”

“Bless me! such a little chap as you?”

“I’m twelve, ma’am, and can ride anything on four legs”; and the small boy gave a nod that seemed to say, “Bring on your Cruisers.
I’m ready for ’em.”

“Haven’t you got any folks?” asked Mrs. Moss, amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was very thin, the eyes hollow
with hunger or pain, and the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or weary to stand alone.

“No, ’m, not of my own; and the people I was left with beat me so, I — run away.” The last words seemed to bolt out against
his will, as if the woman’s sympathy irresistibly won the child’s confidence.

“Then I don’t blame you. But how did you get here?”

“I was so tired I couldn’t go any further, and I thought the folks up here at the big house would take me in. But the gate
was locked, and I was so discouraged, I jest laid down outside and give up.”

“Poor little soul, I don’t wonder,” said Mrs. Moss, while
the children looked deeply interested at mention of
their
gate.

The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on, while the dog pricked
up his ears at mention of his name—

“While I was restin’ I heard someone come along inside, and I peeked, and saw them little girls playin’. The vittles looked
so nice I couldn’t help wantin’ ’em; but I didn’t take nothin’ — it was Sancho, and he took the cake for me.”

Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek, unconscious look that
was very droll.

“And you made him put it back?” cried Bab.

“No; I did it myself. Got over the gate when you was racin’ after Sanch, and then clim’ up on the porch and hid,” said the
boy with a grin.

“And you laughed?” asked Bab.

“Yes.”

“And sneezed?” added Betty.

“Yes.”

“And threw down the roses?” cried both.

“Yes; and you liked ’em, didn’t you?”

“Course we did! What made you hide?” said Bab.

“I wasn’t fit to be seen,” muttered Ben, glancing at his tatters as if he’d like to dive out of sight into the dark coach
again.

“How came you
here?”
demanded Mrs. Moss, suddenly remembering her responsibility.

“I heard ’em talk about a little winder and a shed, and when they’d gone I found it and come in. The glass was broke, and
I only pulled the nail out. I haven’t done a mite of harm sleepin’ here two nights. I was so tuckered out I couldn’t go on
nohow, though I tried a-Sunday.”

“And came back again?”

“Yes, ’m; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this place seemed kinder like home, and I could hear ’em talkin’ outside, and
Sanch he found vittles, and I was pretty comfortable.”

“Well, I never!” ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisking up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the thought of the poor little
fellow alone there for two days and nights with no bed but musty straw, no food but the scraps a dog brought him, was too
much for her. “Do you know what I’m going to do with you?” she asked, trying to look calm and cool, with a great tear running
down her wholesome red cheek, and a smile trying to break out at the corners of her lips.

“No, ma’am; and I dunno as I care. Only don’t be hard on Sanch; he’s been real good to me, and we’re fond of one another;
ain’t us, old chap?” answered the boy, with his arm around the dog’s neck, and an anxious look which he had not worn for himself.

“I’m going to take you right home, and wash and feed and put you in a good bed; and tomorrow — well, we’ll see what’ll happen
then,” said Mrs. Moss, not quite sure about it herself.

“You’re very kind, ma’am. I’ll be glad to work for you. Ain’t you got a horse I can see to?” asked the boy, eagerly.

“Nothing but hens and a cat.”

Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their mother said that, and Ben gave a faint giggle, as if he would like to join in
if he only had the strength to do it. But his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer dizziness; so he could only hold on
to Sancho, and blink at the light like a young owl.

“Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and put the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the kettle. I’ll see to the
boy,” commanded Mrs. Moss, waving off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her new charge, for it suddenly occurred
to her that he might be sick and not safe to take home.

The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and cool, and the black eyes were clear though hollow, for the poor lad was
half starved.

“I’m awful shabby, but I ain’t dirty. I had a washin’ in the rain last night, and I’ve jest about lived on water lately,”
he explained, wondering why she looked at him so hard.

“Put out your tongue.”

He did so, but took it in again to say quickly—

“I ain’t sick — I’m only hungry; for I haven’t had a mite but what Sanch brought, for three days; and I always go halves,
don’t I, Sanch?”

The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly between the door and his master as if he understood all that was going
on, and recommended a speedy march toward the promised food and shelter. Mrs. Moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow
her and bring his “things” with him.

“I ain’t got any. Some big fellers took away my bundle, else I wouldn’t look so bad. There’s only this. I’m sorry Sanch took
it, and I’d like to give it back if I knew whose it was,” said Ben, bringing the new dinner pail out from the depths of the
coach where he had gone to housekeeping.

“That’s soon done; it’s mine, and you’re welcome to the bits your queer dog ran off with. Come along, I must lock up,” and
Mrs. Moss clanked her keys suggestively.

Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle, for he was stiff after two days in such damp lodgings, as well as worn out
with a fortnight’s wandering through sun and rain. Sancho was in great spirits, evidently feeling that their woes were over
and his foraging expeditions at an end, for
he frisked about his master with yelps of pleasure, or made playful darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which caused
her to cry, “Whish!” and “Scat!” and shake her skirts at him as if he were a cat or hen.

A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth skillet and teakettle, and Betty was poking in more wood, with a great
smirch of black on her chubby cheek, while Bab was cutting away at the loaf as if bent on slicing her own fingers off. Before
Ben knew what he was about, he found himself in the old rocking chair devouring bread and butter as only a hungry boy can,
with Sancho close by gnawing a mutton bone like a ravenous wolf in sheep’s clothing.

While the newcomers were thus happily employed, Mrs. Moss beckoned the little girls out of the room, and gave them both an
errand.

“Bab, you run over to Mrs. Barton’s, and ask her for any old duds Billy don’t want; and Betty, you go to the Cutters, and
tell Miss Clarindy I’d like a couple of the shirts we made at last sewing circle. Any shoes, or a hat, or socks, would come
handy, for the poor dear hasn’t a whole thread on him.”

Away went the children full of anxiety to clothe their beggar; and so well did they plead his cause with the good neighbors,
that Ben hardly knew himself when he emerged from the back bedroom half an hour later, clothed in Billy Barton’s faded flannel
suit, with an unbleached cotton shirt out of the Dorcas basket, and a pair of Milly Cutter’s old shoes on his feet.

Sancho also had been put in better trim, for, after his master had refreshed himself with a warm bath, he gave his dog a good
scrub while Mrs. Moss set a stitch here and there in the new old clothes; and Sancho reappeared, looking more like the china
poodle than ever, being as white as
snow, his curls well brushed up, and his tasselly tail waving proudly over his back.