Bo's Summer Adventures.
Bo too, spent a pleasant summer, he and several of his chums often went fishing, or hunting for wild flowers and curious stones, going into swampy places for specimens of plants, and sometimes coming home, as Hetty said, "Looking worse than Italian tramps."
One day Walter Rhue and Ned Thornton came to spend the day, Bo begged Hetty for a basket of luncheon, and off they went to have a day of it in the woods. It was the last week of August, rather warm, and after such a long tramp, they wanted to find a cool place for their picnic.
They reached a brook, which was usually so low that it could be crossed on some stepping stones. But today it was much swollen, owing to a heavy shower, which had fallen the preceding night, the water was three feet deep, and rushed angrily over the stepping stones.
Walter and Ned took up poles, and rolling up their pants, were about to pick their way through the noisy current, but Bolax stopped them, and said: "Look here, fellows, I'll show you how to cross a brook."
"You show me," retorted Ned, "I guess I can beat you at that business any time."
"I guess you can't," rejoined Bo, "just wait a minute and see how I do it."
He then stepped upon an old log on the bank of the brook, and grasping the drooping branches of a large tree, which grew on the opposite side, prepared to swing himself across. He pulled the branch as far toward himself as possible, and then leaped forward, shouting in boastful tones: "This is the way to cross a——"
Alas! For Bo and his boasting. The branch broke and his weight tore it from the tree, so, instead of swinging across, he fell with a tremendous splash into the water.
Walter and Ned burst into a fit of laughter, so uncontrollable, that they almost fell from the stones on which they stood. As soon as they could speak, Ned cried: "I say Bo, you had better take out a patent for your new way of crossing brooks."
But Bo was not prepared to enjoy his friend's joke. He was seated in the brook, with the water almost up to his chin. Seeing him so still, Walter went to the edge of the water, as near to him as possible and said:
"Bo you are rather in a wet place; why don't you come out of it?"
Bo then scrambled out, the water dripping from his clothes. Walter, with all his fun, was not without some thoughtfulness, and fearing lest Bolax's wetting might injure his health, urged him to hurry home to change his clothes.
"No, I'll sit in the sun and dry myself," replied Bo in a surly tone.
Ned tried to persuade him to run home, but he got angry with both boys.
"Bolax, you're a snapping turtle today, and I'll leave you to recover your good temper."
"I don't care; you may both go to the moon, if you like."
"Oh, very well, Mr. President, of the Patent Brook Crossing Company," said Walter with a provoking laugh.
"You shut up, or I'll throw you in the brook."
Bo did not usually show such temper, but his ducking had given him a chill, and made him nervous. Ned, the peace-maker, then remarked that it was silly for friends to quarrel.
"Let us make up and get you home, Bo, or Hetty will never give us another lunch for a picnic."
When Master Bo got home, he tried to sneak up to his room, but his mother caught him on the stairs, such a sight as he was! mud, slime, weeds clinging to his soaking clothes.
Hetty raised her hands, horrified at the condition of her favorite.
"Whar yous done ben? you is getten' dreadful. Dat's de second big scrape yous been in since you' sister been away."
"Why, Hetty!" exclaimed Mrs. Allen. "What else has Bo been doing? I hope you are not keeping things from your mother, my son. I fear something is very wrong with you. Did you get to confession last week?"
"Mamma, I was going, but Father Clement was so cross to a fellow, who did a couple of mortal sins, and the fellow said he got pitched out of the box, so I got afraid."
Ma—Did the boy tell you what the sins were?
Bo—I asked him, but he looked at me with such a face, and called me a "greeny."
Ma—Oh, you should not have asked him.
Bo—Well, I just wanted to know if his sins were like mine. I couldn't dare to go to confession, if he got put out for only two mortal sins, I would catch it, for I have committed such a pile of them.
Ma—Merciful goodness, child! When did you commit the sins? I was sure you told me all your thoughts and actions of each day.
Bo—I do pretty much, Ma, dear, but you see I have not been having many talks with you at night for a long time. You let me say my prayers alone.
Ma—My darling, I have been attending to poor, sick Papa, but I am sorry if my negligence has caused you to be careless about your conscience. Do tell me what sins you have committed.
Bo—Well, you know that night I came home late? I did not actually tell a lie, but I twisted the truth. Ma, dear, if I tell you all about that day, promise you won't get angry—Father Clement says anger is a mortal sin.
Ma—Never mind that, I take care of my own conscience, just tell me about that day.
Bo—Well, then, I went up to St. Thomas' as you know, after luncheon, while waiting for the train to come home, a freight car passed and slowed up. I heard a fellow say, "Hello," I said "Hello," too, and when I looked up at him, I saw he was a friend of mine.
Ma—A friend of yours!
Bo—Yes, Ma, dear, I often see that fellow when I am waiting at the station; his name is Warner. He let me on his train several times.
Ma—Oh, my son! how could you be so disobedient! Getting on trains when you know I have strictly forbidden it.
Bo—I know it was an awful mortal sin, and I came near being made to repent of it all my life. One of the college boys had made me mad, that was the reason I started for home. When I got to the station, Warner was standing on his train, he said: "Hello! are you the little kid that helped me stoke the fire last fall?" I said I wasn't a kid now; I was ten years old. "That's so," said he, "come to look at you, you're round as a barrel, but you ain't growed taller." Then I told him to shut up, and he said: "Oh, don't get mad, just step inside the caboose, I'll give you a ride to Dorton, and you can walk back home." I got into the caboose, and Warner laughed and talked, and I never felt the time going until we came to a standstill and I found myself at Lockfaren.
Ma—Great goodness, Bolax, it is a wonder you were not killed! Oh, how could you be so wicked, and who helped you home?
Bo—I never thought of the wickedness until I saw where I was. Warner laughed at me, and said I was big and fat enough to walk home. Then I said to myself, "ha! ha! old fellow, now you're in a fix. I can never walk twenty miles." Lockfaren is only a flag station, there was no light—not a house to be seen, only the thick woods all around. My heart stood still with fear. When I found myself stranded in that lonely place, I knelt down and made an act of contrition for all my sins, then I begged our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph to help me. I expected some wild beast would come out of the woods and kill me, for wild cats have been seen in that neighborhood. Suddenly it came to my mind to pray to the Angel Guardian, for the Engineer on the next passenger train that would pass, to make a stop. Oh, how I prayed! even more fervently than when I am sick, and you know how wonderfully I can pray then. Well, after a long wait in the pitch dark, for it was cloudy, and not even a star to be seen, I heard the welcome sound of a whistle, a bell rang, and I knew a train was coming. Sure enough it did come and stopped. The conductor and three men got out, each with a lantern, began examining the wheels; I jumped on the car, and when the conductor came in, I walked up to him and told the whole story. He listened and said: "Well, little man, it seems we stopped in direct answer to your prayer. Just as we reached Lockfaren, the Engineer warned me that the Wheels were grating as if there was a 'Hot box.' When we examined them, nothing was wrong." I thanked the Conductor and told him my name and where he could see my father to get the fare, but the kind man said he was only too glad to have rescued me. "I have a little boy of my own, so my heart warms to all boys, and I firmly believe kind Providence watches over them; in your case the stopping of the train seems almost a miracle in answer to your earnest prayer."
Ma—Why did you not tell me all this before?
Bo—Oh, dear Ma! I did not want to worry you. Papa was sick and Amy and Aunt Lucy away from home. It's no use scolding me now, it happened two months ago.
Ma—I know it happened two months ago, but dear, you should never hide anything from your mother. That good conductor should have been seen by your father, and thanked for his kindness, if not substantially rewarded.
Bo—Well, here is his card; I wish you or Papa would write to him and pay my fare. Kiss me, darling mother, and forgive me, and pray that I may never commit a mortal sin again.
[CHAPTER X.]
Christmas and "Little Christmas" or King's Day.
Christmas Eve had come and the children were at last asleep, dreaming of the pleasures in store for them on the morrow. Mrs. Allen and her sister sat by the fire completing a handsome smoking robe for Mr. Allen.
The clock struck twelve, in soft, silvery chimes as the robe was folded and tied on the tree.
Miss Lucy drew aside the curtain to look out upon the night. The snow had ceased falling, and now lay in feathery drifts on the silent village like a pure white veil, tracing graceful patterns among the dark trees on the hill-side, While the stars above had the brilliancy of extreme cold.
"Hark! What was that?" said Mrs. Allen. "Surely not our bell at midnight? Let us call Dick; I'm afraid to open the door."
Mr. Dick and Hetty came running down and turned on the electric light. To the astonishment of all, on the porch stood a young woman with an infant in her arms. Mrs. Allen brought her in, asking no questions, for the poor creature was speechless with cold. Lucy took the baby, it opened its eyes and smiled, seeming very comfortable. Hetty gave the woman a hot drink, and Mrs. Allen took off her wet shoes and clothing, and gave her a warm foot-bath, then she was wrapped in a blanket and made to lie down on the sofa before the fire. The poor soul was so exhausted she fell into a profound sleep.
The good people then began to realize what they were doing, to ask themselves how the woman could have selected their house for a shelter. "Oh, let us thank our Lord," said Mrs. Allen. "He has given us the privilege of harboring the harborless." "Mrs. Allen," remarked Hetty, "dis is just like dat verse you done teached Miss Amy: 'To shelter de Holy wanderers on dat blessed Christmas night.' Don't you know, at fust, I thought it was the Holy Virgin and little Jesus. Well, I say it's for luck dat baby's come to dis house."
"Lucy," said Mrs. Allen, "you had better go to bed; that you may be able to get up in the morning to take the children to Mass. It is absolutely necessary one of us should remain home to care for our unexpected guests."
At five o'clock in the morning, Pat came into the kitchen to say the sleigh was ready if the folks were going to early Mass. "Turn your back and shut you' eyes," called out Hetty. Pat, supposing she had a Christmas gift for him, did as he was bid.
"Is you' eyes tight shut, Pat?" "Faith and they couldn't be tighter, but hurry up, the folks'll be wantin' the sleigh in a minute." Hetty took the sleeping babe and laid it in the old man's arms, then told him to look. Pat stared in utter surprise, his eyes and mouth wide open. Hetty stood laughing at his discomfiture, when he could speak, he exclaimed: "Holy saints! where did this come from?"
"De Christ-child sent it twelve o'clock last night." "May the Lord bless us," said Pat, "but it's a quare thing entirely yees are telling me. Here, take the darlint; I must be gettin' off or we'll be late for Mass."
Mrs. Allen called the children before five o'clock, bidding them hurry downstairs, as she had a surprise for them. Hetty carried the babe into the library and laid it on the table under the electric light, its eyes were open, but it lay perfectly still.
As the children caught sight of the little figure they were transfixed with astonishment. Amy made the sign of the cross; for the moment she thought only of the Infant Jesus, then examining closer, she saw it was a real live baby. "Of course," said she, "I might have known the Infant Jesus would not come to us, we are not holy enough." Bolax kissed the little thing, saying "Isn't it a dear! Mamma, are you going to keep it?"
"Come, now," called Aunt Lucy, "we must not be late for Mass; when we get home we will hear all about the wonderful baby." On the way to church, Aunty explained how it came that the poor mother was in the house, and no doubt would be able to tell why she sought shelter under their roof.
"Well," exclaimed Pat, "may God bless yees all for the most warm-hearted family I ever met. None of yees will ever be in want of a roof to cover you, for surely the dear Infant Jesus will not forget your many great acts of Charity."
At seven o'clock Hetty took some breakfast up to the woman, and brought her baby to be nursed. She seemed greatly refreshed and said she was able to get up. "Don't you stir, honey," said Hetty, "unless you is real able, if you is, Mrs. Allen wants to see you in de library." Having dressed herself and attended to her baby's wants, Hetty took her downstairs.
Mrs. Allen asked the woman's name and questioned as to the reason for selecting this house in which to take refuge.
"Indeed, ma'am, I'll tell you how it was, but first let me thank you; sure it's no wonder the station-man spoke so highly of your charity." "Say nothing about that; I only wish I had it in my power to do more." "Well," continued the woman, "my name is Mary Ryan. My husband was killed a month ago; he fell off a scaffolding while painting a house. I stayed with his people after his death, but they soon let me see I wasn't welcome, so I went to an intelligence office to look for a place. The man made me pay him a dollar, then he gave me the address of a Mrs. Clarkson out here near the station. He said they especially wanted a woman with a child because such are willing to stay in the country.
"I paid my fare out and got here at three o'clock, it was daylight then, and I hunted high and low for Mrs. Clarkson, but no one had ever heard of such a person. I didn't know where to go, so I remained in the station as it was snowing hard. The watchman was so kind. He gave me a sandwich and asked me if I had nowhere to stop for the night. I told him just how it was with me. He said: 'A friend of mine just happens to be outside with his sleigh and I'll tell him to take you where you'll be well treated.'
"I didn't know but what it was a lodging house he was taking me to; when he came to your gate he just put me on the boardwalk and told me to go up to the door."
"Well, Mary, you are welcome, poor child; we will do what we can for you. Have you a valise?" "Yes, ma'am; the man at the station has care of it." "I will send our man for it as soon as the sleigh comes back." "Oh, God bless you ma'am!" "Don't say any more, dear; your name is Mary; you and your child were in need of shelter, like the divine Mother Mary. I consider it a privilege to be allowed to share the comforts our Lord has given me with any one in need."
"Go to Hetty now, she will take care of you. I know of just a place that will suit you, and in a few days when the roads are somewhat better, I will take you there."
In the excitement about the baby, the children forgot to look at their presents early in the day, but after Mass all were eager to see what old Santa had brought them. Amy received several gifts she had been longing for. Bolax got what he prized more than anything, viz:—a whole set of Father Finn's books.
The Christmas dinner was indeed a mirthful one. All the love gifts, as Mrs. Allen called those that were made expressly for each member of the family, had been placed on the tree behind the ornaments. Mr. Allen entered into the spirit of the evening, saying he would act the wizard's part, and by means of long wand detached the various treasures from the tree and gave them to their owners, whose names they bore.
Great was the delight of the children, when after a hard tussle to detach a large bundle, down it came on Mr. Allen's head. It proved to be a beautiful smoking robe, which had been made and embroidered by Mrs. Allen, Lucy and little Amy.
The good man was so charmed that he declared he would not use his wand again until he had full five minutes to admire it. Amy received a lovely pair of bed-room slippers, the work of Aunt Lucy; Mrs. Allen, a sofa cushion made by her sister in New York; Aunt Lucy, a blue silk waist, embroidered in white roses. Uncle Dick, a smoking cap, made by Mrs. Allen; Bolax, a pair of silk and woolen mitts, knit by Aunt Lucy. Bo gave Hetty a work box, which he made with his tools, and Amy, a needlebook, on which she had embroidered, "Hetty, dear." Pat too, received a little "love gift," but both faithful domestics had had a substantial present from the "Master."
Mr. Allen put on his robe and cap to please the children, strutting up and down the library floor, saying he was sure he resembled a Chinese Mandarin in his gorgeous robe. Now let us end the day with some of your spirited Yule-tide airs: "Strike the Harp" and "With Glory Lit the Midnight Air." Every one sang with hearty good will to the accompaniment of piano and violin.
That night when the family sought their pillows, all felt that they had passed a very happy and holy Christmas.