Uncle Jo's Old Coat

by Eleanora H. Stooke

"Very often they don't pay him," Claude answered; "but I don't think father would ever refuse to visit a sick person, even if he was certain he would never get paid."

"I am sure he would not," Freddy responded decidedly; "for no one could be kinder-hearted than Uncle Jo."

Edwin delivered Mr. Henley's message to his father on the first opportunity. Dr. Dennis seemed pleased to hear it; but merely said he would find time to see the old gentleman during the evening, and did not gratify his son's curiosity as to the purport of his visit.

It so happened that the next day, which was a Saturday, Freddy was left to spend the afternoon in the house alone, except for the servants, as Mrs. Dennis went to a friend's to tea, taking Poppy with her, and Edwin and Claude started off together to watch a football match. Freddy had intended going to see the football match with his cousins, but his uncle had noticed he had a slight cold, and had told him he had better not go; so he settled himself comfortably in an easy-chair by the dining-room window, as soon as he was left to himself, and commenced to read a book which Edwin had recommended to him. But he was no reader, and his eyes continually strayed from the printed page to the pedestrians passing to and fro on the pavement, whilst his thoughts reverted to what Edwin had told him on the preceding afternoon concerning the poverty of many of the doctor's patients.

The little boy had never known or seen anything of poverty at home; but here, in his uncle's house, it was always cropping up and confronting him. The people who came to consult Dr. Dennis of a morning, before he started on his round of visits, were mostly of the poorer classes, Freddy knew, for he had peeped at them sometimes when he had found the door of the waiting-room ajar, and he had been greatly struck by their pale, pinched faces; whilst he had on several occasions heard his uncle speaking to his aunt of various distressing cases in which he was interested. He considered it was very good of Uncle Jo to trouble about other people.

By-and-by Freddy's attention was attracted by a tall, gaunt old man, clad in a shabby suit of clothes, which once had been black but now was green with age, who was trying to sell bootlaces, which he was offering to every one he met. Nobody bought, however; and seeing Freddy at the window, the old man paused and held up a bunch of laces. The little boy shook his head at him, but he did not go away. Freddy had a sixpence and some coppers in his pocket, and fired with a sudden impulse of generosity he rose, and hurrying from the room crossed the hall to the front door, which he opened and beckoned to the old man, who approached with alacrity.

"I don't want any bootlaces, thank you," Freddy said; "but—you look very poor. Are you?"

"It would be hard to find a wretched creature poorer, young gentleman," was the reply in the whining voice of the professional beggar, which Freddy, however, was too inexperienced to recognise.

"I'm very sorry for you, indeed I am," the boy said earnestly, his heart stirred with pity as he regarded the apparently decrepit figure before him; "it's hard lines on you—very. Here's twopence."

"Thank you kindly, sir." The old man grasped the proffered coins greedily, and proceeded: "I suppose you couldn't find an old garment of your father's that you could give me, for it's terribly cold, and I've only these few poor rags to my back?"