And, making his best bow to his first audience, Carl went over to the doll’s house, and was received by the whole family, including grandpa and grandma, with great delight and laughter, and was rewarded at the end of his entertainment with much applause, three oranges, and a new ten cent stamp.
That afternoon Cinders earned one dollar and three cents for his little master; and I can’t describe to you the joy that reigned in that small bare room when Carl, in honor of his debut as “Monseer Carlosky” brought in, and spread out on a newspaper on the floor, a wonderful feast! Real loaf of bread, bought at the baker’s, bottle of sarsaparilla at the grocer’s, and peanuts, apples, and a hunk of some extraordinary candy from the old woman who kept a stand at the corner, and who had started Carl as a newsboy. She also received her twenty-five cents again, with five cents added by way of interest.
“Why! didn’t they look when they see me a-orderin’ things, and payin’ for ’em on the spot!” said “Monseer,” with honest pride, as he carved the loaf with an old jackknife.
As for Cinders, no meatless bone, but half a pound of delicious liver, did that remarkable dog receive, and more kisses on his cold, black nose than he knew what to do with.
After that, as the weather grew finer and finer, and the days longer, Carl and his dog wandered farther and farther, and earned more and more money every day, until the little sisters rejoiced in new shoes, hats and dresses, and the housekeeper had a splendid basket—not very large, of course—with a handle that any basket could be proud of, and actually did go to market, fair and square, and no make believe about it.
And Carl presented himself with a brand-new suit of clothes, from the second-hand shop next door, including shoes that were made for each other, and a hat with a brim.
By-and-by the cheerless room was exchanged for a pleasanter one; and the story of the fair-haired Head of the Family, and the fortune he found in the ashes, took wings, and returned to him laden with blessings.
And five years from that bleak March morning, when Cinder looked up so pleadingly in the boy’s, face, Carl found himself a clerk in the counting-room of a generous, kind-hearted merchant.
“A boy who worked so hard and so patiently to take care of his little sisters,” this gentleman said to his wife, “and who was ready to share his scanty meals with a vagrant dog, must be a good boy, and good boys make good men.”
And Tony and Lena, both grown to be bright, healthy, merry girls, befriended by many good women, were going to school, taking care of the house, earning a little in odd moments by helping the seamstress who lived on the floor below, and still looking up with love and respect to the Head of the Family.