It was a very cheerful click the crutches gave now. The mere telling of her perplexities had half-banished them, and Mary Jane had implicit faith in the wisdom of this simple, true-hearted gentleman, who was, as Mrs. McClure had reflected, “the friend of all poor children everywhere.”
The Gray Gentleman’s big, empty, plainly furnished house, seemed very lonely to the little girl, whose own small home was so crowded; and she wondered at the slowness of the one colored “boy”—as gray as his master—who answered that master’s ring.
“Boy, go up-stairs, please, to my bedroom. Open the top drawer of the chiffonier and bring me all the socks you find there. You’d better use a basket—they are many in number.”
The “Boy” half fancied that his master had lost his common sense, then leaped to the conclusion that this was probably one of their many pensioners upon whom the articles demanded were to be bestowed. He obeyed without comment, however, save by a respectful bow; and soon returned. Meanwhile Mary Jane had been shown the few pictures upon the walls and told their stories, and the place had begun to seem more cheerful to her.
The “Boy” was dismissed; the basket heaped with fine hosiery placed on the table beside the visitor, and herself bidden to look the contents over.
“What do you think of them, Mary Jane?”
“I never knew one person have so many stockings; and, my sake, there isn’t a single pair but has a hole in it—not one single sock, even. I know. I guess you want me to mend them for you, don’t you? I often help mother with the darning. She thinks I can do it quite well.”
“I’m sure you can, and that is just what I do want. I cannot put on a ragged garment, poor old fellow though I am. They always come from the laundry, broken somewhere, and I am always buying new. That’s how I have so many. If you want to save my money for me you can do it.”
“I’d love to! I’ll take them home and fix them nights, after Bonny-Gay is through with me.”
“Let’s be business like, Miss Bump. What would be your charges, per pair?”