“That pie might disagree with him; who knows? and as he is so strange to the house he might lie and suffer without disturbing anybody by calling for help.”
She need not have worried. It would have taken more than one pie to have injured the digestion of such a boy as Towsley. He lay in beatific slumber, his sunny hair gleaming in the rays from his visitor’s candle, his long lashes sweeping his dirty cheeks, and his lips parted in a happy smile.
Miss Lucy’s heart bounded with delight. “What a beauty he is, or will be when he’s clean! How I shall love him! I will give him our Lionel’s own name and bring him up to take Lionel’s own place. Surely, that was a happy accident which sent him tumbling against me on his one borrowed skate. Though nothing which the Lord permits is ever an accident,” she corrected herself.
Now the lady had a habit of talking to herself, and Towsley was a light sleeper. He presently opened his eyes and regarded her curiously. She seemed to him, at first, some fellow newsboy, strangely transformed. Then his ideas righted themselves, and he inquired, respectfully:
“Were you calling me, Miss Armacost?”
“No, you darling. I was just looking at you.”
Abashed, Towsley dug his head into the pillow and drew the covers over his face.
“I’ve brought you a nice suit of clothes to put on in the morning. They will be rather too good for every-day wear, but on account of the storm we can’t do better for to-morrow. There will be another bath made ready for you, when you are called, and to please me I hope you’ll take it. Then dress yourself in these things and come quietly down-stairs. We always have prayers before breakfast, and I expect you to be present. One thing more. What is your last name?”
“I don’t know, ma’am—I mean, Miss Lucy. The kids call me Towhead. Towsley Towhead is all I know, though Mother Molloy, she thinks it may be Smith or Jones or something. Why, ma’am? I haven’t done any harm, have I?”
“No, child. No, none at all. I merely wish to have everything understood from the beginning. I am going to adopt you. You are to be my little boy hereafter. You are no longer Towsley Towhead. You are Lionel Armacost. You are to have no further connection with Mother Molloy or any other objectionable person. Your home is now at Number One-thousand-and-one, Washington Avenue, West. Good night. I would like to kiss you, but your face is too dirty. To-morrow, at breakfast, when you are in proper condition, I will do so. Good-night.”