It was a bank bill for five dollars; and, although Arthur did not know it at the time, it was the same one that his friend, Brace Barlow, had slipped between the leaves of the book on the night that he bade them farewell. Why Arthur had not discovered it long before, will always be a mystery that can only be accounted for by the fact that the book was a large one, and contained many stories, several of which he had not yet read. Between the leaves of one of these the bill had probably been all this time, and now, in the hour of the boy’s sorest need, it came to him as though it were indeed a gift from the fairy godmother who had written the inscription upon the fly-leaf of the volume.
Arthur’s excitement was fully shared by Uncle Phin, though with the old man it assumed a quieter and more reverent form. He said: “De good Lawd seen de fix we was in, Honey, an He sen dis yeah in place ob er raben, fer our suppah. Dats what we’se er wantin de mostes, an dats what we oughter to be gettin de fustes ting.”
CHAPTER XX.
A RAILROAD EXPERIENCE.
To Uncle Phin’s proposition the boy fully agreed. Even Rusty seemed to comprehend that his young master’s fortunes had taken a turn for the better; and, as they started up the street, in search of a place where they might obtain food, he danced about them barking joyously.
Before long they discovered a very small and humble bake shop, kept by a colored aunty, who looked almost as old as Uncle Phin; but who was as stout as he was thin, and whose head was covered by a Madras kerchief of vivid reds and yellows. She was not expecting any customers this stormy evening, and at first regarded the new-comers with suspicion, evidently fearing that they were about to appeal to her for charity. This, by the way, as they afterwards learned, was her name, “Aunt Charity.” She was, however, reassured by the sight of the five-dollar bill in Uncle Phin’s hand, by the old man’s extreme politeness, and by Arthur’s honest blue eyes. In spite of his clothes being rain-soaked and mud-stained, he was so evidently a little gentleman, that she involuntarily dropped him a curtsey when, in winning tones, he said: “Please, ma’am, get us something to eat. We are nearly starved; but we have the money to pay for it, and I think we would like to have a good deal of most everything you have.”
“To be suttinly, sah! To be suttinly, my pore lamb. You shall hab de bes Aunt Charity kin skeer up, dreckly,” answered the old woman, dropping her curtsey, and gazing compassionately at the little fellow. “Ef you’d like to dry yo’sefs, while I’se er gittin sumpin ready, yo’se welkum to step inter de kitchun, an set by de fire, Misto——” Here she paused and looked at Uncle Phin, as though waiting for him to complete her sentence by introducing himself.
“Phin Dale ob Dalecourt, Ferginny,” said the old man, promptly, adding, “and dis my lil Marse Arthur Dale Dustin. We is a trabblin to his granpaw’s, an is to take de kyars fo Dalecourt, soon as we is eatin our suppah.”
As Aunt Charity had also spent the earlier days of her life in Virginia, a bond of sympathy was at once established between them, and she bustled about, with surprising agility for one of her size, to make the travellers comfortable. She had intended supplying their wants from the counter and well-filled shelves of her little shop; but, after they were comfortably seated in the friendly warmth of the kitchen stove, she decided to make a pot of tea, and then to fry a rasher of bacon with some eggs. Nor did she neglect their immediate wants, while preparing these things. Hunger was so plainly stamped on their faces, that it would have been cruel to keep them waiting a single minute before beginning to satisfy it. So she gave them each a big, shiny-topped bun, with currants in it, and when she saw Arthur breaking off a piece of his for Rusty, she immediately got another for the hungry dog.
What a pleasant contrast this cheerful, low-ceiled kitchen, with its glowing stove, presented to the cold, and wet, and darkness of the streets through which they were wandering so hopelessly but a few minutes before. How thoroughly Arthur and Uncle Phin appreciated its comforts, and what glances, expressive of gratitude and complete satisfaction, they exchanged as they sat on opposite sides of the stove, well back so as not to interfere with the ponderous but bustling movements of the mistress of the establishment.
In the darkest corner of the room was a high, calico-curtained bedstead, from beneath which projected one end of a low trundle-bed. In this could just be distinguished two little woolly heads, from which two pairs of wide-open black eyes gazed wonderingly at the strangers, and the busy scene about the stove.