Uncle Phin was again able to travel, and intensely anxious to continue their journey, so as to reach his old home “befo de dawn ob de New Yeah.” Arthur’s travels had taught him that railroad tickets cost money; but with all his efforts and self-denials, he had been unable to save anything from his scanty earnings. So, for Uncle Phin’s sake, he finally decided to sacrifice his dear Rusty, if by so doing he could obtain the means of getting to Richmond.
The gentleman gladly, and without asking any questions, accepted this strange offer, and sent a servant to procure the required tickets. Then the poor little fellow, after giving Rusty a long parting hug, ran home, with a heavy heart, and a suspicious moisture glistening in his eyes.
The next day they travelled in the cars to Richmond, and the mere knowledge that he was once more in old Virginia, seemed to infuse new life into Uncle Phin. Without a moment’s delay, they started to walk the ten miles of rough, frozen road that lay between the city and Dalecourt.
The old man’s strength lasted wonderfully, but it gave out when they were still two miles from their destination; and, tottering to the doorway of a dilapidated and deserted cabin, that stood on the roadside, he declared that he could go no farther, and begged his boy companion to go on without him.
To this Arthur would not listen for a moment; but, helping the old man into the cabin, he declared they could rest there very comfortably until morning. Then he gathered a quantity of sticks, broken branches, and small logs, which he piled in the big fireplace that filled one end of the cabin’s single room. He had just one match, but it did its duty, and soon a cheerful blaze was roaring up the old earthen chimney.
Grateful for its warmth, and for even this poor shelter, they prepared to pass, as best they might in this lonely place, the last night of the old year. There were no doors or windows to the cabin, so that everything they did might be plainly seen by any chance passers along that wintry road.
Arthur still had his book of fairy tales; and, as darkness set in, the old man begged him to read “jes one lilly story” from it, to help them forget their wretchedness. So, sitting in the brightest glow of the firelight, the boy bent his brave, careworn young face over the pages, and read the touching story of “The Little Match-Girl.”
Her situation and theirs were so much alike, that the story seemed very real to him; and as he started at the sound of a rustle behind him just as he closed the book, he looked up, almost expecting to see some beautiful vision. Nor was he disappointed. A dainty, richly-clad figure stood in the doorway. As the boy lifted his eyes he uttered a cry of mingled fear, amazement, and joy. The face into which he was looking was that of the beautiful lady who had given him this precious book, and who had written in it “To Prince Dusty, from his Fairy Godmother.”
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER FINDS PRINCE DUSTY. (Page [198].)