“I think we had better take this ’ere German sausage to the police station, just as it is,” he said. “I don’t fancy opening it myself.”
So together Danny and Mr. Bates trundled the cart the two miles into the little country town, and made over its contents to the inspector who also laughed.
And Danny went home that night feeling that he had done a good day’s work.
. . . . . . . .
The cheque he received for his good work more than paid for the new window in the Cubs’ chapel; and by Danny’s special request an Angel was put into the picture by the artist, because Danny was quite sure it was his Guardian Angel who had whispered to him the suggestion how he could escape, when he had given up hope.
Christmas Eve
It was to be a particularly jolly Christmas in Danny’s home this year, for his soldier uncle was going to be there, and two or three little cousins. His mother had made some big plum puddings; the house was decorated with holly and mistletoe; and, to put the final touch of perfection, it was snowing, and the boys would be able to make a snow man on Christmas afternoon. Danny was very happy—all seemed perfect. But on the morning of Christmas Eve a letter came by post that altered things. The letter was from Danny’s Uncle Bill. It was a sad letter. It told how Bill and his wife, who had looked forward to a happy Christmas, would have a dull and sad one. Their son, expected home from Germany, could not get leave. They had both been so ill with influenza that Bill had not been able to work, and was therefore terribly hard up; and his wife had been unable to go out and buy anything to make Christmas jolly.
Bill was a woodcutter, and lived in a little tiny old cottage on the edge of a wood, about five miles from Danny’s home. As Danny listened to his mother reading the letter aloud a thought came into his mind. At first he tried to send it away, and not to see it, but a voice within him said, “You’re a Cub, and when good ideas come to you, you ought not to tell them to go away. It is giving in to yourself. If you are selfish, you will not enjoy your Christmas.” So Danny let the thought come back, and presently he told it to his mother.
“Mother,” he said, “will you pack up some nice things in a basket? Then I will start off after breakfast, and walk over to poor Uncle Bill’s. And I’ll decorate up all their house with holly, and go and do shopping for Aunt Bridget, and then I’ll spend Christmas with them, and try and cheer them up and make them forget they’re disappointed ’cos Ted hasn’t come home.”
Danny’s mother was surprised. “You’re a good boy to think of it,” she said. “But have you forgotten the Cubs’ party on Christmas evening?”