By Emma C. Dowd

DOODLES. Illustrated in color.

THE OWL AND THE BOBOLINK. Illustrated.

POLLY OF LADY GAY COTTAGE. Illustrated in color.

POLLY OF THE HOSPITAL STAFF. Illustrated in color.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

Boston and New York

DOODLES

(Page 49)
HE WAS NEVER LONELY WHEN HE COULD SING

DOODLES

The Sunshine Boy

BY

EMMA C. DOWD

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BY MARIA L. KIRK

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

The Riverside Press Cambridge

1915

COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY EMMA C. DOWD

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published April 1915

TO

MY PHYSICIAN AND FRIEND

EDWARD THOMAS BRADSTREET, M.D.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

DOODLES

CHAPTER I
THE BARGAIN

Fragments of the auctioneer’s entreaties floated through the open doorway of the bird shop and, above the rattle and roar of the street, clacked in Blue’s ears.

“Ladies and gentlemens ... beautiful lark ... emperor of singers ... not swell to look at, but.... Only twenty cents!—Twenty-two am I offered? ... shame, ladies and gentlemens!” And so on, in tones of pleading and mild complaint.

Blue, meanwhile, studied the placarded window, where all manner of feathered stock, “slightly damaged, but every bird a bargain,” was announced to be sold to the highest bidder.

“Lovely starling ... ladies and gentlemens,... how much?” the persuasive voice skipped on, but was rudely interrupted by another.

“Huntin’ fer bargains?” A boy of Blue’s own size nudged him in the back. “Why don’t yer go in ’n’ git one fer Doodles? ’T ’u’d keep him f’m bein’ down ’n’ dumpy. My aunt—”

“‘Down ’n’ dumpy’—Doodles!” Blue’s rallying laugh drowned the “ladies and gentlemens” drifting through the doorway. “Huh,” he chuckled, “guess yer don’t know Doodles!”

“Ain’t he, now? S’posed all sick folks was. My aunt she—”

“Doodles dumpy!” The boy’s shoulders shook again. “Why, if there was nothin’ left in the whole world but just barbers’ poles, Doodles ’u’d sure make friends with the stripes. And he’d have the best time ever—bet you he would!” Blue’s hard little face grew suddenly tender, as he thought of the brother whose life was all pain and all joy.

The auction was over. The crowd poured out into the noisy street. Here and there a bird-cage told that a lame canary, a blind bobolink, or some other “damaged” fluff of feathers had changed owners.

One of the purchasers, a small, hatless girl, clad in scowls and a lace-collared coat, halted when she saw Blue, and began recklessly to swing her cage.

“Here, you Mame Sweeney!” the boy cried, seizing the child’s arm; “don’t yer see you’re scarin’ that bird ’most to death?”

“Le’ go!” she snapped. “’T ain’t yours!” She wrenched herself free, and defiantly thrashed the cage about her knees.

“Stop it!” The girl found her hand gripped in a vise of muscles.

“Le’ me be!” she screamed. “Don’t care if I do scare him! Horrid old thing!”

A little group of newsboys circled about them, eager for a closer view of the cause of the wrangle.

The ragged gray bird, panting on the floor of his prison, did not invite favor. There was a subdued chorus of grunts and ejaculations. Then disapproval burst into bantering speech.

“Ain’t he a dood!”—“Mame, wha’ ’d yer pay fer th’ beaut?”—“Whin ’ll he give a concert?”—“Sure, if he sings like he looks, he’ll bate th’ show!”

The girl frowned on the teasing lads.

“How could I see him in all that jam!” she pouted. “The man said he was swell, and could sing like everything. Anyhow, I got him for seventeen cents!”

“Swell!” Blue let go a whistle. Yet he gazed pityingly at the poor, draggled thing in the cage.

“You could n’t to know nothin’ ’bout him the while he’s got fraids,” apologized Joseph Sitnitsky. “He be a awful stylish kind.” Joseph’s uncle was half-proprietor of the bird shop.

As if encouraged by this friendly comment, the bird tentatively cast an eye upward, and then hopped to his perch. But if he had hoped by this act to win kindlier words, the effort failed. Scorn swept the circle. The Bargain was disgracefully dirty, his left wing hung limp at his side, his bill was nicked, and his tail was reduced to three ragged feathers.

“Aw, he’s worser’n a muddy sparrer! Out him, Marne, an’ done with it!”

“You could to have nice feelings over him, und maybe sometime he sings,” mildly remonstrated the loyal nephew of Abraham Sitnitsky.

But nobody heeded the plaintive voice, and the girl, chagrined at the loss of her money and exasperated by the jeers of the boys, seemed about to follow Pete’s dismal advice, when Blue Stickney interposed.

“I’ll give yer a quarter for him!”

Staying her reckless hand, Mame stared.

“Honest?” she scowled.

The boy was already counting out the sum from his meager handful of small coins, and in a moment the gray bird had again changed owners.

As Blue started up the steep stairs to the top floor of The Flatiron, he wished it had been possible to give his purchase a bath before revealing it to the keen eyes of Doodles; but then the little brother would have had just so much less of happy ministration for his pet. For, of course, the bird would belong to Doodles. There had never been any other thought of it in Blue’s mind.

Down the dim stairway floated a strain of melody, and it told the boy agreeable news,—that his mother had come home and was getting dinner, that things had gone well at the big shop where she worked, and that the little brother was not suffering from the “bad spell” which had threatened in the morning. Mrs. Stickney rarely sang when Doodles was in unusual pain, and if she did it was not in so brisk a voice.

The song grew clearer, the words came distinctly now.

“Je—ru—sa—lem, the gold—en,

With milk and hon—ey blest!

Be—neath thy contempla—tion

Sink heart and voice oppressed:

I know not, oh, I know not,

What holy joys are there,

What ra—dian—cy of glo—ry,

What light beyond compare.

“They stand, those halls of Zi—on,

All ju—bi—lant—”

Blue opened the kitchen door, and as he stepped from the dusky hallway to the sunlit room, a sudden mellow trill struck into the song.

This tuneful greeting quite caught away the boy’s remembrance of the little speech of presentation with which he had thought to amuse his brother, and Doodles, his eyes big with wonder and delight, stretched out both hands towards the unkempt singer.

“O—h! is he ours?” he cried.

Blue nodded.

“To keep forever?”

Another nod.

“Isn’t he a darling!” breathed the little occupant of the pillowed chair, when the battered cage was placed beside him. He threw one arm around the small prison, and leaned lovingly over it.

The bird cocked an eye upward, and ventured another trill.

“He’s just beautiful!” piped Doodles in ecstasy.

After that who could dare to make unflattering remarks about the singer? Certainly not Doodles’s mother, so with a happy light on her face she continued her work of preparing dinner.

In The Flatiron news flew fast. Even before Mrs. Stickney’s potatoes had fried brown, up the stairs puffed Granny O’Donnell on her rheumatic old legs, bringing the deserted home of her long-mourned-for Canary Dick, who had flown away from Cherry Street six years ago.

With a joyful whiff the Bargain took possession of his roomier quarters, and, despite his drooping wing, pranced about on the perches.

“See how happy he is!” laughed Doodles, clapping his little thin hands. “He is saying thank-you!”

Then, perhaps because his new master had suggested the returning of thanks, the slim gray bird, with a little captivating prelude, broke into a torrent of melody such as Canary Dick with his limited powers had never dreamed of.

“Shure, an’ he must ’a’ coome sthraight f’m hiven!” gasped Granny O’Donnell, as the last note dropped into silence.

Blue stood, big-eyed, in the pantry doorway, arrested in his hunt for a suitable bathtub for the singer; the mother quite forgot her scorching potatoes; and Doodles himself, with both arms around the cage, crooned words of endearment in the ears of the little songster.

Granny O’Donnell’s astonishing reports of Blue’s twenty-five-cent purchase spread through the big tenement house, until old and young tripped or hobbled up to the top floor to see the surprising handful of feathers that could “sing loike a blissid a-angil.” A long bath and a still longer toilet in the sun brought the ragged Bargain to something like sleekness, and he began the promise of making good his little master’s first praise. On rainy days, when shut-in neighbors were apt to be neighborly and numerous, the gray bird sometimes sulked on the end of his perch and refused to sing, possibly too strongly reminded of his dismal surroundings in the bird shop. But as soon as the sunshine returned he would promptly forget the past and graciously display his wonderful gift to all that came.

CHAPTER II
CARUSO

A weighty problem was puzzling the Stickney family. What should be the gray bird’s name? Doodles was growing nervous under the reiterated question, “What yer goin’ to call him?” Every visitor had a name to offer, but the matter was not of easy disposal.

“I know Mis’ Homan thinks I ought to call him Cherry,” observed the little owner plaintively; “but how can I! He isn’t one. And there’s Granny! Do you s’pose she’ll feel awful bad if I don’t name him Dicky? If ’twasn’t for Dicky Fyt—but ’tis! And his mother callin’ and callin’ him all day long! How’d anybody know which she meant?”

“Huh,” snorted Blue, “guess we shan’t name him after that kid—not much!”

“And now Mis’ George,” Doodles resumed, “I’m afraid she’s mad. She was in here with the baby, this afternoon, and she tried to make me promise to call him Evangeline, after her. I kep’ tellin’ her he wasn’t a girl; but she didn’t seem to think that made any difference. I s’pose it’s a pretty name; but you wouldn’t want it, would you, for him?” The tone was anxious.

“Gracious, no!” was the emphatic answer. “Name him after that George squaller!” Blue chuckled with the thought.

Doodles laughed a little in sympathy, and surveyed his brother with admiration. Blue was always so satisfying.

At breakfast, next morning, the important question was again taken up.

“Dear me!” complained the mother, “I hope that bird will get a name pretty soon; we can’t seem to talk of anything else.”

Blue laughed confidently. “He’ll have one before night, sure! I’m goin’ to think of somethin’ fine to-day.”

“Goin’—somethin’!” repeated Mrs. Stickney with a patient sigh. “What would your grandfather say to hear that! With him keeping the district school for two years before he was married, I tell you, we children had to stand round! No cutting words short where he was!”

“Glad I wasn’t there!” grinned Blue.

“You’d have been a good deal better off than you are now,” his mother asserted. “If I didn’t have to work in the shop, I believe I’d keep you home from school, and teach you myself, till you could talk decently.”

“You ought to hear the other boys,” laughed Blue.

“That’s what’s the trouble. Doodles is catching it from you, and doesn’t speak nearly as well as he used to. I wish you had better companions.” She drew a long, regretful breath. “Well, do try, both of you, to remember your i-n-g’s.”

“Oh! what dif’ does it make?” returned Blue easily.

“Child! dif’!—There’s the whistle!”

Correct speech was quite forgotten, as Mrs. Stickney hurried off to the big silver shop, leaving the boys to finish their breakfast in leisure. They did not at once go back to the question they had been discussing; but while the elder brother was washing the dishes Doodles started it again.

“What made you be so sure Birdie’d have a name by night?” the small boy queried.

“Oh, I do’ know!” Blue smiled, pausing to pour a dipper of hot water over the soapy cups and plates.

“Seems sometimes’s if he never would,” Doodles put in with a wee sigh.

“Oh, I haven’t half tried yet!” resumed the other. “Don’t you worry one mite, old feller! Ther’ ’s lots o’ dandy names, if I could only think of ’em, and I’m goin’—going to do my honor best to-day, sure!”

Doodles laughed softly, to accompany his brother’s louder chuckle, and rested in the promise, for, as he had reason to know, Blue’s “honor best” was apt to be very good, indeed; and when he was left alone he and the gray bird had a long confidential talk. It was satisfactory, too, for although words were only on one side Doodles would have told you that the bird surely understood all that was said to him. Didn’t he cock his little head, and make soft, musical replies! And when he was assured that he would soon have a name of his very own, “just like other folks,” didn’t he actually dash off a brand-new song that left his hearer gasping with delight!

Yet it was not Blue that first arrived with the name.

Some of the top-floor lodgers had to pass the door of the Stickney kitchen on their way up and down stairs. Among them was a recent comer to whom Doodles had taken a strong liking,—a young girl, small, red-cheeked, and curly-haired, who had smiled a prompt answer to his first friendly “Hello!” The next day she had stepped inside, to give him a flower from the little bunch she carried, and then had lingered a moment to hear the gray bird sing. The boy had quickly learned her step, because of a slight lameness, and he came to watch for her as soon as the noon whistles blew, and was disappointed when she went elsewhere for dinner. He felt that he had a kind of fellowship with her on account of her defect, and he longed really to know her. Today he was listening for her halting footfall even before she had had time to reach The Flatiron. He had not learned where she worked; but he conjectured that it must be either at the knitting mill or the box factory. His mother was full ten minutes in walking down from the silver shop, and the girl usually reached home at least five minutes earlier. If she shouldn’t come at all this noon! He wanted to tell her that his pet was really going to have a name, for hadn’t Blue said so! There she was now! Nearer and nearer drew the uneven steps. Doodles waited excitedly for the first glimpse of her dark blue dress.

“Hello!” he called. “Please, will you—” She was coming, even before the invitation was given!

“What is it, little sweetheart?” Dimples were playing about the ruddy lips.

“I wanted to tell you that my bird is going to have a name—to-day!”

“Of course, he is! I’ve brought it!”

“You?”

“Yes, I found it right on the street.”

“Oh!—how?—what?” Doodles bent forward in his eagerness.

“I saw it on the billboards down by the theater; it’s the name of a great singer,—Caruso.”

The child brought his little hands together with a soft breath of delight. “Isn’t that beautiful!—Caruso! I’ve been wishin’ it would sound like music—and it does!”

“I thought you’d like it,” she nodded.

“It is lovely! Won’t Blue be glad! Oh, Birdie dear, you’ve got a name! you’ve got a name!” leaning over the cage, which stood always within his reach. “Caruso—Caruso! Do you like it, dear?”

The gray bird stopped pruning his feathers, glanced archly at his little master, and with a few joyous whistles broke into one of his captivating songs.

“He is a wonderful singer,” praised the girl. “I’ve been wishing I could go to hear Caruso; I’ll have to come and hear this one instead.”

“Yes, do come—any time!” urged Doodles. “But why don’t you go and hear the other, if you want to?”

The girl laughed. “It costs money, sweetheart.” Her blue eyes grew wistful. “Everything nice costs money.” She turned to go.

“I’m ever and ever so much obliged to you for the name,” Doodles hastened to say. “I don’t know yours,” he suggested.

She had come back, and was looking down at him, a half-smile on her pretty lips.

“No, you don’t, do you!” she replied gayly.

“I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE IT”

“It is Dorothy”—a shadow passed over the bright face—“Rose.”

“What a pretty name!” chirped Doodles. “I’m so glad you told me.”

“You can call me Dolly, if you like; some folks do. Grandpa always does—did,” she corrected.

“Oh, I’d love to!” began the child; but the girl was already in the hall, and she did not look back.

At the instant Blue dashed up the stairs with a clatter.

“I’ve got the dandiest name for you!” he burst out.

“Oh!” cried Doodles.

“You never could guess!” grinned his brother.

“Caruso!” piped the small boy with sudden intuition.

“How’n the world—” Blue’s face fell in amazement.

Doodles clapped his hands gleefully. “You thought I couldn’t guess, and he’s got it already!”

Blue laughed in sheer sympathy with his brother’s joy.

“But how?” he queried.

“Dolly brought it—she” (pointing towards the girl’s door)—“Dolly Rose.”

Mrs. Stickney came just in time to hear the story of the new name, and the dinner hour was full of unusual chatter and mirth.

CHAPTER III
THE ROBBERY ON THE TOP FLOOR

After his mother had returned to the factory, and his brother to school, Doodles found himself somewhat weary from the small excitement, and shortly he fell asleep.

The kitchen was very still. Stairway and hall were empty; the occupants of the top floor worked outside, and would not be home until six o’clock. Only dull sounds came from the stories below. Even Caruso drowsed on his perch. Moments, hours, were ticked off by the little brown clock on the shelf; yet Doodles did not awake.

At last somebody crept stealthily up the steep stairs. A girl in a lace-collared coat peered round the comer of the doorway, and as she saw the sleeping boy her beady eyes gleamed with triumph. Noiselessly she crossed the room, and reached out a hand to snatch the bird cage; but her quick movement roused the little prisoner, and he began to flutter wildly. For an instant the girl hesitated, glancing at Doodles, and the lad came to himself with a sharp cry.

Quickly realizing that his pet was in danger, he grasped the cage as she seized it, clinging to it manfully; but with brutal force she wrested his frail fingers from their hold, and put herself and her booty beyond his reach.

“I’ll learn ye!” she snarled. “It’s my bird—’t ain’t yours! There’s yer old money!” She flung a quarter on the table. It rolled away, and off to the floor; but she did not stop to pick it up. ‘Blue Stick’ knew I was only in fun when I let him take it, and he’d oughter brought it right back; everybody says so. Ye kin tell him he needn’t sneak round tryin’ ter git th’ bird again, fer he can’t have it!”

She was disappearing in the doorway before the dazed boy burst into speech.

“Come back! come back!” he shrieked. “It’s mine! Bring it back! oh, bring it back!”

But his only answer was a little flouting laugh and the mad whir of wings against the wires.

“Oh, Birdie! Birdie!” piteously called the child, the familiar name coming to his lips in place of the new one, and as the fleeing footsteps on the stairs were lost he dropped back among his pillows with a great sob. “Dear Birdie!” he moaned, “my precious Birdie!”

In that moment despair seized his soul. If only he could have pursued to save his pet! But, ah! his feet had forgotten how to walk, and all at once realizing his utter helplessness he put his hands to his face and shed the first bitter tears of his joyous life.

Then, with a suddenness that caught away his breath, came the pain,—the ugly pain which for weeks had held itself so far off that he had almost forgotten how cruel it could be, and now he groaned with the torture of it.

So his brother found him, white and sobbing.

“What’s up, kiddie?” Blue knelt beside him, and took the cold little hands in his own. “Tell me, old feller! Is’t the big pain?”

The child nodded. For a moment he could do no more. Anguish held the words back.

“Birdie’s—gone!” he finally sobbed out.

“Gone?” Blue stared around. “Where is he?”

“She took him!—the girl!”

“The girl? That Dolly—”

“No, no!—a little—girl!—She left some money—there!” He pointed feebly in the direction of the coin.

A fierce light flamed in Blue’s puzzled face. “Did she have on a big lace collar?”

“Yes.”

“Marne Sweeney!—confounded little cuss!”

Doodles gazed at him with horrified eyes.

“Don’t care!—she is!—makin’ you feel like this! Tell me about it, kiddie! Or no, I’ll get some medicine first.”

Blue was accustomed to these sudden attacks, and brought a glass of the remedy which was always at hand. Bit by bit he gained the story, and he was swift at a decision.

“I’ll go straight down there, and get the bird!”

“She won’t let you have it!” wailed Doodles. “She said so!”

“Just a bluff, old feller! S’pose I’m goin’ to let Marne Sweeney down me? Not much!”

“If I’d only been—been like you!” mourned the child. “And Caruso won’t know why I didn’t jump up and run after him! I guess his heart is ’most broke, thinkin’ I don’t care.”

“No, ’t ain’t,” declared Blue. “Anyway you can tell him all about it when he comes—”

Doodles was gasping in another agonizing spasm, and the elder boy sprang to his side with words of courage and cheer.

Presently the pain passed, and the brave little sufferer again smiled.

“That one was pretty hard,” he said weakly, as his brother brought a second dose of the soothing medicine.

“Guess this’ll squelch it. Don’t b’lieve it’ll come again.” Blue set down the empty glass, and looked at the clock. In ten minutes the evening papers would be due; he ought to go after the bird at once; but how could he leave Doodles? He thought fast.

“Should you mind my going now, kiddie, if Granny will come up and stay with you? I’ve got to deliver my papers, you know, and I want to make sure of Caruso first.”

“You’ll bring him home?”

“Sure!”

“All right! I don’t mind being alone—much. I’d rather you’d go get Caruso. I feel better. Granny needn’t come.”

“Guess I’ll ask her,” Blue insisted, and bade his brother a cheery good-bye. Yet as he ran down the stairs his face darkened and he shut his lips tight. He was thinking of his errand round the corner.

“Ye don’t say!” exclaimed the old Irishwoman, when the boy told her briefly of the robbery and Doodles’s consequent illness. “Seem’s if I’d ’a’ heerd her—bold little sarpint!—go’n’ right by me dure with that a-angil bur-rd! Iv coorse, I’ll sthay with th’ blissid child!”

Dear Granny O’Donnell! From Christmas Day to Christmas Day she was at her neighbors’ disposal with her capable hands, her quick brain, and her rheumatic old legs. Whether it was mumps or pneumonia, an ailing kitten or a new baby, a drunken husband or a dying child,—whatever the need, Granny was always ready. Even now, before Blue was well out on the street she was limping up the stairs to Doodles.

Just below The Flatiron stood Joseph Sitnitsky.

“Hello!” hailed Blue. “You’re the man I want.”

Joseph smiled good-naturedly.

“Say,” Blue went on, in a confidential tone, “I’ve got some business on hand that can’t wait, and it’s ’most time for the paper to be out. Would yer mind runnin’ down to the Courant office an’ gittin’ mine? I’ll give yer the money,” drawing a small handful from his pocket.

“I will go,” agreed Joseph solemnly. “Will I to bring them here?”

“Oh, no!” cried Blue. “Just leave ’em at the office, and say I’ll call for ’em. I’ll be no end obliged.”

“A’ right,” assented the other, and trotted away.

You could always trust Joseph, and Blue at once centered his thoughts on the disagreeable duty at hand. What if they should see him coming and shouldn’t let him in? What if Mame’s big brother were at home! What if—but, pshaw! there was no need of what-if-ing in this way. It was going to be an easy job; all he had to do was to walk in quietly, grab the bird, and run. Once he had the cage in his hands there’d be nothing to fear,—no Sweeney could beat him in a race. And if there should be any real opposition, wasn’t he in good fighting order? Didn’t he whip a fellow of fifteen this very morning for teasing a little clubfooted boy! Recollecting that pleasant affair made him feel equal to any possible contest with Sweeneys big or little.

Up in the hallway of the new brick block he looked around questioningly. Then he risked the first bell at his right. A small girl opened the door.

“Does Mame Sweeney live here?” he asked in a soft tone.

The child pointed directly across the hall, and, thanking her, Blue walked over and pushed the button indicated.

Mame herself answered the summons; but with her first glimpse of the caller she attempted to shut the door. Blue, however, was ready, and throwing himself against it pushed into the room.

The girl, glowering, darted to the opposite side of the apartment.

“That’s yer manners, is it?” she jeered. “Yer needn’t think ye’re goin’ ter git that bird ag’in!”

“No, indade!” broke in Mrs. Sweeney. “If ye hain’t th’ cheek! Kapin’ Mame’s bur-rd all this time, an’ thin comin’ afther it! Out with ye! We don’t want ye round!”

The boy threw back his head defiantly, and pulled a quarter from his pocket.

“That’s your money,” he cried, laying it on the table; “but the bird’s mine! I bought it fair’ n’ square! Mame was mighty glad to git it off her hands then, an’ now just because you’ve heard that it sings yer want it back—”

“Want it?” sneered Mrs. Sweeney. “Yis, we want it an’ we’ve got it, an’ whin ye see it ag’in, jist pass me th’ wurrud! Now l’ave, will ye!”

“I can have you arrested!” dared Blue, growing furious. “I will, too, if yer don’t bring out that bird! You stole it! I’ll have you arrested sure as—”

“Arristid, is it? That’s a good wan! Arristid!” She laughed shrilly.

The boy’s face darkened with passion. If she had been a man he would have sprung like a tiger—but a woman! He clinched his fists fiercely and held himself straight.

“Well, arre ye go’n’, ye little—”

“No, not without my bird!” blazed the boy.

A sinister light flashed in the woman’s eyes.

“Mame dear,” she bade in oily tones, “fitch th’ bur-rd! fitch th’ bur’rd!”

The girl stared at her mother an instant, and then started towards a closed door.

Blue turned, and his gaze followed her eagerly.

In a moment it was over. The boy never knew just how it was done. But he had been caught in the back, and, his arms close pinioned, had been lifted and hurled into the hallway. As he sprang to his feet the lock clicked in the door, and there was coarse laughter. Realizing the trick, he set his teeth in helpless fury.

“I’ll make you pay for this!” he shouted. Then he shot down the stairs to the street.

On the sidewalk, passing the entrance, marched a big policeman. Blue’s face lighted in glad recognition.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick!” he called, “oh, Mr. Fitzpatrick!”

The tall man turned, and smiled cordially.

“Hello, Blue! What’s up?” For the boy’s face showed unusual excitement.

The story was jerkily told, but Thomas Fitzpatrick, with the aid of an occasional quiet question, soon had possession of the principal facts.

“Will yer go right up an’ arrest ’em?” The voice was eager.

They were walking slowly in the direction of the City Hall, and the officer glanced up at the clock in the tower.

“Can’t leave my beat now,” he answered. “I shall be off duty in half an hour; then we’ll attend to the case.”

“An’ you’ll arrest ’em, won’t yer?” Blue insisted.

A little smile flickered on Thomas Fitzpatrick’s broad face. “Don’t think ’t will be necessary,” he said in confident tone. “We’ll git the bird.”

“But they won’t let yer have it!” the boy hastened to assure him.

“You wait an’ see!” laughed the officer. “You wait an’ see! How’s the kid comin’ on?”

“This has done him all up. I found him in one of his dreadful turns when I came home from school. He thinks that bird is it, for sure!”

The big man grew grave. “A shame!” he muttered, with a slow shake of his head. “Poor little kid! But we’ll have him smilin’ again before long. You tell him Tom Fitzpatrick will git his bird for him, an’ not to worry another mite. I’ll meet you here in half an hour, and we’ll fix ’em!”

Blue bounded away to the top floor of The Flatiron, and found Doodles deep in Granny’s story of her girlhood days in one of old Ireland’s famous castles. Nothing short of Caruso himself could have brought the small boy so much joy as the message of his adored Thomas Fitzpatrick; for ever since the afternoon of The Flatiron fire, when Doodles was alone on the fourth floor and the gallant young Irishman—then a fireman—had bounded up the burning stairs through the thick smoke and had carried the helpless child down to fresh air and safety, the name of Fitzpatrick had been an honored one in the Stickney family.

Blue’s paper route was raced over. Although he was late in starting, the last house was reached on time. He was in front of the Tobin Block a whole minute ahead of Fitzpatrick.

The two mounted the stairs in silence. Mrs. Sweeney herself answered the ring. The door was opened a mere crack, and her head appeared beyond it.

“What ye want?” she asked in a surly voice.

The officer touched his cap. “I wish to see Mrs. Sweeney.”

“That’s me name. What ye want?”

“Perhaps we can talk better inside,” he suggested; but the crack was not widened, and with a little tolerant smile he went on. “I have come to get a bird that belongs to this young gentleman’s brother,” with a sidelong nod towards Blue. “I—”

“It’s our bur-rd!” she snapped. “’Tain’t theirs! He t’ased Mame out iv it be pertindin’ ’t warn’t no good, an’ so she—a little gur-rl—lit him take it. Look ut th’ cheek iv him, whin it’s not his ut all, kapin’ it an’ kapin’ it, till Mame had ter go an’ fitch it home!”

“Madam,” said the officer quietly, “there’s no use putt’n’ up a bluff. I understand the case from beginnin’ to end. Blue Stickney bought the bird of your girl, it was a right up and down sale, and she has no claim on it. If you’ll hand it over at once, you’ll save yourself trouble.”

“I guess not much!” she bristled,—“our own bur-rd! He’s lied to ye!”

“Mrs. Sweeney,”—a heavy hand was laid on the door,—“I’ve no time to waste in talk. I will thank you to bring me that bird, or I shall be obliged to take unpleasant measures.”

The woman hesitated, muttering. “I guess I may’s well lit ye have it,” she at last wavered aloud, “though it’s ours, sure! Homely ol’ thing!” she went on scornfully. “Mame was a fool fer buyin’ it!” She still stood there, behind the crack, sullen, unwilling to yield.

Thomas Fitzpatrick was patient, but his supper hour was going. “I suppose you know the penalty for resisting an officer of the law,” he finally insinuated.

She darted away, and the man swung the door wide, stepping to the sill. His big form nearly filled the open space, and Blue shifted about for a view of the apartment beyond.

When the cage was actually in the boy’s hand his heart bounded with joy. His faith in Tom Fitzpatrick had been all but overbalanced by Mrs. Sweeney’s determination to keep the bird, and he had doubted ever seeing Caruso again.

Her duty performed, the woman grew bold. “Ye kin take it,” she patronized, “if ’t will pacify ye; but Sweeney’ll prob’ly bring suit. He ain’t wan ter stan’ no humbuggin’, Sweeney ain’t!”

“You can, of course, do as you choose,” replied the officer; “but I should advise you to drop the matter. You see, the law’s all on our side; there ain’t enough your side o’ the fence for you to git a big toe on, let alone a whole foot. Good-day, ma’am!”

Down on the sidewalk Fitzpatrick cast a look into the cage. Caruso, huddled up on his lowest perch, was a forlorn bunch of feathers.

“What kind of bird is it?”

“Do’ know what he is; nobody seems to know.”

“Looks some like a mockin’-bird.”

“That’s what Dolly Rose said,” agreed Blue.

“What ails his wing?—broke?”

“I do’ know. It’s always been bad; but it hangs down worse ’n ever.” The boy scowled anxiously at it, thinking of Doodles.

“You ought to have it fixed,” counseled the big man, “and I know who can do it for you—that’s Sandy Gillespie. If ther’ ’s anything ’bout birds ’at he don’t know, ’t ain’t worth knowin’. Why, he’s got a house full of em—all kinds! He had more ’n fifty, one time. He could tell you, quick as wink, what this one is. I’d take it up there, if I was you. He lives ’way out on the Temple Hill Road. Know where the old Hayward place is?”

Blue nodded.

“Well, he lives just a little piece beyond there, a big, old-fashioned house, with a piazza on the side.”

“How much’ll he charge?” ventured the boy.

“Oh, that’ll be all right! You just tell him Tom Fitzpatrick sent you. I declare, wish I could go with you! Sandy Gillespie is a mighty nice man—good’s they make ’em.”

They had reached The Flatiron, and Blue expressed his thanks in no uncertain way. “I was awful afraid she wasn’t goin’ ter let yer have it,” he confessed.

The officer laughed. “I wasn’t, a bit,” he said. “I took a little more time than I might have with some folks; but I didn’t want a row. It’s better to get along quietly when you can. Now you take that bird up to Sandy to-morrow! And tell the kid I’m coming in to call on him some day. Good-night.”

At sight of Caruso Doodles held out both arms, with a little cry. His brother set the cage on his knees, and the bird sprang up to the top perch to cuddle against his master’s soft cheek.

Doodles and Caruso went to sleep that night side by side. “I want him right where I can put my hand on the cage when I wake up,” said the boy. “Then I shall know his coming back wasn’t a dream.”

CHAPTER IV
DOODLES TURNS MATCHMAKER

It rained; but no merry, independent little drops tinkled upon the panes. Mother Nature appeared to be housecleaning, and torrents of water were dashed against the windows. Doodles watched the work outside while Caruso plumed his feathers. When the long toilet was completed, the bird and the boy were ready for a chat,—happy, crooning talk on the one side, soft, tuneful notes on the other.

Footfalls were on the stairs. Somebody was coming up, with light, running steps.

“Sounds like Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles told Caruso.

Presently a young man appeared, his trim suit of dark cheviot corresponding with the bright, smiling face which he turned towards the Stickney kitchen.

“Hello, Doodles!” The blithe voice was enough to make one forget such things as cloudy skies and autumn housecleaning.

“Hello!” the boy responded joyfully. “Take the rocking-chair, Mr. Gaylord,—do!”

“I had a little time before dinner, and thought I’d run up and hear your bird. You know, he’s never sung to me yet.”

“Maybe he won’t now,” returned Doodles anxiously. “He doesn’t like rainy days, and then he got so scared yesterday.”

A query brought out an account of the afternoon’s excitement, for the boy was still brimful of it. The visitor was a sympathetic listener, and the story as told by Doodles was worth hearing.

“So you’ve found a name for him!” remarked the young man presently, after they had used up all the praiseful adjectives for Thomas Fitzpatrick.

“Yes, Dolly Rose did it!” cried Doodles gleefully. “That is she thought of it first; then Blue came in with it, too—wasn’t that funny? Do you know Dolly Rose?”

“I think not—who is she?”

“Why, she lives right next door to you,” exclaimed Doodles. “She’s just as pretty! She’s got red cheeks and lovely blue eyes—exactly like the sky, and the cunningest little curls in her hair. Haven’t you ever seen her?”

“Yes, I guess I have—from the description; but I didn’t know her name.”

“You’d like her, she’s so sweet. She brought me some flowers one day, and a peach another time. And she has the dearest little dimples when she smiles—I always want to kiss them! Don’t you like dimples?”

“I guess so,” laughed Mr. Gaylord. “They always remind me—”