Under the Lilacs (31 page)

“I wonder if he will want me round,” said Ben, feeling no desire to be a tramp again.

“
I
do, so you needn’t fret about that, my hearty,” answered Thorny, with a resounding slap on the shoulder which reassured Ben
more than any promises.

“I’d like to see a live wedding, then we could play it with our dolls. I’ve got a nice piece of mosquito netting for a veil,
and Belinda’s white dress is clean. Do you s’pose Miss Celia will ask us to hers?” said Betty to Bab, as the boys began to
discuss St. Bernard dogs with spirit.

“I wish I could, dears,” answered a voice behind them; and there was Miss Celia, looking so happy that the little girls wondered
what the letter could have said to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips. “I shall not be gone long, or be a bit changed
when I come back, to live among you years I hope, for I am fond of the old place now, and mean it shall be home,” she added,
caressing the yellow heads as if they were dear to her.

“Oh, goody!” cried Bab, while Betty whispered with both arms round Miss Celia —

“I don’t think we
could
bear to have anybody else come here to live.”

“It is very pleasant to hear you say that, and I mean to make others feel so, if I can. I have been trying a little this summer,
but when I come back I shall go to work in earnest to be a good minister’s wife, and you must help me.”

“We will,” promised both children, ready for anything except preaching in the high pulpit.

Then Miss Celia turned to Ben, saying, in the respectful way that always made him feel at least twenty-five —

“We shall be off tomorrow, and I leave you in charge. Go on just as if we were here, and be sure nothing will be changed as
far as you are concerned when we come back.”

Ben’s face beamed at that; but the only way he could express his relief was by making such a blaze in honor of the occasion
that he nearly roasted the company.

Next morning, the brother and sister slipped quietly away, and the children hurried to school, eager to tell the great news
that “Miss Celia and Thorny had gone to be married, and were coming back to live here forever and ever.”

C
HAPTER
23

B
ab and Betty had been playing in the avenue all the afternoon several weeks later, but as the shadows began to lengthen both
agreed to sit upon the gate and rest while waiting for Ben, who had gone nutting with a party of boys. When they played house
Bab was always the father, and went hunting or fishing with great energy and success, bringing home all sorts of game, from
elephants and crocodiles to hummingbirds and minnows. Betty was the
mother, and a most notable little housewife, always mixing up imaginary delicacies with sand and dirt in old pans and broken
china, which she baked in an oven of her own construction.

Both had worked hard that day, and were glad to retire to their favorite lounging place, where Bab was happy trying to walk
across the wide top bar without falling off, and Betty enjoyed slow, luxurious swings while her sister was recovering from
her tumbles. On this occasion, having indulged their respective tastes, they paused for a brief interval of conversation,
sitting side by side on the gate like a pair of plump gray chickens gone to roost.

“Don’t you hope Ben will get his bag full? We shall have such fun eating nuts evenings,” observed Bab, wrapping her arms in
her apron, for it was October now, and the air was growing keen.

“Yes, and Ma says we may boil some in our little kettles. Ben promised we should have half,” answered Betty, still intent
on her cookery.

“I shall save some of mine for Thorny.”

“I shall keep lots of mine for Miss Celia.”

“Doesn’t it seem more than two weeks since she went away?”

“I wonder what she’ll bring us.”

Before Bab could conjecture, the sound of a step and a familiar whistle made both look expectantly toward the turn in the
road, all ready to cry out in one voice, “How many have you got?” Neither spoke a word, however, for the figure which presently
appeared was not Ben, but a stranger — a man who stopped whistling and came slowly on, dusting his shoes in the wayside grass,
and brushing the sleeves of his shabby velveteen coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit.

“It’s a tramp, let’s run away,” whispered Betty, after a hasty look.

“I ain’t afraid,” and Bab was about to assume her boldest look when a sneeze spoilt it, and made her clutch the gate to hold
on.

At that unexpected sound the man looked up, showing a thin, dark face, with a pair of sharp, black eyes, which surveyed the
little girls so steadily that Betty quaked, and Bab began to wish she had at least jumped down inside the gate.

“How are you?” said the man with a good-natured nod and smile, as if to reassure the round-eyed children staring at him.

“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” responded Bab, politely nodding back at him.

“Folks at home?” asked the man, looking over their heads toward the house.

“Only Ma; all the rest have gone to be married.”

“That sounds lively. At the other place all the folks had gone to a funeral,” and the man laughed as he glanced at the big
house on the hill.

“Why, do you know the Squire?” exclaimed Bab, much surprised and reassured.

“Come on purpose to see him. Just strolling round till he gets back,” with an impatient sort of sigh.

“Betty thought you was a tramp, but I wasn’t afraid. I like tramps ever since Ben came,” explained Bab, with her usual candor.

“Who’s Ben!” and the man came nearer so quickly that Betty nearly fell backward. “Don’t you be scared, Sissy. I like little
girls, so you set easy and tell me about Ben,” he added, in a persuasive tone, as he leaned on the gate so near that both
could see what a friendly face he had in spite of its eager, anxious look.

“Ben is Miss Celia’s boy. We found him ‘most starved in the coach house, and he’s been here ever since,” answered Bab, comprehensively.

“Tell me all about it. I like tramps, too,” and the man looked as if he did very much, as Bab told the little story in a few
childish words that were better than a much more elegant account.

“You were very good to the little feller,” was all the man said when she ended her somewhat confused tale, in which she had
jumbled the old coach and Miss Celia, dinner pails and nutting, Sancho and circuses.

“’Course we were! He’s a nice boy and we are fond of him, and he likes us,” said Bab, heartily.

“’Specially me,” put in Betty, quite at ease now, for the black eyes had softened wonderfully, and the brown face was smiling
all over.

“Don’t wonder a mite. You are the nicest pair of little girls I’ve seen this long time,” and the man put a hand on either
side of them, as if he wanted to hug the chubby children. But he didn’t do it; he merely smiled and stood there asking questions
till the two chatterboxes had told him everything there was to tell in the most confiding manner, for he very soon ceased
to seem like a stranger, and looked so familiar that Bab, growing inquisitive in her turn, suddenly said —

“Haven’t you ever been here before? It seems as if I’d seen you.”

“Never in my life. Guess you’ve seen somebody that looks like me,” and the black eyes twinkled for a minute as they looked
into the puzzled little faces before him. Then he said, soberly —

“I’m looking round for a likely boy; don’t you think this Ben would suit me? I want just such a lively sort of chap.”

“Are you a circus man?” asked Bab, quickly.

“Well, no, not now. I’m in better business.”

“I’m glad of it —
we
don’t approve of ’em; but I do think they’re splendid!”

Bab began by gravely quoting Miss Celia, and ended with an irrepressible burst of admiration which contrasted drolly with
her first remark.

Betty added, anxiously: “We can’t let Ben go anyway. I know he wouldn’t want to, and Miss Celia would feel bad. Please don’t
ask him.”

“He can do as he likes, I suppose. He hasn’t got any folks of his own, has he?”

“No, his father died in California, and Ben felt so bad he cried, and we were real sorry, and gave him a piece of Ma, ‘cause
he was so lonesome,” answered Betty, in her tender little voice, with a pleading look which made the man stroke her smooth
cheek and say, quite softly —

“Bless your heart for that! I won’t take him away, child, or do a thing to trouble anybody that’s been good to him.”

“He’s coming now. I hear Sanch barking at the squirrels!” cried Bab, standing up to get a good look down the road.

The man turned quickly, and Betty saw that he breathed fast as he watched the spot where the low sunshine lay warmly on the
red maple at the corner. Into this glow came unconscious Ben, whistling “Rory O’Moore,” loud and clear, as he trudged along
with a heavy bag of nuts over his shoulder and the light full on his contented face. Sancho trotted before and saw the stranger
first, for the sun in Ben’s eyes dazzled him. Since his sad loss Sancho cherished a strong dislike to tramps, and now he paused
to growl and show his teeth, evidently intending to warn this one off the premises.

“He won’t hurt you —” began Bab, encouragingly; but before she could add a chiding word to the dog, Sanch gave
an excited howl, and flew at the man’s throat as if about to throttle him.

Betty screamed, and Bab was about to go to the rescue when both perceived that the dog was licking the stranger’s face in
an ecstasy of joy, and heard the man say as he hugged the curly beast —

“Good old Sanch! I knew he wouldn’t forget master, and he doesn’t.”

“What’s the matter?” called Ben, coming up briskly, with a strong grip of his stout stick.

There was no need of any answer, for, as he came into the shadow, he saw the man, and stood looking at him as if he were a
ghost.

“It’s father, Benny; don’t you know me?” asked the man, with an odd sort of choke in his voice, as he thrust the dog away,
and held out both hands to the boy.

Down dropped the nuts, and crying, “Oh, Daddy, Daddy!” Ben cast himself into the arms of the shabby velveteen coat, while
poor Sanch tore round them in distracted circles, barking wildly, as if that was the only way in which he could vent his rapture.

What happened next Bab and Betty never stopped to see, but, dropping from their roost, they went flying home like startled
Chicken Littles with the astounding news that “Ben’s father has come alive, and Sancho knew him right away!”

Mrs. Moss had just got her cleaning done up, and was resting a minute before setting the table, but she flew out of her old
rocking chair when the excited children told the wonderful tale, exclaiming as they ended —

“Where is he? Go bring him here. I declare it fairly takes my breath away!”

Before Bab could obey, or her mother compose herself, Sancho bounced in and spun round like an insane top, trying
to stand on his head, walk upright, waltz and bark all at once, for the good old fellow had so lost his head that he forgot
the loss of his tail.

“They are coming! they are coming! See, Ma, what a nice man he is,” said Bab, hopping about on one foot as she watched the
slowly approaching pair.

“My patience, don’t they look alike! I should know he was Ben’s Pa anywhere!” said Mrs. Moss, running to the door in a hurry.

They certainly did resemble one another, and it was almost comical to see the same curve in the legs, the same wide-awake
style of wearing the hat, the same sparkle of the eye, good-natured smile and agile motion of every limb. Old Ben carried
the bag in one hand while young Ben held the other fast, looking a little shamefaced at his own emotion now, for there were
marks of tears on his cheeks, but too glad to repress the delight he felt that he had really found Daddy this side of heaven.

Mrs. Moss unconsciously made a pretty little picture of herself as she stood at the door with her honest face shining and
both hands out, saying in a hearty tone, which was a welcome in itself —

“I’m
real
glad to see you safe and well, Mr. Brown! Come right in and make yourself to home. I guess there isn’t a happier boy living
than Ben is tonight.”

“And I
know
there isn’t a gratefuler man living than I am for your kindness to my poor forsaken little feller,” answered Mr. Brown, dropping
both his burdens to give the comely woman’s hands a hard shake.

“Now don’t say a word about it, but sit down and rest, and we’ll have tea in less ‘n no time. Ben must be tired and hungry,
though he’s so happy I don’t believe he knows it,”
laughed Mrs. Moss, bustling away to hide the tears in her eyes, anxious to make things sociable and easy all round.

With this end in view she set forth her best china, and covered the table with food enough for a dozen, thanking her stars
that it was baking day, and everything had turned out well. Ben and his father sat talking by the window till they were bidden
to “draw up and help themselves” with such hospitable warmth that everything had an extra relish to the hungry pair.