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_ "Thank you, ma'am, that's a tip-top book, 'specially the
pictures. But I can't bear to see these poor fellows;"
and Ben brooded over the fine etching of the dead and dying
horses on a battle-field, one past all further pain, the other
helpless, but lifting his head from his dead master to
neigh a farewell to the comrades who go galloping away in a
cloud of dust.
"They ought to stop for him, some of 'em," muttered Ben,
hastily turning back to the cheerful picture of the three
happy horses in the field, standing knee-deep among the
grass as they prepare to drink at the wide stream.
"Ain't that black one a beauty? Seems as if I could
see his mane blow in the wind, and hear him whinny
to that small feller trotting down to see if he can't
get over and be sociable. How I'd like to take a
rousin' run round that meadow on the whole lot of
'em!" and Ben swayed about in his chair as if he was
already doing it in imagination.
"You may take a turn round my field on Lita any
day. She would like it, and Thorny's saddle will be
here next week," said Miss Celia, pleased to see that
the boy appreciated the fine pictures, and felt such
hearty sympathy with the noble animals whom she
dearly loved herself.
"Needn't wait for that. I'd rather ride bareback.
Oh, I say, is this the book you told about, where
the horses talked?" asked Ben, suddenly recollecting
the speech he had puzzled over ever since he heard it.
"No; I brought the book, but in the hurry of my
tea-party forgot to unpack it. I'll hunt it up to-
night. Remind me, Thorny."
"There, now, I've forgotten something, too! Squire
sent you a letter; and I'm having such a jolly time, I
never thought of it."
Ben rummaged out the note with remorseful haste,
protesting that he was in no hurry for Mr. Gulliver,
and very glad to save him for another day.
Leaving the young folks busy with their games,
Miss Celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for
there were two; and as she read her face grew so
sober, then so sad, that if any one had been looking
he would have wondered what bad news had chased
away the sunshine so suddenly. No one did look;
no one saw how pitifully her eyes rested on Ben's
happy face when the letters were put away, and no
one minded the new gentleness in her manner as she
came back, to the table. But Ben thought there never
was so sweet a lady as the one who leaned over him
to show him how the dissected map went together
and never smiled at his mistakes.
So kind, so very kind was she to them all, that
when, after an hour of merry play, she took her
brother in to bed, the three who remained fell to
praising her enthusiastically as they put things to
rights before taking leave.
"She's like the good fairies in the books, and has
all sorts of nice, pretty things in her house," said
Betty, enjoying a last hug of the fascinating doll
whose lids would shut so that it was a pleasure to
Sing, "Bye, sweet baby, bye," with no staring eyes to
Spoil the illusion.
"What heaps she knows! More than Teacher, I do
believe; and she doesn't mind how many questions
we ask. I like folks that will tell me things," added
Bab, whose inquisitive mind was always hungry.
"I like that boy first-rate, and I guess he likes me,
though I didn't know where Nantucket ought to go.
He wants me to teach him to ride when he's on his
pins again, and Miss Celia says I may. She knows
how to make folks feel good, don't she?" and Ben
gratefully surveyed the Arab chief, now his own,
though the best of all the collection.
"Won't we have splendid times? She Says we
may come over every night and play with her and
Thorny."
"And she's goin', to have the seats in the porch
lift up, so we can put our things in there all day and
have 'em handy."
"And I'm going to be her boy, and stay here all
the time. I guess the letter I brought was a
recommend from the Squire."
"Yes, Ben; and if I had not already made up my
mind to keep you before, I certainly would now, my
boy."
Something in Miss Celia's voice, as she said the last
two words with her hand on Ben's shoulder, made him
look up quickly and turn red with pleasure, wondering
what the Squire had written about him.
"Mother must have some of the party; so you
shall take her these, Bab, and Betty may carry Baby
home for the night. She is so nicely asleep, it is a
pity to wake her. Good by till to-morrow, little
neighbors," continued Miss Celia, and dismissed the
girls with a kiss.
"Is Ben coming, too?" asked Bab, as Betty
trotted off in a silent rapture with the big darling
bobbing over her shoulder.
"Not yet; I've several things to settle with my
new man. Tell mother he will come by-and-by."
Off rushed Bab with the plateful of goodies; and,
drawing Ben down beside her on the wide step, Miss
Celia took out the letters, with a shadow creeping
over her face as softly as the twilight was stealing
over the world, while the dew fell, and every thing
grew still and dim.
"Ben, dear, I've something to tell you," she began,
slowly; and the boy waited with a happy face, for no
one had called him so since 'Melia died.
"The Squire has heard about your father, and this
is the letter Mr. Smithers sends."
"Hooray! where is he, please?" cried Ben, wishing
she would hurry up; for Miss Celia did not even offer
him the letter, but sat looking down at Sancho on the
lower step, as if she wanted him to come and help her.
"He went after the mustangs, and sent some home,
but could not come himself."
"Went further on, I s'pose. Yes, he said he might
go as far as California, and if he did he'd send for me.
I'd like to go there; it's a real splendid place, they
say."
"He has gone further away than that, to a lovelier
country than California, I hope." And Miss Celia's
eyes turned to the deep sky, where early stars were
shining.
"Didn't he send for me? Where's he gone?
When 's he coming back?" asked Ben, quickly; for
there was a quiver in her voice, the meaning of which
he felt before he understood.
Miss Celia put her arms about him, and answered
very tenderly, --
"Ben, dear, if I were to tell you that he was never
coming back, could you bear it?"
"I guess I could, -- but you don't mean it? Oh,
ma'am, he isn't dead?" cried Ben, with a cry that
made her heart ache, and Sancho leap up with a
bark.
"My poor little boy, I wish I could say no."
There was no need of any more words, no need
of tears or kind arms around him. He knew he was
an orphan now, and turned instinctively to the old
friend who loved him best. Throwing himself down
beside his dog, Ben clung about the curly neck,
sobbing bitterly, --
"Oh, Sanch, he's never coming back again; never,
never any more!"
Poor Sancho could only whine and lick away the
tears that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the
new friend meantime with eyes so full of dumb love
and sympathy and sorrow that they seemed almost
human. Wiping away her own tears, Miss Celia
stooped to pat the white head, and to stroke the
black one lying so near it that the dog's breast was
the boy's pillow. Presently the sobbing ceased, and
Ben whispered, without looking up,--
"Tell me all about it; I'll be good."
Then, as kindly as she could, Miss Celia read the
brief letter which told the hard news bluntly; for
Mr. Smithers was obliged to confess that he had
known the truth months before, and never told the
boy, lest he should be unfitted for the work they
gave him. Of Ben Brown the elder's death there
was little to tell, except that he was killed in some
wild place at the West, and a stranger wrote the fact
to the only person whose name was found in Ben's
pocket-book. Mr. Smithers offered to take the boy
back and "do well by him," averring that the father
wished his son to remain where he left him, and
follow the profession to which he was trained.
"Will you go, Ben?" asked Miss Celia, hoping to
distract his mind from his grief by speaking of other
things.
"No, no; I'd rather tramp and starve. He's
awful hard to me and Sanch; and he'd be worse,
now father's gone. Don't send me back! Let me
stay here; folks are good to me; there's nowhere
else to go." And the head Ben had lifted up with a
desperate sort of look, went down again on Sancho's
breast as if there were no other refuge left.
"You shall stay here, and no one shall take you
away against your will. I called you 'my boy' in
play, now you shall be my boy in earnest; this shall
be your home, and Thorny your brother. We are
orphans, too; and we will stand by one another till a
stronger friend comes to help us," said Miss Celia,
with such a mixture of resolution and tenderness in
her voice, that Ben felt comforted at once, and
thanked her by laying his cheek against the pretty
slipper that rested on the step beside him, as if he
had no words in which to swear loyalty to the gentle
mistress whom be meant henceforth to serve with
grateful fidelity.
Sancho felt that he must follow suit; and gravely
put his paw upon her knee, with a low whine, as if
he said, "Count me in, and let me help to pay my
master's debt if I can."
Miss Celia shook the offered paw cordially, and
the good creature crouched at her feet like a small
lion, bound to guard her and her house for evermore.
"Don't lie on that cold stone, Ben; come here
and let me try to comfort you," she said, stooping
to wipe away the great drops that kept rolling down
the brown cheek half hidden in her dress.
But Ben put his arm over his face, and sobbed out
with a fresh burst of grief, --
"You can't, you didn't know him! Oh, daddy!
daddy! if I'd only seen you jest once more!"
No one could grant that wish; but Miss Celia did
comfort him, for presently the sound of music floated
out from the parlor, -- music so soft, so sweet, that
involuntarily the boy stopped his crying to listen;
then quieter tears dropped slowly, seeming to soothe
his pain as they fell, while the sense of loneliness
passed away, and it grew possible to wait till it was
time to go to father in that far-off country lovelier
than golden California.
How long she played Miss Celia never minded;
but, when she stole out to see if Ben had gone, she
found that other friends, even kinder than herself,
had taken the boy into their gentle keeping. The
wind had sung a lullaby among the rustling lilacs,
the moon's mild face looked through the leafy arch
to kiss the heavy eyelids, and faithful Sancho still
kept guard beside his little master, who, with his
head pillowed on his arm, lay fast asleep, dreaming,
happily, that Daddy had come home again. _
Read next: CHAPTER XI. SUNDAY
Read previous: CHAPTER IX. A HAPPY TEA
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