Grateful Peter's new year's gift
would find Back Potter Street; it was such an out-of-the-way place. And
then the question, "Will he try?" suggested itself.
He pictured again the kind face, answered the question, "Yes, I'm sure
he will," then made extra haste to be home early.
He reached home out of breath, and gasped out, "Has the gentleman been?"
"No, Peter," answered Sally; "and if I was you, I wouldn't think too
much about him. If he comes, it will be all right; and if doesn't, you
will be less disappointed."
So many a day passed, and no gentleman came. Peter's heart sank within
him when days grew into months.
And old Sally said, "I told you how it would be, Peter; there's no
trusting to anybody's promises."
Peter sadly confessed that Sally was right, adding, "If that gentleman
could go and say a thing just to disappoint a poor lad, I wouldn't
trust anybody."
Still, the gentleman's words influenced Peter almost without his
knowing it. He did not go to church or school, but, on the other
hand, he neither bought nor sold on Sundays. It was not so much the
words about God and the Sabbath that lingered in his mind. But he did
remember the question, "Do you ever expect to earn a good coat with
what you get by selling on Sundays?"
Of respect for God's day Peter knew nothing. But the ever-present need
of a new jacket in place of his ragged one made every word relating
to it of great importance. Somehow he felt that if he were to work
on Sundays, he should have no luck. On the other hand, he looked for
the new jacket as a reward which he deserved for giving up his Sunday
business.
He was confirmed in the belief when his own and old Sally's combined
savings did amount to enough for the purchase of a warm suit of
second-hand clothes. In these garments, he was clothed on that cold
December night—the last of the year—when we left him standing against
the railings, amid the falling snow and piercing wind.
We must go back to him now. It is well he does not really stand there
expecting us, is it not, dear children? Or he would be weary with
remaining so long in the cold.
CHAPTER II.
Run Over.
[Illustration] THROUGH snow and wind, various sounds reached Peter's
ears that New Year's Eve. He was not far from a large church—and oh,
how merrily the bells were ringing! He knew what they were pealing so
joyously for, and he meant to sit up and let in the new year to their
poor cellar in Number Three Court, Back Potter Street.
Peter had been very anxious to do business that night, for he had been
saving a penny at a time to buy old Sally a woollen comforter as a
new year's gift. It was nearly paid for at the little shop where they
dealt, and he meant it for a grand surprise.
As he turned over his few coppers, he rejoiced that he had enough for
that; and he knew the morrow's wants were supplied already. But Peter
heard other sounds between the pealing of the church bells. There was a
children's party inside the house, and, as he stood leaning against the
railings, their merry voices came ringing in his ears.
The little potato merchant felt inclined to envy the happy youngsters
as he heard their pattering feet rushing from dining-room to hall and
back again. The happy children meanwhile cared nothing for piercing
cold or fast-falling snow outside. How should they? The fire was
blazing cheerfully for them, kind friends had prepared a feast to
gratify their childish appetites, and were even now adding to the sport
by joining in it.
Papa, hot and panting, is playing the "blind man," and is dragged about
by the arms, the coat-tails—anything, in fact, that can be laid hold
of—while perhaps one tiny thing, contrary to all the rules of the game,
is pushing herself in front of him, and shouting,—
"Please, catch me!"
Mamma, just as useful, plays tunes that set the little feet drumming on
the floor, or does "Magic music" better than anybody else. And all the
while, her motherly eye is on the alert to watch against accident to
any of the young guests. All these knew nothing, or thought nothing of
other little ones, just as able to enjoy these pleasures as themselves,
but shut out by poverty from them all.
Of course, nobody could have guessed that little Peter Grant was
leaning against the railings outside, shivering, in spite of his
improved clothing, and very down-hearted because the storm was
interfering with his trade, and he should carry home an unsold stock
and very little money.
The boy lingered longer than he intended. In spite of himself, he was
fascinated by those merry voices, which raised a longing in his mind to
form one amongst such a company. But at length there came a lull, and
he could hear nothing. The truth was, the youngsters were all sitting
down to table to enjoy the nice things provided for them, though
Peter could not see them through the closed shutters. Only a line of
ruddy light strewing through a narrow chink hinted at the warmth and
brightness within.
If Peter had waited a little longer, he would have heard the voices
again, louder than ever, when the blazing dish of "snap-dragon" came
in, and the crackers began to explode. And, later still, he would have
heard the young voices rise in a simple hymn of praise to Him who had
brought them all in peace and safety to the threshold of the new year.
But Peter did not stay long enough for these things. Slowly, for he had
to face the wind, the boy started on his way to Back Potter Street.
He had hard work to keep his footing, and at the crossings it was far
worse. He made a rush to pass one of these, holding his basket tightly
on one arm, and clutching his cap with the other hand.
Poor lad! His was unlucky haste. He felt a sudden shock, a blow that
knocked him down, and sent his basket with its contents flying in all
directions. Then he knew no more. He lay still and senseless on the
ground, while the blood, streaming from a cut on his forehead, tinged
the newly-fallen snow. Knocked down and run over! That was Peter's
case. In his haste to cross the street, he had not noticed a rapidly
advancing cab; and now he was lying with a cut face, a large bump at
the back of his head, and a broken leg.
Now, I know as well as possible that all the children who read this
story will be very sorry for Peter. They will think how very miserable
it must be to have such hurts to end the old year and begin the new one
with. Well, these things are not very pleasant. But cheer up, little
friend readers. I will give you a peep into Peter's future—only a peep.
You must wait and read the story through for particulars.
This accident, sad and painful as it may seem, is to be the beginning
of a new and a brighter and better life for the orphan boy. It will
bring him friends, and be the means, by God's blessing, of leading
him to that best of all friends, the One that "sticketh closer than a
brother."
Peter did not lie long upon the cold white snow. The gentleman who was
the only passenger in the cab jumped out instantly, and bent over the
injured boy. He was the father of a little girl, one of that merry
party in the next street, to whose voices Peter had listened as he
leaned against the railings. He was on his way to fetch home the child.
"Poor boy!" said he, as he leaned over Peter. "He is quite senseless.
We must take him to the hospital without losing a moment. I was going
to fetch home my little girl, but she must wait."
As tenderly and carefully as possible, the injured lad was conveyed to
a neighbouring hospital. There he was soon restored to consciousness—a
knowledge of pain present, and more to be endured in binding up his
hurts and setting his broken limb.
It was over at last, and medicine given to soothe the boy to rest. But
amongst all his pain, the lad thought of his old friend in the poor
cellar and of the anxiety she would feel as she watched and waited for
him.
The nurse saw that Peter was troubled and restless, and kindly asked if
she could make him more comfortable.
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Peter. "I am troubled about old Sally that
I live with; she'll be sitting up, not knowing what's got me."
"It is too late to send now. The gentleman that brought you here would
have told your friends, only you did not come to yourself soon enough.
Sally shall be told in the morning, and shall come to see you, too?"
"But she'll be in trouble about me all night."
There was no help for it. It was now just past midnight, and soon the
pealing bells that had rung the old year out and the new year in would
cease their pleasant clamour. Peter must content himself as well as he
could. But when he at last sank to sleep, there were tears on his pale
cheeks, caused not by his own bodily suffering, but by the thought of
his old friend's lonely watchings, and of the fears she would have for
his sake.
Children, when you lay your heads on soft pillows in comfortable rooms,
are your thoughts ever turned in real gratitude towards the Heavenly
Father whose kind hand bestows every blessing?
It would be of no use for us to read the story of what this poor boy
did and felt, unless we were to learn something from his example. He
thought of the poor earthly friend who loved him, and was grieved at
the thought of grieving her, even though he was not to blame for what
caused her anxiety. Do you, dear children, ere you sleep, think whether
your actions will please your Heavenly Friend? Are your eyes ever moist
with tears, shed because you have been ungrateful to Him who has done
all for you?
When Peter awoke on the morning of the new year, he scarcely understood
where he was, or how he had come into this strange place. He saw that
he was lying in a very clean bed, in a long room where there were other
beds, each with its pale-faced tenant.
He tried to move, and became aware that his leg was held stiff and
straight in wooden splints. There was pain in it too, and his head
ached and throbbed. By degrees, Peter recollected what had happened the
night before, and then thought of his old friend waiting and watching
in vain.
It was a relief when the boy saw the kind face of the nurse who came to
bring him some tea. He drank eagerly, but did not feel well enough to
eat anything. The nurse bathed his face and made him as comfortable as
possible, but she noticed the tears trickling down her young patient's
cheeks.
"Does your leg hurt you much?" she asked.
"It hurts me, but I don't care so much about that. I was thinking about
old Sally, and wondering how I could sleep when she was watching for
me."
"It is very well you did sleep, poor boy," said the nurse.
She was a tender-hearted woman, and the sight of so much suffering had
not hardened her, as custom does some people. She thought about a boy
of her own far away at sea, and in her motherly fashion, she bent down
and kissed poor Peter's cheek, saying, "Happy New Year to you; here's
wishing you may soon be running about again."
How astonished she was when Peter broke out into a violent fit of
sobbing.
"What is the matter?" she said in alarm.
"Have I hurt you? Don't cry, or you will be worse, and what will Dr.
Turner say when he comes? It is his morning, and he'll be here in
half-an-hour—now, don't fret, there's a good boy."
It seemed as though every kind word made matters worse, and the nurse
became alarmed at Peter's continued sobbing. She was on the point of
leaving him to seek some remedy, when he said, "Please, don't, go—you
didn't hurt me. Only nobody ever kisses me, and—and I was glad."
"Bless the dear lad!" said the nurse. "Is that it? Well, I couldn't
have believed. Then while you are my little patient, I shall kiss you,
and you'll get used to it."
The nurse had now to leave Peter to look after other hurt and helpless
people in the same room.