Grateful Peter's new year's gift
And, in the meanwhile, Peter tried very hard to give up sobbing. He had
just succeeded when the nurse returned, bringing with her a gentleman
to the boy's bedside.
"Well, my boy," said the gentleman, "how do you feel this morning? I
have been kept awake by thinking about you. You will not remember me;
but you were unfortunately knocked down by the cab in which I was going
to fetch my little daughter home from a party."
"Was it in Kay Street, sir?" asked Peter.
The gentleman smiled at the question, and replied, "Yes."
"I'd been listening to them outside for ever so long. They were jolly,"
said Peter, recalling to mind the merry sounds that had so fascinated
him.
"They were indeed, until I went in and told them of the poor boy who
had got hurt and been taken to this place. It seems you had been
feeling with them in their mirth, and then they felt for you in your
pain and trouble. My little girl is in a cab outside now, and when you
are well enough, I will bring her to see you. Now what can I do for
you?"
"Please, sir, go and tell old Sally Graham where I am, and ask for her
to come and see me. And, sir, if you would—"
"Would what? I will do anything I can for your comfort, either of mind
or body."
"Well then, sir, will you please go to Robinson's shop, corner of
Potter Street—it's on your way to our place—and ask them to let you
have a woollen comforter that Peter Grant has been paying for. There's
threepence in my trousers pocket that 'll make up all the money. I
meant to give it Sally for a new year's gift, and I should so like to
have it here ready when she comes to see me."
"Never mind the threepence!" said the gentleman. "I can put the rest to
what has been paid."
"Please, sir, that wouldn't be me giving it."
So the nurse was appealed to, the coppers were taken from Peter's
pocket, and the gentleman started on his errand, much struck with the
unselfish spirit of the boy.
He found "Robinson's" easily enough, obtained the comforter, and by the
guidance of the shopkeeper was soon at the entrance of the cellar in
Number Three Court, Back Potter Street.
Old Sally Graham was on the look-out. She had not slept, and now with
heavy heart and anxious face, she was straining her eyes in the hope of
catching a glimpse of her boy coming home. It would be a sorrowful new
year for Sally unless she knew that Peter was safe.
All Back Potter Street, and Number Three Court in particular, was in a
state of astonishment when a gentleman descended from a cab and entered
the latter.
Everybody in the court knew of Peter's absence and Sally's watchings;
and when the visitor approached her abode, they somehow connected his
coming with the boy's non-arrival. The general opinion was that "Peter
had got hisself into trouble," and that the gentleman had something to
do with the police.
It was not often that the presence of a visitor in Number Three Court
was connected with good news.
"Your name is Graham, I think?" said Sally's visitor.
"Yes, sir; please, is it anything about my lad Peter?"
"Yes, it is. Don't be uneasy. He has had an accident, but he is in good
hands, and will, I hope, soon be all right again. He has been very
anxious about you, and wants to see you this afternoon."
"Eh, bless him! I am glad it isn't anything as he's done wrong. He's
been a good lad to me, but I got afraid when he didn't come home. Where
is he hurt, sir? How was it? Where is he? When may I go?" And a host of
other questions were poured out so fast that the gentleman had enough
to do to answer.
However, he did answer. And before he left Number Three Court, he gave
Sally a little sum of money, promising that she should have the same
weekly until Peter was able to help her again.
Then Mr. Russell went back to the hospital, and cheered Peter by giving
him the comforter, and telling him that old Sally would be there in the
afternoon to see her boy and receive her new year's gift.
CHAPTER III.
Glad Tidings.
[Illustration] A LITTLE while after the departure of Mr. Russell,
Peter's first visitor, two more gentlemen came towards his bed. The
younger of the two was the house-surgeon, who had set his leg the night
before, and he heard him call the other gentleman "Dr. Turner."
"Have you any new cases?" asked the latter.
"Two or three. One, a boy of twelve, was knocked down and run over by a
cab last evening."
"Much hurt?"
"Left leg broken, forehead cut, and a few bruises. Quite a poor lad—a
baked-potato seller, I believe."
"Poor fellow! This is the one, I suppose. Well, my boy, how do you feel
yourself this morning? Why, bless me! I declare I must know this lad's
face. Look at me, boy. Did you ever see me before?"
"Yes, sir," replied Peter, feebly; for in Dr. Turner, he instantly
recognised the gentleman for whose visit to his cellar home he had so
long watched and waited in vain.
Yes, there by Peter's bed stood the white-haired ruddy-faced gentleman
who gave him the sixpence, and whose words, though little understood,
were the means of his giving up selling on Sundays.
"I thought so," said Dr. Turner. "You are the boy whose name and
address I wrote down, and I promised that I would call to see you
again. This is a nice new year's start for you."
"But you never came to see me, sir," said Peter, going back to his old
disappointment, and speaking in a reproachful tone.
"I never did, Peter. You see I remember your Christian name. And what
did you think of me for not keeping my promise?"
"I kept looking and looking for you, for I believed you would come. But
Sally told me that gentlefolks often promise to do things, and first
they put off, and then they forget altogether. So at last, I thought
you were just like all the rest."
"Then you really believed I had forgotten all about you, Peter?"
"If I hadn't seen you write down my name, and where we lived, I should
have thought you'd forgot them. And if I hadn't seen you put the paper
in your purse, and the purse into your pocket, I might ha' fancied
you'd lost it. I couldn't think anything but that you didn't care about
coming, after all. And I was so disappointed."
"I don't wonder, Peter; yet I was not to blame, after all. What should
you say if were to tell you my purse was stolen from me, with the paper
in it?"
"Was it really, sir? I'm so glad!"
"Well, Peter, you're a nice fellow to say that—to be glad that I was
robbed, and that some person was a thief—on Sunday night too."
The lad looked distressed, and his pale face became a bright crimson.
"I didn't mean that, sir. I'm sorry you lost your purse; but I'm glad
it wasn't because you forgot all about me that you never came, as you
promised to do."
"I understand you, Peter. I did not miss my purse till Monday morning;
and then, though I tried hard, I could not recollect your name or the
place where you lived."
"You have come to see me, after all," said Peter, with a wan smile at
his little attempt at a joke.
"Yes; and I want to help you to get better, which I shall not do if I
talk. Beside, I have ever so many more patients to see; for doctors
don't get a holiday even on New Year's Day. But, Peter, it is a blessed
thing if, by giving up a little of our own ease, we can give comfort
and rest to the suffering. I shall see you again to-morrow, and never
fear but you'll do finely; only you must keep quiet."
"Sally's to come and see me, sir," put in Peter.
"It would be better not. Well, never mind—don't fret—she shall come, if
it will make you happier."
Dr. Turner took Sally's address again, and put it in his waistcoat
pocket. "Not in the purse this time, Peter; though, if I were to lose
it, I should be able to find 'you' for a few days to come."
"Yes, sir," replied Peter, fully appreciating a bit of fun, though at
his own expense, as he lay there helpless; "I shan't run away yet."
Then he added, "I never sold anything on Sundays after that night you
talked to me."
"That's a step on the right road, my lad. And now, as you lie there,
don't be sad. Listen to those bells that are chiming so sweetly. They
are telling the tale of the new year.
"And the sun is peeping in, and casting a bright streak upon your
quilt, Peter; and I believe—I really do—that you will have a happy new
year, though you have begun it here on your back, and are likely to
stay there for the present."
Away went the doctor, and carried with him kind words as well as skill
to other bedsides, and Peter lay contented, happy, hopeful, in spite
of his hurts. Then the motherly nurse brought his medicine, and told
him he looked so bright that he was like another lad; and the pleasant
chime of bells, wafted on the wind, came with their music to his ears,
and at last lulled him to rest again.
While Peter was sleeping, Mr. Russell paid a second visit, and left
the parcel containing the "comforter," ready for Peter to present. He
also brought nice fresh grapes for the lad, and there they were like a
perfect picture when, hours after, he awoke.
In the meanwhile, too, Sally Graham had spent an unusually long time
in "tidying herself" for the afternoon visit to the hospital, and had
informed the inhabitants of Back Potter Street, and Number Three Court
in particular, of all that had befallen "her lad," as she called Peter.
The neighbourhood was astonished for the second time that day by the
presence of a second gentleman, who came in a real carriage of his
own—not a cab—and called on Sally Graham. This was Dr. Turner, who in
a few words told the old woman about his first meeting with Peter, the
reason he had failed in his promise, and all that has already been
related.
By dint of half soothing, half scolding, he made the old woman dry all
her tears; and then, finding how clean and neat she had made herself,
in spite of poor clothing, the doctor said, "I may as well save your
legs a long walk. You are not quite so young as you once were, any more
than I am, so you shall ride along with me. I have to make another call
at the hospital."
Sally was almost overwhelmed at the thought of going in the doctor's
own carriage.
And after it had disappeared from view, the inhabitants of Back Potter
Street and its courts did little else but talk about what had happened
and what else was likely to follow. Everybody prophesied all sorts of
good luck to Peter and Old Sally, now gentlefolks had begun to take
notice of them. They quite overlooked the fact that Peter was lying
with a broken leg, and would be able to do nothing towards earning
bread, for some time to come. They settled it quite comfortably that
the gentlefolks would make it all right, and that the happiest of new
years had just begun for Sally and Peter.
These neighbours did not know that a message was on its way to Peter—a
sweet message of love and peace and mercy, which he had never heard,
but which has been spoken to you, dear child-readers, many and many a
time.
A message? Yes; one meant for the ears of all mankind, for old and
young, for rich and poor—the message that angels sang in the astonished
ears of the Bethlehem shepherds as they watched their flocks by night,
little dreaming that the Shepherd of Israel was so near at hand, in the
form of a newborn babe. The "glad tidings" have not yet reached Peter;
but they will come, borne on the lips of a little child.
There was a touching meeting between Peter and old Sally, who, however,
behaved very well, considering. Sally was terribly afraid that the
doctor would not let her come again unless she was very quiet. This
made her control her feelings as far as possible, cheering the boy with
hopeful words about himself and Mr. Russell's kind help in the way of
money "to keep things going at home."