Jack, the Fire Dog

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH

SOMEHOW or other on Christmas morning everything takes on a festive, joyous tone. The very sleigh-bells seem to ring out more merrily than usual, and the children’s voices in their play seem more joyous than on other days. Even the shy sparrows seem to grow bolder, and twitter more loudly than usual. The dogs, too, seem possessed of unusually gay spirits, and bound through the streets as if they were thinking of the good Christmas dinner that awaits them.

The two little boys in the sleigh felt this Christmas influence and partook of the prevailing joyous spirit. We will leave them for a time and return to some other acquaintances,—the three children who had cared for the lost Toby.

Great was the grief of the children when they saw the little dog turned out into the cold, dark streets, but they did not dare to express their feelings before their father. Directly after supper they went to bed, and the mother soon went in to their rooms to comfort them. The two girls were nearly heart-broken, but the mother reminded them that the little dog would be likely to seek the shed for shelter, and she promised to look after him and give him a good supper.

“He wanted some of the sausages so much,” sobbed Maysie, “and I ate up the piece I was saving for him, and I am so sorry!”

“He shall have some sausage, dear, so don’t worry so about him. I will cover him up with something warm, and in the morning you can take him to the home for lost dogs. They will find a good place for him, I am sure, a much better one than we could give him.”

This hopeful prospect comforted the little girls, and from them the mother sought Johnny in his dark bedroom. He was lying very still, and answered in a voice that he tried to make sound as usual, but the mother knew he was trying hard to make it cheerful. As with a loving hand she put back the hair from his forehead, she felt it hot, and as her hand brushed against his cheeks she found them moist, and she knew he had been crying, although he tried so hard to conceal the fact.

“Don’t fret about the little dog, Johnny,” said the kind mother. “He’ll be sure to go to the shed where you kept him before, and I’ll look after him.”

“It was so mean to send him out, and this such a cold night, too!” exclaimed Johnny, indignantly.

“Hush, dear!” said the gentle mother. “You mustn’t forget that Father is tired and things worry him. He didn’t mean to be unkind.”

“It was awfully mean,” replied Johnny, “and him such a little fellow, too!”

Then the mother told of her plan to send the little dog to the refuge provided for all homeless animals, and, as she drew the pleasant picture of the home the little wanderer would be sure to find, Johnny allowed himself to be comforted as his sisters had been, and, feeling that Mother would look after the wandering dog, he forgot his anxieties and fell asleep.

We have seen how the mother found the forsaken dog and fed and warmed him, and how he at last found shelter in the very home to which they intended to carry him.

The following morning when the children hastened to the shed they found it empty, and great was their grief. They searched for him for days, of course without avail. Oh, if they could have seen the little creature in the happy home he had found!

On Christmas morning they were almost wild with delight at the presents kind Mrs. Ledwell had sent them. As for Maysie, she could hardly believe that she was the owner of such a beautiful doll, and she handled it with great awe.

“I really believe that Santa Claus heard what I said!” exclaimed Maysie. “You know the lady said he had very sharp ears.”

The big turkey, too, gave the children almost as much pleasure, and they crowded around the mother while she cleaned it, and singed off the pin-feathers by holding it over a piece of burning newspaper. They had to see it safely stowed away in the oven, too; such a large, handsome turkey had never come their way before.

“Now you had better all go and take a walk in the streets where the nice houses are,” said Mother. “The windows will be all trimmed up with wreaths and garlands, and perhaps you will get a sight of some Christmas-trees, for people often have them Christmas Eve.”

The mother thought it as well to get the children out of the way for a while, for she did not have a Christmas dinner to cook every day, and she wanted to do full justice to all the good things sent them; and how could she do this with three curious children following her about and getting under foot at every step?

So the three started, Hannah wearing her new chatelaine bag in a position in which she decided it would show to the greatest advantage, Johnny proudly drawing his new sled after him, and Maysie with her doll perched on her arm in a position to show off her beautiful clothes and at the same time take in the sights. The lost dog was not forgotten, and at every step they were on the lookout, hoping to catch a glimpse of him at any moment.

Their way led by the engine-house, in front of which lay the Fire-Dog, finishing one of the large bones that the blind boy had brought him for a Christmas present. They stopped to pat him and to look at a flock of pigeons feeding there. They watched the large blue pigeon, Dick the Scrapper, who walked in among them snapping up the best morsels and pecking any of the pigeons who came in his way. They noticed, too, the handsome white squab, so strong and yet so mild-looking; but the one that pleased them most of all was the lame black and white pigeon. He was so tame that he ate out of their hands and even allowed them to stroke his feathers.

The lame pigeon soon began to act in a very strange manner. He would fly a few steps, and then look back at the children as if he expected them to follow him. This he did so many times the children were certain this was what he wanted. So they followed, and as soon as the little lame pigeon saw this he flew off again, waiting for them to overtake him. This was kept up until the children found themselves in a part of the city where they had never before been.

“We mustn’t go any farther,” said Hannah, “or we shall be late for dinner, and Mother will be anxious.”

“I am very hungry,” said Maysie, as visions of the beautiful turkey roasting in the oven rose before her mind, “and my feet are very tired too.”

“It can’t be much farther,” said Johnny, “and I am certain that the little pigeon wants something. You just sit on my sled, Maysie, and I’ll give you a ride.”

This plan was very agreeable to Maysie, and she seated herself on the sled with her doll in her lap, while her brother and sister drew her over the snow.

They had not much farther to go. To their surprise the lame pigeon turned in at a driveway and flew toward a large brick building enclosed by high walls.

“What can it mean?” said Hannah. Perhaps the little lame pigeon didn’t mean anything, after all.

But the little lame pigeon did mean something. He had recognized the children as the ones who took little Billy home when his mother had fallen in the street, and he had taken this means to induce them to follow him and discover the sick woman at one of the windows of the hospital. With a noisy fluttering of his wings he flew up to one of the windows and alighted on the sill. A pale, sick-looking woman was seated in a chair close to the window, and the children saw a nurse come to the window and open it. In hopped the little lame pigeon and alighted on an arm of the sick woman’s chair.

“Why, Johnny!” exclaimed Hannah. “Do you mind the face of the sick woman up there? It is blind Billy’s mother.”

“How do you know it is?” asked Johnny. “You never saw her but the once.”

“I know that, but I minded her hair, because it is just like Billy’s, so soft and curly, and she looks just the way Billy’s mother looked.”

“Perhaps they brought her here because it is a place where they put sick people,” said Johnny, who was convinced by his sister’s positive manner.

“Now, if we only knew where Billy is, it would be all right,” said Hannah.

“Perhaps she has found him,” said Johnny.

“I don’t believe she has, because she would look happy, and just see the sad look of her!”

The sick woman did indeed present a forlorn appearance, even the children’s young eyes could detect that, as she sat with her head laid against the back of the chair, stroking the feathers of the little pigeon.

They stood looking up at the window for some time, and gazing curiously at the large building before them.

“I suppose it is full of sick people,” said Johnny.

“I wonder if there are any little children there!” said Hannah. “Do you suppose the sick people know it is Christmas Day?”

This reminded Maysie of the Christmas dinner cooking at home, and she exclaimed:

“I am just as hungry as I can be, and I know it is ever so long after dinner-time.”

The other two children now became aware of the fact that they were hungry too, and, fearing to be late to dinner, they set off on a run toward home, with Maysie on the sled. Before they had gone far, they heard the jingle of sleigh-bells and the voices of children coming up behind them, and seeing a large sleigh and pair of horses in the road, they drew the sled to one side to allow it to pass.

In the sleigh sat a gentleman and two little boys. The children at once recognized the pleasant face of the gentleman. He was the one who had bought the cakes for Maysie. It would have been strange if they had not recognized him, for where was there another such sweet-tempered, happy countenance, and who else possessed such a pleasant, genial voice? So intent were they in watching the gentleman that they did not look at the two boys who were with him until just as the sleigh, which went slowly, was opposite them, they caught a glimpse of the little blind boy.

“Billy! Oh, Billy! Is that you?” screamed the two elder children in one breath.

“Stop!” called Mr. Ledwell to the driver, and the sleigh stopped in front of the children.

The blind boy had heard their voices, and recognized them with the quick perception that the blind possess. He turned quite pale with excitement, and stood up in the sleigh.

“Where are you?” he cried, feeling about him with outstretched hands.

“Here we are,” said Hannah, coming close to the sleigh. “The three of us are here. Oh, Billy, we didn’t know what had become of you and we were awfully sorry.”

“And your mother is over in that big house yonder!” exclaimed Johnny, excitedly. “We saw her sitting up at the window, and she looks awful sick!”

“Oh, Mother! Mother!” screamed Billy, struggling to free himself from the fur robe in order to get out of the sleigh. “Please, Mr. Ledwell, let me go to my mother! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” and the poor child, feeling his utter helplessness, sank back upon his seat and burst into tears.

“Try to compose yourself, Billy,” said Mr. Ledwell, kindly, “and we will find out all about it, and if your mother is really here you shall be taken to her at once.”

He then questioned the children, who told him about the lame pigeon who made them follow him, and who flew up to a window of the big house where they saw Billy’s mother.

“I am sure it was Billy’s mother,” said Hannah, positively, “because I minded her hair and the look of her face.”

Mr. Ledwell turned back, and going in to the hospital made inquiries concerning the sick woman the children had seen at the window. They were not mistaken, and in a few minutes Billy was in his mother’s arms.

After the excitement of the meeting had passed, Billy told his mother all that had happened since the dreadful day when she was taken away from him. He told of the kind children who had given him all they had to give, a shelter and what food they could spare, and how Jack the Fire-Dog saved his life. He told, too, about the kind-hearted firemen and his life at the engine-house, and about Sam and his grandpapa and the comfortable home he now had.

The poor woman could not find words to thank the kind gentleman who had done so much for her blind son, and when she tried to express her gratitude to him, he told her the best way to do it was to get well as fast as possible and come and live with her son.

“I am anxious to find work, so that I can take care of him,” said the sick woman. “As soon as I am well I am sure I can find something to do.”

“The first thing to be done is to get strong,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and then we will think about working. I propose that as soon as you are well enough you go to Billy, where you can have the best of care. You will improve much faster there than you can here, surrounded by sickness and suffering.”

The patient was pronounced not able to leave the hospital just then, but was promised that she should go so soon as it was deemed prudent.

So Billy took leave of his mother, happy at the promise of a visit the next day. They found Sam with the three children seated in the sleigh, and the new sled tied to one of the runners.

“I thought we had better take the children home, because they were afraid they would be late to their Christmas dinner,” Sam explained. “Do you think they will crowd you very much, Grandpapa? We will squeeze as close together as we can, and Maysie is almost a baby, you know.”

“I shouldn’t mind a little crowding on Christmas Day,” said Grandpapa. “Here, Baby, you can sit in my lap.”

“I am as big as Johnny,” replied Maysie, who was ambitious to be considered big.

Sam looked just as happy as Billy, thinking that the little blind boy had found his mother. He sat silent for some time, and his grandpapa, seeing his thoughtful, happy face, said,—

“Well, Sam, what are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking how glad I am that Billy has found his mother,” he replied, “and I guess God thought He’d send this Christmas present because He didn’t find time to send the one I asked for.”

So Sam’s Christmas turned out to be a much happier one than he had thought it was going to be, and the three children who had helped bring about this happy state of affairs reached home just as the big turkey was taken out of the oven.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

IT is some time since we have heard from the engine-house, and a change has taken place since we last looked in. The off horse was quite old, and the headlong speed at which the horses were obliged to go whenever an alarm was sounded, began to tell heavily on him. He was an ambitious fellow, and strained every nerve to keep pace with his mates and do his share of the work, but he was a tired horse when the scene of the fire was reached, and soon an order came for the off horse to give up his place to a younger and stronger one.

This order filled the kind hearts of the company with sorrow, for old Jim was a great favorite. When the news reached them, there was silence for a while, then warm-hearted Reordan burst out impetuously,—

“If old Jim goes, I go too. There isn’t one of us that has done his work faithfuller than old Jim has!”

“That’s so, he’s done his duty right slap up. What would the others be without old Jim, I’d like to know? They always take their cue from him,” said another.

“I’ve always made it as easy as I could for old Jim,” said the driver, “and have done my best to make the other two do their share of the work; but the knowing old fellow won’t have it, and isn’t satisfied unless his nose is just a grain ahead of the others, so he can feel he is doing his share and a little more.”

“He’s acted just like a Christian,” said another, “and if we do our duty as well as old Jim has done his, we sha’n’t have anything to answer for.”

“Get rid of him!” exclaimed a young man. “A nice return to make for his faithful service! It makes me sick to think how horses are turned off when they begin to lose their usefulness! Just think of old Jim sold to some old junk pedler or such, and being starved and beaten after all the good work he has done! It wouldn’t break the Fire Department to pension him, and they ought to do it!”

“They ought to, but whether they will is another thing,” said Reordan. “They will say that they can’t afford to pension off all the old horses in the department.”

“Well, if they can’t afford it, we can,” replied the young man. “What do you say to starting a fund for old Jim’s support, and boarding him out for the rest of his life?”

What could they say, but one thing, for courage and generosity go hand in hand, and to men who daily risk their lives to save those of others, as do our brave firemen, a dollar doesn’t look so big as it does to smaller natures.

After this decision the hearts of all were lightened, but parting with their old friend came hard.

“Let’s get him out of the way before the new horse comes,” said Reordan. “It would hurt his feelings to see a new horse in the stall that has been his for so long.”

The others felt as Reordan did, and just before the new horse arrived, old Jim came out of his stall for the last time. The intelligent creature turned his eyes on the men gathered to bid him farewell, and rubbed his nose affectionately against the shoulders of those who stood nearest him.

“He knows he’s being sent off just as well as we do,” said one, “and he’s trying to say good-bye to us.”

He certainly did know it, for his large, mild eyes had the sorrowful look that all dumb creatures have at leaving old friends.

“He looks kind of reproachful,” said one, “just as if he thought we hadn’t appreciated the good work he’s done for us.”

The men had bought a warm blanket for the old horse, knowing that he was going to a country stable which was not so warm as his stall in the engine-house. This was buckled on him, and he was led away. At the door he hesitated a moment, and looked back at his old home; then, with drooping head, he left for his new quarters.

“Be good to him,” said the captain to the man who had come to take the old horse to his new home. “The best you’ve got isn’t any too good for old Jim.”

“We’ll take good care of him,” replied the man. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

They watched the old horse so long as he was in sight, and nothing was said for some time. Then Reordan spoke,—

“Well, it’s a comfort to think we’ve done the best we could for the old horse. He’ll have plenty to eat and a good place to sleep in, and he will have as comfortable an old age as we can give him.”

Jack the Fire-Dog had, of course, known what was going on, and his heart was every bit as sad as the men’s.

“I suppose I’m a fool to feel so bad about it,” he confided to his friend Boxer, “but I can’t help it. We’ve been to a good many fires together, first and last, old Jim and I. My turn will come next, I suppose. I’m not so young as I once was, and old dogs are in the way.”

Such remarks as these had a most depressing effect upon his friend Boxer, for there is no dog more attached to his friends and more sympathetic than a bull-dog, although he is so reserved that he does not find it easy to express his feelings.

Boxer pondered over the situation, and the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that something must be done. He was on hand when the old engine-horse was taken away from the home that had been his for so long, and, as he looked at his friend Jack’s mournful face and heard him softly crying to himself, Boxer could bear it no longer.

“It is true that they will be sending him away next,” he muttered to himself; and as his indignation increased he cast his eyes about for something upon which to vent his anger. The man leading old Jim away caught his attention, and without stopping to consider the justice of his act, in true bull-dog fashion he rushed after them and seized the man by the leg of his trousers.

A commotion at once arose. Old Jim, startled at the sudden attack, started back, twitching the halter-rope out of the man’s hand, while the man struggled to free his leg from the bull-dog’s grip.

A bull-dog’s grip is a very peculiar thing. When he becomes excited, his jaws, which are very strong and formed differently from those of other dogs, become tightly locked. A spasm of the jaw seizes him, and it is impossible for him to unlock them himself until the spasm has passed. So Boxer held on, with his eyes set and his feet braced.

Now that old Jim was free, he stood still and looked on to see how the affair was coming out. He was not the only spectator, for quite a crowd collected at once. Varied was the advice given to make the bull-dog loose his grip, and poor Boxer would have been roughly handled had not Reordan seen the commotion and run to the spot. In a twinkling he had out a sulphur match, and, lighting it, held it as near the dog’s nose as he could without burning it.

The suffocating fumes of the sulphur match did their work, and Boxer gasped for breath. Thus his jaws were unlocked, and the man was freed. After such an excitement a dog always feels weak and shaky, and Boxer returned to his friend Jack with drooping tail and unsteady legs.

“Well, I never before saw a bull-dog made to quit his hold that way,” said one of the on-lookers.