CHAPTER VI.
FRED’S NEW HOME.
“Really, James,” said Mrs. Allen, with a yawn, “I’ve half a mind to go with you.”
“I wish you could, my dear,” said her husband, after a puff or two at his cigar. “But what could we do with Fred?”
“That’s the trouble. You know you promised you would take me the next time you went, for I have never been. Couldn’t we put him in an asylum?”
“I don’t think we could,” said Mr. Allen decidedly. “I should never feel it was right to leave him in one, and go off to enjoy ourselves.”
“I don’t see why not,” pouted his wife. “He would have every care, and the best of teaching. It’s awfully inconvenient having him here, and”—
“Hush!” said Mr. Allen sharply. “The doors are all open, and he may not be asleep. 
“‘Well, he has had everything possible done for him’”—Page 99.
“I know,” said his wife meekly, for when Mr. Allen spoke in that tone, she knew it was time to obey; “I only thought if he would be as well off in some institution, and leave us a little more free, it would be a good thing. This care is wearing on me terribly.”
“Poor Fred! He’s a good boy,” observed his father; “and I think he has shown some pluck the last few months.”
“Well, he has had everything possible done for him,” said Mrs. Allen, as she drew a vase of hyacinths towards her, and began to rearrange them.
“I wish we could plan to have you go with me,” Mr. Allen went on. “I was going last summer, and only waited till Fred was better. I must go now, at once; and if you could come, if we had somewhere to leave Fred, we would stay over a year and make a complete tour, take a run to Egypt, and go up to Norway.”
“I certainly must go. To begin with, think of me alone here with just that boy, morbid as he is! I should be insane.”
“We might take him with us,” suggested Mr. Allen.
“James! The very idea! I’d rather stay at home than go through Europe tied to a blind boy. I should never have a moment to myself.”
“Why couldn’t he board at the Carters’?”
“The very thing! Fred had such a good time there three weeks ago! He would be so happy, and Bessie is very good to him. I really think he considers her as a sort of mother.”
“Well he may,” said Mr. Allen. “We owe that girl a debt we can never repay. But I wonder if they would take Fred. They have never had boarders, and he would be a great deal of care.”
“Not so much,” said his wife, shifting her ground to suit the new question at issue. “He could have Mary go with him to wait on him. You can arrange it, I know. You send them a note to-morrow, and if they will take him, I will be ready to sail—let me see, this is Wednesday. I will be ready next Wednesday.”
“I will try to arrange it,” said her husband thoughtfully. “But I do hope they won’t feel I am asking too much. When I think of it, to placidly request that they take an invalid and his servant to board for a year, is a good deal.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Allen. “You can pay them well; and, really, James, if Fred would only rouse himself, he would be as well as ever. He makes a good deal out of his blindness.”
“Why, Louise, what do you mean? I have never heard him complain.”
“No, he doesn’t complain, exactly, but he just lies on the sofa, and doesn’t care for anything or anybody, and when I try to comfort him, he turns away his face and won't say anything. But I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed; and you just write that note to-night, so they will get it to-morrow, surely.” And she went away, leaving her husband to muse over his cigar, in the light of the dying fire.
His wife was trying, at times. Years ago he had married a pretty little society girl, not so much because he loved her as that he wished a suitable head for his pleasant suburban home. Socially, Louise Allen fulfilled all the requirements; but her husband often longed for a companion, but found none in the selfish, wayward woman who presided over his household.
“Poor little Fred!” he thought, as he sat there. “I am afraid the boy has had a hard life of it. Louise doesn’t mean to neglect him, but she has so much else on her hands. I wonder what it’s like, anyway.” And leaning back in his chair he closed his eyes for two or three minutes, and then opened them, with a shudder, on the brightly lighted room. “It must be awful, sure enough, to be in such darkness. Well, I hope the Carters can take him in. He will be contented there. Louise ought to consider him a little more.” But the thought never occurred to him that he, James Allen, could ever spend an evening at home, giving up his club or theatre, to entertain the boy, as much his son as the son of Louise.
The next evening, Mr. Carter came in with a letter, which he handed to his wife. She took it, read a few lines, and uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” asked Bess, looking up from the game of dominoes she was playing with Rob.
“It is from Mr. Allen,” answered her mother. “I will give it to you as soon as I finish it.”
“From Mr. Allen? How queer! Go on, Rob, it is your turn.”
“See what you think,” said Mrs. Carter, giving Bess the letter.
Bess read it hastily, looked at her mother, and then read it again, slowly and thoughtfully.
“Well?” asked her mother.
“Why, I’m not the one to decide,” said Bess.
“What’s up?” inquired Rob.
“Mr. Allen is going abroad for a year, and takes his wife with him,” explained Mrs. Carter, “and he wants”—
“Cousin Bess to go too?” interrupted Rob so disconsolately that they all laughed.
“Console yourself, my dear little cousin,” said Bess. “He only wants us to take Fred to board.”
In his secret heart, Rob thought that was almost as bad. With Fred here all the time, good-by to his pleasant walks and games with his cousin. He was silent, but Bess read his thought.
“Don’t worry, Robin, the house is plenty large enough for two boys, and I’ll not let Fred cut you out.”
Mr. Allen’s note was the perfection of tact. He spoke of his invalid son, whose happiest hours were spent with the friend that had done so much to brighten his dark life; he regretted the pressing business which called him abroad just then, but Mrs. Allen’s health, much shaken by sorrow for her son, demanded a change and freedom from care. He went on to suggest very delicately that it would be a great accommodation if Fred might board with them; that Mary would be at hand to wait on him, to free them from any restraint, while she could either board with them or come in at certain hours; and, finally, that he should expect them to call on his coachman with perfect freedom, during his absence.
“What do you think of it, Bess?” asked her mother again.
“Why, mother, you must decide. I am not the one.”
“Yes, you are,” replied her mother, “for it will make more difference to you than to the rest of us. Fred would be largely under your care. Are you strong enough to go through it?”
“I think I am,” said Bess slowly. “I should like him here, if you and father don’t object. The boy has to learn all over again the very A B C of living, and he has no one to teach him but us. Only, I don’t want Mary.”
“Who would take care of Fred, to give him what help he needs?” asked Mr. Carter.
“I would,” responded Bess promptly. “He doesn’t need much, and it will be less every day. Mary would be only an extra care and worry. She would be half servant, half companion, and that would just upset Bridget. We don’t want her round in the way.”
“I think you are right,” said her mother. “But think this over carefully, Bess. If you don’t feel equal to it, don’t try. I shall not be able to do much, and it will make a great care for you.”
“I know it, mother; but I think I can go through with it. Fred will be happy with us, and Rob will help me with him, won’t you, dear?”
“One thing more, Bess,” said her father seriously. “If you start on this, you must make up your mind not to give up all your time to the boy, even if he does want you. You must go out, and walk, and make calls, as much as ever. You are not going to turn hermit for a year in your devotion to one small boy, however much good you may do him. And it would not do him good, either. He must grow self-reliant and unselfish, and not feel that he must be amused and waited on every moment.”
As if to add his opinion to the family discussion, Fuzz, whose attention was caught by the serious tones of their voices, jumped out of his basket, and, coming to the side of his mistress, sat up on his haunches, and waved his small paws in the air, as he swayed unsteadily from side to side in his eagerness.
“What is it, Fuzz?” asked Rob, leaning over to pat his head.
Fuzz only replied with a snarl so emphatic that it showed his very back teeth, and then turned again to Bess, and raised his paws higher than ever.
“Bess, that dog grows crosser every day,” said her mother. “You really ought to give him a hard whipping for snapping at Rob like that. What will Fred do, with such a cross animal about?”
“He liked Fred, and if he is let alone I don’t think there will be any trouble,” said Bess, ready to take up the cudgels in defence of her pet. “I don’t think he feels well to-night; he never snapped at Rob before.”
“Fuzzy is a bad dog! Come here to grandma,” said Mrs. Carter in slow, measured tones, as she glared at the dog, who looked in her face for a moment, and then turned his head away with a prodigious yawn. “Children, you must not laugh. He never will mind then. Well, Bess, what do you think? Shall we let Fred come?”
“Yes, I should like it so much, unless it would be unpleasant for you and father. You know I threatened once before to adopt him. Does he want to come?”
“They haven’t, Mr. Allen says, told him anything about their plans, until they could settle on something. Will you write to Mr. Allen, then?”
“Yes, I will write this evening. But come, Rob, we’ve time for just one more game.“
The note was written, and the next evening Mr. Allen called to arrange for Fred’s coming four days later. The boy was to be left in the care of Bess, on whose judgment Mr. Allen felt he could rely. After an hour spent in discussing various minor details, Mr. Allen said, as he rose to go,—
“We have said nothing to Fred as yet. Miss Carter, about this; so suppose you tell him, that is, if you can spend time to-morrow to come down for a few moments. And, in case I do not have time to call again, I will say now how much Mrs. Allen and I feel indebted to you for taking our son into your home.”
And with a stately bow he was gone. “Did you ever see such an old iceberg?” remarked Bess disrespectfully, as she returned to the parlor fire to thaw herself out. “Between him and Mrs. Allen I should think Fred would be thankful for any change. Next Tuesday! Well, there’s a good deal to be done between now and then. Shall you worry, mother, with a new son on your hands?”
“Not at all,” said her mother heartily. “He is not my property, anyway; though if I see you going very wrong, I shall put in my word.”
“Oh, do!” said Bess. “I feel half terrified at the thought of my responsibility. Still, I think that, at least, I shall do as well as Mrs. Allen.”
The next afternoon Fred lay stretched on the sofa in an unusually dismal mood. The whole house was in a bustle; his mother and Mary had been up-stairs all day, rummaging through closets and drawers, with not a moment to spare for him; the fire had gone out in the grate, and there was no one near to build him another; and, worst of all. Miss Bess had not been near him for four days, while Rob had not been down for two weeks. Everybody had forgotten him, and he wished he could forget himself. Oh, for something to do! With nothing but eating and sleeping to break the monotony, life was so dull. He envied the man whom he heard shovelling coal into a neighbor's cellar. He could fancy just how he stooped and gave his shovel a powerful push, raised it with one swing of his strong arms, and tossed it down into the opening before him; only stopping occasionally to wipe his forehead on his grimy sleeve. Fred felt to-day that he would give up all his comfortable home, just to change places with that man for one little hour, and be able to see and work.
“Lost in ‘maiden meditation,’ Fred?” asked Bessie’s voice at his side.
The boy sprang up with a glad cry.
“Oh, Miss Bess I I didn’t hear you come in. How glad I am you are here!”
“I mustn’t stay but a moment,” said Bess, as she sat down on a mussy pile of pillows and afghan. “How is your mother?”
“She’s well; but she’s awfully busy,” replied Fred, leaning on the back of a chair, with his chin in his hands. “I don’t know just what is up, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast—at least, she hasn’t been here,” he added hastily, for he was gradually giving up the old-time expression.
“I can tell you, if you wish to know,” said Bess quietly. “She is going to Europe next Wednesday with your father.”
Fred’s face became so blank with astonishment that she hastily went on.
“But you are not going to be left here to keep bachelor’s hall, nor to go with them. Instead, what do you say to coming to our house?”
There was no doubt of the answer. Too happy to speak, Fred dropped on the sofa, and turned his face to Bess, while a bright flush rose in his cheeks. At last he said,—
“Is it really true, Miss Bess? Can I? May I? It’s too jolly!”
“So you like the idea? Can you stand it for a year, and not get homesick?”
“Homesick?” echoed Fred in lofty scorn. “I guess not! When can I come? Did you say a year?”
“You are to come next Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock, and you are to stay about a year. And now I must run away home again, for I have ever so much to do. But, first, let me straighten out this sofa. What a muss! Get up a moment.”
And Bessie shook up the pillows, folded the afghan, took Fred by his shoulders and put him back in the old place, and was gone. At the gate she was met by her attendant, Rob.
“What did he say?” inquired that youth, as she reappeared.
“Not very much, but I don’t think he objected.”
The next two days were as busy to Bess as they were long to Fred, who no longer envied the coal-heaver. A room adjoining Bessie’s was to be given up to the boy, and she took much care and pleasure in arranging it.
“I feel just like a child with a new doll,” she told her mother. “I want this room to be just as pretty and inviting as if Fred could see it.”
By Tuesday noon, the room was ready, even to the tiny vase on the table, holding one pink rosebud.
“Boys do care for such things, though they don’t say much about it,” Bess told her mother and Rob, whom she had invited to inspect the results of her labors. “That sofa is my especial delight, though,” she added, pointing to the broad, old-fashioned couch between two western windows, where Fuzz lay serenely asleep on one of the cushions. “That can be Fred’s growlery, where he can retire whenever he feels cross. I trust he won’t use it often.”
Two hours later, as the carriage came up the drive, Mrs. Carter stood waiting on the steps, while Bess ran out to meet Fred. The boy, clinging to Bessie’s arm, came slowly up to the door.
“Welcome to your new home, Fred,” said Mrs. Carter’s voice.
And he answered as he gave her gentle face a great boyish kiss,—
“It’s just splendid to come.”