The Children of the Top Floor Part 5

Hamilton appeared. She was closely followed by Mr. Jones, the good-natured janitor, who lifted Jack in his strong arms and carried him downstairs as easily as if he had been a baby. Mrs. Randall accompanied the party to the sidewalk, and stood by, watching anxiously while the little cripple was placed carefully and tenderly on the seat of the comfortable carriage Mrs. Hamilton had procured. She looked so sad and wistful that kind Mrs. Hamilton longed to ask her to take her place in the carriage, but dared not, lest in doing so she might arouse her neighbor's sensitive pride.

At last all was ready, Mrs. Hamilton and the two little girls were in their places, and the carriage moved slowly away from the door.

"Good-bye, mother, dear," cried Jack, waving his thin little hand as he leaned comfortably back among his pillows; "I'm having such a lovely, lovely time."

There were tears in Mrs. Randall's dark eyes as she turned away, and when she had gone back to her own rooms, instead of at once settling down to her afternoon's sewing, she threw herself wearily upon Jack's sofa and buried her face in the pillows with a sob.

What a drive that was! I don't think any one of those four people will ever forget it.

"It was one of the loveliest experiences I ever had in my life, Phil,"

Mrs. Hamilton told her husband that evening with tears in her eyes. "To see that dear little fellow's wonder and delight over the very simplest things was enough to make one ashamed of ever having been dissatisfied with one's lot or discontented about anything. I never before in my life saw any one so perfectly happy."

It was pretty to see the devotion of the two little girls to the poor crippled boy.

"Are you quite sure you're comfortable, Jack?" Winifred kept asking over and over again, while Betty looked anxiously into her brother's radiant face to make sure he was not getting tired.

It was a glorious spring afternoon, and the park had never looked more lovely. How Jack enjoyed it no words could describe.

"I don't believe mother's park was any more beautiful than this one," he said to Betty, as, in answer to a direction from Mrs. Hamilton the coachman turned the horses to go round a second time. "I haven't seen any deer, but there are sheep and swans."

"Where's your mother's park?" Winifred inquired, with pardonable curiosity.

Betty blushed and gave her brother a warning glance. Jack looked as if he had said something he was sorry for.

"It's a story mother tells us," he explained, "about a park she used to see when she lived in England. It was a beautiful park, and we love to hear about it."

"My friend Lulu Bell's father and mother used to live in England," said Winifred, "and she went there with them once for a visit. Did you ever live there?"

"No," answered Betty, Jack's attention having been called off for the moment by the sight of some new wonder, "father and mother came to this country before we were born."

"Has your father been long dead, dear?" Mrs. Hamilton asked kindly.

"He died six years ago, when I was only five. I don't remember him very well, and Jack doesn't remember him at all. Oh, Jack, look at that carriage without any horses. That's an automobile."

It was nearly five o'clock before the carriage again drew up before the door of the big apartment house, and Mr. Jones came out and once more lifted Jack in his arms to carry him upstairs.

There was a tinge of bright color on the little boy's usually pale cheeks and his eyes were shining.

"I've had the most beautiful time I ever had in my life," he said, turning to Mrs. Hamilton with a radiant smile. "You've been so very kind, and so has Winifred, and--and, please, I'd like to kiss you both."

CHAPTER IV

GATHERING CLOUDS

"Oh, dear! I do wish it would stop raining," sighed Betty, glancing out of the window one wet afternoon a few days later. "It's rained just as hard as it can for two whole days, and it doesn't look a bit more like clearing now than it did yesterday morning."

"I hope mother won't take any more cold," said Jack, rather anxiously, pausing in his task of endeavoring to draw a sketch from memory of an automobile. "She coughed dreadfully last night; it woke me up. I wish she didn't have to go out on rainy days."

"So do I," said Betty decidedly. "Don't you hate being poor, Jack?"

"If you were only grown up," Jack went on, ignoring his sister's question, "you could go out and give the lessons on wet days or when mother didn't feel well, and she could stay at home and rest."

"No, I couldn't," said Betty, dolefully. "You know I'm not a bit musical; I couldn't play like mother if I tried all my life. I don't see how I'm ever going to be any kind of a teacher if I can't go to school and get a diploma. People can't teach without diplomas; Mrs. Flynn says so. Her daughter's trying for one this year."

"Well, you would be able to do something any way," Jack maintained, "and mother wouldn't have to work so dreadfully hard. I wish you were grown up, Betty, only then I should have to be grown up too, and I shouldn't like that."

"Why not?" inquired Betty in some surprise.

Jack flushed, and turned his face towards the wall.

"I don't know exactly," he stammered, "but I think--I'm sure it must be much worse to be a grown up cripple, than to be a little boy one."

Betty left her seat by the window, and coming over to her brother's side, sat down on the end of the sofa by Jack's feet.

"You wouldn't mind so much if you could be a great artist and paint beautiful pictures, would you, Jack?" she asked gently.

"N--no, I don't suppose I should, not quite so much, because then I could sell my pictures, and make lots of money for you and mother. Then we could live in a lovely place in the country, and keep a carriage."

"And you could go to drive every day," added Betty, falling in at once with Jack's fancy, "and mother could have a fine piano, and go to hear all the concerts and operas. Then we could give money to poor people instead of having people want to give it to us, and I could be very accomplished, and go to parties sometimes."

"Yes," said Jack eagerly, "and some time we could all go to England, and see the place where mother used to live."

Betty looked a little doubtful.

"I don't know whether mother would like that or not," she said. "You see, when mother lived there she knew father, and now he's dead. It might make her feel badly to go back."

"So it might; I never thought about that, but she might like to see Uncle Jack. I should like to see him, shouldn't you, Betty?"

"Yes; I wonder if we ever shall. Mother doesn't like to have us talk much about him, but I know she loves him very much; her eyes always look that way when she tells us how handsome and splendid he used to be when he was a boy."

"Wouldn't it be nice if Winifred Hamilton came to see us this afternoon," Jack remarked rather irrelevantly; "I do like her very much, don't you?"

"Yes, she's lovely; she said she'd come to see you some day."

"We haven't seen her since the day we went for the drive. Perhaps she's waiting for you to call on her first."

"Mother won't let me go," said Betty regretfully; "she says she's afraid Mrs. Hamilton might not want Winifred to know us."

"But if she hadn't wanted to know us she wouldn't have taken us to drive, would she?"

"I shouldn't think so, but, any way, mother won't let me go there till Winifred has been here."

"There's the clock striking four," exclaimed Jack joyfully; "mother'll be in in a few minutes now. Why don't you light the gas stove, Betty, and get her slippers nice and warm? She'll be so tired and wet."

"I will," said Betty, springing up with alacrity; "and I'll make her a cup of tea, too; she'll like that." And away bustled the little housewife, disappointment and vexation alike forgotten in the pleasant prospect of making mother comfortable.