 | CHAPTER IX.
THE NIGHT-WATCH. Outpost |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
THE NIGHT-WATCH.
Teddy, waving the old palm-leaf fan up and down with
as much care as if it had carried the breath of life to his
poor little charge, sat for some time very quiet, listening to
her wild prattle without trying to interrupt it; until, after
lying still for a few moments, she suddenly fixed her eyes
upon him, and said, —
“Oh! you're Peter Phinn, sister to Merry that weared
a sun-bonnet, ain't you?”
The question seemed so conscious and rational, that
Teddy answered eagerly,—
“No, honey; but I'm Teddy Ginniss; and I'm going to
be your brother forever and always. What's your name,
sissy?”
“I'm Finny; no, I'm Cherrytoe, — I'm Cherrytoe, that
dances. Want to see me dance, Peter?”
As she spoke, she started up, and would have jumped out
of bed; but Teddy laid his hand upon her arm, and said
soothingly, —
“No, no, sissy; not now. Another day you shall dance
for Teddy, when you're all well. And you mustn't call me
Peter, 'cause I'm Teddy.”
“Teddy, Teddy,” repeated 'Toinette vaguely, and then,
with a sudden shrill laugh, shouted, —
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef.'
“No: I'm Teddy. I'm your brother Teddy,” repeated
the boy patiently; and then, to change the subject, added
coaxingly, “And what's the pretty name you called yourself,
darlint?”
“I'm Cherrytoe, — Cherrytoe that dances so pretty.
Don't you hear, you great naughty lady? — Cherrytoe, Cherrytoe,
Cherrytoe!”
The wild scream in which the name was repeated woke
even tired Mrs. Ginniss, who started upright, crying, —
“What's it, what's it, Teddy? Ochone! what ails the
crather?”
“It's only her name she's telling, mother; and sure it's
a pretty one. It's Cherrytoe.”
“And what sort of a quare name is that for a christened
child? Sure we'll call it Cherry; for wunst I heerd of a
lady as was called that way,” said Mrs. Ginniss.
“Yes, we'll call her Cherry, little sister Cherry,” said
Teddy, delighted with the promise implied in his mother's
words of keeping the child for her own. “And, mother,”
added he, “mind you don't be telling the doctor nor any
one that she ain't your own, or maybe they'll take her away
to the 'sylum or somewheres, whether we'd like it or not:
and, if they do, I'll run off to sea; I will, by ginger!”
“Whisht, thin, with your naughty words, Teddy Ginniss!
Didn't I bate ye enough whin ye wor little to shtop ye from
swearin'?”
“Ginger ain't swearing,” replied Teddy positively. “I
asked the master if it wor, and he said it worn't.”
“Faith, thin, and he says it hisself, I'm thinkin',” half
asked the mother, with a shrewd twinkle of her gray eyes.
Teddy faltered and blushed, but answered manfully, —
“No, he don't; and he said it was low and vulgar to talk
that way; and I don't, only by times.”
“Well, thin, Teddy, see that yer don't, only thim times
whin yer Lears the master do it forninst ye: thin it'll
be time enough for ye. And don't ye be forgettin', b'y, that
ye're bound to be a gintleman afore ye die. It was what
yer poor daddy said when yer wor born, a twelvemonth
arter we landed here. “There, Judy,” says he, “there's a
Prisidint as the best ov 'em. Now, don't yer let him grow
up a Paddy, wid no more brains nor a cow or a horse.
Make a gintleman, an'a 'Merican gintleman, of the spalpeen;
an' shtrike hands on it now.”
“`Troth, thin, Michael alanna, an' it's a bargain,' says I,
an', wake as I wor, give him me fist out ov the bed; an' he
shuk it hearty. An', though Michael died afore the year wor
out, the promise I'd made him stood; an' it's more ways
than iver ye'll know, Teddy Ginniss, I've turned an' twisted
to kape ye dacent, an' kape ye out ov the streets, niver forgittin'
for one minute that Michael had towld me there
was the makin's of a gintleman in yees, an' that he'd left it
to me to work it out.”
To this story, familiar as it was, Teddy listened with as
much attention as if he had never heard it before, and, when
it was ended, said, —
“And tell about your putting me to the squire, mother.”
“Yis, b'y; an' that wor the biggest bit of loock that iver
I wor in yet. Two twelvemonth ago come Christmas it
wor, an' iver an' always I had been thinkin' what 'ud I do
wid ye nixt, when Ann Dolan towld me how her sister's
son had got a chance wid a lawyer to clane out his bit ov
dollars a year, wid the chance ov larnin' what he could out
ov all thim big books as does be in sich places. Thin it
somehow kim inter my head so sudden like, that it's sartain
sure I am it was Michael come out ov glory to whisper
it in my ear: `There's Misther Booros'll mebbe do as
much for your Teddy.' I niver spoke the first word to Ann
Dolan, but lapped my shawl about me, an' wint out ov her
house with no more than, `God save ye, Ann!' an' twenty
minutes later I wor in Misther Booros's office.
“`Good-evenin', Mrs. Ginniss,' says he, as ginteel as yer
plaze. `An' how is yer health?'
“`Purty good, thank ye kindly, sir,' says I; `an' its
hopin' you have yours the same, I am.'
“`Thank you, I am very well; and what can I do for you
this evening? Pray, be sated,' says he, laning back in his
chair wid sech a rale good-natured smile on the handsome
face of him, that I says to myself, `It's the lucky woman
you are, Judy Ginniss, to put yer b'y wid sech a dacent
gintleman: an' I smiled to him agin, an' begun to the beginnin',
and towld him the whole story, — what Michael said
to me, an' what I said to Michael; an' how Mike died wid
the faver; an' how I'd worked an 'saved, an' wouldn't marry
my b'y dacent, an' sind him to the school, an' give him his
books an' his joggerphy-picters” —
“Them's maps, mother,” interposed Teddy.
“Niver yer mind, b'y, what they be. Yer had 'em along
wid the best of yer schoolmates; an' so I towld the squire.
`An' now,' says I, `he's owld enough to be settlin' to a
thrade; an' I likes the lawyer thrade the best, an' so I've
coom to git yer honor to take him 'printice.'
“At that he stared like as he'd been moonsthruck; an'
thin he laughed a little to hisself; and thin he axed mighty
quite like, `How do you mane, Mrs. Ginniss?' So I towld
him about Ann Dolan's sisther's son, an' what wor the
chance he'd got; an' thin I made bowld to ax him would he
take my b'y the same way, on'y I'd like he'd larn more, an'
I wouldn't mind the fifty dollars a year, but 'ud kape him
mesilf, as I had kep' him since his daddy died, if the wuth
uv it might be give him in larnin'.”
“And what did the master say to that, mother?” asked
Teddy, with a bright look that showed he foresaw and was
pleased with the answer.
“Sure and he said what a gintleman the likes uv him
should say, and said with his own hearty smile that's as
good as the goold dollar uv another man, —
“`My good 'oman,' says he, `sind along your b'y as soon
as you plaze; an' if he's as — as' — what's that agin, Teddy,
darlint?”
“Amberitious,” pronounced Teddy with a grand sort of
air, “and it means, he told me, wanting to be something
more than you wor by nater.”
“Faith, and that's it, Teddy: that's the very moral uv
what I wants to see in yees. Well, the masther said if
the b'y was as amberitious an' as 'anest as his mother afore
him (that's me, yer see, Teddy),” —
“Yes, yes, mother, I know. Well?”
“That he'd make a man uv him that should be a pride
an' a support to the owld age uv me, an' a blissin' to the
day I med up my mind to eddicate him. That wor two
year ago, Teddy Ginniss; an', so far, hasn' the gintleman
done by yees as niver yer own daddy could? Hasn' he put
yees to the readin' an' the writin' an' the joggerphy-picters,
an' the nate figgers that yees puts on me washin'-bills, till
it's proud I am to hand 'em to the gintlefolks, an' say,
`If ye plaze, the figgers is pooty plain. It's me b'y made
'em'? Now till me, Teddy, hasn't the shquire done all this
by yees, an' give yees the fifty dollars by the year, all the
same as if he give ye nothin' else?”
“He has so, mother.”
“An' whin I wanted to wash for him widout a cint uv
charge, an' towld him it was jist foon to rinshe out his bit
things, bekase he is that good-natered an' quite that there's
niver the fust roobin' to do to 'em, he says, —
“`An' if I let yees do 'em widout charge, I'd as lieve
wear the shirt of Misther Nessus;' an' more by token,
Teddy Ginniss, I told ye iver and oft to look in the big
books an' see who was Misther Nessus, an' what about
his shirt.”
“Faith and ye did, mother; but I never could find him
yet. Some day I'll ask the master,” said Teddy with a
puzzled look.
“An' so he pays me what I ax, an' it isn' for the likes
uv him to be knowin' what the others ud charge; an', whin
he gives me forty cints the dozen, he thinks, the poor innercint!
that it's mooch as I would ax uv any one. Now,
Teddy b'y, isn' all I've towld ye God's truth? and haven't
ye heerd it as many times as yees are days owld out uv
yer own moother's lips?”
“Faith and I have, mother.”
“An' wud yer moother till yees a lie, or bid yees do what
wasn't plazin' to God, Teddy?”
“Sure she wouldn't; and I'll lick the first fellow that'll
say she would, if he was as big as Goliah in the Bible,”
said Teddy, doubling up his fist, and nodding fiercely.
“Thin, Teddy Ginniss, we cooms to this; an' it's not the
first time, nor yet the last, we'll coom to it. If iver ye can
do yer masther a service, be it big or be it little; if iver the
stringth, or the coorage, or the life itself, of yees, or thim as
is dear to yees, ud sarve him or plaze him, — I bid yees
now to give it him free an' willin' as ye'd give it to God.
An' so ye mind me, it's my blissin' an' the blissin' uv yer
dead father that's iver wid ye; an' so ye fail me, it's the
black curse uv disobedience, an' yer moother's brukken
heart, that shall cling to yees for iver and iver, while life
shall last. Do ye mind that, b'y?”
“I mind it, and I'll heed it, mother, as I've promised
you before,” said Teddy solemnly; and mother and son
exchanged as tender and as true a kiss as young Bayard
and his lady-mother could have done when she gave him to
be a knight and chevalier.
All through this long conversation, which had been carried
on in a low tone of voice, and frequently interrupted
when it seemed to disturb her, 'Toinette had slept feverishly
and restlessly; but as the washwoman crept away to begin
look at the poor little sister whose beauty was to him an
ever-new delight, her great blue eyes suddenly opened, and
fixed upon him, while with an airy little laugh she said, —
“We're King and Queen of Merrigoland, Peter; isn't we?
Does you love me, Peter?”
“I couldn't tell how well I love you, Cherry dear; but
it's Teddy I am, and not Peter,” said the boy, bashfully
kissing the little hot hand upon the outside of the bed.
To his dismay, the delirious child snatched it from him
with a wild cry, and burst into a storm of tears and sobs,
crying, —
“Go away, wicked lady! go away, I say! God won't
love you when you strike me, you know. He won't: my
mamma said so. Oh, oh, oh!”
Her cries brought Mrs. Ginniss to her side in a moment,
who, tenderly soothing her, turned upon Teddy.
“Bad 'cess to yees, ye spalpeen! An' what ud ye be afther
vexin' her for, an' her in a faver? What did yees say to
her?”
“I said my name was Teddy, and not Peter; and then
she said I was a lady, and struck her,” replied the boy,
bewildered, and a little indignant.
“And sure ye'r Peter or Paul, or Judas hissilf, if so
be she likes to call ye so while she's this way; an', if ye
shtrike her, it's the weight uv my fist ye'll feel; mind that,
young man! — Whisht, thin, darlint! asy, mavourneen!”
'Toinette, hushed upon the motherly bosom of the good
woman, soon ceased her cries, and presently fell again to
sleep; while Teddy, with rather an injured look upon his
uncouth face, and yet pleased to see the little sister in his
mother's arms, crept softly from the room, with his breakfast
in his hand.
| CHAPTER IX.
THE NIGHT-WATCH. Outpost | |