Jack, the Fire Dog. Wesselhoeft Lily F.
dog’s eyes.
“Certainly, if he will,” replied Grandpapa.
Jack, however, was not the dog to neglect his duties, and in spite of Sam’s and Billy’s alluring calls, he gently but firmly wagged his tail, to express his regret at being obliged to refuse their invitation. As they drove off, he looked mournfully after them so long as the sleigh was in sight, then he gave a sigh of disappointment and lay down in front of the engine-house, where he could enjoy the passing, and occasionally pass the time of day with some dog friend, or make the acquaintance of some stranger passing through the city, for Jack was a social dog. Here, too, he was within hearing of the gong.
Meanwhile the sleigh continued on its way to the park, the faces of the two little boys beaming with pleasure,—Billy’s at the unusual treat of a sleigh-ride, and Sam’s from watching the happiness of the little blind boy.
Sam was so eager to point out to Billy everything of interest to him, that he was kept busy describing the objects of interest they passed. The grandpapa’s face reflected the happiness in the two boys’ faces, and his pleasant smile grew very tender as he saw the delight of the blind boy in the scenes his poor blind eyes could not see.
When, as they passed a group of merry, shouting boys building a snow fort which Sam reported faithfully to his little friend, and Billy, quite excited at Sam’s description had wistfully asked, “Are they all seeing children, Sam?” Sam, greatly distressed at the question, had replied, “There is one fellow that looks kind of blind,—he’s having an awfully good time, though;” then Grandpapa’s smile grew more tender still, and he told the two boys about the schools where those who could not see were taught to do whatever those who could see did.
“Can they play the way the seeing children do?” asked Billy, eagerly.
“Yes,” replied Grandpapa, “and we will send you to one of them.”
Billy was silent, and seemed to be thinking about something.
“Should you not like to go, Billy?” asked Sam’s grandpapa. “The children are very happy there.”
“I would rather find my mother,” replied Billy, with a quiver of the lips.
“We will find her, never fear,” replied kind-hearted Mr. Ledwell, who could never bear to see anybody unhappy; and he began a story so interesting that Billy was soon listening intently and had forgotten for the time about the dear mother whom he wanted so much to see. By the time the story was ended, the houses were farther and farther apart, then snow-covered fields were passed, and Sam was kept busy in describing the frozen ponds where boys and girls were skating and playing, and the hillsides down which they were coasting. Then woods with real forest trees appeared, and Sam explained that they were now in the park. Here and there a gray squirrel’s bright eyes peeped down upon the sleigh, and Sam reported just how they whisked their bushy tails and ran from bough to bough, occasionally stopping to take a peep.
As they went farther into the park, a colony of sparrows would now and then fly up from a clump of bushes, and hurry away as if the sleigh contained a party of ferocious hunters, instead of two kind little boys bringing them food. They took care to keep the sleigh in sight, for Sam and his basket were old friends, and they knew the feast in store for them. So they followed at a distance, for sparrows like to consider themselves martyrs, and to act as if they were a persecuted set. This is not to be wondered at, when we remember the way they have been treated. Their nests have been torn down, they have been driven from one place to another, and they have been made to feel that they are not wanted anywhere.
Suddenly there arose on the still, frosty air discordant cries, and Sam exclaimed,—
“There come the blue jays, Billy! Oh, you don’t know how handsome they are, with their tufts standing straight up on their heads, and their beautiful blue and white bodies and wings!”
“Are they as big as the pigeons?” asked Billy, for he had held the little black and white lame pigeon in his arms and knew just what size they were.
“Not quite so large as a pigeon,” replied Sam, “but fully as large as a robin. They are awfully quarrelsome fellows, though; just hear how hard they are scolding now.”
“Will they come and eat the crumbs?” asked Billy.
“Yes, and get the biggest share of them too,” replied Sam.
“We had better stop here,” said Mr. Ledwell, as they came to an open, sunny spot.
So the sleigh stopped, and Sam and his grandpapa got out and helped Billy out, who looked as happy and eager as Sam did. He did not look about him, though, as Sam did, and see that the sparrows had stationed themselves on neighboring trees, all ready to begin their feast so soon as the crumbs were scattered. Neither did he see the bright flashes of blue as the jays alighted on the trees near by, nor the tame and nimble squirrels who came closer than the birds, hopping over the snow to Sam’s very feet. All these things Sam explained, however, and Billy understood.
Billy, too, threw the crumbs, and held nuts in his hand for the squirrels, laughing with delight as he felt the trusting little creatures eat from his fingers.
All at once arose a blithe song of “Chickadee-dee-dee-dee;” and a flock of little chickadees came flying up, quite out of breath with their hurry.
“Chickadee-dee-dee-dee,” they all cried together, as they bustled about to pick up what crumbs they could; and their song said as plainly as words could have done,—
“Are we too late? I do hope you have left some for us.”
They were so sweet-tempered about it, not even losing temper when the greedy sparrows darted in and seized crumbs from under their very beaks, that it was impossible not to love them.
“Such dear little black caps as they have!” said Sam. “Here, you great greedy jay, you let that little fellow’s crumbs alone!”
A blue jay had snatched a crumb away from one of the little chickadees, but the chickadee only replied blithely, “Chickadee-dee-dee-dee!” which in bird language meant: “No matter! Plenty more to be had! A little thing like that does not matter.”
This both the little boys understood the chickadee to say, for those who love animals learn to understand much of their language.
Then arose a hoarse cry of “Caw! caw! caw!” and several coal-black crows flew down at a distance. They did not come boldly into the midst of the group of feeding birds, because they preferred always to conduct their business with great secrecy. One would occasionally walk on the outskirts of the party with an air of great indifference, pretending not to see what was going on; then suddenly he would dart in their midst and seize upon a particularly large crumb, and, hurrying off with it, stand with his back to the others, eating it in the slyest manner, as if he expected at any moment to have it taken away from him.
There was one bird that even Sam’s bright eyes did not see. He had a timid look, as if he could not make friends so easily as the social chickadees. He crept along a large tree that grew near the spot where the birds and squirrels were feeding, and creeping in the same cautious manner on the under side of a large bough that stretched out toward the spot, hung head downward, watching intently what went on beneath him. None of the birds took the slightest notice of him, but his quick eyes glanced at them all, and finally rested on the face of the blind boy, who patiently listened to the explanations of the kind friend who loaned him the use of his eyes.
This shy little bird who watched the two boys so narrowly, was the nuthatch. As soon as the sleigh had driven away, the nuthatch came down from the tree, creeping along the trunk, head downward, and seized upon the fine kernel of a nut a squirrel was eating.
The chickadees were loudly singing the praises of the visitors who had brought them such a delicious treat. Even the blue jays, who were usually very chary of their praise, had a pleasant word for their friend Sam, who so often brought them food.
“There was a strange boy with him,” cawed an old crow. “Who knows anything about him?”
“He was not a seeing child,” chirped the nuthatch. “He could not see the blue sky, nor the trees, nor any