CINDERS:
THE FORTUNE CARL FOUND IN THE ASHES.
BY MADGE ELLIOT.
HOW artful the wind was that cold March morning, hiding away every now and then, pretending to be quite gone, only to rush out with a fearful howl at such unexpected moments that Carl was nearly blown off his feet each time.
But he struggled bravely forward, bending his head to the blast, and holding his brimless hat on with one hand, while he carried his battered tin pail in the other.
There was not a gleam of fire in the wretched room he had just left; and Tony and Lena, his little sisters, wrapped in the old piece of carpet that served them for a blanket, werealmostcrying with hunger and with cold.
They would have cried outright if Carl had not kissed them, and said, “Never mind, young uns—wait till I can give you each a reg’lar bang-up lace hankercher to cry on,—thenyou may cry as much as you please.”
Father and mother had died within a week of each other, when February’s snows were upon the ground, leaving these three poor children without money and without friends—a bad way for even grown-ups to be left.
So Carl, poor boy, found himself, at ten years of age, the head of a family.
Of course he became a newsboy.
Almost all heads of families ten years and under, become newsboys.
Twenty-five cents given him by an old woman who sold apples and peanuts, and who, by the way, was not much better off than he was himself, started him in business.
But the business, I am sorry to say, scarcely paid the rent, leaving nothing for clothing, food and fire, three very necessary things,—be a home ever so humble.
So every morning, almost as soon as the day dawned—and I can tell you day dawns very quickly in a room where the window hasn’t a scrap of shade or curtain—before he went down town for his stock of morning papers, Carl started out to bring home the family fuel.
This consisted of whatever sticks and bits of wood he could find lying about the streets, and whatever cinders and pieces of coal he could pick from the ash-barrels and boxes.
If the weather was at all mild, Tony, the eldest sister, and the housekeeper, went with him, and helped him fill the old pail.
She carried a forlorn-looking basket, that seemed ashamed of the old piece of rope that served for its handle, and stopped on her way home at several houses, where the servant girls had taken a fancy to the gray-eyed, shy little thing, to get the family marketing.
But alas! veryveryoften the supply fell far short of the demand, for the winter had been a very severe one, and everybody had such a number of calls from all sorts of needy people, that they could afford to give but little to each one.
This particular March morning Carl went out alone, wondering as he went when “the fortune” was going to “turn up.”
For these poor children, shut out from dolls, fairy-books, and all things that make childhood merry and bright, used to while away many an hour, talking of “a fortune” which the brother had prophesied would one day be found in the ashes.
At different times this dream took different shapes.
Sometimes it was a pocket-book, oh! so fat with greenbacks, sometimes a purse of gold, sometimes “a diamint ring:” but, whatever it should prove to be, Carl was convinced, “felt it in his bones,” he said, itwouldbe found, and found hidden among the cinders.
Once he had brought home a silver fork, “scooped,” as he called it in newsboy’s slang, from an ash-heap in an open lot.
On this fork the family had lived for three days.
Once he rescued a doll, whichwouldhave beenlovelyif it had had a head; and at various times there were scraps of ribbon, lace and silk, all of which served to strengthen the belief that something wonderful must “turn up” at last.
“Cricky! how that old wind does holler,” said Carl to himself, as he toiled along, “an’ it cuts right through me, my jacket’s so thin an’ torn—I’d mend it myself if I only knew how, and somebody’d lend me a needle and thread.
“Don’t I wish I’d find the fortune this morning!
“I dreamt of it last night—dreamt it was a bar of gold, long as my arm, and precious thick, too.
“Guess I’ll go to that big bar’l afore them orful high flat houses—that’sallusfull of cinders.
“It’s lucky for us them big bugs don’t sift their ashes!Wewouldn’t have no fire if they did,—that’s what’s the matter.”
So he made his way to the “big bar’l,” hoping no one had been there before him, and, leaning over without looking, put his cold, red hand into the ashes, but he drew it out again in a hurry, for, cold asitwas, it had touched something colder.
“Hello!” cried Carl, “what’s that? It don’t feel ’zactly like the bar of gold,” and, dropping on his knees, he peeped in.
A dirty little, shaggy, once-white dog raised a pair of soft, dark, wistful eyes to his face.
“Why! I’m blessed,” said Carl, in great surprise, “if it ain’t a dog. Poor little beggar! that was his nose I felt, an’ wasn’t it cold?”
“I s’pose he’s got in among the ashes to keep warm; wot pooty eyes he’s got, just like that woman’s wot give me a ten cent stamp for theTribunethe other day, and wouldn’t take no change. Poor old feller! Are you lost?”
The dog had risen to its feet, and still looking pleadingly at Carl, commenced wagging its tail in a friendly manner.
“Oh! you want me to take you home,” continued Carl. “I can’t ’cause I dunno where you live, andmyfamily eats all they can git theirselves—they’re awful pigs, they are,” and he laughed softly, “an’ couldn’t board a dog nohow.”
But the dog kept on wagging his tail, and as soon as Carl ceased speaking, as though grateful for even a few kind words, it licked the cold hand that rested on the side of the barrel.
That dog—kiss won the poor boy’s heart completely. “Youshallgo with me,” he cried impulsively. “Jest come out of that barrel till I fill this pail with cinders, and then we’ll be off. He kin have the boneswecan’t crack with our teeth ennyhow,” he said to himself,—not a very cheerful prospect, it must be confessed, for the boarder.
The dog, as though he understood every word, jumped from the box, and seated himself on the icy pavement to wait for his new landlord and master.
In a few moments the pail was full, and the boy turned toward his home, running as fast as he could, with the dog trotting along by his side.
“See wot I foun’ in the ashes,” he cried, bounding into the room. “Here’s the fortune alive an’ kickin’. Wot you think of it?”
“Oh, wot a funny fortune!” said Tony, and “Wot a funny fortune!” repeated little Lena.
“It’s kinder queer,—the pocket-book an’ the dimint ring a-turnin’ into a dog!” Tony continued. “But no matter, if we can’t buy nothin’ with him, we can love him, poor little feller!”
“Poor ’ittle feller!” repeated Lina. “He nicer than dollie ’ithout a head, ennyhow.Wecan lub him.”
“An’ now, Carl,” said the housekeeper, “you make the fire, an’ I’ll run to market, for it’s most time you went after your papers.”
And away she sped, to return in a few minutes with five or six cold potatoes, a few crusts of bread, and one bone, with very little meat—and that gristle—clinging to it.
And this bone—think if you can of a greater act of self-denial and charity—the children decided with one accord should be given to “Cinders,” as they had named the dog on the spot.
That night, after Carl had sold his papers, and come home tired but hopeful, for he had made thirty cents clear profit to save toward the rent, they all huddled together, with doggie in the midst of them, around the old iron furnace that held their tiny fire.
Presently the Head of the Family began whistling a merry tune, which was a great favorite with the newsboys.
Imagine the astonishment of the children when Cinders pricked up his ears, rose on his hind legs, and, after gravely walking across the room once, began to walk round and round, keeping perfect time to the music!
“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Carl, his eyes sparkling. “Look at that! look at that! Tony, it’tisthe fortune after all! an’ Ididfind it in the ash-box!”
“Why, wot do you mean, Bub?” cried Tony, almost as excited as her brother. “Wot do you mean, an’ ware’s ‘the fortune?’”
“Why there, right afore your eyes. I mean Cinders is one o’ them orful smart hundred-dollar dogs wot does tricks. He’s bin lost by that circus wot went away night afore last, an’ he’s bin lost a-purpose to make my dreams come true! I’ll take him out the fust fine day, an’ we’ll bring home lots of stamps. You see if we don’t!”
“I’llsell the papers,” said Tony, by this timequiteas excited as her brother; “I kin do it, Carl. ‘’Ere’s the mornin’ Herald, Sun, Times an’Tri-bune!’” imitating the shrill cry of the newsboy, and doing it very well, too, “an’ the fellers’ll be good to me, ’cos I’m your sister, an’ they like you.”
“You’re a brick, Tony!” said Carl, “an’ for sich a small brick the brickiest brick I ever knowed; but I kin sell ’em myself in the mornin’, an’ you kin take ’em in the afternoon, for that’s the time Cinders an’ me must perform. ‘Monseer Carlosky an’ his werry talented dog Cinders, son of the well-known French performing poodle Cinderella.’ How’s that, Tony? O I’ve read all about ’em on the circus bills, and that’s the way they do it. Yes, you’ll have to take the papers in the afternoon, cos then’s when the swell boys an’ gals is home from school,—’cept Saturdays, then we’ll be out most all day.”
“Dance more, Tinders, dance more!” here broke in little Lena; but Cinders stood looking at his master, evidently waiting for the music.
So Carl commenced whistling—did I tell you he whistled like a bird?—and Cinders once more marched gravely across the room, and then began waltzing again in the most comical manner.
He had evidently been trained to perform his tricks just twice; for when the music ceasedthistime he proceeded to stand on his head, and then sitting up on his hind legs, he nodded politely to the audience, and held out one of his paws, as much as to say, “Now pay if you please.”
The poor children forgot hunger and cold in their delight, and that miserable room resounded to more innocent, merry laughter that night than it had heard for many long years, perhaps ever before.
Cinders got another bone for his supper—the others had nothing—and then they all went to bed, if lying on the bare floor, with nothing for a pillow can be called going to bed, and dreamed of “the fortune” found at last in the ashes.
The next afternoon, which fortunately was a fine one, for March having “come in like a lion was preparing to go out like a lamb,” Carl came racing up the crazy stairs, taking two steps at a time, and, tossing a bundle of evening papers to Tony, he whistled to Cinders, and away they went.
Poor Carl looked shabby enough, with his toes sticking out of a pair of old shoes—a part of the treasures “scooped” from the ash-heap—and not mates at that, one being as much too large as the other was too small, his tattered jacket and his brimless hat.
But Cinders followed him as faithfully as though he had been clad in a costly suit of the very latest style.
Turning into a handsome, quiet street, Carl stopped at last before a house where three or four rosy-cheeked children were flattening their noses against the panes of the parlor windows, trying to see a doll which another rosy-cheeked child was holding up at a window just opposite.
“Now Cinders, ole feller!” said Carl, while his heart beat fast, “do your best.Bones!” and he began to whistle.
At the first note Cinders stood up on his hind legs, at the second he took his first step forward.
At the beginning of the fourth bar the waltz began; and by this time the rosy-cheeked children had lost all interest in the doll over the way, and were all shouting and calling “Mamma!” and the cook and chambermaid had made their appearance at the area gate.
The march and waltz having been gone through with twice, Cinders stood on his head—“shure,” said the cook, “I couldn’t do it betther myself”—tumbled quickly to his feet again, nodded affably once to the right, once to the left, and once to the front of him, and held out his right paw.
“He’s the cliverest baste everIseen,” said the chambermaid, “so he is!” and she threw a five cent piece in Carl’s old hat; and, at the same moment the window was opened, and out flew a perfect shower of pennies, while the little girl across the way kept shouting, “Come here, ragged little boy! Come here, funny doggie! Oh,whydon’t you come here?”
And, making his best bow to his first audience, Carl went over to the doll’s house, and was received by the whole family, including grandpa and grandma, with great delight and laughter, and was rewarded at the end of his entertainment with much applause, three oranges, and a new ten cent stamp.
That afternoon Cinders earned one dollar and three cents for his little master; and I can’t describe to you the joy that reigned in that small bare room when Carl, in honor of his debut as “Monseer Carlosky” brought in, and spread out on a newspaper on the floor, a wonderful feast! Real loaf of bread, bought at the baker’s, bottle of sarsaparilla at the grocer’s, and peanuts, apples, and a hunk of some extraordinary candy from the old woman who kept a stand at the corner, and who had started Carl as a newsboy. She also received her twenty-five cents again, with five cents added by way of interest.
“Why! didn’t they look when they see me a-orderin’ things, and payin’ for ’em on the spot!” said “Monseer,” with honest pride, as he carved the loaf with an old jackknife.
As for Cinders, no meatless bone, but half a pound of delicious liver, did that remarkable dog receive, and more kisses on his cold, black nose than he knew what to do with.
After that, as the weather grew finer and finer, and the days longer, Carl and his dog wandered farther and farther, and earned more and more money every day, until the little sisters rejoiced in new shoes, hats and dresses, and the housekeeper had a splendid basket—not very large, of course—with a handle that any basket could be proud of, and actuallydidgo to market, fair and square, and no make believe about it.
And Carl presented himself with a brand-new suit of clothes, from the second-hand shop next door, including shoes that were made for each other, and a hat with a brim.
By-and-by the cheerless room was exchanged for a pleasanter one; and the story of the fair-haired Head of the Family, and the fortune he found in the ashes, took wings, and returned to him laden with blessings.
And five years from that bleak March morning, when Cinder looked up so pleadingly in the boy’s, face, Carl found himself a clerk in the counting-room of a generous, kind-hearted merchant.
“A boy who worked so hard and so patiently to take care of his little sisters,” this gentleman said to his wife, “and who was ready to share his scanty meals with a vagrant dog,mustbe a good boy, and good boys make good men.”
And Tony and Lena, both grown to be bright, healthy, merry girls, befriended by many good women, were going to school, taking care of the house, earning a little in odd moments by helping the seamstress who lived on the floor below, and still looking up with love and respect to the Head of the Family.
Cinders, petted and beloved by all, performed in public no more, but spent most of his time lying by the fire in winter, and on the door-step in summer, waiting and listening for the step of his master.
So you see Carl was right.
Hedidfind his fortune among the ashes.
But would it have proved a fortune had he been a cruel, selfish, hard-hearted boy?
Ah! that’s the question.