Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/435

families. Uncle Tommy'll never forgive you."

"I know it," he faltered; "I know it, Jonathan. Tommy'd ought to have it. I told 'em so. I said Tommy'd ought to have it."

The end of the lane was the end of Dick's little world, and he turned and loitered back, humming a tune to himself, as a child will. Uncle Luther stood in the doorway, and watched him wistfully. Of a sudden he recalled how Uncle Tommy had looked when they were boys together.

"Jus' like Tommy, exactly," he said, half aloud, gazing fondly at the little fellow. Then he bent over stiffly and beckoned.

"Come see gran' pa," he said, smiling enticingly.

Dick crossed his hands behind his back, and looked at Uncle Luther soberly. He was a sunny-haired little fellow, with blue eyes and puckery red lips, and he stood full in the bright May sunshine.

Uncle Luther regarded him seriously.

"Dick crossed his hands behind his back."

"I told 'em I didn't want to march," he said protestingly. "I said Tommy'd do it better' n I could; but Captain Enoch, ner any of 'em, wouldn't listen to me. Don't go 'way, Dicky, don't go 'way, an' leave gran' pa," beseechingly.

But the little boy was edging away; he didn't understand, and he was afraid.

"Don't go 'way," said Uncle Luther, eagerly; "come an' see what gran' pa's got for Dicky."

He turned, and hobbled painfully across his shop. He put on his spectacles, and opened a drawer in his work-bench, and in its depths he found a stick of horehound candy. Dick stood with one pudgy hand resting on the door frame, peering into the shop with wide eyes.

"Candy," announced Uncle Luther expressively.

Dick drew a little nearer, glancing from the candy to his grandfather's wrinkled face. Uncle Luther waved the stick like a wizard's wand, and lured Dick nearer and nearer until a dirty little hand closed over the candy. Then he reached out slyly and cautiously, and gathered Dick in his arms.

"Ain't you goin' to kiss gran' pa?" he asked eagerly.

But the little boy wriggled away, and ran out of the door. Uncle Luther watched him loitering up the lane in the sunshine, sucking his candy, until the vision blurred in his dim old eyes. Then he returned to his brazier. He sat down, and drew his chair almost over it. He bent double, with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on his hands, and there he sat alone for a long time. Finally he straightened up. The subtle warmth of the fire had stolen through all his body. He leaned back in his chair, his head drooped over to one side, and his work-worn old hands lay palm upward on his knees. He was fast asleep.

The brazier under him continued to glow, and send its cheery comfort stealing up around his chair. It had a friendliness and hearty warmth that were more than the kindness of many of the old man's friends.

The dusk of evening came down, and filled the corners with shadows. And presently a glow that was not all in the brazier began to illumine the center of the room. A thin, wavering mist of smoke curled up around the old man, and crept silently along the dingy ceiling. A moment later there was a sharp burst of flame, that disappeared as suddenly as it came. The old man's trouser-leg rested against the hot brasier, and the fine fire gnawed and sparkled in the heavy cloth. A few shavings on the littered floor of the shop were crisping with sudden wisps of flame, and the chair legs were on fire.

"To examine the remains of the fifty-dollar leg."