Bolax, Imp or Angel—Which?

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER IX.

  AMY'S TRIP TO THE SEASHORE.

  For seven long weeks Amy had been under the doctor's care, sufferingfrom Chorea; she had grown thin and pale, and her mother was beginningto worry over her condition.

  "What do you think, Lucy, of sending Amy to Atlantic City?" she askedone day when they were consulting what had best be done for the child.

  "Dear sister, I feel sure the salt air is the best tonic for nervoustrouble. I will take Amy down, but you know it is impossible for me tostay away for any length of time, as I have an important engagement forthe summer."

  "Well, I shall write to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, begging them toreceive our invalid for a few weeks."

  Mother Evans, who was Mrs. Allen's particular friend, answered theletter, saying she would gladly care for the little girl, and that shecould be sent down as soon as convenient.

  When Amy heard of the proposed trip, she was delighted, then uponreflection, expressed herself as being afraid to meet so many strangegirls, but when she saw a nice little trunk packed with every article ofclothing, suitable for a sojourn by the sea, she was anxious to beginthe journey.

  When all was ready, Mr. Allen decided that they should take a very earlytrain, so as to arrive in a strange town in full time to be at theirdestination before dark.

  Bo heard the sound of wheels, and looking out saw the pony chaise at thedoor, Amy gave her mother a fervent good-bye kiss, then all got into thechaise. Bo sprang on the seat, seized the reins, and was soon drivingquickly down the road. They were not long in reaching the station. Amywas interested in watching the important business of procuring ticketsand seeing her pretty trunk labeled; she wondered if she would be aswell equipped as the other girls in the convent, but she need not havewondered, as there are so many little girls and boys, whose treasuresbear ample evidence of Mother's loving hands. Those little touches ofmotherhood, hardly noticed by those whom they are so tenderly lavishedupon, seldom, if ever valued until after those dear hands have beenremoved to another sphere, whence, perhaps, they may be sometimesallowed to come, unseen by mortal eye to bear the loved ones up, whilstthese may be longing wearily for that sweet "Touch of a vanished hand,and the sound of a voice that is still."

  It was a delightful place to visit, that convent by the sea, and many apleasant hour Amy spent watching the waves come in on the white sandsand break over her bare feet. Sometimes she donned her bathing suit, andpaddled in the water with the other children, one of the Nuns alwayswatching over them.

  It seemed nothing short of a miracle how quickly the child recuperated.At the end of six weeks she had so far recovered that her mother, whohad come to visit her, thought to take her home, but Mother Evansrecommended a stay of sometime longer, so it ended in a visit of twelvehappy, joyful weeks.

  The kind Nuns became very much attached to Amy, and she to them, anddear Mother Evans began her preparation for First Holy Communion.

  August was nearing its end when Mrs. Allen paid another visit toAtlantic City, this time, to bring her little girl home. She took boardin a cottage near the convent, wishing to enjoy a few days of sea air.

  One day when seated on the beach, both mother and daughter silentlywatched the waves as they came in gentle ripples almost to their feet.Amy awoke from her reverie, exclaiming: "Oh, it is so beautiful!" Shehad been reading of the early explorers of our country, theself-sacrificing missionaries who crossed this same boundless ocean,which now lay so calm before them. Amy went on musingly, as if talkingto herself, such a softness had come into her voice--her eyes took adreamy far-off look, as though it were fresh in her mind--the story ofthe gallant De Soto and his brave company of six hundred men, the flowerof Spanish chivalry, leaving the sunny slopes of his native Estramadura,sailing across these unknown seas, and landing upon these westernshores; day after day pressing on through pathless wilds, on towards thesunset, in pursuit of that fabled El Dorado in which they thoroughlybelieved. And then that sad death upon the banks of the river which hiseyes first of all Europeans had beheld--the sorrowing band who resolvedto hide his body in the waters--the little skiff, in the gloom of thesoft summer night, pushing silently out from the shadowy shore, withoars muffled and voices hushed, for fear of the savage arrows hiddenamong the dark vines--the dull sound as they dropped the body inmid-river, and the sweet, sad music as the priest sang low the requiemof the departed chief--the first requiem that had ever sounded uponthose solitary shores, where the waves have for four hundred yearschanted their long dirge over the man whose prowess first gave them tothe world.

  There was, too, the grand old Ponce de Leon, who saw one Easter morning,a land rise out of the Western Sea--a land lovely in all its luxuriantvegetation of a Southern spring, with breath and beauty of flowers. Whatbetter name could the romantic hidalgo devise than "Florida," and wheremore fitly than here could he search for that wonderous fountain ofperpetual youth?

  Ah, brave old Spanish Cavalier. Did no soft wind wafted gently from afarover the flowery sunset land, whisper to you that, instead of youth andlife perennial you should find, under the magnolia shade--a grave?

  A hundred wordless dreams went flitting through Amy's mind. I saywordless; for who shall say how we think; by what subtile art a thousandpictures pass swiftly on before one's fancy, all so lovely and beyondthe power of language--I mean our language to describe.

  For this reason it is, I suppose, that when a great poet speaks, all thedumb world recognizes what he unfolds. It is for us to feel, for him topaint.

  Amy was a very serious girl for her twelve years, constant associationwith her mother and aunt had given her a taste for books which somemight think dull for one so young, but she was always a dreamy child,from the time she used to lie in her baby crib and watch the round moonplowing through the feathery clouds, to this moment when she looks up atthe blue sky spanning the boundless ocean.

  When Amy and her mother returned to the convent they found that dearMother Evans had been called to New York. Mrs. Allen made a hastypreparation so as to return home on the same train, happy in being ableto avail herself of her dear friend's company on the journey. Amy badegood-bye to all the household, thanking the Nuns for their kindnessduring her sojourn amongst them.

  BO'S SUMMER ADVENTURES.

  Bo too, spent a pleasant summer, he and several of his chums often wentfishing, or hunting for wild flowers and curious stones, going intoswampy places for specimens of plants, and sometimes coming home, asHetty said, "Looking worse than Italian tramps."

  One day Walter Rhue and Ned Thornton came to spend the day, Bo beggedHetty for a basket of luncheon, and off they went to have a day of it inthe woods. It was the last week of August, rather warm, and after such along tramp, they wanted to find a cool place for their picnic.

  They reached a brook, which was usually so low that it could be crossedon some stepping stones. But today it was much swollen, owing to a heavyshower, which had fallen the preceding night, the water was three feetdeep, and rushed angrily over the stepping stones.

  Walter and Ned took up poles, and rolling up their pants, were about topick their way through the noisy current, but Bolax stopped them, andsaid: "Look here, fellows, I'll show you how to cross a brook."

  "You show me," retorted Ned, "I guess I can beat you at that businessany time."

  "I guess you can't," rejoined Bo, "just wait a minute and see how I doit."

  He then stepped upon an old log on the bank of the brook, and graspingthe drooping branches of a large tree, which grew on the opposite side,prepared to swing himself across. He pulled the branch as far towardhimself as possible, and then leaped forward, shouting in boastfultones: "This is the way to cross a----"

  Alas! For Bo and his boasting. The branch broke and his weight tore itfrom the tree, so, instead of swinging across, he fell with a tremendoussplash into the water.

  Walter and Ned burst into a fit of laughter, so uncontrollable, thatthey almost fell from the stones on which they stood. As soon as theycould speak,
Ned cried: "I say Bo, you had better take out a patent foryour new way of crossing brooks."

  But Bo was not prepared to enjoy his friend's joke. He was seated in thebrook, with the water almost up to his chin. Seeing him so still, Walterwent to the edge of the water, as near to him as possible and said:

  "Bo you are rather in a wet place; why don't you come out of it?"

  Bo then scrambled out, the water dripping from his clothes. Walter,with all his fun, was not without some thoughtfulness, and fearing lestBolax's wetting might injure his health, urged him to hurry home tochange his clothes.

  "No, I'll sit in the sun and dry myself," replied Bo in a surly tone.

  Ned tried to persuade him to run home, but he got angry with both boys.

  "Bolax, you're a snapping turtle today, and I'll leave you to recoveryour good temper."

  "I don't care; you may both go to the moon, if you like."

  "Oh, very well, Mr. President, of the Patent Brook Crossing Company,"said Walter with a provoking laugh.

  "You shut up, or I'll throw you in the brook."

  Bo did not usually show such temper, but his ducking had given him achill, and made him nervous. Ned, the peace-maker, then remarked that itwas silly for friends to quarrel.

  "Let us make up and get you home, Bo, or Hetty will never give usanother lunch for a picnic."

  When Master Bo got home, he tried to sneak up to his room, but hismother caught him on the stairs, such a sight as he was! mud, slime,weeds clinging to his soaking clothes.

  Hetty raised her hands, horrified at the condition of her favorite.

  "Whar yous done ben? you is getten' dreadful. Dat's de second big scrapeyous been in since you' sister been away."

  "Why, Hetty!" exclaimed Mrs. Allen. "What else has Bo been doing? Ihope you are not keeping things from your mother, my son. I fearsomething is very wrong with you. Did you get to confession last week?"

  "Mamma, I was going, but Father Clement was so cross to a fellow, whodid a couple of mortal sins, and the fellow said he got pitched out ofthe box, so I got afraid."

  Ma--Did the boy tell you what the sins were?

  Bo--I asked him, but he looked at me with such a face, and called me a"greeny."

  Ma--Oh, you should not have asked him.

  Bo--Well, I just wanted to know if his sins were like mine. I couldn'tdare to go to confession, if he got put out for only two mortal sins, Iwould catch it, for I have committed such a pile of them.

  Ma--Merciful goodness, child! When did you commit the sins? I was sureyou told me all your thoughts and actions of each day.

  Bo--I do pretty much, Ma, dear, but you see I have not been having manytalks with you at night for a long time. You let me say my prayersalone.

  Ma--My darling, I have been attending to poor, sick Papa, but I am sorryif my negligence has caused you to be careless about your conscience. Dotell me what sins you have committed.

  Bo--Well, you know that night I came home late? I did not actually tella lie, but I twisted the truth. Ma, dear, if I tell you all about thatday, promise you won't get angry--Father Clement says anger is a mortalsin.

  Ma--Never mind that, I take care of my own conscience, just tell meabout that day.

  Bo--Well, then, I went up to St. Thomas' as you know, after luncheon,while waiting for the train to come home, a freight car passed andslowed up. I heard a fellow say, "Hello," I said "Hello," too, and whenI looked up at him, I saw he was a friend of mine.

  Ma--A friend of yours!

  Bo--Yes, Ma, dear, I often see that fellow when I am waiting at thestation; his name is Warner. He let me on his train several times.

  Ma--Oh, my son! how could you be so disobedient! Getting on trains whenyou know I have strictly forbidden it.

  Bo--I know it was an awful mortal sin, and I came near being made torepent of it all my life. One of the college boys had made me mad, thatwas the reason I started for home. When I got to the station, Warner wasstanding on his train, he said: "Hello! are you the little kid thathelped me stoke the fire last fall?" I said I wasn't a kid now; I wasten years old. "That's so," said he, "come to look at you, you're roundas a barrel, but you ain't growed taller." Then I told him to shut up,and he said: "Oh, don't get mad, just step inside the caboose, I'll giveyou a ride to Dorton, and you can walk back home." I got into thecaboose, and Warner laughed and talked, and I never felt the time goinguntil we came to a standstill and I found myself at Lockfaren.

  Ma--Great goodness, Bolax, it is a wonder you were not killed! Oh, howcould you be so wicked, and who helped you home?

  Bo--I never thought of the wickedness until I saw where I was. Warnerlaughed at me, and said I was big and fat enough to walk home. Then Isaid to myself, "ha! ha! old fellow, now you're in a fix. I can neverwalk twenty miles." Lockfaren is only a flag station, there was nolight--not a house to be seen, only the thick woods all around. My heartstood still with fear. When I found myself stranded in that lonelyplace, I knelt down and made an act of contrition for all my sins, thenI begged our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph to help me. I expected somewild beast would come out of the woods and kill me, for wild cats havebeen seen in that neighborhood. Suddenly it came to my mind to pray tothe Angel Guardian, for the Engineer on the next passenger train thatwould pass, to make a stop. Oh, how I prayed! even more fervently thanwhen I am sick, and you know how wonderfully I can pray then. Well,after a long wait in the pitch dark, for it was cloudy, and not even astar to be seen, I heard the welcome sound of a whistle, a bell rang,and I knew a train was coming. Sure enough it did come and stopped. Theconductor and three men got out, each with a lantern, began examiningthe wheels; I jumped on the car, and when the conductor came in, Iwalked up to him and told the whole story. He listened and said: "Well,little man, it seems we stopped in direct answer to your prayer. Just aswe reached Lockfaren, the Engineer warned me that the Wheels weregrating as if there was a 'Hot box.' When we examined them, nothing waswrong." I thanked the Conductor and told him my name and where he couldsee my father to get the fare, but the kind man said he was only tooglad to have rescued me. "I have a little boy of my own, so my heartwarms to all boys, and I firmly believe kind Providence watches overthem; in your case the stopping of the train seems almost a miracle inanswer to your earnest prayer."

  Ma--Why did you not tell me all this before?

  Bo--Oh, dear Ma! I did not want to worry you. Papa was sick and Amy andAunt Lucy away from home. It's no use scolding me now, it happened twomonths ago.

  Ma--I know it happened two months ago, but dear, you should never hideanything from your mother. That good conductor should have been seen byyour father, and thanked for his kindness, if not substantiallyrewarded.

  Bo--Well, here is his card; I wish you or Papa would write to him andpay my fare. Kiss me, darling mother, and forgive me, and pray that Imay never commit a mortal sin again.