CHAPTER SEVENTH.

THE POLICE OFFICE.

IN a few moments Tabby recovered her senses, astonished to find herself still alive. Alive she certainly was, though thoroughly wet and cold, and entirely in the dark. She heard the water rushing around her, and at first she thought she was floating down the stream, but a minute or two of observation convinced her that she must be stationary, and, with her usual energy of character, she began to make some desperate struggles to get out. After much fruitless scratching and biting, she at last succeeded in making a hole, through which she thrust first her paws, then her head, and finally her whole body. As soon as she was out of her prison, she looked around, and discovered to what she owed her preservation. David, who as usual was more than half-tipsy, had forgotten to put a stone in the bag, which had consequently floated instead of sinking, and being swept down by the rapid current, had lodged upon a long tongue of ice which projected from the shore.

But Tabby did not spend much time in observation, for she felt that her situation was a very precarious one; and miserable as she was, the instinct of self-preservation was strong within her. After two or three ineffectual attempts, she got upon her feet, and began slowly and cautiously to make her way toward the land. The ice was wet and slippery, and perhaps no other animal than a cat could have kept footing upon it; even Tabby found some difficulty in doing so, and had several falls, at each of which she gave herself up for lost, till, finding that she was not in the water, a renewed effort was made again to struggle on. She had almost reached the shore, when a terrible crack and a violent concussion caused great alarm, and the piece of ice slowly separated from the bank, and floated down the stream. Tabby made one more effort for life. Collecting all her little strength, she made a desperate spring, and, much to her astonishment, found herself safely on dry land, while the ice which had been the means of saving her life went rapidly down with the current.

"Well done, little pussy!" said a not unkind voice near her. "That wasn't a bad jump. A moment more, and it would have been all over with you."

Tabby looked up in amazement.

The speaker was a boy of twelve or thirteen years old, very poorly dressed in ragged and coarse clothes, and with an indescribable forlorn air about him. He was sitting on a log by the river side, and seemed to have been employed in watching her efforts, for he added: "I didn't think, when I first spied you out there, that you would ever get safe to land. Come here and let me dry you off, or you'll freeze to death. Poor little toad! It isn't so nice to be out in a winter's night with nothing to eat, and no place to go to—is it, pussy?"

[Illustration: Jack Webster.]

Rough-looking subject as the boy was, his tone of sympathy attracted Tabby at once. She crept up to him with some difficulty, for she was growing very cold and stiff, and made a feeble attempt to jump up on his knee. He took her up tenderly enough, and after rubbing her as dry as he could with a very ragged handkerchief, he put her in his breast, and buttoned his loose jacket over her. His kindness and the genial warmth revived poor Tabby's fast-failing strength, and as the chill passed off her benumbed limbs, she began feebly to purr her thanks.

"I daresay you are as hungry as I am," said the boy, patting her head, which she was rubbing against his chin: "but I have nothing to give you, pussy. But never mind, I guess we can stand it till morning, and then if I get anything to eat, you shall go shares. Hallo!"

At this moment a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up, he saw a policeman standing behind him. He rose rather hastily, and Tabby shrank into her place of concealment.

"Now, my lad, what are you doing here?" was the policeman's first question.

"Nothing!" was the short answer.

"You have chosen a cold place to do it in, seems to me. Why don't you go home?"

"For the best reason in the world: because I have no home to go to."

"That's bad, certainly," said Mr. Bond, not unkindly. "But haven't you any place where you stay?"

"No," was the answer, in a voice which trembled a little. "I don't know a living soul in this place."

"How did you come here, then?" was the natural question.

"I came here from Buffalo yesterday. My father and mother are dead, and I haven't got any one to take care of me, or teach me anything, and I want—" he paused a little, and then went on more firmly—"I want to go to the House of Refuge."

"To the House of Refuge," repeated the policeman, rather taken aback. "Well, I have taken a good many boys to the House of Refuge in my time, but I don't remember of any one's wanting to go of his own accord. But you know that's where they take the bad boys—you're not a bad boy, are you?"

"I suppose I am," said the child, without looking up. "Everybody says so, and when I come to think about it, I guess they are about right."

"You come along with me," said Mr. Bond, "and we'll see what can be done for you. You can't stay out all night, that's certain, because you'll freeze to death, and we can't have people freezing to death in our streets."

"So you want to get an education, do you?" said he, as they trudged along together, the boy having some trouble to keep up with the long strides of his tall companion. "Well, an education is a first-rate thing, there's no doubt about that; I tell my boys and girls so when they get a little tired of going to school. If I had had the chance that you have, says I, I should have been glad enough of it."

"If I had had any one to send me to school, I don't think I should ever have been tired of it," said the boy rather sadly.

"Oh! Well, cheer up. Maybe there's better days coming. It never rains always, you know, and I'll tell you what—what did you say your name was?"

"Jack Fletcher," was the answer.

"Well, Jack, it's half the battle with a boy, or a man either, for that matter, to make a good resolution. You say you're not a good boy,—eh?"

"No," replied Jack. "I haven't had much chance to be good. My father and mother both drank," he continued, after a little pause, and lowering his voice, "and one day my mother drank so much that she got crazy and killed herself. Then my father was taken up for murdering her, and put in jail, and there he took sick and died. He was sober then, of course, and when I went to see him, he—he told me to go off to some place where I wasn't known, and try to make an honest living. I knew a boy who had been to the House of Refuge, and he told me how they learned trades there, and what kind of times they had, and I thought that would be just the place for me. So I begged a passage on a waggon, and got here yesterday."

"But suppose you could get a place to learn a trade without going there, wouldn't you like that better?" asked Mr. Bond.

"I don't know about that," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I am afraid I should not be steady. You see I have been brought up to run in the street all day long, and it's not easy to settle down to work, unless one must. It is likely I should get into some scrape, and do something bad, and so have to be put there, and I would rather go of my own accord."

"That's very sensible, too," replied Mr. Bond. "Well, here we are at the police office, and I daresay you won't be sorry to get warm. It is a bitter night."

"Hallo, Bond, what have you got there?" was the salutation that greeted them as they entered the room, where the gas-light and coal fire gave out an amount of light and warmth which seemed little short of miraculous to Tabby, who had all the time remained close under Jack's arm. "He doesn't look like a very dangerous customer."

"It's a boy that says he wants to go to the House of Refuge," said Mr. Bond, setting a stool by the side of the fire as he spoke. "Here, Jack, sit down and get warm. You must be about frozen through, I should think."

Jack was glad to sit down, for his knees trembled, and he felt a strange sensation creeping over him which was not exactly sleepiness or fatigue. He had been seated only a moment, when the lights seemed to grow dim and the voices indistinct—his head dropped on his bosom, and one of the men sprang forward and caught him just in time to prevent his falling on the floor. The boy had fainted away. They laid him on a seat that stood at a distance from the fire, brought water and sprinkled his face, and one of them unbuttoned his jacket.

"Hallo, here's two of them," said he, as poor Tabby became visible, vainly trying to shrink out of sight. "He's got his cat here. Whittington and his cat. Well, I've seen lots of cats out at nights, but this is the first time I ever heard of one being taken up for a vagrant."

"Don't hurt her, please," feebly pleaded Jack, who was now recovering his senses.

"Don't you be frightened! Who wants to hurt her? But I say, Bond, you'll make a great figure in the report to-morrow. Officer Bond arrested a tortoise-shell kitten on a charge of vagrancy. The kitten was accompanied by a small boy—how do you feel now, Jack?"

"Better," said Jack faintly, but he could not raise his head without turning giddy.

Mr. Bond and his companion exchanged glances.

"Have you had any supper, Jack?"

"No, sir."

"Nor dinner either, perhaps?"

"No, nor breakfast either," said Jack, exerting himself to speak. "I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday noon, when a lady gave me some bread and butter."

"You just hand me that pan behind you, Foster. My wife put me up some soup for my supper, and it will be just the thing for him." He set the pan on the fire, and proceeded to break some sticks into it. "But why didn't you go in somewhere, and ask for something to eat? Almost any one would have given you a dinner."

"I didn't want to beg if I could help it," said Jack rather shortly. "I have had enough of that way of living."

"That's a good principle, too," said Mr. Bond, taking his cookery from the fire and tasting it. "Now see if you can sit up and eat something."

"May I feed the kitten?" asked Jack, after he had taken a couple of mouthfuls of the savoury soup. "I expect she is as hungry as I am."

"You eat your supper and I'll take care of the cat," said Mr. Foster, taking down his own dish, and apparently greatly amused by the whole affair—"Here, Puss, Puss!"

Tabby had been sadly frightened at first on finding herself in the police office, a place which she had learned to connect with all manner of harm, but she had by this time made up her mind that police officers were very kind-hearted people, and worthy of confidence. She came forth from her hiding-place under Jack's arm, and sat up on her hind legs to beg, greatly to the amusement of the two men, who fed her with bread and cold meat till she could eat no more. She then set seriously about the task of washing herself, and having put her fur in as neat order as she could, proceeded to make herself as agreeable as she knew how, playing off for the entertainment of her hosts all the antics that her mother and the children had taught her, till finally, wearied out by her adventures, she crept up to the side of Jack, who was now snoring on the sofa, and was soon fast asleep.

"O my dear mother!" was her last waking reflection. "What would you say if you knew that your daughter was spending the night in the police office?"

"Well, Jack, have you had your sleep out?" asked Mr. Bond, about half-past six the next morning. "If you have, I think you had better come home with me, and get some breakfast, and then we will see what is to be done with you. Never mind your clothes," he added, seeing Jack carefully surveying his torn and ragged garments. "We will find a way to set that to rights before long."

"May I take the cat?" asked Jack, looking wistfully at Tabby, who sat purring by the stove. "I don't like to leave her. When I saw her crawling over the ice last night, trying to make her way to land, I thought she was a good deal like myself, trying to make a living, and when she made that last jump from the water and got safe to shore, I felt encouraged, as though things would go right with me yet."

"Oh! Yes, bring her along," said Mr. Bond, who seemed all once to have got something in the corner of his eye. "My children like nothing better than a kitten. Children have got to play with something, and I have a notion that it makes them tender-hearted to have animals about."

"Unless they abuse them," remarked Jack as he once more fastened Tabby under his jacket. "Some young ones are so awful cruel to cats and dogs."

"Not mine!" said Mr. Bond emphatically. "I never would let any child abuse an animal if I could help it. But my children are pretty good children, though I say it."

Jack thought within himself that they had no excuse for being otherwise, and intimated as much.

"Well, I don't know about that. There is a wonderful deal in bringing up, no doubt, but there are many children who have good and kind mothers and fathers, and yet turn out anything but well. We have had young chaps brought to the office as drunk as beasts, whose parents are some of the first as well as the best people in this town."

"They must be great fools," said Jack.

"That they are, and worse than fools. Some of them reform and make pretty decent sort of men, after all, but the chances are very much against it. A great many go to swift destruction, and even if they seem to do well for a time, they easily fall into bad courses again. We hear a good deal about young fellows sowing their wild oats. I have seen too much of that kind of farming, and I can tell you, that folks that sow wild oats have got to reap wild oats, and a bitter harvest it is too. A reformed drunkard is never safe. The first temptation overcomes him, and there are plenty of rascals who want no better fun."

"I know that," said Jack. "My father broke off drinking several times, and was as steady as any one for two or three months. Then we did pretty well, for he was an excellent workman, and could always have plenty to do. But sooner or later his old cronies would get hold of him, and coax or force him to drink, and the moment he tasted a drop, he was gone. I think he might have done better, if things had been different at home, but there was not much encouragement, when all he earned was wasted, and worse. Many's the time I've wished there was not a drop of spirits in the world."

"Many a one has wished that besides you," said Mr. Bond. "But here we are at home in good time. I smell the coffee and fried pork even here."

Mr. Bond, as he spoke, stopped at the gate of a neat little white house, with green blinds, and a garden in front, every inch of which seemed to be under cultivation. Three or four little heads were visible at the front windows, all of which disappeared on the instant, each one trying to be first to tell mother that father had come, and a strange boy with him. Mrs. Bond met them at the door, and the first glance at her kind motherly face reassured poor Jack, who had had many misgivings as to the reception he was likely to meet with. Mr. Bond spoke a few words to her in a low tone, and then turning to Jack invited him to enter.

"Yes, come in, boy, and get some breakfast," said Mrs. Bond heartily. "You'd like to wash yourself first, I daresay—well, come in here," opening, as she spoke, the door of a small bedroom, already put in neat order for the day. "I'll give you some hot water and soap directly. Tom, get that suit of clothes I mended up the other day. I think they will fit him."

Washed and combed, and dressed in a suit of old but neatly patched clothes, Jack was a very different-looking boy from the forlorn vagrant who had been brought to the police office the night before. The consciousness of having found friends, and being treated with kindness, had brought a light to his eye and a different expression to his mouth, and Mr. Bond felt his first impression confirmed, that he was a very good-looking boy.

"You see," he had just been saying to his wife, "I have had a good deal of experience with these subjects, and I think I can tell pretty well when a boy is telling the truth, and when he is not. Now, I took a liking to this fellow from the first, and I did not think any the worse of him for his kindness to the kitten. Come, Jack, if you are ready; put the cat down for the present."

All the children were seated in the neat kitchen, where the breakfast table was already set, each with a New Testament in his hand, and the large family Bible was laid open on the table, ready for the father's use.

"You can look on with Tom," said Mrs. Bond, pointing Jack to a seat next a boy of about his own age. "Never mind," she added, seeing a flush rise to Jack's face, and guessing at once that he could not read, "you can listen to the rest."

Each of the children read a verse in turn from the Gospel of St. Matthew, and their father finished the chapter. Then all together sang a couple of verses from a hymn to a familiar tune, and all kneeled down while Mr. Bond prayed, every little voice joining in the Lord's Prayer at the last. It was the first time Jack had ever seen family worship, though he had heard of such a thing; and when in the course of the prayer he heard himself alluded to in terms that he could not mistake, his eyes filled, and he had hard work to keep from sobbing aloud.

"Come now, Sarah Anne, let's have breakfast," said Mrs. Bond, in the same cheerful tones, after prayers were over. "I am rather behind, for I was over at Mrs. Cox's till about three o'clock, and I slept too long this morning."

"What took you over to Mrs. Cox's?" asked Mr. Bond. "I thought you said you would never go into the house again."

"Neither I would, to visit," said Mrs. Bond, busily turning her cakes, "because the last time I was there she showed me plainly that she didn't want me, and of course I wouldn't visit where it was considered an intrusion. But one of her children was taken with the croup, and she thought he was going to die directly. So she sent the girl over for me, and of course, under such circumstances, I went."

"Taking the bottle of goose-grease?" interrupted her husband, laughing.

"Certainly," said Mrs. Bond, laughing in her turn. "That's my cure for the croup, you know, and it answered a good purpose, for the boy was relieved very soon. But she was so frightened, and so helpless, that I did not like to leave her alone with him, till he seemed entirely out of danger. You would be surprised to see how little presence of mind she had. She did nothing but talk, and cry, and wring her hands, till I was out of patience with her."

"I should not be surprised at all," replied Mr. Bond. "I should not expect her to be good for much. She is too grand a talker for that. But I am glad you were able to be of use to her. Now let us have our breakfast, if it is ready."

There was much merry chat at the table between the children and their parents, the uplifted finger of the mother serving as a check if any of the little ones seemed likely to become too noisy.

Meantime, Tabby, seated near the fire, made her observations upon the family, and compared them in her own mind with other groups of children she had seen in her travels. They were all nicely but plainly dressed, the girls in dark woollen or calico frocks, with white aprons, the boys in coarse grey cloth, with here and there a patch on knee or elbow. Mrs. Bond herself was as nice as any lady Tabby had ever seen, in her dark calico frock, muslin cap, and plain white linen collar. No slip-shod shoes, or stockings out at the heel, had a place in her morning toilet; as she expressed it, she liked to be always fit to be seen. Her table furniture was all cheap, but neat and well-matched, and the brown cloth was without a stain.

Tabby thought of the Warringtons, where the beautiful French china and shining silver of the breakfast table were surrounded by cross faces and angry voices, and again of Mrs. Webster, with her cracked tea-cups and battered tin-ware for her own family, and the fine china and glass for company. And she decided that if she could not go home, she would rather live here than in any family she had seen in her wanderings.

When breakfast was over, each child set about his or her several tasks, with an alacrity and cheerfulness that showed they did not consider work any hardship. The mother took up the baby, and dressed her by the fire; Sarah Anne and Jenny put on their long checked pinafores, pinned up their sleeves, and washed the dishes; Samuel cleaned the knives and swept the front steps and side-walk, and Tom set himself about sawing wood. A plate was set down for Tabby, who made a hearty breakfast, and then began, after the custom of cats, to explore her new abode.

"Can't I help you to do that?" said Jack, going into the shed where Tom was at work. "I know how to saw wood. Suppose you let me saw while you split."

"You may do so," returned Tom, resigning the saw and taking up the axe. "I should like to get it all done to-day if I can, for school begins again to-morrow, and then I shall not have so much time."

"Do you go to school?" said Jack. "I wish 'I' did."

When two boys are at work together, it does not generally take them very long to become acquainted. Before the wood was finished and piled up, and the chips disposed of, they had learned all of each other's history from first to last, and made their own reflections thereon. Jack had made up his mind to be a good boy at any rate, and try to get such an education as should enable him to make his way in the world; while Tom secretly came to the conclusion that he had not valued his advantages as highly as they deserved, and resolved that he would never again complain of being kept in school all the term, and not allowed to be in the street of an evening, which he had sometimes thought rather a hard case.

Meantime, Mr. Bond had been holding a consultation with his wife, as to what was to be done with Jack, in whom he felt more and more interested, the more closely he observed him. Mrs. Bond thought it rather a pity the boy should go to the House of Refuge, and believed some place might be provided, where he could have a home and be out of harm's way, without submitting to quite so severe a rule. Mr. Bond, on his part, considered that Jack took the right view of the case.

"You have not seen so much of these street children as I have," he remarked. "They get so much attached to their wandering way of life, miserable as it seems, that it appears almost impossible to give it up. This boy has probably many bad habits, which it will take some time, and very likely some pains, to cure. He will be well off there as far as food and clothes are concerned, and out of the way of bad associates, and at the same time he will be learning what will be useful to him afterwards."

"He seems inclined to work," said Mrs. Bond. "See how much he is engaged about helping Tom with the wood."

"True; he works well, but you must remember that it is a new thing to him, and hard labour will seem very different after the novelty is worn off and it becomes an every day matter. You know it is much easier to work for one day or two than for a month or a year."

"That's true," assented Mrs. Bond. She sat thinking a few moments, while her fingers were busily engaged upon the shoe she was binding. "I think if I were you, husband," she added after a little, "I would go and consult Mr. Merriam. You know he has had a great deal of experience in such matters, and he is one of the Governors of the House of Refuge. I think he will be able to tell you what is the best course to take."

Mr. Bond thought this a very good idea, and acted upon it at once, first exacting a promise from Jack, that he would not leave the premises till his return. Jack gave the required pledge very readily, for he felt in no hurry to leave a place where he had been so kindly treated. Tabby, for her part, felt in a tremor of undefined expectation. She had heard Mr. Bond say where he was going, and she could not help hoping that it would in some way come to pass that she should be returned to her home.