Part 5 (1/2)

”You'll not forget, and tease us again?” I asked firmly; ”and you know I must ask Mother too.”

”I'll promise, really,” said Tommy, giving me a very grubby little hand; ”only please do look at me as you look at Charley, and don't leave me all to myself again. I do get so tired of myself, you can't think.”

I could, for once I had been left alone just in the same way; but I didn't tell Tommy this, and only went to Mother, and soon he was playing quite happily with us, and remained such a good boy. Nurse used to look out for spots on his chest every day when she bathed him, for she was quite sure that he must be going to be ill, but he wasn't; and he remained so good we were quite sorry to part with him, for he was really funny, and full of life. But as his mother kept very weak, Tommy was sent to school; and so, when we went back from the seaside, after the holidays were over, we did not meet again for nearly a year.

When we did meet, we hardly knew him again, he was such a jolly little fellow. And when he grew confidential, which he did the third day of the holidays, he said to me very solemnly, ”I say, Hilda, if any little boys and girls are as rude and naughty as I used to be once, I know how to cure them. I shall first talk to them nicely, as your mother talked to me, and then I shall let them alone. It cured me, I know. You don't ever call me Tommy Torment now, do you, Hilda?”

THE TRICYCLE.

My grandfather does give me nice things! Last birthday he gave me a lovely box of tools, and he gave me the rocking-horse when I was quite little, and the swing trapeze that hangs from the nursery ceiling, and books and toys,--I can't remember them all now. But his last present was best of all: it was a tricycle!

I was nine last birthday, and I couldn't help wondering--though it sounds rather greedy--what grandfather would give me, because I thought it wouldn't be a toy, and he had given me a book at Christmas, for he said I was growing ”quite a man.”

When the birthday morning came, and I ran down to breakfast, there was nothing at all from grandfather! I'm afraid I looked very disappointed just at first; but presently we heard a little noise outside, and there was grandfather himself, and a man with him, who was wheeling the dearest little tricycle you ever saw.

It was rather hard work at first, and I soon got tired; but now I can go ten miles with father, and not feel at all tired.

I'll tell you one thing that makes me so glad about my tricycle. I was just going out on it one morning, when mother came running out of the house, looking so pale and frightened that I was quite frightened too.

”Bertie,” she said, ”tell John to go at once to Dr. Bell's and ask him to come here at once--_at once_, remember. Your father has cut his hand very badly, and we can't stop the bleeding.”

”I'll go, mother; let me go on the tricycle,” I said.

And she answered, ”Do, dear; only make haste!”

I don't think I ever went so fast before; but it was a good road, and that helped me, and I was saying to myself all the time, ”Oh, don't let me be too late for the doctor! _Please_ let me find him and bring him to father.”

And I _did_ find the doctor at home. I was out of breath, but I managed to tell him what was the matter, and he was soon ready.

Of course I couldn't keep up with his pony-cart, as father could have done, but I got home not long after, and heard that the doctor was there, and the bleeding had stopped.

Father was very weak for some time, and his hand was not well for several weeks, but the doctor and mother said he would have died if I hadn't been able to fetch the doctor so quickly on my tricycle.

That's why I like my tricycle so much, and think it such a useful thing.

If it had been a pony, it would have had to be saddled and bridled; but I always keep it cleaned and oiled, so it was quite ready for use when it was wanted. Mother used to be rather afraid of my riding it at one time, but she doesn't mind it now, because she knows how useful it was the day father cut his hand.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

I.

Bring me my grandson, Agnes, Bring me your first-born boy; I may not be with you much longer, And he is my old heart's joy.

II.