Part 9 (1/2)

”I'll tell you what to do,” said Joe; ”I'll write your name jest as good as I can, an' then you can put your solemn cross on top of it, an' that'll make it jest as legal as it can be got.”

So they arranged it in that way. Joe signed Jack Murphy's name in his very best style, and then Jack took the pen and under Joe's explicit directions, drew one line horizontally through the name and another line perpendicularly between the two words of it, and Joe wrote above it: ”his solem mark.” This completed the resolutions, and the committee hurried back with them to the impatient a.s.sembly.

The meeting was called to order again, and Joe Foster read the resolutions.

”That's jest the way I feel about it,” said Ralph, ”jest the way that paper reads. He couldn't 'a' been no better to us, no way. Boys,” he continued, earnestly, forgetting for the time being his position, ”do you 'member 'bout his comin' into the screen-room last Tuesday an'

givin' us each a quarter to go t' the circus with? Well, I'd cut my han' that day on a piece o' coal, an' it was a-bleedin' bad, an' he see it, an' he asked me what was the matter with it, an' I told 'im, an' he took it an' washed it off, he did, jest as nice an' careful; an' then what d'ye think he done? W'y he took 'is own han'kerchy, his own han'kerchy, mind ye, an' tore it into strips an' wrapped it roun'

my han' jest as nice--jest as nice--”

And here the memory of this kindness became so vivid in Ralph's mind that he broke down and cried outright.

”It was jes' like 'im,” said one in the crowd; ”he was always a-doin'

sumpthin' jes' like that. D'ye 'member that time w'en I froze my ear, an' he give me money to buy a new cap with ear-laps on to it?”

The recital of this incident called from another the statement of some generous deed, and, in the fund of kindly reminiscence thus aroused, the resolutions came near to being wholly forgotten. But they were remembered, finally, and were called up and adopted, and it was agreed that the chairman should carry them and present them to whoever should be found in charge at the house. Then, with Ralph and Joe Foster leading the procession, they started toward the city. Reaching Laburnum Avenue, they marched down that street in twos until they came to the Burnham residence. There was a short consultation there, and then they all pa.s.sed in through the gate to the lawn, and Ralph and Joe went up the broad stone steps to the door. A kind-faced woman met them there, and Ralph said: ”We've come, if you please, the breaker boys have come to--to--” The woman smiled sweetly, and said: ”Yes, we've been expecting you; wait a moment and I will see what arrangements have been made for you.”

Joe Foster nudged Ralph with his elbow, and whispered:--

”The res'lutions, Ralph, the res'lutions; now's the time; give 'em to her.”

But Ralph did not hear him. His mind was elsewhere. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the hall, and he saw the winding staircase with its richly carved posts, the beauty of the stained-gla.s.s windows, the graceful hangings, the broad doors, the pictures, and the flowers, there came upon him a sense of strange familiarity with the scene. It seemed to him as though sometime, somewhere, he had seen it, known it all before. The feeling was so sudden and so strong that it made him faint and dizzy.

The kind-featured woman saw the pallor on his face and the tremor on his lips, and led him to a chair. She ascribed his weakness to sorrow and excitement, and the dread of looking on a dead face.

”Poor boy!” she said. ”I don't wonder at it; he was more than generous to us all.”

But Joe, afraid that the resolutions he had labored on with so much diligence would be forgotten, spoke of them again to Ralph.

”Oh, yes,” said Ralph, with a wan smile, ”oh, yes! here's the res'lutions. That's the way the breaker boys feel--the way it says in this paper; an' we want Mrs. Burnham to know.”

”I'll take it to her,” said the woman, receiving from Ralph's hands the awkwardly folded and now sadly soiled paper. ”You will wait here a moment, please.”

She pa.s.sed up the broad staircase, by the richly colored window at the landing, and was lost to sight; while the two boys, sitting in the s.p.a.cious hall, gazed, with wondering eyes, upon the beauty which surrounded them.

The widow of Robert Burnham sat in the morning-room of her desolated home, talking calmly with her friends.

After the first shock incident upon her husband's death had pa.s.sed away, she had made no outcry, she grew quiet and self-possessed, she was ready for any consultation, gave all necessary orders, spoke of her dead husband's goodness to her with a smile on her face, and looked calmly forth into the future. The shock of that terrible message from the mines, two days ago, had paralyzed her emotional nature, and left her white-faced and tearless.

She had a smile and a kind word for every one as before; she had eaten mechanically; but she had lain with wide-open eyes all night, and still no one had seen a single tear upon her cheeks. This was why they feared for her; they said,

”She must weep, or she will die.”

Some one came into the room and spoke to her.

”The breaker boys, who asked to come this morning, are here.”

”Let them come in,” she said, ”and pa.s.s through the parlors and look upon him; and let them be treated with all kindness and courtesy.”