Uncle Edward's Teddie.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 2, 14 January 1905, Page 56

Uncle Edward's Teddie.

Teddie was a little l.oadon boy. and he lived far away from any parks or open space*, and all the flowers he knew about were the straggling geraniums and nasturtiums that grew in pots in some of the neighbours’ windows. His mother used to tell him of fields cover<l wiih dairies and bui-U-rcup'. *f woods where the wild hyacinths made a blue carjiet. and of hedges and trees all co-.ered with sweet-smelling may. But Teddie was only a little boy of four year*, and these things were to him only name*, though he used to beg his mother to take him where he could see them. Mrs Dunlop would shake her head and say: “Mother hasn’t any money, sonnie dear; it takes it all to buy bread and boots.” Teddie’s father bad died two years ago, and pretty little Mr* Dunlop had to sit sewing aH day, and sometimes for half

the night, too, tn earn nionfy enough to keep her little home together, nnif there was nothing to spare for omnibus rides to the Dark, whexte Teddie might Lave seen what ww flowers were like. Souietimcs, an she sat jewing, she would let her thoughts stray back to the quiet little village of Majilecroft, where she luuf lived with her uncle and aunt. How good they had been to tlie little orphan niece! And yet Low cruel and har-1 they had been when she had refused to marry ynupg Farmer Hopctoft, aud had chosen Stephen Dunmp for her husband. Farmer Hoperoft was •‘well-to-do,’’ as the villagers said, aud Sti-plieu Ihjniop had only his handsome face and his clever fingers to reeom«aend him; but Betty loved Lim, and t'uai was enough for her. Betty had left her home witit the memory of her aunt’s and uncle’s bitter words ringing in ucr ears, aud run had only heard once frem them during the last five years. That one- wis when she wrote to her -u:c ? e ft’iing hint of the birth r >i her little *onzin-.l asking permission to call him’Edward. after him. “Cal! the Frat anything y ?it like,” the old man wrote back; “It >a* nothing whatever to do with n.e.” For three years Stephen and B tly Dunlop had lived such a nippy, quiet life. Stephen’s clever finger* found successful work and there was money and time to spare fer happy little excursions on Sunday,- and hobday*. Then came the dreadful t'nio when Stephen lav ill of a vicious fevn that ate away l.is very life, aul left his wife and little son to mourn the good» kind husband and father. Poor little Mrs Dunlop? Everything had been very sad and dreary for her since then. Teddie had had a bad attack of bronchitis in the winter, puj even the bright spring days lid not cliaete away a hacking little cough ,h? had. Instead of brightening with the sunshine his little face grew paler and thinner, until his mother’s heart ached every time that she looked at him. and the neighbours began to shake limit hc.td« dolefully. “Shure,” said Mrs DeJan to the greengrocer’s wife, “ ’tis pinin’ for the Irish air and the cotituiiry he is. and if he niver gets there ’tis pine away intoirely lie will!” “You’re quite right.” said the greengrocer’s wife: "but. sake’s aliv-i how in the world is poor Mrs Dunlop to get the money to send him there ? Answer me that. Mrs Dolan.” ‘■Shure. an’ that’s quoite boyant 00',” said Mrs Dolan, and both women went their ways. Then one day the doctor had to be called in to Teddie. and he shook his head gravely. “You must get that bew away to the country. Mrs Dunlop, immediately.” he said, “or I am afraid you will not have him at al! next w’ntrr.” “T am afraid it is impossible,” said poor Mrs Dunlop. “Tut, tut. weman.” sa’d ths dce’or; “nothing is impossible.” You see, the doctor was only a young one. and did not knew -yet how many “impossibles” there are in poor folks’ lives. After thinking matter over for a day or two. Mrs Dunlop wrote to her aunt and uncle, fold them what, the doctor had said, and asked if she and Teddie might come. She would pay a little for their board, and would work hard to make up for any trouble they were put to, if they might only come for a month. She waited anxiou* ( y for a reply, and when it came, opened it with a beating heart. Farmer Manton wrote that as it was for the boy’s sake they might come for a month, but his nie-'-e was not to think that because this permission was given that tlie matter upon which they had quarrelled was forgiven. Mrs Manton. too. was ailing, and would expect Betty to do all tiiat lay in her power to help in the work, etc., cte. How excited Teddie was when his mother told him the news you can wrti imagine. “Real flowers.” he said a hundred time* a day. “green field, and horses, and cows, and pigs, and—and everything!” He would say with a long breath, and it seemed as if the time would never come for him to go. They started, however, one morning, and he was a V off with patting* and kisses from the little croterd of neigbIsrars who had assembled to wish them good-bye. The ride in the train, and the many things they passed by. kept Lis little tongue cliattexiiig ali taa

time, though it was a very tired little boy who stepped out upon Maplecroft Station. Farmer Manton was waiting tor them in the high eart. and though he greeted Betty stiffly and ealled her Elizabeth, his eyes softened as he looked at Teddie's thin white face. What a treat that drive was to Teddie! He felt rather frightened of the grave, stern man who drove; but every now and then he would shout for very joy when they passed a golden field of buttercups, or some young foals playing with their mothers, or a lot of tiny blaek and white pigs that ran squeaking along the road as the trap came up to them. Aunt Lizzie kissed him in the porch, but she only extended a cold hand to Betty; but "Betty felt so thankful to see the way in which Teddy demonished his big bowl of bread and milk that -he forgot the hurt feeling in hei heart. And oh! the days that followed. Such a lot of things to do and see! Teddie thought the days were not half long enough. He had rides on the cart horses, drives with his uncle, helped the man to drive the cows to and from the pasture land, helped in the gathering of the truit. though most of his gathering found its way into his little red mouth, and grew so fat and rosy that the neighbours in "Smith’s Flats” would never have known him. Mother made him a little eart of a wooden box, and he used to drag it along with a piece of string and pretend to take his cabbages and potatoes to market. He was first favourite with all the men on the farm, and Farmer Manton and his wife were very much in love with him, and gradually their manner softened towards the sweet, quiet little mother, who had trained her boy so well. One day Farmer Manton drove into town, and the next morning there was a fine horse and cart standing in front of the kitchen door waiting for a master. How Teddie shouted when he saw it! “Where could it have come from?” said mother. But Teddie knew. He flew to the farmer and clasped his little arms around his neck, and kissed him ten times. “Thank you- thank you, dear kind uncle!” he said. Farmer Manton smiled at the little fellow's joy, though there were tears in his eyes. So Teddie was now happier than ever. The clever little mother made him a smock and some gaiters, such as the carters wore, one of the men made him a whip, and he was always to be seen leading Dapple to market with his cart filled with sacks of potatoes —they were onlv stones, but, of course, that didn't matter, at all! Such a lot of journeys that little greyhorse and Teddie made every day: sometimes it was potatoes, sometimes greens, sometimes fruit, sometimes a baby calf, and sometimes a great big grunting pig that went to market. And every evening when Teddie put his horse away, he would rattle his two farthings in his pocket, and say: “We've done good business to-day. Dapple, old bov: verv good business indeed.” Then came hav-making. and Teddie

tossed the hay, and buried the village children in it- and they buried him, and made big castles of it, and rode home on top of the hay carts shouting with all their might. There was something new for him to do and see every day. Little f'een frogs allowed themselves to be .-aught, a new bird that he had never seen before flew across his path, the sharp were shorn and washed in the river, and Ted die hoped that the month they .aum for would never come to an end. But Mrs Dunlop, wiio. like Teddie. had grown well and rosy, knew how near the time for going home was. and sometimes her heart would sink at the prospect of taking him back to tin stuffy London streets.

Farmer Manton. too, would niv to lii- uiie that the place wouldn't seeiu tin* same “without tne chap running in and out." ind his wife wi|»etl away many a secret tear at the thought <•! parting with ciinv-haired Teddie. ><; one evening at supper, when Betty *p<»ke about preparing to go home. Farmer .Manton got up and p: * his hand •»n «-r *h olldei. “Your aunt and 1 are thinking. Betty." *aid in a throaty ’"that you had better <tay here along of u*. It wouldn't do to take the little chap back now h- i* *o well. And you’d better keep x our bit of money you make l.y sewing i >r him by-and-bye. and we d iet bygone* lie bygones, my dear.” and l an 1 kissed her.

Bettv put her head d »w n on the tal»i< and cried for shr-r joy. then ie ein 1.1 ac.-d the old couple. who were cry i g I ke habit* themselvc*. an 1 the next morning, when Teddie wa* told that he wa- nevei going ba k to i . < ; »n ngii t. he threw up hi* hat ami crie ‘: ‘"Hip. hip. hip. boor x Hip. hip. hip Teddie ami Betty stayed a long while with the old uncle and aunt, but now Betty, who i* prettier and plump r than ever, is calk .I “Mr*. H«»pcr<ift.” and Ted •lie has a new father, who i- ju*t a* kind to him a* hi* own wa*. ami there i*n’t a happier little box lix ing any xv here than “Incle Edward’s T< ddic.” MAKi.AKEI BERTRAM H<»B>o\