The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXII, Issue 15, 14 April 1904, Page 23

The Storyteller

JOHN DOYLE'S OVERCOAT

' It's no use, mother. I can't get into it any more than a looust can get into its cast-off s<kin.'

' I'm afraid you can't, Johnnie,' assented his mother, sorrowfully.

S>h,e lifted the coat from the chair upon which John had thrown it, and looked wistfully, then, cast an anxious glance at the boy's thin face, as she adided, ' I don't know what to do. It isn't safe for you to go without an overcoat in such bitter weather as this.'

' Oh, I gjuess it's safe enough, mother,' answered John, cheerfully. ' I'll walk fast enough to keep warm.' The mpther sighed and left the room. She came back with a silk handkerchief in her hand.

1 It's better than nothing,' she said, as she put it about his neck and tucked the ends down under his jacket.

They were making a brave struggle in that little home, the widow and her boy. Mrs. Doyle did dressmaking either at home or at the houses of those who employed her. John was at the high school, working hard to fit himself for a position tltWt would enable him to lighten his mother's labors.

' One year moie and I'll be earning a salary, mother. No more night work for you then,' he would often say, when his mother worked far into the night. But he was not a strong boy, and he had lately recovered from a severe illness, an illness that, besides suffering for him and anxiety for his mother, meant many heazvy bills to pay. John went off to school that morning, and his mother, as she sewed, thought of him with an aching heart, as she tried t>o devise some way by which she might get the overcoat that he so mfcich needed.

A 1 day or two later, she was sewing at the home of Mrs. Oorey, an old friend, who bad known the Doyles in their more prosperous days. Mrs. Corey was a. kindly, sympathetic woman, and before the day was over she had coaxed from her little dressmaker the cause of her tra'ubjed face.

' No overcoat ! ' she exclaimed. ' Do you mean that your Johnnie is going to school without a coat in such weather as this ? '

' I can't help it,' replied Johnnies mother. • It's the doctor's bill, you see. I had the money saved up for Johnnies winter clothes and mine, but that long sickness of his—' her voice trembled and she stopped abruptly.

Mrs. Corey sat for a moment thinking , then she said': ' Mrs. Doyle, I think I can get an overcoat for Johnnie if you will accept it. A friend of mine has four boys, and one of them is a little larger than your Johnnie. His mother asked me last week if I knew of any boy who needed an overcoat. It is sure to be a good one, for her boys always have good clothes.'

Mrs. Doyle's thin cheeks flushed while her friend spoke She and her boy had had to do without many things of late but they had never yet received charity, but the Ui ought of her boy overcame her pride, and she answered slowly, ' I should be very thankful for it Mrs. Corey.' '»

1 Very well, I will see my friend this evening,' replied her friend.

Before nuie o'clock that night a parcel was left at Mrs. Doyle's door, with a kind note from Mrs. Corey The- parcel contained a very good overcoat that fitted John as if it had been made for him. In his mother's eyes' there, were tears of mingled pam and gladness as she 100-kejd at it

' It's a nice coat, Johnnie. You never had such a nice one before,' she said, glancing anxiously at his clouded face.

' I know it, mother,' he answered, slowly, ' but I'd rather hajve otic not half so good tii'at I earned myself.'

His mother said ho more, but as she tuxndd away John saw her wipe her eyes. He sat there in silence for a few mi!nules, fighting a battle with himself. Finally he jumped up and exclaimed, cheerfully : ' All right, mother, I'll wear it and try to be as thainkful as I know I ought to be for it '

1 That's my good boy,' his mother said, laying her hand tenderly on his head

John wore the coat to school the next day It was a bitter day in January, and as he turned Ins collar up about his ears and slipped his hands into the opening; in the front, he felt so warm and conifortoh'e that he forgot that the coat was the gift of a stranger and reioiced in it.

He was a little later than usual, and a crowd of boys stood abomt the gate as he afyp'ro adied. Among

them was Charlie Holt, a gay, thoughtless boy, always ready for f,un, no matter at whose expense. ' Heigh ho ! Look at Doyle ! He's coining but in style this morning,' he exclaimed, as he caught sight of John. He looked keenly at John's overcoat, then at his own, which was exactly like it. 'Ha ! ha ! fellows, here's my brother's overcoat with John Doyile inside of it. Ul 1 ' clo'es to sell ! 01' clo'es to sell ! ' John's face was burning as the thoughtless crowd pressed about him, a score of voices taking up the taunting) ciy, ' 01' olo'es to sell ! 01' clo'es to sell ! ' He cabt one nery glance at Charlie's mocking face, then he pulled 'oft the overcoat, flung it scornfully on the ground, and without a word marched into the schoolroom and took his seat. The boys looked at each other and at Charlie. The mocking laughter had died out of Charlie's eyes and his face w,as flushed and angry. ' Well, I guess he'll know when my mother gives him anything again,' he exclaimed furiously. Let s make him wear it home after school,' propos-' ed one. 'Good scheme ! So we will,' assebted another. ' We'll take down his pride.' So after school they seized John, and in spite of his struggles they put the coat on him, though it suffered not a little from their rough usage in the process. JO-hn's face was white and 'his eyes burning when he reached home The instant he was inside the door he sriafcehed off the coat, flung it on the floor and trampled on it. ' Johnnie, Johnnie, what are you doing ? ' his mother exclaimed. The boy poured out his story with bitter sobs and broken and angry words. ' I'll never wear it again— never— not if I freeze to death ! ' he ended. His mother sat in silence, brushing the dirt from the coat, which she had picked up from the floor. ' Mother, you don't think I ought to, do you ? ' John pleaded, when his mother still said nothing. ' My son, I don't know what to say,' she answered, her voi\ee trembling. ' But, mother, you don't know how awful it was. Charlie Holt mocking and jeering at me, and all the other fellows grinning and cheering him on. 1 He choked and biuried his face in his hands. ' I know— l know, my boy. 1 The mother laid her hand lovingly on his bowed head as she spoke. 'It was cruel — cruel ! But, John, it is not sale for you to go without a coat. You know the danger— if you take another heavy cold. ' But, mother, I just can't wear that again. I'll put newspapers under my jacket, and I'm sure I shan't geti cold. I'll be careful, mother,' he pleadedShe urged him no further, and the next day he went without the coat. His mother carried it back to Mrs. Corey and told her about it. Mrs. Corey was very indignant. ' I shall tell Mts. Holt the whole story,' she exclaimed, after Mrsi Doyle had gone. She ought to know how cruel her boy has been.' Several days passed, however, before she found time to e?o to see Mrs. Holt.. Meantime, her small daughter, Maysie, had heard the story, and Maysie's tender little heart was much concerned over it. So when one day she 1 met Charlie Holt her greeting to him was chilly in the extreme Now, Maysie and Charlie were old friends, ajnd the boy was much taken aback at this unexpected coolness. He turned and walked on with her, saying earnestly : ' See here, Maysie, what's up ? What are you mad with me for ? ' ' 'Cause you're mean and cruel, and— amd horrild ! ' burst out Maysie, with flaming cheeks. ' Come, now, I like that ! ' retorted Charlie, angrily ' Well, I don't care,' cried Maysie, looking, however, as if she did care very much. l I've always thought you were a nice boy, and now I know you're not.' and —oh, Charlie, how could you treat poor Johnnie Doyle so 9 ' she ended with a little sob. Charlie whistled. 'So that's What's the matter, is it 7 ' he exclaimed, mioodily, kicking at a stone. 'Don't see what you have to do with that.' Maysie looked at him indignantly. ' It's because it was such a mean, mean thing to do' she exclaimed, 'to hurt the feelings of a poor boy ; and he's been so sick, Charlie, and now he won't wear your brother's coat, and I don't blame him ; and if he gets cold and dies, I should think you'd feel like— like like a murderer— so there, now ! ' and witfti this parting sih'ot Miss Maysie walked off with her head in the air. Chailic looketl after her gloomily, but he did not attempt tio overtake her. At first he was bitterly angry with her, but after awhile he began to see himself in the light of her opinion of him. He was 1 not at

all happy the rest of that day. He could not forget Maysie s flushed face and wet eyes, nor the scornful tones of her voice. He could not forget, either, what she had siaid about John Doyle. He watched him in scWool the, next day, and noted his th'ioi, pale face Once John coughed, and Charlie shivered at the sound The following day John was absent, and someone said that he was sick.

That iiight Charlie went to his father and told him the wjhole, story. His father listened in silence When the stoxy was ended, he said, quietly, ' Well my son, what are you going to do about it ? ' ' I waM to buy John a new coat, father ' Charlie replied.

'Do you mean that you want me to buy it for him, Chajrlie ? '

1 No, sir, I want to pay for it myself. You said last week that you would pay me if I wo.uld work in yoiux office Saturdays. ' But, ' Charlie, it will take a great many Saturdays for yjou to earn enough to buy an overcoat, and meantime this boy is suffering for one.' ' That's -so. What can I do, then, father ? ' His father looked at him keenly, an<d then he answered slowly, ' You can wait six month's longer for your bicycle.'

Charlie's face flushed, and he looked glopmily at the carpet. He did so want that bicycle, and his father had promised it to him on his birthday i,n March. He hart a hard struggle with himself, but the remembrance of tfoat hollow cough of John's and of Maysie Corey's indignant glances and words prevailed at last 1 I'll wait for the bicycle, father,' he said. The very next day a handsome new overcoat was sent t(o John Dpyle, and with it went a note from Charlie. The writing was very scrawly, and tihe blot., were more numerous than ornamental, but the message had come straight from Charlie's repentant heart, and Jo(h,n could not refuse to accept the peace offering. Charlie had to wait till September for his bicycle, btrt long ere that time he and John Doyle had become firm friends.—' American Messenger.'