# Half a Dozen Boys/Chapter 1
### CHAPTER I.
#### INTRODUCES SOME NEW FRIENDS.

“‘That among all the changes and chances of this mortal life,’” intoned the musical voice of the rector, “‘they may ever be defended by Thy most gracious and ready help, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’”
“Amen,” responded the kneeling choir.
There was a moment of perfect quiet, as all bowed in silent prayer; and then the organist softly began to play the first lines of Barnby’s All Saints’ Hymn, “For all the Saints,” and the boys rose for their recessional. Their bright, happy faces smiled down for a moment on the waiting congregation, and then their voices rose in the inspiring old hymn.
​As the white-robed figures came down the
steps from the pretty chancel, singing, —
“Oh, may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold.
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!”
more than one person in the congregation was touched by the solemn prayer, almost thoughtlessly offered. The eyes of one of their hearers grew misty as she watched the boyish faces, and tried to fancy the battles in store for the young soldiers.
As the leaders passed her, they gave her a bright smile of recognition, while high and clear rang their voices,—
“But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
••••• The King of Glory passes on His way.”
And the line went on out into the choir room, from which came the final Amen.
The people moved down the aisle, laughing and chatting, but the young woman of whom we spoke stood a moment, waiting until she was joined by one of the choir leaders, a bright-faced lad of thirteen. He came up to her, hold​ing, for convenience, his hat in his teeth, while he pulled on his overcoat. His cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes shone with the excitement of the music, but his face was unusually sober.
“Well, Rob?”
“Oh, cousin Bess, have you heard about Fred?”
“What is it, my dear? I hope all is going well with him. But wait a moment; I must speak to Mrs. Read. Then I’ll come and hear all about it.”
Rob fidgeted about the door of the cosy little church until his cousin joined him. To go home from evening service without her, would have been to deprive Rob of one of his weekly pleasures. Cousin Bess was his confidante, adviser, and oracle; and to-night, seeing the boy was really anxious to talk with her, she hurried her interview with the garrulous mother of eleven children, and, leaving half told the tale of Tommy’s mumps and Sallie’s teeth, she turned to the door, and, with Rob at her side, stepped out into the cold November starlight. The boy shivered a little.
​“Cold, Rob? You'd better turn up your collar, after being in the warm church, and in your heavy robes, too.”
“I’m not cold,” he said hoarsely.
“What is it, dear? Is anything the matter?”
“It’s Fred. He’s come home from Boston, and he’s lots worse. The doctor says he can’t ever see again as long as he lives.” And Rob tried to swallow a great lump in his throat, as he told of his friend’s trouble.
“Why, Rob, what do you mean? When did he come home? Who told you?”
“Phil told me just now. He came home late last night, and Phil met his father to-day. The trouble’s all gone into his opposite nerve, Phil said, and they say he’ll be blind forever. Isn’t it awful, cousin Bess?”
“Indeed it is, my boy,” said Bess, too much shocked by Rob’s tidings even to smile over his “opposite nerve.” “But I don’t see what this can have to do with his eyes. I do hope there is some mistake.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t,” said Rob, shaking his head doubtfully. “You see, Phil saw Mr. Allen just this noon.”
​I know; but his eyes have never troubled him, have they?”
“Not much. A year ago, I guess ’twas, he stayed out of school about a week, ’cause it hurt him to read. But perhaps it isn’t so bad as they think.”
“Poor Fred!” said Bess, drawing her little cousin closer to her side, as she thought of the suffering of this other boy. “If this is true, he has a sad, sad life before him. You boys, Rob, must do all you can to help him, when he gets strong enough to see you again. You can do so much for him if you only try. I know my boy will, won’t he?”
“Why, yes. But how can we, cousin Bess?”
“In ever so many little ways. Go to see him, read to him, talk to him, only not about things he can’t do; get him to go out with you,—anything to keep him from feeling he is left out in the cold, and you boys get on just as well without him.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, and then Bess asked,—
“Rob, do you remember the third verse of your recessional hymn?”
​“I don’t know. What was it?”
“‘Oh, may Thy soldiers,” quoted Bess, and Rob took up the line, half under his breath. When he had finished it,—
“Well, what about it?” he asked.
“I was thinking to-night, as you came out singing it, that I wondered what fighting you boys would have to do. Fred has come to his, but the ‘victor’s crown of gold’ will be very hard for him to win, I am afraid.”
“Why, cousin Bess?”
“Rob, my boy, suppose all at once you had to just drop right out of all your boy fun and games, couldn’t read or study, or even go to walk alone; do you think it would be real easy to always be bright and cheerful, never complain or be cross? It is just by bearing this trouble like a man and a hero that the ‘victor’s crown’ will come to Fred. It will not be a very happy life to live. But we will hope Phil made some mistake. Almost anything would be better than for him to be blind all his life; and I can’t see what should bring it on. Did Phil say how he is now?”
​“Mr. Allen said he was better, and asked Phil to go to see him before long.”
“I hope he will, and you too, Rob,” said Bess, and then added, “How well the music went to-night,” hoping to turn her cousin’s thoughts into a more cheerful line. But it was of no use.
“Fred was just coming into the choir when he was taken ill. The boys all wanted him, for he has a first-rate voice; but I suppose he can’t now. We’d been planning for his coming as soon as he got well, and he’s only a little shorter than I, so he’d have sat next either Phil or me.”
“I didn't know he sang,” answered Bess. “But here we are at home. Won’t you come in, Rob?”
“No, I must go home and go right to bed. I was out late last night, you know. Good-night.” And the boy turned to go on as Bess called after him,—
“Sweet dreams to you, my boy! And come up to-morrow after school. I shall go down to see Fred in the afternoon, and I can tell you more about him then.”
​She went into the house, stopping a moment in the hall to take off her hat and fur-trimmed coat, and then, pushing aside the portière, she entered the bright, pretty room, where her mother sat reading. The light from the fire, blazing on the andirons, flickered over the walls, showing a few fine pictures, some dainty bits of bric-à-brac, and, scattered around and among all, many books. But the prettiest thing in the room was the white-haired woman who sat by the table in a low chair. Her gentle expression and the loving, kindly look in her eyes plainly spoke the word mother; and a real mother she was, not only to her own flock, now all married and gone except this one daughter, but as well to all the young men and maidens, boys and girls, that ever came into her way. Years of delicate health had kept her much at home, but her parlor was the favorite resort of love-lorn maidens, ambitious youths, and small urchins whose broken kite-tails needed prompt attention. Not one of them left her without feeling better for her loving words of advice or consolation; her ears were always open, and to each she could and did give the one thing most needed.
​Bess pushed a low stool to her side, and sat down on it, with her arm in her mother’s lap.
“Did you have a pleasant service?” asked the older lady, laying down her book, and giving her daughter’s hair a caressing pat.
“Very. Mr. Washburn did so well to-night, better than usual, and the music was”—
What it was, Mrs. Carter was never destined to know, for at the sound of her daughter’s voice, there was a sudden uprising in the willow basket by the fire, and out jumped a small gray dog, who stretched himself for a moment, and then darted straight at his mistress, and climbed into her lap with sundry growls and yelps of pleasure, wagging, not his tail only, but his whole body, clear to his curly head. Standing up in her lap, he struck out with his forepaws, with an utter disregard for her comfort, and only intent on giving her a cordial welcome. Bess bore it meekly for a time, but a vigorous scratch on her cheek was too much for even her patience, and she pushed the dog gently down with a “That will do. Fuzz”; so he trotted away, and began to search diligently in all the corners of the room.
​“Did Rob come up with you, as usual?” asked Mrs. Carter, when quiet was once more restored.
“Oh, yes; I can always depend on him. What a dear boy he is! Oh, Fuzz! have you found your ball?”
For Fuzz had returned on the scene, and brought with him the object of his search, a small, soft ball that he could easily hold in his mouth, or, when he preferred, carry it hooked on one of his teeth and hanging out at the side of his mouth. Now, rolling it up towards Bess, but just out of her reach, he ran back a few steps, flattened himself on the carpet, wagged his morsel of a tail convulsively, and rolled his eyes, first at the ball then at Bess. But Bess was in no mood to play, however much Fuzz might desire it. She was just beginning to tell her mother about Fred, when the dog, seeing that the suggestive wag of his tail had no influence, uttered a loud, sharp bark.
“No, no, Fuzz!” said Bess, frowning on the excited little creature. “I’m too tired, and I don’t feel like playing.”
​But Fuzz was deaf to her remonstrances, and again gave vent to his feelings in the same bark, but this time, to add to his powers of persuasion, he sat up on his haunches, dropping his little forepaws in a supplicating fashion, while the stumpy tail still wagged furiously. It was not to be withstood. As usually happened in that house, Fuzz conquered; and Bess rose, took the ball, and threw it into the darkest corner, hoping to gain a moment’s rest while the dog hunted up his treasure. Fuzz scrambled after it, his sharp little claws catching in the carpet as he ran, and in another moment he had deposited it at the feet of Bess, and run back as before. Experience had taught his mistress that when Fuzz wished to play, she must obey his will, and keep him running after the ball until, tired out, he should be ready to go back to his cushioned basket.
In the intervals of her attentions to Fuzz, she told her mother Rob’s account of Fred, and then went on to speak of the people she had seen, of the sermon, and of other bits of news likely to interest her home-abiding mother. A few moments’ rest from Fuzz were succeeded ​by howls from the next room, at first low and mournful, but as these proved unavailing they gradually turned into the same deafening barks that had before carried his point.
“Oh, you tiresome puppy!” exclaimed Bess, in despair.
Rising, she went to the next room, where, in front of a tall bookcase, lay Fuzz, pawing wildly at the narrow crack that separated it from the floor, in the hope of rolling out his cherished ball. For the twentieth time that day Bess resigned herself to the inevitable, and, kneeling down on the floor, with difficulty she reached under the bookcase, grasped the ball with the tips of her fingers and drew it out, while Fuzz, utterly regardless of her nerves and her Sunday gown, capered back and forth over her, barking madly all the time.
Fuzz was the ruling member of the Carter family. Two years before, Bess, scorning Dominie Sampson, the family collie, had been anxious to own a toy terrier, and her indulgent father had for months been watching for an opportunity to gratify his daughter’s wish, when one day he came triumphantly home, and ​from his pocket produced a tiny, squirming ball of wool. The ball, on being set down on the floor, disclosed four wee paws, a dot of a tail, two huge ears, a short black nose, and an overwhelming tendency to tumble over on it.
Uttering feeble barks, the absurd little creature toddled up to Mrs. Carter’s ball of yarn that had fallen from her lap, tried to take it in his mouth, tangled himself up in it, broke the thread, and then stood meditatively viewing the ruin he had worked. For a moment Bess and her mother looked at each other in despair, and then they began to laugh. From that time the puppy’s destiny was an established fact.
Fuzz, as he was named, rapidly grew from the dimensions of a six-weeks-old puppy to three times the size of his ancestors. Though bought at a high price for his exceptionally small size, his long, silky blue hair, and his equally blue blood, it must be confessed that in all these respects Fuzz was weighed in the balance and found wanting. His silky blue coat was almost white, and, instead of sweeping the ground, as should the hair of a truly aristocratic Skye terrier, it curled in tight short rings ​about his head and face, and from there gradually dwindled away until, at his tail, he was only covered with a few sparse locks, through which his darker gray skin was plainly visible. His baskets, collars, and other belongings were rapidly outgrown, and the new ones substituted for them soon shared the same fate. And, as if to keep pace with his body, his temper and will grew at the same time ; for the disposition of the dog was an uncertain quantity. Though no one ever spent twenty-four hours in the house with him without yielding to his fascinations, strangers and chance callers, one and all, detested him. In spite of words and blows. Fuzz would run out and bark whenever the bell rang. And on some occasions he varied the monotony by firmly seizing the new-comer by the clothing, greatly to the resentment of the chosen few whom he favored with this attention. Tying him up or shutting him in a room by himself proved of no avail, for, in the one case, he invariably bit the string in two; and, in the other, his small paws scratched the door with such zeal that varnish and paint vanished before his attacks, while his voice was ​meanwhile raised in protest against his durance vile. Two years fraught with bitter experience had taught Mrs. Carter and Bess that the dog’s will was law, and when once his bark was heard the person nearest him hurried to do his bidding. Such was Fuzz, who, while we have been making his acquaintance, had retired, ball and all, into his basket by the fire, where he made his bed by pawing and mouthing his rug into a lump in one corner, and then settled himself to his well-earned repose, occasionally opening one eye and growling sleepily when the fire gave an unusually loud crackle.
For a long time the mother and daughter sat in the fitful light, talking of different matters, until Bess once more spoke of Fred.
“Doesn’t it seem hard and cruel, mother, to just shut out that active boy from everything he most enjoys? I can’t see any cause for it at all; and yet there can be no mistake.”
“Poor little boy!” said Mrs. Carter, gently pushing her daughter’s hair back from her face. “He has a hard life before him, and no one to help him bear it, though he will have everything that money can give. His father and ​mother are not the ones to teach him how much that is good he still has left; and he looks to me like a boy that will take this very hard.”
“Who wouldn’t?” said Bess impetuously. Then she added, “ What a shame you couldn’t have been Fred’s mother! You ought to have the bringing-up of all the boys in the country.”
“I should probably have been the worst possible mother for most of them,” replied Mrs. Carter, with a smile. “But when shall you go to see how Fred is? I think you almost ought to go soon, for the boy is so fond of you.”
“I told Rob I should go to-morrow; and oh, how I dread it! I don’t know at all how I shall find him: whether he is over his old trouble, or whether he can see now. I suppose I ought to go, though. Poor Rob was quite upset by the news.”
“He is a sympathetic boy and very fond of Fred. I wish he would go to see him when he can. He is so gentle he wouldn’t tire him; and his quiet fun would be the best possible medicine for the poor child.”
“Rob promised to go when he might. I think it took all his heroism, for he is so afraid ​of Mrs. Allen. Why, now I think of it, she was at church this morning, for I remember noticing her new bonnet. How strange for her to leave Fred his first day at home!”
“I fancy that is her way of doing,” said Mrs. Carter as she rose from her chair. “Well, I think I shall say good-night to you, my daughter.”
A few moments later Bess followed her up the stairs, singing softly as she went,—
“‘And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!’”