Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure, - [sight word readers .txt] 📗

over to an employer, was not to be left thereafter to care for himself, but his interests were to be watched over and himself visited at intervals by an emissary from the Beehive, so that he would not feel friendless or forsaken even though he should have the misfortune to fall into bad hands. The Guardian also took care to point out that, amid all these leave-takings and partings, there was One who would “never leave nor forsake” them, and to whom they were indebted for the first helping hand, when they were in their rags and misery, and forsaken of man.

At last the great gulf of Saint Lawrence was entered, and here the vessel was beset with ice, so that she could not advance at a greater rate than two or three miles an hour for a considerable distance.

Soon, however, those fields of frozen sea were passed, and the end of the voyage drew near. Then was there a marvellous outbreak of pens, ink, and paper, for the juvenile flock was smitten with a sudden desire to write home before going to the interior of the new land.

It was a sad truth that many of the poor boys had neither parent nor relative to correspond with, but these were none the less eager in their literary work, for had they not Miss Macpherson and the ladies of the Home to write to?

Soon after that, the party landed at the far-famed city of Quebec, each boy with his bag containing change of linen, and garments, a rug, etcetera; and there, under a shed, thanks were rendered to God for a happy voyage, and prayer offered for future guidance.

Then the Guardian commenced business. He had momentous work to do. The Home of Industry and its work are well-known in Canada. Dusty diamonds sent out from the Beehive were by that time appreciated, and therefore coveted; for the western land is vast, and the labourers are comparatively few. People were eager to get the boys, but the character of intending employers had to be inquired into, and this involved care. Then the suitability of boys to situations had to be considered. However, this was finally got over, and a few of the reclaimed waifs were left at Quebec. This was the beginning of the dispersion.

“I don’t like it at all,” said Bobby Frog to his friend Tim Lumpy, that evening in the sleeping car of the railway train that bore them onward to Montreal; “they’ll soon be partin’ you an’ me, an’ that’ll be worse than wallerin’ in the mud of Vitechapel.”

Bobby said this with such an expression of serious anxiety that his little friend was quite touched.

“I hope not, Bob,” he replied. “What d’ee say to axin’ our Guardian to put us both into the same sitivation?”

Bobby thought that this was not a bad idea, and as they rolled along these two little waifs gravely discussed their future prospects. It was the same with many others of the band, though not a few were content to gaze out of the carriage windows, pass a running commentary on the new country, and leave their future entirely to their Guardian. Soon, however, the busy little tongues and brains ceased to work, and ere long were steeped in slumber.

At midnight the train stopped, and great was the sighing and groaning, and earnest were the requests to be let alone, for a batch of the boys had to be dropped at a town by the way. At last they were aroused, and with their bags on their shoulders prepared to set off under a guide to their various homes. Soon the sleepiness wore off, and, when the train was about to start, the reality of the parting seemed to strike home, and the final handshakings and good wishes were earnest and hearty.

Thus, little by little, the band grew less and less.

Montreal swallowed up a good many. While there the whole band went out for a walk on the heights above the reservoir with their Guardian, guided by a young Scotsman.

“That’s a jolly-lookin’ ’ouse, Tim,” said Bob Frog to his friend.

The Scotsman overheard the remark.

“Yes,” said he, “it is a nice house, and a good jolly man owns it. He began life as a poor boy. And do you see that other villa—the white one with the green veranda among the trees? That was built by a man who came out from England just as you have done, only without anybody to take care of him; God however cared for him, and now you see his house. He began life without a penny, but he had three qualities which will make a man of any boy, no matter what circumstances he may be placed in. He was truthful, thorough, and trustworthy. Men knew that they might believe what he said, be sure of the quality of what he did, and could rely upon his promises. There was another thing much in his favour, he was a total abstainer. Drink in this country ruins hundreds of men and women, just as in England. Shun drink, boys, as you would a serpent.”

“I wouldn’t shun a drink o’ water just now if I could get it,” whispered Bobby to his friend, “for I’m uncommon thirsty.”

At this point the whole band were permitted to disperse in the woods, where they went about climbing and skipping like wild squirrels, for these novel sights, and scents, and circumstances were overwhelmingly delightful after the dirt and smoke of London.

When pretty well breathed—our waifs were grown too hardy by that time to be easily exhausted—the Guardian got them to sit round him and sing that sweet hymn:

“Shall we gather at the river?”

And tears bedewed many eyes, for they were reminded that there were yet many partings in store before that gathering should take place.

And now the remnant of the band—still a goodly number—proceeded in the direction of the far west. All night they travelled, and reached Belleville, where they were received joyfully in the large house presented as a free gift to Miss Macpherson by the Council of the County of Hastings. It served as a “Distributing Home” and centre in Canada for the little ones till they could be placed in suitable situations, and to it they might be returned if necessary, or a change of employer required it. This Belleville Home was afterwards burned to the ground, and rebuilt by sympathising Canadian friends.

But we may not pause long here. The far west still lies before us. Our gradually diminishing band must push on.

“It’s the sea!” exclaimed the boy who had been named little Mouse, alias Robbie Dell.

“No, it ain’t,” said Konky, who was a good deal older; “it’s a lake.”

“Ontario,” said the Guardian, “one of the noble fresh-water seas of Canada.”

Onward, ever onward, is the watchword just now—dropping boys like seed-corn as they go! Woods and fields, and villas, and farms, and waste-lands, and forests, and water, fly past in endless variety and loveliness.

“A panoramy without no end!” exclaimed Tim Lumpy after one of his long gazes of silent admiration.

“Wot a diff’rence!” murmured Bobby Frog. “Wouldn’t mother an’ daddy an’ Hetty like it, just!”

The city of Toronto came in sight. The wise arrangements for washing in Canadian railway-cars had been well used by the boys, and pocket-combs also. They looked clean and neat and wonderfully solemn as they landed at the station.

But their fame had preceded them. An earnest crowd came to see the boys, among whom were some eager to appropriate.

“I’ll take that lad,” said one bluff farmer, stepping forward, and pointing to a boy whose face had taken his fancy.

“And I want six boys for our village,” said another.

“I want one to learn my business,” said a third, “and I’ll learn him as my own son. Here are my certificates of character from my clergyman and the mayor of the place I belong to.”

“I like the looks of that little fellow,” said another, pointing to Bob Frog, “and should like to have him.”

“Does you, my tulip?” said Bobby, whose natural tendency to insolence had not yet been subdued; “an’ don’t you vish you may get ’im!”

It is but justice to Bobby, however, to add, that this remark was made entirely to himself.

To all these flattering offers the Guardian turned a deaf ear, until he had passed through the crowd and marshalled his boys in an empty room of the depôt. Then inquiries were made; the boys’ characters and capacities explained; suitability on both sides considered; the needs of the soul as well as the body referred to and pressed; and, finally, the party went on its way greatly reduced in numbers.

Thus they dwindled and travelled westward until only our friend Bobby, Tim, Konky, and little Mouse remained with the Guardian, whose affections seemed to intensify as fewer numbers were left on which they might concentrate.

Soon the little Mouse was caught. A huge backwoods farmer, who could have almost put him in his coat-pocket, took a fancy to him. The fancy seemed to be mutual, for, after a tearful farewell to the Guardian, the Mouse went off with the backwoodsman quite contentedly.

Then Konky was disposed of. A hearty old lady with a pretty daughter and a slim son went away with him in triumph, and the band was reduced to two.

“I do believe,” whispered Bob to Tim, “that he’s goin’ to let us stick together after all.”

“You are right, my dear boy,” said the Guardian, who overheard the remark. “A family living a considerable distance off wishes to have two boys. I have reason to believe that they love the Lord Jesus, and will treat you well. So, as I knew you wished to be together, I have arranged for your going to live with them.”

As the journey drew to a close, the Guardian seemed to concentrate his whole heart on the little waifs whom he had conducted so far, and he gave them many words of counsel, besides praying with and for them.

At last, towards evening, the train rushed into a grand pine-wood. It soon rushed out of it again and entered a beautiful piece of country which was diversified by lakelet and rivulet, hill and vale, with rich meadow lands in the hollows, where cattle browsed or lay in the evening sunshine.

The train drew up sharply at a small road-side station. There was no one to get into the cars there, and no one to get out except our two waifs. On the road beyond stood a wagon with a couple of spanking bays in it. On the platform stood a broad-shouldered, deep-chested, short-legged farmer with a face like the sun, and a wide-awake on the back of his bald head.

“Mr Merryboy, I presume?” said the Guardian, descending from the car.

“The same. Glad to see you. Are these my boys?”

He spoke in a quick, hearty, off-hand manner, but Bobby and Tim hated him at once, for were they not on the point of leaving their last and best friend, and was not this man the cause?

They turned to their Guardian to say farewell, and, even to their own surprise, burst into tears.

“God bless you, dear boys,” he said, while the guard held open the door of the car as if to suggest haste; “good-bye. It won’t be very long I think before I see you again. Farewell.”

He sprang into the car, the train glided away, and the two waifs stood looking wistfully after it with the first feelings of desolation that had entered their hearts since landing in Canada.

“My poor lads,” said Mr Merryboy, laying a hand on the shoulder of each, “come along with me. Home is only six miles off, and I’ve got a pair of spanking horses that will trundle us over in no time.”

The tone of voice, to say nothing of “home” and “spanking horses,” improved matters greatly. Both boys thought, as they entered the wagon, that they did not hate him quite so much as at first.

The bays proved worthy of their master’s praise.