Johnnie was seeing it all. But particularly was the vision of his new home clear to him. "I'll take my father's medal with me, too," he declared; "and Mister Roosevelt's pitcher. Oh, it's goin' t' be fine!

Fine! And I'll be ready, Mister Perkins! I'll be ready earl----"

_Tap! tap! tap! tap!_

He straightened; and stood as rigid as a little statue; and once more he held his breath. While the flushed and happy look on his face faded--faded as did his vision of peace and happiness and luxury. He stared wide-eyed at Mr. Perkins, questioning him dumbly, pathetically.

Then every atom of strength began to leave him. It went out of his ankles, under those smart and soldierly leggings; and out of his knees.

Slowly, and with a wobble, he sank into his chair.

Old Grandpa!

Now another picture: the dark, little, dismal flat, locked from the outside, deserted within; on the kitchen table, where Big Tom's breakfast dishes are strewn about, is the milk bottle and a cup; the beds are unmade, the sink piled high, and circling the unswept floor wheels Grandpa, whimpering, calling softly and pleadingly, "Johnnie!

Little Johnnie! Grandpa wants Johnnie!" And tears are dimming the pale, old eyes, and trickling down into the thin, white beard.

"Oh!" breathed the boy. Old Grandpa forsaken! He, so dear, so helpless!

Old Grandpa, who depended upon his Johnnie! And--what of that "kind of love that all sound young hearts give to the crippled and the helpless?"

He began to whisper, hastily, huskily: "That time I run away and met One-Eye, I felt pretty bad when I was layin' awake in the horse stall--so bad I hurt, all inside me. And in the night I 'most cried about Grandpa, and how he was missin' me."

"I see."

"And, oh, Mister Perkins, that was before I knew anything about scouts.

But, now, I am one, ain't I? And so I got t' _act_ like a scout. And a scout, would he go 'way and leave a' old soldier? I got t' think about that." He began to walk. Presently, he halted at the door of the tiny room, and looked in, then came tiptoeing back. "He's in there," he explained. "He went in t' see if Cis wasn't home yet, and he fell asleep. He misses her a lot, and she wasn't here much when he was awake.

But that jus' shows how he'd miss me."

Before the scoutmaster could reply, Johnnie went on again: "I'm thinkin'

ahead, the same way I think my thinks. When y're ahead, why, y' can look back, can't y'?--awful easy! Well, I'm lookin' back, and I can see Grandpa alone here. And it's a' awful mean thing t' see, Mister Perkins--gee, it is! And I'd be seein' it straight right on for the rest of my life!"

"But I wouldn't have old Grandpa left alone here," protested Mr.

Perkins. "You see, there are inst.i.tutions where they take the best care of old people--trained care, and suitable food, and the attention of first-cla.s.s doctors. In such places, many old gentlemen stay."

"But Grandpa, would he know any of the other old gentlemen?"

"He would soon."

Johnnie shook his head. "He'd feel pretty bad if he didn't have me."

"You could go to see him often."

"He'd cry after me!" urged Johnnie. "And go 'round and 'round in circles. Y' see, he's used t' me, and if I was t' let him go t' that place, he'd miss me so bad he'd die!"

Mr. Perkins looked grave. "Narcissa and I would be only too glad to have him with us," he said, "but his son wouldn't let us."

"Big Tom wouldn't let Grandpa go away nowheres," a.s.serted Johnnie. "I'm sure o' that. Why, Grandpa's the only person Big Tom cares a snap about!

And if Grandpa stays here, and Big Tom's sure t' keep him, why, o'

course, he can't stay--alone." He paused; then, "No, he can't stay alone." Perhaps never again in all his life would he meet a temptation so strong as this one--as hard to resist. "My! what'll I do?" he asked.

"What'll I do?"

"You must decide for yourself," said Mr. Perkins. How he felt, Johnnie could not tell. The face of the scoutmaster was in the shadow, and chiefly he seemed taken up with the polishing of his _pince-nez_.

"Y' know, I thank y' awful much," Johnnie declared, "for plannin' out 'bout me goin' and--and so on."

"You're as welcome as can be!"

Johnnie drew those yellow brows together. "I wonder what Mrs. Kukor would think I ought t' do," he continued. "And--and what would Mister Roosevelt do if he was me? And that boss of all the Boy Scouts----"

"General Sir Baden-Powell."

"Yes, him. What would he think about it, I wonder? And then Edith Cavell, what would _she_ say?"

Mr. Perkins went on with his polishing.

"Father Pat, he said somethin' once t' me about the way y' got t' act if y' ever want t' be happy later on, and have folks like y'. Oh, if only the Father was alive, and knew about it! But maybe he does know! but if he don't, anyhow G.o.d does, 'cause G.o.d knows ev'rything, whether y' want Him to or not. My! I wouldn't like t' have G.o.d turn against me! I'd--I'd like t' please G.o.d."

Still the scoutmaster was silent.

"You heard about my father, didn't y', Mister Perkins?" Johnnie asked presently. "He wouldn't be saved if my mother couldn't be, and jus'

stayed on the ice with her, and held her fast in his arms till--till----" How clearly he could see it all!--his father, his feet braced upon the whirling cake, with that frailer body in his arms, drifting, drifting, swift and sure, toward destruction, but going to his death with a wave of the hand. His father had laid down his life; but his son would have to lay down only a small part of his.

"It didn't take my father long t' make up _his_ mind about somethin'

hard," Johnnie said proudly.

"No."

"Well, then, bein' his boy, I'd like t' act as--as fine as I can."

He pressed his lips tight together. He still felt his lot a bitter one in the flat; he still yearned to get away. But during these last few months a change had come over him--in his hopes, his aspirations, his thinks--a change fully as great as the change in his outward appearance.

In a way, he had been made over, soul as well as body, that by taking in, by a sort of soaking process, certain ideas--of honor, duty, self-respect, unselfishness, courage, chivalry. And whereas once his whole thought had been to go, go, go, now he knew that those certain ideas were much more important than going. Also, there were the Laws.

One of these came into his mind now--the first one. It came in a line of black letters which seemed to be suspended in the air between him and Mr. Perkins: _A scout is trustworthy_.

The moment he saw that line he understood what he would do. This new-old tempting dream, he would give it up.

"Mister Perkins," he began again, "I can't go 'way and leave old Grandpa here alone. I'm goin' t' stay with him till he dies, jus' like my father stayed with my mother. Yes, I must keep with Grandpa. He's a cripple, and he's old, and--he's a baby." His jaw set resolutely.

And then--having decided--what a marvelous feeling instantly possessed him! What peace he felt! What happiness! What triumph! He seemed even taller than usual! And lighter on his feet! And, oh, the strength in his backbone! in those lead-pipe legs! (Though he did not know it, that look which was all light was on his face, while his mouth was turned up at both ends like the ends of the Boy Scout scroll.)

"I'm not terrible bad off here no more," he went on. "I got this suit, and my books, and One-Eye's quart o' milk. Also, Mrs. Kukor, she'll be back 'fore long, and you'll bring Cis home t' see me, won't y'?"

"I will."

"Things'll be all right. Evenin's, I'm goin' t' night school, like Mister Maloney said. And all the time, while I'm learnin', and watchin'

out for Grandpa, why, I'll be growin' up--n.o.body can stop me doin'

_that_."

_Tap! tap! tap! tap!_--the wheel chair was backing into sight at the door of the tiny room.

Johnnie began to whisper: "Don't speak 'bout Cis, will y'? It'd make him cry."

Grandpa heard the whispering. He looked round over a shoulder, his pale eyes searching the half-dark kitchen. "Johnnie, what's the matter?" he asked, as if fearful. "What's the matter?"