Willie Frank of Stedley

Chapter I He Arrives

A MERRY troop of manly boys and sweetfaced little girls, waving hats and hands, stood on the platform of the small shabby depot of Stedley one bright afternoon in May.

“Good-by, Father! Good-by !” they called eagerly, affection brimming over in their clear young voices.

From the window of the receding train smiled back at them the kind boyish face of young Father Owen, curate of our Lady of Mount Carmel Church of Kant on, the nearest city. For Stedley, quaint, pretty little town that it was, nestling close to the shores of a beautiful lake, in spite of all its beauties was poor, very poor indeed in one particular. It possessed no Catholic church. Every Sunday one of the good priests from Kanton came down to celebrate Mass in a little low frame building situated near the railroad station on Main Street. But there was a First Holy Communion Class under instruction in that little frame building during these bright afternoons of our Lady’s month, that in the fervor and purity of l heart of its members could not be excelled anywhere, north, south, east or west.

Young Father Owen came down three afternoons a week now, and it was a customary and pretty sight for Stedleyites to watch him proceed on his way to the railroad station at sundown, surrounded by his ardent and admiring little disciples. Two of the youngest members of the class clung to his hands, the rest circled around him, behind him and before him, all eagerly chattering like excited small magpies. At the depot Father Owen generally placed them under the care of old Matthew, the station agent, to “Shoo Off” as Matthew expressed it, when he himself had to board his train.

“I don’t like to refuse to let them come, Matthew, ’ ’ he would say pleasantly, ‘ ‘ but if you were not here I should feel much anxiety about leaving them.”

“Sure, don’t worry about ’em, your Reverence,” honest Matt would answer grimly. “I’ll ’tend to ’em, never you fear.”

And ’tend to them he did, dispersing them in short time and good order, all but little Dolly Lambert, with her laughing face and big brown eyes.

“Oh, Matthew, don’t you want to hear the story Father Owen told us to-day? It was be-au-tiful, Matthew.”

“Well, well, tell it if ye must, me little lady, and then be hurrying along,” he would say gruffly.

HE ARRIVES

And Holly, seated on the one and only baggage truck the station boasted of, her gay young face quite sweet with love and reverence now, would tell him in her own eager way the story of young Tarcisius who died with the Sacred Host clasped to his breast to save It from insult, of Saint Agnes and Saint Pancratius and many other sweet child saints of whom Father Owen was daily telling his little band.

Meantime, the boys of the class were grouped around Jimmie Cleary, who, as acknowledged leader among those of his own age in Stedley, was making alluring plans for a baseball game in the fields back of his house “ to-morrow morning.”

Just at this exciting moment, up Main Street rolled a wonderful, golden-brown automobile. The chauffeur stopped the car and beckoned to one of the lads.

Alone on the rear seat of this gorgeous machine sat a little figure in gray dust coat, gray cap and immense yellow motor goggles. But I am not exact when I say alone, for there were also two dogs. One was a snow-white poodle with a corn-colored ribbon perkily adorning his neck. The other was a black and white fox terrier with twinkling brown eyes. The latter wore a leather collar in which was inserted a tiny silver plate. Had you been near enough you would have seen engraved upon it :

Owner,

Twinkle,

William Francis Thome.

WILLIE-FEANK OF STEDEEY

Bobby Evans, a red-haired boy with a pleasant freckled face, crossed over to the man at the wheel who was bending out to speak to him. The other boys watched with interest the child and the two dogs.

“He’s a boy!” announced Jimmie Cleary.

“No, she’s a girl!” contradicted Ray Lester.

‘ ‘ Girls like dolls, not dogs. I say he ’s a boy, ’ ’ scoffed Dick Smith.

“Well, look at the curls,” protested Ray. “Boys don’t wear curls, do they?”

True enough, the small person in the automobile did have curls such as any little girl might wear: long, beautiful auburn ones.

Jimmie Cleary’s faith was not, however, so easily shaken.

The child who was the cause of all this excitement could hear their remarks, and standing up looked at them through the yellow goggles for a moment, and then disappeared from sight down on to the floor of the machine. The black and white terrier, with a bark, followed.

“Pooh!” said Ray, swinging on his heel, “she’s a girl all right. I knew she was. She ’s afraid ! ’ ’

The others watching closely, however, saw the gray cap and curls jerk up again, and in the hands of the child were oranges.

“Catch!” a clear voice called. One slim little arm swept out and lo ! neither Dick, nor Ray, nor Ted, nor Jack was quick enough, but Jimmie Cleary, leaping into the air, captured the golden fruit with neat skill and swiftness.

HE ARRIVES

“Ha! — ha! — ha!” laughed the pitcher. “Bow — wow — wow!” barked Twinkle, the terrier. “Yap — yap — yap!” joined in the pretty poodle.

“Hip, — hip, — hooray! He’s a boy, like I told you. I said so all the time,” Jimmie Cleary crowed.

“Put one here, will you!” Dick Smith yelled holding out his hands cupped invitingly.

“Me too,” chimed in Ray.

“Can you toss another as straight as that!” asked Ted Bemis.

Swiftly they came with true, unerring aim, and as the boys caught, they cheered.

The chauffeur was unable *to make himself heard for a moment. The noise was great and Bobby Evans was too excited to listen because he wanted to catch an orange also. At last the man turned and spoke to the automobile boy, who stopped the orange throwing game for a moment and asked in a clear young voice :

“Do you know where Thorne House is! Which turn do we take next to get there ! ’ 9

“We’ll show you, come on,” the boys shouted, and most of them began to lead the way by running up the street.

Jimmie Cleary lingered. “Thorne House is on Lake Street,” he said. “That’s first turn to your right and second turn to your left, then up a little hill and that’s all. It’s a big white house and there are lions at the door.”

The chauffeur laughed pleasantly. “Sounds like the Zoo, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ Thank you. ’ ’

Just as the car was about to start, the boy with the curls succeeded in unfastening the door of the automobile.

“Jump in,” he said to Jimmie. Then looking at the chauffeur anxiously, he asked, “My Uncle wouldn’t mind, would he, Mr. Jake?”

The man answered pleasantly, “Why no, I guess not. We can drop the little chap at the gate anyway. It’s only fair to give him a spin ; he told us the way.”

Jimmie Cleary’s big eyes opened very wide indeed.

“Do you mean that I’m going to ride in there with you and those dogs?” he said wonderingly.

Automobiles were scarce in the small village of Stedley and people who owned them were not in the habit of inviting small boys like Jimmie to share the pleasure with them.

“Yes, yes, come in,” the other boy answered, laughingly merrily. “I like you. What’s your name, please?”

Jimmie seated himself gingerly on the edge of the tan cushion and held fast to the side of the wonderful car as it started off with a soft purring sound. Then, he answered bashfully :

“Jimmie Cleary.”

“Mine’s Willie Thorne, but almost every one calls me Willie-Frank,” his new friend explained.

After that the little boys were silent for a moment ; both half-sat, half-stood, looking at each other from under their eyelashes. Shyness had overtaken them. The dogs paved the way for

HE ARBIVES their next words. Twinkle sniffed at J imm ie* a orange, begged and finally leaped np to lick his face. Curly, the poodle, slid across the cushion and made a playful snap at Jimmie’s hand. As he tried to draw it away, the mischievous Curly softly reached out a pink tongue and licked the little brown hand as much as to say :

“I’m only fooling. I want to be friends with you. ’ ’

When Jimmie saw the tiny white ball of fur stretch out beside him, fluffy head on cunning little paws, and roguish eyes blinking at him affectionately, he laughed and patted both on the head.

“Aren’t they fine though?” he said joyously, finding his tongue quite suddenly.

“Yes,” Willie-Frank said smiling. “They can do lots of tricks, too. This one is Twinkle. Shake hands with Jimmie, Twink. That’s right. Now Curly, be good.”

But although the fox terrier politely offered Jimmie a friendly paw, haughty Curly just rolled over on his back and gave a little “yap. ” He certainly looked as though he were laughing as he waved his four little feet in the air. Willie-Frank and Jimmie burst out laughing.

Jimmie began to feel as though he had known this boy and his two dogs all his life. At first he had thought he must be asleep and dreaming, and that this was a fairy prince who had asked him to ride in a golden chariot. He liked this Thome boy very much.

The touring car swept past the other boys just here, and when they saw Jimmie sitting beside the stranger and with both dogs trying to make friends with him, they set np a shout of glee.

The boys of Stedley, for the most part, were generous and manly. They all liked Jimmie Cleary, who could play games and run races better than any other small boy in town, and who was always willing to share his playthings or candy or fruit with the rest.

“Hi — Jimmie,” they called out, “you’re in luck . 9 9

One of them said, “Let’s cut across lots and meet them at Thorne House.”

“See you later, Jim,” they shouted and soon all one could see were knickerbockers and strong little heels disappearing over the rail fence which surrounded a pasture where patient cows were awaiting their owner to let down the bars and call them home.

“I wish they could have a ride, too,” Willie- Frank said, turning around to kneel up on the seat and watch the boys as they raced off. 4 4 This is my Uncle’s car, though, and he might not like to have me ask so many to ride.”

“Which turn did you tell me to take, young man?” the chauffeur demanded at this point. Sometimes the directions given by small boys are misleading, and Mr. Jake wished to be certain that Jimmie knew what he was talking about.

Both boys stood up and grasped the back of the seat which Mr. Jake occupied. Jimmie earnestly repeated his former statement and Willie-Frank

HE AEEIVES smiled affectionately at him while he talked. The dogs both hopped down off the rear seat. The poodle sat on the floor of the car with his cunning little face raised to his young master’s. Twinkle stood on his hind legs and tried to reach up to the back of the seat which the boys were holding fast to.

“Are you going to stay at Thome House?” Jimmie asked Willie-Frank when he had finished speaking to Mr. Jake.

‘ ‘ I don ’t know, ’ ’ Willie said. 4 ‘ Miss Debby told me Uncle Gerald had sent for me. Mr. Jake came to get me this morning. Do you know my Uncle ? ’ ’

Before Jimmie could answer him, Willie continued excitedly: “He’s an inventor, Miss Debby said. I’m hoping he will tell me all about airships and U-boats and things like that, you know; but Mr. Jake said he’s cross and will make me toe the mark.”

“Didn’t you ever see him?” Jimmie asked, his eyes very big with surprise.

“Yes,” Willie-Frank told him, “but I was little then and I don’t remember him at all.”

“We have a picture of him at my house,” Jimmie said. “My Papa and he were chums. They went to school together. I like him, too. He was down in South America once and he sent me a baby alligator, but it died.”

‘ ‘ Oh, did he ? He sent me a monkey, that same time I guess. It was a winner,” eagerly chimed in Willie-Frank.

“Have you got it now?” eagerly asked Jimmie.

Chapter II

W HEN my Daddy went to Heaven last year,” Willie-Frank explained, “the lawyer sent my monkey away and he sent me to school. I don’t know where Gyp is. Perhaps he died like the alligator. I liked him ever so much,” he finished with a tiny sigh.

“Well, I guess you’ll like Mr. Thorne,” Jimmie told him cheerfully. ‘ ‘ The servants up at Thorne House always chase us boys away if we go up to play at the fountain, but I guess he wouldn’t mind. I like him, anyhow.”

“There’s Thorne House! See the lions!” Willie-Frank looked at the great white house standing far back from the street. Sure enough, there were Jimmie’s famous lions. Huge brown stone creatures lying at either side of the steps as though on guard.

“Thank you ever so much for my ride,” said Jimmie warmly as he prepared to leave the car.

“Will you come up and play with me to-morrow and bring the other fellows, too? I’ll tell my Uncle that I like you all,” Willie said.

Jimmie’s face was aglow with happy smiles. “Sure we’ll come,” he answered. “We’d love to.”

“Have some more oranges? See, I’ve got a basket full. Miss Debby packed tbem for me. She said I might get hungry riding,’ ’ explained our hero.

“ Thank you, thank you,” Jimmie cried out as Willie filled his arms and hands.

Then the automobile started once more, and with a wave of his cap and a brave “good-by,” the fairy prince was borne up into the grounds of Thorne House. The boys who had just reached the gate cheered him lustily, and indeed he looked a gallant little figure standing up in the car waving back at them. Lilac bushes lined the driveway up which the touring-car rolled.

“Here we are, sir,” said pleasant Mr. Jake a few minutes later, stopping the car in front of the big brown lions of Thome House.

Suddenly Willie’s heart began to pound like a trip-hammer. Had he been younger than seven years old, he might have cried, so frightened did he feel. When a little boy has lost a dear Mamma and Papa, and has been living in a private boarding-school for some months with two dear old ladies in charge who petted him and favored him, it is rather lonesome to come all alone to an Uncle you have never seen, and who lives in a big white house guarded by brown stone lions. This Uncle was the elder brother of Willie ’s dear, dead Papa, and he was a very clever, busy man. He was “Somewhere in France” when his brother, Willie’s father, fell fighting valiantly for the French cause at “the front.” The wounded soldier, Donaid Thome, lived long enough to see his elder brother and to confide to his care his beloved little son, Willie-Frank.

Then Uncle Gerald, at that great distance, did everything in his power to make life comfortable and happy for his small nephew, until the important service which he, through his latest invention, was offering France, would permit him time enough to return to this country and assume the full responsibility of his dear young charge.

Only yesterday Miss Debby had told Willie that his Uncle had come home.

Willie liked Miss Debby and Miss Anne very much, but he did not like to wear his hair long and be kissed a great deal; and he hated velvet suits with lace collars. He was really so much of a boy that it was right for him to object to being coaxed into acting like a nice, gentle, little girl.

Miss Debby and Miss Anne meant to be very kind indeed, but they did not understand that their training might change Willie from a manly boy into what other boys would call a 4 ‘ sissy. ’ ’

The automobile driven by Mr. Jake had arrived at the school early that morning, and Willie had been tenderly embraced by the kind old ladies; the rear of the automobile had been filled by their good-natured cook with cakes and fruit of all kinds ; the other little boys at the school had given Willie, who was a favorite with them, too, tops and marbles and games to remember them by. He had promised to send them all letters and postcards and so, amid the dear old ladies’ blessings and the shouts of his little companions, Willie- Frank had left “The Misses Wallis’ Private School.”

He had asked Mr. Jake what his Uncle was like. Was he old? Was he jolly, or was he cross?

“I don’t know,” Mr. Jake answered with his cheery laugh, “I’ve never seen him, though I’ve worked for him two years now. His secretary hired me. I’ve never been to his house in Stedley before. They say it’s some place, little sir.”

After guiding the car carefully through a dangerous traffic section of the big city which they were leaving, Mr. Jake continued:

“Guess he’s a terror. All his servants are scared to death of him. Pays well, but expects them to do right by him whether he’s here to look after things or not. Guess you’ll have to toe the mark with the old gentleman, Sonny, from all I hear. ’ ’

No wonder Willie Thorne began to feel frightened. Wouldn ’t you ? Uncle Gerald had been pictured by Jake as though he were an ogre, and here was Willie-Frank, the fairy prince, riding up to the door of the ogre’s “enchanted castle.”

Lo! the small boy and his two dogs left the machine and climbed the steps. The front door opened wide and a tall, solemn butler bade Willie to enter:

“This way, sir, Mrs. Pepper is waiting for you,” he announced grandly, waving his hand towards a grim, dark room.

Soon a little boy with two dogs “at heel” stood before a cross-looking elderly lady in a black sateen dress. She sat in state in a high-backed chair and she held a large bunch of keys in her hands. Was this the witch of the enchanted castle, Willie wondered.

“You are Master William, I suppose,” she began sorrowfully; “your Uncle could not get here as soon as he expected to. You must go to your room and stay there until you are called to tea. Don’t carry mud over the stairs on your feet, don’t scratch the furniture and don’t make any noise. Your Uncle wouldn’t like it,” she ended with, and then pressing a bell she turned Willie over to the trim little maid who answered it, saying:

* ‘ Take Master William to the owl room and have those dogs sent to the stable.”

‘ ‘ Oh, please may I have my dogs with me for a little while?” asked lonely Willie-Frank.

“Dogs in the house! No, sir. Go with Rosalie and remember never , never to question anything I say. Your Uncle wouldn’t like it.”

Willie followed Rosalie up two flights of stairs. Once he stopped and looked down through the banisters. Curly, the poodle, was whining dolefully, and Twinkle was giving sad little growls as a man servant bore them out of their little master ’s sight.

“Here we are,” Rosalie said pleasantly as she threw open the door of a large, richly furnished room.

As Willie-Frank stepped in its bigness and dark shadows added to his homesickness. It may seem strange to think that he could be lonesome for a boarding-school, but a sleeping apartment with a big four-posted mahogany bed and heavy window draperies, compared to a small, bright, airy dormitory shared with three other little boys, was rather discouraging, we must admit.

He stood on the mat near the door and squeezed his hands together in a big effort to keep back unmanly tears. Rosalie patted him kindly on the head.

‘ ‘ This is called the owl room because there is a picture in here of one of the largest owls ever seen. They say your Uncle tamed it and called it Beppo or some such name. When it died he felt dreadfully, so Baxter the butler says. Here is the picture.’ ’

Rosalie switched on the electric lights suddenly, and guided Willie-Frank to a space of the wall between the two deep-seated windows. There hung the portrait of his Uncle’s famous owl.

Willie-Frank forgot that he was tired, hungry and lonesome, forgot that he had come very near to tears. He looked at “ Beppo” and then smiled up at friendly Rosalie.

“He is pretty big, isn’t he?” he remarked.

“That isn’t all you’ll find in this room, either,” Rosalie said mysteriously.

Willie-Frank gazing around saw prints and enlarged snap-shots and beautifully framed pictures of many kinds of wonderful birds. This was truly a room any boy would like, after he stepped across

16 WILLIE-FEANK OF STEDLEY its threshold and the dazzling glow of a chandelier had put the dark shadows to flight.

4 ‘What else will I find, please ?” onr hero asked with a little thrill of delight at the thought of a surprise.

“Over there in the closet! I saw it one day when I was cleaning! Come, let’s go and look.”

Rosalie put her fingers to her lips, smiled gayly and tip-toed toward the closet.

Willie-Frank was enjoying himself immensely now. He tip-toed also and thought this kind girl with her white lace apron and fly-away cap the best playmate he had found among grown-ups, since dear “Daddy” went to Heaven to see “Mamma.”

“One — two — three,” Rosalie chanted, “open sesame.”

Why, she even knew about Ali Baba! Willie- Frank clapped his hands merrily and laughed.

“Hush,” said the girl, opening the door on a crack, and so the game went on until, little by little, the closed door was opened to its widest, and there among a man’s riding suits and shooting jackets stood an old-fashioned rocking-horse. It had been a wonderful toy in its day and even now, as Rosalie and Willie-Frank dragged it out into the center of the owl room, its gray and black body looked quite bright and new. Its yellow glass eyes were shining as the electric lights fell upon them, its gay scarlet harness and brilliant red rockers made a steed worthy of any little modern boy’s admiration. What it it was not the newest kind of rocking-horse ! What if the marks of other hoys’ restless feet were on its wood- work! What if the straps of the stirrups were worn and old!

Willie-Frank gave a shout of glee.

Rosalie chanted merrily, “I have a little pony. His name is Dapple Gray.”

Dapple Gray stood quite high, Willie found when he tried to throw one chubby leg across the saddle. Rosalie held the frisky steed for him while he mounted. Then with another pat on the head she bade him good-by.

“ The bath-room is right in here, dear,” she said throwing open another door and switching on more lights. “If you will wash your face and hands I’ll come back in about ten minutes to fix your hair. Don’t be afraid and have a good ride while you are waiting for me. By-by.”

“Good-by,” called Willie-Frank heartily. “I guess I’m going to like this house,” he confided to Dapple Gray as he started on a gallop which lasted until he remembered that Rosalie wanted him to wash his face and hands. Soon he had the faucets in the bath-room making merry music, while soap-suds festooned his dripping curls and his suit.

When Rosalie returned she found him busy sailing an immense bar of soap in the marble bowl.

Rosalie, laughing good-naturedly, called Willie- Frank from his soapy game and soon she was at work upon his tangled curls. Her quick but gentle fingers soon had the little boy ready.

18 WILLIE-FKANK OF STEDLEY

His supper was served to him in the fine old-fashioned dining-room by a kind man-servant named Jean, who proved to be Rosalie’s brother.

He saw no more of cross Mrs. Pepper that night. Bedtime came, Willie’s earnest childish prayers were said and gentle Rosalie tucked him into the big, high-posted bed. At last she turned out the lights and sat down in a low rocker by the window. The moonlight made a silver pathway across the carpet and numberless stars smiled down on Willie-Frank.

Rosalie told the child that her room was next to his and that if he felt timid during the night he could call and she would come to him at once.

‘ ‘Oh, thank you,” chuckled Willie-Frank, slipping down out of sight under the bedclothes. Then in muffled tones, roguishly, but proudly, he added :

“I’m a boy, Miss Rosalie, even if I have got horrid curls. I’m not scary, but thanks just the same.”

Soon Rosalie began to sing. She had a sweet young voice, and the pretty lullaby made Willie- Frank feel as though he were in a hammock under swaying pine trees and was being tossed, to and fro, by gentle breezes. Slowly he crept back up to the pillows again from his hiding place in the middle of the bed, his heavy eyelids dropped and he was — fast asleep.

His first day in Stedley was over.

Chapter III

W HILE Willie Thorne lay sleeping with his cherished harmonica tightly clasped in his dimpled fingers, Jimmie Cleary, too, had embarked for the “Land of Nod.” His dark head was full of rosy dreams for the morrow when, as he fondly hoped, his new friend, Willie-Frank, and himself, as well as the other boys, would play ball on the smooth wide driveway at Thorne House, or climb up on the stone lions, or sail small boats at the fountain.

“Jimmie, Jimmie,” called gentle Mrs. Cleary outside his door the following morning. No answer and she was about to enter when Ellie, Jimmie’s big sister, ran lightly up the stairs.

“Are you looking for Jimmie, Mother?” she asked pleasantly. “Why, he was up and out an hour ago.”

“Without his breakfast?” Mrs Cleary said in alarm.

“Oh, no, I coaxed him to drink a glass of milk and really forced him to swallow his oatmeal, and then off he went in the direction of Lake Street,” Ellie explained, laughing merrily.

“Oh, my dear, I hope he will not bother the people at Thorne House so early in the day. Per- 19 haps the little hoy should not have invited him at all. I didn’t think he would take the child’s words to heart so, did you?”

“I’m afraid he did,” said Ellie, “but Jimmie is a little gentleman, Mother mine, and if he sees that he is not wanted, he will come straight home, I am sure. He was traveling too fast to hear my voice this morning or I would have called him back.”

At a very early hour Baxter, the butler at Thome House, heard the heavy bronze knocker on the big front door rise and fall several times. When he answered its summons what was his surprise to see a small boy tumble into the hall at his feet.

“Oh,” cried Jimmie Cleary rising and rubbing his knees. “You came too quick. I was trying to reach that big handle again and I had to stand on my tip-toes.”

“What do you want?” asked Baxter in a terrible voice. He was looking now past Jimmie at what seemed to him an army of small boys on the rose-path which led from the gate. There were only six to be sure, but as they were all laughing and talking they made a considerable amount of noise.

“What do you want?” demanded the butler for the second time.

Jimmie removed his cap and smiled confidingly. “We’ve come to play with Willie-Frank,” he said. “Please may he come out?”

“Sure, we’ve come to play with Bill. Where is he anyway?” an older, rougher-looking boy at the end of the line chimed in.

“ Baxter, who are these dirty children? Why are they at the front door?” It was Mrs. Pepper who spoke and her voice sent a chill over Jimmie. He knew as soon as he saw her face that the housekeeper at Thorne House was not friendly to him or the rest of the boys and his heart quailed. Keeping up his courage, however, he smiled once more and explained.

“We came to play with Willie-Frank. He asked us to yesterday.”

“Go away,” Mrs. Pepper said sternly. “You naughty, noisy children. Never come here again. Do you hear me? Didn’t you see the sign, ‘No trespassing?’ ”

Jimmie turned and walked down the big stone steps without even a parting glance at his beloved lions. On he went to the gate followed by his chums. All were, perhaps, sadder, wiser little boys.

“ ’Tain’t trespassing to visit any one, is it?” called back the older boy with the rough voice as they went out the gate. “Huh — we don’t want to play with that little sissy-boy anyway. Wait until we catch him outside some day, we’ll fix him, the little dude. ’ ’ Then with an Indian war-whoop he ran down the street.