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Updated: June 18, 2025
This was a blizzard, sure enough! and that meant "extras" to cry, sidewalks to shovel, a mad haste to get ahead of his mates and gather in more nickels than they, maybe stolen rides behind livery sleighs when the storm was over, and a thousand and one enjoyable things such as poor Miss Armacost could never even dream of! "Hi!
He neither complained of his poverty nor was ashamed of it; and his manner as he walked toward the table and drew out a chair for Miss Armacost was as gallant as possible. "That's the checker!" he said to himself. "That's the way I've seen the gentlemen do in the hotel dining-rooms when I've been peeking through, or the waiters, I mean.
But at last she ordered the coachman homeward, and they rode slowly out of the park, down the beautiful Avenue toward the Armacost mansion and Towsley's new home. He sank back into his place with a profound sigh of mingled pleasure and regret: "To think they never had a sleigh-ride!" "Humph! How many have you had, before this one, Lionel?" "Why why why none." "I thought so.
The lad's eyes were shining from his own pleasure; his pale face was rapidly taking on a healthy glow; he was a very presentable little fellow, indeed, in his modern suit of well-shaped clothing, so Miss Armacost thought, but he was also spoiling her ride for her as thoroughly as he could. Spoiling it without the slightest intention or desire on his own part to do so.
I'd hire the big picnic stage and have it put on runners, and I'd go 'round Newspaper Square, and the Swamp, and the asylums and and places and I'd give every little kid that never had a ride, I'd give him one to-morrow, as sure as I live. Oh! I wish I had it!" Miss Armacost lost all manner of patience with this boy. If he'd only be contented with enjoying himself and let his neighbors rest.
The sensation it gave her was an odd one; else a person so eminently correct and punctilious as Miss Armacost would never have walked the whole length of the finest block on the Avenue, and in full sight of her aristocratic neighbors' windows, within the embrace of a girl from Side Street. "But, my child, you should be more careful. You might have broken my bones."
You are no longer Towsley Towhead. You are Lionel Armacost. You are to have no further connection with Mother Molloy or any other objectionable person. Your home is now at Number One-thousand-and-one, Washington Avenue, West. Good night. I would like to kiss you, but your face is too dirty. To-morrow, at breakfast, when you are in proper condition, I will do so. Good-night."
Miss Armacost did not know that this was a habit of all young children and a sign of material enjoyment; but she was just beginning to worry about her stool and the damage he would do it, when her attention was diverted to Sir Christopher. He had licked feebly, and half disdainfully, at his own saucer of cream, then curled himself round upon the towel beside it. But he could not lie still.
"I'd like to learn everything; and when I grow up I'll write for a paper!" It was such a characteristic wish that all the company laughed. Then remarked father Johns: "I reckon, Miss Armacost, that the lad's idea of a 'home, an 'asylum, is a place where poor children can be taught to become useful bread-winners. Apparently, he doesn't think a life of rich idleness can be the happiest."
This was the custom at the sidewalk table where he generally dined, and where forks were things unknown. Miss Armacost gazed at the boy in astonishment. He had now consumed a half pie, yet seemed as eager as ever. She resolved that he should have the whole of it, if he so desired, but that she would instil a bit of instruction along with the mince-meat.
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