Violets and Other Tales | Page 9

scanty meal.
And the next day Titee was tardy again, and lunchless, too, and the next,
and the next, until the teacher in despair sent a nicely printed note to his

mother about him, which might have done some good, had not Titee
taken great pains to tear it up on his way home.
But one day it rained, whole bucketfuls of water, that poured in torrents
from a miserable angry sky. Too wet a day for bits of boys to be
trudging to school, so Titee's mother thought, so kept him home to
watch the weather through the window, fretting and fuming, like a
regular storm-cloud in miniature. As the day wore on, and the storm did
not abate, his mother had to keep a strong watch upon him, or he would
have slipped away.
At last dinner came and went, and the gray soddenness of the skies
deepened into the blackness of coming night. Someone called Titee to
go to bed--and Titee was nowhere to be found.
Under the beds, in corners and closets, through the yard, and in such
impossible places as the soap-dish and the water-pitcher even; but he
had gone as completely as if he had been spirited away. It was of no
use to call up the neighbors; he had never been near their houses, they
affirmed, so there was nothing to do but to go to the railroad track,
where little Titee had been seen so often trudging in the shrill north
wind.
So with lantern and sticks, and his little yellow dog, the rescuing party
started out the track. The rain had ceased falling, but the wind blew a
tremendous gale, scurrying great, gray clouds over a fierce sky. It was
not exactly dark, though in this part of the city, there was neither gas
nor electricity, and surely on such a night as this, neither moon nor
stars dared show their faces in such a grayness of sky; but a sort of
all-diffused luminosity was in the air, as though the sea of atmosphere
was charged with an ethereal phosphorescence.
Search as they would, there were no signs of poor little Titee. The soft
earth between the railroad ties crumbled beneath their feet without
showing any small tracks or foot-prints.
"Let us return," said the big brother, "he can't be here anyway."

"No, no," urged the mother, "I feel that he is; let's go on."
So on they went, slipping on the wet earth, stumbling over the loose
rocks, until a sudden wild yelp from Tiger brought them to a standstill.
He had rushed ahead of them, and his voice could be heard in the
distance, howling piteously.
With a fresh impetus the little muddy party hurried forward. Tiger's
yelps could be heard plainer and plainer, mingled now with a muffled
wail, as of some one in pain.
And then, after awhile they found a pitiful little heap of wet and sodden
rags, lying at the foot of a mound of earth and stones thrown upon the
side of the track. It was little Titee with a broken leg, all wet and
miserable, and moaning.
They picked him up tenderly, and started to carry him home. But he
cried and clung to his mother, and begged not to go.
"He's got fever," wailed his mother.
"No, no, it's my old man. He's hungry, sobbed Titee, holding out a little
package. It was the remnants of his dinner, wet and rain washed.
"What old man?" asked the big brother.
"My old man, oh, please, please don't go home until I see him, I'm not
hurting much, I can go."
So yielding to his whim, they carried him further away, down the sides
of the track up to an embankment or levee by the sides of the Marigny
canal. Then Titee's brother, suddenly stopping, exclaimed:
"Why, here's a cave, a regular Robinson Cruso affair."
"It's my old man's cave," cried Titee; "oh, please go in, maybe he's
dead."
There can't be much ceremony in entering a cave, there is but one thing

to do, walk in. This they did, and holding high the lantern, beheld a
strange sight. On a bed of straw and paper in one corner lay a withered,
wizened, white-bearded old man, with wide eyes staring at the
unaccustomed sight. In the corner lay a cow.
"It's my old man!" cried Titee, joyfully. "Oh, please, grandpa, I couldn't
get here to-day, it rained all morning, and when I ran away this evening,
I slipped down and broke something, and oh, grandpa, I'm so tired and
hurty, and I'm so afraid you're hungry."
So the secret of Titee's jaunts out the railroad was out. In one of his
trips around the swamp-land, he had discovered the old man dying
from cold and hunger in