Duck jerked a thumb upwards. “Him wot’s Landlord o’ the church,” he said. “I said ter Him if He’d leave us stay there, it’s how it were goin’ ter be with us. We ain’t never gone back on them promises neither. An’, Mr. Highcroff’, you said as how you’d be fixin’ ter git us ’nother place ter go. I’m sayin’ ter you now, anyplace we go, we’ll be keepin’ them promises.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Duck,” said Jonathan Highcrofft. “Well, Grandfather, I think you can see the cut of these boys.”
“I can indeed,” the old man replied.
“At any rate,” Jonathan Highcrofft continued, “one of the reasons I wanted you to meet these young men was not just because I wanted you to know who had taken in your baby great-grandson and his brother, nothing asked of them, and probably saved their lives. But you have a very creative mind, and I thought you might be able to help me find them a new home as I promised them I would do. I think you can understand why, now that I know about it, I can’t let them continue living in the church cellar. But I’m certainly not going to have them sent back to live under a pier, or to fathers who beat them, or even, heaven forbid, to the workhouse.”
“Did you have anything at all in mind, Jonathan?” asked his grandfather.
“Nothing,” he replied. “But among all your friends I don’t suppose you could think of anyone with a big house that has eight or so bedrooms in it, and a heart as big as the house, who might consider taking in these splendid young fellows, do you?”
Old Mr. Highcrofft shook his head. “Not in a million years, I’m afraid. That’s a very big order, Jonathan. Why, I have a house with the eight bedrooms you suggest, but I wouldn’t even think of—”
“Well now, Grandfather,” interrupted his grandson. “Adelaide and I were rather hoping you’d mention those eight bedrooms.”
Old Mr. Highcrofft threw up his hands. “Oh, no, no, no! Now I’m beginning to see where this is all going, and I tell you it’s not possible. I couldn’t even begin to consider it.”
“Why not, Grandfather?” said his determined grandson. “You’ve been rattling around in that mausoleum ever since Grandmother died. You don’t even entertain any more. Mrs. Delbert has been complaining she doesn’t properly earn her housekeeper’s pay, nor do any of that army of servants you have there. Whom, I might add, you won’t let go because, though you’d never admit it, you do have a very big heart, Grandfather.”
“But four boys!” he groaned. “Have you no mercy, Jonathan?”
“None in this case,” replied his cold-hearted grandson. “Oh, and Grandfather, did I forget to mention your seven-bedroom ‘cottage’ in the country, and at the shore your—”
“Enough! Enough!” moaned old Mr. Highcrofft. “You have made your point. And to think I let myself be led right into this. I’ve always prided myself on being a fairly crafty fellow, but you’ve certainly beaten me at my own game. Well, all right then, but how do we know these boys would even want to come and live with an old codger like me?”
Jonathan Highcrofft laughed aloud. “Old codger indeed! You’re younger than most men half your age. And having these boys around will make you younger yet. Anyway, boys, do you or do you not wish to go and live with this old codger?”
“We ain’t never been arsked,” replied Duck.
“Well then, for heaven’s sake, I’m arsking you,” grumped old Mr. Highcrofft.
“Wot we usual do ’bout most stuff is hold a meetin’,” replied Duck. “But don’t think we need a meetin’ fer this. We accepts yer invite.”
“When do you think they could come to me, Jonathan?” asked old Mr. Highcrofft, who looked rather as if he had been struck on the head with a very hard instrument.
“Why not tonight?” replied his heartless grandson.
“But don’t they at least need to return to the church to pick up their belongings?” inquired Mr. Highcrofft hopefully.
“We got some valuables back there,” said Duck. “We got us a saucepot, an’ some cups an’ saucers.”
“But they come from the dump,” Mouse reminded him.
“Still them things been valuables ter us,” said Duck. “Also got a lef’ over piece o’ bread. Got them ends o’ pencils an’ paper wot Robin got fer us.” He paused a moment. “But I think ’stead o’ goin’ back fer them things, an’ if Robin don’t mind ’bout bits o’ pencils, we like ’em ter be gived ter the poor.”
“The poor, eh?” said old Mr. Highcrofft, thoughtfully reviewing the boys’ clothes, which despire Robin’s best sewing efforts, were still little better than rags, not to mention their shoes with flapping soles, holes cut out for toes, and held together with pieces of string.
“Yer church gives ter the poor, don’t it?” asked Mouse. “They got this box upstairs wot’s full o’ money fer the poor. We know ’cause we shocked it an’ foun’ out.”
“Did anything fall out when you … er … shooked the box?” asked old Mr. Highcrofft with great interest.
“It did,” said Spider. “A whole ten cents! But we put it right back in the hole where it come out.”
“Why didn’t you keep it?” asked the old man.
“Keepin’ it would o’ been stealin’ from the poor,” said Piggy. “Even ’fore we stopped stealin’ on ’count o’ them promises we maked ter the Landlord, we ain’t never stealed from the poor. Stealin’ from the poor ain’t right.”
“You’re quite right, Piggy, it isn’t. I’m sure I don’t know why I even suggested you might do such a thing,” said old Mr. Highcrofft, turning to his grandson. “You know, Jonathan, I must say I like these boys’ style. We might just make it.”
“Oh, I think you will, Grandfather,” replied his grandson. “But I think it’s now really very late, and you’d better all pack yourself into the carriage and head for home.”
“Yes, and figure where
