Mr. Blake’s Walking-Stick
by
I.
THE WALKING-STICK WALKS.
Some men carry canes. Some men make the canes carry them. I never could tell just what Mr. Blake carried his cane for. I am sure it did not often feel his weight. For he was neither old, nor rich, nor lazy.
He was a tall, straight man, who walked as if he loved to walk, with a cheerful tread that was good to see. I am sure he didn’t carry the cane for show. It was not one of those little sickly yellow things, that some men nurse as tenderly as they might a lapdog. It was a great black stick of solid ebony, with a box-wood head, and I think Mr. Blake carried it for company. And it had a face, like that of an old man, carved on one side of the box-wood head. Mr. Blake kept it ringing in a hearty way upon the pavement as he walked, and the boys would look up from their marbles when they heard it, and say: “There comes Mr. Blake, the minister!” And I think that nearly every invalid and poor person in Thornton knew the cheerful voice of the minister’s stout ebony stick.
It was a clear, crisp, sunshiny morning in December. The leaves were all gone, and the long lines of white frame houses that were hid away in the thick trees during the summer, showed themselves standing in straight rows now that the trees were bare. And Purser, Pond & Co.’s great factory on the brook in the valley below was plainly to be seen, with its long rows of windows shining and shimmering in the brilliant sun, and its brick chimney reached up like the Tower of Babel, and poured out a steady stream of dense, black smoke.
It was just such a shining winter morning. Mr. Blake and his walking-stick were just starting out for a walk together. “It’s a fine morning,” thought the minister, as he shut the parsonage gate. And when he struck the cane sharply on the stones it answered him cheerily: “It’s a fine morning!” The cane always agreed with Mr. Blake. So they were able to walk together, according to Scripture, because they were agreed.
Just as he came round the corner the minister found a party of boys waiting for him. They had already heard the cane remarking that it was a fine morning before Mr. Blake came in sight.
“Good-morning! Mr. Blake,” said the three boys.
“Good-morning, my boys; I’m glad to see you,” said the minister, and he clapped “Old Ebony” down on the sidewalk, and it said “I am glad to see you.”
“Mr. Blake!” said Fred White, scratching his brown head and looking a little puzzled. “Mr. Blake, if it ain’t any harm–if you don’t mind, you know, telling a fellow,–a boy, I mean—-” Just here he stopped talking; for though he kept on scratching vigorously, no more words would come; and comical Sammy Bantam, who stood alongside, whispered, “Keep a-scratching, Fred; the old cow will give down after a while!”
Then Fred laughed, and the other boys, and the minister laughed, and the cane could do nothing but stamp its foot in amusement.
“Well, Fred,” said the minister, “what is it? Speak out.” But Fred couldn’t speak now for laughing, and Sammy had to do the talking himself. He was a stumpy boy, who had stopped off short; and you couldn’t guess his age, because his face was so much older than his body.
“You see, Mr. Blake,” said Sammy, “we boys wanted to know–if there wasn’t any harm in your telling–why, we wanted to know what kind of a thing we are going to have on Christmas at our Sunday-school.”
“Well, boys, I don’t know any more about it yet than you do. The teachers will talk it over at their next meeting. They have already settled some things, but I have not heard what.”