“Jessie, please come. I want you, dear, for a moment.” It was Ethel’s voice calling from the breakfast room downstairs. The words were normal, but the tone of voice was not. She sounded excited and upset about something. Passing by her mother’s room, Jessie poked her head in the door saying, “I will be back in a minute, Mamma. I am going downstairs to speak to Ethel.”
As Jessie hastened down the stairs, she wondered: We finished breakfast not long ago; the mail’s been opened and everyone’s plans for the day have been discussed; no one would visit this early in the day; Papa has already left for London on the early train. What can Ethel be so surprised and anxious about?
She found her sister standing by the table with a strained expression on her face, clutching a newspaper in her hand.
“See here, what I have just read. Oh, do you think it could be our lost darling?” exclaimed Ethel as she thrust the paper into Jessie’s hand.
“Ethel, what do you mean?” exclaimed her sister, but then her eye caught the words — “Lost Boy: Wants to be Found” — and she quickly read the story:
A young boy about eight years old was found sitting on a doorstep on Preston Street at 7:15 p.m. last night by police officer O’Brian. He was dressed in dark grey trousers, much worn, and a faded blue shirt. He has brown hair and large blue eyes.
The boy claims he ran away from a gypsy caravan and is looking for a friend named Jack. He knows he has not always been with the gypsies, but cannot remember anything about his life before joining them. He refuses to speak about who or where the gypsies are. He calls himself, “Tan.”
It was the last word that had riveted Ethel’s attention. Seeing that one short word had caused Ethel to tremble and her mind to race. Now, it sent a thrill of excitement through Jessie.
“Could it possibly be our lost Tan? What do you think, Ethel?”
Ethel couldn’t reply. From her heart went up the one petition to her heavenly Father — “Help us, O God, to find him.”
As her sister waited, she aroused herself with the light of newborn hope in her eyes and with trembling lips said, “I will go at once and make inquiries. There is a chance, for who else would have the name of Tan?” After pausing to think, she added, “You might tell Mamma I have gone on an errand that required immediate attention. Don’t tell Mamma about the article in the paper. It may be a false hope, and I’m not sure she could handle the letdown.”
Thoughts tumbled around in Ethel’s mind: It is two miles to the railway station. Shall we get the pony out and drive there? Will Mother suspect anything if we do? Is it wise to go off at once like this? If Papa were only at home, I could ask him.
While these and other questions forced themselves upon Ethel, they did not deter her from action. She had to do something and do it immediately before anyone took the boy away, and they lost the chance to see if he was their dear brother. Dressing quickly, while debating with herself, Ethel went first to the stable. The pony was not there. Tom, the gardener, had driven him into the paddock an hour ago, understanding that Mrs. Clarke would not require the carriage that day. Ethel remembered that now. Well, the only way would be to walk. There was a train just before twelve o’clock, and there would just be sufficient time to catch it if she walked quickly.
So busy was Ethel with her thoughts, she hardly noticed the lovely day. A fresh, invigorating breeze was blowing while flowers and trees clothed in green, gold and brown presented themselves for inspection on every side. Ethel did not notice and enjoy her surroundings, for as she walked along she reread again and again the article she had cut from the paper.
Our Tan’s hair was golden, and they say his is brown. They do say he is about eight years of age, she thought, and he has the right name; so, perhaps, he is our Tan in spite of the hair. Maybe they did not report it in the paper accurately. I hope they made a mistake. What if the policeman misunderstood the name and it is Tom instead of Tan. If so, then he is not our darling after all. But at least we will have tried and made sure.
Ethel hurried on, her mind alternating between hope and fear. She arrived at the station in time for the train, and the short journey to Bedford only took a few minutes, for it was only three miles by rail and less than that by road. Ethel’s heart beat faster as she left the train station and approached the police station. Soon she would know.
In the meantime, Jessie, after seeing Ethel off, had returned to her mother, finding her in the kitchen. The move to the country had helped her so that she now took interest in household activities. She again did some of the baking. Mary could have done it, but the house required more attention, being larger than Ferndale. Mother and daughters shared in the cooking, but the largest share fell on Ethel, while Jessie usually assisted Mary with the laundry and the cleaning.
“What did Ethel want you for, dear?” were Mrs. Clarke’s first words, as her daughter rejoined her. Jessie gave the simple message Ethel had told her to say, but it did not satisfy Mrs. Clarke.
“Why, what errand would necessitate going to Bedford this morning?” she asked as she scanned her daughter’s face. “Nothing was mentioned about going at breakfast time.”
Jessie was the very example of truthfulness. She shrank from deception in any shape or form. She remained silent, hoping an answer would not be necessary. Mrs. Clarke noticed her embarrassed look, but waited for an explanation. Seeing her mother was not satisfied, she finally replied, “Please, Mamma, I cannot tell you why Ethel has gone to Bedford. She will explain it by and by.”
“Silly girl,” returned Mrs. Clarke, kissing the blushing face. “I half guess what the errand is, so will ask nothing more. It is not usual to consult one about one’s own birthday gifts.”
Jessie smiled, thankful of heart for the turn the conversation had taken. Her mother’s birthday would be the day after tomorrow. She would let it rest on her mother’s guess that Ethel had journeyed to Bedford secretly in order to choose a birthday gift. What a present it would be should the boy really prove to be little Tan. This thought now filled her with hope and longing that it be so.
She could not seem to concentrate on anything as she waited. The minutes seemed like hours and the hours like days. Finally, towards the close of the unending afternoon, she could wait no longer. Jessie told her mother she wanted to go to the station to meet Ethel.
“Certainly, my darling, you may go. I shall not be lonely. Papa will be back quite early, and the ride will do you good.”
Ethel, meanwhile, had found her way to the police station, where the lost child had been given a temporary lodging, pending (no one claiming him) being sent to the workhouse. A stalwart policeman opened the door to Ethel’s impatient knock.
“Have we a little lad that nobody owns?” he inquired as Ethel made known her visit. “Yes we do, and a nicer little chap I’ve never come across. It beats me how he knows so much, having had no home for as long as he can remember but a gypsy caravan. Though, of course, he can’t be expected to remember very far back, seeing he is just a child.”
“Is he eight years old as the paper says?” asked Ethel.
“Well, somewheres about that, though maybe it’s only he’s tall for his age, for he hasn’t got that older-than-his-age look like most of the vagrant young uns have. But, you come in, miss, and take a seat while I go and fetch him so you can see for yourself if he’s yours.”
Ethel had already explained how her little brother had been lost for two years. As she took her seat in the office, her heart beat faster. A curious feeling crept over her, as though this was indeed going to be the moment she had been hoping and praying for during the past two years.
Presently she heard steps returning — the light footfalls of a little child and the heavy-measured tread of the constable. Through the door first came a healthy looking little figure with a freckled tan face, from which peered a pair of large blue eyes. He stood before her as before a stranger, wondering who she was and why she wanted to see him.
First, she only saw the freckled face. Then her eyes glanced quickly from head to toe at the strange little figure who stood before her. As the color fled her cheeks, her heart cried, Could this be her Tan?
“What is your name, dear?” queried Ethel.
“Tan,” said the sweet, gentle voice.
Ethel’s heart pounded and her mind raced. Surely the voice is exactly the same; but I must be careful and make quite sure before I tell him who I am.
“Do you remember where you used to live before the gypsy caravan became your home?” she gently inquired.
“I never think of any other place. Jack used to say I had a lady mamma, but she died and went to live with Jesus. I expect it must have been when I was quite little.”
He did not look very big yet, as he spoke, though the long trousers made the quaint figure look taller than he really was.
Dear little fellow! thought Ethel, her eyes filling with tears. What an old familiar sound these words had. They seemed like some old nursery tune she might have heard sung long ago.
“I had a darling little brother like you some time ago, but his hair was golden. You remind me so much of him, and his name also was Tan,” she said, very gently bending over the brown head that had been washed and brushed by the kind officer of the law. And then Ethel burst into tears of joy, as she clasped the astonished child in her arms and kissed him again and again.
“You are our own little Tan!” said Ethel, as soon as she could speak. “See, the mark is plainly visible on the head, where the cut was,” she said, turning to the policeman, who stood respectfully looking on a little way apart from the two.
“He had a fall, which left this scar on his head,” she said pointing to the faint mark on Tan’s head. “I see now another mark he had from infancy, which removes all doubt. The only thing different is the hair. It used to be golden, now it is brown. Except for the hair, his features are all the same. I am perfectly convinced he is our boy.”
“I am very glad to hear it, miss, and if you’ll allow me, I would just say that, with the neglect of the bath and exposure to wind and sun, the golden color of a young child’s hair, I think, would change,” said the kindhearted policeman.
“I did not think of that; but it must be so, for this is Tan,” returned Ethel, still hugging the little fellow in her arms.
“Will you come home with me, dear?” she said tenderly, as the blue eyes, with the old look she knew now so well, peered up into her face.
“I should like to, if I may,” responded Tan, although he looked a little confused and bewildered. He was not sure who she was, but she sounded kind and might help him find Jack.
“Well, let us thank your kind friend who found you for me,” said Ethel, thanking the officer and saying good-bye to him. Close by was a cab stand, and Ethel, quickly hailing the nearest cab, said, “Will you drive me to the clothing store, please?”
In a few minutes Tan and his sister stood in a shop that sold children’s clothes. To the store clerk, Ethel asked, “Will you fit this little boy with a sailor suit complete, also shoes and stockings?”
The young man gazed in astonishment at the odd pair — one was a tall young lady neatly dressed in a light-brown dress and the other was a little gypsy dressed in ragged garments.
“Certainly, madam,” he replied to her question, wondering all the time, whatever could have happened to cause his customer to buy such a good suit of clothes for such a little beggar boy. When Tan was dressed in a navy sailor suit, with pale blue collar and hat to match, the transformation produced such a handsome little gentleman that the clerk’s astonishment gradually subsided.
Ethel gazed upon her little brother with a look of intense delight, while her heart rose up to God in silent thanksgiving that, in His own good time and way, He had given back to them in life and health their long-lost Tan.