After leaving his sister, Tan started off, his cheeks glowing with excitement. Having run about a hundred yards, he turned around and waved one little gloved hand to Ethel, but her head was bent down, totally engrossed in her book.
“Sister Ethel,” called the little fellow, “may I run on further?”
Taking the silence for consent, away he ran, but at the next corner an unforeseen temptation occurred. A little way down a side street stood a barrel organ, and to Tan’s intense delight, there, exhibiting all its innumerable tricks, was perched a monkey in scarlet coat and black cap. After glancing backward once more, the child, fully assured his sister was intent on her book, rushed down the street, only reaching the coveted spot just as the monkey and his master were moving on.
Forgetful of everything, Tan followed in the wake of a noisy group of boys determined to see more of the wonderful antics of “Master Pedro,” as one Italian lad called him. But the organ-grinder had no intention of stopping again, and after little Tan had trotted along two long-winding streets, he suddenly remembered Ethel’s warning only to go to the bend of the road skirting the park.
Instantly turning, he began to retrace his way back. But it was all so confusing. There certainly was no park in view. When his tired little feet had run the whole length of a street so exactly like the one he had just turned from, he saw nothing that he was sure pointed toward home. He couldn’t read the street signs and he didn’t know their names anyway.
“Where can Ethel be?” he said to himself. “It must be the top of the next road,” and away went the little feet, not quite so briskly; soon they began to lag. But Tan was a brave little fellow, and instead of bursting into tears and crying out for Ethel, he determined to find her.
It would have been far better had he just sat down and wept, or possibly howled, until some passerby, speedily finding out he was lost, would, without much difficulty, have restored the little wanderer to his parents. But Tan had no intention of giving up or crying either. He just kept going.
Up and down went the little feet until, coming suddenly to the end of a long road, he immediately emerged on a large open space. At the far end of the field a caravan was pitched, and from the bustle going on, it was evident the people were getting ready to leave. Little Tan ran towards a man who was urging two dilapidated horses into the shafts. The sight was so new and interesting that for the moment he forgot all about his troubles.
“Why, if that ain’t the pretty chap as was in the park,” exclaimed a harsh voice from inside the van, and, suiting the action to the word, a woman quickly dismounted, and coming up to little Tan, said in a wheedling tone, “Come into the little house, my pretty, and ’ave some sweets.”
The child did not require much coaxing. He was, moreover, hungry, and she held up a large bun, which, on the strength of a good day’s sale, she had bought on the way home. Tan’s eyes brightened, and he allowed himself to be lifted up into “the pretty house on wheels,” as he called it. The woman gave a knowing look at the man, who responded with, “All right, Meg, we’re just off.”
“Would yer like to go for a nice ride in the house on wheels my pet?” queried the woman, peering into Tan’s face.
“Will you let me ride home to Ethel, please? She will be sorry if I don’t hurry back.” The large blue eyes of the child trustingly scanned her face.
“Yes, my pretty,” returned Mrs. Smith. Tan implicitly believed her; he had unquestioning faith in everyone. He was never deceived at home, and until a child has found out what deception means, in perfect innocence he will take everything in perfect confidence. While the brief conversation was going on between the deceitful women and the innocent boy, the man and his son harnessed the horses.
“Are yer ready?” he called out in a gruff voice. “ ’Cos we’re off.”
The woman lifted little Tan into the cart, and the caravan, with its household goods inside and outside, started off at a very fair pace, considering the condition of the poor animals whose work it was to draw the house on wheels. While they were never groomed, yet they were not altogether as bad as their rough appearance seemed to suggest. While rarely, if ever, spoken kindly to, and with their food of the roughest, still these patient toiling horses were always fed, and when not traveling they could graze to their heart’s content.
As they moved along, little Tan gave a shout of delight. This was more fun than he had ever dreamed of. His rides on the train and bus were not to be compared with this way of traveling. The woman quickly silenced him, telling him to sit on the floor, and look at the pretty room, which Tan did with interest.
The dirty windows allowed in little light, but there was sufficient to see the place had a “packed-up” sort of look about it. In one corner a bundle, evidently a bed, was rolled up as tightly as it was possible to do so; in another was a chair that could be let down as a couch. There were a couple of stools, a narrow shelf, a miniature stove, and, what interested Tan more than anything, a half dozen brightly colored prints of horses and dogs, with huntsmen in scarlet coats, and jockeys on racing horses.
Only after gazing at these and some other objects that caught his eye did he become aware of another person in the shadows of the room — a young woman whose appearance was so different from his sisters. She had dark, ragged hair, unkempt clothes and scowling eyes, which almost frightened the little fellow. It was Sal, who had vacated her post at the small door in front, where her mother now kept watch.
After gazing at her, as he would at some strange animal, he ventured, in a rather timid voice, to inquire if she knew where Ethel lived, and how long it would be before he saw Papa and Mamma and Jessie, for he ’spected Jessie would be home by this time. The girl gave him no answer, but, at a sign from the woman at the door, started to take his boots off, “just to ease yer feet, my duck,” she whispered to him. Tan, being very tired, offered no resistance. Then the pretty velvet coat was removed, and a coarse, dark old shirt wrapped around him. The girl, at a whisper from her mother, then gave him a drink of something dark, and, to Tan’s thirsty little throat, sweet as honey.
“I’m very sleepy,” said the child. “May I have a little nap till we get home? But I must pray first.” Putting his little hands together he said, “Please, holy God, take care of me and Papa and Mamma, Ethel and Jessie; and thank you for this nice cart-house to ride in. Amen.”
Almost before the last word left his lips, the white lids closed over the blue eyes, and little Tan was asleep as soundly, if not as naturally, as in the cozy white bed in Ethel’s bedroom. Meanwhile, the caravan had left the park, the vacant piece of ground, and the scattered houses behind, and was jogging along a country road, the man seated on the shafts. Jack, a lad of fourteen, had entered the room, and, together with the girl, was disputing as usual who should have the chair-bed. The dissension ended by the father calling out, “Stop yer noise, Jack, and let Sal abide in her own corner.” As Jim Smith’s word was law, enforced by his fists, the argument ended.
October days were getting shorter and night came quickly with hardly a pause for dusk. On into the gathering darkness rumbled the caravan, leaving behind, not only Wandsworth Park and its surrounding dwellings, but some sad and anxious hearts. On into the night the horses and their load traveled, through the long-straggling street of Mitcham, where lately the sweet-scented lavender had refreshed the town, over the cobbled roads, and on again past one milestone and then another. Slowly, yet steadily, they traveled farther and farther away from the stricken parents of little Tan, who, all unconscious of the strange surroundings, peacefully slumbered on.
Occasionally, the man driving would growl out something unintelligible to the poor jaded horses while the dogs chained to the back of the van kept quietly out of the way. The girl, Sal, had gone to sleep, while Jack had composed himself on a heap of old clothes. The man and his wife alone kept watch. It was just as a church clock tolled out the hour of eleven, but faintly heard from the now distant town, that the caravan was brought to a standstill. Descending to the ground from his uncomfortable position, the man told his wife to loose the horses, while he relaxed after spending so many hours in a cramped position. They had drawn up by the side of a hedge on the roadside. The most thankful of all the travelers, the poor beasts found themselves free to rest.
“No fear now of being followed ’ere,” said the man to his wife, gazing on the fair face of the stolen child. “I bet the ladies’ll love him when we gets farther on the road. You must let him look out, and take him round with the basket, Meg.”
The woman indifferently agreed; she had her doubts as to whether they had done the best thing, or whether after all it might not turn out “a bad job,” as she told her husband.
But he put her off with, “It’s what yer wanted, so shut up.”
To which inelegant phrase she muttered, “All right; if the coppers find us out, you’ll get the worse.”
But the policemen, whom she had termed “coppers,” were far less able in those days to track down missing people than they are today. Then, after just traveling a few miles there was little fear of being traced as news and information had to travel by word of mouth from person to person. Today, it is very different when modern means of communication, such as radio, television and telephone, make it easy for one person to communicate instantly with others at any distance.
They decided to keep their stolen treasure hidden from view for several days, until a few more miles separated them from Wandsworth Park and those who might be looking for the boy. There might be a little difficulty keeping him content, but no doubt it could be managed. If soothing words were not enough, then threats would very quickly prevail.
Having settled the matter between them, they were ready for sleep. Soon all was silent at the caravan, except for the heavy breathing of the man inside and the quiet munching on the grass by the horses outside.
Unseen by man’s eyes, God’s ministering angels watched over little Tan far more carefully than any mother’s loving care could. God knew all the way those little feet must travel and had given His angels charge to bear him up in their hands, lest at any time he should stumble. The earnest prayers of the sorrowing father and mother, who even now were pleading before the throne of grace for the lost boy, could not and would not go unanswered.