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Page 21
The beggar had stood before the area-gate for a long time, and no one
had paid the slightest attention to him. He was an old man with long
gray hair, and a faded, ragged coat, whose tatters fluttered madly to
and fro every time the wind blew. He was very tall and gaunt, and his
back was bent. On his head was a big slouched hat, whose brim fell
forward over his eyes and almost hid them entirely in its shadow. He
carried a basket upon one arm, and a cane with a crook for a handle
hung upon the other. He seemed very patient, for he was waiting,
unmurmuringly, for some one to come in answer to the ring he had given
the area-bell some fifteen minutes before. No one came, and he
appeared to be considering whether to ring again or go away, when
Lionel skipped nimbly from his chair by the drawing-room window,
slipped noiselessly down the basement stairs, and opened the area-door
just in time to prevent the beggar from taking his departure.
"What do you want, sir?" inquired Lionel, politely, through the tall
iron gate.
The beggar turned around at the sound of the child's voice, and replied:
"I have come to beg--"
"Oh, yes, I know," cried Lionel, hurriedly (he was afraid some one
might come, and then he would be snatched unceremoniously away from the
open door, and the beggar sent smartly about his business by one of the
pert-tongued maids); "but is it for cold victuals or money?"
The beggar looked down at the little lad, and a smile, half of pity,
half of amusement, lit up his grave features for a moment. "I have
come to beg," he said slowly, "that you will receive from me, not that
you will give to me."
Lionel's eyes widened with amazement. "That I will receive from you?"
he repeated slowly. "Then you are n't a beggar at all?"
"Most assuredly I am," responded the old man, promptly. "Do I not beg
of you? What is a beggar? 'One who begs or entreats earnestly or with
humility; a petitioner.' That is how your dictionary has it. It does
n't say for what he begs or entreats. Where I come from things are so
different,--there it is a mark of distinction, I can assure you, to be
a beggar. One must have lived such a long life of poverty and
self-sacrifice before one is permitted to beg--to beg others to receive
one's benefits. Ah, yes, there it is so different!"
"Yes, it must be," assented Lionel. "Here beggars are just persons who
go about and ask for cold bits or pennies; and we don't think much of
them at all."
"That is because they are not the right kind of almsfolk, nor you the
right kind of almoners," responded the beggar; and then he repeated:
"Ah, yes, there it is so different!"
"Where?" inquired Lionel. "Won't you tell me about it?"
"Dear child," replied the beggar, gently, "it can't be described. It
must be seen to be appreciated. If you once entered into that estate,
you would never wish to return to this."
"Is it as nice as all that?" questioned Lionel, eagerly. "Guess I 'll
go, then. Will you take me ?" he asked.
The beggar smiled down at him kindly. "I can't take you, dear boy," he
said. "I have to travel on. But I can set you on the road, and you
will reach there in safety if you follow my directions."
Lionel waited breathlessly for the beggar to continue; but the man
almost seemed to have forgotten his existence, for he was gazing
dreamily over his head into the darkness of the hallway, apparently
seeing nothing but what was in his own mind's eye.
"Well?" asked Lionel, a little impatiently. "You were going to give me
the directions, you know."
"Oh, yes!" returned the beggar, with a slight start. "Well, the
directions are: _Always turn to the right_!"
Lionel considered a moment, and then he said: "But if I always turn to
the right I should n't get anywhere at all. I 'd be only going round
and round."
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