things happened very fast the next few days. “something doing every minute,” billy put it. billy had neither been ill nor injured,—only exhausted. the wound on his scalp had been worse in appearance than in fact; and a couple of long nights in sleep, and easy days at home mended him completely.
was not may nell safe? almost recovered from her fright and hours of imprisonment? was not the town ringing with her courage and quaint sayings? for she had told her story more than once; and when she came to the place where she said, “and i thought, ‘god can see me all the time; if he means for me to suffer awfully i must have an awful lot of courage; i must ask him for it.’ so i did, and i said ‘now i lay me,’ and lay down on the bed so i could hear god speak—you know you can hear better lying down—and i waited—”
when she came to this point all her listeners looked for their handkerchiefs. and may nell stopped suddenly, smiled, and finished, “and god heard me; and billy rescued me.”
may nell was not taken to her father; he came to her. edith’s pictures of the little girl fulfilled their mission; they met him as soon as he landed from south america. he had been a busy man during those few days; had found not only his child but his wife, ill in a country sanitarium; where, for weeks after the earthquake and fire had, she supposed, swallowed her little daughter, she lingered, praying only to die. now with husband and child both saved to her, she was fast growing well; needed only their presence to complete her recovery.
it was on the first of these busy days in san francisco that the big counterfeiter saw at a distance may nell’s father; saw the child’s pictures posted in the galleries, hurried back to the “ha’nt,” and planned the kidnapping as a chance for “getting even” with mr. smith, who had discharged him years before for dishonesty. but billy had thwarted him, brought him safely to justice for all of his crimes.
“i always knew that house had something to do with me,” billy declared to mr. smith. “the kids call it a wicked house, but it’s only the people living in it that’s wicked. it’s a splendid old place; and when i’m a man and have money enough, i’m going to buy it and fix it up fine, and give it a fair chance.”
friday came; and may nell delighted her father with her part in the exercises. billy was very proud of her as she stood on the platform, lovely in her white frock and her fair, curling hair, reciting her “piece.”
“she’s the swellest looking one in the whole school,” he whispered to his smiling mother.
“the prize is equally divided between james dorr and william bennett,” the judges announced.
and that night after school, when may nell’s little wardrobe was all packed,—not without a slight baptism of edith’s tears,—and waiting for the morning train, mr. smith came in and put a ceremonious looking document into billy’s hand.
“the sheriff tells me a thousand dollars will be paid to your account as soon as the state settles, billy. here’s something else for you.”
billy turned the bulky papers over and over as if to gather some hint of their meaning from fold and stiffness. “what is it, mr. smith?” he asked wonderingly.
“a deed to the stone house, the ha’nt, may nell calls it. i was glad to know of something you wanted; and i’ll furnish the money to redeem the place to your idea of the beauty it deserves. it is a splendid location. and mrs. bennett,” he turned to billy’s mother, “you must let me see billy through college.”
“oh, no! it’s too much. we only did what all—”
“too much?” he interrupted; “is anything i have in this world too much to give for the life of my wife and child? didn’t your son save them both? save may nell from—” he turned away and did not attempt to finish his sentence.
may nell ran and hugged mrs. bennett, and edith and billy in turn, nestling afterward in her father’s arms.
“surely billy has earned it, mrs. bennett,” mr. smith urged.
“and i’m always going to be your little girl, too,” the child pleaded; “so billy must be my papa’s little boy.”
mrs. bennett looked fondly at billy, then back to mr. smith. “thank you,” she said slowly, trying to gather courage for what she was to say. “billy must not be paid for doing his duty. with the money he has earned from the state i am sure we shall be able to help him through a good schooling; for the rest my husband’s son must win his own way.”
billy felt his head lift a little higher at his mother’s words; felt a new standard of honor and independence leap into being. the house was too small for him. he ran out into the summer evening, down the hill to the big rock that overhangs runa creek. the stars were beginning to shine, and he could hear the tinkle of the water below. bouncer rubbed against him, and billy hugged him to the peril of the old dog’s breath.
“they shan’t ever again call me billy to-morrow. it’s billy to-day, bouncer. it shall always be billy to-day!”
