Circus Shoes Read Free Page A

of jewelry were all the children had, except for the money that would be raised by selling the furniture. Having appointed himself guardian he had to do what he could to look after them. Allowing them their jewelry was hardly doing that.
    “I am afraid, my boy, that would not be wise. I think it should be kept for you until you are out in the world.”
    Peter shook his head.
    “No, thank you, sir. We’ll take it with us.”
    Santa was amazed. It did not sound a bit like Peter talking. Such a grand, quiet, that-is-my-last-word-I-don’t-want-to-be-argued-with kind of voice, just like a grown-up person’s.
    Mrs. Ford began to cry again.
    “What a man he sounds. Brave little boy. When I first knew you, Peter, you were such a baby. Let them have their dear aunt’s things, Mr. Stibbings. It will be a comfort to them, poor pets.”
    At the thought of how much the children would need comfort, Miss Fane clasped her hands and looked at the roof, and Madame Tranchot gave so deep a sigh that nearly blew over a teacup. Mr. Stibbings made up his mind.
    “There are several little trinkets, dear boy, few of which would be any good to you. But there is a watch which you may have and Santa shall choose something as a keepsake. The rest I will deposit in my bank until you are older.”
    Aunt Rebecca’s jewel-case had been locked in the corner cupboard when she died. Mr. Stibbings had the key. He went now and unlocked it. While he was doing this Peter leaned down as if he had dropped something and whispered to Santa, “Choose the one I tell you.”
    During the last years of her life the duchess had made it a practice to give her faithful maid a piece of jewelry every Christmas. It was an odd-looking collection. There was the gold watch and chain for Peter. Aunt Rebecca had thought it very handsome, but had never worn it because she had been afraid of losing it. There were several heavy brooches, and one bracelet. It was plain gold, very dull and solid-looking.
    Santa liked a brooch with turquoises, and Peter remembered that she liked it. She had often so when Aunt Rebecca wore it.
    Peter fingered all the things in turn. He looked at Mr. Stibbings.
    “I don’t suppose they are worth much, sir?”
    Mr. Stibbings shook his head.
    “In actual value, no. In sentiment, yes.” Mrs. Ford sniffed.
    “Yes, indeed.”
    “What I mean is,” Peter explained, “if some day we wanted to sell them, would we get much money?”
    “Sell them!” Mrs. Ford’s voice showed she was going to cry again.
    “Well, we might have to. I mean, we might need the money for food.”
    Mr. Stibbings smiled.
    “I hope not, dear boy. I think we can trust Saint Bernard’s and Saint Winifred’s to fit you for careers that will keep you from want.”
    Peter nodded.
    “Of course, sir. But I only said ‘supposing.’ You see, I want to know.”
    Mr. Stibbings looked vaguely at the jewels. But Madame Tranchot, who understood money, was turning them over.
    “If it should be that you ‘ad to sell them, Peter, it will be the weight of the gold you would get. No more.”
    “Well Santa?” Mr. Stibbings smiled at her. “What do you choose?”
    Santa looked at Peter.
    “What would you have if you were I?”
    Peter was still fingering the things. Suddenly he picked up the bracelet.
    “This. You’ll be less likely to lose it.”
    Santa tried not to show what she felt, but the bracelet really was very ugly. She took it and held it out to Mr. Stibbings.
    “I’ll have this.”
    It seemed before bedtime, when Santa could be alone with Peter. Mr. Stibbings stayed on and on in order to make last arrangements with Mrs. Ford, and it was clear he would be there until quite late. By half-past eight Mrs. Ford looked at the clock, and before she could say “Bedtime” Santa had jumped up. Peter got up, too.
    “I think I’ll start my packing.”
    Mrs. Ford gave Mr. Stibbings a knowing much as to say, “Want to be together their last night, the poor little things.” Then