Chimney weep

“Get back up there and clean this chimney proper like.” The old man said, waving the lit torch around. He thrust the flames at the child. The little boy, his fifth this year, had slid down the chimney and run into the library, leaving sooty footprints on the hardwood floor.

“No,” the little boy cried. “You’ll burn my feet again.” Calvin said, backing away from the fireplace, tears flowing down his cheeks. Morgan had been engaged to clean the three chimneys of the house. Blisters already covered Calvin’s feet. This was the third house today, with two more to go. “You’ll burn my feet again if’n I do.”

“You want your supper tonight. You better get at it.” The old man said, poking the flaming torch at the child. The little boy ran around the room screaming, with the old man chasing him. Suddenly, the door to the library burst open. Yancy Trob took in the whole sight at once. “What’s going on in here? “The child and old man slid to a stop.

“He…he …burned my…feet.” The boy was sobbing. “I... I wasn’t moving fast enough for him.”

“I paid you to clean my chimneys, not to torture children. Get out.” Yancy demanded. “Now, now, Mr. Trob. Just a little problem. We’ll have it cleared up in just a minute.” He waved the torch around, black smoke covering the room. “Give me that torch,” Yancy said, holding out his hand. Meekly, the old man held out the unlit end of the torch. Yancy carefully took it. He held it in the air for just a few seconds. Suddenly he smiled, then thrust the burning end of the firebrand against the old man’s rear end.

“Aw. You burnt me butt. Watch it, watch it.” He tried to pick up his tools. Yancy stuck the burning torch against the man’s butt again. The old man screamed and hobbled toward the front door. Yancy followed him and threw the torch into the street. He went back, picked up the tools and threw them after the torch. The old man glared at him, rubbing his burnt rear end.

“Now get out of here before I have you arrested for improper labor.” He slammed the front door. Yancy went back into the library and smiled at the sobbing little boy. “Let’s get you out of these rags and have my maid give you a bath.” He pulled a rope.“Please, sir, my feet are burnt.” Calvin said. A young maid appeared.” Please take this young lad and give him a bath, and be careful with his feet; they’re burnt.”

“But…but…she’s a woman.” The boy said, his face flushing red.

Yancy smiled. “Yes, and she is used to giving children baths. Go with her; it will be alright.”

The maid, named Jane, put a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Come on.”
As they entered the bathroom, the young boy said to the maid, “Please, Miss, I can bathe myself.” She smiled at him.

“Yes, I’m certain you can. But the master of this house has charged me with making sure you’re clean. So let’s get on with it.” She reached out and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Do…do you have to look?” Calvin said, his face turning red.

She laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll turn my back while you take off your pants and get into the tub.” She turned around, facing the door. Calvin hurriedly pulled off his pants and jumped into the tub. He suddenly screamed. “Ouch.” The maid whirled around. “What’s wrong?”

The little boy grimaced. He stuck his feet on the edge of the tub. “I…I forgot about my feet.”

“We’ll take care of your feet after your bath.” She gently washed his back, arms, legs, hair, and face. With great care, she washed his feet and handed him a towel. “Oh my, the water is already turning black. Okay, out of the tub. We have to change the water.” It took two more waters to get him clean. When he was clean, she took him to see the master with a towel wrapped around him. He was in the library. “Well, now, just as I suspected. There was a real boy under all that dirt and grime. Do we have some clothes for this young lad?” he said, smiling. “And what can we do for his feet?”

“I believe your cousin’s clothing will fit.” The maid said,” And Cook has some ointment we can use for his feet.”

“Please sir. I thank you for the bath and the clothes. But I can’t wear them on the street. If…if…I could just have my old clothes back. I.. I will leave now.” Tears came to Calvin’s eyes as he thought of spending the night on the street.

Yancy rose from his seat and laid his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “You will not be going back to live on the street. You will live here. Would you like that?”

Calvin’s eyes filled with tears. “Here…here, sir…as one of you…your servants.”
“No, as my son.” Yancy smiled at the little boy. “Now we’d better do something about your feet.”

Calvin went to bed that night with his feet bandaged and his stomach full. He marveled at the room Yancy had put him in. Last night Morgan gave him a stale crust of bread for his supper. He had chewed on it, watching his master consume bowl after bowl of beef soup. He went to bed on the floor, his belly empty and his body cold. Yancy promised tomorrow a full set of new clothes. In the next few days Calvin’s feet healed, leaving small scars to remind him of his time on the street. Yancy engaged a private tutor because the young child was so far behind. Calvin proved to be an outstanding student and excelled among his peers. One morning Yancy took Calvin to the court of law and made it official. Calvin was now the son of one of the wealthiest men in London. Yet the little boy never forgot where he came from.

Two years later he stood beside Yancy as he waited at the altar for his bride. The now twelve-year-old knew his future was secure as he welcomed his new mother.