Free A Lion to Guard Us by Clyde Robert Bulla Page A

years.”
    â€œOh, that’s cruel!” said Ellie.
    â€œHold your tongue, miss,” said Cook, “and Amanda, you get back to your work.”
    She went off into the pantry.
    As soon as Cook was gone, Amanda opened the door to the back stairs. The small boy was sitting on the steps. A smaller girl sat beside him.
    â€œIt wasn’t Father. It was a sailor man,” Amanda said. “But he saw Father. Just think of that. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
    â€œWill it be a story?” asked the boy.
    â€œIt will be like a story,” said Amanda, and she shut the door.

II
A Story
    Mistress Trippett and all her family had had their supper. The servants had been fed. Amanda was in the kitchen alone.
    She had just washed the pots and pans and hung them over the fireplace to dry. She looked in at her brother and sister on the back stairs. They were asleep. Jemmy’s head was against the wall. Meg’s head was against his shoulder.
    It hurt her to see them there, like two puppies that nobody wanted. Why couldn’t they come into the kitchen and be warm?
    But Cook wouldn’t have it.
    â€œThey’d be under our feet,” she said. “They’ve got their own room. Let them stay in it.”
    Amanda had stood up to her. “They’re not to be shut away in a room all day. It’s bad enough to leave them on the stairs. But at least they’re next to the kitchen where they won’t be so lonely.”
    She looked at them sleeping there. Jemmy was getting to be a big boy. He would be a fine, strong man like his father. But Meg was too small, too thin.
    Amanda woke them. She gave them their supper—beef stew with bread and butter.
    â€œEat,” she said, “while I go to Mother.”
    Mother was in a room down the hall. Once all four of them had lived in the room. It had been almost like a home.
    Now it was a sickroom. The little ones could not stay there. Mistress Trippett had put them into a tiny room in the back of the house, and they slept there at night.
    Sometimes Amanda slept with them. Sometimes she sat up all night—half-asleep, half-awake—by her mother’s bed.
    She carried a lighted candle to the sickroom. Mother lay with her eyes closed. She had not left her bed since the day before Christmas. That was the day she had fallen on the stairs.

    But she had been ill long before that.
    Amanda sat by the bed and took her mother’s hand. She began to tell her about the man who had come from America, but she soon stopped.
    â€œWhy do you talk to her?” Cook had said. “It’s like talking to the wall. She doesn’t even know you’re there.”
    And it did seem to be true.
    Ellie looked in. “Do you want me to sit for a while?”
    â€œOh, would you, Ellie? I want to put the little ones to bed and talk to them a bit.”
    Amanda went back to Jemmy and Meg. They had eaten their supper. She took them to their room.
    They had a pallet for a bed. Mistress Trippett had given them some covers. One was a piece of red velvet curtain, faded and old. Jemmy liked to wear it for a cloak and play the fine gentleman.
    Amanda put the candle on the floor. She sat in the middle of the pallet. Jemmy and Meg lay down on either side. She tucked the covers about them to keep out the cold.
    â€œNow,” she said, “I’ll tell you a story.”
    â€œAbout Father and the lion?” asked Jemmy.
    â€œI’ve told you that,” she said. “I’ve told you and told you.”
    â€œNo, you haven’t,” he said. “Not for a long time.”
    So Amanda began, “Once a man came to London to seek his fortune.”
    â€œThat’s Father,” said Jemmy.
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œHis name was James Freebold,” said Jemmy. “That’s my name, too. That’s my real name.”
    â€œHe met a beautiful maiden with golden hair—”
    â€œThat’s