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While he was following his father about, Bertie forgot to watch his donkey. When it was near dinner time, Mr. Curtis said,—
"Don't go off till I see you, Herbert, I want to ride to the blacksmith's; and you may drive me there."
The boy started and began to look in every direction, hoping to see Whitefoot quietly feeding on the lawn.
But neither on the hill, nor behind the chestnut grove could he be seen. Bertie's lip quivered, and then the tears filled his eyes.
"He's gone, papa; my pretty donkey is lost."
"Don't cry, my son," said Mr. Curtis, in a cheerful tone. "Crying for a donkey never brought one back, that I ever heard of. Take a handfulof corn from Tom's pail, and run toward the lake. Call him by name and perhaps he will come."
Bertie hesitated, his cheeks growing very red. At last, when papa wondered what made him delay, the little fellow asked,—
"Can't I wait till Tom comes back? I'm almost sure he'll give me some of his corn; but mamma told me never to touch anything that belongs to the men, without asking their leave."
"Mamma was right, my son, asshe always is; and I'm greatly pleased that you remember her instructions. There is Tom coming with a load, now, you may run and ask him to give you a handful of corn to call your donkey with. Perhaps he has seen the creature somewhere."
Bertie was off like a dart that has been shot from a bow; and his father could see him gesturing away as he walked back at Tom's side.
"Did you come all this way to ask for a few kernels of corn?" askedthe man, staring at the child in wonder. "Why, you might have taken a pint, and neither I nor the oxen would ever have known it."
"But God sees everything we do," said the boy. "I knew 'twas yours, 'cause I saw you turn it out of a bag; and I couldn't touch it without your leave, you know."
"Well, now, I must say you're the honestest little shaver I ever did see," answered Tom, regarding the child almost with awe. "If it had been my boy, he'd snatched up thecorn and run off with it, and never have thought another breath about it."
"Mamma teaches me how wicked it is to steal," Bertie went on. "Perhaps your boy," gazing anxiously in the man's face, "hasn't any mother to teach him."
Tom's mouth worked convulsively; and presently he wiped his eyes with his dirty shirt sleeve.
"No, he hasn't," he answered. "She's dead this six months."
They were now almost back tothe cellar, and after a moment's silence, Tom added,—
"If the corn was mine, you'd be welcome to as much as you want of it; but it's in the agreement that the Squire shall give the oxen their feed at noon. So I bring along the corn from the store; and he pays the bill."
"Oh, I'm glad, I'm real glad," shouted Bertie, bounding away.
"Whitefoot, Whitefoot!" he called, at the top of his voice; "Whitefoot! come."
"There's your donkey," shouted Jim, "coming up the hill with Star and Spot. There, just behind that big oak by the lake."
So Bertie called again, "Whitefoot—Whitefoot!" and presently the donkey gave a little neigh in reply. I suppose he wanted to say, "I hear you, my young master, and I'll go as quick as I can;" for he started off at once into a brisk trot. Very soon, to Bertie's great delight, the lost donkey was eating the corn out of his hand.
When the men walked side by side on their way to the old wall which they were pulling down for stone, Tom repeated to his companion what had passed between him and Bertie.
"That's the kind o' religion I believe in," he exclaimed, making a furious gesture with his brawny arm. "The Squire isn't one of your sot-up men who thinks working-folks are made of different stuff, and haven't any more souls than a beast. He lives his religion right straight through the week instead o' keepingit bottled up for Sunday use, like some long-faced men I could name."
"Jes so," answered Jim, with an approving nod.
"Do you suppose I'd ever cheat him out of the valley of a cent arter such a lesson as that boy give me? No, not for my right arm. I know when I'm treated like a man."
"You got a pretty hard hit this morning, then," muttered Jim, glancing sideways in his companion's face.
"Wall, I deserved it, I'll own upto that. I'd no business to talk such stuff before the Squire, letting alone the boy. I'll let him do the swearing in futer, as he's agreed to."
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What are you going to the blacksmith's for?" inquired Bertie, as he took the reins, proud to show his father how well he could drive.
"I'm going to engage him to mend the tools that the men break. It's very convenient to have a blacksmith so near. In the town where myparents lived, there was no blacksmith within three miles. My father was obliged to go all that distance to get his horse shod."
Mr. Hunt, the man they wished to see, had left his shop before they reached it, and was sitting in an open room at the back of his house eating his dinner. His red flannel shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing his coarse, sinewy arms; and his hair was all in a tangle; but the moment Mr. Curtis saw him, he stepped forward, and shook hands ascordially as if they had been acquainted for years.
"I suppose you want your horse shod, Squire?" the man asked, looking well pleased at the cordial greeting. "I'll leave my dinner and go right to the shop with you."
"No, indeed. Sit down; and if your wife will allow me, I'll do my business here. I see you know me."
"Yes, sir, I've seen you at church; and I'm thankful that a man in your station has a heart to go there."
"And I listened to you teachingyour Sabbath School class," added Mr. Curtis, laughing. "After that we couldn't be strangers long. You remember your text, 'If ye love me keep my commandments.' But now to business! I'm going to build a house and barn; and my men tell me you're the one to mend all my tools, shoe my horses, a kind of general Jack at all trades. I want to engage you to do all my business, and send me your bill the first day in every month. Is that satisfactory?"
"Yes, sir; and I thank you, too.As you're a church-going man I'll make free to tell you, Squire, you've taken a load off my mind. I've got a little girl sick these eighteen months; and I've only been waiting for the means to send her to a great doctor in the city. Now your promise makes my way clear."
"I'm glad you told me, Mr. Hunt. Mrs. Curtis will call and see your wife. I dare say between them they will contrive some plan to restore the child, with God's blessing. Come, Bertie, we will go."
Mr. Hunt and his wife followed to the gate, very much amused at the sight of the donkey and his carriage.
The next morning, Mr. Curtis asked his wife,—
"How would you like to ride with me to the granite quarry? I am going to buy underpinning for the house."
"If it isn't too far, I should enjoy it exceedingly."
"The drive there and back would be twenty miles; but you could lie down at the hotel and rest, if you choose, while I am at the quarry."
"I will get ready at once then. Shall we take the children?"
"Yes, if Bertie can leave his cares at Woodlawn."
The gentleman glanced archly at his son as he said this, and Bertie answered, laughing,—
"I think I can trust Tom and Jim till I get back; but I don't understand what underpinnings are."
"You will learn that by and by. Now run and ask Nurse to dress Winnie, for I see Mike has the carriage out."
When they reached the quarry, they found it so difficult to drive the carriage near to the rough building where they were told the owner could be found, that papa turned back and drove through one street to a fine hotel. He called for a private parlor, and left mamma resting on the sofa with Winnie to keep her company, while he took Herbert to the large quarry, tied Duke, and went to see the huge blocks of granite that were being cut out.
It was about an hour beforethey were seated in the carriage again with their faces toward home.
"I wish you could have gone with me, Cecilia," papa began, "it is worth seeing. I found some blocks of granite exactly the size I want."
"Are they already hewn, Lawrence?"
"No, dear! but they will be ready and on the ground before we want to use them."
"What ishewn?" inquired Bertie.
"Don't you remember the roughpieces I selected, and those others so smooth and polished next them?"
"Yes, sir."
"And didn't you see those men at work on a long shaft or pillar? They are called stone-cutters, and they were hewing them. They have a sharp instrument with which they continually chop, chop, or strike; and this hews off the rough places, making the whole smooth. I engaged my posts, too, for the gates, Cecilia; and a curb-stone to lay on the top of the wall nearest thehouse. That makes a handsome finish."
"You did a great deal of business for so short a time, Lawrence."
He laughed. "I only spent about fourteen hundred dollars. It doesn't take long to do that. I fancy the owner thought he had done a good morning's work. He had heard of my purchase, and was coming to see me to engage the job. Oh, I forgot to tell you! I bought the steps, too. Three flights, very handsome ones."
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One pleasant morning Bertie drove his father over to Woodlawn, and, after tying Whitefoot to a tree, ran as fast as he could go to the cellar. The day before it had been quite damp; and mamma didn't think it best for him to go out. So he stayed at the farm and amused Winnie byplaying at dolls' visits with her till it was time for her daily nap, and then went to see Mrs. Taylor in the kitchen. Esther was shelling peas for dinner; and he helped her till they were all done.
Now he was very anxious to see how much the men had dug. He had but a little time to stay, for at ten he was to be at the farm to drive mamma to the blacksmith's house.
He thought as he went toward the cellar that the men had all gone, for he could see nothing of them. Butwhen he reached the place, there they were down so deep as to be out of sight from the new road.
They had dug a path all around the edge of the cellar, close to the line his papa had marked out. The path was four feet from the ground which was as deep as it was to go. Now they did not try to throw out their shovelsful upon the bank, they threw them on the great pile in the centre.
Bertie stood still and watched them for some time, wondering what it could mean. He did not suppose thisgreat pile was to remain in the middle of the cellar; and yet he did not see how it could be taken out.
The men were so busy he didn't like to interrupt them. Besides he didn't feel so well acquainted with them as he did with Tom and Jim. A good many times he had jumped on the drag, and the oxen had drawn him to the other part of the farm where the old stone wall was being pulled down.
At last one of the Irishmen looked up to the bank and said pleasantly,—
"There'sthe little master come to see us."
"I thought you were lost," answered Bertie, laughing. "Will you please to tell me what you are going to do with all that ground in the middle of the cellar?"
"The oxen are going to draw it out. You will see them presently."
"But how can the oxen get down there?" asked the boy, greatly surprised.
"Run round to the bulkhead, and you will see."
Bertie had no idea what a bulkhead was, or where it could be found; but as the man pointed to the other side of the cellar, away he ran to find it.
Now the mystery was explained. Just under the place where his father had told him the kitchen was to be, there was a kind of road leading down into the cellar, and while Bertie was waiting, he heard Tom's voice calling to Buck to "gee, back, back, sir."
There was no place to turn around in the cellar so the oxen had to backthe cart with its wide wheels down the steep road. As soon as they were in the right place, the Irishmen came and helped Tom load the cart full, which was very quickly done; and then Buck and Bright pulled away with all their strength till they were out on the level ground. This time they did not carry the gravel far, and so were ready to back down again in a very few minutes.
"What makes this dirt look so different from that?" inquired Bertie,pointing to a pile of rich black loam.
"The top of the ground is always richer earth," answered Jim, who was just going by, driving Star and Spot. "Underneath it is only gravel."
"What is gravel good for?"
"It will do very well to put on roads, or to fill up with. I heard your father say he was going to make avenues and terraces with this."
"What are avenues?"
"Roads, drive-ways."
"What are terraces?"
Jim laughed aloud.
"I guess," he said, "if you don't get to be a Squire yourself some day 'twont be for want of asking questions."
By this time the oxen were ready to be backed down the cellar, and Bertie was obliged to wait until another time to find out what terraces were.
He waited till Jim came up and tipped his load of gravel upon the heap, and then he said,—
"I must go and find papa. I'm afraid it's almost ten o'clock."
"I can tell you what time it is," said Jim, looking up at the sun.
"How can you tell that way?" the boy asked, wondering.
"It's half past nine, ex-actly," remarked Jim, drawling out the last word.
Bertie looked up at the sky, but could tell nothing about the time.
"It takes experience to do it," said the man, laughing at his perplexed look. "I've had thirty-eight years to learn."
Bertie resolved to ask his father toexplain how the sun could be made to tell the time, and then not seeing him anywhere about, untied Whitefoot, who had pulled away to the length of the rein, and was trying to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass, and rode away to the farm.
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One morning, about a week after the ride to the quarry, Bertie took his sister Winnie in his donkey carriage and drove her to Woodlawn. It was a pretty sight, and many of the villagers stopped with a smile to gaze after them. Herbert with his clear blue eyes so like his father's, his chestnut hair wavingoff his forehead, his bright, healthy complexion and pleasant smile: Winnie with her close auburn curls, her laughing brown eyes and cherry lips, formed a picture not often seen. Each of them wore a straw hat to shade their eyes from the sun, and the voice of Winnie sounded like the warbling of a bird, as she gayly echoed her brother's laugh.
"Mamma say I may dive Whitefoot drass," lisped the child, not yet having learned to articulate the letter g. "Whitefoot not bite me, no."
"Whitefoot is a good donkey. He never bites," answered Herbert, decidedly. "Now, Winnie, you must keep hold of my hand, and not run away as you do at the farm. I sha'n't have time to chase after you as Nancy does."
"I'm doin' to be dood dirl, Bertie, mamma say so. Winnie not doin' to make mamma cry any more."
"Here we are; and there's papa on the hill. See all the men and the oxen!"
Winnie laughed, and clapped her hands.
They drove along till they came to the tree where Bertie sometimes tied his donkey, and then he carefully lifted his sister to the ground.
"Wait a minute," he said, "and I'll lead you to the big cellar."
But the little girl couldn't stand still. She was as full of life as a squirrel; and, when once upon her feet, ran to pull some grass for Whitefoot.
The donkey did not think much of the little spears she brought him, and put one by one into his mouth. Hepreferred to pull a whole mouthful at once with his strong teeth; but he loved the children who were so kind to him; and so he stood very patiently taking her present of grass, very careful not to bite the tiny fingers in which she held it up for his use.
I am glad to say that Bertie waited patiently for his sister to feed Whitefoot, though he was in a great hurry to see what Jim and Tom were doing at the cellar.
Presently she grew tired, and taking her brother's hand, went with himacross the smooth grass to the site of the new house.
Bertie always bowed to the men and spoke very kindly to them; now he said,—
"I've brought my sister Winifred to see you work to-day."
Tom stopped his oxen a moment to gaze at the delicate little creature, and then said, laughing,—
"I suppose she's too small to ride on the drag. I'm going after a load of stone; and I could take you both as well as not."
Bertie was sorely tempted. He liked very much to go with Tom, who since the time the child asked for the corn, had been quite guarded in his words; but mamma had told him to be very careful of his sister; and if any accident should happen to her, he would feel so sorry. He glanced wistfully from Tom to Winnie, but then said, suddenly,—
"Thank you, sir, I'd like it, ever so much, but I'm afraid for Winnie. She's so little, and mamma trusted her with me."
"That's right," said a cheerful voice close behind them.
Mr. Curtis had come down from the hill, and was near enough to see all that had passed. When Bertie's face flushed with a desire to go, he felt inclined to step forward and remonstrate; but when he saw that his son yielded to the suggestions of conscience, his heart swelled with love and gratitude to the good Spirit who was leading Bertie into the path of peace.
"Oh, papa! Winnie had doodride," exclaimed the little girl, running to take his hand.
"And what do you think about the new house, pet?" asked papa, taking her in his arms.
"Winnie don't want to do down there," she said, pointing her tiny finger to the deep cellar.
At this moment there was a great noise, which made the child cling closely to her father's neck. Jim had backed his oxen to the very edge of the bank, and pitched a load of stones down to the bottom of the cellar.
As Bertie looked over, he saw that all the gravel had been carried out; and now some men whom he had not seen before, were busy laying up the stones which Tom and Jim brought, in a nice, smooth wall.
"Have the diggers gone away, papa?" he asked.
"They have done their work here; and now they are digging a trench for an avenue."
"What is a trench, papa?"
"If you will come this afternoon I will show you. You may ride downby the lake on Tom's drag; he will be at work there by that time."
"Oh, thank you, papa!"
He looked in his father's eyes, and what do you think he saw there? It was a look which made him feel very glad he had tried to do right, and it also made him resolve to ask God's help to be a good boy all the time.
When Tom came back with a load, he pitched the stones down into the cellar a little way beyond the place where Jim had put his.
"I guess, Squire," the man said,"a few loads more'll be all the mason can use to-day."
"I should think so, Jim. I'll talk with him about it, and let you know exactly what he wants. Are there many more stones in the old wall?"
"There's enough for this and your barn cellar, and all the stuff you'll want in your road, or I'll lose my guess, Squire," the man answered, laughing. "It does hold out wonderful. I s'pose you'll want us to make clean work as far as we go."
"Yes, everything must be madesmooth; I'm going to throw those two mowing lots into one. There's a great deal of time lost every year in mowing up close to the walls, and they seldom look neat even then. The fewer boundaries the better, was my father's motto."
"Did you ever live in the country, Squire?"
"Yes, I was born and brought up on a farm."
"'Cause it's been a wonder to all the Oxford people," continued Jim, "where you picked up such a heapof farming knowledge. Folks say you could keep a school and larn farmers a sight more'n they know now."
"I'm much obliged to Oxford for its good opinion," answered Mr. Curtis, with a merry laugh.
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It does workmen good to hear a genuine, hearty laugh from their master. Even the stone-masons, who were straining every nerve to lift a large stone into its place, looked up with a smile, as Mr. Curtis' "ha! ha! ha!" echoed from the hill.
The gentleman walked along the edge of the bank leading Winnie, while Bertie, more cautious, kept at a respectful distance from the precipice. They came at last to the bulkhead where the road had been made to the cellar, and the gentleman, after a glance at Winnie's thin slippers laced so nicely over the ankles, lifted the child again and walked down where the masons were at work.
"May I go too, papa?" asked Bertie.
"Certainly. Come, and I'll ask theworkmen to show you how to make a stone wall."
"And will you please tell me what a bulkhead is?"
"Do you remember the door where Mr. Taylor rolled down a barrel of ice into his cellar this morning?"
"Yes, sir. I didn't know there was any door there. Winnie and I used to sit on those boards and eat our lunch."
"Well, that is called a bulkhead. I don't know why that name should be used, for the real meaning of theword is a partition in a ship which makes separate apartments. Perhaps it is so called, because articles of considerable bulk are put down through it, and stored in the cellar. When the stonelayer comes to that part of the cellar, you will see how he builds up a place each side of that road; and then the carpenter will make doors to fit down upon it. When we want to put coal or wood, or anything heavy into the house, instead of carrying them through the carpeted halls and down the nice stairs, we onlyhave to open the trap-doors and carry them down the steps, or put on a plank board and roll them down, as farmer Taylor does."
Bertie now was standing near the stone-masons and watched closely every movement. One man was preparing a place for a large stone, while the other was chipping off the front edge with a sharp instrument called a cold chisel.
When he thought it smooth enough they took hold together and tipped it over and over; sometimes using theirhands, or iron bars, and sometimes pieces of strong wood to put it into place, until at last they had it fitted into the wall.
Bertie noticed that they chinked or filled in all the little holes with the small stones so as to make the wall as compact as possible. His father told him that after the whole was done, they would fill every hole with cement, which, after a few days, would become so very hard that not even the tiniest mouse could creep in. This, the mason informedhim, was called "pointing the cellar wall."
While Bertie stood down in the cellar talking with his father and the men, he happened to remember his promise to mamma, to bring Winnie home in time for her morning nap.
"O, papa!" he exclaimed. "Will you please look at your watch, and tell me what time it is? I'm afraid it's too late for me to go home."
"It's a quarter past ten," answered papa.
"I'll go then, as quick as I can,and come back this afternoon; mamma is going to read me a story when Winnie is asleep."
Papa carried the little girl and put her in the carriage. Bertie took up the reins and drove off with a good-by bow, which the gentleman returned with a loving smile.
Just as he reached the gate he overtook Tom, who had a boy seated on his empty drag.
"Is that your Jerry, that you told me about?" Bertie asked, stopping his donkey.
"Yes, it's my Jerry."
"Will he be over there this afternoon?" pointing to Woodlawn.
"I think it's likely."
"I'm going to be there then. Papa is going to show me what a trench is; and if your boy would like it, I'll give him a ride in my donkey carriage."
Jerry's face fairly shone with delight. His father had told him about Whitefoot; and he hoped he should see the funny looking creature; but to take a ride in the little carriage, was more than he had ever dreamed of.
"Thank you, Master Bertie. I expect Jerry would be tickled enough; but 'tisn't just the thing for you to be carrying the likes of him."
"You've carried me on your drag," Herbert answered, laughing. "Mamma says when anybody does us a kindness, we ought to try and return it. I'll be there right after dinner."
When they drove up to the farm, mamma was looking from the window watching for them. She told Bertie to come up to her with his sister, for Nancy was busy on the back porchwashing out some clothes for her little charge.
Winnie's lunch of bread and milk was all ready for her; but she was so sleepy she could scarcely keep awake to eat it; and when mamma had laid her on her crib, she was asleep in a minute.
Bertie ran out to the barn to put his donkey up, and then listened to mamma's story for the rest of the forenoon.
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It was Mr. Curtis' intention to have two avenues to his house. One of them wound around by the lake past the spot which he had marked out for a boat-house, and then through the chestnut grove, where it met the other avenue.
The other or main avenue, entered the grounds just between two immenseelm-trees which almost seemed to have been stationed there for guards, so exactly did they suit their position. Underneath the branches which met and embraced, the handsome granite posts with a heavy iron gate, were to mark the main entrance to Woodlawn. The wall which was to enclose the grounds was to be built of gray pudding-stone, tightly cemented, with a hewn granite curb-stone. The road, which was to be nicely trenched and gravelled, wound through a variety of shade-trees tothe highest point of land, where the view of the house, lawn and lake burst upon the eye of the visitor.
When Mr. Curtis was, in after years, complimented by his friends for the taste and artistic skill with which he had laid out his grounds, he always pointed to his wife, saying,—
"There is the artist. I only followed her suggestions."
It was true that though the lady was opposed to building a house that would be grand and imposing, shewas desirous of improving to the utmost the natural beauties which surrounded them. She drew a plan for the boat-house, which was not only useful, but extremely picturesque. The hennery too, and the conservatory, were highly ornamental, distributed as they were about the grounds;—but it is too early to speak of these, which were not finished till another year.
I must go back and tell you about Bertie's visit to Woodlawn, and how he learned to make trenches.
Directly after family prayers, which Mr. Curtis always attended with the farmer's family, Bertie read a chapter in his small Bible with his mamma; and she explained the meaning to him in such simple words that even little Winnie could learn something of God's will. Sometimes they sung a hymn; and then the little fellow started off with his donkey for the new house.
If he were going to be there several hours, he used to take the harness from Whitefoot and turn himinto a field where he could find plenty of sweet, tender grass. But when he expected to return in an hour or two, he left the creature standing under the shade of a tree.
When he drove through the field on this pleasant afternoon, he did not forget that he had promised Jerry a ride. He jumped out of the carriage, and looked about; but the boy was nowhere to be seen. He tied Whitefoot to the tree and ran to the cellar. The stone-masons were at their work. One side of the wall was nearly completed,and at this moment they were hammering away to get a large stone ready to fit into its place.
"Do you know where my papa is?" he asked one of the masons.
"He's gone off to the lake with Tom Grant."
"Is Tom coming back with his oxen?"
"Yes, I heard him driving them by a few minutes ago. He'll be back presently."
"Thank you, sir. May I go there and see you work till he comes?"
"Yes, I'm willing. The Squire is the owner here."
Bertie ran around by the bulkhead and soon was standing by the stonelayer in the cellar. He didn't speak until they had finished lifting the heavy stone into its place. He stood and watched them, wondering whether he should ever be strong enough to lift so much.
"I don't think I should like to be a stone-mason," he said, in a sympathizing tone.
"Well, you may have to come toit for all that," the man answered, speaking very cross.
"Don't snap up the boy so; he meant no harm," urged the other. "Here, my little fellow, will you take a quid of tobacco?" at the same time putting a piece in his own mouth.
"Thank you, sir, but I never eat any tobacco. Mamma says it makes people crave drink; and then they become drunkards."
The cross mason uttered a shocking oath, in connection with the name of Mrs. Curtis, and started forwardwith his trowel as if he were about to strike the boy.
Bertie uttered a cry as though he had been shot. The awful words were the most dreadful he had ever heard. He, tried to run away, but he staggered, and looked so pale the man who had offered him the tobacco, thought he would fall.
"Don't mind him," Alick said to Bertie, "he's been to his bottle too often, and didn't know what he was talking of."
About fifteen minutes later, Mr.Curtis found his son, sitting on a stone near the cellar, crying and sobbing as if his heart would break.
It was a very unusual thing for Bertie to cry; and of course his papa was greatly pained to see him in such distress. He tried to soothe the child and find out what had troubled him. But Bertie could scarcely speak at all for his sobs. He could only point to the cellar, and say, in broken words—"Wicked—man—I'm—afraid—God—wont—let—him—live."
Mr. Curtis left him and walkedtoward the cellar, where he saw a sight which explained his son's grief.
One of the masons was just in the act of stooping down for a black bottle which he held to his mouth, when his companion saw him.
"Hold there," he said, throwing down his hammer. "You've been at it too often already."
The drunkard threw the empty bottle right in the other mason's face, uttering the most terrible oaths.
"You'd better be careful; or you'll lose the best job you ever had," urgedthe sober man. "You frightened the Squire's little boy till I thought he would faint. If he tells his father how you cursed his mother, you'll be done for. So you'd better quit drinking till this job is over."
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The sound of Tom's loud talk to his oxen, started Bertie; and he tried to stop crying and see whether Jerry was walking by the side of the drag.
Mr. Curtis motioned to the man to stop, and Tom wondered not a little to see how stern the Squire's face had grown. Bertie's eyes, too, werered and swollen with crying. What could it mean?
"Mr. Grant," began Mr. Curtis, "can you tell me whether the head mason down there is a habitual drunkard?"
"He has the name of it, Squire, I'm sorry to say," answered Tom, greatly confused.
"Wait a moment, I may need you;" and Mr. Curtis walked quickly down the bulkhead into the cellar.
The mason who had been drinking was sitting on a stone, holding hishand to his head. The other one kept on with his work though he could do nothing to advantage alone.
Mr. Curtis picked up the bottle, and, holding it in his fingers, said to the sober man,—
"Do you use this vile stuff?"
"No, sir; not a drop. I see too much of it to want to put myself in the power of any kind of liquor."
"Do you live with Jerrold?"
"Yes, sir, he's a second cousin to my father. He could be a rich man, sir, if he'd let drink alone."
"He has done his last day's work for me. Iwill notemploy a man who swears or makes a beast of himself with liquor. If you have a mind to work and can comply with my conditions, you may get an assistant and take Jerrold's place. I shall know in a few days whether you are capable of carrying on the whole job."
"I thank you, sir, all the same; but it'll be a terrible disappointment to Jerrold. His wife is a good woman; and she'll take it to heart terribly. He was overcome with liquor,and didn't know what he said to the boy."
"My son has told me nothing," explained Mr. Curtis. "I saw him throw the bottle in your face; and I heard what you said to him. I should wish your answer at once, whether you would choose to go on with the work."
"Yes, sir, I'll take it and do the best I can, and much obleeged for the chance."
Tom, all this time, had stood on the top of the bank where he couldhear every word. His face looked very sober as he turned back to his oxen, and he said to himself,—
"There's a lesson for you, Tom Grant. You may thank your old mother that you haven't tasted a drop of spirits for a year."
"Now, Bertie; jump on the drag," said Mr. Curtis, in a cheerful tone. "Jerry is waiting by the lake for you; and I'll show you what a trench is."
Bertie obeyed; but his father saw it was hard for him to keep back histears. The gentleman walked along with Tom, talking about the work as if nothing unpleasant had occurred; but it was evident that the man was thinking of something else.
At last, just as they had reached the lake, he turned to his master and said, earnestly,—
"Squire, one year ago I was as great a drunkard as Jerrold. I was going right straight to ruin, when my old mother came to live with me. She begged and begged me to take a pledge never to taste spirits again;and at last I yielded to her, and since that I've airned enough to support my family and buy these oxen.
"Now, Squire, I didn't think of religion till I see how it worked with you. If I didn't think your religion was the out-and-out Bible kind, I'd never ask you the question I'm going to now.
"If mother can persuade Jerrold to take the pledge as I did, and knock off drinkin' and swearin', will you take him back?"
"With all my heart, Tom; andany help I or my wife can give your mother in such a good work, we'll do it with the greatest pleasure."
"Come up, Bright, gee;" began Tom, wiping his eye with his shirt sleeve, when he suddenly turned round again, and said, fervently,—
"There's a good many Oxford people, Squire Curtis, are praying that your wife's life and yours may be spared to us, to be a blessing to the whole town."
Tom drew his load of small stones and rubbish close to the edge of aditch about twenty-two feet wide and two feet deep, when he stopped the oxen and threw the stones in.
The Irishmen who had dug the cellar, were working away; and the two men with the oxen had as much as they could do to fill the trench as fast as it was dug.
Jerry came forward looking so clean and neat Bertie scarcely knew him.
"I've brought my donkey," he said; "but if you don't mind I should like to ask papa about the trench before we go to ride."
Jerry looked quite satisfied but did not dare to speak. So his father answered for him,—
"He's in no hurry, I'm sure, Master Bertie. But he's too shamefaced to talk much before strangers. If he takes you to see his tame squirrels, or the mice he's taught to eat out of his hand, his tongue will move fast enough, I reckon."
"I don't see, papa," said Bertie, "what is the use of digging out the earth and filling it right up again."
"I am filling it with stones, mydear, so that the water, when it rains, will drain through and keep the walk dry."
"But, papa, horses can't walk on those rough stones."
"Of course not. I intend to cover them with coarse gravel, and then on the top put a dressing of broken oyster shells mixed with small stones from the beach. These will gradually work down till the avenue is as hard as a brick."
"I understand now, papa, what a trench is."
"And how to make a cellar?" added papa, laughing.
"Yes, sir; I know the earth has to be dug out and carried off, and a wall made, and pointed with cement, which grows very hard, so that the underpinning which you bought can lie on the top of it; but I don't know how the wood is fastened on."
"That is the carpenter's job," answered his father; "we shall come to that by and by."
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