Katy was not at all pleased with the mission which her duty seemed to impose upon her. Again she felt the crushing weight of poverty, and pride rose up to throw obstacles in her path. She was a child of twelve, and to ask a loan of twenty dollars, though she offered sufficient security for the payment of the debt, seemed like demanding a great deal of her friends—like inviting them to repose a vast amount of confidence in her ability and honesty. They would not want the watch; it would be of no value to them; and the more she considered the matter, the more like an act of charity appeared the favor she was about to ask.
More than once on her way to Temple Street did she stop short, resolved to get the money of some other person—the grocer, Mr. Sneed, or even of a pawnbroker; but as often she rebuked the pride that tormented her like a demon, and went forward again. She stood some time at Mrs. Gordon's door before she had the resolution to ring the bell.
"What right have I to be so proud?" said she, grasping the bell handle. "I must get this money, or my mother may suffer."
She rang with a force that must have astonished Michael, and led him to think some extraordinary character had arrived; for he ran to the door at full speed, and burst out into a violent fit of laughter, when he saw no one but the little candy merchant.
"Good morning, to you, Katy. Are you nervous this morning?" said he.
"Good morning, Michael. I am not very nervous."
"I thought you would pull down the bell," he added, good-naturedly.
"I didn't mean to, Michael; I hope you will excuse me if I did any harm."
"Not a bit of harm; but you're looking as sober as a deacon. What ails you, Katy?"
"I feel very sad, Michael; for my mother is very sick, and I don't know as she will ever get well."
"Indeed? I'm sorry to hear that of her;" and Michael, whatever he felt, looked very much concerned about Mrs. Redburn's health.
"Is Mrs. Gordon at home?"
"She isn't."
"Is Miss Grace?"
"Neither of them; they went to Baltimore ten days ago but I am expecting them back every day."
Katy's heart sank within her; for now that Mrs. Gordon was not at hand, she did not feel like asking any other person; and if the case had not been urgent, she would have been satisfied to return home, and regard the lady's absence as a sufficient excuse for not procuring the money.
"You want to see her very much?" asked Michael.
"Very much, indeed."
"Can I be of any service to you?"
"No, Michael."
"Perhaps I can, Katy."
"No, I'm much obliged to you."
"If it's anything in the house you want, I can get it for you."
"No, I must see Mrs. Gordon."
"If it's any nice preserve or jelly you want just say the word, and I'll bring it to you at once."
"I do not want anything of that kind. Do you think Mrs. Gordon will return by to-morrow?"
"I thought she would be here yesterday, and she may come to-night."
"Very well; I will, perhaps, call again to-morrow," and she turned to leave.
"I'll tell Mrs. Gordon you came. Stop a minute, Katy. Won't you tell me what you want?"
"I would rather not, Michael; but I will come again to-morrow."
"See here, Katy; maybe you're short of money. If you are, I have a matter of three hundred dollars in the Savings Bank; and you may be sure you shall have every cent of it if you want it."
This was a very liberal offer, though it is probable he did not think she would want any considerable portion of it, or that she could even comprehend the meaning of so large a sum. Katy was sorely tempted to negotiate with him for the loan but she was not sure that it would be proper to borrow money of the servant, and perhaps Mrs. Gordon would not like it.
"I thank you, Michael; you are very kind, but I think I would rather see Mrs. Gordon."
"I have a matter of five or six dollars in my pocket now; and it that'll be of any service to you, take it and welcome."
Katy stopped to think. A few dollars would be all that she needed before the return of Mrs. Gordon; and yet she did not feel like accepting it. What would the lady say on her return, when told that she had borrowed money of her servant? Yet the servant had a kind heart, and really desired to serve her. Was it not pride that prevented her from accepting his offer? Did she not feel too proud to place herself under obligations to the servant? She felt rebuked at her presumption; for what right had she to make such distinctions? If she had been a lady, like Mrs. Gordon, she might have been excusable for cherishing such pride; but she was a poor girl; she was actually in want.
"Michael, you are so good, that I will tell you my story," said she, conquering her repugnance.
"Just come in the house, then;" and he led her into the sitting-room; being, in the absence of the mistress, the lord and master of the mansion, and feeling quite at home in that position.
In a few words she explained to him her situation, though her rebellious pride caused her to paint the picture in somewhat brighter colors than the truth would justify. She stated her intention to borrow twenty dollars of Mrs. Gordon, and offer her the watch as security, at the same time exhibiting the cherished treasure.
"Now Michael, if you will lend me three dollars till Mrs. Gordon returns, I will pay you then, for I know she will let me have the money; or at least let me have enough to pay you," continued she, when she had finished her narrative.
"Indeed I will, Katy!" exclaimed he, promptly pulling out his wallet. "And if you will come at this time to-morrow, you shall have the whole twenty dollars."
"Thank you, Michael."
"There's six dollars; take it, Katy, and my blessing with it."
"Only three dollars, Michael," replied Katy, firmly.
Michael insisted, but all his persuasion would not induce her to accept more than the sum she had mentioned, and he was reluctantly compelled to yield the point.
"Here is the watch, Michael; you shall keep that till I pay you."
"Is it me!" exclaimed he, springing to his feet, with an expression very like indignation on his countenance. "Sure, you don't think I'd take the watch."
"Why not you as well as Mrs. Gordon?" asked Katy.
"She didn't take it," replied Michael triumphantly. "You couldn't make her take it, if you try a month. Don't I know Mrs. Gordon?"
"But please to take it; I should feel much better if you would."
"Bad luck to me if I do! I wouldn't take it to save my neck from the gallows. Where's my Irish heart? Did I leave it at home, or did I bring it with me to America?"
"If you will not take it, Michael——"
"I won't."
"If you won't, I will say no more about it," replied Katy, as she returned the watch to her pocket. "You have got a very kind heart, and I shall never forget you as long as I live."
Katy, after glancing at the portrait of the roguish lady that hung in the room, took leave of Michael, and hastened home. On her way, she could not banish the generous servant from her mind. She could not understand why he should be so much interested in her as to offer the use of all he had; and she was obliged to attribute it all to the impulses of a kind heart. If she had been a little older, she might have concluded that the old maxim, slightly altered would explain the reason: "Like mistress, like man," that the atmosphere of kindness and charity that pervaded the house had inspired even the servants.
"Where have you been, Katy?" asked Mrs. Redburn, as she entered the sick chamber, and Mrs. Sneed hastened home.
"I have been to Mrs. Gordon."
"What for?"
Katy did not like to tell. She knew it would make her mother feel very unhappy to know that she had borrowed money of Mrs. Gordon's servant.
"Oh, I went up to see her," replied Katy.
"No matter, if you don't like to tell me," faintly replied Mrs. Redburn.
"I will tell you, mother," answered Katy, stung by the gentle rebuke contained in her mother's words.
"I suppose our money is all gone," sighed the sick woman.
"No, mother; see here! I have three dollars," and Katy pulled out her porte-monnaie, anxious to save her even a moment of uneasiness.
But in taking out the money she exhibited the watch also, which at once excited Mrs. Redburn's curiosity.
"What have you been doing with that, Katy?" she asked. "Ah, I fear I was right. We have no money! Our business is gone! Alas, we have nothing to hope for!"
"O, no, mother, it is not half so bad as that!" exclaimed Katy. "I went up to Mrs. Gordon for the purpose of borrowing twenty dollars of her; I didn't want it to look like charity, so I was going to ask her to keep the watch till it was paid. That's all, mother."
"And she refused?"
"No; she was not at home."
"But your money is not all gone?"
Katy wanted to say it was not, but her conscience would not let her practise deception. She had the three dollars which she had just borrowed of Michael, and that was not all gone. But this was not the question her mother asked, and it would be a lie to say the money was not all gone, when she fully understood the meaning of the question. Perhaps it was for her mother's good to deceive her; but she had been taught to feel that she had no right to do evil that good might follow.
"It was all gone, but I borrowed three dollars," she replied, after a little hesitation.
"Of whom?"
"Of Michael."
"Who's he?"
"Mrs. Gordon's man.
"O Katy! How could you do so?" sighed Mrs. Redburn.
"I couldn't help it, mother. He would make me take it;" and she gave all the particulars of her interview with Michael and reviewed the considerations which had induced her to accept the loan.
"Perhaps you are right, Katy. My pride would not have let me borrow of a servant; but it is wicked for me to cherish such a pride. I try very hard to banish it."
"Don't talk any more now, mother. We are too poor to be too proud to accept a favor of one who is in a humble station." replied Katy.
"I don't know what will become of us," said Mrs. Redburn, as she turned her head away to hide the tears that flooded her eyes.
Katy took up the Bible that lay by the bedside, and turning to the twenty-third psalm, she read, "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters."
"Go on, Katy; those words are real comfort," said Mrs. Redburn, drying her tears. "I know it is wicked for me to repine."
Katy read the whole psalm, and followed it with others, which produced a healing influence upon her mother's mind, and she seemed to forget that the purse was empty, and that they had placed themselves under obligations to a servant.
The sufferer rested much better than usual that night, and Katy was permitted to sleep the greater part of the time—a boon which her exhausted frame very much needed. About ten o'clock in the forenoon, Michael paid her a visit, to inform her that Mrs. Gordon had just arrived: and that, when he mentioned her case, she had sent him down to request her immediate attendance and that his mistress would have come herself, only she was so much fatigued by her journey.
Katy could not leave then, for she had no one to stay with her mother; but Mrs. Sneed could come in an hour. Michael hastened home with the intelligence that Mrs. Redburn was better, and Katy soon followed him.
On her arrival at Temple Street, Katy was promptly admitted by Michael, and shown in the sitting-room, where Mrs. Gordon and Grace were waiting for her.
"I was very sorry to hear that your mother is sick, Katy," said the former; "and I should have paid you a visit, instead of sending for you, if I had not been so much exhausted by my journey from Baltimore."
"You are very kind, ma'am."
"Did Dr. Flynch call upon you at the first of the month?"
"Yes, ma'am; and we paid the rent as usual," replied Katy.
"I am sorry you did so, Katy; you should have told him you were not in a condition to pay the rent."
"I couldn't tell him so, he is so cold and cruel."
"I think you misjudge him, for he has a really kind heart, and would not have distressed you for all the world. Besides, I told him he need not collect your rent any time when you did not feel ready to pay it. I hope he gave you no trouble?"
"No, ma'am; I didn't give him a chance, for I paid him as soon as he demanded it; though it took nearly all the money we had. I hope you will excuse me, ma'am, but I haven't liked him since the trouble we had a year ago, when he accused my dear mother of telling a lie."
"Perhaps he was hasty."
"I forgive him, ma'am; but I can't help thinking he is a very wicked man," answered Katy, with considerable emphasis.
"I hope not so bad as that; for I am sure, if you had told him it was not convenient for you to pay the rent, he would not have insisted. But you want some assistance Katy?"
"Yes, ma'am; that is, I want to borrow some money," replied Katy, blushing deeply.
"That's just like you," interposed Grace, laughing. "I suppose you will want to give your note this time."
"I don't care about giving a note, but I mean to pay the money back again, every cent of it."
"And the interest too, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Katy, though she had not a very clear idea of the value of money, as an article of merchandise.
"Don't distress her, Grace; you forget that her mother is very sick, and she cannot feel like listening to your pleasantries," said Mrs. Gordon.
"Forgive me, Katy," replied Grace, tenderly.
Katy burst into tears, though she could not exactly tell why. She was overcome with emotion as the beautiful young lady took her hand, and looked so sorrowfully in her face. She was not used to so much kindness, so much sympathy, so much love; for it seemed as though both Grace and her mother loved her—that their hearts beat with hers.
"Don t cry, Katy; I am sorry I said a word," pleaded Grace. "I would not have hurt your feelings for all the world."
"You did not hurt my feelings; you are so kind to me that I could not help crying. I suppose I am very silly."
"No, you are not, Katy; now dry up your tears, and tell us all about it," added Mrs. Gordon, in soothing tones. "How long has your mother been sick?"
"Almost two weeks."
"What ails her?"
"She has got a fever; but she is much better to-day. The doctor says she hasn't got it very bad; but she has been very sick, I think."
"Who takes care of her?"
"I do, ma'am."
"You! She must need a great deal of attention. But who takes care of her at night?"
"I do, ma'am. I have been up a great deal every night."
"Poor child! It is enough to wear you out."
"I wouldn't mind it at all, if I had nothing else to trouble me."
"What other troubles have you?"
"I can't make any candy now, and haven't made any for nearly a fortnight; so that we have no money coming in. We spent nearly all we had in buying our winter clothing and fuel. It worries me very much, for we had plenty of money before mother was taken sick."
"I hope you haven't wanted for anything."
"No, ma'am; for when my purse was empty, I came up here, only yesterday, to borrow some of you, if you would please to lend it me."
"Certainly, I will, my child. I am very glad you came."
"Michael would make me tell what I wanted, and then he let me have three dollars, and offered to let me have as much as I wanted. I didn't know as you would like it if I borrowed money of your servant."
"You did just right: and I am glad that Michael has a kind heart. Now, how much money do you want?"
"I thought I would ask you to lend me twenty dollars; and just as soon, after mother gets well, as I can gather the money together, I will pay you—and the interest," she added, glancing at Grace.
"Now, Katy, that is too bad!" exclaimed Grace, catching her by the hand, while a tear started from her eye. "You know I didn't mean that."
"I know you didn't; but I don't know much about such things, and thought likely it was right for us to pay interest, if we borrowed money."
"I should be very glad to give you twenty dollars, Katy, if you would only let me; for I am rich, as well as mother, and I certainly should not think of taking interest."
"We will say no more about that," interrupted Mrs. Gordon. "I will let you have the money with the greatest pleasure, for I know you will make good use of it."
"I will, indeed."
"And you must promise me that you will not distress yourself to pay it again," continued the kind lady, as she took out her purse.
"I will not distress myself, but I will pay it as soon as I can."
"You must not be too proud."
"No, ma'am; but just proud enough."
"Yes, that's it," replied Mrs. Gordon, smiling. "Pride is a very good thing in its place. It keeps people from being mean and wicked sometimes."
"That's true pride," added Katy.
"Yes; for there is a false pride, which makes people very silly and vain; which keeps them from doing their duty very often. You have none of this kind of pride."
"I hope not."
"Your friend Simon Sneed, whom the mayor spoke to me about, affords us a very good example of the folly of cherishing false pride. Where is Simon now?"
"He keeps a store in Washington Street. He is a salesman now, and I don't think he is so foolish as he was."
"Perhaps the lesson he learned did him good. But I am keeping you away from your mother, Katy. Who stays with her while you are away?"
"Mrs. Sneed—Simon's mother."
"Then she is a good woman."
"And Simon is very kind; he has done a great many things for me, and I hope I shall be able to do something for him one of these days."
"That's right, Katy. Think well of your friends, though others speak ill of them," said Grace. "Ah, there comes the carriage. I am going home with you, Katy, to see your mother."
"You are very kind, Miss Grace."
"Here is the money," added Mrs. Gordon, handing her a little roll of bills.
"Thank you, ma'am," replied Katy, as she placed the money in her porte-monnaie. "But——"
Here she came to a full stop, and her face was as crimson as a blush rose, but she took out the silver watch, and approached Mrs. Gordon.
"What were you going to say, Katy?"
"I brought this watch up," stammered she.
"What for?"
"You know I am a poor girl, my mother is a poor woman, and we didn't want you to think you were giving us the money, for we are very proud; that is, my mother is very proud, and so am I; and——"
Here Katy drew a long breath, and came to a full stop again, unable to say what she wanted to say.
"If you want anything else, Katy, don't hesitate to mention it; for I will not do anything to mortify your pride, even if it is unreasonable," said Mrs. Gordon. "I understand you perfectly; the twenty dollars is not a gift, but a loan."
"Yes, ma'am; but if we should never be able to pay it, then it would be a gift."
"No, it wouldn't."
"I think so; and so I brought this watch, which you will please to take as security for the payment of the loan," said Katy, much confused, as she offered the watch to Mrs. Gordon.
"My dear child, I do not want any security. Your word is just as good as your bond."
"But I would rather you would take it. My mother is prouder than I am, for she wasn't always as poor as she is now."
Katy suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth, when she recollected that this was a forbidden topic.
"Some time you may tell me all about your mother; and I will call and see her to-morrow, and help you take care of her."
"Please to take the watch, ma'am."
"If you very much desire it, I shall do so, though I cannot take it as security. Is this the watch you carried to the pawnbroker?" said Mrs. Gordon as she took the treasure.
"Yes, ma'am. It belonged to my father."
Mrs. Gordon turned over the watch, and looked at it with considerable interest, as she thought of it as a memento of the dead, and how highly it must be prized by the poor woman.
"Mercy, what's this!" exclaimed she, starting back, and staggering towards her chair.
"What is the matter, mother?" cried Grace, running to her side. "Are you ill?"
"No, Grace; that inscription!" replied Mrs. Gordon, faintly, for she seemed very deeply moved, and on the point of swooning. "Bring me a glass of water."
There was no water in the room, but Michael was in the entry, and was dispatched to procure it. He returned in a moment, and when Mrs. Gordon had in some measure recovered from the sudden shock she pointed to the inscription on the back of the watch:—
"What does, it mean, mother? I do not see anything very strange about that."
"I have seen this watch before," she replied, stopping to think. "Where did your mother get this watch, Katy?" she asked, as it occurred to her that she might be arriving at a conclusion too suddenly.
"It was my father's."
"Where did your father get it? Did you ever hear your mother say?"
"Yes, ma'am; her father, who was a rich Liverpool merchant, gave it to her husband, my father," replied Katy, who felt justified in revealing what her mother had told her to keep secret.
"Mercy!" gasped Mrs. Gordon, almost overcome by her emotions.
"What is the matter, mother? What has all this to do with you?" asked Grace, anxiously.
"Come here, Katy, my child," continued Mrs. Gordon, as she drew the little candy merchant to her side, and warmly embraced her. "Your mother, Katy, is my sister, I have scarcely a doubt."
"Why, mother! Is it possible?" exclaimed Grace.
"It is even so. Mrs. Redburn, whose name we have often heard mentioned without thinking it might be the wife of John Redburn, my father's clerk, is my sister. I had given her up, and have regarded her as dead for more than ten years. But, Grace, get my things, and I will go to her at once."
"Is that your portrait, ma'am?" asked Katy, pointing to the picture of the mischievous lady.
"No, child; that is your mother's portrait."
"I almost knew it."
"It was taken when she was only sixteen years old. She was a gay, wild girl then. I suppose she is sadly changed now."
The thought completely overcame Mrs. Gordon, and throwing herself upon a sofa, she wept like a child. She thought of her sister suffering from poverty and want, while she had been rolling in opulence and plenty. Grace tried to comfort her, but it was some time before she was in a condition to enter the carriage which was waiting at the door.
"What an adventure, mother!" exclaimed Grace, as she seated herself by the side of Katy; and it was evident she had a vein of the romantic in her composition.
"Do not talk to me, Grace. My heart is too full for words."
"But I may talk to Katy—may I not?"
"Yes."
"Well, cousin Katy," laughed Grace; "I shall call you cousin, though you are not really my cousin."
"Not your cousin?" said Katy, a shade of disappointment crossing her animated features.
"No; for Mrs. Gordon is not really my mother; only my stepmother; but she is just as good as a real mother, for I never knew any other. Dear me! how strange all this is! And you will go up and live with us in Temple Street, and——"
"I can't leave my mother," interrupted Katy.
"You mother shall go, too."
"She is too sick now."
Grace continued to talk as fast as she could, laying out ever so many plans for the future, till the carriage reached Colvin Court. I will not follow them into the chamber of the sick woman; where Mrs. Gordon, by a slow process that did not agitate the invalid too violently, revealed herself to her sister. The fine lady of Temple Street had a heart, a warm and true heart, and not that day, nor that night, nor for a week, did she leave the sick bed of the sufferer. There, in the midst of her sister's poverty, she did a sister's offices.
It was three weeks before Mrs. Redburn was in a condition to be moved to her sister's house; and then she was once more in the midst of the luxury and splendor of her early life. One day, when she had improved so much as to be able to bear the fatigue of a long conversation, Mrs. Gordon, who had thus far declined to discuss any exciting topics with the invalid proposed to have everything explained. Each had a very long story to tell; but as the reader already knows Mrs. Redburn's history, I shall only briefly narrate that of Mrs. Gordon and the Guthrie family, after the departure of the former.
Mr. Guthrie, the father of both, died two years after the flight of Margaret—Mrs. Redburn—when of course there was a large property to be divided. Diligent search was made for Margaret in America but her husband had declared to some person in Liverpool that he had an engagement in Montreal. This place was thoroughly canvassed, but without success. No trace of the runaways could be discovered. Agents were sent to various parts of America, and no tidings of Margaret had ever reached them.
About two year after her father's death, Jane—Mrs. Gordon—had married a very wealthy gentleman from Baltimore. He was then a widower with one child—Grace Gordon. She had come to America with him, and resided in Baltimore till his death, a period of only two years. Then, having never liked to live in that city, she had removed to Boston, where she had a few friends. She had invested her money and resided there, very happily situated, and with no desire to return to her native land.
Her father's estate had been divided, and the portion which belonged to Margaret was held in trust for seven years—when the law presumed she was dead—and was then delivered to her sister, who was the only remaining heir. Now that she had appeared, it was promptly paid over to her, and Mrs. Redburn, before poor and proud, was now rich, and humility never sat more gracefully on the brow of woman than on hers.
Katy and her mother had entered upon a new life, and in the midst of luxury and splendor, they could not forget the past nor cease to thank God for His past and present mercies. Mrs. Gordon used to declare it was strange she had never thought that Mrs. Redburn might be her sister; but it was declared that stranger things than that had happened.
Katy continued to go to school with great regularity, and became an excellent scholar. She was beloved by all her companions and Grace, who was married shortly after Katy entered the family, always regarded her with the affection of a sister, insisting that she should spend half the time at her house. Mrs. Redburn was soon completely restored to health. She had a fortune to manage now, and when Dr. Flynch proposed to collect her rents and take charge of her affairs, she respectfully declined the offer. Mrs. Gordon did not like him as well as formerly, for her sister had opened her eyes in regard to his true character, and she soon found an opportunity to discharge him.
Having carried Katy through her principal troubles and chronicled the rise and fall of the candy trade we shall step forward ten years to take a final look at her and her friends, and then bid them farewell.
Ten years is a long time—long enough to change the child into a woman, the little candy merchant into a fine lady. I suppose, therefore, that my young friends will need to be introduced to Miss Redburn. There she sits in the pleasant apartment in Temple Street, where the picture of the mischievous girl still hangs, though it looks very little like the matron at her side, for whom it was taken. She is not beautiful enough to be the heroine of a romance, neither has she done any absurd thing; she has only supported her mother when she had no one else to care for her. But Katy is irresistible if she is not pretty. She still looks as pleasant as a morning in June, and smiles sweetly when any one speaks to her and when she speaks to any one.
I am sorry I cannot inform my young lady friends how Miss Redburn was dressed, or how she proposed to dress, at her birthday party, which was to come off the following week—what silks, what laces what muslins, and what jewels she was to wear. I can only say that she was dressed very plainly, and that her garments were exceedingly becoming; and that she had steadily resisted the solicitations of sundry French milliners and dressmakers to exceed her usual simplicity at the party—and I cordially command her example to all young ladies.
While Miss Redburn sat at the window, the doorbell rang with great violence; and Michael—yes, Michael—he is still there, a veteran in the service of Mrs. Gordon, and fully believing that Katy is an angel—Michael hastened to admit Grace. She is a little older than when we saw her last, but she is the same Grace. She enters the room, kisses Katy with as much zeal as though she had not seen her for months, though they had met the day before. She had scarcely saluted her cousin before a little fat man of six came tumbling into the room, for he had not been able to keep up with his mother.
"Come, aunty," said little Tommy, who persisted in calling her by this title, as he rolled up to Miss Redburn, who gave him a hearty kiss—"come, aunty, I want you to come right down into the kitchen, and make me a lot of molatheth candy."
"Not now, Tommy"—would you believe it, reader? that little boy's name is Thomas Howard Parker—"not now, Tommy. I came to tell you, Katy, that the King of the Billows has been telegraphed."
"Has she?" exclaimed Katy, a deep blush suffusing her cheek.
"Yes; and you must go right down to the wharf, or we shall not be in season to see Captain Howard, who is coming up in a pilot boat."
Miss Redburn hastened to put on her things, and she and Mrs. Parker seated themselves in the carriage that waited them.
Of course, you know Captain Howard, reader? He has followed the sea only eleven years; and though but twenty-five years old, he is the commander of a fine clipper, and sails in the Liverpool line. He is frequently quoted as an example of what patient perseverance will accomplish; for, with very little aid from friends, he has worked his way from the forecastle into the cabin. He is a self-educated man, and has the reputation of being a thorough sailor and a perfect gentleman.
Pursuant to a little arrangement made between Captain Howard and Miss Redburn, just as he departed on this voyage, they were both seen in church on the following Thursday afternoon; and when they came out, people addressed Katy as Mrs. Howard. But to pass on to the occasions which she had chosen to call a birthday party, though it was not exactly that; and as it came immediately after the church service, some called it a levee.
There are a great many persons in the Gordon mansion, as many as two hundred, I should think. Of course, I cannot stop to introduce all of them, but there are a few who deserve this favor.
"Mr. Sneed, I am delighted to see you," said Mrs. Howard, as a very tall and very slim gentleman, elegantly dressed, approached.
"You do me honor, madam. It is the superlative felicity of my sublunary existence to congratulate you on this auspicious occasion," replied Mr. Sneed, as he gently pressed the gloved hand of the lady.
That sounds just like Master Simon Sneed, only very much intensified. Simon is a salesman still in a large establishment—has never risen above that position and probably never will; for, born to be a gentleman, he feels as much above his business as his business really is above him.
Simon's father and mother say a pleasant word to the bride, and pass on. And here comes a great fat woman, whose tongue flies like the shuttle in a loom. Well, it is the captain's mother. Since her son has been prosperous, she has had an easy time of it, and has grown very corpulent.
"Who do you think has come, Katy?" puffed Mrs. Howard.
"I don't know. Who?"
"Mrs. Colvin, that was! Mrs. McCarty, that is."
Some of the very good-natured people laughed, and some of the very fastidious ones turned up their noses, when they saw Mrs. McCarty so warmly received by the bride; but she did not care who laughed or who sneered; she was not too proud to welcome, in the hour of prosperity and happiness, those who had been her friends in adversity.
"Mrs. Howard, I congratulate you," said a fat man, who was puffing and blowing at the heat of the room.
It was an ex-mayor and after he had said a few pleasant words, he passed on to make room for a hundred more who were waiting to speak to the bride.
That was a very pleasant party; but as we are opposed to crowded rooms and late hours, we may as well retire.
The next day the happy couple started upon a bridal tour, and on their return, Captain Howard sailed for Liverpool, in his fine ship, with Mrs. Howard as a passenger.
And now my young friend, adieu. If you are poor, don't be too proud to work at any honest occupation; but be too proud to do wrong—too proud to degrade yourself in your own eyes, by doing a mean act; and in this sense you may truly be "Poor and Proud."