John Lane put up at the stable once a week; and, every time he returned to Rockville, he carried a written or a verbal account of the prosperity of the little pauper boy. One Sunday, he wrote her a long letter all about "being good"—how he was tempted, and how he struggled for her sake and for the sake of the truth.
In return, he often received messages and letters from her, breathing the same pure spirit which she had manifested when she "fed him in the wilderness." These communications strengthened his moral nature, and enabled him to resist temptation. He felt just as though she was an angel sent into the world to watch over him. Perhaps he had fallen without them; at any rate, her influence was very powerful.
About the middle of January, when the earth was covered with snow, and the bleak, cold winds of winter blew over the city, John Lane informed Harry, on his arrival, that Julia was very sick with the scarlet fever and canker rash, and it was feared she would not recover.
This was the most severe trial of all. He wept whenhe thought of her sweet face reddened with the flush of fever; and he fled to his chamber, to vent his emotions in silence and solitude.
While Harry sat by the stove in the ostlers' room, grieving at the intelligence he had received from Rockville, a little girl, so lame that she walked with a crutch, hobbled into the apartment.
"Is my father here?" she asked, in tones so sad that Harry could not help knowing she was in distress.
"I don't know as I am acquainted with your father," replied Harry.
"He is one of the ostlers here."
"Oh, Joseph Flint!"
"Yes; he has not been home to dinner or supper to-day, and mother is very sick."
"I haven't seen him to-day."
"O, dear! What will become of us?" sighed the little girl, as she hobbled away.
Harry was struck by the sad appearance of the girl, and the desponding words she uttered. Of late, Joe Flint's vile habit of intemperance had grown upon him so rapidly that he did not work at the stable more than one day in three. For two months, Major Phillips had been threatening to discharge him; and nothing but kindly consideration for his family had prevented him from doing so.
"Have you seen Joe to-day?" asked Harry of one of the ostlers, who came into the room soon after the departure of the little girl.
"No, and don't want to see him," replied Abner, testily; for, in Joe's absence, his work had to be done by the other ostlers, who did not feel very kindly towards him.
"His little girl has just been here after him."
"Very likely he hasn't been home for a week," addedAbner. "I should think his family would be very thankful if they never saw him again. He is a nuisance to himself and everybody else."
"Where does he live?"
"Just up in Avery Street—in a ten-footer there."
"The little girl said her mother was very sick."
"I dare say. She is always sick; and I don't much wonder. Joe Flint is enough to make any one sick. He has been drunk about two-thirds of the time for two months."
"I don't see how his family get along."
"Nor I, either."
After Abner had warmed himself, he left the room. Harry was haunted by the sad look and desponding tones of the poor lame girl. It was a bitter cold evening; and what if Joe's family were suffering with the cold and hunger! It was sad to think of such a thing; and Harry was deeply moved.
"She hoped I would be a good boy. She is very sick now, and perhaps she will die," said Harry to himself. "What would she do, if she were here now?"
He knew very well what she would do, and he determined to do it himself. His heart was so deeply moved by the picture of sorrow and suffering with which his imagination had invested the home of the intemperate ostler that it required no argument to induce him to go.
But he must go prepared to do something. However sweet and consoling may be the sympathy of others to those in distress, it will not warm the chilled limbs or feed the hungry mouths; and Harry thanked God then that he had not spent his money foolishly upon gewgaws and gimcracks, or in gratifying a selfish appetite.
After assuring himself that no one was approaching, he jumped on his bedstead, and reaching up into a hole in the board ceiling of the room, he took out a large wooden pill box, which was nearly filled with various silver coins, from a five-cent piece to a half dollar. Putting the box in his pocket, he went down to the stable, and inquired more particularly in relation Joe's house.
When he had received such directions as would enable him to find the place, he told Abner he wanted to be absent a little while, and left the stable. He had no difficulty in finding the home of the drunkard's family. It was a little, old wooden house, in Avery Street, opposite Haymarket Place, which has long since been pulled down to make room for a more elegant dwelling.
Harry knocked, and was admitted by the little lame girl whom he had seen at the stable.
"I have come to see if I can do anything for you," said Harry, as he moved forward into the room in which the family lived.
"Have you seen anything of father?" asked the little girl.
"I haven't; Abner says he hasn't been to the stable to-day. Haven't you any lights?" asked Harry, as he entered the dark room.
"We haven't got any oil, nor any candles."
In the fireplace, a piece of pine board was blazing, which cast a faint and fitful glare into the room; and Harry was thus enabled to behold the scene which the miserable home of the drunkard presented.
In one corner was a dilapidated bedstead, on which lay the sick woman. Drawn from under it was a trundle bed, upon which lay two small children, who had evidently been put to bed at that early hour to keep them warm, for the temperature of the apartment was scarcely more comfortable than that of the open air. It was a cheerless home; and the faint light of the blazing board only served to increase the desolate appearance of the place.
"Who is it?" asked the sick woman, faintly.
"The boy that works at the stable," replied the lame girl.
"My name is Harry West, marm; and I come to see if you wanted anything," added Harry.
"We want a great many things," sighed she. "Can you tell me where my husband is?"
"I can't; he hasn't been at the stable to-day."
"Oh, God! what will become of us?" sobbed the woman.
"I will help you, marm. Don't take on so. I have money! and I will do everything I can for you."
When her mother sobbed, the lame girl sat down on the bed and cried bitterly. Harry's tender heart was melted; and he would have wept also if he had not been conscious of the high mission he had to perform; and he felt very grateful that he was able to dry up those tears and carry gladness to those bleeding hearts.
"I don't know what you can do for us," said the poor woman, "though I am sure I am very much obliged to you."
"I can do a great deal, marm. Cheer up," replied Harry, tenderly.
As he spoke, one of the children in the trundle bed sobbed in its sleep; and the poor mother's heart seemed to be lacerated by the sound.
"Poor child," wailed she. "He had no supper but a crust of bread and a cup of cold water. He cried himself to sleep with cold and hunger. Oh, Heaven! that we should have come to this!"
"And the room is very cold," added Harry, glancing around him.
"It is. Our wood is all gone but two great logs. Katy could not bring them up."
"I worked for an hour trying to split some pieces off them," said Katy, the lame girl.
"I will fix them, marm," replied Harry, who felt the strength of ten stout men in his limbs at that moment. "But you have had no supper."
"No."
"Wait a minute. Have you a basket?"
Katy brought him a peck basket, and Harry rushed out of the house as though he had been shot. Great deeds were before him, and he was inspired for the occasion.
In a quarter of an hour he returned. The basket was nearly full. Placing it in a chair, he took from it a package of candles, one of which he lighted and placed in a tin candlestick on the table.
"Now we have got a little light on the subject," said he,as he began to display the contents of the basket. "Here, Katy, is two pounds of meat; here is half a pound of tea; you had better put a little in the teapot, and let it be steeping for your mother."
"God bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. Flint. "You are an angel sent from Heaven to help us in our distress."
"No, marm; I ain't an angel," answered Harry, who seemed to feel that Julia Bryant had an exclusive monopoly of that appellation, so far as it could be reasonably applied to mortals. "I only want to do my duty, marm."
Katy Flint was so bewildered that she could say nothing, though her opinion undoubtedly coincided with that of her mother.
"Here is two loaves of bread and two dozen crackers; a pound of butter; two pounds of sugar. There! I did not bring any milk."
"Never mind the milk. You are a blessed child."
"Give me a pitcher, Katy. I will go down to Thomas's in two shakes of a jiffy."
Mrs. Flint protested that she did not want any milk—that she could get along very well without it; but Harry said the children must have it; and, without waiting for Katy to get the pitcher, he took it from the closet, and ran out of the house.
He was gone but a few minutes. When he returned he found Katy trying to make the teakettle boil, but with very poor success.
"Now, Katy, show me the logs, and I will soon have a fire."
The lame girl conducted him to the cellar, where Harry found the remnants of the old box which Katy had tried to split. Seizing the axe, he struck a few vigorous blows, and the pine boards were reduced to a proper shape for use. Taking an armful, he returned to the chamber; and soon a good fire was blazing under the teakettle.
"There, marm, we will soon have things to rights," said Harry, as he rose from the hearth, where he had stooped down to blow the fire.
"I am sure we should have perished if you had not come," added Mrs. Flint, who was not disposed to undervalue Harry's good deeds.
"Then I am very glad I came."
"I hope we shall be able to pay you back all the money you have spent; but I don't know. Joseph has got so bad, I don't know what he is coming to. He is a good-hearted man. He always uses me well, even when he is in liquor. Nothing but drink could make him neglect us so."
"It is a hard case, marm," added Harry.
"Very hard; he hasn't done much of anything for us this winter. I have been out to work every day till a fortnight ago, when I got sick and couldn't do anything. Katy has kept us alive since then; she is a good girl, and takes the whole care of Tommy and Susan."
"Poor girl! It is a pity she is so lame."
"I don't mind that, if I only had things to do with," said Katy, who was busy disposing of the provisions which Harry had bought.
As soon as the kettle boiled, she made tea, and prepared a little toast for her mother, who, however, was too sick to take much nourishment.
"Now, Katy, you must eat yourself," interposed Harry, when all was ready.
"I can't eat," replied the poor girl, bursting into tears. "I don't feel hungry."
"You must eat."
Just then the children in the trundle bed, disturbed by the unusual bustle in the room, waked, and gazed with wonder at Harry, who had seated himself on the bed.
"Poor Susy!" exclaimed Katy; "she has waked up. And Tommy, too! They shall have their supper, now."
They were taken up; and Harry's eyes were gladdened by such a sight as he had never beheld before. The hungry ate; and every mouthful they took swelled the heart of the little almoner of God's bounty. If the thought of Julia Bryant, languishing on a bed of sickness, had not marred his satisfaction, he had been perfectly happy. But he wasdoing a deed that would rejoice her heart; he was doing just what she had done for him; he was doing just what she would have done, if she had been there.
"She hoped he would be a good boy." His conscience told him he had been a good boy—that he had been true to himself, and true to the noble example she had set before him.
While the family were still at supper, Harry, lighting another candle, went down cellar to pay his respects to those big logs. He was a stout boy, and accustomed to the use of the axe. By slow degrees he chipped off the logs, until they were used up, and a great pile of serviceable wood was before him. Not content with this, he carried up several large armfuls of it, which he deposited by the fireplace in the room.
"Now, marm, I don't know as I can do anything more for you to-night," said he, moving towards the door.
"The Lord knows you have done enough," replied the poor woman. "I hope we shall be able to pay you for what you have done."
"I don't want anything, marm."
"If we can't pay you, the Lord will reward you."
"I am paid enough already. I hope you will get better, marm."
"I hope so. I feel better to-night than I have felt before for a week."
"Good night, marm! Good night, Katy!" And Harry hurried back to the stable.
"Where have you been, Harry?" asked Abner, when he entered the ostler's room.
"I have been out a little while."
"I know that. The old man wanted you; and when he couldn't find you, he was mad as thunder."
"Where is he?" said Harry, somewhat annoyed to find that, while he had been doing his duty in one direction, he had neglected his duty in another.
"In the counting room. You will catch fits for going off."
Whatever he should catch, he determined to "face the music," and left the room to find his employer.
Major Phillips was in the counting room, where Harry, dreading his anger, presented himself before him. His employer was a violent man. He usually acted first, and thought the matter over afterwards; so that he frequently had occasion to undo what had been done in haste and passion. His heart was kind, but his temper generally had the first word.
"So you have come, Harry," exclaimed he, as our hero opened the door. "Where have you been?"
"I have been out a little while," replied Harry, whose modesty rebelled at the idea of proclaiming the good deed he had done.
"Out a little while!" roared the major, with an oath that froze the boy's blood. "That is enough—enough, sir. You know I don't allow man or boy to leave the stable without letting me know it."
"I was wrong, sir; but I—"
"You little snivelling monkey, how dared you leave the stable?" continued the stable keeper, heedless of the boy's submission. "I'll teach you better than that."
"Will you?" said Harry, suddenly changing his tone, as his blood began to boil. "You can begin as quick as you like."
"You saucy young cub! I have a great mind to give you a cowhiding," thundered the enraged stable keeper.
"I should like to see you do it," replied Harry, fixing his eyes on the poker that lay on the floor near the stove.
"Should you, you impertinent puppy?"
The major sprang forward, as if to grasp the boy bythe collar; but Harry, with his eyes still fixed on the poker, retreated a pace or two, ready to act promptly when the decisive moment should come. Forgetting for the time that he had run away from one duty to attend to another, he felt indignant that he should be thus rudely treated for being absent a short time on an errand of love and charity. He gave himself too much credit for the good deed, and felt that he was a martyr to his philanthropic spirit. He was willing to bear all and brave all in a good cause; and it seemed to him, just then, as though he was being punished for assisting Joe Flint's family, instead of for leaving his place without permission. A great many persons who mean well are apt to think themselves martyrs for any good cause in which they may be engaged, when, in reality, their own want of tact, or the offensive manner in which they present their truth, is the stake at which they are burned.
"Keep off!" said Harry, his eyes flashing fire.
The major was so angry that he could do nothing; and while they were thus confronting each other, Joe Flint staggered into the counting room. Intoxicated as he was, he readily discovered the position of affairs between the belligerents.
"Look here—hic—Major Phillips," said he, reeling up to his employer, "I love you—hic—Major Phillips, like a—hic—like a brother, Major Phillips; but if you touch that boy, Major Phillips, I'll—hic—you touch me, Major Phillips. That's all."
"Go home, Joe," replied the stable keeper, his attention diverted from Harry to the new combatant. "You are drunk."
"I know I'm drunk, Major Phillips. I'm as drunk as a beast; but I ain't—hic—dead drunk. I know what I'm about."
"No, you don't. Go home."
"Yes, I dzoo. I'm a brute; I'm a hog; I'm a—dzwhat you call it? I'm a villain."
Joe tried to straighten himself up, and look at his employer; but he could not, and suddenly bursting into tears,he threw himself heavily into a chair, weeping bitterly in his inebriate paroxysm. He sobbed, and groaned, and talked incoherently. He acted strangely, and Major Phillips's attention was excited.
"What is the matter, Joe?" he asked; and his anger towards Harry seemed to have subsided.
"I tell you I am a villain, Major Phillips," blubbered Joe.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Haven't I been on a drunk, and left my family to starve and freeze?" groaned Joe, interlarding his speech with violent ebullitions of weeping. "Wouldn't my poor wife, and my poor children—O my God," and the poor drunkard covered his face with his hands, and sobbed like an infant.
"What is the matter? What do you mean, Joe?" asked Major Phillips, who had never seen him in this frame before.
"Wouldn't they all have died if Harry hadn't gone and fed 'em, and split up wood to warm 'em?"
As he spoke, Joe sprang up, and rushed towards Harry, and in his drunken frenzy attempted to embrace him.
"What does this mean, Harry?" said the stable keeper, turning to our hero, who, while Joe was telling his story, had been thinking of something else.
"What a fool I was to get mad!" thought he. "What would she say if she had seen me just now? Poor Julia! perhaps she is dead, even now."
"My folks would have died if it hadn't been for him," hiccoughed Joe.
"Explain it, Harry," added the major.
"The lame girl, Katy, came down here after her father early in the evening. She seemed to be in trouble and I thought I would go up and see what the matter was. I found them in rather a bad condition, without any wood or anything to eat. I did what I could for them, and came away," replied Harry.
"Give me your hand, Harry!" and the major grasped his hand like a vise. "You are a good fellow," he added, with an oath.
"Forgive me, Mr. Phillips, for saying what I did; I was mad," pleaded Harry.
"So was I, my boy; but we won't mind that. You are a good fellow, and I like your spunk. So you have really been taking care of Joe's family while he was off on a drunk?"
"I didn't do much, sir."
"Look here, Harry, and you, Major Phillips. When I get this rum out of me I'll never take another drop again," said Joe, throwing himself into a chair.
"Bah, Joe! You have said that twenty times before," added Major Phillips.
"You dzee!" exclaimed Joe, doubling his fist, and bringing it down with the intention of hitting the table by his side to emphasize his resolution; but, unfortunately, he missed the table—a circumstance which seemed to fore-shadow the fate of his resolve.
Joe proceeded to declare in his broken speech what a shock he had received when he went home, half an hour before—the first time for several days—and heard the reproaches of his suffering wife; how grateful he was to Harry, and what a villain he considered himself. Either the sufferings of his family, or the rum he had drunk, melted his heart, and he was as eloquent as his half-paralyzed tongue would permit. He was a pitiable object; and having assured himself that Joe's family were comfortable for the night, Major Phillips put him to bed in his own house.
Harry was not satisfied with himself; he had permitted his temper to get the better of him. He thought of Julia on her bed of suffering, wept for her, and repented for himself. That night he heard the clock on the Boylston market strike twelve before he closed his eyes to sleep.
The next day, while he was at work in the stable, a boy of about fifteen called to see him, and desired to speak with him alone. Harry, much wondering who his visitor was, and what he wanted, conducted him to the ostlers' chamber.
"You are Harry West?" the boy began.
"That is my name, for the want of a better," replied Harry.
"Then there is a little matter to be settled between you and me. You helped my folks out last night, and I want to pay you for it."
"Your folks?"
"My name is Edward Flint."
"Then you are Joe's son."
"I am," replied Edward, who did not seem to feel much honored by the relationship.
"Your folks were in a bad condition last night."
"That's a fact; they were."
"But I didn't know Joe had a son as old as you are."
"I am the oldest; but I don't live at home, and have not for three years. How much did you pay out for them last night?"
"One dollar and twenty cents."
"As much as that?"
"Just that."
Edward Flint manifested some uneasiness at the announcement. He had evidently come with a purpose, but had found things different from what he had expected.
"I didn't think it was so much."
"What matters how much?" asked Harry.
"Why, I want to pay you."
"You needn't mind that."
"The fact is, I have only three dollars just now; and I promised to go out to ride with a fellow next Sunday. So, you see, if I pay you, I shall not have enough left to foot the bills."
Harry looked at his visitor with astonishment; he did not know what to make of him. Was he in earnest? Would a son of Joseph Flint go out to ride—on Sunday, too—while his mother and his brothers and sisters were on the very brink of starvation? Our hero had some strange, old-fashioned notions of his own. For instance, he considered it a son's duty to take care of his mother, even if he were obliged to forego the Sunday ride; that he ought to do allhe could for his brothers and sisters, even if he had to go without stewed oysters, stay away from the theatre, and perhaps wear a little coarser cloth on his back. If Harry was unreasonable in his views, my young reader will remember that he was brought up in the country, where young America is not quite so "fast" as in the city.
"I didn't ask you to pay me," continued Harry.
"I know that; but, you see, I suppose I ought to pay you. The old man don't take much care of the family."
Harry wanted to say that the young man did not appear to do much better; but he was disposed to be as civil as the circumstances would permit.
"You needn't pay me."
"Oh, yes, I shall pay you; but if you can wait till the first of next month, I should like it."
"I can wait. Do you live out?"
"Live out? What do you mean by that? I am a clerk in a store downtown," replied Edward, with offended dignity.
"Oh, are you? Do they pay you well?"
"Pretty fair; I get five dollars a week."
"Five dollars a week! Thunder! I should think you did get paid pretty well!" exclaimed Harry, astonished at the vastness of the sum for a week's work.
"Fair salary," added Edward, complacently. "What are you doing here?"
"I work in the stable and about the house."
"That's mean business," said Mr. Flint, turning up his nose.
"It does very well."
"How much do you get?"
"Six dollars a month and perquisites."
"How much are the perquisites?"
"From one to two dollars a month."
"Humph! I wonder you stay here."
"It is as well as I can do."
"No, it isn't; why don't you go into a store? We want a boy in our store."
"Do you?"
"We do."
"How much do you pay?"
"We pay from two to four dollars a week."
"Can't you get me the place?" asked Harry, now much interested in his companion.
"Well, yes; perhaps I can."
"What should I have to do?"
"Make the fires, sweep out in the morning, go on errands, and such work. Boys must begin at the foot of the ladder. I began at the foot of the ladder," answered Mr. Flint, with an immense self-sufficiency, which Harry, however, failed to notice.
"I should like to get into a store."
"You will have a good chance to rise."
"I am willing to do anything, so that I can have a chance to get ahead."
"We always give boys a good chance."
Harry wanted that mysterious "we" defined. As it was, he was left to infer that Mr. Flint was a partner in the concern, unless the five dollars per week was an argument to the contrary; but he didn't like to ask strange questions, and desired to know whom "he worked for."
Edward Flint did not "work for" anybody. He was a clerk in the extensive dry goods establishment of the Messrs. Wake & Wade, which, he declared, was the largest concern in Boston; and one might further have concluded that Mr. Flint was the most important personage in the said concern.
Mr. Flint was obliged to descend from his lofty dignity, and compound the dollar and twenty cents with the stable boy by promising to get him the vacant place in the establishment of Wake & Wade, if his influence was sufficient to procure it. Harry was satisfied, and begged him not to distress himself about the debt. The visitor took his leave, promising to see him again the next day.
About noon Joe Flint appeared at the stable again, perfectly sober. Major Phillips had lent him ten dollars, inanticipation of his month's wages, and he had been home to attend to the comfort of his suffering family. After dinner he had a long talk with Harry, in which, after paying him the money disbursed on the previous evening, he repeated his solemn resolution to drink no more. He was very grateful to Harry, and hoped he should be able to do as much for him.
"Don't drink any more, Joe, and it will be the best day's work I ever did," added Harry.
"I never will, Harry—never!" protested Joe.
Mr. Edward Flint's reputation as a gentleman of honor and a man of his word suffered somewhat in Harry's estimation; for he waited all day, and all evening, without hearing a word from the firm of Wake & Wade. He had actually begun to doubt whether the accomplished young man had as much influence with the firm as he had led him to suppose. But his ambition would not permit him longer to be satisfied with the humble sphere of a stable boy; and he determined, if he did not hear from Edward, to apply for the situation himself.
The next day, having procured two hours' leave of absence from the stable, he called at the home of Joe Flint to obtain further particulars concerning Edward and his situation. He found the family in much better circumstances than at his previous visit. Mrs. Flint was sitting up, and was rapidly convalescing; Katy was busy and cheerful; and it seemed a different place from that to which he had been the messenger of hope and comfort two nights before.
They were very glad to see him, and poured forth their gratitude to him so eloquently that he was obliged to change the topic. Mrs. Flint was sure that her husband was an altered man. She had never before known him tobe so earnest and solemn in his resolutions to amend and lead a new life.
But when Harry alluded to Edward, both Katy and her mother suddenly grew red. They acknowledged that they had sent for him in their extremity, but that he did not come till the next morning, when the bounty of the stable boy had relieved them from the bitterness of want. The mother dropped a tear as she spoke of the wayward son; and Harry had not the heart to press the inquiries he had come to make.
After speaking as well as he dared to speak of Edward, he took his leave, and hastened to the establishment of Wake & Wade, to apply for the vacant place. He had put on his best clothes, and his appearance this time was very creditable.
Entering the store, he inquired for Edward Flint; and that gentleman was summoned to receive him.
"Hallo, Harry West!" said Edward, when he recognized his visitor. "I declare I forgot all about you."
"I thought likely," replied Harry, willing to be very charitable to the delinquent.
"The fact is, we have been so busy in the store I haven't had time to call on you, as I promised."
"Never mind, now. Is the place filled?"
"No."
"I am glad to hear that. Do you think there is any chance for me?"
"Well, I don't know. I will do what I can for you."
"Thank you, Edward."
"Wait here a moment till I speak with one of the partners."
The clerk left him, and was absent but a moment, when Harry was summoned to the private room of Mr. Wake. The gentleman questioned him for a few moments, and seemed to be pleased with his address and his frankness. The result of the interview was that our hero was engaged at a salary of three dollars a week, though it was objected to him that he had no parents residing in the city.
"I thought I could fix it," said Edward, complacently, as they left the counting room.
"I am much obliged to you, Edward," replied Harry, willing to humor his new friend. "Now I want to get a place to board."
"That is easy enough."
"Where do you board?"
"In Green Street."
"How much do you pay a week?"
"Two dollars and a half."
"I can't pay that."
"Well, I suppose you can't."
"I was thinking of something just now. Suppose we should both board with your mother."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"What, in a ten-footer!" exclaimed Edward, starting back with astonishment and indignation at the proposal.
"Why not? If it is good enough for your mother, isn't it good enough for you?"
"Humph! I'll bet it won't suit me."
"We can fix up a room to suit ourselves, you know. And it will be much cheaper for both of us."
"That, indeed; but the idea of boarding with the old man is not to be thought of."
"I should think you would like to be with your mother and your brothers and sisters."
"Not particular about it."
"Better think of it, Edward."
The clerk promised to think about it, but did not consider it very probable that he should agree to the proposition.
Harry returned to the stable, and immediately notified Major Phillips of his intention to leave his service. As may be supposed, the stable keeper was sorry to lose him; but he did not wish to stand in the way of his advancement. He paid him his wages, adding a gift of five dollars, and kindly permitted him to leave at once, as he desired toprocure a place to board, and to acquaint himself with the localities of the city, so that he could discharge his duty the more acceptably to his new employers.
The ostlers, too, were sorry to part with him—particularly Joe Flint, whose admiration of our hero was unbounded. In their rough and honest hearts they wished him well. They had often made fun of his good principles; often laughed at him for refusing to pitch cents in the back yard on Sunday, and for going to church instead; often ridiculed him under the name of "Little Pious"; still they had a great respect for him. They who are "persecuted for righteousness' sake"—who are made fun of because they strive to do right—are always sure of victory in the end. They may be often tried, but sooner or later they shall triumph.
After dinner, he paid another visit to Mrs. Flint, in Avery Street. He opened his proposition to board in her family, to which she raised several objections, chief of which was that she had no room. The plan was more favorably received by Katy; and she suggested that they could hire the little apartment upstairs, which was used as a kind of lumber room by the family in the other part of the house.
Her mother finally consented to the arrangement, and it became necessary to decide upon the terms, for Harry was a prudent manager, and left nothing to be settled afterwards. He then introduced the project he had mentioned to Edward; and Mrs. Flint thought she could board them both for three dollars a week, if they could put up with humble fare. Harry declared that he was not "difficult," though he could not speak for Edward.
Our hero was delighted with the success of his scheme, and only wished that Edward had consented to the arrangement; but the next time he saw him, somewhat to his surprise, the clerk withdrew his objections, and entered heartily into the scheme.
"You see, Harry, I shall make a dollar a week—fifty-two dollars a year—by the arrangement," said Edward, after he had consented.
He evidently considered that some apology was due from him for condescending from the social dignity of his position in the Green Street boarding house to the humble place beneath his mother's roof.
"Certainly you will; and that is a great deal of money," replied Harry.
"It will pay my theatre tickets, and for a ride once a month besides."
"For what?" asked Harry, astonished at his companion's theory of economy.
Edward repeated his statement.
"Why don't you save your money?"
"Save it? What is the use of that? I mean to have a good time while I can."
"You never will be a rich man."
"I'll bet I will."
"You could give your mother and Katy a great many nice things with that money."
"Humph! The old man must take care of them. It is all I can do to take care of myself."
"If I had a mother, and brothers and sisters, I should be glad to spend all I got in making them happy," sighed Harry.
On the following Monday morning, Harry went to his new place. He was in a strange position. All was untried and unfamiliar. Even the language of the clerks and salesmen was strange to him; and he was painfully conscious of the deficiencies of his education and of his knowledge of business. He was prompt, active and zealous; yet his awkwardness could not be concealed. The transition from the stable to the store was as great as from a hovel to a palace. He made a great many blunders. Mr. Wake laughed at him; Mr. Wade swore at him; and all the clerks made him the butt of their mirth or their ill nature, just as they happened to feel.
What seemed to him worse than all, Edward Flint joined the popular side, and laughed and swore with the rest. Poor Harry was almost discouraged before dinner time, and began very seriously to consider whether he had not entirely mistaken his calling. Dinner, however, seemed to inspire him with new courage and new energy; and he hastened back to the store, resolved to try again.
The shop was crowded with customers; and partners and clerks hallooed "Harry" till he was so confused that he hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his heels. It was, Come here, Go there, Bring this, Bring that; but in spite of laugh and curse, of push and kick, he persevered, suiting nobody, least of all himself.
It was a long day, a very long day; but it came to an end at last. Our hero had hardly strength enough left to put up the shutters. His legs ached, his head ached, and, worst of all, his heart ached at the manifest failure of his best intentions. He thought of going to the partners, and asking them whether they thought he was fit for the place; but he finally decided to try again for another day, and dragged himself home to rest his weary limbs.
He and Edward had taken possession of their room at Joe Flint's house that morning; and on their arrival they found that Katy had put everything in excellent order for their reception. Harry was too much fatigued and disheartened to have a very lively appreciation of the comforts of his new home; but Edward, notwithstanding the descent he had made, was in high spirits. He even declared that the room they were to occupy was better than his late apartments in Green Street.
"Do you think I shall get along with my work, Edward?" asked Harry, gloomily, after they had gone to bed.
"Why not?"
"Everybody in the store has kicked and cuffed me, swore at and abused me, till I feel like a jelly."
"Oh, never mind that; they always do so with a green one. They served me just so when I first went into business."
"Did they?"
"Fact. One must live and learn."
"It seemed to me just as though I never could suit them."
"Pooh! Don't be blue about it."
"I can't help it, I know I did not suit them."
"Yes, you did."
"What made them laugh at me and swear at me, then?"
"That is the fashion; you must talk right up to them. If they swear at you, swear at them back again—that is, the clerks and salesmen. If they give you any 'lip,' let 'em have as good as they send."
"I don't want to do that."
"Must do it, Harry. 'Live and learn' is my motto. When you go among the Romans, do as the Romans do."
Harry did not like this advice; for he who, among the Romans, would do as the Romans do, among hogs would do as the hogs do.
"If I only suit them, I don't care."
"You do; I heard Wake tell Wade that you were a first-rate boy."
"Did you?" And Harry's heart swelled with joy to think that, in spite of his trials, he had actually triumphed in the midst of them.
So he dropped the subject, with the resolution to redouble his exertions to please his employers the next day, and turned his thoughts to Julia Bryant, to wonder if she were still living, or had become an angel indeed.
The next evening Harry was conscious of having gained a little in the ability to discharge his novel duties. Either the partners and the clerks had become tired of swearing and laughing at him, or he had made a decided improvement,for less fault was found with him, and his position was much more satisfactory. With a light heart he put up the shutters; for though he was very much fatigued, the prestige of future success was so cheering that he scarcely heeded his weary, aching limbs.
Every day was an improvement on the preceding day, and before the week was out Harry found himself quite at home in his new occupation. He was never a moment behind the time at which he was required to be at the store in the morning. This promptness was specially noted by the partners; for when they came to their business in the morning they found the store well warmed, the floor nicely swept, and everything put in order.
When he was sent out with bundles he did not stop to look at the pictures in the shop windows, to play marbles or tell long stories to other boys in the streets. If his employers had even been very unreasonable, they could not have helped being pleased with the new boy, and Wake confidentially assured Wade that they had got a treasure.
Our hero was wholly devoted to his business. He intended to make a man of himself, and he could only accomplish his purpose by constant exertion, by constant study and constant "trying again." He was obliged to keep a close watch over himself, for often he was tempted to be idle and negligent, to be careless and indifferent.
After supper, on Thursday evening of his second week at Wake & Wade's, he hastened to Major Phillips' stable to see John Lane, and obtain the news from Rockville. His heart beat violently when he saw John's great wagon, for he dreaded some fearful announcement from his sick friend. He had not before been so deeply conscious of his indebtedness to the little angel as now, when she lay upon the bed of pain, perhaps of death. She had kindled in his soul a love for the good and the beautiful. She had inspired him with a knowledge of the difference between the right and the wrong. In a word, she was the guiding star of his existence. Her approbation was the bright guerdon of fidelity to truth and principle.
"How is Julia?" asked Harry, without giving John time to inquire why he had left the stable.
"They think she is a little grain better."
"Then she is still living?" continued Harry, a great load of anxiety removed from his soul.
"She is; but it is very doubtful how it will turn. I went in to see her yesterday, and she spoke of you."
"Spoke of me?"
"She said she should like to see you."
"I should like to see her very much."
"Her father told me, if you was a mind to go up to Rockville, he would pay your expenses."
"I don't mind the expenses. I will go, if I can get away."
"Her father feels very bad about it. Julia is an only child, and he would do anything in the world to please her."
"I will go and see the gentlemen I work for, and if they will let me, I will go with you to-morrow morning."
"Better take the stage; you will get there so much quicker."
"I will do so, then."
Harry returned home to ascertain of Edward where Mr. Wake lived, and hastened to see him. That gentleman, however, coldly assured him if he went to Rockville he must lose his place—they could not get along without a boy. In vain Harry urged that he should be gone but two days; the senior was inflexible.
"What shall I do?" said he to himself, when he got into the street again. "Mr. Wake says she is no relation of mine, and he don't see why I should go. Poor Julia! She may die, and I shall never see her again. I must go."
It did not require a great deal of deliberation to convince himself that it was his duty to visit the sick girl. She had been a true friend to him, and he could afford to sacrifice his place to procure her even a slight gratification. Affection and duty called him one way, self-interest the other. If he did not go, he should regret it as long as he lived. Perhaps Mr. Wake would take him again on hisreturn; if not, he could at least go to work in the stable again.
"Edward, I am going to Rockville to-morrow," he remarked to his "chum," on his return to Mrs. Flint's.
"The old man agreed to it, then? I thought he wouldn't. He never will let a fellow off even for a day."
"He did not; but I must go."
"Better not, then. He will discharge you, for he is a hard nut."
"I must go," repeated Harry, taking a candle, and going up to their chamber.
"You have got more spunk than I gave you credit for; but you are sure of losing your place," replied Edward, following him upstairs.
"I can't help it."
Harry opened a drawer in the old broken bureau in the room, and from beneath his clothes took out the great pill box which served him for a savings bank.
"You have got lots of money," remarked Edward, as he glanced at the contents of the box.
"Not much; only twelve dollars," replied Harry, taking out three of them to pay his expenses to Rockville.
"You won't leave that box there, will you, while you are gone?"
"Why not?"
"Somebody may steal it."
"I guess not. I can hide it, though, before I go."
"Better do so."
Harry took his money and went to a bookstore in Washington Street, where he purchased an appropriate present for Julia, for which he gave half a dollar. On his return, he wrote her name in it, with his own as the giver. Then the safety of his money came up for consideration; and this matter was settled by raising a loose board in the floor and depositing the pill box in a secure place. He had scarcely done so before Edward joined him.
Our hero did not sleep much that night. He was not altogether satisfied with the step he was about to take.It was not doing right by his employers; but he compromised the matter in part by engaging Edward, "for a consideration," to make the fires and sweep out the next morning.
At noon, on the following day, he reached Rockville, and hastened to the house of Mr. Bryant.
"How is she?" he asked, breathless with interest, of the girl who answered his knock.
"She is better to-day. Are you the boy from Boston?"
"Yes. Do they think she will get well?"
"The doctor has more hope of her."
"I am very glad to hear it."
Harry was conducted into the house, and Mr. Bryant was informed of his presence.
"I am glad you have come, Harry. Julia is much better to-day," said her father, taking him by the hand. "She has frequently spoken of you during her illness, and feels a very strong interest in your welfare."
"She was very good to me. I don't know what would have become of me if she had not been a friend to me."
"That is the secret of her interest in you. We love those best whom we serve most. She is asleep now; but you shall see her as soon as she wakes. In the meantime you had better have your dinner."
Mr. Bryant looked very pale, and his eyes were reddened with weeping. Harry saw how much he had suffered during the last fortnight; but it seemed natural to him that he should suffer terribly at the thought of losing one so beautiful and precious as the little angel.
He dined alone with Mr. Bryant, for Mrs. Bryant could not leave the couch of the little sufferer. The fond father could speak of nothing but Julia, and more than once the tears flooded his eyes, as he told Harry how meek and patient she had been through the fever, how loving she was, and how resigned even to leave her parents, and go to the heavenly Parent, to dwell with Him forever.
Harry wept, too; and after dinner he almost feared to enter the chamber, and behold the wreck which disease hadmade of this bright and beautiful form. Removing the wrapper from the book he had brought—a volume of sweet poems, entitled "Angel Songs"—he followed Mr. Bryant into the sick girl's chamber.
"Ah, Harry, I am delighted to see you!" exclaimed she, in a whisper, for her diseased throat rendered articulation difficult and painful.
"I am sorry to see you so sick, Julia," replied Harry, taking the wasted hand she extended to him.
"I am better, Harry. I feel as though I should get well now."
"I hope you will."
"You don't know how much I have thought of you while I lay here; how I wished you were my brother, and could come in every day and see me," she continued, with a faint smile.
"I wish I could."
"Now tell me how you get along in Boston."
"Very well; but your father says I must not talk much with you now. I have brought you a little book," and he placed it in her hand.
"How good you are, Harry! 'Angel Songs.' How pretty! Now, Harry, you must read me one of the angel songs."
"I will; but I can't read very well," said he, as he opened the volume.
But he did read exceedingly well. The piece he selected was a very pretty and a very touching little song; and Harry's feelings were so deeply moved by the pathetic sentiments of the poem and their adaptation to the circumstances of the case, that he was quite eloquent.
When he had finished, Mrs. Bryant interfered to prevent further conversation; and Julia, though she had a great deal to say to her young friend, cheerfully yielded to her mother's wishes, and Harry reluctantly left the room.
Towards night he was permitted to see her again, when he read several of the angel songs to her, and gave her a brief account of the events of his residence in Boston. Shewas pleased with his earnestness, and smiled approvingly upon him for the moral triumphs he had achieved. The reward of all his struggles with trial and temptation was lavishly bestowed in her commendation, and if fidelity had not been its own reward, he could have accepted her approval as abundant compensation for all he had endured. There was no silly sentiment in Harry's composition; he had read no novels, seen no plays, knew nothing of romance even "in real life." The homage he yielded to the fair and loving girl was an unaffected reverence for simple purity and goodness; that which the True Heart and the True Life never fail to call forth whenever they exert their power.
On the following morning, Julia's condition was very much improved, and the physician spoke confidently of a favorable issue. Harry was permitted to spend an hour by her bedside, inhaling the pure spirit that pervaded the soul of the sick one. She was so much better that her father proposed to visit the city, to attend to some urgent business, which had been long deferred by her illness; and an opportunity was thus afforded for Harry to return.
Mr. Bryant drove furiously in his haste, changing horses twice on the journey, so that they reached the city at one o'clock. On their arrival, Harry's attention naturally turned to the reception he expected to receive from his employers. He had not spoken of his relations with them at Rockville, preferring not to pain them, on the one hand, and not to take too much credit to himself for his devotion to Julia, on the other. After the horse was disposed of at Major Phillips's stable, Mr. Bryant walked down town with Harry; and when they reached the store of Wake & Wade, he entered with him.
"What have you come back for?" asked the senior partner, rather coldly, when he saw the delinquent. "We don't want you."
Harry was confused at this reception, though it was not unexpected.
"I didn't know but that you might be willing to take me again."
"No, we don't want you. Ah, Mr. Bryant! Happy to see you," continued Mr. Wake, recognizing Harry's friend.
"Did I understand you aright? Did you say that you did not want my young friend, here?" replied Mr. Bryant, taking the offered hand of Mr. Wake.
"I did say so," said the senior. "I was not aware that he was your friend, though," and he proceeded to inform Mr. Bryant that Harry had left them against their wish.
"A few words with you, if you please."
Mr. Wake conducted him to the private office, where they remained for half an hour.
"It is all right, Harry," continued Mr. Wake, on their return. "I did not understand the matter."
"Thank you, sir!" ejaculated our hero, rejoiced to find his place was still secure. "I would not have gone if I could possibly have helped it."
"You did right, my boy, and I honor you for your courage and constancy."
Mr. Bryant bade him an affectionate adieu, promising to write to him often until Julia recovered, and then departed.
With a grateful heart Harry immediately resumed his duties, and the partners were probably as glad to retain him as he was to remain.
At night, when he went to his chamber, he raised the loose board to get the pill box, containing his savings, in order to return the money he had not expended. To his consternation, he discovered that it was gone!
It was in vain that Harry searched beneath the broken floor for his lost treasure; it could not be found. He raised the boards up, and satisfied himself that it had not slippedaway into any crevice, or fallen through into the room below; and the conclusion was inevitable that the box had been stolen.
Who could have done it? The mystery confused Harry, for he was certain that no one had seen him deposit the box beneath the floor. No one except Edward even knew that he had any money. He was sure that neither Mrs. Flint nor Katy would have stolen it; and he was not willing to believe that his room-mate would be guilty of such a mean and contemptible act.
He tried to assure himself that it had not been stolen—that it was still somewhere beneath the floor; and he pulled up another board, to resume the search. He had scarcely done so before Edward joined him.
"What are you about, Harry?" he asked, apparently very much astonished at his chum's occupation. "Are you going to pull the house down?"
"Not exactly. You know my pill box?" replied Harry, suspending operations to watch Edward's expression when he told him of his loss.
"The one you kept your money in?"
"Yes. Well, it is gone."
"Gone!" exclaimed Edward, starting back with surprise.
"It is either lost or stolen."
"What did you do with it?"
"Put it here, under this loose board."
"It must be there now, then. I will help you find it."
Edward manifested a great deal of enthusiasm in the search. He was sure it must be where Harry had put it, or that it had rolled back out of sight; and he began tearing up the floor with a zeal that threatened the destruction of the building. But the box could not be found, and they were obliged to abandon the search.
"Too bad, Harry."
"That is a fact; I can't spare that money, anyhow. I have been a good while earning it, and it is too thundering bad to lose it."
"I don't understand it," continued Edward.
"Nor I either," replied Harry, looking his companion sharp in the eye. "No one knew I had it but you."
"Do you mean to say I stole it?" exclaimed Edward, doubling his fist, while his cheek reddened with anger.
"I don't say so."
"Humph! Well, you better not!"
"Don't get mad, Edward. I didn't mean to lay it to you."
"Didn't you?" And Edward was very glad to have the matter compromised.
"I did not; perhaps I spoke hastily. You know how hard I worked for this money; and it seems hard to lose it. But no matter; I will try again."
Mrs. Flint and Katy were much grieved when Harry told of his loss. They looked as though they suspected Edward, but said nothing, for it was very hard to accuse a son or a brother of such a crime.
Mrs. Flint advised Harry to put his money in the savings bank in future, promising to take care of his spare funds till they amounted to five dollars, which was then the smallest sum that would be received. It was a long time before our hero became reconciled to his loss. He had made up his mind to be a rich man; and he had carefully hoarded every cent he could spare, thus closely imitating the man who got rich by saving his fourpences.
A few days after the loss he was reading in one of Katy's Sunday school books about a miser. The wretch was held up as a warning to young folks by showing them how he starved his body and soul for the sake of gold.
"That's why I lost my money!" exclaimed Harry, as he laid the book upon the window.
"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Katy, who sat near him.
"I have been hoarding up my money just like this old man in the book."
"You are not a miser, Harry. You couldn't be mean and stingy if you tried."
"Yes, I could. I love money."
"So does everybody."
"A miser wouldn't do what you did for us, Harry," added Mrs. Flint. "We ought to be careful and saving."
"I have been thinking too much of money. After all, perhaps it was just as well that I lost that money."
"I am sorry you lost it; for I don't think there is any danger of your becoming a miser," said Katy.
"Perhaps not; at any rate, it has set me to thinking."
Harry finished the book; and it was, fortunately, just such a work as he required to give him right and proper views in regard to the value of wealth. His dream of being a rich man was essentially modified by these views; and he renewedly resolved that it was better to be a good man than a rich man, if he could not be both. It seemed to him a little remarkable that the minister should preach upon this very topic on the following Sunday, taking for his text the words, "Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven and all these things shall be added unto you." He was deeply impressed by the sermon, probably because it was on a subject to which he had given some attention.
A few days after his return from Rockville, Harry received a very cheerful letter from Mr. Bryant, to which Julia had added a few lines in a postscript. The little angel was rapidly recovering, and our hero was rejoiced beyond expression. The favorable termination of her illness was a joy which far outbalanced the loss of his money, and he was as cheerful and contented as ever. As he expressed it, in rather homely terms, he had got "the streak of fat and the streak of lean." Julia was alive; was to smile upon him again; was still to inspire him with that love of goodness which had given her such an influence over him.
Week after week passed by, and Harry heard nothing of his lost treasure; but Julia had fully recovered, and for the treasure lost an incomparably greater treasure had been gained. Edward and himself continued to occupy the same room, though ever since the loss of the money box Harry's chum had treated him coldly. There had never been muchsympathy between them; for while Edward was at the theatre, or perhaps at worse places, Harry was at home, reading some good book, writing a letter to Rockville, or employed in some other worthy occupation. While Harry was at church or at the Sunday school, Edward, in company with some dissolute companion, was riding about the adjacent country.
Mrs. Flint often remonstrated with her son upon the life he led, and the dissipated habits he was contracting; and several times Harry ventured to introduce the subject. Edward, however, would not hear a word from either. It is true that we either grow better or worse, as we advance in life; and Edward Flint's path was down a headlong steep. His mother wept and begged him to be a better boy. He only laughed at her.
Harry often wondered how he could afford to ride out and visit the theatre and other places of amusement so frequently. His salary was only five dollars a week now; it was only four when he had said it was five. He seemed to have money at all times, and to spend it very freely. He could not help believing that the contents of his pill box had paid for some of the "stews" and "Tom and Jerrys" which his reckless chum consumed. But the nine dollars he had lost would have been but a drop in the bucket compared with his extravagant outlays.
One day, about six months after Harry's return from Rockville, as he was engaged behind the counter, a young man entered the store and accosted him.
"Halloo, Harry! How are you?"
It was a familiar voice; and, to Harry's surprise, but not much to his satisfaction, he recognized his old companion, Ben Smart, who, he had learned from Mr. Bryant, had been sent to the house of correction for burning Squire Walker's barn.
"How do you do, Ben?" returned Harry, not very cordially.
"So you are here—are you?"
"Yes, I have been here six months."
"Good place?"
"First rate."
"Any chance for me?"
"No, I guess not."
"You have got a sign out for a boy, I see."
It was true they had. There were more errands to run than one boy could attend to; besides, Harry had proved himself so faithful and so intelligent, that Mr. Wake wished to retain him in the store, to fit him for a salesman.
"You can speak a good word for me, Harry; for I should like to work here," continued Ben.
"I thought you were in—in the—"
Harry did not like to use the offensive expression, and Ben's face darkened when he discovered what the other was going to say.
"Not a word about that," said he. "If you ever mention that little matter, I'll take your life."
"But how was it?"
"My father got me out, and then I ran away. Not a word more, for I had as lief be hung for an old sheep as a lamb."
"There is Mr. Wake; you can apply to him," continued Harry.
Ben walked boldly up to Mr. Wake, and asked for the place. The senior talked with him a few moments, and then retired to his private office, calling Harry as he entered.
"If you say anything, I will be the death of you," whispered Ben, as Harry passed him on his way to the office.
Our hero was not particularly pleased with these threats; he certainly was not frightened by them.
"Do you know that boy, Harry?" asked Mr. Wake, as he presented himself before the senior.