"O brother!" remonstrated Ella, "how wicked to talk so."
Harrison held up his head, and gave one lightning glance of indignation into the face of the ill-natured boy. There was truth, honesty, and wounded feeling in the expressive countenance; and both Mr. and Mrs. Haven grew every moment more interested in the young lad.
"You have a good mother, I know," added the gentleman, in whose mind arose a suspicion of the truth. "Ella has told us about her, and so Mrs. Haven has prepared a present for her."
The little girl brought carefully on her outstretched hand, from the next room, a neat bonnet, tastefully trimmed.
"Thank you, oh, thank you, ma'am!" exclaimed the boy, with a look of unmistakable gratitude. "How pleased mother will be. Shall I take it now, ma'am?"
"Yes! Are you going directly home? Bring me the box, Ella."
After again expressing his pleasure in a low voice to the child, Harrison took the bandbox, and, passing through the kitchen, obtained his basket, and ran all the way home.
IT was nothing unusual for Harrison to see a company of men standing idly at the door of the block in which his father hired three rooms; but as he ran joyfully up the steps he thought their manner strangely subdued, as they stood solemnly aside to let him pass. On the first floor a woman who had always been kind to him suddenly came out of her apartment and pulled him in.
"Poor child!" said she, "trouble has come to your mother. I couldn't bear to let you go by and not speak a word to comfort your dear heart."
"What is it? where is mother?" he asked, wildly rushing up the stairs.
Oh, what a sad sight presented itself to his view! Stretched on the cherry table, at which he had so often eaten, lay the insensible body of his father, bloated and disfigured so as scarcely to be recognized, except by those who loved him so well.
With one dreadful shriek of agony Harrison sprang past the lifeless form, and sank down at his mother's feet.
Who shall dare to describe the anguish of that torn and bleeding heart? She sat there alone with her dead, her form rigid, her eyes strained and fixed upon that poor remnant of humanity. She caught her breath at long intervals, and with great effort; while her hands were still clutching the papers which had been the means of informing the authorities of the name and residence of the deceased.
The entrance of her son slightly roused her. She turned her eyes upon him with, oh! so sorrowful a glance, and taking his head between her hands as he sat on the floor before her, moaned piteously. "O God! forgive me that I scarce know how to pray for myself, when prayer for him can no longer avail. Be present with me in this dreadful hour. Support me, Lord, or I shall sink under my heavy load of grief." She then burst out, "Oh that I could have seen him once more! Oh that I could have entreated him to prepare to meet his God!"
Here her sobs convulsed her whole body and Harrison becoming frightened at the violence of her grief, started to his feet, crying, "Mother, dear mother, don't cry so!" Just then the door opened, and the clergyman of whose church she was a member entered.
The good man afterwards described the hour which followed as one of the most trying of his life. But I must not linger upon this afflicting scene. By the liberality of the church to which she belonged, all the arrangements were made for a decent funeral of the deceased; and the poor widow buried her dead out of her sight, forever.
The same charitable hands also provided a suit of plain mourning for Mrs. Danforth and for her son, and promised to be responsible for her rent until she could decide upon her future course of life and make arrangements for their support.
As it was now some time since her husband had aided in the support of the family, Mrs. Danforth thought it no risk to retain the rooms she at present hired, and, with the aid of her son, to endeavor to meet her expenses by vest-making.
The affliction with which she had been visited had brought her into connection with some of the church, hitherto unknown, and their ready sympathy was a cordial to her sorrowing heart.
Harrison returned to his work at the hotel, but found that Mr. Haven had gone, with his family, to the country.
Month after month glided away, until it was nearly time for the fall term of the city schools to commence. Our little hero intended to present himself among the earliest pupils. He longed for the time when he should again be busy with his books and slate. During the summer Mrs. Danforth found it difficult to obtain work, so many persons were out of the city, and at length consented to the wishes of one of her new friends that she should go into a family as nurse. Her only objection to this was that it would deprive her son of a home, which she considered of the first importance to him at his tender age. But, as she was able to obtain permission for him to pass his evenings in the family of one of the neighbors in whom she had confidence, the difficulty was relieved. He had, for some time, been considered a regular boarder at the hotel, where, since his father's death, he had been more than ever a favorite.
At this period Mrs. Danforth had been in three families, had given entire satisfaction, and now her services were eagerly sought.
She still retained one room in the tenement she formerly occupied, and had returned to it only the previous day, when Harrison came home in the middle of the afternoon to inform her that Mr. Haven had returned from the country, and that Ella was dangerously ill. The poor boy was very much excited by the sad news, and had prevailed upon one of the chamber-girls to go and recommend his mother as nurse, hearing they had difficulty in obtaining one. Harrison was accordingly summoned to the chamber, and on being questioned gave references to the places where she had nursed, and now he expected they would come for her.
Mrs. Danforth told him she had no immediate engagement, but thought it doubtful whether she should be summoned. Indeed, she hoped not. She dreaded exceedingly the publicity of a hotel.
When Mr. Haven called, however, she could not resist his pleading for her to go and take care of his darling child, nor the silent entreaty of Harrison's glistening eyes; and in another hour she was an inmate of the large public house.
Poor little Ella had been seriously ill only three days, but her flesh was all wasted away, and her large, earnest eyes were so protruded that they formed the prominent features of her face. Her fever ran very high, and rendered her delirious when she first awoke. At other times she was conscious of all that occurred around her.
Mrs. Haven took advantage of a moment when she was free from pain, and introduced the new nurse, knowing it would give the child so much pleasure.
Ella smiled a faint, wan smile, and presently whispered, "Is your boy sorry I'm sick?"
"Yes, indeed," answered nurse. "He could not rest until I came to take care of you."
"He came to the door, my darling," added the lady, "and begged us to send for his mother."
The child smiled again, and seemed satisfied, and soon sunk into a quiet sleep.
Two days more and there seemed scarcely a hope that the dear little girl could recover. Her parents, worn out with their previous watching and with the corroding care which filled their breasts grew more and more desponding every time the physician called. Nurse alone maintained her belief that the disease had abated, and that only nourishment and tender care were needed, to restore her to health. She pointed out the favorable symptoms to the physician, who allowed her to try the effect of a spoonful of chicken tea. She went to the kitchen, being unwilling to trust any one but herself to make it. The experiment was attended with perfect success; and the grateful parents could not sufficiently express their thanks. From this time the emaciated form began to resume some faint resemblance to its former self. In three weeks from Mrs. Danforth's entrance to the sick-chamber, the doctor said they had no more need of him; adding, as he gave his hand, at parting, to the faithful nurse, "Under God, the child owes her life to your watchful care. If there were more nurses like you, fewer doctors would be required."
"It is pleasant to cooperate with a true man," was her smiling reply.
After this, whenever Dr.— was asked to recommend a nurse, he had but one reply: "Get Mrs. Danforth, if you can."
All this time poor Harrison had embraced every opportunity to steal softly up stairs and wait at the door of number five until some one came out from whom he could learn about the patient. Now he often caught a glimpse of his mother as she passed through the kitchen, and one day she told him if he would come up to the door of the sick-room, she would invite him in to see his young favorite.
Ella was seated in a large chair, pillows being placed around her to keep her upright, when he entered. His mother had told him she was very much better, almost well; but when he saw her pale, thin face, resting upon her little hand, in which every vein was clearly visible, he stood motionless with surprise and disappointment.
The little girl gazed earnestly in his face, and then, after waiting a moment for him to speak, Ella said, "Why, Harrison I thought you'd be glad to see me; but you seem real sorry."
"I didn't know you'd been so very sick," faltered the boy. "I'm afraid you never will be well enough to go out on the shed."
Ella laughed right merrily. It was a happy sound for her mother to hear. She had not laughed audibly before since she was ill.
"I'm going to school next week," rejoined Harrison.
"Alfred has gone to school again," she said.
"Has he? Well, I must bid you goodbye."
"Will you come again?"
"If mother thinks it won't hurt you; and I'll bring you a little mite of a top, that you can spin in your fingers right in your chair."
DURING the sickness and convalescence of their child, Mr. and Mrs. Haven became so much interested in the nurse, that they determined if she would accept the situation of housekeeper in their family, to take a house for the winter, as they had long wished to do. They knew that she was exceedingly unwilling to be separated from Harrison; and, as they intended to offer him a home, they were sure this would be a great inducement for her to consent.
This arrangement was happily accomplished, and Mrs. Danforth was delighted to acknowledge that she owed so comfortable a home to the industry and good conduct of her son.
Harrison went regularly to school; but when at home he was always ready to do anything in the family, and rendered himself so important a part of the household, that Mr. Haven often declared he did not know how they could do without him.
Alfred, as I have already mentioned, was at boarding-school about twenty miles from the city.
His teachers had more than once notified his father, that unless he would comply with the rules of the house and of the school, he must be dismissed. Mr. Haven had plead with them to allow him to remain, as he knew the discipline would be of great service to the boy. He also used all the influence he possessed with the wayward lad, threatening unless he would yield to authority to deprive him of his allowance and other indulgences.
Alfred promised to amend; but before the first half of the term had expired, he was expelled, one of the ushers being sent with him, in disgrace to his father.
If Harrison had not cherished so great a dislike to the character of this boy, Mrs. Danforth would have felt that she must remove him from the house, so debasing did she consider Alfred's influence. Indeed, his impudence and contempt of authority was so trying to his parents that they could hardly endure the annoyance of his presence. Too late they learned that unlimited indulgence, without parental restraint, so far from making a child happy, only produces misery for himself, and for all those connected with him.
Finding Harrison so much of a favorite with his parents and sister, Alfred took every opportunity of insulting the boy, sneering at him for being obliged to labor when out of school, often boasting that he had never done an hour's work in his life.
On one of these occasions Mr. Haven was an unseen witness of the treatment to which Harrison was subjected. The boy was blacking a pair of boots, and whistling merrily at his work.
"Blackey, take that!" cried Alfred, giving him a kick. "You ought to have a sign out, 'Shoes and whistling done here to order.' I suppose you expect father to set you up in business that way; buy you a stand and half a dozen bottles of 'Day & Martin.'"
At first, Harrison seemed inclined to return the kick by a blow upon the face of Alfred with the boot which was stretched on his arm; but, checking himself, went on whistling louder than before. Alfred grew irritated; and, calling his companion by some of the vilest names he could string together, he started forward to strike him, when his uplifted arm was seized firmly by his father.
"Filthy boy!" he exclaimed, in great anger, "for once you shall feel the power of the rod." He then commanded Harrison to go for his horsewhip; and, notwithstanding the violent struggles of his child, administered a sound chastisement. Then, after consulting with his wife, he set out at once in search of a gentleman who had recommended a situation for his son.
Back of the dining-hall was a small apartment which Mrs. Haven called the housekeeper's room. In this apartment the mother and son could be as retired as in their own home. There, after the duties of the day were ended, Harrison sat with his books and slate, busy with his school lessons, or receiving instruction from his mother. Occasionally a timid knock announced the coming of Ella, who liked nothing better than to sit by the side of her old nurse and listen to her words of advice to her boy.
Mrs. Danforth seldom spoke of her husband, and seemed generally cheerful and happy; but, one evening when Harrison went to her room, he found her weeping bitterly. She had been allowing herself the luxury of looking over some letters received from her husband just before their marriage, and this had brought the trials of her wedded, life most forcibly to mind.
"My dear boy," said she, trying to compose herself, "I have long been considering whether you were old enough to profit by the story of your father's life. While you remember so vividly the scenes connected with his last days, I would impress upon you the cause of all his—" she hesitated— "of all, I mean, that is painful for us to think of. Your father, as perhaps you know, was an only child. His mother loved him so fondly that she could not bear the thought of his enduring any hardship. His father was an industrious man, and wished his son to be taught to work. He used to set him a daily task before he went to his own toil; but the boy would cry that it was too hard for him; that he could not handle the axe, it was so heavy; that the hoeing made his back ache; and so his too indulgent mother performed the work for him, in addition to her own hard labor. Many and many a time did she split and pile the wood her husband supposed had been done by his son, while he passed the hours in idleness or in play. As he grew up, and this could no longer be concealed from his father, he complained of want of strength to do hard work, and begged to be placed in a store in the village. Here he prided himself upon being dressed better than any boy in town; and his frank, handsome face and funny jokes caused him to be liked by all. In this business he might have succeeded, for he was acknowledged to be a good salesman; but soon he grew tired of the confinement; it was too much like labor. He grew more and more inattentive to his business, until he failed to give satisfaction to his employer, and was dismissed from the place. From this time, for the next four years, he was constantly changing from one employment to another, never continuing but a short period at any one thing, but always finding some reason in the heaviness of the work sufficient to satisfy his weak-minded mother. His father remonstrated again and again; but finally said he had done with the boy, and would never advise him more, let him do what he would. I suppose nothing would have satisfied her but to have him entirely exempt from care, and ride about in a coach. She often told him he looked too much like a gentleman to labor with his hands."
"At length his father died, and the property was divided between the mother and son. We had been attached to each other about a year, I thinking of nothing but the easy good nature and the handsome appearance of my lover; but my parents had always opposed our being engaged. They said, again and again, that a man who had never learned to work, who had no habits of steady, daily toil, could not expect the blessing of heaven; that he lived in constant violation of one of God's first commands to man, 'By the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread'; that the Bible was full of denunciations against the slothful and the sluggard. Oh! how many times my good father repeated to me the words of Solomon, 'The slothful shall be under tribute': 'The soul of the sluggard desireth and hath nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat': 'But if any provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith and is worse than an infidel': 'This we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat': 'Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep, and an idle soul shall suffer hunger': 'He that is slothful in his work, is brother to him that is a great waster.'"
"I well remember one evening when I had sat with tears in my eyes because my father had treated my lover coolly, that my mother tried to prevail on him to consent to my wishes. Father took down the Bible, and picked out a great many texts similar to those I have repeated, and gave them to me to commit to memory. The next day he met me walking sadly behind the house, and asked me, 'Dare you, Julia, unite yourself with one who lives in constant violation of God's command, "Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work."'?"
"I, of course, made many excuses for my absent friend, and said that I knew he wanted to find some steady employment; that he disliked to be out of work as much as any one, but circumstances had not favored him. He gazed in my flushed face earnestly for a minute, and then said, 'O, my child! I'm afraid you're bringing sorrow and affliction upon yourself! God's word never has failed, and it never will!'"
The poor widow covered her face and wept. "Oh, how many, many times those prophetic words have come back to me!"
"Father was a miller, and in a prosperous business. Every one of the children had been brought up to labor at some regular employment. About this time he wanted to build an addition to his mill. I noticed that he went, for several days, to the widow Danforth's; but he said nothing to me of his business there. One day he brought home your father in the wagon, and told me that Henry was to put in a certain sum, and become a kind of partner in the business; that he had given his consent, if Henry would work regularly ten hours every day for six months, we might be married.
"I was, as you may suppose, very happy, and very sanguine that my lover would do all that my father wished. On account of being near his work he was to board at our house; so that I had opportunity to encourage him when his energies began to flag. Father said nothing, but I noticed that he watched Henry closely; and I was delighted when I found that the cordial, amiable temper of the young partner began to have its effect.
"When I look back I can see that, but for this strict watching, and perhaps my influence, he would have sold out his share in the mill long before the time expired. But as it was, the season named arrived, and we were married. My father did well by me, and offered to give Henry a larger share of the profits at the end of the year. But, alas! before that time my dear father died, and died too, knowing that all his prophecies for his daughter would be fulfilled. Henry had returned to his old habits of idleness; and even I, sanguine as I had been, began to have fearful misgivings about the future.
"We moved to another town near by, and then to the city, where my poor Henry seemed always to be in search of work; but, when he found it, could never conquer his distaste for regular employment; and so at last he came to fulfil the prophecy of Solomon, 'By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands, the house droppeth through.'"
"You will see now, my dear son, why I have been so earnest to have you establish in early life a habit of industry, and to cultivate a taste for daily, honest labor. No matter what employment you have, if it is honorable employment. Remember your little verse,—"
"'For Satan finds some mischief still, For idle hands to do.'"
"Remember, my son, any work is safe upon which you can ask the blessing of your Heavenly Father."
TWO years swiftly glided away. Harrison I had now grown to be a stout lad of twelve summers. In his looks he bore a strong resemblance to his father, except that there was an expression of firmness and decision which Mr. Danforth lacked. As Alfred was taller than he, the clothes that he had out-grown were given to Harrison; and thus he was kept well dressed, with little expense to his mother.
The friendship between Harrison and his young friend Ella grew stronger every year. It was he who told her all the difficult words in her reading lesson; and he, too, who again and again explained the simple examples in arithmetic, to suit the youthful comprehension of his young companion. When it was cold or muddy he always found it convenient to go through three squares, in the opposite direction from his school-house, for the purpose of carrying her satchel of books.
Nor was Ella at all behind him in her favors. She kept him well supplied with pen-wipers and invisible pin-cushions; and, at New Years, presented him with a pair of slippers, which, if they were not her own workmanship, were certainly her own selection, and a showy pair they were too. At another time she gave him a game of pictured cards, in which all kinds of trades were represented. Mrs. Haven often remarked that they formed a picture of themselves, as they sat at the little round table, with the cards spread out before them, Ella in the fore-ground, kneeling in her chair to bring herself on a level with her companion, every once in a while leaning back, shaking her golden ringlets from her bright face, while she indulged in a merry laugh at some arch expression of the other; Harrison, with his deep blue eyes shaded by jet-black lashes, his clear, rosy complexion and his frank, good-humored smile, dressed in his neatly fitting clothes, and his neat, shining collar turned down from his well-shaped neck, formed no unpleasant back-ground.
All this time Alfred had not once been home, though his father had been several times to visit him. Sometimes he hoped there was an improvement in the boy; and then, again, the teacher's report was very discouraging. At any rate, it was not thought best to expose him to the temptations of a city, even for ever so short a period.
At the end of two years came a sad change. Mr. Haven suddenly failed in his business, owing to the villainy of one of his partners. This so affected his spirits that he fell an easy victim to a prevailing epidemic, and died, leaving his poor wife in a state bordering on insanity, from the suddenness of the double shock.
Alfred came home to his father's funeral; but finding the restraints of poverty too irksome, ran away and enlisted on board a ship for a long voyage.
It was now that Mrs. Danforth had an opportunity to relieve her grateful heart by kindness and care of her mistress. She tended her through a long and dangerous illness, soothing her agitated nerves by the precious promises of the Bible. Upon her recovery, she it was who arranged the small cottage to which the widow had decided to remove; who prepared the elegant furniture for sale; who bent her own shoulders to bear the burden which would have fallen too heavily upon the new-made widow. Nor was it until every arrangement had been satisfactorily completed that she would leave one who confessed, with tears, that she owed her more than her life; and this was the blessed hope of once more meeting her husband, in that world where there is no sorrow nor parting.
During the two years that she had passed under the roof of Mr. Haven, her own and her son's expenses had been so slight that almost the entire sum she had earned had been placed in safe keeping for future use. She felt that she could well afford three months for the gratuitous care of her friend; but now she must look around for employment, and she hoped to obtain something so profitable as to enable her to keep her son at school until his fifteenth year. He was already such a proficient at accounts, that his late master had advised her to place him in a store.
When it was known that Mrs. Danforth was willing to engage herself once more as a nurse, she had abundant opportunities to do so. She hired a pleasant room in the house of a friend, who consented to board her son for the service he could render out of school hours.
The life of his father had made a deep and lasting impression upon the mind of the boy. He could distinctly trace all the want of success to his dislike of regular employment, and made many resolutions to avoid idleness as a sure precursor of vice. He devoted himself with new vigor to his books, that he might thus repay his mother for her self-sacrificing exertions. He well knew that it would be far more congenial to her feelings to hire a small tenement and live with him in the most economical manner, rather than to be constantly subjected to going among strangers; and that she would have done this had it not been for her desire to have him spend more time in the prosecution of his studies. Mrs. Danforth had in early life received an excellent education, and therefore valued learning as the open door to success.
The family in which Harrison was for a time to reside, consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Cowles, one daughter, and two sons. They were members of the same church as Mrs. Danforth, and their children, though brought up in the city and surrounded by all the temptations to vice which proved so fatal to many of their companions, still retained the purity and freshness commonly considered the characteristics of rural life. It had been the great desire of Mr. and Mrs. Cowles to render their home so attractive that their children would prefer it, after the labors of the day had ended, to a stroll through the brilliantly-lighted streets, or a lounge in some popular saloon.
"Young people must be taken once to the theatre, to bowling alleys, to gambling saloons," say some, "in order that they may see the extravagance, folly, and vice to which such places of amusement lead." But not so thought these simple-minded Christians. They were willing to believe that God could judge better for them than they could do for themselves. They read from the inspired word, "Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Avoid it; pass not by it; turn from it, and pass away;" and from such commands they never departed.
The daughter, Mary Jane, was a bright, active girl, the delight of her father's eyes. Occasionally she formed a slight acquaintance with a young mechanic or clerk, who invited her to accompany him to the theatre or some other place of fashionable resort. When she sought the consent of her parents, they had but one reply: "If you, my dear, can convince us that it does not come under the list of those recreations which are forbidden in the Bible, or if we can be sure that it will be a benefit to you in any way, we will consent; otherwise you must be content to let us judge what is for your good."
Mr. Cowles had for many years been the head porter in one of the most extensive mercantile houses in the city. When he and his wife first left their country home in search of fortune, they were content with two small rooms in the third story of a respectable house. They were very poor; and, as they never went beyond their means, never bought an article for which they could not pay at the time, they were often really straitened. But the habits of regular, industrious effort brought its reward. Mr. Cowles sought employment on the wharves. He was ready to turn his hand to any honest labor. He did not shrink from hard work. He never grumbled that he was obliged to be up early in the morning or to work late at night. When he obtained a job he took pains to do it well, to the satisfaction of his employer; and his honest way of saying, "I hope I've done it to your mind, sir," met with a ready response from those who seldom bestowed praise.
One job well performed brought another; and honest John Cowles had not worked on the wharf three months before he was preferred beyond hundreds of others who had lounged about there years before he was ever heard of.
After a while he was regularly employed to assist in unloading vessels, shovelling coal, or carrying freight. He was very strong; and the constant exercise of his strength rendered him still more so. Then he was strictly honest, in the Bible sense of the word,—in his business transactions preferring his neighbor's interests to his own—so that among those who employed him he received the title of "honest Cowles." This name always brought a flush of pleasure to his countenance;-and he often said, "I would not exchange it for the title of an emperor!"
In the mean time his wife struggled hard at her own work. She might have obtained steady employment at a laundry; but this would take her away from home from morning till night. The wages were better than she could expect elsewhere; but, after anxious consultation with her husband, she concluded it was her duty as well as her privilege to keep the hearth-stone warm against his return from the arduous labors of the day. So she kept their small house neat and tidy, had his meals ready for him at the moment, and always received him with a smile of welcome. Next she was advised to obtain sewing from the slop-shops; but, after one week's trial, her husband would not allow her to continue this employment.
Finally she was fortunate enough to obtain Washing for several families, which she could do at home; and as her husband always found time to bring water for her, and her clothes were hung upon the top of the house, she found this very easy employment.
In the midst of the hardship of an uncommonly cold winter, Mary Jane was born; and honest Cowles worked with renewed zeal. It was with such pride he looked upon the tiny form, or ventured to take it in his strong, rough hands, that his wife always laughed, and said he handled it as he would a delicate piece of china. But however awkward he might be in his embraces, they were the outflowings of as warm and true a heart as ever beat.
After two years they moved into a small house by themselves. "Rather smart for us," said honest Cowles; "but I guess I can meet the rent when it comes due." Here they welcomed and reared their two boys, until Mr. Cowles found himself nearly able to pay for a house of his own. Some worthy gentlemen had invested their capital in putting up a block of neat, comfortable tenements, suitable for mechanics. They were encouraged to take the houses when they could pay a part, and let the remainder lie upon mortgage, only paying the interest of the money invested, which would be far less than the ordinary rent. They would thus be enabled gradually to pay for the whole house. Mr. Cowles went over the buildings, examined them carefully, selected the corner tenement as the one he should want—even made bold to ask his employer to step into it, and give him the benefit of his advice.
"How much can you pay down?" inquired the gentleman.
"A trifle more than half," was the reply.
"You mean, then, for once," said his employer, "to depart from your usual rule, and buy a house before you can pay for it."
Mr. Cowles looked troubled. This had been his only drawback. "I feared," said he, "that the corner house, being considerably the best one of the lot, would be taken up. Besides, there's a little plat of green to be seen from the windows, and my wife would think a deal of that."
"Then take it, by all means," urged the gentleman, turning away to speak with a customer.
But honest Cowles did not take it, though the next morning his employer offered to lend him the money to purchase the remainder. "No," said he, "I don't like to begin to break over a good rule. I'll run the risk of getting as good a one when I can pay for it."
THOUGH we have made rather a long digression, yet we think, the reader will be interested to know more of the family in which our hero was to reside.
As his children grew up Mr. Cowles endeavored to instill into their minds the principles which had governed his own life.
One evening, Warren, the oldest boy, was trying to write a composition. He had finished his caption, and was leaning his head on his hand, puzzling his brain as to how he should begin. His father came and looked over his shoulder, and read, "Honesty is the best policy."
"Honesty is the only policy, for the matter of that," he exclaimed. "If you had seen as many persons as I have, try to work by some other, and try cheating or lying as the best policy, you'd be convinced they had no policy at all. Men don't want to be fooled more than once. When they see you have overreached them, they are shy of you ever afterwards. Or, if you are skilful at the business, and they don't find you out for a little, why then it's so much the worse for you; for you're just clapped into jail, and there's the end of your story."
"But, after all," continued the old man, "policy is neither here nor there. Policy isn't the rule we're required to go by. We've a higher rule than that. We've the plain commands of God, right up and down. You can't leap over them nor crawl under them. There they are, and there they'll stand, strong as the everlasting hills."
Mr. Cowles, in his earnestness, had arisen, and was walking back and forth across the room.
"I wish you wouldn't say it so fast, father," called the boy; "I can't write half of it."
The mother smiled; but the father turned to his son and asked, "What are you doing, Warren?"
"Writing a composition, sir."
"And what shall you do with it when it is done?"
"Write my name at the bottom, sir, and give it to the master."
"Write mine, you mean, my boy. Don't you see that if you write down what I say, it will be my composition, not yours; and the master wont thank you for the job of correcting mine, I reckon. No, Warren, that's downright cheating, though I don't suppose you thought it."
"Come, boy!" said he, as the child began to cry, "there's no harm done yet. You're welcome to all my ideas, only put 'em into your own words. Isn't that it, wife?"
In this way, and under such discipline, Mary Jane, Warren, and John grew up to be an honor to their parents, and a blessing to all connected with them.
These worthy persons first formed the acquaintance of Mrs. Danforth at the time of her sore affliction. Mr. Cowles was one of the committee of the church to attend to similar cases of distress, and his kind consideration for her at that season had won her entire confidence and gratitude. They were, therefore, the first persons to whom she applied for advice, after leaving the house of Mrs. Haven, and it was with great willingness that they consented to her proposal to take Harrison into their family.
John Cowles was nearly Harrison's age, but not as fax advanced in his studies. This the latter much regretted, as he had just commenced Algebra, and found it taxed his intellectual powers to the utmost. Several times he was on the point of asking to be excused from this lesson, but the thought that his mother would be disappointed checked him. He knew if he were to ask her consent to this course, and tell her, "I can't understand it, mother," she would say, as she had often said before, "I know you don't, my dear. If you did, it would be unnecessary for you to attend school. That is the very object you go to school for, to learn to understand it."
Sometimes, however, Harrison puzzled a long time over the sum, because he did not understand the principle involved. Then Warren would come to his assistance, and explain the rule by which the result could be gained.
One special advantage which the boy derived from being in this family, was the privilege of attending, with his young friends, a course of public lectures on scientific subjects. While Mr. Cowles was exceedingly strict about many things, which he considered of hurtful, or even of doubtful tendency, he spared no expense within his means to afford them gratification in what he thought would be of permanent benefit. He even allowed them many innocent amusements.
Since he had been able, he had, every year, hired a substantial carriage and taken his entire family for a visit to his aged mother in the country. These were occasions of jubilee to the reunited household. Mr. Cowles often said he went back to the city strengthened for any duty after feeling his mother's trembling hand resting on his head, while she pronounced her fervent blessing.
It was Harrison's duty in this well-ordered family to cut kindlings, carry coal, go to market, sweep the steps and side-walk, or perform any of those multitudinous duties always necessary in a family of six. These services had formerly been rendered by John, who now assisted his father at the store.
In order to have time for a morning review of his lesson, our hero arose early, so as to get through as much of his work as possible before breakfast. Then he was by no means unmindful of his personal appearance; and he liked to rub the door-plate, sweep and scrub the steps before he should be likely to be recognized by any of his acquaintance who might chance to pass. Then he could dress for school, and go to market habited like a gentleman.
When Mrs. Danforth first noticed this trait in her son, she was much distressed by it. She knew that he must be aware that he was uncommonly attractive in his appearance, but she did not wish him to attach any importance to the fact. She feared that he might be led on by it, as his father had been, to consider honest labor beneath him. Yes, as she reflected more upon the subject, she could see that of late Harrison had appeared less humble, more proud and self-reliant. She prayed earnestly that God would protect her boy from sin, that he might see the folly of attaching importance to mere outward appearance, and that his heart might be kept pure and humble like that of a child.
Perhaps the peculiar circumstances of her own lot made her over sensitive on this point, certainly it is a duty to be neat and tasteful in dress, if we do not devote too much time and thought to it.
Her Heavenly Father answered her prayer, though in a manner that she dreamed not of.
About a fortnight later she returned home in a close carriage, about a week before the time for which she had engaged was expired. The good physician, whose acquaintance she first made in Ella's sick room, soon followed, and peremptorily ordered her to take her bed saying it was as true of nurses as of doctors that they made the worst patients in the world.
When Harrison returned from school he found his mother in a high fever, and was greatly alarmed to perceive that she did not appear to recognize him. Mrs. Cowles, who had a moment before left the room, found him standing by the bed side, large tears rolling down his cheeks. She endeavored to soothe him; but the poor boy could not shake off the fear that his beloved mother was to be removed from him by death.
Fortunate, indeed, was Mrs. Danforth, to be placed in the midst of such kind friends. Everything was done for her comfort as tenderly and cheerfully as if she had been a mother or a sister. Then, Harrison seemed suddenly gifted with the skill and experience in nursing for which his mother had been so distinguished. He could scarcely be persuaded to go from the room, and never left her to sleep. He lay upon a couch at her side, and at her slightest call was on his feet, wide awake, ready to administer to her comfort.
Ladies whom she had nursed constantly sent baskets of provisions,—dainty little dishes to tempt her appetite,—while others came in person to inquire for her, and to sit for a few hours by her bed side.
The Saturday following her sickness was the first on which Harrison had failed to visit Mrs. Haven and Ella in their suburban home. Occasionally he stayed over night, and walked to church with them in the morning, but generally only made a call of a few hours. On the occasion in question, Ella watched at the window from two until five, and then had a hearty cry when her mother convinced her it was too late for him to come. The next morning, in church, her eyes were constantly wandering to the humble slip in the gallery where Mrs. Danforth hired seats for herself and her son. After the service was through she whispered to her mother that she was sure Harrison was sick, and begged that they might go through the street where he lived and inquire for him.
They did so. And while Ella unwillingly accompanied Mary Jane to church in the afternoon, Mrs. Haven remained to assist Mrs. Cowles in the care of her very sick friend.
At the end of three weeks Mrs. Danforth sent her son to several ladies to inform them that she regretted being unable to meet her engagements with them. At the same time she confessed to her kind physician her doubts whether she should ever again be well enough to bear so much fatigue and loss of sleep as were necessary in the faithful discharge of the duties of a monthly nurse. She acknowledged that often, after being up through the night, she experienced such a dizziness and languor that it was with difficulty she could rouse herself; that the constant care which she felt for her patients, and her sympathy with their sufferings, deprived her of her appetite, so that at times she really loathed her food.
One mild day near the close of winter, more than a month from the commencement of her illness, Dr.— called for her in his carriage; and, having surrounded her with shawls and robes, drove away to the cottage of Mrs. Haven, where his patient had promised to pass a few days. This was the closing week of Harrison's term, and his teacher had expressed a strong desire for him to be present. So he was not to accompany his mother, though he much wished to do so; for he knew that in this time she meant to decide somewhat upon her future course.
For the last fortnight he had taken his books to his mother's room and improved every spare moment in the review of studies upon which he knew his class to be engaged, so that he was not so much behind them as he had feared; and, as during the last week he gave his undivided attention to his lessons, he was able to retain the high stand he had heretofore maintained in his class.
As he stood forth to receive the medal awarded him, he little thought that his schooldays were ended, that he should be numbered among that happy band no more.
When he joined his mother on Wednesday evening, he found that her ride, though so short, had proved too much for her strength, and that she had not yet recovered from it. The evening was passed in discussing plans for the future, and at length it was decided that Mrs. Danforth should retain her room at Mr. Cowles's, together with a small one in the rear, which they had kindly agreed to give her, and that Harrison should endeavor to find a place in a store. Mrs. Haven really urged the widow to remain with her until her health rendered her able to work at her old employment, and Ella added her earnest entreaties; but she was firm. If it was absolutely necessary, she said, she would not resist their kindness; but she still had a small sum left untouched; and while it was in her power she preferred to be independent.
"I am old enough now," said Harrison, in a resolute tone, "to support you, mother. I wish you would give up the thought of making vests, except for me; I shall begin to wear them soon."
"Oh don't!" cried Ella, gazing at him with admiring eyes; "I'm afraid you'll look just like a man!"
They all laughed, and Harrison assured her he was almost a man.
"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed the little girl, mournfully.
"Why?" inquired her mother.
"Because—because—" she hesitated, "because he has always been a boy ever since I've known him; and I'm afraid when he's a man he won't come running in at the gate, and laugh, and say, 'How do you do, Ella?' and dig round my flowers, and say, 'Have you nothing for me to do, Mrs. Haven?' I'm afraid he'll just come in and hold out his finger so, for me to shake, and then sit down and read the newspapers all the time he is here, as cousin Grason does."
"I promise you, I won't do that," answered Harrison proudly. "I shall do exactly the same as I do now, except perhaps that I shall walk instead of run. You know now I have so little time I want to improve it to the utmost; so I don't loiter much on the way when I'm coming out here."
Still Ella shook back her curls, and could not be persuaded to say that she was not sorry.
"But," said her mother, "when Harrison is a man you will be a young lady."
"And perhaps," suggested Mrs. Danforth, "you will not care to see him then as you do now. He is just about to enter upon his great struggle with life. He will have to work hard. Perhaps if you should meet him some day with a carter's frock on, you would turn your head in the other direction, and not like to have it known that you were acquainted with him."
Harrison's face was crimson; but the little girl only laughed. "You know very well I shouldn't do that!"
"How do I know?" he asked, seriously.
"Because you looked real funny when you were sitting in the back-porch with your apron tied close around your neck, and that little straw hat on; but I liked you just as well as I do now."
"You have argued the case fairly and won!" exclaimed her mother laughing. "I had no idea she remembered that," she added, turning to Mrs. Danforth. "It was more than three years ago. Why, she was not five years old."
The little girl remained silent and thoughtful for a few minutes, and then asked, "When I'm grown to be a woman, Harrison, if I'm poor,—I mean very, very poor,—should you be ashamed to speak to me?" She looked earnestly in his face, anxiously awaiting his reply.
"Why, Ella! you ought to know that I should like you all the same, or rather better; though I should be sorry to have you very, very poor, as you call it."
"What kind of business should you prefer?" inquired Mrs. Haven; "I suppose you have some fancy about it."
"I had rather be a merchant," responded the boy, "if I could be a good one, as your husband was."
"If he were living," exclaimed the lady, with deep feeling, "he would be able to advise you, and probably could readily procure you a place. I will do all in my power to assist you; but you know there are difficulties attending good situations. For instance, in such a house as my husband's, many a gentleman would be willing to pay a handsome sum annually for the sake of having his sons learn the business thoroughly."
"I know it!" cried Harrison. "Mr. Cowles says if Mr. Lothrop, where he has worked so long, would take Warren into his store he would be glad to have him work three years without pay. It would be the making of him."
"But you have to support your mother," suggested Mrs. Haven, playfully.
"Yes, ma'am; and for that reason I shall not apply for such a place. I shall try to get in where they will give me a regular salary from the very beginning. I am willing to work early and late; and it don't cost us much for our food, does it, mother?"
Mrs. Danforth sighed, though presently she spoke, in a cheerful tone,— "If I have my health, my son, I have no doubt we shall be very comfortable."
MRS. HAVEN'S entreaties prevailed so far that her humble friend remained at the cottage a week longer, while Harrison ran all over the city, answering advertisements and looking about for a place. Every morning he arose sanguine of success; and every evening he reached the cottage, to report his entire failure.
Poor fellow! his faith almost failed. At the week's end he was quite discouraged, because there seemed nothing further for him to do.
"Never despair!" said his mother. "If you cannot do one thing you can do another."
"I suppose there are places enough," responded the boy; "but I wouldn't go to them."
"Why not?" inquired his mother.
"I wouldn't go into a bar-room, nor into a restaurant for any salary," replied the boy.
"I hope not," said his mother, anxiously; "but cheer up; we may hear of something to-morrow."
"So I've said to myself every day for a week!" responded the poor boy.
"Never mind!" cried Ella, soothingly, "mamma says I shall be rich some time; and I'll get a nice house, and we'll all live together in it; and you shant have such a weary time, running round after places, and keeping me watching at the windows to tell your mother whether you have found one or not."
"I suppose you don't know Ella can tell as soon as she sees you whether you have been successful," suggested Mrs. Haven, playfully.
"Didn't I tell right every time?" urged the child.
"But how?" inquired the youth.
"Why, you walked along, and when you came near the gate you stopped, as if you did not like to come in. Then, when I ran to the door, you said, 'How do you do, Ella?' and did not look at me, but walked along and hung up your cap, and did not smile. I knew that if you had found a place, you would come jumping along, and, as likely as not, spring right over the gate; then you would catch hold of my hand, and say, 'O, Ella! I've some good news for you; where's mother? and you'd run and put your arms round her neck, and kiss her ever so many times."
In spite of his despondence, Harrison had a hearty laugh, in which Mrs. Haven and his mother joined.
"She watches you closely, you see," said the lady.
"If I were to be here one night more, I'd act so you couldn't tell," said the boy.
"Oh, do stay! please do," urged the child; "will you, Mrs. Danforth, dear nurse, just to please me?"
"And to please me," rejoined the lady. The good nurse consented; indeed, how could she resist such fond entreaties.
So Harrison went forth the next morning for another day's toil. Would it be fruitless toil?
This was the important question which agitated poor Ella's breast; and by four o'clock, she stationed herself at the front window, from which she could see some distance up the street. Her mother advised her to take a book, or some work, or the time would seem very long. She took a story-book in hand; but her eyes were continually wandering from her page to the window.
Half-past five arrived; the latest hour at which he had ever been away. Ella was sure now that he had not been successful. "If he had found a place," she said, "he would have hurried home to tell us so." At length she saw him walking toward the house. He seemed inclined to hurry; but Ella thought that was because he feared he should detain them from tea. He glanced up at the window, held down his head as he passed through the gate, turned deliberately about and latched it, then advanced toward the house. Ella met him at the door, and looked earnestly in his face. There was a curious expression which puzzled her. He held out his hand without raising his eyes. She could restrain herself no longer. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harrison!" and she walked slowly before him into the room where her mother and his were awaiting them.
"He hasn't found a place, mamma," she began, in a mournful tone.
"Does he say so?" inquired Mrs. Danforth, gazing earnestly at him.
"No, indeed," exclaimed the boy, throwing off his disguise: "You're mistaken for once, Miss Ella. I've found a place, a first-rate one, I think. Any how, it's in a large grain store on. Central wharf, with vessels coming up to it and unloading all the time. I'm to have thirteen dollars the first month; and after that, if I do well, they are going to increase my wages. I mean to do well; and perhaps some time, I shall get into the firm."
The boy's handsome face flushed with pride as he already, in imagination, saw himself seated at one of the high desks, calling clerks, giving orders, filling out cheeks, as he had seen his new employers do on that very day.
"What do you say, Ella?" he asked, as she stood silently by his side.
"I'm very glad." The answer was in rather a doubtful tone.
"Only you didn't think I could deceive you so. I would not have done it except in joke; and you know I gave you fair warning last night."
Ella smiled faintly, but made no reply.
"Come to the window," exclaimed the boy. "Now play I'm just coming home."
He seized his hat and ran down the walk. Presently she saw him leaping along as if he were almost beside himself with joy. He did not forget to jump over the gate, and the little girl laughed most heartily as she ran to open the door.
"O, Ella! my dear Ella!" he cried out. "Do come with me to mother, I've something splendid to tell; oh such good news! oh dear, dear!" and he ran along through the hall into the dining-room.
"Is that right?" he inquired, as soon as his laughing would allow him to speak.
"Yes, exactly right," was the delighted reply.
"Well, I suppose that is just the way I should have done, if you had not put me up to playing a joke upon you."
"Come! come!" said Mrs. Haven, "Mrs. Danforth and I have waited quite long enough for our tea."
"O Harrison!—what a very funny boy you are!" exclaimed Ella as she seated herself opposite him at the table.
In the evening Mrs. Danforth requested her son to give an account of his day's adventures.
"I went first," he began "to our room at Mrs. Cowles's. He had just come home to prepare to go to some committee meeting. I told him I was almost discouraged trying to get a place. He called me into his dressing room and made me give him an account of what I had done while he was shaving. Then he said, 'I must go right away now, to be in time for my business, but come in at noon, and if you have not found any place before that time, perhaps I can put you in a way to succeed. Don't be too sanguine though,' he said, as I suppose he saw how relieved I was. 'Do the very best you can for yourself, for maybe my plan will end in smoke.'"
"So after running in for a moment to tell Mrs. Cowles and Mary Jane we were coming back to-morrow, I again started forth to seek my fortune. Before I had gone far, I met Mr. Clarkson. He was very glad to see me, and almost the first question he asked, was, 'And how is our little friend Ella Haven? I suppose you see her occasionally.' 'I saw her this morning,' I answered. 'She speaks of you very often.'"
"I'm glad you told him that," cried Ella, clapping her hands.
Harrison smiled and went on. "I told him I was trying to look up a place in a store, and had been trying for more than a week."
"'Let me think,' he said, 'let me think if I can't do something for you'—scowling in his old way, you know, Ella."
"Oh, yes!"
"'Rather an unlucky time to be out of a place, my boy. The fact is, there's a terrible crisis ahead. Many of our wisest politicians predict a great crash in the commercial world. Our merchants have traded largely, more than their capital would warrant; there is too much show and too little reality; and things will have to come down to a more solid basis. Are you set upon the business of trade? Why not be a mechanic or an engineer, or something of that sort? Well,' said he, as I shook my head, 'perhaps you'll talk differently in the course of a year. I'll look around though, and see what I can do for you. If Mr. Haven were alive, he would get you a situation, perhaps giving you a chance in his own store.'"
One part of the conversation with Mr. Clarkson the boy omitted, as it related to Alfred the wayward son.
"After I left him," he continued, "I determined to begin at one end of ——— Street, and go into every store in it. Sometimes my heart beat so I thought I never could get across the long buildings into the office in the rear where the owner generally sits. Sometimes they would say, 'More boys now than we can employ.' Others would merely stop writing a moment, as I asked, Do you need a boy in your store, sir? and shake their heads and others still, would ask, 'Who are you references?' I thought they might have remembered a little how they felt when they were boys.
"At last, just before dinner, I found one gentleman who seemed very kind. He asked my name and age, whether I had been brought up in the city. He seemed quite pleased when I told him I had been in Alfred T. Haven's family for two years. 'I knew him well,' he said, 'a noble man.' Then he asked if I had studied book-keeping, and how far I had advanced in arithmetic. I pulled out my medal which was suspended around my neck, and told him it was my prize for success in mathematics. He went and talked for a few moments with another man, and then came back again. 'I'm really sorry, my boy,' he said, 'but my partner has engaged a lad this very day.' I could have cried I was so disappointed, and liked the looks of the gentleman so much. I was just going out when he said, 'It may be we shall have another vacancy. If we do, where shall I address you?'
"'At Mr. John Cowles's, sir; mother and I live in his house.' He smiled again. 'But it is necessary for me,' I said, 'to get a place at once. I must support my mother, sir.' He seemed to hate to let me go, but gave me his hand and said, 'God bless you, my boy. I wish I had seen you a few hours earlier, I should like to help a boy who supports his mother.'"
"I went out of his counting-room quickly for fear he would see the tears in my eyes, and walked straight to Mr. Cowles. I couldn't bear the thought of going into another store."
"What was the name of the gentleman?" asked Mrs. Haven, who had been listening with great interest.
"The firm was Lombard & Lamb, on ——— Street. I don't know which of the partners it was."
"Did he wear glasses?" inquired the lady. "No, ma'ma; the other one did. He was a little bald, and his whiskers were quite gray. The other one was younger."
"That was Mr. Lombard then. I wish he had taken you. He is very rich, and was a principal owner in the block in which Mr. Cowles lives. I think Mr. Cowles purchased of him."
"They had company to dinner; and I didn't say anything about him there," said Harrison, "I was so anxious to hear his plan, as he called it. He took his hat after dinner, and said, 'I'll go with you as far as M— Street.' He left me standing on the sidewalk ever so long, I thought it was an hour, and then led the way down to Central wharf. 'Is Mr. Grant in?' he asked."
"'Not back from dinner,' answered one of the clerks in a grum voice."
"'How soon will he return?' asked Mr. Cowles."
"'In fifteen minutes.' 'We'll wait then,' he said, turning to me."
"Pretty soon Mr. Grant came; and Mr. Cowles talked with him some time, and kept pointing to me. I could only hear one sentence, and that was from our good friend, mother: He loves work, sir, and has been brought up to it.'"
"The gentleman then came up to me and said, 'If you'll wait awhile I'll talk with you.' So I walked around the store, up and down stairs, and stood at the great windows where they take in goods from the vessels, until he sent a clerk for me; and you know the rest."