IN WHICH HARRY REACHES THE CITY, AND THOUGH OFTEN DISAPPOINTED, TRIES
AGAIN
Harry entered the cabin, and stretched himself on his bed of straw and
leaves; but the fear that he should not wake in season to take the
wagon at the appointed place, would scarcely permit him to close his
eyes. He had not yet made up for the sleep he had lost; and Nature,
not sharing his misgiving, at last closed and sealed his eyelids.
It would be presumptuous for me to attempt to inform the reader what
Harry dreamed about on that eventful night; but I can guess that it
was about angels, about bright faces and sweet smiles, and that they
were very pleasant dreams. At any rate, he slept very soundly, as
tired boys are apt to sleep, even when they are anxious about getting
up early in the morning.
He woke, at last, with a start; for with his first consciousness came
the remembrance of the early appointment. He sprang from his bed, and
threw down the door of the cabin. It was still dark; the stars
twinkled above, the owls screamed, and the frogs sang merrily around
him. He had no means of ascertaining the time of night. It might be
twelve; it might be four; and his uncertainty on this point filled him
with anxiety. Better too early than too late; and grasping the basket
and the Bible, which were to be the companions of his journey, he
hastened down the cart path to the turnpike.
There was no sound of approaching wheels to cheer him, and the clock
in the meeting house at Rockville obstinately refused to strike. He
reached the designated place; there was no wagon there. Perhaps he was
too late. The thought filled him with chagrin; and he was reading
himself a very severe lesson for having permitted himself to sleep at
all, when the church clock graciously condescended to relieve his
anxiety by striking the hour.
"One," said he, almost breathless with interest.
"Two," he repeated, loud enough to be heard, if there had been any one
to hear him.
"Three"; and he held his breath, waiting for more.
"No more!" he added, with disappointment and chagrin, when it was
certain that the clock did not mean to strike another stroke. "I have
lost my chance. What a fool I have been! Miss Julia will think that I
am a smart fellow, when she finds that her efforts to get me off have
been wasted. Why did I go to sleep? I might have known that I should
not wake;" and he stamped his foot upon the ground with impatience.
He had been caught napping, and had lost the wagon. He was never so
mortified in his life. One who was so careless did not deserve to
succeed.
"One thing is clear--it is no use to cry for spilt milk," muttered he,
as he jumped over the fence into the road. "I have been stupid, but
try again."
Unfortunately, there was no chance to try again. Like thousands of
blessed opportunities, it had passed by, never to return. He had come
at the eleventh hour, and the door was closed against him. With the
wagon it had been "now or never."
Harry got over his impatience, and resolved that Julia should not come
to the cabin, the next morning, to find he had slept when the
bridegroom came. He had a pair of legs, and there was the road. It was
no use to "wait for the wagon;" legs were made before wagon wheels;
and he started on the long and weary pilgrimage.
He had not advanced ten paces before pleasant sounds reached his ears.
He stopped short, and listened. A wagon was certainly approaching, and
his heart leaped high with hope. Was it possible that John Lane had
not yet gone? Retracing his steps, he got over the fence at the place
where John was to take him. Perhaps it was not he, after all. He had
no right to suppose it was; but he determined to wait till the wagon
had passed.
The rumbling noise grew more distinct. It was a heavy wagon, heavily
loaded, and approached very slowly; but at last it reached the spot
where the impatient boy was waiting.
"Whoa!" said the driver; and the horses stopped.
Harry's heart bounded with joy. Some lucky accident had detained the
team, and he had regained his opportunity.
"Harry West!" said he on the wagon.
"John Lane!" replied Harry, as he leaped over the fence.
"You are on hand," added John Lane.
"I am; but I was sure you had gone. It is after three o'clock."
"I know it. I don't generally get off much before this time," answered
John. "Climb up here, and let us be moving on."
It was a large wagon, with a sail-cloth cover--one of those regular
baggage wagons which railroads have almost driven out of existence in
Massachusetts. It was drawn by four horses, harnessed two abreast, and
had a high "box" in front for the driver.
Harry nimbly climbed upon the box, and took his seat by the side of
John Lane--though that worthy told him he had better crawl under the
cover, where he would find plenty of room to finish his nap on a bale
of goods.
"I thought likely I should have to go up to the cabin and wake you.
Julia told me I must, if you were not on the spot."
"I am glad I have saved you that trouble; but Julia said you would
start at two o'clock."
"Well, I get off by two or three o'clock. I don't carry the mail, so I
ain't so particular. What do you mean to do when you get to Boston?"
"I mean to go to work."
"What at?"
"Anything I can find."
John Lane questioned the little wanderer, and drew from him all the
incidents of his past history. He seemed to feel an interest in the
fortunes of his companion, and gave him much good advice on practical
matters, including an insight into life in the city.
"I suppose Squire Walker would give me fits, if he knew I carried you
off. He was over to Rockville yesterday looking for you."
"He won't find me."
"I hope not, my boy; though I don't know as I should have meddled in
the matter, if Julia hadn't teased me. I couldn't resist her. She is
the best little girl in the world; and you are a lucky fellow to have
such a friend."
"I am; she is an angel;" and when Harry began to think of Julia, he
could not think of anything else, and the conversation was suspended.
It was a long while before either of them spoke again, and then John
advised Harry to crawl into the wagon and lie down on the load.
Notwithstanding his agreeable thoughts, our hero yawned now and then,
and concluded to adopt the suggestion of the driver. He found a very
comfortable bed on the bales, softened by heaps of mattings, which
were to be used in packing the miscellaneous articles of the return
freight.
John Lane took things very easily; and as the horses jogged slowly
along, he relieved the monotony of the journey by singing sundry
old-fashioned psalm tunes, which had not then gone out of use. He was
a good singer; and Harry was so pleased with the music, and so
unaccustomed to the heavy jolt of the wagon, that he could not go to
sleep at once.
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around."
Again and again John's full and sonorous voice rolled out these
familiar lines, till Harry was fairly lulled to sleep by the
harmonious measures. The angel of the Lord had come down for the
fortieth time, after the manner of the ancient psalmody, and for the
fortieth time Harry had thought of _his_ angel, when he dropped off to
dream of the "glory that shone around."
Harry slept soundly after he got a little used to the rough motion of
the wagon, and it was sunrise before he woke.
"Well, Harry, how do you feel now?" asked John, as he emerged from his
lodging apartment.
"Better; I feel as bright as a new pin. Where are we?"
"We have come about twelve miles. Pretty soon we shall stop to bait
the team and get some breakfast."
"I have got some breakfast in my basket. Julia gave me enough to last
a week. I shan't starve, at any rate."
"No one would ever be hungry in this world, if everybody were like
Julia. But you shall breakfast with me at the tavern."
"It won't be safe--will it?"
"O, yes; nobody will know you here."
"Well, I have got some money to pay for anything I have."
"Keep your money, Harry; you will want it all when you get to Boston."
After going a few miles farther, they stopped at a tavern, where the
horses were fed, and Harry ate such a breakfast as a pauper never ate
before. John would not let him pay for it, declaring that Julia's
friends were his friends.
The remaining portion of the journey was effected without any incident
worthy of narrating, and they reached the city about noon. Of course
the first sight of Boston astonished Harry. His conceptions of a city
were entirely at fault; and though it was not a very large city
twenty-five years ago, it far exceeded his expectations.
Harry had a mission before him, and he did not permit his curiosity to
interfere with that. John drove down town to deliver his load; and
Harry went with him, improving every opportunity to obtain work. When
the wagon stopped, he went boldly into the stores in the vicinity to
inquire if they "wanted to hire a hand."
Now, Harry was not exactly in a condition to produce a very favorable
impression upon those to whom he applied for work. His clothes were
never very genteel, nor very artistically cut and made; and they were
threadbare, and patched at the knees and elbows. A patch is no
disguise to a man or boy, it is true; but if a little more care had
been taken to adapt the color and kind of fabric in Harry's patches to
the original garment, his general appearance would undoubtedly have
been much improved. Whether these patches really affected his ultimate
success I cannot say--only that they were an inconvenience at the
outset.
It was late in the afternoon before John Lane had unloaded his
merchandise and picked up his return freight. Thus far Harry had been
unsuccessful; no one wanted a boy; or if they did, they did not want
such a boy as Harry appeared to be. His country garb, with the five
broad patches, seemed to interfere with the working out of his
manifest destiny. Yet he was not disheartened. Spruce clerks and
ill-mannered boys laughed at him; but he did not despond.
"Try again," exclaimed he, as often as he was told that his services
were not required.
When the wagon reached Washington Street, Harry wanted to walk, for
the better prosecution of his object; and John gave him directions so
that he could find Major Phillips's stable, where he intended to put
up for the night.
Harry trotted along among the gay and genteel people that thronged the
sidewalk; but he was so earnest about his mission, that he could not
stop to look at their fine clothes, nor even at the pictures, the
gewgaws, and gimcracks that tempted him from the windows.
"'Boy wanted'" Harry read on a paper in the window of a jeweler's
shop. "Now's my time;" and, without pausing to consider the chances
that were against him, he entered the store.
"You want a boy--don't you?" asked he of a young man behind the
counter.
"We do," replied the person addressed, looking at the applicant with a
broad grin on his face.
"I should like to hire out," continued Harry, with an earnestness that
would have secured the attention of any man but an idiot.
"Do you? Your name is Joseph--isn't it?"
"No, sir; my name is Harry West."
"O, I thought it was Joseph. The Book says he had a coat of many
colors, though I believe it don't say anything about the trousers,"
sneered the shopkeeper.
"Never mind the coat or the trousers. If you want to hire a boy, I
will do the best I can for you," replied Harry, willing to appreciate
the joke of the other, if he could get a place.
"You won't answer for us; you come from the country."
"I did."
"What did you come to Boston for?"
"After work."
"You had better go back, and let yourself to some farmer. You will
make a good scarecrow to hang up in the field. No crow would ever come
near you, I'll warrant."
Harry's blood boiled with indignation at this gratuitous insult. His
cheeks reddened, and he looked about him for the means of inflicting
summary vengeance upon the poltroon who so wantonly trifled with his
glowing aspirations.
"Move on, boy; we don't want you," added the man.
"You are a ----"
I will not write what Harry said. It was a vulgar epithet, coupled
with a monstrous oath for so small a boy to utter. The shopkeeper
sprang out from his counter; but Harry retreated, and escaped him,
though not till he had repeated the vulgar and profane expression.
But he was sorry for what he had said before he had gone ten paces.
"What would the little angel say, if she had heard that?" Harry asked
himself. "'Twon't do; I must try again."