IN WHICH HARRY DOES A GOOD DEED, AND DETERMINES TO "FACE THE MUSIC"
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," added Abner. "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 was
doing 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.