MORNING THOUGHTS.
The early grey of dawn peeped furtively through the shutters of Tom
Bobolink's home, and as they strengthened and strengthened, fell upon a
figure which could scarcely be recognized as the same joyous-hearted
individual of the day before. On the floor lay Tom; the candle, which
had completely burned out in its socket, close to his head; one hand
grasped the empty bottle, and the other was tightly clutched within his
breast.
And now another scarcely less sorrowful-looking figure is added. Polly
gazes, with tearful eyes, upon the prostrate form. He is evidently in
the maze of some terrible dream, for his head rolls fearfully about,
his limbs are convulsed, and his breathing is thick and heavy.
Polly stooped down to awake him gently, when, at the slightest touch,
he started at one bound to his feet, muttering incoherent words of
terror and apprehension; his eyes rolled about wildly. He seized Polly,
and held her at arms' length for an instant, until he fairly realized
his actual situation, when he burst into a loud laugh, that chilled his
poor wife's very blood.
"Ha! ha! Pol, is that you?" he cried, wildly. "I've been a bad boy, I
know; but I'll make up for it gloriously, my girl. Ugh! what a dream
I've had. Ah! the darkness is a terrible time to get over when one's
conscience is filling the black night with fiery eyes." Then, turning
to his wife, he said, loudly: "Polly, darling, I'm ashamed of myself;
but it will be all right by and by. You were cut out for a rich woman,
Pol."
"Dear Thomas, let me be rich in the happiness of our humble home; 'tis
all I ask."
"Oh, nonsense! Suppose now you got a heap of money a prize in the
lottery, wouldn't you like to elevate your little nose, and jostle
against the big bugs in Broadway?"
"Not at the price of our comfort, Thomas," she answered, solemnly.
"You're a fool! Money can buy all sorts of comfort."
"What do you mean, Thomas, by those hints about money? has anything
happened?"
"Oh! no--no!" he replied, quickly, turning his eyes away; "but there's
no knowing when something might. Now I'll try her," thought he. "It's
my dream, Pol. Shall I tell it to you?"
"Do, my dear Tom. Oh! I'm so glad to see you yourself once more."
"Well, dear," he continued, sitting close to her, and placing his arm
around her waist, "I dreamed that as I was returning from a job, what
should I see in the street, under my very nose, but a pocket-book,
stuffed full of money. Presently the owner came along. He asked me if I
had found it. I said no, and came home a rich man--oh! so rich!"
"I know your heart too well, Tom, to believe that such a thing could
happen except in a dream," said his wife, to his great annoyance. He
started up, and after one or two turns about the little, now untidy,
room, exclaimed, angrily:
"Why not? I should like to know if fortune did--I mean--was, to fling
luck in my way, do you think I'd be such a cursed fool as not to grab
at it?"
"Thomas, you have been drinking too much," said she, sadly.
"No, no," he interrupted, "not enough; give me some more."
"Not a drop, husband," she replied, seriously, and with determination.
"If you will poison yourself it shall not be through my hand."
"Don't be a fool," he cried, savagely, "or it may be the worse for you.
I'm master of my own house, I think."
"Home! ah, Thomas, some evil spirit has stolen away our once happy home
for ever," said Polly, as she slowly and sorrowfully returned again to
weep in the silence of her own room.
"There has, there has," cried Tom, as she quitted him. "And this is
it"--pulling out the pocket-book, which he had not left hold of for an
instant, and frowning desperately at it--"Confound your skin, it's you
that has stolen away our comfort. I'll take the cursed thing back; I
wouldn't have Polly's eyes wet with sorrow to be made of money--I'll
take it back this very blessed morning; and somehow that thought brings
a ray of sunlight back to my heart." So saying, he thrust the
pocket-book, as he thought, safely within his vest, but in his
eagerness to take extra care of it, it slipped through, and dropped
upon the floor; his mind being taken off for a moment by the entrance
of Bryan, to tell him that the horse and truck were ready.
"Very well, I'm glad of it," cried Tom. "Now I'll see what the fine,
bracing, morning air will do for this cracked head of mine; now then,
to take this back," and he slapped his chest, under the full impression
that the pocket-book was there. "Bryan, I don't want you for half an
hour; just wait till I come back, will you?"
"That I will, sir, and welcome," said Bryan, and with a merry song once
more at his lip, and a cheerful good-bye to Polly, to whose heart both
brought comfort in her great sadness, Bobolink mounted his truck, and
trotted off.
Meantime Bryan, now left alone in the room, dived into the recesses of
his capacious coat-pocket, and producing from thence a piece of bread
and cheese, moralized the while upon the pleasant change in his
prospects.
"Long life to this tindher-hearted couple," said he. "Shure an' I'm on
the high road to good luck at last; plenty of the best in the way of
atin', and an elegant stable to sleep in, with a Christian-like
quadruped for company; av I had only now a trifle o' money to get
myself some clothes--these things doesn't look well in this part of the
world," casting his eyes down in not over-delighted contemplation of
his nether integuments. "A little bit o' money now would make me so
happy an' industrious, I could take the buzz out of a hive o' bees. The
saints between us and all mischief, what's that?" he continued,
starting to his feet, as his glance fell upon the pocket-book which Tom
had dropped. "It serves me right," he went on, his face suddenly
becoming pale as paper, "to wish for any such thing. I don't want
it--it was all a mistake," cried he, apologetically. "This is the
devil's work; no sooner do I let a word out o' me mouth, that I didn't
mane at all at all, but the evil blaggard sticks a swadge of temptation
right before me. I won't have it--take it away."
At that instant Polly returned into the room. "Take care how you
come--don't walk this way," said Bryan. "Look!"
"What is it?" cried Polly, in alarm.
"Timptation!" shouted Bryan. "I was foolish enough just now to wish for
a trifle of money, and may I niver see glory if that lump of a
pocket-book didn't sprout up before me very eyes."
"Pocket-book, eh?" cried Polly, seizing it in her hands, despite of the
comic apprehension of Bryan, who insisted that it would burn her
fingers. The whole truth flashed across her mind at once. Tom's dream
was no dream, but a reality, and the struggle in his mind whether to
keep or return it, had caused that sleepless and uncomfortable night.
"Bryan," said she, quickly, "did you hear any one say that they had
lost any money yesterday?"
"Let me see," replied the other. "Yes, to be sure, 44 came out of the
hall-door, and axed me if I saw a pocket-book."
"It must be his. Thank God for this merciful dispensation," cried the
agitated wife. "Quick, quick, my bonnet and shawl, and come you, Bryan,
you know the place; this money must be that which was lost."
"I'm wid you, ma'am," answered Bryan. "Who knows but that may be the
identical pocket-book; at any rate it'll do as well if there's as much
money in it, and if there isn't, there'll be another crop before we
come back."