IN WHICH THE LITTLE BLACK HOUSE IS BOUGHT BUT NOT PAID FOR.
Probably my young readers have by this time come to the conclusion that
Bobby Bright was a very clever fellow--one whose acquaintance they
would be happy to cultivate. Perhaps by this time they have become so
far interested in him as to desire to know who his parents were, what
they did, and in what kind of a house he lived.
I hope none of my young friends will think any less of him when I
inform them that Bobby lived in an old black house which had never been
painted, which had no flower garden in front of it, and which, in a
word, was quite far from being a palace. A great many very nice city
folks would not have considered it fit to live in, would have turned up
their noses at it, and wondered that any human beings could be so
degraded as to live in such a miserable house. But the widow Bright,
Bobby's mother, thought it was a very comfortable house, and considered
herself very fortunate in being able to get so good a dwelling. She
had never lived in a fine house, knew nothing about velvet carpets,
mirrors seven feet high, damask chairs and lounges, or any of the smart
things which very rich and very proud city people consider absolutely
necessary for their comfort. Her father had been a poor man, her
husband had died a poor man, and her own life had been a struggle to
keep the demons of poverty and want from invading her humble abode.
Mr. Bright, her deceased husband, had been a day laborer in Riverdale.
He never got more than a dollar a day, which was then considered very
good wages in the country. He was a very honest, industrious man, and
while he lived, his family did very well. Mrs. Bright was a careful,
prudent woman, and helped him support the family. They never knew what
it was to want for any thing.
Poor people, as well as rich, have an ambition to be something which
they are not, or to have something which they have not. Every person,
who has an energy of character, desires to get ahead in the world.
Some merchants, who own big ships and big warehouses by the dozen,
desire to be what they consider rich. But their idea of wealth is very
grand. They wish to count it in millions of dollars, in whole blocks
of warehouses; and they are even more discontented than the day laborer
who has to earn his dinner before he can eat it.
Bobby's father and mother had just such an ambition, only it was so
modest that the merchant would have laughed at it. They wanted to own
the little black house in which they resided, so that they could not
only be sure of a home while they lived, but have the satisfaction of
living in their own house. This was a very reasonable ideal, compared
with that of the rich merchants I have mentioned; but it was even more
difficult for them to reach it, for the wages were small, and they had
many mouths to feed.
Mr. Bright had saved up fifty dollars; and he thought a great deal more
of this sum than many people do of a thousand dollars. He had had to
work very hard and be very prudent in order to accumulate this sum,
which made him value it all the more highly.
With this sum of fifty dollars at his command, John Bright felt rich;
and then, more than ever before, he wanted to own the little black
house. He felt as grand as a lord; and as soon as the forty-nine
dollars had become fifty, he waited upon Mr. Hardhand, a little crusty
old man, who owned the little black house, and proposed to purchase it.
The landlord was a hard man. Every body in Riverdale said he was mean
and stingy. Any generous-hearted man would have been willing to make
an easy bargain with an honest, industrious, poor man, like John
Bright, who wished to own the house in which he lived; but Mr.
Hardhand, although he was rich, only thought how he could make more
money. He asked the poor man four hundred dollars for the old house
and the little lot of land on which it stood.
It was a matter of great concern to John Bright. Four hundred dollars
was a "mint of money," and he could not see how he should ever be able
to save so much from his daily earnings. So he talked with Squire Lee
about it, who told him that three hundred was all it was worth. John
offered this for it, and after a month's hesitation, Mr. Hardhand
accepted the offer, agreeing to take fifty dollars down and the rest in
semi-annual payments of twenty-five dollars each, until the whole was
paid.
I am thus particular in telling my readers about the bargain, because
this debt which his father contracted was the means of making a man of
Bobby, as will be seen in his subsequent history.
John Bright paid the first fifty dollars; but before the next
instalment became due, the poor man was laid in his cold and silent
grave. A malignant disease carried him off, and the hopes of the
Bright family seemed to be blasted.
Four children were left to the widow. The youngest was only three
years old, and Bobby, the oldest, was nine, when his father died.
Squire Lee, who had always been a good friend of John Bright, told the
widow that she had better go to the poorhouse, and not attempt to
struggle along with such a fearful odds against her. But the widow
nobly refused to become a pauper, and to make paupers of her children,
whom she loved quite as much as though she and they had been born in a
ducal palace. She told the squire that she had two hands, and as long
as she had her health, the town need not trouble itself about her
support.
Squire Lee was filled with surprise and admiration at the noble
resolution of the poor woman; and when he returned to his house, he
immediately sent her a cord of wood, ten bushels of potatoes, two bags
of meal, and a firkin of salt pork.
The widow was very grateful for these articles, and no false pride
prevented her from accepting the gift of her rich and kind-hearted
neighbor.
Riverdale centre was largely engaged in the manufacturing of boots and
shoes, and this business gave employment to a large number of men and
women.
Mrs. Bright had for several years "closed" shoes--which, my readers who
do not live in "shoe towns" may not know, means sewing or stitching
them. To this business she applied herself with renewed energy. There
was a large hotel in Riverdale centre, where several families from
Boston spent the summer. By the aid of Squire Lee, she obtained the
washing of these families, which was more profitable than closing shoes.
By these means she not only supported her family very comfortably, but
was able to save a little money towards paying for the house. Mr.
Hardhand, by the persuasions of Squire Lee, had consented to let the
widow keep the house, and pay for it as she could.
John Bright had been dead four years at the time we introduce Bobby to
the reader. Mrs. Bright had paid another hundred dollars towards the
house, with the interest; so there was now but one hundred due. Bobby
had learned to "close," and helped his mother a great deal; but the
confinement and the stooping posture did not agree with his health, and
his mother was obliged to dispense with his assistance. But the
devoted little fellow found a great many ways of helping her. He was
now thirteen, and was as handy about the house as a girl. When he was
not better occupied, he would often go to the river and catch a mess of
fish, which was so much clear gain.
The winter which had just passed, had brought a great deal of sickness
to the little black house. The children all had the measles, and two
of them the scarlet fever, so that Mrs. Bright could not work much.
Her affairs were not in a very prosperous condition when the spring
opened; but the future was bright, and the widow, trusting in
Providence, believed that all would end well.
One thing troubled her. She had not been able to save any thing for
Mr. Hardhand. She could only pay her interest; but she hoped by the
first of July to give him twenty-five dollars of the principal. But
the first of July came, and she had only five dollars of the sum she
had partly promised her creditor. She could not so easily recover from
the disasters of the hard winter, and she had but just paid off the
little debts she had contracted. She was nervous and uneasy as the day
approached. Mr. Hardhand always abused her when she told him she could
not pay him, and she dreaded his coming.
It was the first of July on which Bobby caught those pouts, caught the
horse, and on which Tom Spicer had "caught a Tartar."
Bobby hastened home, as we said at the conclusion of the last chapter.
He was as happy as a lord. He had fish enough in his basket for
dinner, and for breakfast the next morning, and money enough in his
pocket to make his mother as happy as a queen, if queens are always
happy.
The widow Bright, though she had worried and fretted night and day
about the money which was to be paid to Mr. Hardhand on the first of
July, had not told her son any thing about it. It would only make him
unhappy, she reasoned, and it was needless to make the dear boy
miserable for nothing; so Bobby ran home all unconscious of the
pleasure which was in store for him.
When he reached the front door, as he stopped to scrape his feet on the
sharp stone there, as all considerate boys who love their mothers do,
before they go into the house, he heard the angry tones of Mr.
Hardhand. He was scolding and abusing his mother because she could not
pay him the twenty-five dollars.
Bobby's blood boiled with indignation, and his first impulse was to
serve him as he had served Tom Spicer, only a few moments before; but
Bobby, as we have before intimated, was a peaceful boy, and not
disposed to quarrel with any person; so he contented himself with
muttering a few hard words.
"The wretch! What business has he to talk to my mother in that style?"
said he to himself. "I have a great mind to kick him out of the house."
But Bobby's better judgment came to his aid; and perhaps he realized
that he and his mother would only get kicked out in return. He could
battle with Mr. Hardhand, but not with the power which his wealth gave
him; so, like a great many older persons in similar circumstances, he
took counsel of prudence rather than impulse.
"Bear ye one another's burdens," saith the Scripture; but Bobby was not
old enough or astute enough to realize that Mr. Hardhand's burden was
his wealth, his love of money; that it made him little better than a
Hottentot; and he could not feel as charitably towards him as a
Christian should towards his erring, weak brother.
Setting his pole by the door, he entered the room where Hardhand was
abusing his mother.