A LUCKY RESCUE
The opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative
prosperity in the home of Timothy Harding. To persons accustomed to live
in their frugal way, five hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as
might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt
the cooper or his wife to enter upon a more extravagant mode of living.
"Let us save something against a rainy day," said Mrs. Harding.
"We can if I get work soon," answered her husband. "This little one will
add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we shouldn't
save up at least half of it."
"So I think, Timothy. The child's food will not amount to a dollar a
week."
"There's no tellin' when you will get work, Timothy," said Rachel, in
her usual cheerful way. "It isn't well to crow before you are out of the
woods."
"Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the sunny
side of the picture."
"I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere," answered his
sister, in the same enlivening way.
"Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this
child?" asked Timothy.
"I've no doubt you think it very fortunate now," said Rachel, gloomily;
"but a young child's a great deal of trouble."
"Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said his aunt, slowly. "If all babies were as cross and
ill-behaved as you were when you were an infant, five hundred dollars
wouldn't begin to pay for the trouble of having them around."
Mr. Harding and his wife laughed at the manner in which the tables had
been turned upon Jack, but the latter had his wits about him
sufficiently to answer: "I've always heard, Aunt Rachel, that the
crosser a child is, the pleasanter he will grow up. What a very pleasant
baby you must have been!"
"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it
as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly: "He's got you there, Rachel."
But Rachel took it as a serious matter, and observed that, when she was
young, children were not allowed to speak so to their elders.
"But I don't know as I can blame 'em much," she continued, wiping her
eyes with the corner of her apron, "when their own parents encourage 'em
in it."
Timothy was warned, by experience of Rachel's temper, that silence was
his most prudent course. Anything that he might say would only be likely
to make matters worse than before.
Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another
word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh,
as if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this,
it was observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Miss Harding
appeared to thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She
was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct,
so far as this peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a
newspaper, she always looked first to the space appropriated to deaths,
and next in order to the column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her
spirits were visibly exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in
either list.
The cooper continued to look out for work; but it was with a more
cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family
depended absolutely on his immediate success. Used economically, the
money he had by him would last eight months; and during that time it was
hardly possible that he should not find something to do. It was this
sense of security, of having something to fall back upon, that enabled
him to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that people are
content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining their
health, and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come,
they are at once plunged into discouragement, and feel the necessity of
doing something immediately. There is only one way of fending off such
an embarrassment; and that is, to resolve, whatever may be the amount of
one's income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of
trouble. A little economy--though it involves self-denial--will be well
repaid by the feeling of security it engenders.
Mr. Harding was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared.
Not that his line of business revived--that still remained depressed for
a considerable time--but another path was opened to him.
Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from a
doorway, and attack a gentleman, whose dress and general appearance
indicated probable wealth.
Seizing him by the throat, the villain effectually prevented his calling
for help, and at once commenced rifling his pockets, when the cooper
arrived on the scene. A sudden blow admonished the robber that he had
more than one to deal with.
"What are you doing? Let that gentleman be!"
The villain hesitated but a moment, then springing to his feet, he
hastily made off, under cover of the darkness.
"I hope you have received no injury, sir," said Mr. Harding,
respectfully, addressing the stranger he had rescued.
"No, my worthy friend; thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal
nearly succeeded, however."
"I hope you have lost nothing, sir."
"Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your
interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with me,
all of which would doubtless have been taken."
"I am glad," said Timothy, "that I was able to do you such a service. It
was by the merest chance that I came this way."
"Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty
club of yours? I have some distance yet to go, and the money I have with
me I don't want to lose."
"Willingly," said the cooper.
"But I am forgetting," continued the gentleman, "that you will yourself
be obliged to return alone."
"I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack," said Mr.
Harding, laughing. "Money brings care, I have always heard, and the want
of it sometimes freedom from anxiety."
"Yet most people are willing to take their share of that."
"You are right, sir, nor I can't call myself an exception. Still I would
be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment."
"I hope you have that, at least."
"I have had until three or four months since."
"Then, at present, you are unemployed?"
"Yes, sir."
"What is your business?"
"I am a cooper."
"I will see what I can do for you. Will you call at my office to-morrow,
say at twelve o'clock?"
"I shall be glad to do so, sir."
"I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my
house. Thank you for your company. Let me see you to-morrow."
They stood before a handsome dwelling house, from whose windows, draped
by heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded. The cooper could hear
the ringing of childish voices welcoming home their father, whose life,
unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he felt grateful to
Providence for making him the instrument of frustrating the designs of
the villain who would have robbed the merchant, and perhaps done him
further injury. Timothy determined to say nothing to his wife about the
night's adventure, until after his appointed meeting for the next day.
Then, if any advantage accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole
story.
When he reached home, Mrs. Harding was sewing beside the fire. Aunt
Rachel sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of martyr-like
resignation to the woes of life.
"I've brought you home a paper, Rachel," said her brother, cheerfully.
"You may find something interesting in it."
"I shan't be able to read it this evening," said Rachel, mournfully. "My
eyes have troubled me lately. I feel that it is more than probable I am
getting blind; but I trust I shall not live to be a burden to you,
Timothy. Your prospects are dark enough without that."
"Don't trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel," said the
cooper, cheerily. "I think I know what will enable you to use your eyes
as well as ever."
"What?" asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity.
"A pair of spectacles."
"Spectacles!" retorted Rachel, indignantly. "It will be a good many
years before I am old enough to wear spectacles. I didn't expect to be
insulted by my own brother. But I ought not to be surprised. It's one of
my trials."
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel," said the cooper,
perplexed.
"Good-night!" said Rachel, rising and taking a lamp from the table.
"Come, Rachel, don't go up to bed yet; it's only nine o'clock."
"After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not allow
me to stay."
Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary
melancholy.
"I wish Rachel wasn't quite so contrary," said the cooper to his wife.
"She turns upon a body so sudden it's hard to know how to take her.
How's the little girl, Martha?"
"She's been asleep ever since six o'clock."
"I hope you don't find her very much trouble? That all comes on you,
while we have the benefit of the money."
"I don't think of that, Timothy. She is a sweet child, and I love her
almost as much as if she were my own. As for Jack, he perfectly idolizes
her."
"And how does Rachel look upon her?"
"I am afraid she will never be a favorite with Rachel."
"Rachel never took to children much. It isn't her way. Now, Martha,
while you are sewing, I will read you the news."