OUT OF WORK.
Chester had a talk with his mother that evening. She felt indignant at
Silas Tripp’s meanness, but advised Chester to remain in the store for
the present.
“I’d rather work anywhere else for two dollars,” said Chester,
bitterly.
It would be humiliating enough to accept the reduction, but he felt
that duty to his mother required the sacrifice. He started on his way
to the store in the morning, prepared to notify Mr. Tripp that he would
remain, but he found that it was too late. Just before he reached the
store, he met Abel Wood, a loose-jointed, towheaded boy, with a stout
body and extraordinarily long legs, who greeted him with a grin.
“I’m goin’ to work in your place Monday mornin’,” he said.
“Has Mr. Tripp spoken to you?” asked Chester, his heart sinking.
“Yes, he said you was goin’ to leave. What’s up?”
“Mr. Tripp cut down my wages,” said Chester. “I couldn’t work for two
dollars and a half.”
“He’s only goin’ to give me two and a quarter.”
“You can afford to work for that. Your father’s got steady work.”
“Yes, but all the same I’ll ask for more in a few weeks. Where are you
goin’ to work?”
“I don’t know yet,” answered Chester, sadly.
“It’s awful hard to get a place in Wyncombe.”
“I suppose it is. I hope something will turn up.”
He tried to speak hopefully, but there was very little hope in his
heart.
He went about his work in a mechanical way, but neglected nothing. When
the time came for the store to close, Silas Tripp took three dollars
from the drawer and handed it to him, saying: “There’s your wages,
Chester. I expect it’s the last I’ll pay you.”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so.”
“I don’t know how I’ll like the Wood boy. He hain’t no experience.”
“He’ll get it, sir.”
“If you want to stay for two and a quarter—the same I’m going to give
him—I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind.”
“No, sir; it wouldn’t be right to put him off now. I guess I’ll get
something else to do.”
He turned and left the store, walking with a slower step than usual.
His heart was heavy, for he felt that, poorly as they lived hitherto,
they must live more poorly still in the days to come. He reached home
at last, and put the three dollars in his mother’s hands.
“I don’t know when I shall have any more money to give you, mother,” he
said.
“It looks dark, Chester, but the Lord reigns. He will still be our
friend.”
There was something in these simple words that cheered Chester, and a
weight seemed lifted from his heart. He felt that they were not quite
friendless, and that there was still One, kinder and more powerful than
any earthly friend, to whom they could look for help.
When Monday morning came he rose at the usual hour and breakfasted.
“I’ll go out and take a walk, mother,” he said. “Perhaps I may find
some work somewhere.”
Almost unconsciously, he took the familiar way to the store, and paused
at a little distance from it. He saw Abel come out with some packages
to carry to a customer. It pained him to see another boy in his place,
and he turned away with a sigh.
During the night four or five inches of snow had fallen. This gave him
an idea. As he came to the house of the Misses Cleveland, two maiden
sisters who lived in a small cottage set back fifty feet from the road,
he opened the gate and went up to the front door.
Miss Jane Cleveland opened it for him.
“Good-morning, Chester,” she said.
“Good-morning, Miss Cleveland. I thought you might want to get a path
shoveled to the gate.”
“So I would; Hannah tried to do it last time it snowed, but she caught
an awful cold. But ain’t you working up at the store?”
“Not now. Mr. Tripp cut down my wages, and I left.”
“Do tell. Have you got another place?”
“Not just yet. I thought I’d do any little jobs that came along till I
got one.”
“That’s right. What’ll you charge to shovel a path?”
Chester hesitated.
“Fifteen cents,” he answered, at last.
“I’ll give you ten. Money’s skerce.”
Chester reflected that he could probably do the job in half an hour,
and he accepted. It cheered him to think he was earning something,
however small.
He worked with a will, and in twenty-five minutes the work was done.
“You’re spry,” said Jane Cleveland, when he brought the shovel to the
door. “It took Hannah twice as long, and she didn’t do it as well.”
“It isn’t the kind of work for ladies,” replied Chester.
“Wait till I fetch the money.”
Miss Cleveland went into the house, and returned with a nickel and four
pennies.
“I’m reely ashamed,” she said. “I’ll have to owe you a cent. But here’s
a mince pie I’ve just baked. Take it home to your ma. Maybe it’ll come
handy. I’ll try to think of the other cent next time you come along.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about it, Miss Cleveland. The pie is worth a
good deal more than the cent. Mother’ll be very much obliged to you.”
“She’s very welcome, I’m sure,” said the kindly spinster. “I hope
you’ll get work soon, Chester.”
“Thank you.”
Chester made his way homeward, as he did not care to carry the pie
about with him. His mother looked at him in surprise as he entered the
house.
“What have you there, Chester?” she asked.
“A pie from Miss Cleveland.”
“But how came she to give you a pie?”
“I shoveled a path for her, and she gave me a pie and ten cents—no,
nine. So you see, mother, I’ve earned something this week.”
“I take it as a good omen. A willing hand will generally find work to
do.”
“How are you off for wood, mother?”
“There is some left, Chester.”
“I’ll go out in the yard and work at the wood pile till dinner time.
Then this afternoon I will go out again and see if I can find some more
paths to shovel.”
But Chester was not destined to earn any more money that day. As a
general thing, the village people shoveled their own paths, and would
regard hiring such work done as sinful extravagance. Chester did,
however, find some work to do. About half-past three he met Abel Wood
tugging a large basket, filled with groceries, to the minister’s house.
He had set it down, and was resting his tired arms when Chester came
along.
“Give me a lift with this basket, Chester, that’s a good fellow,” said
Abel.
Chester lifted it.
“Yes, it is heavy,” he said.
“The minister’s got some company,” went on Abel, “and he’s given an
extra large order.”
“How do you like working in the store, Abel?”
“It’s hard work, harder than I thought.”
“But remember what a magnificent salary you will get,” said Chester,
with a smile.
“It ain’t half enough. Say, Chester, old Tripp is rich, ain’t he?”
“I should call myself rich if I had his money.”
“He’s a miserly old hunks, then, to give me such small pay.”
“Don’t let him hear you say so.”
“I’ll take care of that. Come, you’ll help me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Chester, good-naturedly; “I might as well, as I have
nothing else to do.”
Between the two the basket was easily carried. In a short time they had
reached the minister’s house. They took the basket around to the side
door, just as Mr. Morris, the minister, came out, accompanied by a
young man, who was evidently a stranger in the village, as Chester did
not remember having seen him before.
“Chester,” said the minister, kindly, “how does it happen that you have
an assistant to-day?”
“I am the assistant, Mr. Morris. Abel is Mr. Tripp’s new boy.”
“Indeed, I am surprised to hear that. When did you leave the store?”
“Last Saturday night.”
“Have you another place?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you at leisure this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then perhaps you will walk around with my friend, Mr. Conrad, and show
him the village. I was going with him, but I have some writing to do,
and you will do just as well.”
“I shall be very happy to go with Mr. Conrad,” said Chester, politely.
“And I shall be very glad to have you,” said the young man, with a
pleasant smile.
“Come back to supper, Chester,” said the minister; “that is, if your
mother can spare you.”
“Thank you, sir. I suppose you will be able to carry back the empty
basket, Abel,” added Chester, as his successor emerged from the side
door, relieved of his burden.
“I guess so,” answered Abel, with a grin.
“I was never in Wyncombe before,” began Mr. Conrad, “though I am a
second cousin of your minister, Mr. Morris. I have to go away to-morrow
morning, and wish to see a little of the town while I am here.”
“Where do you live, Mr. Conrad?”
“In the city of New York.”
“Are you a minister, too?”
“Oh, no!” laughed the young man. “I am in a very different business. I
am an artist—in a small way. I make sketches for books and magazines.”
“And does that pay?”
“Fairly well. I earn a comfortable living.”
“I didn’t know one could get money for making pictures. I like to draw,
myself.”
“I will see what you can do this evening; that is, if you accept my
cousin’s invitation.”
Before the walk was over Chester had become much interested in his new
friend. He listened eagerly to his stories of the great city, and felt
that life must be much better worth living there than in Wyncombe.