“Don’t cry, mother. I shall soon be older and stronger, and then I can
do more for you and little sister. You shall never want for bread when I
am a man. Don’t cry, mother, _please_ don’t; it breaks my heart.”
The speaker was a manly little fellow of some seven years. His
countenance would have been beautiful, but for an expression of
premature and anxious care, and a look of patient suffering which it was
painful to see on the face of happy childhood.
One arm was thrown around the neck of a pale, sad-looking woman, while
the other clasped a chubby little girl, who, smiling through her tears,
lisped, in her pretty childish accents,
“Don’t cry, mother. Rosy loves you.”
There was comfort in this. The last crust of bread had been eaten, and
not a solitary sixpence remained to buy another loaf. The mother was too
feeble and ill to ply her needle with that unremitting diligence which
was necessary for the support of her little ones. Her strength had
already been too severely taxed; and now the time had come when Nature
could no longer support the heavy burden. The future was very, very
dark; and yet the mother’s heart was comforted by the innocent love of
her darlings. She wiped away those bitter tears, and tried to smile, as
she clasped them to her bosom.
“My good Ernest,” she exclaimed, “my sweet little Rosy, I will weep no
more. Our Heavenly Father careth even for the sparrows. Surely He will
not forsake us in our hour of need. You must go to Mr. Thayer’s, my son,
and see if he will give me some more work. Tell him that I have been
very ill, but am better now, and should be glad of employment. Tell him,
also, that it would be a great relief to me if he would pay me one
dollar in advance. Perhaps he will do this for me.”
“If he does not, he will be a cross man,” said Ernest, “for he has a
pocket-book full of dollars. I saw them the last time I was there.”
“Yes, dear; but he employs a great many people, and has to pay out a
great deal of money.”
“You are not able to sew, mother,” said Ernest, thoughtfully, as he took
up his hat. “It will bring back the bad pain in your side.”
“Perhaps not, Ernest. At any rate, I must try. Go now, my son, for I
have no bread to give little Rosy for her dinner; and you, too, will
soon be hungry.”
The heart of the boy swelled almost to bursting, as he obeyed his
mother’s command. For many weeks she had been stretched on the bed of
sickness; and the kind physician, whom she was at length obliged to call
in, had said, in Ernest’s hearing, that she needed rest; that such
constant exertion would certainly cause her death.
“And now she has sent me for the sewing again,” sobbed the poor child,
“and I know it will kill her: and then, what will become of poor little
Rosy and me. Oh! how I wish I was older. If I could only earn a very
little, it would be some help. Is there nothing in the world that little
boys can do?”
As Ernest said this, the shrill cry of a match boy attracted his
attention; and a bright thought entered his mind.
He could carry a basket, surely. It could not be so heavy as the baskets
of wood and blocks which he often picked up around the new buildings for
his mother. And he could call matches, and sell them, too, and take the
money to his mother. And then, how comfortable she would be; and she
would not have to work so hard.
Pleasant visions of tea and bread, and even of a pound of butter, passed
before Ernest’s eyes; but then an unexpected difficulty arose. Where was
the sum necessary for the outfit to come from? It certainly did not need
a very extensive capital; but dollars, or even shillings, were hard to
find. Ernest had not answered the question to his satisfaction, when he
found himself at the door of the building, where he was to obtain the
work for his mother. There was little trouble in making the desired
arrangement. Mrs. Lawrence was well known at the establishment as an
excellent workwoman; and the work, and the dollar in advance, were
readily furnished.
Encouraged by this success, Ernest involuntarily exclaimed,
“Oh, how I wish that some one would lend me a dollar!”
“And what would you do with a dollar, my little man?” inquired a
gentleman standing by, attracted by the earnestness of the boy’s manner.
Ernest blushed deeply, but answered, in a firm tone,
“I would buy a basket and some matches, and other things, and sell them
in the street; and then my poor mother would not have to work so hard.”
“You are a good son,” was the reply; “and I would willingly lend you the
dollar, if I thought you were old enough to carry out the plan.”
“Only try me, sir!” exclaimed the animated child. “Only try me! You
shall see that I can do it.”
At this moment, a hasty summons from a friend reminded the gentleman
that he must not miss an approaching omnibus. He placed a dollar in
Ernest’s hand; and without waiting to hear his expressions of gratitude,
sprung into the coach, and was soon out of sight.
With rapid steps, Ernest passed through the crowded streets, until he
turned down the narrow alley which led to his own home.
His delight was almost too great for utterance; and he clasped his arms
around his mother’s neck, and fairly sobbed for joy.
“What is the matter, my dear son?” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, in alarm.
“What new misfortune has befallen us! Would not Mr. Thayer give me
employment?”
“Oh yes, mother; yes, indeed; and here is the dollar he sent you. I am
not crying because I am sorry, mother. My heart is very glad. You will
not have to work so hard any more, mother; and I shall help to support
you and little Rosy. See what a kind friend has lent me.” And as Ernest
spoke, he held up the dollar which the gentleman had given him.
“And how will this enable you to support us, my child?” asked the widow,
in astonishment, for she could not understand the meaning of Ernest’s
words.
“You shall see, mother. I will try my best, and our Heavenly Father will
help me. This dollar will buy me a basket, and a few things to put in
it; and when I have sold those, I can buy some more. You do not know how
well I can call matches, mother;” and he imitated the shrill cry so
skilfully, that Rosy clapped her hands with admiration, and even his
mother smiled at his enthusiasm.
But it was a sad smile; for it was a trial to her to have Ernest
commence this new mode of life. He was a bright boy, and a good scholar
for his age; and she had hoped that he would continue steadily at
school, until he had acquired a good education.
But something must be done for their relief; and it was possible that
the boy’s small earnings might at least help to supply their scanty
food.
So the basket was bought, and a moderate supply of matches and other
trifling articles placed in it; and early on the following morning,
Ernest commenced his new life.
His neat appearance, and bright, animated countenance, were so
prepossessing, that many who observed him were disposed to buy; and one
kind lady even bestowed an extra sixpence upon him, because he thanked
her so gratefully for buying half-a-dozen boxes of his matches.
With a joyful heart, he placed his earnings in his mother’s hands.
“Look, mother!” he exclaimed, “all this, besides what I need to buy more
things with, and the sixpence which I have laid aside toward paying the
dollar. You know I must lay by some every day to pay the gentleman. But
how am I to find him, mother? I never thought to ask where he lived.”
“He probably meant to give you the money, Ernest, or he would have told
you where to bring it.”
“Oh no, mother, he only lent it to me; I will pay it back, if I search
the city to find him. How much I thank him for his kindness.”
“And I thank him too,” said little Rosy. “Now, we shall never be poor
any more—shall we, Ernest?” “I think not,” replied Ernest. “Mother shall
have a cup of tea every evening; and after a little while, Rosy, we will
have butter to eat on our bread, and I will buy you a pretty new frock.”
“Poor children!” thought the mother, as she gazed fondly upon them. “How
little it takes to make them happy!”
It was really wonderful what success attended our little match boy. Not
only were many daily comforts provided, but quite a sum was laid by for
time of need. Ernest was almost too happy when he saw both his mother
and Rosy dressed neatly in frocks which had been bought with his
earnings; and his only trouble was, that he had not yet been able to
discover the good gentleman who had lent him the first dollar.
“I should so love to thank him, and tell him how nicely we are getting
along,” he would sometimes say. “Your cheeks are not quite so pale as
they used to be when you sewed so many hours in the night, mother. I am
very glad that I am old enough to help you.”
“You are a great help to me, indeed, my son,” replied Mrs. Lawrence;
“but I feel anxious that you should have a little time to devote to your
learning. We have some money laid by now, and I think you may let your
basket rest for awhile, and attend school.”
Ernest loved his books, and his eyes brightened at the thought of
school; but after a moment’s thought, he said,
“It would not do, mother, to give up my basket altogether, because there
are a good many kind ladies who buy many things from me, and always wait
for me to come; and besides, we should soon spend the little money that
we have, and then you would have to work so hard again. But I will
study, mother; you will help me, and I will try my best. I can spare two
or three hours every day for my books.”
And from that time, with his mother’s help, and his own patient
industry, Ernest made rapid progress; and even found leisure to instruct
his little sister in several branches.
Rosy was an active little girl, and loved to make herself useful. It was
her busy fingers that placed everything in such neat and attractive
order in her brother’s basket; and it was she, also, who made the room
look so very bright and cheerful, to welcome his return. While her
mother was engaged with her sewing, she would sweep the floor, wipe
every particle of dust from the scanty furniture, set the table, and do
everything that one so young could do toward preparing their frugal
meal.
“See, Ernest,” she said, as her brother seated himself by her side one
evening, after the tea table was cleared away, and Mrs. Lawrence had
resumed her work. “See how nicely I have pasted this strip of sand paper
over the mantel-piece, that you may have a place to light the match upon
when you kindle the fire for mother in the morning.”
“Yes, it looks very nicely,” answered Ernest; “and I will try to
remember never to draw the matches across the wall any more, since it
leaves such ugly marks. But, Rosy, I see those same marks in very nice
houses sometimes.”
“Perhaps they did not think about pasting up sand paper,” replied Rosy,
thoughtfully; and then, after a moment’s pause, she added, “You might
cut some little strips, Ernest, and sell them with your matches.”
“I might do something better than that,” exclaimed her brother, as a
sudden thought struck him. “If mother will give us some paste, and you
will let me use some of your pasteboard and bits of colored paper which
the paper hanger, next door, gave you, I think I can make something very
pretty to hold matches, and light them too.”
The paste and paper were readily supplied, but Ernest soon found that it
was quite beyond his skill to carry out the plan which he had formed;
and he was delighted when his mother laid aside her work, and offered to
assist him.
With her help, a stiff piece of pasteboard, seven or eight inches
square, was partly covered with sand paper, and neatly bordered with
colored paper. Two little round cases were then fastened upon the upper
part of the card, to hold the matches; and a small hole was made in the
middle, so that it could be hung upon a nail driven into the wall.
Ernest and Rosy fairly jumped for joy when the first one was completed
and placed upon the mantel-piece to dry. The second one was made much
quicker than the first; and Mrs. Lawrence soon became so expert, that
she had finished half a dozen in a very short time. These were enough
for an experiment. Ernest was sure they would sell for sixpence a-piece;
and after he went to bed, he could hardly close his eyes, his mind was
so busy thinking what a little fortune he should make with this pretty
invention.
His expectations were not disappointed. At every house where he called
with his basket, the match cases were noticed and admired; and before he
had been an hour from home, he had sold the last one, and with a light
heart returned to tell his success to his mother.
A fresh supply was soon obtained; and for several days, he was equally
successful in disposing of them.
At one house, where a little girl had purchased one of the first cases
which had been made, he received an order for half-a-dozen, to be
furnished as soon as possible.
“And be sure to make them very pretty, little boy,” said the young girl,
as she stood at the door talking with Ernest; “for my father will look
at them himself, and he will want them very nice. He was quite pleased
when I showed him the one which I bought the other day, and he said you
were an ingenious boy.”
“My mother makes the greater part of them, Miss,” replied Ernest,
blushing. “We will do our best to please you.”
Rosy had been uncommonly successful, that day, in collecting pretty
pieces of colored paper; and the six little cases, far prettier than any
which had been made before, were soon completed and placed upon the
mantel-piece to dry, that they might be in readiness for Ernest’s
morning expedition.
Very happy he felt, as with his basket upon his arm, he knocked at the
basement door of the handsome house where he had often sold his little
wares, and inquired of the girl who opened the door, if he could see the
young lady.
“Oh, you are Miss Ellen’s little match boy,” was the reply. “Wait a
moment, and I will call her.”
Just then the door of the breakfast room opened, and Miss Ellen herself
appeared.
“Have you brought them so soon?” she exclaimed, joyfully, as Ernest
eagerly displayed his treasures. “Oh, they are very pretty! Come with
me, and I will show them to papa. He has finished his breakfast, and is
reading the morning paper. Come right along. Do not be afraid.”
Ernest took off his hat, and followed his little conductress into the
front basement. A pleasant-looking gentleman sat in an arm-chair, with a
newspaper in his hand.
“Here is the little match boy, papa,” said Ellen, as they entered. “He
has brought the cases which you wished for. Look! are they not pretty?”
“Very pretty, my daughter, and very neatly made. What is your name, my
little lad?”
But Ernest made no reply. He was looking intently and eagerly at the
gentleman, and after a moment’s pause, exclaimed,
“It must be the very one! I am so glad!”
“Glad of what, my little fellow?” asked the gentleman, smiling.
“Glad to find you, Sir. Do you not remember that you lent me a dollar?
Oh, it has been of great use to me; and I have wanted so much to thank
you, and pay it back to you. I have carried it in my pocket for a long
time; but I did not know that you lived in this house.”
As Ernest spoke, he drew a silver dollar from his pocket, carefully
wrapped in a piece of paper, and offered it to the gentleman; but he
drew back, saying,
“This is some mistake, my lad. I never lent you a dollar.”
“Oh yes, Sir, a long time ago; more than a year. It was in Mr. Thayer’s
shop, Sir. We were very poor then, and I was so anxious to do something
to help my mother. You thought I was too small to carry a basket; but
you lent me the dollar.”
“I remember it now, my boy. You are an honest little fellow. And have
you really succeeded well?”
“Very well, Sir. We are not so poor now. Mother does not have to work so
hard, and we have good food and comfortable clothes. It is all owing to
your kindness, Sir.”
Once more Ernest offered the dollar; but the gentleman refused it,
saying,
“I intended to give it to you, my child.”
“But I should feel happier if you would take it, Sir; I have saved it
for you so long.”
“I will take the little match boxes instead, then,” replied his friend.
“Will that satisfy you?”
“They are not worth a dollar,” replied Ernest; “but I can bring you
more, if you like.”
“We have enough, my good boy. A dollar is not too much for them. And
now, give me your name, and tell me where you live, for I shall wish to
see more of you.”
“My name is Ernest Lawrence, Sir; and we live in one room of the large
white house near the Baptist church.”
“Ah, yes, I know the place. Well, Ernest, tell your mother that I will
call to see her to-morrow morning, about ten o’clock.”
“Thank you, Sir; I will not forget to tell her. She will be very much
obliged to you for your kindness, and so will Rosy.”
“Who is Rosy?” asked Ellen, who had been an attentive listener to the
conversation between her father and the little match boy.
“My sister, Miss,” replied Ernest, as he took up his basket, and made
his best bow to the gentleman.
The next morning was a long one to the two children. Very early had Rosy
assisted her mother in putting their little room in the neatest order;
and two hours before the time when they might expect the gentleman, she
was gazing eagerly from the window, hoping that he would soon arrive.
The right time came at last; and Mr. Burnap—for this was the name of
Ernest’s benefactor—was seen ascending the steps. The children ran to
the door to receive him, and show him the way to their room.
He spoke kindly to them both, and stroked Rosy’s golden curls; but he
had not long to stay, and seemed anxious to have some conversation with
their mother. So the children employed themselves quietly in another
part of the room, and were careful not to speak a loud word, for fear of
disturbing their guest.
After a little while, they softly left the room, and seated themselves
on the step of the outer door, where they could talk together in more
freedom, and yet be very sure to see Mr. Burnap before he left the
house.
In about half an hour, their mother called them.
“Come here, my boy,” said Mr. Burnap, extending his hand to Ernest, as
he advanced. “Your mother tells me that you are fond of your books.
Would you like to give up going out with your basket, and attend a good
school?”
Ernest hesitated.
“Speak out, my boy. Tell us what is in your mind.”
“I should love to go to school very much, Sir, if I was sure that my
mother would not have to work too hard. My basket earns enough to buy us
many comforts.”
“I will see that your mother is provided for. Would you, then, like to
attend school?”
“Oh, very much, Sir. I will study hard.”
“That is right. You are a good son, and I think you will be a good man.
As for my little Rosy, I am sure she is a good little girl, and does all
she can to be useful.”
“I can sweep the room, Sir,” replied Rosy, smiling pleasantly, as the
gentleman drew her to his side.
“I thought so, my child. It looks very nice. I must bring my little
daughter to see you some time. And now, I must bid you all good morning.
I will call again in one week, Mrs. Lawrence; please to have all in
readiness.”
Mrs. Lawrence bowed her head gratefully, but her heart was too full to
speak; and she quite alarmed the children by weeping some time after Mr.
Burnap left the room.
At length she grew calm, and was able to tell them all that had passed.
Their kind friend had expressed his interest in Ernest’s welfare, and
had offered to give him a good education at his own expense. He had
asked Mrs. Lawrence many questions concerning her present employment;
and finding that constant confinement to her needle was injurious to her
health, and yielded them but a scanty support, he had proposed to her to
remove to some comfortable rooms in a house of his own, part of which
was at this time vacant. One of these rooms was fitted for a shop; and
he offered to advance a sufficient sum to enable her to open a small
thread and needle store, which would, he thought, be successful, and
might be gradually increased.
Ernest and Rosy were almost wild with delight, when their mother told
them of this plan. Rosy was sure she could soon learn to attend the shop
as well as her mother; and Ernest thought he could help a great deal
when he was not in school. Their hearts were filled with gratitude to
their Heavenly Father, who had raised them up such a kind friend.
In about a week they were established in their new home, which seemed to
them almost like a palace. Several articles of furniture were given them
by Mr. Burnap; and the whole place presented a remarkably neat and
attractive appearance.
The little shop was very successful; and before many months had passed
away, Mrs. Lawrence was able, not only to repay the sum which their
friend had advanced to them, but also to increase her stock of goods
considerably.
Mr. Burnap would have objected to receiving the money, but Mrs. Lawrence
begged that he would take it, and if he pleased, use it to assist others
who were poor and needy.
Ernest applied with great diligence to his studies, and made rapid
progress. Little Rosy, also, was soon placed at school; and was no less
an industrious scholar than her brother. They delighted to do everything
in their power to assist their mother, and often wished they could do
more, to show their gratitude to the friends who had been so kind to
them.
Mr. Burnap had no son, and Ernest became very dear to him. After several
years, he took him into his own counting-room, and, as he grew older,
made him a partner in his business.
Ernest, while still a young man, was a wealthy merchant. If you could
have looked into his beautiful parlors, and have seen that
handsomely-dressed, cheerful-looking old lady, seated in her
rocking-chair, and that lovely young girl by her side, you would not
have recognized poor Mrs. Lawrence and her little Rosy; and in that
gentlemanly-looking man who has just entered, you would have been still
more unable to have recalled the little match boy, whose shrill cry had
once been heard through those very streets, where he was now known and
respected.
Ernest still loved to tell the story; and when Rosy would sometimes say,
“That little thread and needle store seems like a dream to me now,” he
would produce the very basket which he had formerly carried, and the
silver dollar which he had so long reserved to repay his benefactor, and
would smilingly reply,
“My match basket is still a reality to me, Rosy. We will not forget the
days gone by.”