Just then there came from the adjoining room a wild burst of girlish laughter.
“What’s that?” A strange surprise flashed over the face of Mr. Bancroft.
“Kate and Mary are in a gay humor this morning,” said the mother. “But what have you been dreaming about, dear?”
As this question was asked, a strain of music was heard floating up from the parlor, and the voice of Flora came sweetly warbling a familiar air.
The father buried his face in the pillow, and wept for joy. He had awakened from a long, long dream of horror.
From that time Mr. Bancroft became a wiser man. He was no longer a murmurer, but a thankful recipient of the good gifts sent him by Providence. His wife bore him, in all, ten children, five of whom have already attained their majority. He never wanted a loaf of bread for them, nor anything needful for their comfort and happiness. True, he did not “get ahead” in the world, that is, did not lay up money; but One, wiser than he, saw that more than enough would not be good for him, and, therefore, no efforts that he could make would have given him more than what was needed for their “daily bread.” There was always enough, but none to spare.
I’LL SEE ABOUT IT.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
MR. EASY sat alone in his counting-room, one afternoon, in a most comfortable frame, both as regards mind and body. A profitable speculation in the morning had brought the former into a state of great complacency, and a good dinner had done all that was required for the repose of the latter. He was in that delicious, half-asleep, half-awake condition, which, occurring after dinner, is so very pleasant. The newspaper, whose pages at first possessed a charm for his eye, had fallen, with the hand that held it, upon his knee. His head was gently reclined backward against the top of a high, leather-cushioned chair; while his eyes, half-opened, saw all things around him but imperfectly. Just at this time the door was quietly opened, and a lad of some fifteen or sixteen years, with a pale, thin face, high forehead, and large dark eyes, entered. He approached the merchant with a hesitating step, and soon stood directly before him.
Mr. Easy felt disturbed at this intrusion, for so he felt it. He knew the lad to be the son of a poor widow, who had once seen better circumstances than those that now surrounded her. Her husband had, while living, been his intimate friend, and he had promised him at his dying hour to be the protector and adviser of his wife and children. He had meant to do all he promised, but not being very fond of trouble, except where stimulated to activity by the hope of gaining some good for himself, he had not been as thoughtful in regard to Mrs. Mayberry as he ought to have been. She was a modest, shrinking, sensitive woman, and had, notwithstanding her need of a friend and adviser, never called upon Mr. Easy, or even sent to request him to act for her in any thing, except once. Her husband had left her poor. She knew little of the world. She had three quite young children, and one, the oldest, about sixteen. Had Mr. Easy been true to his pledge, he might have thrown many a ray upon her dark path, and lightened her burdened heart of many a doubt and fear. But he had permitted more than a year to pass since the death of her husband, without having once called upon her. This neglect had not been intentional. His will was good but never active at the present moment. “To-morrow,” or “next week,” or “very soon,” he would call upon Mrs. Mayberry; but to-morrow, or next week, or very soon, had never yet come.
As for the widow, soon after her husband’s death, she found that poverty was to be added to affliction. A few hundred dollars made up the sum of all that she received after the settlement of his business, which had never been in a very prosperous condition. On this, under the exercise of extreme frugality, she had been enabled to live for nearly a year. Then the paucity of her little store made it apparent to her mind that individual exertion was required, directed toward procuring the means of support for her little family. Ignorant of the way in which this was to be done, and having no one to advise her, nearly two months more passed before she could determine what to do. By that time she had but a few dollars left, and was in a state of great mental distress and uncertainty. She then applied for work at some of the shops, and obtained common sewing, but at prices that could not yield her any thing like a support.
Hiram, her oldest son, had been kept at school up to this period. But now she had to withdraw him. It was impossible any longer to pay his tuition fees. He was an intelligent lad—active in mind, and pure in his moral principles. But like his mother, sensitive, and inclined to avoid observation. Like her, too, he had a proud independence of feeling, that made him shrink from asking or accepting a favor, or putting himself under an obligation to any one. He first became aware of his mother’s true condition, when she took him from school, and explained the reason for so doing. At once his mind rose into the determination to do something to aid his mother. He felt a glowing confidence, arising from the consciousness of strength within. He felt that he had both the will and the power to act, and to act efficiently.
“Don’t be disheartened mother,” he said, with animation. “I can and will do something. I can help you. You have worked for me a great many years. Now I will work for you.”
Where there is a will, there is a way. But it is often the case, that the will lacks the kind of intelligence that enables it to find the right way at once. So it proved in the case of Hiram Mayberry. He had a strong enough will, but did not know how to bring it into activity. Good, without its appropriate truth, is impotent. Of this the poor lad soon became conscious. To the question of his mother—
“What can you do, child?” an answer came not so readily.
“Oh, I can do a great many things,” was easily said; but, even in saying so, a sense of inability followed the first thought of what he should do, that the declaration awakened.
The will impels, and then the understanding seeks for the means of effecting the purposes of the will. In the case of young Hiram, thought followed affection. He pondered for many days over the means by which he was to aid his mother. But the more he thought, the more conscious did he become, that in the world, he was a weak boy. That however strong might be his purpose, his means of action were limited. His mother could aid him but little. She had but one suggestion to make, and that was, that he should endeavor to get a situation in some store or counting-room. This he attempted to do. Following her direction, he called upon Mr. Easy, who promised to see about looking him up a situation. It happened, the day after, that a neighbor spoke to him about a lad for his store—(Mr. Easy had already forgotten his promise)—Hiram was recommended, and the man called to see his mother.
“How much salary can you afford to give him?” asked Mrs. Mayberry, after learning all about the situation, and feeling satisfied that her son should accept of it.
“Salary, ma’am?” returned the storekeeper, in a tone of surprise. “We never give a boy any salary for the first year. The knowledge that is acquired of business is always considered a full compensation. After the first year, if he likes us, and we like him, we may give him seventy-five or a hundred dollars.”
Poor Mrs. Mayberry’s countenance fell immediately.
“I wouldn’t think of his going out now, if it were not in the hope of his earning something,” she said, in a disappointed voice.
“How much did you expect him to earn?” was asked by the storekeeper.
“I didn’t know exactly what to expect. But I supposed that he might earn four or five dollars a week.”
“Five dollars a week is all we pay our porter an abled-bodied, industrious man,” was returned. “If you wish your son to become acquainted with mercantile business, you must not expect him to earn much for three or four years. At a trade you may receive from him barely a sufficiency to board and clothe him, but nothing more.”