Hiram made no answer, but turned with a sigh toward the door. The keen disappointment expressed in the boy’s, face, and the touching quietness of his manner, reached the feelings of Mr. Easy. He was not a hard-hearted man, but selfishly indifferent to others. He could feel deeply enough if he would permit himself to do so. But of this latter feeling he was not often guilty.
“Stop a minute,” he said. And then stood in a musing attitude for a moment or two. “As you seem so anxious about this matter,” he added “if will wait here a little while, I will step down to see Mr. G—at once.”
The boy’s face brightened instantly. Mr. Easy saw the effect of what he said, and it made the task he was about entering upon reluctantly, an easy one. The boy waited for nearly a quarter of an hour, so eager to know the result, that he could not compose himself to sit down. The sound of Mr. Easy’s step at the door, at length made his heart bound. The merchant entered. Hiram looked into his face. One glance was sufficient to dash every dearly-cherished hope to the ground.
“I am sorry,” Mr. Easy said, “but the place was filled this morning. I was a little too late.”
The boy was unable to control his feelings. The disappointment was too great. Tears gushed from his eyes, as he turned away, and left the counting-room without speaking.
“I’m afraid I’ve done wrong,” said Mr. Easy to himself, as he stood, in a musing attitude, by his desk, about five minutes after Hiram had left. “If I had seen about the situation when he first called upon me, I might have secured it for him. But it’s too late now.”
After saying this, the merchant placed his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and commenced walking the floor of his counting-room backward and forward. He could not get out of his mind, the image of the boy as he turned from him in tears, nor drive away thoughts of the friend’s widow, whom he had neglected. This state of mind continued all the afternoon. Its natural effect was to cause him to cast about in his mind for some way of getting employment for Hiram, that would yield immediate returns. But nothing presented itself.
“I wonder if I couldn’t make room for him here?” he at length said—”He looks like a bright boy. I know Mr.—is highly pleased with him. He spoke of getting four dollars a week. That’s a good deal to give to a mere lad. But I suppose I might make him worth that to me. And now I begin to think seriously about the matter, I believe I cannot keep a clear conscience, and any longer remain indifferent to the welfare of my old friend’s widow and children. I must look after them a little more closely than I have heretofore done.”
This resolution reliever the mind of Mr. Easy a good deal.
When Hiram left the counting-room of the merchant, his spirits were crushed to the very earth. He found his way back, how he hardly knew, to his place of business, and mechanically performed the tasks allotted to him, until evening. Then he returned home, reluctant to meet his mother, and yet anxious to relieve her state of suspense, even if in doing so, he should dash a last hope from her heart. When he came in, Mrs. Mayberry lifted her eyes to his, inquiringly; but dropped them instantly—she needed no words to tell her that he had suffered a bitter disappointment.
“You did not get the place?” she at length said, with forced composure.
“No—it was taken this morning. Mr. Easy promised to see about it. But he didn’t do so. When he went this afternoon, it was too late.”
Hiram said this with a trembling voice, and lips that quivered.
“Thy will be done!” murmured the widow, lifting her eyes upward. “If these tender ones are to be taken from their mother’s fold, oh, do thou temper for them the piercing blast, and be their shelter amid the raging tempests.”
A tap at the door brought back the thoughts of Mrs. Mayberry. A brief struggle with her feelings, enabled her to overcome them in time to receive a visitor with composure. It was the merchant.
“Mr. Easy!” she said, in surprise.
“Mrs. Mayberry, how do you do?” There was some restraint and embarrassment in his manner. He was conscious of having neglected the widow of his friend, before he came. The humble condition in which he found her, quickened that consciousness into a sting.
“I am sorry, madam,” he said, after he had become seated, and made a few inquiries, “that I did not get the place for your son. In fact, I am to blame in the matter. But I have been thinking since, that he would suit me exactly, and if you have no objections, I will take him, and pay him a salary of two hundred dollars for the first year.”
Mrs. Mayberry tried to reply, but her feelings were too much excited by this sudden and unlooked-for proposal, to allow her to speak for some moments. Even then, her assent was made with tears glistening on her cheeks.
Arrangements were quickly made for the transfer of Hiram from the store where he had been engaged, to the counting-room of Mr. Easy. The salary he received was just enough to enable Mrs. Mayberry, with what she herself earned, to keep her little ones together, until Hiram, who proved a valuable assistant in Mr. Easy’s business, could command a larger salary, and render her more important aid.
HUMAN LIFE.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
BENJAMIN PARKER was not as thrifty as some of his neighbors. He could not “get along in the world.”
“Few men are more industrious than I am,” he would sometimes say to his wife. “I am always attending to business, late and early, rain or shine. But it’s no use, I can’t get along, and am afraid I never shall. Nothing turns out well.”
Mrs. Parker was a meek, patient-minded woman; and she had married Benjamin because she loved him above all the young men who sought her hand, some of whom had fairer prospects in the world than he had; and she continued to love him and confided in him, notwithstanding many reverses and privations had attended their union.
“You do the best you can,” she would reply to her husband when he thus complained, “and that is as much as can be expected of any one. You can only plant and sow, the Lord must send the rain and the sunshine.”
The usually pensive face of Mrs. Parker would lighten up, as she spoke words of comfort and encouragement like these. But she never ventured upon any serious advice as to the management of her husband’s affairs, although there were times when she could not help thinking that if he would do a little differently it might be better. To his fortunes she had united her own, and she was ready to bear with him their lot in life. If he proposed any thing, she generally acquiesced in it, even if it cost her much self-sacrifice; and when, as it often happened, all did not turn out as well as had been expected, she never said—”I looked for this,” or “I never approved of it,” or, “If I had been allowed to advise you, it never would have been done.” No, nothing like this ever passed the lips of Mrs. Parker. But rather words of sympathy and encouragement, and a reference of all to the wise but inscrutable dispensations of Providence. It might have been better for them if Mrs. Parker had possessed a stronger will and had manifested more decided traits of character; or it might not. The pro or con of this we will not pretend to decide. As a general thing it is no doubt true that qualities of mind in married partners have a just relation the one to the other, and act and react in a manner best suited for the correction of the peculiar evils of each and the elevation of both into the highest moral state to which they can be raised. At first glance this may strike the mind as not true as a general rule. But a little reflection will cause it to appear more obvious. If an all-wise Providence governs in the affairs of men, it is but reasonable to suppose that, in the most important act of a man’s life, this Providence will be most conspicuous. Marriage is this most important act, and without doubt it is so arranged that those are brought together between whom action and reaction of intellectual and moral qualities will be just in the degree best calculated to secure their own and their children’s highest good.