CHAPTER VII
THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT
"Happy New Year!" was Jack's salutation to Aunt Rachel, as with an unhappy expression of countenance she entered the sitting room.
"Happy, indeed!" she repeated, dismally. "There's great chance of its being so, I should think. We don't any of us know what the year may bring forth. We may all be dead and buried before the next new year."
"If that's the case," said Jack, "let us be jolly as long as life lasts."
"I don't know what you mean by such a vulgar word," said Aunt Rachel, disdainfully. "I've heard of drunkards and such kind of people being jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven't got to that yet."
"If that was the only way to be jolly," said Jack, stoutly, "then I'd be a drunkard; I wouldn't carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt Rachel, for any money."
"It's enough to make all of us have long faces," said his aunt, sourly, "when you are brazen enough to own that you mean to be a miserable drunkard."
"I didn't say any such thing," said Jack, indignantly.
"Perhaps I have ears," remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, "and perhaps I have not. It's a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she lies. They didn't use to allow such things when I was young. But the world's going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn't wonder if the people was right that say it's coming to an end."
Here Mrs. Harding happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the grocery in the next street, and buy a pint of milk for breakfast.
Jack took his hat and started with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal presence of Aunt Rachel.
He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, exclaiming: "By hokey, if there isn't a basket on the steps!"
"A basket!" repeated his mother, in surprise. "Can it be a New Year's present? Bring it in, Jack."
It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted, there appeared a female child, apparently a year old.
All uttered exclamations of surprise, each in itself characteristic.
"What a dear, innocent little thing!" said Mrs. Harding, with true maternal instinct.
"Ain't it a pretty un?" exclaimed Jack, admiringly.
"It looks as if it was goin' to have the measles," said Aunt Rachel, "or scarlet fever. You'd better not take it in, Martha, or we may all catch it."
"You wouldn't leave it out in the cold, would you, Rachel? The poor thing might die of exposure."
"Probably it will die," said Rachel, mournfully. "It's very hard to raise children. There's something unhealthy in its looks."
"It don't seem to me so. It looks plump and healthy."
"You can't never judge by appearances. You ought to know that, Martha."
"I will take the risk, Rachel."
"I don't see what you are going to do with a baby, when we are all on the verge of starvation, and going to be turned into the street this very day," remarked Rachel, despondently.
"We won't think of that just now. Common humanity requires us to see what we can do for the poor child."
So saying, Mrs. Harding took the infant in her arms. The child opened its eyes, and smiled.
"My! here's a letter," said Jack, diving into the bottom of the basket. "It's directed to you, father."
The cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:
"For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this child find it expedient to intrust it to others to bring up. The good account which they have heard of you has led them to select you for that charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that it is by no means their intention to make this a service of charity. They, therefore, inclose a certificate of deposit on the Broadway Bank of five hundred dollars, the same having been paid in to your credit. Each year, while the child remains in your charge, the same will in like manner be placed to your credit at the same bank. It may be as well to state, further, that all attempt to fathom whatever of mystery may attach to this affair will prove useless."
The letter was read in amazement. The certificate of deposit, which had fallen to the floor, was picked up by Jack, and handed to his father.
Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief.
"What could be more fortunate?" exclaimed Mrs. Harding. "Surely, Timothy, our faith has been rewarded."
"God has listened to our cry!" said the cooper, devoutly, "and in the hour of our sorest need He has remembered us."
"Isn't it prime?" said Jack, gleefully; "five hundred dollars! Ain't we rich, Aunt Rachel?"
"Like as not," observed Rachel, "the certificate isn't genuine. It doesn't look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits afore now. I shouldn't be surprised at all if Timothy got took up for presenting it."
"I'll take the risk," said her brother, who did not seem much alarmed at the suggestion.
"Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully.
"Yes, and it's the last quarter's rent I mean to pay Mr. Colman, if I can help it."
"Why, where are you going?" asked Jack.
"To the house belonging to Mr. Harrison that I spoke of last night, that is, if it isn't already engaged. I think I will see about it at once. If Mr. Colman should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back directly; I don't want you to tell him of the change in our circumstances."
The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home.
"I called to inquire," asked Mr. Harding, "whether you have let your house?"
"Not as yet," was the reply.
"What rent do you ask?"
"Twenty dollars a quarter. I don't think that unreasonable."
"It is satisfactory to me," was the cooper's reply, "and if you have no objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once."
"Far from having any objections, Mr. Harding," was the courteous reply, "I shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look at the house?"
"Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. Can we move in to-day?"
"Certainly."
His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home.
Meanwhile the landlord had called.
He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Harding, instead of looking depressed, looked cheerful rather than otherwise.
"I was not aware you had a child so young," he remarked, looking at the baby.
"It is not mine," said Mrs. Harding, briefly.
"The child of a neighbor, I suppose," thought the landlord.
Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the furniture in the room.
At this point Mr. Harding entered the house.
"Good-morning," said Colman, affably. "A fine morning, Mr. Harding."
"Quite so," responded his tenant, shortly.
"I have called, Mr. Harding, to ask if you are ready with your quarter's rent."
"I think I told you last evening how I was situated. Of course I am sorry."
"So am I," interrupted the landlord, "for I may be obliged to have recourse to unpleasant measures."
"You mean that we must leave the house."
"Of course you cannot expect to remain in it, if you are unable to pay the rent. I suppose," he added, making an inventory of the furniture with his eyes, "you will leave behind a sufficient amount of furniture to cover your debt."
"Surely you would not deprive us of our furniture!"
"Is there any injustice in requiring payment of honest debts?"
"There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to the trouble of levying on my furniture. I am ready to pay your dues."
"Have you the money?" asked Colman, in surprise.
"I have, and something over. Can you cash my check for five hundred dollars?"
It would be difficult to picture the amazement of the landlord.
"Surely you told me a different story last evening," he said.
"Last evening and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay you. Now, luckily, I am able. If you will accompany me to the bank, I will draw some money and pay your bill."
"My dear sir, I am not at all in haste for the money," said the landlord, with a return of his affability. "Any time within a week will do. I hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house."
"I don't feel like paying twenty-five dollars a quarter."
"You shall have it for the same rent you have been paying."
"But you said there was another family who had offered you an advanced rent. I shouldn't like to interfere with them. Besides, I have already hired a house of Mr. Harrison in the next block."
Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted too late the hasty course which had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence; and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months, when he was glad to rent it at the old price.
CHAPTER VIII
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."
CHAPTER IX
WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED
The card which had been handed to the cooper contained the name of Thomas Merriam, No. – Pearl Street.
Punctually at twelve, he presented himself at the countingroom, and received a cordial welcome from the merchant.
"I am glad to see you," he said, affably. "You rendered me an important service last evening, even if the loss of money alone was to be apprehended. I will come to business at once, as I am particularly engaged this morning, and ask you if there is any way in which I can serve you?"
"If you could procure me a situation, sir, you would do me a great service."
"I think you told me you were a cooper?"
"Yes, sir."
"Does this yield you a good support?"
"In good times it pays me two dollars a day, and on that I can support my family comfortably. Lately it has been depressed, and paid me but a dollar and a half."
"When do you anticipate its revival?"
"That is uncertain. I may have to wait some months."
"And, in the meantime, you are willing to undertake some other employment?"
"I am not only willing, but shall feel very fortunate to obtain work of any kind. I have no objection to any honest employment."
Mr. Merriam reflected a moment.
"Just at present," he said, "I have nothing better to offer you than the position of porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon its duties to-morrow."
"I shall be very glad to undertake it, sir. Anything is better than idleness."
"As to the compensation, that shall be the same that you have been accustomed to earn by your trade—two dollars a day."
"I only received that in the best times," said Timothy, conscientiously.
"Your services as porter will be worth that amount, and I will cheerfully pay it. I will expect you to-morrow morning at eight, if you can be here at that time."
"I will be here promptly."
"You are married, I suppose?" said the merchant, inquiringly.
"Yes, sir; I am blessed with a good wife."
"I am glad of that. Stay a moment."
Mr. Merriam went to his desk, and presently came back with a sealed envelope.
"Give that to your wife," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
Here the interview terminated, and the cooper went home quite elated by his success. His present engagement would enable him to bridge over the dull time, until his trade revived, and save him from incurring debts, of which he had a just horror.
"You are just in time, Timothy," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully, as he entered. "We've got an apple pudding to-day."
"I see you haven't forgotten what I like, Martha."
"There's no knowing how long you'll be able to afford puddings," said Rachel, dolefully. "To my mind it's extravagant to have meat and pudding both, when a month hence you may be in the poorhouse."
"Then," said Jack, "I wouldn't eat any if I were you, Aunt Rachel."
"Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat," said his aunt, in serene sorrow, "I will go without."
"Tut, Rachel! nobody grudges you anything here," said her brother; "and as to the poorhouse, I've got some good news to tell you that will put that thought out of your head."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Harding, looking up brightly.
"I have found employment."
"Not at your trade?"
"No; but at something else which will pay equally well till trade revives."
Here he told the chance by which he was enabled to serve Mr. Merriam the evening previous, and then he gave an account of his visit to the merchant's countingroom, and the engagement which he had made.
"You are indeed fortunate, Timothy," said his wife, her face beaming with pleasure. "Two dollars a day, and we've got nearly the whole of the money left that came with this dear child. Why, we shall be getting rich soon!"
"Well, Rachel, have you no congratulations to offer?" asked the cooper of his sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating as if it gave her no pleasure, but was rather a self-imposed penance.
"I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter," said Rachel, lugubriously. "I heard of a porter once who had a great box fall upon him and kill him instantly; and I was reading in the Sun yesterday of another out West somewhere who committed suicide."
The cooper laughed.
"So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other of these calamities is the inevitable lot of all who are engaged in this business?"
"You may laugh now, but it is always well to be prepared for the worst," said Rachel, oracularly.
"But it isn't well to be always looking for it, Rachel."
"It'll come whether you look for it or not," retorted his sister, sententiously.
"Then suppose we waste no time thinking about it, since, according to your admission, it's sure to come either way."
Rachel did not deign a reply, but continued to eat in serene melancholy.
"Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?" asked his wife.
"I don't care if I do, Martha, it's so good," said the cooper, passing his plate. "Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made."
"You've got a good appetite, that is all," said Mrs. Harding, modestly disclaiming the compliment.
"Apple puddings are unhealthy," observed Rachel.
"Then what makes you eat them?" asked Jack.
"A body must eat something. Besides, life is so full of sorrow, it makes little difference if it's longer or shorter."
"Won't you have another piece, Rachel?"
Aunt Rachel passed her plate, and received a second portion. Jack winked slyly, but fortunately his aunt did not observe it.
When dinner was over, the cooper thought of the sealed envelope which had been given him for his wife.
"Martha," he said, "I nearly forgot that I have something for you."
"For me?"
"Yes, from Mr. Merriam."
"But he don't know me," said Mrs. Harding, in surprise.
"At any rate, he first asked me if I was married, and then handed me this envelope, which he asked me to give to you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow strange gentlemen to write letters to my wife."
Mrs. Harding opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered an exclamation of surprise as a bank note fell out, and fluttered to the carpet.
"By gracious, mother!" said Jack, springing to get it, "you're in luck. It's a hundred-dollar bill."
"So it is, I declare," said his mother, joyfully. "But, Timothy, it isn't mine. It belongs to you."
"No, Martha, I have nothing to do with it. It belongs to you. You need some clothes, I am sure. Use part of it, and I will put the rest in the savings bank for you."
"I never expected to have money to invest," said Mrs. Harding. "I begin to feel like a capitalist. When you want to borrow money, Timothy, you'll know where to come."
"Merriam's a trump and no mistake," said Jack. "By the way, when you see him again, father, just mention that you've got a son. Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?"
"Boast not overmuch," said his aunt. "Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."
"I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once," said Jack under his breath; "and that was at a funeral."