CHAPTER IV. THE NEW YEAR’S PRESENT
“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 before the next New Year.”
“If that’s the case,” said Jack, “we’ll be jolly as long as it 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, when you are brazen enough to own that you mean to be a 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 much wonder if the people are right that says it’s comin’ to an end.”
Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk.
Jack took his cap 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 Mrs. Crump, 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, of apparently a year old. All uttered exclamations of surprise, each in itself characteristic.
“What a dear, innocent little thing!” said Mrs. Crump, with true maternal instinct.
“Ain’t it a pretty ‘un?” said Jack, admiringly.
“Poor thing!” said the cooper, compassionately.
“It’s a world of iniquity!” remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, dismally. “There isn’t any one you can trust. I didn’t think a brother of mine would have such a sin brought to his door.”
“Good heavens, Rachel!” said the honest cooper, in amazement, “what can you mean?”
“It isn’t for me to explain,” said Rachel, shaking her head; “only it’s strange that it should have been brought to this house, that’s all I say.”
“Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, with thoughtless fun.
“Me!” exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed the utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and made a violent effort to faint.
“What have I said?” asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of his words. “Aunt Rachel takes one up so.”
“He didn’t mean anything,” said Mrs. Crump. “How could you suspect such a thing? But here’s a letter. It looks as if there was something in it. Here, Timothy, it is directed to you.”
Mr. 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 (sic) intrust it to others to be brought up. The good opinion which they have formed of you, has led them to select you for that charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that it is by no means their object to make this a service of charity. They therefore (sic) inclose a certificate of deposits on the Broadway Bank, of three hundred dollars, the same having been made in your name. Each year, while the child remains in your charge, the same sum will in like manner be placed to your credit at the same bank It may be as well to state, farther, that all attempts to fathom whatever of mystery may attach to this affair, will prove useless.”
This letter was read in silent amazement.
The certificate of deposits, which had fallen to the floor, was handed to Timothy by his wife.
Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief.
“What could be more fortunate?” exclaimed Mrs. Crump. “Surely, Timothy, our faith has been rewarded.”
“God has listened to our cry,” said the cooper, devoutly; “and, in the hour of our need, He has remembered us.”
“Isn’t it prime?” said Jack, gleefully; “three 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 before. I shouldn’t be surprised at all if Timothy got taken up for presenting it.”
“I’ll risk that,” said Mr. Crump, who did not look very much depressed by this suggestion.
“Now you’ll be able to pay the rent, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump, cheerfully.
“Yes; and it’s the last quarter I shall pay to Mr. Colman, if I can help it.”
“Why, where are you going?” inquired Jack.
“To the corner house belonging to Mr. Harrison, that is, if it is not already engaged. I think I will go and 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 wish you to tell him of the change in our circumstances.”
The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home.
“I called to inquire,” commenced the cooper, “whether you had let that house of yours on the corner of the street.”
“Not as yet,” was the reply.
“What rent do you ask?”
“Twenty dollars a quarter,” said Mr. Harrison; “that I consider reasonable.”
“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. Crump,” 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. When can we move in?”
“To-day, if you like.”
His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. Meanwhile the landlord had called.
He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, 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 isn’t mine,” said Mrs. Crump, briefly.
“The child of a neighbor, I suppose,” thought Colman.
Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the furniture in the room.
At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door.
“Good-morning,” said Colman, affably. “A fine morning.”
“Quite so,” answered his tenant, shortly.
“I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your quarter’s rent.”
“I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am sorry–”
“So am I,” said 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. Of course,” added Colman, making an inventory with his eyes, of the furniture, “you will leave behind a sufficient amount of furniture to cover your bill–”
“Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!”
“Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?”
“There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to that trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues.”
“You have the money?” said Colman, hastily.
“I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can you give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?”
It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. “Surely, you told me a different story last night,” he said.
“Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, and will accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your hands.”
“My dear sir, I am not at all in haste,” said the landlord, with a return of his former affability. “Any time within a week will do. I hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house.”
“As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison’s house, at the corner of the street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to interfere with the family who are so desirous of moving in.”
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 V. A LUCKY RESCUE
THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons accustomed to live in their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt the cooper or his wife to extravagances.
“Let us save something against a rainy day,” said Mrs. Crump.
“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 should not save up at least half of it.”
“There’s no knowing when you will get work, Timothy,” said Rachel, in her usual cheerful way; “it isn’t well to crow before you’re 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,” said 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 it seems bright enough, now,” said Rachel, gloomily, “but a young child’s a great deal of trouble.”
“Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?” inquired Jack, demurely.
“Yes;” said his aunt, slowly; “if all babies were as cross as you were when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn’t begin to pay for the trouble of having one round.”
Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack’s expense, 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.”
The latter, however, 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, that silence was his best (sic) defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make matters worse.
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, Rachel seemed to thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, as 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.
Mr. Crump 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 upon his immediate success. Used economically, the money he had by him would last nine months, and during that time it was impossible that he should not find something to do. It was this sense of security—of possessing something upon which he could fall back—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 that something must be done immediately. There is only one way to fend off such an embarrassment, and that is to resolve, whatever may be the amount of the income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of trouble. A little economy—though it involves privation—will be well repaid by the feeling of security thus engendered.
Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not that his line of business revived,—that still remained depressed,—but another path was opened to him for a time.
Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from a doorway, and assault a gentleman whose dress and general appearance indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the villain effectually prevented him from calling the police, and was engaged in rifling his pockets when the cooper arrived at the scene. A sudden blow on the side of the head admonished the robber that he had more than one to deal with.
“Leave this man instantly,” said the cooper, sternly, “or I will deliver you into the hands of the police.”
The villain hesitated, but fear prevailed, and springing to his feet, he hastily made off under cover of the darkness.
“I hope you have received no injury,” said Timothy, respectfully, turning towards 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 I should undoubtedly have lost.”
“I am glad,” said the cooper, “that I was able to do you such essential 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 little distance yet to go, and the amount of money I have with me makes me feel desirous of taking every possible precaution.”
“Willingly,” said the cooper.
“But I am forgetting,” said the gentleman, “that you yourself will be obliged to return alone.”
“I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack,” said Mr. Crump, laughing. “Money brings care I have always heard, and now I realize it.”
“Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that,” said the merchant.
“You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception. Still I should be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment.”
“I hope you have that, at least.”
“I have had until recently.”
“Then, at present, you are unemployed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is your business?”
“That of a cooper.”
“I must see what I can do for you. Can 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, my good friend. I shall 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 could not but be grateful to Providence that he had been the means of frustrating the designs of the villain who would have robbed him, and perhaps done him farther injury.
He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night’s adventure until after his meeting appointed for the next day. Then if any advantage accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once.
When he reached home, Mrs. Crump 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, Aunt Rachel,” said the cooper, cheerfully. “You may find something interesting in it.”
“I sha’n’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 that I am growing blind. But I trust I shall not live to be a burden to you. 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,” said her brother, incautiously.
“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 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 small lamp from the table.
“Come, Rachel, don’t go yet. It is early.”
“After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not permit me to stay.”
Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary melancholy.
“I wish Rachel war’n’t quite so contrary,” said the cooper. “She turns upon a body so sudden, it’s hard to know how to take her. How’s the little girl, Mary?”
“She’s been asleep ever since six o’clock.”
“I hope you don’t find her very much trouble. That all comes upon 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 Aunt 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, Mary, while you are sewing, I will read you the news.”
CHAPTER VI. WHAT THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED
THE card which had been handed to Timothy Crump contained the name of Thomas Merriam,–Wall Street. Punctually at twelve, the cooper reported himself at the counting-room, and received a cordial welcome from the merchant.
“I am glad to see you,” he said. “I will come to business at once, as I am particularly engaged this morning. Is there any way in which I can serve you?”
“Not unless you can procure me a situation, sir.”
“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. Lately it has been depressed, and for a time paid me but a dollar and a half.”
“When do you anticipate its revival?”
“That is uncertain. It may be some months first.”
“And, in the mean time, you are willing to undertake some other employment?”
“Yes, sir. I have no objection to any honest employment.”
Mr. Merriam reflected a moment.
“Just at present,” he said, “I have nothing to offer except the post of porter. If that will suit you, you can enter upon the duties to-morrow.”
“I shall be very glad to take it, sir. Anything is better than idleness.”
“Your compensation 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 will be worth it. I will expect you, then, to-morrow morning at eight. You are married, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. I am blessed with a good wife.”
“I am glad of that. Stay a moment.”
The merchant went to his desk, and presently returned with a scaled envelope.
“Give that to your wife,” he said.
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, and save him from incurring debt, of which he had a just horror.
“Just in time,” said Mrs. Crump. “We’ve got an apple-pudding to-day.”
“You haven’t forgotten what I like, Mary.”
“There’s no knowing how long you will be able to afford puddings,” said Aunt Rachel. “To my mind it’s extravagant to have meat and pudding both, when a month hence you may be in the poor-house.”
“Then,” said Jack, “I wouldn’t eat any.”
“Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat,” said his aunt, in severe sorrow, “I will go without.”
“Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here,” said her brother, “and as to the poor-house, I’ve got some good news to tell you that will put that thought out of your heads.”
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Crump, 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 story of the chance by which he was enabled to serve Mr. Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led.
“You are, indeed, fortunate,” said Mrs. Crump. “Two dollars a day, and we’ve got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear child. How rich we shall be!”
“Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?” asked the cooper of his sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of pudding.
“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 crush him; and another, who committed suicide.”
The cooper laughed.
“So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of all who are engaged in this business.”
“It is always well to be prepared for the worst,” said Rachel, oracularly.
“But not to be always looking for it,” said her brother.
“It’ll come, whether you look for it or not,” returned his sister, sententiously.
“Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your admission, it’s sure to come either way.”
Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy.
“Won’t you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump.
“I don’t care if I do, Mary, 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. Crump, modestly.
“By the way, Mary,” said the cooper, with a sudden thought, “I quite forgot that I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, from Mr. Merriam.”
“But he don’t know me,” said Mrs. Crump, in surprise.
“At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen to write letters to my wife.”
Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note 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 Mrs. Crump, joyfully. “But, Timothy, it isn’t mine. It belongs to you.”
“No, Mary, it shall be yours. I’ll put it in the Savings Bank for you.”
“Merriam’s a trump, and no mistake,” said Jack. “By the way, father, when you see him again, won’t you just insinuate that you have a son? Ain’t we in luck, Aunt Rachel?”
“‘Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,’” said Rachel.
“I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once,” said Jack, under his breath; “and that was at a funeral.”