Читать книгу The Tin Box, and What it Contained - Horatio Alger Jr., Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 6

It seemed odd to Harry to enter Mead's store, where he had beenemployed, merely as a customer.

Mr. Mead nodded pleasantly.

"It seems natural to see you here, Harry," he said. "Have you beenberrying?"

"Yes, and I would like to sell my berries."

"Very well. You know what I pay – eight cents a quart."

"I have four quarts."

"Measure them out yourself, Harry. I will make an exception in yourcase, if you wish it, and give you the money for them."

Harry accepted this offer, as he did not know of what groceries hismother stood in need.

As he walked out of the store, he felt more confidence than he had donein the morning. He had not got a place, to be sure, but he had earnedthirty-two cents. This was not quite half what he had been accustomed toearn at the store, but it was something.

A little way from the store, Harry passed an old man, dressed neatly, but in a well-worn suit, walking with some difficulty, with the help ofa stout cane. He looked to be seventy years old, at least, and hisappearance indicated that he was poor.

As Harry passed, the old man called out:

"Stop a minute, boy!"

Harry stopped, and waited respectfully to learn what the old man wanted. It is a common complaint that most boys are wanting in respect to oldage, but this charge could not be brought against Harry, who wasuniformly courteous to all persons older than himself.

Though he suspected the old man to be very poor, it made no differenceto him.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Ross lives?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, sir. I suppose you mean Colonel Ross?"

"I believe that's what they call him. His wife is my niece."

Harry was very much surprised to hear this.

"Have you ever been there before, sir?" asked Harry.

"No; I've been living out in Illinoy. But I'm getting old, and my onlydaughter died last month. So I've come here to visit my niece."

"I don't believe Mrs. Ross will be very glad to see her uncle," thought

Harry; "and I'm sure Philip won't."

"I will show you the way, sir, if you wish," said Harry, politely.

"I wish you would, if it isn't too much trouble," said the old man.

"Oh, no trouble at all," said Harry.

"You seem to be a very obliging boy. What is your name?"

"Harry Gilbert."

"Are your parents living?"

"My mother is living, but my father's dead – that is, we expect he is. Hewas a sea captain, and never came back from his last voyage."

"Did he leave your mother well off?" asked the old man, gazingattentively at Harry.

Harry thought him rather inquisitive for a stranger, but credited himwith good motives, and answered, readily:

"No, sir; we are quite poor; but I have had a place where I earned fourdollars a week – at the grocery store. Mr. Mead had a nephew come lastweek, and now I am out of work."

"That is unlucky for you."

"Yes, sir; but I shall try hard to get something else soon."

"You look like an industrious boy."

"I like to work."

"Where do you live?"

It so happened that Harry's house could be pointed out across thefields, though at least a quarter of a mile away.

"There it is," he said, pointing it out; "but, perhaps, you cannot seeso far?"

"Oh, yes, I can see it."

By this time they had reached the gate of Colonel Ross, and Harry feltthat he might safely leave the old man.

Out on the lawn was Philip Ross, who, with surprise and displeasure, sawHarry opening the gate for one whom he mentally designated as an oldtramp.

"What do you want here?" he asked, in a tone far from courteous orrespectful.

"What is your name?" asked the old man, fixing his glance on thequestioner.

"My name is Philip Ross, and I am the son of Colonel Ross," answered

Philip, with an air of consequence.

"Then I am your great-uncle, Philip," said the old man, surveying hisyoung kinsman with an interest inspired by the feeling of relationship.

"My great-uncle," repeated Philip, in mingled bewilderment and dismay.

"Yes, Philip, I'm your mother's uncle, come all the way from Illinoy tovisit you."

Harry was amused to see upon the face of his young antagonist a look ofstupefaction.

It was a severe blow to Philip, especially in Harry's presence, to beclaimed as a kinsman by a shabby, old tramp. It was upon his tongue toexpress a doubt as to the relationship, but he forbore.

"Is your mother at home?" asked the old man.

"You can ring the bell and see," answered Philip, deliberately turninghis back and walking off.

The old man looked after him, with a shrewd glance of intelligence, butexpressed no opinion of him.

"Harry," he said, turning to his young guide, "will you come with me tothe door and ring the bell?"

Harry complied with his request.

The door was opened by a servant, who, on seeing the old man, said, pertly:

"We've got nothing for the likes of you," and was about to close thedoor on the two.

"Stop!" said Harry, in a commanding voice, for he was provoked with thegirl's ill manners. "Tell Mrs. Ross that her uncle is here. I thinkyou'd better invite him in."

"Well, I never!" said the girl, abashed. "I hope you'll excuse me, sir.

Walk into the parlor, and I'll tell Mrs. Ross you are here."

"Won't you come in, Harry?" asked the old man, who seemed to have takena liking to his young guide.

"No, thank you, sir. I shall see you again, if you are going to stay inthe village."

"Thank you! you're a good boy," and the old man began to fumble in hispocket.

"Oh, no. I can't take anything," said Harry hurriedly.

Even if the old man had been rich, he would have declinedcompensation – much more when he looked very poor.

"Well, well! I'm much obliged to you, all the same."

Leaving Harry to find his way home, let us see what sort of receptionthe old man had from his niece.

Within five minutes Mrs. Ross sailed into the room.

"Why, Lucinda!" said the old man, heartily; "it's a long time since Imet you."

"I do not remember ever having seen you," said Mrs. Ross, frigidly.

"I haven't seen you since you were a little girl, for I've been livingaway out in Illinoy. I'm your Uncle Obed – Obed Wilkins – brother of yourmother."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Ross, coldly, eyeing the old man's shabby attirewith something like disdain. "You must be an old man!"

"Seventy-two, Lucinda. I was born in October, while your mother was twoyears younger than I, and born in August. I didn't think to outlive her, seeing she was younger, but I have."

"I think it was imprudent in a man of your age coming so far," said Mrs.

Ross.

"I was all alone, Lucinda. My daughter died last spring, and I wanted tobe near some one that was akin to me, so I've come to see the onlyrelations I've got left on earth."

"That's very cool," thought Mrs. Ross. "He expects us to support him, Isuppose. He looks as poor as poverty. He ought to have gone to thepoorhouse in his old home."

To be sure, she would not like to have had it known that she had anuncle in the poorhouse; but, so far away as Illinois, it would not havebeen known to any of her Eastern friends, and wouldn't matter so much.

"I will speak to Colonel Ross about it, Mr. Wilkins," she said, coldly.

"You can stay to supper, and see him then."

"Don't call me Mr. Wilkins. I'm your Uncle Obed," said the old man.

"You may be my uncle, but I am not sufficiently acquainted with you yetfor that," she answered. "You can come upstairs, if you feel tired, andlie down till supper time."

"Thank you, I will," said Uncle Obed.

The offer of Mrs. Ross was dictated not so much by kindness as by thedesire to get her shabby uncle well out of the way, and have a chancefor a private conference with her husband, whom she expected everyminute.

If the unannounced visit of Uncle Obed may be thought to need an excuse, it can easily be found. For years, when Mrs. Ross was a girl, she andher mother were mainly supported by the now despised uncle, without whomthey might have become dependent upon charity.

It was not a time that Mrs. Ross, in her present luxury, liked to thinkabout, and for years she had not communicated with the uncle to whom sheowed so much.

Full of charity himself, he was unconscious of her lack of gratitude, and supposed that her failure to write was owing to lack of time. He hadcome in good faith, when bereft of his daughter, to renew acquaintancewith his niece, never dreaming how unwelcome he would be. Philip'srudeness impressed him unpleasantly, but, then, the boy had never seenhim before, and that was some excuse.