The Bunsby papers Part 27

"You wrong your own liberal nature," said Sterling, mildly. "You are goodness itself, and fear not but you will receive your reward four-fold for all you have done for"----

"Away, you prating fool," cried Granite, in a tone that hurried the old clerk out of the office, full of grat.i.tude for the service done, and of unaffected joy, that Providence had selected him to be the bearer of such happy intelligence to the son of his old employer.

Meantime, the merchant-prince flung himself into his comfortable easy-chair, a spasm of agony pa.s.sing across his harsh features. "Oh!

Travers, Travers!" he inly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "must that black thought ever thrust itself like a grim shadow across the golden sun-ray of my prosperity?"

CHAPTER II.

THE MAN OF LABOR.

The accommodating reader will now be kind enough to accompany me to a far different place from that in which the foregoing dialogue was held.

With an effort of the will--rapid as a spiritual manifestation--we are there. You see, it is an exceedingly small habitation, built entirely of wood, and, excepting that beautiful geranium-plant on one window, and a fine, sleek, contented-looking puss winking lazily on the other--both, let me tell you, convincing evidence that the household deities are worshipped on the hearth within--for wheresoever you see flowers cultivated outside of an humble house, look for cleanliness, and domestic comfort on the inside--excepting those two things, but little of ornament is visible. Kind people dwell within, you may know; for, see, the placid puss don't condescend to change her position as we near her; her experience hasn't taught her to dread an enemy in our species.

"Lift the latch; 'tis but a primitive fastening--nay! don't hesitate; you know we are invisible. There! you are now in the princ.i.p.al apartment. See how neat and tidy everything is. The floor, to be sure, is uncarpeted; but then it is sedulously clean. Look at those white window-curtains; at that well-patched table-cloth, with every fold as crisp as though it had been just pressed; the dresser over there, each article upon it bright as industry and the genius of happy home can make it.--What an appetizing odor steams in from yonder kitchen! and listen to those dear little birds, one in each window, carrying on a quiet, demure conversation, in their own sweet way! Do they not say, and does not every quiet nook echo:

"Though poor and lowly, there is all of Heaven that Heaven vouchsafes to man, beneath this humble roof; for it is the sphere of her who is G.o.d's choicest blessing--that world angel--a good, pure-hearted, loving WIFE."

But hark! who is that singing? You can hear him, although he is yet a street off; and so can she who is busy within there, you can tell by that little scream of joy.

That is Tom Bobalink, the honest truckman, and the owner of this little nest of contentment.

But, if you please, I will resume my narrative my own way, for you are a very uncommunicative companion, friend reader, and it is impossible for me to discover whether you like the scene we have been looking at, or do not.

In a few moments, Tom rushed into the little room, his face all a-glow with healthy exercise, and a joyous song at his lips.

"h.e.l.lo! pet, where are you?" he cried, putting down his hat and whip.

"Here am I, Tom!" answered as cheerful a voice as ever bubbled up from a heart, full of innocence and love.

"_Din_ in a _sec_," meaning dinner in a second; for "Tom and Pol," in their confidential chats, abbreviated long words occasionally; and I give this explanation as a sort of guide to their pet peculiarity.

"Hurry up, Polly!" cried Tom, with a good-humored laugh, "for I'm jolly hungry, I tell you. Good gracious! I've heard of people's taking all sorts of thing to get up an appet.i.te; if they'd only have the sense to take _nothing_, and keep on at it, it's wonderful what an effect it would have on a lazy digestion."

Polly now entered with two or three smoking dishes, which it did not take long to place in order. Now, I should dearly like to give you a description of my heroine--aye! heroine--for it is in her station that such are to be found--n.o.ble spirits, who battle with privation and untoward fate--smoothing the rugged pathway of life, and infusing fresh energy into the world-exhausted heart. Oh! what a crown of glory do they deserve, who wear a smile of content upon their lips, while the iron hand of adversity is pressing on their hearts, concealing a life of martyrdom beneath the heroism of courageous love.

I say I should like to give you some slight description of Polly's external appearance, but that I choose rather that my readers should take their own individual ideas of perfect loveliness, and clothe her therein; for, inasmuch as she is the type of universal excellence, in mind and character, I wish her to be so in form and beauty.

"What have you got for me, Polly?" says Tom.

"It ain't much," she replied; "cos you know we can't afford _lux'es_; but it's such a sweet little neck of _mut_, and lots of _wedges_."

"Gollopshus!" says Tom; "out with it! I'm as hungry as an unsuccessful office-seeker."

"Office-seekers! what are they, Tom?"

"Why, Polly, they are--faith, I don't know what to compare them to; you've heard of those downy birds, that when some other has got hisself a comfortable nest, never rests until he pops into it. But them's politics, Polly, and ain't _prop_ for _wom_ to meddle with."

"I agree with you there, Tom, dear; there's enough to occupy a woman's time and attention inside of her house, without bothering her heart with what's going on outside."

"Bless your homey little heart!" cried Tom, heartily. "Oh! Polly, darling, if there were a few more good wives, there would be a great many less bad husbands. This is glorious! If we could only be sure that we had as good a dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I should be; but I often think, my girl, that if any accident should befall me, what would become of you."

"Now, don't talk that way, Thomas; nor don't repine at your condition; it might be much worse."

"I can't help it. I try not; but it's impossible, when I see people dressed up and t.i.ttevated out, as I go jogging along with my poor old horse and truck--I envy them in my heart, Pol--I know it's wrong; but it's there, and it would be worse to deny it."

"Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better than you did, Tom?" said Polly, with a cheering smile.

"No, my girl!" shouted he, and the joy spread over his face again--"not if they had forty courses. But eating isn't all, Pol," he continued, growing suddenly serious once more. "This living from hand to mouth--earning with hard labor every crust we put into it--never seeing the blessed face of a dollar, that isn't wanted a hundred ways by our necessities--is rather hard."

"Ah! Tom, and thankful ought we to be that we have health to earn that dollar. Think of the thousands of poor souls that are worse off than ourselves! Never look above your own station with envy, Thomas; but below it with grat.i.tude."

It was at this moment that there appeared at the open door, a poor, wretched-looking individual, evidently an Irishman, and, from the singularity of his dress, only just arrived. He said not a word, but upon his pale cheek was visibly printed a very volume of misery.

"h.e.l.lo! friend, what the devil do you want?" asked Tom.

"Don't speak so, Thomas. He's sick and in distress," said Polly, laying her finger on his mouth. "There! suppose you were like that?"

"What? a Paddy!" replied the other, with a jolly laugh; "don't mention it!" then calling to the poor stranger, who was resignedly walking away; "Come on Irish!" he cried. "Do you want anything?"

"Av you plaze, sir," answered the Irishman, "I'd like to rest meself."

"Sit down, poor fellow!" said Polly, dusting a chair, and handing it towards him.

"I don't mane that, ma'm; a lean o' the wall, an' an air o' the fire'll do. The blessin's on ye for lettin' me have it!" so saying, he placed himself near the cheerful fire-place, and warmed his chilled frame.

"A big lump of a fellow like you, wouldn't it be better for you to be at work than lounging about in idleness?" said Tom.

"Indeed, an' its thrue for ye, sir, it would so; but where is a poor boy to find it?"

"Oh! anywhere--everywhere."

"Bedad, sir, them's exactly the places I've been lookin' for it, for the last three weeks; but there was n.o.body at home. I hunted the work while I had the stringth to crawl afther it, an' now, av it was to come, I'm afear'd that I haven't the stringth to lay howld ov it."

"Are you hungry?" inquired Polly.

"I'm a trifle that way inclined, ma'm," he replied, with a semi-comic expression.

"Poor fellow, here, sit down and eat," said Polly, hurriedly diving into the savory stew, and forking up a fine chop, which she handed to the hungry stranger.

"I'd relish it betther standin', if you plaze, ma'm," said he, pulling out a jack-knife and attacking the viands with vigorous appet.i.te, exclaiming, "May the Heavens bless you for this good act; sure it's the poor man that's the poor man's friend, afther all. You've saved me, sowl and body this blessed day. I haven't begged yet, but it was comin'

on me strong. I looked into the eyes of the quality folks, but they carried their noses so high they couldn't see the starvation that was in my face, and I wouldn't ax the poor people for fear they were worse off than meself."

"Ain't you sorry, Thomas, for what you said just now?" inquired Polly of her husband.