The English Orphans Part 16

Here the road became narrow, and as the western sky showed indications of a storm, the coachmen were told to drive home as soon as possible.

Mrs. Campbell's advice with regard to Mary, made no difference whatever with Mrs. Mason's plans. She had always intended doing for her whatever she could, and knowing that a good education was of far more value than money, she determined to give her every advantage which lay in her power. There was that summer a most excellent school in Rice Corner, and as Mrs. Mason had fortunately no prejudices against a district school, where so many of our best and greatest men have been educated, she resolved to send her little protege, as soon as her wardrobe should be in a suitable condition. Accordingly in a few days Mary became a regular attendant at the old brown school-house, where for a time we will leave her, and pa.s.sing silently over a period of several years, again in another chapter open the scene in the metropolis of the "Old Bay State."

CHAPTER XV.

THE THREE YOUNG MEN

It was beginning to be daylight in the city of Boston; and as the gray east gradually brightened and grew red in the coming of day, a young man looked out upon the busy world around him, with that feeling of utter loneliness which one so often feels in a great city where all is new and strange to him. Scarcely four weeks had pa.s.sed since the notes of a tolling bell had fallen sadly upon his ear, and he had looked into a grave where they laid his mother to her last dreamless rest. A prevailing fever had effected what the fancied ailments of years had failed to do, and Billy Bender was now an orphan, and alone in the wide world. He knew that he had his own fortune to make, and after settling his mother's affairs and finding there was nothing left for him, he had come to the city, and on the morning which we have mentioned went forth alone to look for employment, with no other recommendation than the frank, honest expression of his handsome face.

It was rather discouraging, wearisome work, and Billy's heart began to misgive him as one after another refused his request.

"It was foolish in me to attempt it," thought he, as he stopped once more in front of a large wholesale establishment on M---- street.

Just then his eye caught the sign on which was lettered, "R.J. Selden & Co." The name sounded familiar, and something whispered to him to enter. He did so, and meeting in the doorway a tall, elegant-looking young man, he asked for Mr. Selden.

"My uncle," returned the gentleman, who was none other than George Moreland, "has not yet come down, but perhaps I can answer your purpose just as well. Do you wish to purchase goods?"

Billy, thinking that every one must know his poverty, fancied there was something satirical in the question, but he was mistaken; the manner was natural to the speaker, who, as Billy made no direct reply, again asked. "What would you like, sir?"

"Something to do, for I have neither money nor home," was Billy's prompt answer.

"Will you give me your name?" asked George.

Billy complied, and when he spoke of his native town, George repeated it after him, saying, "I have some acquaintances who spend the summer in Chicopee; but you probably have never known them."

Immediately Billy thought of the Lincolns, and now knew why the name of Selden seemed so familiar. He had heard Jenny speak of Ida, and felt certain that R.J. Selden was her father.

For a moment George regarded him intently, and then said, "We seldom employ strangers without a recommendation; still I do not believe you need any. My uncle is wanting a young man, but the work may hardly suit you," he added, naming the duties he would be expected to perform, which certainly were rather menial. Still, as the wages were liberal, and he would have considerable leisure, Billy, for want of a better, accepted the situation, and was immediately introduced to his business. For some time he only saw George at a distance, but was told by one of the clerks that he was just graduated at Yale, and was now a junior partner in his uncle's establishment. "We all like him very much," said the clerk, "he is so pleasant and kind, though a little proud, I guess."

This was all that Billy knew of him until he had been in Mr. Selden's employment nearly three weeks; then, as he was one day poring over a volume of Horace which he had brought with him, George, who chanced to pa.s.s by, looked over his shoulder, exclaiming, "Why, Bender, can you read Latin? Really this is a novelty. Are you fond of books?"

"Yes, very," said Billy, "though I have but a few of my own."

"Fortunately then I can accommodate you," returned George, "for I have a tolerably good library, to which you can at any time have access.

Suppose you come round to my uncle's to-night. Never mind about thanking me," he added, as he saw Billy about to speak; "I hate to be thanked, so to-night at eight o'clock I shall expect you."

Accordingly that evening Billy started for Mr. Selden's. George, who wished to save him from any embarra.s.sment, answered his ring himself, and immediately conducted him to his room, where for an hour or so they discussed their favorite books and authors. At, last, George, astonished at Billy's general knowledge of men and things, exclaimed, "Why, Bender. I do believe you are almost as good a scholar as I, who have been through college. Pray how does it happen?"

In a few words Billy explained that he had been in the habit of working summers, and going to school at Wilbraham winters; and then, as it was nearly ten, he hastily gathered up the books which George had kindly loaned him, and took his leave. As he was descending the broad stairway he met a young girl fas.h.i.+onably dressed, who stared at him in some surprise and then pa.s.sed on, wondering no doubt how one of his evident caste came to be in the front part of the house. In the upper hall she encountered George, and asked of him who the stranger was.

"His name is Bender, and he came from Chicopee," answered George.

"Bender from Chicopee," repeated Ida. "Why I wonder if it isn't the Billy Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln has gone almost mad."

"I think not," returned her cousin, "for Mrs. Lincoln would hardly suffer her daughter to _mention_ a poor boy's name, much less to go mad about him."

"But," answered Ida, "he worked on Mr. Lincoln's farm when Jenny was a little girl; and now that she is older she talks of him nearly all the time, and Rose says it would not surprise her if she should some day run off with him."

"Possibly it is the same," returned George. "Any way, he is very fine-looking, and a fine fellow too, besides being an excellent scholar."

The next day, when Billy chanced to be alone, George approached him, and after making some casual remarks about the books he had borrowed, &c., he said, "Did you ever see Jenny Lincoln in Chicopee?"

"Oh, yes," answered Billy, brightening up, for Jenny had always been and still was a great favorite with him; "Oh, yes, I know Jenny very well. I worked for her father some years ago, and became greatly interested in her."

"Indeed? Then you must know Henry Lincoln?"

"Yes, I know him," said Billy; while George continued, "And think but little of him of course?"

On this subject Billy was noncommittal. He had no cause for liking Henry, but would not say so to a comparative stranger, and at last he succeeded in changing the conversation. George was about moving away, when observing a little old-fas.h.i.+oned looking book lying upon one of the boxes, he took it up and turning to the fly-leaf read the name of "Frank Howard."

"Frank Howard! Frank Howard!" he repeated; "where have I heard that name? Who is he, Bender?"

"He was a little English boy I once, loved very much; but he is dead now," answered Billy; and George, with a suddenly awakened curiosity, said, "Tell me about him and his family, will you?"

Without dreaming that George had ever seen them, Billy told the story of Frank's sickness and death,--of the n.o.ble conduct of his little sister, who, when there was no other alternative, went cheerfully to the poor-house, winning by her gentle ways the love of those unused to love, and taming the wild mood of a maniac until she was harmless as a child. As he proceeded with his story, George became each moment more and more interested, and when at last there was a pause, he asked, "And is Mary in the poor-house now?"

"I have not mentioned her name, and pray how came you to know it?"

said Billy in some surprise.

In a few words George related the particulars of his acquaintance with the Howards, and then again asked where both Mary and Ella were.

Billy replied that for a few years back Mary had lived with a Mrs.

Mason, while Ella, at the time of her mother's death had been adopted by Mrs. Campbell. "But," said he, "I never think of Ella in connection with Mary, they are so unlike; Ella is proud and vain and silly, and treats her sister with the utmost rudeness, though Mary is far more agreeable and intelligent, and as I think the best looking."

"She must have changed very much," answered George; "for if I remember rightly, she was not remarkable for personal beauty."

"She hasn't a silly, doll baby's face, but there isn't a finer looking girl in Chicopee, no, nor in Boston either," returned Billy, with so much warmth and earnestness that George laughed aloud, saying, "Why, really, Bender, you are more eloquent on the subject of female beauty than I supposed you to be; but go on; tell me more of her. Is she at all refined or polished?"

"I dare say she would not meet with _your_ ideas of a lady," answered Billy; "but she does mine exactly, for she possesses more natural refinement and delicacy than two thirds of the city belles."

"Really, I am getting quite interested in her," said George. "How is her education?"

"Good, very good," returned Billy, adding that she was now teaching in Rice Corner, hoping to earn money enough to attend some seminary in the fall.

"Teaching!" repeated George; "why she can't be over sixteen."

He was going to say more, when some one slapped him rudely on the shoulder, calling out, "How are you, old feller, and what is there in Boston to interest such a scapegrace as I am?"

Looking up, Billy saw before him Henry Lincoln, exquisitely dressed, but bearing in his appearance evident marks of dissipation.

"Why, Henry," exclaimed George, "how came you here? I supposed you were drawing lampblack caricatures of some one of the tutors in old Yale. What's the matter? What have you been doing?"

"Why you see," answered Henry, drawing his cigar from his mouth and squirting, by accident of course, a quant.i.ty of spittle over Billy's nicely blacked shoes; "Why you see one of the sophs got his arm broken in a row, and as I am so tender-hearted and couldn't bear to hear him groan, to say nothing of his swearing, the faculty kindly advised me to leave, and sent on before me a recommendation to the old man. But, egad I fixed 'em. I told 'em he was in Boston, whereas he's in Chicopee, so I just took the letter from the office myself. It reads beautifully. Do you understand?"

All this time, in spite of the tobacco juice, Henry had apparently taken no notice of Billy, whom George now introduced, saying, he believed they were old acquaintances. With the coolest effrontery Henry took from his pocket a quizzing gla.s.s and applying it to his eye, said, "I've absolutely studied until I'm near-sighted, but I don't think I ever met this chap before."