CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH HARRY BECOMES A STABLE BOY, AND HEARS BAD NEWS FROM ROCKVILLE

Harry was exceedingly rejoiced at the remarkable turn his affairs had taken. It is true, he had lost the treasure upon which his fancy had built so many fine castles; but he did not regret the loss, since it had purchased his exemption from the Redfield persecution. He had conquered his enemy--which was a great victory--by being honest and upright; and he had conquered himself--which was a greater victory--by listening to the voice within him. He resisted temptation, and the victory made him strong.

Our hero had won a triumph, but the battlefield was still spread out before him. There were thousands of enemies lurking in his path, ready to fall upon and despoil him of his priceless treasure--his integrity.

"She had hoped he would be a good boy." He had done his duty--he had been true in the face of temptation. He wanted to write to Julia then, and tell her of his triumph--that, when tempted, he had thought of her, and won the victory.

The world was before him; it had no place for idlers, and he must get work. The contents of the basket were not yet exhausted, and he took it to a retired corner to eat his breakfast. While he was thus engaged, Joe Flint, the ostler, happened to see him.

"That is cold comfort," said he. "Why don't you go to the tavern and have your breakfast like a gentleman?"

"I can't afford it," replied Harry.

"Can't afford it? How much did the man that owned the pocketbook give you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing! I'm blamed if he ain't a mean one!" exclaimed Joe, heartily. "I don't wonder you run away."

"I didn't want anything. I was too glad to get clear of him to think of anything else."

"Next time he loses his pocketbook, I hope he won't find it."

And with this charitable observation, Joe resumed his labors. Harry finished his meal, washed it down with a draught of cold water at the pump, and was ready for business again. Unfortunately, there was no business ready for him. All day long he wandered about the streets in search of employment; but people did not appreciate his value. No one would hire him or have anything to do with him. The five patches on his clothes, he soon discovered, rendered it useless for him to apply at the stores. He was not in a condition to be tolerated about one of these; and he turned his attention to the market, the stables, and the teaming establishments, yet with no better success. It was in vain that he tried again; and at night, weary and dispirited, he returned to Major Phillips's stable.

His commissariat was not yet exhausted; and he made a hearty supper from the basket. It became an interesting question for him to consider how he should pass the night. He could not afford to pay one of his quarters for a night's lodging at the tavern opposite. There was the stable, however, if he could get permission to sleep there.

"May I sleep in the hay loft, Joe?" he asked, as the ostler passed him.

"Major Phillips don't allow any one to sleep in the hay loft; but perhaps he will let you sleep there. He was asking about you to-day."

"How should he know anything about me?" said Harry, not a little surprised to find his fame had gone before him.

"He heard about the pocketbook, and wanted to see you. He said it was the meanest thing he ever heard of, that the man who lost it didn't give you anything; and them's my sentiments exactly. Here comes the major; I will speak to him about you."

"Thank you, Joe."

"Major Phillips, this boy wants to know if he may sleep in the hay loft to-night."

"No," replied the stable keeper, short as pie crust.

"This is the boy that found the pocketbook, and he hain't got no place to sleep."

"O, is it? Then I will find a place for him to sleep. So, my boy, you are an honest fellow."

"I try to be," replied Harry, modestly.

"If you had kept the pocketbook you might have lodged at the Tremont House."

"I had rather sleep in your stable, without it."

"Squire Walker was mean not to give you a ten-dollar bill. What are you going to do with yourself?"

"I want to get work; perhaps you have got something for me to do. I am used to horses."

"Well, I don't know as I have."

Major Phillips was a great fat man, rough, vulgar, and profane in his conversation; but he had a kind of sympathizing nature. Though he swore like a pirate sometimes, his heart was in the right place, so far as humanity was concerned.

He took Harry into the counting room of the stable, and questioned him in regard to his past history and future prospects. The latter, however, were just now rather clouded. He told the major his experience in trying to get something to do, and was afraid he should not find a place.

The stable keeper was interested in him and in his story. He swore roundly at the meanness of Jacob Wire and Squire Walker, and commended him for running away.

"Well, my lad, I don't know as I can do much for you. I have three ostlers now, which is quite enough, and all I can afford to pay; but I suppose I can find enough for a boy to do about the house and the stable. How much wages do you expect?"

"Whatever you think I can earn."

"You can't earn much for me just now; but if you are a-mind to try it, I will give you six dollars a month and your board."

"Thank you, sir; I shall be very glad of the chance."

"Very well; but if you work for me, you must get up early in the morning, and be wide awake."

"I will, sir."

"Now, we will see about a place for you to sleep."

Over the counting room was an apartment in which two of the ostlers slept. There was room for another bed, and one was immediately set up for Harry's use.

Once more, then, our hero was at home, if a mere abiding place deserves that hallowed name. It was not an elegant, or even a commodious, apartment in which Harry was to sleep. The walls were dingy and black; the beds looked as though they had never been clean; and there was a greasy smell which came from several harnesses that were kept there. It was comfortable, if not poetical; and Harry soon felt perfectly at home.

His first duty was to cultivate the acquaintance of the ostlers. He found them to be rough, good-natured men, not over-scrupulous about their manners or their morals. If it does not occur to my young readers, it will to their parents, that this was not a fit place for a boy--that he was in constant contact with corruption. His companions were good-hearted men; but this circumstance rendered them all the more dangerous. There was no fireside of home, at which the evil effects of communication with men of loose morals would be counteracted. Harry had not been an hour in their society before he caught himself using a big oath--which, when he had gone to bed, he heartily repented, renewing his resolution with the promise to try again.

He was up bright and early the next morning, made a fire in the counting room, and had let out half the horses in the stable to water, before Major Phillips came out. His services were in demand, as Joe Flint, for some reason, had not come to the stable that morning.

The stable keeper declared that he had gone on a "spree," and told Harry he might take his place.

Harry did take his place; and the ostlers declared that, in everything but cleaning the horses, he made good his place. The knowledge and skill which he had obtained at the poorhouse was of great value to him; and, at night, though he was very tired, he was satisfied that he had done a good day's work.

The ostlers took their meals at the house of Major Phillips, which stood at one side of the stable yard. Harry did not like Mrs. Phillips very well; she was cross, and the men said she was a "regular Tartar." But he was resolved to keep the peace. He afterwards found it a difficult matter; for he had to bring wood and water, and do other chores about the house, and he soon ascertained that she was determined not to be pleased with anything he did. He tried to keep his temper, however, and meekly submitted to all her scolding and grumbling.

Thus far, while Harry has been passing through the momentous period of his life with which we commenced his story, we have minutely detailed the incidents of his daily life, so that we have related the events of only a few days. This is no longer necessary. He has got a place, and of course one day is very much like every other. The reader knows him now--knows what kind of boy he is, and what his hopes and expectations are. The reader knows, too, the great moral epoch in his history--the event which roused his consciousness of error, and stimulated him to become better; that he has a talisman in his mind, which can be no better expressed than by those words he so often repeated, "She hoped he would be a good boy." And her angel smile went with him to encourage him in the midst of trial and temptation--to give him the victory over the foes that assailed him.

We shall henceforth give results, instead of a daily record, stopping to detail only the great events of his career.

We shall pass over three months, during which time he worked diligently and faithfully for Major Phillips. Every day had its trials and temptations; not a day passed in which there were none. The habit of using profane language he found it very hard to eradicate; but he persevered; and though he often sinned, he as often repented and tried again, until he had fairly mastered the enemy. It was a great triumph, especially when it is remembered that he was surrounded by those whose every tenth word at least was an oath.

He was tempted to lie, tempted to neglect his work, tempted to steal, tempted in a score of other things. And often he yielded; but the remembrance of the little angel, and the words of the good Book she had given him, cheered and supported him as he struggled on.

Harry's finances were in a tolerably prosperous condition. With his earnings he had bought a suit of clothes, and went to church half a day every Sunday. Besides his wages, he had saved about five dollars from the "perquisites" which he received from customers for holding their horses, running errands, and other little services a boy could perform. He was very careful and prudent with his money; and whenever he added anything to his little hoard, he thought of the man who had become rich by saving up his fourpences. He still cherished his purpose to become a rich man, and it is very likely he had some brilliant anticipations of success. Not a cent did he spend foolishly, though it was hard work to resist the inclination to buy the fine things that tempted him from the shop windows.

Those who knew him best regarded him as a very strange boy; but that was only because he was a little out of his element. He would have preferred to be among men who did not bluster and swear; but, in spite of them, he had the courage and the fortitude to be true to himself. The little angel still maintained her ascendency in his moral nature.

The ostlers laughed at him when he took out his little Bible, before he went to bed, to drink of the waters of life. They railed at him, called him "Little Pious," and tried to induce him to pitch cents, in the back yard, on Sunday afternoon, instead of going to church. He generally bore these taunts with patience, though sometimes his high spirit would get the better of his desire to be what the little angel wished him to be.

John Lane put up at the stable once a week; and, every time he returned to Rockville, he carried a written or a verbal account of the prosperity of the little pauper boy. One Sunday, he wrote her a long letter all about "being good"--how he was tempted, and how he struggled for her sake and for the sake of the truth.

In return, he often received messages and letters from her, breathing the same pure spirit which she had manifested when she "fed him in the wilderness." These communications strengthened his moral nature, and enabled him to resist temptation. He felt just as though she was an angel sent into the world to watch over him. Perhaps he had fallen without them; at any rate, her influence was very powerful.

About the middle of January, when the earth was covered with snow, and the bleak, cold winds of winter blew over the city, John Lane informed Harry, on his arrival, that Julia was very sick with the scarlet fever and canker rash, and it was feared she would not recover.

This was the most severe trial of all. He wept when he thought of her sweet face reddened with the flush of fever; and he fled to his chamber, to vent his emotions in silence and solitude.