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Jack's Ward, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 8. A Lucky Rescue |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. A LUCKY RESCUE The opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative prosperity in the home of Timothy Harding. To persons accustomed to live in their frugal way, five hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt the cooper or his wife to enter upon a more extravagant mode of living. "Let us save something against a rainy day," said Mrs. Harding. "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 shouldn't save up at least half of it." "So I think, Timothy. The child's food will not amount to a dollar a week." "There's no tellin' when you will get work, Timothy," said Rachel, in her usual cheerful way. "It isn't well to crow before you are 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," answered 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 you think it very fortunate now," said Rachel, gloomily; "but a young child's a great deal of trouble." "Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?" asked Jack. "Yes," said his aunt, slowly. "If all babies were as cross and ill-behaved as you were when you were an infant, five hundred dollars wouldn't begin to pay for the trouble of having them around." Mr. Harding and his wife laughed at the manner in which the tables had been turned upon Jack, 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." But Rachel 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 of Rachel's temper, that silence was his most prudent course. Anything that he might say would only be likely to make matters worse than before. 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, Miss Harding appeared to thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, so 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. The cooper 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 on his immediate success. Used economically, the money he had by him would last eight months; and during that time it was hardly possible that he should not find something to do. It was this sense of security, of having something to fall back upon, 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 the necessity of doing something immediately. There is only one way of fending off such an embarrassment; and that is, to resolve, whatever may be the amount of one's income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of trouble. A little economy--though it involves self-denial--will be well repaid by the feeling of security it engenders. Mr. Harding was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not that his line of business revived--that still remained depressed for a considerable time--but another path was opened to him. Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from a doorway, and attack a gentleman, whose dress and general appearance indicated probable wealth. Seizing him by the throat, the villain effectually prevented his calling for help, and at once commenced rifling his pockets, when the cooper arrived on the scene. A sudden blow admonished the robber that he had more than one to deal with. "What are you doing? Let that gentleman be!" The villain hesitated but a moment, then springing to his feet, he hastily made off, under cover of the darkness. "I hope you have received no injury, sir," said Mr. Harding, respectfully, addressing 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 would doubtless have been taken." "I am glad," said Timothy, "that I was able to do you such a 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 distance yet to go, and the money I have with me I don't want to lose." "Willingly," said the cooper. "But I am forgetting," continued the gentleman, "that you will yourself be obliged to return alone." "I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack," said Mr. Harding, laughing. "Money brings care, I have always heard, and the want of it sometimes freedom from anxiety." "Yet most people are willing to take their share of that." "You are right, sir, nor I can't call myself an exception. Still I would be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment." "I hope you have that, at least." "I have had until three or four months since." "Then, at present, you are unemployed?" "Yes, sir." "What is your business?" "I am a cooper." "I will see what I can do for you. Will 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. Let me 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 felt grateful to Providence for making him the instrument of frustrating the designs of the villain who would have robbed the merchant, and perhaps done him further injury. Timothy determined to say nothing to his wife about the night's adventure, until after his appointed meeting for the next day. Then, if any advantage accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole story. When he reached home, Mrs. Harding 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, Rachel," said her brother, cheerfully. "You may find something interesting in it." "I shan'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 I am getting blind; but I trust I shall not live to be a burden to you, Timothy. 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." "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 I ought not to be surprised. 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 lamp from the table. "Come, Rachel, don't go up to bed yet; it's only nine o'clock." "After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not allow me to stay." Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary melancholy. "I wish Rachel wasn't quite so contrary," said the cooper to his wife. "She turns upon a body so sudden it's hard to know how to take her. How's the little girl, Martha?" "She's been asleep ever since six o'clock." "I hope you don't find her very much trouble? That all comes on 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 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, Martha, while you are sewing, I will read you the news." _ |
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