A SNOWBALL FIGHT.
By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
The snow had fallen to the depth of six inches during the night,filling in the yards and covering the door-steps, throughout the townof Conway. Among those who hailed the arrival of the snow with joy wasFrank Taylor, a boy of fourteen, the son of the Widow Taylor, who livedin a miserable little tenement not far from the mill. Why he was gladto see the snow will soon appear.
Early in the morning he shoveled a path to the street, and then puttinghis shovel over his shoulder, said to his mother:
"I'm going over to Squire Ashmead's to see if he doesn't want me toshovel paths in his yard."
"He's got a boy of his own," said Mrs. Taylor; "perhaps he will do it."
Frank laughed.
"Sam Ashmead is proud and lazy," he said. "You won't catch himshoveling paths. I think I shall get the job. I want to earn somethingso that you need not sit all day sewing. It is too hard for you."
"I ought to think myself lucky to get employment at all," said thewidow.
"I wish I could get steady work somewhere," said Frank; "but I've triedand tried, and it seems impossible."
"Willing hands will not want work long," said his mother.
"I hope not, mother. But I must be going, or somebody will get thestart of me."
While Frank is on his way to Squire Ashmead's, a few words ofexplanation may be given. His mother had been a widow for two years.Her husband had been a man of some education, having at times taughtschool, but he had never succeeded in laying up any money, and hiswidow was left almost penniless. Frank, who was a stout boy, and a goodboy as well, had earned something by doing odd jobs, but had failedto obtain permanent employment. The burden of their joint support,therefore, was thrown upon his mother, who was very industrious withher needle, but was compelled to labor beyond her strength. All thistroubled Frank, who felt that, as a stout, strong boy, he ought to bearat least half the expense.
In due time he reached Squire Ashmead's, and was glad to see that thesnow remained undisturbed.
He rang the bell, and asked if he might shovel the paths that werenecessary.
Squire Ashmead was absent in New York, to which city he had gone themorning previous on business, but his wife agreed to employ Frank.
He went to work with a will, and soon had a path dug from the frontdoor to the gate. A path was also required from the back door to thestable, which was situated in the rear of the house. This was quite adistance, and as Frank wished to do the work thoroughly, it requiredconsiderable time.
He was about half through this portion of his task when a snowballwhistled by his ear.
Looking round quickly, he saw Sam Ashmead standing at the corner of thehouse, engaged in making a fresh snowball.
"Don't fire any more snowballs, Sam Ashmead," said Frank.
"I shall, if I please," said Sam.
"I haven't time to fire back now," said Frank. "Wait till I getthrough, and we'll have a match if you like."
"But I don't like," said Sam scornfully. "Do you think I would have amatch with a beggar like you?"
"I am no beggar, Sam Ashmead," said Frank, "and if I were I don't thinkI would beg of you."
"Oh, you're mighty proud," sneered Sam, "considering that you live inan old hut not half as good as our stable."
"Yes, I am poor, and I live in a poor house," said Frank calmly, "butthat isn't a crime that I know of. Some time I shall live in a betterhouse, I hope."
So saying, he went back to work, and began shoveling the snowvigorously. He did not anticipate any further attack from Sam, but inthis he soon found himself mistaken.
In the course of a minute he felt a pretty hard blow in the center ofhis back, and looking round saw Sam Ashmead laughing insolently.
"How does that feel?" asked Sam.
"That's the second snowball you've fired at me," said Frank quietly,but there was a light in his eyes as he spoke. "I advise you not tofire another if you know what is good for yourself."
"So you threaten me, do you? Suppose I fire again, what's going tohappen?" demanded Sam, with an unpleasant sneer.
"I think you will be sorry for it," said Frank.
Sam hesitated a moment, but only a moment. He was a year older thanFrank, and larger in size. Certainly he ought to be a match for him.But he did not believe that Frank would have the audacity to touch him,the son of Squire Ashmead, the richest man in the village. He thereforedeliberately made another snowball, and firing it, struck Frank in theback of his head.
Frank no sooner felt the blow than he threw down his shovel, and rantoward his assailant.
"Keep off, you beggar!" said Sam.
"It's too late," said Frank. "I warned you not to fire again."
Sam placed himself in an attitude of defense, but found himself seizedviolently round the middle, and before he fairly knew what was going tohappen he was lying in a snow-bank with Frank standing over him.
He struggled to his feet mad with rage, and "pitched into" Frank, asthe boys express it, and endeavored to retaliate in kind. But Frank waswatchful and wary, and evading the attack, seized him again when hisstrength was half spent, and Sam found himself once more occupying aninvoluntary bed in the snow.
A third struggle resulted in the same way. Sam was furious, but he sawthat Frank was more than a match for him.
Just then a servant called out from the door:
"Master Sam, your mother says it's time for you to be going to school."
To tell the truth, Sam was rather glad of the summons, as it gave himan excuse for retiring from the contest.
"I'll be even with you yet," he said, shaking his fist at Frank. "I'lllet my father know how you insulted me, you young beggar!"
"If anybody has been insulted, I have," said Frank. "You must rememberthat you began it."
Sam scowled vindictively, and brushing the snow from his coat went intothe house. Before Frank finished the path at the back of the house hewas gone to school.
Mrs. Ashmead sent out fifty cents to Frank for his morning's work,with which he went home, well satisfied, wishing that he might earn asmuch every day. He wondered a little whether Sam would tell his fatherwhat had occurred between them. He did not speak of it to his mother,for she was nervous, and would be troubled by it, as she receivedconsiderable work to do from the Ashmead family which she might fearwould be taken away.
On the afternoon of the next day, however, Frank received a note, whichproved to come from Squire Ashmead. It ran as follows:
"FRANK TAYLOR: Please call at my office to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. JAMES ASHMEAD."
This note Frank thought best to show to his mother.
"What does it mean, Frank? Have you any idea?" she asked.
Frank thereupon told her the story of his difficulty with Sam.
"It may be about that," he said.
"Oh, dear," said the widow. "I'm afraid he's very angry. I hope youwill apologize, Frank."
"No, mother," said Frank, "I don't see why I should. I only defendedmyself from a bully. I should be ashamed to do anything else. I didn'thurt him, and didn't intend to, but I wanted to teach him that hecouldn't insult me without having to pay for it."
"I am afraid some harm will come of it," said the widow anxiously.
"Don't trouble yourself, mother," said Frank soothingly. "If we do onlywhat's right, God will take care of us."
Still it was with some anxiety that Frank made his way the next morningto the office of Squire Ashmead. This gentleman was the agent of alarge manufactory in the town, of which also he was a considerableowner, so that he received an income of over ten thousand dollars ayear, which made him the most prominent and influential citizen in thetown.
When Frank entered the office, Squire Ashmead was conversing with astranger on business.
"Sit down," he said, turning to Frank. "I will be at leisure in amoment."
"Well," he said, after the stranger had departed, "Sam tells me yo
u andhe have had a little difficulty."
"Yes, sir," said Frank. "I would like to explain how it occurred."
"Very well. Go on."
It will be unnecessary to give the explanation, as it was strictly inaccordance with the facts.
"Do you blame me for what I did?" asked Frank, at the end.
"No, I do not," said the squire. "Sam acted like a bully, and wasproperly punished. Let that pass. Now let me ask you how you and yourmother are getting along?"
"Poorly, sir," said Frank. "If I could have steady work, it would bedifferent, but that I cannot get. It troubles me to see my mother workso hard all day. I think it is too much for her."
"How would you like to come into my office?"
Frank's eyes sparkled.
"I should think myself very lucky, sir, to get so good a chance."
"I want some boy whom I can trust, who can grow up to the business, andafter a time relieve me of a portion of my cares. I would take Sam, butI am sorry to say, though he is my own son, that he would not answermy purpose. I have heard good accounts of you from your teacher andthe people in the village. I will take you at a salary of six dollarsa week, to be increased from time to time if you will suit me. Can youcome Monday morning?"
"Yes, sir," said Frank, "and I will do my best to give yousatisfaction."
"Very well, my lad. Good morning."
Frank left the office, feeling as if his fortune was made. His mother,who was awaiting the result of the interview anxiously at home, wasoverwhelmed with astonishment at the unexpected good fortune of herson. Sam was disagreeably surprised, and tried to shake his father'sresolution, but Squire Ashmead was a sensible man, and not to be moved.
Frank commenced his duties the next Monday. He was so faithful thathe was rapidly advanced, and at twenty-one was receiving twelvehundred dollars a year. At twenty-five, on the sudden death of SquireAshmead, he succeeded to his agency, and now lives with his mother inthe mansion at which he once thought himself lucky to be permittedto shovel the paths. As for Sam, he squandered the handsome propertyreceived from his father, and died at thirty from the effects ofintemperate habits.