II.
PAUL PRESCOTT'S HOME.
We will precede Ben on his visit to the house of Mr. Prescott.
It was an old weather-beaten house, of one story, about half a miledistant from 'Squire Newcome's residence. The Prescott family had livedhere for five years, or ever since they had removed to Wrenville. Untilwithin a year they had lived comfortably, when two blows came in quicksuccession. The first was the death of Mrs. Prescott, an excellentwoman, whose loss was deeply felt by her husband and son. Soonafterwards Mr. Prescott, a carpenter by trade, while at work upon theroof of a high building, fell off, and not only broke his leg badly, butsuffered some internal injury of a still more serious nature. He hadnot been able to do a stroke of work since. After some months it becameevident that he would never recover. A year had now passed. Duringthis time his expenses had swallowed up the small amount which he hadsucceeded in laying up previous to his sickness. It was clear that athis death there would be nothing left. At thirteen years of age Paulwould have to begin the world without a penny.
Mr. Prescott lay upon a bed in a small bedroom adjoining the kitchen.Paul, a thoughtful-looking boy sat beside it, ready to answer his call.
There had been silence for some time, when Mr. Prescott called feebly--
"Paul!"
"I am here, father," said Paul.
"I am almost gone, Paul, I don't think I shall last through the day."
"O, father," said Paul, sorrowfully, "Don't leave me."
"That is the only grief I have in dying--I must leave you to strugglefor yourself, Paul. I shall be able to leave you absolutely nothing."
"Don't think of that, father. I am young and strong--I can earn myliving in some way."
"I hoped to live long enough to give you an education. I wanted you tohave a fairer start in the world than I had."
"Never mind, father," said Paul, soothingly, "Don't be uneasy about me.God will provide for me."
Again there was a silence, broken only by the difficult breathing of thesick man.
He spoke again.
"There is one thing, Paul, that I want to tell you before I die."
Paul drew closer to the bedside.
"It is something which has troubled me as I lay here. I shall feeleasier for speaking of it. You remember that we lived at Cedarvillebefore we came here."
"Yes, father."
"About two years before we left there, a promising speculation wasbrought to my notice. An agent of a Lake Superior mine visited ourvillage and represented the mine in so favorable a light that many ofmy neighbors bought shares, fully expecting to double their money in ayear. Among the rest I was attacked with the fever of speculation. I hadalways been obliged to work hard for a moderate compensation, and hadnot been able to do much more than support my family. This it seemed tome, afforded an excellent opportunity of laying up a little somethingwhich might render me secure in the event of a sudden attack ofsickness. I had but about two hundred dollars, however, and from soscanty an investment I could not, of course, expect a large return;accordingly I went to Squire Conant; you remember him, Paul?"
"Yes, father."
'I went to him and asked a loan of five hundred dollars. After somehesitation he agreed to lend it to me. He was fond of his money and notmuch given to lending, but it so happened that he had invested in thesame speculation, and had a high opinion of it, so he felt prettysafe in advancing me the money. Well, this loan gave me seven hundreddollars, with which I purchased seven shares in the Lake Superior GrandCombination Mining Company. For some months afterwards, I felt like arich man. I carefully put away my certificate of stock, looking uponit as the beginning of a competence. But at the end of six months thebubble burst--the stock proved to be utterly worthless,--Squire Conantlost five thousand dollars. I lost seven hundred, five hundred beingborrowed money. The Squire's loss was much larger, but mine was the moreserious, since I lost everything and was plunged into debt, while he hadat least forty thousand dollars left.
"Two days after the explosion, Squire Conant came into my shop and askedabruptly when I could pay him the amount I had borrowed. I told him thatI could not fix a time. I said that I had been overwhelmed by a resultso contrary to my anticipations, but I told him I would not rest till Ihad done something to satisfy his claim. He was always an unreasonableman, and reproached me bitterly for sinking his money in a uselessspeculation, as if I could foresee how it would end any better than he."
"Have you ever been able to pay back any part of the five hundreddollars, father?"
"I have paid the interest regularly, and a year ago, just before I metwith my accident, I had laid up a hundred and fifty dollars which I hadintended to pay the Squire, but when my sickness came I felt obliged toretain it to defray our expenses, being cut off from earning anything."
"Then I suppose you have not been able to pay interest for the lastyear."
"No."
"Have you heard from the Squire lately?"
"Yes, I had a letter only last week. You remember bringing me onepostmarked Cedarville?"
"Yes, I wondered at the time who it could be from."
"You will find it on the mantelpiece. I should like to have you get itand read it."
Paul readily found the letter. It was enclosed in a brown envelope,directed in a bold hand to "Mr. John Prescott, Wrenville."
The letter was as follows:--
CEDARVILLE, APRIL 15, 18--,
MR. JOHN PRESCOTT:--
SIR: I have been waiting impatiently to hear something about the fivehundred dollars in which sum you are indebted to me, on account of aloan which I was fool enough to make you seven years since. I thoughtyou an honest man, but I have found, to my cost, that I was mistaken.For the last year you have even failed to pay interest as stipulatedbetween us. Your intention is evident. I quite understand that you havemade up your mind to defraud me of what is rightfully mine. I don't knowhow you may regard this, but I consider it as bad as highway robbery. Ido not hesitate to say that if you had your deserts you would be in thePenitentiary. Let me advise you, if you wish to avoid further trouble,to make no delay in paying a portion of this debt. Yours, etc. EZEKIELCONANT.
Paul's face flushed with indignation as he read this bitter and cruelletter.
"Does Squire Conant know that you are sick, father?" he inquired.
"Yes, I wrote him about my accident, telling him at the same time thatI regretted it in part on account of the interruption which it mustoccasion in my payments."
"And knowing this, he wrote such a letter as that," said Paul,indignantly, "what a hard, unfeeling wretch he must be!"
"I suppose it is vexatious to him to be kept out of his money."
"But he has plenty more. He would never miss it if he had given it toyou outright."
"That is not the way to look at it, Paul. The money is justly his, andit is a great sorrow to me that I must die without paying it."
"Father," said Paul, after a pause, "will it be any relief to you, if Ipromise to pay it,--that is, if I am ever able?"
Mr. Prescott's face brightened.
"That was what I wanted to ask you, Paul. It will be a comfort to me tofeel that there is some hope of the debt being paid at some future day."
"Then don't let it trouble you any longer, father. The debt shall bemine, and I will pay it."
Again a shadow passed over the sick man's face, "Poor boy," he said,"why should I burden your young life with such a load? You will have tostruggle hard enough as it is. No, Paul, recall your promise. I don'twant to purchase comfort at such a price."
"No, father," said Paul sturdily, "it is too late now. I have made thepromise and I mean to stick to it. Besides, it will give me somethingto live for. I am young--I may have a great many years before me. Forthirteen years you have supported me. It is only right that I shouldmake what return I can. I'll keep my promise, father."
"May God help and prosper you, my boy," said Mr. Prescott, solemnly."You've been a good son; I pray that you may grow up t
o be a good man.But, my dear, I feel tired. I think I will try to go to sleep."
Paul smoothed the comforter, adjusting it carefully about his father'sneck, and going to the door went out in search of some wood to placeupon the fire. Their scanty stock of firewood was exhausted, and Paulwas obliged to go into the woods near by, to obtain such loose fagots ashe might find upon the ground.
He was coming back with his load when his attention was drawn by awhistle. Looking up he discovered Ben Newcome approaching him.
"How are you, Paul?"
"Pretty well, Ben."
"How precious lonesome you must be, mewed up in the house all the time."
"Yes, it is lonesome, but I wouldn't mind that if I thought father wouldever get any better."
"How is he this morning?"
"Pretty low; I expect he is asleep. He said he was tired just before Iwent out."
"I brought over something for you," said Ben, tugging away at hispocket.
Opening a paper he displayed a couple of apple turnovers fried brown.
"I found 'em in the closet," he said.
"Won't Hannah make a precious row when she finds 'em gone?"
"Then I don't know as I ought to take them," said Paul, though, to tellthe truth, they looked tempting to him.
"O, nonsense," said Ben; "they don't belong to Hannah. She only likes toscold a little; it does her good."
The two boys sat on the doorstep and talked while Paul ate theturnovers. Ben watched the process with much satisfaction.
"Ain't they prime?" he said.
"First rate," said Paul; "won't you have one?"
"No," said Ben; "you see I thought while I was about it I might as welltake four, so I ate two coming along."
In about fifteen minutes Paul went into the house to look at his father.He was lying very quietly upon the bed. Paul drew near and looked at himmore closely. There was something in the expression of his father's facewhich terrified him.
Ben heard his sudden cry of dismay, and hurriedly entered.
Paul pointed to the bed, and said briefly, "Father's dead!"
Ben, who in spite of his mischievous propensities was gifted with a warmheart, sat down beside Paul, and passing his arm round his neck,gave him that silent sympathy which is always so grateful to thegrief-stricken heart.