Paul Prescott's Charge, Jr. Horatio Alger [popular romance novels TXT] 📗

had become a privileged pet, being well fed and carefully shielded from all the perils that beset cat-hood.

“Home so soon?” said Hester inquiringly, as her husband opened the door.

“Yes, Hester, and I have brought company with me,” said the sexton.

“Company!” repeated his wife. “Who is it?”

“It is a poor boy, who was accidentally locked up in the church last night.”

“And he had to stay there all night?”

“Yes; but perhaps it was lucky for him, for he had no other place to sleep, and not money enough to pay for one.”

“Poor child!” said Hester, compassionately. “Is it not terrible to think that any human creature should be without the comforts of a home which even our tabby possesses. It ought to make you thankful that you are so well cared for, Tab.”

The cat opened her eyes and winked drowsily at her mistress.

“So you brought the poor boy home, Hugh?”

“Yes, Hester,—I thought we ought not to begrudge a meal to one less favored by fortune than ourselves. You know we should consider ourselves the almoners of God's bounties.”

“Surely, Hugh.”

“I knew you would feel so, Hester. And suppose we have the chicken for dinner that I sent in the morning. I begin to have a famous appetite. I think I should enjoy it.”

Hester knew perfectly well that it was for Paul's sake, and not for his own, that her husband spoke. But she so far entered into his feelings, that she determined to expend her utmost skill as cook upon the dinner, that Paul might have at least one good meal.

“Now I will bring the boy in,” said he. “I am obliged to go to work, but you will find some way to entertain him, I dare say.”

“If you will come out (this he said to Paul), I will introduce you to a new friend.”

Paul was kindly welcomed by the sexton's wife, who questioned him in a sympathizing tone about his enforced stay in the church. To all her questions Paul answered in a modest yet manly fashion, so as to produce a decidedly favorable impression upon his entertainer.

Our hero was a handsome boy. Just at present he was somewhat thin, not having entirely recovered from the effects of his sickness and poor fare while a member of Mr. Mudge's family; but he was well made, and bade fair to become a stout boy. His manner was free and unembarrassed, and he carried a letter of recommendation in his face. It must be admitted, however that there were two points in which his appearance might have been improved. Both his hands and face had suffered from the dust of travel. His clothes, too, were full of dust.

A single glance told Hester all this, and she resolved to remedy it.

She quietly got some water and a towel, and requested Paul to pull off his jacket, which she dusted while he was performing his ablutions. Then, with the help of a comb to arrange his disordered hair, he seemed quite like a new boy, and felt quite refreshed by the operation.

“Really, it improves him very much,” said Hester to herself.

She couldn't help recalling a boy of her own,—the only child she ever had,—who had been accidentally drowned when about the age of Paul.

“If he had only lived,” she thought, “how different might have been our lives.”

A thought came into her mind, and she looked earnestly at Paul.

“I—yes I will speak to Hugh about it,” she said, speaking aloud, unconsciously.

“Did you speak to me?” asked Paul.

“No,—I was thinking of something.”

She observed that Paul was looking rather wistfully at a loaf of bread on the table.

“Don't you feel hungry?” she asked, kindly.

“I dare say you have had no breakfast.”

“I have eaten nothing since yesterday afternoon.”

“Bless my soul! How hungry you must be!” said the good woman, as she bustled about to get a plate of butter and a knife.

She must have been convinced of it by the rapid manner in which the slices of bread and butter disappeared.

At one o'clock the sexton came home. Dinner was laid, and Paul partook of it with an appetite little affected by his lunch of the morning. As he rose from the table, he took his cap, and saying, “Good-by, I thank you very much for your kindness!” he was about to depart.

“Where are you going?” asked the sexton, in surprise.

“I don't know,” answered Paul.

“Stop a minute. Hester, I want to speak to you.”

They went into the sitting-room together.

“This boy, Hester,” he commenced with hesitation.

“Well, Hugh?”

“He has no home.”

“It is a hard lot.”

“Do you think we should be the worse off if we offered to share our home with him?”

“It is like your kind heart, Hugh. Let us go and tell him.”

“We have been talking of you, Paul,” said the sexton. “We have thought, Hester and myself, that as you had no home and we no child, we should all be the gainers by your staying with us. Do you consent?”

“Consent!” echoed Paul in joyful surprise. “How can I ever repay your kindness?”

“If you are the boy we take you for, we shall feel abundantly repaid. Hester, we can give Paul the little bedroom where—where John used to sleep.”

His voice faltered a little, for John was the name of his boy, who had been drowned.