Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy, William O. Stoddard [motivational books to read .TXT] 📗

reaching the boat-landing without falling in with any one who seemed disposed to laugh at him; but there, right on the wharf, was a white boy of about his own age, and he felt a good deal like backing out.

"Nebber seen him afore, either," said Dick to himself. "Den I guess I ain't afeard ob him."

The stranger was a somewhat short and thick-set, but bright and active-looking boy, with a pair of very keen, greenish-gray eyes. But, after all, the first word he spoke to poor Dick was,—

"Hullo, clothes! Where are you going with all that boy?"

"I knowed it, I knowed it!" groaned Dick. But he answered as sharply as he knew how,—

"I's goin' a-fishin'. Any ob youah business?"—

"Where'd you learn how to fish?" the stranger asked, "Down South? Didn't know they had any there."

"Nebbah was down Souf," was the somewhat surly reply.

"Father run away, did he?"

"He nebber was down dar, nudder."

"Nor his father?"

"'Tain't no business ob yourn," said Dick, "but we's allers lived right heah, on dis bay."

"Guess not," said the white boy knowingly. Dick was right, nevertheless; for his people had been slaves among the very earliest Dutch settlers, and had never "lived South" at all. He was now busily getting one of the boats ready to shove off; but his white tormentor went at him again, with,—

"Well, then, if you've lived round here as long as that, you must know everybody."

"Reckon I do."

"Are there any nice fellows around here? Any like me?"

"De nicest young gen'lman round dis bay," replied Dick, "is Mr. Dab
Kinzer. But he ain't like you. Not nuff to hurt him."

"Dab Kinzer," exclaimed the stranger. "Where'd he get his name?"

"In de bay, I 'spect," said Dick, as he shoved his boat off; "caught 'im wid a hook."

"Anyhow," said the strange boy to himself, "that's probably the kind of fellow my father would wish me to associate with. Only it's likely he's very ignorant."

And he walked away towards the village, with the air of a man who had forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out.

At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences.

Meantime Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister. He had seen it before, every day since he could remember; but it seemed to have a fresh and almost mournful interest for him just now.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence. "Putting up ladders? Oh, yes, I see! That's old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter. Well, Ham's house needs a new coat as badly as I did. Sure it'll fit too. Only it ain't used to it, any more'n I am."

"Dabney!"

It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly that morning.

"Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate."

"Ham Morris is having his house painted," he remarked, as he walked towards his mother.

"Is he?" she said. "We'll go and see about it."

The gate between the two "side-yards" had been there from time immemorial, and-they walked right through. As they drew nearer the Morris house, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters as well as painters were plying their trade in and about the old homestead. There were window-sashes piled here, and blinds there; a new door or so, ready for use, a great stack of bundles of shingles, some barrels of lime, and a heap of sand. Whichever way Dab looked, there were visible signs of an approaching renovation.

"Going to fix it all over," he remarked.

"Yes," replied his mother: "it'll be as good as new. It was well built, and will bear mending. I couldn't say that of some of the shackling things they've been putting up around the village."

When they entered the house it became more and more evident that the "shabby" days of the Morris mansion were numbered. There were men at work in almost every room.

Ham's wedding-trip would surely give plenty of time, at that rate, for an immense amount of "mending;" and his house would be, as the widow had promised, "all ready for him on his return."

There was nothing wonderful to Dabney in the idea of his mother going about and inspecting work, and finding fault, and giving directions. He had never seen her do any thing else, and he had the greatest confidence in her knowledge and ability. He noticed too, before they left the place, that the customary farm-work was going ahead with even more regularity and energy than if the owner himself had been present.

"Ham's farm'll look something like ours, one of these days," he said, "if things go on at this rate."

"I mean it shall," replied his mother, a little sharply. "Now go and get out the ponies, and we'll do the rest of our errands."

Dab started for the barn at a half trot; for, if there was one thing he liked better than another, it was to have the reins in his hands and that pair of ponies before him. Time had been when Mrs. Kinzer did her own driving, and only permitted Dab to "hold the horses" while she made her calls, business or otherwise; but that day had been safely put away among Dab's unpleasant memories for a good while.

It was but a few minutes before the neat buggy held the widow and her son, and the ponies were taking them briskly down the road towards the village.

It they had only known it, at that very moment Ham Morris and his blooming bride were setting out for a drive, at the fashionable watering-place where they had made their first stop in their wedding-tour.

"Ham," said Miranda, "it seems to me as if we were a thousand miles from home."

"We shall be a good deal farther before we get any nearer," said Ham.

"But I wonder what they are doing there, this morning,—mother, and the girls, and dear little Dabney."

"Little Dabney!" exclaimed Ham, with a queer sort of laugh on his face.
"Why, Miranda, do you think Dab is a baby yet?"

"No, not a baby, but"—

"Well, he's a boy, that's a fact; but he'll be as tall as I am in three years."

"Will he? Do you think so? But will he ever get fat?"

"Not till after he gets his full length," said Ham. "We must have him at our house a good deal, after we get home, and feed him up. I've taken a liking to Dab."

"Feed him up!" said Miranda. "Do you think we starve him?"

"No, I suppose not; but how many meals a day does he get?"

"Three, of course, like the rest of us; and he never misses one of them."

"Exactly," said Ham: "I shouldn't suppose he would. I never miss a meal, myself, if I can help it. But don't you think three meals a day is rather short allowance for a boy like Dab?"

Miranda thought a moment, but then she answered positively,—

"No, I don't. Not if he does as well at each one of them as Dabney is sure to."

"Well," said Ham, "that was in his old clothes, that were too tight for him. Now he's got a good loose fit, with plenty of room, you don't know how much more he may need. No, Miranda, I'm going to have an eye on Dab."

"You're a dear good fellow, anyway," said Miranda, with one of her very best smiles, "and I hope mother'll have the house all ready for us when we get back."

"She will," replied Ham, after a moment spent in somewhat thoughtful silence. "Do you know, Miranda, I shall hardly be easy about that till I see what she's done with it? It was in a dreadfully baggy condition."

CHAPTER IV. TWO BOYS, ONE PIG, AND AN UNFORTUNATE RAILWAY-TRAIN.

"That's him!"

Dab was standing by his ponies, in front of a store in the village. His mother was making some purchases in the store, and Dab was thinking how the Morris house would look when it was finished; and it was at him the old farmer was pointing in answer to a question which had just been asked him.

The questioner was the sharp-eyed boy who had bothered poor Dick Lee that morning, and he was now evidently making a sort of "study" of Dab Kinzer.

At that moment, however, a young lady—quite young—came tripping along the sidewalk, and was stopped by Dabney, with,—

"There, Jenny Walters! If I didn't forget my label!"

"Why, Dabney! Is that you? How you startled me! Forgot your label?"

"Yes," said Dab; "I'm in another new suit today; and I meant to have a label on the collar, with my name on it. You'd have known me then."

"But I know you now," exclaimed Jenny. "Why, I saw you yesterday."

"Yes, and I told you it was me. Can you read, Jenny?"

"Why, what a question!"

"Because, if you can't, it won't do me any good to wear a label."

"Dabney Kinzer!" exclaimed Jenny, "there's an other thing you ought to get."

"What's that?"

"Some good manners," said the little lady snappishly. "Think of your stopping me in the street to tell me I can't read!"

"Then you mustn't forget me so quick," said Dab. "If you meet my old clothes anywhere you must call them Dick Lee. They've had a change of name."

"So he's in them, is he? I don't doubt they look better than they ever did before."

Jenny walked away at once, at the end of that remark, holding her head pretty high, and leaving her old playmate feeling as if he had had a little the worst of it. That was often the way with people who stopped to talk with Jenny Walters, and she was not as much of a favorite as she otherwise might have been.

Dabney looked after her with his mouth puckered into shape for a whistle; but she had hardly disappeared before he found himself confronted by the strange young gentleman.

"Is your name Dabney Kinzer?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Well, I'm Mr. Ford Foster, from New York."

"Come over here to buy goods?" suggested Dabney. "Or to get something to eat?"

Ford Foster was apparently of about Dab's age, but a full head less in height, so that there was more point in the question than there seemed to be; but he treated it as not worthy of notice, and asked,—

"Do you know of a house to let anywhere about here?"

"House to let?" suddenly exclaimed the voice of Mrs. Kinzer, behind him, much to Dab's surprise. "Are you asking about a house? Whom for?"

Ford Foster had been quite ready to "chaff" Dick Lee, and he would not have hesitated about trying a like experiment upon Mr. Dabney Kinzer; but he knew enough to speak respectfully to the portly and business-like lady before him now.

"Yes, madam," he said, with a ceremonious bow: "I wish to report to my father that I have found an acceptable house in this vicinity."

"You do!"

Mrs. Kinzer was reading the young gentleman through and through, as she spoke; but she followed her exclamation with a dozen questions, all of which he answered with a good deal of clearness and intelligence. She wound up at last, with,—

"Go right home, then, and tell your father the only good house to let in this neighborhood will be ready for him next week. I'll show it to him when he comes, but he'd better see me at once. Dabney, jump into the buggy. I'm in a hurry."

The ponies were in motion, up the street, before Ford Foster quite recovered from the shock of being told to "go right home."

"A very remarkable woman," he muttered, as he turned away, "and she did not tell me a word about the house, after all. I must make some more inquiries. The boy is actually well dressed, for a place like this."

"Mother," said Dabney, as they drove along, "you wouldn't let 'em have
Ham's house, would you?"

"No, indeed. But I don't mean to have our own stand empty."

With that reply a great deal of light broke in upon Dab's mind.

"That's it, is it?" he said to himself, as