Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life, Jr. Horatio Alger [best free ereader .txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“I don't see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter,” said Rachel, lugubriously. “I heard of a porter, once, who had a great box fall upon him and crush him; and another, who committed suicide.”
The cooper laughed.
“So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of all who are engaged in this business.”
“It is always well to be prepared for the worst,” said Rachel, oracularly.
“But not to be always looking for it,” said her brother.
“It'll come, whether you look for it or not,” returned his sister, sententiously.
“Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your admission, it's sure to come either way.”
Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy.
“Won't you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump.
“I don't care if I do, Mary, it's so good,” said the cooper, passing his plate. “Seems to me it's the best pudding you ever made.”
“You've got a good appetite, that is all,” said Mrs. Crump, modestly.
“By the way, Mary,” said the cooper, with a sudden thought, “I quite forgot that I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, from Mr. Merriam.”
“But he don't know me,” said Mrs. Crump, in surprise.
“At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen to write letters to my wife.”
Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet.
“By gracious, mother,” said Jack, springing to get it, “you're in luck. It's a hundred dollar bill.”
“So it is, I declare,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. “But, Timothy, it isn't mine. It belongs to you.”
“No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for you.”
“Merriam's a trump, and no mistake,” said Jack. “By the way, father, when you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a son? Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?”
“'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,'” said Rachel.
“I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once,” said Jack, under his breath; “and that was at a funeral.”
CHAPTER VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS.
EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps were still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to obtain work most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance for little Ida, had enabled the family not only to live in comfort, but even to save up one hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might even have saved more, living as frugally as they were accustomed to do, but there was one point upon which none of them would consent to be economical. The little Ida must have everything she wanted. Timothy brought home daily some little delicacy for her, which none of the rest thought of sharing. While Mrs. Crump, far enough from vanity, always dressed with exceeding plainness, Ida's attire was always rich and tasteful. She would sometimes ask, “Mother, why don't you buy yourself some of the pretty things you get for me?”
Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, “Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain things are best for me.”
“No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap.”
But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions.
Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an injurious effect upon her mind. But, fortunately she had that rare simplicity, young as she was, which lifted her above the dangers to which many might have been subjected. Instead of being made vain, she only felt grateful for the many kindnesses bestowed upon her by her father and mother and brother Jack, as she was wont to call them. Indeed, it had not been thought best to let her know that such was not the relation in which they really stood to her.
There was one point, more important than dress, in which Ida profited by the indulgence of her friends.
“Wife,” the cooper was wont to say, “Ida is a sacred charge in our hands. If we allow her to grow up ignorant, or afford her only ordinary advantages, we shall not fulfil our duty. We have the means, through Providence, to give her some of those advantages which she would enjoy if she remained in that sphere to which her parents, doubtless, belong. Let no unwise parsimony, on our part, withhold them from her.”
“You are right, Timothy,” said Mrs. Crump; “right, as you always are. Follow the dictates of your own heart, and fear not that I shall disapprove.”
Accordingly Ida was, from the first, sent to a carefully-selected private school, where she had the advantage of good associates, and where her progress was astonishingly rapid.
She early displayed a remarkable taste for drawing. As soon as this was discovered, her foster parents took care that she should have abundant opportunity for cultivating it. A private master was secured, who gave her daily lessons, and boasted everywhere of his charming little pupil, whose progress, as he assured her friends, exceeded anything he had ever before known.
Nothing could exceed the cooper's gratification when, on his birthday, Ida presented him with a beautifully-drawn sketch of his wife's placid and benevolent face.
“When did you do it, Ida?” he asked, after earnest expressions of admiration.
“I did it in odd minutes,” she said; “in the evening.”
“But how could you do it without any one of us knowing what you were about?”
“I had a picture before me, and you thought I was copying it, but whenever I could do it without being noticed, I looked up at mother as she sat at her sewing, and so, after awhile, I made this picture.”
“And a fine one it is,” said Timothy, admiringly.
Mrs. Crump insisted that Ida had flattered her, but this the child would not admit. “I couldn't make it look as good as you, mother,” she said. “I tried to, but somehow I couldn't succeed as well as I wanted to.”
“You wouldn't have that difficulty with Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, roguishly.
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