University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING.

It was the first day of a new month. Arthur
and Frank had gone out, the former to attend
on Doctor Remington, and the latter to school.
May had been sent as far as the Bowery to buy
a skein of thread. Ruth was quite alone, engaged
in cleaning her room. She was singing
cheerfully. As she finished dusting the chairs
and arranging her dress for the resumption of
her labours with the graver, a knock was heard
at the door. She opened it, and, to her surprise,
saw Mr. Bangs.

“I have come,” said he, while a disagreeable
smile played about his mouth, “to receive your
month's rent. You had forgotten all about it,
had you not?”

“Oh, no!” replied Ruth. “I put aside the
eight dollars last night for Mrs. Bangs, meaning
to hand it to her the first opportunity to-day.”

“Well, as I happen to be hard pushed for
money, you may just give it to me.”

“Certainly,” said Ruth, unlocking her desk,
and searching for the old, worn pocket-book in
which she was accustomed to keep her humble
earnings.

To her dismay, it was nowhere to be found!
In no possible nook or corner could she discover
a vestige of it or its contents.

“Excuse me,” exclaimed Bangs, “but I am
in a good deal of a hurry.”

“I must have been robbed!” murmured Ruth.
“The pocket-book is not to be found. It contained
upward of thirty dollars.”

“None of your humbug!” said her rude and
unprincipled landlord. “If you can't give me
the money, say so. I know a family who are
willing to give me ten dollars a month for these
rooms, and to take them to-morrow.”

An expression of pain and anxiety passed
over Ruth's face as she replied, “Indeed, you
wrong me by your distrust. But the day is
not yet done. Leave me now, and I will make a
great effort to raise the money for you.”

“Very well,” said Bangs. “I must have it
before nightfall, so be spry.”

Being left alone, Ruth reopened the desk to
look for a half-finished engraving, upon which
she thought Frank might be able to obtain a
small sum in advance. Alas! none of her woodcuts
and implements were to be found! Half
a dozen beautiful drawings on wood, by that excellent
artist, Chapman, which belonged to the
publisher who employed her, and which she had
taken to engrave, had also disappeared! Poor
Ruth was almost in despair. This was a misfortune
so utterly unexpected, and so overwhelming,
that she could not, for the moment,
check a vehement flood of tears. Weeping,
however, was not the way by which to contrive

means to extricate herself from her dilemma.
So, washing her eyes and composing her
features, she went down into the “Mounseer's”
room to relate to him her calamity.

The music-master sympathized warmly with
her distress, and declared his joy at having the
ability to relieve it. He thought of the money
he had received from Mr. Dangleton, and, putting
his hand in his pocket for his purse, drew
forth—nothing but a tuning-key! He had also
been robbed. Even the diamond ring, which
had sparkled on his little finger, was no more to
be seen. Parbleu! what a catastrophe! Should
he sell the piano—the violin? Alas! they were
not his own property; they were merely hired.

Leaving the worthy Frenchman far more afflicted
at his little pupil's loss than at any he
had himself experienced, Ruth flew for counsel
to her friend the grocer. She found him perplexed
and worried about his own affairs. A
vexatious lawsuit had been revived against him,
which was of a character to ruffle the serenest
temper. He lent, however, a kind and attentive
ear to Ruth's story, and then informed her
that he had been obliged to expend all his ready
money, with the exception of a dollar or two
in the till, in feeing his lawyer, Mr. Dangleton.
He would come round and see Bangs, and persuade
him to desist for a week or two from his
importunities, and, in the mean time, the children
could procure from his shop, free of charge,
whatever provender they might need for their
daily sustenance. With this arrangement Ruth
was constrained to be content.

The grocer did not neglect his promise.
Bangs was for a long time surly and refractory
in the interview that ensued; but, on Mr. Bibb's
openly expressing his indignation, and declaring
that he would give the children a home in
his own house, the coachman suddenly changed
his tone, and consented that they should occupy
their rooms a few days longer without
molestation.

That very night the grocery and dwellinghouse
of Mr. Bibb took fire, most unaccountably,
and were burned to the ground. The newspaper
reporters accounted for the accident in various
ways, according to the fertility of their
imaginations. One of them stated that the
owner, in a state of intoxication, had left a lighted
candle in a charcoal basket. Another confidently
informed the public that the conflagration
originated in the spontaneous combustion
of a box of Lucifer matches; but the report
most generally accepted was that, through the
culpable carelessness of Mr. Bibb, some alcohol,
which he was pouring from a gallon measure,
was accidentally ignited by a spark from his
cigar. Now, as his was a temperance establishment,
I cannot but consider this story as unfounded
as the others. I have my suspicions
as to the origin of the fire, and, when there is
fitting occasion, I may take the liberty to declare
them.

By this deplorable casualty, if so it may be
called, Mr. Bibb was at once not only stripped
of the means of aiding others, but rendered an
object for charity himself. He bitterly regretted

the circumstance, not merely on his own
account, but for the sake of the young Lovedays,
whom he had hoped to assist. A friendly
neighbour offered him and his wife a shelter—
it was all he had to offer—and the grocer gratefully
availed himself of the invitation.

For a week Bangs refrained from harassing
Ruth for her small debt, contenting himself with
keeping a vigilant and cautious eye upon the
movements of the orphans, who had promptly
decided on certain measures for retrieving their
loss. Frank was at once taken from school,
and sent into the streets again to vend newspapers.
May was ambitious to do all the sewing
that could be obtained for her, and a very nice
seamstress she was. Arthur quitted Doctor
Remington's employment to adopt a calling infinitely
more laborious and more immediately
profitable. The change cost him a pang, but a
consciousness that he was doing his duty cheered
him on. Frank had told him that money
was to be made at the “steamboat landings”
by offering his services as a porter, and transferring
the luggage of passengers. Arthur was
of a delicate constitution, though recently it
had been much invigorated by exercise in the
open air. The rough and painful tasks to which
he was now subjected, of lifting heavy trunks
on his shoulder, carrying well-stuffed carpetbags
and boxes, threatened, however, to undermine
his health and overstrain his muscles.

As for Ruth, after many unsuccessful applications
for work, she had obtained a contract
for an engraving on wood, for which she was

to be paid ten dollars on delivery; and at the
execution she now laboured with unremitted
assiduity. Many little things had occurred to
annoy and dishearten her. Mr. Alison had sent
her a note,[1] informing her that her services in
the church choir were no longer wanted. Articles
of furniture and pieces of crockery were
miraculously broken or abstracted. Dresses
were torn, and soiled, and burned, no one could
tell how. Everything seemed to go wrong; and,
finally, poor Frank, as he was returning home
one evening, was struck in the leg with a loaded
cane by some person unknown, and so seriously
lamed that he was obliged to take to his
bed.

Ruth rose early and retired late, working till
she could hardly see upon the fine engraving under
her hands. Notwithstanding her numerous
trials, her cheerful and serene temper underwent
no change. Perhaps she sang somewhat
less than she had been accustomed to of late,
for she had been obliged to be more thoughtful;
but she did not waste a moment of her
time in useless lamentation and repining; for
she felt that she was in Heaven's hands, and
that, if she did but do her duty, she could not
be harmed. It was her faith, also, that, so long
as she remained pure and true, there were good
spirits hovering near her, among the brightest
of whom was her mother, who had power to
protect and gladden her. Who shall say that
to such influences she was not oftentimes indebted

for encouragement in her struggles and
for light in her gloom?

Our attention must now be directed to a visit
received by Mr. Bibb some ten days after the
destruction of his property. That worthy individual
had been so effectually plucked by his
lawyer on the one hand, and signed by the fire
on the other, that he was left completely destitute;
and Mr. Dangleton had managed to keep
him so incessantly “bothered” about the lawsuit
as to allow him no time to visit even his
friends, the Lovedays, until that very day, when
he had found them in a state which caused him
no little concern.

Returning to his temporary abode, he was
told that a clergyman wished to speak with him
in the parlour. Entering, he encountered a very
demure-looking person, dressed in black, with a
white neckcloth, and spectacles. This individual
introduced himself, in a very solemn manner,
as the “Reverend Mr. M—,” giving the
name of a popular and eminent divine.

Mr. Bibb, though somewhat awestruck at
being in the presence of one of whom he had
heard and read so much, though he had never
seen him before, asked, tremblingly, to what he
was indebted for the honour of the visit.

“I have come, sir,” replied the man in black,
“to speak with you in regard to my young
friend, Mr. Edward Dangleton.”

“Oh, yes, I am glad to hear it,” exclaimed
Mr. Bibb, much relieved; for he had begun to
apprehend that, by some twist of the law, he
had been made a subject for clerical consolation
and “last confessions.”

“Alas! Mr. Bibb,” continued his solemn visiter,
“you cannot well conceive the suffering
which that excellent young man has undergone
for the last three weeks, through his becoming
enamoured of the maiden, Ruth Loveday. In
vain have I told him that there is balm in Gilead.
He knows it, but will not be comforted;
and, verily, I fear much for his life, unless we
can persuade the damsel, who, it would seem,
knows not his worth, to consent to listen to his
suit. Verily, it is sinfulness in her to be so obdurate.
I am told that she is poor; that her
family suffereth for the necessaries of life; and
that she subjects herself and her brothers to
labours which they cannot well bear, out of a
vain and foolish pride and obstinacy of spirit.
Verily, this should not be. I can vouch for my
young friend, Mr. Edward, that he is one of the
godly, and that his affection for this unworthy
maiden is his only weakness—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Mr. Bibb; “do
not call her unworthy. Ruth is one of the best,
most industrious girls of my acquaintance.”

“Vanity of vanities!” continued the stranger.
“You speak like one who loveth darkness better
than light. What good reason can the maiden
give for rejecting my young friend's offer,
and lacerating his tender spirit? Is he not
respectable, pious, all that he should be? Has
he not this world's dross in abundance—yea,
enough for Ruth and all her friends?”

“I must confess, sir,” said Mr. Bibb, “that I
wonder much at her conduct in rejecting an
offer that might be so advantageous to her and
to her family.”

“It is sinful, sir, absolutely sinful!” exclaimed
the visiter. “Be it your duty, then, to influence
her in the adoption of a course more consistent
with her duty to herself and her family; to persuade
her, in short, to listen to the honourable
proposals of my friend, Mr. Edward.”

“I will renew my entreaties this very evening,”
replied Mr. Bibb; “for I cannot see any
sensible reason why she should be so blind to
her own interests. Are you sure, though, that
the young man's habits are strictly correct?”

“Are my own correct, Mr. Bibb? Do I pass
my time in exhorting sinners to repentance, or
in riding, driving, drinking, and such like vanities?
I think I am justified in calling Mr. Edward
the most exemplary young man in New-York.
I can bring you five deacons from my
own church who will testify in his behalf. You
must read his speech at the great Temperance
meeting in the Park. I will send you a copy.
In the mean time, do me the favour to accept
these few little tracts, and to give them an attentive
perusal.”

As he said this, the reverend stranger thrust
into the grocer's hands a dozen tracts, which
were calculated to give the recipient a very exalted
notion of the donor's piety. I suspect
that a phrenologist would have found the organ
of “marvellousness” very fully developed in the
worthy grocer's head, for he swallowed everything
that the “Reverend Mr. M—” had been
saying, without a particle of distrust. He coincided
with the sanctimonious gentleman perfectly
as to the propriety of persuading Ruth to

receive Mr. Edward's addresses, and, in conclusion,
promised that he would use every exertion
to bring about a result so immediately advantageous
to herself, and so essential to the health
and peace of mind of the youth, who, as Mr.
M— declared, was “a perfect model for the
young men of the age.”

With a parting exhortation to Mr. Bibb “to
be virtuous if he would be happy,” the distinguished
individual gave him his blessing, and
departed. Had the grocer watched his proceedings
after he had turned the corner, he
might have had his suspicions aroused as to the
gentleman's claims to the title of “reverend.”
Jumping into a coach, where Mr. Edward was
seated in waiting, this distributor of tracts told
the driver, with a very unclerical oath, to “drive
on as if—”

I cannot consent to disfigure my page with
the rest of the exclamation.

“Well, Dick, how did you succeed in playing
the parson?” asked “the model for the young
men of the age.”

“Admirably, Ned! Not so broadly as to
waken his suspicions by a caricature. I had
your interests too much at heart for that. The
old fool was decidedly caught. I quite persuaded
him that you were the most exemplary of
young men, and that it would be positively sinful
in the girl to be any longer unkind. He
promised to see her to-night, and win her over
to repentance. The picture I drew of your sufferings
made his heart yearn with pity. There
is no mistake about it: he will plead your cause

with her as eloquently as you could do it yourself.”

“Tousand tanks! as Monsieur Mallet says.
Now, Dick, we will drive to my rooms, where
you shall divest yourself of your wig and spectacles,
not forgetting that pre-Adamitish white
cravat—and then, ho for woodcocks and Champagne
at Delmonico's!”

“I am your man!” replied Dick. “This
masking has given me an appetite.”