University of Virginia Library

5. V.

Time passed along, and away across the city, through openings
of roofs, and between spires, I could see the red woods of
October; and these faded and withered, and there came the
chill, dismal rains of November. A dull, dreary, and monotonous
storm had continued all night and all day, and all day and
all night again; and now and then one of the great sere leaves
of the sycamore that grew in the yard blew against the window.
I had chanced to miss seeing my little friend, and I took up my
pen on the depressing and comfortless morning, more with the
purpose of watching for him than because I felt any inclination
to write. I was presently wrapt in mediation, and quite forgot
my object, and so softly he came, that it was only by the darkening
of the window that I noticed him.

The smile which came to my lips was startled away when I
perceived him, haggard and wretched, turning back into the
rain, without noticing me. His coat was unbuttoned and
blowing wildly open, and he seemed to be buffeted in very
sport by all the merciless elements. He had no shoes on his
feet, and his cloth cap was drenched and matted close to his
head. I called to him, and, as he turned toward me, I perceived
that he had been weeping violently. “Come in and
get warm by the fire,” I said; “I have not seen you for a long
time.” He would have thanked me, but his lips trembled, and
the tears sprang to his eyes, as he silently obeyed, for my invitation
was almost a command. I re-arranged his papers, on
the table, that he might recover himself a little; but when I
turned to speak, he put his hands before his face and cried, and
when I inquired what was the matter, it was long before he
could answer me that his sister Mary was dead. Then it was
that I first learned all his sad history; and if I had been interested
in him before, I was doubly so now.

Afterward I had always some words of encouragement when
he came; sometimes a piece of pie or cake, for which he was
very grateful, for it was not often he had the privilege of going
to Aunt Dick's.

I repeated his story to a rich lady who lived near. She had

often noticed, and now wished to aid him. “But how shall I
manage?” she said; “I cannot give him clothes or money.” At
length we decided on a plan; and the next day, when he threw
the paper in at the basement, she called and told him that if
he would put her paper on a particular window, she would pay
him on New-Year's eve. I had also a little project for a
present, at the same time, of which I said nothing. The printer
whom Ward served was a hard man, but he was honest; that is,
he paid what he said he would pay, and people called him
Christian.

The many sufferings, hardships, and long hours of home-sickness,
which Ward endured, it would be useless to enumerate,
but as they drew near the close, his heart became light, and his
countenance cheerful.

The period was come for the development of my design. I
had prepared for Ward a Carrier's Address, for the printing of
which he stipulated with the publisher, and the receipts were
to be entirely his.

New-Year's morning arrived at last, clear and sharply cold,
but Ward minded not that, for the nice suit of clothes the rich
lady had given him, kept him warm, and no frost could get
through the comfortable boots, and the new cap was altogether
better than the old. Such a picture of happiness it did one
good to see, as, tapping at my door, he laughingly handed in the
Address, neatly printed, with a border, on straw-colored paper.
He had disposed of nearly all the copies of it, and the shillings
and larger pieces he had received, were more, he thought, than
he could count.

He was now going home, and only sorrow came in between
him and happiness, as he thought of the new and lonesome
grave under the naked winter trees.

Cousin John, who obtained a great deal more money than he,
had spent it as fast as he earned it; he could tell larger stories and
eat more oysters than he could a year ago; and he still called his
father the butcher, which Aunt Dick thought a fine accomplishment.
As Ward bade the amiable woman good-bye, she told
him to spend his money in part for a fine silk dress for his
mother; he might also get her a velvet bonnet with plumes, and

a shawl; these, she said, would be a nice present, and if he had
any money left, he should get some sugar for his mother to
make preserves. But Ward had a plan of his own, which he
thought better. He was going to give his mother half of his
money to do with as she thought best, and the rest should pay
for his tuition at the academy.

As the twilight fell I pleased myself with making a picture
of the cabin home. I could see the bright hearth, and the table
all spread—for the loving mother knew her dear boy was coming
—and the baby, toddling about and prattling—all but the returning
son forgotten. And I could imagine the joyous, and
yet sorrowful, bewilderment, as the good boy should spread his
year's gains on the table, saying, “If Mary were here too!”