University of Virginia Library

3. III.

After a day or two, Ward accompanied his cousin John to
the office of the News. John was a short, burly boy, a year or
two older than Ward; he had always lived in the city, and
was not afraid of man or beast—having been used to both.
He not only, in his own estimation, could lift more than any
other boy of his years, but he had suffered more, from various
causes, with a distinct relation of all which he favored Ward,
from time to time. And as they walked the long distance from
Uncle Job's to the News office, on the morning alluded to, he
related many peculiar and aggravated instances of affliction,
beginning with a mad ox of his father's that had once bruised
and tossed him in a terrible manner, tearing his trowsers into
ribbons, and that, but for his wonderful presence of mind, would
doubtless have crippled him for life, or killed him. In
the next place, having been sufficiently entertained with the
wonder of his cousin, he said he had once had a bee-sting on
his hand, causing such inflammation that a peck measure would
not have held it, and that he never slept a wink for two weeks
—the bee was called a poison bee, or thousand stinger, he said.
It was strange, Ward thought, that he had always lived in the
country, and never heard of any such insect. Many other
equally curious and interesting things the city youth related,
which gave him great consequence in his own estimation. And

he dressed in all respects like a man, and smoked, and sometimes
drank whisky.

Such was the future companion of Ward. Poor little boy,
no wonder he wished he had stayed at home! There were a
good many men about the stove in the publisher's office, and,
naturally shy, and now frightened, he shrank tremblingly into
the obscurest corner; but John went boldly forward, saying,
“Gentleman, I have some business with the publisher—make
way.” And whether they heeded him or not, he soon made
way for himself, telling the man of business he had brought
him a country boy, such as he thought would suit—“ignorant
and awkward, of course,” he added, “but that will wear off,
sir;” and thrusting both hands in his pockets, he drew himself
up, evidently supposing he had acted a very distinguished part.
“Where is he from?” inquired the man. John put his hand
over his mouth, and in half whisper said, “The butcher picked
him up with some sheep and calves.”

“I should like to have a view of him,” said the respectable
personage, holding on his spectacles with one hand, and peeping
between the shoulders of the men by the stove.

“Ward, this way,” called out his exhibitor; and, grasping
his well-worn hat tightly with his freezing hands, and looking
down, the timid child came forward.

“Do you think we are thieves?” asked the publisher; and
as Ward answered, “No, sir,” he continued, “What makes
you hold your hat so tight, then?”

Ward began to dislike his cousin very much, and to doubt
whether there was any such bee as the poison bee or thousand-stinger.
That he was a vulgar, ill-bred boy, he knew, and yet
he stood silent and abashed before him.

The new arbiter of his fate saw he was just such a boy as
he wanted, and felt that as he had no guardian or friend, he
could manage him as he chose—make him do a great deal, in
fact, and give him little for it. Nevertheless, he said, “I am
afraid he will not suit,” surveying him from head to foot; “but
if you have a mind, you may come with me for a month, and if
I find you honest, and of any tolerable capacity, we can perhaps
make a bargain.”

“What answer do you give the gentleman?” interposed
John, getting one foot on the hearth of the stove, and pulling
down his vest.

Ward said he would go, for he thought he would rather go
anywhere than remain with his precocious relative, who said,
as he walked away consequentially, “I'll tell the butcher I've
disposed of you.”