Paul Prescott's Charge : a story for boys

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  While he was busy with these thoughts, his companion had finished his oysters.

  "Most through?" he inquired nonchalantly.

  "I've got to step out a minute; wait till I come back."

  Paul unsuspectingly assented.

  He heard his companion say a word to the barkeeper, and then go out.

  He waited patiently for fifteen minutes and he did not return; another quarter of an hour, and he was still absent. Thinking he might have been unexpectedly detained, he rose to go, but was called back by the barkeeper.

  "Hallo, youngster! are you going off without paying?"

  "For what?" inquired Paul, in surprise.

  "For the oysters, of course. You don't suppose I give 'em away, do you?"

  "I thought," hesitated Paul, "that the one who was with me paid,--the Governor's son," he added, conscious of a certain pride in his intimacy with one so nearly related to the chief magistrate of the Commonwealth.

  "The Governor's son," laughed the barkeeper. "Why the Governor lives a hundred miles off and more. That wasn't the Governor's son any more than I am."

  "He called his father governor," said Paul, beginning to be afraid that he had made some ridiculous blunder.

  "Well, I wouldn't advise you to trust him again, even if he's the President's son. He only got you in here to pay for his oysters. He told me when he went out that you would pay for them."

  "And didn't he say he was coming back?" asked Paul, quite dumbfounded.

  "He said you hadn't quite finished, but would pay for both when you came out. It's two shillings.

  Paul rather ruefully took out the half dollar which constituted his entire stock of money, and tendered it to the barkeeper who returned him the change.

  So Paul went out into the streets, with his confidence in human nature somewhat lessened.

  Here, then, is our hero with twenty-five cents in his pocket, and his fortune to make.

  XIV.

  A STRANGE BED-CHAMBER.

  ALTHOUGH Paul could not help being vexed at having been so cleverly taken in by his late companion, he felt the better for having eaten the oysters. Carefully depositing his only remaining coin in his pocket, he resumed his wanderings. It is said that a hearty meal is a good promoter of cheerfulness. It was so in Paul's case, and although he had as yet had no idea where he should find shelter for the night he did not allow that consideration to trouble him.

  So the day passed, and the evening came on. Paul's appetite returned to him once more. He invested one-half of his money at an old woman's stall for cakes and apples, and then he ate leisurely while leaning against the iron railing which encircles the park.

  He began to watch with interest the movements of those about him. Already the lamplighter had started on his accustomed round, and with ladder in hand was making his way from one lamp-post to another. Paul quite marvelled at the celerity with which the lamps were lighted, never before having witnessed the use of gas. He was so much interested in the process that he sauntered along behind the lamplighter for some time. At length his eye fel upon a group common enough in our cities, but new to him.

  An Italian, short and dark-featured, with a velvet cap, was grinding out music from a hand-organ, while a woman with a complexion equally dark, and black sorrowful-looking eyes, accompanied her husband on the tambourine. They were playing a lively tune as Paul came up, but quickly glided into "Home, Sweet Home."

  Paul listened with pleased, yet sad interest, for him "home" was only a sad remembrance.

  He wandered on, pausing now and then to look into one of the brilliantly illuminated shop windows, or catching a glimpse through the open doors of the gay scene within, and as one after another of these lively scenes passed before him, he began to think that all the strange and wonderful things in the world must be collected in these rich stores.

  Next, he came to a place of public amusement. Crowds were entering constantly, and Paul, from curiosity, entered too. He passed on to a little wicket, when a man stopped him.

  "Where's your ticket?" he asked.

  "I haven't got any," said Paul.

  "Then what business have you here?" said the man, roughly.

  "Isn't this a meeting-house?" asked Paul.

  This remark seemed to amuse two boys who were standing by. Looking up with some indignation, Paul recognized in one of them the boy who had cheated him out of the oysters.

  `Look here," said Paul, "what made you go off and leave me to pay for the oysters this morning?"

  "Which of us do you mean?" inquired the "governor's son," carelessly.

  "I mean you."

  "Really, I don't understand your meaning. Perhaps you mistake me for somebody else."

  "What?" said Paul, in great astonishment. "Don't you remember me, and how you told me you were the Governor's son?"

  Both boys laughed.

  "You must be mistaken. I haven't the honor of being related to the distinguished gentleman you name."

  The speaker made a mocking bow to Paul.

  "I know that," said Paul, with spirit, "but you said you were, for all that."

  "It must have been some other good-looking boy, that you are mistaking me for. What are you going to do about it? I hope, by the way, that the oysters agreed with you."

  "Yes, they did," said Paul, "for I came honestly by them."

  "He's got you there, Gerald," said the other boy.

  Paul made his way out of the theater. As his funds were reduced to twelve cents, he could not have purchased a ticket if he had desired it.

  Still he moved on.

  Soon he came to another building, which was in like manner lighted up, but not so brilliantly as the theater. This time, from the appearance of the building, and from the tall steeple,--so tall that his eye could scarcely reach the tapering spire,--he knew that it must be a church. There was not such a crowd gathered about the door as at the place he had just left, but he saw a few persons entering, and he joined them. The interior of the church was far more gorgeous than the plain village meeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend with his mother. He gazed about him with a feeling of awe, and sank quietly into a back pew. As it was a week-day evening, and nothing of unusual interest was anticipated, there were but few present, here and there one, scattered through the capacious edifice.

  By-and-by the organist commenced playing, and a flood of music, grander and more solemn than he had ever heard, filled the whole edifice. He listened with rapt attention and suspended breath till the last note died away, and then sank back upon the richly cushioned seat with a feeling of enjoyment.

  In the services which followed he was not so much interested. The officiating clergyman delivered a long homily in a dull unimpassioned manner, which failed to awaken his interest. Already disposed to be drowsy, it acted upon him like a gentle soporific. He tried to pay attention as he had always been used to do, but owing to his occupying a back seat, and the low voice of the preacher, but few words reached him, and those for the most part were above his comprehension.

  Gradually the feeling of fatigue--for he had been walking the streets all day--became so powerful that his struggles to keep awake became harder and harder. In vain he sat erect, resolved not to yield. The moment afterwards his head inclined to one side; the lights began to swim before his eyes; the voice of the preacher subsided into a low and undistinguishable hum. Paul's head sank upon the cushion, his bundle, which had been his constant companion during the day, fell softly to the floor, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Meanwhile the sermon came to a close, and another hymn was sung, but even the music was insufficient to wake our hero now. So the benediction was pronounced, and the people opened the doors of their pews and left the church.

  Last of all the sexton walked up and down the aisles, closing such of the pew doors as were open. Then he shut off the gas, and after looking around to see that nothing was forgotten, went out, apparently satisfied, and locked the outer door behind him.

  Pau
l, meanwhile, wholly unconscious of his situation, slept on as tranquilly as if there were nothing unusual in the circumstances in which he was placed. Through the stained windows the softened light fell upon his tranquil countenance, on which a smile played, as if his dreams were pleasant. What would Aunt Lucy have thought if she could have seen her young friend at this moment?

  XV.

  A TURN OF FORTUNE.

  NOTWITHSTANDING his singular bedchamber, Paul had a refreshing night's sleep from which he did not awake till the sun had fairly risen, and its rays colored by the medium through which they were reflected, streamed in at the windows and rested in many fantastic lines on the richly carved pulpit and luxurious pews.

  Paul sprang to his feet and looked around him in bewilderment.

  "Where am I?" he exclaimed in astonishment.

  In the momentary confusion of ideas which is apt to follow a sudden awakening, he could not remember where he was, or how he chanced to be there. But in a moment memory came to his aid, and he recalled the events of the preceding day, and saw that he must have been locked up in the church.

  "How am I going to get out?" Paul asked himself in dismay.

  This was the important question just now. He remembered that the village meeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend was rarely opened except on Sundays. What if this should be the case here? It was Thursday morning, and three days must elapse before his release. This would never do. He must seek some earlier mode of deliverance.

  He went first to the windows, but found them so secured that it was impossible for him to get them open. He tried the doors, but found, as he had anticipated, that they were fast. His last resource failing, he was at liberty to follow the dictates of his curiosity.

  Finding a small door partly open, he peeped within, and found a flight of steep stairs rising before him. They wound round and round, and seemed almost interminable. At length, after he had become almost weary of ascending, he came to a small window, out of which he looked. At his feet lay the numberless roofs of the city, while not far away his eye rested on thousands of masts. The river sparkled in the sun, and Paul, in spite of his concern, could not help enjoying the scene. The sound of horses and carriages moving along the great thoroughfare below came confusedly to his ears. He leaned forward to look down, but the distance was so much greater than he had thought, that he drew back in alarm.

  "What shall I do?" Paul asked himself, rather frightened. "I wonder if I can stand going without food for three days? I suppose nobody would hear me if I should scream as loud as I could."

  Paul shouted, but there was so much noise in the streets that nobody probably heard him.

  He descended the staircase, and once more found himself in the body of the church. He went up into the pulpit, but there seemed no hope of escape in that direction. There was a door leading out on one side, but this only led to a little room into which the minister retired before service.

  It semed rather odd to Paul to find himself the sole occupant of so large a building. He began to wonder whether it would not have been better for him to stay in the poorhouse, than come to New York to die of starvation.

  Just at this moment Paul heard a key rattle in the outer door. Filled with new hope, he ran down the pulpit stairs and out into the porch, just in time to see the entrance of the sexton.

  The sexton started in surprise as his eye fell upon Paul standing before him, with his bundle under his arm.

  "Where did you come from, and how came you here?" he asked with some suspicion.

  "I came in last night, and fell asleep."

  "So you passed the night here?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What made you come in at all?" inquired the sexton, who knew enough of boys to be curious upon this point.

  "I didn't know where else to go," said Paul.

  "Where do you live?"

  Paul answered with perfect truth, "I don't live anywhere."

  "What! Have you no home?" asked the sexton in surprise.

  Paul shook his head.

  "Where should you have slept if you hadn't come in here?"

  "I don't know, I'm sure."

  "And I suppose you don't know where you shall sleep to-night?"

  Paul signified that he did not.

  "I knew there were plenty of such cases," said the sexton, meditatively; "but I never seemed to realize it before."

  "How long have you been in New York?" was his next inquiry.

  "Not very long," said Paul. "I only got here yesterday."

  "Then you don't know anybody in the city?"

  "No."

  "Why did you come here, then?"

  "Because I wanted to go somewhere where I could earn a living, and I thought I might find something to do here."

  "But suppose you shouldn't find anything to do?"

  "I don't know," said Paul, slowly. "I haven't thought much about that."

  "Well, my lad," said the sexton, not unkindly, "I can't say your prospects look very bright. You should have good reasons for entering on such an undertaking. I--I don't think you are a bad boy. You don't look like a bad one," he added, half to himself.

  "I hope not, sir," said Paul.

  "I hope not, too. I was going to say that I wish I could help you to some kind of work. If you will come home with me, you shall be welcome to a dinner, and perhaps I may be able to think of something for you."

  Paul gladly prepared to follow his new acquaintance.

  "What is your name?" inquired the sexton.

  "Paul Prescott."

  "That sounds like a good name. I suppose you haven't got much money?"

  "Only twelve cents."

  "Bless me! only twelve cents. Poor boy! you are indeed poor."

  "But I can work," said Paul, spiritedly. "I ought to be able to earn my living."

  "Yes, yes, that's the way to feel. Heaven helps those who help themselves."

  When they were fairly out of the church, Paul had an opportunity of observing his companion's external appearance. He was an elderly man, with harsh features, which would have been forbidding, but for a certain air of benevolence which softened their expression.

  As Paul walked along, he related, with less of detail, the story which is already known to the reader. The sexton said little except in the way of questions designed to elicit further particulars, till, at the conclusion he said, "Must tell Hester."

  At length they came to a small house, in a respectable but not fashionable quarter of the city. One-half of this was occupied by the sexton. He opened the door and led the way into the sitting-room. It was plainly but neatly furnished, the only ornament being one or two engravings cheaply framed and hung over the mantel-piece. They were by no means gems of art, but then, the sexton did not claim to be a connoisseur, and would probably not have understood the meaning of the word.

  "Sit here a moment," said the sexton, pointing to a chair, "I'll go and speak to Hester."

  Paul whiled away the time in looking at the pictures in a copy of "The Pilgrim's Progress," which lay on the table.

  In the next room sat a woman of perhaps fifty engaged in knitting. It was very easy to see that she could never have possessed the perishable gift of beauty. Hers was one of the faces on which nature has written plain, in unmistakable characters. Yet if the outward features had been a reflex of the soul within, few faces would have been more attractive than that of Hester Cameron. At the feet of the sexton's wife, for such she was, reposed a maltese cat, purring softly by way of showing her contentment. Indeed, she had good reason to be satisfied. In default of children, puss had become a privileged pet, being well fed and carefully shielded from all the perils that beset cat-hood.

  "Home so soon?" said Hester inquiringly, as her husband opened the door.

  "Yes, Hester, and I have brought company with me," said the sexton.

  "Company!" repeated his wife. "Who is it?"

  "It is a poor boy, who was accidentally locked up in the church last night."


  "And he had to stay there all night?"

  "Yes; but perhaps it was lucky for him, for he had no other place to sleep, and not money enough to pay for one."

  "Poor child!" said Hester, compassionately. "Is it not terrible to think that any human creature should be without the comforts of a home which even our tabby possesses. It ought to make you thankful that you are so well cared for, Tab."

  The cat opened her eyes and winked drowsily at her mistress.

  "So you brought the poor boy home, Hugh?"

  "Yes, Hester,--I thought we ought not to begrudge a meal to one less favored by fortune than ourselves. You know we should consider ourselves the almoners of God's bounties."

  "Surely, Hugh."

  "I knew you would feel so, Hester. And suppose we have the chicken for dinner that I sent in the morning. I begin to have a famous appetite. I think I should enjoy it."

  Hester knew perfectly well that it was for Paul's sake, and not for his own, that her husband spoke. But she so far entered into his feelings, that she determined to expend her utmost skill as cook upon the dinner, that Paul might have at least one good meal.

  "Now I will bring the boy in," said he. "I am obliged to go to work, but you will find some way to entertain him, I dare say."

  "If you will come out (this he said to Paul), I will introduce you to a new friend."

  Paul was kindly welcomed by the sexton's wife, who questioned him in a sympathizing tone about his enforced stay in the church. To all her questions Paul answered in a modest yet manly fashion, so as to produce a decidedly favorable impression upon his entertainer.

  Our hero was a handsome boy. Just at present he was somewhat thin, not having entirely recovered from the effects of his sickness and poor fare while a member of Mr. Mudge's family; but he was well made, and bade fair to become a stout boy. His manner was free and unembarrassed, and he carried a letter of recommendation in his face. It must be admitted, however that there were two points in which his appearance might have been improved. Both his hands and face had suffered from the dust of travel. His clothes, too, were full of dust.