Paul Prescott's Charge : a story for boys

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  Brindle galloped through the yard, and out at the open gate. Thence she ran up the road at the top of her speed, with Mr. Mudge still pursuing her.

  It may be mentioned here that Mr. Mudge was compelled to chase the terrified cow over two miles before he succeeded with the help of a neighbor in capturing her. All this took time. Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge at home was subjected to yet another trial of her temper.

  It has already been mentioned that Squire Newcome was Chairman of the Overseers of the Poor. In virtue of his office, he was expected to exercise a general supervision over the Almshouse and its management. It was his custom to call about once a month to look after matters, and ascertain whether any official action or interference was needed.

  Ben saw his father take his gold-headed cane from behind the door, and start down the road. He understood his destination, and instantly the plan of a stupendous practical joke dawned upon him.

  "It'll be jolly fun," he said to himself, his eyes dancing with fun. "I'll try it, anyway."

  He took his way across the fields, so as to reach the Almshouse before his father. He then commenced his plan of operations.

  Mrs. Mudge had returned to her tub, and was washing away with bitter energy, thinking over her grievances in the matter of Mr. Mudge, when a knock was heard at the front door.

  Taking her hands from the tub, she wiped them on her apron.

  "I wish folks wouldn't come on washing day!" she said in a tone of vexation.

  She went to the door and opened it.

  There was nobody there.

  "I thought somebody knocked," thought she, a little mystified. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

  She went back to her tub, and had no sooner got her hands in the suds than another knock was heard, this time on the back door.

  "I declare!" said she, in increased vexation, "There's another knock. I shan't get through my washing to-day."

  Again Mrs. Mudge wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the door.

  There was nobody there.

  I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had knocked both times, and instantly dodged round the corner of the house.

  "It's some plaguy boy," said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger. "Oh, if I could only get hold of him!"

  "Don't you wish you could?" chuckled Ben to himself, as he caught a sly glimpse of the indignant woman.

  Meanwhile, Squire Newcome had walked along in his usual slow and dignified manner, until he had reached the front door of the Poorhouse, and knocked.

  "It's that plaguy boy again," said Mrs. Mudge, furiously. "I won't go this time, but if he knocks again, I'll fix him."

  She took a dipper of hot suds from the tub in which she had been washing, and crept carefully into the entry, taking up a station close to the front door.

  "I wonder if Mrs. Mudge heard me knock," thought Squire Newcome. "I should think she might. I believe I will knock again."

  This time he knocked with his cane.

  Rat-tat-tat sounded on the door.

  The echo had not died away, when the door was pulled suddenly open, and a dipper full of hot suds was dashed into the face of the astonished Squire, accompanied with, "Take that, you young scamp!"

  "Wh--what does all this mean?" gasped Squire Newcome, nearly strangled with the suds, a part of which had found its way into his mouth.

  "I beg your pardon, Squire Newcome," said the horrified Mrs. Mudge. "I didn't mean it."

  "What did you mean, then?" demanded Squire Newcome, sternly. "I think you addressed me,--ahem!--as a scamp."

  "Oh, I didn't mean you," said Mrs. Mudge, almost out of her wits with perplexity.

  "Come in, sir, and let me give you a towel. You've no idea how I've been tried this morning."

  "I trust," said the Squire, in his stateliest tone, "you will be able to give a satisfactory explanation of this, ahem--extraordinary proceeding."

  While Mrs. Mudge was endeavoring to sooth the ruffled dignity of the aggrieved Squire, the "young scamp," who had caused all the mischief, made his escape through the fields.

  "Oh, wasn't it bully!" he exclaimed. "I believe I shall die of laughing. I wish Paul had been here to see it. Mrs. Mudge has got herself into a scrape, now, I'm thinking."

  Having attained a safe distance from the Poorhouse, Ben doubled himself up and rolled over and over upon the grass, convulsed with laughter.

  "I'd give five dollars to see it all over again," he said to himself. "I never had such splendid fun in my life."

  Presently the Squire emerged, his tall dicky looking decidedly limp and drooping, his face expressing annoyance and outraged dignity. Mrs. Mudge attended him to the door with an expression of anxious concern.

  "I guess I'd better make tracks," said Ben to himself, "it won't do for the old gentleman to see me here, or he may smell a rat."

  He accordingly scrambled over a stone wall and lay quietly hidden behind it till he judged it would be safe to make his appearance.

  XVIII.

  MORE ABOUT BEN.

  "BENJAMIN," said Squire Newcome, two days after the occurrence mentioned in the last chapter, "what made the dog howl so this morning? Was you a doing anything to him?"

  "I gave him his breakfast," said Ben, innocently. "Perhaps he was hungry, and howling for that."

  "I do not refer to that," said the Squire. "He howled as if in pain or terror. I repeat; was you a doing anything to him?"

  Ben shifted from one foot to the other, and looked out of the window.

  "I desire a categorical answer," said Squire Newcome.

  "Don't know what categorical means," said Ben, assuming a perplexed look.

  "I desire you to answer me immegiately," explained the Squire. "What was you a doing to Watch?"

  "I was tying a tin-kettle to his tail," said Ben, a little reluctantly.

  "And what was you a doing that for?" pursued the Squire.

  "I wanted to see how he would look," said Ben, glancing demurely at his father, out of the corner of his eye.

  "Did it ever occur to you that it must be disagreeable to Watch to have such an appendage to his tail?" queried the Squire.

  "I don't know," said Ben.

  "How should you like to have a tin pail suspended to your--ahem! your coat tail?"

  "I haven't got any coat tail," said Ben, "I wear jackets. But I think I am old enough to wear coats. Can't I have one made, father?"

  "Ahem!" said the Squire, blowing his nose, "we will speak of that at some future period."

  "Fred Newell wears a coat, and he isn't any older than I am," persisted Ben, who was desirous of interrupting his father's inquiries.

  "I apprehend that we are wandering from the question," said the Squire. "Would you like to be treated as you treated Watch?"

  "No," said Ben, slowly, "I don't know as I should."

  "Then take care not to repeat your conduct of this morning," said his father. "Stay a moment," as Ben was about to leave the room hastily. "I desire that you should go to the post-office and inquire for letters."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ben left the room and sauntered out in the direction of the post-office.

  A chaise, driven by a stranger, stopped as it came up with him.

  The driver looked towards Ben, and inquired, "Boy, is this the way to Sparta?"

  Ben, who was walking leisurely along the path, whistling as he went, never turned his head.

  "Are you deaf, boy?" said the driver, impatiently. "I want to know if this is the road to Sparta?"

  Ben turned round.

  "Fine morning, sir," he said politely.

  "I know that well enough without your telling me. Will you tell me whether this is the road to Sparta?"

  Ben put his hand to his ear, and seemed to listen attentively. Then he slowly shook his head, and said, "Would you be kind enough to speak a little louder, sir?"

  "The boy is deaf, after all," said the driver to himself. "IS THIS THE ROAD TO SPARTA?"

  "Yes, sir, this is Wrenville," said Ben, polite
ly.

  "Plague take it! he don't hear me yet. IS THIS THE ROAD TO SPARTA?"

  "Just a little louder, if you please," said Ben, keeping his hand to his ear, and appearing anxious to hear.

  "Deaf as a post!" muttered the driver. "I couldn't scream any louder, if I should try. Go along."

  "Poor man! I hope he hasn't injured his voice," thought Ben, his eyes dancing with fun. "By gracious!" he continued a moment later, bursting into a laugh, "if he isn't going to ask the way of old Tom Haven. He's as deaf as I pretended to be."

  The driver had reined up again, and inquired the way to Sparta.

  "What did you say?" said the old man, putting his hand to his ear. "I'm rather hard of hearing."

  The traveller repeated his question in a louder voice.

  The old man shook his head.

  "I guess you'd better ask that boy," he said, pointing to Ben, who by this time had nearly come up with the chaise.

  "I have had enough of him," said the traveller, disgusted. "I believe you're all deaf in this town. I'll get out of it as soon as possible."

  He whipped up his horse, somewhat to the old man's surprise, and drove rapidly away.

  I desire my young readers to understand that I am describing Ben as he was, and not as he ought to be. There is no doubt that he carried his love of fun too far. We will hope that as he grows older, he will grow wiser.

  Ben pursued the remainder of his way to the Post-office without any further adventure.

  Entering a small building appropriated to this purpose, he inquired for letters.

  "There's nothing for your father to-day," said the post-master.

  "Perhaps there's something for me,-- Benjamin Newcome, Esq.," said Ben.

  "Let me see," said the post-master, putting on his spectacles; "yes, I believe there is. Post-marked at New York, too. I didn't know you had any correspondents there."

  "It's probably from the Mayor of New York," said Ben, in a tone of comical importance, "asking my advice about laying out Central Park."

  "Probably it is," said the postmaster. "It's a pretty thick letter,--looks like an official document."

  By this time, Ben, who was really surprised by the reception of the letter, had opened it. It proved to be from our hero, Paul Prescott, and inclosed one for Aunt Lucy.

  "Mr. Crosby," said Ben, suddenly, addressing the postmaster, "you remember about Paul Prescott's running away from the Poorhouse?"

  "Yes, I didn't blame the poor boy a bit. I never liked Mudge, and they say his wife is worse than he."

  "Well, suppose the town should find out where he is, could they get him back again?"

  "Bless you! no. They ain't so fond of supporting paupers. If he's able to earn his own living, they won't want to interfere with him."

  "Well, this letter is from him," said Ben. "He's found a pleasant family in New York, who have adopted him."

  "I'm glad of it," said Mr. Crosby, heartily. "I always liked him. He was a fine fellow."

  "That's just what I think. I'll read his letter to you, if you would like to hear it."

  "I should, very much. Come in behind here, and sit down."

  Ben went inside the office, and sitting down on a stool, read Paul's letter. As our reader may be interested in the contents, we will take the liberty of looking over Ben's shoulder while he reads. New York, Oct. 10, 18--. DEAR BEN:--

  I have been intending to write to you before, knowing the kind interest which you take in me. I got safely to New York a few days after I left Wrenville. I didn't have so hard a time as I expected, having fallen in with a pedler, who was very kind to me, with whom I rode thirty or forty miles. I wish I had time to tell all the adventures I met with on the way, but I must wait till I see you.

  When I got to the city, I was astonished to find how large it was. The first day I got pretty tired wandering about, and strayed into a church in the evening, not knowing where else to go. I was so tired I fell asleep there, and didn't wake up till morning. When I found myself locked up in a great church, I was frightened, I can tell you. It was only Thursday morning, and I was afraid I should have to stay there till Sunday. If I had, I am afraid I should have starved to death. But, fortunately for me, the sexton came in the morning, and let me out. That wasn't all. He very kindly took me home with him, and then told me I might live with him and go to school. I like him very much, and his wife too. I call them Uncle Hugh and Aunt Hester. When you write to me, you must direct to the care of Mr. Hugh Cameron, 10 R---- Street. Then it will be sure to reach me.

  I am going to one of the city schools. At first, I was a good deal troubled because I was so far behind boys of my age. You know I hadn't been to school for a long time before I left Wrenville, on account of father's sickness. But I studied pretty hard, and now I stand very well. I sometimes think, Ben, that you don't care quite so much about study as you ought to. I wish you would come to feel the importance of it. You must excuse me saying this, as we have always been such good friends.

  I sometimes think of Mr. and Mrs. Mudge, and wonder whether they miss me much. I am sure Mr. Mudge misses me, for now he is obliged to get up early and milk, unless he has found another boy to do it. If he has, I pity the boy. Write me what they said about my going away.

  I inclose a letter for Aunt Lucy Lee, which I should like to have you give her with your own hands. Don't trust it to Mrs. Mudge, for she doesn't like Aunt Lucy, and I don't think she would give it to her.

  Write soon, Ben, and I will answer without delay, Your affectionate friend, PAUL PRESCOTT.

  "That's a very good letter," said Mr. Crosby; "I am glad Paul is doing so well. I should like to see him."

  "So should I," said Ben; "he was a prime fellow,--twice as good as I am. That's true, what he said about my not liking study. I guess I'll try to do better."

  "You'll make a smart boy if you only try," said the postmaster, with whom Ben was rather a favorite, in spite of his mischievous propensities.

  "Thank you," said Ben, laughing, "that's what my friend, the mayor of New York, often writes me. But honestly, I know I can do a good deal better than I am doing now. I don't know but I shall turn over a new leaf. I suppose I like fun a little too well. Such jolly sport as I had coming to the office this morning."

  Ben related the story of the traveller who inquired the way to Sparta, much to the amusement of the postmaster, who, in his enjoyment of the joke, forgot to tell Ben that his conduct was hardly justifiable.

  "Now," said Ben, "as soon as I have been home, I must go and see my particular friend, Mrs. Mudge. I'm a great favorite of hers," he added, with a sly wink.

  XIX.

  MRS. MUDGE'S DISCOMFITURE.

  BEN knocked at the door of the Poorhouse. In due time Mrs. Mudge appeared. She was a little alarmed on seeing Ben, not knowing how Squire Newcome might be affected by the reception she had given him on his last visit. Accordingly she received him with unusual politeness.

  "How do you do, Master Newcome?" she inquired.

  "As well as could be expected," said Ben, hesitatingly.

  "Why, is there anything the matter with you?" inquired Mrs. Mudge, her curiosity excited by his manner of speaking.

  "No one can tell what I suffer from rheumatism," said Ben, sadly.

  This was very true, since not even Ben himself could have told.

  "You are very young to be troubled in that way," said Mrs. Mudge, "and how is your respected father, to-day?" she inquired, with some anxiety.

  "I was just going to ask you, Mrs. Mudge," said Ben, "whether anything happened to disturb him when he called here day before yesterday?"

  "Why," said Mrs. Mudge, turning a little pale, "Nothing of any consequence,--that is, not much. What makes you ask?"

  "I thought it might be so from his manner," said Ben, enjoying Mrs. Mudge's evident alarm.

  "There was a little accident," said Mrs. Mudge, reluctantly. "Some mischievous boy had been knocking and running away; so, when your father knocked, I thought it might be he, a
nd--and I believe I threw some water on him. But I hope he has forgiven it, as it wasn't intentional. I should like to get hold of that boy," said Mrs. Mudge, wrathfully, "I should like to shake him up."

  "Have you any idea who it was?" asked Ben, gravely.

  "No," said Mrs. Mudge, "I haven't, but I shall try to find out. Whoever it is, he's a scamp."

  "Very complimentary old lady," thought Ben. He said in a sober tone, which would have imposed upon any one, "There are a good many mischievous boys around here."

  Mrs. Mudge grimly assented.

  "Oh, by the way, Mrs. Mudge," asked Ben, suddenly, "have you ever heard anything of Paul Prescott since he left you?"

  "No," snapped Mrs. Mudge, her countenance growing dark, "I haven't. But I can tell pretty well where he is."

  "Where?"

  "In the penitentiary. At any rate, if he isn't, he ought to be. But what was you wanting?"

  "I want to see Mrs. Lee."

  "Aunt Lucy Lee?"

  "Yes. I've got a letter for her."

  "If you'll give me the letter I'll carry it to her."

  "Thank you," said Ben, "but I would like to see her."

  "Never mind," thought Mrs. Mudge, "I'll get hold of it yet. I shouldn't wonder at all if it was from that rascal, Paul."

  Poor Paul! It was fortunate that he had some better friends than Mr. and Mrs. Mudge, otherwise he would have been pretty poorly off.

  Aunt Lucy came to the door. Ben placed the letter in her hands.

  "Is it from Paul?" she asked, hopefully.

  "Yes," said Ben.

  She opened it eagerly. "Is he well?" she asked.

  "Yes, well and happy," said Ben, who treated the old lady, for whom he had much respect, very differently from Mrs. Mudge.