It was the first of January,--a clear, cold day. A pleasant fire burned in the little stove. Mr. Cameron sat at one side, reading the evening paper; Mrs. Cameron at the other, knitting a stocking for Paul. A large, comfortable- looking cat was dozing tranquilly on the hearth-rug. Paul, who had been seated at the table, rose and lighted a candle.
"Where are you going, Paul?" asked Aunt Hester.
"Up-stairs for a moment."
Paul speedily returned, bearing in his hand a small blue bank-book, with his name on the cover.
He took out his pencil and figured a few minutes.
"Uncle Hugh," said he, looking up, "when I get a hundred dollars more, I shall have enough to pay father's debt."
"Principal and interest?"
"Yes, principal and interest; reckoning the interest for a year to come."
"I did not suppose you had so much money, Paul. You must have been very economical."
"Yes, Uncle Hugh more so than I have wanted to be, oftentimes; but whenever I have been tempted to spend a cent unnecessarily, I have always called to mind my promise made to father on his deathbed, and I have denied myself."
"You have done well, Paul. There are few who would have had the resolution to do as you have."
"Oh yes, Uncle Hugh," said Paul, modestly, "I think there are a great many. I begin to feel repaid already. In a few months I shall be able to pay up the whole debt."
At this moment a knock was heard at the door. Mr. Cameron answered the summons.
"Does Mr. Paul Prescott live here?" inquired a boy.
"Yes. Do you want to see him?"
"Here is a letter for him. There is no answer."
The messenger departed, leaving the letter in Mr. Cameron's hand.
Somewhat surprised, he returned to the sitting-room and handed it to Paul.
Paul opened it hastily, and discovered inclosed, a bank-note for one hundred dollars. It was accompanied with a note from his employer, stating that it was intended as a New Year's gift, but in the hurry of business, he had forgotten to give it to him during the day.
Paul's face lighted up with joy.
"Oh, Uncle Hugh!" he exclaimed, almost breathless with delight. "Don't you see that this will enable me to pay my debt at once?"
"So it will, Paul. I wish you joy."
"And my father's memory will be vindicated," said Paul, in a tone of deep satisfaction. "If he could only have lived to see this day!"
A fortnight later, Paul obtained permission from his employer to be absent from the office for a week. It was his purpose to visit Cedarville and repay 'Squire Conant the debt due him: and then, to go across the country to Wrenville, thirty miles distant, to see Aunt Lucy Lee. First, however, he ordered a new suit of a tailor, feeling a desire to appear to the best advantage on his return to the scene of his former humiliation. I must not omit to say that Paul was now a fine-looking young fellow of nineteen, with a frank, manly face, that won favor wherever he went.
In due course of time, he arrived at Cedarville, and found his way without difficulty to the house of 'Squire Conant.
It was a large house, rather imposing in its exterior, being quite the finest residence in the village.
Paul went up the walk, and rang the bell.
"Can I see 'Squire Conant?" he asked of the servant who answered the bell.
"You'll find him in that room," said the girl, pointing to a door on the left hand of the hall.
"As he doesn't know me, perhaps you had better go before."
The door was opened, and Paul found himself in the presence of his father's creditor. 'Squire Conant was looking pale and thin. He was just recovering from a severe sickness.
"I presume you don't recognize me, sir," said Paul.
"Did I ever see you before?"
"Yes, sir; my name is Paul Prescott."
"Not the son of John Prescott?"
"The same, sir. I believe my father died in your debt."
"Yes. I lent him five hundred dollars, which he never repaid."
"He tried to do so, sir. He had saved up a hundred and fifty dollars towards it, but sickness came upon him, and he was obliged to use it."
'Squire Conant's temper had been subdued by the long and dangerous illness through which he had passed. It had made him set a smaller value on his earthly possessions, from which he might be separated at any moment. When he answered Paul, it was in a manner which our hero did not expect.
"Never mind. I can afford to lose it. I have no doubt he did what he could."
"But I have come to pay it, sir," said Paul.
"You!" exclaimed 'Squire Conant, in the greatest astonishment.
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you get the money?"
"I earned it, sir."
"But you are very young. How could you have earned so much?"
Paul frankly told the story of his struggles; how for years he had practised a pinching economy, in order to redeem his father's memory from reproach.
'Squire Conant listened attentively.
"You are a good boy," he said, at length.
"Shall you have anything left after paying this money?"
"No, sir; but I shall soon earn more."
"Still, you ought to have something to begin the world with. You shall pay me half the money, and I will cancel the note."
"But, sir,----"
"Not a word. I am satisfied, and that is enough. If I hadn't lent your father the money, I might have invested it with the rest, and lost all."
'Squire Conant produced the note from a little trunk of papers, and handed it to Paul, who paid him the amount which he had stipulated, expressing at the same time his gratitude for his unexpected generosity.
"Never mind about thanks, my boy," said 'Squire Conant: "I am afraid I have loved money too well heretofore. I hope I am not too old to turn over a new leaf."
XXXIV.
HOW PAUL GOES BACK TO WRENVILLE.
WHILE 'Squire Conant was speaking, Paul formed a sudden resolution. He remembered that Aunt Lucy Lee was a sister of 'Squire Conant. Perhaps, in his present frame of mind, it might be possible to induce him to do something for her.
"I believe I am acquainted with a sister of yours, 'Squire Conant," he commenced.
"Ha!" exclaimed the 'Squire.
"Mrs. Lucy Lee."
"Yes," was the slow reply; "she is my sister. Where did you meet her?"
"At the Wrenville Poorhouse."
"How long ago?"
"About six years since."
"Is she there, still?"
"Yes, sir. Since I have been in New York, I have heard from her frequently. I am going from here to visit her. Have you any message, sir? I am sure she would be glad to hear from you."
"She shall hear from me," said the 'Squire in a low voice. "Sit down, and I will write her a letter which, I hope, will not prove unwelcome."
Five minutes afterwards he handed Paul an open letter.
"You may read it," he said, abruptly.
"You have been a better friend to my sister than I." "You shall witness my late reparation."
The letter was as follows:---- MY DEAR SISTER:--
CEDARVILLE, JAN 13, 18--.
I hope you will forgive me for my long neglect. It is not fitting that while I am possessed of abundant means you should longer remain the tenant of an almshouse. I send you by the bearer of this note, Paul Prescott, who, I understand, is a friend of yours, the sum of three hundred dollars. The same sum will be sent you annually. I hope it will be sufficient to maintain you comfortably. I shall endeavor to call upon you soon, and meanwhile remain,
Your affectionate brother EZEKIEL CONANT.
Paul read this letter with grateful joy. It seemed almost to good to be true. Aunt Lucy would be released from the petty tyranny of Mrs. Mudge's household, and perhaps--he felt almost sure Aunt Hester would be willing to receive her as a boarder, thus insuring her a peaceful and happy home in her declining years.
"Oh, sir," said he, s
eizing 'Squire Conant's hand, "you cannot tell how happy you have made me."
"It is what I ought to have done before. Here is the money referred to in the letter,-- three hundred dollars,--mind you don't lose it."
"I will take every care, sir."
"You may tell my sister that I shall be happy to have her write me."
"I will, sir."
Paul left 'Squire Conant's house, feeling that he had great cause for joy. The 'Squire's refusal to receive more than half the debt, left him master of over three hundred dollars. But I am not sure whether he did not rejoice even more over the good fortune which had come to Aunt Lucy Lee, whose kindness to him, in his unfriended boyhood, he would ever hold in grateful remembrance. He enjoyed in anticipation the joy which he knew Aunt Lucy would feel when the change in her fortunes was communicated to her. He knew also how great would be the chagrin of Mr. and Mrs. Mudge, when they found that the meek old lady whom they hated was about to be rescued from their clutches. On the whole, Paul felt that this was the happiest day of his life. It was a satisfaction to feel that the good fortune of his early friend was all due to his own intercession.
He was able to take the cars to a point four miles distant from Wrenville. On getting out on the platform he inquired whether there was a livery stable near by. He was directed to one but a few rods distant. Entering he asked, "Can you let me have a horse and chaise to go to Wrenville?"
"Yes, sir," said the groom.
"Let me have the best horse in the stable," said Paul, "and charge me accordingly."
"Yes, sir," said the groom, respectfully, judging from Paul's dress and tone that he was a young gentleman of fortune.
A spirited animal was brought out, and Paul was soon seated in the chaise driving along the Wrenville road. Paul's city friends would hardly have recognized their economical acquaintance in the well-dressed young man who now sat behind a fast horse, putting him through his best paces. It might have been a weakness in Paul, but he remembered the manner in which he left Wrenville, an unfriended boy, compelled to fly from persecution under the cover of darkness, and he felt a certain pride in showing the Mudges that his circumstances were now entirely changed. It was over this very road that he had walked with his little bundle, in the early morning, six years before. It seemed to him almost like a dream.
At length he reached Wrenville. Though he had not been there for six years, he recognized the places that had once been familiar to him. But everything seemed to have dwindled. Accustomed to large city warehouses, the houses in the village seemed very diminutive. Even 'Squire Benjamin Newcome's house, which he had once regarded as a stately mansion, now looked like a very ordinary dwelling.
As he rode up the main street of the village, many eyes were fixed upon him and his carriage, but no one thought of recognizing, in the well-dressed youth, the boy who had run away from the Wrenville Poorhouse.
XXXV.
CONCLUSION.
AT the very moment that Paul was driving through the village street, Mr. Nicholas Mudge entered the Poorhouse in high spirits. Certainly ill-fortune must have befallen some one to make the good man so exhilarant.
To explain, Mr. Mudge had just been to the village store to purchase some groceries. One of his parcels was tied up in a stray leaf of a recent New York Daily, in which he discovered an item which he felt sure would make Aunt Lucy unhappy. He communicated it to Mrs. Mudge, who highly approved his design. She called the old lady from the common room.
"Here, Aunt Lucy," she said, "is something that will interest you."
Aunt Lucy came in, wondering a little at such an unusual mark of attention.
Mrs. Mudge immediately commenced reading with malicious emphasis a paragraph concerning a certain Paul Prescott, who had been arrested for thieving, and sentenced to the House of Reformation for a term of months.
"There," said Mrs. Mudge, triumphantly, "what do you say to your favorite now? Turned out well, hasn't he? Didn't I always say so? I always knew that boy was bad at heart. and that he'd come to a bad end."
"I don't believe it's the same boy," declared Aunt Lucy, who was nevertheless unpleasantly affected by the paragraph. She thought it possible that Paul might have yielded to a powerful temptation.
"Perhaps you think I've been making it up. If you don't believe it look at the paper for yourself," thrusting it into Aunt Lucy's hands.
"Yes," said the old lady. "I see that the name is the same; but, for all that, there is a mistake somewhere. I do not believe it is the same boy."
"You don't? Just as if there would be more than one boy of that name. There may be other Prescotts, but there isn't but one Paul Prescott, take my word for it."
"If it is he," said Aunt Lucy, indignantly, "is it Christianlike to rejoice over the poor boy's misfortune?"
"Misfortune!" retorted Mrs. Mudge with a sneer; "you call it a misfortune to steal, then! I call it a crime."
"It's often misfortune that drives people to it, though," continued the old lady, looking keenly at Mrs. Mudge. "I have known cases where they didn't have that excuse."
Mrs. Mudge colored.
"Go back to your room," said she, sharply; "and don't stay here accusing me and Mr. Mudge of unchristian conduct. You're the most troublesome pauper we have on our hands; and I do wish the town would provide for you somewhere else."
"So do I," sighed the old lady to herself, though she did not think fit to give audible voice to her thoughts.
It was at this moment that Paul halted his chaise at the gate, and lightly jumping out, fastened his horse to a tree, and walked up to the front door.
"Who can it be?" thought Mrs. Mudge, hastily adjusting her cap, and taking off her apron.
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Mr. Mudge, unsuspiciously.
"I declare! I look like a fright."
"No worse than usual," said her husband, gallantly.
By this time Paul had knocked.
Good-morning, sir," said Mrs. Mudge, deferentially, her respect excited by Paul's dress and handsome chaise.
"Is Mrs. Lee in?" inquired Paul, not caring to declare himself, yet, to his old enemy.
"Yes," said Mrs. Mudge, obsequiously, though not overpleased to find that this was Aunt Lucy's visitor; "would you like to see her?"
"If you please."
"What can he want of the old lady?" thought Mrs. Mudge, as she went to summon her.
"A visitor for me?" asked Aunt Lucy, looking at Mrs. Mudge somewhat suspiciously.
"Yes; and as he's come in a carriage, you'd better slick up a little; put on a clean cap or something."
Aunt Lucy was soon ready.
She looked wonderingly at Paul, not recognizing him.
"You are not very good at remembering your old friends," said Paul, with a smile.
"What!" exclaimed Aunt Lucy, her face lighting up with joy; "are you little Paul?"
"Not very little, now," said our hero, laughing; "but I'm the same Paul you used to know."
Mrs. Mudge, who through the half open door had heard this revelation, was overwhelmed with astonishment and confusion. She hurried to her husband.
"Wonders will never cease!" she exclaimed, holding up both hands. "If that doesn't turn out to be Paul Prescott. Of course he's up in the world, or he wouldn't dress so well, and ride in such a handsome carriage."
"You don't say so!" returned Mr. Mudge, who looked as if he had heard of a heavy misfortune.
"Yes, I do; I heard him say so with his own lips. It's a pity you showed that paragraph to Aunt Lucy, this morning."
"That you showed, you mean," retorted her husband.
"No, I don't. You know it was you that did it."
"Hush; they'll hear."
Meanwhile the two friends were conversing together happily.
"I'm so glad you're doing so well, Paul," said Aunt Lucy. "It was a lucky day when you left the Poorhouse behind you."
"Yes, Aunt Lucy, and to-day is a lucky day for you. There's room for two in that chaise, and I'm goin
g to take you away with me."
"I should enjoy a ride, Paul. It's a long time since I have taken one."
"You don't understand me. You're going away not to return."
The old lady smiled sadly.
"No, no, Paul. I can't consent to become a burden upon your generosity. You can't afford it. and it will not be right."
"O," said Paul, smiling, "you give me credit for too much. I mean that you shall pay your board."
"But you know I have no money."
"No, I don't. I don't consider that a lady is penniless, who has an income of three hundred dollars a year."
"I don't understand you, Paul."
"Then, perhaps you will understand this," said our hero, enjoying the old lady's astonishment.
He drew from his pocket a roll of bills, and passed them to Aunt Lucy.
The old lady looked so bewildered, that he lost no time in explaining the matter to her. Then, indeed, Aunt Lucy was happy; not only because she had become suddenly independent, but, because after years of coldness and estrangement, her brother had at last become reconciled to her.
"Now, Aunt Lucy," resumed Paul, "I'll tell you what my plans are. You shall get into the chaise with me, and go at once to New York. I think Aunt Hester will be willing to receive you as a boarder; if not, I will find you a pleasant place near by. Will that suit you?"
"It will make me very happy; but I cannot realize it. It seems like a dream."
At this moment Mrs. Mudge entered the room, and, after a moment's scrutiny, pretended to recognize Paul. Her husband followed close behind her.
"Can I believe my eyes?" she exclaimed. "Is this indeed Paul Prescott? I am very glad to see you back."
"Only a visit, Mrs. Mudge," said Paul, smiling.
"You'll stop to dinner, I hope?"
Paul thought of the soup and dry bread which he used to find so uninviting, and said that he should not have time to do so.
"We've thought of you often," said Mr. Mudge, writhing his harsh features into a smile. "There's scarcely a day that we haven't spoken of you."
Paul Prescott's Charge : a story for boys Page 18
