CHAPTER II.
SAM'S EARLY LIFE.
Three years before the meeting described in the previous chapter SamBarker became an orphan, by the death of his father. The father was anintemperate man, and no one grieved much for his death. Sam feltrather relieved than otherwise. He had received many a beating fromhis father, in his fits of drunken fury, and had been obliged toforage for himself for the most part, getting a meal from oneneighbor, a basket of provision from another, and so managed to ekeout a precarious subsistence in the tumble-down shanty which he andhis father occupied.
Mr. Barker left no will, for the good and sufficient reason that hehad no property to dispose of. So, on the day after the funeral, Samfound himself a candidate for the poorhouse. He was a stout boy oftwelve, strong and sturdy in spite of insufficient food, and certainlyhad suffered nothing from luxurious living.
It was a country town in Connecticut, near the Rhode Island border. Wewill call it Dudley. The selectmen deliberated what should be donewith Sam.
"There isn't much for a lad like him to do at the poorhouse," saidMajor Stebbins. "He'd ought to be set to work. Why don't you take him,Deacon Hopkins?"
"I do need a boy," said the deacon, "but I'm most afeard to take Sam.He's a dreadful mischievous boy, I've heerd."
"He's had a bad example in his father," said the major. "You couldtrain him up the way he'd ought to go."
"Mebbe I could," said the deacon, flattered by this tribute, andreflecting, moreover, that he could get a good deal of work out of Samwithout being obliged to pay him wages.
"You could train him up to be a respectable man," said the major."They wouldn't know what to do with him at the poorhouse."
So the deacon was prevailed upon to take Sam to bring up.
"You're goin to live with me, Samuel," said the deacon, calling theboy to his side.
"Am I?" asked Sam, surveying the old man attentively.
"Yes; I shall try to make a man of you."
"I'll get to be a man anyway, if I live long enough," said Sam.
"I mean I will make a man of you in a moral sense," explained thedeacon.
This, however, was above Sam's comprehension.
"What would you like to do when you're a man?" asked the deacon.
"Smoke a pipe," answered Sam, after some reflection.
The deacon held up his hands in horror.
"What a misguided youth!" he exclaimed. "Can you think of nothingbetter than to smoke a pipe?"
"Dad liked it," said Sam; "but I guess he liked rum better."
"Your father was a misguided man," said the deacon. "He wasted hissubstance in riotous living."
"You'd ought to have seen him when he was tight," said Sam,confidentially. "Didn't he tear round then? He'd fling sticks of woodat my head. O jolly! Didn't I run? I used to hide under the bed when Icouldn't run out of doors."
"Your father's dead and gone. I don't want to talk against him, but Ihope you'll grow up a very different man. Do you think you will liketo live with me?"
"I guess so," said Sam. "You live in a good house, where the raindon't leak through the roof on your head. You'll give me lots to eat,too; won't you?"
"You shall have enough," said the deacon, cautiously, "but it is badto over-eat. Boys ought to be moderate."
"I didn't over-eat to home," said Sam. "I went one day without eatin'a crumb."
"You shall have enough to eat at my house, but you must render areturn."
"What's that?"
"You must pay me for it."
"I can't; I aint got a cent."
"You shall pay me in work. He that does not work shall not eat."
"Have I got to work very hard?" asked Sam, anxiously.
"I will not task you beyond your strength, but I shall expect you towork faithfully. I work myself. Everybody works in my house."
Sam was occupied for a brief space in considering the great problemthat connects labor and eating. Somehow it didn't seem quitesatisfactory.
"I wish I was a pig!" he burst out, rather unexpectedly.
"Why?" demanded the deacon, amazed.
"Pigs have a better time than men and boys. They have all they caneat, and don't have to work for it nuther."
"I'm surprised at you," said the deacon, shocked. "Pigs are only bruteanimals. They have no souls. Would you be willing to give up yourimmortal soul for the sake of bein' idle, and doin' no work?"
"I don't know anything bout my immortal soul. What good does it dome?" inquired Sam.
"I declare! the boy's actilly gropin' in heathen darkness," said thedeacon, beginning to think he had undertaken a tough job.
"What's that?" asked Sam, mystified.
"I haven't time to tell you now, but I must have a long talk with yousome day. You aint had no sort of bringing up. Do you ever read theBible?"
"No, but I've read the life of Cap'n Kidd. He was a smart man,though."
"Captain Kidd, the pirate?" asked the deacon, horrified.
"Yes. Wa'n't he a great man?"
"He calls a pirate a great man!" groaned the deacon.
"I think I'd like to be a pirate," said Sam, admiringly.
"Then you'd die on the gallus!" exclaimed the deacon with energy.
"No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't let 'em catch me," said Sam, confidently.
"I never heerd a boy talk so," said the deacon. "He's as bad as a--aHottentot."
Deacon Hopkins had no very clear ideas as to the moral or physicalcondition of Hottentots, or where they lived, but had a general notionthat they were in a benighted state, and the comparison seemed to hima good one. Not so to Sam.
"You're calling me names," he said, discontentedly. "You called me aHottentot."
"I fear you are very much like those poor, benighted creatures,Samuel," said his new guardian; "but it isn't wholly your fault. Youhave never had any religious or moral instruction. This must berectified. I shall buy you a catechism this very day."
"Will you?" asked Sam, eagerly, who, it must be explained, had an ideathat a catechism was something good to eat.
"Yes, I'll stop at the store and get one."
They went into Pendleton's store,--a general country variety store, inwhich the most dissimilar articles were kept for sale.
"Have you got a catechism?" asked the deacon, entering with Sam at hisside.
"We've got just one left."
"How much is it?"
"Ten cents."
"I'll take it."
Sam looked on with interest till the clerk produced the article; thenhis countenance underwent a change.
"Why, it's a book," he said.
"Of course it is. It is a very good book, from which you will learnall about your duty, and your religious obligations."
"You needn't buy it. I don't want it," said Sam.
"Don't want the catechism!" said the deacon, not without anger.
"No, it aint any good."
"My boy, I know better what is good for you than you do. I shall buyyou the catechism."
"I'd rather you'd get me that book," said Sam, pointing to a thinpamphlet copy of "Jack, the Giant-Killer."
But Deacon Hopkins persisted in making the purchase proposed.
"Are there any pictures in it?" asked Sam.
"No."
"Then I shan't like it."
"You don't know what is for your good. I hope you will be wiser intime. But here we are at the house. Come right in, and mind you wipeyour feet."
This was Sam's first introduction into the Hopkins' household. Heproved a disturbing element, as we shall presently see.
The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the Streets Page 4
