THE LOAD OF CHIPS.

BY

H. N. W. B. [Harriette Newell Woods Baker]

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." SOLOMON.

BOSTON:

ANDREW F. GRAVES.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, BY ANDREW F. GRAVES, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

DEDICATION.

To the children of my beloved niece, Mrs. MARY S. STEVENS, I inscribe these small volumes, with the love of their AUNT.

VOLUMES OF THIS SERIES. —————

VOL. I. HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE. II. THE LITTLE FLORENTINE. III. THE LOAD OF CHIPS. IV. TONY AND HIS HARP. V. TIMMY TOP-BOOTS. VI. SOPHIA AND THE GIPSIES.

CONTENTS. ————

CHAPTER I.

JOSEPH HICKIE

CHAPTER II.

ARTHUR THOMPSON

CHAPTER III.

THE SICK WIDOW

CHAPTER IV.

THE LOAD OF CHIPS

CHAPTER V.

LEARNING TO WORK

CHAPTER VI.

IDLENESS AND WANT

CHAPTER VII.

RED-HAIRED JOHNNY

CHAPTER VIII.

THE OLMSTEADS

CHAPTER IX.

THE NEW BROOM

CHAPTER X.

THE BROKEN LEG

CHAPTER XI.

IN JAIL

CHAPTER XII.

THE COUNTERFEIT BILL

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TWO CLERKS

CHAPTER XIV.

LIGHT IN THE OFFICE

CHAPTER XV.

TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS

CHAPTER XVI.

ARTHUR'S LETTER

CHAPTER XVII.

WILLIE'S CONFESSION

THE LOAD OF CHIPS. —————

CHAPTER I.

JOSEPH HICKIE.

"PLEASE, mum, daddy's dead, mammy's blind; will you give me a sixpence to buy a loaf of bread? 'Cause we're most starved, we is."

Mrs. Irvington was just entering her own door, when she was accosted in this manner. The speaker was a boy apparently less than ten years of age, dressed in torn pants which had evidently belonged to a person much older than himself. These were rolled up at the bottom and fastened over the shoulder by one twine suspender. A loose jacket without means of fastening in front, and a worn, felt hat completed his attire.

The lady gazed searchingly in his face, before she replied. He was neither thin nor pale; and she thought his tone had the heartless ring of a professed beggar. At last, she inquired:

"Why do you beg when you seem well able to work and earn bread?"

"I can't get work, mum," he answered with a whine.

"I will give you work. At the end of an hour, you shall have some breakfast; and if you work well till night, I will give you a shilling."

The boy did not look very much pleased with this flattering proposal, but did not know how to get off. So, he asked rather sullenly:

"What kind of work is it?"

"I will show you. Go to the lower door, and wait till I meet you."

Back of the house there was a large yard paved with brick that had an opening upon a back street, and through this opening, a load of chips from the ship-yard had been tipped up. There they lay close to the back gate, and she wished to have them removed to the cellar while the dry weather continued.

To this pile Mrs. Irvington introduced the young beggar, saying in a cheerful tone, "If you work smart, you can carry them in before night. I can assure you that bread which is earned by one's own labor is much sweeter than the bread of charity."

Joseph Hickie, for that was the boy's name, stared at the pile of oak chips in dismay. Indeed, his distress was so apparent, that the lady was obliged to turn her face away to conceal a smile.

"I don't think I can do it, mum," Jo complained, whining, "they are too big."

"How old are you?"

"I'm turned nine."

"Well, I have a little son not much past eight, and he carried the last load. I think if you try, you can carry this with perfect ease. Wait a minute, I will let you take his cart. That will make the work seem like play."

Jo's face brightened, as she drew from the cellar a nicely painted wagon or truck, and held the handle out to him. The house was set up high, the kitchen being in the basement. The cellar door opened out upon the paved yard, and was on a level with it.

"Fill the cart full," said the lady in a cheerful tone, "and then empty the load into the corner where you see the other chips. In one hour I will come and see how much you have done, and give you some breakfast."

Mrs. Irvington was a lady who watched for opportunities to do good. Not only was her husband rich, but she had money in her own right. And had she chosen to do so, she might have sat in a rocking-chair all the morning with servants to wait upon her, and have rode in her carriage all the afternoon. But she did not choose thus to waste her life. She read in her Bible that Jesus Christ the Lord of glory left his seat at his Father's right hand, came to earth, healed the sick, cured the blind, suffered from hunger, and thirst and cold, and at last gave up his life for the good of others. And she, trying to imitate his example, was glad to give up her own comfort if she might do good to some poor suffering creature.

She was the head manager or directress of an orphan asylum, not far from her own home; and she had a district or ward, which she regularly visited to find out who was suffering for want of the necessaries of life.

Long ago she had learned that those who talk the most of their poverty, are not the greatest sufferers. There are those who for want of work or for want of the strength to labor, will pinch and turn this way and that, and almost starve before they will make known their wants.

Mr. Irvington was a ship-builder and ship-owner. He had a large yard where many men were employed in hewing huge timbers, of which the keels and rudders and frames of the great vessels were built. There were men too whose work it was to cart off the large, hard-wood chips to the houses of those who had bought them. Mr. Irvington was in full sympathy with his wife in all her plans for doing good; and many a dollar had he lost by the men or boys she had sent to him for employment.

"It would be money in my pocket, to give these beggars a dollar and send them off," he used to say with a laugh; "but it's a whim of my wife to make beggars work. One in a hundred perhaps will continue to labor; but most of them find it easier to beg their food than to earn it."

CHAPTER II.

ARTHUR THOMPSON.

FROM her chamber in the third story Mrs. Irvington could watch all the operations of her little workman without being herself seen. For a time, he took hold in earnest, filling the wagon with the long splinters and wheeling them away to the cellar. But before the hour was at an end, he grew quite weary, was longer and longer between every load and at last ceased altogether.

There was one part of the high board fence which looked out upon the front street, between Mr. Irvington's house and the next block, and in this fence there was a knot-hole. There Joseph stood with his eye against the aperture when one of his companions went by.

Glancing quickly around him to be sure that he was not seen, Jo tapped on the fence, calling at the same time in a suppressed voice,—

"Arty! Arty Thompson! Look here!"

A little fellow very poorly clad, with a white, peaked face, stopped suddenly on hearing his name called, but after looking in every direction and seeing no one likely to speak to him was turning to walk on, when he heard the voice again.

"Arty, look here! It's me, Jo Hickey, behind the fence. Come up here, and I'll let you look in!"

"What are you doing in there?"

"I've got a job; and it's fun, I tell you. I'm to have a stunning breakfast, chops and hot coffee and toast: and when I've carried in those chips, I'm to have a load of money."

"Oh! Oh! I wish I could get a job! How did you manage it, Jo?"

"How did I? Why I went to the door, you see it there close by you; and I rang the bell and offered to let myself by the day. The lady was glad enough to get me."

"I wonder whether any body else has chips to move," said poor Arthur, "I'd like a job so much; I'm awfully hungry, and then if I got money, I could buy an orange for mother; she's awful sick to-day."

"Seeing it's you, I'll let you have half of my job; that is, if the lady will let you in. You can give me three pence, and then you'll have a heap left. You go right up to the door and pull the bell, and say,—

"'Will you please, mum, give me some work? I want to earn some bread for my sick mother.'"

From her window, which was open, though the blind was not, Mrs. Irvington had heard every word of this conversation. She was shocked at the ready falsehoods of Jo. But then she recollected that he had probably never received any instruction and did not know how displeasing such conduct was to a holy God.

It was now within a few minutes of the time when she had promised to go down, and examine his work. And she was on her way to the cellar when she met a servant coming to call her to see Arty.

"Will you please, mum, give me a job?" began the poor child, fixing his hungry eyes on her face.

"What can you do, my little fellow?"

"I can carry chips," he answered, his face crimsoning, for Jo had charged him to say nothing of their interview.

"How do you know I have any chips to carry?" she inquired, wishing to see whether he would acknowledge the truth.

He dropped his eyes at once, but presently murmured,—

"I saw them through the hole in your fence."

"Do you like to work?"

"Oh, yes, mum! I'd rather work than beg, but I can't often get a job. Sometimes I holds a hoss for a gentleman while he goes into a house; and then I get some chances to run errands, but there's a good many days I don't. And then I has to go awful hungry, 'less I beg—and mother allus cries when I has to do that."

"What is your name?"

"Arthur Thompson, mum."

"Well, I will give you a job. But first you shall have some breakfast because you have told me the truth. Come in," opening the door.

She ordered the cook to set out two plates with cold meat and bread. And then she went to the cellar to see how far Joseph had advanced with his job.

On hearing her step, the boy began to load the wagon, working till his face looked quite red.

But she noticed he did not look up and meet her eye.

"Why, Joseph, are these all you have brought in?" she asked in surprise.

"I've worked hard every minute, mum," was his ready answer.

"Stop! Stop!" she exclaimed. "Did no one ever teach you how wicked it is to tell a lie? You have wasted more than half your time."

He began to insist that he had not, when she added: "I watched you from the window; and I heard you talking to Arthur through the knot-hole. You told him many things which were untrue. So many that I cannot believe what you said about your father being dead and your mother blind."

"I didn't see you anywhere," muttered Jo sullenly.

"No, I knew you did not; but I was sewing near the window. You did not see your Father in heaven, but he too was watching you, and listening to every word you uttered. Do you know whom I mean?"

"No, mum, I don't know nothing what you are talking about. If you aren't going to pay me, I want to go. I aren't used to being watched every minute, and I don't like it."

"Come in now, and have some breakfast, afterwards I will talk more with you."

While the boys were enjoying the first hearty meal they had eaten for many a day, Mrs. Irvington went up to her husband's office, a small room at the end of the hall, and seated herself by his desk to reflect upon the character of the two boys, and resolve what to do with them.

"I was sure," she afterwards told her husband, "that Joseph and Arthur, though companions in poverty, had been differently trained at home. Joseph, as near as I could judge, was a lazy beggar, untruthful and impudent, while Arthur was his exact opposite. But I said to myself, 'If Joseph is bad, there is so much the more reason that I should try to do him good. I will keep him to-day at any rate; and I will keep them both at work.'"

Returning to the kitchen, she found the boys had cleared the plates, and the cook was washing them. Arthur had a large piece of bread in his hand, and walking toward the lady asked eagerly,—

"May I have this, mum, to carry home? I'm not hungry now, but mother is, and she's sick too."

"Yes, Arthur, you may have the bread. But did not I hear you saying you would like to buy her an orange?"

"Yes, mum, if I could get a job, and earn some money, I'd buy her an orange, 'cause she says the juice would taste so good."

"Where does your mother live?"

"In Alcott Street, mum, up three flights."

After a moment's reflection, the lady said, "I will go with you. Now, Joseph, you may return to your work."

CHAPTER III.

THE SICK WIDOW.

"HE'S a bad boy, ma'am," urged the cook following her mistress into the hall. "I stepped out a moment, and I heard him say to the other one:

"'You wouldn't have got such a nice breakfast if I hadn't called you. I sha'n't work, though. I sarsed her well when she tried to make me, so you'd better believe I'm not going to be her slave.'"

"What did Arthur reply to this, Jane?"

"Not a word, ma'am. The two are as different as our two cats; one is all white, and the other is all black."

"Well, we shall see," replied the lady.

Quickly placing some food in a small basket, she arrayed herself in a street dress, and joined Arthur at the door. On her way, she passed a grocer's, and added a couple of fine oranges to her store.

"Are those for mother?" inquired the boy, his large, blue eyes filling with tears of delight.

"Yes, do you think she will relish them?"

"And will you please tell her, mum, that I didn't beg, and that you're going to give me a job?"

"Yes, I will tell her."

When they came to the house, Arthur merely opened the outer door and ran up the crooked, creaking stairs as nimbly as a cat. But suddenly recollecting that Mrs. Irvington was a stranger, he returned, and preceded her slowly to the room.

On a stool close by the low window, for the room was poorly lighted, a woman, bent and feeble, was trying to draw her needle through a coarse meal-bag, a pile of which lay on the floor by her side. She was greatly emaciated, and to the visitor appeared to be in the last stages of consumption.

She tried to rise and receive the lady, but almost fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

"Mother! Mother! See what the lady has brought for you. I didn't have to beg to-day. She is going to let me work. Aren't you glad?"

"Eat this orange at once," urged Mrs. Irvington, hastily peeling it.

Mrs. Thompson almost snatched at it and devoured several pieces without speaking. Then, with a glance at the lady, held out the remainder to her son.

"No, mother, eat it all; and I saved a piece of my bread for you. I've had ever so much breakfast."

"Thank God!" came feebly from the white lips.

She ate the bread Arthur had brought in his hand, and then, with a grateful glance, said:

"God will reward you, ma'am, I cannot. I was starving. Not a mouthful have I eaten for two days."

"You are too ill to work," said Mrs. Irvington. "Have you had a doctor?"

"I went to the dispensary once; but the doctor told me medicine could not help me." She sighed repeatedly, as she said this, fixing her eyes tenderly on her boy.

"Is there no one here who could take care of you? I don't think you are well enough to be left alone."

"There is a tailoress in the room opposite who is very kind. She has gone now to take home her work."

"I belong to a society who wish to help those who are really in need," explained Mrs. Irvington. "Your son has told me that you are unwilling he should beg, so I intend to give him work. When he is a little stronger, he can earn half a dollar a day."

The sick woman clasped her hands joyfully to her breast.

"In the meantime," the visitor added, "I will gladly pay the tailoress to remain with you. All this work must be taken away; it is entirely too hard for you. I have brought you some food for to-night; and to-morrow, I will come again."

She rose to go; and at that moment a slight figure passed the door, and went into the room opposite.

"There's Matilda," said Arthur.

"Will you ask her to come here a minute?"

In a few words, Mrs. Irvington explained her wishes, and then asked, "How much can you make in a day, by sewing?"

"From two to three shillings. It is slop-work. My rent is five dollars a month; but when I am well, I can do admirably."

"My advice is that you move your bed in here, and give up your room. I will pay you four dollars a week, while Mrs. Thompson needs your care, which with your board will be better than what you now get."

"Come, Arthur, we must go."

"I cannot say what I feel," gasped Mrs. Thompson, seizing her visitor's hand. "I'm almost home; and for myself I have no anxiety, but for your kindness to my boy—I've prayed that I might have faith to give him up, and now the answer has come."

As my story is more of Arthur than of his mother, I will only say here that by the kindness of Mrs. Irvington, the widow was provided with every thing necessary for her comfort. She lived, however, but a few weeks, and died rejoicing in the assurance that the God of the widow and the fatherless would protect her boy.

CHAPTER IV.

THE LOAD OF CHIPS.

WHEN Mrs. Irvington returned to her house, she accompanied Arthur to the cellar and explained what was to be done. During her absence, Joseph had accomplished but little. And she foresaw that if she depended on him, her chips would remain un-housed for some time. Still, as her object was rather to do good to the little fellow than to be herself accommodated she resolved to allow them to go on.

"Look, Arthur," she said, "you may put your chips here at this end of the cellar, then you and Joseph may try who will have the largest pile at night.

"Joseph, you have had the cart all the morning. Arthur may take it now; and I will give you a basket."

She smiled encouragingly upon them and left them. When her husband came home to dinner, she gave him an animated account of her protégés, and he laughingly predicted they would turn out as nine-tenths of her protégés did,—that they would soon tire of labor, and prefer their old business of begging from door to door.

"I am sure of Arthur," she urged warmly. "He has a good mother. As for Joseph, I cannot believe a word he tells me."

When the boys were alone, Jo threw himself down on the clean, cemented floor of the cellar, and cried out with a yawn:

"It's harder than begging. I'm a fool to stay here."

"You told me through the knot-hole it was fun."

"Oh, that was when I had just begun!"

By this time Arthur was out in the yard loading his cart. He began to throw in some large splinters, but finding they filled it too soon, he tried another way. He first picked up the small pieces which Joseph had scattered about, and then, when the body of the cart was full, stuck up some long pieces edgeways, making an enclosure into which he could throw as many more.

He looked very happy as he surveyed his work, and as he commenced to draw his load into the cellar, he could not restrain a shout of joy.

"Look! Look!" he exclaimed. "See how many I have got. I like to work ever so much."

"So did I at first," muttered Jo. "But whew! How did you get so many?"

After a while, the lazy boy rose from his seat on the floor, and began to fill his basket.

"I must do enough to earn a shilling for old Meg, or she will give me a whaling," he explained grumbling; "but I never was made to work. Wouldn't Tim Scott laugh if he could see us now?"

"I don't care who laughs," answered Arthur, working while he talked. "I'm so glad to have a job. I wish Mrs. Irvington would have chips brought every day."

"Oh! What a greeny you are," shouted Jo, laughing boisterously.

Toward night, Mrs. Irvington again visited the cellar. Arthur, unused to labor, and feeble for want of regular food, looked paler than in the morning, but his eyes shone with satisfaction as he pointed to the large pile he had packed as closely as possible in the corner.

Joseph's pile was little larger than at noon, and the chips were scattered about from the door to the bin in the corner.

"You have worked well," the lady said to Arthur, and she gave him a shilling.

"I am sorry you have not been more industrious," she added, addressing the lazy boy. "You have not earned sixpence. Will you come to-morrow, and try to do better?"

"Yes, mum, I have worked to-day: but I ain't used to it; and mammy thinks it hurts me."

"Has he a mother, Arthur?" demanded Mrs. Irvington.

"Yes, mum."

"Is she blind?"