The Lamplighter. Maria S. Cummins
to sip the beverage; it has most aromatic fragrance.' She seemed to like the taste as well as the smell, for she drank every drop of it; she turned to me and said, 'Except upon this gentleman's assurance of the harmlessness of the liquid, I would not have swallowed it in your presence, my young master, if it were only for the example. I have set my seal to no temperance pledge, but I am abstemious because it becomes a lady; it is with me a matter of choice, a matter of taste.' She now seemed quite restored, and talked of starting again on her walk; but it was not safe for her to go alone on the ice, and Mr. Bray thought so, for he asked her where she was going? She told him, in her roundabout way, that she was going to pass the day with mistress somebody, that lived near the Common. I touched Mr. Bray's arm, and said, in a low voice, that if he could spare me, I'd go with her. He said he shouldn't want me for an hour; so I offered her my arm and told her I should be happy to wait upon her. You ought to have seen her then. If I had been a grownup man, and she a young lady, she couldn't have tossed her head or giggled more. But she took my arm and we started off. I knew Mr. Bray and the gentleman were laughing to see us, but I didn't care; I pitied the old lady, and I did not mean she should get another tumble.
"Every person we met stared at us; we were such a grotesque looking couple. She accepted my proffered arm, and clasped her hands together round it, making a complete handle of her two arms; and so she hung on with all her might. But I ought not to laugh at the poor thing, for she needed somebody to help her along, and I'm sure she wasn't heavy enough to tire me out, if she did make the most of herself. I wonder who she belongs to. I shouldn't think her friends would let her go about the streets so, especially such walking as it is to-day."
"What's her name?" inquired Gerty. "Didn't you find out?"
"No," answered Willie; "she wouldn't tell me. I asked her, but she only said, in her little cracked voice (and here Willie began to laugh immoderately), that she was the incognito, and that it was the part of a true and gallant knight to discover the name of his fair lady. Oh, I promise you she was a case! Why, you never heard anyone talk so ridiculously as she did! I asked her how old she was. Mother said that was very impolite, but it's the only uncivil thing I did or said, as the old lady would testify herself if she were here."
"How old is she?" said Gerty.
"Sixteen."
"Why, Willie, what do you mean?"
"That's what she told me," said Willie; "and a true and gallant knight must believe his fair lady."
"Poor body!" said True; "she's childish!"
"No, she isn't Uncle True," said Willie; "you'd think so part of the time, to hear her run on with her nonsense; and then, the next minute, she'd speak as sensible as anybody, and say how much obliged she was to me for being willing to put myself to so much trouble for the sake of an old woman like her. Just as we turned into Beacon Street we met a school of girls, blooming beauties, handsome enough to kill, my old lady called them; and when they came in sight, she seemed to take it for granted I should get away from her, and run after some of them. But she held on with a vengeance! It's lucky I had no idea of forsaking her, for it would have been impossible! Some of them stopped and stared at us—of course I didn't care how much they stared; but she seemed to think I should be terribly mortified; and when we had passed them all, she complimented me again and again on my spirit of conformity, her favourite expression."
Here Willie was out of breath. True clapped him upon the shoulder. "Good boy, Willie?" said he, "clever boy! You always look out for the old folks, and that's right. Respect for the aged is a good thing; though your grandfather says it's very much out of fashion."
"I don't know much about fashion, Uncle True; but I should think it was a pretty mean sort of a boy that would see an old lady get one fall on the ice, and not save her from another by seeing her safe home."
"Willie's always kind to everybody," said Gerty.
"Willie's either a hero," said the boy, "or else he has got two pretty good friends—I rather think it's the latter. But, come, Gerty, Charles the Twelfth is waiting for us, and we must study as much as we can to-night. We may not have another chance very soon, for Mr. Bray isn't well this evening; he seems threatened with a fever, and I promised to go back to the shop after dinner to-morrow. If he should be sick, I shall have plenty to do without coming home at all."
"Oh, I hope Mr. Bray is not going to have a fever," said True and Gerty, in the same breath.
"He's such a clever man!" said True.
"He's so good to you, Willie!" added Gerty.
Willie hoped not, too; but his hopes gave way to his fears, when he found on the following day that his kind master was not able to leave his bed, and the doctor pronounced his symptoms alarming. A typhoid fever set in, which in a few days terminated the life of the excellent apothecary.
The death of Mr. Bray was a dreadful blow to Willie. The shop was closed, the widow having decided to dispose of the stock, and remove into the country. Willie was thus left without employment, and deprived of Mr. Bray's valuable assistance. His earnings had promoted the comfort of his mother and grandfather, who had thus been enabled to relax their own labours. The thought of being a burden to them was intolerable to the independent spirit of the boy; and he tried to obtain another place. He applied to the different apothecaries in the city, but none of them wanted a youth of his age. He returned home at night, disappointed, but not discouraged. If he could not obtain employment with an apothecary, he would do something else. But what should he do? That was the question. He had long talks with his mother about it. She felt that his talents and education entitled him to fill a position equal to that he had already occupied; and could not endure the thought of his descending to more menial service. Willie, without pride, thought so too. He knew he could give satisfaction in a station which required more business talent than his situation at Mr. Bray's had ever given scope to. So he had made every possible inquiry, but he had no one to speak a good word for him, and so he met with no success, and day after day returned home silent and depressed.
CHAPTER XIII.
BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS.
This was altogether a new experience to Willie, and a very trying one. But he bore it bravely; kept all his worst struggles from his anxious mother and desponding grandfather, and resolved to hope against hope. Gerty was now his chief comforter. He told her all his troubles, and, young as she was, she was a wonderful consoler. Always looking on the bright side, she did much towards keeping up his hopes and strengthening his resolutions. She knew more than most children of the various ways, in which she sometimes made valuable suggestions to Willie, of which he gladly availed himself. Among others, she one day asked him if he had applied at the agency offices. He had never thought of it—wondered he had not, but would try. He did so, and for a time was buoyed up with hopes held out to him; but they proved fleeting, and he was now almost in despair, when his eye fell upon an advertisement in a newspaper, which seemed to afford another chance. He showed it to Gerty. It was just the thing.
Gerty was so sanguine, that Willie presented himself the next day at the place specified with a more eager countenance than he had ever yet worn. The gentleman talked with him some time; asked a great many questions, hinted his doubts about his capability, and finally declared he was not eligible. He returned with such a heavy heart that he could not meet his mother, and so he went to True's room. It was the night before Christmas. True had gone out, and Gerty was alone. She was preparing a cake for tea—one of the few branches of the cooking department in which she had acquired some skill. She was just coming from the pantry, with a scoop-full of meal in her hand, when Willie entered. He tossed his cap upon the settle, and leaned his head upon his hands, and this betrayed the defeat the poor boy had met with. It was so unlike Willie to come in without speaking—it was such a strange thing to see his