The Lamplighter. Maria S. Cummins
care, and his elastic figure looking tired and old, that Gerty knew at once his brave heart had given way. She laid down the scoop, and walking up to him, touched his arm with her hand, and looked up anxiously into his face. Her sympathetic look was more than he could bear. He laid his head on the table, and in a minute more Gerty heard great heavy sobs, each one of which sank deep into her soul. She often cried herself—it seemed only natural; but Willie—the laughing, happy, light-hearted Willie—she had never seen him cry; she didn't know he could. She crept up on the rounds of his chair, and putting her arm round his neck, whispered, "I shouldn't mind, Willie, if I didn't get the place; I don't believe it's a good place."
"I don't believe it is, either," said Willie, lifting up his head; "but what shall I do? I can't get any place, and I can't stay here doing nothing."
"We like to have you at home," said Gerty.
"It's pleasant enough to be at home. I was always glad enough to come when I lived at Mr. Bray's and was earning something, and could feel as if anybody was glad to see me."
"Everybody is glad to see you now."
"But not as they were then," said Willie; "mother always looks as if she expected to hear I'd got something to do; and grandfather, I believe, never thought I should be good for much; and now, as I was beginning to earn something, and be a help to them, I've lost my chance!"
"But that an't your fault, Willie; you couldn't help Mr. Bray's dying. I shouldn't think Mr. Cooper would blame you for not having anything to do now."
"He don't blame me; but if you were in my place you'd feel just as I do, to see him sit in his arm-chair in the evening, and groan and look up at me, as much as to say, 'It's you I'm groaning about.'"
"Have heart," said Gerty; "I think you'll be rich, some time—and then won't he be astonished!"
"Oh, Gerty! you're a nice child, and I think I can do anything. If ever I am rich, I promise to go shares with you; but 'tan't so easy. I used to think I could make money when I grew up; but it's pretty slow business."
Here he was on the point of leaning down upon the table again, and giving himself up to melancholy; but Gerty caught hold of his hands. "Come," said she, "Willie, don't think any more about it. People have troubles always, but they get over 'em; perhaps next week you'll be in a better shop than Mr. Bray's, and we shall be as happy as ever. Do you know," said she, changing the subject, "it's just two years to-night since I came here?"
"Is it?" said Willie. "Did Uncle True bring you home with him the night before Christmas?"
"Yes."
"Why, that was Santa Claus carrying you to good things, instead of bringing good things to you, wasn't it?"
Gerty did not know anything about Santa Claus, that special friend of children; and Willie, who had only lately read about him in some book, undertook to tell her what he knew of the veteran toy-dealer. Finding the interest of the subject had engaged his thoughts, Gerty returned to her cooking, listening attentively to his story. When he had finished, she was kneeling by the stove; her eyes twinkled with such a merry look, that Willie exclaimed, "What are you thinking of, Gerty, that makes you look so sly?"
"I was thinking that perhaps Santa Clans would come for you to-night. If he comes for folks that need something, I expect he'll come for you, and carry you to some place where you'll have a chance to grow rich."
"Very likely," said Willie; "he'll clap me into his bag and trudge off with me as a present to somebody—some old Cr[oe]sus, that will give me a fortune for the asking. I do hope he will; for, if I don't get something to do soon, I shall despair."
True now came in, and interrupted the conversation by the display of a fine turkey, a Christmas present from Mr. Graham. He had also a book for Gerty, a gift from Emily.
"Isn't that queer," exclaimed Gerty. "Willie was just saying you were my Santa Clans, Uncle True; and I do believe you are." As she spoke she opened the book, and in the frontispiece was a portrait of that individual. "It looks like him, Willie, I declare it does!" shouted she; "a fur cap, a pipe, and just such a pleasant face; oh, Uncle True, if you only had a sack full of toys over your shoulder, instead of your lantern and that great turkey, you would be a complete Santa Claus. Haven't you got anything for Willie, Uncle True?"
"Yes, I've got a little something; but I'm afeared he won't think much on't. It's only a bit of a note."
"A note for me?" inquired Willie. "Who can it be from?"
"Can't say," said True, fumbling in his pockets; "only just round the corner I met a man who stopped me to inquire where Mrs. Sullivan lived. I told him she lived jist here, and I'd show him the house. When he saw I lived here too, he gave me this little scrap o' paper, and asked me to hand it to Master William Sullivan. I s'pose that's you, an't it?" He handed Willie the slip of paper; and the boy, taking True's lantern in his hand, and holding the note up to the light, read aloud:—"R. H. Clinton would like to see William Sullivan on Thursday morning, between ten and eleven o'clock, at No. 13—— Wharf."
Willie looked up in amazement. "What does it mean?"? said he; "I don't know any such person."
"I know who he is," said True; "why, it's he that lives in the great stone house in—— street. He's a rich man, and that's the number of his store—his counting-room rather—on—— Wharf!"
"What! father to those pretty children we used to see in the window?"
"The very same."
"What can he want of me?"
"Very likely he wants your sarvices," suggested True.
"Then it's a place!" cried Gerty, "a real good one, and Santa Claus came and brought it: I said he would! Oh, Willie, I'm so glad!"
Willie did not know whether to be glad or not. He could not but hope, as Gerty and True did, that it might prove the dawning of some good fortune; but he had reasons for believing that no offer from this quarter could be available to him, and therefore made them both promise to give no hint of the matter to his mother or Mr. Cooper.
On Thursday Willie presented himself at the appointed time and place. Mr. Clinton, a gentlemanly man, received him kindly, asked but few questions, and telling him that he was in want of a young man to fill the place of junior clerk in his counting-room, offered him the situation. Willie hesitated; for, though the offer was most encouraging, Mr. Clinton made no mention of any salary; and that was a thing the youth could not dispense with. Seeing that he was undecided, Mr. Clinton said, "Perhaps you do not like my proposal, or have made some other engagement?"
"No, indeed," answered Willie, quickly. "You are very kind to feel so much confidence in a stranger as to be willing to receive me, and your offer is a most welcome one; but I have been in a retail store, where I obtained regular earnings, which were very important to my mother and grandfather. I had far rather be in a counting-room like yours, sir, and I think I might learn to be of use; but I think there are numbers of boys, sons of rich men, who would be glad to be employed by you, and would ask no compensation for their services, so that I could not expect any salary, at least for some years. I should indeed, be well repaid, at the end of that time, by the knowledge I might gain of mercantile affairs; but, unfortunately, sir, I can no more afford it than I could afford to go to college."
The gentleman smiled. "How did you know so much of these matters, my young friend?"
"I have heard, sir, from boys who were at school with me, and are now clerks in mercantile houses, that they received no pay, and I always considered it a perfectly fair arrangement; but it was the reason why I felt bound to content myself with the position I held in an apothecary's shop, which, though it was not suited to my taste, enabled me to support myself, and to relieve my mother, who is a widow, and my grandfather, who is old and poor."
"Your grandfather is——"
"Mr. Cooper, sexton of Mr. Arnold's church."
"Aha!" said Mr. Clinton, "I know him. What