Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 12

Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 12

"I had a visit from him last night," Grit explained. "He rummaged my

pockets, and was successful in finding a dime."

 

"Is it possible?"

 

"Why should you be surprised, mother? I was not."

 

"Did he say anything to you?"

 

"Yes; he has found out somehow about the sixty dollars, and he asked me

to give it to him."

 

"Oh, Grit, I am afraid there will be trouble," said Mrs. Brandon

anxiously. "He won't rest till he gets the money."

 

"Then he won't rest at all," said Grit firmly.

 

"I am afraid you will have to give it to him, Grit."

 

"Not if I know what I am about. No, mother, the money is safe, where he

won't find it. I won't tell you, for he might annoy you till you told

him."

 

"No, Grit; don't tell me. I would rather not know. How happy we were

before he came, and how rich we should feel if this money had come to

you before Mr. Brandon came home!"

 

"That is true, mother. It's a shame that he should come home to give us

so much trouble."

 

"I can't see how it's all going to end," murmured Mrs. Brandon sadly.

 

"Nor I; but I mean to resist Mr. Brandon till he finds it's of no use

trying to appropriate my money. When he finds he can't get anything out

of us except a bare living, he may become disgusted and leave us."

 

"He won't do it while he has any hope left. What do you think he has

been trying to persuade me to do, Grit?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"He wants me to mortgage this cottage, and give him the money."

 

"Just like him, mother. I hope you were firm?"

 

"Yes, Grit. I told him I would not consent. It is all we have. I cannot

part with our home and the roof that shelters us."

 

"Of course not, mother. You would be very foolish if you did. Did he

mention any one that wanted to buy it?"

 

"Yes, he said that Mr. Green would be willing to advance money upon it."

 

"Mr. Green--the landlord of the hotel? I don't doubt it. He knows that

Brandon would pay back the whole for drink in a short time."

 

"I am afraid that would be the case."

 

"Mother," said Grit, with energy, "promise me that you will never

consent to this wicked plan."

 

"No, Grit, I won't. I consider that the house is as much yours as mine,

and I am not willing to leave you without a home."

 

"I don't so much mind that, for I could shift for myself somehow, but I

want you to keep it in your own hands, and I am not willing that Mr.

Brandon should sacrifice it for drink."

 

"I agree with you, Grit. Whatever it may cost me, I won't consent."

 

"The sooner he becomes convinced that he has nothing to hope from either

of us, the sooner he will leave us," said Grit. "If I thought he would

go away and never come back, I would be willing to let him have the

sixty dollars, but it would only make him stay, in the hope of getting

more."

 

By this time Grit had finished his breakfast.

 

"I must get to work, mother," he said. "I'll be home to dinner at the

usual time, if I can."

 

"If not, I will save something for you, Grit."

 

The young boatman made his way to the river. Here an unpleasant surprise

awaited him. His boat was not where he had left it. He looked in all

directions, but it had disappeared.

 

"What can have become of it?" thought Grit, in perplexity.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

 

GRIT'S BOAT IS SOLD.

 

 

Brandon was not usually an early riser, and would not on this occasion

have got up so soon if a bright idea had not occurred to him likely to

bring money to his purse.

 

It was certainly vexatious that Grit so obstinately refused to pay into

his hands the money he had managed in some way unknown to his stepfather

to accumulate. Perhaps some way of forcing the boy to do so might

suggest itself, but meanwhile he was penniless; that is, with the

exception of the dime he had abstracted during the night. Possibly his

wife might have some money. He proceeded to sound her on the subject.

 

"Mrs. B.," said he, "I shall have to trouble you for a little money."

 

"I gave you a dollar yesterday," said Mrs. Brandon.

 

"What's a dollar? I have none of it left now."

 

"Did you spend it at the tavern?" asked his wife gravely.

 

"I am not willing to be catechized upon that point," returned Brandon,

in a tone of lofty dignity.

 

"It is quite impossible to supply you with money for such a purpose,"

continued Mrs. Brandon. "What money Grit earns is wanted for necessary

expenses."

 

"I am not so easily deceived," said her husband, nodding sagaciously.

 

"It is quite true."

 

"I won't argue the point, Mrs. B. Have you any change now? That is the

question."

 

"No, I have not."

 

"Be it so. I have only to remark that you and your son will have

occasion to regret the unfriendly and suspicious manner in which you see

fit to treat me."

 

So saying, Mr. Brandon sat down to his breakfast, which he ate with an

appetite such as is usually earned by honest toil.

 

When he rose from the table, he left the cottage without a word.

 

"How it all this to end?" thought Mrs. Brandon, following his retreating

form with an anxious glance. "He has not been here twenty-four hours

yet, and he has spent a dollar of Grit's hard earnings, and is

dissatisfied because we will not give him more. Besides, he has already

broached the subject of mortgaging the house, and all to gratify his

insatiable thirst for strong drink."

 

Certainly the prospects were not very bright, and Mrs. Brandon might

well be excused for feeling anxious.

 

Though Brandon had ten cents in his pocket, the price of a glass of

whisky, he did not go at once to the tavern, as might have been

expected. Instead of this, he bent his steps toward the river.

 

He knew about where Grit kept his boat, and went directly to it.

 

"Ha! a very good boat!" he said, after surveying it critically. "It

ought to be worth ten dollars, at least, though I suppose I can't get

over five for it. Well, five dollars will be a lift to me, and if Grit

wants another boat he's got the money to buy one. I can get even with

him this way, at least. He'd better have treated me well and saved his

boat."

 

The boat was tied fast, but this presented no insurmountable difficulty.

 

Brandon pulled a jack-knife out of his pocket, and after awhile--for it

was very dull--succeeded in severing the rope.

 

Then he jumped into the boat and began to row out into the stream.

 

He was a little at a loss at first as to where he would be most likely

to find a purchaser. In his five years' absence from the neighborhood he

had lost his former acquaintances, and there had been, besides, changes

in the population.

 

As he was rowing at random, he chanced to look back to the shore he had

left, and noticed that a boy was signaling to him.

 

He recognized him as the boy whom he had heard speaking of Grit's

treasure, and, being desirous of hearing more on the subject, he at once

began to pull back to the river bank.

 

The boy, as the reader will surmise, was Phil Courtney.

 

"Hello, there!" said Phil; "isn't that Grit Morris' boat?"

 

"No, it's mine."

 

"It is the same Grit usually rows in," said Phil, beginning to suspect

Brandon of theft.

 

"That may be, but the boat is mine."

 

"Did he sell it to you?"

 

"No."

 

"Who are you, then?"

 

"I am Mr. Brandon, Grit's stepfather."

 

Phil whistled.