Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 2

Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 2

"No, I only married him at his urgent request, thinking I was doing what

was best for you. It was a bad day's work for me. I could have got along

much better alone."

 

"Of course you could, mother. Well, I will read the rest:

 

 

"'However, you are my wife still, and owe me some reparation for

your long neglect. I shall come to Pine Point as soon as I can, and

it is hardly necessary to remind you that I shall be out of money,

and shall want you to stir round and get me some, as I shall want

to buy some clothes and other things."

 

 

"How does he think you are to supply him with money, when he has left

you to take care of yourself all these years?" again burst from Grit's

indignant lips.

 

He read on:

 

 

"'How is the cub? Is he as independent and saucy as ever? I am

afraid you have allowed him to do as he pleases. He needs a man's

hand to hold him in check and train him up properly.'"

 

 

"Heaven help you if Mr. Brandon is to have the training of you, Grit!"

exclaimed his mother.

 

"He'll have a tough job if he tries it!" said Grit. "He'll find me

rather larger and stronger than when he went to prison."

 

"Don't get into any conflict with him, Grit," said his mother, a new

alarm seizing her.

 

"I won't if I can help it, mother; but I don't mean to have him impose

upon me."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II.

 

THE YOUNG BOATMAN.

 

 

Pine Point was situated on the Kennebec River, and from its height

overlooked it, so that a person standing on its crest could scan the

river for a considerable distance up and down. There was a small grove

of pine-trees at a little distance, and this had given the point its

name. A hundred feet from the brink stood the old-fashioned cottage

occupied by Mrs. Morris. It had belonged, in a former generation, to an

uncle of hers, who, dying unmarried, had bequeathed it to her. Perhaps

half an acre was attached to it. There had been more, but it had been

sold off.

 

When Grit and his mother came to Chester to live--it was in this

township that Pine Point was situated--she had but little of her two

thousand dollars' remaining, and when her husband was called to expiate

his offense against the law in prison, there were but ten dollars in the

house. Mrs. Morris was fortunate enough to secure a boarder, whose

board-money paid nearly all their small household expenses for three

years, the remainder being earned by her own skill as a dressmaker; but

when the boarder went to California, never to return, Grit was already

thirteen years old, and hit upon a way of earning money.

 

On the opposite bank of the Kennebec was the village of Portville, but

there was no bridge at that point. So Grit bought a boat for a few

dollars, agreeing to pay for it in instalments, and established a

private ferry between the two places. His ordinary charge for rowing a

passenger across--the distance being half a mile--was ten cents; but if

it were a child, or a poor person, he was willing to receive five, and

he took parties of four at a reduction.

 

It was an idea of his own, but it paid. Grit himself was rather

surprised at the number of persons who availed themselves of his ferry.

Sometimes he found at the end of the day that he had received in fares

over a dollar, and one Fourth of July, when there was a special

celebration in Portville, he actually made three dollars. Of course, he

had to work pretty hard for it, but the young boatman's arms were

strong, as was shown by his sturdy stroke.

 

Grit was now fifteen, and he could reflect with pride that for two years

he had been able to support his mother in a comfortable manner, so that

she had wanted for nothing--that is, for nothing that could be classed

as a comfort. Luxuries he had not been able to supply, but for them

neither he nor his mother cared. They were content with their plain way

of living.

 

But if his stepfather were coming home, Grit felt that his income would

no longer be adequate to maintain the household. Mr. Brandon ought to

increase the family income, but, knowing what he and his mother did of

his ways, he built no hope upon that. It looked as if their quiet home

happiness was likely to be rudely broken in upon by the threatened

invasion.

 

"Well, mother," said Grit, "I must get to work."

 

"You haven't finished your dinner, my son."

 

"Your news has spoiled my appetite, mother. However, I dare say I'll

make up for it at supper."

 

"I'll save a piece of meat for you to eat then. You work so hard that

you need meat to keep up your strength."

 

"I haven't had to work much this morning, mother, worse luck! I only

earned twenty cents. People don't seem inclined to travel to-day."

 

"Never mind, Grit. I've got five dollars in the house."

 

"Save it for a rainy day, mother. The day is only half over, and I may

have good luck this afternoon."

 

As Grit left the house with his quick, firm step, Mrs. Morris looked

after him with blended affection and pride.

 

"What a good boy he is!" she said to herself. "He is a boy that any

mother might be proud of."

 

And so he was. Our young hero was not only a strong, manly boy, but

there was something very attractive in his clear eyes and frank smile,

browned though his skin was by constant exposure to the sun and wind. He

was a general favorite in the town, or, rather, in the two towns, for he

was as well known in Portville as he was in Chester.

 

I have said he was a general favorite, but there was one at least who

disliked him. This was Phil Courtney, a boy about his own age, the son

of an ex-president of the Chester bank, a boy who considered himself of

great consequence, and socially far above the young boatman. He lived in

a handsome house, and had a good supply of pocket-money, though he was

always grumbling about his small allowance. It by no means follows that

money makes a boy a snob, but if he has any tendency that way, it is

likely to show itself under such circumstances.

 

Now, it happened that Phil had a cousin staying at his house as a

visitor, quite a pretty girl, in whose eyes he liked to appear to

advantage. As Grit reached the shore, where he had tied his boat, they

were seen approaching the same point.

 

"I wonder if Phil is going to favor me with his patronage," thought

Grit, as his eyes fell upon them.

 

"Here, you boatman!" called out Phil, in a tone of authority. "We want

to go over to Portville."

 

Grit's eyes danced with merriment, as he answered gravely:

 

"I have no objection to your going."

 

The girl laughed merrily, but Phil frowned, for his dignity was wounded

by Grit's flippancy.

 

"I am not in the habit of considering whether you have any objection or

not," he said haughtily.

 

"Don't be a goose, Phil!" said his cousin. "The boy is in fun."

 

"I would rather he would not make fun of me," said Phil.

 

"I won't, then," said Grit, smiling.

 

"Ahem! you may convey us across," said Phil.

 

"If you please," added the young lady, with a smile.

 

"She is very good-looking, and five times as polite as Phil," thought

Grit, fixing his eyes admiringly upon the pretty face of Marion Clarke,

as he afterward learned her name to be.

 

"I shall be glad to have you as a passenger," said our hero, but he

looked at Marion, not at Phil.

 

"Thank you."

 

"If you've got through with your compliments," said Phil impatiently,

"we'd better start."

 

"I am ready," said Grit. "May I help you in?" he asked of Marion.

 

"Yes, thank you."

 

"It is quite unnecessary. I can assist you," said Phil, advancing.

 

But he was too late, for Marion had already availed herself of the young

boatman's proffered aid.

 

"Thank you," said Marion again, pleasantly, as she took her seat in the

stern.

 

"Why didn't you wait for me?" demanded Phil crossly, as he took his seat

beside her.

 

"I didn't want to be always troubling you, cousin Phil," said Marion,

with a coquettish glance at Grit, which her cousin did not at all

relish.