Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 5

Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 5

"Have you formed any plans for the future? You won't be a boatman all

your life, I presume?"

 

"I hope not, sir. It will do well enough for the present, and I am glad

to have such a chance of earning a living for my mother and myself; but

when I grow up I should like to go to the city, and get into business

there."

 

"All the country boys are anxious to seek their fortune in the city. In

many cases they would do better to stay at home."

 

"Were you born in the city, sir?" asked Grit shrewdly.

 

"No; I was born in the country."

 

"But you didn't stay there."

 

"No; you have got me there. I suppose it was better for me to go to the

city, and perhaps it may be for you; but there is no hurry. You wouldn't

have a chance to earn six dollars a week in the city, as you say you do

here. Besides, it would cost much more for you and your mother to live."

 

"I suppose so, sir. I am contented to remain where I am at present."

 

"Is your father dead?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"It is a great loss. Then your mother is a widow?"

 

"I wish she were," said Grit hastily.

 

"But she must be, if your father is dead," said Mr. Jackson.

 

"No, sir; she married again."

 

"Oh, there is a stepfather, then? Don't you and he get along well

together?"

 

"There has been no chance to quarrel for nearly five years."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because he has been in prison."

 

"Excuse me if I have forced upon you a disagreeable topic," said the

passenger, in a tone of sympathy. "His term of confinement will expire,

and then he can return to you."

 

"That is just what troubles me, sir," said Grit bluntly. "We are

expecting him in a day or two, and then our quiet life will be at an

end."

 

"Will he make things disagreeable for you?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"At least, you will not have to work so hard."

 

"Yes, sir. I shall have to work harder, for I shall have to support him,

too."

 

"Won't he be willing to work?"

 

"No, sir, he is very lazy, and if he can live without work, he will."

 

"That is certainly unfortunate."

 

"It is worse than having no father at all," said Grit bluntly. "I don't

care to have him remain in prison, if he will only keep away from us,

but I should be glad if I could never set eyes upon him again."

 

"Well, my boy, you must bear the trial as well as you can. We all have

our trials, and yours comes in the shape of a disagreeable

stepfather----"

 

He did not finish the sentence, for there was a startling interruption.

 

Mr. Jackson and Grit had been so much engaged in their conversation that

they had not watched the little boy. Willie had amused himself in

bending over the side of the boat, and dipping his little fingers in the

rippling water. With childish imprudence he leaned too far, and fell

head first into the swift stream.

 

A splash told the startled father what had happened.

 

"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "my boy is overboard, and I cannot swim."

 

He had scarcely got the words out of his mouth than Grit was in the

water, swimming for the spot where the boy went down, now a rod or two

distant, for the boat had been borne onward by the impulse of the oars.

 

The young boatman was an expert swimmer. It would naturally have been

expected, since so much of his time had been spent on the river. He had

often engaged in swimming-matches with his boy companions, and there was

no one who could surpass him in speed or endurance.

 

He struck out boldly, and, as Willie rose to the surface for the second

time, he seized him by the arm, and, turning, struck out for the boat.

The little boy struggled, and this made his task more difficulty but

Grit was strong and wary, and, holding Willie in a strong grasp, he soon

gained the boat.

 

Mr. Jackson leaned over, and drew the boy, dripping, into its safe

refuge.

 

"Climb in, too, Grit!" he said.

 

"No, I shall upset it. If you will row to the shore, I will swim there."

 

"Very well."

 

Mr. Jackson was not wholly a stranger to the use of oars, and the shore

was very near. In three minutes the boat touched the bank, and almost at

the same time Grit clambered on shore.

 

"You have saved my boy's life," said Mr. Jackson, his voice betraying

the strong emotion he felt. "I shall not forget it."

 

"Willie is cold!" said the little boy.

 

"Our house is close by," said Grit. "Let us take him there at once, and

mother will take care of him, and dry his clothes."

 

The suggestion was adopted, and Mr. Jackson and his two young companions

were soon standing at the door of the plain cottage on the bluff.

 

When his mother admitted them, Grit noticed that she looked disturbed,

and he seized the first chance to ask her if anything were the matter.

 

"Your stepfather has come!" she answered.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V.

 

THE STEPFATHER.

 

 

Grit was disagreeably surprised at the news of Mr. Brandon's arrival,

and he looked about him in the expectation of seeing his unwelcome

figure, in vain.

 

"Where is he, mother?" the boy inquired.

 

"Gone to the tavern," she answered significantly.

 

"Did you give him any money?"

 

"I gave him a dollar," she replied sadly. "It is easy to tell how it

will be spent."

 

Grit had no time to inquire further at that time, for he was assisting

his mother in necessary attentions to their guests, having hurriedly

exchanged his own wet clothes for dry ones.

 

Mr. Jackson seemed very grateful to Mrs. Morris for her attention to

Willie. She found an old suit of Grit's, worn by him at the age of

eight, and dressed Willie in it, while his own wet suit was being dried.

The little boy presented a comical spectacle, the suit being three or

four sizes too large for him.

 

"I don't like it," he said. "It is too big."

 

"So it is, Willie," said his father; "but you won't have to wear it

long. You would catch your death of cold if you wore your wet clothes.

How long will it take to dry his clothes, Mrs. Morris?"

 

"Two or three hours at least," answered the widow.

 

"I have a great mind to go back to Portville, and get a change of

garments," said the father.

 

"That would be the best thing, probably."

 

"But I should have to burden you with Willie; for I should need to take

Grit with me to ferry me across."

 

"It will be no trouble, sir. I will take good care of him."

 

"Willie, will you stay here while I go after your other clothes?" asked

Mr. Jackson.

 

Willie readily consented, especially after Grit had brought him a

picture-book to look over. Then he accompanied the father to the river,

and they started to go across. While they were gone, Mr. Brandon

returned to the cottage. His flushed face and unsteady gait showed that

he had been drinking. He lifted the latch, and went in.

 

When he saw Willie sitting in a small chair beside his wife, he gazed at

the child in astonishment.

 

"Is that the cub?" he asked doubtfully. "Seems to me he's grown smaller

since I saw him."

 

"I ain't a cub," said Willie indignantly.

 

"Oh! yer ain't a cub, hey?" repeated Brandon mockingly.

 

"No, I ain't. My name is Willie Jackson, and my papa lives in New York."

 

"What is the meaning of this, Mrs. Brandon?" asked the inebriate. "Where

did you pick up this youngster?"

 

His wife explained in a few words.