Luck and Pluck 50

Luck and Pluck 50

 "DEAR SISTER:--I hope these few lines will find you in good health.

This comes to inform you that the young rascal that I took to board

to accommodate you has run away, after treating me most shameful. I

hired a team to go after him this morning; but the horse ran away and

broke the carriage, which will cost me forty dollars to mend. (Mr.

Huxter thought if Mrs. Oakley was to pay the bill he might as well add

something to it.) As I was on your business, you will expect to pay

this, of course. You can send the money in a letter. I will get back

John Oakley if I can. He is a young scamp, and I don't wonder you had

trouble with him. When I get him back, I will make him toe the mark,

you may be sure of that. Please write to me by return mail, and don't

forget the money. Your brother,"

 

"EPHRAIM HUXTER."

 

Mr. Huxter did not have to wait long for an answer; but it proved to be

less satisfactory than prompt. It ran as follows:--

 

"MY DEAR BROTHER:--Your letter has just reached me. I am surprised

that you could not manage to control a boy of fifteen. It seems that

he has got the best of you. You need not trouble yourself to get him

back. If he chooses to run away and earn his own living, he may, for

all I care. He is a young rascal, as you say.

 

"As to the carriage which you say was damaged to the extent of forty

dollars, I do not see how it could have happened, with ordinary care.

How did it happen? You ought to have told me in your letter. Nor do I

see how you can expect me to pay for the result of your carelessness.

But even if I were to do it, you seem to forget that I advanced you

seventy-five dollars on John's board. As he has remained only one

week, that being deducted will leave a balance of sixty-nine dollars,

or perhaps sixty, after taking out travelling expenses. I could

rightfully require this back; but I will not be hard on you. You may

pay for the damage done to the carriage (I am surprised that it should

amount to forty dollars), and keep the balance as a gift from me.

But it will be useless for you to make any further claim on me for a

year, at least, as I have large expenses, and charity begins at home.

Remember me to your wife."

 

"JANE OAKLEY."

 

"Well, if that isn't a cold-blooded letter!" said Mr. Huxter, bitterly.

"Jane is rich now, and don't care for the privations of her poor

brother. She blames me because the chaise got broken,--just as if I

could help it."

 

Still Mr. Huxter had no real reason to complain. His sister had agreed

to pay for the damage done, and there would be something left out of

the money she had paid in advance. But Mr. Huxter, as soon as he had

received it, had at once looked upon it as his own, though not yet

earned, and to use it seemed as if he were paying the bill out of his

own pocket. Then, again, the very decided intimation that he need not

look for any more assistance at present was discouraging. Deducting

expenses, it would leave him but a small amount to pay him for his

journey to Hampton. He resolved not to pay the wheelwright, if he

could possibly avoid it, not being very conscientious about paying his

debts. But, as Mr. Huxter's reputation in that way was well known, the

wheelwright refused to surrender the chaise till his bill was paid; and

the stable-keeper made such a fuss that Mr. Huxter was compelled to pay

the bill, though very much against his inclination.

 

The result of his disappointment was, that he began to drink worse than

ever, and poor Mrs. Huxter, for some weeks, had a hard time of it. She

was certainly very much to be pitied, as is every poor woman who finds

herself yoked for life to a husband wedded to a habit so fatal to all

domestic comfort and happiness.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVII.

 

JOHN OAKLEY'S AUNT.

 

 

When John found that his enemy had abandoned the siege, he rowed

ashore, and watched Mr. Huxter until he became satisfied that it

would require a considerable time to catch the horse. He thought

that he might venture to pursue his journey, without further fear of

molestation. Of the incidents that followed, none are worth recording.

It is sufficient to say that on the evening of the second day John

entered the town of Wilton.

 

It was years since he had seen his aunt. She had been confined at home

by the cares of a young family, and the distance between Wilton and

Hampton seemed formidable. He knew, however, that his uncle, Thomas

Berry, kept a small country store, and had done so ever since his

marriage. In a country village it is always easy to find the "store,"

and John kept up the main road, feeling that it would not be necessary

to inquire. He came at length to a meeting-house, and judged that the

store would not be far off. In fact, a few rods further he came to a

long, two-story building, painted white, with a piazza in front. On a

large sign-board over it he read:--

 

"THOMAS BERRY.

 

PROVISION AND DRY-GOODS STORE."

 

"This must be the place," thought John. "I think I'll go into the store

first and see uncle."

 

He entered, and found himself in a broad room, low-studded, furnished

with counters on two sides, and crowded with a motley collection of

goods, embracing calicoes and dry goods generally, as well as barrels

of molasses and firkins of butter. There chanced to be no customer in

at the time. Behind the counter he saw, not his uncle, but a young man,

with long, light hair combed behind his ears, not very prepossessing in

his appearance,--at least so John thought.

 

"Is Mr. Berry in?" he asked, walking up to the counter.

 

"Mr. Berry is dead," was the unexpected reply.

 

"Dead!" exclaimed John, in surprise. "How long since he died?"

 

"A week ago."

 

"We never heard of it," said John, half to himself.

 

"Are you a relation?" asked the young man.

 

"He was my uncle."

 

"Is your name Oakley?"

 

"Yes, John Oakley."

 

"Of Hampton?"

 

"Yes."

 

"A letter was sent there, announcing the death."

 

This was true; but Mrs. Oakley, who received the letter, had not

thought it necessary to send intelligence of its contents to John.

 

"Didn't you get it?" continued the other.

 

"I haven't been at home for a week or more," said John. "I suppose that

accounts for it. How is my aunt?"

 

"She is not very well."

 

"I think I will go into the house and see her."

 

John went around to the door of the house and knocked. A young girl

of twelve answered. Though John had not seen her for six years, he

concluded that it must be his Cousin Martha.

 

"How do you do, Cousin Martha?" he said, extending his hand.

 

"Are you my Cousin John Oakley?" she said, doubtfully.

 

"Yes. I did not hear till just now of your loss," said John. "How is

your mother?"

 

"She is not very well. Come in, Cousin John. She will be glad to see

you."

 

John was ushered into a small sitting-room, where he found his aunt

seated in a chair by the window, sewing on a black dress for one of the

children.

 

"Here's Cousin John, mother," said Martha.

 

An __EXPRESSION__ of pleasure came to Mrs. Berry's pale face.

 

"I am very glad to see you, John," she said. "You were very kind to

come. Is your stepmother well?"

 

"Quite well," said John. "But I do not come directly from home."

 

"Indeed! How does that happen?" asked his aunt.

 

"It is rather a long story, aunt. I will tell you by and by. But now

tell me about yourself. Of what did my uncle die?"

 

"He exposed himself imprudently in a storm one evening three months

since," said Mrs. Berry. "In consequence of this, he took a severe

cold, which finally terminated in a fever. We did not at first suppose

him to be in any danger, but he gradually became worse, and a week

since he died. It is a terrible loss to me and my poor children."

 

Here his aunt put her handkerchief to her face to wipe away the tears

that started at the thought of her bereavement.

 

"Dear aunt, I sympathize with you," said John, earnestly, taking her

hand.

 

"I know you do, John," said his aunt. "I don't know how I can get along

alone, with four poor fatherless children to look after."

 

"God will help you, aunt. You must look to him," said John, reverently.

 

"It is that thought alone that sustains me," said Mrs. Berry. "But

sometimes, when the thought of my bereavement comes upon me, I don't

realize it as I should."

 

"I went into the store first," said John. "I suppose it was my uncle's

assistant that I saw there?"

 

"Yes," said Mrs. Berry; "it was Mr. Hall."

 

"I suppose he manages the store now for you?"

 

"Yes," said Mrs. Berry, slowly. "But I hardly know that it is right to

say that he manages it for me."

 

"Why not?" asked John, perplexed by his aunt's manner, which seemed to

him strange.