Chapter II: The Counterfeit Dollar

PAT, however, continued in his old employment. He was entirely different from Dilly, who was a favorite with all the children, on account of her loving heart and cheerful temper. Pat was both selfish and sullen. He was ready to quarrel at the least offence of his companions. When the rude boys saw him come alone to the field, and select a spot for himself to clear, they said, "Now for some fun!"

They watched their chance when he had made a pile of coal and another of rags, and came up toward him as if for a friendly chat. Suddenly they threw themselves down, thus overturning all his work and obliging him to commence again.

Pat sprang to his feet and doubled his fist, screaming with anger.

"Come, now, be still, will ye?" cried one of them. "What harm have we done ye, anyhow?" At the same time he winked to his companions, to carry on the sport.

Pat saw the glance. He flew at the lad; and the affair might have become serious, had not an older man who was quietly at work near by interfered. He had witnessed the whole proceedings, and told the boys they had no business with Pat's lot, any way.

He separated them with some difficulty, and then returned to his work.

Pat had been pleased when his father told him he might work alone, and have all he could earn; but now he found it not so pleasant. Though he would not have confessed it, he missed Dilly's cheerful voice and sunny smile. The morning seemed very long, and by the time he sat down to eat a crust of bread which he had brought for his dinner, he had half determined to go home.

A few days before this, a party of ladies and gentlemen came into the field to watch the men, women, and children at their work. They stopped near the lot his father had selected and began to talk with a couple who were busily engaged in sorting rags. Pat had been near enough to hear what was said.

"You have a large pile of rubbish there," said one lady. "Do you make much by it?"

"And sure, ma'am," the woman answered, "we get a living; but it's a hard way."

"Tell us how you manage," said a gentleman.

"It's jist this way, sir," interrupted the man. "We comes here and takes each our own lot, striving, of coorse, for the best, sure. Then we sets ourselves to work to find what we can. Sometimes there's very little, and then again, there's more. My woman and I first picks out all the coal, putting it in one pile, and the junk in another, like this."

"But what can you do with those rotten pumpkins and potatoes?"

"And sure, that's a fine chance for us, ma'am. We live out of the city a bit, and kape a cow and a pig, besides a horse and a hen; so it's bad luck, indeed, if we don't find something to feed them all with."

"You are better off than I thought," rejoined the lady, smiling. "I suppose you own a cart, too, and carry your treasures home in it."

"Indeed, we do, ma'am; and that is it carrying off junk. We hires it out to our neighbors to carry their coal home, and their rags to the junk store. Ye'd laugh, ma'am, when we gets home, to see the craters jump into the cart to get their supper."

"You seem to make a very good living," remarked one of the gentlemen.

"We don't complain, sir," answered the man frankly. "We're not beholden to the city for a penny since we first landed in the States."

"Do you ever find anything of value money or jewels?"

"Feth, sir, and that's seldom. I wont deny we do find a little money."

"Well, I hope you'll make a good day of it to-day," said the lady, turning to another group.

Ever since he had heard that money was occasionally found with the other rubbish, Pat had been eagerly searching for some. This was why he had been so pleased to be alone. Every bit of broken glass or shining paper upon which the sun shone was eagerly seized and carefully examined.

After the rude boys left him to his work, Pat slowly went on sorting his piles again. He was quite discouraged, and wished he was anything in the world but a rag and coal picker. Suddenly he rushed forward to pull a pile of rubbish nearer to his seat when a torn envelope fell at his feet. He was just about to throw it away when it occurred to him to see whether it contained anything. He put in his soiled fingers, and to his astonishment pulled out a bank-bill—a one dollar bank-bill!

His first impulse was to secrete it,—glancing around to see whether any one had been watching him,—and then to go on rapidly with his work, as if nothing unusual had happened to him.

His heart beat faster than ever, as he remembered how much a dollar would buy!—a pair of boots, or a new jacket. Yes, he had seen a jacket at the secondhand store costing just one dollar.

Once, to be sure, he did think how poorly his mother was dressed; and how much good the money would do her; but, no; he would keep it himself. He had found it, and it was his.

As night approached he sold his coal and junk to the man who owned a cart and could more readily dispose of them, then hurried away to procure his new jacket before he went home.

The shop was already lighted when he reached it. He pointed to the jacket, which he was pleased to see had not been sold; tried it on, and it proved a very good fit. He buttoned it tightly to his chin, and found it exceedingly comfortable. Then he took the envelope from his pocket, and detaching the bill passed it to the merchant and was walking off, when the man called out, angrily,—

"Here, you young rascal, you just take that 'ere coat right off! Your money aint worth one copper! It's counterfeit."

"Counterfeit!" stammered Pat, ready to cry. "What is a counterfeit?"

"Don't you think to try any of your dodges on me," screamed the man, "I've cut my eye-teeth, I tell you. Take it off, I say, or I'll have the police here."

"I don't know what you mean," faltered Pat, beginning to sob. "You said 'twas a dollar, and I give you a dollar."

"No, you didn't, you only give me a counterfeit, and here 'tis," tearing the bill in halves.

Pat started forward to rescue his money, now really angry. "It's mine," he screamed. "I found it in the rags."

"Oho!" said the merchant, beginning to understand. "So you found it, hey? Well, I'm sorry for you; but 'twasn't a real dollar; it only looked like one. When you get a real dollar I'll sell you the jacket."

Poor Pat went home very much crestfallen. "I hate rag picking," he exclaimed, entering the room he called home.

"See what a nice supper I've got," cried Dilly. "I can take good care of baby. Only think, Pat, there's potatoes, and porridge, too. I'm so glad, I am."

"The lady has been here again," said Mrs. Hogan, trying to cheer her boy. "She has persuaded the gentleman to give your father work on the lumber-wharf."

This was indeed true. This kind man, who was a well known friend to the poor, inquired the character of Mr. Hogan, and, finding him to be a man of strictly temperate habits, resolved to give him steady employment.

The young lady, too, had been as true as her word. She had this day brought clothes for the two children, besides many articles for their parents, and the baby.

Pat was quite comforted when he found that he had a jacket quite as good as the one at the shop. The next sabbath he went with Dilly to sabbath school; and, after this, continued to attend regularly. They both learned to read the Bible and to obey the commands of God.

Our little rag picker is a rag picker no longer; but she is good Dilly, still, with her warm heart and cheerful temper. She has learned about the Saviour, and how he loves good children, and every day she tries to please him.

Pat did not long continue in the business after his father left it. The lady insisted that he ought to attend the day school, that he might be prepared to be a more useful man. This he did for nearly a year, filling up his time when out of school by carrying parcels for a neighboring grocer, and thus earning something toward his own support.

Now, little girl or boy, can you guess why I have written this story for you? It is that you may be grateful to God, who has given you a pleasant home and enough to eat; that he has given you friends to teach you about the Saviour, and that you may learn to do as the kind lady did—to pity and do good to those who are poor and distressed.

Eddy and His Fishes.