Chapter IV: Harrison in Trouble

"The drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty."

WHEN Harrison awoke the next morning it was with the remembrance of some great sorrow, like that after his little sister's death. He pressed his hands to his forehead, and presently the events of the previous evening rushed into his mind. It was not merely the loss, but the manner of the loss, which so distressed the poor child. The thought that his father, who, since entering the oyster-saloon, had never paid one farthing toward the support of his family, should be guilty of such insufferable meanness as to steal the earnings of his little son, was what crushed his young heart. For the first time since he had been old enough to work, his mother found it difficult to start him forth to his daily toil. He appeared wholly discouraged; and not until she appealed to him by his love for her and his sympathy in her afflictions, could she excite him to any ambition, or even hope for the future. Poor woman! It was indeed a great self-sacrifice for her to send him away from home. She actually yearned for his society and sympathy now that her heart-strings seemed one by one breaking, as her hopes for her husband died away within her breast. But she knew by past experience that he would be far happier to be engaged in his regular employment than if he sat down to brood over his griefs.

When he reached the hotel, a carriage was just driving away, and Harrison had only time to catch a glimpse of the beautiful face of Ella and the pale one of her brother before they turned the corner of the street and disappeared from view. Tears of disappointment filled the swollen eyes of the poor boy, though a moment before he had hoped that he should not see Ella that morning. How could he account to her for his altered appearance. He could never expose the shame of his father.

Through the day Mrs. Danforth waited and watched for the coming of her husband. She hoped he would return during the absence of Harrison. But she waited and watched in vain. Many times during the morning her heart beat fast, and then almost ceased to beat, as she fancied she recognized his footstep upon the stairs; but when it passed she was obliged to lay down her work, so faint and languid was she from the intense excitement. At noon Harrison had only time to run home and tell her that he had been sent of an errand up town, and should not return until night.

How she passed the long hours until sundown she never could tell; but at length she experienced such a dreadful pressure upon her spirits that she could endure it no longer. She hastily prepared for a walk, and bent her steps toward the fatal spot which had proved the grave of all her hopes for her husband's reformation. Arrived at the scene, she cast wistful glances through the long windows, but could not see him. It was a place where women were not often found, and she shuddered as she turned the handle of the door and stood within the room. A coarse-looking man stopped suddenly in his passage across the floor with a waiter of oysters, and she asked, in a hesitating manner; "Is Mr. Danforth here?"

"Danforth? No; he has not been here today. Mr. Lamson has scolded well, and threatened to give him walking orders; so if you see him you'd better send him along quick step."

"O! my poor misguided husband!" groaned Mrs. Danforth, as she feebly turned from the door. "Why will you wander from the only friend you have on earth! Why will you throw away the love of the one heart that clings to you in the midst of sorrow and disgrace!"

When Harrison ran hastily home after his long walk, he found the key turned in the door and his mother absent. This was so unusual a circumstance that he wondered much what could have called her out at such an hour. The busy scenes of the day had served to divert his mind from himself, and the natural buoyancy of youth had already turned the channel of his thoughts, so that hope once more whispered of bright visions in the future. But now, as he wandered listlessly about the rooms, looking so dismal at this hour without her whose smile had always seemed to give light and warmth to the place, he wondered that he could call any event sorrowful while she was left to him.

At last he heard a weary footstep ascending the stairs, and darted across the room to welcome his mother. The deepening twilight prevented him from seeing the expression of woe upon her features; but he knew she was tired, and exclaimed, cheerfully, "I'll put on the tea, mother! that always rests you." The table was already spread, and the mother and son seated themselves.

"I do wonder where father is?" cried Harrison, for the first time since his loss mentioning his father's name. "I guess he's ashamed to come home."

"Hush, dear! don't speak so! I'm afraid something has happened to him. I went to the saloon, but he has not been there all day." The poor woman covered her face, and the sobs that would not be longer suppressed burst forth.

Harrison's sympathy was excited at once. "I wish I knew where to go and inquire for him, mother," he said; "but he has often been gone longer than this. Perhaps he will be home before we go to bed."

Mrs. Danforth listened to his cheering words, and tried to hope that they would prove true; but the long weary weeks of anxiety since her husband had been in the oyster-saloon had worn upon her frame, and she was conscious of being really unfit for exertion. Then her head ached terribly, so that she was easily persuaded to go to bed, where the remainder of the evening Was passed in listening to her son as he read passage after passage from her favorite Psalms.

The next morning Harrison awoke early, and, having dressed himself in haste, ran softly down the stairs, before the other inmates of the house were astir, and sped quickly away to the street where his father worked. But to his disappointment, when he arrived at the saloon, the door was barred, and, after knocking several times, was just on the point of leaving, when a colored man drew back the bolt.

From this person, who was cleaning the rooms, the boy learned that his father had of late been so unsteady in his attendance upon his business that his employer had threatened to turn him away. This was all the information that he could gain, and with it he ran home to comfort his mother.

She had risen, and was wondering where he had gone.

"Good news, mother!" he called out, "I have been to father's place. He is not there yet, but the man told me he had often been absent before. Now, when he did not come home, we always thought he was there; so I guess he'll come back again just as he has always done."

"Thank you, my son; I really hope it may be so; and now if you will cut a few sticks of kindling we will have some breakfast."

Harrison cut the wood, kindled the fire, and swept the room, and then said, "If you can get along now, mother, I'll go to the hotel. I promised cook I'd be there right early. They have orders for a grand dinner to-day. She'll be sure to give me some breakfast, and I'll be home as soon as I can."

Fortunately for Harrison, his habits of neatness and industry rendered him of great service to his employers. He went from one thing to another as he was bid, and, amidst all the confusion and scolding of the kitchen, was always civil and obliging, ready to give a helping hand to any one who needed his assistance. Mr. Clarkson visited the kitchen to give orders about the extra work, saying that he would hire in more help if it was necessary. Cook told him she had rather have Harrison than half a dozen strangers, for he would do just what she told him. The gentleman patted him on the head, called him a smart boy, and then, taking out his porte-monaie, presented him with a silver half-dollar.

There was so much to be done that the lad feared he should miss seeing his little friend but at last one of the waiters asked him to scour a tray of knives, and he gladly took refuge with his brick and board out of the heated kitchen into the cool, shady court.

"Why, Harrison! how do you do? I have looked for you this long time," soon called out the familiar voice. "I went into the country yesterday, and we're all going out there for the summer. I wish you could go too."

"I wish I could," said the boy seriously.

"Have you bought the bonnet yet?"

"No; I never can buy one. My money was all stolen away. I had four dollars, enough to buy a real beauty: but it's all gone now."

Harrison's lips quivered, and the tears gushed to his eyes.

"Oh, that is too bad! I'm very sorry; don't cry." Ella, whose own eye-lashes were heavy with unshed tears, ran quickly to impart to her mother the sorrowful tale.

She was absent more than fifteen minutes, and the lad had nearly completed his task when she reappeared, jumping up and down for very gladness.

"Harrison!" she called out, "when you've done your work you must be sure and come to our room, number five in the long hall. Mother has something to give you. Oh, won't you be glad! Don't you forget, now."

The boy did not think it very likely he should forget; but, faithful to his employers, he gathered up his well-scoured knives and re-entered the kitchen, saying as he did so, "I'm so busy to-day, I don't know when I shall be ready to go home."

The dinner was a triumph. Every body said so. Mr. Clarkson and all concerned were in high spirits, and Harrison came in for his full share of praise. It was half-past five when he took his well-filled basket from the cook, and setting it in a safe place, washed his face and hands till they shone then, having smoothed his hair out in the court with his pocket-comb, he ascended the stairs in search of number five.

Mr. Haven had come in, and was seated in a large lounging-chair giving his wife an account of a sad scene he had just witnessed. A man had been found in the dock, having apparently been in the water two or three days. Some papers in his pockets informed the police who he was, and in coming from the wharf he had passed them, bearing the body to a wagon to convey it home.

"Had he a family?" inquired Mrs. Haven, with deep feeling.

"I did not learn," was the reply.

In the mean time Bridget had answered Harrison's low knock, and he had advanced halfway across the room before his presence was noticed, so absorbed were they in the sad tale.

"O mamma! here is Harrison!" called out Ella.

"Don't scream so, Ella!" exclaimed Alfred in a fretful tone. "Your voice goes right through my head."

"Come here, my boy," said Mr. Haven, kindly. "Ella says you're in trouble."

The lad blushed, but answered modestly, "I lost all my money, sir. I suppose she told you what I was saving it for."

"Yes, and it was a very worthy object. Have you any suspicion of the thief?"

Poor boy, his head fell upon his breast and his lips trembled as he replied softly, "Yes, sir, but I had rather not tell who it was."

"I dare say he stole it himself," cried Alfred, spitefully.

"Leave the room, Alfred," said his father, sternly.

"O brother!" remonstrated Ella, "how wicked to talk so."

Harrison held up his head, and gave one lightning glance of indignation into the face of the ill-natured boy. There was truth, honesty, and wounded feeling in the expressive countenance; and both Mr. and Mrs. Haven grew every moment more interested in the young lad.

"You have a good mother, I know," added the gentleman, in whose mind rose a suspicion of the truth. "Ella has told us about her, and so Mrs. Haven has prepared a present for her."

The little girl brought carefully on her outstretched hand, from the next room, a neat bonnet, tastefully trimmed.

"Thank you, oh, thank you, ma'am!" exclaimed the boy, with a look of unmistakable gratitude. "How pleased mother will be. Shall I take it now, ma'am?"

"Yes! Are you going directly home? Bring me the box, Ella."

After again expressing his pleasure in a low voice to the child, Harrison took the bandbox, and, passing through the kitchen, obtained his basket, and ran all the way home.