"I am a hard-working man. Will you work like a dog, if I"ll let you try?"
"Please, sir, I"d rather work like a boy."
"Good. You shall go home with me."
And he took the boy home with him. The first thing he set him about was weeding the onion bed. It was hard work, as I know from experience. Oh, how it makes a poor fellow"s back ache, to stoop down and weed onions for half a day. You must know that you can"t use the hoe more than about a quarter of the time. If you could, the work would be comparatively easy and pleasant. But you can"t do that. You must bend right down to the task, as if you really loved the onions, and were nursing them, as a fond mother nurses a pet child.
"Well, Fred," said the old gentleman, when the dinner horn blew its blast of invitation for the workmen to come in and pay their respects to Mrs. Marble"s boiled pork and cabbage, "well, Fred, how do you like weeding onion beds?"
"Very well, sir," said the boy.
"And would you like to keep at it all the afternoon?"
"I would like to please you, sir. That"s what I came here for."
The old man was so much delighted with this answer, that he not only laughed at it all the time he was at dinner, but he told it all over the neighborhood in less than a week.
"Well, Fred," said he, "I guess you"ve done enough of that sort of work for one day. I want you to do two or three errands after you have done your dinner."
And he sent the lad to I don"t know how many different places, to do all sorts of errands. Among other things he directed him to do, was to go to the store with money, to purchase some little articles for his wife. You see the old man wanted to try the new comer, and see if he was faithful.
Well, every thing was done properly, and Uncle Mike was satisfied.
The next day, Fred had other tasks given to him. His employer selected those which were hardest and most unpleasant, as he said, "to break the little fellow in." I"ll tell you one thing he did. He sent him out to catch the old mare. Now the old mare had a knack of kicking those who came to catch her, when she was not perfectly satisfied with their mode of doing the business; and she did not at all like the sly and timid way in which Fred came up to her, with the bridle concealed behind his back. She was a great lover of fair and open dealing; though, like some others of her race, that I am acquainted with, as well as some who belong to quite a different race, and who have the name of being a good deal wiser, she did not always practice herself the virtues she so highly commended in others.
She waited until the lad had got within a few feet of her, and then she whirled round, before the poor fellow, who was half frightened out of his wits, could have time to get out of her way, and let her heels fly into the air over his head. It was well for the boy that she took her aim so high. If it had been a foot or two lower, the _breaking in_ would have been an expensive one to Fred--a very expensive one, indeed.
In such ways as those I have named, and in a great many other ways, which I need not name, Uncle Mike tried the boy, to see what he was made of. He found out, before long, what he was made of. He found out that there was just such stuff in him as he liked. The more he tried him--the more he "broke him in"--the better he was pleased with him.
Well, I"ll tell you how that affair with the beggar turned--for I must not make too long a story of it--Uncle Mike brought up the lad.
He taught him all the mysteries of farming, and treated him as if he were a member of his own family--one of his own children--until he was twenty-one. Then he told him he was free to go where he chose. He gave him a hundred dollars in money, a yoke of oxen, a fine colt, and, what was of more value than all, his blessing.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MIKE MARBLE IN HIS OLD AGE.]
And what do you think became of Fred? He turned out to be not only a good farmer, but a good neighbor, and a good man, every way. That same man, who was once a beggar, and who, but for Uncle Mike"s odd way of doing a kind act for him, might have remained a beggar, is now one of the most highly respected men in his parish, with enough property to make him and his family comfortable, as well as some to spare for the comfort of others.
CHAP. XI.
MIKE MARBLE"S LAST DAYS.
I should love to chat about my old friend a good while longer. But perhaps I had better stop, for fear you may get tired of the theme. I must tell you a little about his old age, then I will leave off.
He was one of the happiest old men I ever knew. He was always cheerful. One could never meet him in the street, and look into his pleasant face, without catching something of his cheerfulness. Bad humor is catching, you know, as much as the small pox, or the canker rash, and so is good humor, too. At all events, I remember that once, when I felt ever so much "out of sorts," because things did not go right, I came across Uncle Mike, on my way to school, and a chat of about half a minute completely sweetened my temper.
There was nothing which Uncle Mike liked better, after his hair--the little hair that time had spared to him--was whitened with age, than to have a group of children about him, coaxing him to tell them stories.
Dear old man! my heart blesses him now, as my memory recalls the scenes in which he used to take a part. With all his oddities and crotchets, he always had a kind and warm heart beating in his bosom. I don"t believe that he ever had an enemy in the world. Every body, it always seemed to me, respected him, and those who knew him most, loved him best.
He possessed an art which is worth more than the finest farm in America. It was the art of being happy himself, and of making others happy. He was never out of humor. n.o.body could get him into a pa.s.sion.
I never heard of his having wounded the feelings of a single individual, during all the time that I was acquainted with him.
Now some people will say, "Oh, it was Mike Marble"s way. That was his disposition. He could not help being good-natured. It came natural to him to make friends. It was as easy for him to scatter happiness all around him, as it was to breathe." I don"t know about all that. There may have been something--probably there was something--in Mike Marble"s natural disposition, which was pleasant and cheerful. But I guess it cost him some effort to live in the sunshine so constantly.
There is such a thing, reader--and I hope you will mark these words well--there is such a thing as keeping the heart fresh, and green, and tender, and loving, by one"s own effort; and there is such a thing, too, as letting the heart, by neglect and want of culture, become old before its time, and dry, and tough, and crabbed. You can school your affections. Did you know that? I"ll tell you how to dry up all the love and kindness you may have. Shut up your heart, as an oyster does its sh.e.l.l. Shut it up, and be selfish. Do so, and you will soon be sick enough of the world, and the world will be sick enough of you.
But I would not do that, if I were in your place. I would advise you to try to keep the heart open, by doing all the kind acts you can. But I must end my tale of Mike Marble.
Dear old man! He has gone to his rest. His voice long since ceased to be heard on earth. He died as he lived--cheerfully and peacefully. The Saviour, in whom he had trusted, was with him in his dying hour, and I cannot doubt that that good man went to dwell with the angels.
Reader, may you, like him, live a life of usefulness, and may you take your leave of the world as peacefully, as hopefully, as cheerfully, at
THE END.
_Woodworth"s Juvenile Works._
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.
PUBLISH THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE WORKS,
By Francis C. Woodworth,
EDITOR OF "WOODWORTH"S YOUTH"S CABINET,"
AUTHOR OF "THE WILLOW LANE BUDGET," "THE STRAWBERRY GIRL," "THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE," "THEODORE THINKER"S TALES," ETC. ETC.
UNCLE FRANK"S BOYS" AND GIRLS" LIBRARY.
_A Beautiful Series, comprising six volumes, square 12mo., with eight Tinted Engravings in each volume. The following are their t.i.tles respectively_:
I. THE PEDDLER"S BOY; or, I"LL BE SOMEBODY.
II. THE DIVING BELL; or, PEARLS TO BE SOUGHT FOR.
III. THE POOR ORGAN-GRINDER, AND OTHER STORIES.
IV. OUR SUE: HER MOTTO AND ITS USES.
V. MIKE MARBLE: HIS CROTCHETS AND ODDITIES.
VI. THE WONDERFUL LETTER-BAG OF KIT CURIOUS.
"Woodworth is unquestionably and immeasurably the best writer for children that we know of; for he combines a st.u.r.dy common sense and varied information with a most childlike and loveful spirit, that finds its way at once to the child"s heart. We regard him as one of the truest benefactors of his race; for he is as wise as he is gentle, and never uses his power over the child-heart, to instill into it the poison of false teaching, or to cramp it with unlovely bigotry. The publishers have done their part, as well as the author, to make these volumes attractive. Altogether we regard them as one of the pleasantest series of juvenile books extant, both in their literary character and mechanical execution."--_Syracuse (N.Y.) Daily Standard._