Ishmael; Or, In the Depths Part 52

"But, uncle, he is so clean! just as clean as you are, or even as I am,"

said Miss Claudia.

"And he has got a great bag on his back!"

"Well, uncle, that makes it so much harder for him to walk this long, long road, and is so much the more reason for you to take him in. You can put the bag down under your feet. And now if you don't call him here in one minute, I will--so there now! Ishmael! Ishmael, I say! Here, sir!

here!" cried the little lady, standing up in the sleigh.

"Ishmael! come here, my boy," called Mr. Middleton.

Our boy came as fast as his weakness and his burden would permit him.

"Get in here, my boy, and take this seat beside me. We are going the same way that you are walking, and we can give you a ride without inconveniencing ourselves. And besides I want to talk with you," said Mr. Middleton, as Ishmael came up to the side of the sleigh and took off his hat to the party. He bowed and took the seat indicated, and Mr.

Middleton started his horses, driving slowly as he talked.

"Ishmael, did you ever have a sleigh-ride before?" inquired Claudia, bending forward and laying her little gloved hand upon his shoulder, as he sat immediately before her.

"No, miss."

"Oh, then, how you'll enjoy it! It is so grand! But only wait until uncle is done talking and we are going fast! It is like flying! You'll see! But what do you think, Ishmael! Do you think somebody--I know it was that old Hamlin--didn't go and tell uncle that you went and--"

"Claudia, Claudia, hold your little tongue, my dear, for just five minutes, if you possibly can, while I speak to this boy myself!" said Mr. Middleton.

"Ah, you see uncle don't want to hear of his mistakes. He is not vain of them."

"Will you hold your tongue just for three minutes, Claudia?"

"Yes, sir, to oblige you; but I know I shall get a sore throat by keeping my mouth open so long."

And with that, I regret to say, Miss Merlin put out her little tongue and literally "held" it between her thumb and finger as she sank back in her seat.

"Ishmael," said Mr. Middleton, "I have seen your poster about the pocketbook. It is mine; I dropped it this forenoon, when we first came out."

"Oh, sir, I'm so glad I have found the owner, and that it is you!"

exclaimed Ishmael, putting his hand in his pocket to deliver the lost article.

"Stop, stop, stop, my impetuous little friend! Don't you know I must prove my property before I take possession of it? That is to say, I must describe it before I see it, so as to convince you that it is really mine?"

"Oh, sir, but that was only put in my poster to prevent imposters from claiming it," said Ishmael, blus.h.i.+ng.

"Nevertheless, it is better to do business in a business-like way,"

persisted Mr. Middleton, putting his hand upon that of the boy to prevent him from drawing forth the pocketbook. "Imprimis--a crimson pocketbook, with yellow silk lining; items--in one compartment three quarter eagles in gold; in another two dollars in silver. Now is that right?"

"Oh, yes, sir; but it wasn't necessary; you know that!" said Ishmael, putting the pocketbook in the hand of its owner.

Mr. Middleton opened it, took out a piece of gold and would have silently forced it in the hand of the poor boy, but Ishmael respectfully but firmly put back the offering.

"Take it, my boy; it is usual to do so, you know," said Mr. Middleton, in a low voice.

"Not for me, sir; please do not offer me money again unless I have earned it," replied the boy, in an equally low tone.

"But as a reward for finding the pocketbook," persisted Mr. Middleton.

"That was a piece of good fortune, sir, and deserved no reward," replied Ishmael.

"Then for restoring it to me."

"That was simple honesty, sir, and merited nothing either."

"Still, there would be no harm in your taking this from me," insisted Mr. Middleton, pressing the gold upon the boy.

"No, sir; perhaps there would not be; but I am sure--I am very sure--that Thomas Jefferson when he was a boy would never have let anybody pay him for being honest!"

"Who?" demanded Mr. Middleton, with a look of perplexity.

"Thomas Jefferson, sir, who wrote the Declaration of Independence, that I read of in that beautiful history you gave me."

"Oh!" said Mr. Middleton, ceasing to press the money upon the boy, but putting it in his pocketbook and returning the pocketbook to his pocket.

"Oh! and by the way, I am told that you have sold that history to-day."

"Yes! for money to buy spinning-tops and marbles with!" put in Miss Claudia.

Ishmael looked around in dismay for a moment, and then burst out with:

"Oh, sir! indeed, indeed I did not!"

"What! you didn't sell it?" exclaimed Mr. Middleton.

"Oh, yes, sir, I sold it!" said Ishmael, as the irrepressible tears rushed to his eyes. "I sold it! I was obliged to do so! Patrick Henry would have done it, sir!"

"But you did not sell it to get money to buy toys with?"

"Oh, no, no, no, sir! It was a matter of life and death, else I never would have parted with my book!"

"Tell me all about it, my boy."

"My Aunt Hannah has been ill in bed all the winter. I haven't been able to earn anything for the last month. We got out of money and provisions.

And Mr. Nutt wouldn't trust us for anything--"

"Uncle, mind you, don't deal with that horrid man any more!" interrupted Claudia.

"Did you owe him much, my boy?" inquired Mr. Middleton.

"Not a penny, sir! We never went in debt and never even asked for credit before."

"Go on."

"Well, sir, to-day Aunt Hannah wanted a cup of tea so badly that she cried for it, sir--cried like any little baby, and said she would die if she didn't get it; and so I brought my book to town this afternoon and sold it to get the money to buy what she wanted."

"But you had the pocketbook full of money; why didn't you take some of that?"