Benefits Forgot | Page 3

were shining with triumph when he slid into his seat and held out his
bowl for his evening meal of mush and milk.
"I've got a job," he said.
"A job?" queried his father. He smiled a little at Jason's mother.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Inchpin is having a new barn built on the hill back of his
house. The brook runs at the foot of it and I'm going to haul gravel and
sand and water up to the building site. It'll take about a month. He
provides the horse and wagon."
"And how much will he pay you?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.
"He says he can't tell till he's through. But I'm going to ask him for five
dollars."
Jason's father looked amused and a little troubled. "Jason, I hope you're
not too interested in Mammon. But I must say I'm glad to see you have
your mother's energy."

"Or your father's," said Mrs. Wilkins, smiling into the blue eyes
opposite hers. "Nobody can say that a circuit rider lacks energy."
And so during the hot August days, Jason toiled on Mr. Inchpin's new
barn, never once visiting the swimming hole in the brook, never once
heeding the long-drawn invitation of the cicada to loll under the trees
with one of Mr. Inchpin's books, never once breaking away when the
toot of the packet reverberated among the hills.
"He's a fine lad," Mr. Inchpin told Jason's father. "I never have seen
such determination in a little fellow."
Brother Wilkins looked gratified, but when he repeated the little
compliment to Jason's mother he added, "I don't believe I understand
Jason altogether."
"I do," said Mrs. Wilkins, stoutly.
August came to an end with cool nights and shorter days and Mr.
Inchpin's barn was finished of a Saturday evening. He called Jason into
the house, into the library where there were bound volumes of Godey's
Lady's Book and Blackwood, and handed him three paper dollars.
"There you are, my man. I'd intended to give you only two. But you've
done well, by ginger, so here's three dollars."
Jason looked up at him dumbly, mumbled something, stuffed the bills
into his trousers pocket and bolted for home. He burst in on his mother
in the kitchen, buried his face against her bosom and sobbed.
"I can't have it after all! He only gave me three dollars! I can't have it!
And now I'll never know how that story 'Bleak House' ended."
Jason's father came into the kitchen, hastily: "What in the world--"
"Jason! Jason! don't sob so!" cried Mrs. Wilkins. "We'll raise the rest of
the money some way. I'll find it. Hush, dear, hush! Mercy, the mush is
burning!"

Jason's father took the boy's grimy blistered hand, such a strong slender
hand and so like his mother's, and sitting down in the kitchen chair, he
pulled Jason to him.
"Tell me, Jason," he urged gently, "what money?"
Jason still torn with occasional sobs, managed to tell the story.
"Harper's Monthly," exclaimed Brother Wilkins. "Dear! Dear! I had
hoped you'd give the money to a foreign mission, Jason."
"Foreign mission!" cried Jason's mother. "Well, I guess not! Jason's
education is going to be taken care of before the heathen."
"But how'll we get the extra dollars?" asked Brother Wilkins,
helplessly.
"I'll manage," replied Jason's mother, her gentle voice a little louder
than usual.
"Then let us eat supper," said Jason's father, clearing his throat for
grace.
Jason's mother sold a girlhood treasure, a little silver-tipped hair-pin, to
the storekeeper's wife, the following Monday, for two dollars, and the
jubilant Jason exchanged the single bills for a single note. The note was
cut in two and sent in separate letters to New York, this being the
before the war method of safeguarding loss of money in the mail. There
was a period of several weeks of waiting during which Jason met every
mail. Then a third letter was sent by Jason's mother, asking why the
delay, and telling Jason's little story.
Jason met the return packet, his heart now high, now low. He had met
so many futile packets since the first of September. But this time there
was a letter explaining that but one-half of the note had arrived in New
York, but that on faith, the editors were sending the back numbers of
the magazine requested and that the rest of the year's subscription
would follow. And Jason never did know whether or not the second

half of the note arrived.
And there they were, a fat pile of magazines! Jason clasped them in his
arms and rushed home with them. A tag tail of boys followed him and
by nightfall most of the town knew that Jason Wilkins had four
numbers of Harper's Monthly on hand.
Jason was out milking the cow when Mr.