Herbert Carters Legacy | Page 2

Leech to a boy who was deservedly a favorite with them all.
Herbert's fist involuntarily doubled, and James, though he did not know
it, ran a narrow chance of getting a good whipping. But our young hero
controlled himself, not without some difficulty, and said: "I have one
other pair, and these are at your service whenever you require them."
Then turning to the other boys, he said, in a changed tone: "Who's in
for a game of ball?"
"I," said one, promptly.
"And I," said another.
Herbert walked away, accompanied by the other boys, leaving James
Leech alone.
James looked after him with a scowl. He was sharp enough to see that
Herbert, in spite of his patched pants, was a better scholar and a greater
favorite than himself. He had intended to humiliate him on the present
occasion, but he was forced to acknowledge that he had come off
second best from the encounter. He walked moodily away, and took
what comfort he could in the thought that he was far superior to a boy
who owned but two pairs of pants, and one of them patched. He was
foolish enough to feel that a boy or man derived importance from the
extent of his wardrobe; and exulted in the personal possession of eight
pairs of pants.
This scene occurred at recess. After school was over, Herbert walked
home. He was a little thoughtful. There was no disgrace in a patch, as

he was sensible enough to be aware. Still, he would have a little
preferred not to wear one. That was only natural. In that point, I
suppose, my readers will fully agree with him. But he knew very well
that his mother, who had been left a widow, had hard work enough to
get along as it was, and he had no idea of troubling her on the subject.
Besides, he had a better suit for Sundays, neat though plain, and he felt
that he ought not to be disturbed by James Leech's insolence.
So thinking, he neared the small house which he called home. It was a
small cottage, with something less than an acre of land attached,
enough upon which to raise a few vegetables. It belonged to his mother,
nominally, but was mortgaged for half its value to Squire Leech, the
father of James. The amount of the mortgage, precisely, was seven
hundred and fifty dollars. It had cost his father fifteen hundred. When
he built it, obtaining half this sum on mortgage, he hoped to pay it up
by degrees; but it turned out that, from sickness and other causes, this
proved impossible. When, five months before, he had died suddenly,
the house, which was all he left, was subject to this incumbrance. Upon
this, interest was payable semi-annually at the rate of six per cent.
Forty-five dollars a year is not a large sum, but it seemed very large to
Mrs. Carter, when added to their necessary expenses for food, clothing
and fuel. How it was to be paid she did not exactly see. The same
problem had perplexed Herbert, who, like a good son as he was, shared
his mother's cares and tried to lighten them. But in a small village like
Wrayburn there are not many ways of getting money, at any rate for a
boy. There were no manufactories, as in some large villages, and
money was a scarce commodity.
Herbert had, however, one source of income. Half a dozen families,
living at some distance from the post office, employed him to bring any
letters or papers that might come for them, and for this service he
received a regular tariff of two cents for each letter, and one cent for
each paper. He was not likely to grow rich on this income, but he felt
that, though small, it was welcome.
According to custom, Herbert called at the post office on his way home.
He found a letter for Deacon Crossleigh, one for Mr. Duncan, two for

Dr. Waffit, and papers for each of the two former.
"Ten cents!" he thought with satisfaction. "Well, that is better than
nothing, though it won't buy me a new pair of pants."
He was about to leave the office, when the postmaster called after him:
"Wait a minute, Herbert; I believe there's a letter for your mother."
Herbert returned, and received a letter bearing the following
superscription: "Mrs. Almira Carter, Wrayburn, New York."
"I hope it isn't bad news," said the postmaster. "I see it's edged with
black."
"I can't make out where it's from," said Herbert, scanning the postmark
critically.
"Nor I," said the postmaster, rubbing his glasses, and taking another
look. "The postmark is very indistinct."
"There's an n and a p," said Herbert, after a little examination. "I think