Jacks Ward | Page 2

father's got plenty of money," said Frank Nelson, complacently.
"There isn't any need of my working."
"Then your father's lucky."

"And so am I."
"I don't know about that. I'd just as lieve work as not."
"Well, I wouldn't. I'd rather be my own master, and have my time to
myself. But I must be going home."
"You're lazy, Frank."
"Very likely. I've a right to be."
Frank Nelson went off, and Jack was left alone. Half an hour passed,
and still the gentleman, who had entered No. 39, didn't appear. The
horse showed signs of impatience, shook his head, and eyed Jack in an
unfriendly manner.
"He thinks it time to be going," thought Jack. "So do I. I wonder what
the man's up to. Perhaps he's spending the day."
Fifteen minutes more passed, but then relief came. The owner of the
carriage came out.
"Did you get tired of waiting for me?" he asked.
"No," said Jack, shrewdly. "I knew the longer the job, the bigger the
pay."
"I suppose that is a hint," said the gentleman, not offended.
"Perhaps so," said Jack, and he smiled too.
"Tell me, now, what are you going to do with the money I give
you--buy candy?"
"No," answered Jack, "I shall carry it home to my mother."
"That's well. Does your mother need the money?"
"Yes, sir. Father's out of work, and we've got to live all the same."

"What's your father's business?"
"He's a cooper."
"So he's out of work?"
"Yes, sir, and has been for six weeks. It's on account of the panic, I
suppose."
"Very likely. He has plenty of company just now."
It may be remarked that our story opens in the year 1867, memorable
for its panic, and the business depression which followed. Nearly every
branch of industry suffered, and thousands of men were thrown out of
work, and utterly unable to find employment of any kind. Among them
was Timothy Harding, the father of our hero. He was a sober, steady
man, and industrious; but his wages had never been large, and he had
been unable to save up a reserve fund, on which to draw in time of need.
He had an excellent wife, and but one child--our present hero; but there
was another, and by no means unimportant member of the family. This
was Rachel Harding, a spinster of melancholy temperament, who
belonged to that unhappy class who are always prophesying evil, and
expecting the worst. She had been "disappointed" in early life, and this
had something to do with her gloomy views, but probably she was
somewhat inclined by nature to despondency.
The family lived in a humble tenement, which, however, was neatly
kept, and would have been a cheerful home but for the gloomy
presence of Aunt Rachel, who, since her brother had been thrown out
of employment, was gloomier than ever.
But all this while we have left Jack and the stranger standing in the
street.
"You seem to be a good boy," said the latter, "and, under the
circumstances, I will pay you more than I intended."
He drew from his vest pocket a dollar bill, and handed it to Jack.

"What! is all this for me?" asked Jack, joyfully.
"Yes, on the condition that you carry it home, and give it to your
mother."
"That I will, sir; she'll be glad enough to get it."
"Well, good-by, my boy. I hope your father'll find work soon."
"He's a trump!" ejaculated Jack. "Wasn't it lucky I was here just as he
wanted a boy to hold his horse. I wonder what Aunt Rachel will have to
say to that? Very likely she'll say the bill is bad."
Jack made the best of his way home. It was already late in the afternoon,
and he knew he would be expected. It was with a lighter heart than
usual that he bent his steps homeward, for he knew that the dollar
would be heartily welcome.
We will precede him, and give a brief description of his home.
There were only five rooms, and these were furnished in the plainest
manner. In the sitting room were his mother and aunt. Mrs. Harding
was a motherly-looking woman, with a pleasant face, the prevailing
expression of which was a serene cheerfulness, though of late it had
been harder than usual to preserve this, in the straits to which the
family had been reduced. She was setting the table for tea.
Aunt Rachel sat in a rocking-chair at the window. She was engaged in
knitting. Her face was long and thin, and, as Jack expressed it, she
looked as if she hadn't a friend in the world. Her voice harmonized with
her mournful expression, and was equally doleful.
"I wonder why Jack don't come home?" said Mrs. Harding,