Read Ebook: The Hand-Made Gentleman: A Tale of the Battles of Peace by Bacheller Irving

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1969 lines and 67010 words, and 40 pages

I was in a panic of fear, knowing not the peril that threatened me. I struggled through the drifts and ran till I 'could see the lights of the village. The sight allayed my fear a little.

I had heard that hymn-singing was good in time of peril, and I began to walk and sing, with a trembling voice, the Christmas hymn which my mother had lately taught me.

Soon I knelt for a moment in the snow and said my prayers. Then I rose and ran on, singing as I went, and thought less of my peril. Soon teams began to pass me, coming and going, and my fear was gone.

I felt for my horruck. It was in my pocket, all right, and the feel of it began to fill me with wonder. I forgot it when I came to one of the stores, and entered behind the legs of a tall man, and stopped before a basket of oranges, and stood looking down at them. There were a number of people in the store.

"Would you like one?" a man asked me.

"I--I haven't any money," was my answer.

"Put one in your pocket," he whispered; "they wouldn't know."

I shook my head, and answered in a voice so low that he held his ear down to catch the words:

"It doesn't belong to me."

He lifted me in his arms and asked my name, and I gave it, and told him that I was out looking for Santa Claus.

"Isn't he coming to your house?" the man asked.

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's hard times," I whispered,

Well, it was the storekeeper himself, and he kissed me and sat me on the counter and gave me fruits and candies.

"Would you like to speak to Santa Claus?" he asked.

I nodded, and my heart began to beat all the faster.

He went to the rear end of the store and returned quickly with a stout, gray-headed man in a big fur overcoat. I recognized the figure, and was almost overcome with emotion. The thought of my mission bore me up. With a trembling hand I took from my pocket the little green book which my grandmother had given to me, and which was, indeed, my greatest treasure. I had removed it slyly from the bureau drawer that morning. I held it toward him. No human being ever offered more to charity.

"That's a Christmas present for you," I said, fearfully.

He took my little book, and read the title on its green paper cover aloud.

I spoke up faintly as soon as he had finished, saying, "My grandmother gave it to me--you can have it."

"Thanks," said he, and laughed, which so took me down that I could not keep back my tears.

"Are you a good boy?" he asked.

"He's one of the best boys in the county, and I'm going to keep track of him," said the storekeeper, and I was glad, for I was not able to answer.

"Now," said he to Santa Claus, "I want you to take him home and give them all a merry Christmas."

Well, they put a little fur coat upon me and a piece of goat-skin for a beard, and a baby pack-basket, and filled it with grand things for my mother and sister, and put a stub of a pipe in my mouth.

The man took me home, and I was forgiven, I fancy, on account of my looks, for who could punish a fairy Santa Claus? And, all in all, what a merry Christmas we had! I had exchanged the little green book for something better, of which I shall try to tell you.

As to Lizzie McCormick, she remained a ghost, and probably found better company, for I never saw her again, although sometimes I have heard her whisper in the darkness. She taught me that ghosts are easily conquered if a boy will be stern with them.

But there remains with me a strange souvenir of our parting, and that is the horruck. It was a real thing; I have it now, a big silver dollar. Here it is. Look at the odd device stamped on the face of the coin:

I assure you, for many a long year it was the great mystery of our house. And I got a certain fear of it by-and-by, knowing, as I did, that a ghost gave it to me.

ADVENTURE II--BEING THAT OF CRICKET AND THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

Y home had been a grist-mill in old times, and stood on the river-shore near a small village. One side of it was in the stream, but firmly founded on a ledge, and the year round water roared through a part of the basement. A hanging stairway climbed the face of the mill to a narrow landing under its eaves. There a broad door with a clanking iron latch opened upon our home. Those days it was called the Mill House, and a pretty thing it was--weathered gray, with broad windows that had small panes in them, and vines and flowers on the ledges in summer-time, and honeysuckle on the stair side.

When I look back at the old house the sun is ever shining on it and the flowers are in full bloom, and I can see the lights and shadows of the river. It was a full flowing stream, smooth and silent above the mill, and stained and sprinkled with willow gloom; white and noisy-just below, where the waters hurtled over a natural dam of rocks. It put me in mind of the sea, toward which it was ever flowing, and which I had studied with a curious eye in my geography. The river always seemed to invite me to go along with it.

Well, one day, when near the end of my fifteenth year, I accepted its invitation--launched my new canoe and went away with the swift water. It was a clear, warm day, and the river gave me rare entertainment, with its reeds and wild roses and quiet little bays and green, sloping terraces, and birds and beasts. Where it bent to the edge of the highway I saw a man sitting on the bank--a lank, tall man, with white hair and a full, gray beard. A black setter dog with tan points sat beside him.

"Happy new year!" said the man.

I made no answer, but swung into the bay near him and stopped.

"Didn't you know that a new year begins every day?" he asked. He showed the wear of hard times. He had a shoe on one foot and a slipper on the other, and wore a soiled linen duster and a pair of goggles. I saw now that his face had been badly scarred. He had a nose large at the end, with white and red seams in it, which cut across the cheek to his temple on one side.

"I can tell you something almighty singular," he went on.

"What's that?" was my query.

He took off a shabby felt hat, spat into the river, and drew his hand across his mouth.

"My name is Pearl," said he; "I am the Pearl o' great price."

I smiled, but he looked very serious.

"I am weary o' life," he continued. "I came down to this river to drown myself, but I am unable to do it on account o' my meanness. It's a pity."

I waited, full of curiosity, while he sat and whittled.

"My life is insured--that's what's the matter," he went on. "You see, I took out a policy years ago an' paid for it, an' an' ol' buzzard got it for a few dollars that I owed him. If I die the meanest man in the world 'll git a thousand dollars, an' it won't do; come to think it over, I 've got to outlive him if it takes a hundred years."

He threw his slippered foot over his knee, laughed silently, and shook his head.

"That's one on me," he remarked. "It ain't decent for me to laugh, but I can't help it."

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"Not exac'ly sick," he answered. "When I behave myself I wouldn't know that I had a body if it wasn't for my big toe that keeps peekin' through my shoe leather. Sometimes it makes a bow, very p'lite, an' says, 'Hello, there!'"

He rose and took off his hat. "Look at me--ain't I a gem?" he added.

"I'm sorry for you," I suggested.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet