Chapter VIII: Letter From Pat

Before this he had been glad to meet no one; but now he felt a keen desire to ascertain where his father had gone; and resolved to return by the way of Tom Grant's, though a flurry of snow filled the air, and inquire whether Mr. Riley had been seen of late. Mrs. Grant, Tom's mother, was getting dinner, while Jerry was at work cutting wood in the back yard. The old lady knew how hard Pat had tried to reform, and greeted him in a most cordial manner.

"Why, Patrick!" she exclaimed, catching hold of his arm, "Come right in out of the snow. So yer going off to school, I hear my son say, well it's a lucky chance for ye, and I wish ye well. Sit right down now. Thomas will be at home soon, and he'll be glad to see ye."

"I must be going in a minute," Pat answered, "twirling his hat, I only wanted to know when you've seen Daddy. I've been to the old place, and there's no sign of anybody living in it."

"Haven't ye heard? Well, I s'pose ye haven't. Yer daddy's cleared out, bag and baggage. I don't s'pose he had to hire much of a team, either, to carry off what was left at the old place; but he took his pipe and a change of clothes; and I don't believe there is enough left in the shanty, to make it dangerous to leave the door open o' nights. Folks as heard him talk, do say he was clear discouraged with yer mammy's drinking and quarrelling; and he's gin her up entirely. But I can't tell nothing how that is."

"Do you know where he's gone?" asked Pat.

"La, no; I don't s'pose he knew hisself. He had a stick over his shoulder, and his bundle hung on the end on't, and that's all I can tell ye."

The boy turned without a word, and walked away. He knew now why his father came to the farm again so soon after his first visit; and why he consented so easily that the Squire should send him to school. He had resolved to quit his old home forever.

All this he told Mrs. Taylor that night, and ended with a sigh.

"I don't suppose he and I shall ever see each other again. He wasn't so bad till mammy came."

About a week after he reached the school, his teacher wrote Mr. Curtis,

"Patrick Riley arrived here a few days after the term commenced,
and has conducted himself in such a manner as to win the
approbation of all his teachers. I agree with you, that he will
make a smart man; and from present appearances, I hope also, a
useful one. I mentioned to him that I intended to write you, and
was gratified to notice that he is not destitute of gratitude for
all you have done to improve his condition. He requested me to
express his thanks, also to your son, who he says first awoke in
him a desire to become an honest boy, and likewise to Mrs. Taylor.
Patrick is taking hold of his lessons with a will, and hopes to
write you soon.

"Respectfully yours,

"JOHNATHAN HAVEN."

This letter was read with great interest by all the family; but there was no one who rejoiced so much at Pat's good conduct as Bertie.

Mrs. Curtis was greatly affected the night following to hear the little boy thank God for helping Pat to be good and obey the commandments.

About a fortnight later, Whitefoot stopped at the village post office, and Bertie jumped from his carriage and ran in with a package of letters for the mail.

"Look here!" exclaimed the girl, who delivered letters. "Is this for you?"

The child glanced at it, laughing and blushing. It was a curious shaped epistle, almost square, without an envelope, the name being a rough imitation of printing, and spelled Birty Kertis, Oxford; care Squier Kertis.

"I think it must be intended for you," said the girl, with an arch glance. "It is post-marked Lexington."

"Oh, yes, it's mine!" exclaimed the boy. "It's from Pat Riley, I guess he wrote it himself."

It was indeed from Patrick. I do not think my readers could decipher it, if I copied the curious spelling, I shall, therefore, give it as Mrs. Curtis, after considerable study, read it to Bertie.

"DEAR FRIEND:--There's a big boy here as knows how to write
tip-top. I and Tip (that's his name) are the most popular boys
in school. He's agreed to write this letter for me, 'cause I want
ye to know how I'm getting on; and there's something I want to
tell ye awful bad, 'cause I know ye'll like it. You was the first
one that ever spoke encouraging to me, and I'll never forget it
of ye as long as I know myself, nor then either. I'm going to try
and be a Squire like your pa; and then I'll take all the little
thieving fellows I can find, and help 'em to be good. Rich folks
don't know how hard 'tis for poor ones to keep from stealin' when
their stomach is as flimpsy as a rag. I know how to pity 'em, for
when mammy locked me up till I'd agree to steal again, there was
such a gnawing and gnawing, that I should have give in, if it
hadn't been for you.

"Every time, I'd say to myself, I can't stand it no longer; then
I'd see you a-sitting in your donkey carriage, looking at me with
such sorry eyes.

"But that isn't what I was going to tell yer; and Tip is getting
tired writing such a lot of stuff. I've begun to be a soldier, I
don't wear any uniform except a little blue star on my coat; but
everybody knows by this, that I'm trying to fight against all my
old habits. It's hard work I tell you. 'Tisn't as if I was at
Mrs. Taylor's, with everybody helping me, and nothing to make me
cross. There's lots of bad boys here, who won't join the company
of soldiers, and they do everything they can to hinder and bother
us. I'm most afraid to tell yer one thing, for fear ye'll think
Tip and I are better than we are. We've begun to pray God to help
us, and it does come a sight easier to do as we oughter.

"If ever ye see anything of my poor old father, I'd like him to
know that I pray for him whenever I do for myself. I shouldn't
wonder if I should get so I could forgive mammy sometime. Perhaps
she didn't know any better.

"Your true friend,

"PATRICK RILEY."