Chapter III: The New Bonnet

"He that loveth pleasure, shall be a poor man."

"MAMMA," asked Ella Haven, after breakfast the next morning, "will you please let me work. I want to help Bridget make the beds, or do something."

"Nonsense, child! play with your baby-house, and make the beds in that if you please." Turning to her husband, she asked, with a laugh, "What idea do you suppose the child has now?"

"Do please let me, mamma! The boy down stairs told me his sister worked, and that the Bible says we all must work. So I do want to."

"That is good preaching," remarked Mr. Haven. "Who is the boy, Ella?"

The child told all she knew of her young friend, and that he would not talk to her until she had obtained her mother's permission. "I've seen him about here, and sent him errands more than once," said the gentleman. "He is a sturdy little fellow, and will make something yet."

In the mean time, Harrison was at his place in the back-court, evidently anticipating with much pleasure another visit from his young friend. Nor was he disappointed. Just as he had comfortably arranged his baskets, a happy laugh announced her approach.

"How do you do this morning?" she asked, with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. Then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, "have you bought the bonnet yet?"

"Oh, no! I haven't half money enough! though I earned a great deal yesterday. I want to get a real nice one; but I don't know how much it will cost."

Ella ran to her mother's room out of breath with excitement. "How much does a bonnet cost, mamma; a straw one, with a pretty ribbon on it? Harrison is going to buy one for his mother, and we don't know how much it costs."

"We, indeed," repeated the lady with an arch glance at her husband, who was just leaving the room, "a bonnet costs anywhere from two to twenty dollars."

The child tripped back again to carry the important information.

Harrison laughed merrily at the idea of his mother in a twenty-dollar bonnet. "When I think I have enough," he said, "I shall go into a store and ask the price of such an one as I want."

"Do you work every day?" inquired Ella. "Every day but the Sabbath. I go to church then, and to Sabbath school. Perhaps I shall go to day-school next winter. If I do, I mean to study real hard."

"Who will buy your bread then?"

"Father and mother; and I shall work too when I'm out of school. I had six houses last winter where I shovelled the snow from the steps and sidewalks. I earned a new pair of shoes and a coat. Mother says, after all, the habit of diligence is worth more to me than what I earn."

"I wish I could work," exclaimed the child; "but there is nothing for me to do. Sometimes I get papa's slippers for him. I mean to do it every day. Oh! I forgot to tell you my brother is coming home to-day! He's been away at boarding school. When you come to-morrow I'll take him down here to see you. I'm so glad he's coming home. His name is Alfred,—for papa."

Harrison did not feel the same interest in the brother as he had in the sister. Though about his own age Alfred looked much older, and, though handsome, yet had an unpleasant expression upon his countenance. To please Ella he went down to be introduced to Harrison, anticipating, as he told his mother, some capital fun.

"This is my brother," said Ella, holding his hand fondly. "I told him you wanted to see him."

Alfred drew up his form; but Harrison only glanced at him with a smile.

"He can whistle beautifully," rejoined Ella, glancing in her brother's face. "I've heard him a good many times."

"He shells peas well, I see," said Alfred; "I suppose he has a great deal of practice."

Harrison colored; not at the charge, but at the sneering tone of the youth. He wondered how such a boy could be related to Ella.

"When I get a place, I'll hire you to shell peas for me," continued Alfred, in a patronizing manner. "I shall hire a great many servants."

"I don't expect to shell peas all my life," replied Harrison, proudly.

"Ha! what do you expect to do?"

"I can't tell yet."

"Perhaps you think you shall be rich, and ride in a coach."

"It may be so. I learned a verse from the Bible last night; it was this: 'Seest thou a man diligent in his business, he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.'"

Alfred had sense enough to know that the lad had the best of the argument. He therefore turned on his heel and walked away, followed closely by his sister, though not until she had given Harrison a parting nod and smile.

Poor fellow! he had not been at home many days before the rich pastry and confections with which his parents pampered his appetite, laid him on a bed of sickness. During his confinement he was so fretful and hard to please that his patient little sister at length became weary of staying at his bed-side, and was glad to escape to the open, shady balcony, where she could have a glimpse of the cheerful countenance of her new friend.

With a child's quickness of discernment, however, she soon discovered that he was not as happy as when she first knew him. He no longer whistled when busy at his work, and his face at times wore a look of anxious care. Ella tried her utmost to persuade him to confide his griefs to her, but in vain; he smiled sadly, but shook his head.

It was indeed true that sorrow and anxiety had entered the abode of Mr. Danforth. Since his employment in the saloon he was often out a great part of the night; sometimes not returning home for days together. When he did so, his whole character seemed so much changed for the worse that his poor wife could take no comfort in his society. It was quite evident that he had entirely forgotten his pledge of abstinence from intoxicating drinks. His pallid countenance and sunken eyes would have betrayed him to his watchful wife, even if his unsteady gait and offensive breath had not done so.

For the sake of her son Mrs. Danforth wore in his presence a cheerful face, though it often concealed an aching heart, sore with its secret griefs.

"I wish we lived in the country, mother," exclaimed Harrison one evening.

"Why! my dear, those were just my thoughts at that moment; but perhaps sorrow would follow us even there."

"We might have a little farm. Wouldn't that be nice? I don't think there are any oyster saloons in the country, mother."

"Perhaps not, dear; but those who are disposed to run into temptation, will find danger lurking everywhere."

It was now some weeks since Harrison had begun to save money for the new bonnet. The next afternoon following this conversation he was sent upon an errand, and unexpectedly received three shillings for the promptness and fidelity with which he performed it. This, added to his stock on hand, would make just four dollars. He determined to appropriate the whole of it, and instantly hurried home to ask his mother to accompany him to a milliner's. On his way he saw a pretty straw bonnet, ready trimmed, hanging in a show-case, and could not resist the temptation of asking the price. What was his delight to find it less than the sum he had earned. So great were his excitement and joy that he burst into his mother's room, startling her not a little by his abrupt entrance.

"Come!" he exclaimed, "come quick, mother! I want to show you something. Oh, I'm so happy! Please put on your bonnet, and come with me to the next street."

"What is it, dear?" she asked, in some surprise, "I had rather know before I go out."

"Well, then, please wait a minute and I'll tell you." He ran into his small room, put his hand under the ticking, and drew out a small purse. Happiness swelled his young heart almost to bursting. This was his first gift. It was to his dearest earthly friend, purchased with his own earnings. Suddenly his heart almost ceases to beat. He misses the familiar sound of the silver pieces, so fondly treasured, so often counted. He holds the purse up to the light; he presses his fingers convulsively upon it. Yes, he realizes that his hard earned money is gone,—all gone,—and with one loud cry throws himself across his narrow bed.

Mrs. Danforth ran quickly to his aid, but he could not speak; his disappointment was too great. At length he began:

"It's too bad! It's too mean to steal money from a little boy like me, and from an own son too. He shall give it back! It's mine, and I'll have it again," were his expressions, uttered in a loud angry tone, so different from his usual tender voice that his mother started from him in amazement.

A passionate burst of tears at length relieved the poor boy, and, sitting at his mother's feet, he unfolded to her the secret so carefully cherished, and the bitter disappointment which had overwhelmed him.

Mrs. Danforth's tears fell thick and fast; not at the loss of the bonnet, not even at the grief of the boy, sad as it was, but at the downfall of all her hopes. She pressed her hands upon her heart and sobbed aloud, "O God! that I should have lived to see this day! Give me strength to bear thy chastening rod."