“I have got some clear boards in the workshop, and I think I shall let him make himself a chest of them, and give him a lock and hinges, and handles, and paint to paint it, and then he will have something, and some place that he can call his own.”
“But what is the use of talking to a person about saving who has nothing to save, and no way of getting anything; the principle can’t grow much without the practice, and he has nothing to practice with. It seems to me very much as if grandfather had sat in his arm-chair, and tried to teach James to fell trees by telling him how, and James contented himself with listening. What is the use of giving him a chest with a lock, when, as Bertie says, all in the world he has got to lock up is his mother’s Bible, and one sheet of paper, with the agreement you made with him, written on it?”
“Very well, let him put them in, and his school-books, and his Sunday clothes; then make him up some shirts, and knit him a good lot of stockings. There is something, not much to be sure, but enough to give the idea of ownership. There is something of his own that he can take with him, something quite different from the state of a workhouse boy.”
“But you gave Peter a pair of calves; he raised them, and sold them; Bertie has a pair of steers now, and Maria a pair of sheep. I think it has a good effect upon them, and I don’t see why it should not upon James.”
Jonathan Whitman, who was never in haste to decide, and very seldom announced his intention to do anything till his mind was fully made up, changed the subject of conversation, and there the matter rested for that time.
It was not late enough to work upon the ground, and Mr. Whitman gave the boards to James, and the old gentleman after he had cut and planed them, assisted him in laying out his dove-tails, and by a little instruction from him, James succeeded in making a handsome chest, and was evidently highly gratified, although he was so reticent and singularly constituted, that he never manifested either pleasure or gratitude, as do more impulsive persons. George Wood was at Mr. Whitman’s just as James was putting the last coat of paint on his chest, and James lifted the cover and let him look inside. The boy went home and told his folks about James’ chest.
“Ay,” said Mr. Wood, “Jonathan puts too much confidence in that redemptioner altogether, and now has given him a chest; no wonder the fellow is tickled with it, for he has got something to carry his clothes in when he gets ready to run off.”
An event now occurred that placed the character of James in a very strong light, and completely justified the good opinion Mr. Whitman had formed in regard to him.
They had just finished sowing wheat, and James, having worked very hard till after sundown, had put up the horses and sat down upon the ground to cool off and rest, with his back against the underpinning of the barn, which, as the ground fell off, was raised up several feet on the back side. Into the space thus left the hens were wont to crawl, lay, and sometimes hatch.
“Bertie,” said Mr. Whitman, “we don’t get near the eggs we should this time of year. I don’t believe but the hens lay under the barn; why won’t you look?”