Eric, a waif

by Emma Leslie

CONSETT FARM was a notable place in its way, and the well-to-do farmer was highly respected in Boston. That he was a Methodist was something to laugh over among those who had known him before, but anything in the way of persecution, such as the followers of Mr. Wesley met with in England, was unknown in America.

But although persecution would not have been tolerated for one moment among the liberty-loving colonists, there was another way of making these people feel that they were unpopular among the giddy and thoughtless throng, and that was by trying to get the lads he employed to join in some wild adventure whenever they went into town.

"Consett's lads" were always well-known figures in the streets of Boston, for they generally led a little crowd of well-groomed, sleek-coated horses, that had either been out to the farm to recruit, or were horses recently bought by customers and brought to The Old Bell tavern for delivery to their various owners.

Now, to get the lad in charge of them, make him half tipsy, and then go off with one of the horses for an hour or two, or induce him to send the horses to the wrong owners, was a favourite device of some of the idle wights of the city, as well as of those who ought to have known better.

There was no particular ill-will felt against master or man, only Mr. Consett was known as a Methodist, and very particular, and so fun at his expense, or that of his servants, was more piquant than that which could be got out of any one else.

Eric was told of this before he had been at the farm long, and at the same time was informed that he would have to go to the city with his master the following week, to take some horses to The Old Bell yard, and to bring home some packages which Mrs. Consett needed for her housekeeping.

Eric smiled at the tales he heard about the tricks that had been played upon his predecessors, but at the same time felt sure no one would catch him loitering or drinking when he ought to be attending to his master's business.

They set off on their journey soon after breakfast one bright summer morning, and Eric was not a little elated to find himself mounted on a spirited little pony in charge of half a dozen other horses, tethered one behind the other, and fastened to his own saddle. Mr. Consett had as many under his charge, and led the way along the road, while Eric as proud and happy as a king, followed at a short distance, wondering as he went along whether the Osprey had sailed yet, or whether he might see his dear friend once more in the streets of Boston.

She had left Consett Farm to stay in the city, that she might be at hand whenever the Osprey should have made up her cargo and be ready to sail. She also hoped to see some of those who had come out with her, that she might have an opportunity of saying a word to them of comfort and cheer in their new and strange surroundings.

Eric knew about this, and hoped that the Osprey had been detained longer in the harbour than was expected, that he might have an opportunity of seeing this dear friend once more before she sailed for England.