The Elm Tree Tales

by F. Burge Griswold

The goodies came tumbling all about the floor, and the old man was as merry as the children who scrambled after the sugar-plums—Winnie cramming her little mouth until they tumbled out again for want of room. "How do the shirts get on, my good woman?" said Mr. Bond, as he watched the needles flying through the snowy cloth.

"I'll have 'em for ye before long, sir," replied Mrs. Bates, hastening her stitches as fast as she could; "I'd spare the time from my sleep rather than ye should be wanting them, sir."

"Oh! never mind, never mind," said the kind man; "I'm not in any great need, only there's plenty more work when that's done. Where's Pat, Nannie?" continued he, addressing the girl who was minding Winnie; "does he come often to see you, and do you read to him, too?"

"He'll be here the day to see ye, sir," answered Nannie, with a joyous expression; "we've got most through the Progress, and we read in the Bible, too, every day, and Pat's as good a boy now as ye'd wish to see."

"He's got a sad home, Nannie," said Mr. Bond, "and his father and mother'll pull him down again if they can, but we must help him to stand upright. I depend upon you, Nannie," and he looked at her as if he thought there was great might in her aid.

"It's little I can do, sir, save the reading," said she, looking slightly grave, as if too much was expected of her.

"But you can keep him from bad associates," replied her benefactor, "and the half is done then. He loves this quiet place, and you can make it pleasant to him here, so that he will see how much happier it is to live peacefully and Christianlike than to be carousing and drinking as they do in his own home. Poor Pat!" continued he, gazing thoughtfully into the fire, "it's been a sad life to him, but the good is to come."

Nannie thought it had been a sad life to them all until Mr. Bond found them out, but she felt that the future would be bright enough if they might see his kind face once in awhile, and she did not trouble herself with the past now, that was all over, and the days were as merry as merry could be. To be sure her basket was heavy, and her feet weary almost every day, but what cared she for that so long as she could come to so glad a home, and have only kind words and loving faces about her. Mr. Bond did not worry much about Pat after he saw his frank face peering in at the door. "Come in, Pat," said he, as the lad shuffled forward to greet him. "I'm glad to see you, my boy!"

"It's much changed ye are with the sickness," said Pat; "but ye're the same in your heart, I'll ever believe."

Pat was greatly changed, too, his friend could plainly see that as he scanned the boy's features. He had grown so manly, and seemed to feel such a self-respect—not a bold, disagreeable assurance, but a sort of rough, unassuming dignity that was both pleasant and becoming. He did not sit down with his hat on, and his chair tilted backward, and chatter and jabber as if he were of quite as much importance as his benefactor, but stood respectfully, with uncovered head, and answered Mr. Bond's questions modestly and politely, and waited to be asked before he made himself at home in the presence of his superior.