“He’s a nice fellow. I like him already. Of course I am sorry to lose my place, but, if I must, I am willing he should have it. I think we shall be good friends.”
“But what are you going to do, Harry?” asked his mother, anxiously. “Your wages have been our dependence.”
“I am sure I shall get something else to do, mother,” said Harry, in a tone of confidence which he did not feel. “Tending store isn’t the only thing to be done.”
“I am sure, I hope so,” said Mrs. Gilbert, despondently.
“Don’t trouble yourself, mother, about the future. Just leave it to me, and you’ll see if I don’t get something to do.”
Nevertheless, the widow could not help troubling herself. She knew that employment was hard to find in the village, at any rate and could not conjecture where Harry was to find it. She did not, however, say much on the subject, fearing to depress his spirits.
Saturday night came, and Harry received his wages.
“I don’t know where my next week’s wages are coming from, Mr. Mead,” he said, soberly.
“You may be sure that I will recommend you for any employment I hear of, Harry,” said Mr. Mead, earnestly. “I really wish I could afford to keep you on. You mustn’t allow yourself to be discouraged.”
“I won’t—if I can help it,” answered Harry.