“Hosea Bringle—our oldest and our best clerk—lift up the table cover; Martin Barton hopes you will be pleased with what is under.”
Old Hosea, who had not been in the shop for a long time, lifted up the cover—“Oh, Jenny Hart, how kind; how excellent all these things are; and I was wishing for this box of tools, and all this fine wire; (just as if Jenny Hart did not know his wants) and here is fine perfumed soap, and every thing an old man wants; and, ah ha, Miss Jenny Hart, you have found out I have a sweet tooth, have you? (Jenny Hart had furnished him with confectionary for twelve years,) and what’s this?—a suit of clothes? oh, Miss Jenny Hart—and the old man wrung her hand, with his eyes swimming; while she, the good little maiden, laughed till she cried.
“Ira Elkado—lift up that cover,” said she, touching it with her wand. “What can it be?” thought he; “it lies flat; I think she means to play me a trick. I shall not touch it. Nothing can lie under that flat cover;” so he said, “Never mind me, Jenny Hart; pass on to Mr. Archy Campbell.”
“Well, then,” said Jenny Hart, laughing, “Archy Campbell, lift up your parcel;” and Archy Campbell lifted up the cover; but there was nothing but a bunch of rods and a little note. He slipped the note into his pocket, without looking at it, reddening up to the very temples. He likewise took up the bunch of rods, and gallantly kissed it, which made Jenny Hart blush in return. “Devil take the impudent rascal,” said Ira Elkado.
“You come next, Alfred Gray;” and Alfred Gray lifted up the cover, where lay chess men and drawing materials, and perfumery, and books, and keepsakes in plenty. A little note lay there, too; but he left all and went near the door to read it. “Keep the contents to yourself,” whispered Jenny Hart.
Jasper Merry’s parcel was similar to his friend’s; and the little note caused them both to smile. Peter Squires came last; and there lay a nice new suit of clothes for him, and a variety of very useful and pretty articles likewise; such as a poor young man would like to have, and could not afford to buy.
“Now you are all pleased,” said Jenny Hart, “but Ira Elkado; and why he don’t lift up the cover I cannot tell. I must do it for him.” She lifted up the cover, and only a little note was seen. Archy Campbell felt injured, for he dreaded the contents of the note; but he need not have been jealous. It ran thus:
“Mr. Ira Elkado, you have served me faithfully for seven years. I shall want you no longer. At the corner of Joice street, you will find your shop. I hope it will be to your liking. One year’s rent is paid. Your friend, Martin Barton.”
Ira Elkado had nearly fainted; but, rallying, he lifted up his head to thank Jenny Hart; but she was gone. Out he rushed to look at his shop. He might well thank Jenny Hart, for it was all her doings. She had persuaded Martin Barton to give the young man this outfit—a thousand dollars’ worth. Ira Elkado made heaps of money, and died a rich man; but he had visions of Jenny Hart to the last.
At twelve o’clock the little girls’ present was at the door; a handsome new carriage, and a pair of excellent, gentle horses. “There’s for you, dears,” said she, as the happy children flew to the window; “there, jump in. After sitting in church so long you will be the better for a little ride. Come, let us all go; Martin Barton has never been inside of a carriage in his life; and I can scarcely remember how it is.” The whole family—six—took a nice ride to old Mr. Daly’s, and had a fine Christmas dinner.