“You have done well, David; half a dollar is a great deal of money to poor folks, like us,” replied his mother, as she took the coin. “I will use this to buy you some clothes.”
“Don’t use it for me, mother, but for yourself. I never felt so happy before in my life. I wish I could earn some more money.”
“Perhaps, there will be a chance by and by.”
When David went to bed that night, instead of going to sleep, he lay awake to think of some way in which he might help his mother. If he could only earn half a dollar every day, it would almost support the family. But he could not think of any way, and so he went to sleep, and dreamed about it.
When he got up the next morning, the first thing he thought of was the half dollar he had earned the day before. School did not keep that day, and he went down to the river to catch some more pickerel. He got three, but they were not so large as the one he had caught the day before. He carried them into the village, and after trying at a dozen houses, he could find no one to buy them. He felt very bad when he carried them home, but his mother told him he must not lose his courage.
Mrs. White cooked the pickerel for their dinner that day, and David said they were very good, and he did not see why no one would buy them. After dinner David’s mother sent him to the store to get some sugar. While the grocer was putting it up, he heard a man in the store say they ought to have the Boston papers in Riverdale, and he did not see why they could not be left at the people’s houses, as they were in other places.
As he walked home, David thought he might carry the papers round and sell them. He had heard about the boys who sold them in Boston. His mother had seen little fellows, no bigger than he was, selling them in the city. If he could only get them he would try the plan. His eyes grew very bright as he thought of it.
“I will do it,” said he to himself. “At least, I will try to do it. I will go right off and see Mr. Field, the express man, and get him to bring me out some papers next Monday.”
When he had carried the sugar home, he started for Mr. Field’s house. He found him at work in his garden, and told him what he wanted.
“Do you think you can sell the papers, my boy?” asked the express man.