[BEN BARRY'S CHRISTMAS-BOX.]
THERE was not a better known man in all the town than old Ben Barry. He was the owner of a large tilted wagon with a truck attached to the back of it by a chain, and a horse which looked neither strong enough nor fat enough for the labour of dragging wagon and truck when fully laden.
Ben was a handsome fellow, who had been a sailor, and who still went to and fro in a river steamer from the comparatively small town in which he lived to the large seaport near the river's mouth. People called him old, not because he was so, but because everybody knew him so well, and looked on him as a person of large experience.
Ben's business was to start at the end of the town the farthest from the pier whence the steamer sailed, and to collect the goods and parcels which were to be sent by it. He blew a long horn at all the street corners, and used to delight the lads by the musical flourishes in which it was his pleasure to indulge.
On the return of the steamer, it was Ben Barry's duty to deliver all parcels and packages brought by it, and often a passenger's luggage as well. The process of collecting the goods in the morning was a long one, but as nothing compared with that of distributing them at night. The poor old horse went at a snail's pace, and it was noticed that he stopped, without the admonitory "Whoa," at every public-house, and that it took longer to leave goods at such a place than at all the shops in the town beside.
Ben was not a good master to his bony steed, and in the bitter weather did not care that old Jack was standing supperless in the cold, whilst he was taking glass after glass, professedly to keep it out of his own throat, in a well-warmed, well-lighted room. Still Ben's immovable good temper, merry jokes, and really obliging disposition, made him a favourite with many, and at Christmas time especially, he received a gift, and too often a glass along with it, from most of the tradespeople.
It happened one very cold winter, that Ben's potations to keep out the frost became more frequent, and the delivery of goods more tardy and irregular; so Mrs. Barry, fearing for the safety of the parcels, sent her little son Jack—a sturdy ten-year old—to guard the same whilst the father was indoors. This made Ben all the more comfortable. Jack was a trusty fellow, too small to deliver goods, but certain not to forsake his charge. So Ben stayed a little longer by the warm tap-room fire, and Jack and the old horse shivered outside in company.
Christmas came, and Christmas-boxes. Ben dropped many a coin into his pocket, and swallowed many more glasses free of cost than were good for him. At the principal stationer's shop, which was also the post-office, Ben had had many large packages to deliver. There he did not expect that his Christmas-box would be supplemented by a glass, for the postmaster was a staunch teetotaler; but he felt sure of a handsome tip, and with a smiling face wished him a merry Christmas and a happy new year!
The coat fitted him just a little too much.