Watch—Work—Wait / Or, The Orphan's Victory

by Sarah A. Myers

"Say rather the kindness of Providence," replied the old woman. "The One who provides for the sparrow put it into their hearts, so let us thank him first of all; and for you, my good boy, may the blessing of God, which alone maketh rich and addeth no sorrow, rest upon you for ever."

There is a world of meaning in that simple petition; and if the prayer of the righteous will from the lowliest hovel climb to heaven's height and bring a blessing down, he was certain to receive in answer a greater and more precious treasure than the gold of Ophir.

Greatly did our little shoemaker enjoy his childish liberty on this evening, which passed away too rapidly for him. All enjoyment must have an end, and although by no means wearied of it, he was at once ready to go home when Mrs. Graham reminded him of the hour. He ran off at full speed, trusting to be at home before the usual time for shutting up the house, and had proceeded more than half way, when the city clocks striking ten changed his late happy mood to one of apprehension. Mr. Walters, he knew, would not wait a moment, even on Christmas eve, for anybody, and he trembled at the thought of what the morning might bring.

His fears were not groundless, for he found the front door locked, and he feared to be obliged to pass the night in the open air. Great was his embarrassment; what was he to do? who would aid him? He thought of his friend Thomas Burton, the watchman; he might have a key which would open the dead latch, but he was already on his round, which, although in the same district, was at a distant point.

The moon was shining brightly, making objects appear almost as distinct as by daylight The crowd had gradually fallen away, until the streets were almost empty; and as he sat in lonely self-communion on the door-step, the increasing cold warned him that he could not remain there until morning. Exercise was better than inaction; he thought he would walk up the street, and meet, perhaps, Thomas, or else some other guardian of the night, who would advise him what to do. But the watchmen seemed all to have left this part of the city, for none appeared. As he was still turning over plan after plan for effecting an entrance, it occurred to him that from a shed in the rear of the building, which could be gained from a narrow street or alley running parallel with it, he could enter by an unshuttered window, provided the sash was not fastened down. He resolved upon trying, and turning into one of the public streets, which would bring him sooner to the place desired than that by which he had come, he walked swiftly onward. He had not gone far before some object glancing brightly in the moonlight attracted his observation.

He took it up, and found it to be a small steel-clasped purse; and from some indications about it, he concluded it had been dropped by a child. The next movement was to open it. Two little gold dollars first glittered before his eyes, then some small silver coin, and last of all a five-dollar gold piece carefully wrapped in paper.

His first feeling was rapture: if what he had done for the Grahams had brought so much happiness, both to them and himself, would it not be increased ten-fold now when owner of such wealth? But then the thought occurred, "It is not mine; somebody must have lost it; somebody maybe that was poor; yes, I will give it back again; to-morrow I will ask Thomas Burton to inquire in the neighbourhood and find out the owner." This seemed the only proper course, and putting the purse in his pocket, he went on the way proposed to himself, and succeeded in gaining entrance to his room without disturbing the family. Notwithstanding the severe exertions and excitement of the day, he found himself unable to sleep; racking pains shot through his limbs, and feverish oppression prevented rest until near morning, when he fell into the unrefreshing stupor, rather than sleep, produced by exhaustion.

From this he was aroused by the usual call to get up and make the fire. He obeyed, although his aching head and prostrated strength scarcely permitted a movement. Serious sickness, long threatening, had at length seized him; and having with the utmost effort dragged himself down to the kitchen, he was barely able to kindle the fire, before he fell fainting on the floor, where Mrs. Walters found him.

Virago and shrew as she was, she could not look at him as he lay there so death-like, without a feeling of compassion. She had him carried to his room in the attic, where she attended him with perhaps as much sympathy as was compatible with her rude nature. For many days he lay in a dreaming kind of stupor; yet the images which forced themselves on his mind, although vague and fitful, were by no means painful; sickness had overtaken him in the midst of right doing, and the impression left by the high and holy duty in which he had last been engaged remained, to shed an influence stronger than the pressure caused by bodily pain. "Fear not, I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee; I will help and uphold thee," were words which floated continually in his mind, although seemingly insensible to all outward objects.

For many days little hope of recovery was given by the physician, called in at the pressing instance of Thomas Burton, who declared he would pay the expense himself; and Mr. Walters, dreading the consequences to his own reputation should the boy die without medical aid, had consented. Skilful treatment, youth, and a good constitution, effected a change which, with good nursing, would have rapidly restored him to health; the latter, however, was entirely wanting, Mrs. Walters believing that if she kept from scolding, and brought him warm drinks, she laid "Bill" under life-long obligation to her for good nursing.