"Yes, sir."
"Very well: it shall be the last time."
At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him sternly for a moment, and then said—
"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You can go home."
The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say something about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved his hand impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any excuse.
Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of consistency was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error. His word had passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the shadows that now fell upon his heart—more fretted the state of mind that supervened.
Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed until his whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a little further inquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather than censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and ill-judged actions!
The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an hour afterward, a man came to him and said—
"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note to-day."
"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie frowned darkly as he thus replied.