"What means all this?" said my bewildered uncle.
"I tell you vat means it all!" the vindictive little impostor, tiptoeing up to him, yelled at his cheek. "I make not vell my affairs in your country; I vould return to Faderlant; for conwenience I carry dis pappeer. I come here; I am suppose teaf; I accept de position to be your companion, for if a man hear, you kill him tead soon vid your book and your ten, twenty parish! I hear! you kill me! and I go!"
And, having obtained his moneys and his shirt, he went. That is the last I ever saw of my little Iron-Clad. I remember him with gratitude, for he did me good service, and he had but one fault, namely, that he was not iron-clad!
As for my uncle, for the first time in his life, I think, he said never a word, but stalked into the house. Dolly soon came running out to ask what was the matter; Popworth was actually packing his carpet-bag! I called Andrew, and ordered him to be in readiness with the buggy to take the old gentleman over to the railroad.
"What! going?" I cried, as my uncle presently appeared, bearing his book and his baggage.
"Nephew Frederick!" said he, "after this treatment, can you ask me if am going?"
"Really," I shouted, "it is not my fault that the fellow proved an impostor. I employed him with the best of intentions, for your—and our—good!" "Nephew Frederick," said he, "this is insufferable; you will regret it! I shall never—NEVER" (as if he had been pronouncing my doom)—"accept of your hospitalities again!"
He did, however, accept some money which I offered him, and likewise a seat in the buggy. I watched his departure with joy and terror,—for at any moment he might relent and stay nor was I at ease in my mind until I saw Andrew come riding back alone.
We have never seen the old gentleman since But last winter I received a letter from him he wrote in a forgiving tone, to inform me that he had been appointed chaplain in a prison, and to ask for a loan of money to buy a suit of clothes. I sent him fifty dollars and my congratulations. I consider him eminently qualified to fill the new situation. As a hardship he can't be beat; and what are the rogues sent to prison for, but to suffer punishment?
Yes, it would be a joke if my little Iron-Clad should end his career of imposture in that public institution, and sit once more under my excellent uncle! But I can't wish him any such misfortune. His mission to us was one of mercy. The place has been Paradise again, ever since his visit.—Scribners Magazine, August, 1873.