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NUMBER 40.
3 . — eee
OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS.
Po tale eae
For the Companion. %
|THE MINISTER'S SON. a
: |#Tfe is a minister’s* son,” said Mr. Pemberton,
; passing his cup fot more tea.
{ “So I understood,” and
| laughed in his sarcastic way Ministers sons are
f sure to be villains, nine out of ten.”> 0”
i “«Q, papd! Abby feels so dreadfully about her
} { brother,”-spoke up Annie ,Wardell.y “She says
+ Frank is a good boy in the main, only he has been
50 easily led—but, indeed, papa, he is trying to re-
form.”
chant, sternly. |
» teaches the school in Green Street; has ever since
* her mother died, and’ she thinks so much of her,
brother, that she is always talking about him.” |
“Humph!” muttered the matter-of-fact merchant,
with ‘a quick ‘glance at his wife; “you two grow) |j
quite romantic over it, I suppose, and fancy this,
fellow an unfortunate and ill-used young man. Do}
you know he has been seen drunk in the streets ?”
Annie blushed—that did seem terrible; but
vague thoughts of his petted childhood, his sor-
. rowful orphanage,’ thrust , themselves upon her
mind. *. ue oo !
“You know they are both orphans,” she ‘said, |
timidly. ‘
_’ | #¥es, and a minister’s children.
that I ought to let you associate with this Abbie.”
“Q papa, she is so gentle and refined. 1 know
you would not object to her, if you knew her. She
is a perfect lady—the dearest friend I have.” |
” = «Indeed; pray, have you ever seen her brother ?””
. “Onee, papa,” and though the young girl was a
very child in thought, word and deed, her father’s
manner, more than his words, made her cheeks
“turn scarlet. .
* Pray, my dear,” said Mrs. Wardell, with a sig-
nificant glance which her husband understood, for
he desisted from his half-bantering, half-angry
speeches. .
“Underwood came to me to-day to know if I
would take him into my employ, and said some-
thing about his reforming, but I have precious little
faith in such promises, and do not choose to run
the risk. My clerks must all be above reproach.”
Mr. Wardell was a rich man who had never
known the trials of adversity. He had been left
with one fortune, and had married another. His
business was increasing, his friends were legion.
Constant prosperity had hardened his heart, He was
not a Christian, though he prided himself on bis
regular habits of church-going, and was a liberal
-alma-giver. But with all his goodness of heart, he
was subject to strange impulses, and where he was
once impressed in any one’s favor or otherwise, it
was difficult to conquer his prejudices. It happens
that he had taken u great dislike to young Frank
Morris. It was true that in this case the young
‘man had given oceasion for such a feeling, for he
had been wild, reckless, and even, for a time, dissi-
ated. But the yearning love of his sweet sister
” had at‘last led him to see the selfishness of his con-
duct, and he had promised amendment, with full
faith in his resolution. On making application for
employment, he had gone to a Mr. Underwood,
who was his father’s friend, he in his turn applying
to the merchant Wardell. The latter had heard of
young Morris’ intemperate habits, and had little or
no faith in the promised reformation, but what he
considered the clincher in his argument against
him, was that he was a minister’s son; . his favorite
theory being that clergymen were 80 confined to @
solitary idea that they had no time to attend to
their families.. To Frank’s great chagrin, although
‘there was a vacancy that his talents would have
- enabled him to fill with credit, he was refused, and
though his friend tried to soften the form of denial,
it was obvious that it had been harsh and decisive.
“\Vhat’s the use?” he said, bitterly, after his
friend had gone, and he sat despondingly in the
little room his sister called their parlor. “Nobody
seems willing to help me. Everything of that sort
goes by favor, and I suppose if I'd been the son of
a merchant, I could have got the place easily |.
enough. There is only one thing left me to do; I
will enlist !” ‘ .
His sister's face grew white. To go amidst the
temptations of the camp in the state of mind he
. ay”
the portly merchant
* © What do you know about him?” cried the mer- | ;
: les
<“Nothingthat is—I only know Abby. . She ||
:
I don't know | |
“BOSTON, THURSDAY,
then was, was to rush upon certain destruction.
Had his principles been such as she could have
trusted to, though it would have torn her heart
with anguish, yet she could cheerfully have given
him up for her country; but now, chagrined, disap-
pointed and hurt to the core of his very heart at
the ungenerous refusal of the merchant prince, he
.might be lost irretrievably. |” :
“ «Don't decide too hastily,” she said, steadying
her voice, and feigning. a cheerfulness she did not
feel; “let us wait a little longer, and I will see Mr.
Wardell myself. I am earning enough for you and
myself too.” : ,
“And do you think I would let you support me?”
cried Frank, indignantly. “I have been taunted
with that already ; no, not for a day.”
At that moment there came upon the air the
loud shout of fire. There were as yet no bells in
the town, and in that portion the houses were few
and far apart, most of them belonging to gentle-
men of wealth. Frank sprang from his seat, and
in a moment was on the street. Turning the cor-
ner, he saw that the mansion of the merchant, Mr.
Wardell, was in flames, the whole roof being nearly
enveloped. The first impulse of the young man
was to stop, with an angry thought ; the next proved
the nobleness of his nature. “I'll show this rich
man fhat I can help him in his need, if he does
despise me,” he said, and forthwith he hurried with
others who were coming to the rescue towards the
burning house. Only the servants were at home,
and they seemed paralyzed with terror, Mr, War-
dell, with his family, had gone on a pleasure excur-
sion, and here was the splendid edifice, with its
costly conveniences and rich furniture, in the power
ofa fierce and implacable foe. For a time the con-
fusion was so great that nothing could be done
effectively, but young Morris did not stop to think,
with the rest. Hurrying up stairs, he closed all the
doors and windows in the third story, and with the
aid of the few servants he could organize, threw
water over the staircases, and worked until the en-
.
co eee ht
OCTOBER 1, 1863.
“HOW A SMALL BOY BECAME A GREAT MAN,” oy
gine came up from the lower village. Then he was
the first to volunteer to ascend to the burning roof,
where he stood as long as there was a foothold,
and till the scalding steam rendered it impossible
for him to remain longer. By this time, much of
the costly furniture was taken out of the lower
part of the house. oon
“O!” cried one of the servants, “what will Miss
Annie say when she comes home and finds her lit-
tle cabinet burnt, for you see there's the miniature
of the only sister she ever had in it, which I’ve
heard her say she wouldn’t part with for worlds,
and the miniature of her grandfather, and she did
love the old gentleman so dearly !” .
“Where is the cabinet?” asked Frank, who,
black, and wringing wet, stood nearyand heard her
lamentation, .
“In the room over this, sir, and the flames are
coming down through the top of the window. I
tried to get there myself, sir, but the hot air
smothered me. It sets on the table, almost the
next thing to the door ;” by this time Frank was
half way up the heated stairs-case. He reached
the room, nearly suffocated, groped his way to the
table, and grasped blindly at whatever object came
first. It happened to be the little cabinet ; an arm-
ful, but not very heavy. Staggering to the door
again, he reached it, when down from the ceiling
fell a great patch of fburning wood and red-hot
plaster, that felled him to the floor. Struggling
up from his fiery sepulchre, he grasped the treasure
he had perilled. his life to save, staggered down
the stairs, and fell senseless on the floor. . The cabi-
net was secured, and instant attention given to the
young man, who was found to be seriously burned.
Very soon the fire was controlled, so that the lower
part of the edifice was saved from destruction.
Meanwhile Frank Derwent was carried home to his
sister, bruised, burned and helpless. No fear of
his enlisting now, or indeed doing anything for
many painful weeks. “Ilis sister was obliged to
procure & substitute for her school, and devote her-
Dene tet oe cate mememnmaanaeaited ee
22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON
e
self exclusively to her brother, as his wounds need-
ed constant attention, .
The dismay of the merchant may be imagined
when, as he drove home, having heard nothing of
his misfortune, he saw the road strewed with the
wreck of. furniture, and as he drew nearer, his
beautiful house nearly ruined, He at once took in
the extent of the destruction, while Annie bewailed
her treasures, especially the loss of the cabinet.
“Indeed you needn't be troubled about that,””
said one of the servants, “for a young man at the
fire saved it at the risk of his own life,” and then
she detailed the circumstances, but was not able to
; | give the name of the young hero who had defended
her dearest treasures so nobly.
It was the third day after the fire. Abbie Morris
sat by the side of her suffering brother, musing
sadly. Frank was asleep. Both arms, bandaged
to the shoulders, Jay on the outside of the coverlid,
and his face was ghastly white. He had suffered
intensely, but much of the pain had left him, so
that for the first hour in all that weary time, he
slept. . A low knock at the door,—Abbie hastened
to open it.) There stood Annie Wardell. With a
low cry she returned her friend’s embrace, then
as she entered and caught sight of the pale face on
the bed, she burst into tears,
“O, Abbie, we just learned this morning who it
was,” she cried, “or rather Idid. Father has been
so busy moving us over to Ptonville, where grand-
mother lives; and he did not dream how serious it
was, I only heard all about it this morning, when
we droveover. I can’t tell you how thankful I am,
and Iam sure papa will never forget it. I shall
tell him all about it. | O how ill he looks, and what
he must have suffered from these cruel burns!”
“lIe has been a great sufferer, but he is easier
now, poor boy,” said Abbie, a motherly look com-
ing into her young face. “Sometimes I-feel that it
is providential, for I think he would have enlisted
that very day; he was so disappointed.”
“I know,” said Annie, her cheeks reddening. “I
think father must have been prejudiced against him
by some enemy; but I assure you his opinion is
very much changed, He will allow, at least,” she
added, smiling, “that though a minister's son, he
is no coward. Ilow terrible it looks to see him
bandaged so! And I am so grateful! You can
never know how grateful. The only picture there
is of my dear sister was in that box, and some
valuable papers that papa would not have lost for
thousands.”
“Tam glad Frank has been able to do so much :
good,” said Abbie, in a low, thankful voice. ‘Poor
Frank, he is a dear, go.” boy, after all; so gener-
ous, 80 noble-hearted. Ie only needs some one to
encourage and direct him.”
“There is no fear but what he will have friends
now,” said Annie; “but I forgot you have been
obliged to leave your school.”
“Yes ;. there is no one else to see to my brother.
T could not leave him.”
“And you are losing—”,
“Not much. Frank will be able to take care of
himself, in a few days, then I shall resume my du-
ties. At present I have a substitute.”
“I wish you had Jet me know,” said Annie; “I
would have taken care of your classes for nothing
but love and good-will; but that will all be made
right. I think you will that see this is a good pro-
vidence in more than one sense. Keep up a good
heart. I have said all along something would
bring you out. But your brother is restless; we
disturb him by talking. Alice will be down here
this afternoon with some jellies, which you must
not refuse, They will make nice, cooling drinks !”
Annie had scarcely been gone an hour, when
Mr, Wardell called. He seemed much shocked to
see Frank so pallid and swathed.
“I did not know about this, definitely, till this
morning,” he said to Frank, as he seated himself
by the invalid’s bedside. “I have called to say
VOL, XXXVI
that I regret my haste in refusing you the situation- ~
you wished, and also to ask your forgiveness for
jadging without knowledge, Your bravery has en-
titled you to my esteem, your suffering to my grati-
tude. As soon as you get well, come right up to
my house; one of my best clerks has enlisted, and
you shall have his place, Never mind thanking
me. I am only doing a duty that I neglected to~
wards the son of a deserving man.” <
