Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📕

Towards evening they drew up before a small house with a neat yard in front.

“I guess we'll get out here,” said Mr. Stubbs. “There's a gentleman lives here that I feel pretty well acquainted with. Shouldn't wonder if he'd let us stop over Sunday. Whoa, Goliah, glad to get home, hey?” as the horse pricked up his ears and showed manifest signs of satisfaction.

“Now, youngster, follow me, and I guess I can promise you some supper, if Mrs. Stubbs hasn't forgotten her old tricks.”

They passed through the entry into the kitchen, where Mrs. Stubbs was discovered before the fire toasting slices of bread.

“Lor, Jehoshaphat,” said she, “I didn't expect you so soon,” and she looked inquiringly at his companion.

“A young friend who is going to stay with us till Monday,” explained the pedler. “His name is Paul Prescott.”

“I'm glad to see you, Paul,” said Mrs. Stubbs with a friendly smile. “You must be tired if you've been traveling far. Take a seat. Here's a rocking-chair for you.”

This friendly greeting made Paul feel quite at home. Having no children, the pedler and his wife exerted themselves to make the time pass pleasantly to their young acquaintance. Paul could not help contrasting them with Mr. and Mrs. Mudge, not very much to the advantage of the latter. On Sunday he went to church with them, and the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, made him listen to the sermon with unusual attention. It was an exposition of the text, “My help cometh from the Lord,” and Paul could not help feeling that it was particularly applicable to his own case. It encouraged him to hope, that, however uncertain his prospects appeared, God would help him if he put his trust in Him.

On Monday morning Paul resumed his journey, with an ample stock of provisions supplied by Mrs. Stubbs, in the list of which doughnuts occupied a prominent place; this being at the particular suggestion of Mr. Stubbs.

Forty or fifty miles remained to be traversed before his destination would be reached. The road was not a difficult one to find, and he made it out without much questioning. The first night, he sought permission to sleep in a barn.

He met with a decided refusal.

He was about to turn away in disappointment, when he was called back.

“You are a little too fast, youngster. I said I wouldn't let you sleep in my barn, and I won't; but I've got a spare bed in the house, and if you choose you shall occupy it.”

Under the guise of roughness, this man had a kind heart. He inquired into the particulars of Paul's story, and at the conclusion terrified him by saying that he had been very foolish and ought to be sent back. Nevertheless, when Paul took leave of him the next morning, he did not go away empty-handed.

“If you must be so foolish as to set up for yourself, take this,” said the farmer, placing half a dollar in his hand. “You may reach the city after the banks are closed for the day, you know,” he added, jocularly.

But it was in the morning that Paul came in sight of the city. He climbed up into a high tree, which, having the benefit of an elevated situation, afforded him an extensive prospect. Before him lay the great city of which he had so often heard, teeming with life and activity.

Half in eager anticipation, half in awe and wonder at its vastness, our young pilgrim stood upon the threshold of this great Babel.

Everything looked new and strange. It had never entered Paul's mind, that there could be so many houses in the whole State as now rose up before him. He got into Broadway, and walked on and on thinking that the street must end somewhere. But the farther he walked the thicker the houses seemed crowded together. Every few rods, too, he came to a cross street, which seemed quite as densely peopled as the one on which he was walking. One part of the city was the same as another to Paul, since he was equally a stranger to all. He wandered listlessly along, whither fancy led. His mind was constantly excited by the new and strange objects which met him at every step.

As he was looking in at a shop window, a boy of about his own age, stopped and inquired confidentially, “when did you come from the country?”

“This morning,” said Paul, wondering how a stranger should know that he was a country boy.

“Could you tell me what is the price of potatoes up your way?” asked the other boy, with perfect gravity.

“I don't know,” said Paul, innocently.

“I'm sorry for that,” said the other, “as I have got to buy some for my wife and family.”

Paul stared in surprise for a moment, and then realizing that he was being made game of, began to grow angry.

“You'd better go home to your wife and family,” he said with spirit, “or you may get hurt.”

“Bully for you, country!” answered the other with a laugh. “You're not as green as you look.”

“Thank you,” said Paul, “I wish I could say as much for you.”

Tired with walking, Paul at length sat down in a doorway, and watched with interest the hurrying crowds that passed before him. Everybody seemed to be in