Part 6 (1/2)
”Don't trouble yourself, mother, about the future. Just leave it to me, and you'll see if I don't get something to do.”
Nevertheless, the widow could not help troubling herself. She knew that employment was hard to find in the village, at any rate and could not conjecture where Harry was to find it. She did not, however, say much on the subject, fearing to depress his spirits.
Sat.u.r.day night came, and Harry received his wages.
”I don't know where my next week's wages are coming from, Mr. Mead,” he said, soberly.
”You may be sure that I will recommend you for any employment I hear of, Harry,” said Mr. Mead, earnestly. ”I really wish I could afford to keep you on. You mustn't allow yourself to be discouraged.”
”I won't--if I can help it,” answered Harry.
The next day was Sunday, and he did not realize that he was out of a position; but, when Monday morning came, and he could lie abed as long as he pleased, with no call to work, he felt sad.
After a light breakfast, he rose from the table and took his hat.
”Where are you going, Harry?” asked his mother.
”I am going out in search of a job, mother,” he replied.
The number of stores was limited, and he was pretty sure in advance that there was no opening in any one of them, but he wanted to make sure.
He applied at one after another, and without success.
”I'd take you quick enough, Harry,” said Mr. Draper, the dry-goods dealer, ”but I've got all the help I need.”
”So I expected, Mr. Draper, but I thought I would ask.”
”All right, Harry. If I hear of anything, I will be sure to let you know,” said Mr. Draper, in a friendly tone.
All this evidence of friendliness was, of course, pleasant, but the prospect of a place would have been more welcome, so poor Harry thought.
At ten o'clock he reached home.
His mother looked up when he entered, but she saw, by the expression of his face, that he had not succeeded.
”You must be tired, Harry,” she said. ”You had better sit down and rest.”
”Oh, no, I'm not tired, mother. If you'll tell me where the four-quart kettle is, I'll go and pick some blueberries.”
”What will you do with so many, Harry?”
”Carry them to Mr. Mead. Every two days he sends a supply to market.”
”How much does he pay?” asked the widow, brightening up at this glimpse of money to be earned.
”Eight cents a quart, payable in groceries. It won't be much, but will be better than nothing.”
”So it will, Harry. I don't know but I can do better going with you than to stay at home and sew.”
”No, mother; you would be sure to get a headache, exposed to the sun in the open pasture. Leave me to pick berries. It is more suitable for me.”