Part 50 (1/2)
”What are you reading, Harry?” asked the old man, after a while.
”Franklin's life, Uncle Obed.”
”You couldn't read anything better. Old Ben is a good model for American boys. He was a great man.”
”So he was, Uncle Obed; and he began poor, too.”
”Sarten, sarten! Poor boys make the smartest men--that's my observation.”
”Then I've got one thing in my favor,” said Harry, smiling.
”And you will succeed, too; I make no doubt of it. You've made a pretty good beginning already.”
”Thank you, Uncle Obed, for your favorable opinion. I hope I shall deserve it.”
”You're worth half a dozen boys like Philip Ross. I reckon he'll never amount to much.”
”He doesn't think so,” said Harry, smiling. ”He thinks himself a very important character.”
”Like enough! He looks like it. He doesn't care to own me as a relation.”
”It would be different if you were rich, Uncle Obed.”
”Mebbe so. I think so myself. Thank the Lord, I ain't beholden to him or his family for any favors. They wanted to send me home to Illinoy. I was too unfas.h.i.+onable for them, I expect, but I've found a home--yes, I've found a good home.”
”I am glad we succeeded in making it comfortable for you, Mr. Wilkins,”
said Mrs. Gilbert, looking up from her sewing.
”You do, ma'am,” said the old man. ”I ain't been so well taken care of for years as I am now. I wish I could do something to show my grat.i.tude.”
”The money you pay us is of great service. It makes the largest part of our income. I am only afraid you pay too much.”
”No, I don't,” said Uncle Obed. ”Money isn't of much vally, compared with a good home. If I ain't as rich as my niece, I can afford to pay fair board. When a man's turned seventy, as I have, the best money can do for him is to give him a happy home.”
Mrs. Gilbert and Harry were pleased to find their boarder so contented.
The money he paid weekly, with unvarying punctuality, made things easy for the widow, and relieved her of the anxiety which she had constantly felt before his arrival.
The conversation above recorded was scarcely over, when a knock was heard at the front door--a sharp, peremptory knock--as of one who demanded admittance, rather than requested it.
All looked up, with some surprise, for it was now eight o'clock, and they did not often have evening callers.
”I will go to the door, mother,” said Harry. ”You need not interrupt your sewing.”
So Harry opened the outer door, and, considerably to his surprise, saw standing on the step the dignified figure of Colonel Ross.
”Colonel Ross!” he exclaimed, in surprise.
”I will come in a few minutes,” said the Colonel, stiffly.