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Page 48
"You'll 'put me up' till I'm clean gone," said Joe, winking to himself,
as he followed his lively wife. "Let them bags alone, marm. You can be
putting me up a big lunch."
"It's all ready, under the wagon-seat. By good rights, Joe, you'd ought
to have a boy to help you."
"It isn't a woman's work, I know," said he, kindly. "You just sit here
and look on."
Joe swung her up on a bale as if she had been a child. Inspired by her
bright eyes he worked with a will. The wagon was soon loaded. Mrs. Joe
ran for his overcoat and best hat, gave him a wifely kiss, and watched
him depart from the low brown door-way.
"She's the best bargain I ever made," thought Joe, as he jogged toward
the city. "I'm not quite up to her time, I know," continued he, and
there was a tender look in his sleepy eyes. "Howsomedever, I'll make a
lucky hit yet!"
The prospect was so cheering that Joe actually snapped the whip at the
"trotter" who was meditating with his head between his knees. Jack,
however, did not increase his gait, but plodded on. It was bitter cold,
and Joe had to exercise himself to keep warm. It was afternoon when the
laden cart entered the city. Hungry Jack had stopped twice, and gazed
around at his master in dumb reproach. Joe was hungry, too; so he
hurried into a square, in the business part of the city, covered his
pet with an old quilt, and giving him his food, went to dispose of his
cargo. But Joe's purchasers had gone to dinner, so he returned, mounted
the cart, and began upon his own lunch.
"Now, if they don't want my stuff, my wife's 'presentiment' 's gone
up," said the elegant Joe, "and I've had this cold trip for nothing."
Just here a remarkable event occurred. Jack suddenly threw up his
meditative head, shied, and stood upon his hind-legs.
[Illustration: "THE BOY WAS ON HIS KNEES."]
"Hey there!" cried his master, delighted at this token of life. "Yer a
trotter, after all?"
"Yer old nag scart, mister?" asked several small boys, who hovered
about.
"He's a leetle lively!" said Joe, proudly. "Keep clear of his heels,
boys."
Jack subsided, but eyed a pile of boxes in a court on the left.
"What ails ye, Jack?"
"It's the hermit ails him!" cried one, pointing toward a huge box from
one side of which somebody's head and shoulders protruded.
"Quit scaring my horse!" cried Joe.
The face was startlingly pale, and the eyes had a troubled, eager
look--the look of anxious care; but Joe knew their owner was a boy,
although he quickly disappeared in the box. Mr. Somerby resumed his
lunch, but kept the reins in case Jack should be startled when the boy
came out. But he did not appear; there was no sign of life in the box.
Joe thought he was either up to some more mischief or afraid; the
latter seemed most likely, as he recalled the white, still face.
Joe got down from his cart and quietly peeped in. He was somewhat
astonished at first, for the boy was on his knees. The sight stirred
his sympathies strangely. The pallid lips were moving; soon, low words
came forth:
"I don't know how to speak to you, dear Lord; but please help me.
Mother prayed to you, and you helped her. Oh! help me, I pray, for
Jesus' sake. Amen."
The listener drew back to brush the tears from his eyes.
"'Minds me o' Parson Willoughby's sermon--'Help, Lord, or I perish!' I
wish my wife was here. I declare I do. The little chap must be in
trouble!"
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