Alger Horatio Jr.
Wait and Hope: or, A Plucky Boy's Luck

Chapter XVI

Ben's Loss

It has already been mentioned that there was a train to Milltown at half-past ten in the morning. Of course Ben was too late for this. He ascertained, however, that there was another train at five o'clock, and this he resolved to take.

"Where are we going, Ben?" asked Emma, as they stepped out of the station.

"Don't you feel hungry, Emma?"

"Yes."

"Then we will go and have some dinner, first of all."

This proposal was satisfactory to the little girl, who took Ben's hand and walked up toward Washington Street with him.

On School Street they found an eating-house which did not appear too high in price, and Ben led Emma in.

They seated themselves at a table, and ordered dinner. Just opposite sat a pleasant-looking man, of middle age. He was fond of children, and his attention was drawn to little Emma.

"Is that your sister?" he inquired of Ben.

"No, sir," answered Ben.

"No relation?"

"No, sir; she is from New York. She is going to board with my aunt."

"Does your aunt live in Boston?"

"No, sir; in Milltown."

"Has the young lady come into the city on a shopping excursion?" inquired the new acquaintance, smiling.

"No, sir; she is just on her way from New York. I went to fetch her."

"You are a young guardian."

"Rather, sir; but there was no one else to go for her."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Are you attending school?"

"No, sir; I should be glad to do so; but my aunt is not in good circumstances, and I have to work. I have been employed in the mills, but they discharged some of their hands lately, and I was among them."

"How would you like to come to Boston to work?"

"Very much."

"I may some time have a vacancy for you. I am a wholesale stationer on State Street. Give me your address, and if I have any opening I will write to you."

"Thank you, sir," said Ben; "I should like very much to work here."

Ben took the stranger's card, from which he learned that his name was Otis Johnson, and that he dealt in stationery, blank books, diaries, and a similar line of goods.

"This may lead to something," thought Ben. "I should enjoy living in Boston. There is a good deal more going on here than in Milltown."

It was about quarter of two when Ben and Emma rose from the table.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Emma.

Ben considered.

"The train doesn't start till five," he said. "We won't go to the station yet, for we should get tired of waiting. We will walk about, and look into the shop windows, unless you are tired."

"I am not tired. I should like it," said Emma.

Presently they came to the old State House. Ben's attentions was attracted by a Charleston car. He knew that Bunker Hill Monument was in Charleston, and it struck him that it would be a good opportunity to go and see it.

"Does this car go to Bunker Hill Monument?" he inquired.

"Yes," said the conductor. "It goes within two minutes' walk of it."

"How long does it take to go there?"

"Twenty minutes."

Ben reflected that the train did not start till five o'clock, and that there would be plenty of time for the excursion. He did not know when he would have another chance, and resolved to avail himself of this.

He helped Emma to board the car, and got on himself.

"I like to ride in electric cars, Ben," said Emma.

"So do I, Emma. Do you know what we are going to see?"

"What is it?"

"A great stone monument, five times as high as a house."

"What is a monument?"

Ben explained to her.

"Does anybody live in it?" asked the little girl.

"No, I don't think it would be a very pleasant place to live in."

"What did they build it for, then?"

Ben explained that a great battle had been fought on the hill where the monument stood.

"Do they fight any battles there now, Ben?" asked Emma, in some apprehension.

"Why? Are you afraid of getting killed?"

"Yes."

"There is no danger. It is over a hundred years since there was any fighting there."

Just then the car stopped, and a new passenger got on and sat down just opposite Ben and his young charge. Ben did not take special notice of her, and was surprised to hear a familiar voice.

"I declare, if it ain't the little gal,"

Looking up, he recognized the old lady, his fellow passenger.

"How do you do, ma'am?" he said.

"Putty well. Where be you goin'?"

"Over to Bunker Hill."

"I'm goin' to Charleston, myself. My son is away with his wife, and I'm goin' over to stay with my niece till he comes back. How do you do, little gal?"

"Pretty well," said Emma.

"You don't know me, do you?"

It was an unfortunate question.

"Yes, I do. You're the lady that takes snuff," said Emma.

Some of the passengers tittered, and the old lady turned red in the face.

"Well, I never did!" she exclaimed, in mortification. "You're a bad-behaved little gal."

"She didn't mean to offend you, ma'am," said Ben. "She's very young."

"She's old enough to behave. Children didn't use to sass their elders like they do now. If one of my children was to behave so, I'd shut 'em up in a dark closet for twenty-four hours, with only dry bread to eat."

The old lady shook her head vigorously, and glared at Emma over the top of her spectacles. It was just as well, perhaps, that Emma was absorbed in looking out of the window, and did not listen to what the old lady was saying. Being a high-spirited and free-spoken young woman, she would have been likely to reply, and that would have made matters worse.

The ride was not a long one, for but a narrow bridge separates

Boston proper from the historic town of Charleston.

"You get out here," said the conductor. "Go up that street to the monument."

Ben could see the great stone pillar standing up against the sky in plain sight, and he ascended the hilly street toward it.

"That is the monument, Emma," he said.

"It looks like a big chimney," said Emma; "only chimneys are made of brick."

"It would take a big house to need such a chimney as that," said Ben.

They reached the top of the hill, and stood beside the monument, which looked immensely tall, now that they were close to it.

"This is where Warren fell," said Ben, repeating to himself a piece of information which he had heard.

"Did he fall?" inquired Emma.

"Oh, no; he was killed in the battle here."

"Are you going to ascend the monument?" asked a gentleman who had come up the hill another way.

"I didn't know you could," said Ben.

"There is a spiral staircase inside. Most visitors ascend it. There is a splendid view from the top."

"I should think there would be."

"Will you go? I think of going, and would like your company."

"No, I guess not," said Ben. "It would be too much for Emma. She is only a little girl, and could not stand the fatigue."

"I wouldn't dare to go up so high, Ben," said Emma timidly.

Here a well-dressed lady, who had heard the discussion said: "If you would like to go up, young man, I will take care of the little girl till you come down. Will you stay with me, my dear?"

She smiled pleasantly, and Emma's confidence was won.

"Yes, Ben, I will stay with her," she said; "only don't be gone too long."

Ben hesitated. He wanted to go up, and was not sure when he would have another opportunity. He could see no reason to doubt that Emma would be entirely safe under the care of the stranger.

"I don't like to give you so much trouble," said Ben.

"It will be no trouble," said the lady politely. "I am fond of children."

It was twenty-five minutes before Ben descended. He looked for

Emma, and his heart gave a great bound of dismay.

Neither Emma nor the lady was to be seen.

Chapter XVII

The Strange Captor

This was what had happened.

When Ben was fairly on his way up the monument, the lady addressed

Emma.

"My dear," she said, "are you fond of candy?"

"Ever so much," said Emma.

"Suppose we go to a candy store and get some?"

"But I don't want to leave Ben," said the little girl.

"Oh, we will be back before he returns," said the lady. "Will you come?"

"If you are certain sure you will be back in time."

"Oh, yes, my dear."

The lady's manner was so kind that Emma felt entire confidence in her promise.

"Yes, I will go."

They walked down the hill in a different direction from that which they had come up. This brought them to a street on which were some shops. The lady entered one, leading Emma by the hand.

"Give us one half-pound of assorted candy," she said.

The girl behind the counter weighed out the candy and handed it to her.

They left the shop.

"Now are we going back to Ben?" asked Emma.

"I have sent word to him to come to my house and take supper, my dear child. Come with me, and you will see him soon."

How should Emma know that this was not true? She was a little girl, with no experience of the world, accustomed to put confidence in those she met, and the lady was very kind in her manner.

"Is your home far off?" she asked.

"No, it is quite near."

This proved to be true.

The lady turned up a street lined with neat dwellings and rang the bell.

A servant answered the bell.

"Is it you, mum?" she said.

"Yes, Jane."

Jan looked inquiringly at the little girl, and was on the point of asking who she was; but she knew her mistress was peculiar and said nothing.

"This little girl will stay to tea," said the lady. "Put on an extra plate."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And isn't Ben coming, too?" asked Emma, noting the omission.

"Yes, Jan, you may put on two extra plates."

Emma followed her new acquaintance up-stairs, and was led into a neat bedchamber. The lady entered it, bade Emma enter, locked the door, and then, sinking on the floor before the astonished child, exclaimed with evident emotion: "Have I found you at last, my dear, dear child?"

Emma was startled at the lady's tone, and for the fist time felt alarmed.

"I ain't your child," she said. "What makes you call me so?"

"Are you not my dear little Mary?" said the lady.

"No, my name isn't Mary. My name is Emma."

"Did they change your name, my dear child? Was it not enough to take you away from me, without changing your name?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Emma, ore and more alarmed.

"I want to go back to Ben."

"Would you leave your mother, my child?"

"You are not my mother. Let me go."

Emma ran to the door, but it was locked, and the key was in the lady's pocket.

"I cannot let you go, my dear child. You have been away from me too long already. I have been very lonely without you."

Her tone was still kind – it had never varied – but Emma was thoroughly frightened.

"Let me go!" she began to cry. "I want to go to Ben."

The lady looked at her in mingled grief and wonder.

"Can a child turn from her own mother to a stranger?" she said musingly. "She forgets that she is my little Mary. She no longer loves me."

"My name is Emma," said the little girl. "Why did you take me away from Ben?"

Help was at hand, though it came from a stranger.

A knock was heard at the door, and the lady rose and opened it. The newcomer was a little younger than the lady already mentioned, but bore such a resemblance to her as to indicate that she was her sister. She looked at surprise at Emma.

"Where did you get this child, Clara?" she asked.

"It is my little Mary. Don't you see that it is?"

"You are mistaken, Clara. Your little Mary is in heaven."

"She has come back again. This is she. Don't you see that it is she?" asked the lady called Clara earnestly.

"My poor sister," said the younger lady compassionately, "you are mistaken. This is not your little Mary. Where did you find her? To whom does she belong?"

Emma had listened to this conversation with interest, feeling that it concerned her. She answered the question herself.

"I belong to Ben," she said.

"Where is Ben?" asked the younger lady.

"He is at the big stone chimney. He was going up to the top. He left me with her."

"You mean the monument, don't you, my dear child?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is this true, Clara?"

"Yes," the elder sister admitted.

The younger lady looked perplexed.

"You did wrong, Clara, to take the little girl from her brother. He will feel very anxious about her.

"She said she would buy me some candy," said Emma.

"Could I see my child, and not claim her?" said Clara.

"I am not your child. What makes her say I am her child?"

"My dear," said the younger lady gently, "my poor sister lost her little girl not long since. She has not been well since. When she saw you to-day she thought you were her little Mary."

"I want to go back to Ben. What will Ben say?"

"Certainly, you must go back to your brother. Come, my child, we will try to find him."

Emma went down-stairs with her new friend. Clara did not attempt to hinder her, but seated herself with an air of dependency in an armchair, and buried her face in her hands.

"I am afraid Ben has gone away," said Emma.

"It is very perplexing," said the young lady to herself. "We will go out and try to find your brother. If we cannot, you can tell me where your home is and I will take you there."

"I don't know exactly where it is," said Emma; "I have never been there. I came from New York. I am going to board with Ben's aunt."

"And you don't know where she lives? You don't know the name of the town."

Emma shook her head.

"My poor sister has done great mischief," said the young lady gravely.

"I must do my best to remedy it."

They went out into the street together.

Meanwhile, Ben, in great trouble of mind, remained in the neighborhood of the monument for ten minutes or more.

"Perhaps the lady has taken Emma on a little walk," he thought.

"Perhaps she thought I wouldn't be down so soon."

Ben felt that it was very inconsiderate, but he would not at first believe that there was anything really wrong. But when ten minutes has passed he became alarmed, and began to blame himself.

"Aunt was right," he thought. "I wasn't fit to be trusted with the care of a little girl. What shall I say to Mr. Manning? What shall I do?"

He looked about him in despairing bewilderment. Streets radiated from the monument in several different directions. Which should he take? If he took any, there was not more than one chance in four that it would prove the right one.

He was still standing there when the gentleman who had gone up with him descended.

"Where is the little girl?" he asked.

Ben explained his trouble.

"Don't be alarmed, my boy," said the gentleman, in a tone of sympathy; "I will help you. Sooner or later we shall hear of the child."

"What shall I do?" asked Ben.

"It is possible the child may be brought back. I will remain here to receive her if she comes, and you may go and search for her. Come back in about half-an-hour."

Ben started on his quest, and with feverish haste he explored street after street, but in vain. With sad heart he retraced his steps to the monument. What was his joy to find Emma returned, and in charge of the gentleman he had left behind and another lady.

An explanation was given, to which Ben paid little attention, such was his joy at the recovery of his young charge.

"What time is it, sir?" he inquired of his companion.

"Five minutes to five."

"Then we are too late for the train," exclaimed Ben, in dismay.

Chapter XVIII

The Envelope

"What train?" asked the gentleman.

"The five-o'clock train to Milltown."

"Is that the last train?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will have to wait till to-morrow. Will it make much difference?"

Ben blushed.

"I shall have to stay at a hotel," he said uncomfortably, "and I don't think I have money enough. I did not expect to have that expense."

"I can relieve you on that score," said the gentleman. "I live in Charleston, not far away. You shall stay at my house to-night, and go home by the morning train. There is a morning train, isn't there?"

"Yes, sir, at half-past ten."

"You will accept my invitation?"

"Yes, sir, and thank you," said Ben gratefully. "I don't know what I should have done if you had not invited me."

"I am glad to have the opportunity of doing you a kindness. I want to send you away with a good impression of Charleston."

It was a handsome house to which Ben was led by his new friend. His wife received the two children with unaffected kindness, and soon made them feel at home. During the evening Mr. Somerby, for this was his name, drew out of Ben the particulars of his history and present position. Ben seemed so frank and manly that he was quite pleased with him.

Mr. Somerby was not in business, unless he may be called a capitalist. He was the possessor of a large fortune, and the care of his property required a considerable share of his time. When Ben was ready to go the next morning, Mr. Somerby put an envelope into his hand.

"Don't open this till you get home," he said.

"No, sir."

"Now, good-by, and good luck to you."

"Thank you, sir."

Meanwhile Mrs. Bradford at home was feeling anxious. Old Mrs. Perkins had dropped in to make a call, and her conversation wasn't reassuring.

"Hasn't Ben got back?" she asked.

"Not yet."

"There's a great risk in sendin' a boy so fur," said the old lady.

"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Bradford uneasily.

"To be sure I do. He's too young."

"That's what I thought; but Ben was very sure he could get along."

"Boys is allus confident," said Mrs. Perkins, whose knowledge of grammar was not very profound; "but I never knew one that you could rely on."

"Benjamin is a good boy."

"Yes, he's a good boy as boys go; but don't you trust him too fur.

When did you expect him back?"

"I expected him last night."

"And he didn't come? Just as I thought."

Mrs. Perkins nodded her head vigorously, and looked unutterably wise.

"Maybe the cars is gone off the track," said the old lady.

"Oh, don't say such things, Mrs. Perkins," said Mrs. Bradford uneasily.

"I didn't say they had, but we're havin' a dreffle number of accidents nowadays."

"Ben is all right," said Tony, thinking he ought to defend his cousin.

"He said when he went away, he'd come home right side up with care."

"Little boys should be seen and not heard," said Mrs. Perkins.

"'Always be prepared for the worst.' That's my motto."

"And my motto is 'Wait and Hope!'" said a familiar voice outside the door.

"It's Ben!" exclaimed Tony joyfully.

The door was thrown open and there stood Ben, with little Emma's hand in his.

"Aunt Jane," he said, "here's little Emma, come to live with you."

"My dear, I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Bradford.

Emma looked in her gentle face, and liked her at once.

"Will you be my aunt, too?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear."

"Tony, come here and be introduced," said Ben.

Tony was bashful at first, but it was not very long before he and

Emma were merrily playing together.

"So you're railly back, Benjamin?" said old Mrs. Perkins, rather disappointed.

"Yes, ma'am. How's James?"

"Loafin' round, as usual," said his affectionate relative. "Boys are so shiftless."

"They may be," admitted Ben good-naturedly, "but they get hungry sometimes. Aunt Jane, is there anything to eat in the house?"

"I will set the table at once," said his aunt. "The little girl must be hungry, too."

"You're undertakin' a great responsibility, Mrs. Bradford," said

Mrs. Perkins. "The little girl will be a great care to you."

"I don't look upon it in that light," said Mrs. Bradford. "I am glad to have her here."

"Humph! You will talk different a month from now. But I must be goin'."

After dinner Ben bethought himself of the envelope which Mr.

Somerby had given him.

He opened it, when a bank-note dropped to the floor. Picking it up, he saw, to his amazement, that it was a fifty-dollar bill. With sparkling eyes he read the letter, or rather these few lines which were penciled on a half-sheet of note paper:

"I have been interested in your story, and beg your acceptance of the enclosed as a slight help and encouragement. Should you ever need advice or assistance, I shall be glad to have you call upon me." "Frederic Somerby"

"What do you think of that, Aunt Jane?" said Ben in a tone of exultation. "Hasn't my motto worked pretty well, after all? Isn't it better to 'Wait and Hope' than to give up and get discouraged?"

"Yes, Ben, I begin to think you are right."

"We are better off than when I was at work in the factory."

"Yes, Ben; we can get along very comfortably."

"I have been thinking, aunt, that while business continues dull I will go to school. This money I will put in a savings-bank, and we shall have it to fall back upon if we need it."

This plan met with Mrs. Bradford's approval, and was carried out by Ben. When he returned from the savings-bank, with his book in his hand, he felt like a capitalist. In fact, he was so cheerful that his aunt caught the infection, and looked brighter than she had for years.

"It is pleasant to have money in the bank," she said to old Mrs. Perkins.

"Like as not the bank will break," said the old lady.

"I see an account last week of a savin's-bank that failed. I wouldn't trust any of 'em."

"Mrs. Perkins," said Ben, with mock gravity, "I heard last week of a man who died in his bed. I'd never go to bed if I were you."

"It aint' well to joke," said the old lady. "Always be prepared for the worst."

"That isn't my motto," said Ben. "As long as I live I mean to 'Wait and Hope'!"