Slow and Sure: The Story of Paul Hoffman the Young Street-Merchant

"Where do you live?" asked Paul.

"In Centre street. It is a miserable place, but all I can afford."

"May I ask your business?"

"I am an artist. I came from England, my native country, some months since, hoping to better my fortune here. But I fell sick in a short time, and continued so until a week since."

"You are not looking well."

"I have overcome my disease, but I need nourishing food, and I have not been able to buy it."

"How did you pay your expenses while you were sick?"

"I brought over with me a small sum of money, and by great economy I made it last till a week since. I am unknown, and, though I have two pictures finished, I cannot sell them. I was told that America was a good country for the poor; but I do not find it so for me."

"It may be, after you are known."

"But what shall I do in the meantime?"

Here an idea came to Paul. He had long intended to obtain a teacher of drawing for Jimmy. It would be a charity to employ this poor artist if he were competent.

"Did you ever give lessons in drawing?" he asked.

"Yes; I gave lessons in England. I would gladly find scholars here, but I am not known."

"I have a little brother who has a great taste for drawing," said Paul. "You may begin with him."

"Thank you," said the stranger, warmly. "You give me new hope. I will teach him gladly, and leave the price of the lessons to you."

"If you will tell me where you live I will call there at noon. You will want to buy some food for your little girl."

"Yes, poor little Mary, I must not leave her waiting any longer. I shall be very glad to see you at my poor room. It is No. – Centre street, back room, third floor. Ask for Mr. Henderson."

"I will be sure to call."

The artist made his way to a baker's where he bought a loaf of bread. Also at a shop near by he obtained a pint of milk, and, provided with these, he hastened home to his hungry child.

At noon, after taking lunch, Paul found his way to the address given him by the artist. The room was dark and scantily furnished. Mr. Henderson sat before an easel, trying to work. He got up hastily as Paul entered.

"I am glad to see you, my good young friend," he said. "Take a seat."

"Is this your little daughter?" asked Paul.

"Come here, Mary, and speak to the gentleman," said her father.

Mary Henderson was a delicate looking little girl of eight years, with dark hair and eyes. She would have been pretty if she had been stronger and more healthy. A few weeks of good food and country air would bring back the roses to her cheeks, and fill out her emaciated form.

"Have you any pictures finished?" asked Paul.

"I have two small ones. Would you like to see them?"

"Very much."

The artist went to a closet, and produced two small pictures unframed. One was an English country landscape, pretty in design, and executed, as Paul thought, with taste.

"I like that," he said.

"The other is better," said Mr. Henderson.

He exhibited the other canvas. It was a simple sketch of a brother and sister on their way to school. The faces were bright and pretty, the attitudes natural and graceful, and all the details were well carried out.

"You are right," said Paul. "This is the best picture. The girl's face looks familiar. It is your own little girl, is it not?"

"Then you see the resemblance?"

"Yes, it is very like, but–"

"But it represents a blooming, healthful child, while my poor Mary is thin and pale. Yet when the picture was painted, before I left England, it was an exact likeness. You see what privation and the bad air of the city have done for her."

"She will look like it again. A few weeks will bring her back."

"I hope so."

"You ought to get a good price for these pictures, Mr. Henderson."

"If I had a name, I could."

"If you are willing to trust me with them, I will see what I can do for you."

"Thank you a thousand times."

"I may not be able to sell them, but I will try. Have you set a price on them?"

"No; I will sell them for anything they will fetch—for five dollars even, if no more can be obtained."

"I hope to get more."

"Mary, wrap up the pictures for the gentleman," said her father.

The little girl did so.

"If you can call on me this evening at half-past seven, Mr. Henderson," said Paul, "I will make arrangements about your giving lessons to my little brother."

"I will certainly do so."

"You will not be afraid to leave your little girl alone?"

"She can stay with a neighbor."