Who Are Happiest? and Other Stories

"I could hardly believe my ears. But by the assistance of my eyes, when he put a check for the amount I had asked for into my hands, I was fully assured that he was in earnest. I don't know that I ever stopped to thank him, so overjoyed was I at such unexpected and cheerfully tendered relief. Three or four days afterward I took him the money he had loaned me.

"'Keep it longer, if you desire to do so. I have no present use for it,' said he.

"I hardly knew whether to take him at his word or not. But necessity is an eloquent pleader.

"'If you can spare it as well as not, it will be an accommodation. My payments are heavy in the next ten days,' I replied.

"'Retain the use of it and welcome,' said he kindly. After a pause, he inquired how I was getting along, and did it with so much sincerity that I was tempted to state frankly the position of my affairs, and did so. He listened with a good deal of interest, and afterward asked many questions as to the nature and profits of my business. I concealed nothing from him in favour or against myself as a business-man.

"'You must be sustained, Mr. Miller,' said he. 'I have a few thousand dollars uninvested, that I will keep free for six months or so. As far as you need assistance in meeting your payments, I will afford it. Pay no more exorbitant interests; waste no more time in running about after money; but put all your thoughts and energies down to your business, and twelve months from to-day will see you freed from embarrassment.'

"And he was right."

"He was certainly a noble fellow," said Mr. Jones. "Pity there were not more like him!"

"That it is," remarked Mrs. Mayberry.

"He belongs to another grade of beings than your Montos."

"Who?" Miller spoke quickly.

"We were talking of Monto when I called you," said Mr. Berry. "Our friends have a very poor opinion of him."

"Of Mr. Monto? Why, it is of him that I just now spoke."

"Of Monto!" ejaculated Lee.

"Certainly. He it was who so generously befriended me."

"Impossible!" ejaculated Mrs. Mayberry.

"Not at all, for it is true. I never was more mistaken in any one in my life than in Mr. Monto. He has his faults and defects of character, as all men have. He is irascible and impatient, and makes in consequence a great many enemies."

"He was certainly kind to you, Mr. Miller," said Mrs. Mayberry. "But still, I don't believe in him. Look at the way he treated that poor young man whom he raised from a boy. That stamps his character. That shows him to be cruel and vindictive."

"There is another side to that story, without doubt," remarked Mr. Berry.

"That there is," said Miller; "and suppose we look at it. Monto knew that young man much better than you or I, or any of us. He had borne with his irregular habits and evil conduct for years, as well as a man of his peculiar temperament could bear with them."

"A precious kind of forbearance it was, no doubt. It isn't in him to bear with any one," broke in Mr. Jones.

"Will you censure a man for what he can't help?" asked Mr. Miller.

"I don't know that we should," was replied.

"It is clear that we ought not; for to do so would be for us to ask of him an impossibility, and censure him for not performing it. Mr. Monto is a man, as we all know, of exceedingly impatient temper. Keep that in view. He takes this boy when quite young, and educates him as well as teaches him his business. Before he is of age he abuses the confidence reposed in him by his benefactor, neglects his business, associates with vicious companions, and purloins his money. Still Monto bears with him, in the hope that he will change. But he grows worse and worse; and at length, after a long series of peculations at home, gets into a difficulty, and is sent to jail to await the judgment of the law in his case. I happened to be in Mr. Monto's store when he was sent for to bail the young man out.

"'No,' he said firmly to the messenger, 'he is much better in prison than out.'

"The man went away, and Monto, turning to me, said—

"'That, Mr. Miller, is the most painful thing I have done in my whole life. But to have acted otherwise would have been wrong. Kind admonition, stern reproof, angry expostulation, all have failed with this young man, in whom I cannot help feeling a strong interest. I will now leave him to the consequences of his own acts, and to the, I hope, salutary results of his own reflections. If these fail to reform him, there is no hope.' This was the spirit in which it was done. He did not attend court when the trial came on, but he had a messenger there, who kept him constantly advised of the proceedings. The acquittal gave him great pleasure, and he expected the young man would return to him, changed and penitent. He was, alas! grievously mistaken. The enlistment hurt him exceedingly. I could perceive that his voice was unsteady when he spoke of it. If he erred in his conduct, it was an error of judgment. He meant to do good. But I do not believe he erred. In my opinion, the young man is fit only for the grade he now occupies, and he is better off where he is."

"There is good in every one," said Mr. Berry, when Miller ceased speaking; "and we will find it, if we look at the other side."

"No truer word than that was ever spoken," returned Mr. Miller. "Yes, there is good in every one; and more good than evil in Monto, you may all be assured."

The censurers of Monto approved the words by a marked and half-mortified silence.

Yes, there is good in every one; there is another side. Let us look for this good rather than for what is evil, and we will think better of mankind than we are now disposed to do.

THIN SHOES.

THIN SHOES

"Why, Lizzy, dear!" exclaimed Uncle Thomas, to his pretty niece, Miss Walton, as she stepped upon the pavement from her mother's dwelling, one morning in midwinter—"You are not going in this trim?"

"In what trim?" said Lizzy, glancing first at her gloves, then upon her dress, and then placing her hand upon her neck and bosom to feel if all was right there. "Is any thing wrong with my dress, uncle?"

"Just look at your feet."

"At my feet!" And Lizzy's eyes fell to the ground. "I don't see any thing the matter with them."

"Why, child, you have nothing on your feet but paper-soled French lasting boots."

"They have thick soles, uncle."

"Thick! If you call them thick, you will have to find a new term for thinness. Go right back, and put on your leather boots."

"Leather boots!" Lizzy's voice and countenance showed an undisguised amazement.

"Yes, leather boots. You certainly wouldn't think of going out on a day like this without having your feet well protected with leather boots."

"Leather boots! Why, Uncle Thomas!"—and the musical laugh of Miss Walton echoed on the air—"who ever heard of such a thing?"

Uncle Thomas glanced involuntarily down at his own thick, double-soled, calfskin understandings.

"Boots like them!" exclaimed the merry girl, laughing again.

"But come along, my good uncle," she added more seriously, drawing her arm within his, and attempting to move away. "We'll have all the neighbourhood staring at us. You can't be in earnest, I'm sure, about my wearing clumsy leather boots. Nancy, the Irish cook, has a pair; but I"–

"And pray, Lizzy," returned the old gentleman, as he yielded to the impulse given him by his niece, and moved down the street beside her—"are you so much heartier than Nancy, so much stouter and stronger, that you can bear exposure to damp and even wet pavements, in thin shoes, while she will not venture out unless with feet well protected by leather boots?"

"My shoes are not thin, uncle," persisted Lizzy. "They have thick soles."

"Not thin! Thick soles! Look at mine."

Lizzy laughed aloud, as she glanced down at her uncle's heavy boots, at the thought of having her delicate feet encased in leather.