Joshua Marvel

"And the money that poor Josh left?"

"All gone, sir."

"O Dan!" groaned the Old Sailor, "why wasn't I told of this?"

Dan gave him a sad look, but made no other reply.

"And the poor mother," continued the Old Sailor, "how must she have suffered! And Ellen, poor lass! and the little one! Dan, Dan! if I don't feel to you as if you were my son, I could find it in my heart to be angry with you!"

"Nay, sir," urged Dan gently, "you are not to blame. We are unfortunate, that is all. We are not the only ones, I dare say."

"Come, now, open your mind to me. Look things in the face. What do you see before you this time twelve months?"

The practical question was like a blow, and Dan trembled. The answer came from his reason in which there was no hope.

"What do I see before me this time twelve months? Worse poverty than this-and this is hard enough, God knows! We are growing poorer every day, and every day it is a puzzle where to-morrow's food will come from. All our friends have fallen off from us; when Ellen and Jo's mother go into the streets, not one pleasant face greets them. They come back, sad and suffering. And they must bear it while they remain in this neighborhood, if they are to be true to Jo. I can understand now how some good people are made bad by the world's injustice. It won't make them bad, I can answer for that; but I'm not so sure of Mr. Marvel. I haven't seen a smile on his face for months; his nature seems to be completely changed. I am almost afraid to think what remorse might drive him to, for he is continually reproaching himself with being the cause of all our misfortunes. He says he drove Jo to sea, when his influence would have kept him at home; and this thought stings him day and night. As for me, I earn very little money now. And I am so stupid," he added, with an odd smile, yet thoughtful withal, "as to repine sometimes that we can't live without silver and copper."

The Old Sailor dabbed his face with his handkerchief in a state of great excitement during this recital, and was compelled to wait until he was cool before he said, "So, taking them altogether, things are very bad."

"Taking them altogether, sir," said Dan, "I don't see how they could be worse. We have only one consolation."

"What is that, Dan?" asked the Old Sailor eagerly, with a faint hope that it was something tangible.

"Our faith in Jo, and our knowledge that he is good and true, as we have always known him to be. Poor Jo!"

The Old Sailor groaned.

"You can't live on that, Dan," he said.

"No, sir," replied Dan with rare simplicity; "but it is a great comfort, nevertheless."

The Old Sailor pressed Dan's hand.

"'Tisn't so bad a world," he murmured more to himself than to Dan, "despite its injustice." Then aloud: "What would be the best thing for all of you to do, Dan, under the circumstances?

"There is but one thing, sir; and I might as well wish for cheese from the moon as wish for that."

"Perhaps not, Dan, perhaps not. Tell your wish."

"I want some money."

"Ah! how much?"

"Enough to take us to Australia, where we could commence a new life."

"You hinted at that some time ago, Dan."

"Yes, sir."

"That's what you meant when you said you wanted a friend?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I took no notice of it, like a hard-hearted old hunks as I am. Do you know why I took no notice of it, Dan?"

"No, sir."

"Because I didn't want to part from you-because I didn't want to lose the only friends I have in the world-because I thought only of myself; and how lonely I should feel when you and my little Ellen and the good mother were thousands of miles away. Well, well! Old as I am, I'm not too old to learn from younger heads. Look you, my lad! But stop-we'll have the women up."

The Old Sailor went down into the kitchen where Ellen and Mrs. Marvel were, and took a hand of each, and led them gravely up stairs into Dan's room.

"This is a family council, my dears," he said, kissing them, "where we are to speak our minds without hesitation. Dan has been making things clear to me, and I see a good deal to which I've been blind, selfishly blind, more shame to me. When the storm came on, I had an idea that you might be able to weather it; but you were not strong enough, and human hearts have not been so kind to you as winds and waves are. The winds howl to-day, but a calm comes to-morrow; the waves dash over you for a time, but presently the sea grows smooth. That's at sea; 'tis different on land sometimes. You have found it so, my dears, eh?"

They sighed assent, and waited in a state of painful expectancy for what was to come.

"And here you are with every sail split, with every spar broken, with bulwarks dashed in, and every thing adrift. And around you cruel tongues and unjust hearts. What! with all this craft in view, won't one come forward, and ask, What cheer? Not one? And yet you've held out a helping hand many a time, my dear" (to Mrs. Marvel), "as I well know, and spared a spar here and a bit of canvas there, with a willing heart and a free hand. But you are pearls, you women, and teach us goodness. The Lord love you, and send you happier days!"

He almost broke down here; but he recovered himself by a great effort, and continued, somewhat huskily at first: -

"Ah, my dears, I've been in storms, but never a worse than this has been to you. Look up, my lass!" he cried to Ellen, and pointing upwards to the dingy paper ceiling in so earnest a tone that he found all of them followed the direction of his finger, while a new-born hope entered their hearts. "Look up! D'ye see the clouds a-breaking? D'ye see the sun tipping the edges with white light? If you don't, take my word for it, the storm's over, and a friendly craft is bearing down upon you." He paused awhile before he spoke again. "'You see,' says Dan to me, 'what we want is a friend.' Says Ellen to me, the very same day, 'You're the only friend we've got.' What did I do? Clap on sail and bear down upon you? Not I!"

"Nay, sir," interposed Dan.

"Hold your tongue, Dan; I deserve to have the cat for my behavior. Now, hark ye. Before my poor lass here was married to Josh-don't cry, my dear-I made over my little bit of money to them jointly, for better or worse. I dare say it will come to a matter of two hundred pounds. Will that be enough, Dan?"

Dan's sobs prevented a reply, and the women sat silently thankful.

"So look upon that as settled," said the Old Sailor, rising; "and make your arrangements. I'll see what ships are going out, and 'll let you know to-morrow."

He left the room abruptly, unable to bear the thankful looks and tears of his friends. Besides which, he was almost unmanned at the thought of parting from them. They were the only friends he had in the world, as he had said; and when they were gone, he would be left lonely in his old age. The thought flashed across him to go with them, but he dismissed it at once. Not only was he too old to cross the seas, but he felt he could not leave his barge near the old Tower Stairs.

"I should be like a fish out of water," he thought; "and besides, I should only be an encumbrance to the poor souls. I shall be in my dotage soon, and they have troubles enough of their own. No; I'll stop and lay my bones in Old England."

So the faithful old soul set to work at once, and left himself with the very barest pittance to live on, in order to get together sufficient money for the necessities of his friends.

The news soon spread. Some of the neighbors said it was a good job they were going; some were envious; and a few repented of their harshness. These last went so far as to make slight advances towards Mr. and Mrs. Marvel. Mr. Marvel looked at them angrily, and responded with hard words; but his wife, a true peacemaker, was more conciliatory. When she remonstrated with him, and begged him to consider that they were sorry because they had concurred in the general verdict of condemnation of Joshua, he said, -

"Let be, Maggie; if they're sorry for what they've said about Josh, the more shame for them for hurting us as they did. You can do as you like; I sha'n't mind your shaking hands with them. But for me, I've said I'll never forgive them, and I never will." When Susan was told that they were going to Australia, her dull vacant face suddenly lit up.

"We shall be near him," she muttered; "near Minnie too. Poor Minnie! where is she?"

The next moment her old manner was upon her, and she relapsed into vacancy again.

But there was one by whom the news of their intended departure was received with a chill of angry despair. Solomon Fewster could scarcely believe it when he was told. He hurried to the house, blaming himself for his stupidity in trying to starve Ellen into acquiescence.

"This would never have come about," he thought, "if they had not been driven to it by necessity. I ought to have shown myself a greater friend than ever to Dan. Gratitude would have made Ellen love me."

To obtain Ellen's love had become a mania with him. The farther she was removed from him, the stronger grew his desire. "Perhaps it is not yet too late," he thought. He broke into Dan's room in feverish haste, and cried, -