while Jack seated himself on a three-legged stool near his aunt, and began to whittle out a boat after a model lent him by Tom Piper, a young gentleman whose aunt has already been referred to.
The cooper took out his spectacles, wiped them carefully with his handkerchief, and as carefully adjusted them to his nose. He then took down from the mantel-piece one of the few books belonging to his library,—“Captain Cook’s Travels,”—and began to read, for the tenth time it might be, the record of the gallant sailor’s circumnavigations.
The plain little room presented a picture of peaceful tranquillity, but it proved to be only the calm which precedes a storm.
The storm in question, I regret to say, was brought about by the luckless Jack. As has been said, he was engaged in constructing a boat, the particular operation he was now intent upon being the excavation or hollowing out. Now three-legged stools are not the most secure seats in the world. That, I think, no one can doubt who has any practical acquaintance with them. Jack was working quite vigorously, the block from which the boat was to be fashioned being held firmly between his knees. His knife having got wedged in the wood, he made an unusual effort to draw it out, in which he lost his balance, and disturbed the equilibrium of his stool, which, with his load, tumbled over backwards. Now it very unfortunately happened that Aunt Rachel sat close behind, and the treacherous stool came down with considerable force upon her foot.
A piercing shriek was heard, and Aunt Rachel, lifting her foot, clung to it convulsively, while an expression of pain distorted her features.
At the sound, the cooper hastily removed his spectacles, and letting “Captain Cook” fall to the floor, started up in great dismay—Mrs. Crump likewise dropped her sewing, and jumped to her feet in alarm.
It did not take long to see how matters stood.
“Hurt ye much, Rachel?” inquired Timothy.
“It’s about killed me,” groaned the afflicted maiden. “Oh, I shall have to have my foot cut off, or be a cripple anyway.” Then turning upon Jack, fiercely, “you careless, wicked, ungrateful boy, that I’ve been wearin’ myself out knittin’ for. I’m almost sure you did it a purpose. You won’t be satisfied till you’ve got me out of the world, and then—then, perhaps–” here Rachel began to whimper, “perhaps you’ll get Tom Piper’s aunt to knit your stockings.”
“I didn’t mean to, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, penitently, eyeing his aunt, who was rocking to and fro in her chair. “Besides, I hurt myself like thunder,” rubbing vigorously the lower part of the dorsal-region.
“Served you right,” said his aunt, still clasping her foot.
“Sha’n’t I get something for you to put on it?” asked Mrs. Crump of (sic) her-sister-in-law.
This Rachel steadily refused, and after a few more postures, (sic) indicating a great amount of anguish, limped out of the room, and ascended the stairs to her own apartment.
CHAPTER III. THE LANDLORD’S VISIT
SOON after Rachel’s departure Jack, also, was seized with a sleepy fit, and postponing the construction of his boat to a more favorable opportunity, took a candle and followed his aunt’s example.
The cooper and his wife were now left alone.
“Now that Rachel and Jack have gone to bed, Mary,” he commenced, hesitatingly, “I don’t mind saying that I am a little troubled in mind about one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Crump, anxiously.
“It’s just this, I don’t anticipate being stinted for food. I know we shall get along some way; but there’s another expense which I am afraid of.”
“Is it the rent?” inquired his wife, apprehensively.
“That’s it. The quarter’s rent, twenty dollars, comes due to-morrow, and I’ve got less than a dollar to meet it.”
“Won’t Mr. Colman wait?”
“I’m afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Mary. There ain’t much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else.”
“Perhaps you are doing him injustice.”
“I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?”
“How was it?”
“Underhill was laid up with a rheumatic fever for three months. The consequence was, that, when quarter-day came round, he was in about the same situation with ourselves,—a little worse even, for his wife was sick, also. But though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no pity; but turned them out without ceremony.”
“Is it possible?” asked Mrs. Crump, uneasily.
“And there’s no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can’t but feel anxious about to-morrow, Mary.”
At this moment, verifying an old adage which will perhaps occur to the reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself?
Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to the meaning of his visit.
He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay veiled under his velvety softness of manner.
“Good evening, Mr. Crump,” said he, affably, “I trust you and your worthy wife are in good health.”
“That blessing, at least, is continued to us,” said the cooper, gravely.
“And how comfortable you’re looking too, eh! It makes an old bachelor, like me, feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with such a scene of comfort as this. You’ve got a comfortable home, and dog-cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don’t have to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I’ve about made up my mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter, hereafter.”
All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less bitter.
“It seems to me, Mr. Colman,” remarked the cooper soberly, “you have chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent.”
“Why singular, my good sir?” inquired the landlord, urbanely.
“You know of course, that this is a time of general business depression; my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month past, I have not been able to find any work.”
Colman’s face lost something of its graciousness.
“And I fear I sha’n’t be able to pay my quarter’s rent to-morrow.”
“Indeed!” said the landlord coldly. “Perhaps you can make it up within two or three dollars?”
“I can’t pay a dollar towards it,” said the cooper. “It’s the first time, in five years that I’ve lived here, that this thing has happened to me. I’ve always been prompt before.”
“You should have economized as you found times growing harder,” said Colman, harshly. “It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know you can’t pay the rent.”
“You sha’n’t lose it Mr. Colman,”
