ought to cut your coat according to your cloth,” he responded. “Much as it will go against my feelings, under the circumstances I am compelled by a prudent regard to my own interests to warn you that, in case your rent is not ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble you to find another tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be raised five dollars a quarter.”
“I can’t pay it, Mr. Colman,” said the cooper; “I may as well say that now; and it’s no use my agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all I can afford now.”
“Very well, you know the alternative. But it is a disagreeable subject. We won’t talk of it now; I shall be round to-morrow morning. How’s your excellent sister; as cheerful as ever?”
“Quite as much so as usual,” answered the cooper, dryly.
“But there’s one favor I should like to ask, if you will allow us to remain here a few days till I can look about me a little.”
“I would with the greatest pleasure in the world,” was the reply, “but there’s another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out to-morrow. In fact that is the very thing I came here this evening to speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent.”
“We are much obliged to you,” said the cooper, with a tinge of bitterness unusual to him. “If we are to be turned out of doors, it is pleasant to have a few hours’ notice of it.”
“Turned out of doors, my good friend! What disagreeable expressions you employ! It is merely a matter of business. I have an article to dispose of. There are two bidders; yourself and another person. The latter is willing to pay a larger sum. Of course I give him the preference. Don’t you see how it is?”
“I believe I do,” replied the cooper. “Of course, it’s a regular proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light, when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family and myself may be without a shelter.”
“My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It is actually sinful to distrust Providence as you seem to do. You’re a little disappointed, that’s all. Just take to-night to sleep on it, and I’ve no doubt you’ll think better of it and of me. But positively I have stayed longer than I intended. Good night, my friends. I’ll look in upon you in the morning. And by the by, as it is so near the time, allow me to wish you a Happy New Year.”
The door closed upon the landlord, leaving behind two anxious hearts.
“It looks well in him to wish that,” said the cooper, gloomily. “A great deal he is doing to make it so. I don’t know how it seems to others, but for my part I never say them words to any one unless I really wish ‘em well, and am willing to do something to make ‘em so. I should feel as if I was a hypocrite if I acted anyways different.”
Mary did not respond to this. In her own gentle heart she could not help feeling a silent repugnance, mingled, it may be, with a shade of contempt, for the man who had just left them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and she strove to get rid of it.
“Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?” she asked.
“Yes, there’s the one at the corner, belonging to Mr. Harrison.”
“It is a better one than this.”
“Yes, but Harrison only asks the same that we have been paying. He is not so exorbitant as Colman.”
“Couldn’t we get that?”
“I am afraid, if he knew that we had failed to pay our rent here, he would object.”
“But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would have brought you to such a pass.”
“It may be, Mary. At any rate you have lightened my heart a little. I feel as if there was some hope left.”
“We ought always to feel so, Timothy. There was one thing that Mr. Colman said that didn’t sound so well, coming from his lips; but it’s true, for all that.”
“What do you mean, Mary?”
“I mean that about not distrusting Providence. Many a time have I been comforted by reading the verse, ‘Never have I seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread.’ As long as we try to do what is right, Timothy, God will not suffer us to want.”
“You are right, Mary. He is our ever-present help in time of need. Let us put away all anxious cares, fully confiding in his gracious promises.”
They retired to rest thoughtfully, but not sadly.
The fire upon the hearth flickered, and died out at length. The last sands of the old year were running out, and the new morning ushered in its successor.
CHAPTER IV. THE NEW YEAR’S PRESENT
“HAPPY New Year!” was Jack’s salutation to Aunt Rachel, as, with an unhappy expression of countenance, she entered the sitting-room.
“Happy, indeed!” she repeated, dismally. “There’s great chance of its being so, I should think. We don’t any of us know what the year may bring forth. We may all be dead before the next New Year.”
“If that’s the case,” said Jack, “we’ll be jolly as long as it lasts.”
“I don’t know what you mean by such a vulgar word,” said Aunt Rachel, disdainfully. “I’ve heard of drunkards and such kind of people being jolly; but, thank Providence, I haven’t got to that yet.”
“If that was the only way to be jolly,” said Jack, stoutly, “then I’d be a drunkard; I wouldn’t carry round such a long face as you do, Aunt Rachel, for any money.”
“It’s enough to make all of us have long faces, when you are brazen enough to own that you mean to be a drunkard.”
“I didn’t say any such thing,” said Jack, indignantly.
“Perhaps I have ears,” remarked Aunt Rachel, sententiously, “and perhaps I have not. It’s a new thing for a nephew to tell his aunt that she lies. They didn’t use to allow such things when I was young.—But the world’s going to rack and ruin, and I shouldn’t much wonder if the people are right that says it’s comin’ to an end.”
Here Mrs. Crump happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the grocery, in the next street, and buy a pint of milk.
Jack took his cap and started, with alacrity, glad to leave the dismal presence of Aunt Rachel.
He had scarcely opened the door when he started back in surprise, exclaiming, “By hokey, if there isn’t a basket on the steps!”
“A basket!” repeated Mrs. Crump, in surprise. “Can it be a New Year’s present? Bring it in, Jack.”
It was brought in immediately, and the cover being lifted there appeared a female child, of apparently a year old. All uttered exclamations of surprise, each in itself characteristic.
“What a dear, innocent little thing!” said Mrs. Crump, with true maternal instinct.
“Ain’t it a pretty ‘un?” said Jack, admiringly.
“Poor
