you heard from my uncle, Dr. Kent?” he inquired, a few days after the scene recorded in our first chapter.
His question was prompted by seeing the doctor coming into the yard with an open letter in his hand.
“Yes,” said Dr. Kent, with troubled expression and perplexed took.
“What does Uncle Benjamin say?” asked our young hero, eagerly.
“Nothing very encouraging, Herbert, I am sorry to say,” returned the doctor. “However, here is the letter; you may read it for yourself.”
Herbert received the letter from the doctor’s hands and read it through with feelings of mortification and anger.
Here it is:
“DEAR SIR: I have to acknowledge yours of the 10th inst. I regret to hear of my sister’s decease. I regret, also, to hear that her son, Herbert, is left without a provision for his support. My brother-in-law I cannot but consider culpable in neglecting to lay up something during his life upon which his widow and son might depend. I suspect that he must have lived with inconsiderate extravagance.
“As for myself, I have a family of my own to provide for, and the expense of living in a city like this is very great. In justice to them, I do not feel that it would be right for me to incur extra expense. You tell me that he is now fourteen and a stout boy. He is able, I should think, to earn his own living. I should recommend that he be bound out to a farmer or mechanic. To defray any little expenses that may arise, I enclose ten dollars, which I hope he may find serviceable. Yours etc.,
This cold and selfish letter Herbert read with rising color, and a feeling of bitterness found a place in his young heart, which was quite foreign to him.
“Well, Herbert, what do you think of it?” asked the doctor.
“I think,” said Herbert, hotly, “that I don’t want to have anything to do with an uncle who could write such a letter as that.”
“He doesn’t seem to write with much feeling.” acknowledged the doctor.
“Feeling!” repeated Herbert; “he writes as if I were a beggar, and asked charity. Where is the money he inclosed, Dr. Kent?”
“I have it here in my vest pocket. I was afraid it would slip out of the letter, and so took care of it.”
“Will you let me send it back to my uncle?” asked Herbert.
“Send it back?”
“Yes, Dr. Kent; I don’t want any of his charity, and I’ll tell him so.”
“I am afraid, Herbert, that you are giving way to your pride.”
“But isn’t it a proper pride, doctor?”
“I hardly know what to say, Herbert. You must remember, however, that, as you are left quite unprovided for, even this small sum may be of use to you.”
“It isn’t the smallness of the sum that I mind,” said Herbert. “If Uncle Benjamin had written a kind letter, or showed the least feeling in it for me, or for—for mother [his voice faltered a moment], I would have accepted it thankfully. But I couldn’t accept money thrown at me in that way. He didn’t want to give it to me, I am sure, and wouldn’t if he hadn’t felt obliged to.”
Dr. Kent paced the room thoughtfully. He respected Herbert’s feelings, but he saw that it was not wise for him to indulge them. He was in a dependent situation, and it was to be feared that he would have much to suffer in time to come from the coldness and selfishness of the world.
“I will tell you what to do, Herbert,” he said, after a while. “You can accept this money as a loan, and repay it when you are able.”
“With interest?”
“Yes, with interest, if you prefer it.”
“I shall be willing to accept it on those terms,” said Herbert; “but I want my uncle to understand it.”
“You may write to your uncle to that effect, if you like.”
“Very well, Dr. Kent. Then I will write to him at once.”
“You will find some paper in my desk, Herbert. I suppose you will not object to my seeing your letter.”
“No, doctor, I intended to show it to you. You won’t expect me to show much gratitude, I hope?”
“I won’t insist upon it, Herbert,” said the doctor, smiling.
Herbert in about half an hour submitted the following note to the doctor’s inspection. It had cost him considerable thought to determine how to express himself, but he succeeded at last to his tolerable satisfaction.
“UNCLE BENJAMIN [so the letter commenced]: Dr. Kent has just shown me your reply to his letter about me. You seem to think I wish you to support me, which is not the case. All I should have asked was your influence to help me in obtaining a situation in the city, where I might support myself. I am willing to work, and shall probably find some opportunity here. The ten dollars, which you inclose, I will accept AS A LOAN, and will repay you as soon as I am able, WITH INTEREST. HERBERT MASON.”
“Will that do?” asked Herbert.
Dr. Kent smiled.
“You were careful not to express any gratitude, Herbert,” he said.
“Because I don’t feel any,” returned Herbert, promptly. “I feel grateful to you, Dr. Kent, for your great kindness. I wish I could pay you for that. I shall never forget how you attended my mother in her sickness, when there was small prospect of your being paid.”
“My dear boy,” said the doctor, resting his hand affectionately on Herbert’s shoulder, “I have been able to do but very little. I wish I could do more. If you wish to repay me, you can do it a hundred times over by growing up a good and honorable man; one upon whom your mother in heaven can look down with grateful joy, if it is permitted her to watch your progress here.”
“I will do my best, doctor,” said Herbert.
“The world is all before you,” proceeded Dr. Kent. “You may not achieve a brilliant destiny. It is permitted to few to do that. But whether your sphere is wide or narrow, you may exert an influence for good, AND LEAVE THE WORLD BETTER FOR YOUR HAVING LIVED IN IT.”
“I hope it may be so,” said Herbert, thoughtfully. “When I am tempted to do wrong, I will think of my mother.”
“It is the very best thing you can do, Herbert. And now for your plans. I wish I were in a situation to have you remain with me. But as that cannot be, I will do my best to get you a place.”
“I ought to be at work,” said Herbert, “as I have my living to get. I want you to take that ten dollars, doctor, as part payment of the debt I owe you.”
The doctor shook his head.
“I can’t do that, Herbert, not even to oblige you. You were too proud to accept a favor from your uncle. You will not be too proud, I hope, to accept one from me?”
“No, doctor; I am not too proud for that. You are my friend, and my uncle cares nothing for
