Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life by Jr. Horatio Alger (english novels to improve english txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Timothy Crump's Ward: A Story of American Life by Jr. Horatio Alger (english novels to improve english txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“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 thing!” said the cooper, compassionately.
“It's a world of iniquity!” remarked Rachel, lifting up her eyes, dismally. “There isn't any one you can trust. I didn't think a brother of mine would have such a sin brought to his door.”
“Good heavens, Rachel!” said the honest cooper, in amazement, “what can you mean?”
“It isn't for me to explain,” said Rachel, shaking her head; “only it's strange that it should have been brought to this house, that's all I say.”
“Perhaps it was meant for you, Aunt Rachel,” said Jack, with thoughtless fun.
“Me!” exclaimed Rachel, rising to her feet, while her face betrayed the utmost horror at the suggestion. She fell back in her seat, and made a violent effort to faint.
“What have I said?” asked Jack, a little frightened at the effect of his words. “Aunt Rachel takes one up so.”
“He didn't mean anything,” said Mrs. Crump. “How could you suspect such a thing? But here's a letter. It looks as if there was something in it. Here, Timothy, it is directed to you.”
Mr. Cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:—
“For reasons which it is
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