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. Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“Tell me all about it, Paul.”
Aunt Hester sat down and listened attentively to our hero's story.
“How do you account for the money being found in your pocket?” she asked at length.
“I think it must have been put there by some one else.”
“Have you any suspicions?”
“Yes,” said Paul, a little reluctantly, “but I don't know whether I ought to have. I may be wronging an innocent person.”
“At any rate it won't do any harm to tell me.”
“You've heard me speak of George Dawkins?”
“Yes.”
“I can't help thinking that he put the fifty dollars into my pocket, and took the rest himself.”
“How very wicked he must be!” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, indignantly.
“Don't judge him too hastily; Aunt Hester, he may not be guilty, and I know from my own experience how hard it is to be accused when you are innocent.”
Soon after the sexton came in, and Paul of course, told his story over again.
“Never mind, Paul,” said Uncle Hugh, cheerily. “You know your own innocence; that is the main thing. It's a great thing to have a clear conscience.”
“But I liked Mr. Danforth and I think he liked me. It's hard to feel that he and Mrs. Danforth will both think me guilty, especially after the kindness which I have experienced from them.”
“We all have our crosses, my boy,—some light and others heavy. Yours, I admit is a heavy one for a boy to bear. But when men are unjust there is One above who will deal justly with us. You have not forgotten him.”
“No, Uncle Hugh,” said Paul, reverently.
“Trust in him, Paul, and all will come out right at last. He can prove your innocence, and you may be sure he will, in his own good time. Only be patient, Paul.”
“I will try to be, Uncle Hugh.”
The simple, hearty trust in God, which the sexton manifested, was not lost upon Paul. Sustained by his own consciousness of innocence, and the confidence reposed in him by those who knew him best, his mind soon regained its cheerful tone. He felt an inward conviction that God would vindicate his innocence.
His vindication came sooner than he anticipated.
The next day as the sexton's family were seated at their plain dinner, a knock was heard upon the outer door.
“Sit still, Hester,” said Mr. Cameron. “I will go to the door.”
Opening the door he recognized Mr. Danforth, who attended the same church.
“Mr. Cameron, I believe,” said Mr. Danforth, pleasantly.
“Yes, sir.”
“May I come in? I am here on a little business.”
“Certainly, Mr. Danforth. Excuse my not inviting you before; but in my surprise at seeing you, I forgot my politeness.”
The sexton led the way into the plain sitting-room.
“I believe Paul Prescott is an inmate of your family.”
“Yes, sir. I am sorry——”
“I know what you would say, sir; but it is needless. May I see Paul a moment?”
Paul was surprised at the summons, and still more surprised at finding who it was that wished to see him.
He entered the room slowly, uncertain how to accost Mr. Danforth. His employer solved the doubt in his mind by advancing cordially, and taking his hand.
“Paul,” he said pleasantly, “I have come here to ask your forgiveness for an injustice, and to beg you to resume your place in my counting-room.”
“Have you found out who took the money, sir?” asked Paul, eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Who was it, sir?”
“It was Dawkins.”
Mr. Danforth explained how he had become acquainted with the real thief. In conclusion, he said, “I shall expect you back to-morrow morning, Paul.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Dawkins of course leaves my employ. You will take his place, and receive his salary, seven dollars a week instead of five. Have you any friend whom you would like to have in your own place?”
Paul reflected a moment and finally named a schoolmate of his, the son of poor parents, whom he knew to be anxiously seeking a situation, but without influential friends to help him.
“I will take him on your recommendation,” said Mr. Danforth, promptly. “Can you see him this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir,” said Paul.
The next day Paul resumed his place in Mr. Danforth's counting-room.
XXXIII. PAUL REDEEMS HIS PLEDGE.
Two years passed, unmarked by any incident of importance. Paul continued in Mr. Danforth's employment, giving, if possible, increased satisfaction. He was not only faithful, but exhibited a rare aptitude for business, which made his services of great value to his employer. From time to time Mr. Danforth increased his salary, so that, though only nineteen, he was now receiving twelve dollars per week, with the prospect of a speedy increase. But with his increasing salary, he did not increase his expenses. He continued as economical as ever. He had not forgotten his father's dying injunction. He remained true to the charge which he had taken upon himself, that of redeeming his father's memory from reproach. This, at times subjected him to the imputation of meanness, but for this he cared little. He would not swerve from the line of duty which he had marked out.
One evening as he was walking down Broadway with an acquaintance, Edward Hastings, who was employed in a counting-room near him, they paused before a transparency in front of a hall brilliantly lighted.
“The Hutchinsons are going to sing to-night, Paul,” said Hastings. “Did you ever hear them?”
“No; but I have often wished to.”
“Then suppose we go in.”
“No, I believe not.”
“Why not. Paul? It seems to me you never go anywhere. You ought to amuse
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