p. 12 | WAS IT LUCK?

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 29, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 50.

WAS IT LUCK?

The curtains were drawn to keep out the wintry blasts, and the bright fire light aided the shaded gas light in revealing all the comfort of that pleasant room. The number and variety of books in the elegant book-case, and the numerous papers on the table, indicated that the owner was a man of culture and familiar with the world's daily doings, while luxurious chairs and lounges proved that he was not unmindful of physical comfort. Indeed, as we look at the owner of this beautiful establishment, as he is seated in an easy-chair, reading a paper, we feel that he is every inch a man, and worthy of our entire respect. The merry group by the fire, who are visitors for the holidays, evidently share our opinion. Suddenly one of the boys, turning to his uncle, said:—

“Uncle Harry, do you believe in luck?”

“Well, boys,” said he, “that is rather a leading question. I will tell you a little story, and you can call it what you please:—

“When I was about ten years old, my father died, after a lingering illness. He had been unfortunate in some business ventures and his sickness had entirely exhausted our funds. I left school, and felt that, as I was the oldest, I must help mother to support the family.

“Poor mother! it grieved me greatly to see her patiently stitching away on the coarse work she received such a pittance for from the shops. I tried to get a place in some store, but could not succeed. My efforts in that line and my rebuffs would astonish you.

“I concluded I would sell papers, but at first it was very hard work. I did not mind the fatigue. I sold evening papers, but I could not call my papers out loud and clear, and then some other boys would get ahead of me. I was better dressed than the other ‘newsies;’ and so they looked upon me as an interloper and tried to run me out of the trade. But I thought of my mother at work at home, and determined I would succeed.

“One evening I jumped on a car, crying my papers in my best style. I sold several, and was just leaving the car, when a gentleman, who was busily talking with his neighbor, while both occupied uncertain standing room, called me: ‘Here boy, a Chronicle.’ I gave him one, and he put his hand in his pocket and drew out and gave me what he supposed was a three-cent piece, but I saw it was a gold piece.

“I jumped off the car in a hurry, and soon went home. I felt a little uncertain as to how mother would view the matter, but I never had any secrets from her, so I told her all about it, adding that I considered it a rare piece of luck, for we did need the money more than you children can imagine.

“But mother argued that morally I had no right to any more than the price of the paper, unless it was given me; that it was a mistake. But I insisted that any man so careless ought to lose his money, and that it was intended to relieve our own necessities. But mother said: ‘My son, He in whom I have put all my trust has never deserted me yet, and I cannot so distrust him now. I would rather starve than have my boy become dishonest.’

“I believe there comes to everyone some supreme crisis in life, when good and evil strive for his soul, and that night was the crisis in mine.”

Mr. Morton had forgotten his eager listeners, but was recalled by the question:—

“But what did you do?”

“Well, your grandmother finally got me to promise that if I saw the man again I would return the money. No fear of my not knowing him; his face was before me all the time. Next evening I began my work as usual. I had been through several cars, and almost hoped I could not find my generous (?) patron. But at last I came face to face with him. I spoke quickly, for fear my courage would fail.

“‘You bought a paper of me last evening, sir,’ I exclaimed.”

“‘Well,’ said he, ‘I suppose I did. I bought one from some boy. What’s wrong? Didn’t I pay you?’”

“I told him what was the matter, and his astonishment was great; he looked at me as if I was a curiosity, asked my name and where I lived. Others heard the conversation, and my papers were soon sold at double their price—the gentlemen laughingly telling me that they knew what they were about. I fairly flew home that night, and I never felt so proud and happy as when I poured that money into my mother’s lap, and heard her say:— ‘Thank God, for having kept you honest, my boy.’

“The next day mother had a call from the gentleman, and the result was that my career as a newsboy ceased, and mercantile life began—very low down, to be sure, but I worked away. I attended night school, too, and by degrees I rose, till, as you know, I am a partner in the house. Now you may judge whether I believe in luck, or in the ‘Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will.’”—Kind Words.