Not What, or Where, but How.
“PLEASE put on your thinking-cap for my benefit this evening, auntie.” “Very well, Aleck, what is it?” Placid-faced Widow Gray spoke kindly, but without raising her eyes from the skein of yarn she was carefully placing upon the smooth arms of the old swift. The handsome lad hung his worn cap upon a nail behind the door, held his fingers a moment over the glowing stove, patted the white cat asleep on a cushion in the warmest corner, then taking the bit of paper upon which his aged friend was about to wind the soft, smooth yarn, he said coaxingly:— “Please, auntie, I like to make the arms of the old swift fly around. They seem to be ever reaching for something, but are fulfilling their mission all the while.” The widow was used to the lad’s matter-of-course way, when he ran in of an evening, of making a pleasure of sharing whatever work engaged her attention; so now she only said:— “Wind it close, remember, Aleck, or it will not knit even.” “All right, auntie, now for business;” and as the old lady settled down in her rocking-chair, and took up her knitting-work, he went on:— “Mr. Hyde, at the supper-table to-night, gave me notice to quit. He wishes to take a younger boy, one who will eat less and wear smaller clothes,” and Aleck laughed, looking down at the bottom of his jacket sleeves half way to his elbows, and then at his trousers legs half way to his knees. “I am not surprised, my child,” replied Mrs. Gray, deliberately. “You can come here right away, and stay until you can find a better place. You have done well in staying as long as you could in the home your father found for you before he died. There is always enough to do for any one who has the will, and it does not make so much difference what or where your work is, as how you do it. There are always opportunities, if one is looking for them, to do good or to do evil, to help others and to help ourselves.” A sharp rap at the outer door cut short the old lady’s wise speech, and Esquire Eaton, a short, stout, broad-shouldered man, blustered in. “I was passing, and called to see if my socks were done,” he said, declining with a bow and wave of his hand, the splint-bottomed arm-chair Aleck moved forward. “I am off for Washington in the morning instead of at night to-morrow, as I expected, and all the last things have to be done up this evening.” “I am just toeing them off, sir,” said Mrs. Gray. “The white yarn only came up an hour ago, and Aleck is winding it for me.” The ‘Squire looked disappointed. “I shall not have to go barefooted if I do not have them,” he said “but it is a whim of mine that to keep off colds it is well to wear home-knit blue socks with white toes. We all have our whims, hey, Aleck?” “Yes, sir,” replied the lad, respectfully, “and one of mine when a very little fellow, was to learn to knit. My mother taught me to knit a whole stocking the winter before she died. So, when yarn enough is wound, I can pick up the stitches for Auntie Gray, and help her about toeing them off. When they are finished, sir, I will bring them to your house, and if you are all in bed, I will leave the package in the porch at the side door. Will that do, sir?” “Good,” said the ‘Squire, looking pleased now. “It will do very well, indeed,” and dropping a bank note into the widow’s lap he bustled away with her fervent “God bless you!” ringing in his ears and warming his heart all the way to town. It was eleven o’clock before Aleck, after a busy evening, and a brisk walk in the frosty air, opened the gate leading through a deep yard to the ‘Squire’s handsome dwelling. That gentleman himself opened the side door as Aleck went lightly up the steps of the porch. “All abed but me,” he said. “Come in and I will pay you for your trouble.” “You may pay Auntie Gray for that, sir.” “Come in,” repeated the ‘Squire, with something more than mere politeness in his voice, and the lad obeyed. A gust of wind from the open door-way sent the papers on the library table flying like a flock of sea-gulls to all parts of the room. Aleck removed his cap and mittens, and picking up the papers, returned them to the table. As the ‘Squire put a letter into its envelope, he watched the lad out of a corner of his eye. “Going to school this winter?” he asked. “I suppose not, sir. I am looking for something to do.” “I cannot be over particular, sir. It don’t matter so much what or where the work is, as what I make of it,” he replied, unconsciously repeating Mrs. Gray’s words. “I will give you work, then, and we will see what you make of it. This call to Washington is very unexpected to me, as you perhaps know. My wife and daughters are to go with me. I have had time for very few arrangements. The housekeeper and her husband are to be left in charge, but they are getting old. You may come here and stay and go to high school and do for your board and clothes whatever needs to be done.” “What shall you expect me to do, sir?” asked Aleck, looking puzzled. “You may get the mail three times a day. The postmaster has been directed what is to be forwarded. If you see anything else that needs to be done you can do it if you feel disposed, just as you would were this your father and mother’s home and they had been unexpectedly called away to be gone for several months.” “I see, sir,” said Aleck. “I will be on hand bright and early. Good-night, sir.” The ‘Squire chuckled to himself as the door closed. “I’ve given him a chance, and if he’s the boy I take him to be, he will make the most of it. I shouldn’t have thought of it if I hadn’t liked the way he was winding that yarn. He had little idea that every time the long arms of that swift went whizzing around they were reaching out into his future.” “You can keep an eye on him,” said ‘Squire Eaton to Margaret, the house-keeper, next morning, “but I hardly think he is the kind of a lad to turn out like Percy Stiles; and mind, now, that he never hears Percy’s story.” Margaret nodded, and as the master went out, John, her husband, said:— “Wasn’t he a queer one? The ‘Squire has never had anything to do with boys since then; and yet he dotes on boys.” “I know it,” said Margaret; “just think how much he set by master Percy and what a chance the lad threw away. Do you remember how the ‘Squire looked at first, when he really believed there had been a burglar in the house, and he said, ‘You are a hero, Percy. You have saved our lives and our property!’” “I remember,” said John, “but that was nothing to the scene after the matter had been investigated, and he was convinced that Percy was the rogue, as well as the hero, when he called us all into the library and sent for the poor lad. He came thinking he was to receive a reward for his bravery. It is just like a picture in my mind now—the ‘Squire rising from his arm-chair, with that stern, white face; Percy with the exultant air and look of expectation changing to that of a culprit. Do you remember how his voice sounded when he said, ‘All the boys I ever read about in story-books did something very brave and dangerous to win for themselves fame and gifts and friends, and I wanted to be a hero?’” “Yes,” said Margaret, “I remember it, and the ‘Squire’s reply: ‘The honest boy who does his simple duty and makes the best of every day is the hero that the world needs; but I think this lad is made of a different kind of stuff.’” “He’s made a busy winter of it, sir,” said the old housekeeper when, one April day, the ‘Squire arrived at home unexpectedly and asked for Aleck. “He’s not been away one evening nor missed a day at school the whole term. He’s made the fire, swept the paths, looked after the hinges of the gates, the latches of the barn-doors, and the fastenings of the blinds. He’s petted the dogs and cats and birds, watered and trained the plants, and cheered up the time for John and me as blithely as if we had been his own grand-parents. He has not failed one morning running right up to the widow Gray’s before school-time to see how she was getting on, and he has never meddled with anything nor been in mischief.” “And he has written me a letter every Saturday,” said the ‘Squire, “giving a concise account of all the happenings here.” Going into the library and looking about, he added: “He has filed all my periodicals and kept everything ready for me to look over as easily as if I had been gone only for a week.” “Well, Aleck, what have you made of your work?” he said, as the lad came in flushed with pleasure at seeing him. “I have had a very profitable winter at school, sir. I have read a good deal of history, I have learned a great many things of John and Margaret, and I cannot tell you, sir, how happy I have been. I am afraid I have done very little to pay for all these privileges.” “I have found a boy that I can trust, and that pays me,” said the ‘squire, and his voice grew a little husky. “Now we will make a new bargain.” All that was years ago. Aleck is ‘Squire Eaton’s law-partner now, a successful man, and better than that, a good man. He is fond of helping young people, he likes to have them improve their time, and he often says: “It is not so much consequence what or where your work is, as what you make of it.”—The Standard.