He is only an ordinary ashman, and yet to me he seems a hero, more especially as his life lacks the incentive which comes from public appreciation and applause. The mark trait of the man is his cheerfulness, which is apparent no matter what the condition of affairs may be.
He first came to our house on winter days when heater fires caused many ashes, and, as mother was unable to lift the boxes to the pavement for emptying, he crawled into the cellar window and lifted them out with hearty, cheerful good-will. Coming as he did week by week, mother came to look for him, and depended on his willing aid with the ashes. It was through this simple “lend-a-hand” spirit that we found out his history.
He is the father of three boys, one of whom is blind, and his wife died four years ago; he has been both mother and father to his children. He often starts out early in the morning and attends to heater fires for people in the neighborhood, and then returning home, gets breakfast for the boys and sees them off to school. After hauling ashes some entire days, and doing all kinds of odd jobs as occasion offers by which he can make a living, he goes home at night to his boys and does the housework, looks after their food and clothing, and finds time to amuse the blind boy.
As spring comes and the labor of hauling ashes becomes less, a cheerful voice is heard calling through the alley: “Watercress! Watercress! Nice fresh watercress! Here’s your catnip for the little kitty-cat!”
It is the same man; when work becomes slack in one direction he takes it up in another. All is done with a steady good humor and cheerfulness, keeping himself meanwhile from the many temptations to drink and forget the monotony of such a life. The blind boy has now been placed in an asylum, and the others are growing up, we hope into an appreciation of the self-sacrifice and devotion of the man who is known as only the ashman.—Chautauquan.