THE LANDLORD'S VISIT
It was the night before the New Year. In many a household in the great
city it was a night of happy anticipation. In the humble home of the
Hardings it was an evening of anxious thought, for to-morrow the
quarter's rent was due.

"I haven't got a dollar to meet the rent, Martha," said the cooper, in a
depressed tone.

"Won't Mr. Colman wait?"

"I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Martha. There isn't
much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else."

"Perhaps you are doing him an injustice."

"I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?"

"How?"

"Underhill was laid up with rheumatic fever for three months. The
consequence was that when quarter day came round he was in about the
same situation with ourselves--a little worse, even, for his wife was
sick also. But, though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no
pity; he turned them out without ceremony."

"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Harding, uneasily.

"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but
feel anxious about to-morrow, Martha."

At this moment, verifying an old adage, which will perhaps occur to the
reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself. Both the cooper and his
wife had an instinctive foreboding as to his visit.

He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No
one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay
veiled under his velvety softness of manner.

"Good-evening, Mr. Harding," he said, affably. "I trust you and your
excellent wife are in good health."

"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper, gravely.

"And how comfortable you're looking, too, eh! It makes an old bachelor
like me feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with such
a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and dog
cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't have
to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I've about made up my
mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter hereafter."

All this was said very pleasantly, but the pill was none the less
bitter.

"It seems to me, Mr. Colman," answered the cooper, soberly, "you have
chosen rather a singular time for raising the rent."

"Why singular, my good sir?" inquired the landlord, urbanely.

"You know, of course, that this is a time of general business
depression; my own trade in particular has suffered greatly. For a month
past I have not been able to find any work."

Colman's face lost something of its graciousness.

"And I fear I shall not be able to pay my quarter's rent to-morrow."

"Indeed!" said the landlord, coldly. "Perhaps you can make it up within
two or three dollars."

"I can't pay a dollar toward it," said the cooper. "It's the first time,
in the five years I've lived here, that this thing has happened to me.
I've always been prompt before."

"You should have economized as you found times growing harder," said
Colman, harshly. "It is hardly honest to live in a house when you know
you can't pay the rent."

"You shan't lose it, Mr. Colman," said the cooper, earnestly. "No one
ever yet lost anything by me, and I don't mean anyone shall, if I can
help it. Only give me a little time, and I will pay all."

The landlord shook his head.

"You ought to have cut your coat according to your cloth," he responded.
"Much as it will go against my feelings I am compelled, by a prudent
regard to my own interests, to warn you that, in case your rent is not
ready to-morrow, I shall be obliged to trouble you to find another
tenement; and furthermore, the rent of this will be raised five dollars
a quarter."

"I can't pay it, Mr. Colman," said Timothy Harding, gravely. "I may as
well say that now; and it's no use agreeing to pay more rent. I pay all
I can afford now."

"Very well, you know the alternative. Of course, if you can do better
elsewhere, you will. That's understood. But it's a disagreeable subject.
We won't talk of it any more now. I shall be round to-morrow forenoon.
How's your excellent sister--as cheerful as ever?"

"Quite as much so as usual," answered the cooper, dryly.

"There's one favor I should like to ask," he said, after a pause. "Will
you allow us to remain here a few days till I can look about a little?"

"I would with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the reply; "but
there's another family very anxious to take the house, and they wish to
come in immediately. Therefore I shall be obliged to ask you to move out
to-morrow. In fact, that is the very thing I came here this evening to
speak about, as I thought you might not wish to pay the increased rent."

"We are much obliged to you," said the cooper, with a tinge of
bitterness unusual to him. "If we are to be turned into the street, it
is pleasant to have a few hours' notice of it."

"Turned out of doors, my good sir! What disagreeable expressions you
employ! If you reflect for a moment, you will see that it is merely a
matter of business. I have an article to dispose of. There are two
bidders, yourself and another person. The latter is willing to pay a
larger sum. Of course I give him the preference, as you would do under
similar circumstances. Don't you see how it is?"

"I believe I do," replied the cooper. "Of course it's a regular
proceeding; but you must excuse me if I think of it in another light,
when I reflect that to-morrow at this time my family may be without a
shelter."

"My dear sir, positively you are looking on the dark side of things. It
is actually sinful for you 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 see things in quite a different light. But
positively"--here he rose, and began to draw on his gloves--"positively
I have stayed longer than I intended. Good-night, my friends. I'll look
in upon you in the morning. And, by the way, as it's so near, permit 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; for
my part, I never say them words to anyone, 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."

Martha was not one who was readily inclined to think evil of anyone, but
in her own gentle heart she could not help feeling a repugnance for the
man who had just left them. Jack was not so reticent.

"I hate that man," he said, decidedly.

"You should not hate anyone, my son," said Mrs. Harding.

"I can't help it, mother. Ain't he goin' to turn us out of the house
to-morrow?"

"If we cannot pay our rent, he is justified in doing so."

"Then why need he pretend to be so friendly? He don't care anything for
us."

"It is right to be polite, Jack."

"I s'pose if you're goin' to kick a man, it should be done politely,"
said Jack, indignantly.

"If possible," said the cooper, laughing.

"Is there any tenement vacant in this neighborhood?" asked Mrs. Harding.

"Yes, there is one in the next block belonging to Mr. Harrison."

"It is a better one than this."

"Yes; but Harrison only asks the same rent that we have been paying. He
is not so exorbitant as Colman."

"Couldn't we get that?"

"I am afraid if he knows that we have failed to pay our rent here, that
he will object."

"But he knows you are honest, and that nothing but the hard times would
have brought you to this pass."

"It may be, Martha. At any rate, you have lightened my heart a little. I
feel as if there was some hope left, after all."

"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 refer to?"

"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, nor 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, Martha. He is our ever-present help in time of trouble.
When I think of that, I feel easier."

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 VII

THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT


"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 and buried before the next new year."

"If that's the case," said Jack, "let us be jolly as long as life
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," said his aunt, sourly,
"when you are brazen enough to own that you mean to be a miserable
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 wonder if the people was
right that say it's coming to an end."

Here Mrs. Harding happily interposed, by asking Jack to go round to the
grocery in the next street, and buy a pint of milk for breakfast.

Jack took his hat 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 his mother, 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, apparently a year old.

All uttered exclamations of surprise, each in itself characteristic.

"What a dear, innocent little thing!" said Mrs. Harding, with true
maternal instinct.

"Ain't it a pretty un?" exclaimed Jack, admiringly.

"It looks as if it was goin' to have the measles," said Aunt Rachel,
"or scarlet fever. You'd better not take it in, Martha, or we may all
catch it."

"You wouldn't leave it out in the cold, would you, Rachel? The poor
thing might die of exposure."

"Probably it will die," said Rachel, mournfully. "It's very hard to
raise children. There's something unhealthy in its looks."

"It don't seem to me so. It looks plump and healthy."

"You can't never judge by appearances. You ought to know that, Martha."

"I will take the risk, Rachel."

"I don't see what you are going to do with a baby, when we are all on
the verge of starvation, and going to be turned into the street this
very day," remarked Rachel, despondently.

"We won't think of that just now. Common humanity requires us to see
what we can do for the poor child."

So saying, Mrs. Harding took the infant in her arms. The child opened
its eyes, and smiled.

"My! here's a letter," said Jack, diving into the bottom of the basket.
"It's directed to you, father."

The cooper opened the letter, and read as follows:

"For reasons which it is unnecessary to state, the guardians of this
child find it expedient to intrust it to others to bring up. The good
account which they have heard of you has led them to select you for that
charge. No further explanation is necessary, except that it is by no
means their intention to make this a service of charity. They,
therefore, inclose a certificate of deposit on the Broadway Bank of five
hundred dollars, the same having been paid in to your credit. Each year,
while the child remains in your charge, the same will in like manner be
placed to your credit at the same bank. It may be as well to state,
further, that all attempt to fathom whatever of mystery may attach to
this affair will prove useless."

The letter was read in amazement. The certificate of deposit, which had
fallen to the floor, was picked up by Jack, and handed to his father.

Amazement was followed by a feeling of gratitude and relief.

"What could be more fortunate?" exclaimed Mrs. Harding. "Surely,
Timothy, our faith has been rewarded."

"God has listened to our cry!" said the cooper, devoutly, "and in the
hour of our sorest need He has remembered us."

"Isn't it prime?" said Jack, gleefully; "five hundred dollars! Ain't we
rich, Aunt Rachel?"

"Like as not," observed Rachel, "the certificate isn't genuine. It
doesn't look natural it should be. I've heard of counterfeits afore now.
I shouldn't be surprised at all if Timothy got took up for presenting
it."

"I'll take the risk," said her brother, who did not seem much alarmed at
the suggestion.

"Now you'll be able to pay the rent, Timothy," said Mrs. Harding,
cheerfully.

"Yes, and it's the last quarter's rent I mean to pay Mr. Colman, if I
can help it."

"Why, where are you going?" asked Jack.

"To the house belonging to Mr. Harrison that I spoke of last night, that
is, if it isn't already engaged. I think I will see about it at once. If
Mr. Colman should come in while I am gone, tell him I will be back
directly; I don't want you to tell him of the change in our
circumstances."

The cooper found Mr. Harrison at home.

"I called to inquire," asked Mr. Harding, "whether you have let your
house?"

"Not as yet," was the reply.

"What rent do you ask?"

"Twenty dollars a quarter. I don't think that unreasonable."

"It is satisfactory to me," was the cooper's reply, "and if you have no
objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once."

"Far from having any objections, Mr. Harding," was the courteous reply,
"I shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look
at the house?"

"Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. Can we move in to-day?"

"Certainly."

His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home.

Meanwhile the landlord had called.

He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Harding, instead of looking
depressed, looked cheerful rather than otherwise.

"I was not aware you had a child so young," he remarked, looking at the
baby.

"It is not mine," said Mrs. Harding, briefly.

"The child of a neighbor, I suppose," thought the landlord.

Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the
furniture in the room.

At this point Mr. Harding entered the house.

"Good-morning," said Colman, affably. "A fine morning, Mr. Harding."

"Quite so," responded his tenant, shortly.

"I have called, Mr. Harding, to ask if you are ready with your quarter's
rent."

"I think I told you last evening how I was situated. Of course I am
sorry."

"So am I," interrupted the landlord, "for I may be obliged to have
recourse to unpleasant measures."

"You mean that we must leave the house."

"Of course you cannot expect to remain in it, if you are unable to pay
the rent. I suppose," he added, making an inventory of the furniture
with his eyes, "you will leave behind a sufficient amount of furniture
to cover your debt."

"Surely you would not deprive us of our furniture!"

"Is there any injustice in requiring payment of honest debts?"

"There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to the
trouble of levying on my furniture. I am ready to pay your dues."

"Have you the money?" asked Colman, in surprise.

"I have, and something over. Can you cash my check for five hundred
dollars?"

It would be difficult to picture the amazement of the landlord.

"Surely you told me a different story last evening," he said.

"Last evening and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay
you. Now, luckily, I am able. If you will accompany me to the bank, I
will draw some money and pay your bill."

"My dear sir, I am not at all in haste for the money," said the
landlord, with a return of his affability. "Any time within a week will
do. I hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house."

"I don't feel like paying twenty-five dollars a quarter."

"You shall have it for the same rent you have been paying."

"But you said there was another family who had offered you an advanced
rent. I shouldn't like to interfere with them. Besides, I have already
hired a house of Mr. Harrison in the next block."

Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted too late the hasty course which
had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence;
and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months,
when he was glad to rent it at the old price.




CHAPTER VIII

A LUCKY RESCUE


The opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative
prosperity in the home of Timothy Harding. To persons accustomed to live
in their frugal way, five hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as
might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt
the cooper or his wife to enter upon a more extravagant mode of living.

"Let us save something against a rainy day," said Mrs. Harding.

"We can if I get work soon," answered her husband. "This little one will
add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we shouldn't
save up at least half of it."

"So I think, Timothy. The child's food will not amount to a dollar a
week."

"There's no tellin' when you will get work, Timothy," said Rachel, in
her usual cheerful way. "It isn't well to crow before you are out of the
woods."

"Very true, Rachel. It isn't your failing to look too much at the sunny
side of the picture."

"I'm ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere," answered his
sister, in the same enlivening way.

"Don't you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this
child?" asked Timothy.

"I've no doubt you think it very fortunate now," said Rachel, gloomily;
"but a young child's a great deal of trouble."

"Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said his aunt, slowly. "If all babies were as cross and
ill-behaved as you were when you were an infant, five hundred dollars
wouldn't begin to pay for the trouble of having them around."

Mr. Harding and his wife laughed at the manner in which the tables had
been turned upon Jack, but the latter had his wits about him
sufficiently to answer: "I've always heard, Aunt Rachel, that the
crosser a child is, the pleasanter he will grow up. What a very pleasant
baby you must have been!"

"Jack!" said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it
as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly: "He's got you there, Rachel."

But Rachel took it as a serious matter, and observed that, when she was
young, children were not allowed to speak so to their elders.

"But I don't know as I can blame 'em much," she continued, wiping her
eyes with the corner of her apron, "when their own parents encourage 'em
in it."

Timothy was warned, by experience of Rachel's temper, that silence was
his most prudent course. Anything that he might say would only be likely
to make matters worse than before.

Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another
word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh,
as if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this,
it was observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Miss Harding
appeared to thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She
was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct,
so far as this peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a
newspaper, she always looked first to the space appropriated to deaths,
and next in order to the column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her
spirits were visibly exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in
either list.

The cooper continued to look out for work; but it was with a more
cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family
depended absolutely on his immediate success. Used economically, the
money he had by him would last eight months; and during that time it was
hardly possible that he should not find something to do. It was this
sense of security, of having something to fall back upon, that enabled
him to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that people are
content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining their
health, and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come,
they are at once plunged into discouragement, and feel the necessity of
doing something immediately. There is only one way of fending off such
an embarrassment; and that is, to resolve, whatever may be the amount of
one's income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of
trouble. A little economy--though it involves self-denial--will be well
repaid by the feeling of security it engenders.

Mr. Harding was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared.
Not that his line of business revived--that still remained depressed for
a considerable time--but another path was opened to him.

Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out from a
doorway, and attack a gentleman, whose dress and general appearance
indicated probable wealth.

Seizing him by the throat, the villain effectually prevented his calling
for help, and at once commenced rifling his pockets, when the cooper
arrived on the scene. A sudden blow admonished the robber that he had
more than one to deal with.

"What are you doing? Let that gentleman be!"

The villain hesitated but a moment, then springing to his feet, he
hastily made off, under cover of the darkness.

"I hope you have received no injury, sir," said Mr. Harding,
respectfully, addressing the stranger he had rescued.

"No, my worthy friend; thanks to your timely assistance. The rascal
nearly succeeded, however."

"I hope you have lost nothing, sir."

"Nothing, fortunately. You can form an idea of the value of your
interference, when I say that I have fifteen hundred dollars with me,
all of which would doubtless have been taken."

"I am glad," said Timothy, "that I was able to do you such a service. It
was by the merest chance that I came this way."

"Will you add to my indebtedness by accompanying me with that trusty
club of yours? I have some distance yet to go, and the money I have with
me I don't want to lose."

"Willingly," said the cooper.

"But I am forgetting," continued the gentleman, "that you will yourself
be obliged to return alone."

"I do not carry enough money to make me fear an attack," said Mr.
Harding, laughing. "Money brings care, I have always heard, and the want
of it sometimes freedom from anxiety."

"Yet most people are willing to take their share of that."

"You are right, sir, nor I can't call myself an exception. Still I would
be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment."

"I hope you have that, at least."

"I have had until three or four months since."

"Then, at present, you are unemployed?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is your business?"

"I am a cooper."

"I will see what I can do for you. Will you call at my office to-morrow,
say at twelve o'clock?"

"I shall be glad to do so, sir."

"I believe I have a card with me. Yes, here is one. And this is my
house. Thank you for your company. Let me see you to-morrow."

They stood before a handsome dwelling house, from whose windows, draped