Horatio Alger - Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy

“I guess I can stand it,” said our hero, “though I should rather be downstairs.”

“I’ll bring up the trap and set it before you go to bed,” said Mrs. Bickford.

“The trap!” repeated Herbert, in surprise.

“Yes, there’s rats about, and I suppose you’d rather have a trap than a cat.”

“Yes; the cat would be about as bad as the rats.”

At this moment Abner Holden’s voice was heard at the bottom of the stairs, and Mrs. Bickford hurried down, followed by our hero.

“I thought you were going to stay up there all day,” said Mr. Holden. “What were you about up there?”

“That is my business,” said Mrs. Bickford, shortly.

The housekeeper was independent in her feelings, and, knowing that she could readily obtain another situation, did not choose to be browbeaten by Mr. Holden. He was quite aware of her value, and the difficulty he would experience in supplying her place, and he put some constraint over himself in the effort not to be rude to her. With Herbert, however, it was different. HE was BOUND to him, and therefore in his power. Abner Holden exulted in this knowledge, and with the instinct of a petty tyrant determined to let Herbert realize his dependence.

“You may go out and saw some wood,” he said. “You’ll find the saw in the woodshed.”

“What wood shall I saw?”

“The wood in the woodpile, stupid.”

“Very well, sir,” said our hero, quietly.

Herbert thought Mr. Holden was losing no time in setting him to work. However, he had resolved to do his duty, unpleasant as it might be, as long as Abner Holden only exacted what was reasonable, and Herbert was aware that he had a right to require him to go to work at once. Mrs. Bickford, however, said a word in his favor.

“I’ve got wood enough to last till to-morrow, Mr. Holden,” she said.

“Well, what of it?”

“It’s likely the boy is tired.”

“What’s he done to make him tired, I should like to know? Ridden thirty miles, and eaten a good dinner!”

“Which I paid for myself,” said Herbert.

“What if you did?” said Abner Holden, turning to him. “I suppose you’ll eat supper at my expense, and you’d better do something, first, to earn it.”

“That I am willing to do.”

“Then go out to the woodpile without any more palavering.”

“Mr. Holden,” said the housekeeper, seriously, after Herbert had gone out, “if you want to keep that boy, I think you had better be careful how you treat him.”

“Why do you say that?” demanded Abner, eying her sharply. “Has he been saying anything to you about me?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say that?”

“Because I can see what kind of a boy he is.”

“Well, what kind of a boy is he?” asked Abner, with a sneer.

“He is high-spirited, and will work faithfully if he’s treated well, but he won’t allow himself to be imposed upon.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can read it in his face. I have had some experience with boys, and you may depend upon it that I am not mistaken.”

“He had better do his duty,” blustered Abner, “if he knows what’s best for himself.”

“He will do his duty,” said the housekeeper, firmly, “but there is a duty which you owe to him, as well as he to you.”

“Don’t I always do my duty by boys, Mrs. Bickford?”

“No, Mr. Holden, I don’t think you do. You know very well you can never get a boy to stay with you.”

“This boy is bound to me, Mrs. Bickford—legally bound.”

“That may be; but if you don’t treat him as he ought to be treated, he will run away, take my word for it.”

“If he does, he’ll be brought back, take my word for that, Mrs. Bickford. I shall treat him as I think he deserves, but as to petting and pampering the young rascal I shall do nothing of the kind.”

“I don’t think you will,” said the housekeeper. “However, I’ve warned you.”

“You seem to take a good deal of interest in the boy,” said Abner, sneeringly.

“Yes, I do.”

“After half an hour’s acquaintance.”

“I’ve known him long enough to see that he’s better than the common run of boys, and I hope that he’ll stay.”

“There’s no doubt about that,” said Abner Holden, significantly. “He’ll have to stay, whether he wants to or not.”

After working two hours at the woodpile, Herbert was called in to tea. There was no great variety, Abner Holden not being a bountiful provider. But the bread was sweet and good, and the gingerbread fresh. Herbert’s two hours of labor had given him a hearty appetite, and he made a good meal. Mrs. Bickford looked on approvingly. She was glad to see that our hero enjoyed his supper.

There was tea on the table, and, after pouring out a cup for Mr. Holden, the housekeeper was about to pour out one for Herbert.

“He don’t want any tea,” said Abner, noticing the action. “Keep the cup for yourself, Mrs. Bickford.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Holden?” asked the housekeeper, in surprise.

“Tea isn’t good for a growing boy. A glass of cold water will be best for him.”

“I don’t agree with you, Mr. Holden,” said the housekeeper, decidedly. “Herbert has been hard at work, and needs his tea as much as you or I do.”

Therefore, without waiting for his permission, she handed the cup to Herbert, who proceeded to taste it.

Abner Holden frowned, but neither Herbert nor the housekeeper took much notice of it. The latter was somewhat surprised at this new freak on the part of Abner, as he had never tried to deprive any of Herbert’s predecessors of tea or coffee. But the fact was, Mr. Holden disliked Herbert, and was disposed to act the petty tyrant over him. He had neither forgotten nor forgiven the boy’s spirited defiance when they first met, nor his refusal to surrender into his hands the five dollars which the doctor had given him.

Feeling tired by eight o’clock, Herbert went up to his garret room and undressed himself. An instinct of caution led him to take out the money in his porte-monnaie, and put it in his trunk, which he then locked, and put the key under the sheet, so that no one could get hold of it without awakening him. This precaution proved to be well taken.

Herbert lay down upon the bed, but did not immediately go to sleep. He could not help thinking of his new home, and the new circumstances in which he was placed. He did not feel very well contented, and felt convinced from what he had already seen of Mr. Holden, that he should never like him. Then thoughts of his mother, and of her constant and tender love, and the kind face he would never more see on earth, swept over him, and almost unmanned him. To have had her still alive he would have been content to live on dry bread and water.

He thought, too, of the doctor’s family and their kindness. How different it would have been if he might have continued to find a home with them! But when he was tempted to repine, the thought of his mother’s Christian instructions came to him, and he was comforted by the reflection, that whatever happened to him was with the knowledge of his Father in heaven, who would not try him above his strength.

Try and trust! That was almost the last advice his mother had given him, as the surest way of winning the best success.

“Yes,” he thought, “I will try and trust, and leave the rest with God.”

Meanwhile Mr. Holden had not been able to keep out of his head the five dollars which he knew Herbert possessed. He was a mean man, and wished to appropriate it to his own use. Besides this, he was a stubborn man, and our hero’s resistance only made him the more determined to triumph over his opposition by fair means or foul. It struck him that it would be a good idea to take advantage of our hero’s slumber, and take the money quietly from his pocketbook while he was unconscious.