Poor and Proud; Or, The Fortunes of Katy Redburn: A Story for Young Folks

"Give me a flounder, Johnny?" said a little girl of eleven, dressed in coarse and ragged garments, as she stooped down and looked into the basket of the dirty young fisherman, who sat with his legs hanging over the edge of the pier.

"I'll bet I won't," replied Johnny, gruffly, as he drew the basket out of the reach of the supplicant. "You needn't come round here tryin' to hook my fish."

"You hooked 'em," said another juvenile angler who sat on the capsill of the pier by Johnny's side.

"Who says I hooked 'em?" blustered Johnny, whose little dirty paws involuntarily assumed the form of a pair of fists, scientifically disposed and ready to be the instruments of the owner's vengeance upon the traducer of his character.

"I say so," added Tommy Howard, who did not seem to be at all alarmed at the warlike attitude of his fellow-angler.

"Say it again, and I'll smash your head," continued Johnny, jumping up from his seat.

"Didn't you hear me? Once is enough."

Tommy coolly hauled up a large flounder at that moment, and threw the fish into his basket. It was rather refreshing to see how regardless he was of that pair of menacing fists.

"Jest you say that once more, and see what I'll do," persisted Johnny.

"I won't do it."

"You dasn't say it again."

"Perhaps I dasn't; at any rate, I shan't."

"Do you mean to say I hooked them fish?" exclaimed Johnny, desperately, for it seemed as though he must do something to vindicate his injured honor.

"That's just what I did say."

But Tommy was so confoundedly cool that his fellow-angler had some doubts about the expediency of "pitching into him." Probably a vision of defeat flashed through his excited brain and discretion seemed the better part of valor. Yet he was not disposed to abandon his position, and advanced a pace or two toward his provoking companion; a movement which, to an unpracticed eye, would indicate a purpose to do something.

"Don't fight, Tommy," said the little ragged girl.

"I don't mean to fight, Katy,"-Johnny, at these words, assumed an artistic attitude, ready to strike the first blow,-"only if Johnny hits me, I shall knock him into the middle of next week."

Johnny did not strike. He was a prudent young man.

"Don't fight, Johnny," repeated the girl, turning to the excited aspirant for the honors of the ring.

"Do you suppose I'll let him tell me I hooked them fish?" blustered Johnny.

"He didn't mean anything."

"Yes, I did," interposed Tommy. "He caught 'em on a hook; so of course he hooked em. I hooked mine too."

"Is that what you meant?" asked Johnny, a broad grin overspreading his dirty face, and his fists suddenly expanding into dirty paws again.

"That's just what I meant; and your skull is as thick as a two-inch plank, or you would have seen what I meant."

"I see now."

Johnny was not disposed to resent this last insinuation about the solidity of his cranium. He was evidently too glad to get out of the scrape without a broken head or a bloody nose. Johnny was a bully, and he had a bully's reputation to maintain; but he never fought when the odds were against him; and he had a congressman's skill in backing out before the water got too hot. On the whole, he rather enjoyed the pun; and he had the condescension to laugh heartily, though somewhat unnaturally, at the jest.

"Will you give me a flounder, Tommy?" said the little ragged girl, as she glanced into his well-filled basket.

"What do you want of him, Katy?" asked Tommy turning round and gazing up into her sad, pale face.

Katy hesitated; her bosom heaved, and her lips compressed, as though she feared to answer the question.

"To eat," she replied, at last, in a husky tone.

"What's the matter, Katy?"

The face of the child seemed to wear a load of care and anxiety, and as the young fisherman gazed a tear started from her eye, and slid down her cheek. Tommy's heart melted as he saw this exhibition of sorrow. He wondered what could ail her.

"My mother is sick," replied Katy, dashing away the tell-tale tear.

"I know that; but what do you want of flounders?"

"We have nothing to eat now," said Katy, bursting into tears. "Mother has not been able to do any work for more than three months: and we haven't got any money now. It's all gone. I haven't had any breakfast to-day."

"Take 'em all, Katy!" exclaimed Tommy, jumping up from his seat on the capsill of the pier. "How will you carry them? Here, I will string 'em for you."

Tommy was all energy now, and thrust his hands down into the depths of his pockets in search of a piece of twine. Those repositories of small stores did not contain a string, however; but mixed up with a piece of cord, a slate pencil, an iron hinge, two marbles, a brass ring, and six inches of stovepipe chain, were two cents, which the owner thereof carefully picked out of the heap of miscellaneous articles and thrust them into the hand of Katy.

"Here, take them; and as you go by the grocery at the corner of the court, buy a two-cent roll," whispered he. "Got a bit o' string, Johnny?" he added aloud, as Katy began to protest against taking the money.

"Hain't got none; but I'll give you a piece of my fish line, if you want," replied the bully, who was now unusually obliging.

"There's a piece of spunyarn, that's just the thing I want;" and Tommy ran half way up the pier to the bridge, picked up the line, and commenced stringing the flounders on it.

"I don't want them all, Tommy; only give me two or three. I never shall forget you, Tommy," said Katy, her eyes suffused with tears of gratitude.

"I'm sorry things go so bad with you, Katy, and I wish I could do something more for you."

"I don't want anything more. Don't put any more on the string. There's six. We can't eat any more."

"Well, then, I'll bring you some more to-morrow," replied Tommy, as he handed her the string of fish. "Stop a minute; here's a first-rate tom-cod; let me put him on;" and he took the string and added the fish to his gift.

"I never shall forget you, Tommy; I shall only borrow the two cents; I will pay you again some time," said she, in a low tone, so that Johnny could not hear her.

"Never mind 'em, Katy. Don't go hungry again for a minute. Come to me, and I'll help you to something or other."

"Thank you, Tommy;" and with a lighter heart than she had brought with her, she hastened up the pier, no doubt anticipating a rich feast from the string of fish.

The pier of the new South Boston bridge was then, as now, a favorite resort for juvenile fishermen. Flounders, tom-cod, and eels, to say nothing of an occasional sculpin, which boys still persist in calling "crahpies," or "crahooners," used to furnish abundant sport to a motley group of youngsters wherein the sons of merchants mingled democratically with the dirty, ragged children of the "Ten-footers" in the vicinity. The pier was neutral ground, and Frederic Augustus made a friend of Michael or Dennis, and probably neither was much damaged by this free companionship; for Michael or Dennis often proves to be more of a gentleman in his rags and dirty face than Frederic Augustus in his broadcloth and white linen.

Katy walked as fast as her little feet would carry her, till she came to a court leading out of Essex Street. The bells were ringing for one o'clock as she entered the grocery at the corner and purchased the two-cent roll which Tommy Howard's bounty enabled her to add to her feast. Elated with the success of her mission, she quickened her pace up the court to a run, rushed into the house and up-stairs to her mother's room with as much enthusiasm as though she had found a bag of gold, instead of having obtained a very simple dinner.

"O, mother, I've got a lot of flounders and some bread for you!" exclaimed she, as she bolted into the room.

"Then you have money," said a cold voice in the chamber; and Katy perceived, standing near the bed on which her mother lay, a man who was no stranger to her.

It was Dr. Flynch; but let not my young reader make a mistake. He was no good Samaritan, who had come to pour oil and wine into the wounds of the poor sick woman; not even a physician, who had come to give medicine for a fee, to restore her to health and strength. It is true he was called a doctor, and he had been a doctor, but he did not practice the healing art now. If he had failed to make a physician, it was not because his heart was so tender that he could not bear to look upon pain and suffering. He was the agent of Mrs. Gordon, a widow lady, who owned the house in which Katy's mother lived. He collected her rents, and transacted all her business; and as far as dollars and cents were concerned, he had certainly been a faithful servant. Dr. Flynch was a prudent and discreet man, and did not hurt the feelings of the good lady who employed him by telling her about the difficulties he encountered in the discharge of his duty, or by describing the harsh and even cruel means to which he was sometimes obliged to resort, in order to obtain the rent of poor tenants.

"Mrs. Redburn," said Dr. Flynch, when he had heard the exclamation of Katy, "you have told me a falsehood. You said you had no money, not a cent. Where did you get that roll, child?"

"At the store at the corner of the court," replied Katy, abashed by the cold dignity of the agent.

"Precisely so, Mrs. Redburn; but you do not buy bread without money. You have attempted to deceive me. I have pitied you up to the present time, and indulged you in the non-payment of your rent for over a week I can do so no longer, for you have told me a falsehood."

"No, sir, I have not," pleaded the sick woman.

"Your child buys bread."

"I did not give her the money."

"Where did you get the money to buy that roll with?" demanded Dr. Flynch, turning sharply to Katy.

"Tommy Howard gave it to me."

"Who is Tommy Howard?"

"He lives on the other side of the court."

"Very probable that a dirty, ragged boy gave her the money! This is another false-hood, Mrs. Redburn. I lament that a person in your situation should have no higher views of Christian morality than to lie yourself, and teach your child to lie, which is much worse."

The poor woman burst into tears, and protested that she had told the truth, and nothing but the truth; declaring that Katy was a good girl, that she had eaten nothing that day, and would not tell a lie. Dr. Flynch was a man of method, and when a tenant did not pay the rent, it was his purpose to get rid of that tenant in the quietest way possible. In the present case there was a difficulty, and public opinion would not justify him in turning a sick woman out of the house; but if she lied, had money concealed, and would not pay her rent, it would alter the matter. As he wished to believe this was the case, he had no difficulty in convincing himself, and thus quieting his poor apology for a conscience.

Besides being a man of method, Dr. Flynch was a man of upright walk and conversation; at least, he passed for such with those who did not know anything about him. If Mrs. Gordon should happen to hear that he had turned out the sick woman, he could then inform her how feelingly he had pointed out to her the wickedness of her conduct, which he thought would sound exceedingly well.

"Mrs. Redburn," he continued, "I will give you till this time to-morrow to get out of the house; if you are not gone then, I shall be under the painful necessity of removing your goods into the street. Good morning;" and Dr. Flynch turned upon his heel, and walked out of the room.

"My poor child! what will become of us?" sobbed the sick woman, as she grasped Katy's hand, and pressed it to her bosom with convulsive energy.

"Don't cry, mother; something can be done. I will go and see Mrs. Gordon, and beg her to let you stay here."

"You must not do that; Dr. Flynch told me, if I troubled her about the house, I should not stay in it another minute, even if I paid the rent."

"He is a bad man, mother; and I don't believe Mrs. Gordon knows what he does here."

"There is one thing more we can do, Katy," continued Mrs. Redburn, wiping away her tears, and taking from under her pillow a heavy silver watch. "This was your father's; but we must sell it now. It is all we have left."

"I should hate to have that sold, mother."

"We must sell it, or pawn it."

"We will pawn it then."

"How shall we do it? I have not strength to rise, and they will cheat you if you offer it."

"I will tell you what I can do, mother; I will get Simon Sneed to go with me to the pawnbroker's shop. He is very kind to me, and I know he will. He comes home to dinner at two o-clock."

This plan was agreed to, and Katy then went to work to clean and cook the flounders.

Katy Redburn was only eleven years old, and not a very accomplished cook; but as the children learn faster in the homes of the poor than in the dwellings of the rich, she had a very tolerable idea of the management of a frying-pan. The operation of cleaning the flounders was the greatest trial, for the skin of the fish has to be removed. She cut her fingers with the knife, and scratched and pricked her hands with the sharp bones; but she was resolute, and finally accomplished the task to her entire satisfaction.

An occasional direction from her mother enabled her to cook the fish properly, and dinner was ready. There were still a few small stores left in the closet, and Katy made a cup of tea for her mother, and with it placed the delicate little flounder by the side of the bed. The invalid had no appetite, but to please Katy she ate a portion of the fish and bread though it was very hard work for her to do so. The little girl, gladdened by this unwonted sight, made a hearty meal, without a thought of the trials and sorrows which the future might have in store for them.

When she had put away the dishes, and placed everything in order, she washed herself, combed her hair, sewed up a great rent in her dress, and otherwise attempted to make herself as tidy as possible for the mission she was about to undertake.

"It is not time for you to go yet, Katy; and before the watch is carried off, I want to tell you something about your father, that you may learn to prize it as I do."

Katy seated herself on the side of the bed, for she was very anxious to hear more about her father than she already knew. She had often asked her mother about him, but she had generally evaded her questions, and did not seem willing to tell her all she knew. She thought there was some secret connected with his history, and with a child's curiosity she was eager to have the mystery unfolded. But it was no great secret, after all only a painful history, which her sensitive mother did not like to rehearse. Mrs. Redburn handed the watch to Katy, and asked her to look upon the back of it.

"Yes, mother, I have often seen those words on there-'All for the Best.' What do they mean?" said Katy.

"This watch was given to your father by my father," replied Mrs. Redburn, with a deep sigh, for the words seemed to recall happy memories of the past.

"Who was your father?" asked the attentive little girl.

"His name was Matthew Guthrie. He was a merchant in Liverpool, England, where I was born."

"A merchant, mother? Then he was a rich man, and lived in a great house, and had plenty of servants."

"He was rich, and lived in good style. One day there came a young man in great distress to his counting-room. He was a clerk, and had been sent by his employer in Manchester to pay a large sum of money to my father. After leaving the train, he had entered an ale-house, where he had been robbed of the remittance. He had been imprudent, but instead of running away, he went directly to my father, and informed him of his misfortune. The young man felt that he was ruined, but he said he was determined not to leave Liverpool till he had found the money. He was sure he knew the man who had robbed him, and my father procured the services of several policemen to assist him in his search. All that day and all that night, attended by policemen, he visited the resorts of vice and crime, and his perseverance was rewarded with success. He found the man, and the money was recovered. My father was so well pleased with the energy of the young man, that he gave him a situation in his counting room. That young man was John Redburn, your father. My father gave him a much larger salary than he had been receiving before, so that his misfortune in losing the money proved to be a piece of good fortune to him, for it procured him a much better situation. The new clerk performed his duties very faithfully, and at the end of a year my father presented him this watch, with the motto, 'All for the Best,' in allusion to the manner in which he had obtained his situation."

"But how came you here, mother, if your father was rich, and lived in a fine house? You are very poor now;" asked Katy, who feared that the mystery was yet to come.

Mrs. Redburn burst into tears, and covered her face with her hands, as the pleasant memories of her former happy home rushed through her mind.

"Don't cry, mother; I won't ask you any more questions," said Katy, grieved to find she had reminded her mother of some unpleasant thing.

"It was all my own fault, Katy. I am here poor and wretched, because I disobeyed my father; because I did what he desired me not to do. I will tell you all about it, Katy. I became acquainted with the new clerk, John Redburn, and the result of our acquaintance was, that we were married in about a year. We ran away from home; for my father, however much he liked John as a clerk, was not willing that he should be my husband. He forbade John's coming to our house, and forbade my seeing him. I disobeyed him. We were married, and John was discharged. My father refused to see me again."

"That was cruel," interposed Katy

"My father was right, and I have always regretted that I disobeyed him. We came to America, and your father procured a situation in New York, where you were born, about a year after we arrived. For three years we got along very well. I wish I could stop here, Katy, for the rest of the story is very sad."

"Don't tell me any more, mother, it makes you feel so bad, I would rather not hear it. I know now why you value the watch so much, and I hope we shall be able to get it back again."

"I fear not. But you must hear the rest of this sad story."

Mrs. Redburn continued the narrative, though tears blinded her eyes, and sobs chocked her utterance, as she told of the struggle she had had with poverty and want. Her husband had done very well in New York; and, gay and light-hearted in the midst of his prosperity, his habits had been gradually growing worse and worse, till he lost his situation, and became a common sot. The poor wife had then been compelled to toil for her own support and that of her child; and having been brought up in luxury and ease, it was a dreadful task to her.

John obtained another situation, but soon lost it. He was a good-hearted man when he had not been drinking, and keenly felt the disgrace and misery he was heaping upon himself and his unhappy wife. Once he had the resolution to abandon the cup, fully determined to redeem his lost character, and make his family happy again. The better to accomplish this, he removed to Boston, where he obtained a good situation, and for more than a year he adhered to his resolution. Mrs. Redburn was happy again and tremblingly hoped that the clouds of darkness had forever passed away.

The evil time came again, and John Redburn sank down lower than ever before. His wife lost all hope of him, and struggled, with the courage of a hero and the fortitude of a martyr, against the adverse tide that set against her. She was fortunate in obtaining plenty of sewing, and was able to support herself and child very well; but her husband, now lost to all sense of decency, contrived to obtain, from time to time, a portion of her hard earnings. She could never have believed that John Redburn would come to this; for, as a clerk in her father's counting room, he had been all that was good and noble; but there he was a miserable sot, lost to himself, to his family, and the world.

One morning in winter he was brought home to her dead. He had died in the watch-house of delirium tremens. He was buried, and peace, if not hope, settled on the brow of the broken-hearted wife.

Year after year Mrs. Redburn struggled on, often with feeble hands and fainting heart, to earn a subsistence for herself and Katy. She had been bred in opulence, and her wants were not so few and simple as the wants of those who have never enjoyed the luxury of a soft couch and a well-supplied table. She had never learned that calculating economy which provides a great deal with very small means.

Hence it was much harder for her to support herself and child, than it would have been for one who had been brought up in a hovel.

She had done very well, however, until, a few months before our story opens, she had been taken sick, and was no longer able to work. Her disease was an affection of the spine, which was at times very painful, and confined her to the bed.

"But where is your father now?" asked Katy, when her mother had finished the narrative.

"I do not know; if he is alive, he probably lives in Liverpool."

"Why don't you write a letter to him?"

"I have done so several times, but have never received any reply. I wrote shortly after your father died, giving an account of my situation. I am sure my father never could have got my letter, or he would have answered me. I know he would not let me suffer here in woe and want, if he were aware of my condition."

"Why don't you write again?"

"It is useless."

"Let me write, mother. I will call him dear grandfather, and I am sure he will send you some money then: perhaps he will send for us to go to Liverpool, and live in his great house, and have servants to wait upon us."

"Alas, my child, I have given up all hope of ever seeing him again in this world. In my letters I confessed my fault, and begged his forgiveness. He cannot be alive, or I am sure my last letters would have melted his heart."

"Haven't you any brothers and sisters, mother?"

"I had one sister; and I have written several letters to her, but with no better success. They may be all dead. I fear they are."

"And your mother?"

"She died when I was young. I know Jane would have answered my letters if she had received them."

"She was your sister?"

"Yes; she must be dead; and I suppose my father's property must be in the hands of strangers, covering their floors with soft carpets, and their tables with nice food, while I lie here in misery, and my poor child actually suffers from hunger;" and the afflicted mother clasped her daughter in her arms, and wept as though her heart would burst.

"Don't cry, mother. I was not very hungry. We have had enough to eat till to-day. I am going to take care of you now, you have taken care of me so long," replied Katy, as she wiped away the tears that flowed down her mother's wan cheek.

"What can you do, poor child?"

"I can do a great many things; I am sure I can earn money enough to support us both."

"It is hard to think how much I have suffered, and how much of woe there may be in the future for me," sobbed Mrs. Redburn.

"Don't cry, mother. You know what it says on the watch-'All for the Best.' Who knows but that all your sorrows are for the best?"

"I hope they are; I will try to think they are. But it is time for you to go. Pawn the watch for as much as you can; and I trust that some fortunate event will enable us to redeem it."

Katy took the watch, smoothed down her hair again, put on her worn-out bonnet, and left the house.

The court in which Katy lived had once been the abode of many very respectable families, to use a popular word, for respectable does not always mean worthy of respect on account of one's virtues, but worthy of respect on account of one's lands, houses, and money. In the former sense it was still occupied by very respectable families, though none of them possessed much of the "goods that perish in the using" Mrs. Redburn, the seamstress, was very respectable; Mrs. Colvin, the washer-woman, was very respectable, so were Mrs. Howard, the tailoress, Mr. Brown, the lumper, and Mr.

Sneed, the mason.

Katy's mother lived in a small house, with three other families. She occupied two rooms, for which she paid four dollars a month, the amount of rent now due and unpaid. Dr. Flynch took a great deal of pleasure in telling Mrs. Redburn how his humanity and his regard for the welfare of the poor had induced him to fix the rent at so cheap a rate; but he always finished by assuring her that this sum must be promptly paid, and that no excuses could ever have any weight.

The next house to Mrs. Redburn was tenanted by Mr. Sneed, the mason. I don't know whether I ought to say that Mr. Sneed had a son, or that Master Simon Sneed had a father, being at a loss to determine which was the more important personage of the two; but I am not going to say anything against either of them, for the father was a very honest mason and the son was a very nice young man.

Katy knocked at the door of this house, and inquired for Master Simon Sneed. She was informed that he had not yet finished his dinner; and she decided to wait in the court till he made his appearance. Seating herself on the door stone, she permitted her mind to wander back to the narrative her mother had related to her. She glanced at her coarse clothes, and could hardly believe that her grandfather was a rich merchant, and lived in a fine house. How nice it would be if she could only find the old gentleman! He could not be cross to her; he would give her all the money she could spend, and make a great lady of her.

"Pooh! what a fool I am to think of such a thing!" exclaimed she impatiently, as she rose from the door stone. "I am a beggar, and what right have I to think of being a fine lady, while my poor sick mother has nothing to eat and drink? It is very hard to be so poor, but I suppose it is all for the best."

"Do you want me, Katy?" said a voice from the door, which Katy recognized as that of Master Simon Sneed.

"I want to see you very much," replied Katy.

"Wait a moment, and I will join you."

And in a moment Master Simon Sneed did join her; but he is so much of a curiosity, and so much of a character, that I must stop to tell my young readers all about him.

Master Simon Sneed was about fifteen years old, and tall enough to have been two years older. He was very slim, and held his head very straight. In 1843, the period of which I write, it was the fashion for gentlemen to wear straps upon their pantaloons; and accordingly Master Simon Sneed wore straps on his pantaloons, though, it is true, the boys in the street used to laugh and hoot at him for doing so; but they were very ill-mannered boys, and could not appreciate the dignity of him they insulted.

Master Sneed's garments were not of the finest materials, but though he was a juvenile dandy, it was evident that it required a great deal of personal labor to make him such.

Clearly those straps were sewed on by himself, and clearly those cowhide shoes had been thus elaborately polished by no other hands than his own. In a word, the appearance of his clothes, coarse as was their texture, and unfashionable as was their cut, indicated the most scrupulous care. It was plain that he had a fondness for dress, which his circumstances did not permit him to indulge to any very great extent.

Master Simon Sneed was a great man in his own estimation; and, as he had read a great many exciting novels, and had a good command of language, he talked and acted like a great man. He could hold his own in conversation with older and wiser persons than himself. He could astonish almost any person of moderate pretensions by the largeness of his ideas; and, of late years, his father had not pretended to hold an argument with him, for Simon always overwhelmed him by the force and elegance of his rhetoric. He spoke familiarly of great men and great events.

His business relations-for Master Sneed was a business man-were not very complicated. According to his own reckoning, he was the chief person in the employ of Messrs. Sands & Co., wholesale and retail dry good Washington Street; one who had rendered immense service to the firm, and one without whom the firm could not possibly get along a single day; in short, a sort of Atlas, on whose broad shoulders the vast world of the Messrs. Sands & Co.'s affairs rested. But according to the reckoning of the firm, and the general understanding of people, Master Simon was a boy in the store, whose duty it was to make fires, sweep out, and carry bundles, and, in consideration of the fact that he boarded himself to receive two dollars and a half a week for his services. There was a vast difference between Master Simon Sneed's estimate of Masters Simon Sneed, and the Messrs. Sands & Co.'s idea of Master Simon Sneed.

But I beg my young friends not to let anything I have written create a prejudice against him, for he was really a very kind-hearted young man, and under certain circumstances would have gone a great way to oblige a friend. He had always been exceedingly well disposed towards Katy; perhaps it was because the simple-hearted little girl used to be so much astonished when he told her about his mercantile relations with the firm of Sands & Co.; and how he managed all their business for them after the store was closed at night, and before the front door was unlocked in the morning; how he went to the bank after immense sums of money; and how the firm would have to give up business if he should die, or be obliged to leave them. Katy believed that Master Simon was a great man, and she wondered how his long, slim arms could accomplish so much labor, and how his small head could hold such a heap of magnificent ideas. But Master Simon, notwithstanding his elevated position in the firm, was condescending to her; he had more than once done her a favor and had always expressed a lively interest in her welfare. Therefore she did not scruple to apply to him in the present emergency.

"Well, Katy, in what manner can I serve you?" inquired Simon, as he elevated his head, and stood picking his teeth before her.

"I want you to do something for me very much indeed."

"State your business, Katy."

"Dr. Flynch has been to our house to-day, and wants the rent; mother hasn't any money--"

"And you wish me to lend you the amount?" continued Simon, when Katy hesitated to reveal the family trouble. "It is really unfortunate, Katy; it is after bank hours now, and I don't see that I can accommodate you."

"O, I don't want to borrow the money."

"Ah, you don't."

"I have got a watch here, which belonged to my father; and I want to pawn it for the money to pay the rent."

"Well, it is rather out of our line of business to lend money on collateral."

"I don't want you to lend it. I want you to take it to the pawnbroker's. Mother says I am so young and so small that they might cheat me; and I thought perhaps, may be, you'd be so kind as to go with me."

"Go with you!" exclaimed Master Simon, as he eyed her coarse, ill-made garments.

"I thought you would," replied Katy, with a look of disappointment.

"Well, Katy, I shall be very glad to assist you in this matter, but--"

Master Simon paused, and glanced again at the unfashionable dress of the suppliant. He was, as he said, willing to aid her; but the idea of the principal personage of the house of Sands & Co. walking through the streets of the great city with such an ill-dressed young lady was absurd, and not to be tolerated. Master Sneed reflected. It is undoubtedly true that "where there is a will there is a way."

"Where do you wish to go?" demanded he.

"I don't know."

"Do you know where Brattle Street is?"

"I don't, but I can find it."

"Very well; important business in another street requires my personal attention for a moment, but I will join you in Brattle Street in a quarter of an hour, and attend you to a pawnbroker's."

"Thank you."

Master Sneed gave her directions so that she could find the street, and at the end of the court, as she turned one way, he turned the other.

Katy was first at the appointed place of meeting, where Simon soon joined her; and directing her to follow him, he led the way into another street, and entered a shop.

"This young person wishes to raise some money on a watch," said Simon, as he directed the attention of the astonished broker to Katy, who was scarcely tall enough to be seen over the high counter.

"Let me see it."

Katy handed up the watch, which the money lender opened and carefully examined. His practised eye soon discovered that the works of the watch were of the best quality.

"Where did you get this?" asked the broker.

"My mother gave it to me;" and Katy told without reserve the pitiful story of want and destitution which compelled Mrs. Redburn to part with the cherished memento of the past.

"I will give you three dollars for the watch," added the broker.

"Come, come, sir," interposed Master Simon, with a smile; "that is a little too bad. A gentleman of your judgment and discretion has already assured himself that the article is worth at least twenty."

The broker drew a long breath after this speech, and seemed very much impressed by the style of the remark. But Katy declared she did not want to sell the watch, only to pawn it.

"Your story is not a very plausible one," said the broker, "and there is some risk in taking it."

"I give you my personal assurance, on honor that her story is all true," added Simon.

The broker burst out into a loud laugh. He could not stand Simon's fine speeches, and would not take the watch at any rate; so they departed to find another place, and entered a shop close by.

"Where did you get this?" asked the broker sourly, and Katy repeated her story, and Simon vouched for its truth.

"It is all a lie," exclaimed the broker, "I will put the watch into my safe and hand it over to the police."

"This is a most extraordinary proceeding," protested Master Simon.

"Get out of the shop, both of you, or I will hand you over to the police! You stole the watch, and have the audacity to bring it into the shop of an honest man. I don't buy stolen goods."

Katy began to cry, as the last hope of redemption from the fangs of Dr. Flynch fled. Even Master Simon Sneed was alarmed at the idea of being handed over to the police; but his sense of dignity compelled him to enter his earnest protest, against the proceeding of the broker, and even to threaten him with the terrors of the law. The money-lender repeated his menace, and even went to the door, for the apparent purpose of putting it into execution.

"Come, Katy, let us go; but I assure you I will represent this outrage to my friend the mayor, in such a manner that entire justice shall be done you," whispered Simon. "I cannot remain any longer away from my business, or I would recover the watch at once."

"O, dear! my poor mother!" sobbed Katy.

"Don't cry, my child; leave it all to me, and run home as fast as you can. You shall have the watch again, for I will call in the whole police force of Boston to your aid;" and Master Simon ran away to attend to the affairs of Sands & Co., which Katy innocently concluded must be suffering by this time from his absence.

Poor Katy! with a heavy heart she wandered home to tell her mother of this new misfortune.