CHAPTER XII.
BEN'S HOME IN PHILADELPHIA.
Though the story of "Ben, the Luggage Boy," professes to treat of lifein the city streets, I must devote a single chapter to a very differentplace. I must carry the reader to Ben's home in Pennsylvania, and showwhat effect his running away had upon the family circle.
There was a neat two-story house standing on the principal street inCedarville, with a pleasant lawn in front, through which, from the gate,a gravelled walk ran to the front door. Mr. Brandon, as I have alreadysaid, was a coal-dealer, and in very comfortable circumstances; so thatBen had never known what it was to want anything which he really needed.He was a man of great firmness, and at times severity, and more thanonce Ben had felt aggrieved by his treatment of him. Mrs. Brandon wasquite different from her husband, being gentle and kind, and it was toher that Ben always went for sympathy, in any trouble or difficulty,whether at home or at school.
Mrs. Brandon was sitting at the window with her work in her hand; but ithad fallen listlessly in her lap, and on her face was a look of painfulpreoccupation. Opposite her sat her daughter Mary, Ben's only sister,already referred to.
"Don't worry so, mother," said Mary; "you will make yourself sick."
"I cannot help it, Mary," said Mrs. Brandon. "I can't help worryingabout Ben. He has been gone a week now, and Heaven knows what he hassuffered. He may be dead."
"No, mother," said Mary, who had more of her father's strength than hermother's gentleness. "He is not dead, you may depend upon that."
"But he had no money, that I know of. How could he live?"
"Ben can take care of himself better than most boys of his age."
"But think of a boy of ten going out in the world by himself!"
"There are many boys of ten who have to do it, mother."
"What could the poor boy do?"
"He might suffer a little; but if he does, he will the sooner comehome."
"I wish he might," said Mrs. Brandon, with a sigh. "I think your fatherdoes very wrong not to go after him."
"He wouldn't know where to go. Besides, he has advertised."
"I hope Ben will not see the advertisement. Poor boy! he would feel hurtto think that we cared so little for him as to offer only one dollar forhis return."
"He will know you had nothing to do with the advertisement, mother; youmay be sure of that."
"Yes, he knows me too well for that. I would give all I have to have himback."
"I want him back too," said Mary. "He is my only brother, and of courseI love him; but I don't think it will do him any harm to suffer a littleas a punishment for going away."
"You were always hard upon the poor boy, Mary," said Mrs. Brandon.
"No, I am not hard; but I see his faults, and I want him to correctthem. It is you who have been too indulgent."
"If I have been, it is because you and your father have been too muchthe other way."
There was a brief pause, then Mrs. Brandon said, "Can you think of anyplace, Mary, where Ben would be likely to go?"
"Yes, I suppose he went to Philadelphia. When a boy runs away from home,he naturally goes to the nearest city."
"I have a great mind to go up to-morrow."
"What good would it do, mother?"
"I might meet him in the street."
"There is not much chance of that. I shouldn't wonder if by this time hehad gone to sea."
"Gone to sea!" repeated Mrs. Brandon, turning pale. "What makes youthink so? Did he ever speak of such a thing to you?"
"Yes, he once threatened to run away to sea, when I did something thatdid not suit him."
"Oh, I hope not. I have heard that boys are treated very badly on boardship. Besides, he might get drowned."
"I am not sure whether a good sea-voyage might not be the best thing forhim," said strong-minded Mary.
"But suppose he should be ill-treated?"
"It might take the pride out of him, and make him a better boy."
"I never get much satisfaction from you, Mary. I don't see how you canbe so harsh."
"I see we are not likely to agree, mother. But there is a boy coming upthe walk with a letter in his hand."
"It may be from Ben," said his mother, rising hastily, and going to thedoor.
The boy was William Gordon, a school-mate of Ben's, whose disappearance,long before this time, had been reported throughout the village.
"I was passing the post-office, Mrs. Brandon," he said, "when thepostmaster called from the window, and asked me to bring you thisletter. I think it is from Ben. The handwriting looks like his."
"Oh, thank you, William," said Mrs. Brandon, joyfully. "Give it to mequick."
She tore it open and read the letter, which is given at length in thelast chapter.
"Is it from Ben?" asked William.
"Yes."
"Is he in Philadelphia? I noticed it was mailed there."
"Yes--no--he says he cannot tell us where he is."
"I think he must be in Philadelphia, or the letter would not be mailedthere."
"Come in, William. I must go and tell Mary."
"No, thank you, Mrs. Brandon. I am on an errand for my mother. I hopeBen is well?"
"Yes, he says so."
Mrs. Brandon went in, and showed the letter to her daughter.
"There, I told you, mother, you need not be alarmed. He says he isearning his living."
"But it seems so hard for a boy of ten to have to work for his living.What can he do?"
"Oh, there are various things he can do. He might sell papers, forinstance."
"I think I shall go to Philadelphia to-morrow, Mary."
"It won't be of any use, you may depend, mother. He is not inPhiladelphia."
"But this letter is posted there."
"That is a proof to me that he is not there. He says he don't want tocome back."
Shortly after, Mr. Brandon entered the house.
"We have had a letter from Ben, father," said Mary.
"Show it to me," he said, briefly.
He read the letter, and handed it back without a word.
"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Brandon?" asked his wife.
"What is there to be done?" he asked.
"I think I had better go up to Philadelphia to-morrow."
"What for?"
"I might see him."
"You would be going on a wild-goose chase."
"Then why won't you go?"
"It isn't worth while. If the boy doesn't want to come home, he maytake care of himself if he likes it so well. I shan't run round afterhim."
"He says he did not do what you punished him for," said Mrs. Brandon,rather deprecatingly, for she was somewhat in awe of her husband.
"Of course he would say that. I have heard that before."
"But I don't think he really did."
"I know you have always been foolishly indulgent to him."
"At any rate that cannot be said of you," said his wife, with somespirit.
"No," he answered, rather surprised at such an unusual manifestationfrom his usually acquiescent wife; "you are right there, and you mightadd that I don't mean to be, if he should return."
"I think he would have come home but for that advertisement. You seewhat he says about it in his letter."
"If I were to write it again, I should write it in the same manner,though perhaps I might not offer so large a sum."
Mrs. Brandon sighed, and ceased speaking. She knew her husband wellenough to see that there was little chance of changing hisdetermination, or softening his anger towards Ben.
The next day, when Mr. Brandon returned home to dinner from hiscoal-wharf, he found Mary seated at the head of the table.
"Where is your mother?" he asked.
"She went to Philadelphia by the middle train," was the answer.
"She has gone on a fool's errand."
"I advised her not to go; but she thought she might meet Ben, and Icould not dissuade her."
"Well,
she will be better satisfied after she has been up--and failed tofind him."
"Do you think he will ever come back, father?"
"Yes; he will turn up again some day, like a bad penny. He will findthat earning his own living is not quite so agreeable as being takencare of at home."
"Suppose he shouldn't come back?"
"So much the worse for him," said Mr. Brandon.
Mr. Brandon spoke after his way of speaking, for he was not anaffectionate man, nor given to the softer emotions. He had never givenBen any reason to think he loved him, at least since he was a baby, butappearances are sometimes deceptive, and he thought more of his son'sabsence than any one would have supposed. He thought, too, of thatsentence in Ben's letter, in which he spoke of being punished for whathe did not do, and he admitted to himself, though he would not have doneso to his wife, that perhaps he had been unjust to the boy after all.Every day when he turned from his office to go home, it was with theunacknowledged hope that he might find the prodigal returned. But inthis hope they were all doomed to be disappointed. Year after yearpassed away, and still no tidings from Ben beyond that single letterwhich we have mentioned.
Mrs. Brandon returned from Philadelphia, as might have been anticipated,disappointed and despondent. She was very tired, for she had wanderedabout the streets, looking everywhere, during the four or five hours shewas in the city. Once or twice her heart beat high, as she saw in frontof her a boy of Ben's size, and dressed as he had been dressed when heleft home. But when, with hurrying steps she came up with him, she wasdoomed, in every case, to disappointment.
"I told you it would be no use, mother," said Mary.
"I couldn't stay at home contented, if I did nothing to find him, Mary."
"He'll turn up yet some day, mother,--return in rags most likely."
"Come when he may, or how he may, Mary, my arms shall be open to receivehim."
But the years passed, and Ben did not come.