CHARLIE GETS NEW IDEAS WHILE IN BOSTON.

When Ben returned, he was no less concerned than Sally, and instantly proceeded to administer consolation in a more practical form, by proposing that he should take passage with his father and the boys to Boston, have the wig dressed, and procure an entire new suit, and he would pay the bills.

But the good man’s troubles were not ended yet. The barbers were accustomed, when they dressed wigs, to put them on blocks of wood, made in the form of a head. It so happened that, there being a great deal of work in the barber’s shop, all the blocks were in use. The barber, for want of a block, clapped the wig on the head of his negro apprentice to dress it. A band of music came along, and the negro, jumping up, ran out to listen. He went by a carriage-maker’s shop, when a man, who was at work painting wheels, struck with the ludicrous appearance of a negro with a snow-white wig, poured a whole paper of lampblack on his head. This finished up the wig. But Captain Rhines, after laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks, procured another.

Charlie spent every leisure moment, while in Boston, in the ship-yards and boat-builders’ shops.

Mr. Welch, who had become thoroughly acquainted with Charlie while visiting Elm Island, invited him and Fred to come with Captain Rhines to dinner. He soon wormed out of Charlie all he had in view respecting Fred, which caused him to become interested in the boy, and he gave him much good advice in respect to business, concluding his remarks by telling him he would buy all the fish he could cure, and give him the highest market prices, according to quality.

Mr. Welch invited, and insisted on, Captain Rhines coming to tea, as he had some private matters he wished to talk over with him.

“My old friend,” said the merchant, deeply moved, taking both the captain’s hands in his the moment they were alone, “my oldest son, who bears my name,—a name which I have ever striven to connect with everything good and honorable,—is little better than a drunkard. He is both indolent and vicious. His conduct has broken my heart, and is fast bringing my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.”

Captain Rhines, not knowing how to reply, remained silent; but the pressure of the hand, and the tears that gathered in his eyes, attested, beyond the power of words, his sympathy.

“He is,” continued the parent, “of large business capacity, attractive in his manners, and makes friends, though of violent temper when aroused.”

“Why don’t you send him to sea? Let him see the hard side of life, come to misery, and learn to submit.”

“I would, but it would kill his mother. She thinks his temper is so violent he would kill some one, or be killed himself.”

“Nonsense! begging your pardon. He may be very violent with you or his mother; but let the mate of a vessel get afoul of him, and he would knuckle fast enough. I wish I was going to sea now; I’d engage to bring him to his bearings, and not hurt him, either.”

“His mother would never consent to his going to sea. But I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking of ever since I was at Elm Island. That is a place free from temptation. He resembles me in many things. Like me, he is extravagantly fond of gunning and fishing, and has keen appreciation of everything beautiful in nature. I thought, if he could spend a summer in that beautiful spot,—he likes you and Ben; he couldn’t help liking Charlie and Sally,—perhaps it might aid him to rally, for I think of late he has made some effort in that direction. His mother has often spoken of it, and says she would not be afraid to have him go to Elm Island.”

“She need be under no apprehension of his hurting Ben, and Ben certainly won’t hurt him.”

“It is not altogether in respect to Elm Island that I wished to speak. But while I was there, I became acquainted with Mr. Murch—Uncle Isaac, as everybody there calls him. He is certainly a most remarkable man. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about him impresses and influences one in spite of himself. I couldn’t help feeling, while I was talking with him, that I wanted him to have a good opinion of me, and was vexed with myself for wishing that I knew what he thought of me.”

“Let me tell you, my friend, you couldn’t have a greater compliment than Isaac’s good opinion.”

“But the most remarkable thing is the liking that your John and Charlie, and, as far as I could see, every other boy, seems to have for him, and the influence he has over them. Why, John told me—and Charlie says the same—that this young Williams was a bad, mischievous boy, so bad that they were determined not to play with him, and would have given him up had it not been for Mr. Murch. Now, if he can work such miracles, why, if my poor boy was down there, couldn’t he, with God’s help and blessing, do something for him?”

“It is quite a different case. These were boys; your son is—”

“Twenty-two next March.”

“They were on the same level with Isaac. Your son is educated, and Isaac would seem like an old codger to an educated man.”

“He wouldn’t hold to that opinion long when he came to be acquainted with him. It is too late now for this year. But if you think Benjamin would be willing,—I should expect to pay his way, of course,—I should like to try it, if I could get him to go.”

“Anything that I or Ben can do, we will be glad to. Our hearts and homes are open to you.”

“You are very kind, and I will think more about it; there’s time enough. Now, my dear friend, permit me to say a word to you. I am considerably older than yourself. Our friendship is of long standing. It dates back to the year you was twenty-one, and came to Boston mate of the first vessel I ever owned any part of. We ought by this time to know each other as well as we love each other. I feel as if I must tell you there is but one thing you lack. Do, my old friend, give your heart to God. Let us be one in feeling and sympathies here, as we are in every other respect. In this bitter trial which has come upon me, it has been my stay and comfort. If I could not have cast my burden on the bosom of the Savior, I should have gone mad. There are sorrows to which wealth can offer no alleviation, but there are none beyond the aid of divine grace.”

Captain Rhines was touched to the very heart, and most of all by the noble spirit manifested by his friend, who, when crushed to the earth by individual grief, turned from his own sorrows to seek his good.

“I have, indeed,” he replied, “endeavored to live a moral life. I was the child of godly parents, have been blessed with a pious wife, and am a firm believer in the truths of the gospel; but I know that I need more than this—that I must be born again. It is impossible for a man of ordinary intelligence and capacity to follow the sea, as I have for more than thirty years, without at times feeling deeply his accountability. Oftentimes at sea, and at other times at home, when Mr. Goodhue, a good, faithful man, has talked with me, I have resolved—I have resolved to pray, but never have done it; yet I trust I shall.”

“Life is uncertain. We may never meet again. Kneel down with me.”

They knelt together, and Mr. Welch pleaded with his Maker for the salvation of his friend; and, as they parted, Captain Rhines promised him that he would take the matter into serious consideration, and endeavor to pray for himself. “The same energy and resolution, my dear friend, that carried the Ark through the storms of the Gulf Stream into the harbor of Havana, and at one stroke won a fortune for yourself and son, will carry you into the Ark of Safety, and perhaps be the salvation of your whole family.”

During their stay in Boston, Mr. Welch derived great pleasure from talking with Charlie. It was a relief to the heart of the worn and weary old man to listen to the conversation of the fresh-hearted boy, full of hope and buoyancy. He entered into all his plans, and drew from him his little secrets, which helped to withdraw him from his own griefs. Charlie told him about his great disappointment by the wreck of the West Wind, and he didn’t know how it would be, but thought some time he should try to build a boat with timbers. Aware of Charlie’s love of the soil, and all connected with it, he took him into his orchard, where his gardener was putting in grafts, and told him to show Charlie how to set them, and also how to bud. The first thing he said, after he found he could perform the operation, was, “O, how glad father and mother will be!”

“I wish he was my boy,” was the thought that arose in the mind of the merchant, as he perceived how love for his adopted parents colored every impulse of his heart.

“Has your father got his ground ready for his orchard? If he has, you might take some trees home with you.”

“No, sir, but he will have it ready in the fall.”

“But haven’t you got some room in the garden, where you could put a few trees temporarily, and then take them up?”

“O, yes, sir.”

“Well, you can take home some apple and pear trees that have never been grafted, and the scions, and graft them yourself. It will be good practice for you; and then, when you get the ground ready, you can put them in the orchard. Are there not wild cherry trees and thorn bushes on the island?”

“Yes, sir, plenty of both. Lots of cherry trees came up on the burns.”

“Well, you can graft the cherries with cherries, and the thorns with pears.”

“How nice that will be!”

“But you must graft the thorns close to the ground, and bank the earth up around them, that the pear may take root for itself.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“Because the pear will, in a few years, outgrow the thorn bush, and will break down just as it begins to bear. The pear and the thorn follow their own nature and habits of growth.”

“That is very singular, sir.”

“Yes, but so it is. Look at that apple tree just before us.”

The tree to which Mr. Welch referred had been grafted about two feet from the ground when it was little, and the graft jutted over the lower portions all around three or four inches.

“These trees,” said Mr. Welch, “are both apple trees, but the upper one is a larger growing variety; still there is not the difference there is between a thorn bush and a pear tree, so that one breaks the other down. It’s just like religion, Charlie; religion don’t alter a person’s color or size, or give him senses; but it gives him different tastes, turns sour to sweet, and leads him to a better improvement of what faculties he already has. Who runs out land down your way, Charlie?”

“Squire Eveleth, sir; but he’s getting quite old and feeble, and can’t go into the woods; and people often come for father to run land and measure timber.”

“Has your father got instruments?”

“He has calipers and a rule to measure timber; but he hires Squire Eveleth’s compass and chain when he runs land.”

“Would you like to learn surveying, Charlie?”

“O, yes, sir, I like to learn anything; but I would like to learn that uncommon well.”

“You might pick up a good deal of money in that way in a new country, where people are always buying and selling land, and the stump leave of timber.”

“Yes, sir; I suppose I might.”

“When you will write me that you have learned to survey, I will send you a compass, and all the instruments you want.”

“I thank you very much indeed, sir; I will get father to learn me this winter.”

When Charlie left, Mr. Welch gave him some books that treated of agriculture, text-books to study surveying, a gauge, bevel, carpenter’s pocket rule, and a case of instruments to draw geometrical figures.

“What a pretty craft this is!” said Mr. Welch, as he stood on the wharf to see them off; “she certainly don’t look or smell much like a fisherman.”

“She hasn’t been a fishing since last fall,” replied the captain. “Ben, you know, is a deep-water sailor, and keeps to his old notions. Nobody, I guess, ever caught a fisherman holy-stoning his decks, and they don’t slush the masts any higher than they can reach.”

“She’s a beauty; but she seems small to go to the stormy coast of Labrador, the Bay of Fundy, and those places where fishermen go.”

“Small! Believe me, I would sooner take my chance for life on a lee shore, or lying to in a gale of wind, in her, than in any ship I was ever in. A chebacco boat will beat square to windward where a ship couldn’t hold her own; lie to and keep dry till all is blue; and drug them, they will live forever. I served my apprenticeship in a chebacco boat; I ought to know something about them.”

Having a fair wind, Captain Rhines did not touch at Portland on his way up to Boston; but going home, he put in there, saw John, and told him what disposition he had made of his money, of which John highly approved.

The goods they had bought and brought home were put into the mill. Charlie got up his “bee,” built the fish-house and flakes, and Fred soon covered them with fish. As it took but three good days to make the fish sufficiently to put them in the house, it soon assumed the air of a business place.

Fred’s stock of goods was so much larger than before, that the store in the mill was enlarged, additional shelves put up, and many conveniences added; he also got rid of trusting anybody, as so large a portion of his goods were sold on commission. In order to render it easier to keep accounts, each one put in separate articles. Teas and tobacco belonged to Captain Rhines; hardware, iron, and nails, to John; molasses, to Charlie; and so on; the smaller articles Fred purchased himself.

Charlie made Fred a sign-board, and he took it to Wiscasset and had it lettered. Every day, often before sunrise, Fred was to be seen taking fish from the pickle and putting them on the flakes, or salting them as they came from the boats, or turning them on the flakes, every now and then running to the store to wait on some customer.

The good minister recognized the hand of Providence in the affliction which resulted in a new suit from top to toe; yet it may well be doubted whether he ever again became so fascinated with the study of natural history as to pursue it in a goose pen, or to take for his subject a wild gander.