The little merchant
Date: 2023-11-08T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Poverty -- Juvenile fiction; Bullying -- Juvenile fiction; Widows -- Juvenile fiction; Newspaper carriers -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The little merchant

A story for little folks

Author: Oliver Optic

Release date: November 8, 2023 [eBook #72065]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1870

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/72065

Credits: David Edwards, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE MERCHANT ***

David and the Frog.

RIVERDALE STORY BOOKS
THE LITTLE MERCHANT
Boston, Lee & Shepard.

The Riverdale Books.

THE LITTLE MERCHANT.

A STORY FOR LITTLE FOLKS.

BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF “THE BOAT CLUB,” “ALL ABOARD,” “NOW OR NEVER,” “TRY
AGAIN,” “POOR AND PROUD,” “LITTLE BY LITTLE,” &c.

BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD,
(SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.)
1870.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by

WILLIAM T. ADAMS

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.

THE LITTLE MERCHANT.

I.

Perhaps some of my young readers have been at Riverdale; if they have not, I must tell them that it is a very pretty place. The village is on the banks of a river, that comes from many miles away among the hills and mountains; and that is the reason why it is called Riverdale. But I will not stop now to tell my little friends about the place, for they will find out all they wish to know about it before they have done reading the story.

There were rich people and poor people in Riverdale, as there are in almost every other place, and my story begins in the humble cottage of a poor widow. It was not a pretty white cottage, with green blinds, and a nice flower garden in front of it, but it was a dingy old house that had never been painted. Nothing had been done to make it look pretty, and it seemed hardly fit to live in.

The poor widow’s name was Jane White. Her husband, who had been a laborer, died only a year before, and left her with a family of four children. She had to work very hard to get money enough to buy food and clothes for her little boys and girls, and you may be sure they did not have any nice things to eat, nor any fine clothes to wear.

Her oldest boy’s name was David White. He was not quite nine years old. But he was big enough to help his mother a great deal, as any little boy of that age may do, if he only tries.

David used to take care of the baby, bring in the wood and water, see to the fire, and do a great many other things that were not beyond his strength. His mother sent him to school, for she wanted her boy to be a wise and good man when he grew up. It was very kind of her to let David go to school, when she wanted him so much to help her take care of the children, and to do the chores.

Mrs. White used to earn money by “closing” shoes;—that is, by sewing up the seams. David could not help seeing that she had to work very hard, and he often wished that he could close shoes, and thus get a little money. He tried two or three times to sew up some strips of leather, but he did not make out very well; and his mother told him he was not big enough to do such work.

A great many times did David wish he was a great man, so that he could take care of his mother, and his little brother and sisters. He thought if he was, he would earn lots of money. Then he would not let his mother sit up so late nights to close shoes.

It was of no use to wish he was a man, for he was only a little boy. The next best thing he could do was to help her all he could; and Mrs. White had no reason to find fault with him, for he did all he was able, and was willing to do a great deal more. Still he could not help thinking what a fine thing it would be to earn money for his mother. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do something.

Those who are willing to help themselves are almost always sure to find some one who is willing to help them. If we try to do well, there are plenty of friends who will do all they can for us.

David’s mother used to let him go to the river to catch fish, but she always told him, when he was going, to be very careful not to fall into the water. He used to mind what she said, for he knew how sad she would feel if he should be drowned, as John Piper had been only the year before. He felt that it was his duty to take care of his mother when he got big enough. If he should be lost, what would become of her, when she was too old to work?

He had a fish-pole and line that had been his father’s, and with these he used to catch pouts, perch, and shiners; and once he had caught a great pickerel. These fish were all good to eat, and when David had caught a mess of them, he felt that he had done something to feed the family.

One day he wanted to go a fishing, and like a good boy, he asked his mother. The baby was asleep, and Arthur and Susan were building a house in the sand before the cottage; and so she told him he might.

David took down his fish-pole, got a little basket from the wood-shed, and started for the river. He felt just as though he wanted to do some great thing. He wanted to catch something better than perch and shiners. So he took a big stick, and when he came to the river, he walked till he heard a “chug”—which is the noise that a bull-frog makes.

Then he stopped, and pretty soon he saw the green head of a frog sticking out of the water. Froggy looked at him slyly, as though he knew what he meant to do. As David crept up to him, Froggy gave another “chug,” and darted into the water, hiding himself under a lily-pad that grew near the shore.

David could not find him; so he walked along till he saw another. He was more careful, and I don’t think Froggy heard him this time.

“You just sit still half a second more,” said he to himself, “and I’ll have you. You need not wink at me; I want one of your hind legs for bait.”

As soon as he got near enough, he raised the big stick, and brought it down upon the head of poor Froggy. It was a hard blow, and the frog was killed by it.

Perhaps some of my kind-hearted little readers will say it was too bad for David to kill the frog. It would have been very wicked, if he had not wanted the frog for bait. He had done the act in order to get food for his mother and his brother and sisters.

Taking out his knife, he cut off one of the hind legs of the frog, and put it on the hook. There were a great many pickerel in the river. They are a very fine fish, and often grow to be quite large. A frog’s leg is the best bait to catch them with, and David wished ever so much that he could catch a big pickerel.

He dragged the frog’s leg over the water for half an hour, hoping a pickerel would jump up and catch hold of it. At last he heard a splash, and felt a fish pulling very hard at the line.

He hoped he should catch him, and even before he had seen the fish, he began to think what he should do with him. But he had a little plan in his head, and if he could only get the fish, he was almost sure of doing a great thing.

The Pickerel for sale.

II.

“Hold on tight, Fishy,” said David, as he tugged away at the fish-pole.

I don’t think the fish would have minded what he said, if he could have helped himself. But the pickerel was well hooked, and could not get away. The pole bent as David pulled, and he was afraid it would break. He was very careful, and after a deal of tugging he pulled the fish out of the water, and landed him on the grass.

It was a nice large pickerel, and David felt like a great man then, for he had caught a big fish. He put him in the basket, and put some grass over him. Then he tried again, but could get no more pickerel; so he put a worm on the hook for bait, and pretty soon he caught perch and shiners enough for dinner the next day.

While he sat on the rock, David kept thinking of something. He wanted to earn some money for his mother; and this was what he was thinking about. He had now formed a plan by which he hoped to do it. After winding up his line, he took the basket of fish on his arm, and started for home.

Just before he came to the house, he took the pickerel out of the basket, and hid it in the grass, for he did not want his mother to see this fish. Then he carried the basket into the house, and asked his mother if he might stay out a little while longer. She said he might; and he ran back to the place where he had put the pickerel.

Putting the fish into another basket he had brought, he laid some fresh grass upon it, and walked up to the village. He stopped before a large, fine house, with a grove and a nice garden before it. He did not feel so brave then as before, and he paused for some time before he dared to enter the garden.

At last he pushed the gate open, and went in. As he was walking up to the house, a great dog ran out at him, and barked as though he meant to tear him in pieces. David was afraid of the big dog, but he did not like to go away without seeing Mr. Lee, who lived in the fine house.

“Be still, Watch,” said the sweet voice of a little girl; “what do you make all that noise for?”

In a moment, David saw the little girl running towards him. She was not more than eight years old, and had such pretty curls that David thought she must be an angel. She went up to the big dog, and with her little hand struck him on the head, and told him again to be still.

“You are naughty, Watch, to bark at a little boy, and if you don’t hold your tongue, you shall have no supper. Go, lie down!”

Watch wagged his great bushy tail, and kissed the little girl’s hand, just as though he loved her very much. The blow she had given him did not hurt him, and Watch did not seem to be afraid of her.

“What do you want, little boy?” asked Flora Lee; for that was her name.

“I have got a great big pickerel that I caught in the river; and I want to sell him to your father,” replied David.

“Do let me see him!” said Flora.

David pulled out the grass, and the little girl looked at the fish, said he was a monster, and did not see how David could have caught him.

“He pulled very hard,” added David, “but I got him out. He is a very nice fish, and I heard a man say that your father was very fond of pickerel.”

“He is.”

“My mother is poor, and has to work very hard; I want to get some money to help her, if I can.”

“You are a nice boy to help your mother, and my father shall buy the fish; if he won’t, I will,” said Flora.

“Thank you, little miss.”

“Now come with me, and I will take you to my pa,” added Flora.

David followed the little girl into the great house. Our hero had never seen any thing so fine before. Flora led him into the house by the front door, which was not the way to take a fish boy in; but she was so eager to have David sell his fish, she did not think of that.

“O pa, here! Come quick!” said Flora, as she threw open the door of the room where her father was reading the paper.

“What is the matter, Flora?” asked he.

“Nothing, pa; only here is a nice little boy that has got a great big pickerel; he wants to sell it to you, pa, and you must buy it,” said Flora, talking as fast as she could.

“Must I?” asked Mr. Lee, with a smile. “Perhaps I shall not.”

“But you must! This little boy wants to earn some money to help his mother. She is poor, and has to work very hard.”

“That may be. What does he ask for the pickerel?”

“I don’t know;” and then Flora ran back to David.

“What is your name, little boy?”

“David White.”

Mr. Lee then came out into the entry where David was.

“Well, my little man, you have a fish to sell—have you?” said Mr. Lee.

“Yes, sir; a man told me you liked pickerel—and I came up to see if you wanted this one,” said David, taking off his hat.

Mr. Lee looked at the fish, and said it was a very fine one. He then asked the price, and David told him he might give him what he pleased for it.

“Give him a good deal for it, pa,” said Flora.

“I will give him half a dollar; that is more than the fish is worth, but he is a good boy;” and he handed him the money.

Flora showed him into the kitchen, and David gave the pickerel to the cook.

“You must catch some more and bring them here, and my father shall buy them,” said Flora, who went with him to the gate.

“I will if I can,” replied David; and he ran towards home with all his might.

How happy he was! How tightly he held on to the bright half dollar in his hand! Wouldn’t his mother open her eyes when he gave it to her! How glad it would make her! He had never held so much money in his hand before; and he had earned it. He felt more like a great man than he had ever felt before. He had done a big thing—even bigger than he had hoped when the fish first bit the hook.

Half a dollar! David wondered if any other little boy ever earned so much money in one day.

“Here’s the Journal.”

III.

“See what I have got, mother!” said David, as he ran into the house.

“Hush, David; you will wake up the baby,” replied his mother. “What have you got?”

“Half a dollar,” answered David, as he put the money into his mother’s hand.

“Why, where did you get it?”

“I earned it, mother,” said David, in a whisper, lest he should wake little Mary. “I caught a big pickerel in the river, and I sold it to Mr. Lee, and he gave me half a dollar for it.”

“You have done well, David; half a dollar is a great deal of money to poor folks, like us,” replied his mother, as she took the coin. “I will use this to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t use it for me, mother, but for yourself. I never felt so happy before in my life. I wish I could earn some more money.”

“Perhaps, there will be a chance by and by.”

When David went to bed that night, instead of going to sleep, he lay awake to think of some way in which he might help his mother. If he could only earn half a dollar every day, it would almost support the family. But he could not think of any way, and so he went to sleep, and dreamed about it.

When he got up the next morning, the first thing he thought of was the half dollar he had earned the day before. School did not keep that day, and he went down to the river to catch some more pickerel. He got three, but they were not so large as the one he had caught the day before. He carried them into the village, and after trying at a dozen houses, he could find no one to buy them. He felt very bad when he carried them home, but his mother told him he must not lose his courage.

Mrs. White cooked the pickerel for their dinner that day, and David said they were very good, and he did not see why no one would buy them. After dinner David’s mother sent him to the store to get some sugar. While the grocer was putting it up, he heard a man in the store say they ought to have the Boston papers in Riverdale, and he did not see why they could not be left at the people’s houses, as they were in other places.

As he walked home, David thought he might carry the papers round and sell them. He had heard about the boys who sold them in Boston. His mother had seen little fellows, no bigger than he was, selling them in the city. If he could only get them he would try the plan. His eyes grew very bright as he thought of it.

“I will do it,” said he to himself. “At least, I will try to do it. I will go right off and see Mr. Field, the express man, and get him to bring me out some papers next Monday.”

When he had carried the sugar home, he started for Mr. Field’s house. He found him at work in his garden, and told him what he wanted.

“Do you think you can sell the papers, my boy?” asked the express man.

“I can try, sir; my mother is very poor, and has to work very hard. I want to do something to help her if I can.”

“That’s a good boy,” said the man, very kindly; “and if I can do any thing for you I am sure I will.”

“If you will bring me the papers from Boston, I think I can sell them.”

“You shall have a chance to try, my boy. I will bring you some next Monday. How many do you want?”

“Not many at first, sir.”

“Say twenty or thirty?”

“Yes.”

“I will bring them.”

David was so glad he hardly knew what to do with himself. He ran home and told his mother what he had done, and she was as glad as he was when she thought what a smart son she had, and how anxious he was to help her.

Monday came; David was at the railroad station when the train came, and Mr. Field gave him the papers. David took them under his arm. How his heart beat with fear lest he should not be able to sell them! But he meant to work very hard, and he felt almost sure that he should sell them.

There were two dozen papers. They cost fifteen cents a dozen, or thirty cents for the whole. At two cents each, they would come to forty-eight cents. This would leave David a profit of eighteen cents, and this would do very well for a start.

“What have you got there, boy?” said a gentleman.

“The Journal, sir. Two cents each,” replied David, taking one of the papers from under his arm.

“Give me one;” and the man handed him two cents.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I want one every day.”

“Very well, sir; I shall be glad to sell you one every day.”

“You may leave it at my house.”

He pointed out his house to David, and he told him he would leave one there every day.

The little merchant was cheered by this sale. It was a good start, and he felt sure that almost every man in the place would want a paper. Pretty soon he came to the grocery store, and he went in to follow up his good luck. There were six or seven men in the shop besides the keeper.

“Buy the Journal, sir? Only two cents. Got all the news in it,” said David, showing the paper to the storekeeper.

“Is that you, David?” asked the man.

“Yes, sir; don’t you want a paper?”

“I do; I am very glad to get one;” and the man handed him two cents, and took a Journal.

“Thank you, sir,” said David, for his mother had told him he must be polite to all with whom he had dealings.

“You have gone into business—have you, David?” added the man, with a smile.

“Yes, sir; I am trying to do something to help my mother.”

“That’s a good boy. You will find plenty of people to buy your papers, for they all want them.”

David sold five papers in the store, and with a light heart he ran over to the great shoe shop on the other side of the road. A great many men were at work there, and when the little merchant told them he was selling papers to help his mother, nearly every one of them bought a paper, and he had only six left when he went out of the shop.

Five of these were sold in a short time, and he had only one left. He felt sure that Flora Lee’s father would want one, and he saved this one for him. He found Flora in the garden playing with the great dog, and he told her what he had been doing. She felt a deep interest in the little hero, and when he had told his story, she led him to her father. Mr. Lee took his last paper, and wished him to bring him one every day.

How happy David was then! He had “sold out,” and had made eighteen cents. But he was an honest boy, and he went at once to Mr. Field’s to pay for his papers, and to speak for some more the next day. The express man said he had done well, after he had told his story, and thought he could sell as many as four dozen papers the next day.

David ran home, and told his mother all about it. She was as glad as he was at his success. She was pleased, not only because he had made some money, but because he had tried so hard to do something for her.

Eighteen cents is a very small sum, it is true, but the poor widow could think of a great many little comforts which it would buy. But if her son could earn this sum every day, it would be a real blessing to her; for it would supply the whole family with good clothing. Do you wonder that Mrs. White was proud of her son?

Joe Buck in trouble.

IV.

The next day David sold twice as many papers as he had sold the day before. He carried thirty-six cents home to his mother that night. This was as much money as his mother had earned, and he was as proud as a lord of what he had done.

David now found himself settled in the business; and in a few weeks his mother bought him a suit of clothes with the money he had earned. They had a great many nice things at the cottage, which they had not had since Mr. White’s death.

But the little merchant did not always have such good luck as on the first days. When he sold all his papers one day, and had calls for more than he could supply, he asked Mr. Field to bring him six dozen. Then he could not sell them, and this caused a loss.

There were a few bad boys in Riverdale, and David had some trouble with them. One day, when he was running across a field with his bundle of papers under his arm, Joe Birch stopped him. He was a bad boy, and did not like David, because the little merchant was a good boy, and would not idle away his time with him.

“How many papers have you sold, David?” asked Joe.

“About twenty,” replied David.

“Give me one—will you?”

“I can’t give them away; I have to pay for them.”

“What if you do?—can’t you give me one?”

“If I have any left, I will give you one,” said David.

Then he tried to get away from the bad boy; but Joe tripped him up, and he fell at full length on the ground. David did not care for the fall, but all the money in his pocket came out, and was scattered about in the grass.

Joe was a good deal larger than David, and our little hero was afraid of him. So he did not dare to say any thing, though he felt very bad indeed. He had a stout heart, but he felt very much like crying. This would do no good; so he began to pick up the cents.

The bad boy said he would help him, and began to look in the grass with David; but he did not give him any of the money he found. The little merchant, after he had looked a long while, found only one half of what he had lost. He felt very bad at the idea of losing ten cents; but he did not say any thing about his loss, and ran on to leave a paper at the house on the other side of the field.

“Hallo, David!” shouted Joe.

“What do you want?” asked David.

“Do you mean to say I have got any of the money?”

“I didn’t say so.”

“’Cause if you do, I’ll whip you.”

“I didn’t say so.”

“Yes, you did.”

David did not answer him again, but ran with all his might to the house. When he got to the door, he could not control his feelings any longer, and burst into tears.

“What is the matter, David?” asked John Gray, the farmer’s son, as he gave him a paper.

“I lost my money in the field,” sobbed David.

“Joe Birch was with you—wasn’t he?”

“Yes; and he tripped me up, and when I fell, the money all came out of my pocket, and I lost ten cents.”

“You go back and ask Joe Birch if he has any of it. I know he has got some of it.”

“I don’t like to do that; Joe will whip me if I do.”

“You go and ask him, and I will be there in a minute.”

David did not like to do so, but John Gray said so much that at last he agreed to go. When he reached the field again, Joe was leaving it; but he called after him, and he stopped.

“Did you find any of my money, Joe?” asked David, who spoke in a very civil manner.

“No, I did not. Do you mean to say I got any of it? If you do, I’ll whip you.”

“I don’t say so.”

“Yes, you do.”

Joe doubled up his fist, and moved towards David. Our little merchant walked away from him; but just then John Gray came to the spot.

“He says I’ve got some of his money,” said Joe, as John joined them.

“Haven’t you got some of it?”

“No.”

“Turn out your pockets, and let me see,” said John.

“I don’t want to do that; but I haven’t got any of his money,” replied Joe.

The bad boy then tried to run away; but John caught him, and turned his pockets out for him. In one of them he found eight of the cents David had lost. John gave them to David, and told Joe if he touched him again, he would put him in prison for stealing.

David was very glad to get his money again; and while John held Joe, he ran off to sell the rest of his papers. Joe was afraid of being put in prison for what he had done; so he did not dare to whip David for telling John about it.

This was only one of David’s trials. He told his mother about it when he got home. She said he must not mind it, and that he must have nothing to do with Joe, for he was a very wicked boy. She told him he must not heed these troubles, for every body in the world has to meet them.

David kept on selling papers for several years, and the money he earned in this way helped his mother very much, and no mother could be more happy in having such a good son. I hope all my little friends will do all they can to help their mothers. If they cannot sell papers, they can do a great many things. They can at least be good boys and girls, and this will help their mothers a good deal, and make life very pleasant to them.

THE NEWSBOY.

“Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after many days.”

Many years ago there lived in Boston a carpenter whose name was John Lowe. He was very far from being a rich man, and, though he received fair wages for his labor, he had a wife and four children to support.

One Saturday evening, as he was going down to the market, a little boy of about ten years of age stepped up to him, and asked if he would set him up in the newspaper business.

The newsboys, in the large cities of the United States, make from four to six cents a dozen on the papers they sell; but they have to be active, and I am sure they earn their money. It requires a little capital to start with; and to obtain this, the boy had accosted John Lowe.

“How much do you want, my boy?” asked he.

“Fifty cents, sir, if you please,” replied the boy, whose name was Henry Small. “But I will pay it to you again, just as soon as ever I can.”

The carpenter hesitated; but the boy looked honest, and told him a pitiful story of misfortune and want at home; and he finally gave him the money.

In two weeks, Henry Small called at the carpenter’s house, and paid the half dollar he had borrowed. It was sixteen years before he saw him again.

In that time John Lowe had grown old and feeble. He could not labor much, and when hard times came he had no work, and had nothing with which to buy bread for himself and his wife.

Two of his children had died, and the other two were sailors, and far away from home. He had no one to help him, and he feared that he should be obliged to go to the almshouse.

Every day he went out, hoping to find a job by which he could earn enough to buy food for himself and his wife; but he was disappointed.

At last he made up his mind to apply to the overseers of the poor for assistance, for he had not even a loaf of bread in the house, or any money.

On his way to the City Hall, he entered a store where some carpenters were at work making alterations, and asked the master workman for a job.

“I can give you no work here,” was the rough reply.

The unkindness of the answer touched his feelings, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“What do you want?” asked a gentleman, in kind tones.

He was the person who was about to go into business in the store.

“I want work, sir, for I am very poor,” replied John Lowe.

“Haven’t I seen you before, somewhere?” asked the gentleman. “I am sure I have.”

“I don’t know, sir. My name is John Lowe; I am a carpenter by trade.”

“John Lowe!” exclaimed the gentleman, grasping his hand. “Don’t you know me?”

“I do not, indeed, sir.”

“My name is Henry Small. You set me up in the newspaper business sixteen years ago.”

“I do remember; and I judge by your looks that the world has used you better than it has me.”

“It has used me very well—perhaps better than I deserve.”

John Lowe then told his story, with many tears.

“Do not weep,” said Henry Small. “I have done well since we parted sixteen years ago. The half dollar you lent me has been the foundation of my fortune. I have some thousands of dollars now; but had I only a dollar I would divide it with you.”

John Lowe had all he wanted as long as he lived. He worked on good wages in Mr. Small’s store for a time; but when he could no longer work, he was well cared for by his friend.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

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