Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1871-06-07

common sense to his head He sulked and
toiled, and hoped with a miserable, doubling
hope, and pocketed his fifteen dollars a week
and was still an abject slave
Miss Ware was going to New York to
spend the winter with wealthy aunt, and
now he had her last words to think of-a
command to go back to his greasy machine.
shop
When he left the shop that night it was
to walk home with slow steps and athought-
ful face. Nominations in which there were
CLEANS Of sense, energy and purpose, ran
through his head
He found supper waiting, and sat down
opposite his mother with an absent, preoc-
cupied look.
Are you tired, Tom?'
mo. not particularly.
81 thought you looked So
''Dunning began at the bottom, didn t
he, mother? And why cant l work up to
where he stands now? Yes, Wentworth
was right. I'll do it!'
do what. Tom p
''Oh, nothing-only I'm not going to
stand at the lathe all my lite-I can tell you
that.
why, whats the matter, Tom? Aren' t
you doing very well now?"
''No. I'm nothing but greasy, begrim
cd laborer. But L Il make my mark yet or
give up the ghost.
Mercy don't talk so. | thought you
were very well satisfied.
Satisfied !" contemptuously.
1T is wrong to murmur against ones lot.
We ought to be thankful
Don't mention the word thankful to
me Pardon me, mother, | don't mean to
speak unkinlly; but-well there's going to
be 4 change, that's all. ="
You don't mean that you re going to
leave Mr.. Dunning? ?''
No, no.
''Wha was it about Mr. Wentworth ?"
''Oh, met him to day Tom blushed-
and he reminded me of how Dunning be-
gan as a chore boy, and of the way he stands
now. And | thoungt why can't one do it
as we'll as another2 Why can't do ii?
Tom looked at his mether in a defiant,
argumentative way.
I III sure | don't know" she replied,
slightly nonplussed. But you shouldn't
deceive yourself by building air castles"
Il II take care of that. But I've got an
idea that l mean to work out 1t may
amount to nothing.
What is it, Tom p
Il cant tell you now. You know that
brain sometimes makes more money than
hands. II could only invent something -
Mrs Shelly shook her head doubtfully.
Inventors are generally hair Drained crea-
tures."
Not by a good dealt You ought to be
ashamed to SANDER them. Think of what
they have done for the, world.
Tom left the table with his meal but half
finished, and threw himself down on the
couch. PuttiBg his hand In his pocket it
came in contact with something that sent a
crimson food to his face. He rose hastily
and went UP to his room. He lit lamp,
and smiled in exultation as he laid small
object on the table 1t was Miss lucy
Ware'5 missing button. Yes, Tom had seen
it when it dropped picked it up, and resolv-
cd to keep it as a remembranccr of the tan
taiizing siren who had so bewitched him.
Some time, perhaps, he would return it. He
chucklcd as he thought of her discontinue,
aud her blis,ful ignorance of who was the
posSessor of the lost trinket. Then the
foolish fellow ga2cd at it long and earnestly,
finally placing it in an inside pocket Of his
vest.
lie went to a shelf on which was ranged
a choice collection of scientific works, took
one down and commenced reading. But
his thoughts refusing to concentrate them
selves on the subject OF the book, he finally
flung it aside and went down stairs. He
astonishcd his mother for the rest Of the
evening by beng unusually gay and viva
cious. He perpetra,ed fearful jokes, and
both laughed until the tears ran down their
checks, thus insuring a good night rest.
But change was coming. The next day
Tom bought pencils, compasses. and draft
ing paper, and in the evening shut himself
up in his room. This was repeated the next
evening, and the next, and at the end of Il
week his mother learned to look no more
for the pleasant hours they had been wont
to spend together after tea. Tom grew pale,
and his face assumed a thoughtful, resolutc
look. And soon he drew half of his two
hundred dollars from the bank and fitted
up a little workshop in back chamLer
Here the sound Of filing and hammering
was heard late in the hours of almost every
evening. Tom was working out his idea,
whatever it was; and it was plainly no
child's play with him, but game in which
he had staked his ala battle for life or
death. His earnest face told this, always
soberly meditative now, and scarcely ever
relaxing into smile. His mother noticed
this Mr.. Dunning noticed 1t his friends
noticed it; but he discharged all his daily
duties with rigid fidelity, and gave short an
swers to expressions of concern. And thus
the winter passed
One August dav Mr. Dupnino said