Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1889-03-28
The MiSGr'S Dream.
BY HoRATIo ALGER, JR.

Peter Riggs was a mlSer. ANY one
might have read it in his face, with its
pinched outlines and eager expression,
in his slouching gait and whole appear
ance. They would have read it still
more closely in the room which he oc-
cupied, bare of everything, but the
most absolute necessaries. A couple
of old wooden chairs, table standing
on three legs and a rude beadstead,
constituted nearly all the furniture he
possessed. His housekeeping was on
the most inexpensive scale. He board
ed himself, and the man worth thirty
thousand dollars, Jared worse than his
poorest tenants.
Peters wealth consisted almost en-
tirely in tenement houses, of which he
owned a large number, and which, in
proportion 10 their value, brought in a
large income. 1t was questionable how
much good all this did TO Peter, since
his personal expenses scarcely exceed
ed one twentieth of his income. What
remained, he either invested in adj
ditional houses, or boarded up in an
old chest, which he kept securely lock-
cd under his bed.
1t was the last day of December; to-
morrow would be quarter day. Peter
sat in his miserable room, shivering,
in spite of his cloak, which he had worn
time out OF mind. He had no fire. AS it
was six in the afternoon, and he usually
went TO bed at eight, he preferred to
SILVER for two hours, rather than in
cur the expense of fire.
Peter was jubilant with the thoughts
OF the money he would collect on the
morrow from his tenants. He drew
out his strong box from its accustomed
receptacle, and counted for the hum
dredth time, the glittering gold coins
with which it was filled.
1.-TWO thousand three hundred and
seventy-fvc,n he exclaimed, with salts
faction, as he finished the count; land
tomorrow will make it nigh upon three
thousand. All, what fine thing is it
to have money! 1t pays for all my pri-
vations-and | suffer many. Money is
a powerful thing. All! little do they
think that see the old man in his thread
Bare clothes, how much he has 10 make
him happy
Peter was really happy, after his
fashion, yet he was never quite content.
"If it were only five thousand" he
continued, chow fine it would be! But
it will be in year or two. l must be
more economical"
1t would be hard TO tell how Peter
could easily be more economical than
he was now; and he tortured his fancy
to devise some means of retrenchment,
without thinking of any.
1T costs me sight to live, " he sighed
ia sight. If l could only live as
cheap as they say one can in China, for
a cent day, it would help me great
ly."
Peter locked up his chest carefully,
and pushed it back under the bed. He
then sat down, folding his cloak closely
about him, waiting until he should hear
the city bells strike the hour Of eight,
his usual bed time.
But Peter was more tired and drowsy
than he imagined. He began to nod,
and-perhaps it was the influence of the
cold-he soon dropped asleep in his
chair, with his head resting on his
hands. Then a dream came TO him
which was destined 20 change the whole
tenor of his life.
IL bcGuSu W MIN ludb ne was slIblHS
in his room as usual; the door was sud-
denly opened and dark tigue, OF a
threatening appearance, entered. Pc
ter was terrified, as he might well be,
since the door, he knew, was locked,
and yet, the visitor entered as if there
were no obstruction.
"Who are you?" faltered he, cycling
the unknown, Have you come to rot
mep"
"Of whatp"
"Of my-my money-that is, VIII al
little have"
"And if | should, it would be of no
service to me-"
"Oh!" said Peter, treasured, "then
am ready TO hear your business"
Il have come for you," was the an.
swer.
"For me?" again repeated Peter, ter
rified.
Yes"
"What for?"
"You may guess what for, when tel
you who ] am"
"Who are you?" asked Peter, more
and more uneasy.
81 am the angel DEATH" said the in
truder, solemnly
Peter nearly jumped from his chair in
alright.
1.-THE angel Of DEATH" he repeated
horror-stricken.
"You have said IT,"
"But," said Peter, nervously, "you
have made n mistake, good angel. Per-
haps you think am older than am.
want eight years yet of being the ap.
pointed age Of man. am only sixty.
two"
IL know it," said the visitor, compos-
eddy.
"Then why-why do you come for
me nowPn stammered the miser, shiv-
erinp with fear.
"Would you like to read your sent