The Shoemaker's Daughters CHAPTER 18.

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The double co-partnership formed by Mr. Wilkins — none of the parties had cause to regret. His wife still persevered in her efforts to act from higher principles than the mere selfish ones that had ruled her so long, and which she was pained to perceive, continued to rule her sister Gertrude. The business had increased, since he and Mr. Hardamer joined their shops, even more than either of them had anticipated. Work came in upon them with a rapidity and steadiness which made it necessary, in a few months, to nearly double their force. In the present — was cheerfulness and contentment; and in prospect — was a high degree of prosperity.

Leaving, now, the different members of this family to act out in their legitimate spheres, their several duties — we will briefly sketch an incident or two in the lives of some other characters introduced in the course of our story, and then assign the whole to the reader.

It was, probably, about twelve months from the time of Genevra's marriage, that a man of dissipated appearance, though perfectly sober, applied at the shop of Hardamer and Wilkins for work. The trade was brisk, and hands in demand, and so the journeyman was promptly seated. He gave his name as Fisher. There was little in his appearance that was good, for he was miserably clad, and his countenance indicated the free indulgence of sensual passions. Still, he did not seem to be a bold transgressor, for he rarely joined in the conversation of the shop; and he certainly showed a disposition to reform, at least, one bad habit, for he resolutely refused to touch any kind of intoxicating drink. Gradually his looks improved, and after he had obtained new clothes, he presented quite the appearance of a respectable man. Still he went out but little, and always seemed to be thinking about something that troubled him.

"Come, Fisher, let's have a plate of oysters and some brandy," said one of the journeymen to him, on a Saturday evening. "It does one good, now and then, to indulge a little."

"No, I would rather not," said Fisher.

"O nonsense, come along! I believe you're actually afraid to drink," urged the other, with a slight expression of ridicule. "If the truth were known, it would be found, I expect, that you are an old bruiser at the bottle, and are afraid to touch it for fear of getting drunk."

"I expect it would," replied Fisher, gravely, while a shadow of sadness flitted over his countenance.

"Then you won't go with me?" said his fellow journeyman.

"No, indeed, that I will not!" responded Fisher, positively. "A burnt child, they say, dreads the fire."

"Well, you can do as you like," said the other — "but thank fortune! I am man enough to drink when I please, and leave off when I please."

Fisher did not reply, and the other went out, leaving him alone with Ike Wilson.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't go," said Ike, warmly, after the tempting and ridiculing journeymen had gone out. "I never have felt disposed to touch any kind of liquor since I saw my old fellow-apprentice, Bill Grimes, turn to mixing it for negroes and dirty blackguards, in Washington."

"Were you ever at Washington, Ike," asked Fisher, with evident interest.

"Yes, I was there once, and I don't care if I never see the place again."

"Why so, Ike?"

"Because, if I must tell you, I was once fool enough to run away from my master, and foot it all the way to Washington. And a sorry time enough I had of it. Nobody would give me any work, and I believe I would have died, if it hadn't been for one of the best old women in the world, over in Georgetown, who took me in and acted towards me just like a mother."

"You were fortunate in that part of your adventure, certainly," remarked Fisher, shading his eyes with his hand and looking Ike intently in the face. "What was the kind old woman's name?"

"Her name was Mrs. Armor," replied Ike.

"Mrs. Armor," repeated the journeyman, in an abstract tone. Then seeming to rouse himself he said —

"And so she was kind to you?"

"Indeed she was. She took me into her house, and kept me while I was ill and had nothing to do, and though she was very poor herself, never seemed to begrudge me anything. And when I couldn't get work in Georgetown, she gave me money enough to take me to Fredericksburg, where there was a place of work vacant."

The journeyman still sat shading his eyes with his hand, but did not reply, and Ike continued —

"One reason why she was so good to me, I believe, was, because she had a son who had left his master and gone off, she didn't know where, for she said she hadn't heard from him for a good many years. How she seemed to love that son! Not a day passed, that she didn't speak of him, and wonder where he was, and what he was doing. She said she never would die in peace, until she had seen him; but sometimes she would talk about his being dead, and then the tears used to roll down her cheeks in great drops."

A sound of a sob, checked Ike in his narration, and he looked up inquiringly into the journeyman's face; but the shadow from his hand concealed its expression, and defied the keen glance of the boy. But, somehow or other, he did not feel inclined to say more, and no further questions being asked him, he remained silent.

On the next morning, Fisher applied to Mr. Hardamer to be paid off, and left the shop with about thirty dollars in his possession, a new suit of clothes on his back, and making in all respects, a very decent appearance — compared to what he did when he applied three months before for work.

Late in the afternoon of the same day, he descended from a stage that drove up to Gadsby's Hotel, in Washington, and, stepping off at a quick pace up the avenue, was soon passing over towards Georgetown. The sun was just setting as he reached the elevated ground by the President's house, which gave him a full view of the heights of Georgetown, and heaving a sigh, he hurried on with a quickened pace.

In fifteen minutes he stood before a small and poor looking dwelling, at the upper end of the town, and with a flushed face, and agitated frame, knocked at the door. It was opened by an old woman, who looked him inquiringly in the face.

"Does Mrs. Armor live here?" he said.

"Yes, sir, that is my name," she replied. "Will you come in?"

He entered at once, and Mrs. Armor closed the door.

"And so you don't know me, mother?" he said, while his voice trembled and his whole frame shook with emotion.

"John! — my son! O is it you?" exclaimed Mrs. Armor, suddenly lifting her eyes and hands, and then throwing her arms around his neck.

"Yes, mother, it is your erring son at last returned," he said, giving way to tears.

"Heaven be praised!" ejaculated the mother, looking upwards, as she withdrew her arms from the neck of her son, and clasped her hands together.

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