Struggling Upward: Luke Larkin's Luck

LUKE’S NIGHT ADVENTURE

“I am sorry you have lost the watch, Luke,” said the teacher, after Randolph’s departure.  “You will have to be satisfied with deserving it.”

“I am reconciled to the disappointment, sir,” answered Luke.  “I can get along for the present without a watch.”

Nevertheless, Luke did feel disappointed.  He had fully expected to have the watch to carry home and display to his mother.  As it was, he was in no hurry to go home, but remained for two hours skating with the other boys.  He used his friend Linton’s skates, Linton having an engagement which prevented his remaining.

It was five o’clock when Luke entered the little cottage which he called home.  His mother, a pleasant woman of middle age, was spreading the cloth for supper.  She looked up as he entered.

“Well, Luke?” she said inquiringly.

“I haven’t brought home the watch, mother,” he said.  “Randolph Duncan won it by accident.  I will tell you about it.”

After he had done so, Mrs. Larkin asked thoughtfully.  “Isn’t it a little singular that Tom should have got in your way?”

“Yes; I thought so at the time.”

“Do you think there was any arrangement between him and Randolph?”

“As you ask me, mother, I am obliged to say that I do.”

“It was a very mean trick!” said Mrs. Larkin, resentfully.

“Yes, it was; but poor Tom was well punished for it.  Why, he’s got a bunch on the back of his head almost as large as a hen’s egg.”

“I don’t pity him,” said Mrs. Larkin.

“I pity him, mother, for I don’t believe Randolph will repay him for the service done him.  If Randolph had met with the same accident I am not prepared to say that I should have pitied him much.”

“You might have been seriously injured yourself, Luke.”

“I might, but I wasn’t, so I won’t take that into consideration.  However, mother, watch or no watch, I’ve got a good appetite.  I shall be ready when supper is.”

Luke sat down to the table ten minutes afterward and proved his words good, much to his mother’s satisfaction.

While he is eating we will say a word about the cottage.  It was small, containing only four rooms, furnished in the plainest fashion.  The rooms, however, were exceedingly neat, and presented an appearance of comfort.  Yet the united income of Mrs. Larkin and Luke was very small.  Luke received a dollar a week for taking care of the schoolhouse, but this income only lasted forty weeks in the year.  Then he did odd jobs for the neighbors, and picked up perhaps as much more.  Mrs. Larkin had some skill as a dressmaker, but Groveton was a small village, and there was another in the same line, so that her income from this source probably did not average more than three dollars a week.  This was absolutely all that they had to live on, though there was no rent to pay; and the reader will not be surprised to learn that Luke had no money to spend for watches.

“Are you tired, Luke?” asked his mother, after supper.

“No, mother.  Can I do anything for you?”

“I have finished a dress for Miss Almira Clark.  I suppose she will want to wear it to church to-morrow.  But she lives so far away, I don’t like to ask you to carry it to her.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.  It won’t do me any harm.”

“You will get tired.”

“If I do, I shall sleep the better for it.”

“You are a good son, Luke.”

“I ought to be.  Haven’t I got a good mother?”

So it was arranged.  About seven o’clock, after his chores were done—­for there was some wood to saw and split—­Luke set out, with the bundle under his arm, for the house of Miss Clark, a mile and a half away.

It was a commonplace errand, that on which Luke had started, but it was destined to be a very important day in his life.  It was to be a turning-point, and to mark the beginning of a new chapter of experiences.  Was it to be for good or ill?  That we are not prepared to reveal.  It will be necessary for the reader to follow his career, step by step, and decide for himself.

Of course, Luke had no thought of this when he set out.  To him it had been a marked day on account of the skating match, but this had turned out a disappointment.  He accomplished his errand, which occupied a considerable time, and then set out on his return.  It was half-past eight, but the moon had risen and diffused a mild radiance over the landscape.  Luke thought he would shorten his homeward way by taking a path through the woods.  It was not over a quarter of a mile, but would shorten the distance by as much more.  The trees were not close together, so that it was light enough to see.  Luke had nearly reached the edge of the wood, when he overtook a tall man, a stranger in the neighborhood, who carried in his hand a tin box.  Turning, he eyed Luke sharply.

“Boy, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Luke Larkin,” our hero answered, in surprise.

“Where do you live?”

“In the village yonder.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“What is it, sir?”

“Take this tin box and carry it to your home.  Keep it under lock and key till I call for it.”

“Yes, sir, I can do that.  But how shall I know you again?”

“Take a good look at me, that you may remember me.”

“I think I shall know you again, but hadn’t you better give me a name?”

“Well, perhaps so,” answered the other, after a moment’s thought.  “You may call me Roland Reed.  Will you remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am obliged to leave this neighborhood at once, and can’t conveniently carry the box,” explained the stranger.  “Here’s something for your trouble.”

Luke was about to say that he required no money, when it occurred to him that he had no right to refuse, since money was so scarce at home.  He took the tin box and thrust the bank-bill into his vest pocket.  He wondered how much it was, but it was too dark to distinguish.

“Good night!” said Luke, as the stranger turned away.

“Good night!” answered his new acquaintance, abruptly.

If Luke could have foreseen the immediate consequences of this apparently simple act, and the position in which it would soon place him, he would certainly have refused to take charge of the box.  And yet in so doing it might have happened that he had made a mistake.  The consequences of even our simple acts are oftentimes far-reaching and beyond the power of human wisdom to foreknow.

Luke thought little of this as, with the box under his arm, he trudged homeward.