Harper's Young People, February 21, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

Mr. North had had his supper, and was sitting at his comfortable fireside smoking his pipe, while Mrs. North, in the little inside kitchen, was making a cheerful clatter with the supper dishes.

Suddenly their attention was arrested as by something falling against the outer door.

"What's that noise?" exclaimed the old lady.

"I don't know," Mr. North said, jumping up and putting down his pipe. He disappeared from the kitchen, and Mrs. North, accustomed to her son's always doing the right thing, quietly waited.

He was only gone two minutes, but he returned with a slower step. In his arms he bore Jesse's apparently lifeless figure. His poor garments hung wet about him--his face against Mr. North's rough coat was like some rain-washed, beaten-down white flower; but his thin little hands still clasped the "treasure."

"Why, Peter North!" exclaimed the old lady.

Mr. North slowly shook his head.

"Ef that thar old fiend has killed him," he whispered, solemnly, "I vow I'll hev her hung."

Very tenderly he deposited the child on the big soft lounge which stood not far from the fire-place, and it was not long before he and his mother had devised restoratives.

Mrs. North knew just what to do. She ran up stairs, and in a few moments a bright wood fire was crackling in the spare room, while she and her little servant Jenny aired sheets, and made a comfortable bed. Jesse was soon brought up stairs, and snugly tucked in.

Then after administering a hot drink, and bidding him go to sleep, the good lady went down to her son again.

He was standing before the fire, holding Miss Holsover's treasure in his hands. Jesse had contrived to make them understand what had happened at the farm, but something else was absorbing the good-hearted man.

"Mother," he said, "jest look here. These things are that child's. Look what's written on the package." And he handed it to Mrs. North. The old lady scanned it curiously. In a faded but delicate and refined hand was written the following:

"For my child Jesse. To be sent to my brother, Paul Martin, ---- Beacon Street, Boston, July 6, 1865."

"I see through it all," said Mr. North. "That old skinflint has kep' 'em from him. Seems to me we ought to look to it that he never goes back."

Mrs. North looked at her son with moistened eyes.

"It's the Lord as sent him," she said, softly, and Mr. North bowed his head.

The sun was shining brightly St. Valentine's morning when Mr. North, leaving Jesse on the lounge near the fire, started for Boston.

Once in that city, he proceeded directly to the Beacon Street address. It was a quiet old-fashioned house on a corner, and on Mr. North's inquiry of the butler for Mr. Martin, he was told that that gentleman had been dead five years, but his widow lived there. So Mr. North was ushered into a beautiful room, full of books and pictures and quiet colors, to wait for the lady of the house.

In a few moments an elegantly dressed, gentle-looking lady came into the room, and good Mr. North turned to her, stammering out his story.

"How remarkable!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin. "I am sure it is my husband's nephew Jesse. Oh, if he had but lived to see this day! His sister Helen ran away from home to marry a young sailor, and she was never heard from again. This Miss Holsover must have known her. But why should she not have brought the child to us, when poor Helen so evidently desired it?"

Mrs. Martin opened the package eagerly. Within were several letters from Paul Martin to his sister, and one long one from Helen to her brother, which had evidently been written during her last illness. In it she spoke of having found board with Miss Holsover, to whom she had intrusted her valuable jewels and all her money and her poor little child, Miss Holsover promising to take all to Boston when she was dead.

"There is the secret," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, looking up from the letter with streaming eyes. "The wretched woman kept the jewels and money, and made the child her drudge. Oh, my poor little Jesse, if I can only find you!"

Mr. North had a sumptuous dinner before he and Mrs. Martin started out for B----. Then some time was devoted to making purchases for Jesse's comfort and convenience. Mr. North looked on in mute admiration while Mrs. Martin purchased a warm suit, a stylish little overcoat trimmed with handsome fur, and a warm seal cap, not to speak of shoes and stockings and all sorts of underwear.

Then they were on board the train, and whirling on toward B---- and Jesse.

It had not been a long day to the poor boy. He lay on the sofa, glad of the repose. As the twilight deepened, night and a snow-storm set in. Jesse watched the window, and listened eagerly for every sound of wheels; but he fell asleep before Mrs. Martin and Mr. North arrived, and awoke to find himself in his aunt's arms.

It was a blissful evening. Jesse was too weak to move; but he lay still, holding his new aunt's hands, and half crying with joy. Mr. North had gone over to the farm, and on his return brought the word that Miss Holsover refused to make any explanation, and declared herself well rid of a troublesome charge. A little threatening, however, induced her to give up the key of the tin box. In it were found the money and jewels which the miserly old woman had evidently been hoarding.