Well, I'll tell you how that affair with the beggar turned--for I must not make too long a story of it--Uncle Mike brought up the lad. He taught him all the mysteries of farming, and treated him as if he were a member of his own family--one of his own children--until he was twenty-one. Then he told him he was free to go where he chose. He gave him a hundred dollars in money, a yoke of oxen, a fine colt, and, what was of more value than all, his blessing.
[Illustration: MIKE MARBLE IN HIS OLD AGE.]
And what do you think became of Fred? He turned out to be not only a good farmer, but a good neighbor, and a good man, every way. That same man, who was once a beggar, and who, but for Uncle Mike's odd way of doing a kind act for him, might have remained a beggar, is now one of the most highly respected men in his parish, with enough property to make him and his family comfortable, as well as some to spare for the comfort of others.
I should love to chat about my old friend a good while longer. But perhaps I had better stop, for fear you may get tired of the theme. I must tell you a little about his old age, then I will leave off.
He was one of the happiest old men I ever knew. He was always cheerful. One could never meet him in the street, and look into his pleasant face, without catching something of his cheerfulness. Bad humor is catching, you know, as much as the small pox, or the canker rash, and so is good humor, too. At all events, I remember that once, when I felt ever so much "out of sorts," because things did not go right, I came across Uncle Mike, on my way to school, and a chat of about half a minute completely sweetened my temper.
There was nothing which Uncle Mike liked better, after his hair--the little hair that time had spared to him--was whitened with age, than to have a group of children about him, coaxing him to tell them stories.
Dear old man! my heart blesses him now, as my memory recalls the scenes in which he used to take a part. With all his oddities and crotchets, he always had a kind and warm heart beating in his bosom. I don't believe that he ever had an enemy in the world. Every body, it always seemed to me, respected him, and those who knew him most, loved him best.