Then came the thought: “Have I asked Him to help me? Have I not been seeking in my own wisdom, and trusting in my own strength? and this too when my ignorance of business, the dull season of the year, and everything was against me, when I specially needed help. Little wonder that I have fared as I have.”
Turning the leaves of his Bible rapidly, he began searching for instances of God’s interference in behalf of the temporal interests of His servants—for passages where earthly prosperity was promised or given. After an hour he closed the Bible with a long breath of wonder, and said to himself “Why, God seems to care as much for the well-being and happiness of his children here as He will when He has us all about Him in the home above. I’ve been blind for twenty-one years to one of the grandest truths of this Book.”
Then, as the thought grew upon him, he exclaimed, joyously, “Take heart, Dennis Fleet: God is on your side in the struggle for an honest success in this life as truly as in your fight against sin and the devil.”
It was long before he slept that night, but a truth had been revealed that rested and strengthened him more than the heavy slumbers after the weary days that had preceded.
The dawn of the winter morning was cold and faint when Dennis appeared in the barroom the next day. The jolly-faced Teuton was making the fire, stopping often to blow his cold fingers, and wasting enough good breath to have kindled a furnace. His rubicund visage, surrounded by shaggy hair and beard of yellow, here appeared in the dust and smoke he was making like the sun rising in a fog.
“Hillo!” he said, on seeing Dennis; “vat you oop dis early for? Don’t vant anoder dinner yet, I hope?”
“I will take that in good time,” said Dennis; “and shall want a bigger one than that which so astonished you at first.”
“Oh, my eyes!” said the German; “den I go and tell de cook to pegin to get him right avay.”
Laughing good-naturedly, Dennis went to the door and looked out. On sidewalk and street the snow lay six or eight inches deep, untrodden, white and spotless, even in the heart of the great city. “How different this snow will look by night,” thought he; “how soiled and black! Perhaps very many come to this city in the morning of life like this snow, pure and unstained; but after being here awhile they become like this snow when it has been tossed about and trodden under every careless foot. God grant that, however poor and unsuccessful I may remain, such pollution may never be my fate.”
But feeling that he had no time for moralizing if he would secure bread for the coming day of rest, he turned and said to the factotum of the barroom, “How much will you give to have the snow cleared off the sidewalk in front of your house?”
“Zwei shillen.”
“Then I will earn my breakfast before I eat it, if you will lend me a shovel.”
“I dought you vas a shentlemans,” said the German, staring at him.
“So I am; just the shentlemans that will clean off your sidewalk for zwei shillen, if you will let him.”
“You vant to do him for exercise?”
“No; for zwei shillings.”
“I dought you vas a shentlemans,” said the man, still staring in stolid wonder at Dennis.
“Didn’t you ever know of a gentleman who came from Germany to this country and was glad to do anything for an honest living?”
“Often and often I haf. You see von here,” said the man, with a grin. “Well, I am just that kind of a gentleman. Now if you will lend me a shovel I will clean off your sidewalk for two shillings, and be a great deal more thankful than if you had given me the money for nothing.”
“Little fear of dot,” said the man, with another grin. “Vel, you are der queerest Yankee in Chicago, you are; I dink you are ’bout haf Sherman. I tells you vat—here, vat’s your name?—if you glean off dot sidewalk goot, you shall haf preakfast and dinner, much as you eat, vidout von shent to pay. I don’t care if der cook is cooking all day. I like your—vat you call him?—shpunk.”
“It’s a bargain,” said Dennis; “and if I can make a few more like it today, I shall be rich.”
“You may vel say dot. I vill go into der market and see if dere’s enough for me to keep my bart of der bargain goot.”
For half an hour Dennis worked away lustily, and then called his taskmaster and said, “Will you accept the job?”
Surveying with surprise the large space cleared, and looking in vain for reason to find fault, he said: “I say nothin’ agin him. I hope you vill eat your dinner as quick. Now come in to your preakfast.”
He pretended to be perfectly aghast at Dennis’s onslaught on the buckwheat cakes, and rolled up his eyes despairingly as each new plate was emptied.
Having finished, Dennis gave him a nod, and said, “Wait till dinnertime.”
“Ah! dere vill be von famine,” said the German, in a tone of anguish, wringing his hands.
Having procured the needful implement, Dennis started out, and, though there was considerable competition, found plenty to do, and shovelled away with little cessation till one o’clock. Then, counting his gains, he found that he had paid for his shovel, secured breakfast and dinner, and had a balance on hand of two dollars and fifty cents, and he had nearly half a day yet before him. He felt rich—nay, more than that, he felt like a man who, sinking in a shoreless ocean, suddenly catches a plank that bears him up until
