Poor and Proud, or The Fortunes of Katy Redburn

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POOR AND PROUD
OR
THE FORTUNES OF KATY REDBURN

A STORY FOR YOUNG FOLKS

BY OLIVER OPTIC

TO
ALICE MARIE ADAMS,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY HER FATHER.

Poor and Proud.

PREFACE. ----

Bobby Bright and Harry West, whose histories were contained in
the last two volumes of the "Library for Young Folks," were both
smart boys. The author, very grateful for the genial welcome
extended to these young gentlemen, begs leave to introduce to his
juvenile friends a smart girl,--Miss Katy Redburn,-- whose
fortunes, he hopes, will prove sufficiently interesting to secure
their attention.

If any of my adult readers are disposed to accuse me of being a
little extravagant, I fear I shall have to let the case go by
default; but I shall plead, in extenuation, that I have tried to
be reasonable, even where a few grains of the romantic element
were introduced; for Baron Munchausen and Sindbad the Sailor were
standard works on my shelf in boyhood, and I may possibly have
imbibed some of their peculiar spirit. But I feel a lively
satisfaction in the reflection that, whatever exaggerations the
critic may decide I have perpetrated in this volume, I have made
the success of Katy Redburn depend upon her good principles, her
politeness, her determined perseverance, and her overcoming that
foolish pride which is a snare to the feet. In these respects she
is a worthy exemplar for the young.

Pride and poverty do not seem to agree with each other; but there
is a pride which is not irreconcilable with the humblest station.
This pride of character finds an illustration in the life of my
heroine.

Thanking my young friends again for the pleasant reception given
to my former books I submit this volume in the hope that Katy
Redburn will prove to be a worthy and agreeable companion for
their leisure hours. WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
DORCHESTER, Sept. 29, 1858.

CONTENTS. ---- CHAPTER.
I. Katy Redburn and Others Are Introduced
II. The History of the Silver Watch
III. Katy and Master Simon Sneed Visit the Pawnbroker's Shop
IV. Katy Matures a Magnificent Scheme
V. Katy Visits Mrs. Gordon, and Gets Rid of Dr. Flynch
VI. Katy Prepares a Stock of Merchandise
VII. Katy Makes a Large Sale
VIII. Katy Sells Out, and Visits the Mayor
IX. Katy talks with the Mayor, and Recovers the Watch
X. Katy, in Distress, finds a Champion
XI. Katy Meets with Extraordinary Success
XII. Katy Pays Her Debts, and Tommy Goes to Sea
XIII. Katy Employs an Assistant
XIV. Master Simon Sneed Makes a Mistake
XV. Katy Gets a Letter from Liverpool
XVI. Ann Grippen Plays Tricks upon Travelers
XVII. The Sun Sets, and the Night Comes On
XVIII. Katy Struggles Bravely through a Series of Trials
XIX. Katy Resorts to a Loan
XX. Mrs. Gordon Feels Faint, and Katy Enters a New Sphere
XXI. Katy Goes to Church, and Has a Birthday Party

POOR AND PROUD; OR, THE FORTUNES OF KATY REDBURN.
----
CHAPTER I.

KATY REDBURN AND OTHERS ARE INTRODUCED.

"Give me a flounder, Johnny?" said a little girl of eleven,
dressed in coarse and ragged garments, as she stooped down and
looked into the basket of the dirty young fisherman, who sat with
his legs hanging over the edge of the pier.

"I'll bet I won't," replied Johnny, gruffly, as he drew the
basket out of the reach of the supplicant. "You needn't come
round here tryin' to hook my fish."

"You hooked 'em," said another juvenile angler who sat on the
capsill of the pier by Johnny's side.

"Who says I hooked 'em?" blustered Johnny, whose little dirty
paws involuntarily assumed the form of a pair of fists,
scientifically disposed and ready to be the instruments of the
owner's vengeance upon the traducer of his character.

"I say so," added Tommy Howard, who did not seem to be at all
alarmed at the warlike attitude of his fellow-angler.

"Say it again, and I'll smash your head," continued Johnny,
jumping up from his seat.

"Didn't you hear me? Once is enough."

Tommy coolly hauled up a large flounder at that moment, and threw
the fish into his basket. It was rather refreshing to see how
regardless he was of that pair of menacing fists.

"Jest you say that once more, and see what I'll do," persisted
Johnny.

"I won't do it."

"You dasn't say it again."

"Perhaps I dasn't; at any rate, I shan't."

"Do you mean to say I hooked them fish?" exclaimed Johnny,
desperately, for it seemed as though he must do something to
vindicate his injured honor.

"That's just what I did say."

But Tommy was so confoundedly cool that his fellow-angler had
some doubts about the expediency of "pitching into him." Probably
a vision of defeat flashed through his excited brain and
discretion seemed the better part of valor. Yet he was not
disposed to abandon his position, and advanced a pace or two
toward his provoking companion; a movement which, to an
unpracticed eye, would indicate a purpose to do something.

"Don't fight, Tommy," said the little ragged girl.

"I don't mean to fight, Katy,"--Johnny, at these words, assumed
an artistic attitude, ready to strike the first blow,--"only if
Johnny hits me, I shall knock him into the middle of next week."

Johnny did not strike. He was a prudent young man.

"Don't fight, Johnny," repeated the girl, turning to the excited
aspirant for the honors of the ring.

"Do you suppose I'll let him tell me I hooked them fish?"
blustered Johnny.

"He didn't mean anything."

"Yes, I did," interposed Tommy. "He caught 'em on a hook; so of
course he hooked em. I hooked mine too."

"Is that what you meant?" asked Johnny, a broad grin
overspreading his dirty face, and his fists suddenly expanding
into dirty paws again.

"That's just what I meant; and your skull is as thick as a
two-inch plank, or you would have seen what I meant."

"I see now."

Johnny was not disposed to resent this last insinuation about the
solidity of his cranium. He was evidently too glad to get out of
the scrape without a broken head or a bloody nose. Johnny was a
bully, and he had a bully's reputation to maintain; but he never
fought when the odds were against him; and he had a congressman's
skill in backing out before the water got too hot. On the whole,
he rather enjoyed the pun; and he had the condescension to laugh
heartily, though somewhat unnaturally, at the jest.

"Will you give me a flounder, Tommy?" said the little ragged
girl, as she glanced into his well-filled basket.

"What do you want of him, Katy?" asked Tommy turning round and
gazing up into her sad, pale face.

Katy hesitated; her bosom heaved, and her lips compressed, as
though she feared to answer the question.

"To eat," she replied, at last, in a husky tone.

"What's the matter, Katy?"

The face of the child seemed to wear a load of care and anxiety,
and as the young fisherman gazed a tear started from her eye, and
slid down her cheek. Tommy's heart melted as he saw this
exhibition of sorrow. He wondered what could ail her.

"My mother is sick," replied Katy, dashing away the tell-tale
tear.

"I know that; but what do you want of flounders?"

"We have nothing to eat now," said Katy, bursting into tears.
"Mother has not been able to do any work for more than three
months: and we haven't got any money now. It's all gone. I
haven't had any breakfast to-day."

"Take 'em all, Katy!" exclaimed Tommy, jumping up from his seat
on the capsill of the pier. "How will you carry them? Here, I
will string 'em for you."

Tommy was all energy now, and thrust his hands down into the
depths of his pockets in search of a piece of twine. Those
repositories of small stores did not contain a string, however;
but mixed up with a piece of cord, a slate pencil, an iron hinge,
two marbles, a brass ring, and six inches of stovepipe chain,
were two cents, which the owner thereof carefully picked out of
the heap of miscellaneous articles and thrust them into the hand
of Katy.

"Here, take them; and as you go by the grocery at the corner of
the court, buy a two-cent roll," whispered he. "Got a bit o'
string, Johnny?" he added aloud, as Katy began to protest against
taking the money.

"Hain't got none; but I'll give you a piece of my fish line, if
you want," replied the bully, who was now unusually obliging.

"There's a piece of spunyarn, that's just the thing I want;" and
Tommy ran half way up the pier to the bridge, picked up the line,
and commenced stringing the flounders on it.

"I don't want them all, Tommy; only give me two or three. I never
shall forget you, Tommy," said Katy, her eyes suffused with tears
of gratitude.

"I'm sorry things go so bad with you, Katy, and I wish I could do
something more for you."

"I don't want anything more. Don't put any more on the string.
There's six. We can't eat any more."

"Well, then, I'll bring you some more to-morrow," replied Tommy,
as he handed her the string of fish. "Stop a minute; here's a
first-rate tom-cod; let me put him on;" and he took the string
and added the fish to his gift.

"I never shall forget you, Tommy; I shall only borrow the two
cents; I will pay you again some time," said she, in a low tone,
so that Johnny could not hear her.

"Never mind 'em, Katy. Don't go hungry again for a minute. Come
to me, and I'll help you to something or other."

"Thank you, Tommy;" and with a lighter heart than she had brought
with her, she hastened up the pier, no doubt anticipating a rich
feast from the string of fish.

The pier of the new South Boston bridge was then, as now, a
favorite resort for juvenile fishermen. Flounders, tom-cod, and
eels, to say nothing of an occasional sculpin, which boys still
persist in calling "crahpies," or "crahooners," used to furnish
abundant sport to a motley group of youngsters wherein the sons
of merchants mingled democratically with the dirty, ragged
children of the "Ten-footers" in the vicinity. The pier was
neutral ground, and Frederic Augustus made a friend of Michael or
Dennis, and probably neither was much damaged by this free
companionship; for Michael or Dennis often proves to be more of a
gentleman in his rags and dirty face than Frederic Augustus in
his broadcloth and white linen.

Katy walked as fast as her little feet would carry her, till she
came to a court leading out of Essex Street. The bells were
ringing for one o'clock as she entered the grocery at the corner
and purchased the two-cent roll which Tommy Howard's bounty
enabled her to add to her feast. Elated with the success of her
mission, she quickened her pace up the court to a run, rushed
into the house and up-stairs to her mother's room with as much
enthusiasm as though she had found a bag of gold, instead of
having obtained a very simple dinner.

"O, mother, I've got a lot of flounders and some bread for you!"
exclaimed she, as she bolted into the room.

"Then you have money," said a cold voice in the chamber; and Katy
perceived, standing near the bed on which her mother lay, a man
who was no stranger to her.

It was Dr. Flynch; but let not my young reader make a mistake. He
was no good Samaritan, who had come to pour oil and wine into the
wounds of the poor sick woman; not even a physician, who had come
to give medicine for a fee, to restore her to health and
strength. It is true he was called a doctor, and he had been a
doctor, but he did not practice the healing art now. If he had
failed to make a physician, it was not because his heart was so
tender that he could not bear to look upon pain and suffering. He
was the agent of Mrs. Gordon, a widow lady, who owned the house
in which Katy's mother lived. He collected her rents, and
transacted all her business; and as far as dollars and cents were
concerned, he had certainly been a faithful servant. Dr. Flynch
was a prudent and discreet man, and did not hurt the feelings of
the good lady who employed him by telling her about the
difficulties he encountered in the discharge of his duty, or by
describing the harsh and even cruel means to which he was
sometimes obliged to resort, in order to obtain the rent of poor
tenants.

"Mrs. Redburn," said Dr. Flynch, when he had heard the
exclamation of Katy, "you have told me a falsehood. You said you
had no money, not a cent. Where did you get that roll, child?"

"At the store at the corner of the court," replied Katy, abashed
by the cold dignity of the agent.

"Precisely so, Mrs. Redburn; but you do not buy bread without
money. You have attempted to deceive me. I have pitied you up to
the present time, and indulged you in the non-payment of your
rent for over a week I can do so no longer, for you have told me
a falsehood."

"No, sir, I have not," pleaded the sick woman.

"Your child buys bread."

"I did not give her the money."

"Where did you get the money to buy that roll with?" demanded Dr.
Flynch, turning sharply to Katy.

"Tommy Howard gave it to me."

"Who is Tommy Howard?"

"He lives on the other side of the court."

"Very probable that a dirty, ragged boy gave her the money! This
is another false-hood, Mrs. Redburn. I lament that a person in
your situation should have no higher views of Christian morality
than to lie yourself, and teach your child to lie, which is much
worse."

The poor woman burst into tears, and protested that she had told
the truth, and nothing but the truth; declaring that Katy was a
good girl, that she had eaten nothing that day, and would not
tell a lie. Dr. Flynch was a man of method, and when a tenant did
not pay the rent, it was his purpose to get rid of that tenant in
the quietest way possible. In the present case there was a
difficulty, and public opinion would not justify him in turning a
sick woman out of the house; but if she lied, had money
concealed, and would not pay her rent, it would alter the matter.
As he wished to believe this was the case, he had no difficulty
in convincing himself, and thus quieting his poor apology for a
conscience.

Besides being a man of method, Dr. Flynch was a man of upright
walk and conversation; at least, he passed for such with those
who did not know anything about him. If Mrs. Gordon should happen
to hear that he had turned out the sick woman, he could then
inform her how feelingly he had pointed out to her the wickedness
of her conduct, which he thought would sound exceedingly well.

"Mrs. Redburn," he continued, "I will give you till this time
to-morrow to get out of the house; if you are not gone then, I
shall be under the painful necessity of removing your goods into
the street. Good morning;" and Dr. Flynch turned upon his heel,
and walked out of the room.

"My poor child! what will become of us?" sobbed the sick woman,
as she grasped Katy's hand, and pressed it to her bosom with
convulsive energy.

"Don't cry, mother; something can be done. I will go and see Mrs.
Gordon, and beg her to let you stay here."

"You must not do that; Dr. Flynch told me, if I troubled her
about the house, I should not stay in it another minute, even if
I paid the rent."

"He is a bad man, mother; and I don't believe Mrs. Gordon knows
what he does here."

"There is one thing more we can do, Katy," continued Mrs.
Redburn, wiping away her tears, and taking from under her pillow
a heavy silver watch. "This was your father's; but we must sell
it now. It is all we have left."

"I should hate to have that sold, mother."

"We must sell it, or pawn it."

"We will pawn it then."

"How shall we do it? I have not strength to rise, and they will
cheat you if you offer it."

"I will tell you what I can do, mother; I will get Simon Sneed to
go with me to the pawnbroker's shop. He is very kind to me, and I
know he will. He comes home to dinner at two o-clock."

This plan was agreed to, and Katy then went to work to clean and
cook the flounders.

CHAPTER II.

THE HISTORY OF THE SILVER WATCH.

Katy Redburn was only eleven years old, and not a very
accomplished cook; but as the children learn faster in the homes
of the poor than in the dwellings of the rich, she had a very
tolerable idea of the management of a frying-pan. The operation
of cleaning the flounders was the greatest trial, for the skin of
the fish has to be removed. She cut her fingers with the knife,
and scratched and pricked her hands with the sharp bones; but she
was resolute, and finally accomplished the task to her entire
satisfaction. An occasional direction from her mother enabled her
to cook the fish properly, and dinner was ready. There were still
a few small stores left in the closet, and Katy made a cup of tea
for her mother, and with it placed the delicate little flounder
by the side of the bed. The invalid had no appetite, but to
please Katy she ate a portion of the fish and bread though it was
very hard work for her to do so. The little girl, gladdened by
this unwonted sight, made a hearty meal, without a thought of the
trials and sorrows which the future might have in store for them.

When she had put away the dishes, and placed everything in order,
she washed herself, combed her hair, sewed up a great rent in her
dress, and otherwise attempted to make herself as tidy as
possible for the mission she was about to undertake.

"It is not time for you to go yet, Katy; and before the watch is
carried off, I want to tell you something about your father, that
you may learn to prize it as I do."

Katy seated herself on the side of the bed, for she was very
anxious to hear more about her father than she already knew. She
had often asked her mother about him, but she had generally
evaded her questions, and did not seem willing to tell her all
she knew. She thought there was some secret connected with his
history, and with a child's curiosity she was eager to have the
mystery unfolded. But it was no great secret, after all only a
painful history, which her sensitive mother did not like to
rehearse. Mrs. Redburn handed the watch to Katy, and asked her to
look upon the back of it.

"Yes, mother, I have often seen those words on there--`All for
the Best.' What do they mean?" said Katy.

"This watch was given to your father by my father," replied Mrs.
Redburn, with a deep sigh, for the words seemed to recall happy
memories of the past.

"Who was your father?" asked the attentive little girl.

"His name was Matthew Guthrie. He was a merchant in Liverpool,
England, where I was born."

"A merchant, mother? Then he was a rich man, and lived in a great
house, and had plenty of servants."

"He was rich, and lived in good style. One day there came a young
man in great distress to his counting-room. He was a clerk, and
had been sent by his employer in Manchester to pay a large sum of
money to my father. After leaving the train, he had entered an
ale-house, where he had been robbed of the remittance. He had
been imprudent, but instead of running away, he went directly to
my father, and informed him of his misfortune. The young man felt
that he was ruined, but he said he was determined not to leave
Liverpool till he had found the money. He was sure he knew the
man who had robbed him, and my father procured the services of
several policemen to assist him in his search. All that day and
all that night, attended by policemen, he visited the resorts of
vice and crime, and his perseverance was rewarded with success.
He found the man, and the money was recovered. My father was so
well pleased with the energy of the young man, that he gave him a
situation in his counting room. That young man was John Redburn,
your father. My father gave him a much larger salary than he had
been receiving before, so that his misfortune in losing the money
proved to be a piece of good fortune to him, for it procured him
a much better situation. The new clerk performed his duties very
faithfully, and at the end of a year my father presented him this
watch, with the motto, `All for the Best,' in allusion to the
manner in which he had obtained his situation."

"But how came you here, mother, if your father was rich, and
lived in a fine house? You are very poor now;" asked Katy, who
feared that the mystery was yet to come.

Mrs. Redburn burst into tears, and covered her face with her
hands, as the pleasant memories of her former happy home rushed
through her mind.

"Don't cry, mother; I won't ask you any more questions," said
Katy, grieved to find she had reminded her mother of some
unpleasant thing.

"It was all my own fault, Katy. I am here poor and wretched,
because I disobeyed my father; because I did what he desired me
not to do. I will tell you all about it, Katy. I became
acquainted with the new clerk, John Redburn, and the result of
our acquaintance was, that we were married in about a year. We
ran away from home; for my father, however much he liked John as
a clerk, was not willing that he should be my husband. He forbade
John's coming to our house, and forbade my seeing him. I
disobeyed him. We were married, and John was discharged. My
father refused to see me again."

"That was cruel," interposed Katy

"My father was right, and I have always regretted that I
disobeyed him. We came to America, and your father procured a
situation in New York, where you were born, about a year after we
arrived. For three years we got along very well. I wish I could
stop here, Katy, for the rest of the story is very sad."

"Don't tell me any more, mother, it makes you feel so bad, I
would rather not hear it. I know now why you value the watch so
much, and I hope we shall be able to get it back again."

"I fear not. But you must hear the rest of this sad story."

Mrs. Redburn continued the narrative, though tears blinded her
eyes, and sobs chocked her utterance, as she told of the struggle
she had had with poverty and want. Her husband had done very well
in New York; and, gay and light-hearted in the midst of his
prosperity, his habits had been gradually growing worse and
worse, till he lost his situation, and became a common sot. The
poor wife had then been compelled to toil for her own support and
that of her child; and having been brought up in luxury and ease,
it was a dreadful task to her.

John obtained another situation, but soon lost it. He was a
good-hearted man when he had not been drinking, and keenly felt
the disgrace and misery he was heaping upon himself and his
unhappy wife. Once he had the resolution to abandon the cup,
fully determined to redeem his lost character, and make his
family happy again. The better to accomplish this, he removed to
Boston, where he obtained a good situation, and for more than a
year he adhered to his resolution. Mrs. Redburn was happy again
and tremblingly hoped that the clouds of darkness had forever
passed away.

The evil time came again, and John Redburn sank down lower than
ever before. His wife lost all hope of him, and struggled, with
the courage of a hero and the fortitude of a martyr, against the
adverse tide that set against her. She was fortunate in obtaining
plenty of sewing, and was able to support herself and child very
well; but her husband, now lost to all sense of decency,
contrived to obtain, from time to time, a portion of her hard
earnings. She could never have believed that John Redburn would
come to this; for, as a clerk in her father's counting room, he
had been all that was good and noble; but there he was a
miserable sot, lost to himself, to his family, and the world.

One morning in winter he was brought home to her dead. He had
died in the watch-house of delirium tremens. He was buried, and
peace, if not hope, settled on the brow of the broken-hearted
wife.

Year after year Mrs. Redburn struggled on, often with feeble
hands and fainting heart, to earn a subsistence for herself and
Katy. She had been bred in opulence, and her wants were not so
few and simple as the wants of those who have never enjoyed the
luxury of a soft couch and a well-supplied table. She had never
learned that calculating economy which provides a great deal with
very small means.

Hence it was much harder for her to support herself and child,
than it would have been for one who had been brought up in a
hovel.

She had done very well, however, until, a few months before our
story opens, she had been taken sick, and was no longer able to
work. Her disease was an affection of the spine, which was at
times very painful, and confined her to the bed.

"But where is your father now?" asked Katy, when her mother had
finished the narrative.

"I do not know; if he is alive, he probably lives in Liverpool."

"Why don't you write a letter to him?"

"I have done so several times, but have never received any reply.
I wrote shortly after your father died, giving an account of my
situation. I am sure my father never could have got my letter, or
he would have answered me. I know he would not let me suffer here
in woe and want, if he were aware of my condition."

"Why don't you write again?"

"It is useless."

"Let me write, mother. I will call him dear grandfather, and I am
sure he will send you some money then: perhaps he will send for
us to go to Liverpool, and live in his great house, and have
servants to wait upon us."

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