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UP THE LADDER; OR, STRIVING AND THRIVING.

HARRISON AND ELLA.

"Six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work."

ON the steps leading into the back court of one of the largest hotels in the city of -- might be seen, early on a June morning, a lad apparently about ten years of age. He was a rosy, good-humored boy, and was at this moment whistling a lively tune in a subdued tone, while his hands were busily employed in shelling peas.

Before him, on the stone pavement, stood a bushel-basket of peas in the pod. From this basket he transferred them to a pan in his lap, and from thence, when shelled, to a larger one which stood within the door. He had just commenced his task, but seemed not at all discouraged by it. He went on merrily, whistling "Dan Tucker," occasionally glancing up toward a platform which was used for drying clothes. This had a light railing around it; and presently he was rewarded by the glimpse of a bright face, surrounded with golden curls, peeping shyly at him. His smile was followed by a silvery laugh from behind the railing; and soon the little face beamed on him again.

"Good morning, little boy!"

He smiled and nodded. The whistling had ceased. He thought her voice, sweeter than music. His eyes feasted upon her happy countenance; but his hands plied faithfully their task.

"Ar'n't you sorry you has got so many peas to shell?"

"No, I'm glad," was the low response.

"Don't you like to have me talk to you?"

"Oh yes!"

There was a heartiness in the tone which gave great emphasis to the words. The child, after shaking her curls and laughing gaily, asked, "Why don't you talk to me, then?"

Harrison, for that was the boy's name, paused. He did not know exactly how to put his thoughts into words; but presently he said, "I am a poor boy, and perhaps your mother wouldn't like it."

"I'll ask her, then;" and away tripped the miss, through the long hall, up stairs to her mother's room. "O mamma! there's a boy down stairs; I know him very well, because I've seen him every day. He always looks so pleasant, and whistles such pretty tunes, and I want to talk to him; but he is afraid you wouldn't like it."

"Did he say so?" inquired the lady, laughing at the idea.

"Yes, mamma."

"What is he doing?"

"Shelling peas. His face is very clean, mamma; and I do want to talk to him so much," urged the pleading voice.

"That is really a great recommendation; and as he is so modest, I don't think there can be any harm in your talking with him."

"Mamma is willing!" exclaimed the child, returning to the railing. "So now will you please tell me why you like to shell so many peas?"

"Because I can earn money by doing it. I like to do any kind of work."

A thoughtful expression passed over her bright face; she seemed disappointed at the answers. At length she asked, "What makes you like money so well? I don't."

"I don't like money," replied the boy; "but if I did not earn any I should not have bread for my breakfast and supper. I am poor, you know; but mother says I am a great deal happier for working. The Bible says, 'He that will not work, neither shall he eat.'"

"I never work," answered the child, in a sad tone.

"Oh! it don't mean such little girls as you! But I dare say you do work some. Don't you help your mother make the beds and dust the chairs? I had a little sister once, and she could do that."

"No," said Ella, shaking her head in a sorrowful manner. "Bridget is the chamber-girl. I wish I could work; but I only play with my dolls all day, except when I go to ride with mamma."

The boy looked somewhat surprised at this entire exemption from care; but he said, soothingly, "I dare say you will work when you are older. Mother says the command in the Bible is for all: 'Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work.'"

Ella stood looking gravely upon the lad as he sat steadily at his employment, and then said, "Will you please tell me about your sister? What was her name?"

"Isabella. Oh, she was a dear little girl! She had eyes just like the blue sky, and such a pretty mouth, always full of, smiles. Now she's gone home to God."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Ella, "that's too bad. How could you let her go away?"

For a moment the boy ceased his employment, raised his tear-dimmed eyes to the clear sky, then brushed away the glistening drops, and resumed his work. Presently, in a subdued voice, he replied, "God gave her to us, and he had a right to take her again, you know. Mother cried dreadfully; but she said, 'God knows what is best.' I miss her every night," said the boy, choking back his tears, "I loved her so dearly."

"Shall you go away when you've finished the peas?" asked Ella, anxious to turn from so painful a subject.

"Oh no! I shall do the beans next. See, I'm almost done."

"Why! won't you be tired?"

"No indeed. I have a great mind to tell you my secret."

The child filled the air with her musical laugh. "I do like to hear secrets," she said.

"Well, I'm trying to work real hard, because I want to buy mother a straw bonnet, and some pretty ribbon to put on it. It will be so nice to wear to church, you know." At this moment a voice in the hall called, "Ella! Ella!" and the child tripped away.

It seemed to Harrison as if the sun had gone behind a cloud when her laughing face disappeared from the railing; but he entered with renewed zeal into his work, saying to himself, "I wish mother could see her; she's a dear little thing!"

THE OYSTER-SALOON.

"If any will not work, neither shall he eat."

IT was nearly two o'clock before Harrison went home. First he had to prepare the string-beans; then one of the boarders called him to do an errand, for which he paid him a dime, after which the cook gave him a number of chores to do; so that altogether he had made quite a profitable morning of it. Beside this, he had eaten a hearty dinner, as indeed he did almost every day, before he left the hotel, and, with the consent of the proprietor, carried home a basket of broken pieces for his mother.

Harrison was an obliging little fellow. Always civil in his conduct, prompt and faithful in whatever he was required to do, he had rendered himself a favorite with all. Much of this he owed to his mother, who was untiring in her instructions to her boy. She was very fond of giving Scripture authority for her advice, and of enforcing her commands by the word of God. In this way, though only a lad of ten years, Harrison was far better acquainted with the teachings of the Bible than many who were twice his age.

On the morning in question he was unusually happy: first, because he had two dimes to add to his secret fund for the new bonnet; and next, because he had enjoyed a pleasant talk with the little girl.

Mrs. Danforth was setting the table for dinner when he entered, and received him with a warm smile of welcome.

"See how much I have earned!" said the boy, giving her a hearty kiss, and then pouring into her open palm several small pieces of silver.

"You know, my dear," she replied, with a smile, "who it is that said, 'The hand of the diligent maketh rich;'" then taking his basket, she added, "but you have brought quite a feast. I hope you have not dined."

"Oh yes, I have! But I expect there are pretty nice things in there. I heard one of the cooks talking about it. A gentleman came in and ordered a dinner at one o'clock: pigeons, fricasseed chicken, and lots of other dishes. Waiter told the cook he just tasted them, and then sent them away. He had no appetite, he said. I told cook if he'd get up in the morning and work, as I did, he'd have appetite enough. She laughed and said, 'Well, they're paid for, and you may put them in your basket.'"

"I hope Mr. Clarkson knows how much she gives us," suggested the woman, stopping in her work of taking the rich food from the basket.

"I wouldn't take it without," replied the boy, drawing himself proudly up to his full height. Only last week he told her not to encourage the street beggars, but to give to those she knew were worthy, and who tried to help themselves. "Once in a while, too, he meets me with my basket, and he looks in and says, 'That's all right, boy.'"

Just at this moment the door opened, and Mr. Danforth entered. He was quite a gentlemanly-looking man, of about thirty-five years. A close observer might have noticed a shade of anxiety passing over the wife's countenance; but after a second glance she seemed happily disappointed, and her spirits rose accordingly.

"You are just in time," she said; "dinner is all ready."

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