that he took Ernest as his
clerk, over the heads of several other applicants who seemed to have a
stronger "pull."

"I don't know anything about _you_, Ernest," he said bluntly. "You're
only sixteen, and you may not have an ounce of real grit or worth in
you. But it will be a queer thing if your father's son hasn't. I knew
him all his life. A better man never lived nor, before his accident, a
smarter one. I'll give his son a chance, anyhow. If you take after
your dad you'll get on all right."

Ernest had not been in the store very long before Mr. White concluded,
with a gratified chuckle, that he did take after his father. He was
hard-working, conscientious, and obliging. Customers of all sorts,
from the rough fishermen who came up from the harbour to the old
Irishwomen from the back country roads, liked him. Mr. White was
satisfied. He was beginning to grow old. This lad had the makings of a
good partner in him by and by. No hurry; he must serves long
apprenticeship first and prove his mettle; no use spoiling him by
hinting at future partnerships before need was. That would all come in
due time. David White was a shrewd man.

Ernest was unconscious of his employer's plans regarding him; but he
knew that he stood well with him and, much to his surprise, he found
that he liked the work, and was beginning to take a personal interest
and pleasure in the store. Hence, he went home to tea on this
particular afternoon with buoyant step and smiling eyes. It was a good
world, and he was glad to be alive in it, glad to have work to do and
a dear little mother to work for. Most of the folks who met him smiled
in friendly fashion at the bright-eyed, frank-faced lad. Only old
Jacob Patterson scowled grimly as he passed him, emitting merely a
surly grunt in response to Ernest's greeting. But then, old Jacob
Patterson was noted as much for his surliness as for his miserliness.
Nobody had ever heard him speak pleasantly to anyone; therefore his
unfriendliness did not at all dash Ernest's high spirits.

"I'm sorry for him," the lad thought. "He has no interest in life save
accumulating money. He has no other pleasure or affection or ambition.
When he dies I don't suppose a single regret will follow him. Father
died a poor man, but what love and respect went with him to his
grave--aye, and beyond it. Jacob Patterson, I'm sorry for you. You
have chosen the poorer part, and you are a poor man in spite of your
thousands."

Ernest a