He himself
was a good, steady workman, and, as such, pretty certain of steady
employment. But he spent all he got with the confidence (you may
also call it improvidence) of one who was willing, and believed
himself able, to supply all his wants by his own exertions. And
when his master suddenly failed, and all hands in the mill were
turned back, one Tuesday morning, with the news that Mr. Hunter had
stopped, Barton had only a few shillings to rely on; but he had good
heart of being employed at some other mill, and accordingly, before
returning home, he spent some hours in going from factory to
factory, asking for work. But at every mill was some sign of
depression of trade! some were working short hours, some were
turning off hands, and for weeks Barton was out of work, living on
credit. It was during this time that his little son, the apple of
his eye, the cynosure of all his strong power of love, fell ill of
the scarlet fever. They dragged him through the crisis, but his
life hung on a gossamer thread. Everything, the doctor said,
depended on good nourishment, on generous living, to keep up the
little fellow's strength, in the prostration in which the fever had
left him.
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