He fell to thinking of what his
father had said at dinner. He thought of poor old rheumatic Parm'ly, and
her single bucket of coal at a time. He thought of the blind broom-maker
who needed a broom-machine, and of the poor widow whose children must be
taken away because the mother had no sewing-machine. All of these
thoughts made the night seem dark, and they made Willie's heart heavy.
But the thoughts kept him company.
Then he wished he was rich, and he thought if he were as rich as Captain
Purser, who owned the mill, he would give away sewing-machines to all
poor widows who needed them. But pshaw! what was the use of wishing? His
threadbare pantaloons told him how far off he was from being rich.
But he would go to the Polytechnic; he would become a civil engineer. He
would make a fortune some day when he became celebrated. Then he would
give Widow Martin a sewing-machine. This was the nice castle in the air
that Willie built. But just as he put on the last stone a single thought
knocked it down.
What would become of the widow and her children while he was learning to
be an engineer and making a fortune afterward? And where would he get the
money to go to the Polytechnic? This last question Willie had asked every
day for a year or two past.
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