"We do," replied the person addressed, looking at the applicant with a broad grin on his face. "I should like to hire out," continued Harry, with an earnestness that would have secured the attention of any man but an idiot. "Do you? Your name is Joseph--isn't it?" "No, sir; my name is Harry West." "O, I thought it was Joseph. The Book says he had a coat of many colors, though I believe it don't say anything about the trousers," sneered the shopkeeper. "Never mind the coat or the trousers. If you want to hire a boy, I will do the best I can for you," replied Harry, willing to appreciate the joke of the other, if he could get a place. "You won't answer for us; you come from the country." "I did." "What did you come to Boston for?" "After work." "You had better go back, and let yourself to some farmer. You will make a good scarecrow to hang up in the field. No crow would ever come near you, I'll warrant." Harry's blood boiled with indignation at this gratuitous insult. His cheeks reddened, and he looked about him for the means of inflicting summary vengeance upon the poltroon who so wantonly trifled with his glowing aspirations. "Move on, boy; we don't want you," added the man. "You are a ----" I will not write what Harry said. It was a vulgar epithet, coupled with a monstrous oath for so small a boy to utter. The shopkeeper sprang out from his counter; but Harry retreated, and escaped him, though not till he had repeated the vulgar and profane expression. But he was sorry for what he had said before he had gone ten paces. "What would the little angel say, if she had heard that?" Harry asked himself. "'Twon't do; I must try again." CHAPTER XII IN WHICH HARRY SUDDENLY GETS RICH AND HAS A CONVERSATION WITH ANOTHER HARRY By the time he reached the stable, Harry would have given almost anything to have recalled the hasty expressions he had used. He had acquired the low and vulgar habit of using profane language at the poorhouse. He was conscious that it was not only wicked to do so, but that it was very offensive to many persons who did not make much pretension to piety, or even morality; and, in summing up his faults in the woods, he had included this habit as one of the worst. She hoped he was a good boy--Julia Bryant, the little angel, hoped so. Her blood would have frozen in her veins if she had listened to the irreverent words he had uttered in the shop. He had broken his resolution, broken his promise to the little angel, on the first day he had been in the city. It was a bad beginning; but instead of permitting this first failure to do right to discourage him, he determined to persevere--to try again.