Out of His Time.
One evening a short time since, our attention was attracted by the
prolonged ringing of a bell. The given number of strokes had sounded, yet
ring, ring, ring. Was it an alarm of fire? No other bell signalled an
answer. Was it some danger to our city? No crowds were gathering. At
length we questioned a passer by, and received for answer, "It is
ringing because an Apprentice is out of his time." "Out of his time!"
We knew nothing of the boy, neither his name or home, but the waves of
air told us something concerning him. We knew he had overcome
difficulties, often had he been disheartened and dismayed, often had he
heard the mocking laugh or coarse jest of his companions, at his
imperfect workmanship, often heard the angry words over goods or tools
spoiled through his ignorance or carelessness. He had risen on dark
mornings when his neighbors, lads his own age, were snugly sleeping; he
had toiled on glorious summer days when his indolent companions were
resting under green trees, or plunging into the cool waters; he had done
the rough work because he was "the boy." Yes, but there is another side
to the picture. With courage renewed, with eyes and fingers becoming more
and more accustomed to the handicrafts of his trade, every month has found
him progressing, till to-night, as the still ringing bell tells us, he has
overcome.
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