“There’s one thing I want my little boy to learn,” said the father, as he took him on his knee and talked in the language of his Fatherland “and that is, ‘God helps them that help themselves.’  Don’t ever forget it!”

“Yaw, I ish not forgots him,” replied the youngster, staring in the broad face of his parent, and essaying to make use of the little English he had picked up.

The good father and mother acted on this principle from the beginning.  When Nick lost his balance he was left to help himself up again; when he went bumping all the way down the front steps, halting a moment on each one, his father complacently smoked his long pipe and waited to see how the boy was going to get back, while the mother did not think it worth while to leave her household duties to look at the misfortunes of the lad.

“God helps them that help themselves.”

There is a great deal in this expression, and the father of Master Nicholas Ribsam seemed to take in the whole far-reaching truth.  “You must do everything you possibly can,” he said, many a time; “you must use your teeth, your hands, and your feet to hang on; you must never let go; you must hammer away; you must always keep your powder dry; you must fight to the last breath, and all the time ask God to help you pull through, and He’ll do it!”

This was the creed of Gustav Ribsam and his wife, and it was the creed which the children drew in with their breath, as may be said; it was such a grand faith that caused Nick to develop into a sturdy, self-reliant, brave lad, who expected to take his own part in the battle of life without asking odds from any one.

The parents of our hero and heroine proved their faith by their works.  By hard, honest toil and economy, they had laid up a competence which was regularly invested each year, and of which the children were not allowed to know anything, lest it might make them lazy and unambitious.

The little house and fifty acres were paid for, and the property was more than sufficient to meet the wants of the family, even after the youngsters became large enough to go to school.

The morning on which young Nick Ribsam started for the country school, a half mile away, was one which he can never forget.  He was six years old, and had picked up enough of the English language to make himself understood, though his accent was of that nature that it was sure to excite ridicule on the part of the thoughtless.

As Nick had a large head, he wore of necessity a large cap, with a long frontispiece and with a button on the top.  His coat was what is called a “roundabout,” scarcely reaching to his waist, but it abounded with pockets, as did the vest which it partly inclosed.  His trousers were coarse, thick, and comfortable, and his large boots were never touched by blacking, Nick’s father having no belief in such nonsense, but sticking to tallow all the time.

Nick carried a spelling book and slate under his arm, and, as he started off, any one looking at him would have been struck by his bright eyes, ruddy cheeks, and generally clean appearance.  As he was so very good natured, he was certain to become quite an acquisition to the school.