To awaken something like hope in the hearts of these poor creatures was the task she set herself—hope in the Heavenly Father's love and care even for them; and that this transportation might not mean all the terrors they had dreamed of was the next step.
That they would be sold as slaves to the highest bidder without their own choice in the matter they knew very well, but beyond this they knew nothing of the probable conditions of life to which they would soon be bound.
But Sister Martin could give them some reassuring information about this. For the industrious, and those who were willing to work, life might not be so hard as in the old country. The colonists were Englishmen, and for their own sakes, if from no higher motive, were bound to provide their servants with such food, lodging and comforts as would keep them in health and ability to do their work.
The lazy and improvident were bound to find the life a hard one, for there was no room for beggars in a community where every one on entering was registered as belonging to a certain township, and carried a passport attesting the same. This was the settlers' protection against their slaves running away from them. Within the limit of the township to which he belonged, every man was free, but as soon as he got beyond the boundary, he must produce his passport, stating who he was, and where he belonged to, or he was taken off to the nearest gaol, where, if not claimed by his former master, he could be sold again; so that in getting away from one place the man would but be changing masters.
It was an outlook altogether better and more hopeful for those who did not mind working for their daily bread, and to Eric was a positive relief, especially when he heard that there were horses there as well as in England, and as he was used to them, he would probably be bought by somebody who wanted him to take care of them.
THE VOYAGE.
"NOW help me lift him on to the other bed, where he will be more comfortable, Eric." And Sister Martin directed the lad how to hold the patient, and he carefully followed her directions, so as not to disturb the sick man more than was necessary.
"Now the medicine. You can give him that, Eric, if I pour it out." And the bottle was carried to where there was a little more light, for only a few stray beams could penetrate the gloom here.
Eric gave the medicine and supplied the man with drink, and then followed Sister Martin to another bedside, while a woman was set to wash out the dirty clothes that had been taken from the patients.
They had only been a few days at sea, but sickness had broken out among the convicts, as it frequently did on these voyages. The Methodist sister, however, was prepared for this, and had brought a stock of old clothes and a little chest of medicines, with a good supply of soap, needles and cottons, which she could teach the women to use in the course of the long voyage; for, if winds were contrary, this was greatly prolonged over the ordinary period of eight or ten weeks.
Sickness, if not too severe in type, was rather a help to the work this good woman had set herself to accomplish among these unfortunate people, for it subdued the men, and often awoke in them, and in the women, too, latent good qualities, hitherto unsuspected even by themselves; and to keep alive these sparks of true humanity when once awakened, to make these stepping stones to higher things, was the object of her teaching.
For this, she held classes among the women, to teach them how to patch and mend the clothes she had brought with her, and thus evoke their helpfulness on their own behalf and sympathy with their fellow convicts, who were to benefit by this.
The men were set to patch the boots and shoes with odd bits of leather she had brought among her stores, and all were taught the duty of cleanliness and the use of soap and water.
Then, when the daily tasks of washing, scrubbing and sewing were over, she would gather round her all who cared to listen, and tell them of the love of God their Father in heaven, who had sent His Son into this world of sin and pain, that He might know just what human pain and sorrow were, and so be able to help and sympathise with all who sought Him.
"For us, for you and me, my friends, did the Lord Jesus suffer such trials and sorrows, and such a cruel death that we might have life—might learn to know and love and serve Him, and so be made sharers in His life and love. This alone can lift us out of the power of sin and the love of sin. I need not tell you who have suffered so sorely, that sin ever leads to misery, and that to escape from misery, sin must be given up. I know some of you will say this is impossible, and in your own strength it is, but God is ready to help you in the struggle against its power, if you will only seek His help.
"To many of you, this is a fresh start in life. Old companions are left behind, and old temptations too, and in the new country to which you are going, a new life may be lived—a life whose secret spring is hidden from the world, hidden with God, but by prayer and constant looking to Him a spring of joy and help for every time of need."
This was how the Methodist sister talked to the broken-down men and women among whom she had come to live. At first, some of them might suspect and despise her, because of the prejudice that was everywhere felt against Methodists by those who did not know them.
Even Eric was not free from this at first; but as day after day passed, and they learned to know this Methodist better, all were willing to own that she was a good woman, while many thought of her as an angel of God, as indeed she was; for by her life, as well as by her words, she taught that God is love.
From the time she asked Eric to help her give out the bread among the convicts, he had been her helper in everything she had done or tried to do for the benefit of the rest. At first, he did not like the notion of her being a Methodist; but he got over this when he found that she said very little about Mr. Wesley, but spoke as his mother used to do, and was just as eager to help these men and women as he used to be with his horses, or the creatures in the forest whenever that was possible.
He had never thought men and women could be as interesting as the horses were to him, but under Sister Martin, he was learning to help these now, and to love the work too.
It did not matter to him how menial, how difficult, or how tedious the task might be, if Sister Martin wanted it done, Eric was willing to do it. One of the men in the company was a shoemaker, and for his kindness to him while he was ill, he was willing to teach Eric something of his trade, but he would show no one else, and so Eric had to learn how to patch and cobble at the old shoes, that he might show one or two others who were anxious to learn.
It was a busy life he lived here, for every minute of it was employed from early morning until he went to bed at night, and but for the dread he felt at the idea of being a slave, it would have been happier than any time he had spent since his mother's death.
But like a black cloud obscuring the distant horizon, there was ever present to his mind the thought, "I shall soon be a slave, be the property of some man who may have the right to bid me do things I may not think it right to do." And when this thought took possession of him, he would sometimes look over the side of the vessel, and wish that by some accident he might fall overboard and be drowned. If only this could happen, there would be an end of all his trouble and perplexity, and he would soon see his beloved mother once more.
But braver thoughts generally succeeded these despairing moods; for one day he told his friend what he had been thinking of when she found him gazing into the water.
"But how would you meet God, my boy?" asked Sister Martin, looking into his troubled, truthful eyes. "If you gently slipped in and sank like a stone before your work was done, could you expect your Father in heaven to meet you with the welcoming words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant?' Would you be a faithful servant, if you wilfully threw away the life God has given to be used in His service? What that service may be you cannot tell, but you can be patient and wait for the unfolding of God's providence towards you. That is your duty, my boy; we are each asked to live a day at a time the life of little children.
"When your mother lived, you knew you could depend upon her to do the best thing possible for you, and so in like manner should you depend upon God now to arrange your life day by day. The way may be rough; it is a rough and thorny path you have been called to tread, the night for you has been long and dark; but there is an old saying, that it is darkest just before the dawn, and so I think you may fairly hope your dawn is at hand, though we may not see it yet."
In this way did the good woman encourage the lad to hope and trust in the Friend who though invisible, is none the less mighty to help, mighty to save; and so Eric resisted more and more these depressing thoughts, which he found by experience always unfitted him for the duty that lay nearest to him, whatever it might be.
It was well for him that his life was a busy one, that Sister Martin always had something she needed to be done, either for herself or for her poor people. To do anything for the personal comfort of the woman who had given up her life to bring a little brightness and hope into theirs, was a delight to Eric, and he undertook to keep her little cabin clean, and attend upon her whenever and wherever he could lighten her labour, as well as help any of the rest in performing the tasks of work they were set to do.
His life as one of their own number could not but tell upon those who were trying to profit by the instruction of Sister Martin. Here was this lad giving his help ungrudgingly to every one who needed it, and yet he had no better prospect in life than they had, though he might have deserved a better fate.
Some of them were beggars pure and simple. Work had been hard to get at first, and then by degrees they had dropped into a life of begging, in preference to seeking work. Others had gone a step further, and added stealing to the beggary, but they knew that this lad had been deprived of his liberty before he had the chance of finding employment, merely because he happened to be a stranger, as was his mother before him.
So it was a mingled feeling of respect and pity that they felt for Eric. They had each had some chance in life that they had either lost or thrown away; but this lad had been worse off than they were, for he had not been allowed even this small grace.
That every man should have his chance in life was one of the few things they all believed in, and that their hearts could be touched on behalf of Eric on this account, proved that they were not so sunk in selfishness as their miserable condition would lead one to think.
At last one of the leaders among the men ventured to speak to the captain about this matter. "Some of us can muster a shilling or two, sir, and we thought that if it could be managed that he should be sold cheap, why, we might buy his liberty for him, and let him have his chance in life, as every man has a right to expect. Some of us have had it, and thrown it away, but this chap hasn't; he is but a boy, and if the price wasn't fixed too high, we might manage it, with Sister Martin's help."
The captain looked at the man in surprise. Of course he knew Eric well enough, from seeing him about the ship, and also from the Methodist sister's report of him; but this was such an unheard-of request that he could not reply to the man without taking time to consider what he should say about it.
Later in the day, he contrived to draw Sister Martin aside, and tell her of the man's request.
"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"That my work has borne fruit far sooner than I expected," she replied, with a tremble in her voice. "These people, I know, have a little money secreted among them; but it is their most precious possession, the one thing they hold to, as affording them hope of escape from bondage by-and-by. You and I know how vain this hope is; but as money will purchase almost anything in England, how can they know it is of little use to them here? But that they are willing to give up this most precious possession for the sake of another, proves that God is at work among them; and so, if you can do this for—for us, I would say, for I should like to help in buying the boy's freedom—I think you would be doing a lasting benefit to those who give, as well as to the lad who will receive this great gift."
"Well, I will look over the list of the prisoners and their probable value, that was given to me. You see I shall have to give an account of how I have disposed of each of these convicts, and the authorities will expect to receive enough to cover the cost of their transportation. You understand that, Sister Martin, of course?"
"Yes, certainly; you are bound to deal faithfully with the authorities as well as with us, and you know I would not ask you to do otherwise."
"Then you know this lad cannot return to England, at least not for some years—not until he has earned such means that he can present himself as a colonist, and no longer as a returned English beggar. The law is very strict about this, I can tell you; and I should find myself in a fine scrape if the boy went back in another ship soon, and by any means fell into the hands of the justices again, as he probably would do."
"I think all danger of that may be prevented, even though the boy is free. I have some friends in Boston who would doubtless be glad to employ the boy, and I think he may be trusted, especially when he knows that he would get his friends into trouble if he attempted to return home."
"Very well, then, I will see if I can fix the price for him within the means of those who are to find the money to buy his liberty. But remember, he must be made to understand that he is only free to dispose of his labour here in the colony, and by no means to return to England."
"I will make that clear to him, do not fear. I shall not speak to him about the matter yet. How much longer will our voyage last, do you think?" she added, as she turned to walk back to the other end of the vessel.
"Not more than a week. It has been a tedious one this time; and if it had not been for you and your influence over these people, it might have been much more uncomfortable for me and my men. I shall not forget this item in considering the price to be fixed on for the lad," added the captain, as he courteously shook hands with his passenger.
There was quite a little stir and bustle among the convicts concerning their important secret. Of course there were some surly and soured enough to shun all share in the little enterprise, but these were in the minority, and by far the larger number gave what they could towards making up the necessary sum; and those who did not possess a single penny they could bestow, gave earnest sympathy, for all had learned to love the lad who thought of every one's convenience and comfort before his own.
Even the sullen and surly were willing to admit that Eric was different from other lads they had known, but they did not hesitate to say they thought him a fool for running about after other people, when he might be taking it easy most of the time.
"I shall have to work by-and-by, and so will he, I expect, if he lives long enough. Precious little rest is likely to come to my share, or his either; and so I say he is a fool for not taking it when he can get it," concluded one worthy.
Another was of opinion that Eric had set his heart on getting his liberty somehow, and had hit upon the plan of running after Sister Martin as the best way of doing it. These grumblers, however, were not numerous in the company. Most of them had learned to appreciate the boy's kindness from personal experience of it, and only longed for the time when he might know that he at least was not to be a slave.
It had been arranged that Eric should not be told of his good fortune until they came within sight of Boston Harbour; indeed, the captain kept them waiting a day or two before stating the price he would require for him. It was very moderate—well within the amount they were able to collect, by the aid of what Sister Martin contributed. She, of course, was to be his nominal owner, and in her name the bill was made out; so that before the vessel went into American waters, Eric had been disposed of to the satisfaction of everybody on board.
It was thought best to tell him who was his owner, and by what means he had thus been set free, before the bustle of landing commenced; and so, as soon as the distant town came in sight, Eric was told that he had already been sold by the captain, so that the ordeal he had been dreading all through the voyage would be spared him, though no one else among his companions could expect the same favour.
The lad's surprise and gratitude when he heard how this had been effected, and from whom the plan had first originated, was very touching. He could only express his thanks in sobs and tears at first, when told of what had happened. It was as though a great burden had been rolled away; but it was hard to believe that these poor people, who were themselves to be sold as slaves, should have given well-nigh all they possessed that he might escape the terrible doom awaiting them.
"I don't deserve it," he said, as he went round to one and another, tendering them his personal thanks, and telling them how great the boon was they had been able to bestow. "It is not the work I mind," he said; "I will work harder for being free; and if ever I can help any of you who have so greatly helped me, do not fear but I will do it."
He was too much overcome to say many words, but every one knew that they had won a friend in Eric, and one they were never likely to be ashamed of, whether they met him again or not.
They did not contemplate with such utter dismay the prospect before them as they had at first. Sister Martin had dispelled some of the dread they had naturally felt about it. She had given them hope that life might at least be no worse than the one they had left behind, and for some of them at least, the future held possibilities hitherto undreamed of. That God the Father in heaven cared for them, and would provide for them, was a thought that lay warm in more than one heart now, who until they met this Methodist sister, never used the name but to take it in vain.
Now they had learned to lift their hands in prayer, and to look up to this God and Father as a Friend who cared for them, even as these servants of His had proved that they did; for thus had they learned to interpret the lives of Eric and Sister Martin.
A NEW HOME.
AS soon as Boston Harbour was reached, a boat was seen approaching, to ascertain what cargo the Osprey carried, and whether she had any slaves for sale.
By this messenger, notice was sent to the town-crier, that any one wanting male or female servants could get their wants supplied at the Osprey. All would be sold by private tender, unless any objection were made against the proposed purchaser. This last condition was simply a formality, as a rule; but Sister Martin had decided that it need not be thus, where a man was known to be harsh in his treatment of his slaves.
The men and women they now had were above the average in many ways, and so there would be no difficulty in finding purchasers for them, and they could afford to wait if a man came forward who was known to be a hard master. She herself had been in the colony before, and would raise the necessary objection if she found it needful.
Soon after they came to anchor, buyers began to present themselves, and Sister Martin kept her eye upon each man as he came on board, to note his prevailing characteristics.
But these colonists were for the most part steady, reliable men, hard-working and thrifty, but not disposed to take an undue advantage of the irresponsible position the law placed them in, with regard to their slaves; and so no objection was raised against any one who came forward to buy.
During that day and the next, all the men and women who had come out from England were disposed of at good prices, so that Eric having been sold cheaply would easily be looked over. But now Sister Martin, having seen the rest depart to their several homes, had to consider what she should do with her purchase—how she should find a home and employment for Eric.
Fortunately, she had several Methodist friends in this country, and she arranged with the captain to go and see some of these, leaving Eric at the ship while she went. The cargo had yet to be unladen and disposed of, and in this work, the lad would find something to do; and the captain promised to pay him for his work, if he found him steady and trustworthy.
With this money and a little further help from his kind friend, Eric hoped to be able to buy a serviceable suit of clothes before he finally left the vessel, and so he was glad to be left behind, while Sister Martin went to pay her visit into the country.
All that he had seen of the place thus far disposed him to like it, and the people too. They were a little stiff and formal, perhaps, not so free and easy in their manners as his old master at The Magpie, and they spoke with a peculiar intonation; but still, that it was his native tongue in any form that was spoken in this distant country was something to be thankful for, and that they were not so disposed to resent the intrusion of strangers among them as the people of Summerleigh were, was also another cause for thankfulness.
So Eric worked with a will among the sailors and labourers, ready to help anybody or do any one a kind turn if he had the power, while the bales and chests were lifted out of the hold and carried to the shore. To be everybody's helper and servant was not an enviable position, and before night, Eric was tired out serving his many masters, so that when he saw Sister Martin come on board at the end of the third day of his service, he was glad to welcome her, and still more glad to hear that she had found employment for him a little way out of the city.
"My friend has a great many horses, and just now is in want of a careful lad to look after some of them, and when I told him how fond you were of the creatures, he agreed to take you at once, and to pay you good wages, if you suited him. But he is particular, Eric, very particular, as most good Methodists are. I have told him the story of your life, and I am sure he will be kind to you; but still, I could see he would like you to declare yourself a Methodist and join his class meeting."
Eric shook his head.
"I could not do that at once," he said.
"Don't you think you would like Methodists?" asked Sister Martin, in some surprise.
"I am not sure; I have not seen any one but you, and I have not thought of you as a Methodist. You have been as my own mother to me. I could not expect everybody to be like you, and so I want to see first what the common sort of Methodists are. I have thought about it since you have been gone, for one of the men who came to work on the ship here said he was a Methodist. He did not seem to be ashamed of the name, as people are in England. But though he said this, he shirked his work, I noticed, whenever he could, and wanted me to help him more than I did anybody else."
"And you think he may be a common sort of Methodist?" said his friend, with a smile.
"I don't know; but that is not the way my mother taught me to love and serve God. And so I should not like to call myself by a name I should be ashamed of afterwards. You see, this is something that is closer to me than anything else. I promised the landlord of The Magpie not to speak about God to anybody; but I also told him He was more to me than anything else in the world, and so I should still think of Him and pray to Him."
"But, my dear Eric, my friend would not even want you not to speak of God. Indeed, he would want you at the class meeting to do so. Methodists are a society of people who have banded themselves together to serve God and hold themselves aloof from the world that lieth in wickedness."
"Oh yes, I heard all that from the Methodist who was working here; but it seemed to me that laziness was the thing he ought to avoid, but being a Methodist didn't seem to make much difference. I dare say he would have been lazy anywhere."
"I daresay he would," answered Sister Martin; "and it may be the man is trying to overcome this fault just because he is a Methodist; but you do not see these efforts he is making—you only see the failures. You must not expect Methodists or any other set of people to be perfect. The very fact that they band themselves together for mutual help and encouragement is a confession that they are not, but are trying to follow in the footsteps of the Lord Jesus Christ.
"Your mother was a good woman, living all alone, as it seems; but if she had gone to a place where there had been a few Methodists, and had joined them, she would have had friends ready and willing to help you when she died, and thus you might have been spared many trials and temptations. That God could and has led you in a very wonderful way to this place of safety, proves that as He fed His prophet of old by means of ravens, so He can lead and provide for His children now by the most unlikely methods. But if they can join themselves to other Christian people, and thus give them the opportunity of helping them in their time of need, they ought to do so. This is another reason why I should like to see you join the Methodists here before I return to England.
"In a few days I shall have to leave you among strangers; you may be ill, or find yourself in some trouble, needing the help of friends; if you join our society, every Methodist brother and sister is bound to help you in your hour of need; but if you choose to stand alone, I do not say you will not find friends, but you will not have the same claim upon them that you would have if you joined the society."
Eric sat silent for a few minutes after this.
"Thank you very much for what you have told me," he said; "you know I would do anything I could to please you, because you have the right to command me in anything; but still, I should like you to give me a little time to think about this."
"You know, Eric, the world at large is opposed to God and His servants; this is why the name of Methodist has come to be so hated by them. Mr. Wesley saw this long ago, and that was why he founded his society. Union is strength, and one can help another to be firm and faithful, and in time of trouble it becomes the duty of one Methodist to help another as far as he possibly can, and especially where it is needful to help him in the time of persecution, such as we often experience in England."
"I will join this society if I can, do not fear; but I cannot, even to please you, unless—"
"Unless these Methodists please you?" interrupted Sister Martin.
"No, not that exactly; but I must have time to think about it, and to see and hear them before I decide," replied Eric.
"They will not seek to control your belief beyond what is necessary."
"It is not that; I have not thought of that. But you see I must find out more for myself before I want to be called a Methodist."
From this position Sister Martin could not move the lad, though she tried several times in the course of the next day. She knew her friends would be disappointed that Eric refused to cast in his lot with the people of God; for this was how they would regard his refusal to join their society, she feared.
But still, nothing she could say was sufficient to remove his objection to declaring himself a Methodist; and so they set out the next day on their long walk to the farm, that lay some distance beyond the city of Boston.
Eric, in a new colonial suit of clothes, looked very different from the lad who had come on board the Osprey, ragged and dirty and half starved; and as the two walked together along the country road, Sister Martin could not help feeling proud of her young pupil.
After an hour's steady walking, they came within sight of her friend's farm, and she told Eric that the fields they now saw belonged to his future employer.
"Oh, look at the horses!" exclaimed Eric, in a tone of delight; for here, in the place of cows and sheep, with which the other farms had been liberally stocked, horses seemed to roam about at their sweet will.
"You will have horses enough here to please you," said his friend. "Mr. Consett supplies all the country round with horses, and takes them in to nurse when they are sick or growing old."
Eric was obliged to stand still and admire this paradise for the creatures he was so fond of. "If only my poor old Peggy could be here now!" he exclaimed, with a sigh. And then he told Sister Martin how he had learned to doctor Peggy the previous winter, and the suspicion it raised against him.
"You had better not try doctoring the horses here without consulting Mr. Consett first; but I am sure he will be glad to listen to anything you may be able to tell him about the matter," she said.
They found Mr. Consett looking out for them, and he would have taken them at once to the house for a meal, but Eric had seen a foal in one of the fields that seemed to him to be ailing, and so he told the farmer about this, and then the two set off together to see what it was, while Sister Martin went in to rest and have some dinner.
"I hope they won't be long before they come back," said Mrs. Consett, looking from the window of the big kitchen where the meal was spread.
"John is so taken up with the creatures sometimes, that he forgets his own meal times until long after everything is cold."
"I am afraid Eric will not be much better, for it seems to me dumb animals of all kinds are greater favourites with him than men and women, and as soon as he came near the fields where the horses were he could talk of nothing else."
"I wish the boy was a Methodist," said Mrs. Consett with a sigh. "We have had several lads, you know, and somehow, being with the beasts, or rather going with them to the city, as they have to do sometimes, leads them into temptation, and I am sorry to say that after they have left us, they have not been much good to anybody. That is why John said he would do without a lad, unless he could get one who was a Methodist, and could be treated as we would treat a son of our own if we had one." And again the good woman sighed, for this had been a sorrow to herself and her husband for many years now, that with all the prosperity that had crowned their labours here, there was no child given them to share or inherit the farm.
The two had their dinner, after waiting some time for Mr. Consett and Eric to return, and just as it was over, the master came hurrying across the field alone.
"Why, what can have happened to Eric?" asked Sister Martin, who was the first to see the farmer coming. "I hope he has not been hurt by any of those creatures. I don't fancy he would be very careful to keep out of their way."
"He would not be of much use here if he was afraid to go near a horse," laughed Mrs. Consett.
But just then her husband reached the garden gate, and she went to meet him.
"Dinner ready?" he called, in a cheery voice.
"Dinner ready?" she repeated reproachfully. "Sister Martin and I got tired of waiting for you, and so we had our meal without you. Where is the boy?" she asked, seeing Eric did not appear.
"Left him to look after Meg's foal; something ails her, and she wants seeing to for an hour," replied Mr. Consett.
"But he hasn't had his dinner," said both women in the same breath.
"Just what I told the lad; but true lovers of horses don't think of meals for themselves when the creatures need their attention. It is a test few can stand, I can tell you, Sister Martin," said Mr. Consett, with a quiet chuckle, as he took his seat at the table, and began helping himself to the ham and chicken.
"But the boy must be hungry, my dear," said his wife, in some concern for her friend's feelings about the lad.
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"I daresay he is, I have no doubt he is, but a lad who has the making of a man in him don't let his hunger or any other appetite master him when duty calls him the other way. I wouldn't have left him with Meg's foal, the most valuable creature on the whole place, if I couldn't have trusted him. It was his own wish to be left to watch her for a while. I told him dinner would be waiting, but he evidently thought less of your dinner than he did of the creature who was suffering. I don't think he thought much of me or my opinion; it was the foal he was concerned with. As to his own stomach, that was clean forgotten for the time."
"Then you think the lad will do, sir?" said Sister Martin.
"I haven't the smallest doubt of it. A lad who can forget himself and his own hunger, to relieve the wants and sufferings of a dumb creature, won't go very far from God, whatever he may call himself. He told me as we went along that he couldn't decide to be a Methodist all at once; and I must say the news didn't please me much at first, though I liked the lad for telling me. But when we got to the field, and saw this foal was bad, everything else was forgotten but that our help was needed, if anything was to be done for her.
"I'm going back as soon as I have finished, and you must have something ready for the boy when he comes in; for of course he is hungry, and must eat, though I was glad to see he did not mean to let hunger be his master.
"That is the secret, Sister Martin, of success in everything, I don't care what it is; if the man or boy is master of himself, instead of allowing his appetites and passions to master him, he may be trusted to choose for himself in most things. And so I have made up my mind to let this lad take his choice as to whether he joins our society or not. If he don't choose to call himself by the name of Methodist, why, I shall be sorry, I confess, but there it will end, for he is a God-fearing lad, I can see, and what I have told you about being master of himself settles it, so far as I am concerned."
"Then you will take him, Mr. Consett?" said Sister Martin, in a relieved tone.
"Take him? To be sure I will, and glad to get him, too. The old country turns out a pearl now and then with the supposed rubbish she sends to us as slaves, and this lad is one, or I am greatly mistaken; and living here opens a man's eyes, I can tell you; so that I am not often wrong in the judgment I form of the lads who come to me. I have bought one or two, as I might have bought this lad, but when they have run away because I was too strict with them, I have not thought them worth the expense of the town-crier going after them, they were of so little service to me."
"What became of them then?" asked the visitor.
"After spending a few days in the wood, where they were nearly starved, they would come back and ask to be forgiven, generally; but I soon found an opportunity of sending them elsewhere, for horses are ticklish beasts, and need a deal of care and watching when they are out of sorts, and very few ever learn this sufficiently to be of any use; so you may judge when this lad begged to be left to watch the foal for an hour, whether I am likely to part with him in a hurry."
It was evident that Mr. Consett had taken a great liking to Eric, and Sister Martin could but feel thankful that the responsibility that she had assumed for a time had thus been taken from her shoulders so easily. But still, she wanted to know what Eric himself thought of his master, and the place where the next few years of his life at least would have to be spent. And so, when he came back from the field to have his dinner, she was very glad to be left alone with him for a little while.
"The foal is better now," he said as he came in.
"Come and get your dinner, and tell Sister Martin all about it, while you eat it," said Mrs. Consett. And when she had set the dinner on the table she left the two by themselves to talk.
"So you think you will like this place, Eric?" said his friend, when his hunger had been somewhat satisfied.
"Like it? Oh, Sister Martin, if you could see the beautiful horses Mr. Consett has got here. Little things some of them are, that want looking after carefully too. There is nothing in all the world that could be to me what the dear dumb things are, and to think I shall have these to look after and take care of. How good the Lord has been to me! I can believe now that the landlord of The Magpie was God's messenger, for it was there I learned to know so much about horses, and I also had time to go into the woods and watch the other creatures as well. Yes, he might not know it himself, but my dear old master was God's messenger, and this was the best place I could have come to, though I thought it very dreadful to be sent away as though I was a thief, just because I was poor and had nothing to do; but I see now God knew better than I did what was good for me, and I don't think I shall ever doubt Him again."
A WILD GOOSE CHASE.
CONSETT FARM was a notable place in its way, and the well-to-do farmer was highly respected in Boston. That he was a Methodist was something to laugh over among those who had known him before, but anything in the way of persecution, such as the followers of Mr. Wesley met with in England, was unknown in America.
But although persecution would not have been tolerated for one moment among the liberty-loving colonists, there was another way of making these people feel that they were unpopular among the giddy and thoughtless throng, and that was by trying to get the lads he employed to join in some wild adventure whenever they went into town.
"Consett's lads" were always well-known figures in the streets of Boston, for they generally led a little crowd of well-groomed, sleek-coated horses, that had either been out to the farm to recruit, or were horses recently bought by customers and brought to The Old Bell tavern for delivery to their various owners.
Now, to get the lad in charge of them, make him half tipsy, and then go off with one of the horses for an hour or two, or induce him to send the horses to the wrong owners, was a favourite device of some of the idle wights of the city, as well as of those who ought to have known better.
There was no particular ill-will felt against master or man, only Mr. Consett was known as a Methodist, and very particular, and so fun at his expense, or that of his servants, was more piquant than that which could be got out of any one else.
Eric was told of this before he had been at the farm long, and at the same time was informed that he would have to go to the city with his master the following week, to take some horses to The Old Bell yard, and to bring home some packages which Mrs. Consett needed for her housekeeping.
Eric smiled at the tales he heard about the tricks that had been played upon his predecessors, but at the same time felt sure no one would catch him loitering or drinking when he ought to be attending to his master's business.
They set off on their journey soon after breakfast one bright summer morning, and Eric was not a little elated to find himself mounted on a spirited little pony in charge of half a dozen other horses, tethered one behind the other, and fastened to his own saddle. Mr. Consett had as many under his charge, and led the way along the road, while Eric as proud and happy as a king, followed at a short distance, wondering as he went along whether the Osprey had sailed yet, or whether he might see his dear friend once more in the streets of Boston.
She had left Consett Farm to stay in the city, that she might be at hand whenever the Osprey should have made up her cargo and be ready to sail. She also hoped to see some of those who had come out with her, that she might have an opportunity of saying a word to them of comfort and cheer in their new and strange surroundings.
Eric knew about this, and hoped that the Osprey had been detained longer in the harbour than was expected, that he might have an opportunity of seeing this dear friend once more before she sailed for England.
Mr. Consett knew all about this, and when they reached The Bell yard, and found that only two of the expected customers were waiting, he said to Eric, "You will have to stay here while I go up to the barracks with these horses, and look at one or two others belonging to the British officers. I may be detained some time, so if Treve and Mason come for their beasts, you can hand them over, and then go and look for Sister Martin. Go to Chestnut Street first, and then inquire if the Osprey is still in harbour; for she said she might have to sleep on board the last night or two of her stay. Now you will be careful not to give up the horses to any one but the rightful owners," added Mr. Consett, as he gazed round the yard to see whether there were any loungers about, likely to lead the lad into mischief.
But for a wonder the place seemed to be deserted this morning, which so far satisfied Mr. Consett, that as he mounted his own horse once more, he called out, "Be sure you get back here by four o'clock, if you go to the Osprey; I will meet you at that time."
And then he cantered down the street, with his horses following.
After he had gone, Eric had time to look round this stable-yard, and found it much larger and altogether more imposing in appearance than that of The Magpie, though at present there did not seem to be much business going on, there were so few people about.
But presently a young fellow came out of one of the stables, and looked first at the horses, and then at Eric himself.
"Consett's lot, I suppose?" he said, with a nod.
"Yes," replied Eric; "I am waiting here to see Mr. Mason, who has bought two of these horses."
"You're a Methodist, I suppose, like Consett himself?" said the other.
"No, I am not," replied Eric; and he felt rather proud that he could say so.
"I wonder you can get on with Consett, then, if you stick to your own opinions about things; for I know he don't allow anybody to think for himself outside Methodist lines."
"Oh, he will allow me that liberty," said Eric proudly.
If he had been looking at the young man's face just then, he would have seen a peculiar smile part his lips as he said, "Oh, well, not being a Methodist, and under Consett's thumb, you can have a glass of small ale with me, just for friendship's sake, for we shall often be able to do each other a good turn, I expect, when you are waiting here for Consett's customers."
Eric hesitated for a moment about this, but the young man went to fetch the ale while he made up his mind what he ought to do, and when he came back with the foaming tankard in his hand, Eric thought he had no further choice in the matter.
Having drunk to their future good fellowship, Eric thought he had done enough, but the young man pressed him to drink again and again, and he, not liking to seem churlish or afraid, followed his example, drank more than he had ever done before, and of stronger ale than was brewed at the farmhouse.
Presently another young man came in, and without seeming to notice Eric, asked the other if he knew whether Consett or his lad were coming to town. "There's a sailor from some ship in the harbour been asking about them; she sails to-morrow, and there's somebody aboard that wants to see Consett's lad," he went on.
"Where is the sailor?" asked Eric quickly, and running to the gateway to look down the street.
"Oh, he's gone; he was in a hurry, he said, for if they could get all the cargo aboard before the next tide, the captain said he wouldn't wait till the next day."
"That's just like Captain Simpson, and I shall never see her again!" exclaimed Eric, in a little fever of dismay. He was excited by the ale he had drunk, and the thought of being so near the Osprey, and yet not able to see Sister Martin once more, well-nigh drove him wild; and the questions and exclamations of the two young men were by no means calculated to calm him and give him a right judgment in the matter.
To go down to the harbour, take a boat, and get on board the Osprey for a parting word with his friend, and let Captain Simpson see how well he was looking, became the one thought and desire of which he was capable, and to gratify which he was ready to do almost anything.
He did not know that this was the work of the two pretended friends, who had coaxed and flattered him for this very purpose, so that now he was like an instrument in their hands, which they could easily use for the purpose they had in view when they first began the talk with him.
As soon as it suited them to do so, one of them proposed that the horses should be left in charge of his friend while he went down to the harbour with Eric.
The one who had first spoken proposed to take them under his care, while he went on this jaunt, or to deliver them to the men who were to come for them.
"It's a chance you may never get again, and it's a pity to lose it. The horses are safe enough here; Mr. Consett always puts up at The Old Bell, so you may as well go off and enjoy yourself," said this new friend.
"I'll go with you to the harbour," said the last comer; "you're a stranger, and may easily lose your way."
And as he spoke he gave the other a look which, if Eric had seen, he must have known that some mischief was intended.
But with the ale and under the urging and artful insinuations of these two, Eric thought of nothing but the getting away for a few hours, and so he soon agreed to the proposal, and the two started out.
"How far is it to the harbour?" he asked, as his guide led him down a narrow street, which he said was a short cut to the other end of the town.
"Not more than a mile. We shan't be long getting there," he added.
But they were a long time, or it seemed so to Eric, as they turned first one way and then another. But at last they did come in sight of the quay, and then his companion said,—
"There you are, my hearty! Now you can find your way, or shall I speak to one of the boatmen for you?"
"Oh, see the boatman, and ask him if he knows where the Osprey is lying now. She was over there when I left her."
"Oh, she may have been in half a dozen places since then; but one of those fellows over there is sure to know where she is to be found." And as he spoke, he pointed to a group of boatmen, and then ran across to where they were standing, slowly followed by Eric.
The bargain had been made when he joined them, and his friend said; "You're all right now; she lies a little way out, ready for sailing, but this man can take you to her." And with that, he nodded and left Eric to get into the boat by himself, while he returned to The Bell by a much shorter route than that by which he had come.
The tide was running into the harbour, and it was hard work and took a long time to go to the outer side of it, but a vessel was reached at last, and the man said, "Here we are; this is your ship."
"But I don't think this is the Osprey," said Eric, looking up at the vessel that was near them.
"The Osprey!" repeated the boatman. "You said you wanted the Dolphin, and here she is."
"Oh, but this is not the ship I want; my friend must have made a mistake," said Eric, looking all round, in the hope of seeing the vessel he thought he should know so well.
The man looked at him very hard. "Do you know what ship you do want?" he said crossly.
"Yes, the Osprey; I am quite sure of the name, and I thought my friend had told you."
"You're a fool, or your friend is, to come on a wild goose chase like this. You'll have to pay me for the time, I can tell you. Do you know where the Osprey lies?" called the boatman to one of the sailors who looked over the side of the Dolphin at this moment. There was no mistake about her name, there it was painted as plainly as paint could make the letters.
"The Osprey?" repeated the sailor. "She lay over there a few days ago." And he pointed over to where a crowd of masts stood out clear against the sky.
So the boat was turned in the direction indicated, and the boatman rowed away, grumbling, with his passenger feeling very uncomfortable. After a time these other vessels were reached, and again the Osprey was asked for, but no one knew anything about her at all here.
"The next time you come out on a fool's errand don't ask Tom Higgins to go with you," said the surly boatman at last, turning his boat towards the shore, and giving up further search for the vessel. "I shall want a crown of you, young man," he went on.
"Then it's no good going back until we do find the Osprey," said Eric in a fright. "I haven't got so much money as that, but if we find the ship, I can get it, I daresay."
Under this stimulus, the boatman made a detour round the harbour, which occupied nearly an hour; but, alas, there was no Osprey to be seen, and the man was more ill-tempered than ever before the shore was again reached, for the wild goose chase would expose him to the ridicule of his rivals, which would be as hard to bear as the loss of the money itself to a man like Higgins.
"How much money have you got?" he demanded, as Eric was stepping out of the boat.
The lad put his hand into his pocket and drew out a shilling and a few coppers. "That is all I have got, but I will bring you the rest the next time I come to Boston," said Eric, now wishing he had never left the horses, and feeling a wild desire to get back and see that they were all right.
"Where do you live?" asked the man.
"At Consett's Farm," replied Eric.
"Never heard of it before. I don't believe a word you say about this; you've just come out for a spree, and to get an hour or two on the water without paying for it. It ain't the first trick that's been played on me by you Britishers, but I don't mean to put up with this, I can tell you. You pay me a crown before you land, or I shall have you taken to the lock-up till you do pay."
Eric thought of his master and the horses that had been left in his charge, and turned hot and cold by turns as he looked at the man's hard face. "I have no more money than this," he said; "but if you will let me go, or send up to Consett Farm to-morrow, you shall have your money, and something over for waiting."
He spoke in a pleading, anxious tone, but he might as well have pleaded with the stones in the street as to this man, and finding that there was no more money to be got from him, he gave him in charge of the dock watchman for robbing him of his rightful fare.
The man was a little more inclined to think that Eric himself was the subject of a practical joke when he heard the whole story, but what could he do? The boatman insisted upon Eric being taken before the justice, as a warning to others against imposing upon poor boatmen, and so he was obliged to do his duty, as he said, though he might feel sure that Eric was not the thief the boatman thought him.
The Old Bell was too far from the dock for anybody to send there on the lad's behalf. The justices could order that to be done the next day if they thought it necessary. This was all the comfort Eric could get, and so, about the time that Mr. Consett would be riding back to The Bell to meet him, he was thrust into the dreary building chiefly used for the detention of drunken and quarrelsome sailors, or people suspected of theft, as he was now.
In the semi-gloom and quiet of this place, he had time to go over in his own mind the events of the day. The fresh air had cleared away from his brain the fumes of the strong ale he had drunk at The Bell, and recalling all that had happened, he wondered how he could have been so foolish as to be persuaded to give up the care of his master's horses to strangers, while he went off in search of his own pleasure.
He had boasted to his mistress that he knew too much of what went on at an inn yard to be persuaded by anybody to neglect his duty, and here he was, the very first time he went into town, accused of being a thief; and perhaps his master, with far greater reason, would think him one too, for he felt sure now that he had been sent out to the Dolphin purposely, and that it was by no means the mistake he had first thought it, now that he had time calmly to review all the circumstances that led up to it. But of course these thoughts did but increase his misery, and as hour after hour passed, his anguish of mind grew more intense.
He was a fool, and worse than a fool, he said to himself, to be deluded into leaving his duty at the persuasion of a couple of strangers who had undoubtedly acted from some interested motive in the matter. Perhaps the men had gone off with the horses now, and there would be no one to tell his master what had happened, that he might take steps to recover them.
The thought of his ingratitude and folly drove him almost mad, until at last the thought that even over this he could pray and seek God's help and guidance, came to him as healing balm, and he fell on his knees and poured out his whole soul before his Father in heaven.
He had done wrong, he had gone astray like a lost and foolish sheep; just when he felt so confident, so sure of himself, he had fallen. But, oh, the rest and comfort of the thought that though he had sinned, there was forgiveness for sin—that the Lord Jesus Christ could and would help him to conquer and overcome it, and He could bring light out of this darkness, order out of this tangled skein of circumstances.
After this, he decided that his first duty now was to let his master know where and how he had left the horses, and whatever punishment he deemed he ought to suffer, to take it meekly. That his Father in heaven could and would help him to decide aright was a great comfort to him; and at last, he curled himself up in one corner of the cell and went to sleep, and, despite his misery and the uncomfortable place he was in, he slept soundly until the morning.
CONCLUSION.
"WHERE'S Eric? how long has he been home?" Mr. Consett spoke sharply, for he felt annoyed that the lad, as he supposed, had left Boston without waiting for him at The Old Bell, according to the arrangement made in the morning.
Mrs. Consett stopped her spinning-wheel at the sound of her husband's voice, and came to meet him.
"Where is Eric?" she asked, not having heard the precise words her husband used.
"That is what I ask you," said the farmer in a tone of irritation. "Where is the lad? What time did he get home?"
"He hasn't come home; I haven't seen him since he went with you this morning," said Mrs. Consett, in a tone of surprise.
Husband and wife stood looking at each other for a minute in blank amazement.
"What has become of the lad?" said Mrs. Consett. "A man came here about two hours ago to ask about Mason's horses that were to be delivered in Boston to-day."
"But—but hasn't he got them?" asked the farmer. "I left them with the lad to be given up, and when I went at four o'clock there were no horses there, nor Eric either."
"What can have happened?" asked Mrs. Consett, after a pause. "Have we been deceived in the lad?"
The farmer shook his head. "I can't believe that," he said.
He turned to the door, and called to another stable helper to take the horses he had brought back with him, hung up the riding-whip in its place, and then sat down to think.
"I was to have met him at The Old Bell yard at four o'clock, but it was nearly five before I got there, for I was hindered talking to some of the British officers, and I had to go to the store about your tea; and finding that nobody knew anything of Eric or the horses, I thought Mason and Treve might have fetched them early, and he had gone in search of Sister Martin or the Osprey. But I soon found that the Osprey sailed the day before yesterday, and so I concluded the lad had started for home without waiting for me."
"But he wouldn't do that, if you had told him to wait for you," objected Mrs. Consett.
"What has he done, then? Gone off with the horses like any common thief!" exclaimed the farmer.
"No, I can't believe that of him. Do you think any of those who have led our other lads into mischief sometimes have had a hand in this?" asked Mrs. Consett, after a lengthened pause.
"I might have thought so if the lad had not been used to the ways and manners of a stable-yard in the old country. He told me he knew too much to be played tricks with; and he has been so steady and thoughtful the time he has been with us, that it is not easy to account for this, as it would have been if he was like the others we have had."
"But you don't think he has gone off with the horses to steal them, do you?" exclaimed his wife.
"I don't know what to think. I would rather lose the horses than the lad ten times over. Mary, what shall we do?"
It was not often that Mr. Consett was so upset over anything as he was over this, and he said so.
"There's only one thing we can do. God knows all about what has happened, and where the lad is. Suppose we kneel down and ask Him to direct our way in this difficulty," suggested Mrs. Consett; and having secured the latch of the door, the two knelt down at once and poured out their hearts before God.
Mrs. Consett never knew until then how much her husband had grown attached to the lad. How much easier it would be for him to lose the horses than the boy, she knew well enough now, after listening to his pleading with God on the lad's behalf.
As soon as they rose from their knees, he said, "I shall go back to The Bell at once. Get me a morsel of food that I can eat on the way."
"Go back to Boston to-night!" said Mrs. Consett.
And yet she was not surprised, for she knew how anxious her husband felt about Eric, and she set about getting him bread and meat cut into sandwiches, while a fresh horse was saddled for him to ride back to town.
It was nearly midnight before he returned, and when he came he was, if possible, looking more anxious than when he went away. "The boy is not a thief; I have got that comfort out of my journey," he said, as he jumped off his horse at the gate, where his wife was waiting for him.
"You have heard of the horses, then?" said Mrs. Consett.
"They were brought back to the stable just before I got there. They had been ridden hard for some hours, and were well-nigh exhausted; so that I feel sure more than one has had a hand in this, and I am not without hope of finding out in the morning. I could do no more to-night, so thought I had better ride home and tell you what I had discovered."
"But the lad—you have not been able to hear of him?" said Mrs. Consett anxiously.
"Only this, that he was seen going down towards the harbour, and I have seen some of the harbour watchmen, and told them to let me know early to-morrow morning, if they hear anything about such a lad. I must be off again at five, so we won't stay talking any longer now," said the farmer; and it was plain that he was well-nigh exhausted with his long day's work, but was not so anxious about Eric as when he went away.
At five o'clock the next morning, he was in the saddle again, and had reached The Old Bell yard by the time the gates were opened. The first person he happened to see was the young fellow who had led Eric astray about the Osprey being in the harbour.
"I hope nothing serious has happened to the lad," he said, as Mr. Consett alighted from his horse. "It isn't murder, sir, as you seemed to think last night."
"Oh, indeed! What do you know about the matter? I didn't see you here yesterday when I came about the horses."
"No, I was out in the country then," said the young man; but his manner was so confused that Mr. Consett felt sure that he could tell more about Eric than he had heard yet, and so he said,—
"Now, young man, I give you your choice—you can tell me all you know of what went on here with my lad as soon as my back was turned yesterday, or I shall have you taken before the justices on the charge of making away with him." And as he spoke, the farmer laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder in such a determined fashion, that in a fright he said,—
"I will tell you all I know, and I hope the lad will soon be found, for I never intended any harm; it was all done for a lark."
He then told Mr. Consett all that had occurred the previous day, adding, "We went for a ride the other side of Boston as soon as we knew he had gone to look for the ship, and did not get the horses back until late last night."
"So you are at the bottom of the mischief, are you? Well, I shall hand you over to the care of a watchman until I find out something about my lad." And the next minute, he found himself in the custody of one of the city watch, who happened to be near the gate.
Mr. Consett looked to his horses, and then another watchman arrived, who brought him some news of Eric. It was not the man who had arrested him for not paying the boatman's fare, but this one had heard all about it, and, having seen the farmer the previous night, now came to tell him what he had heard, and that Eric would be taken before the justices at eight o'clock that morning.
So, when the court opened for the admission of the public, Mr. Consett went in with the rest, and happened to stand near the boatman who had come to state the charge against Eric.
"It ain't the first time I have been set to row some young fool round the harbour, and then when it came to paying they had got no money," grumbled the man, as he told one of the crowd how cruelly he had been served.
"Then you mean to make this one pay, if possible?" said his friend.
"I do; I mean this one shall pay for himself and the rest too, if there is any justice to be had in Boston. Two or three hours and more was I rowing agin the tide a-looking for the Osprey. He knowed there was no such ship in port, of course."
"What did you say was the name of the vessel you went in search of?" asked Mr. Consett at this point.
"The Osprey, and the young rascal knew she had left the port a day or two before," answered the man angrily.
Mr. Consett would not enter into an argument about this, but asked what he thought the lad owed him for his boat fare.
The man stated the sum, and to his astonishment the farmer said, "I will pay you at once, if we can find an officer of the court who will take a note of the matter and order the lad's release."
This was done with very little difficulty, and when Eric was fetched, he heard to his surprise that he would not be taken before the justices after all, for the debt had been paid, and so he was free.
The next minute he saw his friend standing near, waiting for him, and knew at once who had paid his debt and obtained his release. But an overwhelming sense of shame and contrition seized him as he recognised Mr. Consett.
"Can you ever forgive me, sir?" he said.
But the farmer was too pleased to see him to think of anything but the gladness that was in his heart.
"My lad, my lad," he said, taking both his hands, "how did it all happen?"
But Eric was thinking of what might have happened to the horses through his folly, and so he said, "Where are the horses, sir? Did you find them all safe?"
"Yes, they are safe. But never mind the horses just now; tell me about yourself, and how you managed to get into this trouble."
"I am ashamed to meet you, sir, after the foolish, if not wicked way in which I acted yesterday," replied Eric, his face crimsoning as he spoke; for what Mr. Consett would think of him when he heard all the story, he dreaded to discover.
"Well, well, you can tell me the particulars later on. We will go back to The Bell now and have some breakfast, and then go home."
"Will you take me home with you again, sir? I think I should like to tell you all about it first, for you may not think I ought to be trusted again, after what has happened."
"I see it will ease your mind to give me your account of it all," said the farmer with a smile; and as they walked through the street back to the inn, Eric told him the whole story, not sparing himself in the least, for he saw clearly enough where he had been to blame, and how ready he was to fall into the trap laid for him, though he had thought he should be too clever for any one to betray him into such mischief.
When Mr. Consett had heard the whole, he said gravely, "Now do you see why Mr. Wesley founded his society, and laid down rules for the help and guidance of the people who call themselves Methodists? They all profess to love and serve God rather than the world, but he knew that the world would at once set about tempting them or persecuting them, and so, for their mutual help and guidance, he framed and laid down certain rules, much as we put up fences for the protection of weaker animals. One of these is that we should avoid the company of the foolish and ungodly.
"Now, if you had joined our society, and promised to obey its rules, when this stranger offered his friendship and his drink, you would have had the protection of that rule which you had promised to obey. Of course you might have broken that promise, but I don't think you would, after once giving it. Now do you see the help that our society gives to each of its members? When this fellow said to you yesterday, 'Come, drink with me for friendship's sake,' you could have said, 'Thank you, friend, but I am a Methodist.' If you could only have said that, they might have laughed and jeered at you, but they would have known that it was little use tempting you, as they did when they found you were bound by no such rules as we impose."
Eric sighed. "I never thought I should be such a fool," he said.
"Well, let this teach you wisdom for the future, my lad. Perhaps you were a little over-confident in despising our rules as so many props and stays that you could do without. As you said you preferred to serve God your own way and after the teaching of your own conscience, I thought it best to let you make a trial of it and see how you could get on walking alone, instead of in the company of God's people. These rules and regulations were not laid down to take the place of love to God and devotion to His service, but rather to be the props and crutches that may help to keep us in the right path when the way would otherwise be dark and unknown."
"I had not thought of it in that way before," said Eric. "Do you think I should be allowed to join and call myself a Methodist after what has happened?"
"Yes, I do; for you are truly penitent for your fault, and I can feel sure that if you promise to obey the rules of our society, you will faithfully endeavour to do so. But now let us go in to breakfast, for I am hungry, and then I must see about getting this fellow released who sent you off on this wild goose chase after the Osprey."
"I was almost as much to blame as he was, for if I had only remembered my duty, and refused to leave the horses, as you had told me, it could not have happened; so I hope you will not punish him."
They had sat down to a well-spread table, and Eric was too full of thankfulness for his escape from prison to desire that another should be kept there; and so he was very glad to know that the young man was released before they left town.
"Now we must go back at a canter," said the farmer; "for the good wife only knows that you are not a thief, and she will be glad to have you back safe and sound again."
"What, after giving you so much trouble and anxiety?" said Eric, in some surprise.
The love and kindness of this friend was wonderful to him, for he had known so little of the long-suffering of love extended to him.
"Ah, my boy, you don't understand how you have crept into our hearts," said the farmer, as they went gently up a hill outside of the town. "I have been thinking as I came along, that we all think of the Heavenly Father very much as you have thought of us in this matter. You thought of the horses and my loss of time and vexation, but never once thought that all these would be forgotten in the gladness of having you back in your old place once more, and this because you did not understand how we love you—the good wife and I." And as he spoke, the farmer looked as tenderly at Eric as he might have done if he had been his own son.
The boy felt a strong impulse to throw himself into his friend's arms, if they had not both been on horseback. But from that moment, he felt that he knew what a father's love was, and that this friend was a parent rather than a master to him henceforth.
Mrs. Consett was delighted to see him return safe and well, for she had been haunted by the fear that he might have fallen overboard and been drowned, and so to see him come riding up the avenue once more was a joy indeed.