image005
"Here are the drawing instruments I promised you."
"Here are the drawing instruments I promised you," he said, "and I daresay I shall look in this evening and see how you all get on."
Squire Forbes called at the yard during the day to give some further directions about his greenhouse.
"I have tried again, sir," said Walter to him, "and it's of no use; Frank won't join."
"It's his loss, then," said the Squire, "and you have done your duty."
When Walter left the yard that evening, he hurried home to his tea; and then, having "tidied himself," as he called it, he went towards the school-house in which the classes were to be held.
It was nearly dark when he passed through the village, but he saw Frank lounging against a gate at the corner of the little lane which led to the Mill Cottage. Tom Haines was with him, and Walter heard them laughing as he passed.
He seemed not to notice the laugh, however, and called out "Good evening," in his usual tone.
The only answer was another laugh.
Walter passed on without taking any further notice of them. A saying of his mother's—"Let those laugh that win" recurred to his mind, and he felt that he had more real cause for merriment than they had.
There were nearly thirty boys assembled in the school-room that evening, varying in ages from twelve to eighteen. The clergyman of the parish, the national schoolmaster, and several gentlemen resident in the neighbourhood, all took classes. Lessons were given in reading, writing, arithmetic, and drawing. The teachers were kind and painstaking, the scholars well-behaved and attentive, and Walter was surprised when he found it was time to leave off; the two hours had passed away so pleasantly.
Squire Forbes, who had taken the arithmetic class, told the boys before they left, that he hoped to be able once a week to give them a few interesting particulars about modern geography, English history, and the sun, moon, and stars.
"I shall not call it a lecture, boys, first, because most of you will fancy I am going to deliver a long, dry discourse, to which you will not care to listen; and, secondly, because, as it will not last more than a quarter of an hour, it will not deserve the name. I shall call it, then, a pleasant talk; and I hope to make it so entertaining that you may not feel I have given it a wrong name. You can ask me any questions you like when I have finished, and I will answer them to the best of my power.
"I have read a great many more books in my life than you are likely to do, and I think that if I take a number of great and interesting facts out of some of those books, and tell them to you in simple language, such as even the youngest amongst you will be able to understand, it may give you a little stock of useful general knowledge, which will be of service to you in life, and which it would take more time than you have at command to acquire from books. I congratulate you, boys, upon your good behaviour this evening, and I hope we shall live to spend many more such pleasant and profitable hours together."
Walter walked home with William Day, a neighbour's son. It was a cloudy night, and the moon, which was nearly at its full, was partially obscured. All was quiet as they passed the turning to the Mill Cottage, but they had not proceeded far before they met Frank Hardy and Tom Haines. The latter had evidently been drinking, for he was staggering along the road, and would have fallen had not Frank supported him.
Walter shuddered as he passed them by. He thanked God in his heart, and with all humility, that he had hitherto been kept from such acquaintances as Tom Haines, and that he had a mother who had brought him up to see all the horror and evil of intemperance. What might not Frank Hardy become with such an example as Tom Haines always before him! Then he remembered Frank's uncomfortable home, the constant scenes of ill-humour and selfishness which were going on there, and he thought of that text which says, "To whom much is given, of him shall much be required."
"How much more have I than Frank!" he thought, and the thought made him humble.
"How silent you are, Walter!" said Willy Day.
"I was thinking very sad thoughts, Willy."
"Why, you seemed so happy at the school, Walter."
"Yes, I know; but it was meeting Tom Haines and Frank that set me thinking. Suppose we should ever come to be like Tom, Willy!"
"We need not, unless we like, Walter."
"But we can never tell how soon we may fall into temptation; I think mother is right, after all."
"What about?" asked Willy.
"She says it would be better for the world if there were no such places as 'The Plough.'"
"Oh, Walter!"
"It's quite true, Willy; and she says also that beer and spirits are really necessary to no one, and that at least a fourth part of the earnings of every working man who drinks beer are spent in the public-house."
Willy Day know that his father went every evening for an hour or so to "The Plough," but he never remembered seeing him the worse for drink, and he told Walter so.
"I was not speaking of regular drunkards, Willy, when I spoke about a fourth part of a man's wages. Drunkards often spend half, and sometimes more than that, of what they earn in the public-house. That is why Frank Hardy's family are so badly off; the greater part of all the money earned by Frank's father goes to 'The Plough.' But even those people who never 'get the worse for drink,' as you call it, how much money they spend upon it, and what a number of home-comforts—better food, better clothes, and something put by against a rainy day—that money would have procured!"
Walter had arrived at the door of his mother's house as he uttered the last words, and he and Willy stood still for a moment.
"Did your mother tell you all this, Walter?"
"And much more, Willy, I can tell you."
"She must be as good as a book, Walter."
"She always tells me, too, that it is so easy for young people to learn a bad habit, and so difficult to un-learn it; and therefore I have promised her never to go into such places as 'The Plough,' for fear of being tempted to do what it might afterwards be so hard to leave off."
Willy Day wished his friend good-night, and the boys separated.
Willy was a thoughtful boy, and as he walked homewards, he pondered upon all that Walter had said. He remembered many instances in his own home life when an extra three or four shillings a week would have been a great help, and when the want of it was the cause of much inconvenience.
He particularly recollected the time when his sister Lucy was kept away from school for many weeks through having no shoes fit to go in. His mother had told him she could not afford to buy her any. Now, if what Walter's mother said was true, the money which his father spent in one fortnight only at "The Plough," would have bought Lucy a capital pair of shoes.
When he reached home, he found his mother sitting by the fire, nursing the youngest child, a baby of a year old, who was crying as if in great pain.
"Is baby no better, mother?"
"No, Willy; the doctor came again this evening, and he says its chest is very delicate, and that it must wear flannel. I am sure I don't know where the money is to come from."
"How much would the flannel cost, mother?"
"Three or four shillings at least, Willy."
"Just one week at 'The Plough,'" thought Willy.
———————
"Who were you talking to at the gate, Walter?" said his mother, as he entered the house; "I heard your voice for several minutes before you came in."
"It was Willy Day, mother; I was trying to make him understand all that you told me about the harm done by public-houses, and I think I made him see things in a different light to what he had ever done before."
Mrs. White smiled at her son's enthusiasm. "That's right, Walter; there is no one but what has opportunities, at some time or another, of influencing a companion, either by his advice or example. Take advantage of every such occasion; and remember that, as in the old fable, the efforts of a tiny mouse were of service in setting free a great lion, so even young people have it in their power to help forward great and important results."
Mrs. White then asked her son all about the evening school, and Walter gave her an animated description of all that passed there.
"Squire Forbes told us, mother, that every fresh piece of knowledge we acquire is like opening a new window in our minds."
"True, Walter; but we must guard against pride of self-conceit in our knowledge. It is quite right to resolve, in the strength of God, never to spend an unprofitable hour; it is quite right to try and improve our talents to the very utmost, and to employ them to the best advantage; but the motive throughout all should be, not an over-anxiety to appear more clever than other people, or to obtain the praise of men for our superior knowledge; but rather how we shall best be fulfilling God's will in that path of life in which He has placed us."
"Mother, I think you know everything; I am afraid I did feel a little conceited when talking to Willy Day, at least I know I thought how much more I knew than he did. It is hard to think right thoughts, mother."
"God only can enable us to do so, my son. Jeremiah says, in speaking of man's thoughts, 'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.' And David earnestly prays to God that the 'meditations,' that is, the thoughts of his heart, may be acceptable in God's sight."
"There's one thing I don't quite understand, mother; if God places us in a 'path of life,' how can we be said to choose our path?"
Mrs. White took down her Bible, and turning to the second chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians, she bade Walter read the 10th verse: "'For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.'"
"St. Paul here plainly tells us that we were created by God unto 'good works.' When, through the disobedience of our first parents, sin entered into the world, man's whole nature became changed and corrupted, and he who had been made in God's holy image, became the servant and slave of sin. But God's purpose still remained unchanged; He had created us unto 'good works,' not unto 'evil,' and 'for His great love wherewith He loved us, even when we were dead in sins,' He now brings us nigh unto Him through Christ's blood, who is our 'peace' with God.
"In God's strength, then, and through His Holy Spirit strengthening us, we may still do those good works which He hath before ordained that we should walk in; and it is when we are thus, for Jesus Christ's sake, led by the Spirit, that we regain our lost place as God's children, and walk in the path of holiness which He has appointed us. How many of us resist God's Holy Spirit, and choose the path of sin! And how thankful we ought to be when we are enabled to walk in the path of God's commandments, which can only be through His grace helping us. 'For by grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.'"
"I think I understand it all now," said Walter; and then, he added, "Oh, mother, Gracie says she wishes her mother would talk to her as you do to me."
UNJUST SUSPICIONS.
WALTER was at work in good time the following morning, but the foreman and Frank were both at the yard before him, and the foreman spoke angrily to Walter as he entered the workshop. "If this is what is to come of your going to the evening school, Walter, why I, for one, should say the sooner you give it up the better."
As he spoke, he held up before Walter's astonished gaze a large chisel and a fine saw, both of them covered with rust.
Walter and Frank took it by turns, for a week together, to put away all the tools carefully before leaving the yard at night. It was then Walter's week, and he felt sure that he had in no way neglected his duty, and that he had left everything in proper order before going home the previous evening.
The sight of the tools, rusted as they were by exposure to the damp night air, puzzled him extremely.
image006
He held up a large chisel and a fine saw,both covered with rust.
"I'm quite sure," he said, "that I did not leave those tools out last night."
"Nay, nay, that is only making bad, worse. I found them myself lying on the ground in the open shed yonder. You are generally such a careful lad, that I was the more surprised when I learned that it was your week. All I say is, be more particular for the future, or Mr. King will find that your lessons will cost him dear."
"But, indeed," cried Walter, with a bewildered look, "indeed I put them all away. I recollect perfectly doing so; and it is not so long ago that I could be mistaken."
"I'll not hear another word," replied the foreman, angrily. "Facts speak for themselves, and it is perfectly useless trying to make me disbelieve my own eyes. Who do you think would come here and take the tools out after you had put them away?"
"Who indeed?" thought Walter.
And at that moment he raised his eyes, and met those of Frank Hardy fixed upon him with a malicious expression, as if rejoicing in his trouble.
A strange thought flashed across Walter's mind: "What if Frank had done it out of spite?" He looked him full in the face, almost inquiringly, and Frank's eyes fell beneath the earnest gaze of his companion.
"Some one must have done it out of ill-feeling to me," said Walter quietly.
"A very likely story!" said the foreman. "Did you never hear that a bad excuse is worse than none? My advice to you is to hold your tongue about the matter, and to be more careful for the future."
Walter saw that he was not believed; and when Mr. King came to the yard, in the course of the day, he felt sure that the foreman had told him about the tools being left out, as his master's manner to him was not so cordial as usual.
"You be sure and see that all is straight before you leave this evening," said Mr. King to Walter. "Your evening studies must not interfere with your duty to me, remember."
Walter coloured deeply, knowing to what his master alluded.
"I never yet failed in my duty, sir, and I hope I never shall."
"The least said about that the better, Walter," said his master. "I am quite ready, however, to make allowance for a first offence; only don't let it happen again."
Mr. King left the yard as he uttered these words, and Walter turned towards Frank with tears in his eyes.
"Do you know anything about the tools, Frank?"
"I! What should I know about them? It wasn't my business to put them away."
"No, I know it wasn't; only I thought that perhaps you might have wanted to use them after I had put them away; and, if you did so, I would not say a word about it, Frank, if you would only just tell me; for I feel so certain I put them all away, and it makes me feel so unhappy to be suspected."
"I know nothing about them," said Frank, doggedly.
"What is the matter with you, Walter?" said his mother that evening, as her son sat poring over the fire, and scarcely speaking a word.
"Nothing, mother, nothing; at least, nothing very particular," he added.
"Nay, Walter, it cannot be a mere trifle which has made you so different from what you generally are. Tell me what it is, my son; maybe I can help you."
"I never did yet keep anything from you, dear mother," said Walter; "only, in this instance, I thought I might be mistaken, and I did not like to say anything to you until I was quite certain."
Walter then told his mother all that had taken place at the yard that morning, and ended by assuring her that he had left nothing undone when he left work the previous evening.
"It is hard, mother, is it not, that both Mr. King and the foreman suspect me?"
"And yet it is only one of the little daily crosses which, as servants of Christ, we are called upon to bear," said Mrs. White. "If our blessed Saviour, 'who did no sin,' suffered unjustly, we should think it no strange thing that we should; and knowing how patiently and meekly He bore insult and wrong, we should pray for His Spirit to enable us to do so also."
Walter sighed; he felt that all his mother said was true.
"But yet 'Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust in Him, and He shall bring it to pass. And He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noon-day' (Psalm xxxvii. 5-6). All will come right, Walter, in God's own time; rest assured of that. Meanwhile do your duty strictly to your master; bear no ill-will towards any one; seek for no revenge, even if you come to be certain of the justice of your suspicions; remember that Jesus Christ prayed for His enemies, and that, in every action of His most sinless life, He left us an example that we should follow in His steps."
"Mother, it always does me good to talk to you; and, indeed, I bear no ill-will towards Frank."
"Would you go out of your way to do him a kindness, Walter?"
"I hope so, mother," replied Walter.
Several days passed by after the above conversation, and nothing took place of any consequence in the yard. Mr. King and the foreman appeared to have forgotten all about the tools, and behaved in their usual cordial manner towards Walter, who regained all his former cheerfulness, and had almost forgotten that anything unpleasant had ever taken place.
They were very busy at the yard. Mr. King had a great deal of work to do in the lower village, where several houses were being built on the sea-shore, and they were working hard to get them completed before the winter set in. Both Frank and Walter worked overtime every evening, for which they were paid; but Walter never missed going to the night school, although by so doing, he lost the extra pay he would have received. His lessons were a pleasure to him, and he felt sure they would hereafter be a profit as well. He was making great progress in drawing, and also in mensuration and the higher branches of arithmetic—all of which would tend to advance him in the trade he was learning.
By degrees, all the boys and young lads of the neighbourhood had joined the classes, with the exception of Frank and his brothers and Tom Haines. Frank would often ridicule Walter for giving up all his evenings to his lessons, and more than once, he mysteriously hinted that he knew an easier way of making money than by fagging away at books every spare moment, as Walter was doing.
Walter recalled to mind the fact that twice, within the past few weeks, Frank had wanted to borrow money of him, although he was earning more money than Walter, on account of working overtime. This did not look as if Frank was very rich, and Walter told him so, adding—"I'm quite contented with my path, Frank, and I wish I could have persuaded you to follow it also."
"Thank you for your good wishes," said Frank, laughing, as he took up his cap and left the yard.
Walter heard him the next moment talking to Tom Haines, who had been waiting for him outside. There was something about Tom which made Walter shrink from any companionship with him. Once it had not been so; he remembered, when his mother had first cautioned him against being intimate with Tom Haines, that he had thought it a little hard, having been flattered, as a great many foolish boys are apt to be, by the attention of one who was several years older than himself. He had obeyed his mother, however, as he always tried to do; and now, in this case, as in every other, he had come to feel how right she was in the advice she had given him.
There was something in Tom Haines' manner to Frank which struck Walter particularly. It seemed to the boy as if Tom felt that he had Frank in his power in some way or other, and could make any use of him he liked. The following day, Frank paid Walter the two small sums he had borrowed from him, and rattled some money, which sounded like silver, in his waistcoat pocket, to show that he had more remaining.
"Are you sure you can spare it, Frank?" said Walter, as he held the money in his hand.
"Don't you hear I have plenty more?" replied his companion, rattling his pocket again as he spoke.
"Yes; but is it your own, your very own, Frank?" And then, feeling ashamed of the suspicions which arose in his mind, he added—"I beg your pardon, Frank, only I thought that perhaps you had been borrowing money in order to pay me, on account of what I said yesterday; and I am in no hurry, and would rather wait than—"
Here Walter stopped again, and seemed at a loss what to say.
"Don't be afraid, Walter; I earned it all, I tell you. Didn't I tell you yesterday that I had found an easy way of earning money and a pleasant way enough as well?"
Frank spoke in such a cheerful tone that, Walter thought he must have been mistaken in thinking that there was anything wrong in the matter. So he took the money, and thought how nice it really must be to be able to earn money so easily. His mother wanted a warm cloak against the cold weather set in; what if he could get enough to buy her one? He almost felt as though he should like to ask Frank something about the way in which he earned his money.
The lads were preparing to leave work, and, as Walter was hesitating whether to ask Frank about his "easy way," Tom Haines put his head in at the door of the yards and beckoned to Frank. There was a bad expression on Tom's face.
"Make haste," he muttered; "I've been waiting ever so long."
Walter glanced at Frank. The lively, boastful manner was all gone, and he looked pale and nervous.
"I'll come in a minute; I did not know it was so late." And then, turning to Walter, he asked him to help in putting away the tools.
Walter at once complied with Frank's request, although it was the class-evening, and he wanted to be home early.
He was ready to do Frank a kindness, even at inconvenience to himself.
"You are a good-natured fellow," said Frank.
"Don't talk so," said Walter. "We should always be ready to help one another."
Then, looking round to see that Tom was not within hearing, he said, in a low voice, "Oh, Frank, I wish you would not be so much with Tom Haines; I am sure it is not for your good, and—"
"It's too late now, Walter; I must go on with it."
There was a sad, reckless tone in Frank's voice, and Walter fancied he saw tears in his eyes.
"It is never too late to do better whilst God spares our lives. Frank, can I help you?" whispered Walter. "Or can mother? She would in a minute, I know, and I will ask her this very evening."
"No, no; it's too late, Walter." And Frank darted out of the yard into the darkness.
"It is not an 'easy way' after all," thought Walter. "Thank God, I have never been tempted to try it, whatever it may be."
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS.
THAT evening, on his way from the school, Walter called at the Mill Cottage to inquire after Gracie, who had been very ill for some weeks past, having caught a violent cold, which had settled on her chest.
The night was fine, and the moon at the full. A slight frostiness in the air had strewn the roads with autumn leaves, telling the fast approaching winter season.
When Walter entered the kitchen, there was no one there but Mrs. Hardy and her daughters. Neither John Hardy nor Frank was visible. Walter thought that Mrs. Hardy seemed put out at his coming, and answered his inquiries about Gracie in a hastier manlier than usual.
"The child will do well enough after a bit. She wants better food, though, than I can afford her; the doctor said she was to have nourishing things. It's easy for such-like to talk."
"Has she been up yet?" asked Walter.
"I got her up to-day for a little while; but she said she was so tired that she was glad to get to bed again."
"Is that Walter, mother?" cried a voice from an adjoining room.
Mrs. Hardy looked annoyed—she evidently wished to get rid of Walter as quickly as possible.
"Yes, child, yes; but you ought to be asleep now," said her mother, not in a very kind or gentle tone.
"Let him just come to the door; I want so to speak to him, mother."
Walter moved across the kitchen towards the door where Gracie's voice proceeded.
"I am glad you are better, Gracie dear."
"I do hope I shall soon be well," cried the child; "it seems so long since I had a talk with you. And oh, Walter, my little seat at the bottom of the garden has got broken—and will you mend it for me? I know you will, for you are so kind. When I was so very ill, it made me so sad to think I should perhaps never see you again, Walter."
Here a violent fit of coughing interrupted Gracie's speech. And Mrs. Hardy made a sign to Walter not to talk much more to her.
"I must go now, Gracie dear," said Walter, when the child's coughing had ceased, "but I will come again very soon, and then I hope you will be able to be up; and I will see what your seat wants this very evening, so that it shall be ready for you by the time you want it. The moon shines so brightly that I can see as well as by daylight. Good-night, dear."
"Never mind the seat to-night," said Mrs. Hardy in a low voice, so that Grace could not hear. "There will be plenty of opportunity to see to it before Gracie will want it."
"It will not take me a minute, Mrs. Hardy," replied Walter, "and then I can bring whatever is wanted with me when I come again."
Walter wished Mrs. Hardy good evening, and left the cottage. He had not gone many steps along the little path leading to the water-side when he heard a rustling among the bushes, and saw, or fancied he saw, one of Gracie's sisters hastening in the same direction in which he was going, but by another path.
Presently a low whistle was heard.
A minute afterwards, he had reached the little seat which he had put up for Gracie. One of the legs had been wrenched off, evidently on purpose. Walter had taken the size of it, and was about to return towards the cottage, when, on looking towards the stream, upon which the moon shone full, he saw several figures on the opposite bank. They were either getting in or out of the boat; and again he heard the same low whistle.
He had no desire to pry into other people's business, and, least of all, did he care to have anything to do with the Hardys and their mysterious doings. He turned hastily away to retrace his steps, and in so doing nearly stumbled over a sack which lay partly concealed by a bush at one side of the seat. The sack was full, and by the bright moonlight Walter saw the tail-feather of a pheasant peeping out at the mouth of the sack.
He felt quite glad when he was once more out on the high-road. Once or twice he fancied he had heard voices calling after him; but he never stopped for a moment until he had got clear of Mill Cottage and the lane leading to it. Then he stood still for a moment to take breath.
"How right mother was to caution me against that Tom Haines!" thought Walter. "And how I wish that Frank would be warned in time before he gets into some terrible trouble, which he will do sooner or later."
Walter said nothing to his mother that evening about his having seen the sack, but he told her about poor Gracie's illness; and Mrs. White promised to make some broth and some light pudding for the sick child. When Walter, after reading his Bible as usual by the light of the fire, knelt down to say his prayers that evening, he prayed for Frank Hardy that he might have grace given him to turn aside from the evil way upon which he had entered.
It is to be feared that few of us act as if we felt the full value and the great privileges of prayer—of intercessory prayer. We all can pray when we want anything for ourselves, or for those who, by the ties of relationship, are most near and dear to us; but how few of us pray for our acquaintances, let alone our enemies. And yet what is our blessed Saviour's express command?—"Pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you."
No one can pray for his enemies and not feel kindly towards them. The very act of praying for another is unselfish in itself; and it is impossible to feel anger and bitterness towards one for whom we are asking God's grace and favour. So that the praying for our enemies brings down a blessing for ourselves by subduing in us the uncharitable feelings which we might have previously entertained towards the subject of our prayers.
When Walter met Frank the following morning, he looked confused and uneasy; and, taking advantage of a few moments when the foreman was absent from the shed, and the two lads were quite alone, he said,—
"What were you doing at our place last evening, Walter? And what made you walk away so fast? Did you not hear me calling to you?"
"I heard some one calling, but I did not recognise your voice, Frank. I had only gone down to the banks of the stream to see what was the matter with Gracie's seat, and she had asked me to mend it for her."
Frank appeared relieved by Walter's open and straightforward answer. Still there seemed something more upon his mind, although he hardly knew how to put the question. At length he said, "I wish you were one of us, Walter; it seems unnatural to have secrets from you; and if you would only come with me some evening, I could put you in the way of earning a nice little sum of money with very little trouble."
"I can never come with you, Frank," said Walter, earnestly. "I have seen quite enough, and—"
"What did you see?" interrupted Frank, with a scared look. "What did you see, I should like to know?" And then he added, in a quieter tone—"You won't tell any one, will you, Walter? You won't?"
"Don't be afraid, Frank; I have nothing to tell. When I say I have seen enough, I mean that Tom Haines' look last evening was quite enough for me. I would not be in his power for all the world."
"I am not in his power," exclaimed Frank, angrily.
"Nay, Frank, I saw you quail beneath his eye when he told you to make haste, and all your merriment seemed gone. Oh, Frank, it cannot be a good friend who can have such power over you."
The return of the foreman put a stop to the conversation, and there was no further opportunity for renewing it during the day, as Walter accompanied his master down to the lower village, and was at work there the whole of the afternoon.
Although so short a time had elapsed since the opening of the evening school, Walter had already made great progress both in mensuration and drawing; and he was now generally preferred before Frank to go with Mr. King when he wanted any assistance. That afternoon they were busy putting up the mouldings round the doors and windows of one of the houses on the shore, which they were hurrying to finish, as the gentleman who had purchased it wished to come and live in it as soon as possible. They were busily at work, when a message came for Mr. King, who was obliged to absent himself for a time.
"Can I trust you, Walter, do you think, to finish putting up this moulding by yourself? I promised that it should be done this evening, and I am obliged to go to the upper village for an hour at least."
"I can do it, sir, I know," said Walter, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at the thought of being trusted; "you shall see that you can trust me."
"Very well," said Mr. King, smiling. "You are a sharp lad, and a steady one too, and will rise in the world, if I am not very much mistaken."
Walter worked on steadily. He was really fond of his business, especially those parts of it which required peculiar nicety. Quite absorbed in what he was about, and whistling merrily as he worked, he was unconscious of the entrance of a good-natured-looking elderly gentleman, who stood for some minutes watching Walter as he was finishing a corner of a moulding which he had fitted with great exactness.
"Well done, youngster," said a cheerful voice; and Walter started as he looked up and saw the old gentleman watching him. "You are rather young to be trusted with such work as that; but you seem to know what you are about."
"Master was obliged to go away for a short time, sir, and he said I might try how I could get on in his absence."
"I am sorry Mr. King is not here, for I wanted to speak to him about putting some slight ornament in wood-work round that gable. I am leaving Springcliffe this evening, and shall be away a week. I know he could give me an idea of what I want on paper in a moment. I cannot draw a stroke myself, more's the pity; for I have often felt the loss of it, knowing quite well what I want, but being utterly unable to make others understand it."
While the gentleman was speaking, Walter had taken up a smoothly-planed piece of deal, which was lying upon the ground, and was drawing something upon it. Strange to say, he had been lately copying some designs for ornamental gables at the evening school, and he remembered enough of some of the patterns to give a very fair idea in his sketch.
"Is this anything like what you mean, sir?" he said, showing what he had just been drawing.
"It is something very like it," exclaimed the gentleman, with a look of surprise. "Where did you learn to draw like this?"
"At the evening school, sir. I go there three times a week, and practise at home besides."
"Your sketch does you great credit, my lad, and with a very little alteration would be just what I want. Can you round off that corner a little, and give that part rather more of a curve?"
Walter did as the gentleman suggested and his sketch was pronounced perfect.
image007
"Is this anything like what you want, sir?"
"Is this your first attempt at drawing a design?"
"Yes, sir; except what I have done at school."
"It does you great credit, and I shall tell your master so." He wrote a few lines on a card as he spoke, and putting it in an envelope which he had in his pocket, he gave it to Walter to give to Mr. King. "Here is half-a-crown for your first design, youngster," said the gentleman, "and it will not be the last you'll get, if you go on as you are now doing."
The gentleman left the house, and Walter worked doubly hard to make up for the time he had lost. He was most anxious to get as much done as possible before his master returned. When at last Mr. King did come back, he was much pleased with all that Walter had done, and praised him for his industry.
"But what is all this, Walter, eh?" said his master, as he opened the envelope which had been left for him by the old gentleman. "Mr. Danvers talks about a design of yours, with which he was much pleased. Where is it?"
"It is nothing particular, sir," said Walter, colouring, as he showed Mr. King the sketch he had drawn. "I took the idea from some designs we have been copying lately at the class, and it seemed to be just what Mr. Danvers wanted."
"I am very glad you are able to apply what you learn, Walter," said his master. "Those classes will make a man of you, if you go on at this rate."
Walter's face beamed with pleasure as his master spoke these words. He showed Mr. King the half-crown which Mr. Danvers had given him.
"You deserved it, Walter, and I will add another to it," continued Mr. King, taking his purse out of his pocket. "Now, put that five shillings into the Post-Office Savings' Bank this very evening, Walter, as the first fruits of the benefit you have reaped from having listened to good advice, and from having sacrificed a little of your leisure time to the laudable desire of improving yourself. I only wish Frank Hardy deserved the same encouragement.
"By the bye, Walter—I don't want you to tell any tales—but do you know how Frank employs himself in the evening? I rarely see him about the village, and he is always in a hurry to leave the yard."
"I don't know much about Frank, sir," replied Walter—"at least, I mean what he does after he leaves the yard; but I think he is a great deal with Tom Haines."
"Just so," said Mr. King; "I fear so also; and a worse companion it is impossible for a young lad to have; but why Tom Haines troubles himself about Frank is a mystery to me."
THE POACHERS.
SHALL we explain to our readers what it was that made Tom Haines "trouble himself," as Mr. King called it, about Frank Hardy? The reason was simply this. Tom was mixed up with the gang of poachers of whom Walter's mother had spoken as infesting the preserves on Squire Forbes' estate.
Now, it so happened that the Mill Cottage was a place where the stolen game could be very conveniently deposited, as nothing was easier than to bring the spoil through the woods down to the other side of the stream which ran at the end of the Hardys garden, and then to convey it across in the boat, which was always lying there. This done, the stolen game was concealed among some thick bushes in the garden until it was transferred to the care of a carrier, whose tilted cart passed the end of the little lane before daybreak every other day on its way to a distant market town.
The carrier was in league with the poachers, so there was no difficulty about him; the only thing was, how to secure the services of the Hardys.
"Leave that to me," Tom Haines had said; and he soon managed the matter.
He began by flattering Frank, who was weak enough to be flattered by the notice taken of him by one so much older than himself, and then, when once he had got Frank to commit himself, and to take part in one of their midnight excursions, and even to accept a sum of money as his share in the spoil, he turned round upon him, and dared him to refuse to do anything he bid him.
"You are in my power now, Frank," said Tom.
And Frank knew it only too well, and became the tool of Haines and his associates. At all times the bondage was very bitter; and some seasons there were, too, when better thoughts would come over Frank, and he would have given anything to have been free, to have been like Walter, whose sunny face and blithe whistle would, at such moments, add to Frank's miserable feelings.
"I never whistle like that now," he would say to himself; "once I used to, but now—"
Yes, but that "once" was before Frank had sold himself to work wickedness, since which time there had been no real happiness for him.
"There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked."
Did John Hardy and his wife know what was going on? John's evenings were regularly spent at "The Plough," whence he generally returned home more or less the worse for drink. His son's absence from home at night was, therefore, rarely remarked by him; and if occasionally a suspicion had arisen in his mind, a bribe from Haines had made him conveniently blind to anything that took place afterwards. Frank's mother also must have known that something wrong was going on; but an occasional present of a rabbit at a time when food chanced to be particularly dear kept her silent, and thus caused her to aid and abet in her son's road to ruin.
It was Frank's place to wait every night at the bank of the stream to receive what the poachers might bring down through the wood. There was no certainty at what time they might come; but Frank had always to be on the alert, and ready at the first sound of the low whistle to push the boat over to the other side of the stream, and receive the sack of game, which was then hidden until the following morning, when he had to be on the watch for the carrier, who always waited a few seconds at the corner of the lane. The money he got was hardly earned, let him boast as he might to Walter about his "easy way."
Many long, weary hours he had to spend in the wet and cold, with the constant dread of detection hanging over his head, and the taunts and threats of Tom Haines to bear if he ever failed to be at his post when they wanted him.
Walter was right: it was no "easy way" after all!
When Walter left work that evening, the first thing he did was to follow his master's advice, and to call at the post-office on his way home and deposit his five shillings in the Post-Office Savings' Bank. As he came out of the shop, he ran against Frank.
"Where have you, been, Walter?"
With pardonable vanity, Walter exhibited his bank-book, and told how he had got the money.
Frank thrust his hand into his pocket in a bragging manner, and drew out some silver. There were quite five shillings, if not more. "I can earn money too, you see," he said with a laugh; but the laugh sounded hollow to Walter's ears, and he caught his companion by the sleeve as he was hastening on.
"Frank, it is not yet too late to join the night school; will you make up your mind to come? I feel sure you would be much happier than you are now if you would but come; and, as to the money," and Walter shuddered in spite of himself, "I am certain you would be better and happier without it than with it. Do come; say you will—there's a good fellow." And Walter looked earnestly in Frank's face.
"It's of no use, Walter," cried Frank, as he freed himself from his friend's grasp; "it is too late, too late." And he passed on with a deep sigh.
That sigh haunted Walter all the evening, even while sitting at his mother's cheerful fireside, and listening to her expressions of pleasure at the sight of her son's bank-book.
Was Frank right? And was it REALLY too late for him to do better? Too late for him to retrace his steps? Certainly not.
"While the lamp holds on to burn,The vilest sinner may return;—"
And as long as God spares our lives, so long is it in our power to pray God for His grace to enable us to break the chains of our sins, and to lead better lives. To say, then, that it is "too late," whilst God gives us our life, is only another way of saying that we have not the moral courage to make the effort which is required to do better, and that we prefer remaining in our sins to taking any steps to be set free from the power of them.
Frank Hardy was a moral coward, and preferred displeasing God to incurring the vengeance of Tom Haines.
"I tell you what it is, mother," said Walter, that evening, as they sat by the fire talking about Mr. Danvers and the ornamented gable, "if I can only get on in the world so as to be able to keep you without your having to trouble yourself any more with the shop, I shall be perfectly happy."
"Nay, Walter, as long as I have strength to work, I will never be a burden to any one, not even to my very dear son."
"A burden, mother! Why, it will be the happiest day of my life when I can say to you, 'Shut up shop, mother.' What should I have done without you all these long, long years, I should like to know; and it will be my turn one of these days, mother dear; and, then, if I don't keep you like a lady, why—"
"You are a good boy, Walter, and have always been an affectionate son to me, and I'll take the will for the deed."
"Nay, mother, nothing short of the deed itself will content me, as you shall see, if God only gives me health and strength."
———————
The next morning the village was in a state of the greatest excitement in consequence of the news that there had been a desperate affray with the poachers at Oak Glen during the night, and that the gamekeepers had pursued them through the wood, and had captured three of the gang, besides wounding several others. Thus much Walter heard on his way to work; and his worst fears about Frank were realised when he found that his companion did not make his appearance at the yard that morning.
When Mr. King came, he learned the whole truth. The gamekeepers had chased the poachers down to the banks of the stream, and, after a severe struggle, during which several shots were fired, they succeeded in capturing three of the party,—namely, Bill Turner, who was known to be one of the chief ringleaders, and Tom Haines and Frank Hardy, the latter being taken in the act of receiving a bag of game from one of the poachers. The whole party had been marched off to the nearest town, there to be locked up until their trial.
Walter felt very sad all day. It seemed so dreadful to think that he who had for so long worked at the same bench with him, and been his daily companion, should now be a prisoner, awaiting his trial and sentence for breaking the laws of his country! And yet amid all Walter's grief, there arose a deep feeling of thankfulness to God, who had kept him from yielding to a like temptation; for he knew that it is by grace alone that we are able to stand upright, and that to God alone belongs the praise.
An anecdote is related of Bishop Fisher, that, seeing a prisoner one day being led handcuffed through the streets, he said to the friend with whom he was walking,—
"There goes Bishop Fisher, but for the grace of God;" by which he meant that it was through God's grace alone, acting upon his sinful nature, that he was enabled to do right.
Walter was glad, too, when he thought that he had let no opportunity pass by of endeavouring to turn Frank from his downward course. Had it been otherwise, how bitterly would he have reproached himself!
When he went home to dinner, he heard that another great sorrow had fallen upon the family at the Mill Cottage. John Hardy had broken his leg that morning, having been caught by some of the machinery of the mill-wheel. The neighbours did not scruple to say that he was scarcely sober at the time of the accident; but be that as it might, he was now laid up with a fractured limb, incapable of doing any work for some time to come, and thus adding to the sorrow and anxiety of his wretched wife.
There was an excellent club in Springcliffe, to which all provident people belonged, and from which fund a good allowance was paid to any member during the time of sickness or accident; but John Hardy had spent all his spare money, and far more than he could or ought to have spared, in the tap-room of "The Plough;" and now, in the hour of his trouble, he had nothing whatever to fall back upon. Had it not been for Farmer Giles, the whole family must have either starved or gone to the workhouse during the long, long time of John Hardy's confinement to the house with his broken leg.
It was, indeed, a wretched home! The eldest son a prisoner, and the mother's conscience telling her, but too plainly, that she was very far from being free from blame in the matter. Added to this, her husband's accident, and the long illness of her blind child, from which she now knew Gracie would never recover.
The doctor had told Mrs. Hardy plainly, when he last came to see Gracie, that the little girl would never be well again. She might linger for several months, he said; and as the small room in which she lay was both confined and damp, he advised that the child's bed should be removed into her mother's room, which was much larger, and the walls of which were dry. So Gracie's bed was moved only a few days before her father's accident.
Her kind Sunday-school teacher had been to see her the day she was removed, and Grace had asked her to tell her the truth whether she would ever get well again; for the child had overheard something that the doctor had said to her mother during his last visit. Gently, very gently and lovingly did the kind teacher break the truth to Gracie; and she was almost surprised at the calmness with which the little girl heard that she must die. But God had dealt very mercifully with Gracie, and she had no fear of death. She knew that her Saviour had died for her, and that for His blessed sake her sins would be forgiven her; and God had given her grace to love and trust in her Redeemer, and to look far beyond this fleeting world.
"There remaineth, therefore, a rest to the people of God." How much that word comprises, every child of God can tell. Rest from toil; rest from pain; rest from sorrow; rest from strife; and, greatest blessing of all, rest from sin—from the constant warning against temptation, which is the lot of every Christian during his mortal life. So when her teacher spoke of that heavenly rest, Grade pointed upwards, and a happy smile lighted up her pale face.
"All will be rest up there, teacher; rest and peace; no quarrelling; no bad words! O teacher! I am quite, quite ready to go; only if father would but learn to love me before I went, I should die happier."
"Pray to God, Gracie dear," said her teacher at parting. "He will hear you, and grant your prayer in His own good time."
A few days afterwards, when she had heard of Hardy's accident, and found that he and his little dying child would be likely to pass some time together in the same room, she felt as if God had already answered the blind child's prayer, and was bringing about what she had so longed for. And so it proved.
When John Hardy was first brought in to his cottage, helpless and suffering, and was laid upon his bed, he made use of dreadful language, wishing he had never been born, and saying such sad words that Gracie trembled as she lay in her little bed in one corner of the room. For some time she was afraid to speak, and then some feeling within her led her to make an effort, painful though it was to her.
"Is it very bad to bear, father?"
The words were few and simple, but the little weak voice was full of pity.
Her father made no answer, but lay groaning as terribly as before.
"Is it so very bad to bear, dear father?" repeated the child.
"Awful bad," groaned Hardy.
Grace said no more at the time; but her father heard her presently murmuring, in a low voice—"O God, give father grace to bear his pain well, and make him better, for Jesus Christ's sake!"
The doctor came shortly afterwards and set the limb, after which Hardy felt somewhat easier; and, worn-out with pain, he fell into a sound sleep. Grace listened to his heavy but regular breathing, and knew that he still slept. Some hours passed away, and then she heard her father move in his bed, and utter a deep sigh.
"Is the pain better, father?"
"A great deal better, Gracie; perhaps, after all, God heard your prayer, child."
Grace did not until then know that her father had overheard her, and a thrill of joy passed through her heart as she heard him call her "Gracie," and speak more gently to her than he had done for years.
"God always hears our prayers, father," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Let us both thank Him for having done so to-day."
"Amen," said John Hardy, as Gracie thanked God in her own childish language for giving her father ease from his pain.
Her prayer was answered. During the many weeks he was confined to the house, John Hardy learned to love his little blind daughter dearly; and, better still, he learned to know and trust the God whose commandments he had for so long a time set at naught. And so, when the end came, and Gracie's ransomed spirit returned to the God who gave it, the child died calmly and happily, feeling that, through God's grace, her father would be a better and a happier man for the time to come.
THE TWO ENDINGS.
THE trial came on very soon, and the evidence was quite clear against all the prisoners. Turner, who had wounded one of the gamekeepers, and had been committed on a previous occasion, was sentenced to twenty years' transportation. Tom Haines, who was not proved to have used violence, was condemned to five years' penal servitude; and Frank Hardy, as the receiver of property known to have been stolen, was sentenced to two years' imprisonment, with hard labour.
"I am going over to Forley to-morrow," said Mr. King to Walter, "and shall try and get permission to see Frank before he is removed. You can come with me if you like."
Walter gratefully accepted his master's offer. The prisoners were to be removed to a distant part of England on the following day; but a letter from the clergyman at Springcliffe to the governor of Forley Gaol procured Mr. King's permission to see Frank.
The meeting was a very painful one on both sides. Short as the time had been, Walter was shocked to see the change which had taken place in Frank's appearance. His cheeks were haggard; his hair was cut quite close to his head; and he wore a felon's dress.
He burst into tears at the sight of his old master and Walter.
"How good of you to come!" he sobbed. "Oh, what disgrace I have brought upon myself and my family! You were right, Walter, and I was wrong; yours was the right path after all, and mine has been my ruin. I didn't deserve that you should come and see me, sir," he cried, seizing Mr. King's hand. "I shall never forget your kindness; if I had only taken your advice, if I had only kept from bad company, I should never have been in this dreadful place."
"My poor boy," said Mr. King, who was deeply affected, "you are not the first who has found out, alas! when too late, the folly and wickedness of which they had been guilty. I am not come, however, to add to your present suffering by any reproaches of mine; but rather to entreat you to let this fearful lesson be a warning to you. If God spares your life, a future will still be yours; during which, through His grace strengthening you, you will have opportunity of proving the genuineness of your present sorrow. Meantime, resolve to bear patiently and meekly the punishment to which you are sentenced, and determine, should you be permitted to begin life afresh, to shun bad companions, and to fled from idleness as from the mother of all mischief."
"Have you seen father or mother, sir? I thought that perhaps they would have come to see me; and little Gracie, how is she?"
Then Mr. King told Frank of his father's accident, and that his little blind sister would never be well again.
"Ask them to think kindly of me sometimes, Walter. I know I have not been a good son to them, and I can't expect them to care much about me. How differently your mother would feel towards you, Walter, if any trouble came to you. Ask father to forgive me, sir, and tell him, if I am spared, I will try and be a better son to him hereafter; and Gracie, poor little Gracie, I little thought I should never see her again! I was never a kind brother to her; you were far more like a brother to her than I was, Walter."
Walter could scarcely speak for tears, but he put into his old companion's hand a small parcel, consisting of a neat pocket Bible.
"Will you keep it for my sake, Frank, and will you promise to read it for my sake too?"
"I will promise, Walter,—and, Walter, I want to confess something to you. It was I who left the tools out that—"
"Hush, Frank," interrupted Walter; "I'd rather not hear anything; indeed I would. I think I can guess what you would say, and I forgive you from my heart, and may God keep you in the right way for the time to come!"
"There's only one right way, remember, Frank," said Mr. King.
"I know that now, sir, and Walter has chosen it."
Mr. King and Walter remained some little time longer with Frank, and then came the moment of parting, and the prison doors were bolted and barred, separating the two young lads who had for so long a time spent the greater part of each day working side by side.
"The one shall be taken, and the other left." It is an awful thought!
Here were two lads, with precisely the same opportunities of self-advancement: the one, by God's grace, keeping in the straight and narrow way; the other, resisting God's Holy Spirit, and going the road to ruin.
As Frank listened to the sound of the retreating steps of his master and Walter, he threw himself upon his prison bed in an agony of remorse.
———————
During the two years that followed, Mr. King did not lose sight of his former apprentice. From time to time he heard, through the governor of Forley Gaol, that Frank was conducting himself well in his imprisonment, and that the chaplain was pleased with the attention he paid to his religious duties. As the term of his imprisonment drew towards a close, it became a question with his kind, former master what he would do when liberated.
There was a decided objection to his returning to his native village; and, after much thought, Mr. King arranged with a friend of his, who was captain of a merchant vessel, to take Frank abroad with him, where he would have a chance of earning for himself a good character in a place where the circumstances of his past life were unknown. This benevolent plan was carried into effect, and Mr. King had the gratification of hearing that Frank had obtained work abroad, and was going on steadily.
Meanwhile, Walter had continued in the path he had chosen. When the term of his apprenticeship was expired, Mr. Danvers sent him, free of expense, to London, for the purpose of studying six months at the School of Design. At the end of that period, he returned to Springcliffe, where Mr. King, whose foreman had just left him, was glad to take Walter in his place. In this position he remained a few years, when Mr. King retired from business, and Walter succeeded him.
Springcliffe had, by that time, become a place of great importance, in consequence of the railway passing within a quarter of a mile of the village. This had given a great impetus to building; and Walter, whose talents for drawing enabled him to combine the profession of architect with the trade of a builder, had as much work as he could get through.
Some of the best and prettiest houses now in Springcliffe were designed by him; and in one of them lives Mrs. White, who has long since given up her shop, and concerning whom Walter's affectionate wishes have thus been fulfilled. Walter lives with his mother, and so does Walter's wife, the daughter of a respectable farmer in the neighbourhood. They have three fine healthy children, and live in peace and contentment.
Frank Hardy remained abroad some years, earning a good character for steady conduct, but suffering much from bad health, which kept him very poor. Those two hard years of prison life had left their traces upon a constitution never very strong; and there was no chance of his ever being a robust man.