CHAP. V.

Henry & George visiting the poor Cottager.See page 56

"Did they return then in about an hour?" said Dr. Harris.

"No, Sir; they did not call again till next morning, when they asked me whether my poor husband was better, and how Jack's arm was. One of them pulled out of his pocket a guinea, and——"

"A guinea!" exclaimed Dr. Harris, interrupting the woman: "are you positive it was a guinea?"

"I am sure it was a golden coin, Sir; because they asked me to change it. But that was impossible, for I had no money at all in the house."

"Well, my good woman, and what did they do then?" asked Dr. Harris, evidently much agitated.

"Why, Sir, finding I had no money, they went into the town and got the golden coin changed, and gave me ten shillings of it. In a few days, Sir, they came again, and gave me six more shillings."

"Did they ever call after that time?"

"Once, Sir, which was about ten days ago; and as I have not seen them since, I made free to call here this morning; because I am sure they would be glad to hear that my poor dear husband was getting better, and would soon be able to work. If the young gentlemen had not been so kind to us, I don't know what we should have done. I am afraid my poor husband must have died for want of proper things. But the Lord will reward them for their kindness; and I am sure they are good boys."

Dr. Harris congratulated the cottager uponthe restoration of her husband to health, and said that Mrs. Harris should visit her family; and that he would also tell Henry and George that she had called to thank them; but that it was not convenient for her to see them just then. Having again asked her where she resided, he bade her good morning, and she immediately returned home.

When Martha Watson had gone, Dr. Harris joined his family at the breakfast-table, and related the whole of the affair to them, adding his conviction of Henry's guilt, and that he was sorry to find he had been so deceived by him. George too, he said, was equally guilty; for he had been a party in giving away the stolen property. "I shall write to their parents this evening," he added; "for I am at a loss to know how to punish such duplicity and wickedness."

Mrs. Harris and her daughters, although staggered by the statement which the Doctor had made to them, suggested the propriety of calling in Henry and George. "For," said Mrs. Andrews, "although it looks very suspicious, I never can believe them guilty until it is plainly proved."

"I think this is sufficient proof," he said, rather angrily; for he felt vexed to think of the trouble this affair would give to their parents.

"True; so it is, my dear," answered his wife, "if not contradicted; but I hope that they will be able to give such an explanation as will be satisfactory to us all."

"And that I am sure they will," said Eliza, rising from her chair; "and pray, papa, let me call them in."

The servant at this moment entered theroom to take away the breakfast-things, when Dr. Harris desired her to send in Master Wardour and Master Harrington.

The boys had but just taken their seats in the school-room, when the servant summoned them into the parlour. Henry, who still continued in the same desponding mood, felt gratified by hearing that he was wanted there; but it was only a momentary pleasure. He at first thought he might be wanted to accompany Eliza and Juliana to the garden, or be commissioned by Mrs. Harris to go into the town for her; but when he found that George was also wanted, and that they were to go together, he felt convinced of some fresh trouble; for he was not the same cheerful boy he used to be. Fear seemed to have taken possession of his whole frame; when George, thinking he observed a tear starting in his eye, grasped his hand with the warmth of sincere friendship, and cheered him up by saying, "Now for it, Henry: it is all settled, and we are wanted to hear the good news;" and they went, hand in hand, into the parlour.

After making their obedience, they walked up to the table; and Dr. Harris, with a look somewhat more stern than usual, said, "Henry, do you know a woman named Martha Watson, who lives near the common?"

"Yes, Sir," said George, "I know her: a very poor woman."

"I asked Henry," said Dr. Harris; "and I expect that he will answer me."

But poor Henry, from some cause or other, was, at the moment, unable to reply. George, therefore, seeing his friend at a loss, immediately gave the answer; and Henry, recovering his self-possession, now gave a direct answer to every question that the worthy master put to him, and proceeded to explain how they became possessed of so much money. "George and I," he said, "were one day walking through the town, when we met a gentleman on horseback, who had lately seen our parents in London. He told us that he was going to call upon us at the school; but as he had met us, that would do as well. He then gave us a new coin, which is called a sovereign; and after staying with us about a quarter of an hour, he shook hands with us, and rode off."

"And the same evening," added George, "we had the misfortune to run over little Jack Watson, and break his pitcher. We then thought it our duty to see him safe home,and to pay for the pitcher and milk. When we got to the cottage, we saw the poor man stretched on a wretched straw mattress, where he said he had been above a month; and the tear rolled down his cheek when he looked round the room, and saw five little children, who were all anxiously waiting for the milk which we had been so unfortunate as to knock out of little Jack's hand. Indeed, Sir," George continued, "we never before saw so much wretchedness; and Henry said, that as we had plenty to eat and drink, and pocket-money besides, we might as well get the new coin changed, and give them some of it, saying, he wished we had more. I agreed to give nearly all my share; and the next morning we went to the cottage, and gave most of the money to the poor people."

"But why did you not tell me or Mrs. Harris of this distressed cottager, and also that you had had so much money given to you, Henry?"

"Because, Sir, you had given strict orders that no boy should enter a place of sickness, for fear of bringing away a fever. We should not have gone there; but we had hurt poor Jack, and he was afraid to go home, after having lost all the milk. He said his mother would not believe him, if he told her that some one had broken the pitcher."

The plain and unassuming manner in which the boys told their tale, threw an unusual cheerfulness round the whole family. Dr. Harris felt himself satisfied with the account which they had given; while Mrs. Harris and her daughters were overjoyed to find that the boys could givean explanation so very creditable to their feelings. "It is not," said the lady, when the boys had left the room, "because my belief in their ability to give an explanation is confirmed, that I feel this satisfaction; but that they should have shown themselves so susceptible of the finest feelings of our nature. That they should have pitied and relieved the wants of their suffering fellow-creatures; and that, too, without ostentation or parade, convinces me, at once, that neither of them would be guilty of the charge made against Henry. And I sincerely wish that some light may be speedily thrown upon this unpleasant and mysterious affair, or I shall have great cause to fear the consequences with regard to his health."

Dr. Harris then left the table for the school-room, heartily concurring in every word thathis amiable lady had uttered. Upon entering, he found the boys in deep consultation; for, immediately upon the return of Edward and George, they were questioned by their school-fellows as to the result of so long an interview. George, who would, from modesty, have readily refrained from stating a circumstance so creditable to himself, as well as to his friend, had he not feared a wrong construction would have been put upon his silence, immediately related the whole of what had passed in the parlour. The majority of the boys felt a little disappointed that nothing more conclusive had transpired; not perceiving, that boys who were capable of giving away their money in the manner that Henry and George had done, were unlikely to rob another of the little he possessed.

Greene and a few others, however, with a malignity that spoke an interested motive, did not fail to turn this statement into ridicule. Greene in particular, who had displayed great anxiety and uneasiness during the absence of Henry and George, at the conclusion of the tale which the boys had requested George to relate, burst into loud and excessive laughter, and exclaimed, "This is one of the finest tales I ever heard. Is it likely, in the first place, that any gentleman would give them a sovereign? Did any of you ever receive so much at one time; and that, too, from a poor traveller? And is it likely that, if they had had it given to them, as they wish us to believe, that they would have parted with it in the manner they say they have? It is all a made-up story. I don't know where Scott's moneyis; but I think, if it has been given to the poor cottagers, he ought to have the credit of it."

Several of the boys then joined him in the loud laugh with which he concluded this base insinuation. Poor Henry was again driven back into his low-spiritedness, and gave, first a look of contempt at Greene, and then cast his eyes upon George, as his only refuge and support against this fresh and unexpected attack. It is difficult to say how Greene would have fared, had not Dr. Harris at this moment entered the school; for George was never more indignant, nor never felt a greater inclination to tell Greene what he thought of his cowardly conduct, than he did at this moment. Little Ned, however, did not fail to whisper in his ear as he passed, that whichwas at all times an unwelcome sound: "Who stole the cakes?" said he, loud enough for the rest of the boys to hear. Greene looked vexed, and went to his seat.

Some time passed away, and nothing transpired to clear up this mysterious affair; while the few enemies that Henry had in the school appeared to increase, from the construction which Greene and some others had put upon George's explanation concerning the money. Henry, unable to bear up against the stigma, not only grew melancholy, but began to lose his appetite, and looked very thin and ill. Mrs. Harris really felt somewhat alarmed, and said every thing she could to comfort him; but, alas! it was all in vain. Scott also, to do him justice, did every thing in his power to relieve him, but without avail; and Henry began to thinkhe should fall a victim to a false accusation, for he had no sleep by night, nor ease by day.

Dr. Harris now proposed to send for his father, which he did; and he arrived in a few days. Dr. H. made him acquainted with the whole affair, from first to last; and Henry was sent for into the parlour. His father was shocked at his appearing in such ill health, and the agony of his feelings was intense at the cause of his illness. He entreated him, by the love he bore towards him and his mother, to confess the truth. "If, my dear boy," he said, "you have, in an unguarded moment, been led into an error, the only reparation is openly to confess it. In that case I will pay the boy the money, and you shall receive my forgiveness."

Henry assured him that he knew nothing atall of the money—that it made him very unhappy indeed—that he had had no sleep for the last three or four nights—and that he had lost his appetite; when, throwing his arms round his father's neck, he burst into an agony of tears, and could only exclaim, "I am innocent! I am innocent!"

Mrs. Harris having pacified Henry, said that it would perhaps be best for Mr. Wardour to take him home for a short time; but to this Henry himself objected, as he knew very well that there were boys who would turn that to his disadvantage. His father, therefore, procured him some medicine, to calm his spirits and allay the slight fever which he appeared to have; and then went to transact some business at a short distance from the village, promising to see him againin a few days, and determining, in his own mind, to take Henry home with him, should nothing transpire in the mean time to free him from this accusation.

The time had now arrived when Henry was to be freed from his troubles, and to obtain a satisfactory victory over malignity and base design. On the evening after his father had taken leave of him, and when he, in company with his friend George, was sitting at his bed-room window, admiring the beauties of the setting sun, and enjoying the calmness of the surrounding scenery, an unusual noise was heard upon the stairs. Henry instantly rose from his seat and opened the door, when in rushed little Ned, breathless, and almost speechless. He had his hairy cap in his hand, and had contrived to run one of his legs through his long pin-afore, as he made his way up the stairs. His face was far more red than usual, and full of anxiety.

—its all found out!—the thief is found out.page 75.

"What is the matter, Ned?" said Henry as he entered: "you seem in a hurry."

"In a hurry!" Ned replied, gasping for breath: "in a hurry! Why, it's all found out!" said he, waving his cap over his head.

"What is found out?" asked George, laughing heartily at Ned's grotesque appearance. "Look at your leg through your pin-afore."

"Never mind," said he: "Kitty will mend that. But it is all found out! thethiefis found out." As he uttered these words, heseized Henry by the hand, who, with George and himself, hastened down stairs, Ned repeating all the way, "It's all found out!Ihave found him out!" He dragged them both into the school-room, where most of the boys were assembled. Dr. Harris, who was disturbed by the noise, also followed; and, upon his entering, Ned called out, with a loud voice, "I charge you, Charles Greene, with stealing Scott's money, and will prove it!"

Greene started, as though he had seen something unnatural. "I,—I," was all he could articulate, and he turned as white as possible.

"Yes," says Ned, "I have just been into Dame Birch's, the pie-woman, who said that you had then been to pay the money you owed her, and that she was very glad she had got clear of you."

He then related to Dr. Harris, the conversation he had had with the pie-woman about ten minutes before. "As I was walking to the shop, Sir," he said, "I saw Greene take his leave, when he was busily thrusting something into his pockets, I went into the shop, and Mrs. Birch told me that Greene had just paid her the remainder of his debt. I asked what debt it was; and she told me that it had been owing a long time: that, about a month ago, he went there and changed a sovereign, and paid her eight shillings out of fourteen he owed her; and that he wished the whole of the sovereign had belonged to himself, but it did not; for one of the other boys was to have half, as he had been with him when he had found it."

Greene, who had by this time in some measure recovered from his first shock, here interrupted Ned by saying, "I never told her so: I said my father gave it to me, which he did. He told me that my uncle from London had called and left it for me."

Ned declared he had told Dr. Harris the truth, and every word that Dame Birch had said, except that she added, "I believe I should never have got the money, if I had not threatened to go to his master."

Dame Birch was now sent for, and confirmed what little Ned had stated; and in answer to a question from Dr. Harris, why she allowed the boys to get so much in debt? said, that she could not help it with Greene, for he would have what he chose; but that it was not all for cakes: part of itwas payment for two squares of glass, which he broke when fighting, one day, with another boy.

During the interview, Henry and George, and one or two of their school-fellows, hastened to Mr. Greene's house, (for he fortunately lived at a short distance from the village,) to have his son's account either confirmed or denied. On their reaching the door, they knocked with great authority; and upon the servant's opening it, they demanded to see his master immediately, as they had some very important business with him. The servant informed Mr. Greene of their visit, and he came out of the parlour and demanded what business they could have with him; when George said, "Sir, we have taken the liberty to call upon you, to know whether you gaveyour son Charles a sovereign about a month ago.

"Gave him what?" said the old gentleman: "gave him a sovereign! Not I, indeed: I hope I know better what to do with my money. His mother might have given him six-pence or so; but we should never think of giving him any thing like a sovereign."

He then returned into the parlour, and they heard him ask Mrs. Greene, if she knew of Charles's having a sovereign about a month ago, when she answered, "No, my dear."

This was quite satisfactory to Henry and his friends; and without waiting any further ceremony, they started off for the school.

In the mean time Greene, having ascertained that they were gone to his father's to make enquiry, had confessed that it was he whohad stolen the money out of Scott's box; and when they returned, he was surrounded by all the boys, who were upbraiding and taunting him with his villany. His own friends too were against him; and, from shame and agitation of mind, he looked most wretchedly.

It is impossible to describe the scene which now took place in the school-room. Henry, whose mind was relieved from the depression occasioned by this disgraceful charge, was caressed and congratulated by every boy in the school. Mrs. Harris kissed him affectionately, and said she felt confident of his innocence from the first, and had never despaired of its being made evident. Juliana and Eliza were also amongst the first to bestow their approbation upon his conduct. Georgeand little Ned were delighted beyond measure to see their friend once more made happy, and hoped soon to have him as the chief in their youthful sports.

But it was far different with Greene, who now felt all the wretchedness of one convicted of theft, and detected in basely attaching the disgraceful charge to an innocent and praiseworthy lad. He had taken his seat at the extremity of the school-room, and was hiding his face in his hands; and though a boy of wonderful spirits and strong nerve, was now bathed in tears, and sobbing aloud. Dr. Harris, who had been giving him a very severe lecture, still stood over him, impressing upon him the necessity of retiring into his room, to seek from God that forgiveness in prayer and repentance, which, he too muchfeared, would not be easily obtained from his offended and disgusted school-fellows. He now, therefore, arose, and made his way towards the door, in doing which he had again to encounter the execrations and pointed fingers of the boys, who cried, as he passed them, "Go, thou thief!" and followed him until they saw him enter the house.

Henry, however, was the only lad who did not upbraid him; for, though Greene had behaved in so disgraceful a manner towards him, he could not but feel distressed to see him appear almost brokenhearted. He still remembered, in the midst of his joy, that but a few hours had elapsed since he felt all the wretchedness of onesupposedto be guilty of theft. "What then,"he said to himself, "must be the feelings of him who standsconvictedof the crime, and therefore has not the consciousness of innocence to support him? I cannot find in my heart to upbraid him," he said, as he took George and Ned by the hand and led them across the lawn.

They continued their walk until bed-time, when they returned, and Henry again experienced the sweets of a good night's rest, the sure reward of integrity.

"What shall I do?" "I will leave the School"page 85

Greene, on the contrary, was now distressed beyond measure: his night was restless and unrefreshing; and as the time was fast approaching when he must again face his master and his school-fellows, remorse and dread had taken possession of his mind, and he felt as if he had not strength todress himself. "What shall I do?" he exclaimed, as he again threw himself across the bed: "I cannot enter the school-room, nor face my school-fellows; for I know they must despise me. I, who have hitherto taken the lead in the school, and have done as I chose with the boys, am now to be pointed at and spurned by the least in the place. I will leave the school directly," he added, rising from the bed, and making another attempt to dress: "I will leave the school directly, and hasten to my uncle's in London." With this rash determination he concluded, when, taking up his jacket, he discovered, upon the back of it, that which had before escaped his notice, the words "THIEF" and "LIAR," in large characters. This fresh assault cut him to the heart. He dropped the coat, and fellupon his knees at the foot of the bed, praying aloud to his Maker for forgiveness, and promising never to offend in the like manner again. He concluded by exclaiming, in great agitation: "Where shall I find a friend to plead for me? and to whom, among my school-fellows, can I now look for support?"

"To me! to me!" cried Henry, who was passing his chamber at the time, and whose kind heart overflowed with pity at the distressed bewailings of this repentant boy. "I will be your friend, and seek forgiveness from your school-fellows. Though you have grossly injured me, I cannot, must not bear malice. Dr. Harris tells us we should forget and forgive."

"And doyouforgive me, Henry?" he exclaimed: "can you forgive one who has acted so basely towards you?"

"I can and do," he answered, "and will beg of Dr. Harris to forgive you also." He then seized him by the hand, and, half undressed as he was, with his coat under his arm, and his eyes swollen with crying, he drew him to the school-room, where Dr. Harris had just taken his seat. As he made his way towards the desk, the boys were greatly surprised, and wondered when they heard Henry ask Dr. Harris to forgive him. "I found him, Sir," continued Henry, "upon his knees, asking forgiveness of the Almighty, and making promises of future amendment. I therefore, as far as I am concerned, heartily forgive him, and I hope, Sir, you will do the same."

Dr. Harris then addressed Greene in his most impressive manner, telling him that he was glad to find he was made sensible of hiserror; and was also happy to see him so full of contrition: adding, "that, as it is the sincere wish of Henry, to whom you ought to be for ever grateful, I am willing to think no more of this matter. But it is not to me, so much as to your school-fellows, you need look for forgiveness; and to them you ought to apply, as being the parties offended."

Henry then took him down the school, and by his earnest entreaties and pathetic address, obtained his pardon.

Greene now retired, and in a short time returned to his lessons, somewhat happier than when he arose, but still depressed by shame.

The next day Mr. Wardour returned, and had the felicity to find his son restored to health and happiness. When he heard of his acquittal, and of his noble conduct in obtainingpardon for Greene, he pressed him to his bosom, and almost shed tears of joy. He then exhorted him to be always grateful for this providential discovery of his innocence, and to let all the future actions of his life be governed by the same noble principles as he had followed upon this trying occasion. After making a present to George and little Ned, for their friendly conduct towards his son, he obtained a holiday for the whole school, and took his leave.

Mr. Greene, upon hearing of his son's conduct, would have severely punished him, had not Dr. Harris assured him of his contrition, and begged of him to inflict no further chastisement than he had already received from his little school-follows. He therefore contented himself with making Scott a handsome present.

Mrs. Harris and her daughters had been lately busy in relieving the family of poor Martha Watson, whom the late circumstances had brought under their notice. The husband, by this good lady's well-timed attendance, had now recovered his health, and had gone to work, while the children were clothed and made decent in their appearance; and their mother never failed to bless the names of Henry and George, and to thank that Providence which had directed them to her cottage.

Greene still continued in a gloomy state, when he was happily relieved from it by his uncle prevailing upon his father to let him go a voyage to the East Indies with him; and, in less than a month, he departed from that place, which had now becomeirksome to him; but not without first being well convinced, that "honesty is the best policy."

Henry and George still continued to be beloved by their school-fellows; and each remained happy in the possession of a good conscience.

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Transcriber's Note:Some punctuation has been silently altered.The following words have been changed.dètermined is now determinedGoerge is now George

Some punctuation has been silently altered.

The following words have been changed.

dètermined is now determined

Goerge is now George

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