"I do, sir."
"Who is he, and what is he?"
"His name is Benjamin Smart. He belongs to Redfield."
"To Redfield? He said he came from Worcester."
"I believe Mr. Bryant told you the story about my leaving Redfield," said Harry.
"He did."
"That is the boy that run away with me."
"And the one that set the barn afire?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is enough." And Harry returned to his work at the counter.
"What did he say to you?" asked Ben.
Before Harry had time to make any reply, Mr. Wake joined them.
"We don't want you, young man," said he.
With a glance of hatred at Harry, the applicant left the store. Since leaving Redfield, our hero's views of duty had undergone a change; and he now realized that to screen a wicked person was to plot with him against the good order of society. He knew Ben's character; he had no reason, after their interview, to suppose it was changed; and he could not wrong his employers by permitting them ignorantly to engage a bad boy, especially when he had been questioned directly on the point.
Towards evening Harry was sent with a bundle to a place in Boylston Street, which required him to cross the Common. On his return, when he reached the corner of the burying ground, Ben Smart, who had evidently followed him, and lay in wait at this spot for him, sprang from his covert upon him. The young villain struck him a heavy blow in the eye before Harry realized his purpose. The blow, however, was vigorously returned; but Ben, besides being larger and stronger than his victim, had a large stone in his hand, with which he struck him a blow on the side of his head, knocking him insensible to the ground.
The wretch, seeing that he had done his work, fled along the side of the walk of the burying ground, pursued by several persons who had witnessed the assault. Ben was a fleet runner this time, and succeeded in making his escape.
When Harry recovered his consciousness, he found himself in an elegantly furnished chamber, with several persons standing around the bed upon which he had been laid. A physician was standing over him, engaged in dressing the severe wound he had received in the side of his head.
"There, young man, you have had a narrow escape," said the doctor, as he saw his patient's eyes open.
"Where am I?" asked Harry, faintly, as he tried to concentrate his wandering senses.
"You are in good hands, my boy. What is your name?"
"Harry West. Can't I go home now?" replied the sufferer, trying to rise on the bed.
"Do you feel as though you could walk home?"
"I don't know; I feel kind of faint."
"Does your head pain you?"
"No, sir; it feels numb, and everything seems to be flying round."
"I dare say."
Harry expressed an earnest desire to go home, and the physician consented to accompany him in a carriage to Mrs. Flint's residence. He had been conveyed in his insensible condition to a house in Boylston Street, the people of which were very kind to him, and used every effort to make him comfortable.
A carriage was procured, and Harry was assisted to enter it; for he was so weak and confused that he could not stand alone. Ben had struck him a terrible blow; and, as the physician declared, it was almost a miracle that he had not been killed.
Mrs. Flint and Katy were shocked and alarmed whenthey saw the helpless boy borne into the house; but everything that the circumstances required was done for him.
"Has Edward come home?" he asked, when they had placed him on the bed.
"No, not yet."
"They will wonder what has become of me at the store," continued the sufferer, whose thoughts reverted to his post of duty.
"I will go down to the store and tell them what has happened," said Mr. Callender, the kind gentleman to whose house Harry had been carried, and who had attended him to his home.
"Thank you, sir; you are very good. I don't want them to think that I have run away, or anything of that sort."
"They will not think so, I am sure," returned Mr. Callender, as he departed upon his mission.
"Do you think I can go to the store to-morrow?" asked Harry, turning to the physician.
"I am afraid not; you must keep very quiet for a time."
Harry did not like this announcement. He had never been sick a day in his life; and it seemed to him just then as though the world could not possibly move on without him to help the thing along. A great many persons cherish similar notions, and cannot afford to be sick a single day.
I should like to tell my readers at some length what blessings come to us while we are sick; what angels with healing ministrations for the soul visit the couch of pain; what holy thoughts are sometimes kindled in the darkened chamber; what noble resolutions have their birth in the heart when the head is pillowed on the bed of sickness. But my remaining space will not permit it; and I content myself with remarking that sickness in its place is just as great a blessing as health; that it is a part of our needed discipline. When any of my young friends are sick, therefore, let them yield uncomplainingly to their lot, assured that He who hath them in his keeping "doeth all things well."
Harry was obliged to learn this lesson; and when the pain in his head began to be almost intolerable, he fretted and vexed himself about things at the store. He was not half as patient as he might have been; and, during the evening, he said a great many hard things about Ben Smart, the author of his misfortune. I am sorry to say he cherished some malignant, revengeful feelings towards him, and looked forward with a great deal of satisfaction to the time when he should be arrested and punished for his crime.
Both Mr. Wake and Mr. Wade called upon him as soon as they heard of his misfortune. They were very indignant when they learned that Harry was suffering for telling the truth. They assured him that they should miss him very much at the store, but they would do the best they could—which, of course, was very pleasant to him. But they told him they could get along without him, bade him not fret, and said his salary should be paid just the same as though he did his work.
"Thank you! thank you! You are very good," exclaimed Harry.
"Yes," Mr. Wade continued; "and, as it will cost you more to be sick, we will raise your wages to four dollars a week. What do you say, Wade?"
"Certainly," replied the junior, warmly.
There was no possible excuse for fretting now. With so many kind friends around him, he had no excuse for fretting; but his human nature rebelled at his lot, and he made himself more miserable than the pain of his wound could possibly have made him. Mrs. Flint, who sat all night by his bedside, labored in vain to make him resigned to his situation. It seemed as though the great trial of his lifetime had come—that which he was least prepared to meet and conquer.
The next day he was very feverish. His head ached, and the pain of his wound was very severe. His moral condition was, if possible, worse than on the preceding night. He was fretful, morose, and unreasonable towardsthose kind friends who kept vigil around his bedside. Strange as it may seem, and strange as it did seem to himself, his thoughts seldom reverted to the little angel. Once, when he thought of her extended on the bed of pain as he was then, her example seemed to reproach him. She had been meek and patient through all her sufferings—had been content to die, even, if it was the will of the Father in heaven. With a peevish exclamation, he drove her—his guardian angel, as she often seemed to him—from his mind, with the reflection that she could not have been as sick as he was, that she did not endure as much pain as he did. For several days he remained in pretty much the same state. His head ached, and the fever burned in his veins. His moral symptoms were not improved, and he continued to snarl and growl at those who took care of him.
"Give me some cold water, marm; I don't want your slops," fretted he, when Mrs. Flint brought him his drink.
"But the doctor says you mustn't have cold water." It was twenty-five years ago.
"Confound the doctor! Give me a glass of cold water, and I will—"
The door opened then, causing him to suspend the petulant words; for one stood there whose good opinion he valued more than that of any other person.
"Oh, Harry! I am so sorry to see you so sick!" exclaimed Julia Bryant, rushing to his bedside.
She was followed by her father and mother; and Katy had admitted them unannounced to the chamber.
"Julia! is it you?" replied Harry, smiling for the first time since the assault.
"Yes, Harry; I hope you are better. When I heard about it last night, I would not give father any peace till he promised to bring me to Boston."
"Don't be so wild, Julia," interposed her mother. "You forget that he is very sick."
"Forgive me, Harry; I was so glad and so sorry. I hope I didn't make your head ache," she added, in a very gentle tone.
"No, Julia. It was very good of you to come and see me."
Harry felt a change come over him the moment she entered the room. The rebellious thoughts in his bosom seemed to be banished by her presence; and though his head ached and his flesh burned as much as ever, he somehow had more courage to endure them.
After Mr. and Mrs. Bryant had asked him a few questions, and expressed their sympathy in proper terms, they departed, leaving Julia to remain with the invalid for a couple of hours.
"I did not expect to see you, Julia," said Harry, when they had gone.
"Didn't you think I would do as much for you as you did for me?"
"It was rather different with you. I am only a poor boy, and you are a rich man's child."
"Pooh, Harry! Our souls are all of a color. You can't think how bad I felt when father got Mr. Wake's letter."
"It's a hard case to be knocked down in that way, and laid up in the house for a week or two."
"I know it; but we must be patient."
"Can't be patient. I haven't any patience—not a bit. If I could get hold of Ben Smart, I would choke him. I hope they will catch him and send him to the state prison for life."
Julia looked sad. These malignant words did not sound like those of the Harry West she had known and loved. They were so bitter that they curdled the warm blood in her veins, and the heart of Harry seemed less tender than before.
"Harry," said she, in soft tones, and so sad that he could not but observe the change which had come over her.
"Well, Julia."
"You don't mean what you said."
"Don't mean it?"
"No, I am sure you don't. Do you remember what the Bible says?"
"What does it say?" asked he, deeply impressed by the sad and solemn tones of the little angel.
"'Forgive your enemies,' Harry."
"Forgive Ben Smart, after he has almost killed me?" Julia took up the Bible, which lay on the table by the bedside—it was the one she had given him—and read several passages upon the topic she had introduced.
Harry was ashamed of himself. The gentle rebuke she administered touched his soul, and he thought how peevish and ill-natured he had been.
"You have been badly hurt, Harry, and you are very sick. Now, let me ask you one question: Which would you rather be, Harry West, sick as you are, or Ben Smart, who struck the blow?"
"I had rather be myself," replied he, promptly.
"You ought to be glad that you are Harry West, instead of Ben Smart. Sick as you are, I am sure you are a great deal happier than he can be, even if he is not punished for striking you."
"You are right, Julia. I have been very wicked. Here I have been grumbling and growling all the time for four days. I have learned better. It is lucky for me that I am Harry, instead of Ben."
"I am sure I have been a great deal better since I was sick than before. When I lay on the bed, hardly able to move, I kept thinking all the time; and my thoughts did me a great deal of good."
Harry had learned his lesson, and Julia's presence was indeed an angel's visit. For an hour longer she sat by his bed, and her words were full of inspiration; and when her father called for her he could hardly repress a tear as she bade him good night.
After she had gone Harry begged Mrs. Flint and Katy to forgive him for being so cross, promising to be patient in the future. And he kept his promise. The next day Julia came again. She read to him, conversed with him about the scenes of the preceding autumn in the woods, and told him again about her own illness. In the afternoonshe bade him a final adieu, as she was to return that day to her home.
The patience and resignation which he had learned gave a favorable turn to his sickness, and he began to improve. It was a month, however, before he was able to take his place in the store again. Without the assistance of Julia, perhaps, he had not learned the moral of sickness so well. As it was, he came forth from his chamber with truer and loftier motives, and with a more earnest desire to lead the true life.
Ben Smart had been arrested; and, shortly after his recovery, Harry was summoned as a witness at his trial. It was a plain case, and Ben was sent to the house of correction for a long term.
Three years may appear to be a great while to the little pilgrim through life's vicissitudes; but they soon pass away and are as "a tale that is told." To note all the events of Harry's experience through this period would require another volume; therefore I can only tell the reader what he was, and what results he had achieved in that time. It was filled with trials and temptations, not all of which were overcome without care and privation. Often he failed, was often disappointed, and often was pained to see how feebly the Spirit warred against the Flesh.
He loved money, and avarice frequently prompted him to do those things which would have wrecked his bright hopes. That vision of the grandeur and influence of the rich man's position sometimes deluded him, causing him to forget at times that the soul would live forever, while the body and its treasures would perish in the grave. As he grew older, he reasoned more; his principles became more firmly fixed; and the object of existence assumed amore definite character. He was an attentive student, and every year not only made him wiser, but better. I do not mean to say that Harry was a remarkably good boy, that his character was perfect, or anything of the kind. He meant well, and tried to do well, and he did not struggle in vain against the trials and temptations that beset him. I dare say those with whom he associated did not consider him much better than themselves. It is true, he did not swear, did not frequent the haunts of vice and dissipation, did not spend his Sundays riding about the country; yet he had his faults, and captious people did not fail to see them.
He was still with Wake & Wade, though he was a salesman now, on a salary of five dollars a week. He still boarded with Mrs. Flint, though Edward was no longer his room-mate. A year had been sufficient to disgust his "fast" companion with the homely fare and homely quarters of his father's house; and, as his salary was now eight dollars a week, he occupied a room in the attic of a first-class hotel.
Harry was sixteen years old, and he had three hundred dollars in the Savings Bank. He might have had more if he had not so carefully watched and guarded against the sin of avarice. He gave some very handsome sums to the various public charities, as well as expended them in relieving distress wherever it presented itself. It is true, it was sometimes very hard work to give of his earnings to relieve the poor; and if he had acted in conformity with the nature he had inherited, he might never have known that it was "more blessed to give than to receive." As he grew older, and the worth of money was more apparent, he was tempted to let the poor and the unfortunate take care of themselves; but the struggle of duty with parsimony rendered his gifts all the more worthy.
Joe Flint had several times violated his solemn resolution to drink no more ardent spirits; but Harry, who was his friend and confidant, encouraged him, when he failed, to try again; and it was now nearly a year since he had been on a "spree."
Our hero occasionally heard from Rockville; and a few months before the event we are about to narrate he had spent the pleasantest week of his life with Julia Bryant, amid those scenes which were so full of interest to both of them. As he walked through the woods where he had first met the "little angel"—she had now grown to be a tall girl—he could not but recall the events of that meeting. It was there that he first began to live, in the true sense of the word. It was there that he had been born into a new sphere of moral existence.
Julia was still his friend, still his guiding star. Though the freedom of childish intimacy had been diminished, the same heart resided in each, and each felt the same interest in the other. The correspondence between them had been almost wholly suspended, perhaps by the interference of the "powers" at Rockville, and perhaps by the growing sense of the "fitness of things" in the parties. But they occasionally met, which amply compensated for the deprivations which propriety demanded.
But I must pass on to the closing event of my story—it was Harry's severest trial, yet it resulted in his most signal triumph.
Edward Flint was always short of money. He lived extravagantly, and his increased salary was insufficient to meet his wants. When Harry saw him drive a fast horse through the streets on Sundays, and heard him say how often he went to the theatre, what balls and parties he attended—when he observed how elegantly he dressed, and that he wore a gold chain, a costly breastpin and several rings—he did not wonder that he was "short." He lived like a prince, and it seemed as though eight dollars a week would be but a drop in the bucket in meeting his expenses.
One day, in his extremity, he applied to Harry for the loan of five dollars. Our hero did not like to encourage his extravagance, but he was good-natured, and could not well avoid doing the favor, especially as Edward wanted the money to pay his board. However, he made it the occasion for a friendly remonstrance, and gave the spendthriftyouth some excellent advice. Edward was vexed at the lecture; but, as he obtained the loan, he did not resent the kindly act.
About a fortnight after, Edward paid him the money. It consisted of a two-dollar bill and six half dollars. Harry was about to make a further application of his views of duty to his friend's case, when Edward impatiently interrupted him, telling him that, as he had got his money, he need not preach. This was just before Harry went home to dinner.
On his return Mr. Wake called him into the private office, and when they had entered he closed and locked the door. Harry regarded this as rather a singular proceeding; but, possessing the entire confidence of his employers, it gave him no uneasiness.
"Harry," Mr. Wake began, "we have been losing money from the store for the last year or more. I have missed small sums a great many times."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Harry, not knowing whether he was regarded as a confidant or as the suspected person.
"To-day I gave a friend of mine several marked coins, with which he purchased some goods. These coins have all been stolen."
"Is it possible, sir!"
"Now, we have four salesmen besides yourself. Which stole it?"
"I can form no idea, sir," returned Harry. "I can only speak for myself."
"Oh, well, I had no suspicion it was you," added Mr. Wade, with a smile. "I am going to try the same experiment again; and I want you to keep your eyes on the money drawer all the rest of the afternoon."
"I will do so, sir."
Mr. Wade took several silver coins from his pocket and scratched them in such a way that they could be readily identified, and then dismissed Harry, with the injunction to be very vigilant.
When he came out of the office he perceived that Edward and Charles Wallis were in close conversation.
"I say, Harry, what's in the wind?" asked the former, as our hero returned to his position behind the counter.
Harry evaded answering the question, and the other two salesmen, who were very intimate and whose tastes and amusements were very much alike, continued their conversation. They were evidently aware that something unusual had occurred, or was about to occur.
Soon after, a person appeared at the counter and purchased a dozen spools of cotton, offering two half dollars in payment. Harry kept his eye upon the money drawer, but nothing was discovered. From what he knew of Edward's mode of life, he was prepared to believe that he was the guilty person.
The experiment was tried for three days in succession before any result was obtained. The coins were always found in the drawer; but on the fourth day, when they were very busy, and there was a great deal of money in the drawer, Harry distinctly observed Edward, while making change, take several coins from the till. The act appalled him; he forgot the customer to whose wants he was attending, and hastened to inform Mr. Wake of the discovery.
"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Edward, as he passed him.
"Only to the office," replied he; and his appearance and manner might have attracted the attention of any skillful rogue.
"Come, Harry, don't leave your place," added Edward, playfully grasping him by the collar, on his return.
"Don't stop to fool, Edward," answered Harry, as he shook him off and took his place at the counter again.
He was very absent-minded the rest of the forenoon, and his frame shook with agitation as he heard Mr. Wake call Edward shortly after. But he trembled still more when he was summoned also, for it was very unpleasant business.
"Of course, you will not object to letting me see the contentsof your pockets, Edward," said Mr. Wake, as Harry entered the office.
"Certainly not, sir;" and he turned every one of his pockets inside out.
Not one of the decoy pieces was found upon him, or any other coins, for that matter; he had no money. Mr. Wake was confused, for he fully expected to convict the culprit on the spot.
"I suppose I am indebted to this young man for this," continued Edward, with a sneer. "I'll bet five dollars he stole the money himself, if any has been stolen. Why don't you search him?"
"Search me, sir, by all means," added Harry; and he began to turn his pockets out.
From his vest pocket he took out a little parcel wrapped in a shop bill.
"What's that?" said Edward.
"I don't know. I wasn't aware that there was any such thing in my pocket."
"I suppose not," sneered Edward.
"But you seem to know more about it than Edward," remarked Mr. Wade, as he took the parcel.
"I know nothing about it."
The senior opened the wrapper, and to his surprise and sorrow found it contained two of the marked coins. But he was not disposed hastily to condemn Harry. He could not believe him capable of stealing; besides, there was something in Edward's manner which seemed to indicate that our hero was the victim of a conspiracy.
"As he has been so very generous towards me, Mr. Wake," interposed Edward, "I will suggest a means by which you may satisfy yourself. My mother keeps Harry's money for him, and perhaps, if you look it over, you will find more marked pieces."
"Mr. Wake, I'm innocent," protested Harry, when he had in some measure recovered from the first shock of the heavy blow. "I never stole a cent from anybody."
"I don't believe you ever did, Harry. But can you explain how this money happened to be in your pocket?"
"I cannot, sir. If you wish to look at my money, Mrs. Flint will show it to you."
"Perhaps I had better."
"Don't let him go with you, though," said Edward, maliciously.
Mr. Wake wrote an order to Mrs. Flint, requesting her to exhibit the money, and Harry signed it. The senior then hastened to Avery Street.
"Now, Master Spy!" sneered Edward, when he had gone. "So you have been watching me, I thought as much."
"I only did what Mr. Wade told me to do," replied Harry, exceedingly mortified at the turn the investigation had taken.
"Humph! That is the way with you psalm-singers. Steal yourself, and lay it to me!"
"I did not steal. I never stole in my life."
"Wait and see."
In about half an hour Mr. Wake returned.
"I am sorry, Harry, to find that I have been mistaken in you. Is it possible that one who is outwardly so correct in his habits should be a thief? But your career is finished," said he, very sternly, as he entered the office.
"Nothing strange to the rest of us," added Edward. "I never knew one yet who pretended to be so pious that did not turn out a rascal."
"And such a hypocrite!"
"Mr. Wake, I am neither a thief nor a hypocrite," replied Harry, with spirit.
"I found four of the coins—four half dollars—which I marked first, at Mrs. Flint's," said the senior, severely.
Harry was astounded. Those half dollars were part of the money paid him by Edward, and he so explained how they came in his possession.
"Got them from me!" exclaimed Edward, with well-feigned surprise. "I never borrowed a cent of him in my life; and, of course, never paid him a cent."
Harry looked at Edward, amazed at the coolness with which he uttered the monstrous lie. He questioned him in regard to the transaction, but the young reprobate reiterated his declaration with so much force and art that Mr. Wake was effectually deceived.
Our hero, conscious of his innocence, however strong appearances were against him, behaved with considerable spirit, which so irritated Mr. Wake that he sent for a constable, and Harry soon found himself in Leverett Street Jail. Strange as it may seem to my young friends, he was not very miserable there. He was innocent, and he depended upon that special Providence which had before befriended him to extricate him from the difficulty. It is true, he wondered what Julia would say when she heard of his misfortune. She would weep and grieve; and he was sad when he thought of her. But she would be the more rejoiced when she learned that he was innocent. The triumph would be in proportion to the trial.
On the following day he was brought up for examination. As his name was called, the propriety of the court was suddenly disturbed by an exclamation of surprise from an elderly man, with sun-browned face and monstrous whiskers.
"Who is he?" almost shouted the elderly man, regardless of the dignity of the court.
An officer was on the point of turning him out; but his earnest manner saved him. Pushing his way forward to Mr. Wake, he questioned him in regard to the youthful prisoner.
"Strange! I thought he was dead!" muttered the elderly man, in the most intense excitement.
The examination proceeded. Harry had a friend who had not been idle, as the sequel will show.
Mr. Wake first testified to the facts we have already related, and the lawyer, whom Harry's friends had provided, questioned him in regard to the prisoner's character and antecedents. Edward Flint was then called. He wassubjected to a severe cross-examination by Harry's counsel, in which he repeatedly denied that he had ever borrowed or paid any money to the accused.
Mr. Wade was the next witness. While the events preceding Harry's arrest were transpiring, he had been absent from the city, but had returned early in the afternoon. He disagreed with his partner in relation to our hero's guilt, and immediately set himself to work to unmask the conspiracy, for such he was persuaded it was.
He testified that, a short time before, Edward had requested him to pay him his salary two days before it was due, assigning as a reason the fact that he owed Harry five dollars, which he wished to pay. He produced two of the marked half dollars, which he had received from Edward's landlady.
Of course, Edward was utterly confounded; and, to add to his confusion, he was immediately called to the stand again. This time his coolness was gone; he crossed himself a dozen times, and finally acknowledged, under the pressure of the skillful lawyer's close questioning, that Harry was innocent. He had paid him the money found in Mrs. Flint's possession, and had slipped the coins wrapped in the shop bills into his pocket when he took him by the collar on his return from the office.
He had known for some time that the partners were on the watch for the thief. He had heard them talking about the matter; but he supposed he had managed the case so well as to exonerate himself and implicate Harry, whom he hated for being a good boy.
Harry was discharged. His heart swelled with gratitude for the kindly interposition of Providence. The trial was past—the triumph had come.
Mr. Wake, Mr. Wade, and other friends, congratulated him on the happy termination of the affair; and while they were so engaged the elderly man elbowed his way through the crowd to the place where Harry stood.
"Young man, what is your father's name?" he asked, in tones tremulous with emotion.
"I have no father," replied Harry.
"You had a father—what was his name?"
"Franklin West; a carpenter by trade. He went from Redfield to Valparaiso when I was very young, and we never heard anything from him."
"My son!" exclaimed the stranger, grasping our hero by the hand, while the tears rolled down his brown visage.
Harry did not know what to make of this announcement.
"Is it possible that you are my father?" asked he.
"I am, Harry; but I was sure you were dead. I got a letter, informing me that your mother and the baby had gone; and about a year after I met a man from Rockville who told me that you had died also."
"It was a mistake."
They continued the conversation as they walked from the court room to the store. There was a long story for each to tell. Mr. West confessed that, for two years after his arrival at Valparaiso, he had accomplished very little. He drank hard, and brought on a fever, which had nearly carried him off. But that fever was a blessing in disguise; and since his recovery he had been entirely temperate. He had nothing to send to his family, and shame prevented him from even writing to his wife. He received the letter which conveyed the intelligence of the death of his wife and child, and soon after learned that his remaining little one was also gone.
Carpenters were then in great demand in Valparaiso. He was soon in a condition to take contracts, and fortune smiled upon him. He had rendered himself independent, and had now returned to spend his remaining days in his native land. He had been in Boston a week, and happened to stray into the Police Court, where he had found the son who, he supposed, had long ago been laid in the grave.
Edward Flint finished his career of "fashionable dissipation" by being sentenced to the house of correction. Just before he was sent over, he confessed to Mr. Wade that it was he who had stolen Harry's money, three years before.
The next day Harry obtained leave of absence, for the purpose of accompanying his father on a visit to Redfield. He was in exuberant spirits. It seemed as though his cup of joy was full. He could hardly realize that he had a father—a kind, affectionate father—who shared the joy of his heart.
They went to Redfield; but I cannot stop to tell my readers how astonished Squire Walker, and Mr. Nason, and the paupers were, to see the spruce young clerk come to his early home, attended by his father—a rich father, too.
We can follow our hero no farther through the highways and byways of his life-pilgrimage. We have seen him struggle like a hero through trial and temptation, and come off conqueror in the end. He has found a rich father, who crowns his lot with plenty; but his true wealth is in those good principles which the trials, no less than the triumphs, of his career have planted in his soul.
Perhaps my young readers will desire to know something of Harry's subsequent life; and we will "drop in" upon him at his pleasant residence in Rockville, without the formality of an introduction. The years have elapsed since we parted with him, after his triumphant discharge from arrest. His father did not live long after his return to his native land, and when he was twenty-one, Harry came into possession of a handsome fortune. But even wealth could not tempt him to choose a life of idleness; and he went into partnership with Mr. Wade, the senior retiring at the same time. The firm of Wade and West is quite as respectable as any in the city.
Harry is not a slave to business; and he spends a portion of his time at his beautiful place in Rockville; for the cars pass through the village, which is only a ride of an hour and a half from the city.
Mr. West's house is situated on a gentle eminence not far distant from the turnpike road. It is built upon the very spot where the cabin of the charcoal burners stood, in which Harry, the fugitive, passed two nights. The aspect of the place is entirely changed, though the very rock upon which our hero ate the sumptuous repast the little angel brought him may be seen in the centre of the beautiful garden, by the side of the house. Mr. West often seats himself there to think of the events of the past, and to treasure up the pleasant memories connected with the vicinity.
The house is elegant and spacious, though there is nothing gaudy or gay about it. Let us walk in. It is plainly furnished, though the articles are rich and tasteful. This is the sitting room. Who is that beautiful lady sitting at the piano-forte? Do you not recognize her, gentle reader? Of course you do. It is Mrs. West, and an old acquaintance. She is no longer the little angel, though I cannot tell her height or her weight; but her husband thinks she is just as much of an angel now as when she fed him on doughnuts upon the flat rock in the garden.
Ah, here comes Harry! He is a fine-looking man, rather tall; and though he does not wear a mustache, I have no doubt Mrs. West thinks he is handsome—which is all very well, provided he does not think so himself.
"This is a capital day, Julia; suppose we ride over to Redfield, and see friend Nason," said Mr. West.
"I shall be delighted," replied Julia.
The horse is ordered; and as they ride along, the gentleman amuses his wife with the oft-repeated story of his flight from Jacob Wire's.
"Do you see that high rock, Julia?" he asked, pointing over the fence.
"Yes."
"That is the very one where I dodged Leman, and took the back track; and there is where I knocked the bull-dog over."
They arrived at the house of Mr. Nason. It is a pleasant little cottage, for he is no longer in the service of the town. It was built by Mr. West expressly for him. Connected with it is a fine farm of twenty acres. This little property was sold to Mr. Nason by his protege, though no money was paid. Harry would have made it a free gift, if the pride of his friend would have permitted; but it amounts to the same thing.
Mr. West and his lady are warmly welcomed by Mr. Nason and his family. The ex-keeper is an old man now. He is a member of the church, and considered an excellent and useful citizen. He still calls Mr. West his "boy," and regards him with mingled pride and admiration.
Our friends dine at the cottage; and, after dinner, Mr. Nason and Mr. West talk over old times, ride down to Pine Pleasant, and visit the poorhouse. Great changes have come over Redfield. Squire Walker, Jacob Wire, and most of the paupers who were the companions of our hero, are dead and gone, and the living speak gently of the departed.
At Pine Pleasant, they fasten the horse to a tree, and cross over to the rock which was Harry's favorite resort in childhood.
"By the way, Harry, have you heard anything of Ben Smart lately?" asks Mr. Nason.
"After his discharge from the state prison, I heard that he went to sea."
"He was a bad boy."
"And a bad man."
"I believed he killed his mother. They say she never smiled after she gave him up as a hopeless case."
"Poor woman! I pity a mother whose son turns out badly. What a wreck of fond hopes!"
"Just so," added Mr. Nason.
After visiting various interesting localities, Mr. West and his lady returned home. In their absence, a letter for Julia from Katy Flint has arrived. The Flint family are now in good circumstances. Joe is a steady man, and, with Harry's assistance, has purchased an interest in the stable formerly kept by Major Phillips, who has retired on a competency.
"What does she say, Julia?" asked Harry, as she broke the seal.
"They have heard from Edward."
"Bad news, I am afraid. He was a hard boy."
"Yes; he has just been sent to the Maryland penitentiary for housebreaking."
"I am sorry for him."
"Katy says her mother feels very badly about it."
"No doubt of it. Mrs. Flint is an excellent woman; she was a mother to me."
"She says they are coming up to Rockville next week."
"Glad of that; they will always be welcome beneath my roof. I must call upon them to-morrow when I go to the city."
"Do; and give my love to them."
And, here, reader, I must leave them—not without regret, I confess, for it is always sad to part with warm and true-hearted friends; but if one must leave them, it is pleasant to know that they are happy, and are surrounded by all the blessings which make life desirable, and filled with that bright hope which reaches beyond the perishable things of this world. It is cheering to know that one's friends, after they have fought a hard battle with foes without and foes within, have won the victory, and are receiving their reward.
If my young friends think well of Harry, let me admonish them to imitate his virtues, especially his perseverance in trying to do well; and when they fail to be as good and true as they wish to be, toTRY AGAIN.
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