Story Of A Needle

<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XI.<br/> <br/>HOME HINTS.</h2> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-y.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> “YOU won’t do any lessons, George, during the holidays, I suppose?” said Lily, as she slowly and reluctantly brought her lesson-books to her mother the next day.</p> <p class='c006'>“That’s as mamma likes,” answered George.</p> <p class='c006'>“I think,” said Mrs. Ellerslie, replying to his glance, “that as you have been working so hard, my boy, you might indulge in a few days’ complete rest.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I must not be quite idle,” said George cheerfully; “will you not let me teach Eddy while I am at home?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I think that you would be soon tired of the business,” replied Mrs. Ellerslie, with a smile.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>“I’ll try my skill as a tutor, at least;” and there was a bright look about the boy, which seemed to say, “I am determined <i>not</i> to be tired.”</p> <p class='c006'>So George set about the task of tuition with wondrous good-humour and patience; and Eddy was delighted with his teacher, who really succeeded in persuading him at last that twice two does <i>not</i> make three. I must own that Eddy persisted to the end in calling <i>no</i>—<i>on</i>, and <i>of</i>—<i>for</i>; but then he was but a little boy, and George said that he would do better in time. It was certainly a relief to Mrs. Ellerslie not to have her attention diverted from Lily; but I could not but fancy, from the anxious, abstracted expression of the poor lady’s face, that her own thoughts were often wandering from the lessons to the difficulties of her husband and the expected letter from Bristol.</p> <p class='c006'>As soon as the studies were over she quitted the room, doubtless glad that the drudgery was ended for the day; and merry as a bird from a cage, Lily flew to the side of her brother.</p> <div id='i080a' class='figcenter id001'> <ANTIMG src='images/i080a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> <p><span class='c003'>Eddy was delighted with his teacher.<br/><i>Page <SPAN href='#Page_80'>80</SPAN>.</i></span></p> </div> </div> <p class='c006'>“It’s raining, so we need not go out. Oh, what a delightful chat we shall have! Just <span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>sit down beside me, Georgie, and tell me how you feel now that you are at home.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I should feel very happy indeed, but that I think mother is looking very ill.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Do you?” exclaimed Lily, with a look of alarm. “Well, I hoped that she was better, for she never complains. The doctor saw her about a month ago; he gave her something to strengthen her, and said that she must be taken care of, and then there would be nothing to fear.”</p> <p class='c006'>“And is she taken care of?” said George.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, I don’t know—I don’t see what we can do,” replied Lily, looking perplexed; “I would gladly sit up all night, if it could do her any good.”</p> <p class='c006'>“She does not want any one to sit up with her all night,” said George; “but I cannot help thinking that we could do more for her, Lily, than the cleverest doctor could. The lessons are a great fatigue to her, I fear.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, I’m sure that I should be delighted to leave them off, every one of them!” exclaimed his sister.</p> <p class='c006'>“That would not do,” answered George; <span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>“they must be learned; and I am afraid that I could not teach you as well as Eddy. But it does seem to me, Lily,” he continued, speaking more slowly and looking on the ground, “that you might save mother just half the trouble that you give her at your lessons.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I! what do you mean?” said Lily quickly.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, dear, I don’t wish to vex you; but you know that I could not help hearing what went on all the time that you were at your tasks. Mother had to tell you this thing and that—just what, I suppose, she had told you a hundred times before: and you were watching the butterfly fluttering about while she was explaining the rule of three; so of course you did not understand it one bit, and she had to begin from the beginning again. Mother is so kind and gentle—it seems as though her goodness made you careless. I am sure that you would learn your lessons much better if she had taught you with a rod in her hand.”</p> <p class='c006'>“George, I never expected this from you!” cried Lily, her eyes filling with tears.</p> <p class='c006'>“Forgive me, dear, for speaking so plainly; but when I look at mother, and see her so thin <span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>and so pale, I can’t help telling you a little what I think. Now, it’s just like this,” continued George, searching in his mind for a simile. “Suppose that you were lame, and that it was my duty to lift you into the baby’s little carriage, and give you a turn round the square.”</p> <p class='c006'>“You could manage it, I dare say,” said Lily.</p> <p class='c006'>“Ah! but suppose that, as I was drawing you along, you caught at every bush, and clung to the palings, and held the wheels, so that they could not be turned round.”</p> <p class='c006'>Lily could not refrain from laughing. “You would have hard work, Georgie, dragging me along! But I should never make you so unkind a return, if you were so good as to draw me round the square!”</p> <p class='c006'>“And yet, when dear mother gives her time and her strength to getting you on with your learning, you act just as if you wished to make her pull in vain; and I am sure that she is just as much tired as I should be after giving such a drive. Now, Lily, I am certain that you love dear mamma—”</p> <p class='c006'>“I love her—I dote on her—I would do <span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>anything for her!” exclaimed the little girl, fairly bursting into tears, for she was much wounded by the words of her brother.</p> <p class='c006'>George kissed her again and again, as if angry with himself for having vexed her; but as soon as Lily was more calm, he resumed the subject once more.</p> <p class='c006'>“Now, dear, suppose that you and I resolve in future to do our very best to make mother strong and well. There are three things which I think will do her more good than all the steel wine in the world. First, let her never say anything <i>twice</i>—what a saving of her strength that would be! Then let us always determine to think of her pleasure before our own. And lastly, in every little thing, let us save her all the trouble that we can. Oh, Lily, let us only consider what a blessing God has given us in such a parent; we cannot love her too much, nor care for her too much, nor too earnestly try to obey that commandment, ‘<i>Honour thy father and thy mother</i>.’ And now, will you forgive me for what I have said?” George added, gently laying his hand upon his sister’s.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>Lily threw her arms around his neck. “George, you are a darling!” she exclaimed.</p> <p class='c006'>“And so we will be merry again! Come, dry up those eyes, dear Lily; I cannot bear to see you cry.”</p> <p class='c006'>Lily smiled through her tears, dried her eyes, and then, taking her work-box from the table, she drew out her beautiful pen-wiper. “Can you guess for whom this is?” said she; “do you think that it will be pretty when it is done?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Very pretty indeed,” answered George; “how beautiful the gold looks on the dark blue!”</p> <p class='c006'>“It is for a certain brother of mine,” said Lily, with an arch, pleasant smile.</p> <p class='c006'>“For a brother who will value it very much—I think that I can answer for that,” replied George.</p> <p class='c006'>“I’m going to work it now,” said the little girl, as she passed a thread through my eye.</p> <p class='c006'>“Have you nothing else that you wish to do first, dear Lily?”</p> <p class='c006'>“No, nothing;—oh, you are looking at that hole in my dress; but I never mend my own clothes.”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>“I thought that I heard mother say something about that very hole to-day,” observed George, with a little hesitation.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, I suppose that I ought to run it up; but I do so detest mending.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I wish that I could help you, Lily; but I fear that my fingers are too clumsy. Here is an opportunity for you to begin to follow up your good resolutions. Here is something which you dislike to do; but then your doing it will give pleasure to mother. What is trouble to you will save trouble to her, and you will be so glad when the effort is made.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Must I put this by?” said Lily, looking sadly at her pen-wiper.</p> <p class='c006'>“For a while, dear—only for a while. I shall always look with more pleasure at my beautiful present when I remember that my Lily would not let her own will come before her duty and her love to her mother.”</p> <p class='c006'>The pen-wiper was replaced in the box, and I felt myself hastily run into the dress.</p> <p class='c006'>“I will sit beside you while you work,” said George, “and tell you a story to amuse you.”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>“A story! a story!” exclaimed Eddy, running up to his brother in high glee at the word.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, Eddy! what have you been about?—pulling the horse-hair out of the chair!”</p> <p class='c006'>“He is always at some mischief,” said Lily.</p> <p class='c006'>“I think,” observed George, “that it must be because he is idle, and cannot keep those little fingers still. Now, Eddy, would you not rather be a comfort to mamma, and help her?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I do help mamma!” exclaimed the little boy, with a look of injured innocence; “I helped her a great deal to pack her box; I wish mamma had a box to pack every day.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Perhaps mamma would not join in that wish. But if there is not a box to pack, here is a great skein of wool to wind. Will you hold it on your hands, little man, while I try to find out the knot?”</p> <p class='c006'>“He’ll let it slip off to a certainty!” cried Lily; “you had much better put it over a chair.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Will you let it slip off, Eddy,” said his brother, “and spoil all the skein for mamma?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I’ll hold it as tight—as tight as a drum!” <span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>cried the child, indignant at his carefulness being doubted. “I will be useful—I will help mamma!” his face quite flushed as he spoke.</p> <p class='c006'>“You’ll be her comfort, Eddy; I’m sure of it,” said George. “Now, softly; you need not stretch it so hard; just hold your hands a little nearer to the light; I can wind all the time that I am telling the story.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, how nice it will be! how happy we are! What shall the story be about?” cried Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“Let me see,” said George, shaking out a knot. “Why, Lily, how famously you are getting on with your hole! We shall be puzzled to find out the place where it was. I think that, in compliment to your work, I will tell you a story of a needle and a compass.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Of a needle!—oh, what fun!” cried little Eddy. A jovial little fellow he was, and very merry sounded his laugh; but it was not merrier than mine, if the children could have heard it; for never had it entered my thoughts for a moment that any one would ever make a story about me; and I felt amazingly complimented by the idea.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>“What sort of needle?” asked Eddy; “a big needle—a darning needle—a bodkin?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh no!” replied George, with a smile; “we need nothing so grand as that. We’ll have a story of a nice little needle, just like that with which Lily is sewing.”</p> <p class='c006'>With eager curiosity I listened, and the Scissors and the Thimble were all full of attention, as George commenced his story.</p> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span> <h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XII.<br/> <br/>THE STORY OF A NEEDLE AND A COMPASS.</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-o.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> “ONCE upon a time, in the days of fairies—”</p> <p class='c006'>“How long ago?” inquired Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, you must not ask too particularly about that,” laughed George; “but I suppose that, as there is a compass in my story, it must have been after the compass was invented—about the thirteenth century, that is to say, though some believe that the Chinese had it more than two thousand years before.”</p> <p class='c006'>“But what is a compass?” said Eddy, looking up.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, Eddy,” cried Lily with impatience, “you must not interrupt us every minute!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Poor little fellow! it is very natural that he should like to understand,” observed George <span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>“I’ll try to explain it to you, Eddy. There is a strange substance, called loadstone, dug out of the ground, for which iron has a wonderful fancy. If a lump of it were placed in Lily’s work-box, all her needles and scissors, and her keys, if she had any, would jump to it, and cling to it in a minute, just as you would jump into mother’s arms.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, I wish that I had a lump as big as my head! I should like to see the poker and the tongs and the shovel all jumping!” exclaimed Eddy, full of merriment at the thought.</p> <p class='c006'>“And the odd thing is,” continued George, “that when iron is well rubbed with this loadstone, it seems as though it grew just like it, for it gets the very same curious property of attracting other bits of iron. One of the boys at my school had a large steel magnet—that is, steel that had been rubbed with the loadstone—and it was the funniest thing in the world to see a dozen needles sticking to it at once, like so many quills upon a porcupine.”</p> <p class='c006'>“But what has this to do with the compass?” inquired Lily.</p> <p class='c006'>“It has a great deal to do with the compass. <span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>It has been discovered that magnets, when put in such a position that they can freely move in any direction, are sure always to turn towards the north: so little instruments are formed, holding a small piece of steel made into a magnet, not fixed, but left to tremble and tremble, till, like a tiny finger, it points towards the North Pole.”</p> <p class='c006'>“What is the use of that?” said Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“It is of wonderful use,” answered George. “Why, only think of poor sailors at sea; when there is nothing but water, wide water, around them, and when the clouds hide the sun or the stars, how can they tell which way to steer?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I don’t know,” said Eddy, quite puzzled.</p> <p class='c006'>“They look at their clever little compass—they see in what direction it points—they know from it where the north and south lie; and the tiny magnet serves as a guide.”</p> <p class='c006'>“What a clever little compass!” cried Eddy; “now, please go on with your story.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, as I said, once upon a time, in a beautiful garden, near a beautiful palace, there sported two beautiful children. They were the little son and daughter of a king; and <span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>they were brought up with such foolish indulgence, that in all things they had their own way. They did not like spelling, so they never learned to spell; they did not know their tables; they never looked at maps; they could not so much as count their fingers!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh!” exclaimed Eddy, “the stupid little things!”</p> <p class='c006'>“They were not naturally more stupid than others,” replied George; “but then they were terribly idle. They were of no use to any one in the world. They did nothing but gather fruit and eat it, and make garlands of pretty flowers, and sing aloud their foolish little song—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'>‘I love to be idle, I love to be gay,</div> <div class='line in1'>I’ll throw my books and my work away;</div> <div class='line in1'>From morning till night—all play, all play!’”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>There was a twinkle in Eddy’s merry eye that seemed to say that he felt no surprise at the idle taste of the children.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well,” continued George, winding rapidly all the time that he spoke, “one day they were playing together in the garden, when they were surprised to hear a low, soft sound, which came from a bed of flowers. They ran eagerly to <span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>the spot, and, standing in the cup of a tulip, a fine tulip, all streaked with crimson and white, what do you think they saw?”</p> <p class='c006'>Eddy suspected a wasp, or a dragon-fly.</p> <p class='c006'>“No; a lovely little fairy, with gossamer wings, all spangled with silver and gold; and she held in her hand a fine glittering wand, not half so big as the tiniest needle!</p> <p class='c006'>“‘Oh, foolish children!’ she cried, in a soft, sweet voice, which sounded like the tinkling of a bell, ‘do you think life was made only for a plaything, and time given to be thrown away in folly! There is work in this world for every one to do, and everything is created for some use. As you have never, with your wills, done any service to mankind, it is your doom to do service without them. Your eyes, your ears, your hands, your tongues, have been given you to no purpose; their powers shall now be taken quite away; for seven long years you shall toil in humble estate, till you have learned how great is the value of time, and opportunity to do some good to others!’</p> <p class='c006'>“While the little prince was wondering what the fairy could mean, she stretched her gossamer <span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>wings, and flying towards him, she touched him on the face with her wand. A very odd feeling came over him at once. He seemed to be contracting like an india-rubber ball, when some one has let out the air. Feet and legs, hands and arms, appeared drawn into his body; and the body itself became smaller, and rounder, and harder, every minute, till nothing was left of the poor little prince but a mariner’s compass in a neat brass case, with its slender finger trembling, trembling, till it found its resting-place towards the north!”</p> <p class='c006'>Eddy opened his blue eyes very wide at the idea of such a strange transformation, and nearly let the skein of wool slip over his fingers.</p> <p class='c006'>“The little girl stood amazed, as you may suppose, at the singular change in her brother. In her surprise to see him shrink into so curious a shape, she was uttering a cry of dismay, when her tongue, all on a sudden, ceased to move, her fingers appeared fastened to her sides, her feet joined together and grew into a point—she shrank, shrank, as if going to disappear altogether—till, where the little princess had <span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>stood, there only lay on the ground a small needle!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, George, what a comical story!” cried Lily, smoothing down the dress, which she now had finished mending.</p> <p class='c006'>“Please, go on,” exclaimed Eddy; “what did the fairy do next?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Turning towards the mariner’s compass, and waving her wand to the sound of strange wild music in the air, she sang the following words:—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in12'>‘Upon the stormy tide</div> <div class='line in13'>The weary seaman guide,</div> <div class='line'>And point to the North across the ocean wide!’</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>Then bending over the needle, she continued the lay—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in12'>‘What is marred, make right;</div> <div class='line in13'>What is severed, unite;</div> <div class='line'>And leave where’er you pass a golden thread of light!’</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>Then in what manner they were conveyed away I know not, but suddenly the compass found itself on the deck of a ship, and the needle in the work-box of a young lady.”</p> <p class='c006'>“That was Lily,” suggested Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh! as if we lived in the time of the <span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>fairies!” exclaimed his sister, now busy again with her pen-wiper.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, we may call industry and affection good fairies,” said George, “for what wonderful changes they make! But to go on with my little story.</p> <p class='c006'>“For seven long years the compass and the needle were as clever and useful, and did as much work, as compass and needle could do. The one was tossed on the stormy sea, was nearly lost in a shipwrecked vessel, and when it was deserted by its crew, and almost everything else left behind, they took it with them, as something more precious than gold, and by it were guided to safety! It were endless to tell all the good deeds of the tiny needle in its quiet little home; how many holes it mended, how many poor it clothed, what beautiful pen-wipers it made,” George added, glancing playfully at his sister, “till at last—”</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, what happened at last?” said Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“At last, one lovely summer morn, when all the birds were singing, and the flowers smelling sweet, and the trees waving softly in the air, in the beautiful garden of a beautiful palace <span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>the two beautiful children found themselves again, with their arms closely twined around each other!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Had they not grown in all that time?” inquired Lily.</p> <p class='c006'>“They had grown wiser, dear; but the years that had passed seemed to them like nothing but a dream; and a dream they would have thought them, so exactly did everything appear as it had done before, had not the same silvery voice come from the centre of a rose, and the same fairy form appeared with spangled wings, and tiny glittering wand!</p> <p class='c006'>“‘Let not the lessons which you have learned be forgotten!’ she cried. ‘Follow the same path of usefulness now with your wills as you have lately been doing without them. Let not lifeless brass and steel do more than beings with reason, judgment, and affection. Let the heart still point to the pole-star of duty in every danger and trouble; and your home be cheered by the quiet virtues which adorn the peace-maker, the comforter, the friend!’ Then bursting into song as she vanished into air, the fairy’s musical voice was heard:—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in12'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>‘On life’s ocean wide</div> <div class='line in13'>Your fellow-creatures guide,</div> <div class='line'>And point to a shore beyond the stormy tide!</div> <div class='line in13'>What is marred, make right;</div> <div class='line in13'>What is severed, unite;</div> <div class='line'>And leave where’er you pass love’s golden thread of light!’”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>“That’s a pretty little story!” said Eddy, as his brother wound off the end of his skein. “You must teach me the tiny fairy’s song—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'>‘<i>What is marred, make right.</i>’</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>Just say it over again once or twice, Georgie.”</p> <p class='c006'>“What do you think of it?” said I to Mrs. Scissors.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, you know very well that it is not in my line,” she replied, in a snappish manner; “I sever what is united, and cut right and left! I would not stoop to the office of a needle!”</p> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span> <h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> <br/>GOLD BROUGHT TO THE PROOF.</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> THE story told by George, however gratifying to my feelings as a needle, did not prevent me from dwelling a good deal on the troubles of his parents, and wondering if any letter had arrived from Bristol. I seldom saw Mr. Ellerslie in the drawing-room, where I was kept, till he returned from business late in the afternoon. This day, when he entered the apartment with his wife, he looked gloomy and anxious as ever.</p> <p class='c006'>“There is a late post; we may hear to-night,” the lady said. He muttered something, I could not make out what.</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Ellerslie was very irritable that evening; he could scarcely bear the children near him at <span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>all. Eddy made a vain attempt to repeat to him the fairy’s song, of which the rhyme had caught the child’s fancy. He and his sister were soon sent up to the nursery; but George, as being older and more quiet, was suffered to remain behind.</p> <p class='c006'>Mrs. Ellerslie, with forced cheerfulness, did all that she could to make the heavy time pass pleasantly. She carefully avoided rousing her husband’s temper, and when, without reason, his peevishness broke forth, she bore it without a murmur or complaint, and kept down the tears which struggled to rise. I saw plainly that iron is not the only thing liable to a speck of rust, nor broken-pointed scissors the only articles formed to cut and divide.</p> <p class='c006'>Mrs. Ellerslie took up a book, a very amusing volume it was, and read till her voice grew hoarse and faint.</p> <p class='c006'>“May I read a little, mother?” said George; “it is good practice for me, you know.”</p> <p class='c006'>She placed the book in his hand; but it soon became evident that George was not accustomed to read aloud. He never varied his tone, missed the short words and mispronounced the <span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>long, and certainly made a very poor figure as a reader.</p> <p class='c006'>“How you drawl! it is a penance to hear you!” cried his father.</p> <p class='c006'>“Shall I take the book now?” said Mrs. Ellerslie faintly.</p> <p class='c006'>George was flushed. I could see that he felt his father’s taunt. I believe that he would gladly have given up the reading; but his mother’s feeble tone seemed to touch his heart, and still retaining his hold of the volume, he said, “If you please, I would rather try a little longer; I will try to read better, if you will let me.”</p> <p class='c006'>“There’s the post!” exclaimed Mrs. Ellerslie, with a start, as the double rap was suddenly heard.</p> <p class='c006'>George saw that his mother was anxious: he sprang out of the room in a moment.</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Ellerslie rose, as if too impatient to be able to sit still; his wife clasped her trembling hands; but neither of them uttered a word till George returned with a letter.</p> <p class='c006'>“The Bristol post-mark!” muttered Mr. Ellerslie, as he broke the seal.</p> <p class='c006'>“George, my son,” said the lady, “go to the <span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>dining-room for a few minutes. You can take the book with you, if you like.”</p> <p class='c006'>George instantly obeyed, without speaking; and Mrs. Ellerslie fixed her blue eyes, with a look of intense anxiety, on the changing countenance of her husband.</p> <p class='c006'>“There—read it,” he exclaimed, when he had finished perusing the letter; “what do you say, Eliza, to that?” and he threw himself again on his chair.</p> <p class='c006'>“He writes kindly of George,” said the mother, after looking over the first page of the letter,—“‘<i>I was much pleased with what I saw of your boy last year,—I don’t forget that he is my namesake.</i>’” The poor mother’s face brightened up.</p> <p class='c006'>“Read on,” said her husband abruptly.</p> <p class='c006'>“It does not seem that he declines to assist you,” said the lady, still anxiously endeavouring to make out the crabbed handwriting before her; “on the contrary,” he writes, ‘<i>I shall have a large sum at your disposal, such as I think will remove every difficulty.</i>’”</p> <p class='c006'>“There’s an <i>if</i> to that. Read on a little farther.”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>“Oh, Edward!” exclaimed the lady, almost dropping the letter, “can he ask us to give up our boy—our dear son?”</p> <p class='c006'>“He offers to adopt him as his own.”</p> <p class='c006'>“My George! oh! no, no, no!—we can never, never consent to that!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Why, you see, Eliza,” said her husband, speaking rapidly, “if I have not assistance now, all will be ruin—I shall have no means of supporting my family. Perhaps this is the best thing for George himself—”</p> <p class='c006'>“I can hardly think it,” said the mother, with a look of intense pain. “Hardcastle gives us to understand that the separation from our boy must be ‘<i>complete—final</i>’—these are his very words—that ‘<i>George must not look to two fathers or two homes</i>—’”</p> <p class='c006'>“Hardcastle dislikes me,” muttered Mr. Ellerslie to himself.</p> <p class='c006'>“And even if we could bear to part,” continued his wife, with something like a stifled sob, “Hardcastle is not one to whom our boy could look up with the affection—the reverence—” she stopped for a moment, as if to swallow down her tears. “Hardcastle has <span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>temper, he is strange, eccentric. Our George would be wretched with him. Oh no! it cannot be!” she added with energy; “it would be like sacrificing—selling our child!”</p> <p class='c006'>“If we refuse Hardcastle’s offer,” said her husband, “we offend him for ever; and you know the consequences, Eliza.”</p> <p class='c006'>She sat with her hand pressed over her eyes, while Mr. Ellerslie continued to speak,</p> <p class='c006'>“He can afford George advantages, comforts, which it would not be in our power to bestow. I am not certain whether, all selfish motives set aside, the boy would not be happier at Bristol than here.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Let us consult George himself,” said the unhappy mother. “On a question which concerns the welfare of his whole life, we at least should know what are the poor child’s feelings.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I have no objection,” replied the father, walking to the door; “but you must command yourself, Eliza. This is weak, foolish—not what I expected from you. We must think calmly, and decide firmly, and not give way to emotions which injure ourselves and can do good to none.—George!” he called out, after opening <span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>the door, while his wife, after one look of anguish, such as I never can forget, sat quiet and submissive on the sofa, like one whose spirit is broken and crushed.</p> <p class='c006'>“Did you call me, father?” said George, as he entered with his light step and cheerful glance.</p> <p class='c006'>“Yes; I wish to speak to you, my boy. You remember your visit to Bristol last summer?”</p> <p class='c006'>“That I do!” replied the school-boy with a meaning smile; “I know that I was precious glad when it was over!”</p> <p class='c006'>“You had nothing to complain of—Mr. Hardcastle was kind?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, kind after his fashion,” said George, with a little hesitation. “I did not mean to say anything against him. But what with the smoke and the dirt, and the noise of the great manufactory close by, and the ways of the house—not one bit like ours—I know that I felt like a bird in a cage, and was heartily glad when I was set free!”</p> <p class='c006'>“I knew it!” murmured the mother; but I believe that no one overheard her but myself.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>Mr. Ellerslie knitted his brow. “Hardcastle wishes you to go to him,” he said.</p> <p class='c006'>“Not another visit, I hope?” exclaimed George with animation; “you do not know how much I should hate it.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Not for a visit—he would have you for good and all.”</p> <p class='c006'>“But he won’t get me!” cried the school-boy with playful confidence. “I would not change my own dear home for that smoky prison, no, not for all England—and Ireland to boot!”</p> <p class='c006'>“He shall not go!—oh, Edward, he cannot go!” exclaimed the mother, rising and throwing her arms round her son, and pressing him convulsively to her heart. “I would sooner starve than send him away!”</p> <p class='c006'>George was startled and alarmed at the sight of her agitation, and looked anxiously at his father for an explanation of an emotion which he could not understand.</p> <p class='c006'>“It is as well that he should know all,” said Mr. Ellerslie; “let the boy decide for himself.—George, driven by circumstances which I need not explain, I have asked a favour of Mr. Hardcastle, <span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>on which the comfort, the independence, I may say the very living, of this family depend. This is his answer; read it.” He pushed the letter across the table to George.</p> <p class='c006'>All the healthy glow in the boy’s cheek faded away as he slowly made out the closely-written scrawl. His father folded his arms, and fixed his gaze sternly on the carpet; but his mother watched him with glistening eyes. George stopped more than once as he read, as if to make sure that he rightly understood, and repeated the words “<i>final and complete separation</i>” as he might have done a sentence of death. When he had finished he laid down the letter, and turning towards the sofa, said, in a low, agitated tone, “Mother, what would you wish me to do?”</p> <p class='c006'>She buried her face in her hands.</p> <p class='c006'>“Do not further distress your mother,” said Mr. Ellerslie, rising with emotion. “I leave the question in your own hands, George; I will never dispose of you without your own consent:” and as he spoke I thought that the hand which he laid on the shoulder of his first-born trembled.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>George had evident difficulty in speaking. He could scarcely command his voice. I expected him to break down every moment; but he manfully struggled with his feelings.</p> <p class='c006'>“I should like one night, dear father, to think over it, before I make up my mind. Mr. Hardcastle says in his postscript”—he took up the letter and read—“‘<i>As business takes me to London, I shall arrive almost as soon as my letter, and will see you on Saturday morning</i>;’ so, doubtless, he will be here to-morrow. May I wait till the morning before I give you my answer?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Certainly,” replied Mr. Ellerslie, with a heavy sigh. “You had better retire to rest now; it is late. I shall wait at home to-morrow to see Hardcastle when he calls. You will tell me your wishes in the morning. George, my dear boy, good-night.”</p> <p class='c006'>He pressed his son for a moment closely to his breast, and then himself rapidly quitted the room. George sprang to the side of his mother.</p> <p class='c006'>“Mother—darling mother!” his arms were around her, his head buried on her bosom.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, George, my heart will break—will <span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>break! I cannot part with you!—I can never consent!”</p> <p class='c006'>“We will think, we will reflect over it, mother.”</p> <p class='c006'>“And pray—oh, my child! we will pray!”</p> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span> <h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XIV<br/> <br/>CONCLUSION.</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> “THAT’S right, Lily, place the books ready; get everything right for dear mother,” said George, as, with a step and manner, oh, how changed! he entered the drawing-room the next morning.</p> <p class='c006'>“I want you to see that I do not forget your advice. I am going to be a real comfort to mamma.”</p> <p class='c006'>“And so am I!” cried Eddy, with glee.</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'>“My healthy arm shall be her stay,</div> <div class='line in1'>And I will wipe her tears away!”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>He stopped short, and stared in wonder at his brother. “Are you going to cry, Georgie?” he exclaimed.</p> <p class='c006'>“What is the matter, George, dear George?” cried Lily, looking alarmed.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>“Sit down beside me, dear Lily and Eddy,” said George, when he had recovered his voice. “I want to speak with you quietly and seriously—I want to speak to you about our dear parents.”</p> <p class='c006'>“But is anything the matter?” repeated Lily.</p> <p class='c006'>“I am going to leave you—I am going to Bristol—I—”</p> <p class='c006'>He was interrupted by a passionate exclamation from Lily, and something like a howl from Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“I wish you to take my place—to be to those dear parents all that I once hoped to be; to obey them cheerfully, without a murmur; to try and find out their wishes, even before they can speak them; to—”</p> <p class='c006'>“But you shan’t go, Georgie; I won’t let you go!” cried Eddy, seizing his brother’s arm with both his hands, as if to detain him by force.</p> <p class='c006'>At that moment there was a knock at the door, and George turned very pale at the sound. The next minute Mrs. Ellerslie entered the drawing-room to receive the expected visitor. The lady’s eyes looked swollen and red, and <span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>her form drooped like a withering flower. Eddy popped a cushion on her chair, and Lily drew a footstool before it.</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Ellerslie, whose voice had been heard on the stairs in conversation with some one whose cracked, peculiar tones grated harshly on the ear, now threw open the door and followed into the apartment a little shrunken figure, dressed in a snuff-coloured coat, considerably the worse for wear. I could not wonder, when I looked at the visitor, at poor George’s reluctance to exchange the society of all whom he loved so well for that of his cousin at Bristol. There was something shabby, mean, even dirty, in his appearance, which gave the impression that he was out of place in a gentleman’s house; while a terrible squint in his left eye, and a strange twitch in his face, which set Eddy laughing, made his countenance the reverse of agreeable.</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Hardcastle, in an uncouth, awkward manner, shook hands with Mrs. Ellerslie, nodded to Lily, and chucked Eddy good-humouredly under the chin; then, clapping George heartily on the back, he said, “So, my man, you are <span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>going back with me to Bristol! That’s right. See that your trunk is packed by Monday; we’ll be off by the early train.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I shall be ready, sir,” answered the boy.</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Hardcastle sat down, pulled out his snuff-box, took a pinch of its contents, part of which he bestowed on the carpet, then held out the box to Eddy, who examined with interest the picture on the lid.</p> <p class='c006'>“I’ll arrange it with you, Ellerslie, to-day,” said the old gentleman; “we’ll go to the city together, make all right, set all smooth.” He passed his fingers through his hair, and stretched out his legs with an air of satisfaction, in marvellous good-humour with himself.</p> <p class='c006'>“I am very sensible how much I am indebted to you,” began Mr. Ellerslie, making an effort to speak.</p> <p class='c006'>“Say nothing about it, say nothing about it—it’s all settled and done. When a man comes half-way to meet me, why it’s my way to go the other half to meet him. Eh, George?” he added, as if appealing to the boy, who stood silently and sadly leaning against the arm of the sofa.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>George’s answer was a half-suppressed sigh.</p> <p class='c006'>“You look glumpish,” said the old gentleman, fixing the eye which did not squint on the boy. “You don’t wish to go with me, eh?”—the cracked voice had impatience in its tone.</p> <p class='c006'>“I wish to do—whatever is best for my parents.”</p> <p class='c006'>“But you don’t like going, eh?” said Mr. Hardcastle, resting his bony hands on his knees, and leaning forward with a look of peevish irritability.</p> <p class='c006'>“I cannot like—leaving my home for another,” answered George gravely; “but I am ready to do it—I do not complain.”</p> <p class='c006'>Mr. Hardcastle continued his sharp scrutiny of the boy’s countenance, as if he would read him through and through. There was a painful moment of silence—it was broken by little Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'>“You shan’t take away George,” said he, going close to the old man, and looking earnestly up into his face.</p> <p class='c006'>“I shan’t! shall I not? and why not, my little man?” said Mr. Hardcastle, lifting the child on his knee.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“Because—because—Georgie must not be sent far away like the compass, but stay here at home like the needle.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Like what?” exclaimed Mr. Hardcastle, laughing.</p> <p class='c006'>“It’s a story Georgie told us,” said the child, pulling the buttons on the coat of the old gentleman.</p> <p class='c006'>“Let’s hear his story, by all means, my dear.”</p> <p class='c006'>Poor Eddy looked exceedingly puzzled, for he had very little command of language, and did not know how to put his thoughts into words. At last he said, “Georgie told it to make us good, and busy, and kind, and a comfort to papa and mamma.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Ah! that must have been a capital story; I should like to hear you tell me all about it.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Eddy,” said his father, “how can you plague Mr. Hardcastle with your nonsense?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, he does not plague me at all. It amuses me to hear what the little fellow has to say. So out with your improving story, Master Eddy!”</p> <div id='i116a' class='figcenter id001'> <ANTIMG src='images/i116a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> <p><span class='c003'>Eddy tells his story.<br/><i>Page <SPAN href='#Page_120'>120</SPAN>.</i></span></p> </div> </div> <p class='c006'>Poor Eddy turned round and looked at his <span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>brother; but George seemed disposed to render him no assistance. He glanced at Lily—she would not utter a word. He was left to his own resources.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, once upon a time,” he began, but stopped short. “I can’t tell a story,” said the child; “it is too hard—I can only remember a bit of the fairy’s pretty song.”</p> <p class='c006'>“A little is better than nothing,” cried the old gentleman, much amused at the perplexed look of the child. “Let’s hear what the fairy sang.”</p> <p class='c006'>“It was something about what we all should do, Georgie said. It made me think I should like to do it too. This was it;” and keeping time with his fore-finger, he slowly repeated—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in14'>“What is marred, make right;</div> <div class='line in15'>What is severed, unite;</div> <div class='line'>And leave where’er you pass love’s golden thread of light!”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>The hard features of the old man softened as he listened to the lisping child. “That’s the song, is it?” said he, stroking Eddy’s locks in rather an abstracted manner. “What is severed, unite,” he repeated to himself;—“here <span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>it is, <i>What is united, sever!</i>” and he glanced at George and his mother.</p> <p class='c006'>“That won’t do at all,” said Eddy, overhearing him; “that sounds bad—shocking bad!”</p> <p class='c006'>“Does it?” said Mr. Hardcastle, laughing. “Well, I really believe that it does. So George teaches you to be busy, and obedient, and kind, and makes you all happy; does he, eh?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh yes!” cried Eddy, jumping down and running up to his brother.</p> <p class='c006'>“It would be a shame to part you, then, it would be a shame!” said the old man, rising. “No, no; I am not so bad as that! George, stay with your parents; you are an honour to them, my boy! stay and be a comfort and blessing in your home!—And now, Ellerslie, shall we start for the city?”</p> <p class='c006'>I shall not attempt to describe the deep, intense joy which followed the utterance of these few words, the delight which sparkled in the eyes of George, or the fervent exclamation of thankfulness from his mother!—but none looked merrier than the kindhearted old man himself, unless it were our little friend Eddy.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>I have often thought of that scene since, and talked it over with the Thimble. She has become too small for Lily’s finger now, but occupies a quiet corner in the box. The broken-pointed Scissors I have lost sight of for years. Lily has grown into a sweet, gentle young maiden, ever watchful to show kindness to those who need it, ever thoughtful of the feelings of others. Her mother speaks of her now as her “right hand;” and the bloom has returned to the lady’s pale cheek, and her brow is calm and serene. George has entered the Church, I understand; and Eddy, like the compass in the story, is pursuing his way on the wide ocean. But I have reason to believe that, in their different paths, both are pressing forward to the same happy goal, and in their intercourse with the world, as well as in their peaceful home, are living in the spirit of the song—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in14'>“On life’s ocean wide,</div> <div class='line in15'>Your fellow-creatures guide,</div> <div class='line'>And point to a shore beyond the stormy tide!</div> <div class='line in15'>What is marred, make right;</div> <div class='line in15'>What is severed, unite;</div> <div class='line'>And leave where’er you pass love’s golden thread of light!”</div> </div></div> </div> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span> <h2 class='c009'>GLORY</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-w.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> “WHAT a proud, happy young fellow that Prince Imperial must be!” exclaimed Harry Lance, as he glanced up from the newspaper which he had been reading by the light of a lamp, on the evening of the 4th of August. “Why, here is this young Louis, not a year older than myself, and already there is a telegram about him darting all over Europe, and the world will soon know how calm and brave he was the first time that he ever saw fighting, how he picked up the Prussian ball which had fallen near his feet, and how old soldiers had tears in their eyes to see their boy Prince so firm in the moment of danger. <span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>I dare say that he will live to cover himself with glory, and be as famous as was his great-uncle, Napoleon the First. I only wish that I were the son of the Emperor of the French!”</p> <p class='c006'>“I should not care to change places with the Prince Imperial,” observed Arthur Lance, who was seated by the open window, to enjoy the fresh evening air, and watch the stars gleaming out one by one in the sky.</p> <p class='c006'>“What! not to have his chance of winning glory, and of being talked of—like his great-uncle—years and years after his death?”</p> <p class='c006'>Arthur smiled at the question. “I don’t think that would do him much good,” observed he.</p> <p class='c006'>“You’ve not a spark of spirit in you Arthur!” cried Harry; “at least not a spark of the spirit of a hero. I do believe that you would rather have been that missionary who went to teach woolly-haired niggers, and died of yellow fever, than the glorious Napoleon Buonaparte himself!”</p> <p class='c006'>Arthur was silent; but his mother, who had just joined him by the window, observed, “I believe that the missionary’s was the nobler <span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>life, the happier death, and the more lasting glory.”</p> <div class='figcenter id001'> <ANTIMG src='images/i122.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> <p><span class='c003'>NAPOLEON AS A BOY DIRECTING A SNOW-BALL FIGHT.</span></p> </div> </div> <p class='c006'>“Oh, not <i>glory</i>, mother!” exclaimed Harry. “There was no glory in the humdrum life <span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>which he led, and ten years hence no one will so much as remember his name. Napoleon had glory indeed! From his very boyhood he was a leader of others. If his schoolfellows had a mimic fight, it was Napoleon who directed the battle, and taught future soldiers to pelt each other with snow-balls, as they would one day pelt their foes with something more deadly. What power Napoleon had over his men! How his words could rouse them to rush to battle as if to a feast! How grand and glorious he must have looked on a field of battle, as he glanced down the columns of armed men eager to follow him to victory, and heard their shouts of <i>Vive l’Empereur</i>, as they pressed forward to glory! One such hour of Napoleon’s life must have been worth ten years of the life of a drudging teacher of niggers!” The boy’s eyes sparkled with animation as he spoke.</p> <p class='c006'>“There was one hour of Napoleon’s life when he is said to have himself played the teacher, and I think that he appeared greater then than on the battle-field,” said Mrs. Lance. “I will show you a large print which I have <span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>representing the scene. It describes an incident which is said to have occurred on the deck of a vessel in which Napoleon, then a young officer, was making his voyage to Egypt. A group of French officers had been conversing together, speaking like the fool of whom we read in the Bible, who says that <i>there is no God</i>. The glittering stars were spangling the sky above them, shining down as they have shone for thousands of years, and bearing witness to the power of their great Creator. <i>The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handywork.</i> Napoleon approached the unbelievers, lifted up his hand towards the stars, and said, ‘Gentlemen, who made <i>these</i>?’ The officers could not reply; even their blinded souls could see the awful truth taught by the stars—that there is, that there must be, a great and glorious Creator!”</p> <p class='c006'>“But was Napoleon himself a religious man?” inquired Arthur.</p> <p class='c006'>“I fear that he was far from being so,” was the reply. “No real Christian could for his own wild ambition plunge nations into war, and sacrifice the lives of hundreds of thousands <span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>of men. If Napoleon Buonaparte’s name is written in history, it is written in blood, and fire, and tears. I have often wished that the stars, which preached one text to Napoleon, could have preached one other to his heart; then the conqueror would have felt that there is a glory greater and more lasting than that which earthly triumphs can give.”</p> <p class='c006'>“I cannot think what text you mean,” said Arthur.</p> <p class='c006'>“Nor can I,” added his brother.</p> <p class='c006'>Their mother left them to find it out, and continued her observations. “The same stars on which Napoleon had looked from the deck of the ship, must often have met his gaze in the distant lands to which he led his hosts—those lands in which so many gallant soldiers were to find their graves.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Ah! how fearfully the French suffered in Russia,” interrupted Harry; “certainly there Napoleon’s history was written in blood, and fire, and tears. I’ve read how the Russians burned their own beautiful city of Moscow, that it might not give shelter to the invaders.”</p> <p class='c006'>“The Russians showed themselves to be <span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>ready to make any sacrifice in order to drive the French out of their land,” observed Mrs. Lance. “The Russians fought bravely, but it was the rigour of their wintry clime, the icy wind, the falling snow, that proved more deadly to the French than even the swords of their foes. Multitudes of gallant men, who had entered Russia full of hope and courage, perished miserably under the snow. And who can tell the grief in thousands and thousands of homes in France, where widows and orphans wept for fathers, brothers, sons, whom they never should see again?”</p> <p class='c006'>“I own that Napoleon bought his glory too dear,” said Harry gravely.</p> <p class='c006'>“No doubt he thought so himself,” observed Arthur, “when, as a prisoner in St. Helena, he had plenty of time to remember all these terrible things.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Yes,” said Mrs. Lance; “on that dreary rocky isle bitterly must the mighty conqueror have recalled the past. There, unchanged in their calm brightness, the quiet stars shone over him still, and they may have reminded the exile—”</p> <div class='figcenter id001'> <span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span> <ANTIMG src='images/i127.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> <p><span class='c003'>NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.</span></p> </div> </div> <p class='c006'>“Ha! what’s that?” interrupted Harry, suddenly starting from his seat and rushing to the window, as, with a rushing, whizzing noise, a rocket shot up into the deep blue sky.</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh! don’t you remember that we heard that there were to be fireworks to-night in the Earl’s grounds?” said Arthur. “I am so glad that we shall be able to see the rockets over the trees. Look—oh! look—there’s another! it rises higher than the first!”</p> <p class='c006'>“How beautiful—how grand—how glorious it is!” exclaimed Harry, clapping his hands with delight. “It darts aloft like a conqueror <span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>rising upwards and upwards; and there—see how it bursts into a shower of stars—much brighter than stars—filling the sky with its spangles of light! There is nothing so glorious to look upon as a rocket!”</p> <p class='c006'>For nearly an hour the mother and her sons watched the beautiful fireworks over the trees, the rockets bursting on high into showers of many-coloured sparks which entirely hid the stars from view. Then, after the grandest display of all, the sight concluded; all was over, the beauty and the glory. Quiet night reigned around, and the stars which had gemmed the sky since the days of Adam, glimmered again in their silent beauty on high.</p> <p class='c006'>“The rockets were very fine, but their glory was soon over,” observed Harry, as he turned from the window. “They have gone, and have left nothing behind.”</p> <p class='c006'>“They are types of worldly glory,” said his mother.</p> <p class='c006'>“And the stars are like—oh, mother,” exclaimed Arthur, interrupting himself in the midst of his sentence, “I have just remembered the text which you wished that the stars had <span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>preached to the heart of Napoleon—it makes me think of the young missionary who died amongst the Africans whom he had led to the Lord: <i>They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever!</i>” (Dan. xii 3.)</p> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span> <h2 class='c009'>THE VICTORY.</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-f.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> FRITZ ARNT was the son of a poor widow, who dwelt near the shore of the Rhine. He had been her chief comfort and helper since the day when Carl Gesner, the hard-hearted farmer, had turned her and her three children out of their cottage the very afternoon on which the funeral of her husband had taken place. In the middle of winter the sobbing widow had to go forth from her home; carrying little with her, for Carl had seized on most of her goods for the rent, which during her husband’s long illness had fallen into arrears. Yes! he had kept the very bed upon which her husband had breathed his last; and but <span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>for the kindness of neighbours, Frau Arnt and her children would have had to sleep on straw.</p> <p class='c006'>Fritz had been but a young boy then; but he had never forgotten the bitterness of that moment when his mother, sad, sick, and desolate, had pleaded with clasped hands to her hard-hearted landlord for a little delay, and had pleaded in vain. Fritz had helped to nurse her through a dangerous illness which followed. The boy had never forgiven the farmer, but had often said in his heart that a time would come when he should make Carl Gesner bitterly repent having nearly caused the death of a sorrowing widow.</p> <p class='c006'>Since that sad winter Fritz had worked hard to help to support the family, and with increasing success. His wages for field labour eked out what Frau Arnt earned at the lace-pillow; and something like comfort was beginning to be enjoyed in his humble home, when the sound of the war-bugle was heard in his native valley, and the news spread far and wide that a fierce and terrible foe was on the march to invade the German’s Fatherland. Fritz was under the age for military service <span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>which all Prussians are bound to give; but he had a strong arm, and his country needed strong arms. He was eager to serve his king, and be one of the throngs that from every hamlet were hasting to join the ranks of the army.</p> <p class='c006'>But Fritz was too good a son to go without his widowed mother’s consent. He had not only learned, but kept, that divine commandment, <span class='sc'>Honour thy father and thy mother</span>. The lad would not quit his home without obtaining that leave which he was almost afraid to ask.</p> <p class='c006'>Frau Arnt was sitting with her lace-pillow on her knee, the glow of the evening sun shining on her thin, worn face, when Fritz drew near. He watched for some moments her busy fingers plying the threads, before he observed,—</p> <p class='c006'>“My brother Wilhelm is a strong boy now, and older than I was when we first came here.”</p> <p class='c006'>He paused: there was no reply. The widow guessed what was coming, and her fingers moved faster than before.</p> <p class='c006'>“Farmer Schwartz says that he would give <span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>Wilhelm my place, mother, and make his wages the same as mine, if—”</p> <p class='c006'>Fritz stopped again, and glanced anxiously into the face of his mother. She suddenly paused in her work; her hands were trembling too much to guide the threads, and her eyes were swimming in tears, so that she could not see the pattern. Fritz knew then that his mother read his thoughts, and that there was a struggle in her mind between her love for him and a sense of duty. It was some time before, in a very low voice, he spoke again:—</p> <p class='c006'>“Mother, men are needed to guard your home and other homes. You have two sons; will you not spare <i>one</i> to your Fatherland?”</p> <p class='c006'>The widow suddenly rose; her pillow dropped from her knee; her arms were thrown around the neck of her son, and her face was buried on his shoulder, as she sobbed forth,—</p> <p class='c006'>“Go, and the Lord be with thee, my son!”</p> <div class='figcenter id001'> <ANTIMG src='images/i134.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> <div class='ic002'> <p><span class='c003'>FRITZ BIDDING GOOD-BYE TO HIS FRIENDS.</span></p> </div> </div> <p class='c006'>Very little time was spent in preparation by Fritz. The very next day he set out for the army. But before doing so, Fritz, accompanied by Wilhelm and their sister, went round the hamlet to bid good-bye to his friends. There <span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>was but one house which Fritz would not enter: it was that at whose door stood Carl Gesner and his wife, watching him as he bade farewell to friends on the opposite side of the road. At that time of excitement all Prussians were ready to show kindness to the brave defenders of their land; and Fritz knew that even Carl might be willing to make friends with a young soldier then, for the farmer had <span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>such patriotic zeal as to talk of joining the army himself. But Fritz would have nothing to do with Carl Gesner. “I will never cross the threshold nor grasp the hand of a man who turned us all out of doors, and nearly killed my mother,” muttered Fritz to himself, as he strode past the house of the farmer.</p> <p class='c006'>I will not dwell upon the bitter parting. Frau Arnt felt as if her heart would break; for she had heard so much of the power of France, that she deemed that her country was entering on a desperate struggle indeed, and that there was small chance that she would ever again behold her gallant young son. But the frau was a pious woman: she committed her boy to the care of a heavenly Father; and her last words to Fritz as they parted were, “Remember that it is God that giveth the victory.”</p> <p class='c006'>Often these encouraging words came back to the young soldier’s mind, as he marched with his comrades singing the soul-stirring song,—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'>“Dear Fatherland! no fear be thine;</div> <div class='line in1'>Firm hearts and true watch by the Rhine!”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>The regiment to which Fritz was attached <span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>was not engaged in the first battles. Several weeks passed before the youth was brought face to face with strife and death. The time was not spent idly. Fritz learned much that a soldier must know: he learned not only his drill exercise, but also how to endure hardship and toil.</p> <p class='c006'>At last Fritz’s regiment joined one of the army corps on the eve of a great battle. At the end of a long march Fritz reached the Prussian camp, and from a hill-side looked for the first time on the enemy’s hosts ranged on the opposite slopes. They were near enough for Fritz to catch the faint sound of their trumpet-call as the sun went down—near enough for him to distinguish the colour of their flags, before night shut out all but camp-fires from his view. And Fritz heard and saw what made his heart beat fast—the booming of French cannon, and the puffs of white smoke which rose above them; for a few shots were exchanged on that evening between the two armies that were so soon to close in deadly strife.</p> <p class='c006'>The eve of a first battle is a solemn time <span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>even to the bravest of men. “One of these cannon may bring <i>my</i> death-summons to-morrow,” thought Fritz, as he stood leaning on his gun, with his eyes turned towards the enemy’s quarters, which darkness was now shrouding from his sight. Then from the lad’s lips rose the German battle-prayer—that noble hymn composed by the poet Körner, who fell defending his country against the First Napoleon:—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line in6'>“Father, I call on Thee!</div> <div class='line'>Through the dense smoke the war-thunder is pealing;</div> <div class='line'>Over my head the fierce lightning is wheeling:</div> <div class='line in7'>Ruler of armies, I call on thee;</div> <div class='line in7'>Father, O guide Thou me!</div> </div> <div class='group'> <div class='line in6'>“Father, now lead me on!</div> <div class='line'>Lead me to slaughter, or lead me to glory;</div> <div class='line'>Since Thou ordainest whatever is before me,</div> <div class='line in7'>Whate’er Thou willest, Thy will be done</div> <div class='line in7'>To Thee I bow alone!</div> </div> <div class='group'> <div class='line in6'>“Father, O bless and guide!</div> <div class='line'>Thine is my life, and to Thee I commend it;</div> <div class='line'>Thou didst bestow it, and Thou canst defend it:</div> <div class='line in7'>In life, in death, with me abide,</div> <div class='line in7'>And be Thou glorified!”</div> </div></div> </div> <p class='c017'>“And can I thus calmly commend my spirit to my heavenly Father?” thought Fritz. “If, as is likely enough, I am to be one of those <span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>who will lie stiff and stark in yon valley before the setting of to-morrow’s sun, am I sure that I have made my peace with God so that death need have no terrors for me?”—In how many brave souls must such thoughts arise on the eve of battle!</p> <p class='c006'>“My mother has often told me that we are saved by <i>faith</i>”—thus Fritz went on with his musings—“and I can say from my heart that I do believe. Yes! I believe in Him through whom is forgiveness of sins; I believe in His mercy, His merits, His Word”—Fritz almost started, for at that moment one sentence spoken by the Holy One flashed across his memory, and by that sentence he stood condemned:—“<span class='sc'>If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses</span>.” Fritz Arnt thought of Carl Gesner.</p> <p class='c006'>“Have I not nourished hatred and malice in my heart for years?” thought the young soldier. “Then have my very prayers been a mockery; then am I still <span class='fss'>UNFORGIVEN</span>. I dare face an earthly foe, but how dare I face a heavenly Judge? But how can I conquer <span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>these feelings of dislike and revenge—these enemies in my heart? They seem to be part of my very nature.”</p> <p class='c006'>Then the night breeze seemed to whisper to the young soldier the words last heard from the lips of his mother,—“<i>It is God that giveth the victory</i>.” Fritz sank on his knees and prayed, not now for help in the coming strife with the enemies of his country, but for help in the present struggle with the enemies of his soul.</p> <p class='c006'>Very fearful was the battle on the following day. Let us pass over the fearful details, nor describe how God’s creatures destroyed each other by thousands, till the Germans fought their way to victory over heaps of the slain. Their triumph was dearly purchased indeed; numbers of their bravest fell beneath the deadly fire of the French. Fritz rushed forward, with a few soldiers of his own and of another regiment, to seize a French gun which had made terrible havoc in the Prussian lines. Almost before the smoke from the last discharge of that gun had cleared away, there was a hand-to-hand struggle around it. In the confusion of that struggle Fritz saw a Prussian fall under <span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>a blow from a Frenchman’s sword. Even as he fell, Fritz caught a glimpse of his face: begrimed as it was with smoke and dust, the young soldier recognized the features of Carl Gesner! The Frenchman’s sword was raised again to kill the prostrate Prussian; but Fritz sprang forward, warded the blow, and at the same moment himself fell to the earth, struck in the thigh by a musket ball from another quarter.</p> <p class='c006'>Sudden darkness seemed to come over the wounded youth. A rushing noise in his ears drowned even the roar of cannon and the sound of tumult and shouting. Fritz Arnt swooned, and lay for many hours senseless under the muzzle of the gun which he had helped to capture.</p> <p class='c006'>When Fritz again opened his eyes, the tumult had died away; the battle was over; the calm stars were looking down from the midnight sky upon heaps of dead and dying. Fritz was in severe pain, but gradually quite recovered his senses, and could think again on his mother, and silently lift up his heart in the battle-prayer.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>“Oh for one drop of water! I am dying of thirst!” groaned a wounded Prussian beside him.</p> <p class='c006'>The voice was that of Carl Gesner, who lay within a yard’s length of the youth who had saved his life from the Frenchman’s sword. Fritz made no reply. His lips too were parched and dry, and the fever thirst was upon him. Oh, how he longed for one draught of the pure fresh spring which gushed forth near the home of his widowed mother!</p> <p class='c006'>Presently lights were seen moving over the dark field: helpers of the wounded were going about on their errand of mercy. But there were too few of them to do the work quickly; for so many poor soldiers lay low that it was impossible in one night to relieve the terrible wants of all. With keen anxiety Fritz watched the distant lights, while Carl Gesner lay groaning beside him. At last a torch-bearer drew near, with a companion who bore a red cross on his arm and a large water-flask in his hand.</p> <p class='c006'>“I must go back to refill the flask; there are but a few drops of water left in it,” observed one of the men.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>Fritz half raised himself on his elbow with a desperate effort.</p> <p class='c006'>“Help! help!” he cried out; for the very name of water made his thirst more intense.</p> <p class='c006'>“Here, my poor fellow! would that I had more with me!” said the bearer of the flask, stooping down to pour its last contents into the mouth of the wounded young soldier.</p> <p class='c006'>There was again a faint groan from Carl Gesner. He was then too faint to speak, but his groan fell on the ear of Fritz Arnt. “<span class='sc'>If thine enemy thirst, give him to drink</span>.” Fritz in the midst of his pain and want remembered the Lord’s command.</p> <p class='c006'>“Give it to that man instead,” he murmured; “he is more badly wounded than I am.” And with the generous request on his lips the brave soldier fainted again.</p> <p class='c006'>There lay Fritz, twice a conqueror—over the foe, and over himself. God had given him the victory.</p> <hr class='c018' /> <p class='c006'>When Fritz awoke again from what had seemed the slumber of death, he found himself in an hospital, to which the helpers of the <span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>wounded had borne him. There he lay for many weeks, during the latter part of the time nursed by his own dear mother. During his slow recovery, Fritz was cheered by the knowledge that he had been enabled to do his duty, and by tidings of one triumph after another gained by the arms of Prussia.</p> <p class='c006'>Fritz was at length able to leave the hospital, but he was too lame to rejoin the army. He had to go back with his mother to their poor home, which would be poorer, Fritz thought, than ever; for he was too weak for labour, and while his mother had been nursing him, she could not earn money by work.</p> <p class='c006'>On a morning in September, Frau Arnt and her wounded son returned to their native village. Fritz, weak and lame, had to lean on his mother’s arm for support, as the two walked the short distance from the railway station.</p> <p class='c006'>“Strange that Wilhelm should not have been here to welcome us!” observed the widow. “He cannot have received my note to tell of our coming.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Don’t let us pass our old cottage, mother,” said Fritz faintly. “I have never liked to <span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>go near it since Carl Gesner turned us out of it.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Nay, my son; we must take the shortest path home,” said the widow. “And as for Carl Gesner, have you not told me how freely you have forgiven him?”</p> <p class='c006'>Turning a corner of the road as she spoke, the old cottage lay straight before her.</p> <p class='c006'>“Why, there is Carl Gesner himself,” exclaimed Fritz, “nailing something to the wall!”</p> <p class='c006'>“And Wilhelm helping him in his work!” cried the widow, in great surprise.</p> <p class='c006'>At the sound of his mother’s voice, Wilhelm turned suddenly round, and, at the sight of her and his brother, uttered a loud exclamation. The boy then bounded towards them, his eyes sparkling with joy at Fritz’s return, and with another joy the cause of which he had yet to keep a secret.</p> <p class='c006'>It was not a secret long. The glad exclamation uttered by Wilhelm drew the attention of Carl Gesner, whose back had been turned. The moment that he saw Fritz Arnt he hastened towards him.</p> <p class='c006'>“My brother-soldier, my brave young preserver, <span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>welcome!” cried Carl, holding out his hand; and Fritz would not now refuse to exchange a cordial grasp with the man whom he once had hated. “I joined the army soon after you did,” continued Carl Gesner. “Like yourself, I have had to leave it on account of my wounds, though my recovery has been more rapid than yours. You look weary, but rest is at hand. Here is your home; it is put into perfect repair. Let us enter it now together.”</p> <p class='c006'>“<i>Our</i> home!” exclaimed Fritz and his mother in a breath.</p> <p class='c006'>“Yes, yours to the end of your days,” said Carl Gesner. “Frau Arnt, I owe to your noble boy my life; and more than my life. I do not attempt to repay my debt by the gift of his father’s cottage, which I would that you had never left. I but show that I acknowledge that debt. You will find the place improved,” he added, more cheerfully. “We have been planting creepers to train up the wall; and I have had a board painted, to be hung up just below the lattice, to serve as a memorial of the battle in which Fritz and I fought side by side.”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>Carl Gesner took up the board as he spoke, and turned it so that all could see the gilded letters upon it. Fritz glanced at the inscription, then at his mother, and smiled. Was it not strange that Carl Gesner should have happened to choose for the motto on the wall of the cottage the very words which had had such a deep effect on the heart of Fritz? There they were, to shine brightly from henceforth on his happy home, the parting words of his mother,—</p> <div class='lg-container-b c016'> <div class='linegroup'> <div class='group'> <div class='line'><span class="blackletter">It is God who giveth the Victory.</span></div> </div></div> </div> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c014' /></div> <div class='chapter'><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span> <h2 class='c009'>BEARING BURDENS.</h2></div> <div class='c010'> <ANTIMG class='drop-capi' src='images/di-b.jpg' width-obs='100' alt='' /></div> <p class='drop-capi1_1'> “B<i>EAR ye one another’s burdens</i>,” said David Jones to himself, repeating the text as he walked home from church. “Our pastor has made it very plain. In this world, he says, every soul has some burden of sorrow or trial to bear, and every one who loves God must try to help his neighbour to bear it. Now it is clear enough that the squire does this when he gives blankets and coals to the poor at Christmas; and our parson does this, for every one in trouble is sure to go straight to him; but I can’t see how a boy like me is to do it. I can’t give like the squire, or talk like the parson; yet I should like to help to bear some one’s <span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>burden; for, as it was said in the sermon, it is a blessed thing to do anything for the Lord who has done everything for us; and when we help a poor neighbour for His sake, He counts it as done to Himself. I’ll pray God to show me some way of bearing another’s burdens.”</p> <p class='c006'>So before David went to rest that night, he made a little simple prayer that God would give him some work, however small, to do for Him, and let him be useful to others.</p> <p class='c006'>The first thought of David, when the bright rays of the sun awoke him on Monday morning, was,—“Here is another day; I hope that it will not pass over without my helping some one to bear his burden;” and again he turned the thought into a prayer. While David was putting on his clothes, an idea came into his mind,—</p> <p class='c006'>“Poor old Mrs. Crane, she is almost bent double with age, and hard work it is for her to draw up water from her well. She is a good old woman, Mrs. Crane, and was always ready to help others before she grew so feeble. I’ll have time, before I set out for school, to draw up a pail of water and carry it to her door. <span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>Won’t it be a nice surprise to her, when she comes out to draw, to find the water all ready! Old age is her burden—I can help her a little to bear it.”</p> <p class='c006'>David was soon off to the well. He let down the bucket and filled it; and as he turned the windlass to raise it again, a very sweet thought came into the mind of the boy. “Our Lord asked the woman of Samaria to draw water for Him, and she did not do it; yet what an honour it would have been to her—had she been a queen—to have drawn water for the Son of God! Now the Lord said, <i>Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto Me</i>;” so I really am doing what the woman would not do,—I am drawing water for the blessed Saviour; for I am sure that Mrs. Crane is His servant, and so, working for her, I am working for Him.”</p> <p class='c006'>The boy cheerfully placed the pail of water at the door of Mrs. Crane, and soon after set out for school, carrying with him his dinner of bread and cheese, wrapped up in a bit of brown paper. “I am glad that I have done one little kind act to-day,” thought David; “but it does <span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>not seem very likely that I shall be able to do any other.”</p> <p class='c006'>He very soon found that he was wrong. There are so many burdens, great and small, in the world, that even a child who is on the look-out for an opportunity of doing good, will not wait long before he find one.</p> <p class='c006'>David overtook on the road little Steeney Clark, who was slowly walking towards school.</p> <p class='c006'>“Good morning, Steeney,” cried David. “Why do you look so dull and sad?”</p> <p class='c006'>“’Cause I’m sure Mr. Day will punish me again,” answered the poor dull boy, who was always getting into trouble with the master at his school. “I didn’t know my lesson yesterday, I don’t know it to-day, I don’t think as I ever shall know it!” and the boy rubbed his forehead hard, as if he fancied that he could make his wits brighter by rubbing.</p> <p class='c006'>“Let’s see what you have to learn,” said David. “Maybe if you and I go over it together as we walk along, you may understand it a bit better. Pluck up a brave heart, Steeney. You know ‘perseverance conquers difficulties,’ and ‘slow and steady wins the race.’”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>It was very cheering to poor Steeney to have some one to help and encourage him, instead of laughing at his natural dulness. David was one of the sharpest boys in the school, but he did not despise his poor young companion for not being so clever as himself. As the two walked on together, David explained all the difficulties of the lesson so clearly to Steeney, that the dull face of the boy brightened. He was able at last to master the task—he would not be set down as a hopeless dunce by his master. David entered the school-room feeling very happy. He had helped a fellow-creature again to bear a burden.</p> <p class='c006'>“How pale Mr. Day looks,” thought David, as the schoolmaster stood up behind his desk and rapped with the ruler to command silence. Mr. Day was not a great favourite with the boys, for he was sometimes severe, and easily put out of temper. The truth was that his work was too much for him, as any one might have seen by looking at his thin worn face with its deep furrow between the brows. Mr. Day would have liked David for his quickness in learning, but for the trouble which he gave by <span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>his love of frolic and fun; for David was a very merry boy, and could scarcely keep quiet in school-time. He would drum on a desk, or kick on the floor, and set the other boys laughing. David had never seen much harm in this, though it had often brought him into a scrape with the master; but it struck him this day for the first time that it was not fair to a tired hard-worked master to add to the labour of teaching.</p> <p class='c006'>“Mr. Day looks as if he’d a mighty heavy burden to bear, and I’m afraid I’ve often helped to make it heavier. I’ll try and be quiet and steady to-day, and set a good example to the boys about me,” thought David.</p> <p class='c006'>He kept his resolution; and glad indeed would he have been that he had done so, had he known with what an aching heart and aching head the poor master had begun his day’s work. Mr. Day had private griefs, about which his pupils knew nothing, which sorely imbittered his life. He was also subject to racking headaches, which the noise of a school-room increased to such a painful degree, that he would long before have given up his office, <span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>had he not had a wife and children to support.</p> <p class='c006'>“I fear that I cannot stand this work much longer,” poor Mr. Day had said to himself that morning. He was like a weary pack-horse dragging a weight beyond its strength up a steep hill; and, from mere thoughtlessness, his pupils had often acted like boys dragging on behind. But things went on better on this Monday; and Mr. Day told his wife as they sat down to dinner that he had had much less worry than usual with the boys. He did not guess the cause of the relief—that one of his best scholars had been on that day helping to bear his burden.</p> <p class='c006'>David Jones, as I have said, had brought with him his dinner of bread and cheese, as his home was at some distance from the school. He sat down under a hedge with a good appetite to enjoy his simple meal. Scarcely had David begun it, when, chancing to raise his eyes, he saw a ragged half-starved-looking child, wistfully watching him as he ate.</p> <p class='c006'>“I dare say that poor little creature has had no breakfast to-day,” thought David, “and <span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>maybe no supper last night. Should I not be doing a little thing to please my Lord if I shared my dinner with her?”</p> <p class='c006'>He broke off a piece of bread, and, smiling, held it out to the girl, who eagerly ran forward to get it, and ate it as if she were famished.</p> <p class='c006'>“And there’s a bit of the cheese too,” said David kindly, watching the hungry girl’s enjoyment with a pleasure which made his own scanty meal appear like a feast. David knew well that our best works <i>deserve no reward from God</i>, yet he could not but recall with joy the gracious promise to those who feed the poor: <i>They cannot recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just</i>.</p> <p class='c006'>When afternoon lessons were over, David, whistling as he went, set out on his homeward way. “It is a strange thing,” thought he, “but whenever we try to bear other people’s burdens, it seems as if our own hearts grew lighter and lighter!”</p> <p class='c006'>As David passed by an orchard, divided from the road by a rough stone wall, he heard a voice calling to him, and came up to Owen Pell—a boy of about his own age—who was <span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>looking up at the fine ripe fruit hanging almost over the wall.</p> <p class='c006'>“I say, Davy; lend me a hand. I think I can climb over here.” He was already mounting the wall. “Let’s fill our pockets with apples. Don’t they look tempting and nice?”</p> <p class='c006'>“Nice or not, they’re not ours,” replied David, who remembered that God’s commandment, <i>Thou shalt not steal</i>, is broken not only by robbers who take a man’s purse, but by boys who take his apples.</p> <p class='c006'>“We’ll soon make ’em ours,” laughed Owen. “If you don’t choose to climb yourself—though I know you’re active as a kitten—just lend me your stick, and I’ll knock some fruit off from that bough.”</p> <p class='c006'>“No, no, Owen,” said David; “leave the apples alone. Farmer Ford does not grow them for you or for me. I’ll neither pluck nor help you to pluck them.”</p> <p class='c006'>“Oh, indeed!” cried the angry Owen. “You’re afeard of a thrashing from the farmer, are you?”</p> <p class='c006'>“It’s not that I’m afraid of,” said David, turning quickly away; for he felt his passion <span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>rising, and was much inclined to use his stick in a very different way from that which the insolent boy had requested, by knocking him down instead of the apples.</p> <p class='c006'>“I can’t bear that Owen,” muttered David to himself. “How he is yelling after me, calling me all sorts of bad names, just because I won’t join him in theft!”</p> <p class='c006'>Before David reached his home, he came on a wide tract of common, and noticed a number of ducks splashing about in a pool half hidden by rushes.</p> <p class='c006'>“Why, these are Mrs. Pell’s ducks, that her boy Owen ought to be watching on the common, instead of hunting after apples. I heard her scolding him yesterday for leaving them out so late, and promising him a sound beating if any should stray and get lost. There’s Brown’s big dog coming this way; he has had a mind to a duckling for supper before now. If Owen does not keep a better look-out, it’s not many of the brood that he’ll ever drive home. What a scrape he’ll be in! When Mrs. Pell promises a beating, she is certain to keep her word. Well, let Owen be beaten,—what do I care!”</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>That was David’s first thought; but a more generous one succeeded. “I might drive home these ducks for Owen, and keep them and him out of trouble. To be sure, he deserves nothing from me; but are we not told to be kind even to the unthankful and the evil? I should think that God is pleased when we bear the burdens of our friends; more pleased when we bear the burdens of strangers; but most pleased of all when, for His sake, we show kindness to those who have done us a wrong.”</p> <p class='c006'>In the meantime, Owen Pell had had cause to regret that he had neglected his mother’s ducks to go after the farmer’s apples. Owen was not an active boy. In struggling to climb up the wall, he missed his footing, and came down with a heavy bang on the back of his head. He had just scrambled on his feet again, bruised and crying with pain, when who should ride up to the spot but Farmer Ford, with a great horse-whip in his hand!</p> <p class='c006'>“What are you crying for?” called out the farmer.</p> <p class='c006'>“I’ve had a tumble,” whined the frightened boy.</p> <p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“Climbing my wall to get at my apples! I’ll give you something to cry for!” and the rough farmer bestowed two or three sharp cuts with his lash on poor Owen, which made him yell with the smart, and sent him running home in such haste to escape from the farmer’s whip, that he never once thought of the ducks, till he saw his mother—a tall, bony woman—standing with a broom in her hand at the gate of her little garden.</p> <p class='c006'>“Where are the ducks?” shouted she.</p> <p class='c006'>Owen stopped, breathless and gasping, and looked around in dismay. Evening was closing in; his ducks had wandered he knew not whither. Mrs. Pell came angrily towards him. “I told you yesterday,” she exclaimed, raising the broomstick, “that if one of them ducks was lost—”</p> <p class='c006'>“None are lost!—none are lost!” called out a cheerful voice near; and from behind a knoll covered with furze, which had hidden him from view, appeared David Jones, driving home the ducks for Owen.</p> <p class='c006'>“Well, Davy, you’re a good-natured boy if ever there was one!” cried Mrs. Pell, her hard <span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>features relaxing into a kindly look. “Owen has escaped a beating this once, but next time he shall not be so easily let off. You look tired and heated, Davy,” she added. “Just step into my cottage and rest; and if you’d like a sup of new milk and a slice of plum-bread, you’ll be heartily welcome to both. There’s none for you,” she said sharply to Owen. “Go and shut up those ducks.”</p> <p class='c006'>David glanced at the boy as he slunk away. “I’m glad,” he thought, “that I did a good turn to that poor fellow, and saved him a beating.”</p> <p class='c006'>“You’ll always get on well in the world, Davy,” observed Mrs. Pell, as she cut for him a large slice of her home-made plum-bread. “You always keep steady to your duty, and you make friends wherever you go.”</p> <p class='c006'>Mrs. Pell was right. David passed through boyhood, youth, and manhood, prospering in what he undertook, till he became a wealthy farmer. Always ready to help others, he found others ready to help him. He made many friends on earth, but it was through earnestly seeking to please an Almighty Friend above. <span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>David had grown rich; and a noble use he made of his riches. The more he gained, the more he gave; and truly it appeared that the more he gave, the more he had. When David Jones had built the new aisle to the church, and set up a village lending-library, sent twenty pounds at once to the Bible Society, pensioned several poor widows, and feasted a hundred school children,—he might smile at the remembrance of the day when he had begun his work for God by such things as filling an old woman’s pail, feeding a hungry little girl, and driving home ducks from the common. But perhaps the kind acts of the penniless boy were as pleasing in the sight of God as the great gifts of the rich farmer; for they both sprang from the same motive,—a desire to show grateful love to his Lord by bearing the burdens of others.</p> <div class='figcenter id003'> <ANTIMG src='images/finis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /></div> <div class='pbb'> <hr class='pb c002' /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />