The more harm the miller tried to do to James Grey, the more he wished
to do. When he could, he or Ben or Sam let his cows into the farmer's
fields; and much mischief they did. Ben, too, who might often be met
with a gun in his hands, shot the farmer's game, and his rabbits and
pigeons.
One day, a fine dog the farmer was very fond of, came into one of Mark
Page's fields. Mark had a gun in his hand, and shot the dog. Farmer
Grey met Mark soon after this.
"You shot my dog, Trust, I am told," said the farmer.
"Your dog came after my rabbits," said Mark.
"Friend, did I say one word to man or boy when your son not only came to
my fields, but shot well-nigh half a score of my rabbits and my hares?"
asked the farmer. "You know he came."
"I shoot all dogs that come to my fields," said Mark, walking on, with
his eyes on the ground, and a frown on his brow. He did not speak much
that day when he got home. In the evening there was a breeze, and the
mill went round and round quite rapidly. "I'll not give in," he said to
Sam Green, as they sat on the steps of the mill, while the grist they
had just put in was grinding. "Hold on to the last; that's what I say.
Farmer Grey wants to come it strong over me; but I'll not let him."
"All right, master; stick to that," said Sam Green.
"So I will. He shan't come it over me; that he shan't," growled the
miller.
"`When the wind blows
Then the mill goes;
When the wind drops,
Then the mill stops.'
"`I care for nobody--no, not I,
If nobody cares for me.'"
"That's it, master; that's what I call the right thing; just proper
pride," said Sam, the miller's man.
Poor Ben Page had a poor chance of being well brought up by such a man
as Mark Page, with such a friend as Sam Green. Mrs Page, too, his
mother, did not know how to teach him what was right, for she did not
care to do what was right herself. She just did what she liked best,
not what was right. She ought to have known, for she had her Bible, and
time to read it; but she did not read it, neither Sundays nor week-days.
If we read the Bible only on Sunday, we pass more than three hundred
days each year, on which days we do not learn what we ought to do in
this life, or how we are to go to heaven.
Mary read her Bible every day, and she used to tell Ben what she had
read, and to try very hard to get him to give up his bad ways. But
though he loved her, yet he went on just the same. Now and then he
would stay at home, and not go to the ale-house, or out with his gun at
night, and sit and talk to Mary, or hear her read; but next day it was
just as bad as ever. Off he would go, and, may be, come home drunk, or
with some hares or other game, which showed what he had been about. The
miller only said, "Ben, Ben, take care." And Ben laughed, and said,
"Don't fear; I'll not be found out." And he packed up the game, and
sent it off to London.
It seemed sure that Ben would come to a bad end, if he was to go on in
this way. Mark Page did not know what the Bible says: "Train up a child
in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from
it." (Proverbs chapter 22, verse 6). But Mark trained up his child in
the way he should not go; and what could he think but that, when he was
old, he would not depart from it? that is to say, from the way he should
not go. Ben Page's mother let him do just, what he liked; she beat him,
to be sure, when she was angry, but that was not for his good, and that
Ben soon found out. If he was quiet, and did not break any of her
things, she did not scold him.
Ben was a bad boy, but a worse man. His friends were wild and bad, and
he soon broke all the laws of God and man. He was sure to bring grief
to the heart of his father and his mother; yet what could they hope for
else?
Farmer Grey had no wife nor child, but a brother of his died and left
his only son to the farmer's care. Young James Grey was quite a young
man when he came to Hillside. He was a fine, tall lad, with a kind,
good face, and people who saw him said that they were sure they should
like him. There was no pride in him, it seemed, for he went about the
village and talked to those he met in a pleasant way, which won all
hearts. He was to help his uncle on the farm, it was said, though he
did not look much like a farmer. His hands were fair, and his cheeks
and brow showed that he had not been out much in the sun.
James Grey had not been long at Hillside, when one day, as he passed the
mill, he saw Mary Page at the door of her house, on her way to hang up
some clothes to dry on the green. He passed more than once that day,
and each day that he could, and he felt quite sad if he did not see Mary
Page.
Mary Page soon found out who he was; and one day he stopped and spoke to
her, and soon they were great friends. Mistress Page was glad to see
him come to the house, for she thought that his uncle was rich, and that
he would make a good husband for Mary. The miller, too, thought that he
would make a good son-in-law. So James Grey was asked in, and soon
found himself quite at home. Ben Page was glad to see James, for he
said, "he may some day be a friend in need to me." Ben also found him a
good-natured, good-tempered young man, who would not say No to what he
was asked to do. The very thing for which Ben liked James was one of
James' great faults; he could not say No to what he was asked to do; if
it was wrong or if it was right he did not stop to think, it seemed the
same to him. If he was asked to do wrong, he did wrong; if he was asked
to do right, and it was what he liked, he did right. Still it could not
be said that James Grey was a bad young man--not at all--he was what was
called a good young man. He was well-behaved, and joined in public
worship, and seldom got drunk; he might have been so once or twice, but
then he was quiet, it was not known. He did not swear, and was civil to
all people. There was one thing James wanted. It was religion. He did
not care to please God, though he read the Bible and said his prayers.
James knew that his uncle. Farmer Grey, did not think well of Mark
Page. So James did not tell the farmer that he went to Mark Page's
house, and that he loved Mary Page, and thought that he would ask her to
be his wife some day. If he had told his uncle what he wished, the
farmer would have said, "If Mary Page is a good girl, though I cannot
think well of her father and her mother, she shall be your wife if you
wish it and she wishes it."
But James did not say a word of Mary to his uncle, and the farmer did
not think that James even knew her. Mary thought very well of James.
He seemed to her a good young man, and much more steady than Ben. So
she was very glad to see him when he could come to the mill, and
by-and-by she gave him her whole heart; James, too, gave her his heart.
Yes, he loved her, he thought, very much; but, in truth, he did not love
her by half so much as she loved him. Mary might have done James much
good at this time if she had had him to herself; but he and Ben became
great friends, and Ben undid all the good she had done James, and did
him much harm. Ben took good care not to show James at first what bad
things he did. He talked of others getting drunk, and said there was no
great harm in it, and then he said how fine it was to go out with a gun
at night and kill game, and what bold chaps did that sort of thing; and
then he went on to boast of all sorts of bad things which he did.
Now if James had been wise he would not have stopped to hear all this,
but would have said, "I am sure that is bad, and harm must come of it,"
and would have kept out of Ben's way. When a bad person tries to make
another do ill, the only safe plan for the other is to keep out of the
bad person's way. James did not do that, and more than once he went
with Ben to the ale-house and got drunk. From the first day James did
this, Ben made him do just what he liked. James went out shooting at
night with Ben--that is, poaching; he was often at the ale-house with
him, and in bad company, and many other evil things they did together.
Poor Mary did not know this, but thought rather that James would do good
to Ben, and lead him right. She had to learn the sad truth that all men
are prone to do ill, and that the bad are more apt to lead than to be
led.
Still it must not be said that James was quite lost to all sense of what
was right. He often wished that he had not been led to do some of the
things that he did do. More than once he said to Ben, "Ben, I know that
is bad; I will not go with you."
Then Ben would laugh at him and say, "You know that is bad! That's very
fine; but you know that there are other things much worse by a long way.
Come on; don't go and say No when I ask you."
James would stand and think, and say to himself, "Where's the harm, just
for this once? I don't like not to please Ben, and when I marry Mary
I'll give it up, and all will be right."
So James went on from bad to worse, for he had not got in his heart
faith in God or love to Christ.
Mark Page did not mind James doing the bad things he did with Ben, for
he said, "If the two get into a scrape, Farmer Grey must get Ben out of
it for the sake of his nephew. Young men must sow their wild oats, and
may be he won't make the worse husband to Mary for it."
All this time Mark Page did not love Farmer Grey more than at first.
Not a day passed that he did not say something against him, or do
something to do him harm.
Farmer Grey knew this, but did not say an ill word to Mark. If he met
him it was always in a kind voice he said, "Good day, Mark Page. Good
day, miller. Fine breeze for the mill. No lack of grist, I hope; I
shall soon have some for you. Shall be glad to send my corn to your
mill."
"What can he want of me? I can do him no good;" growled the miller as
he walked on.