PAYING OFF A GRUDGE.
The morning after the events just related, as Ralph was on his way to
school, he fell in with Willie Davenport, or "Whistler," as he was
often sportively called, by his playmates, in allusion to his fondness
for a species of music to which most boys are more or less addicted.
And I may as well say here, that he was a very good whistler, and came
honestly by the title by which he was distinguished among his fellows.
His quick ear caught all the new and popular melodies of the day,
before they became threadbare, which gave his whistling an air of
freshness and novelty that few could rival. It was to this
circumstance--the quality of his whistling, rather than the
quantity--that he was chiefly indebted for the name of Whistler. Nor
was he ashamed of his nickname, as he certainly had no need to be; for
it was not applied to him in derision, but playfully and good-naturedly.
Whistler and Ralph were good friends. There was a difference of
between two and three years in their ages, Whistler being about twelve
years old; but their dispositions harmonized together well, and quite a
strong friendship had grown up between them. A very different feeling,
however, had for some time existed between Oscar and Whistler. They
were in the same class at school; but Whistler studied hard, and thus,
though much younger than Oscar, he stood far before him as a scholar.
This awakened some feeling of resentment in Oscar, and he never let
slip any opportunity for annoying or mortifying his more industrious
and successful class-mate.
On their way to school, on the morning in question, Ralph told Whistler
of Oscar's threat, and advised him to avoid his brother as much as
possible, for a day or two, until the affair of the blackboard should
pass from his mind. Whistler heeded this caution, and was careful not
to put himself in the way of his enemy. He succeeded in eluding him
through the day, and was on his way home from school in the afternoon,
when Oscar, who he thought had gone off in another direction, suddenly
appeared at his side.
"You little tell-tale, you," cried Oscar, "what did you tell Ralph
about the blackboard for! I 'll learn you to mind your own business,
next time, you mean, sneaking meddler. Take that--and that," he
continued, giving Whistler several hard blows with his fist. The
latter attempted to dodge the blows, but did not return them, for this
he knew would only increase the anger of Oscar, who was so much his
superior in size and strength, as well as in the art of fisticuffs,
that he could do just about as he pleased with him. The affray,
however, was soon brought to an unexpected end, by a gentleman who
happened to witness it. Seizing Oscar by the collar of his jacket, he
exclaimed:
"Here, here, sir! what are you doing to that little fellow? Don't you
know enough, you great lubber, to take a boy of your own size, if you
want to fight? Now run, my little man, and get out of his way,"
continued the stranger, turning to Whistler, and still holding Oscar by
the collar.
[Illustration: The Assault.]
Whistler hesitated for a moment between the contending impulses of
obedience and manliness; and then, drawing himself up to his full
stature, he said, with a respectful but decided air:
"No, sir, I have n't injured him, and I won't run away from him."
"Well said, well said--you are a brave little fellow," continued the
gentleman, somewhat surprised at the turn the affair was taking. "What
is your name, sir?"
"William Davenport."
"And what is this boy's name?"
"Oscar," replied Willie, and there he stopped, as if unwilling to
expose further the name of his abuser.
"Well you may go now, Oscar," said the gentleman, relinquishing his
hold; "but if you lay your hands on William again, I shall complain of
you."
The two boys walked off in opposite directions, the gentleman keeping
an eye upon Oscar until Whistler was out of his reach.
A little knot of boys was drawn together by the circumstance just
related, among whom was George, Oscar's youngest brother. He witnessed
the attack, but knew nothing of its cause. As he went directly home,
while Oscar did not, he had an opportunity to report to his mother and
Ralph the scene he had just beheld. Ralph now related to his mother
the incident of the preceding day, which led to the assault; for,
seeing Oscar's unwillingness to have anything said about it, he had not
mentioned the matter to any one at home. Ralph was a generous-hearted
boy, and in this case was actuated by a regard for Oscar's feelings,
rather than by fear.
Oscar did not come home that night until after dark. As he entered the
sitting-room, Alice, who was seated at the piano-forte, broke short off
the piece she was playing, and said, looking at him as sternly as she
could,
"You great ugly boy!"
"Why, what's the matter now?" inquired Oscar, who hardly knew whether
this rough salutation was designed to be in fun or in earnest; "don't I
look as well as usual?"
"You looked well beating little Willie Davenport, don't you think you
did?" continued his sister, with the same stern look. "I 'm perfectly
ashamed of you--I declare, I did n't know you could do such a mean
thing as that."
"I don't care," replied Oscar, "I 'll lick him again, if he does n't
mind his own business."
As Oscar did not know that George witnessed the assault, he was at a
loss to know how Alice heard of it. She refused to tell him, and he
finally concluded that Whistler or his mother must have called there,
to enter a complaint against him. Pretty soon Mrs. Preston entered the
room, and sat down, to await the arrival of Oscar's father to tea. She
at once introduced the topic which was uppermost in her mind, by the
inquiry:
"Oscar, what is the trouble between you and Willie Davenport?"
"Why," replied Oscar, "he 's been telling stories about me."
"Do you mean false stories?"
"Yes--no--not exactly false, but it was n't true, neither."
"It must have been a singular story, to have been either false nor
true. And as it appears there was but one story, I should like to know
what it was."
"He told Ralph I had to stand up and look at a blackboard an hour."
"Was that false?"
"Yes," said Oscar, for in replying to his mother, of late, he had
usually omitted the "ma'am" (madam) which no well-bred boy will fail to
place after the yes or no addressed to a mother; "yes, it was a lie,
for I need n't have stood there five minutes, if I had n't wanted to."
"Did you stand before the blackboard because you wanted to, or was it
intended as a punishment for not attending to your lesson!"
"Why, I suppose it was meant for a punishment, but the master told me I
might go to my seat, whenever I wanted to study."
"Then," said Mrs. Preston, "after all your quibbling, I don't see that
Willie told any falsehood. And, in fact, I don't believe he had any
idea of injuring you, when he told Ralph of the affair. He only spoke
of it as a little matter of news. But even if he had told a lie about
you, or had related the occurrence out of ill-will towards you, would
that be any excuse for your conduct, in beating him as you did this
afternoon! Do you remember the subject of your last Sabbath-school
lesson?"
Oscar could not recall it, and shook his head in the negative.
"I have not forgotten it," continued his mother; "it was on forgiving
our enemies, and it is a lesson that you very much need to learn. 'If
ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive
your trespasses,'--that was one of the verses of the lesson. It is
noble to forgive, but it is mean to retaliate. You must learn to
conquer your resentful spirit, or you will be in trouble all the time.
I shall report this matter to your father when he comes. I suppose you
remember what he promised you, when you had your fight with Sam Oliver?"
Oscar remembered it very distinctly. On that occasion, his father
reprimanded him with much severity, and assured him that any repetition
of the fault would not go unpunished.
Mr. Preston soon came in, and as the family sat at the tea-table, he
was informed of Oscar's misconduct. After scolding the culprit with
much sharpness, for his attack upon Willie, he concluded by ordering
him immediately to bed. Although it yet lacked two hours of his usual
bed-time, Oscar did not consider his punishment very severe, but
retired to his chamber, feeling delighted that he had got off so much
easier than he anticipated. Indeed, so little did he think of his
father's command, that he felt in no hurry to obey it. Instead of
going to bed, he sat awhile at the window, listening to the music of a
flute which some one in the neighborhood was playing upon. Presently
Ralph and George, who slept in the same chamber with him, came up to
keep him company. They amused themselves together for some time, and
Oscar quite forgot that he had been sent to bed, until the door
suddenly opened, and his father, whose attention had been attracted by
the noise, stood before him.
"Did n't I tell you to go to bed an hour ago, Oscar?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir."
"Why have n't you obeyed me, then?"
"Because," said Oscar, "I 've got a lesson to get to-night, and I have
n't studied it yet."
"If you 've got a lesson to learn, where is your book?" inquired his
father.
"It 's down stairs; I was afraid to go after it, and so I was trying to
coax Ralph to get it for me."
"O, what a story!" cried George; "why, father, he has n't said one word
about his book."
This was true. Oscar, in his extremity, had hastily framed a
falsehood, trusting that his assurance would enable him to carry it
through. And he would probably have succeeded but for George; as
Ralph, in his well-meant but very mistaken kindness for Oscar, would
not have been very likely to expose him. But the lie was nailed, and
Oscar's bold and wicked push had only placed him in a far worse
position than he occupied before. His father, for a moment, could
scarcely believe his ears; but this feeling of astonishment soon gave
way to a frown, before which Oscar cowered like a sheep before a lion.
Mr. Preston was a man of strong passions, but of few words. Having set
forth briefly but in vivid colors the aggravated nature of Oscar's
three-fold offence,--his attack upon Willie, his disobedience when
ordered to bed, and the falsehood with which he attempted to cover up
his disobedience,--he proceeded to inflict summary and severe
chastisement upon the offender. It was very rarely that he resorted to
this means of discipline, but this he deemed a case where it was
imperatively demanded.
Silence reigned in the boys' chamber the rest of the night. Oscar was
too sullen to speak; Ralph silently pitied his brother, not less for
the sins into which he had fallen than for the pain he had suffered;
and George was too much taken up with thinking about the probable
after-clap of this storm, to notice anything else.
Oscar was fond of his bed, and was usually the last one of the family
to rise, especially in cool weather. On the morning after the
occurrences above related, he laid abed later than usual even with him.
His father had gone to the store, and the children were out-doors at
play, before he made his appearance at the breakfast-table. He sat
down to the deserted table, and was helping himself to the cold
remnants of the meal, when his mother entered the room. Oscar noticed
that she looked unusually sad and dejected. After sitting in silence a
few moments, she remarked:
"You see how I look, this morning, Oscar. I did not sleep half an hour
last night, and now I am not fit to be up from my bed--and all on your
account. I am afraid your misconduct will be the death of me, yet. I
used to love to think how much comfort I should take in you, when you
should grow up into a tall, manly youth; but I have been sadly
disappointed, so far. The older you grow, the worse you behave, and
the more trouble you make me. Do you intend always to go on in this
way?"
Oscar nervously spread the slice of bread before him, but made no
reply. His mother continued her reproofs, in the same sad but
affectionate tone. She appealed to his sense of right, to his
gratitude, and to his hopes of future success and respectability in
life. She described the sad end to which these beginnings of
wrong-doing would inevitably lead him, and earnestly besought him to
try to do better, before his bad habits should become confirmed. Her
earnest manner, and her pale, haggard cheeks, down which tears were
slowly stealing, touched the feelings of Oscar. Moisture began to
gather in his eyes, in spite of himself. He tried to appear very much
interested in the food he was eating, and to look as though he was
indifferent to what his mother was saying. And, in a measure, he did
succeed in choking down those good feelings which were beginning to
stir in his heart, and which, mistaken boy! he thought it would be
unmanly to betray.
Yes, he was mistaken--sadly mistaken. Unmanly to be touched by a
mother's grief, and to be moved by a mother's tender entreaties!
Unmanly to acknowledge that we have done wrong, or to express sorrow
for the wrong act! Unmanly to resolve to resist temptation in the
future! Where is this monstrous law of manliness to be found? If
anywhere, it must be only in the code of pirates and desperadoes, who
have renounced all human laws and ties.
The school hour was at hand, and Oscar was obliged to start as soon as
he had finished his breakfast. Had he not stifled the better
promptings of his heart, and thus done violence to his nature, he would
not have left his mother without assuring her that he felt sorry for
his misconduct; for he _did_ feel some degree of regret, although he
was too proud to acknowledge it. His mother, however, saw some tokens
of feeling which he could not wholly conceal, and she left him with a
sad heart, but with the hope that at least some faint impression had
been made upon him.
And, indeed, some impression was made upon Oscar's heart. The feeling
of sullenness with which he awoke, had subsided into something
resembling "low spirits." Nor was this all the effect his mother's
conversation had upon him. As he lay awake in the morning, he had
planned the secret destruction of a beautiful sled which had been given
to George, the winter previous, and which was very precious in the eyes
of the owner; but now he relinquished this mean and revengeful design.
Little George thus escaped the dreaded "after-clap," but he never knew
what a blow it would have been, nor how near he came to feeling its
full force.