This family was not only Thorogood but thorough-going. The father was a
blacksmith, with five sons and one daughter, and he used to hammer truth
into his children's heads with as much vigour as he was wont to hammer
the tough iron on his anvil; but he did it kindly. He was not a
growly-wowly, cross-grained man, like some fathers we know of--not he.
His broad, hairy face was like a sun, and his eyes darted sunbeams
wherever they turned. The faces of his five sons were just like his
own, except in regard to roughness and hair. Tom, and Dick, and Harry,
and Bob, and Jim, were their names. Jim was the baby. Their ages were
equally separated. If you began with Jim, who was three, you had only
to say--four, five, six, seven--Tom being seven.
These five boys were broad, and sturdy, like their father. Like him,
also, they were fond of noise and hammering. They hammered the
furniture of their father's cottage, until all of it that was weak was
smashed, and all that was strong became dreadfully dinted. They also
hammered each other's noses with their little fat fists, at times, but
they soon grew too old and wise for that; they soon, also, left off
hammering the heads of their sister's dolls, which was a favourite
amusement in their earlier days.
The mention of dolls brings us to the sister. She was like her mother--
little, soft, fair, and sweet-voiced; just as unlike her brothers in
appearance as possible--except that she had their bright blue, blazing
eyes. Her age was eight years.
It was, truly, a sight to behold this family sit down to supper of an
evening. The blacksmith would come in and seize little Jim in his
brawny arms, and toss him up to the very beams of the ceiling, after
which he would take little Molly on his knee, and fondle her, while "Old
Moll," as he sometimes called his wife, spread the cloth and loaded the
table with good things.
A cat, a kitten, and a terrier, lived together in that smith's cottage
on friendly terms. They romped with each other, and with the five boys,
so that the noise used sometimes to be tremendous; but it was not an
unpleasant noise, because there were no sounds of discontent or
quarrelling in it. You see, the blacksmith and his wife trained that
family well. It is wonderful what an amount of noise one can stand when
it is good-humoured noise.
Well, this blacksmith had a favourite maxim, which he was fond of
impressing on his children. It was this--"Whatever your hand finds to
do, do it with all your might, doing it as if to the Lord, and not to
men." We need hardly say that he found something like this maxim in the
Bible--a grand channel through which wisdom flows to man.
Of course he had some trouble in teaching his little ones, just as other
fathers have. One evening, when speaking about this favourite maxim, he
was interrupted by a most awful yell under the table.
"Why, what ever is the matter with the cat?" said the blacksmith in
surprise.
"It's on'y me, fadder," said little Jim; "I found hims tail, and I
pulled it _wid all my might_!"
"Ah, Jim!" said Mrs Thorogood, laughing, as she placed a huge plate of
crumpets on the table, "it's only when a thing is _right_ we are to do
it with our _might_. Pulling the cat's tail is wrong.
"`When a thing's wrong,
Let it alone.
When a thing's right,
Do it with might.'
"Come now, supper's ready."
"Capital poetry, Old Moll," shouted the blacksmith, as he drew in his
chair, "but not quite so good as the supper. Now, then--silence."
A blessing was asked with clasped hands and shut eyes. Then there was a
sudden opening of the eyes and a tendency in little hands to grasp at
the crumpets, buttered-toast, bacon, and beans, but good training told.
Self-restraint was obvious in every trembling fist and glancing eye.
Only curly-haired little Jim found the smell too much for him. He was
about to risk reputation and everything, when a glance from his father
quelled the rebellious spirit.
"Come, Jim, fair-play. Let it go right round, like the sun,--beginning
wi' mother."
Then silence reigned for a time--a profound silence--while upwards of
two hundred teeth went to work. Ere long most of the children were
buttered to the eyes, and their rosy cheeks glistened like ripe apples.
Soon the blacksmith drew a long breath and paused. Looking round with a
benign smile he asked little Jim how he got along.
"Fust rate," said Jim.
"How I wish," said Dick, with a sad look at the toast, "that we might go
on eatin' for ever."
"Is it right, daddy," asked Tom, during a pause, "to _eat_ with all our
might?"
"Certainly, my boy, till you've had enough. After that it's wrong to
eat at all. `Enough's as good as a feast,' you know. Now, Old Moll,
one more cup to wash it all down, and then we'll go in for a
confabulation round the fire."
Now, nothing rejoiced the hearts of that family so much as a
confabulation round the fire on a winter night, or under the great elm
in front of the forge on the village green in summer.
The table was cleared as if by magic, for every member of the family
helped. Soon, little Jim was sleeping as sound as a top in his crib,
and Mrs Thorogood, with her knitting, joined the others at the fire, by
the light of which the blacksmith made a little boat for Harry with a
gully knife and a piece of stick.
"It's a stormy night," said Mrs Thorogood, as a violent gust of wind
came down the chimney and rattled the window-frames.
"Ah, it was on just such a night that, my dear old father and mother
were burnt out of house and home," said the blacksmith; "well do I mind
about it, for I was over ten years old at the time. We never found out
what it was that set the house alight, but when it had once caught, it
fetched way like lightning--the wind was so high. The first thing that
woke me was sneezin' wi' the smoke. Then, I'd just opened my eyes when
I saw the head of a ladder come crash through the window. It was the
fire-escape. Father tried to save mother, but he was lame, and fell
down half-choked. I tried to help him, but I was too young. Then a
strapping fireman stepped in at the window, as cool as a cucumber,
pitched us all into the escape, one after another; and so, through God's
mercy, we were saved. I've loved the firemen ever since. They are the
boys to show you how to do things well; to do things with might and
main, and no fuss, and to submit to discipline without a word."
"Oh, father!" cried Harry with blazing eyes, "I should dearly like to be
a fireman, an' go fightin' the flames."
"And Dick?" asked Mrs Thorogood, "wouldn't _you_ like to be one, too?"
"No, mother. It's very grand, but I don't like smoke. I'd rather be a
lifeboat-man, to fight wi' the storm, and save people from the roarin'
waves."
Tom glanced at one of his toy ships, and said he'd like to fight the
battles of his country on the sea. Bob looked affectionately at a
wooden sword and gun which stood in a corner, and thought he'd prefer to
fight _his_ battles on the land.
"You're all for fighting, I see," chimed in soft-eyed Molly; "I wonder
what little Jim would like to be, if he was awake."
"I know what battles _I_ would like to see him fighting," said Mrs
Thorogood.
"Why," exclaimed the blacksmith in surprise, "I thought you hated
fighting of all kinds?"
"No, not all kinds. I should like to see little Jim fighting the battle
of the Prince of Peace."
Of course there was a clamorous questioning as to what that meant, but
we must not devote space to this subject. Neither can we afford to
follow the history of each member of this family step by step. We will
grow them up at once, and tell you what came of all their enthusiastic
desires and lofty aspirations in succeeding chapters.
Only thus much will we say in conclusion; when the blacksmith said it
was time to be off to bed that night, the children rose _at once_; gave
and received a hearty kiss all round, and went off to "turn in," as
sailors express it, "with a will." They had learned _obedience_--the
most difficult lesson that man has got to learn--the lesson which few
learn thoroughly, and which our Lord sets us as a test of our loyalty to
Himself, when He says says,--"If ye love Me, keep My commandments."