ISHMAEL GAINS HIS FIRST VERDICT.
Honor and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow,
The rest is all but leather and prunella.
--_Pope_.
So conjured, Ishmael lifted his face and confronted his accusers. It was
truth and intellect encountering falsehood and stupidity. Who could
doubt the issue?
"Sir," said the boy, "if you will look into the pockets of that young
gentleman, Master Alfred, you will find the stolen fruit upon him."
Alfred Burghe started and turned to run. But the gentleman was too quick
to let him escape, and caught him by the arm.
"What, sir! Mr. Middleton, would you search me at his bidding? Search
the son of Commodore Burghe at the bidding of--nobody's son?" exclaimed
the youth, struggling to free himself, while the blood seemed ready to
burst from his red and swollen face.
"For your vindication, young sir! For your vindication," replied Mr.
Middleton, proceeding to turn out the young gentleman's pockets, when
lo! oranges, figs, and nuts rolled upon the ground.
"It is infamous--so it is!" exclaimed Master Alfred, mad with shame and
rage.
"Yes, it is infamous," sternly replied Mr. Middleton.
"I mean it is infamous to treat a commodore's son in this way!"
"And I mean it is infamous in anybody's son to behave as you have, sir!"
"I bought the things at Nutt's shop! I bought them with my own money!
They are mine! I never touched your things. That fellow did! He took
them, and then told falsehoods about it."
"Sir," said Ishmael, "if you will examine that bundle, lying under that
bush, you will find something there to prove which of us two speaks the
truth."
Master Alfred made a dash for the bundle; but again Mr. Middleton was
too quick for him, and caught it up. It was a red bandanna silk
handkerchief stuffed full of parcels and tied at the corners. The
handkerchief had the name of Alfred Burghe on one corner; the small
parcel of nuts and raisins it contained were at once recognized by Mr.
Middleton as his own.
"Oh, sir, sir!" began that gentleman severely, turning upon the detected
culprit; but the young villain was at bay!
"Well?" he growled in defiance; "what now? what's all the muss about?
Those parcels were what I took off his person when he was running away
with them. Didn't I, Ben?"
Ben grumbled some inaudible answer, which Alfred assumed to be assent,
for he immediately added:
"And I tied them up in my handkerchief to give them back to you. Didn't
I, Ben?"
Ben mumbled something or other.
"And then I beat him for stealing. Didn't I, Ben?"
"Yes, you beat him," sulkily answered the younger brother.
Mr. Middleton gazed at the two boys in amazement; not that he
entertained the slightest doubt of the innocence of Ishmael and the
guilt of Alfred, but that he was simply struck with consternation at
this instance of hardened juvenile depravity.
"Sir," continued the relentless young prosecutor, "if you will please to
question Master Ben, I think he will tell you the truth. He has not told
a downright story yet."
"What! why he has been corroborating his brother's testimony all along!"
said Mr. Middleton.
"Only as to the assault, sir; not as to the theft. Please question him,
sir, to finish this business."
"I will! Ben, who stole the fruit and nuts from my carriage?"
Ben dug his hands into his pockets and turned sullenly away.
"Did this poor boy steal them? For if I find he did, I will send him to
prison. And I know you wouldn't like to see an innocent boy sent to
prison. So tell me the truth. Did he, or did he not, steal the articles
in question?"
"He did not; not so much as one of them," replied the younger Burghe.
"Did Alfred take them?"
Ben was sullenly silent.
"Did Alfred take them?" repeated Mr. Middleton.
"I won't tell you! So there now! I told you that fellow didn't! but I
won't tell you who did! It is real hard of you to want me to tell on my
own brother!" exclaimed Master Ben, walking off indignantly.
"That is enough; indeed the finding of the articles upon Alfred's person
was enough," said Mr. Middleton.
"I think this poor boy's word ought to have been enough!" said Claudia.
"And now, sir!" continued Mr. Middleton, turning to Master Burghe; "you
have been convicted of theft, falsehood, and cowardice--yes, and of the
meanest falsehood and the basest cowardice I ever heard of. Under these
circumstances, I cannot permit your future attendance upon my school.
You are no longer a proper companion for my pupils. To-morrow I shall
call upon your father, to tell him what has happened and advise him to
send you to sea, under some strict captain, for a three or five years'
cruise!"
"If you blow me to the governor, I'll be shot to death if I don't knife
you, old fellow!" roared the young reprobate.
"Begone, sir!" was the answer of Mr. Middleton.
"Oh, I can go! But you look out! You're all a set of radicals, anyhow!
making equals of all the rag, tag, and bobtail about. Look at Claudia
there! What would Judge Merlin say if he was to see his daughter with
her arm around that boy's neck!"
Claudia's eyes kindled dangerously, and she made one step towards the
offender, saying:
"Hark you, Master Alfred Burghe. Don't you dare to take my name between
your lips again! and don't you dare to come near me as long as you live,
or even to say to anybody that you were ever acquainted with me! If you
do I will make my papa have you hanged! For I do not choose to know a
thief, liar, and coward!"
"Claudia! Claudia! Claudia! You shock me beyond all measure, my dear!"
exclaimed the lady in a tone of real pain; and then lowering her voice
she whispered--"'Thief, liar, coward!' what shocking words to issue from
a young lady's lips."
"I know they are not nice words, Aunt Middleton, and if you will only
teach me nicer ones I will use them instead. But are there any pretty
words for ugly tricks?"
As this question was a "poser" that Mrs. Middleton did not attempt to
answer, the little lady continued very demurely:
"I will look in 'Webster' when I get home and see if there are."
"My boy," said Mr. Middleton, approaching our lad, "I have accused you
wrongfully. I am sorry for it and beg your pardon."
Ishmael looked up in surprise and with an "Oh, sir, please don't,"
blushed and hung his head. It seemed really dreadful to this poor boy
that this grave and dignified gentleman should ask his pardon! And yet
Mr. Middleton lost no dignity in this simple act, because it was right;
he had wronged the poor lad, and owed an apology just as much as if he
had wronged the greatest man in the country.
"And now, my boy," continued the gentleman, "be always as honest, as
truthful, and as fearless as you have shown yourself to-day, and though
your lot in life may be very humble--aye, of the very humblest--yet you
will be respected in your lowly sphere." Here the speaker opened his
portmonnaie and took from it a silver dollar, saying, "Take this, my
boy, not as a reward for your integrity,--that, understand, is a matter
of more worth than to be rewarded with money,--but simply as payment for
your time and trouble in defending my property."
"Oh, sir, please don't. I really don't want the money," said Ishmael,
shrinking from the offered coin.
"Oh, nonsense, my boy! You must be paid, you know," said Mr. Middleton,
urging the dollar upon him.
"But I do not want pay for a mere act of civility," persisted Ishmael,
drawing back.
"But your time and trouble, child; they are money to lads in your line
of life."
"If you please, sir, it was a holiday, and I had nothing else to do."
"But take this to oblige me."
"Indeed, sir, I don't want it. The professor is very freehearted and
pays me well for my work."
"The professor? What professor, my boy? I thought I had the honor to be
the only professor in the neighborhood," said the gentleman, smiling.
"I mean Professor Jim Morris, sir," replied Ishmael, in perfect good
faith.
"Oh! yes, exactly; I have heard of that ingenious and useful individual,
who seems to have served his time at all trades, and taken degrees in
all arts and sciences; but I did not know he was called a professor. So
you are a student in his college!" smiled Mr. Middleton.
"I help him, sir, and he pays me," answered the boy.
"And what is your name, my good little fellow?"
"Ishmael Worth, sir."
"Oh, yes, exactly; you are the son of the little weaver up on Hut Hill,
just across the valley from Brudenell Heights?"
"I am her nephew, sir."
"Are your parents living?"
"No, sir; I have been an orphan from my birth."
"Poor boy! And you are depending on your aunt for a home, and on your
own labor for a support?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Ishmael, as you very rightly take pay from my brother professor,
I do not know why you should refuse it from me."
Ishmael perhaps could not answer that question to his own satisfaction.
At all events, he hesitated a moment before he replied:
"Why, you see, sir, what I do for the other professor is all in the line
of my business; but the small service I have done for you is only a
little bit of civility that I am always so glad to show to any
gentleman--I mean to anybody at all, sir; even a poor wagoner, I often
hold horses for them, sir! And, bless you, they couldn't pay me a
penny."
"But I can, my boy! and besides you not only held my horse, and watered
him, and rubbed him down, and watched my carriage, but you fought a
stout battle in defense of my goods, and got yourself badly bruised by
the thieves, and unjustly accused by me. Certainly, it is a poor
offering I make in return for your services and sufferings in my
interests. Here, my lad, I have thought better of it; here is a half
eagle. Take it and buy something for yourself."
"Indeed, indeed, sir, I cannot. Please don't keep on asking me,"
persisted Ishmael, drawing back with a look of distress and almost of
reproach on his fine face.
Now, why could not the little fellow take the money that was pressed
upon him? He wanted it badly enough, Heaven knows! His best clothes were
all patches, and this five dollar gold piece would have bought him a new
suit. And besides there was an "Illustrated History of the United
States" in that book-shop, that really and truly Ishmael would have been
willing to give a finger off either of his hands to possess; and its
price was just three dollars. Now, why didn't the little wretch take the
money and buy the beautiful book with which his whole soul was enamored?
The poor child did not know himself. But you and I know, reader, don't
we? We know that he could not take the money, with the arm of that
black-eyed little lady around his neck!
Yes, the arm of Claudia was still most tenderly and protectingly
encircling his neck, and every few minutes she would draw down his rough
head caressingly to her own damask cheek.
Shocking, wasn't it? And you wonder how her aunt and uncle could have
stood by and permitted it. Because they couldn't help it. Miss Claudia
was a little lady, angel born, who had never been contradicted in her
life. Her father was a crochety old fellow, with a "theory," one result
of which was that he let his trees and his daughter grow up unpruned as
they liked.
But do not mistake Miss Claudia, or think her any better or any worse
than she really was. Her caresses of the peasant boy looked as if she
was republican in her principles and "fast" in her manners. She was
neither the one nor the other. So far from being republican, she was
just the most ingrained little aristocrat that ever lived! She was an
aristocrat from the crown of her little, black, ringletted head to the
sole of her tiny, gaitered foot; from her heart's core to her
scarf-skin; so perfect an aristocrat that she was quite unconscious of
being so. For instance, she looked upon herself as very little lower
than the angels; and upon the working classes as very little higher than
the brutes; if in her heart she acknowledged that all in the human shape
were human, that was about the utmost extent of her liberalism. She and
they were both clay, to be sure, but she was of the finest porcelain
clay and they of the coarsest potter's earth. This theory had not been
taught her, it was born in her, and so entirely natural and sincere that
she was almost unconscious of its existence; certainly unsuspicious of
its fallacy.
Thus, you see, she caressed Ishmael just exactly as she would have
caressed her own Newfoundland dog; she defended his truth and honesty
from false accusation just as she would have defended Fido's from a
similar charge; she praised his fidelity and courage just as she would
have praised Fido's; for, in very truth, she rated the peasant boy not
one whit higher than the dog! Had she been a degree less proud, had she
looked upon Ishmael as a human being with like passions and emotions as
her own, she might have been more reserved in her manner. But being as
proud as she was, she caressed and protected the noble peasant boy as a
kind-hearted little lady would have caressed and protected a noble
specimen of the canine race! Therefore, what might have been considered
very forward and lowering in another little lady, was perfectly graceful
and dignified in Miss Merlin.
But, meanwhile, the poor, earnest, enthusiastic boy! He didn't know that
she rated him as low as any four-footed pet! He thought she appreciated
him, very highly, too highly, as a human being! And his great little
heart burned and glowed with joy and gratitude! And he would no more
have taken pay for doing her uncle a service than he would have picked a
pocket or robbed a henroost! He just adored her lovely clemency, and he
was even turning over in his mind the problem how he, a poor, poor boy,
hardly able to afford himself a halfpenny candle to read by, after dark,
could repay her kindness--what could he find, invent, or achieve to
please her!
Of all this Miss Claudia only understood his gratitude; and it pleased
her as the gratitude of Fido might have done.
And she left his side for a moment, and raised herself on tiptoe and
whispered to her uncle:
"Uncle, he is a noble fellow--isn't he, now? But he loves me better than
he does you. So let me give him something."
Mr. Middleton placed the five dollar piece in her hand.
"No, no, no--not that! Don't you see it hurts his feelings to offer him
that?"
"Well--but what then?"
"I'll tell you: When we drove up to Hamlin's I saw him standing before
the shop, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the books in the
windows, just as I have seen hungry children stare at the tarts and
cakes in a pastry cook's. And I know he is hungry for a book! Now uncle,
let me give him a book."
"Yes; but had not I better give it to him, Claudia?"
"Oh, if you like, and he'll take it from you! But, you know, there's
Fido now, who sometimes gets contrary, and won't take anything from your
hand, but no matter how contrary he is, will always take anything from
mine. But you may try, uncle--you may try!"
This conversation was carried on in a whisper. When it was ended Mr.
Middleton turned to Ishmael and said:
"Very well, my boy; I can but respect your scruples. Follow us back to
Hamlin's."
And so saying, he helped his wife and his niece into the pony chaise,
got in himself, and took the reins to drive on.
Miss Claudia looked back and watched Ishmael as he limped slowly and
painfully after them. The distance was very short, and they soon reached
the shop.
"Which is the window he was looking in, Claudia?" inquired Mr.
Middleton.
"This one on the left hand, uncle."
"Ah! Come here, my boy; look into this window now, and tell me which of
these books you would advise me to buy for a present to a young friend
of mine?"
The poor fellow looked up with so much perplexity in his face at the
idea of this grave, middle-aged gentleman asking advice of him, that Mr.
Middleton hastened to say:
"The reason I ask you, Ishmael, is because, you being a boy would be a
better judge of another boy's tastes than an old man like me could be.
So now judge by yourself, and tell me which book you think would please
my young friend best. Look at them all, and take time."
"Oh, yes, sir. But I don't want time! Anybody could tell in a minute
which book a boy would like!"
"Which, then?"
"Oh, this, this, this! 'History of the United States,' all full of
pictures!"
"But here is 'Robinson Crusoe,' and here is the 'Arabian Nights'; why
not choose one of them?"
"Oh, no, sir--don't! They are about people that never lived, and things
that aren't true; and though they are very interesting, I know, there is
no solid satisfaction in them like there is in this--"
"Well, now 'this.' What is the great attraction of this to a boy? Why,
it's nothing but dry history," said Mr. Middleton, with an amused smile,
while he tried to "pump" the poor lad.
"Oh, sir, but there's so much in it! There's Captain John Smith, and Sir
Walter Raleigh, and Jamestown, and Plymouth, and the Pilgrim Fathers,
and John Hancock, and Patrick Henry, and George Washington, and the
Declaration of Independence, and Bunker's Hill, and Yorktown! Oh!" cried
Ishmael with an ardent burst of enthusiasm.
"You seem to know already a deal more of the history of our country than
some of my first-class young gentlemen have taken the trouble to learn,"
said Mr. Middleton, in surprise.
"Oh, no, I don't, sir. I know no more than what I have read in a little
thin book, no bigger than your hand, sir, that was lent to me by the
professor; but I know by that how much good there must be in this, sir."
"Ah! a taste of the dish has made you long for a feast."
"Sir?"
"Nothing, my boy, but that I shall follow your advice in the selection
of a book," said the gentleman, as he entered the shop. The lady and the
little girl remained in the carriage, and Ishmael stood feasting his
hungry eyes upon the books in the window.
Presently the volume he admired so much disappeared.
"There! I shall never see it any more!" said Ishmael, with a sigh; "but
I'm glad some boy is going to get it! Oh, won't he be happy to-night,
though! Wish it was I! No, I don't neither; it's a sin to covet!"
And a few minutes after the gentleman emerged from the shop with an
oblong packet in his hand.
"It was the last copy he had left, my boy, and I have secured it! Now do
you really think my young friend will like it?" asked Mr. Middleton.
"Oh, sir, won't he though, neither!" exclaimed Ishmael, in sincere
hearty sympathy with the prospective happiness of another.
"Well, then, my little friend must take it," said Mr. Middleton,
offering the packet to Ishmael.
"Sir!" exclaimed the latter.
"It is for you, my boy."
"Oh, sir, I couldn't take it, indeed! It is only another way of paying
me for a common civility," said Ishmael, shrinking from the gift, yet
longing for the book.
"It is not; it is a testimonial of my regard for you, my boy! Receive it
as such."
"I do not deserve such a testimonial, and cannot receive it, sir,"
persisted Ishmael.
"There, uncle, I told you so!" exclaimed Claudia, springing from the
carriage and taking the book from the hand of Mr. Middleton.
She went to the side of Ishmael, put her arm around his neck, drew his
head down against hers, leaned her bright cheek against his, and said:
"Come, now, take the book; I know you want it; take it like a good boy;
take it for my sake,"
Still Ishmael hesitated a little.
Then she raised the parcel and pressed it to her lips and handed it to
him again, saying:
"There, now, you see I've kissed it. Fido would take anything I kissed;
won't you?"
Ishmael now held out his hands eagerly for the prize, took it and
pressed it to his jacket, exclaiming awkwardly but earnestly:
"Thank you, miss! Oh, thank you a thousand, thousand times, miss! You
don't know how much I wanted this book, and how glad I am!"
"Oh, yes, I do. I'm a witch, and know people's secret thoughts. But why
didn't you take the book when uncle offered it?"
"If you are a witch, miss, you can tell."
"So I can; it was because you don't love uncle as well as you love me!
Well, Fido doesn't either. But uncle is a nice man for all that."
"I wonder who 'Fido' is," thought the poor boy. "I do wonder who he is;
her brother, I suppose."
"Come, Claudia, my love, get into the carriage; we must go home," said
Mr. Middleton, as he assisted his niece to her seat.
"I thank you very much, sir, for this very beautiful book," said
Ishmael, going up to Mr. Middleton and taking off his hat.
"You are very welcome, my boy; so run home now and enjoy it," replied
the gentleman, as he sprang into the carriage and took the reins.
"'Run home?' how can he run home, uncle? If he lives at the weaver's, it
is four miles off! How can he run it, or even walk it? Don't you see how
badly hurt he is? Why, he could scarcely limp from the pond to the shop!
I think it would be only kind, uncle, to take him up beside you. We pass
close to the hut, you know, in going home, and we could set him down."
"Come along, then, my little fellow! The young princess says you are to
ride home with us, and her highness' wishes are not to be disobeyed!"
laughed Mr. Middleton, holding out his hand to help the boy into the
carriage.
Ishmael made no objection to this proposal: but eagerly clambered up to
the offered seat beside the gentleman.
The reins were moved, and they set off at a spanking pace, and were soon
bowling along the turnpike road that made a circuit through the forest
toward Brudenell Heights.
The sun had set, a fresh breeze had sprung up, and, as they were driving
rapidly in the eye of the wind, there was scarcely opportunity for
conversation. In little more than an hour they reached a point in the
road within a few hundred yards of the weaver's hut.
"Here we are, my boy! Now, do you think you can get home without help?"
inquired Mr. Middleton, as he stopped the carriage.
"Oh, yes, sir, thank you!" replied Ishmael, as he clambered down to the
ground. He took off his hat beside the carriage, and making his best
Sabbath-school bow, said:
"Good-evening, sir; good-evening, madam and miss, and thank you very
much."
"Good-evening, my little man; there get along home with you out of the
night air," said Mr. Middleton.
Mrs. Middleton and the little lady nodded and smiled their adieus.
And Ishmael struck into the narrow and half hidden footpath that led
from the highway to the hut.
The carriage started on its way.
"A rather remarkable boy, that," said Mr. Middleton, as they drove along
the forest road encircling the crest of the hills towards Brudenell
Heights, that moonlit, dewy evening; "a rather remarkable boy! He has an
uncommonly fine head! I should really like to examine it! The intellect
and moral organs seem wonderfully developed! I really should like to
examine it carefully at my leisure."
"He has a fine face, if it were not so pale and thin," said Mrs.
Middleton.
"Poor, poor fellow," said Claudia, in a tone of deep pity, "he is thin
and pale, isn't he? And Fido is so fat and sleek! I'm afraid he doesn't
get enough to eat, uncle!"
"Who, Fido?"
"No, the other one, the boy! I say I'm afraid he don't get enough to
eat. Do you think he does?"
"I--I'm afraid not, my dear!"
"Then I think it is a shame, uncle! Rich people ought not to let the
poor, who depend upon them, starve! Papa says that I am to come into my
mamma's fortune as soon as I am eighteen. When I do, nobody in this
world shall want. Everybody shall have as much as ever they can eat
three times a day. Won't that be nice?"
"Magnificent, my little princess, if you can only carry out your ideas,"
replied her uncle.
"Oh! but I will! I will, if it takes every dollar of my income! My mamma
told me that when I grew up I must be the mother of the poor! And
doesn't a mother feed her children?"
Middleton laughed.
"And as for that poor boy on the hill, he shall have tarts and cheese
cakes, and plum pudding, and roast turkey, and new books every day;
because I like him; I like him so much; I like him better than I do
anything in the world except Fido!"
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Middleton, seizing this opportunity of
administering an admonition, "like him as well as Fido, if you please;
but do not pet him quite as freely as you pet Fido."
"But I will, if I choose to! Why shouldn't I?" inquired the young lady,
erecting her haughty little head.
"Because he is not a dog!" dryly answered her uncle.
"Oh! but he likes petting just as much as Fido! He does indeed, uncle; I
assure you! Oh, I noticed that."
"Nevertheless, Miss Claudia, I must object in future to your making a
pet of the poor boy, whether you or he like it or not."
"But I will, if I choose!" persisted the little princess, throwing back
her head and shaking all her ringlets.
Mr. Middleton sighed, shook his head, and turned to his wife,
whispering, in a low tone:
"What are we to do with this self-willed elf? To carry out her father's
ideas, and let her nature have unrestrained freedom to develop itself,
will be the ruin of her! Unless she is controlled and guided she is just
the girl to grow up wild and eccentric, and end in running away with her
own footman."
These words were not intended for Miss Claudia's ears; but
notwithstanding, or rather because of, that, she heard every syllable,
and immediately fired up, exclaiming:
"Who are you talking of marrying a footman? Me! me! me! Do you think
that I would ever marry anyone beneath me?' No, indeed! I will live to
be an old maid, before I will marry anybody but a lord! that I am
determined upon!"
"You will never reach that consummation of your hopes, my dear, by
petting a peasant boy, even though you do look upon him as little better
than a dog," said Mr. Middleton, as he drew up before the gates of
Brudenell.
A servant was in attendance to open them. And as the party were now at
home, the conversation ceased for the present.
Claudia ran in to exhibit her purchases.
Her favorite, Fido, ran to meet her, barking with delight.