IN WHICH HARRY FINDS THAT EVEN A BROKEN HEAD MAY BE OF SOME USE TO A
PERSON
When Harry recovered his consciousness, he found himself in an
elegantly furnished chamber, with several persons standing around the
bed upon which he had been laid. A physician was standing over him,
engaged in dressing the severe wound he had received in the side of
his head.
"There, young man, you have had a narrow escape," said the doctor, as
he saw his patient's eyes open.
"Where am I?" asked Harry, faintly, as he tried to concentrate his
wandering senses.
"You are in good hands, my boy. What is your name?"
"Harry West. Can't I go home now?" replied the sufferer, trying to
rise on the bed.
"Do you feel as though you could walk home?"
"I don't know; I feel kind of faint."
"Does your head pain you?"
"No, sir; it feels numb, and everything seems to be flying round."
"I dare say."
Harry expressed an earnest desire to go home, and the physician
consented to accompany him in a carriage to Mrs. Flint's residence. He
had been conveyed in his insensible condition to a house in Boylston
Street, the people of which were very kind to him, and used every
effort to make him comfortable.
A carriage was procured, and Harry was assisted to enter it; for he
was so weak and confused that he could not stand alone. Ben had struck
him a terrible blow; and, as the physician declared, it was almost a
miracle that he had not been killed.
Mrs. Flint and Katy were shocked and alarmed when they saw the
helpless boy borne into the house; but everything that the
circumstances required was done for him.
"Has Edward come home?" he asked, when they had placed him on the bed.
"No, not yet."
"They will wonder what has become of me at the store," continued the
sufferer, whose thoughts reverted to his post of duty.
"I will go down to the store and tell them what has happened," said
Mr. Callender, the kind gentleman to whose house Harry had been
carried, and who had attended him to his home.
"Thank you, sir; you are very good. I don't want them to think that I
have run away, or anything of that sort."
"They will not think so, I am sure," returned Mr. Callender, as he
departed upon his mission.
"Do you think I can go to the store to-morrow?" asked Harry, turning
to the physician.
"I am afraid not; you must keep very quiet for a time."
Harry did not like this announcement. He had never been sick a day in
his life; and it seemed to him just then as though the world could not
possibly move on without him to help the thing along. A great many
persons cherish similar notions, and cannot afford to be sick a single
day.
I should like to tell my readers at some length what blessings come to
us while we are sick; what angels with healing ministrations for the
soul visit the couch of pain; what holy thoughts are sometimes kindled
in the darkened chamber; what noble resolutions have their birth in
the heart when the head is pillowed on the bed of sickness. But my
remaining space will not permit it; and I content myself with
remarking that sickness in its place is just as great a blessing as
health; that it is a part of our needed discipline. When any of my
young friends are sick, therefore, let them yield uncomplainingly to
their lot, assured that He who hath them in his keeping "doeth all
things well."
Harry was obliged to learn this lesson; and when the pain in his head
began to be almost intolerable, he fretted and vexed himself about
things at the store. He was not half as patient as he might have been;
and, during the evening, he said a great many hard things about Ben
Smart, the author of his misfortune. I am sorry to say he cherished
some malignant, revengeful feelings towards him, and looked forward
with a great deal of satisfaction to the time when he should be
arrested and punished for his crime.
Both Mr. Wake and Mr. Wade called upon him as soon as they heard of
his misfortune. They were very indignant when they learned that Harry
was suffering for telling the truth. They assured him that they should
miss him very much at the store, but they would do the best they
could--which, of course, was very pleasant to him. But they told him
they could get along without him, bade him not fret, and said his
salary should be paid just the same as though he did his work.
"Thank you! thank you! You are very good," exclaimed Harry.
"Yes," Mr. Wade continued; "and, as it will cost you more to be sick,
we will raise your wages to four dollars a week. What do you say,
Wade?"
"Certainly," replied the junior, warmly.
There was no possible excuse for fretting now. With so many kind
friends around him, he had no excuse for fretting; but his human
nature rebelled at his lot, and he made himself more miserable than
the pain of his wound could possibly have made him. Mrs. Flint, who
sat all night by his bedside, labored in vain to make him resigned to
his situation. It seemed as though the great trial of his lifetime had
come--that which he was least prepared to meet and conquer.
The next day he was very feverish. His head ached, and the pain of his
wound was very severe. His moral condition was, if possible, worse
than on the preceding night. He was fretful, morose, and unreasonable
towards those kind friends who kept vigil around his bedside. Strange
as it may seem, and strange as it did seem to himself, his thoughts
seldom reverted to the little angel. Once, when he thought of her
extended on the bed of pain as he was then, her example seemed to
reproach him. She had been meek and patient through all her
sufferings--had been content to die, even, if it was the will of the
Father in heaven. With a peevish exclamation, he drove her--his
guardian angel, as she often seemed to him--from his mind, with the
reflection that she could not have been as sick as he was, that she
did not endure as much pain as he did. For several days he remained in
pretty much the same state. His head ached, and the fever burned in
his veins. His moral symptoms were not improved, and he continued to
snarl and growl at those who took care of him.
"Give me some cold water, marm; I don't want your slops," fretted he,
when Mrs. Flint brought him his drink.
"But the doctor says you mustn't have cold water." It was twenty-five
years ago.
"Confound the doctor! Give me a glass of cold water, and I will--"
The door opened then, causing him to suspend the petulant words; for
one stood there whose good opinion he valued more than that of any
other person.
"Oh, Harry! I am so sorry to see you so sick!" exclaimed Julia Bryant,
rushing to his bedside.
She was followed by her father and mother; and Katy had admitted them
unannounced to the chamber.
"Julia! is it you?" replied Harry, smiling for the first time since
the assault.
"Yes, Harry; I hope you are better. When I heard about it last night,
I would not give father any peace till he promised to bring me to
Boston."
"Don't be so wild, Julia," interposed her mother. "You forget that he
is very sick."
"Forgive me, Harry; I was so glad and so sorry. I hope I didn't make
your head ache," she added, in a very gentle tone.
"No, Julia. It was very good of you to come and see me."
Harry felt a change come over him the moment she entered the room. The
rebellious thoughts in his bosom seemed to be banished by her
presence; and though his head ached and his flesh burned as much as
ever, he somehow had more courage to endure them.
After Mr. and Mrs. Bryant had asked him a few questions, and expressed
their sympathy in proper terms, they departed, leaving Julia to remain
with the invalid for a couple of hours.
"I did not expect to see you, Julia," said Harry, when they had gone.
"Didn't you think I would do as much for you as you did for me?"
"It was rather different with you. I am only a poor boy, and you are a
rich man's child."
"Pooh, Harry! Our souls are all of a color. You can't think how bad I
felt when father got Mr. Wake's letter."
"It's a hard case to be knocked down in that way, and laid up in the
house for a week or two."
"I know it; but we must be patient."
"Can't be patient. I haven't any patience--not a bit. If I could get
hold of Ben Smart, I would choke him. I hope they will catch him and
send him to the state prison for life."
Julia looked sad. These malignant words did not sound like those of
the Harry West she had known and loved. They were so bitter that they
curdled the warm blood in her veins, and the heart of Harry seemed
less tender than before.
"Harry," said she, in soft tones, and so sad that he could not but
observe the change which had come over her.
"Well, Julia."
"You don't mean what you said."
"Don't mean it?"
"No, I am sure you don't. Do you remember what the Bible says?"
"What does it say?" asked he, deeply impressed by the sad and solemn
tones of the little angel.
"'Forgive your enemies,' Harry."
"Forgive Ben Smart, after he has almost killed me?" Julia took up the
Bible, which lay on the table by the bedside--it was the one she had
given him--and read several passages upon the topic she had
introduced.
Harry was ashamed of himself. The gentle rebuke she administered
touched his soul, and he thought how peevish and ill-natured he had
been.
"You have been badly hurt, Harry, and you are very sick. Now, let me
ask you one question: Which would you rather be, Harry West, sick as
you are, or Ben Smart, who struck the blow?"
"I had rather be myself," replied he, promptly.
"You ought to be glad that you are Harry West, instead of Ben Smart.
Sick as you are, I am sure you are a great deal happier than he can
be, even if he is not punished for striking you."
"You are right, Julia. I have been very wicked. Here I have been
grumbling and growling all the time for four days. I have learned
better. It is lucky for me that I am Harry, instead of Ben."
"I am sure I have been a great deal better since I was sick than
before. When I lay on the bed, hardly able to move, I kept thinking
all the time; and my thoughts did me a great deal of good."
Harry had learned his lesson, and Julia's presence was indeed an
angel's visit. For an hour longer she sat by his bed, and her words
were full of inspiration; and when her father called for her he could
hardly repress a tear as she bade him good night.
After she had gone Harry begged Mrs. Flint and Katy to forgive him for
being so cross, promising to be patient in the future. And he kept his
promise. The next day Julia came again. She read to him, conversed
with him about the scenes of the preceding autumn in the woods, and
told him again about her own illness. In the afternoon she bade him a
final adieu, as she was to return that day to her home.
The patience and resignation which he had learned gave a favorable
turn to his sickness, and he began to improve. It was a month,
however, before he was able to take his place in the store again.
Without the assistance of Julia, perhaps, he had not learned the moral
of sickness so well. As it was, he came forth from his chamber with
truer and loftier motives, and with a more earnest desire to lead the
true life.
Ben Smart had been arrested; and, shortly after his recovery, Harry
was summoned as a witness at his trial. It was a plain case, and Ben
was sent to the house of correction for a long term.