The girls were helping in the house,
With bustle and with show,
And told the boys to go away,
And not disturb them so.
And the boys went whistling down the streets,
And looking in the shops
At tempting heaps of oranges,
And piles of sugar-drops.
"Here, Willie, to the grocer's run;
Be sharp, now--there's a man,
And bring me home a pound of plums
As quickly as you can!
"Don't touch a plum--be sure you don't;
To-morrow you shall eat."
"I won't." he said, and, like a top,
Went spinning down the street.
The grocer weigh'd them in his scales,
And there was one too much;
He took it out, and all was right,
The scale was to a touch.
He wrapp'd them up in whitey-brown,
And tied them with a string,
And put the money in the till,
As 'twere a common thing.
Young Willie watched, with greedy eyes,
As this affair went on.
The plums--they look'd so very nice!
He wouldn't take but _one_.
So going quick behind a post,
He tore the paper so
That he could take out two or three,
And nobody would know.
There was a little voice that said,
Close by, in Willie's heart,
"Don't tear the hole--don't take the plum--
Don't play a thievish part!"
The little voice--it spoke in vain!
He reach'd his mother's door;
She did not see the hole he'd made,
His trouble then was o'er.
And what a trifling thing it seem'd,
To take one single plum!
A little thing we hold between
Our finger and out thumb.
And yet upon that Christmas eve,
That period so brief,
Young Willie set his foot upon
"The ladder of the thief!"
And as he lay awake that night,
He heard his parents speak;
He heard distinctly what they said,
The blood rush'd to his cheek.
He lay and listn'd earnestly;
They might have found him out,
And he might get a flogging too,
'Twas that he thought about.
A guilty person cannot rest,
He always is in fear;
Not knowing what may happen next
To make his guilt appear.
So, when he heard his mother speak,
He rose up in his bed,
And did not lose a syllable
Of every word she said:--
"We have not any turnips, John,
I could not spare the pence;
But you can go and get us some
Through Farmer Turner's fence.
"There's nobody to see you now,
The folks are off the road;
The night looks dark and blustering,
And no one is abroad.
"It is not far--you'll soon be back--
I'll stand outside to hear;
The watchman now is off his track,
And won't be coming near."
The father he went softly out,
And down the lane he crept,
And stole some turnips from the field
Whilst honest people slept!
'Tis not the words that parents say,
It is their very deed;
Their children know the difference,
And follow where they lead.
How often, if their lives are good,
Their children's are the same;
Whilst, if they're thievish, drunken,
Their children come to shame!
Now, Willie laid him down in bed,
His conscience found relief;
"I'm not the only one," he said--
"My father is a thief!
"How foolish 'twas to be afraid
About a little plum!"
He pull'd the bed-clothes o'er his head,
And dream'd of feasts to come.
On Christmas-day they had the pies.
The turnips, and the beef;
And Willie's foot was firm upon
The ladder of the thief.
And ere the snow was on the plain,
And Christmas-day came round,
And boys were sliding, once again,
Upon the frozen ground,
He, step by step, had further gone
Upon that dreadful road
That brings a man to misery,
And takes him far from God.
He cheated with his marbles first,
And then at other play;
He pilfered any little thing
That came within his way.
His parents did not punish him;
He went from bad to worse,
Until he grew so confident,
He stole a lady's purse.
Then he was seized, and brought before
The city magistrate;
And the police and lady came
The robbery to state.
And Willie he was proved a thief,
And nothing had to say;
So to the dreadful prison-house
He soon was led away.
In vain he cried, and pleaded hard
They would not take him there;
He would not do such things again
If they would hear his prayer.
It was too late! The prison door,
With bolt, and bar, and chain,
Was opened to take Willie in,
And then was shut again.
He saw the handcuffs on the wall,
The fetters on the floor;
And heavy keys with iron rings
To lock the dungeon door.
He saw the little, lonely cells
Where prisoners were kept,
And all the dreary passages,
And bitterly he wept.
And through the strong-barred iron grate,
High up and far away,
He saw a piece of clear blue sky
Out in the blessed day.
And "Oh!" he said, "my brothers now
Are out of school again,
And playing marbles on the path,
Or cricket on the plain.
"And here am I, shut up so close
Within this iron door;
If ever I get out again
I'll give this business o'er."
And Willie went to sleep that night
In his dark cell alone;
But often in his troubled dreams
He turned with heavy moan.
What sound is that at early morn
That breaks upon his ear?
A funeral bell is tolling slow,
It tolls so very near.
And in the court he sees a crowd,
So haggard and so pale,
And they are whispering fearfully
A sad and awful tale.
And all seem looking at a man
Who stands with fetters bound,
And guards and executioner
Are gathered close around.
And he beheld that wretched man,
Who trembled like a leaf:
His foot no more would stand upon
The ladder of the thief.
For he had climbed it step by step,
Till murder closed the whole;
The hangman came to take his life,
But where would be his soul?
And still the bell went tolling on;
It tolled so heavily
As that young man went up the stairs,
Out to the gallows-tree.
It tolled--it tolled--Oh! heavy sound!
It stopped--the deed is o'er;
And that young man upon the earth
Will now be seen no more:
Oh! parents watch your little ones,
Lest you have such a grief;
Help not their tender feet to climb
The ladder of the thief.
I have not heard young Willie's end,
I hope he learned that day;
But 'tis a thing most difficult
To leave a wicked way.