THE painted humming-top was a source of great pleasure to Ben. He
would amuse himself with it for the hour together. But the book of
pictures which the lithe girl had given him, delighted him still more.
The stories that were printed with the pictures were all told in short
easy words, so that Ben had no difficulty in reading them. As we said
before, Ben had always lived in London, and therefore he knew very
little of all the pleasant things the book spoke about. But his mother,
who had lived in the country far away from crowded cities when she was
a child, was able to explain everything to him.
One of the pictures was called "Haymaking," and in it was a waggon
full of hay with a group of merry children sitting on the top. Ben had
often seen great carts of hay going through the streets. But they did
not look as nice as the one in the picture, and he had never seen any
children riding on them.
Then his mother explained to him all about hayfields and haymaking.
How, on a bright summer's morning, very early, before the sun had
chased away the drops which sparkled on the grass, a pleasant sound
was heard, "rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink." This was the mowers who were
sharpening, or whetting, as it is called, their scythes, ready for
cutting down the long grass. Soon they were hard at work, and when the
grass was cut, it was shaken and spread out over the meadow by means of
hay-forks.
Mrs. Holt told Ben that she and each of her brothers had a little
hay-fork of their own, and that they all used to go and help to spread
the hay in the sun. It was looked upon quite as a holiday, although it
was often very hot in the hayfield, but the children did not mind that.
Then they used to have their dinner under a shady tree in one corner of
the field, and then to work again when the meal was over.
But the best part of it all was when the hay was made, that is, quite
dry and ready for the rick. Then the waggon came along, and the
haymakers would throw the hay into it with their long forks. When it
was quite full, and ready to go to the rick-yard, all the children
would be lifted up on to the top of the sweet-smelling hay, shouting
and hurrahing for joy as they rode along.
Poor Mrs. Holt! It was long ago since all that pleasure had been hers,
but her eye grew brighter, and her cheek lost something of its paleness
as she recalled the happy days of her childhood. She told Ben, also,
how kind the rough mowers would be to the poor little birds, some of
whom, the ground-lark particularly, used to build their nests among
the long grass of the field. When the mowers, as they were cutting the
grass, came upon one of these tiny nests, they did not take it away, as
some cruel boys would have done. But they gathered a branch from one of
the trees in the meadow, and stuck it in the ground just over the nest,
so that people might know it was there, and not tread upon it as they
passed by. And the children would steal gently up to the spot and peep
in at the tiny eggs. One of our poets has said—
"He prayeth best who loveth best
All creatures great and small;
For the great God who loveth us,
He made and cares for all."
Another picture in the book was a party of little boys and girls going
into the woods to gather primroses, violets, and other sweet spring
flowers. Poor Ben! All "he" knew of primroses and violets was seeing
women and children selling them in little bunches in the streets. His
mother told him how, in the early spring, they used to go into the
woods, the dry leaves rustling under their feet as they walked. How, in
some parts, the ground was covered with primroses, so that you could
scarcely walk without treading on them, and how pretty they looked
peeping up from amidst bright green leaves and feathery moss.
But there was one picture which pleased Ben almost more than any of the
others. There were tall shady trees overhanging a little brook of clear
sparkling water—so clear it was, that you could see every little stone
at the bottom. Two or three boys about Ben's age had taken off their
shoes and stockings, and were paddling about in the water. Ben's mother
told him that there was a little stream, just like the one in the
picture, flowing close to where she lived when a child, and that her
brothers used frequently, on a hot summer's day, to amuse themselves as
the children were doing in the picture.
Ben sighed as he looked at them.
"Did you always live in the country, mother, when you were young?"
"I never lived anywhere else until I was long past your age, Ben.
Father and mother had a little cottage by the side of a great wood,
which in spring-time, used to be full of wild flowers."
"Oh, mother, if I could but ride in a hay-cart!" said Ben.
"It's a fine pleasant thing, Ben. Many and many a time I've ridden
in one; for father used to work for a farmer who had a great many
hayfields."
"Where are your father and mother now?" asked Ben.
"In heaven."
"When did they die, mother?"
"Long, long ago, Ben."
"And who lives in the little cottage by the wood-side now, mother?"
"Ah, child, I'm sure I don't know. I did hear tell some years back,
that my oldest brother Will had gone to live there. But I've never
heard anything from him since I left home quite a girl, when father and
mother died, and we children had all to turn out and get our living. It
has been against my hearing from any of them that neither of us knew
how to write. Often and often have I felt the want of it; and that made
me so anxious that you should be as good a scholar as I could afford to
make you, Ben."
"When I can write well enough, I will write to my uncle Will, mother,
and ask him where he lives?"
"You must know that first, silly boy," said his mother, laughing.
"Then, mother, I tell you what I'll do. I'll make haste and learn as
much as I can, and grow up to be a rich man, and thou we will go down
into the country, and you shall show me the cottage by the wood-side,
and we will see who lives there."
"That will be a very good plan, Ben."
Ben dreamed that night that he was picking primroses in the wood near
his mother's old home. When he awoke in the morning, it was with a
feeling of sadness that he looked out of the window, and saw nothing
but the same smoky roofs of houses, and the same narrow strip of sky
overhead.
————————
It was a sickly autumn time that year, and Mrs. Holt's face grew paler
and paler, and her strength became less and less each day as she
sat at work the long and weary hours in that small close room. Ben
thought his mother seemed very ill; for her voice was so weak, and
very often her head ached so badly that she could not bear the noise
of the humming-top in the room. She was able to do very little work,
and could not, therefore, earn much money; so that they were often
very hungry, and lived on the poorest food. A half-crown a week had to
be put by for the rent, come what would, or else they would have been
turned into the street. Mrs. Holt had been obliged to sell a great deal
of the furniture that she possessed when her husband lived, but her
little room had still many tidy things in it. And she could not bear
the thoughts of giving it all up, and going into the workhouse. So she
still struggled on, and prayed to God to help her and little Ben.
The last bundle of work was taken by Ben to the shop; for his
mother was too ill to go herself. He brought home three shillings
and tenpence, the payment for it; and his mother put on one side
half-a-crown for the rent the next Monday, and there was then only one
shilling and fourpence left.
"I must keep you at home, Ben, after this week, until times get better,
for I shall not be able to afford to pay the pence for your schooling."
"Never mind, mother; I can write a copy at home, and read to you every
day. I can also nurse you and help to make you well. It will be better
than you being by yourself all day long."
The parish doctor came that day, and told Mrs. Holt that all she wanted
was plenty of nourishing things, and then she would soon be well.
The poor woman sighed as she felt how utterly impossible it was for her
to buy suitable food when her whole worldly wealth was one shilling
and fourpence, and she had no hope of earning more in her present weak
state.
The next morning, when Ben went to school, he told the master that he
should not be able to attend after that week, as his mother was ill,
and could not afford to pay for him. The master was sorry to hear it,
for Ben was a steady and promising pupil, and he thought it a great
pity his studies should be interrupted. He asked Ben several questions
about his mother, and planned in his mind to mention the case to a kind
lady, who, he knew, had severed times paid for deserving boys when
their parents were unable to do so. He said nothing about it to Ben,
however, until he should be quite sure of the matter.
When Ben went home in the middle of the day, he found his mother much
worse. A neighbour was with her, and Ben heard her say she was sure his
mother would never get better unless she had something to strengthen
her. Ben glanced at her pale thin face and wasted hands, and the
thought suddenly came over him that his mother was going to die. The
thought seemed more than he was able to bear, and falling on his knees
by the bedside, he hid his face in the bed-clothes and burst into tears.
Mrs. Holt guessed what was passing in her son's mind.
"Don't cry, my own dear boy," she said; "I shall be better soon, please
God; and if not, dear Ben, it will be all for the best, however hard it
may seem at the time. If God should take me, Ben, He will watch over
you and keep you from harm, so long as you pray for strength to do His
will and try to be a good boy."
"Oh, mother, mother!" sobbed little Ben.
She spoke soothing words of comfort to him, and by degrees he became
calmer. And having eaten a crust of dry bread for his dinner, she
persuaded him to return to school, being unwilling that he should lose
even the few days' instruction still remaining to him.
The neighbours had promised to look in at his mother now and then
during the afternoon, and so Ben, who had always obeyed her slightest
wish, went off to school but with a heavy, aching heart.
If he could only get some nourishing things for his mother! "Then,"
perhaps, she would soon be well. Oh, if he were only grown up, and
could earn something for her? These thoughts ran in his mind all the
time he was at school, but no one took any notice of the sad face of
little Ben, for the master to whom he had spoken in the morning was not
there in the afternoon.
It was the custom of the school for two of the boys to stay every
evening after the others had left, to sweep and tidy up the room. This
evening it fell to Ben's turn and that of Tom Wade, a boy some years
older than Ben, and who likewise lived in White Horse Alley. Tom was
not a good boy; and Mrs. Holt had never allowed Ben to be very intimate
with him, although he was a near neighbour. He used bad words and
played at pitch and toss, and other low games. He always seemed as if
he had a grudge against Ben; perhaps it was because the latter would
not be friends with him and share in his bad ways.
This afternoon, he was taunting poor Ben with his poverty, and telling
him it was his own fault that he was not better off.
"Look here," he said, as he rattled some money in his pocket, and then
drew out a good handful of halfpence. "I won them all at dinner time,
and you might do the same if you were not so particular."
"But it is not honest, Tom."
"Not honest, isn't it? Well then, be honest and starve; and see your
mother starve too."
Tom had heard that Mrs. Holt was very ill, and that she was unable to
do any work.
The tears rose to Ben's eyes at this unfeeling speech. He did not
answer, however, but went on busily with his work of sweeping. All at
once his eye was attracted by something bright and shining amongst the
heap of dirt and rubbish he had swept together. He stooped down to pick
it up.
"Why, what's this?" he cried, as his hand grasped a small gold coin.
Tom was close to him, and looked over his shoulder as he spoke.
"What is it? Why, it's half-a-sovereign! Now you're all right!"
continued Tom, slapping Ben on the back in a familial way. "You go
halves with me, and I won't tell a word."
"What do you mean?" asked Ben, in utter amazement.
"Mean! Why, that there'll be five shillings apiece for us; and five
shillings will buy plenty of good things for your mother," said Tom.
This was attacking poor Ben in his weakest part. Five shillings! Why,
it seemed to Ben a little mine of wealth; and visions of his sick
mother daily becoming stronger, and than getting quite well, rose up
before his mind, and for a moment, banished every other thought.
But then his mother: had she not told him that he was always to try and
do what was right, let the cost be what it might? In this case, the
cost was very great; to Ben it seemed as if it were almost his mother's
life, the precious life of his only earthly friend. But was even this
to deter him? Ought he, under any circumstances, to do what he knew
would be breaking one of God's commandments? These thoughts followed
each other in quick succession through Ben's mind; and still, for a
moment, he hesitated.
Tom saw his hesitation. "No one will know it," he whispered.
His voice had a hissing sound, and Ben shuddered as he listened.
Was it true? Would no one know it?
Thanks to the pious lessons of his mother, blessed as they had been by
God's Holy Spirit, Ben knew that it was not true.
"God will know it, Tom!" cried Ben, pointing, as he spoke, to a text
printed in large letters, and hanging on the walls of the schoolroom—
"THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE, BEHOLDING THE EVIL AND THE
GOOD."
"God will know it, Tom, and we should be thieves if we kept this money."
"You're afraid!" said Tom Wade, in a jeering tone. "You're a coward!"
Was Ben afraid?
He was afraid, and yet he was no coward. St. Paul tells us (Heb. xii.
28), that there is a "godly fear," which will help us to serve God; and
David says in the Psalms (cxi. 10), that "the fear of the Lord is the
beginning of wisdom." There can be no cowardice in having such a fear
as that; on the contrary, we should pray earnestly that we may have
that fear, that "holy fear" of every sinful way, which will enable us
to "depart from evil."
"I'm afraid of doing wrong," said Ben, in answer to Tom's jeering
remarks, "and for fear I should be tempted to keep the money, I will go
and give it to the master at once."
"That you shan't," cried Tom, making a dart at the money which Ben held
in his hand. "I'll keep it, if you're afraid to do so."
Tom was much bigger and stronger than Ben, but Ben had right on his
side. It was Tom Wade who was the real coward after all,—the mean,
dishonest boy who had not the courage, the moral courage, to do what
was right.
Although not very strong, Ben was light and agile. And avoiding Tom's
grasp, he made one spring, and reached the door, and was out of the
room before Tom could overtake him.
A mocking laugh and threatening words rang in his ears as he ran across
the yard towards the residence of the masters.
Dreading that Tom would pursue him, he rushed on, almost flew
up-stairs, and, breathless and exhausted, entered the room where the
teachers were just sitting down to tea.
"What is the matter, Holt?" they cried, in a tone of surprise.
Whilst the kind master to whom Ben had spoken in the morning, came up
to the excited boy, and bade him sit down and recover himself a little
before he attempted to speak.
"Take it, oh, please take it, sir!" cried Ben, putting the
half-sovereign into the hands of his friend.
Mr. Marland had proved himself a real friend to Ben that day, although
as yet the boy knew nothing of it.
Ben Holt's sad face whilst announcing that his mother could no longer
afford to send him to school, had haunted the kind-hearted master all
the day long. And he had been that very afternoon to call upon the
benevolent lady of whom he had thought in the morning, and had told
her of the illness of Ben's mother, and of Ben himself being obliged
to stay away from school in consequence. She had promised to pay for
his schooling until his mother was quite well again, and had given Mr.
Marland five shillings for Mrs. Holt, should he find her case to be a
really deserving one. Moreover, she had promised to call and see the
poor woman herself in a day or two. All this Mr. Marland told to happy,
grateful Ben, when having recovered himself, he sat eating a good meal
by his friend's side.
Ben had confessed to him all his terrible temptation about the
half-sovereign, but without mentioning Tom Wade's name in the matter.
It turned out, after all, that it was not a half-sovereign, although
in size it very much resembled one. It was a curious old half-guinea
piece; and had Ben attempted to pass it, he would have been taken up
to account for the manner in which he came by it. Mr. Marland gave
Ben a couple of shillings to buy something nice for his mother as he
was going home, and promised that his wife should come and see her
early the next morning, and bring her the remainder of the kind lady's
present. He took charge of the half-guinea, which he said he had little
doubt belonged to a lady who had visited the schools in the morning,
and who had taken out her purse whilst there.
"You are an honest boy, Ben Holt," said Mr. Marland, as he shook hands
with Ben at parting, "and you are earning for yourself a good name
which will stick to you through life. It will be better than great
riches to you, my boy, for it will secure to you the respect and esteem
of all good men."
Ben went home with a gladsome heart. On his way, he bought some tea and
sugar, and a small loaf; and also some beef to make beef-tea for his
mother. Mrs. Marland, who was an excellent nurse, had told him it was
the best thing he could get for her.
Poor Mrs. Holt had been very anxious at Ben's prolonged absence from
home. But her sorrow soon turned into grateful joy as she listened
to all he had to tell her. Was it the comforting things that Ben had
brought which filled her heart with gratitude? Oh no, she was truly
thankful for them also; but her joyful feelings arose from learning
that her very dear son had again proved himself an honest boy.
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