MRS. MARLAND came early the next morning to see Ben's mother. The sick
woman had slept well, having had some good beef-tea for her supper, and
she seemed upon the whole something better than she had been the day
before. She felt very happy about Ben, and every one knows that the
mind has a great deal to do with the sickness or health of the body.
Mrs. Marland gave her the remaining three shillings out of the lady's
present, and promised to come and see her again very soon.
We may do good to our fellow-creatures without being rich. Mrs. Marland
was not at all rich, and her husband worked hard as master of the
schools. But they had both of them benevolent hearts, and did much real
good in the world. A few words of kind and friendly sympathy spoken
beside the bed of sickness is often a source of the greatest comfort.
Mrs. Holt felt that she was no longer desolate and friendless in the
world. And she thanked God with a grateful heart that He had heard her
prayer, and had raised up friends for her in her hour of weakness.
As Ben was leaving White Horse Alley that morning on his way to school,
Tom Wade sprang out from the doorway of the house where he lived, and
seized Ben by the collar. There was a wild frightened look in Tom's
face.
"Did you tell of me?" he said, in a hurried voice.
"I'm no tell-tale, Tom."
"Do you mean to say you never said a word about me in the matter?"
"I had nothing to say, Tom; I only wanted to give back the
half-sovereign, for fear I should be tempted to keep what was not my
own."
"Then you're a good fellow, Ben, and know how to return good for evil,
and I'll never tease you again."
Tom turned away with a softened voice, brushing the torn sleeve of his
jacket across his eyes as he spoke.
"You'll come to school, Tom?" said Ben, kindly.
"Yes; I was afraid to come until I had spoken to you."
And for the first time in their lives, Ben Holt and Tom Wade walked to
school together.
"How's your mother, Ben?"
"She's a little better this morning, Tom, thank you. A lady sent her
some money yesterday afternoon, and she has good nourishing food now."
Tears were in Ben's eyes as he spoke, but they were tears of happiness
and thankfulness.
"How fond you seem of your mother, Ben," said Tom Wade.
"Fond, so I ought to be; I owe everything to her: Why, if it hadn't
been for the good lessons she taught me, I should now have been a—"
Ben hesitated, he thought what he was going to say might seem unkind to
Tom.
"I know what you meant to say, Ben, and perhaps I should have been a
different boy if I had got a mother like yours."
In the course of the morning, whilst all the boys were assembled in the
school, a lady entered the room, and approached Mr. Marland's desk.
Ben immediately recognized her as the same lady who had been there the
previous day.
"I lost an old gold coin yesterday," she said, "and thought it just
possible I might have dropped it whilst here. It was a half-guinea
piece, and I have had it in my possession ever since I was a very
little girl. It was given me by my great-grandmother, who had kept it
all her life, and I would not have lost it for twenty times its value."
Mr. Marland, with a smile, produced the half-guinea from his pocket.
"That is it," said the lady, in a tone of delight; "and now tell me
where it was found, and who found it?"
"This boy found it," said the master, putting his hand on Ben's
shoulder.
"He's an honest little fellow," replied the lady. "Are his friends well
to do?"
"No, ma'am," said Mr. Marland. "He has no father, and his mother is
ill, and they are very poor."
"You are an honest boy," said the lady, looking kindly at Ben; "you
shall have a real half-sovereign as a reward. And you will have
something else, my boy, that will prove of more value to you during
life than many, many half-sovereigns, and that is 'a good name.'"
The lady then spoke a few earnest words to all the boys assembled
there, impressing upon them the importance of early acquiring a
character for honesty. "But like all other good things, children,"
she added, "the power to gain a good name must come to us from God.
Remember, 'Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and
cometh down from the Father of lights.'"
She then gave Ben a bright new half-sovereign, and told him if he went
on as he had already done, he would make himself respected, however
poor he might be.
Ben thanked the lady, and thought within himself how different would
have been his feelings when hearing the inquiries about the half-guinea
that morning, had he acted dishonestly in the matter, and not taken the
money to the master.
Tom Wade turned pale whilst the lady was there. His conscience told
him how narrowly he had escaped being punished as a thief, and that
his sin was just as great as if he had really succeeded in taking the
money from Ben. As no one, however, but Ben knew anything about Tom's
behaviour, no one but him took notice of Tom's change of colour.
When the class was over, Tom Wade drew Ben aside into a corner of the
room, and whispered to him—"You were right, Ben, and I was wrong; I
will take your advice another time."
Ben scarcely knew how he reached home after school, he ran so fast.
"Mother, dear mother, now you will get strong and well." And he showed
her his bright new half-sovereign.
Mrs. Holt "did" get stronger and better from that day. Relieved from
all immediate dread of having to give up her poor though valued home,
the compulsory rest from work was of real service to her. And as she
had good and strengthening food, in little more than a week, she was
able to sit up.
The lady who had sent her the five shillings came to see her very
frequently, and brought her many nourishing things to tempt her
appetite. More than that, one fine bright morning, when the doctor said
Mrs. Holt was sufficiently strong to bear the fatigue, the lady sent
a cab to take Ben and his mother for a drive in the Regent's Park,
thinking that the change of air from White Horse Alley would do Mrs.
Holt more good than anything else.
Ben had never been so long a "journey," as he called it, in his life
before, and was delighted with the green trees and the grass, and made
his mother smile by asking her whether she thought they should see any
silver-winged doves there.
In a short time, Mrs. Holt was able to resume her needlework. The lady
sent her some shirts to make, and as she paid a much better price than
the employer at the shop, Mrs. Holt was able to earn as much, without
working quite so hard.
At length, winter came on. Winter is always a bad time even for the
most prosperous of the poor; for provisions are generally dearer, and
coals and candles are a great expense. Mrs. Holt's kind friend, too,
had gone abroad, so that there was nothing to be done but to work again
for the shop. They were always glad to employ her, as she was a good
needlewoman.
Just as the cold weather set in, poor Ben fell ill with the measles. He
was not naturally a strong boy, and the disease settled upon his chest,
and made his mother, for some time, fear for her son's life. He kept
his bed for many weeks. And when at last, the worst was over, and he
was able to sit up for half-an-hour in his mother's arm chair, he was
so weak and thin that he appeared quite changed in appearance.
Ben had been very patient during his long illness, and though a tear
made its appearance when he found how far he was yet from being strong
and well again, he wiped it away and smiled,—a rather "watery" smile,
it is true, but "still" a "smile,"—at his mother as she bent over him.
It was now the sweet spring-time, and the sun shone even into White
Horse Alley, and into the little room where Ben and his mother lived.
The little boy, still very weak and pale, often sat in his chair with
his book of pictures in his hands, and longed more than ever to go into
the country. He knew it was of no use wishing, and that his mother
could not afford to send him. But still, he longed on, and to his
mother's eyes, seemed getting thinner and paler every day.
"I tell you what I have been thinking of, Ben," said she to him one
evening. "I have a plan for you to write home, on chance like, just to
see if brother Will still lives there, and then I would ask him at once
to take you for a month or so. That would soon set you up, and I do not
think anything else will."
The very thoughts of writing a letter seemed to do Ben good. It was
some new subject to think about, some change from the one thought which
had been so long uppermost in his mind.
"When will you get me some paper and a pen, mother?"
"When I take my work home this evening, Ben."
The writing of that letter was a great event in Ben's life. His mother
had bought six sheets of paper for a penny, and two envelopes and some
steel pens for another. And then Ben set about the task. It was a great
labour to him, for he was a good deal out of practice from his long
illness.
Nevertheless, at last it was completed to his mother's entire
satisfaction. Indeed, she regarded it as a wonderful performance, and
almost regretted having to send it away.
About a week after it had been sent off, there came a kind answer.
Brother Will was alive and well, and was comfortably off in the world.
He had an industrious wife, three rosy-faced children (Mrs. Holt sighed
as she read this to think of Ben's pale cheeks), and what was more
curious than all, he and his family lived in the little cottage by the
wood-side. He told his sister how glad he was to hear of her again, and
that he and his wife would take the best care of little Ben, and would
soon put some colour into his cheeks. He had a friend, he said, who was
guard on the railway, and who would look after Ben on his journey; he
also sent his sister five shillings to help pay the fare.
When Ben found that at last he was really going into the country, and
that he would ride in hay-carts, gather primroses, and live in the
little cottage by the wood, which he had so often longed to see, the
very thought of all this happiness seemed to do him good. It was almost
too good to be true. But when he saw his mother really beginning to get
his things ready to go, he began to think it must be a reality, and his
eyes grew brighter as the time drew near.
At length, one fine morning at the end of April, a poorly dressed but
decent-looking woman, carrying a large bundle, and leading a young boy
by the hand, were threading their way through the crowd. They were Ben
and his mother on their way to the railway station: Ben did not look
very bright and cheerful this morning, for when it came to the last, he
did not like parting from his mother, and she had to cheer him up as
much as she could, although she too felt sad at losing her dear little
companion.
There was a great deal of noise and confusion at the railway station,
for it was a long train which was just about to start, and the people
pushed poor Ben about so much that he almost wished himself home again.
At last, Mrs. Holt found the guard whom her brother had mentioned, and
then all was right. He seemed a very good-natured man, spoke kindly to
Ben, told his mother he would take good care of her son, and then put
him into a carriage, telling Mrs. Holt she might remain in the carriage
until the great bell rang. It very soon did so, and then the guard
came to fasten the door. Ben and his mother took one farewell kiss,
the guard thrust a currant bun into his hand, telling him to be "a
man," and not to cry. And poor Mrs. Holt turned away from the platform,
hiding her tearful face in a corner of her old shawl. Then the great
train was out of sight in a few seconds.
For the first half-hour there was no one in the carriage with Ben. But
at the end of that time, they stopped at another station, where a great
many people were waiting for the train to come up. The door of the
carriage in which Ben was sitting was opened, and a lady with several
children got in. The guard was in a great hurry, and kept saying,
"Come, make haste, ma'am, make haste, miss." And the children, whose
hands were full of parcels and books, dropped several of them on the
floor of the carriage as they were getting in, and seemed in a great
fright and bustle. Ben good-naturedly stooped down to pick up some of
the parcels which had fallen, and the lady thanked Ben for his help.
Ben had been taught by his mother always to answer properly when spoken
to, and without being at all forward or bold in his manners, he had
none of that shy awkward way which many boys have. The lady seemed
pleased with his manners, and asked him many questions as to the place
where he was going. Ben had forgotten the name of the station at which
he was to stop, but he told the lady that the guard knew all about it,
and was to take care of him. He likewise said that he was going to stay
with his uncle, William Hunt, in the little cottage by the wood-side.
The next time the train stopped and the guard came and looked in at the
window to see how Ben got on, the lady asked him how far the boy was
going, and found he was to get out at the same station as herself. She
was very kind to Ben all day long. Her children had plenty of biscuits
and sandwiches to eat on the journey, and they gave some to Ben, and
also lent him a pretty story-book with pictures with which to amuse
himself.
Ben's great delight at all he saw interested them much, and learning
that this was the first time he had over been out of London, they
pointed out to him everything they thought would interest him.
In two or three hours' time, they came in sight of the sea. And then
Ben, who had never seen a larger extent of water than the River Thames
at London Bridge, could scarcely express his surprise and pleasure.
Far away, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the blue sea;
several fine ships in full sail were in sight, and one or two large war
steamers. Ben was astonished when the lady told him that so many as
seven or eight hundred men were on board one of those vessels.
They soon passed Portsmouth, one of the most strongly-fortified places
in England. And the lady pointed out to her children the flagship,
called the "Victory" on board of which Admiral Nelson was killed at the
battle of Trafalgar, in 1805. This ship is kept in fine preservation,
and the spot on the deck where the admiral fell is marked by a brass
tablet, on which are engraved the words which Nelson addressed to his
soon before the battle:—
"England expects every man to do his duty."
The fatigue of the journey, for the day was very hot, and the
excitement of seeing so many novel things, exhausted Ben's small
stock of strength, and, as the days wore on, he grew very tired. Then
the lady and her children made him lie down on one of the seats, and
gave him a travelling-bag for a pillow. Ben slept soundly during
the remainder of the journey. About five o'clock, they stopped at a
station, and amongst the people who were waiting there was a stout
countryman, in a light spring cart, in which were also seated three
little boys with ruddy faces.
"Have you a little boy named Ben Holt?" asked the countryman of the
guard.
"All right, here he is."
Then he went to the carriage, where Ben was still fast asleep, and,
lifting him out, gave him, together with his bundle, into the care
of the countryman, who was Ben's uncle. Ben was half awake and half
asleep, and was somewhat startled.
"Don't be afraid, my little man; come along, here are your three
cousins to meet you—" And so saying, his uncle lifted him into the
spring cart without much trouble.
Ben stared at his cousins, and his cousins stared at him. He was so
thin, and they were so stout; they were so rosy, and he so pale. The
contrast seemed to strike them all, and they did nothing, for some
moments, but look at each other.
Ben was the first to break silence. He did so by asking the stoutest
little boy, by whose side he sat, whether he had ever been in a
hay-cart. A loud burst of laughter was the only answer Ben received.
And when his uncle, who was driving, turned round to inquire the cause
of their merriment, the three cousins exclaimed,—"Father, Ben wants to
know whether we have ever been in a hay-cart!"
"That they have, my little man, and so shall you before you are many
weeks older."
By this time, they had got quite away from the station, and were
driving along a beautiful green lane. The trees, with their fresh
young green leaves, the hedge banks gay with primroses and violets,
the fields yellow with buttercups, the young lambs frisking about,
the happy birds singing—it was a beautiful scene, and Ben's heart
overflowed with joyful feelings. He felt all that the writer so
beautifully expresses in the well-known hymn—
"Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a grateful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy."
The cart stopped at a pretty cottage by the wood-side, the garden was
full of gay flowers. A kind, motherly woman lifted Ben from his seat,
and he felt as if there was nothing more in the world for him to wish
for.
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