THOSE were happy days that followed Ben's visit to the country.
Everything was new and delightful to him who had lived all his life in
White Horse Alley, and who—
"Had never seen a robin's nest
Nor plucked a violet in the shade,
Nor stood beside the running brook,
And heard the pleasant sound it made."
The morning after his arrival, he did not awake until long after
the sun's ray had been streaming through the latticed window of his
bed-room. He was very tired with the long journey of the previous day,
and with all the excitement he had undergone. A large bowl of bread
and milk was given him for his breakfast, and he thought he had never
before tasted anything so delicious. His cousins would hardly have
patience until he had finished his meal, so eager were they to take him
out and show him country life.
Ben's aunt, however, thought that the high spirits of her three hearty
boys might almost be too much for Ben, who was not very strong, and she
had arranged to go with them herself on this their first excursion,
so that Ben should become used to his merry cousins, and be able
afterwards to go with them alone.
Their first visit was to the sow, and her litter of ten young pigs—and
Ben was almost frightened when he saw the great black animal, and heard
the strange grunting noise she made. Then the beehives, and their busy
little inhabitants. Ben had seen a picture of a beehive, but had never
looked upon a live bee before. He watched them with wonder and delight,
flying busily about from flower to flower, and then returning to the
hive, laden with the sweet spoils they had collected.
[Illustration: BEN'S FIRST EXCURSION.]
"I understand now, aunt, that little hymn which mother taught me a long
time ago—
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower."
"But I don't see any 'cells,' aunt. And where is the 'wax'?"
Then his aunt showed him a piece of a honeycomb, which is always formed
of wax, and is divided into numbers of little cells of a six-sided
shape.
"How curious, how wonderful!" cried Ben.
There was a brood of ducks swimming about on the pond after their
mother, who hissed at Ben, although he assured her he was not going to
hurt her pretty young ones.
The three country boys were greatly amused at the anxiety evinced by
Ben to gather every little buttercup and daisy he saw; although they
kept assuring him that they should see whole fields of them soon. When,
at last, after seeing everything about the cottage and garden, they
got over a stile, and Ben found himself in a field nearly covered with
buttercups and daisies, he was so very happy that tears of joy stood
in his eyes. His cousins, who, if rather rough, were thoroughly kind
and good-natured, were quite alarmed, and asked him if he were ill, and
whether they had been walking too fast for him.
"Oh no," said Ben, "but I am so very happy."
The three rosy-faced boys could not understand how anyone could cry
for being happy, and they looked at him more wonderingly than ever.
Their mother told them to leave Ben and her sitting on the stile for
a little while, and to go and gather some flowers for their cousin.
She understood Ben's tears, and felt very kindly towards the pale and
sensitive little boy.
And Ben sat on the stile and talked to his aunt in the old-fashioned
way he was accustomed to do to his mother at home.
"How beautiful everything is, aunt. This is a beautiful world after
all! Do you know, aunt, when I learned the hymn that begins—
"'All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all;'
"I used to think that there were not many bright and beautiful things;
and you would have said so too, aunt, if you had lived in our alley.
The sparrows look quite a different sort of bird—and I think not only
the birds, but the children too look very different. I don't look much
like your little boys, do I, aunt?"
His aunt smiled, and told him that in a very little while, she hoped he
would look as rosy and as hearty as his cousins.
"Then mother won't know me. Oh! If mother were here, I should be quite
happy. Mother is very pale too, aunt: her face is not like yours; and
she has to sit in-doors working all day long. That is one reason why I
shall be so glad to get strong and hearty. I shall all the sooner be
able to work for her."
At this moment, Ben's cousins came running up to him, their hands
full of flowers, more than Ben could possibly carry. Then he went and
gathered some for himself, and roamed about the fields until dinner
time, when he felt so hungry that he did ample justice to the plain but
wholesome food set before him.
In the afternoon, he sat in-doors for some time writing a letter to his
mother; it was as follows:—
"MY DEAREST MOTHER,—I am quite safe here, and am very well. I hope you
are the same. Aunt and uncle are so kind, and my cousins too; their
faces are fat and rosy, and aunt says mine will soon be so. Every-thing
is beau-ti-ful here; and even the sparrows are pretty. I have more
buttercups and daisies than I can carry. How good God is to send me
here! I wish He would send you also, then I should be quite happy.
"I will ask Him to-night in my prayer.
"Good-by, dearest Mother,
"Your loving boy,
"BEN HOLT."
A few weeks passed away, and no one would have recognized the once
pale, sickly Ben in the ruddy-cheeked little fellow who could now walk
as far, and eat as heartily, as either of his cousins. They still
looked upon Ben with a certain amount of wonder and astonishment, which
had been increased by the sight of the letter which Ben had written to
his mother. The only one of the family in the wood-side cottage who
could write was Mrs. Hunt, Ben's aunt. And her three boys had privately
expressed it their opinion that their cousin Ben would be a "parson"
some day, for he "talked just like a book, and wrote as well as their
mother!"
How had Mrs. Holt been getting on all this time without her boy? She
missed him very much—more and more every day—for hers was a lonely,
solitary life, and Ben was the one bright gleam of sunshine on her
otherwise somewhat dark path. But with all a mother's unselfish love,
she would have willingly denied herself any pleasure for the sake
of doing him good. As she sat at work in her little room, she would
picture to herself the pale cheeks of her child becoming rosy and
healthy under the influence of the pure country air; and she would
smile and thank God that He had enabled her to procure this blessing
for him.
A few days after Ben's departure from home, as she was going down the
alley on her way to the shop, to carry home her work, she saw Tom Wade
lounging about at his door. He made a movement towards her as she came
nearer to him, and then retreated again, as if half afraid. Mrs. Holt
had never liked Tom, and had always dreaded him as a bad example to
Ben. But now as she looked at him, a different expression in his face
from what she had ever noticed before impelled her to regard him more
kindly than usual.
Tom saw the change in her countenance and advanced a second time.
"Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Holt, now Ben's away?"
The tone and manner were rough and uncouth, but Ben's mother felt
there was some deeper feeling at work in Tom's heart, and she answered
kindly,—
"Thank you, Tom, it is very kind of you to think of me. If you will
fetch me up a pail of water by-and-by, when I come home again, I shall
be very much obliged."
"I'll do it, Mrs. Holt; I'll do it every day if you will let me; say
you will," he added, eagerly.
"We shall see about that," she said, smiling.
"Have you heard from Ben?" asked Tom.
"Yes, I had a letter this morning; he is quite well, and very happy."
Tom Wade looked as if he would fain have said more. But somehow he
could only mutter, "Thank ye, Mrs. Holt," and shuffled away into his
house.
"Poor fellow," thought Ben's mother, as she proceeded on her way,
"there's some feeling in him after all."
On her return home, Tom was waiting, evidently on the look-out for her.
"Now may I fetch the water?" he said.
She went up-stairs, and brought him down a pail. He was up with the
water almost as soon as she had re-entered her room.
He set down the pail and was leaving the room, when he turned round,
and looking hard at Mrs. Holt, said—
"Do you think I could ever be like Ben?"
"How do you mean, Tom?"
"As good as he is—have a 'good name' like his. But no, I'm altogether
too bad for that, Mrs. Holt, I'm afraid."
"Never think that, Tom. Ben has no power to be good of himself: it is
God's grace which strengthens him; and God will give that grace to you
if you ask Him."
"Are you quite sure of that, Mrs. Holt?"
"Quite, quite sure, Tom; the Bible says so, and everything the Bible
tells us is true."
"I never thought about such things till lately," said Tom. "I was
always laughing and jeering at Ben for what I called his 'pretended
goodness,' and I used to set other boys on to tease him too. And so it
went on till that day about the half-sovereign, and I was angry with
him for not keeping it when he found it, and going shares with me. And
then when he ran off to give it to the master, I made sure he'd tell
all about me; and I was afraid to go to school the next morning.
"Well, when I heard that he hadn't told of me, I could hardly believe
it, and a strange feeling seemed to come over me like. I thought his
goodness could not be all pretence; I knew I'd have told had I been in
his place. I went to school with Ben that morning, and he talked about
you, and how you had brought him up to do right; and I wished I had had
such a mother. I thought more than ever that there must be something
real in Ben's goodness.
"That morning, when the lady came to the school about her half-guinea,
she spoke to all of us boys, and told us the value of the good name
that Ben had earned by his honesty.
"'That cannot be all sham,' I thought again.
"When I heard Ben was ill, I felt so sorry. I couldn't tell why, but I
felt more sorry than ever I felt for anybody before. I used to long to
come and ask how he was; but I knew you thought badly of me, and you
had good reason for doing so, and that kept me from coming.
"Since then I have thought more and more every day, 'If I could only be
like Ben.'
"At last, I made up my mind to speak to you about it the very next time
I saw you; for, I said to myself, if you can make Ben so good—why,
at all events, you can set me in the right way. I shall be very much
beholden to you, Mrs. Holt, I am sure. And I will gladly fetch water
for you every day, or run on errands—that is, if you will trust me,"
added Tom, colouring, "or do anything I can to repay you."
Mrs. Holt held out her hand to Tom, and shaking it warmly, said—
"My poor boy, you don't know how glad I am to hear you speak in this
way. The true beginning of all amendment is to feel that we are really
bad. We never can become better until we feel that our hearts are evil.
What you must do now is to pray to God to give you His grace, and then
you will be able to leave off your bad ways.
"'Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within
me.'
"No one else but God can do it, Tom; I can only tell Ben what to do."
"How can I ask God to listen to me when I have been so bad?" said Tom.
"We have all of us been bad, Tom—
"'There is none that doeth good, no, not one:'
"That's what the Bible says; and if we depended on our own merits, or
on any good works we can ever do, we could never expect God to hear us.
The best man that ever lived would fall far short of what God requires;
for there is no one that can say he has never sinned; and God has said,
through His holy prophet, 'The soul that sinneth, it shall die.' But we
have a Friend in whose name and for whose sake we may ask all things
of God. That friend is our Saviour, Jesus Christ. He died for us on
the cross that we might live; He was bruised for our iniquities; and
His precious blood cleanseth from all sin. In His name, believing and
trusting in Him, the greatest sinner may go boldly to the throne of
grace and ask for mercy. Then we shall show that we believe and trust
in Jesus by acting as He would have us do.
"So that being 'good,' as you call it, Tom, is really only the outward
sign we give that we love and trust in Jesus; and the evidence that for
His sake, God's grace is working in us, giving us strength to do His
will.
"If Ben were to profess to love me ever so much," continued Mrs. Holt,
"and still to be disobedient and idle, paying no attention to any of
my wishes, do you think I should believe in his love for me? Certainly
not; and that is why the Bible tells us that 'faith without works is
dead,' that is, has no true life in it. We should all pray to God for
more faith; it is the root of all our religion. For if we have real
faith, we shall show it by our good works.
"Never think, then, you are too bad to amend, Tom. Begin this very day;
pray to God from your heart, in Jesus' name, and He will be sure to
hear you. Come to me whenever you like; I um rather lonely now my Ben's
away, and we can have many a little chat together."
"Do you mean it, Mrs. Holt? Would you really like me to come?"
"Yes, indeed, Tom, and anything I can do to advise you or comfort you,
I shall have real pleasure in doing. I know how I should wish others to
act by my boy were he in want of a friend."
"You are too good, Mrs. Holt," said Tom, "and I only hope I shall be
able to do something for you."
"The best 'something' you can do for me, Tom, is to let me see you
become a better and a happier boy."
From that day forward, Tom never missed paying his daily visit to his
kind friend Mrs. Holt. She talked to him, sometimes read to him, and
made him read to her easy texts, such as he could understand. She
encouraged him, also, in many little ways—showed him that she would
trust him by sending him on trifling errands for her, thus increasing
his self-respect. In the end, she had the great happiness of feeling
that she had been a humble instrument in God's hands of doing good to a
poor friendless boy.
Had not Ben Holt's good name already been of service to others as well
as to himself? It should be a serious thought to every one in the world
that we must be doing one of two things—either setting a good or a bad
example! It will never do then, to think and live for ourselves alone.
What does our Saviour say?
"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven."
Have we grace? Then it must be seen. Have we God's Spirit working in
us? Then there must be fruit.