HISTORY OF WIDOW BROWN'S APPLE-TREE.
I think my readers are so well acquainted with Black Giles the
poacher, that they will not expect to hear any great good, either of
Giles himself, his wife Rachel, or any of their family. I am sorry to
expose their tricks, but it is their fault, not mine. If I pretend to
speak about people at all, I must tell the truth. I am sure, if folks
would but turn about and mend, it would be a thousand times pleasanter
to me to write their histories; as it is no comfort to tell of any
body's faults. If the world would but grow good, I should be glad
enough to tell of it; but till it really becomes so, I must go on
describing it as it is; otherwise I should only mislead my readers,
instead of instructing them. It is the duty of a faithful historian to
relate the evil with the good.
As to Giles and his boys, I am sure old widow Brown has good reason to
remember their dexterity. Poor woman, she had a fine little bed of
onions in her neat and well-kept garden; she was very fond of her
onions, and many a rheumatism has she caught by kneeling down to weed
them in a damp day, notwithstanding the little flannel cloak and the
bit of an old mat which Madam Wilson gave her, because the old woman
would needs weed in wet weather. Her onions she always carefully
treasured up for her winter's store; for an onion makes a little broth
very relishing, and is, indeed, the only savory thing poor people are
used to get.
She had also a small orchard, containing about a dozen apple-trees,
with which, in a good year, she has been known to make a couple of
barrels of cider, which she sold to her landlord towards paying her
rent, besides having a little keg which she was able to keep back for
her own drinking.
Well, would you believe it? Giles and his boys marked both onions and
apples for their own. Indeed, a man who stole so many rabbits from the
warren, was likely enough to steal onions for sauce. One day when the
widow was abroad on a little business, Giles and his boys made a clear
riddance of the onion-bed; and when they had pulled up every single
onion, they then turned a couple of pigs into the garden, who, allured
by the smell, tore up the bed in such a manner, that the widow, when
she came home, had not the least doubt but the pigs had been the
thieves. To confirm this opinion, they took care to leave the little
hatch half open at one end of the garden, and to break down a bit of a
fence at the other end.
I wonder how any body can find in his heart not to pity and respect
poor old widows. There is something so forlorn and helpless in their
condition, that methinks it is a call on every body, men, women, and
children, to do them all the kind services that fall in their way.
Surely, their having no one to take their part, is an additional
reason for kind-hearted people not to hurt and oppress them. But it
was this very reason which led Giles to do this woman an injury. With
what a touching simplicity it is recorded in Scripture, of the youth
whom our blessed Saviour raised from the dead, that he was the only
son of his mother, _and she was a widow_.
It happened, unluckily for poor widow Brown, that her cottage stood
quite alone. On several mornings together--for roguery gets up much
earlier than industry--Giles and his boys stole regularly into her
orchard, followed by their jackasses. She was so deaf that she could
not hear the asses, if they had brayed ever so loud, and to this
Giles trusted; for he was very cautious in his rogueries, since he
could not otherwise have contrived so long to keep out of prison; for
though he was almost always suspected, he had seldom been taken up,
and never convicted. The boys used to fill their bags, load their
asses, and then march off; and if, in their way to the town where the
apples were to be sold, they chanced to pass by one of their neighbors
who might be likely to suspect them, they then all at once began to
scream out, "Buy my coal? buy my sand?"
Besides the trees in her orchard, poor widow Brown had in her small
garden one apple-tree particularly fine; it was a redstreak, so
tempting and so lovely that Giles' family had watched it with longing
eyes, till at last they resolved on a plan for carrying off all this
fine fruit in their bags. But it was a nice point to manage. The tree
stood directly under her chamber window, so that there was some danger
that she might spy them at the work. They therefore determined to wait
till the next Sunday morning, when they knew she would not fail to be
at church. Sunday came; it was a lone house, as I said before, and
most of the parish were safe at church. In a trice the tree was
cleared, the bags were filled, the asses were whipped, the thieves
were off, the coast was clear, and all was safe and quiet by the time
the sermon was over.
Unluckily, however, it happened, that this tree was so beautiful, and
the fruit so fine, that the people, as they used to pass to and from
church, were very apt to stop and admire widow Brown's redstreaks; and
some of the farmers rather envied her, that in that scarce season,
when they hardly expected to make a pie out of a large orchard, she
was likely to make a cask of cider from a single tree. I am afraid,
indeed, if I must speak out, she herself rather set her heart too much
upon this fruit, and had felt as much pride in her tree as gratitude
to a good Providence for it; but this failing of hers was no excuse
for Giles. The covetousness of this thief had for once got the better
of his caution; the tree was too completely stripped, though the
youngest boy Dick did beg hard that his father would leave the poor
old woman enough for a few dumplings; and when Giles ordered Dick in
his turn to shake the tree, the boy did it so gently that hardly any
apples fell, for which he got a good stroke of the stick with which
the old man was beating down the apples.
The neighbors, on their return from church, stopped as usual; but it
was--not, alas, to admire the apples, for apples there were none left,
but to lament the robbery, and console the widow. Meantime the
redstreaks were safely lodged in Giles' hovel, under a few bundles of
hay, which he had contrived to pull from the farmer's mow the night
before, for the use of his jackasses.
Such a stir, however, began to be made about the widow's apple-tree,
that Giles, who knew how much his character laid him open to
suspicion, as soon as he saw the people safe in church again in the
afternoon, ordered his boys to carry each a hatful of the apples, and
thrust them in at a little casement window, which happened to be open
in the house of Samuel Price, a very honest carpenter in that parish,
who was at church with his whole family. Giles' plan, by this
contrivance, was to lay the theft on Price's sons, in case the thing
should come to be further inquired into. Here Dick put in a word, and
begged and prayed his father not to force them to carry the apples to
Price's. But all that he got by his begging was such a knock as had
nearly laid him on the earth.
"What, you cowardly rascal," said Giles, "you will go and _peach_, I
suppose, and get your father sent to jail."
Poor widow Brown, though her trouble had made her still weaker than
she was, went to church again in the afternoon; indeed, she rightly
thought that her being in trouble was a new reason why she ought to
go. During the service she tried with all her might not to think of
her redstreaks; and whenever they would come into her head, she took
up her prayer-book directly, and so she forgot them a little; and,
indeed, she found herself much easier when she came out of the church
than when she went in--an effect so commonly produced by prayer, that
methinks it is a pity people do not try it oftener.
Now it happened oddly enough, that on that Sunday, of all the Sundays
in the year, the widow should call in to rest a little at Samuel
Price's, to tell over again the lamentable story of the apples, and to
consult with him how the thief might be brought to justice. But O,
reader, guess, if you can, for I am sure I cannot tell you, what was
her surprise, when, on going into Samuel Price's kitchen, she saw her
own redstreaks lying in the window! The apples were of a sort too
remarkable for color, shape, and size, to be mistaken. There was not
such another tree in the parish.
Widow Brown immediately screamed out, "'Las-a-day! as sure as can be,
here are my redstreaks; I can swear to them in any court." Samuel
Price, who believed his sons to be as honest as himself, was shocked
and troubled at the sight. He knew he had no redstreaks of his own; he
knew there were no apples in the window when he went to church; he did
verily believe these apples to be the widow's. But how they came there
he could not possibly guess. He called for Tom, the only one of his
sons who now lived at home. Tom was at the Sunday-school, which he had
never once missed since Mr. Wilson the minister had set one up in the
parish. Was such a boy likely to do such a deed?
A crowd had by this time got about Price's door, among which was Giles
and his boys, who had already taken care to spread the news that Tom
Price was the thief. Most people were unwilling to believe it. His
character was very good, but appearances were strongly against him.
Mr. Wilson now came in. He was much concerned that Tom Price, the best
boy in his school, should stand accused of such a crime. He sent for
the boy, examined, and cross-examined him. No marks of guilt appeared.
But still, though he pleaded _not guilty,_ there lay the redstreaks in
his father's window.
All the idle fellows in the place, who were most likely to have
committed such a theft themselves, fell with great vengeance on poor
Tom. The wicked seldom give any quarter. "This is one of your
sanctified ones!" cried they. "This was all the good that
Sunday-schools did! For their parts, they never saw any good come by
religion. Sunday was the only day for a little pastime; and if poor
boys must be shut up with their godly books, when they ought to be out
taking a little pleasure, it was no wonder they made themselves amends
by such tricks."
Another said he should like to see parson Wilson's righteous one well
whipped. A third hoped he would be clapped in the stocks for a young
hypocrite as he was; while old Giles, who thought it was the only way
to avoid suspicion by being more violent than the rest, declared,
that "he hoped the young dog would be transported for life."
Mr. Wilson was too wise and too just to proceed against Tom without
full proof. He declared the crime was a very heavy one, and he feared
that heavy must be the punishment. Tom, who knew his own innocence,
earnestly prayed to God that it might be made to appear as clear as
the noonday; and very fervent were his secret devotions on that night.
Black Giles passed his night in a very different manner. He set off as
soon as it was dark, with his sons and their jackasses laden with
their stolen goods. As such a cry was raised about the apples, he did
not think it safe to keep them longer at home, but resolved to go and
sell them at the next town; borrowing without leave a lame colt out of
the moor to assist in carrying off his booty.
Giles and his eldest sons had rare sport all the way in thinking, that
while they were enjoying the profit of their plunder, Tom Price would
be whipped round the market-place at least, if not sent beyond sea.
But the younger boy, Dick, who had naturally a tender heart, though
hardened by his long familiarity with sin, could not help crying when
he thought that Tom Price might perhaps be transported for a crime
which he himself had helped to commit. He had had no compunction about
the robbery, for he had not been instructed in the great principles of
truth and justice; nor would he, therefore, perhaps have had much
remorse about accusing an innocent boy. But, though utterly devoid of
principle, he had some remains of natural feeling and of gratitude.
Tom Price had often given him a bit of his own bread and cheese; and
once, when Dick was like to be drowned, Tom had jumped into the pond
with his clothes on, and saved his life, when he was just sinking: the
remembrance of all this made his heart heavy. He said nothing; but, as
he trotted, barefoot, after the asses, he heard his father and
brothers laugh at having outwitted the godly ones; and he grieved to
think how poor Tom would suffer for his wickedness, yet fear kept him
silent: they called him sulky dog, and lashed the asses till they
bled.
In the meantime, Tom Price kept up his spirits as well as he could. He
worked hard all day, and prayed heartily night and morning.
"It is true," said he to himself, "I am not guilty of this sin; but
let this accusation set me on examining myself, and truly repenting
of all my other sins; for I find enough to repent of, though I thank
God I did not steal the widow's apples."
At length Sunday came, and Tom went to school as usual. As soon as he
walked in, there was a great deal of whispering and laughing among the
worst of the boys; and he overheard them say, "Who would have thought
it? This is master's favorite! This is parson Wilson's sober Tommy! We
sha'n't have Tommy thrown in our teeth again, if we go to get a
birdsnest, or gather a few nuts on a Sunday." "Your demure ones are
always hypocrites," says another. "The still sow sucks all the milk,"
says a third.
Giles' family had always kept clear of the school. Dick, indeed, had
sometimes wished to go: not that he had much sense of sin, or desire
after goodness, but he thought if he could once read, he might rise in
the world, and not be forced to drive asses all his life. Through this
whole Saturday night he could not sleep. He longed to know what would
be done to Tom. He began to wish to go to school, but he had not
courage--sin is very cowardly: so, on the Sunday morning, he went and
sat himself down under the church-wall. Mr. Wilson passed by. It was
not his way to reject the most wicked, till he had tried every means
to bring them over; and even then he pitied and prayed for them. He
had, indeed, long left off talking to Giles' sons; but, seeing Dick
sitting by himself, he once more spoke to him, desired him to leave
off his vagabond life, and go with him into the school. The boy hung
down his head, but made no answer. He did not, however, either rise up
and run away, or look sulky, as he used to do. The minister desired
him once more to go.
"Sir," said the boy, "I can't go; I am so big I am ashamed."
"The bigger you are, the less time you have to lose."
"But, sir, I can't read."
"Then it is high time you should learn."
"I should be ashamed to begin to learn my letters."
"The shame is not in beginning to learn them, but in being contented
never to know them."
"But, sir, I am so ragged."
"God looks at the heart, and not at the coat."
"But, sir, I have no shoes and stockings."
"So much the worse; I remember who gave you both." Here Dick colored.
"It is bad to want shoes and stockings; but still, if you can drive
your asses a dozen miles without them, you may certainly walk a
hundred yards to school without them."
"But, sir, the good boys will hate me, and wont speak to me."
"Good boys hate nobody; and as to not speaking to you, to be sure they
will not keep you company while you go on in your present evil
courses; but as soon as they see you wish to reform, they will help
you, and pity you, and teach you; so come along." Here Mr. Wilson took
this dirty boy by the hand, and gently pulled him forward, kindly
talking to him all the way.
How the whole school stared to see Dick Giles come in! No one,
however, dared to say what he thought. The business went on, and Dick
slunk into a corner, partly to hide his rags, and partly to hide his
sin; for last Sunday's transactions sat heavy on his heart, not
because he had stolen the apples, but because Tom Price had been
accused. This, I say, made him slink behind. Poor boy, he little
thought there was _One_ saw him who sees all things, and from whose
eye no hole or corner can hide the sinner; for he is about our bed,
and about our paths, and spieth out all our ways.
It was the custom in that school for the master, who was a good and
wise man, to mark down in his pocketbook all the events of the week,
that he might turn them to some account in his Sunday evening
instructions: such as any useful story in the newspaper, any account
of boys being drowned as they were out in a pleasure-boat on Sundays,
any sudden death in the parish, or any other remarkable visitation of
Providence; insomuch, that many young people in the place, who did not
belong to the school, and many parents, also, used to drop in for an
hour on a Sunday evening, when they were sure to hear something
profitable. The minister greatly approved this practice, and often
called in himself, which was a great support to the master, and
encouragement to the people.
The master had taken a deep concern in the story of widow Brown's
apple-tree. He could not believe Tom Price was guilty, nor dared he
pronounce him innocent; but he resolved to turn the instructions of
the present evening to this subject. He began thus: "My dear boys,
however light some of you may make of robbing an orchard, yet I have
often told you there is no such thing as a _little_ sin, if it be
wilful or habitual. I wish now to explain to you, also, that there is
hardly such a thing as a _single_ solitary sin. You know I teach you
not merely to repeat the commandments as an exercise for your memory,
but as a rule for your conduct. If you were to come here on a Sunday
only to learn to read and spell, I should think that was not employing
God's day for God's work; but I teach you to read, that you may, by
this means, so understand the Bible and the catechism, as to make
every text in the one, and every question and answer in the other, to
be so fixed in your hearts, that they may bring forth the fruits of
good living."
MASTER. "How many commandments are there?"
BOY. "Ten."
MASTER. "How many did that boy break who stole widow Brown's apples?"
BOY. "Only one, master; the eighth."
MASTER. "What is the eighth?"
BOY. "Thou shalt not steal."
MASTER. "And you are very sure that this was the only one he broke?
Now, suppose I could prove to you that he probably broke, not less
than six out of those ten commandments, which the great Lord of heaven
himself stooped down from his eternal glory to deliver to men, would
you not then think it a terrible thing to steal, whether apples or
guineas?"
BOY. "Yes, master."
MASTER. "I will put the case. Some wicked boy has robbed widow Brown's
orchard." Here the eyes of every one were turned on poor Tom Price,
except those of Dick Giles, who fixed his on the ground. "I accuse no
one," continued the master; "Tom Price is a good boy, and was not
missing at the time of the robbery: these are two reasons why I
presume he is innocent; but whoever it was, you allow that by stealing
these apples he broke the eighth commandment?"
BOY. "Yes, master."
MASTER. "On what day were these apples stolen?"
BOY. "On Sunday."
MASTER. "What is the fourth commandment?"
BOY. "Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath-day."
MASTER, "Does that person keep holy the Sabbath-day, who loiters in an
orchard on Sunday when he should be at church, and steals apples when
he ought to be at prayer?"
BOY. "No, master."
MASTER. "What command does he break?"
BOY. "The fourth."
MASTER. "Suppose this boy had parents, who had sent him to church, and
that he had disobeyed them by not going; would that be keeping the
fifth commandment?"
BOY. "No, master; for the fifth commandment says, 'Thou shalt _honor_
thy father and thy mother.'"
This was the only part in the case in which poor Dick Giles' heart did
not smite him; for he knew he had disobeyed no father--for his father,
alas, was still more wicked than himself, and had brought him up to
commit the sin. But what a wretched comfort was this. The master went
on.
MASTER. "Suppose this boy earnestly coveted this fruit, though it
belonged to another person; would that be right?"
BOY. "No, master; for the tenth commandment says, 'Thou shalt not
covet.'"
MASTER. "Very well. Here are four of God's positive commands already
broken. Now, do you think thieves ever scruple to use wicked words?"
BOY. "I am afraid not, master."
Here Dick Giles was not so hardened but that he remembered how many
curses had passed between him and his father while they were filling
the bags, and he was afraid to look up. The master went on.
"I will now go one step further. If the thief to all his other sins
has added that of accusing the innocent to save himself--if he should
break the ninth commandment, by bearing false witness against a
harmless neighbor, then _six commandments are broken for an apple_!
But if it be otherwise, if Tom Price should be found guilty, it is not
his good character shall save him. I shall shed tears over him, but
punish him I must, and that severely."
"No, that you sha'n't," roared out Dick Giles, who sprung from his
hiding-place, fell on his knees, and burst out a crying. "Tom Price is
as good a boy as ever lived; it was father and I who stole the
apples."
It would have done your heart good to have seen the joy of the master,
the modest blushes of Tom Price, and the satisfaction of every honest
boy in the school. All shook hands with Tom, and even Dick got some
portion of pity. I wish I had room to give my readers the moving
exhortation which the master gave. But while Mr. Wilson left the
guilty boy to the management of the master, he thought it became him,
as a minister and a magistrate, to go to the extent of the law in
punishing the father.
Early on Monday morning, he sent to apprehend Giles. In the meantime,
Mr. Wilson was sent for to a gardener's house, two miles distant, to
attend a man who was dying. This was a duty to which all others gave
way, in his mind. He set out directly; but what was his surprise, on
his arrival, to see, on a little bed on the floor, poaching Giles
lying, in all the agonies of death! Jack Weston, a poor young man,
against whom Giles had informed for killing a hare, was kneeling by
him, offering him some broth, and talking to him in the kindest
manner. Mr. Wilson begged to know the meaning of all this; and Jack
Weston spoke as follows:
"At four this morning, as I was going out to mow, passing under the
high wall of this garden, I heard a most dismal moaning. The nearer I
came, the more dismal it grew. At last, who should I see but poor
Giles, groaning and struggling under a quantity of bricks and stones,
but not able to stir. The day before, he had marked a fine large net
on this old wall, and resolved to steal it; for he thought it might do
as well to catch partridges as to preserve cherries: so, sir, standing
on the very top of this wall, and tugging with all his might to loosen
the net from the hooks which fastened it, down came Giles, net, wall,
and all; for the wall was gone to decay. It was very high, indeed, and
poor Giles not only broke his thigh, but has got a terrible blow on
his brain, and is bruised all over like a mummy.
"On seeing me, sir, poor Giles cried out, 'Oh, Jack, I did try to ruin
thee by lodging that information, and now thou wilt be revenged by
letting me lie here and perish.'
"'God forbid, Giles,' cried I; 'thou shalt see what sort of revenge a
Christian takes.' So, sir, I sent off the gardener's boy to fetch a
surgeon, while I scampered home, and brought, on my back, this bit of
a hammock, which is indeed my own bed, and put Giles upon it: we then
lifted him up, bed and all, as tenderly as if he had been a gentleman,
and brought him in here. My wife has just brought him a drop of nice
broth; and now, sir, as I have done what I could for his poor
perishing body, it was I who took the liberty to send to you to come
and try to help his poor soul, for the doctor says he can't live."
Mr. Wilson could not help saying to himself, "Such an action as this
is worth a whole volume of comments on that precept of our blessed
Master, 'Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you.'"
Giles' dying groans confirmed the sad account Weston had just given.
The poor wretch could neither pray himself, nor attend to the
minister. He could only cry out, "Oh, sir, what will become of me? I
don't know how to repent. O my poor wicked children! Sir, I have bred
them all up in sin and ignorance. Have mercy on them, sir; let me not
meet them in the place of torment to which I am going. Lord, grant
them that time for repentance which I have thrown away!" He languished
a few days, and died in great misery--a fresh and sad instance, that
people who abuse the grace of God, and resist his Spirit, find it
difficult to repent when they will.
Except the minister and Jack Western, no one came to see poor Giles,
besides Tommy Price, who had been so sadly wronged by him. Tom often
brought him his own rice and milk or apple-dumpling; and Giles,
ignorant and depraved as he was, often cried out that "he thought now
there must be some truth in religion, since it taught even a boy to
_deny himself_, and _to forgive an injury_." Mr. Wilson, the next
Sunday, made a moving discourse on the danger of what are called
"petty offences." This, together with the awful death of Giles,
produced such an effect, that no poacher has been able to show his
head in that parish ever since.