PARTINGS.
ON the Sunday previous to Owen's departure for Birmingham, his mother's
face was paler than usual, and her voice less blithe. It was a sore
trial to her that on the morrow she must part with her darling son—must
send him, young and untried, to face alone the perils of a great city.
Her husband had accused her of "fretting about Owen," and she had
denied the charge. But, for all that, he knew her heart was full of
sorrow and anxiety.
"Here he is," she said quickly, as Owen's foot was heard on the field
path, and they moved to the gate to welcome him.
"Well, lad!" said his father. "And how did the prize-giving go off? Who
had the prizes?"
"I came in for one," said Owen, his face bright with satisfaction as he
placed the Bible he had gained in his father's hands. "I know you will
be pleased, father. It's the prize for Scripture knowledge."
"Eh, that's good!" said David, with a beaming glance. "Your mother was
right, after all. She would have it that you'd bring home a prize."
And then the parents looked at each other with eyes that said plainly,
"Was there ever such a lad as ours?"
"I am glad they gave you a Bible," said his mother; "it will be such a
nice one to take away with you. Such a beautiful cover it has!"
"Ay, it's well bound," said his father, "but I doubt it 'll not last
so long as that old Bible of ours indoors. They don't make such books
nowadays."
"I don't want it to last for ever," said Owen carelessly. "I'll have
another when I am married—a big family Bible."
"You'll have our own family Bible," said his father, almost
reproachfully. "You will never want another while that lasts. Now come
inside. I am going to write in the old Bible how you won this prize
at Ashworth Sunday-school on the last Sunday you spent at home before
going to town to learn business."
Owen made a comical grimace behind his father's back. He thought
his father rather crazed about the old Bible, but he followed him
into their common living-room, a long low apartment, with heavy
beams overhead, and a broad latticed window with a deep cushioned
seat beneath it. Owen fetched pen and ink and stood dutifully by his
father's side, ready to assist in any spelling difficulties. Whilst the
old man, slowly and laboriously, for he was no ready writer, entered in
the old volume the fact he desired to record.
"You'll have to enter my name here some day, my lad," he said, when he
had finished, "mine and your mother's too; but she'll outlive me many
years, belike."
"I hope not, David," she said softly.
"Eh, why not?" returned her husband. "You'll have your son to lean upon
then."
"I wish you would not talk that way, father," said Owen uneasily; "just
as I am going away, too! I am sure I hope it will be long enough ere
any more entries are made in this book." He closed it as he spoke, and
carried it back to its place on the side-table.
"Read us a chapter from your own Bible, lad," said his mother from the
chimney corner; "the kettle won't boil for another ten minutes."
"Very well," said Owen carelessly.
"What shall I read?"
His father named Psalm 103. Owen was a good reader, and he read the
grand old words in a clear, expressive manner.
"'Like as a father pitieth his children,'" repeated the old man slowly
when he had ended. "My son, you'll not forget your father's God when
you're away in that great city?"
"All right, father," replied Owen hastily.
And no more was said.
At an early hour the next morning Owen left his parents' roof. The
station was more than a mile distant, and they did not accompany him
thither. Various home duties claimed their attention, and they were
people who set duty before everything else.
Owen shouldered the trunk in which his mother had packed his best suit,
the garments she had made, and the socks she had knitted for him,
not forgetting to find a place for his new Bible, and marched off in
brave spirits. But his voice had quavered a little as he bade the "old
people" good-bye.
After all, there was pain in severing himself from those who loved him
so dearly.
As for his mother, she broke down, and sobbed when he had gone. "Oh, I
wish we had not let him go," she cried. "Why could we not keep him with
us?—Our only child."
"Nay, nay, that would not do," said her husband; "we could not keep a
lad of his talents working in the fields here. It would not be right."
"I suppose not," she said, with a sigh. And for the moment, she was
tempted to wish that her son was less clever, that he had been a slow,
quiet lad like Reuben Roy, so that she might have kept him by her side.
"It's the best thing possible for the lad," said David Grant, speaking
perhaps as much to convince himself as his wife, "to get a post in that
great business house. It's but the lowest rung of the ladder, to be
sure. But he'll rise, for he's a smart lad. You'll be mighty proud of
him, I daresay, in a few years' time."
"But he's young," said his mother anxiously, "and there are so many
temptations in a great city. If he should go wrong, David?"
"He'll not go wrong," said his father confidently; "our lad will not go
wrong. Don't you go worrying yourself without cause."
"I'll not," she said, brightening up; "as you say, our lad is not like
other lads. We can trust him; he'll keep right."
Ah, poor, fond, trustful parents! And yet blessed is every heart that
cherishes the love that "believeth all things, hopeth all things," for
such love tends towards the realisation of its own prophecies.
Owen Grant found quite a party of friends at the station, for Mr. Howe
and his family were leaving by this train, and many persons had come to
see them off. Reuben Roy had been sent with a parcel to the station,
and he waited to see the last of his old superintendent, though he was
too shy to go forward and bid him "good-bye" again.
"Hallo, Reu, you here! Have you come to see me off, old chap?" cried
Owen.
"Why, no," said Reuben candidly. "I brought up a parcel for Mr. Brown,
and I was waiting to see Mr. Howe start. I forgot you were going by
this train."
Owen looked surprised. "I told you yesterday," he observed. "I say,
Reu," he exclaimed the next moment as he examined the money in his
hand, "that stupid fellow in the booking office has given me too much
change. The fare was one-and-nine; I gave him half a crown, and he has
given me back a shilling. What an idiot!"
"Oh, it was a mistake, of course," said Reuben; "you know he is new to
the place, and has not got used to his work. You'll have time to run
and set it right,—the train's not up yet."
"Bless you! I shall not trouble myself about it," said Owen, coolly
putting the money in his pocket; "if he likes to make me a present of
threepence, he is welcome to do so."
"But, Owen, you know he did not mean to give it to you, and he will
have to make it good out of his own pocket. You can't mean to take
advantage of his mistake?"
"I do mean it. He should keep a sharper look out. It will be a lesson
for him."
"And you will do a dishonest thing. It's worse for you, after all."
"What do you mean? I did not steal the money."
"No, but if you keep it, when you know it is not yours, it is pretty
much the same thing, I think," replied Reuben.
At that moment Mr. Howe caught sight of the boys, and came down the
platform to speak to them.
"So you're leaving by this train, Owen," he said, as he shook hands
with him, "and Reuben has come to see you off. That's right. But I must
not stay. Good-bye to you both."
And he hurried away as the train came up.
Owen, too, moved off quickly to secure a seat. He leaned out of the
carriage window to advise Reuben to make haste and follow him to town
that he might get "smartened up a bit."
Then the train moved on, and as it passed out of the station, Reuben
caught one last glimpse of Mr. Howe.
He went off to his day's work feeling heavy-hearted. He had lost
a friend in Mr. Howe. He was sure there could never be another
superintendent so good. And Owen, too, he would miss, but he was not
altogether sorry that he had gone away. It was a slight shock to Reuben
to discover how lax were Owen's notions of honesty. And only yesterday
he had appeared as one of the best scholars in the Sunday-school! What
would Mr. Howe think if he knew how Owen had kept the threepence,
Reuben wondered.
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