THE WAYS OF TOWN.
ABOUT a fortnight after Owen's departure, Reuben followed him to
Birmingham.
The smoky atmosphere, the dingy, dusty streets were a poor exchange in
the warm summer days for the fresh air and rural beauty of Ashworth.
For a little while the bustle and stir of the town had the charm of
novelty for Reuben. But the excitement of the change was soon over, and
in the midst of crowds of workers of all descriptions Reuben's heart
sickened with a dreary sense of loneliness. He would scan the faces
of those he passed as he went along the streets, but every one was a
stranger to him, and there was no friendliness in the glances he met.
There were hundreds of hands employed in the great human hive in
which Reuben worked, but for some time he did not enter into friendly
relations with any of them. Reuben was a shy, countrified lad, blunt
of speech, and awkward in his bearing, and such notice as he received
was not of a flattering nature. The sharper town lads found much to
ridicule in him, and amused themselves at his expense by playing
off on him various practical jokes, some of which were positively
cruel. Reuben bore them with a stolid patience that appeared like
indifference, but in truth, he felt them keenly, and they increased the
sore home-sickness, which was becoming almost more than he could bear.
His work, too, was a disappointment to him. At present he was learning
nothing, but was merely employed as a messenger to carry orders to
the various workshops, and be at the beck and call of every one in
authority. It was no easy post, however. The hours, from eight in the
morning till eight at night, seemed to him very long, and he often felt
far more weary when his day's work was done than he had ever felt after
a day spent in the fields.
But Reuben held on bravely in spite of every discouragement, for a
brave heart had Reuben Roy, and he was no stupid, though he might seem
slow. It is what we think and feel in the secret chamber of our souls
that determines what our lives are. Right thinking leads to right
doing. Our actions are never really better than our thoughts. They may
have a fair appearance, like the righteousness on which the Pharisees
prided themselves, but it is the motive that gives every action its
value in the sight of God, and sooner or later the insincere act will
reveal itself as such to the eyes of men.
Now Reuben's thoughts were good and true, and he had that fear of God
which, it has been well said, "expels all other fear." He had not
forgotten the words that had impressed him as he listened to Mr. Howe's
farewell address, nor his resolve that he would be strong and of a good
courage in the battle of life.
That resolve was being well tested in these days. There were times when
he felt as if he must throw up his new employment, and go back to the
old life at Ashworth, which now seemed so dear.
He was feeling thus one warm August evening, when he had come away from
his work too tired even to take a stroll through the streets. The room
he hired, and for which he had to pay a considerable proportion of
his weekly wage, was a very small one at the top of a house in which
several of the factory hands lodged. From its tiny window nothing was
to be seen but an expanse of roofs and chimney-pots.
How weary Reuben felt of the dull outlook—the smoke and griminess
visible everywhere! The day had been a hard one with him. The lads at
the factory had been most provoking; they had contrived to get him
blamed for what was in no way his fault. He had borne the undeserved
rebuke without a word—he would not be so mean as to tell of the others.
But his spirit smarted under a sense of injury and injustice.
And now he felt that the difficulties of position were more than could
be borne. He longed to return to Ashworth.
Why should he not? It would be throwing away his chance; it would
disappoint his mother's hopes; but would she wish him to stay on if she
knew how wretched he was? Surely not!
Reuben's meditations had reached this point when, rather to his
surprise—for he never had visitors—some one knocked at his door.
"Come in," he said.
The door was opened a few inches, and a shock-headed girl looked in to
say,—
"Reuben Roy, I've brought ye these flowers. You're from the country, so
maybe you'll like them. A lady brought a lot of bunches into our room
this afternoon, and she gave me two, so here's one for you."
She threw him the bunch, and was gone almost before he could say "Thank
you."
There were only a few flowers—a rose or two, a "sweet-william," some
pinks, and a bit of "lad's love,"—but how sweet they seemed to Reuben!
How they brought the old untidy piece of garden at home before his
eyes! How they sharpened to almost painful intensity his longing to
return to Ashworth! Never, surely, were flowers more welcome. Reuben's
eyes grew moist as he sniffed their perfume; his breast heaved with a
sob of which he had no cause to feel ashamed.
The next minute he saw that a small ornamental card was attached to
the bunch. It was one sent out by a flower mission, and on the card,
clearly printed in gold letters, were the words, "There hath no
temptation taken you but such as man can bear: but God is faithful,
who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will
with the temptation make also the way of escape, that ye may be able to
endure it." ¹
¹ 1 Cor. x. 13
Reuben read the words with a thrill of pleasant surprise. Was it sent
to remind him that his difficulties, his trials should not be greater
than he could bear, and that God, the faithful God, would help him to
endure, if he would trust in Him? It seemed so, and with the thought
new courage came to Reuben Roy. Certainly, the little bunch of flowers,
with its encouraging message, opened a way of escape from the gloomy
despondency that had possessed him.
He began to wonder what had made the girl give him the flowers. He knew
little of her, save that she lodged in the house and worked in the
same factory as he did. She seemed a high-spirited, noisy, mischievous
girl, a favourite with her companions, but one who often had to be
reprimanded by the overseer.
She must be good-natured, he thought. Had she guessed that he was
feeling lonely and home-sick, and needed something to cheer him? Well,
it was good of her. It made him feel that he had a friend at hand, and
Reuben whistled cheerily as he found a mug and placed his flowers in
water.
As yet, Reuben had not seen Owen Grant. In his ignorance of the extent
of the great city, he had imagined that he would be sure to meet Owen
soon after arriving in Birmingham, and he had not thought to ask old
David Grant where Owen might be found. But since Owen was employed in
one of the large shops in New Street, whilst Reuben's work was in a
remote manufacturing district, it was not surprising that they did not
meet.
One Sunday, however, when Reuben had been many weeks in Birmingham, he
was suddenly brought face to face with Owen Grant in the street. It
was about eleven o'clock in the morning, and Reuben was on his way to
church.
Owen obviously had no intention of attending public worship. He was
standing, with several youths of his own age, outside a public-house,
before which a large drag drawn by four horses was stationed. Reuben
had to look twice to be sure that it was Owen, for the lad's appearance
had changed considerably during the months which had passed since he
left Ashworth.
He was dressed in a plaid suit, of rather a conspicuous pattern; he
had a bright red tie adorned by a showy pin, a pipe was between his
lips, and he flourished a smart little cane. He was talking gaily. The
air of importance he had always worn was more marked than formerly. He
evidently considered himself the chief person in the party, and his
companions were willing that he should take the lead. He started as
Reuben eagerly, suddenly halted before him, saying eagerly,—
"Owen! Is it you?"
There was some reluctance in his manner, though Reuben did not perceive
it, as he responded to his greeting.
"I rather think it is. But who would have thought of seeing you, old
fellow?"
"Did you not know that I had to come to Birmingham?"
"Well, now you mention it, I believe my mother did say something about
it in one of her letters. It is a good move on your part, old chap.
Don't you find town ever so much jollier than that stupid hole in the
country?"
"No, I cannot say that I do," replied Reuben slowly. "I think the
country is ever so much nicer than the town. And if you mean that
Ashworth is a stupid hole, I am not of your mind."
"He's mammy sick, poor boy," said one of Owen's companions, who stood
regarding Reuben with a quizzical air; "he wants to go home to his ma."
The others all laughed.
"If you like the country so much, you had better come with us," said
Owen, with rather a patronising air; "we are just off to spend the day
in the country."
"No, thank you; I cannot do that," said Reuben.
"Oh, do come, old fellow," returned Owen, "I am sure you will like it.
The fare is only two shillings there and back. And if the money's a
difficulty, I'll stand treat."
"No, thank you; I cannot come," said Reuben. Then, with an effort, he
added, "I am going to church."
The statement was received with a burst of laughter, as if it were
a grand joke, by all the party except Owen. He looked annoyed and
uncomfortable.
"Going to church! Oh, my word! P'raps you'd like to go to church with
him, Grant."
"Don't be a fool, Reu," said Owen, drawing his friend aside; "these
fellows will only laugh at you if you talk about church. You can go
there any Sunday. But we are not likely to get another day like this in
a hurry. Do come."
It was only for a moment that Reuben hesitated. He did not like to be
laughed at, nor called a fool; but it suddenly struck him that he would
be a fool indeed if he suffered himself to be drawn aside from doing
what he felt to be right by fear of the contempt of such fellows as
these.
"Let them laugh," he said; "what do I care? Owen, you know I have
always been accustomed to go to church on Sunday, and so have you. Why
should we do differently now? What would your father and mother feel if
they knew how you were thinking of spending Sunday? Oh, Owen, don't do
it, for their sakes. Come with me. I am sure those fellows are not good
friends for you."
Owen coloured and was silent. Reuben words were not without their
effect upon him. But a shout from one of the other lads counteracted it.
"Hullo, there, Grant! It is time we were off. Don't let that saintly
chap carry you off to church."
The feelings contending within Owen Grant gave place to a burst of
anger.
"Be so good as to mind your own business, Reuben Roy. It does not
matter to you how I choose to spend Sunday. I am not a child now, tied
to my mother's apron strings. I am a man, and can please myself. It was
all very well to go to church and Sunday-school when I was at Ashworth,
but Ashworth ways won't do in Birmingham."
"So much the worse for Birmingham," said Reuben, keeping his temper,
"for I think the Ashworth ways are best, Owen."
With that he walked away, whilst the others clambered up on the drag.
Their ringing laughter followed him, and he caught the words "duffer,"
"milk-sop," "sneak," and knew that these choice epithets were being
applied to himself.
But Reuben did not much mind. Their words could not hurt him. He would
have been truly hurt had he sinned against his conscience by doing
that which he felt to be wrong. But he was sorry about Owen. He called
to mind the aged father and mother, who thought so much of their only
child. The high value they set on him, and the exalted notion their
fond affection had formed of his merits, had become quite a joke—a
perfectly good-humoured one, however—amongst the villagers of Ashworth.
Reuben sighed now at the recollection. How grieved the poor old people
would be if they knew!
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