wife, she let her husband first have out his say. She told of her
visit to Nancy Sands. Franks listened to her account with interest and
pleasure; and, when he heard that the poor woman had attended church
upon Sunday, his honest blue eyes lighted up with an expression of joy.
"It's a real pleasure," he cried, "to see a fellow-creature lifted
out of poverty, and given a good start in life, like Benjamin Isaacs;
but it's a still greater pleasure to see a poor sinner that was going
to ruin raised out of the mire, and turning her face towards Zion. O
Persis! I trust that there's many a one that man would have rooted up
as worthless tares that will be found in the heavenly garner at last!"
"And poor Ben Stone is, I hear, far more anxious about his soul than
he ever was before," said Persis. "I do trust that he is now resting
on sure ground; that he is giving up all vain hopes of being saved by
anything but living faith in the one great Sacrifice for sin."
"You and I are exchanging good tidings, my Persis," said Franks. "All
seems bright sunshine now, within as well as without, in this glorious
month of June."
"I cannot quite say that, dear Ned. We had something of a cloud
sweeping over Colme yesterday in the shape of a carriage and four,
with postilion and post-horn, dashing through the village during
church-time, on the way to the Hall."
"You don't mean to tell me that young Sir Lacy Barton has come to take
possession of his property!" exclaimed Ned Franks, looking startled at
the news. "I had hoped with all my heart and soul that he would have
kept away for years. You know that I had but too good an opportunity
of judging of the character of that young man when I was a sailor on
board the same man-of-war in which he was serving. I don't like to
think ill, still less to speak ill, of any one who has served under the
dear old Union-jack of England; but I should be sorry to think that the
queen has another officer to match that young scapegrace, Barton. I
wish that the old baronet had lived till he was a hundred years old; it
might have saved our village from the mischief which must be brought by
the influence and example of such a man as his son."
Ned Franks, who had been doing all in his power to train the village
boys under his charge to be not only good scholars but good Christians,
felt like a shepherd who hears that a bear has been let loose in the
midst of his flock. The lord of the manor would be like a little king
at Colme amongst his tenants, and his influence for good or for evil
would be very extensive indeed.
"The new baronet did indeed drive to the Hall yesterday," said Persis,
"and he took good care that all the village should know of his arrival;
for, as he dashed past the church where we were listening to Mr.
Leyton's sermon, the post-boy blew a loud flourish on his horn. The
church doors were open on account of the heat, so you may imagine the
effect of the trampling of horses, and the sudden loud blast upon our
little congregation. Every one turned his head round, half the people
rose from their seats, some of the children ran out of church to see
the great man drive past! One could hardly blame them, poor little
things. It was strange in Sir Lacy to return thus to the home of his
poor dead father."
"Just like him, just like him," muttered Franks.
"You should have seen how our young curate flushed up to his forehead,
and for a moment or two could hardly go on with his sermon," said
Persis.
"It was a personal insult to Mr. Leyton for Sir Lacy Barton to have the
horn blown at the very door of his church," cried Franks. "It is the
more strange that the baronet should behave thus, as our curate is his
own cousin, and, I've heard, the heir to his title and property."
"Sir Lacy might not like him the better for that," observed the
school-master's wife, with a smile. "Mr. Sands told me yesterday that
he believed that the noise was made on purpose to spite the young
preacher; for Sands, as clerk, had had to carry a message to the curate
just before service began, asking him to have the church-bells rung for
the next hour in honor of the baronet's arrival in Colme."
"Did you ever hear of such a thing!" exclaimed the indignant Franks.
"What answer did our young curate return?"
"Oh, a courteous one, you may be sure! I don't think that Mr. Leyton
could be rude to any one if he tried; but I believe that he proposed to
Sir Lacy a little delay. Of course bell-ringing during church-service
was out of the question, so the baronet gave us horn-blowing instead."
"Mean, sneaking spite!" muttered Franks. "We are likely to have a
stormy time of it if Sir Lacy stays long at the Hall."
"You and he are not likely to have anything to do with each other, I
trust," said Persis. "Do you think that Sir Lacy will remember having
seen you on board of his ship?"
"I don't know,--I was nothing to him,--he was not likely to take much
notice of a common sailor, and it is nigh four years now since we trod
the same planks. But if Sir Lacy _does_ chance to remember me, he will
not care to have any one in Colme who knows so much of his pranks at
sea as I do. I doubt he'll let me stay here long."
"I don't know what he has to do with your going or staying," said
Persis, speaking, however, with a little nervous hesitation, for she
was aware that the lord of the manor must be a powerful enemy.
"Do you not know," asked Franks, quickly, "have you lived here so long
without hearing, that this school was founded and endowed by a Barton
ages ago, and that the family have a right to appoint the master of it?"
"I thought," replied Persis, turning rather pale, "that you had been
appointed by our good vicar, Mr. Curtis."
"Oh! the last old baronet let our vicar appoint whom he would,
thinking, I suppose, that Mr. Curtis knew more about schools and
school-masters than he did himself. But the patronage of the place goes
along with the property."
"Then you must walk warily, Ned."
"That's not a thing I can do!" exclaimed the late sailor. "When I see
an unprincipled fellow trying to corrupt others, and making use of
wealth and position only to do the more mischief, I feel a kind of
game-cock spirit stirring within me; it seems as if I must have a dash
at him, come what may." Ned Franks's blue eyes sparkled with animation;
he looked as one of the soldiers at Waterloo might have looked at the
call, "Up, guards, and at them!"
Persis was fondling in her arms her little babe, that smiled up at her,
unconscious of the shade of anxious care passing over the mother's
face. She gazed wistfully first at Ned, then at their boy, as she said,
"Oh, do not forget that you are a husband and father now."
"No," replied Franks, more quietly; "it is wonderful what a difference
that makes in a man. It's well that tars are not allowed to take a wife
or children to sea, or they'd think twice before they ran a ship within
range of the enemy's guns. I could bear a pinch of poverty well enough
myself, but I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to seeing you or the
baby in want. Bless him!" the father stooped forward and kissed the
soft lips of his child. "But I can't answer for my own self-command,
if I've much to do with that worthless Barton. I detest him more than
any other man in the world."
"Now, Ned, darling, will you let me say a little thing to you?" asked
Persis, with a shy, tender glance at her husband, as she laid her hand
on his shoulder. "Do you think that our blessed religion allows us to
detest any being on earth?"
"It makes us hate sin!" exclaimed Franks.
"But surely _not_ sinners, my love."
"The truth is," said the sailor school-master, "that I'm by nature of
an impatient, fiery spirit. I'm one of those of whom it is said that
they make good lovers and good haters."
"A good lover, if you will," observed the wife with a pleasant smile;
"but it always seems to me that the expression, 'a good hater,' can
never describe a Christian, who is bound by the Lord's command, not
only not to detest but to love his enemies."
"That's a most difficult command to obey."
"I am sure that it is," observed Persis. "But He who gave the command,
can also give grace to keep it. It seems to me, as if hatred, revenge,
and all the fierce passions so natural to man, are like Satan's
fire-ships that he sends against even those who are going on the
straightest course towards heaven--"
"And you would have me 'sheer off,'" cried Franks, gayly, "as soon as
I see one bearing down on me, because I carry a dangerous quantity of
gunpowder down in my hold! You're afraid of an explosion, wifie, and
you're right. I dare say now that there's something of pride in my very
contempt for a fellow like Barton (he really is _not_ a gentleman);
I despise him too much in the spirit of _Stand by, I am holier than
thou_."
"And should we not remember," said Persis, softly, "that those whom we
cannot respect are our fellow-creatures still; they, like ourselves,
have souls, precious souls, that must live forever? If they, through
rejecting mercy, will have at last to share the misery of the rich man
in the parable, should not our deep, deep pity swallow up every feeling
of dislike? And if, on the contrary, they are to be found in the end
amongst those whose sins have been forgiven, can we not bear with them
a while in patience, even as God has borne so long with them, and with
us?"
Ned Franks answered the question by giving his wife a hearty kiss, in
return, as he said, for her lecture. He promised to keep on his guard,
less against Sir Lacy Barton than against his own fiery temper, and
to "sheer off" as fast as he might, whenever he found that Satan's
fire-ships of hatred, malice, or revenge, were drifting on the current
towards him.
XXXII.
The Bonfire.
The holidays given on account of the hay-making season were soon
over, and with their daily lessons at school, the boys of Colme
resumed their cheerful labors in Wild Rose Hollow. Already there was a
pleasant change in the aspect of two of the cottages, which, through
the combined efforts of workmen and boys, were declared by Franks to
be "quite weather-tight and seaworthy." The third was now "to be laid
up in dock, and well overhauled." Franks was ambitious to make the
almshouses pretty as well as comfortable. He set the boys to gathering
a large quantity of tough boughs which, tastefully interlaced, and
painted to preserve them from decay, were to form seven rustic porches,
round which creepers should be trained to climb.
"They'll be like cool, pretty bowers for the old folks to sit in during
the hot summer days," said Franks; and he took especial pleasure in
the gradually increasing pile of collected branches stripped of their
leaves, which formed one of the most conspicuous objects in what Ned
called "the building yard" in Wild Rose Hollow.
Cheerfully, on the day when work was resumed, the one-armed teacher led
his jovial crew of noisy young workers along the familiar road which
led to the scene of their labors. As Ned passed the cottage of Sands,
Nancy came forth to greet him with a good-humored smile on her face,
which, if it looked paler and older than when he last had seen it, had
certainly gained in pleasantness of expression since her accident in
the stream.
"A good-day to you, Ned Franks!" she cried, as she leaned over the
little gate of her garden. "I wonder if you and your good wife could
just step in and pass a quiet evening with me and John Sands? I can
promise you a good cup of _tea_," she added, with an emphasis on the
last word which was meant to assure the hearer that she had faithfully
kept the pledge.
"I shall be happy to come, if Persis can manage it; but the ladies
settle these matters," replied Ned, gayly; "and there's a little
troublesome fellow, you know, who will have a voice, though he is not
quite up to talking."
"Oh, you must bring the baby of course!" cried Nancy. "The days are so
long, and the evenings so warm, that he can't now take any harm."
The invitation frankly given was frankly accepted, and Nancy returned
into her cottage saying to herself, "How strangely things do change,
and people change as strangely! It's not three months since I used to
call Ned Franks that canting Jack with the wooden arm. I hated him,--I
hated his ways,--I'd have done him a mischief if I could. And now I've
lost an arm as well as himself,--I'm crippled far worse than he, and
yet I believe that I'm better off and happier now than I was when I
mocked and jeered at him. And, as for these pious ways of his, which
made me so mad against him, I only wish I could follow them myself, and
have the same lookout for another world as honest Ned Franks and his
wife."
"Nancy Sands is a changed woman if ever there was one," mused the
school-master, as he hurried along the dusty road after his boys, who
had gone on in advance. "There never was a being who tried my patience
more sorely than she did, with her waspish temper and her stinging
tongue. Why, I remember biting my lip till it bled, to keep in the
passionate retort to her very provoking taunts. Yes, the fire-ships
were bearing down upon me then; and if I was enabled to 'sheer off'
and avoid an explosion, it was because conscience stood at my helm,
and my sails had been filled with prayer. Let no one make an excuse
for passion by saying, 'It's in my nature;' the office of grace is
to conquer nature, and tame the unruly spirit to the meekness and
lowliness which become a Christian."
Ten minutes afterwards, Ned and his crew were busy as bees at their
work, sawing and digging, carrying bricks and piling up wood, some of
the boys singing cheerily as they labored, while the miller's little
girl, seated on a stone, watched the work, and joined in the song with
her sweet, childish voice.
Suddenly the singing ceased. Franks, who was working hard with his back
towards the path which led up to the high road, did not at first notice
the cause of the interruption, till he heard a loud, coarse, and too
familiar voice, exclaim, "You boys there, what are you about?"
Ned Franks did not need the murmur of "Sir Lacy--Sir Lacy Barton,"
which ran through the groups around him, to make him aware who had
appeared. He turned round quickly, and saw a young man not more than
two-and-twenty years of age, but whose bloated features already
showed the effects of the evil habits which must soon have caused
his expulsion from the noble service which he disgraced, had not his
succession to the baronetcy given him an excuse for quitting the navy
of his own accord. As the baronet stood on the path leading down into
the Hollow, between his fingers the lighted cigar which he had just
removed from his lips, Ned gravely touched his cap out of respect to
his position as lord of the manor. The moment that the eyes of the two
men met, the school-master felt certain that Sir Lacy had recognized
him, though the settled purplish-red on the baronet's cheek would
scarcely admit of a deepened flush. He took no notice of Franks's
salutation but by a haughty stare, and turned towards one of the boys
who was standing with his foot resting on his spade.
"What are you all about?" repeated Sir Lacy.
"Please, sir," answered the boy, "we's be a-building up them old
houses," and he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
"And what do such young fry as you get for your work?"
"Please, sir, we don't not get nothing," replied the little brown-faced
rustic. "Ned Franks, he be our school-master, there; he tells us to
work for the pleasure of helping the poor."
Sir Lacy gave a loud, very scornful whistle, and then a still louder
laugh. "If you listen to such twaddle," he cried, "I'll tell you what
you'll come to, my lad. Your ears will grow longer than your purse,
and you'll have to take to browsing on thistles, like a donkey, as you
are!" and to give point to his wit, the young man caught hold of the
ear of the unfortunate boy, and gave it a pull, apparently to hasten
the lengthening process, but which had only the effect of forcing out a
sharp cry of pain.
The circle of boys retreated a pace backwards, and Franks had to press
his lips very tightly indeed together to keep in the word "brute!"
"And what's that?" asked the baronet, turning to another young worker,
who looked by no means anxious to be singled out for conversation with
the lord of the manor. Sir Lacy was pointing with his cigar to the
great pile collected for making the seven cottage porches.
"Them be branches," stammered out the child.
"I dare say; I did not take them for buttercups, wiseacre! So you've
been making preparations for a grand bonfire in honor of my return?"
The poor little boy gave a frightened, appealing glance towards Franks.
"Answer me; I suppose you've a tongue in your head," said Sir Lacy. The
boy was trembling for his ears.
"Them be for the porches, sir," faltered the poor little fellow, who
had been one of the most active in collecting for the purpose the
strongest and most pliable branches.
"Ah! but I say they're for a bonfire, and as a bonfire they shall
blaze!" cried Sir Lacy. "Here's a light,--you set fire to the heap!"
Again the frightened child looked to his master, though not daring to
refuse to take into his hand the lighted cigar. Franks strode forward,
and, with as much calmness as he could command, addressed Sir Lacy
Barton.
"I hope, sir, that you will not destroy that which it has cost us some
time and trouble to collect, and which is intended to add to the few
comforts of the respectable poor."
"Mind your own business, and hold your tongue," was the insolent reply;
"and you, little dog, do what I bid you, or I'll toss you on the top of
the blaze."
In a few minutes the pile of branches was a crackling heap of smoke and
flame, that curled up pale in the yet brilliant light of the declining
sun. Sir Lacy laughed, rubbed his hands, and bade the boys give a good
British cheer, if they knew how to do it. About half the number obeyed,
though the shout sounded different indeed from that which had burst
from them freely, at no man's command,--when they had resolved to give
two hours daily to working for the poor.
"Now off with ye all to your homes," cried Sir Lacy, as soon as what he
called "the fun of the thing" was over; "unless you've a mind to come
and look on at a famous match between some game-cocks that I'm going to
have up at the Hall."
Several of the boys cheered again at the great man's invitation, and,
whether from a regard for their ears, or a mean desire to curry favor,
not one of them seemed to be in the least disposed to return to work.
In short, as soon as Sir Lacy had lighted another cigar, and turning on
his heel began reascending the path, the jovial crew dispersed in one
direction or another. They were afraid or ashamed to appear to mind the
school-master's "twaddle."
"They've not the spirit of a tom-twit amongst them!" muttered Franks,
almost more indignant at the defection of his boys than at the
insolence of Sir Lacy. "They just follow one another like sheep!"
Little Bessy, with her face glowing scarlet, ran up to the sailor, who
was standing alone.
"Oh, isn't he a bad, bad man," she cried, "to burn up all in that great
big fire, and to make the boys go away? But don't mind him, don't mind
him, Ned Franks. I'll work with you, if they won't work. I can carry a
brick all by myself!" and she suited the action to the word.
"There's a brave little lass!" said Franks, stooping to pat her curly
head. "You won't be daunted by difficulties, nor bullied into baseness
by a"--he stopped short; the sight of the still burning pile recalled
to him Persis's simile of the fire-ships. He felt the fierce glow
rising hotter in his heart than the flame from the branches which
scorched his brow. He must not trust himself to say more, even to the
child, lest he should utter words which he might in vain desire to
recall.
Ned returned to his work, and labored with even greater energy than
usual. Perhaps the strong efforts of the arm relieved the pressure
on the spirits, or perhaps the hard blows which descended on pillar
and post were an outward expression of the struggle going on within,
to strike down, and then to keep down, the stubborn passions of the
natural heart.
XXXIII.
Watching for Souls.
The evil effects of Sir Lacy's residence at the Hall were soon seen
in the village school. Franks found that his boys became less regular
in attendance, and less respectful in manner. He more than once, when
giving a serious reproof, heard, from a distant corner of the room a
whisper, in which "twaddle" and "donkey's ears" were the only words
to be distinguished. Few of his jovial crew now ever worked in Wild
Rose Hollow; it was not the fashion to do so. Franks would see little
rustics, instead of engaging in healthful labor, sauntering about with
their hands in their pockets and smoking. The great ambition of the
boys was to get a cigar; and half-used ones, thrown away by Sir Lacy or
his rollicking guests, were counted as prizes.
Great was the annoyance of the good old invalid Vicar of Colme, great
the vexation of Mr. Leyton, his curate, when it was given out that Sir
Lacy would have a cricket-match every Sunday afternoon on his lawn,
and treat the boys to strong ale, or, as it was rumored, to something
stronger. The vicar and curate held anxious consultations together in
the study, where the old minister, feeble and suffering, reclined in
his large arm-chair.
"I have written a strong remonstrance to Sir Lacy, as you will see
here," said the vicar, handing a letter to his nephew. "I have tried to
write as temperately as I could. But would it not be well, Claudius, as
you are the baronet's near relation, that you should go and speak to
him yourself on the subject? He may be rather careless than actually
wicked. We know that
"'Evil is wrought
By want of thought
As well as by want of heart.'"
The young minister shook his head sadly. "I have not the slightest
influence with my cousin," he said. "He asked me to dinner once after
his arrival at Colme, and I thought it right not to refuse his first
invitation. But what I saw at the Hall, and still more what I heard,
made me return home sickened and disgusted, and with a resolve that I
would never cross the threshold again. It is a misfortune to the whole
place that such a man as Sir Lacy Barton should hold the chief position
in it."
The curate, who was just beginning to know his flock, and be known by
them, to overcome his own painful shyness, and become accustomed to
parish work, looked overwhelmed by the new and unexpected difficulties
which had started up before him.
"My dear boy," said the old vicar, in his fatherly way, "this will be
a sifting time in the village; but we must not forget that temptation
itself is turned into a cause of rejoicing to those who in God's
strength overcome it. Were there no battle, where would be the victory?
It is _when the enemy comes in like a flood_ that _the Spirit of the
Lord shall lift up a banner_ against him. Let the danger to our flock
make us but more watchful, more vigilant, more earnest in prayer. God
is above all, and even sinners are made unconscious instruments in his
hands for working good that they intend not. Is it not written, _Surely
the wrath of man shall praise thee, and the remainder of wrath shalt
thou restrain_?"
"One comfort is that we have Ned Franks to look after the school,"
observed Mr. Leyton. "He has such an energy and intelligence, his heart
is so thoroughly in his work, and then his piety is so sincere, that
his influence is always for good."
"Such men as Ned Franks are indeed _the salt of the earth_," said the
vicar. "The Christian's calling is, not only himself to be, through
God's grace, purified, but to become a means of preserving all over
whom his influence extends from the corruption of sin. No man can live
merely unto himself; the effect of his example is ever silently working
on others; it is a talent entrusted to him, for which he will, at the
last day, render an account."
"For one like Barton how fearful an account!" cried the curate.
"He needs our prayers," said the vicar.
The letter of Mr. Curtis was sent to the Hall; Sir Lacy was at the
billiard-table when he received it. He tore it open, glanced at its
contents, then, laughing, twisted the paper round and round, and used
it to light his cigar.
"Since the good parson's squeamish about Sunday cricketing," he said,
"we'll have a little cock-fighting instead to please him."