Dr Morgan gave no explanation of what had occurred till Charles and
Anna had left the room. He then called his anxious and ever helpful
wife to his side. "I much want your assistance, dearest Maria," he said
in a tone which showed the depressed state of his feelings; "I was
summoned just now to visit a person in a most melancholy condition. You
have heard of the forlorn old creature--Moggy, she is called by the
country people--who lives in that wretched hovel we can see high up on
the side of the mountain. She has been dreadfully burnt."
The Doctor's wife, ever ready with help and sympathy, in spite of the
numerous maternal cares to which she had to attend, immediately
exclaimed, "Poor old creature! I am sure that she much wants comforts.
Shall I not at once send up some sheets and cotton wool? and is there
anything else you can think of?"
"The comfort that is wanted, dear Maria, is nearer home," answered the
Doctor, taking his wife's hand. "I have a sad story to tell you. On
reaching Old Moggy's hovel I found her with her hands and feet horribly
burnt; so much so, that, should she survive, which I think it possible
she may not, she will, I fear, never recover their use. I found that
sturdy old Welshwoman, Jenny Davis, watching by her, and tending her
with the care of a daughter. After I had dressed the poor creature's
burnt limbs, and done all I could to alleviate her sufferings, Jenny
told me that when crossing the mountain that evening on her way home,
and having nearly reached the bottom, she observed an unusual light
streaming out of the window of Old Mountain Moggy's hovel. Believing
that the hut must be on fire, she hurried up towards it, though she
feared that she should be too late to render any effectual assistance to
its half-witted inmate. So indeed she would, had not another person
most providentially arrived before her. On looking in at the window as
she passed she saw a young gentleman--a tourist, she supposed--kneeling
down by the side of the poor creature; his great-coat was off, he having
with it extinguished the flames with which he said that he had found her
almost surrounded. Happily, from the great number of under-garments she
wore, only the outer rags had caught. He had been sitting on a rock
above the hovel, and hearing a scream, and seeing a light break forth
through a hole in the roof, he ran down, on the chance of something
being wrong, and was undoubtedly the means of saving the poor creature
from instant destruction. He and Jenny together lifted Moggy on to her
straw bed, and in so doing a piece of burnt stick still smouldering fell
out from among her clothes. This was evidently what had set her on
fire, but how it had come there, was the question. Jenny was loud in
her praise of the young gentleman. He was so gentle, and kind, and
didn't mind touching the dirty old creature, and helping to place her in
an easy position. He took out his purse, and observing that he hadn't
much money, he gave her a handful of shillings, as he said, to help to
pay the doctor and to buy her some proper food and clothing.
Fortunately he saw a boy crossing the mountain, and running after him he
gave him a shilling to go and call a doctor. The lad naturally came to
me. The young gentleman would not tell Jenny his name, saying, `names
don't signify.' He had to get back to his inn on the other side of the
mountain, and as it was growing dark he could wait no longer; but, as
Jenny said, ran off as fast as a deer up the steep, singing and jumping
as merry as a lark. He told Jenny that, if he could, he would come back
to learn how the poor old creature might be getting on, but that he
feared he should be living too far off to reach her on foot. This
account was, I own, like a gleam of sunshine, though it threw into a yet
darker shade the sad account of an act of which I am compelled to tell
you. Having dressed Old Moggy's hurts, I observed several stones, some
lying on the bed, and others scattered about the floor of the hut. A
large one I especially remarked on the hearth, and which I had no doubt
had struck the embers of the fire, and been the immediate cause of its
bursting into a flame, and igniting the poor creature's clothes. I
asked Jenny if she could account for the stones being, as they were,
scattered about in every direction; and she then gave me a history of a
piece of barbarous cruelty, the result of a thoughtlessness and an
amount of ignorance I should scarcely have expected in the actors.
Jenny, though in most respects a true Welshwoman, is free from the
ignorant superstition which forms so sad an ingredient in the character
of the uneducated peasants of these mountain districts, and was grieved
when she found that poor Old Moggy had become the victim of the gross
superstition of her neighbours, by whom she is reputed to be a witch who
has flown across the sea from distant parts for the purpose of taking
possession of the wretched hovel on the mountain. `I do think, sir,'
said Jenny, `if the poor creature had had the power of flying, she'd
have flown to a better sort of a place than this poor shed, scarcely fit
to shelter a gipsy's donkey from a snow-storm. When once the mind
strays away from the truth, it's impossible to say what follies it won't
believe. People don't seem to see the foolishness and nonsense of their
own stones. If they'd seen her, as I have, in her right mind, they'd
know that a friend of the Evil One couldn't talk as she talks; and as
for flying, poor old creature! she can scarcely drag one foot after the
other,' Jenny Davis is a thoughtful and sensible woman, though her
exterior is somewhat rough," observed the Doctor, who was evidently
unwilling, sooner than he could, to repeat the story he had heard. He
continued, however: "Jenny gave little heed to these foolish stories,
till one day one of her boys came from playing on the mountain-side,
with a scared look, and almost breathless, saying that the witch had run
after him, shrieking out, and uttering the most dreadful threats. On
cross-questioning the child, she found that he did not actually see
Moggy running after him, but that his companions said she was, while the
shrieks and cries were the result of his imagination. She determined,
however, to go and see the old woman herself. Being a woman of action,
she immediately set off. When she got near the hovel she found a number
of boys yelling, hooting, and throwing stones at it. On her demanding
why they did so, they said that the old witch was within, and had done
them all some mischief. She had stolen the ducks of the mother of one
of them, had milked the cows of a second, and a third declared that she
had prevented the butter from coming in his mother's churn. One urchin
asserted that his father's horse had died in consequence of her
incantations, and another, that she had given his younger brother the
croup; indeed, every one had some sort of complaint to make, and
vehemently declared that they would pay her out. Whilst she was arguing
with them the door opened, and Old Moggy appeared, an unattractive
figure, bent with age, covered with rags, and her countenance
weather-beaten and scared, and expressive of a melancholy, wild, and
restless spirit. The boys, on catching a momentary glimpse of her (for
she instantly again closed the door), turned round, and scampered down
the mountain. Jenny confessed that she at first felt inclined to follow
them, but once more the door slowly opened, and the poor creature looked
out to ascertain if her tormentors had gone off. Not seeing them she
came out, and Jenny heard her in a plaintive voice thanking God for
having delivered her from her enemies; then she broke into a low wail,
the words she uttered being disconnected and incoherent. She was on her
knees, with her hands clasped and her countenance upturned towards
heaven. Jenny's heart was more touched than she had expected. Going up
to the old woman, she said, `These bad boys have been teasing you sadly,
I fear, Moggy.' A vacant stare was at first the only reply she
received, but on repeating her words Moggy seemed to gather their
meaning, and answered, `Ay, sadly, sadly; but ye knows what we have been
taught to say by One who loved us, and died for us. "Forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us." So ye see
that I forgive them, and I pray for them. I pray that they may never be
poor and helpless as I am, that they may never be so afflicted in mind
and body, and that no evil may fall on their heads; and God will hear my
prayers just as much as He will the prayers of the great, and wealthy,
and learned, and young, and strong, and happy,' Then she suddenly
stopped, and began to shriek wildly and wring her hands, moaning out,
`No father, no husband, no child--all, all gone. Oh, my child, my boy,
my hope, my pride!' Jenny tried to soothe and comfort her, and after a
long time succeeded in leading her back into the hut, where she became
more tranquil, but still apparently was unable to give any connected
account of herself. Jenny then, from the basket she was carrying to
market, gave her some food, for which she looked grateful, but said
nothing. After this, by little acts of kindness, Jenny gradually
obtained the helpless creature's confidence; and daily, whenever able,
went at the same hour to disperse the boys, who after school hours have,
it sterns, been in the habit of assembling, for their amusement, to
torment her. Jenny had often threatened to complain to the parents of
the boys, and, should they not attend to her complaints, to place the
whole case before the magistrates. She had complained to several whose
children she recognised, but they either took no notice of what she
said, or were very angry with her; and she had therefore resolved, the
next time she found any boys ill-treating the old woman, to put her
threat into execution. `Yes, sir, and that I must do, even though some
be gentlefolks' sons; one be your son, sir, and sorry I have to speak
it. It's that young Master William of yours, and he is the most daring
and outrageous of the lot,' she added. `It's a shame, sir, I'm sure
you'll allow, that they should go on so; for a more harmless
sorrow-stricken soul I have never met in my life than poor Old Moggy
here. All she's gone through would make a book, and it's not to be
wondered at that with all her trials, and care, and the cruelty she
meets, she is often crazy like. Maybe she's listening now, and knows
what I say, for at times she has got as much sense as any one; and it's
then that she feels her loneliness, and poverty, and wretchedness, and
that makes her go off again as bad as ever, so it seems to me, sir.' I
would not at first believe the truth of the accusation brought against
William, but on closely questioning Jenny, I found that, without doubt,
it is unfortunately the fact that one of our children is capable of thus
cruelly ill-treating one of his fellow-creatures; and that he is so
ignorant as not to be aware of his crime; indeed he has a vague idea
that he was rather performing a meritorious act."
After sitting silent for some time, and grieving over the delinquencies
of her son, Mrs Morgan, like a tender mother, endeavoured to find some
excuse for his conduct; for one of the hardest trials which parents--who
have learned to look upon sin in its true light--have to bear, is to
discover that any one of their children is guilty of a crime. The
Doctor, however, upright himself, and having a clear and distinct view
of right and wrong, would not allow himself to find any excuses for the
crime, though anxious as his wife for the good of the criminal; nor did
he fail to blame himself, as Mrs Morgan blamed herself, for allowing
their child, during the most impressible years of his life, to go from
under their charge.
"Still," argued the Doctor, "William has been told what is right and
wrong; he has read the Scriptures. He has infringed one of the chief
commandments in a most cruel and cowardly manner. I must not be
indulgent towards a crime which, if his victim dies, the legal authority
of his country will pronounce to be manslaughter. I will endeavour,
however, first to ascertain how far he is sensible of his fault by
showing him its consequence. Should he give no proof of penitence I
must resort to severer measures. I purpose to take all the children
with me to-morrow morning to Old Moggy's hut, and I trust that the sight
William will there witness will prove, as it must if his heart is not
hardened, a sufficient punishment for his act."
"I hope and pray it may," said Mrs Morgan. "I fear, though, that Miss
Ap Reece was most injudicious in her management of him, and that he has
now been allowed a long course of self-indulgence; and I believe that
nothing more effectually hardens the heart and makes it indifferent to
the feelings of others, to their sorrows and physical sufferings, than
such a mode of treatment."
Long did the Doctor and his wife talk over the subject, and then
kneeling, they earnestly placed the matter before the Throne of Grace,
seeking from thence guidance and strength. How little, in many
instances, are prosperous, healthy, happy children aware that the chief
cause of their prosperity, health, and happiness, is to be found in the
earnest, trustful prayers of God-fearing parents. Unhappy the children
who have not praying parents! thrice blessed those who have, and who, at
the same time, set high value on their parents' prayers, and learn
betimes to pray aright, and to pray for them as well as for themselves.