Bert Gains a Friend
BERT felt rather shamefaced as he scrambled off the chair and drew it
on one side, that the sailor might enter the room. But the sight he
saw as the door opened made him forget his self-consciousness. The cat
sprang towards his master with a cry that was almost human, so clearly
did it express delight. Then he began rubbing his head and body against
the old man's legs, purring loudly the while. Finally the cat sprang on
his master's shoulders and rubbed his head lovingly against his check.
"Good old Cetywayo," said the old man tenderly; "you're better than
most Christians to forgive me thus. 'Twas a scurvy trick to leave you
shut up here. The truth is, I clean forgot you. You slept so soundly
under the bed that I never thought of you till after the train started.
Then when I remembered that I must have locked you up here, I hadn't
a moment's peace. I did not think that you would find such a kind
friend." And he turned to look for Bert.
"Come in, boy; come in. You must make the acquaintance of my cat, since
you've been so good to him. Ah, Cetywayo does not like strangers," as
the cat arched his back and retreated at the sight of Bert; "but he'll
soon be friendly with you, if you treat him well. I've often seen you
looking down on us; but I didn't want you to come any nearer, for boys
are not friends to cats as a rule. But I see now that I wronged you."
"I like your cat," said Bert timidly; "but Prin does not like cats. I
brought a kitten home once, but she would not let me keep it."
"Who's Prin?" asked his new acquaintance.
And presently Bert was telling him all his history, and the stranger
learned with surprise that the boy and his sister had occupied that
room before he came.
"Well, if I'd known that you would look after my cat, I need not have
troubled to come back to-night. It's a long way to go and come in one
day."
"Is Liverpool farther off than Hampshire?" asked Bert.
"Why, yes, a good bit farther I should say; but it's wonderful how them
trains whirl you along. Now, I'm going to have some supper, and you
must have some with me. Yes, yes, that's only fair, since you've been
feeding my cat."
"Ah, but Mrs. Brown gave me the meat for him," said Bert.
"No matter. You had the trouble of feeding him," said the old man,
liking the boy the better for the acknowledgment.
Bert watched with interest as the old man made up his fire and set the
kettle on it, preparatory to making some cocoa.
"Did you go to Liverpool to see a friend, Mr.—?" he hesitated, not
being sure of the name.
"I'm called Corney," said the sailor; "not that it's my real name,
but it does as well as any other. My mother, who was a wonderful hand
at Bible names, called me Cornelius Theophilus, and my mates soon
shortened that into 'Corney.' No, I didn't go to Liverpool to see
a friend; I went to try to get some news of my sister; but I don't
suppose it would have been any good if I'd stayed longer. All who knew
her and me have disappeared."
"Then you had a sister, Mr. Corney?"
"Yes, I had a sister; and I don't know now whether she's living or
dead. Her name was Priscilla. That's in the Bible, too, you know."
Bert did not know much about the Bible, nor was he desirous of such
knowledge; but he was full of curiosity respecting this lodger, and
anxious to make the most of this opportunity of gratifying it.
"But you've got a friend, haven't you, Mr. Corney?" he said.
"No," said Mr. Corney, looking sad and shaking his head; "I don't
believe I have a friend left in the world."
"There's that one you're always singing about," said the boy. "Who's
he?"
And then, as the old sailor looked at him with a puzzled expression,
the boy tried to sing, in his shrill little voice:—
"I've got a Friend, oh, such a Friend!"
The old man's face suddenly lit up.
"Ah, that Friend!" he said. "I did not know what you meant. Ah, yes,
I've that Friend, and he that has Him can do without any other."
And then in his quavering voice he began to sing:—
"'I've found a Friend, oh, such a Friend!
He bled, He died, to save me;
And not alone the gift of life,
But His own self He gave me.'
"You know who that Friend is, surely, boy?"
Bert's face had suddenly taken a serious, thoughtful expression.
"I don't know," he said.
"The Lord Jesus. You have heard of Him?"
Bert nodded gravely.
"What do you know of Him?"
Bert did not reply immediately. When he spoke it was with evident
reluctance.
"He is our Lord," he said, "and He died for us."
"Yes, He died that we might be saved from sin. Was not that love? Have
we another friend like Him?"
Bert shook his head. He was silent for a minute. Then he ventured to
put a question.
"What is sin?" he asked.
"Sin!" said Mr. Corney, surprised at the question. "Sin is the worst
thing in the world. It is that which makes all the misery of this
world."
"Yes; but what is it?" asked Bert.
The old sailor looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"You know," he said; "surely, boy, you know the difference between
right and wrong?"
Bert made no reply.
"You know that it's wrong to tell lies, or steal, or do murder?"
Bert nodded. He had once received a beating from his father for telling
a lie. He knew how the law punished the other offences.
"Well, those are sins. And yet sin means more than that, for one may
do none of those things and yet be a great sinner. Paul called himself
the chief of sinners, and yet he was no law-breaker. Really, I never
thought till now how difficult it is to say what sin means, and yet, I
know! I know! Sin, it seems to me, is just loving ourselves instead of
God, and doing what pleases ourselves instead of what pleases God."
"But how can we know what pleases God?" asked Bert, with wonder in his
eyes.
"Oh, in many ways. There's a little voice in our hearts that warns us
when we are going to do what is wrong; and then there is Jesus Christ
to show us what God would have us to be. He is our example, our copy,
you know. You write copies at school, don't you?"
Bert nodded.
"And there's a fine bit of writing at the top of the page, and you have
to look at that and try to make your writing like it?"
Bert nodded again.
"Well, Jesus is our great copy. We look at Him and see what our lives
should be. This Book tells us about Him, you know."
And the old sailor laid his hand on the well-worn volume Bert had often
seen him reading.
"The Gospels are just one grand lesson in love," he said. "What made
Jesus so different from every other man? I take it was just that His
heart was overflowing with love to God and love to man. That's why He
was the sinless One, in my opinion. If our hearts were full of love to
others, we could not do them wrong; and if we loved God perfectly, we
could not break His commandments. But our love is so different from
God's. There was one I thought I loved, but I grieved her sore. Ay,
lad, I should know what sin is, if anybody does, for I've been an awful
sinner."
Bert looked at the old man in astonishment. His voice had quavered as
he spoke, and it seemed to the boy that there were tears in his eyes.
"Why, Mr. Corney," Bert exclaimed, "I shouldn't think that you had been
so bad!"
"Ay, but I was bad," said Mr. Corney, still speaking with emotion. "I
broke my mother's heart by my sin. She was so fond of her children.
There were only the two of us—my sister and I. Priscilla was always
well-behaved, but I—I brought my mother sore sorrow and disgrace, and
then I ran away to sea, and I never saw her again, for a year later she
died."
The old man paused, as if the recollection was too painful for him to
dwell upon. While he talked, he had been spreading the table for their
simple meal. The kettle was boiling now, so he proceeded to make the
cocoa.
Bert brought a hearty appetite to the table. He had not enjoyed a meal
so much since Prin left him. He felt that he had gained a friend in
the old sailor. When the time came to say "good-night," Cetywayo too
showed himself friendly, for he suffered the boy to stroke his head
without arching his back and spitting. Bert lingered for a moment on
the doorstep ere he crept into the corner where he slept.
Many persons were in the street on this warm night. The sound of
drunken revelry came from the public-house close by. A crowd had
gathered about a house on the opposite side of the street to witness a
fierce dispute between a husband and wife. At another time Bert would
have rushed into the thick of the crowd to see what was going on; but
to-night he felt no curiosity on the subject.
He stood looking up at the clear, calm sky above his head, studded with
stars. How peaceful and far-away heaven looked! How noisy and ugly
earth was! As he gazed into the grey vault, the boy had a momentary
consciousness of a vast, unfathomable Love bending over him. But to
the west, a great black cloud was slowly rising above the houses. Bert
watched it as it gradually rose and spread, till it seemed to fill all
the sky, and the stars were blotted out.
"That is like sin," the boy said to himself, and he turned indoors with
a sigh.
As he passed Mrs. Kay's door, he saw that a light was burning within,
and he could hear her moving about, with a noise as though she were
lifting heavy things.
"She's not drinking to-night, then," he said to himself. He crept into
bed, and was soon sound asleep.
Early in the morning, he was wakened by a great commotion in the
passage. Emerging from his hole to see what it meant, he perceived that
the place was strewn with Mrs. Kay's belongings, and that a cart stood
at the door, waiting to receive them. Tumbling as quickly as possible
into his clothes, he ran to learn more.
"Why, Mrs. Kay!" he cried. "Are you shifting?"
"Does it no look like it?" she asked grimly.
"I'm sorry for that," said Bert, who bore no malice on account of harsh
words and blows received from her in the past. "Where are you going?"
"That's no business of yours," she replied. "Just hold your tongue,
can't you? I've enough to do without your bothering me with questions."
"Can't I help you?" asked Bert.
"Yes, you may, if you'll be careful," she said, somewhat mollified;
here, "you may carry these books out to the cart."
Bert looked curiously at the pile of shabby books she gave him. On the
top lay a small old Bible. As he carried it out, the breeze lifted the
old, broken cover, almost carrying it away, and Bert caught sight of a
name written on the fly-leaf, "Priscilla Grant, from her loving mother."
Slowly he spelt out the long name, then tried in a whisper to pronounce
it.
"Pris—cilla! That sounds like the name Mr. Corney said was his
sister's. How odd that it should be in this book! I wonder if it's Mrs.
Kay's?"
But Bert kept his wonder to himself. He did not dare to ask any more
questions.
Mrs. Kay's possessions were not very numerous. In a short time they
were all packed into the cart, and having given up the key of her room
to the landlady, she took her departure, walking beside the cart.
"So she's gone," said Bert, with a sigh. "I'm sorry."
"Then it's more than I am," said Mrs. Brown, as she glanced round the
dusty, littered room her lodger had vacated. "She's good riddance,
I say, for I never knew when I should get her money, and she was a
nasty-tempered woman."
"Where has she gone?" asked Bert.
"I'm sure I don't know," returned the landlady; "that's no business of
mine. She's paid me what she owed, and that's all I care about."