VICTORY WON FROM DEFEAT.
Bert had reached an age and stage of development when the raising of a
decided issue between right and wrong was a matter of vital consequence.
Although he had little more than rounded out a dozen years of life, his
natural bent of mind and the influences surrounding him had been such as
to make him seem at least two years older when compared with his
contemporaries. He thought much, and, considering his age, deeply. His
parents had always admitted him into full fellowship with themselves,
and he had thus acquired their way of thinking upon many subjects. Then
his religious training had been more than ordinarily thorough. The
influences and inspiration of a Christian home had been supplemented and
strengthened by the teaching at Sunday school of one who possessed a
rare gift in the management of boys. Mr. Silver not only understood his
boys: he was in hearty and complete sympathy with them; and the truth
came from him with peculiar force, as he met them Sunday after Sunday.
Bert therefore would appear to have everything in his favour when set
upon by the tempter, and it might seem strange that in this case he
should dally so long with the danger. But the fact is there were unusual
elements in this temptation, such as have been already set forth, and
Bert's course of action from the time when he first saw the translation
of Sallust in Regie Selwyn's room, until when at length after days of
indecision, of halting between two opinions, of now listening to, and
again spurning the suggestions of the tempter, he had a copy of the same
book hidden away in his own room, was but another illustration of the
familiar experience, that he who stops to argue with the tempter, has as
good as lost his case.
He tried hard to persuade himself that it was all right, and that it
would be all right, but nevertheless it was with none too easy a
conscience that he slipped into Gossip's one afternoon, and timidly
inquired for the Sallust translation. The clerk did not understand at
first, and when he asked Bert to repeat his question a cold shiver went
down the boy's back, for he felt sure the man must have divined his
purpose in procuring the book. But, of course, it was only an
unnecessary alarm, and soon with the volume under his arm, and breathing
much more freely, he was hastening homeward.
At first he kept very faithfully to the programme he had laid down of
not resorting to the "pony" until he had done his best without it. Then
little by little he fell into the way of referring to it whenever he
was at a loss regarding a word, until at last he came to depend upon it
altogether, and the fluent translations that won Dr. Johnston's
approbation day after day were really nothing better than stolen matter.
Yet all this time he was far from having peace of mind. That troublesome
conscience of his acted as though it would never become reconciled to
this method of studying the classics. On the contrary, it seemed to grow
increasingly sensitive upon the point. Finally the matter was brought to
a head in a very unsuspected manner.
No mention has been made in these pages of one who occupied a very large
place in Bert's affection and admiration--namely, the Rev. Dr. Chrystal,
the pastor of Calvary Church. Dr. Chrystal was a man of middle age and
medium height, with a countenance so winning and manners so attractive,
that Mr. Lloyd was wont to call him St. John, the beloved disciple,
because his name was John, and everybody who knew him loved him. It was
not merely by the elders of his congregation, who could fully appreciate
the breadth and soundness of his scholarship, the richness of his
rhetoric, and the warmth of his eloquence, but by the younger members
also, who loved his sunny smile, and hearty laugh, that Dr. Chrystal was
little short of worshipped.
Bert had been his warm admirer ever since the time when on his pastoral
visits he would take the little fellow up on his knee, and draw him out
about his own amusements and ambitions, giving such interested attention
to his childish prattle that Bert could not fail to feel he had in him a
real friend. As he grew older, his liking for the minister deepened. He
never had that foolish fear of "the cloth" which is so apt to be found
in boys of his age. Dr. Chrystal was a frequent visitor at Bert's home.
Mr. Lloyd was one of the main supporters of his church, and the two men
had much to consult about. Besides that, the preacher loved to discuss
the subjects of the day with the keen-witted, far-seeing lawyer, who
helped him to many a telling point for the sermon in preparation.
This, of course, was quite beyond Bert, but what he could and did fully
appreciate was the skill and strength with which Dr. Chrystal, having
laid aside his clerical coat, would handle a pair of sculls when he went
out boating with them, in the fine summer evenings.
"I tell you what it is, Frank," said he, enthusiastically to his friend
one day. "There's nothing soft about our minister. He can pull just as
well as any man in the harbour. That's the sort of minister I like.
Don't you?"
One Sunday evening, after Bert had been using his "pony" some little
time--for although his father had returned, he had come so to depend
upon it, that he continued to resort to it in secret--Dr. Chrystal
preached a sermon of more than usual power from the text, "Provide
things honest in the sight of all men." It was a frank, faithful
address, in which he sought to speak the truth in tenderness, and yet
with direct application to his hearers. If any among them were
disbelievers in the doctrine that honesty is the best policy, and acted
accordingly, they could hardly hope to dodge the arrows of argument and
appeal shot forth from the pulpit that evening.
Bert was one of the first to be transfixed. When the text was announced
he wriggled a bit, as though it pricked him somewhere; but when, further
on, Dr. Chrystal spoke in plain terms of the dishonesty of false
pretences, of claiming to be what you really are not, of seeking credit
for what is not actually your own work, Bert's head sank lower and
lower, his cheeks burned with shame, and, feeling that the speaker must
in some mysterious way have divined his guilty secret, and be preaching
directly at him, he sank back in his seat, and wished with wild longing
that he could run away from those flashing eyes that seemed to be
looking right through him, and from the sound of that clear, strong
voice, whose every tone went straight to his heart.
But, of course, there was no escape, and he had to listen to the sermon
to the end, although, had it been possible, he would gladly have thrust
his fingers in his ears that he might hear no more. He felt immensely
relieved when the service was over, and he could go out into the cool,
dark evening air. He was very silent as he walked home with his parents,
and so soon as prayers were over went off to his room, saying that he
was tired.
For the next few days there was not a more miserable boy in Halifax than
Cuthbert Lloyd. He was a prey to contending feelings that gave him not
one moment's peace. His better nature said, "Be manly, and confess." The
tempter whispered, "Be wise, and keep it to yourself." As for the cause
of all this trouble, it lay untouched in the bottom drawer of his
bureau. He could not bear to look at it, and he worked out his Sallust
as best he could, causing Dr. Johnston much surprise by the unexpected
mistakes he made in translating. He became so quiet and sober that his
mother grew quite concerned, and asked him more than once if he felt
ill, to which, with a pretence of a laugh, he replied:
"Not a bit of it. I'm all right."
But he wasn't all right, by any means, as his father's keen eyes soon
discovered. Mr. Lloyd, like his wife, thought at first that Bert's queer
ways must be due to ill health; but after watching him awhile he came to
the conclusion that the boy's trouble was mental, rather than physical,
and he determined to take the first opportunity of probing the matter.
The opportunity soon came. Mrs. Lloyd and Mary were out for the evening,
leaving Bert and his father at home. Bert was studying his lessons at
the table, while his father sat in the arm-chair near by, reading the
paper. Every now and then, as he bent over his books, Bert gave a deep
sigh that seemed to well up from the very bottom of his heart. Mr. Lloyd
noted this, and presently, laying his paper down, said, pleasantly:
"Bert, dear, put your lessons aside for a few minutes, and come over
here. I want to have a talk with you."
Bert started and flushed slightly, but obeyed at once, drawing his chair
close up beside his father's. Laying his hand upon Bert's knee, and
looking him full in the face, Mr. Lloyd asked:
"Now, Bert, tell me what's the matter with you? There's something on
your mind, I know; and it has not been your way to keep any secrets from
me. Won't you tell me what is troubling you?"
Bert fidgeted in his chair, the flush deepened in his face, his eyes
dropped before his father's searching gaze, and his hands worked
nervously. At last, with an apparent effort, he replied, in a low tone:
"There's nothing the matter with me, father."
Mr. Lloyd sighed, and looked troubled.
"Yes, there is, Bert. You know there is. Now, don't conceal it from me,
but speak right out. Remember your motto, Bert: 'Quit you like men.'"
The working of Bert's countenance showed clearly the struggle that was
going on within, and there was silence for a moment, while Mr. Lloyd
awaited his answer, praying earnestly the while that his boy might be
helped to do the right. Then, suddenly, Bert sprang up, darted toward
the door, and heeding not his father's surprised exclamation of--"Bert,
Bert, aren't you going to answer me?" ran up the stairs to his own room.
An instant more and he returned, bearing a volume which he placed in Mr.
Lloyd's hands; and then, throwing himself on the sofa, he buried his
head in the cushions, and burst into a passion of tears.
Bewildered by this unexpected action, Mr. Lloyd's first impulse was to
take his boy in his arms and try to soothe him. Then he bethought
himself of the book lying in his lap, and turned to it for an
explanation of the mystery. It was an innocent-enough looking volume,
and seemed at first glance to make matters no clearer, but as he held it
in his hands there came back to him the recollection of his own
schoolboy days, and like a flash the thing was plain to him. Bert had
been using a "pony," and in some way had come to realise the extent of
his wrong-doing.
With feelings divided between sorrow that his boy should fall a victim
to this temptation, and gladness that he should have the courage to
confess it, Mr. Lloyd went over to the sofa, lifted Bert up gently, and
placed him on the chair beside him.
"Come, now, Bert, dear," said he, in his tenderest tones, "don't be
afraid, but just tell me all about it."
In a voice much broken by sobs, Bert then told the whole story,
beginning with the first conversation with Regie Selwyn, and leaving out
nothing. His father listened intently, and it was clear the recital
moved him deeply. When it ended, he silently lifted up his heart in
praise to God that his darling boy had been delivered from so great a
danger, and he determined that Dr. Chrystal should not fail to hear how
effective his faithful preaching had been.
"I need not tell you, Bert, how sad this makes my heart, but I will not
add my reproaches to the remorse you already feel," said he, gravely.
"You have done very, very wrong, dear, and it is now your duty to make
that wrong right again, so far as is in your power. What do you think
yourself you ought to do?"
"I must ask God to forgive me, father," answered Bert, almost in a
whisper.
"But is that all? Is there no one else of whom you should ask
forgiveness?"
"Yes, of you."
"I have forgiven you already, Bert, for I know that you are sincerely
sorry. But I think there is some one else still. Ought you not to ask
Dr. Johnston's forgiveness?"
"Why, father," exclaimed Bert, looking up with an expression of
surprise, "Dr. Johnston does not know anything about it."
"Ah, yes, Bert, true enough; but remember that ever since you've been
using the translation you've been getting credit from him for work you
had not really done. Was that providing things honest in the sight of
all men, do you think?"
Bert flushed and looked down again. He was silent for a little while,
and then said:
"But, father, I could never tell Dr. Johnston. He is so stern and
severe."
"Do you think God will ever fully forgive you while you are concealing
from Dr. Johnston what you ought in common honesty to tell him?"
This question evidently staggered him, and Mr. Lloyd, seeing what a
struggle was going on within him, put his hand upon his shoulder, and
said, with tender emphasis:
"Remember, Bert: 'Quit you like men, be strong.'"
For a moment longer Bert seemed irresolute. Then suddenly his
countenance brightened, his features settled into an expression of firm
determination, and rising to his feet, with hands clenched and eyes
flashing, he stood before his father, and almost shouted:
"Yes, father, I will; I'll tell him. I don't care what he does to me."
"God bless you, my brave boy!" exclaimed Mr. Lloyd, as, almost
over-mastered by his emotions, he threw his arms around his neck, and
hugged him to his heart, the big tears pouring down his happy face.
Just at that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Lloyd and Mary entered.
Great was their surprise at the scene they witnessed. But they soon
understood it all, and when the whole story was known to them they were
no less thankful than Mr. Lloyd that Bert had come off conqueror in this
sharp struggle with the enemy of souls.
It was a hard task that lay before Bert, and he would have been
something more than mortal if his resolution did not falter as he
thought about it. But he strengthened himself by repeating the words
"Quit you like men, be strong," laying much emphasis on the latter
clause. His father thought it best for him to go very early the next
morning, taking the book with him, and to seek an interview with Dr.
Johnston before he went into the school.
Accordingly, in the morning, with throbbing heart and feverish pulse,
Bert knocked at the doctor's private entrance. On asking for the master
he was at once shown into the study, where the dread doctor was glancing
over the morning paper before he took up the work of the day.
"Well, Lloyd, what brings you here so early?" he asked, in some
surprise.
With much difficulty, and in broken sentences, Bert explained the object
of his visit, the doctor listening with an impassive countenance that
gave no hint of how the story affected him. When he had ended, Dr.
Johnston remained silent a moment as if lost in reflection, then placing
his hand upon the boy's shoulder, and looking at him with an expression
of deep tenderness such as Bert had never seen in his countenance
before, he said, in tones whose kindness there could be no mistaking:
"You have done well, Lloyd, to tell me this. I honour you for your
confession, and I feel confident that never so long as you are a pupil
in this school will you fall into like wrong-doing. You may tell your
father what I have said. Good-morning." And he turned away, perhaps to
hide something that made his eyes moist.
Feeling much as Christian must have felt when the burden broke from his
back and rolled into the sepulchre gaping to receive it, Bert went to
his seat in the schoolroom. The ordeal was over, and his penance
complete.
His frank penitence was destined to exert a far wider influence than he
ever imagined, and that immediately. The volume he placed in Dr.
Johnston's hands set the master thinking. "If," he reasoned, "Bert
Lloyd, one of the best boys in my school, has fallen into this
wrong-doing, it must be more common than I supposed. Perhaps were I to
tell the school what Lloyd has just told me, it might do good. The
experiment is worth trying, at all events."
Acting upon this thought, Dr. Johnston, shortly after the school had
settled down for the day's work, rapped upon his desk as a signal that
he had something to say to the scholars, and then, when the attention of
all had been secured, he proceeded to tell, in clear, concise language,
the incident of the morning. Many eyes were turned upon Bert while the
doctor was speaking, but he kept his fixed closely upon his desk, for he
knew that his cheeks were burning, and he wondered what the other boys
were thinking of him. In concluding, Dr. Johnston made the following
appeal, which was indeed his chief purpose in mentioning the matter at
all:
"Now, scholars," said he, in tones of mingled kindliness and firmness,
"I feel very sure that Lloyd is not the only boy in this school who has
been using a translation to assist him in his classical work, and my
object in telling you what he told me is that it may perhaps inspire
those who have been doing as he did to confess it in the manly, honest
way that he has done, and for which we must all honour him. Boys, I
appeal to your honour," he continued, raising his voice until it rang
through the room, startling his hearers by its unaccustomed volume. "Who
among you, like Bert Lloyd, will confess that you have been using a
translation?"
There was a thrilling silence, during which one might almost have heard
the boys' hearts beat as the doctor paused, and with his piercing eyes
glanced up and down the long rows of awe-stricken boys. For a moment no
one moved. Then there was a stir, a shuffling of feet, and Regie Selwyn,
with cheeks aflame, rose slowly in his seat, and said in a low but
distinct voice:
"I have, sir."
A gleam of joy flashed in the doctor's dark eyes as he looked toward the
speaker, but he said nothing. Then another and another rose and made a
like confession, until some six in all had thus acknowledged their
fault. There was no mistaking the pleasure that shone in the master's
face at this answer to his appeal. When it became clear that, however
many more might be no less guilty, no more were going to confess it, he
spoke again:
"While it grieves me to know that the use of translations has been so
extensive, I am also glad to find that so many of my boys possess the
true spirit of manliness. I ask them to promise me that they will never
look at those books again, and if there be others in the school who
might have admitted the same impropriety, but have not, I appeal to you
to show by your contempt of such helps your determination that nothing
but what is honest, fair, and manly shall characterise the actions of
the scholars of this school."
And with this the doctor resumed his seat.