Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Nelly suddenly exclaimed, "Who is that stranger-boy
coming this way with a bundle hanging by a stick over his shoulder?"]
THE
ADOPTED SON
OR,
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LORD'S PRAYER.
BY
A. L. O. E.
AUTHOR OF "NED FRANKS," "PICTURES OF ST PAUL,"
"THE WHITE BEAR'S DEN," ETC.
GALL & INGLIS.
London: Edinburgh:
25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 20 BERNARD TERRACE.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN
II. HALLOWED BE THY NAME
III. THY KINGDOM COME
IV. THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
V. GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD
VI. FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THEM
THAT TRESPASS AGAINST US
VII. LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION
VIII. DELIVER US FROM EVIL
IX. FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM, THE POWER, AND
THE GLORY
X. FOR EVER AND EVER
THE ADOPTED SON.
CHAPTER I.
"Our Father, which art in heaven."
"Oh! As I said before, it's all a matter of opinion. I think it a man's
duty to attend to his business, and get his children well on in the
world," observed Goldie, the fruiterer, as the baker's wife handed to
him a bag of captain's biscuits from behind her counter. "We must look
to our advantage in this life, Mrs. Winter."
"Ay, and in the next also," replied the woman quietly. Then bending
over the counter to a little flaxen-haired girl who had just entered
the shop, "And what do you want, my dear?" she said.
"Please for twopenny-worth of sweet biscuits, three for a penny,"
answered the child.
Mrs. Winter slowly plunged her hand into one of the neat glass jars
which, carefully labelled with their various contents, adorned the
front of her window.
Mrs. Winter was a pattern of neatness, even to precision, her cap was
ever of faultless white, her panes were as clean as hands could make
them, not a crumb was ever suffered to rest on her counter, and her
name over the door shone in bright gilt letters that might have been
worthy of a shop in London. Precise and formal as some people deemed
her, Mrs. Winter was a kind-hearted woman, too; much warm feeling lay
under a stiff, cold manner; combined with a large share of good common
sense. She had never been blessed with children, and her husband,
though in some respects a worthy, honest man, kept his hands so tightly
over his purse strings, as to gain for the couple a character of
penuriousness, which was undeserved by his wife. Notwithstanding this,
many were the stale loaves which found their way to some poor man's
home, and many were the nights which Mrs. Winter had given to watching
the sick-bed of a neighbour.
While the baker's wife was drawing forth the biscuits, Goldie entered
into conversation with the little girl.
"So you're going to have a treat for once in a way, Nelly Viner. You
don't trouble Mrs. Winter often for sweet biscuits, I should say."
"My new brother is coming home to-day," replied the child with a
beaming look of pleasure.
"Your new brother! Who's he?"
"I do not exactly know, sir; but he is some one that we are to love,
and be kind to. I shall be so glad to have a brother!"
"I should have thought," said Goldie in a careless manner, "that Viner
had enough to do to look after his own without adopting the children of
other people. Do you know who this boy is, Mrs. Winter?"
"I know that his name is Walter Binning; the son, I suppose, of some
friend."
"A friend! Never were you more mistaken in your life. Why, that's the
name of the man who almost ruined Viner—a heartless, unprincipled—"
Mrs. Winter glanced at the little girl, and put her finger on her lips.
She placed the biscuits before Nelly, but Nelly lingered. "Are those
not what you wished?" said the baker's wife, noticing the child's look
of hesitation.
"Yes; but you have given me seven, and I have only paid for six,"
replied the little one, looking artlessly up in her face.
"Now, if that isn't like her father!" exclaimed Goldie, bursting into a
loud laugh. "I could have known her for his child all the world over!
Don't you know, little simpleton, that seven are better than six?"
"I thought that Mrs. Winter had made a mistake," replied the child, not
liking the laugh, though she could not have told why.
"I think that it's you who made the mistake," said Goldie, laughing
again. "Tell me, does not your father keep sugar plums as well as
cabbages?"
"Yes," replied Nelly, "and very nice ones."
"Very nice; oh! I dare say that you know that pretty well. How many do
you eat, my little maid?"
"Father gives me a brandy-ball every Sunday, or sometimes a piece of
pink rock," said Nelly, smiling.
"Oh! That's what he gives, but what do you take?" asked the fruiterer,
chucking her under the chin.
"I take what he gives. I don't know what you mean," said the little
girl, looking bewildered.
"Simpleton!" muttered Goldie, glancing with a knowing smile at Mrs.
Winter, but Mrs. Winter did not return the smile. "You never help
yourself?" he continued to Nelly. "Never manage to taste a sugar-plum
when father's back is turned?"
The child's face flushed crimson, she shrank back from his touch,
looked full into his face with her open blue eyes, and seemed to feel
it unnecessary to say "No!"
"Nelly is brought up in the fear of God," observed Mrs. Winter, "and
knows that it would be better to touch live coals than anything
dishonestly gained. Go home with your seven biscuits, my good little
girl, and make ready to welcome your new brother."
As soon as Nelly had left the shop, Goldie exclaimed, "Well, I always
thought that Viner was a little mad, but I never imagined that ever he
would do anything half so wild as this! Is he really going to adopt the
son of Walter Binning?"
"What do you know of the man?" inquired Mrs. Winter.
"Know! Why I know that he has been the worst enemy that ever Viner had.
He was some distant relation of his, I fancy, and was for ever getting
him into one trouble or another. Viner was once, I have heard, in very
good business here—that was before I set up my shop opposite—and what
first pulled him down, and half ruined the poor man, was becoming
security for this Binning. What might have been expected happened—the
rogue made off, and left his simple friend to pay, Ha! Ha! Ha! And now,
like an honest man, discharges his debt by making him a present of his
son!"
"I heard that the boy's father was absent beyond seas," said the
baker's wife.
"To be sure, that means 'sent out of his country for his country's
good.' I remember it now—Walter Binning was transported for seven years
for theft! I wish Viner joy of the hopeful youth that he is going to
adopt! He may not find him quite so apt a pupil as little Nelly. The
child of a thief is not likely to be a saint. If the father half ruined
poor honest Viner, perhaps the son may finish the business!" And so
saying, with a nod to the good woman of the shop, Goldie took up his
bag and went out.
The village in which our scene is laid was one situated by the
sea-side, which had not yet grown into a town, though already a
favourite resort of those who wished for sea breezes and quiet. It
had, like other watering-places, its boats and its bathing-machines;
fishermen spread out their nets on the shingles; donkeys, ready
saddled, stood in a row prepared to carry visitors along the white
chalky road, or the long line of smooth brown sand which was left wet
and shining when the tide went down.
E— boasted a small circulating library consisting of little but old
soiled novels, and a reading-room with benches in front, which were
often occupied in summer by lady visitors, who, protected from the
glare by parasols and broad-brimmed straw-hats, amused themselves with
their knitting or their book, while enjoying the fresh air from the sea.
E— at the time at which my story commences, was little more than
one narrow street, on each side of which small shops offered the
necessaries of life, and in spring, on the upper windows of most of
them the words, "Lodgings to let," announced their preparation to
receive visitors. Of these small shops, one of the smallest and poorest
in appearance was that on which was seen the name of Viner. It had a
little wooden gate instead of door, and it seemed that its owner could
not entirely depend upon his profits from the rows of onions, bunches
of carrots, or baskets of beans which covered his board, for little
bottles of sweetmeats as well as of nuts were ranged along a shelf in
his shop, with a string of balls of twine hanging from the top, and a
small supply of writing-paper in one corner, which was usually sold by
the sheet, not the quire.
So small and unpretending was the shop—such a contrast to Goldie's
large one opposite—that visitors seldom thought of entering to buy,
and it was chiefly frequented by the people of the village, who knew
the character of the man who kept it, and who never doubted, when they
purchased a basket of fruit from Viner, that the lower ones were as
good as those at the top.
In this shop now stood Nelly with her father, awaiting the arrival
of their expected guest. Viner was a man still in the prime of life,
though care and poverty had made him look older than he really was,
and had streaked his hair with many a bright silver line. But the
expression of his face was serene, even happy, especially when he
looked upon his darling only child, the image of a wife whom he had
tenderly loved, and for whom he had mourned—but not as one without hope.
"And now remember one thing, my darling," he said, laying his hand
gently upon her head, "you must never speak to Walter about his father."
"But you love to speak about mother, and to take me to her grave, and
to show me all the places that she marked in her Bible; if Walter's
father has died and gone to heaven, he will like to speak about him
too."
"You must not ask my reasons, Nelly, but obey my wishes. Ah!" thought
the bereaved husband, as he recalled his own heavy loss, "How much
sadder a thing is sin than death!"
Nelly stood thoughtfully for a moment, as if pondering over the words
of her parent, then looked up with a grave expression on her usually
merry little face as she said, "Oh! I remember now what I heard at Mrs.
Winter's."
"What did you hear, my child?"
"Something about Walter's father—something very bad; it was Mr. Goldie
who said it; you know when he spoke aloud, I could not help hearing;
but Mrs. Winter put her finger to her lips."
"I am very sorry that Mr. Goldie should say anything, or know anything
about the matter. You, at any rate, must take no notice of it. It is no
fault of poor Walter's that he has been unhappy in his parent."
"Father," said Nelly, her own joyous expression returning, as she laid
her little hand upon Viner's arm, and looked up full into his face,
"will not you be a father to Walter? He shall be your son, and my
brother too, and we shall all be so happy together!"
Viner only replied by a smile, and the child continued—"Mr. Goldie said
a word which I thought meant that, something about your ad—I cannot
just remember the word."
"Adopting, I suppose."
"Yes, that was it exactly! I think," added Nelly, with a graver air,
"that there is some word like that in the Bible."
"There is, my Nelly, and a blessed word it is! All Christians are the
adopted children of God; it is from His gracious adoption alone that we
dare to address Him as 'Our Father, which art in heaven.'"
"To adopt is to take some other person's child, and call it your own,
and love it as your own, end feed it, and care for it, as you will for
Walter. Am I not right?" said Nelly.
"Quite right," replied Viner, stroking her fair hair.
"And if God adopts us, He will love us, and watch over us, and take
care of us as long as we live, and take us home to Himself when we die!
But were we ever any one's children but God's?"
"We were by nature, my Nelly, the children of wrath. Adam, our first
father, had offended the Lord, and we are born into the world with a
nature like his, bearing his sinful likeness, even as Walter Binning
bears the name of his father. Man was not only a stranger to, but a
rebel against God—he had no right to expect anything but punishment and
pain from the hand of his offended Maker."
"And yet the Lord adopted him, and made him His son!"
"Yes, that mercy beyond all we could ask for or hope, was one of the
blessings purchased for us by the death of the Saviour. It was as
though the Lord Jesus had laid His pierced hand upon the sinner, and
had led him to the feet of His Father, and that the Almighty, for the
sake of his crucified Son, had deigned to receive the unworthy sinner,
and make him His own child for ever!"
"Then if we are God's children," exclaimed Nelly, "we must all be
brothers and sisters to one another."
"It is so," replied Viner earnestly, "though is our selfishness and
pride we too often forget it. Those who love their Father in heaven
will love His children on earth also, and form one blessed family of
love."
"I never thought before," said Nelly, thoughtfully, "when I repeated
the Lord's Prayer, why I should say 'Our Father,' instead of 'My
Father;' but now I will try to remember every time, that I am one of a
great family of love!"
Few more words passed between Viner and his daughter, until Nelly
suddenly exclaimed, "Who is that stranger-boy coming this way with a
bundle hanging by a stick over his shoulder, who looks up at the name
over every shop, and seems so tired and sad? Father, do you think that
this can be Walter?"
It was Walter indeed, the convict's son, who now received from Viner
such a kindly welcome as the true Christian gives to the unfortunate.
Walter appeared, from his height, to be a boy of about ten years of
age, but the expression of his sharpened careworn features made him
look much older; it was not the expression of a child. There was at
first a restlessness in his manner, as of one ready to take either
offence or alarm, which gave Nelly a curious impression that he was
like some wild creature that had been hunted. He usually fixed his
eyes on the ground, and when he raised them, it was not with the
straightforward look of a boy who has nothing to conceal or to fear.
Poor outcast! The remembrance of his father's shame hung like a heavy
cloud over him; the first fresh flow of youthful feelings had been
checked at the spring, he was inclined to suspect others, and to feel
himself suspected.
He could not, however, resist the influence of the unaffected
kindliness which he met with from Viner and his little daughter.
The best food at the simple meal was placed on his plate, there was
consideration for his feelings, and attention to his comfort in
everything that was said or done. His chilled heart began to warm under
the power of kindness, gradually his manner appeared less shy, he
became less silent and sad, and before the evening was over, was ready
to smile, and even laugh at the playful words of Nelly.
The hour arrived for evening prayer. Everything else was laid aside,
and the large Bible, the treasure of many generations, on whose blank
page many family names were written—some so pale with age that they
could scarcely be read—was reverently placed upon the table. To evening
meeting for prayer Walter had, till now, been entirely a stranger.
He was not altogether ignorant on the subject of religion; in the
strange unsettled life which he had led in London with his father, he
had met with a variety of characters, and gathered up knowledge upon
many different subjects, but there was nothing clear, nothing defined,
nothing holy. Yet it was with no irreverent manner that Walter listened
to the Word of God, or the prayer from the lips of his benefactor. The
conduct of Viner insensibly connected in his mind kindness and goodness
with piety; and gratitude towards man seemed likely to be the first
step to raise him towards gratitude to a higher Being.
When Nelly had received her father's evening kiss and blessing, and
had bidden a kind good-night to her new brother, Viner led his guest
from his parlour into his small shop, and kindly laying his hand
on his shoulder, explained to him what his duties would be. Viner
had not forgotten that boys are liable to temptation, that a youth
brought up as Walter had been, would above all, be likely to yield to
temptation—he would neither ask nor expect much.
"I know," said he, smiling, as he pointed to the sweetmeats, "that
things such as these are liked by most young people, so you have my
free permission to take some—Walter, I have no objection to that. You
will remember, at the same time, that you are living with a poor man,
with one who cannot afford to give his family all the enjoyments that
might be wished, so that I am sure that you will not take too much."
A little colour came to Walter's pale cheek—it was so new a thing to be
trusted. But a generous feeling was awakened in his breast, and as he
pressed the hand held out to him, he silently resolved that Viner never
should have cause to repent having confided in his honour.
"And now, my dear boy, I have but one thing more to add before we part
for the night. You will help me in my business, and make yourself
useful. No good boy would wish to eat the bread of idleness; but I
receive you into my house as one of my family, and as long as you do
nothing to forfeit the name, I shall regard you and treat you as my
son."
Oh! How many a wanderer would be reclaimed, how many a prodigal led
back to his home, if those who call themselves Christians, instead of
shrinking from the outcast, and stamping him at once with the character
of guilt, would seek to draw out the nobler feelings of a heart not yet
seared and hardened! God be praised! There are yet some who, like their
Saviour, go forth to seek and save that which was lost, and the child
of the thief, and the young thief himself, are taught the path which
leads to holiness and to Thee:
"OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN!"
[Illustration]