RUGGED HILLS FOR WEARY FEET.
Homeless once more, Roland sought an humble refuge, in the house of
his friend, the good police officer. Aware of the difficulties which
would beset his path, he shrank from encounters with the rough world;
for what could one expect who had left an office like Mr. Thornly's
suddenly, and could bring no reference?
He made the effort day after day, and although there was so much in
his whole bearing that was prepossessing, none were willing to run
the risk. Never had his prospects appeared so discouraging, and
never had he greater need of all the support of the sweet talismanic
words which had guided and strengthened him so long.
Devoting more time to his pen, his contributions to the press were
more frequent, and this resource was just now invaluable, as it
really did provide his daily food.
In these days of darkness, Roland never passed the poor news boys, or
any who earned a precarious living in the streets, without feelings
of warmer, deeper interest. Sometimes he would stop to look at some
little, tired wanderer, ragged, pale, friendless, sleeping perhaps in
a packing-box, in the market stalls, or wherever he could find
shelter from the weather, and he would often ask himself,
"Can I do nothing for these poor, homeless children?"
He weighed the matter seriously, and turned attention to the subject,
in the articles which he contributed to the daily press.
Writing from a full heart, that had passed through these sorrows
himself, his words were eloquent; and on making an appeal to any who
would be willing to aid in procuring home and shelter for these poor
outcasts, to meet him at his humble lodgings, he waited anxiously for
some response.
A week passed. At length a thoughtful-looking man, with very plain
garb, sought him at the place appointed.
"I have been interested in your articles, young man; I came to ask
what would you propose?"
"I scarcely know, sir; but the misery and exposure of this class
haunt me daily, nightly. I have been told that there are three
thousand. In a great city like this, there should be a home for
such."
"Are you aware that much money would be needed to provide one?"
"I know that, sir; but if it is the Lord's directing, He will provide
the money, if we will only use the means."
"Have you time at your disposal?"
"I have a great deal just now, and will do any thing that you
propose."
"First, tell me your name."
"It is Roland Bruce; I can show you a letter from the President of
the college where I graduated." And trusting the plain, honest,
benevolent face, he told his story to the good man, not even
reserving the trial at Mr. Thornly's.
Mark Grafton was a keen physiognomist, and an eccentric man; he
smiled when he read the letter, for he had fully made up his mind
before to trust the open countenance, and fine clear eye of Roland
Bruce.
"What I propose is this: I will give you a list of names of
influential men, who I know will give their aid in a cause like this;
you will call on them in my name, and report progress to me every
evening."
Roland was delighted; here was an opportunity to occupy his time with
useful employment, to benefit a class for whom his heart had often
bled.
He commenced his work with a sanguine, hopeful heart. "Looking
aloft," for God's especial blessing, he set out with a bright,
animated countenance, and a brisk, elastic step.
Praying daily for guidance, and leaving the cause of his acquittal in
the hands of the just and wise, and gracious Disposer of human
events, he was willing to leave the time in God's own hands; the
event he knew was sure.
He was generally successful--many contributed largely of their means,
for he found that the name of Mark Grafton was everywhere a
sufficient recommendation. A few presented a cold shoulder, but he
had every reason to be grateful, when at the end of a week, he
numbered on his list some two hundred subscribers. Mr. Grafton was
more than gratified, he was sanguine as to the result. As soon as
five hundred subscribers were obtained, they would commence
operations.
A house was rented, provided with plain comforts which to houseless
wanderers would appear like luxuries; a matron placed at the head,
and then came the work of gathering the outcasts.
An advertisement was placed in the daily papers, and several placards
on the corners of the streets.
"If boys who clean crossings, or sell matches and newspapers, will
meet this evening at No. 42 M---- street, they will find something to
their advantage."
Mr. Grafton and Roland waited anxiously--about half a dozen came;
accustomed so long to a roving life of freedom, many thought that the
advertisement pointed to something which might restrain their
liberty, and therefore looked suspiciously at the notice.
Mr. Grafton explained his plans to the boys. Each one connected with
the home, must contribute one dollar per week of his earnings, which
would be put by in a fund for his own especial benefit, when he
should reach mature years. So vicious themselves, they were slow to
believe in the truth or honesty of their fellows, and not one at
first could be found to agree to the plan proposed.
"I give you a week to think about it, boys--you can stay here all the
time, and weigh the difference between a comfortable home, where you
will be provided with good reading, careful instruction, pleasant
recreations, and the power of laying by some of your money; compare
this with a roving life among vicious boys, who often rob you, and
who are leading you away farther and farther from ways of peace and
respectability, until at last, you may end your days in a prison, and
spend eternity with the lost and degraded; if you cannot come into
all our arrangements at the close of this week, you must depart, and
we offer the same to others."
The boys listened carefully, but doubtingly. Roland spent as much of
his time with them as he could spare from his daily duties connected
with the Home, and with his pen.
Generally in the evening, he came and talked with them for a couple
of hours, listening to their accounts of the day's labors, and
reading to them some interesting matter. He was taking care of his
Master's cause among these poor forsaken children, and God was taking
care of his. Did he doubt it? No--not for one moment.
Time sped on; by degrees, the number of boys increased; they were
gaining confidence in their kind friends.
Roland took up his abode among these waifs of humanity. Many trials
beset his path, many discouragements; for the deep depravity of a
whole life, short though it might have been of these juvenile
transgressors, was not to be rooted out in a day, a week, or even a
year.
Habit was a strong giant that required the strong antagonism of
stalwart efforts; and blow after blow must be levelled against the
monster in the strength of Gospel warfare, ere he would show signs of
yielding to the attacks.
But Roland's manliness and benevolence were really undermining the
citadel of sin, and in a few months he began to see the fruit of
their labors.
About fifty boys were now inmates of the Home; they were cleanly,
interested in their mental improvement, regular in their attendance
upon Gospel ministrations every Sunday; and although, now and then,
their hopes were disappointed by the absconding of several, still
their progress was onward.
Let us turn for one moment to Mr. Thornly. From the day that Roland
left the office, Edgar's spirits drooped. Helen watched him closely;
her room was adjoining his; and often, late in the night, she could
hear him pacing his room, and groaning, as if in great distress of
mind.
Once she opened the door--Edgar was tossing about, and talking in his
sleep.
"Go away, Jones," muttered the youth, "I can't get the money; two
hundred dollars! two hundred dollars!"
Helen's heart sank within her. She had sore misgivings about her
brother, but what was she to do? Could she accuse him without
farther proof? Could she bear to see Roland suffering so wrongfully?
Still her brother continued his late hours; seldom in before one or
two o'clock in the morning.
Every few days, a man would call to see him; and Edgar always
appeared gloomy and distressed after these visits.
Several times he was out; and when Helen asked the name of the person
who called so frequently, she found to her grief that it was Jones.
At last, he asked to see Mr. Thornly; then came the dreadful
disclosure. Edgar had been gambling to a large amount, and was
indebted to this man several thousand dollars.
Mr. Thornly was horror-struck; Edgar bowed down to the dust in shame;
Helen overpowered with grief.
"It has come at last, brother. I knew that some dreadful grief was
approaching--but is there not something worse than all, that is not
yet revealed?"
Edgar turned his blood-shot eyes upon his sister.
"What do you mean, Helen? Do you mean to crush me entirely?"
"No, Edgar, I do not; but I want you to commence anew--give up all
your bad associates--do justice to one that you have wronged."
Edgar bowed his head upon his hands.
"I wish that I were dead, Helen; I am too wretched!"
"Edgar, can you not tell me something about the two hundred dollars
that sent poor Roland away?"
Edgar was silent; he groaned bitterly; and striking his head with
anguish, he paced the floor in agony.
"I can endure this no longer, Helen; I took that money; I was
threatened by Jones with exposure, and I took it; how it has burned
me ever since!"
"Shall I tell our father, Edgar? it is better for all to come out."
"Do what you please, Helen; I must have relief."
Helen had a hard task to perform, but she was a true sister, and saw
no other path by which Edgar could retrace his steps.
Mr. Thornly was almost paralyzed--but reproach was not to be used
towards a spirit so crushed as Edgar's; he was suffering enough of
agony.
His had been the error of a weak and yielding nature, furnished too
abundantly the means of indulgence, rather than the deep duplicity of
an accomplished villain.
"Justice must be done to Roland," was the first response of Mr.
Thornly.
On the next morning, Roland's eye caught the following notice: "If
Roland G. B----, will call at the office of Mr. Thornly, he will hear
something important."
"The day of deliverance," thought Roland; and, taking his hat, with a
joyful step and overflowing heart, he made his way to Mr. Thornly's
office.
His former employer was seated at his desk.
"I have proofs of your innocence, Roland, and I have sent for you to
do you justice;" then, with a sadly grieved and humbled spirit, the
father recounted the story in as few words as possible.
"I knew that my innocence would be proved," answered the youth, "and
I left my cause with God."
"Had you any idea of the truth at that time, Roland?"
"I had, sir; I saw Edgar's slipper near the door, and found his knife
under the table, with which he had picked the lock. I saw his
depression for days before, and I supposed that some debt was
pressing heavily upon him, which he could not discharge."
"And you bore all this quietly, gave up a promising situation, left a
comfortable home, and went out upon the world friendless, homeless,
without a character, rather than expose my son, or pain his father's
heart. Truly, yours is conduct not often met with in this cold and
selfish world."
"It was my duty, sir; I could do nothing else; there were only
suspicious circumstances, not actual proof."
"And what have you been doing in the meanwhile?"
"I could obtain no employment among lawyers, I have therefore been
writing for the press; and been busy in establishing a home for
friendless boys, like myself."
"Do you mean the one in which Mark Grafton is interested?"
"I do, sir; it has been a great blessing to me, for instead of
dwelling upon my own griefs, I have been trying to lighten those of
others, more oppressed than myself."
Mr. Thornly was silent for a moment. He was a worldly man, but this
exhibition of Christian principle stirred up the fountains of his
heart. Extending his hand, he said,
"Roland, can I ask you to come back again, after all that has passed?
It would be to me a personal favor."
"I am but too happy, sir, to take my old desk; I believe that the
finger of Providence has pointed me here, and I trust that we shall
be mutual blessings to each other."
"Will you forgive my poor son, Roland? he is humbled to the dust."
"Forgive! certainly, sir; nothing is more easy, nothing more
delightful."
"Will you do more? I believe that this deep disgrace will be the
turning point of a new life with Edgar, if we only encourage him;
will you be his friend, Roland?" said Mr. Thornly, laying his hand
upon the young man's shoulder, and looking in his face with a
father's pleading eyes.
"You may trust me, sir," was the frank, noble answer.
Next morning, Roland took his place in the office once more.
His meeting with Edgar was most painful.
"Say nothing, Edgar," was Roland's first salutation, when the young
man sat down, covering his face with his hands.
"I know all--words are unnecessary; all is forgiven, entirely buried
between us; henceforth I am your friend."
"Oh! Roland Bruce, language cannot tell what a cordial those few
words are to me. I feel so desponding, so crushed; I have no
companions, I go nowhere."
"That is better just now, Edgar; but after a little while, you will
come and read law with me."
Edgar spent all his time in the office. Roland provided him, at
first, with pleasant reading; then, by degrees, he proposed the
course which he had pursued himself. Edgar was but too willing to be
guided by such a hand, and Mr. Thornly and Helen looked on with
speechless gratitude.
Roland was still interested in his homeless boys, and paid his
periodical evening visits. It was, indeed, a comfort to see what a
marked change was observed in so many.
One day, he was greatly surprised on perceiving a letter addressed to
him in printed characters. On opening it, there was a check for one
hundred dollars, for the "Home," "from one deeply interested." Where
could it come from? was his question. Could it be from Madeline?
How would she know about his actions? Suddenly it occurred to him
that Helen corresponded with her, and the thought that she might be
thus a fellow laborer with him was very sweet, and he encouraged the
fancy.
This was, indeed, a turning point in Edgar Thornly's life--from this
time, his whole course was changed, and his grateful father could not
by words thank his young mentor; actions proved his gratitude.
* * * * * *
At the close of the second year, Roland was admitted to the bar. Mr.
Thornly threw all the business in his way that could be thus
controlled, and Roland's course was upward and onward.
Twice had he visited Effie during this period, found her happy, but
with very weak eyes.
Madeline was never at home when he paid his visits; therefore, she
seemed to him almost like one from whose society he was finally shut
out.
Practice increased--his sound learning, practical common sense, and
deep investigation into the science of law, opened a path of
usefulness and honor. It could, however, never be said of Roland
Bruce, that he was the lawyer sought out by low criminals, or whose
influence could be purchased to legalize crime; for, though heavy
fees were offered by such, knowingly, he would not stoop to practices
so degrading. He soon obtained the name of "the honest lawyer," and
none were more proud of his rising influence and talents, than the
generous man who had afforded him so many facilities in his upward
course.
"That is an important case, Roland," said Mr. Thornly, after he had
described to the latter, what had been placed in his hands.
The man had been charged with murder, and the circumstances by which
he was surrounded were overwhelming in their proofs against him. By
skillfully managing the case, and obtaining delay, proofs
establishing his innocence were obtained at a time when all around
the poor man was darkest. The accused man was one universally
esteemed; the joy felt at his acquittal was so intense, that,
throughout the city, the press complimented the young lawyer for the
ingenuity with which he had conducted the trial.
This success brought him into public notice, and restored to the arms
of an only and heart-broken daughter, the parent whom she loved. A
paper containing the account was sent to Effie, and, handing it to
Madeline, who was then at home, the sister's heart was cheered by the
warm embrace with which Maddy congratulated the dear girl.
"Did I not say, Effie, that Roland would live to be a great man yet?
Won't we be happy to see him here among the Beltons and the Smiths?
Effie, do you know why he seems to have forgotten his old friend?"
(for a minute she hesitated, and then continued with an averted
face,) "does he ever mention Helen Thornly in his letters?"
"O yes! very often, Madeline; he says she is such a lovely girl, he
wishes that I knew her; she is a dear friend of his."
"So I have heard, Effie," and Madeline said no more; but, opening the
piano, she played several of her old pieces, but especially the
favorite "Auld Lang Syne;" then, walking out to the garden, she
plucked a rose from her favorite bush, and proceeding back into the
house, and up the stair-case, she stopped to listen to the strains of
her Eolian harp.
It discoursed sad music that night, or was it the echo of her own
spirit?
"I did not think that he would have forgotten me so soon," murmured
Madeline; "but so it is, present friends obliterate the memory of the
absent. I must try to forget him; but I cannot quite forget the holy
teachings of my young days, nor would I if I could--may they remain
forever!"