WOUND UP OR RUN DOWN.
Thomas resumed his place in the office, occupying his old stool, and
drawing his old salary, upon which he now supported himself in comfort
and decency. He took a simple lodging in the neighborhood, and went
twice a week in the evening to see his mother. In doing so, he did
not run much risk of meeting his father, whom he neither sought nor
avoided, for he was seldom home before midnight. His mother now lived
on these visits and the expectation of them. And she began not only to
love her son more and more for himself, but to respect him. Indeed,
it was chiefly the respect that increased her love. If he was not
converted, there must be something besides conversion that was yet
good, if not so good. And she thought she might be excused if she found
some pleasure even in that. It might be a weakness--it might be wrong,
she thought, seeing that nothing short of absolute conversion was in
the smallest degree pleasing in the sight of God; but as he was her
own son, perhaps she would be excused, though certainly not justified.
As Thomas's perception of truth grew, however, the conversations he
had with her insensibly modified her judgment through her feelings,
although she never yielded one point of her creed as far as words were
concerned.
The chief aid which Thomas had in this spiritual growth, next to an
honest endeavor to do the work of the day and hour, and his love to
Lucy, was the instruction of Mr. Fuller. Never, when he could help it,
did he fail to be present at daily prayers in St. Amos's Church. Nor
did he draw upon his office hours for this purpose. The prayers fell in
his dinner hour. Surely no one will judge that a quarter of an hour,
though in the middle of the day, spent in seeking the presence of that
Spirit whereby all actions are fitted to the just measure of their true
end, was disproportioned by excess to the time spent in those outward
actions of life, the whole true value of which depends upon the degree
to which they are performed after the mind of that Spirit. What gave
these prayers and exhortations a yet more complete fitness to his was
their shortness. No mind could be wearied by them. I believe it very
often happens that the length of the services, as they are called,
is such that they actually disable the worshiper in no small degree
from acting so after them as alone can make them of real worth to his
being: they are a weakness and not a strength, exhausting the worshiper
in saying "Lord, Lord," instead of sending him forth to do his will.
The more he feels, the less fit is he, and the less fitting it is,
to prolong the expression of his devotion. I believe this is greatly
mistaken in all public services that I know anything about, which
involve, in their length, an entire departure from good old custom,
not good because old, but so good that it ought to have been older,
and needs now to be raised from the dead that it may be custom once
more. Thomas did not enjoy his dinner less, and did his work far more
thoroughly and happily because of this daily worship and doctrine--a
word which, I think, is never used by St. Paul except as meaning
instruction in duty, in that which it is right to do and that which it
is right not to do, including all mental action as well as all outward
behavior.
It was impossible under the influence of such instruction that Tom
should ever forget the friends who had upheld him in the time of his
trouble. He often saw Captain Smith, and on one occasion, when he had a
fortnight's holiday--the only one before his marriage--he went a voyage
to Jersey in his brig, working his passage as before, but with a very
different heart inside his blue jacket. The Pottses, too, he called on
now and then; and even the unamiable Jim Salter came round to confess
his respect for him, when he found that he never forgot his old mates.
As soon as Thomas resumed his stool in the counting-house Mr. Wither
resigned his, and went abroad.
Mrs. Boxall of course recovered her cheerfulness, but her whole
character was more subdued. A certain tenderness toward Lucy appeared,
which, notwithstanding all her former kindness was entirely new.
A great part of her time was spent in offices of good-will toward
Widdles. She always kept her behavior to Mr. Stopper somewhat stately
and distant. But he did his best for the business--for it was the best
for himself.
My story leaves Mr. Spelt and Mr. Kitely each happy in a daughter, and
Mattie and Poppie growing away at their own history.
One evening when Tom was seated with his mother, who had again
recovered so far as to resume her place on the couch, his father came
into the room. Tom rose. His father, without any greeting, said:
"Keep a lookout on that Stopper, Tom. Don't let him have too much of
his own way."
"But I have no authority over him, father."
"Then the sooner you marry and take the business into your own hands
the better."
"I'm going to be married next week."
"That's right. Make Stopper junior partner, and don't give him too
large a share. Come to me to draw up the articles for you."
"Thank you, father. I will. I believe Mrs. Boxall does mean to make the
business over to me."
"Of course. Good-night," returned Mr. Worboise, and left the room
without speaking to his wife.
From this time Tom and his father met much as before their quarrel. Tom
returned to the house for the week before his marriage, and his father
made him a present of an outfit for the occasion.
"Oh, Tom! I can hardly believe it," said Lucy, when they came home from
church.
"I don't deserve it," was all Tom's answer in words.
After their wedding-journey they went back to the old house in Guild
Court, in which they had had one or two more rooms fitted up. Their
grandmother, however, is now urging them to move to some suburb, saying
she is quite willing to go with them. "And I don't believe you will
have any objection either--will, you, old Widdles?" she generally adds.
THE END.
Transcribers Note
Original spelling and dialect has been retained.