TEMPTATION.
Though Mr. Taylor owned several hundred acres, he retained but forty
under his personal charge. The remainder was rented to various parties,
who paid him either in money or grain, according to the agreement made.
Being fond of agriculture, he would have kept the whole in his own
hands, but that it would have increased so largely the cares of his
wife. A large number of farm laborers would have been required, whom he
would probably have been compelled to receive under his own roof, and
his wife would have become in effect the mistress of a large boarding
house. This he was too considerate to require, or allow.
Even of the forty acres he reserved, but a small portion was cultivated,
the remainder being used for pasturage or mowing. During the greater
part of the year, therefore, he found Abner’s services sufficient. Only
during haying and harvest he found it necessary to engage extra
assistance. Mr. Taylor was, however, an exception to the general rule.
Ordinarily, Western farmers, owning a large number of acres, carry on
the whole themselves; though it is doubtful whether their profits are
any greater than if they should let out the greater part.
It will be seen, therefore, that Julius was fortunate in his position.
He had to work but half the day, while the remaining half he was at
liberty to devote to making up the many deficiencies in his early
education. He was sensible enough to appreciate this advantage, and
showed it by the rapid improvement he made. After he had begun to
improve in his reading, he had lessons assigned him in writing and
arithmetic. For the latter he showed a decided taste; and even mastered
with ease the difficulties of fractions, which, perhaps more than any
other part of the arithmetic, are liable to perplex the learner.
“You are really making excellent progress, Julius,” said Mr. Taylor to
him one evening. “I find you are a very satisfactory pupil.”
“Do you, sir?” said Julius, his eyes brightening.
“You appear not only to take pains, but to have very good natural
abilities.”
“I’m glad I’m not goin’ to grow up a know-nothin’.”
“You certainly won’t if you keep on in this way. But there is one other
thing in which you can improve?”
“What is that?”
“In your pronunciation. Just now you said ‘goin’’ and ‘know-nothin’.’
You should pronounce the final letter, saying ‘going’ and ‘nothing.’
Don’t you notice that I do it?”
“Yes, sir; but I’m used to the other.”
“You can correct it, notwithstanding. By way of helping you I will
remind you whenever you go wrong in this particular way; indeed,
whenever you make any mistake in pronunciation.”
“I wish you would,” said Julius, earnestly. “Do you think they’ll put me
in a very low class at school?”
“Not if you work hard from now to Thanksgiving.”
“I’d like to know as much as other boys of my age. I don’t want to be in
a class with four-year-olds.”
“You have got safely by that, at least,” said Mr. Taylor, smiling. “I
like your ambition, and shall be glad myself, when you enter school, to
have you do credit to my teaching.”
There was nothing connected with the farm work that Julius liked better
than driving a horse, particularly when he had sole charge of it; and he
felt proud indeed the first time he was sent with a load of hay to a
neighboring town. He acquitted himself well; and from that time he was
often sent in this way. Sometimes, when Mr. Taylor was too busy to
accompany her, Mrs. Taylor employed him to drive her to the village
stores, or to a neighbor’s, to make a call; and as Julius showed himself
fearless, and appeared to have perfect control even of Mr. Taylor’s most
spirited horse, she felt as safe with him as with her husband.
Julius had been in his new place about six weeks, when his integrity
was subjected to a sudden and severe test. He was sent to a neighbor’s,
living about a mile and a half away, and, on account of the distance,
was told to harness up the horse and ride. This he did with alacrity. He
took his seat in the buggy, gathered the reins into his hands, and set
out. He had got a quarter of a mile on his way when he suddenly espied
on the floor of the carriage, in the corner, a pocketbook. He took it
up, and, opening it, discovered two facts: first, that it belonged to
Mr. Taylor, as it contained his card; next, that its contents were
valuable, judging from the thick roll of bills.
“How much is there here?”
This was the first question that Julius asked himself.
Counting the bills hurriedly, he ascertained that they amounted to two
hundred and sixty-seven dollars.
“Whew! what a pile!” he said to himself. “Ain’t I in luck? I could go to
California for this, and make a fortune. Why shouldn’t I keep it? Mr.
Taylor will never know. Besides, he’s so rich he won’t need it.”
To one who had been brought up, or rather who had brought himself up, as
a bootblack in the streets of New York, the temptation was a strong one.
Notwithstanding the comfort which he now enjoyed there were moments when
a longing for his old, independent, vagrant life swept over him. He
thought of Broadway, and City Hall Park, of Tony Pastor’s, and the old
Bowery, of the busy hum and excitement of the streets of the great
city; and a feeling something like homesickness was aroused within him.
Brookville seemed dull, and he pined to be in the midst of crowds. This
longing he was now able to gratify. He was not apprenticed to Mr.
Taylor. It is not the custom of the Children’s Aid Society to bind out
the children they send West for any definite term. There was nothing to
hinder his leaving Brookville, and either going back to New York, or
going to California, as he had often thought he would like to do. Before
the contents of the pocketbook were exhausted, which, according to his
reckoning, would be a very long time, he would get something to do.
There was something exhilarating in the prospect of starting on a long
journey alone, with plenty of money in his pocket. Besides, the money
wouldn’t be stolen. He had found it, and why shouldn’t he keep it?
These thoughts passed through the mind of Julius in considerably less
time than I have taken in writing them down. But other and better
thoughts succeeded. After all, it would be no better than stealing to
retain money when he knew the owner. Besides, it would be a very poor
return to Mr. Taylor for the kindness with which he had treated him ever
since he became a member of his household. Again, it would cut short his
studies, and he would grow up a know-nothing--to use his own word---
after all. It would be pleasant traveling, to be sure; it would be
pleasant to see California, or to find himself again in the streets of
New York; but that pleasure would be dearly bought.
“I won’t keep it,” said Julius, resolutely. “It would be mean, and I
should feel like a thief.”
He put the pocketbook carefully in the side pocket of his coat, and
buttoned it up. As he whipped up the horse, who had taken advantage of
his preoccupation of mind to walk at a snail’s pace, it occurred to him
that if he should leave Brookville he would no longer be able to drive a
horse; and this thought contributed to strengthen his resolution.
“What a fool I was to think of keeping it!” he thought. “I’ll give it to
Mr. Taylor just as soon as I get back.”
He kept his word.
“Haven’t you lost your pocketbook, Mr. Taylor?” he asked, when, having
unharnessed the horse, he entered the room where his guardian was
sitting.
Mr. Taylor felt in his pocket.
“Yes,” said he, anxiously. “It contained a considerable sum of money.
Have you found it?”
“Yes, sir; here it is.” And our hero drew it from his pocket, and
restored it to the owner.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the bottom of the wagon,” answered Julius.
“Do you know how much money there is in the wallet?” asked Mr. Taylor.
“Yes, sir; I counted the bills. There is nearly three hundred dollars.”
“Didn’t it occur to you,” asked Mr. Taylor, looking at him in some
curiosity, knowing what he did of his past life and associations,
“didn’t it occur to you that you could have kept it without my
suspecting it?”
“Yes,” said Julius, frankly. “It did.”
“Did you think how much you might do with it?”
“Yes; I thought how I could go back to New York and cut a swell, or go
to California and maybe make a fortune at the mines.”
“But you didn’t keep it.”
“No; it would be mean. It wouldn’t be treating you right, after all
you’ve done for me; so I just pushed it into my pocket, and there it
is.”
“You have resisted temptation nobly, my boy,” said Mr. Taylor, warmly;
“and I thank you for it. I won’t offer to reward you, for I know you
didn’t do it for that; but I shall hereafter give you my full
confidence, and trust you as I would myself.”
Nothing could have made a better or deeper impression on the mind of
Julius than these words. Nothing could have made him more ashamed of his
momentary yielding to the temptation of dishonesty. He was proud of
having won the confidence of Mr. Taylor. It elevated him in his own
eyes.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, taking his guardian’s proffered hand. “I’ll
try to deserve what you say. I’d rather hear them words than have you
pay me money.”
Mr. Taylor was a wise man, and knew the way to a boy’s heart. Julius
never forgot the lesson of that day. In moments of after temptation it
came back to him, and strengthened him to do right.