HOW BEN'S SIN FOUND HIM OUT.
THIS adventure caused a great change for the better in the fortunes of
Fan and Ben Robson, as they were called, Ben having still kept to that
adopted name. This deception was the only thing which troubled Fan now,
and even she sometimes forgot it, she was so happy. Pearl Harewood had,
as she usually did, persuaded her father to consent to her plan, which
was, to establish the pair in her Fairy Cottage, and there to visit
Fan, and teach her all the arts of cooking baking, cleaning, etc.,
which she had herself acquired during that merry summer.
Ben was at first given work in the garden, but as he said he was more
accustomed to stable work, he was soon put under the orders of the
head groom, and quickly showed that he might be made a very valuable
servant. He was most anxious to establish a good character; the danger
of his idle, dishonest habits, had been made plain to him of late, and
his readings with Fan had also made a deep impression on him. He was
quite determined to "turn over a new leaf," and this was the easier,
because he was very happy.
Pearl and Miss Ayrton took a great interest in him, and having
discovered his taste for natural history, they lent him books on that
subject and encouraged him to study it. Pearl had an uncle, who was
a great naturalist, and she had very often helped him to arrange his
treasures, and heard him discuss them, so that she could appreciate
Ben's really accurate and intelligent habits of observation. This
uncle, Mr. Francis Sydney, came to Harewood after a time, and paid a
long visit, during which he took quite a fancy to Ben, and gave him a
good deal of instruction.
What a happy time it was! Ben had never been so happy in his life; and
as to Fan, her bliss was all but perfect. "Miss Pearl" taught her to
read, to write, to sew, to knit and to sing; also to make bread (which
Fan soon did a great deal better than her teacher, whose bread was a
very uncertain matter), and finally to wash and iron. These lessons in
ironing resulted in some terribly scorched garments—in fact, poor Etty
Spence's blue frock came to an untimely end on one occasion. But then,
as Pearl remarked, "everything must have a beginning." It was the end
of the frock, but the beginning of success, for they never met with so
serious a misfortune again.
As soon as Ben was settled in his new place, he wrote to kindhearted
Mrs. Simmonds, begging her to let him know what she heard of his
father. The answer came in due time. Fairfax had got off for want of
sufficient evidence against him, and had returned to his old cottage;
only, however, to sicken and die of the fever which still lingered
in the place. So there was no danger of his appearing to claim his
children, and Ben felt that a fair prospect lay before him.
"But, Ben, may we not tell people now that our name is Fairfax, not
Robson?" said Fan. "I do feel so vexed when Miss Pearl says that name.
I hate to think that we are telling a lie."
"It's not a lie, exactly," said Ben. "One name's as good as another,
and I've a right to call myself what I like."
"Yet it is 'not' true, Ben. And 'now' it's of no use, that poor father
is dead."
"But how could we go and tell every one that we gave a false name at
first? And besides, I have another reason," added Ben, nodding his
head, "so say no more about it, Fan."
Then after a minute's silence, he said—
"Guess what I found out yesterday about that cross old woman, Mrs.
Thirlston,—she who lives at the pretty cottage where we asked for help,
do you remember? Well, you know she threatened to set dogs at us, and
called as if she had dogs there ready; and Tom Johnson tells me she has
never a dog at all, and always calls like that when any one asks her
for anything! It's well for her that I've made up my mind to go in for
no more nonsense, or she might find that her dogs wouldn't protect her
apple trees, some of these moonlight nights."
"Oh, but you wouldn't, Ben! She does look cross; and the other day she
stopped me, when I was going to the shop, and asked me my name, and
how old I was, and she stared at me so hard all the time. Indeed, she
frightened me so that I very nearly forgot, and said Fairfax, but just
in time I remembered. And she said, 'Have you a stutter, child? Or are
you a fool?'"
Something in this story tickled Ben's fancy very much. He roared
laughing, and made Fan repeat it several times, each time enjoying it
as much as the first. Fan was quite surprised.
"Well," said he, at last, "I must be off, for my dinner hour is up.
'Twas well you remembered in time, Fan; and mind you're careful, for
the name of Fairfax would do us no good here. And if we are only
careful, we are made up for life here."
"Be sure your sin will find you out" was a text which Ben had never
met with. It is a very true saying, and one often misunderstood. It is
your sin that finds you. No arbitrary punishment for it, but the very
sin itself. So surely as you will burn your hand if you put it into
the fire; so surely as you will suffer agony if you swallow poison;
so surely will your sin prove its own punishment—so surely, sooner or
later, will it "find you out." And this, though it does not look like
a blessing, will prove a blessing if we will take it humbly and use it
well.
Months passed away. Winter came and went, spring brightened the land,
summer brought warmth and beauty; and still Ben and his little sister
lived in their toy cottage, and were very happy. Fan grew tall and
rosy, and looked very different from the stray, forlorn child, who had
dropped asleep on the floor of Pearl's Fairy Cottage.
The brother and sister attended church regularly; and one hot Sunday
they were coming out of church among the rest, when a girl exclaimed,
suddenly stopping before Ben and staring at him—
"Ben Fairfax! Why, how came 'you' here?"
Ben turned crimson, and then pale. His usual quickness deserted him,
and he stood silent. Fan looked from one face to another but could not
make out what was going on. "Fairfax!" cried the person to whom the
girl seemed to belong. "Why, child, that's Ben Robson; he is one of the
under-grooms at Harewood."
"Robson! I don't care what he may call himself, Esther, nor where he
may work. That's Ben Fairfax, who was with us last summer, and ran away
after robbing the garden, and stole Tom Digges's wages, and Etty's blue
frock, besides owing money in the village. And father says 'twas just
a providence that he didn't burn the place over our heads, sleeping
in the hayloft without leave, and smoking his pipe in it! And, if you
don't believe me, just look at him."
Poor Ben! He was a spectacle at that moment, it must be confessed. He
looked ready to sink into the ground with shame, and so plainly had
lost his wits for the moment, that Fan, controlling her great desire to
cry, caught him by the hand and led him to the gate.
Once away from the girl who had thus recognized him, Ben came to
himself and hurried away, Fan running along at his side with a scared
look.
"What is it, Ben?" she said.
"It's ruin! That's what it is," he answered bitterly. And he muttered
words under his breath, which filled the child with horror though she
only half heard them.
"Oh, Ben dear! Don't do like that."
"Why not? What's the use of trying to go right, when a thing like this
turns up and ruins you. Hold your tongue, child, and let me alone. I
give up."
The girl who had recognized Ben Fairfax was no other than pretty Alice
Heath, who was come to pay a visit to her married sister, Mrs. Spence,
mother of little Etty, whose blue frock Ben had stolen, and Fan had
worn, and Pearl had burned! Several people had stopped to listen to
what was going on, for, in her agitation, Alice had raised her voice
not a little. Among these was a groom from Harewood, and old Mrs.
Thirlston, in her well-preserved black silk, looking as cross as usual.
She could hardly have looked crosser. Mr. Spence was there, too. He was
a very respectable man, and kept a grocer's shop in the village, and he
was not a little annoyed at what had happened, as he knew that Ben was
rather a favourite with the ladies at Harewood.
"What's the meaning of this about young Robson, Mr. Spence?" said the
groom.
"Some fancy of my wife's sister, but I dare say she's mistaken. Say no
more, Alice—you'll only make mischief, and you can't be so very sure."
"But I am sure! I never was surer of anything in my life. That's Ben
Fairfax, and he's a real bad boy, and behaved most ungrateful to father
and mother, as was very good to him, and stole Etty's blue frock the
night he ran away."
"Well, do you know," said Mrs. Spence, disregarding her husband's
expressive looks, "when the two first came here, the girl had on a
frock that was very like the one I made for Etty when she was going to
grandma's. Do you remember I said so to you, Dick?"
"I don't remember anything about it," replied Dick.
Here the old woman of the severe countenance put her hand on Alice
Heath's shoulder and asked in her grating voice, making the girl
start—"Did you say his name is Fairfax?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ha! Then I was right. Well, if he is a Fairfax—and he is—he couldn't
be honest if he tried. Here's a pretty kettle of fish."
She looked so savage that poor Alice shrank back, saying nervously—"It
is not my fault, ma'am."
"Who said it was? And if I did say so, I should have told nothing but
the truth. Blabbing a thing out before every one, like a feather-gated
fool as you are."
"That's just what I say too, Mrs. Thirlston, ma'am," said Spence.
"Where was the use of injuring the lad? And very likely vexing Miss
Harewood, for 'tis well-known she makes quite a pet of this girl, and
the lad has been very correct in his conduct since he came here."
"Correct in his conduct!" the old woman repeated, eyeing Mr. Spence
with strong disfavour. "My good patience! What fools men are!"
And she stalked away, leaving Spence rather crushed.
But the groom very properly told Mr. Harewood all that had passed, next
morning.
And Mr. Harewood went to Spence's shop and heard Alice Heath's story
for himself. He was a hot-tempered man; and when he was convinced that
he had allowed Pearl to make a favourite of "such a young ruffian as
this Ben," he was extremely angry; all the more angry because he felt
that he ought to have made more searching inquiries before he allowed
his daughter to befriend him. Home he went in gathering wrath, and
rushed into the dining-room, where the ladies sat at luncheon.
"Why, Tom! I had given you up, my dear. What is the matter?" said Mrs.
Harewood.
"Matter, my dear! Matter enough, I assure you. Here's a pretty
discovery I've made. That young rascal, Ben Robson—his name is not
Robson, by the way—he's a regular young scamp, a thief and a liar,
and—and everything else that's bad. A pair of young impostors."
"Oh, Papa, there must be some mistake. Fan is such a good little thing.
Now, is she not, Miss Ayrton? And Ben is so steady and clever. Uncle
Frank says—"
"Clever, my dear? Not a doubt of that. Too clever by half. But I'll
tell you all about it, and then you'll see that they must be sent about
their business."
"Oh, Papa!"
"Pearl, my dear, do not speak just now. Let us hear the story, Tom. The
boy may be able to explain matters, you know. I am sure you won't do
anything in a hurry."
Which was exactly what Mr. Harewood, left to himself, would have done.
However, he told the story at length, and even quiet Mrs. Harewood
shook her head over it. Pearl's pretty brown eyes grew so round with
horror and dismay that there really seemed to be some danger that she
might never be able to close them again.
Miss Ayrton said quietly—
"Is it not possible that the girl may know nothing of all this? I
should be sorry to have to think badly of Fan. She seems to me so
particularly innocent and conscientious."
"All acting, believe me," said the Squire testily.
"Well, but, Tom dear, you know you won't condemn either of them
unheard, nor punish the girl if she is really innocent. Don't look so
grievous, Pearlie; Papa never did an unjust thing in his life. Send for
Ben, and for the girl too, and let us hear what they have to say."
Messengers were sent off, and Mr. Harewood cooled down sufficiently to
eat some luncheon.
While he was thus engaged, a servant came to tell him that "old Mrs.
Thirlston wanted to speak to him."
Mr. Harewood groaned.
"She's in the study, I suppose. All right; I will go to her. Come with
me, Anna. I cannot face granny Thirlston alone: she makes me feel as if
I had eaten a sour apple!"
"Mamma," whispered Pearl, "may I come too, that I may hear what Ben
says? I will be very quiet."
"You may come, then. But remember, my dear, you are not to interfere.
Will you come too, Miss Ayrton?"
So they all three went to the study. As they entered, Mr. Harewood was
saying—
"It is no trouble, Mrs. Thirlston. I am always—glad to be of use."
He could not say "glad to see you," as he had intended. Indeed, any one
who was glad to see Mrs. Thirlston must have had a peculiar taste.
"Indeed, sir, it is but seldom, I may say, that I trouble you. I never
was one for pushing myself forward. I know my place, and I know my
claims, but I never push them. I came just to ask you a question, and
I'm sure you'll excuse it. Do you know anything about that lad Robson,
that you have taken into the stables?"
"Why, surely, Mrs. Thirlston, he has not robbed you? Why do you ask?"
"Because, sir, I was told yesterday as how his name is not Robson,
but—Fairfax." She dropped her voice a little as she said the last word.
"And the girl's face has puzzled me from the first. She has a likeness,
sir,—there's no denying it."
"Whew!" Mr. Harewood uttered a low whistle. "How stupid of me! The name
never struck me. You are right, though; the girl is like your poor
daughter."
"No daughter of mine, sir."
"Nay, Mrs. Thirlston, you can't help yourself. Fanny was your daughter,
poor soul! and a good girl, too, though a silly one, in that one act.
Poor Fanny! The lad has a look of her, too. I never could remember who
it was that they reminded me of. Here they come! I had sent for them,
for I heard the story from the girl at Spence's this morning."
Before I go any further, I must tell you that, in his agony of shame
and anger, Ben had told his sister the whole story of his misdoings at
the Lee farm. He had wanted to make his escape before Alice Heath had
time to publish the story any further, for he felt as if he could not
bear to meet the altered looks of those who had so kindly befriended
him, and whose good opinion he had begun to value highly.
But Fan had some hope that Mr. Harewood would be merciful, and with
difficulty she coaxed him to remain quietly where he was.
I do not know that he would have yielded but for a plan which came
into his head, by which he hoped to save her from another period of
wandering and privation. On the Monday morning he went to his work
as usual, and found that the story was already known in the stables;
and the contempt and avoidance of his companions roused his temper,
bringing back the old reckless, defiant mood once more.
The brother and sister entered the room together. Ben looked flushed,
sulky, and defiant; Fan, anxious and frightened, her eyes going from
one face to the other as she made her little bob of a curtsey, a
ceremony which reminded Ben of his manners, and made him pull off his
cap with an attempt at a bow. He looked with interest at old Mrs.
Thirlston, who sat bolt upright and stared at him.
"Do you know why I have sent for you?" said Mr. Harewood, seating
himself in a great easy chair and clearing his voice.
Ben nodded, but Fan answered softly—
"Please, sir, I think we do."
"Bold as brass," ejaculated Mrs. Thirlston.
"What is your name, boy?" said Mr. Harewood, very desirous to make him
speak for himself.
Ben cast a defiant glance at Mrs. Thirlston, and answered promptly—
"Benjamin Thirlston Fairfax, sir. My poor mother named me for her
father, which was steward here years ago."
"Then why did you call yourself Robson when I engaged you?"
"I called myself Robson ever since I left where we lived until last
year; and I gave that name here, because I did not think Fairfax would
be forgotten, and it wouldn't have done us any good."
"It would have done you no harm. It was very foolish of you to give a
false name. Why did you leave F—?"
"Because," said Ben, in the same reckless way, "my father was in
trouble. It was the old story over again. He was took for poaching,
just as happened here before he was married; and Fan must have given
evidence against him because she 'd seen game in the house (though she
didn't know it was any harm). She 'd been ill, and it would have been
her death, for she had a kind of feeling against it, though father
never was good to her. I came home just at that time, and I stole her
away and took her to London."
"And where had you been, sir, during that first absence from F—?"
Ben laughed—such a reckless, unmirthful laugh, that Fan burst into
tears at the sound.
"You know all about it, sir. I was at farmer Heath's, and I left him
to see after Fan; and I stole the child's frock; and I smoked in the
hayloft; and I robbed the garden; and I took Tom Digges's ten shillin',
and I did everything as ought not to be done. I don't deny nothing,
sir; it's all true. But I've not wronged you, nor any here. You'll not
believe me, though, so I'll say no more, only this—Fan is as innocent
as the babe unborn; as innocent as Miss Pearl yonder, and it's the more
credit to her, for she's never seen much good example, and it's not
easy to be good when you're reared as we was. But Fan went to Sunday
school, and always took to good ways—and she's 'your' grandchild, Mrs.
Thirlston! She's your only daughter's child, and she never had but
the two of us, and died when Fan was a baby. My father married again,
and got one more fit for him. But you look at Fan and you'll see for
yourself whose child she is—for she's the image of my mother, and you
can't deny it."
"Oh, Ben!" exclaimed the girl, who had listened to this speech as if
spell-bound. "Was poor Mother not my mother really?"
"Not she. Your mother was Fanny Thirlston, the daughter of that old
woman yonder, that made believe to set the dogs on us when we first
came here."
"I'm so glad," Fan said to herself. "I'm sure my own mother loved me."
"What has become of your father?" asked Mr. Harewood.
"He's dead, sir. He got off for want of evidence against him, and then
he took ill and died. There's the letter I got, telling me of it," and
he laid on the table a dirty scrap of newspaper, containing the account
of the trial of the poachers, and Fairfax's acquittal, which Mrs.
Simmonds had sent him in the letter, which he also produced.
"These papers certainly confirm your story," remarked Mr. Harewood,
who, kindhearted man, by this time only wanted an excuse for forgiving
Ben, and giving him another trial.
"It don't need no confirming, sir. I ain't asking anything for myself,
and it's not likely any one would tell such a story of himself and his
father if it wasn't true; nor 'then,' if he could help himself. I know
you'll never trust me, and I don't deserve it. But if Mrs. Thirlston
will give poor Fan house-room, and keep her till I come for her, I'd go
away at once—and I'd 'never' trouble any one here any more—I swear it,"
with a meaning look at the old woman.
"He means, he 'd never come back!" cried Fan, springing to Ben's side,
and holding fast by his arm. "I won't be left, Ben! Where you go, I'll
go. You wouldn't have the heart. Ben—you couldn't do it! I'd break my
heart. I wouldn't stay without you."
"There must be some good in the fellow," said Mr. Harewood to his wife,
in rather a husky voice.
Ben was ready to cry, but he looked at Mrs. Thirlston inquiringly, and
she nodded her head, to intimate that she would befriend Fan. And in
the strength of his very love for the child, he determined to answer
her in such a way as should make her content to let him go. It was a
hard thing to do, but he remembered the weary, hungry, sickly little
creature, who had toiled so patiently after him in his wanderings, and
whatever might become of himself, he would secure comfort and plenty
for little Fan. So he shook her hands off roughly, and said—
"I can't be bothered with ye, Fan; that's the plain truth of it. I can
do well for myself, if I haven't you to keep too."
Fan looked up in his face—her eyes had a wild, unbelieving terror in
them that went to his heart, but he hardened his face, and frowned.
Without a word, the child fell at his feet as if he had killed her.
Miss Ayrton and Pearl ran to raise her, but Ben had lifted her in his
arms.
"God bless you, my poor little darling! 'Twas hard to do—but you'll be
better off without a rascal like me."
He put his sister into Miss Ayrton's arms as he spoke. For some minutes
all was confusion; it was difficult to bring Fan to life again, and
when she had become conscious, and there was time to look about, Ben
was nowhere to be seen. He was searched for in every direction, for Mr.
Harewood was fully determined to give him another trial. But this poor
Ben could not guess, and he was gone, however he contrived it.
Fan sat on the ground, and shivered from head to foot, as she listened
to the cries of the searchers. She did not seem to hear what was said
to her, but looked so utterly miserable that at last Pearl, guessing
what was the worst part of the grief, sat down beside her and said—
"Listen, Fan dear. You know Ben only said that to make you let him go.
And he took you in his arms, and said, 'God bless my little darling,
you'll be better without me;' and he kissed you 'so.' Fan, he loves you
dearly."
Fan laid her weary head down on the young lady's dainty muslin, and
cried "till her heart was light," as the song says; or if not light,
much lighter, at all events.
"He will surely come back to me, since I know he loves me," she said.
"And oh! Miss Pearl dear, I do love him so."
Then Mrs. Thirlston arose from her seat, and made the following
proclamation, in her least gracious manner:
"Well, sir and madam, if this child—and she's old enough to know
better—can leave off behaving like a baby and spoiling Miss Harewood's
beautiful blue muslin, which she ought to be ashamed for ever of making
so free, I have just a word to say to her."
Poor Fan stood up, and tried to smile in a meek and conciliating
manner, but she only succeeded in making a queer little face, and it
was, perhaps, well for her that Mrs. Thirlston was looking at Mr.
Harewood, not at her.
"It seems, sir, that this child 'is' my grandchild; there's no hope
that it's a lie?"
"No 'fear' of that," Mrs. Harewood answered. "I think it is certainly
true."
"Well, if she is, I suppose I must give her a chance of turning out
decent. I haven't a mite of hope that she will. I gave her mother every
advantage, and brought her up strict; and you know how that ended! But
as the boy is gone—I'll have nought to do with he—and as I've been
thinking lately of having a girl to do odd jobs—for I'm not so young as
I was, and the rheumatiz is powerful bad sometimes—I'll take the girl
home with me, and see if she'll go on steady. I don't expect it, but
I'll keep her humble, and I'll give her a chance."
"Be kind to the child, Mrs. Thirlston," said the Squire, looking
pityingly at Fan.
"Oh, certainly, sir. I never rose my hand to her mother, and I won't to
her."
"Papa," whispered Pearl, "don't let her go—keep Fan here. Dear Papa,
do! She'll be so wretched."
Fan heard the whisper, and to Pearl's great surprise, she said
earnestly—
"You are very good to me, Miss Pearl, but I'll go with her. You see, if
I don't, Ben won't know where to find me when he comes back. And I'll
be always watching for him."
So Pearl let her go, promising to come often to see her. And Fairy
Cottage was deserted, for it was long before Pearl cared to play there
again.
And as to Fan, she would walk all the way round through Comerton,
rather than pass the closed door of her dear little home.
[Illustration]