"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."
The long, bright summer days and the glowing autumn days were gone;
mid-winter was upon them. During all this time Edward was hard at work;
there was plenty of business to be done at the store. He had been
promoted; very rarely, now-a-days, was he called on to carry home
purchases, or to do errands. He had his counter and his favourite
customers. There had been another change, too, which Edward felt sure Ray
had had a hand in; Ray had a hand in everything that was good and
thoughtful. He had long evenings for study now; he came up to dinner with
Mr. Minturn at six o'clock, and had no further work to do until the next
day. Oh, those long evenings! What rapid progress he made! what a
teacher Ray was! Could a boy help getting on who was so carefully and
kindly led?
What was _not_ Ray to him?--teacher, friend, brother; constant,
unfailing, loving guide. Edward was learning to love him with an
almost worship.
Meantime, every one saw better than did Edward himself how he had
changed. He had not been in constant intercourse with a Christian family,
who lived their religion every day and every hour, for nothing; his
improvement had been constant and rapid.
He came home from the post office one evening with his hands full of
letters, among them a very queer-looking one for himself. He carried the
others to the library, and his own to his room. Such an odd letter as it
was! He was glad it was his business to get the mail, and that none of
the other clerks had seen this, with his name written at the very top of
the envelope, and written "Tip" at that. How oddly it looked, and how
queerly it sounded when he said it over! It was so long since he heard
that name, he never wanted to again. He was glad that Ray Minturn had
never called him Tip, nor heard him called so.
Who could it be from? Nobody wrote to him except Kitty, and once in a
long while his mother; but this was no home-letter. At last he broke the
seal, and read:--
"DEER TIP,--Mother's dead, I feel bad, you kno that, so what's the use?
I've got to go to work. I like you better than any of the other felows,
always did. Can't I com out there to your store and work, I'll behave
myself reel wel; I _will_, honour bright, if you'll git me a place.
I've got money enuff to get there. I dug potatoes for old Williams and
earned it. Rite to me rite off that's a good fellow. I want to com
awful. BOB TURNER."
Edward was thunderstruck! he dropped the letter on the floor in disgust.
What was to be done now? The idea of having Bob Turner there was
perfectly dreadful; besides, thank fortune! it was impossible. They
wanted more help, to be sure, had been looking out for a boy that very
day, but not such a one as Bob,--that was out of the question; and
yet--Bob's mother was dead! In his rude, careless way, Bob had loved his
mother rather better than he had any one else, and Edward did not doubt
that he felt badly. He was without friends now; surely he needed one if
he ever did. But it was _so_ disagreeable to think of having him
there,--he was so different from any of the others, and he would call
_him_ Tip, and be always around in his way; would seem to lead him back
to the old life from which he thought he had escaped altogether. It was
not to be thought of for a moment. But then--and now came a startling
thought. How long he had been praying for Bob! Perhaps this was the way
in which God meant to answer, by giving him a chance to work as well as
pray. Perhaps he ought to be _willing_ to have him come. No matter how
much the clerks might make fun of him for having such a friend; no matter
how much pain and annoyance it might cause him; if this was God speaking
to him to help his brother, how dreadful it would be to make no answer!
He sat down to think about it; his algebra lay open before him; he was
not quite ready for Kay, but he could not attend to algebra now.
"Let me see," he said; "if there _should_ be such a thing as that Bob
could come, what would I do for him? One of two things is certain, either
he'll lead me or I shall him; we always did when we were together much.
Which will it be? If he leads me, he'll lead me into mischief, just as
sure as the world; if I lead _him_, I'll try to keep him out of mischief.
It's clear that I ought to be the leader. Now, how would I do it, I
wonder? Bob ought to be a Christian; he won't be safe two minutes at a
time until he is. If God says anything, He says He'll hear prayer. If I
believe that, why don't I pray for Bob, so that he'll be converted? I
_do_ pray for him always, but it's kind of half-way praying--kind of as
if I thought it was a pretty hard thing for God to do after all. That's
wrong. God wants him safe, and He knows he isn't safe now, and He's
willing to help him; it must be my fault that He don't. My business and
lessons, and all that sort of thing, are putting Bob and Ellis, and even
father, pretty much out of my thoughts. That's wrong too, and must be
stopped. Mr. Minturn says a thing is never half done that hasn't a corner
in the day belonging to itself. I'll try that rule. After this, every
evening at half-past eight, I'll come up here to my room and lock the
door, and I'll pray for Bob; I'll pray as though I expected an answer,
and was going to be on the look-out for it. I won't let anything hinder
me from coming at just that time, unless it's something that I can't
help. Meantime, I'll get him a place if I can."
Edward was as straightforward as Tip had been; this point decided, he
went down-stairs to the library door, and knocked.
Mr. Minturn was alone, and busy; but he looked up as Edward entered in
answer to his "Come in."
"Well, sir, what is it?"
"Have you time for a little piece of business?"
"Always time for business; sit down. What is it about?"
"Have you found a boy yet?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes, sir; there's a boy out home who wants to come; I've just had a
letter from him. His name is Turner--Bob Turner."
"Is he a good boy?"
"No, sir."
"Well, that's plain! What are you talking about, then?"
"I want you to make him a good boy, sir."
"Humph! that's an idea. I can't make boys over new. Is he honest?"
"No, sir, I don't think he is very,--not what you mean by honest; but his
mother is dead, and he hasn't any friends; he goes with a miserable set
of fellows, and he'll get worse than he is in no time if he stays there."
"And the whole of it is, you think it's my duty to let him come, and try
to save, him! Suppose I should, what would you do for your share?"
"I'd try, too."
"How?"
"Why, I'd try to get him to do right."
"Suppose he should try to get you to do wrong?"
"He couldn't!" said Edward positively.
"How did you find that out?"
"Because I should pray for myself every day, and for Bob too; and God
hears prayer."
"Yes, but God's people sometimes get very far away from Him; if this Bob
should lead _you_ astray, I'd be sorry I ever heard of him."
"I don't feel much afraid," Edward said, speaking this time in a more
quiet, less positive tone, "for I never go wrong when I pray often; pray
about everything that comes up, you know, and mean what I pray for."
"Humph!" said Mr. Minturn; "that's a good idea; I guess you're pretty
safe under _that_ rule."
"Besides," said Edward, reserving one of his best arguments till the
last, "I know somebody who would help Bob ever so much,--Mr. Ray would
find him out."
Mr. Minturn's eyes grew bright, and he smiled a half sad smile.
"Yes," he said, "that's true enough; Ray can't come near anybody without
helping him. Well, write to the boy to come on; we'll try him. Has he
anything to come with?"
"Yes, sir, he says he has money enough to get here." And Edward went away
glad, for he had begun to be very willing to have Bob there.