HOW JOHN MONDAY SPENT HIS HALF-CROWN
THE following morning was beautifully fine and bright. The feeling of
oppression which had been in the air for several days had cleared
away, and the heat of the sun was tempered by a fresh breeze.
Mousey looked at Mr. Harding with satisfaction as she joined him
in the parlour preparatory to starting on their usual Sunday morning
walk, and found him attired in his new suit of clothes. In his hand
he held a new hat in place of the old one. He glanced at the little
girl with a humorous twinkle in his eyes as she entered the room.
"One expense brings another," he remarked in his usual gruff tone.
"I was worried into buying a new suit of clothes, and I thought I must
have a new hat, too."
"I am very glad," Mousey replied quickly. "How nice you look, Cousin
Robert!"
The old man shrugged his shoulders, but appeared pleased,
nevertheless, though he merely said that "fine feathers made
fine birds."
Contrary to his custom, John Monday spent that Sunday morning at home.
He sat in the parlour, evidently in low spirits; and when Maria
entered the room to lay the cloth for dinner, she was much surprised
to find him there.
"What! Haven't you been out this beautiful morning?" she exclaimed.
"No," was the brief reply.
"You ought to go for a walk," she proceeded; "shut up in the shop
as you are most of the week, I don't think you should stay indoors
on Sunday. Do you know what I'd do if I were you? I'd start early,
and walk to one of the villages around here, and attend the service
in the village church. That would give you an object for a walk,
wouldn't it?"
"Yes," the boy agreed listlessly; "but you know I never go to church."
"That's no argument in favour of your staying away for ever," she
replied quickly.
"But my clothes are shabby," he objected.
"So are the clothes of a good many who attend the same church as I do.
I'm sure I've seen people actually in rags at the mission chapel
before now. I do wish you had joined Mr. Bradley's Bible class when he
asked you!"
"I wish I had," he acknowledged. "I've half a mind to tell him
I'd like to join, but perhaps he won't have me now."
"Oh, I'm sure he will!" Maria assured him, with conviction in her
tones.
John Monday shook his head doubtfully, and heaved a deep sigh. Maria
glanced at him keenly, struck by the hopeless expression on his
countenance. She had always felt sympathy for the lonely workhouse boy
who rarely received anything but sharp words from his master; but she
would have liked him better if he had not possessed bad qualities,
which caused her to look on him with suspicion. When he had first
become an inmate of Mr. Harding's house she had pitied him
exceedingly, but soon discovering that he deceived his master if it
suited his purpose to do so, and told lies without the least
compunction, she had set him down as an incorrigible character.
Latterly, however, she had slightly modified her opinion of him, and
was inclined to look on him with more tolerant eyes.
"What makes you think Mr. Bradley might not admit you into his Bible
class?" she asked, after a short pause.
"Because he told me his boys were all steady and respectable,"
he replied gloomily; "and I don't believe if he knew what I was really
like he'd have anything more to do with me."
This was a great deal for John Monday to acknowledge. As a rule,
he was on excellent terms with himself.
"I am sure there is something on your mind," she said earnestly;
"can't you tell me what it is? If I could help you in any way,
I gladly would."
"It's very good of you to say so," he answered, with a ring of real
gratitude in his voice; "but I don't see that you can help me.
However, I'll tell you what I've done. You remember that Mr. Dawson
gave me a half-crown when he was here the other day, don't you?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Well, I've lost it."
"Lost it!" Maria exclaimed. "Oh, what a pity! I am so sorry! How did
it happen?"
"I lost it over a horse," John Monday informed her.
"Lost it over a horse!" she repeated wonderingly. "I don't understand
what you mean." Then a sudden light flashed across her mind, and she
cried in accents of mingled reproach and dismay, "You don't mean
to tell me that you've been betting!"
"Yes, I do. A young man I know very well told me if I put my money
on a certain horse I should make a good bit, but the horse didn't win
the race after all, and so I lost my half-crown."
"You foolish lad! That young man who advised you, whoever he is, is no
fitting acquaintance for a boy like you. I think it's a very good job
you did lose your money. Now, perhaps, you won't be tempted to bet
again."
"I might win next time," he said rather sulkily, half regretful that
he had confided in her.
"You might," she agreed, "and then, no doubt, you'd bet again. I do
hope you'll stop at once. You don't know what a curse betting and
gambling becomes, but I do, from sad experience. I had a brother who
commenced making small bets when he was but a little older than you,
and the habit of betting took such hold of him that it brought him to
beggary. There! I've told you what I've never told a living soul
besides, and I hope you'll take warning by my poor brother's unhappy
fate."
"What became of him?" John Monday asked, deeply impressed.
"He died in a workhouse," Maria responded, her pale face flushing
with shame, "after leading the life of a common tramp for years. Oh,
the disgrace of it all! Not that there's any disgrace to come to the
workhouse at last if a person's lived a respectable life, and been
driven there through misfortune; but when a man's been made a pauper
by his own folly and wickedness, as my poor brother was, that's very
different. Many a good man's been born in a workhouse, and if I were
you, I'd make up my mind to lead an upright, honest life, so that if I
ever went back to the workhouse it should be by no fault of my own.
There's an old proverb which says, 'God helps those who help
themselves,' and I believe it's quite true. God doesn't help folks who
bet and gamble, but He does those who try to be good, and He'll help
you if you ask Him."
John Monday shook his head in a mournful way; then said anxiously—
"You won't tell Mr. Harding, will you, Maria?"
"About your half-crown? No. I hope you will never, never bet again;
and take my advice, and have no more to do with that young man who
tempted you to do wrong."
"I wish I'd never seen him!"
John Monday was in better spirits after his talk with Maria, although
the loss of his money still weighed upon his mind. Maria felt troubled
about him, and during the remainder of the day she was haunted by the
look of despondency on his face which had first attracted her
attention in the morning. As she and Mousey were leaving the mission
chapel after the evening service, the little girl said in an excited
whisper—
"Maria, did you see John Monday?"
"No," Maria answered.
When they were outside the building Mousey continued—
"He was sitting behind a pillar; but he left the minute the service
was over. Look, there he is in front of us."
At that moment John Monday glanced back, and, seeing them, waited till
they came up.
"I saw you in church, John," Mousey told him. "Did you like the
sermon? I was glad Mr. Bradley preached."
"So was I," he responded. "I saw Mr. Bradley before the service,
and he's going to let me join his Bible class."
"Oh, I am glad!" Maria exclaimed heartily.
"Shall you tell Cousin Robert?" Mousey inquired, after a minute's
thought.
"I suppose he'll have to know," he replied uneasily, "though I hate
the thought of telling him. I know how he'll look at me with his eyes
as sharp as gimlets, and his mouth drawn down at the corners."
Neither Maria nor Mousey could help smiling at this description of Mr.
Harding's countenance. John Monday stood in much awe of his master,
and was almost as afraid of his satirical glances as he was of his
sharp tongue. Unfortunately for his assistant, Mr. Harding had always
had a bad opinion of him, and finding he was not expected to be
straightforward and honest, John Monday never endeavoured to be
either. As his master had always suspected his actions and motives,
he had, in consequence, not treated him openly; indeed, until quite
lately, he had thought it a fine act if he could deceive him in any
way. Lately, however, a gradual change had been taking place in the
boy's views of life. Mr. Bradley had sought more than once to bring
good influences to bear upon him; and then Mousey had come to live in
the house, and had astonished him not a little by her fearless
truthfulness, and her honest endeavours to do right. A feeling of
great dissatisfaction had crept into his heart, a sense of
inferiority, and a longing to be better—a longing of which he was,
strangely enough, ashamed.