SOME SCRAPS OF GUY’S HISTORY.
I MUST say before I go further, that Guy Harris is not an imaginary
character. He has an existence as surely as you have, boy reader. He is
to-day an active professional man, and he has consented to have the
story of his boyhood written in the hope that it may serve as a warning,
should it chance to fall into the hands of any discontented young fellow
who is tempted to do as he did.
Guy lived in the city of Norwall—that name will do as well as any
other—on the shore of one of the great lakes. When he was a few months
old his mother died, and a year afterward his father married again. Of
course Guy was too young to remember his lost parent, and until he was
fourteen years old he knew nothing of this little episode in the family
history. Mr. and Mrs. Harris never enlightened him, because they feared
that something unpleasant might result from it. Having often heard the
boy express his opinion of step-mothers in the most emphatic language,
and declare that he would not live a day under his father’s roof with a
stranger to rule over him, they thought it best to allow him to remain
in ignorance of the real facts of the case. And Guy never suspected
anything. It is true that he was sometimes sadly puzzled to know how it
happened that he had three grandfathers, while all the boys of his
acquaintance had only two; but when he spoke of it to his mother, she
always had the headache too badly to talk about that or anything else.
Guy often told himself that his mother was not like other boys’ mothers.
He cherished an unbounded affection for her, and stood ready to show it
by every means in his power; but there was something about her that kept
him at a distance. There was not that familiarity between him and his
mother that he saw between other boys and their mothers. There was a
coolness in her demeanor toward him that she did not even exhibit toward
strangers. There was a wonderful difference, too, in her treatment of
him and his half-brother, Ned, who was at this time about nine years of
age. Ned came and went as he pleased. The front gate was no barrier to
him, and he always had a dime or two in his pocket to spend for peanuts
and chocolate creams. If he wanted to go over to a neighbor’s for an
hour’s visit, or wished to spend an afternoon skating on the pond, he
applied to his mother, who seldom refused him permission. If Guy desired
the same privilege, he was told to consult with his father, who
generally said: “No, sir; you’ll meet with bad company there;” or,
“You’ll break through and be drowned;” or, if he granted the request, he
would do it after so much hesitation, and with so great reluctance that
it made an unpleasant impression on Guy’s mind, and marred his day’s
sport.
At last a few scraps of the family history, which his parents had been
so careful to keep from him, came to Guy’s knowledge. Through one of the
neighborhood gossips he learned, to his intense amazement, that Mr.
Harris had been twice married; that his first wife had lain for almost
fourteen years in her grave in a distant State; and that the woman who
sat at the head of the table, who so closely watched all his movements
during his father’s absence, and whom he called mother, was not his
mother after all. Then a good many things which hitherto he had not been
able to understand became perfectly clear to him. He knew now where his
three grandfathers came from, and could easily account for the
partiality shown his half-brother, Ned. But he wanted proof, and to
obtain it laid the matter before his Aunt Lucy, who, after telling him
how sorry she was that he had found it out, reluctantly confirmed the
story.
Guy felt as if he were utterly alone in the world after this; but when
he had thought about it a while, he took a sensible view of the case. He
loved his father’s wife, and he did not allow the facts with which he
had just been made acquainted to make any change in his feelings or
demeanor toward her. Indeed, he was more attentive to her than before;
he tried to anticipate and gratify her desires as far as lay in his
power, and in every way did his best to please her; but the result was
most discouraging. With all his efforts he could not win one approving
word or smile. His mother was colder and more distant than ever, and
from that time Guy’s home was somehow made very uncomfortable for him.
Mr. and Mrs. Harris were good people, as the world goes. They were
prominent members of the church, and held high positions in society.
Abroad they were as agreeable and pleasant as people could be, but the
atmosphere of home grew dark the moment they crossed the threshold. Mr.
Harris, especially, was a perfect thunder-cloud; his very presence had a
depressing effect upon the family circle. When he came home from his
place of business at night, he generally had something to say in the way
of greeting to his wife and Ned, but Guy was seldom noticed, unless he
had been doing something wrong, and then more words were devoted to him
than he cared to listen to.
When supper was over, Mr. Harris sat down to his paper, and until ten
o’clock never looked up or spoke. His wife sewed, read novels, or played
backgammon with Ned, and Guy was left to himself. His father never
talked to him about his sports and pastimes, his boyish trials,
disappointments, hopes and aspirations, as other fathers talk to their
sons. He never allowed him to go outside the gate—except upon very rare
occasions—unless he was going to school or was sent on an errand. He
never gave him a cent to spend for himself, except on Christmas, when,
in addition to making him numerous presents (which Guy was so repeatedly
and emphatically enjoined to take care of that he almost hated them as
well as the giver), he opened his heart and presented him with a quarter
of a dollar. He wasn’t going to ruin his boy by giving him money, he
said.
Up to the time that he was fourteen years old Guy had the making of a
man in him. He was smart, honest, truthful, generous to a fault, and
attentive to his books, it being his father’s desire, as well as his
own, that he should enter college. I wish I could take him through my
story with all these good traits about him; but candor compels me to say
that at the time he was presented to the reader he was a different sort
of boy altogether. In the neighborhood in which he lived he bore an
excellent reputation. People called him a good boy, referred to the fact
that he was never seen prowling about the streets after dark, and spoke
of the promptness with which he obeyed the commands of his parents. But
the truth was that at heart Guy was no better than any other boy. He
stayed at home of evenings, not because it was a pleasant place and he
loved to be there, but for the reason that he was not allowed to go out;
and he obeyed his parents’ orders the moment they were issued, because
he knew that he would be whipped if he did not. All his generous
impulses had been crushed out of him by the stern policy pursued by his
father, who believed in ruling by the rod, instead of by love. From
being a frank, honorable boy, above doing a mean action and abhorring a
lie, Guy became sneaking and sly—so sly that it was almost an
impossibility to fasten the guilt of any wrong-doing upon him. He
learned to despise his home, with its thunder-clouds and incessant
reprimands and fault-findings, and longed to get off by himself
somewhere—anywhere, so that he could enjoy a few minutes’ peace. He had
hit upon a plan to rid himself of his troubles, and now we will tell
what it was, and how it resulted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------