A Confession.
In the room where Marco slept, there was a large, stuffed arm-chair,
which was commonly called the easy chair; it was one that was seldom
used by the family, except in sickness. It stood in a corner of the
room not far from the head of Marco's bed. Forester used to sit in
this chair while he remained conversing with Marco, when he came up to
take his light.
When Forester had taken his seat in the great chair this evening,
according to his usual custom, he began his conversation by saying.
"Well, Marco, have you been helping James in the garden this
afternoon?"
"Why, no," said Marco, "I did not help him much,--I don't like James
very well."
"Why not?" asked Forester.
"Why, I don't think he is very accommodating," replied Marco.
"What has he done to-day, which is unaccommodating?" asked Forester.
"He would not lend me his knife. I wanted to borrow his knife to cut
me a cane from some apple-tree trimmings, and he would not let me have
it."
"Haven't you got a knife of your own?" asked Forester.
"Yes," said Marco, "but mine won't open."
"Won't open?" repeated Forester. "What's the cause of that?"
"Why, I suppose because the joint is rusty," replied Marco.
"How came it rusty?" asked Forester.
"Why, you see I laid it down one day on a stone, where I was at work
with it, and left it there, and there happened to come a rain in the
night and rusted it. I did not know where it was, and so I didn't find
it for a good many days."
"Then, I presume," said Forester, "that James supposed that you would
leave his knife out in the same way and spoil it."
"No," replied Marco, "that was not the reason."
"You are sure that you asked him for it distinctly, and he refused?"
"Yes," said Marco.
Here there was a moment's pause. Marco thought that his cousin
Forester was considering what should be done to James, for being so
unaccommodating. He did not know but that he would report him to his
father and have him turned away; though Marco did not really wish to
have him turned away.
But Forester said, after reflecting a moment, "That makes me think of
a story I have got here; listen and hear it."
[Illustration: MARCO'S ROOM.]
So Forester took out his pocket-book and opened it, and then appeared
to be turning over the leaves, for a moment, to find a place. Then he
began to read, or to appear to read, as follows:
Once there was a little girl named Anne. She came to her mother one
day, as she was sitting in the parlor, and began to complain bitterly
of her sister Mary. Her sister Mary was older than she was, and had a
doll. Anne complained that Mary would not lend her her doll.
"Are you sure that she refused to lend you her doll?" asked her
mother.
"Yes, mother, I am _sure_ she did," replied Anne.
"Perhaps she is playing with it herself," said her mother.
"No," replied Anne, "she is ironing in the kitchen."
"I think you must be mistaken," said her mother. "Go and ask her
again. Don't tell her I sent you, but ask her yourself, whether she
really meant that she was not willing to lend you her doll."
So Anne ran off to put the question to Mary again; presently she
returned with the same answer. "Mary," she said, "would not lend it to
her."
"I am very sorry to hear it," said her mother, "for now I suppose I
shall have to punish you."
"To punish _her_, you mean," said Anne.
"No," said her mother, "to punish you. I don't suppose _she_ is
to blame."
"Why, mother--how can _I_ be to blame, for her not being willing
to lend me her doll?"
"You _are_, I've no doubt," said her mother. "Mary is a
good-natured, accommodating girl,--always ready to do kindnesses, and
if she has any unwillingness to lend any thing to you, it must be that
you have created it yourself, by some misconduct. So that it will
prove, no doubt, that you are the one to be punished."
Here Anne began to hang her head and look a little ashamed. Her
mother's supposition proved to be correct, for, on inquiring, it
appeared that Mary had lent her doll to Anne a few days before, and
that when she wanted it again, Anne was unwilling to give it to her,
and when Mary insisted on her bringing it to her, she became angry and
threw the doll out the window.
"I never heard that story before, cousin Forester," said Marco. "And I
did not know that you had stories in your pocket-book."
Forester laughed and put up his pocket-book.
"I don't believe there is any story there," said Marco. "You made it
up for me, I verily believe."
"Yes," said Forester, "I did. Don't it fit your case pretty well?"
"Why, I don't know," said Marco. "I don't see why he could not let me
have his knife."
"Suppose _I_ had asked him for his knife; don't you suppose he
would have lent it to me?"
"Yes," said Marco, "I've no doubt he would; he would do any thing for
_you_, of course, because you pay him--or uncle pays him, which
is the same thing."
"I don't think that that is the reason altogether," replied Forester.
"There was the man at the mill to-day, who said that I might take his
boat and do any thing I chose to do with it."
"Yes," said Marco, "I noticed that."
"And perhaps you thought it was very much to his credit that he did
so."
"Yes," said Marco.
"But the fact is," rejoined Forester, "as I think, it was more to
my credit than his; because I have had his boat a great many times
heretofore, and his having so much confidence in me now, shows how I
have acted with his property before. I have always taken a great deal
of pains to use it carefully, to bring it back to its place safely, to
get the water out, if there was any in it, and leave every thing in
order. I have done this, not only because it is just and right that I
should not make him suffer inconvenience on account of his doing me a
favor, but as a matter of policy."
"What do you mean by a matter of policy?" asked Marco.
"Why, regard to my own interest. If I did not do so, I should soon
make people unwilling to lend me their things. And I think there must
be some good reason why James is not willing to lend you his knife."
"Why, he says," answered Marco, "that I don't bring back his things."
"Ah!" rejoined Forester, "that's it. I thought there must be some such
reason as that. You have lost your character with James, and I advise
you to acquire a new one as soon as you can. Besides, you have done
him injustice this evening. You represented him as refusing you his
knife because he was unaccommodating and selfish, whereas it was
only proper regard to the safety of his property. What you said was
calculated to make an unfavorable impression on my mind against him,
and one which would have been unjust."
Marco perceived that it was so, and was silent.
"I am sorry that your knife is rusty," resumed Forester. "Perhaps I
can get it open for you."
"How?" asked Marco.
"Why, I believe the best way is to soak the joint in oil. The oil will
insinuate itself into the joint, and then we can get hold of the blade
with a pair of nippers, or something of the kind, and open it; and
then, by working it to and fro a few times, the rust will work out,
and the knife be as good as it was before. If it is very rusty indeed,
this plan will not answer."
"What must be done in that case?" asked Marco.
"The only way then is to carry it to some kind of smith and get him to
punch out the rivet. Then we can take the blade out entirely. By this
means we can clean it of its rust, and then put it in again with a new
rivet. If you will give me your knife to-morrow, I will try to put it
in order for you again, in one or the other of these ways.
"And now," continued Forester, after a short pause, "it is time for me
to go down, unless you have something which you wish to say."
Although it was not unusual for Forester to close his evening
conversation in this manner, Marco's attention was particularly
arrested by the excellent opportunity which this remark afforded him
to make his confession. He really wished to make it,--but he did not
know how to begin. He wished that his cousin would ask him something
about it, or introduce the subject in some way or other, but Forester
was silent. Presently he rose, came to Marco's bedside, and asked him
if he was warm enough,--for the nights at this season of the year were
beginning to be cool.
"Yes," said Marco, "I'm very comfortable."
"Well, then, good night." So Forester took the lamp and walked slowly
toward the door.
"Cousin Forester," said Marco.
"What?" said Forester.
"Don't go just yet."
Forester turned back and advanced to the foot of the bed. There was a
high foot-board at the foot of the bed, and Forester leaned upon it
with the lamp in his hand.
"Is there any thing that you want to say to me?"
Marco was silent. He looked distressed and embarrassed, and moved his
head restlessly on his pillow.
"There's something wrong, isn't there, Marco," said Forester, "that
you are thinking whether to confess to me or not? If there is, do just
as you choose about it. I like to have you confess what you have done
that is wrong, but then, if you do it at all, it must be done of your
own accord."
"Well," said Marco, "I want to tell you about my going away to play
this forenoon."
"How long were you gone?" asked Forester.
"Pretty much all the forenoon," replied Marco.
"Well," said Forester, "I am very glad you concluded to confess it of
your own accord, but I know all about it."
Marco started up in his bed and looked his cousin in the face, and
said,
"Why, cousin Forester, how did you know?"
"To prove to you that I really did know, I will tell you what you did.
You got out of the window soon after I went away, and went over into
Mr. Eldon's garden, where George Eldon and Samuel Warner were digging
worms for bait. Then you went with them down to the river. You hid
behind them when you passed in sight of the house, for fear that
father would see you, as he was out in the yard, pruning trees.
Then you went down to the river and sat on a log under some bushes,
fishing. After a while you spied an old log canoe, drifting down the
river, and the other boys waded out and got it. Then you all got into
it and paddled about a while, and afterward got carried over the rips
and upset in the water. Your cap drifted down the stream, and you
went after it in the canoe and got it. After that, you took off your
stockings and wrung out the water from them, and then came home. You
got into the study only about a quarter of an hour before I came."
Marco listened to this minute account of his adventures with eager
interest, wondering how his cousin could have obtained so early and
such complete information. After Forester had concluded, he paused a
moment and breathed a long sigh. Then he laid his head down upon his
pillow again, saying,
"Well, I don't see how you found it out; and I am sorry that you did,
for I meant to have told you all about it myself."
Marco seemed really disappointed at having lost the opportunity to
make his full confession, but Forester told him that he considered
that he _had_ made full confession. "You made up your mind to
do it," said he, "and you did begin, and it was the beginning which
required all the effort. I only refrained from asking you about the
details, from a wish to show you that I really knew all about it."
"I don't see how you found it out," said Marco. "I suppose it must
have been that the boys told you."
"No," replied Forester; "I have not seen either of the boys, or heard
any thing from them, directly or indirectly."
"Then you must have watched me yourself," said Marco, "instead of
going away."
"Do you think," said Forester, "that I would pretend that I was going
away, and then just go out a little way and lie in wait to watch you?
"Why, no,"--said Marco,--"I don't really suppose that you would."
"No," said Forester, "I really went away nut of town. I went to visit
a sick man and help him make his will, and I did not return until just
before you saw me."
"Then I don't see how you knew," said Marco.
"It is of very little consequence to you to know that," said Forester,
"but I want to ask you a little more about the affair. Are you willing
to answer any question that I may ask?"
Marco said that he was, and Forester asked him about the circumstances
which led him to go away. Marco explained to him how he saw the boys,
and what he thought that they were doing, and what induced him to go
and see them, and how he was prevented from coming back as he had
intended. There was an air of openness and honesty in the manner in
which Marco related these facts, which convinced Forester that he was
telling the truth.
Forester was glad to find that it was not a deliberate and
preconcerted plan, between Marco and the other boys, to go off on this
expedition; for, bad as it was for Marco to allow himself to be drawn
away by such temptations, it would have been worse, or rather it would
have indicated a worse state of character, if he had deliberately
planned such a truancy.
"Well," said Forester, as he was about to close the conversation, "I
am very glad that you concluded to confess your fault. I am very glad,
too, that you did not go a-fishing this afternoon under the sort of
permission which I gave you. I infer from these two things that you
wish to be cured of these faults, and to become a boy of firm moral
principle. Now it is a rule with me, generally, not to punish a boy
for what he confesses of his own accord. Still, I think it probable
it would be better for you to have some punishment for this. It would
help to make a strong impression upon your mind, and make it much more
easy for you to resist such temptations in time to come. But you
may decide this question yourself. If you choose to submit to a
punishment, and will tell me so to-morrow morning, I will think of
some suitable one for you. If you do not say any thing to me about it,
I shall not punish you." So saying, Forester bade Marco good night.
The next morning, Marco met Forester on the stairs, as he was coming
down to breakfast, and told him that he thought he should feel better
to be punished. So Forester reflected upon the subject, and at nine
o'clock, when Marco went in to commence his studies, Forester told him
that he had concluded upon his punishment.
"What is it to be?" said Marco.
"It is for me not to allow you to study," replied Forester, "all this
forenoon, but to require you to sit still at your desk, with nothing
to do. You see it will be a sort of solitary imprisonment, only your
prison will in itself be a pleasant place."
Marco thought that this would not be a very severe punishment, but he
found, in enduring it, that it was in fact much more severe than he
had imagined. He got very tired indeed, long before the forenoon was
out. He concluded that solitary imprisonment for years, in a gloomy
dungeon, must be a terrible punishment indeed.
A year or two after this time, when Marco had been entirely cured of
all such faults, he one day asked Forester to explain to him how he
knew where he went on this memorable forenoon; and Forester willingly
explained it to him. It seems that Forester's father, though a very
gentle and kind-hearted man, was a very shrewd one, and having been
accustomed to the discovery, in the course of his practice, of all
sorts of pranks and roguery, was less disposed to place confidence in
others till he knew the confidence was deserved, than Forester himself
was, who had less experience. And when he knew that Forester had gone
away, leaving Marco alone, he doubted a little whether he would remain
industriously at his work. While he was thinking of this, he heard a
slight noise which Marco made with his feet against the clapboards of
the house in getting out the window. He therefore came into the study
a moment afterward, and found that Marco had gone. He looked out the
window and saw him going off toward the other boys. Just at that
moment the man came to help him prune his trees, but before he began
this work he went into the house to James, called him to a window and
pointed out Marco to him, and said,
"I want you, James, to follow him, and keep in sight of him until he
returns, but if possible don't let him see you. Say nothing to
me about it, but give my son Forester an account of all that you
observe."
James did as he was directed, and when Forester came back he told him
the whole story, just before Forester went into the study. So that
Forester knew all about it, before Marco saw him. James managed the
affair very adroitly, for he kept himself entirely out of sight except
in one instance, and that was when the boys fell into the water. He
then rushed toward them for fear that they might be drowned, but
he stopped on the bank when he saw that there was no danger, and
disappeared again before Marco had time to recognize him.