Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration]
TWO WAYS
OF
FACING LIFE
BY
FLORENCE E. BURCH
[Illustration]
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. YOUNG GREATHEART
II. TWO WAYS OF FACING LIFE
III. COURTING SOCIETY
IV. A LESSON IN CIRCUMSPECTION
V. THE MONITOR SPEAKS IN VAIN
VI. HEROES IN BOOKS AND IN REAL LIFE
VII. MR. GREATHEART AGAIN
VIII. IN THE STABLE-YARD
IX. THE ONLY SON OF HIS MOTHER
X. A VOICE OF WARNING
XI. A PARTING WORD ABOUT AMBITION
XII. THE UNIVERSITY AND THE WORKSHOP
XIII. BUILDING
XIV. IN THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY
XV. NED VIGUS' SECRET
XVI. A TIMELY INTERRUPTION
XVII. ALL THINGS BECOME NEW
XVIII. A TELEGRAM
XIX. AN UNLOOKED-FOR HOLIDAY
XX. SICKNESS UNTO DEATH
XXI. THE SHINING OF THE RIVER
TWO WAYS
OF
FACING LIFE
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
YOUNG GREATHEART.
"He feels the immortal light of Spirit live
Within his breast,—but knows not that in years
To come that warm and flashing ray will give
The brightest rainbow through the bitterest tears."
ELIZA COOK.
IN the twilight of an October evening, a lad of some seventeen years
was walking briskly homeward along a road leading from the common to
the small country town which was his native place.
He was a well-built lad, tall and strong, and over his shoulder was
slung a basket of carpenter's tools. His features were of that homely
English type which so frequently appears the very reverse of handsome
until fired with an individuality of expression by the awakening of
the soul within; but his eyes were clear with truthfulness and perfect
health, and there was something in the merry whistle that accompanied
his rapid strides which proclaimed his mind to be as sound as his body.
They were no comic ditties of the day he whistled, but wild, free
scraps of old tunes learnt in schoolboy days—airs that every Briton
knows—woven up in strange medley with impromptu interludes, cadences,
and arias never heard before, and in all probability never to be
heard again; for Joseph Adams had "music in his soul," and frequently
expressed the exuberance of his spirits in extempore melody.
He was a couple of miles from home yet; but the way was down a gentle
incline, which made walking no labour, although he had been at work
ever since early morning. Soft, rainy breezes were rustling the dry
leaves in the hedgerow, too, blowing cool and refreshing about his
cheeks and hands; whilst overhead the stars were beginning to show
their timid lights, in striking contrast with the dusky red of the
gas lamps already visible against the dark grey distance. So he paced
steadily on, enjoying the exercise in every muscle of his robust frame.
Twenty minutes' walk brought him into the street. The bustle of the
day was over. Men were returning from their work, tired horses were
retracing their steps to the stable, and Joseph, too, began to have
thoughts of the fireside and tea. A few seconds more, and he was at
the market square. It had been market-day; but the square had emptied
long ago, with the exception of one or two sweet-stalls, at which a
cluster of noisy youngsters were exchanging for lumps of various sticky
compounds the coppers earned by running errands for buyers and sellers.
But at the further side of the market-place, a great commotion was
going on, hoots and shouts and cries. And above them all, a sharp, yet
feeble voice, raised in angry protest.
Joseph recognised it at once. He halted an instant, then swinging
round, made straight for the spot.
A dozen or more young imps were congregated round a little old man,
whose shrivelled face was scarcely visible above their heads as he
turned sharply from side to side, now parrying their attacks with
vigorous thrusts of the stick which he held in his right hand, now
swearing and threatening in a manner the absurdity of which was
rendered only too patent by the tottering uncertainty of his gait and
the wavering movements of his arms. Joseph took in the situation at a
glance, and strode rapidly towards the group.
The little old man, with his queer old-fashioned knee-breeches and
his mania for collecting rubbish, was the butt of no little sport,
which might have found a more legitimate object than the grey-haired
helplessness of a nonagenarian, and Joseph had on more than one
occasion been his champion.
He arrived just in time to see the bits of sticks and paper which the
old man had gathered together in his left hand fly far and wide, as one
of his tormentors caught his wrist with a sudden jerk. The old man,
vociferating loudly, and describing a wide semicircle about his head
with the stick, had stooped to pick them up again. But before he could
do this, he was attacked from the rear, pelted with mud and belaboured
with blows, whilst one youngster who possessed a switch inserted it
under the edge of his cap, and with a dexterous twitch sent it flying
aloft far over the heads of his comrades, by some of whom it was caught
and made to play the principal part in a desperate game of ball.
"Hold there!" shouted Joseph, seizing by the arm one of the boys,
who, however, with a desperate effort freed himself and rushed off in
pursuit of the cap.
But at that moment, Joseph became aware of a new element, against which
he had never had to contend on previous occasions. A few paces apart
were four or five big lads, egging the others on and applauding with
loud guffaws and laughter. But Joseph was nothing daunted.
"You'd better drop this!" he exclaimed, with a sudden snatch wresting
the switch from the hand of its owner, and dealing him a smart stroke
across the shoulders. "It's a shame if you can't respect white hairs!"
As he said these words, one of the big lads rushed forward and aimed a
rough blow at his head. But Joseph was too quick for him, and deftly
parrying the blow, sent his adversary staggering back among the group.
"At him! Give it him!" shouted the others, in expectation of a fight.
But the assailant, who had more bully than real valour about him,
appeared to have had enough of Joseph's fist, and contented himself
with abusive language.
Meanwhile, the old man was doing his best to increase the noise of the
fray, and at the same time to attract his persecutors back to him.
"I'll teach 'em to respect me," he cried, in his querulous, childish
voice, raising himself up from his quest after the scattered treasures,
and striking his stick menacingly upon the ground, whilst his thin
hair bristled in the breeze. "Aha! 'They've' got to come to this, yet.
If I was ten years younger, I'd thrash every shred o' skin off their
backs; that I would. 'A' will!'" the old man added, growing still more
furious, as a sudden gust reminded him of the loss of his cap. "'A'
will!' I'll thrash 'em within an inch o' their lives!"
A roar of laughter greeted these threats, and a chorus of "Old Daddy
David! Old Daddy David!" from those who had remained to witness the
fun between Joseph and his aggressor. Whilst the rest of the crew,
concluding from this triumphant chant that Joseph had abandoned their
victim to his fate, came trooping back to the onset, tossing the cap in
the air as they came.
On perceiving Joseph, however, they hung back.
"Bring that cap here!" shouted the latter, "or it'll be the worse for
you. I'm not going to stand by and see an old man ill-treated. Bring it
back at once, I say!"
But the boys had no intention of giving up the sport so readily. The
cap shot merrily from one to the other, now rising high in the air, now
flying far away over the open space, where it was scrimmaged and fought
for until its colour, by nature black, was completely disguised by dust
and dirt.
At length, as Joseph brought his menaces from the level of mere
generalities to threats in which the words "schoolmaster" and
"father" held prominent places, the young scamps began to consider
the advisability of relinquishing the game. At the very moment when
the old man, having once more possessed himself of all his scraps
and sticks, was raising his head with a view to adding his weight to
Joseph threats, the cap was flung back full in his face with a force
which sent him staggering backwards and would have made him fall, had
not Joseph caught him by the arm. As it was, all his treasures were
once more scattered on the ground, to the infinite delight of his
persecutors, who, having spent their ingenuity, fled from the spot with
a whoop and a parting chorus of "Old Daddy David!"
During this occurrence, two figures had been crossing the square, and
hearing the noise had come up to see what was going on. On ascertaining
the nature of the disturbance, however, they at once turned aside to
pursue their way.
"Daddy is in good hands," remarked the taller and darker of the two.
"Yes," remarked the other, a fair-haired youth of seventeen, who
had his arm linked through that of his companion; "a new species of
knight-errantry that!"
"One which doesn't commend itself to my taste," returned the first
speaker. "When I have any surplus energy to bestow on 'redressing human
wrongs,' I will devote it to the service of 'Fair Ladyes,' not to
scrimmaging with small boys for the property of a doting old idiot who
ought to be safe in the Union."
Joseph had been too much taken up to observe their approach, but this
last remark caught his ear, and looking round, he recognised the
speaker. He stood gazing after them for a moment, stung by the sneering
tone in which the words were said. But quickly recollecting the old
man, he set to work beating and brushing the unfortunate cap.
"Now, Daddy," he said, as he restored it to him, "you and I had better
get home. Never mind about the bits and scraps," he added, as the old
man went on feeling and scraping after them with his stick. "They can
lie there till to-morrow. You'll be wanting to get into your corner by
the fire now, and have some tea."
But Daddy David was set upon recovering his treasures.
"It has taken me ever since the forenoon to collect them," he said.
"And d'ye think I'll go home without 'em 'cause those blackguardly
little chaps don't know what's due to white hairs!" he cried, striking
his stick on the ground. "Not I! I'll stop here till midnight, but I'll
take 'em home; that a' will!" And he returned to his quest.
Finding that he was bent upon securing them, and determined not
to leave him to the risk of meeting those boys again, Joseph
good-naturedly assisted him to pick them up, and forthwith proceeded to
pilot him across the square to the turning where he lived. Then wishing
him "good-night," he left him on the doorstep alternately invoking
blessings on the head of his deliverer, and all sorts of evils—possible
and absurd—upon the hearths and homes of those who had so far forgotten
the respect they owed to his advanced years.
"Funny they can't let him alone," Joseph said to himself as he turned
away. "Not much to be wondered at, though, all things considered. He's
an odd little fellow; and that is such a queer craze of his—always
scraping up those useless scraps of rubbish."
But here his reflections were brought to an abrupt termination. Coming
up the street towards him was the very same young fellow who had
uttered the disparaging remark about his knight-errantry. He was about
a year or so Joseph's senior, just at that age when youths are regarded
as young men by nobody but themselves. Like the latter, he was tall
and well-built, but of slighter stature, and with a tinge of darker
blood in his veins. A glance by broad daylight, however, would have
sufficed to tell that they were related, though further scrutiny would
have revealed the fact that fortune had smiled very unfairly on the two
branches of the old stock which the youths represented.
Neville Adams was first cousin to Joseph. But his father having
inherited a little house property in his right of "eldest son," and
having besides married a wife with money, had risen from the position
of a working carpenter to that of master builder, whilst his brother
Joseph—whose only son is the hero of our story—still continued to take
wages of him.
Riches do not always prove a blessing, especially when they are not the
direct result of personal exertion. Benjamin Adams was getting on in
the world; making money fast, people said. He had given his children
high-sounding names, Neville and Wilhelmina, and sent them to a good
school when they entered their teens. Later on, he had built his own
house, his brother Joseph working at it with the other men; and now it
was furnished in the newest style, and Mrs. Adams held up her head and
began to seek well-to-do acquaintances. But the old tie of brotherhood
was forgotten; and if Neville had more polished manners than Joseph,
he lacked something of the latter's honesty and candour; whilst
twelve-year-old Ruth promised to be of a far sweeter disposition than
her cousin Mina, though the latter could play the piano brilliantly and
paint on satin.
The salutations between the two lads was a very fair index of the terms
they were on, as well as of their difference of character. Joseph's
"good-night" was frank and hearty, Neville's refined and affected. But
neither attempted to stop and speak, for Neville had acquaintances
who would not care to associate with Joseph, and the latter had been
schooled accordingly.
It gave him little more than a passing thought just then, however, for
a hundred yards or so more brought him within sight of home, and in a
few minutes, he was entering the keeping-room, where his father was
already seated at his tea.
His mother was anxiously waiting to welcome him back to the cosy
fireside.
"You're late, Joseph," she said, glancing up admiringly at his tall
form, as he swung his basket of tools from his shoulder and passed
through to the kitchen with it.
"So would you be, if you'd been fighting Daddy David's battles,"
responded Joseph, who was washing his hands under the tap. "Young
scamps!" he added, as he returned. "I gave one of them something to
remember."
"You can't do any good, Joseph," said his mother. "You cannot always be
at Daddy's elbow."
"But when I am, I guess I won't see him knocked about," rejoined the
lad, with spirit, as he helped himself to bread and butter. "You
wouldn't feel very proud of me if I did, eh! mother?"
"'I' shouldn't," cried Ruth, gazing up at her brother with evident
reverence, very pretty to see. "You're like Mr. Greatheart, Joey."
"That's why you're not afraid of lions when I'm by, eh?" said Joseph,
glancing over his cup with a mischievous look.
Thereby "hung a tale." Ruth was foolishly timid of dogs, and the last
time they were out together, Joseph had made her go right up to a big
farmyard dog with whom he was on particularly good terms, and pat his
shaggy head. But it had been a very painful exercise of courage, and
the little girl was rather tender on the subject. However, Joseph was
too kind to tease, so he went on with his tea.
"They'll find themselves on the wrong side when Mr. Girling comes down
on there," he remarked presently.
"What's that?" inquired his father, looking up from his paper.
"Only that I mean to report the names of one or two," replied Joseph;
"and if Mr. Girling doesn't cane them soundly, he's not the man I
take him for. If I were schoolmaster, I know I wouldn't teach my boys
astronomy and botany, and leave them ignorant of their duty with
respect to the aged."
"You had much better not interfere, Joseph," said his mother, fearful
lest her boy should bring trouble on his own head. "You've done your
duty by the old man, and no good ever comes of meddling."
"Not with other people's business," returned Joseph; "but it seems
to me 'this' is my business, mother. I never was the one to stand
by and see even a toad hacked to pieces; and do you think I can see
that helpless old man tormented? Not I! I'll get some of them soundly
flogged for their pains."
"You'll only make enemies," expostulated Mrs. Adams.
"What! Amongst those little chaps?" laughed Joseph. "Small harm 'that'
will do me."
"The thing is," remarked his father, "Mr. Girling won't cane them.
Corporal punishment gets a schoolmaster into difficulties."
"They 'do' use it, though," said Joseph, thinking of his own school
days; "and if Mr. Girling has a spark of right feeling, he won't hold
back for fear of a summons from any of 'their' parents."
"Well! You will do no harm, if you do no good," rejoined his father,
returning to his paper; and there the matter dropped.
But Joseph had not forgotten it. When tea was finished, he took up a
journal to read. But after turning it over for a few minutes, he got
up, saying, "I suppose I can run down to Mr. Girling's, father. I want
him to know of it at once."
Mr. Adams just looked up to nod permission and bid him not be long; and
Joseph, taking his cap, slipped out.
A momentary shade of disappointment crossed Ruth's face, for he often
helped her with her lessons in the evening, and played draughts when
the books were done with. But Mr. Greatheart was a great hero in her
estimation, and she had become almost as deeply interested in the
proposed flogging of those boys as Joseph himself; so she got her books
and set patiently to work by herself.