PAUL'S FRIENDS.
For five months Paul had been leader of the choir, and so faithfully
were his duties performed, so excellent his drill, and so good his taste
and mature his judgment, so completely were the choir under his control,
that the ministers from the surrounding parishes, when they exchanged
with Rev. Mr. Surplice, said, "What glorious singing they have at New
Hope!" It was so good, that people who never had been in the habit of
attending church hired pews,--not that they cared to hear Mr. Surplice
preach and pray, but it was worth while to hear Azalia Adams and Daphne
Dare sing a quartette with Paul and Hans, and the whole choir joining in
perfect time and in sweetest harmony.
Paul believed that a thing worth doing at all was worth doing well. His
heart was in his work. It was a pleasure to sing. He loved music because
it made him happy, and he felt also that he and Azalia and Daphne and
all the choir were a power for good in the community to make men
better. Farmer Harrow, who used to work at haying on Sunday, said it was
worth a bushel of turnips any time to hear such sweet singing. So his
hired man and horses had rest one day in seven, and he became a better
man.
In the calm moonlight nights Paul often lay wide awake, hour after hour,
listening with rapture to the sweet music which came to him from the
distant woods, from the waterfall, from the old maple in front of the
house, when the leaves, tinged with gorgeous hues, were breaking one by
one from the twigs, and floating to the ground, from the crickets
chirping the last lone songs of the dying year, and from the robins and
sparrows still hovering around their summer haunts. It was sweet to
think of the pleasant hours he had passed with Azalia and Daphne, and
with all the choir; and then it was very pleasant to look into the
future, and imagine what bliss there might be in store for him;--a
better home for his mother in her declining years,--a better life for
himself. He would be a good citizen, respected and beloved. He would be
kind to all. He wished that all the world might be good and happy. When
he became a man, he would try and make people good. If everybody was as
good as Azalia, what a glorious world it would be! She was always good,
always cheerful. She had a smile for everybody. Her life was as warm and
sunny and golden as the October days, and as calm and peaceful as the
moonlight streaming across his chamber. Sweet it was to think of
her,--sweeter to see her; sweetest of all to stand by her side and unite
his voice to hers, and feel in his soul the charm of her presence. In
his dreams he sometimes heard her and sat by her side.
Sometimes, while thus lying awake, watching the stars as they went
sailing down the western sky, his thoughts went beyond the present into
the unseen future, whither his father and grandfather had gone. They
sang when on earth, and he thought of them as singing in heaven.
Sometimes he gazed so long and steadily toward the heavenly land, that
his eyes became dim with tears, so sweet and yet so sad the sounds he
seemed to hear,--so near and yet so far away that land.
So the days went by, and the calm and peaceful nights, bringing him to
October,--the glorious harvest month.
And now suddenly people looked shyly at him. There were mysterious
whisperings and averted faces. He met Squire Capias one morning on the
street. "Good morning," said Paul; but the lawyer walked on without
reply. He passed Miss Dobb's house. She sat by the front window, and
glared at him savagely; and yet she seemed to smile, but her countenance
was so thin, wrinkled, and sharp, and her eyes so fierce, her smile so
fiendish, that it put him in mind of a picture he once saw in a horrible
story-book, which told of a witch that carried off little children and
ate them for breakfast. Paul thought that Miss Dobb would like to pick
his bones. But he went on to his work, rejoicing that there were not
many Miss Dobbs in the world.
While hard at it with his paint-brush, Mr. Ketchum entered. He was a
tall, stout man, with black, bushy whiskers, and so strong that he could
take a barrel of cider on his knees and drink out of the bunghole. He
was a sheriff. The rowdies who fell into his hands said it was no use to
try to resist Mr. Ketchum, for he once seized a stubborn fellow by the
heels, and swung him round as he would a cat by the tail, till the
fellow lost his breath and was frightened half out of his wits.
"I have called in to ask you to walk up to Judge Adams's office on a
matter of business," said Mr. Ketchum.
"With pleasure, sir," said Paul, who, now that he had become a surveyor
of land, had been called upon repeatedly to give his testimony in court.
They entered Judge Adams's office, which was crowded with people. Mr.
Noggin, Miss Dobb, Philip, and Bob Swift were there. A buzz ran round
the room. They all looked upon Paul.
"You have been arrested, Paul, and are charged with stealing honey from
Mr. Noggin's bee-hives. Are you guilty or not guilty?" said Judge Adams.
"Arrested!--arrested for stealing!"--Paul exclaimed, stupefied and
astounded at the words of the judge. It was like a lightning-stroke. His
knees became weak. He felt sick at heart. Great drops of cold and clammy
sweat stood upon his forehead. Arrested! What would his mother say? Her
son accused of stealing! What would everybody say? What would Azalia
think? What would Rev. Mr. Surplice say? What would his class of boys in
the Sunday-school say, not about him, but about truth and honor and
religion, when they heard that their teacher was arrested for stealing?
His throat became dry, his tongue was parched. His voice suddenly grew
husky. His brain reeled. His heart one moment stood still, then leaped
in angry throbs, as if ready to burst. He trembled as if attacked by
sudden ague, then a hot flash went over him, burning up his brain,
scorching his heart, and withering his life.
"What say you, are you guilty or not guilty?"
"I am innocent," said Paul, gasping for breath, and sinking into his
seat, taking no notice of what was going on around him. He was busy with
the future. He saw all his hopes of life dead in an instant,--killed by
one flash. He knew that he was innocent, but he was accused of crime,
arrested, and a prisoner. The world would have it that he was guilty.
His good name was gone forever. His hopes were blighted, his aspirations
destroyed, his dreams of future joy,--all had passed away. His mother
would die of a broken heart. Henceforth those with whom he had
associated would shun him. For him there was no more peace, joy, or
comfort,--nothing but impenetrable darkness and agony in the future. So
overwhelmed was he, that he took no notice of Mr. Noggin's testimony, or
of what was done, till he heard Judge Adams say: "There are some
circumstances against the accused, but the testimony is not sufficient
to warrant my binding him over for trial. He is discharged."
Paul went out into the fresh air, like one just waking from sleep,
numbed and stupefied. The words of the judge rang in his
ears,--"Circumstances against the accused." The accused! The prisoner!
He had been a prisoner. All the world would know of it, but would not
know that he was innocent. How could he bear it? It was a crushing
agony. Then there came to him the words of the psalm sung on Sunday,--
"My times are in thy hand,
Why should I doubt or fear?
My Father's hand will never cause
His child a needless tear."
So he was comforted in the thought that it was for his good; but he
couldn't see how. He resolved to bear it manfully, conscious of his
innocence, and trusting in God that he would vindicate his honor.
He went home and told his mother all that had happened. He was surprised
to find that it did not shock her, as he supposed it would.
"I know you are innocent, Paul," she said, kissing him. "I am not
surprised at what has happened. You are the victim of a conspiracy. I
have been expecting that something would befall you, for you have been
highly prospered, and prosperity brings enemies. It will all come out
right in the end." Thus his mother soothed him, and tried to lift the
great weight from his heart.
He was innocent, but half of the community thought him guilty. "He did
it,--he did it,"--said Miss Dobb to all her neighbors. What should he
do? How could he establish his innocence? How remove all suspicion?
Ought he to resign his position as leader of the choir? or should he
retain it? But the committee of the society settled that. "After what
has happened, you will see the propriety of giving up your position as
leader of the choir," said they. "Also your class in the Sunday-school,"
said the Superintendent.
O, how crushing it was! He was an outcast,--a vile, miserable wretch,--a
hypocrite,--a mean, good-for-nothing fellow,--a scoundrel,--a thief,--a
robber,--in the estimation of those who had respected him. They did not
speak to him on the street. Colonel Dare, who usually had a pleasant
word, did not notice him. He met Daphne Dare, but she crossed the street
to avoid him. How terrible the days! How horrible the nights! He tossed
and tumbled, and turned upon his bed. There was a fire in his bones. His
flesh was hot. His brain was like a smouldering furnace. If he dropped
off to sleep, it was but for a moment, and he awoke with a start, to
feel the heat burning up his soul with its slow, consuming flame.
At evening twilight he wandered by the river-side to cool his fever,
dipping his hand into the stream and bathing his brow. He stood upon the
bridge and looked over the railing into the surging waters. A horrible
thought came over him. Why not jump in and let the swollen current bear
him away? What use was it to live, with his good name gone, and all the
future a blank? He banished the thought. He would live on and trust in
God.
He heard a step upon the bridge, and, looking up, beheld Azalia. She had
been out gathering the faded leaves of autumn, and late-blossoming
flowers, in the woods beyond the river. "Will she speak to me?" was the
question which rose in his mind. His heart stood still in that moment of
suspense. She came towards him, held out her hand, and said, "Good
evening, Paul."
"Then you do not turn away from me?"
"No, Paul, I don't believe that you are a thief."
Tears came to his eyes as he took her proffered hand,--tears which
welled up from his heart and which saved it from bursting. "O Azalia, if
you had turned from me, I should have died! I have suffered terrible
agony, but I can live now. I am innocent."
"I believe you, Paul, and I shall still be as I have been, your friend.
There is my pledge," she said, setting down her basket, and putting a
frost-flower into a button-hole of his threadbare coat. Then, to make
him forget that the world was looking coldly upon him, she showed him
the flowers she had gathered, and the gorgeous maple leaves,--scarlet,
orange, purple, and crimson, and talked of their marvellous beauty. And
when, with a smile, she said "Good night," and went tripping homeward,
his heart was so full of gratitude that he could not utter his thanks.
He could only say in his heart, "God bless her." It was as if he had met
an angel in the way, and had been blessed. He stood there while the
twilight deepened, and felt his heart grow strong again. He went home.
His mother saw by the deep-settled determination on his face, by his
calmness, and by his sad smile, that he was not utterly broken down and
overwhelmed by the trouble which, like a wave of the sea, had rolled
upon him.
"There is one who does not pass me by; Azalia is still a friend," he
said.
"There are several whom you may count upon as being still your friends,"
she replied.
"Who are they, mother?"
"God and the angels, my son."
So she comforted him, telling him that the best way to put down a lie
was to live it down, and that the time would surely come when his honor
and integrity would be vindicated.
When they kneeled together to offer their evening prayer, and when his
mother asked that the affliction might work out for him an eternal
weight of glory, he resolved that he would, with God's help, live down
the lie, and wait patiently, bearing the ignominy and shame and the
cold looks of those who had been his friends, till his character for
truth and honesty was re-established. He was calm and peaceful now. Once
more he heard sweet music as he lay upon his bed. Through the night the
winds, the waterfall, the crickets, seemed to be saying with Azalia, "We
are still your friends,--still your friends--your friends--your
friends!"