"Father, father!" cried Betty, rushing into the house, "come hither;
here's our Sammul come back."
"Eh! What do ye say? Our Sammul come back?" exclaimed a well-known
voice, and Johnson hurried out and clasped his son to his heart. "Eh!
the Lord be praised for this," he cried, with streaming eyes. "I've
prayed, and prayed for it, till I thought it were past praying for; but
come in and sit ye down, and let me look at you."
Samuel was soon seated, with the whole household gathered round him.
"It _is_ his own self, for sure," said Betty. "O Sammul, I never
thought to see you no more."
"I should scarce have knowed you, had I met you on the road," said his
father, "you're so much altered."
"Ay," said his sister; "he's gotten a beard to his face, and he's taller
and browner like, but his eye's the same--he's our Sammul, sure enough.
You'll not be for flitting again for a-while," she said, looking at him
half playfully and half in earnest.
"No," he replied; "I've had flitting enough for a bit. But eh, Betty,
you've growed yourself into a gradely woman. And this is your husband,
I reckon, and these are your childer; have you any more?"
"No," said John Walters; "these two are all. Well, you're heartily
welcome, Samuel. I'm glad to see you. Betty'll leave fretting now."
"Ay, and fayther too," cried Betty. "O Sammul, I am _so_ glad to see
you. I've prayed, and fayther's prayed too, scores of times; and he's
had more faith nor me--though we've both begun to lose heart--but we've
never forgot ye, Sammul. Oh, I shall be happy now. The Lord's too good
to me," she said, with deep emotion; "as the blessed Book says, `My cup
runneth over'--ay, it do for sure--I've got the best husband as ever
woman had, (you needn't be frowning, John, it's true); and I've got
fayther, and they're both total abstainers, and gradely Christians too,
and now I've got our Sammul."
"And he's a total abstainer," said Samuel, "and, he humbly hopes, a
gradely Christian."
"Oh, that's best, that's best of all," cried his sister, again throwing
her arms around him. "Oh, Sammul, I _am_ so glad to see you--you can't
wonder, for you're all the brothers I have, and I'm all the sisters
_you_ have; you can't wonder at it, John."
"I'm not wondering at anything but the Lord's goodness," said her
husband, in a husky voice, and wiping his eyes.
"Here, Sammul," exclaimed Betty to her eldest child, "get on your Uncle
Sammul's knee, and hug him with all your might. Eh! I didn't think
this morn as I should have to tell you to say `Uncle Sammul.' He's
called arter yourself. If you hadn't been off, he'd a been John or
Thomas, maybe. But our John knowed how I longed to have him called
Sammul, so we've called the babe John Thomas, arter the fayther and
grandfayther. And now you'll want your tea, and then we must all have a
gradely talk when childers in bed."
Oh, what a happy tea that was! The cart was drawn into a shed, and
Samuel sat gazing through the door, hardly able to eat or drink for
happiness. What a peaceful picture it was! Betty was bustling in and
out of the room, radiant with delight, sometimes laughing and sometimes
crying, tumbling over the children, misplacing the tea-things, putting
the kettle on the fire without any water in it, and declaring that,
"she'd lost her head, and were good for nothing," all which delighted
her husband amazingly, who picked up the children by turns, and
corrected his wife's mistakes by making others himself; while Thomas
Johnson sat in a corner smiling quietly to himself, and looking with
brimming eyes at his son, as being quite satisfied for the time without
asking questions. Samuel leaned back in his seat, as one who has
accomplished the labour of a life, and would rest a while. The house
door stood ajar, and he could see the roses and jessamine straggling in
through the porch, the sunny road, the noble trees on its farther side,
while a herd of cattle slowly made their way towards the brook. Every
now and then, when the back door opened, (as it did many a time more
than was necessary, for Betty often went out and returned without
remembering what she had gone for), he could see the neat, well-stocked
garden, with its hives of bees against the farthest wall, and its
thriving store of apple and plum trees, besides all sorts of useful
vegetables. He looked round the room, and saw at a glance that
neatness, cleanliness, and order reigned there. He looked at a small
side-table, and marked among its little pile of books more than one copy
of the Word of Life, which told him that the brighter world was not kept
out of sight; he could also gather from the appearance of the furniture
and articles of comfort that surrounded him, that his beloved sister's
lot was in earthly things a prosperous one. As they drew their chairs
to the tea-table, which was at last furnished and arranged to Betty's
complete satisfaction, and John had reverently asked a blessing, Samuel
said,--
"Fayther, you're looking better than ever I saw you in my life."
"Yes, I don't doubt, my lad, you never seed me in my right mind afore; I
were a slave to the drink then. I'd neither health of body nor peace of
mind--now, thank the Lord for it, I enjoy both."
"Have you heard, Sammul?" asked Betty,--she tried to finish her sentence
but could not, and the tears kept dropping on to her hands, as she bowed
down her head in the vain endeavour to conceal them.
"She's thinking of her poor mother," said John in a soothing tone.
"Yes; I've heard about it," replied her brother sadly. There was a long
pause, and then Samuel asked, "Did you know as I'd been back to
Langhurst?"
"No," replied his father; "we heard as a stranger had been asking about
me and mine, but nobody knowed who it was."
"We never got no letter from you, Sammul," said his sister; "there was a
man as would have seen as we got it, if any letter had come for us arter
we flitted."
"I never wrote; but I ought to have done; it were not right," replied
Samuel; "and when I see'd it were my duty, it were too late for writing,
for I were coming home myself."
"Weel," said Betty, "we have all on us much to ask, and much to tell;
but just you finish your tea, and I'll put the childer to bed; and then
you and John can take a turn round the garden, if you've a mind, while I
clear the table and tidy up a bit."
And now, by common consent, when Betty had made all things straight, the
whole party adjourned to the garden, and brought their chairs under an
old cherry-tree, from which they could see the distant mansion with its
embowering woods, and the sloping park in front. Samuel sat with his
father on one side and Betty on the other, one hand in the hand of each.
John was on the other side of his wife holding her other hand.
"You know, John," she said with a smile, "I only gave you the one hand
when we were wed, so our Sammul's a right to t'other. And now, tell us
all, Sammul dear, from the very first. You needn't be afraid of
speaking out afore our John; he knows all as we know, and you must take
him for your brother."
"I'll do so as you say, Betty; and when I've told you all, there'll be
many things as I shall have to ax you myself. Well, then, you remember
the night as I went off?"
"I shall ne'er forget it as long as I live," said his sister.
"Well," continued Samuel, "I hadn't made up my mind just what to do, but
I were resolved as I wouldn't bide at home any longer, so I hurried
along the road till I came to the old pit-shaft. I were just a-going to
pass it by, when I bethought me as I'd like to take a bit of holly with
me as a keepsake. So I climbed up the bank, where there were a fine
bush, and took out my knife and tried to cut a bit; but the bough were
tough, and I were afraid of somebody coming and finding me, so I cut
rather random, for my knife were not so sharp, and I couldn't get the
branch off at first, and as the bank were rather steep, I slipped about
a good deal, and nearly tumbled back. Just then I heard somebody a-
coming, and I felt almost sure it were fayther; so I gave one great pull
with my knife, the branch came in two all of a suddent, and the knife
slipped, and gave my left hand a great gash. I kept it, however, in my
hand, but I slipped in getting back into the road, and dropped it. I
durstn't stop long, for the man, whoever he were, came nearer and
nearer, so I just looked about for a moment or two, and then I set off
and ran for my life, and never saw my poor knife again till your John
gave it me to sharpen an hour since."
"Eh, Sammul," cried Betty, with a great sigh of relief, "you little
thought what a stab your knife'd give your poor sister. I went out,
same night as you went off, to seek you, and coming home from Aunt
Jenny's I seed a summat shining on the road near the old pit-shaft, for
moon were up then; it were this knife o' yourn. I picked it up, and oh,
Sammul, there were blood on it, and I saw the bank were trampled, and
oh, I didn't know what to make on it. I feart ye'd been and kilt
yourself. I feart it at first, but I didn't arter a bit, when I'd time
to bethink me a little. But I've kept the knife ever since; you shall
have it back now, and you mustn't charge us anything for grinding it."
"Poor Betty!" said her brother, "I little thought what sorrow my knife
would bring you."
"Well, go on, it's all right now."
"When I'd run a good way," continued Samuel, "I began to think a bit
what I should do with myself. One thing I were resolved on--I'd make a
fresh start--I'd forget as I'd ever had a home--I'd change my name, and
be my own mayster. It were not right--I see it now--I were misguided--
it were not right to my poor Betty, my loving sister--it were selfish to
leave her to bear all the trouble by herself, and it were not right by
you, fayther, nor by poor dear mother. I should have borne my trials
with patience, and the Lord would have made a road through 'em; but I've
prayed to be forgiven, and, bless the Lord, he's brought good out of
evil. Arter a while, I thought as I'd walk to Liverpool, and see if I
couldn't work my passage to America or Australia. I didn't wish any one
to know where I was gone, so I never wrote. I wished to be as dead to
all as had gone before. It were the third day arter I left Langhurst
that I got to Liverpool. I were very foot-sore, and almost famished to
death, for I hadn't had a gradely meal since I left home. I were
standing near a public, feeling very low and done, when some sailor
chaps as was drinking there began to chaff me, and one was for giving me
some beer and grog, but I wouldn't taste. Just then a Captain
Merryweather, commander of the barque _Sabrina_, comes up. He hears
what was going on, and takes me to a temperance inn and gives me a good
breakfast, and asks me if I'd go with him to Australia as cabin-boy."
"To Australia!" exclaimed both Thomas and Betty; "have you really been
to Australia, Sammul?"
"Ay, that I have, and back again too. Well, I were right glad to go
with the captain, more particularly arterwards, as I seed Will Jones a-
coming out on a public, and I thought if he'd a seen me, he might talk
on it at Langhurst. When captain axed me if I'd go with him, he wanted
to know my name. Eh, I were never so taken aback in all my life. I
couldn't tell what to say, for I'd made up my mind as I'd drop the name
of Samuel Johnson, but I hadn't got any other at hand to take to. So he
axes me my name again. All at once I remembered as I'd see'd the name
`Jacob Poole' over a little shop in a lane near the town, so I thought,
`that'll do;' so says I, when he axed me my name again, `Jacob Poole.'
But I were nearly as fast next time as he called to me, for when he
says, `Jacob,' I takes no notice. So he says again, `Jacob Poole,' in a
loud voice, and then I turns round as if I'd been shot. I wonder he
didn't find me out. But I'm used to the name now. I hardly know myself
as Samuel."
"And which must we call you?" asked Betty, with a merry twinkle in her
eyes. "Eh! fancy, `Uncle Jacob,' `Brother Jacob.' And yet it's not a
bad name neither. I were reading in John to our Sammul t'other day
about Jacob's well--that were gradely drink; it were nothing but good
spring wayter. But go on, Sammul--Jacob, I mean."
Samuel then proceeded to describe his voyage, his attachment to Frank
Oldfield, his landing in Australia, and subsequent separation from his
master till he joined him again at Tanindie. He then went on to tell
about his life at the diggings, and his conversion under the preaching
of the faithful missionary.
"I began to see then," he continued, "as I'd not done the thing as was
right. I talked it over with the minister; and I made up my mind as I'd
come home again and find you out."
Then he told them of his voyage back to England, and of his landing with
his master at Liverpool.
"Well, then," he proceeded, "as soon as I could be spared I went over to
Langhurst. I went to our old place and opened the door. There were
none but strange faces. `Where's Thomas Johnson?' says I. `Who do ye
say?' says a woman as was by the hearth-stone. `Thomas Johnson? he
don't live here.' `Where does he live then?' says I again. `There's
nobody o' that name in Langhurst,' says the woman. It were night when I
got there, so I wasn't noticed. Then I went to old Anne Butler's, and I
thought I'd not say who I were, for I were always a closeish sort o'
chap; and if fayther and our Betty had flitted, I didn't want to have
all the village arter me. So I just went to old Anne's. She didn't
know me a bit. So I got talking about the village, and the folks as had
come and gone; and I let her have her own way. So she goes from t'one
to t'other, till at last she says, `There's poor Tommy Johnson, as used
to live in the stone row; he's flitted with his wench Betty, and nobody
knows where they've gone.' `That's strange,' says I, `what made 'em
flit that fashion?' `Oh,' she says, `they'd a deal of trouble. Thomas
wasn't right in his head arter his lad Sammul went off, so he took up
with them Brierleys, and turned teetotaller; and then his missus,'--but
I canna tell ye what she said about poor mother. I were fair upset, ye
may be sure, when she told me her sad end; but old Anne were so full of
her story that she didna heed anything else. Then she said, `Many of
his old pals tried to turn poor Tommy back, but they couldn't, but they
nearly worritted him out of his life. So one night Tommy and his Betty
went clean off, and nobody's heard nothing no more on 'em, nor of their
Sammul neither; and what's strangest thing of all, when they came to
search the house arter it were known as Tommy had flitted, they found
some great letters sticking to the chamber-floor in black and red; they
was verses out of the Bible and Testament. The verse in black were, "No
drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God;" t'other verse, in red, were,
"Prepare to meet thy God." Some thought as the old lad had put 'em
there; other some said, "The old lad's not like to burn his own tail in
the fire." Howsever, verses were there for several days; I seed 'em
myself: but one stormy night there came a terrible clap of thunner, and
an awful flash of lightning, and it went right through chamber of
Tommy's house, and next morn letters were all gone, and nothing were
left but a black mark, like a great scorch with a hot iron.' This were
old Anne's tale. I didn't tarry long in her house, for I didn't want to
be seen by any as knowed me; but I went to many of the towns round about
to see if I could hear anything about fayther, but it were no good; so I
went back to Liverpool arter I'd been off about ten days." Samuel then
gave them an account of the sad tidings that awaited his return, and
then added,--
"I didn't know what to do, nor where to go, but I prayed to the Lord to
guide me, and lead me in his own good time to fayther and our Betty, and
the Lord has heard me, and he's done it in his own gracious way."
He then recounted his meeting with Old Crow, the knife-grinder, and his
subsequent history to the time when, on that very evening, he was led in
the good providence of his heavenly Father to turn down the lane to the
little cottage.
"The Lord be praised, the Lord be praised!" exclaimed poor Johnson, when
the story was finished. "Surely goodness and mercy he's been to us all.
And, oh, he's been very good in bringing back our Sammul."
"We shall have a rare family gathering when we all meet, Old Crow,
Deborah, and all," said Betty. "There'll be fayther, and our John, and
our Sammul, and our Jacob, and our Deborah, and Old Crow, and little
Sammul, and the babe. We must get the squire to build us another
cottage."
"Ah, Betty, my own sister," said Samuel, "it does my heart good to hear
your voice once more. Add now I want fayther to tell his tale. I want
to know all about the flitting, and the black and red letters, and all,
and how you came to light on this lovely spot."
Johnson raised himself in his chair, and prepared to speak. What a
wondrous change Christian total abstinence had made in his whole
appearance. The prominent animal features had sunk or softened down,
the rational and intellectual had become developed. He looked like a
man, God's thinking and immortal creature now; before, he had looked
more like a beast, with all that was savage intensified by the venom of
perverted intelligence. Now he sat up with all that was noble in his
character shining out upon his countenance, specially his quiet iron
determination and decision, in which father and son were so much alike.
And there was, hallowing every line and look, that peace which passeth
understanding, and which flows from no earthly fountain.
"Sammul, my lad," he said, "God has been very good to me, for I can say,
`This my son was lost, and is found.' He's given me a cup brimful of
mercies; but the biggest of all is, he's sent us our Sammul back again.
But I will not spin out my tale with needless talk, as you'll be
impatient to know all about our flitting. You'll remember Ned
Brierley?"
"Ay, well enough," said his son.
"Well, Ned were my best friend on earth, for you must know it were he as
got me to sign the pledge. That were arter I got well arter the
explosion. Ye heard of the explosion?"
"Yes," replied Samuel; "I heard on it arter I left Langhurst."
"It were a marvellous mercy," continued his father, "as I were spared.
I'd halted rather 'tween two opinions afore, but when I left my sick-bed
I came forward, and signed. Then Ned Brierley and all the family
flitted, for the mayster'd given him a better shop somewhere in Wales.
That were a bad job for me. I'd a weary life of it then. I thought
some of my old mates 'ud a torn me in pieces, or jeered the very life
out of me. Then, besides, you were not come back to us; and I were very
down about your poor mother, so that I were casting about to see if I
couldn't find work somewhere at a distance from Langhurst, where I could
make a fresh start. It were in the November arter the explosion that
same total abstinence chap as got yourself to sign came to our house,
and axed me to tell my experience at a meeting as was to be held in
Langhurst on the twenty-third of the month. I'd sooner have had nothing
to do wi't, but our Betty said she thought I were bound to speak for the
good of the cause, so I told the gentleman as I would. Now, you may
just suppose as my old mates at the `George' were in a fury when they
heard of this, and some on 'em were resolved to sarve me out, as they
called it, though I'd done 'em no harm. So they meets at Will Jones's
house, a lot on them, and makes a plot to get into our house the night
afore the meeting, and scratch my face over with a furze bush while I
was asleep, and rub lamp-black and gunpowder all over my face, so as I
shouldn't be able for shame to show myself at the meeting. But it so
happened as Will Jones's lad John were under the couch-chair, hiding
away from his fayther, all the time they was arranging their plans, and
he heard all as they was saying. So Will Jones's wife Martha sends the
lad to tell our Betty when the men was gone. She'd promised not to say
anything herself, but that didn't bind the lad, so he came and told.
What were we to do? Why, just the right thing were being ordered for
us. Do ye remember old Job Paynter, the bill-sticker?"
"Ay, for sure I do," replied Samuel. "He were a good Christian man, and
a thorough total abstainer."
"You're right there, Sammul," said his father; "now old Job's uncle to
our John here. I'd seen a good deal of old Job of late. He'd taken to
me and our Betty, and used often to call and have a cup of tea with us.
He knowed how I wished to get away from Langhurst; and one night he says
to me, `I've a nephew, John Walters, down at Fairmow, in Shropshire.
He's one of the right sort. I heard from him a while since as his
squire wants a steady man to overlook a small colliery as he's got on
his estate. The man as is there now's taken to drinking, so the
squire's parting with him in December. Would you like me to mention
yourself to my nephew?' You may be sure, Sammul, I were very thankful
for the chance. But it wasn't chance--the word slipped out of my mouth;
but I've done with chance long since--it were the Lord's doing. So old
Job wrote to our John about it, and the end were, the squire offered the
place to me. I got Job to keep it quite snug, for I didn't want my old
mates to know anything about it. This were all settled afore I'd agreed
to speak at the meeting. So when we found, from Martha Jones's lad,
what my old mates was up to, I talked the matter over with old Job
Paynter, and we hit upon a plan as'd just turn the tables on 'em, and
might do 'em some good. It were all arranged with our John as we should
be at liberty to come to his cottage here till the place were ready for
me at the colliery. Then Job and I talked it over, and it were settled
as our Betty should go to her aunt's at Rochdale, and take all her
things with her, and meet me on the twenty-third of November at
Stockport. Job was to come to our house on the twenty-second. So, a
little afore nine, he slips in when it were very dark, and brings a lot
of old letters with him ready cut out, and some paste. You must know as
he'd a large quantity of old posters by him as had been soiled or torn.
So he cuts what black letters he wants out of these, and some red 'uns
too, enough to make the two texts, `No drunkard shall inherit the
kingdom of God,' and `Prepare to meet thy God.' Then Job and me goes
quietly up-stairs, and I holds the candle while he pastes the words on
the chamber-floor. Then we rolls up some old bits of stuff into a
bundle, and lays 'em on my bed, and puts the old coverlid over 'em.
Then Job and me leaves the house, and locks the door; and that, Sammul,
is last I've seen of Langhurst."
"And what about the thunder and lightning as scorched out the letters?"
asked Samuel.
"Only an old woman's tale, I'll be bound," said his father. "You may be
sure the next tenant scoured 'em off."
"And now," said John Walters, "it comes to my turn. Father and Betty
came down to our house on the twenty-third of November. My dear mother
was living then. I was her only son. I was bailiff then, as I am now,
to Squire Collington of the Hall up yonder. Father worked about at any
odd jobs I could find him till his place were ready for him, and Betty
took to being a good daughter at once to my dear mother. She took to it
so natural, and seemed so pleased to help mother, and forget all about
herself, that I soon began to think, `If she takes so natural to being a
good daughter, she'll not find it hard maybe to learn to be a good
wife.' And mother thought so too; and as Betty didn't say, `No,' we
were married in the following spring."
"Yes, Sammul," said Betty, laughing and crying at the same time; "but I
made a bargain with John, when we swopped hearts, as I were to leave a
little bit of mine left me still for fayther and our Sammul."
Thomas Johnson looked at the whole group with a face radiant with
happiness, and then said,--
"The Lord bless them. They've been all good childer to me."
"We've always gotten the news of Langhurst from Uncle Job," said Betty.
"He settled with the landlord about our rent, and our few odd bits of
things; and he was to send us any letter as came from yourself."
"And so you've been here ever since?"
"Yes. Our John's mother died two years since come Christmas; and then
fayther came to live with us. He'd had a cottage of his own afore, with
a housekeeper to look arter him."
"And is your squire, Mr Collington, a total abstainer?"
"Ay, he is, for sure, and a gradely 'un too. He's owner of most of the
land and houses here. The whole village belongs to him; and he'll not
have a drop of intoxicating drinks sold in it. You passed the public.
You heard no swearing nor rowing, I'll warrant. You'll find church, and
chapel too, both full of Sundays; and there's scarce a house where the
Bible isn't read every night. Ah! the drink's the great curse as robs
the heart of its love, the head of its sense, and the soul of its
glory!"