Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?"]
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NORTHCLIFFE BOYS.
BY CHARLOTTE O'BRIEN
AUTHOR OF "BASIL; OR, HONESTY AND INDUSTRY,"
"BEN HOLT'S GOOD NAME," ETC.
LONDON:
RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
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WILLIAM RIDER AND SON, PRINTERS, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. GEORGE'S HOME
II. GEORGE AT WORK
III. GOOD NEWS
IV. TEMPTATION
V. GOOD FOR EVIL
VI. IN THE HOSPITAL
VII. IN THE NEW HOME
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NORTHCLIFFE BOYS.
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CHAPTER I.
GEORGE'S HOME.
AUTUMN winds were blowing in Northcliffe, and the streets and lanes
were thickly strewn with the fallen leaves. It was a cold, damp
afternoon, and everything looked dull and cheerless—everything and
everybody, with one exception, and that was a boy about twelve years
of age who was half running, half walking along the lane leading from
Greychurch to Northcliffe and who whistled merrily as he went along, a
strongly built lad, tall for his age, with a fair, ruddy Saxon face.
He was well known in Northcliffe, and everybody had a good word to say
for him. Always ready to do a kind turn for any one, every little child
liked George Horbrook; and every dog in the town wagged his tail as the
good-natured boy went by.
At the turning of the road which led into the town, a group of big boys
were standing.
"Hollo," cried one of them to George as he was hurrying by, "where have
you been?"
"To Greychurch, to see Mr. Day."
"What for?"
"He has promised to take me on as a mason's boy, and I am to go to work
at the new terrace to-morrow morning."
Very happy was the tone in which these words were spoken, and very
brightly sparkled the speaker's large blue eyes.
"'You!'" cried the boy who had first spoken. "'You!' Why, you've never
carried a hod in your life."
"I suppose I can learn," said George.
"May be so; but Mr. Day has said over and over again he would never
take a boy who didn't know something about his work. Why, it was only
a week or two ago that any father asked him to take 'me,' and he
wouldn't."
"All I know is, he has promised to take 'me,'" cried George, laughing;
"and won't I try and please him, that's all! I am to have four
shillings a week to begin with."
Fred Giles muttered something about it not being fair, and Tom Hunt,
another of the boys said,—
"You'll be glad enough to have done with school, that's one thing,
George."
"No such thing, Tom. I should have liked to stay a year longer at
school; but father and mother want even my little help, so I'm glad to
go to work for their sakes."
"You won't come to the Sunday school either now, I suppose?" said Fred.
George's merry laugh sounded above the wind. "Mr. Day don't work his
boys on Sundays," he said.
"None of your impudence, George!" cried Fred, in a surly tone. "You
know what I mean very well. You will be your own master now, and will
not care about the Sunday school."
"Just the other way, Fred. The Sunday school will help to keep me
straight; and as to being my own master, teacher says no one who reads
his Bible can ever call himself that."
"Your good luck has turned your head I think, George," cried Fred
jeeringly; "but you needn't try to preach to us, because—"
Here the boys set up a loud laugh. We have all our weak points, and
George's was not liking to be laughed at.
He answered angrily, "I am not preaching, and I know very well what I
mean, and—"
"Tell us, then."
"I mean, I mean!" cried George, getting more angry and more confused
every moment.
"He 'doesn't' know what he means," said Fred, in a taunting voice.
George's passion was at its height, and he rushed forward with uplifted
arm to strike Fred, when all in a moment the arm raised in anger fell
quietly by his side, and with a great effort, he gulped down the bitter
words just ready to issue from his lips, and stood breathless but calm
before the group of boys.
"He's afraid!" they cried with one voice.
"I 'am afraid' of doing any more wrong," said poor George, very humbly.
"I lost my temper, and I am very sorry for it; but all the time I did
know what I meant to say, and that was that the Bible says, 'Neither be
ye called masters; for "one" is your Master, even Christ.' Teacher made
us learn that text the other day, and explained to us how that every
one on earth, from the king to the beggar, is God's servant, and how we
ought all to try to be good and profitable servants."
"We want no more preaching, George," said Tom Hunt, interrupting him.
"All I know is, it's a shame you should be taken on by Mr. Day, when
Fred Giles, who is nearly twice your size, has been refused."
The boys moved off as they spoke, and George, glad to be free from
them, continued his way home; but he no longer whistled as he went. Why
had Mr. Day refused to take Fred Giles? And was it really the unfair
thing the boys had called it? Not at all.
Mr. Day had all the right on his side. He knew Fred Giles to be an idle
boy. He had already been in several situations in the town, but had
been discharged from them all before he had been in them many weeks. In
his last place, there had been strong suspicions against his honesty;
and although nothing was fully proved against him, his good name had
suffered greatly.
Well might Solomon say, "A good name is better than riches." Fred's
parents also did not bear the best of characters in the town; and all
these things are taken into consideration by people when about to
engage a boy.
"I will have nothing to do with that boy," is a common remark; "his
father is a drunkard, and what can you expect from the son?" Or, "I
should be afraid to try that girl; her mother is an idle woman, who has
never taught her daughter habits of industry and tidiness." And thus
the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.
George Horbrook's parents were very poor, but no one had a word to say
against them. Poverty is no crime; and the Horbrooks had tried to bring
up their children honestly and respectably; and where they had failed
to do so, every one felt the fault had not been theirs.
George himself was a good and steady boy, his chief fault being that of
a too hasty temper. At school he had done so well that the master had
offered to keep him for another year free of expense to his parents,
in consideration of the help he was able to give with some of the
little boys. But the Horbrooks were so badly off, in consequence of the
father's illness, that even the trifle George might be able to earn was
a great object to them.
When Mr. Day had been spoken to about George, he said,—
"That boy comes of a good stock; and the schoolmaster gives him a good
character for truthfulness and industry. I want another young hand just
now, and I will give him the preference, although he knows nothing of
the work."
So much for the value of a good name!
When George reached home and told the good news about his engagement to
Mr. Day, his mother's pale and anxious face brightened up with a smile
of thankfulness. Her husband had been laid up for many months through
an injury he had received from the fall of a heavy stone upon his foot.
There was no chance of his being able to work for some length of time,
and meanwhile there were nine children, only one of whom was older than
George, and that one, who should have been the comfort and stay of his
parents, was a source of the deepest sorrow and anxiety to them.
It was a very poor home where the Horbrooks lived, only two rooms, and
a third scarcely bigger than a cupboard. Mrs. Horbrook had at one time
rented a larger cottage, and had earned some money by letting her spare
rooms, but the owner of the house had wanted to reside in it himself,
so the Horbrooks were obliged to leave, and there was no other vacant
cottage to be had in all Northcliffe but the small one they now lived
in.
Good cottages were very scarce in the town, and the report that a rich
lady who owned land in Northcliffe was about to have some cottages
built was hailed with joy by the overcrowded poor.
"Where's father, mother?" said George, as he took his baby sister from
her and sat down to nurse it.
The child had been fretful all day, but Mrs. Horbrook always said no
one could quiet a baby like her George. And certain it was that no
sooner had he taken the little one in his arms than it began to crow
and smile at him.
Janet Horbrook, a womanly little girl of nine years, used to say that
it was George's "dancing eyes" that quieted babies so well.
"Your father's gone up to Dr. Bertram, George," said his mother, in
answer to his question. "His foot has pained him more than usual
to-day; and it was as much as he could do to limp along with the help
of his crutches."
[Illustration: MINDING BABY.]
"And where's Edwin, mother?"
"He's gone to Moor Park with a message from Dr. Bertram, and he is to
have sixpence for going. I gave him a penny to add to it, and he will
bring home a loaf for your suppers. He should be back by this time, but
it was a long way for him to go. Dr. Bertram sent for you to go, but
you were not at home."
Mrs. Horbrook had scarcely finished speaking when Edwin entered the
cottage. He had a large loaf in his arms, and a lot of dripping which
Mrs. Bertram had told her cook to give him.
The children were soon seated round the table, and were enjoying their
supper when their father returned home. There was a sad and suffering
look on his face, which not even the sight of the children and their
supper nor the good news about George could dispel. He sat down by the
fire, and sighed deeply.
"What is it, John?" whispered his wife. She laid her hand upon her
husband's arm as she spoke, and looked brightly into his face.
"Matter enough, Susie dear. Dr. Bertram says he can do no more for me
here, and that I must go to one of the large hospitals in London. He
told me it is only losing time staying here."
"But if you do go to London, does he say you will soon get quite well,
John?"
"No, Susie, he is not sure, and he prepared me for the worst, and said
that—"
"That what, John?" said his wife, her cheek growing pale with her fear
of what the answer might be.
"Not that I should die, dear wife, but that it might be I should—have
to lose my foot."
"Oh, John!"
"It is not for myself I mind, Susie; it is when I think of you and all
the young ones!"
John Horbrook's voice grew thick as he spoke, and the tears ran down
his cheeks.
"Father, 'I'll' take care of mother whilst you are away," said a manly
young voice at his side. "She shall never want whilst I can work."
"Bless you for your good, brave words, my boy!" said his father. "I
know you will do your best, although that will be but little for some
time to come."
"But I shall get on, father, I 'know' I shall. And who knows how soon I
may be able to make a home for you?"
George's parents both felt that they could not be quite cast down when
God had given them such a son?
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