GOOD FOR EVIL.
"The trivial round, the common task,
Will furnish all we need to ask;
Room to deny ourselves,—a road
To bring us daily nearer God."
"I SHALL have a good hour at home before I need get ready for the
evening school," thought George, as he went away from his work, "and
I can do a good deal of painting in an hour. How glad I am that it is
moonlight so early!"
When he reached home, however, he found his mother looking out for
him. Baby had been fretful all day, and Mrs. Horbrook had been longing
for George's return, knowing that he would be able to nurse his little
brother for an hour whilst she and Janet got the washing out of the
way. So George had to give up his painting for that evening; and so
good-humouredly did he do it that the baby was never better nursed,
whilst Janet and her mother soon put everything to rights.
"What paint is this, George?" said Mrs. Horbrook, as she came upon the
paint-pot, which George had put away in the back kitchen.
"It's a secret, mother, or rather it was a secret, for now you've found
out part, I may as well tell you the rest. Master gave me the paint
himself, so that I may paint that part of the cottage wall where the
wet comes in. And I meant to have done it to-night when I came home
from work,—only—" George paused.
"Only you nursed your little brother instead, eh, George?" said his
mother. "You are a kind son and a good brother, and an excellent nurse
into the bargain."
"And I'll try to be a good painter too to-morrow morning, mother. I
mean to be up as soon as it is light; and this shall be the last night
you will have to sleep with the damp coming through into your bedroom."
Janet took baby when it was time for George to "tidy himself" and
get ready for the evening school, and so he was ready in very good
time. His mother looked at him with loving pride. There was not a
brighter-looking boy in all Northcliffe; and no one who had seen him
that evening would have guessed that he had been disappointed in
something on which he had set his heart.
"Thank God for giving me such a son as George," thought Mrs. Horbrook,
as he left the cottage. "If only my poor Tom had been like him!" And
the smile upon her face faded away, and a tear took its place.
George found nearly twenty boys assembled in the Sunday schoolroom,
which had been kindly lent by the clergyman for the evening classes.
Several of the inhabitants attended to take a class, Mr. Day, George's
master, amongst the rest.
The greater number of the boys present were, like George, engaged
at work during the day, and were desirous not only to keep up the
knowledge they had already acquired, but to add something to the stock.
Mr. Day spoke a few words to the lads before the lessons commenced,
telling them how he had been himself, when a boy, as poor as any one of
them, and how, by diligently trying to improve the little knowledge he
possessed, he had, with God's blessing, risen to his present position
in the world.
"There were no night schools in my young days," he said, "and I
found it uphill work sometimes. My advice to you all is, get all the
knowledge you can whilst you are young. 'Knowledge is power,' for it
will enable you to make your way in life.
"An ignorant man is like some one living in a darkened house; and every
piece of useful knowledge is like a ray of sunlight piercing through
the darkness. Let the light in at as many windows of your house as you
can.
"Another blessing attending night schools is that it keeps boys
from bad company. It is not when a lad is at work that he gets into
mischief, it is in his hours of idleness:
"'Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.'
"But a boy who attends an evening school has something better to think
of than wasting his leisure hours. I only wish I could see every
Northcliffe boy who has time on his hands here to-night. And I would
suggest to each of you now present that you do your best to persuade
your companions to follow your example."
Then the boys had lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic. And
the clergyman told them that by the next time, he hoped to be able to
arrange about the drawing class.
George walked home with a neighbour's son—John Baker by name,—who told
him of a quarrel he had overheard that evening as he was coming to
school between Jem Larkins and his step-father.
"Larkins was getting a terrible beating," said John, "and was crying
out for mercy."
John knew that Larkins was no friend of George, and expected to hear
George express pleasure at his having got into trouble. Instead of
which, George seemed rather sorry than otherwise, and asked John if he
knew what the quarrel was about.
"It was something about some paint, for I heard his step-father say
more than once,—
"'Didn't I tell you I must have some paint to-day?'
"And then he struck Jem again; and I could not hear what answer Jem
made. I suppose he had neglected some errand his step-father had sent
him upon. He's a terrible idle boy, is Jem, unless he is made to do
anything."
George walked along by his companion's side without answering the last
remark. A strange thought had come across his mind. What if Jem's
step-father had bade him steal some of the paint, and had beaten him
for not having done so? It seemed more than likely that such was the
case. A feeling almost of pity for his old enemy came over George's
mind.
"I was never taught by my parents to be dishonest," he thought. "If I
had been, should I now be any different from Jem?"
John Baker thought George in a very dull mood, and finding that he did
not care to talk, he left him to go home alone.
George walked on for some way, pondering over what he had heard, and
then all of a sudden broke out into a loud whistle. It was a clear,
triumphant sound, telling of a victory gained over self. George was
merrier than ever that evening, and amused his mother and Janet with
an account of all that had gone on at the night school. He said not a
word about Larkins, however, and went to bed with the determination of
rising with the lark the following morning.
He woke long before daybreak, so anxious was he to begin painting, and
by the time he had dressed himself, and got a pair of steps from a
neighbour's yard (he had asked for the loan of them the night before),
it was light enough for him to begin work. It was only in one part that
the wall required painting. And George found that he should have enough
paint and to spare, even after he had given the wall a second coat.
His face beamed with pleasure as he made this discovery. What was he
going to do with the paint he should have left? No doubt he would be
glad to paint a certain chest which his father had once given him. A
coat of paint would make it as good as new, and it looked very shabby
at present. George had often longed to be able to paint it. He had
finished giving the first coat to the cottage wall long before it was
time for him to go to work. Upon entering the cottage, he found Janet
busy at work lighting the fire.
"Have you got all that paint to spare, George?" she cried, as she
looked into the paint-pot.
"I must paint the wall over again to-night, Janet; but even then I
shall have a good bit of paint to spare."
"Then you can do your chest, George, and my stool, and Edwin's little
cart, and—"
"Nay, nay, Janet, I have something else to do with my paint," cried
George, as he put about half of that which remained into an old
paint-pot belonging to his father, and left the cottage, carrying the
rest with him.
Larkins lived in the same street as George Horbrook. He was standing
moodily at the door of his father-in-law's cottage, thinking over the
events of the last night, when he saw George Horbrook approaching,
paint-pot in hand.
He put on a sort of defiant look, for he thought George was come to
make game of him.
George felt a little awkward, and seemed hardly to know how to begin.
"What do you want?" asked Jem, in a surly tone.
"Do you want any paint?" said George, in a hesitating voice.
"None of your impudence here!" cried Jem, furiously. "You'd better be
off, I can tell you, if that's what you come for."
"You don't understand me, Jem. I meant it for the best. I have had some
paint given me to do our cottage wall where the wet came in, and I
have some left; and I heard that you were wanting some paint, and so I
thought I would bring it to you. And if it will be of any good to you,
you are heartily welcome to it. It is not very much, but it will be
better than nothing."
No pen can describe the change which came over Jem's face. The
defiant frown disappeared as if by magic; and a softened look, half
incredulous, half wondering, took its place.
"Why do you do this to 'me,' George?"
It was a difficult question to answer, and George had to think for a
few seconds before he could express his meaning clearly; then he said,—
"I wish to be kind to you, Jem, and to show you that I did not bear
malice. The Bible says we are to be kind to one another, and that we
are to try to do as we would be done by. I want to be friends with
you and all the other boys if I can. And it isn't often I have the
opportunity of doing anything for anybody, for I am very poor, you
know."
Almost before George had finished his somewhat stammering speech, Jem
Larkins had seized him by the hand.
"And is the paint 'really' for me, old fellow?"
"Oh yes, Jem; do you think I don't mean what, I say?"
"I don't deserve this of you, George. But if I don't take your part
through thick and thin after this, if I don't fight all your battles
for you, if I don't—"
"Please don't say any more, Jem; and I'd rather you wouldn't fight
about me, indeed I would. I am very glad the paint will be of use to
you, and if you will only think kindly of me, and—and—"
"And what, George? I promise anything."
"Don't promise, Jem, but if you will only try to—to—"
George could not finish his speech, but Jem seemed to know all he
wished to say.
"I know what you mean, and I 'will' try, George."
"Ask God to help you, Jem. We cannot help ourselves."
The clock struck the hour for work, and Jem only grasped George's hand
again. He did not speak, but taking the paint-pot, he went in-doors,
whilst George hastened to his work. He whistled merrily as he went
along, and his eyes literally "danced" with pleasure. And yet his chest
would still remain shabby and unpainted, and Janet's stool too, and
Edwin's cart. Truly it "is more blessed to give than to receive," and
George Horbrook had found it to be so.
A few days afterwards, during the dinner-hour, Jem Larkins came to the
place where George was sitting trying to draw a spray of ivy. He had
acted up to Mr. Gilbert's advice, and not a day passed by in which he
did not find time to draw something or another. Jem came and looked
over his shoulder.
"How industrious you are, George!"
"It is better than wasting one's time, Jem."
There was a pause of a few moments, and then Jem spoke again:
"How much does going to the night school cost, George?"
"Only fourpence a week, unless you learn drawing too."
"I should like to go if I could," said Jem.
"All right, Jem, it will be the best thing you ever did, it will—"
"I'll tell you why I should like it, George; it isn't because of the
learning I should get. I am a great dunce, and I don't think I shall
ever make much of books, but the reason I want to go is—you know what I
promised you this morning, George. Well, somehow, I think I should be
more out of the way of being tempted to do wrong if I had something to
do in the evening. You see if I went to the night school, I couldn't
be with the boys in the town, and I know it will be hard to break with
them, and I do want to keep my promise, and—"
George put down his drawing, and seized Jem by the hand.
"I am so glad, Jam; I have been longing for you to go, but I didn't
like to ask you."
"How strange it seems for you to be so glad about me, George!" said Jem.
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