"Have you examined that bill, James?"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything wrong?"
"I find two errors."
"Ah, let me see."
The lad handed his employer a long bill that had been placed on his desk
for examination.
"Here is an error of ten dollars in the calculation which they have made
against themselves; and another of ten dollars in the footing."
"Also against themselves?"
"Yes, sir."
The merchant smiled in a way that struck the lad as peculiar.
"Twenty dollars against themselves," he remarked in a kind of pleased
surprise; "trusty clerks they must have!"
"Shall I correct the figures?" asked the lad.
"No; let them correct their own mistakes. We don't examine bill's for
other people's benefit," replied the merchant. "It will be time to
correct those errors when they find them out. All so much gain as it now
stands."
The boy's delicate moral sense was shocked at so unexpected a remark. He
was the son of a poor widow, who had taught him that to be just is the
duty of man, and that "honesty is the best policy" always.
Mr. Carman, the merchant, in whose employment the lad James had been for
only a few months, was an old friend of James's father, and a man in
whom he had the highest confidence. In fact, James had always looked
upon him as a kind of model man. When Mr. Carman agreed to take him into
his store, the lad felt that great good fortune was in his way.
"Let them correct their own mistakes." These words made a strong
impression on the mind of James Lewis. When first spoken by Mr. Carman,
with the meaning which he gave them, as we have said, he felt shocked.
But as he turned them over again in his thoughts, and remembered that
this man stood very high in his mother's estimation, he began to think
that perhaps the thing was fair enough in business. Mr. Carman was
hardly the man to do wrong.
A few days after James had examined the bill, a clerk from the house
which had sent it, called for settlement. The lad, who was present,
waited with interest to see whether Mr. Carman would speak of the error.
But he made no remark. A check for the amount of the bill as rendered,
was filled up, and a receipt taken.
"Is that right?" James asked himself this question. His conscience said
no. The fact that Mr. Carman had so acted, bewildered his mind.
"It may be the way in business"--he thought to himself--"but it doesn't
look honest. I wouldn't have believed it of him."
Mr. Carman had a way with him that won the boy's heart, and naturally
tended to make him judge of whatever he might do in a most favorable
manner.
"I wish he had corrected that error," he said to himself a great many
times when congratulating himself upon his own good fortune in having
been received into Mr. Carman's employment. "It doesn't look right, but
it _may_ be in the way of business."
One day he went to the bank and drew the money for a check. In counting
it over, he found that the teller had paid him fifty dollars too much.
So he went back to the counter and told him of his mistake. The teller
thanked him, and he returned to the store with the consciousness in his
mind of having done right.
"The teller overpaid me fifty dollars," he said to Mr. Carman, as he
handed him the money.
"Indeed," replied the latter, a light breaking over his countenance; and
he hastily counted the bank bills.
The light faded as the last bill left his fingers. "There's no mistake,
James." A tone of disappointment was in his voice.
"Oh, I gave them back the fifty dollars. Wasn't that right?"
"You simpleton!" exclaimed Mr. Carman.
[Illustration: "_The teller over-paid me fifty dollars_."]
"Don't you know that bank mistakes are never corrected? If the teller
had paid you fifty dollars short he would not have made it right."
[Illustration: "_You simpleton_."]
The warm blood mantled the cheek of James under this reproof. It is
often the case that more shame is felt for a blunder than for a crime.
In this instance the lad felt a sort of mortification at having done
what Mr. Carman was pleased to call a silly thing, and he made up his
mind that if they should ever over-pay him a thousand dollars at the
bank, he should bring the amount to his employer, and let him do as he
pleased with the money.
"Let people look out for their own mistakes," said Mr. Carman.
James Lewis pondered these things in his heart. The impression they made
was too strong ever to be forgotten. "It may be right," he said, but he
did not feel altogether satisfied.
[Illustration: "_He had been paid a half dollar too much_."]
A month or two after this last occurrence, as James counted over his
weekly wages, just received from Mr. Carman, he saw that he had been
paid a half dollar too much.
His first impulse was to return the half dollar to his employer, and it
was on his lips to say, "You have given me a half dollar too much, sir,"
when the unforgotten words, "Let people look after their own mistakes,"
flashing into his mind, made him hesitate. To parley with evil is to be
overcome.
"I must think about this," said James, as he put the money into his
pocket. "If it is right in one case, it is right in another. Mr. Carman
doesn't correct mistakes that people make in his favor, and he can't
complain when the rule works against himself."
But the boy was very far from being comfortable. He felt that to keep a
half dollar would be a dishonest act. Still he could not make up his
mind to return it, at least not then.
James did not return the half-dollar, but spent it for his
gratification. After he had done this, it came suddenly into his head
that Mr. Carman had only been trying him, and he was filled with anxiety
and alarm.
Not long after this Mr. Carman repeated the same mistake. Again James
kept the half-dollar, and with less hesitation.
"Let him correct his own mistakes," said he resolutely; "that's the
doctrine he acts upon with other people, and he can't complain if he
gets paid in the same coin he puts in circulation. I just wanted a half
dollar."
From this time, the fine moral sense of James Lewis was blunted and his
conscience troubled him but little. He began to cherish a spirit of
covetousness, which is in the heart of all, until subdued by the grace
of Christ. He soon began to desire the possession of things for which he
was not able to pay.
James had good business qualifications. This pleased Mr. Carman. He saw
that the young man was intelligent, industrious, and tactful with
customers. For this reason, he advanced him rapidly, and, before he was
eighteen years of age, he held the most responsible position in the
store.
But James had learned something more from his employer than the secret
of doing business well. He had learned to be dishonest. He had never
forgotten the first lesson he had received in the downward course. And
this wicked instruction he had acted upon, not only in two instances,
but in a hundred, and almost always to the injury of Mr. Carman.
The young man had long since given up waiting for mistakes to be made in
his favor. He originated them in the varied and complicated transactions
of a large business in which he was trusted implicity.
Of course, he grew to be sharp and cunning; always on the alert; always
bright, and ready skillfully to meet any approaches towards a discovery
of his wrong-doing by his employer, who held him in high regard.
In this way it went on until James Lewis was in his twentieth year. Then
the merchant received a letter which aroused his suspicions. This letter
spoke of the young man as not keeping the most respectable company, and
as spending money too freely for a clerk on a moderate salary.
Before this time James and his mother had removed into a pleasant house,
for which he paid a rent of four hundred dollars yearly. His salary was
only eight hundred dollars, but he deceived his mother by telling her
that it was fifteen hundred. Every comfort that she needed was fully
supplied, and she was beginning to feel that, after a long struggle with
the world, her happier days had come.
James was at his desk when the letter was received by Mr. Carman. He
looked at his employer, and saw him change countenance suddenly. The
letter was read twice, and James saw that the contents appeared to
disturb his employer. Mr. Carman glanced toward the desk and their eyes
met. It was only for a moment, but the look that James received made his
heart stop beating.
[Illustration: "_The look that James received made his heart stop
beating_."]
There was something about the movements of the merchant for the rest of
the day that troubled the young man. It was plain to him that suspicion
had been aroused by that letter. Oh, how bitterly now did he repent! How
he dreaded discovery and punishment! Exposure would disgrace and ruin
him, and bow the head of his widowed mother even to the grave.
That evening at supper, Mrs. Lewis noticed that her son did not eat; and
that his face was troubled.
"You are not well," she said "perhaps a rest will make you feel
better."
"It's nothing but a headache; I'll lie down on the sofa in the parlor a
little while."
Mrs. Lewis followed him into the parlor shortly, and sitting down on the
sofa on which he was lying, placed her hand upon his head. Ah, it would
take more than the loving pressure of a mother's hand to ease the pain
which he was suffering. The touch of that pure hand increased the pain
to agony.
"Do you feel better?" asked Mrs. Lewis. She had remained some time with
her hand on his forehead.
"Not much," he replied; "I think a walk in the open air will do me
good," he added, rising.
"Don't go out, James," said Mrs. Lewis, a troubled feeling coming into
her heart.
"I'll only walk a few squares," he replied, as he hurried down the
street.
"There is something more than headache the matter with him," thought
Mrs. Lewis.
For half an hour James walked without any purpose in his mind beyond the
escape from the presence of his mother. At last his walk brought him
near Mr. Carman's store, and in passing, he was surprised at seeing a
light within.
"What can this mean?" he asked himself, a new fear creeping into his
trembling heart.
He listened by the door and windows, but he could hear no sound within.
"There's something wrong," he said; "what can it be? If this is
discovered what will be the end of it? Ruin! ruin! O my poor mother!"
The wretched young man hastened on, walking the streets for two hours,
when he returned home. His mother met him when he entered, and with
unconcealed anxiety, asked him if he were better. He said "yes," but in
a manner that only increased the trouble she felt. He then passed
hastily to his own room.
In the morning the strangely altered face of her son as he met his
mother at the breakfast table, struck alarm to her heart. He was silent,
and evaded all her questions. While they still sat at the table, the
door bell rang loudly. The sound startled James, and he turned his head
nervously to listen.
"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Lewis.
"A gentleman who wishes to see Mr. James," replied the girl.
James rose instantly and went out into the hall, shutting the
dining-room door as he did so. Mrs. Lewis sat waiting her son's return.
She heard him coming back in a few moments; but he did not enter the
dining-room. Then he returned along the hall to the street door, and she
heard it shut. All was silent. Starting up, she ran into the passage,
but James was not there. He had gone away with the person who called.
Ah, that was a sad home leaving. Mr. Carman had spent half the night in
examining the accounts that had been kept by James. He discovered
frauds of over six thousand dollars. Blindly indignant, he had sent an
officer to arrest him early in the morning. It was with this officer
that he went away from his mother, _never to return_.
[Illustration: _The Arrest of James_]
"The young villain shall lie in the bed he has made for himself!"
exclaimed Mr. Carman, in his bitter indignation. And he made a complete
exposure. At the trial he showed an eager desire to have him convicted,
and presented such an array of evidence that the jury could not give any
other verdict than guilty.
The poor mother was in court, and sobbed as she heard the evidences of
the guilt of her son. The presiding judge addressed the culprit, and
asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be pronounced
against him. The prisoner arose, and said:
[Illustration: "_I went into that man's store an innocent boy_."]
"Will it please your honor to ask my prosecutor to come a little
nearer, so that I can look at him and your honor at the same time?"
Mr. Carman was directed to come forward. James looked at him a few
moments, and turned to the judge.
"What I have to say to your honor is this" (he spoke calmly and
distinctly), "and it may, in a degree, excuse, though it cannot justify,
my crime. I went into that man's store an innocent boy. If he had been
an honest man, I would not stand before you to-day as a criminal!"
Mr. Carman appealed to the court for protection against that which he
called an outrageous attack upon his character; but he was ordered to be
silent. James went on in a firm voice:--
"Only a few weeks after I began work in this man's store, I examined a
bill, by his direction, and discovered an error of twenty dollars."
The face of Mr. Carman was crimson.
"You remember it, I see," said James, "and I shall have cause to
remember it as long as I live. I asked if I should correct the figures,
and you answered:--
"'No; let them correct their own mistakes. We don't examine bills for
other people's benefit.'
"It was my first lesson in dishonesty. I saw the bill settled, and Mr.
Carman took twenty dollars that was not his own. I felt shocked at
first. It seemed such a wrong thing. But soon after this, he called me a
simpleton for handing back a fifty-dollar bill to the teller of a bank,
which he had overpaid me on a check, and then"--
"May I ask the protection of the court?" said Mr. Carman.
"Is the story of the lad true?" asked the judge.
Mr. Carman looked confused. All felt certain that he was guilty of
leading the unhappy young man astray.
"Not long afterward," resumed the young man, "in receiving my wages, I
found that Mr. Carman had paid me fifty cents too much. I was about to
give it back to him, when I remembered his remark about letting people
correct their own mistakes, and I said to myself, 'let him discover and
correct his own errors.' Then I dishonestly kept the money.
"Again the same thing happened, and again I kept the money that did not
belong to me. This was the beginning of evil, and here I am. If he had
shown any mercy to me, I might have kept silent and made no defense."
The young man covered his face with his hands, and sat down overpowered
with his feelings. His mother who was near him, sobbed aloud, and
bending over, laid her hands on his head. "My poor boy! my poor boy!"
she murmured.
There were few undimmed eyes in the court-room. In the silence that
followed, Mr. Carman exclaimed:--
"Is my character to be thus blasted on the word of a criminal, your
honor? Is this right?"
"Your solemn oath that this charge is untrue," said the judge, "will
clear your reputation in the eyes of the people."
[Illustration: "_Let him take his oath if he dare!_"]
At these words, James Lewis stood up again instantly. It was the unhappy
boy's only opportunity, and the court felt bound in humanity to hear
him. Turning his eyes upon Mr. Carman, he exclaimed:--
"Let him take his oath if he dare!"
Mr. Carman consulted with his counsel, and withdrew.
The judge then arose to pass sentence.
"In consideration of your youth, and the temptation to which in tender
years you were subjected, the court gives you the lightest
sentence,--one year's imprisonment. But let me solemnly warn you against
any further steps in the way you have taken. Crime can have no valid
excuse. It is evil in the sight of God and man, and leads only to
suffering. When you come forth again after your imprisonment, may it be
with the resolution to die rather than commit crime!"
A year afterward, when James Lewis came from prison, his mother was
dead. From the day her pale face faded from his vision as he passed from
the court-room, he never saw her again.
Ten years thereafter a man was reading a newspaper in a far Western
town. He had a calm, serious face, and looked like one who had known
suffering and trial.
"Brought to justice at last!" he said to himself, with deep emotion.
"Convicted on the charge of open insolvency, and sent to state prison.
So much for the man who gave me in tender years the first lessons in
wrong-doing. But thank God! another lesson,--the words of the judge,
spoken to me so many years ago,--have been remembered. 'When you come
forth again, may it be with the resolution to die rather than commit
crime!' and I have kept these words in my heart when there seemed no way
of escaping except through crime. And God helping me, I will remember
them as long as I live."
[Illustration: "_Is your boy sick? He was not in school to-day."_]
"A PICTURE OF GOD."
It is fairly pathetic what a stranger God is in His own world. He comes
to His own, and they who are His own kinsfolk keep Him standing outside
the door while they peer suspiciously at Him through the crack at the
hinges.
To know God really, truly, is the beginning of a normal life. One of the
best pictures of God that I ever saw came to me in a simple story. It
was of a man, a minister, who lived in a New England town, who had a
son, about fourteen years of age, going to school. One afternoon the
boy's teacher called at the home, and asked for the father, and said:--
"Is your boy sick?"
"No. Why?"
"He was not at school to-day."
"Is that so?"
"Nor yesterday."
"You don't mean it!"
"Nor the day before."
"Well!"
"And I supposed he was sick."
"No, he's not sick."
"Well, I thought I should tell you."
And the father said, "Thank you," and the teacher left.
And the father sat thinking. By and by he heard a click at the gate, and
he knew the boy was coming, so he went to open the door. And the boy
knew as he looked up that his father knew about those three days. And
the father said:--
"Come into the library, Phil." And Phil went, and the door was shut. And
the father said: "Phil, your teacher was here this afternoon. He tells
me you were not at school to-day, nor yesterday nor the day before. And
we supposed you were. You let us think you were. And you do not know how
badly I feel. I have always trusted you. I have always said, 'I can
trust my boy Phil.' And here you've been a living lie for three whole
days. And I can't tell you how badly I feel about it."
Well, that was hard on Phil to be talked to quietly like that. If his
father had spoken to him roughly, or--had asked him out to the woodshed
for a confidential interview, it would not have been nearly so hard.
Then, after a moment's pause, the father said, "Phil, we'll get down and
pray." And the thing was getting harder for Phil all the time.
He didn't want to pray just then. And they got down. And the father
poured out his heart in prayer. And the boy knew as he listened how
badly his father felt over his conduct. Somehow he saw himself in the
mirror on his knees as he had not before. It's queer about that mirror
of the knee-joints. It does show so many things. Many folks don't like
it.
And they got up. And the father's eyes were wet. And Phil's eyes were
not dry. Then the father said:--
"My boy, there's a law of life that where there is sin, there is
suffering. You can't detach those two things. Where there is suffering
there has been sin somewhere. And where there is sin there will be
suffering. You can't get these two things apart. Now," he went on, "you
have done wrong. And I am in this home like God is in the world. So we
will do this. You go up to the attic. I'll make a pallet for you there.
We'll take your meals up to you at the regular times, and you stay up
there as long as you've been a living lie--three days and three nights."
And Phil didn't say a word. They went up stairs, the pallet was made,
and the father kissed his boy and left him alone with his thoughts.
Supper time came, and the father and mother sat down to eat. But they
couldn't eat for thinking about the boy. The longer they chewed upon the
food, the bigger and dryer it got in their mouths. And swallowing it was
clear out of the question. Then they went into the sitting room for the
evening. He picked up the evening paper to read, and she sat down to
sew. Well, his eyes weren't very good. He wore glasses. And this evening
he couldn't seem to see distinctly--the glasses seemed blurred. It must
have been the glasses, of course. So he took them off and cleaned them
very deliberately and then found that he had been holding the paper
upside down. And she tried to sew. But the thread broke, and she
couldn't seem to get the needle threaded again. You could see they were
both bothered. How we do reveal ourselves in the details!
By and by the clock struck nine, and then ten, their usual hour for
retiring. But they made no move toward retiring. She said, "Aren't you
going to bed?" And he said, "I think I'll not go yet a bit; you go."
"No, I guess I'll wait a while, too." And the clock struck eleven, and
the hands worked around toward twelve. Then they arose, and locked up,
and went to bed, but--not to sleep. Each one made pretence to be asleep,
and each one knew the other was not asleep. By and by she said (women
are always the keener), "Why don't you sleep?" And he said gently, "How
did you know I wasn't sleeping? Why don't you sleep?"
"Well, I just can't for thinking of the boy up in the attic."
"That's the bother with me," he replied. And the clock in the hall
struck twelve, and one, and two. Still no sleep came.
[Illustration: "_I'm going up stairs with Phil_."]
At last he said, "Mother, I can't stand this any longer; I'm going up
stairs with Phil." And he took his pillow and went softly out of the
room, and up the attic stairs, and pressed the latch-key softly, so as
not to wake the boy if he were asleep, and tiptoed across the attic
floor to the corner by the window, and looked--there Phil lay, wide
awake, with something glistening in his eyes, and what looked like
stains on his cheeks. And the father got down in between the sheets with
his boy, and they got their arms around each other's necks, for they had
always been the best of friends, father and boy, and their tears got
mixed up on each other's cheeks. Then they slept. And the next night
when the time came for sleep, the father said, "Good-night, mother, I'm
going up stairs with Phil." And the second night he slept in the attic
with his boy. And the third night, again he said, "Mother, good-night,
I'm going up with the boy again." And the third night he slept in the
place of punishment with his son.
You are not surprised to know that to-day that boy, a man grown, is
telling the story of Jesus with tongue and life of flame in the heart of
China.
Do you know, I think that father is the best picture of God I ever saw.
God could not take away sin. It's here. He could not take away suffering
out of kindness to man. For suffering is sin's index finger, saying,
"There's something wrong here." So He came down in the person of His
Son, and lay down alongside of man for three days and three nights.
That's God--our God. And beyond that He comes and puts His life
alongside of yours and mine, and makes us hate the bad, and long to be
pure. To be on intimate terms with Him, to live in the atmosphere of His
presence, to spend the day with Him--that is the true normal life.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Jack and David Jamison going to Mill]