“I should not think you would let him off so easily, father,” exclaimed
Herbert Archer, as he listened to a conversation between his father and
a poor tenant who begged for a little delay in the usual demand for the
rent.
“And why not, my son?” replied Mr. Archer, as they continued the walk
which had been thus interrupted. “He is poor and has been unfortunate.
The wealthy should not be indifferent to the sufferings of those less
prosperous than themselves.”
“I know they should not, father; but did I not hear you say last winter
that you would not assist Simon Brown again, for it was only encouraging
him in idleness? Do you not remember what we were told about his
allowing his poor wife, with her feeble health, to go out to wash, while
he remained sitting quietly at home smoking his pipe and attending to
the children?”
“I do recollect it well, Herbert; but my conclusions were too hasty.
Upon inquiry I found that there was another side to the story. Poor
Simon had the rheumatism so badly that for several weeks he could not
walk one step. In this situation he could do nothing better than to make
himself useful in the house, while his wife procured what work she could
to aid in the support of their family. The truth is, my son, there is
almost always two sides to a story, and if we suspend our judgment until
we are sure that we know all the particulars, we shall avoid the
injustice which too often results from hasty decisions.”
Herbert listened with respect and attention to his father’s words, and
acknowledged their truth; but it was not until after several useful
lessons that he learned to put this simple rule in practice.
Among the most valued of his playthings was a fine kite, remarkable for
its beauty and the swiftness of its flight.
On his return from school one pleasant afternoon, Herbert perceived that
there was a fine breeze, and hastily putting away his books, ran for his
kite. But, to his surprise, it was not in its proper place. Who could
have taken it? He felt quite sure that he put it away when he last
played with it, and he felt much displeased that any one should have
ventured to touch it without his leave.
He inquired of his mother and sisters, but they knew nothing of it. He
then went to the kitchen, and Alice, the chambermaid, told him that
about an hour before she had seen his younger brother, Henry, with it in
his hand.
“He had no business to touch it without my leave,” exclaimed Herbert
angrily. “I wish he would learn to let my things alone,” and his
feelings toward his brother were filled with unkindness.
He went to the barn in search of him, but Henry was not there. In one
corner, however, he discovered his kite, soiled and torn, with the
sticks broken and the tail draggled in the dirt. This sight vexed him
still more, and he seized a little wagon which he had been making for
his brother that morning, and dashed it in pieces.
“He is a naughty, bad boy,” he exclaimed, “and I will do nothing for
him.”
Upon further inquiry, he found that Henry had received permission to
pass the afternoon at their Uncle’s, and would not return until evening.
For several hours Herbert suffered evil thoughts and feelings against
his brother to remain in his mind, and he complained to his mother and
several others of the injury which had been done to his favorite kite;
and when his father came in to tea, he repeated the story to him, with
many severe comments on the unkindness of his brother.
He felt somewhat rebuked when his father said quietly, “Wait till you
hear your brother’s explanation, my son. Remember there are always two
sides to a story.”
“There cannot be two sides to this one, father, for Alice saw Henry with
the kite in his hand, and no one else has touched it.”
“Strong proof, certainly, Herbert; but, nevertheless, suspend your
judgment until Henry comes. It is possible that he did not tear the
kite.”
Herbert was silenced, but not convinced. His feelings were not changed,
and he met Henry in a sullen and irritated manner.
“Oh, Herbert!” exclaimed the little boy, “I wish you could have been
with me. I have had such a delightful play with my cousins. I should
have been quite happy all the afternoon, only I could not help thinking
of your poor kite. Did you see it in the barn?”
“To be sure I did,” replied Herbert, crossly; “I wish you had taken a
fancy to destroy some other of my playthings and let my kite alone.”
“Why, Herbert, I did not destroy it. I found our dog Pompey playing with
it in the yard. I do not know where he got it, but I took it away as
quickly as I could. I was very sorry that I did not see him before it
was spoiled.”
A deep blush of shame overspread Herbert’s face as he thought of the
wicked and unkind feelings which he had harbored for so many hours. He
now remembered perfectly, that, being called away in haste, he had left
his kite beneath a tree in the yard, and no doubt Pompey had found it
there. There was, indeed, two sides to this story, and now that the
truth was known, it was quite plain that he alone was to blame for the
accident.
His sorrow was increased when Henry eagerly inquired if he had finished
the little wagon which he had begun for him in the morning.
It was hard to tell his affectionate little brother that he had been so
very angry with him for his supposed injury, that he had purposely
destroyed the wagon from which he had expected so much pleasure; but
Herbert, though often hasty and passionate, was an honest boy, and he
answered frankly,—
“I have done very wrong to-day, Henry. I supposed that you had taken my
kite without leave, and had carelessly spoiled it, and I felt so angry
that I tossed the wagon upon the ground and broke it; but, if you will
forgive me, I will make you a much larger and better one to-morrow.”
Henry readily expressed his forgiveness, and Herbert, of his own accord,
sought his father and told him “the other side of the story.”
For some time the little incident of the kite was well remembered, and
served as a warning to Herbert to be less hasty in judging evil of
others; but as the recollection of it faded from his mind, he was
frequently led into the same error, and often had cause to repent of his
rash decisions.
Among his schoolfellows was the son of a poor widow, who had, until
lately, labored hard with the neighboring farmers to aid his mother in
the support of her little family. His admittance into the school
occasioned considerable surprise among the scholars, who had hitherto
regarded him as on a footing with their fathers’ workmen, rather than on
an equality with themselves; and there were some who were wicked and
foolish enough to wonder what business William Camden had to attend the
best school in the neighborhood, and where he got the money to pay for
his tuition.
The greater part, however, were pleased that he could have so good an
opportunity for acquiring knowledge, and were surprised to find that he
had already made great progress in many branches which they were
pursuing.
Herbert Archer seemed particularly pleased with the studiousness and
good behavior of the widow’s son, and with the consent of his parents
frequently aided him in various ways, by presents of suitable books and
other things necessary to his advancement.
There was one circumstance, however, in regard to William for which
Herbert found it difficult to account. He was frequently absent from
school for whole days, and when his companions inquired the cause, he
would answer indefinitely that his time had been much occupied. The
teacher expressed no displeasure on these occasions, which had the
effect of assuring the scholars that all was right, until one
unfortunate day, when a boy, who had appeared to regard William with
contempt and dislike from his first entrance into the school, made a
discovery which he eagerly communicated to the other pupils, hoping
thereby to convince them that his opinion was well founded.
“Who would like to know the reason why William Camden stays from school
so often?” he exclaimed, as he entered the school-room, where many of
the boys were assembled.
A large group immediately gathered around him, and he continued in a
sarcastic, contemptuous tone,—
“I have at length found out the useful business which so occupies his
time. He is fond of wandering in the woods and fields, amusing himself
with robbing birds’ nests.”
“For shame, George Wilson,” replied Herbert Archer. “It is impossible
that you have detected William engaged in so senseless and cruel a
sport.”
“Impossible or not, Master Archer,” retorted the other, “it is
nevertheless a fact, and I can give you ample proof of the truth of my
words. One of my father’s workmen has recently been engaged in cutting
down several large trees in the wood adjoining our house. On the last
day that William was absent from school, he assures me that he spent the
whole of our school hours in climbing trees and robbing the pretty birds
of their young. He reproved him for his cruelty, but William only
replied that he had a use for them, and went on his way. Probably he
intended to enjoy the pleasure of giving the poor things to his cat.”
Herbert, who was a great enemy to all cruelty, could hardly restrain his
indignation, and as William entered at that moment, he turned to him
abruptly, and demanded, with some authority of manner, if it was true
that he had stayed from school a few days before for the purpose of
robbing birds’ nests? Somewhat hurt and offended at the tone in which
Herbert addressed him, and at the indignant countenances of his
schoolmates, William answered, rather shortly,—
“That it was perfectly true that he had taken several young birds from
their nests a day or two previous, and thought it quite probable that he
should do so again, if it suited his convenience.”
This was a wrong way of answering, and only increased the ill feeling
which prevailed against him. George Wilson looked triumphantly at
Herbert, who was only restrained from a burst of passion by the entrance
of the teacher, and the usual summons to their studies.
After school, instead of joining William, as usual, that they might walk
part of the way together, Herbert carefully avoided him, and selecting
another companion, declared his intention of having nothing more to do
with one who could thus wantonly engage in cruel sport.
This resolution he also expressed to his father, after relating to him
the circumstances which had come to his knowledge. Mr. Archer shook his
head, saying, “Are you sure there are not two sides to the story, my
son?” But Herbert replied in a positive manner that there could not be
another side, as William had himself admitted the truth of the charge.
Nothing farther was said upon the subject, and Mr. Archer soon forgot
the whole affair.
Weeks passed on, and the intimacy between the two boys was not resumed.
William continued to absent himself occasionally from school, and
several boys testified that they had two or three times met him with
young birds in his hand, and when asked what he intended doing with
them, he had replied in his usual unsatisfactory manner.
One day, as Herbert was returning from school, he met an old friend of
his father’s, a gentleman residing in a neighboring town, at whose house
he had often visited, and with whom he was very familiar. Mr. Morgan was
a widower, and he had one little son several years younger than Herbert,
to whose welfare he was constantly devoted.
“I am glad to see you, Herbert,” he said, kindly; “it is a long time
since you have visited me. My little Arthur has missed you very much.”
“We shall soon have a vacation at our school,” replied Herbert, “and
then I shall be much pleased to come and see you. My studies occupy me
very closely just now.”
“That is right, my boy. Youth is the time for improvement. Speaking of
your school reminds me of one of your schoolfellows, of whom I should
like your opinion, for I know that boys have many opportunities of
finding out each other’s characters, and I can rely upon your statement.
I refer to William Camden. I knew his father well. He was a sensible,
honest man, and I have often thought that I should like to do something
for his family. I have lately formed a plan for travelling for the next
two or three years with my little boy, and I have concluded, if I can
find a well-principled lad, somewhat advanced in his education, to take
him with us as a sort of tutor and companion for Arthur. I shall watch
over them both myself, and shall procure the best instruction in my
power at the different places where we may sojourn; but there are many
of the common branches which Arthur would learn even more readily from a
sensible lad, a few years his senior, than from an older person, and he
would at the same time have the advantage of a pleasant companion. The
great difficulty is to find one on whose principles and habits I can
fully depend. I have thought of William Camden, as I have often heard
him well spoken of. His mother depends somewhat upon his assistance, but
I will make that easy for them. Now, tell me plainly what you think of
William.”
Herbert hesitated, for he knew that the proposition of Mr. Morgan would
be of great advantage to his schoolfellow; and, in spite of his present
dislike to William, he was unwilling to say any thing which might
deprive him of an advantageous offer. But he thought it right to tell
the whole truth, and he answered, with some indignation in his manner,—
“A few weeks ago, sir, I should have thought that William Camden would
have suited your purpose better than any boy of my acquaintance, but I
fear I was deceived in him. He frequently stays from school, and passes
his time in the woods engaged in the cruel sport of robbing birds’
nests.”
“Cruel sport, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Morgan. “A boy who will do that
must be destitute of kind and generous feelings. It may seem a trifle,
but it would decide me at once not to make him the companion of my son.
You are sure that there is no mistake in this matter, Herbert?”
“Quite sure, sir. I heard William acknowledge it myself. I was very
unwilling to believe it until there was no room for doubt.”
“I am glad I met with you,” remarked his friend. “I have another boy in
view, who will perhaps suit me better. I must make all proper
inquiries.”
Thus saying, he bade Herbert good afternoon, and rode away in the
direction of his own home.
A few days after, Herbert accompanied his father to a large town several
miles distant from their own home. While his father was engaged in the
transaction of business, he walked slowly through the principal streets,
amusing himself with what was passing around him, and occasionally
stopping to look at something attractive in the shop windows. At length
he became much interested in watching the quick motions of several birds
of different kinds, whose cages were suspended at the door of a bird
fancier’s establishment.
As he stood looking at their lively movements and listening to their
sweet songs, he was surprised to observe William Camden standing in the
shop with a large cage in his hand containing a great many young birds
of various kinds, for which he appeared to be just concluding a bargain
with the bird fancier.
“This, then, is what he does with his young birds,” thought Herbert;
“but why was he so secret about it?”
At this instant William turned around and recognized his companion. He
colored deeply, and at first seemed inclined not to speak; but better
feelings gained the ascendancy, and, approaching Herbert, he said
pleasantly,—
“You have discovered what I do with my young birds. It does seem cruel
to catch them, but I try to do it as kindly as possible. I seldom take
more than one from a nest, and always watch the time when the old birds
are absent, that I may not alarm them. The money which I earn in this
way not only defrays the expenses of my education, but enables me to
assist my poor mother.”
“But why were you so secret about it?” asked Herbert. “Why did you not
tell us plainly for what purpose you caught the birds?”
“My first motive for secrecy,” replied William, “Was to prevent
thoughtless and idle boys from following my example, fearing that they
would not so strictly endeavor to avoid cruelty. But when you questioned
me on the subject, I should have answered frankly had I not felt
irritated by your manner, and hurt that you could suppose me capable of
engaging in such an occupation for sport.”
“I did wrong,” replied Herbert; “as usual, my judgment was too hasty. I
ask your forgiveness, William, for my suspicions; but I fear I have been
the means of doing you a great injury. I must seek my father without
delay;” and thus saying he abruptly departed, leaving William much
surprised at his words.
Mr. Archer listened with interest to Herbert’s story, and yielded to his
entreaties to go immediately to Mr. Morgan, in the hope that it was not
yet too late to repair the wrong which he had done his companion.
When they reached the house, Herbert’s impatience was so great that he
could hardly wait until the customary salutations were exchanged, before
he said, with much earnestness,—
“Have you yet found any one to fill the place of which you spoke to me,
Mr. Morgan?”
“I have not, my young friend. It is a more difficult task than I
anticipated, and sometimes I think I will relinquish the plan
altogether.”
“I am so glad I am not too late,” exclaimed Herbert joyfully. “I have
come to tell you, sir, that what I related to you of William Camden can
all be explained, and I am quite sure that he would suit you in every
respect.”
He then gave Mr. Morgan a full account of the whole affair, to which the
gentleman listened with much satisfaction, and declared his intention of
calling upon Mrs. Camden that evening.
“This will be a warning to you, my dear boy,” he said to Herbert, “to
judge less rashly of the actions of your friends.”
“It will indeed, sir,” was the reply. “I have too often disregarded
these warnings; but in future I am resolved never to forget that there
may be ‘two sides to a story.’”
[Illustration: back cover]
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Transcriber’s note:
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in hyphenation have been retained as they were in the
original publication.
The following changes have been made:
suprised —> surprised {page 178}
The chapter entitled “Two Sides to a Story” beginning on page 167 has
been added to the Table of Contents, from which it was omitted in the
original book.