CELIA MERRITT had just returned from church, and was engaged, with
some assistance from her little brothers, in getting ready the scanty
dinner. Mrs. Merritt was sitting in a easy rocking-chair, trying to
keep her fretful baby quiet that it might not awake her husband, who
was sleeping off his debauch in an adjoining room: she knew well
enough, poor woman, what kind of treatment they must all expect, if he
awoke before he had fairly slept himself sober. The dinner was just
placed upon the table as Bob came in, looking heated and weary, and
without any fish.
"Why Bob, I did not expect you so soon," said Celia, "and where are
your fish?"
"I only caught two or three, and I gave them to Childs," was the short
response, as Bob threw his cap into a corner.
"Do hush, my son, and not wake your father," remonstrated Mrs. Merritt.
"I think you might as well bring your fish home, if you will go fishing
Sundays, and not give them to people who have enough without. I can't
be reconciled to this Sabbath-breaking, Robert: it isn't the way I was
brought up, and I am sure we shall never prosper as long as it goes on."
"Well, mother, I won't go again if I can help it. I did not mean to go
to-day. Let's have what dinner there is, and say no more about it."
The dinner, consisting principally of potatoes, was placed upon
the table, and the children sat down with little ceremony, helping
themselves to what they wanted. After an interval of silence, Mrs.
Merritt asked Celia how she liked the new minister.
"Very much indeed," replied Celia, with some animation. "I never heard
any one preach that I liked so well. His sermon was so plain that any
child could understand it, and yet it sounded beautifully, and then he
had such a pleasant face, that it does one good just to look at him. I
wish you would go and hear him to-night, mother!"
"My child, I should be ashamed to be seen there; but you and Bob can go
if you like. I think you had better do so."
"Why are you ashamed to be seen there, pray mother?" asked Bob.
"Because I feel whenever I go, as though every body was looking at me.
I really have hardly decent clothes to wear, and I can't help thinking
all the time how different it used to be when I was a girl, and sang in
the choir, and felt myself as good as any one," and Mrs. Merritt sighed
bitterly, as she remembered the days of her girlhood.
She had married entirely contrary to the wishes of her parents, who
both died soon after. The little property they had left her, had been
long since dissipated by her husband; her brothers tired of supporting
the family, had moved away, and she had almost lost sight of them. She
often said with tears that she had not a friend in the world.
"But I should like very much to have you and Celia go," she continued,
"it looks so much more respectable than to be hanging over the gate, or
going in swimming."
Accordingly at the hour of evening service, Robert and his sister
might have been seen walking soberly towards the church. Robert looked
about him rather uneasily as he turned into the main street. He was
apprehensive of meeting some of his ordinary companions, and being
laughed at for being such a fool as to spend his evening in church,
instead of by the river-side; but the people he dreaded were all
absent or otherwise engaged, and they reached the church door without
encountering any one they knew. They were rather too early, and as they
were standing on the steps, Mr. Ellison and Dr. Huntley, or Dr. George
as he was frequently called, entered together.
"Good evening, Robert," said the Doctor kindly. "I am glad to see you
at church. Mr. Ellison, this is Robert Merritt, of whom I was speaking
to you yesterday. You remember we noticed the neatness of his garden."
Mr. Ellison shook hands with Robert and his sister, and expressed his
pleasure at meeting them. "I hope we shall become well acquainted,"
said he; "I wish all my young people to feel that I am their friend, as
well as their minister, and I shall come and see you very soon."
"How pleasant he is," remarked Celia to her brother, as they were
walking homewards together.
"I don't know what mother will say about his coming to see us, though,"
said Bob. "She does not much like to have visitors, and she never
seemed pleased when Mr. Hyde called."
"I suppose she was ashamed of the state of the house, and no wonder,"
replied Celia. "Then, he was always asking her why the boys did not go
to Sunday-school, and why she did not go to church herself. I know she
was very much put out, because he told her that the children would grow
up to destruction unless she took better care of them."
"I don't see how she could do any more very well. She don't have much
to do with."
"That's true, but I suppose what he meant was that they ought to mind
better, and not be so saucy. They might go to school, too, only they
won't."
Robert sighed, but made no other reply, and they walked on in silence.
He was thinking how he could possibly manage to earn three dollars
in the course of the week, with which to pay Childs, but no way
seemed to present itself. He felt at times almost tempted to leave
home altogether, and make the effort to get a living and a character
in some other place, but as often as the idea presented itself, the
thought of his mother and sister drove it away, and he felt that he
must stay with them. He was determined not to obtain the money in any
improper way, such as he had sometimes resorted to; for the desire of
respectability which had been aroused in his mind by the conversation
he had overheard, grew stronger every minute, and he had seen enough to
see that in order to be respected, he must be honest.
The more he thought about it, the more hopeless seemed the case, and he
went to sleep at last, feeling wearied out with thinking, and utterly
unable to arrive at any result. He had never been taught to seek for
help and strength from above; all his ideas on that subject were dark
and confused, and he would as soon have thought of asking help from the
Emperor of Austria, as from Him who giveth liberally, and upbraideth
not. So he slept without prayer at night, and awoke in the morning
without one thought of Him who had preserved him through the hours of
darkness.
But God does not always wait for his erring creatures to seek Him. He
often comes to meet them, and leads them by a way which they know not,
into his wondrous light and truth. Poor Robert was as yet afar off, and
groping for the way as the blind, but his Heavenly Father saw and had
compassion on him. As he was leaning over the gate next morning after
breakfast, moodily pondering over his desires and plans, a friendly
hand was laid on his shoulder, and a pleasant voice said:
"Good morning, Robert. I was afraid I should not find you, but I see
you have not gone to your work yet."
"I have no work to go to," replied Robert, looking both pleased and
confused at Ellison's salutation. "I only wish I had."
"Then I am doubly glad to have come so early. I noticed the other
day, how very neat your garden was, and I want you to come and help
me put mine in order, at the parsonage. It looks like the garden of
the slothful at present; the weeds are so numerous that it looks as if
there were nothing else. I am going there now, and should be glad to
take you with me."
Here was just the opportunity that Robert wanted. He knew that he
understood the kind of work required, and felt that he could give
satisfaction. He could not help thinking it very strange that Mr.
Ellison should want to employ him, after hearing the character given to
the whole family by Mr. Vanderburgh, but he felt doubly obliged to him
on that very account, and he inly determined to do nothing to forfeit
that good opinion of the minister.
The parsonage had been vacant for three months, and the garden did
indeed look like a wilderness; but it contained many choice plants and
trees, which maintained themselves amid their worthless neighbors,
and which needed only care and attention to produce abundantly their
proper fruits. Robert set to work under Mr. Ellison's direction, and
by his assistance the plot of ground began by degrees to assume quite
a different appearance. The straggling shrubs were pruned and trimmed
into comeliness, the weeds pulled out, the grass-plots restrained
within their proper limits, and the vines and running roses furnished
with sufficient supports. To conclude, a number of flowering verbenas,
heliotropes, salvias, and other flourishing plants were transplanted
into the flower-beds under the parlor and study windows.
Robert worked with a hearty good will, he was pleased with the prospect
of earning something wherewith to pay his debts, he was interested
in the work itself, for which he had a natural fondness. Especially
he was gratified that Mr. Ellison should have selected him as an
assistant, and he felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, the
desire of truly meriting esteem. He was rather shy at first, and
answered the minister's questions with some reserve; but he became by
degrees more communicative—and Mr. Ellison was surprised to see how
much miscellaneous information the boy had contrived to pick up. He
found indeed that his ideas on many important subjects were vague and
perverted, but he perceived a strong capacity for good in him, and inly
determined to do all in his power to foster that capacity.
As they were busily working and talking together, the garden-gate was
opened, and Mr. Vanderburgh and his brother-in-law, Dr. Huntley, walked
in.
"So you are working in your garden already, Mr. Ellison," was
the salutation of the former gentleman, "and how much you have
accomplished, to be sure. But why did you not apply to me? I could have
furnished you with an excellent and trustworthy gardener." And then in
rather a lower tone, "You will have to look sharply after that boy: he
is not to be trusted any farther than you can see him. You had better
get rid of him, and I will send my gardener to you as soon as I return
home."
Robert partly heard, and partly guessed at the purport of this speech,
and the rather proud smile with which he had responded to Dr. Georges
kindly greeting, died away, and was succeeded by an expression of
sullen resentment. The pleasing vista that had been opened before him,
seemed suddenly closed again, and his heart swelled with grief at his
disappointment, and anger at him who had thus wantonly destroyed his
bright prospects.
"I am much obliged to you," Mr. Ellison replied aloud; "but it will not
be necessary, Mr. Vanderburgh; Robert has done exceedingly well this
morning, as you may see by the results of his labor, and I am quite
sure he will do his best to please me. You may go round to the other
side now, if you please, Robert, and weed that strawberry-bed."
Mr. Vanderburgh felt a little vexed. He was not much accustomed to
having his counsels rejected, and he felt moreover, that there was a
mild reproof conveyed in the minister's answer. He did not feel at all
disposed to give up the point.
"But sir—but Mr. Ellison, you must not get that boy fastened upon
you. He is a regularly hard case—a young vagabond, sir, that is well
known, and the whole family are no better than so many pests to the
community. And besides," he continued, waxing warm, as he saw that his
remonstrance produced no effect, "I must tell you, sir, that I think it
does not look well for the minister to be employing and countenancing a
boy who is well known as a daring Sabbath-breaker. It won't do, sir, it
will have a very bad influence in the parish. You must send him adrift,
sir, it won't do at all."
Mr. Ellison's face flushed, and his lips were a little compressed: he
was naturally rather a warm-tempered man, and the dictatorial tone
assumed by his parishioner decidedly grated on his feelings. But while
he was hesitating for a reply, Dr. George saved him the trouble.
"I can not agree with my brother-in-law, sir," he said. "I am very glad
you have taken up the boy, and shall be most happy to second you in
any efforts you may make for his benefit. I have been always desirous
to do something for him, myself, but I am very much occupied with my
business—perhaps too much so—and moreover, I have not known exactly how
to set about it."
"Well, I am sure, enough has been done for him," persisted Mr.
Vanderburgh, still more annoyed at finding himself in the minority. "I
have told him twenty times that he would come to the gallows, if he did
not mend his ways and go to work honestly."
"Did you ever offer to employ him?" asked Mr. Ellison.
"Who, I? No, indeed, I would not have him about my place. I should not
expect to have a peach or a melon left, and every body in town thinks
the same."
"If that is the case, you can scarcely wonder that he does not go to
work honestly, as you say. He has shown that he can work well and
thoroughly, and certainly his kindness to his step-mother and her
children is much to his credit. But as your twenty times repeated
warning seems to have had no effect, suppose we try some other plan—for
instance, setting an honest living, and a respectable station in the
world before him, instead of the gallows, and see how that will act.
There are some animals, you know, which can not be driven by any amount
of force, but which may be made, by coaxing, to perform a great amount
of work."
Mr. Vanderburgh was silent, and the Doctor replied: "I think you are
right, sir, in your opinions. I remember very well how I felt when I
was a boy myself; and I really do not think I should have been driven
an inch by being told that I was going the gallows. It is no doubt
true, as my brother Vanderburgh says, that Robert has been a bad boy,
and his associates are among the worst in the town, but it has been
partly the fault of his unfortunate position. I have thought sometimes
of taking him into my own family, where I could easily find work
enough for him to keep him fully employed: but I have, as you know,
a son about his own age, and I feared lest he should be unfavorably
influenced."
"George seems a very reliable, steady boy," remarked Mr. Ellison.
"He has been so, hitherto; I have never seen in him any inclination
to low company or low vices, and I believe him to be actuated to some
extent by right and true motives. I am not sure that Robert would do
him any harm. The best thing for the boy, however, would be to place
him with some sensible and kind farmer, at a considerable distance
from here—the farther the better—where he would be out of the way of
temptation, and removed from the influence of his old associates. If
this could be done, I think he would be likely enough to turn out well."
"And why can it not be done?"
"I presume it could, sir. I am not aware that such a measure has been
proposed to him."
"He would not agree to it," said Mr. Vanderburgh, doggedly. "He is too
fond of loafing about the streets and bar-rooms, and being ringleader
in all the mischief that goes on in the village."
"If you think, Doctor, that such a place could be provided, it might be
well to speak to the boy about it."
The Doctor had no manner of doubt on the subject, and accordingly
Robert was called, and the project submitted to him by Mr. Ellison.
Robert listened in silence, and then shook his head. "It wouldn't do,
sir," he said.
"I told you so!" said Mr. Vanderburgh, with some exultation. "I knew he
would not be willing to leave the village!"
"But why do you think it would not do, Robert?" asked the Doctor
without noticing the remark. "Are you afraid of being lonely in the
country?"
"No, indeed, sir! I'm not afraid of being lonely anywhere, so long as I
have enough to do; but there is a reason why I must stay here. Mother
and the children-can't get along and live unless I am here to provide
for them."
"But you could send them your wages, could you not?"
"It would not do, sir. I must spend what little I earn for them myself,
or it will do them no good. Father would get hold of it, and then you
know well enough how it would go."
"But suppose it could be kept out of his hands, as I think it might,"
persisted the Doctor.
"Still I could not leave them, sir. When I am at home, I stand between
them and a good deal from which they would have no protection if I were
away."
"The long and the short of it is, you don't want to go into the
country," said Mr. Vanderburgh, losing all patience at what he
considered the boy's unthankfulness. "Here we are all trying to
contrive some way to do you good, and to help you, and to do something
for your benefit," (Mr. Vanderburgh was fond of presenting an idea in
several different shapes, when he wished to be impressive) "and all the
answer you make is, that you won't go."
"I didn't say so," returned Robert, sullenly.
"You said much the same thing; and I tell you, as I have often told you
before, that you will go to the gallows; and more than that, if I catch
you in my garden again, I will send you as far as the House of Refuge,
myself."
Robert threw down the rake he had all the time held in his hand, and
with a fearful oath, turned towards the gate. But before he could reach
it, a detaining hand was laid on his arm, and Mr. Ellison said: "Stop
Robert, my boy! Do not go off in a rage! I do not at all wonder that
you are angry, but I can not have you leave me so. Go back to your
strawberries, there's a good fellow, and we will talk more about this
matter some other time. Above all, don't add worse to bad, by taking
God's holy name in vain. Finish the strawberry-beds, and by that time,
you will be able to think more coolly about the whole affair."
Mr. Vanderburgh was confounded when he saw Mr. Ellison occupied in
soothing the boy, and prevailing on him to resume his work, and
still more so when, in reply to his again-repeated offer to send an
experienced and honest gardener to finish what remained to be done,
Mr. Ellison thanked him, but decidedly avowed his intention of keeping
Robert Merritt. He bade the minister good evening rather coolly, and
walked home in any thing but an agreeable frame of mind. He began to
think the parish had made a sad mistake in their choice of a pastor,
and that a man so opinionated and obstinate as Mr. Ellison would be a
great misfortune to them.
But as the evening wore on, and he thought the matter over, his
feelings began to take quite another direction. He saw that he had
been rather unjust to Robert—had in fact, given him some provocation:
he acknowledged to himself that it was hardly fair, when the boy was
working hard for once, to try to have him discharged on account of his
past offenses, thus bringing up his former bad character against him,
at the very time when he was trying to retrieve it. He could not but
confess, upon thinking it over, that there was some show of reason, in
what he had said about going into the country, and he now regretted
very much that he had spoken so harshly to him. Mr. Vanderburgh was
a conscientious man in spite of his peculiarities, and though his
conscience did not always awake in time to prevent him from doing
acts of injustice, it always prompted him to repair them as fully as
possible, and tormented him grievously, when that reparation came, as
it often did, too late to do any good. He now resolved that he would
make it up to Robert, if possible, and thus reconciled himself to
himself in some degree.
Mr. Ellison made no allusion to what had passed, when he again saw
Robert. He perceived the neatness of his work, told him he should need
his services for two or three days longer, and offered him the money
for his day's work, which Robert declined receiving.
"I would rather leave it in your hands till I get through, sir, and
then take it altogether."
Mr. Ellison was rather surprised, but he returned the money to his
pocket without any remark, and Robert went home, feeling more like
being happy than he had done for a long time.