AFTER thinking the matter over a good deal, Mr. Vanderburgh came to
the conclusion that the best way he could make amends to Robert for
his hasty speech, would be by employing him in his own garden, and
thus showing that he was willing to trust him, notwithstanding what he
had said about it. Accordingly, before he went to his office in the
morning, he walked over to the parsonage, thinking to find the boy at
work there. But as he turned into the street in which it was situated,
he unexpectedly overtook Robert, who was proceeding to his day's labor.
He quickened his steps as Mr. Vanderburgh approached, and seemed
inclined to get away without replying to his salutation.
"Come, come, Robert, don't be in such a hurry! I have a job of work I
want you to do for me, when you get through at the parsonage."
"I don't want any of your work, Mr. Vanderburgh," replied Robert,
coloring. "You have done all you could to injure me, and set Mr.
Ellison against me, and I don't want any thing more to do with you."
Mr. Vanderburgh had not anticipated being met in this way. He had
supposed that Robert would be very ready and very glad to take up with
his offer, and he was decidedly taken aback by this refusal. A moment's
reflection, however, told him that it was no more than he ought to have
expected, and he determined not to be discouraged, in his attempts at
conciliation.
"Oh! Come, Robert, don't bear malice, my boy! I was wrong in speaking
to you so, I confess, and I have felt sorry ever since. I came out this
morning expressly to find you, and get you to work for me. Come, now,
shake hands and be friends."
Robert was not proof against this unlooked-for kindness on Mr.
Vanderburgh's part; he very cordially accepted the offered hand, and
they walked on together towards the parsonage.
"I was angry last night, Mr. Vanderburgh, and no mistake," said Robert.
"I thought it very hard that just as I was trying to do better, and
had found a friend to help me, you should come and spoil it all; for I
thought to be sure Mr. Ellison would not want to have any more to do
with me, after what you said. I know as well as any body that I have
been a bad boy, but it has not been altogether my fault. I have not had
a great deal to make me good in my life-time."
"But yet you knew better than to do a great many things that you have
done, Robert, I am sure. Now didn't you?"
"Well, yes—I knew better, perhaps; but then—didn't you ever do wrong
when you knew better, Mr. Vanderburgh? And then I only acted just like
my companions, and I had such hard times at home, I thought I had a
sort of right to have fun whenever I could get it. But I do mean to
break off with them, and be better if I can, and if I only succeed in
getting a little money beforehand, I rather think I can make it out."
"What has your getting money beforehand to do with it?" asked Mr.
Vanderburgh.
"I owe some of them," replied Robert; "I have borrowed money of them,
and that gives them a kind of hold on me. If I can only get that paid,
I think I shall do well enough."
"Ah! Yes! Very bad thing to borrow money. The borrower is servant to
the lender, you know the good Book says. Never borrow money if you can
help it, my boy. But never mind that now; don't be discouraged, and we
will try and keep you in work. Come round to my office when you get
through here, and we will see what can be done for you."
"So you and Mr. Vanderburgh have been having a little talk, have you?"
said Mr. Ellison, as Robert came into the garden.
"Yes, sir. He wants me to come and do some work for him, when I get
through here."
"Indeed! I am glad to hear you have a prospect of employment. I suppose
you were quite willing to undertake it, were you not?"
"Why, not at first, sir! I was rather provoked at him, for speaking
so to me yesterday, and at first I would not have any thing to say to
him; but I saw he was sorry, and so I agreed to do it. It is not in my
nature to be angry at any one a minute after I see that they really
want to make friends; and besides, though he is such a quick-tempered
man, he has been very kind to mother."
"I believe him to be a good man, in spite of his hastiness," said Mr.
Ellison; "and I am glad to hear you say that you do not bear malice,
which is worse than being hasty, though that is bad enough: now we will
go to our work in the orchard."
Robert worked two days longer for Mr. Ellison, and then three days for
Mr. Vanderburgh, so that by the end of the week he had earned not only
the three dollars necessary to pay his debts, but a dollar over, which
last he intended to lay out in necessaries for the family. Moreover—and
this gave him even more pleasure than his wages—both gentlemen had
highly commended his neatness and steadiness, and Mr. Vanderburgh had
promised to recommend him as a good gardener. Mr. Ellison paid him as
soon as he finished his work, but Mr. Vanderburgh seemed very much
engaged when Robert entered his office on Saturday evening, and as he
did not want to use the money till Monday morning, he concluded to let
it remain in his employer's hands till that time. He expended his spare
dollar on some flour, which he carried with him when he returned from
his work.
"So you have really got some flour," said his mother as he entered;
"but why didn't you buy more at a time? It isn't good economy to get so
little at once."
"I know it, mother, but I spent all the money I had to spare."
"Why, you must have earned four or five dollars, I should think, you
have worked so steadily this week; but I suppose you are laying it up
for some grand frolic, or perhaps you are going off on a journey, and
mean to have enough to pay your travelling expenses. Any thing rather
than lay it out on your own family."
Mrs. Merritt felt irritated and discouraged herself; and, as is often
the case, especially with weak people, she vented her discomfort on the
first person that came in her way.
Robert felt very keenly the injustice of her words. With all his
faults, he had never been indifferent to the welfare of the family, and
indeed had almost supported them for three or four years.
"I am sure you need not accuse me of spending much on myself; mother,"
he replied; "I might perhaps have been better off for some things if
I had done so now and then," casting a glance at his ragged clothes
as he spoke. "I did earn five dollars; but three of it must go to pay
borrowed money, and I can not spend it for any thing."
"Oh! I am so glad you have got it!" exclaimed Celia, joyfully. "Now you
can pay Childs, can't you?"
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Merritt. "Childs is well enough off; and can
afford to wait for his pay, better than Celia and I can afford to wait
for shoes. Don't be so foolish as to give your money to him, Robert."
"I can wait well enough, mother," interrupted Celia; "and I am sure I
can mend yours, if you will let me try. I know Robert wants to pay this
money very much."
"Oh! Well, if you like to go barefoot, I have nothing to say against
it; only when I was a girl, I should have been ashamed to be seen with
my shoes in such a state. Children used to mind their parents then, and
have some respect for them, but that is all out of fashion now."
Robert was tempted to ask whether it had been in fashion at the
time when she married his father against the wishes, command, and
entreaties, not only of her parents, but of all her other friends.
Though quite young when it happened, he was old enough clearly to
remember the circumstance, and the talk there was about it. He
exchanged a glance with Celia, but said nothing.
Just as they were sitting down to supper, Mr. Merritt came in, rather
more sober than was usual for him on Saturday night, and in consequence
disposed to quarrel with every body and any body that came in his way.
"What's all this?" he exclaimed, as the bag of flour met his eye. "Who
has been buying all this stuff?"
"I have," returned Robert, shortly.
"The — you have! And where did you get the money, I should like to
know?"
"Earned it!" was the brief response.
"Was that all you earned?"
"No."
"Where's the rest, then?"
"It's safe, father," and the expression of the boy's face finished the
sentence—"safe where you won't get hold of it."
"What do you mean by that, you young scapegrace? What have you done
with it, hey?"
"I've a right to use my own earnings as I please, I suppose," returned
Bob; "I shan't give it to you, you may depend upon that."
"Are you not ashamed to speak so to your father, Robert?" said his
mother, taking part with her husband, as she sometimes did when she was
vexed with the elder children. "Don't you know that he has a right to
take your earnings till you are twenty-one?"
"I suppose you would like to have him take the money, and have a spree
on it, wouldn't you?" returned Bob, whose temper was now thoroughly
excited. "You would like to have him come home drunk at twelve o'clock,
and thrash you with the broom-stick, as he has done before now. He
shall not have a cent of it, nor you either," he continued, buttoning
his jacket; "and more than that, if I hear much more about it, I'll
go away where I can live in peace and comfort, and not have any one
hanging on me, and eating up every thing I can earn or steal, without
so much as saying, Thank you, at last. If it had not been for Celia, I
would have gone long ago."
Mrs. Merritt burst into tears, an exercise in which she frequently
indulged, and which had usually the effect of quieting Robert's
"tantrums," as she called his occasional fits of temper. Mr. Merritt
rose from his seat, apparently determined to obtain what he wanted by
force, but meeting Robert's determined eye, he seemed to change his
mind; he told Robert he should do what he pleased with his money, if
he would not be so saucy about it, and commanded his wife to stop her
whimpering, and sit down to supper peaceably. Thus the meal passed off
without any farther disturbance.
After supper, when Celia had washed up the dishes and put the house a
little in order, she went out to where Bob was working in his garden,
weeding and hoeing, and enjoying the luxuriance of his melon-beds and
winter-squashes. He ceased his labors as she approached, and the two
sat down on the fence together.
"Don't you give that money to father, or mother, either," said Celia,
"but keep it to pay Childs, and then you will be out of his power. I
can't think what made mother act so, only she was worried, I suppose,
and did not feel very well. It is warm weather now, and I can as well
as not go without shoes when I am about the house. Perhaps by the time
cold weather comes, I may get a place where I can earn something for
myself."
"I don't mean to give it up, I promise you," replied Robert, passing
his arm around her; "I don't much mind what mother said, because I know
she don't really mean it, only it is rather discouraging to be met in
that way when a fellow has been working hard from morning till night."
"You didn't have any dinner, did you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Vanderburgh gave me some. Oh! She is such a nice woman. I
wish you could go and live there, Sis."
"I wish I could," said Celia, sighing; "but there is no hope of my
going to live anywhere just now, I suppose. Will you go to church
to-morrow?"
"Yes, I think I must! Mr. Ellison has been so good to me, it would look
rather mean for me to stay away. I hardly look decent to go into such
a place, but I believe I will venture. Every body knows I hain't much
of a chance to dress well. But it is a real shame that you have nothing
better to wear; for you would be as pretty a girl as any in the church,
if you were only just dressed up nicely."
Celia blushed and smiled, and looked prettier than ever, at this
compliment from her brother. "I should like to have some good clothes,
that is a fact; but after all, Robert, one does not go to church to
show one's self."
"No, I suppose not; and yet after all, Sis, what 'do' people go to
church for? I know that I go because Mr. Ellison has been kind to me,
and I think it will please him, and he goes himself because that is his
business; but all the rest of the people—what takes them there?"
"I suppose because they want to hear the preaching," said Celia; "and
because they think they must. It seems to do some people a deal of
good, too. I remember when old Mrs. Miner's son died, some of the
neighbors tried to persuade her not to go to church, because she was so
feeble, but she said: 'I must go! I feel as though it would do me more
good than any thing else,' and she seemed to come home quite cheerful."
"Well, we will go to-morrow any way; and now I am for getting to bed,
for I am about tired off my feet. Good night, Sis; if it was not for
you, I should feel as though it was not worth while to live."
Robert was indeed much fatigued, and slept soundly; but about the
middle of the night, he was half aroused by an unusual noise, and
dreamed that there was some one in his room. He was finally quite
awakened by the thought that the door was being opened and shut, and
sitting up in bed, he looked around the apartment; there was no one
there—the moon was shining broadly in at the uncurtained windows, and
the house was all still. He listened a few moments, and then lay down
and went to sleep.
As Celia was getting breakfast ready next morning, Robert came running
down stairs, and flung the door open with such violence, that the whole
house shook. He was only half-dressed, and had his jacket in his hands,
and his face was as pale as ashes.
Celia dropped her knife and fork, and gazed at him in astonishment and
alarm.
"Where is father?" was his first question. "Don't stand there staring,
child, but answer—where is father?"
"He has gone out," said Celia, recovering herself; "he said he should
not wait for breakfast, but took a piece of bread, and went off. O
Bob!" she exclaimed, as a sudden thought flashed across her mind. "He
has not got your money, has he?"
"He has!" replied Bob, throwing down his jacket. "It is all gone, Sis,
every cent, except some little change that I had in my other pocket. I
thought I heard some one in the room, but I could not wake up enough to
be sure. And now it is all gone, and I shall never see it again."
He laid his head down on his folded arms, and cried bitterly, and Celia
wept with him. All his hopes—all his prospects of independence, seemed
again dashed to the earth, just as he was on the point of realizing
them. His week of faithful labor was worse than thrown away, for he
knew very well that all would go for liquor, and that his father would
never be well again so long as the money lasted. How could a boy with
such a parent be any thing else than a vagabond? The poor fellow was
completely disheartened, and felt as though he could never make another
effort.
"But you have not lost all, Bob!" said Celia at last. "There is the
money Mr. Vanderburgh owes you."
"True!" exclaimed Robert, starting up. "I never thought of that! I will
go and ask him for it this very minute."
"I wouldn't," said Celia, rather hesitatingly; "perhaps he would
not like to be asked for it on Sunday, for you know they are very
particular about such things. You can get it to-morrow just as well."
"And after all, it is only twelve shillings, and that is but half
enough. There is no use in paying him, unless I pay all." And Robert
laid his head down again.
"The long and the short of it is," said Celia, "you must just take
that money of mine, and make it up. You are going to have work enough
now, and will soon be able to give it back to me, and if not, it is no
matter. Come now, just take it, and then the affair will be settled and
off your mind."
"But it looks so mean, Celia, to take your money to pay my debts, and
to such a rascal as Childs, too. If it was only going to a decent man,
I should not care."
"That don't matter, so long as you owe it honestly," replied his
sister; "and as to it's being mean, it is no more so than for me to
live on what you earn. But you can pay it back to me, you know, if you
make such a point of it. Come now, do take it, and free yourself."
"Well, Sis, since you are so kind, I will take it, and pay you just as
soon as I get any thing. And I promise you, if ever I have the means,
you shall have the prettiest dress that can be bought for money."
"And you will go to church with me?"
After a little consideration, Robert consented, making up his mind that
he would discharge his debts the first thing on Monday morning, lest
some other accident should happen. The remembrance that all his money
was not gone, and the kindness and sympathy of his sister, comforted
him a little, but he felt deeply depressed and sick at heart. He had
naturally strong feelings and warm affections, and was inclined to
attach himself strongly to those about him. He could remember a time
when his father was not so debauched as at present—when he would have
shrunk in horror from such an action as he had just committed.
If any one else had taken the money, he would no doubt have been very
angry, and would immediately have taken steps to recover it; but here
the thief was his own father, and what could he do? He knew enough of
the law to be aware that his father had a legal right to his earnings
till he was twenty-one, and even supposing this not to be the case, how
could he go before a magistrate, and accuse his own father of robbing
him? He was now fifteen, and unless he could be in some way set free,
it would be six years before his time would be his own. Meantime, the
family would be sinking lower and lower, and he should share their
disgrace; and Celia, too—pretty and attractive as she was—he could not
bear to think of that. Whichever way he turned, the prospect seemed
dark and gloomy.
He went to church with Celia, and though he was thinking more of his
lost treasure than of the service, yet there was something in the
prayers and singing, in the subdued light and brooding quiet, which
soothed him, and prepared him to listen with more attention to the
sermon. It was a very plain one, on the text, "Come unto me, all ye
that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest;" and it spoke
of the weariness of the world and its service, and of the consolations
and refreshment to be found in Christ. Robert listened with pleasure
and interest, and though he had no very definite ideas of coming to
Christ at that time, he felt that he should like to do so some time or
other.
Mr. Ellison and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderburgh spoke kindly to him, as they
came out of church; so did Dr. Huntley and his wife; and Robert went
home feeling comforted and refreshed.