THE LIAR REFORMED.
"WHY don't Henry come down to his breakfast?" asked Mr. Drake, in a
petulant tone.
"I'll call him now," answered the mother, with a sigh, starting for
Henry's chamber.
She saw her brother-in-law coming toward the house, and trembled with
fear of her husband's anger.
"You have some excellent lumber out before the shop," remarked Mr.
Monroe, coming in and taking his seat.
"I had to give a good deal more for it than it's worth," grumbled
the carpenter; "my wheel broke down, too, and I never got home till
midnight."
"I'm sorry; but it's most time I was at the factory, and I have
something to say to you."
At first Mr. Drake went on eating, as if nothing his brother could say
would be worse than his last night's misfortunes. But presently he
dropped his knife and fork, his face growing whiter and whiter with
rage.
All this time Mrs. Drake had not come down from Henry's chamber, which
she had found empty.
Now her husband rose, and going to the foot of the stairs called out,—
"Mary Anne, come down. I want you quick; and if Henry knows what is
good for himself, he'll be here in no time."
"Wife," said he, when she came in, looking haggard and frightened at
her son's disappearance; "Monroe says you knew all the time that Henry
stole the keys from my pocket; that you heard him at it. Is that true?"
"I didn't know what he was going to do with the keys," she said,
apologizing.
"And Jane heard Ernest plead with the young scamp, to confess it to
me; and he refused because, as he said, I'd half kill him. I was the
only one to be deceived,—I, the father of the boy. Well, you'll all see
that I am not a man to cover up my child's fault. I'll give Henry the
cowhide till he repents of that job."
"Stop," exclaimed Mr. Monroe. "You must know the whole. Lying, as I
always said, hardens the heart more than anything else. Henry felt
so pleased at not being found out in that thing, that he stole his
teacher's knife from her desk, and then, before the whole school,
while Ernest was crying for his cousin's fault, he pointed at him as
the guilty one. Miss Fosdick heard Henry whisper a threat,—if he dared
tell of him, he'd cut him worse than before. There's a boy who must be
stopped short in his career, or he will come to an untimely end."
"Henry," called out Mr. Drake, angrily. "Wife, if you're keeping the
boy back, it will be the worse for him and for you, too. Tell him to
come here this instant."
"I don't know where he is, John. I've been to his room, and he isn't
there; and I wont deceive you any more. He's taken all the money out of
your pocket-book; I found it empty on the table." And, wholly overcome
with her emotions, she fell into a chair, covering her face with her
hands.
There was a flash in the father's eye and a paleness about his mouth,
as he strode toward the barn to harness his horse, which alarmed Mr.
Monroe.
"Brother John," he said, "from the bottom of my heart I pity you. But
don't be hasty; don't do anything in your anger that you will be sorry
for. Kindness will do more for Henry than anything else. Ask yourself,
'Have I done my duty by my child? Have I taught him as I should?'"
The harness dropped from Mr. Drake's hand, the hardness faded out of
the father's face, and, turning to his brother, he said, in a subdued
tone,—
"Monroe, you've a right to upbraid me for my harsh talk about Ernest.
Why don't you do it? Well, if it's no time now for reproach, when my
heart is breaking, I'll take your advice about the boy. Shall I go or
stay?"
"Stay, and let him come home. There is no danger of his going far."
Two, three days passed, days of agony to the mother, and of remorse to
both. Mr. Drake almost regretted having taken Mr. Monroe's advice, and
determined, if nothing was heard from the boy the next day, to start
off in search of him.
Late that night, the mother was awakened by a noise under her window.
She threw up the sash, when Henry's voice pleaded,—
"O mother! Do let me in. I'm sick and so hungry."
"Lie down, wife; it is better that I should go to him."
[Illustration: "COME IN, MY POOR BOY."]
Henry shrank back when he saw his father.
"Come in, my poor boy," said the man, putting out his hand, "come in."
He led the wondering child to the stove, where he soon kindled a fire,
then went to the closet and brought out the best food it contained.
Henry ate a little and began to cry.
"I'm sorry, father. I'll take the greatest whipping you'll give me, if
you'll only let me come home. I stole your keys, and your money, too,
and I broke teacher's knife."
"I know it all, my son," said the father. "When I first heard it, I
should have whipped you till one of us dropped. I'm glad you was not
here. I've forgiven you now, and so has your mother, and poor, abused
Ernest. All we want is that you'll begin from this time to be an
obedient, truthful boy; and I'll try, with God's help, to be a better
father to you than I have ever been before. Now go in and kiss your
dear mother, and hurry off to bed."
"Oh, what a load is lifted off my mind!" exclaimed Mr. Drake, when
Henry had gone to his chamber. "He's come to his senses, for he
confessed right off, and it seems that I have just come to mine."