Watch--Work--Wait Part 3

Do not think his tears were puerile; his spirit was naturally strong, but he was only a child, and his bodily frame weak from want of nouris.h.i.+ng food.

Bitter was his grief; and altogether at a loss how to proceed, for a moment he was tempted to resolve never again to face his unkind guardian, and seek another home, no matter where; he believed he could not be worse off. But those early teachings drawn from the Scripture rules, which had been so prayerfully impressed upon his plastic mind in the little cottage at M----, now came back upon his heart; the remembrance of his parents came vividly before him, and he determined to act as they would have advised--namely, openly and according to the truth; he would be upright, let the consequences be to himself what they might.

Providence, however, that so kindly watches over all who put their trust in him, and suffers none to be tempted beyond what they can bear, had raised up a friend to help in this hour of need.

Attracted by the beauty of the sunset, an old gentleman of most reverential aspect was looking from the window of one of the handsomest houses in the square, but was not so lost in contemplation of the clouds that he had not observed poor William and pitied his misfortune.

"Did your father send you with these shoes, boy?" said he; "why do you cry so bitterly about the misfortune which cannot be helped?"

"Dear sir," replied William, as he raised up the ruined shoes, from which the muddy water was still dripping, "I have no father nor mother now; my master will be very angry and beat me. I am sure I could not help it;" and a fresh flood of tears proved his grief for the disaster.

"How much did he tell you to ask for the shoes?" inquired the old gentleman.

The boy named the amount, at the same time wiping the shoes with the corner of his blue blouse.

"Here, boy, give this to your master to pay him for the shoes," said the gentleman, throwing him some money from the window; "and here is a s.h.i.+lling for yourself; I think you are an honest boy, so keep that to indemnify you for your fright."

William was amazed, but before he had time to thank the kind stranger, he had turned away, and the vacated place was filled by a different-looking object. A little, mirthful-looking, fair-haired girl, about seven years old, carrying a doll nearly as large as herself in her arms, looked from the window, and seeing our poor hero, burst into a loud fit of laughter, for which he could not account.

Although anxious to know the cause, he was too bashful to ask the reason, and as she retreated almost immediately, he, after waiting a few minutes in hopes the gentleman would re-appear, was compelled to retrace the way which led to his cheerless home.

"What have you been doing, you idle scamp?" exclaimed Mr. Walters, as he entered; "have you been fighting with street-boys, or wrestling with chimney-sweeps? Look at yourself, what a figure you make with all the mud of the street on your face!" and pus.h.i.+ng him before a small looking-gla.s.s that hung in the shop, bade him account for the "condition of this beautiful visage."

The poor boy had dried his tears with the same corner of his blouse with which he had wiped the gutter-soiled shoes, and had thus transferred the black mud to his face; and as he surveyed his changed countenance in the gla.s.s, he recollected, and was at no loss to account for the little maiden's burst of laughter. Forgetting that his stern master stood beside him, and the bitter tears he had so lately shed, with that buoyancy of spirit which is the peculiar property of childhood, and surmounts all rules, he laughed aloud until recalled to his usual gravity by some blows on his shoulders from his master's heavy hand. "How dare you laugh so impertinently in my presence?" he asked, while administering the remedy of the strap, which he considered a specific for all misdemeanours; and now not only stopped the poor boy's laughing, but caused him to tremble under the undeserved punishment.

"Where is the money for the shoes?" he thundered forth, when he found time to speak.

William handed it to him, and detailed the whole circ.u.mstance, not concealing that the gentleman had given him a s.h.i.+lling for himself.

"Give it here," said Mr. Walters; "boys like you, who have everything found them, have no need of money; it only serves to lead them into mischief;" and taking up his hat, and bidding his wife have supper in half an hour, he left the shop.

"Bill Raymond, you are one of the grandest of donkey-headed fools I ever saw in my life," said Jem Taylor, as soon as they were alone, after examining that the door leading to the kitchen was shut. "Why did you give him the s.h.i.+lling, which was your own? The price of the shoes, too, you might have kept, for your honesty did not save you from a beating. Why did you say anything about it'! I would have taken the beating and kept the money."

We have mentioned how Will met and triumphed over the first temptation; and when Taylor had repeatedly afterward a.s.sailed him with like arguments, he had never wavered; and the only consequence of his advice had been to create dislike and mistrust of one who could advocate a practice so entirely at variance with the law of G.o.d. But now he listened to the tempter, and without reproof of the sin which he could not fail to recognise.

"After all," said he to himself, "Jem Taylor is right; I get beaten whether I am honest or not, and that money would have bought me many nice things. Yes, and I am so often hungry; and when I see the street boys spending pennies at the cake stalls and I have nothing, it makes me so angry; and I cannot bear this old Walters. I know I will not be so foolish another time; but I will keep at least the money which is given to myself, and take good care he shall know nothing about it."

And why was his frame of mind so changed? Why did he view the deception as less repulsive than at first? The reason is easily told: he had relaxed his watchfulness in adhering to the path of duty, and although careful still to say the prayer taught him by those whose memory was as vividly dear as ever, it was more the form of words than the heart-prompted pet.i.tion. Alas! the poisonous influence around him was beginning to tell, and he would soon throw off the only armour that could s.h.i.+eld him from the temptations of the wicked, or guard against the more insidious attacks of his own deceiving and deceitful heart. He was not more happy, although in liking Jem Taylor better he had become more, reckless, and listened to his advice more patiently than at first; and although he still prayed, "Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil," he did not take in its spiritual meaning, and forgot the Saviour's injunction to "watch" as well as "pray."

But G.o.d, who knows all man's weakness, and whose mercy exceeds even man's sin, raised up at this time a friend for the desolate boy--it seemed as though to preserve him from the peril with which he was menaced. There were but one or two of the neighbours who ever visited the Walters, for the master was too surly and the mistress too penurious to exchange hospitality with any one. The tailor, next door, could come but seldom, as he was always busy; but the watchman of that district, who lived but a few doors distant, and whose wife sold Mrs.

Walters milk, came more frequently than the tailor, and as he was a conversable man and understood politics, Walters was rather glad of his coming than otherwise. Will was generally sent for the milk, and his pale face and dejected look awakened the sympathies of this honest and G.o.d-fearing couple. They soon learned that he was an orphan, and Thomas Burton, the good watchman, having noticed the harsh treatment he received, and not at all ignorant of Jem Taylor's character, and the danger he was in of being led astray, determined to watch over him, and, if possible, prevent his being ruined. He therefore encouraged him in every way he could, and the gleams of sunlight his kindness and sympathy shed on the dark path of the orphan boy, showed that he was no stranger to that "charity" which, taught by the gospel, "never faileth," and is "kind."

After the first temptation to falsehood, William had avoided Jem Taylor as much as possible; but now, in consequence of his "consenting to be enticed to sin," he rather shunned the good Burtons, and took more pleasure in listening to the slang of the shop than in his own thoughts. He suffered his mind to dwell on the advice given him in relation to the price of the shoes and the s.h.i.+lling, and grieved over the loss of both, until he no longer considered that keeping the price of the shoes would have been a dishonest act. He began to be of Jem's opinion, that he had shown himself a blockhead, and resolved to act differently in future. "But, indeed, I would have liked to thank that good old gentleman," said he to himself; "although I was none the better for the money. It is a pity he does not know that Mr. Walters took it all; but I will try not to think any more about it. I know now what I will do," he cried, as a sudden thought struck him; "that little girl with the large doll must be his daughter, so I will make a pair of little shoes for the waxen lady."

William carried his purpose into execution. In the evening, when the working hours were over, he gathered up some sc.r.a.ps of red morocco which had been thrown aside as useless, and carried them up to the attic where he slept, so that as soon as daylight appeared he might begin his work. This he did, and had cut out and nearly half made a pair of doll's boots before the usual time of going to work. He could not, however, find any red ribbon with which to bind and tie them; some bits of blue were lying about, and as he had not a penny to purchase that which was suitable, he was obliged to use it. The next morning saw them finished, and wrapping them up in a small packet, he put it in his pocket, and went to his work quite happy that he had been able to accomplish his task without the knowledge of his master.

The new satin shoes, made in place of those which had fallen into the gutter, were finished and brought in by evening, and although it was almost sundown, and the walk a long one, William was only too happy to be charged with their delivery. He set forth cheerily, and as he approached the house from whence the money had been thrown him, his heart beat joyfully--yes, that was the very window where the kind old gentleman stood; and, a better sight than that, the outer door stood open. It was but the work of a moment to seat himself on the broad marble steps and write on his packet, with a bit of lead pencil, "The shoemaker's boy returns thanks for the kindness of the other day," and placed it in a corner of the vestibule, where it could not fail to be noticed.

This done, he set off at his usual rate of speed, and without once looking round to see if he had been observed, he hurried on to the dwelling of the lady for whom the shoes were made. She was much pleased with them, paid the price, sent a new order to Mr. Walters, and gave him a sixpence for himself. William, altogether rejoiced at receiving the gift, trifling as it was, resolved in this case to do as Jem Taylor advised; he would _not_ give it to Mr. Walters; and if he asked anything about it, he would _say_ he had received nothing. "No, I will spend it before I get home," he said half aloud, and took the direction which led to a baker's shop, where he would buy and feast upon rolls.

But something more attractive in the shape of a picture shop came before him; rolls and gingerbread were forgotten in the delight he experienced in feasting his eyes on some paintings in the window. "I really will try to draw that old man and his dog," said he to himself; "but then I have no paper; ah yes, the sixpence the lady gave me!" and with the welcome recollection he turned away from the tempting sight, purchased some paper and ran home, which he reached in good time.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TEMPTER TRIUMPHS.

"Did the lady give you nothing more?" inquired Mr. Walters, as William handed him the money for the shoes and mentioned the new order. He had been pleased with the boy's ingenuous honesty shown a day or two before, and was now in a more sunny humour than usual. The old watchman, too, had come in for a half-hour's chat, and was sitting in the back shop, from whence Mr. Walters had come. "What did she give you?" he repeated, as he saw the boy hesitate.

William blushed, stammered something inaudible, and looked at Jem Taylor, who, as master's back was turned so that he could not see him, made signs to our hero to conceal the truth. "I am sure she gave you something," cried the master, now growing angry; "tell me the truth this moment."

The poor boy now recollected that he had spent part of it, and was more embarra.s.sed than at first; the nods, winks, and smiles of the vicious journeyman were aiding in the struggle to conquer the boy's virtue, and at last triumphed. The anger of Mr. Walters was now fully aroused. He seized his young apprentice by the shoulder, and in a voice of thunder repeated the question; to which, pale and trembling, more from the terrible conflict within than dread of the uplifted arm of his cruel master, he answered, "_I did not get any money!_"

Dear young reader, the first step on the downward road is the only one that costs, the rest are easy; and our poor hero, the child of Christian parents, the subject of many prayers, had listened to the voice of the charmer, and now he stood on the verge of the dangerous boundary line. Was he to fall, or would G.o.d, whom he had been taught to love and honour, s.h.i.+eld him in his perilous situation? Ah yes; for is there not One who, loving the wretched and suffering children of the earth--One who, touched with the feeling of man's infirmities, took on himself the likeness of sinful flesh, and dwelt among them, administering mercy to all? Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful High Priest, to make reconciliation for the sins of the people. For being in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin, he himself having suffered, he is able to succour them that are tempted.

And there were purposes of mercy in store for the orphan boy, when the chastis.e.m.e.nts with which G.o.d sees good to inflict on the children of his love should have pa.s.sed away. This trial of his power to resist temptation was _permitted_, in order to show him that a better strength than his own was necessary, and that it is only through the divine Helper that any can be delivered from the power of the great enemy "who goeth about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour."

Mr. Walters at once recognised the falsehood our poor hero was tempted to tell; and although he was in the habit of beating him for almost every offence, the chastis.e.m.e.nt on this occasion exceeded any that had gone before. Severe indeed were the blows rained down on his back and shoulders; less, indeed, intended as a punishment for the falsehood, than a pouring out of his own wrathful spirit on the child, who for the first time had manifested a spirit of opposition to his will.

Poor boy, every bone in his body ached; but what was that in comparison with the anguish of soul he endured? Conscience, that sure monitor, proclaimed with its still small voice, "Thou hast sinned against G.o.d;" and he longed for the hour when he could be alone, and, like erring Peter, "weep bitterly."

It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and work was left off at an earlier hour than usual. And well was it for our hero that Jem Taylor was too much bent on the pursuance of his own low pleasures to remain a moment after the signal was given to cease work. Perhaps more poison would have been instilled into the soul which had been found vulnerable; perhaps such a line of proceeding prompted as would have proved, if not ultimately successful, at least productive of much suffering; for the blessed Scriptures tell us that "transgression shall be visited with the rod, and iniquity with stripes."

He was sitting alone in a corner of the shop when the shrill voice of Mrs. Walters was heard calling him to "go to Burton's for milk." He obeyed, and wiping his streaming eyes, with an attempt to look cheerful, he entered the neat little room, where he found his friend Thomas, who had left the scene of strife un.o.bserved.

"Sit down, Will," said he, in a kindly tone, that, going straight to the boy's heart, once more unlocked the fountain of his tears; "the old woman is taking her bread out of the oven, but she will be here in a moment."

"I dare not stay," replied the boy; "I must go home and come back rather than wait. Mrs. Walters always scolds if I stay."

"I will go with you and carry your excuse," rejoined Thomas; "but there is one thing about which I have long wanted to ask you. I never see you dressed clean on Sunday, or going to church. Have you never been accustomed to hear the word of G.o.d preached on the Sabbath, or attended a Sunday school? It is no wonder that falsehood dwells in the hearts of those who do not honour the ordinances of G.o.d; or that lies are spoken by such as do not know that 'He who is the Truth abhors the lying lips.'"

The tears of the orphan boy now flowed freely, and a deep blush mounted to his temples. "O Mr. Burton," he sobbed, "how gladly would I go to church and Sabbath school, as I did when my parents were living; but I fear I am growing wicked, for at times I have bad feelings, and to-day I told"--he could not bring himself to say a lie--"what was not true."

"I know you did," said Thomas; "I was in the back shop and saw you punished. G.o.d grant you may never need another chastis.e.m.e.nt for the same cause. But here is the old woman, and although I would like to talk to you a little, I must not suffer you to do wrong by staying a moment longer than necessary. How would you like to go to church with me to-morrow afternoon?"

"If I only could," replied William, "I would be glad; but I have a great deal to do on Sunday, and I am afraid Mrs. Walters will not like to spare me."

"I will ask her, and I am sure I shall not be refused," said Thomas; "but here is your milk--come, I am going with you."

Mrs. Walters, either being in a better humour than usual, or wis.h.i.+ng to appear amiable to her respectable neighbour, not only took no notice of William's rather long stay, but consented he should spend Sunday evening with the watchman.

Great lightness of heart would have been his in consequence of this consent, had not his spirit been weighed down with the burden of his sin. He felt how blunt are all the arrows of adversity in comparison with those of guilt; and how insignificant are all the trials imposed by cruel men, contrasted with the pain of soul caused by the sense of having displeased G.o.d.

Twilight came on, and with it he sought the quiet of his comfortless attic. Its rude walls and squalid furniture were, however, not now noticed; its privacy and seclusion were all that his soul desired. He threw himself on the pallet which served him for a bed, and wept bitterly as he thought of his parents, who had taken so much pains to teach him to abhor a lie, and recalled the words of his mother, who constantly admonished him how much better it was to suffer wrongfully than do wrong; and bitter was his self-reproach, that for the sake of a paltry sixpence he had told a lie, and in doing so sinned against the G.o.d of truth, whose word declares that "lying lips are an abomination to the Lord."

Oh, how guilty he felt! how humbled in his own estimation! and with deep and bitter repentance he bewailed his error, and entreated pardon from Him who for Christ's sake will always hear the penitent when they pray, and help them in their time of trial. "My heavenly Father," was the language of his anguished heart, "I have sinned, and am most unhappy; save me from temptation, or give me strength to resist when it comes."