Her Benny: A Story of Street Life

by Silas K. Hocking

  CHAPTER XXII.

  Recognition.

  "That strain again; it had a dying fall: Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour."--_Tempest_.

  When our hero reached the bridge that spanned the narrow dell, he pausedfor a moment and looked over the low parapet at the deep gully that hadbeen worn away by the action of the water, and shuddered as he thoughtof what would have happened had he failed to grasp the bridle-rein. "Iexpect this breakneck place will be remedied now," he said, "that acouple of lives have come near being lost over it. If the horse hadnot been stopped there could not have been the least possible chance oftheir escape. Well, well, I'm thankful the affair ended in nothing worsethan a broken arm."

  Passing through the lodge gates, he wended his way slowly along thecarriage drive towards the house. High above his head the leafy canopyswayed gently in the summer breeze, making pleasant music, and hereand there an industrious bee droned dreamily on leaf and flower. Fromdistant fields the sheep-bells jingled gently, and mingled with thewhistling of a plough-boy riding home his tired team, while from aneighbouring farmyard the patient cows lowed lazily while waiting to bemilked.

  When Benny reached the door of the Munroe mansion, he felt stronglytempted to turn and go back again; but concluding that such an actionwould be exceedingly foolish, he seized the bell-handle, gave it avigorous pull, and waited.

  "Is Mr. Munroe at home?" he inquired of the servant who opened the door.

  "Yes; but he's engaged at present. Will you give me your name?"

  "Bates. But never mind, you need not disturb him; another time will doas well."

  "I think the master has been expecting you to call," with a glance atBenny's arm.

  "Very likely. I said I would call some afternoon."

  "I'm sure he will see you, then. Come this way, please, into thelibrary."

  Benny followed without a word, and soon found himself surrounded onevery side with books.

  "Oh, my!" he said, "I think I should enjoy spending a fortnight here.I wonder how long it would take me to read all these books, and howmuch longer to understand them? Ay, that's the rub--understanding andremembering what one does read."

  Then he ran his eye along shelf after shelf, reading only the titles.

  "I expect I should feel like a boy in a sweet-shop, not knowing whichbottle to start with. Ah, Wordsworth!" as his eye caught the name. "I'veheard of him. I wonder what the inside is like?"

  He must have found something very interesting, for when Mr. Munroe cameinto the room half an hour later, Benny did not notice his entrance.Mr. Munroe watched him with an amused smile on his face for about fiveminutes, then said,

  "I'm glad you've found something to take your fancy, Mr. Bates."

  Benny started, and blushed to the roots of his hair. In the first placehe thought he was alone, and in the second place it was the first timethat he had ever been addressed as "mister."

  "I beg pardon," he stammered out at length. "I did not know you were inthe room."

  "Don't mention it. I'm glad to see that you are fond of books; and I'mglad to see you here."

  Benny blushed again, but did not reply.

  "I was afraid you were not coming," went on Mr. Munroe; "but how is yourarm?"

  "Getting on nicely, thank you; the doctor says it will soon be as rightas ever."

  "I'm glad to hear it. It's a mercy we were not every one of us killed;but I'm having a new bridge built. I've been _going_ to have it done forthe last ten years, but kept putting it off; however, they are going tostart with the job next week."

  "I'm very glad to hear it," said Benny. "It's not safe as it is atpresent."

  "No, no; you're quite right there."

  Then there was an awkward pause, and Benny began to feel uncomfortable.Mr. Munroe was the first to speak.

  "I wanted to see you here," he said, "to have a little conversation withyou about--about--yourself," bringing out the last word with a jerk.

  Benny did not know what reply to make to this, so he said nothing.

  "I understand you have not always lived in the country?" questioned Mr.Munroe.

  "No, sir; I lived in Liverpool till I was twelve or thirteen years ofage."

  "And how do you like farming?"

  "Very well, I think; but, really, I've scarcely thought about it."

  "You are not uncomfortable, then?"

  "Oh, no! far from it. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher took me in when I washouseless, homeless, friendless, and all but dead, and ever since havetreated me with the utmost kindness. I have a better home now than Iever had before in my life, and as for the work I do, I feel that it'sbut poor compensation for the kindness bestowed upon me."

  "You have no wish, then, to be anything different to what you are?"

  "I did not say so, sir; but as I have no expectation of being other thanwhat I am, I try to be content."

  "Ah, just so; and yet I am told you have paid considerable attention tointellectual pursuits."

  "I have tried to make the most of my opportunities for acquiringknowledge. I'm fond of books--very; and knowledge I love for its ownsake."

  "Well spoken, Mr. Bates. I like to hear a young man talk in that way.You are a good penman, Mr. Jones tells me."

  "He has paid me that compliment before, but I am scarcely a judge."

  "You understand bookkeeping?"

  "A little."

  "Double entry?"

  "Yes."

  "Quick at accounts?"

  "I should think not. I have scarcely had sufficient practice."

  "I suppose if you stay on the farm there is no prospect of your risingto anything higher than a day labourer?"

  "Not much, I fear."

  "Well, now, Mr. Bates, I may as well out with it first as last. I amvery much pleased with you; I am, indeed. I cannot forget that you savedmy life, and the life of my niece; and I am anxious to help you tosomething better than being a farm labourer if you will let me. Almostany one can do farm work, and I think you are deserving of somethingbetter, because you have educated yourself for it. Now, I shall beglad to take you into my city office, and give you a start in life. Icommenced as a clerk at the desk, and what I have accomplished there isno reason why you may not. What do you say, now?"

  "I hardly know what to say," said Benny. "I am very much obliged to youfor your kind offer, but I would like to talk with Mr. and Mrs. Fisherabout the matter before I come to a decision."

  "You are quite right, Mr. Bates. Let me know this day week; and now letus go into the drawing-room and see the ladies."

  Benny followed Mr. Munroe like one in a dream up a broad flight ofstairs, and into a large and luxuriantly furnished room. Then commencedthe introduction which he had so much dreaded. He bowed to each one inturn, Mr. Munroe mentioning the name of each person; but Benny neverheard a word he said, and was never quite certain whether he was bowingto a lady or gentleman. It was over, however, at length, and he sat downwith a feeling of infinite relief, and took up a volume of Milton thatwas lying on a table near him. Then Miss Munroe came forward with thequestion--

  "Are you fond of poetry, Mr. Bates?"

  "Yes, very."

  "You know Wordsworth, of course?"

  "No. I ought to be ashamed to say so, but I do not."

  And then followed a conversation about poets and authors of variouskinds, and Benny soon forgot his shyness, and chatted away with as muchfreedom as if he had been at Scout Farm.

  By-and-bye Eva Lawrence came forward shyly, and with a soft blushtinging neck and face; and Miss Munroe rose and left her and Bennytogether. It was growing dusk by this time, and she sat with her back tothe light, so that Benny could scarcely see her face.

  "I am very grateful to you, Mr. Bates," she began in a low voice, "foryour bravery in stopping our horse the other night."

  Benny started, for something in the voice reminded him again of otherdays, and he did not reply for a moment; and Eva went on--


  "Uncle tells me that if you had not stopped the horse, nothing couldhave saved us;" and she shuddered slightly.

  "I am very thankful, indeed, that I have been permitted to be of serviceto you," began Benny.

  Then Mrs. Munroe came forward, and the conversation drifted off intomatters in general, for which he was very thankful, and ended in Evabeing requested to sing.

  "What are your favourite songs?" asked Mrs. Munroe.

  "Well, I hardly know," said Benny, blushing. "I know so very few; butthe simpler they are the better they please me, as a rule."

  "Could you mention one or two?"

  "Yes; there is one called 'Love at Home,' which I like very much."

  "Oh, that's one of your old songs, dear," said Mrs. Munroe, turning toEva. "You remember it, don't you?"

  "Yes, quite well; but I don't care to sing it, aunt, unless Mr. Batesvery much wishes to hear it."

  "I should like to hear it again very much," said Benny; "but don't singit if you would rather not."

  "I will do my best, anyhow;" and she got up and went to the piano.

  "Ring for lights, dear," said Mrs. Munroe, addressing her daughter; "itis getting quite dark."

  "No, no, aunt, please," said Eva; "I know it quite well without themusic, and I think the gloaming is the nicest part of the day;" and shesat down and began to play over the air; then there was a long pause,for Eva's thoughts had wandered away elsewhere.

  "We are all attention, dear," said Mrs. Munroe.

  "Excuse me," said Eva; "but I was thinking of something else. I willtell you all about it directly, if you care to hear."

  Then, clear and sweet, rang out the words,

  "There is beauty all around, When there's love at home."

  And Benny felt thankful that the lights had not been brought, for in thegloom he could hide his emotion. When the song was finished, Eva swungherself round on the music-stool, and said,

  "You will think me very silly, I have no doubt, but I never sing thatold song without thinking of what happened years ago."

  "Dear me, how old you talk!" laughed her cousin.

  "Well, Dot, I _am_ getting old; but never mind, I was only a little girlthen. Pa and I were returning from Chester, and when we landed from therailway-boat, a pale hungry-looking lad came up to pa and asked him tocarry his bag. Well, pa had been delayed, and consequently he was in ahurry, so he said 'No' to the boy in a stern voice, and pushed roughlypast, and I saw the boy turn away and begin to cry; so scarcely thinkingwhat I was doing, I went to the boy and asked him why he cried, and hesaid he was hungry and cold, that he had no father or mother, and thathe had just buried his little sister, and nobody would employ him; so Igave him a new shilling that pa had given me, and asked him if he wasgenerally on the landing-stage.

  "'Yes,' he said; and his face brightened wonderfully at the sight of theshilling, and an honest-looking face it was too; 'I'm mostly hereabouts.'

  "Well," continued Eva, after a pause, "I thought no more about the ladfor several days, when one afternoon I was in the dining-room alone, andI began to play and sing 'Love at Home.' When I had finished, I rose toclose the window, and there just outside was the very boy I had giventhe shilling to, his eyes full of tears; but when he saw he was noticedhe shrank away, as if ashamed he had been caught listening."

  "And so you conceived a romantic attachment to the lad?" chimed in Mr.Munroe.

  "Of course I did, uncle; but to be serious. Teacher had been telling usthat we ought to be little missionaries, etc, and I thought this was alikely case to experiment on. So I got pa interested, and in the end theboy was taken into his office, and a better boy pa said he never had. Hewas honest, truthful, industrious, and seemed very anxious to learn."

  Then there was another pause, and if Benny ever felt thankful for thedarkness, he did then. It was all clear to him now. This, then, was hislittle angel, grown into a grand lady! and yet she had not forgotten thepoor street boy. He would like to have spoken, and put an end to furtherrevelations, but he dared not trust himself to speak. Then Eva went onagain:

  "I am come to the most painful part of the story. This boy had been withpa six months, when one Saturday afternoon he left him in charge ofthe office, but he had scarcely got a hundred yards from the door whenhe remembered that he had left a bank note on his desk, and instantlyturned back for it. Well, when he got into the office the note wasgone. Nobody had been in the office but the boy, and yet he denied everhaving seen it. Well, pa was quite in a way. He searched everywhere,but it was not to be found. So the boy was apprehended on suspicion,and taken to the police-station. I was in a great way too, for it wasthrough me that pa had employed the boy; still, I could not believethat he was dishonest. At the trial he was given the benefit of thedoubt and dismissed, and has never been seen or heard of since. But thestrangest part of all is, about a month later pa wanted to look at theDirectory--a book he does not use very often--and the first thing onwhich his eye fell as he opened the book was the missing bank-note. He_was_ in a way when he came home, and we chatted about nothing else allthe evening, for he remembered then very distinctly how he had laid thenote on the open book, and before he went out had shut it up quickly,and placed it on the shelf. What troubled pa so much was, the boy hadbeen robbed of his character, for the magistrates had little doubt ofhis guilt, though there was no positive evidence; and when a lad'scharacter is gone his fortune is gone. All inquiries concerning him havebeen fruitless. And pa says sometimes that he feels occasionally as ifhe had driven the poor boy to destruction. So you see whenever I singthat song it always brings back to my mind this painful story."

  After the story was ended there was silence for a few moments. Bennywould liked to have spoken, but his heart was too full--to think thatthe shadow was lifted from his life at last! He wished he could havebeen alone for a few moments, that he might out of the fulness of hisheart have thanked God.

  "What a pity," said Mrs. Munroe at length, "that the boy could not befound."

  Then Benny got up, and said in a voice tremulous with emotion, "I mustgo now, please; but before I go I would like to say that I am the lostboy."

  "You!" they all said in chorus.

  "Yes. I cannot say more now." And he sat down again, and hid his face inhis hands.

  "How strange!" said Eva; "but I see it all now. I could not think whoyou reminded me of; but you have strangely altered."

  "Yes, I suppose I have," he said huskily; "and yet, perhaps, not morethan you have."

  "How thankful pa will be!" she said, not heeding his last remark. "Iwill write and tell him to-morrow."

  "Well," said Mr. Munroe, speaking at length, "if this is not thestrangest ending to a story that I ever came across!"

  "It's as good as a novel," said Miss Munroe. "I declare it would make acapital tale."

  "And your father is satisfied that I am honest now?" said Benny, goingtowards Eva.

  "Yes; but I don't think that he ever really believed you were dishonest."

  "And you never doubted my honesty?"

  "No, never."

  That was all that passed between them.

  When he had gone Mr. Munroe remarked, "A wonderful young man that; Inever in my life met with a more remarkable case. How the young fellowhas managed to bear up and fight the world as he has is beyond mycomprehension."

  "And he has the bearing of a gentleman too," remarked Miss Munroe. "Iexpected we were going to be highly amused at his behaviour and hisdialect, and so on; but really he speaks quite correctly."

  "He always was a well-behaved boy," remarked Eva; "and during the timehe was in pa's office he told one of the clerks that he was very anxiousto speak correctly."

  "He must have worked very hard, however," said Mr. Munroe; "and a ladwith such application, pluck, and determination is sure to get on. Iconfess I shall watch his future career with great interest."

  "But what surprises me most," said Mrs. Munroe, "is the sterling honestythat seems always to have characterized him. As a rule, thos
e streetArabs have the crudest notions of right and wrong."

  "He told me once," said Eva, "that he could just remember his mother,who told him to be honest, and truthful, and good; but his little sisterNelly, who died just before I met him, seems to have been his safeguard,and but for her he said he felt certain he should have been a thief."

  Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was making his way along thesilent lanes that lay between Brooklands and Scout Farm like one in adream. Could it be really true, he mused, that he had seen his angelface to face, that he had listened again while she sang "Love at Home,"and that he had heard from her own lips how the lost bank-note had beenfound, and how that now no stain rested upon his name? What a wonderfulday it had been! Could it be possible that his long-buried hopes mightbe realized at last?

  In a lonely part of the road he paused and listened, but no sound brokethe stillness. Above him twinkled the silent stars; around him allnature lay hushed and still.

  "God is here," he said; and lifting up his face to the sky, and claspinghis hands together, he poured out his heart in thanksgiving.

  "O God!" he said, "I thank Thee for all things; for the sorrow, andpain, and loss, for the darkness through which I have wandered, andfor the burdens I have had to bear. Thou hast never forsaken me. Thouhast always been good. I thank Thee for bringing me here, and for thediscipline of toil. And now that Thou hast lifted off the cloud that solong has darkened my life, help me to praise Thee, and love Thee moreand more. I want to be good, and noble, and true. Help me, O Father, forThy mercy's sake."

  Benny slept but little that night. In the long silent hours he lived allhis life over again, and wondered at the mercy of God.