Her Benny: A Story of Street Life

by Silas K. Hocking

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  The Question Settled.

  Life's withered leaves grow green again and fresh with childhood's spring. As I am welcomed back once more within its rainbow ring; The past, with all its gathered charms, beckons me back in joy, And loving hearts and open arms re-clasp me as a boy. --Massey.

  Next morning Benny was unusually quiet, so much so that Mrs. Fisherthought he was not well; but he insisted that nothing was the matterwith him, and she did not like to question him further. But when Mr.Fisher came in to breakfast he began to rally Benny at once, and to askhim how he got on with the grand folks on the previous evening.

  "Very well, I think," Benny answered, simply; "they all seemed verygrateful for the little service I had been able to render them."

  "And did you find the ladies lions, Benny?" inquired Mrs. Fisher.

  "Indeed no," said Benny, colouring; "they all of them made me think moreof angels than of lions."

  "Indeed?" said Mrs. Fisher, in a questioning tone.

  "Yes, they treated me with the utmost kindness, every one of them; but,now I think of it, the ladies always have done so," said Benny, with alaugh.

  "I should think so," interposed Mr. Fisher; "but Mr. Munroe spoke to meabout helping you in some way: did he say anything to you about it?"

  "Yes; that was what he wanted to see me at his house for principally."

  "Well, lad, out with it: did he make you an offer of some sort?"

  "Yes, he made me a very kind offer indeed."

  "Well, Ben, what was it like? You are precious slow this morning."

  "Am I?"

  "You are, indeed. He hasn't proposed suicide to you, has he?"

  "Not quite. But I had better tell you all that passed between us."

  "Of course you accepted his offer?" said Mr Fisher, when he had done.

  "No, I did not."

  "You didn't?"

  "No; I said I would like to talk to you about it before coming to adecision."

  "You needn't fear, lad," said Mr. Fisher, with a little shake in hisvoice, "that I will put a straw in your way. I shall be very sorry tolose you, I confess, for you have been a great help to me, especially asneither Harry nor George would take to farming, and I know you have beena great comfort to the missus."

  "That he has," said Mrs. Fisher, as if speaking to herself.

  "But," continued Mr. Fisher, without heeding his wife's remark, "I havethought for some time past that you might do better for yourself thanslaving on a farm all the days of your life; and now that you've gotthe chance of bettering your condition, my advice is, accept it by allmeans, and think yourself a lucky dog for getting such an offer."

  "Oh, yes, Benny," said Mrs. Fisher, "I think you had better accept Mr.Munroe's offer: such a chance does not often come twice in a lifetime;and besides, you can still make this your home--that is, you will beable to come on a Saturday night and stay until Monday morning."

  "Of course you will, Ben; I never thought of that," said Mr. Fisher. "Ibelieve you have got into luck's way at last."

  "But I have something more to tell you yet," said Benny, looking up witha smile.

  "More in the way of good luck?" said Mr. Fisher.

  "Well, I don't think the word luck will apply exactly, and yet what Ihave to tell you is to me very good news indeed."

  "Well, lad, out with it: you are beating about the bush in tremendousstyle this morning, and no mistake."

  "Oh, you are so impatient!" laughed Benny; "and I declare you look agreat deal more curious than Mrs. Fisher does."

  "Well, and what has that to do with it, you tantalizing young vagabond?"

  "Oh, a great deal!" said Benny, laughing: "you always profess thatcuriosity is a feminine weakness which you are a stranger to, and yethere you are as curious and impatient as a schoolgirl!" and Bennylaughed again.

  "Well, Ben," laughed Mr. Fisher, "you have me this time, I'll admit. Iam a bit curious; there's no denying it; so let us know what this pieceof good news is."

  "You have heard me speak," said Benny, "of the little girl that gave memy lucky shilling years ago?"

  "The angel, you mean, Benny," said Mrs. Fisher, with a smile.

  "Yes, that's who I mean," said Benny, blushing; "and I am not quitecertain that she is not an angel yet."

  "Well, and what of her?" said Mr. Fisher.

  "I daresay you will think it a strange story, but it seems she is aniece of Mr. Munroe, and is staying at present at Brooklands. She waswith Mr. Munroe the night the horse took fright, and so without knowingit I saved the life of the little girl that befriended me in the hour ofmy greatest need. A little girl no longer, however, for she has growninto a grand lady, and yet she seems as good and kind as ever."

  "Well, I never!" said Mr. Fisher.

  "And you recognized each other at once?" inquired his wife.

  "No, that we didn't: she has grown out of recollection quite; and Isuppose I have also."

  "Well, I should rather think you have," said Mr. Fisher, with a broadgrin; "you were a scarecrow when you found your way here, and nomistake."

  "But how did you find out who she was?" said Mrs. Fisher.

  "By the merest accident. But you would never guess, so I will tell youall about it." And he detailed the circumstances with which the readeris familiar.

  "Well, if I ever!" grunted Mr. Fisher.

  "I'm so thankful, Benny," Mrs. Fisher remarked; "though the finding ofthe note can make no difference in our regard for you, for we neverdoubted your honesty for a moment."

  "Thank you, mammy;" and he looked fondly up into the face of the goodwoman who for so many years had been as a mother to him.

  After breakfast Benny took a book and went out into the fields toread, but somehow to-day the letters got hopelessly mixed, and all thelines seemed to run into one. He did his best to fix his mind upon thesubject of the book, but in vain: before he had read a dozen words theletters would fade away, and his thoughts would be somewhere else; andnot only his thoughts, but his eyes kept wandering in the direction ofBrooklands, and he found himself weaving all kinds of fancies. But inevery pattern stood out the face of one he had never forgotten eitherin joy or pain. How grandly life was opening out before him again!The mountain heights that had been so long in darkness were once morebathed in light. The wilderness surely lay all behind him now. Ah! hehad thought so once before, and had found out that he had only justcommenced the journey across the dreary waste. Was it to be so again?Would this glorious morning close in darkness? Were hopes alwaysdelusive, and but the prelude of despair? He knew not; and yet he hadno fear. "The Lord," he said, "has always provided for me; I believe Healways will."

  Then a lark rose up from its lowly nest near him, and went singingupward through the sky, and as he listened to the full rich songthat floated down to him, he seemed to hear in it the promise of anever-faithful Friend--"And not one of them falls to the ground withoutthe notice of His eye.... Are ye not much better than they?"

  Towards the close of the afternoon Benny found himself in the lane thatled down to the bridge that crossed the dell. He had no particularobject in view, only he loved a quiet stroll through the country lanesin the quiet of the day, and he was useless on the farm till his armgot better. Below in the valley the river rippled pleasantly over itsstony bed. To Benny's ears it sounded like a song, while his own fancysupplied the words--

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

  On turning the sharp corner of which we have already spoken, he camesuddenly face to face with Eva Lawrence. Benny blushed scarlet; but Evaheld out her hand in a simple childish manner, and said frankly,

  "I am pleased to see you----" (she was about to say "Benny," but checkedherself), and added, "I hope your arm is still improving."

  "Yes, thank you; it will soon be as well as ever."

  "I am very glad; but how strange, isn't it, that I should have found youagain?"

  "Yes, very; but
my life has been a strange one altogether."

  "I suppose so. Do you remember telling me all about your life up to thetime I first saw you on the landing-stage?"

  "Yes, I remember. Do you remember giving me the shilling? Of course youdo, for you mentioned it last night, but I wanted to tell you I havethat shilling yet."

  And Benny took the shilling out of his purse and handed it to her.

  "How funny!" said she, taking the coin in her hand; "and is this thevery same?"

  "Yes; I have never had the heart to part with it, somehow, though I'vewanted bread since you gave it to me. I call it my lucky shilling."

  "How strange!" she said, more to herself than to him. "Then you havenever forgotten us?"

  "Forgotten you!" said Benny, "I should----" Then he checked himself,and added, after a pause, "No, I could not easily forget those who havebefriended me."

  By this time they had reached the bridge, and Eva sat down on the lowparapet, and Benny took a seat opposite her. For a while neither spoke,then Eva looked up and said,

  "Would you mind telling me about yourself since that dreadful eveningyou had to leave pa's office?"

  "If you care to hear it, though I fear it would be a very uninterestingstory."

  "I should like to hear it very much, for I have often wondered whatcould have become of you."

  "I should not have kept silence all these years if I had thought any onecared to know what had become of me, but I supposed that I should bestplease those who had known me by keeping out of their sight."

  "You were mistaken in that, I am sure; but never mind now, I am allcuriosity to hear your story."

  Benny could not resist this request, so he gave her an outline of whatwe have given in greater detail, making as little as possible, however,of his sufferings and privations, and dwelling at length, and with muchfeeling, on the kindness of his friends at the farm. Of his inner lifehe said nothing. His religious experience seemed too deep for words, toosacred for parade, and he had not framed an experience yet to use onpublic occasions, and he preferred also that his actions, rather thanhis words, should reveal his religious life.

  Eva listened with great attention, and her quick imagination suppliedwhat she felt he had left out. For awhile there was silence afterBenny had told his story, save for the clear river that babbled downunderneath the bridge, for both were thinking of the old days that hadpassed away for ever.

  At length Eva arose and held out her hand, and Benny took the littlewhite fingers in his hard brown palm, and held them just for a moment.

  "Good evening, Mr. Bates; I must go home now," she said.

  "Good evening, Miss Lawrence." And Benny watched her glide away amongthe shadows of the tall trees, in the direction of Brooklands, thenturned and walked slowly home.

  The next morning, as he was leaving the house, he almost stumbled overMr. Lawrence, who on receipt of his daughter's letter had come over atonce.

  "Mr. Lawrence!" said Benny, in a tone of surprise.

  "Then you _are_ Benny, I suppose," he said, "as you recognize me, but Ishould never have known you."

  "Yes, I am Benny Bates, but you have not altered in the least; I shouldhave known you anywhere."

  "Well, Benny," said Mr. Lawrence with much feeling, taking his hand,"you cannot tell how thankful I am to see you alive and well." Then,glancing at Benny's arm, which he still carried in a sling, he added, "Ibeg pardon, I had forgotten your arm for a moment. I have to thank youalso for saving my daughter's life."

  "Do not mention it, Mr. Lawrence; I have received abundant thanksalready."

  "That may be, but I have much to say to you; can you spare time for awalk?"

  "Yes, with pleasure; I am able to do nothing, as you see, and so timehangs rather heavy."

  "Benny," said Mr. Lawrence, when they had gone some distance, "when Ifound that missing bank-note, I resolved that, if ever I saw you againor had the chance of speaking to you, I would ask your forgiveness forthe wrong I did you."

  "Do not speak in that way, please," said Benny. "If you wronged me itwas not intentionally, so that I have nothing to forgive; if I had, itshould be freely granted."

  "Thank you. And now, Benny, will you return to Liverpool again? Not tobe office boy," he said, glancing at Benny's tall and well-knit frame;"I can find you something much better than that, and I should like tomake you some reparation for all you have suffered through me."

  "Thank you, Mr. Lawrence," said Benny firmly; "but I could not comesimply to be tolerated because you fancied you had wronged me, andwished to make amends."

  Mr. Lawrence looked up in surprise.

  "You will understand what I mean, I think," said Benny. "I am too oldand too big to be any longer an object of charity, but if you think Iam able to fill the place you want filled, and am worth the salary thatyou are in the habit of paying, then I will consider your very kindproposal."

  "I understand what you mean now," said Mr. Lawrence, "and I must say Iadmire your independence. I do not wish you to be an object of charity,for Mr. Munroe tells me that he finds, through inquiries that he hasmade, that you are a good penman, and quick at accounts, and if youwill come and take the vacant stool in my office, I shall be sincerelyobliged."

  "Thank you; but do you know that Mr. Munroe has made me a similar offer?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you require an answer now?"

  "To-morrow will do."

  "Let it be to-morrow, then, please, and I will think about it in themeanwhile."

  Benny had decided the question, however, before he slept that night.Manchester was a strange place, Liverpool was his home. He knew everystreet for half a mile around the Custom House as well as he knew thelanes around Scout Farm. He had spent his childhood there; his earliest,ay, and his happiest recollections were associated with it. It had beenthe scene of his greatest struggles and triumphs. It had witnessed hisdeepest joy and his bitterest sorrow, and though he had left it indisgrace and pain, he loved it still. There were a few people there hehad pined to see. It was Joe Wrag's home; it was Nelly's resting-place;granny lived there, and his Sunday-school teacher, and Mr. Lawrence,and--. But never mind, Liverpool was dear to him still, and in the veryspot from which he had been driven in disgrace he would start afresh.

  Next morning he walked across to Brooklands, and asked to see Mr. Munroe.

  "I have come," he said, as soon as that gentleman appeared, "to tell youthat I cannot accept your very kind offer."

  "I guessed as much," said Mr. Munroe, with a smile, "when I heard Mr.Lawrence had been after you. So Liverpool has more attractions for youthan Manchester, eh?"

  "Yes, sir, Liverpool is my home, and Manchester would be strange to me;but I am very much obliged to you for your kindness."

  "I do not blame you, Mr. Bates; on the contrary, I think you have actedwisely. Still, if at any time you should need a friend, you may reckonupon me."

  "Thank you, sir," said Benny, with a shake in his voice, "thank you verymuch; and now, sir, could I see Mr. Lawrence?"

  "Oh, yes, I will send him to you at once."

  "Good morning, Benny," was Mr Lawrence's greeting; "and have you settledthe matter?"

  "Yes, sir, I will accept your offer."

  "That's right; I am glad to hear it. And now, when can you be ready?"

  "In a week, sir."

  "That will do; and in the meantime I will secure lodgings for you, andmake things as straight and pleasant against your arrival as I possiblycan."

  "Thank you very much."

  "Don't name it; but I will send you word when I have secured acomfortable home for you, so that if you like to send on your luggagebeforehand, you may do so."

  The next few days Benny was busy getting his things together, previousto his departure from Scout Farm. Little Winnie followed him everywhere,and wanted him to promise her that he would not "do away." He did notthink until he began to pack his things that the parting would cost himso much, nor did he know till then how closely the little prattlingWinnie
had twined herself around his heart.

  "Benny does not 'ove his 'ittle Winnie, to do away," the child repeatedover and over again, with choking voice and brimming eyes.

  "Benny's pet," he would say, taking her up in his arms and kissing awayher tears; "he loves you more than he can tell."

  "Then Benny'll stay with Winnie, won't he?"

  "Do you want Benny to stay very badly, eh, pet?"

  "Oh, yes, Winnie 'oves 'oo werry much; don't do away, Benny."

  "I'll come back again at Christmas, Winnie, and then we'll have rarefun, and I'll bring you a new doll and heaps of oranges."

  But the child would not be comforted.

  At length the last morning of his stay arrived. It was a silent partythat sat down to breakfast, for the hearts of all were too full forspeech. Then the trap was brought round, and they all drove over to thestation together. The train was in time this morning, for which Bennyfelt thankful. There was only time for a hurried good bye good-bye, anextra kiss for Winnie, and the train started for the busy town whereBenny was to commence afresh the race of life.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  The Reward of Well-doing.

  I have seen angels in the gloomy prison, In crowded halls, by the lone widow's hearth; And when they passed the fallen have uprisen, The giddy paused, the mourner's hope had birth.

  * * * * *

  And by his side there moved a form of beauty, Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life. And looking up with meek and love-lent duty: I call her angel, but he called her wife.

  On reaching Liverpool, his first visit was to his sister's grave. Hewould never have found it, were it not for a curious-shaped stone thathe had embedded in the sod ere he went away. As it was, he was a longtime before he could discover it among the hundreds of grass-grownmounds lying all around it. It seemed to him that he had lived a longlife since he lay there that summer night, and resolved that he wouldleave Liverpool behind him, and go out into the great world that laybeyond to seek his fortune. "Ah, well!" he mused, "I have made nofortune, but I have lived a life of peace, and God has taken care of me,and now I have come back again no longer a child, though scarcely a man,and I believe God will take care of me here." Kneeling by the littlegrave, he offered up a silent prayer for help and protection. He thankedGod for his little sister that was safe from the world's temptation, andprayed that when he should be laid down to sleep by her side, they mightmeet by the far-off Jordan river, and part no more for ever.

  He was in a very subdued frame of mind when he left the cemetery andwended his way in the direction of Tempest Court. He could not helpwondering as he threaded his way through the busy streets whether grannywas still alive, but he certainly did not expect to find that TempestCourt was no longer in existence. Such, however, was the case. The marchof improvement had swept away hundreds of tumble-down houses, in oneof which granny had dwelt for so many years. But she did not live tosee that day. In the little home in which she had lived so long she waspermitted to die; and so, when the "destroyer," as she would have calledit, came to Tempest Court, she was gone--gone home to the Father'smansion, to the "house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

  But Benny knew nothing of this, and so he gazed with a look of painat the heaps of broken bricks and mortar which men were busy cartingaway, and thought what a grief it would be to granny. His next visitwas to St. George's Hall, and for a while he sat in the shadow of thegreat portico to watch the hurrying crowds passing up and down. Howdifferent it was from the silent country and the still, drowsy fields!What a tremendous hurry everybody seemed to be in! Was it always so? Hehad never noticed it in the old days: surely the great town must havegrown bigger and busier in the years he had been away from it. "But Idaresay I shall soon get used to it," he said to himself, as he rosefrom his seat, and started this time for the landing-stage. Here he sawno change. The mighty river was the same as in the old days, a scene oflife and beauty. But the children selling matches and the women cryingnewspapers brought more vividly back to his mind than anything else thedays of his own childhood. In the cemetery it seemed a life-time sincehe went away; here, on the stage, it seemed only yesterday since he wasa poor famished child, earning a precarious living as best he could. Hecould hardly realize that he was a strong, well-dressed young man. Onceor twice the word "Perks" leaped to his lips as a shock-headed raggedlad ran against him; and when a little girl came up to him with "Fusees,sir?" the face of his dead little sister seemed to flash upon him fora moment, and he started and turned pale, then handed the child somecoppers, and patted her on the head, telling her to be a good girl.

  He now began to think it time to put in an appearance at Mr. Lawrence'soffice. But he could not resist the temptation of a sail to Birkenheadand back first. For years he had longed for the day when he would berich enough to afford such a luxury; that day had come at last, and thewish should be gratified; and surely, as he floated across the broadplacid river and back again, no child ever felt half so delighted with anew toy as did he.

  Mr. Lawrence was pleased to see that our hero had arrived, and offeredhim the option of a few days' holiday before he settled down to thedesk. But Benny said he would be quite ready for work on the followingmorning; he only wanted to see Joe Wrag and granny, and he thought hewould be able to find them before the day closed, and he knew that heshould be happier at work than doing nothing.

  Benny's next move was to make inquiries of the police as to what streetswere being repaired; and, having been furnished with a list, he waiteduntil half-past five, and then went in search of his old friend. ButJoe was not so easily found as he had imagined. He went from one streetto another until his list was exhausted; but all the watchmen werestrangers to him, and he began to fear that his old friend was eitherdead, or that failing health and strength had compelled him to retirefrom his occupation. Benny now began to consider what he was to do next,for he had not the remotest idea in what part of the town Joe lived, ifindeed he were still living.

  At length it occurred to him that very likely the watchmen knew eachother, and that if he were to inquire of one of them he might getsome idea of Joe's whereabouts. With Benny to think was to act veryfrequently; so he walked up to an old man who was keeping watch in thestreet in which he then found himself, and put the question at once.

  "Do you know an old man by the name of Joe Wrag?"

  "Oh, ay, very well."

  "Then perhaps you could tell me where I might find him."

  "In course I could. If you keep down Old Hall Street for haaf a mile,you'll tumble over him, unless yer mind where yer goin'."

  "Much obliged." And off Benny started with a very much lighter heartthan he had five minutes before. It was a warm July evening, and Bennyespied the old man long before he got to him, sitting on a block ofwood outside his hut, apparently buried in thought.

  For a moment or two Benny stood before him without speaking, and Joeseemed utterly unconscious of his presence. Six years seemed to havepassed very lightly over the old man's head. Benny could detect nochange in his features; he did not look a day older than he did the lasttime he saw him.

  At length Benny said, in a hesitating tone of voice, "Good evening, Mr.Wrag."

  Joe started, but scarcely lifted his eyes to the intruder; thenanswered, after a pause,

  "I'm none so much mister, as I knows on; I'm only plain Joe Wrag."

  "This is a nice time of the year for you watchmen," said Benny, notknowing exactly what to say.

  "Yes, it's purty fair; we don't git bothered quite so much wi' theyoungsters as we do in the winter."

  "And so the children bother you in the winter, do they?"

  "Well, I don't know they bother me so much, arter all; only they likethe fire, yer see, when the weather's cold."

  "Just so; you'll get to know a great many children, I should think?"

  "Oh, ay, a goodish few."

  "Did you ever know a lad called Benny Bates?"

  "Ay,
yes, poor lad, I should think I did," said Joe, with a sigh; "an'his little sister too, purty little hangel; she's safe enough, thankGod. She's wi' the Lord in heaven, but where the poor lad is the Lordonly knows."

  "Lost, then, is he?"

  "Oh, ay, poor bairn, poor persecuted lad; falsely accused he wur, an' itseemed to break his 'eart; he's never been heard of since."

  "Do you think you would know him if he were to come back again?"

  "Ay, I should know 'im among a thousand," said the old man, stillkeeping his eyes on the ground.

  "Then look at me, Joe, and say if you know me."

  Instantly he rose to his feet, and, coming close to Benny, lookedstraight in his face. Then raising his hands to heaven, he cried out, "OLord of mercy!" and fell upon Benny's neck and wept.

  We will not tire the reader with repeating the conversation that passedbetween Joe and Benny that night. Each had a hundred things to say toeach other, and each a hundred questions to ask. Darkness had creptover the earth, and the great town was silent and still, ere Benny leftJoe's hut; and when at length he took his departure, Joe watched himuntil he had disappeared in the gloom, then looking up into the nowstar-lighted sky, he clasped his hands together, while the tears randown his weatherbeaten cheeks, and cried out, "Now, Lord, lettest ThouThy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation."

  Next day Benny settled down to work with a fixed determination to do hisduty, and to make his way in the world if it could be honestly done. Thesame truthfulness and perseverance, and diligence and honesty that hadcharacterized him for so many years still marked his life, and raisedhim month by month and year by year in the estimation of his employerand in the estimation of all with whom he came in contact. According topromise he spent his Christmas at Scout Farm, to the delight of littleWinnie and of all the other members of the household, and returned totown feeling all the better for a week's rest.

  When Benny had been in Liverpool about two years, a case that was triedat the assizes created considerable interest. The prisoner was foundguilty of burglary and manslaughter, and sentenced to twenty-one years'penal servitude. In reading an account of the trial, Benny was struckwith the names of the prisoner, John Cadger, _alias_ Peeler, _alias_Perks. Could it be the Perks that he had known? So interested was he inthis question that he determined to find out if possible; and, aftersome difficulty he was permitted to visit the prisoner in his cell,previous to his removal to Dartmoor.

  Benny's first glance at the shock head and sinister face convinced himthat his worst fears were realized. For a moment he was unable to speak,then summoning up all his courage, he held out his hand, saying, "I'mvery sorry to see you here, Perks."

  "Who are you?" snarled Perks, with a terrible oath.

  "Do you not know me?" said Benny.

  "No! I only know you b'longs to the gentry tribe that are always down onpoor chaps like us."

  "You are mistaken there, Perks; I am Benny Bates."

  "You!" he said in astonishment, eyeing him from head to foot. "Then youmust 'ave got mighty 'igh in the perfeshun. I could never dress likethat."

  "I am not in the profession, as you call it," said Benny.

  "Not in it?"

  "No."

  "Do you mean to say you've kep' honest all these years?"

  "Yes, I have."

  "An' kep' in Liverpool?"

  "No." And Benny told him where he had been.

  "Jist so; you'd a-been bound to take up the perfeshun if you 'ad kep'here."

  "I don't think so."

  "I'm sure on it. Look 'ere: do you 'member that chat we 'ad that nightI skeered yer so? Oh, lor!" And Perks laughed till the tears ran downhis face. "Well, Ben, I tried bein' honest arter I got out o' quad thattime. I did for sure, jist by way of speriment; but lor! 't were nouse,--I was nearly starved, an' I 'ad to take up the bizness agin orelse die."

  "But why did not you do as I did?"

  "Never thought on it, and shouldn't a-'ad pluck enough to hacted it outif I 'ad."

  Then Benny talked seriously to Perks about his sin, and about theeverlasting future beyond the grave; told him also about a lovingSaviour, who was ready to forgive the vilest, and of the happy home Hehad prepared for all.

  Perks listened in silence to all Benny had to say, only remarking whenhe had finished, "I wish I wur dead."

  He confessed to Benny the justice of his sentence, though he wouldinsist upon it that society had made him what he was, and was to somedegree responsible for his wickedness.

  To Benny the interview was a very painful one, and he felt it a reliefwhen he found himself once more outside the prison walls. They never metagain. In less than three years Perks was summoned to appear before ahigher tribunal, to answer for the deeds done in the body.

  Benny had no sooner got settled in Liverpool than he sought out hisold Sunday school, and became a teacher there; and often he told to theragged and neglected children that he gathered around him the story ofhis life, and pointed out a bright future that might be theirs if theywould be industrious, truthful, and honest. Once during each summerhe made it a point of taking his class to Eastham Woods, knowing fromhis own experience what a joy it would be to the poor boys to breathethe fresh air, listen to the song of birds, and run races on the mossysward. Benny was never idle. The one aim of his life was to do good, tobe "rich in good works;" and grandly he succeeded. His name in many ahome was like "ointment poured forth," and young and old blessed him forhis kindly words and kindlier deeds.

  * * * * *

  And now what shall we more say? for tales must end while lives run on.Years--I need not say how many--have passed away since Benny againtook up his abode in Liverpool. He is now partner with Mr. Lawrence,in a business that has become more prosperous than ever. He lives in abeautiful house of his own, and the angel that years ago brightened hischildhood now brightens his home; and sometimes on winter evenings hegathers his children around his knee, and shows them a shilling stillbright and little worn, and tells them how their mother gave it to himwhen she was a little girl, and he a poor, ragged, starving boy uponthe streets; tells them how, by being honest, truthful, and persevering,he had worked his way through many difficulties, and how, by theblessing and mercy of God, he had been kept until that day. And Ben, theeldest lad, thinks how he will be brave and true like his father, and sogrow up to be an honourable man.

  Here, then, we will end our story--a story that contains more truth thanfiction--and hope that the young people who may read it may learn thelesson we have aimed to teach, and so be helped to the cultivation ofthose virtues that will yield them in this world "a hundredfold more,and in the world to come life everlasting."

  THE END.