CHAPTER ELEVEN.
AN EXPLOSION.
It must not be supposed that Walter was prepared to follow out hisbrother Amos's moral courage at once and in everything. He was quitewilling to admire this high-toned courage, and was learning to becontent that his brother should enjoy the praise for it which was hisdue. He also fully intended to follow in the same steps some day orother; but then no real and radical change had taken place in his heartand character, nor had he any deliberate desire to give up old habitswhich were dear to him, and adopt new ones which would involveconsiderable and sustained self-denial. So he contented himself for thepresent with being more kind to his brother, and more careful not towound him by rash and unfeeling remarks.
One thing, however, in Amos's conduct sadly puzzled and annoyed him.Knowing that his brother was well provided with money of his own, heused not unfrequently to borrow from him when his own allowance ranshort, which it very often did. This borrowing from Amos used to be butrarely followed by any repayment; for he had been so fully indulged byhis father when younger, that he had no idea, now that he was gettingmore from under his father's hand, of denying himself, or going withoutanything he might happen to fancy. At first he used to tell the trades-people in the neighbouring town, when he made any purchases, to put themdown to his father; but to this after a while Mr Huntingdon decidedlyobjected--finding, as he did, that expense was no consideration toWalter in the choice of an article, provided his father had to bear thecost. So Walter was made to understand that he must make the liberalallowance which his father gave him _do_, and that there must be no morerunning up of bills in Mr Huntingdon's name. But such an arrangementwas very galling to Walter, who had lived all his early boyhood underthe impression that, as being his father's favourite son, he had only toexpress a wish, or to ask for or to order a thing, and he would have itas a matter of course. However, the squire stood firm in the matter.Walter, he said, was old enough now to understand something of the valueof money, and he must learn to cut his coat according to his cloth.This coat, however, with Walter was usually of such exaggerateddimensions that his ordinary allowance of material would go only a smallway towards completing it. Consequently he used to have recourse toAmos, who invariably helped him through with a loan--for Walter wouldnever receive help from his brother except as a loan--Amos at the sametime hinting now and then at the hope of a partial repayment. To thisWalter would reply that his brother should have it all back, if hewished it, "one of these fine days;" but when such seasons ofexceptionally fine monetary weather were likely to occur, Amos found itdifficult to conjecture. A change, however, had now come over the elderbrother, much to the annoyance and disgust of Walter. A decided refusalof a loan of money was accompanied by Amos with a remonstrance with hisbrother on his extravagance.
In a pet, Walter told Amos that he might keep his nasty sovereigns andshillings to buy toffee for dirty little boys and girls. He was muchobliged to him for his advice, but he knew his own concerns best; and asfor extravagance, it was better to put a little money into thetradesmen's pockets than hoard it up like a stingy old miser, just tohave the pleasure of saying, "See how rich I am."
To all this Amos made no reply at the time, but afterwards sent hisbrother a portion of the sum he wished to borrow, with a kind note, inwhich he said that Walter was welcome to this and to all other sumspreviously lent, as a free gift, but that for the future he could notlend him money beyond a few shillings occasionally, as he had a use forhis own funds which made him unable to do for his brother what he haddone for him in times past.
Partly touched at Amos's generosity, but more vexed at his presentpurpose respecting future loans, Walter was not disposed to look with avery favourable eye on his brother's money arrangements. What could hebe wanting with so much? What could he be doing with it? There wasnothing to show for it. If he had spent it in guns, or horses, or dogs,or travelling, or sight-seeing, Walter could have better acquiesced inthe expenditure. But the money seemed to be wanted for something which,as far as he could see, turned out to be nothing. So his curiosity wasconsiderably roused, and he resolved to find out, if he could, where hisbrother's spare cash went to.
Things were in this position, when one evening, as the whole family wereseated on the lawn under some noble elms, enjoying the shade--for theweather had been exceedingly hot--a gentleman, well-known throughout thecounty for the interest he took in plans for doing good and alleviatingthe sorrows and sufferings of his poorer neighbours, called, and wasinvited by Mr Huntingdon to join his family on the lawn. "And now, mydear sir," said the squire, "I know you are out on some errand ofbenevolence. You are a grand worker yourself, and a grand giver too, sotell us what is your present charitable hobby, and we must try and giveyou a help, so that you may ride him easily."
"Thank you, Mr Huntingdon, with all my heart," said the other; "you arevery kind. My hobby this time is a very robust animal, and will want agood deal of feeding if he is to keep up his strength. But to come toplain language, I am collecting subscriptions for a working-men'scoffee-house in Redbury--a British Workman they call it. You know, Idare say, that two ruinous old houses of mine in the market-place arebeing pulled down. Now, I am going to give the ground which one of themstands on for the new coffee-house. It is a capital situation, just inthe centre of the town. I shall want funds, however, for the erectionof a new and suitable building, and also a few annual subscriptions tokeep the establishment going and pay the expenses of management, as Idon't suppose it will be self-supporting, at any rate not at first."
"Well," said the squire, "let me look at your subscription list, for Isee you have one with you. Ah, good! it is very generous of you to putdown your own name for so large a sum to the building fund, besidesgiving the land. Put me down then for fifty pounds, and an annualsubscription of three guineas till the concern is self-supporting."
"May I look at the list?" asked Miss Huntingdon, when their visitor hadexpressed his thanks to her brother. Having glanced at it, she alsosignified her willingness to be a helper in the work, and gave the listto Walter to return to the gentleman.
As her nephew was giving back the subscription list, he paused for amoment to run his eye over the names of the contributors. "Ah!" hesaid, "I see your own sons down, Mr Johnson, for a guinea a piece. Iwish I could afford to follow their example."
"Perhaps, after all, you can," said the gentleman, smiling. "I am sureit does young people good to practise a little self-denial in helping ona good cause like this."
"I don't doubt that, sir," replied Walter, "but I am ashamed to say thatself-denial of that sort is not much in my line. But, then, I am not aman of independent fortune like my brother Amos here. Ask him, pray.He has, or ought to have, lots of spare cash, and he is always on thelook-out to be doing good with it." There was a tone of sarcasm in hisvoice which grated very painfully on Miss Huntingdon's ear. Amoscoloured deeply, but made no remark.
"What say you, my young friend?" asked Mr Johnson, in a kindly voice,turning to him. "Your brother encourages me to hope that we may addyour name to the list."
The young man, thus appealed to, looked uneasy and embarrassed, andthen, in a few moments, said in an undertone, "I am sorry that just nowI am not in a position to add my name, but I shall be glad to do so whenI am better able."
Mr Johnson did not press the matter, but shortly left, having firstpartaken of a little fruit which had been brought to him by the butlerwhile the conversation about the subscriptions had been going on.
It has already been said that the old man Harry was a privileged servantof long standing, almost a portion of the estate, so that he was allowedlittle liberties which would not ordinarily have been permitted to onein his place. He had listened with burning cheeks and flashing eyes toWalter's sneering remarks about his brother's wealth, and now lingerednear the group, as he was removing a little table on which he had placedthe fruit for Mr Johnson. There was a restlessness about his mannerwhich Miss Huntingdon noticed
and wondered at; but her attention wasthen drawn to Walter, who, lounging against a bench, said in a ratherdrawling voice, "I really wonder what some people do with their money.For my part, I don't see what's the use of it except to be jolly with ityourself, and to make other people jolly with it.--Amos," he addedabruptly, "what's up with you that you've become so very poor all of asudden?"
To this Amos made no reply, but turned away to hide his vexation.
"My boy," said Mr Huntingdon, addressing his elder son, "I'm a littlesurprised myself that you should be at all hard up. I quite expectedthat you would have followed the example of Mr Johnson's sons, and haveput down your name. I think you could have afforded it."
Still Amos did not reply, but seemed hesitating what to say. But hereWalter broke in again. "I call it downright mean!" he exclaimedbitterly; "but he's getting meaner and meaner, that he is. What he doeswith his money nobody knows. I suppose he spends it in religiouspocket-handkerchiefs and pious bed-quilts for the little niggers inAfrica, or something of the sort. At any rate, he has none to spare forthose nearer home." He was about to say more, but happening to raisehis eyes he was astonished to see the old butler, who had been slowlydrawing nearer and nearer, raising his right arm, and looking at himalmost fiercely, as though he were going to strike him.--"What's up now,Harry?" he cried; "is the black cat dead?"
The old man's appearance now attracted every one's attention. He haddrawn himself up to his full height, and had turned so as to confrontMr Huntingdon, who was sitting with his sister by his side on a gardenbench facing the house. His snow-white hair gave him ordinarily avenerable appearance, and this was now increased by the look of intenseearnestness which glowed in his every feature. His back was to Amos,who, noticing that the old man was evidently about to speak under thepressure of some unusual excitement, half rose to his feet, but too lateto stop old Harry's purpose.
"Master," said the old man, in a voice hoarse with emotion, "hear me; ifit's to be for the last time, you must hear me. I can't hold in nolonger; so it's no use, come what may."
Mr Huntingdon, struck with amazement at this speech of the olddomestic, could only exclaim, "Well!" while his sister and Walter lookedon and listened in mute wonder.
"Master," continued the old man, "you must hear me this once, if I'm tobe turned away this blessed night for what I'm a-going to say. I'vebeen hearing Master Amos called by Master Walter mean about his money,and I can't stand it, for I knows better."
Here Amos sprang forward, and coming in front of Harry, strove bygesture and whispered remonstrance to stop him; but the other shook hishead, and motioned his young master back.
"It's of no manner of use, Master Amos," he cried; "I must and willspeak--the time's come for it. _I_ know why Master Amos can't afford tosubscribe: 'tain't because he hasn't got the will; 'tain't because he'sbeen spending it on himself, or sending it to the niggers, though hemight be doing worse with it than that. His money goes to keep dearMiss Julia as was--bless her little heart!--from want; and it goes, too,to keep a home for her little ones, and one on 'em's a girl, and she'sas like what her blessed mother was at her age as one lamb's likeanother. O master, master! if you loved Miss Julia as was as I loveher, and as Master Amos loves her, though she has married a vagabond ofa husband, and had the door of her home closed agen her for ever for it,and oh, if you'd but a touch still of the dear Saviour's forgiving lovetowards your own flesh and blood, you couldn't blame Master Amos fordoing as he's doing, if you only knew too how he's been a-sacrificing ofhimself, and bearing the shame and scorn all the while without a murmur.There, master, I've had it out. And now I suppose I must pack up andbe off for good; but it don't matter. I couldn't keep it in, so there'san end of it."
The effect of this speech on all the members of the party wasoverwhelming, though in different ways.
Mr Huntingdon's face turned deadly pale, and then flushed fiery red.He half rose from the bench on which he was sitting, and then sank backagain and buried his face in his hands. Then he started up, andmuttering something hoarsely, rushed into the house, and was not seenagain by the family that night. Next morning, before breakfast, hissister received a hasty note from him, merely stating that he wasleaving home, and should not return that day, and perhaps not for a fewdays.
The old butler's disclosure was also most trying to Miss Huntingdon byits suddenness. Not that she was unprepared for it altogether, forquiet observation of Amos had made her sure that he had some noble andself-denying work in hand, and that probably it might have something todo with the welfare of his sister, whom she knew that he dearly loved.She was grieved, however, that the old butler had blurted out the secretin such an abrupt manner, and at the terrible distress which theunexpected revelation had caused her brother.
As for Amos, he was ready to sink into the earth with dismay andvexation. All he could do was to look up reproachfully at Harry, who,now that the explosion had burst forth, and had driven his masterapparently almost out of his senses, looked round him with an utterlycrestfallen air, and then, coming up to Amos, said, while the big tearsrolled rapidly down his cheeks, "Oh, dear Master Amos, you must forgiveme. I didn't go for to do it with no bad meaning; but I couldn't bearit no longer. I daresay the master 'll turn me off for it, so I shallbe punished if I've done wrong."
And how felt Walter? He was utterly crushed for a time beneath the oldman's words. All the truth flashed upon him now. And this was thebrother whom he had been holding up to ridicule and accusing ofmeanness. As thoughts of shame and stings of conscience stabbed intohis heart with their thousand points, he sank down lower and lower tothe ground till he had buried his face in the grass, sobbingconvulsively. Then, before Amos could reply to the old butler's pitifulapology, he sprang up, and flinging his arms round his brother's neckand hiding his head in his bosom, wept for a time as if his heart wouldbreak. At last he looked up at Amos, who had pressed him close to himand had lovingly kissed him, and cried out, "Was there ever such abeastly, ungrateful sneak of a brother as I am? Here have I beencalling Amos all sorts of names, and treating him worse than a dog, andhe's been acting like a hundred thousand moral heroes all the time! Canyou forgive your cowardly snob of a brother, Amos dear?"
There was no reply to this but another long and close embrace.
As for old Harry, his face calmed down into its usual peacefulness. Heno longer waited for any reply from his young master, but turned towardsthe house with a smile beaming all over his countenance, and saying halfout loud, "All's well as ends well. There'll be good come out of thishere trouble as sure as my name's Harry."
When he was fairly gone, both nephews drew close to their aunt, and tookeach a hand as they sat one on either side of her. Smiling at Walterthrough happy tears, she said, "I cannot cross my hands, you see, for mydear nephews have each got possession of one."
"But they _ought_ to be crossed," said Walter in a low, sad voice.
"Not _now_, dear boy," she replied; "I think we may let bygones bebygones, for surely better and brighter days are coming."
"I hope so, aunt," said Walter, now more cheerily, "But you must give methe example for all that; for you have one to the purpose, I know."
"Yes," was her reply, "I think I have, and I will tell it because it mayhelp to confirm you in keeping on the right side that new leaf which Ifeel sure you are now turning over."
"Ah, tell it me then, auntie; if it shames me a hit it will do me noharm."
"My hero then, this time, did not look much like one at the time when hedisplayed his heroism. He was a poor schoolboy, a Christ's Hospitallad."
"What! one of those who go about without hats, in long coats and yellowstockings?"
"Yes, the same. Charles Lamb, who tells the story, which is a true one,was himself one of these Bluecoat boys. Among his schoolfellows wasthis boy, my present moral hero. He was dull and taciturn, and nofavourite with the other lads; but no one could bring any charge ofimproper conduct against him. There was one thing, however,
about himwhich none of the other boys could understand. He always lingeredbehind all the rest after dinner was over, and came out of the dining-hall hiding something under his dress, and looking about himsuspiciously. What did it mean? Had he an unnaturally large appetite,so that he was led by it to steal food and eat it by himself after themeal was over? At any rate, if it was so, his extra provision did notimprove his personal appearance, for he was still thin and hungry-looking.
"Some questioned him roughly on the subject, but they could get nothingout of him. He stopped for a while the practice which had drawnattention to him, but resumed it again when he thought that curiosityhad died out, and that he could follow his old ways unobserved. Butthere were boys on the watch, and at last it was fairly ascertained thatthe poor lad used to gather, as far as he had opportunity, scraps ofmeat, pieces of fat, and fragments of bread and potatoes, which had beenleft on the boys' plates. These he collected and carried off. Butthen, what did he do with them? It was not likely that he ate them.No. Then he must sell them when he went home, for his parents lived inLondon, and he was a day boy. No doubt he disposed of them to peoplewho were ready to give a few pence for refuse food, and thus the littlemiser was making money in this mean and underhand way. When thisconclusion had been arrived at, the whole school was in a state ofboiling indignation against the culprit.
"They might have taken the law into their own hands, and have punishedhim in their own rough and ready way. But no; his conduct was tooshameful for that. It was looked upon as a serious disgrace to thewhole school. So the case was duly reported to the masters, and by themto the governors. Witnesses were examined, and the offence proved. Andnow, what was the defence of the poor lad? He had borne shame, scorn,reproach, reviling; he had borne them all patiently, without murmur,without resentment. What, then, was the reason for his strange conduct?what motive or inducement could make him thus brave the scorn andcontempt, the daily jeers, and the cut direct from his schoolfellows?All was soon made plain. This boy's parents were old and very poor--sopoor, helpless, and friendless that they were often brought to the vergeof starvation. In those days, remember, there was not the sameattention paid to the poor of all classes, nor loving provision made fortheir wants, as there is now. So the noble son--for truly noble hewas--submitted cheerfully to every trouble and shame that could fallupon himself, in order to get food from time to time for his almostfamishing parents. They were too respectable to beg, and would havenever allowed their boy to beg for them; and yet so destitute were theythat they were even glad of those miserable scraps, the after-dinnerleavings on the boys' plates. And these their son gathered for them,indifferent to the consequences which might happen to himself, while atthe same time he added a portion of his own daily food to supply thewants of the old people.
"Ah! this was true moral courage, dear Walter; and it was all thegreater and nobler because it was exercised in such humble elements, asit were--I mean under circumstances where there was everything todegrade and nothing to elevate the poor boy in the eyes of hisschoolfellows."
"I see, aunt," said Walter, sadly and thoughtfully. "Yes, they calledhim mean, and shabby, and selfish, and frowned and scowled at him, whenall the while he was most nobly denying himself, and bearing all thattrouble that he might help those who were dearer to him than his goodname with his schoolfellows. Ay, I see it all; and it's just a case inpoint. That's just what I've been doing to my own dear noble brother,who has been sacrificing himself that he might help poor Julia and herlittle ones. And it has been worse in my case, because those Bluecoatboys had perhaps no particular reason to think well of the other chapbefore they found out what he had been driving at, and so it was naturalenough that they should suspect him. But it's been exactly the reversewith me. I've had no reason to suspect Amos of anything but goodness.All the baseness and meanness have been on my own part; and yet hereI've been judging him, and thinking the worst of him, and behavingmyself like a regular African gorilla to him.--Dear Amos, can you reallyforgive me?"
Hands were clasped tightly across Miss Huntingdon's lap, and then Amosasked, "And what was done to the poor boy?"
"Oh," replied his aunt, "the governors of course acquitted him of allblame, and not only so, but rewarded him also, and, if I rememberrightly, proper provision was made for the poor parents of the noblelad."
"Bravo! that's right," cried Walter with a sigh of relief. "Well, Idon't like making big promises, but I do think I mean it when I say thatAmos shall not have an ungenerous or reproachful word from me again."
"And so," said Miss Huntingdon with a smile, "good will come out of thisevil, and it will turn out one of those `all things' which `worktogether for good to those who love God.'"
And Walter strove bravely to keep his word, and in the main succeeded.
Old Harry began, on the day after he had made the unlooked-fordisclosure, to pack up his things and make preparations for hisdeparture, feeling fully persuaded that, on his master's return, heshould receive his instant dismissal. However, when Mr Huntingdon camehome, two or three days after the explosion, not a word was said aboutthe butler's leaving; indeed, if anything, his master's manner waskinder to him than usual, but not the slightest reference was made oneither side to what had passed. With Amos, however, it was different.His father would scarcely speak to him beyond the coldest salutationsmorning and evening. The poor young man felt it keenly, but was notsurprised. He could now open his mind fully to his aunt, and did so,and his own convictions and judgment agreed with her loving counsel thathe should wait in trust and patience, and all would be well.
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