CHAPTER VII.
When Earnest came down to breakfast the next morning, neither Mr. or Mrs. Humphrey made any allusion to the situation in which he had been brought home the previous evening. They treated him with their usual kindness, but it was evident, by his subdued manner and downcast countenance, that he felt sensible of his shame and degradation. They intended to talk with him of the matter, but deferred it for the present. Mr. Humphrey advised his wife to give him the package herself, as it was to her care it had been committed. Soon after breakfast was over, he went up to his room, whither Mrs. Humphrey soon repaired with the package in her hand. Earnest opened the door when she rapped for admission. He looked somewhat embarrassed, and seemed by his manner to expect she had visited his room for the purpose of talking to him of the event of the last evening. She made no mention of the circumstance, but seating herself by his side, addressed him, saying—
"My dear Earnest, you have often told me that you retain a distinct recollection of your mother. I have
never before told you that, previous to her death, she consigned a sealed package to my care, directed to you with her own hand, with the request that I should give it to you on your fourteenth birthday. The time has now arrived, and by giving you this package I fulfil what was a dying request of your mother." As she concluded, she placed the package in his hand, and immediately left the room, thinking he would prefer being left alone to open the package.
When some time had passed, and Earnest did not come down, Mr. Humphrey went upstairs, and softly opened the door of his room. He found the boy with his face bowed upon his hands, weeping bitterly. He approached him, and gently placing his hand upon his shoulder, enquired the cause of his grief.
He replied, in a voice choked with sobs,—
"Oh! I have been so wicked—so—bad—I know not what will become of me. It is well that my mother did not live to see how widely I have strayed from the path in which it was her last hope and prayer that I should walk."
Mr. Humphrey endeavoured to comfort the poor boy, wisely thinking this to be no time to reproach him for past errors.
Mrs. Humphrey, thinking that something unusual must have taken place followed her husband to the room of Earnest.
By the tearful request of Earnest, she examined the
package, which had for so long a time remained in her keeping. First there was a Bible and Hymn Book, the books were elegantly bound, and had silver clasps. Then there was an old-fashioned locket of gold, containing a picture of the father and mother of Ernest, which had been taken many years before. Between the leaves of the Bible was placed a letter addressed to Ernest, in the hand-writing of his mother. The letter had been written at different times as her strength permitted, during the last few days of her life. It read as follows:—
"My dear little Earnest,—Long before your eyes will rest upon these lines, the hand that traces them will have mouldered into dust. The contents of this package with my prayerful blessing, is all I have to leave you. As I write these lines you are playing about my room a happy, innocent child. Would that my knowledge could extend into the future, that I might know what manner of youth you will be, when this letter is placed in your hands. But I fear that I am wrong in thus wishing to know the future which a kind Providence has mercifully hidden from us. It is my anxiety for you alone that prompts the desire. I leave a request that this letter be not placed in your hands till you shall have attained the age of fourteen years. For should your life be spared to that period, you will then be capable of reflection. It is my earnest prayer, that you should grow up a good and dutiful boy, and by so doing, reward Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey for the care and instruction, which, I feel confident they will bestow upon you. But, O! my son, should it be otherwise, and you have been led astray by evil companions, I beseech you, my child, to pause and think. Listen to the voice of your mother as if speaking to you, from her grave. Again, I say, 'pause and reflect.' If you have evil companions, forsake them at once, and forever. But I trust that these sad forebodings are needless, and that when you read these lines, you will be all that the fond heart of a mother could desire. The Bible and Hymn Book which I leave you belonged to my father, who was a minister of the Church of Scotland. Is it too much for me to hope that you will follow in the footsteps of your deceased grandparent, and use this Bible as he did in the pulpit, as a minister of the gospel? The locket contains the likeness of your father and
myself, taken a short time after our marriage. I commit you with many prayers, to the care of your Heavenly Father, for I feel that the hand of death is upon me, and that a few brief days will close my earthly existence. My last prayer will be that my boy may so live on earth, as to meet his mother in Heaven. My strength fails me. I can write no more.
"From your loving, but dying mother,
"Charlotte Harwood."