CHAPTER VI.
A TIME OF TRIAL.
A time of trial was approaching, a trial that was to decide whether the good seed sown by the pious parents had taken root in good soil, and was able to endure the ordeal of strong temptation.
Jem Taylor, the only one who ever showed poor Will any kindness, knowing of his great love for painting,—for to him only had he shown his little charcoal sketches—had no regard for truth, and, on account of his naturally kind and liberal disposition, was only the more dangerous as a companion for our hitherto differently trained hero. Seeing him one day returning exhausted and out of breath, his hands trembling so that he could scarcely hold his work, he began to administer the palatable poison which every human heart is only too ready to receive. "I tell you, Bill," said he, "you are the biggest blockhead I ever saw. If you like to look at the pictures, stand at the windows as long as you please, and do not run yourself to death. Just look at the other shoemakers' boys; they hang their string of boots and shoes over their shoulders, and go whistling and singing along the streets quite at their ease, playing marbles at the corners for pennies with the newspaper boys;—they know how to lie it out so as to escape beating, and have always some coppers in their pockets. When old Walters rates you for staying, cannot you say that Mr. So-and-So made you wait so long before he would give you the money; or that Mrs. Somebody was not at home, and the cook told you to stay, for she would be back in a minute, and you could not be paid until they were tried on?"
Will was startled. He let the shoe he was mending fall from his hands, and gazed with terror and astonishment on his reckless companion.
"Why, that would be—lying!" said he slowly and in a low voice, as if he dreaded to utter the hateful word.
"To be sure it is lying, and nothing else," answered Jem, laughing; "everybody lies, cannot you do so too?"
The blood mounted to the temples of the indignant boy, spreading its glow over his fair forehead, and causing his usually gentle eyes to flush with righteous anger.
"I a liar! I tell a lie?" he cried. "No! not to escape a beating every day will I tell a falsehood!"
"And why not, you silly jackanapes?" asked his ungodly comrade, in a tone of derision.
"Because my parents taught me it was sinful, and God has forbidden it," said William. "My mother always told me that lying was the first step in the road to ruin; and I read in my Bible that no one 'that loveth and maketh a lie' can enter into that Holy City of which God himself is the glory and the light."
Dear young reader, how glorious is the majesty of truth! The dissipated and sin-loving journeyman, long since made familiar with vice, could not listen unmoved as the boy uttered the scriptural denunciation in the solemn and reverential manner he had been taught was proper, it was long since Jem Taylor had heard any word from that holy book, and now, awed by the dignity of the truth, that great principle of Christian life and conduct, he made no answer, but continued to work in silence. Perhaps he might have resumed the subject; but Mr. Walters came in and commenced the usual fault-finding, and Jem answering reproach with reproach, there was nothing more said.
One day soon after, William was directed to go to the upper shop for a pair of white satin shoes, which he was to carry to a wealthy lady who lived during the summer months in a handsome cottage in the suburbs. How happy he was at thought of seeing something like the country once more! and he started off at full speed, his elastic spirit happy and hopeful as if it had never known a sorrow. The sunshine was so cheering, and rested so brightly on the spires as it bathed them in its golden radiance, that his whole mood partook of the genial glow. He had reached the upper part of the city, and was quite in the neighbourhood of the house where the shoes were to be left, when a large dog coming round the corner at a speed as rapid as his own, ran directly in his way, and threw him over. There had been a heavy shower in the early part of the afternoon, the gutters were still full of water, and although he was not hurt by his fall, yet in the shock the shoes were dashed from his hand, and fell into the muddy bath.
With feelings of terror not to be described, our poor hero saw the black fluid streaming over the beautiful shoes; and after having stood for a moment as if paralyzed, he plunged his hand into the filthy pool and drew them out.
He might have served as a study for a painter as he stood surveying the consequences of the mishap; his countenance expressed almost every emotion of the human mind, as he held up the shoes and tried to wipe away the black mud which dyed them, until at length, finding all his efforts ineffectual, he burst into a fit of passionate weeping.
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 nourishing 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 shilling 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 pushing him before a small looking-glass 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 glass, 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 circumstance, not concealing that the gentleman had given him a shilling 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 shilling, 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 assailed 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 God. 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 petition. Alas! the poisonous influence around him was beginning to tell, and he would soon throw off the only armour that could shield 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 God, 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 God-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 shilling, 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 scraps 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.