CHAPTER X.
MAKING OTHERS HAPPY.
William had always been a delicate boy, although, while in the country, his health was good; but now the confined air of the shop, and the odour of the leather, and the stooping posture consequent on his trade, began to tell painfully upon him. He wondered what was the matter that he did not now ever feel bright and hopeful. He went about his work mechanically, was listless and silent. His features assumed a cast of anxiety unnatural in a child, and painful to notice. Still, no duty was neglected, nor did the Walters notice the change in his looks, since all allotted services were duly rendered. The young spirit was gradually yielding to the oppressive yoke, although patiently borne. But although cast down and perplexed, it was not in despair. The light commanded by "God to shine out of darkness" still illumined his heart and gave him comfort, and at the source ever open to the broken-hearted he could still appeal. Without the support of that "arm" which is never "shortened that it cannot save," he could not have borne up under the hardships of his present lot.
He was not sent quite so much into the street as at first; for he could now make shoes, and his work was valuable to his master. He did not often see little Ned Graham, as it was only on Saturday evenings that he carried home the week's work; but he always saw Mrs. Bradley at her place in the market, and through her sent the pennies he was able from time to time to gather.
One day Mr. Walters came in from the upper shop with a pair of shoes in his hand, which he told our hero to carry to Professor Stewart's, No. 200 —— street. He obeyed at once, for he was glad to breathe the open air; but the walk was not productive of the same pleasure as formerly. His mood was sad and his step feeble; although the air was only clear and bracing, it sent a chill through his weakened frame, turning what had once been his favourite recreation into positive pain. The variety met with in the streets had no power to attract his attention; the pictures in the windows had lost their charms; the flashing waters of the noble bay covered with vessels, from whose mast-heads floated the flags of many nations, failed to awaken his admiration; it requires lightness of heart to enjoy the beauty spread around us.
Thus, depressed in body and spirit, he wandered on, mechanically, noticing nothing until he had nearly reached No. 200. Some one called him. It was little Ned Graham, who, as usual, was getting pieces of boards and chips at a new building which was going up. Very thin indeed was his clothing, and far from healthy were his looks; but the natural buoyancy, which even the hard hand of poverty could not entirely crush, remained, and his whole countenance lighted up at the sight of his friend William.
"What now, Ned?" said the latter as a ray of cheerfulness shot over his sad heart, on seeing the happiness meeting with himself gave to the boy; "where are you going so far from home, bare-footed and half bare-legged, on such a cold day as this?"
"My feet are a little red," said Ned, looking down at his red-hued supporters; "but I don't mind it much, when I can get such heaps of wood for the carrying. There was a fire up our way not long ago, and I got ever so much. We have a great pile now, and grandmother can keep the fire going. I want to carry all I can before the snow comes, for I don't expect to have any shoes. But why have you stayed away so long? Mrs. Bradley gave us the pennies you sent, but grandmother said she 'wanted to see yourself to thank you.'"
"I have done nothing worth thanks, Ned," said William. "I only wish I could."
"Grandmother said you had been a good friend to us, although you are but a boy, and only a shoemaker's ''prentice,'" rejoined Ned; "for you did not only send us the pennies, but Mrs. Bradley too. She has been so good to us; and when we thank her, she says we ought rather to thank you. She gave me these trousers; and although they are too short, I do not care for that, or that the street boys call me 'duck legs.'"
"It is our heavenly Father whom you ought to thank, rather than either of us," added William, not noticing the last part of the speech; "but here is No. 200; stay; let me see. I do believe it is the very house in front of which I dropped the shoes; that is certainly the window where the old gentleman stood."
He rung the bell at the basement door as he spoke. A voice from within bade him enter. He did so, and found himself in a neat room, furnished with many books. A middle-aged gentleman sat at a table writing, but laid down his pen in order to see what the intruder wanted. William stated his errand.
"Ah, yes; shoes," said the gentleman; "I do not know anything about them; my wife is not at home, but you can come again to-morrow, and see what she says. You look tired; there is a shilling for you."
William took the money, but as he did so blushed deeply, and seemed about to return it.
"Why, what is the matter, boy?" asked the gentleman; "do not you think it enough?"
"O no, sir; indeed not that; indeed it is more than enough; but—"
"But what?" inquired the gentleman.
"I do not want to take it now, so I will send somebody—a little boy—for it to-morrow."
The gentleman, who now began to suspect that all was not right, looked very grave, as he repeated the words, "You will send for it to-morrow. Boy, tell me what this means. It is certainly very strange behaviour. Nay, you cannot go until you tell me."
William saw it was best to tell the truth, and he did so in as straightforward a way as possible; and stating at the close that as he believed he should be questioned whether or not he had received money, he preferred the gentleman should give it to a boy whom he would send, so that he might be able to say with truth he had not received any money.
"Your motive is a good one," said the gentleman; "but you must be very careful, lest, while you are serving your fellow-creatures, you offend God. Truth in all things, my boy; let the truth always be spoken, and leave the issue to One who is himself the Truth. No matter under how amiable a pretext any one violates the divine law; it is no less a violation of that pure and holy law; and although there are many who consider that only the falsely spoken word which passes over the lips is a lie, there are many other ways of outraging the truth. The acted lie, perhaps more common than the spoken, is not less hateful in the sight of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold sin without abhorrence; and all deception, however skilfully veiled from human perception, is falsehood in his sight."
"I am sorry, sir," said William; "but I did not know how else to do; I did not know that would be lying."
"It would be a shifting of the truth, an evasion," said Mr. Stewart. "If you hope to run your earthly career with safety or success, let truth be the foundation on which you build it. Falsehood must have an end, but truth will triumph. Then why distort, or seek to disguise it, since the Scriptures tell us that 'obeying the truth purifies the soul?' 'Who shall abide in God's holy hill? who shall dwell in his tabernacle? He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.' Here is your money, to do with as you please: you can send the boy, however, to me; if he is as poor as you say, he must be looked after."
"He was at the door just now," said William, as he looked up and down the street; "but he must have gone home with his chips, as I do not see him."
"Very well," was the answer, "send him to-morrow."
A person entering now interrupted the conversation, and our hero departed on his way. As he turned the corner he found little Ned, who, not yet tired of gathering sticks, was adding to the weight of his basket by some spoils from a lumber-yard. He delivered the message from Professor Stewart, and having given him the shilling just received, he bade him buy bread for his grandmother, and once more set off at a round pace for home.
His steps were, however, not so rapid as to banish thought, and although he dreaded the reproach he would meet, when, if questioned, he should tell how he had disposed of the money, he never for a moment swerved from his determination to tell the whole truth, let the consequences be what they might. He was not, however, so much taken up with his own affairs that he had no sympathy for others. The figure of little Ned Graham, in his thin clothing, thankful for the slight warmth afforded by the worn linen trousers which left his meager limbs bare more than half way from the knee, came still between him and the dark shadows which his own trials cast upon his naturally bright and hoping spirit. "I am wrong to be so depressed," he said to himself; "we may see blessings in every lot, if we are willing to do so; and poor little Ned is as bright as a lark because he can get wood for the carrying, although he was shivering with cold, and his face looked pinched as if he were only half fed. Stay; let me see; I wonder if I cannot make some sort of shoes for him! There is a pile of old boots and shoes in the back shop, which Mr. Walters said were not worth mending, and he would have carted away. I will ask him about them, and if he has no use for the things, I will make a pair out of the best of them."
There is no better cure for our selfish sorrow than to plan or execute something to alleviate the sufferings of others, and now the impulsive and naturally energetic spirit of our little shoemaker experienced a sudden rebound at the prospect of what he could do, which beguiled him back to at least comparative happiness, and lightened for a time his bondage of depression.
Smile not, dear young reader, that the task was so easily accomplished. It costs but little to bestow happiness or comfort on another; but small as is the outlay, nothing brings better interest, as our poor hero experienced in the sunshine poured in so suddenly on his lately clouded spirit.
He returned to his home with a lighter heart and more buoyant step than had accompanied his going forth; and felt not only resolute, but fully armed to bear whatever reproach or violence he might meet, when he should be questioned about the money, and declare the truth. His fears on this occasion were without foundation. Mr. Walters was satisfied with his reasons for having left the shoes, and asked no further questions; and Mrs. Walters, not wanting "change," said nothing about borrowing; so William, truly thankful that all had passed over so quietly, retired to rest, wearied indeed in body, but happier in mind than he had been for many days, dreaming not only of the pleasure he should have in making the shoes, but in seeing little Ned's black eyes dance for joy in receiving them.