A finer family than that of Goldie, the fruiterer, was not to be found in the village of E—. His three sons, when young children, constantly attracted the notice of visitors by their uncommon beauty—a painter of eminence had introduced their likeness into one of his pictures as cherubs, and the praises lavished upon them by strangers fostered the pride of their fond mother, who believed that her boys, especially Ned the youngest, were not to be equalled by any children in England.
As they grew older, Aleck, the first-born, displayed so much talent, that Goldie, persuaded that he wanted nothing but a good education to place him in the highway to fortune and fame, made every effort, scraped together all his gains, denied himself and family many comforts, to send him to a school where he might be with gentlemen's sons, and acquire the knowledge necessary for getting on in the world. Getting on in the world was a favourite expression of Goldie's, and to judge both by his conduct and his advice to his children, it appeared that to him it comprised the chief—I had almost said the only object in life. Yet Goldie did not consider himself exactly an irreligious man. He had no objection to piety as long as it did not interfere with profit; spoke very decidedly about upholding the Church, sometimes attended divine service himself when some one else would look after the shop, which he kept open on Sunday as usual, and kept a large handsome Bible in his parlour, which he never read or even opened.
His wife's character was of a different stamp. Mrs. Goldie was not hardened in worldliness—with another husband she might have appeared a religious woman. When God's day was profaned, and His commandments disobeyed, she had a secret suspicion that all was not right. She regularly went to church, and what she heard there often sent her home with an uneasy conscience. She was a delicate woman, too, and in hours of sickness was often visited by scruples and fears. But her husband laughed at them, and she struggled against them, was contented to try to think them foolish and weak; and while, like Agrippa, almost a Christian in conviction, was never ready to step over the border-line and take up the cross in earnest. She had just religion enough to make her uneasy, and that, if constantly resisted or neglected, is not the religion which can bring us to heaven.
Mrs. Goldie loved her sons, she idolised Ned, her whole heart seemed wrapped up in the boy. No wish so unreasonable but it must be granted, no fault so glaring but it must be overlooked; she found an excuse for every error. It is true that Mrs. Goldie would rather that her sons had chosen other companions than such as those whose society she feared did them no good; she had rather that they had sometimes read the Bibles with which she had provided them, instead of the cheap novels that were constantly lying about their rooms; she had rather that Mat and Ned had not sat up gambling till midnight; but she never made a hearty effort to change anything that was amiss. "It was natural that boys should like amusement," she said—and with her, it is natural almost stood instead of it is right. Her sons knew nothing of a mother's gentle training, earnest entreaties, affectionate reproofs. She had not watched over them, prayed for them, sought to win them to God, and any affection that they might bear their mother was unmixed either with obedience or respect.
To such a family as this, it is no wonder that the adoption by Viner of the son of a convict, the son of a man who had greatly wronged him, appeared an act of extraordinary folly. While Walter and his little companion Nelly were engaged in laying out vegetables, preparing the shop, and disposing of beans and potatoes to fishermen's wives, or sweetmeats to bareheaded children who had but one copper piece to lay upon the counter, their neighbours on the opposite side of the street were passing many a joke at his expense.
"That boy there don't know how to shell peas!" said Mat.
"Depend on't, he knows precious well how to eat them," laughed Ned.
"I'd not be a peach or a plum in his way," said the first speaker, "if poor Viner adorned his board with such dainties, but the temptation of raw carrots might be withstood—ha! ha! ha!"
"You forget the pink rock and the lolly-pop!" exclaimed Ned.
"Yes, the good man will find his stock going remarkably cheap—at an alarming sacrifice, as they advertise in the London shops."