“Nay, never mind it, dear husband; John will be very good, I hope, and we had better say no more about what is past.”
“Yes, but I must know,” said he, drawing John close to him. “Come, tell me what has been the matter.”
John was a plain-spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way of speaking the truth. He came up to his father, and looked full in his face, and said, “The baker came for his money to-night, and would not leave the loaves without mother paid for them; and though he was cross and rough to mother, he said it was not her fault, and that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying, till I saw her tears fall, drop, drop, on her hands; and then I said bad words, and mother sent me to stand in the corner.”
“And now, John, you may bring me some coal,” said Susan; “there’s a fine lump in the coal-box.”
“But first tell me what your bad words were, John,” said his father; “not swearing, I hope?”
“No,” said John, coloring, but speaking as bluntly as before, “I said that you were a bad man. I said, bad father.”
“And they were bad words, I am sure,” said Susan, very calmly; “but you are forgiven, and so you may get me the coal.”
George looked at the face of his wife, and as he met the tender gaze of her mild eyes now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own. He rose up, and as he put the money into his wife’s hands, he said, “There are my week’s wages. Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Well, now you have every farthing. Keep the whole, and lay it out to the best advantage, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours; and now put on your bonnet, and I’ll walk with you to pay the baker, and buy a bushel or two of coal, or any thing else you may be in want of; and when we come back I’ll read a chapter of the Bible to you and the girls, while you get on with the needle-work.”
Susan went up stairs to put on her bonnet and shawl, and she remained a little longer, to kneel down on the spot where she had often knelt almost heart-broken in prayer—prayer that her heavenly Father would turn her husband’s heart, first to his Saviour, and then to his wife and children; and that, in the meantime, he would give her patience. She, knelt down this time to pour out her heart in thanksgiving and praise. The pleasant tones of her husband’s voice called her from her knees.
George Manly told his wife that evening, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord’s wife and daughters; and when he thought of his own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, and drinking, night after night, more like a beast than a man, destroying his own manly strength, and the fine health God had given him, he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He made his determination, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips, and he hoped he made it in dependence upon God for grace and strength to keep it.