“But the Good Book tells us not to refrain from using the rod,” urged the storekeeper. “I have heard you read that passage more than a few times, Mr. Holwell.”
“Yes, but use it in moderation,” explained the minister, “and then only in love. If I had a boy of my own I would never whip or punish him for heedless things he may have done without a heart-to-heart talk with him afterwards, and a reconciliation. Harsh actions do not profit one in the case of boys. I really believe it only serves to make them think they are being imposed upon, and their liberties destroyed, which leads to open rebellion.”
“Well, since you ask it as a favor, Mr. Holwell,” the deacon went on to say, reluctantly, “I will promise to forego my threat this time. But it is the last opportunity for those three young jackanapes. If they ever attempt to bait me again, I will surely bring them to book, no matter what ill feeling it causes.”
“Thank you, Deacon,” said the minister, shaking the old man’s hand, which was put in his rather reluctantly it must be confessed. “On my part, I promise you that something is soon going to be done to curb the reckless habit our boys have of seeking excitement, and what they call fun. I think we shall be able to make a considerable difference in their habits, once we get started.”
At that prophecy the crabbed old man snorted.
“I imagine that will happen, Mr. Holwell,” he said, sneeringly, “when the heavens fall, or water starts to run uphill. Kind words never yet controlled youthful spirits. It’s strap-oil that is needed to make decent men of them.”
“Ah! yes, but even that stern method often fails, Deacon,” the minister gently reminded him, and the old man’s face went whiter than usual, while speech failed him utterly; for like a stab there must have come to him the remembrance of the bright-faced young fellow he had sent away from home years ago, and whom he never saw again in life.
He broke away from the hand of the minister, and muttering to himself, stamped off; but both of them saw that at least he was now headed for his store, and not in the direction of police headquarters.
Mr. Holwell and Harry Bartlett stood there looking after him. The young fellow appeared somewhat amused, but his companion was very grave, and the lines on his forehead told that serious thoughts were gripping him.
“Things are getting worse all the while, it seems, Harry,” remarked the minister, finally. “Our boys are constantly becoming more reckless, it strikes me, in their desire to have what they call fun. The times are changing, and we must change with them. What answered in my younger days will not fill the bill in these times.”