[CHAPTER II.]
RIGHT AND WRONG.
MRS. WHITE, Walter's mother, kept a small shop in Springcliffe. Her stock-in-trade consisted in all the numerous articles comprehended under the general term "haberdashery," in addition to which she also sold stationery and toys. She was much respected in the neighbourhood.
In years gone by, when Walter was a little boy, her circumstances had been very different. Then her husband lived, and rented a small farm not far from Springcliffe, and everything seemed to prosper with them. But after that there came a year when the crops failed, and a long and severe winter succeeded. Mr. White, never a very strong man, caught a violent cold, from the effects of which he did not recover. He died in the early spring time, and the sale of the farming implements and stock barely sufficed to pay his debts, and the widow found herself left almost penniless, with her little son, then about nine years old.
She bore up under her trials with Christian fortitude; feeling that God's way with us is the "right way," how rough soever it may seem to be. In all her trouble she had one great comfort, and that was her boy Walter. For his sake she nerved herself to recommence—and this time alone—the battle of life; and, with the assistance of a few kind friends, who had respected her husband, she raised a sum sufficient to stock her little shop. By industry and frugality she managed to earn a decent livelihood for herself and child, and to save money enough to apprentice Walter to Mr. King, the carpenter.
"All's settled, mother," cried Walter, as he entered the homely but comfortable room, half-kitchen, half-parlour, in which Mrs. White was sitting.
The widow always closed her shop at seven o'clock, and she was now seated at work by a bright fire, with a little round table before her. At the other side of the fire Walter's chair was ready for him, and his slippers were warming in the fender.
"All's right, mother, and we are to begin school on Monday evening. Ain't I glad, that's all!"
"And so am I, Walter, I can assure you. It will be a nice occupation for you during the long winter evenings, when there are so many hours after work in which you have literally nothing to do, and—"
"And what, mother?" said Walter, with a half-smile, for he guessed what she meant, although she had not finished her sentence.