Henry Ekworth had been a year or two in a solicitor's office. His duties sometimes compelled his attendance at criminal courts.
One day, when he entered, a young man stood in the prisoner's dock on trial for robbing his employer. Such trials, alas, are fearfully common; and Henry would have paid little attention to the proceedings, if, in the youthful prisoner, he had not recognised his old playfellow, Albert.
With a heavy heart, he listened then. The trial was short, for the witnesses were few, but the evidence was conclusive; and, without leaving the box, the jury pronounced the prisoner guilty.
Henry Ekworth left the court in great distress of mind; and on the following day he visited the young convict in prison.
"Ah, Henry!" said the unhappy youth. "If I had been brought up as you were, I should not be here now. It is all the fault of my father."
"Do not say that, Albert," said Henry; "it is not, cannot be, right to indulge in such thoughts."
"You would say, I suppose," returned Albert, "that the Bible tells us to honour our fathers and mothers. Well, I have nothing to say about my mother. She is dead; and if she had not been, this would have killed her. But as to honouring my father, I cannot, and will not. And I say that it is his fault that I am here."
Henry was much shocked, and he said so.
"I dare say you are, Henry," replied the young man, "but you need not be so much surprised. I don't say that my father taught me to steal; but you know how he came to ruin himself, and all of us. And if he did not teach me to steal, he taught me to drink, and I say it is all his fault; and now I do not care what becomes of me."
Yes, it was true enough, said the convicted prisoner, he had robbed his employer.