Eric, a waif

by Emma Leslie

Eric thought of his master and the horses that had been left in his charge, and turned hot and cold by turns as he looked at the man's hard face. "I have no more money than this," he said; "but if you will let me go, or send up to Consett Farm to-morrow, you shall have your money, and something over for waiting."

He spoke in a pleading, anxious tone, but he might as well have pleaded with the stones in the street as to this man, and finding that there was no more money to be got from him, he gave him in charge of the dock watchman for robbing him of his rightful fare.

The man was a little more inclined to think that Eric himself was the subject of a practical joke when he heard the whole story, but what could he do? The boatman insisted upon Eric being taken before the justice, as a warning to others against imposing upon poor boatmen, and so he was obliged to do his duty, as he said, though he might feel sure that Eric was not the thief the boatman thought him.

The Old Bell was too far from the dock for anybody to send there on the lad's behalf. The justices could order that to be done the next day if they thought it necessary. This was all the comfort Eric could get, and so, about the time that Mr. Consett would be riding back to The Bell to meet him, he was thrust into the dreary building chiefly used for the detention of drunken and quarrelsome sailors, or people suspected of theft, as he was now.

In the semi-gloom and quiet of this place, he had time to go over in his own mind the events of the day. The fresh air had cleared away from his brain the fumes of the strong ale he had drunk at The Bell, and recalling all that had happened, he wondered how he could have been so foolish as to be persuaded to give up the care of his master's horses to strangers, while he went off in search of his own pleasure.

He had boasted to his mistress that he knew too much of what went on at an inn yard to be persuaded by anybody to neglect his duty, and here he was, the very first time he went into town, accused of being a thief; and perhaps his master, with far greater reason, would think him one too, for he felt sure now that he had been sent out to the Dolphin purposely, and that it was by no means the mistake he had first thought it, now that he had time calmly to review all the circumstances that led up to it. But of course these thoughts did but increase his misery, and as hour after hour passed, his anguish of mind grew more intense.

He was a fool, and worse than a fool, he said to himself, to be deluded into leaving his duty at the persuasion of a couple of strangers who had undoubtedly acted from some interested motive in the matter. Perhaps the men had gone off with the horses now, and there would be no one to tell his master what had happened, that he might take steps to recover them.

The thought of his ingratitude and folly drove him almost mad, until at last the thought that even over this he could pray and seek God's help and guidance, came to him as healing balm, and he fell on his knees and poured out his whole soul before his Father in heaven.

He had done wrong, he had gone astray like a lost and foolish sheep; just when he felt so confident, so sure of himself, he had fallen. But, oh, the rest and comfort of the thought that though he had sinned, there was forgiveness for sin—that the Lord Jesus Christ could and would help him to conquer and overcome it, and He could bring light out of this darkness, order out of this tangled skein of circumstances.

After this, he decided that his first duty now was to let his master know where and how he had left the horses, and whatever punishment he deemed he ought to suffer, to take it meekly. That his Father in heaven could and would help him to decide aright was a great comfort to him; and at last, he curled himself up in one corner of the cell and went to sleep, and, despite his misery and the uncomfortable place he was in, he slept soundly until the morning.