“Sarah,” replied I, earnestly, “I will come; and to prove to you that we are friends, I will ask a favour of him.”
“Oh, Jacob, this is kind indeed,” cried Sarah, with her eyes swimming with tears. “You have made me so—so very happy!”
The meeting with Sarah humanised me, and every feeling of revenge was chased from my memory. Mrs Drummond joined us soon after, and proposed to return. “And Jacob will pull us back,” cried Sarah. “Come, sir, look after your fare, in both senses. Since you will be a waterman, you shall work.” I laughed and handed them to the boat. Tom took the other oar, and we were soon at the steps close to their house.
“Mamma, we ought to give these poor fellows something to drink; they’ve worked very hard,” said Sarah, mocking. “Come up, my good men.” I hesitated. “Nay, Jacob, if tomorrow why not to-day? The sooner these things are over the better.”
I felt the truth of this observation, and followed her. In a few minutes I was again in that parlour in which I had been dismissed, and in which the affectionate girl burst into tears on my shoulder, as I held the handle of the door. I looked at it, and looked at Sarah. Mrs Drummond had gone out of the room to let Mr Drummond know that I had come. “How kind you were, Sarah!” said I.
“Yes, but kind people are cross sometimes, and so am I—and so was—”
Mr Drummond came in, and stopped her. “Jacob, I am glad to see you again in my house; I was deceived by appearances, and did you injustice.” How true is the observation of the wise man, that a soft word turneth away wrath; that Mr Drummond should personally acknowledge that he was wrong to me—that he should confess it—every feeling of resentment was gone, and others crowded in their place. I recollected how he had protected the orphan—how he had provided him with instruction—how he had made his house a home to me—how he had tried to bring me forward under his own protection I recollected—which, alas! I never should have forgotten—that he had treated me for years with kindness and affection, all of which had been obliterated from my memory by one single act of injustice. I felt that I was a culprit, and burst into tears; and Sarah, as before, cried in sympathy.
“I beg your pardon, Mr Drummond,” said I, as soon as I could speak; “I have been very wrong in being so revengeful after so much kindness from you.”
“We both have been wrong—but say no more on the subject, Jacob; I have an order to give, and then I will come up to you again;” and Mr Drummond quitted the room.
“You dear, good boy,” said Sarah, coming up to me. “Now, I really do love you.”