"I don't know, except it was idleness."
While this was saying, the farmer was emptying Lazy Lawrence's pockets, and when the money appeared, all his former companions in the village looked at each other with astonishment and terror.
Their parents grasped their little hands closer, and cried, "Thank God! He is not my son. How often, when he was little, we used, as he lounged about, to tell him that idleness was the root of all evil?"
As for the hardened wretch, his accomplice, every one was impatient to have him sent to jail. He had put on a bold, insolent countenance, till he heard Lawrence's confession—till the money was found upon him, and he heard the milk-woman declare that she would swear to the silver penny which he had dropped. Then he turned pale, and betrayed the strongest signs of fear.
"We must take him before the justice," said the farmer, "and he'll be lodged in Bristol jail."
"O," said Jem, springing forwards when Lawrence's hands were going to be tied, "let him go—won't you—can't you let him go?"
"Yes, madam, for mercy's sake," said Jem's mother to the lady; "'think what a disgrace to his family to be sent to jail."
His father stood by, wringing his hands in an agony of despair.
"It's all my fault," cried he. "I brought him up in idleness."
"But he'll never be idle any more," said Jem. "Won't you speak for him, ma'am?"