“Now, dear Walter, you were saying, I think, when we were discussing the raffle, that we cannot always be doing just what is right, and that Gregson and Saunders would make great fun of you if you were to refuse to put down your name because Amos thinks it wrong to raffle. Does not that young American’s case show very plainly that we ought to aim at always doing right? And is it not better to please a dear Christian old mother, or a dear Christian brother like Amos, than to be smiled upon by a dishonest master, or by such companions as Saunders or Gregson? You see, the young man acted with true moral courage when he braved the sneers and displeasure of his unscrupulous employer; and he found his reward in the approval of God, his conscience, and his dear old mother.”
Walter made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Then he rose, flung his arms round his aunt’s neck, kissed her half a dozen times very warmly, and, whispering in her ear, “Pray for me, dear auntie,” hastily left the room. Oh, how Miss Huntingdon rejoiced at these few simple and touching words, both on Walter’s own account and also on Amos’s. She was sure now that her beloved nephew was feeling his way into the narrow path, and would be all right on the road before long.
A few days later, while Miss Huntingdon, Julia, and Amos were writing their letters a little before luncheon time, Walter opened the door and looked in with a comical expression on his face. “Are you all very busy?” he asked. Having received a reply in the negative, he advanced to the fire, crouched down by his aunt, hid his face in her lap, and then, looking up at her with a smile, said, “I’ve come to make an announcement and a confession. First and foremost, the raffle has come to grief, partly, I suppose, because Walter Huntingdon, junior, Esquire of Flixworth Manor, in the county of Hertfordshire, has refused to put down his name or have anything to do with it. There—what does the present company think of this important announcement?”
Amos and his aunt replied by loving smiles; Julia kept her eyes fixed on some work she had taken up.
“My next announcement,” continued Walter, “is of equal interest and importance. The great firm of Huntingdon, Gregson, and Saunders has dissolved partnership. What do you say to that?”
Amos left his place at the table, and kneeling down close to his brother drew him warmly to him, his tears falling fast all the while as he whispered, “Dear, dear Walter, how happy you have made me!”
“Do you want to hear all about it?” asked the other. “Would you like to hear my confession?”
“By all means, dear boy,” said his aunt, placing a fond hand on the head of each of the brothers. Julia left her place and crouched down close to Walter, so that her aunt’s hands could include herself in their gentle pressure.
“Now for it,” said Walter, rising and standing erect, with his back to the fire. “Yesterday,” he continued, “as I was riding out before dinner, I met Saunders and Gregson on horseback. Gregson was riding Rosebud.—‘Well,’ said Gregson, ‘is Rosebud to be yours?’—‘Can’t afford it,’ I said; ‘a hundred guineas is too much. I haven’t got the money to spare.’—‘No, of course not,’ he said; ‘but you can spare a guinea.’—‘Yes,’ I replied; ‘but that won’t buy Rosebud.’—‘No,’ he said; ‘but it will give you a chance of getting her for a guinea.’—‘That’s one way,’ I said; ‘but it don’t seem the right one to me. What do you say to swopping Rosebud for my pony? then you’ll have an equivalent, at least if you think so.’—Saunders and he looked at one another as if they had seen a ghost; and then I said, ‘Perhaps I can work out the value. Let me see. Will you give me fifty guineas a year if I take the place of groom to you? I may earn Rosebud that way in two years if you give her to me instead of wages.’—My two companions began to whisper to one another, and to stare at me as if I’d just come out of an Egyptian mummy-case.—‘What’s up now?’ I said.—‘We can’t make you out,’ said Saunders; ‘whatever are you driving at?’—‘Oh, I’ll soon make that clear!’ I said. ‘The fact is, gentlemen, I’ve been led to the conclusion that raffling isn’t right; that it’s only a sort of gambling; that, in fact, there are only three honest ways of my getting Rosebud. One is by giving an equivalent in money or something else; but I can’t afford the hundred guineas, and you won’t take my pony in exchange. The second way is by earning her—that is, by my doing so much work as will be of the same value; but it wouldn’t suit you nor me for me to take the place of your groom for a couple of years. And the third way is for me to have her as a free gift; but I’m not so sanguine as to suppose that you mean to give her to me right out.’—‘And where have you got all this precious nonsense from?’ cried Saunders.—‘In the first place,’ I answered, ‘you’re right about the “precious,” but wrong about the “nonsense;” it’s precious truth. In the next place, I have learned these views on the subject of raffles from my brother Amos.’—Then there was a hullaballoo. ‘Your brother Amos!’ they shouted out, as if my dear brother was the very last person in the world that anything good or sensible could be expected from.—‘Yes,’ I said, as cool as an icicle, ‘my brother Amos. I suppose if a thing’s right, it’s as good when it comes from him as from any one else.’—They were both taken aback, I can tell you. But I stuck to my point. They tried to chaff me out of it by saying, ‘Well, I would be a man if I were you, and have an opinion of my own.’—‘I have an opinion of my own,’ said I, ‘and it’s none the less my own because it’s the same as my brother’s.’—‘He daren’t move a step by himself now for that brother of his,’ sneered Saunders.—To this I replied, ‘I’ll just give you an answer in the words of one whose opinion you’ll respect, I think, and it’s this—’
“I dare do all that may become a man,
Who dares do more is none.”