“No, sis,” he answered, and with a parting “good-night,” he fell asleep—not the sweet, calm sleep to which he was accustomed, but fitful, troubled dreams, in which the unpleasant events of the afternoon flitted before him, in an exaggerated and grotesque, but always sad and reproachful panorama.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] See the Map of Brookdale, p. [14].
CHAPTER IV.
CRIME.
An icicle is hanging over the window by which I write. A day or two ago, it was hardly perceptible, but it has gone on, increasing in size, until now it is as large round as my arm, and full as long. It is nothing, however, but an innumerable collection of little drops of water, frozen together. One by one they chased each other down the roof above, but on coming to the cold icicle, they became chilled, and were congealed into a part of itself, some of them running down to its slender tip, and others fastening themselves upon its sides, or its inverted base.
It is thus that evil habits are formed—drop by drop, and atom by atom. One wrong act prepares the way for another. One bad habit invites and attracts others. Thus the little one soon becomes a troop, and the feeble enemy swells into a formidable giant.
Oscar and Jerry were fast descending the downward path of evil. Having nothing else to employ themselves about, mischief-making became the main business of their lives. They were away from home a large portion of the time; and as Mr. Preston was glad to have them go off, for the sake of quiet and peace at home, he seldom troubled himself to inquire where they went, or what they did. Complaints, however, sometimes reached him of their misconduct, which he passed over in silence, or angrily rebuked or punished, as he happened to feel.
One day, as Oscar and Jerry were making one of their excursions about the town, they noticed some fine-looking pears, growing on a small dwarf tree in a garden. No person was in sight, and the blinds of that portion of the house from which they could be seen were all closed. There seemed to be nothing to prevent their helping themselves, and after deliberating a moment, and turning their eyes in every direction, with an assumed air of carelessness, they noiselessly entered the gate, and commenced stripping the tree of its rich burden. The tree was not much higher than Oscar’s head, and there were but half a dozen pears upon it, all of which were quickly transferred to the pockets of the boys.
The act was not committed so secretly as the young thieves imagined. Mr. Upham, to whom the fruit belonged, was at work threshing, in the barn, and from a back window observed Oscar and Jerry as they came along the road. Knowing the mischievous propensities of the boys, he kept an eye upon them, until he saw them reach forth to pluck the fruit, when he seized a whip, and ran towards them. The last pear was in their pockets before they saw him approaching, and all they had to do, therefore, was to run with all speed, which they lost no time in doing. Mr. Upham pursued them, several rods, but finding that their young legs were more nimble and light-footed than his, he soon gave up the unequal chase.
Towards noon, when Mr. Upham supposed the boys would be at home to dinner, he tackled his horse and rode over to Mr. Preston’s. As he saw Jerry’s father in the barn, he advanced towards him, calling out in his rough way:—