Clinton shook his head, in the negative.
“Well,” continued Mr. Davenport, “after the young man had come to an understanding with the pretty lass whom he intended to make his wife, he had to go to her father to get his consent to the arrangement. The father was a shrewd old farmer, and he noticed that his daughter’s suitor, during the awkward interview, whittled away very industriously at a stick, just as you were doing a moment ago. The old man watched the movement of the knife, and at the same time continued to talk on the prospects of his would-be son-in-law, until the stick had dwindled down to nothing. Then he said to the young man: ‘Sir, you have property, and steady habits, and are good-looking; but you can’t have my daughter. Had you made something,—no matter what,—of the stick you have whittled away, you could have had her; as it is,—you cannot. Your property will go as the stick did, little by little, until all is gone, and your family reduced to want. I have read your true character; you have my answer.’
“So,” continued Mr. Davenport, “you see what a man lost by whittling his stick away to nothing. Perhaps he only did it because he had something on his mind, which he did not know how to get off; but he took a very foolish way to get over the difficulty, as he soon discovered.”
This last remark, whether intended so by his father or not, Clinton took as having a special meaning for him. He thought it an evidence that his father had noticed his troubled look, and was awaiting an explanation. So throwing his piece of pine into the fire, and summoning all his resolution, he said, as his eyes filled with tears:—
“Father, I have got something on my mind that has made me very unhappy for a good while, and now I want to tell you all about it.”
At these words his mother, who was sewing, dropped her work and fixed her eyes earnestly upon Clinton. His father, forgetting his conversation an hour or two previous with Mrs. Davenport, said:—
“I thought something ailed you, Clinton, and I am glad you have concluded to tell us about it. You have no better friends than your father and mother, and you ought never to conceal your troubles from them. Go on with your story.”
Clinton then made a full and frank confession of his misdoing, as it has been already related. He also gave an account of the manner in which he had been detected, so far as he had been able to learn, and narrated the conversation he had held with Master Eaton, that afternoon. When he concluded his confession, his parents, as well as himself, were in tears. For some moments there was a silence, unbroken save by sobs. Mr. Davenport then arose, and pressing Clinton to his heart, said:—
“My son, I bless God that he has given you courage to make this confession. You have done very wrong; you have had a narrow escape from shipwreck,—and all the while we were not dreaming of your danger! O, how could you deceive us so? But I won’t chide you now. You have done well to disclose it all, even at this late day,—and I hope you have learned a lesson from this affair which you will never forget!”
His father and mother continued the conversation for some time,—pointing out to Clinton, very plainly but kindly, the principal faults of his character, by which he had been led astray; and warning him earnestly against associating any more with Jerry, or any other boys of his stamp. At length, Mr. Davenport inquired what punishment the teacher had inflicted.