A little child pointed to a neat cottage door. That was where John Hodge lived. They knocked, and were told to come in. They started back with surprise on seeing Ellis seated on a chair, reading earnestly to the man they had come to see, while a woman stood by, with her apron to her eyes, and five small children were playing about the humble brick-floored room. How changed was poor Hodge! Thin and pale in the extreme, with an expression of care on his countenance, he sat propped up in an old oak chair. It was evident that he could not move, or indeed breathe, without pain. Ellis was so absorbed in his occupation that he did not perceive at first the entrance of his schoolfellows. They stopped at the threshold, unwilling to interrupt him. He was reading the Bible, and having read some verses he began to explain their meaning. At last he finished.
“Sit down, young gentlemen, sit down, pray,” said Mrs Hodge, offering them some three-legged stools, which she wiped mechanically with her apron.
Her words made Ellis look up. The colour came into his cheeks when he saw the new-comers. They nodded kindly to him, and then explained that they had come in consequence of an invitation they had received long ago, and that they were sorry to find their host in so bad a state. John Hodge said that he recollected them, that he was glad to see them, but he made no complaint, or spoke even of the cause of his illness. After they had sat and talked a short time, Ellis got up to go away; Buttar and Gregson accompanied him, but Ernest lingered behind, and taking out the contents of his purse, offered it to the dame.
“Thank ye kindly, sir,” she replied, motioning him to keep it; “but that young gentleman has given us all we want for some time. He says he gets it from his friends; that we are not robbing him; and we couldn’t be taking it from you or from any one, unless we wanted it very badly. Ah, sir, if ever there was an angel on earth he is one; of that I’m certain.”
“Well, well, when you do want you mustn’t mind taking it from me. I owe your husband some money as it is,” answered Ernest, putting out his hand to the poor woman, and then to Hodge. He took up the children, and gave a kiss to a little rosy boy, who smiled in his face, and then saying he would come back soon, turned after his companions. He felt much gratified at hearing such an account of Ellis. At once an idea struck him. In the story Selby had told him about Ellis, it appeared that one of the causes of suspicion against him was his being possessed of a considerable sum of money. Might not that have been given to him for the purpose of being bestowed in charity, as he undoubtedly had lately been furnished with funds for the same object? Ernest, though not over precipitate usually, at once jumped at this conclusion. It was very delightful to be able to think so, and the conviction that he had wronged Ellis in his thoughts caused him to be doubly anxious to make ample amends without delay, and this added considerably to the warmth of his manner when he overtook him. He pressed him, as Buttar and Gregson had been doing, to accompany them on their fishing excursion. At length he said that he should like to go, but pleaded want of rod and fishing-tackle.
Gregson laughed. “Oh, I can supply you with all you require,” he observed. “My rod you can have, and I can replace it with one to suit my purpose in ten minutes. I have two spare tops, and tackle enough to fit out a dozen fishermen. Come along, you have no excuse.”
Ellis agreed, and with light steps the party proceeded towards the broad stream they had fixed on. The day was warm and slightly overcast, and the water was not too clear, so that they had a fair prospect of success. They were not disappointed. Never before had they caught so many fish. They kept pulling them up one after the other. Many were very fine trout. Ellis had never caught such in his life before. They all agreed that fishing was one of the most delightful of occupations. Their hearts as they walked homewards opened more than ever towards each other. Ernest at last spoke out:—
“Ellis, my dear fellow, we have been doing you great wrong,—that is, Buttar and I,—I don’t think Gregson has. We were certain that you were very sorry, and were quite changed, but we thought you might have been guilty of the thing they talked about; now we are certain you were not. The money you were known to possess was given you for a good object—to bestow in charity. One proof of your guilt falls to the ground.”
“Oh, Bracebridge, I am glad to hear you say so,” answered Ellis. “You are right. I promised not to say from whom I received it, and so I could not. No one accused me to my face. The Master knew that I was innocent. What could I do? I now feel sure that all will turn up right in the end. I am so happy.”