"Did you find it yourself then?"

"Yes! it was lying in the street that night when I ran for a Doctor to see my mother, who is dying. She told me now to come back directly, Sir, so I must be going."

"But let us give you something for being so honest," said Frank. "You are a fine fellow, and you deserve to be well rewarded."

"I only did my duty, Sir. Mother always says we should do right for conscience' sake, and not for a reward."

"Yes! but you are justly ent.i.tled to this," said Major Graham, taking a sovereign out of the purse. "I shall do more for you yet, but in the meantime here is what you have honestly earned to-day."

"If I thought so, Sir,"----said the poor boy, looking wistfully at the glittering coin. "If I was quite sure there could be no harm----, but I must speak first to mother about it, Sir! She has seen better days once, and she is sadly afraid of my ever taking charity. Mother mends my clothes, and teaches me herself, and works very hard in other ways, but she is quite bed-ridden, and we have scarcely anything but the trifle I make by working in the fields. It is very difficult to get a job at all sometimes, and if you could put me in the way of earning that money, Sir, it would make mother very happy. She is a little particular, and would not taste a morsel that I could get by asking for it."

"That is being very proud!" said Harry.

"No, Sir! it is not from pride," replied Evan; "but mother says a merciful G.o.d has provided for her many years, and she will not begin to distrust Him now. Her hands are always busy, and her heart is always cheerful. She rears many little plants by her bedside, which we sell, and she teaches a neighbour's children, besides sewing for any one who will employ her, for mother's maxim always was, that there can be no such thing as an idle Christian."

"Very true!" said Lady Harriet. "Even the apostles were mending their nets and labouring hard, whenever they were not teaching. Either the body or the mind should always be active."

"If you saw mother, that is exactly her way, for she does not eat the bread of idleness. Were a stranger to offer us a blanket or a dinner in charity, she would rather go without any than take it. A very kind lady brought her a gown one day, but mother would only have it if she were allowed to knit as many stockings as would pay for the stuff. I dare not take a penny more for my work than is due, for she says, if once I begin receiving alms, I might get accustomed to it."

"That is the good old Scotch feeling of former days," observed Major Graham. "It was sometimes carried too far then, but there is not enough of it now. Your mother should have lived fifty years ago."

"You may say so, indeed, Sir! We never had a drop of broth from the soup-kitchen all winter, and many a day we shivered without a fire, though the society offered her sixpence a-week for coals, but she says 'the given morsel is soon done;' and now, many of our neighbours who wasted what they got, feel worse off than we, who are accustomed to suffer want, and to live upon our honest labour. Long ago, if mother went out to tea with any of our neighbours, she always took her own tea along with us."

"But that is being prouder than anybody else," observed Frank, smiling.

"If my grandmama goes out to a tea-party, she allows her friends to provide the fare."

"Very likely, Sir! but that is different when people can give as good as they get. Last week a kind neighbour sent us some nice loaf bread, but mother made me take it back, with her best thanks, and she preferred our own oat cake. She is more ready to give than to take, Sir, and divides her last bannock, sometimes, with anybody who is worse off than ourselves."

"Poor fellow!" said Frank, compa.s.sionately; "how much you must often have suffered!"

"Suffered!" said the boy, with sudden emotion. "Yes! I have suffered! It matters nothing to be clothed in rags,--to be cold and hungry now! There are worse trials than that! My father died last year, crushed to death in a moment by his own cart-wheels,--my brothers and sisters have all gone to the grave, scarcely able to afford the medicines that might have cured them,--and I am left alone with my poor dying mother. It is a comfort that life is not very long, and we may trust all to G.o.d while it lasts."

"Could you take us to see Mrs. Mackay?" said Major Graham, kindly.

"Laura, get your bonnet."

"Oh, Sir! that young lady could not stay half a minute in the place where my poor mother lives now. It is not a pretty cottage such as we read of in tracts, but a dark cold room, up a high stair, in the narrowest lane you ever saw, with nothing to sit on but an old chest."

"Never mind that, Evan," replied Major Graham. "You and your mother have a spirit of honour and honesty that might shame many who are lying on sofas of silk and damask. I respect her, and shall a.s.sist you if it be possible. Show us the way."

Many dirty closes and narrow alleys were threaded by the whole party, before they reached a dark ruinous staircase, where Evan paused and looked round, to see whether Major Graham still approached. He then slowly mounted one flight of ancient crumbling steps after another, lighted by patched and broken windows, till at last they arrived at a narrow wooden flight, perfectly dark. After groping to the summit, they perceived a time-worn door, the latch of which was gently lifted by Evan, who stole noiselessly into the room, followed by uncle David and the wondering children.

There, a large cold room, nearly empty, but exceedingly clean, presented itself to their notice. In one corner stood a ma.s.sive old chest of carved oak, surrounded with a perfect glow of geraniums and myrtles in full blossom; beside which were arranged a large antique Bible, a jug of cold water, and a pile of coa.r.s.ely-knitted worsted stockings. Beyond these, on a bed of clean straw, lay a tall, emaciated old woman, apparently in the last stage of life, with a face haggard by suffering; and yet her thin, withered hands were busily occupied with needle-work, while, in low, faltering tones, she chanted these words,

"When from the dust of death I rise, To claim my mansion in the skies, This, this shall be my only plea, Jesus has liv'd and died for me."

"Mother!" said Evan, wishing to arouse her attention. "Look, mother!"

"Good day, Mrs. Mackay," added Major Graham, in a voice of great consideration, while she languidly turned her head towards the door. "I have come to thank you for restoring my purse this morning."

"You are kindly welcome, Sir! What else could we do!" replied she, in a feeble, tremulous voice. "The money was yours, and the sooner it went out of our hands the better."

"It was perfectly safe while it stayed there," added Major Graham, not affecting to speak in a homely accent, nor putting on any airs of condescension at all, but sitting down on the old chest as if he had never sat on any thing but a chest in his life before, and looking at the clean bare floor with as much respect as if it had been a Turkey carpet. "Your little boy's pocket seems to be as safe as the Bank of Scotland."

"That is very true, Sir! My boy is honest; and it is well to keep a good conscience, as that is all he has in this world to live for. Many have a heavy conscience to carry with a heavy purse; but these he need not envy. If we are poor in this world, we are rich in faith; and I trust the money was not even a temptation to Evan, because he has learned from the best of all teachers, that it would 'profit him nothing to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul.'"

"True, Mrs. Mackay! most true! We have come here this morning to request that you and he will do me the favour to accept of a small recompense."

"We are already rewarded, Sir! This has been an opportunity of testifying to our own hearts that we desire to do right in the eye of G.o.d. At the same time, it was Providence who kindly directed my son's steps to the place where that money was lying; and if anything seems justly due to poor Evan, let him have it. My wants are few, and must soon be ended. But oh! when I look at that boy, and think of the long years he may be struggling with poverty and temptation, my heart melts within me, and my whole spirit is broken. Faith itself seems to fail, and I could be a beggar for him now! It is not money I would ask, Sir, because that might soon be spent; but get him some honest employment, and I will thank you on my very knees."

Evan seemed startled at the sudden energy of his mother's manner, and tears sprung into his eyes while she spoke with a degree of agitation so different from what he had ever heard before; but he struggled to conceal his feelings, and she continued with increasing emotion,

"Bodily suffering, and many a year of care and sorrow, are fast closing their work on me. The moments are pa.s.sing away like a weaver's shuttle; and if I had less anxiety about Evan, how blessed a prospect it would appear; but that is the bitterness of death to me now. My poor, poor boy! I would rather hear he was in the way of earning his livelihood, than that he got a hundred a-year. Tell me, Sir!--and oh! consider you are speaking to a dying creature--can you possibly give him any creditable employment, where he might gain a crust of bread, and be independent?"

"I honour your very proper feeling on the subject, Mrs. Mackay, and shall help Evan to the best of my ability," replied Major Graham, in a tone of seriousness and sincerity. "To judge by these fine geraniums, he must be fond of cultivating plants; and we want an under-gardener in the country; therefore he shall have that situation without loss of time."

"Oh, mother! mother! speak no more of dying! You will surely get better now!" said Evan, looking up, while his thin pale face a.s.sumed a momentary glow of pleasure. "Try now to get better! I never could work as well, if you were not waiting to see me come home! We shall be so happy now!"

"Yes! I am happy!" said Mrs. Mackay, solemnly looking towards heaven, with an expression that could not be mistaken. "The last cord is cut that bound me to the earth; and may you, Sir, find hereafter the blessings that are promised to those who visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction."

CHAPTER XII.

THE YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN.

When hands are link'd that dread to part, And heart is met by throbbing heart; Oh! bitter, bitter is the smart Of them that bid farewell.

Heber.

Next Monday morning, at an early hour, Frank had again found his way with great difficulty to the house of Widow Mackay, where he spent all his pocket money on two fine scarlet geraniums. If they had been nettles or cabbages, he would have felt the same pleasure in buying them; and his eyes sparkled with animation when he entered uncle David's room, carrying them in his hand, and saying, "I was so glad to have some money! I could spare it quite well. There is no greater pleasure in being rich than to help such poor people as Evan Mackay and his poor sick mother!"

"Yes, Frank, I often wonder that any enjoyment of wealth can be considered equal to the exercise of kind feelings, for surely the most delightful sensation in this world is, to deserve and receive the grateful affection of those around us," replied Major Graham. "What a wretched being Robinson Crusoe was on the desert island alone, though he found chests of gold, and yet many people are as unblessed in the midst of society, who selfishly h.o.a.rd fortunes for themselves, unmindful of the many around who ought to be gratefully receiving their daily benefits."

"I was laughing to read lately of the West India slaves, who collected money all their lives in an old stocking," said Frank, "and who watched with delight as it filled from year to year; but the bank is only a great stocking, where misers in this country lay up treasures for themselves which they are never to enjoy, though too often they lay up no treasures for themselves in a better world."

"I frequently think, Frank, if all men were as liberal, kind, and forbearing to each other as the Holy Scriptures enjoin, and if we lived as soberly, temperately, and G.o.dly together, what a paradise this world would become, for many of our worst sufferings are brought on by our own folly, or the unkindness of others. And certainly, if we wished to fancy the wretchedness of h.e.l.l itself, it would only be necessary to imagine what the earth would become if all fear of G.o.d and man were removed, and every person lived as his own angry, selfish pa.s.sions would dictate.

Great are the blessings we owe to Christianity, for making the world even what it is now, and yet greater would those blessings be, if we obeyed it better."

"That is exactly what grandmama says, and that we must attend to the Gospel from love and grat.i.tude to G.o.d, rather than from fear of punishment or hope of reward, which is precisely what we saw in poor widow Mackay and Evan, who seemed scarcely to expect a recompense for behaving so honestly."

"That was the more remarkable in them, as few Christians now are above receiving a public recompense for doing their duty to G.o.d. Men of the world have long rewarded each other with public dinners and pieces of plate, to express the utmost praise and admiration, but of late I never open a newspaper without reading accounts of one clergyman or another, who has been 'honoured with a public breakfast!' when he is presented by an admiring circle with 'a gold watch and appendages!' or a Bible with a complimentary inscription, or a gown, or a pair of bands, worked by the ladies of his congregation! and all this, for labouring among his own people, in his own sphere of duty! What would Archbishop Leighton and the old divines have said to any one who attempted to rouse their vanity in this way, with the praise of men?"

"What you say reminds me, uncle David," said Frank, "that we have been asked to present our Universal-Knowledge-Master with a silver snuff-box, as a testimonial from the scholars in my cla.s.s, because he is going soon to Van Dieman's Land, therefore I hope you will give me half-a-crown to subscribe, or I shall be quite in disgrace with him."

"Not one shilling shall you receive from me, my good friend, for any such purpose! a snuff-box, indeed! your master ought to show his scholars an example of using none! a filthy waste of health, money, and time. Such testimonials should only be given, as Archbishop Magee says, to persons who have got into some sc.r.a.pe, which makes their respectability doubtful. If my grocer is ever publicly presented with a pair of silver sugar tongs, I shall think he has been accused of adulterating the sugar, and give over employing him directly."

"Laura," said Frank, "you will be having a silver thimble voted to you for hemming six pocket-handkerchiefs in six years!"