ARCHIE'S MISTAKE BY G. E. WYATT _Author of "Follow the Right, " "Archie Digby, "_ _"Johnnie Venture, "_ _&c. &c. _ THOMAS NELSON AND SONS _London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York_ 1912 [Illustration: _"Simon Bond's strong hands grasped Stephen's ear andcollar. "_(1, 680) Page 32. ] ARCHIE'S MISTAKE. "Father, why do you have such a beggarly-looking hand at the mill asthat young Bennett?" asked Archie Fairfax of the great mill-owner ofLongcross. "Why shouldn't I?" he replied. "He comes with an excellent characterfrom the foreman he has been under at Morfield. He does his work verywell, Munster says, and that's all I care for. I don't pay for hisclothes. " Archie said no more, but he still felt aggrieved. As a rule, hisfather's work-people were a superior, tidy-looking set, but this newlad was literally in rags, and his worn, haggard face and great, hungry-looking eyes seemed, in Archie's mind, to bring discredit onthe cotton-mill. "He's no business here, " he said to himself. --"I wish you'd send himaway. " Archie had only lately had anything to do with the mill, as he hadbeen at a large public school. But now he was eighteen, and had leftschool. He had come into his father's office as secretary, that hemight learn a little about the business which was to be his some day. Mr. Fairfax had some excuse for the pride he took in his manufactory, for a better looked after, better managed, or more prosperous one itwould have been difficult to find, though of course there were _some_rough people among the workers. Long experience had taught hiswork-people to respect and trust an employer who acted justly andhonourably in every transaction; and it was Mr. Fairfax's boast thatthere had never yet been a "strike" among his men, nor any difficultyabout work or wages which had not been settled at last in a friendlyspirit. But this very "superiority" was a snare to the mill-hands. For if theyonce took a dislike to any one who had been "taken on, " they left himno peace until they got rid of him. It was looked on as a sort ofprivilege in Longcross to belong to the Fairfax mills, and the menchose to be very particular as to whom they would admit amongthemselves. They all disapproved of poor Stephen Bennett from the first day of hiscoming. As they walked away that evening they discussed his appearance witheager disapprobation. "Who is he?" "Where does he come from?" "Where's he living?" "What'smade the master take such a ragamuffin on?" These were some of the questions asked, but no one was able to answerthem. "I'll get it all out of him to-morrow, " said Simon Bond, a bigsavage-looking lad, with his hat on one side, and his pipe in hismouth. "P'raps he won't be quite so ready to tell as you are to ask, " saidsome one else. "He'd better be, then, if he's got any care for his skin, " answeredthe boy, and the others laughed. So the next day Simon followed the stranger out of the mill, and beganhis questions in a rude, hectoring voice. To his utter astonishment, Stephen refused to answer them. He made noreply while Simon poured out his questions, until the latter said, -- "Well, dunderhead, d'ye hear me speaking?" "Yes, I hear you, " responded Stephen, looking at him with ahalf-frightened, half-defiant expression. "Then why don't you answer?" he inquired with an oath. He was gettingangry. "If you cheek me, 'twill be the worse for you, I can tell you. " "I don't want to cheek you, " said Stephen; "but I don't see as myaffairs is your business, any more than your affairs is my business. " Simon could hardly believe his ears as he listened to this answer. This little shrimp to defy him like that! But his anger soon outweighed his amazement. He seized Stephen by the collar, saying, as he gave him a shake, -- "Answer my questions this instant, or--" His gestures completed the sentence. Stephen turned very white, but he replied firmly, -- "I've told you I ain't going to, and I sticks to my words. If youthreaten me like that, I'll go to the foreman and complain. There hecomes. " Simon looked down the street, and saw Mr. Munster advancing justbehind two other mill-hands. He was obliged to let Stephen go, butrage filled his heart. "I'll pay you out, " he muttered, "one of these days. " Then he turnedround a side street and disappeared. And what did Stephen do? He walked on till he came to a baker's shop, where he bought somebread; then to a grocer's, where he got sugar, tea, and a candle; andso on, till his arms and pockets were full of parcels. But the oddthing was that he bought so much. That was what struck a man--one ofthe mill-hands--who was in the shop. Most of the work-people lived in one particular quarter of the bigcity--Fairfax Town it was called in consequence. But Stephen threadedhis way to quite a different part--a much poorer one--and turned intoan old tumble-down house, with all its windows broken and patched, which had stood empty and deserted until he came to it. Weeks passed on, and still, in spite of constant persecution, Stephenremained at the mill. Scarcely any one spoke a kind word to him exceptMr. Fairfax, but he very seldom saw him. Even old Mr. Munster, thehead foreman, addressed him sharply and contemptuously, which was nothis usual custom. The lad did his work well enough, but he was such amiserable-looking fellow, and so untidy and shabby. Mr. Munster said something of the sort to Archie one day, when he methim outside the office, just as Stephen was going away after receivinghis week's wages. "Yes, " replied Archie eagerly; "did you ever see such a scarecrow? Buthe has good pay, hasn't he?" "Yes, Mr. Archie; very good for such a young hand. He has fifteenshillings a week. " "He drinks--depend upon it he drinks spirits, and that's what giveshim that hang-dog look, " said Archie. "You've never seen him the worse for drink, have you?" asked Mr. Munster, not unwilling to have an excuse for getting rid of the raggedstranger. "Well, I don't know, " he answered. "He was leaning up against a wallthe other day when I passed, and when he saw me coming he tried tostand upright, and he regularly staggered. I could see it was as muchas ever he could do. " "H'm!" said Mr. Munster thoughtfully; "I shall watch him, then. If Icatch him like that at his work, I shall soon send him packing. " "And there's another thing, " Archie went on. "What does he do with thethings he buys? What do you think I saw him getting last week?" "Couldn't say, sir, I'm sure. " "Why, three boys' fur caps, and a lot of serge, and a girl's cloak, and four pairs of cheap stockings, and other things besides. I was inDutton's shop when he came in. He didn't see me because of a pile ofblankets, and I heard him buy all those things, and carry them off. Hepaid for half, and the rest he said he'd pay for this week. He musthave bought things there before, or they wouldn't have trusted him. But, you know, they'd come to very nearly as much as his wages. " "Yes; I don't understand it, " said Mr. Munster. "But, after all, itisn't our business if he does his duty at the mill. " "No, I know, " said Archie; "but I believe there's something wrongabout him, and I should like to know what it is. " "Well, 'give him enough rope and he'll hang himself, ' as they say, "rejoined Mr. Munster--"that is, if your ideas about him are true. " Archie said no more on the subject then, but he made up his mind tokeep a sharp look-out upon Stephen's conduct. Whenever he met him, therefore, he looked keenly at him; and he would sometimes comethrough the great room where Stephen worked, with a number of othermen and lads, and stand close to him, silently scrutinizing him. If hespoke to him, it was always to ask a question which obliged youngBennett to say a good deal in reply; and Archie was forced to own thathe displayed a considerable knowledge of the branch of business inwhich he was occupied. But Stephen soon discovered that he was regarded with suspicion, andhe came to dread his young master's approach, and the cold, searchingglance of his blue eyes. Stephen had looked haggard and careworn from the first, but as weekspassed on he seemed to get worse. He still did his duty as well, oralmost as well, as ever, but he grew perceptibly weaker every day, andat last he could hardly drag himself along. "I doubt if I'll last much longer, " he said to himself, as he reachedthe mill one morning about three months after his first arrival atLongcross, "but father's time will be out next week. I must write tohim to-day or to-morrow and warn him what may be coming. " There was only one man at the mill who had ever been the least civilto Stephen. This was a gay, thoughtless young fellow named TimothyLingard. He always rather prided himself on taking a different side from theother men, and in his light, careless way he had rather patronizedStephen when he saw him. Not that they met very often, for Timothy's work was to stay in themill all night, and go round the premises at intervals in order to seethat there was no danger of fire. Sometimes he was not gone when Stephen came in the morning; and then, as the latter waited outside for the doors to be opened, Timothy wouldenter into a conversation with him, just to show the other men that hetook a different line from theirs. One evening--it was about a week after the discussion about Stephenbetween Archie and Mr. Munster--Timothy met the pale, careworn laddragging himself wearily home from the mill. He looked more raggedthan ever--his clothes seemed almost ready to drop off. "Hullo!" said Timothy; "you look as if you hadn't too many pennies tochink against each other. What d'ye do with your wages? They don't goin clothes--that's clear enough. " Stephen flushed deeply, in the sudden way that people do who are in avery weak state, but he made no answer. "I can put you in the way of earning an extra pound, if you like, "said Timothy carelessly. "Oh, how--how?" cried Stephen with sudden animation, clutching atTimothy in his eagerness, and then holding on to him to keep himselffrom falling. "There--don't go and faint over it, " said Timothy, pushing him off;"and don't throttle a man either for doing you a good turn. That ain'tno encouragement. What I mean is, that I've a rather partic'larengagement to-morrow night, and for several nights to come--in fact, till next Friday--and I want to get some one to take my place at themill. " "But will Mr. Munster let any one else come?" "I ain't a-going to ask him. It don't matter to _him_ who's there, solong as there _is_ some one to look after the premises. I'm going toput in my own man; and you can have the job if you like, and taketwo-thirds o' my pay--that's twenty shillings. I shall be back bythree or four o'clock in the morning, so as to give you time for a napbefore your own work begins. But if you ain't feeling up to the doublework, just say so. Now I look at you, I have my doubts, and it won'tdo for you to go falling off asleep, or fainting, mind. What d'you sayto it?" "I could do it--I'm sure I could. I wouldn't go to sleep--I promiseyou I wouldn't. The only thing is, I should like--I think--if you sayit won't matter--yes, I really should like--" "Have it out, and have done with it, and don't stand spluttering therelike a water-pipe gone wrong. Will you do it, or not?" "Yes, " said Stephen, in a low voice. "Then mind, you ain't to say a word about it to any one--not asthere's any harm in it, but I don't want the foreman to hear of itsideways. I shall come here as usual at six o'clock, and if you'llcome up about seven--it's pretty near dark by then--I'll let you in, and be off myself. " "All right. But--but, Tim, I--I was going to ask--" "Well? Do get on--what an ass you are! What do you want?" interruptedthe other impatiently. "'Twas about the money. Could you--I mean, would you mind paying mefirst? I'll do the work--I will, indeed. " "It'll be the worse for you if you don't, " said Timothy. "But as forpaying first, I don't know as I've got the money. What d'you want itfor?" "I can't tell you--at least, I mean, for food and clothes, " answeredStephen, looking extremely distressed and embarrassed. "But nevermind, Tim; if you can't do it, I'll wait. " "No; you can have it. I daresay I'll be making more to-night, " saidthe reckless Timothy, and he got out two half-sovereigns and gave themto Stephen. "Now, remember, " he said, "if you say I ain't paid you, or if youdon't do the work properly, and anything happens while I'm away, I'llbreak every bone in your body. " No one could look at the two and doubt Timothy's power to wreak hisanger on the slim, weakly-looking youth, some ten years younger thanhimself. "All right; I'll take care, " answered Stephen, who never wasted words;and they separated. The following evening Stephen arrived, as arranged, in the twilight, at the big mill, and was admitted by Timothy at a little side-door. "Mind, " said the latter, "you ain't supposed to go to sleep. You goesyour rounds four times. There's the rules. " He pointed to a card onthe wall, and added--"I take forty winks myself every now and then, but _I_ can wake up if a fly jumps on the table. Now, I'm off. I'll beback in lots o' time. " He departed, whistling as he went, and not feeling the least ashamedof betraying the trust reposed in him, by thus entrusting the safetyof the whole mill to a comparative stranger. Timothy was not in thehabit of asking whether things were _right_ before he did them, butonly whether they were pleasant or convenient. He did not notice Archie Fairfax, who was standing at the office-dooras he walked quickly by, just under a newly-lighted lamp. There was some one else watching too, from under the shadow of aprojecting buttress, whom neither Archie nor Timothy perceived. It wasSimon Bond--Stephen's bitterest enemy. Ever since the day when the lad had refused to answer his rudequestions, Simon had been on the look-out for his revenge. Twice hehad waylaid Stephen, and tried to give him the thrashing he hadpromised him. But once Stephen had eluded him by going through a big shop which hadan opening on the other side; once some one had come up just as Simonhad got his foe into a quiet corner. It was of no use for him to track Stephen to his home, for he knew howcrowded it was in those narrow streets; and though a "row" wouldprobably be a matter of daily occurrence, there was every likelihoodthat the men who looked on might take the side of their own neighbouragainst a stranger like Simon. "But my time'll come yet, " he said to himself, "if I wait longenough. " He contented himself, while waiting for the longed-for day ofvengeance, with adding what he could to Stephen's load of trouble. His work was in the same big room, and he took care that Stephenshould have the draughtiest corner of it, and be the last to get intothe office on pay-day. And he managed that if anything did go wrong, suspicion should fall on Stephen--in which Archie was his unconscioushelper. Then, if Stephen ventured to speak while waiting outside foradmittance in the morning--which he did very seldom--Simon wouldrepeat his words in a loud, mocking voice, and comment upon them, andturn them into ridicule, till poor Stephen dreaded the sight of himmore than of all the other men put together. "What's up now, I wonder, " thought Simon, as he watched Timothy comeout and Stephen go in at the little door of the manufactory. "Why, there's Tim Lingard going off right away. Is he gone for the night? Ishould like to know. If he is, now's my time. I don't suppose thelittle chap will lock the door, so I'll just slip in while he's goinghis rounds, and be ready for him when he comes back--that'll all be aseasy as sneezing. I'll make it pretty hot, though, for Master Stephenwhen I've got him. " He went home to his tea; and Stephen, all unconscious of the plotsbeing laid against him, entered the little room where the night-watchsat, and got out his meagre supper, which he had had no time yet toswallow. The room had two doors; one led to the courtyard throughwhich Stephen had entered, and the other, the upper half of which wasglass, took into Mr. Fairfax's private office and the largercounting-house beyond, out of which the passages leading to thegeneral workrooms opened. "I hope the little 'uns 'ull get on all safe for a few nights withoutme, " he said to himself, as he ate his slice of bread. "Polly's sosensible, she'll do all right, if those rackety boys 'ull do as shetells 'em. They promised me they would, but there's no tellin'. " He sat thinking for some time, and then started off on his first roundof inspection. Meanwhile Archie Fairfax had gone home to dinner, his mind full ofthe proofs he thought he had acquired of Stephen Bennett'suntrustworthiness. He said nothing about it, however, until he andhis father were left alone after dinner. "Who's the caretaker at night now, father?" he asked, as he peeled anapple. "Timothy Lingard, " was the answer. "Why do you want to know?" "Oh, only because he isn't there to-night; so I thought he might havebeen dismissed. " "Not there to-night! What do you mean, Archie?" "Why, I saw him come away this evening, just before I came back here, and Stephen Bennett went in instead. I can't say he looks quite thesort of fellow to be in charge of a big place like that all night--afellow of his habits, too. " "What do you know about his habits?" "Oh, nothing particular. But, of course, one can't help suspectingthere's something wrong about a chap who draws the pay he does, andgoes staggering about the streets with his arms full of children'sclothes, and his own things looking like a beggar's. " "Do you mean you think the lad drinks, or is dishonest? Speak out, Archie, like a man, and don't throw stones in the dark. " "I don't want to do the fellow any harm, " responded Archie, who feltthat, in spite of his watching, he knew far too little to speakdefinitely; "but what I have seen of him I don't like, and that's afact. I can't help thinking there's something behind. What businesshas he to be at the mill to-night, when the regular man's away?" "None at all, of course. Most likely Lingard has gone off on someerrand of his own, and paid Bennett to take his place. But it is notregular or right, by any means; I don't like the idea of it at all.... I think I shall go round myself presently, and find out all about it. " By the time Stephen got back from his round it was nearly nineo'clock. He sank into a chair, and leaning his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands. "I'm a deal weaker than I was last week, " he murmured; "but I musttry and last out till father's back. I'll write to him now, and tellhim how fast I'm going. If there was any one a bit friendly, I'd tell'em about it all, and ask 'em to look after the little 'uns if I goquicker; but there isn't. They all seem against me and my rags. Ithought Mr. Archie looked so kind at first, but I can see now hethinks worse of me than any. " He got out some sheets of paper he had in his pocket, and pulled thepens and ink on the table towards him. He did not write very fast, and as he had a good deal to say, he wassome time over his letter. About twenty minutes had passed, when theroom seemed to get very misty. The pen dropped out of Stephen's hand, and he fell back, with his eyes shut, and his head against the rail ofthe chair. He had remained thus, asleep from very weakness, for about an hour, when he was suddenly aroused by a rough voice in his ear. "Wake up, skulker! your time's come at last. " He opened his eyes, his heart throbbing violently, and there stood theburly form of Simon Bond. He looked bigger than ever in thedimly-lighted room; and as his great grimy face came nearer, and hisstrong hands grasped Stephen's ear and collar, he felt that his lastmoment had come, and even sooner than he had expected. "Get up!" said his enemy, giving him a kick, and dragging him roughlyfrom the chair. "Now, " he went on, "I think you refused to answer myquestions last time I asked 'em. You'll please to alter your ways fromto-night, or you'll get more o' _these_ than you'll quite like. " As he spoke he let go of the lad's collar with his right hand, andbrought it swinging down with all his force on the side of Stephen'shead. Instantly the boy dropped like one dead at his feet. At the same moment the office-door opened, and the appalling sightappeared of Mr. Fairfax's tall form, followed closely by his sonArchie. Not a second did Simon lose. He turned to the door, and was off like aflash of lightning. Archie made a rush, as though to follow him. "Cowardly lout!" he cried. "No; stop, Archie, " said his father. "You couldn't catch him; and ifyou did, you couldn't keep him. We'll examine him to-morrow--we bothsaw who it was. Now let us look after this poor lad. " "See, father, he was writing a letter, " said Archie. Mr. Fairfax took up the paper. This is what it said:-- "DEAR FATHER, --The little 'uns is all well, and I've got money now tolast 'em till you are out, if I'm took before, which I'm that bad andlow I can't hardly creep along. I've give Polly the money to use whenwanted. She's been a good girl all along. Come to the above address assoon as you are out. I done my best, father, as you told me. And nowgood-bye, if I'm gone. --Your loving son, "STEPHEN BENNETT. "_P. S. _--I never believed as you did it, father, and I don't now. Godwill make it right, so don't fret. " The envelope lay by the letter. It was directed to-- _Ambrose Bennett, No. 357, _ _Eastwood Jail. _ Mr. Fairfax gave them both to his son. "There, Archie, " he said;"read these, and see if you still think you were right. " Then he went to Stephen, and did what he could to restore him toconsciousness. But he was in such a weak state that nothing seemed ofany use. "Father, I've been a suspicious _brute_, " cried Archie, flinging downthe letter. "But for my cold looks and constant spying, which Idaresay he's noticed, he might have told me all this, and I might havehelped him. Now he's starving and friendless. But I'll try to make upnow, if it isn't too late. Do let me carry him home, father--may I?" "No, " said Mr. Fairfax; "I'll go back and order some brandy, and sendfor the doctor. You stay here and take care of him and the mill. " He went away, and very long did the time seem to Archie before thedoctor arrived. Now he had time to think over his own unkind--nay, cruel--suspicions, founded on nothing but Stephen's shabby appearance. "It's my way, I know, to make up my mind too quickly, and by afellow's outside, " he thought. Then, somehow, the words of the lastSunday's epistle came into his mind--"Charity thinketh no evil. " Heknew that charity means love. "No, " he said to himself, "I shouldn't have thought evil of him, and Icertainly had no right to say what I did to father and Mr. Munster. Poor fellow! how lonely and miserable he must have been; and I mighthave stood his friend, if I'd only given him the chance of speakingabout his troubles, instead of glaring at him as I did. Is it too latenow to make up?" Just then the doctor came in; but for a long, long time he could notrestore Stephen to consciousness. He was trying still when three o'clock struck. "Now he is really coming to--look, Dr. Grey, " cried Archie, who hadwatched all the doctor's efforts with breathless anxiety. Just then Stephen gave a great sigh, and opened his eyes. "Where am I?" he asked feebly. "All among friends, " said Archie, "and going to have a jolly time, andbe nursed up, and made as strong as a horse. --Now, Dr. Grey, let's geta cab. I'll go and call one, " and he bustled off. Outside he met a disgusting sight. It was Timothy Lingard, staggeringtowards the mill, very much the worse for what he had been drinking. "You can't go there; go home at once, " said Archie. "Night-watch--caretaker--said I'd be here, " mumbled Timothy, tryingto brush past him; and then finding Archie still stood as a hindrancein front of him, he tried to strike him--of course not knowing who itwas--only he missed his aim, and fell down into the gutter. There Archie left him, to seek a cab, which is not an easy thing tofind at three o'clock in the morning. However, before long he didsucceed in procuring one, and in it Stephen was conveyed to thenearest hospital. * * * * * Mr. Fairfax was just starting for his office the next morning when hewas accosted by a respectable-looking working-man. "Do I speak to Mr. Fairfax, sir?" he asked, touching his hat. "Yes, that is my name. Can I do anything for you?" "Would you be good enough, sir, to tell me where my son, StephenBennett, is? I hear he was taken ill last night. " "He's in the hospital. I'll take you--I was just going there myself, "said Archie, who was with his father. "Your son has had a hard life, I fear, in your absence, " said Mr. Fairfax, glancing curiously at the stranger, who did not look at alllike a man capable of crime. "Yes, sir, " he answered somewhat bitterly; "it has pleased theAlmighty to send me a heavy trial. First, I lost my wife; then I wasaccused, along with my fellow-workers in a brick-yard, of stealingfagots. I was sentenced to three months' imprisonment, and my timewould have been out next week. My boy, which he's one in athousand--though he was that weakly he was hardly fit for work--hebrought the little 'uns, five of 'em, all under fourteen, to thisplace. 'We shan't be known at Longcross, father, ' he says, 'and I'llwork for 'em all till you're out. ' So he come here. And yesterday theycome to me in the jail, and they says, 'Bennett, we find you'reinnocent. The man what took the fagots, he's up and confessed, and hesays as you've had nothing to do with it. ' So they wrote me this paperto say I'm pardoned, as they call it, and I come away; but theycouldn't give me back the three months of my life. " "No, " said Mr. Fairfax; "you have suffered indeed. But I trust thateven yet you may find good come out of evil, as it so often does. Wehave come to know and respect Stephen, and as soon as he is well heshall be moved into a comfortable house, which I have now to let, andwhich is at your disposal, if you like to take it. Other help, too, Ihope to be able to render you. " Thus talking, they arrived at the hospital. Stephen had not made muchprogress, and was still alarmingly weak. Scanty food and constantanxiety had told terribly on his delicate constitution. But when hesaw his father, and heard that he had been set free, and declaredinnocent, a new life seemed to come into him. "I shall get well now, father, " he said; "I feel I shall--only myhead's so bad where the blow came that I can't think much. But thatdoesn't matter now; you'll look after the little 'uns. 'Twas thehaving all them on me, and thinking about you, that seemed to crush medown; though I knew you was innocent, father--I knew it all along. Thank God for making it clear, though. I asked Him to do it, night andday, and He's done it. " * * * * * "Now, Archie, my boy, " said Mr. Fairfax, as he and his son walked backtogether, "you see how entirely wrong you were in your hastyjudgment. " "Yes, father, I do see;" and the lad's voice was full of feeling. "Stephen may never lose the effects of this time of cruel hardship. Imight have been his friend, and I was his enemy instead. " "If I had listened, or allowed the foreman to listen, to your guesses, he might have been turned off altogether. It should be a lesson toyou, Archie, never to injure another person's character again withoutabsolute certainty, and even then only if it is necessary for thegeneral good. Once gone, it is sometimes impossible to win back. " "I know--I know, father. I _will_ try to be careful, and not sohasty. " "Don't judge merely by appearances, Archie. Above all, remember thosewords of the Great Teacher, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged. '" "I KNOW BEST. " "So the choir treat is fixed for Thursday, and we're all going to theCrystal Palace! What jolly fun we shall have!" The speaker was Walter Franklin, a village lad of eighteen. ButChristopher Swallow, the friend to whom he addressed himself, a youthwho looked rather older, did not receive the news with the pleasureWalter expected. "The old Crystal Palace again!" he grumbled. "Bother! What's the goodof going to the same place twice over? _I_ call it foolery andrubbish. " "Oh, but the rector said that no one but you and three of the oldermen had been before; and when he asked them whether they would likeanything else better, they said no. Benjamin Sorrell said that oncefor seeing all over such a big place was nothing, and he'd like tospend a week there. " "Let him, then; one day's enough for me. Of course, we must go as it'ssettled; but you won't catch _me_ staying dawdling about, looking atthe same old things over and over again as I see two years ago. Ishall be off and enjoy myself somewhere else. " "But, Christopher, Mr. Richardson said most partic'lar we _must_ allkeep together or we should get lost; and we're all to wear redrosettes on our left shoulders, that we may know each other at adistance, if we should get separated by any accident. " "Oh, did he indeed?" replied Christopher scornfully. "P'raps some'lldo it. I think I know _one_ as won't. " Walter said no more. Chris was well known to be what the others called"cranky" in his temper; and when he considered, as he generally did, that he was right, and every one else wrong, there was nothing for itbut to leave him alone. When Thursday came, it was a most lovely September day. There washardly any one among the thirty members of the Hartfield Parish Choir, who drove in two big wagonettes to the station, that did not lookprepared to enjoy the day's outing to the utmost. "Christopher don't look best pleased, though, " thought Walter, asthey drove along, glancing at his friend's gloomy face. "And there'sMiss Richardson getting out the rosettes. I hope he won't go and makea row; but there's no telling. " The Hartfield Choir consisted of men, lads, and boys, with about halfa dozen little girls. The boys and girls, of course, sang alto andtreble; the lads alto, if they could manage nothing better; and themen bass and tenor. There were eight men between thirty and fiftyyears of age, six lads like Walter, and sixteen children. Half were in one long brake with the rector, and half in another withthe schoolmaster and Miss Richardson. About half-way between Hartfieldand the station, Miss Richardson produced a white cardboard box, whichshe opened. "Here, " she said, taking out a very bright rosette made of redribbon, and a packet of pins, "I want each of you to put one of theseon your left shoulder, and then we shall know one another when we aretoo far off to see each other's faces. There, I've put mine on. " As she spoke she fastened one on to her jacket. Every one else did thesame, amidst a good deal of laughing and joking--every one, that is, except one. "Christopher, where's _your_ badge?" asked Mr. White, theschoolmaster. "In my pocket, sir, " was the answer. "We can't see through that, man; it isn't transparent, like a glasswindow. Get out the rosette and put it on. " Christopher plunged his hands into his two jacket-pockets and fumbled. Mr. White thought he was going to do as he was told, and took nofurther notice. "Chris, you haven't put it on, now, " whispered Walter, as the horsesdrew up at the station. "Ain't you going to?" "Be quiet, will you? _You_ ain't master, " said Christopher roughly;and Walter was silent. He noticed, though, that his friend kept well out of sight behind theothers, and also that in the train he took a seat on the same side asMr. White, and as far off as possible. Miss Richardson was with thelittle girls in another carriage. When the party reached the Crystal Palace station, they proceeded upthe steps to the gardens. "Now, " said Mr. Richardson, when they got to the final flight leadinginto the great glass building--"now, I think we may as well separatefor a bit. I will stay inside and take any who wish to see the poultryand rabbit show. The girls will like, I daresay, to go with MissRichardson, and those who don't care for the animals can follow Mr. White to the garden; only be sure you all come to the terrace by oneo'clock for dinner. " So saying, he turned towards the corridor where an immense cacklingand cooing announced the presence of the poultry and pigeons, followedby four of the lads and some of the men and boys. "What shall you do, Chris?" whispered Walter. "I shall see what schoolmaster's up to; and if I don't like what hedoes, I shall make off and get some jolly good fun by myself, " was theanswer. "You stick to me, Walter. I s'pose you don't want to be theonly big chap among all them little 'uns?" "No; I'll stick to you, Chris, " he replied, but he did not feel verycomfortable. Walter was a well-meaning lad, but he was very weak, and easily led bythe stronger-willed Christopher. Mr. White knew the Crystal Palace well, and all its many attractions. He took his party to see a show where cardboard figures were made towalk and jump and open their eyes, just like real people. Then he proposed that they should try throwing sticks, provided forthe purpose, at a row of penknives, and if any one knocked a knifeover it would be his. This was amusing for a little while; but when noone could get anywhere near a knife, the boys grew tired of trying, especially as they each had to pay a penny for three tries. At last they arrived at the place where a man has tricycles to letout. Every boy pulled out the rest of his money and begged for a ride. In a few minutes half a dozen little green tricycles where whirlinground the curve. Walter and Christopher despised the idea at first of doing what thelittle boys did; but when they saw some other youths like themselvesget on, they put their pride in their pockets, and each mounted atricycle. How they did waggle from side to side; and how impossible itwas not to laugh and shout at the absurd feeling of the thing! "This is rare good sport, " said Chris at last. He had but just spoken when he met Mr. White. "It's ten minutes to one, " said the latter. "We must go, or we shan'tbe on the terrace as soon as the rector. Come along, boys; it'sdinner-time. " There was a general turning round of tricycles, and in a few minutesthe little party were making their way towards the palace. "What's the matter, Chris?" asked Walter. "I thought you liked that. " "So I did; 'twas the only bit of fun I've had. It's a regularnuisance to be at some one else's beck and call like this, just whenone _is_ getting a little pleasure. Why should we come before we wantto?" "Why? Because it's dinner-time. Aren't you hungry? I am, I know. " Christopher grunted sulkily, but in spite of his ill-humour he managedto get through the meat-patties and plum-pudding with a most excellentappetite. Dinner over, the rector proposed that every one should come with himto see a panorama of the siege of Paris, which was to begin at threeo'clock. "I should like it awfully. Wouldn't you, Chris?" said Walter. "I don't know. No--it sounds dull and schoolish, " replied Chris, whowas no scholar. "I won't be led about like a monkey on a chain, either. I know best how to amuse myself, and I tell you what--I'mgoing back for another ride on that tricycle. You'd better come too, Wat. The panorama doesn't really begin till half-past three. I saw itup on the board outside. " "But I've only got three half-pence left, " said Walter, "so _I_ can'tride any more. " "Oh, I'll lend you the money. I've got heaps. " "But could you find your way back, Chris? This is such a thunderingbig place, " urged Walter doubtfully. "Yes, you idiot, of course I can. But don't come if you're afraid. " Chris knew very well that such a suggestion would break down Walter'shesitation at once; and so it did. He followed his friend, and soonforgot all about the panorama in his delight at having improved somuch since the morning in the management of his tricycle. Suddenly a clock struck. One, two, three, FOUR. "Chris, Chris, _did_ you hear? It's four o'clock!" he cried. "Well, what of that?" was the cool rejoinder. "Get off at once, Chris. The panorama must be half over. Bother itall! and I did so want to see it. " Chris proceeded slowly and leisurely back to the starting-point, andgot off his tricycle. "How much?" he asked the man in charge. "One and sixpence each, please. " "What a plague you are, Wat, to have come without any money, " saidChris, as he paid the three shillings. "I didn't come to spend all mycash on you. " "How do you come to have so much?" inquired Walter. "Why, my jolly old brick of an uncle gave me five shillings when heheard I was coming here. " "I wish he was _my_ uncle, " sighed Walter, whose parents were verypoor. "But I say, Chris, is this the way to the panorama?" "No, but I'm thirsty. I'm going into the palace to get a glass ofbeer. You can go on to the panorama if you're so anxious about it. " But Walter was far too much afraid of getting lost among the crowds ofpeople in the "thundering big garden" to part from his companion. Hehad never been more than ten miles from his native village untilto-day, and he felt quite bewildered at all the strange sights andsounds. He followed Chris, who proceeded to a refreshment counter, and askedfor beer. "We don't sell wine or beer, or anything of the sort, sir, " was theanswer. "It's against the rules of the palace, and we've no licence. " Nothing made Chris so savage as to be thwarted in anything he wantedto do. "Then it's a stupid place, and it ought to be ashamed of itself, " hesaid angrily; "but if I can't get it here, I'll go where I can. " He turned on his heel and walked quickly away, followed by themuch-vexed Walter. In vain did he ask Chris where he was going, and what he meant todo--not a word could he extract. The other lad stalked on, lookingevery now and then at the printed directions on the walls, tellingwhither each turning led. He reached a sort of entrance-place at last, where there were the samekind of turnstiles as those through which Mr. Richardson had broughthis party in the morning. "Way out" was written above one. Without a word to his companion, Chris went through it. "But, Chris, that takes us outside. What _are_ you doing?" criedWalter. "I know what I'm about, " answered the other. "Are you coming or notI? I can't wait all day. You'll never find your way back to the othersalone. You'd a deal better stick to me that knows the way. " Walter looked round despairingly. "What shall I do?" he said to himself. "I _wish_ I hadn't come withChris. He's so cross and disagreeable, it's no fun to be with him; butI could no more find my way back through all those twists and turnsthan fly. I suppose I must keep with him now, " and he went through theturnstile and caught up his friend, who had grown tired of waiting andhad gone on some way. "Oh, you've come, have you?" said he, as Walter came running up. "Ithought you liked best wandering about all proper and lonely insidethat fine place you seem so fond of. " Walter made no reply, but walked by the side of his companion, whomarched along as if he knew very well what he wanted, and meant tohave it. At length they came to a street corner, where they saw written up, "Crystal Palace Arms. " "Now, here's just the place for me, " cried Chris, pushing the dooropen and going in. Walter, though he felt more uncomfortable than ever, saw no choice butto follow. "Me and my pal wants a glass of beer, " said Chris loudly, throwingdown a sixpence with the air of one who had plenty more. "No, I don't want any, thanks, Chris, " interrupted Walter hastily. "Then you can go without, " answered Christopher, deeply offended. "I'm not going to offer it to you again, nor anything else either, yougreat hulking killjoy. " He drank off his own beer, and then had some more, and some moreagain. Walter began to feel really frightened now, for Chris was one of thosechildish people who, having once begun drinking, cannot stopthemselves from taking more than is good for them. But on this occasion, to his comrade's surprise, he did stop beforelong. "It's no good for me to try and persuade him, " thought Walter; "it'ud only make him go the other way. I _wish_ I hadn't gone with him;it's quite spoilt my day. I didn't get a holiday and come all this wayfrom home just to spend the afternoon in a stuffy public-house, nor onthe pavement outside, neither. It's six o'clock--there's the clockstriking. --Chris, we shall only just get back to the palace in time tomeet Mr. Richardson, " he said aloud, beginning to walk very fast. "Youknow he's got all the tickets--we can't go without him. " "All right--plenty o' time, " rejoined Chris, speaking rather thickly, and lagging behind in a most irritating way. Walter thought he never should get him to the gate, but they reachedit at last. He thought it was the same man and the same entrance theyhad come in by before, but really both were quite different. Thegatekeeper said at once, -- "Where's your money? But you can only stay five minutes. " "Oh, we paid this morning, " replied Chris. "Don't you remember a bigparty with red rosettes on?" "You can't come in again, anyhow, without paying. And _you_ haven't nored rosettes. " "Yes, I have; it's in my pocket, " said Walter, beginning to feel forit. But, alas! it was gone--drawn out, most likely, with hishandkerchief. "Why did you make me take it off?" he said crossly. "Get out yours, Chris, and show it. " "Mine? Threw the old thing away hours ago. Not such a fool as I look, "answered Chris rudely. --"I'm going through here, so you can just stopyour row, " he continued insolently to the gatekeeper, with a vagueidea of obtaining admiration from the crowds now coming out throughthe turnstile. The gatekeeper looked at him contemptuously for a moment, and thengave a little whistle. Instantly two very tall policemen appeared. "Just turn these two chaps out, will you?" said he. "They're regularholiday-keepers, they are. Been at the Palace Arms, I should say, mostof the day. " "Now then, you clear out, " said the policemen, with voice and mannerthat even Chris dared not disregard. "Please, we want to go to the station. We're to meet the others to goby the half-past six train, " said Walter desperately. "You must look sharp, then--it's just off. There, be off down thosesteps as hard as you can split. " Walter obeyed. In his anxiety he forgot all about Chris; and not evenwhen he reached the bottom of the steps, and caught sight of Mr. Richardson's troubled countenance looking for the truants from one ofthe carriage windows, did he recollect his friend. The platform was crowded with people, and though Walter could see therector, the latter could not distinguish him. If he had but worn thered badge upon his shoulder, matters might even yet have gone well;but, as it was, all Walter's efforts to shoulder his way through themasses of people only brought him to the front of the platform as thetrain steamed off! At the last moment of all, Mr. Richardson's eye fell upon him, and hecalled out something, but Walter could not hear what it was. A feeling of despair came over him as he turned back towards thesteps. He had just remembered Chris. "What _shall_ we do?" he thought. "I haven't a penny, and Chris can'thave much left either. Oh, there he is!" as he caught sight of theother lad's ill-tempered, flushed face at the foot of the steps. "You sneak!" cried Chris angrily; "what d'ye mean by leaving me in thelurch like this?" "But you wouldn't hurry, Chris; and as it is, we've lost thetrain--that was ours that's just gone. What are we to do now? Have yougot any money?" "No; you know I ain't, else I shouldn't ha' left the 'public' soquick. It's all your fault, " answered Chris savagely, the beermounting to his head more and more every minute, and he as usualgrowing more unpleasant and ill-tempered as his power ofself-restraint grew weaker. Walter was wise enough not to try arguing with or blaming him. He knewit would be worse than useless. It was now getting dark, and the station was being lighted up. By somehappy chance, Walter found his way out of it, and into the town, stillholding on to Chris. "Leave go, " said the latter roughly. "I ain't a baby, nor aperambulator neither, to be pushed about by you. " He walked, or rather stumbled, along some way without help, Walterfeeling utterly disgusted both with himself and his friend. "But he shan't be my friend no more after to-day--I've made up my mindas to that, " he said to himself. "Father's often told me he wasn't agood companion, and I know I didn't believe him. I thought Chris was afine fellow, as really knew more than other folks--he always talked asif he did--but I see now 'twas all talk, and he ain't near so sensiblenor so pleasant as some of the other chaps. I ain't going to telltales, but if Mr. Richardson could see him now, I don't think Chris'ud stay much longer in the choir. " By this time they had reached the Palace Arms again, and Christopheronce more turned in at the door. "What's he doing that for?" thought Walter, "when he said he hadn't afarthing left. _I_ shan't go in--I've had enough of it. " So he stayed in the street. He could hear voices--and very angryones--within. They rose louder and louder, and then there seemed asort of struggle. Walter's anxiety to know what was going on had just conquered hisreluctance to be mixed up in anything like a drunken row, when thedoor was hastily opened, and several men, among them the landlord ofthe tavern, appeared, all pushing and shoving at Chris in order toturn him out. They succeeded at last, and a very disgusting spectaclehe presented as he half stood, half lounged against a lamp-post. Hishat was gone--some one threw it out to him a minute later--his coatwas torn, his collar and tie were all crooked, his eyes werebloodshot, and his expression was a mixture of fury and helplessness. More than ever did Walter wish he was not obliged to claimcompanionship with this degraded, low-looking man. As he stood watching the impotent rage with which Chris kicked thelamp-post, as though he thought it was one of the enemies he wished topunish, a policeman came suddenly round the corner. Chris made a sortof rush at him with an angry yell. "Hullo! Drunk and disorderly, are you? Come along o' me, " said theconstable coolly, quietly slipping a pair of handcuffs over Chris'swrists. The latter, with renewed passion, struggled vehemently, butthe policeman took no notice; he merely led Chris along, withoututtering a word. It was not far to the police-station. When they hadgot there, Chris's captor suddenly observed Walter, who had followedat a little distance. "What do _you_ want?" he asked. "A night in the lock-up?" He spoke in jest, and was very much astonished when Walter answered, -- "Yes, please. " "What? In here?" said the policeman in amazement, looking at therespectable, quiet lad. "Why, man, it's a sort of a jail. " "I don't _want_ to go there, of course, " replied Walter; "but me andhim"--pointing to Chris--"has got lost, and if he's going there, why, I s'pose I must too. " "Is this your pal, then? You don't know how to choose your mates, Ishould say, " observed the policeman. "'Tis too late for you to see amagistrate, or you could speak to Colonel Law. Where d'ye come from?" Walter related his story, Chris meanwhile sitting on the steps almostasleep. "It seems to me it's all your fault for not doing as the gentlemantold you, but going by such as he, " said the constable, lookingdisdainfully at Chris. "Now, look here, " he added; "if you'll wait atthe door while I take in this chap and speak to the superintendent, when I've done I'll take you to the colonel, and p'raps he'll seeyou. " Walter thanked him, and waited patiently till he reappeared. They soon reached the colonel's house, and were admitted to see him, when the policeman recounted Walter's adventures. The magistrate was atall, thin old man, with a bristling white moustache, and a verysharp, quick manner. "Well, " he said to Walter, "if your story is true, you've been a veryfoolish fellow, and quite spoilt what might have been a very pleasantday. You can go and sit in the kitchen and have some supper, while Itelegraph to your rector. If he says it is all as you say, I will lendyou the money to go back by the 9. 30 train. " "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you, " cried Walter, feeling as if histroubles were coming to an end at last. "But what about Chris?" "Your friend in the lock-up? He must stay there till he is let out. When he is set free, I suppose his relations will send the money forhis journey--you can see about that when you get home--and he willprobably have to pay a fine also, before he can go. " Never had Walter enjoyed a supper more. An hour passed quickly away, and he was quite surprised at being summoned again so soon to thecolonel's library. He looked less fierce this time. "It's all right, Franklin, " he said. "Mr. Richardson has requested meto help you, so here is the money. I hope you will get home safely, and learn from the events of to-day to choose your friends from amongthe steady lads of the village, and not to listen to the big talkers, who want you to despise your elders, and judge for yourself. " "No, sir; I don't mean to be friends with Chris again, " said Walter. "Thank you for helping me, sir. Good-night. " He shut the door, and as he walked away he said to himself, -- "I see now what it is that makes Chris so often go wrong. It's justthat whatever any one tells him to do, he always says, 'I know best. '" THE END. Transcriber's Note: The frontispiece illustration has been shifted to follow the title page.