Frank Oldfield, or Lost and Foundby the Reverend T. P. Wilson, M. A. , Rector of Smethcote

Published by T. Nelson and Sons, London, Edinburgh andNew York, 1872. 

Also by W. Tweedie, 337 Strand, London, and at The Office of the United Kingdom Band of Hope Union, 5 Red Lion Square, London. ________________________________________________________________

Preface

The Committee of the United Kingdom Band of Hope Union having offeredprizes of One Hundred Pounds, and Fifty Pounds respectively, for the twobest tales illustrative of Temperance in its relation to the young, thepresent tale, "Frank Oldfield, " was selected from eighty-four tales asthe one entitled to the first prize. The second tale, "Tim Maloney, "was written by Miss M. A. Paull, of Plymouth, and will shortly bepublished. Appended is the report of the adjudicators:--

We the adjudicators appointed by the Committee of the United KingdomBand of Hope Union, to decide upon the Prize Tales for which premiums ofOne Hundred Pounds, and Fifty Pounds, were offered by advertisement, hereby declare that we have selected the tale with the motto "Nothingextenuate, or set down aught in malice, " as that entitled to the FirstPrize of One Hundred Pounds; and the tale with the motto "Hope on, Hope ever, " as that entitled to the Second Prize of Fifty Pounds. 

As witness our hands, Thomas Cash, T. Geo. Rooke, B. A. , John Clifford, M. A. , Ll. B. , &c. 

United Kingdom Band of Hope Union Office, 5 Red Lion Square, London. August 3, 1869. 

This book was well-written, and generally exciting throughout, althoughone of the early chapters was a bit lacking in action (people seatedround the dinner-table). The action was credible and well described. The whole thing rang very true, and for that reason might be read bysomeone wishing to gain more knowledge of life two-thirds of the waythrough the nineteenth century. The Reverend Wilson writes well, and itwould be pleasant to seek out and read other books from his pen. N. H. (transcriber)________________________________________________________________

FRANK OLDFIELD, BY THE REVEREND T. P. YOUNG

CHAPTER ONE. 

LOST. 

"Have you seen anything of our Sammul?" These words were addressed in avery excited voice to a tall rough-looking collier, who, with Davy-lampin hand, was dressed ready for the night-shift in the Bank Pit of theLanghurst Colliery. Langhurst was a populous village in the south ofLancashire. The speaker was a woman, the regularity of whose featuresshowed that she had once been good-looking, but from whose face everytrace of beauty had been scorched out by intemperance. Her hairuncombed, and prematurely grey, straggled out into the wind. Her dress, all patches, scarcely served for decent covering; while her poor half-naked feet seemed rather galled than protected by the miserable slippersin which she clattered along the pavement, and which just revealed somefilthy fragments of stockings. 

"No, Alice, " was the man's reply; "I haven't seen anything of yourSammul. " He was turning away towards the pit, when he looked back andadded, "I've heard that you and Thomas are for making him break histeetottal; have a care, Alice, have a care--you'll lose him for good andall if you don't mind. "

She made him no answer, but turning to another collier, who had latelycome from his work, and was sauntering across the road, she repeated herquestion, --

"Jim, have _you_ seen anything of our Sammul?"

"No, I know nothing about him; but what's amiss, Alice? you're notafraid that he's slipped off to the `George'?"

"The `George!' no, Jim, but I can't make it out; there must be summutwrong, he came home about an hour since, and stripped and washed him, then he goes right up into the chamber, and after a bit comes down intothe house with his best shoes and cap on. `Where art going, Sammul?'says I. He says nothing, but crouches him down by the hearth-stone, andstares into the fire as if he seed summat strange there. Then he looksall about him, just as if he were reckoning up the odd bits of things;still he says nothing. `Sammul, ' said I, `won't you take your tea, lad?' for it were all ready for him on the table. Still he doesn'tspeak, but just gets up and goes to the door, and then to the hearth-stone, and then he claps his head on his hands as though he werefretting o'er summat. `Aren't you well, Sammul?' says I. `Quite well, mother, ' says he, very short like. So I just turns me round to go out, when he jumps up and says, `Mother:' and I could see by the tears in hiseyes that he were very full. `Mother, ' says he again, and then hecrouches him down again. You wouldn't believe, how strange I felt--youmight have knocked me down with a feather; so I just goes across to oldJenny's to ax her to come and look at him, for I thought he mightn't beright in his head. I wasn't gone many minutes, but when I got back ourSammul were not there, but close by where he were sitting I seed summatlapped up in a piece of papper, lying on the table. I opened it, andthere were a five-shilling piece and a bit of his hair, and he'd writ onthe papper, `From Sammul, for dear mother. ' Oh, what _must_ I do--what_must_ I do? I shall ne'er see our Sammul any more, " and the poor womansobbed as if her heart would break. 

Before Jim had time to answer, a coarse-looking man of middle height, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a pipe in his mouth, and hiswhole appearance bespeaking one who, in his best moments, was neverthoroughly sober, strode up to the unhappy mother, and shouted out, --

"What's up now? what's all this about?"

"Your Sammul's run away--that's what it's about, " said Jim. 

"Run away!" cried the other; "I'll teach him to run away--I'll breakevery bone in his body when I get him home again. "

"Ay, but you must catch him _first_, " said Jim, drily. 

"Alice, what's all this?" said Johnson, for that was the father's name, turning fiercely on his wife. 

She repeated her story. Johnson was staggered. Samuel was a quiet ladof fourteen, who had borne with moderate patience many a hard word andharder blow from both parents. He had worked steadily for them, evenbeyond his strength, and had seen the wages which ought to have foundhim sufficiency of food and clothing squandered in drink by both fatherand mother. Johnson was staggered, because he knew that Samuel _could_have a will of his own; he had felt a force in his son's character whichhe could not thoroughly understand; he had seen at times a decisionwhich showed that, boy as he was, he could break sooner than bend. Samuel, moreover, was an only son, and his father loved him as dearly asa drunkard's selfishness would let him love anything. His very heartsickened at his wife's story, and not without cause. They had but twochildren, Samuel and Betty. Samuel worked in the pits; his sister, whowas a year younger, was employed at the factory. Poor children! theirlot had been a sad one indeed. As a neighbour said, "yon lad and wenchof Johnson's haven't been _brought_ up, they've been _dragged_ up. " Itwas too true; half fed and worse clothed, a good constitution struggledup against neglect and bad usage; no prayer was ever taught them by amother's lips; they never knew the wholesome stimulant of a soberfather's smile; their scanty stock of learning had been picked upchiefly at a night-school; in the Sunday school they had learned to readtheir Bibles, though but imperfectly, and were never more happy thanwhen singing with their companions the hymns which they had practisedtogether. They were specially dear to one another; and in one thing hadever been in the strictest agreement, they would never taste that drinkwhich had made their own home so miserable and desolate. 

About a fortnight before our story opens, Langhurst had been placardedwith bills announcing that an able and well-known total abstinenceadvocate would give an address in the parish schoolroom. Many went tohear, and among them Samuel and Betty Johnson. Young and old were urgedto sign the pledge. The speaker pictured powerfully a drunkard's home--he showed how the drink enticed its victims to their ruin like acheating fiend plucking the sword of resistance from their grasp whileit smiled upon them. He urged the young to begin at once, to put thebarrier of the pledge between themselves and the peculiar and subtlearray of tempters and temptations which hedged them in on all sides. Inthe pledge they had something to point to which could serve as an answerto those who could not or would not hear reason. He showed the _joy_ ofa home into which the drink had never found an entrance--totalabstinence was safety--"never to taste" was "never to crave. " Hepainted the vigour of a mind unclouded from earliest years by alcoholicstimulants; he pointed to the blessing under God of a child's steadypractical protest, as a Christian abstainer, against the fearful sinwhich deluged our land with misery and crime, and swept away every sparkof joy and peace from the hearthstones of thousands of English homes. Every word went deep into the hearts of Samuel and his sister: thedrunkard's home was their own, the drink was ever before their eyes, thedaily sin and misery that it caused they knew by sharp experience--timeafter time had they been urged to take the drink by those very parentswhose substance, whose strength, whose peace had all withered down tothe very ground under its fatal poison. How hard had been the struggleto resist! but now, if they became pledged abstainers, they would havesomething more to say which could give additional strength to theirrefusal. 

The speaker stood pen in hand when he had closed his address. 

"Come--which of you young people will sign?"

Samuel made his way to the table. 

"I don't mind if _I_ do, " he said; and then turning to Betty, when hehad written his name, "come, Betty, " he cried, "you'll sign too--come, stick to the pen. "

"Well, I might do worse, I reckon, " said Betty, and she also signed. Afew more followed, and shortly afterwards the meeting broke up. 

But a storm was now brewing, which the brother and sister had notcalculated for. Johnson and three or four kindred spirits were sittinground a neighbour's fire smoking and drinking while the meeting wasgoing on. A short time after it had closed, a man thrust open the doorof the house where Johnson was sitting, and peeping round, said with agrin, --

"I say, Tommy Jacky, " (the nickname by which Johnson was familiarlyknown), "your Sammul and Betty have just been signing Teetottal Pledge. "

"Eh! what do you say?" exclaimed Johnson in a furious tone, andspringing to his feet; "signed the pledge! I'll see about that;" andhurrying out of the house, he half ran half staggered to his ownmiserable dwelling. He was tolerably sobered when he got there. Samuelwas sitting by the fire near his mother, who was frying some bacon forsupper. Betty had just thrown aside on to the couch the handkerchiefwhich she had used instead of a bonnet, and was preparing to help hermother. Johnson sat down in the old rickety rocking-chair at theopposite side of the fire to Samuel, and stooping down, unbuckled hisclogs, which he kicked off savagely; then he looked up at his son, andsaid in a voice of suppressed passion, --

"So, my lad, you've been and signed teetottal. "

"Yes, I have, " was the reply. 

"And _you've_ signed too, " he cried in a louder voice, turning fiercelyupon Betty. 

"Ay, fayther, I have, " said Betty, quietly. 

"Well, now, " said Johnson, clenching his teeth, "you just mind _me_, I'll have nothing of the sort in _my_ house. I hate your nasty, mean, sneaking teetottallers--we'll have none of that sort here. D'ye hear?"he shouted. 

Neither Samuel nor Betty spoke. 

"Hush, hush, Tom, " broke in his wife; "you mustn't scold the childer so. I'm no fonder nor you of the teetottallers, but childer will not bedriven. Come, Sammul--come, Betty, you mustn't be obstinate; you knowfayther means what he says. "

"Ay that I do, " said her husband. "And now, you listen: I'd sooner seeyou both in your graves, nor have you sticking up your pledge cardsabout the house, and turning up the whites of your eyes at your ownfayther and mother, as if we were not good enough for the likes of you. Me and mine have ever loved our pipe and our pot, the whole brood of us, and we ne'er said `no' to a chap when he asked for a drop of drink--itshall never be said of me or mine, `They give 'em nothing in yon housebut tea and cold water!'"

"Ay, ay; you're light, Thomas, " said his wife; "I'm not for seeing ourbairns beginning of such newfangled ways. Come, childer, just clap thefoolish bits of papper behind the fire, and sit ye down to your supper. "

"Mother, " said Betty, in a sad but decided voice, "we have seen enoughin _this_ house to make us rue that ever a drop of the drink crossed ourdoor-step. We've toiled hard early and late for you and fayther, butthe drink has taken it all. You may scold us if you will, but Sammuland I _must_ keep our pledge, and keep it gradely too. "

"And _I_ say, " cried her father, striking his hand violently on thetable, "I'll make you both break afore ye're a day older; ye've pleasedyourselves long enough, but ye shall please _me_ now. I never saidnothing afore, though mother nor me didn't like to see ye scowling atthe drink as if it were poison; a drop now and then would have done yeno harm, but ye were like to please yourselves--but it's different now. We'll have none of your pledges here, ye may make yourselves sure ofthat. "

"You can't help yourself fayther, " said Samuel doggedly: "pledged weare, and pledged we're bound to be, but--"

Before he could say more, Johnson had snatched up one of his heavy clogsand had hurled it at the head of his son, fortunately without strikinghim; then catching up both clogs, and hastily buckling them, he strodeto the door, and pausing for a moment, gasped out, "I've said it, andI'll stick to it; ye shall both break your teetottal afore this time to-morrow, as I'm a living man. "

He was gone, and was seen no more at home that night. 

This scene occurred the evening before that on which our storycommences. We have seen that Johnson, miserable and abandoned drunkardas he was, was utterly staggered at the flight of his son when coupledwith his parting gift to his mother. Was he really gone, and gone forever? Had his own father driven him, by his cruel threats, todesperation, perhaps to self-destruction? Unhappy man! he stood thevery picture of dismay. At last he said, --

"Perhaps he mayn't have got very far. I'll just step over, Alice, toyour brother John's; maybe he'll have looked in there for a bit. "

"Ay, do, Thomas, " cried his wife; "and you must just tell him that hemustn't heed what you said to him and Betty last night; it were only abit of a breeze. Oh, what'll our Betty say when she finds our Sammulgone; she _will_ fret, poor thing. She just stepped out at the edge-o'-dark, [see note 1] and she'll be back again just now. Make haste, Thomas, and tell the poor lad he may please himself about theteetottal. "

"Ay, ay, Alice, " said poor Johnson dejectedly; "that cursed drink'll bethe ruin of us both--body and soul, " and he went on his sorrowful way. 

Oh, what a crowd of thoughts came crushing into the heart of thewretched man, as he hurried along the path which he supposed his son tohave taken. He thought of the day when he was married, and what abright creature his Alice was then; but even over _that_ day there hunga cloud, for it was begun in intemperance and ended in riot. He thoughtof the hour when he first looked on his boy, and had felt as proud as ifno other man had ever had a bonny bairn but he. He thought withshuddering self-reproach of long years of base neglect and wrong towardsthe children whose strength and peace his own words and deeds hadsmitten down as with blows of iron. He thought of the days and years ofutter selfishness which had drained away every drop of comfort from thecup which might have overflowed with domestic happiness. He thought howhe had ever been his own children's tempters beckoning them on towardshell in every hour's example; and then he thought upon the life beyondthe grave, but recoiled with horror from that dark and lurid future, andshuddered back to earth again. Oh, was there in all the world a moremiserable wretch than he! But on he went; anything was better thanrest. His road lay down a steep brow after he had passed along onefield which separated the village from a wooded gorge. Here all hadonce been green and beautiful in spring and summertime; but now, formany years past, thick clouds of smoke from coal-pit engines and ironfurnaces had given to trees and shrubs a sickly hue. Nature had strivenin vain against the hot black breath of reeking chimneys. Right downamong the stunted trees of this ravine went the foot-track which Johnsonfollowed. Darkness had now gathered all around, yet here and there werewild lights struggling with the gloom. Just on the right, where thepath came out on to the dusty road, and a little way down a bank, a rowof blazing coke-ovens threw a ghastly glare over the scene, castingfantastic shadows as their waves of fiery vapour flickered in thebreeze. A little farther on he passed a busy forge, from whose blindinglight and wild uproarious mirth, mingling with the banging of thehammers, he was glad to escape into the darkness beyond--what would henot have given could he have as easily escaped from the stingings of hisown keen remorse. On he went, but nothing could he see of his son. Amile more of rapid walking, and he reached his brother-in-law's cottage. 

"Eh, Thomas, is it you?" cried John's wife. "Don't stand on the door-step, man, but come in. "

"Have you seen our Sammul?" asked Johnson, in an agitated voice. 

"Your Sammul? no, he hasn't been here. But what ails you, Thomas?" Theother could not speak, but sinking down into a chair, buried his face inhis hands. 

"Summat ails you, I'm sure, " said the kind woman. 

"Oh, Jenny, " replied the unhappy father, "our Sammul's gone off--goneoff for good and all. I black-guarded him last night about yonteetottal chap as come a-lecturing and got our Sammul and Betty to signthe pledge, so just about an hour since he slips out in his Sunday hatand shoes, when Alice were down the yard, and when she comes back shefinds a bit of papper on the table with a five-shilling piece and a bitof his hair lapped up in it, and there was writ on it, `From Sammul, fordear mother. ' Oh, Jenny, I'm afraid for my life he's gone off toAmericay; or, worse still, he may have drowned or hanged himself. "

"Nay, nay; don't say so, Thomas, " said Jenny; "he'll think better of it;you'll see him back again in the morning. Don't fret, man; he's a goodlad, and he'll turn up again all right, take my word for it. He'd ne'erhave taken his Sunday shoes if he'd meant to drown or hang himself; hecould have done it just as well in his clogs. "

But Johnson could not be comforted. 

"I must be going, " he said. "I guess there'll be rare crying at ourhouse if Sammul's gone off for good; it'll drive Alice and our Bettyclean crazy. "

With a sorrowful "good night" he stepped out again into the darkness, and set his face homewards. He had not gone many paces when a suddenthought seemed to strike him, and he turned out of the road by which hehad come, and crossing by a little foot-bridge a stream which ran at thebottom of a high bank on his right hand, climbed up some steep ground onthe other side, and emerged into a field, from which a footpath ledalong the border of several meadows into the upper part of Langhurst. Here he paused and looked around him--the darkness had begun to yield tothe pale beams of the moon. His whole frame shook with emotion as hestood gazing on the trees and shrubs around him; and no wonder, formemory was now busy again, and brought up before him a life-like pictureof his strolls in springtime with his boy, when Samuel was but a tinylad. 'Twas in this very field, among these very trees, that he hadgathered bluebells for him, and had filled his little hands with theirlovely flowers. Oh, there was something more human in him then!Drunkard he was, but not the wretched degraded creature into whichintemperance had kneaded and moulded him, till it left him now stiffenedinto a walking vessel of clay, just living day by day to absorb strongdrink. Yet was he not even _now_ utterly hardened, for his tears felllike rain upon that moonlit grass--thoughts of the past made his wholebeing tremble. He thought of what his boy had been to him; he thoughtof what he had been to his boy. He seemed to see his past life actedout before him in a moving picture, and in all he saw himself a curseand not a blessing--time, money, health, peace, character, soul, allsquandered. And still the picture moved on, and passed into the future:he saw his utterly desolate home--no boy was there; he saw two emptychairs--his Betty was gone, dead of want and a broken heart. Thepicture still moved on: now he was quite alone, the whole hearth-stonewas his; he sat there very old and very grey, cold and hunger-bitten; alittle while, and a pauper's funeral passed from that hearth into thestreet--it was his own--and what of his soul? He started as if bittenby a serpent, and hurried on. 

The village was soon reached; whither should he go? Conscience said, "home;" but home was desolate. He was soon at the public-house door; hecould meet with a rude sympathy there--he could tell his tale, he couldcheer him with the blaze and the gas, he could stupify down his remorsewith the drink. Conscience again whispered, "Home, " but so feebly, thathis own footstep forward quenched its voice. He entered, and sat downamong the drinkers. 

And what of his poor wife and daughter?

Johnson had not left his home many minutes when Betty came in. 

"Where's Sammul?" she asked, not noticing her mother's agitation; "andwhere's fayther? We're like to have weary work in our house just now, Ireckon. "

"Betty!"--was all that her mother could say, but in such a voice thather daughter started round and cried, --

"Eh, mother, what is't? what ails you?"

"See there, " replied the poor woman, pointing to the little packet stilllying on the table; "that's what ails me. "

Betty took it up; she saw the money and the lock of hair; she read thewords--it was all plain to her in a moment. She stood open-mouthed, with her eyes staring on the paper as one spell-bound, then she burstout into a bitter cry, --

"Oh, mother, mother! it cannot be, it cannot be! he wouldn't leave usso! Oh, Sammul, Sammul, what must we do? It's the drink has done it--fayther's drink has done it! I shall never see you, Sammul, any more!Mother, " she suddenly added, dropping the apron which she had lifted toher streaming eyes, "where's fayther? Does _he_ know?"

"Yes; he knows well enough; he's off to your Uncle John's. Oh, what_shall_ we do if he doesn't bring our Sammul back? But where are yougoing, child?" for Betty had thrown her shawl over her head, and wasmoving towards the door. "It's no use your going too; tarry by thehearth-stone till your fayther comes back, and then, if he hasn't heardanything of Sammul, we'll see what must be done. "

"I cannot tarry here, mother; I cannot, " was Betty's reply. "Fayther'lldo no good; if Sammul sees him coming, he'll just step out of the road, or crouch him down behind summat till he's gone by. I must go myself;he'll not be afraid of me. Oh, sure he'll ne'er go right away withoutone `Good-bye' to his own sister! Maybe he'll wait about till he seesme; and, please the Lord, if I can only light on him, I may bring himback again. But oh, mother, mother, you and fayther mustn't do by himas you _have_ done! you'll snap the spring if you strain it too hard;you must draw our Sammul, you mustn't drive him, or maybe you'll drivehim right away from home, if you haven't driven him now. "

So saying, she closed the door with a heavy heart, and took the sameroad that her father had gone before her. 

Slowly she walked, peering into the darkness on all sides, and fancyingevery sound to be her brother's step. She lingered near the coke-ovensand the forge, thinking that he might be lurking somewhere about, andmight see and recognise her as the fiery glow fell upon her figure. Butshe lingered in vain. By the time she reached her uncle's, the moon hadfairly risen; again she lingered before entering the cottage, lookinground with a sickening hope that he might see her from some hiding-placeand come and speak to her, if it were but to say a last farewell. Buthe came not. Utterly downcast, she entered the cottage, and heard thather father had but lately left it, and that nothing had been seen of herbrother. To her aunt's earnest and repeated invitation to "tarry awhile, " she replied, --

"No, Aunt Jenny; I mustn't tarry now. I'm wanted at home; I shall bewanted more nor ever now. I'm gradely [see note 1] sick at heart. Iknow it's no use fretting, but oh, I must fret! It were bad enough tobe without meat, without shoes, without clothes, without almosteverything; but it's worse nor all put together to be without ourSammul. "

She turned away, and, with a heavy sigh, took her way home again. Themoon was now shedding her calm light full on the path the poor girl wastreading, leaving in dark shadow a high wooded bank on her left hand. Just a few feet up this bank, half-way between her uncle's house and herown home, was the mouth of an old disused coal-pit-shaft. It had beenlong abandoned, and was fenced off, though not very securely, by a fewdecaying palings. On the bank above it grew a tangled mass of shrubs, and one or two fine holly bushes. Betty was just in the act of passingthis spot when her eye fell on something that flashed in the moonbeams. She stooped to see what it was; then with a cry of mingled surprise andterror she snatched it from the ground. It was an open pocket-knife; onthe buck-horn handle were rudely scratched the letters SJ. It was herbrother's knife; there could not be a moment's question of it, for shehad often both seen and used it. But what was it that sent a chill likethe chill of death through every limb, and made her totter faintlyagainst the bank? There was something trickling down the blade as sheheld it up, and, even in the moonlight, she could see that it was blood. A world of misery swept with a hurricane force into her heart. Had herbrother, driven to desperation by his father's cruelty, really destroyedhimself? Perhaps he had first partially done the dreadful deed with hisknife, and then thrown himself down that old shaft, so as to completethe fearful work and leave no trace behind. Poor miserable Betty! shegroaned out a prayer for help, and then she became more calm. Creepingup close to the edge of the old shaft, she looked into it as far as shedared; the moonlight was now full upon it; the ferns and brambles thatinterlaced across it showed no signs of recent displacement; shelistened in an agony of earnest attention for any sound, but none cameup from those dark and solemn depths. Then she began to think morecollectedly. Hope dawned again upon her heart. If her brother meant todestroy himself he would scarcely have first used the knife and thenthrown himself down the shaft, leaving the knife behind him as a guideto discovery. Besides, it seemed exceedingly improbable that he wouldhave put on his best hat and shoes if bent on so speedy self-destruction. She therefore abandoned this terrible thought; and yet howcould the presence of the knife on that spot, and the blood on theblade, be accounted for? She looked carefully about her--then she couldtrace evident marks of some sort of scuffle. The bank itself near theold shaft was torn, and indented with footmarks. Could it have beenthat her father had encountered Samuel here as he was returning, thatthey had had words, that words had led to blows, and that one or bothhad shed blood in the struggle? The thought was madness. Carefullyconcealing the knife in her clothes, she hurried home at the top of herspeed; but before she quite reached the door, the thought suddenly smotefull and forcibly on her heart, "If fayther _has_ killed poor Sammul, what will _he_ be? A murderer!" She grew at once desperately calm, andwalked quietly into the house. 

"I haven't heard anything of our Sammul, " she said sadly, and withforced composure. "Where's fayther?"

"I've been looking for him long since, " replied her mother; "but Isuppose he's turned into the `George. '"

"The `George!'" exclaimed Betty; "what _now_! surely he cannot--"

Before she could say more, Johnson himself entered. For once in hislife he could find no ease or content among his pot companions. Theypitied, it is true, the trouble which he poured into their ears, buttheir own enjoyment was uppermost in their thoughts, and they soonwearied of his story. He drank, but there was bitterness in everydraught; it did not lull, much less drown the keenness of his self-upbraidings; so, hastily snatching up his hat, he left the mirth and dinof the drinkers and made his way home--ay, home--but what a home! darkat the best of times through his own sin, but now darker than ever. 

"Well?" exclaimed both Betty and her mother when he entered--they couldsay nothing more. He understood too plainly what they meant. 

"Our Sammul's not been at your brother John's, " he said to his wife;"what must we do now? The Lord help me; I'm a miserable wretch. "

"Fayther, " said Betty, greatly relieved, spite of her sorrow, forJohnson's words and manner assured her at once that he and her brotherhad not met. "Fayther, we must hope the best. There's a God above all, who knows where our Sammul is; he can take care of him, and maybe he'llbring him back to us again. "

No more was said that night. Betty had a double portion of care andsorrow, but she had resolved to say nothing to any one about the knife, at any rate for the present. She was satisfied that her brother had notlaid violent hands on himself; and she trusted that, in a few days, aletter from himself from Liverpool or some other seaport, would clear upthe mystery, and give them at least the sad satisfaction of knowingwhither their Samuel was bound. 

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Note 1. "Edge-o'-dark" means "Evening twilight. "

Note 2 "Gradely, " as an adjective means "sincere, " "proper, " or "true;"as an adverb, "rightly, " "truly, " or "properly. "

CHAPTER TWO. 

SAMUEL'S HOME. 

And what sort of a home was that which Samuel had so abruptly forsaken?"There's no place like home;" "Home is home, be it never so homely. "Things are said to be true to a proverb; but even proverbs have theirexceptions, and certainly no amount of allowance could justify theapplication of the above proverbs to Johnson's dwelling. But what sortof a home was it? It would be far easier to say what it was not thanwhat it was. Let us follow the owner himself as he comes in from hiswork, jaded and heart-sore, the night after Samuel's departure. 

The house is the worst in the row, for it is the cheapest--the tyrant"Drink" will not let his slave afford a better. The front door opensopposite the high dead wall of another block of houses, so that verylittle daylight comes in at the sunniest of times--no loss, perhaps, asthe sunshine would only make misery, dirt, and want more apparent. Arush-bottomed chair--or rather the mutilated framework of one, the seatbeing half rotted through, and the two uppermost bars broken off with ajagged fracture--lies sufficiently across the entrance to throw down anyunwary visitor. A rickety chest of drawers--most of the knobs beinggone and their places supplied by strings, which look like the tails ofrats which had perished in effecting an entrance--stands tipped on oneside against the wall, one of its legs having disappeared. A littlefurther on is a blank corner, where a clock used to be, as may be tracedby the clusters of cobwebs in two straight lines, one up either wall, which have never been swept away since the clock was sold for drink. Acouch-chair extends under the window the whole length, but one of itsarms is gone, and the stump which supported it thrusts up its ragged topto wound any hand that may incautiously rest there; the couch itself isbut a tumbled mass of rags and straw. A table, nearly as dilapidated, and foul with countless beer-stains, stands before the fire, which isthe only cheerful thing in the house, and blazes away as if it means todo its best to make up for the very discouraging state of things bywhich it finds itself surrounded. The walls of the room have beencoloured, or rather discoloured, a dirty brown, all except the squareportion over the fire-place, which was once adorned with a gay paper, but whose brilliancy has long been defaced by smoke and grease. Abroken pipe or two, a couple of irons, and a brass candlestick whoseshaft leans considerably out of the perpendicular, occupy themantelpiece. An old rocking-chair and two or three common onesextremely infirm on their legs, complete the furniture. The walls arenearly bare of ornament; the exceptions being a highly-coloured print ofa horse-race, and a sampler worked by Betty, rendered almost invisibleby dust. The door into the wash-house stands ajar, and through it maybe seen on the slop-stone a broken yellow mug; and near it a tub full ofclothes, from which there dribbles a soapy little puddle on to theuneven flags, just deep enough to float an unsavoury-looking mixture ofcheese-rinds and potato-parings. Altogether, the appearance of thehouse is gaunt, filthy, and utterly comfortless. Such is the drunkard'shome. 

Into this miserable abode stepped Johnson the night after his son'sdisappearance, and divesting himself of his pit-clothes, threw them downin an untidy mass before the fire. Having then washed himself andchanged his dress, he sat him down for a minute or two, while his wifeprepared the comfortless tea. But he could not rest. He started upagain, and with a deep sigh turned to the door. 

"Where are you going?" cried his wife; "you mustn't go without your tea;yon chaps at the `George' don't want you. "

"I'm not going to the `George, '" replied Thomas; "I just want a wordwith Ned Brierley. "

"Ned Brierley!" exclaimed Alice; "why, he's the bigoted'st teetottallerin the whole village. You're not going to sign the pledge?"

"No, I'm not; but 'twould have been the making on us all if I _had_signed years ago;--no, I only just want a bit of talk with Ned about ourSammul;" and he walked out. 

Ned Brierley was just what Alice Johnson, and scores more too, calledhim, a bigoted teetotaller, or, as he preferred to call himself totalabstainer. He was bigoted; in other words, he had not taken up totalabstinence by halves. He neither tasted the drink himself, nor gave itto his friends, nor allowed it an entrance into his house. Of course, therefore, he was bigoted in the eyes of those who could not or wouldnot understand his principles. But the charge of bigotry weighed verylightly on him; he could afford to bear it; he had a living antidote tothe taunt daily before his eyes in a home without a cloud, an ever-cheerful wife, healthy, hearty, striving, loving sons and daughters. And, best of all, Ned was a Christian, not of the talk-much-and-do-little stamp, nor of the pot-political-mend-the-world stamp. He lovedGod, and always spoke of him with a reverential smile, because his veryname made him happy. He had a wife, too, who loved the same graciousSaviour, and joined with her husband in training up their children inholy ways. They knew well that they could not give their childrengrace, but they _could_ give them prayer and example, and could leavethe rest to God in happy, loving trust. People who talked about totalabstinence as a sour and mopish thing, should have spent an evening atNed Brierley's when the whole family was at home; why, there was moregenuine, refreshing, innocent fun and mirth there in half an hour thancould have been gathered in a full evening's sitting out of all the pot-houses in the neighbourhood put together. Ay, there were some who knewthis, and could say, "If you want gradely fun that leaves noafterthought, you must go to Ned's for it. " Of course Ned had won therespect even of those who abused him most, and of none more truly thanThomas Johnson. Spite of all his swaggering and blustering speeches noman knew better than he the sterling worth of Brierley's character; noman was more truly convinced, down in the depths of his heart, thatNed's principles and practice were right. And so now, restless andwretched, he was coming, he hardly knew exactly why, to ask counsel ofthis very man whom he had openly abused and ridiculed at the very timewhen he both envied and respected him. 

Could there possibly be a greater contrast than between the house he hadjust left and the one which he now entered?

Ned Brierley's dwelling was the end house of a row, which had beenrecently built out of the united savings of himself and children. Itwas rather larger than the rest, and had one or two out-buildingsattached, and also a considerable piece of garden ground belonging toit. In this garden Ned and his sons worked at odd times, and everythingabout it had a well-to-do air. The neat rows of celery, the flower-bedsshaped into various mathematical figures by shining white pebbles, thecarefully-pruned apple trees, and the well-levelled cindered paths, allbetokened that diligent hands were often busy there. 

Johnson opened the little white gate, walked up the path, andhesitatingly raised the latch of the house door. What a sight met hiseyes! it was a perfect picture. If the three sisters, Cleanliness, Neatness, and Order, had been looking out for a home, they certainlymight have found one there. In some of the neighbours' houses, go whenyou would, you would find the inmates always cleaning, but never clean;it was just the reverse at Ned's, you always found them clean, andscarcely ever caught them cleaning. Then, what an air of comfort therewas about the whole place. The arms and back of the couch-chair shonelike mahogany, the couch itself was plump and smooth, like a livingthing in good condition. The walls were a bright, lively blue, butthere was not very much to be seen of them, so covered were they withall sorts of family-belongings and treasures. Against one wail stood arather ambitious-looking article, half chest of drawers, half sideboard, the knobs of the drawers being of glass, which flashed in the brightfire-light as if smiling their approbation of the happy condition oftheir owners. Over the sideboard was a large and elaborate piece ofneedlework, a perfect maze of doors and windows in green and redworsted, with a gigantic bird on either side preparing to alight. Thiswas the work of the eldest daughter, and purported, in words at thebottom, to be an accurate delineation of Solomon's Temple. Close bystood a clock, tall and stately in its case, the hands of the brightestbrass, over which appeared the moving face of a good-tempered lookingmoon. Then, on the next wall hung two large cases, one of butterflies, which were arranged in patterns to represent griffins, dragons, andother impossible animals; the other, of well-stuffed birds, with shininglegs and highly-coloured beaks. Other parts of the walls were adornedwith Scripture prints, more remarkable for brilliancy of colouring thancorrectness of costume; and in a conspicuous place, evidently the prideof the whole collection, was a full-length portrait of the Queen, smiling benignantly down on her subjects. Below the cases ofbutterflies and birds was a piano--yes, actually, a piano--and by nomeans a bad one too. Then, near the fire-place, was a snug little book-case, well furnished with books; and over the mantelpiece, in the centreof a warm-looking paper, was the text, in large characters, "The love ofChrist constraineth us. " The mantelpiece itself glittered with avariety of brass utensils, all brightly polished. Over the middle ofthe room, suspended by cords from the ceiling, was a framework of woodcrossed all over by strings, on which lay, ready for consumption, a goodstore of crisp-looking oat-cakes; while, to give still further life tothe whole, a bird-cage hung near, in which there dwelt a small colony ofcanaries. 

Such was the room into which Johnson timidly entered. By the fire, inhis solid arm-chair, sat Ned Brierley, looking supremely content, aswell he might, considering the prospect before and around him. On alarge table, which was as white as scrubbing could make it, the teaapparatus was duly arranged. The fire was burning its best, and sentout a ruddy glow, which made every bright thing it fell upon lookbrighter still. Muffins stood in a shining pile upon the fender, and acorpulent teapot on the top of the oven. Around the table sat two youngmen of about the ages of nineteen and twenty, and three daughters whomight range from eighteen to fifteen. Their mother was by the firepreparing the tea for her husband and children, who had all lately comein from their work. 

"Why, Johnson, is that you?" exclaimed Ned Brierley; "come in, man, andsit ye down. --Reach him a chair, Esther, " he said to his youngestdaughter. 

"Well, Ned, " said Johnson, sitting down, and drawing back his chair asnear the door as he could, "I thought, maybe, you could give me a bit ofadvice about our Sammul. I suppose you've heard how he went offyesternight. "

"Ay, Thomas, we've heard all about it. I'm gradely sorry too; but youmustn't lose heart, man: the Lord'll bring him back again; he's a goodlad. "

"He _is_ a good lad, " said Johnson; "and I've been and driven him awayfrom his home. That cursed drink has swept him away, as it's sweptalmost everything good out of our house. It'll do for us all aforewe've done with it; and the sooner it's the death of me the better. "

"Nay, nay, Thomas, you mustn't say so, " cried the other; "it's notright. God has spared you for summat better; turn over a new leaf, man, at once. He'll give you strength for it if you'll ask him. Come now, draw your chair to the table, and have a cup of tea and a bit of muffin;it'll do you good. "

"Ned, " said Thomas, sadly, "I can't take meat nor drink in your house. I've abused you behind your back scores of times, and I can't for shametake it. "

"Nay, nay, man; never heed what you've said against me. You see you'vedone me no harm. I'm none the worse for all that folks can say againstme; so draw up your chair, you're gradely welcome to your tea. "

"Ay, do, " chimed in his wife; "doesn't Scripture say, `If thine enemyhunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink:' and I'm sure you mustbe both hungry and thirsty if you haven't tasted since you came from thepit. "

Poor Johnson could not speak. When he was sober he was a feeling man, and a sensible one too. Alas! his sober times were few, but he _was_sober now. The tears overflowed his eyes, and he brushed them hastilyaway as he drew his chair near to the bright little circle of happyhealthy faces. He ate and drank for a while in silence, and then saidwith a faltering voice, --

"Ned, you're a true Christian. I'll never say a word against you behindyour back any more. "

Brierley held out his hand to him, and the other grasped it warmly. 

"I'll tell you what, " said Ned, in a cheery voice, "I'd give a gooddeal, Thomas, to see you a total abstainer; it'd be the making of you. "

Johnson shook his head sorrowfully. 

"I mustn't; Alice wouldn't let me. I can't; the drink's more to me normeat, and clothes, and everything. I durstn't, for my old pals at the`George' would chaff me to death with their jeers and their jokes. Icouldn't face them for shame. "

"Oh, Thomas, " cried Ned, "what a slave the drink's made of you:--mustn't! can't! durstn't!--what! ain't you a man? haven't you got a willof your own?"

"No, Ned, that's just it; I haven't a will of my own: the old lad's gotit off me long since. "

"Ay, but, Thomas, you must get it back again, " exclaimed Brierley'swife; "you must go to Jesus, and he'll help you. "

Johnson fidgeted uneasily in his chair; at last he said, --

"I can't do without my beer; I haven't strength to work without it. "

"You've taken plenty of it, I reckon, " remarked Ned, "and you don't seemto thrive much on't. "

"I've taken too much, " said the other, "but I can't do without alittle. "

"You can't do _with_ a little, I fear. It's first only a pint, and thenit's only a quart, and then it's only a gallon, till at last it's only afuddled head and an empty pocket. Come, join us, Thomas; take the firststep boldly like a man, and then just pray for grace, and you'll notfear what other folks can do to you. "

"But I shall never get through my work without a drop of beer to washdust out of my throat and spirit me up, " persisted Johnson. "I feellike another sort of man when I've had my pint. "

"Yes, just for a bit, " replied Ned. "Now it seems to me just the sameas what we might do with our fire. I bid our Esther look to the fire, so she goes and sticks to the poker, and each now and then she pokesaway at the fire, and the fire blazes up and blazes up, but very soonthere's nothing left to blaze with. The fire'll be out directly, so Isays to our Mary, _you_ look after the fire, so our Mary goes to theheap and fetches a shovel of coal, and claps it on the top of the hotcinders, and she won't let our Esther poke it no more, so it burnssteady and bright, and throws out a good heat, and lasts a long time. Now, when you take your drop of beer, you're just poking the fire, you're not putting any coal on; you can work like a lion for a bit, butyou're only using up the old stock of strength faster and faster, you'renot putting on any new. I've helped you to put a little gradely coal onto-night, and I hope it won't be the last time by many. "

"Father, " broke in Esther, laughing, and highly entertained at the partshe bore in her father's illustration, "when you tell your tale again, you must make our Mary stick to the poker, and me clap the coal on. "

"Ay, ay, child, " said her father, "you shall each take it in turn. "

"Well, you may be right, " sighed Johnson; "but Jack Barnes says as he'sknowed scores of teetottallers that's wasted away to skin and bone forwant of the drink; he says beer strengthens the bone, and makes themuscles tight and firm. "

"Jack Barnes may say what he likes, but I'll just ask you, Thomas, tothink and judge for yourself. You see me and mine; you see seven totalabstainers here to-night. Not one of these childer knows the taste ofthe drink; they work hard, you know, some in the pit, some in the mill:do _they_ look nothing but skin and bone? Where'll you find healthierchilder? I'm not boasting, for it's the good Lord that's given 'emhealth, yes, and strength too, without the drink. "

"Ay, and just look at Jack Barnes's own lads, and the company theykeep, " said John, the eldest son; "you may see them all at the four laneends, [Note 1], any Sunday morn, with their pigeons, looking more likescarecrows than Christians; and afore night they'll be so weary thatthey'll scarce know how to bide anywhere. They'll be lounging about, looking as limp as a strap out of gear, till they've got the ale inthem, and then they're all for swearing and shouting up and down thelanes. "

"I can't deny, " said Johnson, "that you teetottallers have the best ofit in many ways. It's a bad bringing-up for childer to see such goings-on as is in Barnes's house. "

"And, Thomas, " said Brierley's wife, "you know how it is with JoeTaylor's lads and wenches. There's a big family on 'em. They're notshort of brass in that house, or shouldn't be. There's drink enough andto spare goes down their throats, and yet there's not one of the wholelot but's as lean as an empty bobbin, and as white as a heap of cotton. They're nearly starved to death afore reckoning-day comes; and with alltheir good wage they cannot make things reach and tie. "

"Well, I must wish you good night now, " said Johnson, rising to go. "Isuppose I can do nothing about our Sammul but have patience. "

"Yes, pray for patience, Thomas; and pray to be shown the right way: andgive up the drink, man--ay, give it up at once, for Betty's sake, forAlice's sake, and for your own soul's sake. "

"I'll try, I'll try; good night. "

"Good night. "

Johnson walked homewards sorrowful but calm. Should he take the pledge?should he boldly break his chains, and brave the scorn of his ungodlycompanions? He felt that he ought. He murmured a half prayer that hemight have strength to do it. He reached his own home; he entered--whatdid, he see?

Round the fire, slatternly and dirty, with hair uncombed, dressdisordered, shoes down at heel, lolling, lounging, stooping in variousattitudes, were some half-dozen women, Alice being nearest the fire onone side. Most of them had pipes in their mouths. On the table werecups and saucers, a loaf and some butter, and also a jug, whichcertainly did not hold milk; its contents, however, were very popular, as it was seldom allowed to rest on the table, while the strong odour ofrum which filled the room showed pretty plainly that it had been filledat the public-house and not at the farm. Every eye was flashing, andevery tongue in full exercise, when Johnson entered. 

"Well, Thomas, " said his wife, "I thought you were down at the `George. 'Our Betty's not so well, so she's gone up into the chamber to lay herdown a bit; and I've just been axing a neighbour or two to come in andhave a bit of a talk over our Sammul. Come, sit you down, and take acup of tea, and here's summat to put in it as'll cheer you up. "

"I've just had my tea at Ned Brierley's, " replied her husband; "I don'twant no more. "

"Ah, but you must just take one cup. Reach me the jug, Molly. You lookas down as if you'd seen a boggart; [see note 2], you must drink a dropand keep your spirits up. "

He made no reply, but threw himself back on the couch, and drew his capover his eyes. Seeing that he was not likely to go out again, the womendropped off one by one, and left him alone with his wife, who satlooking into the fire, comforting herself partly with her pipe andpartly with frequent applications to the jug. After a while Thomas rosefrom the couch, and took his seat by the fire opposite to her. Therewas a long pause; at last he broke it by saying, --

"Alice. "

"Well, Thomas. "

"Alice, you know I have been up at Ned's. Ned's a quiet, civil man, anda gradely Christian too. I wish our house had been like his; weshouldn't have lost our Sammul then. "

"Well, my word! what's come over you, Thomas? Why, sure you're not a-going to be talked over by yon Brierley folk!" exclaimed his wife. "Why, they're so proud, they can't look down upon their own shoes: andas for Brierley's wenches, if a fellow offers to speak to 'em, they'llsnap his head off. And Martha herself's so fine that the likes of me'safraid to walk on the same side of the road for fear of treading on hershadow. "

"Well, Alice, I've oft abused 'em all myself; but I were wrong all thetime. And you're wrong, Alice, too. They've never done us no harm, andwe've nothing gradely to say against 'em; and you know it too. They'vetoiled hard for their brass, and they haven't made it away as _we_ havedone; and if they're well off, it's no more nor they deserve. "

"Not made away their brass! No, indeed!" said his wife, contemptuously, "no danger of that; they'll fist it close enough. They like it too wellto part with it. They'll never spend a ha'penny to give a poor chap adrop of beer, though he's dying of thirst. "

"No, 'cos they've seen what a curse the drink has been to scores andhundreds on us. Ah, Alice, if you had but seen the happy faces gatheredround Ned's hearth-stone; if you had but heard Ned's hearty welcome--though he can't but know that I've ever been the first to give him andhis a bad word--you couldn't say as you're saying now. "

"Come, Thomas, " said his wife, "don't be a fool. If Ned Brierley likeshis teetottal ways, and brings up his lads and wenches same fashion, lethim please himself; but he mustn't make teetottallers of you nor me. "

"And why shouldn't he make a teetottaller of me?" cried Thomas, hisanger rising at his wife's opposition. "What has the drink done for us, I'd like to know? What's it done with my wage, with our Betty's wage, with our poor Sammul's wage? Why, it's just swallowed all up, and paidus back in dirt and rags. Where's there such a beggarly house as thisin all the village? Why haven't we clothes to our backs and shoes toour feet? It's because the drink has took all. "

"It's not the drink, " screamed Alice, her eyes flashing with rage. "You've nothing to blame the drink for; the drink's right enough. It'syourself; it's your own fault. You haven't any conduct in your drinklike other folk. You must sit sotting at the `George' till you can'ttell your hand from your foot; and then you must come home andblackguard me and the childer, and turn the house out of the windows. You've driven our Sammul out of the country; and you'll be the death ofour Betty, and of me too, afore you've done. "

"Death of you!" shouted her husband, in a voice as loud as her own. "And what odds then? No conduct in _my_ drink! And what have _you_ hadin yourn? What's there to make a man tarry by the hearth-stone in sucha house as this, where there's nothing to look at but waste and want? Iwish every drop of the drink were in the flames with this. " So saying, he seized the jug, threw the little that was left of the spirits in itinto the fire, and, without stopping to listen to the torrent of abusewhich poured from the lips of his wife, hurried out of the house. Andwhither did he go? Where strong habit led him, almost without his beingconscious of it--he was soon within the doors of the "George. " By thistime his anger had cooled down, and he sat back from the rest of thecompany on an empty bench. The landlord's eye soon spied him. 

"What are you for to-night, Thomas?" he asked. 

"I don't know, " said Johnson, moodily; "I'm better with nothing, Ithink. "

"No, no, " said the other; "you're none of that sort. You look verydown; a pint of ale'll be just the very thing to set you right. "

Johnson took the ale. 

"Didn't I see you coming out of Ned Brierley's?" asked one of thedrinkers. 

"Well, and what then?" asked Johnson, fiercely. 

"Oh, nothing; only I thought, maybe, that you were for coming out in theteetottal line. Ay, wouldn't that be a rare game?"

A roar of laughter followed this speech. But Johnson's blood was up. 

"And why shouldn't I join the teetottallers if I've a mind?" he cried. "I don't see what good the drink's done to me nor mine. And as for NedBrierley, he's a gradely Christian. I've given him nothing afore butfoul words; but I'll give him no more. "

A fresh burst of merriment followed these words. 

"Eh, see, " cried one, "here's the parson come among us. "

"He'll be getting his blue coat with brass buttons out of the pop-shopjust now, " cried another; "and he'll hold his head so high that he won'tlook at us wicked sinners. "

A third came up to him with a mock serious air, and eyeing him with hishead on one side, said, --

"They call you Thomas, I reckon. Ah, well, now you're going to be oneof Ned's childer, we must take you to the parson and get him to christenyou Jonadab. "

Poor Johnson! he started up, for one moment he meditated a fierce rushat his persecutors, the next, he turned round, darted from the public-house, and hurried away he knew not whither. 

And what will he do? Poor man--wretched, degraded drunkard as he hadbeen--he was by natural character a man of remarkable energy anddecision; what he had fairly and fully determined upon, his resolutiongrasped like a vice. Brought up in constant contact with drunkennessfrom his earliest years, and having imbibed a taste for strong drinkfrom his childhood, that taste had grown with his growth, and he hadnever cared to summon resolution or seek strength to break through hismiserable and debasing habit. Married to a woman who rather rejoiced tosee her husband moderately intoxicated, because it made him good-natured, he had found nothing in his home, except its growing misery, toinduce him to tread a better path. True, he could not but be aware ofthe wretchedness which his sin and that of his wife had brought upon himand his; yet, hitherto, he had never seen _himself_ to be the chiefcause of all this unhappiness. He blamed his work, he blamed histhirst, he blamed his wife, he blamed his children, he blamed his drearycomfortless home--every one, everything but himself. But now light hadbegun to dawn upon him, though as yet it had struggled in only through afew chinks. God had made a partial entrance for it through his remorseat the loss of his son; that entrance had been widened by his visit toNed Brierley, yet he was still in much darkness; his light showed himevil and sin in great mis-shapen terrible masses, but was not so farsufficiently bright to let him see anything in clear sharp outline. Agreat resolve was growing, but it needed more hammering into form, itwanted more prayer to bring it up to the measure of a Christian duty. 

And here we must leave him for the present, and pass to other and verydifferent scenes and characters essential to the development of ourstory. 

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Note 1. "Four lane ends, " a place where four roads meet. 

Note 2. "Hoggart", a ghost. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE RECTORY. 

The Reverend Bernard Oliphant, rector of Waterland, was a man of goodfamily and moderate fortune. At the time when this tale opens he hadheld the living eighteen years. He had three sons and one daughter. The eldest son, Hubert, was just three-and-twenty, and, having finishedhis course at Oxford with credit, was spending a year or two at homepreviously to joining an uncle in South Australia, Abraham Oliphant, hisfather's brother, who was living in great prosperity as a merchant atAdelaide. Hubert had not felt himself called on to enter the ministry, though his parents would have greatly rejoiced had he seen his way clearto engage in that sacred calling. But the young man abhorred thethought of undertaking such an office unless he could feel decidedlythat the highest and holiest motives were guiding him to it, and neitherfather nor mother dared urge their son to take on himself, from anydesire to please them, so awful a responsibility. Yet none the less forthis did Hubert love his Saviour, nor did he wish to decline hisservice, or shrink from bearing that cross which is laid on all who makea bold and manly profession of faith in Christ Jesus. But he felt thatthere were some who might serve their heavenly Master better as laymenthan as ministers of the gospel, and he believed himself to be such aone. His two younger brothers, not feeling the same difficulties, wereboth preparing for the ministry. Hubert had a passionate desire totravel; his parents saw this, and wisely judged that it would be betterto guide his passion than to combat it; so, when his uncle proposed toHubert to join him in Australia, they gave their full consent. Theyknew that a strong expression of dissuasion on their part would have ledhim to abandon the scheme at once; but they would not let any suchexpression escape them, because they felt that they were bound toconsult _his_ tastes and wishes, and not merely their own. They knewthat his faith was on the Rock of Ages; they could trust his life andfortunes to their God. For Bernard Oliphant and his wife had but onegreat object set before them, and that was to work for God. The rectorwas warm and impulsive, the fire would flash out upon the surface, yetwas it under the control of grace; it blazed, it warmed, but neverscorched, unless when it crossed the path of high-handed and determinedsin. _She_ was all calmness and quiet decision; yet in _her_ characterthere ran a fire beneath the surface, sending up a glow into everyloving word and deed. She had never been beautiful, yet alwaysbeautified by the radiance of true holiness. In her, seriousness had nogloom, because it was the seriousness of a holy love. She made evenworldly people happy to be with her, because they felt the reality andsingleness of her religion--it was woven up with every hour's work, withevery duty, with every joy. She lived for heaven not by neglectingearth, but by making earth the road to heaven. Her religion was pre-eminently practical, while it was deeply spiritual; in fact, it was thereligion of sanctified common sense. The true grace of her charactergained the admiration which she never sought. As some simple unadornedcolumn rising in the midst of richly-carved sculptures arrests attentionby its mere dignity of height and grace of perfect proportion, so in theunassuming wife of Bernard Oliphant there was a loftiness and symmetryof character which made people feel that in her was the true beauty ofholiness. 

And the children trod in the steps of their parents. Mary Oliphant wasthe youngest; she was now just eighteen--slight in make, and graceful inevery movement. Her perfect absence of self-consciousness gave apeculiar charm to all that she said and did; she never aimed at effect, and therefore always produced it. You could not look into her facewithout feeling that to her indifference and half-heartedness wereimpossible things; and the abiding peace which a true faith in Christalone can give, was on those lovely features in their stillness. Suchwas the family of the Reverend Bernard Oliphant. 

Waterland was a rural parish in one of the midland counties. Therectory stood near one end of the village, which was like a great manyother country villages. There were farm-houses, with their stack-yardsand clusters of out-buildings, with their yew-trees and apple-orchards. Cottages, with low bulging white-washed walls and thatched roofs, wereinterspersed among others of a more spruce and modern build, with slatedroofs, and neat little gardens. Then there were two or three shopswhich sold all things likely to be wanted in everyday village life, eatables and wearables nestling together in strange companionship; and, besides these, were houses which would not have been known to be shops, but for a faded array of peppermints and gingerbread, which shone, orrather twinkled, before the eyes of village children through panes ofgreenish glass. Of course there was a forge and a wheel-wright's shop;and, equally of course, a public-house--there had been two, there wasnow but one, which could readily be known by a huge swinging sign-board, on which was the decaying likeness of a "Dun Cow, " supposed to befeeding in a green meadow; but the verdure had long since melted away, and all except the animal herself was a chaos of muddy tints. The "DunCow, " (a sad misnomer for a place where milk was the last beverage thevisitors would ever think of calling for), was to many the centre bothof attraction and detraction, for here quarrels were hatched andcharacters picked to pieces. The landlord had long since been dead, ofthe usual publican's malady--drink fever. The landlady carried on thebusiness which had carried her husband off, and seemed to thrive uponit, for there was never lack of custom at the "Dun Cow. " Just astone's-throw from this public-house, on the crest of the hill alongwhich wound the village street, was the church, a simple structure, witha substantial square tower and wide porch. It had been restored withconsiderable care and taste by the present rector, the internalappearance being sufficiently in accordance with the proprieties ofecclesiastical architecture to satisfy all but the over-fastidious, andyet not so ornamental as to lead the mind to dwell rather on the earthlyand sensuous than on the heavenly and spiritual. Behind the church wasthe rectory, a quaint old building, with pointed gables, deep bay-windows, and black beams of oak exposed to view. It had been added to, here and there, as modern wants and improvements had made expansionnecessary. The garden was lovely, for every one at the rectory lovedflowers: they loved them for their own intrinsic beauty; they loved themas God's books, full of lessons of his skill and tender care; they lovedthem as resting-places for the eye when wearied with sights of disorderand sin; they loved them as ministering comfort to the sick, the aged, and the sorrowful to whom they carried them. 

Such was the village of Waterland. The parish extended two miles northand south of the church, a few farms and labourers' cottages at wideintervals containing nearly all the rest of the population that was notresident in the village. 

It has been said that there were once two public-houses in Waterland, but that now there was but one. This was not owing to any want ofsuccess in the case of the one which had become extinct; on thecontrary, the "Oldfield Arms" had been the more flourishingestablishment of the two, and was situated in the centre of the village. Its sign, however, had long since disappeared; and it was now in thehands of the rector, its principal apartment having been transformedinto a reading-room, and place for holding meetings. And how was thisbrought about? Simply thus. When Bernard Oliphant first came toWaterland, he found the "Oldfield Arms" doing a most excellent business;so far as _that_ can be an excellent business which builds theprosperity of one upon the ruin of hundreds. People grumbled at thelowness of wages; wives were unable to procure money from their husbandsfor decent dress; children were half-starved and two-thirds naked;disease and dirt found a home almost everywhere; boys and girls grew upin ignorance, for their parents could not afford to send them to school;the men had no tidy clothes in which to appear at church. Yet, somehowor other, the "Oldfield Arms" was never short of customers; andcustomers, too, who paid, and paid well, sooner or later, for what theyconsumed. So the rector went among the people, and told them plainly ofthe sin of drunkenness, and pointed out the misery it brought, as theirown eyes could see. They confessed the truth--such as he could manageto get hold of--and drank on as before. He was getting heart-sick andmiserable. Preach as he might--and he did preach the truth with allfaithfulness and love--the notices of ale, porter, and spirits, set upin flaming colours in the windows and on the walls of the "OldfieldArms, " preached far more persuasively in the cause of intemperance. 

One day he came upon a knot of men standing just at the entrance of theyard that led to the tap-room. They were none of them exactly drunk;and certainly none were exactly sober. There were some among them whomhe never saw at church, and never found at home. He was grieved to seethese men in high discussion and dispute, when they ought to have beenbusily engaged in some lawful calling. He stopped, and taking one ofthem aside whose home was specially miserable, he said, --

"James, I'm grieved to see you here, when I know how sadly your poorwife and children are in need of food and clothing. "

The man looked half angry, half ashamed, but hung down his head, andmade no reply. The rest were moving off. 

"Nay, my friends, " said the rector, kindly, "don't go. I just want aword with you all. I want to say a few words of love and warning toyou, as your clergyman. God has sent me here to teach and guide you;and oh, do listen to me now. "

They all stood still, and looked at him respectfully. He went on:--

"Don't you see that drinking habits are bringing misery into the homesof the people in our parish--ay, into your own homes? You must see it. You must see how drunkenness stores up misery for you here andhereafter. What will become of you when you die, if you go on as youare doing now? What will become of your families? What will--"

At this moment there was a loud shout of "Hoy! hoy!" from the lips of acarter who was coming with a brewer's dray out of the inn-yard. The manhad just been depositing several full casks, and was now returning withthe empty ones. He did not see the rector at first; but when the groupmade way for him, and his eyes fell on Mr Oliphant, he touched his hatas he was passing, and said, --

"I beg pardon, sir; I did not know as you was there. " Then suddenlypulling up his horse, he added-- "Oh, if you please, sir, master bid mesay he's very sorry he hasn't any of the ale you've been drinking readyjust now, but he hopes you'll let me leave this barrel of stout, it's inprime order, he says. "

"Very well, " replied Mr Oliphant; "you may leave it. "

Then he turned again to the men: they were moving off. He would havetaken up his earnest appeal where he left it; but somehow or other hefelt a difficulty in speaking, and the deep attention was evidently gonefrom his hearers. He hesitated. They were already dispersing: shouldhe call them back? He felt as if he could not. He turned sadly towardshome, deeply vexed and chafed in his spirit. He blamed the ill-timedinterruption of the carter; and yet he felt that there was somethingelse lurking in the background with which he felt dissatisfied--something which wanted dragging out into the light. 

"And yet it's so foolish!" he said to himself, as he walked slowly upthe street. "My drinking in moderation has nothing in common with theirdrinking immoderately. Why should my use of intoxicating liquors fetterme in dissuading these poor creatures from their abuse? They ought tosee the difference. " Then a voice, deeper in the heart, whispered--"They ought; but they do not, and their souls are perishing. They areyour people: you must deal with them as they are, not as they ought tobe. "

That night the rector's sleep was very troubled. 

It was about a week later that he was again near the "Oldfield Arms, "when a spruce-looking man--his wine-merchant's agent--came out of theinn door, and walked up the street. Two men were standing with theirbacks to the rector just outside the yard. He was about to pass on;when he heard one say, --

"What a sight of wine some of them parsons drink! Yon fine gentcouldn't afford all them gold chains and pins if it warn't for theparsons. "

"Ay, " said the other, "it's the parsons as knows good wine from bad. Iheerd yon chap say only this morning: `Our very best customers is theclergy. '"

"Well, " rejoined the other, "I shouldn't mind if they'd only leave uspoor fellows alone, and let us get drunk when we've a mind. But it doseem a little hard that _they_ may get drunk on their wine, but wemustn't get drunk on our beer. "

"Oh, but you know, Bill, " said the other, "this here's the difference. When they get drunk, it's genteel drunk, and there's no sin in that; butwhen we poor fellows get drunk, it's wulgar drunk, and that's awfulwicked. "

Bernard Oliphant was deeply pained; he shrank within himself. 

"It's a cruel libel and a coarse slander, " he muttered, and hastened onhis way. "Am _I_ answerable, " he asked himself, "for the abuse whichothers may make of what I take moderately and innocently? Absurd! Andyet it's a pity, a grievous pity, that it should be possible for suchpoor ignorant creatures to speak thus of any of our holy calling, and soto justify themselves in sin. "

Yes, he felt it to be so, and it preyed upon his mind more and more. Hementioned what he had heard to his wife. 

"Dear Bernard, " she replied, "I have thought a great deal lately on thissubject, especially since you told me about your speaking to those menwhen you were interrupted by the drayman. I have prayed that you and Imight be directed aright; and we _shall_ be. But do not let us behasty. It does seem as though we were being called on to give up, forthe sake of others, what does us personally no harm. But perhaps we maybe wrong in this view. A great many excellent Christians, and ministerstoo, are moderate drinkers, and never exceed; and we must not be carriedaway by a mistaken enthusiasm to brand their use of fermented drinks assinful because such frightful evils are daily resulting from immoderatedrinking. We must think and pray, and our path will be made plain; andwe must be prepared to walk in it, cost what it may. "

"Yes, " said her husband; "I am getting more and more convinced thatthere is something exceptional in this matter--that we cannot deal withthis sin of drunkenness as we deal with other sins. But we will wait alittle longer for guidance; yet not too long, for souls are perishing, and ruin is thickening all round us. "

They had not to wait long; their path was soon made clear. 

It was on a bitter and cheerless November evening that Mr Oliphant wasreturning to the rectory from a distant part of his parish. He waswarmly clad; but the keen wind, which drove a prickly deluge of finehail into his face, seemed to make its way through every covering intohis very bones. He was hurrying on, thankful that home was so near, when he suddenly stumbled upon something in the path which he had notnoticed, being half blinded by the frozen sleet. With difficulty hesaved himself from falling over this obstacle, which looked in thefeeble moonlight like a bundle of ragged clothes. Then he stooped downto examine it more closely, and was horrified at hearing a low moan, which showed that it was a living creature that lay on the path. It wasplainly, in fact, some poor, half-frozen fellow-man, who lay coiledtogether there, perishing of cold in that bitter night. The rectortried to raise the poor wretch from the ground, but the body hung like adead weight upon him. 

"Come, " he said, "my poor fellow; come, try and rouse yourself and getup. You'll die if you lie here. "

The miserable bundle of humanity partly uncoiled itself, and made aneffort to rise, but sunk back again. Mr Oliphant shouted for help. The shout seemed partly to revive the prostrate creature, and he halfraised himself. 

"Come, " said the rector again, -- "come, lean on my arm, and try and getup. You'll die of cold if you stay here. "

"Die!" said a thick, unearthly voice from out of that half-frozen massof flesh and blood. "In Adam all die. "

"Who and what are you?" cried the rector, in extreme astonishment anddistress. 

"What am I? Ah, what am I?" was the bewildered, scarce audible reply. 

By this time help had arrived. Two men came up, and assisted MrOliphant to raise the poor man, and support him to the "Oldfield Arms, "where he was immediately put to bed; one of the men being sent off bythe rector to fetch the nearest medical man, while he himself gaveorders that everything should be done to restore the unhappy sufferer towarmth and consciousness. 

"Please, Mrs Barnes, " said he to the landlady, "be so good as to sendup to the rectory, and let me know, when the doctor comes, if he saysthat there is any danger. If his report is favourable, I will leave anight's rest to do its work, and will look in again early to-morrow. And pray let the poor man have everything that he needs, and send up tothe rectory if you are short of anything. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Mrs Barnes. "I will see that he is properlylooked to. "

The rector then went home, and in another hour received a message fromthe inn that the doctor had been, and that there was no danger of anyimmediately fatal result; that he would call again on his patient thefollowing morning, and should be glad to meet the rector at the inn. 

Accordingly, the following day at the appointed hour Bernard and thedoctor went up together into the sick man's room. As they opened thedoor they were astonished to hear the patient declaiming in a loudvoice, --

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth isnot in us. "

Bernard's heart grew sick. Could it be? Could this miserable creaturebe one of his own profession? Were these words the ramblings of one whohad been used to officiate as a Church minister? And, if so, what couldhave brought him to such a state of utter destitution? The doctorseemed to read his thoughts, and shook his head sadly. Then, puttinghis mouth to his ear, he said, --

"It's the drink; the smell of spirits is still strong on him. "

"Poor wretched creature!" said Mr Oliphant. "Can it be that the loveof drink has brought a man of position and education to such a state asthis? What can be done for him?"

"Not much at present, " was the reply, "beyond keeping him quiet, andnursing him well till the fever has run its course. And one thing isclear--we must keep all intoxicants from him. They are downright poisonto a man of his constitution; and should he get hold of any spiritsbefore his health is thoroughly established again, I would not answerfor his life. "

The rector called Mrs Barnes, and told her what the doctor had said, adding, --

"You must find a trustworthy nurse for him--one who will strictly attendto the doctor's orders. "

The landlady promised she would do so; and the rector left the sick-chamber with a sorrowful look and troubled heart. 

In ten days' time the patient was well enough to sit up in bed andconverse with Mr Oliphant. 

"My poor friend, " said the rector, "I grieve to see you in your presentstate, especially as I cannot but perceive that you have seen betterdays, and moved among people of education. However, there is greatcause to thank God that he has so far spared your life. "

A deep flush overspread the sick man's face as he replied, --

"Yes, indeed, I owe you, my dear sir, a debt of gratitude I can neverrepay. You say the truth--I _have_ seen better days. I was soughtafter in good society once, little as you might think it. "

"I can believe it, " said the rector, quietly. "But do not distressyourself by referring to the past, if it gives you pain. "

"As to that, " replied the other, "it matters to me little now what Ionce was; but it may interest you to know, and may serve as a warning. I was a popular preacher once. I was an ordained minister of the Churchof England. Crowds flocked to my church. I threw all my energies intomy preaching. I was a free man then; at least I believed myself so. While I proclaimed the love of God to sinners, I also preachedvehemently against sin. I never felt myself more at home than when Iwas painting the miserable bondage of those whom Satan held in hischains. I could speak with withering scorn of such as made a professionwhile they were living in any known wickedness. I was specially severeupon the drunkard's sin. But preaching such as mine, and in a largechurch, was very exhausting. I found that I wanted support; so I beganwith an egg beaten up with brandy, and took it just before going intothe pulpit. This made me doubly fervent; some of my hearers thought mealmost inspired. But the exhaustion was terrible at the end; so I addedanother glass of egg and spirits after the sermon. Then I found that, somehow or other, I could not preach in the evening after taking muchsolid food; so I substituted liquids for solids, and lived on Sundaysalmost entirely on malt liquors and spirits. When these failed to keepme up to the mark, I had to increase the quantity. At last I saw thatmy churchwarden began to look a little strangely and suspiciously at me;ugly sayings reached my ears; the congregation began to thin. At last Ireceived a letter from a Christian man of my flock, telling me thathimself and many others were pained with the fear that I was beginningto exceed the bounds of strict temperance: he urged total abstinence atonce; he was a total abstainer himself. I was startled--prostrated--humbled to the very dust. I reflected on the quantity of intoxicants Iwas now taking _daily_, and I shuddered. I thanked my friendly adviserwith tears, and promised to return to strict moderation. Totalabstinence I would not hear of; it was quite out of the question. Icould no more do without alcoholic stimulants then than I can do now. "

He paused, and fixed a peculiar look on Mr Oliphant; who, however, didnot, or would not, understand it. So he went on:--

"I tried moderation; but it would not do. I prayed for strength to bemoderate; but I know _now_ that I never really desired what I prayedfor. It was too late to be moderate; my lust had got the bit betweenits teeth, and I might as well have pulled at the wind. I went from badto worse. Desertion, disgrace, ruin, all followed. Everything hasgone--church, home, money, books, clothes--the drink has had them all, and would have them again if they were mine at this moment. For someyears past I have been a roaming beggar, such as you found me when youpicked me up in the road. "

He said all this with very little emotion; and then lay back, weariedwith his exertions in speaking. 

"And have you any--" The rector did not know how to finish the sentencewhich he had begun after a long pause. 

"Have I any family? you would ask, " said the other. "I had once. I hada wife and little child; my only child--a little girl. Well, I supposeshe's better off. She pined and pined when there was next to nothing toeat in the house; and they tell me--for I was not at home when shedied--that she said at the last, `I'm going to Jesus; they are nothungry where he is. ' Poor thing!"

"And your wife?" exclaimed Bernard, his blood running cold at the toneof indifference in which this account was given. 

"Oh, my wife? Ah, we did not see much of one another after our child'sdeath! I was often from home; and once, when I returned, I found thatshe was gone: they had buried her in my absence. She died--so theysaid--of a broken heart. Poor thing! it is not unlikely. "

Mr Oliphant hid his head in his hands, and groaned aloud. He had neverbefore conceived it possible--what he now found to be too true--thatlong habits of drunkenness can so utterly unhumanise a man as to reducehim to a mere callous self, looking upon all things outside self asdreamy and devoid of interest, with but one passion left--the passionfor the poison which has ruined him. 

At last the rector raised his head, and said slowly and solemnly, --

"And if God spares you, will you not strive to lead a new life? Willyou not pray for grace to conquer your besetting sin?"

The wretched man did not answer for a while. Then he said, --

"I have only one thing to live for, and that is the drink. I cannotlive without it. Oh, I implore you to let me have some spirits! You donot, you cannot, know how I crave them, or in pity you would notwithhold them from me. "

Mr Oliphant rose. 

"Compose yourself, my poor friend, " he said. "I dare not grant yourrequest; it might be your death. Farewell for the present. May God, with whom all things are possible, help you through your presenttrouble, and enable you in the end to conquer. "

The wretched man called imploringly after him; but he closed the door, and summoning Mrs Barnes, begged her to look well after him, and to seethat the nurse did all in her power to keep him calm, and to soothe himto rest. 

Two days after this he called again. 

"How is your patient to-day, Mrs Barnes?" he said to the landlady, whomhe met on the landing. 

"I cannot quite tell you, sir, for I have not been in to see him thismorning. He was so much better yesterday that the doctor said MrsHarper might go home. I went to look at him after he had taken his tea, and I found old Jane Hicks with him. She had called to speak with MrsHarper, and the poor gentleman got her to go and borrow him a newspaperwhich he wanted to see. I think I heard her come back twice since MrsHarper left; but perhaps he wanted something else. He said I had betternot wake him very early, as he thought he should sleep well; so Ihaven't disturbed him yet. "

A strange misgiving crept over the rector. 

"Let us go in at once, " he said. 

They knocked at the bed-room door--there was no answer; they opened itsoftly and went in. The sick man lay on his back, apparently asleep, but when they came closer they saw that he was dead. A stain on thesheet attracted Mr Oliphant's notice; he hastily turned it down, uncovering the hands; in the right was a bottle--it had held spirits;there was nothing in it now. 

So died the miserable victim of drink; so died the once flourishingprofessor; so died the once acceptable preacher. 

Mr Oliphant knelt by the bed-side and poured out his heart to God inprayer, entreating to be directed aright, and to be kept from ever inany degree disgracing his profession as this unhappy man had done. Hewas reminded that he was not alone by the sobs of the landlady, who hadfallen on her knees near him. 

"Mrs Barnes, " he said, on rising, "I have resolved, God helping me, tobe a total abstainer from this day forward. I have nothing to do withthe consciences of others, but for myself I feel that I shall be ahappier and a wiser man if I wholly abstain from those stimulants whichhave power to make such a shipwreck as this. "

She did not answer except by tears and a deep sigh; and he made his waysadly and thoughtfully home. 

From that day forward the drink was wholly banished from the rectory;there was no difference of opinion between Bernard and his wife--theywould bring up their children without the ensnaring stimulant. MrOliphant showed his colours at once; and he preached as well aspractised total abstinence, not in the place of the gospel, but as ahandmaid to the gospel. And Mrs Barnes was the first who joined him. 

"I've long hated selling beer and spirits, " she said. "I've seen themisery that the drink has brought even into our little village. But Ididn't see my way nor my duty plain before, but I see them now. You'veset me the example, sir; and, please God, I'll follow. You know my poormaster left me the farm for my life, and I shall be happier there with alittle than I could be if I were to stop here and be making ever somuch. "

She kept to her resolution. So the "Oldfield Arms" was closed, to theastonishment of all the neighbours. What was the foolish woman about?Had she lost her senses? Why, the inn was doing a capital business. Sir Thomas Oldfield himself came down on purpose from Greymoor Park, when he heard what she was going to do, and tried to talk and laugh herout of it. But she was firm. The house was her own freehold, and shewould neither use it herself as an inn, nor let any one else rent it forthe same purpose. Of course, she was a fool in the eyes of the world, but she did not care for that; and any one who saw her bright face asshe walked about her farm, would have perceived that, whether fool orno, she had the enjoyment of peace in her heart. 

But the "Oldfield Arms" was not long without a tenant. The rector tookit, as we have before said, and used it partly as shops, and the largepublic room as a reading-room. And thus it was that the "Dun Cow"remained without a rival as the dispenser of strong drink to theinhabitants of Waterland. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE PARK. 

It was a great vexation to Sir Thomas Oldfield that Mrs Barnes wouldneither keep the "Oldfield Arms" open herself, nor let it as a public-house to any one else. The "Dun Cow" was quite an inferior placealtogether, and nothing but rebuilding it could turn it into anythinglike a respectable house; but it did very well for the villagers to sotin. There was a good fire, and plenty of room in its parlour, so the"Dun Cow" kept its name, and reigned alone. Sir Thomas, indeed, had nowish to see the public-houses multiplied, for he highly disapproved ofdrunkenness, so there was no encouragement to set up another house in afresh place. And, indeed, though there was always custom in abundancefor one such establishment, a second would, at the time of the openingof our story, have driven but a poor trade; for the example and appealsof the rector for some seventeen years as a Christian total abstainer, together with the knowledge that all the rectory household wereconsistent water-drinkers, had been greatly blessed in Waterland. Manyhad left their drunkenness; a happy change had taken place in severalhomes; and a flourishing total abstinence society, which included manymembers from other parishes and villages, held its monthly meetings inthe large temperance room under the presidency of Bernard Oliphant. 

Sir Thomas Oldfield hated drunkenness, and was very severe upondrunkards, under ordinary circumstances, when brought before him as amagistrate. But, on the other hand, he hated total abstinence verycordially also. He was fond of making sweeping assertions, and knockingtimid opponents down with strong asseverations, which passed forexcellent arguments at assize dinners, and at parties at Greymoor Park;for it is wonderful what exceedingly loose logic will satisfy evenhighly-educated people when employed on the side of their appetites orprejudices. Once, indeed, the squire was very considerably staggered, but he never liked a reference to be made afterwards to the occasion. He was presiding at a harvest-home given to his own tenants, and hadpassed from a warm eulogium on temperance and moderation to a vehementharangue against total abstinence and total abstainers. He was, however, cut short in the midst of his eloquence by a sturdy-lookinglabourer, who struggled forward, beer-jug in hand, and, tottering atevery step, spluttered out, --

"Hooray, hooray, Sir Thomas! Here's long life to the squire--here'slong life to moderation. Hooray lads, hooray! Here's three cheers forthe squire and moderation. Stand fast to your principles, like me; asfor them total abstainers, they haven't got a leg to stand on. "

With that he tumbled forward, and, unable to recover his balance, fellflat on the ground before Sir Thomas, and lay there utterly unable torise. 

As was the squire, so had he brought up his family. 

Greymoor Park was a noble property, which had come down to him through along line of ancestors. The house stood on a rocky height, and wassurrounded, but not encumbered, by noble groups of trees, from the midstof which it looked out over sloping terraced gardens, glowing withflower-beds, which enamelled the smoothest of turf, across the park fromwhich the estate took its name. The original house was old, but whilethe fine bay-windows, massive porch, stately gables, and widestaircases, with their carved oak balustrades and pendants, had beenpreserved untouched, all such modern improvements had been added aswould soften off the inconveniences of a less luxurious age. The parkitself was remarkable for the size and grouping of its timber, and waswell-stocked with deer. A fine sheet of water also spread itself outover an open space between the trees, so as to form a delightful varietyto the view from the great bay-windows. Indeed, if the things of thepresent life could have made a man happy, Sir Thomas had abundantgrounds for happiness in this world. Yes, _in_ this world, but notbeyond it. For Sir Thomas was just simply and thoroughly a man of theworld, and a most respectable man of the world too. No man could placehis finger on a blot in his character or conduct. He lived for theworld, and the world applauded him. He lived to please self, and to aconsiderable extent he succeeded. 

Lady Oldfield wished to be something higher. She knew the emptiness ofthe world, at least in theory. She wished to be a Christian, but wasnot. The glow of a pure gospel faith, caught by intercourse with trueChristians, might be often found in her words, but it went no farther;as the pavement on which the rich hues of a stained glass window fall, is but a cold colourless pavement after all, so was her heart cold, worldly, colourless for God. She was careful to have her childrentaught religiously--the Bible lesson, the catechism, were learnt bothregularly and perfectly. No child might omit its prayers night ormorning, nor be absent from the daily family worship. No household wasmore strict in its attendance at church; and nothing brought down morespeedily and severely her ladyship's displeasure than negligence to goto God's house, or irreverence or inattention during the service. Thomas, the eldest son, and heir to the baronetcy, was at present abroadwith his regiment; the second son, Frank, was just one-and-twenty; therest of the children were daughters. 

Ever since the coming of Bernard Oliphant to Waterland, there had beenfree intercourse between the two families at the hall and the rectory;for Mr Oliphant was a distant relation of the Oldfields, and it wasthrough Sir Thomas that he had been presented to the living. So theyoung people grew up together, though there was, strictly speaking, moreintimacy than friendship between them, especially as the totalabstinence principles of the rectory were a bar to any great cordialityon the part of the squire and his lady. On this point the baronet andhis wife were entirely agreed. She was less openly severe, yet quite asdetermined and bitter in her opposition as he. So the two families met, and were civil, and exchanged calls, and the Oliphants dined at the halloccasionally, and the children of both houses had little gatherings andfeastings together from time to time. Thus had things gone on for someyears after Mr Oliphant had first shown his colours as a totalabstainer; Lady Oldfield jealously watching her children, lest any ofthem should be corrupted by the absurd notions, as she counted them, ofthe rector and his wife on this subject of total abstinence. She had, however, nothing to fear on this score, as regarded her eldest son. Hehad never taken much to the Oliphants as a boy, and his absence fromhome at school and the university had kept him out of the reach of theirinfluence till he left England with his regiment. It was otherwise withthe second son, Frank, who was specially his mother's idol, and indeedalmost every one else's too. From his earliest boyhood he took people'shearts by storm, and kept them. No one could see him and not love thatopen, generous, handsome face, with its laughing blue eyes, and settingof rich brown curling hair. No one could hear his joyous, confidingvoice, and the expressions of unaffected and earnest interest with whichhe threw himself into every subject which fairly engaged his attentionor affections, without feeling drawn with all the cords of the heart tothe noble boy. There was such a thorough openness and freedom in allthat he did and said, yet without recklessness and without indifferenceto the feelings of others. And when, through thoughtlessness orforgetfulness, as was not unfrequently the case, he happened to findhimself in some awkward scrape or perplexity, he would toss back hiswaving hair with a half-vexed half-comical expression, which woulddisarm at once his mother's anger, spite of herself, and turn her severerebuke into a mild remonstrance. Alas, that sin should ever mar such alovely work of God! Frank loved the look of nature that lay open allaround him, but not his own books. He abhorred study, and onlysubmitted to it from a sense of duty. His father, at Lady Oldfield'surgent request, kept him at home, and engaged a private tutor for him, whose office would have been a sinecure but for the concern it gave himto find his pupil so hard to drag along the most level paths oflearning. Dog's-ears disfigured Frank's books, the result simply ofrestless fingers; and dog's heads; executed in a masterly style, werethe subjects of his pen. He loved roaming about, and there was not anold ruin within many miles round of which he did not know every crevice, nor any birds of song or prey with whose haunts and habits he was notintimately acquainted. In fishing, riding, swimming, he was an earlyadept, and every outdoor sport was his delight. All the dogs in theneighbourhood rejoiced in him, and every cottager's wife blessed himwhen he flung his bright smiles around him as he passed along. At noplace was he more welcome than at the rectory, nor was there any housein which he felt so happy, not even excepting his own home. With allhis wildness he felt the most sincere love and respect for Mr and MrsOliphant, and rejoiced in a day spent with their children. And therewas one of these towards whom he was drawn with feelings of peculiartenderness. He was not conscious of it, and would have laughed at theidea had it been suggested to him; yet it was true that when he was butjust sixteen Mary Oliphant had begun to wind herself around his heartwith those numberless invisible cords which would by degrees enchain himin bonds which no power on earth could break. Mary, of course, merechild as she then was, and brought up by her parents as a child shouldbe, obedient, gentle, unobtrusive, delighted in the companionship of thelively, open-hearted boy, without a thought beyond, and heartily enjoyedmany a happy ramble with him and her brothers among the woods andmeadows. Frank Oldfield could not but be struck by the love and harmonywhich reigned in the Oliphant family. He saw the power of a religionwhich made itself felt without thrusting itself forward into notice. Hecould not but reflect sometimes, and then even _his_ sunny brow wasclouded, that he wanted a something which the children at the rectorypossessed; that he wanted a great reality, without which he could not befully happy. He saw also the bright side of total abstinence when hespent a day with the rector's family. At home there was alwaysabundance of beer and wine upon the table, and he drank it, like others;and not only drank it, but thirsted for it, and felt as if he could notdo without it. It was not so when he dined at the rectory, at theirsimple one o'clock meal, for he enjoyed his food, and seemed scarcely tomiss the stimulant. 

One day, when he was sitting at the rectory table, he said to MrOliphant, looking up with one of his bright smiles, --

"I wish I was a total abstainer. "

"Well, " said Mr Oliphant in reply, with a smile, "I wish you were; butwhy do _you_ wish it just now, my dear boy?"

"Oh, I've been thinking a good deal about it lately. I see you smile, Hubert, but I really have been thinking--yes, thinking--I've beenthinking that I should like to do as you all do; you're just as happywithout beer and wine, and just as well too. "

"And is that your only reason, dear Frank?" asked Mrs Oliphant. 

"Oh no! that's not all; the plain truth is this, I can't help thinkingthat if I keep getting fonder and fonder of beer and wine, as I'm doingnow, I shall get too fond of it by-and-by. "

Mr Oliphant sighed, and poor Mary exclaimed, --

"Oh, Frank, don't say that. "

"Ay, but it's true; don't you think, Mr Oliphant, that I should bebetter and safer without it?"

"I do, most sincerely, my dear boy, " answered the rector; "yes, bothbetter and safer; and specially the latter. "

"I know, " said Frank, "that papa and mamma are not fond of totalabstinence; but then, I cannot think that they have really looked intothe matter as you have. "

"No, Frank, your father and mother do not see the matter in the samelight as myself and I have no right to blame them, for, when I firstcame to Waterland, I thought nearly the same as they do. Perhaps theywill take _my_ view by-and-by. "

Frank shook his head, and then went on, --

"But you do think it the best thing for young people, as well as grown-up people, to be abstainers?"

"Yes, assuredly; and I will tell you why. I will give you a littleillustration. There is a beautiful picture representing what is calledthe `Lorelei, ' a spirit fabled to haunt some high rocks that overlookthe Rhine. This spirit is represented in the picture as a beautifulfemale, with a sweet but melancholy expression of countenance. Shekneels on the top of the rock, and is singing to a harp, which shestrikes with her graceful fingers. Below is a boat with two men in it, the one old, and the other young. The boat is rapidly nearing therocks, but both the men are utterly unconscious of their danger--the oldman has ceased to hold the helm, the young man has dropped the oars, andboth are fondly stretching out their hands towards the deceiving spirit, wholly entranced with her song--a few moments more and their boat willbe a wreck. Now, it is because the drink is such an enticing thing, like the Lorelei spirit; because it seems to sing pleasantly to us, andmakes us forget where we are; because it lures on old and young to theirruin, by robbing them of their self-control;--it is for these reasonsthat I think it such a happy thing to put every safeguard betweenourselves and its snares. "

"Yes, " said Frank thoughtfully; "I know the drink is becoming a snare tome, or may become so. What shall I do? Ought I to give it upaltogether?"

"It is a very difficult thing to answer that question, " replied therector. "I could hardly urge you to give up beer and wine altogether, if your father and mother positively forbid your doing so; there is nosin, of course, in the simple taking of fermented liquors, and thereforeI could not advise you to go directly contrary to your parents' ordersin this matter. "

"There is no harm, however, in my trying to give up beer and wine, if myfather and mother will allow me?"

"Certainly not, my dear boy; and may God make your way plain, and removeor overcome your difficulties. "

The day after this conversation, Frank was sitting in his place at thedinner-table of the hall. The butler brought him a glass of beer. "No, thank you, " he said. A little while after he filled a tumbler withwater, and began to drink it. 

"Frank, my boy, " said his father, "are not you well? Why don't you takeyour beer as usual?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, papa; but I'd rather have the water. "

"Well, put some port wine in it, at any rate, if you don't fancy thebeer to-day. "

"I'd rather have neither beer nor wine, thank you, papa. "

By this time Lady Oldfield's attention was drawn to what was passingbetween her husband and son. 

"Dear Frank, " she said, "I shall not allow you to do anything so foolishas to drink water. James, hand the beer again to Master Frank. "

"Indeed, dear mamma, " he urged, "I mean what I say; I really shouldrather have water. "

"Absurd!" exclaimed her ladyship angrily; "what folly has possessed younow? You know that the medical men all say that wine and beer arenecessary for your health. "

"I'm sure, mamma, the medical men needn't trouble themselves about myhealth. I'm always very well when I have plenty of air and exercise. If ever I feel unwell, it is when I've had more wine or beer thanusual. "

"And who, pray, has been putting these foolish notions into your head?I see how it is; I always feared it; the Oliphants have been fillingyour head with their extravagant notions about total abstinence. Really, my dear, " she added, turning to Sir Thomas, "we must forbidFrank's going to the rectory, if they are to make our own child fly inthe face of our wishes. "

"Mamma, " cried Frank, all on fire with excitement and indignation, "you're quite mistaken about the Oliphants; they have none of them beentrying to talk me over to their own views. I began the subject myself, and asked Mr Oliphant's advice, and he told me expressly that I oughtnot to do what you would disapprove of. "

"And why should you ask Mr Oliphant's advice? Cannot you trust yourown father and mother? I am not saying a word against Mr Oliphant as aclergyman or a Christian; he preaches the gospel fully and faithfully, and works hard in his parish, but on this subject of total abstinence heholds views which neither your father nor I approve of; and, really, Imust not have you tampered with in this matter. "

"Well, dear mamma, I've done; I'll do as you wish. Farewell water--welcome beer and wine; James, a glass of ale. "

It was two years after this that a merry company from the hall andrectory set out to explore a remarkable ruin about five miles distantfrom Waterland. Frank was leader of the party; he had never given hisparents any more anxiety on the score of total abstinence--on thecontrary, he had learned to take so freely of wine and beer, that hismother felt at times a little alarmed lest he should seriously overpassthe bounds of moderation. When at the rectory, he never again alludedto the subject, but rather seemed eager to turn the conversation whenany remark fell from Mr or Mrs Oliphant on the evils arising fromintemperance. And now to-day he was in the highest spirits, as he rodeon a sprightly little pony by the side of Mary Oliphant, who was mountedon another pony, and was looking the picture of peaceful beauty. Otheryoung people followed, also on horseback. The day was most lovely, andan inspiriting canter along lane and over moor soon brought them to theruin. It was a stately moss-embroidered fabric, more picturesque in itsdecay than it ever could have been in its completeness. Its shatteredcolumns, solitary mullions, and pendent fragments of tracery hoary withage, and in parts half concealed by the negligent profusion of ivy, entranced the mind by their suggestive and melancholy beauty; while thehuge remnant of a massive tower seemed to plead with mute dignityagainst the violence which had rent and marred it, and against theencroaching vegetation, which was climbing higher and higher, andenveloping its giant stones in a fantastic clothing of shrub andbramble. 

Frank and his party first shut up their horses in the old refectory, closing the entrance with a hurdle, and then dispersed over the ruins. Mary had brought her drawing-pad, that she might sketch a magnificentpillar, and the remains of a transept arch which rose gracefully behindit, crowned with drooping ivy, and disclosing in the back ground, through a shattered window, the dreamy blue of the distant hills. Shesat on the mutilated chapiter of a column, and was soon so whollyabsorbed in her work, that she never turned her eyes to notice FrankOldfield, who, leaning against a low archway, was busily engaged in avigorous sketch, of which herself was the prominent object. And whocould blame him? for certainly a lovelier picture, or one more full ofharmonious contrast, could hardly have been found, than that presentedby the sweet and graceful figure of the rector's daughter, with itssurroundings of massive masonry and majestic decay. She all life, acreature of the present, and yet still more of the future, as brightwith the sunshine of a hope that could never die; and they, thosemouldering stones, that broken tracery, those mossy arches, sad in thedesolation of the present, sadder still in the memories of anunenlightened past. Frank finished his sketch, and, holding it behindhim, stole gently up to the side of Mary Oliphant. 

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a most lovely little bit; and yet, I have thevanity to think that my choice of a subject has been better than yourown. "

"The drawing is, no doubt, " she answered; "but I hardly think you canfind such a picturesque group as this in any other part of the ruins. "

"Let us compare, then, " he said, and placed his own sketch by the sideof hers. 

"Oh, Frank, " she cried, "how can you be so foolish?"

At the same time the colour which flushed her face, and the bright smilewhich lighted it, showed that the folly was not very reprehensible inher eyes. 

"Is it so very foolish?" he asked, half seriously, half playfully. "Well; I wish I had shown the same kind of folly in my choice of someother things as I have in the choice of a subject. "

She was about to reply, when suddenly, without any warning, a savage-looking dog dashed into the open space before them, and, making a fiercerush at Mary, caught her by the dress. 

"Down, you brute, down!" shouted Frank; but the dog still retained hishold, and growled and tossed himself about savagely. Frank had no sticknor weapon of any kind in his hands, but he darted to a heap of loosestones, and snatching one up turned towards the dog. In the meantime, Mary, in extreme terror, had dropped her drawing-pad, and plucking herdress from the fierce creature's mouth, fled with all her speed acrossthe pavement, and sprang up the projecting stones of an old archway. The dog, with a loud yell, followed her, and easily overtook her, as theascent up which she had climbed presented a broad footing. Utterlyterrified, and unconscious of what she was doing, the poor girlclambered higher and higher to escape her enemy. Frank had now turnedupon the dog, and hurled one huge stone at him; it passed near, but didnot touch him. Mary's terror only excited the furious animal to follow, and as she saw him close upon her again, with a wild cry she leapedright across to an old fragment of a turret which stood out by itself inan angle of the wall. The dog hesitated, but, before it could decide tofollow her, another stone from Frank had struck it full in the side. With a tremendous howl it tumbled down into the court and fled. PoorMary! she gasped for breath, and could not for a long time recover herself-possession. When at last she became more calm, soothed andencouraged by the kind voice and earnest entreaties of Frank, it wasonly to awake to the extreme danger of her present position. Fear hadmade her take a leap which she could never have dared to attempt in hercalm senses. She looked across the chasm over which she had sprung, andshuddered. Could she try the leap back again? No; she dared not. Inthe meantime, the stones to which she was clinging began to loosenbeneath her weight. She looked down, and became giddy. 

"Oh, save me--save me--I shall fall!" she cried. She clutched at astrong stem of ivy which was climbing up the wall close by, and sosupported herself; but it was evident that she could not long retain herhold in that constrained position, even if the stonework did not giveway beneath her feet. All the party had now gathered in the open spacebelow, and some began to climb the path by which she had mounted. Frank, in the meanwhile, was making desperate efforts to reach the poorgirl. 

"Hold on--hold on--dear Mary!" he cried; "a few moments, and I shall bewith you; don't lose courage--keep a firm grasp on the ivy; there--I'vegot a landing on the top of this old arch; now, I'm only a few feetoff--steady, steady--don't stir for your life--only a few moments moreand I shall be at your side. "

It was perilous work indeed; and all who beheld him held their breath ashe made his way towards where the object of their deep anxiety wascrouched. Now he was clinging to a rough projecting stone, now swingingby a rusty bar, now grasping ivy or brambles, and every now and thenslipping as the old masonry gave way beneath his feet. At last, withimmense exertion, he gained a ledge a little below where the terrifiedgirl was perched, half lying, half crouching. Here he had firmstanding-ground. Placing his hand gently upon her, he bade her slidedown towards him, assuring her that she would have a firm footing on theledge. She obeyed at once, feeling his strong arm bearing her up andguiding her. Another moment, and she stood beside him. But now, howwere they to descend? She dared not attempt to leap back to the spotfrom whence she had sprung in her terror, and there was no regulardescent from the slab on which they were perched, but only a fewprojecting stones down the perpendicular face of the wall, and these atwide intervals. 

"There's no way but a roundabout climb down by the ivy, " said Frank atlast. "Trust to me, dear Mary, and do exactly what I tell you. I willgo first, and do you place hand and foot just as I bid you. There--putyour foot in that crevice--now take firm hold of that branch; there--nowthe other foot--now the next step a little to the right, the good ivymakes a noble ladder--now we're nearly landed; there--be careful not toslip on that round stone--one step more, and now we're safe. Oh, thankGod, _you're_ safe!"

He clasped her to his heart; she knew that heart was hers; she could notresent that loving embrace; it was but for a moment. He released her, and was turning to the friends who were gathering and pressing round, when a heavy stone, loosened in their descent, fell on his outstretchedarm, and struck him to the ground. 

Mary sprang towards him with a cry of deep distress. 

"Frank, dear Frank--you're hurt--you're dreadfully hurt, I'm sure. "

"No, no; not much, I hope, " he said, springing up, but looking verypale. "It's an awkward blow rather, but don't distress yourself--we'llmake the best of our way home at once--just one of you see to thehorses. "

He spoke with effort, for he was evidently in great pain. Mary's heartached for him, but exhaustion and anxiety quite deprived her of thepower of speaking or thinking collectively. 

The horses were speedily brought. Frank held out his uninjured arm tohelp Mary Oliphant to mount her pony. 

"I'm so very, very sorry, " she said, "to have caused this disaster, andspoiled our happy day through my foolish timidity. "

"Nay, nay; you must not blame yourself, " said Frank. "I am sure we allfeel for you. It was that rascal of a dog that did the mischief, but Igave him such a mark of my respect as I don't think he'll part with fora long time. "

Poor Frank, he tried to be cheerful; but it was plain to all that hemust be suffering severely. They were soon on their way home, but acloud rested on their spirits. Few words were said till they reachedthe spot where the roads to the hall and the rectory parted. Then Frankturned to Mary and said, with a look full of tenderness, rendered doublytouching by his almost ghastly paleness, --

"Farewell; I hope you'll be none the worse, dear Mary, for your fright. I shall send over to-morrow to inquire how you are. It was a happyescape. "

"Good-bye, good-bye!" she cried; "a thousand thanks for your noble andtimely rescue! Oh, I hope--I hope--"

She could not say more, but burst into tears. 

"All right--never fear for me!" he cried cheerily as he rode off, leaving Mary and a groom to make their way to Waterland, while himselfand the rest of the party hastened on to Greymoor Park. 

They had not far to ride, but Frank was evidently anxious to reach homeas speedily as possible. With clenched teeth and knit brow, he urged onhis pony to a gallop. Soon they reached the lodge; a few moments moreand they had passed along the drive and gained the grand entrance. LadyOldfield had just returned from a drive, and was standing on the topstep. 

"You're early home, " she remarked. "Dear Frank, I hope there's nothingamiss, " she added, noticing the downcast looks of the whole party. 

Her son did not answer, but, dismounting with difficulty, began to walkup the steps. She observed with dismay that he tottered as heapproached her. Could he have been drinking so freely as to be unableto walk steadily? Her heart died within her. The next moment hestaggered forward, and fainted in her arms. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 

"What--what is this?" cried Lady Oldfield in bitter distress. "Frank--my child--my beloved boy--oh, open your eyes--look at me--speak--whathas happened? Oh, he's dying, he's dying--James--Richard--carry him upto his room. One of you tell Tomkins to ride off immediately for DrPortman. Thomas, fetch me some brandy--quick--quick!"

They carried him in a state of complete insensibility to his room, andlaid him on the bed. His mother stood over him, bathing his templeswith eau-de-cologne, and weeping bitterly. The brandy was brought; theyraised him, and poured a little through his blanched lips; slowly hebegan to revive; his lips moved. Lady Oldfield stooped her ear close tohis face, and caught the murmured word, "Mary. "

"Oh, thank God, " she exclaimed, "that he is not dead! Does any one knowhow this has happened?"

"I believe, my lady, " replied one of the servants, "that Mr Frank washit by a big stone which fell on him from the top of the ruins. I heardJuniper Graves say as much. "

"Ay, my lady, " said another; "it were a mercy it didn't kill Mr Frankoutright. "

The object of their care began now to come more to himself. He tried torise, but fell back with a groan. 

"What _can_ I do for you, my poor boy?" asked his mother; "the doctorwill be here soon, but can we do anything for you now? Where is yourpain?"

"I fear my left arm is broken, " he whispered; "the pain is terrible. "

"Take some more brandy, " said his mother. 

He took it, and was able to sit up. Then with great difficulty theyundressed him, and he lay on the bed pale and motionless till the doctorarrived. On examination, it was found that the arm was terriblybruised, but not broken. There were, however, other injuries also, though not of a serious character, which Frank had sustained in hisperilous climbing to the rescue of Mary Oliphant. Fever came on, aggravated by the brandy injudiciously administered. For some days itwas doubtful what would be the issue; but at last, to the great joy ofSir Thomas and his wife, the turning-point was passed, and Dr Portmanpronounced their child out of danger--all he needed now was goodnursing, sea-air, and proper nourishment. During the ravings of thefever his mind was often rambling on the scene in the ruins--at one timehe would be chiding the dog, at another he would be urging Mary to clingfirmly to the ivy; and there was a tone of tenderness in these appealswhich convinced Lady Oldfield that her son's heart was given to therector's daughter. This was confirmed by a conversation which she hadwith him at the sea-side, where he was gone to recruit his strength. There he opened his whole heart to her, and confessed the depth of hisattachment to her whose life he had so gallantly saved. Lady Oldfieldwas at first pained; she would not have preferred such an alliance forher son. But, on further reflection, the prospect was not sodispleasing to her. Mary Oliphant was not inferior to her son in birth, and would have, when she came of age, a good fortune which had been lefther by a wealthy aunt. Frank's love for beer and wine, and evenspirits, had grown so much of late, that his mother had begun to feelvery anxious about him on that score. She had no wish that he shouldbecome a total abstainer; indeed she was, at this very time, giving him, by the doctor's orders, as much porter and wine as he could bear; butshe thought that Mary's total abstinence might act as a check upon himto keep him within the bounds of strict moderation. She knew, too, thatMary was a genuine Christian, and she sincerely believed that truereligion in a wife was the only solid foundation of domestic happiness. Before, therefore, they returned to Greymoor Park, Frank had hismother's hearty consent, subject to Sir Thomas's approval, to hisengaging himself to Mary Oliphant. 

And what were Mary's own feelings on the subject? Poor girl, she hadnever realised before that day of peril and rescue that she felt, orcould feel, more than a half friendly, half sisterly liking for FrankOldfield. She had always admired his open generous disposition, and hadbeen happy in his society; but they had been so many years companions, that she had never thought of looking upon him as one likely to form anattachment to herself. But now there could be no doubt on the subject. What passed in the old ruin had convinced her that his heart was givento her; and more than this, that her own heart was given to him. Andnow his sufferings and illness, brought on him through his exertions tosave her from destruction, had called out her love for him into fullconsciousness. Yet with that consciousness there came a deep sense ofpain. It had taken her so by surprise; her heart was given before shehad had time to reflect whether she ought to have given it. Could shebe happy with him? was he a real Christian? did he love the same Saviourshe loved herself? Oh, these thoughts pressed heavily upon her spirit, but she spread out her cares first before her heavenly Father, and thenwith full childlike openness before her earthly parent--that lovingmother from whom she had never had a single concealment. 

Mrs Oliphant sighed when her daughter had poured out her anxieties anddifficulties. 

"Oh, mamma--dearest mamma!" cried Mary, "what ought I to do? I am surehe loves me, and I know that he will tell me so, for he is the very lastperson to keep back what he feels. What would you and dear papa wish meto do, should he declare his affection? I could not honestly say thatmy heart is indifferent to him, and yet I should not dare to encouragehim to look forward to a time when we shall be one on earth, unless Ican trust too that we shall be one hereafter in heaven. "

"My precious child, " replied her mother, "you know our doubts and ourfears. You know that Frank has acknowledged to increasing fondness forintoxicating drinks. You know that his poor mother will ratherencourage that taste. And oh, if you should marry, and he should becomea drunkard--a confirmed drunkard--oh, surely he will bring misery on mybeloved child, and her father's and mother's grey hairs with sorrow tothe grave. "

"Dearest mamma, you have only to say that you are convinced that Icannot be happy with him, or that you and dear papa consider that Iought to relinquish all thoughts about him, and I will at once endeavourto banish him from my heart. "

"No, my child. Your affections, it is clear, have already becomeentangled, and therefore we are not in the same position to advise youas if your heart were free to give or to withhold. Had it beenotherwise, we should have urged you to pause before you allowed anythoughts about Frank to lodge in your heart, or perhaps to be preparedto give a decided refusal, in case of his making a declaration of hisattachment. "

"But you do not think him quite hopeless, dear mamma? Remember howanxious he seemed at one time to become a total abstainer. And mightnot I influence him to take the decided step, when I should have a rightto do so with which no one could interfere?"

"It might be so, my darling. God will direct. But only promise me onething--should Frank ask you to engage yourself to him, and you shoulddiscover that he is becoming the slave of intemperance before the timearrives when you are both old enough to marry, promise me that in thatcase you will break off the engagement. "

"I promise you, dearest mamma, that, cost what struggle it may, I willnever marry a drunkard. "

It was but a few days after the above conversation that Frank Oldfieldcalled at the rectory. It was the first time that he and Mary had metsince the day of their memorable adventure. He was looking pale, andcarried his arm in a sling, but his open look and bright smile wereunchanged. 

"I carry about with me, you see, dear Mary, " he said, "my apology fornot having sooner called to inquire after you. I hope you were notseriously the worse for your fright and your climb?"

"Oh no, " she replied earnestly; "only so grieved when I found what youhad suffered in saving me. How shall I ever thank you enough forsacrificing yourself as you did for me?"

"Well, " he answered with a smile, "I suppose I ought to say that youhave nothing to thank me for. And yet I do think that I may accept ofsome thanks--and, to tell the truth, I have just come over to suggestthe best way in which the thanks may be given. "

Mary did not answer, but looked down; and, spite of herself, her tearswould fall fast. 

"Dear Mary, " he said, "the plainest and shortest way is the one thatsuits me best. I want you to give me your heart--you have had mine longago, and I think you know it. "

She did not speak. 

"Oh, Mary, dearest Mary, can I be mistaken? Cannot you--do not you loveme?"

"Frank, " she replied, in a low and tearful voice, "it would beaffectation in me to make a show of concealing my love to you. I _do_love you. I never knew it till that day; but since then I have knownthat my heart is yours. "

She said this so sadly, that he asked half seriously, half playfully, --

"Would you then wish to have it back again?"

"No, dear Frank; I cannot wish _that_. "

"Then one day--if we are spared--you will be my own loving wife?"

There was no reply, but only a burst of tears. 

"Mary, dearest Mary, what am I to understand? Do your parents object toyour engaging yourself to me? Oh, surely it is not so?"

"No, Frank; they have not objected--not exactly--but--"

She hesitated and looked down. 

"Oh, why then not give me a plain `Yes' at once? You own that yourheart is mine--you _know_ that my heart is yours--why not then promiseto be mine altogether?"

"It is true, dear Frank, " she replied slowly, "that my heart is yours--Icannot take it back if I would--but it may be my duty not to give myhand with it. "

"Your duty! Oh, Mary, what a cold, cruel speech! Why your duty?"

"Well, " she replied, "the plain truth is best, and best when soonestspoken. You must know, dear Frank, how we all here feel about the sinand misery caused by strong drink. And you must know--oh, forgive mefor saying it, but I must say it, I must be open with you _now_ on thissubject--you must know that we have reason to fear that your own likingfor beer and wine and such things has been, for the last year or two, onthe increase. And oh, we fear--we fear that, however unconsciously, youmay be on the downward road to--to--"

She could not finish her sentence. 

Frank hung down his head, and turned half away, the colour flushing upto the top of his fair forehead. He tried to speak, but could not for awhile. At last, in a husky voice, he whispered, --

"And so you will give me up to perish, body and soul, and to go downhill with all my might and main?"

"No, Frank, " she answered, having now regained her composure; "no; Ihave no wish to give you up to sin and ruin. It will rest withyourself. I cannot promise absolutely that I will be yours. It willdepend upon--upon--upon what you are yourself when the time comes thatwe might marry. "

"And you have promised your mother--"

"I have promised--oh, Frank, dear Frank, pardon me if I wound you byplain, rough words, but they must be spoken--I have promised that I willnever be the wife of a drunkard. "

He bowed his head on his hand, and there was a long and painful silence. Poor Mary, her heart bled for him, as she saw the tears forcing theirway between his thin, pale fingers. 

"Mary, " he said at last, "you must be mine; I cannot live without you. Trust me; you shall have no cause to be ashamed of me. I know--I feelthat I have been in great danger of sliding into intemperate habits; butyou shall see me and hear of me henceforth as strictly moderate. Isolemnly promise you this; and on the very day that makes us one, I willbe one with you in total abstinence also. Dearest, will this satisfyyou?"

"Yes, dear Frank; I have no right to ask more, if you _can_ be strictlymoderate; but oh, do not trust in your own strength. Pray for help, dear Frank, and then you will be able to conquer. "

"Oh, of course, " he said hastily; "but never fear, I give you my solemnpromise that you shall never see nor hear of any excess in me. "

And did he keep his resolution? Yes; for a while. But, alas! howlittle do those in circumstances like his really appreciate the awfuldifficulties which beset those who are struggling to maintain strictmoderation. This makes drunkenness such a fearful and exceptionalsin, --

 "The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain. "

The resolution is firmly set; the man walks forth strong as a rock inhis determination. He begins to drink; his rock is but a piece of iceafter all, but he knows it not; it is beginning to melt with the warmthof the first glass; he is cheered and encouraged by the second glass, and his resolution seems to himself stronger than ever, while in verytruth it is only melting faster and faster. At last he is over theborder of moderation before he conceives that he had so much asapproached it. Then, alas! the word "moderation" stands for an unknownquantity, easy to use but hard to define, since one man's moderation maybe another man's excess, and to-day's moderation may be an excess to-morrow. 

Poor Frank was never more in earnest than when he promised Mary Oliphantthat he would observe strict moderation. He had everything to inducehim to keep his word--his love for Mary; his desire to please his ownparents, who had begun to tremble for him; his own self-respect. So heleft the rectory strong as a lion in his own estimation, yet not withouta sort of misgiving underlying his conviction of his own firmness; buthe would not listen to that misgiving for a moment. 

"I mean to be what I have promised, and I _will_ be, " he said tohimself. "Mary shall see that, easy and self-indulgent as I have been, I can be rigid as iron when I have the will to be so. "

Poor Frank! he did not knew his own weakness; he did not know that hiswas not a will of iron, but was like a foot once badly sprained, whichhas lost its firm and unfaltering tread. Happy would it have been forhim had he sought a strength higher than his own--the strength fromabove. 

For several weeks he kept strictly to his purpose. He limited himselfto so much beer and wine, and never exceeded. He became proud of hisfirmness, forgetting that there had been nothing to test the stamina ofhis resolution. 

At last the annual harvest-home came round. It was a season of greatfestivity at Greymoor Park. Sir Thomas, as we have said, wished all histenants and labourers to be sober, and spoke to that effect on theseoccasions; at the same time he was equally anxious that both meat anddrink should be dealt out with no niggard hand. So men and women tookas much as they liked, and the squire was very careful to make no verystrict inquiries as to the state of any of his work-people on thefollowing day; and if any case of intemperance on these occasions cameto his knowledge afterwards, as commonly happened, it was winked at, unless of a very gross and open character. 

"Poor fellows, " said the good-natured landlord, "it's only once in ayear that they get such a feast, and I must not be too strict with them. There's many a good fellow gets a little too much on these days, who isan excellent steady workman and father all the rest of the year. It'sdrunkenness--the habit of drunkenness--that is such a sin and scandal. "

So everything was done to make the harvest-home a day of feasting andmirth. 

On the present occasion the weather was as bright and propitious ascould be desired. A blazing sun poured down his heat from a cloudlesssky; scarce a breath of wind stirred the flag which, in honour of theday, floated above the entrance of the hall. Two large tents werespread out by the borders of the ornamental water, in full view of thehall windows. A band, hired for the occasion, poured forth a torrent offierce music. Children decked in blue ribbons and ears of corn ran inand out of the tents, getting in everybody's way; but as everybody wasjust then in the best of humours, it was of no consequence. Visitorsbegan to arrive in picturesque groups, strolling through the treestowards the tents. Hot footmen were rushing wildly about, carrying allsorts of eatables and drinkables. Tables creaked and plates clattered. Then, just about one o'clock, came the squire and his lady, followed bymany friends, among whom were Mr and Mrs Oliphant; while Frank, looking supremely happy, with his sunny face all life and playfulness, came last, with Mary on his arm. Usually the Oliphants had kept awayfrom these harvest-homes, for they were not conducted to the rector'ssatisfaction, but to-day they had a special reason for coming. Frankhad been over to the rectory with an urgent request from his father thatMr Oliphant would be present. He might do good by appearing amongthem, and Frank wanted Mary to see how he could use his influence inkeeping order and sobriety. There were loud cheers, pleasant smiles, and hearty greetings as the party from the hall entered the tents, whereall things were as bright and beautiful as banners, mottoes, and ears ofcorn arranged in all sorts of appropriate devices could make them. Thetenants dined in one tent, the labourers and their wives in the other. Sir Thomas and Lady Oldfield presided in the former, and Frank took thehead of the table in the latter. Mr and Mrs Oliphant and Mary satnear the baronet. 

The two tents were separated by several yards from one another, so thatwhile the guests were all partaking of dinner at the same time, the humof voices, the clatter of knives and forks, the braying of the brassinstruments which were performing in the space between the two parties, and the necessary attention to the wants of the visitors, quiteprevented those presiding in the principal tent from hearing what waspassing in the other. It was the intention of the squire, after all hadbeen satisfied, to gather both companies together in the open park, andaddress them before they separated to join in the various amusementsprovided for them. 

The guests in the chief tent had just concluded their dinner, and thoseat the upper table, where the party from the hall had been sitting, weredispersing and making their way into the open air, when a burst ofcheers and shrieks of laughter from the other tent made Sir Thomasremark, with a slight cloud on his face, --

"Our friends over there seem very merry. "

Then came louder cheers and louder laughter. Mary's heart died withinher, she hardly knew why. She hurried out of the tent, when she was metby Juniper Graves, the groom, a man from whom she shrank with specialdislike, for reasons which will shortly be explained. 

"Come here, miss, " he cried, with a malicious grin; "here's Mr Frankmaking such capital fun; he'll send us all into fits afore he's done! Inever seed anything like it--it's quite bacchanalian!"

Under other circumstances Mary would have hurried away at once, but thename of Frank acted like a spell. She peeped in at the tent-door wherethe labourers were dining, and almost sank to the ground at the sightshe beheld. 

Standing on a chair at the head of the table, his face flushed a deepred, his beautiful hair tossed back and his eyes flashing withexcitement, a bottle flourishing in his right hand, was Frank Oldfield, roaring out, amidst cheers and shouts of applause, a boisterous, roystering comic song. Mary was shrinking back in horror when she sawJuniper Graves glide behind his young master's chair, and fill his glassfrom a jug which he held in his hand. Frank saw the act, caught up theglass, and drained it in a moment. Then launching out into his songagain, he swayed himself backwards and forwards, evidently being indanger of falling but for the help of the groom, who held out his arm tosteady him. Mary tottered back out of the tent, but not till her eyeshad met those of her lover. Oh! it sickened her to think of so pure andholy a thing as love in connection with such a face as that. 

"My child, " said her father, to whom she had hurried, pale, and ready tosink at every step, "what has happened? what is the matter? Are youill?"

"Oh, take me home, take me home, " she cried, in a terrified whisper. The noise of the band prevented others from hearing her words ofdistress, and she was hidden from the rest of the company by a fold ofthe tent. 

"But what shall I say to Sir Thomas?" asked her father. 

"Say nothing now, dear papa; let us get away from this--this dreadfulplace--as quickly as we can. Send over a note, and say you took me homebecause I was ill, as indeed I am--ill in body, sick to death in heart. Dearest mamma, come with us; let us slip away at once. "

So they made their way home swiftly and sadly--sadly, for the rector andhis wife had both now guessed the cause of their child's trouble; theyhad heard something of the uproar, with sorrowful misgivings that Frankwas the guilty cause. 

Unhappy Mary! When they reached home she threw herself into her lovingmother's arms, and poured out all her grief. A messenger was at oncedispatched to the hall with a note of apology for their abruptdeparture. It was, however, needless. The messenger brought back wordthat, when the people had been gathered for the address, Frank Oldfieldhad staggered forwards towards his father so hopelessly intoxicated, that he had to be led away home between two of the servants. Sir Thomassaid a few hasty words to the assembled tenants and work-people, expressing his great regret at his son's state, but excusing it on theground of his weakness after his illness, so that the great heat of theweather had caused what he had taken to have an unusually powerfuleffect upon him. In reply to Mr Oliphant's note, the squire made thesame excuse for his son, and trusted that Miss Oliphant would not taketo heart what had happened under such exceptional circumstances. ButMary could not pass the matter over so lightly. She could not wipe outfrom her memory that scene in the tent. She pressed her hand tightlyover her eyes, and shuddered as she thought of Frank standing there, wild, coarse, debased, brutalised, a thing to make rude and vulgarmerriment; while the man, the gentleman, and the Christian had beendemonised out of that fair form by the drink. Oh, what bitter tears sheshed that night as she lay awake, racked with thoughts of the past anddespairing of the future. The next day came a penitential letter fromFrank; he threw himself on her pity--he had been overcome--he abhorredhimself for it--he saw his own weakness now--he would pray for strengthas she had urged him to do--surely she would not cast him off for oneoffence--he had been most strictly moderate up to that unhappy day--heimplored her forgiveness--he asked her to try him only once more--heloved her so dearly, so passionately, that her rejection would be deathto him. 

What could she say? She was but a poor erring sinner herself and shouldshe at once shut the door of pity upon him? He had fallen indeed, buthe might be taught such a lesson by that fall as he might never forget. Once more--she would try him once more, if her parents thought her rightin doing so. And could they say nay?--they felt they could not. Littleas they really hoped for any permanent improvement, they considered thatthey should be hardly right in dissuading their child from giving thepoor penitent another trial. 

So Mary wrote back a loving earnest letter, imploring Frank to seek hisstrength to keep his resolution in prayer. Again they met; again it wassunshine; but, to poor Mary's heart, sunshine through a cloud. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

A DISCUSSION. 

It was about a month after the harvest-home, so full of sad memories forall at the hall and rectory, that Mr Oliphant was seated one afternoonin the drawing-room of Greymoor Park. The company assembled consistedof the baronet and Lady Oldfield; the baronet's brother, Reverend JohnOldfield; Dr Portman, the medical man; and Bernard Oliphant. 

Mr John Oldfield had been telling the news of his part of the county tohis brother and sister-in-law. 

"You'll be sorry to hear, " he continued, "that poor Mildman's dead. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed the rector. "I'm very sorry. Was there any changein him before his death?"

"No, I fear not. His has been a very sad case. I remember him wellwhen he was vicar of Sapton. A brighter and more loving Christian andpastor I never knew, but somehow or other he got into drinking habits, and these have been his ruin. "

"Poor man, " said Sir Thomas, "he used to be the laughing-stock of oldBellowen, his squire; it was very grievous to see a man throw himselfaway as he did. The squire would ply him with drink, and press thebottle upon him, till poor Mildman was so tipsy that he had to be takenby the servants to the vicarage. Sometimes the butler had to put himinto a cart, when it was dark, and had him tumbled out like so muchrubbish at his own door. "

"Really, " said Lady Oldfield, "I was surprised to hear Mr Bellowen talkabout him in the way he did. He endeavoured in every possible way toget him to drink, while at the very same time he despised and abused himfor drinking, and would launch out at the clergy and their self-indulgent habits. "

"Yes, " said her brother-in-law; "no one knew better what a clergymanought to be than the squire. We may be very thankful that his chargesagainst our order were gross exaggerations. We may congratulateourselves that the old-fashioned drunken parson is now pretty nearly acreature of the past. Don't you think so, Mr Oliphant?"

"I confess to you, " replied the rector, "that I was rather thinking, inconnection with poor Mildman's sad history, of those words, `Let himthat thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. '"

"Why, surely you don't think there is much danger in these days of manypersons of our profession becoming the victims of intemperance?"

"I cannot feel so sure about that, " was the reply. "You know I holdstrong views on the subject. I wish I could see more clergymen totalabstainers. "

"I must say that I quite disagree with you there, " said the other; "whatwe want, in my view, is, not to make people total abstainers, but togive them those principles which will enable them to enjoy all lawfulindulgences lawfully. "

"I should heartily concur in this view, " said Mr Oliphant, "if theindulgence in strong drink to what people consider a moderate extentwere exactly on the same footing as indulgence in other things. Butthere is something so perilous in the very nature of alcoholicstimulants, that multitudes are lured by them to excess who would havebeen the last to think, on commencing to drink, that themselves couldpossibly become transgressors. "

"Then it is the duty of us clergymen, " said the other, "to warn peopleto be more on their guard against excess in this direction but not, bybecoming total abstainers ourselves, to lead our flocks to suppose thatthere is sin in the mere taking of any amount of intoxicating liquors, however small. "

"I think, " said Mr Oliphant, very gravely, "that our duty is somethingbeyond, and, may I say, above this. We live in a peculiarly self-indulgent age, when men are exceedingly impatient of anything like arestraint upon their appetites and inclinations. We have, besides this, the acknowledged fact that, where other sins slay their thousands, drunkenness slays its hundreds of thousands of all ages. Is it not, then, a privilege, (I always prefer to put it rather as a privilege thana duty), for us, who are to be as lights in the world, as ensamples toour flocks, to take a high stand in this matter, and show that we willdeny ourselves that which has so insidiously worked the ruin ofmillions, that so we may perhaps win poor fallen creatures, fallenthrough drink, to come out of their miserable slough by crying to them, not merely `Come out, ' but `Come out and follow us!'"

Mr Oldfield did not answer; but Sir Thomas, turning to the rector, said, --

"I am sure this subject is deeply interesting to both you and myself, onour dear Frank's account. You know my views on the subject of totalabstinence. Still I feel that there may be exceptional cases, where itsadoption may be wise, and I could imagine that his might be such acase. "

"I heartily agree with you, " replied Mr Oliphant. 

"Oh no, my dear, " exclaimed Lady Oldfield; "I am quite sure totalabstinence would never suit poor Frank; his constitution would not bearit; I appeal to you, Dr Portman, is it not so?"

"I am quite of your ladyship's opinion, " said the doctor. 

"You hear what Dr Portman says, " cried her ladyship, turning to therector. 

"I do, " was the reply; "but that does not alter my conviction. Medicalmen's views have greatly changed of late years on this subject. Excuseme, Dr Portman, for thus differing from you. "

"Really, " interposed Mr Oldfield, "I think you must allow the doctor tobe the best judge of the medical side of the question. What would yousay if the doctor on his part were to intrude on your province, andquestion your statements of scriptural truth from the pulpit?"

"I should say, " answered Mr Oliphant, "in the first place, that the twocases are essentially different. My statements are drawn from aninspired volume, from an express revelation; the opinions of medical menare simply the deductions of human reason and observation, and aretherefore opinions which may be altered or modified. But, further, Ishould say that I never require my people to receive my statements fromthe pulpit without question or inquiry. I refer them always to therevelation, the inspired record, and bid them search that record forthemselves. Now, if the doctor can point me to any inspired medicalrecord which lays down a particular system, and declares directly or byfair inference against total abstinence, I will at once surrender mypresent position; but as he will not pretend to possess any suchinspired medical volume, I must still feel myself at liberty to holddifferent views from himself on the medical question. "

"I am well aware, my dear sir, " said Dr Portman, "that you and I shallnot agree on this subject, and, of course, I must allow you to be atliberty to hold your own opinions; but it does seem to me, I mustconfess, very strange that you should look upon total abstinence asuniversally or generally desirable, when you must be aware that theseviews are held by so very few of the medical profession, and have onlyrecently been adopted even by those few. "

"I am afraid, " said the rector, smiling, "that you are only entanglingyourself in further difficulties. Does the recent adoption of a newcourse of treatment by a few prove that it ought not to be generallyadopted? What, then, do you say about the change in the treatment offever cases? I can myself remember the time when the patient wastreated on the lowering system, and when every breath of air wasexcluded from the sick-room, doors and windows being listed lest theslightest change should take place in the stifling atmosphere of thebed-room. And now all is altered; we have the system supported bynourishments, and abundance of fresh air let in. Indeed, it is mostamusing to see the change which has taken place as regards fresh air;many of us sleep with our windows open, which would have been thoughtcertain death a few years ago. I know at this time a medicalpractitioner, (who, by the way, is a total abstainer, and has nevergiven any of his patients alcoholic stimulants for the last five-and-twenty years), who, at the age of between seventy and eighty, sleepswith his window open, and is so hearty that, writing to me a few dayssince, he says, `I sometimes think what shall I do when I get to be anold man, being now only in my seventy-fourth year. ' Now, were themedical men wrong who began this change in the treatment of fever cases?or, because they were few at first, ought they to have abandoned theirviews, and still kept with the majority? Of course, those who adopt anygreat change will at first be few, especially if that change sets verystrongly against persons' tastes or prejudices. "

"I see that we must agree to differ, " said Dr Portman, laughing, andrising to take his leave. 

When he was gone, Sir Thomas, who had listened very attentively to MrOliphant's remarks, said, --

"I shall certainly put no hindrance in the way of Frank's becoming atotal abstainer if you can persuade him to it, and his health does notsuffer by it. "

"Nor I, " said Lady Oldfield; "only don't let him sign any pledge. I'vea great horror of those pledges. Surely, my dear Mr Oliphant, youwould not advise his signing a pledge. "

"Indeed, I should advise it most strongly, " was the reply; "both for hisown sake and also for the sake of others. "

"But surely, to sign a pledge is to put things on a totally wrongfoundation, " observed Mr John Oldfield; "would not you, as a ministerof the gospel, prefer that he should base his total abstinence onChristian principle rather than trust to a pledge? Does not the pledgeusurp the place of divine grace?"

"Not at all, " said the rector. "I would have him abstain on Christianprinciples, as you say; and I would not have him _trust_ to the pledge, but I would still have him use it as a support, though not as afoundation. Perhaps an illustration will best explain my meaning. Iread some years ago of a fowler who was straying on the shore after sea-birds. He was so engrossed with his sport that he utterly failed tomark the rapid incoming of the tide, and when at last he did notice it, he found to his dismay that he was completely cut off from the land. There was but one chance of life, for he could not swim. A largefragment of rock rose above the waves a few yards behind him; on to thishe clambered, and placing his gun between his feet, awaited the risingof the water. In a short time the waves had risen nearly to his feet, then they covered them; and still they rose as the tide came in higherand higher, now round his ankles, next to his knees; and so they keptgradually mounting, covering his body higher and higher. He could marktheir rise or fall by the brass buttons on his waistcoat; first onebutton disappeared, then another, then a third, then a fourth. Wouldthe waves rise up to his mouth and choke him? His suspense wasdreadful. At last he observed that the topmost button did not disappearso rapidly as the rest; the next wave, however, seemed quite to coverit, but in a few minutes it became quite uncovered; in a little whilethe button next below became visible, and now he was sure that the tidewas ebbing, and that he was safe if only he could hold out long enough. At last the rock itself became visible, and after many hours he wasable, almost spent with fatigue, to stagger to the land. Now, whatsaved that man? was it his gun? Surely not; it was the rock: _that_ washis standing-ground. But was his gun, therefore, useless? Assuredlynot, for it helped to steady him on the rock, though it could not takethe place of the rock. Just so with the pledge; it is not the Christianabstainer's standing-ground. Christ alone is that standing-ground. Hestands by the grace of Christ; but the pledge, like the gun, helps tokeep him steady on his standing-ground, the Rock of Ages. "

"Well, " said Mr Oldfield, "let us grant that there is some force inyour illustration. I would further ask how it can be that Frank'staking the pledge would be a benefit to others as well as himself?"

"For the same reason that my own signing of the pledge is beneficial, "replied the rector. 

"Nay, " interposed Sir Thomas; "would not your signing the pledge dorather harm than good? Would it not rather weaken your own influence bygiving people reason to think, (those I mean especially who might notknow you well), that you had once been intemperate yourself, or that youwere unable to keep sober, or at any rate moderate, without the help ofthe pledge. "

"On the contrary, " replied Mr Oliphant, "I look upon those who take thepledge as greatly encouraging others who might be inclined to hang back. It shows that the stronger are willing to fraternise with the weaker. And this is specially the case when those who are known to have neverbeen entangled in the snares of drunkenness are willing to take thepledge as an encouragement to those who have fallen. Perhaps you willbear with me if I offer you another illustration. There is a greatchasm, a raging torrent at the bottom, and a single strong plank acrossit. Now persons with steady heads can walk over the chasm withoutdifficulty, along the naked plank; but there are others who shudder atthe very thought, and dare not venture--their heads swim, their kneestremble, as they approach the edge. What is to be done? Why, just puta little light hand-rail from a post on either side, and let one who isstrong of head walk over, resting his hand on the rail; he does not needthe rail for himself but he uses it just to show how it may be a help, and so the timid and the dizzy-headed follow and feel confidence, andreach the other side in safety. Now, suppose the flood at the bottom ofthat chasm to be intemperance, the plank total abstinence, and the railthe pledge, and I think you will see that those who use the pledge, though they really do not need it to steady themselves, may be a greathelp to the weak, the timid, and the shrinking. "

"I certainly, " said Sir Thomas, "have never had the matter set before mein this light. I shall think over our conversation; and as regards poorFrank, at any rate, I feel sure that, if his health will bear it, totalabstinence will be the safest, if not the best thing for him. "

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

THE TEMPTER. 

Juniper Graves was under-groom at Greymoor Park. He was a very finefellow in his own eyes. His parents had given him the name of Juniperunder the impression that it meant something very striking, and woulddistinguish their son from the vulgar herd. What it exactly signified, or what illustrious person had ever borne it before, they would havebeen puzzled to say. So he rejoiced in the name of Juniper, and hislanguage was in keeping with it. High-sounding words had ever been hispassion--a passion that grew with his growth; so that his conversationwas habitually spiced with phrases and expressions in which there wasabundance of sound, but generally an equal lack of sense. Too full ofhimself to be willing to keep patiently plodding on like ordinarypeople, he had run through a good many trades without being master ofany. Once he was a pastry-cook; at another time a painter; and then anauctioneer--which last business he held to the longest of any, as givinghim full scope for exhibiting his graces of language. He had abandonedit, however, in consequence of some rather biting remarks which had cometo his ears respecting the choice and suitableness of his epithets. Andnow he was groom at the hall, and had found it to his advantage toingratiate himself with Frank Oldfield, by rendering him all sorts ofhandy services; and as there were few things which he could not do, orpretend to do, his young master viewed him with particular favour, andmade more of a companion of him than was good for either. Juniper was asly but habitual drunkard. He managed, however, so to regulate hisintemperance as never to be outwardly the worse for liquor when hisservices were required by Sir Thomas or Lady Oldfield, or when excesswas likely to bring him into trouble. When, however, the family wasaway from the hall, he would transgress more openly; so that his sinbecame a scandal in the neighbourhood, and brought upon him the severecensure of Mr Oliphant, who threatened to acquaint the squire with hisconduct if he did not amend. Juniper's pride was mortally wounded bythis rebuke--he never forgot nor forgave it. For other reasons also hehated the rector. In the first place, because Mr Oliphant was a totalabstainer; and further, because he suspected that it was through MrOliphant's representations that he had failed in obtaining the office ofpostmaster at a neighbouring town, which situation he had greatlycoveted, as likely to make him a person of some little importance. Sohe hated the rector and his family with all the venom of a little mind. No sooner had he discovered the attachment between Frank and MaryOliphant, than he resolved to do all in his power to bring about arupture; partly because he felt pretty sure that a closer intimacybetween Frank and the Oliphants would be certain to loosen the tieswhich bound his young master to himself, and partly because heexperienced a savage delight in the thought of wounding the rectorthrough his daughter. He soon noticed the restraint which Frank wasputting on himself in the matter of drinking beer and wine, and heresolved to break it down. He was quite sure that Mary Oliphant wouldnever marry a drunkard. So he lost no opportunity of insinuating hisown views on the subject of total abstinence, and also constantlylaboured to bring his young master into contact with scenes and personslikely to lead him into free indulgence in intoxicating drinks. Hissuccess, however, was but small, till the day of the harvest-home, andthen he resolved to make a great effort. He contrived to get himselfappointed to the office of waiter to Frank in the second tent, and tookspecial charge of the drinkables. The beer served out on theseoccasions was, by Sir Thomas' express directions, of only a moderatestrength; but Juniper had contrived to secrete a jug of the verystrongest ale in a place where he could easily get at it. With this jugin hand he was constantly slipping behind his master and filling up hisglass, while Frank was busily engaged in seeing that the wants of hisguests were duly supplied. Excited by the heat of the day and the wholescene, the poor young man kept raising the glass to his lips, quiteunconscious of the way in which his servant was keeping it filled, tillat last he lost all self-control, and launched out into the wildestmirth and the most uproarious buffoonery. It was then that JuniperGraves, grinning with malicious delight, sought out Mary Oliphant, andbrought her to gaze on her lover's degradation. 

"Now, " said he to himself, "I've done it. There'll be no more love-making atween them two arter this, I reckon. A very preposterous planthis of mine--very preposterous. "

But great as was the triumph of Juniper at the success of his efforts onthis occasion, this very success was well nigh bringing about a totaldefeat. For it came to Frank's ears, by a side wind, as such things sooften do, that his man had been playing him a trick, and had beenfilling up his glass continually with strong ale when he was notconscious of it. 

"It were a burning shame, it were, to put upon the young master in thatway, " he overheard a kind-hearted mother say, one of the tenant's wives. So he taxed Juniper with it, but the man stoutly denied it. 

"Dear me, sir; to think of my behaving in such a uncompromising way toany gentleman. It's only them ill-natured folks' prevarications. I'llassure you, sir, I only just took care that you had a little in yourglass to drink healths with, as was becoming; and I'm sure I was vexedas any one when I saw how the heat and your weakness together, sir, hadcombined to bring you into a state of unfortunate oblivion. "

"Well, " replied Frank, "you must look-out, Master Juniper, I can tellyou. If I find you at any of your tricks again, I shall make short workwith you. "

But Juniper had no intention of being foiled. He would be more wary, but not less determined. Upon two things he was thoroughly resolved--first, that Frank should not become an abstainer; and secondly, that heshould not marry Mary Oliphant. He was greatly staggered, however, whenhe discovered that his young master, after the affair at the harvest-home, had contrived to make his peace at the rectory. 

"I must bide my time, " he said to himself; "but I'll circumscribe 'emyet, as sure as my name's Juniper Graves. "

So he laid himself out in every possible way to please Frank, and tomake himself essential to his comforts and pleasures. For a while hecautiously avoided any allusion to total abstinence, and was onlycareful to see that beer and spirits were always at hand, to be had byFrank at a moment's notice. If the weather was hot, there was sure tobe a jug of shandy-gaff or some other equally enticing compound ready tobe produced just at the time when its contents would be mostappreciated. If the weather was cold, then, in the time of greatestneed, Juniper had always an extra flask of spirits to supplement whathis master carried. And the crafty fellow so contrived it that Frankshould feel that, while he was quite moderate in the presence of hisparents and their guests, he might go a little over the border with hisgroom without any danger. 

Things were just in this state at the time when the conversation tookplace at the hall, which resulted in the permission to Mr Oliphant topersuade Frank--if he could--to become a pledged abstainer. A day ortwo after that conversation, Frank walked over to the rectory. He foundMary busily engaged in gathering flowers to decorate the tables at aschool feast. His heart, somehow or other, smote him as he looked ather bright sweet face. She was like a pure flower herself; and wasthere no danger that the hot breath of his own intemperance would witherout the bloom which made her look so beautiful? But he tossed away thereflection with a wave of his flowing hair, and said cheerily, --

"Cannot I share, or lighten your task, dear Mary?"

"Thank you--yes--if you would hold the basket while I gather. Theseautumn flowers have not quite the brightness of the summer ones, but Ithink I love them more, because they remind me that winter is coming, and that I must therefore prize them doubly. "

"Ah, but we should not carry winter thoughts about us before wintercomes. We should look back upon the brightness, not forward to thegloom. "

"Oh, Frank, " she replied, looking earnestly at him, with entreaty in hertearful eyes, "don't talk of looking back upon the brightness. We aremeant to look forwards, not to the gloom indeed, but beyond it, to thatblessed land where there shall be no gloom and no shadows. "

He was silent. 

"You asked me just now, dear Frank, " she continued, "if you couldlighten my task. You could do more than that--you could take a load offmy heart, if you would. "

"Indeed!" he exclaimed; "tell me how. "

"And will you take it off if I tell you?"

"Surely, " he replied; but not so warmly as she would fain have had himsay it. 

"You remember, " she added, "the day you dined with us a long time ago, when you asked papa about becoming an abstainer?"

"Yes; I remember it well, and that my mother would not hear of it, so, as in duty bound, I gave up all thoughts of it at once. "

"Well, dear Frank, papa has been having a long talk on the very subjectat the hall, and has convinced both your father and mother that totalabstinence is not the objectionable thing they have hitherto thought itto be. Oh, dear Frank, there is no hindrance _there_ then, if you stillthink as you once seemed to think on this subject. "

The colour came into his face, and his brow was troubled as he said, --

"Why should you distress yourself about this matter, my own dear Mary. Cannot you trust me? Cannot you believe that I will be strictlymoderate? Have I not promised?"

"You _have_ promised; and I would hope and believe that--that--" Shecould not go on, her tears choked her words. 

"Ah, I know what you would say, " he replied passionately; "you wouldreproach me with my failure--my one failure, my failure underextraordinary excitement and weakness--I thought you had forgiven me_that_. Have I not kept my promise since then? Cannot you trust me, unless I put my hand to a formal pledge? If honour, love, religion, will not bind me, do you think that signing a pledge will do it?"

"I have not asked you to sign any pledge, " she replied sorrowfully;"though I should indeed rejoice to see you do it. I only hoped--oh, howfervently!--that you might see it to be your wisdom, your safety, tobecome a total abstainer. Oh, dearest Frank, you are so kind, so open, so unsuspecting, that you are specially liable to be taken off yourguard, unless fortified by a strength superior to your own. Have youreally sought that strength? Oh, ask God to show you your duty in thismatter. It would make me so very, very happy were you to be led torenounce at once and for ever those stimulants which have ruinedthousands of noble souls. "

"Dearest Mary, were this necessary, I would promise it you in a moment. But it is not necessary. I am no longer a child. I am not acting inthe dark. I see what is my duty. I see that to exceed moderation is asin. I have had my fall and my warnings, and to be forewarned is to beforearmed. Trust me, dear Mary--trust me without a pledge, trust mewithout total abstinence. You shall not have cause to blush for meagain. Believe me, I love you too well. "

And with this she was forced to be content. Alas! poor Frank; he littleknew the grasp which the insidious taste for strong drink had fixed uponhim. He _liked_ it once, he _loved_ it now. And beside this he shrankfrom the cross, which pledged total abstinence would call upon him totake up. His engaging manners made him universally popular, and heshrank from anything that would endanger or diminish that popularity. He winced under a frown, but he withered under a sneer; still he hadsecret misgivings that he should fall, that he should disgrace himself;that he should forfeit Mary's love for ever if he did not take thedecided step; and more than once he half resolved to make the boldplunge, and sign the pledge, and come out nobly and show his colourslike a man. 

It was while this half resolve was on him that he was one eveningreturning home after a day's fishing, Juniper Graves being with him. Hehad refused the spirit-flask which his servant held out to him more thanonce, alleging disinclination. At last he said, --

"I've been seriously thinking, Juniper, of becoming a total abstainer;and it would do you a great deal of good if you were to be one too. "

The only reply on the part of Juniper was an explosion of laughter, which seemed as if it would tear him in pieces. One outburst ofmerriment followed another, till he was obliged to lean against a treefor support. Frank became quite angry. 

"What _do_ you mean by making such an abominable fool of yourself;" hecried. 

"Oh dear, oh dear, " laughed Graves, the tears running over in theextremity of his real or pretended amusement, "you must pardon me, sir;indeed, you must. I really couldn't help it; it did put me so in mindof Jerry Ogden, the Methodist parson. Mr Frank and his servantJuniper, two whining, methodistical, parsimonious teetotallers! oh dear, it _was_ rich. " And here he relapsed into another explosion. 

"Methodist parson! I really don't know what you mean, sir, " criedFrank, beginning to get fairly exasperated. "You seem to me quite toforget yourself. If you don't know better manners, the sooner you takeyourself off the better. "

"Oh, sir, I'm very sorry, but really you must excuse me; it did seem sovery comical. _You_ a total abstainer, Mr Frank, and me a-coming arteryou. I think I sees you a-telling James to put the water on the table, and then you says, `The water stands with you, Colonel Coleman. '"

"Don't talk so absurdly, " said Frank, amused in spite of himself at theidea of the water-party, with himself for the host. "And what has mybecoming a total abstainer to do with Jerry What-do-you-call-him, theMethodist parson?"

"Oh, just this, sir. Jerry Ogden's one of those long-faced gentlemen asturns up their eyes and their noses at us poor miserable sinners astakes a little beer to our dinners. Ah! to hear him talk you'd havefancied he was too good to breathe in the same altitude with such as me. Such lots of good advice he has for us heathens, such sighing andgroaning over us poor deluded drinkers of allegorical liquors. Ah! buthe's a tidy little cask of his own hid snug out of the way. It's justthe case with them all. "

"I'm really much obliged to you, " said his master, laughing, "forcomparing me to Jerry Ogden. He seems, from your account, to have beena regular hypocrite; but that does not show that total abstinence is nota good thing when people take it up honestly. "

"Bless your simplicity, sir, " said the other; "they're all pretty muchalike. "

"Now there, Juniper, I know you are wrong. Mr Oliphant has many men inhis society who are thoroughly honest teetotallers, men who are trulyreformed, and, more than that, thorough christians. "

"Reformed! Christians!" sneered Juniper, venomously; "a pretty likelything indeed. You don't know them teetotallers as well as I do, sir. `Oh dear, no; not a drop, not a drop: wouldn't touch it for the world. 'But they manage to have it on the sly for all that. I've no faith in'em at all. I'd rather be as I am, though I says it as shouldn't sayit, an honest fellow as gets drunk now and then, and ain't ashamed toown it, than one of your canting teetotallers. Why, they're such anamphibious set, there's no knowing where to have them. "

"Amphibious?" said his master, laughing; "why, I should have thought`aquatic' would have been a better word, as they profess to confinethemselves to the water; unless you mean, indeed, that they are onlyhalf water animals. "

"Oh, sir, " said Graves, rather huffed, "it was only a phraseology ofmine, meaning that there was no dependence to be placed on 'em. "

"Well but, Juniper, I am not speaking of hypocrites or shamteetotallers, but of the real ones. There's Mr Oliphant and the wholefamily at the rectory, you'll not pretend, I suppose, that _they_ drinkon the sly?"

"I wouldn't by no means answer for that, " was the reply; "that dependson circumstantials. There's many sorts of drinks as we poor ignorantcreatures calls intoxicating which is quite the thing with your tip-topteetotallers. There's champagne, that's quite strict teetotal; thenthere's cider, then there's cherry-brandy; and if that don't do, thenthere's teetotal physic. "

"Teetotal physic! I don't understand you. "

"Don't you, sir? that's like your innocence. Why, it's just this way. There's a lady teetotaller, and she's a little out of sorts; so shesends a note to the doctor, and he sends back a nice bottle of stuff. It's uncommon good and spirituous-like to smell at, but then it'smedicine, only the drugs ain't down in what the chemists call their`Farming-up-here. '"

"I never heard of that before, " remarked Frank. 

"No, I don't suppose, sir, as ever you did. And then there's theteetotal gents; they does it much more free and easy. They've got whatthe Catholics calls a `dispensary' from their Pope, (and their Pope'sthe doctor), to take just whatever they likes as a medicine--oh, only asa medicine; so they carries about with 'em a doctor's superscription, which says just this: `Let the patient take as much beer, or wine, orspirits, as he can swallow. '"

"A pretty picture you have drawn, " laughed Frank. "I'm afraid there'snot much chance of making _you_ an abstainer. "

"Nor you neither, Mr Frank, I hope. Why, I should be ashamed to see mycheerful, handsome young master, (you must forgive me, sir, for being sobold), turned into a sour-looking, turnip-faced, lantern-jawed, whiningteetotaller. "

"Why, I thought you said just now, " said the other, "that they all takedrink on the sly; if that's the case, it can't be total abstinence thatspoils their beauty. "

Juniper looked a little at fault, but immediately replied, --

"Well, sir, at any rate total abstinence will never do for you. Why, you'll have no peace up at the hall, especially in the shooting season, if you mean to take up with them exotic notions. Be a man, sir, andasseverate your independence. Show that you can take too much or toolittle as you have a mind. I wouldn't be a slave, sir. `Britons nevershall be slaves. '"

Here the conversation closed. The tempter had so far gained his endthat he had made Frank disinclined to join himself at present to thebody of stanch abstainers. He would wait and see--he preferredmoderation, it was more manly, more self-reliant. Ah, there was hisgrievous mistake. Self-reliant! yes, but that self was blinded, cheatedby Satan; it was already on the tempter's side. So Frank put off, atany rate for the present, joining the abstainers. He was, however, verywatchful over himself never openly to transgress. He loved Mary, andcould not bear the thoughts of losing her, but in very deed he loved hisown self-indulgence more. There was a constraint, however, when theymet. He could not fully meet her deep truthful eyes with a steady gazeof his own. Her words would often lead him to prayer, but then heregarded iniquity in his heart--he did not wish to be taken at hisprayer--he did not wish to be led into pledged abstinence, or even intoundeviating moderation at all times--he wished to keep in reserve aright to fuller indulgence. Poor Mary! she was not happy; she feltthere was something wrong. If she tried to draw out that something fromFrank, his only reply was an assurance of ardent affection and devotion. There was no apparent evil on the surface of his life. He was regularat church, steady at home, moderate in what he drank at his father'stable and at other houses. She felt, indeed, that he had no realsympathy with her on the highest subjects, but he never refused tolisten, only he turned away with evident relief from religious to othertopics. Yet all this while he was getting more deeply entangled in themeshes of the net which the drink, in the skilful hands of JuniperGraves, was weaving round him. That cruel tempter was biding his time. He saw with malicious delight that the period must arrive before verylong when his young master's drinking excesses would no longer beconfined to the darkness and the night, but would break out in opendaylight, and then, then for his revenge. 

It was now between two and three years since the harvest-home which hadended so unhappily. Frank was twenty-one and Mary Oliphant eighteen. This was in the year in which we first introduced them to our readers, the same year in which it was intended that Hubert Oliphant should joinhis uncle Abraham, at any rate for a time, in South Australia. For thelast six months dim rumours, getting gradually more clear and decided, had found their way to the rectory that Frank Oldfield was occasionallydrinking to excess. Mary grew heart-sick, and began to lose her healththrough anxiety and sorrow; yet there was nothing, so far, sufficientlydefinite to make her sure that Frank, since his promise to observestrict moderation, had ever over-passed the bounds of sobriety. Henever, of course, alluded to the subject himself; and when he could nothelp remarking on her altered looks, he would evade any questions sheput to him on the painful subject, or meet them by an appeal to herwhether she could prove anything against him; and by the observationthat nothing was easier than to spread rumours against a person'scharacter. She was thus often silenced, but never satisfied. 

June had come--a bright sky remained for days with scarce a cloud; thehay-makers were everywhere busy, and the fields were fragrant with thesweet perfume of the mown grass. It was on a quiet evening that Marywas returning home from a cottage where she had been to visit a sickparishioner of her father's. Her way lay in part through a littleplantation skirting a hay-field belonging to the Greymoor estate. Shehad just reached the edge of the plantation, and was about to climb overa stile into a lane, when she heard loud and discordant voices, whichmade her blood run cold; for one of them, she could not doubt, wasFrank's. 

"This way, Mr Frank, this way, " cried another voice, which she knew atonce to be that of Juniper Graves. 

"I tell you, " replied the first voice, thickly, "I shan't go that way; Ishall go home, I shall. Let me alone, I tell you, "--then there followeda loud imprecation. 

"No, no--this way, sir--there's Miss Mary getting over the stile; she'swaiting for you, sir, to help her over. "

"Very good, Juniper; you're a regular brick, " said the other voice, suddenly changing to a tone of maudlin affection; "where's my dearMary--ah, there she is!" and the speaker staggered towards the stile. Mary saw him indistinctly through the hedge--she would have fled, butterror and misery chained her to the spot. A few moments after andFrank, in his shirt-sleeves, (he had been joining the hay-makers), madehis way up to her. His face was flushed, his eyes inflamed and staringwildly, his hair disordered, and his whole appearance brutalised. 

"Let me help--help--you, my beloved Mary, over shtile--ah, yes--here'sJuniper--jolly good fellow, Juniper--help her, Juniper--can't keepshteady--for life of me. "

He clutched at her dress; but now the spell was loosed, she sprang overthe stile, and cast one look back. There stood her lover, holding outhis arms with an exaggerated show of tenderness, and mumbling out wordsof half-articulate fondness; and behind him, a smile of triumphantmalice on his features, which haunted her for years, was Graves, thetempter, the destroyer of his unhappy master. She cared to see no more, but, with a cry of bitter distress, she rushed away as though somespirit of evil were close behind her, and never stopped till she hadgained the rectory. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

FAREWELL. 

There are impressions cut deeper into the heart by the sudden stroke ofsome special trial than any made by the continuous pressure ofafflictions, however heavy; impressions which nothing in this world canefface--wounds, like the three-cornered thrust of the bayonet, whichwill not heal up. Such was the keen, piercing sorrow which the sight ofFrank in his drunkenness had stabbed deep into the soul of MaryOliphant. The wound it had made would never heal. Oh, miserable drink!which turns the bright, the noble, the intellectual creatures of Godinto worse than madmen; for the madman's reason is gone--we pity, but wecannot blame him; but in the victim of strong drink reason is suspendedbut not destroyed, and in all the distortion, grimaces, reelings, babblings, ravings of the miserable wretch while his sin is on him, wesee a self-inflicted insanity, and a degradation which is not amisfortune but a crime. 

The day after that miserable meeting at the stile, Frank called at therectory, the picture of wretchedness and despair. Mrs Oliphant came tohim, and told him that Mary declined seeing him; indeed, that she was soutterly unnerved and ill, that she would have been unequal to aninterview even had she thought it right to grant him one. 

"Is there no hope for me, then?" he asked. "Have I quite sinned awayeven the possibility of forgiveness?"

"I cannot fully answer for Mary, " replied Mrs Oliphant; "but I shouldbe wrong if I said anything that could lead you to suppose that she canever again look upon you as she once did. "

"Is it really so?" he said gloomily. "Has this one transgressionforfeited her love for ever? Is there no place for repentance? I donot justify myself. I do not attempt to make less of the fault. I canthoroughly understand her horror, her disgust. I loathe myself as avile beast, and worse than a beast. But yet, can I by this one act havecut through _every_ cord that bound her heart to mine?"

"Excuse me, dear Frank, " said the other; "but you mistake in speaking of_one_ transgression--one act. It is because poor Mary feels, as I feeltoo, that this act must be only one of many acts of the like kind, though the rest may have been concealed from us, that she dare not trusther happiness in your keeping. "

"And who has any right, " he asked warmly, "to say that I am in the habitof exceeding?"

"Do you deny yourself that it is so?" she inquired, looking steadily butsorrowfully at him. 

His eyes dropped before hers, and then he said, --

"I do not see that any one has a right to put such a question to me. "

"Not a right!" exclaimed Mrs Oliphant. "Have not _I_ a right, dearFrank, as Mary's mother, to put such a question? I know that I have noright to turn inquisitor as regards your conduct and actions in general. But oh, surely, when you know what has happened, when you remember yourrepeated promises, and how, alas! they have been broken; when you callto mind that Mary has expressly promised to me, and declared to you, that she will never marry a drunkard, --can you think that I, the motherwhom God has appointed to guard the happiness of my darling daughter, have no right to ask you whether or no you are free from that habitwhich you cannot indulge in and at the same time honestly claim the handof my beloved child?"

Frank for a long time made no answer; when he did reply, he still evadedthe question. 

"I have done wrong, " he said; "grievously wrong. I acknowledge it. Icould ask Mary's pardon for it on my knees, and humble myself in thedust before her. I _might_ plead, in part excuse, or, at any rate, palliation of my fault, the heat of the weather and thirsty nature ofthe work I was engaged in, which led me into excess before I was awareof what I was doing. But I will not urge that. I will take everyblame. I will throw myself entirely on her mercy; and surely humancreatures should not be unmerciful since God is so merciful. "

"I grieve, dear Frank, to hear you speak in this way, " said MrsOliphant, very gravely and sadly; "you should go on your knees andhumble yourself in the dust, not before poor sinners, such as I and mychild are, but before Him who alone can pardon your sin. I think youare deceiving yourself. I fear so. It is not that Mary is void ofpity. She does not take upon herself to condemn you--it is not herprovince; but that does not make her feel that she can look upon you asone who could really make her happy. Alas! it is one of the miserablethings connected with the drink, that those who have become its slavescannot be trusted. I may seem to speak harshly, but I _must_ speak out. Your expressions of sorrow and penitence cannot secure your futuremoderation. You mean _now_ what you say; but what guarantee have wethat you will not again transgress?"

"My own pledged word, " replied Frank, proudly, "that henceforth I willbe all that Mary would have me be. "

"Except a pledged total abstainer, " said Mrs Oliphant, quietly. 

Frank remained silent for a few moments, then he said, --

"If I cannot control myself without a pledge, I shall never do so _with_one. "

"No, not by the pledge only, or chiefly. But it would be a help. Itwould be a check. It would be a something to appeal to, as being anopen declaration of what you were resolved to keep to. But oh, I fearthat you do not wish to put such a restraint upon yourself, as you mustdo, if you would really be what you would have us believe you mean tobe. Were it otherwise, you would not hesitate--for Mary's sake, foryour own peace's sake--to renounce at once, and for ever, and entirely, that drink which has already been to you, ay, and to us all, a source ofso much misery. Dear Frank, I say it once for all, I never could allowmy beloved child to cast in her lot for life with one of whom I havereason to fear that he is, or may become, the slave of that drink whichhas driven peace, and joy, and comfort out of thousands of Englishhomes. "

"But why should you fear this of me?" persisted Frank. "Within the lastthree years I have fallen twice. I do not deny it. But surely twofalls in that long space of time do not show a habit of excess. On eachoccasion I was overcome--taken off my guard. I have now learned, andthoroughly, I trust, the lesson to be watchful. I only ask for one moretrial. I want to show Mary, I want to show you all, that I can still bestrictly sober, strictly moderate, without total abstinence, without apledge. And oh, do not let it be said that the mother and daughter of aminister of the gospel were less ready to pardon than their heavenlyMaster. "

"Oh, Frank, " cried Mrs Oliphant, "how grievously you mistake us!Pardon! Yes; what are we that we should withhold pity or pardon? Butsurely it is one thing to forgive, and quite another thing to entrustone's happiness, or the happiness of one's child, into hands which wedare not hope can steadily maintain it. I can say no more. Write toMary, and she will answer you calmly and fully by letter, as she couldnot do were she to meet you now. "

Poor Frank! Why did he not renounce at once that enticing stimulantwhich had already worked him so much misery? Was it worth while lettingso paltry an indulgence separate for ever between himself and one whomhe so dearly loved? Why would he not pledge himself at once to totalabstinence? There was a time when he would have done so--that time whenhe spoke on the subject to the rector, and made the attempt at his ownhome. But now a spell seemed to hold him back. He would not or couldnot see the necessity of relinquishing that which he had come to craveand love more than his daily food. 

"I must use it, " he said to himself; "but there is no reason why Ishould abuse it. "

He wrote to Mary and told her so. He told her that he was now fullyalive to his own weakness, and that she might depend on his watchfulnessand moderation, imploring her to give him one, and but one, more trial. He would watch, he would strive, he would pray to be strictly moderate. She should never have cause to reproach him again. 

She replied:--

 "DEAR FRANK, --It would be cruelty in me were I to hold out any hope to you that I can ever again be more to you than one who must always take a deep interest in your welfare, and must feel truly grateful to you for having saved her life. That you _mean_ now to be all that you promise, I do not doubt; but that you really _will_ be so, I dare not hope. You have been seen by me twice in such a condition as made me shrink from you with terror and disgust. Were we to be married, and you should be betrayed into excess, the first time, you would be overwhelmed; the second time, you would be ashamed and pained; the third time, you would feel it, but not very acutely. You would get used, by degrees, to my witnessing such degradation; it would be killing me, but it would be making less and less impression upon you. I dare not run the terrible risk. I dare not join myself to you in a bond which could never be severed, however aggravated might be my misery and your sin. Oh, Frank, my heart is well nigh broken! I have loved you, and do love you still. Let us be one in heaven, though we never can be so here. Pray, oh, pray for grace to resist your temptation! Ask to be made a true follower of the Lord Jesus, and you will be guided aright, and we _shall_ meet then in that bright land where all shall rejoice together who have, by grace, fought the fight and won the victory here. --Sincerely yours, MARY OLIPHANT. "

Frank read this letter over and over again, and groaned in the fulnessof his distress. She had not asked him to become an abstainer. Was itbecause she felt that it was hopeless? _He_ knew it to be so. He knewthat if he signed the pledge he should only add a broken vow to hisother sins. He felt that, dearly as he loved Mary, he could not foregoall intoxicating drinks even for her sake. He dared not pray that hemight be able to abstain, for he felt that he should not really wish forthe accomplishment of such a prayer. Habitual indulgence had taken allthe stiffness out of his will. And yet the thought of losing Mary wasutter misery. He leaned his head on his hands, and gazed for a longtime on her letter. At last there came a thought into his mind. Allmight not yet be lost. There was still one way of escape. He rose upcomforted, and thrusting the letter into his pocket, sought out hismother. He found her alone. She looked at him with deep anxiety andpitying love, as well she might, when she marked the gloom that hadsettled down on his once happy face. Alas she knew its cause too well. She knew that he was on the downward path of intemperance, and she knewhow rapid was the descent. She was well aware that his sinful excesshad been the cause of the breaking off of his engagement with therector's daughter. Oh, how her heart ached for him. She would havegiven all she possessed to see him what he once was. She was preparedfor any sacrifice, if only he could be reclaimed before it should be toolate. 

"Dearest mother, " he said, throwing himself down beside her, claspingher knees, and looking up imploringly into her face, "I'm a miserablecreature, on the road to ruin, body and soul, unless something comes tostop me. "

"Oh, my boy, my boy!" cried his mother, bursting into tears; "do not sayso. You have gone astray; but so have we all, one way or other. Thereis hope for you if you return. Surely the evil habit cannot be alreadyso strong upon you that you cannot summon strength and resolution tobreak through it. "

"Oh, you do not, you cannot know what a helpless creature I am!" was hisreply. "When once I begin to taste, every good resolution melts away ina moment. "

"Then give up such things, and abstain altogether, my beloved Frank, ifthat be the case, " said Lady Oldfield. 

"I cannot, " he replied bitterly. "I cannot keep from them, they must bekept from me, and then I should have some chance. "

"But, my dear boy, how can that always be? You cannot expect yourfather to banish beer and wine from his table, and to refuse to set thembefore his guests. You cannot expect that he should debar himself themoderate use of these things because you have, unhappily, learned totake them immoderately. "

"No. I cannot, of course. I cannot, and I do not expect it, andtherefore I am come to put before you, my dearest mother, what I believewill be my only chance. You know that Hubert Oliphant is going to joinhis Uncle Abraham in South Australia. He sails in October. He is goingby a total abstinence ship, which will not therefore carry anyintoxicating drinks. Will you and my dear father consent to my goingwith Hubert? My unhappy taste would be broken through by the time thevoyage was over, as I should never so much as see beer, or wine, orspirits; and the fresh sea-air would be a better tonic than porter, wine, or ale; so that you would have no need to fear about my health. "

Lady Oldfield did not reply for several minutes. She was, at first, utterly confounded at such a proposal from the son whom she idolised, and she was on the point of at once scouting the idea as altogether wildand out of the question. But a few moments' reflection made her pause. Terrible as was the thought of the separation, the prospect of her son'sbecoming a confirmed drunkard was more terrible still. This plan, ifcarried out, might result in Frank's return to habitual sobriety. Oughtshe therefore to refuse her sanction absolutely and at once? At lastshe said, --

"And who, my dearest boy, has put such a strange thought into your head?And how long do you mean to remain away? And what are you to do whenyou reach Australia?"

"No one has suggested the thing to me, " he replied. "It came into mymind as I was thinking over all the misery the drink has brought on meof late. If I could go with Hubert, you know what a friend and supportI should have in him. I might remain in the colony two or three years, and then come back again, please God, a thoroughly sober man; and thenperhaps dear Mary would relent, and give me back my old place in herheart again. "

Lady Oldfield drew him close to her, and clasping her arms round him, wept long and bitterly. 

"Oh, my boy, my Frank!" she exclaimed; "how shall I bear to part withyou? Yet it may be that this is God's doing; that he has put this intoyour heart; and if so, if it should be for your deliverance from yourunhappy habit, I dare not say `No. ' But I cannot tell what your fatherwill say. I will put the matter before him, however, and I am sure hewill do what is wise and right. "

Sir Thomas did not refuse his consent. He had felt so keenly thedisgrace which his son's increasing excesses were bringing upon thefamily, that, sorely as he grieved over the thoughts of parting withFrank, he was willing that he should join Hubert Oliphant in his voyage, hoping that the high character and Christian example of the rector's sonmight be of benefit to his poor unhappy and erring child. Frank'scountenance brightened when he had obtained his father's consent, and heat once made known his purpose to Hubert Oliphant, and asked his adviceand help, begging him also to intercede for him with Mary that she wouldallow him to hope that, if he returned thoroughly reformed, she wouldconsent to their engagement being renewed. Hubert, as well as hisfather, had felt the deepest pity for Frank, in spite of his grievousfalls, specially when they remembered how, but for his own mother'sopposition, he might now have been one of their little temperance band, standing firm, happy himself, and helping to make others happy. Theytherefore gladly encouraged him to carry out his purpose, promising thatHubert should introduce him to his Uncle Abraham, who might find forhim, while he remained in the colony, some employment suitable to hisstation, where Hubert and his uncle could support and strengthen him bycompanionship and counsel. And would Mary hold out any hopes? PoorMary, she loved him still. Oh, how dearly! Could she refuse him allencouragement? No. But she dared not promise unconditionally to be tohim as in former days. She would not renew the engagement now; but shewould wait and see the issue of his present plans. 

Thus matters stood, when the last week came that Frank and Hubert wouldspend in their English homes. Mary and Frank had met once or twicesince his voyage had been decided on, but it was in the presence ofothers. These were sorrowful meetings, yet there was the glow of asubdued hope, to make them not altogether dark to those who, but for themiserable tyranny of the drink, might now have been bright with happyanticipations of the future. 

And now it was a sweet autumn evening, when every sight and sound wasplaintive with the foreshadowings of a coming winter--the sunset hues, the lights and shadows, the first decaying leaves, the notes of birds, the hum of insects. Everything was very still as Mary again trod thelittle path from the cottage of the poor woman whom she had beenvisiting on the evening of Frank's last sad fall. She had nearlyreached the stile, her eyes bent on the ground, and her heart full ofsorrowful memories and forebodings, when she was startled by hearing thesound of passionate sobbings. She raised her eyes. Kneeling by thestile, his head buried in his hands, was Frank Oldfield; his whole frameshook with the violence of his emotion, and she could hear her own namemurmured again and again in the agony of his self-reproach or prayer. How sadly beautiful he looked! And oh, how her heart overflowed withpitying tenderness towards him. 

"Frank, " she said; but she could add no more. 

He started up, for he had not heard her light tread. His hair waswildly tossed back, his eyes filled with tears, his lips quivering. 

"You here, Mary, " he gasped. "I little thought of this. I littlethought to meet you here. I came to take a parting look at the spotwhere I had seen you last as my own. Here it was that I sinned andfooled away my happiness, and here I would pour out the bitterness of myfruitless sorrow. "

"Not fruitless sorrow, I trust, dear Frank, " she said gently. "Itcannot be fruitless, if it be a genuine sorrow for sin. Oh, perhapsthere is hope before us yet!"

"Do _you_ say so, Mary? Do _you_ bid me hope? Well, I will live onthat hope. I ask no promise from you, I do not expect it. I am gladthat we have met here, after all. Here you have seen both mydegradation and my sorrow. "

"Yes, Frank, and I am glad, too; it will connect this sad spot withbrighter memories. God bless you. I shall never cease to pray for you, come what will. May that comfort you, and may you--may you, --" hertears choked her voice. 

"Oh, one word more, " he said imploringly, as, having accepted his arm inclimbing the stile, she now relinquished it, and was turning fromhim--"One word more--one word of parting! Oh, one word such as oncemight have been!"

His hands were stretched towards her. They might never meet again. Shehesitated for an instant. Then for one moment they were pressed heartto heart, and lip to lip--but for one moment, and then, -- "Farewell, ""Farewell. "

CHAPTER NINE. 

YOUNG DECISION. 

One week later, and three men might be seen walking briskly along a by-street in Liverpool towards the docks. These were Hubert Oliphant, Frank Oldfield, and Captain Merryweather, commander of the barque_Sabrina_, bound for South Australia. The vessel was to sail next day, and the young men were going with the captain to make some finalarrangements about their cabins. Hubert looked bright and happy, poorFrank subdued and sad. The captain was a thorough and hearty-lookingsailor, brown as a coffee-berry from exposure to weather; with abundanceof bushy beard and whiskers; broad-shouldered, tall, and upright. Itwas now the middle of October, just three days after the flight ofSamuel Johnson from Langhurst, as recorded in the opening of our story. As the captain and his two companions turned the corner of the streetthey came upon a group which arrested their attention at once. 

Standing not far from the door of a public-house was a lad of aboutfourteen years of age. He looked worn and hungry, yet he had not at allthe appearance of a beggar. He was evidently strange to the place, andlooked about him with an air of perplexity, which made it clear that hewas in the midst of unfamiliar and uncongenial scenes. Three or foursailors were looking hard at him, as they lounged about the public-housedoor, and were making their comments to one another. 

"A queer-looking craft, " said one. "Never sailed in these waters afore, I reckon. "

"Don't look sea-worthy, " said another. 

"Started a timber or two, I calculate, " remarked a third. 

"Halloa! messmate, " shouted another, whose good-humoured face wasunhappily flushed by drink, "don't lie-to there in that fashion, butmake sail, and come to an anchor on this bench. "

The lad did not answer, but stood gazing at the sailors in a state ofutter bewilderment. 

"Have you carried away your jawing-tackle, my hearty?" asked the man whohad last addressed him. 

"I can't make head nor tail of what you say, " was the boy's reply. 

"Well, what's amiss with you, then? Can you compass that?"

"Ay, " was the reply; "I understand that well enough. There's plentyamiss with me, for I've had nothing to eat or drink since yesterday, andI haven't brass to buy anything with. "

"Ah, I see. I suppose you mean by that foreign lingo that you haven't ashot in your locker, and you want a bit of summut to stow away in yourhold. "

"I mean, " replied the lad, rather sulkily, "that I'm almost starved todeath. "

"Well, it's no odds, " cried the other. "I can't quite make you out; butI see you've hoisted signals of distress: there, sit you down. Landlord, a glass of grog, hot, and sweet, and strong. Here, take apull at that till the grog comes. "

He handed to him a pewter-pot as he spoke. 

The boy pushed it from him with a look of disgust. 

"I can't touch it, " he said. "If you'll give me a mouthful of meatinstead, I'll thank you; and with all my heart too. "

"Meat!" exclaimed the sailor, in astonishment, "what's the young lubberdreaming about? Come, don't be a fool; drink the ale, and you shallhave some bread and cheese when you've finished your grog. "

"Jack, " expostulated one of his companions, "let the poor lad alone; hehasn't a mind for the drink, perhaps he ain't used to it, and it'll onlymake him top heavy. You can see he wants ballast; he'll be over on hisbeam-ends the first squall if he takes the ale and grog aboard. "

"Avast, avast, Tom, " said the other, who was just sufficientlyintoxicated to be obstinate, and determined to have his own way. "If Itake him in tow, he must obey sailing orders. Grog first, and bread andcheese afterwards; that's what I say. "

"And I'd die afore I'd touch a drop of the drink, " said the poor boy, setting his teeth firmly. "I've seen enough, and more nor enough, ofmisery from the drink; and I'd starve to skin and bone afore I'd touch adrop of it. "

"Bravo, my lad, bravo!" cried Captain Merryweather, who had listened tothe conversation with the greatest interest. "Come hither, my poor boy;you shall have a good meal, and something better than the grog to washit down with. "

"Oh, never heed Jack, captain, " cried one of the other sailors; "he'shalf-seas over just now, and doesn't know which way he's steering. I'llsee that the poor lad has something to eat. "

"Thank you kindly, my man, " replied the captain; "but he shall go withme, if he will. "

"Ay, sir, " said the boy thankfully, "I'll go with you, for I'm sure youspeak gradely. "

The whole party soon reached a temperance hotel, and here the captainordered his young companion a substantial breakfast. 

"Stay here, my lad, " he said, "till I come back; I want to have a wordwith you. I am going with these gentlemen to the docks, but I shall beback again in half an hour. By the way, what's your name, my boy?"

A deep flush came over the other's face at this question. He stared atCaptain Merryweather, and did not answer. 

"I want to know your name. "

"My name? Ah, well--I don't--you see--"

"Why, surely you haven't forgotten your own name? What do they callyou?"

"Poor fellow!" said Hubert; "his hunger has confused his brain. He'llbe better when he has had his breakfast. "

But the boy had now recovered himself, and replied, --

"I ax your pardon, captain; my name's Jacob Poole. "

"Well, Jacob, you just wait here half an hour, and I shall havesomething to say to you when I come back, which may suit us both. "

When Captain Merryweather returned he found the boy looking out of thewindow at the streams of people going to and from the docks. His headwas resting on his two hands, and it appeared to the captain that he hadbeen weeping. 

"Jacob, " he cried, but there was no answer. 

"Jacob Poole, " again cried the captain, in a louder voice. The otherturned round hastily, his face again flushed and troubled. 

"Well, Jacob, " said the captain, sitting down, "I suppose you're ateetotaller, from what I saw and heard to-day. "

"Yes, to the back-bone, " was the reply. 

"Well, so am I. Now will you mind telling me, Jacob, what has broughtyou to Liverpool. I am not asking questions just for curiosity, butI've taken a liking to you, and want to be your friend, for you don'tseem to have many friends here. "

Jacob hesitated; at last he said, --

"Captain, you're just right. I've no friends here, nor am like to have. I can't tell you all about myself, but there's nothing wrong about me, if you'll take my word for it. I'm not a thief nor a vagabond. "

"Well, I do believe you, " said the other; "there's truth in your faceand on your tongue. I flatter myself I know a rogue when I see one. Will you tell me, at any rate, what you mean to do in Liverpool?"

"That's easier asked nor answered, " replied Jacob. "Captain, I don'tmind telling you this much--I've just run away to Liverpool to get outof the reach of the drink. I am ready to do any honest work, if I canget it, but that don't seem to be so easy. "

"Exactly so, " said Captain Merryweather. "Now, what do you say, then, to going a voyage to Australia with me? I'm in want of a cabin-boy, andI think you'd suit me. I'll feed and clothe you, and I'll find you asituation over in Australia if you conduct yourself well on board ship;or, if you like to keep with me, I'll give you on the return voyage whatwages are right. "

The boy's eyes sparkled with delight. He sprang from his seat, graspedthe captain's hand warmly between his own, and cried, --

"Captain, I'll go with you to the end of the world and back again, wageor no wage. "

"I sail to-morrow, " said the other; "shall you be ready?"

"Ready this moment, " was the answer. "I have nothing of my own but whatI stand in. "

"Come along then with me, " said his kind friend; "I'll see you properlyrigged out, and you shall go on board with me at once. "

They had not long left the hotel, and were passing along a back streeton their way to the outfitter's, when a man came hastily out of a lowpublic-house, and ran rather roughly against Captain Merryweather. 

"Halloa, my friend, " cried the sailor, "have a care; you should keep abrighter look-out. You've run me down, and might have carried away aspar or two. "

The man looked round, and muttered something. 

"I'm sorry to see you coming out of such a place, my man, " added thecaptain. 

"Well, but I'm not drunk, " said the other. 

"Perhaps not, but you're just on the right tack to get drunk. Come, tell me what you've had. "

"I've only had seventeen pints of ale and three pennorth of gin. "

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the captain, half out loud, as the manwalked off with a tolerably steady step. "He says he's not drunk aftertaking all that stuff aboard. Jacob, you seem as if you knew somethingof him. "

"Ay, captain, " said Jacob, who had slunk behind the captain when he sawthe man. "I do, for sure; but you must excuse my telling you who he is, or where he comes from. "

"He's not a good friend or companion for any one, I should think, " saidthe captain. 

"He's no friend of mine, " answered Jacob; "he's too fond of the drink. And yet he's called to be a sober man by many, 'cos he brings some ofhis wage home on the pay-night. Yet I've heard him say myself how he'soften spent a sovereign in drink between Saturday night and Mondaymorning. "

"And what do you suppose has brought him here?"

"I can't tell, unless the mayster he works for has sent him over oncount of summat. It's more like, however, as he's come to see hissister as lives somewhere in these parts. "

"And you'd rather he didn't know you are here, I suppose?"

"Just so, captain. There's them, perhaps, as'd be arter me if he wereto tell 'em as he'd see'd me here; but I don't think as he did see me;he were half fuddled: but he never gets fairly drunk. "

"Well, Jacob, I don't wish to pry into your own private concerns. I'lltake it for granted that you're dealing honestly by me. "

"You may be sure of that, captain. I'll never deceive you. I haven'tdone anything to disgrace myself; but I wish to get gradely out of thereach of such chaps as yon fellow you've just spoke to. I've had wearywork with the drink, and I wishes to make a fresh start, and to forgetas I ever had any belonging me. So it's just what'll suit me gradely togo with you over to Australia; and you must excuse me if I make mistakesat first; but I'll do my best, and I can't say anything beyond that. "

By this time they had reached the outfitter's, where the captain sawJacob duly rigged out and furnished with all things needful for thevoyage. They had left the shop and were on their way to the docks, whena tall sailor-looking man crossed over to them. His face was bronzedfrom exposure, but was careworn and sad, and bore unmistakable marks offree indulgence in strong drinks. 

"Merryweather, how are you, my friend?" he cried, coming up and shakingthe captain warmly by the hand. 

"Ah, Thomson, is that you?" said the other, returning the grasp. "I wasvery sorry indeed to hear of your misfortune. "

"A bad business--a shocking business, " said his friend, shaking his headdespondingly. "Not a spar saved. Three poor fellows drowned. And allmy papers and goods gone to the bottom. "

"Yes, I heard something of it, and I was truly grieved. How did ithappen?"

"Why, I'll tell you how it was. I don't know what it is, Merryweather, but you're a very lucky fellow. Some men seem born to luck: it hasn'tbeen so with me. It's all gone wrong ever since I left Australia. We'dfair weather and a good run till we were fairly round the Horn; but oneforenoon the glass began to fall, and I saw there was heavy weathercoming. After a bit it came on to blow a regular gale. The sea got upin no time, and I had to order all hands up to reef topsails. We wererather short-handed, for I could hardly get men when I started, for loveor money. Well, would you believe it?--half a dozen of the fellows werebelow so drunk that they couldn't stand. "

"Ah, I feared, " said Captain Merryweather, "that the drink had somethingto do with your troubles. But how did they manage to get so tipsy?"

"Oh, they contrived to get at one of the spirit-casks. They bored ahole in it with a gimlet, and sucked the rum out through a straw. Therewas nothing for it but to send up the steward, and Jim, my cabin-boy, along with the others who were on deck. But poor Jim was but a clumsyhand at it; and as they were lying out on the yard, the poor fellow losthis hold, and was gone in a moment. I never caught one look at himafter he fell. Ay, but that wasn't all. About a week after, I waswanting the steward one morning to fetch me something out of thelazarette; so I called him over and over again. He came at last, but sotipsy that I could make nothing of him; and I had to start him off tothe steerage, and take on another man in his place. He'd been helpinghimself to the spirits. It was very vexing, you'll allow; for he wasquite a handy chap, and I got on very poorly afterwards without him. Idon't know how you manage, but you seem always to get steady men. "

"Yes, " said Captain Merryweather; "because I neither take the drinkmyself nor have it on board. "

"Ay, but I can never get on without my glass of grog, " said the other. 

"Then I'm afraid you'll never get your men to do without it. There'snothing like example--`example's better than precept. '"

"I believe you're right. But you haven't heard the end of mymisfortunes, nor the worst either. It was a little foggy as we weregetting into the Channel, and I'd given, of course, strict orders tokeep a good look-out; so two of our sharpest fellows went forward whenit began to get dark, and I had a steady man at the wheel. I'd been ondeck myself a good many hours; so I just turned in to get a wink ofsleep, leaving the first mate in charge. I don't know how long I'dslept, for I was very weary, when all in a moment there came a dreadfulcrash, and I knew we were run into. I was out and on deck like a shot;but the sea was pouring in like a mill-stream, and I'd only just time tosee the men all safe in the _Condor_--the ship that ran into us--and geton board myself, before the poor _Elizabeth_ went down head foremost. It's very strange. I hadn't been off the deck ten minutes, and that wasthe first time I'd gone below for the last sixteen hours. It's justlike my luck. The captain of the _Condor_ says we were to blame; andour first mate says their men were to blame. I can't tell how it was. It was rather thick at the time; but we ought to have seen one another'slights. Some one sung out on the other ship; but it was too late then, and our two poor fellows who were forward looking out were both lost. It's very strange; don't you think so?"

"It's very sad, " replied the other; "and I'm heartily sorry for it. It's a bad job anyhow; and yet, to tell you the honest truth, I'm not sovery much surprised, for I suspect that the drink was at the bottom ofit. "

"No, no; you're quite mistaken there. I never saw either the mate orthe man at the wheel, or any of the men who were then on deck, drunk, oranything like it, during the whole voyage. "

"That may be, " said the other; "but I did not say it was drunkenness, but the drink, that I thought was at the bottom of it. The men may havebeen the worse for drink without being drunk. "

"I don't understand you. "

"No, I see you don't; that's the worst of it. Very few people do seeit, or understand it; but it's true. A man's the worse for drink whenhe's taken so much as makes him less fit to do his work, whatever it maybe. You'll think it rather strange, perhaps, in me to say so; but I_do_ say it, because I believe it, that more accidents arise from thedrink than from drunkenness, or from moderate drinking, as it is called, than from drunkenness. "

"How so?"

"Why, thus. A man may take just enough to confuse him, or to make himcareless, or to destroy his coolness and self-possession, without beingin the least drunk; or he may have taken enough to make him drowsy, andso unfit to do work that wants special attention and watchfulness. "

"I see what you mean, " said the other. 

"Perhaps you'd all been drinking an extra glass when you foundyourselves so near home. "

"Why, yes. To tell you the truth, we had all of us a little more thanusual that night; and yet I'll defy any man to say that we were not allperfectly sober. "

"But yet, in my way of looking at it, " said Captain Merryweather, "youwere the worse for liquor, because less able to have your wits aboutyou. And that's surely a very serious thing to look at for ourselves, and our employers too; for if we've taken just enough to make us less upto our work, we're the worse for drink, though no man can say we'redrunk. Take my advice, Thomson, and keep clear of the grog altogether, and then you'll find your luck come back again. You'll find it betterfor head, heart, and pocket, take my word for it. "

"I believe you're right. I'll think of what you've said, " was thereply; and they parted. 

"Jacob, my lad, " said Captain Merryweather, as they walked along, "didyou hear what Captain Thomson said?"

"Ay, captain; and what you said too. And I'm sure you spoke nothing butthe real truth. "

"Well, you just mark that, Jacob. There are scores of accidents andcrimes from drunkenness, and they get known, and talked about, andpunished; but there are hundreds which come from moderate drinking, orfrom the drink itself, which are never traced. Ships run foul of oneanother, trains come into collision, houses get set on fire; and thedrink is at the bottom of most of it, I believe, because people get putoff their balance, and ain't themselves, and so get careless, orconfused, or excited, and then mischief follows. And yet no one can saythey're drunk; and where are you to draw the line? A man's the worsefor drink long before he's anything like intoxicated; for it is in thevery nature of the drink to fly at once to a man's brain. Ah, give methe man or lad, Jacob, that takes none. His head is clear, his hand'ssteady, his eye is quick. He's sure not to have taken too much, becausehe has taken none at all. --But here we are. There lies my good ship, the barque _Sabrina_. You shall come on board with me at once, and seeyour quarters. "

CHAPTER TEN. 

OUTWARD BOUND. 

Six weeks had elapsed since the barque _Sabrina_ had left the port ofLiverpool. She was stealing along swiftly before a seven knot breeze onthe quarter, with studding-sails set. It was intensely hot, for theyhad crossed the line only a few days since. Captain Merryweather hadproved himself all that a captain should be--a thorough sailor, equal toany emergency; a firm but considerate commander; an interesting andlively companion, ever evenly cheerful, and watchful to make all aroundhim comfortable and happy. Hubert Oliphant was full of spirits--happyhimself, and anxious to make others the same; a keen observer of everynatural phenomenon, and admirer of the varied beauties of ocean and sky;and, better still, with a heart ready to feel the bounty and love of Godin everything bright, lovely, and grand. Poor Frank had become lesssad; but his sorrow still lay heavy on his spirits. Yet there was hopefor him to cling to; and he was rejoicing in the subduing of his evilhabit, which was thus far broken through by his forced abstinence. Alas! he did not realise that a smouldering fire and an extinct one arevery different things. He was sanguine and self-confident; he fanciedthat his resolution had gained in firmness, whereas it had only restedquiet, no test or strain having been applied to it; and, worst of all, he did not feel the need of seeking in prayer that grace from abovewhich would have given strength to his weakness and nerve to his goodresolves. And yet who could see him and not love him? There was abright, reckless generosity in every look, word, and movement, whichtook the affections by storm, and chained the judgment. Jacob Poole hadbecome his devoted admirer. Day by day, as he passed near him, and sawhis sunny smile and heard his animated words, the young cabin-boy seemedmore and more drawn to him by a sort of fascination. Jacob was veryhappy. The captain was a most kind and indulgent master, and he felt ita privilege to do his very best to please him. But his greatesthappiness was to listen--when he could do so without neglecting hisduty--to the conversations between Frank, Hubert, and the captain, asthey sat at meals round the cuddy-table, or occasionally when in fairweather they stood together on the poop-deck; and it was Frank's voiceand words that had a special charm for him. Frank saw it partly, andoften took occasion to have some talk with Jacob in his own cheery way;and so bound the boy still closer to him. 

It was six weeks, as we have said, since the _Sabrina_ left Liverpool. The day was drawing to a close; in a little while the daylight wouldmelt suddenly into night. Not a cloud was in the sky: a fiery glow, mingled with crimson, lit up the sea and heavens for a while, and, speedily fading away, dissolved, through a faint airy glimmer of palestyellow, into clear moonlight. How lovely was the calm!--a calm thatrested not only on the sea, but also on the spirits of the voyagers, asthe vessel slipped through the waters, gently bending over every now andthen as the wind slightly freshened, and almost dipping her studding-sail boom into the sea, which glittered in one long pathway of quiveringmoonbeams, while every little wave, as far as the eye could reach, threwup a crest of silver. The captain stood near the binnacle. He wasgiving a lesson in steering to Jacob Poole, who felt very proud attaking his place at the wheel for the first time, and grasped the spokeswith a firm hand, keeping his eye steadily on the compass. Frank andHubert stood near, enjoying the lovely evening, and watching CaptainMerryweather and the boy. 

"Steady, my lad, steady, " said the captain; "keep her head just southand by east. A firm hand, a steady eye, and a sound heart; there's nogood without them. "

"You'll soon make a good sailor of him, captain, " said Hubert. 

"Ay, I hope so, " was the reply. "He's got the best guarantee for thefirm hand and the steady eye in his total abstinence; and I hope he hasthe sound heart too. "

"You look, captain, as if total abstinence had thriven with you. Haveyou always been a total abstainer?" asked Frank. 

A shade of deep sadness came over the captain's face as he answered, --

"No, Mr Oldfield; but it's many years now since I was driven into it. "

"Driven!" exclaimed Frank, laughing; "you do not look a likely subjectto be driven into anything. "

"Ay, sir; but there are two sorts of driving--body-driving and heart-driving. Mine was heart-driving. "

"I should very much like to hear how it was that you were driven intobecoming an abstainer, " said Hubert; "if it will not be asking toomuch. "

"Not at all, sir; and perhaps it may do you all good to hear it, thoughit's a very sad story. --Steady, Jacob, steady; keep her full. --It mayhelp to keep you firm when you get to Australia. You'll find plenty ofdrinking traps there. "

"I'm not afraid, " said Frank. "But by all means let us have your story. We are all attention. "

Hubert sighed; he wished that Frank were not so confident. 

"Ay, " said the captain, gazing dreamily across the water; "I think I seeher now--my poor dear mother. She was a good mother to me. That's oneof God's best gifts in this rough world of ours, Mr Oliphant. I'veknown many a man--and I'm one of them--that's owed everything to a goodmother. Well, my poor mother was a sailor's wife; a better sailor, theysay, than my father never stepped a plank. He'd one fault, however, when she married him, and only one; so folks like to put it. That faultwas, that he took too much grog aboard; but only now and then. So mypoor mother smiled when it was talked about in courting time, and theywere married. My father was the owner of a small coasting-vessel, andof course was often away from home for weeks and sometimes for monthstogether. A sister and myself were the only children; she was two yearsthe oldest. My father used to be very fond of his children when he camehome, and would bring us some present or other in his pocket, and a newgown, or cap, or bonnet for my mother. Yet somehow--I could hardlyunderstand it then--she was oftener in tears than in smiles when hestayed ashore. I know how it was now: he'd learned to love the drinkmore and more; and she, poor thing, had got her eyes opened to the sinand misery it was bringing with it. He was often away at nights now. We children saw but little of him; and yet, when he _was_ at home andsober, a kinder father, a better husband, a nobler-looking man wasn't tobe seen anywhere. Well, you may be sure things didn't mend as time wenton. My mother had hard work to make the stores hold out, for herallowance grew less as we children grew bigger. Only one good thingcame of all this: when all this trouble blew on my poor mother like ahurricane, she shortened sail, and ran before the gale right into theheavenly port; or, as you'll understand me better, she took her sins andher cares to her Saviour, and found peace there. At last my sister grewup into a fine young woman, and I into a stout, healthy lad. --Steady, Jacob, steady; mind your helm. --My father didn't improve with age. Hewas not sober as often as he used to be; indeed, when he was on shore hewas very rarely sober, and when he did stay an hour or two at home hewas cross and snappish. His fine temper and manly bearing were gone;for the drink, you may be sure, leaves its mark upon its slaves. Justas it is with a man who has often been put in irons for bad conduct;you'd know him by his walk even when he's at liberty--he's not like aman that has always been free. Ah, my poor mother! it was hard timesfor her. She talked to my father, but he only swore at her. I shallnever forget his first oath to her; it seemed to crush the light out ofher heart. However bad he'd been before, he had always been gentle to_her_. But he was getting past that. She tried again to reason withhim when he was sober. He was sulky at first; then he flew into apassion. And once he struck her. Yes; and _I_ saw it, and I couldn'tbear it. I was flying at him like a tiger, when my dear mother flungher arms round me, and chained me to the spot. My father never forgotthat. He seemed from that day to have lost all love for me; and I mustown that I had little left for him. My mother loved him still, and sodid my sister; but they left off talking to him about his drunkenness. It was of no use; they prayed for him instead. --Steady, Jacob; luff abit, my lad; luff you can. "

"And did this make you an abstainer?" asked Hubert. 

"No, sir; so far from it, that I was just beginning to like my grog whenI could get it. I didn't see the evil of the drink then; I didn't seehow the habit keeps winding its little cords round and round a man, tillwhat begins as thin as a log-line, becomes in the end as thick as ahawser. My mother trembled for me, I knew; I saw her look at me withtears in her eyes many a time, when I came home talkative and excited, though not exactly tipsy. I could see she was sick at heart. But Ihadn't learned my lesson yet; I was to have a terrible teacher. 

"There was a young man who began to visit at our cottage when my sisterwas just about twenty. They used to call him--well, that don't matter;better his name should never be spoken by me. He was a fisherman, aslikely a lad as you'd see anywhere; and he'd one boast that few couldmake, he had never been tipsy in his life; he was proud of it; he hadgot his measure, he said, and he never went beyond it. He laughed atteetotallers; they were such a sneaking, helpless lot, he said--whycouldn't they take what was good for them, and stop there when they'dhad enough; surely a man ought to be master of his own appetites--hewas, he said; he could stop when he pleased. However, to make a longstory short, he took a great fancy to my dear sister, and she soonreturned it. Our cottage was near the sea, but on a hill-side somehundred feet or more above the beach. High ground rose behind it andsheltered it from the north and east winds. It had a glorious view ofthe ocean, and one of the loveliest little gardens that any cottagecould boast of. The young man I spoke of would often sit with my sisterin the little porch, when the roses and jessamine were in full flowerall over it; and I used to think, as I looked at them, that a handsomercouple could never be made man and wife. Well, it was agreed that theyshould wait a few months till he was fully prepared to give her a home. My father just then was ashore, and took to the young man amazingly; hemust have him spend many an evening at our cottage, and you may be surethat the grog didn't remain in the cupboard. My father had a great manyyarns to spin, and liked a good listener; and as listening and talkingare both dry work, one glass followed another till the young man's eyesbegan to sparkle, and my poor sister's to fill with tears; still, healways maintained, when she talked gently to him about it next day, thathe knew well what he was about, that he never overstepped his mark, andthat she might trust him. Ah, it was easy to talk; but it was veryplain that his mark began to be set glass after glass higher than itused to be. At last, one night she couldn't hold any longer, andimplored him to stop as he was filling another tumbler. Upon this myfather burst out into a furious passion, and swore that, as he couldfind no peace at home, he'd go where he _could_ find it, --that was tothe public-house, of course. Out they both of them went, and we saw nomore of them that night, you may be sure; and my mother and sisteralmost cried their hearts out. It was some days after this before mysister's lover ventured to show his face at our place, and then hedidn't dare to meet her eye. She said very little to him; it was plainshe was beginning to lose all hope; and she had reason too, for when thedemon of drink gets a firm hold, Mr Oldfield, he'll not let go, if hecan help it, till he's strangled every drop of good out of a man. But Imustn't be too long; there isn't much left to tell, however. --Steady, Jacob, my lad; keep her full. --You may suppose that we hadn't much moreof my father's company, or of the young man's either; they found thepublic-house more to their mind; and so it went on night after night. Little was said about the wedding, and my sister never alluded to iteven to us. At last October came. It was one lovely moonlight night, just such a night as this, quiet and peaceful. My father was to set outon one of his cruises next morning, and was expecting the mate to bringround his little vessel, and anchor her in the roads off the shore, insight of our cottage. He had come home pretty sober to tea, bringing mysister's lover with him. After tea there were several things he had tosettle with my mother; so, while they were making their arrangements, mysister and the young man had an earnest talk together. I didn't mean tolisten, but I could overhear that he was urging her to fix an early dayfor the wedding, with many promises of amendment and sobriety, which thepoor girl listened to with a half-unwilling ear, and yet her heartcouldn't say, `No. ' At last my father cried, `Come, my lad, we'll justgo up to the top of the hill, and see if we can make out the _Peggy_. She ought to be coming round by this time. '

"`Oh, father, ' cried my sister, `don't go out again to-night. '

"`Nonsense!' he said, roughly; `do you think I'm a baby, that can't takecare of myself?'

"My mother said nothing; my sister looked at her lover with an imploringglance. I shall never forget it; there was both entreaty and despair inher eyes. He hesitated a moment, but my father was already out of thedoor, and loudly calling on him to follow. 

"`I'll be back again in a few minutes, ' he said; `it won't do to crossyour father to-night. '

"Ah, those few minutes! She went to the door. It was a most lovelynight; there was a flood of moonlight poured out upon land and sea. Allthat God had made was as beautiful as if sin had never spoiled it. Justa little to the right of our cottage the ground rose up suddenly, andsloped up about a quarter of a mile to the top of a high cliff, from theedge of which was a sheer descent, almost unbroken, to the beach, ofseveral hundred feet. It was a favourite spot of observation, forvessels could be seen miles off. 

"My sister watched her father and lover in the clear moonlight to thetop. There they stood for about half an hour, and then they turned. But which way? Home? It seemed so at first--the young man was plainlyhesitating. At last he yielded to my father's persuasion, and bothdisappeared over the farther side of the high ground. My unhappysister, with a wild cry of distress, came back into the cottage, andthrew herself sobbing into a chair. 

"`Oh, mother, mother!' she cried, `they're off again--they're gone tothe public-house; father'll be the death of _him_, body and soul. '

"My mother made no answer. She could not speak. She had no comfort tooffer. She knew that my wretched father was the tempter. She knew thatthere was nothing but misery before her child. 

"Oh, what a weary night that was! We sat for hours waiting, listening. At last we heard the sound of voices--two voices were shouting outsnatches of sea-songs with drunken vehemence. We didn't need any one totell us whose voices they were. My sister started up and rushed out. Ifollowed her, and so did my mother. We could see now my father and theyoung man, sharp and clear in the moonlight, arm in arm at the top ofthe cliff. They were waving their arms about and shouting, as theyswayed and staggered to and fro. Then they went forward towards theedge, and tried to steady themselves as they looked in the direction ofthe sea. 

"`They'll be over!' shrieked my sister; `oh, let us try and save them!'

"My mother sank senseless on the ground. For a moment my sister seemedas if she would do the same. Then she and I rushed together towards thecliff at the top of our speed. We could just see the two poor miserabledrunkards staggering about for a little while, but then a sinking in theground, as we hurried on, hid them from our sight. A few minutes moreand we were on the slope at the top, but where were _they_? They weregone--where? I dared not let my sister go forward, but I could hardlyhold her, till at last she sank down in a swoon. And then I made my wayto the top of the cliff, and my blood seemed to freeze in my veins as Ilooked over. There they were on the rocks below, some hundred and fiftyfeet down. I shouted for help; some of the neighbours had seen usrunning, and now came to my relief. I left a kind woman with my unhappysister, and hurried with some fishermen the nearest way to the beach. It was sickening work climbing to the place on to which my miserablefather and his companion had pitched in their fall. Alas! they wereboth dead when we reached them, and frightfully mangled. I can hardlybear to go on, " and the captain's voice faltered, "and yet I mustcomplete my story. We made a sort of large hammock, wrapped them in it, and by the help of some poles carried them up to our cottage. It wasterrible work. My sister did not shed a tear for days, indeed Iscarcely ever saw her shed a tear at all; but she pined away, and a fewshort months closed her sad life. "

The captain paused, and it was long before any one broke the silence. At last Hubert asked, --

"And your mother?"

"Ah, my mother--well, she did not die. She mourned over her daughter;but I can't say that she seemed to feel my father's loss so much, and Ithink I can tell you why, " he added, looking very earnestly at the twoyoung men. "Mark this, young gentlemen, and you Jacob, too--there'sthis curse about the drink, when it's got its footing in a home it eatsout all warm affections. I don't think my mother had much love left formy father in her heart when he died. His drunkenness had nearly stampedout the last spark. "

"It's a sad story indeed, " said Frank, thoughtfully. 

"Ay; and only one among many such sad stories, " said the captain. 

"And so you were led after this to become a total abstainer?"

"Yes; it was on the day of my sister's funeral. I came back to thecottage after the service was over with my heart full of sorrowfulthoughts. My mother sat in her chair by the fire; her Bible was openbefore her, her head was bowed down, her hands clasped, and her lipsmoving in prayer. I heard them utter my own name. 

"`Mother, ' I said, springing forward, and throwing my arms round her, `please God, and with his help, I'll never touch another drop of thedrink from this day. '

"`God bless you, my son, ' she said, with sobs. `I've prayed him scoresof times that my son might be preserved from living a drunkard's life, and dying a drunkard's death. I believe he's heard me. I know he has, and I'll trust him to make you truly his child, and then we shall meetin glory. ' From that day to this not a drop of intoxicating liquor hasever passed my lips. But it's time to turn in; we shan't sleep the lesssound because we're not indebted to the grog for a nightcap. "

For some days after the captain had told his story, Frank Oldfield'smanner was subdued and less buoyant than usual--something like amisgiving about his own ability to resist temptation, mingled with sadmemories of the past. But his spirits soon recovered their usualbrightness. 

It was on a cloudless day, when scarcely a breath of air puffed out thesails, and the dog-vane drooped lazily, as if desponding at havingnothing to do, that Hubert was looking listlessly over the stern, marking how the wide expanse of the sea was heaving and swelling like avast carpet of silk upraised and then drawn down again by some gianthand. Suddenly he cried out, --

"What's that cutting its way behind us, just below the surface of thewater?"

"A shark, most likely, " said the mate, coming up. "Ay, sure enough itis, " he added, looking over the stern. "Many a poor fellow has lost hislife or his limbs by their ugly teeth. We'll bait a hook for him. "

This was soon done. A large piece of rusty pork was stuck upon a hookattached to the end of a stout chain, the chain being fastened to astrong rope. All was now excitement on board. The captain, Hubert, Frank, and Jacob Poole looked over at the monster, whose dorsal fin justappeared above the water. He did not, however, seem to be in any hurryto take the bait, but kept swimming near it, and now and then knocked itwith his nose. 

"Just look at the water, " cried Frank; "why, it's all alive with littlefish. I never saw anything like it. "

Indeed, it was an extraordinary sight. All round the vessel, and asdeep down in the water as the eye could penetrate, the ocean wasswarming with millions upon millions of little fishes, so that theircountless multitudes completely changed the colour of the sea. JacobPoole, who was standing close by the captain, now sprang into the boatwhich hung over the stern to get a better look at the shark and hisminute companions. 

"Have a care, " shouted the captain, "or you'll be over, if you don'tmind. "

It was too late; for just as Jacob was endeavouring to steady himself inthe boat, a sudden roll of the ship threw him completely off hisbalance. He tried to save himself by catching at a rope near him, butmissed it, and fell right over the boat's side into the sea below. 

All was instantly confusion and dismay, for every one on board knew thatJacob was no swimmer. Happily the ship was moving very sluggishlythrough the water, so one of the quarter-boats was instantly loweredfrom the davits. But long before it could row to the rescue help hadcome from another quarter. For one moment Hubert and his friend stoodlooking on transfixed with dismay, then, without an instant'shesitation, Frank sprang upon the taffrail, and plunged headlong intothe sea. He was a capital swimmer, and soon reached poor Jacob. Butnow a cry of horror arose from those on board. 

"The shark! the shark!"

The creature had disappeared at the moment of the cabin-boy's fall, thesudden and violent splash having completely scared him away for theinstant; but scarcely had Frank reached the drowning lad, and raised himin the water, than the huge monster began to make towards them. Theywere so short a distance from the vessel that those on board couldplainly see the movements of the great fish as he glided up to them. 

"Splash about with all your might, for Heaven's sake, " roared out thecaptain. 

"All right, " cried young Oldfield with perfect coolness, and at the sametime making a violent commotion in the water all round him, which hadthe effect of daunting their enemy for the time. And now the quarter-boat was lowered, and reached them in a few vigorous strokes. 

"Pull for your lives, my lads, " shouted the mate, who was steering. "Here we are--steady--ship oars. Now then, Tom Davies, lay hold on'em--in with 'em quick--there's the shark again. Jack, you slap away atthe water with your oar. Ay, my friend, we've puzzled you this time--anear shave, though. Now then, all right. Give way, my lads. Jacob, myboy, you've baulked Johnny shark of his dinner this once. "

They were soon alongside, and on deck, and were greeted by a lusty"Hurrah!" from captain and crew. 

"Nobly done, nobly done, Mr Oldfield!" cried the captain, with tears inhis eyes, and shaking Frank warmly by the hand. Hubert was also earnestin his thanks and congratulations. As for poor Jacob, when he hadsomewhat recovered from the utter bewilderment into which hisunfortunate plunge had thrown him, he came up close to his rescuer andsaid, --

"Mr Oldfield, I can't thank you as I should, but I shan't forget asyou've saved my life. "

"All right, Jacob, " said Frank, laughing; "you'll do the same for mewhen I want it, I don't doubt. But you have to thank our kind friends, the mate and his crew, as much as me, or we should have been pretty sureto have been both of us food for the fishes by this time. "

And so it was that the cabin-boy's attachment to Frank Oldfield became apassion--a love which many waters could not quench--a love that waswonderful, passing the love of women. Each day increased it. And nowhis one earnest desire was to serve Frank on shore in some capacity, that he might be always near him. Day by day, as the voyage drew to itsclose, he was scheming in his head how to bring about what he soardently desired; and the way was opened for him. 

It was in the middle of January, the height of the Australian summer, that the _Sabrina_ came in sight of Kangaroo Island, and in a littlewhile was running along the coast, the range of hills which form abackground to the city of Adelaide being visible in the distance. Andnow all heads, and tongues, and hands were busy, for in a few hours, ifthe tide should serve for their passing the bar, they would be safe inPort Adelaide. 

"Well, Jacob; my lad, " said Captain Merryweather to the cabin-boy, as hestood looking rather sadly and dreamily at the land, "you don't lookvery bright. I thought you'd be mad after a run ashore. Here comes thepilot; he'll soon let us know whether we can get into port before nexttide. "

When the pilot had taken charge of the ship, and it was found that therewas water enough for them to cross the bar at once, the captain againcalled Jacob to him into the cuddy, where he was sitting with Hubert andFrank. 

"I see, Jacob, my boy, " he said, "that there's something on your mind, and I think I half know what it is. Now, I'm a plain straightforwardsailor, and don't care to go beating about the bush, so I'll speak outplainly. You've been a good lad, and pleased me well, and if you've amind to go home with me, I've the mind, on my part, to take you. Butthen I see Mr Oldfield here has taken a fancy to you, and thinks youmight be willing to take service with him. Ah, I see it in your eyes, my lad--that settles it. I promised before we sailed that I'd find youa good situation out here, and I believe I've done it. Mr Oldfield, Jacob's your man. "

Poor Jacob; the tears filled his eyes--his chest heaved--he crushed hiscap out of all shape between his fingers--then he spoke, at first withdifficulty, and then in a husky voice, --

"Oh, captain, I'm afraid you'll think I'm very ungrateful. I don't knowwhich way to turn. You've been very good to me, and I couldn't forshame leave you. I'd be proud to serve you to the last day of my life. But you seem to have fathomed my heart. I wish one half of me could goback with you, and the other half stay with Mr Oldfield. But I'll justleave it with yourselves to settle; only you mustn't think, captain, asI've forgotten all your kindness. I'm not that sort of chap. "

"Not a bit, my lad, not a bit, " replied the captain, cheerily; "Iunderstand you perfectly. I want to do the best for you; and I don'tthink I can do better than launch you straight off, and let Mr Oldfieldtake you in tow; and if I'm spared to come another voyage here, and youshould be unsettled, or want to go home again, why, I shall be rightglad to have you, and to give you your wages too. " And so it wassettled, much to the satisfaction of Frank and the happiness of Jacob. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

ABRAHAM OLIPHANT. 

"And so you're my nephew Hubert, " said a tall, middle-aged gentleman, who had come on board as soon as the _Sabrina_ reached the port, and wasnow shaking Hubert warmly by the hand. "A hearty welcome to SouthAustralia. Ah, I see; this is Mr Oldfield. My brother wrote to meabout you. You're heartily welcome too, my young friend, for so Isuppose I may call you. Well, you've come at a warm time of the year, and I hope we shall be able to give you a warm reception. And how didyou leave your dear father, Hubert? You're very like him; the sight ofyour face brings back old times to me. And how are your brothers andsister? All well? That's right. Thank God for it. And now just put afew things together while I speak to the captain. I'll see that yourbaggage is cleared and sent up all right after you. My dog-cart'swaiting, and will take your friend and yourself and what things you maywant for a few days. "

The speaker's manner was that of a man of good birth and education, withthe peculiar tone of independence which characterises the old colonist. Hubert and Frank both felt at their ease with him at once. 

It was arranged that Jacob Poole should remain with Captain Merryweatherfor a few days, and should then join his new master in Adelaide. Aftera very hearty leave-taking with the captain, the young men and MrAbraham Oliphant were soon on shore. 

There was no railway from the port to the city in those days, buttravellers were conveyed by coaches and port-carts, unless they weredriven in some friend's carriage or other vehicle. Driving tandem wasmuch the fashion, and it was in this way that Hubert and Frank weremaking their first journey inland. 

"Now, my dear Hubert, and Mr Oldfield, jump in there; give me yourbags; now we're all right;" and away they started. 

The first mile or two of their journey was not particularly inviting. They passed through Albert Town, and through a flat country along a verydusty road, trees being few and far between. A mile farther on and theysaw a group of natives coming towards them with at least half-a-dozenragged looking dogs at their heels. The men were lounging along in alordly sort of way, entirely at their ease; one old fellow, with agrizzly white beard and hair, leaning all his weight on the shoulders ofa poor woman, whom he was using as a walking-stick. The other womenwere all heavily-laden, some with wood, and others with burdens ofvarious sorts, their lords and masters condescending to carry nothingbut a couple of light wooden spears, a waddy, or native club, and aboomerang. 

"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Hubert; "what miserable specimens ofhumanity; indeed, they hardly look human at all. "

"Ah, " said his uncle, "there are some who are only too glad to declarethat these poor creatures are only brutes, that they have no souls. I've heard a man say he'd as soon shoot a native as a dingo; that is, awild dog. "

"But _you_ don't think so, dear uncle?"

"Think so! no indeed. Their intellects are sharp enough in some things. Yes; it is very easy to take from them their lands, their kangaroo, andtheir emu, and then talk about their having no souls, just to excuseourselves from doing anything for them in return. Why, those very menwho will talk the most disparagingly of them, do not hesitate to makeuse of them; ay, and trust them too. They will employ them asshepherds, and even as mounted policemen. But let us stop a moment, andhear what they have to say. "

He drew up, and the natives stopped also, grinning from ear to ear. They were very dark, a dusky olive colour; the older ones were hideouslyugly, and yet it was impossible not to be taken with the excessive goodhumour of their laughing faces. 

"What name you?" cried the foremost to Mr Oliphant. 

"Abraham, " was the reply. 

"Ah, very good Abraham, " rejoined the native; "you give me copper, mecall you gentleman. "

"Them you piccaninnies?" asked one of the women, pointing to Hubert andFrank. 

"No, " said Mr Oliphant; "there--there are some coppers for you; youmust do me some work for them when you come to my sit-down. "

"Gammon, " cried the black addressed; "me plenty lazy. "

"A sensible fellow, " cried Frank laughing, as they drove on; "he knowshow to look after his own interests, clearly enough; surely such asthese cannot be past teaching. "

"No indeed, " said the other; "we teach them evil fast enough; they learnour vices besides their own. You may be sure they drink when they can. Ah, that curse of drunkenness! Did you think you had run away from itwhen you left England? Happy for you, Hubert, that you're an abstainer;and I suppose, Mr Oldfield, that you are one too. "

"Not a pledged one, " said Frank, colouring deeply, "but one in practice, I hope, nevertheless. "

"Well, I tell you honestly that you'll find neither beer, wine, orspirits in my house. To everything else you are both heartilywelcome. --Ah, that's not so pleasant, " he exclaimed suddenly. 

"Is there anything amiss?" asked Hubert. 

"Oh, nothing serious!" was the reply; "only a little disagreeable; butwe may perhaps escape it. We'll pull up for a moment. There; just lookon a few hundred yards. "

Ahead of them some little distance, in the centre of the road, awhirling current of air was making the dust revolve in a rapidlyenlarging circle. As this circle widened it increased in substance, till at last it became a furious earth-spout, gathering sticks andleaves, and even larger things, into its vortex, and rising higher andhigher in the air till it became a vast black moving column, making astrange rustling noise as it approached. Then it left the direct road, and rushed along near them, rising higher and higher in the air, andbecoming less and less dense, till its base completely disappeared, andthe column spent itself in a fine streak of sand some hundred feet ormore above their heads. 

"A pleasant escape, " said Mr Oliphant; "we shouldn't have gained eitherin good looks or comfort if we had got into the thick of it. "

"I should think not indeed, " said Frank. "Do people often get intothese whirlwinds, or earth-spouts, or whatever they should be called?"

"Sometimes they do, " said the other, "and then the results are anythingbut agreeable. I have seen men go into them white--white jacket, whitewaistcoat, white trousers, white hat, and come out one universal brown--brown jacket, waistcoat, trousers, hat, eyebrows, whiskers, all brown. "

"Anything but pleasant indeed, " said Hubert. "But do they ever doserious mischief?"

"Not very serious, as far as I know, " replied his uncle. "Once I knewof a pastry-cook's man who was caught in one of these whirlwinds; he hada tray of tarts on his head, and the wind caught the tray, and whirledit off, tarts and all. But here we are at the `Half-way house;' peoplecommonly can't go many miles here without the drink. They fancy that, because we live in a country which is very hot in summer, we want moreto drink; but it's just the reverse. Drink very little of anything inthe specially hot days, and you'll not feel the want of it. "

And now, after a further drive of three or four miles, the outskirts ofthe city of Adelaide were nearly reached, and the distant hills becamemore plainly visible. 

"We shall cross the river by the ford at the back of the jail, " said MrOliphant, "for there's very little water in the river now. "

"And is this the river Torrens?" asked Hubert, with a slight tone ofincredulity in his voice. 

"You may well ask, " replied his uncle, laughing. "Torrens is certainlyan unfortunate name, for it leads a stranger naturally to look for adeep and impetuous stream. Some gentleman from Melbourne, when he firstsaw it, was highly incensed and disgusted, and exclaimed, `Is this_crack in the earth_ your river Torrens?'"

"But I suppose, " inquired Frank, "it is not always as shallow as now?"

"No indeed, " said the other; "I've seen it many a time a real Torrens. When it comes rushing down, swollen by numberless little streams fromthe hills, it will carry almost everything before it. Bridges, andstrong ones too, it has swept away, and you may judge both of itsviolence and of the height to which it rises at such times, when I tellyou that, when a flood has subsided, you may sometimes look up and see adead horse sticking in the fork of a tree which had for a time beennearly under water. And I've often thought that the drink is like thisstream; people will scarce credit at first that it can do so muchmischief--it's only a little drop, or a glass or two, but the dropbecomes a stream, and the glass a mighty river, and down goes all beforeit, money, home, love, character, peace, everything. But see, that'sthe jail on our left now. If there were more total abstainers, weshouldn't want such a costly building, nor so many policemen, as we donow. Here, as in the old country, the drink is at the bottom of nine-tenths of the crime. And now we're just coming up to the top of HindleyStreet. Look down it; it's a busy street; you can see right awaythrough Rundle Street, which is a continuation of it, to the Park Landsbeyond. Now, just take a fact about the drinking habits of this colony. You'll suppose, of course, that this street wants lighting at night. Well; how is this done? We have no gas as yet; no doubt we shall haveit by-and-by. Well, then, look along each side of the street, andyou'll see ordinary lamps projecting from houses at tolerably regularintervals. These houses are all public-houses. Every publican is boundby law to keep a lamp burning outside his house every dark night; andthese lamps light the street very creditably. I use the word`creditably' simply in reference to the lighting; doesn't that speakvolumes?"

"Yes, indeed, " said Hubert; "I fear it tells of abundant crime andmisery. "

"It does. But we mustn't dwell on the dark side now, for I want this tobe a bright day for us all. You see we've some nice shops in HindleyStreet. "

"Yes, " said Frank; "but what a remarkable variety of style in thehouses; there are no two of them, scarcely, alike in size, shape, orheight. They remind me rather of a class of boys in our dame school athome, where big and little boys, tidy and ragged, stand side by side inone long row. "

"You are rather severe upon us, " said Mr Oliphant laughing; "but we aregradually improving; there is, however, plenty of room yet forimprovement, I allow. "

And now they turned into King William Street, and drew up at the frontof a large store. 

"This is my business place, " said the merchant; "but I shall not ask youto look at it now; we must be off again immediately for my countryresidence among the hills. Here, James, give the horses a little water;now then, let us start again. "

A few minutes more and they were rapidly crossing the Park Lands. 

"These are gum trees, I suppose?" asked Hubert. 

"Yes, they are, " said his uncle; "but not worth much, either for timber, ornament, or shade. You wouldn't get much relief from the heat underthe poor shadow of their tassel-like foliage. "

"What a very strange noise!" exclaimed Frank; "it seems as if a numberof stocking-looms were at work in the air. "

"See now, " said Mr Oliphant, "the force of habit. I'm so used to thesound, that I was utterly unconscious of it. It is made by the cicada, an insect very common in this country. And now, where do you supposewe're coming to? This little village or township before us is Norwood, and then comes Kensington. I've no doubt it will strike you as one ofthe oddest things in this colony, till you get used to it, though, ofcourse, it isn't peculiar to this colony, how places are made closeneighbours here, which are very widely separated in the old country, from which they are borrowed. "

"But why not retain the native names?" asked Hubert. 

"Ah, why not, indeed? What can be more musical in sound than Yatala, Aldinga, Kooringa, Onkaparinga. But then, we could not always findnative names enough; and, besides this, the Englishman likes to keep theold country before him, by giving his place some dear familiar name thatsounds like home. "

In about another half hour they reached their destination among thehills. 

"The Rocks, " as Mr Abraham Oliphant's place was called, was situated ona hill-side, high above the valley, but on a moderate slope. A stoutpost-and-rail fence surrounded the estate, and one of a more compactnature enclosed the more private grounds. The house was large, andcovered a considerable surface, as there were no rooms above thebasement floor. The front windows commanded a magnificent view of thecity of Adelaide, with its surrounding lands, suburbs, and neighbouringvillages, and of the sea in the extreme distance. At the back was aremarkable group of rocks, from which the estate took its name; theseleaned on the hill-side, and were encased in a setting of wild shrubsand creeping plants of extraordinary beauty. A stream of purest springwater perpetually flowed through a wide cleft in these rocks, andafforded a deliciously cool supply, which never failed in the hottestsummer. The house was surrounded by a wide verandah, which, like thebuilding itself, was roofed with shingles, and up the posts and alongthe edge of which there climbed a profusion of the multiflora rose. Thegarden sloped away from the house, and contained an abundance of bothflowers and fruits. There was the aloe, and more than one kind ofcactus, growing freely in the open air, with many other plants whichwould need the hothouse or greenhouse in a colder climate. Fig-trees, vines, standard peach, and nectarine trees were in great abundance, while a fence of the sharp Kangaroo Island acacia effectually kept allinquisitive cattle at a respectful distance. The inside of the housewas tastefully but not unduly furnished, ancient and modern articlesbeing ranged side by side in happy fraternity; for a thorough colonistsuits his own taste, and is tolerably independent of fashion. 

"Welcome once more to Australia!" exclaimed Mr Oliphant to his youngcompanions; "and more especially welcome to `the Rocks. ' Come in: here, let me introduce you to my eldest daughter and youngest son--Jane andThomas, here's your cousin Hubert; and here's his friend, Mr FrankOldfield; you must give them a hearty welcome. "

All parties were soon at their ease together. A sumptuous dinner-teawas soon spread on the table of the dining-room--the windows of whichapartment commanded a view, across the valley, of the city and distantsea. 

Mr Oliphant was a widower, with two daughters and four sons. Jane hadtaken her mother's place; the two eldest sons were married, and settledin other parts of the colony; the third son lived with his youngersister at a sheep-station about twenty-five miles up the country; theyoungest son, Thomas, a boy about fifteen years old, was still at home, and rode in daily to the collegiate school, returning in the evening. 

"You'll meet your other cousins before long, I hope, " said his uncle toHubert. "They know, of course, that you are coming; and when I sendthem word that you are actually come, we shall have them riding in at anearly day. I suppose you're used to riding yourself? Ah, that's right;then you're pretty independent. Horseflesh is cheap enough here, but itisn't always of the choicest quality; however, I can furnish you withwhat you'll want in that way. All your cousins ride, of course, by asort of colonial instinct. An Australian and his horse almost growtogether like a centaur. "

"And do you ride much, Cousin Jane?" asked Hubert. 

"Oh, never mind the `cousin;' you must drop it at once, " said MrOliphant. "It's Jane, and you're Hubert. But I beg Jane's pardon forsmothering her answer. "

"Oh yes, Hubert, " replied his cousin; "I ride, as a matter of course; weshould never get over much ground, especially in the hot weather, if wewalked as much as people seem to do in England. But I have not yetheard how you left my dear aunt and uncle. Seeing you seems half likeseeing them; I've heard so much of them. "

"I suppose you hardly venture out kangaroo-hunting, Miss Oliphant?"asked Frank. 

"I have done so once or twice in the north, " she replied; "but thekangaroo is not fond of so many white faces near his haunts, so he hasretired from these parts altogether. "

"And you find you can all stand total abstinence here?" asked Hubert ofhis uncle. 

"Stand it!" exclaimed Mr Oliphant; "I should think so. Why, my dearnephew, it don't need standing; it's the drink I couldn't stand. Youshould see the whole lot of us when we meet at one of our great familygatherings. Well, it's not quite the thing perhaps for a father tosay--and yet I fancy it's not very far from the truth--that you'll notsee a stouter, a better grown--Jane, shall I say handsomer?--I certainlymay say a healthier, family anywhere; and not one of us is indebted toany alcoholic stimulant for our good looks. "

"You have always, then, been an abstainer since you came to the colony?"asked Frank. 

"No, I have not; more's the pity, " was the reply; "but only one or twoof my children remember the day when I first became an abstainer. Fromthe oldest to the youngest they have been brought up without fermentedstimulants, and abhor the very sight of them. "

"And might I ask, " inquired Frank, "what led to the change in your case, if the question is not an intrusive one?"

"Oh, by all means; I've nothing to conceal in the matter, " said MrOliphant; "the story is a very simple one. But come, you must make agood tea; listening is often as hungry work as talking. Well, thecircumstances were just these: when I was left a widower, more thanfourteen years ago, Jane was about twelve years old and Thomas only sixmonths; I was then a moderate drinker, as it is called--that is to say, I never got drunk; but I'm sure if any one had asked me to define`moderation, ' I should have been sorely puzzled to do so; and I am quitecertain that I often exceeded the bounds of moderation, not in the eyesof my fellow-creatures, but in the eyes of my Creator--ay, and in my owneyes too, for I often felt heated and excited by what I drank, so as towish that I had taken a glass or two less, --yet all this time I neveroverstepped the bounds, so as to lose my self-control. At this time Ikept a capital cellar--I mean a cellar largely stocked with choice winesand spirits. I did not live then at `the Rocks, ' but in a house on theskirts of the city. You may be sure that I needed a good nurse to lookafter so many growing children who had just lost their dear mother, andI was happy enough to light upon a treasure of a woman--she was clean, civil, active, faithful, honest, forbearing, and full of love to thechildren; in a word, all that I could desire her to be. She took animmense deal of care off my hands, and I could have trusted her witheverything I had. Months passed by, and I began to give large dinner-parties--for I was rather famous for my wines. Besides this, I wasalways having friends dropping in, happy to take a glass. All went onwell--so it seemed--till one afternoon a maid came running into mysitting-room and cried out, `Oh, sir, nurse is so very ill; what must wedo?' I hurried up-stairs. There was the poor woman, sure enough, in avery miserable state. I couldn't make it out at all. 

"`Send for a doctor at once!' I cried. In a little while the doctorcame. I waited most anxiously for his report. At last he came down, and the door was closed on us. 

"`Well, doctor, ' I cried, in great anxiety; `nothing very serious, Ihope? I can ill afford to lose such a faithful creature. '

"I saw a curious smile on his face, which rather nettled me, as Ithought it very ill-timed. At last he fairly burst out into a laugh, and exclaimed, `There's nothing the matter with the woman, only she'sdrunk. '

"`Drunk!' I exclaimed with horror; `impossible!'

"`Ay, but it's both possible and true too, ' said the doctor; `she'll beall right, you'll see, in a few hours. '

"And so she was. I then spoke out plainly and kindly to her. Oh, Ishall never forget her misery and shame. She made no attempt to denyher fault, or even excuse it; she was heart-broken; she said she must goat once. I urged her to stay, and to turn over a new leaf. I promisedto overlook what had passed, and told her that she might soon regain herformer place in my esteem and confidence. But I could not keep her; shecould not bear to remain, much as she loved the children; she must goelsewhere and hide her disgrace. 

"`But how came you to contract such a habit?' said I. And then she toldme that she began by finishing what was left in the glasses of myfriends and myself after dinner; then, as I never locked up thecellaret--the thirst becoming stronger and stronger--she helped herselffrom the bottles, till at last she had become a confirmed drunkard. Ipitied her deeply, as you may well understand; and would have kept heron, but nothing would induce her to stay. However, I had learned alesson, and had made up my mind: I was determined that thenceforward noone should ever sow the first seeds of drunkenness in my house, or haveany countenance in drinking from my _example_. The very morning theunhappy woman left, I made a vigorous onslaught on the drink. 

"`Fetch up the cellar!' I cried; and the cellar was forthwith fetchedup. Beer barrels, wine bottles and spirit-bottles, dozens of pale aleand bitter beer, were soon dragged into light. 

"`Now, fetch me the kitchen-poker!' I shouted; it was brought me, and Icommenced such a smashing as I should think has never been witnessedbefore, nor is likely to be witnessed again. Right and left, and allround me, the yard was flooded with malt liquors, spirits and wines. Then I knocked out the bungs of the casks, and joined their contents tothe flood. You may suppose there was some little staring at all this, but it mattered nothing to me. I was resolved that what had ruined mypoor nurse should never ruin any one else at my cost, or in my house; sofrom that day to this no alcoholic stimulant has passed my lips; norbeen given by me to man, woman, or child; nor, please God, ever shallbe. --Now, my dear young friends, you have had the history of what firstled me to become a total abstainer. "

There was a silence for several minutes, which was at last broken byHubert's asking, --

"And what became of the unhappy woman, dear uncle?"

"Ah! don't ask me. She went from bad to worse while she remained in thecolony. For so it commonly is with drunkards, but most of all withfemale drunkards. I've known--and I thank God for it--many a reformedmale drunkard; but when women take decidedly to drinking, it is veryrare indeed to see them cured--at least, that has been _my_ experience. I got poor nurse away with a friend of mine who was going in atemperance ship to England, hoping that the habit might be broken offduring the voyage. But, alas! she broke out again soon after reachinghome, and died at last a miserable death in a workhouse. But I see youlook rather fagged, Mr Oldfield. Shall we take a turn in the gardenbefore it gets dark, and then perhaps you'll like a little music?"

And now we must leave Abraham Oliphant and Australia for a while, andreturn to Langhurst, and some of the earlier characters of our story. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

AN EXPLOSION IN THE PIT. 

"No letter yet from our Sammul, " cried Betty, wearily and sadly, as shecame from the mill on a dreary night in the November after her brother'ssudden departure. "I thought as how he'd have been sure to write to me. Well, I suppose we must make ourselves content till he's got over thesea. But oh, it'll be weary work till we've heard summat from him. "

"Hush, hush, there's a good bairn, " said her mother, though the tearswere all the while running down her own cheeks as she spoke; "don't takeon so; you'll drive your fayther clean crazy. He's down in the mouthenough already. Come, don't fret in that fashion, Thomas; Sammul'llcome back afore long: you've been crouching down by the hearth-stonelong enough. If you'll be guided by me, you'll just take a drop of goodale, it'll liven you up a bit; you want summat of the sort, or you'llshrivel up till you've nothing but skin on your bones. "

"Ale!" cried Thomas, indignantly; "ale'll not make me better--ale won'tmake me forget--ale won't bring back our Sammul, it's driven him farenough away. "

"Well, " said his wife, soothingly, "you must go your own way; only, ifyou keep a-fretting of that fashion, you'll not be able to do your workgradely, and then we shall all have to starve, and that'll be worse foryou still. "

"Better starve, " replied her husband moodily, "nor ruin body and soulwith the drink; I'll have no more of it. "

"Well, you can please yourself;" replied Alice, "so long as you don'ttake me with you. But I must have my drop of beer and my pipe, I can'tlive without 'em; and so you may rest content with that; it's the truth, it is for sure. "

"Mother, " said Betty, mournfully, "can you really talk in that fashionto fayther, when you know how the drink's been the cause of all themisery in our house, till it's driven our poor Sammul away to crouch himdown on other folk's hearth-stones in foreign parts? I should havethought we might all have learnt a lesson by this time. "

"It's no use talking, child, " replied her mother; "you go your way, andtake your fayther with you if he's a mind, but don't think to come overme with your talk; I'm not a babe, I can take care of myself. Thedrink's good enough in moderation, and I'm going to be moderate. Butlads and wenches is so proud now-a-days that mothers has to hearken andchilder does the teaching. "

Poor Betty! she sighed, and said no more. Johnson also saw that it wasno use reasoning with his wife. Her appetite for the drink wasunquenchable. It was clear that she loved it better than husband, children, home, conscience, soul. Alas! poor Thomas's was a heavyburden indeed. Could he only have been sure that his son was alive andwell, he could have borne his troubles better; but now he seemed crushedto the very earth. And yet, strange as it might seem, he did not feeltempted to fly to the drink again for consolation; he rather shrank fromthe very sight and thought of it. Ah, there were many prayers beingoffered up for him; unseen hands were guiding him, and in his home wasthe daily presence of one who was indeed a help and comfort to him. Heclung to Betty now, and she to him, with a peculiar tenderness. _Her_heart was full of the warm glow of unselfish love, and his was learningto expand and unfold under the influence of her bright example. Theirswas a common sorrow and a common hope, as far as Samuel was concerned. Why had he not written to them from Liverpool, or from whatever port hehad sailed from? That he _had_ gone beyond the sea, they were bothfirmly convinced. Betty, of course, had her own special sorrow. Shecould not forget that terrible night--she could not forget the knife andthe blood--though she was still fully persuaded that her brother had notlaid violent hands on himself. But oh, if he would only write, what aload of misery would be taken off both their hearts; yet no letter came. November wore away, December came and went, the new year began, stillthere was no news of Samuel. Ned Brierley did all he could to consolethe unhappy father and daughter, and with some success. He was veryurgent with Thomas to sign the pledge, and thus openly join himself tothe little band of total abstainers, and Thomas had pretty nearly madeup his mind to do so. He had hesitated, not so much because he dreadedthe sneers and jeers of his companions--he had become callous to those--but he shrank from encountering the daily, wearing, gnawing trial of hiswife's taunts and reproaches; for the restless uneasiness of aconscience not yet quite seared into utter insensibility made theunhappy woman doubly bitter in her attacks upon abstinence andabstainers. And thus matters were when February opened. 

It was on a clear frosty evening in the beginning of that month thatBetty was returning from the mill. They were running short time thatweek, and she was coming home about an hour earlier than usual. Theground was hard and crisp, and the setting sun sank a misty red, while agreyish-yellow tint overspread the whole horizon. Betty toiled slowlyand listlessly up the hill, the old weight still on her heart. She hadnearly reached her home, when a sound fearfully loud and awful, like thedischarge of the cannon of two conflicting armies underground in onevast but muffled roar, made her heart almost stand still with terror. The next instant a huge body of sulphurous smoke leaped high into theair from one of the pit-mouths. In a moment the dreadful cry arose, "The pit's fired!"

The next minute men, women, and children poured out from houses andcottages, horror and dismay on every face. Near two hundred men andboys were down that pit; scarce a house but had one or more below. Oh, who could adequately describe the dreadful scene of misery, wailing; andconfusion which followed!

Betty knew that her father was down, and she felt that in him all shehad to cling to on earth was now, perhaps, torn from her for ever. Menand women rushed past her towards the pit's mouth. 

"Lord help us, " groaned one poor mother; "our Thomas and Matthew'sdown. "

"Fayther's there too, " wailed Betty. "Oh, the Lord keep him, and bringhim up safe. "

"Where's our Bill?--oh, have you seen anything of our Bill?" shriekedanother poor distracted mother. 

Then came crowds of men, with overlookers and policemen. Then a hastyconsultation was held as to what must be done. 

"Who'll volunteer to go down with me and send the poor fellows up?"cries the overlooker. Three men come forward, and step with him intothe tub; not a word do they say, but they look quite calm and self-possessed--they have a work to do, and they will do it. And now thewomen are clustered round on the pit-bank in haggard expectation, thevery picture of woe, some wild in their cries, others rocking themselvesto and fro to still, if it may be, their misery; and others bowed downto the earth, the very image of mute despair. And now the wheelsrapidly revolve, the rope runs swiftly, at last it slackens speed. Thetub reaches the top--two ghastly forms are lifted from it--the women, with straining eyes, pressing forward to look. Oh, what a sight! thefiery stream has scorched the faces and limbs of the poor men almost outof knowledge. Again the tub descends, again other sufferers are raised, and still the same sad work continues hour after hour, far into thenight. Some of those brought up are quite dead, poor blackened corpses;others still live, and are borne home, moaning piteously. From thelimbs of many the skin peels with a touch. Some, less terribly injured, run and leap like madmen when they reach the open fresh air; some comeup utterly blinded. And oh, what a vale of tears is that village ofLanghurst the livelong night! Some call in vain for fathers, husbands, brothers; they have not yet been found. Some wring their hands overbodies which can never live again till the resurrection morning; somelovingly tend those who lie racked with agony on their beds, every limbwrithing with fiery anguish; while some poor victims are so scorched andblackened that none can be found to claim them--one can only be known byhis watch-chain, so completely is he burnt out of all remembrance. Andwhat of poor Johnson? Hour after hour Betty and her mother watched nearthe pit's mouth, sick with sorrow and suspense, pressing forward as eachfresh tub-load landed its miserable burden, still to be disappointed;while the wailings, the cries, the tears of those who claimed the dead, the dying, the scorched, on every fresh arrival, only added fuel totheir burning grief. At last, about midnight, three men were brought upand laid on the bank, all apparently lifeless. 

"Oh, there's fayther!"

"Oh, there's Thomas!" burst from the lips of Betty and her mother. 

"Oh, take him home, take him home, live or dead, " entreated Betty. 

He was placed accordingly on a shutter, and carried by four men to hishome. There they laid the body down on the couch, and left it alonewith the mother and daughter. Alice wrung her hands in the bitterestdistress. 

"Oh, he's dead, he's dead; he'll never speak to us any more. "

"Mother, hush!" said Betty, softly; "he's not dead, I can see his lipsmove and his breast heave. Maybe the Lord'll be merciful to us, andspare him. O Father in heaven, " she cried, throwing herself on herknees, "do hear us, and spare poor fayther, for Jesus' sake. "

The sufferer uttered a deep groan. 

"Ay, ay, Betty, " cried her mother, "the Lord be praised, there's life inhim yet. Run to old Jenny's, and ask her to come and help us. Hermaster's all right; she'll be glad to give a helping hand to a neighbourin trouble. "

But there was no need to send for assistance, for in a minute after, thecottage was filled with women, eager to use both hands and tongues inthe sufferer's service. They carried him to his bed, and gently removedhis clothes from him, though not without great difficulty, for he wasfearfully burnt; and the act of taking off his clothing caused him greatagony, as the skin came away with some of his inner garments. At lasthe was made as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances, tillthe doctor should come and dress his burns. Betty sat watching him, while her mother and the other women gathered round the fire below, withtheir pipes and their drink, trying to drown sorrow. She, poor girl, knew where to seek a better consolation; she sought, and found it. Atlast her mother's step was again on the stairs; she came up unsteadily, and with flushed face approached the bed where her husband lay. She hada mug of spirits in her hand. 

"I'll give him a drop of this, " she said thickly; "it'll put life intohim in no time. "

"Oh, mother, " cried Betty, "you mustn't do it; it's wrong, you'll be thedeath of him. "

But Alice would not heed her. She put some of the spirits in a spoon tothe poor sufferer's lips. She was astonished to find him perfectlyconscious, for he closed his mouth tightly, and shook his scarred facefrom side to side. 

"He won't have it, mother, " said Betty, earnestly. 

"Give me a drink of cold water, " said the poor man in a low voice. Betty fetched it him. "Ay, that's it; I want nothing stronger. "

Alice slipped down again to her companions below, but her daughterremained in the chamber. 

It was a desolate room, as desolate as poverty and drink could make it;and now it looked doubly desolate, as the scorched figure of the oldcollier lay motionless on the low, comfortless, curtainless bed. A dipin an old wine bottle standing on a box threw a gloomy light on thedisfigured features, which looked almost unearthly in the clearmoonlight which struggled with the miserable twinkling of the feeblecandle, and fell just across the bed. Betty sat gazing at her father, full of anxious and sorrowful thoughts. How solemn the contrast betweenthe stillness of that sick-chamber and the Babel of eager tongues in thehouse below! She felt unspeakably wretched, and yet there was a senseof rebuke in her conscience, for she knew how great a mercy it was thather father's life was spared. She sighed deeply, and then, suddenlyrising quietly, she lifted the lid of the box, and brought out a well-worn Bible. She was not much of a scholar, but she could make out averse or a passage in the Holy Book with a little pains. She had puther mark against favourite passages, and now she turned to some ofthese. 

"`Come, unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will giveyou rest. '"

She paused on each word, uttering it half aloud, as she travelledcarefully from one line to another. 

"Ah, that's what I want, " she said to herself, but in an audiblewhisper. "It means, Come to Jesus, I know. "

She turned over several more leaves, and then she read again, and ratherlouder, --

"`Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. And thepeace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your heartsand minds, through Christ Jesus. '

"Oh yes, I must do so myself; I must tell the Lord all my trouble; myheart'll be lighter, when I've told it all to him. "

She stopped, and put the book aside, resting her head on her hands. Shewas startled by hearing her father say, --

"It's very good. Read on, Betty, my lass. "

"Oh, fayther, I didn't think you could hear me! What shall I read?"

"Read about some poor sinner like me, that got his sins pardoned byJesus Christ. "

"I can't justly say where it is, fayther; but I know there's one placewhere it tells of a sinful man as had his sins pardoned by Jesus Christ, even when he hung upon the cross. I know well it was when the Lord werea-dying. Ah, here it is;" and she read, --

"`And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, Ifthou be Christ, save thyself and us. But the other answering, rebukedhim, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the samecondemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward ofour deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss. And he said untoJesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesussaid unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me inparadise. '"

"Do you think, Betty, " asked Johnson very earnestly, "I should go to bewith Jesus, if I were to die now? Oh, if this pain's so bad, what musthell-fire be?"

"Fayther, " replied his daughter quietly, "the Lord's spared you forsummat. I prayed him to spare you, and he'll not cast you off now ashe's heard my prayer. If you take him at his word, he'll not tell youas you're mistaken--he'll not say he hasn't pardon in his heart foryou. "

"I believe it, I will believe it, " said the poor man, the tears runningdown his cheeks. "O God, be merciful to me a sinner, for Jesus Christ'ssake, "--there was a pause; then, after a while, he added, "I think ashe'll hear me, Betty. "

"I am sure he will, " she answered; "but you must lie still, fayther, ormaybe you'll do yourself harm. The doctor'll be here just now. "

It was a night of darkness and terror, yet even on that sad night therewas glorious light which man's eye could not see, for there was joy inthe presence of the angels of God over at least one penitent sinner inLanghurst. But how full of gloom to most! Many had been cut off in themidst of their sins, and those who mourned their loss sorrowed as thosewho have no hope. Two of poor Johnson's persecutors were suddenlysnatched away in their impenitence and hardness of heart, a third wascrippled for life. Yet the drink kept firm hold of its victims--thevery night of the explosion the "George" gathered a golden harvest. Death in its ghastliest forms only seemed to whet the thirst for thedrink. At one house, while the blackened corpse lay in its clothes onthe outside of the bed, preparatory to its being laid out, the deadman's widow and her female helpers sat refreshing themselves, anddriving away care, with large potations of tea, made palatable with rum, and that so near the corpse that any one of the party could have touchedit without rising from her seat. 

The shock caused by the explosion was a terrible one, but its stunningeffects passed away, only to leave the most who felt that shock harderand more indifferent than ever. Yet in one house that awful blow wasfound to be a messenger of mercy. Thomas Johnson rose from his bed ofpain a changed and penitent man. Oh, what a happy day it was to NedBrierley and his little band of stanch Christian abstainers, when Thomascame forward, as he soon did, and manfully signed the pledge, asresolved henceforth to be, with God's help, consistent anduncompromising in his entire renunciation of all intoxicating drinks!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

MIDNIGHT DARKNESS. 

When Thomas Johnson signed the pledge, a storm of persecution broke uponhim which would have rather staggered an ordinary man; but, as we havesaid before, Thomas was no ordinary character, but one of those men whoare born to do good service under whatever banner they may rangethemselves. He had long served in Satan's army, and had worked well forhim. But now he had chosen another Captain, even the Lord Jesus Christhimself, and he was prepared to throw all the energy and decision of hischaracter into his work for his new and heavenly Master, and to endurehardness as a good soldier of the Captain of his salvation. For he hadneed indeed to count the cost. He might have done anything else hepleased, except give up the drink and turn real Christian, and no onewould have quarrelled with him. He might have turned his wife anddaughter out to starve in the streets, and his old boon-companions wouldhave forgotten all about it over a pot of beer. But to sign thepledge?--this was indeed unpardonable. And why? Because the drunkardcannot afford to let a fellow-victim escape: he has himself lost peace, hope, character, home, happiness, and is drinking his soul into hell, and every fellow-drunkard reformed and removed from his side makes hisconscience more bare, and exposed to the glare of that eternal wrathwhich he tries to shut out from his consciousness, and partly succeeds, as he gathers about him those like-minded with himself. So every pettyinsult and annoyance was heaped upon Johnson by his former companions:they ridiculed his principles, they questioned his sincerity, theyscoffed at the idea of his continuing firm, they attributed all sorts ofbase motives to him. He was often sorely provoked, but he acted uponthe advice of that holy man who tells us that, when people throw mud atus, our wisdom is to leave it to dry, when it will fall off of itself, and not to smear our clothes by trying of ourselves to wipe it off. Hehad hearty helpers in Ned Brierley and his family; Ned himself being aspecial support, for the persecutors were all afraid of him. But hischief earthly comforter was Betty. Oh, how she rejoiced in her father'sconversion and in his signing the pledge! Oh, if Samuel would onlywrite, how happy she should be! She would write back and tell him ofthe great and blessed change wrought by grace in their father, and maybehe would come back again to them when he heard it. But he came not, hewrote not; and this was the bitterest sorrow to both Betty and herfather. Johnson knew that his own sin had driven his son away, and hetried therefore to take the trial patiently, as from the hand of aFather who was chastening him in love. Betty longed for her brother'sreturn, or at least to hear from him, with a sickening intensity, whichgrew day by day; for though she was really convinced that he had notdestroyed himself, yet dreadful misgivings would cross her mind fromtime to time. The knife, with its discoloured blade, was still in herpossession, and the mystery about it remained entirely unexplained. Butshe too prayed for patience, and God gave it to her; for hers was thesimple prayer of a loving, trusting, and believing heart. Perhaps, however, the sorest trial to both Johnson and his daughter was theconduct of Alice. She was bitterly incensed at her husband's signingthe pledge. No foul language was too bad for him; and as for Betty, shecould hardly give her a civil word. They both, however, bore itpatiently. At one time she would be furious, at another moodily silentand sulky for days. But what made the miserable woman most outrageouswas the fact that her husband would not trust her with any money, butput his wages into the hands of Betty, to purchase what was wanted forthe family, and to pay off old scores. She was therefore at her wits'end how to get the drink, for the drink she would have. Johnson, withhis characteristic decision, had gone round to the different publicansin Langhurst and the neighbourhood, taking Ned Brierley with him aswitness, and had plainly given them to understand that he would pay forno more drink on his wife's account. He then came home and told herwhat he had done, when he was alone with her and Betty. Poor miserablewoman! She became perfectly livid with passion, and was about to pourout her rage in a torrent of furious abuse, when Johnson rose from hisseat, and looking her steadily in the face, said in a moderately loudand very determined voice, --

"Alice, sit you down and hearken to me. "

There was something in his manner which forced her to obey. She droppedinto a chair by the fire, and burst into a hurricane of tears. He lether spend herself, and then, himself sitting down, he said, --

"Alice, you've known me long enough to be sure that I'm not the sort ofman to be turned from my purpose. You and I have lived together manyyears now, and all on 'em's been spent in the service of the devil. I'mnot laying the blame more on you nor on myself. I've been the worse, itmay be, of the two. But I can't go on as I have done. The Lord hasbeen very merciful to me, or I shouldn't be here now. I've served theold lad too long by the half, and I mean now to serve a better Mayster, and to serve him gradely too, if he'll only help me--and our Betty saysshe's sure he will, for the Book says so. Now, if I'm to be a gradelyservant of the Lord Jesus Christ, I must be an honest man--I must pay myway if I can; but I can't pay at all if my brass is to go for thedrink--and you know, Alice, you can't deny it, that you'd spend thebrass in drink if I gave it yourself. But, more nor that, if I'd asmuch brass as'd fill the coal-pit, shaft and all, I'd not give myconsent to any on it's going for the drink. I know that you can dowithout the drink if you've a mind. I know you'll be all the better bybeing without it. I know, and you know yourself, that it's swallowed upthe clothes from your own back, and starved and beggared us all. Ifyou'll give it up, and live without it like a Christian woman should, you'll never have an afterthought; and as soon as I see that you can betrusted with the brass, I'll give it you again with all my heart. Come, Alice, there's a good wench; you mustn't think me hard. I've been ahard husband, and fayther too, for years, but I must be different now;and I'll try and do my duty by you all, and folks may just say what theyplease. "

Alice did not reply a word; her passion had cooled, and she sat rockingherself backwards and forwards, with her apron to her eyes, sobbingbitterly. She knew her husband too well to think of deliberatelyattempting to make him change his purpose, yet she was equally resolvedthat the drink she would and must have. At last she said, with manytears, --

"Well, Thomas, you must please yourself. I know well, to my cost, thatI might as well try and turn the hills wrong side out as turn you fromwhat you've set your heart on. But you know all the while that I can'tdo without my little drop of drink. Well, it makes no odds whether Istarve to death or die for want of the drink--there'll be short workwith me one road or the other; and then you and Betty can fill up myplace with some of them teetottal chaps you're both so fond on, when I'min the ground. "

Johnson made no reply, but shortly after left for his work, as he was inthe night-shift that week. 

Alice sat for a long time turning over in her mind what steps to take inorder to get the means for satisfying her miserable appetite. She hadno money; she knew that none of the publicans would trust her anylonger; and as for pawning any articles, she had pawned alreadyeverything that she dared lay her hands on. Her only hope now was inBetty; she would speak her fair, and see if she could not so work uponher feelings as to induce her to give her part of her own wages. 

"Betty, " she said, softly and sadly, "you're all the wenches I have; ay, and all the childer too, for our Sammul's as good as dead and gone, weshall never see him no more--ah, he _was_ a good lad to his poor mother;he'd never have grudged her the brass to buy a drop of drink. You'llnot do as your father's doing--break your old mother's heart, and lether waste and die out for want of a drop of drink. "

"Mother, " replied Betty very quietly, but with a great deal of herfather's decision in her manner, "I can't go against what fayther's mademe promise. I've worked for you ever since I were a little wench scarcehigher nor the table; and I'll work for you and fayther still, and youshall neither on you want meat nor drink while I've an arm to work with;but I can't give you the brass yourself 'cos it'll only go into thepublican's pocket, and we've nothing to spare for him. "

"You might have plenty to spare if you'd a mind, " said her mother, gloomily. 

"No, mother; all fayther's brass, and all my brass too, 'll have to goto pay old debts for many a long week to come. "

"Ah, but you might have as much brass as you liked, if you'd only go theright way to work. "

"As much brass as I like. I can't tell what you mean, mother; you mustbe dreaming, I think. "

"I'm not dreaming, " said Alice. "There's Widow Reeves, she's no betterwage nor you, and yet she's always got brass to spare for gin andbaccy. "

"Widow Reeves! mother--yes, but it's other folks' brass, and not herown. "

"Well, but she manages to get the brass anyhow, " said her mother coolly. 

"I know she does, mother, and she's the talk of the whole village. She's in debt to every shop for miles round, and never pays nowt tonobody. "

"Maybe she don't, " said Alice carelessly, "but she's always brass tospare in her pocket, and so might you. "

"I couldn't do it, " cried Betty vehemently, "I couldn't do it, mother. It's a sin and a shame of Widow Reeves--she takes her brass for a bit tothe last new shop as turns up, and then runs up a long score, and leaveswithout paying. "

"Well, that's her concern, not mine, " said the other; "I'm not saying asit's just right; you needn't do as she does--but you're not bound to pay_all_ up at once, you might hold back a little each now and then, andyou'd have summat to spare for your poor old mother. "

"But I've promised fayther, and he trusts me. "

"Promised fayther!--you need say nowt to your fayther about it--he'llnever be none the wiser. "

"O mother, mother, how can you talk so, after all as is come and gone!How can you ask me to cheat my own poor fayther, as is so changed? he'strying gradely to get to heaven, and to bring you along with him too, and you're wanting to pull us all back. Mother, mother, how can you doit? How can you ask me to go agen fayther when he leaves all to me?You're acting the devil's part, mother, when you 'tice your own child todo wrong. Oh, it's cruel, it's cruel, when you know, if I were todeceive fayther it'd break his heart. But it's the drink that's beenspeaking. Oh, the cursed drink! that can pluck a mother's heart out ofher bosom, and make her the tempter of her own child! I must leave you, mother, now. I durstn't stay. I might say summat as I shouldn't, for Iam your child still. But oh, mother, pray God to forgive you for whatyou've said to me this night; and may the Lord indeed forgive you, as Ipray that I may have grace to do myself. " So saying, she hastily threwher handkerchief over her head and left the cottage. 

And what were Alice Johnson's thoughts when she was left alone? She satstill by the fire, and never moved for a long time. Darkness, midnightdarkness, a horror of darkness, was settling down on her soul. She hadno false support now from the drink, and so her physical state added toher utter depression. Conscience began to speak as it had never spokenbefore; and then came pressing on her the horrible craving, which shehad no means now of gratifying. The past and the future fastened uponher soul like the fiery fangs of two fearful snakes. She saw the wastedpast--her children neglected; her home desolate, empty, foul, comfortless; her husband and herself wasting life in the indulgence oftheir common sin, living without God in the world;--she saw herself thecause, in part at least, of her son's flight; she remembered how she hadever set herself against his joining the band of total abstainers;--andnow she beheld herself about the vilest thing on earth--a motherdeliberately tempting her daughter to deceive her father, that herselfmight gratify her craving for the drink. Oh, how she loathed herself!oh, what a horror crept over her soul! Could she really be so utterlyvile? could she really have sunk so low? And then came up before herthe yet more fearful future: her husband no longer a companion with herin her sin--she must sin alone; her daughter alienated from her by herown act; and then the drink, for which she had sold herself body andsoul, she must be without it, she must crave and not be satisfied--thethought was intolerable, it was madness. But there was a fartherfuture; there was in the far distance the blackness of darkness forever, yet rendered visible by the glare of a coming hell. Eveningthickened round her, but she sat on. The air all about her seemedcrowded with spirits of evil; her misery became deeper and deeper; shedid not, she could not repent--and what then?

An hour later Betty returned from Ned Brierley's. Where was Alice?Betty looked for her, but she was nowhere to be found; she called her, but there was no answer. She concluded that she had gone into aneighbour's, and sat down waiting for her till she grew weary: her heartwas softened towards her; she would pray for her, she would try still towin her back from the bondage of Satan; she was her mother still. Hourafter hour passed, but still her mother did not come. Betty took alight, and went up into the chamber to fetch her Bible. Somethingunusual near the door caught her eye--with a scream of terror she dartedforward. Oh, what a sight! her miserable mother was hanging behind thedoor from a beam! Betty's repeated screams brought in the neighbours;they found the wretched woman quite dead. She had sinned away her dayof grace; and was gone to give in her account of body, soul, time, talents, utterly wasted, and of her life taken by her own hands; andall--all under the tyranny of the demon of drink. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

PLOTTING. 

When Betty's cries of horror brought the neighbours round her, theyfound the poor girl lying insensible by the corpse of her mother, whichwas still suspended by the beam behind the door. They cut down thewretched creature, and tried everything to restore her to consciousness;but life was fled--the day of trial was over. Johnson returned from thepit, from whence he was summoned, to find his wife dead, destroyed byher own hand; and Betty utterly prostrate on her bed with the terribleand agonising shock. 

Oh, drink, drink! most heartless of all fiendish destroyers, thou dostkill thy victims with a smile, plucking away from them every stay andsupport that keeps them from the pit of destruction; robbing them ofevery comfort, while hugging them in an embrace which promises delight, and yet crushes out the life-blood both of body and soul; makingmerriment in the eye and on the tongue, while home, love, character, andpeace are melting and vanishing away. Wretched Alice! she might havebeen a happy mother, a happy wife, with her children loving, honouring, and blessing her; but she had sold herself for the drink, and a life ofshame and a death of despair were her miserable reward. 

Poor Johnson's life was now a very weary one. He had hope indeed tocheer him--a better than any earthly hope, a hope full of immortality. Still he was but a beginner in the Christian life, and had hard work tostruggle on through the gloom towards the guiding light through the deepshadows of earth that were thickening around him. Betty tried to cheerhim; but, poor girl, she needed cheering herself. Her brother's flight;the uncertainty as to what had really become of him; the hope deferredof hearing from him which made her heart sick; and now the dreadfuldeath of her unhappy mother, and that, too, so immediately following ontheir last miserable conversation;--all these sorrows combined weigheddown her spirit to the very dust. She longed to flee away and be atrest; but she could not escape into forgetfulness, and she would not flyfrom duty. So a dark cloud hung over that home, and it was soon to bedarker still. Ned Brierley was appointed manager of a colliery inWales, at a place a hundred miles or more from Langhurst, and a fewmonths after Alice Johnson's death he removed to his new situation, withall his family. A night or two before he left he called upon Johnson. 

"Well, my lad, " he said, taking a seat near the fire, "I reckon you andI mayn't meet again for many a long day. But if you're coming our sideat any time, we shall be right glad to see you, and Betty too, and giveyou a hearty total abstainer's welcome. "

"I'm afraid, " said Betty, "that fayther nor me's not like to betravelling your road. I'm sure I'm glad you're a-going to betteryourselves, for you desarve it; but it'll be the worse for us. "

"Ay, " said Johnson despondingly; "first one prop's taken away, and thenanother; and after a bit the roof'll fall in, and make an end on us. "

"Nay, nay, man, " said his friend reprovingly, "it's not come to thatyet. You forget the best of all Friends, the Lord Jesus Christ. Heever liveth; and hasn't he said, `I will never leave thee nor forsakethee?'"

"That's true, " replied the other; "but I can't always feel it. He'shelped me afore now, and I know as he'll help me again--but I can'talways trust him as I should. "

"Ah, but you _must_ trust him, " said Brierley earnestly; "you must stickfirm to your Saviour. And you must stick firm to your pledge, Thomas--promise me that. "

"Yes; by God's help, so I will, " was the reply; "only I see I shall havehard work. But it's no odds, they can't make me break if I'm resolvedthat I won't. "

"No, fayther, " said his daughter; "and they can't go the breadth of athread further nor the Lord permits. "

"That's true, Betty, my lass, " said Ned; "so cheer up, Thomas. I feelsure--I can't tell you why, but I do feel sure--that the Lord'll bringback your Sammul again. He'll turn up some day, take my word for it. So don't lose heart, Thomas; but remember how the blessed Book says, `Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. '"

"God bless you, " said Johnson, squeezing Ned's hand hard; "you're agradely comforter. "

And so they parted. 

It was not long, however, before Thomas's patience was tried to theuttermost. His enemies let him alone for a short time after his wife'sdeath--for there is a measure of rugged consideration even amongprofligates and drunkards. But a storm had been brewing, and it fell atlast when Ned Brierley had been gone from Langhurst about a month. Adesperate effort was made to get Johnson back to join his old companionsat the "George, " and when this utterly failed, every spiteful thing thatmalice could suggest and ingenuity effect was practised on theunfortunate collier, and in a measure upon Betty also. But, like thewind in the fable, this storm only made Johnson wrap himself round morefirmly in the folds of his own strong resolution, rendered doubly strongby prayer. Such a thought as yielding never crossed his mind. His onlyanxiety was how best to bear the cross laid on him. There were, ofcourse, other abstainers in Langhurst besides the Brierleys, and thesebacked him up, so that by degrees his tormentors began to let him alone, and gave him a space for breathing, but they never ceased to have an eyetowards him for mischief. 

The month of October had now come, when one evening, as Johnson andBetty were sitting at tea after their day's work, there was a knock atthe door, and immediately afterwards a respectable-looking man entered, and asked, --

"Does not Thomas Johnson live here?"

"Yes; he does, " was Johnson's reply. 

"And I suppose, then, you're Thomas Johnson yourself?" said thestranger. 

"I reckon you're not so far wrong, " was the answer. 

"Ah, well; so it is for sure, " broke out Betty. "Why, you're theteetottal chap as came a-lecturing when me and our poor Sammul signedthe pledge. "

"Sit ye down, sit ye down, " cried her father; "you're welcome to ourhouse, though it is but a sorrowful one. "

"I think, my friend, " said the stranger, "that you are one of us now. "

"You may well say _now_, " replied the other, "for when you was hereafore, you'd a gone out of the door a deal quicker nor you came in; but, I bless the Lord, things are changed now. "

"Yes, indeed, " said the other, "it is the Lord's doing, and it ismarvellous in our eyes; though, indeed, he does work such wonderfulthings that we've daily cause to bless and praise him. Well, myfriend--for we are friends, I see, in the best of bonds now--I have notlong to stay now, but I just want to ask you one thing. I should liketo have a total abstinence meeting next month in Langhurst. Will yousay a word for us? We want some working man who has been rescued, through God's mercy, from the chains of the drink, to stand up and tell, in a simple, straightforward way, what he once was, and what God hasdone for him as a pledged abstainer; and I judge, from what I hear, thatyou're just the man we want. "

Johnson paused for a while. 

"I don't know, " he said, shaking his head; "I don't know. I'm not sosure it'll do at all. "

"Oh, fayther, " cried Betty, "you must do what the gentleman axes you. It may do good to some poor creatures, and lead 'em to sign. It's onlya small candle-end as the Lord's given such as we are, but we must lightit, and let it shine. "

"Well, " said her father, slowly, "maybe I oughtn't to say `No;' and yetyou may be sure, if it gets talked on in the village, it's little peaceas I shall have. "

"Well, my friend, " said the stranger, "of course I don't wish to bringyou into trouble. Still this is one of the ways in which you may takeup a cross nobly for your Saviour, and he'll give the strength to carryit. "

"Say no more, " replied Johnson; "if the Lord spares me, they shall heara gradely tale from me. "

It was soon noised abroad in Langhurst that Thomas Johnson was to givean account of himself as a reformed man and a total abstainer, at ameeting to be held in the village in the following month of November. 

His old companions were half mad with rage and vexation. What could bedone? They were determined that he should be served out in some way, and that he should be prevented from appearing at the meeting. Comewhat would, he should not stand up and triumph in his teetotalism on theplatform--that they were quite resolved on. Some scheme or plan must bedevised to hinder it. And fortune seemed to favour them. 

A short time after it became generally known that Johnson was to speak, a young lad might be seen hurrying home in his coal-pit-clothes to alow, dirty-looking cottage that stood on the outskirts of the village. 

"Mother, " cried the boy, as soon as he reached the house and couldrecover his breath, "where's fayther?"

"He's not come home yet, " said the mother; "but what ails you, John?"

"Why, mother, " said the boy, with trembling voice, "fayther gave me ashilling to get change just as we was leaving the pit-bank, and Idropped it somewhere as I were coming down the lane. I'm almost sureBen Taylor's lad found it, and picked it up; but when I axed him if hehadn't got it, he said `No, ' and told me he'd knock my head against thewall if I didn't hold my noise. I see'd fayther go by at the lane end, but he didn't see me. He'll thrash the life out of me if he finds I'velost the shilling. --I've run for my life, but he'll be here directly. You must make it right, mother--you must. "

"Ay, ay, lad; I'll speak to your fayther. He shan't beat you. Justkeep out of the road till he's cooled down a bit. Eh! here he comes forsure, and a lot of his mates with him. There--just creep under thecouch-chair, lad. They'll not tarry so long. Fayther'll be off to the`George' as soon as he's had his tea. "

So the poor boy crept under the couch, the hanging drapery effectuallyhiding him from the view of any who might come in. Another moment, andWill Jones the father entered the house with half-a-dozen companions. 

"Well, and what's up now?" asked the wife, as the men seatedthemselves--some on chairs, and one or two on the couch. 

"Never you heed, Martha, " said her husband; "but just clap to the door, and take yourself off to Molly Grundy's, or anywhere else you've amind. "

"I can tell you I shall do nothing of the sort, " was the reply. "Alikely thing, indeed, as I'm to take myself off and leave my own hearth-stone while a parcel of chaps is turning the house out of the windows. If you're up to that sort of game, or if you want to be talking anythingas decent folk shouldn't hear, you'd better be off to the `George. 'It's the fittest place for such work. "

"Eh! don't vex Martha, " said one of the men. "She'll promise not tosplit, I'll answer for it. Won't you, Martha?"

"Eh, for sure, " said Martha, "if you're bound to have your talk here, you needn't be afraid of me; only I hope you're not going to do anythingas'll bring us into trouble. "

"Never fear, " said her husband; "there, sit you down and mend yourstockings, and the less you heed us the less you'll have to afterthink. "

The men then began to talk together in a loudish whisper. 

"Tommy Jacky'll be making a fine tale about you and me, " said Jones. "Eh, what a sighing and groaning there will be; and then we shall see inthe papers, `Mr Johnson finished his speech amidst loud applause. '"

"Eh, but we must put a stopper in his mouth, " said another. 

"But how must we do it?" asked a third. "Thomas is not the chap to bescared out of what he's made up his mind to. "

"No, " remarked another; "and there's many a one as'd stand by him if wewere to try anything strong. "

"Can't we shame him at the meeting?" asked another. 

"Nay, " said Jones, "he's gradely. You couldn't shame him by tellingfolks what he was; and all as knows him knows as he's kept his teetottalstrict enough. "

"I have it!" cried a man, the expression of whose face was a sad mixtureof sensuality, shrewdness, and malice. "I'll just tell you what we'lldo. You know how people keeps saying--`What a changed man Johnson is!how respectable and clean he looks! how tidy he's dressed when he goesto church on a Sunday!--you've only to look in his face to see he's achanged man. ' Now, I'll just tell you what we'll do, if you've a mindto stand by me and give me a help. It'll do him no harm in the end, and'll just take a little of the conceit out on him. And won't it justspoil their sport at the meeting!"

"Tell us what it is, man, " cried all the others eagerly. 

"Well, you know the water-butt at the back of Thomas's house. Well, youcan reach the windows of the chamber by standing on the butt. Thewindow's not hard to open, for I've often seen Alice throw it up; andI'm sure it's not fastened. Now, just suppose we waits till the nightafore the meeting; that'll be the twenty-second--there'll be no moonthen. Thomas won't be in the night-shift that week. I know he sleepssound, for I've heard their Betty say as it were the only thing as kept'em up, that they slept both on 'em so well. Suppose, then, as we getsa goodish-sized furze bush or two, and goes round to the back about twoo'clock in the morning. We must have a rope or two; then we must takeoff our clogs, and climb up by the water-butt. The one as goes up firstmust have a dark lantern. Well, then, we must creep quietly in, andjust lap a rope loosely round the bed till we're all ready. Then we'lljust tighten the rope so that he can't move, and I'll scratch his sweetface all over with the furze; and one of you chaps must have somegunpowder and lamp-black ready to rub it well into his face where it'sbeen scratched. You must stuff a clout into his mouth if he offers toholler. We can do it all in two minutes by the help of the lantern. The light'll dazzle him so as he'll not be able to make any on us out;and then we must slip out of the window and be off afore he's had timeto wriggle himself out of the ropes. Eh, won't he be a lovely picturnext day!--his best friends, as they say, won't know him. Won't he justlook purty at the meeting! There's a model teetottaller for you! Doyou think he'll have the face to say then, `You've heard, ladies andgentlemen, what I once was; you see what I am now?' Oh, what a raregame it'll be!"

This proposition was received by the rest of the company with roars oflaughter and the fullest approbation. 

"It'll be first-rate, " said Jones, "if we can only manage it. "

"Surely, " said another, "he'll never dare show his face out of thedoor. "

"Ah, but, " suggested one, "what about Betty? She's sure to wake andspoil it all. It's too risky, with her sleeping close by. "

"No, " said another man, "it'll just be all right. Betty'll be off atRochdale visiting her aunt. Our Mary heard Fanny Higson and Bettytalking it over at the mill a day or two since. `So you'll not be atthe meeting?' says Fanny. `Why not?' says Betty. `'Cos you'll be offat your aunt's at Rochdale, ' says Fanny. `Ah, but I'm bound to be backfor the meeting, and hear fayther tell his tale, ' says Betty. `I'll beback some time in the forenoon, to see as fayther has his Sunday shirtand shoes, and his clothes all right, and time enough to dress myselffor the meeting. Old Jenny'll see to fayther while I'm off. It'll beall right if I'm at home some time in the forenoon. ' So you see, mates, it couldn't be better; as the parson says, it's quite a providence. "

"Well, what say you?" cried Will Jones. "Shall we strike hands on it?"

All at once shook hands, vowing to serve out poor Johnson. 

"Ay, " exclaimed one, "we must get the chap as takes photographs to comeover on purpose. Eh, what a rare cart-der-wissit Tommy'll make arterthe scratching. You must lay in a lot on 'em, Will, and sell 'em forsixpence a piece. You'll make your fortune by it, man. "

"Martha, " said Jones, turning to his wife, "mind, not a word to anyliving soul about what we've been saying. "

"I've said I won't tell, " replied his wife; "and in course I won't. ButI'm sure you might find summat better to do nor scratching a poorfellow's face as has done you no harm. I'm not fond of your teetottalchaps; but Tommy's a quiet, decent sort of man, and their Betty's astidy a wench as you'll meet with anywhere; and I think it's a shame tobring 'em any more trouble, for they've had more nor their share as itis. It'd be a rare and good thing if some of you chaps'd follow Tommy'sexample. There'd be more peace in the house, and more brass in thepocket at the week end. "

"Hold your noise, and mind your own business, " shouted her husband, fiercely. "You just blab a word of what we've been saying, and see howI'll sarve you out. --Come, mates, let's be off to the `George;' we shallfind better company there. "

So saying, he strode savagely out of the cottage, followed by hiscompanions. When they were fairly gone, the poor boy slipped from hishiding-place. 

"Johnny, " said his mother, "if you'll do what your mother bids you, I'llgive your fayther the change for the shilling out of my own pocket, andhe'll never know as you lost it. "

"Well, mother, I'll do it if I can. "

"You've heard what your fayther and t'other chaps were saying?"

"Yes, mother; every word on't. "

"Well, John, I promised I wouldn't let out a word of it myself; but Ididn't say that _you_ shouldn't. "

"Eh, mother, if I split, fayther'll break every bone in my body. "

"But how's your fayther to know anything about it? He knows nothing ofyour being under the couch-chair. I can swear as I haven't opened mylips to any one out of the house, nor to any one as has come into it. You just slip down now to Thomas's, and tell their Betty you wants tospeak with her by herself. Tell her she mustn't say a word to any one. She's a good wench. She's sharp enough, too; she'll keep it all snug. She were very good to me when our Moses were down with the fever, and Imustn't let her get into this trouble when I can lend her a helping handto get her out. "

"But, mother, " said her son, "what am I to tell Betty?"

"Why, just tell her all you've heard, and how you were under the couch-chair, and how I promised myself as I wouldn't split. Tell her she mustmake no din about it, but just keep her fayther out of the way. He maygo off to his brother Dick's, and come home in the morn, and who's tosay as he's heard anything about the scratching. "

"Well, mother, " said John, "I'll do as you say. Betty's a good wench;she's given me many a kind word, and many a butter cake too, and I'd notlike to see her fretting if I could help it. "

"There's a good lad, " said his mother; "be off at once. Fayther's safein the `George. ' It'll be pretty dark in the lane. You can go in atthe back, and you're pretty sure to find Betty at home. Be sharp, andI'll keep your tea for you till you come back again. "

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

FLITTING. 

The twenty-second of November, the day before the total abstinencemeeting, arrived in a storm of wind and rain. Everything was favourableto the conspirators. They had met several times to arrange their plans, but had always talked them over in the open air and in the dark, under ahedge, or at the end of a lane. Martha never alluded to the subjectwith her husband. He had once said to her himself--

"Mind what you've promised. "

She replied, --

"Never fear. I said I wouldn't tell, and I haven't told. I haven'tbreathed a word to any one as wasn't in the house the night when youtalked it over. "

Her husband was satisfied. 

Betty was gone to her aunt's, and it was positively ascertained that shewas not to return that night. Johnson had clearly no intention ofspending the night away from home, for, as he was leaving the pit-bank, when Will Jones stepped up to him and said, --

"Well, Thomas, I suppose you'll have a rare tale to tell about your oldmates to-morrow; we must come all on us and hearken you. "

He had quietly replied, --

"I hope, Will, you'll hear nothing as'll do any of you any harm, and Ihope you wish me none, as I'm sure I don't wish any harm to you. Imustn't tarry now, for our Betty's off; and I've much to do at home, forto-morrow'll be a busy day for me. "

A little later on, towards nine o'clock, one of the men in the plotpassed by Johnson's house, and heard his voice in conversation with someone else. All, therefore, was in a right train for their scheme tosucceed. At ten o'clock the whole party met in a lane near WillJones's. 

"It's all right, " said the man who had heard Johnson in conversationwith another man a short time before. "Thomas'll be fast asleep aforelong. The window's all right, too; I just slipped round to the back andlooked at it. "

"Well, " said Jones, "now we must all on us go home. We mustn't be seentogether. We're all to meet in the field when the church clock strikestwo. Who's got the powder and the lamp-black?"

"I have, " replied a voice. 

"And who's got the ropes?"

"I have, " whispered another. 

"Well, that's all right, " said Will, with a low, chuckling laugh. "I'vegot the lantern and furze. I've picked out some with a rare lot ofpricks on't. I reckon he'll not look so handsome in the morning. "

Quietly and stealthily they separated, and shrunk off to their ownhouses. 

A few hours later, and several dusky figures were slipping along with aslittle noise as possible towards the dwelling of the poor victim. Itwas still very boisterous, but the rain had almost ceased. Thick, heavyclouds, black as ink, were being hurried across the sky, while the windwas whistling keenly round the ends of the houses. There were gaslightswhich flickered in the gale along the main road; but everything was inthe densest gloom at the rear of the buildings and down the sidestreets. As the church clock struck two, the first stroke loud anddistinct, the next like its mournful echo--as the sound was borne awayby the fitful breeze, the conspirators crept with the utmost caution tothe back of Johnson's house. Not a sound but their own muffledfootsteps could be heard. Not a light was visible through any window. No voice except that of the wailing wind broke the deep stillness. Theblack walls of the different dwellings rose up dreary and solemn, withspectral-looking pipes dimly projecting from them. The drip, drip ofthe rain, as it fell off the smoky slates, or streamed down the walls, giving them here and there a dusky glaze, intensified the mournfulloneliness of the whole scene. 

"Crouch you down under the water-butt, " whispered Ben Stone, the man whohad proposed the scheme, and who now acted as leader. 

"Will, give me your shoulder--where's the lantern?"

In another moment he was close to the window, which was gently raised, but at that instant something struck him on the back, he uttered a half-suppressed exclamation, and nearly loosed his hold. 

"It's only a cat, " whispered one of the men below. "All's right. "Stone again raised himself to the window, and pushed it farther up; thenhe drew himself down out of sight and listened. Not a sound came fromthe chamber to show that Johnson's sleep was disturbed. Again the manraised himself. He had previously taken off his clogs, as had also theothers. Very gradually and warily, with suppressed breath, he loweredhimself on to the floor. All was safe so far. Betty had slept here, but her bed was now empty; indeed, to Ben Stone's surprise, the bedsteadwas bare both of mattress and bedclothes. Johnson's was the innerchamber. Ben stole softly to the door, all was dark and quiet; he couldjust make out the bed, and that a figure lay upon it. He hastily causedthe light of the lantern to flash on the recumbent form for a singlemoment, it seemed to him to move; he crouched down close to the floor, and listened--again all was still. He was now convinced that Johnsonlay there in a deep sleep. Now was the time. Stepping back to thewindow on tiptoe, he put out his head, and whispered, --

"All's right; come up as quietly as you can. "

They were all soon in the outer chamber. 

"Now, " said Stone in a low voice, "you give me the furze--there, that'lldo. Will, have you got the pot with the powder and lamp-black?--that'syour sort--where's the ropes?--all right--now then. "

All reached the floor of the outer room without any mishap, and then, treading with the utmost caution, approached the bed in the inner room. The sleeper did not stir. Ben Stone threw the light upon the prostratefigure, which lay coiled up, and apparently quite unconscious. A ropewas now thrown loosely round, the men crawling along the floor, and justraising themselves on one elbow as they jerked it lightly across thebedstead; then another coil was made higher up, still the sleeper didnot stir hand or foot. 

"Now, then, " cried Ben, half out loud, and throwing the full blaze ofthe lantern on the bed's head; in a moment the other men had drawn theropes tight, and Jones leant over with his pot. But before Ben had timeto plunge the furze upon the unhappy victim's face, a suppressed crybroke from the whole group. It was no living being that lay there, butonly a bundle of old carpeting, with a dirty coverlid thrown over it. The next instant the truth burst upon them all. Johnson was gone. Theylooked at one another the very picture of stupid bewilderment. A hastyflash of the lantern showed that there was no other bed in the chamber. 

"Well, here's a go, " whispered Jones; "the bird's flown, and a prettytale we shall have to tell. "

"Stop, " said Ben, in an under-voice, and motioning the others to keepquiet, "maybe he's sleeping on the couch-chair in the house. "

"I'll go and see, " said Jones. 

Cautiously he descended the stairs, terrified at every creak they madeunder his weight. Did he hear anything? No; it was only the patteringof the rain-drops outside. Stealthily he peeped into the kitchen; noone was there, the few smouldering ashes in the grate being the onlytoken of recent occupation. So he went back to his friends in thechamber. 

"Eh, see, what's here!" cried one of the men, in an agitated voice;"look on the floor. "

They turned the light of the lantern on to the chamber-floor, and astrange sight indeed presented itself. Right across the room, inregular lines, were immense letters in red and black adhering to theboards. 

"Ben, you're a scholar, " said Jones; "read 'em. "

Stone, thus appealed to, made the light travel slowly along the words, and read in a low and faltering voice, --

"_No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God_. "

Then he passed on to the red letters, and the words were, --

"_Prepare to meet thy God_. "

A deathlike stillness fell on the whole party, who had hitherto spokenin loud whispers. Terror seized the hearts of some, and bitter shamestung the consciences of others. 

"We must get out of this as fast as we can, " said Jones. "If we'retaken roving about the house this fashion, we shall all be clapped inprison for housebreakers. Least said about this, mates, soonest mended. We'd best hold our tongues. Old Tommy's clean outwitted us; he has forsure. Maybe it serves us right. "

All made their way back as hastily as possible through the window, andseparated to their several homes, only too glad to have escapeddetection. 

And what was become of Thomas Johnson? Nobody could tell. When themorning arrived, old Jenny went to the house, but the door was locked. A piece of furze, an old rag, and some black-looking stuff were foundnear the water-butt at the back, but what they could have to do withJohnson's disappearance no one could say. He was, however, manifestlygone, and Betty too, for neither of them made their appearance that day. The meeting was held, but no Thomas Johnson made his appearance at it, and his friends were lost in conjecture. But days and weeks passedaway, and nothing turned up to gratify or satisfy public curiosity inthe matter. Jones never spoke of it to his wife or any one else, andthe rest of the party were equally wise in keeping their own counsel asto the intended assault and its failure. The landlord of Johnson'shouse claimed the scanty furniture for the rent, and no one turned up todispute the claim. So all traces of Thomas Johnson were utterly lost toLanghurst. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

FALLING AWAY. 

And now we must leave the mystery for a future unravelling, and returnto Abraham Oliphant and his guests at "The Rocks. "

For several days Hubert and Frank remained with Mr Oliphant, riding outamong the hills and into the town, as pleasure or business called them. But an idle, objectless life was not one to suit Hubert; and Frank, ofcourse, could not continue much longer as a guest at "The Rocks. " Itwas soon settled that the nephew should assist his uncle, and Frankdetermined to look-out for a home. It was arranged that Jacob Pooleshould come to him as soon as he was settled, and in the meanwhile MrOliphant found the boy employment. Unfortunately for himself, FrankOldfield was not in any way dependent for his living on his ownexertions. His father allowed him to draw on him to the amount of threehundred pounds a year, so that, with reasonable care, he could live verycomfortably, especially if he voluntarily continued the total abstinencewhich he had been compelled to practise on board ship. The reader isaware that he had never been a pledged abstainer at any time. Even whenmost overwhelmed with shame, and most anxious to regain the place he hadlost in Mary Oliphant's esteem and affection, he would not take the onestep which might have interposed a barrier between himself and thosetemptations which he had not power to resist, when they drew upon himwith a severe or sudden strain. He thought that he was only asserting amanly independence when he refused to be pledged, whereas he was simplyjust allowing Satan to cheat him with a miserable lie, while he held inreserve his right to commit an excess which he flattered himself heshould never be guilty of; but which he was secretly resolved not tobind himself to forego. Thus he played fast and loose with hisconscience, and was really being carried with the tide while he fanciedhimself to be riding safely at anchor. Had he then forgotten Mary? Hadhe relinquished all desire and hope of seeing her once more, andclaiming her for his wife? No; she was continually in his thoughts. His affection was deepened by absence and distance; but by a strangeinfatuation, spite of all that had happened in the past, he would alwayspicture her to himself as his, irrespective of his own steadfastness andsobriety. He knew she would never consent to be a drunkard's wife, yetat the same time he would never allow himself to realise that he couldhimself forfeit her hand and love through the drunkard's sin. He wouldnever look steadily at the matter in this light at all. He was sobernow, and he took for granted that he should continue to be so. It wastreason to himself and to his manhood and truth to doubt it. And so, when, after he had been about a month in the colony, he received aletter from Mrs Oliphant full of kindly expressions of interest andhopes that, by the time he received the letter, he would have formallyenrolled himself amongst the pledged abstainers, he fiercely crumpled upthe letter and thrust it from him, persuading himself that he was justlyannoyed that the permanence of his sober habits should be doubted;whereas, in truth, the sting was in this, that the reading of the letterdragged out from some dark recess of his consciousness the convictionthat, with all his high resolve and good intentions, he was standing onan utterly sandy foundation, and leaning for support on a brittle wandof glass. And thus he was but ill-fortified to wrestle with his specialtemptation when he settled down, a few weeks after his arrival, in acommodious cottage not very far from "The Rocks. " His new dwelling wasthe property of a settler, who, having realised a moderate fortune, andwishing to have a peep at the old country, was glad to let his house fora term of three years at a reasonable rent. The rooms were small butvery snug, the fittings being all of cedar, which gave a look ofrefinement and elegance to the interior. There were good stables, coach-house, and offices, and a well of the purest water--a great matterin a place where many had no water at all except what dropped from theheavens, or had to content themselves with brackish wells. There was alovely garden, with everything in fruit and flower that could bedesired; while, in the fields around, grew the aromatic gum, thecanidia, or native lilac, with its clusters of purple blossoms, and thewattle, with its waving tufts of almond-scented flowers. 

When Jacob joined his master in his Australian home, he hardly knew howto express his delight and admiration. 

"Well, Jacob, " said Frank, "you're likely to have plenty of fresh airand exercise if you stay with me. I shall want you to be gardener, groom, and valet. Mrs Watson, "--(a widow who had undertaken thesituation of housekeeper)--"will look after the house, and the eatablesand drinkables. "

"Indeed, sir, " said Jacob, "I'll do my best; but I shall have to learn, and you must excuse a few blunders at the first. I shall manage thegarden well enough, I reckon, after a bit, though I'm not certain whichway the roots of the flowers grows in these foreign parts;--thecherries, I see, has their stones growing outside on 'em, and maybe theroots of the flowers is out in the air, and the flowers in the ground. As for the horses, I'm not so much of a rider; but I must stick to theirbacks, I reckon. They'll be rayther livelier, some on 'em, I suppose, nor our old pit horses, as hadn't seen daylight for ten years or more. But as for being a wally, you must insense me into that, for I don'tknow anything about it. If it's anything to do with making beds orpuddings, I have never had no knowledge of anything of the sort. "

Frank was highly entertained at the poor boy's perplexity. 

"Oh, never fear, Jacob; where there's a will there's a way--and I seeyou've got the will. I'll trust you to learn your gardening from MrOliphant's man at `The Rocks. ' You must go and get him to give you alesson or two; and if the seeds should not come up at first, I must takeit for granted that you've sown them wrong side upwards. As for theriding, I'll undertake myself to make you a good horseman in a verylittle time. So there's only one thing left, and that's the valet. Youneedn't be afraid of it; it's nothing whatever to do with making beds orpuddings--that's all in Mrs Watson's department. What I mean by valetis a person who will just wait upon me, as you waited on CaptainMerryweather on board ship. "

"Oh, is that it!" cried Jacob, greatly relieved; "then I can manage itgradely, I haven't a doubt. "

And he did manage it gradely. Never was there a more willing learner ortrustworthy servant--his was the service of love; and every day boundhim more and more firmly to his young master with the cords of devotedaffection. Frank returned the attachment with all the natural warmth ofhis character. He delighted in the rough openness, which neverdegenerated into rudeness or disrespect; for Jacob, while free andunconstrained in his manner, instinctively knew his place and kept it. There was also a raciness and good sense in his observations, which madeFrank find in him a pleasant companion in their many wanderings, both onhorse and on foot. Frank was always a welcome guest at "The Rocks, "where he learned to value and reverence Abraham Oliphant, and to feel ahearty liking for his sons and daughters. But his heart was over thewater, and he felt that he could never settle alone and without Mary inthat far-off land. He often wrote to his mother, and also to Mary. Tothe latter he expressed himself full of hope that he should be able toreturn home before many years were passed, and claim her for his own;but he never alluded to the cause of his temporary banishment, nor didhe reply to the questions which she put to him on the subject of totalabstinence, except by saying briefly that she might trust him, and neednot fear. 

"Jacob, " he said one day, as he concluded a letter to his mother, "Ibelieve the mail leaves to-day for England, and these letters ought tobe in Adelaide by three o'clock. You shall ride in with them, and bringme out a `Reporter. ' By the way, isn't there any one in the old countryyou would like to write to yourself? Perhaps you do write, only I'venever noticed you doing so!"

The colour flushed up into Jacob's face, as he replied, with someconfusion and hesitation, --

"Well, you see, sir--why--I'm not so sure--well--truth to tell, in thefirst place, I'm not so much of a scholar. "

"Ah, exactly, " said his master; "but that need be no hindrance. I shallbe very glad to write for you, if you don't want to send any secrets, and you'll only tell me what to say. "

Jacob got very uneasy. The tears came into his eyes. He did not speakfor several minutes. At last he said, with much emotion, --

"'Deed, sir, and you're very kind; but there's none as I care to writeto gradely. There's them as should be all the world to me, but they'renothing to me now. I can't tell you just what it is; but it's even asI'm saying to you. There's one as I should have liked--ah, well--she'llbe better without it. Thank you, sir; you're very kind indeed, but Iwon't trouble you. "

Frank saw that there was a secret; he had therefore too much delicacy offeeling to press Jacob any further; so he merely said, --

"Well, at any time, if you like me to write home, or anywhere else foryou, I shall be glad to do so. And now you'd better be off. Takelittle Silvertail; a canter will do her good. I shall ride Roderickmyself up through the gully. You may tell Mrs Watson not to bring teain till she sees me, as I may be late. "

Jacob was soon off on his errands, and his master proceeded slowly upthe hilly gorge at the back of his house. 

"There's some mystery about Jacob, " he said to himself; as he rodequietly along; "but I suppose it's the case with a great many who cometo these colonies. `Least said, soonest mended, ' is true, I fancy, in agreat many cases. "

It was a lovely afternoon. The sun was pouring forth a blaze of lightand heat, such as is rarely experienced out of tropical countries. Andyet, when the heat was most intense, there was an elasticity about theair which prevented any feeling of oppression or exhaustion. 

The road wound up through quaint-looking hills, doubled one intoanother, like the upturned knuckles of some gigantic hand. Every nowand then, at a bend in the track, the high lands, sloping away on eitherside, disclosed the distant town lying like a child's puzzle on theplain, with the shadowy flats and dim ocean in the far background. Byovershadowing rocks and down sudden steeps the road kept its irregularcourse; and now it would cleave its way along a mile of table-land, elevated above a perfect ocean of trees on either side, which seemed asthough human hand or foot had never trespassed on their sombre solitude. Yet, every here and there the marks of destruction would suggestthoughts of man's work and presence. Whole tracts of forest would befilled with half-charred trunks, the centres black and hollowed out, theupper parts green and flourishing as ever. 

Nothing, for a time, broke the silence of Frank's solitary ride, as hemade his way along the serpentine road rising still higher and higher, and every now and then emerging upon broader and broader views of theplains and ocean beyond them, while the interlocking hills beneath hisfeet had dwindled down into a row of hillocks like funeral mounts insome Titanic graveyard. And now, as he paused in admiration to gaze onthe lovely view spread out before him, he felt the burning heat relievedfor a moment by a flying cloud; he looked upward--it was a flight of theyellow-crested cockatoo, which passed rapidly on with deafeningscreeches. A while after, and a flock of the all-coloured parakeet spedpast him like the winged fragments of a rainbow. Look where he would, all was beautiful: the sky above, a pure Italian blue--the distant oceansparkling--the lands of the plain smiling in peaceful sunshine--thehills on all sides quaint and fantastic--the highlands around him thickwith their forests--the sward, wherever trees were thickly scattered, enamelled with flowers of the brightest scarlet. Oh, how sad that sinshould mar the beauties with which the hand of God has so lavishlyclothed even this fallen world. 

Frank's heart was filled with a delight that ascended into adoration ofthe Great Creator; then tenderer thoughts stole over him--thoughts ofhome, thoughts of the hearts which loved him still, spite of the past. Oh, how his spirit yearned for a sight of the loved and dear familiarfaces he had left behind in the old but now far-off land! Tears filledhis eyes, and he murmured something like a prayer. It was but for alittle while, however, that thoughts like these kept possession of hisheart; for he was brought rudely back to things before him by the rapidsound of horses' feet. The next moment, round a turn of the road came asaddled horse without a rider, the broken bridle dangling from its head. 

"Stop her, if you please, " cried a young lady, who was following at thetop of her speed. 

Frank immediately crossed the path of the runaway animal, and succeededin catching it. 

"I hope you have not been thrown or hurt, " he said, as he restored it toits owner. 

"Oh no, thank you, " she replied. "I'm so much obliged to you. We--thatis, some friends and myself--are up in these hills to-day, on apicnicking excursion. My mare was hung up to a tree, and while we werelooking after the provisions, she broke her bridle and got off. "

Several gentlemen now came running up. They thanked Frank for histimely help, and asked him if he would not come and join their party. There was a heartiness and cheeriness of manner about them which made itimpossible for him to say, "No, " so he assented, and followed them to anopen space a short way off the road, round the next turn, where a verymerry company were gathered among the trees, with the scarlet-embroidered sward for their table. 

"Pray, take a seat among us, " said one of the gentlemen who had invitedhim. "I'll secure your horse--is he tolerably quiet?"

"Perfectly so; but you'd better take his saddle off, lest he should beinclined to indulge in a roll. "

"I am sure, sir, I owe you many thanks, " said the young lady whose horsehe had caught; "for, if you had not stopped my mare, she would have beenhalf-way to Adelaide by this time, and one of us must have walked. "

Frank made a suitable reply, and was at once quite at ease with his newcompanions. There were four gentlemen and as many ladies, the latter inthe prime of life, and full of spirits, which the stranger's presencedid not check. No spot could be more lovely than the one chosen fortheir open-air meal. Before them was the deep, sloping chasm, revealingthe distant town and ocean, and clothed on either side with unbrokenforests. All around was the brilliant carpeting of flowers; overhead, the intensely blue sky, latticed here and there with the interlacingboughs of trees. The dinner or luncheon was spread out on a whitecloth, and consisted of the usual abundance of fowls, pies, and tarts, proper to such occasions, and flanked by what was evidently consideredno secondary part of the refreshments--a compact regiment of pale ale, porter, wine, and spirit-bottles. Under ordinary circumstances such asight would have been very inviting; but it was doubly so to Frank, after his long and hot ride. All were disposed to treat him, as thestranger, with pressing hospitality; but his own free and gentlemanlybearing, and the openness with which he answered the questions put tohim, as well as the hearty geniality of his conversation, made all hisnew acquaintances delighted with him, and eager to supply his wants astheir guest. It is not, therefore, much to be wondered at that anyhalf-formed resolutions as to total abstinence which he might havevaguely entertained soon melted away before the cordial entreaties ofthe gentlemen that he would not spare the ale, wine, or spirits. 

"You'll have found riding in such a sun thirsty work, I'm sure, sir, "said a stout, jolly-looking man, who was evidently one of the leaders ofthe party. Frank made just a feeble answer about not drinking, and apretence of holding back his glass, and then allowed himself to behelped first to one tumbler, then another, and then another, of foamingBass. He was soon past all qualms, regrets, or misgivings. 

"Capital stuff this, " he said; "do you know where I can get some?"

"Most proud to serve you, my dear sir, " said the stout gentleman. "Ihave a large stock on hand; anything in the way of ale, porter, wine, orspirits, I flatter myself no one in Adelaide is better able to supply;perhaps you'll kindly favour me with an order!"

"Certainly, " said Frank, and gave his address, and an order for ale, wine, and spirits to be sent over to his cottage the following day. Andnow, from his long previous abstinence, what he had already drunk hadbegun to tell upon him. He felt it, and rose to go, but hisentertainers would not hear of his leaving them; for, under theexcitement of the strong drink, he had been pouring forth anecdotes, andmaking himself in other ways so entertaining and agreeable, that his newfriends were most anxious to detain him. So wine and brandy were addedto his previous potations; and when at last, with assistance, he mountedhis horse, it was with the greatest difficulty he could retain his seatin the saddle. And thus the whole party, singing, shouting, laughing, descended along the winding track, making God's beautiful creationhideous by the jarring of their brutal mirth; for surely that mirth isbrutal which springs, not from a heart filled with innocent rejoicing, but from lips that sputter out the frenzies of a brain on fire with thestimulants of alcohol. How Frank Oldfield got home he could not tell. His horse knew his road, and followed it; for, dumb brute as he was, hissenses were not clouded by the unnatural stimulant which had stolen awaythe intellects of his _rational_ master. 

Darkness had settled down when horse and rider reached the slip-rail atthe entrance of the field before Frank's house. Jacob was there, for hehad heard his master's voice some ten minutes earlier singing snatchesof songs in a wild exaggerated manner. Poor Jacob, he could hardlybelieve his ears, as he listened to "Rule Britannia" shouted out bythose lips which, he had imagined, never allowed strong drink to passthem. 

"Is that you, Jacob, my boy?" cried Frank thickly. 

"Yes, sir, " said Jacob sorrowfully. 

"Let down--shlip-rail--th-there's--good lad, " added his master. 

"It's down, " replied the other shortly. 

"Tchick--tchick, Roderick, " cried Frank, almost tumbling over hishorse's head. At last they reached the house door. Mrs Watson cameout, candle in hand. 

"How are you, Mrs Watson?" hiccupped her master. "Lend us a light--allright; that's poetry, and no mistake--ha, ha, ha! capital, Jacob, myboy, ain't it?" and he tumbled over one side of his horse, only savinghimself from falling to the ground by catching hold of one of the postsof the verandah. But we need not follow him further. He slept theheavy drunkard's sleep that night, and rose the next morning feverish, sick, thirsty, degraded, humbled, miserable. Poor Jacob's face wouldhave been a picture, could it have been taken as he looked upon hismaster staggering into the house by the light of Mrs Watson's candle--avery picture it would have been of mingled astonishment, perplexity, distress, disgust. 

"Well, " he said to himself moodily, "I thought the old lad had his handsfull in the old country, but it's like he's not content with that; I'das soon have thought of the Queen of England taking pick and Davy-lampand going down to work in the pit, as of my young mayster coming homebeastly drunk. My word, it's awful; 'tis for sure. "

When master and servant met next day each avoided the other's eye. Frank spoke moodily, and Jacob answered surlily. But it was not inFrank's nature to continue long in constraint of manner with any one, so, calling to his servant in a cheery voice, --

"Here, Jacob, " he cried, "I want you in the garden. " Jacob ran to himbriskly, for there was a charm in his young master's manner which hecould not resist. 

"Jacob, " said Frank Oldfield, "you saw me last night as I trust you willnever see me again, overcome with drink. "

"Ay, mayster, " said the other, "I see'd you sure enough, and I'd soonerhave see'd a yard full of lions and tigers nor such a sight as that. "

"Well, Jacob, it was the first, and I trust the last time too; it waswrong, very wrong. I'm thoroughly ashamed that you should have seen mein such a plight. I was betrayed into it. I ought to have been more onmy guard; you mustn't think any more of it; I'll take care it doesn'thappen again. "

"Ah, mayster, " said the other, "I shall be rare and glad if it doesn't. I hope you'll keep gradely teetottal, for the drink's a cheating andlying thing. "

"I hope so too, " said Frank, and then the conversation dropped. 

But now he remembered that the wine, beer, and spirits which he hadordered were to come that very evening. What was he to do? Consciencesaid very plainly, "Stand forth like a man, be at once a totalabstainer, it is your only safe course; tell Jacob all about it, andsend a counter-order by him at once, with a note of apology; call to-morrow on the merchant, and tell him in a straightforward way that youfeel it your duty to become an abstainer forthwith; thus you will atonce show your colours, and will save yourself from much annoyance, and, what is better still, from sin; and sign the pledge, that you may have abarrier between yourself and the drink which all the world canunderstand. " Thus conscience spoke softly but clearly, as with thevibrations of a silver bell; but lust, with its hot hand, stilled thosevibrations with a touch. Frank would not counter-order the drink, forhe loved it; he persuaded himself that he should be strictly moderate, while he was secretly determined to keep within his reach the means ofexcess. And yet he was very anxious that Jacob should not be aware ofthe coming of any drink into the house. So he watched hour after houras evening drew on, feeling more like a felon bent on some deed ofdarkness than an honest, straightforward Englishman. At last he saw themerchant's spring-cart in the distance. Making some excuse for sendingJacob to a house about a quarter of a mile off, and setting Mrs Watsondown in the kitchen to an interesting article in the newspaper, he metthe cart at the gate, and assisted the driver to carry the hampers ofstrong drinkables, with all possible haste, into his bed-room. Then, quickly dismissing the man, he locked himself into his chamber, andcarefully deposited the hampers in a large cupboard near the head of hisbed. When he had completed all this he began to breathe freely again. And thus he commenced the downward course of unfaltering, deliberatedeceit. Hitherto he had deceived himself chiefly, keeping the truth inthe background of his consciousness; now he was carefully planning todeceive others. And oh, what a mean, paltry deceit it was--so low doesrational, immortal man stoop when under the iron grasp of a master sin!And so, with carefully-locked door, and stealthy step, and cautioushandling of glass and bottle, lest any one should hear, Frank Oldfielddrank daily of the poison that was ruining his body and paralysing hismoral nature; for whatever it might or might not be to others, it wasassuredly poison to him. Jacob Poole mused and wondered, and could notmake him out--sometimes he saw him deeply depressed, at another time ina state of overboiling spirits and extravagant gaiety. Poor Jacob'sheart misgave him as to the cause, and yet he fully believed that therewere no intoxicating liquors in the house. But things could not remainin this position; there is no sin which runs with such accumulatingspeed as the drunkard's. Frank would now be seldom riding to "TheRocks, " and often to the town; he would stay away from home night afternight, and no one knew what had become of him. Poor Jacob began to getvery weary, and to dread more and more that he should find his youngmaster becoming a confirmed slave to the drink. Frank's fine temper, too, was not what it once was, and Jacob had to wince under many a hastyword. 

At last his master began to find that his expenses were getting greatlyin advance of his income. He called one day at the bank, drew a cheque, and presented it over the counter. The cashier took it to the manager'sdesk: there was a brief consultation, and then a request that MrOldfield would step into the manager's private room. 

"I am exceedingly sorry, Mr Oldfield, " said the manager, "that we feelourselves in a difficulty as to the cheque you have just drawn; the factis that you have already overdrawn your account fifty pounds, and wehardly feel justified in cashing any more of your cheques till wereceive further remittances to your credit. "

"Very well, sir, " said Frank haughtily, and rising; "I shall transfer myaccount to some other bank, which will deal more liberally andcourteously with me;" saying which, he hurried into the street in astate of fierce excitement. When, however, he had had time to cool downa little, he began to feel the awkwardness of his position. He wasquite sure that his father would not increase his allowance, and anoverdrawn account was not a thing so easy to transfer. Besides which, he began to be aware that his present habits were getting talked aboutin the city. But money he must have. To whom could he apply? Therewas but one person to whom he could bring himself to speak on thesubject, and that was Hubert. He had seen very little of him, however, of late, for the company and pursuits he had taken to were not such aswould find any countenance from young Oliphant. Something, however, must be done. So he called at the office in King William Street, andhad a private interview with his friend. 

"Money, " said Hubert, when he had heard of Frank's necessities, "is nota thing I have much at command at present. "

"But you can procure me the loan of a hundred pounds, I daresay?" askedthe other; "my next half-yearly payment will be made in two months, andthen I shall be able to repay the money, with the interest. "

"You want a hundred pounds now, as I understand, " said his friend, "andyou have already overdrawn your account fifty pounds; when your money ispaid in it will just cover this hundred and fifty pounds, without anyinterest. How do you mean to manage for the interest and your nexthalf-year's expenses?"

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Frank testily; "what's the use of botheringa fellow with calculations like that? Of course the tradespeople musttrust me, and it'll be all right by the time another half-year's paymentcomes in. "

"Well, if you've paid your tradesmen up to now, " rejoined Hubert, "ofcourse they may be willing to wait. Still, excuse my saying, dearFrank, that it's not a very healthy thing this forestalling, and I don'tsee how you're to pay the interest when you get your next payment. "

"What a fuss about the interest!" cried the other. "The fellow thatlends it must clap on so much more for waiting a little longer, that'sall. And as for the tradesmen, they must be content to be paid bydegrees. They'll take precious good care not to be losers in the end, I'll warrant them. "

"Dear Frank, " said Hubert kindly, but very gravely, and laying his handaffectionately on the other's shoulder, "you must bear with me if Ispeak a little plainly to you--you must bear with me, indeed you must. You know that you came out here hoping to redeem the past, and to returnhome again a new character. You know what lies at the end of such ahope fulfilled. Are you really trying to live the life you purposed tolive? There are very ugly rumours abroad. You seem to have nearlyforsaken old friends; and the new ones, if report says true, are such aswill only lead you to ruin. Oh, dear Frank, if you would only seethings in the right light--if you would only see your own weakness, andseek strength in prayer in your Saviour's name--oh, surely you wouldbreak off at once from your present ways and companions, and there mightbe hope--oh yes, hope even yet. "

Frank did not speak for some time. At last he said, in a stern, huskyvoice, --

"Can you--or can you not--borrow the money for me?"

"If I could feel convinced, " was the reply, "that you would at oncebreak off from your present associates, and that you would seriously setabout retrenching, I would undertake to procure for you the hundredpounds you require--nay, I would make myself responsible for it. "

Frank sat down, and buried his face in his hands. 

"Oh, help me, Hubert, " he cried, "and I will promise all you wish. Iwill pay off old debts as far as possible, and will incur no new ones. I will keep myself out of harm's way; and will take to old friends, ifthey will receive me again. Can I say more?"

"Will you not become a genuine pledged abstainer? And will you not prayfor grace to keep your good resolution?"

"Well, as far as the total abstinence is concerned, I will think aboutit. "

"And will you not pray for strength?"

"Oh, of course--of course. "

And Frank went off with a light heart, the present pressure beingremoved. Hubert procured the money for him. And now for a time therewas a decided outward improvement. Frank was startled to find howrapidly he was being brought, by his expensive habits, to the brink ofruin. He tore himself, therefore, from his gay associates, and wasoften a visitor at "The Rocks. " But he did not give up the drink. Hecontrived, by dexterous management, to keep up the stock in his bed-room, without the knowledge of either Jacob or Mrs Watson. But one dayhe sent Jacob for a powder-flask which he had left on his dressing-table, having forgotten, through inadvertence, to lock his cupboard dooror remove a spirit-bottle from his table. Jacob remained staring at thebottle, and then at the open hamper in the closet, as if fascinated bythe gaze of some deadly serpent. He stood there utterly forgetting whathe was sent for, till he heard Frank's voice impatiently calling him. Then he rushed out empty-handed and bewildered till he reached hismaster's presence. 

"Well, Jacob, where's the powder-flask? Why, man, what's scared yourwits out of you? You haven't seen a boggart, as you tell me they call aghost in Lancashire?"

"I've seen what's worse nor ten thousand boggarts, Mayster Frank, " saidJacob, sorrowfully. 

"And pray what may that be?" asked his master. 

"Why, mayster, I've seen what's filled scores of homes and hearts withboggarts. I've seen the bottles as holds the drink--the strong drink asruins millions upon millions. "

Frank started as if pierced by a sudden sting. His colour went andcame. He walked hastily a step or two towards the house, and thenturned back. 

"And pray, my friend Jacob, " he said, with a forced assumption ofgaiety, "why should my little bottle of spirits be worse for you thanten thousand boggarts?"

"Oh, Mayster Frank, Mayster Frank, " was the reply, "just excuse me, andhearken to me one minute. I thought when I left my home, where thedrink had drowned out all as was good, as I should never love any oneany more. I thought as I'd try and get through the world without heartat all--but it wasn't to be. The captain found a soft place in myheart, and I loved him. But that were nothing at all to the love I'vehad to yourself, Mayster Frank. I loved you afore you saved my life, and I've loved you better nor my own life ever since you saved it. Andoh, I can't abide to see you throw away health and strength, and yourgood name and all, for the sake of that wretched drink as'll bring youto misery and beggary and shame. Oh, don't--dear mayster, don't--don'tkeep the horrid poison in your house. It's poison to you, as I've seenit poison to scores and scores, eating out manhood, withering outwomanhood, crushing down childhood, shrivelling up babyhood. I'll livefor you, Mayster Frank, work for you, slave for you, wage or no wage--ay, I'll die for you, if need be--only do, do give up this cursed, ruinous, body and soul-destroying drink. "

"Jacob, I will--I will!" cried his master, deeply touched. "Every wordyou say is true. I'm a miserable, worthless wretch. I don't deservethe love and devotion of a noble lad like you. "

"Nay, mayster--don't say so, " cried Jacob; "but oh, if you'd only signthe pledge, and be an out-and-out gradely teetottaller, it'd be thehappiest day of my life. "

"Well, Jacob, I'll see about the signing. I daresay I shall have to doit. But you may depend upon me. I'll turn over a new leaf. There--ifit'll be any pleasure to you--you may take all that's left in mycupboard, and smash away at the bottles, as good Mr Oliphant did. "

Jacob needed no second permission. Ale, wine, and spirit-bottles werebrought out--though but few were left that had not been emptied. However, empty or full, they fell in a few moments before the energeticblows of the delighted Jacob Poole. 

"You'll never repent it, " he said to his master. 

But, alas! he did not know poor Frank, who did repent it--and bitterly, too. The sudden generosity which dictated the sacrifice was but amomentary flash. Frank would have given a great deal could he haverecalled the act. But what was to be done? He could not, for veryshame, lay in a fresh stock at present; and, equally, he could notresolve to cross his miserable appetite. So he devised a plan by whichhe could still indulge in the drink, and yet keep Jacob Poole completelyin the dark; for, alas! it was becoming less and less painful to him tobreathe in an atmosphere of deception. There was a small cottage notfar from Frank's dwelling. It had belonged to a labouring man, who hadbought a small piece of ground with his hard earnings, had fenced itround, and built the cottage on it. This man, when "the diggins" brokeout in Melbourne, sold his little property for a third of its value to aworthless fellow, whose one great passion was a love for the drink. Through this man Frank was able to obtain a constant supply of thepernicious stimulant. He would call at the house in the evening, andbring home in his pockets a flask or two of spirits, which he couldeasily keep out of the sight of Jacob and his housekeeper. But thoughhe could conceal the drink, he could not conceal its effects. Again andagain he became intoxicated--at first slightly so, and then more andmore grossly and openly--till poor Jacob, wearied out and heart-sick, retired from Frank's service, and obtained work from Mr AbrahamOliphant in his store at Adelaide. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

AN UNHAPPY SURPRISE. 

The half-year's remittance came in due time, but Frank was quite unableto pay the £100 loan. Ruin was now staring him in the face. Tradesmenwere clamorous, rent and wages were unpaid, and he was getting into astate of despair, when, to his great and unspeakable joy, a letterarrived one morning announcing that a legacy of £500, left him by an oldlady--his godmother--would be paid into his account at the AdelaideBank. Here was, indeed, a reprieve. In a transport of gratitude hethrew himself on his knees, and gave thanks to God for this unlooked-forhelp. Then he lost not a moment, but rode at once into Adelaide, andwent first to the bank, where he ascertained that the money had beenpaid in. Then he called on his creditors and discharged their bills. And last of all he went to Hubert Oliphant and repaid the loan of the£100, with the interest. 

"Oh, Hubert, " he said, "I can't tell you how thankful and grateful Ifeel for this relief. I was getting into hopeless difficulties. I wasat my wits' end what to do. I felt like a miserable slave, just as if Iwas walking in irons; and now I could do nothing but shout all the wayhome, I feel so light and free!"

"I don't doubt it, " said his friend. "But you were talking just nowabout being thankful. Won't you let it be more than mere words? Won'tyou show, dear Frank, that you really are grateful to God?"

"I have, " replied the other. "I thanked God on my knees for hisgoodness as soon as I got the letter. "

"I'm truly rejoiced to hear it. And now, what do you mean to _do_?"

"To _do_? Why, what should I do?"

"Does not your own conscience tell you, Frank?"

"Ah, I suppose you mean, give up the drink altogether. Well, I intendto do it--and at once too. "

"And will you ask for strength where you know it can be found?"

"Yes, " said Frank, grasping the other's hand warmly; "I promise you Iwill. "

"And what about the pledge?" pursued Hubert, with a loving, entreatingsmile. 

"Ah, that pledge! You can never let me rest about the pledge. I seeyou're afraid to trust me. "

"Dear Frank, is there not a cause? Can you trust yourself?"

"Yes I think I can this time--especially if I pray for help. "

Hubert sighed. 

"By the way, " he said, "I was nearly forgetting that I have a littlenote for you from Mary, which came to-day in a letter to myself. Hereit is. "

The note was brief and constrained in its tone, though kind. It was asfollows:--

 "DEAR FRANK, --I wrote to you by the last mail, and just send a few lines now in Hubert's letter. I can scarce tell how to write. I do not know whether to hope or fear, whether I dare venture to believe that I shall ever see you again with joy. O Frank, I have dreadful misgivings. Miserable rumours come across the sea to make all our hearts sick. Will you not at once and for ever renounce what has been the occasion of sin and disgrace to yourself and of misery to us both? Will you not go to the Strong for strength, and cast yourself at once on him? I cannot write more now, for I am almost broken-hearted. I shall not cease to pray for you. --Yours, MARY OLIPHANT. "

Frank hastily thrust the note into his pocket after reading it, andhurried home. There he shut-to his door, and flung himself on hisknees. He prayed to be forgiven his sin, and that he might live asteady and sober life for the time to come. He rose up comforted andsatisfied. He felt he had done a duty. He was resolved to become awater-drinker, to pay no more visits to the man at the cottage, and tokeep no intoxicating drinks in his house. Mary's letter had touched himto the quick; he saw how nearly he had lost her; he felt that the standmust be made now or never. But yet he had in no way pledged himself tototal abstinence. True, he had prayed to be kept sober; but had hisheart fully and sincerely desired what his lips had prayed for? Alas, it is to be feared not; for it is no difficult thing to delude ourselvesin the matter of prayer. It is easy, when we have sinned, and beforethe next strong temptation to the same sin presents itself, to prayagainst repeating it, and so to give a sop to our conscience, withouthaving either the heart's desire or the honest resolve to abstain fromthat sin. And it is equally easy to pray that we may not fall into asin, and to have a sort of half sincere desire to that effect; and yet, at the same time, to be quite unwilling to avoid those steps which, though they are not themselves the sin, yet almost of necessity andinevitably lead to it. So it was with poor Frank, but he did not thinkso; on the contrary, he was now quite persuaded that his resolution waslike a rock, that he was thoroughly fortified against yielding to hisold temptations, and that he should never again deviate from thestrictest sobriety. Yet he would not sign the pledge, and so put acheck between himself and those circumstances and occasions which mightlead or surprise him into a transgression. He meant to be a totalabstainer at _present_, but he was quite as resolved not to sign thepledge. 

Things were in this state. He had rigidly kept himself to non-intoxicants for more than a month after the receipt of Mary's note. Hehad paid his way and observed a strict economy; he was getting back hischaracter as a steady and sober man; and many looked on with approbationand applauded him. There were, however, three at least in the colonywho had but little faith in him as yet; these were Hubert, Mr Oliphant, and Jacob Poole. 

Things were in this state when one morning, as Frank was riding slowlydown Hindley Street, he noticed a man, whose face and whole appearanceseemed very familiar to him, talking to a shopman at his door. Just ashe came opposite, the man turned fully towards him--there could be nolonger any doubt. 

"What! Juniper; Juniper Graves--you here!"

"What! Mr Frank, my dear young master! Do I really see you once more?Ah, how I've longed for this suspicious day; but it's come at last. "

"Ah, I see it's just yourself, " said Frank, laughing. "Give us yourhand, my good fellow. But what has brought you out here? It looks likeold times in the dear old country seeing you again. "

"Why, Mr Frank, the truth's the truth, and it's no use hiding it, though `self-praise is no accommodation, ' as the proverb says. You see, sir, I couldn't be happy when you was gone. I missed my dear youngmaster so much. People wondered what was amiss with me, when they foundme, as they often did, in a state of refraction. `Why, Juniper, ' they'dsay, `what's amiss? Are you grieving after Mr Frank?' I could onlynod dissent; my heart was too full. But I mustn't be too long, a-keeping you too, sir, under the vertebral rays of an Australian sun. Ijust couldn't stand it no longer--so I gets together my little savings, pays my own passage, sails across the trackless deep to the southernatmosphere--and here I am, to take my chance for good fortune or badfortune, if I may only now and then have a smile from my dear youngmaster Mr Frank, and gaze once more on those familiar ligaments which Iloved so much in dear old England. Mr Frank, it's the simple truth, Iassure you. With all my failings and interjections, you'd never anycause to doubt my voracity. "

"You're a warm-hearted, good fellow, I know, " said Frank, wiping hiseyes, "or you never could have made such a sacrifice on my account. Butwhat do you mean to do with yourself? Have you got into any situationor employment?"

"Oh no, sir. I felt sure--that is to say, I hoped that I should findyou out, for you'd be sure to be well-known in the colony, and that Imight have the irresponsible happiness of serving you again, either asgroom, or in some other capacity. "

It so happened that Frank was parting with his man, so Juniper at oncestepped into the place. Had his master known how matters really were, he would not have been so ready to take his old tempter into his house. The fact was, that Juniper Graves had gone to such lengths ofmisbehaviour after Frank's departure for Australia, that Sir Thomas hadbeen compelled to dismiss him; feeling, however, sorry for the man, asthe favourite servant of his absent son, the squire had not noisedabroad his misdemeanours; so that when Juniper quitted Greymoor Park, hedid so apparently of his own choice. He had contrived, while in thebaronet's service, to appropriate to himself many small valuables of aportable character. These he managed safely to dispose of, and with themoney purchased an outfit and paid his passage to South Australia. Hisshallow brains had been fired with the idea of making his fortune at thediggings. He felt sure that, if he could find Frank Oldfield, he shouldsoon ingratiate himself with him, and that he might then take advantageof his good-nature and of his intemperance to gather to himselfsufficient funds to enable him to start as gold-digger. A wretchedcompound of vanity, selfishness, and shrewdness, where his own interestswere concerned, he had no other view as regarded his young master thanto use him as a ladder by which he might himself mount to fortune. Aweek later, and Juniper Graves was established as general man-servant atFrank Oldfield's cottage in the hills. 

"And pray, Mrs Watson, " he asked, on the evening of his arrival, "whereabouts is one to find the cellar in these outlandish premises?"

"Why, much in the same place as you'd look for it in England, " was theanswer; "only here you'll find nothing but cellar walls, for ourmaster's turned teetotaller. "

Juniper replied to this by opening his eyes very wide, and givingutterance to a prolonged whistle. 

"Teetottaller!" at last he exclaimed; "and pray how long has he taken tothis new fashion?"

"Not many weeks, " was the reply. 

"And how many weeks do you think he'll stick to it?"

"A great many, I hope, " replied the housekeeper; "for I'm sure there'sneither pleasure nor profit where the drink gets the master. It'sdriven poor Jacob away. "

"And who may poor Jacob be?"

"Why, as nice, and steady, and hearty a lad as ever I set eyes on, MrGraves. He was master's first groom and gardener. He came out in thesame ship with master and Mr Hubert Oliphant. Mr Frank saved Jacobfrom being drowned, and the young man stayed with him here, and workedfor him with all his heart till the drink drove him away, for he was ateetotaller, as he used to say of himself, to the back-bone. "

"Well, Mrs Watson, " said Graves, "it isn't for me to be contradictingyou, but, for my part, I never could abide these teetottallers. Whatwith their tea and their coffee, their lemonade and ginger beer, andother wishy-washy, sour stuffs--why, the very thought of them's enoughto cause an involution of one's suggestive organs. "

But what was he to do? Drink there was none in the house, and he wastoo crafty to make any direct request for its introduction; but, "assure as my name's Juniper, " he said to himself, "Mr Frank shall breakoff this nonsense afore I'm a month older; it won't suit him, I know, and I'm certain sure it won't suit me. "

So he submitted to the unfermented beverages of the establishment withas good a grace as he could, turning over in his mind how he shouldaccomplish his object. He had not to wait long. The drunken cottagerwho had formerly supplied Frank with spirits, was of course not bestpleased to lose so good a customer, for he had taken care to make a veryhandsome profit on the liquors which he had supplied. It so happenedthat this man lighted on Juniper one day near his master's house, and avery few minutes' conversation made the groom acquainted with the formerconnection between this cottager and Frank Oldfield. 

"Ho, ho!" laughed Juniper to himself. "I have it now. Good-bye toteetottalism. We'll soon put an end to him. "

So bidding his new acquaintance keep himself out of sight and hold histongue, for he'd soon manage to get back his master's custom to him, Juniper purchased a few bottles of spirits on his own account, andstowed them safely away in his sleeping-place. A few days after thistransaction, Frank bid his groom prepare himself for a ride of somelength. It was a blazing hot day, and when they had gone some fifteenmiles or more, principally in the open, across trackless plains, theystruck up suddenly into a wooded pass, and Frank, giving the bridle toJuniper, threw himself on to the ground, under some trees, and laypanting with the excessive heat. 

"Stiff work this, Juniper, " he said. "Just hang the bridles somewhere, and come and get a little shade. It's like being roasted alive. "

"Ay, sir, " replied the other, "it's hot work, and thirsty work too; onlyyou see, sir, total abstainers ain't at liberty to quench their thirstlike ordinary mortals. "

"Why not?" asked his master, laughing. "I hear the sound of water notfar-off; and I don't doubt there's enough to quench the thirst of allthe teetotallers in the colony. "

"Phew!" replied Juniper, "it'd be madness to drink cold water in theheat we're in. Why, I'm in such a state of respiration myself, sir, that it'd be little better than courting self-destruction if I were todrink such chilly quotations. "

"Perhaps so, " replied Frank; "certainly it isn't always safe, I believe, to drink cold water when you're very hot; but we must be content withwhat we can get, and wait till we're a little cooler. "

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said the other, in the blandest of voices;"but I've had the sagacity to bring with me a little flask of somethingas'll air the cold water famously. Here it is, sir; you can use thecover as a cup. " He was soon at the stream and back again. "Now, sir, shall I just mix you a little? it's really very innocent--as immaculateas a lamb. You must take it as a medicine, sir; you'll find it anexcellent stomach-ache, as the doctors say. "

"I'm more afraid of it's giving me the heart-ache, Juniper, " replied hismaster; "but a very little in the water will certainly perhaps be wise. There, thank you; hold--hold--you're helping me, I suppose, as you loveme. " The cup, however, was drained, and then a second was taken beforethey started again; and twice more before they reached home they halted, and Juniper's flask was produced and emptied before they finallyremounted. 

"I have him, " chuckled Graves to himself. "I've hooked my trout; and heonly wants a little playing, and I'll have him fairly landed. "

Alas! it was too true. Frank was in skilful hands; for Juniper had adouble object: he wanted to indulge his own appetite for the drink athis master's expense; and he also wanted to get into his clutches such asum of money as would enable him to make a fair start at the diggings onthe Melbourne side of the Australian continent. His friend of thecottage, through whom he obtained his supply of spirits, was wellacquainted with many of the returned diggers, and gave him fullinformation on all subjects about which he inquired connected with thegold-digging. His object in the first place was to get as much of hismaster's money into his own possession as he could do without directrobbery; his next object was to keep his master out of every one else'sclutches but his own. So he laid himself out in every way to keep Frankamused and occupied, and to leave him as little time as possible forreflection. The spirit-bottle was never allowed to be empty or out ofthe way; Juniper could produce it at a moment's notice. He took care todo so with special dexterity whenever he could engage his master in agame of cards. Juniper was an accomplished gambler; he had often playedwith his young master when they were out alone on fishing or shootingexpeditions at Greymoor Park. Frank used then to lose money to him inplay occasionally, but Juniper was always wily enough not to push hisadvantage too far--he never would allow himself to win more than smallsums. But now he had a different purpose on hand; and so, from time totime, he would draw on his master to play for hours together, keepingthe drink going all the while, and managing himself to preserve asufficient sobriety to prevent his losing his self-possession anddefeating his end in view. Thus, by degrees, Frank found his moneymelting fast and faster away. If he complained of this to Juniper, thatworthy either assured him he was mistaken, or that the money had onlygone to defray the necessary expenses of the establishment; or else helaughed, and said, "Well, sir, you didn't play as well as usual lastnight. I suppose your luck was bad, or your head wasn't very clear. You lost more than usual, but you'll win it all back; and, after all, Ishould never think of keeping it if you're really in want of it at anytime. "

"Juniper, you're a good fellow, " said his poor miserable dupe; "you meanwell--I know you do. I'm sure you wouldn't deceive or rob me. "

"Me deceive! me rob, Mr Frank! No indeed, sir; I hope I've too muchduplicity to do anything of the kind. Why, didn't I come out here justbecause I'd such a hampering after you, Mr Frank? No; I trust, indeed, that you'll never ascertain such hard thoughts of me for a moment. "

"Never fear, " was his master's reply; "I believe you love me too well, Juniper, to wrong me. "

But there was one who did not think so. Hubert Oliphant had discovered, with dismay, that Frank's new servant was none other than the reprobategroom of Greymoor Park. He had called as soon as he heard of it, andimplored his friend to dismiss Graves from his service. But Frank wouldnot hear of such a thing. He dwelt on his old servant's affection, self-sacrifice, and devotion to himself; he palliated his faults, andmagnified his virtues; so that poor Hubert had to retire baffled andheart-sick. There remained but one other effort to be made, and thatwas through Jacob Poole, who was informed by Hubert of Juniper'scharacter. Jacob did not decline the duty, though the service was botha difficult and delicate one; for there was a decision and simpleearnestness about his character which made him go forward, withoutshrinking, to undertake whatever he was persuaded he was rightly calledupon to do. 

It was on a lovely summer's evening that Jacob made his way, with aheavy heart, to his former master's cottage. How he had once loved thatplace! and how he loved it still!--only there had fallen a blight on allthat was beautiful, and that was the blight of sin. As he approachedthe house, he heard singing from more than one voice. He drew near theverandah; and there, by a little round table--on which was a bottle andtumblers, and a box of cigars--sat, or rather lolled, Frank and his man, smoking, drinking, and playing cards. 

"And so it's you, Jacob, my boy!" cried Frank; "it's quite an age sinceI've seen you; the boggarts haven't kept you away, I hope?"

"No, mayster, it's not the boggarts; it's my own heart as has kept meaway. "

"What, Jacob! you've fallen in love with some fair maiden--is that it?"

"No, Mr Frank; I haven't fallen in love with any young wench, andthere's some of the other sex as I'm still less like to fall in lovewith. "

"Oh, you mean my friend Juniper here! Well, I'm sorry any one shouldfall foul of poor Juniper; he's an old servant of mine, Jacob, and he'scome all the way over from England on purpose to serve me again. "

"I'm thinking, " said Jacob, who had too much Lancashire downrightnessand straightforwardness to use any diplomacy, or go beating about thebush, "as it's very poor service ye'll get from him, Mr Frank, if I maybe allowed to speak out my mind. He's drawn you into the mire againalready, that's plain enough. Oh, dear mayster, I cannot hold mytongue--I must and I _will_ speak plain to you. If you let this manserve you as he's doing now, he'll just make a tool on you for his ownpurposes, till he's squeezed every drop of goodness out of you, and leftyou like a dry stick as is fit for nothing but the burning. "

It is impossible to describe adequately the changes which passed overthe countenance of Juniper Graves while this brief conversation wasbeing carried on. Rage, malice, fear, hatred--all were mingled in hismean and cunning features. But he controlled himself; and at last spokewith an assumed smoothness, which, however, could not quite hide thepassion that made his voice tremulous. 

"Really, sir, I don't know who this young man is--some escaped convict, I should think; or American savage, I should imagine, by his talk. Ireally hope, sir, you're not going to listen to this wild sort ofgarbage. If it wasn't demeaning myself, and making too much of theimpertinent young scoundrel, I'd bring an action against him forreformation of character. "

"There, there, Juniper, " said Frank, motioning him to be quiet; "don'tdistress yourself. Jacob's prejudiced; he don't really know you, orhe'd speak differently. You must be friends; for I know you both loveme, and would do anything to serve me. Come, Jacob, give Juniper yourhand; take my word for it, he's an honest fellow. "

But Jacob drew back. 

"I know nothing about his honesty, " he said; "but I _do_ know one thing, for Mr Hubert's told me--he's led you into sin at home, Mayster Frank, and he'll lead you into sin again here; and he's just cutting you offfrom your best friends and your brightest hopes; and I've just come overonce more to beg and beseech you, by all as you holds dear, to havenothing no more to do with yon drunken profligate. I'd rayther havesaid this to yourself alone, but you've forced me to say it now, andit's better said so nor left unsaid altogether. And now I'll bid yougood evening, for it's plain I can do little good if I tarry longer. "He turned and left them: as he did so, Frank's last look was one ofmingled anger, shame, remorse, despair; Juniper's was one of bitter, deadly, fiery hatred. 

But other thoughts soon occupied the mind of the tempter. It was plainto him that, if he was to keep a firm hold on his young master, he mustget him, as speedily as possible, out of the reach of his old friends. How was he to accomplish this? At last a scheme suggested itself. 

"What say you, Mr Frank, " he asked suddenly one morning, when hismaster was evidently rather gloomily disposed--"what say you to a trampto the diggings? wouldn't it be famous? We could take it easy; there'sfirst-rate fishing in the Murray, I hear. We could take our horses, ourfishing-tackle, our guns, our pannikins, and our tether-ropes; we musthave plenty of powder and shot, and then we shall be nice andindependent. If you'd draw out, sir, what you please from the bank, I'll bring what I've got with me. I've no doubt I shall make a first-rate digger, and we'll come back again with our fortunes made. "

"It's rather a random sort of scheme, " said his master; "but I'm sick ofthis place and of my present life. Anything for a bit of a change--solet's try the diggings. "

A few days after Jacob's visit to the cottage, it was rumoured thatFrank Oldfield and his man had left the colony. Hubert called at theplace and found that they were indeed gone, and that it was quiteuncertain when they purposed to return. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

THE LONE BUSH. 

It was about a fortnight after Hubert's call at the cottage that abullock-driver, dusty and bronzed, came into the office at King WilliamStreet, and asked to speak to Mr Oliphant's nephew. 

"I suppose, sir, you're Mr Hubert Oliphant, " said the man. 

"I am. "

"Well, I've just come in from the bush. It's four days now since I leftTanindie--it's a sheep-station down on the Murray. Thomas Rowlands, asshepherds there, asked me to come and tell you that there's a young gentcalled Scholfield, or Oldfield, or some such name, as is dangerously illin a little log-hut near the river. The chap as came down with him hasjust cut and run, and left him to shift for himself; and he's likely tohave a bad time of it, as he seems to have some sort of fever, andthere's no doctor nearer than forty miles. "

Hubert was greatly shocked. 

"And how came the shepherd to think about sending to _us_?" he asked. 

"Oh, the poor young man's been raving and talking about you scores oftimes; and Mr Abraham's name's well-known all over the colony. "

Hubert went to his uncle with the information. 

"What can we do?" he asked; "I'll gladly go to him, if you can spare mefor a few days. "

Jacob Poole, who was in the office, and had heard the conversation, nowinterposed, --

"Oh, Mayster Oliphant, let me go to him. I'm more used to roughing itnor you. I'll see to poor Mayster Frank. I can't forget what he's donefor me; and maybe, if God spares him, and that rascal Juniper Graveskeeps out of the road, he'll do well yet. "

This plan commended itself to Mr Oliphant and his nephew, and it wasresolved that Jacob should go at once. His master furnished him withwhat he needed, and bade him send word to him if he should find himselfin any trouble or difficulty. 

"You'll find him out easy enough, " said the bullock-driver to MrOliphant, "for there's a party of mounted police setting off thisafternoon for the Murray, and the crossing's only about two miles lowerdown than the hut. If he as goes joins the police, he'll be there inhalf the time it took me to come up. "

So it was arranged that Jacob should start immediately. 

"And never mind, " said Mr Oliphant, "about the time of your comingback. If you can be of any service to your poor young master by stayingon with him, do so. And keep with him altogether if he wishes to takeyou again into his service. It may keep him from the drink, now thatvagabond's taken himself off, though I'll be bound he hasn't gone empty-handed. Should you wish, however, Jacob, to come back again to me, either now or at any future time, I'll find you a place, for I canalways make an opening for a stanch total abstainer. "

Jacob's preparations were soon made. He furnished himself with allnecessaries, and then joined the party of police on a stout little bushhorse, and started that afternoon on his journey. It was drawingtowards the evening of the second day after their departure fromAdelaide, when they came in sight of the river Murray, where a longshelving bank of reeds, like a small forest, intervened betweenthemselves and the river. The country all round them was wild andwooded, with little to remind of civilised man except the tracks ofbullock-drays. 

"And here we part, " said the leader of the police. "I've no doubtyou'll soon reach the hut you're seeking if you keep along the bank ofthe river; but be sure you don't lose sight of that. "

"Perhaps, " said one of the men, "there may be some one not far-off whocould show him his way, so that he'd lose no time. Shall I cooey?"

"Ay, do, " said the captain. So the man uttered a prolonged "Coo-oo-oo-ee!" and all paused. A faint answering "Cooey" was heard in thedistance. Then a second "Cooey" was answered by a nearer response, andsoon after a stout-looking bushman made his appearance. 

"Can you take this young man to a hut about two miles up the river, where there's a young Englishman lying sick?" asked the captain. 

"Ay, surely I can, " was the reply. "I've only left it an hour since. "

So Jacob took a hearty farewell of his escort, and in another minute wasfollowing his new guide. 

"A relation of the young gent's, I guess?" asked the bushman. 

"No, only an old servant. He saved my life, and I want to help savehis, please God. "

"You'll not do much towards saving it if you give him the same sort ofmedicine the last chap did, " remarked the other drily. 

"The drink, you mean, " said Jacob. "No; I'm not likely to do anythingof the sort, for I'm an out-and-out total abstainer. "

"I'm right glad to hear it; give me your hand, friend, " cried thebushman, treating him, at the same time, to a grip which made hisfingers tingle. "I wish we'd more of your sort among us. It'd bebetter for 'em, body and soul. "

"Then, of course, you're an abstainer yourself. "

"To be sure I am. I've four brothers, and not one of us has ever tastedany intoxicating drink. "

"And do you live hereabouts?" inquired Jacob. 

"Yes; my father's head-shepherd at Tanindie. We all live together, mymother and all. "

"And you find you can do your work without the drink?"

"Look there, " said the other, stopping short, and baring his arm. "Feelthat; some muscle there, I reckon. That muscle's grown on unfermentedliquors. Me and my four brothers are all just alike. We never troublethe doctor, any of us. "

"Ah!" said Jacob; "I've heard strange talk about `can't do withoutwine;' `can't do without beer;' `can't do without spirits;' `heat of theclimate makes it needful to make up for wear and tear of body, ' and soon. And then, I've seen a many shake their heads and say as youngpeople can't do without a little now and then `to brace up theirnerves, ' as they call it, `and give a tone to the constitootion. ' I'veheard a deal of this talk in the old country. "

"`Plenty gammon, plenty gammon, ' all that, as the black fellows say, "replied the other. "Truth is, people makes artificial wants, and thenthey must have artificial stimulants. We're no great scholars in ourhouse, but we gets a good many books even out here in the bush, andreads them at odd times; and we've read a great deal of nonsense aboutyoung people wanting beer and wine, and such things. If people getsthemselves into an unnatural state, they wants unnatural food. Butwhere's the real need? I don't believe the world would suffer a pin ifall the intoxicating drinks were thrown into the sea to-morrow. Indeed, I'm sure it would be a thousandfold better. "

"I'm sure of the same, " said Jacob. "But I suppose it isn't all of yourtrade as thinks so. "

"No, indeed; more's the pity. There's plenty about us that loves theirdrink a vast deal too well. I can tell you strange tales about some ofthem. I've known hardworking fellows, that have kept sober all theyear, go up at the year's end, with all they have saved, to Adelaide, and put it into the publican's hand, telling him, `There, you keep that, and give me drink, as I calls for it, till I've drunk it all out. '"

"And I'll warrant, " said Jacob, "as publicans'll not be particular as toa gallon or two about giving them the full worth of their brass. "

"Not they, you may be very sure; and as soon as the publican hassqueezed them dry, out they go, neck and crop. "

"And don't that larn 'em better?" asked Jacob. 

"Not a bit of it, " replied his companion; "for there's no fool like adrunken fool. They'll do anything for a spree. They're like madmenwhen they go off with their wages. You may find three or four shepherdsclubbing together. They'll call for champagne, and then for a pail. Then they'll knock the necks off the bottles, pour the champagne intothe pail, and ladle it out with their pannikins as they sit round. Andif that don't satisfy them, they'll add a bottle of brandy, or rum, orsome other spirit. I think they're fairly crazy after the drink in thiscolony. "

"I shouldn't be surprised, " said Jacob. "It's much the same in mostplaces in the old country. "

"Here we are, " said the young bushman, shortly after, as they made theirway through the tangled trees and shrubs, and came upon a large-sizedlog-hut. 

How strange it was, that solitary hut in that lone wilderness, and inview of the shining river! All around was wild and primitive; and fairin its negligent beauty as though it had never been disturbed by thehand of man. The hut was large and well-constructed, though now alittle falling to decay. It was built of logs laid horizontally inorder one above another, and rendered tolerably wind-proof by the mossand clay which served to fill up the crevices. 

Into this primitive dwelling Jacob followed his guide. He was surprisedat the air of comfort presented by the interior. Not that there wasmuch to boast of in the way of furniture, but great pains and skill hadevidently been used to give an air of snugness to the one long, desolateapartment of which the hut consisted. On a low, roughly-made bedsteadlay poor Frank Oldfield, judiciously shielded from draughts by hangingsof carefully arranged drapery. His various possessions lay around him, neatly piled up, or hung on the walls. And what struck Jacob with bothpleasure and surprise, was a text in large printed characters on thewall--opposite the foot of the bed. The words of the text were: "Theblood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. " Oh, what a marvellouspower have the words of the blessed Bible to prove their own heavenlyorigin in circumstances like these! In a moment it was clear to Jacobthat his master was in good hands. These words out of that volume whichis the revelation of the God of love to poor guilty sinners, told him sowith a force which no eloquence or assurance from human lips couldstrengthen. Yet there were other, and very pleasing, proofs also, forat the bed's head sat a middle-aged, kindly-looking woman, who wasacting the part of nurse to the poor emaciated figure that lay on thatcouch of sickness. 

"Who is it?" asked a feeble voice, as the newcomers entered the hut. 

"An old servant, mother, of the gentleman's, " answered the youngbushman. 

"What, Jacob Poole!" exclaimed Frank, raising himself up. 

"There, don't worry or excite yourself, " said the kind woman. "I'llprop you up a bit, but you mustn't talk too much. It'll only make youbad again. "

Jacob came forward. 

"Mr Frank, " he said, "I've come over, as soon as I heard as you wasbadly, to do whatever I can for you. Mr Oliphant's let me come; and heand Mr Hubert's rare and vexed as you're so ill. So I'm to see as youwant for nothing, and to let them know how you're coming on. And I'mbound to stay with you till you gets round again. "

The poor patient held out his hand to Jacob, while the tears streameddown his face. 

"You're all very good to me, " he said; "too good, far better than Ideserve. But I hope God may spare me to reward you, if I can. You see, Jacob, I'm brought very low. That rascal Juniper robbed me of fiftypounds, and deserted me when I was getting ill. He would have taken allmy money, I've no doubt, if he'd only known where to find it. If it hadnot been for my kind nurse here, and her husband, I should not have beenalive now. "

Here he sank back, exhausted with the effort of speaking. He was sadlyaltered. His fine features were sunk and pinched, his cheeks blanched, and his lips cracked and swollen; while his beautiful hair, once hismother's pride, had fallen under the scissors of the shepherd's wife. He was about to speak again, when his nurse motioned Jacob to be seated, and said to her patient, --

"Now, sir, you must just keep silent, and let me tell all about yourtroubles to this young man. You see, it seems that Mr Oldfield andthat man of his, who appears to be a regular scoundrel, came down andsettled in this hut, to try a taste of `bush' life, fishing andshooting, and the like. But, dear heart, it was all well enough for aday or two; but after a bit the young gentleman got weary of it. Sothey took to passing a good deal of their time in drinking and playingcards, I'm afraid. I hope, young man, you're not given to anything ofthe sort?"

"Me!" exclaimed Jacob; "no, ma'am; that's not in my line, I can assureyou. It's the drink as parted my poor mayster and me afore. I'm agradely total abstainer, and mean to be all the days of my life, pleaseGod. "

"I'm heartily glad to hear it, " said the good woman. "You'll do theyoung gentleman no harm then, I hope, but good. Well, as I was saying, when they'd been a long time at this drinking and card-playing, whatwith the heat, and what with the change in his way of living, the poorgentleman took ill; so what did that man of his do? Why, he lookedafter him for a day or so, and then he made pretence that he'd take oneof the horses, and go and look for a doctor, or for some one who couldcome and give a help. But, bless you, he never cared about doctor, butwent straight off with both the horses, and one of the guns, and all thepowder and shot as was left, and whatever else he could carry; and itseems too, from what the gentleman says, that he's taken and robbed hismaster of fifty pounds. "

"And how did you happen to light on him, and find out he was sick?"asked Jacob. 

"Why, I was just going to tell you. My master and Dick--Dick's ouryoungest boy, you know--was looking after a stray sheep, when they comesup to this hut, and hears a strange moaning noise. They went in atonce, and there was this young gentleman in a high fever, raving, andtalking all sorts of wild things, and half dead for want of water. Somy master goes back at once to our cottage and fetches me, and here I'vebeen, off and on, ever since. It's a mercy my master found him when hedid, or he must have died afore long. "

Frank Oldfield nodded his head in assent, and held out his hand, firstto the shepherd's wife, and then to Jacob. "And so you've come to staya bit with your old master, Jacob. Thank God for that. "

"Ay, that's right, " said the good woman; "thank Him--you've cause to doso, I'm sure God seems nearer to us who live out in the bush, in oneway. I mean, our mercies and blessings seem to come straighter likefrom his own hand when we've so few of our fellow-Creatures about us. "

"Jacob, " said his master earnestly, "I trust, if I'm spared, that Ishall really turn over a new leaf, gradely, as you'd say. The drink hasbeen my curse, my ruin, and almost my death. I'll give it upaltogether, and sign the pledge, if God raises me up to health andstrength again. "

"Ay, do, mayster, " replied the other; "it'll be the best thing you everdid in all your life. "

The shepherd's wife was now able to delegate many of her kind offices toJacob, who proved a most loving and tender nurse. In a few days theirpatient was able to sit up without difficulty, and, after a while, toleave the hut for the shepherd's comfortable cottage, to which he wasconveyed on a litter of boughs by the stout arms of the shepherd and hissons. Here it was agreed that he should remain as a regular lodger, ata moderate remuneration for himself and Jacob, which his host andhostess were rather loath to accept, but the refusal of which they sawwould give Frank Oldfield much pain. Jacob was his master's devotedattendant, watching over him as a mother over her child. 

It was one fine afternoon, when Frank was better than usual, that heturned to Jacob in the midst of a walk, and said abruptly, "Jacob, should you like to go to the diggings?"

"Why, Mayster Frank, " was the reply, "I've often thought I should justlike to try my hand at it, for I was trained as a lad to pit-work. ButI should never think of leaving you till you're all right again, northen either, unless you'd wish it yourself. "

"What made me ask you, " said his master, "was this. My kind landlord'sthree eldest sons are going, as you know, to try their hands for threemonths or so at gold-digging. Now, if you'd like to go with them, itwould be a real pleasure to me. You would go in capital company, asthey are all stanch teetotallers, like yourself; and nothing wouldrejoice me more than to find you coming back with a bag full ofnuggets. "

"But what'll _you_ do while I'm off, Mr Frank?"

"Oh, that's easily answered. My kind hostess, and her husband, and twoyoungest sons will be able to do all I want, as I'm getting well sofast; and I shall be glad of an excuse to stop here in this quiet placefor a while, and not return to Adelaide. I can say, and say with truth, that I am waiting till you and your party come back from the diggings. "

Jacob Poole had no objections to make; so in a few days the four youngmen had crossed the Murray, and were on their way to the gold-fields. 

It is not necessary to describe in detail the history of the party fromTanindie during their stay at the diggings, but one or two scenes mustbe introduced which will further our story. 

It was a calm Sabbath evening; the click of the pick, the rattle of thecradle, the splashing of the water-buckets--all were still. Outwardlythe day had been kept strictly as a day of rest by all. Beneath a talltree stood, in the dress of a minister of the gospel, a middle-aged butgrey-headed man. A rough stool served him for a seat, and a fewupturned buckets, supporting some loose planks, were appropriated to thefew women and children, while the men stood behind these in variousattitudes, but all very attentive; for in such a congregation as thisthere were none but willing listeners. Those who had no mind to thepreaching simply pleased themselves, and stayed away. After the singingof a hymn, given out two lines at a time, for the minister alonepossessed a hymn-book, a fervent prayer was offered up by the good man, at the commencement of which almost all the little company sank gentlyon their knees. A few stood, but all remained bareheaded till itsconclusion. Then he drew forth his pocket Bible, and read the firstchapter of the First Epistle of Peter, and took from it as his text thethird, fourth, and fifth verses: "Blessed be the God and Father of ourLord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begottenus again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from thedead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadethnot away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of Godthrough faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. "

From these words he addressed his earnestly attentive congregation inthe simplest language, but every word came from the heart, and made hishearers feel that he was not standing himself on one side, and biddingthem go forward, but was beckoning to them to follow along the path onwhich he was already going before them. He spoke of the uncertainty oflife, and they knew that he spoke the truth; for many who had come thereto search for gold had been cut off in the midst of their labours. Hespoke of the uncertainty of earthly gain and prosperity, and they knewthat he spoke the truth; for many who had left home, and had sold all tocome to these diggings, had returned beggars. He spoke of the emptinessof the earthly compared with the fulness of the heavenly inheritance, and bid them set eternity against time, the riches of heaven against thegold of the earth, the house of glory against their shifting tents, therest of a home with God against their present wanderings, and many asigh and tear escaped from lips and eyes that seldom spoke or lookedexcept for earthly things. And then he told them of the blood of Christthat was shed for their souls, and must be infinitely more precious thancorruptible silver or gold, and urged them never to rest satisfied tillthey could feel that they were truly the children of God and followersof Jesus; for what would it profit them if they gained the whole worldand lost their own souls? Lastly, he pleaded with them to lose no time, but to come at once just as they were, and not any of them to hang backthrough fear or doubt; for the love of Jesus Christ was deep enough toswallow up the sins of them all, and was, like himself, "the sameyesterday, to-day, and for ever. " The simple service concluded withanother hymn and prayer, and then all dispersed, silent and thoughtful. On Jacob Poole, who had been one of the congregation, the sermon of thegood minister made a deep impression. He had often heard the gospelpreached before, but it had never hitherto come home to his heart as apersonal concern, as it did now. There was to him a reality about itsuch as he had never understood before. His heart was yearning forsomething; he felt that the gospel was that something, that it couldsatisfy his heart's cravings. All through the service, but for abouthalf a minute, he had kept his eyes fixed on the preacher. He withdrewthem for that half minute to glance round at a man who brushed past himand walked on. As he turned, the man averted his face. He thought itwas a face not altogether strange to him, and yet he could not recallwhere he had seen it. But his eyes returned to the preacher, and otherthoughts occupied his mind and heart. During the rest of that week hewas ill at ease. Many thoughts came crowding in upon him as he workedvigorously in the hole assigned to him. Hitherto he had believed mensinners in the gross, and himself as bad but not worse than the generalaverage. Now he began to know that he was really himself a sinner, whose transgressions of God's holy laws would bring upon him eternaldeath, unless he sought and found the only refuge. But was the gospelmessage really for _him_? Would Jesus, whom he had so long reverenced, yet never hitherto really loved, be still willing to receive him? Hewaited impatiently for the return of the Sabbath. It came at last, andChrist's ambassador was at his old place under the tree with words fullof love and encouragement. At the end of his sermon, before retiring, he said, --

"If there is any one of you, my dear hearers, who is in any way troubledin conscience, or for any other reason would wish any conversation withme on religious subjects, I shall be only too happy to talk with him nowin my tent. "

No one spoke, and the good man went his way. But in a little whileJacob Poole followed him, and asked to be allowed to speak with him fora few minutes. He entered the minister's tent with a distressed andanxious countenance; but when he came away from the interview in whichhe had unburdened his sorrows, and laid open all his difficulties, therewas a bright and happy look on his features, which spoke of a mindstayed on God and a heart at peace. Just as he was leaving theminister's tent, a swift, quiet step came behind him; he turned veryquickly, and again his eyes fell on the same countenance which he hadseen when a person brushed by him at the previous Sunday's service. Another moment, and the man had vanished in the dusk. Again he waspuzzled. He could not at all remember where he had seen that face, andyet certainly he _had_ seen it before. There was something forbiddingand malicious in it, and a sort of dread crept over him. And yet hecould not tell why he should fear. However, he resolved to be on hisguard, for strange things had often happened at the diggings, and therewere men prowling about the colony who would care nothing about sheddingblood, if they could secure thereby the gains of a successful digger. He said nothing, however, to his companions; for it seemed an absurdthing to trouble them with his vague impressions and misgivings, especially as the man who had thus twice been near him had done nothingmore than approach him and pass on. 

It was some ten days later, and violent winds with heavy rains haddriven the most ardent diggers early to their tents. Jacob wasrevolving in his mind what he had heard at the last Sunday's preaching, and thoughts of home, and duties left undone there, made him very sad. Then he thought of his young master at Tanindie, and wondered how he wasprogressing, and whether he would at length really take the one decidedstep and become a pledged abstainer. Thus he mused on, till thetwilight melted rapidly into darkness. Then, having lifted up his heartto God in prayer, he threw himself down on his bed. But he could notsleep, though weary enough with the exhausting labours of many days. Suddenly he half raised himself; he thought he heard a strange noiselike some one breathing not far from his head. Then the wind, which hadlulled for a second or two, resumed its violence, and flapped the canvasof his tent backwards and forwards. Again he lay down, but shortlyafterwards thought he heard the breathing again--or was he onlydeceiving himself? It was difficult to hear anything else distinctlyfor the noise made by the flapping of the tent and the creaking of itssupports. Still, he did not feel easy. And now in the dusk it seemedto him that the lower part of the folds of the tent near his bed's headmoved in a peculiar manner, such as the wind could not cause. Withoutrising, he silently and cautiously rolled himself over from the bed tillhe could lay his hand on a large rug;--this he quietly folded up, and, creeping back, laid it in his own place on the bed itself. Then, drawing himself round noiselessly, he lay at full-length on the ground, at right angles to the bed, with his face not far from the bolster. Nota sound, except the flapping and creaking of the tent, was heard forsome time, till Jacob, feigning to be asleep, began to breathe hard, andthen to snore louder and louder. Suddenly he was aware that the canvaswas lifted slowly a few feet from where he was stretched along. Hecontinued, however, still to breathe hard, as one in a deep sleep. Another moment, and a man was stealthily raising himself to his kneesinside the tent. Then the intruder raised his arm. Jacob, concealed bya fold of the tent, could just make out that the man's hand grasped someweapon. The next instant there was a plunge downward of the hand, and asuppressed exclamation of surprise. But Jacob waited to see and hear nomore. Catching up a spade, which he knew was close by, he aimed afurious blow at the intended assassin. He did not, however, fully reachhis mark--the blow fell partly short, yet not altogether; there was acry of pain and terror, and then the murderous intruder rushed from thetent, and made his escape, before Jacob could recover his balance, whichhe had lost in the violence of his stroke. And now conjecture andsuspicion were changed to certainty. He could not doubt whose was thevoice that uttered that cry; it was too hateful to him ever to beforgotten; he was now sure that his surmises were true, and that the manwhom he had twice seen so near him was the same who had just beenattempting his life, and was none other than Juniper Graves. He musthave blackened his hair and cultivated a moustache, which would accountfor Jacob's being puzzled to identify him. As soon as he could recoverfrom his surprise, Jacob armed himself with a revolver, and cautiouslyexamined the ground outside his tent, thinking that perhaps his enemymight be lurking about, or might have been disabled by the blow of hisspade. 

"I'm certain I marked the villain, " he said to himself. "I'm sure, bythe way he hollered out, he's got summat with him as he'll remember meby. " But all was still, except the howling of the wind and thepattering and splashing of the driving rain. Then he made his way tothe large tent which the brothers, his companions, all occupied incommon. He told his story, which, of course, excited both the sympathyand indignation of his hearers. But what was to be done?

"No use looking for him to-night, " said one; "he's bolted off far enoughby this time, you may depend on't. As good look for a black fellow inthe Murray reeds, as search for this precious scoundrel in the dark. Here; one of us'll come and share your tent to-night, and to-morrowwe'll raise a hue and cry. "

But hue and cry were raised in vain. Juniper Graves, if he were theculprit, was gone, and had left no trace behind. Nothing more was seenor heard of him; no such person was to be found at the diggings, and noone seemed to know anything about him. So Jacob was left in peace tillthe three months were gone, and then returned to Tanindie, the partyhaving met with rather more than average good fortune. 

When the first greetings were over, and Jacob had expressed his delightat the thorough restoration of his master's health, Frank turned to hisfaithful servant and said, --

"Well, Jacob, you've brought me good news, as you've come back safe, anda rich man; and, indeed, if you'd only brought yourself it would havebeen good news to me. But I am not quite so sure that you'll think mynews good news, when you hear what I have to tell you. "

A cloud gathered on Jacob's face, as he said tremblingly, --

"Eh, surely, mayster, you--you--you've not been--"

"Oh, no, no, " laughed Frank; "set your mind at rest, Jacob; I'm athorough teetotaller now, and have been ever since you left. "

"And mean to be so still, I hope, mayster. "

"I hope so, " was the reply. "But you have not heard my news, Jacob. I'm thinking of going home; not home to Adelaide, but back across thesea again--home to England. "

"Indeed, Mayster Frank. Well, I'm not so sorry to hear it. "

"Are you not?" said his master, with a look of disappointment. "Ithought you might have been. At any rate, I shall be sorry to lose_you_, Jacob, for you've been more like a brother than a servant to me;though, it's true, you'll not be much of a sufferer by losing me. "

"Ay, but, Mayster Frank, there's no reason why either on us should loset'other. I haven't forgotten what you did for me on board ship; andI'll serve ye still here or in the old country, till you can find oneas'll suit you better. "

"Jacob, you're a good fellow, " replied his master; "you shall be myservant, then, and we will go back to Old England together. I'll tellyou just how it is. My dear mother wants me home again--it seems shecan't be content without me; and as there really is no special reasonwhy I should remain in the colony--and certainly I haven't been much ofan ornament to it, nor credit to my friends here--I think it better tomeet her wishes and return. "

"And I'll go with you, with all my heart, " said the other; "only thenyou mustn't think, mayster, as it's all on your own account as says so;it wouldn't be honest to let you think so. Truth is, I've been having atalk wi' a good minister as came a-preaching where we were on theSabbath up at the diggings; and he's opened my eyes a bit; or, rather, the Lord's opened 'em through him. So you see, I've been asking himwhat's my duty about them as I've left at home, and it seems to me, bywhat the good man says, as I haven't dealt by 'em quite as I should. It's a long story, and I needn't trouble you with it; but it just comesto this: I came back from the diggings with my mind made up to go homeagain first opportunity. So, you see, mayster, as you're goingyourself, I can go with you all right now. "

"And do you know, Jacob--or rather, I'm pretty sure that you don't know, that your old friend, Captain Merryweather, has been to Adelaide. He'sgone to Melbourne now, but he'll be back in a month, and we can take ourpassage home in the dear old _Sabrina_. "

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

It was a month after the return of Jacob and his party from the diggingsthat Frank, Jacob, and Captain Merryweather met on board the _Sabrina_at Port Adelaide. 

"So, Jacob, my boy, " cried the captain; "why, how you're grown!Colonial life agrees with you. I should hardly have known you. Andyou're coming home in the old ship. I'm heartily glad of it; that is, supposing you're the same lad as when you sailed with me before. Imean, as stanch an abstainer. "

"Ay, that he is, " said Frank warmly. 

"And you too, Mr Oldfield?"

"Well, I am at present, " replied the other, colouring; "and I hope tocontinue so. "

"Ah, then, I suppose you've never signed the pledge. "

"No; more's the pity. "

"Oh, Mayster Frank, " interposed Jacob, "you promised me, when you wereso ill, as you'd sign when you got better. "

"And so I will; but it's no use signing for the first time now, when I'mgoing home in a total abstinence ship. I'll join some society at home. Our good rector's, for instance. Yes; I'll join his, and my name andexample will be really of some use then. "

"Excuse me, Mr Oldfield, pressing you on the subject, but I hope you'llallow me the privilege of an old friend, " said the captain. "I feel sovery strongly on the matter. I've seen so very much mischief done fromputting off; and if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing at once;take my advice--`There's no time like the present;' `Never put off tillto-morrow what you can do to-day;' these are two good proverbs. I'vefound them of immense value in my line of life. "

"Yes; they're very good proverbs, no doubt, " said Frank, laughing; "butthere are some as good, perhaps, on the other side, though you won'tthink so; for instance, `Second thoughts are best, ' and `Better latethan never. '"

"True, Mr Oldfield; but `late' often runs into never. "

Frank made a gay, evasive reply, and turned hastily away, leaving Jacobto arrange some matters in his cabin, while he went himself on shore. 

He was loitering about among the warehouses till Jacob should join him, when a figure which seemed familiar to him approached, in earnestconversation with another man, but he could not see the face of eitherdistinctly. After a while they parted, and the man whom he seemed torecognise was left alone, and turned towards him. But could it reallybe? Dare he believe his eyes? Yes; there could be no mistake, it wasindeed Juniper Graves. That rather reckless character was, however, much more spruce in his appearance, and better dressed, than when inFrank Oldfield's service. There was an assumption of the fine gentlemanabout him, which made him look ludicrously contemptible, and had Franknot been roused to furious indignation at the sight of him, he couldhardly have refrained from a violent outburst of merriment at the absurdairs and graces of his former servant. As it was, breathless withwrath, his eyes flashing, and his face in a crimson glow, he rushed uponthe object of his just resentment, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed in a voice of suppressed passion, --

"You--you confounded scoundrel! you rascally thief! So I've caught youat last. I'll make very short work with _you_, you ungrateful villain. "

Then he paused for a moment, and shaking him violently, added, --

"What have you to say for yourself, why I shouldn't hand you over atonce to the police?"

Nothing could be more whimsically striking than the contrast betweenJuniper Graves' grand and jaunty bearing a moment before, and hispresent utter crawling abjectness. He became white with terror, andlooked the very picture of impotent cowardice. But this was but for aminute; then his self-possession returned to him. He felt that, if hismaster gave him over immediately in charge to the police, everything waslost; but if he could only get a hearing for a few minutes, before anyfurther step was taken, he was persuaded that he could manage to stemthe torrent that was bearing against him, especially as, fortunately forhim, Frank Oldfield and himself were alone. His first object, therefore, was to gain time. 

"Oh, Mr Frank, Mr Frank!" he cried beseechingly, "spare me--spare me--you don't know all--you're labouring under a great misapplication; ifyou only knew all, you'd think very indifferently of me. "

"That's just what I do now, " said the other, smiling in spite ofhimself. Juniper saw the smile. He was satisfied that his case was nothopeless. 

"Pray, Mr Frank, " he said humbly and softly, "pray do take your handoff my coat; there's no need, sir--I shan't try to escape, sir--I'llfollow you as impressively as a lamb--only give me time, and I'llexplain all. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Frank; "do you mean to tell me that you'll explainback my fifty pounds into my pocket again?"

"Yes, sir, and more besides, if you'll only be patient and hear me. Thank you, sir. If you'll just step in here, sir, I hope to be able toexplain all to your satisfaction. "

They entered a little office connected with a weighing-machine, whichhappened to be vacant at the time. 

"Now, mind, " said Frank Oldfield, when they were shut in alone, "I'llhave a straightforward statement, without any prevarication, or I giveyou over at once into custody. If you can't clear yourself, and I don'tsee how you possibly can, there's the jail before you, the only placeyou're fit for. "

"I'm quite aware, sir, that appearances are against me, " said the othermeekly; "but, Mr Frank, you'll not refuse to listen to your oldservant, that's devoted himself so faithfully to you and yours inEngland, and came across the seas just because he couldn't abide to beseparated from you any longer. "

"Come, sir, " said Frank Oldfield sternly; "I'm not to be talked over inthis way. You weren't so very anxious to avoid separation when you leftme on a sick-bed, and made off with my fifty pounds. Come, sir, give meyour explanation, as you call it, at once, and without any nonsenseabout your faithfulness to me and mine, or I shall put the prison-doorbetween you and me, and that'll be a separation you'll not get over soeasily. "

"But you haven't heard me, sir; you haven't heard all. You don't knowwhat I have to say in attenuation of my offence. "

"I mayn't have heard all, Juniper, but I've both heard and seen aboutyou a great deal more than I like; so let me warn you again, I must havea plain, straightforward statement. What have you done with my money, and how can you justify your abandoning me in my illness?"

"Ah! Mr Frank, you little know me--you little know what's in my heart. You little know how every pulse reverberates with deepest affection. But I'll go to the point, sir, at once;" for Frank began to exhibitsigns of impatience. "When I saw you was getting ill, sir, and not ableto care for yourself, I says to myself, `I must ride off for a doctor. But what'll my poor master do while I'm gone? he's no power to helphimself, and if any stranger should come in--and who knows it mightn'tbe one of these bushrangers!--he'd be sure to take advantage of him andsteal his money while he lay helpless. ' So says I to myself again, `Ithink I'll risk it. I know it'll look awkward, '--but there's nothinglike a good conscience, when you know you haven't meant to do wrong. `I'll just take the money with me, and keep it safe for him till I getback. ' Nay, please, Mr Frank, hear me out. Well, I took the fiftypounds, I don't deny it; it may have been an error in judgment, butwe're all of us infallible beings. I rode off to find a doctor, but nodoctor could I find; but I met a young bushman, who said he'd get someone to look after you till I could return. "

"And why didn't you return; and how came you to want two horses to fetchthe doctor with?" asked Frank impatiently. 

"Ah! dear sir, don't be severe with me till you know all. I took boththe horses for the same reason that I took the money. I was afraid astranger might come while I was away, perhaps a bushranger, and the veryfirst thing he'd have laid his hands on would have been the horse. "

"Well; and why didn't you come back?"

"I did try, sir, to come back, but I missed my road, and made manyfruitful efforts to regain my lost track. At last, after I'd tried, andtried, and tried again, I gave up in despair, and I should have perishedin the scowling wilderness if I hadn't met with a party going to thediggings. Then the thought crossed my mind, `I'll go and dig for gold;if I succeed, I'll show my dear master that I'm no slave to Mammoth, butI'll lay down my spoils at his feet; and if I fail, I cannot help it. 'Well, sir, I went and dug with a good will. I prospered. I came backto look for my dear master, but I could not find him--he was evacuated. At last I heard that you were going to England, Mr Frank, and I said tomyself; `I'll go too. I'll pay my own passage. I'll be the dear youngmaster's devoted servant, and he shall see by my unwearied intentionsthat I never really could have meant to do him wrong. '"

"And do you really think me such a fool as to believe all this?" askedFrank contemptuously. 

"Yes, sir; I do hope you will, sir, " was the reply of Juniper. "There, sir, " he added, "I'll give you the best proof that I'm not the rogue youtook me for. Please, sir, to read what's on that packet, and then openit. "

Frank took from his hands a heavy parcel, on which was clearly written, "F Oldfield, Esquire; from Juniper Graves. " He opened it. It containedsix ten-pound notes and a leather bag full of nuggets. 

"There, sir, " said Juniper, triumphantly, "you can tell that this is nogot-up thing. I've had no time to write these words on the paper sinceyou collared me. I've carried it about just as it is for weeks, as youmay plainly see by looking at the cover of it, till I could give it intoyour own hands. "

It was clear, certainly, that the paper had been folded and directedsome considerable time back, as was manifest from the marks of wear andrubbing which it exhibited. Frank was staggered. 

"Really, Juniper, " he said, "I don't know what to think, I can't denythat this packet has been made up for me before our present meeting, andit has all the appearance of having been some considerable time just asit now is. It certainly looks as if you didn't mean to rob me, asyou've paid me, I should think, nearly double what you took. Of course, I don't want that. I shall not take more than my fifty pounds. "

"Oh, sir, do take the rest, as some amends for the anxiety I've causedyou by my foolish act, in taking charge of your money in the way I didwithout your knowledge or permission. It was wrong, and I oughtn't tohave done it; but I meant it for the best. And oh, dear master, dothink the best of me. I never did mean to harm you; and I'm ready to gowith you now from the Pole to the Antipathies. "

"No, Juniper, I shall only take my own, " said his master; and herestored him one of the ten-pound notes and the nuggets, which Juniperaccepted with apparent reluctance. 

"So far, " said Frank Oldfield, "let bygones be bygones. I trust thatyou'll not make any more such awkward mistakes. "

"You're satisfied then, sir?" asked Graves. 

"Yes, so far as my money is concerned. But there's a graver chargeagainst you still. Jacob Poole has informed me, and asserts it mostpositively, that you stole into his tent at the diggings and tried tomurder him. "

"Well, did I ever!" exclaimed Juniper, holding up both his hands inamazement. "I really think, sir, that young man can't be quite right inhis head. _Me_ try to murder him! why, I've never set eyes on him sincethe day he spoke so impertinently to me at the cottage. _Me_ murderhim! what can the poor, silly young man be thinking of. It's all hisfancy, sir; merely congestion of the brain, sir, I assure you; nothingbut congestion of the brain. "

"It may be so, " replied Frank; "but here he comes himself; let us hearwhat he has to say on the subject. "

They both stepped out into the open air as Jacob Poole came up. 

Poor Jacob, had he seen the "father of lies" himself walking with hismaster, he could hardly have been more astounded. He rubbed his eyes, and stared hard again at Frank and his companion, to assure himself thathe was not mistaken or dreaming. No; there could be no doubt of it. Frank Oldfield was there, and Juniper Graves was as clearly there; andit was equally plain that there was more of confidence than of distrustin his master's manner towards the robber and intended murderer. Whatcould it all mean?

"Come here, Jacob, " said Frank. "I see you look rather aghast, and Idon't wonder; but perhaps you may find that Juniper Graves here is notquite so black as we have thought him. He acknowledges that he took myfifty pounds, but he says he never meant to keep it; and that he missedhis way in looking for a doctor, and afterwards joined a party at thediggings. "

"Well, Mayster Frank?" said Jacob, with a look of strong incredulity. 

"Ah, I see you don't believe it, and I own it don't sound very likely;but then, you see, he has given me a proof of his wish not to wrong me;for--look here, Jacob--he has returned me my fifty pounds, and wanted meto take another ten pounds, and some nuggets besides, his own hardearnings at the diggings; only, of course, I wouldn't have them. "

"Indeed, mayster, " replied Jacob, with a dry cough of disbelief; andglancing at Juniper, who had assumed, and was endeavouring to keep up onhis cunning countenance, an appearance of injured virtue. 

"Yes, indeed, Jacob, " said his master; "and we mustn't be too hard uponhim. He did wrong, no doubt, and he has made the best amends he could. If he had been a thorough rogue, he never would have cared to seek meout and return me my money with large interest. And, what's more, he'scoming over to England in the same ship with us; not as my servant, butpaying his own passage, just for the sake of being near me. Thatdoesn't look like a thoroughly guilty conscience. "

"Coming home in the same vessel with us!" cried Jacob, in utterastonishment and dismay. "Coming home in the same vessel!"

"Yes, Mr Poole, " said Juniper, stepping forward, and speaking with anair of loftiness and injured innocence; "and, pray, why not coming homein the same vessel? What have _you_ to say against it, I should like toknow? Am I to ask _your_ leave in what ship I shall cross the brawnydeep? Have you a conclusive right to the company of our master?--for heis mine as well as yours till he himself banishes me irresolutely fromhis presence. "

"You shall not sail in the same vessel with us, if I can hinder it, assure as my name's Jacob Poole, " said the other. 

"And how _can_ you hinder it, Mr Poole, I should like you to tell me?I ask nobody's favour. I've paid my passage-money. I suppose my brass, as you wulgarly call it, is as good as any other man's. "

"Well, " said Jacob, "I'll just tell you what it is. You'll have toclear up another matter afore you can start for England. You'll have totell the magistrate how it was as you crept into my tent at thediggings, and tried to stick your knife into me. What do you say tothat, Mr Juniper Graves?"

Just the very slightest tremor passed through Juniper's limbs, and thefaintest tinge of paleness came over his countenance at this question, but he was himself again in a moment. 

"Really, " he exclaimed, "it's enough to throw a man off his balance, anddeprive him of his jurisprudence, to have such shocking charges broughtagainst him. But I should like, sir, to ask this Mr Poole a questionor two, as he's so ready to accuse me of all sorts of crimes; he don'tsuppose that I'm going to take him for judge, jury, and witnesses, without having a little shifting of the evidence. "

"Well, of course, it's only fair that you should ask him for proof;"said Frank. 

"Come, then, Mr Poole, " said Juniper, in a fierce swaggering tone, "just tell me how you can _prove_ that I ever tried to murder you?Pooh! it's easy enough to talk about tents; and knives, and such things, but how can you prove it that I ever tried to murder you? a likelything, indeed. "

"Prove it!" exclaimed Jacob, evidently a little at fault. 

"Yes, prove it. Do you think I'm going to have my character sworn awayon such unsubstantial hallucinations? Tell me, first, what time of theday did it happen?"

"It didn't happen in the day at all, as you know well enough. "

"Was it dark?"

"Yes. "

"Could you see who it was as tried to murder you, as you say?"

"No. "

"Then how do you know it was me?"

"I hit the scoundrel with my spade, " said Jacob, indignantly, "and madehim sing out, and I knowed it were your voice; I should have knowed itamong a thousand. "

"And that's all your proof, " said the other, sneeringly. "You knowed myvoice. "

"Ay, " replied Jacob; "and I left my mark on you too. There's a scar onyour hand. I haven't a doubt that's it. "

"Can you prove it?" asked the other, triumphantly. "A scar, indeed! Doyou think scars are such uncommon things with men as works hard at thediggings, that you can swear to one scar? A precious likely story!"

"Ah, but I saw you myself. "

"When?"

"At two of the preachings. "

"Preachings! and what then? I didn't try and murder you at thepreachings, did I? But are you sure it was me, after all, as you saw atthe preachings?"

"Quite. "

"How was I dressed? Was the person you took for me just the same as me?Had he the same coloured hair--smooth face, like me?"

"I'll tell you plain truth, " said Jacob, warmly; "it were you. I'm assure as I'm here it were you; but you'd blacked your sandy hair, andgrowed a beard on your lip. "

"Well, I never!" cried the other, in a heat of virtuous indignation. "Here's a man as wants to make out I tried to murder him; but when Iasks him to prove it, all he says is, he couldn't see me do it, that heheard my voice, that I've got a scar on my hand, that he saw me twice atsome preachings, but it wasn't me neither; it wasn't my hair, it wasn'tmy beard, and yet he's sure it was me. Here's pretty sort of evidenceto swear away a man's life on. Why, I wonder, young man, you ain'tashamed to look me in the face after such a string of tergiversations. "

"I think, Jacob, " said his master, "you'd better say no more about it. It's plain you've no legal proof against Juniper; you may be mistaken, after all. Let us take the charitable side, and forget what's past. There, shake hands; and as we're to be all fellow-voyagers, let us allbe friends. "

But Jacob drew back. 

"No, mayster; I'll not grip the hand of any man, if my heart cannot gowith it. Time'll show. By your leave, I'll go and get the dog-cartready; for I suppose you'll be going back to Adelaide directly?"

His master nodding assent, Jacob went to fetch the vehicle, and on hisreturn found his master in earnest conversation with Juniper. 

"Good-bye, then, Juniper, till we meet next Thursday on board the_Sabrina_, " he cried. 

"Good-bye, sir; and many thanks for your kindness. "

Jacob, of course, uttered no word of farewell; but just looking roundfor an instant, he saw Juniper's eyes fixed on him with such a look ofdeadly, savage hatred, as assured him--though he needed no suchassurance--that his intended murderer was really there. 

"I think, Jacob, you're rather hard on Juniper, " said his master, asthey drove along. "He has done wrong; but I am persuaded he has still astrong attachment to me, and I really cannot think he can have been theperson who tried to murder you. Why should you think it, Jacob? He'snever done you any harm before. "

"Mr Frank, you must excuse me; but I'm sure I'm not mistaken. He'salways hated me ever since the day I spoke out my mind to you at thecottage. Take my word for it, Mr Frank, he's no love for you; he onlywants to make a tool of you, just to serve his own purposes. "

"Nay, nay, Jacob, my good fellow; not so fast. He cannot be so utterlyselfish, or he never would have offered me the extra ten-pound note andthe nuggets, over and above the fifty pounds, if he hadn't really a lovefor me, and a true sorrow for what he has done wrong. "

"I cannot see that, " was the reply. "Of course, he knowed he was likelyto meet you when he came to Adelaide; and he was pretty sure what'dhappen if you gave him in charge to the police. He knowed well enoughthey wouldn't listen to his tale; so, just to keep clear of the prison, he gave you the money, and made up his story just to save hisself. Heknowed fast enough as you'd never take more nor your fifty pounds. "

"Ah, but Jacob, " said his master, "you're wrong there. He had made upthe parcel, nuggets and all, and directed it to me long before he sawme. Don't that show that he intended it all for me, whether he met meor no?"

"Not a bit of it, Mr Frank, " replied Jacob, bluntly. "He knowedprecious well how to play his game. I'll be bound there's summat wrongabout his getting this gold; I'll ne'er believe he dug it up hisself. Ishouldn't wonder if he hasn't robbed some poor chap as has worked hardfor it; and now he wants to get out of the colony as fast as he canafore he's found out. And, in course, he's been carrying this brasslapped up a long time, just in case you should light on him at any time, and he might seem to have a proper tale to tell. But you may be rightsure, Mr Frank, as you'd ne'er have seen a penny of it if he could onlyhave got clear out of the colony without coming across yourself. "

"You're not very charitable, Jacob, I think, " said his master; "but itmay be as you say. And yet, why should he be so anxious to go out inthe same ship with me? If he wanted to keep his money to himself; whydidn't he keep close till the _Sabrina_ was gone, and then sail by thenext vessel?"

"Perhaps he did mean it, Mr Frank, only you happened to light on him. "

"No, that cannot be, for he says he has paid for his own passage. "

"Then, if that's a true tale, " said the other, "I'll be bound he's notdone it with any good meaning for you or me. I shall keep both my eyeswell open, or he'll be too much for me. And as for you, Mr Frank, oh, don't listen to him, or he'll hook all your brass as he's given you outof your pocket again, or he'll lead you back to the drink if he can. "

Frank coloured, and looked troubled, and turned the conversation toanother subject. 

At last the day of sailing came. The _Sabrina_, taken in tow by asteam-tug, soon made her way to Holdfast Bay, where she was to lie atanchor till Saturday morning. Hubert and his uncle accompanied FrankOldfield thus far, and then returned in the steam-tug. Before theyparted, Hubert had a long conversation with his friend in his cabin. His last words were of Mary, and Frank's one special temptation; andthey separated with a fervent grasp, and eyes brimming with tears. Yetin neither of their hearts was there hope. Hubert felt that his friendhad not satisfied him that he really meant utterly and for ever torenounce strong drink; and Frank felt that he had withheld any positivepromise so to abstain, because he knew that the deep-rooted purpose ofhis heart was to resume the indulgence which would be his ruin, body andsoul. 

And where was Juniper? No one saw him on deck; and yet assuredly he wason board the vessel, for Jacob had seen him come up the side. 

Saturday morning, and a fine favourable wind. Up comes the anchor--the_Sabrina_ bends to the breeze--away they go! Kangaroo Island is reachedand passed. Then emerges Juniper Graves from his cabin between decks, and smiles as he looks around him. All is safe now. 

The _Sabrina_ had been gone ten days, when a weary, downcast-looking manentered Mr Abraham Oliphant's office. 

"Your name ain't Oliphant, is it?" he asked, doggedly. 

"Yes, it is, " said Hubert, whom he was addressing. 

The man got up, and stared steadily at him for a minute. 

"It ain't him!" he muttered to himself. 

Hubert was inclined at first to be amused; but there was something inthe man's manner that checked his merriment. 

"You want my uncle, perhaps, " he said. 

Mr Abraham Oliphant came at his nephew's summons. The man, who had allthe appearance of a returned digger, shook his head. 

"_You've_ neither on you been to the diggings, I reckon?"

"No; we have neither of us been, " said the merchant. 

"Are there any of your name as has been?" asked the other. 

"None; I can answer for it, " was the reply. "My sons have none of thembeen; and we, with my nephew here, are all the Oliphants in this colony. No Oliphant has been to the diggings from South Australia. "

The man sighed deeply. 

"Can you make anything out o' that?" he asked, handing a piece of soiledpaper to Mr Oliphant. "I can't read myself, but you can read it. "

The merchant took the piece of paper and examined it. It had once beenpart of an envelope, but had been torn and rolled up to light a pipe, and one end, where it had been used, was burned. The words left on itwere all incomplete, except the names "Oliphant" and "Australia. " Whatwas left was as follows:--

 _yes_, _Oliphant_, _delaide_, _th Australia_. 

Both uncle and nephew scrutinised it attentively. At last Hubertsaid, --

"I can tell now who this belonged to. "

"Who?" cried the man, eagerly. 

"Why, to one Juniper Graves, a servant of Mr Frank Oldfield's. Hechose to take upon himself to have his letters from England directed tothe care of my uncle, and this is one of the envelopes. "

"And where is he? Can you tell me where I can find him?" cried thedigger, in great excitement. 

"I'm afraid you'll not find him at all, my friend, " replied themerchant, "for he left the colony in the _Sabrina_ for England ten daysago. "

The effect of this announcement on the poor man was tremendous. Heuttered a violent imprecation, stamped furiously on the ground, while heground his teeth together. Then he sat down, and covered his face withhis hands in mute despair. 

"I fear there has been some foul play, " said Mr Oliphant to his nephew. 

"Foul play!" cried the unfortunate digger, starting up furiously. "I'lltell you what it is. Yon rascal's been and robbed me of all as I got bymy hard labour; and now he's got clean off. But I'll follow him, andhave the law of him, if I work my passage home for it. "

"I've always had a suspicion that the fellow had not come honestly byhis gains, " said Hubert. 

"And why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you have him taken up onsuspicion?" exclaimed the other bitterly. 

"I had no grounds for doing so, " replied Hubert. "He might have comehonestly by his money for anything I knew to the contrary. There wasnothing to show that he had not been successful, as many other diggershave been. "

"Successful!" cried the poor man. "Ay, he's been successful in making aprecious fool of me. "

"Tell us how it happened, " said Mr Oliphant. 

"Why, you see, gentlemen, my mates and me had done very well; and theywas for going to Melbourne with what they'd got, but I was for stoppingto get a little more. Well, I was all alone, and a little fidgetty likefor fear of getting robbed, when one evening I sees a sandy-haired chapnear my tent as didn't look much used to hard work; so I has a bit o'talk with him. He seemed a greenish sort of piece, and I thought asp'raps I might just make use of him, and keep him for company's sake. So he and I agreed to be mates; he was to do the lighter work, and I wasto do the hard digging, and keep the biggest share of what we got. Sowe chummed together; and he seemed a mighty pleasant sort of a cove fora bit. He was always a-talking, and had his mouth full o' big words. Inever said nothing about what I'd got afore, and he never seemed to careto ask me. But it were all his deepness. One night he pulls out a packof cards, and says, `Let's have a game. Only for love, ' says he, whenhe saw me look a little shyly at him. `I'm not a gambler, ' says he; `Inever plays for money. ' So we has a game and a pipe together, and hepulls out a little flask of spirits, and we got very cheerful. But Iwas careful not to take too much that night. However, the rum set mytongue loose, and I let out something about having more gold than heknowed of. I was mighty vexed, however, next day, when I rememberedwhat I'd said. But he never said a word about it, but looked werryinnocent. A few nights arterwards we gets drinking and smoking again. Then he took a little too much himself. I knowed it, because next dayhe was axing me if I'd see'd anything of an envelope as he'd lost. Itold him `no;' but the real fact was, he'd twisted it up to light hispipe with, and I'd picked up the bit as he threw away, and put it in mypocket. I didn't think anything about it then; but next day, when hemade a great fuss about it, and the day after too, I said to myself;`I'll keep the bit of paper; maybe summat'll turn up from it one ofthese days. ' So I took it out of my pocket when he were not by, andstowed it away where I knew he couldn't find it. But I shall weary you, gentlemen, with my long story. Well, the long and short of it was justthis. He managed to keep the spirit-bottle full, and got me jolly welldrunk one night; and then I've no doubt I told him all he wanted to knowabout my gold, for I know no more nor the man in the moon what I said tohim. I asked him next day what I'd been talking about; and he said Iwas very close, and wouldn't let out anything. Well, it seems there wasa strong party leaving the diggings a day or so arter; but it was keptvery snug. Jemmy Thomson--that was what my new mate called himself tome--had managed to hear of it, and got leave to join 'em. So, the nightafore they went, he gets me into a regular talk about the old country, and tells me all sorts of queer stories, and keeps filling my pannikinwith grog till I was so beastly drunk that I knew nothing of what hadhappened till it was late the next morning. Then I found he was off. He'd taken every nugget I'd got, and some bank-notes too, as I'd stowedaway in a safe place. The party had started afore daybreak; and nobodyknowed which way they'd gone, for they'd got off very secret. I waslike one mad, you may be sure, when I discovered what he'd been anddone. I took the bit of paper with me, and managed somehow to get toMelbourne. I tried to find him out; some only laughed at me. I went tothe police; they couldn't do nothing for me--some on 'em told me itserved me right for getting drunk. Then I went to a minister; and hewas very kind, and made all sorts of inquiries for me. He said he'dreason to believe as Jemmy Thomson--as the rascal called himself--wasnot in Melbourne. And then he looked at my paper. `Call on me to-morrow, ' says he. And so I did. Then he says, `There's no Oliphanthere as I can find out; but there's a Mr Abraham Oliphant, a merchant, in Adelaide. This letter's been to him; you'd better see him. ' So I'vecome here overland with a party; and now I must try my hand at summat orstarve, for I shall never see my money nor the villain as stole it nomore. "

Mr Oliphant was truly sorry for the unfortunate man, and bade him takeheart, promising to find him employment if he was willing to stick tohis work and be sober. The man was thankful for the offer, and workedfor a few weeks, but he was still all athirst for the gold, and, as soonas he could purchase the necessary tools, set out again for thediggings, with an earnest caution from Mr Oliphant to keep from thedrink if he would not suffer a repetition of his loss and misery. 

And thus it was that Juniper Graves had acquired his ill-gotten wealth. Having ascertained that a party was returning to South Australia, hejoined himself to them, and got safe off with his stolen gold. As JacobPoole had surmised, he had made up the packet of notes with the nuggets, that, should he happen to fall in with his master, he might be able topacify him, and so prepare the way for regaining his favour and his ownhold upon him. He felt quite sure, from what he knew of FrankOldfield's generous character, that he never would take more than thefifty pounds, and he was aware that unless he made unhesitatingrestitution of that sum, he was in danger of losing all, and of beingthrown into prison. And now he was anxious to leave the colony as soonas possible, that he might put the sea between himself and the man hehad robbed; and, having ascertained that Frank Oldfield and Jacob Poolewere returning to England in the _Sabrina_, he took his passage in thesame vessel, partly with the view of getting his young master once moreinto his power, and partly in the hope of finding an opportunity ofwreaking his vengeance on Jacob Poole. Therefore he was determined toleave no stone unturned to regain his influence over Frank, for hisobject was to use him for his own purposes both during and after thevoyage. To this end his first great aim would be to cause, if possible, an estrangement between Jacob and his master. He also hoped to do hisrival--as he considered Jacob--some injury of a serious kind, withoutexposing himself to detection. So far he had succeeded. All hadprospered to his utmost wishes; and, as the shores of Kangaroo Islandfaded from the view of the voyagers, he hugged himself in secret andsaid, --

"Bravo, Juniper!--bravo! You've managed it to a T. Ah, Mr JacobPoole! I'll make your master's cabin too hot to hold you afore any ofus is a month older. "

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

A MAN OVERBOARD. 

And now we bid farewell to Australia, and follow the _Sabrina_ in herhomeward voyage. It was soon evident that there was no love lostbetween Captain Merryweather and Juniper Graves, nor between thatcunning gentleman and honest, straightforward Jacob. With Frank, however, it was different. Jacob soon found that his place was oftentaken by Juniper, and that himself was gradually losing his old place inhis master's confidence and good graces: Frank would also frequentlyspend a long time in Juniper's cabin between decks, from which hereturned in a state of great hilarity. 

"Jacob, " said the captain to him one day, "I can't quite make it out. Ithought your master was an abstainer. "

Jacob shook his head. 

"I thought so too, captain; but I've found myself grievously mistaken. He's no mind to give up the drink, you may be sure. He's only teetotalwhen he cannot get it. "

"I'm pretty sure, " said the other, "that he takes it now. That fellowJuniper Graves is no fit companion for him. "

"Ah, captain, that man's been his ruin in Australia; and he'll be hisruin when he gets back to the old country, if he doesn't shake him off. But I fear he'll ne'er do that. The old lad hasna a fitter tool in allthe world nor yon chap. He'll not stick at anything. He's triedrobbery and murder, and he'll not be over nice about squeezing all hecan out of the poor young mayster. "

Jacob then related to Captain Merryweather all he knew of JuniperGraves' proceedings, and both he and the captain agreed together towatch him, and do their utmost to keep poor Frank out of his clutches. 

"I don't care so much about myself, " said Jacob; "though I'm quite surehe'd knock me overboard any day, if he'd the chance of doing it withoutbeing seen, for he hates me worse nor poison. But I'm grieved to theheart to see him winding hisself round Mayster Frank, who's so kind andso warm-hearted and so free. I cannot forget how he risked his life tosave mine when we was coming out, as you know, captain; and I'd give myown life for him now, if I could only get him clear of yon cunningrascal as is leading him blindfold to hell. "

"I've no doubt, " said the other, "that this man has brought spirits onboard, and that he and Mr Oldfield drink in his cabin together. "

"Yes, " replied Jacob; "and you may be quite sure as he'll hook all thebrass out of the young mayster afore the voyage is over. "

It was just as Jacob and the captain surmised. Juniper Graves hadbrought a good stock of brandy and rum on board with him, and took carethat Frank Oldfield should pay handsomely for what he was willing, aftermuch solicitation, to part with. Let us look in upon them, as they sittogether by Juniper's berth. The time is midnight. Frank has stolen inwhile the captain has been sleeping, for he fears being seen going thereby the honest sailor. There is a curtain hung up before the door tohide the light. A small candle lamp hung on gymbals is fixed to thewoodwork, and throws a scanty gleam on the two figures which are engagedin earnest play. Yet how different are these two, spite of theircompanionship in evil! Frank, still beautiful in the refined cast offeatures, out of which intemperance has not yet been able to sear thetraces of gentle blood and early culture; bright too and graceful in themasses of rich chestnut hair which adorn a forehead high and noble, yetnow, alas! often crossed by lines of weary, premature care. Juniper, acompound of cat, fox, monkey, wolf--every feature of his contemptibleface instinct with the greediest, most self-satisfied cunning. Howcould two such, so widely different in natural character, be yet soagreed? Alas! what will not the love of the drink, the slavery of thedrink, the tyranny of the drink accomplish? Each holds his cardscharacteristically. Frank so carelessly that his adversary can seethem; Juniper grasping and shading his with jealous vigilance, lest asingle glimpse of them should be visible to his opponent. A largespirit-flask stands under the berth close by Juniper's hand, and a glassis within the reach of each. They play on, for a while, in silence. Frank's money is clearly slipping through his fingers, though he isallowed now and then to win, especially when he gets at all restive orsuspicious. 

"There, Juniper, " says Frank at last, and in no steady voice, "I declareyou'll clean me out before long. I do believe you've come on board forthe sake of squeezing me dry, as Jacob says. "

"As Jacob says!" cries the other, with affected indignation andastonishment. "I wish, sir, that conceited young puppy had never setfoot on this vessel. What does he know of the sort of aversions as aresuited to a gentleman of your birth and retrospects?"

"Juniper, " replies the other, "I think the `aversions, ' as you callthem, belong to you and not to me, if I may judge by your aversion forpoor Jacob; and as for `retrospects, ' I think the less I say about themthe better. "

"Well, sir, I don't know, " replies Juniper, huffily; "you may amuseyourself; sir, with my humble efforts at a superior style of soliloquy;but I'm sure you're doing me injustice, and allowing yourself to bebamboozled, if you let yourself be talked over by that cantinghypocrite. "

"Steady--steady, my boy!" cries Frank; "you're half-seas over, Juniper, or you could not say so. Come, hand us the brandy. We'll let Jacobalone, and drink his health, and the health of all good lads andlasses. "

"As you please, sir, " says Juniper, sulkily. 

The next morning, when Frank Oldfield appeared on deck, his face andwhole appearance bore the unmistakable marks of last night's excess. His very breath also told the same miserable tale. As for Juniper, though he had drunk more cautiously, yet he did not show himself outsidehis cabin till the afternoon. The captain had his eye upon him, andcould not help remarking to himself what a look of deadly malice andvenomous baseness pervaded every feature of the villain's face. 

"He's up to some mischief more than common, I'll be bound, " he said tohimself. "I'll keep a sharp look-out for you, my friend. "

A short time after, and Juniper had disappeared, nor did he emerge fromhis retreat till the evening. He was then in high spirits, laughing andchatting with the sailors, and every now and then glancing up at Jacob, who was walking up and down the poop with Captain Merryweather. Atlast, just as Jacob was descending to the main-deck, and had his foot onthe topmost step of the ladder, the vessel lying over under a breeze onthe quarter, Juniper suddenly sprang up the steps in a state of greatexcitement, shouting out, "A whale!--a whale!" Every one but thecaptain turned suddenly round in the direction to which Juniper waspointing, Jacob among the number, so that he hung partly over the water. 

"Where?" cried several voices. 

"There!" he exclaimed, suddenly stumbling with his whole might againstJacob, so as very nearly to hurl him into the sea. Indeed, had not thecaptain, who was on the watch, sprung forward and caught hold of him, hemust have inevitably gone overboard. 

"You scoundrel!" shouted the captain, seizing Juniper by the collar, andsending him spinning down the ladder on to the deck below, where he layhalf stunned for a few moments. 

"I'm up to your tricks, my man, " he added, as Juniper limped off to hiscabin, vowing vengeance. 

"What's amiss, captain?" asked Frank, in great astonishment. "What'spoor Juniper been doing? No great harm in fancying he saw a whale, evensupposing he was mistaken. "

"Mr Oldfield, " said the captain, sorrowfully, "you don't know thatfellow. If ever there was a serpent in a human body, there's one inthat man of yours. Bear with me, my dear sir, if I offer you an earnestword or two of caution. I can see that you are not the man you werewhen we crossed the seas together before. We had a very happy voyagethen, and you remember how strong and settled you were on the subject oftotal abstinence. Is it so now? Ah! don't let that wretched fellowtake all that's good and noble out of you. He don't care a straw foryou nor for any one but himself; I'm quite certain. He has mischief inhis eye, and there's a black heart under that smooth tongue--if I knowanything of what a rogue's like, and I've boarded many that have beensailing under false colours in my day. You must excuse my speaking sowarmly and plainly, Mr Oldfield; but I really cannot bear to see yourunning on to the reefs without giving you a word of warning. "

"Thank you--thank you, captain, " said Frank. "I know you mean kindly, but I still think you're hard upon Juniper. I believe he's a faithfulfellow, with all his faults; and he isn't without them, I'll allow. Buthe's sincerely attached to me, I believe, and that makes up for a gooddeal. "

"Attached to you, Mr Oldfield! don't think it! He's only making a toolof you--he'll just get all he can out of you, and then he'll scuttleyou, and leave you to sink. "

"I can't think it, I cannot indeed, " was Frank's reply; "there's an oldproverb about giving a dog a bad name. He's no friend of yours, I know, nor of Jacob Poole's either, and I'm sorry for it. "

"And is he really acting a friend's part by you, Mr Oldfield?" askedthe other. Frank coloured, and evaded the question. 

"At any rate, Jacob has no real cause to be at such daggers-drawn withhim, " he said. 

"Do you think not? Are you aware that he was trying to knock Jacoboverboard only a few minutes ago, and that he attempted his life at thediggings?"

"Oh, captain, it's all fancy; you're mistaken, both of you. I'm sureyou're mistaken. Juniper's not the sort of fellow--he hasn't it inhim--he hasn't the pluck to commit murder, even if he had the will to doit. "

"Ah, Mr Oldfield, " cried the captain, "I say again, beware of him; youdon't know him; if you'd seen the spite in his eye that I've seen youwouldn't talk so. He has malice enough in him to take away life, if hefelt sure he could do it without detection and punishment. And is henot, at this very moment, stealing away from you the life of body andsoul? Don't be offended, pray, Mr Oldfield; but I say again, I can'tbear to see you drifting on to the rocks, and not lend a helping hand tokeep you off. "

"I'm not offended, my kind friend, " said Frank sorrowfully; "you tellthe truth, I fear, when you say I'm drifting on to the rocks; and yet Idon't mean to go on as I'm doing now, I assure you--when I touch landagain I'm going to turn over a new leaf altogether, and paste it downover the old ones, so that I shall make quite a fresh start. "

"And do you think, " asked the other, "that this fellow will let you keepyour good resolutions, even if you had the wish to do so?"

"Oh yes, " replied Frank, carelessly; "I've told Master Juniper that hisreign will only last on board ship; I'm to be master, and we're both tosay `good-bye' to the drink when once we set foot on shore, and he'squite agreeable. "

"Of course he is, " said the captain; "he'll be willing to promiseanything for the future, if you'll only let him keep his hold on younow. Well, sir, I've warned you, and I hope you may lay it to heart. "

"I will, my good friend; indeed I will, " was the reply. That eveningFrank kept himself out of Juniper's reach, much to the disgust andannoyance of that gentleman, who began to dread lest he had over-reachedhimself; and set his old master against him. It was not so, however. Juniper had become necessary to Frank, and a day or two found them asfast friends as ever. 

And now the _Sabrina_ had accomplished half her homeward course, andmany a heart on board rejoiced in the hope of a speedy and prosperouscompletion of the voyage. 

It was a chilly and boisterous afternoon, the clouds were hurrying inleaden-coloured layers along the sky, the sea was all in a foam, andpatches of whitish upper clouds, beneath which the lower drift wasscudding, threw a lurid light over the wide expanse of ocean. The wind, which had hitherto been favourable, now veered, and obliged them totack. The captain, at this juncture, was on the poop, with FrankOldfield by him. 

"I haven't seen Mr Juniper Graves to-day, " said the former. 

"To tell you the truth, " answered Frank, "he and I have been having afew words together. "

"I'm not sorry for it, " remarked the captain drily; "nothing serious, however, I hope. "

"Nothing very, perhaps; but the matter's simply this: I've been foolenough to play cards with him for rather high stakes lately, and I fancythat I've detected my man peeping over my cards, and using a littlesleight of hand in his shuffling too. "

"I'll be bound he has, " remarked the other. 

"If he'd been a poor man, " added Frank, "I could have excused it; butthe fellow's got a whole fortune in nuggets and notes stowed about him. He's a sort of walking `Crocus, ' as he told me once, when he wasn't oversober, --meaning `Croesus, ' of course. "

"And so you've given him a little of your mind, I suppose. "

"Yes; and it's wounded my gentleman's dignity considerably; so there heis below, hugging his gold, and comforting himself in his own way, whichisn't much in your line or Jacob's, captain, and I wish it wasn't inmine. "

"In other words, " said Captain Merryweather, "he's pretty nearly drunkby this time. "

"You're somewhere about right, " was the reply. Immediately after thisshort dialogue the captain proceeded to give the orders for tacking in astentorian voice, as the wind was high. 

"Ready, ho! ready!" he cried. All were standing ready at their posts. Then the word was given to the man at the wheel. 

"Helm's a-lee!" roared the captain. There was rattling of chains, flapping of canvas, and shuffling of feet. 

"Mainsail h-a-u-aul!" bellowed the captain in a prolonged shout. Roundwent the great sail under the swift and strong pulls of willing hands. 

"Let go, and h-a-u-aul!" once more roared out the captain in a voice ofthunder. 

It was just at this moment, when all was apparent confusion, when ropeswere rattling, feet stamping, sails quivering, that Juniper Gravesemerged from his cabin on to the main-deck, his head bare, and his sandyhair flying out wildly into the breeze. His eyes were strained andbloodshot, and his whole appearance was that of a person in an agony ofterror. Aroused from his drunken sleep by the noise overhead, andterrified to find the vessel heeling over to the other side, heimagined, in his drunken bewilderment, that the ship had struck, andthat himself and his gold were in danger of perishing with her. Filledwith frenzy at this idea, he rushed out upon deck, where the generalapparent confusion confirmed his fears; then he sprung upon thebulwarks, gazed around him in utter dismay at the crew in busy motionabout him, tottered on his insecure standing-ground, caught at a rope tosave himself; missed it, and then, with a terrible shriek of horror anddespair, fell headlong overboard into the boiling waters. 

"Save him! oh, save him!" cried Frank Oldfield imploringly. "Where ishe? Let me go, let me go, " he screamed, for he was about to plungeoverboard, and the captain was holding him back with his powerful grasp. 

"It's no use, Mr Oldfield; it'll only be two lives instead of one. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " besought Frank; "put the ship about--lie-to--throw overa hen-coop, a life-buoy, for mercy's sake--the poor wretch isn't fit todie, " and he still struggled to free himself. 

"Listen to reason, sir, " said the captain. "We can do nothing; theship's running nine knots, and no one knows where to look for him;nothing can save him, miserable man; he's sunk no doubt, at once, andall the faster for having his gold about him. "

"Can nothing be done?" cried Frank, beseechingly. 

"Nothing, I assure you, " replied the other; "there's not a trace of himto be seen, is there, Mr Walters?" The first mate shook his head. "We're far enough off now from the spot where he fell in. It's in mercyto you, sir, that he's been taken away. "

Frank sank upon a seat, and buried his face in his hands, sobbingbitterly. 

Yes; the tempter was gone, gone to his account--suddenly cut off in themidst of his sins, hurried away in righteous retribution by the verydeath himself had planned for Jacob Poole. Yes; the tempter was gone, and the tempted still remained. Would he take home to his heart thelesson and warning God had thus sent him? The tempter was gone, but, alas! the temptation was not gone. Frank had even now in his cabinseveral flasks of that drink which had already borne such miserablefruits for himself and the guilty wretch just hurried into the presenceof his offended God. He had bought the spirits from Juniper at anexorbitant price, but would he use them now, after what had happened?The night after Juniper's awful death he sat in his cabin weeping. Thoughts of home, of mother, father, Mary, crowded in upon his heart. The days that once were, when he would have joined with real willingnessand hearty earnestness the band of abstainers, as he sat in all boyishsincerity at Mr Bernard Oliphant's table, eager to make the trial andbear the cross, were fresh upon his memory now. And all the bitterpast, with its shameful, degrading, sinful records, gathered its thickshadows round his soul. What should he do? He sank upon his knees andprayed--prayed to be forgiven, prayed that he might do better--and thenhe rose, and was in part comforted. And now, what should he do with thespirits which were still in his possession? He took them out and rangedthe flasks on his berth. His scuttle stood open. One minute and hecould have thrown them all into the sea. Conscience said, "Do it, anddo it at once. " But another voice whispered, "Pity to waste so muchgood stuff; drink these out, but only a moderate quantity at a time, andthen you can renounce the drink for ever. " He listened to the secondvoice, and conscience sighed itself to sleep. 

Alas! alas! what fiend like the fiend of drink? It can steal away everygood resolution, drown the voice of conscience, and make a man cheathimself into the belief that the indulgence of to-day is a warrant andguarantee for the abstinence of to-morrow. Frank was satisfied; he feltsure that it would be wiser to wean himself gradually from his drinkinghabits; he would use the strictest moderation with his present littlestock, and then he should more readily forsake it altogether when thiswas gone. And so he continued to drink, but more and more sparingly, ashe himself supposed, because he was really training himself to a gradualsurrender of the drink, but in reality because he dreaded to be leftaltogether without it. And so the taste was kept up during theremainder of the voyage, and Frank Oldfield landed on the shores of hisnative country with the thirst strong upon him. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

HOMELESS AND HEARTLESS. 

The _Sabrina_ was bound for Liverpool, and entered that port some twoyears after the time when she left it with Hubert Oliphant and FrankOldfield as fellow-passengers. Alas! how different were the feelings ofthe latter now, from those with which he trod the deck of that vesselwhen preparing for his temporary exile. Then, though sad, he was fullof hope; now he was both heartless and hopeless; he knew he was thebond-slave of the drink, and, whatever he might say to others, he feltin his own heart that it was useless any longer to try and cheat himselfwith the transparent phantom of a lie. Yet he could not for shameacknowledge thus much to others, nor would he allow his conscience tostate it deliberately to himself; he still clung to something, which wasyet neither conviction nor hope, that he might even now master hisbesetting sin. Alas! he desired the good end, but he would not use theonly means to that good end; and so, when he landed on the soil of theold country again, it was with the settled determination, (though hewould not have believed his own handwriting, had he put down thatdetermination on paper) not to give up the drinking of intoxicatingliquors at present. How then should he face his parents and MaryOliphant? He could not face them at all as yet. He could not at oncemake up his mind what to do. Happily for him, Juniper Graves had beencut off before he had been able to effect a complete spoliation of hismaster, so that Frank had still rather more than two hundred pounds inhis possession. While this money lasted, he resolved to stave off theevil day of taking any decided step. He would not write to his motheror Mary till he had quite made up his mind what course he was intendingto pursue. He was also well aware that the family of Bernard Oliphantcould give him no welcome with his present habits of excess still uponhim. So, on the day of reaching Liverpool, he said to Jacob Poole, --

"Well, Jacob, are you quite tired of my service, or will you stay by mea little longer? I've no right or wish to stand in your way, and if youwould like to make another voyage with Captain Merryweather, or can findany other situation that will suit you better than mine, I would nothave you consider yourself bound to me at all. "

"Mayster Frank, " was Jacob's reply, "I'm not going to leave you now, unless you wish to part with me yourself. I don't feel happy in leavingyou to go by yourself nobody knows where. "

"Really, Jacob, you make a capital nurse, " said the other, laughing;"you seem to be quite convinced that I'm not to be trusted to runalone. "

"And it's true, sir, " replied Jacob, seriously; "you need looking after, and I mustn't be letting you get into the hands of any of those chapsas'll hook all as you have out o' you in no time--that is, if you'regoing to stay by yourself in this big town. "

"Why, yes, Jacob; I shall not go down to my father's at once. I don'tseem as if I _could_ go. I'd better wait a little bit. I seem out oftrim, and out of sorts altogether. "

"You must please yourself, " replied Jacob; "and you must know best, Mayster Frank, what you're bound to do. But, if you'd take my advice, you'd go home at once, afore anything worse happens. "

"No, Jacob, I cannot yet, and so that's settled. Now we must look-outfor lodgings; they mustn't be expensive ones, else the brass, as youcall it, won't hold out, and you can wait on me, and keep me in order, you know. But, by the way, I was forgetting that you have friends ofyour own to look after. Don't let anything I've been saying preventyour going to them, and doing what's right by them. I shall be quitewilling to come into any arrangement you may like to make. Don'tconsider yourself bound to me, Jacob, but just do whatever you feel tobe your duty. "

"You're very kind, Mayster Frank: it's just this way with me. I shouldlike to go and see arter them as I left behind when I sailed forAustralia, and see how they're coming on. But it don't matter for aweek or so, for they're not looking for me. I'll see you settled firstproperly, Mayster Frank, if you mean to settle here for a bit, and thenI'll just take a run over yonder for a few days, and come back to youagain, and what I do afterwards'll depend on how I find things yonder. "

And thus it was finally settled. Frank took quiet lodgings in arespectable by-street, in the house of an aged widow, who was delightedwith his cheerful open manners, and did her best to make him and Jacobcomfortable. But the time hung heavily on the hands of both master andman. Frank purposed daily writing home, and yet each to-morrow foundhim more reluctant to do so than the day before. Jacob loitered aboutthe town and docks when his master did not want him, and got exceedinglyweary of his idleness. 

"Eh, ma'am, " he said one day to their landlady, "my arms fair ache withhanging down and doing nothing. "

Thus things went on for about a fortnight, when one evening at tea-timeFrank failed to make his appearance. Seven o'clock, then nine and ten, but no master came to remove poor Jacob's misgivings. At last, aboutmidnight, a stumbling against the door and a violent knock made hisheart die within him. 

"Who's there?" he cried, before opening the door. 

"Me, old king of trumps!" cried a voice which he knew to be Frank's. The minute after, the wretched young man staggered in almost helpless. Next day was a season of bitter sorrow, self-reproach, and remorse; but, alas! not to be followed by any real amendment, for Frank was now seldomhome till late, though he was never again grossly intoxicated. But ashadow had now settled habitually on his once bright and opencountenance, which Jacob could not quite understand, and which wasalmost more sad to him than the degrading flush and vacant stareproduced by excess in drink. Something dreadful was amiss, he was sure, but he could not tell, and hardly dare conjecture what it might be. Very, very loth then was he to go, when the time came for his leavinghis master entirely to his own devices. He would gladly have put offhis journey, but Frank would not hear of it, and was evidently annoyedwhen Jacob urged the matter. So it was finally settled that he shouldbe away for a few days, not exceeding a fortnight. The night but onebefore his intended departure, Jacob was pleased to find that his masterdid not leave home, but took his tea at his lodgings, a very unusualthing of late. After tea he made Jacob come and sit with him, and theyhad a long talk over Australian matters, and the events of their latevoyage. At last Frank said, --

"Jacob, I don't wish to pry into your concerns, or to ask questionswhich you may not like to answer. I hope, however, that you will notscruple to ask my advice on any matter in which I can be of service toyou. "

"Well, thank you, sir, " replied Jacob, with a sort of embarrassment inhis manner, "you're very kind, but I've reasons just now why I'd like tosay as little as possible about myself to any one. If I find them asI'm going to seek, I may have much to say; but maybe I may find thingsso as'll make it better I should forget as ever I'd any belonging me. "

"Just so, " said his master; "you must be the best judge of your ownmatters, and I would not intrude on your private concerns for a moment;only I should just like to know what you mean to do with your bag ofnuggets; you must be careful where you put it. It would be hardly wiseto carry it about with you, if you don't mean to turn it into money atpresent. "

Jacob was troubled at the question, yet he could hardly tell why; heanswered, however, --

"Well, Mayster Frank, I'm not thinking of meddling with my nuggets atpresent. "

"Hadn't you better then leave them with me till you return?" askedFrank. 

Poor Jacob was sorely puzzled what to reply. He looked down, and therewas an awkward pause. At last he said, --

"I cannot rightly tell what'll be the best to do. Mayster Oldfield, youmustn't be offended, but I'd better be plain and outspoken. You'd notmean to wrong me of a farthing, I know; but you must be well awareyou're not always your own mayster. So if you cannot keep your ownbrass safe, I can hardly think it wise to trust you to take charge ofmine. I don't wish to vex you, Mayster Frank, but that's just thehonest truth. "

"Quite right, Jacob, quite right, " said his master, laughing; "you don'tvex me at all. I should do just the same, if I were in your place. Suppose, then, you give your bag in charge to our landlady the morningyou start; that'll be soon enough, for, poor soul, she'll be glad, Idaresay, not to have charge of other folk's treasure a day longer thannecessary; and I'll be a witness that you give it into her charge. "

"Thank you, mayster, " said Jacob, greatly relieved; "that's good advice, and I'll follow it. "

The next evening, the last before Jacob's expedition, Frank againremained at home. He had been out all the morning. Jacob lookedanxiously at him when he returned. He clearly had not been drinking--atany rate immoderately--yet there was something in his look which Jacobcould not fathom, and if ever Frank met his servant's eye, his ownimmediately fell. 

"I'm not satisfied as all's right, " said Jacob to himself, "and yet Icannot tell what's amiss. "

That night his sleep was restless and disturbed. Once he fancied thathis door was opened, and that his master appeared and drew back again. Their rooms were on the opposite sides of the same landing. Again hefancied, or dreamt, that a hand passed under his pillow, where he kepthis nuggets. It was quite dark--he started up and felt for the bag; itwas there quite safe, and he laid him down again. But yet again heseemed to feel a hand behind his pillow. 

"I must have been dreaming, " he muttered to himself; "the bag's right. "

Yes, there it was all right when he rose in the morning. He was tostart by an early train, so, hastily dressing himself, and havingbreakfasted, he came to say farewell to his master. 

"Oh, Mayster Frank, " he said, grasping the other's outstretched hand, "I'm heavy at the heart at leaving you. I cannot tell why, but there'sa weight like lead upon me. Oh, dear Mayster Frank, for my sake, foryour own sake, for the sake of all them as loves you, will you promiseme to keep off the drink, leastways till I come back? Will you pray theLord to help you, Mayster Frank? He _will_ help you, if you'll prayhonestly. "

What was it that affected his unhappy master so powerfully? Frank'swhole frame shook with emotion. He stared at Jacob with a gaze ofmingled remorse and agony such as touched the other to the quick. 

"Jacob, " gasped his master, at last, "I cannot let you go thus--youdon't know--I've--I've--" He paused for a moment, and tears and sobsburst from him. Then he sat down, and bowed his head on his knees, clasping his hands tightly together. Then an unnatural calmnessfollowed; he muttered something to himself, and then said, in a tone ofaffected indifference and gaiety, --

"There, it don't matter; the best of friends must part. You'll be backbefore so very long, and I'll try and be a good boy meanwhile. 

"Just call up the landlady, Jacob, and we can see her take charge ofyour nuggets. "

Jacob did as his master bade him. 

"There, Mrs Jones, " he said, taking the bag hastily from Jacob's hands;"this bag of nuggets belongs to my man. You see it contains gold, " headded, opening the mouth of the bag, and taking out a small nugget;"there, " tying it up with the string which he had removed from it, "he'll know where to look for them when he comes back. We've thefullest confidence, Mrs Jones, that they will be safe in your keeping. "

"Indeed, sir, " said the landlady, curtseying, "I'd rather _you_ shouldkeep them. "

"No, no, Mrs Jones; Jacob knows very well that you're to be trusted, but that I'm not. "

"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Mrs Jones; but she was at a loss what farther tosay, for she felt that poor Frank spoke only the sober truth. At lastshe said, --

"Well, sir, I'll take charge of them, as you both seem to wish it, andI'll take care that no one sees where I put them. "

And so Jacob and his master parted. 

Ten days passed by, and then Jacob, downcast and weary, made his way tothe lodgings. His heart died within him at the expression of thelandlady's face when she had opened the door to him, and found that hewas alone. 

"Where's Mr Oldfield?" he gasped. 

"That's just what I was going to ask you, Mr Poole. "

"What! you don't mean to say he's left your house?"

"He has indeed, " was the reply. "I've seen nothing of him since the dayafter you left. "

"Seen nothing of him!" exclaimed Jacob in complete bewilderment; "buthas he sent you no message--no letter?"

"No, Mr Poole, he's neither sent nor written. He paid me all he owedme up to the last night he slept here, and that's all I know. "

"And has he left no message, nothing to tell one where he's gone?" askedJacob. 

"Nothing, " she said, "unless this letter's from him--it came a few daysago. "

Jacob seized it, and tore it open. When he had read a few lines he letit drop upon the floor, and stood gazing at it as though some strangefascination glared out from it upon him. Then he took it up again, readit deliberately through, laid it on the table, and sitting down, burstinto an agony of weeping. The letter was as follows:--

 "DEAR JACOB, --I _must_ write to you, though I hardly can hold my pen, and every letter, as I write, seems like blood wrung out from my heart. Well, it's no use; you shall have the naked truth at once. I have robbed you, Jacob, artfully, basely, deliberately, cruelly robbed you, and all through the cursed drink. I hate myself for it as the vilest wretch upon earth. And yet I have no excuse to make. I have been gambling with a wretched set of sharpers, who got hold of me when I was drunk. They cleaned me out of every penny. I was ruined--I was desperate--I thought if I could get hold of your nuggets I could turn them into money, win back what I had lost, and repay you with interest. I got some lead, melted it in a shovel, (I need not tell you _where_ I did this; it was in no good place, you may be sure). I made the lead into the shape of nuggets. The night but one before you left I tried to find out where you kept your bag; you were restless and clutched at your pillow. I knew then that it was there. I got another leather bag and filled it with the leaden nuggets I had made. These I slipped behind your pillow, and took away the real ones, the night before you left; you felt for them, and fancied you had them safe. When I had got out the gold, I crouched down in the dark till you were fast asleep again. Then I drew out the bag very carefully from behind your head, and changed it for your own bag, having first filled your own bag with the leaden nuggets and one or two little bits of gold at the top, so that you had your own bag when you woke in the morning, but I had your gold in the other bag. There, you know all now, you can understand all the rest. I sold your nuggets--I spent part of the money in drink--I played again--I've lost all--I shall never be able to repay you--I dare not look you in the face--I dare not look my father and mother in the face--I dare not look--it's no matter. You are an honest fellow, Jacob, and will get on, spite of my villainy. If you ever marry and have children, make them total abstainers, if you would keep them safe in body and soul. As for myself, I cannot mend--I'm past it--I've been cheating myself with the belief that I meant to mend, but I never did. I see it now. There, Jacob, I don't ask you to forgive me, but I do ask one thing--grant it me for the love you once had to me--it is this: wait a month, I shall be out of the way by that time, and then post the enclosed letter to my poor mother. I have told her how I have robbed you. My father will repay you. Tell him where he can find you. I shall soon be out of everybody's reach. And now all I have got to ask you is just to wipe me out of your thoughts altogether, and to forget that there ever was such a person as your guilty, miserable, degraded master. "

"Oh, Mr Poole, " said his landlady, compassionately, when he had begunto recover from the first vehemence of his grief, "I fear there'ssomething dreadfully wrong. "

Jacob shook his head. 

"All lost--all ruined, " he replied. Yet even now his heart yearnedtowards his miserable master. He would not expose him to Mrs Jones;she at least should know nothing of his own loss. 

"Mrs Jones, " he said, holding out his hand, "I must say good-bye. Ifear my poor master's got into very bad hands. I don't rightly knowwhat's become of him; but where there's life there's hope, and I trusthe isn't past that. If you and I meet again, may it be a happiermeeting. Be so good as to hand me my--my--bag I left in your charge, "he added, with quivering voice. 

"I'm so sorry, " said the good woman, when she had fetched the bag. "Iwish I could do anything to comfort you. I'm sure I'm truly sorry forthe poor young gentleman. It's a thousand pities he's thrown himselfaway, for a nicer or freer-spoken gentleman never was, when he was inhis proper senses. There, Mr Poole, there's your bag. You see it'sjust as you gave it me. No one has seen it or touched it but myself. "

"Thank you, Mrs Jones. It's all right; farewell, and the Lord be withus both. "

He turned from the door utterly broken down in spirit. Whither shouldhe go? What should he do? Should he really abandon his master to hisfate? He could not. Should he delay posting the letter? No; and yethe felt a difficulty about it; for Frank had stated in his letter tohimself that he had told his mother of the robbery, and that Jacob mustbe repaid his loss. But who was to say what was the worth of thenuggets? He had never ascertained their value. He felt that he couldnot face his master's father; that he could not himself put a value uponwhat he had lost. His master had saved his life, and he would set thatagainst the pilfered gold, and would forgive what had been done againsthimself. So having ascertained that it was only too true that his bagcontained but two or three little pieces of the precious metal, he castthe rest of its contents into the sea, and determined to start afresh inlife, as if the sorrowful part of his past history never had been. Butfirst he posted Frank's letter, with one of his own, in which he statedwhere he had lodged in Liverpool, that so his master's parents mighthave every opportunity of endeavouring to trace their unhappy son. Hisown letter was as follows:--

 "MADAM, --Mr Frank Oldfield, your son, has bid me send you the letter from him which comes with this. Mr Frank is my master. You have no doubt heard him say something in his letters from Australia about Jacob Poole. Well, I am Jacob Poole. And we came to England together, my master and me; and my master has took, I am sorry to say it, to drinking again since he came back. I wanted him to go home at once, but he has kept putting it off, and he has got into the hands of some gamblers as has stripped him of all his brass; and he has taken, too, some nuggets of mine, which I got at the diggings, but he didn't mean to keep them, only to borrow them, and pay me back. But, poor young gentleman, he has been quite ruinated by these cheating chaps as has got hold of him. So I don't want anybody to think anything more about me or my nuggets--I should not like any fuss to be made about them--I had rather the whole thing was kept snug. I shall go and get work somewhere or other; and, thank the Lord for it, I am young and strong. So, dear madam, don't think any more about me or my nuggets; for Mr Frank saved my life when he might have lost his own, so he is welcome to the nuggets, and more into the bargain. I am sorry that Mr Frank has gone off; so I cannot tell you where to find him. I have tried, but it isn't any use. We--that is, my master and me--was lodging with Mrs Jones, as I've written at the top of the letter. I can tell you no more about where to find him. So no more at present from your very humble servant, JACOB POOLE. "

 "Mr Frank has written to me not to post his letter for a month, but I don't think it is right to keep it from you, so I send it at once. "

Such was Jacob's letter, when cleared of mistakes in spelling andexpression. 

Frank's letter to his mother was in these words:--

 "DEAREST MOTHER, --How shall I write to you! What shall I say to you? I feel as if my pen scorched my fingers, and I could not hold it. I feel as though this very paper I am writing on would carry on it the blush of burning shame that covers me. Darling mother, how shall I tell you what I am? And yet I must tell you; I _must_ lift the veil once for all, and then it shall drop for ever on your miserable son. I am in England now. I do not know where I shall be when you receive this. I went out to Australia, as you know, hoping to become a sober, steady man. I am returned to England a confirmed drunkard, without hope, ay, even without the _wish_ to break off from my sin. I cannot look you or my father in the face as I am now. I never could look Mary in the face again. I shall never write or breathe her name again. I have no one to blame but myself. I have no strength left to fight against my sin. I am as weak before the drink as a little child, and weaker. I could pray, but it's no use praying; for I have prayed often, and now I know that I never really desired what I prayed for. I dare not face the prospect of entirely renouncing strong drink. I once dreamed that I could, but it was only a dream; at least, since I first began habitually to exceed. But can I go on and tell you what my love for the drink has led me to? I must, for I want you or my dear father to do one thing for me, the last I shall ever ask. Oh, don't cast me utterly out of your heart when you hear it, but I must tell it. I have robbed my poor faithful servant, Jacob Poole, of his nuggets, which he got by his own hard labour. I secretly took them from him, and spent what they fetched in drink and gaming. I meant to win and pay him back, but I might have known I never could. Yes, I robbed the poor young man who nursed me, worked for me, prayed for me, remonstrated with me, bore with me. I robbed him when his back was turned. Oh, what a vile wretch the drink has made me! Can you have any love for me after reading this? Oh, if you have, I want you or my father to repay Jacob for his nuggets which I stole. He's as honest as the day. You may trust him to put no more than a fair value on them. One more request I have to make, darling mother. Oh, --deal kindly by _her_--I said I would never write her name again, and I will not. I dare not write to her, it would do no good. Tell her that I'm lost to her for ever; tell her to forget me. And do _you_ forget me too, dearest mother. I could be nothing but a thorn, a shame, a burden in my old home. I will not tell you where I am, nor where I shall be; it is better not. Forget me if you can, and think of me as dead. I am so for all better purposes; for everything good or noble has died out of me. The drink has done it. Your hopeless son, FRANK OLDFIELD. "

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

A MISERABLE DEATH. 

Three days after Jacob Poole had posted his letter and its enclosure, acab drove up to Mrs Jones's door. In it were Sir Thomas and LadyOldfield. No one who saw them could doubt of the bitter sorrow that hadstamped its mark upon their noble features. 

"Are you Mrs Jones, my poor--poor son's landlady?" asked Lady Oldfield, when they were seated in the parlour. She could add no more forweeping. 

"Yes, ma'am, " was the reply. "I'm sure I'm very sorry, ma'am, veryindeed; for Mr Oldfield was a most kind, free-spoken gentleman; and ifhe'd only--only--"

"I understand you, " said the poor sorrowing mother. 

"And Jacob Poole; what has become of him?" asked Sir Thomas. 

"I'm sure, sir, I don't know. All I can tell is, that he's sure not tobe anywhere in Liverpool; for he told me the morning he left me that hewas going to leave the town, and should not come back again. "

"I'm grieved to hear it, " said the baronet. "And can you give us aclue, Mrs Jones, to our dear misguided child's present place of abode?Can you suggest no way of finding it out?"

"I fear not, sir; Mr Oldfield has left nothing behind him except hisBible and Prayer-book, which he asked me to accept as a token of hiskind feeling and regard, he was good enough to say. "

"His Bible and Prayer-book! Oh, let me look at them, " exclaimed LadyOldfield. 

Mrs Jones brought them. The Prayer-book was one given him on histwelfth birthday by his mother. His name in it was in her ownhandwriting. The Bible was a much newer book, and bore but few marks ofuse. It was a gift from Mary Oliphant. The handwriting of his name washers, as was also that of two texts below the name, which were writtenout in full--

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. "

"There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; butGod is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye areable, but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that yemay be able to bear it. "

Lady Oldfield gazed at these books and the writing in them for a longtime without uttering a word, and without shedding a tear. It seemed asthough the sight had for the moment chained every other feeling, andleft her only the power to stare wildly at the two familiarhandwritings. 

"And he has parted with these, " she said at last, half out loud; "he hasgiven them away. Oh, merciful Father in heaven, what has become of myunhappy boy?"

"Calm yourself, my dear, " said Sir Thomas; "let us hope that things maybe better than our fears. "

"I'm sure, ma'am, " said Mrs Jones, "I should never think of keepingthese books if you or Mr Oldfield's father wish to have them. "

"Oh, it is not that, it is not that, " sobbed Lady Oldfield. "Are you amother, Mrs Jones?" she cried, turning abruptly to her. 

"Yes, ma'am; I've had seven children, and five are living now. "

"Then you'll understand _my_ feelings as a mother. I fear, oh, I cannotsay how terribly I fear, that poor Frank means to do something dreadful;perhaps to--to--oh, I can't bear to think of it. "

"Why, my dear, why, " asked her husband, "should you think so?"

"Why, Thomas! Oh, isn't there something terrible in his parting withthese two books, my gift and dear Mary's gift, and at such a time?Doesn't it seem as if he was turning his back upon everything that isgood and holy, and simply giving himself up to despair. Isn't it likesaying, `The Bible's no longer a book for me, for God is no longer myGod?' Isn't it like saying, `Prayer is no longer for me, for God willnot hear me. '"

"My dearest wife, " said Sir Thomas, anxiously, "don't look at thedarkest side. Don't lose your faith and trust now. My good Mrs Jones, you see we're in sore trouble. You can understand how our hearts arealmost broken about our erring son, but still he _is_ our son, and verydear to us; and we want you to help us to find him, if it be possible. "

"I'm sure, sir, " replied the kind-hearted landlady, "I do feel for youboth with all my heart, and only wish I knew what to advise. But reallyI know no more than yourselves where Mr Oldfield is likely to be found. It seems that he's wished to keep it a secret, and so he has purposelykept me in the dark. "

Sir Thomas sighed. 

"I understand exactly how it is, " he said. "I do not see what we cando, except endeavour to get a clue through the police. By the way, MrsJones, you don't happen to know the names or lodgings of any of hisassociates? That might help us, if you did. "

"I do not, sir; for I never saw one of them enter this house. Your sonnever brought any one home with him as I know of. Jacob Poole and hewere the only persons who ever were together here while he had mylodgings. "

"Do you happen, then, ever to have heard him mention where any of hiscompanions lived? I mean those persons he used to stay out with atnight or in the day?"

"Never, sir. "

"Nor so much as the name of any of his associates?"

"Not once, sir. I fear--that is to say--"

"Speak out, Mrs Jones, pray. You know this may be a matter of life anddeath to him, and perhaps to us also. Don't be afraid of wounding us;we want to know everything that can in the least help us in our search. "

"Well, sir, I was going to say, only I hesitated to say so much to mylodger's own father and mother, that I feared he had got mixed up withcompanions as wouldn't be likely to meet him in any private house. "

"I understand you; you think he met his friends, (his companions orassociates, I mean), at some common rendezvous or club. "

"Yes, sir; I fear so from all I heard and saw, and from what Mr Poolehas said. "

"I fear, then, that you can afford us no information that will help usat present. But here is my card; we shall be staying for some daysprobably, possibly for some weeks, at the Albion Hotel. Will youkindly, without fail, let us know, and that without loss of time, if youhear or see anything either of our poor son or of Jacob Poole, or of anyone who may be able to give us any light or any help in our search?"

"You may depend upon me, Sir Thomas, " said Mrs Jones; "and I'm sure, sir, I hope you and her ladyship will excuse this homely room. It'sonly very plainly furnished, but it's the one your son occupied. "

"Pray, don't make any apologies, " said her ladyship; "they are notneeded. It is not fine rooms and grand furniture that can give peace. I have just one thing to ask you to grant me before we go, and we mustnot delay, for time is precious. "

"I'm sure, my lady, I'll grant you anything in my power. "

"Let me, then, see the room where my poor boy slept. "

"Certainly, ma'am, though it's in a sadly untidy state. I've not hadtime--"

"Never mind, Mrs Jones; I shall not notice any defects. My heart achestoo sorely for me to heed these trifles. There, thank you; now leave mealone in the room for five minutes. And will you kindly tell my husbandthat I will join him almost directly!"

When the door was closed upon the unhappy mother, she threw herself onher knees beside the bed on which her son had slept, too commonly, alas!the drunkard's sleep, and poured out her heart with tears to God thatshe might find her poor, lost, and guilty child before it should be toolate. Rendered calmer by this prayer, she joined Sir Thomas. 

"Farewell, Mrs Jones, " she said, as they left the house; "many thanksfor your kind sympathy. I trust we may have a less sad tale to tellwhen we meet again. "

They drove to their hotel, and Sir Thomas wrote at once to thesuperintendent of police, requesting him to call upon him at the"Albion" at his earliest convenience. In about an hour that functionaryappeared. He was a tall and stoutly-built man, of a decidedly militarycarriage; slightly bald, with a peculiarly searching eye, and thindecided lips. His manner was remarkably quiet, and his language preciseand deliberate. He evidently always thought before he spoke, and thenspoke what he thought, and nothing more. Taking the seat offered him bySir Thomas, but declining any refreshment, he put himself in theattitude of listening, as one accustomed to weigh evidence, and to putevery fact and conjecture into its right box. 

"I have requested your kind attendance, Mr Superintendent, " began thebaronet, "that I might ask your advice and help in a matter in whichLady Oldfield here and myself are most deeply concerned. "

The superintendent gave a slight bend forward, as much as to say thatthis introduction to the subject in hand was a matter of course. 

Sir Thomas then, with some embarrassment of manner, gave his hearer anaccount of his son's unhappy career, and his own difficulties abouttracing him, and concluded by saying, --

"And now, sir, I would ask your help to discover my poor boy before itbe too late. "

The superintendent signified his assent. 

"What do you think?" asked Sir Thomas. 

"We can find him, no doubt, if he is still in Liverpool, " said theofficer. 

"And do you think he _is_ now in Liverpool?" asked Lady Oldfield. 

"I do. "

"What makes you think, so?" asked the baronet. 

"Several things. First, he'll be likely to stay where he can get mosteasily at the drink. Secondly, he'll not go away to any near countryplace, because he'd get sooner marked there. Thirdly, as he seems hardup for money, he'll have to pawn anything he may have left that's worthpawning, and he can do that best and most secretly in a large town. "

Poor Sir Thomas and his lady felt a shiver through their hearts at thematter-of-fact way in which these words were uttered. 

"You don't think, then, " asked the baronet, "that he has started in anyvessel for America or Australia?"

"No; because no captain would take him as a sailor, and he'd not be ableto raise money to go even as a steerage passenger. Besides, he wouldn'trisk it, as he'd know that all the outward bound vessels might besearched for him by that man of his--Poole, I think you called him. "

"But don't you suppose he may have left by railway, and gone to someother large town?"

"Of course he may, but I don't think he has, because he'll have senseenough to know that he can't have much to spare for travelling, if he'sgambled away his ready money, and don't mean to ask you for any more. "

"Perhaps he has done, or means to do, something desperate, " said LadyOldfield, tremblingly; "he seemed to hint at something of the kind inhis letter to me. "

"No, he'll not do that, I think--at least not just yet. Habitualdrunkards have seldom got it in them. They'll talk big, but stillthey'll go on hanging about where they can get the drink. "

"Then you believe that he is still in Liverpool?" said Sir Thomas. 

"That's my belief. "

"And you think that you can find him?"

"I do think so. Was your son fond of low company when he lived athome?"

Poor Sir Thomas and his wife winced at this question, but it was put bythe superintendent simply as a matter of business. 

"Why, not exactly, " was the reply; "that is to say, he never frequentedany gatherings of low people, as far as I know. But he was very much inthe habit of making a companion of my under-groom, Juniper Graves. "

"Ah, exactly so! And this man drank?"

"Yes. "

"And they played cards together?"

"I fear so. "

"Then he's most likely hooked in with a low set--that makes it easier. "

"Do you suppose that he is still in connection with any such set?" askedLady Oldfield. 

"Pretty certain, if he has let out, when he was tipsy, that his fatheris a gentleman of property. They'll help him on a bit, if they thinkthere's a chance of bleeding him again. "

"But you know he has resolved to keep us in ignorance of his abode, andall about himself. "

"Yes, he meant it when he wrote; but when he's so hard up as to be nearstarving, perhaps he'll change his mind. "

"How then would you propose to proceed?" asked Sir Thomas. 

The superintendent thought for half a minute, and then said, --

"Have you a photograph of your son with you?"

"I have, " said the poor mother. She took it out of her pocket-book, andhanded it to the officer. He looked at it very carefully for some time, and then said, --

"I suppose he must be a little older looking than this. "

"Yes, surely, " was the reply, "for it was taken three years ago, beforehe went out to Australia. "

"I must ask you then to spare it me for a few days, as it may help usmaterially. "

"And how soon may we hope to hear anything from you?"

"In a day or two I expect, perhaps sooner. But don't call at theoffice; it will do no good. You may depend upon hearing from me as soonas I have anything to communicate. "

That day passed over, a second, and a third day of sickening suspense. How utterly powerless the poor parents felt! Lady Oldfield prayed, butoh, there were sad thoughts of bitter self-reproach mingling with herprayers. She could not but remember how she had herself been the chiefhindrance to her son's becoming a total abstainer when he was bent onmaking the attempt, and had avowed his intention. Oh, she would havegiven worlds now could she but recall the time, and her own words, whenshe had dissuaded him from renouncing those stimulants which had provedto him the cause of sin, ruin, and perhaps death. Yes; who could tellwhat might have been now had that unhappy remonstrance never passed herlips. Ah, it is easy to laugh down, or press down by a mother'sauthority, the holy resolve of a child who sees the gigantic monsterdrunkenness in some of his hideous proportions, and would gladly takethat step which would keep him, if leaning on grace for strength, freefrom the deadly snare; easy to laugh down or crush down that resolve;but oh, impossible to recall the past, impossible to give back to theutterly hardened drunkard his fresh vigorous intellect, his nervousmoral power, his unstrained will, his unwarped conscience, his high andholy resolution! Lady Oldfield felt it; but the past was now gone fromher, beyond the reach of effort, remorse, or prayer. At last, on themorning of the fourth day, the superintendent again made his appearance. 

"Have you found him?" cried both parents in a breath. 

"I believe I am on his tracks, " was the reply. 

"Oh, thank God for that!" cried the poor mother, clasping her handstogether. "He still lives then?"

"I cannot be sure, but I should think so. "

"Oh, then, cannot you take us to him?"

"No, madam, not yet; we are only on his tracks at present. "

"Would you tell us in what way you have proceeded?" asked Sir Thomas. 

"Certainly. In the first place, the young man's photograph was shown toall our constables. Some thought they knew the face, and could fix uponthe right person in one of the low haunts they are acquainted with. Butafter a two days' search they were all disappointed. Young men dress somuch alike in these days that it's often very difficult to tell who'swho till you see them very close. Then I had the likeness taken roundto all the publicans' wives, for the women are closer observers offeatures than the men. Some thought they'd seen such a face, somehesitated, one was quite sure she had. I could tell at once that shewas right. "

"When was this?" eagerly asked Lady Oldfield. 

"Yesterday. "

"And what did she say?"

"She said that he had been there several nights running with two regularcardsharpers, and they'd been drinking. She was sure it was him, thoughhe had disguised himself a little. "

"And did you find him?"

"No; he hadn't been there for the last two or three nights. Perhaps hehad nothing to spend, for he came the last time in his shirt-sleeves; soshe supposed he'd pawned his coat. "

"Well?"

"Well, I sent one of our men last night to see if he'd come again, buthe never did. "

"And what can you do now?"

"Oh, I've left the photograph with the landlady, and she is to see ifany of her customers recognise it; it'll stand on the counter. "

"And what do you think about him now?" asked Sir Thomas. 

"That he'll turn up again in a day or two, if he's not ill. "

"Oh, can he--can he have destroyed himself in a fit of despair?" gaspedLady Oldfield. 

"I think not, madam. Pray don't distress yourself. I believe we shallbe able to hunt him out in a day or two. I shall send a man in plainclothes to the gin-shop again to-night to watch for him. "

Early the next day the superintendent called again. 

"We've found him, " he said. 

"Oh, where, where is he?" exclaimed the poor mother; "take us to him atonce! Oh, is he living?" she asked vehemently, for there was a look ofpeculiar seriousness on the superintendent's face which made her fearthe worst. 

"He is living, madam, but I'm sorry to say that he's seriously ill. "

"Send for a cab at once, " cried Sir Thomas. 

"I have one at the door, " said the officer; "one of you had bettersecure a respectable lodging and nurse for him at once, while the othergoes with me. "

"Let _me_ go to him, " cried Lady Oldfield. 

"It will be a strange place for a lady, but you will be safe with me. "

"Oh yes, yes, let me go, " was the reply; "am not I his mother? Oh, letus go at once. "

"Well, then, Sir Thomas, " said the superintendent, "we will call at thehotel as we return, if you will leave the direction of the lodgings withthe landlord. "

"And how did you find out my poor boy?" asked Lady Oldfield, as theyhurried along through a labyrinth of by-streets, each dirtier and moredismal than the last. 

"My man in plain clothes, madam, watched last night for a long time bythe bar, but saw no one come in like your son. At last an old woman, who was come for a quartern of gin, stared hard at the likeness, andsaid, `Laws, if that ain't the young gent as is down ill o' the fever inour attic!'"

"Ill of the fever!" exclaimed Lady Oldfield. 

"Yes; it seems so. Of course that was enough. My man went home withher, taking the photograph with him, and soon ascertained that the younggentleman in question is your son. But we must stop here. I'm sorry tobring your ladyship into such a place; but there's no help for it, ifyou really wish to see the young man yourself. "

"Oh yes, yes, " cried the other; "anything, everything, I can bear all, if I may only see him alive, and rescue him from his misery and sin. "

"Wait for us here, " said the officer to the cabman, as they alighted inthe middle of a nest of streets, which seemed as though huddledtogether, by common consent, to shut out from public gaze their filthand guilty wretchedness. Wretched indeed they were, as the haunts ofdestitution and crime. All was foul and dingy. Distorted roofs patchedwith mis-shapen tiles; chimneys leaning at various angles out of theperpendicular; walls vile with the smoke and grime of a generation;mortar that looked as though it never in its best days could have beenwhite; shattered doors whose proper colour none could tell, and which, standing ajar, seemed to lead to nothing but darkness; weird women andgaunt children imparting a dismal life to the rows of ungainlydwellings;--all these made up a picture of squalid woe such as mightwell have appalled a stouter heart than poor Lady Oldfield's. And wasshe to find her delicately-nurtured son in such a place as this? Theyturned down one street, under the wondering eyes of old and young, andthen plunged into a narrow court that led to nothing. Here, two doorsdown on the left hand, they entered, and proceeded to climb a ricketystair till they reached the highest floor. A voice that sent all theblood rushing back to poor Lady Oldfield's heart was heard in highstrain, and another, mingling with it, muttering a croakingaccompaniment of remonstrance, --

"Well, you're a fine young gentleman, I've no doubt; but you'll not bidelong in that fashion, I reckon. "

Then came a bit of a song in the younger voice, --

 "Drink, boys, drink, and drive away your sorrow; For though we're here to-day, we mayn't be here to-morrow. "

The superintendent knocked at the door, and both entered. The old womanuttered an exclamation of terror at the sight of the strangers, but theappearance of Lady Oldfield reassured her, for she divined almostimmediately who she must be. On her part, Lady Oldfield instinctivelyshrunk back at her first entrance, and well she might; for the revoltingsights and odours almost overpowered her, spite of her all-absorbinganxiety to find and rescue her beloved child. 

The room, if it could be justly called so--for it was, more properlyspeaking, a kind of loft--was lighted, or rather, rendered less dark bya sort of half window, half skylight, which looked out upon a stack ofdecayed and blackened chimneys, and so much sickly-looking sky as couldbe seen through the undamaged panes, which were but few, for lumps ofrags, old stockings, and similar contrivances blocked up many a spacewhich had once been used to admit the light, while the glass stillremaining was robbed of its transparency by accumulated dirt. There wasneither stove nor fire-place of any kind. The walls, if they had everbeen whitened, had long since lost their original hue, and exhibitedinstead every variety of damp discoloration. Neither chair nor tablewere there--an old stool and a box were the only seats. In the cornerfarthest from the light, and where the ceiling sloped down to the floor, was the only thing that could claim the name of a bedstead. Low andcurtainless, its crazy, worm-eaten frame groaned and creaked ominouslyunder the tossings to and fro of the poor sufferer, who occupied themass of ragged coverings spread upon it. In the opposite corner was aheap of mingled shavings, straw, and sacking, the present couch of theaged tenant of this gloomy apartment. The box stood close at the bed'shead; there were bottles and a glass upon, it, which had plainly notbeen used for medicinal purposes, as the faded odour of spirits, distinguishable above the general rank close smell of the room, tooclearly testified. Across the floor, stained with numberlessabominations, Lady Oldfield made her shuddering way to the bed, on whichlay, tossing in the delirium of fever, her unhappy son. His trousersand waistcoat were thrown across his feet; his hat lay on the floor nearthem; there was no coat, for it had been pawned to gratify his cravingfor the stimulant which had eaten away joy and peace, hope and heart. Flinging herself on her knees beside the prostrate form, his mothertried to raise him. 

"O Frank, Frank, my darling boy, " she cried, with a bitter outburst ofweeping; "look at me, speak to me; I'm your own mother. Don't you knowme? I'm come to take you home. "

He suddenly sat up, and jerked the clothes from him. His eyes glitteredwith an unnatural light, his cheeks were deeply flushed with fever heat;his hair, that mother's pride in former days, waved wildly over hisforehead. How fair, how beautiful he looked even then!

"Ah, poor young creetur, " croaked the old woman; "it's a pity he's cometo this. I knowed he were not used to sich a life--more's the shame tothem as led him into it. "

Ay, shame to them, indeed! But oh, how sad, how grievous that the younghand, which might have raised to untainted lips none but those puredraughts which neither heat the brain nor warp the sense of right, should ever learn to grasp the cup that gives a passing brightness tothe eye and glitter to the tongue, but clouds at length the intellect, fires the brain, and leaves a multitude of wretched victims cast ashoreas shattered moral wrecks. To such results, though from the smallestbeginnings, does the drink _tend_ in its very nature. Oh, happy theywho are altogether free from its toils!

The wretched young man stared wildly at his mother. 

"Who are you?" he cried. "I don't know you. More brandy--where's thebottle? `Here's a health to all good lasses; pledge it merrily, fillyour glasses. ' Shuffle the cards well; now then, nothing wenturenothing win. Spades are trumps. "

"Oh, my boy, my boy, " cried the agonised mother, "can nothing be donefor you? Has a doctor been sent for?" she cried suddenly, turning tothe old woman. 

"Doctor!" was the reply. "No, ma'am; who's to pay for a doctor? Theyoung gent's been and popped all his things for the play and the drink;and I haven't myself so much as a brass farden to get a mouthful o' meatwith. "

"Oh, will any one run for a doctor?" implored the miserable mother. "Here, my good woman, " taking out a shilling, "give this to somebody tofetch a doctor; quick--oh, don't lose a moment. "

"Ay, ay, I'll see about it, " mumbled the old woman; "that'll fetch adoctor quick enough, you may be sure. "

She made her way slowly and painfully down the creaking stairs, andafter a while returned. 

"Doctor'll be here soon, ma'am, I'll warrant, " she said. 

Lady Oldfield sat on the box by the bed, watching her son's wild stareand gesticulations in silent misery. 

"I'm glad you've came, ma'am, " continued the old woman; "I've had wearywork with the young gentleman. I found him outside the door of the`Green Dragon' without his coat, and shaking like an aspen. I couldn'thelp looking at him, poor soul. I asked him why he didn't go home; hesaid he hadn't got no home. I asked him where his friends lived; hesaid he hadn't got no friends. I asked him where he lodged; he said hedidn't know. I was a-going to ask him summat else, but afore I couldspeak he tumbles down on the ground. We'd hard work to lift him up;some was for calling police, others wanted to make short work with him. But I said, says I, `You just let him alone, I'll look arter him;' andso I did. I just heaved him up, and got him to a door-step, and then Ifetched him a quartern o' gin, and he got a little better; and then Ihelped him here. I'd hard work to get him to climb up, but I managed itat last. So here he's been ever since, and that's a week come Friday. "

"God bless you for your kindness, " cried Lady Oldfield. "You shall haveno cause to repent it. "

"Nay, " said the kind-hearted old creature, "I knows I shan't repent it. It's a poor place, is this, for such as he, but it's the best I have, and it's what the drink has brought me to, and scores and thousandsbetter nor me, and will do again. "

In a short time the doctor arrived. A very rapid inspection of hispatient was sufficient to show him the nature and extent of hiscomplaint. 

"Is he in any danger?" asked the poor mother, with deep anxiety. 

The doctor shook his head gravely. 

"In great danger, I fear. "

"Can we remove him without risk?"

"Not without risk, I'm afraid, " was the reply; "and yet it may be worsefor him to be left here. It is simply a choice of risks. We had betterwrap him up well in blankets, and convey him to proper lodgings atonce. "

"Is there any hope?" asked poor Lady Oldfield, with streaming eyes. 

"I trust so, " was all the doctor dared to say. Blankets were at onceprocured, and the emaciated body of the patient was borne by strong andwilling arms to the cab, for there is a wondrous sympathy with thosesuffering from illness even in the breasts of the most hardened andgodless; while, at the same time, great was the excitement in the littlecourt and its neighbourhood. Lady Oldfield poured out her thanks oncemore to the old woman who had taken compassion on her son, and put intothe poor creature's hand more money than it had ever grasped at one timebefore. 

"Eh! my lady, " she exclaimed, in delighted astonishment, "you're verygood. I'm sure, never a thought came into my head, when I brought homethe poor young gentleman, as any one would have come down so handsome. I'd have done it all the same if I'd never have got a penny. "

"I'm sure of it, " replied her ladyship; "but you have done for me whatmoney can never repay. I shall not lose sight of you; but I must notstop now. God bless and reward you;--and oh, give up the drink, thewretched drink, which has been my poor boy's ruin, and come for pardonand peace to your gracious Saviour. "

"Ah!" muttered the old creature, as she turned back to her miserablegarret, fondly eyeing the golden treasure which she grasped tight withher withered fingers; "it's easier said nor done, my lady. Give up thedrink? No, it cannot be. Come to my gracious Saviour? Ah! I used tohear words like those when I were a little 'un, but the drink's drowned'em out of my heart long since. I'm too old now. Give up the drink!No; not till the drink gives _me_ up. It's got me, and it's like tokeep me. It's taken all I've had--husband, children, home, money--andit'll have all the rest afore it's done. I must just put this safe by, and then I'll go and wet my lips with a quartern o' mountain dew. It'sa rare thing, is the drink; it's meat and drink too, and lodging andfiring and all. "

In the meanwhile the cab sped swiftly on its way to the Albion Hotel, and from thence to the lodgings, where Sir Thomas was anxiously waitingtheir arrival. They carried the sufferer up to his bed-room. What acontrast to the miserable, polluted chamber from which Lady Oldfield hadjust rescued him! Here all was cleanliness and comfort, with abundantlight and ventilation, and a civil and experienced nurse waited to takecharge of the unhappy patient. Having parted with the superintendentwith many heartfelt expressions of gratitude, Sir Thomas, Lady Oldfield, and the doctor proceeded to the sick-room. Frank lay back on the snow-white pillow, pale and motionless, his eyes closed, his lips apart. Oh!was he dead? Had the shock been too much for his enfeebled body? Hadthey found him only to lose him at once for ever? Sir Thomas and hiswife approached the bed with beating hearts. No; there was life still;the lips moved, and the hectic of the fever returned to the cheeks. Then the eyes opened wide, and Frank sprang up into a sitting posture. 

"Frank, Frank, don't you know me?" asked Sir Thomas, in a voice of keendistress. 

"Know you? No; I never saw you before. Where's Juniper? Come here, old fellow. You're a regular trump, and no mistake. Give us somebrandy. That's the right sort of stuff; ain't it, old gentleman?" saidFrank, glaring at his father, and uttering a wild laugh. 

"This is terrible, terrible!" groaned the baronet. "Doctor, what can wedo?"

The medical man looked very grave. 

"We must keep him as quiet as possible, " he replied; "but it's a badcase. He's a bad subject, unhappily, because of his intemperate habits. I hope we shall reduce the fever; but what I fear most is the afterexhaustion. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Oldfield, "if he would only know us--if he wouldonly speak rationally--if he would only keep from these dreadfulramblings about spirits and drinking! It breaks my heart to hear himspeak as he does. Oh! I could bear to lose him now, though we havejust found him, if I could only feel that he was coming back, like thepoor prodigal, in penitence to his heavenly Father. "

"You must calm yourself, madam, " said the doctor; "we must hope that itwill be so. Remember, he is not responsible for the words he nowutters; they are only the ravings of delirium. "

"Yes; _he_ is not responsible for the words he now utters, " cried thepoor mother--"but oh, misery, misery! I am responsible. _I_ held himback, _I_ laughed him from his purpose, when he would have pledgedhimself to renounce that drink which has been his bane and ruin, bodyand soul. "

"Come, come, my dearest wife, " said her husband, "you must be comforted. You acted for the best. We are not responsible for his excess. Henever learned excess from us. "

"No; but I cannot be comforted, for I see--I know that he might now havebeen otherwise. Ay, he might now have been as the Oliphants are, if hisown mother had not put the fatal hindrance in his way. Oh, if I hadworlds to give I would give them, could I only undo that miserablepast!"

"I think, " said the medical man, "it will be wiser if all would nowleave him except the nurse. The fewer he sees, and the fewer voices hehears, the less he will be likely to excite himself. I will call earlyagain to-morrow. "

Lady Oldfield retired to her chamber, and poured out her heart inprayer. Oh, might she have but one hour of intelligence--one hour inwhich she might point her erring child to that loving Saviour, whom shehad herself sought in earnest and found in truth since the departure ofher son from home! Oh, might she but see him return to the Gatherer ofthe wandering sheep! She did not ask life for him--she dared not ask itabsolutely; but she did ask that her heavenly Father would in pity granther some token that there was hope in her beloved child's death, if hemust die. And does not God answer prayer? Yes, alway; but not alwaysin our way. When sin has found the sinner out--when warnings have beenslighted, mercies despised, the Spirit quenched, the gentle arm thatwould guide us to glory rudely and perseveringly flung aside--then, then, it may be, not even a believing mother's prayer shall avail toturn aside the righteous stroke of the hand of that holy God who is tohis determined enemies a consuming fire. 

All the night long did Frank Oldfield toss to and fro, or start up withglaring eyes, calling on his drunken associates, singing wild songs, ornow and then recalling days when sin had not yet set its searing brandon his heart and conscience. About midnight his father and mother stoleinto his chamber. The nurse put up her finger. They cautiously shrankback behind the screen of the bed-curtains out of his sight. 

"Juniper, my boy!" exclaimed the wretched sufferer, "where's my mother?Gone down to the rectory! Ah, they're water-drinkers there. That don'tdo for you and me, Juniper. `This bottle's the sun of our table. ' Ha, ha!--a capital song that!"

Lady Oldfield sank on her knees, and could not repress her sobs. 

"Who's crying?" exclaimed Frank. "Is it Mary? Poor Mary! She loved meonce--didn't she? My poor mother loved me once--didn't she? Why don'tshe love me now? Where's my mother now?"

"Here I am--here's your mother--your own loving mother--my Frank--mydarling boy!" burst from the lips of the agonised parent. 

She flung herself down on her knees beside the bed. He stared at her, but his ramblings went off the next moment to something else. Thenthere was a pause, and he sank back. Lady Oldfield took the opportunityto send up a fervent prayer. He caught the half-whispered words, andsat up. He looked for the moment so collected, so much himself, thathis mother's lips parted with joyful astonishment, and she gasped, --

"He knows us--his reason is restored!"

The next moment she saw her sad mistake. 

"How funny!" cried the poor patient; "there's our old parson praying. Poor old parson!--he tried to make me a teetotaller. It wouldn't do, Jacob. Ah, Jacob, never mind me. You're a jolly good fellow, but youdon't understand things. Give us a song. What shall it be? `Threejolly potboys drinking at the "Dragon. "' What's amiss? I'm quitewell--never was better in my life. How d'ye do, captain?"

These last words he addressed to his father, who was gazing at him inblank misery. 

And was it to be always so? Was he to pass out of the world intoeternity thus--thrilling the hearts of those who heard him withbitterest agony? No; there came a change. Another day, the remedieshad begun to tell on the patient. The fever gradually left him. Thefire had faded from his eye, the hectic from his cheek. And now fatherand mother, one on either side, bent over him. Lady Oldfield read fromthe blessed Book the parable of the Prodigal Son. She thought thatFrank heard her, for there was on his face a look of mingled surprise, pleasure, and bewilderment. Then no one spoke for a while. Nothing washeard but the ticking of Lady Oldfield's watch, which stood in its caseon the dressing-table. Again the poor mother opened the same preciousGospel of Saint Luke, and read out calmly and clearly the parable of thePharisee and the Publican. Then she knelt by the bed and prayed thather boy might come with the publican's deep contrition to his God, trusting in the merits of his Saviour. There was a whispered sound fromthose feeble lips. She could just distinguish the words, "To me asinner. " They were all, but she blessed God for them. An hour later, and the doctor came. There was no hope in his eye, as he felt thepulse. 

"What report?" murmured Sir Thomas. The doctor shook his head. 

"Oh, tell me--is he dying?" asked the poor mother. 

"He is sinking fast, " was the reply. 

"Can nothing restore him?"

"Nothing. "

"Oh, Frank--darling Frank, " appealed his mother, in a whisper ofagonised entreaty, "let me have one word--one look to tell me you knowme. "

The weary eyes opened, and a faint smile seemed to speak ofconsciousness. 

"Hear me--hear me, my beloved child, " she said again. "Christ Jesuscame into the world to save sinners. Jesus died for you. Jesus lovesyou still. Look to him--believe in him. He is able to save you evennow. "

Again the eyes slowly opened. But the dying glaze was over them. Atroubled look came across the brow, and then a faint smile. The lipsopened, but could frame no words for a while. Lady Oldfield put her earclose to those parted lips. They spoke now, but only three short words, very slowly and feebly, "Jesus--Mother--Mary. " Then all was over. 

So died Frank Oldfield. Was there hope in his death? Who shall say?That heart-broken mother clung, through years of wearing sorrow, to thefaint hope that flickered in those few last words and in that feeblesmile. He smiled when she spoke of Jesus. Yes; she clung to these asthe drowning man clings to the handful of water-reeds which he clutchesin his despair. But where was the happy evidence of genuine repentanceand saving faith? Ah, miserable death-bed! No bright light shone fromit. No glow, caught from a coming glory, rested on those marblefeatures. Yet how beautiful was that youthful form, even though defacedby the brand of sin! How gloriously beautiful it might have been as thebody of humiliation, hereafter to be fashioned like unto Christ'sglorious body, had a holy, loving soul dwelt therein in its tabernacledays on earth? Then an early death would have been an early glory, andthe house of clay, beautiful with God's adornments, would only have beentaken down in life's morning to be rebuilt on a nobler model in theparadise of God. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

"OULD CROW, " THE KNIFE-GRINDER. 

"Knives to grind!--scissors to grind!--tools to grind!--umbrels tomend!"

These words were being uttered in a prolonged nasal tone by an old grey-haired man of a rather comical cast of countenance in one of the streetsin the outskirts of the town of Bolton. It was about a week after thesad death of Frank Oldfield that we come upon him. Certainly thisapproach to the town could not be said to be prepossessing. The houses, straggling up the side of a hill, were low and sombre, being built of agreyish stone, which gave them a dull and haggard appearance. Stone waseverywhere, giving a cold, comfortless look to the dwellings. Stone-paved roads, stone curbs, stone pathways--except here and there, wherecoal-dust and clay formed a hard and solid footway, occasionallyhollowed out by exceptional wear into puddles which looked like giganticinkstands. High stone slabs also, standing upright, and clampedtogether by huge iron bolts, served instead of palings and hedges, andinflicted a melancholy, prison-like look on the whole neighbourhood. 

It was up this street that the old knife-grinder was slowly propellinghis apparatus, which was fitted to two large light wheels. A very neatand comprehensive apparatus it was. There was the well-poisedgrindstone, with its fly-wheel attached; a very bright oil-can, and pipefor dropping water on to the stone; various little nooks andcompartments for holding tools, rivets, wire, etcetera. Everything wasin beautiful order; while a brass plate, on which was engraved theowner's name, blazed like gold when there was any sunshine to fall uponit. At present the day was drizzling and chilly, while the huge volumesof smoke from a whole forest of factory chimneys tended to impart adeeper shade of dismalness to the dispiriting landscape. The old manhimself was plainly a character. No part of his dress seemed as if itcould ever have been new, and yet all was in such keeping and harmonythat every article in it appeared to have faded to a like degree ofdecay by a common understanding. Not that the component parts of thisdress were such as could well have been contemporaries on their beingfirst launched into the world, for the whole of the old man's personaloutward clothing might almost have been mapped off into divisions--eachcompartment representing a different era, as the zones on a terrestrialglobe enclose differing races of plants and animals. Thus, his feetwere shod with stout leather shoes, moderately clogged, and fastened, not by the customary clasps, but by an enormous pair of shoe-buckles ofa century old at least. His lower limbs were enclosed in leatherngarments, which fastened below the knee, leaving visible his greyworsted stockings. An immense waistcoat, the pattern of which wasconstantly being interrupted by the discordant figuring of a largevariety of patches--inserted upside down, or sideways, or crossways, asbest suited--hung nearly to his knees; and over this he wore a coat, theage and precise cut of which it would have puzzled the most learned insuch things to decide upon. It probably had been two coats once, andpossibly three may have contributed to its formation. It was clearlyput together for use and not for ornament--as was testified by itsextreme length, except in the sleeves, and by the patches of variouscolours, which stood out upon the back and skirts in startling contrastto the now almost colourless material of the originals. On his head theold man wore a sort of conical cap of felt, which looked as though ithad done service more than once on the head of some modernrepresentative of Guy Fawkes of infamous memory. And yet there wasnothing beggarly about the appearance of the old knife-grinder. Not arag disfigured his person. All was whole and neat, though quaint andfaded. Altogether, he would have formed an admirable subject for anartist's sketch-book; nor could any stranger pass him without beingstruck with pleasure, if he caught a glimpse of his happy face--forclearly there was sunshine there; yet not the full, bright sunshine ofthe cloudless summer, but the sunshine that gleams through the storm andlights up the rainbow. 

"Knives to grind!--scissors to grind!"

The cry went on as the old man toiled along. But just now no oneappeared to heed him. The rain kept pattering down, and he seemedinclined to turn out of his path and try another street. Just then awoman's voice shouted out, --

"Ould Crow--Ould Crow! Here, sithee! Just grind me these scissors. Our Ralph's been scraping the boiler lid with 'em, till they're nearlyas blunt as a broom handle. "

"Ay, missus, I'll give 'em an edge; but you mustn't let your Ralph haveall his own way, or he'll take the edge off your heart afore so long. "

The scissors-grinding proceeded briskly, and soon a troop of dirtychildren were gathered round the wheel, and began to teaze the old man. 

"I'll warm thee!" he cried to one of the foremost, half seriously andhalf in joke. 

At last the scissors were finished. 

"I'll warm thee, Ould Crow!" shouted out the young urchin, in amimicking voice, and running up close to him as he was returning to hiswheel. 

The long arm of the knife-grinder darted forward, and his hand graspedthe lad, who struggled hard to get away; and at last, by a desperateeffort, freed himself, but, in so doing, caused the old man to lose hisbalance. It was in vain that he strove to recover himself. The stoneswere slippery with the wet: he staggered a step or two, and then fellheavily forward on his face. Another moment, and he felt a strong armraising him up. 

"Are you much hurt, old friend?" asked his helper, who was none otherthan Jacob Poole. 

"I don't know--the Lord help me!--I'm afeerd so, " replied Old Crow, seating himself on the kerb stone with a groan. 

"Those young rascals!" cried Jacob. "I'd just like to give 'em such ahiding as they've ne'er had in all their lives afore. "

"Nay, nay, friend, " said the other; "it wasn't altogether the lad'sfault. But they're a rough lot, for sure; not much respect for an oldman. Most on 'em's mayster o' their fathers and mothers afore they canwell speak plain. Thank ye kindly for your help; the Lord'll rewardye. "

"You're welcome, old gentleman, " said Jacob. "Can I do anything morefor you?"

"Just lend me your arm for a moment; there's a good lad. I shall havehard work, I fear, to take myself home, let alone the cart. "

"Never trouble about that, " said Jacob, cheerily. "I'll wheel your carthome, if you can walk on slowly and show me the road. "

"Bless you, lad; that'll be gradely help--`a friend in need's a friendindeed. ' If you'll stick to the handles, I'll make shift to hobble onby your side. I'm better now. "

They turned down a by-street; and after a slow walk of about a quarterof a mile--for the old man was still in considerable pain, and was muchshaken--they arrived at a low but not untidy-looking cottage, with alittle outbuilding by its side. 

"Here we are, " said the knife-grinder. "Now come in, my lad. You shallhave your tea, and we'll have a chat together arterwards. "

Old Crow pulled a key out of his pocket, and opened the house door. Thefire was burning all right, and was soon made to burst into a cheerfulblaze. Then the old man hobbled round to the shed, and unbolting itfrom the inside, bade Jacob wheel in the cart. This done, they returnedinto the kitchen. 

"Sit ye down, my lad, " said the knife-grinder. "Deborah'll be backdirectly; the mills is just loosed. "

"Is Deborah your daughter?" asked Jacob. 

The old man shook his head sorrowfully. 

"No; I've never a one belonging me now. "

"That's much same with myself, " said Jacob. "I've none as belongs me;leastways I cannot find 'em. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed the other. "Well, we'll talk more about that justnow. Deborah, ye see, is widow Cartwright's wench; and a good wench sheis too, as e'er clapped clog on a foot. She comes in each morn, andsees as fire's all right, and fills kettle for my breakfast. Then atnoon she comes in again to see as all's right. And after mill's loosed, she just looks in and sets all straight. And then, afore she goes tobed, she comes in, and stretches all up gradely. "

"And are you quite alone now?"

"Quite. But I've a better Friend as never leaves me nor forsakes me--the Lord Jesus Christ. I hope, my lad, you know summat about him. "

"Yes; thank the Lord, I do, " replied Jacob. "I learned to love him whenI was far away in Australia. "

"In Australia!" cried the old man. "Deborah'll be glad to hear what youhave to say about Australia, for she's a brother there. And how longhave you been come back from yon foreign land?"

"Not so very long; but I almost wish as I'd never been. "

"And why not?"

"'Cos I shouldn't have knowed one as has caused me heavy sorrow. "

Poor Jacob hid his face in his hands, and, spite of himself; the tears_would_ ooze out and trickle through his fingers. 

"Come, my lad, " said his new friend, compassionately; "you mustn't fretso. You say you love the Lord; well, he will not leave youcomfortless. "

"It's the drink, the cursed drink, as done it, " said the other, half tohimself. 

"Well, my lad; and if you _have_ been led astray, and are gradely sorryfor it, there's room in the Lord's heart for you still. "

"Nay, it isn't that. I'm a total abstainer to the back-bone, and havebeen for years. "

"The Lord be praised!" cried Old Crow, rising from his seat, andgrasping the hand of his companion with all his might. "I shall loveyou twice over now. I'm an old teetotaller myself; and have been thesemany years. Come, you tell me your tale; and when we've had our tea, I'll tell you mine. "

Jacob then told his story, from his first encountering CaptainMerryweather at Liverpool, till the time when he lost sight of his youngmaster. 

"And now, old friend, " he concluded, "I'm just like a ship afloat asdon't know which way to steer. I'm fair weary of the sea, an' I don'tknow what to turn myself to on land. "

"Perhaps we may set that right, " replied the old man. "But here'sDeborah; so we'll just get our tea. "

The kitchen in which they were seated was a low but comfortableapartment. There was nothing much in the way of furniture there, buteverything was clean and tidy; while the neat little window-curtain, thewell-stuffed cushion in the old man's rocking-chair, and the broad warmrug on the hearth, made of countless slips of cloth of various coloursdexterously sewn together, showed that loving female hands had beencaring for the knife-grinder's comfort. Deborah was a bright, cheery-looking factory-girl, who evidently loved the old man, and worked forhim with a will. The tea was soon set out, Deborah joining them by OldCrow's invitation. Jacob had much to tell about Australia which deeplyinterested both his hearers, especially Deborah. When the tea-thingswere removed, and Old Crow and Jacob were left alone, the former said, --

"Come; friend Jacob, draw thy chair to the fire. Thou hast given me thytale, and a sad one it is; now thou shalt hear mine. "

They drew closer up on to the hearth, and the old man proceeded with hisstory. 

"I were born and reared in a village many miles from Bolton; it makes noodds where it were, my tale will be all the same. My fayther and motherwere godly people, and taught me to love the Lord by precept and exampletoo. I worked in the pit till I were about twenty; when one day, as mybutty and me was getting coal a long way off from the shaft, the propnearest me began to crack, and I knowed as the roof were falling in. Isung out to him, but it were too late. I'd just time to save myself, when down came a big stone a-top of him, poor lad. I shouted for help, and we worked away with our picks like mad; and by the help of crows wemanaged to heave off the stone. The poor young man were sadly crushed. We carried him home as softly as we could; but he were groaning awfulall the way. He were a ghastly sight to look on as he lay on his bed;and I'd little hope for him, for he'd been a heavy drinker. I'd talkedto him scores of times about it, but he never heeded. He used to say--`Well, you're called a sober man, and I'm called a drunkard; but what'sthe difference? You takes what you like, and I takes what I like. Youtakes what does you good, and I takes what does me good. ' `No, ' says I, `you takes what does you harm. ' `Ah, but, ' says he, `who's to say justwhere good ends and harm begins? Tom Roades takes a quart more nor me, and yet he's called to be a sober man; I suppose 'cos he don't fuddle sosoon. ' Well, but to come back to my poor butty's misfortune. There helay almost crushed out of all shape, with lots of broken bones. Theysends for the doctor, and he says-- `You must keep him quiet. Nurse himwell; and whatever ye do, don't let him touch a drop of beer or spiritstill I give ye leave. ' Well--would ye believe it?--no sooner weredoctor's back turned than they pours some rum down the poor lad'sthroat, sure as it'd do him good. And so they went on; and the end onit was, they finished him off in a few days, for the poor fellow diedmad drunk. Arter that I couldna somehow take to the pit again, and Icouldn't have anything more to do with the drink. I said to myself; `Noone shall take encouragement to drink from _you_ any more. ' So I joineda Temperance Society, and signed the pledge. I'd saved a little money, and looked about for summat to do. I hadn't larning enough to go intoan office as a writer; and I wouldn't have gone if I had, for I shouldhave wasted to skin and bone if I'd sat up all the day on a high stool, scrat, scratting with a pen, and my nose almost growing to the papper. So I bethowt me as I'd larn to be a knife-grinder. It'd just suit me. I could wander about from place to place, and have plenty of fresh air, and my liberty too. So I paid a chap to teach me the trade, and setmyself up with my cart and all complete. But after a bit, my faytherand mother died; and I felt there were one thing as I were short on, andthat were a wife. My brothers and sisters had all gotten married; so Iwanted a home. But I wasn't going to take up with any sort; I meant toget a real good wife, or I'd have none at all. Well, I found one justthe right make for me--a tidy, loving Christian she were. I loved myhome, and were seldom off more nor two or three days at a time, when Itook my cart a little further nor usual. We never had but one child;and she were a girl, and as likely a wench as were to be found in allthe country round. She were a good daughter to me, Jacob, for many along year; for her mother died when she were but ten year old, and Ididn't wed again. Poor Rachel! she were no ordinary wench, you may besure. She were quite a little woman afore she were as high as mywaistcoat. All the neighbours used to say, `He'll get a good wife asgets your Rachel;' and I used to say, `Well, I don't want her to leaveme, but I'll ne'er say No if she keeps company with a fellow as loveshis Bible and hates the drink. ' Well, there were an old widow in ourvillage as made a great profession of religion. She were always atchapel and meeting, and as full of pious talk as an egg's full of meat. Our Rachel thought her almost too good for this sinful world; butsomehow I couldn't take to her myself. I feared she were not the rightside out. I had many a talk with Ruth Canters--for that were her name. She were always a-sighing o'er the wickedness of the neighbours, andwishing she knew where she could find a young woman as'd suit her sonfor a wife. I didn't like her looks always, and I thought as there werea smell of spirits sometimes, as didn't suit me at all. But she wereever clean and tidy, and I never see'd any drink in the house. Therewere always the Bible or some other good book at hand, and I couldn'tprove as all were not right. Howsever, her Jim took a fancy to ourRachel, and she to him. So they kept company, and were married: and thewidow came to live with us, for Rachel wouldn't hear of leaving me. Jimwere a good young man, honest and true, and a gradely Christian. Butnow our Rachel began to suspect as summat was wrong. I were often awaywith my cart for three or four days together; and when I were at home Ididn't take so much notice of things, except it always seemed to me aswidow Canter's religion tasted more of vinegar nor sugar--there wereplenty of fault-finding and very little love. Says I to Rachel one day, when we was by ourselves, `Thy mother-in-law's religion has more of the"drive" nor the "draw" in't. ' The poor thing sighed. I saw there weresummat wrong; but I didn't find it out then. "

"Ah, " interrupted Jacob, "it were the drink, of course. That's at thebottom of almost all the crime and wickedness. "

"You're right, my lad, " continued the other, with a deep sigh. "RuthCanters drank, but it were very slily--so slily that her own son Jimwouldn't believe it at first; but he were obliged to at last. Oh, whata cheating thing is the drink! She were never so pious in her talk aswhen she'd been having a little too much; and nothing would convince herbut that she were safe for heaven. But I mustn't go grinding on, or Ishall grind all your patience away. Rachel had a little babe--a bonnylittle wench. Oh, how she loved it--how we both loved it! PoorRachel!"

The old man paused to wipe away his tears. 

"Well, it were about six months old, when Rachel had to go off for somehours to see an aunt as were sick. She wouldn't take the babe with her, 'cos there were a fever in the court where her aunt lived, and she werefeart on it for the child. Old Ruth promised to mind the babe gradely;and our Rachel got back as quick as she could, but it were later nor sheintended. Jim were not coming home till late, and I were off myself fora day or two. When our Rachel came to the house door, she tried to openit, but couldn't; it were fast somehow. She knocked, but no oneanswered. Again she tried the door; it were not locked, but summatheavy lay agen it. She pushed hard, and got it a bit open. She justsaw summat as looked like a woman's dress. Then she shrieked out, andfell down in a faint. The neighbours came running up. They went in bythe wash-house door, and found Ruth Canters lying dead agen the housedoor inside, and the baby smothered under her. Both on 'em were stonedead. She'd taken advantage of our Rachel being off to drink more norusual, and she'd missed her footing with the baby in her arms, andfallen down the stairs right across the house door. Our Rachel neverlooked up arter that; she died of a broken heart. And Jim couldn't bearto tarry in the neighbourhood; nor I neither. Ah, the misery, themisery as springs from the cursed drink! Thank the Lord, Jacob, overand over again a thousand times, as he's given you grace to be a totalabstainer. "

There was a long pause, during which the old man wept silent but notbitter tears. 

"Them as is gone is safe in glory, " he said at last; "our Rachel and herbabe, I mean; and I've done fretting now. I shall go to them; but theywill not return to me. And now, Jacob, my lad, what do ye say tolearning my trade, and taking shares with me? I shan't be good for muchagain this many a day, and I've taken a fancy to you. You've done me agood turn, and I know you're gradely. I'm not a queer chap, though Ilooks like one. My clothes is only a whim of mine. They've been in thefamily so long, that I cannot part with 'em. They'll serve out _my_time, though we've patched and patched the old coat till there's scarcea yard of the old stuff left in him, and he looks for all the world likea _map_ of England, with the different counties marked on it. "

"Well, Mayster Crow, " began Jacob in reply; but the other stopped him byputting up his hand. 

"Eh, lad, you mustn't call me _Mayster_ Crow; leastwise, if you do aforeother folks, they'll scream all the wits out of you with laughing. I'm`Old Crow' now, and nothing else. My real name's Jenkins; but if you orany one else were to ask for Isaac Jenkins, there's not a soul in theseparts as'd know as such a man ever lived. No; they call me `Old Crow. 'Maybe 'cos I look summat like a scarecrow. But I cannot rightly tell. It's my name, howsever, and you must call me nothing else. "

"Well, then, Old Crow, " said Jacob, "I cannot tell just what I'm goingto do. You see I've no friends, and yet I should have some if I couldonly find 'em. "

"Have you neither fayther nor mother living then?" asked the old man. 

"I cannot say. My mother's dead. As for the rest--well, it's just thisway, Old Crow, I'm a close sort o' chap, and always were. I left home afugitive and a vagabond, and I resolved as I'd ne'er come back till Icould come as my own mayster, and that I'd ne'er tell anything about myown home and them as belonged me, till I could settle where I pleased ina home of my own. But I learnt at the diggings as it were not right torun off as I did, for the Lord sent us a faithful preacher, and heshowed me my duty; and I came back with my mind made up to tell them asowned me how God had dealt with me and changed my heart. But I couldn'tfind nor hear anything about 'em at the old place. They'd flitted, andnobody could tell me where. So I'd rayther say no more about 'em tillI've tried a bit longer to find 'em out. And if I cannot light on 'emarter all, why then, I'll start again, as if the past had never been, for it were but a dark and dismal past to me. "

Old Crow did not press Jacob with further questions, as he was evidentlynot disposed to be communicative on the subject of his early history, but he said, --

"Well, and suppose you take to the grinding; you can drive the cartafore ye, from town to town, and from village to village, as I've donemyself scores and scores of times, and maybe you'll light on them asyou're seeking. It's strange how many an old face, as I'd never thoughtto see no more, has turned up as I've jogged along from one place toanother. "

"Ah, " exclaimed Jacob, "I think as that'd just suit me! I never thoughtof that. I'll take your offer then, Old Crow, and many thanks to ye, and I hope you'll not find me a bad partner. "

So it was arranged as the old man suggested, and Jacob forthwith beganto learn his new trade. 

It was some weeks before he had become at all proficient in the knife-grinding and umbrella-mending arts; and many a sly laugh and joke on thepart of Deborah made him at times half-inclined to give up the work; butthere was a determination and dogged resolution about his characterwhich did not let him lightly abandon anything he had once undertaken. So he persevered, much to Old Crow's satisfaction, for he soon began tolove Jacob as a son, and the other was drawn to the old man as to afather. After a while Jacob's education in his new art was pronouncedcomplete, not only by the old knife-grinder himself but even by Deborah, critical Deborah, who declared that his progress was astonishing. 

"Why, " she said, addressing Old Crow, "when he first took to it, nothingwould serve him but he must have mother's old scissors to point; and hegrund and grund till the two points turned their backs t'one on t'other, and looked different ways, as if they was weary of keeping company anylonger. And when he sharped yon old carving-knife of grandfather's, youcouldn't tell arter he'd done which side were the back and which sidewere the edge. But he's a rare good hand at it now. "

And, to tell the truth, Deborah greatly prized a new pair of scissors, apresent from Jacob, with the keenest of edges, the result of his firstthoroughly successful grinding; indeed, it was pretty clear that theyoung knife-grinder was by no means an object of indifference to her. The public proclaiming of his vocation in the open streets was the mosttrying thing to Jacob. The very prospect of it almost made him give up. Deborah was very merry at his expense, and told him, that "if he wereashamed, she wouldn't mind walking in front of the cart, the first day, and doing all the shouting for him. " This difficulty, however, was gotover by the old man himself going with Jacob on his first few journeys, and introducing him to his customers; after which he was able to take tohis new calling without much trouble. But it was quite plain that OldCrow himself was too much injured by his fall to be able to resume theknife-grinding for many months to come, even if indeed, he were everable to take to it again. But this did not distress him, for he hadlearned to trace God's hand, as the hand of a loving Father, ineverything. Though old and grey-headed, he was hearty and cheerful, forhis old age was like a healthy winter, "kindly, though frosty;" for "henever did apply hot and rebellious liquors to his blood. " Spite of hisaccident, these were happy days for him, for he had found in Jacob Pooleone thoroughly like-minded. Oh, the blessings of a home, howeverhumble, where Christ is loved, and the drink finds no entrance; for insuch a home there are seen no forced spirits, no unnatural excitements!It was a touching sight when the quaint old man, having finished histea, would bring his rocking-chair nearer to the fire, and bidding Jacobdraw up closer on the other side, would tell of God's goodness to him intimes past, and of his hopes of a better and brighter home on the otherside of the dark river. Deborah would often make a third, and hermother would join them too at times, and then Jacob would tell of thewonders of the deep, and of the distant colony where he had sojourned. Then the old man would lay aside the tall cap which he wore even in thehouse, displaying his scattered white hairs, and would open his bigBible with a smile, --

"I always smile when I open the Bible, " he said one day to Jacob, "'cosit's like a loving letter from a far-off land. I'm not afraid oflooking into't; for, though I light on some awful verses every now andthen, I know as they're not for me. I'm not boasting. It's all ofgrace; but still it's true `there is therefore now no condemnation tothem that are in Christ Jesus, ' and I know that through his mercy I amgradely in him. "

Then they would sing a hymn, for all had the Lancashire gift of good earand voice, after which the old man would sink on his knees and pour outhis heart in prayer. Yes, that cottage was indeed a happy home, oftenthe very threshold of heaven; and many a time the half-drunken collier, as he sauntered by, would change the sneer that curled his lip at thosestrains of heartfelt praise, into the tear that melted out of a smittenand sorrowful heart, a heart that knew something of its own bitterness, for it smote him as he thought of a God despised, a soul perishing, aBible neglected, a Saviour trampled on, and an earthly home out of whichthe drink had flooded every real comfort, and from which he could haveno well-grounded hope of a passage to a better. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

FOUND. 

Four years had passed away since Jacob Poole raised the old knife-grinder from his fall in the street in Bolton. All that time he hadmade his abode with the old man, traversing the streets of many a townand village far and near, and ever returning with gladness to his newhome. His aged friend had never so far recovered from his accident asto be able to resume his work. He would occasionally go out with Jacob, and help him in some odd jobs, but never again took to wheeling out themachine himself. He was brighter, however, than in even more prosperousdays, and had come to look upon Jacob as his adopted son. It wasunderstood, also, that Deborah would ere long become the wife of theyoung knife-grinder. There was one employment in which the old mandelighted, and that was the advocating and forwarding, in every way inhis power, the cause of Christian total abstinence. For this purpose hewould carry suitable tracts with him wherever he went, and would oftenpause in fine weather, when he accompanied Jacob Poole on his lessdistant expeditions; and, sitting on a step or bank, as the case mightbe, while the wheel was going round, would gather about him old andyoung, and give them a true temperance harangue. Sometimes he met withscoffs and hard words, but he cared little for them; he had his answerready, or, like his Master, when reviled he opened not his mouth. Someone called him "a canting old hypocrite. "

"Nay, friend, " he replied, "you're mistaken there. I'm not a hypocrite. A hypocrite's a man with two faces. Now, you can't say you have everseen me with two faces. I've seen many a drunkard with two faces--t'oneas makes the wife and childer glad, and t'other as makes their heartsache and jump into their mouths with fear. But you've ne'er seen thatin a gradely abstainer. "

"You're a self-righteous old sinner, " said another. 

"I'm a sinner, I know, " was Old Crow's reply; "but I'm not self-righteous, I hope. I don't despise a poor drunkard; but I cannotrespect him. I want to pull him out of the mire, and place him where hecan respect hisself. "

But generally he had ready and attentive listeners, and was the means ofwinning many to the good way; for all who really knew him respected himfor his consistency. And Jacob was happy with him, and yet to him therewas one thing still wanting. He had never in all his wanderings beenable to discover the least trace of those whom he was seeking, and thedesire to learn something certain about them increased day by day. Atlast, one fine July evening, he said to his old companion, --

"Ould Crow, I can't be content as I am. I must try my luck further off. If you've nothing to say against it, I'll just take the cart with mefor a month or six weeks, and see if the Lord'll give me success. I'llgo right away into Shropshire, and try round there; and throughStaffordshire and Derbyshire. "

"Well, my son, " was the reply, "you'll just do what you know to beright. I won't say a word against it. "

"And if, " added Jacob, "I can't find them as I'm seeking, nor hearanything gradely about 'em, I'll just come back and settle me downcontent. "

"The Lord go with you, " said the old man; "you'll not forget me nor poorDeborah. "

"I cannot, " replied Jacob; "my heart'll be with you all the time. "

"And how shall we know how you're coming on?"

"Oh, I'll send you a letter if I ain't back by the six week end. "

So the next morning Jacob started on his distant journey. Many were theroads he traversed, and many the towns and villages he visited, as heslowly made his way through Cheshire into Shropshire; and many were thedisappointments he met with, when he thought he had obtained some clueto guide him in his search. 

Three weeks had gone by, when one lovely evening in the early part ofAugust he was pushing the cart before him, wearied with his day's workand journey, along the high-road leading to a small village inShropshire. The turnpike-road itself ran through the middle of thevillage. On a dingy board on the side of the first house as he entered, he read the word "Fairmow. "

"Knives to grind!--scissors to grind!--umbrels to mend!" he criedwearily and mechanically; but no one seemed to need his services. Soonhe passed by the public-house--there was clearly no lack of customthere, and yet the sounds that proceeded from it were certainly notthose of drunken mirth. He looked up at the sign. No ferocious lionred or black, urged into a rearing posture by unnatural stimulants, wasthere; nor griffin or dragon, white or green, symbolising the savagetempers kindled by intoxicating drinks; but merely the simple words, "Temperance Inn. " Not a letter was there any where about the place tointimate the sale of wine, beer, or spirits. 

Waggons were there, for it was harvest-time, and men young and old weregathered about the door, some quenching their thirst by moderatedraughts of beverages which slaked without rekindling it; others takingin solid food with a hearty relish. A pleasant sight it was to Jacob;but he would not pause now, as he wished to push on to the next townbefore night. So he urged his cart before him along the level road, till he came to a turn on the left hand off the main street. Here alovely little peep burst upon him. Just a few hundred yards down theturn was a cottage, with a neat green paling before it. The roof wasnewly thatched, and up the sides grew the rose and jessamine, whichmingled their flowers in profusion as they clustered over a snug littlelatticed porch. The cottage itself was in the old-fashioned black-timbered style, with one larger and one smaller pointed gable. Therewas a lovely little garden in front, the very picture of neatness, andfilled with those homely flowers whose forms, colours, and odours are sosweet because so familiar. Beyond the cottage there were no otherhouses; but the road sloped down to a brook, crossed by a little rusticbridge on the side of the hedge furthest from the cottage. Beyond thebrook the road rose again, and wound among thick hedges and tall statelytrees; while to the left was an extensive park, gradually rising till, at the distance of little more than a mile, a noble mansion of whitestone shone out brightly from its setting of dark green woods, overwhich was just visible the waving outline of a dim, shadowy hill. Jacoblooked up the road, and gazed on the lovely picture with deepadmiration. He could see the deer in the park, and the glorioussunlight just flashing out in a blaze of gold from the windows of themansion. He sighed as he gazed, though not in discontent; but he wasfoot-sore and heart-weary, and he longed for rest. He thought he wouldjust take his cart as far as the cottage, more from a desire of having acloser view of it than from much expectation of finding a customer. Ashe went along he uttered the old cry, --

"Knives to grind--scissors to grind. "

The words attracted the notice of a young man, who came out of thecottage carrying a little child in his arms. 

"I'll thank you to grind a point to this knife, " he said, "and to put afresh rivet in, if you can; for our Samuel's took it out of his mother'sdrawer when she was out, and he's done it no good, as you may see. "

Jacob put out his hand for the knife, but started back when he saw it asif it had been a serpent. Then he seized it eagerly, and looked withstaring eyes at the handle. There were scratched rudely on it theletters SJ. 

"Where, where did you get this?" he cried, turning first deadly pale, and then very red again. The young man looked at him in amazement. "Who, who are you?" stammered Jacob again. 

"Who am I?" said the other; "why, my name's John Walters. I am afraidyou're not quite sober, my friend. "

But just then a young woman came out from the cottage, leading by thehand a boy about five years old. She looked round first at her husbandand then at the knife-grinder with a perplexed and startled gaze. Thenext moment, with a cry of "Betty!" "Sammul!" brother and sister werelocked in each other's arms, --it was even so--the lost were found atlast. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS. 

"Father, father!" cried Betty, rushing into the house, "come hither;here's our Sammul come back. "

"Eh! What do ye say? Our Sammul come back?" exclaimed a well-knownvoice, and Johnson hurried out and clasped his son to his heart. "Eh!the Lord be praised for this, " he cried, with streaming eyes. "I'veprayed, and prayed for it, till I thought it were past praying for; butcome in and sit ye down, and let me look at you. "

Samuel was soon seated, with the whole household gathered round him. 

"It _is_ his own self, for sure, " said Betty. "O Sammul, I neverthought to see you no more. "

"I should scarce have knowed you, had I met you on the road, " said hisfather, "you're so much altered. "

"Ay, " said his sister; "he's gotten a beard to his face, and he's tallerand browner like, but his eye's the same--he's our Sammul, sure enough. You'll not be for flitting again for a-while, " she said, looking at himhalf playfully and half in earnest. 

"No, " he replied; "I've had flitting enough for a bit. But eh, Betty, you've growed yourself into a gradely woman. And this is your husband, I reckon, and these are your childer; have you any more?"

"No, " said John Walters; "these two are all. Well, you're heartilywelcome, Samuel. I'm glad to see you. Betty'll leave fretting now. "

"Ay, and fayther too, " cried Betty. "O Sammul, I am _so_ glad to seeyou. I've prayed, and fayther's prayed too, scores of times; and he'shad more faith nor me--though we've both begun to lose heart--but we'venever forgot ye, Sammul. Oh, I shall be happy now. The Lord's too goodto me, " she said, with deep emotion; "as the blessed Book says, `My cuprunneth over'--ay, it do for sure--I've got the best husband as everwoman had, (you needn't be frowning, John, it's true); and I've gotfayther, and they're both total abstainers, and gradely Christians too, and now I've got our Sammul. "

"And he's a total abstainer, " said Samuel, "and, he humbly hopes, agradely Christian. "

"Oh, that's best, that's best of all, " cried his sister, again throwingher arms around him. "Oh, Sammul, I _am_ so glad to see you--you can'twonder, for you're all the brothers I have, and I'm all the sisters_you_ have; you can't wonder at it, John. "

"I'm not wondering at anything but the Lord's goodness, " said herhusband, in a husky voice, and wiping his eyes. 

"Here, Sammul, " exclaimed Betty to her eldest child, "get on your UncleSammul's knee, and hug him with all your might. Eh! I didn't thinkthis morn as I should have to tell you to say `Uncle Sammul. ' He'scalled arter yourself. If you hadn't been off, he'd a been John orThomas, maybe. But our John knowed how I longed to have him calledSammul, so we've called the babe John Thomas, arter the fayther andgrandfayther. And now you'll want your tea, and then we must all have agradely talk when childers in bed. "

Oh, what a happy tea that was! The cart was drawn into a shed, andSamuel sat gazing through the door, hardly able to eat or drink forhappiness. What a peaceful picture it was! Betty was bustling in andout of the room, radiant with delight, sometimes laughing and sometimescrying, tumbling over the children, misplacing the tea-things, puttingthe kettle on the fire without any water in it, and declaring that, "she'd lost her head, and were good for nothing, " all which delightedher husband amazingly, who picked up the children by turns, andcorrected his wife's mistakes by making others himself; while ThomasJohnson sat in a corner smiling quietly to himself, and looking withbrimming eyes at his son, as being quite satisfied for the time withoutasking questions. Samuel leaned back in his seat, as one who hasaccomplished the labour of a life, and would rest a while. The housedoor stood ajar, and he could see the roses and jessamine straggling inthrough the porch, the sunny road, the noble trees on its farther side, while a herd of cattle slowly made their way towards the brook. Everynow and then, when the back door opened, (as it did many a time morethan was necessary, for Betty often went out and returned withoutremembering what she had gone for), he could see the neat, well-stockedgarden, with its hives of bees against the farthest wall, and itsthriving store of apple and plum trees, besides all sorts of usefulvegetables. He looked round the room, and saw at a glance thatneatness, cleanliness, and order reigned there. He looked at a smallside-table, and marked among its little pile of books more than one copyof the Word of Life, which told him that the brighter world was not keptout of sight; he could also gather from the appearance of the furnitureand articles of comfort that surrounded him, that his beloved sister'slot was in earthly things a prosperous one. As they drew their chairsto the tea-table, which was at last furnished and arranged to Betty'scomplete satisfaction, and John had reverently asked a blessing, Samuelsaid, --

"Fayther, you're looking better than ever I saw you in my life. "

"Yes, I don't doubt, my lad, you never seed me in my right mind afore; Iwere a slave to the drink then. I'd neither health of body nor peace ofmind--now, thank the Lord for it, I enjoy both. "

"Have you heard, Sammul?" asked Betty, --she tried to finish her sentencebut could not, and the tears kept dropping on to her hands, as she boweddown her head in the vain endeavour to conceal them. 

"She's thinking of her poor mother, " said John in a soothing tone. 

"Yes; I've heard about it, " replied her brother sadly. There was a longpause, and then Samuel asked, "Did you know as I'd been back toLanghurst?"

"No, " replied his father; "we heard as a stranger had been asking aboutme and mine, but nobody knowed who it was. "

"We never got no letter from you, Sammul, " said his sister; "there was aman as would have seen as we got it, if any letter had come for us arterwe flitted. "

"I never wrote; but I ought to have done; it were not right, " repliedSamuel; "and when I see'd it were my duty, it were too late for writing, for I were coming home myself. "

"Weel, " said Betty, "we have all on us much to ask, and much to tell;but just you finish your tea, and I'll put the childer to bed; and thenyou and John can take a turn round the garden, if you've a mind, while Iclear the table and tidy up a bit. "

And now, by common consent, when Betty had made all things straight, thewhole party adjourned to the garden, and brought their chairs under anold cherry-tree, from which they could see the distant mansion with itsembowering woods, and the sloping park in front. Samuel sat with hisfather on one side and Betty on the other, one hand in the hand of each. John was on the other side of his wife holding her other hand. 

"You know, John, " she said with a smile, "I only gave you the one handwhen we were wed, so our Sammul's a right to t'other. And now, tell usall, Sammul dear, from the very first. You needn't be afraid ofspeaking out afore our John; he knows all as we know, and you must takehim for your brother. "

"I'll do so as you say, Betty; and when I've told you all, there'll bemany things as I shall have to ax you myself. Well, then, you rememberthe night as I went off?"

"I shall ne'er forget it as long as I live, " said his sister. 

"Well, " continued Samuel, "I hadn't made up my mind just what to do, butI were resolved as I wouldn't bide at home any longer, so I hurriedalong the road till I came to the old pit-shaft. I were just a-going topass it by, when I bethought me as I'd like to take a bit of holly withme as a keepsake. So I climbed up the bank, where there were a finebush, and took out my knife and tried to cut a bit; but the bough weretough, and I were afraid of somebody coming and finding me, so I cutrather random, for my knife were not so sharp, and I couldn't get thebranch off at first, and as the bank were rather steep, I slipped abouta good deal, and nearly tumbled back. Just then I heard somebody a-coming, and I felt almost sure it were fayther; so I gave one great pullwith my knife, the branch came in two all of a suddent, and the knifeslipped, and gave my left hand a great gash. I kept it, however, in myhand, but I slipped in getting back into the road, and dropped it. Idurstn't stop long, for the man, whoever he were, came nearer andnearer, so I just looked about for a moment or two, and then I set offand ran for my life, and never saw my poor knife again till your Johngave it me to sharpen an hour since. "

"Eh, Sammul, " cried Betty, with a great sigh of relief, "you littlethought what a stab your knife'd give your poor sister. I went out, same night as you went off, to seek you, and coming home from AuntJenny's I seed a summat shining on the road near the old pit-shaft, formoon were up then; it were this knife o' yourn. I picked it up, and oh, Sammul, there were blood on it, and I saw the bank were trampled, andoh, I didn't know what to make on it. I feart ye'd been and kiltyourself. I feart it at first, but I didn't arter a bit, when I'd timeto bethink me a little. But I've kept the knife ever since; you shallhave it back now, and you mustn't charge us anything for grinding it. "

"Poor Betty!" said her brother, "I little thought what sorrow my knifewould bring you. "

"Well, go on, it's all right now. "

"When I'd run a good way, " continued Samuel, "I began to think a bitwhat I should do with myself. One thing I were resolved on--I'd make afresh start--I'd forget as I'd ever had a home--I'd change my name, andbe my own mayster. It were not right--I see it now--I were misguided--it were not right to my poor Betty, my loving sister--it were selfish toleave her to bear all the trouble by herself, and it were not right byyou, fayther, nor by poor dear mother. I should have borne my trialswith patience, and the Lord would have made a road through 'em; but I'veprayed to be forgiven, and, bless the Lord, he's brought good out ofevil. Arter a while, I thought as I'd walk to Liverpool, and see if Icouldn't work my passage to America or Australia. I didn't wish any oneto know where I was gone, so I never wrote. I wished to be as dead toall as had gone before. It were the third day arter I left Langhurstthat I got to Liverpool. I were very foot-sore, and almost famished todeath, for I hadn't had a gradely meal since I left home. I werestanding near a public, feeling very low and done, when some sailorchaps as was drinking there began to chaff me, and one was for giving mesome beer and grog, but I wouldn't taste. Just then a CaptainMerryweather, commander of the barque _Sabrina_, comes up. He hearswhat was going on, and takes me to a temperance inn and gives me a goodbreakfast, and asks me if I'd go with him to Australia as cabin-boy. "

"To Australia!" exclaimed both Thomas and Betty; "have you really beento Australia, Sammul?"

"Ay, that I have, and back again too. Well, I were right glad to gowith the captain, more particularly arterwards, as I seed Will Jones a-coming out on a public, and I thought if he'd a seen me, he might talkon it at Langhurst. When captain axed me if I'd go with him, he wantedto know my name. Eh, I were never so taken aback in all my life. Icouldn't tell what to say, for I'd made up my mind as I'd drop the nameof Samuel Johnson, but I hadn't got any other at hand to take to. So heaxes me my name again. All at once I remembered as I'd see'd the name`Jacob Poole' over a little shop in a lane near the town, so I thought, `that'll do;' so says I, when he axed me my name again, `Jacob Poole. 'But I were nearly as fast next time as he called to me, for when hesays, `Jacob, ' I takes no notice. So he says again, `Jacob Poole, ' in aloud voice, and then I turns round as if I'd been shot. I wonder hedidn't find me out. But I'm used to the name now. I hardly know myselfas Samuel. "

"And which must we call you?" asked Betty, with a merry twinkle in hereyes. "Eh! fancy, `Uncle Jacob, ' `Brother Jacob. ' And yet it's not abad name neither. I were reading in John to our Sammul t'other dayabout Jacob's well--that were gradely drink; it were nothing but goodspring wayter. But go on, Sammul--Jacob, I mean. "

Samuel then proceeded to describe his voyage, his attachment to FrankOldfield, his landing in Australia, and subsequent separation from hismaster till he joined him again at Tanindie. He then went on to tellabout his life at the diggings, and his conversion under the preachingof the faithful missionary. 

"I began to see then, " he continued, "as I'd not done the thing as wasright. I talked it over with the minister; and I made up my mind as I'dcome home again and find you out. "

Then he told them of his voyage back to England, and of his landing withhis master at Liverpool. 

"Well, then, " he proceeded, "as soon as I could be spared I went over toLanghurst. I went to our old place and opened the door. There werenone but strange faces. `Where's Thomas Johnson?' says I. `Who do yesay?' says a woman as was by the hearth-stone. `Thomas Johnson? hedon't live here. ' `Where does he live then?' says I again. `There'snobody o' that name in Langhurst, ' says the woman. It were night when Igot there, so I wasn't noticed. Then I went to old Anne Butler's, and Ithought I'd not say who I were, for I were always a closeish sort o'chap; and if fayther and our Betty had flitted, I didn't want to haveall the village arter me. So I just went to old Anne's. She didn'tknow me a bit. So I got talking about the village, and the folks as hadcome and gone; and I let her have her own way. So she goes from t'oneto t'other, till at last she says, `There's poor Tommy Johnson, as usedto live in the stone row; he's flitted with his wench Betty, and nobodyknows where they've gone. ' `That's strange, ' says I, `what made 'emflit that fashion?' `Oh, ' she says, `they'd a deal of trouble. Thomaswasn't right in his head arter his lad Sammul went off, so he took upwith them Brierleys, and turned teetotaller; and then his missus, '--butI canna tell ye what she said about poor mother. I were fair upset, yemay be sure, when she told me her sad end; but old Anne were so full ofher story that she didna heed anything else. Then she said, `Many ofhis old pals tried to turn poor Tommy back, but they couldn't, but theynearly worritted him out of his life. So one night Tommy and his Bettywent clean off, and nobody's heard nothing no more on 'em, nor of theirSammul neither; and what's strangest thing of all, when they came tosearch the house arter it were known as Tommy had flitted, they foundsome great letters sticking to the chamber-floor in black and red; theywas verses out of the Bible and Testament. The verse in black were, "Nodrunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God;" t'other verse, in red, were, "Prepare to meet thy God. " Some thought as the old lad had put 'emthere; other some said, "The old lad's not like to burn his own tail inthe fire. " Howsever, verses were there for several days; I seed 'emmyself: but one stormy night there came a terrible clap of thunner, andan awful flash of lightning, and it went right through chamber ofTommy's house, and next morn letters were all gone, and nothing wereleft but a black mark, like a great scorch with a hot iron. ' This wereold Anne's tale. I didn't tarry long in her house, for I didn't want tobe seen by any as knowed me; but I went to many of the towns round aboutto see if I could hear anything about fayther, but it were no good; so Iwent back to Liverpool arter I'd been off about ten days. " Samuel thengave them an account of the sad tidings that awaited his return, andthen added, --

"I didn't know what to do, nor where to go, but I prayed to the Lord toguide me, and lead me in his own good time to fayther and our Betty, andthe Lord has heard me, and he's done it in his own gracious way. "

He then recounted his meeting with Old Crow, the knife-grinder, and hissubsequent history to the time when, on that very evening, he was led inthe good providence of his heavenly Father to turn down the lane to thelittle cottage. 

"The Lord be praised, the Lord be praised!" exclaimed poor Johnson, whenthe story was finished. "Surely goodness and mercy he's been to us all. And, oh, he's been very good in bringing back our Sammul. "

"We shall have a rare family gathering when we all meet, Old Crow, Deborah, and all, " said Betty. "There'll be fayther, and our John, andour Sammul, and our Jacob, and our Deborah, and Old Crow, and littleSammul, and the babe. We must get the squire to build us anothercottage. "

"Ah, Betty, my own sister, " said Samuel, "it does my heart good to hearyour voice once more. Add now I want fayther to tell his tale. I wantto know all about the flitting, and the black and red letters, and all, and how you came to light on this lovely spot. "

Johnson raised himself in his chair, and prepared to speak. What awondrous change Christian total abstinence had made in his wholeappearance. The prominent animal features had sunk or softened down, the rational and intellectual had become developed. He looked like aman, God's thinking and immortal creature now; before, he had lookedmore like a beast, with all that was savage intensified by the venom ofperverted intelligence. Now he sat up with all that was noble in hischaracter shining out upon his countenance, specially his quiet irondetermination and decision, in which father and son were so much alike. And there was, hallowing every line and look, that peace which passethunderstanding, and which flows from no earthly fountain. 

"Sammul, my lad, " he said, "God has been very good to me, for I can say, `This my son was lost, and is found. ' He's given me a cup brimful ofmercies; but the biggest of all is, he's sent us our Sammul back again. But I will not spin out my tale with needless talk, as you'll beimpatient to know all about our flitting. You'll remember NedBrierley?"

"Ay, well enough, " said his son. 

"Well, Ned were my best friend on earth, for you must know it were he asgot me to sign the pledge. That were arter I got well arter theexplosion. Ye heard of the explosion?"

"Yes, " replied Samuel; "I heard on it arter I left Langhurst. "

"It were a marvellous mercy, " continued his father, "as I were spared. I'd halted rather 'tween two opinions afore, but when I left my sick-bedI came forward, and signed. Then Ned Brierley and all the familyflitted, for the mayster'd given him a better shop somewhere in Wales. That were a bad job for me. I'd a weary life of it then. I thoughtsome of my old mates 'ud a torn me in pieces, or jeered the very lifeout of me. Then, besides, you were not come back to us; and I were verydown about your poor mother, so that I were casting about to see if Icouldn't find work somewhere at a distance from Langhurst, where I couldmake a fresh start. It were in the November arter the explosion thatsame total abstinence chap as got yourself to sign came to our house, and axed me to tell my experience at a meeting as was to be held inLanghurst on the twenty-third of the month. I'd sooner have had nothingto do wi't, but our Betty said she thought I were bound to speak for thegood of the cause, so I told the gentleman as I would. Now, you mayjust suppose as my old mates at the `George' were in a fury when theyheard of this, and some on 'em were resolved to sarve me out, as theycalled it, though I'd done 'em no harm. So they meets at Will Jones'shouse, a lot on them, and makes a plot to get into our house the nightafore the meeting, and scratch my face over with a furze bush while Iwas asleep, and rub lamp-black and gunpowder all over my face, so as Ishouldn't be able for shame to show myself at the meeting. But it sohappened as Will Jones's lad John were under the couch-chair, hidingaway from his fayther, all the time they was arranging their plans, andhe heard all as they was saying. So Will Jones's wife Martha sends thelad to tell our Betty when the men was gone. She'd promised not to sayanything herself, but that didn't bind the lad, so he came and told. What were we to do? Why, just the right thing were being ordered forus. Do ye remember old Job Paynter, the bill-sticker?"

"Ay, for sure I do, " replied Samuel. "He were a good Christian man, anda thorough total abstainer. "

"You're right there, Sammul, " said his father; "now old Job's uncle toour John here. I'd seen a good deal of old Job of late. He'd taken tome and our Betty, and used often to call and have a cup of tea with us. He knowed how I wished to get away from Langhurst; and one night he saysto me, `I've a nephew, John Walters, down at Fairmow, in Shropshire. He's one of the right sort. I heard from him a while since as hissquire wants a steady man to overlook a small colliery as he's got onhis estate. The man as is there now's taken to drinking, so thesquire's parting with him in December. Would you like me to mentionyourself to my nephew?' You may be sure, Sammul, I were very thankfulfor the chance. But it wasn't chance--the word slipped out of my mouth;but I've done with chance long since--it were the Lord's doing. So oldJob wrote to our John about it, and the end were, the squire offered theplace to me. I got Job to keep it quite snug, for I didn't want my oldmates to know anything about it. This were all settled afore I'd agreedto speak at the meeting. So when we found, from Martha Jones's lad, what my old mates was up to, I talked the matter over with old JobPaynter, and we hit upon a plan as'd just turn the tables on 'em, andmight do 'em some good. It were all arranged with our John as we shouldbe at liberty to come to his cottage here till the place were ready forme at the colliery. Then Job and I talked it over, and it were settledas our Betty should go to her aunt's at Rochdale, and take all herthings with her, and meet me on the twenty-third of November atStockport. Job was to come to our house on the twenty-second. So, alittle afore nine, he slips in when it were very dark, and brings a lotof old letters with him ready cut out, and some paste. You must know ashe'd a large quantity of old posters by him as had been soiled or torn. So he cuts what black letters he wants out of these, and some red 'unstoo, enough to make the two texts, `No drunkard shall inherit thekingdom of God, ' and `Prepare to meet thy God. ' Then Job and me goesquietly up-stairs, and I holds the candle while he pastes the words onthe chamber-floor. Then we rolls up some old bits of stuff into abundle, and lays 'em on my bed, and puts the old coverlid over 'em. Then Job and me leaves the house, and locks the door; and that, Sammul, is last I've seen of Langhurst. "

"And what about the thunder and lightning as scorched out the letters?"asked Samuel. 

"Only an old woman's tale, I'll be bound, " said his father. "You may besure the next tenant scoured 'em off. "

"And now, " said John Walters, "it comes to my turn. Father and Bettycame down to our house on the twenty-third of November. My dear motherwas living then. I was her only son. I was bailiff then, as I am now, to Squire Collington of the Hall up yonder. Father worked about at anyodd jobs I could find him till his place were ready for him, and Bettytook to being a good daughter at once to my dear mother. She took to itso natural, and seemed so pleased to help mother, and forget all aboutherself, that I soon began to think, `If she takes so natural to being agood daughter, she'll not find it hard maybe to learn to be a goodwife. ' And mother thought so too; and as Betty didn't say, `No, ' wewere married in the following spring. "

"Yes, Sammul, " said Betty, laughing and crying at the same time; "but Imade a bargain with John, when we swopped hearts, as I were to leave alittle bit of mine left me still for fayther and our Sammul. "

Thomas Johnson looked at the whole group with a face radiant withhappiness, and then said, --

"The Lord bless them. They've been all good childer to me. "

"We've always gotten the news of Langhurst from Uncle Job, " said Betty. "He settled with the landlord about our rent, and our few odd bits ofthings; and he was to send us any letter as came from yourself. "

"And so you've been here ever since?"

"Yes. Our John's mother died two years since come Christmas; and thenfayther came to live with us. He'd had a cottage of his own afore, witha housekeeper to look arter him. "

"And is your squire, Mr Collington, a total abstainer?"

"Ay, he is, for sure, and a gradely 'un too. He's owner of most of theland and houses here. The whole village belongs to him; and he'll nothave a drop of intoxicating drinks sold in it. You passed the public. You heard no swearing nor rowing, I'll warrant. You'll find church, andchapel too, both full of Sundays; and there's scarce a house where theBible isn't read every night. Ah! the drink's the great curse as robsthe heart of its love, the head of its sense, and the soul of itsglory!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

CONCLUSION. 

There just remain a few creases to be smoothed out, and our story isdone. 

The morning after Samuel's arrival Betty made her way to the Hall, taking her brother with her. She knew that the squire and his lady, andindeed the whole family, would rejoice to hear that the wanderer wasreturned, for all loved the simple-hearted Lancashire girl, and had longsympathised with her and her father in their sorrow about Samuel. 

Mr Collington and his lady having heard Betty's statement with thedeepest interest, sent for Samuel, and had a long conversation with him. 

"And what do you say to entering my service?" asked the squire. "Wehave learned to prize your father and sister so highly, that I shallfeel perfect confidence in taking you with no other recommendation thanyour story and your relationship to them. "

"Well, sir, " replied Samuel, "you're very good. I'm tired of roving, and shall be glad to settle, if you can find me a place as'll suit me;only I mustn't forget as there's others I owe a duty to. "

"You mean the friends you have left behind in Bolton?"

"Yes, sir, " said Betty; "he's bound to be looking arter them. Andthere's Deborah, as he'll be bringing to share his home with him. "

"And Old Crow too?" asked Mrs Collington. 

"I cannot say, ma'am, " replied Samuel; "but I must either take his cartback to him, or bring him over this side to his cart. "

"Well, we'll see what can be done, " said the squire. 

Let us leave them for a while, and pass to Greymoor Park. Sir Thomasand Lady Oldfield have left it for an absence of several years; indeed, many doubts are expressed in the neighbourhood whether they will evercome back to reside there again. There is the stamp of neglect andsorrow upon the place. Sir Thomas has become a more thoughtful man--heis breaking up, so people say. His wife has found a measure of comfortat the only true Fountain, for her religion is now the substance--it wasonce only the shadow. But the past cannot be recalled, and a sorrowlies heavy on her heart which must go with her to her grave; and oh, there is a peculiar bitterness in that sorrow when she reflects what herpoor boy might have been had she never herself broken down his resolveto renounce entirely that drink which proved his after-ruin. And whatof the Oliphants at the Rectory? Bernard Oliphant still keeps on hisholy course, receiving and scattering light. Hubert is abroad andprospers, beloved by all who know him. 

And Mary, poor Mary, she carries a sorrow which medicine can never heal. Yet she sorrows not altogether without hope; for, according to herpromise, she never ceased to pray for the erring object of her love; andshe still therefore clings to the trust that there may have been lightenough in his soul at the last for him to see and grasp the outstretchedhand of Jesus. And sorrow has not made her selfish. She has learned totake a deepening interest in the happiness of others; and thus, in herself-denying works of faith and labours of love, she finds thethrobbings of her wounded spirit to beat less fiercely. She has gainedall she hopes for in this life, peace--not in gloomy seclusion, but inholy activity--and she knows that there is joy for her laid up in thatbright, eternal land where the sorrows of the past can cast no shadowson present glory. 

And now let us pass from those who mourn to those who rejoice. It is alovely day in early September, and there is evidently something morethan ordinary going on at Fairmow Park. In the village itself there isabundance of bustle and excitement, but all of the most innocent kind, for alcohol has nothing to do with it. Old and young are on the move, but the young seem to be specially interested. In fact, it is the"Annual Meeting of the Fairmow Band of Hope, " which is to gather fordinner and recreation, as it always does, in the Park. So banners areflying, and children hurrying to and fro, and parents looking proud, andall looking happy. But to-day there is to be a double festivity, forSamuel Johnson and Deborah Cartwright are to be married. Deborah isstaying at John Walters', and Samuel has got a snug little cottage nogreat way on the other side of the brook; and not far-off, and a littlenearer to the Hall, is still another cottage, where Old Crow is justsettled with Deborah's mother for housekeeper, for the old man could notrest content to be so far away from his adopted son Jacob, for he "meansto call him Jacob and nothing else as long as he lives. " The old man isnot without money of his own, and he still means to do a little in theknife-grinding line. So his cart is to be wheeled up for him to thePark this afternoon, and he is to sharpen just as many or just as fewknives for the squire, and scissors for the ladies, as he pleases. Andnow--for it is almost half-past ten o'clock--there is a straggling ofvarious groups up to the neat little ivy-covered church. Oh, what ajoyful day it is for Thomas Johnson and Betty! They hardly know how tohold all the love that swells in their hearts, and every one is so kindto them. Then the bells ring out joyfully, and the churchyard is filledwith expectant faces of old and young. The squire, his wife, anddaughters are to be there, and after the wedding there is to be a shortservice and an address from the clergyman. And now the little wedding-party winds up the hill, two and two, from John Walters' cottage, allsupremely happy down to little Samuel and the babe, who are to share inthe festivities of the day. All enter the church; the squire and hisparty being already seated. Old Crow is there, of course, for he is togive Deborah away. He has a Sunday suit on now, the garments of variouseras being only for working days. Who so full of joy as Samuel, as hepasses through the gazing throng with Deborah on his arm. They are todrive at once after the wedding to the Park in the squire's dog-cart. The marriage-ceremony is duly performed, and the address delivered. Then comes the band, with its brazen roar strangely jangling with themerry bells. The road is all alive with labourers in clean smocks, andlads with polished faces. The children in their holiday attire and Bandof Hope ribbons run in and out everywhere. Fathers and mothers lookglad, and old men and women benevolent. Flowers are to be seen inprofusion, for total abstinence and flowers go everywhere together:there are flowers in the churchyard, flowers in the church, flowers inbutton-holes, belts, and bonnets, flowers in huge fragrant nosegays, flowers in choice little bouquets. And so, laughing, smiling, running, walking, hastening, sauntering, chatting, greeting, on go young andmiddle-aged and old, and the sloping sward of the Park is gained, andthe Hall comes into close view. And there, under a wide expanse ofcanvas, is spread the healthful, bountiful repast--plenty of meat, plenty of drink of the right sort, and nothing to stimulate appetite butthose odours which never tempt any but the gluttonous to excess. Allare now gathered and take their places; young and old sit side by side. The squire, his lady, his daughters, and the clergyman are there. Everyone is assured of a hearty welcome, and falls to in earnest when thegrace has been sung. At length the vehement clashing of knives andforks and clattering of plates has subsided to a solitary click or two;all have been satisfied, and the squire rises. He has a word ofkindness, love, and encouragement for each. They know how he lovesthem, and they listen with the deepest attention. And thus he speaks:--

"Our kind and beloved pastor has addressed us all in church thismorning, and I trust we shall remember well the words of truth andwisdom which he spoke. And now it falls to myself to speak to you. Ican most truthfully declare how it rejoices myself and my dear wife tosee so many healthy, happy faces at our yearly `Band of Hope' festivity. But to-day we specially rejoice, because we see here a happy couple whohave just been joined together as man and wife in our church, with theblessed prospect of being fellow-partakers of the happiness of heaven. I am very thankful to number them among my tenants and people. You allof you now know something of Samuel Johnson, his trials, temptations, and struggles as a Christian total abstainer. (`Hear, hear, ' from OldCrow. ) What a truly happy gathering this is! I have no need to look atany with misgiving lest their bright faces should owe their brightnessto excess in intoxicating liquors. We have no false stimulants here--wehave no clouded brains, no aching consciences here--none will go homeneeding to rue the gathering and recreations of this day. And now, young people of the `Band of Hope, ' my dear boys and girls, I have justa parting word for you. Never let any one persuade you, go where youmay, to forsake your pledged total abstinence. Never care for a laughor a frown, they can do you no harm while God is on your side. Oh, remember what an insidious, what a crafty tempter the drink is! I havea short story to tell you that will illustrate this. Many years ago, when the English and French were at war with one another in NorthAmerica, a portion of the English army was encamped near a dense andtrackless forest. The French were on friendly terms with a tribe of RedIndians who lived thereabouts, and our men were therefore obliged to bespecially on their guard against these crafty savage foes. A sentinelwas placed just on the border of the forest, and he was told to be verywatchful against a surprise from the Indians. But one day, when thesergeant went to relieve guard, he found the sentinel dead, his scalp, (that is, the hair with the skin and all), torn from his head, and hismusket gone. This was plainly the work of an Indian. Strict charge wasgiven to the new sentinel to fire his musket on the first approach of anenemy. Again they went to relieve guard, and again they found thesentinel dead and scalped as the one before him. They left anothersoldier in his place, and after a while, hearing the discharge of amusket, they hurried to the spot. There stood the sentinel uninjured, and close at his feet lay a Red Indian dead. The sentinel's account wasthis. While he was keeping his eyes on the forest, he saw coming fromit a sort of large hog common in those parts, which rolls itself aboutin a peculiarly amusing manner. In its gambols it kept getting nearerand nearer to him, when all of a sudden it darted into his mind, `Perhaps this creature is only an Indian in disguise. ' He fired at it, and found it was even so. The crafty savage had thus approached theother sentinels, who had been thrown off their guard by his skilfulimitation of the animal's movements, so that the Indian had sprung upand overpowered them before they could fire or call for help. Now it isjust so, dear boys and girls, with the drink. It comes, as it were, allinnocence and playfulness: it raises the spirits, unchains the tongue, makes the eyes bright, and persuades a man that the last thing he willdo will be to exceed; and then it gets closer and closer, and springsupon him, and gets the mastery over him, before he is at all aware. Butdon't you trifle with it, for it comes from the enemy's country--it isin league with the enemy--repel it at the outset--have nothing to dowith it--it has surprised and slain millions of immortal beings--nevertaste, and then you will never crave. Oh, how happy to show that youcan live without it! Then you may win others to follow your example. Ay, the young total abstainer who will not touch the drink because heloves his Saviour, does indeed stand on a rock that cannot be moved, andhe can stretch out the helping hand to others, and cry, `Come up hereand be safe. ' And now away to your games and your sports, and may Godbless you all!"