Part 3 (2/2)
The descent was awkward, but my father was a tall man, and, reaching upward, relieved me of my burden before I got to the ground.
”'I didn't remember it was so heavy,' he whispered, 'or I should have given you a rope to lower it down by. If you had dropped it and spoiled my instruments, and made a lot of noise besides, I should have been angry enough.'
”I was very glad my father was not angry, and following him over the greensward we quickly reached the boat, where the box was stowed away under the bow to keep it from injury.
”We pushed off as quietly as possible and rowed swiftly down the river.
When we had gone about a mile I suddenly dropped my oar with an exclamation of dismay.
”'What's the matter?' cried my father.
”'Oh, I have done a dreadful thing!' I said. 'Oh, father, I must go back!'
”I am sorry to say that at this my father swore.
”'What do you want to go back for?' he said.
”'Just to think of it! I have left open the window in which that beautiful child was sleeping. If it should take cold and die from the damp air of the river blowing upon it I should never forgive myself. Oh, if I had only thought of climbing up the trellis again and pulling down that sas.h.!.+ I am sure I could go back and do it without making the least noise.' My father gave a grunt; but what the grunt meant I do not know, and for a few moments he was silent, and then he said:--
”'Thomas, you cannot go back; the distance is too great, the tide is against us, and it is time that you and I were both in our beds. Nothing may happen to that baby; but, attend to my words now, if any harm should come to that child it will go hard with you. If it should die it would be of no use for you to talk about practical jokes. You would be held responsible for its death. I was going to say to you that it might be as well for you not to say anything about this little venture until I had seen how Williamson Green took the joke. Some people get angry with very little reason, although I hardly believe he's that sort of a man; but now things are different. He thinks all the world of that child, which is the only one they've got; and if you want to stay outside of jail or the house of refuge I warn you never to say a word of where you have been this night.'
”With this he began to row again, and I followed his example, but with a very heavy heart. All that night I dreamt of the little child with the damp night winds blowing in upon it.”
”Did you ever hear if it caught cold?” asked Aunt Martha.
”No,” replied the burglar, ”I never did. I mentioned the matter to my father, and he said that he had great fears upon the subject, for although he had written to Williamson Green, asking him to return the instruments, he had not seen him or heard from him, and he was afraid that the child had died or was dangerously sick. Shortly after that my father sent me on a little trip to the Long Island coast to collect some bills from people for whom he had done work. He gave me money to stay a week or two at the seash.o.r.e, saying that the change would do me good; and it was while I was away on this delightful holiday that an event occurred which had a most disastrous effect upon my future life. My father was arrested for burglary!
”It appeared--and I cannot tell you how shocked I was when I discovered the truth--that the box which I had carried away did not contain nautical instruments, but was filled with valuable plate and jewels. My unfortunate father heard from a man who had been discharged from the service of the family whose house he had visited--whose name, by the way, was not Green--where the box containing the valuables mentioned was always placed at night, and he had also received accurate information in regard to the situation of the rooms and the best method of gaining access to them.
”I believe that some arrangement had been made between my father and this discharged servant in regard to a division of the contents of the box, and it was on account of a disagreement on this subject that the man became very angry, and after pocketing what my father thought was his fair share he departed to unknown regions, leaving behind a note to the police which led to my father's arrest.”
”That was a mean trick,” said Aunt Martha.
The burglar looked at her gratefully.
”In the lower spheres of life, madam, such things often happen. Some of the plate and jewels were found in my father's possession, and he was speedily tried and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. And now, can you imagine, ladies,” said the tall burglar, apparently having become satisfied to address himself to Aunt Martha, as well as my wife, ”the wretched position in which I found myself? I was upbraided as the son of a thief. I soon found myself without home, without occupation, and, alas! without good reputation. I was careful not to mention my voluntary connection with my father's crime for fear that should I do so I might be compelled to make a statement which might increase the severity of his punishment. For this reason I did not dare to make inquiries concerning the child in whom I had taken such an interest, and whose little life I had, perhaps, imperilled. I never knew, ladies, whether that infant grew up or not.
”But I, alas! grew up to a life of hards.h.i.+p and degradation. It would be impossible for persons in your sphere of life to understand what I now was obliged to suffer. Suitable employment I could not obtain, because I was the son of a burglar. With a father in the State prison, it was of no use for me to apply for employment at any respectable place of business. I laboured at one thing and another, sometimes engaging in the most menial employments. I also had been educated and brought up by my dear mother for a very different career. Sometimes I managed to live fairly well, sometimes I suffered. Always I suffered from the stigma of my father's crime, always in the eyes of the community in which I lived--a community, I am sorry to say, incapable, as a rule, of making correct judgments in delicate cases like these--I was looked upon as belonging to the ranks of the dishonest. It was a hard lot, and sometimes almost impossible to bear up under.
”I have spoken at length, ladies, in order that you may understand my true position; and I wish to say that I have never felt the crus.h.i.+ng weight of my father's disgrace more deeply than I felt it last evening.
This man,” nodding toward the stout burglar, ”came to me shortly after I had eaten my supper, which happened to be a frugal one, and said to me:--
”'Thomas, I have some business to attend to to-night, in which you can help me if you choose. I know you are a good mechanic.'
”'If it is work that will pay me,' I answered, 'I should be very glad to do it, for I am greatly in need of money.'
”'It will pay,' said he; and I agreed to a.s.sist him.
”As we were walking to the station, as the business to be attended to was out of town, this man, whose name is James Barlow, talked to me in such a way that I began to suspect that he intended to commit a burglary, and openly charged him with this evil purpose. 'You may call it burglary or anything else you please,' said he; 'property is very unequally divided in this world, and it is my business in life to make wrong things right as far as I can. I am going to the house of a man who has a great deal more than he needs, and I haven't anything like as much as I need; and so I intend to take some of his overplus,--not very much, for when I leave his house he will still be a rich man, and I'll be a poor one. But for a time my family will not starve.'
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