Part 26 (1/2)
”What is the matter with your colt's eye?” asked Chester, as they walked amid the young corn.
”I am afraid it is spoilt,” replied Mark, between his teeth.
”Spoilt! Not your new horse,--the splendid sorrel colt you got of Mr.
Skenitt?”
”Yes; the splendid sorrel colt; if 'twas either of the others, I wouldn't care so much.”
”How _did_ it happen?” cried Mr. Royden, deeply pained.
”By----”
The oath came out before Mark thought of it.
”I beg your pardon, sir,” he added, with emotion, turning to the old clergyman. ”I'm so in the habit of swearing, that I swear without knowing what I am about.”
”My friend,” replied Father Brighthopes, laying his hand kindly upon his shoulder, ”I forgive you, from the bottom of my heart. But it is not of _me_ you should ask pardon. I know the slavery of habit. It is only by resolutely breaking its chains that we can be free.”
”An oath must shock you,” muttered Mark, penitently.
”True, my friend. I look upon profanity as awful, in view of the stern commandment, 'THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD THY G.o.d IN VAIN.'
But, if you take an oath, it matters little whether I hear it. Not against me, but against G.o.d and your own soul, is the sin.”
”I never thought about the sin being so very great.”
”At least,” said the old man, kindly, ”swearing is not wise. You purchase no pleasure, I am sure, by an idle oath.”
”Well, but it is not so easy to break off the habit,” replied Mark.
”I have heard a story of a converted sailor,” said Chester,--to whom the subject seemed an unpleasant one, without spice,--”who, from his youth upwards, had made profane expletives a large proportion of his conversation, so that, when he came to pray, the favorite oaths would, in spite of himself, besprinkle the piety of his prayer. Yet he prayed with a soul convulsed with anguish for his sins, and, with profanity on his lips, pleaded that he might be pardoned the folly of swearing.”
”And he was pardoned! believe it, that prayer was accepted and answered!” exclaimed the old man, with enthusiasm. ”It is the heart G.o.d reads,--the heart, the heart!”
”I was going to tell you about the colt,” said Mark, after a pause. ”I went into the yard, and found him picking some spears of gra.s.s out of the corner of the fence. He didn't see me, and, without thinking, I spoke to him quick; he flung up his head,” continued Mark, with emotion, ”and the point of a rail struck him right in the eye.”
”Did it put it out?”
”I am afraid so. I wouldn't have had it happen--” another oath--”for one hundred dollars!”
Beyond the cornfield was a swampy lot, overgrown with coa.r.s.e, wild gra.s.s, and partially drained by a black, sluggish stream. Mark led the way, treading upon stones, sticks and slabs, in springy spots, or walking upon logs, that lay rotting upon the ground. Mr. Royden followed, and Chester, with Father Brighthopes, came after.
”I hope you will not wet your feet,” said the young man, helping the clergyman over a bad place. ”Step on this dead limb; it is solid.”
”That is well pa.s.sed,” cried the other, cheerily. ”What a fine thing it would be, if, in the difficult path of life, we could get over all bad habits as easily!”
”There is one habit,” rejoined Chester, in a low tone, ”which I trust I have overcome,--thanks to your timely counsel.”
”Ah? It is gratifying to me to hear you say so.”
”And I feel that I owe you an apology.”