Part 12 (1/2)
”Master,” said the old man, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion, ”hear me; if it's to be for the last time, you must hear me. I can't hold in no longer; so it's no use, come what may.”
Mr Huntingdon, struck with amazement at this speech of the old domestic, could only exclaim, ”Well!” while his sister and Walter looked on and listened in mute wonder.
”Master,” continued the old man, ”you must hear me this once, if I'm to be turned away this blessed night for what I'm a-going to say. I've been hearing Master Amos called by Master Walter mean about his money, and I can't stand it, for I knows better.”
Here Amos sprang forward, and coming in front of Harry, strove by gesture and whispered remonstrance to stop him; but the other shook his head, and motioned his young master back.
”It's of no manner of use, Master Amos,” he cried; ”I must and will speak--the time's come for it. _I_ know why Master Amos can't afford to subscribe: 'tain't because he hasn't got the will; 'tain't because he's been spending it on himself, or sending it to the n.i.g.g.e.rs, though he might be doing worse with it than that. His money goes to keep dear Miss Julia as was--bless her little heart!--from want; and it goes, too, to keep a home for her little ones, and one on 'em's a girl, and she's as like what her blessed mother was at her age as one lamb's like another. O master, master! if you loved Miss Julia as was as I love her, and as Master Amos loves her, though she has married a vagabond of a husband, and had the door of her home closed agen her for ever for it, and oh, if you'd but a touch still of the dear Saviour's forgiving love towards your own flesh and blood, you couldn't blame Master Amos for doing as he's doing, if you only knew too how he's been a-sacrificing of himself, and bearing the shame and scorn all the while without a murmur.
There, master, I've had it out. And now I suppose I must pack up and be off for good; but it don't matter. I couldn't keep it in, so there's an end of it.”
The effect of this speech on all the members of the party was overwhelming, though in different ways.
Mr Huntingdon's face turned deadly pale, and then flushed fiery red.
He half rose from the bench on which he was sitting, and then sank back again and buried his face in his hands. Then he started up, and muttering something hoa.r.s.ely, rushed into the house, and was not seen again by the family that night. Next morning, before breakfast, his sister received a hasty note from him, merely stating that he was leaving home, and should not return that day, and perhaps not for a few days.
The old butler's disclosure was also most trying to Miss Huntingdon by its suddenness. Not that she was unprepared for it altogether, for quiet observation of Amos had made her sure that he had some n.o.ble and self-denying work in hand, and that probably it might have something to do with the welfare of his sister, whom she knew that he dearly loved.
She was grieved, however, that the old butler had blurted out the secret in such an abrupt manner, and at the terrible distress which the unexpected revelation had caused her brother.
As for Amos, he was ready to sink into the earth with dismay and vexation. All he could do was to look up reproachfully at Harry, who, now that the explosion had burst forth, and had driven his master apparently almost out of his senses, looked round him with an utterly crestfallen air, and then, coming up to Amos, said, while the big tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks, ”Oh, dear Master Amos, you must forgive me. I didn't go for to do it with no bad meaning; but I couldn't bear it no longer. I daresay the master 'll turn me off for it, so I shall be punished if I've done wrong.”
And how felt Walter? He was utterly crushed for a time beneath the old man's words. All the truth flashed upon him now. And this was the brother whom he had been holding up to ridicule and accusing of meanness. As thoughts of shame and stings of conscience stabbed into his heart with their thousand points, he sank down lower and lower to the ground till he had buried his face in the gra.s.s, sobbing convulsively. Then, before Amos could reply to the old butler's pitiful apology, he sprang up, and flinging his arms round his brother's neck and hiding his head in his bosom, wept for a time as if his heart would break. At last he looked up at Amos, who had pressed him close to him and had lovingly kissed him, and cried out, ”Was there ever such a beastly, ungrateful sneak of a brother as I am? Here have I been calling Amos all sorts of names, and treating him worse than a dog, and he's been acting like a hundred thousand moral heroes all the time! Can you forgive your cowardly sn.o.b of a brother, Amos dear?”
There was no reply to this but another long and close embrace.
As for old Harry, his face calmed down into its usual peacefulness. He no longer waited for any reply from his young master, but turned towards the house with a smile beaming all over his countenance, and saying half out loud, ”All's well as ends well. There'll be good come out of this here trouble as sure as my name's Harry.”
When he was fairly gone, both nephews drew close to their aunt, and took each a hand as they sat one on either side of her. Smiling at Walter through happy tears, she said, ”I cannot cross my hands, you see, for my dear nephews have each got possession of one.”
”But they _ought_ to be crossed,” said Walter in a low, sad voice.
”Not _now_, dear boy,” she replied; ”I think we may let bygones be bygones, for surely better and brighter days are coming.”
”I hope so, aunt,” said Walter, now more cheerily, ”But you must give me the example for all that; for you have one to the purpose, I know.”
”Yes,” was her reply, ”I think I have, and I will tell it because it may help to confirm you in keeping on the right side that new leaf which I feel sure you are now turning over.”
”Ah, tell it me then, auntie; if it shames me a hit it will do me no harm.”
”My hero then, this time, did not look much like one at the time when he displayed his heroism. He was a poor schoolboy, a Christ's Hospital lad.”
”What! one of those who go about without hats, in long coats and yellow stockings?”
”Yes, the same. Charles Lamb, who tells the story, which is a true one, was himself one of these Bluecoat boys. Among his schoolfellows was this boy, my present moral hero. He was dull and taciturn, and no favourite with the other lads; but no one could bring any charge of improper conduct against him. There was one thing, however, about him which none of the other boys could understand. He always lingered behind all the rest after dinner was over, and came out of the dining- hall hiding something under his dress, and looking about him suspiciously. What did it mean? Had he an unnaturally large appet.i.te, so that he was led by it to steal food and eat it by himself after the meal was over? At any rate, if it was so, his extra provision did not improve his personal appearance, for he was still thin and hungry- looking.
”Some questioned him roughly on the subject, but they could get nothing out of him. He stopped for a while the practice which had drawn attention to him, but resumed it again when he thought that curiosity had died out, and that he could follow his old ways un.o.bserved. But there were boys on the watch, and at last it was fairly ascertained that the poor lad used to gather, as far as he had opportunity, sc.r.a.ps of meat, pieces of fat, and fragments of bread and potatoes, which had been left on the boys' plates. These he collected and carried off. But then, what did he do with them? It was not likely that he ate them.
No. Then he must sell them when he went home, for his parents lived in London, and he was a day boy. No doubt he disposed of them to people who were ready to give a few pence for refuse food, and thus the little miser was making money in this mean and underhand way. When this conclusion had been arrived at, the whole school was in a state of boiling indignation against the culprit.
”They might have taken the law into their own hands, and have punished him in their own rough and ready way. But no; his conduct was too shameful for that. It was looked upon as a serious disgrace to the whole school. So the case was duly reported to the masters, and by them to the governors. Witnesses were examined, and the offence proved. And now, what was the defence of the poor lad? He had borne shame, scorn, reproach, reviling; he had borne them all patiently, without murmur, without resentment. What, then, was the reason for his strange conduct?
what motive or inducement could make him thus brave the scorn and contempt, the daily jeers, and the cut direct from his schoolfellows?