Owen's Fortune; Or, "Durable Riches"

"OWEN ... MADE A DART AFTER THE LITTLE CREATURE."--Page 9.

OWEN'S FORTUNE;

OR,

"DURABLE RICHES."

BY

MRS. F. WEST,

AUTHOR OF "FRYING-PAN ALLEY," "THE BATTLE-FIELD,"
ETC.

NEW YORK:
E. P. DUTTON & CO.,
31, WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET.

OWEN'S FORTUNE.

CHAPTER I.

THE RESOLVE.

But two boys, who were in the woods just outside the village, were far too occupied to notice the leaves. They were searching for nuts; and a basket on the ground, already more than half filled, showed that their search had not been in vain. The younger of the two, Owen Hadleigh, was a fine, strong, intelligent boy of about fourteen years of age; his bright, dark eye was full of merriment as he laughingly told his companion he intended to make his fortune.

"Over these nuts?" asked Sam, ironically.

"Now look here, Sam Netherclift, you can laugh; I don't care for that. But I intend to make my fortune one day, and be a rich man."

"Like Squire Rowland?"

"Maybe; why not? I can work and earn it all."

"A likely thing!" laughed Sam; "and your father only a village schoolmaster."

"You'd better not laugh at my father," returned Owen, hotly; "there isn't a better man in the world than he is, and I intend to share all my fortune with him."

"How are you going to make it?"

"I don't know yet;" and Owen's face rather fell, for he had talked so confidently of what he would do, that Sam naturally would expect he had some sort of a plan, and he did not wish him to think he was only building castles in the air. But he added, bravely, "There are more ways than one of making a fortune, and I 'll try something yet. Father says Squire Rowland made his money by inventing a new dye, some bright colour no one had thought of before, and now he is rolling in riches. So I shall be sure to find some way of making money, never fear."

"When you have found out what to do, let me know, and I will come and help you," said Sam, laughing. He was a thorough boy, and had no thought beyond the present, though he was older than his companion, and had already to work on his father's farm.

But the conversation was suddenly interrupted by a squirrel, who flew rapidly up a branch just before them. Owen sprang to the tree, and made a dart after the little creature, but though he could not catch it, it had done him good service, for it had led him to a tree he had not noticed before, and which was covered with clusters of nuts.

"Hurrah!" shouted Owen, "here's the beginning of the fortune!"

Sam, of course, hastened to help, and to take his share, and both boys were too much engaged for the next hour to have any more lengthened conversation. As it grew dusk they started for home, carrying the basket between them, well pleased with the result of their afternoon's work.

The schoolhouse, with the adjoining cottage for the schoolmaster, stood somewhat apart from the other houses. Both buildings were almost covered with ivy and monthly roses, some of which were even now blooming, though it was late in the year. The little garden in front of the cottage was trim and tidy, though all was still and quiet as the boys pushed the gate open and went in. Owen's mother had died before he could remember, but his father had so loved and cared for his only child, that the boy realised no loss or want. His father was everything to him, and he repaid his care with most grateful love. The two lived alone in the rose-covered cottage, and did the needful work, with the help of a woman who came in twice a-week to do the washing and set things straight in general. She was in the kitchen when the boys went in.

"Is that you, Owen?" she said, raising her voice, that he might hear her in the front parlour.

"Yes, Mrs. Mitchell, it's all right; it is only me and Sam. Where is father?" he added, going into the kitchen, where she was busily ironing.

"He's gone to Allenbury," she answered shortly.

"Gone to town! He never said anything about going!" exclaimed the boy, with surprise, for his father mostly made him his confidant in everything.

"He'll be back in good time; he said he had to go on particular business." And Mrs. Mitchell turned back to her ironing, as if she did not care to be questioned.

Owen looked at her anxiously, but he did not speak again, and returned to the next room with a somewhat saddened face. He had noticed that his father was not quite himself lately, and he feared that there was some trouble pressing on him, that he should go off to Allenbury like this, without saying a word.

Sam was already dividing the nuts, and in this interesting occupation Owen soon forgot his anxiety, and was laughing and joking with his friend, as if there was no such thing as trouble in the world.

"Well," said Sam at last, "I must go, I suppose; I have those cows to see after, and father is pretty strict if I don't attend them well. It's fine to be you, having your time to yourself, and nothing to do."

"Nothing to do!" echoed Owen. "Why, I've no idle time, I can tell you. I have the water to fetch in, and the wood to chop, and the garden to see to, besides my lessons, and father is very particular about them."

"When are you going to leave school? You are near fourteen, are you not? I left when I was twelve. Shall you go to school when you are a man?"

Owen laughed. "Father wants me to learn all I can; he says we can't have too much education, and if I want to make a fortune, I must gather all knowledge I can now."

"How will geography, and sums, and history help you to make your fortune?"

"I don't know how, but I suppose they all come in. If I didn't know anything of geography, how could I trade with foreign countries, or know where to write for the stuff I wanted? And how could I tell whether they were cheating me or not, if I couldn't add up my sums? I should like to learn foreign languages too, to be able to talk to the merchants myself; but father does not know any language but English."

Sam looked wonderingly at his young companion's eager face. He did not care for education himself, and he could not understand the desire for it in Owen. He had passed through school, as do many, learning just so much as he was obliged, and no more. Though he could read and write, it was very seldom he took up either book or pen, spending his time in wandering about the lanes and woods when he was released from the farm duties which fell to his share. He was a good-natured, pleasant companion, but could in no way share Owen's aspirations, though it amused him to listen to them.

When he was gone, Owen took up a book in order to study his lessons for the next day, but the fading light soon drove him into the brighter region of the fire. The warm glow spread itself all over the little kitchen, and even the snowy linen on the table looked attractive as it grew gradually smoother and fairer under Mrs. Mitchell's experienced hands. Owen watched her a while from the chimney-corner, and presently he said—

"It must be very nice to iron, Mrs. Mitchell; to see the things that look all rough, and uncomfortable, and damp, smoothing themselves out under your hand, and looking pleasant and happy."

Mrs. Mitchell was a character in her way, and had many thoughts under her somewhat stern face, but it had never occurred to her that the clothes were any happier for being ironed.

"I expect it is you who are happier for seeing the things smooth, Owen," she said; "it makes no difference to them, of course. But it do make a great difference to us to have things nice about us. I suppose that is the reason the dear Lord says, 'Whatsoever things are lovely, ... think on these things.'"

"Do you think that God cares about our having things nice and pretty?"

"Why, my dear, of course I do. Do you think God would have taken all the trouble to put so much beauty into the world if He hadn't meant us to love it and enjoy it? See what lots of flowers He has given us, and such beautiful colours, even turning the leaves bright for us when the flowers are going. And when the snow comes down, He arranges it as beautiful as possible, making the very frost trace delicate patterns on the windows, and on the ground."

"Yes, I know," said Owen, eagerly; "father was reading to me yesterday how that every snow-flake is a crystal."

"Ah, I expect the more you search into God's works, the more beauty you will find, Owen." The good woman went on busily with her work as she spoke, presently adding, "I think, too, that God's children should always try to have things nice and pleasant about them, at least, as far as may be. I know that a struggling woman, with a lot of little children, can't have things as nice as she would. But every one may be clean, and if all did their best, the world would look different to what it does now."

"Mrs. Mitchell, I am going to do my best, and make my fortune one day."

"I am very glad, Owen; I hope you will."

"Do you? That is kind of you. Sam Netherclift laughs, and thinks I shall never do it."

"You may do it, if you seek it in the right way. There are two sorts of fortune, Owen. I hope you'll get the better."

"Two sorts! What are they?"

"One is a fortune of riches that take to themselves wings, and soon fly away; and the other sort is 'durable riches.'"

"Oh, I should make a fortune that would last, of course. Riches that fly away are not of much use. I should seek the best fortune, Mrs. Mitchell."

"I hope so, I hope so, indeed," said the woman, as she set down her cool iron, and took a fresh one from the fire.

Owen did not reply at once; he fancied there was some hidden meaning in Mrs. Mitchell's words, but he did not understand what it was. He turned to his book, and for a while there was silence, only broken by the sound of the iron on the board.

Presently he looked up, and asked, "Did father say when he would be in, Mrs. Mitchell?"

"No, he said he wasn't sure, but he should not be late."

"You knew my mother, didn't you? I wish she had lived till now."

"Ah, you may well wish that. A sweeter and a better woman never lived. Yes, I knew her, and tended her in her last illness. She was a rich woman, too."

"A rich woman! how do you make that out?"

"Rich in faith, and love, and good works; those are the riches that last, Owen. You will never be rich unless you come to the Saviour."

"Squire Rowland is rich, and he isn't——" Owen paused for a suitable word—"you know what I mean, Mrs. Mitchell; he does not go to church, or visit the poor."

"No, I fear he is not a child of God, poor man. He is rich in this world's goods; but this world will not last for ever, and we shall live on after this world is burnt up. So it is best to have riches we can take with us. Better be poor here, and rich in the world to come, than rich on earth, to pine in miserable poverty for ever."

"But will all rich men be poor in the other world?"

"No, indeed. God sometimes gives earthly riches to His children to spend for Him, though I must say I think they are generally poor. But those of God's children who are rich here count their money the least part of their fortune. A wealthy Christian man once lost all his money by the breaking of a bank, and a friend meeting him after, said, 'I am sorry to hear you have lost everything.' He replied, 'It is a mistake; I have not lost everything. I have not lost Christ, I have not lost heaven, nor God's Word, nor the peace He gives. And on earth I have not lost my wife, nor my health, nor my senses, nor many good friends.' You see, Owen, one may be very rich, and yet have very little money."

"But money is a good thing, too; we cannot do without it."

"It is good for what we can do with it. Money is no good stored away and laid up. But it may be of great use and blessing if laid out and spent for the Saviour. Yet I think those people are the happiest who have just enough for every day's use."

"I don't know, Mrs. Mitchell. I should like to have more than I could count."

"God grant you never may, Owen; it would ruin you, body and soul. Seek the lasting riches, and leave God to give you sufficient means to live on. Isn't that a Bible on the shelf? Just reach it down, and turn to Proverbs, the eighth chapter and seventeenth and eighteenth verses."

Owen did as he was bid, and read out aloud, "I love them that love Me; and those that seek Me early shall find Me. Riches and honour are with Me; yea, durable riches and righteousness."

"That's the true fortune; God give you grace to seek it."

Owen did not reply; he sat with the book in his hands, looking thoughtfully into the fire, till suddenly he heard a step outside, and jumped up to greet his father.

CHAPTER II.

CHANGES.

"Are you not well, father?" asked Owen, anxiously.

"I have had a long walk, my son. I shall be better when I have had some tea."

Owen was accustomed to wait upon his father, and soon put the tea in the little teapot, and set it down by the fire to brew while he fetched the bread and butter out of a neighbouring cupboard, and cutting a slice of bread off the loaf, he knelt down before the fire to toast it. Mrs. Mitchell meanwhile put her irons away, and folded up the remaining clothes without a word, except just as she was tying on her bonnet she ventured to say, "I suppose you got through your business, Mr. Hadleigh. It seems to have knocked you up a bit."

"Yes; the result was what I expected. But I am more concerned for others than for myself."

"God can see after them, and care for them even better than you can. His ways are always better than ours."

"No doubt; but one cannot always realise it," said the schoolmaster wearily.

Mrs. Mitchell ventured no more than a quiet "good-night," as she saw Owen was listening to the conversation, evidently desiring to know what they meant. But when she was by herself out in the road, she said softly, "Poor things, they are both in trouble. Mr. Hadleigh is a clever man, no doubt, and gets the children on wonderful; but he has not got that quiet trust in God that Mrs. Hadleigh had. God give it him!"

Just as she turned the corner of the lane leading to her cottage, she met the vicar.

"Ha, Mrs. Mitchell, I have just been to your cottage, but your little girl told me you were not in yet. I hear that Mr. Hadleigh has some trouble pressing upon him. I have thought him looking anxious and careworn for some time; but he is such a reserved man, one cannot get much out of him. I thought perhaps you could give me a hint how I could help him."

"Indeed, sir, I wish you would go and see him; I fear he is in a sad way. He has not been feeling well for a long time, though he will not own it. He will not go to Dr. Benson for fear all the village should talk; but to-day he went over to Allenbury to see Dr. Foster, and he has evidently told him some bad news about himself, for he seemed very low when he came in; but Owen was there, so I could not ask."

"No; the poor boy will feel it sadly if his father is really seriously ill. I never saw such deep attachment between father and son."

Meanwhile Owen and his father were having a little talk. The poor boy seemed very uneasy during tea, and as soon as he had cleared away the remains of the meal, he sat down on his accustomed seat by his father's side, and said anxiously, "What is it father? Something is wrong, I am sure."

Mr. Hadleigh put his hand on the boy's head for a few moments without speaking. Presently he said, "You have often talked of making your fortune, Owen; how should you like to go to your Uncle James, and learn his business as a beginning?"

"I should like to go into business very well, father, but I could not leave you. You will not send me away?"

"No, I will not do that, but I may have to leave you, Owen. The doctor says my heart is seriously diseased."

Mr. Hadleigh could get no further for the look of dismay that crept over his son's face. But, boy-like he would not let the tears fall, keeping his eyes steadfastly fixed on the fire, till his voice was calm enough to say, "Perhaps the doctor was mistaken, and you may get better. Doctors are often wrong."

"It may be," returned Mr. Hadleigh, anxious not to grieve the boy too much at first.

While they were talking, Mr. Sturt, the vicar, came in, and Owen gladly took the opportunity of escaping upstairs for a while. It was a sore trouble to him, for he loved his father devotedly; but after the first grief was over, hope took her place again, and the boy went downstairs more cheerfully than his father expected.

The days and weeks passed by, and things went on much as usual for Owen. His father still taught in the school, and the boy did all he could to help him, sweeping out the schoolroom, and getting up in the dark mornings to light the fire before his father was out of bed—in every way he could, trying to lessen his father's work. But Mr. Hadleigh's health was not again alluded to. No doubt he spoke of it to Mrs. Mitchell, who was often in and out, but Owen heard nothing of it, and he began to hope it was all a mistake. The winter came in early, with sharp frosts and snow, and Owen, with his friend Sam, was often on the ponds a good part of the day, sliding and skating to his heart's content.

One evening, as he ran home glowing with exercise and fun, his father asked him, "How shall you like the town, Owen? It will be a great contrast to the country."

"I should not like it at all, father; except, I suppose, one can get more money there."

"Yes, I suppose so. Your uncle is reckoned a rich man, and he has always been annoyed with me that I did not go into business too; but I had no taste for it. Country life always had greater charms for me, even with less to live upon. But I think you will get on, Owen; you have more push in you than I ever had. Only don't let the earthly fortune that you desire, blind your eyes to the heavenly riches. I neglected them too long, and though I can thank God that He has saved me, yet I often fear I shall have little reward yonder, for I have hidden my hope in my own breast, and have been content to keep my riches to myself, instead of trading with them. Mind that you do otherwise, Owen. Seek first the kingdom of God, and all other things needful, food and clothing, shall be added unto you."

These were the last words that Owen ever heard from his father's lips. He had not seemed worse that night, but before the next morning he had passed away. At first Owen was inconsolable, and would not be comforted at all. But kind neighbours gathered round, and in the evening his uncle arrived, having been telegraphed for by Mr. Sturt, according to Mr. Hadleigh's instructions.

Mr. James Hadleigh was a great contrast to his brother; he was a strong, active man, quick, business-like, and energetic. He seemed to know exactly what to do, and speedily made all arrangements. He could not stay long in the village, of course; he had his business to attend to. But he had promised his brother to look after Owen, and he would take him back with him. A few of his brother's belongings were packed up for the boy, but the rest Mr. James Hadleigh decided should be sold. There were several things that Owen greatly desired to keep; the arm-chair that his father used, a small cabinet which contained botanical specimens that his father had collected, some books of his mother's, and other treasures. But his uncle spoke decidedly—

"Nonsense; they are mostly old things. I cannot have my house filled with lumber. Your clothes and a few books are all that I can allow you to take; the remainder must be sold. The money will be useful to you, till you are able to earn something. I began life with half-a-crown, and by laying it out judiciously, have obtained a tolerable income for myself. You will have more than I had, and ought to do better."

Owen did not say more then, but when he went up to the vicarage to bid good-bye to Mr. Sturt, he told him of his trouble. The vicar listened sympathisingly; he knew well that such treasures are not to be valued with money, and he felt, too, that such home-valuables might be helps to the boy amid the temptations of a town life. This little glimpse of Mr. James Hadleigh's character, too, made him fear that the boy would have very different surroundings to what he had been accustomed; but he determined not to discourage him, so he only said, kindly—

"I am sorry your uncle has not more room for your belongings; but I think I can help you. I will buy those things you value most, and when you have a room where you can put them, you shall have them again."

"Thank you, sir," said Owen, gratefully. "I will pay you back all you give for them, sir. I am going to make my fortune, and do the best I can."

"I hope indeed you will do the best you can whatever your hands find to do. But as to making your fortune, that is another matter, and I don't know that I can wish you success in that. Seek the heavenly riches, my boy, and amid all the lower aims of earth, keep your heart fresh and pure by yielding yourself to the Saviour, and asking His grace to live only for Him."

The next day Owen and his uncle started on their journey; they had a long way to go, and it was quite a novelty to Owen to go any distance in a train. At first he was very sorrowful; the little village had been his home all his life, and he felt that no other place could ever be the same to him. His eyes filled as he thought of his dear father, but he was glad to know that he was doing just what his father wished in going with his uncle. By-and-by the train stopped at a station, and when they went on again, Owen found that he and his uncle were alone in the carriage. He wished he would talk to him; his father would have pointed out places of interest, and been so companionable, but his uncle seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"Have we much farther to go, please?" ventured Owen at last.

"About an hour more," said his uncle, turning round, as if suddenly aware of his presence. "What can you do?" he asked, after a pause; "have you been accustomed to work at all?"

"I did odd jobs about the house, sir, but I never went out to work; father wanted me to learn all I could."

"Wanted to make a scholar of you, did he?"

"No; but he said learning was always a good thing, and he would give me as much as he could."

"Humph, your father was always an unpractical man. You might have been earning a nice little sum now."

"Perhaps I shall be able to work better for what father taught me," said the boy, timidly.

Mr. Hadleigh looked at his orphan nephew, and said more kindly, "Perhaps you will; your father was a good man, though he did not know how to make money. Do you know much of arithmetic?"

"Yes, I am very fond of it."

"That's a good thing; a quick reckoner is valuable in business. Of course you know you will have to work. Your aunt and Clarice both help, and I can keep no idler on the premises."

"Is Clarice my cousin?"

"Yes; she is some years older than you, though. She helps me with the books, and makes a good business woman. I think that everybody, young people specially, should stick to their work. If people did that, there would not be so many poor about."

"But people cannot help being poor, can they? Some are always richer than others."

"That may be, but all can earn their own living, if they will. If not, they have no business to live."

Owen was rather startled at this view of things, and did not reply. But the end of the journey was nearly reached; already he saw tall chimneys and spires, and numbers of houses in the distance, and soon they were in that dull haze that always surrounds large towns. But there was no time to think about it, for the train pulled up at a large station, and all was bustle and confusion, as people ran here and there in anxiety for their luggage.

His uncle thought Owen quite capable of carrying his own belongings, and led the way down a narrow street into a broader one, with some fine buildings; then, to the boy's surprise, over a bridge, which crossed a fine dock filled with shipping, for he had no idea that Barmston was a seaport town. He was tempted to stop and look at the busy life, where the twinkling lights of the lamps were reflected in the dark waters of the dock. But his uncle was walking with rapid steps, and he ran to keep up with him. As he turned into the broad market-place, he entered a bright, cheerful grocer's shop, over which Owen had just time to catch the name "Hadleigh" in large letters.

His uncle passed at once into the counting-house, and entered into eager conversation with a man who was there, and a young girl, who, Owen concluded, was his cousin. But nobody seemed to think of the orphan, who sat on his box in a corner of the bright and busy shop, unnoticed and uncared for. After a while he grew so interested in watching the various customers that he almost forgot where he was, till a clear voice close at his side asked pleasantly, "Are you my cousin Owen?"

CHAPTER III.

MAKING HIS FORTUNE.

"Father is busy with Dawson just for a few minutes," she said, "but mother will be here presently. Oh, there she is. Mother, here is Owen; where is he to sleep?"

"In the little room at the top of the stairs," replied a middle-aged, active-looking woman, who stood before Owen, without giving him a word of greeting, saying, critically, "You look pretty capable; are you willing to work?"

"Oh yes, ma'am; I will do anything I can."

"That is right," said Clarice, kindly; "come, I will show you your room, and you can wash your hands and face, and then come down to tea. I expect you want something after your journey."

Owen looked gratefully at his cousin as he carried his box upstairs after her. The little room in which she left him was dreary and cold, so different to his pretty little bedroom at home, which his father had made so cheerful and pleasant. But Owen was determined not to look on the dark side. He peeped out of the window; it looked down on the busy street, and the tops of the houses. As far as he could see were house-tops, and he wondered how far off the country could be. He felt a little sore at his aunt's cool manner, and was almost inclined to cry, as he turned to the washstand to follow his cousin's suggestion. The cold water refreshed him, and things looked brighter when he made his way down to the parlour, and found only Clarice waiting for him.

"You and I will have tea by ourselves," she said, cheerfully; "father is not ready yet, and mother has gone down to him. Would you like a slice of ham? Here is bread, and a nice hot cup of tea. I wonder how you will like the town."

So Clarice chatted away, trying to make the boy at home. The warm tea revived him, and his cousin's kindness won his heart, so that when she said, "I am so glad you have come, I know we shall be good friends," he was able to respond, "Yes, I am glad too; you are good and pretty."

Clarice laughed. "Nobody ever told me that before. I have to work too hard to be pretty. Father and mother let no one be idle. We must do all we can to make a fortune." But she said it somewhat bitterly, and Owen did not know how to reply, though he said, after a pause, "Don't you want to make a fortune?"

"I would rather enjoy what money we have," said Clarice. "What is the good of going on heaping up money all your life, and never enjoying what it brings at all?"

"That is what Mrs. Mitchell said."

"Who is Mrs. Mitchell?"

"A neighbour of ours. She said it was best to get 'durable riches.'"

"What sort of riches are they?"

"I don't quite know, but they are in the Bible; I read it there."

"Oh," said Clarice, "I don't know much of the Bible. Perhaps it would be better if I did, but father would not like me to spend time reading it. Will you have some more tea? No? Then we had better go down, and father and mother can come up. Father never likes to leave the counting-house unless one of us is there, but I don't see why he can't trust Dawson."

Owen followed his cousin downstairs. The shop was now brightly lighted up, and the fragrant smell of newly-ground coffee pervaded the place. Looking out at the door, he could see the twinkling lights of the pier at the end of the broad street, and the tall, dark masts of the vessels in the river; while nearer were rows of bright shops, and many feet hurrying past. It was a great change for the country-bred boy.

"What time do the people go to bed here?" he asked, as he returned to his cousin.

"Why, not yet for a long time."

"They all look as if it was the middle of the day, and in Westbrook every one was at home and quiet after tea."

Clarice laughed. "You will see a great difference here, Owen."

The next morning his uncle told him he must set to work, and gave him some employment at once, quite to Owen's satisfaction, for he did not care to be idle. It was a new thing to be busy about a shop, but he liked the change. It had been arranged that he should serve his uncle for the first three months without payment, only getting his board and lodging; but after that, if he proved capable, his uncle promised him a small salary.

"Of course you will have to buy your clothes out of it. But if you really wish to make your fortune, take my advice, never spend more than you can help! Save up all you can, and never buy anything you can possibly do without."

Owen promised obedience, and threw his whole heart into his work. Poor lad, he seemed in danger of forgetting his father's advice, and the unworldly lessons he had learnt in earlier days, as he made haste to be rich. For no one in his uncle's household seemed to think of anything beyond this present life. His uncle was somewhat strict with him, though on the whole he treated him kindly, while his aunt was very cool and stern. But Clarice was very fond of her young cousin, and whenever she could obtain her father's consent, would take him out with her, and walk along the river-side, or round the docks, where the boy never ceased to wonder at the new and strange things he saw.

Among the men and boys employed in the shop, Owen was much attracted by a young errand-boy, about his own age, whom everybody called "David," and he soon made friends with him. David was very obliging, and always willing to help Owen any way he could, which was not the case with Norris, one of the young men, who seemed to take a delight in thwarting and hindering him.

One day when David had some extra heavy parcels to carry, Owen was sent out with him, and as they walked along, he asked him his surname.

"David Netherclift," he replied.

"What!" said Owen, "Netherclift, did you say?"

"Yes, why not?"

"Why, Sam Netherclift was my greatest friend down home. It is funny you should have the same name."

"Where is your home?"

"At Westbrook, near Allenbury; a long way from here."

"Westbrook? I have often heard my father speak of it; his brother lives there. I expect Sam is my cousin. I'll ask father."

"Oh, do. Does your father live near here?"

"Not far off. But we must not go there now."

"Why not?"

"Because this is the time for work. Father says it is as bad as stealing to take my master's time for my own use. I'll ask him all about it to-night, and tell you in the morning."

"I expect your father is something like mine was," said Owen; "he was so good, and never let me do wrong if he could help it."

"Is he dead?" asked David.

"Yes, he died some time ago. If he had been alive I should not be here, for I would never have left him."

When the boys returned to the shop, they were both set busily to work, and had no time for further conversation. But next day David found opportunity to say, "Sam is my cousin, and father says he hopes you will come and see him some day; he would like to hear about Westbrook."

Owen was getting rapidly initiated into business habits, and being a quick, intelligent boy, did not often want telling twice how to do a thing, so that his uncle regarded him with favour, and at times allowed him to help Clarice in the counting-house when she was extra busy. The boy missed the country life, the long walks, the skating, the thousand pleasures of unfettered rural life, and he sometimes wished he could have a holiday, though he never said so to his uncle, but stuck manfully to his work till late every night, and then threw himself on his bed, and went sound asleep.

Mr. Hadleigh seldom went to church; indeed, the whole family were generally too tired on a Sunday, after a week of incessant labour, to do anything but rest. In fine weather Clarice generally went for a walk in the afternoon, and her father sometimes accompanied her. But on winter evenings they sat round the fire, yawning and tired, wishing the hours would pass rapidly by, so that the shop could be opened again. Mr. Hadleigh really cared for nothing but business.

The first Sunday or two Owen was very miserable. Sundays had been such bright days in his old home. He had always gone to church with his father in the morning, and to a class he held for elder boys in the afternoon; and though he had not always taken heed to the lessons as he ought, he had at any rate enjoyed the time. And he looked back to the Westbrook Sundays as days of peaceful rest. The first Sunday after he had found out that David was a cousin of his old friend Sam, he ventured to ask his uncle if he might go and spend the afternoon with the Netherclifts. His uncle gave him leave, not caring what he did on Sundays, so long as he attended well to his work during the week.

Owen started off eagerly, and just round the corner saw David, who had come to meet him by agreement. They walked some little distance, till they reached a narrower street, with smaller houses—a dingy street Owen thought it. But David stopped at a house which looked brighter than the rest, having clean blinds and curtains to the windows, and a very white stone step at the door. Owen noticed this as he followed David in.

"This is Owen Hadleigh, father," he said, bringing him into the little sitting-room.

"I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Netherclift; "but I cannot rise to greet you. I am a constant prisoner with rheumatism."

And then Owen noticed that the man's hands, too, were twisted and swollen with the same painful disease. He hardly knew what to say. But Mr. Netherclift was anxious to set him at his ease, and bid David bring a chair forward, as he remarked—

"You have come from Westbrook, David tells me. I used to go there often, many years ago."

"Did you really?" asked Owen, eagerly, ready for a talk with one who knew his old home. "Did you know my father, too?"

"I have seen him, but I don't think I ever spoke to him. My visits to my brother were always short, so I did not get to know many of his friends. And so your father is now home with Christ; it is a blessed change even from such a pretty place as Westbrook."

"Yes, and he was glad to go; though he was sorry to leave me," said the boy, wistfully. "Mother died when I was a baby, so now I have nobody."

"Have you not got Christ?"

Owen looked up inquiringly; he did not quite know his friend's meaning.

"The blessed Saviour loves you, my boy; have you no love in your heart for Him? Those who belong to Him can never say they have nobody to love them. Are you not his child?"

The question was asked very tenderly, and Owen looked into the kind face that watched his so earnestly, as he said, slowly, "I don't think so."

"Then I am sure you are both poor and lonely."

"Yes, I am poor, because father had very little to leave me—only a few books and furniture. But I have come to Barmston to make my fortune."

"I hope you will find the truest fortune; it is already made for you, and all you have to do is to accept it."

"What is the truest fortune?"

"It is to belong to Christ, the King of kings. The peace and rest and joy He gives are riches of untold price, more valuable—infinitely so—than any wealth of earth. And they are riches that will last for ever."

"How can we get them?"

"By first of all realising our poverty, that we, you and I, are poor lost sinners in ourselves, fit for nothing but hell, and that we can do nothing to save ourselves. Then, knowing this fact, because God says it, to come just as we are, and believe in His Son, who died to save us from all sin."

Owen listened earnestly, the boy's heart was roused; it was God's message to him. He looked thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Presently he said, "Father's last words to me were to seek the heavenly riches."

"Have you sought them?"

"There is no time here in Barmston. From morning to night I am as busy as can be, often till ten o'clock, and then I am so tired I almost drop asleep while I am undressing."

"Poor boy, you are hard-worked. But remember this, God never puts you into any place where you cannot seek Him. Do you never read your Bible, or speak to God in prayer?"