“Why, I mean, if you knew about Lightfoot.”

“Who’s Lightfoot?”

“Why, mammy’s horse,” added Jem, looking out of the window; “I must make haste home, and feed him afore it gets dark; he’ll wonder what’s gone with me.”

“Let him wonder a few minutes longer,” said the lady, “and tell me the rest of your story.”

“I’ve no story, ma’am, to tell, but as how mammy says he must go to the fair Monday fortnight, to be sold, if she can’t get the two guineas for her rent; and I should be main sorry to part with him, for I love him, and he loves me; so I’ll work for him, I will, all I can.  To be sure, as mammy says, I have no chance, such a little fellow as I am, of earning two guineas afore Monday fortnight.”

“But are you willing earnestly to work?” said the lady; “you know there is a great deal of difference between picking up a few stones, and working steadily every day, and all day long.”

“But,” said Jem, “I would work every day, and all day long.”

“Then,” said the lady, “I will give you work.  Come here, to-morrow morning, and my gardener will set you to weed the shrubberies, and I will pay you sixpence a day.  Remember, you must be at the gates by six o’clock.”  Jem bowed, thanked her, and went away.

It was late in the evening, and Jem was impatient to get home to feed Lightfoot; yet he recollected that he had promised the man who had trusted him to sell the fossils, that he would bring him half of what he got for them; so he thought that he had better go to him directly; and away he went, running along by the waterside about a quarter of a mile, till he came to the man’s house.  He was just come home from work, and was surprised when Jem showed him the half-crown, saying, “Look what I got for the stones; you are to have half, you know.”

“No,” said the man, when he had heard his story, “I shall not take half of that; it was given to you.  I expected but a shilling at the most, and the half of that is but sixpence, and that I’ll take.  Wife, give the lad two shillings, and take this half-crown.”  So the wife opened an old glove, and took out two shillings; and the man, as she opened the glove, put in his fingers, and took out a little silver penny.  “There, he shall have that into the bargain for his honesty—honesty is the best policy—there’s a lucky penny for you, that I’ve kept ever since I can remember.”

“Don’t you ever go to part with it, do ye hear!” cried the woman.

“Let him do what he will with it, wife,” said the man.

“But,” argued the wife, “another penny would do just as well to buy gingerbread; and that’s what it will go for.”

“No, that it shall not, I promise you,” said Jem; and so he ran away home, fed Lightfoot, stroked him, went to bed, jumped up at five o’clock in the morning, and went singing to work as gay as a lark.

Four days he worked “every day and all day long”; and every evening the lady, when she came out to walk in her gardens, looked at his work.  At last she said to her gardener, “This little boy works very hard.”

“Never had so good a little boy about the grounds,” said the gardener; “he’s always at his work, let me come by when I will, and he has got twice as much done as another would do; yes, twice as much, ma’am; for look here—he began at this ’ere rose-bush, and now he’s got to where you stand, ma’am; and here is the day’s work that t’other boy, and he’s three years older too, did to-day—I say, measure Jem’s fairly, and it’s twice as much, I’m sure.”

“Well,” said the lady to her gardener, “show me how much is a fair day’s work for a boy of his age.”

“Come at six o’clock and go at six? why, about this much, ma’am,” said the gardener, marking off a piece of the border with his spade.

“Then, little boy,” said the lady, “so much shall be your task every day.  The gardener will mark it off for you; and when you’ve done, the rest of the day you may do what you please.”

Jem was extremely glad of this; and the next day he had finished his task by four o’clock; so that he had all the rest of the evening to himself.  He was as fond of play as any little boy could be; and when he was at it he played with all the eagerness and gaiety imaginable; so as soon as he had finished his task, fed Lightfoot, and put by the sixpence he had earned that day, he ran to the playground in the village, where he found a party of boys playing, and amongst them Lazy Lawrence, who indeed was not playing, but lounging upon a gate, with his thumb in his mouth.  The rest were playing at cricket.  Jem joined them, and was the merriest and most active amongst them; till, at last, when quite out of breath with running, he was obliged to give up to rest himself, and sat down upon the stile, close to the gate on which Lazy Lawrence was swinging.

“And why don’t you play, Lawrence?” said he.

“I’m tired,” said Lawrence.

“Tired of what?”

“I don’t know well what tires me; grandmother says I’m ill, and I must take something—I don’t know what ails me.”

“Oh, pugh! take a good race—one, two, three, and away—and you’ll find yourself as well as ever.  Come, run—one, two, three, and away.”

“Ah, no, I can’t run, indeed,” said he, hanging back heavily; “you know I can play all day long if I like it, so I don’t mind play as you do, who have only one hour for it.”

“So much the worse for you.  Come, now, I’m quite fresh again, will you have one game at ball? do.”

“No, I tell you I can’t; I’m as tired as if I had been working all day long as hard as a horse.”

“Ten times more,” said Jem, “for I have been working all day long, as hard as a horse, and yet you see I’m not a bit tired, only a little out of breath just now.”

“That’s very odd,” said Lawrence, and yawned, for want of some better answer; then taking out a handful of halfpence,—“See what I got from father to-day, because I asked him just at the right time, when he had drunk a glass or two; then I can get anything I want out of him—see! a penny, twopence, threepence, fourpence—there’s eightpence in all; would not you be happy if you had eightpence?”

“Why, I don’t know,” said Jem, laughing, “for you don’t seem happy, and you have eightpence.”

“That does not signify, though.  I’m sure you only say that because you envy me.  You don’t know what it is to have eightpence.  You never had more than twopence or threepence at a time in all your life.”

Jem smiled.  “Oh, as to that,” said he, “you are mistaken, for I have at this very time more than twopence, threepence, or eightpence either.  I have—let me—see—stones, two shillings; then five days’ work—that’s five sixpences, that’s two shillings and sixpence; in all, makes four shillings and sixpence; and my silver penny, is four and sevenpence—four and sevenpence!”

“You have not!” said Lawrence, roused so as absolutely to stand upright, “four and sevenpence, have you?  Show it me, and then I’ll believe you.”

“Follow me, then,” cried Jem, “and I’ll soon make you believe me; come.”

“Is it far?” said Lawrence, following half-running, half-hobbling, till he came to the stable, where Jem showed him his treasure.  “And how did you come by it—honestly?”

“Honestly! to be sure I did; I earned it all.”

“Lord bless me, earned it! well, I’ve a great mind to work; but then it’s such hot weather, besides, grandmother says I’m not strong enough yet for hard work; and besides, I know how to coax daddy out of money when I want it, so I need not work.  But four and sevenpence; let’s see, what will you do with it all?”

“That’s a secret,” said Jem, looking great.

“I can guess; I know what I’d do with it if it was mine.  First, I’d buy pocketfuls of gingerbread; then I’d buy ever so many apples and nuts.  Don’t you love nuts?  I’d buy nuts enough to last me from this time to Christmas, and I’d make little Newton crack ’em for me, for that’s the worst of nuts; there’s the trouble of cracking ’em.”

“Well, you never deserve to have a nut.”

“But you’ll give me some of yours,” said Lawrence, in a fawning tone; for he thought it easier to coax than to work—“you’ll give me some of your good things, won’t you?”

“I shall not have any of those good things,” said Jem.

“Then, what will you do with all your money?”

“Oh, I know very well what to do with it; but, as I told you, that’s a secret, and I sha’n’t tell it anybody.  Come now, let’s go back and play—their game’s up, I daresay.”

Lawrence went back with him, full of curiosity, and out of humour with himself and his eightpence.  “If I had four and sevenpence,” said he to himself, “I certainly should be happy!”

The next day, as usual, Jem jumped up before six o’clock and went to his work, whilst Lazy Lawrence sauntered about without knowing what to do with himself.  In the course of two days he laid out sixpence of his money in apples and gingerbread; and as long as these lasted, he found himself well received by his companions; but, at length the third day he spent his last halfpenny, and when it was gone, unfortunately some nuts tempted him very much, but he had no money to pay for them; so he ran home to coax his father, as he called it.

When he got home he heard his father talking very loud, and at first he thought he was drunk; but when he opened the kitchen door, he saw that he was not drunk, but angry.

“You lazy dog!” cried he, turning suddenly upon Lawrence, and gave him such a violent box on the ear as made the light flash from his eyes; “you lazy dog!  See what you’ve done for me—look!—look, look, I say!”

Lawrence looked as soon as he came to the use of his senses, and with fear, amazement and remorse, beheld at least a dozen bottles burst, and the fine Worcestershire cider streaming over the floor.

“Now, did not I order you three days ago to carry these bottles to the cellar, and did not I charge you to wire the corks? answer me, you lazy rascal; did not I?”

“Yes,” said Lawrence, scratching his head.

“And why was not it done, I ask you?” cried his father, with renewed anger, as another bottle burst at the moment.  “What do you stand there for, you lazy brat? why don’t you move, I say?  No, no,” catching hold of him, “I believe you can’t move; but I’ll make you.”  And he shook him till Lawrence was so giddy he could not stand.  “What had you to think of?  What had you to do all day long that you could not carry my cider, my Worcestershire cider, to the cellar when I bid you?  But go, you’ll never be good for anything; you are such a lazy rascal—get out of my sight!”  So saying, he pushed him out of the house door, and Lawrence sneaked off, seeing that this was no time to make his petition for halfpence.

The next day he saw the nuts again, and wishing for them more than ever, he went home, in hopes that his father, as he said to himself, would be in a better humour.  But the cider was still fresh in his recollection; and the moment Lawrence began to whisper the word “halfpenny” in his ear, his father swore, with a loud oath, “I will not give you a halfpenny, no, not a farthing, for a month to come.  If you want money, go work for it; I’ve had enough of your laziness—go work!”

At these terrible words Lawrence burst into tears, and, going to the side of a ditch, sat down and cried for an hour; and when he had cried till he could cry no more, he exerted himself so far as to empty his pockets, to see whether there might not happen to be one halfpenny left; and, to his great joy, in the farthest corner of his pocket one halfpenny was found.  With this he proceeded to the fruit woman’s stall.  She was busy weighing out some plums, so he was obliged to wait; and whilst he was waiting he heard some people near him talking and laughing very loud.

The fruit woman’s stall was at the gate of an inn yard; and peeping through the gate in this yard, Lawrence saw a postilion and a stable boy, about his own size, playing at pitch farthing.  He stood by watching them for a few minutes.  “I began but with one halfpenny,” cried the stable boy, with an oath, “and now I’ve got twopence!” added he, jingling the halfpence in his waistcoat pocket.  Lawrence was moved at the sound, and said to himself, “If I begin with one halfpenny I may end, like him, with having twopence; and it is easier to play at pitch farthing than to work.”

So he stepped forward, presenting his halfpenny, offering to toss up with the stable boy, who, after looking him full in the face, accepted the proposal, and threw his halfpenny into the air.  “Head or tail?” cried he.  “Head,” replied Lawrence, and it came up head.  He seized the penny, surprised at his own success, and would have gone instantly to have laid it out in nuts; but the stable boy stopped him, and tempted him to throw again.  This time Lawrence lost; he threw again and won; and so he went on, sometimes losing, but most frequently winning, till half the morning was lost.  At last, however, finding himself the master of three halfpence, said he would play no more.

The stable boy, grumbling, swore he would have his revenge another time, and Lawrence went and bought his nuts.  “It is a good thing,” said he to himself, “to play at pitch farthing; the next time I want a halfpenny I’ll not ask my father for it, nor go to work neither.”  Satisfied with this resolution, he sat down to crack his nuts at his leisure, upon the horse block in the inn yard.  Here, whilst he ate, he overheard the conversation of the stable boys and postilions.  At first their shocking oaths and loud wrangling frightened and shocked him; for Lawrence, though lazy, had not yet learned to be a wicked boy.  But, by degrees, he was accustomed to the swearing and quarrelling, and took a delight and interest in their disputes and battles.  As this was an amusement which he could enjoy without any sort of exertion, he soon grew so fond of it, that every day he returned to the stable yard, and the horse block became his constant seat.  Here he found some relief from the insupportable fatigue of doing nothing, and here, hour after hour, with his elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands, he sat, the spectator of wickedness.  Gaming, cheating and lying soon became familiar to him; and, to complete his ruin, he formed a sudden and close intimacy with the stable boy (a very bad boy) with whom he had first begun to game.

The consequences of this intimacy we shall presently see.  But it is now time to inquire what little Jem had been doing all this while.

One day, after Jem had finished his task, the gardener asked him to stay a little while, to help him to carry some geranium pots into the hall.  Jem, always active and obliging, readily stayed from play, and was carrying in a heavy flower pot, when his mistress crossed the hall.  “What a terrible litter!” said she, “you are making here—why don’t you wipe your shoes upon the mat?”  Jem turned to look for the mat, but he saw none.  “Oh,” said the lady recollecting herself, “I can’t blame you, for there is no mat.”

“No, ma’am,” said the gardener, “nor I don’t know when, if ever, the man will bring home those mats you bespoke, ma’am.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” said the lady; “I wish we could find somebody who would do them, if he can’t.  I should not care what sort of mats they were, so that one could wipe one’s feet on them.”

Jem, as he was sweeping away the litter, when he heard these last words, said to himself, “Perhaps I could make a mat.”  And all the way home, as he trudged along whistling, he was thinking over a scheme for making mats, which, however bold it may appear, he did not despair of executing, with patience and industry.  Many were the difficulties which his “prophetic eye” foresaw; but he felt within himself that spirit which spurs men on to great enterprises, and makes them “trample on impossibilities.”  In the first place, he recollected that he had seen Lazy Lawrence, whilst he lounged upon the gate, twist a bit of heath into different shapes; and he thought, that if he could find some way of plaiting heath firmly together, it would make a very pretty green soft mat, which would do very well for one to wipe one’s shoes on.  About a mile from his mother’s house, on the common which Jem rode over when he went to Farmer Truck’s for the giant strawberries, he remembered to have seen a great quantity of this heath; and, as it was now only six o’clock in the evening, he knew that he should have time to feed Lightfoot, stroke him, go to the common, return, and make one trial of his skill before he went to bed.

Lightfoot carried him swiftly to the common, and there Jem gathered as much of the heath as he thought he should want.  But what toil! what time! what pains did it cost him, before he could make anything like a mat!  Twenty times he was ready to throw aside the heath, and give up his project, from impatience of repeated disappointments.  But still he persevered.  Nothing truly great can be accomplished without toil and time.  Two hours he worked before he went to bed.  All his play hours the next day he spent at his mat; which, in all, made five hours of fruitless attempts.  The sixth, however, repaid him for the labours of the other five.  He conquered his grand difficulty of fastening the heath substantially together, and at length completely finished a mat, which far surpassed his most sanguine expectations.  He was extremely happy—sang, danced round it—whistled—looked at it again and again, and could hardly leave off looking at it when it was time to go to bed.  He laid it by his bedside, that he might see it the moment he awoke in the morning.

And now came the grand pleasure of carrying it to his mistress.  She looked fully as much surprised as he expected, when she saw it, and when she heard who made it.  After having duly admired it, she asked how much he expected for his mat.  “Expect!—Nothing, ma’am,” said Jem; “I meant to give it you, if you’d have it; I did not mean to sell it.  I made it in my play hours, I was very happy in making it; and I’m very glad, too, that you like it; and if you please to keep it, ma’am, that’s all.”

“But that’s not all,” said the lady.  “Spend your time no more in weeding in my garden, you can employ yourself much better; you shall have the reward of your ingenuity as well as of your industry.  Make as many more such mats as you can, and I will take care and dispose of them for you.”

“Thank’e, ma’am,” said Jem, making his best bow, for he thought by the lady’s looks that she meant to do him a favour, though he repeated to himself, “Dispose of them, what does that mean?”

The next day he went to work to make more mats, and he soon learned to make them so well and quickly, that he was surprised at his own success.  In every one he made he found less difficulty, so that, instead of making two, he could soon make four in a day.  In a fortnight he made eighteen.

It was Saturday night when he finished, and he carried, at three journeys, his eighteen mats to his mistress’ house; piled them all up in the hall, and stood with his hat off, with a look of proud humility, beside the pile, waiting for his mistress’ appearance.  Presently a folding-door, at one end of the hall, opened, and he saw his mistress, with a great many gentlemen and ladies, rising from several tables.

“Oh! there is my little boy and his mats,” cried the lady; and, followed by all the rest of the company, she came into the hall.  Jem modestly retired whilst they looked at his mats; but in a minute or two his mistress beckoned to him, and when he came into the middle of the circle, he saw that his pile of mats had disappeared.

“Well,” said the lady, smiling, “what do you see that makes you look so surprised?”

“That all my mats are gone,” said Jem; “but you are very welcome.”

“Are we?” said the lady, “well, take up your hat and go home then, for you see that it is getting late, and you know Lightfoot will wonder what’s become of you.”  Jem turned round to take up his hat, which he had left on the floor.

But how his countenance changed! the hat was heavy with shillings.  Everyone who had taken a mat had put in two shillings; so that for the eighteen mats he had got thirty-six shillings.  “Thirty-six shillings,” said the lady; “five and sevenpence I think you told me you had earned already—how much does that make?  I must add, I believe, one other sixpence to make out your two guineas.”

“Two guineas!” exclaimed Jem, now quite conquering his bashfulness, for at the moment he forgot where he was, and saw nobody that was by.  “Two guineas!” cried he, clapping his hands together,—“O, Lightfoot!  O, mother!”  Then, recollecting himself, he saw his mistress, whom he now looked up to quite as a friend.  “Will you thank them all?” said he, scarcely daring to glance his eyes round upon the company; “will you thank ’em, for you know I don’t know how to thank ’em rightly.”  Everybody thought, however, that they had been thanked rightly.

“Now we won’t keep you any longer, only,” said his mistress, “I have one thing to ask you, that I may be by when you show your treasure to your mother.”

“Come, then,” said Jem, “come with me now.”

“Not now,” said the lady, laughing; “but I will come to Ashton to-morrow evening; perhaps your mother can find me a few strawberries.”

“That she will,” said Jem: “I’ll search the garden myself.”

He now went home, but felt it a great restraint to wait till to-morrow evening before he told his mother.  To console himself he flew to the stable:—“Lightfoot, you’re not to be sold on Monday, poor fellow!” said he, patting him, and then could not refrain from counting out his money.  Whilst he was intent upon this, Jem was startled by a noise at the door: somebody was trying to pull up the latch.  It opened, and there came in Lazy Lawrence, with a boy in a red jacket, who had a cock under his arm.  They started when they got into the middle of the stable, and when they saw Jem, who had been at first hidden by the horse.

“We—we—we came,” stammered Lazy Lawrence—“I mean, I came to—to—to—”

“To ask you,” continued the stable-boy, in a bold tone, “whether you will go with us to the cock-fight on Monday?  See, I’ve a fine cock here, and Lawrence told me you were a great friend of his; so I came.”

Lawrence now attempted to say something in praise of the pleasures of cock-fighting and in recommendation of his new companion.  But Jem looked at the stable-boy with dislike, and a sort of dread.  Then turning his eyes upon the cock with a look of compassion, said, in a low voice, to Lawrence, “Shall you like to stand by and see its eyes pecked out?”

“I don’t know,” said Lawrence, “as to that; but they say a cockfight’s a fine sight, and it’s no more cruel in me to go than another; and a great many go, and I’ve nothing else to do, so I shall go.”

“But I have something else to do,” said Jem, laughing, “so I shall not go.”

“But,” continued Lawrence, “you know Monday is the great Bristol fair, and one must be merry then, of all the days in the year.”

“One day in the year, sure, there’s no harm in being merry,” said the stable boy.

“I hope not,” said Jem; “for I know for my part, I am merry every day in the year.”

“That’s very odd,” said Lawrence; “but I know for my part, I would not for all the world miss going to the fair, for at least it will be something to talk of for half a year after.  Come, you’ll go, won’t you?”

“No,” said Jem, still looking as if he did not like to talk before the ill-looking stranger.

“Then what will you do with all your money?”

“I’ll tell you about that another time,” whispered Jem; “and don’t you go to see that cock’s eyes pecked out; it won’t make you merry, I’m sure.”

“If I had anything else to divert me,” said Lawrence, hesitating and yawning.

“Come,” cried the stable boy, seizing his stretching arm, “come along,” cried he; and, pulling him away from Jem, upon whom he cast a look of extreme contempt; “leave him alone, he’s not the sort.

“What a fool you are,” said he to Lawrence, the moment he got him out of the stable; “you might have known he would not go, else we should soon have trimmed him out of his four and sevenpence.  But how came you to talk of four and sevenpence.  I saw in the manger a hat full of silver.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Lawrence.

“Yes, indeed; but why did you stammer so when we first got in?  You had liked to have blown us all up.”

“I was so ashamed,” said Lawrence, hanging down his head.

“Ashamed! but you must not talk of shame now you are in for it, and I sha’n’t let you off; you owe us half a crown, recollect, and I must be paid to-night, so see and get the money somehow or other.”  After a considerable pause he added, “I answer for it he’d never miss half a crown out of all that silver.”

“But to steal,” said Lawrence, drawing back with horror, “I never thought I should come to that—and from poor Jem, too—the money that he has worked so hard for, too.”

“But it is not stealing; we don’t mean to steal; only to borrow it; and if we win, which we certainly shall, at the cock-fight, pay it back again, and he’ll never know anything about the matter, and what harm will it do him?  Besides, what signifies talking, you can’t go to the cock-fight, or the fair either, if you don’t; and I tell ye we don’t mean to steal it; we’ll pay it by Monday night.”

Lawrence made no reply, and they parted without his coming to any determination.

Here let us pause in our story.  We are almost afraid to go on.  The rest is very shocking.  Our little readers will shudder as they read.  But it is better that they should know the truth, and see what the idle boy came to at last.

In the dead of the night, Lawrence heard somebody tap at his window.  He knew well who it was, for this was the signal agreed upon between him and his wicked companion.  He trembled at the thoughts of what he was about to do, and lay quite still, with his head under the bedclothes, till he heard the second tap.  Then he got up, dressed himself, and opened his window.  It was almost even with the ground.  His companion said to him, in a hollow voice, “Are you ready?”  He made no answer, but got out of the window and followed.

When he got to the stable a black cloud was just passing over the moon, and it was quite dark.  “Where are you?” whispered Lawrence, groping about, “where are you?  Speak to me.”

“I am here; give me your hand.”  Lawrence stretched out his hand.  “Is that your hand?” said the wicked boy, as Lawrence laid hold of him; “how cold it feels.”

“Let us go back,” said Lawrence; “it is time yet.”

“It is no time to go back,” replied the other, opening the door; “you’ve gone too far now to go back,” and he pushed Lawrence into the stable.  “Have you found it?  Take care of the horse.  Have you done?  What are you about?  Make haste, I hear a noise,” said the stable boy, who watched at the door.

“I am feeling for the half-crown, but I can’t find it.”

“Bring all together.”  He brought Jem’s broken flower pot, with all the money in it, to the door.  The black cloud had now passed over the moon, and the light shone full upon them.  “What do we stand here for?” said the stable boy, snatching the flower-pot out of Lawrence’s trembling hands, and pulled him away from the door.

“Good God!” cried Lawrence, “you won’t take all.  You said you’d only take half a crown, and pay it back on Monday.  You said you’d only take half a crown!”

“Hold your tongue,” replied the other, walking on, deaf to all remonstrances—“if ever I am to be hanged, it sha’n’t be for half a crown.”

Lawrence’s blood ran cold in his veins, and he felt as if all his hair stood on end.  Not another word passed.  His accomplice carried off the money, and Lawrence crept, with all the horrors of guilt upon him, to his restless bed.  All night he was starting from frightful dreams; or else, broad awake, he lay listening to every small noise, unable to stir, and scarcely daring to breathe—tormented by that most dreadful of all kinds of fear, that fear which is the constant companion of an evil conscience.

He thought the morning would never come; but when it was day, when he heard the birds sing, and saw everything look cheerful as usual, he felt still more miserable.  It was Sunday morning, and the bell rang for church.  All the children of the village, dressed in their Sunday clothes, innocent and gay, and little Jem, the best and gayest amongst them, went flocking by his door to church.

“Well, Lawrence,” said Jem, pulling his coat as he passed and saw Lawrence leaning against his father’s door, “what makes you look so black?”

“I?” said Lawrence, starting; “why do you say that I look black?”

“Nay, then,” said Jem, “you look white enough now, if that will please you, for you’re turned as pale as death.”

“Pale?” replied Lawrence, not knowing what he said, and turned abruptly away, for he dared not stand another look of Jem’s; conscious that guilt was written in his face, he shunned every eye.  He would now have given the world to have thrown off the load of guilt which lay upon his mind.  He longed to follow Jem, to fall upon his knees and confess all.

Dreading the moment when Jem should discover his loss, Lawrence dared not stay at home, and not knowing what to do, or where to go, he mechanically went to his old haunt at the stable yard, and lurked thereabouts all day with his accomplice, who tried in vain to quiet his fears and raise his spirits by talking of the next day’s cock-fight.  It was agreed that as soon as the dusk of the evening came on, they should go together into a certain lonely field, and there divide their booty.

In the meantime, Jem, when he returned from church, was very full of business, preparing for the reception of his mistress, of whose intended visit he had informed his mother; and whilst she was arranging the kitchen and their little parlour, he ran to search the strawberry beds.

“Why, my Jem, how merry you are to-day!” said his mother, when he came in with the strawberries, and was jumping about the room playfully.  “Now, keep those spirits of yours, Jem, till you want ’em, and don’t let it come upon you all at once.  Have it in mind that to-morrow’s fair day, and Lightfoot must go.  I bid Farmer Truck call for him to-night.  He said he’d take him along with his own, and he’ll be here just now—and then I know how it will be with you, Jem!”

“So do I!” cried Jem, swallowing his secret with great difficulty, and then tumbling head over heels four times running.

A carriage passed the window, and stopped at the door.  Jem ran out; it was his mistress.  She came in smiling, and soon made the old woman smile, too, by praising the neatness of everything in the house.

We shall pass over, however important as they were deemed at the time, the praises of the strawberries, and of “my grandmother’s china plate.”

Another knock was heard at the door.  “Run, Jem,” said his mother.  “I hope it’s our milk-woman with cream for the lady.”  No; it was Farmer Truck come for Lightfoot.  The old woman’s countenance fell.  “Fetch him out, dear,” said she, turning to her son; but Jem was gone; he flew out to the stable the moment he saw the flap of Farmer Truck’s great-coat.

“Sit ye down, farmer,” said the old woman, after they had waited about five minutes in expectation of Jem’s return.  “You’d best sit down, if the lady will give you leave; for he’ll not hurry himself back again.  My boy’s a fool, madam, about that there horse.”  Trying to laugh, she added, “I knew how Lightfoot and he would be loath enough to part.  He won’t bring him out till the last minute; so do sit ye down, neighbour.”

The farmer had scarcely sat down when Jem, with a pale, wild countenance came back.  “What’s the matter?” said his mistress.  “God bless the boy!” said his mother, looking at him quite frightened, whilst he tried to speak, but could not.

She went up to him, and then leaning his head against her, he cried, “It’s gone!—it’s all gone!” and, bursting into tears, he sobbed as if his little heart would break.

“What’s gone, love?” said his mother.

“My two guineas—Lightfoot’s two guineas.  I went to fetch ’em to give you, mammy; but the broken flower-pot that I put them in, and all’s gone!—quite gone!” repeated he, checking his sobs.  “I saw them safe last night, and was showing ’em to Lightfoot; and I was so glad to think I had earned them all myself; and I thought how surprised you’d look, and how glad you’d be, and how you’d kiss me, and all!”

His mother listened to him with the greatest surprise, whilst his mistress stood in silence, looking first at the old woman, and then at Jem with a penetrating eye, as if she suspected the truth of his story, and was afraid of becoming the dupe of her own compassion.

“This is a very strange thing!” said she, gravely.  “How came you to leave all your money in a broken flower-pot in the stable?  How came you not to give it to your mother to take care of?”

“Why, don’t you remember?” said Jem, looking up, in the midst of his tears—“why, don’t you remember you, your own self, bid me not tell her about it till you were by?”

“And did you not tell her?”

“Nay, ask mammy,” said Jem, a little offended; and when afterwards the lady went on questioning him in a severe manner, as if she did not believe him, he at last made no answer.

“Oh, Jem! Jem! why don’t you speak to the lady?” said his mother.

“I have spoke, and spoke the truth,” said Jem, proudly; “and she did not believe me.”

Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be without suspicion, maintained a cold manner, and determined to wait the event without interfering, saying only, that she hoped the money would be found, and advised Jem to have done crying.

“I have done,” said Jem; “I shall cry no more.”  And as he had the greatest command over himself, he actually did not shed another tear, not even when the farmer got up to go, saying, he could wait no longer.

Jem silently went to bring out Lightfoot.  The lady now took her seat, where she could see all that passed at the open parlour-window.  The old woman stood at the door, and several idle people of the village, who had gathered round the lady’s carriage examining it, turned about to listen.  In a minute or two Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leading Lightfoot and, when he came up, without saying a word, put the bridle into Farmer Truck’s hand.

“He has been a good horse,” said the farmer.

“He is a good horse!” cried Jem, and threw his arm over Lightfoot’s neck, hiding his own face as he leaned upon him.

At this instant a party of milk-women went by; and one of them, having set down her pail, came behind Jem, and gave him a pretty smart blow upon the back.  He looked up.  “And don’t you know me?” said she.

“I forget,” said Jem; “I think I have seen your face before, but I forget.”

“Do you so? and you’ll tell me just now,” said she, half opening her hand, “that you forget who gave you this, and who charged you not to part with it, too.”  Here she quite opened her large hand, and on the palm of it appeared Jem’s silver penny.

“Where?” exclaimed Jem, seizing it, “oh, where did you find it? and have you—oh, tell me, have you got the rest of my money?”

“I know nothing of your money—I don’t know what you would be at,” said the milk-woman.

“But where—pray tell me where—did you find this?”

“With them that you gave it to, I suppose,” said the milk-woman, turning away suddenly to take up her milk-pail.  But now Jem’s mistress called to her through the window, begging her to stop, and joining in his entreaties to know how she came by the silver penny.

“Why, madam,” said she, taking up the corner of her apron, “I came by it in an odd way, too.  You must know my Betty is sick, so I came with the milk myself, though it’s not what I’m used to; for my Betty—you know my Betty?” said she, turning round to the old woman, “my Betty serves you, and she’s a tight and stirring lassy, ma’am, I can assure—”

“Yes, I don’t doubt it,” said the lady, impatiently; “but about the silver penny?”

“Why, that’s true; as I was coming along all alone, for the rest came round, and I came a short cut across yon field—no, you can’t see it, madam, where you stand—but if you were here—”

“I see it—I know it,” said Jem, out of breath with anxiety.

“Well—well—I rested my pail upon the stile, and sets me down awhile, and there comes out of the hedge—I don’t know well how, for they startled me so I’d liked to have thrown down my milk—two boys, one about the size of he,” said she pointing to Jem, “and one a matter taller, but ill-looking like; so I did not think to stir to make way for them, and they were like in a desperate hurry: so, without waiting for the stile, one of ’em pulled at the gate, and when it would not open (for it was tied with a pretty stout cord) one of ’em whips out with his knife and cuts it—  Now, have you a knife about you, sir?” continued the milk woman to the farmer.  He gave her his knife.  “Here, now, ma’am, just sticking, as it were here, between the blade and the haft, was the silver penny.  The lad took no notice; but when he opened it, out it falls.  Still he takes no heed, but cuts the cord, as I said before, and through the gate they went, and out of sight in half a minute.  I picks up the penny, for my heart misgave me that it was the very one husband had had a long time, and had given against my voice to he,” pointing to Jem; “and I charged him not to part with it; and, ma’am, when I looked I knew it by the mark, so I thought I would show it to he,” again pointing to Jem, “and let him give it back to those it belongs to.”

“It belongs to me,” said Jem, “I never gave it to anybody—but—”

“But,” cried the farmer, “those boys have robbed him; it is they who have all his money.”

“Oh, which way did they go?” cried Jem, “I’ll run after them.”

“No, no,” said the lady, calling to her servant; and she desired him to take his horse and ride after them.  “Ay,” added Farmer Truck, “do you take the road, and I’ll take the field way, and I’ll be bound we’ll have ’em presently.”

Whilst they were gone in pursuit of the thieves, the lady, who was now thoroughly convinced of Jem’s truth, desired her coachman would produce what she had ordered him to bring with him that evening.  Out of the boot of the carriage the coachman immediately produced a new saddle and bridle.

How Jem’s eyes sparkled when the saddle was thrown upon Lightfoot’s back!  “Put it on your horse yourself, Jem,” said the lady; “it is yours.”

Confused reports of Lightfoot’s splendid accoutrements, of the pursuit of thieves, and of the fine and generous lady who was standing at Dame Preston’s window, quickly spread through the village, and drew everybody from their houses.  They crowded round Jem to hear the story.  The children especially, who were fond of him, expressed the strongest indignation against the thieves.  Every eye was on the stretch; and now some, who had run down the lane, came back shouting, “Here they are! they’ve got the thieves!”

The footman on horseback carried one boy before him; and the farmer, striding along, dragged another.  The latter had on a red jacket, which little Jem immediately recollected, and scarcely dared lift his eyes to look at the boy on horseback.  “Good God!” said he to himself, “it must be—yet surely it can’t be Lawrence!”  The footman rode on as fast as the people would let him.  The boy’s hat was slouched, and his head hung down, so that nobody could see his face.

At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd.  A man who was half drunk pushed his way forwards, swearing that nobody should stop him; that he had a right to see—and he would see.  And so he did; for, forcing through all resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he was lifting down the boy he had carried before him.  “I will—I tell you I will see the thief!” cried the drunken man, pushing up the boy’s hat.  It was his own son.  “Lawrence!” exclaimed the wretched father.  The shock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands.

There was an awful silence.  Lawrence fell on his knees, and in a voice that could scarcely be heard made a full confession of all the circumstances of his guilt.

“Such a young creature so wicked!” the bystanders exclaimed; “what could put such wickedness in your head?”

“Bad company,” said Lawrence.

“And how came you—what brought you into bad company?”

“I don’t know, except it was idleness.”

While this was saying the farmer was emptying Lazy Lawrence’s pockets; and when the money appeared, all his former companions in the village looked at each other with astonishment and terror.  Their parents grasped their little hands closer, and cried, “Thank God! he is not my son.  How often when he was little we used, as he lounged about, to tell him that idleness was the root of all evil.”

As for the hardened wretch, his accomplice, everyone was impatient to have him sent to gaol.  He put on a bold, insolent countenance, till he heard Lawrence’s confession; till the money was found upon him; and he heard the milk-woman declare that she would swear to the silver penny which he had dropped.  Then he turned pale, and betrayed the strongest signs of fear.

“We must take him before the justice,” said the farmer, “and he’ll be lodged in Bristol gaol.”

“Oh!” said Jem, springing forwards when Lawrence’s hands were going to be tied, “let him go—won’t you?—can’t you let him go?”

“Yes, madam, for mercy’s sake,” said Jem’s mother to the lady, “think what a disgrace to his family to be sent to gaol.”

His father stood by wringing his hands in an agony of despair.  “It’s all my fault,” cried he; “I brought him up in idleness.”

“But he’ll never be idle any more,” said Jem; “won’t you speak for him, ma’am?”

“Don’t ask the lady to speak for him,” said the farmer; “it’s better he should go to Bridewell now, than to the gallows by-and-by.”

Nothing more was said; for everybody felt the truth of the farmer’s speech.

Lawrence was eventually sent to Bridewell for a month, and the stable-boy was sent for trial, convicted, and transported to Botany Bay.

During Lawrence’s confinement, Jem often visited him, and carried him such little presents as he could afford to give; and Jem could afford to be generous, because he was industrious.  Lawrence’s heart was touched by his kindness, and his example struck him so forcibly that, when his confinement was ended, he resolved to set immediately to work; and, to the astonishment of all who knew him, soon became remarkable for industry.  He was found early and late at his work, established a new character, and for ever lost the name of “Lazy Lawrence.”

THE FALSE KEY.