We have now to request our readers to follow Dick to a very different scene to that of Roan's Court. His parents were glad he had found such grand friends, and were quite willing to part with him. They were not improving in their habits, but rather the reverse. Walters did as Sir John had requested, and bought the boy suitable clothes and other necessaries for his new position in life. He looked so different when dressed in a cloth suit, with a white collar and black necktie, that he could scarcely be recognised for the same boy who had worn the old garments out of the blue clothes bag. The children in Roan's Court gathered round him when he first appeared in his new attire on the day he was to leave altogether, and stared at their old playmate with astonishment. A few of the elder ones, amongst whom was Larkins (who had never got over the hot dinner disappointment), derided him, called after him "Gentleman Dick," and other nicknames. He was not sorry when he was fairly out of hearing, and on his way to Walters, who had promised to go with him to Grosvenor Square, and say good-bye there. An omnibus was standing at the door when they arrived, which was to take the servants to the station. It was being loaded under the eye of a manservant. When he saw Walters and Dick, he directed them to go down into the kitchen, where all was bustle and confusion from the hurry of departure. Amongst the servants going away was Susan, who had been so terrified lest Dick should prove an accomplice of burglars. She looked at him with very complacent feelings now, for Sir John had told the story of the bright farthing, and explained that he had spoken truth when he said he wanted to give the gentleman some money and not to beg of him. With his usual kind thoughtfulness, the baronet had been anxious that the servants should feel an interest in their young fellow-traveller, who would naturally be strange and shy amongst them all.
At length all was ready, and Dick was told to take his place in the omnibus with the others. He was very sorry to say farewell to his dear old friend, who, in his turn, felt as if his home would be lonely without the bright, merry face he was so accustomed to see popping in constantly.
"God bless you, my lad," he said. "Never forget your prayers. Remember, those are my parting words to you."
Then came the rumbling of the omnibus, and the arrival at the station; and after that the puffing of the steam-engine, and for the first time Dick saw houses and churches rushing away from them, as it seemed to him. Soon, great, busy London was left behind, and houses and churches only came at intervals, but green fields and trees took their place, and they were in the country, which was far more beautiful than Dick's wildest dreams had ever pictured it. He was quite surprised that all the servants talked away to each other, and scarcely ever turned their heads to look out of the window. Susan was the only one who seemed to understand his admiration. She was very kind, and gave him her place in the corner that he might see better; and she pointed out things to him, and told him the names of the places they passed through, for she had been so often backwards and forwards that the road was quite familiar to her and her fellow-servants.
Towards evening they arrived at a station, where they stopped. Here an open carriage was waiting, large enough to hold them all, and the luggage followed in a cart. Dick had a delightful place on the box between the driver and the footman, from which he could see the hedges and trees, etc., to perfection as they drove rapidly past them. After a drive of about a mile, they came in sight of a large mansion standing on a rising ground in the midst of beautiful gardens, which glowed with flowers of every colour. The carriage stopped at a lodge, and now Dick was told he was to get down, as here he was to live with the gardener and his wife. A pleasant, motherly-looking woman appeared at the door, who was addressed as Mrs Naylor. She gave the servants a kindly greeting, and as the carriage drove on, took hold of Dick's hand, and said she was sure he must be tired and hungry, and had better have some tea directly. She took him into a nice pleasant kitchen, where a table was spread with a substantial tea. Her little lads came running in to look at the new boy, and to do justice to the viands. They were followed by Mr Naylor, the gardener—a tall, fine-looking man, with a rather grave face.
He spoke kindly to Dick, and said he had heard all about him from Sir John, and he hoped he would be a good boy, and then he should be glad to have him to lodge in his house.
Dick thought he had never been so hungry or tasted such good food. After tea, Mrs Naylor showed him a room in which he was to sleep. It was very small, little more than a large closet, but there was in it everything he could want, and it had a window looking into a garden full of flowers. He was so thoroughly tired with his journey and with the day's excitement, that Mrs Naylor proposed he should go to bed, and he was thankful to do so. Probably no little boy in England slept a sounder sleep or had a happier heart than our young hero that night.
It will be easier for the reader to imagine than for me to describe the delight of a young London boy, removed from such a home as that of Dick's in Roan's Court, to this in which he awoke the morning after his arrival. Mrs Naylor was disposed to be pleased with her young charge. Her husband at first thought him too young and ignorant to have been worth transplanting from London to Denham Court. It was "one of Sir John's whims," he said to his wife. However, the liberal board that they were to receive for him was not to be despised, and being so young was a fault which he would gradually grow out of. Then as for his ignorance, he soon found it was not so great as he supposed. Thanks to Walters, he could read and write very fairly; and what astonished Naylor greatly, was finding he knew the names of almost all the flowers in the gardens, and of some in the greenhouses. He had supposed he would not know a bit of groundsel from a fern, he said. But the mystery was explained when he found that he had been so constantly in Covent Garden Market, where he had contrived to learn the different names of shrubs and flowers as few other boys would have done. There were a good many men employed about the grounds, and several boys, who came from the village every morning and returned home to their meals and to sleep at night. Dick was looked at with curiosity at first, because Sir John had sent him down from London and was boarding him at his head gardener's. It was all very new and strange to him, and he could not help feeling rather lonely at times. Sir John and his family were gone to the sea for a little while, and were not expected till the shooting season began. Dick rather longed to see Sir John's kind face again, and he felt so grateful to him for his kindness that he thought he never could do enough to show his gratitude.
The work that was given him in the gardens was easy enough. Clearing the gravel walks of weeds, carrying in vegetables and fruit to the house, or sometimes—and this he liked best—helping one of the under gardeners to pot geraniums or other plants. One of his greatest treats was to be allowed to go through the hothouses and greenhouses with Mr Naylor, who began to grow fond of the intelligent lad, and to think that after all Sir John knew what he was about when he sent him down to learn gardening. "He's an uncommon little chap," he said to his wife one day—"nothing seems to escape his observation; and if I tell him the name of a plant or flower he remembers it. Most boys would forget it as soon as told. Such a memory as he's got will do him good service some day."
"He's a nice, good little fellow," remarked Mrs Naylor, "and so obliging. He's always ready to run errands for me of an evening, or to play with the little boys. I thought I shouldn't like having him when Sir John first wrote about his coming, but I declare I'd sooner have him here than not. And as for Ned and Tommy, they follow him like their shadow whenever he's in the house."
Ned and Tommy were Mrs Naylor's own two children. They were merry little fellows, several years younger than Dick. To them he was a great acquisition. When the day's work was over, they were sure to be watching for him at the lodge gate, to claim his services in mending their paper kites, and to help to fly them when mended, as well as many other similar offices, such as good-natured older boys can execute for little ones. No wonder that Mrs Naylor's motherly feelings made her think she would sooner have Dick as an inmate than not.
When the days were beginning to shorten, and the first delicate tinge of autumn brown was stealing gently over the green foliage, it was announced that Sir John and the family were coming home. They had been detained at the sea longer than was at first intended, owing to the illness of one of the young ladies. But now the day was fixed, and preparations were being made for them both within and without the house. Even Dick had to be busy. Not a weed must be seen on the walks, not a dead leaf on the geranium beds. Pot plants were to be placed in rows on either side of the broad terrace in front of the house, and others had to be carried into the drawing-room to fill the jardinière and baskets. Also the conservatory adjoining the morning-room was to be adorned with choice flowers from the greenhouses. Dick carried and fetched, carried and fetched, till his arms ached; but they might almost have dropped off before he would have given in, so pleased was he to have such a chance for seeing the tasteful and artistic way in which Mr Naylor arranged the different plants according to their colouring. When all was complete, Mr Naylor stepped to a little distance to see that the effect was quite to his mind, and he caught sight of Dick standing in such enrapt admiration that he fixed his gaze on him for a moment rather than on the flowers.
"Well, Dick," said he, "what do you think of it?"
"Oh, sir, it is beautiful! I could look at it for ever."
"The boy is born to be a gardener," said Mr Naylor to himself. "He ought to begin and learn Latin. I shall tell Sir John so."
All honour was due to worthy, honest-hearted Mr Naylor, that not a shade of jealousy crossed his mind about Dick, although he hoped to bring up his two boys to his own profession. Full of taste and intelligence himself, he quickly saw that the boy was naturally gifted with these qualities in no common degree, and felt they ought to be thoroughly cultivated.
The next day the family arrived. Dick was standing at the lodge, well pleased to be allowed to throw open the gates for the carriage to enter, and to receive a smile and nod from Sir John as he sat inside it with his wife and daughters.
The report that Mr Naylor was able to give of his charge was very satisfactory to the benevolent baronet, and he quite agreed with him that it would be well to let the boy have some education. There was an excellent village school in Denham, and a superior schoolmaster. So it was arranged for Dick to attend school every morning, and be in the garden in the afternoon. The schoolmaster also agreed to teach him Latin three evenings in the week.
"Sir John never does things by halves," remarked Mrs Naylor to her husband. "He'll be the making of that boy, you'll see."
"He'll help him to be the making of himself," replied Naylor. "Dick is a boy, if I mistake not, who will make good use of whatever advantages are held out to him."
Time went on. Dick learnt quickly, and pleased his master. He was a favourite with most people from his good humour and readiness to oblige. Sir John took great interest in his improvement; and his wife and daughter often stopped and spoke to the boy who had come to Denham Court under such peculiar circumstances.
But go where we will, happen to us what will in this world, trouble of some sort is sure to crop up, and Dick was not without his, even in his happy life at Denham Court. It seems strange that he could have an enemy, but so it was. There was a boy named George Bentham, who was employed in the gardens, and who from the first had looked upon the London lad with jealousy and dislike. He saw that he was a favourite with Sir John and with Mr Naylor, and being of a mean and selfish disposition, he took an aversion to him for this reason. To use his own expression, he liked to spite him. That is to say, he never lost an occasion of saying or doing anything that he thought would be disagreeable to him; and it is wonderful how much petty tyranny may be exercised by one boy over another when opportunities are sought. For instance, he would sometimes hide his garden tools to cause him to waste time in searching for them, and so bring on him Mr Naylor's displeasure. One day in autumn, when Dick had been industriously sweeping up the fallen leaves in one of the walks, and had gone to fetch a wheelbarrow to carry them away, he found that some one had, during his short absence, scattered the heaps which he had so carefully piled up at regular distances, so that his work had almost all to be done over again. He had been told to finish it by eleven o'clock, at which hour Lady Tralaway generally came to walk there, as being a sunny, sheltered spot. He did his very best to try and set it all right in time, but the leaves at the end of the walk were in a sadly untidy state when her ladyship appeared with one of her daughters. She remarked on the unswept state of the path, and asked Dick to have it cleared earlier another day; and she repeated her request to Mr Naylor a little later, when she met him in the greenhouse. This caused Mr Naylor to reprove Dick for idleness, and he seemed inclined to think that what he said about the leaves having been scattered was all an excuse, especially as Dick could not say who had done it, though in his secret heart he felt quite sure he knew.
Another ill-natured trick that was played on Dick by an unseen, though to him not an unknown hand, was when he one day left his slate for a few minutes on a seat just inside the lodge gate, on which was a difficult sum over which he had spent a long time the evening before, and had at last mastered, though with great difficulty. He had just started to go to school, slate and books in hand, when he remembered he had forgotten one of them, and ran back into the lodge to fetch it. He could not immediately find it, though he was not away from his slate for more than five or six minutes, and it stood precisely where he had left it when he returned. He snatched it up and ran off, but it was not till he had got near the school-house that he discovered the lower figures of the sum were all rubbed out carefully as with a sponge. He was sorely distressed, but could only tell the master of what had happened, and begged to be allowed to do it over again that evening. The master, accustomed to boys often making excuses at the expense of truth, reproved him for leaving his slate so carelessly about, and said he could not understand who would care to take the trouble to do such a thing as efface the figures just to get him into a scrape. Dick saw he was not believed, and it distressed him a good deal. Yet he could not tell his suspicions about George, for he had no proof that he had done it. He only knew that about that time he generally passed through the gate on his way back from breakfast, and he also knew that he would be quite ready to do him such a bit of mischief as this.
Old Walters did not forget his little friend, nor did Dick lose his warm, affectionate love for him. They exchanged letters from time to time, and the correspondence was very useful in keeping up in Dick's mind the remembrance of all Walters had taught him. Sir John kindly sent for the old man when he was in town to give a favourable report of the boy, and tell him that Mr Naylor was well satisfied with him, and believed he would one day make a first-rate gardener, for that his good taste was something quite unusual, and his general intelligence of no ordinary stamp.
"I should like him to be a great gardener some day," said Walters; "and still more, I should like him to be a good man, with the fear of God ever before him."
"I trust he will be both, my friend," said Sir John. "How are his parents going on?"
"Worse than ever," said Walters. "The mother is in such a wretched state of health from drinking that she is not likely to be long alive, and the father is seldom sober. I went lately to tell them I had heard from their boy, but they seemed very indifferent to what he was doing, and scarcely asked any questions about him. They will probably soon both be in the Union."
"Then it is clear it is no use bringing up their son to London to see them," said Sir John, "as I would have done had they been respectable. He is better to be quite separated from them under the circumstances."
"Far better, Sir John. Roan's Court is no place for him now. The sooner he forgets the very existence of what goes on there the better. I should like to see my lad again some day, please God, but it's not likely, for I'm getting nigh to seventy, and though I'm hale and hearty as ever now, yet at my age I mustn't expect many more years. God bless you, Sir John, for being such a friend to him; he's got strangely about my heart, and I shall pray for him whilst I live."
That spring, like other springs, passed away. The London season was longer than usual, for Parliament had weighty and important matters to discuss, and families longing to be in the country were obliged to remain in hot, dusty London till August. Amongst the number of these was that of Sir John Tralaway, who was an active member of the House of Commons. But at length the House broke up, and without loss of time the great world fled from the heated atmosphere to go and enjoy either the mountain breezes of Switzerland or the refreshing shades of English country houses.
Sir John's domestics went off as usual a day or two before the rest of the family, to make all ready for their arrival. No one was better pleased than Dick that the season was over. He liked to see the ladies walking or riding about the grounds, and to have their kind smile and almost daily greeting. Also he loved to have the encouraging word which was sure to be given by Sir John when he had questioned Naylor and the schoolmaster about him, and heard a good report.
On the day when the servants were to arrive, Mrs Naylor told Dick that she had a friend coming to visit them, and she should be glad if he would give up his room for the time. She proposed making him up a bed in her boys' room, at which arrangement the two youngsters expressed their warm approbation, for Dick was as great a favourite with them as ever. When evening came he took care to be in the way to open the gate, and so be the first to give a welcome.
The carriage came and turned in, but instead of driving on, it stopped at the lodge. The door behind was opened, and the footman assisted out an old gentleman, who wore a great-coat, notwithstanding its being a warm evening, and a well-brushed beaver hat. Mrs Naylor hastened out to receive him, but before she could speak Dick had flown into Walters' arms.
It had been kind Sir John's contrivance to give him a surprise. He had asked the Naylors to receive him as their guest, and when he found their willingness to do so, he proposed to him to go down into the country with his servants, and spend several weeks under the same roof as Dick.
He knew the pleasure it would give to both to be together again. He had desired that Dick should not be told who was Mrs Naylor's expected guest.
Dick was more altered than Walters. He had grown taller and stouter, and his cheeks were rounder and more rosy than they had been when he lived in Roan's Court.
"Now come in, Mr Walters," said Mrs Naylor, when the first surprise and greeting was over. "Come in, we'll do our best to make you comfortable, and I'm sure I hope you'll spend a pleasant time here. It shan't be our fault if you don't. As for Dick, I expect he won't sleep a wink to-night for joy."
It was a pleasant reception, and when the old man went to bed in Dick's little chamber, he kneeled and thanked God for this new and unexpected mercy that had been vouchsafed him. As for Dick, far from fulfilling Mrs Naylor's prognostication that he would not sleep a wink, he was in so profound a slumber, at the hour when the other two lads awoke in the morning, that they had a delightful excuse for jumping on his bed and playing off a variety of tricks in order, as they said, to "arouse him thoroughly."
Very pleased and proud was Dick to take his old friend over the gardens and numerous glass-houses, containing such fruits and flowers as he had never seen even in former days, when he had visited with his master at gentlemen's houses. Dick had an entire holiday given him the day after Walters' arrival, both from school and from gardening, and Mr Naylor told him to take his friend where he liked. Such a permission made him feel of almost as much importance as if he were master of the estate himself. He found it difficult to limit his own pace to that of Walters', so eager was he to go from one place to another, always assuring him the next thing he had to show was far better than any he had yet seen. Walters' admiration quite satisfied him, for it was unbounded.
A month passed, and still old Walters was a visitor at the lodge. Still he might be seen sitting on fine days under a wide-spreading oak-tree in the park, sometimes leaning forward with his chin resting on his stick, at others reading his large Bible as it lay upon his knees. Not unfrequently Sir John might be observed sitting by his side, for he delighted in his remarks, so full of simple piety and humility, and consequently of instruction to himself. The high-born baronet was not above being edified by the conversation of the aged pilgrim, whose mind seemed ripening fast for the world which could not be far distant from him. But Walters began to speak in earnest of returning to London. His feelings were sensitive and delicate, and though urged to remain longer, he would not take advantage of the kindness that proposed it. He said he had been permitted to spend a month of happiness amidst God's beautiful country works with his dear boy Dick, but now the time was come for him to return to his room and his old ways in London.
"And perhaps you feel more at home there than in any other place," said Sir John one morning, when he had been talking to him on his favourite bench under the oak-tree. "You have lived there so many years that this country life may seem irksome to you after the long habit of the other."
"Nay," replied he, "London will seem very lonely after such a month as I have spent here in my boy's company, with everybody showing me such kindness. And I shall miss the trees and the flowers, and the songs of the birds. No, Sir John, I could find it in my heart to wish I could end my days in the country, but God has willed it otherwise, and given me a home I do not deserve, although it is amongst the crowd and bustle and noise. Besides, why did I say I should be lonely? Shall I not have Him"—and he uncovered his head, as was his wont, at the great name—"who died for me, and loves me, and will never leave me nor forsake me?"
Sir John was silent for a few moments; then he spoke to him on a subject he had been turning over in his mind for some days. "You are right, my worthy friend," he said; "no place can be lonely to you, and God will assuredly watch over you to the end. But suppose He were to point out that His way of doing so, as far as this world is concerned, would be to give you a home in the country, where you would be cared for in health and in sickness, and where the remainder of your years would pass in quietness and repose, would you not be willing to follow His leading?"
"Assuredly, assuredly," replied Walters, not in the least seeing the drift of his remark. "But as such has not been His will, I thank Him gratefully for my little room in town."
"Now listen to me, my friend," said the baronet. "It seems to me that just as it was put into my heart to take Dick from the scenes of sin and temptation he was exposed to in Roan's Court, so now it is given me to have the privilege of making your last years far more comfortable than they would be in your lodging in town. The proposal I wish to make to you is this: I have a cottage in the village which I have given for her life to an attached faithful old servant, who lives there with her niece. It is larger than she requires, and she says she could quite well spare the little parlour and the bedroom over it, and that she would be very glad to have you as a lodger, and she and her niece would do their best to make you comfortable. I will take all the arrangements for you on myself, so you will only have to return to London to pack up your things and bid your present landlady good-bye, and then come back again to your new country home, where you may see Dick every day."
Walters was silent. He could not speak. He took in all Sir John's plan for him, and the lonely old man's heart leaped at the thought of living near the child of his love. At length he rose, and with a voice quivering with emotion, said—
"I thank you, I do indeed thank you, Sir John. It seems too much, too much happiness for such an one as I am. But my whole life has been filled with mercies, and this may be going to be the crowning one. May I think over it? I am too old to be able all at once to decide. When I have been alone awhile I can better answer you."
"Take as long as you like to think it over," replied Sir John—"there is no hurry whatever." Then kindly shaking hands with him, he went away, for he saw that Walters was a good deal overcome. Yet he knew that though he left him, he would not be alone, but that he would seek the counsel and direction of Him whom he had for so long made his dearest Friend.
Walters soon made up his mind, and with much thankfulness accepted Sir John's offer of a home in Denham. That gentleman took him to see the cottage in which he proposed he should occupy two rooms, and introduced him to good Mrs Benson, who, with her niece, promised to do all they could for his comfort. He could only exclaim every now and then, "Too good, too good for me! Who would have thought of such a home as this coming to me in my old age?"
He went back to London, packed up his few goods and chattels, and bid good-bye to his friends in Covent Garden. He was well known there, and all were sorry to part with him, but glad to hear of his good fortune. His landlady regretted losing her quiet lodger, whose regular payments and steady habits she knew how to value. It was with quite a heavy heart she saw him into the cab that was to take him to the station. She did the last good office she could for him by putting into his hand a paper parcel containing some sandwiches, that he might not be hungry on the journey.
Dick's delight when he found his dear old friend was going to move to Denham may be easily imagined. He only regretted that he had to go back to London at all.
Mrs Benson was quite ready for him when he arrived one evening in the middle of October. Dick went to meet him at the station in the conveyance sent by Sir John to take him to the cottage, and was glad to be the one to lead him into the comfortable little sitting-room, where a bright fire was burning and tea laid out on the round table. Mrs Benson followed, looking and saying kind things, and her niece bustled about to make the tea and toast the bread. It rather distressed him to be waited on thus; he had always been accustomed to do these things for himself; but he comforted his mind by saying that they must not think he should give them such trouble in future.
In a very short time he was quite settled, and seeing that he would really prefer it, Mrs Benson allowed him to wait a good deal on himself, and to do in every respect as he had been accustomed. The neighbours soon learned to like the gentle, kind old man who was ever ready to perform any little service for them in his power, such as going on an errand, sitting with a sick child, or reading to an invalid of riper years.
George Bentham's character did not improve as he got older. He was so unsatisfactory in many ways that Mr Naylor would have dismissed him altogether, had it not been for Sir John's kind desire to keep him on, for he knew the wages he gave were higher than he would obtain elsewhere. Neither he nor Naylor were aware of the dislike he had from the first taken to Dick, who never named the annoyances he had to bear from him to any one except Walters.
"I have never done anything to him," he said one day; "yet he is always trying to spite me in every way he can. I really will begin and give it him back again. I know twenty ways in which I can do him a bad turn."
"Stop, stop, my boy," said Walters, "I don't like to hear you speak so. That would be spite for spite. The dear Master did not act so when they tried all they could to vex Him. Yet He never did wrong in any way. You, on the contrary, are constantly standing in need of forgiveness from God. So you must learn to forgive even as you would be forgiven."
"I will try," said Dick, feeling rather ashamed of his speech.
"Do, my lad; but you won't be able to do it in your own strength, for it goes contrary to human nature. You must pray—nothing like prayer—and so you will find. And then, Dick, there's another thing to remember. Look here"—and Walters turned over the leaves of the Bible that was never far from his hand—"see this verse which the Master spoke for the good of boys as much as for older people, 'Do good to them that hate you.' You see you must not be content with only forgiving."
"But what can I do for George?" asked Dick. "I never go near him if I can help—there isn't any good I can do him in any way."
"Yes, lad, you can say a prayer for him now and then; and if ever you see he needs a bit of help at any time, be you the one to offer it, and you'll get a blessing, take my word for it."
They were sitting by the fireside in Walters' little parlour. Dick had been to take his Latin lesson. As Mrs Benson's cottage lay on his way home, he had turned in to see Walters. He was about to bid good-bye to him after these last words, but the old man stopped him and said—
"Wait a bit, and I'll tell you something that will show you how bad a thing is spite or revenge. Maybe it will prevent you ever feeling the desire to vex a person back because they vex you. It's a sad story, but you shall hear it, though the very telling of it gives me a pain all these long years after.
"When I was a young man I was very fond of horses, and liked to be about them. My father wanted me to become a schoolmaster in a village, because I'd had a better education than most boys of my sort; but nothing would serve me but to go about the stables. So my father spoke to our squire about it, and he said I should go under his coachman, and so I did; and I got to understand horses, and could ride and drive them—according to my own thinking—as well as the coachman himself, when suddenly my master died and the establishment was all broken up. I returned home to wait till I could find another situation. Just at this time a young man about my own age, named James Bennett, came home out of place likewise. He had been, like myself, in a gentleman's stables, and had only left his place because the family had gone abroad. He and I had lived near each other as boys, and had had many a game together, but we had not met for three or four years, as he had been away in quite another part of England. We used to see one another pretty often, as we had neither of us much to do then but to idle about.
"It so happened that just at this time a Mr Anderson, living about two miles off, wanted a groom quite unexpectedly, and a friend of mine called and advised me to lose no time in applying for the situation, as a new servant must be had instantly. James Bennett happened to be in our cottage when I was told this, but he left it almost instantly. I lost no time, but went upstairs and put on my best clothes; and then I set out, to walk to Newton Hall, where Mr Anderson lived. I was anxious for the place, for I knew it was a good one; and as it had only become vacant a few hours, I felt I had a real good chance of getting it. When I arrived there I was shown in to Mr Anderson, who said I was a likely enough fellow, but that he had just seen another young man whom he had promised to take if his character satisfied him. 'You know him probably,' he said, 'for he comes from your village; his name is James Bennett.'
"I started with surprise and indignation. In an instant I saw just how it was. James had heard what my friend had said about Mr Anderson's situation being vacant, and advising me to lose no time in applying. He had quietly sneaked of and got before me; for, as I afterwards found, he had had a lift in a gig, whilst I walked all the way, so he had considerably the start of me.
"I left the house full of angry feelings, and despising James from the bottom of my heart for his meanness; and I took care to tell him so. He could not defend himself, though he tried to make out it was all fair play, and a case of first go, first served.
"He got the place and went to it directly, on good wages. I, on the other hand, could not hear of one anywhere. I used to see James ride by, exercising his new master's horse, and my thoughts were very bitter.
"Mr Anderson had a daughter who was very delicate, and was ordered horse exercise. Her father had bought her a beautiful creature which had Arab blood in its veins—that means that it was high bred and full of spirit. Now Miss Anderson had not yet been allowed to mount him because he had such a bad trick of shying when he came to any water. There was a certain pool which lay by the roadside between our village and Mr Anderson's house, which he would never pass without a great fuss. The former groom and Mr Anderson had tried in vain to cure him of the trick. James said he thought he should be able to do it, and he was proud to try.
"So he took him in hand. Every day he practised the animal. He tamed him at last so that he scarcely moved an ear when he saw the pond. I heard that after one day's more practice he meant to pronounce him quite cured. Now all this time I was feeling angry, and longing to spite him for the trick he had played me. I grudged him the fame of having cured the horse of shying, for I knew I could have done it as well, and I was always thinking about the way he had stolen the place from me.
"Well, Dick, Satan saw now that was a fine time for him, and he made the most of it. He put into my heart to do a mean trick by which I thought to pay James back something of what I owed him.
"I bought some crackers and put them in my pocket, and I walked to the place where the pond lay, a little before the time when I knew James would come with the horse. My idea was to conceal myself behind the thick hedge, and pull a cracker just at the moment the horse was passing the pond. I thought so to startle him that it would make him worse than ever about shying in future, and then all James's trouble would be thrown away, and he would not have the credit of curing him of the bad habit.
"I crept behind the hedge and was completely hidden. After a time I heard horse's hoofs, and saw James come up. He walked by the pond, slowly at first, then he went quicker, and next he trotted. The pretty creature was quite quiet. Then he went to a little distance, and put him into a canter. Now was my time; I pulled my cracker just as he got to the pond. The horse sprang up into the air, bolted forward, and the next instant was running away fast and fleet as the very wind. I heard the hoofs going at a mad pace, and I knew his rider had lost all control over him. Not for one moment had I intended to drive the horse wild like that. The most I had thought of was to cause him to prance and kick, and begin his old trick of not passing the pond. I felt no anxiety lest any real harm would come of it. I knew James was a good rider, and supposed he would give the horse his head for awhile and then pull him in. So I walked home, thinking I had paid Master James off in some degree at all events.
"We were just finishing dinner when a neighbour looked in, and asked if we had heard what had happened. He said that James Bennett had been riding Mr Anderson's horse, and that it had run away with him and thrown him violently against a milestone; that he was taken up quite senseless, and it was feared there was concussion of the brain! He had been carried to a farmhouse close by, which there was little chance of his leaving alive. It was dreadful hearing for me. I felt as if I should have committed murder, if he died! Not that I had wished really to harm him bodily in any way. I could comfort myself a little with that thought, but I had intended to do him a mischief of another kind; and now the ugliness of the sin of revenge rose up before me in its true colours, and I hated myself.
"I kept my own secret. I argued that it could make matters neither better nor worse to tell what had made the horse run off. But I was very wretched. I walked to the farm towards evening to inquire after him. They said he was still insensible, and the doctor could give little hope. His parents were there, and Mr Anderson drove up as I was going away, having brought a second doctor with him. It was a comfort to know that he would be well cared for. The next day he had come to himself when I went to inquire, but there was no more hope than before. He lay in a very precarious state for a week, and then there was a change for the better. A few days more and the doctor said he would live, but that it would be many months probably before he would be well enough to go into service again. Mr Anderson was very kind, and promised to continue his wages to enable him to live at home till he was quite well. But he could not keep his place open for him, so he offered it to me.
"I positively declined to accept it, much to Mr Anderson's surprise. I felt that I could not endure to reap any benefit from my wrong-doing. My conscience had been tormenting me ever since the accident, and I made up my mind that I would never take a situation as groom again, for the very sight of a horse made me uncomfortable. In a short time, thanks to my late mistress's recommendation, I obtained a place as personal servant to a gentleman who was going on the Continent for a couple of years. Now it seems natural that new countries and new ways should put what had just passed out of my head; but they didn't, though I certainly did enjoy travelling about very much. We went to France and Germany, stopping for a time at all the principal cities, and then we went to Italy and spent some time in Rome. But notwithstanding the novelty of all around me I was not altogether happy. I believe I was beginning to feel what a sinful heart I had then, and I often longed to open my mind to some one, but there was nobody I knew to whom I liked to speak. However, God had His own designs for me, as you will hear.
"My master visited Venice on our return home, and from there he took an excursion through some mountains called 'The Dolomites.' One day, as we were crossing a narrow plank thrown across a steep gorge, my foot slipped and I fell down a very considerable distance on to a hard rock, and it is wonderful that I was not killed on the spot. I was taken up senseless by some peasants who were fortunately near, and carried into a hut, where my master joined me, and he and they did all in their power to restore consciousness. I recovered my senses after awhile, but I had to lie in that hut for upwards of ten days, and during that time I looked back on my past life and saw how sinful I had been, and I trembled when I thought how death and I had been face to face when I fell into the gorge. My revengeful conduct towards James Bennett stared me in the face in such black colours as it had never done before. 'What would have become of me had I been killed?' was my constant thought.
"When I returned to England I went to live with a clergyman, who was a good and holy man, to whom, after awhile, I ventured to open my mind. He taught me what my Saviour had done for me by His death, and how I might look for pardon through His merits, and grace and help for the future. I have told you all this, Dick, that you may beware of ever wishing to give what is called 'tit for tat.' Now go home, and whenever you say your prayers ask God to keep you from all malice and bitterness."
This advice of Walters came at a very opportune time, for not long after Dick had occasion to bring it to mind.
It was George Bentham's duty to shut up the greenhouse windows at a certain hour in the afternoon, and Mr Naylor was extremely particular on this point. He had neglected it once or twice, and had been severely reprimanded but when a third time Mr Naylor found the windows open late, he took the duty away from him entirely, and gave it to Dick in his presence, remarking that he felt sure he might trust him. George said nothing at the time, but his jealousy increased. He went away revolving in his mind how he could lower Dick in Mr Naylor's opinion, and a way soon suggested itself.
Dick was surprised one evening after he had carefully closed the windows in the afternoon at the proper time, by Mr Naylor reproving him sharply when he came in to tea for having left one of them open.
"Indeed, sir, I shut them all," said Dick.
"You mean you meant to do so, but were careless and forgot the end one," said Mr Naylor. "Now don't get into the way of making excuses; better own your fault at once, and say you will be more careful in future; then I shall have hope that it will not happen again."
Dick said no more. He was puzzled, for he felt almost sure he had shut that end window. Yet how could it have got open again? No one ever went near the greenhouses in the afternoon after they were shut. He always turned the key on the outside when he went out, though he left it in the door by order, because Mr Naylor went his rounds towards evening, and then took the keys home with him. At length he was obliged to come to the conclusion that he must have overlooked that window without being aware of it.
About a week afterwards a frost set in, and though it was sunny and fine for some hours, the air grew cold directly the sun began to decline, and Dick received orders to close the windows earlier than customary, and he did so.
The head gardener went the rounds as usual that afternoon before going home to tea. The cold was severe, and his vigilance for his plants was consequently greater than ever.
As he came to the door of the greenhouse he thought he heard a slight noise within, and looked carefully about on opening the door, but could see nothing to have caused it, so thought it must have been fancy. When he examined the windows he found one of them wide open.
"Again!" he said to himself. "So that boy is as bad as the other, and must be trusted no more." He shut it, and a second time fancied he heard a noise, and listened, but all was still. When he went home he spoke more angrily to Dick than he had ever done before, and desired him not to enter the greenhouses again, since he found he could not be trusted. "Had I not gone in there," he said, "and seen that the window was left wide open, some of the choicest of the plants must have been frostbitten."
"But indeed, indeed, I shut them every one, sir," exclaimed Dick. "Some one must have gone in after me, and opened that window. Oh! it was too bad; it must have been done from spite."
"I can scarcely believe that," said the gardener. "Excuses of that sort won't help you."
"It is not an excuse, sir. Do believe me, for indeed I shut all the windows carefully."
"Maybe the lad is right," said Mrs Naylor, who was fond of Dick, and had always found him truthful. "Perhaps some one has a grudge against him, and took that way of doing him a mischief."
"Have you any reason to suppose you have an enemy?" inquired Mr Naylor.
"Yes, I have, sir," replied Dick.
"Who is it?"
Dick did not reply; he was not sure whether he ought to name him.
But Johnnie Naylor, who with his brother was present, exclaimed—
"George Bentham is his enemy, I think, for he said the other day he hated Dick, because he was put over him about the windows just because he was a favourite."
A new idea appeared to strike Mr Naylor. He seemed in deep thought for a moment. He was thinking of the noise he fancied he had heard. Then taking down a lantern and lighting the lamp within, he strode off without a word, and took his way to the greenhouse.
Unlocking the door, he entered, and closed it after him. Again there was a slight noise. This time he was sure that something alive was there besides himself, and he began to search.