Chapter IV: The Clergyman's Story

"THANK you, madam," said the clergyman, bowing. "I am sure we are very much obliged to you for your charming story. I am inclined to think that your aunt must have belonged to a talented family."

This sly little compliment brought a slight blush to the cheek of the old lady and a smile to the faces of the rest of the company.

"I do love to hear stories about the times when the country was new," remarked Frank. "I should have liked to live in those days."

"I suspect they are pleasanter in the hearing than they were in the actual experience," remarked the scholar. "As Agatha says, it is generally more agreeable to read about adventures than to be in them. But if you like a new country, Frank, you should go West."

"That is exactly what I mean to do," replied Frank.

"You can hardly go to any western country which is as new as this State was when the first settlers came here," said the clergyman.

"That is true," assented the squire. "You see, the people out West have the advantage of all our improvements of every sort. When the Genesee country was first settled, for instance, it was a three weeks' journey from Rochester to Albany, in the best of weather, for a team of horses, and that was the only way of transporting goods or produce. There was no nearer market except that of Canada, which was closed during the winter. Even after the making of the Erie canal, which was an unspeakable advantage to all that part of the country, it was a very slow business getting goods up and produce down. Now the people in Iowa can bring their grain and cattle down to New York in less than two weeks, and the merchants get their goods up in a few days by express. All that makes a great difference."

"Still," said Frank, "there must be a vast difference between life there and here."

"Of course, and I do not at all wonder at young men for liking to go West. There are many pleasant things about it, not the least of which is the delight of seeing all things round you improving, and making every stroke of work tell, as I may say, instead of being obliged to labor with all your might to keep matters from going to ruin. It is amazing to see how a new country gets on. That very swamp through which the wolves chased Carry and me that Christmas eve is now as fine a piece of farming land as you would wish to see. The old oak in which we sat so long, has a nice schoolhouse beside it, with little children playing under the branches instead of hungry, howling wolves."

"I mean to go out on the Pacific railroad, somewhere," said Frank "As soon as I learn my profession, I mean to settle in some of those new towns and practise medicine."

"And so do I mean to go out on the Pacific railroad when I have learned my Profession," murmured Herbert; "but not to practise medicine."

"You don't mean to be a lawyer, do you? I wouldn't!" said Ned. "I think it is awful to have to write so much and read all those big leather-covered books!"

Herbert and Frank both smiled.

"It is not the reading and writing I am afraid of," said Herbert. "A minister has as much reading to do as a lawyer, and a good deal more writing."

"And so you mean to be a minister, and go out on the Pacific railroad?" said the clergyman, smiling and turning to Herbert. "You could not set before you a nobler aim, my son, than that of being a missionary to a new country. I trust you may be sustained and assisted in your work."

"Herbert is just the one for a minister," said Ned. "He is cut out for it!"

"How so?" asked the clergyman.

"Oh, he is so steady and sober. He never gets into any scrapes, as the other boys do, and he always has his compositions ready to the day. He is a regular old fogy."

"Well, I declare, Ned, you are polite!" said Agatha.

"Herbert is not a bit of an old fogy!" said Frank, indignantly. "He is the best base-ball player and the best swimmer in the school, as some of us have reason to know. I wonder who it was, Ned, that went in just above the mill-dam and pulled you out when you fell off the foot-bridge? I wouldn't talk much about old fogies, if I were you!"

Edward colored and looked a good deal ashamed. "I didn't mean any harm," said he. "I only meant that he was a steady sort of fellow—a sort of fellow that one always knows where to have him!"

"I don't think any of us would object to be called old fogies, if that is the meaning of the name," said the squire, laughing. "The sort of fellow that one always knows where to have is the kind of fellow I like above all others. But come, doctor," he added, addressing himself to the clergyman, "I think it is your turn next after the old lady."

"Very well," replied the doctor. "I am quite willing to do my share towards entertaining the good company. What story would you like, young people?"

"About the times when you were young, please," said Herbert. "I love to hear such stories."

"Then I will relate to you some adventures of my young days, from which you may, perhaps, learn a useful lesson," replied the clergyman. "I will call my story:"

"THE RUNAWAY."

"My mother died when I was about ten years old, and about two years afterwards my father took for his second wife a lady who had always lived in our neighborhood, and who had been a great friend of my own dear mother's. I do not think upon reflection that I ever had the least cause of complaint against this lady, to whom I finally became much attached; but at the time I so bitterly resented her appearance in the family that I refused to give her the title of mother, kept myself and my little sister out of her way as much as possible, and, when Ella finally went over to the enemy, as I chose to say, almost refused to speak to the child. In short, I made myself as contrary as it is possible for a spoiled child of twelve years old to do."

"My new mother did her best to overcome my prejudices by kindness and gentleness, but I was proof against all her endearments; and my father, finding that I did not incline to behave myself properly at home, determined to send me to school, hoping that a few months of boarding-school life would teach me to appreciate the comforts of home. I believe my step-mother was rather doubtful of the wisdom of this step, though she finally gave way to my father's judgment; but I chose to attribute it all to her influence. However, to school I went, where a couple of months of Latin and Greek, brown sugar to my coffee, and salt butter to my bread, disgusted me to that degree that I made up my mind to run away."

"I determined, however, that I would not go home. I had brooded over my fancied wrongs till I had persuaded myself that a more abused and persecuted child did not exist and I was confirmed in this idea by certain possibly well-meaning but certainly very injudicious people among my own mother's relatives, who chose to bestow a vast deal of pity upon me because I was so unfortunate as to have a step-mother."

"The second Mrs. Stanton was not very young, though she was very handsome. She read a great deal, did little visiting, and bought expensive books instead of expensive dresses. She stood convicted of knowing a good deal of Greek and Latin, besides several modern languages, and was more than suspected of learning Hebrew. What was to be expected of such a parson except that she should disdain family cares, neglect her husband, and ill-treat his motherless boy? They did not wait to see whether she really did so: nor did I."

"I took it for granted that I was an abused orphan, and that nothing remained for me but to take my destiny into my own hands and provide for myself. I had cherished some such notions before I left home; and the salt butter, to which I had a great dislike, and the Greek verb, which I found still more distasteful, confirmed me in my determination. I had a cousin in Buffalo with whom I had some acquaintance, and to him I thought I would work my way somehow or other, tell him my doleful story, and beg him to take my part and find me some employment at which I could support myself. As soon as this was accomplished, and not before, I determined to write to my father, relieve his anxiety on my account, and inform him of my unalterable determination never to return home so long as Miss Rowe—so I determined beforehand to call her—remained mistress of his house. This letter, which I resolved to make a model of respectful but indignant eloquence, I rehearsed many times beforehand, picturing to myself the confusion and remorse of my father and his wife when they should read it. But it never was read or even written, for reasons which will appear hereafter."

"Well, the Greek verb is hard!" remarked Frank, emphatically.

"So I thought," continued the clergyman; "but before I reached my journey's end, I found a good many things that were harder. I had not decided upon my plan of operations, when our village was enlivened by the appearance of a travelling menagerie—a much more rare and stirring event in those days than at present—which all the boys were allowed to visit. Some tight-rope dancing and other displays of strength and agility were connected with the show, and of course the boys were all impatient for the spectacle."

"I was returning home from the post-office, the night before the exhibition, and stopped to spell over the large bills with which the fences were decorated. There was a boy of my own age connected with the company, and the thought flashed across me, 'Why should I not join myself to them, and thus work my way westward to Buffalo?'"

"The more I thought of my plan, the more feasible it appeared. I was very small of my age, but strong, light, and active, and trained to gymnastics, and I imagined that I should have little difficulty in learning any of the feats which they performed. When we went to the show next day, I made some excuse for lagging behind my companions, saying that I was not sure I should go to the caravan. I had a headache, and thought I should perhaps go in swimming instead. There was no danger of the boys waiting for me, since no one ever heard of any boy's being willingly late at any kind of show; so I remained behind, and, when I entered, I mingled with the crowd, which was very great, and kept apart from my companions all the afternoon. My object in this was to prevent my being known as a schoolboy. I lingered behind near the tent when the exhibition was closed, and presently fell into conversation with one of the men, asking him many questions about the nature of his employment, the wages he earned, &c."

"'What makes you so curious?' he asked, at length. 'You don't want a place yourself, do you?'"

"'Suppose I did, could I get one?' I asked."

"'Why, yes, I shouldn't wonder if you might!' was the reply. 'The captain wants a boy, and perhaps you might do as well as another, if you are not too old. How old are you?'"

"'Ten years old,' I replied, blushing a little, for I was not much used to lying."

"'I would rather have you eight than ten,' said my new acquaintance. 'However, you are small of your age, and you look as if you could be spry enough.'"

"'Try me!' said I, confidently."

"Mr. Bangs proceeded to put me through my paces, as he was pleased to call it, and expressed himself satisfied with my activity. He then asked me how I came to be in want of such employment, and I replied by the tale I had invented beforehand, saying that my father was dead, and I had nobody to depend upon but a step-mother, who treated me cruelly, and that I had made up my mind to work my own way in the world. Mr. Bangs pitied me, applauded my resolution, and finally took me to the captain, as he called him, to whom I repeated my story. The end of the matter was that the captain engaged me to work for my board and clothes at first, though I was to have a salary in money as soon as I was skilful enough to appear in public."

"I did not go home to supper, but took my meal at a little tavern on the edge of the village, where none of the schoolboys were allowed to go upon any pretense, and which was now thronged with country people who had come in to see the show. About nine o'clock I stepped into my boarding-house and went to bed, greatly elated by my success, at the same time that my conscience tormented me grievously for the lies I had told and the disobedience I was meditating."

"I was to join my new friends the next morning as early as four o'clock, at which time they took their departure from the village. It happened at that time that a part of the school-building was undergoing repairs, so that a number of the boys, myself included, boarded in the village. I lodged at the house of a woman who had a large family of children and a sick husband, so that her time was pretty well occupied. We generally went up to the school for our meals, unless the weather was stormy, in which case we were excused and took them at our lodgings. My landlady's table, though plain enough, was more to my taste than that at the school, and I remained with her as often as I could."

"The clouds which had been gathering all day began to pour before I reached home. At four o'clock in the morning I was stirring. I gathered together such little matters as I meant to take with me, and, leaving everything in good order, and my bed made, that no suspicion might be excited, I slipped quietly out at the front door. It was raining hard, but that was all the better for my purpose, and by six o'clock I was some miles from the village, riding by the side of my friend Mr. Bangs on the driver's box of the lion's cage, not without some secret fears lest the lion might break through his bars and devour me as a judgment for my disobedience."

"I was missed at breakfast-time, but my hostess, who had not seen me since dinner the day before, supposed I had gone up to the school and staid with some of my mates, while the school authorities supposed me to be at my lodgings. It was Saturday, and a holiday, so that my absence from the schoolhouse excited no suspicion. When I made my appearance neither at dinner nor tea, nor yet at bed-time, Mrs. Leo was a little surprised, but she still imagined that I was with some of my school-mates, and, having abundance of business on her hands, she did not trouble herself about the matter. In fine, it was not till Monday that I was really missed, and by that time I was fifty miles away."

"At first it was naturally supposed that I had gone home, and Mr. Burton, the schoolmaster, wrote to my father on the subject. There were no telegraphs in those days, and the mail communication was far from rapid, so that it was a week and more before he received an answer. When it was found that I had not been home at all, the alarm became serious. The whole vicinity of the town was searched and advertisements put into all the papers."

"At last a handkerchief and knife of mine were found upon the river-bank not far from the village, where the boys were accustomed to bathe. The handkerchief was one which I often wore around my neck, and several of the boys were quite sure I had it on the last time they saw me. It was remembered that I had expressed my intention to go in swimming instead of going to the show, where none of my mates remembered to have seen me. The conclusion arrived at was that I had stolen away by myself to bathe, and, as none of my other clothes were found, it was supposed that they had been carried off by some of the vagabond Indians who hung about the place in summer."

"The river was searched for my body, and of course without success; but then there were many deep holes and some quicksands. Suspicion fell upon the Indians, who played at that time the same part in American nursery legends that the gypsies do in England, but nothing was found to justify the imputation. Somehow the notion that I could have gone away with the Indians never entered into anybody's head, perhaps because I had taken no clothes with me but those I actually had on."

"All this I heard long afterwards. Meantime I was learning my new profession, if such it may be called, and hard work it was. For two or three hours of every day, and longer if there was time, I was exercised with turning somersaults, standing on one foot and raising the other to the level of my ears, and many other like performances, comforted, when I complained, by the assurance that they were nothing to what I should have to do by-and-by. You smile, young gentlemen, at the idea of my occupying, myself in such exercises, but you must remember that I was neither so old nor so stout as I am now. I believe I made tolerable progress in my education, but I found it dreadfully fatiguing. All my muscles seemed strained."

"I got many bad falls, and at night my bones ached so that often I could not go to sleep till it was nearly time to set out in the morning. Then I must jump up, water and clean my animals, and be ready for a fresh start. My master was in general tolerably kind to me, and would often give me a shilling or two when I acquitted myself to his satisfaction; but he was a terrible reprobate, and, if I were awkward or careless, he would swear at me till it made my blood run cold to hear him. In this respect he was neither better nor worse than his men, who all seemed to take a pride in venting the most blasphemous expressions upon every occasion."

"Little Tom Green was as bad as the rest, and it was frightful to hear such words from a child of eight years old. The captain drank pretty hard, and none of the men refused his glass when offered. Nevertheless, they all treated me kindly enough, especially when they found me disposed to be obliging, and Mr. Bangs in particular was my friend and protector on all occasions."

"I was dreadfully afraid of the lions and tigers at first, and used to dream of them at night; but I soon got over my terrors, and grew to be upon quite intimate terms with some of them, especially a lion and lioness, into whose cage Mr. Bangs used to enter at our public exhibitions. They were great, fat, good-natured beasts, and, having been brought up in captivity and always well fed, they were as tame as any household cats. Bob, the lion, was very fond of fresh bread and cake. After I discovered this taste of his, I used to save him a slice from my supper every night, so that we soon became good friends."

"Bob would let me do anything with him; and, seeing one day how fond the creatures were of me, Mr. Bangs proposed that I should enter the cage with him. This part of the performance really belonged to Tom Green, but he was a very imp of mischief, and had tormented all the animals till they hated the sight of him. Even good-natured old Polly had one day put her claws into his jacket, as he passed within reach, with such a good will that she had stripped it from his back. Notwithstanding my regard for Bob and Polly, it was a fearful moment for me when I found myself, rouged and whitened in a fine fancy dress, ready to enter the cage with Mr. Bangs. I knew that my companion was as strong as a giant, and that he had pistols and a knife in his bosom, but I could hardly control my terror as the grate shut behind me; and right glad was I to find myself once more on the outside of the den, with my head still safe on my shoulders. My mates praised my boldness, and the captain gave me five dollars; and after two or three times I went through the performance as coolly as Mr. Bangs himself."

"I suppose there must always be some danger in such feats?" observed the squire.

"Of course, but I think not as much as is generally imagined. The animal knows and loves his master, who punishes him when he misbehaves and rewards him when he does well. He is well fed and has never learned his own strength. Still, there is undoubtedly danger, and every now and then one of the performers pays for his boldness with his life. Attached as the animals often are to their keepers, they are not to be trusted. Some little incident, when it is least expected, arouses all the latent ferocity of their natures, and then the man falls a victim."

"It is fearful to see a man put his life in jeopardy even in a good cause, where he may be entitled to ask the protection of God without presumption and with confidence that it will be granted—and surely it should be much more so when the danger is undergone merely for the sake of gaining money and affording amusement to thoughtless people."

"It was about three months after my escape from school that, one evening after our entertainment was concluded, I walked into the barroom of the little village tavern, where our captain was already seated, looking over a file of newspapers. A great screen covered with advertising bills stood before the door, and I stopped behind it to tie my shoe. As I entered, the landlord was questioning the captain as to the places he passed through. He asked, in an indifferent tone:"

"Did you happen to hear whether they ever found the boy who was lost out of the school there?'"

"'I never heard anything about the matter,' replied the captain. 'What was it?'"

"'Why, a little boy was missed out of the school last spring. Some thought he had run away, some that he was drowned, and others that he had been carried on by Indians. He was advertised both by his father and the schoolmaster, and a great reward offered for any news of him. The bill is posted up somewhere round the room now.'"

"Not a word of this dialogue was lost upon me, as I stood behind the screen; and, as the captain rose to search for the advertisement, slipped out and fled. I had had some idea, of going home before now when the captain was hard upon me or I was tired of practising my tasks; but to be restored like a stray dog for a reward—the idea was too humiliating. I determined to run away once more, and lost no time in putting my project into execution. The men were all at their suppers or in the stable with their horses: I slipped down to the tent, hoping to find Mr. Bangs, to whom I was in the habit of confiding my little savings for safe-keeping; but he was not there, and I dared not risk inquiring for him at the tavern. There was no one in the tent but old Black, whose watch it was, and he was fast asleep and snoring between the legs of the elephant, to which he trusted to awaken him if any stranger entered. Old Sultan know me too well to disturb himself at my approach, so I contented myself with giving old Bob and Polly a parting caress and bidding them farewell."

"We had crossed the canal about two miles back, and I now turned my footsteps towards it. I ran for quite a distance, till, finding myself unpursued, I slackened my steps and gained the bridge unperceived. I descended to the tow-path, and walked along through the gathering darkness, beginning to be aware that I was both tired and hungry, for I had eaten nothing since noon. I hoped I might encounter a boat before long, in which case, I meant to beg a ride and some supper."

"About nine o'clock, and just as I was beginning to think that I could walk no further, I saw before me a slowly moving light. I quickened my lagging steps, and, after nearly half an hour's walking, I came up with the light. The boat proved to be what was called a lake-boat, and I hailed the man at the stern and asked for a ride. He made no answer at first, but presently brought the boat alongside the tow-path, and took me aboard."

"'What are you doing on the tow-path at this time of night?' was his first not unnatural question."

"I made up some story which I do not now remember to account for myself, and told him I was anxious to get to Buffalo, where my friends lived."

"'Can you drive?' was the next question. 'Do you know anything about horses?'"

"'I should think so!' was my reply. And indeed I had learned to be very skilful and bold both as a rider and driver."

"'Then you had better take hold with me and work your way through,' said the boat captain. 'I want a driver. My last boy contrived to fall off his horse and break his clumsy neck a while ago; but you look as if you would have more sense. I will give you his place and his wages, if you choose to try.'"

"I had heard plenty of hard stories about canal boys and their captains, but my case seemed desperate, and I agreed to his terms, only stipulating that I should have some supper at once. A sufficiently plentiful and good meal was served up to me, and I went to bed, congratulating myself on my good luck. I little guessed into what a trap I had fallen. At three o'clock in the morning I was called, and told to turn out and relieve the man who had been driving, and, more asleep than awake, I obeyed. The morning air was damp and raw, and I had nothing to keep me warm but my thin summer clothes, for I had forgotten to take my overcoat. I shivered to my very bones. I was desperately sleepy too, and came near tumbling off my horse a dozen times before daylight."

"That was the very longest day that I ever spent in my life. As the sun came up it grew very hot, and there was no shade upon my path. The two old horses plodded along at a snail's pace, with their heads banging down, after the fashion of canal horses; so different from the beautiful grays I had been used to driving for the last few weeks. We were passing through one of the long marshes on the Erie canal, and the mosquitoes were so thick that I could hardly breathe for them. Long before night my head ached as though it would split, but it was not till nearly midnight that the boat was tied up and I got a chance to rest."

"It was now that my real troubles began. My companions in the menagerie, though a hard and graceless set enough, had always treated me with a degree of rough kindness, and indeed I was rather a favorite with them. I had my fair share of rest, food, and amusement, and the captain, though he would swear at me and abuse me terribly in words when he got angry, never ill-treated me in any other way, and would often give me a reward when I had performed particularly well. The men were honest in their dealings with each other, and, if one were sick or injured, his mates were ready to take care of him to the best of their ability. But now I found myself exposed to every sort of abuse. I was worked till I was ready to drop from fatigue, and allowed only such food as my companions did not want; and if I ventured to complain, a curse or a blow was all I gained by it. More than once I got a box in the ear which made me deaf for half a day, and once the captain struck me such a blow with a handspike that I lay senseless for half an hour, and they all thought I was dead."

"But even the abuse I received was not so distressing to me as the appalling wickedness of my companions. Every species of vice prevailed among them. Gambling was the amusement of every spare hour, and the game hardly ever concluded without a fight. Our table was almost entirely supplied from the spoils of the gardens and hen-roosts of the farms and villages by which we passed. Sunday brought me no rest, for we travelled all day long, and the hours were passed away in more than usually shameless vice."

"I do not mean to say that this is a true picture of all the boats' crews upon the canal by any means, but I know that it applied to far too many of them at that time. This state of things had just begun to excite the attention of Christian people, and some missionaries had been sent among the boatmen. After I heard of this, I began to hope I might encounter one of these good men, but our captain swore that he would duck within an inch of his life any parson who dared to set a foot on his boat."

"All this made me sick at heart, and I began to look back with regret and remorse to the advantages and comforts I had so recklessly cast away. On Sundays especially, as we passed within hearing of the bells of some country village calling the people to come up to the house of the Lord, I pictured to myself my father and his wife, with my little sister, walking slowly up the street to church, perhaps dressed in mourning for the graceless son they believed to be dead, and the bitter tears would flow in spite of myself. I began to think of things at home in a very different light."

"I reviewed the conduct of my step-mother from beginning to end without finding anything of which to complain. True, she had sometimes checked me, but never without just cause, and her reproofs were always tempered with kindness. My father had been most indulgent ever since I could remember, and had provided me not only with all the necessaries and comforts of life, but with every luxury which was proper for me and which his means could procure."

"I remembered my pretty, pleasant room, with its white bed and curtains, its book-shelves filled with pretty little volumes which made me the envy of half the boys and girls in the village; and the writing-table, whose pretty braided cloth had been made for my birthday by my step-mother. I thought of my beautiful dog, and my cat which slept on the foot of any bed every night. Such were some of the remembrances which passed through my mind as I drove on, past farm and village, all in their Sunday stillness, till the daylight faded and I was called in to eat my supper and take a little rest. Even in the menagerie we had always rested on the Sabbath-day, generally at some country village, and some of our number would now and then take a fancy to go to church, where I am bound to say, they always behaved with perfect propriety, if they were not much the better for their attendance; but with us Sunday was the worst day of the whole week."

"I suppose a more home-sick boy than myself at this time never lived in the world. I should certainly have tried to run away, but the captain suspected my design and watched me closely. He declared he would kill me in an instant if he found me trying to escape, and I fully believed him to be capable of that or any other wickedness. I would have written to my father, but I had no paper and no time. In short, I could see no way of escape from my tormentor but in death, and so desperate did I become that I had serious thoughts of drowning myself. I hated my captain with a perfect hatred, and I sometimes felt as though I would willingly die if I could only kill him first."

"But after a while better thoughts began to prevail. I had been religiously brought up, and had learned many chapters of Holy Scripture by heart, and, though I had neither opened a Bible nor said my prayers since I ran away from school, what I had learned staid by me in spite of myself. I was riding along, one moonlight night, trying to keep myself awake, that I should not fall off my horse. I was more than usually miserable. An accident had occurred at a lock that morning by which one of the horses had been thrown into the water and nearly drowned; and though I was entirely innocent in the matter, the captain chose to throw all the blame upon my shoulders. He beat me till some of the men interfered to save my life, and I had had nothing to eat since but an apple, which the cook, who sometimes stood my friend, had slipped into my pocket. I could hardly sit up, and every movement gave me pain; but my tormentor seemed determined to give me no rest, though it was long past the time when I should have been relieved."

"As we plodded along we passed another boat. The man at the helm was singing a hymn which had been a great favorite of my dear mother—'The Voice of Free Grace.' It was the first time I had ever heard such a sound on board a canal-boat. It seemed at once to bring home and all the blessings and privileges I had so wantonly cast away before my eyes in one view, and I burst into tears and cried bitterly."

"I had not gone much further when someone clapped his hand upon my knee, and a man's voice said, kindly enough:

"'Hallo, my boy, you seem to be in a good deal of trouble. What's the matter you?'"

"I turned round, and recognized the red shirt and black, bushy whiskers of the man I had heard singing a little while before. I could not answer directly, and he walked along by the side of the horse, still keeping his hand on my knee. It was so long since I had had a hand laid on me in kindness that the very pressure seemed somehow to comfort me."

"'I like to jump ashore and walk ahead sometimes, and so get a little time to myself,' said he, presently. 'You seem in great trouble, and I should like to help you. Are you sick or hungry?'"

"'Both,' I answered, 'and a great deal more than that!'"

"My companion put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of cakes and crackers. They were rather strongly scented with tobacco, but I was too hungry to mind trifles, and I thought nothing had ever tasted so good."

"'You don't look as though you had been brought up to such business as this,' said my new friend, scrutinizing me closely by the bright moonlight which shone in our faces. 'Are you sure now you didn't run away from home?'"

"'I did! I did!' I exclaimed, with a fresh burst of tears. 'And now I would give all the world to get home again!'"

"'Why don't you go, then?' was the natural question."

"'I have no money, and they watch me so closely that I have no chance to run away. They treat me dreadfully. I have not had anything to eat before, to-day.'"

"'What is your captain's name?' asked the stranger."

"I told him, and he shook his head."

"'You have got into a bad box, my lad. There is not a more desperate set on the whole canal.'"

"'Hallo, George!' shouted my tormentor from the boat. 'What are you about! Stop talking and mind your business!'"

"This admonition was accompanied with more threats and oaths than I care to repeat."

"'I dare not say any more now,' said I; 'but if you wish to save my life, write to Mr. George Stanton at H—, Massachusetts, and tell him that his son George is on the canal-boat Diamond, and cannot get away. Tell him I told you to say so; and oh! Do write at once, or it will be too late to do any good.'"

"'I will do it before I sleep,' said my companion. 'You may depend upon me. And one word more, my boy, before I leave you. You have done very wrong, but do not despair. Remember the Prodigal Son. Return to God, and He will return to you. He can hear you as well from your horse's back as anywhere else, and He will, too, if you truly seek Him.'"

"He jumped aboard his boat, which now came up, and I started up my horses. When I was released at last, the captain called me, and asked me what I had been talking about. I told him only that the man had asked me if I was hungry, and, when I said yes, he had given me some cakes and crackers."

"And you told him a fine parcel of lies about the way you were treated, I dare say. I'll teach you to go gossiping along and letting your horses get drowned, you young dog!'"

"He seized me by the collar as he spoke, and I verily thought my last hour was come, but one of the men interfered."

"'Let the boy alone!' said he. 'Do you mean to kill him?' Haven't you got enough on your hands already?'"

"'What is that to you?' asked the captain, fiercely."

"'It is so much to me that I won't stand by and see a child murdered. Come now, captain, there is no use in bullying. I know enough to hang you, and by— I'll do it, too, if you don't behave yourself better. Get away, George, and go to bed.'"

"I was only too glad to obey, and crept to my miserable bed. My new friend's words seemed to have thrown a little light on my dark path. He had promised to write to my father, and I believed he would keep his word; but that was not all. He had turned my thoughts to my Father in heaven—a Father forgotten, sinned against, outraged, but still my Father, pitying and caring for me through all. I repeated to myself the parable of the Prodigal Son, which I had learned by heart long ago. 'And while I was yet a great way oft; my Father saw me, and had compassion on me.'"

The clergyman stopped and cleared his throat.

"All the next day my head and limbs ached terribly, and I could hardly sit up, but I was happier than I had been for many day. I confessed my sins and sought earnestly for forgiveness, and it seemed to me as if I found it, for a wonderful peace and quietness appeared to descend on my heart. I believed that I was going to be very sick, and I thought I should probably die. Oh! How earnestly I did pray that I might be spared to see my dear father once more, if it were only for long enough to beg his forgiveness for all my undutiful conduct."

"My forebodings proved true, so far as the sickness was concerned. We were not far from Rochester, which was not then the busy little city it has since become, but only a pretty, thriving village. By the time we arrived at its outskirts, I was very ill indeed. I tried hard to sit up and drive, but it was impossible, and just as we reached the aqueduct, I fell from my horse and rolled into the water. A man who saw me fall, instantly jumped in after me and brought me to shore."

"'Let him alone, you fool!' shouted the captain. 'He is only shamming. He can help himself well enough.'"

"'Shamming!' said my preserver. 'He don't look much like it. There, take him on board and use him well, for he seems to need it.'"

"'Oh, don't let him take me!' I pleaded, feebly clinging to his arm as the captain approached. 'He will kill me, I know he will. He has almost done so already. Let me die in peace.'"

"'What does all this mean?' said an elderly, well-dressed man, approaching the spot, where quite a little crowd had gathered round me. 'What is the matter, my little fellow? Don't be afraid, no one shall hurt you. Tell me the whole story.'"

"'He has beaten and starved me,' I tried to explain. 'I know he means to kill me! He said he would. Oh, do please send me home to my father!'"

"My head again turned giddy as I spoke, and I should have fallen but for the supporting arm of my new friend, who sat down on step and took me on his knee."

"'Just look here, sir,' said he, turning down the collar of my shirt. 'Is that the way to treat a little child like this?'"

"I dimly remember the looks and tones of pity and indignation as the men gathered around me. I recollect the old gentleman's assuring me that I should be taken care of, and then putting me into a wagon, the motion of which distressed me exceedingly. After that, the time is really a blank. I knew sometimes that I was in a comfortable bed and kindly treated, and I have a dim remembrance of some ladies who came often to see me; but I could not speak clearly or give any distinct account of myself."

"But one night, after what seemed a very long and sound sleep, I woke, and found that I was better. I lay perfectly still, not moving a finger, but letting my eyes rove idly round the room. I looked at the whitewashed walls and the uncarpeted floor, and I guessed that I was in some almshouse or hospital. Presently my eyes fell upon a lady who was sitting by the foot of the bed. I looked at her a long time, as she sat reading by the light of the shaded lamp, and I seemed to remember that it was not the first time I had seen her near me. The tall figure and erect carriage seemed familiar, and carried my thoughts back to home. So did the somewhat large but noble and regular features, the clear, brown skin, and the abundant dark hair, a little streaked with gray."

"'Mother!' said I, at last, 'Is that you?' It was the first time that I had ever called her 'mother.' She did not start, but quietly laid down her book and came to my side."

"'You feel better, do you not, my dear boy?' said she, laying her hand on my forehead.

"Yes, mother, but very weak and faint.'"

"She gave me a little wine and then some nice broth, which seemed to refresh me, but she would not allow me to talk."

"'Is my father here?' I asked, after lying still a little longer."

"'He is here. He has been watching by you for two or three nights, and I persuaded him to lie down.'"

"I still felt very low and weak and it tired me to talk; so I lay still, and looked at my mother with a kind of peaceful enjoyment of her presence, till I fell asleep once more. The next morning I saw my father, but I was not allowed to speak to him, for my strength was so reduced that my recovery was considered a very doubtful matter. I well remember the pain it gave me to see how old he had grown, and how careworn and sad he looked. He assured me of his entire forgiveness, and bade me give all my thoughts to getting well, that I might go home once more."

"It was only by the best of nursing that I finally regained so much strength as to allow of my being removed from the asylum whither I had been carried by those who had rescued me from my tyrant, and it was more than two months before I was considered well enough to set out for home. During all this time my step-mother was unwearied in her kindness and attention to me, and I began to wonder how I could ever have disliked her. I do not think I should ever have done so, had not my mind been prejudiced against her beforehand by some of those unlucky people who are afflicted with an utter inability to mind their own business. I found out, too, that it is possible for a woman to understand Latin and Greek and yet be a good nurse, an excellent housekeeper, and the kindest of mothers."

"I learned after a while how my parents had finally found me. When Captain Stokes and Mr. Bangs came to read the advertisement at the tavern, they were convinced that I was the child described, and they were confirmed in their belief by my running away as I did. Captain Stokes immediately wrote to my father, saying that a boy answering in all respects to his description had joined the company at P—, and had been with them some months, but had suddenly disappeared, without leaving any trace of his whereabouts. He believed, however, that I might have taken to the canal. Advertisements were sent to all the towns upon the canal, and persons employed to look out for me among the drivers; but no news was obtained till my father received a letter from the man who had accosted me on the night I have mentioned, saying that I was on the canal-boat Diamond, and, the writer believed, very badly off. My incoherent talk had made the people who took charge of me think that I must be the child who had been so extensively advertised, and they wrote to my father immediately, but with little hope of his arriving in time to see me alive."

"Railroads, there were none in those days, and I made my journey homeward in a packet-boat on the canal. I seemed to recognize every stone and stump on the way, and I showed my mother the very spot where the steersman of the other boat jumped off and spoke to me. Many were the resolutions I made during that long journey, one of which was that if I was once spared to get well, I would devote my life to preaching that Gospel of repentance and salvation which had been so effectually preached to me by the kind Christian boatman. I kept my word; and the very first sermon that I ever preached was upon the Parable of the Prodigal Son. However, I am anticipating my story."

"I did not return to school that winter, but studied at home with my mother; and I must say I found her a more able and interesting teacher than my tutor at P—. Perhaps, however, my rapid progress was owing in part to the fact that I had now a motive for all I did. Be that as it might, when I returned to school in the spring, I was placed two classes in advance of that in which I had been before. I worked hard and gained great credit, and before the end of my stay I had established as good a character as any boy in the school."

"The menagerie to which I had been attached, visited our village the very next summer, and I went to see my old friends the lions and carry them some bread and cake. My mates received me with great kindness and congratulated me on my return home. Captain Stokes told me that he had some idea at the time that my story was not true, and had therefore kept his eye upon me, meaning, if his suspicions were justified, to return me safely to my friends."

"He looked worn and sickly, and Mr. Bangs told me privately that he was killing himself with drink. Bob and Polly knew me again directly, even without the aid of the cakes I had brought them, and showed as much pleasure at seeing me as a couple of dogs would have done. Captain Stokes gave me a beautiful parrot as a parting present, and I never saw him again. He died the next year, and the company was broken up. Mr. Bangs went to New York and set up a riding school, which he taught for many years, till he grew wealthy and retired from business. I was told afterwards that he became a member of the church in his old age, and lived and died a consistent Christian. I was glad to hear it, for he certainly had a great deal of good about him."

"Did you ever hear of the cruel captain again?" asked Agatha.

"Never. He may be living now, but it is not likely. The man who befriended me is now alive, though a very old man, and is a member of my congregation. He would accept of no reward for what he did for me, and my father sent him as a present a fine gold watch and chain, which he still wears."