Chapter XVI: How John Monday Spent His Half-Crown

THE following morning was beautifully fine and bright. The feeling of oppression which had been in the air for several days had cleared away, and the heat of the sun was tempered by a fresh breeze.

Mousey looked at Mr. Harding with satisfaction as she joined him in the parlour preparatory to starting on their usual Sunday morning walk, and found him attired in his new suit of clothes. In his hand he held a new hat in place of the old one. He glanced at the little girl with a humorous twinkle in his eyes as she entered the room.

"One expense brings another," he remarked in his usual gruff tone. "I was worried into buying a new suit of clothes, and I thought I must have a new hat, too."

"I am very glad," Mousey replied quickly. "How nice you look, Cousin Robert!"

The old man shrugged his shoulders, but appeared pleased, nevertheless, though he merely said that "fine feathers made fine birds."

Contrary to his custom, John Monday spent that Sunday morning at home. He sat in the parlour, evidently in low spirits; and when Maria entered the room to lay the cloth for dinner, she was much surprised to find him there.

"What! Haven't you been out this beautiful morning?" she exclaimed.

"No," was the brief reply.

"You ought to go for a walk," she proceeded; "shut up in the shop as you are most of the week, I don't think you should stay indoors on Sunday. Do you know what I'd do if I were you? I'd start early, and walk to one of the villages around here, and attend the service in the village church. That would give you an object for a walk, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," the boy agreed listlessly; "but you know I never go to church."

"That's no argument in favour of your staying away for ever," she replied quickly.

"But my clothes are shabby," he objected.

"So are the clothes of a good many who attend the same church as I do. I'm sure I've seen people actually in rags at the mission chapel before now. I do wish you had joined Mr. Bradley's Bible class when he asked you!"

"I wish I had," he acknowledged. "I've half a mind to tell him I'd like to join, but perhaps he won't have me now."

"Oh, I'm sure he will!" Maria assured him, with conviction in her tones.

John Monday shook his head doubtfully, and heaved a deep sigh. Maria glanced at him keenly, struck by the hopeless expression on his countenance. She had always felt sympathy for the lonely workhouse boy who rarely received anything but sharp words from his master; but she would have liked him better if he had not possessed bad qualities, which caused her to look on him with suspicion. When he had first become an inmate of Mr. Harding's house she had pitied him exceedingly, but soon discovering that he deceived his master if it suited his purpose to do so, and told lies without the least compunction, she had set him down as an incorrigible character. Latterly, however, she had slightly modified her opinion of him, and was inclined to look on him with more tolerant eyes.

"What makes you think Mr. Bradley might not admit you into his Bible class?" she asked, after a short pause.

"Because he told me his boys were all steady and respectable," he replied gloomily; "and I don't believe if he knew what I was really like he'd have anything more to do with me."

This was a great deal for John Monday to acknowledge. As a rule, he was on excellent terms with himself.

"I am sure there is something on your mind," she said earnestly; "can't you tell me what it is? If I could help you in any way, I gladly would."

"It's very good of you to say so," he answered, with a ring of real gratitude in his voice; "but I don't see that you can help me. However, I'll tell you what I've done. You remember that Mr. Dawson gave me a half-crown when he was here the other day, don't you?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Well, I've lost it."

"Lost it!" Maria exclaimed. "Oh, what a pity! I am so sorry! How did it happen?"

"I lost it over a horse," John Monday informed her.

"Lost it over a horse!" she repeated wonderingly. "I don't understand what you mean." Then a sudden light flashed across her mind, and she cried in accents of mingled reproach and dismay, "You don't mean to tell me that you've been betting!"

"Yes, I do. A young man I know very well told me if I put my money on a certain horse I should make a good bit, but the horse didn't win the race after all, and so I lost my half-crown."

"You foolish lad! That young man who advised you, whoever he is, is no fitting acquaintance for a boy like you. I think it's a very good job you did lose your money. Now, perhaps, you won't be tempted to bet again."

"I might win next time," he said rather sulkily, half regretful that he had confided in her.

"You might," she agreed, "and then, no doubt, you'd bet again. I do hope you'll stop at once. You don't know what a curse betting and gambling becomes, but I do, from sad experience. I had a brother who commenced making small bets when he was but a little older than you, and the habit of betting took such hold of him that it brought him to beggary. There! I've told you what I've never told a living soul besides, and I hope you'll take warning by my poor brother's unhappy fate."

"What became of him?" John Monday asked, deeply impressed.

"He died in a workhouse," Maria responded, her pale face flushing with shame, "after leading the life of a common tramp for years. Oh, the disgrace of it all! Not that there's any disgrace to come to the workhouse at last if a person's lived a respectable life, and been driven there through misfortune; but when a man's been made a pauper by his own folly and wickedness, as my poor brother was, that's very different. Many a good man's been born in a workhouse, and if I were you, I'd make up my mind to lead an upright, honest life, so that if I ever went back to the workhouse it should be by no fault of my own. There's an old proverb which says, 'God helps those who help themselves,' and I believe it's quite true. God doesn't help folks who bet and gamble, but He does those who try to be good, and He'll help you if you ask Him."

John Monday shook his head in a mournful way; then said anxiously—

"You won't tell Mr. Harding, will you, Maria?"

"About your half-crown? No. I hope you will never, never bet again; and take my advice, and have no more to do with that young man who tempted you to do wrong."

"I wish I'd never seen him!"

John Monday was in better spirits after his talk with Maria, although the loss of his money still weighed upon his mind. Maria felt troubled about him, and during the remainder of the day she was haunted by the look of despondency on his face which had first attracted her attention in the morning. As she and Mousey were leaving the mission chapel after the evening service, the little girl said in an excited whisper—

"Maria, did you see John Monday?"

"No," Maria answered.

When they were outside the building Mousey continued—

"He was sitting behind a pillar; but he left the minute the service was over. Look, there he is in front of us."

At that moment John Monday glanced back, and, seeing them, waited till they came up.

"I saw you in church, John," Mousey told him. "Did you like the sermon? I was glad Mr. Bradley preached."

"So was I," he responded. "I saw Mr. Bradley before the service, and he's going to let me join his Bible class."

"Oh, I am glad!" Maria exclaimed heartily.

"Shall you tell Cousin Robert?" Mousey inquired, after a minute's thought.

"I suppose he'll have to know," he replied uneasily, "though I hate the thought of telling him. I know how he'll look at me with his eyes as sharp as gimlets, and his mouth drawn down at the corners."

Neither Maria nor Mousey could help smiling at this description of Mr. Harding's countenance. John Monday stood in much awe of his master, and was almost as afraid of his satirical glances as he was of his sharp tongue. Unfortunately for his assistant, Mr. Harding had always had a bad opinion of him, and finding he was not expected to be straightforward and honest, John Monday never endeavoured to be either. As his master had always suspected his actions and motives, he had, in consequence, not treated him openly; indeed, until quite lately, he had thought it a fine act if he could deceive him in any way. Lately, however, a gradual change had been taking place in the boy's views of life. Mr. Bradley had sought more than once to bring good influences to bear upon him; and then Mousey had come to live in the house, and had astonished him not a little by her fearless truthfulness, and her honest endeavours to do right. A feeling of great dissatisfaction had crept into his heart, a sense of inferiority, and a longing to be better—a longing of which he was, strangely enough, ashamed.