Chapter II: "Hallowed be Thy name."

THERE was a good deal of curiosity in the village to see the convict's boy whom Viner had adopted, and to know the result of his dangerous experiment—his romantic benevolence, as it was called. Nowhere was this curiosity stronger than in the home of Goldie, whose large handsome shop, as I before mentioned, stood opposite to the humble dwelling of Viner.

As Goldie and his family will often appear in the course of my tale, I may as well give here at once an introduction to them all.

A finer family than that of Goldie, the fruiterer, was not to be found in the village of E—. His three sons, when young children, constantly attracted the notice of visitors by their uncommon beauty—a painter of eminence had introduced their likeness into one of his pictures as cherubs, and the praises lavished upon them by strangers fostered the pride of their fond mother, who believed that her boys, especially Ned the youngest, were not to be equalled by any children in England.

As they grew older, Aleck, the first-born, displayed so much talent, that Goldie, persuaded that he wanted nothing but a good education to place him in the highway to fortune and fame, made every effort, scraped together all his gains, denied himself and family many comforts, to send him to a school where he might be with gentlemen's sons, and acquire the knowledge necessary for getting on in the world. Getting on in the world was a favourite expression of Goldie's, and to judge both by his conduct and his advice to his children, it appeared that to him it comprised the chief—I had almost said the only object in life. Yet Goldie did not consider himself exactly an irreligious man. He had no objection to piety as long as it did not interfere with profit; spoke very decidedly about upholding the Church, sometimes attended divine service himself when some one else would look after the shop, which he kept open on Sunday as usual, and kept a large handsome Bible in his parlour, which he never read or even opened.

His wife's character was of a different stamp. Mrs. Goldie was not hardened in worldliness—with another husband she might have appeared a religious woman. When God's day was profaned, and His commandments disobeyed, she had a secret suspicion that all was not right. She regularly went to church, and what she heard there often sent her home with an uneasy conscience. She was a delicate woman, too, and in hours of sickness was often visited by scruples and fears. But her husband laughed at them, and she struggled against them, was contented to try to think them foolish and weak; and while, like Agrippa, almost a Christian in conviction, was never ready to step over the border-line and take up the cross in earnest. She had just religion enough to make her uneasy, and that, if constantly resisted or neglected, is not the religion which can bring us to heaven.

Mrs. Goldie loved her sons, she idolised Ned, her whole heart seemed wrapped up in the boy. No wish so unreasonable but it must be granted, no fault so glaring but it must be overlooked; she found an excuse for every error. It is true that Mrs. Goldie would rather that her sons had chosen other companions than such as those whose society she feared did them no good; she had rather that they had sometimes read the Bibles with which she had provided them, instead of the cheap novels that were constantly lying about their rooms; she had rather that Mat and Ned had not sat up gambling till midnight; but she never made a hearty effort to change anything that was amiss. "It was natural that boys should like amusement," she said—and with her, it is natural almost stood instead of it is right. Her sons knew nothing of a mother's gentle training, earnest entreaties, affectionate reproofs. She had not watched over them, prayed for them, sought to win them to God, and any affection that they might bear their mother was unmixed either with obedience or respect.

To such a family as this, it is no wonder that the adoption by Viner of the son of a convict, the son of a man who had greatly wronged him, appeared an act of extraordinary folly. While Walter and his little companion Nelly were engaged in laying out vegetables, preparing the shop, and disposing of beans and potatoes to fishermen's wives, or sweetmeats to bareheaded children who had but one copper piece to lay upon the counter, their neighbours on the opposite side of the street were passing many a joke at his expense.

"That boy there don't know how to shell peas!" said Mat.

"Depend on't, he knows precious well how to eat them," laughed Ned.

"I'd not be a peach or a plum in his way," said the first speaker, "if poor Viner adorned his board with such dainties, but the temptation of raw carrots might be withstood—ha! ha! ha!"

"You forget the pink rock and the lolly-pop!" exclaimed Ned.

"Yes, the good man will find his stock going remarkably cheap—at an alarming sacrifice, as they advertise in the London shops."

"I must just step over and have a fling at the chap before the old Methodist comes back to the rescue; I see him turning the corner with a basket of greens, and somehow or other, I can never crack a good joke before him." Strange as it may appear, notwithstanding his poverty, notwithstanding the ridicule lavished upon him during his absence, there was something about Viner which commanded respect, and even these wilful, unruly lads would have felt ashamed of being impertinent to him.

The shyness of Walter had entirely worn off towards Nelly; her kindness pleased, her prattle amused him, he felt her society like a fresh breeze of spring, it was a delight to him to look on her as a little sister. It was only necessity, however, which had made Viner leave them so long alone together, for he intended carefully to watch the character of his adopted son, and let him have little intercourse with his child, except in his own presence, until he knew that she could learn no evil from her companion. As soon, therefore, as his necessary business was finished, he hastened back to his home.

Full of mischievous fun, Ned, followed by Mat, ran across the road to Viner's little shop.

"I say," cried he, "have you any string?" Walter glanced at Nelly, then following the direction of her eye, jumped upon the counter to reach the balls of twine which were amongst the articles sold in the shop.

"What's the price?" said Ned, with a laughing expression in his eye.

Prompted by the child, Walter answered, "A penny a ball."

"That's too much—hemp's cheap; I thought that you would know the way of getting that without paying for it at all! I say, Nelly," continued the merry boy, without appearing to notice the cloud gathering on Walter's brow, "how long is it since your father has kept forbidden fruit here?"

"Forbidden fruit," replied the child, giving an inquiring glance around her. "I did not know that father kept forbidden fruit. What is it?"

"Such as drops from the gallows tree," cried Ned; and with a loud insulting laugh, the two boys ran off just as Viner entered the place.

"He meant to insult me," exclaimed Walter, with a loud oath.

Nelly was shocked and astonished, and looked at her father.

"Walter," said Viner calmly but firmly, "I never permit an oath under my roof; we have this day uttered the prayer, 'Hallowed be Thy name,' and heavy is our guilt if we profane that name."

"I only spoke thoughtlessly," said Walter, looking rather sullen; "one cannot be always considering one's words."

"And yet the Lord Himself hath declared that by our words we should be justified, and by our words condemned; and that for every idle word that men should speak, 'they should give account in the awful day of judgment!'"

"But some men never open their lips without an oath; not only the poor and ignorant, but the rich and great. It seems to give such force to what a man says, and it grows such a strong habit that one scarcely can break it. Nelly would not have looked so much shocked as she did just now if she had seen a little more of the world, as I have."

"We shall not be judged by what the world does, or by what the world thinks," said Viner, "but by the Word of Him who hath said, 'Swear not at all.' It has always appeared to me," continued Viner, "that swearing is one of the most unaccountable of sins. We can well imagine how the poor man is tempted to steal, the timid to lie, or the self-indulgent to exceed; but for swearing there appears not the shadow of a cause—heaven is risked, and nothing is gained, the Almighty is offended, a crime is committed of which no result remains but its terrible record on the Book which shall be opened and read one day before the angels and archangels of heaven!"

Walter's sullen look had passed away, his better feelings struggled with his pride. "I will try never to utter an oath again—at least before you, whom I respect," said he.

"Whom you respect! A poor sinful creature of dust; and yet you would utter it before the eternal God, who created the lips, who gave the breath which you employ in mocking His command!"

"I will never take God's name in vain," said Walter.

"God bless you, my dear boy, for that good resolution, and give you His Holy Spirit, that you may be enabled to keep it."

"I do not think that I shall find it very difficult," said Walter, who was not accustomed to doubt the power of his own will—who, having struggled but little with his sins, had yet to learn his own weakness.

"More difficult, maybe, than you think," replied Viner. "Perhaps you are not aware how many times this day you may have taken that holy name in vain."

"Never but once!" said Walter quickly.

"Oh!" exclaimed little Nelly involuntarily.

"When?" said Walter, turning towards her; but Nelly did not look inclined to reply. "When?" repeated Walter impatiently, "When did I take God's name in vain?"

The little girl hesitated, afraid of offending, yet accustomed to speak out the truth; then timidly said, looking down on the floor, "You know, Walter, that when you talk with me, you often begin with 'Lord! or God bless my soul!' or you say 'The Lord knows,' when really I do not think, I am afraid, that you are not considering at all what you are saying."

Viner was not yet aware of this habit in Walter, for the boy had been shy and reserved in his presence, and had not spoken out so freely before him as when alone with his gentle little daughter.

Walter coloured, and tried to laugh. "You are very precise," said he.

"I hope that I have not made you vexed with me," whispered Nelly, drawing nearer to him, and laying her small hand on his. "I hope that I have not said anything unkind."

"No, no," replied Walter hastily. "I dare say that you are all right; but these things are so new to me—I never thought at all of them before. You can hardly imagine how different I am from you—you have never taken God's name in vain in all your life."

"Oh! but I have—often," murmured Nelly, again looking down.

"When? I am certain that you never swear."

"When I pray," answered Nelly, speaking very low, so that Walter could scarcely catch the words.

"Surely, if you are ever out of harm's way, it's when you are praying," exclaimed Walter.

"Not if I am thinking of something else all the time. Father has told me that we may say prayers and yet never pray, and that this is taking the Lord's name in vain."

Walter sighed; for the first time he felt how difficult it must be to attain to that "holiness without which no man shall see the Lord." After the wild life that he had led, the wicked scenes that he had witnessed, Viner's dwelling seemed to him the home of purity itself; and Nelly, a little cherub all spotless and holy, who never had known anything of sin.

It was with a feeling to which he had been a stranger before, a sense of weakness, a consciousness of guilt, that he knelt that evening by the little child's side, and repeated after her father the words of the Lord's Prayer:

"HALLOWED BE THY NAME."