Chapter II: Part 2

When they reached home, it was after sunset. Mrs. Reed was at the door.

'I am glad to see you all safe at last,' said she; 'I began to be a little anxious; I hope you have enjoyed yourselves.'

'O yes,' said several, 'we had a royal time.'

Tom brought forth the basket of flowers, and presented them to Mrs. Reed.

'All these for me,' said she; 'you have been very industrious in my behalf. I am pleased to be remembered when absent. I thank you all, for I suppose all have contributed.'

Tom only made a low bow, and retired.

'Tom is generous,' whispered William Gardiner, 'to let us share in the credit of the flowers, is he not Lawrence?'

'How is my young friend, Frank Courtland?' said Mrs. Reed. 'It seems to me, you look sober; I hope you like our rural sports; perhaps you are fatigued.'

'Not in the least,' said Frank.

'Then it may remind you a little too much of home; your father has been here, and was pleased to hear you were gone on the party, and said you would be in your element in the woods. I told him I was glad that he was not uneasy at our letting you go away, for a whole day, with so many wild fellows'--he said 'no, he believed he might trust to his son's discretion; at least, he should never know, till he had put him to the trial.'

These words were daggers to Frank's heart; but he was obliged to command himself, and Mrs. Reed perceiving that the mention of his father, had affected him, changed the subject, and inquired about the manner, in which they had passed the day.

Albert Lawrence and William Gardiner were the spokesmen. They gave an animated and amusing account, of their journey to the wood, and various little adventures in cutting down, and cutting up the trees, and roots--of their feast on the flat-rock, &c. They told nothing that was not strictly true; and with this degree of honesty, appeared to satisfy their consciences, and to feel no compunction for the important part, which they had entirely omitted. They made out incident and occupation enough apparently, to fill the day. Mrs. Reed listened with interest and pleasure, to the account, and bestowed on them a smile, to which Frank wished from the bottom of his heart, that he could feel himself entitled.

Frank retired to his own room, before his companions, and his first impulse was to get his talisman, which he had not looked at for ten days. But a strong disinclination to open the box, arose in his mind. When at last he got resolution to do this, the sight brought compunction to his heart, such as he had never known before.

'It is deception that I have been guilty of,' was the distinct feeling of his mind. 'I never have deceived before. I am not as my mother has often called me, an honest boy; nobody deserves that name, who is not above all deception. Why am I alone here, without a friend? what can I do? it will weigh upon my mind, and I have no one to consult; if Tom Blanchard was not so much older than I am, I could consult him; yet he is such a stranger. If I write about it to mother, it will grieve her too much. If we are found out, I shall never be willing to stay here another day. I will repent of my fault; I will pray for pardon; I will be more watchful of myself; I will never omit to consult my talisman again.'

These ideas, passed rapidly, and some of them indistinctly, through Frank's mind, in much less time, than it would take any one, to read them. He heard the steps of the boys, coming up to bed, shut his trunk, assumed a more composed aspect, and began to undress.

'Don't go to bed yet,' said William Gardiner, as he entered the room, 'we are going to set in Albert's chamber a little while, and talk over things.'

Frank followed, almost unconsciously.

'Did not we make a good account of our day,' said Gardiner.

'It was good, as far as it went,' answered Frank, 'but it was not a true one.'

'I should be glad to be informed what there was in it untrue?'

'The part you did not tell,' said Frank. 'I am sorry to offend any of you, but I shall not be satisfied with myself, unless I declare, that I think we have done wrong; and if it were not for betraying my companions, I should confess the whole to Mr. Reed, bad as it would make me feel; but I will never lisp a word of it to any one. I hope Gardiner, you will not put that paragraph in the paper, for that will excite attention, and I think we may never hear of it again.'

'I have not any very serious intention of doing that,' said Gardiner, smiling; 'and I agree with you, that the less there is said of it, the better for us. We had a grand time; it went off nobly. You are a freshman, Frank; when you have been longer among boys, you will get used to their pranks, and not mind a little concealment. I think as much of honour, as any body need to, and would not tell a lie, or break a promise, to escape a good flogging; but there is no fun, when every thing is done in open daylight.'

Notwithstanding these, and other reckless expressions of Gardiner, and Lawrence, they could not disguise to themselves, the increased respect which they felt for Frank, in consequence of his bold avowal of his sentiment, and it would never have occurred to them, at that moment, to have called Frank a coward.

Frank's secret mortification at his fault did not wear off, and he gradually assumed a shy and reserved manner, towards Mr. and Mrs. Reed, which disappointed them, as he had appeared very frank the first time they saw him, and they were afraid he was not contented. Mrs. Reed, however, in time, gained his confidence, by her gentle and judicious conduct. She did not press him to converse either with herself, or any one else. She suggested objects of curiosity and enterprise, which drew him out, and displayed the quickness of his intellect, and the delicacy of his feelings. It must be owned, Frank became a favorite with her. This refinement, and even his reserve, interested her, and he was a frequent companion of her walks and rides.

In one of these excursions, when Frank was driving Mrs. Reed in their little waggon, Miss Reed, a niece of hers, who was also in the carriage, said, 'do aunt, if you go near the spot, call and see how old widow Black's granddaughter is.'

'What is the matter with her?'

'Why, have you not heard? it is a very strange thing. She went up into the woods to get spruce, winter green, and herbs for her grandmother, to make that nice beer, which you know she sells to travellers, who pass by her hut; there she trod on something, which set her stocking on fire, for she had a large hole in her shoe; she stamped, and stamped on it; but this did not put it out, but only made it burn more, and she had the thought to run as fast as she could to the brook, which, fortunately, was not far off. She put her foot in the water, and this relieved the pain, and as she believed, extinguished the fire; but as soon as she took it out of the water, it burnt again, and it never occurred to her to take off her stocking, till she reached home, dreadfully burned, and she has been unable to move a step, since.'

'Oh dear!' exclaimed Frank, with an emotion, which struck both the ladies, as very peculiar, 'do go to see her. I have a recipe for a burn. My mother told me always to keep it in my pocket-book; it is very efficacious, even after the wound has been made some time.'

The tears rolled down Frank's cheeks, in spite of all his efforts to check them. He remembered, the phosphoric matches, and could not doubt it must have been some of these carelessly dropped, and so covered, as not to get to the air, till the little girl had disturbed them, with her foot, which caused the mischief.

They stopped at the hut, and found the child as described.

'It is a very mysterious thing,' said the old woman; 'did you ever hear before, ma'am, of fire, which water would not put out?'

'Yes,' replied Mrs. Reed; 'there is a substance, called phosphorus, which, although kept under water, for a long time, will burn as soon as it comes into the air, and by stamping on a small piece, it is spread about, and burns quicker. I don't see, however, how this could have got into the woods.'

The girl was suffering a great deal. Frank produced his recipe, but the ingredients were not to be found in this humble abode, nor could they be obtained nearer than the apothecary's, in the village.

'May I run back for them,' said Frank?

'What, three miles!' said Mrs. Reed, 'no, there is not time; but we will ride back, as quick as possible, and send for them.'

'And then may I return, and bring them?' asked Frank, with great earnestness.

'Why, you are a noble young gentleman,' said the grandmother, 'to take so much pains for us poor folks.'

Frank felt more ashamed, than pleased, at this praise, his heart telling him all the while, that he was making but imperfect reparation for his fault.

When they got home, he ran to the apothecary's, with the prescription. It took some time to make the preparation, and it was nearly dark, before he returned. Mr. Reed said it was too late to trust Frank so far alone, as there was no moon.

'Then let one of the big boys go with me; let Tom Blanchard go.'

'Why, you are very earnest, my little fellow,' said Mrs. Reed.

'Mrs. Reed thinks it will answer to-morrow morning.'

'I will walk there, and back again, if you are afraid to trust me with the horse.'

'No,' said Mr. Reed, 'what should I say to your father, if any accident happened to you? I will let my man Amos, go on horseback, and take it; there is no need of any one's accompanying him; he knows the place.'

It was a disappointment to Frank, not to go, for he wanted to give the little girl some money; yet he did not like to send it.

'I must go,' said he, inadvertently.

'What is it makes you so eager in this affair,' asked Mr. Reed; 'it is quite unusual for you.'

Frank made no answer, for he could not tell the truth. Mr. Reed then turned away; and William Gardiner, who had gathered the story by listening to their conversation, came to Frank, and whispered in his ear, 'they will guess something, if you appear so earnest.'

Frank said no more. Amos took the medicine, and did not get back, till after Frank was in bed.

The next day, Frank longed to ask permission to go and inquire after the little girl, but had not courage. Mrs. Reed, remembering his feeling, the day before, proposed going, and asked him to drive her. When they arrived, Frank had the satisfaction to find that the application had allayed the pain, and would evidently cure the burn.

Frank went to the girl, and gave her a dollar, and begged her to accept it from him.

'I must first ask grandmother,' said she; which she did immediately.

'That is a large sum,' said Mrs. Reed, who was attracted by the little girl's question, to her grandmother. 'That is a large sum for you to give away; how came you to have so much?'

'My father,' answered Frank, 'said that I should have a dollar a month, while I was at school, for pocket expenses; I shall be able to do without, till next month. I would rather give it to her, than do any thing else with it.'

'I believe,' said Mrs. Reed, 'you could not give it where it is more needed, and as you sacrifice your own pleasure, merely, in making the donation, I shall not object.'

'That I shan't,' said Frank, in the same emphatic manner, which she had observed the evening before, and which appeared quite unaccountable to her.

They then took leave, after promising to call again the next time they rode that way.

Though Frank knew that money was a poor compensation for the little girl's pain, and could not obliterate the recollection of the circumstance which occasioned it, from his mind, yet the consciousness of having made a personal sacrifice, was the most satisfactory feeling he had experienced since the unfortunate day of the balloon.

Frank looked at his talisman, with more pleasure than he had done, since that time, and he began to resume his cheerfulness, and to make greater improvements in his studies. The mysterious way, in which the little girl's foot was burned, was several times alluded to, and the boys who had shared in the balloon, felt in jeopardy, whenever this happened, but the balloon itself was never heard of. It had probably caught in the tops of some trees, in a distant and unfrequented wood.

Lawrence, Gardiner, and the other boys, who had joined in the plan, soon ceased to feel any compunction, for the deed, and engaged in new projects of diversion, some of them innocent, while in others, they betrayed the want of nice, moral feeling, so rarely found, in those whose early impressions have not been carefully watched.

Frank, however, never forgot the lesson. It was a long time before he could even look at his talisman, without recurring to it, painfully, and seeing a stain on his character, which before, had been unblemished.

We must pass over many weeks, and even months, of Frank's school life, during which time, he had become quite domesticated, in Mr. Reed's family, and felt as much at ease there, as he did at home. His attachment to Mrs. Reed, had increased as his father had predicted, and he acknowledged that he loved her, now, next to his mother, and not such a great distance between them, either. I shall only insert one or two letters, written by Frank, during this period.

'DEAR MOTHER,

I do not wonder that you thought my last letter formal, for I
wrote it on composition day, that is, on Thursday morning. All
the scholars write something; either choose a theme, or write
a letter to one of their friends. They show their composition
to the master, who corrects it, and awards to each, so many
merits. I got quite a high mark for that letter, though I
believe it was for the hand writing. I knew it was not the
least like such an one, as I should write, all by myself. I
told Mrs. Reed what you said about it, and she advised me, to
write to you in play hours, not show it to any one, and tell
you every thing I could think of. So I have determined to write
my play hour letters to you, mother, and my composition letters
to father; and if you do not think this is treating you fair, I
will now and then, write a composition letter to you; but I do
not know as I shall ever venture to send one of the other kind,
to father.

I suppose you will excuse me for telling you, that I am second
of all the school, in arithmetic, as nobody else will tell you,
and it will please you very much to know it. We had a trial of
skill the other day; each took the same sum, it was a dreadful
hard one, each began at the same moment. William Gardiner,
who is fourteen years old, finished his first; I handed mine
up second; when they were all done, Mr. Reed examined them,
and only twelve were right, out of twenty; and mine was one
of those which had 'correct' written on it. Mr. Reed praised
me very much, and said I had paid great attention to his
instructions, in cyphering, and that if the other boys had
been as attentive, they might, at least, have equalled one so
much younger than many of them. I was delighted when Mr. Reed
spoke of my success at table, and praised me to Mrs. Reed, and
after dinner, she came up to me, and took my hand, and said, in
such a kind manner, 'I am glad you have gained so much credit,
Frank.' I did feel elated, I must own, mother. When I went up
to my room, at night, I took out my talisman: as soon as I
put my eyes on it, I perceived the reason of my doing the sum
right, and where the praise was due. It was to you, who took
such pains, just before I left home, to make me perfect in the
four first rules of arithmetic, so that let me cypher in what
rule I may, I am sure to get right, because I never miss in
adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing; and the truth
is, I have been less _attentive_ to Mr. Reed's instructions in
arithmetic, than most of the others, because I knew so well,
for he takes great pains in this branch. After looking on my
talisman a few moments, I was no longer at a loss what I ought
to do, and though it was rather disagreeable, I resolved on it.

I had not the courage to apply to Mr. Reed, but I went to Mrs.
Reed, and told her, I did not deserve the praise of being
more attentive to arithmetic than the other boys; for in the
whole, I had been less so, and that several of those who failed
yesterday, had been very attentive; and then I explained how
it happened, that _I_ did the sum, and asked her to tell Mr.
Reed, that although the boys did not succeed as well as myself,
yet they deserved as much praise for attention. This was in
the morning, and I believe she told Mr. Reed after school; for
at dinner this day, he began and said--'young gentlemen, I owe
you an apology. I find you have been quite as attentive in
your arithmetic, as Frank Courtland has;' and then he repeated
what I had said, but added he, this 'ingenuousness deserves
still higher praise, than what I bestowed yesterday. If Frank
Courtland is not the best arithmetician, is he not the most
honest boy in the school?' 'Yes sir, yes sir,' they all called
out, and clapped their hands loud enough to stun us. This is
the happiest moment I have had, since I left home; and if
you knew some things which I cannot tell you, then you would
understand why it delighted me so exceedingly, to be called an
honest boy.

I have been three days, writing this letter, and yet I have not
said half I want to say. I must beg you to excuse the writing,
for I have written a good deal of it on the steps of the barn
door, a shady place, where I often sit with my port-folio, you
made me, and my little pocket inkstand. Love to Sam, I hope
he has received my last letter; love to father, and a kiss to
little Ann.

Your affectionate Son,

FRANK.'

'DEAR SAM,

I thank you for your long letter. I am glad you have written
to me at last; for I began to think you never would. You need
not have waited till you could write a better hand; for I am
not obliged to show the letters I receive, unless I choose. I
did show yours, because it was written so well. Mr. Reed said,
that it did you great credit and also your instructor; so I
thought I would tell him that it was mother who had taught you.
He said he wished he could have another of mother's pupils in
his school; and I wish to my heart you _could_ come. There
are many clever boys here. I like some of them very much; but
they think differently from you and I in many respects. They
get into scrapes and get out of them wonderfully. They used to
lead me into them, when I first came; but they don't invite me
now, for they know I will not join them, if I think it wrong.
They are good boys on the whole; and William Gardiner and
Albert Lawrence are so brave and droll, and kind, that I can't
help liking them; and so do all the boys. Thomas Blanchard is
an excellent fellow, though rather serious; he is three years
older than I am. He helped me very much about my latin, when
I first came, or I am sure, I never should have got along;
for it is harder than any thing I ever learned; and you must
not suppose that it is as easy to learn a thing at school, as
with mother; for you know how much patience she has, and how
clear she makes it before she has done. I am glad you continue
your studies with mother, for I know you are very desirous of
learning, and it must be a great amusement to her.

As Tom Blanchard was so kind in helping me to get my latin
lessons, I have taught him to draw. You will wonder how I could
do this, since I know so little myself. I remembered mother's
instructions and repeated them to him, and lent him my pencils
and all my patterns; he is such a genius, that he has got on
far before me, and draws very prettily. He has taken a view of
Mr. Reed's house and garden for me. As I know you would like to
see what a pleasant place I live in, I am going to send it to
you. Tom says, he shall not be affronted. Will you shew it to
mother? and tell sister Ann, that if she can write as well as
you tell of, I wish she would write me a letter. I should be
proud to shew one from a little sister, six years old.

I had no chance to send this letter the day I wrote; therefore
I will fill the sheet.

We had a grand time, the day before yesterday. It was the
fourth of July; we wished very much to celebrate it, and asked
Mr. Reed a month before it came, to let us have some music,
and invite the young ladies of this village, and some from
Boston, and have a dance. Mrs. Reed begged him to consent, and
so he did. My cousins came, and a great many more; and William
Gardiner thought my cousin Emily was the prettiest girl in the
room. I had a share in planning a very pleasant part of the
entertainment. I proposed to Gardiner, Lawrence, and some of
our best fellows, that after we had danced some time, we should
take the musicians out among the trees in the garden; and that
while the company were sitting down to rest, they should strike
up some fine tunes, which would attract them to the door, and
into the garden; and then we would have a number of sky rockets
sent up, all at once, from the bottom of the garden. We boys
were to club and pay for the rockets, and no one else was to
know a lisp of the plan. I insisted on asking Mr. Reed's leave;
but we wanted to surprise Mrs. Reed, so she was not told of it.

Mr. Reed consented on condition that we would take our
allowance of spending money, and not incur any further expense,
to which we agreed. And then we thought of another thing, which
made it very pretty. We formed an arbour of evergreen branches
and flowers and hung in it some coloured lamps, which William
Gardiner procured in town; for he is a capital fellow to do any
thing that he sets about. Tom Blanchard made a transparency,
and wrote on it, 'In honor of Mrs. Reed,' which was to be put
over the entrance of the arbour. But Albert Lawrence and some
others said this was not appropriate; as it was the fourth of
July, we ought to have something about independence. I thought
they were right, though I was sadly disappointed, that we could
not pay the compliment to Mrs. Reed. Tom altered the motto, and
put the word independence on it.

The sky rockets went off grandly, and the arbour looked
beautifully when it was lighted. Mrs. Reed and some of
the ladies sat in it, and we handed them some fruit and
flowers, of both which we had a great variety and abundance
from the garden. If you do not know what coloured lamps or
transparencies are, I will tell you when I come home, or you
can ask mother. I shall have enough to tell you; we are always
having some pleasant thing on foot; but we are obliged to study
very hard, to procure these indulgences; for they are all given
as rewards. I found this studying very tiresome when I first
came: yet now I am used to it, I can do more in an hour, than I
could in a forenoon at home.

Please to give my respects to your father and mother and
brothers. Your affectionate friend,

FRANK.'

The summer months passed rapidly away.--Frank continued to meet with temptations, which as he usually had the strength to resist them, served to confirm his self-control. If, as was now and then the case, he was betrayed into vanity, peevishness or imprudence, the sight of his faithful talisman brought conviction of the error to his mind, and inspired him with resolution, to make all the reparation in his power. The boys all loved and respected him; and many, who from timidity used to join a party they disapproved, were now emboldened, by his example, to abide by their better judgment, and mischievous projects became gradually less popular in the school.

Frank was spirited and active, and never refused to join in any thing however hazardous or fatiguing, provided it was not dishonorable. No one would venture to say, he wanted courage or ingenuity; though William Gardiner and a few others, still persevered in asserting, that he was squeamish; and they ascribed this to his having been kept during the first years of his life, out of the society of boys of his own age. The purity and moral sensibility which were by this means preserved in his character, more than compensated for any little defects, which the retirement of his childhood had occasioned. His kind and judicious parents had selected the right moment to change the influence to which he had been subjected; and had sent him from home when his principles had gained sufficient strength to resist the danger, to which a contact with others less pure than himself, might expose them; and before any bad habits or narrow views had become fixed in his character.

One such boy in a large school, so attractive in his manners and disposition, and at the same time, so inflexible in virtue, is of inestimable value. Their good influence over the other boys, the majority of whom are of that uncertain class who always follow a leader, and whose destiny depends on their finding a good or a bad one, cannot be too highly appreciated. Mr. Reed was fully aware of this, and it was with great pleasure that he communicated to his wife, a letter he had received from Mr. Courtland, requesting that Frank might return home to pass the autumn vacation, and engaging a place for him for the next term.

We shall only relate one more of the many little incidents which occurred to Frank, during this summer, and then take our leave.

'Frank,' said Mr. Reed one pleasant afternoon, 'you like a long walk; will you do me the favor to take this letter to Squire Brazer's and get an answer? It must go to night.'

'Yes, with pleasure,' answered Frank; and took his hat.

'You would like a companion?'

'If you please. Shall I ask William Gardiner?'

'You need not hurry yourselves; but take a pleasant walk and pick blackberries by the way; only get home by dark.'

The boys walked on a mile or two, stopping now and then to gather berries, and some of the last wild roses, which yet remained, in a few sequestered spots; and conversing very pleasantly, when they approached an old house, standing back from the road, and nearly concealed by a row of elm trees. At the fence, by the road side, was standing very quietly, though not fastened, an old horse, and rather a shabby chaise.

'That's Parson Allen's chaise,' said William Gardiner. I'll warrant you, he is making a sermon a mile long, to the old maids within; who, no doubt are listening to him with the most flattering attention: for I suspect, a call from a gentleman is a rare occurrence to them.'

'Yes,' said Frank, laughing; 'I dare say we might ride to the Squire's and back again in his chaise, before the sermon was ended; and the old horse would like it better, than standing here in the sun.'

'It is rather provoking,' said Gardiner; 'that as there is so much shade, he could not be put in it.'

'I make no doubt he was,' replied Frank; 'when the parson first stopped; but probably the sun has moved on to another place, since that time.'

'That is a good thought of yours, Frank,' said Gardiner; 'come get in, I will take all the risk, and pay all damages. It would be a lucky hit for his reverence, if we broke the vehicle, and had to get a new one.'

'More lucky for him than for us,' said Frank, who had his foot on the step, ready to get in; 'second thoughts are best; no, we had better not.'

'There is your ridiculous particularity; I don't believe there is another boy in the school, would refuse.--If the parson should come out, and find the horse had walked off, he would only go back and make the old ladies another sermon, which would be so much the more for the good of their souls.'

Frank's good genius prevailed; his talisman rose up to his thoughts like a guardian angel, and he said, 'it will be safest not to go.'

'Well, I will not be baulked of the ride,' said William,--'Lawrence says, that I once took the lead in every thing; but that now I am no better than your shadow; and that you govern me entirely; so I will go, if it is only to tell him, I have acted once for myself.'

'I will walk on with the letter,' said Frank, 'and shall probably meet you on my return.'

William Gardiner jumped into the chaise, and by dint of twitching the reins, and applying the whip, succeeded in getting the horse into a trot, and was soon out of sight. Frank proceeded with a light step, and a still lighter heart, and delivered the letter. After waiting half an hour for the answer, he returned, walking very fast, as it was late. When he passed the old house, he saw Mr. Allen's horse and chaise standing exactly in the same position in which they first found it; and a short distance beyond, he overtook William.

'You have been gone for ever,' said he; 'why, I do believe I have rode six miles, at least. I left the chaise in the same spot; nobody but yourself, I will venture to say, is the wiser for the expedition; for I turned down that unfrequented lane.'

They reached home before night; Frank delivered the answer to Mr. Reed. Gardiner told of his ride to Albert Lawrence and a few other boys. They had a good laugh,--said it was a capital trick, and they thought it would be a real kindness to the horse, to relieve him occasionally, from the tiresome business of standing an hour or two, in the same spot.

The next evening, the minister called on Mr. Reed, and finding he was in the play room, and all the boys round him, (for he often passed an hour with them in this way,) he walked in. Mr. Allen was an amiable man, and a group of happy young folks was always a pleasing sight to him.

The boys were relating remarkable occurrences; each one trying to recollect something strange, which he had lately heard or read of.

'I believe I can tell a singular story, which happened only yesterday,' said Mr. Allen; though it may be rather too sad to relate in this merry company. But they may as well look on the shadows now and then, in the morning of life; for their turn must come. I went yesterday afternoon to call on the Miss Bradford's, worthy women as any in my parish. The special object of this visit, however, was not themselves, but their niece, Miss Alice Bradford; who has been in a consumption for more than a year, and came out here six weeks ago, for the benefit of the country air. The change was rather hurtful than beneficial; she failed fast, and became too ill to be carried back. I had not, however, thought her quite so near her end, as she proved to be. When I got there yesterday afternoon, I entered into prayer with her, and found her spirit peaceful and resigned. The piety and innocence of her short life, gave tranquility and hope to her dying hour. Neither she nor her aunts appeared to apprehend immediate dissolution. I had witnessed too many death-bed scenes, not to know its symptoms, even when most deceitful. Her aunt said, that she appeared to have but one earthly wish remaining; and that they hoped to gratify, the next morning. It was to see her younger sister, who had been purposely kept away; as the sight of Alices' sufferings distressed her exceedingly. My mother has gone before me, said the sweet girl. I am ready to join her; though I had hoped it might be the will of our Heavenly Father that I should be spared to my sister. Not as I will, but as thou wilt, she added, after a moment's pause, and a great struggle; but I should like to take leave of her and give her a few words of advice; as they are the last, they will make a deep impression on her mind. I called one of the ladies aside, and told her the present was the only time; I did not believe her niece would be alive in the morning. She shuddered, and exclaimed, what shall I do! how can I send for her sister now. I have no horse,--no man. I will go, I replied; my horse is at the door I shall be back before it is late; I will go directly. Thank you, sir; thank you a thousand times; do go directly--and she returned to prepare the young woman to receive her sister.

When I went to the bottom of the avenue, my horse and chaise were not there; by the marks in the road, I found he had turned round, and presumed he had taken a homeward direction. I hastened there, when I arrived out of breath at home, no one had seen him. I resolved to lose no more precious time, for I knew that the sands must be nearly all out in the poor young creature's glass: so I hurried to Dr. Parker to beg him to lend me his chaise; the Dr. had gone to visit at Brookline: then I went to farmer Thomson; he willingly lent his horse, but had neither chaise nor waggon. I determined to go over to Mr. Welles' and borrow his chaise. In doing this, I of course, passed by Miss Bradford's house. I had lost nearly an hour and a half,--there I found my horse standing exactly as I had left him, in the former part of the afternoon. I could not stop to make either inquiries or reflections; but got in, hastened into town, and brought the young sister out in the shortest time possible.

Soon after my departure from Miss Bradford's, the unequivocal symptoms of death began to come on; but the poor creature made great exertion to keep up her strength, anxiously expecting the arrival of her sister, and wondering at the delay. She took some drops which revived her a good deal; and half an hour before I arrived, conversed freely with her aunts; spoke of her perfect reliance on the goodness of God, and the merits of the Saviour, and gave many injunctions in case she did not see her sister. Ere _we_ reached there, it was too late. She took her sister's hand, looked up in her face with an expression of disappointment which I shall never forget; but she was speechless. The hour and a half which I lost, in looking for a chaise, deprived her of that last and most earnestly desired satisfaction, the power of taking leave of her sister, and of giving her the invaluable instructions of her dying hour.

I went there again, this morning. She lived till daylight, but did not speak. The sister is overwhelmed with grief.--'Could she have spoken to me,--could I have been with her but one hour earlier I could have borne it,' was all she said.'

Every one present was deeply affected by the narration; all mirth ceased, and tears and sobs came in its place. Mr. Reed was himself surprised at the effect it had produced on some of the boys, touching as it was; he remarked a deadly paleness on William Gardiner's countenance; little did he suspect the true cause.

'I fear I have thrown a gloom over your happy family,' said Mr. Allen. 'It was not my intention to make the sad relation when I came among you; but I was led to it from the singular circumstance of my horse having gone off; for I have used him ten years, and never knew any thing of the sort to happen before. He knows all my parishioners' doors, I believe, as well as I do, and has never shown before, that he thought my visits to them too long.

I should have imagined that some mischievous fellow had taken him; but every body, even the smallest boy round this part of the country knows the animal, and I can't believe that there is one among them, would play me such a trick, and if any one had done so, I should not probably have found the horse returned quietly to the same spot in which I left him.'

'I must believe,' said Mr. Reed, 'that the horse was led away; and I would make inquiry about it.'

Will Gardiner could stand this no longer, but slipped out of the room, lest some questions should be asked.

'Did you pass Miss Bradfords' on your way to squire Brazer's, or did you take the other road, Frank?' said Mr. Reed.

'I passed that way,' answered Frank.

'Did you observe the horse and chaise, as you went?'

'Yes, it was at the gate.'

'And on your return?'

'It was there then also.'

'Well, well, say no more about it, Mr. Reed,' said the good clergyman; 'if it was a piece of mischief, I leave the person who committed it, to the reproaches of his own conscience; he need suffer no greater punishment, if he has any feeling. Though I own it would be a satisfaction to me to know, that my old faithful horse was not to blame.'

Mr. Allen took leave, and the boys soon retired. When Frank went to his room he found William Gardiner in bed; and believing him to be asleep, took a long look at his talisman, revolving in his mind, whether it was his duty to tell all that he knew about the horse, or to be silent on the subject, for William's sake. He remained undecided; but felt no pain or compunction, for he was conscious, that as soon as he had found out the right course, he should not fail to adopt it.

After he had been in bed a short time, William Gardiner raised his head and said, 'Frank, are you asleep.'

'No.'

'Why don't you talk then.'

'I thought you were asleep.'

'No, I am wide awake; I can't get to sleep. What is that little box you have been looking at, so earnestly.'

'It is something.'

'Well I suppose it is; but do you want to keep it a secret; if you do, I won't ask.'

'Why no, not exactly,' said Frank; 'it is something my mother gave me, the night before I left home.'

'Well, what is it, I say?'

'It is a talisman,' said Frank, rather hesitatingly.

'A talisman; what is that?'

'Have you never read of talismans in fairy tales? it is a charm which protects you from danger, as long as you keep it and consult it.'

'I know that is the description of them, in genii and fairy tales; but you do not believe in _such_ things do you?'

'No, but this is real; it has a charm for me, to keep me from doing wrong; this is the danger which my mother expected it would secure me against.'

'If it has that sort of power, I wish I had had it this afternoon; then I should have let alone that horse and chaise. Was it the talisman which made you turn away, when your foot was on the step, and you were just ready to jump in?'

'It was the thought of it, I am persuaded. I consult it so frequently, and like to look at it so much, that now it is fixed in my mind; and I see it as distinctly, as if it were really in my hand, whenever I am going to do wrong.'

'And does it stop you short, as it did this afternoon?' said William.

'Unless I am very earnest indeed, too earnest to attend to its admonitions.'

'What did it say to-night, when you looked at it?' asked William.

Frank repeated what the parson had said, after William left the room; the questions Mr. Reed asked, with his own answers; and told William that he was trying to come to a decision, what he ought to do.

'O you won't tell, will you? It is an evil spell that prompts you to betray a friend. Besides, what good can it do? If it could restore to the poor dead creature that one hour, I would tell myself instantly.'

'I have decided not to tell,' said Frank, 'without your consent.'

'Don't ask me to give that; it is impossible.'

'Why, you said just now, you would tell yourself, to restore that lost hour. This I know cannot be done; but something as valuable, which you have lost yourself, may be restored, by confessing the truth.'

'What is that?'

'Your own peace of mind; have you not lost that?'

'Yes, I have; I cannot shut my eyes without beholding that speechless, dying girl; it is frightful; I never was such a coward before. But I shall get over it I know, in a few days. Whenever I get into a scrape, I always feel horridly at first, for fear I should be found out,--but I never am, and I soon forget it.'

'But the consequences are seldom so serious, of any of our pranks,' said Frank.

'Why there was the widow's granddaughter who was burned so badly, all owing to my carelessness in dropping that piece of phosphorus, or some of the matches, on the day of our balloon frolic. It troubled me when I first heard of it, as much as it did you. I bought her a new pair of shoes, and I have given her or her grandmother something every time I go that way; and persuaded several of the other boys to do so too. The old woman said the last time I was there, that she hoped she should be brought to a realizing sense that every thing was ordered for the best; for Sally's accident had proved a real blessing to the family.'

'It is striking ten, William;' said Frank.

'Is it?' replied William.--'O dear! I shall never get asleep.'

Frank waked earlier than usual, the next morning; and he found William up and dressed.

'How early you are up,' said he.

'I am going to take a walk,' replied William. 'I feel as if I should smother, if I stay any longer shut up here.'

'Should you like to have me go with you?' said Frank.

'Will you? that's a good fellow.'

After they had walked a little way in silence, Gardiner said, 'I am glad Frank, that I know you have got something to help you to do right; for now there don't seem to be such a difference between us. Albert said, he believed you had a good genius always at your elbow, when you declined going into swimming with us, the day after the guards were broken by the high wind; and Mrs. Reed said your good genius was your virtuous thoughts; but she did not know the whole. If _I_ had not gone at that time, Greenville would have been drowned; for there was not a fellow among them all, who had the courage to jump in after him when he floated outside the bars; so I can't reproach myself for that.'

'You said,' replied Frank, 'Mr. Reed commended your courage very much: but he told you you were as wrong as the others in going; and that we must not do evil that good may come of it.'

'Well, Frank,' said William, 'what would you do in my place about the chaise? suppose I go and tell parson Allen the whole truth; where is the use of it? It would only disgrace the school, to have it talked about all over the neighborhood; and injure the other boys as well as myself.'

'I agree with you,' said Frank; 'but can't you tell Mr. Reed?'

'How could that make the matter any better?'

'You would be relieved from the dread you now feel, of being found out.'

'That is something, I acknowledge; for I never did feel so badly about being found out before.'

'Then,' said Frank, 'if you confess the fault and say you are sorry, you will have made all the reparation in your power, and your conscience will be lightened of a load.'

'I know it, and if I had your talisman, perhaps I should.'

'But you may, if you choose, have the good genius which Mrs. Reed thinks I have--_virtuous thoughts_.'

'I wish I always did have them, I am sure.'

'If you once brought your mind to confess this,' said Frank; 'I think you would never engage in any more mischief. You know that Mr. Reed told you the day you saved Greenville, that you were a noble fellow; and if you could break yourself of your little mischievous propensities, you might be one of the first in his school, in character, as you now are in talents.'

'Yes,' said William; 'and I remember he advised me to make you my model; and if I had the courage, I would do as you advise.'

'Will you agree to this,' asked Frank; 'you know the questions Mr. Reed asked me about the horse.'

'Yes.'

'I was sorry not to be able to tell all I knew; this will make it natural enough for me to speak of it first; and then I will say I had your consent to tell the whole; that you are very sorry, and are determined to break off your mischievous habits.'

'What will the boys say when they know it?' said William.

'Perhaps Mr. Reed will not choose to tell them; and if he does, all those whose opinions are worth caring for, will think the better of you.'

'I believe they will,' said William; 'for I know we did not think any the less of you, for what you said, the night of the balloon. Frank, I consent; only I should feel better to have you tell it to Mrs. Reed first, and let _her_ tell Mr. Reed,--she is so kind, she will make the very best that can be made of it; and she will not say a harsh word to me.'

'I will,' returned Frank; 'take courage, you will never be sorry, when it is once told,--like having a tooth out, it will be soon over, and you will be relieved.'

'When shall you tell?' asked William.

'When I get a suitable opportunity; don't be too anxious.'

As soon as Frank found Mrs. Reed disengaged, he related to her the whole affair; and represented as he could, with sincerity, that it was only meant as a harmless joke. He said as little of himself as possible, throughout the narration; and omitted almost entirely, the persuasion he was obliged to use, to induce William to take this step. Mrs. Reed sent for William into her own room, and remained alone with him some time; treating him with the tenderness of a mother, and taking care to say nothing which should make him regret for an instant, that he had opened his heart to her.

She then dismissed him, and in the course of the day communicated the matter to her husband; who, though mortified to find that the disgrace of such an affair belonged to any member of his family; yet rejoiced at this proof of an ingenuousness in William Gardiner, which he had almost begun to despair of ever seeing in his character.

In the interview which succeeded, he did not inform William whether he should disclose the truth to Mr. Allen or not; indeed, he had not at that time, made up his mind on the subject.--But he said he should not mention it to any one of the scholars. This indulgence he thought due to the great effort he knew it must have cost William to make the confession.

'I never should have done it, but for Frank; he persuaded me into it.'

'He is your good genius then, William; and I advise you to attach him as closely to your side as possible. Some how or other, he contrives to discern and preserve the right course more perfectly than any of you.'

'I believe,' said Frank, 'I do not deserve more praise on that account, than the others.'

'And why not, if you do in fact excel them?'

'Because,' said Frank, with some embarrassment,--

'Shall I tell?' said William.

'Yes.'

'Because he has something which none of us have; which helps him in doing right.'

'That must be a valuable possession in such a little world as this school,' said Mr. Reed; 'what can it be?'

'A talisman,' answered William; 'which his mother gave him, and said that it would secure him against all harm.'

'From moral harm,' said Frank; 'only from doing what I know to be wrong.'

'If he only just looks at it,' said William, 'it makes him do right.'

'It inspires me with courage to do right,' said Frank.

'May we see this curious treasure?' asked Mr. Reed.

'Yes sir,' said Frank. 'I have intended to show it to Mrs. Reed, for some time.'

Frank ran up to his trunk, took it out and brought it into Mrs. Reed's room. He opened the box and presented it to her. She smiled and looked surprised.

'There is a charm indeed; I do not wonder at its magical influence.--It is, said she--looking up at Frank,--

'My mother's picture,' he answered.

'What a delightful countenance,' exclaimed Mr. Reed. A glance at such features would, I am sure, drive away all evil thoughts. 'Especially if they were a mother's,' said Mrs. Reed; 'and these were the lips from which had proceeded, all your lessons of virtue.'

'I can have no such talisman,' exclaimed William, with a sigh. 'I have no mother. I do not remember her face. She died when I was an infant.'

'This is a great excuse for your faults,' observed Mr. Reed. 'Nothing can supply a mother's place entirely, in the important period of childhood. But you have found a friend who may be a talisman to you, through life, if you will but adhere to him.'

'That I shall, I am resolved,' replied William; 'if he will adopt me.'

'Affection for a worthy object,' said Mrs. Reed; 'whether it be parent or friend, is a talisman which has preserved many a noble youth from the dangers of temptation.'