Chapter II: Two Ways of Facing Life

"Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait."
LONGFELLOW.

TO Joseph's infinite satisfaction, Mr. Girling was at home, and he was at once ushered into a little back room, where the latter, seated before a table covered with volumes of all shapes and sizes, was poring over his studies.

Mr. Girling was unmistakeably a book-worm; a single glance sufficed to ascertain that. A hard frown knit his brow, as he bent over the paper before him, and so absorbed was he that he seemed hardly to remark Joseph's entrance. He simply looked quickly up, as the lad obeyed his "Come in," nodding towards a chair with the words, "Sit down a minute," and returned to his task, frowning more intently than ever as he ran over the words half aloud.

It was Greek he was translating, and Joseph smiled involuntarily as the unintelligible sounds caught his ear. But the smile died away almost immediately. The schoolmaster's face was so sallow and careworn, so lined and furrowed, that it looked more like the countenance of a man of fifty, than that of one who was barely thirty-five. Joseph decided very peremptorily in his own mind that the bargain was not worth the price.

"Better far have a sound digestion," he said to himself, "than such tightly-packed brains."

And Joseph was right in a certain degree. But he was ignorant of the motive that prompted such unremitting toil. Mr. Girling's salary was very small, and a widowed mother and an invalid sister were dependent on his exertions; so the noble fellow was wearing away his own life in the endeavour to fit himself to secure greater comfort for them.

After a short space of time during which Mr. Girling appeared to Joseph to have consulted half the books on the table, he raised his head, and throwing himself back in his chair in a manner which plainly told how weary he was, prepared to learn the object of Joseph's visit. But the frown vanished in an instant,—he kept that for his books,—and the kindliest light imaginable shone in his grey eyes as he looked at the fresh young face before him.

"Have you come for a Greek lesson, Joseph?" he asked, with a smile, passing one hand behind his back, which evidently ached with continuous stooping forward.

Joseph shook his head. "Greek wouldn't be of much use to 'me,' sir," he answered.

"Probably not," rejoined the schoolmaster; "though I know more than one lad your age who is learning it."

"I can read my carpenter's rule without it," said Joseph.

"Just so; but that isn't all that life consists in."

"There'll be more carpenter's rule than Greek in mine, I fancy," returned Joseph. "I've done with school, and chosen my trade."

"And you'll do right to stick to it. Depend upon it, it's the only way to get on; but do not forget that you have a 'mind' as well as hands to work with—and, above all, that this is what distinguishes you from the brutes. Cultivate and store your mind—if not with 'Greek,' with 'something' worth learning. All knowledge is useful; and you need not condemn your brains to starvation because you have chosen to follow your father's trade. What do you do with yourself of an evening now?"

"I read, sir—"

"Ah!—"

"And I help Ruth—that's my sister—with her lessons—"

"Good! We learn most of all in teaching others, because we have to search out 'the reason why,' before we can give them the least instruction. Lads at school generally take as much as possible for granted. And if they 'do' chance upon a reason for anything, they say at once, 'Ah! So it is,'—without stopping to make sure that it's clear to them 'why' it is. That habit gained me a good many floggings once upon a time, for when I came to be questioned, I was dumb. But it is altogether different when you are called upon to explain the same thing to another. You are 'obliged' to look into reasons."

Joseph was beginning to like Mr. Girling. He had never conversed with him before, having left school before the latter came into office, and had no idea he could speak so pleasantly. He had well-nigh forgotten what he had come for.

"You've got a good many books, sir," he said, looking round at the shelves on which Mr. Girling's small library was arranged.

Mr. Girling smiled. "More than you have read in your whole lifetime, I suppose," he said. "They seem few enough to me, though. You would be welcome to any of them, only I am afraid they would not be of a nature to interest you—unless it is this one." And reaching out his hand without rising, Mr. Girling took down a volume. "If you haven't read it," he added, handing it to Joseph, "take it home and see how you like it; and when you have finished it, come and tell me your impression of it."

Joseph took the book, ascertained that it was new to him, and having thanked Mr. Girling, was about to make some further remark, when the schoolmaster interrupted him.

"You haven't yet told me what brought you here," he said.

Whereupon Joseph unfolded the history of Daddy's wrongs and his own championship. Mr. Girling's eyes grew bright as he listened.

"Well done!" he exclaimed, "I like you for that. I wouldn't give much for a lad who could stand by and see grey hairs insulted. But I do not know that I can visit the offence with the cane. My cane is for the punishment of offences committed against school discipline; and I do not use it even then, if it can be avoided. However, I am glad you told me, and I shall not forget to speak of it to-morrow."

Joseph's countenance fell.

"They deserve a caning, sir," he said, in a disappointed tone of voice.

"They 'do,'" rejoined the schoolmaster heartily; "and had I been on the spot, I should have done as you did, beyond a doubt. But I have not much faith in the power of the cane."

"Mr. Outhwaite had," said Joseph.

"My predecessor? Ah! I've heard he used it pretty freely, and you seem to know something about it. But tell me candidly, now, didn't you defy its authority 'when you were out of its reach?'"

Joseph could not refrain from laughing as he admitted this fact. "You know what boys are made of, sir," he said.

"And I was one myself, once," rejoined the schoolmaster. "The cane is a very convincing argument as long as the tingle lasts; but if boys can only be made to listen to their own consciences—'to the voice of reason within them'—they will not need it."

"They will obey themselves, in a manner of speaking, sir."

"Exactly. I see you catch my meaning quickly. Well, we have all to remember that we are 'children of a larger growth,' as Dryden says, and that—metaphorically speaking—we may spare ourselves a good many floggings by listening to the voice which God has put within us. If we can only come to see how virtue is its own reward, we shall have far less inclination to tread 'the pleasant paths of vice'—as they are ignorantly called. Now I am going to ask you to do me a favour."

Mr. Girling rose and crossed the room, and diving his hands into the bottom of a little cupboard which flanked the chimney-piece, brought out a parcel tied up in brown paper. "My boots," he said, holding it up to view. "I was going to carry them round to Sandy David presently, which would have taken me ten minutes—precisely the time you have been here. You pass the top of his street on your way home; and if you will kindly leave them with him, I shall be enabled to make up the Greek I have lost in talking to you."

Joseph willingly undertook the commission, and again thanking Mr. Girling for the book, and receiving a parting injunction to come and give his report upon it as soon as he had made acquaintance with the contents, he set out.

The house where Sandy David lived, along with his aged father, was—as we have seen—not far distant from the market-place. The turning was narrow and dirty, and the buildings were more or less dilapidated for want of repair. Sandy's, in common with the rest, had a good many odds to fight against in presenting any sort of appearance. The worm had been at work for years upon the wood, and the weather-worn paint truthfully declined to conceal the fact. The constant dripping of spouts in rainy seasons, too, had rotted the plaster, so that great leprous patches disfigured the walls, which, in places, were eaten away to the skeleton.

In Mrs. David's time, in spite of these disadvantages, there had been evident signs of painstaking within, for she was a woman who believed in a whitened step and a bit of clean window muslin, and would keep her room tidy in spite of the dirty nature of Sandy's avocation. But when she sickened, things rapidly went wrong, for she had no daughter to keep the place straight, and poor Sandy was one of those despondent characters who relinquish every bit of hope when evil days close in, and allow everything to sink with them.

The step soon became the colour of the road. The curtains gradually changed from white to ashy brown, until they seemed to have put on a mourning tint for the mistress who was being carried from the narrow doorway to her last resting-place. And there they still hung, although summer had given place to autumn since that sad occurrence.

Joseph did not remark all this; he simply rapped on the door with his knuckles, and hearing a melancholy voice say, "Come in," lifted the latch and entered.

On one side of the hearth sat old Daddy, drumming with the fingers of one hand upon the wooden arm of his chair, whilst in the other, he clutched his stick, as though ready at any moment to set off upon his search after rags and paper, a heap of which was accumulating in the corner behind him.

Opposite, seated on a low stool, surrounded by his tools and numerous odd scraps of leather and boots in various stages of progress, was Sandy, slowly plying his awl on the soles of a high-low which he was mending. He evidently knew the shape of a parcel of boots pretty quickly, for he gave it a keen glance as Joseph advanced. Then dropping his eyes on to his work again, without so much as returning the latter's "Good evening," waited until he should be pleased to announce his business.

"Mr. Girling's boots, to be soled and heeled," said Joseph, holding them out towards him.

Sandy David put down his tool, and taking the parcel in his hand, proceeded in silence to untie the string.

"To be soled and heeled," he repeated sententiously, after having duly examined them. Then setting them down by his side, he picked up the awl, and went on with the sole of the high-low.

Having discharged his errand, Joseph was about to leave the room, the atmosphere of which was somewhat oppressive. But meanwhile, Daddy had recognised him, and the sight of his gallant defender revived his indignation.

"Aha!" he cried, in his sharp, cracking voice. "I'll pay them out—the young rascals—that a' will!" And he got up and began to flourish about with his stick, as if the boys were still compassing him on every hand.

At a word from Sandy, however, he sat down again, and contented himself with muttered threats.

"It was you that took his part against the boys then, I suppose?" said Sandy, looking up with a little more show of interest than he had hitherto betrayed.

Joseph replied in the affirmative.

"And they had better not give me occasion again," he added.

"He's always getting into scrapes," remarked Sandy; "poor old Daddy! He don't often find any one to side with him—all the more thanks to you for what you did. It's a shame, the way they serve him."

"That a' will!" suddenly chimed in Daddy, bursting out again.

"It's a wonder he keeps a whole skin," continued Sandy, without heeding the interruption. "I expect the secret is, he can't resist. It's the way of the world. Those that 'will' hold up their heads get their necks broken when they are compelled to go through low doorways. It's not worth while, to my thinking. A few years more or less, and we shall all be dust. Why should we strive and struggle to be looked up to by others?"

"That depends," said Joseph, answering the shoemaker's words, which in reality had been addressed to himself, rather than to any one else. "I suppose if it's something in ourselves that others look up to, it's worth striving for."

Sandy shook his head. "There's nothing lasting," he said.

Joseph did not answer. He had a sort of general impression that uprightness and knowledge were lasting; and that when a man came to his final account, he would enter the new life with a better start for having cultivated and refined his own nature, and done what he could to improve himself; but his ideas on the subject were rather dim, so he said nothing.

"I began life with the same notions as you," Sandy went on. "I thought a good deal depended on the strength of my own arm, and my mind was made up about getting ahead; so I went at it with a will. But I soon found out—what you'll learn—that 'the race is not to the swift,' 'time and chance happen to all,'—and as long as I can keep a roof over my head and life in my body, I'm content."

Indifferent, he should have said. Contentment means something more cheerful than the sulky indifference of a man who is too helpless and lazy to exert himself to mend matters. He should also have taken into account a fact which Joseph's father mentioned when the former was recounting what had passed between them.

"A man who makes up his mind to get ahead," he said, "must let public-houses alone. If Sandy David had begun life with the idea that he would have to give an account of the time and money that went in that way, as well as of all the faculties of mind and body that were given him to improve, he might have shown a more cheerful countenance now; and perhaps have had his poor wife with him still."