Chapter XVIII: Part 18

Then Mrs. Grant turned to Charles, and said: "As for you, Charles, I cannot help feeling great pain at leaving you; for you are such a bad, wilful boy that I shall not have a happy moment while I am away from you, lest you should do anything amiss. But if you love me, you will try to be good; and whenever you are about to do anything wrong, say to yourself, 'How much this would grieve my poor mother if she knew it! and how much it will offend God, who does see, and knows, not only everything I do, but even my most secret thoughts! And He will one day bring me to an account for all I do or say against His holy will and my kind parents' commands.'"

Charles, who knew he was a bad boy, hung down his head, for he did not like to be told of his faults.

Then his mother said: "My dear Charles, do try and be good, and I will love you dearly."

"But what will you bring me from London," said Charles, "if I am a good boy? for I never will behave well for nothing."

"Do you call the love of God and of dear mother nothing?" said Clara; "I will behave well, even if mother forgets to bring me the great wax doll, and the chest of drawers to keep her clothes in, which she told me about yesterday."

Mrs. Grant smiled fondly on her little girl, but made no reply to Charles; and soon the coach drove away from the door.

Charles was very glad when his mother was gone, and he said: "Now mother is gone to London, I will do just as I please: I will learn no ugly lessons, but play all day long. How happy I shall be! I hope mother may not come for a whole month."

But Charles soon found he was not so happy as he thought he should have been; he did not know the reason, but I will tell you why he was not happy. No one can be happy who is not good, and Charles was so naughty as to resolve not to obey his kind mother, who loved him so much.

Charles brought out all his toys to play with, but he soon grew weary of them, and he kicked them under the table, saying, "Nasty dull toys, I hate you, for you do not amuse me or make me happy. I will go to father, and ask him to give me something to please me that I am not used to."

But father was busy with some friends in the study, and could not attend to his wants. Charles was a rude, tiresome boy; so he stood by his father, and shook his chair, and pulled his sleeve, and teased him so much that his father at last grew angry, and turned him out of the room.

Then Charles stood and kicked at the door, and screamed with all his might, when one of the gentlemen said to him: "If you were my little boy, I would give you something to cry for." So Charles's father told him if he did not go away, he would come out of the study and whip him.

When Charles heard this, he ran away, for he was afraid of being beaten; but, instead of playing quietly with his toys, he went and laid under the great table in the hall and sulked and fretted till dinner-time.

When nurse came to call him to dinner, he said: "I won't come; Go away, ugly nurse!"

Then said nurse: "Master Charles, if you like to punish yourself by going without your dinner, no one will prevent you, I am sure."

Then Charles began to cry aloud, and tried to tear nurse's apron; but nurse told him he was a bad boy, and left him.

Now, when Clara sat down to dinner, she said to nurse: "Where is brother Charles? Why is he not here?"

"Miss Clara, he is a naughty child," said nurse, "and chooses to go without his dinner, thinking to vex us; but he hurts no one but himself with his perverse temper."

"Then," said Clara, "I do not like to dine while Charles goes without; so I will try and persuade him to come and eat some pie."

"Well, Miss Clara," said nurse, "you may go, if you please; but I would leave the bad boy to himself."

When Clara came to Charles, and asked him if he would come and eat his dinner, he poked out his head, and made such an ugly face that she was quite frightened at him, and ran away.

Nurse did not take the trouble of calling him to tea; and, though he was very hungry, he was too sulky to come without being asked; so he lay under the table, and cried aloud till bedtime. But when it grew dark, he was afraid to stay by himself, for bad children are always fearful; so he came upstairs and said in a cross, rude tone of voice: "Nurse, give me something to eat."

Nurse said: "Master Charles, if you had been good, you would have had some chicken and some apple-pie for your dinner, and bread and butter and cake for your tea; but as you were such a bad boy, and would not come to your meals, I shall only give you a piece of dry bread and a cup of milk, and you do not deserve even that."

Then Charles made one of his very worst faces, and threw the bread on the ground, and spilt the milk.

Nurse told him that there were many poor children in the world who would be glad of the smallest morsel of what he so much despised, and that the time would come when he might want the very worst bit of it; and she bade him kneel down and say his prayers, and ask God to forgive him for having been such a wicked boy all day.

But Charles did not mind what she said, and went crying to bed. Thus ended the first day of Charles Grant's happiness.

He awoke very early the next morning, and told nurse to get him his breakfast, for he was very hungry. But nurse said he must wait till eight o'clock, which was the breakfast hour.

He now found it was of no use sulking, as no one seemed to care for his tempers; so he looked about for something to eat, but found nothing but the piece of bread he had thrown on the ground the night before; and he was glad to eat that, and only wished there had been more of it.

As soon as breakfast was over, Clara brought her books, and began to learn her lessons, and nurse asked Charles if he would do the same. But Charles said, "No, indeed! I do not mean to learn any lessons while mother is away, for I mean to please myself and be happy."

"You did as you pleased yesterday, Master Charles," said nurse; "yet I do not think you were so very happy, unless happiness consists in lying under a table and crying all day, and going without dinner and tea, merely to indulge a sullen, froward temper."

Now, Charles hated to be told of his faults, so he left nurse, and went into the garden to try and amuse himself. When there, instead of keeping in the walks, as he ought to have done, he ran on the beds, trampled down the flowers, and pulled the blossoms from the fruit-trees.

The gardener's boy earnestly requested Charles not to do so much mischief; but Charles told him he was a gentleman's son, and would do as he pleased. So he again ran over the new-raked borders, and pulled up the flowers; and the poor boy was sadly vexed to see his nice work all spoiled.

Charles did not care for that, and would have behaved still worse, had not the gardener, who then came up, taken him in his arms, and carried him into the house, in spite of his kicking and screaming. He cried for a long time, and made a sad noise; but, finding that no one paid any regard to him, he became quiet, and went into the nursery, and asked Clara to come and play with him.

"I cannot come just now, brother Charles," said she; "for I want to finish this frock that I am making for Giles Bloomfield's little sister."

"I am sure," said Charles, "if I were you, I would much rather play than sit still and sew."

"Not if you knew what pleasure there is in doing good," said Clara; "but if you will wait till I have finished it, you shall go with me and give it to the poor woman, and then you will see how pleased she will be, and how nicely the baby will look when she is dressed in this pretty frock, instead of her old faded, ragged one."

Charles did not know how to amuse himself, so he sat down on his little stool, and watched his sister while she worked.

When Clara had finished making the frock, she said: "Thank you, dear nurse, for cutting out and fixing the frock for me." So she threw her arms round nurse's neck, and kissed her cheek; and nurse put on Clara's tippet and her new bonnet, and walked with Charles and her to Dame Bloomfield's cottage.

The good woman took the baby out of the cradle, and laid it on Clara's lap, and Clara had the pleasure of dressing it herself in the nice new frock; and the baby looked so neat and pretty, and the poor mother was so pleased, that Clara was much happier than if she had spent her time in playing or working for her doll.

While Clara was nursing and caressing the baby, Charles went into the little garden, where he found Giles Bloomfield, who had just returned from working in the fields, with a beautiful milk-white rabbit in his arms, which he had taken out of the hutch, and was nursing with much affection.

"Oh, what a pretty rabbit!" said Charles. "Giles, will you sell it to me?"

"No, Master Charles," said Giles, "I cannot sell my pretty Snowball."

"And why not?" asked Charles in a fretful tone.

"Because, Master Charles, the old doe, its mother, died when Snowball was only a week old, and I reared it by feeding it with warm milk and bran; and it is now so fond of me that I would not part with it for a great deal."

So saying, he stroked his pretty favorite, who licked his hand all over, and rubbed her soft white head against his fingers.

Then Giles said: "My dear Snowball, I would not sell you for the world."

"But you shall sell Snowball to me," said Charles, making one of his ugly faces. "I will give you a shilling for her; and if you do not let me carry her home this very day, I will tell father of you, and he will turn you out of the cottage."

When Giles's mother heard Charles say so, she came out of the house, and said: "Pray, Giles, let Master Charles have the rabbit."

"Dear mother," said Giles, "Master Charles has a pony and a dog, and a great many fine toys to play with, and I have only my pretty Snowball; and it will break my heart to part with her."

"Then," said his mother, "would you rather see your mother and sisters turned out of doors than part with your rabbit? You know, Giles, that I had so many expenses with your poor father's illness and death that I have not paid the rent due last quarter-day; and you know it is in our landlord's power to turn us into the streets to-morrow."

"Well, mother," cried Giles, bursting into tears, "Master Charles must have the rabbit. But oh!" continued he, "he does not love you as I do, my pretty Snowball; he will not feed and take care of you as I have done, and you will soon die, and I shall never see you again." And his tears fell fast on the white head of his little pet as he spoke.

Clara was quite grieved, and begged her naughty brother not to deprive poor Giles of his rabbit; but Charles was a wicked and covetous boy; he therefore took Snowball from Giles, and carried her home in his arms, and put her in a box. He went into the fields and gathered some green herbs for her to eat, and said: "I am glad I have got Snowball; now I shall be quite happy."

But how could Charles be happy when he had broken God's holy commandment, which says, "Thou shalt not covet?" Nurse and Clara told him so, and begged him to give Snowball back again to Giles. But Charles said he would not, for he meant to keep her all his life; but the next morning, when he went into the stable to look at her, he found her stretched at the bottom of the box. He called her, but Snowball did not stir; he then took her out of the box to see what ailed her; but she was quite cold and dead.

Oh dear! how Charles did cry! But it was of no use. He had better not have taken her away from Giles, for he did not know what to feed her with, and had given her among the greens he had gathered a herb called hemlock, which is poisonous and will kill whatever eats of it; and it had killed poor Snowball.

The coachman told Charles so when he saw how swollen she was, and Charles cried the more. Giles cried too when he heard what a sad death poor Snowball had died; but he had been a good dutiful boy in parting with her when his mother wished it, though it had cost him much pain and many tears.

Well, Charles's mother was gone a long time, more than a month, and it would quite shock you to be told how naughty Charles was all that time; at last a letter came to say she was very ill, and then another to tell them she was dead.

What would Charles then have given if he had not grieved her so often with his perverse temper and wicked conduct? He now said when he saw her again, he would beg her to forgive him; but when Charles did see his poor mother again she was in her coffin and could not hear him; and he cried exceedingly, and wished he had been good. Clara, though she cried as much as Charles for her dear mother, was glad she had obeyed her, and been so good while she was away.

"And I will always be as good as if dear mother could see me, and love me for it too," said she to nurse the day after her mother was buried.

"My dear young lady," said nurse, "your mother _will_ see it, and love you for doing your duty."

"How can dear mother see me? Her eyes are closed, and she is in the dark grave," said Clara.

"But she will see you from heaven, Miss Clara, where she is gone to receive the reward of her good conduct in this world; for though her body is in the earth, her spirit is in heaven."

"And shall I never see my own dear mother again?" said Clara.

"Yes, Miss Clara; if you are good, you will go to heaven when you die, and become an angel like her."

"Then," said Clara, "I will pray to God to make me good, and when I am going to do anything wrong I will say to myself, 'If I do this, I shall never go to heaven, and see my dear mother when I die.'"

"I wish," said nurse, "that Master Charles was like you, and would try to be good."

But though Charles was sometimes sorry for his bad behavior, he did not try to mend, because he thought it was too much trouble to be good, and said he did not care, because he was the son of a gentleman.

Charles did not know that at this very time his father had spent all his money, and owed a great many debts to different people; and at last he ran away that he might not be put in prison; and the people to whom he owed so much money came and seized his fine house and gardens, and the coach, and all the furniture, and sold them by auction, to raise money to pay the debts; so Charles found that, instead of being rich, he was now very, very poor.

When the auction was over and all the things were sold, and it was getting quite dark (for it was in the month of November), Clara and Charles stood in one of the empty parlors, and wondered what they should do for supper, and where they should sleep that night; for all the beds were sold, and they saw the servants go away one after another.

At last nurse came in with her bonnet and cloak, and said: "Miss Clara, I am going away to my own cottage, and as you have always been a kind, good child, you shall go with me, and I will take care of you."

Then Clara said, "Thank you; but will you not take Charles also?"

"No," said nurse; "he has always been such a proud bad boy that I will not take him. I have very little to spare, for I am a poor woman, and what I have is not more than will keep my own children and you, Miss Clara."

Saying this, she got into the cart, and took Clara on her lap, and one of the footmen got in after her, and drove away from the door.

Charles stood on the step of the door, and looked after them till they were out of sight; and then he began to cry as if his heart would break. The servant of the gentleman who had purchased the house came and locked the door, so Charles could not get in any more, and he sat down on the stone steps, and covered his face with his hands, and cried bitterly.

"Unhappy child that I am," sobbed he; "what will become of me? Oh, if I had but been good like Clara, I should have found a friend, as she has; but no one cares what becomes of me, because I have been so wicked. I used to despise the poor, and God, to punish me, has made me poor indeed."

It was very cold, and the snow began to fall fast, and it grew quite dark. Charles rested his head on his knees, and was afraid to look round; his clothes were almost wet through, and his limbs were benumbed with cold; he had no place where he could ask shelter, for no one loved him; and he thought he should be obliged to stay there all night, and perhaps be frozen to death.

Just then some one softly touched his hand, and said: "Master Charles, I have been looking for you for more than an hour."

Charles looked up; but when he saw it was Giles Bloomfield who had come to seek him in his distress, he remembered how ill he had behaved to him, so he hid his face, and began to weep afresh.

Then Giles sat down by him on the steps, and said: "Dear Master Charles, you must not stay here. See how fast it snows. You will catch your death of cold."

"Yes, I am very cold and hungry," sobbed Charles, "but I have no home now; I have nowhere else to go, and must stay here all night."

"No, Master Charles," said Giles, "you shall come home with me, and shall share my supper and my bed, though it is not such as you have been used to; notwithstanding we are very poor, we will do our best to make you comfortable."

"Oh, Giles!" said Charles, throwing his arms round Giles's neck, "I do not deserve this kindness; I have been such a proud, wicked boy, and have treated you so ill. I am sure you can never forgive me for having taken your pretty Snowball; and if _you_ forgive me, I can never forgive myself."

"Dear Master Charles, do not think of that now," said Giles, taking both Charles's cold hands in his. "Indeed, Master Charles, I should never dare say my prayers if I was so wicked as to bear malice; and, now you are in distress, I would do anything in my power to serve you. So pray come home with me, and warm yourself, and get some supper."

But Charles hid his face on Giles's bosom, and cried the more; at last he said:

"Giles, I am so ashamed of having behaved so cruelly to you, that I can never go to your home, and eat the food that you are obliged to labor so hard for."

"Master Charles," said Giles, "that is because you are so proud."

"Oh no, no!" sobbed Charles, "I am not proud now, and I think I shall never be proud again." So he kissed Giles, and they both went home to Dame Bloomfield's cottage together.

When Giles's mother saw Charles, she said: "Why did you bring this proud, cross, young gentleman here, Giles?"

Charles, when he heard her say so, thought he should be turned out again into the cold, and began to cry afresh; but Giles said:

"Dear mother, Master Charles has no home to go to now; he is cold and hungry; I am sure you will let him stay here, and share my bed and my supper."

"He can stay here if he likes," said Dame Bloomfield; "but you know, Giles, we are forced to work hard for what food we have, and I am sure we cannot afford to maintain Master Charles."

"Then," said Giles, "he shall have my supper to-night: he wants it more than I do, for he has had no food all day."

"You may please yourself about that, Giles: but remember, if you give your food to Master Charles, you must go without yourself."

"Well," said Giles, "I shall feel more pleasure in giving my supper to Master Charles than in eating it myself."

So he brought a stool, and, placing it in the warmest corner by the fire, made Charles sit down, and chafed his cold frozen hands, and tried to comfort him; for Charles was greatly afflicted when he saw that everyone hated him; but he knew that it was his own fault, and a just punishment for his pride and bad conduct.

When Giles brought his basin of hot milk and bread for his supper, he could not thank him for crying; and he was ashamed to eat it while Giles went without; but he was so hungry, and the milk looked so nice, that he did not know how to refuse it; and Giles begged him so earnestly to eat that at last he did so, and once more felt warm and comfortable.

Then Giles said to him: "Now, Master Charles, will you go to bed? Mine is but a coarse, hard bed, but it is very clean." So he took the lamp to show Charles the way to the chamber in which he was to sleep.

Charles was surprised at seeing no staircase, but only a ladder. Giles laughed when he saw how Charles stared, and he said:

"You have been used to live in a grand house, Master Charles, and know nothing of the shifts the poor are forced to make."

Then Charles climbed up the ladder, and Giles showed him a little room, not much larger than a closet, with no furniture in it, but a stump bed without any hangings, and covered with a coarse, woolen rug. Charles Grant had never even seen such a bed before, but he was thankful that he could get any place to sleep in, out of the cold and snow.

Giles helped Charles to undress, for Charles was so helpless he did not know how to undress himself. When he was going to step into bed, Giles exclaimed:

"Will you not say your prayers before you go to bed, Master Charles?"

Charles blushed and hung down his head, for he had been so naughty that he had not said his prayers for a long time past, and had almost forgotten what his dear mother had taught him; and he told Giles so at last.

"Dear, dear!" said Giles, "I never dare go to bed without saying mine."

Then Charles said: "I am sorry I have been so naughty as to forget my prayers; will you teach me yours, and I will never forget them again?"

Then they both knelt down by the side of the little bed, and Giles taught Charles such prayers as he knew, and Charles went to bed much happier than he had been for a long time.

Though the bed was hard, and the sheets brown and coarse, Charles was so weary that he soon fell asleep, and slept so soundly that he did not awake till it was broad day, and Giles was up and gone to work in the fields.

When Charles looked round he thought he had never seen such a shabby room in his life. There was not so much as a chair or table or carpet in it; he could see all the thatch and the rafters in the roof, for the chamber was not even ceiled, but showed the thatch and rafters, and, as I said before, there was not a single article of furniture in the room, except the bed. How different from the pretty little chamber in which Charles used to sleep, with the nice white dimity window-curtains and hangings and mahogany tent-bed, with such comfortable bedding and handsome white counterpane! However, he now thought himself very fortunate that he had any roof to shelter him, or any bed, however homely it might be, on which he could sleep.

He thought he should like to get up and go downstairs, but he had always been used to have a servant to dress him, and he did not know how to dress himself, so while he was considering what he should do Giles came into the chamber. He had returned to get his breakfast, and not seeing Charles downstairs he concluded the cause of his absence, and came to assist him to dress. Charles observed how this matter was arranged, and resolved to do it for himself the next morning.

When he was dressed they both knelt down by the bedside and said their prayers, for though Giles had said his at the dawn of day, yet he never omitted an opportunity of repeating his thanksgivings and praises to his heavenly Father for the mercies and blessings which he enjoyed through His grace, for Giles possessed a grateful and contented heart, which made him look upon that state of life unto which it had pleased God to call him, as that which was meet and fit for him, so he worked hard, and ate the bread of labor with cheerfulness and satisfaction.

When Charles and Giles joined the family below Dame Bloomfield set a porringer of milk and a piece of brown bread for every one but Charles, who looked ready to cry, but Giles put his porringer before him, and gave him another spoon, and said: "Master Charles, we will eat together, for there will be enough for both of us." The tears came into Charles's eyes, and he whispered: "Dear Giles, you are very good." So these boys ate out of the same porringer, and broke of the same bread.

After breakfast Giles went out to work, and Charles thought it very dull till he returned to dinner. When Dame Bloomfield gave her children their dinners there was a dumpling for everyone but Charles; then Giles cut his dumpling in half, and gave one part to Charles, and ate the other half himself. Now this was very good of Giles, for he was very hungry himself, but he could not bear to see Charles sad and hungry while he was eating, and Giles liked to do good because he knew it was pleasing to God.

As soon as dinner was over, Giles went out to work again, and Charles was as dull as he had been in the morning, for all the family were at work in some way or other, and could not spare time to amuse or talk to him, and he did nothing but sigh and fret to himself till evening, when Giles came home from work.

Giles's eldest sister made a bright fire, and they all sat round it and talked and told stories, and Giles nursed the baby, and played with the other little ones, and seemed quite happy, and so he was, for he had done his duty, and every one loved him for being so good.

After supper Giles taught those of his sisters who were old enough to read and write, and when they had finished learning their tasks Charles took up the book, and said: "Giles, will you teach me to read?" and Giles said: "Certainly, Master Charles, but I am sure you must know how to read a great deal better than such a poor boy as I am."

"I might have done so," said Charles, "but Giles, I was a sad, naughty, perverse boy, and hated to learn any thing that was good; but I hope I know better now, and if you will only take the trouble of teaching me I will try and make up for my lost time."

So Giles gave Charles a lesson that very night, and every evening after supper he heard him read and spell what he had learned during the day, and Charles took such pains that he soon began to read so well that he used to amuse himself by reading pretty stories, and by teaching little Betty, one of Giles's youngest sisters, to read.

Still Charles used to be exceedingly hungry, for he had not more than half the quantity of food he was used to eat, and Giles was hungry too, and grew pale and thin.

Then Charles said to himself: "It is not right for me to eat the bread which poor Giles works so hard to earn; I will try and get my own living, for why should I not do so, as well as Giles?" So one morning, when Giles rose, as usual, at five o'clock, Charles got up too. Then Giles said:

"Why do you rise so early this cold morning, Master Charles?"

"Because I am going out to work with you, Giles, if you will permit me," answered Charles.

"Oh, Master Charles, such work as I do is not fit for a young gentleman like you," said Giles.

"You must not call me a young gentleman _now_, for I am only a poor boy, and poorer than other poor boys, for they can earn their own living, while I should have been starved to death had not you given me half of the bread you work so hard for. But I will not be a burthen to you any longer, but learn to work and get my own living as you do."

Charles now meant to keep his word, and they both went out into the fields, and worked together at picking stones off the young crops of wheat and clover, and before breakfast. Giles had picked up two bushels of stones and Charles one, and the farmer gave them a penny per bushel for gathering them up.

Then they made haste back to the cottage, and Giles gave his mother the money he had earned, and Charles did the same, and when the dame poured out the milk for the family Charles saw that she filled a porringer for him also, and they had all a good breakfast that morning, and Charles felt quite happy because he had not eaten the bread of idleness. So he went out to work with Giles again, and earned twopence before dinner.

When Dame Bloomfield took up the dumplings Charles saw there was one for him, and he felt happy that poor Giles had not to deprive himself of half his food that he might eat.

Charles went out to work every day with Giles, and in the evening he learned to read and write. He became quite good and gentle, and enjoyed more happiness than he had experienced in his life before, And why was Charles happy? I will tell you, my dear children. Because he was no longer a proud, froward boy as he had been, but was kind and sweet-tempered to every one, and did his duty both to God and himself.

The winter passed swiftly away, and the spring came, and the birds began to sing, and the trees looked green and gay, and the pretty flowers bloomed in the gardens and covered the meadows all over, and scented the air with their fragrance, and Charles thought it very pleasant to work in the fields, and hear the birds sing as they tended their young, or built their nests among the green boughs or in the hedges.

One day Giles said to Charles: "Master Charles, we cannot work together in the fields any more; I have got a new employment"

"But why cannot I work with you?" asked Charles.

"Because, sir, you will not like to work where I am going," answered Giles. Charles asked where that was. "In the garden of the great house, Master Charles, where you used to live," said Giles.

Charles looked very sorrowful, and remained silent for some minutes; at last he said: "Well, Giles, I will go with you; my clothes are grown shabby now, and nobody will know me, and if they did I hope I am too wise to be ashamed of doing my duty, so let us go directly."

Then Giles took Charles into the garden, and the gardener gave them each a hoe and a rake, and told them to hoe up the weeds on the flower borders, and then rake them neatly over, and promised if they worked well he would give them eight-pence per day.

Now this was much pleasanter than picking stones in the field, but Charles was very sad, and could not refrain from shedding tears when he thought of the time when he used to play in that very garden, and he thought, too, of his dear mamma who was dead, and of his sister Clara, whom he had not seen for so many months, but he worked as hard as he could, and the gardener praised them both, and he gave them a basket to put the weeds in, and showed them how to rake the borders smooth.

Just as they had finished the job, and Charles was saying to Giles, "How neat our work looks!" a little boy, dressed very fine, came into the garden, and, as he passed them, said: "I am glad I am a gentleman's son, and not obliged to work like these dirty boys."

When Charles thought the little boy was out of hearing, he said to Giles: "That little boy is as wicked as I used to be, and I doubt not but that God will punish him in the same way if he does not mend his manners."

The little boy, who had overheard what Charles said, was very angry, and made ugly faces, and ran into the newly-raked beds, and covered them with footmarks. Then Charles said: "I am sorry for you, young gentleman, for I see you are not good."

"How dare you say I am not good?" said this naughty child. "I am a great deal better than you, for I am a gentleman, and you are only a poor boy."

"Yes," said Charles, his eyes filling with tears as he spoke, "I am, indeed, only a poor boy _now_, but I was once rich like you, and lived in this very house, and wore fine clothes, and had plenty of toys and money, and was just as proud and naughty as you are, but God, to punish me, took away my parents and all those things that I had been so proud of, and that I had made such a bad use of, and reduced me to a poor boy, as you see."

When the little boy heard this he looked very serious, and said: "I have been very naughty, but I will do so no more," and he went into the house, and never teased Charles or Giles again.

A few months after this, when Charles and Giles were working as usual in the garden, they saw a gentleman come down one of the walks, leading by the hand a little girl dressed in a black silk frock and bonnet trimmed with crape.

"Ah, Giles," said Charles, "how like that young lady is to my sister Clara. I wonder whether I shall ever see my dear sister Clara again."

"Brother Charles, dear brother Charles, you have not then quite forgotten your sister Clara," said the little girl, throwing her arms round his neck as she spoke.

When Charles saw that it was, indeed, his own dear sister Clara, he kissed her and cried with joy.

Then he told Clara all that had happened to him since the day they had parted, and how sorry he had been for all his past conduct, and he asked her who the gentleman was that had brought her into the garden.

"It is our uncle, dear Charles. You know our dear mother had a brother who lived in India that she used frequently to talk about. Well, when he came home, and heard that mother was dead, and we were in distress, he came to nurse's cottage, and took me home to his house, and has now come to find you, for he is very good and kind, and loves us both for our dear mother's sake."

"And will he take me home too?" said Charles.

"Yes, my boy," said Charles's uncle, taking him by the hand, "because you are good and kind, and are no longer cross and proud, as I heard you used to be. You shall come home with me this very day, if you please, and I will teach you everything that a young gentleman should know, and you and Clara shall be my children so long as you continue to be deserving of my love, and are not unkind, nor despise those who are beneath you in situation."

"Indeed, uncle," said Charles, "I can now feel for the poor, and I would rather remain as I am than be rich if I thought I should ever behave as I used to do."

"My dear child," said his uncle, kissing him with great affection, "continue to think so, and you will never act amiss. The first and greatest step toward amendment is acknowledging our faults. What is passed shall be remembered no more, and I doubt not but that we shall all be happy for the time to come."

"But uncle," said Charles, laying his hand on his uncle's arm, "I have something to ask of you."

"Well, Charles, and what would you have of me?" said his uncle.

Then Charles led Giles to his uncle, and related all he had done for him; how he had taken him to his own home, and given him half of his food and his bed, and taught him to read and to work; he, likewise, told his uncle how ill he had behaved to Giles in depriving him of his pretty Snowball, and he said: "Dear uncle, will you allow Giles to share my good fortune, for I cannot be happy while he is in want, and he is better than me, for he returned good for evil."

Then his uncle said: "Charles, I should not have loved you had you forgotten your kind friend." And he asked Giles if he would like to go to his house and live with him, and spend his time in learning to read and write, and in improving his mind, instead of hard labor.

"I should like it very much indeed, sir," said Giles, "but I cannot accept your kind offer."

"And why not, my good little friend?"

"Because, sir," said Giles, bursting into tears, "my poor mother and sisters must go to the workhouse or starve if I did not stay and work for them, and I could not be happy if I lived in a fine house, and knew they were in want of a bit of bread to eat."

"Then," said the gentleman smiling, "for your sake they shall never want anything, for I will put them into a cottage of my own, and will take care of them, and you shall live with me, and I will love you as if you were my own child, and remember, Giles, I do this as a reward for your kindness to Charles when he was unhappy and in great distress."

Charles's uncle was as good as his word, and Giles received the blessings of a good education, while his mother and sisters were maintained by the benevolence of his benefactor.

Charles was so careful not to relapse into his former errors that he became as remarkable for his gentleness and the goodness of his heart as he had formerly been for his pride and unkindness, and in the diligent performance of his duty, both to God and man, he proved to his uncle the sincerity of his amendment.

TRIAL

_Of a Complaint made against Sundry Persons for Breaking in the Windows of Dorothy Careful, Widow and Dealer in Gingerbread_

By JOHN AIKIN AND MRS. BARBAULD

The court being sat, there appeared in person the widow Dorothy Careful to make a complaint against Henry Luckless, and other person or persons unknown, for breaking three panes of glass, value ninepence, in the house of the said widow. Being directed to tell her case to the court, she made a curtsey and began as follows:

"Please, your lordship, I was sitting at work by my fireside between the hours of six and seven in the evening, just as it was growing dusk, and little Jack was spinning beside me, when all at once crack went the window, and down fell a little basket of cakes that was set up against it. I started up and cried to Jack: 'Bless me, what's the matter?' 'So,' says Jack, 'sombody has thrown a stone and broke the window, and I dare say it is some of the schoolboys.' With that I ran out of the house, and saw some boys making off as fast as they could go. So I ran after them as quick as my old legs would carry me, but I should never have come near them if one had not happened to fall down. Him I caught and brought back to my house, when Jack knew him at once to be Master Henry Luckless. So I told him I would complain of him the next day, and I hope your worship will make him pay the damage, and I think he deserves a good whipping into the bargain for injuring a poor widow woman."

The Judge, having heard Mrs. Careful's story, desired her to sit down, and then calling up Master Luckless, asked him what he had to say for himself. Luckless appeared with his face a good deal scratched, and looking very ruefully. After making his bow and sobbing two or three times, he said:

"My lord, I am as innocent of this matter as any boy in the school, and I am sure I have suffered enough about it already. My lord, Billy Thompson and I were playing in the lane near Mrs. Careful's house when we heard the window crash, and directly after she came running out towards us. Upon this Billy ran away, and I ran too, thinking I might bear the blame. But after running a little way I stumbled over something that lay in the road, and before I could get up again she overtook me, and caught me by the hair, and began lugging and cuffing me. I told her it was not I that broke her window, but it did not signify; so she dragged me to the light, lugging and scratching me all the while, and then said she would inform against me. And that is all I know of the matter."

"I find, good woman," said the Judge, "you were willing to revenge yourself without waiting for the justice of this court."

"My lord, I must confess I was put into a passion, and did not properly consider what I was doing."

"Well, where is Billy Thompson?"

"Here, my lord."

"You have heard what Henry Luckless says. Declare upon your honor whether he has spoken the truth."

"My lord," said Billy, "I am sure neither he nor I had any concern in breaking the window. We were standing together at the time, and I ran on hearing the door open, for fear of being charged with it, and he followed; but what became of him I did not stay to see."

"So you let your friend," the Judge remarked, "shift for himself, and thought only of saving yourself. But did you see any other person about the house or in the lane?"

"My lord, I thought I heard some one creeping along the other side of the hedge a little before the window was broken, but I saw nobody."

"You hear, good woman, what is alleged in behalf of the person you have accused. Have you any other evidence against him?"

"One might be sure," the widow replied, "they would deny it, and tell lies for one another; but I hope I am not to be put off in that manner."

"I must tell you, mistress, that you give too much liberty to your tongue, and are as guilty of as much injustice as that of which you complain. I should be sorry indeed if the young gentlemen of this school deserved the general character of liars. You will find among us, I hope, as just a sense of what is right and honorable as among those who are older, and our worthy master would certainly not permit us to try offences in this manner if he thought us capable of bearing false witness in each other's favor."

"I ask your lordship's pardon; I did not mean to offend; but it is a heavy loss for a poor woman, and though I did not catch the boy in the act, he was the nearest when it was done."

"As that is no more than a suspicion, and he has the positive evidence of his schoolfellow in his favor, it will be impossible to convict him consistently with the rules of justice. Have you discovered any other circumstance that may point out the offender?"

"My lord, next morning Jack found on the floor this top, which I suppose the window was broke with."

"Hand it up. Here, gentlemen of the jury, please to examine it, and see if you can discover anything of its owner."

"Here is 'P.R.' cut upon it."

"Yes," said another boy, "I am sure I remember Peter Riot having just such a one."

"So do I," still another remarked.

"Master Riot, is this your top?"

"I don't know, my lord," said Riot; "perhaps it may be mine. I have had a great many tops, and when I have done with them I throw them away, and any body may pick them up that pleases. You see, it has lost its peg."

"Very well, sir. Mrs. Careful, you may retire."

"And must I have no amends, my lord?"

"Have patience; leave everything to the court. We shall do you all the justice in our power."

As soon as the widow was gone the Judge rose from his seat, and with much solemnity thus addressed the assembly:

"Gentlemen, this business, I confess, gives me much dissatisfaction. A poor woman has been insulted and injured in her property, apparently without provocation, and although she has not been able to convict the offender, it cannot be doubted that she, as well as the world in general, will impute the crime to some of our society. Though I am in my own mind convinced that in her passion she charged an innocent person, yet the circumstance of the top is a strong suspicion--indeed, almost a proof--that the perpetrator of this unmanly mischief was one of our body.

"The owner of the top has justly observed that its having been his property is no certain proof against him.

"Since, therefore, in the present defect of evidence the whole school must remain burdened with both the discredit of this action and share in the guilt of it, I think fit, in the first place, to decree that restitution shall be made to the sufferer out of the public chest, and, next, that a Court of Inquiry be instituted for the express purpose of searching thoroughly into the affair, with the power to examine all persons upon honor who are thought likely to be able to throw light upon it. I hope, gentlemen, these measures meet with your concurrence."

The whole court bowed to the Judge, and expressed their entire satisfaction with his determination.

It was then ordered that the Public Treasurer should go to the Widow Careful's house, and pay her a sum of one shilling, making at the same time a handsome apology in the name of the school; and six persons were taken by lot of the jury to compose the Court of Inquiry, which was to sit in the evening.

The Court then adjourned.

On the meeting of the Court of Inquiry the first thing proposed by the President was that the persons who usually played with Master Riot should be sent for. Accordingly Tom Frisk and Bob Loiter were summoned, when the President asked them upon their honor if they knew the top to have been Riot's.

They said they did. They were then asked if they remembered when Riot had it in his possession.

"He had it," said Frisk, "the day before yesterday, and split a top of mine with it."

"Yes," said Loiter, "and then as he was making a stroke at mine the peg flew out."

"What did he do with it?"

"He put it into his pocket, and said as it was a strong top he would have it mended."

"Then he did not throw it away, or give it to any one?"

"Yes; a day or two before he went to the Widow Careful's shop for some gingerbread; but as he already owed her sixpence, she would not let him have any till he had paid his debts."

"How did he take the disappointment?"

"He said he would be revenged on her."

"Are you sure he used such words?"

"Yes. Loiter heard him as well as myself."

"I did, sir," said Loiter.

"Do either of you know any more of this affair?"

"No, sir," replied both boys together.

"You may go," said the President, adding "that these witnesses had done a good deal in establishing proof against Riot; for it was pretty certain that no one but himself could have been in possession of the top at the time the crime was committed, and it also appeared that he had declared a malicious intention against the woman, which it was highly probable he would put into execution. As the court were debating about the next step to be taken they were acquainted that Jack, the widow's son, was waiting at the school-door for admission; and a person being sent out for him, Riot was found threatening the boy, and bidding him go home about his business. The boy, however, was conveyed safely into the room, when he thus addressed himself to the President:

"Sir, and please your worship," said Jack, "as I was looking about this morning for sticks in the hedge over against our house, I found this buckle. So I thought to myself, 'Sure this must belong to the rascal that broke our window.' So I have brought it to see if any one in the school would own it."

"On which side of the hedge did you find it?"

"On the other side from our house, in the close."

"Let us see it Gentlemen," said the President, "this is so smart a buckle that I am sure I remember it at once, and I dare say you all do."

"It is Riot's!" exclaimed all together.

"Has anybody observed Riot's shoes to-day?" the President asked.

"Yes; he has got them tied with strings," a boy replied.

"Very well, then, gentlemen, we have nothing more to do than to draw up the evidence we have heard, and lay it before his lordship. Jack, you may go home."

"Pray, sir, let somebody go with me, for I am afraid of Riot, who has just been threatening me at the door."

"Master Bold will please to go along with the boy."