CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
TRUE SHAME VERSUS FALSE SHAME.
While Amos rejoiced greatly in the return of his sister, there was muchstill to be accomplished before his great object could be fairly said tobe attained, even in her case. Nothing could be kinder than MrHuntingdon's treatment of his restored child; and when her little onesjoined her, it seemed as if the pent back affections of the squire werecoming forth in such a rush as would almost overwhelm his grandchildrenwith a flood of indulgence. Brighter days, then, had come;nevertheless, Amos could not help seeing much in the character andconduct of both his sister and Walter which saddened him. Actinghimself on the highest of all principles--the constraining love of theheavenly Master--he could not be content till the same holy motiveshould have its place in the hearts of those he so dearly loved.
Sorrow had subdued and softened in Julia the less amiable features inher character; while all that Amos had done and suffered and was stilldoing for herself and her children could not but draw out her heart tohim. But yet, while she loved and respected Amos, she just simplydearly loved Walter; towards him the deeper and tenderer feelings of herheart went forth. And Walter himself--though Amos was the object of hiswarmest admiration, and, in a certain sense, of his imitation--was farfrom adopting the standard and motives of his brother. To do simplywhat his conscience told him to be right, when such a course would cutthe prejudices of his gay worldly friends across the grain, was a thinghe was by no means prepared for; and here he had his sister's sympathy.Not that she openly advocated a worldly and compromising line ofconduct--for indeed she was too glad to leave for a while argument andoutspoken opinions to others--but she made him feel in her privateconversations with him that the world and its ways and maxims were stillher own guide and standard.
Amos could see this more or less, and he deeply deplored it; but hetrusted still that prayer, patience, and perseverance would yet bringhis beloved brother and restored sister to look at duty and wisdom inthe light of God's Word. And Walter gave him at times muchencouragement. He could no longer despise Amos, nor pride himself inhis own superiority to him. The beauty of his elder brother'scharacter, the nobleness of his aims, the singleness of eye that wasmanifest in him, his unselfishness and patience, these traits had wonthe unfeigned admiration of Walter, an admiration which he was toogenerous not to acknowledge. But yet, all the while, he rather frettedunder Amos's rigid consistency, remarking to his sister that really itwas a bit of a bondage to have to be always so very good, and that onemust not be so over-particular if one was to get on with people who werenot yet exactly angels. But still, he was vexed with himself when hehad made such observations, and resolved in his heart to be morecircumspect for the future.
When Julia Vivian had been some weeks in her old home, Walter exclaimedone morning as they were sitting at breakfast, "What do you think?Gregson is getting up a raffle for his beautiful mare Rosebud."
"Indeed," said his father, "how comes that? I thought the young man hadonly had her a short time."
"Why, father," replied Walter, "I imagine the fact is that Gregson'spurse is getting worn into a hole or two."
"I understood," remarked Miss Huntingdon, "that his father was a verywealthy man, and allowed his son, as you used to put it, no end ofmoney."
"True, aunt; but I think he has been betting and losing pretty heavilylately, and finds he must pull up a bit."
"And so he is going to part with his mare by raffle," said the squire;"pray what does he want for her?"
"Oh, a hundred guineas--and very cheap, too. Will you put in, father?"
"Not I, my boy; I cannot say that I am very fond of these raffles."
"Well, Amos," said Walter, turning to his brother, "what does yourworship say?"
Amos shook his head.
"Nay, don't be ill-natured," said the other. "It's a guinea a ticket:I'll take one, and you can take one, and if I win I'll pay you back yourguinea, for then I shall get a horse worth a hundred guineas for twoguineas; and if _you_ win, you can either keep the mare or hand her overto me, and I will pay you back your guinea."
"And suppose we neither of us win?" asked Amos.
"Oh, then," replied his brother, "we shall have done a good-naturedthing by giving Gregson a helping hand out of his difficulties, for itwill take a good deal of hunting up to get a hundred names for theraffle."
"But, my boy," said the squire, "remember there's some one else to beconsidered in the matter. I can't undertake to keep two horses for you;you have your own pony already."
"All right, father; there'll be no difficulty there. I can sell my ownpony, and Rosebud won't eat more nor take up more room than poor Punch;and I shall put a few sovereigns into my own pocket too by selling myown pony."
"That is to say, if you are the winner, my boy; but there will beninety-nine chances to one against that."
"Oh yes, I know that, father; but `nothing venture, nothing win,' saysthe proverb.--Well, Amos, what do you say? will you be one?"
"I cannot," said his brother gravely.
"Oh, why not?" asked his sister; "it will be so nice for dear Walter tohave that beautiful creature for his own."
"I do not approve of raffles, and cannot therefore take part in one,"replied Amos.
"Why, surely," she exclaimed, "there can be no harm in them."
"I cannot agree with you there, dear Julia," he said. "I believeraffles to be utterly wrong in principle, and so there must be harm inthem. They are just simply a mild form of gambling, and nothing got bythem can be got fairly and strictly honestly."
"Eh! that's strong indeed," cried Walter.
"Not too strong," said his brother. "There are but three ways ofgetting anything from another person's possession honestly: you musteither earn it, as a man gets money from his master by working for it;or you must give a fair equivalent for it, either so much money as it ismarketably worth, or something in exchange which will be worth as muchto the person from whom you are getting the thing as the thing he isparting with is worth to him; or you must have it as a free gift fromits owner. Now a raffle fulfils none of these conditions. Take thecase of this mare Rosebud. Suppose you pay your guinea, and prove thesuccessful person. You have not earned Rosebud, for you have not givena hundred guineas' worth of labour for her. You have not given a fairequivalent, such as an equally good horse or something else of the samevalue, nor an equivalent in money, for you have given only a guinea forwhat is worth a hundred guineas. Nor have you received her as a freegift."
"I quite agree with you, Amos," said his father; "you have put it veryclearly. I think these raffles, in which you risk your little in thehope of getting some one else's much, are thoroughly unwholesome anddangerous in principle, and are calculated to encourage a taste for moreserious gambling."
"But stop there, please, dear father," said Walter. "When a man giveshis guinea for what is worth one hundred guineas, or when a man bets sayone to ten, if he wins, does not the loser make a free gift to him?There is no compulsion. He stakes his bigger sum willingly, and losesit willingly."
"Nay, not so," said Amos. "He is not willing to lose his larger sum; hemakes no out-and-out gift of it. In laying his larger sum against yoursmaller, he does so because he is persuaded or fully expects that heshall get your money and not lose his own."
"I quite agree with you," said Mr Huntingdon again.
Walter looked discomfited, and not best pleased. Then Miss Huntingdonsaid, in her clear gentle voice, "Surely dear Amos is right. If theprinciple of gambling is in the raffle, though in a seemingly moreinnocent form, how can it be otherwise than perilous and wrong to engagein such things? Oh, there is such a terrible fascination in thisventuring one's little in the hope of making it much, not by honest workof hand or brain, nor by giving an equivalent, nor by receiving it asthe free-will loving gift of one who gladly does us a kindness. Whatthis fascination may lead to is to be seen in that terrible paradise ofthe gambler, Monaco, on the shore of the lovely Mediterran
ean. I havelately heard a most thrilling account of what is to be seen in thatfearfully attractive palace of despair. Lovely gardens are there,ravishing music, an exquisite salon where the entranced players meet tothrow away fortune, peace, and hope. At first you might imagine youwere in a church, so still and serious are the deluded mammon-worshippers. And what follows? I will mention but one case; it is awell-attested one. Two young Russian ladies, wealthy heiresses, enteredthe gaming-hall. For a while they looked on with indifference; thenwith some little interest; then the spell began to work. Thefascination drew them on; they sat down, they played. At first theywon; then they lost. Then they staked larger and larger sums in thevain hope of recovering the gold which was rapidly slipping away fromtheir possession. But they played on. Loss followed loss; they stillwent on playing. Then they staked the last money they had, and lost.Bankrupt and heart-broken, they betook themselves to the cliffs thatoverhang the Mediterranean, and, hand in hand, plunged into the sea andwere lost. Oh, can that be innocent which in any degree tends toencourage this thirst for getting gain not in the paths of honestindustry, but in a way which God cannot and does not bless?"
She paused. Walter hung down his head, while his features workeduneasily. Then he slowly raised his face, and said, "I suppose I'mwrong; but then, what is to be done? Gregson will ask me about it, andwhat am I to say? `Brother Amos disapproves of raffles;' will that do?I can just fancy I can see him and Saunders holding their sides andshaking like a pair of pepper-boxes. No, it won't do; we can't _always_be doing just what's right. If Amos don't go in for the raffle, I thinkI must, unless I wish to be laughed at till they've jeered all thespirit out of me."
Amos made no answer, nor did Miss Huntingdon; but as Walter lookedtowards her, with no very happy expression of countenance, she quietlylaid one hand across the other. He saw it and coloured, and then, witha disdainful toss of the head, hurried away. But the arrow had hit itsmark. As Miss Huntingdon was about to prepare for bed, she heard a lowvoice outside her door saying, "May a naughty boy come in?" and Walterwas admitted. The tears were in his eyes as he kissed his aunt and satdown. "I am waiting for the rod," he said, half mournfully and halfplayfully. "I deserve it, I know. I was wrong. I was unkind to Amos.I behaved like a cowardly sneak. Now, dear auntie, for a moral herothat isn't like me."
"Dear boy," said his aunt, placing her hands lovingly on his head, "youwere wrong, I know; but you are right now, and I think you mean to keepso. I have a beautiful instance here of moral courage, just to thepoint; I was reading about it a few minutes ago.
"A young man once called on a most earnest and experienced minister ofthe gospel, Dr Spencer of Brooklyn, New York, about his difficulties inhis earthly calling. He was salesman in a dry-goods store, and wasrequired by his employer to do things which he felt not to be right.For instance, he must learn to judge by the appearance of any woman whoentered the store, by her dress, her manner, her look, the tone of hervoice, whether she had much knowledge of the article she wished topurchase; and if she had not, he must put the price higher, as high ashe thought she could be induced to pay. With one class of customers hemust _always_ begin by asking a half or a third more than the regularprice; and if any objection was made, he was to say, `We have never soldit any cheaper,' or, `You cannot buy that quality of goods any lower inthe city.' In fact, a very large portion of the service expected of himwas just to lie for the purpose of cheating. When he expressed hisdoubts about this being right, his employer laughed at him. `Everybodydoes it,' he said; `You can't be a merchant without it. All is fair intrade. You are too green.'--`I know I am too green,' the young man saidto the minister sorrowfully; `for I was brought up in the country, anddon't know much of the world. My mother is a poor widow, but I don'tbelieve _she_ would think it right for me to do such things.'--`And do_you_ think it right?' asked the minister.--`No; but my employer is achurch member, and yet I believe it would make my old mother very bad ifshe knew I was doing such things every day.'--`Well, then,' said thegood pastor, `take your mother's way, and refuse his.'--`I shall lose myplace then.'--`Well, lose your place; don't hesitate a moment; tell youremployer you will do all that you honestly can, but that you were notengaged to deceive, to cheat, to lie.'--`If I should say that, he wouldtell me to be off.'--`Very well; _be_ off, then.'--`I have no otherplace to go to, and he knows it.'--`No matter; go anywhere, doanything--dig potatoes, black boots, sweep the streets for a living,sooner than yield for one hour to such temptation.'--`But if I leavethat place so soon, it will make my old mother feel very bad; she willthink that I am getting unsteady; she will be afraid that I am going toruin.'--`Not a bit of it; tell her just the truth, and you will fill herold heart with joy. She will thank God that she has got such a son, andshe will send up into heaven another prayer for you, which I wouldrather have than all the gold of Ophir. Now, go back to your store, anddo all your duties most faithfully and punctually without lying. Ifyour employer is not a fool, he will like you the better for it, andprize you the more, for he will at once see that he has got one clerk onwhose truthfulness he can depend. But if the man is as silly as he isunconscientious, he will probably dismiss you before long. After that,you may be sure that God will open a way for you somewhere.'--The youngman took Dr Spencer's advice, and lost his place, but soon foundanother, and afterwards became an eminent and prosperous merchant, whilehis old employer became bankrupt in about seven years after he left him,and had to toil on in disgraceful poverty. Dr Spencer adds, `Iattribute this young man's integrity, conversion, and salvation to hisold mother, as he always fondly called her.'
"Now, dear Walter, you were saying, I think, when we were discussing theraffle, that we cannot always be doing just what is right, and thatGregson and Saunders would make great fun of you if you were to refuseto put down your name because Amos thinks it wrong to raffle. Does notthat young American's case show very plainly that we _ought_ to aim atalways doing right? And is it not better to please a dear Christian oldmother, or a dear Christian brother like Amos, than to be smiled upon bya dishonest master, or by such companions as Saunders or Gregson? Yousee, the young man acted with true moral courage when he braved thesneers and displeasure of his unscrupulous employer; and he found hisreward in the approval of God, his conscience, and his dear old mother."
Walter made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Then herose, flung his arms round his aunt's neck, kissed her half a dozentimes very warmly, and, whispering in her ear, "Pray for me, dearauntie," hastily left the room. Oh, how Miss Huntingdon rejoiced atthese few simple and touching words, both on Walter's own account andalso on Amos's. She was sure now that her beloved nephew was feelinghis way into the narrow path, and would be all right on the road beforelong.
A few days later, while Miss Huntingdon, Julia, and Amos were writingtheir letters a little before luncheon time, Walter opened the door andlooked in with a comical expression on his face. "Are you all _very_busy?" he asked. Having received a reply in the negative, he advancedto the fire, crouched down by his aunt, hid his face in her lap, andthen, looking up at her with a smile, said, "I've come to make anannouncement and a confession. First and foremost, the raffle has cometo grief, partly, I suppose, because Walter Huntingdon, junior, Esquireof Flixworth Manor, in the county of Hertfordshire, has refused to putdown his name or have anything to do with it. There--what does thepresent company think of this important announcement?"
Amos and his aunt replied by loving smiles; Julia kept her eyes fixed onsome work she had taken up.
"My next announcement," continued Walter, "is of equal interest andimportance. The great firm of Huntingdon, Gregson, and Saunders hasdissolved partnership. What do you say to that?"
Amos left his place at the table, and kneeling down close to his brotherdrew him warmly to him, his tears falling fast all the while as hewhispered, "Dear, dear Walter, how happy you have made me!"
"Do you want to hear all about it?" asked the other. "Would you like tohear my conf
ession?"
"By all means, dear boy," said his aunt, placing a fond hand on the headof each of the brothers. Julia left her place and crouched down closeto Walter, so that her aunt's hands could include herself in theirgentle pressure.
"Now for it," said Walter, rising and standing erect, with his back tothe fire. "Yesterday," he continued, "as I was riding out beforedinner, I met Saunders and Gregson on horseback. Gregson was ridingRosebud.--`Well,' said Gregson, `is Rosebud to be yours?'--`Can't affordit,' I said; `a hundred guineas is too much. I haven't got the money tospare.'--`No, of course not,' he said; `but you can spare aguinea.'--`Yes,' I replied; `but that won't buy Rosebud.'--`No,' hesaid; `but it will give you a chance of getting her for aguinea.'--`That's one way,' I said; `but it don't seem the right one tome. What do you say to swopping Rosebud for my pony? then you'll havean equivalent, at least if you think so.'--Saunders and he looked at oneanother as if they had seen a ghost; and then I said, `Perhaps I canwork out the value. Let me see. Will you give me fifty guineas a yearif I take the place of groom to you? I may earn Rosebud that way in twoyears if you give her to me instead of wages.'--My two companions beganto whisper to one another, and to stare at me as if I'd just come out ofan Egyptian mummy-case.--`What's up now?' I said.--`We can't make youout,' said Saunders; `whatever are you driving at?'--`Oh, I'll soon makethat clear!' I said. `The fact is, gentlemen, I've been led to theconclusion that raffling isn't right; that it's only a sort of gambling;that, in fact, there are only three honest ways of my getting Rosebud.One is by giving an equivalent in money or something else; but I can'tafford the hundred guineas, and you won't take my pony in exchange. Thesecond way is by earning her--that is, by my doing so much work as willbe of the same value; but it wouldn't suit you nor me for me to take theplace of your groom for a couple of years. And the third way is for meto have her as a free gift; but I'm not so sanguine as to suppose thatyou mean to give her to me right out.'--`And where have you got all thisprecious nonsense from?' cried Saunders.--`In the first place,' Ianswered, `you're right about the "precious," but wrong about the"nonsense;" it's precious truth. In the next place, I have learnedthese views on the subject of raffles from my brother Amos.'--Then there_was_ a hullaballoo. `Your brother Amos!' they shouted out, as if mydear brother was the very last person in the world that anything good orsensible could be expected from.--`Yes,' I said, as cool as an icicle,`my brother Amos. I suppose if a thing's right, it's as good when itcomes from him as from any one else.'--They were both taken aback, I cantell you. But I stuck to my point. They tried to chaff me out of it bysaying, `Well, I would be a man if I were you, and have an opinion of myown.'--`I have an opinion of my own,' said I, `and it's none the less myown because it's the same as my brother's.'--`He daren't move a step byhimself now for that brother of his,' sneered Saunders.--To this Ireplied, `I'll just give you an answer in the words of one whose opinionyou'll respect, I think, and it's this--'
"I dare do all that may become a man, Who dares do more is none."
"So says Shakespeare, and so say I.--Then they took to abusing Amosagain; so I just told them that I had found by experience that mybrother's advice and opinion were worth taking, and that I had no wishto hear him cried down unless they could show that he was wrong. Well,you may suppose that we soon found out that our horses wanted to godifferent ways; so we raised our hats to one another and took leave, andthus ended the partnership of Huntingdon, Gregson, and Saunders."
There was silence for a while, during which the hands of the twobrothers were clasped tightly in each other. At last Miss Huntingdonsaid, "Now, dear Walter, you may make your laurel crown whenever youplease, and I shall be only too happy to place it myself on your head--yes, the crown fairly won by an act of true and lofty moral courage."