FORGIVE AND FORGET.
IN the neighbourhood of a seaport town in the west of England, therelived a gardener, who had one son, called Maurice, to whom he was verypartial. One day his father sent him to the neighbouring town topurchase some garden seeds for him. When Maurice got to the seed-shop,it was full of people, who were all impatient to be served: first a greattall man, and next a great fat woman pushed before him; and he stoodquietly beside the counter, waiting till somebody should be at leisure toattend to him. At length, when all the other people who were in the shophad got what they wanted, the shopman turned to Maurice—“And what do youwant, my patient little fellow?” said he.
“I want all these seeds for my father,” said Maurice, putting a list ofseeds into the shopman’s hand; “and I have brought money to pay for themall.”
The seedsman looked out all the seeds that Maurice wanted, and packedthem up in paper: he was folding up some painted lady-peas, when, from adoor at the back of the shop, there came in a square, rough-faced man,who exclaimed, the moment he came in, “Are the seeds I ordered ready?—Thewind’s fair—they ought to have been aboard yesterday. And my china jar,is it packed up and directed? where is it?”
“It is up there on the shelf over your head, sir,” answered the seedsman.“It is very safe, you see; but we have not had time to pack it yet. Itshall be done to-day; and we will get the seeds ready for you, sir,immediately.”
“Immediately! then stir about it. The seeds will not pack themselves up.Make haste, pray.”
“Immediately, sir, as soon as I have done up the parcel for this littleboy.”
“What signifies the parcel for this little boy? He can wait, and Icannot—wind and tide wait for no man. Here, my good lad, take yourparcel, and sheer off,” said the impatient man; and, as he spoke, he tookup the parcel of seeds from the counter, as the shopman stooped to lookfor a sheet of thick brown paper and packthread to tie it up.
The parcel was but loosely folded up, and as the impatient man lifted it,the weight of the peas which were withinside of it burst the paper, andall the seeds fell out upon the floor, whilst Maurice in vain held hishands to catch them. The peas rolled to all parts of the shop; theimpatient man swore at them, but Maurice, without being out of humour,set about collecting them as fast as possible.
Whilst the boy was busied in this manner, the man got what seeds hewanted; and as he was talking about them, a sailor came into the shop,and said, “Captain, the wind has changed within these five minutes, andit looks as if we should have ugly weather.”
“Well, I’m glad of it,” replied the rough faced man, who was the captainof a ship. “I am glad to have a day longer to stay ashore, and I’vebusiness enough on my hands.” The captain pushed forward towards theshop door. Maurice, who was kneeling on the floor, picking up his seeds,saw that the captain’s foot was entangled in some packthread which hungdown from the shelf on which the china jar stood. Maurice saw that, ifthe captain took one more step forward, he must pull the string, so thatit would throw down the jar, round the bottom of which the packthread wasentangled. He immediately caught hold of the captain’s leg, and stoppedhim. “Stay! Stand still, sir!” said he, “or you will break your chinajar.”
The man stood still, looked, and saw how the packthread had caught in hisshoe buckle, and how it was near dragging down his beautiful china jar.“I am really very much obliged to you, my little fellow,” said he. “Youhave saved my jar, which I would not have broken for ten guineas, for itis for my wife, and I’ve brought it safe from abroad many a league. Itwould have been a pity if I had broken it just when it was safe landed.I am really much obliged to you, my little fellow, this was returninggood for evil. I am sorry I threw down your seeds, as you are such agood natured, forgiving boy. Be so kind,” continued he, turning to theshopman, “as to reach down that china jar for me.”
The shopman lifted down the jar very carefully, and the captain took offthe cover, and pulled out some tulip roots. “You seem, by the quantityof seeds you have got, to belong to a gardener. Are you fond ofgardening?” said he to Maurice.
“Yes, sir,” replied Maurice, “very fond of it; for my father is agardener, and he lets me help him at his work, and he has given me alittle garden of my own.”
“Then here are a couple of tulip-roots for you; and if you take care ofthem, I’ll promise you that you will have the finest tulips in England inyour little garden. These tulips were given to me by a Dutch merchant,who told me that they were some of the rarest and finest in Holland.They will prosper with you, I’m sure, wind and weather permitting.”
Maurice thanked the gentleman, and returned home, eager to show hisprecious tulip-roots to his father, and to a companion of his, the son ofa nurseryman, who lived near him. Arthur was the name of thenurseryman’s son.
The first thing Maurice did, after showing his tulip-roots to his father,was to run to Arthur’s garden in search of him. Their gardens wereseparated only by a low wall of loose stones: “Arthur! Arthur! where areyou? Are you in your garden! I want you.” But Arthur made no answer,and did not, as usual, come running to meet his friend. “I know whereyou are,” continued Maurice, “and I’m coming to you as fast as theraspberry-bushes will let me. I have good news for you—something you’llbe delighted to see, Arthur!—Ha!—but here is something that I am notdelighted to see, I am sure,” said poor Maurice, who, when he had gotthrough the raspberry-bushes, and had come in sight of his own garden,beheld his bell-glass—his beloved bell-glass, under which his cucumberswere grown so finely—his only bell-glass, broken to pieces!
“I am sorry for it,” said Arthur, who stood leaning upon his spade in hisown garden; “I am afraid you will be very angry with me.”
“Why, was it you, Arthur, broke my bell-glass! Oh, how could you do so?”
“I was throwing weeds and rubbish over the wall, and by accident a greatlump of couch-grass, with stones hanging to the roots, fell upon yourbell-glass, and broke it, as you see.”
Maurice lifted up the lump of couch-grass, which had fallen through thebroken glass upon his cucumbers, and he looked at his cucumbers for amoment in silence—“Oh, my poor cucumbers! you must all die now. I shallsee all your yellow flowers withered to-morrow; but it is done, and itcannot be helped; so, Arthur, let us say no more about it.”
“You are very good; I thought you would have been angry. I am sure Ishould have been exceedingly angry if you had broken the glass, if it hadbeen mine.”
“Oh, forgive and forget, as my father always says; that’s the best way.Look what I have got for you.” Then he told Arthur the story of thecaptain of the ship, and the china jar; the seeds having been throwndown, and of the fine tulip-roots which had been given to him; andMaurice concluded by offering one of the precious roots to Arthur, whothanked him with great joy, and repeatedly said, “How good you were notto be angry with me for breaking your bell-glass! I am much more sorryfor it than if you had been in a passion with me!”
Arthur now went to plant his tulip-root: and Maurice looked at the bedswhich his companion had been digging, and at all the things which werecoming up in his garden.
“I don’t know how it is,” said Arthur, “but you always seem as glad tosee the things in my garden coming up, and doing well, as if they wereall your own. I am much happier since my father came to live here, andsince you and I have been allowed to work and to play together, than Iever was before; for you must know, before we came to live here, I had acousin in the house with me, who used to plague me. He was not nearly sogood-natured as you are. He never took pleasure in looking at my garden,or at anything that I did that was well done; and he never gave me ashare of anything that he had; and so I did not like him; how could I?But, I believe that hating people makes us unhappy; for I know I neverwas happy when I was quarrelling with him; and I am always happy withyou, Maurice. You know we never quarrel.”
It would be well for all the world if they could be convinced, likeArthur, that to
live in friendship is better than to quarrel. It wouldbe well for all the world if they followed Maurice’s maxim of “Forgiveand Forget,” when they receive, or when they imagine that they receive,an injury.
Arthur’s father, Mr. Oakly, the nurseryman, was apt to take offence attrifles; and when he thought that any of his neighbours disobliged him,he was too proud to ask them to explain their conduct; therefore he wasoften mistaken in his judgment of them. He thought that it showed_spirit_, to remember and to resent an injury; and, therefore, though hewas not an ill-natured man, he was sometimes led, by this mistaken ideaof _spirit_, to do ill-natured things: “A warm friend and a bitterenemy,” was one of his maxims, and he had many more enemies than friends.He was not very rich, but he was proud; and his favourite proverb was,“Better live in spite than in pity.”
When first he settled near Mr. Grant, the gardener, he felt inclined todislike him, because he was told that Mr. Grant was a Scotchman, and hehad a prejudice against Scotchmen; all of whom he believed to be cunningand avaricious, because he had once been over-reached by a Scotchpeddler. Grant’s friendly manners in some degree conquered thisprepossession but still he secretly suspected that _this civility_, as hesaid, “_was all show_, _and that he was not_, _nor could not_, _being aScotchman_, _be such a hearty friend as a true-born Englishman_.”
Grant had some remarkably fine raspberries. The fruit was so large, asto be quite a curiosity. When it was in season, many strangers came fromthe neighbouring town, which was a sea-bathing place, to look at theseraspberries, which obtained the name of Brobdingnag raspberries.
“How came you, pray, neighbour Grant, if a man may ask, by thesewonderful fine raspberries?” said Mr. Oakly, one evening, to thegardener.
“That’s a secret,” replied Grant, with an arch smile.
“Oh, in case it’s a secret, I’ve no more to say; for I never meddle withany man’s secrets that he does not choose to trust me with. But I wish,neighbour Grant, you would put down that book. You are always poringover some book or another when a man comes to see you, which is not,according to my notions (being a plain, _unlarned_ Englishman bred andborn), so civil and neighbourly as might be.”
Mr. Grant hastily shut his book, but remarked, with a shrewd glance athis son, that it was in that book he found his Brobdingnag raspberries.
“You are pleased to be pleasant upon them that have not the luck to be asbook-_larned_ as yourself, Mr. Grant; but I take it, being only a plainspoken Englishman, as I observed afore, that one is to the full as liketo find a raspberry in one’s garden as in one’s book, Mr. Grant.”
Grant, observing that his neighbour spoke rather in a surly tone, did notcontradict him; being well versed in the Bible, he knew that “A soft wordturneth away wrath,” and he answered, in a good humoured voice, “I hear,neighbour Oakly, you are likely to make a great deal of money of yournursery this year. Here’s to the health of you and yours, not forgettingthe seedling larches, which I see are coming on finely.”
“Thank ye, neighbour, kindly; the larches are coming on tolerably well,that’s certain; and here’s to your good health, Mr. Grant—you and yours,not forgetting your, what dye call ’em raspberries”—(_drinks_)—and, aftera pause, resumes, “I’m not apt to be a beggar, neighbour, but if youcould give me—”
Here Mr. Oakly was interrupted by the entrance of some strangers, and hedid finish making his request—Mr. Oakly was not, as he said of himself,apt to ask favours, and nothing but Grant’s cordiality could haveconquered his prejudices, so far as to tempt him to ask a favour from aScotchman. He was going to have asked for some of the Brobdingnagraspberry-plants. The next day the thought of the raspberry-plantsrecurred to his memory, but being a bashful man, he did not like to gohimself on purpose to make his request, and he desired his wife, who wasjust setting out to market, to call at Grant’s gate, and, if he was atwork in his garden, to ask him for a few plants of his raspberries.
The answer which Oakly’s wife brought to him was that Mr. Grant had not araspberry-plant in the world to give him, and that if he had ever somany, he would not give one away, except to his own son.
Oakly flew into a passion when he received such a message, declared itwas just such a mean, shabby trick as might have been expected from aScotchman—called himself a booby, a dupe, and a blockhead, for everhaving trusted to the civil speeches of a Scotchman—swore that he woulddie in the parish workhouse before he would ever ask another favour, beit ever so small, from a Scotchman; related to his wife, for thehundredth time, the way in which he had been taken in by the Scotchpeddler ten years ago, and concluded by forswearing all furtherintercourse with Mr. Grant, and all belonging to him.
“Son Arthur,” said he, addressing himself to the boy, who just then camein from work—“Son Arthur, do you hear me? let me never again see you withGrant’s son.”
“With Maurice, father?”
“With Maurice Grant, I say; I forbid you from this day and hour forwardto have anything to do with him.”
“Oh, why, dear father?”
“Ask no questions but do as I bid you.”
Arthur burst out a crying, and only said, “Yes, father, I’ll do as youbid me, to be sure.”
“Why now, what does the boy cry for? Is there no other boy, simpleton,think you, to play with, but this Scotchman’s son! I’ll find out anotherplay-fellow for ye, child, if that be all.”
“That’s not all, father,” said Arthur, trying to stop himself fromsobbing; “but the thing is, I shall never have such anotherplay-fellow,—I shall never have such another friend as Maurice Grant.”
“Like father like son—you may think yourself well off to have done withhim.”
“Done with him! Oh, father, and shall I never go again to work in hisgarden, and may not he come to mine?”
“No,” replied Oakly, sturdily; “his father has used me uncivil, and noman shall use me uncivil twice. I say no. Wife, sweep up this hearth.Boy, don’t take on like a fool; but eat thy bacon and greens, and let’shear no more of Maurice Grant.”
Arthur promised to obey his father. He only begged that he might oncemore speak to Maurice, and tell him that it was by his father’s orders heacted. This request was granted; but when Arthur further begged to knowwhat reason he might give for this separation, his father refused to tellhis reasons. The two friends took leave of one another very sorrowfully.
Mr. Grant, when he heard of all this, endeavoured to discover what couldhave offended his neighbour; but all explanation was prevented by theobstinate silence of Oakly.
Now, the message which Grant really sent about the Brobdingnagraspberries was somewhat different from that which Mr. Oakly received.The message was, that the raspberries were not Mr. Grant’s; thattherefore he had no right to give them away; that they belonged to hisson Maurice, and that this was not the right time of year for plantingthem. This message had been unluckily misunderstood. Grant gave hisanswer to his wife; she to a Welsh servant-girl, who did not perfectlycomprehend her mistress’ broad Scotch; and she in her turn could not makeherself intelligible to Mrs. Oakly, who hated the Welsh accent, and whoseattention, when the servant-girl delivered the message, was principallyengrossed by the management of her own horse. The horse, on which Mrs.Oakly rode this day being ill-broken, would not stand still quietly atthe gate, and she was extremely impatient to receive her answer, and toride on to market.
Oakly, when he had once resolved to dislike his neighbour Grant, couldnot long remain without finding out fresh causes of complaint. There wasin Grant’s garden a plum-tree, which was planted close to the loose stonewall that divided the garden from the nursery. The soil in which theplum tree was planted happened not to be quite so good as that which wason the opposite side of the wall, and the plum-tree had forced its waythrough the wall, and gradually had taken possession of the ground whichit liked best.
Oakly thought the plum-tree, as it belonged to Mr. Grant, had no right tomake its appearance on his ground: an attorney told
him that he mightoblige Grant to cut it down; but Mr. Grant refused to cut down hisplum-tree at the attorney’s desire, and the attorney persuaded Oakly togo to law about the business, and the lawsuit went on for some months.
The attorney, at the end of this time, came to Oakly with a demand formoney to carry on his suit, assuring him that, in a short time, it wouldbe determined in his favour. Oakly paid his attorney ten golden guineas,remarked that it was a great sum for him to pay, and that nothing but thelove of justice could make him persevere in this lawsuit about a bit ofground, “which, after all,” said he, “is not worth twopence. Theplum-tree does me little or no damage, but I don’t like to be imposedupon by a Scotchman.”
The attorney saw and took advantage of Oakly’s prejudice against thenatives of Scotland; and he persuaded him, that to show the _spirit_ of atrue-born Englishman it was necessary, whatever it might cost him, topersist in this law suit.
It was soon after this conversation with the attorney that Mr. Oaklywalked, with resolute steps, towards the plum-tree, saying to himself,“If it cost me a hundred pounds I will not let this cunning Scotchman getthe better of me.”
Arthur interrupted his father’s reverie, by pointing to a book and someyoung plants which lay upon the wall. “I fancy, father,” said he, “thosethings are for you, for there is a little note directed to you, inMaurice’s handwriting. Shall I bring it to you?”
“Yes, let me read it, child, since I must.” It contained these words:
“DEAR MR. OAKLY,—I don’t know why you have quarrelled with us; I am very sorry for it. But though you are angry with me, I am not angry with you. I hope you will not refuse some of my Brobdingnag raspberry-plants, which you asked for a great while ago, when we were all good friends. It was not the right time of the year to plant them, which was the reason they were not sent to you; but it is just the right time to plant them now; and I send you the book, in which you will find the reason why we always put seaweed ashes about their roots; and I have got some seaweed ashes for you. You will find the ashes in the flower-pot upon the wall. I have never spoken to Arthur, nor he to me, since you bid us not. So, wishing your Brobdingnag raspberries may turn out as well as ours, and longing to be all friends again, I am, with love to dear Arthur and self,
“Your affectionate neighbour’s son, “MAURICE GRANT.
“P.S.—It is now about four months since the quarrel began, and that is a very long while.”
A great part of the effect of this letter was lost upon Oakly, because hewas not very expert in reading writing, and it cost him much trouble tospell it and put it together. However, he seemed affected by it, andsaid, “I believe this Maurice loves you well enough, Arthur, and he seemsa good sort of boy; but as to the raspberries, I believe all that he saysabout them is but an excuse; and, at anyrate, as I could not get ’em whenI asked for them, I’ll not have ’em now. Do you hear me, I say, Arthur?What are you reading there?”
Arthur was reading the page that was doubled down in the book, whichMaurice had left along with the raspberry-plants upon the wall. Arthurread aloud as follows:—
(_Monthly Magazine_, Dec. ’98, p. 421.)
“There is a sort of strawberry cultivated at Jersey, which is almost covered with seaweed in the winter, in like manner as many plants in England are with litter from the stable. These strawberries are usually of the largeness of a middle-sized apricot, and the flavour is particularly grateful. In Jersey and Guernsey, situate scarcely one degree farther south than Cornwall, all kinds of fruit, pulse, and vegetables are produced in their seasons a fortnight or three weeks sooner than in England, even on the southern shores; and snow will scarcely remain twenty-four hours on the earth. Although this may be attributed to these islands being surrounded with a salt, and consequently a moist atmosphere, yet the ashes (seaweed ashes) made use of as manure, may also have their portion of influence.” {181}
“And here,” continued Arthur, “is something written with a pencil, on aslip of paper, and it is Maurice’s writing. I will read it to you.
“‘When I read in this book what is said about the strawberries growing aslarge as apricots, after they had been covered over with seaweed, Ithought that perhaps seaweed ashes might be good for my father’sraspberries; and I asked him if he would give me leave to try them. Hegave me leave, and I went directly and gathered together some seaweedthat had been cast on shore; and I dried it, and burned it, and then Imanured the raspberries with it, and the year afterwards the raspberriesgrew to the size that you have seen. Now, the reason I tell you this is,first, that you may know how to manage your raspberries, and next,because I remember you looked very grave, as if you were not pleased withmy father, Mr. Grant, when he told you that the way by which he came byhis Brobdingnag raspberries was a secret. Perhaps this was the thingthat has made you so angry with us all; for you never have come to seefather since that evening. Now I have told you all I know; and so I hopeyou will not be angry with us any longer.’”
Mr. Oakly was much pleased by this openness, and said, “Why now, Arthur,this is something like, this is telling one the thing one wants to know,without fine speeches. This is like an Englishman more than a Scotchman.Pray, Arthur, do you know whether your friend Maurice was born in Englandor in Scotland?”
“No, indeed, sir, I don’t know—I never asked—I did not think itsignified. All I know is, that wherever he was born, he is _very_ good.Look, papa, my tulip is blowing.”
“Upon my word,” said his father, “this will be a beautiful tulip!”
“It was given to me by Maurice.”
“And did you give him nothing for it?” was the father’s inquiry.
“Nothing in the world; and he gave it to me just at the time when he hadgood cause to be angry with me, just when I had broken his bell-glass.”
“I have a great mind to let you play together again,” said Arthur’sfather.
“Oh, if you would,” cried Arthur, clapping his hands, “how happy weshould be! Do you know, father, I have often sat for an hour at a timeup in that crab-tree, looking at Maurice at work in his garden, andwishing that I was at work with him.”
Here Arthur was interrupted by the attorney, who came to ask Mr. Oaklysome question about the lawsuit concerning the plum-tree. Oakly showedhim Maurice’s letter; and to Arthur’s extreme astonishment, the attorneyhad no sooner read it, than he exclaimed, “What an artful littlegentleman this is! I never, in the course of all my practice, met withanything better. Why, this is the most cunning letter I ever read.”
“Where’s the cunning?” said Oakly, and he put on his spectacles.
“My good sir, don’t you see, that all this stuff about Brobdingnagraspberries is to ward off your suit about the plum-tree? They know—thatis, Mr. Grant, who is sharp enough, knows—that he will be worsted in thatsuit; that he must, in short, pay you a good round sum for damages, if itgoes on—”
“Damages!” said Oakly, staring round him at the plum-tree; “but I don’tknow what you mean. I mean nothing but what’s honest. I don’t mean toask for any good round sum; for the plum-tree has done me no great harmby coming into my garden; but only I don’t choose it should come therewithout my leave.”
“Well, well,” said the attorney, “I understand all that; but what I wantto make you, Mr. Oakly, understand, is, that this Grant and his son onlywant to make up matters with you, and prevent the thing’s coming to afair trial, by sending on, in this underhand sort of way, a bribe of afew raspberries.”
“A bribe!” exclaimed Oakly, “I never took a bribe, and I never will”;and, with sudden indignation, he pulled the raspberry plants from theground in which Arthur was planting them; and he threw them over the wallinto Grant’s garden.
Maurice had put his tulip, which was beginning to blow, in a flower-pot,on
the top of the wall, in hopes that his friend Arthur would see it fromday to day. Alas! he knew not in what a dangerous situation he hadplaced it. One of his own Brobdingnag raspberry-plants, swung by theangry arm of Oakly, struck off the head of his precious tulip! Arthur,who was full of the thought of convincing his father that the attorneywas mistaken in his judgment of poor Maurice, did not observe the fall ofthe tulip.
The next day, when Maurice saw his raspberry-plants scattered upon theground, and his favourite tulip broken, he was in much astonishment, and,for some moments, angry; but anger, with him, never lasted long. He wasconvinced that all this must be owing to some accident or mistake. Hecould not believe that anyone could be so malicious as to injure him onpurpose—“And even if they did all this on purpose to vex me,” said he tohimself, “the best thing I can do, is, not to let it vex me. Forgive andforget.” This temper of mind Maurice was more happy in enjoying than hecould have been made, without it, by the possession of all the tulips inHolland.
Tulips were, at this time, things of great consequence in the estimationof the country several miles round where Maurice and Arthur lived. Therewas a florist’s feast to be held at the neighbouring town, at which aprize of a handsome set of gardening-tools was to be given to the personwho could produce the finest flower of its kind. A tulip was the flowerwhich was thought the finest the preceding year, and consequently numbersof people afterwards endeavoured to procure tulip-roots, in hopes ofobtaining the prize this year. Arthur’s tulip was beautiful. As heexamined it from day to day, and every day thought it improving, helonged to thank his friend Maurice for it; and he often mounted into hiscrab-tree, to look into Maurice’s garden, in hopes of seeing his tulipalso in full bloom and beauty. He never could see it.
The day of the florist’s feast arrived, and Oakly went with his son andthe fine tulip to the place of meeting. It was on a spaciousbowling-green. All the flowers of various sorts were ranged upon aterrace at the upper end of the bowling-green; and, amongst all this gayvariety, the tulip which Maurice had given to Arthur appearedconspicuously beautiful. To the owner of this tulip the prize wasadjudged; and, as the handsome garden-tools were delivered to Arthur, heheard a well known voice wish him joy. He turned, looked about him, andsaw his friend Maurice.
“But, Maurice, where is your own tulip?” said Mr. Oakly; “I thought,Arthur, you told me that he kept one for himself.”
“So I did,” said Maurice; “but somebody (I suppose by accident) brokeit.”
“Somebody! who?” cried Arthur and Mr. Oakly at once.
“Somebody who threw the raspberry-plants back again over the wall,”replied Maurice.
“That was me—that somebody was me,” said Oakly. “I scorn to deny it; butI did not intend to break your tulip, Maurice.”
“Dear Maurice,” said Arthur—“you know I may call him dear Maurice—now youare by, papa; here are all the garden-tools; take them, and welcome.”
“Not one of them,” said Maurice, drawing back.
“Offer them to the father—offer them to Mr. Grant,” whispered Oakly;“he’ll take them, I’ll answer for it.”
Mr. Oakly was mistaken: the father would not accept of the tools. Mr.Oakly stood surprised—“Certainly,” said he to himself, “this cannot besuch a miser as I took him for”; and he walked immediately up to Grant,and bluntly said to him, “Mr. Grant, your son has behaved very handsomelyto my son; and you seem to be glad of it.”
“To be sure I am,” said Grant
“Which,” continued Oakly, “gives me a better opinion of you than ever Ihad before—I mean, than ever I had since the day you sent me the shabbyanswer about those foolish, what d’ye call ’em, cursed raspberries.”
“What shabby answer?” said Grant, with surprise; and Oakly repeatedexactly the message which he received; and Grant declared that he neversent any such message. He repeated exactly the answer which he reallysent, and Oakly immediately stretched out his hand to him, saying “Ibelieve you: no more need be said. I’m only sorry I did not ask youabout this four months ago; and so I should have done if you had not beena Scotchman. Till now, I never rightly liked a Scotchman. We may thankthis good little fellow,” continued he, turning to Maurice, “for ourcoming at last to a right understanding. There was no holding outagainst his good nature. I’m sure, from the bottom of my heart, I’msorry I broke his tulip. Shake hands, boys; I’m glad to see you, Arthur,look so happy again, and hope Mr. Grant will forgive—”
“Oh, forgive and forget,” said Grant and his son at the same moment. Andfrom this time forward the two families lived in friendship with eachother.
Oakly laughed at his own folly, in having been persuaded to go to lawabout the plum-tree; and he, in process of time, so completely conqueredhis early prejudice against Scotchmen, that he and Grant became partnersin business. Mr. Grant’s book-_larning_ and knowledge of arithmetic hefound highly useful to him; and he, on his side, possessed a great manyactive, good qualities, which became serviceable to his partner.
The two boys rejoiced in this family union; and Arthur often declaredthat they owed all their happiness to Maurice’s favourite maxim, “Forgiveand Forget.”