LAZY LAWRENCE.
IN the pleasant valley of Ashton there lived an elderly woman of the nameof Preston. She had a small neat cottage, and there was not a weed to beseen in her garden. It was upon her garden that she chiefly depended forsupport; it consisted of strawberry beds, and one small border forflowers. The pinks and roses she tied up in nice nosegays, and senteither to Clifton or Bristol to be sold. As to her strawberries, she didnot send them to market, because it was the custom for numbers of peopleto come from Clifton, in the summer time, to eat strawberries and creamat the gardens in Ashton.
Now, the widow Preston was so obliging, active and good-humoured, thateveryone who came to see her was pleased. She lived happily in thismanner for several years; but, alas! one autumn she fell sick, and,during her illness, everything went wrong; her garden was neglected, hercow died, and all the money which she had saved was spent in paying formedicines. The winter passed away, while she was so weak that she couldearn but little by her work; and when the summer came, her rent wascalled for, and the rent was not ready in her little purse as usual. Shebegged a few months’ delay, and they were granted to her; but at the endof that time there was no resource but to sell her horse Lightfoot. NowLightfoot, though perhaps he had seen his best days, was a very greatfavourite. In his youth he had always carried the dame to the marketbehind her husband; and it was now her little son Jem’s turn to ride him.It was Jem’s business to feed Lightfoot, and to take care of him—a chargewhich he never neglected, for, besides being a very good natured, he wasa very industrious boy.
“It will go near to break my Jem’s heart,” said Dame Preston to herself,as she sat one evening beside the fire stirring the embers, andconsidering how she had best open the matter to her son, who stoodopposite to her, eating a dry crust of bread very heartily for supper.
“Jem,” said the old woman, “what, ar’t hungry?”
“That I am, brave and hungry!”
“Ay! no wonder, you’ve been brave hard at work—Eh?”
“Brave hard! I wish it was not so dark, mother, that you might just stepout and see the great bed I’ve dug; I know you’d say it was no bad day’swork—and oh, mother! I’ve good news: Farmer Truck will give us the giantstrawberries, and I’m to go for ’em to-morrow morning, and I’ll be backafore breakfast.”
“God bless the boy! how he talks!—Four mile there, and four mile backagain, afore breakfast.”
“Ay, upon Lightfoot, you know, mother, very easily; mayn’t I?”
“Ay, child!”
“Why do you sigh, mother?”
“Finish thy supper, child.”
“I’ve done!” cried Jem, swallowing the last mouthful hastily, as if hethought he had been too long at supper—“and now for the great needle; Imust see and mend Lightfoot’s bridle afore I go to bed.”
To work he set, by the light of the fire, and the dame having once morestirred it, began again with “Jem, dear, does he go lame at all now?”
“What, Lightfoot! Oh, la, no, not he—never was so well of his lamenessin all his life. He’s grown quite young again, I think, and then he’s sofat he can hardly wag.”
“God bless him—that’s right. We must see, Jem, and keep him fat.”
“For what, mother?”
“For Monday fortnight at the fair. He’s to be—sold!”
“Lightfoot!” cried Jem, and let the bridle fall from his hand; “and_will_ mother sell Lightfoot?”
“_Will_? no: but I _must_, Jem.”
“Must! who says you _must_? why _must_ you, mother?”
“I must, I say, child. Why, must not I pay my debts honestly; and mustnot I pay my rent, and was not it called for long and long ago; and havenot I had time; and did not I promise to pay it for certain Mondayfortnight, and am not I two guineas short; and where am I to get twoguineas? So what signifies talking, child?” said the widow, leaning herhead upon her arm. “Lightfoot _must_ go.”
Jem was silent for a few minutes—“Two guineas, that’s a great, greatdeal. If I worked, and worked, and worked ever so hard, I could no waysearn two guineas _afore_ Monday fortnight—could I, mother?”
“Lord help thee, no; not an’ work thyself to death.”
“But I could earn something, though, I say,” cried Jem, proudly; “and I_will_ earn _something_—if it be ever so little, it will be_something_—and I shall do my very best; so I will.”
“That I’m sure of, my child,” said his mother, drawing him towards herand kissing him; “you were always a good, industrious lad, _that_ I willsay afore your face or behind your back;—but it won’t do now—Lightfoot_must_ go.”
Jem turned away struggling to hide his tears, and went to bed withoutsaying a word more. But he knew that crying would do no good; so hepresently wiped his eyes, and lay awake, considering what he couldpossibly do to save the horse. “If I get ever so little,” he still saidto himself, “it will be _something_; and who knows but landlord mightthen wait a bit longer? and we might make it all up in time; for a pennya day might come to two guineas in time.”
But how to get the first penny was the question. Then he recollectedthat one day, when he had been sent to Clifton to sell some flowers, hehad seen an old woman with a board beside her covered with varioussparkling stones, which people stopped to look at as they passed, and heremembered that some people bought the stones; one paid twopence, anotherthreepence, and another sixpence for them; and Jem heard her say that shegot them amongst the neighbouring rocks: so he thought that if he triedhe might find some too, and sell them as she had done.
Early in the morning he wakened full of this scheme, jumped up, dressedhimself, and, having given one look at poor Lightfoot in his stable, setoff to Clifton in search of the old woman, to inquire where she found hersparkling stones. But it was too early in the morning, the old woman wasnot at her seat; so he turned back again, disappointed. He did not wastehis time waiting for her, but saddled and bridled Lightfoot, and went toFarmer Truck’s for the giant strawberries.
A great part of the morning was spent in putting them into the ground;and, as soon as that was finished, he set out again in quest of the oldwoman, whom, to his great joy, he spied sitting at her corner of thestreet with her board before her. But this old woman was deaf and cross;and when at last Jem made her hear his questions, he could get no answerfrom her, but that she found the fossils where he would never find anymore. “But can’t I look where you looked?”
“Look away, nobody hinders you,” replied the old woman; and these werethe only words she would say.
Jem was not, however, a boy to be easily discouraged; he went to therocks, and walked slowly along, looking at all the stones as he passed.Presently he came to a place where a number of men were at work looseningsome large rocks, and one amongst the workmen was stooping down lookingfor something very eagerly; Jem ran up, and asked if he could help him.
“Yes,” said the man, “you can; I’ve just dropped, amongst this heap ofrubbish, a fine piece of crystal that I got to-day.”
“What kind of a looking thing is it?” said Jem.
“White, and like glass,” said the man, and went on working whilst Jemlooked very carefully over the heap of rubbish for a great while.
“Come,” said the man, “it’s gone for ever; don’t trouble yourself anymore, my boy.”
“It’s no trouble; I’ll look a little longer; we’ll not give it up sosoon,” said Jem; and after he had looked a little longer, he found thepiece of crystal.
“Thank’e,” said the man, “you are a fine little industrious fellow.”
Jem, encouraged by the tone of voice in which the man spoke this,ventured to ask him the same questions which he had asked the old woman.
“One good turn deserves another,” said the man; “we are going to dinnerjust now, and shall leave off work—wait for me here, and I’ll make itworth your while.”
Jem waited; and, as he was very attentively observing how the workmenwent on with their work,
he heard somebody near him give a great yawn,and, turning round, he saw stretched upon the grass, beside the river, aboy about his own age, who, in the village of Ashton, as he knew, went bythe name of Lazy Lawrence—a name which he most justly deserved, for henever did anything from morning to night. He neither worked nor played,but sauntered or lounged about restless and yawning. His father was anale-house keeper, and being generally drunk, could take no care of hisson; so that Lazy Lawrence grew every day worse and worse. However, someof the neighbours said that he was a good natured, poor fellow enough,and would never do anyone harm but himself; whilst others, who werewiser, often shook their heads, and told him that idleness was the rootof all evil.
“What, Lawrence!” cried Jem to him, when he saw him lying upon the grass;“what, are you asleep?”
“Not quite.”
“Are you awake?”
“Not quite.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Nothing.”
“What are you thinking of?”
“Nothing.”
“What makes you lie there?”
“I don’t know—because I can’t find anybody to play with me to-day. Willyou come and play?”
“No, I can’t; I’m busy.”
“Busy,” cried Lawrence, stretching himself, “you are always busy. Iwould not be you for the world, to have so much to do always.”
“And I,” said Jem, laughing, “would not be you for the world, to havenothing to do.”
They then parted, for the workman just then called Jem to follow him. Hetook him home to his own house, and showed him a parcel of fossils, whichhe had gathered, he said, on purpose to sell, but had never had timeenough to sell them. Now, however, he set about the task; and havingpicked out those which he judged to be the best, he put them in a smallbasket, and gave them to Jem to sell, upon condition that he should bringhim half of what he got. Jem, pleased to be employed, was ready to agreeto what the man proposed, provided his mother had no objection. When hewent home to dinner, he told his mother his scheme, and she smiled, andsaid he might do as he pleased; for she was not afraid of his being fromhome. “You are not an idle boy,” said she; “so there is little danger ofyour getting into any mischief.”
Accordingly Jem that evening took his stand, with his little basket, uponthe bank of the river, just at the place where people land from aferry-boat, and the walk turns to the wells, and numbers of peopleperpetually pass to drink the waters. He chose his place well, andwaited nearly all the evening, offering his fossils with great assiduityto every passenger; but not one person bought any.
“Hallo!” cried some sailors, who had just rowed a boat to land, “bear ahand here, will you, my little fellow, and carry these parcels for usinto yonder house?”
Jem ran down immediately for the parcels, and did what he was asked to doso quickly, and with so much good-will, that the master of the boat tooknotice of him, and, when he was going away, stopped to ask him what hehad got in his little basket; and when he saw that they were fossils, heimmediately told Jem to follow him, for that he was going to carry someshells he had brought from abroad to a lady in the neighbourhood who wasmaking a grotto. “She will very likely buy your stones into the bargain.Come along, my lad; we can but try.”
The lady lived but a very little way off, so that they were soon at herhouse. She was alone in her parlour, and was sorting a bundle offeathers of different colours; they lay on a sheet of pasteboard upon awindow seat, and it happened that as the sailor was bustling round thetable to show off his shells, he knocked down the sheet of pasteboard,and scattered all the feathers. The lady looked very sorry, which Jemobserving, he took the opportunity, whilst she was busy looking over thesailor’s bag of shells, to gather together all the feathers, and sortthem according to their different colours, as he had seen them sortedwhen he first came into the room.
“Where is the little boy you brought with you? I thought I saw him herejust now.”
“And here I am, ma’am,” cried Jem, creeping from under the table, withsome few remaining feathers which he had picked from the carpet; “Ithought,” added he, pointing to the others, “I had better be doingsomething than standing idle, ma’am.” She smiled, and, pleased with hisactivity and simplicity, began to ask him several questions; such as whohe was, where he lived, what employment he had, and how much a day heearned by gathering fossils.
“This is the first day I ever tried,” said Jem; “I never sold any yet,and if you don’t buy ’em now, ma’am, I’m afraid nobody else will; forI’ve asked everybody else.”
“Come, then,” said the lady, laughing, “if that is the case, I think Ihad better buy them all.” So, emptying all the fossils out of hisbasket, she put half a crown into it.
Jem’s eyes sparkled with joy. “Oh, thank you, ma’am,” said he, “I willbe sure and bring you as many more, to-morrow.”
“Yes, but I don’t promise you,” said she, “to give you half a crown,to-morrow.”
“But, perhaps, though you don’t promise it, you will.”
“No,” said the lady, “do not deceive yourself; I assure you that I willnot. _That_, instead of encouraging you to be industrious, would teachyou to be idle.”
Jem did not quite understand what she meant by this, but answered, “I’msure I don’t wish to be idle; what I want is to earn something every day,if I know how; I’m sure I don’t wish to be idle. If you knew all, you’dknow I did not.”
“How do you mean, _if I knew all_?”
“Why, I mean, if you knew about Lightfoot.”
“Who’s Lightfoot?”
“Why, mammy’s horse,” added Jem, looking out of the window; “I must makehaste home, and feed him afore it gets dark; he’ll wonder what’s gonewith me.”
“Let him wonder a few minutes longer,” said the lady, “and tell me therest of your story.”
“I’ve no story, ma’am, to tell, but as how mammy says he must go to thefair Monday fortnight, to be sold, if she can’t get the two guineas forher rent; and I should be main sorry to part with him, for I love him,and he loves me; so I’ll work for him, I will, all I can. To be sure, asmammy says, I have no chance, such a little fellow as I am, of earningtwo guineas afore Monday fortnight.”
“But are you willing earnestly to work?” said the lady; “you know thereis a great deal of difference between picking up a few stones, andworking steadily every day, and all day long.”
“But,” said Jem, “I would work every day, and all day long.”
“Then,” said the lady, “I will give you work. Come here, to-morrowmorning, and my gardener will set you to weed the shrubberies, and I willpay you sixpence a day. Remember, you must be at the gates by sixo’clock.” Jem bowed, thanked her, and went away.
It was late in the evening, and Jem was impatient to get home to feedLightfoot; yet he recollected that he had promised the man who hadtrusted him to sell the fossils, that he would bring him half of what hegot for them; so he thought that he had better go to him directly; andaway he went, running along by the waterside about a quarter of a mile,till he came to the man’s house. He was just come home from work, andwas surprised when Jem showed him the half-crown, saying, “Look what Igot for the stones; you are to have half, you know.”
“No,” said the man, when he had heard his story, “I shall not take halfof that; it was given to you. I expected but a shilling at the most, andthe half of that is but sixpence, and that I’ll take. Wife, give the ladtwo shillings, and take this half-crown.” So the wife opened an oldglove, and took out two shillings; and the man, as she opened the glove,put in his fingers, and took out a little silver penny. “There, he shallhave that into the bargain for his honesty—honesty is the bestpolicy—there’s a lucky penny for you, that I’ve kept ever since I canremember.”
“Don’t you ever go to part with it, do ye hear!” cried the woman.
“Let him do what he will with it, wife,” said the man.
“But,??
? argued the wife, “another penny would do just as well to buygingerbread; and that’s what it will go for.”
“No, that it shall not, I promise you,” said Jem; and so he ran awayhome, fed Lightfoot, stroked him, went to bed, jumped up at five o’clockin the morning, and went singing to work as gay as a lark.
Four days he worked “every day and all day long”; and every evening thelady, when she came out to walk in her gardens, looked at his work. Atlast she said to her gardener, “This little boy works very hard.”
“Never had so good a little boy about the grounds,” said the gardener;“he’s always at his work, let me come by when I will, and he has gottwice as much done as another would do; yes, twice as much, ma’am; forlook here—he began at this ’ere rose-bush, and now he’s got to where youstand, ma’am; and here is the day’s work that t’other boy, and he’s threeyears older too, did to-day—I say, measure Jem’s fairly, and it’s twiceas much, I’m sure.”
“Well,” said the lady to her gardener, “show me how much is a fair day’swork for a boy of his age.”
“Come at six o’clock and go at six? why, about this much, ma’am,” saidthe gardener, marking off a piece of the border with his spade.
“Then, little boy,” said the lady, “so much shall be your task every day.The gardener will mark it off for you; and when you’ve done, the rest ofthe day you may do what you please.”
Jem was extremely glad of this; and the next day he had finished his taskby four o’clock; so that he had all the rest of the evening to himself.He was as fond of play as any little boy could be; and when he was at ithe played with all the eagerness and gaiety imaginable; so as soon as hehad finished his task, fed Lightfoot, and put by the sixpence he hadearned that day, he ran to the playground in the village, where he founda party of boys playing, and amongst them Lazy Lawrence, who indeed wasnot playing, but lounging upon a gate, with his thumb in his mouth. Therest were playing at cricket. Jem joined them, and was the merriest andmost active amongst them; till, at last, when quite out of breath withrunning, he was obliged to give up to rest himself, and sat down upon thestile, close to the gate on which Lazy Lawrence was swinging.
“And why don’t you play, Lawrence?” said he.
“I’m tired,” said Lawrence.
“Tired of what?”
“I don’t know well what tires me; grandmother says I’m ill, and I musttake something—I don’t know what ails me.”
“Oh, pugh! take a good race—one, two, three, and away—and you’ll findyourself as well as ever. Come, run—one, two, three, and away.”
“Ah, no, I can’t run, indeed,” said he, hanging back heavily; “you know Ican play all day long if I like it, so I don’t mind play as you do, whohave only one hour for it.”
“So much the worse for you. Come, now, I’m quite fresh again, will youhave one game at ball? do.”
“No, I tell you I can’t; I’m as tired as if I had been working all daylong as hard as a horse.”
“Ten times more,” said Jem, “for I have been working all day long, ashard as a horse, and yet you see I’m not a bit tired, only a little outof breath just now.”
“That’s very odd,” said Lawrence, and yawned, for want of some betteranswer; then taking out a handful of halfpence,—“See what I got fromfather to-day, because I asked him just at the right time, when he haddrunk a glass or two; then I can get anything I want out of him—see! apenny, twopence, threepence, fourpence—there’s eightpence in all; wouldnot you be happy if you had _eightpence_?”
“Why, I don’t know,” said Jem, laughing, “for you don’t seem happy, andyou _have eightpence_.”
“That does not signify, though. I’m sure you only say that because youenvy me. You don’t know what it is to have eightpence. You never hadmore than twopence or threepence at a time in all your life.”
Jem smiled. “Oh, as to that,” said he, “you are mistaken, for I have atthis very time more than twopence, threepence, or eightpence either. Ihave—let me—see—stones, two shillings; then five days’ work—that’s fivesixpences, that’s two shillings and sixpence; in all, makes fourshillings and sixpence; and my silver penny, is four and sevenpence—fourand sevenpence!”
“You have not!” said Lawrence, roused so as absolutely to stand upright,“four and sevenpence, have you? Show it me, and then I’ll believe you.”
“Follow me, then,” cried Jem, “and I’ll soon make you believe me; come.”
“Is it far?” said Lawrence, following half-running, half-hobbling, tillhe came to the stable, where Jem showed him his treasure. “And how didyou come by it—honestly?”
“Honestly! to be sure I did; I earned it all.”
“Lord bless me, earned it! well, I’ve a great mind to work; but then it’ssuch hot weather, besides, grandmother says I’m not strong enough yet forhard work; and besides, I know how to coax daddy out of money when I wantit, so I need not work. But four and sevenpence; let’s see, what willyou do with it all?”
“That’s a secret,” said Jem, looking great.
“I can guess; I know what I’d do with it if it was mine. First, I’d buypocketfuls of gingerbread; then I’d buy ever so many apples and nuts.Don’t you love nuts? I’d buy nuts enough to last me from this time toChristmas, and I’d make little Newton crack ’em for me, for that’s theworst of nuts; there’s the trouble of cracking ’em.”
“Well, you never deserve to have a nut.”
“But you’ll give me some of yours,” said Lawrence, in a fawning tone; forhe thought it easier to coax than to work—“you’ll give me some of yourgood things, won’t you?”
“I shall not have any of those good things,” said Jem.
“Then, what will you do with all your money?”
“Oh, I know very well what to do with it; but, as I told you, that’s asecret, and I sha’n’t tell it anybody. Come now, let’s go back andplay—their game’s up, I daresay.”
Lawrence went back with him, full of curiosity, and out of humour withhimself and his eightpence. “If I had four and sevenpence,” said he tohimself, “I certainly should be happy!”
The next day, as usual, Jem jumped up before six o’clock and went to hiswork, whilst Lazy Lawrence sauntered about without knowing what to dowith himself. In the course of two days he laid out sixpence of hismoney in apples and gingerbread; and as long as these lasted, he foundhimself well received by his companions; but, at length the third day hespent his last halfpenny, and when it was gone, unfortunately some nutstempted him very much, but he had no money to pay for them; so he ranhome to coax his father, as he called it.
When he got home he heard his father talking very loud, and at first hethought he was drunk; but when he opened the kitchen door, he saw that hewas not drunk, but angry.
“You lazy dog!” cried he, turning suddenly upon Lawrence, and gave himsuch a violent box on the ear as made the light flash from his eyes; “youlazy dog! See what you’ve done for me—look!—look, look, I say!”
Lawrence looked as soon as he came to the use of his senses, and withfear, amazement and remorse, beheld at least a dozen bottles burst, andthe fine Worcestershire cider streaming over the floor.
“Now, did not I order you three days ago to carry these bottles to thecellar, and did not I charge you to wire the corks? answer me, you lazyrascal; did not I?”
“Yes,” said Lawrence, scratching his head.
“And why was not it done, I ask you?” cried his father, with renewedanger, as another bottle burst at the moment. “What do you stand therefor, you lazy brat? why don’t you move, I say? No, no,” catching hold ofhim, “I believe you can’t move; but I’ll make you.” And he shook himtill Lawrence was so giddy he could not stand. “What had you to thinkof? What had you to do all day long that you could not carry my cider,my Worcestershire cider, to the cellar when I bid you? But go, you’llnever be good for anything; you are such a lazy rascal—get out of mysight!” So saying, he pushed him out of t
he house door, and Lawrencesneaked off, seeing that this was no time to make his petition forhalfpence.
The next day he saw the nuts again, and wishing for them more than ever,he went home, in hopes that his father, as he said to himself, would bein a better humour. But the cider was still fresh in his recollection;and the moment Lawrence began to whisper the word “halfpenny” in his ear,his father swore, with a loud oath, “I will not give you a halfpenny, no,not a farthing, for a month to come. If you want money, go work for it;I’ve had enough of your laziness—go work!”
At these terrible words Lawrence burst into tears, and, going to the sideof a ditch, sat down and cried for an hour; and when he had cried till hecould cry no more, he exerted himself so far as to empty his pockets, tosee whether there might not happen to be one halfpenny left; and, to hisgreat joy, in the farthest corner of his pocket one halfpenny was found.With this he proceeded to the fruit woman’s stall. She was busy weighingout some plums, so he was obliged to wait; and whilst he was waiting heheard some people near him talking and laughing very loud.
The fruit woman’s stall was at the gate of an inn yard; and peepingthrough the gate in this yard, Lawrence saw a postilion and a stable boy,about his own size, playing at pitch farthing. He stood by watching themfor a few minutes. “I began but with one halfpenny,” cried the stableboy, with an oath, “and now I’ve got twopence!” added he, jingling thehalfpence in his waistcoat pocket. Lawrence was moved at the sound, andsaid to himself, “If _I_ begin with one halfpenny I may end, like him,with having twopence; and it is easier to play at pitch farthing than towork.”
So he stepped forward, presenting his halfpenny, offering to toss up withthe stable boy, who, after looking him full in the face, accepted theproposal, and threw his halfpenny into the air. “Head or tail?” criedhe. “Head,” replied Lawrence, and it came up head. He seized the penny,surprised at his own success, and would have gone instantly to have laidit out in nuts; but the stable boy stopped him, and tempted him to throwagain. This time Lawrence lost; he threw again and won; and so he wenton, sometimes losing, but most frequently winning, till half the morningwas lost. At last, however, finding himself the master of threehalfpence, said he would play no more.
The stable boy, grumbling, swore he would have his revenge another time,and Lawrence went and bought his nuts. “It is a good thing,” said he tohimself, “to play at pitch farthing; the next time I want a halfpennyI’ll not ask my father for it, nor go to work neither.” Satisfied withthis resolution, he sat down to crack his nuts at his leisure, upon thehorse block in the inn yard. Here, whilst he ate, he overheard theconversation of the stable boys and postilions. At first their shockingoaths and loud wrangling frightened and shocked him; for Lawrence, thoughlazy, had not yet learned to be a wicked boy. But, by degrees, he wasaccustomed to the swearing and quarrelling, and took a delight andinterest in their disputes and battles. As this was an amusement whichhe could enjoy without any sort of exertion, he soon grew so fond of it,that every day he returned to the stable yard, and the horse block becamehis constant seat. Here he found some relief from the insupportablefatigue of doing nothing, and here, hour after hour, with his elbows onhis knees, and his head on his hands, he sat, the spectator ofwickedness. Gaming, cheating and lying soon became familiar to him; and,to complete his ruin, he formed a sudden and close intimacy with thestable boy (a very bad boy) with whom he had first begun to game.
The consequences of this intimacy we shall presently see. But it is nowtime to inquire what little Jem had been doing all this while.
One day, after Jem had finished his task, the gardener asked him to staya little while, to help him to carry some geranium pots into the hall.Jem, always active and obliging, readily stayed from play, and wascarrying in a heavy flower pot, when his mistress crossed the hall.“What a terrible litter!” said she, “you are making here—why don’t youwipe your shoes upon the mat?” Jem turned to look for the mat, but hesaw none. “Oh,” said the lady recollecting herself, “I can’t blame you,for there is no mat.”
“No, ma’am,” said the gardener, “nor I don’t know when, if ever, the manwill bring home those mats you bespoke, ma’am.”
“I am very sorry to hear that,” said the lady; “I wish we could findsomebody who would do them, if he can’t. I should not care what sort ofmats they were, so that one could wipe one’s feet on them.”
Jem, as he was sweeping away the litter, when he heard these last words,said to himself, “Perhaps I could make a mat.” And all the way home, ashe trudged along whistling, he was thinking over a scheme for makingmats, which, however bold it may appear, he did not despair of executing,with patience and industry. Many were the difficulties which his“prophetic eye” foresaw; but he felt within himself that spirit whichspurs men on to great enterprises, and makes them “trample onimpossibilities.” In the first place, he recollected that he had seenLazy Lawrence, whilst he lounged upon the gate, twist a bit of heath intodifferent shapes; and he thought, that if he could find some way ofplaiting heath firmly together, it would make a very pretty green softmat, which would do very well for one to wipe one’s shoes on. About amile from his mother’s house, on the common which Jem rode over when hewent to Farmer Truck’s for the giant strawberries, he remembered to haveseen a great quantity of this heath; and, as it was now only six o’clockin the evening, he knew that he should have time to feed Lightfoot,stroke him, go to the common, return, and make one trial of his skillbefore he went to bed.
Lightfoot carried him swiftly to the common, and there Jem gathered asmuch of the heath as he thought he should want. But what toil! whattime! what pains did it cost him, before he could make anything like amat! Twenty times he was ready to throw aside the heath, and give up hisproject, from impatience of repeated disappointments. But still hepersevered. Nothing _truly great_ can be accomplished without toil andtime. Two hours he worked before he went to bed. All his play hours thenext day he spent at his mat; which, in all, made five hours of fruitlessattempts. The sixth, however, repaid him for the labours of the otherfive. He conquered his grand difficulty of fastening the heathsubstantially together, and at length completely finished a mat, whichfar surpassed his most sanguine expectations. He was extremelyhappy—sang, danced round it—whistled—looked at it again and again, andcould hardly leave off looking at it when it was time to go to bed. Helaid it by his bedside, that he might see it the moment he awoke in themorning.
And now came the grand pleasure of carrying it to his mistress. Shelooked fully as much surprised as he expected, when she saw it, and whenshe heard who made it. After having duly admired it, she asked how muchhe expected for his mat. “Expect!—Nothing, ma’am,” said Jem; “I meant togive it you, if you’d have it; I did not mean to sell it. I made it inmy play hours, I was very happy in making it; and I’m very glad, too,that you like it; and if you please to keep it, ma’am, that’s all.”
“But that’s not all,” said the lady. “Spend your time no more in weedingin my garden, you can employ yourself much better; you shall have thereward of your ingenuity as well as of your industry. Make as many moresuch mats as you can, and I will take care and dispose of them for you.”
“Thank’e, ma’am,” said Jem, making his best bow, for he thought by thelady’s looks that she meant to do him a favour, though he repeated tohimself, “Dispose of them, what does that mean?”
The next day he went to work to make more mats, and he soon learned tomake them so well and quickly, that he was surprised at his own success.In every one he made he found less difficulty, so that, instead of makingtwo, he could soon make four in a day. In a fortnight he made eighteen.
It was Saturday night when he finished, and he carried, at threejourneys, his eighteen mats to his mistress’ house; piled them all up inthe hall, and stood with his hat off, with a look of proud humility,beside the pile, waiting for his mistress’ appearance. Presently afolding-door, at one end of the hall, opened, and he saw hi
s mistress,with a great many gentlemen and ladies, rising from several tables.
“Oh! there is my little boy and his mats,” cried the lady; and, followedby all the rest of the company, she came into the hall. Jem modestlyretired whilst they looked at his mats; but in a minute or two hismistress beckoned to him, and when he came into the middle of the circle,he saw that his pile of mats had disappeared.
“Well,” said the lady, smiling, “what do you see that makes you look sosurprised?”
“That all my mats are gone,” said Jem; “but you are very welcome.”
“Are we?” said the lady, “well, take up your hat and go home then, foryou see that it is getting late, and you know Lightfoot will wonderwhat’s become of you.” Jem turned round to take up his hat, which he hadleft on the floor.
But how his countenance changed! the hat was heavy with shillings.Everyone who had taken a mat had put in two shillings; so that for theeighteen mats he had got thirty-six shillings. “Thirty-six shillings,”said the lady; “five and sevenpence I think you told me you had earnedalready—how much does that make? I must add, I believe, one othersixpence to make out your two guineas.”
“Two guineas!” exclaimed Jem, now quite conquering his bashfulness, forat the moment he forgot where he was, and saw nobody that was by. “Twoguineas!” cried he, clapping his hands together,—“O, Lightfoot! O,mother!” Then, recollecting himself, he saw his mistress, whom he nowlooked up to quite as a friend. “Will _you_ thank them all?” said he,scarcely daring to glance his eyes round upon the company; “will _you_thank ’em, for you know I don’t know how to thank ’em _rightly_.”Everybody thought, however, that they had been thanked _rightly_.
“Now we won’t keep you any longer, only,” said his mistress, “I have onething to ask you, that I may be by when you show your treasure to yourmother.”
“Come, then,” said Jem, “come with me now.”
“Not now,” said the lady, laughing; “but I will come to Ashton to-morrowevening; perhaps your mother can find me a few strawberries.”
“That she will,” said Jem: “I’ll search the garden myself.”
He now went home, but felt it a great restraint to wait till to-morrowevening before he told his mother. To console himself he flew to thestable:—“Lightfoot, you’re not to be sold on Monday, poor fellow!” saidhe, patting him, and then could not refrain from counting out his money.Whilst he was intent upon this, Jem was startled by a noise at the door:somebody was trying to pull up the latch. It opened, and there came inLazy Lawrence, with a boy in a red jacket, who had a cock under his arm.They started when they got into the middle of the stable, and when theysaw Jem, who had been at first hidden by the horse.
“We—we—we came,” stammered Lazy Lawrence—“I mean, I came to—to—to—”
“To ask you,” continued the stable-boy, in a bold tone, “whether you willgo with us to the cock-fight on Monday? See, I’ve a fine cock here, andLawrence told me you were a great friend of his; so I came.”
Lawrence now attempted to say something in praise of the pleasures ofcock-fighting and in recommendation of his new companion. But Jem lookedat the stable-boy with dislike, and a sort of dread. Then turning hiseyes upon the cock with a look of compassion, said, in a low voice, toLawrence, “Shall you like to stand by and see its eyes pecked out?”
“I don’t know,” said Lawrence, “as to that; but they say a cockfight’s afine sight, and it’s no more cruel in me to go than another; and a greatmany go, and I’ve nothing else to do, so I shall go.”
“But I have something else to do,” said Jem, laughing, “so I shall notgo.”
“But,” continued Lawrence, “you know Monday is the great Bristol fair,and one must be merry then, of all the days in the year.”
“One day in the year, sure, there’s no harm in being merry,” said thestable boy.
“I hope not,” said Jem; “for I know for my part, I am merry every day inthe year.”
“That’s very odd,” said Lawrence; “but I know for my part, I would notfor all the world miss going to the fair, for at least it will besomething to talk of for half a year after. Come, you’ll go, won’t you?”
“No,” said Jem, still looking as if he did not like to talk before theill-looking stranger.
“Then what will you do with all your money?”
“I’ll tell you about that another time,” whispered Jem; “and don’t you goto see that cock’s eyes pecked out; it won’t make you merry, I’m sure.”
“If I had anything else to divert me,” said Lawrence, hesitating andyawning.
“Come,” cried the stable boy, seizing his stretching arm, “come along,”cried he; and, pulling him away from Jem, upon whom he cast a look ofextreme contempt; “leave him alone, he’s not the sort.
“What a fool you are,” said he to Lawrence, the moment he got him out ofthe stable; “you might have known he would not go, else we should soonhave trimmed him out of his four and sevenpence. But how came you totalk of four and sevenpence. I saw in the manger a hat full of silver.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Lawrence.
“Yes, indeed; but why did you stammer so when we first got in? You hadliked to have blown us all up.”
“I was so ashamed,” said Lawrence, hanging down his head.
“Ashamed! but you must not talk of shame now you are in for it, and Isha’n’t let you off; you owe us half a crown, recollect, and I must bepaid to-night, so see and get the money somehow or other.” After aconsiderable pause he added, “I answer for it he’d never miss half acrown out of all that silver.”
“But to steal,” said Lawrence, drawing back with horror, “I never thoughtI should come to that—and from poor Jem, too—the money that he has workedso hard for, too.”
“But it is not stealing; we don’t mean to steal; only to borrow it; andif we win, which we certainly shall, at the cock-fight, pay it backagain, and he’ll never know anything about the matter, and what harm willit do him? Besides, what signifies talking, you can’t go to thecock-fight, or the fair either, if you don’t; and I tell ye we don’t meanto steal it; we’ll pay it by Monday night.”
Lawrence made no reply, and they parted without his coming to anydetermination.
Here let us pause in our story. We are almost afraid to go on. The restis very shocking. Our little readers will shudder as they read. But itis better that they should know the truth, and see what the idle boy cameto at last.
In the dead of the night, Lawrence heard somebody tap at his window. Heknew well who it was, for this was the signal agreed upon between him andhis wicked companion. He trembled at the thoughts of what he was aboutto do, and lay quite still, with his head under the bedclothes, till heheard the second tap. Then he got up, dressed himself, and opened hiswindow. It was almost even with the ground. His companion said to him,in a hollow voice, “Are you ready?” He made no answer, but got out ofthe window and followed.
When he got to the stable a black cloud was just passing over the moon,and it was quite dark. “Where are you?” whispered Lawrence, gropingabout, “where are you? Speak to me.”
“I am here; give me your hand.” Lawrence stretched out his hand. “Isthat your hand?” said the wicked boy, as Lawrence laid hold of him; “howcold it feels.”
“Let us go back,” said Lawrence; “it is time yet.”
“It is no time to go back,” replied the other, opening the door; “you’vegone too far now to go back,” and he pushed Lawrence into the stable.“Have you found it? Take care of the horse. Have you done? What areyou about? Make haste, I hear a noise,” said the stable boy, who watchedat the door.
“I am feeling for the half-crown, but I can’t find it.”
“Bring all together.” He brought Jem’s broken flower pot, with all themoney in it, to the door. The black cloud had now passed over the moon,and the light shone full upon them. “What do we stand here for?” saidthe stable boy, snatching the flower-pot out of
Lawrence’s tremblinghands, and pulled him away from the door.
“Good God!” cried Lawrence, “you won’t take all. You said you’d onlytake half a crown, and pay it back on Monday. You said you’d only takehalf a crown!”
“Hold your tongue,” replied the other, walking on, deaf to allremonstrances—“if ever I am to be hanged, it sha’n’t be for half acrown.”
Lawrence’s blood ran cold in his veins, and he felt as if all his hairstood on end. Not another word passed. His accomplice carried off themoney, and Lawrence crept, with all the horrors of guilt upon him, to hisrestless bed. All night he was starting from frightful dreams; or else,broad awake, he lay listening to every small noise, unable to stir, andscarcely daring to breathe—tormented by that most dreadful of all kindsof fear, that fear which is the constant companion of an evil conscience.
He thought the morning would never come; but when it was day, when heheard the birds sing, and saw everything look cheerful as usual, he feltstill more miserable. It was Sunday morning, and the bell rang forchurch. All the children of the village, dressed in their Sundayclothes, innocent and gay, and little Jem, the best and gayest amongstthem, went flocking by his door to church.
“Well, Lawrence,” said Jem, pulling his coat as he passed and sawLawrence leaning against his father’s door, “what makes you look soblack?”
“I?” said Lawrence, starting; “why do you say that I look black?”
“Nay, then,” said Jem, “you look white enough now, if that will pleaseyou, for you’re turned as pale as death.”
“Pale?” replied Lawrence, not knowing what he said, and turned abruptlyaway, for he dared not stand another look of Jem’s; conscious that guiltwas written in his face, he shunned every eye. He would now have giventhe world to have thrown off the load of guilt which lay upon his mind.He longed to follow Jem, to fall upon his knees and confess all.
Dreading the moment when Jem should discover his loss, Lawrence dared notstay at home, and not knowing what to do, or where to go, he mechanicallywent to his old haunt at the stable yard, and lurked thereabouts all daywith his accomplice, who tried in vain to quiet his fears and raise hisspirits by talking of the next day’s cock-fight. It was agreed that assoon as the dusk of the evening came on, they should go together into acertain lonely field, and there divide their booty.
In the meantime, Jem, when he returned from church, was very full ofbusiness, preparing for the reception of his mistress, of whose intendedvisit he had informed his mother; and whilst she was arranging thekitchen and their little parlour, he ran to search the strawberry beds.
“Why, my Jem, how merry you are to-day!” said his mother, when he came inwith the strawberries, and was jumping about the room playfully. “Now,keep those spirits of yours, Jem, till you want ’em, and don’t let itcome upon you all at once. Have it in mind that to-morrow’s fair day,and Lightfoot must go. I bid Farmer Truck call for him to-night. Hesaid he’d take him along with his own, and he’ll be here just now—andthen I know how it will be with you, Jem!”
“So do I!” cried Jem, swallowing his secret with great difficulty, andthen tumbling head over heels four times running.
A carriage passed the window, and stopped at the door. Jem ran out; itwas his mistress. She came in smiling, and soon made the old womansmile, too, by praising the neatness of everything in the house.
We shall pass over, however important as they were deemed at the time,the praises of the strawberries, and of “my grandmother’s china plate.”
Another knock was heard at the door. “Run, Jem,” said his mother. “Ihope it’s our milk-woman with cream for the lady.” No; it was FarmerTruck come for Lightfoot. The old woman’s countenance fell. “Fetch himout, dear,” said she, turning to her son; but Jem was gone; he flew outto the stable the moment he saw the flap of Farmer Truck’s great-coat.
“Sit ye down, farmer,” said the old woman, after they had waited aboutfive minutes in expectation of Jem’s return. “You’d best sit down, ifthe lady will give you leave; for he’ll not hurry himself back again. Myboy’s a fool, madam, about that there horse.” Trying to laugh, sheadded, “I knew how Lightfoot and he would be loath enough to part. Hewon’t bring him out till the last minute; so do sit ye down, neighbour.”
The farmer had scarcely sat down when Jem, with a pale, wild countenancecame back. “What’s the matter?” said his mistress. “God bless the boy!”said his mother, looking at him quite frightened, whilst he tried tospeak, but could not.
She went up to him, and then leaning his head against her, he cried,“It’s gone!—it’s all gone!” and, bursting into tears, he sobbed as if hislittle heart would break.
“What’s gone, love?” said his mother.
“My two guineas—Lightfoot’s two guineas. I went to fetch ’em to giveyou, mammy; but the broken flower-pot that I put them in, and all’sgone!—quite gone!” repeated he, checking his sobs. “I saw them safe lastnight, and was showing ’em to Lightfoot; and I was so glad to think I hadearned them all myself; and I thought how surprised you’d look, and howglad you’d be, and how you’d kiss me, and all!”
His mother listened to him with the greatest surprise, whilst hismistress stood in silence, looking first at the old woman, and then atJem with a penetrating eye, as if she suspected the truth of his story,and was afraid of becoming the dupe of her own compassion.
“This is a very strange thing!” said she, gravely. “How came you toleave all your money in a broken flower-pot in the stable? How came younot to give it to your mother to take care of?”
“Why, don’t you remember?” said Jem, looking up, in the midst of histears—“why, don’t you remember you, your own self, bid me not tell herabout it till you were by?”
“And did you not tell her?”
“Nay, ask mammy,” said Jem, a little offended; and when afterwards thelady went on questioning him in a severe manner, as if she did notbelieve him, he at last made no answer.
“Oh, Jem! Jem! why don’t you speak to the lady?” said his mother.
“I have spoke, and spoke the truth,” said Jem, proudly; “and she did notbelieve me.”
Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be withoutsuspicion, maintained a cold manner, and determined to wait the eventwithout interfering, saying only, that she hoped the money would befound, and advised Jem to have done crying.
“I have done,” said Jem; “I shall cry no more.” And as he had thegreatest command over himself, he actually did not shed another tear, noteven when the farmer got up to go, saying, he could wait no longer.
Jem silently went to bring out Lightfoot. The lady now took her seat,where she could see all that passed at the open parlour-window. The oldwoman stood at the door, and several idle people of the village, who hadgathered round the lady’s carriage examining it, turned about to listen.In a minute or two Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leadingLightfoot and, when he came up, without saying a word, put the bridleinto Farmer Truck’s hand.
“He _has been_ a good horse,” said the farmer.
“He _is_ a good horse!” cried Jem, and threw his arm over Lightfoot’sneck, hiding his own face as he leaned upon him.
At this instant a party of milk-women went by; and one of them, havingset down her pail, came behind Jem, and gave him a pretty smart blow uponthe back. He looked up. “And don’t you know me?” said she.
“I forget,” said Jem; “I think I have seen your face before, but Iforget.”
“Do you so? and you’ll tell me just now,” said she, half opening herhand, “that you forget who gave you this, and who charged you not to partwith it, too.” Here she quite opened her large hand, and on the palm ofit appeared Jem’s silver penny.
“Where?” exclaimed Jem, seizing it, “oh, where did you find it? and haveyou—oh, tell me, have you got the rest of my money?”
“I know nothing of your money—I don’t know what you would be at,” saidthe milk-woman.
“But where—pray tell me where—did you find this?”
“With them that you gave it to, I suppose,” said the milk-woman, turningaway suddenly to take up her milk-pail. But now Jem’s mistress called toher through the window, begging her to stop, and joining in hisentreaties to know how she came by the silver penny.
“Why, madam,” said she, taking up the corner of her apron, “I came by itin an odd way, too. You must know my Betty is sick, so I came with themilk myself, though it’s not what I’m used to; for my Betty—you know myBetty?” said she, turning round to the old woman, “my Betty serves you,and she’s a tight and stirring lassy, ma’am, I can assure—”
“Yes, I don’t doubt it,” said the lady, impatiently; “but about thesilver penny?”
“Why, that’s true; as I was coming along all alone, for the rest cameround, and I came a short cut across yon field—no, you can’t see it,madam, where you stand—but if you were here—”
“I see it—I know it,” said Jem, out of breath with anxiety.
“Well—well—I rested my pail upon the stile, and sets me down awhile, andthere comes out of the hedge—I don’t know well how, for they startled meso I’d liked to have thrown down my milk—two boys, one about the size ofhe,” said she pointing to Jem, “and one a matter taller, but ill-lookinglike; so I did not think to stir to make way for them, and they were likein a desperate hurry: so, without waiting for the stile, one of ’empulled at the gate, and when it would not open (for it was tied with apretty stout cord) one of ’em whips out with his knife and cuts it— Now,have you a knife about you, sir?” continued the milk woman to the farmer.He gave her his knife. “Here, now, ma’am, just sticking, as it werehere, between the blade and the haft, was the silver penny. The lad tookno notice; but when he opened it, out it falls. Still he takes no heed,but cuts the cord, as I said before, and through the gate they went, andout of sight in half a minute. I picks up the penny, for my heartmisgave me that it was the very one husband had had a long time, and hadgiven against my voice to he,” pointing to Jem; “and I charged him not topart with it; and, ma’am, when I looked I knew it by the mark, so Ithought I would show it to _he_,” again pointing to Jem, “and let himgive it back to those it belongs to.”
“It belongs to me,” said Jem, “I never gave it to anybody—but—”
“But,” cried the farmer, “those boys have robbed him; it is they who haveall his money.”
“Oh, which way did they go?” cried Jem, “I’ll run after them.”
“No, no,” said the lady, calling to her servant; and she desired him totake his horse and ride after them. “Ay,” added Farmer Truck, “do youtake the road, and I’ll take the field way, and I’ll be bound we’ll have’em presently.”
Whilst they were gone in pursuit of the thieves, the lady, who was nowthoroughly convinced of Jem’s truth, desired her coachman would producewhat she had ordered him to bring with him that evening. Out of the bootof the carriage the coachman immediately produced a new saddle andbridle.
How Jem’s eyes sparkled when the saddle was thrown upon Lightfoot’s back!“Put it on your horse yourself, Jem,” said the lady; “it is yours.”
Confused reports of Lightfoot’s splendid accoutrements, of the pursuit ofthieves, and of the fine and generous lady who was standing at DamePreston’s window, quickly spread through the village, and drew everybodyfrom their houses. They crowded round Jem to hear the story. Thechildren especially, who were fond of him, expressed the strongestindignation against the thieves. Every eye was on the stretch; and nowsome, who had run down the lane, came back shouting, “Here they are!they’ve got the thieves!”
The footman on horseback carried one boy before him; and the farmer,striding along, dragged another. The latter had on a red jacket, whichlittle Jem immediately recollected, and scarcely dared lift his eyes tolook at the boy on horseback. “Good God!” said he to himself, “it mustbe—yet surely it can’t be Lawrence!” The footman rode on as fast as thepeople would let him. The boy’s hat was slouched, and his head hungdown, so that nobody could see his face.
At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd. A man who was halfdrunk pushed his way forwards, swearing that nobody should stop him; thathe had a right to see—and he _would_ see. And so he did; for, forcingthrough all resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he waslifting down the boy he had carried before him. “I _will_—I tell you I_will_ see the thief!” cried the drunken man, pushing up the boy’s hat.It was his own son. “Lawrence!” exclaimed the wretched father. Theshock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands.
There was an awful silence. Lawrence fell on his knees, and in a voicethat could scarcely be heard made a full confession of all thecircumstances of his guilt.
“Such a young creature so wicked!” the bystanders exclaimed; “what couldput such wickedness in your head?”
“Bad company,” said Lawrence.
“And how came you—what brought you into bad company?”
“I don’t know, except it was idleness.”
While this was saying the farmer was emptying Lazy Lawrence’s pockets;and when the money appeared, all his former companions in the villagelooked at each other with astonishment and terror. Their parents graspedtheir little hands closer, and cried, “Thank God! he is not my son. Howoften when he was little we used, as he lounged about, to tell him thatidleness was the root of all evil.”
As for the hardened wretch, his accomplice, everyone was impatient tohave him sent to gaol. He put on a bold, insolent countenance, till heheard Lawrence’s confession; till the money was found upon him; and heheard the milk-woman declare that she would swear to the silver pennywhich he had dropped. Then he turned pale, and betrayed the strongestsigns of fear.
“We must take him before the justice,” said the farmer, “and he’ll belodged in Bristol gaol.”
“Oh!” said Jem, springing forwards when Lawrence’s hands were going to betied, “let him go—won’t you?—can’t you let him go?”
“Yes, madam, for mercy’s sake,” said Jem’s mother to the lady, “thinkwhat a disgrace to his family to be sent to gaol.”
His father stood by wringing his hands in an agony of despair. “It’s allmy fault,” cried he; “I brought him up in idleness.”
“But he’ll never be idle any more,” said Jem; “won’t you speak for him,ma’am?”
“Don’t ask the lady to speak for him,” said the farmer; “it’s better heshould go to Bridewell now, than to the gallows by-and-by.”
Nothing more was said; for everybody felt the truth of the farmer’sspeech.
Lawrence was eventually sent to Bridewell for a month, and the stable-boywas sent for trial, convicted, and transported to Botany Bay.
During Lawrence’s confinement, Jem often visited him, and carried himsuch little presents as he could afford to give; and Jem could afford tobe _generous_, because he was _industrious_. Lawrence’s heart wastouched by his kindness, and his example struck him so forcibly that,when his confinement was ended, he resolved to set immediately to work;and, to the astonishment of all who knew him, soon became remarkable forindustry. He was found early and late at his work, established a newcharacter, and for ever lost the name of “_Lazy Lawrence_.”