Amos Huntingdon Part 21

While Amos rejoiced greatly in the return of his sister, there was much still to be accomplished before his great object could be fairly said to be attained, even in her case. Nothing could be kinder than Mr Huntingdon's treatment of his restored child; and when her little ones joined her, it seemed as if the pent back affections of the squire were coming forth in such a rush as would almost overwhelm his grandchildren with a flood of indulgence. Brighter days, then, had come; nevertheless, Amos could not help seeing much in the character and conduct of both his sister and Walter which saddened him. Acting himself on the highest of all principles--the constraining love of the heavenly Master--he could not be content till the same holy motive should have its place in the hearts of those he so dearly loved.

Sorrow had subdued and softened in Julia the less amiable features in her character; while all that Amos had done and suffered and was still doing for herself and her children could not but draw out her heart to him. But yet, while she loved and respected Amos, she just simply dearly loved Walter; towards him the deeper and tenderer feelings of her heart went forth. And Walter himself--though Amos was the object of his warmest admiration, and, in a certain sense, of his imitation--was far from adopting the standard and motives of his brother. To do simply what his conscience told him to be right, when such a course would cut the prejudices of his gay worldly friends across the grain, was a thing he was by no means prepared for; and here he had his sister's sympathy.

Not that she openly advocated a worldly and compromising line of conduct--for indeed she was too glad to leave for a while argument and outspoken opinions to others--but she made him feel in her private conversations with him that the world and its ways and maxims were still her own guide and standard.

Amos could see this more or less, and he deeply deplored it; but he trusted still that prayer, patience, and perseverance would yet bring his beloved brother and restored sister to look at duty and wisdom in the light of G.o.d's Word. And Walter gave him at times much encouragement. He could no longer despise Amos, nor pride himself in his own superiority to him. The beauty of his elder brother's character, the n.o.bleness of his aims, the singleness of eye that was manifest in him, his unselfishness and patience, these traits had won the unfeigned admiration of Walter, an admiration which he was too generous not to acknowledge. But yet, all the while, he rather fretted under Amos's rigid consistency, remarking to his sister that really it was a bit of a bondage to have to be always so very good, and that one must not be so over-particular if one was to get on with people who were not yet exactly angels. But still, he was vexed with himself when he had made such observations, and resolved in his heart to be more circ.u.mspect for the future.

When Julia Vivian had been some weeks in her old home, Walter exclaimed one 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 had only had her a short time."

"Why, father," replied Walter, "I imagine the fact is that Gregson's purse is getting worn into a hole or two."

"I understood," remarked Miss Huntingdon, "that his father was a very wealthy man, and allowed his son, as you used to put it, no end of money."

"True, aunt; but I think he has been betting and losing pretty heavily lately, 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 your worship 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 your guinea, for then I shall get a horse worth a hundred guineas for two guineas; and if _you_ win, you can either keep the mare or hand her over to 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-natured thing by giving Gregson a helping hand out of his difficulties, for it will take a good deal of hunting up to get a hundred names for the raffle."

"But, my boy," said the squire, "remember there's some one else to be considered 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 own pony, 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 my own pony."

"That is to say, if you are the winner, my boy; but there will be ninety-nine chances to one against that."

"Oh yes, I know that, father; but 'nothing venture, nothing win,' says the 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 to have 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 believe raffles to be utterly wrong in principle, and so there must be harm in them. They are just simply a mild form of gambling, and nothing got by them 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 of getting anything from another person's possession honestly: you must either 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 is marketably worth, or something in exchange which will be worth as much to the person from whom you are getting the thing as the thing he is parting with is worth to him; or you must have it as a free gift from its owner. Now a raffle fulfils none of these conditions. Take the case of this mare Rosebud. Suppose you pay your guinea, and prove the successful person. You have not earned Rosebud, for you have not given a hundred guineas' worth of labour for her. You have not given a fair equivalent, such as an equally good horse or something else of the same value, nor an equivalent in money, for you have given only a guinea for what is worth a hundred guineas. Nor have you received her as a free gift."

"I quite agree with you, Amos," said his father; "you have put it very clearly. I think these raffles, in which you risk your little in the hope of getting some one else's much, are thoroughly unwholesome and dangerous in principle, and are calculated to encourage a taste for more serious gambling."

"But stop there, please, dear father," said Walter. "When a man gives his guinea for what is worth one hundred guineas, or when a man bets say one 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 loses it willingly."

"Nay, not so," said Amos. "He is not willing to lose his larger sum; he makes no out-and-out gift of it. In laying his larger sum against your smaller, he does so because he is persuaded or fully expects that he shall 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 Huntingdon said, in her clear gentle voice, "Surely dear Amos is right. If the principle of gambling is in the raffle, though in a seemingly more innocent form, how can it be otherwise than perilous and wrong to engage in such things? Oh, there is such a terrible fascination in this venturing one's little in the hope of making it much, not by honest work of hand or brain, nor by giving an equivalent, nor by receiving it as the free-will loving gift of one who gladly does us a kindness. What this fascination may lead to is to be seen in that terrible paradise of the gambler, Monaco, on the sh.o.r.e of the lovely Mediterranean. I have lately heard a most thrilling account of what is to be seen in that fearfully attractive palace of despair. Lovely gardens are there, ravishing music, an exquisite salon where the entranced players meet to throw away fortune, peace, and hope. At first you might imagine you were in a church, so still and serious are the deluded mammon- worshippers. And what follows? I will mention but one case; it is a well-attested one. Two young Russian ladies, wealthy heiresses, entered the gaming-hall. For a while they looked on with indifference; then with some little interest; then the spell began to work. The fascination drew them on; they sat down, they played. At first they won; then they lost. Then they staked larger and larger sums in the vain hope of recovering the gold which was rapidly slipping away from their possession. But they played on. Loss followed loss; they still went on playing. Then they staked the last money they had, and lost.

Bankrupt and heart-broken, they betook themselves to the cliffs that overhang the Mediterranean, and, hand in hand, plunged into the sea and were lost. Oh, can that be innocent which in any degree tends to encourage this thirst for getting gain not in the paths of honest industry, but in a way which G.o.d cannot and does not bless?"

She paused. Walter hung down his head, while his features worked uneasily. Then he slowly raised his face, and said, "I suppose I'm wrong; but then, what is to be done? Gregson will ask me about it, and what 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 and shaking 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 think I must, unless I wish to be laughed at till they've jeered all the spirit out of me."

Amos made no answer, nor did Miss Huntingdon; but as Walter looked towards her, with no very happy expression of countenance, she quietly laid one hand across the other. He saw it and coloured, and then, with a disdainful toss of the head, hurried away. But the arrow had hit its mark. As Miss Huntingdon was about to prepare for bed, she heard a low voice outside her door saying, "May a naughty boy come in?" and Walter was admitted. The tears were in his eyes as he kissed his aunt and sat down. "I am waiting for the rod," he said, half mournfully and half playfully. "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 hero that isn't like me."

"Dear boy," said his aunt, placing her hands lovingly on his head, "you were wrong, I know; but you are right now, and I think you mean to keep so. I have a beautiful instance here of moral courage, just to the point; I was reading about it a few minutes ago.

"A young man once called on a most earnest and experienced minister of the gospel, Dr Spencer of Brooklyn, New York, about his difficulties in his earthly calling. He was salesman in a dry-goods store, and was required 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 who entered the store, by her dress, her manner, her look, the tone of her voice, whether she had much knowledge of the article she wished to purchase; and if she had not, he must put the price higher, as high as he thought she could be induced to pay. With one cla.s.s of customers he must _always_ begin by asking a half or a third more than the regular price; and if any objection was made, he was to say, 'We have never sold it any cheaper,' or, 'You cannot buy that quality of goods any lower in the city.' In fact, a very large portion of the service expected of him was just to lie for the purpose of cheating. When he expressed his doubts about this being right, his employer laughed at him. 'Everybody does it,' he said; 'You can't be a merchant without it. All is fair in trade. You are too green.'--'I know I am too green,' the young man said to the minister sorrowfully; 'for I was brought up in the country, and don't know much of the world. My mother is a poor widow, but I don't believe _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 a church member, and yet I believe it would make my old mother very bad if she knew I was doing such things every day.'--'Well, then,' said the good pastor, 'take your mother's way, and refuse his.'--'I shall lose my place then.'--'Well, lose your place; don't hesitate a moment; tell your employer you will do all that you honestly can, but that you were not engaged to deceive, to cheat, to lie.'--'If I should say that, he would tell me to be off.'--'Very well; _be_ off, then.'--'I have no other place to go to, and he knows it.'--'No matter; go anywhere, do anything--dig potatoes, black boots, sweep the streets for a living, sooner than yield for one hour to such temptation.'--'But if I leave that place so soon, it will make my old mother feel very bad; she will think that I am getting unsteady; she will be afraid that I am going to ruin.'--'Not a bit of it; tell her just the truth, and you will fill her old heart with joy. She will thank G.o.d that she has got such a son, and she will send up into heaven another prayer for you, which I would rather have than all the gold of Ophir. Now, go back to your store, and do all your duties most faithfully and punctually without lying. If your employer is not a fool, he will like you the better for it, and prize you the more, for he will at once see that he has got one clerk on whose truthfulness he can depend. But if the man is as silly as he is unconscientious, he will probably dismiss you before long. After that, you may be sure that G.o.d will open a way for you somewhere.'--The young man took Dr Spencer's advice, and lost his place, but soon found another, and afterwards became an eminent and prosperous merchant, while his old employer became bankrupt in about seven years after he left him, and had to toil on in disgraceful poverty. Dr Spencer adds, 'I attribute this young man's integrity, conversion, and salvation to his old mother, as he always fondly called her.'

"Now, dear Walter, you were saying, I think, when we were discussing the raffle, that we cannot always be doing just what is right, and that Gregson and Saunders would make great fun of you if you were to refuse to put down your name because Amos thinks it wrong to raffle. Does not that young American's case show very plainly that we _ought_ to aim at always doing right? And is it not better to please a dear Christian old mother, or a dear Christian brother like Amos, than to be smiled upon by a dishonest master, or by such companions as Saunders or Gregson? You see, the young man acted with true moral courage when he braved the sneers and displeasure of his unscrupulous employer; and he found his reward in the approval of G.o.d, his conscience, and his dear old mother."

Walter made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Then he rose, flung his arms round his aunt's neck, kissed her half a dozen times very warmly, and, whispering in her ear, "Pray for me, dear auntie," hastily left the room. Oh, how Miss Huntingdon rejoiced at these few simple and touching words, both on Walter's own account and also on Amos's. She was sure now that her beloved nephew was feeling his way into the narrow path, and would be all right on the road before long.

A few days later, while Miss Huntingdon, Julia, and Amos were writing their letters a little before luncheon time, Walter opened the door and looked in with a comical expression on his face. "Are you all _very_ busy?" he asked. Having received a reply in the negative, he advanced to the fire, crouched down by his aunt, hid his face in her lap, and then, looking up at her with a smile, said, "I've come to make an announcement and a confession. First and foremost, the raffle has come to grief, partly, I suppose, because Walter Huntingdon, junior, Esquire of Flixworth Manor, in the county of Hertfordshire, has refused to put down his name or have anything to do with it. There--what does the present company think of this important announcement?"

Amos and his aunt replied by loving smiles; Julia kept her eyes fixed on some work she had taken up.

"My next announcement," continued Walter, "is of equal interest and importance. The great firm of Huntingdon, Gregson, and Saunders has dissolved partnership. What do you say to that?"

Amos left his place at the table, and kneeling down close to his brother drew him warmly to him, his tears falling fast all the while as he whispered, "Dear, dear Walter, how happy you have made me!"

"Do you want to hear all about it?" asked the other. "Would you like to hear my confession?"

"By all means, dear boy," said his aunt, placing a fond hand on the head of each of the brothers. Julia left her place and crouched down close to Walter, so that her aunt's hands could include herself in their gentle pressure.

"Now for it," said Walter, rising and standing erect, with his back to the fire. "Yesterday," he continued, "as I was riding out before dinner, I met Saunders and Gregson on horseback. Gregson was riding Rosebud.--'Well,' said Gregson, 'is Rosebud to be yours?'--'Can't afford it,' I said; 'a hundred guineas is too much. I haven't got the money to spare.'--'No, of course not,' he said; 'but you can spare a guinea.'--'Yes,' I replied; 'but that won't buy Rosebud.'--'No,' he said; 'but it will give you a chance of getting her for a guinea.'--'That's one way,' I said; 'but it don't seem the right one to me. What do you say to swopping Rosebud for my pony? then you'll have an equivalent, at least if you think so.'--Saunders and he looked at one another as if they had seen a ghost; and then I said, 'Perhaps I can work out the value. Let me see. Will you give me fifty guineas a year if I take the place of groom to you? I may earn Rosebud that way in two years if you give her to me instead of wages.'--My two companions began to whisper to one another, and to stare at me as if I'd just come out of an Egyptian mummy-case.--'What's up now?' I said.--'We can't make you out,' said Saunders; 'whatever are you driving at?'--'Oh, I'll soon make that clear!' I said. 'The fact is, gentlemen, I've been led to the conclusion 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't afford the hundred guineas, and you won't take my pony in exchange. The second way is by earning her--that is, by my doing so much work as will be of the same value; but it wouldn't suit you nor me for me to take the place of your groom for a couple of years. And the third way is for me to have her as a free gift; but I'm not so sanguine as to suppose that you mean to give her to me right out.'--'And where have you got all this precious nonsense from?' cried Saunders.--'In the first place,' I answered, 'you're right about the "precious," but wrong about the "nonsense;" it's precious truth. In the next place, I have learned these views on the subject of raffles from my brother Amos.'--Then there _was_ a hullaballoo. 'Your brother Amos!' they shouted out, as if my dear brother was the very last person in the world that anything good or sensible 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 it comes from him as from any one else.'--They were both taken aback, I can tell you. But I stuck to my point. They tried to chaff me out of it by saying, 'Well, I would be a man if I were you, and have an opinion of my own.'--'I have an opinion of my own,' said I, 'and it's none the less my own because it's the same as my brother's.'--'He daren't move a step by himself now for that brother of his,' sneered Saunders.--To this I replied, 'I'll just give you an answer in the words of one whose opinion you'll respect, I think, and it's this--'