Amos Huntingdon Part 27

It can readily be understood that Walter's progress in the higher paths of duty on which he had now sincerely entered was not at all times equally rapid. He was always meaning well, and could "put on a spurt and row hard against the stream," as he himself expressed it, from time to time, but the long, steady, and regular stroke he found it very hard to keep up. Naturally full of spirits, cherished and encouraged in thoughts of his own superiority, and accustomed, as long as he could remember, to have pretty much his own way, it was no light thing for him to put a curb on his inclinations, or to check sudden impulses when they were in the direction of what was dashing or generous. So that, while his deliberate convictions were on the side of all that was right, he was very liable to be led to swerve a little from the narrow path when any sudden strain was put upon him by his own natural or acquired tastes, where he could not gratify these with a safe conscience.

With Julia the case was different. Long had she resisted the hand that would have led her heavenwards by trial and sorrow. High-spirited, self-willed, and self-absorbed though not selfish, she had struggled long against those cords of love which were drawing her out of the pathway of error and death. But she had yielded at last, and, having yielded, she struggled no longer. Her one great and abiding desire now was to make progress on the higher road. Not that she had lost her relish for amus.e.m.e.nt or her interest in outward things; but her spirit was chastened,--a new light burned within her. Not that she loved Walter less, but she loved Amos more; her heart was now more in unison with his, and she could now appreciate the delicacy, and deep tenderness, and consideration of his self-sacrificing love towards herself, which she had in time past so cruelly flung back upon him, and occasionally almost resented. So that now she felt it to be both her duty and her privilege to mark and copy the n.o.bility of his unpretending but sterling character.

Such were brother and sister as they cantered off along the sands on the morning when Amos set off to call on and consult Dr Atkin about his mother. It was a charming summer day. The sea was sparkling in its numberless wavelets; a gentle breeze blew with just so much pressure in the faces of the riders as to add vigour to their spirits as they plunged forward against it. Sea-birds wheeled round and round before them, and everything spoke of brightness and enjoyment. The five miles, partly along the sands and partly along roads skirting the edge of the cliffs, and affording a magnificent extent of sea-view, were soon completed. Walter was full of life and fun, only regretting that he could not work up his sister into a mood as buoyant as his own.

However, he did his best, and satisfied himself that it was only natural that the pressure of old sorrows could not yet be wholly taken off from Julia's heart.

And now they were come to the outskirts of the little town. It was the height of the season, and gaiety and frolic seemed masters of the place.

Old and young were to be met with at every turn, and, with the exception of the manifest invalids, all looked radiant with smiles, as though determined--and who could blame them?--to extract as much pleasure out of their little period of holiday as the place and its occupations could afford them. It so happened that the watering-place was this day flooded with one or two large arrivals of excursionists.

These had evidently come down with the intention of making the very most of their time, and doing the whole thing thoroughly. Walter and his sister were highly entertained by watching some of these excursionists.

Here, for instance, was the family of a worthy mechanic who were intent on getting the utmost possible out of the occasion that time and means would allow. Father, mother, children old and young, including a baby, with the wife's old father and mother, made up the party. Hastening from the station to the beach, the whole family sat down together on the sands for some ten minutes or so, inhaling, with widely opened mouths, copious draughts of sea-air. Then the younger ones mounted donkeys, and the father and mother each a pony, while the old folks looked on.

Having raced about hither and thither on the jaded animals in abrupt jerks of speed prompted by the resounding blows of the owners of the unfortunate brutes, all betook themselves to a sailing-boat; and landed again after half-an-hour's sail, mostly pale, and with dismay in their looks, which manifestly proclaimed that "a life on the ocean wave" was certainly not a life to their taste. Then the old grandfather called to the driver of an open carriage, and took an airing in it with his wife, both sitting close behind the coachman with their backs to the horses, and leaving the best seat vacant, utterly unconscious that they were occupying the less desirable position, and smiling all the while blandly on the general public, pleased to have, for once in a way, a little taste of the pleasures of a higher grade of society than their own. The ride over, the entire party, baby and all, dived into some obscure region, where an unlimited amount of hot water and stale shrimps could be had for a very trifling charge.

While Walter and his sister were amusing themselves by watching the excursionists, they became aware of being the object of notice to two young men who were walking slowly along the esplanade near them. But they were so absorbed with what for the time had got their attention, that they failed to give any special heed to these strangers. Having put up their horses, they made for the sea, and mingled with the numerous comers and goers, keeping a special eye, from time to time, on the mechanic's family and their doings. They were gazing down from the esplanade upon the busy crowds rushing backwards and forwards on the sands below them, when the two young men who had before noticed them pa.s.sed slowly by them, raising their hats. The two were Saunders and Gregson. Now, it is true that Walter had, as he called it, dissolved partnership with these his old companions, and had not met them since the day of the sad disaster in the park; but, nevertheless, there still lingered in his heart a measure of liking for them which he could not altogether get rid of, and a certain amount of regret that all intercourse with them had been broken off. So he looked round hesitatingly as he marked their salutation, and they noticed it. Again they neared one another, and this time the young men smiled, and Walter returned the smile. Then the two stopped, and Gregson said, "Come, old fellow, shake hands; you've treated us rather shabbily to cut us as you have done, but we cannot bear the thought of our old friendship being so easily broken up. We've had many a jolly day together, and why should it not be so again?" He held out his hand, and Walter could not, or did not, resist the impulse to grasp it warmly. Then Saunders must have a similar grip, and Walter could not bring himself to refuse it. After this Julia was introduced, and the four went about amicably together, the two young men warming up, as they saw Walter's resolution melting away, and rattling on with all sorts of light and frivolous talk, which grated sadly on the ear and heart of Julia Vivian.

It was now one o'clock, when Gregson exclaimed, "You must all come to the Ship, and dine at my expense. Nay, my dear old fellow"--addressing Walter--"I'll not hear of a refusal. You know how I let you in for that second sovereign at the match, when Jim Jarrocks won so cleverly. I didn't mean it, of course, but you must allow me the pleasure of making some little amends by having you and your sister as my guests to-day."

Julia tried, by a gentle pressure of her brother's arm, to dissuade him from accepting the invitation, but without avail. Walter felt that he was now "in for it," and must go through with it. So the four companions walked to the Ship Hotel, and partook of an excellent dinner ordered by Gregson, in a private room which commanded a full view of the sea and the crowds of pleasure-seekers who were swarming along the sands. Both the young host and his friend Saunders drank wine and beer freely. Walter, who had never been given to excess, was more cautious; but partly from the excitement of the occasion, and partly, it may be, to drown some uncomfortable whisperings of conscience, he took more of these stimulating drinks than he would have thought of doing under ordinary circ.u.mstances, and the result was that he was prepared, when the meal was over, to take his part in any scheme of fun or frolic that his new companions might propose. Julia saw this with deep shame and regret, but she also saw that now was not the time to remonstrate. She did speak to her brother, as they were leaving the hotel, about returning at once, as she did not wish to be late; but Walter replied in an impatient tone that there was plenty of time, and they might as well have a little bit of fun first. So, with trembling heart she took his arm as they emerged on to the esplanade, resolved that, at any rate, come what might, she would keep close to her brother, and be as much a check upon him as possible.

The four now made their way to the sands. As they did so, they observed a considerable number of the visitors making their way in a body towards a spot where a crowd had evidently a.s.sembled. "What's up now?" cried Gregson. "Let us go and see." They all joined the stream of walkers, and at last reached a spot where a large company of listeners were gathered round a group of men, some of whom were distributing tracts among the people, while one with a grave but pleasing countenance, standing on a stout oak stool which was firmly planted among the shingles, was giving out a verse of a popular hymn preparatory to addressing the spectators.

"Ain't this capital?" said Gregson to Walter and Saunders in a loud whisper. "Won't we just have a rare bit of fun!" He then spoke in a low voice in Saunders's ear, and the young man stole round to the opposite side of the crowd. When the hymn had been sung, and the speaker was in the very act of commencing his discourse, a loud mew from Gregson, who was affecting to look very solemn, made the good man pause.

He made a second attempt; but now a noise as of two cats fighting violently came from the opposite side of the concourse. The poor preacher looked sadly disconcerted; but when the pretended mewing and wrangling were continued, the sense of the ludicrous seemed to prevail in the crowd over everything else, and there was one general outburst of laughter, in which no one joined more heartily than Walter. The crowd began to surge backwards and forwards, and many to move off. But the preacher still maintained his stand. "Come here! come here!" cried Gregson in an undertone to Walter. Julia felt her brother suddenly disengage his arm from hers, and then he was lost in the crowd. A few minutes later, and there was a movement among the audience--if it could now be called an audience--in the rear of the speaker; and during the confusion, Julia, who was gazing intently on the spot where the preacher stood, saw two faces crouching down for a moment. One was Gregson's, the other was Walter's; and then two hands clutched the legs of the stool, and the preacher was pitched head-foremost into the sand. A roar of mirth followed this performance, but it soon gave place to cries of "Shame! shame!" Then there was a lull, and then a profound silence, as the good man who had been so cruelly used planted his feet firmly among the shingles, and said in a clear and unfaltering voice, "My friends, may the Lord forgive these misguided young men for their uncalled-for and unprovoked interference and ridicule! But their malice shall not stop the good work. Here I stand to preach G.o.d's truth; and here I mean to stand, if the Lord will, every day during the season, opposition or no opposition, persecution or no persecution. Let us sing another verse of a hymn." Amidst the profoundest stillness, and evidently with the hearty sympathy of the bulk of his hearers, the good evangelist proceeded with his holy work.

"Come along! come along!" whispered Gregson, creeping round to Walter, who had now regained his sister, and was feeling heartily ashamed of himself. They all hastened back to the hotel. Walter was now thoroughly subdued, and with a very cold leave-taking of his former friends, he and his sister sought their horses, and made the best of their way to the cottage, exchanging but few words as they rode along.

Such was the shameful and sorrowful ending of what had promised to be a very happy day.

And now, when Mrs Huntingdon had been a few days established in the cottage, by her own earnest request, and with the hearty concurrence of her children, their aunt came over to spend a little time with them.

This she could the more easily do as her brother was fully occupied with his endeavours to secure the return of the candidate whose politics he agreed with. Surely there can be few, who have a large circle of relations of different degrees of nearness, who have not among these some pre-eminently special ones who draw to themselves a more than ordinary share of affection from all their kindred--a special sister, or brother, or cousin, who does not however, make others less loved, while being the privileged object of a peculiarly tender regard. Such a special aunt was Miss Huntingdon to all her nephews and nieces. A visit from her was everywhere hailed with rejoicing. And so now every heart was glad when she joined the little party at the sea-side cottage. To Mrs Huntingdon the coming of her sister-in-law was eminently beneficial; for her tender love, her wise and judicious counsels, her earnest prayers, all helped to establish the restored mother in a healthful and happy tone of mind, and were the means of guiding her to that perfect peace which dwells nowhere but in the hearts of those who have sought and found in their Saviour the friend who loves above all others.

When Miss Huntingdon had been at the cottage two or three days, and was walking with Amos and Walter by the ebbing waves, Julia having remained behind with her mother, Walter suddenly stopped, and said, "Auntie, I have something very sad to tell you, and I want your advice."

Both his aunt and Amos looked at him with surprise and anxiety, and then the former said, "Well, dear boy, I am sorry that there should be anything troubling you; but if I can be of any use or comfort to you in the matter. I shall be only too glad."

"Sit down here then, Aunt Kate, if you please, on this bank; and if you are not both of you heartily ashamed of me and disgusted with me when I have told you all, well, you ought to be."

When all three were seated, Walter fully related his adventure at the watering-place, concluding with the attack upon the preacher, laying a full share of blame on himself, and ending with the words, "Now, dear auntie, what do you say to that?"

Both his hearers looked very grave, and were silent for some time. At last Miss Huntingdon, laying her hand lovingly on Walter's shoulder, said, "Dear boy, it is certainly a sad story, but you were led into what you did from want of watchfulness; and as you are now aware of your fault, and are sorry for it, I should not, if I were you; needlessly distress myself, but just make, if you can, some amends."

"Ah! that's the point," cried Walter; "you mean, of course, make some amends to the good preacher. Yes, that can be done, for he said he should be at his post at the same hour every day during the season. But it will require some moral courage to do it, and no little of that valuable article too. Now I am sure, dear auntie, you have in that cabinet of your memory one drawer at least full of examples of moral courage, and you can pick me out one to suit this case."

"Yes, dear boy," said his aunt, smiling, "I daresay I can; for ever since you first asked me to help you in the matter of moral courage by examples drawn from real life, I have been noticing and storing up in one of these drawers you speak of whatever instances of moral courage have come before me in my reading."

"What, then, is it to be to-day, dear Aunt Kate? Can you find me one that will show me how I ought to act in this sad business?"

After reflecting for a few minutes, Miss Huntingdon began: "I have rather a strange moral hero to mention now, and yet he is a most real one. His name is James Comley. He was for years a confirmed infidel--a most intelligent man, but in utter spiritual darkness. He lived at Norwich, and carried on the business of a tea-dealer. He had indoctrinated his wife and children with his own infidel views, and had never lost an occasion of publicly a.s.sailing the truths of religion.

But at last he was brought to see the misery of his condition. He prayed earnestly for light, and G.o.d gave it him at last, and he became a truly changed man. And now, mark his conduct after this change had taken place. He at once tore down some lying placards which covered the shutters of his shop and the whole front of his house--placards which stated that his tea business was 'The Eastern Branch of the Great European Tea Company,' which company, in fact, had no existence. He disposed of about seventy empty tea-chests, which had been so arranged in his shop as to suggest the idea of an immense stock. A huge bale of unused placards he carried into the Norwich market-place, where he addressed the crowd that awaited his arrival, and then carried this bundle of lies to Mousehold Heath, where, after the singing of a hymn, praying, and addressing the crowd which had accompanied him, he committed it to the flames. He after this began publicly to preach that gospel which for nine years in Norwich he had done his best to destroy.

Here was true moral courage indeed; and perhaps his example may be a help to you, dear Walter, in showing you what you ought to do."

Her nephew had listened with the deepest interest, and now remained buried in thought. At length he said: "True, dear auntie; I see it all; my duty is plain enough. James Comley had publicly insulted G.o.d and religion, and he made amends as far as he could do so. At any rate he showed his sincerity by coming out boldly as an honest man, and as one who was sorry for the past, by his publicly burning those placards and then preaching the truth which he used to deny and revile. And I ought to do the same. I mean that, as I did a public wrong in open daylight, and before many people, to that good man at Stringby, so my duty is to go over to Stringby and just as publicly to confess to him, and to the people who may be there, and in open daylight, my sorrow for what I did.

That's just it, auntie, is it not?"

"It will certainly be making the best use of my example, dear boy," she replied, "and will be showing true moral courage; but no doubt it will involve much self-denial, and require much strength from the only true fountain of strength."

"It shall be done, and to-morrow," said Walter firmly.

"Would it be any comfort or help to you if I were to go with you?" asked Amos.

"The greatest comfort in the world," cried his brother joyfully; "yes, and let Julia come too. She was grieved to see me led away as I was, and it will therefore be a happiness to me if she will come with us and hear my confession."

And so it was arranged.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

UNEXPECTED FRUIT.

The next day, after luncheon, the brothers, with their sister, started for Stringby, but not in very buoyant spirits. Walter had no thought of drawing back, nevertheless he felt an almost overwhelming shrinking from the task which he had undertaken. The loving smile, however, and gentle words of affectionate concern with which his aunt had cheered him as they set off were a source of much strength and comfort to him; they hovered around his heart like the shadowing wing of an angel whenever the scorching heat of his furnace of trial swept by antic.i.p.ation across his shrinking spirit. He had thought it wiser not to confide to his mother either the cause of his shame or his intended amends.

The weather was clear and bright as they began their ride, but a smart shower burst upon them when they had accomplished half the distance, and forced them to go out of their way to take shelter. Would the preacher, distrusting the sky, have given up his work just for this afternoon? If so, what pain and humiliation Walter would be spared! Oh, how he clung for a few moments to the hope that it might be so! for then he would have made the amends and the sacrifice, and shown the moral courage, _in intention_, and, at the same time, would be spared the actual heavy trial itself. But then he dashed away these thoughts from him, and with an inward prayer nerved himself for the coming effort.

Amos, as he rode by his side, seemed to guess what was pa.s.sing through his mind, and said, "Can I speak to the preacher for you, Walter? It will save you some pain, and, as I shall be speaking for another, I should not have the same difficulty that you might feel." But this suggestion at once roused Walter out of all his fears. "No, no, dear Amos," he cried, "no; I have put my foot in it, and I must go through with it. Your being with me will be a great help, and it would not be right for me to accept any further a.s.sistance from you."

Little more was said on the way. Julia scarcely opened her lips, but there was a sweet peace on her fair face. She felt that her brother Walter was going to do the right thing, and, though she thoroughly sympathised with him in his natural shrinking from his task, she was satisfied that he could not now retreat if he would do what duty plainly called him to. So they trotted or cantered leisurely along, while the dashing of the waves, and their ceaseless ebb and flow, seemed to remind them of that love which, in the midst of the ceaseless ebb and flow of this world's trials, and of man's personal failures and advances in the life of holiness, ever comes, like the sea-breeze, in breathings of spiritual health and heavenly pity to the souls that are pressing onward and upward to the land unclouded by sin.

At last the watering-place was gained. It seemed to Walter and his sister more thronged than ever. Several large excursion trains had brought their many hundreds of eager and excited holiday-keepers.

Esplanade, sands, and by-streets were swarming with pa.s.sers to and fro.

Would they meet Gregson and Saunders there? Most earnestly did Walter and his sister, and indeed Amos also, hope that they would not.

However, little time was there for scanning the faces of those they met, for now they pressed rapidly forward, Walter leading the way, as he was anxious to plunge at once into his difficult work and get it over as speedily as possible. "You know," he said to Amos with a faint smile, "it's just like going to the dentist's. When you get into his room, you don't go and ask to look at his instruments,--those horrid pinchers, and pliers, and screw-looking things,--it's quite bad enough to feel them; and the sooner the wrench comes the sooner it'll be over. So now for my wrench." As he said this, they came within sight of the place where the unhappy disturbance occurred in which he had taken a part. A crowd had gathered, on the outskirts of which, people were moving backwards and forwards, but there were no sounds of uproar or interruption as they reached it. All were very attentive. The preacher--the sight of whom caused the blood to rush into Walter's face--was the same he had encountered before. The good man was standing on his stool giving out two lines of a well-known hymn. And then a n.o.ble volume of praise from those united voices rolled up towards heaven.

Walter could see in a moment that the preacher's eye had rested on him, and that he remembered him. So, flinging his horse's reins to his brother, he slipped off his saddle and elbowed his way vigorously through the crowd. "Stop, young man," said the evangelist calmly and solemnly, as he saw Walter pressing forward. But Walter made his way close up to him, and, while the other was evidently perplexed as to the meaning of his conduct, said quietly to him, "I am not come here to-day to hinder or make game, but to ask pardon." The other looked at him in amazement, and for a moment knew not what to say. Then, while there arose a strange buzz of surprise and excitement among the bystanders, Walter asked, "May I stand in your place for a minute, and say a few words to these people?" The good man was clearly taken quite aback by this request, and looked hard at him who had made it. Was this a scheme for turning the preacher and his work into open ridicule? The other members of the evangelist's party seemed to think so, and advised him to refuse; that it was only a dodge on the young man's part to get up a piece of extra rich entertainment for his friends, who, no doubt, would not be far off. The good man had come down from his stool while these remarks were being addressed to him. He hesitated, but when he turned to Walter and looked in his face his mind was made up at once; for there was something, he said, in that face which satisfied him that good would come out of his yielding to the request made, and not evil. So, while the spectators were looking on and listening with breathless expectation, he said, in a clear voice, audible to those on the utmost verge of the great a.s.sembly,--"Friends, before I address you, a young man has asked leave to occupy my place for a short time. He shall do so, for I have confidence in him that he will not abuse the liberty I give him."

There was a murmur of approbation and intense interest as Walter mounted the stool and looked upon the sea of upturned faces round him. He was very pale, and his voice trembled at first, but soon grew calm and firm.

"My friends," he began, "I have come here to-day to do an act of justice. Some days ago I was a spectator in this place, as you are now.

This good man, the preacher, stood then where I now stand. He had come here to try and do you good; I came, I am sorry to say, in a different spirit. Joining with others as wrong and foolish as myself, I interrupted and ill-treated this servant of the good Master, our Saviour. I am come to-day to make what amends I can. As I then publicly ill-treated him, so I now equally publicly ask his pardon for what I did then; and I earnestly beg you all to give him a patient hearing, and to encourage him in his work of love."

Not a word of this short address was lost by a single hearer, though the last part was almost stifled by the speaker's emotion. As for the preacher, he knew not how to contain himself. When Walter had sprung to the ground amidst the profoundest silence, both his hands were grasped by the good man whose pardon he had asked, who, as he shook them warmly, could only say at the moment, "The Lord bless you! the Lord be praised!"

Then, recovering himself, he sprang upon the stool, and cried out, "That's a right n.o.ble young man, dear friends! There's real courage there, and a generous heart, and no mistake. He has asked my pardon for what he did, and, had I twenty hearts, he should have it from the bottom of each. I thought, when he came here a few days since and put a little hindrance in the way, 'Now, the devil's very busy; what a crafty being he is!' Ah, but see now. After all, he only outwits himself by his own craftiness. The Lord brings good out of Satan's evil. Well, now, let us proceed with our proper work." These words were followed by a hearty cheer from the a.s.senting crowd, and then all listened attentively while the good man gave a plain, practical, faithful, and pointed gospel address.

When this was over, and the crowd was dispersing, Amos, whose heart was all in a happy glow, drew near the preaching-place with Julia, both of them having now dismounted. The good evangelist's fellow-helpers were distributing tracts among the retiring audience, while the preacher himself was in earnest conversation with Walter. Julia held out her hand for some tracts, saying to the man who gave them, "I will do my best to distribute them among those who will be likely to benefit by them. Please let me have as many as you can spare." He gladly did so.

In a short time all had left, except the preacher and his friends, Amos, and his brother and sister. As Walter was about to go, he took out his purse and said to the good man who had so heartily forgiven his former unkindness, "You must allow me to offer you a contribution to your tract fund. I am sure you will understand me. I am not asking you to accept this as any compensation for my abominable treatment of you the other day, but simply as a little token of my sincere desire to help on your good work in however small a way."

The offering was at once and gratefully accepted. "There is no fear,"

said the good man, smiling, "of my taking offence at anything which the Lord sends me, or at the way in which he chooses to send it. The work is his, and the silver and the gold are his, and he supplies us with the means in the best way, as he sees it, and therefore in the very best way. So I thank you for your contribution, and accept it with pleasure; and I think we shall neither of us forget this day as long as we live, neither on this side of the river nor on the other."

With a hearty farewell on both sides, Walter and his companions remounted their horses, and rode slowly away, full of happy thoughts: Walter very happy, because he had been enabled to do what his conscience had bidden him; Amos quite as happy, because the brother he loved so dearly had behaved so n.o.bly; and Julia calmly happy, because she felt that bright sunshine had poured through a dark cloud which had brooded for a while sadly over her spirit. And there was something yet more stirring in her heart in consequence of all that she had seen and heard,--it was a rising desire to be doing some real good to others, and to be doing this at the cost of personal sacrifice and self-denial. Ah, what a new and strange desire was this in one who had, till lately, allowed the idol of self to occupy the shrine of her heart. To be thinking of others, to be steadily keeping the good of others in view, to put self-pleasing in the background, or to find it in pleasing others, and that, too, from love to one who for her sake pleased not Himself,--this was something wondrous indeed to her, and yet how full of real and heavenly brightness when it had truly found an entrance into her soul!