For John's Sake Part 14

Deeply agitated, the deacon wrung his pastor's hand, abruptly leaving him with the broken words: "Forgive me--I--didn't mean--didn't know--you've won me over at last."

"What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Green in alarmed tones, as a few minutes later her husband entered the room where she was working, and throwing himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands. The deacon only groaned. "Surely there is nothing wrong with our minister again," said his wife, knowing that her husband had recently been in the company of Mr. Harris.

"No, no, and if so, I, and such as I, would have been to blame, as we were years ago, G.o.d forgive us!" Mrs. Green looked at her husband, half-believing that under some sudden strain his mind had lost its balance.

"What do you mean? It was Mr. Harris's own fault that he gave way to drink, and you should remember that you and his other deacons were faithful in your constant warnings and long-suffering with him beyond what might have been expected."

"We, and only we, caused his downfall, and then reproached him for the disgrace he had brought upon our church," gloomily responded the deacon.

"You are speaking in enigmas; do explain yourself, Herbert," impatiently urged his wife.

In answer, Mr. Green repeated the words of his pastor, which had made so deep an impression upon his own mind. When he had finished he looked up to find that his wife's tears were dropping upon the work which had fallen from her hands.

"Oh, how guilty we have been, Herbert! Well do I remember how persistent I always was in my offers of stimulant to our minister in years gone by, and when he declined I pretended to be hurt, and said he must not refuse anything a lady offered, for she would be sure to know what was good for her guest; and then when I conquered, and he reluctantly took the gla.s.s from my hands, I felt so exultant, and all the while I was luring him on to the ruin, which might have been eternal."

Mrs. Green broke down utterly, and there was a suspicious huskiness in her husband's voice as he spoke: "Yes, we are indeed guilty, and we may have been no less so in many other instances. Verily, the blood of souls is on our garments. Mary, what shall we do?"

"Can you ask, Herbert? I don't mind how inhospitable it may appear; but I am resolved never again to offer stimulants to our guests, lest I make the same fatal mistake."

"That is well said, my dear; but--but--shall we agree to refrain from offering intoxicants to callers, and the visitors who occasionally sit at our table, lest we place temptation in their way, while every day those dearer than our life sit and partake with us of the cup which I now believe to possess such fatal allurements? If we have decided no longer to tempt our guests, shall we continue to tempt our innocent children, to whom we stand in their early years as their sole medium of light and knowledge? Think, Mary, if a few years hence one of our boys could truthfully say to us what our pastor has just said."

"Don't say any more; I can't bear it, Herbert."

For a few moments there was silence. Then Mrs. Green spoke again: "There is only one step to be taken; from this day all intoxicants must be banished from our home. Neither our children nor our friends must ever have further opportunity of stumbling over our well-meaning but cruel kindness. G.o.d, who knows how blindly and ignorantly we have sinned in the past, will surely grant His forgiving mercy to us, and help us in the future to wage successful battle against this subtle foe who has had, till now, his acknowledged place in our house."

"Thank G.o.d for that decision; my heart already feels lighter. From this time I will take my stand beside Mr. Harris in his n.o.ble Temperance work, and so far as I can, help to repair the wrong we have done him.

May G.o.d speed our efforts!"

"Amen!" reverently whispered Mrs. Green.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

TIM MALONEY'S PIG.

"OCH, thin, mate, an' yer don't appair to be takin' kindly to yer wark the morn! Shure, an' I'm rale 'shamed uv ye, afther yer day's plasurin'," remarked Tim Maloney, a broad-shouldered, good-tempered looking Irishman, to his fellow-workman, who, with sundry grunts and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns expressive of discontent with the world in general, and his own hard-working existence in particular, had just lazily emptied his hod of bricks at the feet of Tim, who was briskly disposing of them, with many dexterous pats and turns of his trowel, as he laid them, one by one, upon the wall he was engaged in building. It was early in the morning of the day following a public holiday; and, of all the workmen employed upon the block of houses in course of erection, only Tim Maloney and John Jarvis had made their appearance, the latter of whom seemed none the better for the previous day's cessation from toil.

He answered gloomily:

"All very well for the likes of you, Tim Maloney, to be chaffin' a feller; but I'd like to know if you'd feel fit to kill yerself with work if you'd been draggin' about the day afore with the missis a scoldin', and half a dozen brats at yer heels as gave yer no peace, a spendin' of yer hard-earned money, and seein' nought for it."

Tim picked up a brick, and placed it tenderly in the mortar bed he had just prepared, then said:

"An' isn't it bacomin' that the wife uv yer bossum and the childer should share yer holiday, an' hilp yer to spind yer money, me bhoy?"

"I can't say as it isn't," frankly replied John; "but some wives is different to others; and mine just nags and worrits and gives a feller no peace of his life, and the children takes after her."

"Shure, an' what does she nag and worrit ye about thin?" asked Tim, with a twinkle in his eye; but at that moment John shouldered his empty hod and disappeared.

"The ould sthory, shure an' certin," muttered Tim, and in his honest, kindly heart, for the hundredth time, revolved many a scheme for helping and stimulating his fellow-workman to a better life.

The breakfast bell presently rang, and John Jarvis, who lived at a little distance, threw himself at full length upon some boards, grumbling at his wife for being late with his breakfast.

"Maybe she's wearied herself wid followin' ye an' yer half dozen brats yester," dryly suggested Tim, as he threw down his trowel and strode away to his cottage home close by, where a plentiful meal awaited him.

Certainly, when he met Mrs. Jarvis the next minute, she looked sufficiently white and f.a.gged to justify his suggestion.

"Mornin' to ye," he said, nodding and hurrying by.

But Tim's cottage lay in Mrs. Jarvis's homeward way, and as her lagging footsteps pa.s.sed the door, the buxom form of Tim's wife appeared.

"Come in, an' rist ye a spell, Mrs. Jarvis; ye look more fit for yer bed nor to be draggin' about at all, at all."

"It's just what I am. I'm sure I don't know what's coming to me,"

exclaimed Mrs. Jarvis, as she dropped into a chair.

"Give her a dhrop uv tay, Peggy, an' she'll ravive a bit," said Tim.

"You're very kind, Tim. Why, this tea is real good, as good as what the gentry drinks. I feel quite a different creature after it, I declare;"

and Mrs. Jarvis presently set down her empty cup with a surprised air.

"I can't think how you manage, Mrs. Maloney. Here's your husband earning the same wages as mine, yet you can afford to live a sight better than us; you're better dressed too, and what a fine place you've got; and isn't that pig in the garden yours?"

Mrs. Jarvis's eyes had roamed from the bright, clean kitchen, through the open window to the well-stocked garden, where, in a corner, stood a sty, the occupant of which was rooting and grunting in the manner peculiar to his kind.

"Indade, an' ye're rayte; a fine porker he is too. I'll sind ye up a bit whin we kill, an' ye shall tasthe for yerself."

"Thank you kindly, Tim. It's not often we can afford to indulge in a bit of bacon now. Times are so hard, you see," returned Mrs. Jarvis, with a look of still deeper perplexity upon her face as she rose to go.

Tim whispered to his wife who nodded, and then turned to Mrs. Jarvis, saying:

"Now, don't ye be thrudgin' up wid yer husban's bit uv dinner. My Tim'll bring him home, an' he's kindly wilcome to the bist of our purvidin'."

Mrs. Jarvis was certainly weak and unnerved, for she fell back into her seat and began to sob.

"Whist, now, did ye think we mane to pisin yer good man?" said Tim, cheerily.

"No, no, indeed; but I don't know what to make of such kindness. It's nothing but cross words and scowling looks I ever get."

Tim sat down with a determined air.

"Jist dhry yer eyes, me dear, and listhen to me; bekase I mane it all for yer good, and Jack's too, poor bhoy!"