It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 65

"This, sir--what, sir?"

"This brick?"

"Well! why--it is a brick, sir!

"Where did you get it?"

"I found it in the yard."

"What were you going to do with it?"

"Oh! I wasn't going to do any ill with it."

"Then why that guilty look when you dropped it. Come, now--I am in no humor to be hard upon you. Were you going to make some more cards?"

"Now, sir, didn't I promise you I never would do that again;" and Robinson wore an aggrieved look. "Would I break a promise I made to you?"

"What was it for then?"

"Am I bound to criminate myself, your reverence?"

"Certainly not to your enemy! but to your friend, and to him who has the care of your soul--yes!"

"Let me ask you a question first, sir. Which is worth most, one life or twenty?"

"Twenty."

"Then if by taking one life you can save twenty, it is a good action to put that one out of the way?"

"That does not follow."

"Oh! doesn't it? I thought it did. There's a man in this prison that murders men wholesale. I thought if I could any way put it out of his power to kill any more what a good action it would be!"

"A good action! so then this brick--"

"Was for Hawes's skull, your reverence."

"This, then, is the fruit of all my teaching. You will break my heart among you.

"Don't say so, sir! pray don't say so! I won't touch a hair of his head now you are alive; but I thought you were dead or dying, so what did it matter then what I did? Besides, I was driven into a corner; I could only kill that scoundrel or let him kill me. But you are alive, and you will find some way of saving my life as well as his."

"I will try. But first abandon all thoughts of lawless revenge.

'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' Come, promise me."

"Now, sir, is it likely I would offend you for the pleasure of dirtying my fingers with that rascal's blood? Don't let such a lump of dirt as him make mischief between you and me, sir."

"I understand! with you any unchristian sentiment is easily driven out--by another. Hatred is to give way to contempt."

"No, sir, but you are alive, and I don't think of Hawes now one way or other--with such sc.u.m as that out of sight is out of mind. When did you begin to get better, sir? and are you better? and shall I see your blessed face in my cell every day as I used?" And the water stood in the thief's eyes.

Mr. Eden smiled and sighed. "Your mind is like an eel--Heaven help the man that tries to get hold of it to do it any lasting good. You and I must have a good pray together some day."

"Ah! your reverence, that would do me good soul and body," said Mr.

Supple.

"Let me now feel your pulse; it is very low. What is the matter?"

"Starvation, overwork, and solitude. I feel myself sinking."

"If I could amuse your mind."

"Even you could hardly do that, sir."

"Hum! I have brought you a quire of paper and one of Mr. Gillott's swan-quill pens and a penny ink-bottle."

"What for?"

"You are to write a story."

"But I never wrote one in my life."

"Then this will be the first."

"Oh, I'll try, sir. I've tried a hundred things in my life and they none of them proved so hard as they looked. What kind of story?"

"The only kind of story that is worth a b.u.t.ton--a true story--the story of Thomas Robinson, alias Scott, alias Lyon, alias etc."

"Then you should have brought a ream instead of a quire."

"No! I want to read it when it is written. Now write the truth--do not dress or cook your facts. I shall devour them raw with twice the relish, and they will do you ten times the good. And intersperse no humbug, no sham penitence. When your own life lies thus spread out before you like a map, you will find you regret many things you have done, and view others with calmer and wiser eyes; for self-review is a healthy process.

Write down these honest reflections, but don't overdo it--don't write a word you don't feel. It will amuse you while you are at it."

"That it will."

"It will interest me more than the romance of a carpet writer who never saw life, and it may do good to other prisoners."

"I want to begin."

"I know you do, creature of impulse! Let me feel your pulse again. Ah!

it has gained about ten."

"Ten, your reverence? Fifty, you mean. It is you for putting life into a poor fellow and keeping him from despair. It is not the first time you have saved me. The devil hates you more than all the other parsons, for you are as ingenious in good as he is in mischief."

In the midst of this original eulogy Mr. Eden left the cell suddenly with an aching heart, for the man's words reminded him that for all his skill and zeal a boy of fifteen years lay dead of despair hard by. He went, but he left two good things behind him--occupation and hope.

CHAPTER XXIII.