The Little Quaker Part 2

"I did not think, Master George, you had been such a _coward_, after all the brag you made of your valour at school; but I suppose you and the Quaker have shaken hands, since he so kindly procured you that smart flogging. If I was you, I would wait on him, and humbly thank him for his generosity."

This sarcasm did not fail in the desired effect. George felt all his animosity rise in his heart against Josiah; and, quickening his pace, they were soon within the quiet bounds of the Quaker's garden.

They had scarcely begun their cruel devastation, before the Newfoundland dog set out barking in a furious manner.

"Let us return, Simpson," whispered George; his cheeks blanching with terror as he remembered his rencounter with Rollo, on the preceding morning. "I forgot the dog; he is roused, and we shall certainly be caught."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _George and the Groom destroying the little Quaker's garden at midnight._ _p. 29._]

"Not we!" calmly replied the groom. "Let him bark,--he cannot hurt us, being chained in an outer yard, that comes against the road; and, as 'tis fair-night, they will only think he is barking at pa.s.sengers, who may be returning in liquor, at this late hour."

This was in fact the case; and the inmates of the house paid little regard to the noise Rollo made, though he continued to shake his chain, and growl in a frightful manner.

The garden being small, they soon destroyed most of the shrubs and flowers it contained; till, satiated with mischief, they were about to return; when, pa.s.sing a root-house covered with ivy and creeping plants, curiosity led them to examine what it contained; and their malice was gratified, in discovering some beautiful foreign rabbits, confined in strong hutches. These they set at liberty, laughing heartily at the idea of what a hunt the young Quaker would have for them in the morning.

As they left the garden, Simpson purposely dropped the hatchet, with Lary's name on it, near the gate which led to the meadow, where it would be most likely to be discovered; and, safely depositing the other in the place he took it from, they returned home. George re-ascended the ladder, and retired undiscovered to bed; and soon falling asleep, the events of the night appeared more like a troubled dream than reality.

The first rays of the sun had scarcely gilded the low white railing which separated the field from the Quaker's garden before Josiah had risen from his bed, and returned thanks to G.o.d, who had thus graciously permitted him to behold, in health and strength, another day; and, with a light heart and clear conscience, he bounded down stairs, to breathe the fresh air, and to hail the first beauties of a fine morning in June.

This is indeed a pleasure unknown to those indolent beings who let the sun gain his meridian splendour before they reluctantly leave their slothful beds.

They see him, it is true, in the height of his power; but, at his uprising, the air is filled with harmonious sounds, the insect tribes are on the wing, and unite their feeble voice in the universal notes of praise.

With the sun, the wild tribes of nature awake to adore the goodness of their Creator; whilst the children of men, on whom he has conferred the greatest marks of his divine favour,--who, in intellectual endowments, so far surpa.s.s the animals round them, are often the last of all his creatures to leave a state of indolent ease, to return him thanks for the blessings he has bestowed on them.

Those who have ever seen, on a fine spring morning, the sparkling of the dews upon the gra.s.s, who have smelt the delicious perfume of re-opening flowers, who have heard the first joyous song of birds from among the verdant boughs, will be more willing to exclaim with fervour and devotion--

"Awake, my soul! and with the sun Thy daily stage of duty run; Shake off dull sloth, and early rise, To pay thy morning sacrifice!"

Thus thought our little hero, as, opening the garden-door, he felt the balmy breeze of a cloudless morning pa.s.s over his cheek, which glowed with health and innocence; as, raising his eyes to the glorious heavens, his spirit arose in devout aspirations to the divine author of his being.

How shall I describe the feelings of regret which filled his bosom, when he discovered the scene of ruin before him.

He rubbed his eyes, to a.s.sure himself that it was not a dream; that he was actually awake, and in the open air.

The work of his hands for years past was utterly destroyed; and, mild and forbearing as Josiah was, this unexpected misfortune overcame his philosophy; and he struggled in vain to suppress the tears which filled his soft blue eyes, and flowed down his rosy dimpled cheeks.

"What ails thee, dear Josiah?" said a sweet little girl, who had followed him out of the house. "Will not Josiah tell Cousin Rachel the cause of his grief?"

"Ah, Rachel!" he replied, wiping away his tears with the corner of her little ap.r.o.n, "I am indeed ashamed of my weakness; but see, some evil-disposed person has been here in the night, and destroyed all my nice flowers."

Now, when Rachel beheld the devastation before her, and that even her own little garden in the corner had not escaped from the general wreck, she mingled her tears with Josiah's.

Josiah comforted his cousin, and at length succeeded in mastering his own feelings.

"I know to repine is useless," he said; "time and industry will repair my loss; and, though I feel it now severely, it may in the end be for the best: for I own I was too proud and too fond of my garden; and often dedicated hours to that, which I might have employed more profitably in study."

As he ceased speaking, Dan Simpson pa.s.sed; and, putting his head over the pales, said in a careless manner--

"A fine morning for your work, Master Shirley! You are determined the sun shall never call you lay-a-bed."

"My work, Daniel, is at an end," replied Josiah: "Step into the garden, and see what somebody has done in the night for me."

With well-affected astonishment, Simpson surveyed the work of his own hands; then exclaimed, with an air of commiseration--

"Who can have made it their business to come here, only to commit so wicked a piece of mischief. I should not at all wonder if it was one of Pat Lary's mad frolics; I hear he was intoxicated at the fair last night, and broke several windows in his way home."

"That may be," returned Josiah; "but, as I never offended Patrick Lary in my life, it would be very cruel to suspect him without a cause."

"True, Master Shirley; but you are too fond of gardening yourself, and you have heard the old proverb, I suppose, that 'two of a trade seldom agree.' Besides, he is such a swearing, drinking fellow."

"Daniel Simpson," returned Josiah, scarcely able to conceal the contempt he felt towards him, "I have heard thee swear, and, if I am not greatly mistaken, it is not long since I saw thee disguised in liquor. Is it not, therefore, as easy for me to suspect _thee_?"

Simpson was confounded at this speech, and, had Josiah looked up in his face, he certainly would have detected the real author of the mischief, by the crimson glow which flushed the swarthy countenance of the wicked groom; who, regaining his accustomed a.s.surance, said, in a more confidential tone--

"_I never injured you_, Master Shirley; but, if you will give me a shilling or two to pay me for my trouble, I warrant you I would soon bring the culprit to justice, if he is to be found within a few miles of the place."

The face of Josiah Shirley glowed with indignation, as, turning his eyes on the sordid wretch, he sternly replied--

"Daniel Simpson, I will spare thee so great a crime. That heart must be hard indeed, that, for the sake of a few paltry pieces of silver, would yield up an erring fellow-creature. Go! I neither want such advice or a.s.sistance."

As Josiah finished speaking, his foot struck against something in the path, and, on stooping to pick it up, it proved to be the poor Irishman's hatchet.

The young Quaker, with his natural humanity, strove to hide this convincing proof of Lary's guilt from the troublesome groom; but he saw with grief, by the look of triumph which pa.s.sed over the other's face, that he had made the same discovery, as the name of Lary was too plainly marked on the handle to need any close inspection.

"There!" cried Simpson, "I knew it was Lary: who besides him would think of doing such a rascally job as this?"

"I am sure, if Lary had not been disguised in liquor," said Josiah, "he never would have committed so base an action. Daniel Simpson, at times we are all p.r.o.ne to do ill; and as for the few shillings thou just now proposed, to give up the culprit, since my loss cannot affect thee, there is a crown to keep the affair a secret; as the disgrace of this thoughtless man might deprive his innocent wife and child of bread."

"You are a strange young gentleman, Master Shirley," replied Dan; "but your secret shall remain safe for me, though, if I was in your place, I think I should act differently:" and, stifling a laugh, he tossed the money into his pocket.

He yet held the gate in his hand, when little Rachel, quite out of breath, came running towards them.

"Oh, Josiah! my rabbits! my nice white rabbits; they are lost, they are all gone!" said she, weeping bitterly. "Come, dry your tears, my little cousin," said Josiah, kindly taking her hand, and striving to comfort her; "they cannot be far off, for I am sure they were all safe last night."

"Little Miss, I think I know where your rabbits are," said Dan Simpson.

"Indeed!" exclaimed Josiah; "who could be so mean as to rob this little girl?"

"Only the neighbour who broke your trees," replied Dan; "for, as I pa.s.sed by Lary's cottage, his little boy was playing with some fine tame rabbits. They had none yesterday, unless Pat bought them at the fair; and I dare say he will tell you so."

Now Josiah could not help feeling convinced that they must be Rachel's rabbits; and he said--

"Daniel Simpson, I thank thee for this piece of intelligence, and will step across to Lary's cottage, and learn the truth of these things; so good day for the present."

Simpson returned to his daily avocations, well pleased at his ingenuity; and, relating his conference with Josiah to George Hope, they both enjoyed a hearty laugh at the idea of having deceived the Quaker.

"He is gone now, Master George," said Simpson, "to cross-question Lary about the hatchet; but the foolish fellow is still so bewildered with drink, that he will never be able to give a correct account of himself; now I am sure young Shirley already suspects him, and suspicious thoughts travel fast, when they once get into the head: for the love of fun, how I should like to hear their conference."