Working in the Shade Part 7

"You couldn't do better, old friend," replied Horace; "you would be showing then your colours, and doing real work for the Master--better far than you could if you settled down."

"Well, I think so too, sir; and you must know that I've begun to do a bit for the Lord already, though in a poor sort of way. I used to sell smuggled goods on the sly, and bad songs and bad books, but I've dropped all that now. You may look my van through, drawers and cupboards and all, every corner of it, and you'll not find a sc.r.a.p of the bad sort now. Eh! How some of my old customers do stare, and how some on 'em do jeer, when I tells 'em as I've done selling the old things as they delight in. But it don't matter. I've made up my mind, and they're beginning to find that out. They call me an old humbug, and tell me as Sally and I shall end our days in the Union. But I ain't afeard; it ain't the likes of them as can send me there, and I know I'm safe in the Lord's hands."

"That's very true," said Horace; "you'll be taken good care of while you are in the path of duty, and you will have many a n.o.ble opportunity of helping on the good cause as you go from place to place. Many will get a word from you which they might not be in the way of hearing otherwise, and the very fact of such a change in the hearts and lives of your wife and yourself must tell on the consciences of many who see what you are now and know what you were in times past."

"I believe you sir," said the old man. "Now, there's one who's been touched already--Jim Grimes, who keeps 'The Old Fighting-c.o.c.ks' at Bridgepath. He were mightily surprised at first when he seed as I'd given up my old ways; he wouldn't believe as it were the true thing, and he were for chaffing me out of it. But he found out after a bit as I was real. 'Tain't for me to boast--it were the Lord's doings, not mine--but when he came to be persuaded as I had taken to the better way in earnest, he couldn't make it out at first; but now he has come to set his feet on the right road, too, I trust, and this has made me think as there's work for the Lord for me to do in a quiet way without giving up the van--in a quiet way, I say, sir, for I don't want to be put in a 'mag.'"

"Put in a 'mug,' old friend!" exclaimed Horace, in amused surprise; "what can you mean? Is it slang for putting you in prison? Why should any one put you in prison for such a work as you are purposing to carry on? If any one tries to get you into trouble, come or send to me; they shan't interfere with you."

"Nay, nay, sir," replied Ruby Grigg, with a laugh. "Thank you kindly for what you say; but you've not got hold of my meaning. What I'm driving at is this: I don't want people to put me in a 'mag,'--mag's short for 'magazine,'--one of them monthly or weekly papers as is full of pictures, and serves as town-crier to all the good deeds as is being done."

"Ah, I understand you now," said Horace, smiling in return; "you want to work quietly for Christ in the shade, and not to be made a public character of."

"That's just it, sir; I wouldn't be put in a 'mag' for all the world.

I've knowed many a good man spoilt by being put in a 'mag.' It blows 'em up with pride; and then them as don't get put in the 'mag' is fit to burst with envy and jealousy."

"I believe, my friend," said Horace, "that there may be a great deal of truth in what you say. A good man's usefulness may be injured by his being dragged into public notice; for no sin needs such watchfulness on the part of Christians, especially those at the beginning of their course, as pride. There is too much of this trumpeting in our day; it spoils the simplicity and reality of many a character."

"I've seen it, sir," replied Reuben. "I used to laugh at it formerly, but I grieve over it now. At any rate I'm sure, sir, as you won't put me in a 'mag.' I don't want to see myself in a couple of picturs, one with me and my van as they was, and t'other with the likeness of Mister Reuben Gregson in a brand new suit of clothes and a white choker, looking for all the world like a regular parson. 'Twouldn't do me no good. I just want to do a little work in a quiet way--to jog along, telling how the Lord has done great things for me, and just to mix up a few Bibles, and Testaments, and tracts as I'm selling my goods. And I don't want no reward here, and no notice, leastways no public notice.

I've had more reward nor I deserve already; and if I make a few kind friends, such as yourself and the colonel maybe, I'd rather do it, Mr Horace, in a quiet way, and then I shall feel as I'm doing the work for the Lord himself out and out."

"Well, dear old friend," said Horace, "it shall be as you say, so far as I am concerned, and I can answer for my uncle too. And I feel sure that you are right, I understand now how the change has taken place in James Grimes. Yes, the Lord honours steady consistent example, and I do heartily thank him that he has seen fit to enlist you in the increasing and n.o.ble army of 'workers in the shade.'"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A SURPRISE.

Mr Horace Jackson has completed his twenty-first year, and the day is to be marked by a grand gathering in the grounds in front of Park House.

The persons invited on the occasion were all the tenants on the estate, the two Misses Stansfield, and Lady Willerly and her daughter. Ruby Grigg also and his wife Sally were present by special invitation.

The colonel had never formally declared that his nephew was to be his heir, though it had been generally understood that such was to be the case. And now the proceedings at Riverton Park were to be of so quiet a character, that people began to question whether after all this celebration of the young man's coming of age might not merely be an ordinary keeping of the majority of one who might not in the end turn out to be the real heir to the property. Such was the conjecture of the public as the preparations were watched and commented upon. "And yet who can tell?" exclaimed ungratified curiosity reproachfully, "for the colonel never does anything like other people." There was, however, one person who was abundantly satisfied, and that was old John Price; but nothing could be got from him, though a host of questioners a.s.sailed him as he made his way down to the house, on the morning of the birthday gathering, seated on an old pony as prudent and impenetrable as himself.

It was a glorious day, and, after a hearty noonday meal, all the guests were collected on the lawn in front of the mansion. The colonel, his sister, and their nephew, having dined with the company, now occupied the centre of a group which had gathered on the steps of Park House, consisting of the ladies invited and old John Price. Scarce a sound was heard but the rustling of the leaves of some of the n.o.ble trees, as all sat waiting for what was to come next, for certainly something special was expected by all, though they could scarce have told why. At last the colonel stood forward, and, raising his hat from his venerable head, just closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a few words to himself and then, his voice trembling at first with emotion, spoke as follows--

"My dear friends, I am about to bring strange things to your ears, but I trust not disagreeable ones. And first of all, let me introduce to you, under a new name, Mr Horace Walters, the only son and only child of your late squire, and the present and, I trust for many happy years to come, future proprietor of the Riverton estate."

He paused as the whole company rose to their feet and vociferously cheered the young master. Looks of astonishment and perplexity were then exchanged by many as they resumed their seats, but these soon gave place to most earnest attention to Colonel Dawson, who thus proceeded--

"You may some of you be wondering, dear friends, how I can have permitted your dear young squire to have a.s.sumed and carried with my sanction a name among you that is not really his own; but I shall soon show you what will, I am sure, be perfectly satisfactory to you all on this point. What I am now going to tell you is not a mere tale to gratify curiosity. I have a sacred duty to perform in telling it; for it was the earnest request that I should do so of one who had a right to claim it of me--I mean your late squire, the father of my dear young friend here, whom I shall never cease to call my dear nephew.

"You must know, then, that some twenty-five years have now pa.s.sed since I retired from the army. I was living at that time in a quiet way in my native county, when a cousin of mine, who used to be my special companion and friend when we were boys, died, and left me, to my considerable surprise, a large property in Australia, in which country he had been living for many years as an extensive sheep-farmer.

Believing that property has its duties as well as its profits, I resolved to go over and see what my new acquisition was like, and what I had best do with it. I had no thoughts at first of settling in the colony. But I found when I got there a great deal to do and a great deal to undo before things could be set properly in order; and by the time I had got things into shape I had got so used to colonial life, and so well satisfied with its freedom from many of those fetters which society imposes on us in many of her usages in the old mother country, that I made up my mind to settle, for a time at any rate, in my adopted land.

"I had a house of my own in Melbourne, and used to visit my country estate from time to time as I found it necessary. One day, as I was walking along one of the princ.i.p.al streets of the city, when I had been settled in the colony a few years, I noticed a little boy of rather superior appearance, who was neatly but plainly dressed, walking slowly past the shops with a very sad expression on his face and his poor eyes full of tears. I stopped him, and asked what was the matter. He was reluctant at first to tell me; but on my getting his confidence by the sincere interest he saw I took in him, the little fellow told me that his dear old nurse was very ill, and he was afraid she would die before his father came back.

"I went with him at once to his home, which was a very humble one in a side street, and found the poor woman, the child's nurse, quite sensible, yet manifestly near her end. The neighbours had been kind, and had done what they could; but it was too plain that human skill would not avail to restore the old woman to health or prolong her life.

But she was quite able to listen to me; and when I had offered a prayer by her bedside, she evidently felt that she could confide her sorrows and troubles to me.

"She told me that her master, the little boy's father, was called William Jackson; that he had come from England a few years before, after the death of his wife, to try his fortune in the colony, having lost his property in England. She herself, having known him from his infancy, and always having lived in his family, came with him to Australia to take care of Horace, his only child, who was then an infant. Her master had found employment in the city, but was anxious to see if he could not meet with success at the gold-diggings. He therefore had left her and his little son three months since, and they had only heard from him once. Horace was now six years old, and was going to a day-school in the city; and as Mr Jackson had left a sum of money with her which was not yet exhausted, she was not in want as regarded herself or the child, and was now anxiously looking for the father's return. But it had pleased G.o.d to lay her low with sickness; and feeling that her time must be short, she was deeply concerned as to what was to become of her little charge, whom she loved as dearly as if he had been her own.

"I told her not to distress herself on this subject, but to cast this burden on the Lord, and that I would see what could be done. Her poor face lighted up when I said these words; and from the reply which she made, I concluded that she was a pious woman and knew where to lay her cares. So I went home, and after giving the necessary directions for the poor nurse's comfort, I began seriously to consider what was to be done for the poor child; and after putting the matter before the Lord, I resolved to take him into my own house, and treat him as my own till his father should turn up. And so a week later, when the faithful old nurse was buried, I took the little Horace to live with me, and we have never been long separated from that day to this.

"But what of William Jackson, his father? Months rolled on, and no tidings--a year, and no tidings. Horace had learned to call me uncle, and I to call him and speak of him as nephew: and though friends and neighbours at first perfectly understood that this was only a loving mode of address, not at all intended to deceive anybody, yet in process of time it became so completely a matter of course with us, that we can hardly either of us believe that this relationship does not really exist between us, and so I shall be 'Uncle Dawson' to him, and he will be 'Nephew Horace' to me till death parts us. Horace was now seven years old, and I felt only too thankful to mark in him the evidences of a real love to that Saviour whom his good old nurse had taught him to know and serve in his childish way. And so the boy was twining himself tight round my heart, and, to tell the honest truth, I began to dread the father's return, and almost to hope he might never come back to claim his child.

"It was one beautiful day in February. You must remember, dear friends, that February is one of our hot months in the southern hemisphere.

Horace was at school, and I was sitting by an open window in my private room, which looked on to the garden at the back of my town house.

Something came between me and the light. I looked up from my writing.

A man stood by the open window, and did not move away as he saw my eyes fixed on him. He wore a broad palm leaf hat, which rather shaded from my view his full features; but I could see a n.o.ble countenance, which was rendered strikingly picturesque by the profusion of beard and moustache, which had evidently been long untrimmed. His upper clothing consisted of a faded blouse, fastened round the neck by a black silk handkerchief. He had also coa.r.s.e duck trousers on, bound round his waist by a leathern belt, and well-made boots on his feet, which were remarkably small for one of his robust make.

"My heart sank within me for a moment or two, for I divined at once who he must be; but, recovering myself, I asked him if he wished to speak with me. 'Yes; he should be glad to do so,' he replied in a sad voice, but with the greatest courtesy of manner.

"He was soon seated opposite to me, and came at once to the point by saying, 'How can I ever discharge my debt of grat.i.tude to you, Colonel Dawson, for your most generous treatment of my poor boy, who might have been lost or ruined but for your kindness?'

"'Pray, don't say anything more on the subject, Mr Jackson,' I replied.

'It has been a happiness to me to have been led to befriend your child; and, indeed, he has become so dear to me, that I know not how to part with him. But, of course, as he is yours, not mine, you are at liberty to take him when you will, or to leave him with me till you can provide a settled home for him.'

"My visitor was greatly moved, and grasped my hand most warmly. 'I know,' he said, 'the best recompense I can make to one who has acted towards me as you have done, is to lay myself under still deeper obligation to you; and I will do so. I may tell you thus much about myself--I am not what I seem. I have a great object which I am seeking to accomplish, and I am, I think, on the road to success. I shall be most thankful to leave my boy in your hands, at any rate, for the present, and shall be most happy to charge myself with all his expenses at home and at school.'

"'Nay, Mr Jackson,' I replied; 'while he remains with me it shall be my privilege to supply him with all that he needs, as I can well afford to do, and I shall be further truly happy to be of personal service to yourself if I can.'

"'I accept your offer with grat.i.tude,' he replied. 'You _can_ help me, I dare say. I want employment as a clerk or book-keeper. Dare you trust me yourself, or dare you recommend me to another? I dare myself affirm that I will not disappoint an employer who may trust me.'

"There was a frankness and sincerity in his manner which completely disarmed me of all suspicion or hesitation; whatever colonial _prudence_ might suggest, I _could_ not distrust him. So I offered him at once a place in my own office with a moderate stipend. He accepted it without hesitation, and lived in my house as a member of the family; and never did employer have a more intelligent and faithful worker. As for the child, his father never in the least interfered with my management of him, though I brought him up after my own utterly unfashionable, or perhaps more properly speaking, old-fashioned ideas. On the contrary, he warmly approved of my system.

"'I cannot tell you,' he said one day, soon after he had come to live with me, 'how truly grateful I am to see you forming my dear boy's character in the way you are doing. I want him to be the very opposite to what I was myself at his age, and to what the generality of children are now. I was brought up just to please myself and to have my own way--to be, in fact, a little incarnation of self-will and selfishness.

I was allowed to ask for everything I liked at the table, no restriction being put upon my self-indulgence. I went where I liked, and did what I liked, and was never checked except when I was in the way, or had become intolerably troublesome. I was placed under no regular discipline, and was allowed to thrust myself and my opinions forward amongst my seniors and those who were my superiors in everything but worldly position; and as I grew older, and became inconveniently self-a.s.serting, I was alternately snubbed and humoured according to the whim or temper of those who claimed authority over me. And what was the result? Alas!

Early reckless extravagance followed by ruin, and a character which might have been moulded into something n.o.ble, now for a long time shapeless and distorted. And my boy--well, I am only too thankful that he has fallen into your hands out of his unworthy father's.' He spoke these words with deep emotion.

"'I am truly glad, Mr Jackson,' I said, 'that you are able to look at things in this better and clearer light. I quite agree with you about the present bringing up of children. For a few years they are treated as little idols by parents, who are too selfish to give themselves the pain and trouble of correcting and disciplining them, and this, too, even in cases where the parents themselves are true Christians; and then, when they begin to get unbearable, and have pa.s.sed out of the winning ways of early childhood, they are too often thrown back upon themselves, and made to suffer the penalty of neglect of discipline and training, which ought properly to be inflicted on the parents, who have not done their duty towards them.'

"'It is so. I have seen it; I have felt it, Colonel Dawson,' he replied warmly; 'and so I just leave Horace's education entirely in your hands.'

"And thus it was that I brought up my dear nephew, as I still continued to call him, in my own way--that is to say, to eat what was given him, to do what was told him, to go where I allowed him, and to have as much liberty as I thought good for him; to listen when his elders were speaking, to be diligent in his lessons, early in his hours of rising and going to bed, and regular in all his habits. And he will tell you himself, I don't doubt, as he has told me over and over again, that, so far from feeling this discipline and these wholesome restraints a bondage, he was as happy as the day was long under them. And I am sure of this, dear friends, that the little, stuck-up, pampered, self-willed, selfish children which abound in our day, who are supposed to rejoice in having their own way, are really slaves to themselves, as well as a burden to their friends, and are strangers to that vigorous enjoyment which is the privilege of a childhood pa.s.sed under judicious and even discipline.

"Well, so it was with Horace; and so his father rejoiced to find it.

And what made me rejoice still more was the happy conviction that a deeper work still was beginning to manifest itself in the heart and life of the dear boy. Yes, you may think it strange, dear friends that I am entering into all these particulars on an occasion so public as the present, and with your young squire by my side; but I have a reason for it, as you will see by-and-by, and I am doing it with the full consent and approval of my dear nephew himself. Let me, then, proceed with my story.

"When Horace was sixteen years of age he expressed to me his earnest desire to engage in some special work for the spread of the gospel, which he had learned himself to prize above all earthly things. His father at this time was not residing with me in the town, but held the post of manager of my country estate and sheep-farm, which flourished admirably under his most vigorous and faithful superintendence; for he was a born ruler of others, and a man of such decision of character that everything he laid his hands to fell, as it were, into order under his unflagging and indomitable energy. I knew that I had 'the right man in the right place,' and was satisfied. However, when his son expressed this his heart's desire to me, we rode up together to my country house and laid the matter before Mr Jackson.

"He seemed at first confused and embarra.s.sed when I mentioned the subject to him, and asked me to wait for his views upon it till the following day. So we spent the night at the farm; and the next day the father and myself walked towards the neighbouring hills, and then he told me, what you may be sure I was deeply thankful to hear, that what he was pleased to call the consistent Christianity which he had witnessed in our household had been blessed to himself, and that he trusted that he was now endeavouring to live as a true follower of his Saviour.

"'You will approve, then,' I said, 'of Horace's wish to be trained for direct gospel work.'

"'Yes and no,' he replied. 'By _no_,' he added, 'I mean that I do not wish him to enter the ministry. I have reasons of my own for this which just now I would rather keep to myself; but one day, and it may be before very long, I should like you to know them.'

"'And what would you wish, then, Horace to do?' I asked.