CHAPTER II.

CELIA MERRITT had just returned from church, and was engaged, with some assistance from her little brothers, in getting ready the scanty dinner. Mrs. Merritt was sitting in a easy rocking-chair, trying to keep her fretful baby quiet that it might not awake her husband, who was sleeping off his debauch in an adjoining room: she knew well enough, poor woman, what kind of treatment they must all expect, if he awoke before he had fairly slept himself sober. The dinner was just placed upon the table as Bob came in, looking heated and weary, and without any fish.

"Why Bob, I did not expect you so soon," said Celia, "and where are your fish?"

"I only caught two or three, and I gave them to Childs," was the short response, as Bob threw his cap into a corner.

"Do hush, my son, and not wake your father," remonstrated Mrs. Merritt. "I think you might as well bring your fish home, if you will go fishing Sundays, and not give them to people who have enough without. I can't be reconciled to this Sabbath-breaking, Robert: it isn't the way I was brought up, and I am sure we shall never prosper as long as it goes on."

"Well, mother, I won't go again if I can help it. I did not mean to go to-day. Let's have what dinner there is, and say no more about it."

The dinner, consisting principally of potatoes, was placed upon the table, and the children sat down with little ceremony, helping themselves to what they wanted. After an interval of silence, Mrs. Merritt asked Celia how she liked the new minister.

"Very much indeed," replied Celia, with some animation. "I never heard any one preach that I liked so well. His sermon was so plain that any child could understand it, and yet it sounded beautifully, and then he had such a pleasant face, that it does one good just to look at him. I wish you would go and hear him to-night, mother!"

"My child, I should be ashamed to be seen there; but you and Bob can go if you like. I think you had better do so."

"Why are you ashamed to be seen there, pray mother?" asked Bob.

"Because I feel whenever I go, as though every body was looking at me. I really have hardly decent clothes to wear, and I can't help thinking all the time how different it used to be when I was a girl, and sang in the choir, and felt myself as good as any one," and Mrs. Merritt sighed bitterly, as she remembered the days of her girlhood.

She had married entirely contrary to the wishes of her parents, who both died soon after. The little property they had left her, had been long since dissipated by her husband; her brothers tired of supporting the family, had moved away, and she had almost lost sight of them. She often said with tears that she had not a friend in the world.

"But I should like very much to have you and Celia go," she continued, "it looks so much more respectable than to be hanging over the gate, or going in swimming."

Accordingly at the hour of evening service, Robert and his sister might have been seen walking soberly towards the church. Robert looked about him rather uneasily as he turned into the main street. He was apprehensive of meeting some of his ordinary companions, and being laughed at for being such a fool as to spend his evening in church, instead of by the river-side; but the people he dreaded were all absent or otherwise engaged, and they reached the church door without encountering any one they knew. They were rather too early, and as they were standing on the steps, Mr. Ellison and Dr. Huntley, or Dr. George as he was frequently called, entered together.

"Good evening, Robert," said the Doctor kindly. "I am glad to see you at church. Mr. Ellison, this is Robert Merritt, of whom I was speaking to you yesterday. You remember we noticed the neatness of his garden."

Mr. Ellison shook hands with Robert and his sister, and expressed his pleasure at meeting them. "I hope we shall become well acquainted," said he; "I wish all my young people to feel that I am their friend, as well as their minister, and I shall come and see you very soon."

"How pleasant he is," remarked Celia to her brother, as they were walking homewards together.

"I don't know what mother will say about his coming to see us, though," said Bob. "She does not much like to have visitors, and she never seemed pleased when Mr. Hyde called."

"I suppose she was ashamed of the state of the house, and no wonder," replied Celia. "Then, he was always asking her why the boys did not go to Sunday-school, and why she did not go to church herself. I know she was very much put out, because he told her that the children would grow up to destruction unless she took better care of them."

"I don't see how she could do any more very well. She don't have much to do with."

"That's true, but I suppose what he meant was that they ought to mind better, and not be so saucy. They might go to school, too, only they won't."

Robert sighed, but made no other reply, and they walked on in silence. He was thinking how he could possibly manage to earn three dollars in the course of the week, with which to pay Childs, but no way seemed to present itself. He felt at times almost tempted to leave home altogether, and make the effort to get a living and a character in some other place, but as often as the idea presented itself, the thought of his mother and sister drove it away, and he felt that he must stay with them. He was determined not to obtain the money in any improper way, such as he had sometimes resorted to; for the desire of respectability which had been aroused in his mind by the conversation he had overheard, grew stronger every minute, and he had seen enough to see that in order to be respected, he must be honest.

The more he thought about it, the more hopeless seemed the case, and he went to sleep at last, feeling wearied out with thinking, and utterly unable to arrive at any result. He had never been taught to seek for help and strength from above; all his ideas on that subject were dark and confused, and he would as soon have thought of asking help from the Emperor of Austria, as from Him who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not. So he slept without prayer at night, and awoke in the morning without one thought of Him who had preserved him through the hours of darkness.

But God does not always wait for his erring creatures to seek Him. He often comes to meet them, and leads them by a way which they know not, into his wondrous light and truth. Poor Robert was as yet afar off, and groping for the way as the blind, but his Heavenly Father saw and had compassion on him. As he was leaning over the gate next morning after breakfast, moodily pondering over his desires and plans, a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder, and a pleasant voice said:

"Good morning, Robert. I was afraid I should not find you, but I see you have not gone to your work yet."

"I have no work to go to," replied Robert, looking both pleased and confused at Ellison's salutation. "I only wish I had."

"Then I am doubly glad to have come so early. I noticed the other day, how very neat your garden was, and I want you to come and help me put mine in order, at the parsonage. It looks like the garden of the slothful at present; the weeds are so numerous that it looks as if there were nothing else. I am going there now, and should be glad to take you with me."

Here was just the opportunity that Robert wanted. He knew that he understood the kind of work required, and felt that he could give satisfaction. He could not help thinking it very strange that Mr. Ellison should want to employ him, after hearing the character given to the whole family by Mr. Vanderburgh, but he felt doubly obliged to him on that very account, and he inly determined to do nothing to forfeit that good opinion of the minister.

The parsonage had been vacant for three months, and the garden did indeed look like a wilderness; but it contained many choice plants and trees, which maintained themselves amid their worthless neighbors, and which needed only care and attention to produce abundantly their proper fruits. Robert set to work under Mr. Ellison's direction, and by his assistance the plot of ground began by degrees to assume quite a different appearance. The straggling shrubs were pruned and trimmed into comeliness, the weeds pulled out, the grass-plots restrained within their proper limits, and the vines and running roses furnished with sufficient supports. To conclude, a number of flowering verbenas, heliotropes, salvias, and other flourishing plants were transplanted into the flower-beds under the parlor and study windows.

Robert worked with a hearty good will, he was pleased with the prospect of earning something wherewith to pay his debts, he was interested in the work itself, for which he had a natural fondness. Especially he was gratified that Mr. Ellison should have selected him as an assistant, and he felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, the desire of truly meriting esteem. He was rather shy at first, and answered the minister's questions with some reserve; but he became by degrees more communicative—and Mr. Ellison was surprised to see how much miscellaneous information the boy had contrived to pick up. He found indeed that his ideas on many important subjects were vague and perverted, but he perceived a strong capacity for good in him, and inly determined to do all in his power to foster that capacity.

As they were busily working and talking together, the garden-gate was opened, and Mr. Vanderburgh and his brother-in-law, Dr. Huntley, walked in.

"So you are working in your garden already, Mr. Ellison," was the salutation of the former gentleman, "and how much you have accomplished, to be sure. But why did you not apply to me? I could have furnished you with an excellent and trustworthy gardener." And then in rather a lower tone, "You will have to look sharply after that boy: he is not to be trusted any farther than you can see him. You had better get rid of him, and I will send my gardener to you as soon as I return home."

Robert partly heard, and partly guessed at the purport of this speech, and the rather proud smile with which he had responded to Dr. Georges kindly greeting, died away, and was succeeded by an expression of sullen resentment. The pleasing vista that had been opened before him, seemed suddenly closed again, and his heart swelled with grief at his disappointment, and anger at him who had thus wantonly destroyed his bright prospects.

"I am much obliged to you," Mr. Ellison replied aloud; "but it will not be necessary, Mr. Vanderburgh; Robert has done exceedingly well this morning, as you may see by the results of his labor, and I am quite sure he will do his best to please me. You may go round to the other side now, if you please, Robert, and weed that strawberry-bed."

Mr. Vanderburgh felt a little vexed. He was not much accustomed to having his counsels rejected, and he felt moreover, that there was a mild reproof conveyed in the minister's answer. He did not feel at all disposed to give up the point.

"But sir—but Mr. Ellison, you must not get that boy fastened upon you. He is a regularly hard case—a young vagabond, sir, that is well known, and the whole family are no better than so many pests to the community. And besides," he continued, waxing warm, as he saw that his remonstrance produced no effect, "I must tell you, sir, that I think it does not look well for the minister to be employing and countenancing a boy who is well known as a daring Sabbath-breaker. It won't do, sir, it will have a very bad influence in the parish. You must send him adrift, sir, it won't do at all."

Mr. Ellison's face flushed, and his lips were a little compressed: he was naturally rather a warm-tempered man, and the dictatorial tone assumed by his parishioner decidedly grated on his feelings. But while he was hesitating for a reply, Dr. George saved him the trouble.

"I can not agree with my brother-in-law, sir," he said. "I am very glad you have taken up the boy, and shall be most happy to second you in any efforts you may make for his benefit. I have been always desirous to do something for him, myself, but I am very much occupied with my business—perhaps too much so—and moreover, I have not known exactly how to set about it."

"Well, I am sure, enough has been done for him," persisted Mr. Vanderburgh, still more annoyed at finding himself in the minority. "I have told him twenty times that he would come to the gallows, if he did not mend his ways and go to work honestly."

"Did you ever offer to employ him?" asked Mr. Ellison.

"Who, I? No, indeed, I would not have him about my place. I should not expect to have a peach or a melon left, and every body in town thinks the same."

"If that is the case, you can scarcely wonder that he does not go to work honestly, as you say. He has shown that he can work well and thoroughly, and certainly his kindness to his step-mother and her children is much to his credit. But as your twenty times repeated warning seems to have had no effect, suppose we try some other plan—for instance, setting an honest living, and a respectable station in the world before him, instead of the gallows, and see how that will act. There are some animals, you know, which can not be driven by any amount of force, but which may be made, by coaxing, to perform a great amount of work."

Mr. Vanderburgh was silent, and the Doctor replied: "I think you are right, sir, in your opinions. I remember very well how I felt when I was a boy myself; and I really do not think I should have been driven an inch by being told that I was going the gallows. It is no doubt true, as my brother Vanderburgh says, that Robert has been a bad boy, and his associates are among the worst in the town, but it has been partly the fault of his unfortunate position. I have thought sometimes of taking him into my own family, where I could easily find work enough for him to keep him fully employed: but I have, as you know, a son about his own age, and I feared lest he should be unfavorably influenced."

"George seems a very reliable, steady boy," remarked Mr. Ellison.

"He has been so, hitherto; I have never seen in him any inclination to low company or low vices, and I believe him to be actuated to some extent by right and true motives. I am not sure that Robert would do him any harm. The best thing for the boy, however, would be to place him with some sensible and kind farmer, at a considerable distance from here—the farther the better—where he would be out of the way of temptation, and removed from the influence of his old associates. If this could be done, I think he would be likely enough to turn out well."

"And why can it not be done?"

"I presume it could, sir. I am not aware that such a measure has been proposed to him."

"He would not agree to it," said Mr. Vanderburgh, doggedly. "He is too fond of loafing about the streets and bar-rooms, and being ringleader in all the mischief that goes on in the village."

"If you think, Doctor, that such a place could be provided, it might be well to speak to the boy about it."

The Doctor had no manner of doubt on the subject, and accordingly Robert was called, and the project submitted to him by Mr. Ellison. Robert listened in silence, and then shook his head. "It wouldn't do, sir," he said.

"I told you so!" said Mr. Vanderburgh, with some exultation. "I knew he would not be willing to leave the village!"

"But why do you think it would not do, Robert?" asked the Doctor without noticing the remark. "Are you afraid of being lonely in the country?"

"No, indeed, sir! I'm not afraid of being lonely anywhere, so long as I have enough to do; but there is a reason why I must stay here. Mother and the children-can't get along and live unless I am here to provide for them."

"But you could send them your wages, could you not?"

"It would not do, sir. I must spend what little I earn for them myself, or it will do them no good. Father would get hold of it, and then you know well enough how it would go."

"But suppose it could be kept out of his hands, as I think it might," persisted the Doctor.

"Still I could not leave them, sir. When I am at home, I stand between them and a good deal from which they would have no protection if I were away."

"The long and the short of it is, you don't want to go into the country," said Mr. Vanderburgh, losing all patience at what he considered the boy's unthankfulness. "Here we are all trying to contrive some way to do you good, and to help you, and to do something for your benefit," (Mr. Vanderburgh was fond of presenting an idea in several different shapes, when he wished to be impressive) "and all the answer you make is, that you won't go."

"I didn't say so," returned Robert, sullenly.

"You said much the same thing; and I tell you, as I have often told you before, that you will go to the gallows; and more than that, if I catch you in my garden again, I will send you as far as the House of Refuge, myself."

Robert threw down the rake he had all the time held in his hand, and with a fearful oath, turned towards the gate. But before he could reach it, a detaining hand was laid on his arm, and Mr. Ellison said: "Stop Robert, my boy! Do not go off in a rage! I do not at all wonder that you are angry, but I can not have you leave me so. Go back to your strawberries, there's a good fellow, and we will talk more about this matter some other time. Above all, don't add worse to bad, by taking God's holy name in vain. Finish the strawberry-beds, and by that time, you will be able to think more coolly about the whole affair."

Mr. Vanderburgh was confounded when he saw Mr. Ellison occupied in soothing the boy, and prevailing on him to resume his work, and still more so when, in reply to his again-repeated offer to send an experienced and honest gardener to finish what remained to be done, Mr. Ellison thanked him, but decidedly avowed his intention of keeping Robert Merritt. He bade the minister good evening rather coolly, and walked home in any thing but an agreeable frame of mind. He began to think the parish had made a sad mistake in their choice of a pastor, and that a man so opinionated and obstinate as Mr. Ellison would be a great misfortune to them.

But as the evening wore on, and he thought the matter over, his feelings began to take quite another direction. He saw that he had been rather unjust to Robert—had in fact, given him some provocation: he acknowledged to himself that it was hardly fair, when the boy was working hard for once, to try to have him discharged on account of his past offenses, thus bringing up his former bad character against him, at the very time when he was trying to retrieve it. He could not but confess, upon thinking it over, that there was some show of reason, in what he had said about going into the country, and he now regretted very much that he had spoken so harshly to him. Mr. Vanderburgh was a conscientious man in spite of his peculiarities, and though his conscience did not always awake in time to prevent him from doing acts of injustice, it always prompted him to repair them as fully as possible, and tormented him grievously, when that reparation came, as it often did, too late to do any good. He now resolved that he would make it up to Robert, if possible, and thus reconciled himself to himself in some degree.

Mr. Ellison made no allusion to what had passed, when he again saw Robert. He perceived the neatness of his work, told him he should need his services for two or three days longer, and offered him the money for his day's work, which Robert declined receiving.

"I would rather leave it in your hands till I get through, sir, and then take it altogether."

Mr. Ellison was rather surprised, but he returned the money to his pocket without any remark, and Robert went home, feeling more like being happy than he had done for a long time.