CHAPTER III.

AFTER thinking the matter over a good deal, Mr. Vanderburgh came to the conclusion that the best way he could make amends to Robert for his hasty speech, would be by employing him in his own garden, and thus showing that he was willing to trust him, notwithstanding what he had said about it. Accordingly, before he went to his office in the morning, he walked over to the parsonage, thinking to find the boy at work there. But as he turned into the street in which it was situated, he unexpectedly overtook Robert, who was proceeding to his day's labor. He quickened his steps as Mr. Vanderburgh approached, and seemed inclined to get away without replying to his salutation.

"Come, come, Robert, don't be in such a hurry! I have a job of work I want you to do for me, when you get through at the parsonage."

"I don't want any of your work, Mr. Vanderburgh," replied Robert, coloring. "You have done all you could to injure me, and set Mr. Ellison against me, and I don't want any thing more to do with you."

Mr. Vanderburgh had not anticipated being met in this way. He had supposed that Robert would be very ready and very glad to take up with his offer, and he was decidedly taken aback by this refusal. A moment's reflection, however, told him that it was no more than he ought to have expected, and he determined not to be discouraged, in his attempts at conciliation.

"Oh! Come, Robert, don't bear malice, my boy! I was wrong in speaking to you so, I confess, and I have felt sorry ever since. I came out this morning expressly to find you, and get you to work for me. Come, now, shake hands and be friends."

Robert was not proof against this unlooked-for kindness on Mr. Vanderburgh's part; he very cordially accepted the offered hand, and they walked on together towards the parsonage.

"I was angry last night, Mr. Vanderburgh, and no mistake," said Robert. "I thought it very hard that just as I was trying to do better, and had found a friend to help me, you should come and spoil it all; for I thought to be sure Mr. Ellison would not want to have any more to do with me, after what you said. I know as well as any body that I have been a bad boy, but it has not been altogether my fault. I have not had a great deal to make me good in my life-time."

"But yet you knew better than to do a great many things that you have done, Robert, I am sure. Now didn't you?"

"Well, yes—I knew better, perhaps; but then—didn't you ever do wrong when you knew better, Mr. Vanderburgh? And then I only acted just like my companions, and I had such hard times at home, I thought I had a sort of right to have fun whenever I could get it. But I do mean to break off with them, and be better if I can, and if I only succeed in getting a little money beforehand, I rather think I can make it out."

"What has your getting money beforehand to do with it?" asked Mr. Vanderburgh.

"I owe some of them," replied Robert; "I have borrowed money of them, and that gives them a kind of hold on me. If I can only get that paid, I think I shall do well enough."

"Ah! Yes! Very bad thing to borrow money. The borrower is servant to the lender, you know the good Book says. Never borrow money if you can help it, my boy. But never mind that now; don't be discouraged, and we will try and keep you in work. Come round to my office when you get through here, and we will see what can be done for you."

"So you and Mr. Vanderburgh have been having a little talk, have you?" said Mr. Ellison, as Robert came into the garden.

"Yes, sir. He wants me to come and do some work for him, when I get through here."

"Indeed! I am glad to hear you have a prospect of employment. I suppose you were quite willing to undertake it, were you not?"

"Why, not at first, sir! I was rather provoked at him, for speaking so to me yesterday, and at first I would not have any thing to say to him; but I saw he was sorry, and so I agreed to do it. It is not in my nature to be angry at any one a minute after I see that they really want to make friends; and besides, though he is such a quick-tempered man, he has been very kind to mother."

"I believe him to be a good man, in spite of his hastiness," said Mr. Ellison; "and I am glad to hear you say that you do not bear malice, which is worse than being hasty, though that is bad enough: now we will go to our work in the orchard."

Robert worked two days longer for Mr. Ellison, and then three days for Mr. Vanderburgh, so that by the end of the week he had earned not only the three dollars necessary to pay his debts, but a dollar over, which last he intended to lay out in necessaries for the family. Moreover—and this gave him even more pleasure than his wages—both gentlemen had highly commended his neatness and steadiness, and Mr. Vanderburgh had promised to recommend him as a good gardener. Mr. Ellison paid him as soon as he finished his work, but Mr. Vanderburgh seemed very much engaged when Robert entered his office on Saturday evening, and as he did not want to use the money till Monday morning, he concluded to let it remain in his employer's hands till that time. He expended his spare dollar on some flour, which he carried with him when he returned from his work.

"So you have really got some flour," said his mother as he entered; "but why didn't you buy more at a time? It isn't good economy to get so little at once."

"I know it, mother, but I spent all the money I had to spare."

"Why, you must have earned four or five dollars, I should think, you have worked so steadily this week; but I suppose you are laying it up for some grand frolic, or perhaps you are going off on a journey, and mean to have enough to pay your travelling expenses. Any thing rather than lay it out on your own family."

Mrs. Merritt felt irritated and discouraged herself; and, as is often the case, especially with weak people, she vented her discomfort on the first person that came in her way.

Robert felt very keenly the injustice of her words. With all his faults, he had never been indifferent to the welfare of the family, and indeed had almost supported them for three or four years.

"I am sure you need not accuse me of spending much on myself; mother," he replied; "I might perhaps have been better off for some things if I had done so now and then," casting a glance at his ragged clothes as he spoke. "I did earn five dollars; but three of it must go to pay borrowed money, and I can not spend it for any thing."

"Oh! I am so glad you have got it!" exclaimed Celia, joyfully. "Now you can pay Childs, can't you?"

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Merritt. "Childs is well enough off; and can afford to wait for his pay, better than Celia and I can afford to wait for shoes. Don't be so foolish as to give your money to him, Robert."

"I can wait well enough, mother," interrupted Celia; "and I am sure I can mend yours, if you will let me try. I know Robert wants to pay this money very much."

"Oh! Well, if you like to go barefoot, I have nothing to say against it; only when I was a girl, I should have been ashamed to be seen with my shoes in such a state. Children used to mind their parents then, and have some respect for them, but that is all out of fashion now."

Robert was tempted to ask whether it had been in fashion at the time when she married his father against the wishes, command, and entreaties, not only of her parents, but of all her other friends. Though quite young when it happened, he was old enough clearly to remember the circumstance, and the talk there was about it. He exchanged a glance with Celia, but said nothing.

Just as they were sitting down to supper, Mr. Merritt came in, rather more sober than was usual for him on Saturday night, and in consequence disposed to quarrel with every body and any body that came in his way.

"What's all this?" he exclaimed, as the bag of flour met his eye. "Who has been buying all this stuff?"

"I have," returned Robert, shortly.

"The — you have! And where did you get the money, I should like to know?"

"Earned it!" was the brief response.

"Was that all you earned?"

"No."

"Where's the rest, then?"

"It's safe, father," and the expression of the boy's face finished the sentence—"safe where you won't get hold of it."

"What do you mean by that, you young scapegrace? What have you done with it, hey?"

"I've a right to use my own earnings as I please, I suppose," returned Bob; "I shan't give it to you, you may depend upon that."

"Are you not ashamed to speak so to your father, Robert?" said his mother, taking part with her husband, as she sometimes did when she was vexed with the elder children. "Don't you know that he has a right to take your earnings till you are twenty-one?"

"I suppose you would like to have him take the money, and have a spree on it, wouldn't you?" returned Bob, whose temper was now thoroughly excited. "You would like to have him come home drunk at twelve o'clock, and thrash you with the broom-stick, as he has done before now. He shall not have a cent of it, nor you either," he continued, buttoning his jacket; "and more than that, if I hear much more about it, I'll go away where I can live in peace and comfort, and not have any one hanging on me, and eating up every thing I can earn or steal, without so much as saying, Thank you, at last. If it had not been for Celia, I would have gone long ago."

Mrs. Merritt burst into tears, an exercise in which she frequently indulged, and which had usually the effect of quieting Robert's "tantrums," as she called his occasional fits of temper. Mr. Merritt rose from his seat, apparently determined to obtain what he wanted by force, but meeting Robert's determined eye, he seemed to change his mind; he told Robert he should do what he pleased with his money, if he would not be so saucy about it, and commanded his wife to stop her whimpering, and sit down to supper peaceably. Thus the meal passed off without any farther disturbance.

After supper, when Celia had washed up the dishes and put the house a little in order, she went out to where Bob was working in his garden, weeding and hoeing, and enjoying the luxuriance of his melon-beds and winter-squashes. He ceased his labors as she approached, and the two sat down on the fence together.

"Don't you give that money to father, or mother, either," said Celia, "but keep it to pay Childs, and then you will be out of his power. I can't think what made mother act so, only she was worried, I suppose, and did not feel very well. It is warm weather now, and I can as well as not go without shoes when I am about the house. Perhaps by the time cold weather comes, I may get a place where I can earn something for myself."

"I don't mean to give it up, I promise you," replied Robert, passing his arm around her; "I don't much mind what mother said, because I know she don't really mean it, only it is rather discouraging to be met in that way when a fellow has been working hard from morning till night."

"You didn't have any dinner, did you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Vanderburgh gave me some. Oh! She is such a nice woman. I wish you could go and live there, Sis."

"I wish I could," said Celia, sighing; "but there is no hope of my going to live anywhere just now, I suppose. Will you go to church to-morrow?"

"Yes, I think I must! Mr. Ellison has been so good to me, it would look rather mean for me to stay away. I hardly look decent to go into such a place, but I believe I will venture. Every body knows I hain't much of a chance to dress well. But it is a real shame that you have nothing better to wear; for you would be as pretty a girl as any in the church, if you were only just dressed up nicely."

Celia blushed and smiled, and looked prettier than ever, at this compliment from her brother. "I should like to have some good clothes, that is a fact; but after all, Robert, one does not go to church to show one's self."

"No, I suppose not; and yet after all, Sis, what 'do' people go to church for? I know that I go because Mr. Ellison has been kind to me, and I think it will please him, and he goes himself because that is his business; but all the rest of the people—what takes them there?"

"I suppose because they want to hear the preaching," said Celia; "and because they think they must. It seems to do some people a deal of good, too. I remember when old Mrs. Miner's son died, some of the neighbors tried to persuade her not to go to church, because she was so feeble, but she said: 'I must go! I feel as though it would do me more good than any thing else,' and she seemed to come home quite cheerful."

"Well, we will go to-morrow any way; and now I am for getting to bed, for I am about tired off my feet. Good night, Sis; if it was not for you, I should feel as though it was not worth while to live."

Robert was indeed much fatigued, and slept soundly; but about the middle of the night, he was half aroused by an unusual noise, and dreamed that there was some one in his room. He was finally quite awakened by the thought that the door was being opened and shut, and sitting up in bed, he looked around the apartment; there was no one there—the moon was shining broadly in at the uncurtained windows, and the house was all still. He listened a few moments, and then lay down and went to sleep.

As Celia was getting breakfast ready next morning, Robert came running down stairs, and flung the door open with such violence, that the whole house shook. He was only half-dressed, and had his jacket in his hands, and his face was as pale as ashes.

Celia dropped her knife and fork, and gazed at him in astonishment and alarm.

"Where is father?" was his first question. "Don't stand there staring, child, but answer—where is father?"

"He has gone out," said Celia, recovering herself; "he said he should not wait for breakfast, but took a piece of bread, and went off. O Bob!" she exclaimed, as a sudden thought flashed across her mind. "He has not got your money, has he?"

"He has!" replied Bob, throwing down his jacket. "It is all gone, Sis, every cent, except some little change that I had in my other pocket. I thought I heard some one in the room, but I could not wake up enough to be sure. And now it is all gone, and I shall never see it again."

He laid his head down on his folded arms, and cried bitterly, and Celia wept with him. All his hopes—all his prospects of independence, seemed again dashed to the earth, just as he was on the point of realizing them. His week of faithful labor was worse than thrown away, for he knew very well that all would go for liquor, and that his father would never be well again so long as the money lasted. How could a boy with such a parent be any thing else than a vagabond? The poor fellow was completely disheartened, and felt as though he could never make another effort.

"But you have not lost all, Bob!" said Celia at last. "There is the money Mr. Vanderburgh owes you."

"True!" exclaimed Robert, starting up. "I never thought of that! I will go and ask him for it this very minute."

"I wouldn't," said Celia, rather hesitatingly; "perhaps he would not like to be asked for it on Sunday, for you know they are very particular about such things. You can get it to-morrow just as well."

"And after all, it is only twelve shillings, and that is but half enough. There is no use in paying him, unless I pay all." And Robert laid his head down again.

"The long and the short of it is," said Celia, "you must just take that money of mine, and make it up. You are going to have work enough now, and will soon be able to give it back to me, and if not, it is no matter. Come now, just take it, and then the affair will be settled and off your mind."

"But it looks so mean, Celia, to take your money to pay my debts, and to such a rascal as Childs, too. If it was only going to a decent man, I should not care."

"That don't matter, so long as you owe it honestly," replied his sister; "and as to it's being mean, it is no more so than for me to live on what you earn. But you can pay it back to me, you know, if you make such a point of it. Come now, do take it, and free yourself."

"Well, Sis, since you are so kind, I will take it, and pay you just as soon as I get any thing. And I promise you, if ever I have the means, you shall have the prettiest dress that can be bought for money."

"And you will go to church with me?"

After a little consideration, Robert consented, making up his mind that he would discharge his debts the first thing on Monday morning, lest some other accident should happen. The remembrance that all his money was not gone, and the kindness and sympathy of his sister, comforted him a little, but he felt deeply depressed and sick at heart. He had naturally strong feelings and warm affections, and was inclined to attach himself strongly to those about him. He could remember a time when his father was not so debauched as at present—when he would have shrunk in horror from such an action as he had just committed.

If any one else had taken the money, he would no doubt have been very angry, and would immediately have taken steps to recover it; but here the thief was his own father, and what could he do? He knew enough of the law to be aware that his father had a legal right to his earnings till he was twenty-one, and even supposing this not to be the case, how could he go before a magistrate, and accuse his own father of robbing him? He was now fifteen, and unless he could be in some way set free, it would be six years before his time would be his own. Meantime, the family would be sinking lower and lower, and he should share their disgrace; and Celia, too—pretty and attractive as she was—he could not bear to think of that. Whichever way he turned, the prospect seemed dark and gloomy.

He went to church with Celia, and though he was thinking more of his lost treasure than of the service, yet there was something in the prayers and singing, in the subdued light and brooding quiet, which soothed him, and prepared him to listen with more attention to the sermon. It was a very plain one, on the text, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest;" and it spoke of the weariness of the world and its service, and of the consolations and refreshment to be found in Christ. Robert listened with pleasure and interest, and though he had no very definite ideas of coming to Christ at that time, he felt that he should like to do so some time or other.

Mr. Ellison and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderburgh spoke kindly to him, as they came out of church; so did Dr. Huntley and his wife; and Robert went home feeling comforted and refreshed.