CHAPTER II.

PARTINGS.

ON the Sunday previous to Owen's departure for Birmingham, his mother's face was paler than usual, and her voice less blithe. It was a sore trial to her that on the morrow she must part with her darling son—must send him, young and untried, to face alone the perils of a great city.

Her husband had accused her of "fretting about Owen," and she had denied the charge. But, for all that, he knew her heart was full of sorrow and anxiety.

"Here he is," she said quickly, as Owen's foot was heard on the field path, and they moved to the gate to welcome him.

"Well, lad!" said his father. "And how did the prize-giving go off? Who had the prizes?"

"I came in for one," said Owen, his face bright with satisfaction as he placed the Bible he had gained in his father's hands. "I know you will be pleased, father. It's the prize for Scripture knowledge."

"Eh, that's good!" said David, with a beaming glance. "Your mother was right, after all. She would have it that you'd bring home a prize."

And then the parents looked at each other with eyes that said plainly, "Was there ever such a lad as ours?"

"I am glad they gave you a Bible," said his mother; "it will be such a nice one to take away with you. Such a beautiful cover it has!"

"Ay, it's well bound," said his father, "but I doubt it 'll not last so long as that old Bible of ours indoors. They don't make such books nowadays."

"I don't want it to last for ever," said Owen carelessly. "I'll have another when I am married—a big family Bible."

"You'll have our own family Bible," said his father, almost reproachfully. "You will never want another while that lasts. Now come inside. I am going to write in the old Bible how you won this prize at Ashworth Sunday-school on the last Sunday you spent at home before going to town to learn business."

Owen made a comical grimace behind his father's back. He thought his father rather crazed about the old Bible, but he followed him into their common living-room, a long low apartment, with heavy beams overhead, and a broad latticed window with a deep cushioned seat beneath it. Owen fetched pen and ink and stood dutifully by his father's side, ready to assist in any spelling difficulties. Whilst the old man, slowly and laboriously, for he was no ready writer, entered in the old volume the fact he desired to record.

"You'll have to enter my name here some day, my lad," he said, when he had finished, "mine and your mother's too; but she'll outlive me many years, belike."

"I hope not, David," she said softly.

"Eh, why not?" returned her husband. "You'll have your son to lean upon then."

"I wish you would not talk that way, father," said Owen uneasily; "just as I am going away, too! I am sure I hope it will be long enough ere any more entries are made in this book." He closed it as he spoke, and carried it back to its place on the side-table.

"Read us a chapter from your own Bible, lad," said his mother from the chimney corner; "the kettle won't boil for another ten minutes."

"Very well," said Owen carelessly.

"What shall I read?"

His father named Psalm 103. Owen was a good reader, and he read the grand old words in a clear, expressive manner.

"'Like as a father pitieth his children,'" repeated the old man slowly when he had ended. "My son, you'll not forget your father's God when you're away in that great city?"

"All right, father," replied Owen hastily.

And no more was said.

At an early hour the next morning Owen left his parents' roof. The station was more than a mile distant, and they did not accompany him thither. Various home duties claimed their attention, and they were people who set duty before everything else.

Owen shouldered the trunk in which his mother had packed his best suit, the garments she had made, and the socks she had knitted for him, not forgetting to find a place for his new Bible, and marched off in brave spirits. But his voice had quavered a little as he bade the "old people" good-bye.

After all, there was pain in severing himself from those who loved him so dearly.

As for his mother, she broke down, and sobbed when he had gone. "Oh, I wish we had not let him go," she cried. "Why could we not keep him with us?—Our only child."

"Nay, nay, that would not do," said her husband; "we could not keep a lad of his talents working in the fields here. It would not be right."

"I suppose not," she said, with a sigh. And for the moment, she was tempted to wish that her son was less clever, that he had been a slow, quiet lad like Reuben Roy, so that she might have kept him by her side.

"It's the best thing possible for the lad," said David Grant, speaking perhaps as much to convince himself as his wife, "to get a post in that great business house. It's but the lowest rung of the ladder, to be sure. But he'll rise, for he's a smart lad. You'll be mighty proud of him, I daresay, in a few years' time."

"But he's young," said his mother anxiously, "and there are so many temptations in a great city. If he should go wrong, David?"

"He'll not go wrong," said his father confidently; "our lad will not go wrong. Don't you go worrying yourself without cause."

"I'll not," she said, brightening up; "as you say, our lad is not like other lads. We can trust him; he'll keep right."

Ah, poor, fond, trustful parents! And yet blessed is every heart that cherishes the love that "believeth all things, hopeth all things," for such love tends towards the realisation of its own prophecies.

Owen Grant found quite a party of friends at the station, for Mr. Howe and his family were leaving by this train, and many persons had come to see them off. Reuben Roy had been sent with a parcel to the station, and he waited to see the last of his old superintendent, though he was too shy to go forward and bid him "good-bye" again.

"Hallo, Reu, you here! Have you come to see me off, old chap?" cried Owen.

"Why, no," said Reuben candidly. "I brought up a parcel for Mr. Brown, and I was waiting to see Mr. Howe start. I forgot you were going by this train."

Owen looked surprised. "I told you yesterday," he observed. "I say, Reu," he exclaimed the next moment as he examined the money in his hand, "that stupid fellow in the booking office has given me too much change. The fare was one-and-nine; I gave him half a crown, and he has given me back a shilling. What an idiot!"

"Oh, it was a mistake, of course," said Reuben; "you know he is new to the place, and has not got used to his work. You'll have time to run and set it right,—the train's not up yet."

"Bless you! I shall not trouble myself about it," said Owen, coolly putting the money in his pocket; "if he likes to make me a present of threepence, he is welcome to do so."

"But, Owen, you know he did not mean to give it to you, and he will have to make it good out of his own pocket. You can't mean to take advantage of his mistake?"

"I do mean it. He should keep a sharper look out. It will be a lesson for him."

"And you will do a dishonest thing. It's worse for you, after all."

"What do you mean? I did not steal the money."

"No, but if you keep it, when you know it is not yours, it is pretty much the same thing, I think," replied Reuben.

At that moment Mr. Howe caught sight of the boys, and came down the platform to speak to them.

"So you're leaving by this train, Owen," he said, as he shook hands with him, "and Reuben has come to see you off. That's right. But I must not stay. Good-bye to you both."

And he hurried away as the train came up.

Owen, too, moved off quickly to secure a seat. He leaned out of the carriage window to advise Reuben to make haste and follow him to town that he might get "smartened up a bit."

Then the train moved on, and as it passed out of the station, Reuben caught one last glimpse of Mr. Howe.

He went off to his day's work feeling heavy-hearted. He had lost a friend in Mr. Howe. He was sure there could never be another superintendent so good. And Owen, too, he would miss, but he was not altogether sorry that he had gone away. It was a slight shock to Reuben to discover how lax were Owen's notions of honesty. And only yesterday he had appeared as one of the best scholars in the Sunday-school! What would Mr. Howe think if he knew how Owen had kept the threepence, Reuben wondered.

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