CHAPTER III.

THE WAYS OF TOWN.

ABOUT a fortnight after Owen's departure, Reuben followed him to Birmingham.

The smoky atmosphere, the dingy, dusty streets were a poor exchange in the warm summer days for the fresh air and rural beauty of Ashworth. For a little while the bustle and stir of the town had the charm of novelty for Reuben. But the excitement of the change was soon over, and in the midst of crowds of workers of all descriptions Reuben's heart sickened with a dreary sense of loneliness. He would scan the faces of those he passed as he went along the streets, but every one was a stranger to him, and there was no friendliness in the glances he met.

There were hundreds of hands employed in the great human hive in which Reuben worked, but for some time he did not enter into friendly relations with any of them. Reuben was a shy, countrified lad, blunt of speech, and awkward in his bearing, and such notice as he received was not of a flattering nature. The sharper town lads found much to ridicule in him, and amused themselves at his expense by playing off on him various practical jokes, some of which were positively cruel. Reuben bore them with a stolid patience that appeared like indifference, but in truth, he felt them keenly, and they increased the sore home-sickness, which was becoming almost more than he could bear.

His work, too, was a disappointment to him. At present he was learning nothing, but was merely employed as a messenger to carry orders to the various workshops, and be at the beck and call of every one in authority. It was no easy post, however. The hours, from eight in the morning till eight at night, seemed to him very long, and he often felt far more weary when his day's work was done than he had ever felt after a day spent in the fields.

But Reuben held on bravely in spite of every discouragement, for a brave heart had Reuben Roy, and he was no stupid, though he might seem slow. It is what we think and feel in the secret chamber of our souls that determines what our lives are. Right thinking leads to right doing. Our actions are never really better than our thoughts. They may have a fair appearance, like the righteousness on which the Pharisees prided themselves, but it is the motive that gives every action its value in the sight of God, and sooner or later the insincere act will reveal itself as such to the eyes of men.

Now Reuben's thoughts were good and true, and he had that fear of God which, it has been well said, "expels all other fear." He had not forgotten the words that had impressed him as he listened to Mr. Howe's farewell address, nor his resolve that he would be strong and of a good courage in the battle of life.

That resolve was being well tested in these days. There were times when he felt as if he must throw up his new employment, and go back to the old life at Ashworth, which now seemed so dear.

He was feeling thus one warm August evening, when he had come away from his work too tired even to take a stroll through the streets. The room he hired, and for which he had to pay a considerable proportion of his weekly wage, was a very small one at the top of a house in which several of the factory hands lodged. From its tiny window nothing was to be seen but an expanse of roofs and chimney-pots.

How weary Reuben felt of the dull outlook—the smoke and griminess visible everywhere! The day had been a hard one with him. The lads at the factory had been most provoking; they had contrived to get him blamed for what was in no way his fault. He had borne the undeserved rebuke without a word—he would not be so mean as to tell of the others. But his spirit smarted under a sense of injury and injustice.

And now he felt that the difficulties of position were more than could be borne. He longed to return to Ashworth.

Why should he not? It would be throwing away his chance; it would disappoint his mother's hopes; but would she wish him to stay on if she knew how wretched he was? Surely not!

Reuben's meditations had reached this point when, rather to his surprise—for he never had visitors—some one knocked at his door.

"Come in," he said.

The door was opened a few inches, and a shock-headed girl looked in to say,—

"Reuben Roy, I've brought ye these flowers. You're from the country, so maybe you'll like them. A lady brought a lot of bunches into our room this afternoon, and she gave me two, so here's one for you."

She threw him the bunch, and was gone almost before he could say "Thank you."

There were only a few flowers—a rose or two, a "sweet-william," some pinks, and a bit of "lad's love,"—but how sweet they seemed to Reuben! How they brought the old untidy piece of garden at home before his eyes! How they sharpened to almost painful intensity his longing to return to Ashworth! Never, surely, were flowers more welcome. Reuben's eyes grew moist as he sniffed their perfume; his breast heaved with a sob of which he had no cause to feel ashamed.

The next minute he saw that a small ornamental card was attached to the bunch. It was one sent out by a flower mission, and on the card, clearly printed in gold letters, were the words, "There hath no temptation taken you but such as man can bear: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation make also the way of escape, that ye may be able to endure it." ¹

¹ 1 Cor. x. 13

Reuben read the words with a thrill of pleasant surprise. Was it sent to remind him that his difficulties, his trials should not be greater than he could bear, and that God, the faithful God, would help him to endure, if he would trust in Him? It seemed so, and with the thought new courage came to Reuben Roy. Certainly, the little bunch of flowers, with its encouraging message, opened a way of escape from the gloomy despondency that had possessed him.

He began to wonder what had made the girl give him the flowers. He knew little of her, save that she lodged in the house and worked in the same factory as he did. She seemed a high-spirited, noisy, mischievous girl, a favourite with her companions, but one who often had to be reprimanded by the overseer.

She must be good-natured, he thought. Had she guessed that he was feeling lonely and home-sick, and needed something to cheer him? Well, it was good of her. It made him feel that he had a friend at hand, and Reuben whistled cheerily as he found a mug and placed his flowers in water.

As yet, Reuben had not seen Owen Grant. In his ignorance of the extent of the great city, he had imagined that he would be sure to meet Owen soon after arriving in Birmingham, and he had not thought to ask old David Grant where Owen might be found. But since Owen was employed in one of the large shops in New Street, whilst Reuben's work was in a remote manufacturing district, it was not surprising that they did not meet.

One Sunday, however, when Reuben had been many weeks in Birmingham, he was suddenly brought face to face with Owen Grant in the street. It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, and Reuben was on his way to church.

Owen obviously had no intention of attending public worship. He was standing, with several youths of his own age, outside a public-house, before which a large drag drawn by four horses was stationed. Reuben had to look twice to be sure that it was Owen, for the lad's appearance had changed considerably during the months which had passed since he left Ashworth.

He was dressed in a plaid suit, of rather a conspicuous pattern; he had a bright red tie adorned by a showy pin, a pipe was between his lips, and he flourished a smart little cane. He was talking gaily. The air of importance he had always worn was more marked than formerly. He evidently considered himself the chief person in the party, and his companions were willing that he should take the lead. He started as Reuben eagerly, suddenly halted before him, saying eagerly,—

"Owen! Is it you?"

There was some reluctance in his manner, though Reuben did not perceive it, as he responded to his greeting.

"I rather think it is. But who would have thought of seeing you, old fellow?"

"Did you not know that I had to come to Birmingham?"

"Well, now you mention it, I believe my mother did say something about it in one of her letters. It is a good move on your part, old chap. Don't you find town ever so much jollier than that stupid hole in the country?"

"No, I cannot say that I do," replied Reuben slowly. "I think the country is ever so much nicer than the town. And if you mean that Ashworth is a stupid hole, I am not of your mind."

"He's mammy sick, poor boy," said one of Owen's companions, who stood regarding Reuben with a quizzical air; "he wants to go home to his ma."

The others all laughed.

"If you like the country so much, you had better come with us," said Owen, with rather a patronising air; "we are just off to spend the day in the country."

"No, thank you; I cannot do that," said Reuben.

"Oh, do come, old fellow," returned Owen, "I am sure you will like it. The fare is only two shillings there and back. And if the money's a difficulty, I'll stand treat."

"No, thank you; I cannot come," said Reuben. Then, with an effort, he added, "I am going to church."

The statement was received with a burst of laughter, as if it were a grand joke, by all the party except Owen. He looked annoyed and uncomfortable.

"Going to church! Oh, my word! P'raps you'd like to go to church with him, Grant."

"Don't be a fool, Reu," said Owen, drawing his friend aside; "these fellows will only laugh at you if you talk about church. You can go there any Sunday. But we are not likely to get another day like this in a hurry. Do come."

It was only for a moment that Reuben hesitated. He did not like to be laughed at, nor called a fool; but it suddenly struck him that he would be a fool indeed if he suffered himself to be drawn aside from doing what he felt to be right by fear of the contempt of such fellows as these.

"Let them laugh," he said; "what do I care? Owen, you know I have always been accustomed to go to church on Sunday, and so have you. Why should we do differently now? What would your father and mother feel if they knew how you were thinking of spending Sunday? Oh, Owen, don't do it, for their sakes. Come with me. I am sure those fellows are not good friends for you."

Owen coloured and was silent. Reuben words were not without their effect upon him. But a shout from one of the other lads counteracted it.

"Hullo, there, Grant! It is time we were off. Don't let that saintly chap carry you off to church."

The feelings contending within Owen Grant gave place to a burst of anger.

"Be so good as to mind your own business, Reuben Roy. It does not matter to you how I choose to spend Sunday. I am not a child now, tied to my mother's apron strings. I am a man, and can please myself. It was all very well to go to church and Sunday-school when I was at Ashworth, but Ashworth ways won't do in Birmingham."

"So much the worse for Birmingham," said Reuben, keeping his temper, "for I think the Ashworth ways are best, Owen."

With that he walked away, whilst the others clambered up on the drag. Their ringing laughter followed him, and he caught the words "duffer," "milk-sop," "sneak," and knew that these choice epithets were being applied to himself.

But Reuben did not much mind. Their words could not hurt him. He would have been truly hurt had he sinned against his conscience by doing that which he felt to be wrong. But he was sorry about Owen. He called to mind the aged father and mother, who thought so much of their only child. The high value they set on him, and the exalted notion their fond affection had formed of his merits, had become quite a joke—a perfectly good-humoured one, however—amongst the villagers of Ashworth. Reuben sighed now at the recollection. How grieved the poor old people would be if they knew!

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