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PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 
Lyntonville -- - ~ 6 

CHAPTER n. 
The Long Cross school -- — -• 17 

CHAPTER in. 
Sights in the woods --..--.--.-- 30 

CHAPTER IV. 
Anight in the forest- —--.--- 42 

CHAPTER V. 
Breaking-up day at school - 66 

CHAPTER VL 
What came of it - - 73 

CHAPTER Vn. 
Philip's discovery 85 

CHAPTER Vm 
The day after the fire ~ 101 



CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER IX. 



Mr. Hardy's store 



CHAPTER X. 



The missing note- 



114 



132 



CHAPTER XI. 
The confession - 149 

CHAPTER Xn. 
Concliasion — 171 



LTNTONVIILE. 



-♦-♦- 



CHAPTER I. 



LYNTONVILLE. 

"Thou who hast given me eyes to see, 
And love this sight so Mr, 
Give me a heart to find out thee, 
And read thee everywhere." 

Lyntonville was the name of a large 
old-fashioned log-house which stood em- 
bosomed among the tall trees of a Cana- 
dian forest, where sombre balsams and 
hacmatacs mingled their dark foliage 
with the silvery birch and maple. Del- 
icate buds and blossoms peeped out from 
beneath their rugged stems or uprooted 
trunks, and feathery ferns lurked in hid- 
den nooks and corners in the woods all 



.** 



6 



LYNTONVILLE. 



around it. There too the squirrels frisked 
about, and the little chip-muncks chirped 
merrily as they played at hide-and-seek 

among the branches. 

• 

" The house itself t^os of timbers 
Hewn from the cypreos-tree, and carefully fitted 

together. 
Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns 

supported, 
Bose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 

verandah, 
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 

around it." 

Mr. Lynton had been settled in this 
house in the woods for many j^ears. It 
was the birthplace of all his children; 
and though most of them were now mar- 
ried and had homes of their own, they 
all loved to revisit the dear old house 
where they had spent the happy days of 
their youth. Harry, the youngest, was 
the last chick left in the nest, and he was 
not a whit behind the others in his affec- 
tion for his beautiful home. 



y^ 



Lyntonville. 7 

Mr. and Mrs. Lynton were well known 
and highly esteemed in all the country 
round ; and before the neighborhood had 
attracted so many settlers, Mr. Lynton 
had acted for many years as clergyman, 
lawyer, and doctor to the whole district. 
He was a good naturalist too, and the 
hall at Lyntonville was full of curiosities, 
and was famous in that part of Canada as 
a museum of natural objects. Harry 
Lynton inherited his father's tastes ; and 
it was his great delight to discover a rare 
insect, or bird, or flower, which might 
be added to its treasures. This hall was 
a large, square room, into which the 
front door opened ; it had been originally 
intended for a parlor. 'Several other 
apartments surrounded it, and opposite 
the entrance was a large open fireplace, 
where the great logs were piled in win- 
ter, and blazed away cheerily up the 
wide chimney. A deer-skin lay in front 



8 



LYNTONVILLE. 



l\ 



for a rug, and severa,! stags' heads, ar- 
ranged according to their ages by the 
branching antlers, looked down from the 
wall over the oaken mantel-piece. Large 
cases of bright-colored birds were there, 
all of which Mr. Lyntoniiad himself shot; 
aye, and stuffed too with his own hands. 
In one corner was a cabinet of butter- 
flies, moths, and beetles; in another, a 
bristling porcupine stood in an attitude 
of defiance. Here a racoon curled him- 
self up in close imitation of life, and there 
a snarling wolf showed his cruel white 
teeth. Spreading fungi stood out like 
huge brackets from the wall ; in short, it 
were vain to attempt to enumerate all 
the wonders *fthat were there. In the 
long winter evenings, especially about 
Christmas, when the children used to 
gather around the great hall fire, and ask 
"grandpapa" for one of his marvellous 
hunting-stories, the little ones would cast 



LYNTONVILLE. 



9 



furtive and fearful glances at the wild 
animals, which seemed so life-like in the 
flickering firelight ; or would look round, 
half expecting to hear the wild war- 
whoop issue from the hollow garments of 
the Indian chief in the shadowy back- 
ground. 

But there were even greater attrac- 
tions for Harry out of doors. A swift- 
running river rippled and splashed all 
day long at the foot of the sloping ground 
on which the house was built, and was 
the source of endless fun and adventure. 
Boating, bathing, fishing, and hunting for 
crawfish in their hiding places under the 
stones, were never-failing amusements 
in summer ; and when theibright waters 
were ice-bound, his skates and his sledge 
were in constant requisition. At the 
time our story begins, the ice had just 
broken up, and this year it had been 
unusually grand. The great blocks up- 



111 



10 



LYNTONVILLE. 



heaved with loud explosions, and groaned 
and creaked as they were jammed to- 
gether into huge masses near the bridge, 
which was partially torn away and car- 
ried down the stream by the tremendous 
force of the pressure. It was a magnifi- 
cent sight, though the damage caused by 
the floating ice was very great. 

In a little cottage just across the river 
lived Philip Quin, with his widowed 
mother. He was Harry's school-fellow 
and inseparable companion. He was a 
pale, delicate boy, with brown hair and 
dark blue eyes; sensitive and shy in 
disposition, and very prone to spend 
more time over his books than his weakly 
constitution %ould allow. Harry, on 
the contrary, was fair-haired, tall, and 
robust; but he was not so studiously 
inclined as to be in any danger of im- 
pairing his health. The two boys were 
certainly very different, but such firm 



LTNTONVILLE. 



11 



friends that one seemed scarcely happy 
without the other. Let us now follow 
them down to the bridge,' where luey 
are busy picking up the bits of wood old 
Michael Lockyer casts aside in his work 
of repair. 

"I say, Mike," said Harry, " tell us 
what this place was like when you first 
came to live here." 

The old man looked up. "Aye, Mas- 
ter Lynton, I 've nigh forgot what them 
days wor like, by now ; but one thing I 
know, it was n't like it is at the present, 
hereaway. Why, the woods came down 
thick to the water's * edge, and ne'er a 
house nor yet a shanty stood up there 
where Lyntonville is now ; and yet.that 's 
old, as we count it, for it 's a matter o' 
fifty year since the first log was laid." 

"I suppose there were lots of wolves 
and bears about here then," said Harry. 
" You must have had many a brush with 



12 



LYNTONVILLE. 



them in your time, Mike. Tell us about 
one, like a good old fellow j now do, I 
know you can." 

" Or about the beavers," interposed 
Philip. • 

"Yes, yes, the beavers. Oh do, 
Mike. I We heard you say before you 
had seen them." 

"Well, well, lads, I'll tell ye what I 
can ; but ye must let me get on with my 
work, or I sha'n't be done by nightfall. 
What was it I was going to tell ye? 
Ah, the beavers, so it was. I don't 
know as how I ever had much to do with 
'em, though. Do ye see that 'ere stump 
down there ? Well, that were some o- 
their doin's." 

"What, the beavers'?" exclaimed 
Philip. "Why, they never could have 
cut off such a tree as that." 

"Aye, but they could though; and 
those marks are nothing more nor less 



LYNTONVILLE. 



13 



than the nibbles o' their sharp teeth, I 
can tell ye," said Mike. 

"But did you ever see them?" asked 
Harry. 

" Why, yes, to be sure, many a time, 
when I was a little chap. I used to come 
about here with my father when he went 
hunting. It 's sixty year agone or more 
since I first set eyes on that 'ere beaver 
lodge, and now there a'n't so much as a 
stick left. We lived a good bit away 
then, so 'twas a long trudge, and right 
glad was I to hear the noise of the fall 
down yonder. By and by my father 
says to me, * Now, Mike, you stand be- 
hind this tree and keep quiet, or you 
wont have a chance to see 'em.' Well, I 
looked, and there was the river dammed 
up into a kind of pond like, with stakes 
driven into the water, and wattled with 
twigs like hurdles, and jthe holes filled in 
with clay to make all tight, and round 



man 



wiimmmmmm 



t ! 



14 LYNTONVILLE. 

the edge were ten or a dozen queer-look- 
ing mud butSj but ne'er a beaver did I 
see. 'Father/ says I, 'where are theyf 
"Bide still,' says he, 'or you'll see 
naught.' So I watched, and after a bit 
a brown head popped up and looked all 
around, and down he went again. Then 
four or five came out of the huts, and 
seemed to listen; and presently one of 
'em gave a slap with his big flat tail, and 
they all set to work mending a bit of the 
dam that was broken down." 

" Oh, Mike, I can't believe it," cried 
Harry. 

"Aye, but they did though," said 
Mike, "and it was wonderful surely to 
see 'em. If they'd been masons they 
could n't ha' done their work better ; and 
how I did laugh to myself, to be sure, to 
see one of 'em carrying the mortar on 
his tail, and pla§terin' up the wall as if 
he 'd been all his life a 'prentice to the 



LYNTONVILLE. 15 

trade. There was one big fellow who 
seemed to be 'boss/ for whenever he 
slapped his tail, some of ^em went to do 
his bidding. After we 'd stood and looked 
at 'era a while, my father says to me, 
'Now, Mike, we'll go home; and don't 
you forget the beavers, for there 's many 
a lesson you may learn from 'em.' 'No, 
father,' says I, 'for I shall know now 
what you mean when you say, ' as busy 
as a beaver.' ' There 's none of 'em left 
now," added the old man as he took up 
his axe again, "for even then the trap- 
pers had found 'em out, and took a good 
many every year, for the sake of thdir 
pelt and their tails, which are reckoned 
very good eating ; and after a while the 
rest took fright, and forsook the dam." 

" I '11 tell you what, " said Harry, " I '11 
ask papa to tell us more about them; 
and perhaps some day he may take us up 
the river far enough to find a beaver dam." 



16 



LYNTONVILLE. 



" I guess you 'd have to go a goodish 
number of miles afore you came across 
one then," said Mike; "but it's getting 
late, and it 's time for me to leave work, 
and so, my lads, I '11 wish you a very 
good night.''* 

* It may be here observed that the beaver and the 
maple-leaf are the national emblems of ihe Canadas, 
and none more suitable could have been chosen ; for 
the beaver speaks of unwearied diligence, -while the 
maple-leaf represents the vast sources of wealth which 
the country affords, the maple being one of the most 
valuable of North American trees. 






' I 




.'>< 



THE LONQ CBOSS SCHOOL. 



17 



CHAPTER II. 

THE LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 

**From the neighboring school come the boys, 
With more than their wonted noise 
And commotion." 

About two miles and a half from Lyn- 
tonville was the small village of Fair- 
field, consisting chiefly of one principal 
street, which led straight across the 
bridge and up the high bank of the river ; 
while two rival mills and a few frame 
houses and shanties, dotted here and 
there on the opposite side, comprised the 
whole of the settlement. Standing a 
short distance back from the top of the 
steep village street was the little wooden 
church. It was surrounded by a dark 
background of pine-trees, which rocked 
and swayed in the breeze, close by the 
quiet churchyard, where many a settler 



I- 



18 



LYNTONVILLE. 



from the surrounding country had already 
been laid to rest. Still further away to 
the right, was the Long Cross school — a 
low, rough building, with shingled roof, 
and wooden walls grown grey by long 
exposure to wind and weather. It de- 
rived its name from being situated on 
the Cross-road, leading through a large 
cedar swamp, which connected the woods 
of Lyntonville with those of Fairfield. 
Had you peeped in at the door, you 
would have seen boys of all sorts and 
sizes, rich and poor, at the Long Cross 
school, for there was no other for many 
miles round. John and' Charlie Red- 
fern, the clergyman's sons, Tom Hardy 
from the drygoods store at the corner, 
and Philip Quin were all in the same 
class with Harry Lynton and several 
others ; and we shall become better ac- 
quainted with some of them before our 
story is finished. 



-*! 



THE LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 



19 



One fine spiing morning, Harry was 
walking leisurely to school, swinging his 
books by the leathern strap that bound 
them, when his quick eye spied a flying- 
squirrel, leaping from bough to bough in 
a large rock-elm close to the path. Im- 
mediately he gave chase, and after a long 
and exciting scramble, which led him far 
out of his road, he succeeded in securing 
it under his cap ; and then he hurried on, 
eager to show his prize to his school- 
fellows. What was his dismay when he 
found the door closed, and heard through 
the open window the busy hum of the 
boys' voices repeating their lessons. 
There was no help for it now however, 
so he tried to slip in quietly unobserved. 
A class was just going up, and Harry 
thought he had escaped notice ; but un- 
fortunately it was by no means the first 
offence. 

*'I say, wont you catch it for being 



rr 



20 



LYNTONVILLE. 



late again," whispered his next neigh- 
bor. "Old Elmslie has been asking for 
you." 

"Can't be helped," said Harry. "Fve 
caught a flying-squirrel." 

"Oh, do let us see it, Lynton," said 
Charlie Redfern; "where is it?" 

"It's in my pocket; I can't show it 
to you now. It will be off, if I do n't take 



care. 



11 



"I say, what's the fun?" telegraphed 
another from an opposite form. . Harry 
drew a rough sketch on his slate and held 
it up. 

"Silence, there," cried Mr. Elmslie 
from his desk, and instantly the boys 
were as still as mice. But Harry could 
think of nothing but his squirrel, which 
was bobbing about in his pocket, as if 
it would break bounds every moment. 
Soon the fifth form was called up ; but 
not one word of his lesson could Harry 



LONG GROSS SCHOOL. 



21 



remember, for the squirrel was still up- 
permost in his mind. "I say, Phil, do 
you think it will eat it 's way out?" he 
whispered. 

*'What?" said Philip, who knew noth- 
ing about it. 

"I've got a flying-squirrel in my 
pocket. I caught it coming to school." 

"You^d better not bother about it 
now, you '11 lose your place if you do n't 
mind." 

" Lyjiton," said the master, "you know 
the rules; go to the foot of the class, 
and don't let me have to speak to you 
again." 

Harry tried to attend for a few min- 
utes ; then it struck him that the squirrel 
had been very still for a long time; 
could it be dead? He could not resist 
the temptation of putting his hand very 
gently into his pocket to see if all was 
right. Hardly had he done so, when a 



V 



!l 



22 LYNTONVILLE. 

bite, sharp enough to draw blood, made 
him hastily withdraw it, and the little 
prisoner, taking advantage of the open- 
ing, sprang out of his pocket, and leaped 
first on the master's desk, where it upset 
the ink on his books and papers; then 
settled on little Percy Hamilton's curly 
head, entangling its claws in his long 
hair; then freeing itself with a struggle 
and a bound, it cleared the open window, 
and was off to the shelter of its native 
woods, well pleased no doubt to be let 
out of school. The boys shouted ; those 
who were in the secret laughing heartily 
at poor Harry's misfortune, while the 
others, completely mystified at the sud- 
den commotion, asked each other what 
it all meant. Even Mr. Elmslie's voice 
failed in quieting them for some moments ; 
but order being at length restored, Harry 
was told to stand oat. 

"Now, sir," said the master, "what 



'l,iHliii'~~TiW 



MM 



mmmi 



LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 



23 



am I to say to you for causing all this 
damage and disturbance?" 

Harry stood silent, and the matter 
ended by his having to spend that long 
bright half-holiday alone in the Long 
Cross school, with all his lessons to learn 
over again. 

But although Harry was inclined to be 
idle sometimes, he had nevertheless many 
good points in his character. He was 
open-hearted and generous ; and in any 
case of oppression or wrong-doing among 
his school-fellows, he was sure u> stand 
up for the right. 

It so happened that when Philip Quin 
first joined the school, he incurred the 
dislike of Tom Hardy, one of the biggest 
and most unpopular of the boys. For a 
long time. Hardy, who was not wanting 
in quickness and ability, had been con- 
sidered head of the fifth, or highest form ; 
but he took advantage of his standing to 



r 



n 



mM 



24 



LYNTONVILLE. 



bully his companions. Yery soon after 
Philip joined however, Hardy found his 
position becoming more and more unten- 
able every day, and before many weeks 
had passed he was completely outdone. 
In consequence. Hardy lost no opportu- 
nity of annoying and holding him up to 
ridicule, on the score of his poverty, 
which was only too plainly betrayed by 
his patched and threadbare coat. One 
day Hardy was more than usually coarse 
and rude in his conduct to Philip in the 
playground, who bore it very meekly, 
though his pale face glowed with the bright 
flush of suppressed feeling. Presently 
Harry was attracted by the loud tones oi 
Hardy's voice, and though he did not 
know much of Philip at that time he could 
not calmly see the weak oppressed. 

"Come now. Hardy, you just stop that, 
will you," said he; *'Pm not going to 
stand it." 



«3MM 



LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 



25 



" Then just take yourself ofiF, and leave 
me to mind my own business," said Har- 
dy. "If you don't look out I'll pitch 
into you, my boy." 

Some of the lads burst out laughing at 
this speech, for they all knew that Hardy's 
words were much more valiant than his 
deeds. 

"Come on then," said Harry, "let's 
have it out, for you sha'n't bother Quin 
any more if I can help it." 

"Oh don't, Lynton, pray don't fight 
on my account ; what he says does me no 
harm, and I don't mind ; please don't ;" 
and Philip looked distressed. By this 
time however, Harry's coat was off, and 
a ring of boys had gathered around the 
combatants ; most of them rallying round 
Harry, though one or two sided with his 
opponent. Hardy, like most bullies, was 
a sad coward, and he was rather fright- 
ened when he saw the turn affairs had 




LYNTONVILLE. 

taken ; but he felt that if he showed the 
white feather now, he would lose his po- 
sition in the playground as well as in his 
class, so with a great deal of bluster he 
prepared to fight his young antagonist. 
Several blows were struck on both sides, 
and Harry succeeded in punishing Har- 
dy severely, though a bruised face and 
black eye proved that he himself had not 
escaped in defending the weak. At this 
moment Mr. Elmslie rather unexpected- 
ly made his appearance. 

"Now, boys, what's all this about?" 
said he very gravely. ' Go, Lynton, 
and wash your face, and then come into 
school, where I will speak to you, which 
I cannot do in your present state." Harry 
walked ofif, looking very deplorable. 

''Who was the other?" continued Mr. 
Elmslie, looking round, but Hardy had 
contrived to slip off unobserved, and was 
not to be seen. 



LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 



27 



"If you please, sir," said Philip, coin- 
ing forward and speaking very earnest- 
ly, "don't blame Lynton', for he did it 
out of kindness ; indeed he did, sir, 
though I begged him not." 

" A strange way of showing kindness, 
truly. And are you mixed up in this 
affair too, Quin ? I should not have be- 
lieved it possible," said Mr. Elmslie, in 
evident displeasure. 

Philip colored, and did not know what 
to say, for he could not bear to have his 
friend suffer unjustly, while he did not 
like to allude to Hardy's provoking and 
unkind taunts about his poverty. He 
stood silent for a moment, and then said, 
very respectfully, "If you please, sir, 
may I explain ? Hardy was teasing me, 
and Harry took ray part, which led to 
the fight." 

" There seems to have been very small 
provocation, Quin j and as I entirely dis- 



f 



28 



LYNTONVI'LE. 



approve of the practice, I shall certainly 
make examples of Lynton and Hardy." 

** Oh, sir," cried Charlie Redfern, a 
bright little fellow of eleven, who was 
never afraid of speaking his mind ; " Oli, 
Mr. Elmslie, it would n't be fair, indeed 
it would n't. Hardy is a big bully, and 
he is always going on at Quin about being 
poor, and I do n't know what all. It 's 
more than any fellow can stand, sir ; and 
it 's all because he gets above him in 
school. It 's a downright shame the way 
he goes on, and Lynton said he would n't 
stand it any longer, for Quin bears it so 
meekly and never says a word. It's 
Hardy that 's to blame if any one is ; you 
would have thought so yourself, sir, if 
you had been here." And he stopped, 
breathless with his long speech. 

*'Is this the case, boys?" 

*'Yes, sir." **It is really, sir," cried 
several voices together. 



LONG CROSS SCHOOL. 



29 



"Well, then," said Mr. Elmslie as 
Harry reappeared, " that alters the case. 
I am glad to find, Lynton, that you are 
not SO much to blame in this matter as I 
imagined at first; but, boys, I wish I 
could teach you to remember that this is 
not the way to settle disputes, or make 
wrong come right. I am very thankful, 
Quin, to find that you do not harbor ill- 
will, or desire to resent an injury. I 
trust the disposition to bear meekly with 
insults proceeds Irom a truly noble effort 
on your part, my boy," and Mr. Elmslie 
looked kindly at Philip; "I mean an 
effort to follow in the steps of Him who 
was meek and lowly in heart, and forgave 
every trespass. As for Hardy, he must 
be differently dealt with." 



30 



LYNTONVILLE. 



CHAPTER III. 

SIGHTS IN THE WOOD. 

"There 's not a leaf within the bower, 

There 's not a bird upon the tree, 
There 'd not a dew-drop on the flower, 

But bears the impress, Lord, of thee. 
Yes, dew-drops, leaves, and birds, and all 

The smallest like the greatest things, 
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball, 

Alike proclaim thee King of kings." 

From the day of the fight, Hariy and 
Philip had been fast friends, and many a 
pleasant expedition they had together. 
Harry's open, fearless character had a 
good influence upon Philip, who was 
timid and sensitive; while Philip's high 
principles and thoughtful piety were a 
check upon Harry's natural heedless- 
ness. One Saturday, being a holiday, 
Harry ran off as usual to seek his friend ; 
and when he reached the cottage, he 
found him sitting in an arbor in the gar- 



SIGHTS IN THE WOOD. 



81 



den reading. This little retreat was the 
work of Philip's own hands, and he had 
spent many busy hours in its construc- 
tion. He could even tell the spot where 
each knotted stick and fir-cone and curi- 
ous pebble had been found. When at 
length the last nail was driven in, and 
*he had really completed his long-cher- 
ished design, his delight was great, and 
he was proud indeed when his mother 
promised to honor his little edifice by 
drinking tea there with him the first 
evening after it was finished. Harry's 
emulation had been roused by the suc- 
cessful labors of his companion, and he 
too had attempted something of the same 
kind ; but he soon bec0,me weary of his 
work, and gave it up, like many other 
things which he had thrown aside in the 
same way. 

Philip looked up as Harry's shadow 
fell on his open book. 



32 



LYNTONVILLE. 



11 



"Oh, Harry," said he, " are you going 
for a walk V^ 

"Yes," cried Harry, "come along; 
it 's so jolly in the woods to-day, and we 
shall find ever so many thinge." 

Philip went in to tell his mother, and 
then joined his friend, and the two lads 
set off together. The woods certainly* 
were very inviting, for flowers of every 
hue sprang up at their feet, and every 
little hillock was carpeted with soft moss- 
es and crowned with the delicate fronds 
of the oak-fern or the glossy black stems 
of the maiden-hair. Large lily -like 
plants, called by the Indians "deaths," 
on account of the deadly poison which 
lurks beneath their fair appearance, nod- 
ded their be,autiful snowy or chocolate- 
colored blossoms in the breeze. The sun- 
light shimmered and glanced through the 
waving boughs, brightening the little 
nooks and dells, here flecking the sober 



.IGHTS IN THE WOOD. 



pines with its golden gleam, there kiss- 
ing the ripe red strawberries scattered 
in abundance over the ground. But 
amid all these beauties Philip looked 
grave and out of spirits ; and at length 
he said, "It was this day three years 
ago that my father died." 

"Do you remember him?^^ asked 
Harry. 

"Oh, yes, quite well. I was ten then, 
and we had just come over from Ireland, 
mamma, and papa, and Edith — that was 
my little sister — and our old nurse No- 
rah. I remember so well, the day we 
arrived at Montreal, seeing the squaws 
come on board ship with their baskets 
and moccasins for sale. I was fright- 
ened rather, and so was Edie, until mam- 
ma told us all about them. Well, we 
staid there some time, and then papa 
heard of a farm that would suit him, and 
it was while we were on our journey to 

T^rntoiiTllto. 3 






34 LYNTONVILLE. 

the place, I forget the name, that papa 
was taken ill of cholera and died. Then 
Edie took it, and old Norah, and they 
were all buried in the same gravc.'^ 
"Oh Philip; how dreadful." 
"Yes," said Philip, "it was a dread- 
ful time. And afterwards mamma was 
very ill; and when she got better we 
came here. I remember Edie and I had 
ponies in the old country, and we used 
to ride with papa very often. I never 
had a shabby coat then;" and Philip 
looked down- at his well-worn sleeves, 
patched in more than one place; "but 
that doesn't matter," he added hastily, 
"it's mamma that I care about. If I 
were only a man, I could earn something 
to make her more comfortable." 

"Well," said Harry, "you are so 
smart that you will be able to do it some 
day. It's my belief you could teach a 
school as well as Mr. Elmslie now." 



■'^mmm. 



SIGHTS LN THE WOOD. 



86 



Thus chatting together, Philip became 
more cheerful, and the two boys kept 
along the edge of the forest for some dis- 
tance, gathering the strawberries, and fill- 
ing their hands with the different wild flow- 
ers that tempted them on at every step. 

"I say, look here," said Harry, "the 
mandrakes are out;" and he lifted one 
of the broad twin-leaves of a curious- 
looking plant, and showed Philip a large 
white waxen flower, like a wild rose, 
growing close to the foot-stalk, which 
had been hidden from sight. *^ We must 
mark the place, and come here when the 
fruit is ripe." 

" What is it like r said Philip. 

"It is about the size of an egg, and 
has a thick yellow skin, with seeds like 
a gooseberry. It 's first-rate, I can tell 
you. Suppose we go further into the 
wood now, we sha'n't find much more 
out here/* 



1\ 



8G 



LYNTONVILLE. 



"What^s this?" said Philip as he 
stooped to pick up something that looked 
like a tobacco-pipe curiously carved in 
wax, stuck into the ground bowl upwards, 
at the foot of a pine. 

'* Oh, I 'm so glad you Ve found one," 
cried Harry; **it must be the 'Indian 
pipe' old Mike told me about. I believe 
it 's nothing but a fungus ; see, it 's turn- 
ing black already. Did n't it look just 
as if some one had put it there and for- 
gotten it?" 

*' Oh, did you see that bird ?" exclaim- 
ed Philip abruptly ; " it was bright scar- 
let, and passed like a flash of fire." 

" It 's a tannager ; but it is not all scar- 
let; it has black wings, I know, because 
papa has one stuffed. Yes, there he 
goes; and there's a blue jay. Hark! 
do you hear his scream ?" 

And so, attracted by one strange sight 
after another, the boys wandered on 



xMwv^iliin;. 



gASiSk*' 



SIGHTS IN THE WOOD. 



87 



deeper and deeper into the forest, until 
at last Philip said, ** Do n't you think we 
ought to bo going home, Harry? It 
must be getting late." 

They had left the little wood-path a 
long while before, to pick a flower here 
and to get a glimpse of a squirrel or 
bright bird there ; and now, when it was 
time for them to retrace their steps, they 
could not remember in which direction 
they had come. Above and around 
them were thicL tall trees, so tall that 
they could only catch a glimpse of the 
sky now and then, and not a sign of a 
footpath could they see. Their feet sank 
deep into the rich soft mould formed by 
the fallen leaves for hundreds of j^ears, 
and it seemed as if no other footstep 
had ever passed that way. The two 
boys stood still for a moment and con- 
sulted. 

"Here's a pretty go," said Harry; 



I 



88 



LYNTONVILLE. 



"I'm sure I don't remember which way 
we came; do you?" 

"No," said Philip, looking very much 
frightened; "the trees are all alike, and 
there's no path. What shall we do, 
Hairy?" 

"Oh, never mind; we'll soon find it. 
I think it was this way ; we '11 try it, at 
any rate." 

They turned in the direction he indi- 
cated, and walked on for some distance 
without speaking.. 

"Do you remember that fallen tree, 
Harry?" said Quin as they came to a 
large trunk completely uprooted, lying 
all across their path. 

" I can't say I do, Philip. I 'm afraid 
we 're wrong, after all ; we must go back." 

Again they turned, and as they went 
the undergrowth seemed to become thick- 
er as it brushed past their faces and 
scratched and tore their clothes, which 



SIGHTS IN THE WOOD. 



39 



made them think they were going far- 
ther and farther into the wood. Up and 
down they wandered, Harry saying all 
he could think of to keep up poor Phil-, 
ip's courage, though it must be confessed 
his own was fast oozing away, for the 
time was passing on. It was getting 
dark, as the sun had nearly set. They 
felt that the blackness of night would 
soon be upon them, and they were alone 
in the great silent forest. Philip held 
Harry's hand tightly clasped in his own, 
and they looked at each other without 
speaking a word. Just then a large bird 
flew up, and startled them, with its heavy 
flight, and all was still again j so still that 
they could almost hear their hearts beat- 
ing. 

"Oh, Harry," said Philip at last, 
"what will my mother do when she finds 
we don't come back? Do you think we 
shall ever find our way back?'' 



40 



LYNTONVILLE. 



"I don't know," said Harry; "per- 
haps they '11 look for us ; but I 'm afraid 
they don't know which way we went. 
I wonder if any one would hear, if we 
shouted ?" 

Again and again they shouted, but the 
sound only waked the echoes of the for- 
est, and startled one or two birds that 
had gone to roost in the trees near ; so 
they gave it up in despair. 

Presently Harry said, "Philip, let us 
kneel down and pray ; perhaps God will 
help us." 

They knelt down hand in hand at the 
foot of a tree, and Philip uttered a few 
words of earnest prayer that God would 
take care of them, and bring them back 
safely to their homes. "When they rose 
from their knees Philip said, "Do you 
remember the psalm, Harry, ' Thou com- 
passest my path and my lying down, and 
art acquainted with all my ways. The 



L 



SIGHTS IN THE WOOD. 41 

night slrineth as the day: the darkness 
and the light are both alike to thee V I 
do n't think we ought to be afraid, for 
God is with us here just as much as if 
we were at home." 

"But, Philip, suppose we are starved 
to death!" 

" Oh but, Harry, we Ve asked God to 
take care of us ; and I know he will, be- 
cause he has promised to hear our pray- 
ers for Christ's sake." 

The two boys began to feel more hope- 
ful as, comforting each other, they thus 
remembered that their Father in heaven 
was near, however far they might be 
from their earthly parents' aid. 




^;^' 



H 



;■ 
■I 



42 



LYNTONVILLE. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. 

"Abide with me ; fast falls the eventide, 
The darkness thickens ; Lord, with me abide. 
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
Help of the helpless. Oh, abide with me." , 

" I WISH we could light a fire, Harry ; 
it 's getting very dark, and I 'm so 
cold.'^ 

"Ah, that's a capital idea, and I be- 
lieve we can do it too, for I 've got the 
matches in my pocket that we were going 
to use when we fired off the cannon yes- 
terday." 

They set to work and gathered a large 
heap of dry wood, which after many fail- 
ures they managed to light with some 
dead leaves, and soon it burned up 
brightly. The fire was a great comfort, 
and afforded them some occupation, for 



A NIGHT IN THE FOEEST. 



43 



they employed all the little light that 
was left in making a pile of sticks to 
keep it up all night. This done, they 
sat down by it, and tried to make them- 
selves as comfortable as they could un- 
der the circumstances. It was now quite 
dark, and they talked as much as possi- 
ble, for the dead silence was more than 
they could bear. Now and then the dry 
wood crackled and flared up, and as soon 
as the flame died away they piled on 
more fuel to keep up a blaze. Sleep of 
course was out of the question, and they 
sat there listening to every little sound, 
and conjuring up all sorts of terrors, both 
real and imaginary. The rustle of a 
dead leaf was enough to make them start ; 
and once, when a wild, unearthly scream 
broke the stillness of the night, just above 
their heads, they clung to each other in 
terrible fear, until they heard the heavy 
flapping of wings, and remembered it 



44 



LYNTONVILLE. 



could be nothing but an owl in search of 
its prey. 

Slowly and wearily passed the time; 
each moment seemed an hour to their 
excited fancy ; but as the night wore on 
they became more calm, and Harry had 
nearly regained his wonted courage, 
when they heard a heavy, crashing 
sound, as of some large animal coming 
through the brushwood. Nearer and 
nearer it approached, and their hearts 
died within them ; they hardly dared to 
breathe, lest the sound should attract 
the attention of the beast. They each 
caught up a lighted brand from the fire 
as the only weapon within reach, and 
put themselves in an attitude of defence. 
Presently the bushes on the other side of 
the fire parted ; they saw two red eyeballs 
glaring at them, and could just distin- 
guish the huge outlines of a bear through 
the gloom. There it stood for some time, 



A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. 



45 



evidently not knowing what to make of 
the unwonted sight of a fiery pile in its 
hitherto undisturbed haunts; and there 
stood the boys, motionless, their eyes 
fixed on the unwelcome invader of their 
solitude. After a while it gave a low 
growl, and raising its head, snuffed about 
as if in search of them ; but at that mo- 
ment the fire, which was getting low, fell 
in, and a bright blaze shot up, crackling 
and sparkling as it rose. This seemed 
to alarm the bear, which is well known 
to be a cowardly animal, unless suffering 
from extreme hunger. It turned with a 
parting grunt, and slowly trotted off, 
and they heard its retreating footsteps 
growing fainter and more faint in the 
distance. After this they had no further 
alarms, but the time seemed to pass more 
tediously than ever, for they feared lest 
their dreaded enemy should return again. 
Most thankful were they when the first 



46 



LYNTONVILLE. 



it 



pale streaks of dawning light told them 
that morning was near, and that the long 
horrible darkness was past. 

"It's Sunday morning, Philip," said 
Harry. 

**Yes," whispered Philip, "we ought 
to thank God;" and once again they 
knelt to render their heartfelt praise for 
their preservation from the dangers of the 
night. 

At length, when it was light enough 
for them to see each other distinctly, 
Harry was startled to observe how hag- 
gard poor Philip looked. He was not a 
strong boy at any time, and want of food 
,for so many hours, combined with the 
terrors of their situation, had been too 
much for him; but he said nothing, and 
they began to look about for wild ber- 
ries to satisfy their hunger. They could 
find nothing, however, but a few plants 
of the Indian turnip. 



A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. 



47 



"Do you know, Philip," said Harry, 
"I've heard that the Indians eat these 
roots ; but if they are not cooked in one 
particular way, they hurt one's throat 
and mouth most fearfully. I believe they 
roast them. Shall we try? We shall 
starve if we don't eat something, and 
there are no berries about here." 

"Yes, perhaps it would be a good 
plan," said Philip, "but I can't say I feel 
very hungry." 

Harry pulled up some of the roots and 
washed them in a little stream hard by ; 
then covering them with the hot wood 
embers, he piled on more sticks, and left 
them to roast themselves. "What had 
we better do?" said he; "shall we try 
again to find our way back? If we could 
only get to the river, we should be all" 
right. You know we could notch the 
trees, so that we might find the fire 



again. 



V 



48 



LYNTONVILLE. 



Philip agreed to this proposal, but 
Harry was shocked to see hira sink back 
faint as he tried to rise. 

'• Oh, Philip, dear Philip, what is the 
matter? What shall I do if you are ill ? 
Stay, I '11 get some water ;" and hurry- 
ing down to the tiny stream, he soon 
came back with some in his cap, and 
kneeling down he began to bathe Philip's 
face. It was some time before he opened 
his eyes. 

** There, that's right, old fellow j you'x. 
be better directl3\ It 's because we have 
not eaten any thing for so long," said 
Harry. "I feel very queer too. But 
how cold you are ;" and in a moment his 
coat was off, and he was wrapping it 
round his friend. 

"Hark ! I heard a shout; I am certain 
I did," cried he joyfully. They listened 
intently, and again the welcome sound 
broke upon their ears. Harry shouted 



A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. 



49 



with all his might; and then, to their 
intense joy, they heard footsteps ap- 
proaching, and presently the friendly 
dusky face of old Peter Musk rat, an In- 
dian well known in the neighborhood, 
appeared through the trees. Over his 
shoulder was slung a fawn, and the string 
of black bass in his hand showed he had 
been on a foraging expedition. Indeed 
so good a hunter was he, that Mr. Lyn- 
ton was accustomed to take him as a 
guide in his autumn hunting excursions. 
The boys made him understand that they 
had lost their way,, and asked him to help 
them. 

''Ughl Lynton good man," said he; 
"take boys home — ^give Peter blanket- 
coat for winter. Come — squaw give 
food — wigwam not far off." Then seeing 
Philip looked pale and weak, he pro- 
duced a flask from a sort of birch-bark 
knapsack, and made hini swallow a 



L)mtonvnit>. 



ill 



I 






50 



LYNTONVILLE. 



mouthful of something which took away 
his breath, and proved to be whisky. Jt 
revived him, however ; but. as he still 
lagged behind, old Peter took him up in 
his strong arms and carried him, while 
Harry followed with some of the Indian's 
spoils. After a while they began to hear 
the roar of the river, and a turn in the 
path brought them in sight of the Indian 
camp. 

It consisted of a few tent-like wigwams, 
and at the doors, or rather entrances of 
two or three of them, sat several squaws, 
some making baskets to sell in the neigh- 
boring villages, and others engaged in 
ornamenting their deerskin moccasins 
with bright -colored beads. They all 
wore the embroidered leggings and moc- 
casins of their tribe, but the rest of theii* 
costume was a motley mixture of civil- 
ized attire and their own native gar- 
ments. One old squaw, who proved to 



ymm&K 



A NIGHT IN THE FOKEST. 



51 



be Muskrat's wife, was watching a huge 
pot, hung over a wood fire by means of 
stakes driven into the ground, the con- 
tents of which she stirred now and then 
with a stick. Old Peter threw down the 
fawn and the fish at the door of his wig- 
wam, and speaking to his wife in their 
own language, they conferred together 
for some minutes. The b*oys could not 
help laughing at some of the little baby 
Indians — papooses as they called them — 
which were bound in tight swathing bands 
to a flat piece of birch-bark, and were 
hung up in any available situation, 
whence they peered about with their 
round black eyes. "They are just like 
the tails of Bo-peep's sheep," said Harry, 
"all hung on a tree to dry." By this 
time several more men made their ap- 
pearance, but took very little notice of 
the boys beyond the customary "ugh" 
and a shrug of their broad shoulders. 



ilBiilU 



}{ 



52 



LYNTONVILLE. 



Presently the old squaw turning out 
the contents of the great pot into a sort 
of wooden bowl or platter, they gathered 
round it, helping themselves with their 
fingers, while the women kept at a re- 
spectful distance. Peter gave the two 
boys some of this savory dish in a smaller 
bowl, and though they wondered what 
they were eating, they were too hungry 
to be very fastidious, and Harry at least 
did ample justice to the meal. "Ishouldn't 
be surprised if this were bull-frog stew," 
said he to Philip; "I know these fellows 
eat them, and the little bones look very 
suspicious. However, I sha'n't ask any 
questions ; I never was so hungry in all 
my life." 

"I wonder whether they will show us 
the way home soon," said Philip, who 
seemed more anxious for that than for 
any thing else, "and whether any one has 
been looking for us." By this time they 



^^jf^S^ii^Bi . 



A NIGHT IN THE FOBEST. 53 

had finished, and old Muskrat brought 
them the bottle, which had been passing 
pretty freely from mouth to mouth, but 
the boys shook their heads. **No!" 
said he in surprise; "leetle boys not 
know what's good;" then putting it to 
his own mouth, he drank off their share 
as if it were so much water. 

"Peter's squaw show way — Lynton 
give blanket-coat," said he as the old 
woman came out of her wigwam, baskets 
in hand, in hopes of getting customers at 
Lyntonville. **Yes, yes," said Harry, 
much amused at his anxiety to be paid 
for his trouble. Taking a penknife, which 
happened to be nearly new, out of his 
pocket, he gave it to the old man, who 
grinned with delight. They then bade 
adieu to the friendly Indians, and with a 
last look at the funny little papooses, they 
followed the Indian along the banks of 
the river, and were amazed to find how 



Si^^i^ 



||llllll!fii 



ii ri a I 



! I "^ 



hi 



iniii ! 



I l| 






-|,.|lll! H 



54 



LTNTONVILLE. 



scon they reached their own familiar 
haunts. 

When they came in sight of the house, 
Harry threw up his cap and shouted 
" hurrah " at the top of his voice. The 
two mothers, who were together, heard 
the welcome sound, and hardly daring 
to believe that their ears had not de- 
ceived them, rushed into the verandah, 
and in a few moments the boys were 
clasped in their arms. "My dear, dear 
boys," said Mrs. Lynton; "thank God, 
we have you safe again. Where have 
you been? Your father, Harry, and 
the neighbors have been out all night 
searching for you." 

Numberless were the questions that 
poured in upon thom; and meanwhile 
the old squaw stood with characteristic 
patience awaiting their leisure, for she 
had no idea of departing without a gift 
of some sort. She %as liberally reward- 



A NIGHT IN THE f OEEST. 65 

ed, and obtained a promise of the blanket- 
coat upon which old Peter seemed to 
have set his heart. A meal was also 
provided for her, and to the boys' aston- 
ishment, she not only managed to dis- 
pose of a large portion of a round of 
beef, but stowed away the remainder in 
her basket, as well as the rest of a loaf 
of goodly size which had been placed 
before her. The boys were not aware 
that Indian etiquette obliged her to do 
this, as to leave any food put before them 
on the table would be considered a breach 
of good manners. 





! 1 



' '^Wll illN- 



66 



LYNTONVILLE. 



CHAPTER y. 

BREAKING-UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 

" 'T is not the eye of keenest blaze, 
Nor the quick-swelling breast, 
That soonest thrills at touch of praise : 
These do not please Him best." 

It was too late to attend the morning 
service, which must have been aiieady 
begun ere they reached their home, and 
the boys were glad to rest a while after 
their long walk and sleepless night ; but 
in the afternoon the whole party set out 
for the little church at Fairfield. As 
they approached, the bell began to ring, 
and Philip thought he had never heard 
music so sweet as that which called the 
worshippers together to the house of God. 
They entered the church with hearts 
thankful that they were once more per- 



BREAKING-UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 57 

mitted to engage all together in the ser- 
vice of the sanctuary. Earnestly they 
joined in the prayers and praises which 
were offered ; and when Mr. Redfern the 
minister went into the pulpit and gave 
out his text, Harry and Philip were 
struck with the singular appropriateness 
of the passage. It was this: "Oh that 
men would praise the Lord for his good- 
ness, and for his wonderful works to the 
children of men !'^ Psa. 107 : 8. They 
listened still more attentively when the 
preacher referred to the verses preced- 
ing it: "They wandered in the wilder- 
ness in a solitary way; they -found no 
city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, 
their soul fainted in them. Then they 
cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and 
he delivered them out of their distresses. 
And he led thfem forth by the right way, 
that they might go to a city of habita- 
tion." 



68 



LYNTONVILLE. 



"My brethren," said the good man, 
" who is there among us that cannot tes- 
tify to the goodness of the Lord ? Who 
cannot point to some special deliverance 
at some time or other of their lives — 
some danger averted, or life spared, when 
no human arm was near to aid, no human 
voice to comfort and assure ? Aye, and 
when the cry for help and deliverance 
from the threatened danger has been 
wrung from a full heart, has it not 
many a time been coupled with a vow, 
that once free, once escaped, the spared 
life should be devoted to the service of 
the strong Deliverer? If any such are 
here, let me urge them to remember that 
hour, and to pay unto the Lord these 
solemn vows. 

"But while we consider these verses 
in their literal meaning, we must not for- 
get that there are far greater perils be- 
setting each precious soul, than any that 



BREAKING- UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 69 

can happen to the body. My friends, 
have we not all wandered from the strait 
path? Have we not all strayed into the 
wilderness of this sinful world, and turned 
aside from the narrow gate which leadeth 
unto life ? The pleasures of sin have lured 
us on and on, like the bright flowers by 
the wayside, until at length oui'feet begin 
to stumble upon the slippery paths, and 
thorns and briers grow up where the 
fragrant blossoms have been. What a 
picture is here of the world which lieth 
in wickedness. Thanks be to God, some 
among us have escaped from its snares, 
and can now join in the song of the re- 
deemed. But are there none here whose 
souls are fainting within them because 
the pleasures have faded, and the trou- 
bles and the weariness of sin remain? 
Oh, my brethren, there is redemption for 
you; there is a city to dwell in prepared 
for you; if you will only seek it in the 



60 



LYNTONVILLE. 



right way, through the blood and right 
eousness of our loving Saviour. In Christ 
there is deliverance; in Christ there is 
rest ; in Christ there is pardon and peace. 
He is the Door — we must enter by him. 
He is the Way — we mu^t follow him. 
He is the Eock — we must trust in him. 
He is the Life — in him we have life ever- 
lasting. 

''Let us ask the aid of his promised 
Comforter, the Holy Spirit, to teach us all 
things and testify to us of him; to work 
in us the grace of true repentance; to 
guide us into all truth, and deliver us 
from all evil. Withoujt the help of the 
Holy Spirit we can do nothing ; but we 
never seek his aid in vain, for our Lord 
himself has said, ' If ye then, being evil, 
know how to give good gifts unto your 
children, how much more shall your 
heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to 
them that ask him.' Luke 11 : 13. 



BREAKING-UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 61 

"Thus, trusting in Christ alone, and 
relying on the promised help of his Holy 
Spirit, we shall be enabled to praise the 
Lord, not only with our lips but in our 
lives, walking before him in 'holiness 
and righteousness all the days of our 
life.'" 

As the boys walked home together 
after service, Harry looked very grave, 
and was silent for some time. At length 
he said, "Oh, Philip, did not the sermon 
seem like a message to us? I am sure 
we ought to praise God for being saved 
from death. When the bear came so 
close to us last night, I prayed to God to 
deliver us; and I thought if we could 
only get safe home again, I would serve 
God all my life. But, Philip, it is so 
hard for us boys to do any thing to serve 
God : if we were men it would be a dif- 
ferent thing. I do n't see what I can do 
Ho show forth his praise.'" 



62 



LYNTONVILLE. 



' I do n^t know," said Philip ; " but it 
seems to me that all we can do is to try 
and do our best in our every day duties, 
I .mean our lessons and things ; because 
I have heard my mother say that God 
has a work for every one to do, accord- 
ing to his age and etation in life. You 
remember that verse where St. Paul says, 
' With good will doing service, as to the 
Lord, and not to men;' and don't you 
think we can serve God by being 
steady and diligent and obedient, and 
all that?" 

"I suppose that is the way, Phil; but 
I always forget." 

" We must ask God to help us, Harry, 
by his Holy Spirit, for Christ's sake," 
said Philip. 

Philip's advice was remembered, and 
from this time Harry did become m 
inilustrious and painstaking ; and Ls 
mother's heart rejoiced when she saw*her 



BREAKING. UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 63 

son striving to do his duty for the Lord's 
sake. 

The two boys were the heroes of the 
school on the following day, and they had 
to relate their adventures again and again 
for the amusement of their companions. 
The Wednesday after this event had been 
fixed for the examination and breaking 
up of the school for the summer vacation. 
As many parents came on that day to 
assure themselves of their sons' progress 
during the past term, the boys always 
endeavored to make their school look as 
festive as possible, by decking it with 
cedar-boughs and bright flowers. The 
examination this year was more largely 
attended than usual; and Mrs. Lynton 
persuaded Mrs. Quin to join their party, 
as it was understood that Philip would 
be declared first in the school. Some of 
the parents had subscribed a sum suflS- 
cient to enable Mr. Elmslie to give a few 



r 



C4 



LYNTONVILLZ. 



'H 



mn: 







prizes for the encouragement of his jschol- 
ars, though it was not the usual custom 
of the school. Great was the excitement 
therefore on the appointed day, for 
none of the boys knew who would be the 
fortunate winners of the much-coveted 
pijizes. 

The examination was to 'begin at two 
o'clock, and before that hour many visit- 
ors had arrived. The younger boys, for 
Mr. Elmslie began with the lower class- 
es, acquitted themselves very fairly, and 
received a general commendation for dil- 
igence in their studies. 

At length it was the turn of the first 
class to go up, and greater interest began 
to be shown, as it was to be subjected to a , 
much more difficult examination. Philip, 
though evidently nervous, passed most 
creditably, and without a doubt was en- 
titled to hold the first place. Harry, 
much to his own surprise, ranked second. 



BREAKING- UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 65 

Poor Hardy, who had hitherto looked 
upon the examination as his own partic- 
ular triumph, was completely crestfallen 
that he was so far down on the list. 
Philip therefore received the prize for 
general proiSciency in school work ; and 
as each class was only entitled to one 
prize, the others were distributed among 
the younger boys. 

When all were given, it was seen that 
Mr. Elmslie laid a handsomely bound 
Bible upon the desk before him, and ad- 
dressing the boys, he said, "My lads, it 
has given me much pleasure to distribute 
among you the prizes which have been 
kindly placed at my disposal to bestow 
upon those who deserve encouragement 
for diligent attention to their studies. Of 
course, where there are so many compet- 
itors, it must necessarily happen that 
many are disappointed. To these I would 
say one cheering wordj that while one 



vB 



LYNTONVILLE. 



in each class has done best, yet there are 
several who have done well. It is not 
always the boy who works hardest that 
wins the prize ; for ability and qnickness 
go far to help some, of whose industry I 
cannot say much. I have therefore made 
out a list of those in the whole school, 
whom I find by my books to merit special 
commendation, which I have now much 
pleasure in reading." 

Here followed a long list of names ; 
and many a little boy*s eyes sparkled 
with delight when he heard his own 
'among them. Mr. Elmslie at leiigth fold- 
ed up the paper, and continued, '*The 
prizes which have been bestowed among 
you to-day, are simply intended, as you 
all know, to testify to your proficiency in 
the various branches of study in which 
you are engaged. To the number of 
these I have added one as a reward for 
good conduct during the past year, and 



vn 



BEEAKING-UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 67 

a token of my own regard for the boy 
who best deserves it. I have chosen a 
Bible for this purpose ; first, because it 
is the best of all books ; and secondly, 
because it is the best of all guides in en- 
abling those who seek instruction from its 
pages to lead a God-fearing, useful, and 
noble life. I have endeavored to choose 
among you all as impartially as possible, 
and I hope when I name Philip Quin as 
the owner of the book I hold in my hand, 
that my choice will be approved by his 
companions." 

"Hurrah, yes, yes. He is a good fel- 
low," cried many voices; and Philip, 
with much surprise and a glowing face, 
went up to the desk to receive the beau- 
tiful gift. 

"And now, my lads," resumed Mr. 
Elmslie, "x will not detain you longer 
than to wish you all a very pleasant holi- 
day; and may God have us all in his 



68 



LYNTONVILLE. 



most holy keeping, both now and al- 
ways." 

The boys began to cheer as soon as he 
had finished, and very soon the books 
were passing from hand to hand, excit- 
ing many remarks and great admiration. 
Philip found his way at once to his moth- 
er's side. Her eyes were full of tears as 
she whispered a few words of loving ap- 
proval to her only son, who gave promise 
of being a real blessing and comfort to 
his widowed mother. Yery soon the 
school-house was empty, and various 
groups of the boys and their parents were 
seen wending their way to their several 
homes ; and very few carried away with 
them any other feelings than those of 
pleasure and satisfaction at the events of 
the day. 

There was one however whose face 
wore a scowl as he mci Philip, and in 
whose heart evil feelings of anger and 



BREAKING- UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 69 

revenge were burning. This one was 
Tom Hardy. Never before bad an ex- 
amination passed so much to his disad- 
vantage, and his was not the disposition 
to bear meekly any fancied wrong. Poor 
boy, we must not judge him too harshly, 
for he had few of the advantages our 
young friends Harry and Philip possess- 
ed. No loving mother had he, to soothe 
his angry spirit or gently to instil holy 
principles into his mind; and his father 
was a harsh, money-making and money- 
loving man, with little time and less in- 
clination to train his children in a right 
way. 

Tom was reckoned a sharp, smart lad, 
and Mr. Hardy's friends did not fajl to 
speak honied words of praise of him, too 
often in his hearing, in order to curry 
favor with his father, who was looked 
upon by some of the smaller settlers as 
a great man in that district. Tom Hardy 



70 



LYNTONVILLE. 



left the school-house with angry thoughts 
in his heart and angry words on his lips. 
" I '11 be even with him yet," said he to 
himself; "I thought something was in 
the wind, with his meek religious ways, 
sneak as he is, all to get on the right 
side of old Elmslie j but 1 11 teach him." 
He seemed lost in thought for a while, 
and then quickening his pace, muttering 
in a low tone, " That will do ; I Ve hit it,^- 
he ran down the hill and disappeared. 

But what was passing in Philip's mind 
at the same time ? We fear a humble, 
lowly spirit was no longer his ; for as ho 
passed Hardy his heart flowed with ex- 
ultation at his own success, and his feel- 
ings were akin to those of the Pharisee 
who dared to thank God that he was not 
as other men. Ah, how short, at any 
time, is the step between us and sin; 
and what need to pray for God's pre- 
venting grace. All day he hugged vain 



BREAKING-UP DAY AT SCHOOL. 71 

thoughts of his goodness close to his 
heart, though none suspected it ; but af- 
terwards, when he knelt down at night, 
his conscience smote him as he remem- 
bered that his Father in heaven, from 
whom no secrets are hid, had read the 
thoughts of his inmost heart. A sense 
of his sin in God's sight weighed him 
down, and he whom all had praised that 
day closed it in the secrecy of his own 
little chamber with the heartfelt prayer, 
" God be mercififl to me a sinner." 

In the mean time the Lyntonville 
party, with the addition of Mrs. Quin, 
Philip, and Mr. Elmslie, had reached 
home, and the pleasant day was brought 
to a close by a row in Mr. Lynton's large 
boat on the river. The short twilight 
had already begun, but a bright star 
twinkled here and there in the dark blue 
sky, to light them on their way. There 
was a hush in the air which told of the 



72 



LYNTONVILLE. 



coming hours of stillness and rest, bro- 
ken only by the sighing of the wind in 
the tree- tops, mingled with the distant 
lowing of cattle or the loud croak of the 
bullfrog close at hand. Fireflies flitted 
about, gleaming like flashing emeralds 
among the low bushes by the water-side ; 
and the plash of the oars kept time to 
the evening hymn begun by Mrs. Lyn- 
ton^s sweet voice, and sung in chorus by 
all the party. Harry thought he had 
never loved their beautiful river so much 
before; and he bade his friend "good- 
night" with unmingled happiness, rejoic- 
ing in his success. The dew was falling 
fast, and the night wind blew with a chilly 
breath as they hastened homeward ; but 
little did any of them dream of the change 
that a few short hours would work on 
that peaceful scene. 



WHAT CAME OP IT. 



78 



CHAPTER VI. 

WHAT CAME OP IT. 

" Pire is a good servant, bnt a bad master." 
"Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!*' 

Had any one watched the stealthy 
footsteps of a boy who, under the dark- 
ening shades of that summer night, left 
the village of Fairfield and proceeded in 
the direction of Mrs. Quints cottage, they 
could hardly have failed to suspect mis- 
chief; and Tom Hardy, for it was he, 
might well stop at every sound, and draw 
back into deeper shadow. It was but 
the wind however, as it blew back the 
hair from his hot forehead, or the echo 
of his own footfall in the stillness, that 
startled him. His conscience whispered, 
" Turn back, Tom, turn back ; think what 
you are going to do f but in vain j Tom 



74 



LYNTONVILLE. 



would not listen. He tried to stifle its 
voice. "It was no such great matter, 
after all " said he to himself ; he was 
only going to set fire to Philip's bower ; 
that would do him no real harm ; he 
might build it again, if he liked. It 
would but make him angry ; and then 
what fun it would be to see Philip, the 
meek, Philip, in a rage next morning, 
when he found a few smouldering ruins 
all that remained of his work. The best 
of it would be too, that no one would be 
able to discover the cause of the fire ; he 
would take good care of that. And 
Hardy laughed a low, exultant laugh as 
he thought over the capital revenge he 
had planned. 

By this time he had reached the house. 
All was still, and he crept round to the 
back, and looked up at the windows. 
" There 's no light," thought he, " so they 
must be in bed and asleep." Stealing 



he 



WHAT OAME OF IT. 75 

to the arbor, he began carefully to build 
up beside it a small stack of tarred sticks 
and shavings just where the rising wind 
would fan the flame, when the loud crow- 
ing of a cock close by made him start 
and listen ; but all was silent again, and 
he went on with his work. Whepi it was 
done to his satisfaction, he struck a match ; 
guarding it with trembling hands from 
the breeze which threatened to put it out, 
and stooping slowly, he applied the light 
to the little heap. Then, only waiting 
an instant to make sure that the shav- 
ings had caught fire, he fled away from 
the spot as though he were pursued, and 
never once looked behind him until he 
reached the village. Creeping quietly 
in by a back way, he managed to elude 
observation, and watching his opportu- 
nity, got up to his room, and lay down 
on his bed as he had done many a night 
before, unnoticed by any of the house- 



76 



LYNTONVILLE. 



hold, a prayerless, ungodly, miserable 
boy. 

He could not sleep. Every sound 
startled him ; and he wondered as he 
lay in the dark whether Philip had been 
awakened by the red glare of the burn- 
ing summer-house or by the crackling of 
the flames. The possibility had escaped 
him before, but now it seemed unlikely 
that they could sleep through it. Rest- 
less and feverish with excitement, he 
tossed about from one side to the other. 
Then it struck him that the match might 
have been blown out by a puff of wind 
before it had time thoroughly to kindle 
the shavings. There was relief in the 
thought ; and as he flung off the light 
bedclothes to cool his fevered limbs he 
exclaimed, "I hope it isn't burning. I 
shall be glad, after all, though I did want 
to tease him." But the little pile of 
sticks — that would lead to suspicion j and 



WHAT GAME OF IT. 



77 



he would be suspected too, as his feel- 
ings towards Quin were well known. 
"Oh," he cried, "I wish I hadn't done 
it ; what a fool I have been." His teeth 
began to chatter, and he pulled the bed- 
clothes up again. ** Well, I must go the 
first thing in the morning, before it's 
light," thought he, "and take 'em away, 
if they have n't caught ; and if I do meet 
any one about, I '11 tell 'em I 'm looking 
for a robin's nest or something. How 
the wind is rising too. What if it is 
burning, after all ?" 

But hark ! the boy sprang up, for the 
loud clang of the fire-bell broke upon his 
ear. His heart died within him ; it was 
discovered. All Fairfield was speedily 
aroused. "Fire! fire!" shouted a voice 
in the street, and Tom heard his father 
open his window and ask in what direc- 
tion it was. 

** Can't quite make out," said the man ; 



mmm" 



1% 



LYNTONVILLE. 



i!l! 



"down by the river somewhere. May- 
iiap it 's only a barn ; but I 'ro off to see." 
Then came the loud rattle of the engine 
as the firemen dragged it down the vil- 
lage street; and Tom's door opened, and 
his father called out, " Come on, Tom, 
I 'm going to see the fun ; they say it 's 
the widow Quin's cottage." Tom pre- 
tended to wake from a deep sleep. 
"What's the maMer?" said he, as well 
as his choking voice would let him. 

"Why, it's a fire, lad, a fire. You 
can't be sleeping through all this din, 
surely. Come along with me j I 'm go- 
ing down." ^ 

"I don't care to see it," said Tom 
gruffly; "I'm sleepy;" and he turned 
over again as if in a heavy slumber. 
Mr. Hardy hurried off. 

The cottage on fire! Oh no, it could 
not be ; it was too terrible to be true. 
Surely the cottage was too far off to be 



WHAT CAME OF IT. 79 

in any danger. Tom shivered from head 
to foot, and the perspiration streamed 
down his face. He never dreamed that 
it would come to this ; and if it should 
be discovered that he had lit that dread- 
ful firo, what then? He would be thrown 
into prison, and brought to trial before a 
judge. Mingled with his terror of an 
earthly tribunal came a vague recollec- 
tion of words from God's book, of awful 
\,'oe to those who "devoured widows' 
houses." 

Eagerly he listened, straining his ear 
to catch every distant sound, till he could 
bear the suspense no longer, and hurry- 
ing on his clothes, he rushed out into the 
street. He knew only too well the direc- 
tion in which to go, and when ho reached 
the bridge he could see the lurid sky 
and the fierce flames leaping up through 
the thick smoke, though the cottage was 
partly hidden by trees. It was too true, 



80 LYNTONVILLE. 

and he covered his face with his hands 
to shut out the terrible sight. "Oh," 
he exclaimed, ** I did not mean to do any 
thing so dreadful as this ; I never thought 
the fire would go further than the bower ; 
what shall I do ? what shall I do V But 
it was useless to loiter, and he rushed 
madly on. Once his foot caught in a 
stump, and he fell heavily ; but he was 
up in a moment, and ran on again until 
he reached the spot. 

What a sight it was! The engine was 
working, but not effectively, for part of 
the machinery needed repair; and the 
red flames shot up, hissing and roaring, 
licking up the water with their forked 
tongues, and destroying all before them. 
Not a hope remained of saving any part 
of the building. Tom saw Philip with 
Harry Lynton and several other lads, 
but he avoided them, and asked a fire- 
man where Mrs. Quin was. 



WHAT CA ME OP IT. 



81 



"They've taken her up to Lynton- 
ville. It 's a terrible business for her, 
poor thing," said the man as he hurried 
away. 

The parlor as yet had not suffered 
much, for the back of the house had 
caught lire first ; and it came into Tom's 
mind to try and rescue something*. He 
forced his way into the room through the 
scorching heat and smoke. Most of the 
furniture had been removed ; but a few 
things still remained, and lying on a 
chair was Philip's beautiful Bible and 
his prize. Could it really be so .^hort a 
time since the books were placed in his 
hands, and yet that they had become the 
innocent cause of all this evil ? Oh that 
Tom could have recalled those hours ; he 
would not have acted as he had done. 
He caught up the books, and as he 
tried to pass out his foot struck against 
something on the floor. It was a small 

Ljmtonvlll*. n 



82 



LYNTONVILLE. 



miniature portrait. He picked it up 
and made his way to the door; but the 
flames had burst into the passage and 
drove him back, while a shout was raised 
outside that the roof was falling. Not a 
moment was. to be lost, and he dashed 
through the smoke and flame only just in 
time to escape being crushed beneath the 
falling rafters; as it was, his hair and 
clothes were singed, and he was consid- 
erably burned. After this the fire began 
to subside, and Tom stood gazing at the 
scene, with Philip's books in his hand, 
like one bewildered. Philip too stood 
there with folded arms, looking with a 
sad, sad face at the ruins of his home — 
his mother's little all consumed in an 
hour. Harry was trying to comfort him, 
but Philip could not be comforted. Pres- 
ently Hardy came up, with blackened 
face, and his hand tied up in his handker- 
chief. *' Look here, Quin, I found these,'* 



&* 



WHAT CAME OF IT. 83 

said he as he put the books and the min- 
iature into his hands. 

** My books," cried Philip, "and papa^s 
likeness ! Oh, Hardy, how did you get 
them ? My mother will be so pleased to 
have this again. How can I thank you?" 
and his conscience smote him as he re- 
membered his sinful feelings on the pre- 
vious dav. 

"Why, Hardy," said Harry, "you^re 
hurt. Did you get burnt? What's the 
matter?" 

The boy looked very white, and turned 
away, muttering, "It's nothing — never 
mind. I 'm glad I got them." But Philip 
followed him. 

"Let me see your hand, Hardy; I'm 
sure it hurts you very much. I am so 
sorry." Hardy winced as he tried to un- 
bind his hand. He felt happier, in spite 
of the pain, than he had done, but he 
could not stand Philip's thanks. 



84 



LYNTONVILLE. 



**I say, Quin, leave it alone," said he, 
"I '11 see to it when I get home." 

"But you don't know what to do," 
cried Harry; "come along with us, and 
I '11 get my mother to bind it up for you. 
She knows all about burns." 

"No, no," said Hardy; "there's my 
father, I '11 go home with him." 

"Hollo, youngster," said Mr. Hardy, 
when he saw his son, "so you came after 
all. I thought you wouldn't be long 
after me. But what 's this you 've been 
after — getting yourself burnt, eh ? Why, 
what a fool you must have been to get 
into the thick of it that way. But never 
mind, never mind, lad," added he, rub- 
bing his hands, as he thought of the cus- 
tom the fire would be likely to bring to 
his store, "it's an ill wind that blows 
nobody good." So saying, Mr. Hardy 
and Tom went on their way. 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 



85 



CHAPTER YII. 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 

*' Hush, idle tbonghts and words of ill, 
Your Lord is listening ; peace, be siiU.'* 

" Be sure your sin will ^d you out." 

As soon as it was light next morning, 
Philip, who could not sleep after the ex- 
citement and fatigue he had undergone, 
went down to reconnoitre the scene of 
the fire. Nothing remained of his little 
home but blackened and still smoking 
embers. It was a sad sight, for Philip 
knew that with the house his mother had 
lost her all. It had always been his 
comfort hitherto, that at least her home 
was her own ; and he had looked forward 
to the happy day when, by his own exer- 
tions, he might be able in some measure 
to repay her tender care and love for 



86 



LYNTONVILLE. 



bim. Now all his bright hopes were 
dashed to the ground — and in how short 
a time ! He felt very sorrowful as he . 
looked at the ruins, and at the spot where 
the arbor had been. He thought of the 
many happy hours he had spent there. 
Would he ever be happy again? for it 
seemed as though this terrible fire had 
destroyed all his prospects for life. His 
great ambition had been to study hard, 
and by means of his education to make 
his way in the world. But now, if he 
continued at school, his mother would be 
obliged to work. The thought was not 
to be endured for a moment. No, he 
must put his shoulder to the wheel, and 
at once. There was only one thing open 
to him : he must become a clerk in a 
store; and a sharp conflict ensued be- 
tween his rebellious spirit and his strong 
sense of duty. While his mind was thus 
occupied, his eye caught the glitter of 



PHILIP'S DISCOVEBY. 



87 



something lying on the ground. Me- 
chanically he stooped and picked it np ; 
it was an open knife, with **T. Hardy" 
roughly cut upon the handle. He slipped 
it into his pocket, intending to give it 
back when they next met, and the in- 
cident hardly interrupted his train of 
thought. 

"Why, Philip, my boy," said Mr. 
Lynton, who had come up to him una- 
wares, "I did not expect to find you 
here. I thought you were safe in bed, 
and that's where you should be," he 
added kindly, looking at his pale, wan 
face; "this sad business has been too 
much for you." 

" I could n't sleep, sir, and I thought 
I would come down and look at the old 
place again before any one was about." 

"That's my reason for coming also, 
my boy, for we may find some clue to 
account for it. It 's a strange business, 



88 



LYNTONVILLP. 



very strange," said Mr. Lynton, musing. 
"Was the house on fire when you were 
first roused ?'^ 

"Yes; I woke up quite suddenly, and 
found the room full of smoke. I had 
only just time to rush into my mother's 
room and arouse her, and to wake Biddy, 
before the flames burst in through the 
roof. You know it was at the back of 
the house, sir ; and by the time we got 
down the engine was close by. They 
had seen it at the village before we knew 
any thing about it." 

"And was that place your arbor down 
there?" and Mr. Lynton pointed in the 
direction it had been. " Was it burn- 
ing then, or did it catch fire after- 
wards?" 

" Oh no, sir, it was nearly burnt down 
before I woke at all." 

"Then the fire must have originated 
there. Have you been in the habit of 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 89 

keeping matches or any thing combusti- 
ble down there lately, Philip ?" 

"No, sir, I am sure I never did." 

"And you did not carry a lighted 
candle there last night ? Harry tells me 
you went to fetch a book you had left 
there." 

" No, sir, I found the book lying on 
the bench. The moon was so bright I 
did not need the lantern." 

Mr. Lynton was silent for some min- 
utes. "It's my impression," said he at 
length, "from all I can gather, that it 
must have been the work of an incendi- 
ary. It is a sad loss to your poor moth- 
er, Philip." 

Philip's lip quivered. "That's just 
what I 've been thinking about, sir. I 'm 
afraid I must leave off going to school 
now, and see if I can't find some place in 
a store." 

"Ah," said Mr. Lynton j "and were 




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90 



LYNTONVILLE. 



these the thoughts that made you look so 
sad when I first met you ?" 

" I dare say they did, sir. I am very 
sorry. I did so wish to work hard and 
get on in my lessons, and enter some 
profession ;" and Philip's voice trembled, 
and the unbidden tears would start into 
his eyes. 

Mr. Lynton looked at him in some 
surprise, for the boy had never before 
spoken so openly, and putting his hand 
kindly upon his shoulder, he said, **I see 
this fire is likely to be the cause of even 
a greater trial to you than I at first an- 
ticipated, Philip ; but cheer up, my boy ; 
you know God helps those who try to 
help themselves. Besides, you must not 
think it beneath you to enter a store. I 
can quite sympathize with your feelings, 
for you have not been long enough in 
the country to understand our modes of 
thought J but I can assure you that in a 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 



91 



colony like this, some of our most highly 
educated and esteemed men have begun 
life in a position such as you contemplate. 
But you have not had time yet to think 
over your plans; and in the meantime, 
Philip, you know we are only too glad 
to have your mother and you at Lynton- 
ville: and remember, my boy, you will 
never want a friend while it is in my 
power to help you." 

** I thank you, sii, you are very kind ; 
indeed, I do n't know L^ r to thank you 
enough," said Philip, as they reached the 
house. 

Harry did all in his power to cheer 
his friend. *' Do you know, Philip," said 
he, later in the day, when they were 
talking it all over, "I've been thinking 
this morning about that text, ' Not a 
sparrow shall fall to the ground without 
your Father in heaven.' If God looks 
after the sparrows he must know all 



!!!:! 



0^ 



92 



LYNTONVILLE. 



about this, how it happened and all, 
and do n't you think he 11 take care of 
you?" 

**0L, yes," said Philip, "that's what 
mararaa says, and I do n't know what we 
should do if we did not believe God's 
promises ; but it 's very hard to feel right 
about it, and to think that it's all for- 
the best. Perhaps some day we shall 
know why it happened better than we can 



ji 



now. 

Towards evening Philip slipped away 
quietly, to take another look at the ruins. 
Again and again he went over all the 
circumstances of the fire in his own mind ; 
when suddenly he remembered Hardy's 
knife, and he took it out of his pocket. 
He knew it well, for he had seen it many 
a time before, but now it acquired a new 
interest in his sight. How came it in the 
spot where he had found it in the morn- 
ing? The crowd was collected in front 



1 1 



PHILIP'S DISCOVEEY. 



93 



of the cottage, and on the bank of the 
river ; what could Hardy have been about 
there ? It was open too when he picked 
it up, as if i.t had just been used ; and 
Philip examined the knife, as though the 
inanimate steel could give him some clue 
to the truth. His thoughts recurred to 
Mr. Lynton's idea, that the place had 
been set on fire purposely. Then the 
events of the day before flashed across 
his mind : the examination ; the prizes 
he had so unexpectedly won, which Har- 
dy had looked upon as his own ; the 
angry scowl too upon his face, as he met 
him coming from the school-house ; above 
all, the difficulty in accounting for the 
fire. It could not have been accidental ; 
some one must have done it; and who 
was that some one ? 

Philip was fast working himself into a 
state of painful excitement. Was it pos- 
sible? Yes, it was, it must have been 



94 



LYNTONVILLE. 



Hardy. He began to see it all now ; this 
was the cruel, cowardly revenge he had 
planned, and as Philip became more and 
more convinced of the truth of his sus- 
picions, his angry passions rose in pro- 
portion. " How wicked," he thought ; ** I 
never injured him, that he should do such 
a cruel, cowardly thing. I 've borne all 
his taunts; I never said an unkind word 
to him in my life ; and this is what comes 
of it all." His brain seemed on fire, as 
one argument after another to prove 
Hardy's guilt arose in his mind; and his 
eye gleamed with a strange light while ^ 
he pondered the facts which were so sus- 
picious. " But this is more than I can 
bear. I '11 show him up in his true light; 
mean, cowardly bully that he is. If it 
were only myself it would be different, 
but he has ruined my mother^ and I hate 
him. I do," said he aloud, stamping 
with his foot upon the ground, "and I 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 95 

should n't care if he were hung for it." 
The sound of his own voice startled 
him. 

And was this Philip, the meek disciple 
of a meek and lowly Master ? It was in- 
deed, and for a while it seemed as though 
Satan had triumphed. 'All his evil pas- 
sions were in league against him ; anger, 
hatred, revenge, all struggled for the 
mastery, under the guise of righteous in- 
dignation, and a just desire to avenge his 
mother's wrongs. But God, in his mercy, 
will not let his children be tempted above 
that they are able to bear ; and so it was 
with Philip. He had received great prov- 
ocation. His mother, his loved mother, 
had been injured almost beyond repair, 
and his own prospects in life blighted; 
and for what ? Simply to gratify the bad 
passions of a boy whom he had never 
wronged. It was a severe trial, and we 
must not think the worse of him because 



96 



LYNTONVILLE. 



ill!' 



i t 



i 



the old self which remained in his heart 
fought a hard battle with the new self 
implanted by God's grace, and nearly 
gained the victory ; but in the hour of his 
weakness he received strength from above 
to resist the strong temptation. The 
sound of his own voice 'brought him to 
himself, and above the angry tumult 
within his breast he seemed to hear a 
still small voice, whispering, **But I say 
unto you, Love your enemies, do good 
to them that hate you, and pray for 
them that despite fully use you, and per- 
secute you." 

Hitherto he had been walking rapidly 
on, not caring where he went; now he 
stopped, and sitting down on an old 
stump by the side of the path, he took 
out a little pocket Testament, and turned 
to iiic y/ords. The gleam faded from his 
eye, and the angry look from his face, as 
the holy words carried conviction to his 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 



97 



conscience. ** Oh," he said, "how wick- 
ed I have been. I have blamed him for 
the very thing I was going to do myself. 
May God forgive me." A tear stole 
down his cheek, a tear of repentance for 
his sin, and he knelt down in the shade 
of the forest-trees to pray for pardon, and 
wisdom to direct. It was no easy decis- 
ion he had to make. Ought he to con- 
ceal what he suspected, or was it his duty 
to make it known? 

Yery earnestly he besought his heav- 
enly Father to guide him in the right 
way, and he turned over the pages of 
his little Testament to see if he could find 
any message from God's word to help 
him in his difficulty. Presently his eye 
rested on this verse in one of his favorite 
chapters: "Dearly beloved, avenge not 
yourselves, but rather give place unto 
wrath : for it is written, Yengeance is 
mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord. 



I.rntonTtlla. 



rmr 



98 



LYNTONVILLE. 






!l i 



Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed 
him ; if he thirst, give him drink ; for 
in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire 
on his head.'^ Rom. 12:19, 20. He 
thought a while, and then he decided to 
keep what he knew to himself. *'I 
will never mention it : God helping 
me, I will keep it a secret all my life." 
A hollow place in a tree close at hand 
caught hig eye. "I will put the knife 
in there, and if it should ever be found 
no one will know how it came there." 
He had to climb up to reach it, and 
the knife dropped down into the cavity. 
Then he turned to go home, and as he 
went he remembered Hardy's pale, 
frightened face, and how he had injured 
himself in saving the books. '* He never 
could have meant to set the cottage on 
fire," thought Philip; ''most likely the 
sparks were blown upon the shingles, for 
the wind set that way, and then the roof 



PHILIP'S DISCOVERY. 



99 



caught. I dare say he was afraid of being 
found out, and he must have been sorry 
too, or he would not have risked get- 
ting burnt to save any thing. Poor 
fellow ; 1 11 go and ask how his hand 
is by and by. Shall I tell him I sus- 
pect him? No, I think not; it will be 
kinder never to let him know. Oh 
Lord, help me to keep my resolution," 
he inwardly prayed, "and enable me to 
serve thee aright, now and always." 

In this softened frame, Philip returned 
to Lyntonville. It was as though a ter- 
rible storm had passed over his soul — 
the wind and the waves boisterous and 
contrary, and tossing the frail bark of 
his spiritual life to and fro, in their angry 
tumult ; but the Saviour's voice had spo- 
ken above the tempest, saying, ** Peace, 
be still;" and immediately there wag a 
calm. Oh, well is it for us all if we have 
taken that gentle Saviour as our guide 



100 



LYNTONVILLE. 



and helper, that we may be enabled "so 
to pass the waves of this troublesome 
world, that finally we may come to the 
land of everlasting life," in the world to 
come. 




> i 



THE DAY AFTEB THE FIAE. 



101 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DAY AFTER THE FIBE. 

"Conscience does make cowards of ns all." 

We must now return to Hardy, whom 
we last saw going home with his father 
after the fire. As so6n as he reached 
the house, his hand was properly bound 
up ; his father at the same time rating 
him soundly for what he called his stupid- 
ity in getting burnt. 

"•Take care of number one ; that 's my 
maxim, lad, and you ^11 find it a safe one, 
I can tell you. But now you ^d better 
turn in, for I should say you *d had 
enough of it for one night. Stay, you ^re 
cold. Come into the store, and I '11 give 
you something to set you all to rights ;" 
and he poured out some whisky, and 
made Tom drink it. It was not the first 



11 ll 



II I! 






i02 LYNTONVILLE. 

time the boy had taken spirits, but in his 
present excited state it affected him 
greatly. He went up and threw himself 
on his bed, and immediately fell into a 
heavy sleep. It was still early when he 
woke ; and he roused himself ^ith a dull 
sense of something on his mind, but what, 
he could not remember for some minutes. 
Slowly it all came back to his memory, 
and the pain of his burnt hand was only 
too sure a reminder of the part he had 
played in the scenes of the night. He got 
up and looked at himself in the little 
glass which hung against the wall. He 
thought his very face would betray him, 
he looked so pale and haggard ; but peo- 
ple would imagine it was the pain of the 
burn; they could never suspect him of 
having any share in it, unless — and the 
mere possibility was terrible to him — 
unless he had been observed going in that 
direction so shortly before the alarm. 



THE DAY AFTEE THE FIRE. 103 

He went down stairs and wandered into 
the kitchen, where the boy was light- 
ing the stove before opening the shutters 
in the store. He tried to whistle un- 
concernedly as Jack made some common 
remark about the fire, and went into the 
shop. 

The early morning sunlight streamed 
in through the round holes in the shut- 
ters, which he attempted to take down 
in the caprice of the moment, and leaving 
them half-opened, went off to the wood- 
shed. Here he began to cut through a 
log of wood which had been left upon 
the saw-horse; and then he felt in his 
pocket for his knife. It was gone. He 
rushed up to his room and sought for it 
in every hole and corner; it was not 
there. And then he remembered hav- 
ing cut the string which bound the little 
bundle of tarred sticks with it the night 
before. He must have left it in his 



104 



LYNTONVILLE. 



hurry close to the spot, and his name 
cut in large letters on the handle would 
be a witness against him. "Fool that I 
have been," he muttered; **if 1 had only 
thought what it would come to, I would 
have seen myself far enough before I 
stiiTcd one step to do it. But there's 
no one about so early as this ; I may find 
it yet ;" and he ran off full speed to look 
for the missing knife. He paused at the 
ditch where he had fallen in his blind 
haste before, and searched all about, but 
no knife was there; and he walked on 
as fast as he could to the place where 
the cottage had been. n . . r 

Mr. Lynton and Philip had but just 
left the spot when Hardy came up, and 
he saw their retreating figures crossing 
the bridge. Carefully he looked about 
in every direction; but, as our readers 
are already aware, without a chance of 
success, for it was at that moment safe 



THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 



105 



in Philip's pocket. After a long and 
fruitless search, he gave it up as hfie- 
lessly lost. One comfort was, H was no- 
where near the arbor, so that even if 
found it could not rouse suspicion, and 
his heart was lightened of half its load. 
His chief anxiety was lest he should be 
found out ; yet as he stood looking at the 
smouldering ruins, his conscience smote 
him sorely. "I wish I'd never thought 
of doing it ; such a pretty little place too. 
I never dreamed the fire would spread like 
that ; and I do n't believe any thing was 
saved." No, Tom Hardy, it is easier to 
do wrong than to set it right after it is 
done ; and that you have found to your 
cost. "Well," he thought at last, *'I 
can't help it now, and I sha'n't care much 
if I can only keep it quiet." Poor boy, 
he forgot that there was One above who 
knew all, and from whom no secrets are 
hid. He had never been taught in his 



196 



LYNTONVILLE. 



childhood of the **Eye that never sleeps," 
resting always upon each one of us ; and 
now all he cared for was to escape the 
anger of his fellow-creatures and the just 
punishment of his fault. 

As he reached his father's door, he 
overheard several men talking about the 
fire, and stopped to listen. 

"I say. Smith, were you up at the fire 
last night ?" said one. 

" Not I ; I heard nothing of it till this 
morning. They do say as how it must 
ha' been a 'cendiary, and if so be it is, 
they '11 put up a reward for certain." 

"You don't say so!" said the other; 
"well, I was thinking myself it were 
mighty strange how it corned about." 

"Biddy, that's Mrs. Quin's sarvant, 
told me this morning that not a bit of a 
fire had been in the stove since ten o'clock 
o' the mornin' yesterday, for the mis- 
thress had been up to Lyntonville all the 



THE DAT AFTER THE FIRE. 



107 



day," said an Irish lad, who was* errand- 
boy and newsmonger in general to the 
village. 

**Aye, then I shouldn't wonder if 
there might be some truth in it. I guess 
Mr. Lynton wont let him off very easy, 
whoever he is." 

"Aisy is it?" said Terence; "shure 
I 'd flay him alive, if he was the praste 
himself, for layin' a finger on the lot of 
the widow and the orphan — bad luck to 
him, whoever he was." 

Tom Hardy shook from head to foot. 
Then it was suspected. And if his knife 
were to be found after all about the 
place, it would prove him guilty; and 
then what would become of him ? All 
day long the boy was tormented by these 
fears, and every fresh comment upon the 
fire only added to his misery. His time 
hung heavily on his hands, for the school 
was closed, and he hardly dared to join 



108 



LYNTONVILLE. 



any of bis companions, lest some tell-tale 
look or unguarded word might betray 
him. But the days wore on; no clue 
had been found, and he began to be more 
easy in his mind. Little did he imagine 
that one person suspected his share in 
the transaction, and that person the very 
one he had so deeply injured. - 

Philip took the first opportunity of 
inquiring for Hardy's hand, and of thank- 
ing him once more for having rescued the 
books. He did it sincerely and warmly, 
feeling that he had now quite forgiven 
him from his heart for the mischief he 
had caused. Hardy had only meant to 
injure him, and for this Philip no longer 
harbored any angry feelings; the rest 
had been in God's hands. Those few 
kind words from Philip went straight 
to Hardy's conscience, and he winced 
under them as though each had. been a 
lash. 



THE DAY AFTEE THE FIEE. 



105) 



** Do you know, Hardy, I am afraid I 
sha^n't be able to come to school any 
more ?" 

" Not come back to school ; why not?" 
said he in astonishment. 

" Why, I must try and do something 
to help my mother now. I wouldn't 
have said any thing about it, only I 
heard that your father wanted a clerk, 
and perhaps he might take me." Mr. 
Hardy had the largest and most impor- 
tant store in the place, and there was no 
other where Philip could find employ- 
ment. 

"Take you into the store, Quin ; do 
you really mean it ? I thought you were 
too proud, a long way, to do any thing 
of the kind." Hardy did not now speak 
bitterly, but in unfeigned surprise. 

'* Yes," said Philip, "I have been very 
foolish,.! know; but one grows wiser as 
one grows older, and I do n't know what 



110 



LYNTONVILLE. 



else I can do. Do you think your father 
would have me ?" 

"I don't know," said Hardy, "he 
wants a man." 

"Perhaps Mr. Lynton would speak 
for me," said Philip thoughtfully; "I 
think I '11 ask him j" and soon after the 
boys parted. 

So Philip wished to come into the 
store. Hardy was far from echoing the 
wish; he did not want to have a con- 
stant reminder of his folly before his 
eyes, but he said nothing ; and the next 
day Mr. Lynton and Philip made their 
appearance. 

"I believe, Hardy, you are in want of 
jf clerk. Perhaps you would be good 
enough to try my young friend here, and 
see whether you can make any thing of 
him as a man of business." 

Philip felt his cheeks burning ; it was 
a hard trial for him, and one from which 



ither 
"he 



I \i 



peak 

; "I 

p the 



the 
J the 
con- 
! his 
next 
their 

at of 

^ood 

and 

ig of 

was 
hich 



Is.rjJi! 




.Ir 



THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. Ill 

Mr. Lynton would willingly have shield- 
ed him, could he have found any thing 
raore suitable at the time. 

Mr. Hardy rubbed his hands, and 
scanned Philip with his cold, harsh eyes. 
"He's very young, sir, very young. I 
guess he wont be worth his salt for a 
long time to come. Can you write a 
goodish hand, youngster? let us see;" 
and he pushed the ink towards him. 
Philip's hand shook so that he could 
hardly hold the pen, but he managed to 
write a few words in a bold hand. 

"Ah, come, that's pretty well for a 
beginning," said he. "It's Mrs. Quin's 
son, I believe; is it not? A sad thing 
that fire, very. And you want to do 
something for yourself, eh? Well, sir, 
under the circumstances, and since it's 
to oblige you, I '11 consent to try him ; 
but he 's young, sir, far too young. How- 
ever, I 'm glad to do a charitable action 



112 



LYNTONVILLE. 



at all times." Philip^s blood boiled. 
Did the man think he was doing him a 
charity, when a word from him would 
ruin his son for life ? Hasty words were 
rushing to his lips, when he suddenly 
checked himself, and inwardly prayed 
for strength to be enabled to keep his 
resolution. 

Poor Philip, it was no easy task he 
had in prospect ; but he thought of the 
promise, "As thy days, so shall thy 
strength be," and he was helped. It was 
settled that the next Monday should see 
him take his place behind the counter for 
the first time, at a salary of four dollars 
a week; and with a heavy heart he 
walked back to Lyntonville. 

"It will be a trial to you, Philip," 
said Mr. Lynton,* "especially at first; 
but strive to do your duty in your new 
position, and you will find that God will 
bless you in it. The discipline may seem 



THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 



113 



hard just now, but believe me, in after- 
life you will never regret it; and just let 
me give you one word of advice : do n't 
add to your mother's sorrow by telling 
her what a sacrifice you are making for 
her sake. No doubt she feels it enough 
already." 

Philip remembered Mr. Lynton's cau- 
tion, and when he told his mother of the 
arrangement that had been made, he did 
it as cheerfully as he could. 

"It will be plieasant to feel that I am 
beginning to help you, dear mother." 

** Well, my son," she replied, stroking 
back the hair from his forehead with her 
gentle, caressing hand, "it is not what I 
could have wished for you, but our heav- 
enly Father knows best, we may be per- 
fectly satisfied of that ; and he is able to 
bring good out of what seems to us only 
evil." 



LyBtOBTlIIe. 



8 



lU 



LYNTONVILLE. 



CHAPTER IX. 

. . ME. HAEDY'S STORE. 

'•Tetichme, my GodandKing, . ; 

In all things thee to see ; 
And what I do in any thing, 
To do it as for thee. , 

All may of thee partake ; » , 

Nothing can be so mean 
That with this tincture, 'For thy sake,' ' • 

Will not grow bright and clean." ' 

Monday came, and Philip went to his 
post. He felt strangely awkward as he 
was told to assist in unpacking and mark- 
ing a large case of new goods just ar- 
rived from Toronto. Hardy employed 
two clerks; and Bennett, whose place 
Philip was to take, still remained for a 
few days to put his successor into the 
ways of the business. Joe Gammon, the 
other, was a youth about eighteen years 
of age, good-looking and sharp, and un- 



#^ 



MR. HARDY'S STORE. 



115 



scrupulous enough in his dealings to 
please his like-minded master. "Joe's 
a lad of the right sort," Hardy used to 
say ; "no fear but he '11 make his way in 
the world." Bennett was an older man, 
and would have been a far safer compan- 
ion for Philip than Joe ; but he had saved 
money, and was now about to better him- 
self by taking a share in a small business 
in a rising village a few miles off. 

" You 've got hold of a raw hand there, 
Bennett," said Joe, laughing. "Never 
left his mother's apron-strings before, 
pretty dear." 

" You '11 teach him a thing or two be- 
fore you've done with him, I expect, 
Master Joe," replied Bennett. "I tell 
you what, youngster," added he in a low 
tone to Philip, as Joe walked off to the 
other end of the store to attend to a cus- 
tomer, "you'd better look to yourself 
here. I'm no baint myself, but of all 



116 



LYNTONVILLE. 



the precious young scamps I ever came 
across, that chap *s the worst." 
' There was a rough kindliness of man- 
ner about Bennett for which Philip felt 
gratefiil, and he was really sorry when 
he left the place at the end of the week. 
During that time he had set to work with ^ 
a will to learn as much as he could of his 
new duties, and by degrees he became 
more expert, and lost his awkward ways. 
It was still early tn the summer, and 
Philip used to sigh somv.^ times as he 
thought of the green shady woods, and 
the cool splash of the river by their little 
cottage. It was hot and close in the 
store, and the mingled odors of soap and 
cheese and candles and butter were often 
so overpowering that he was obliged to 
go to the door for a breath of the pure 
fresh air, while he leaned his aching head 
against the side-post. His work was very 
hard, and its irksomeness made it still 



MR. HARDY'S STORE. 



117 



more so; but he uttered no complaint, 
and even Mr. Hardy's sharp eye could 
detect but few faults. But he had greater 
trials than these. What he felt most was, 
being obliged to work for and with such 
unprincipled men as gradually he found 
out Mr. Hardy and Joe to be. At first 
he suspected nothing, for he was so con- 
scientious himself, that it never once en- 
tered his head that they could wilfully 
deceive and cheat; but little by little his 
eyes were opened, and his whole soul re- 
volted from such wrong dealings. Yery 
soon Hardy's customers began to like 
Philip to serve them, for they found that 
he gave good measure, and would recom- 
mend none but the best articles, while 
he was always obliging and courteous. 

One day an old woman drove up to 
the door in one of the country wagons, 
and alighting, popped her head into the 
shop. Philip was busy measuring off 



118 



LYNTONVILI.E. 



some print for another customer. See- 
ing him engaged, she went ofif, though 
Joe was standing idle ; but after a while 
returned again to find Philip still occu- 
pied. This time she came in, but nothing 
would induce her to mention her wants 
until she could secure Philip's services. 

" What can I show you to-day, Mrs. 
McGregor ?" said Joe, all smiles. 

''It's a fine day for the mowing," re- 
plied she ; " I thought we should ha' had 
rain last night." 

" So did I," said Joe. " Is it groceries 
you want to-day? we have a prime lot of 
goods on hand just now, which we are 
selling cheap." 

"What's that stuff-piece you have 
over there?" said the old lady, keeping 
one eye on Philip. 

"Ah, the blue on a green ground. 
Sweet thing," said Joe, taking it down. 
** We have just received it, with a large 



MR. HARDY'S STORE. 



119 



assortment of goods, by the last steamer 
from the old country" — it had been in 
the store a year and a half — " ten yards 
to a dress. It will suit you exactly, 
Mrs. McGregor; let me cut off a dress- 
length for you. Coine, I '11 let you have 
it for six dollars; and that's less than 
cost price." 

" No," she said, feeling the texture, "I 
do n't think I '11 take it to - day ;" and 
looking about for something else to re- 
mark upon, she espied a little machine 
at the other end of the counter. 

"And what may this be, Mr. Joe?" 
"Well, ma'am," said Joe, "that is the 
most extraordinary little article that's 
been invented this long time; but wont 
you allow me to measure you off this 
piece? You can't do better, I assure 
you." Then seeing Mrs. McGregor's 
attention wholly diverted, "It's an ap- 
ple-parer, ma'am, and will do the work 



120 



LYNTONVILLE. 



of six pair of hands in no time at all ; and 
all for the small sum of a quarter dollar." 

•'Law, yoii don't say so," said she 
with pretended interest; "you couldn't 
show me how it works now, could you?" 

" Oh, certainly, mk'am, with the great- 
est pleasure," and he went to get an ap- 
ple for the purpose. The paring process 
was only half over when Mrs. McGregor, 
to her great relief, saw Philip opening 
the door for the other customer, who 
had completed her purchases, and sud* 
denly leaving Joe and his machine, she 
walked across to the opposite counter, 
saying to Philip, "I'll tell you what I 
want, Mr. Quin, for I believe you wont 
cheat me ; but as to that young chap yon- 
der, he shall play off none of his tricks 
upon me." Joe did not like to be out- 
shone thus by the new-comer, and found 
ways and means of venting his spite upon 
Philip, who on the whole led no easy life. 



ME. HARDY'S STORE. 



121 



Mrs. Quin had taken lodgings in the 
village, in order to be near her son, and 
Philip went home to her every evening 
after the store was closed. But the close 
confinement soon began to affect his del- 
icate frame, and he often longed to be at 
his beloved books, when he was occupied 
all day long in weighing out pounds of 
sugar and measuring yards of factory 
cottons for the poor settlers of the dis- 
trict. His mother watched his pale face 
grow thinner, and his step less light ev- 
ery day, with sad forebodings. She 
would have given all she had to be able 
to take him away from his distasteful 
occupation, but his weekly earnings con- 
tributed materially to their support, and 
what could they do without them ? No 
repining word ever passed his lips, and 
even his fond mother never guessed how 
much he suffered. 

In the mean time things went on much 



122 



LYNTONVILLE. 



as usual at the Long Cross school, though 
Hardy now found a new and scarcely less 
formidable rival in Harry Lynton. In 
one thing however Tom was changed, for 
he never went into the store if he could 
help it, and avoided Philip as much as 
possible ; but all sorrowful recollections of 
the injury his conduct had caused seemed 
to have faded from his memory. 

Harry never ceased to miss his friend. 
** I declare," said he one day, *'I never 
see you now, Phil ; but I suppose it can't 
be helped. I do n't know how I get on 
without you though, for you always con- 
trived to keep me straight." 

" You can't be more sorry than I am, 
Harry," replied Philip sadly; "it seems 
as if all my happy days were over.' Only 
I believe it 's my duty, and that makes 
me more reconciled to it." Scarcely a 
day passed without Harry making some 
little errand to the store, that he might 



MR. HAEDY'S STOBE. 



123 



have an opportunity of chatting with 
Philip; and these short visits and the 
evening hour with his mother were the 
only pleasures he had to relieve the mo- 
notonous labor of his life. And so week 
after week passed on ; but Philip remem- 
bered he was helping his mother, and 
this was his greatest comfort. He scarce- 
ly knew himself how weak and ill he 
was, and toiled on, thankful for the em- 
ployment which helped to keep the wolf 
from the door. Yery often they had 
to deny themselves necessaries; and it 
would have melted the hardest heart to 
have been an unseen witness of their 
daily meal. "Mother," Philip would 
say sometimes, " I 'm not hungry to-day ; 
I can't eat any dinner;" and all Mrs. 
Quin's persuasions would only induce 
him to taste the scanty fare. Again, if 
he happened to be later than usual, she 
would keep the lion's share for her boy, 



J24 



LYNTONVILLE. 



while perhaps little food had passed her 
own lips that day. None knew how hard 
a battle they had to fight with poverty ; 
and Philip tried his utmost to earn a 
higher salary. Mr. Hardy knew full 
well he was worth it ; but while he could 
secure his services for four dollars a 
week, why should he think of raising it? 
And the poor boy, in his inexperience 
trusting to his master's honor, toiled 
harder than ever to win his approba- 
tion. ... 

September was now drawing towards 
its close, and the bright autumn tints 
told a tale of coming winter, when Mr. 
Lynton having made arrangements for 
his usual hunting expedition, determined 
this year to take Harry with him, so 
pleased was he with his industry and the 
progress he had made at school. Harry, 
nearly wild with delight, rushed into the 
store as soon as he possibly could, to tell 



MK. HABDY'S STOBE. 



126 



Philip i\e good news. Poor Philip's face 
fell. 

" Going away for a month. Oh, Har- 
ry, what shall I do without seeing you 
sometimes ? I shall miss you so much." 

" Never mind, old fellow," said Harry, 
" a month will soon pass, and then I 
shall be able to tell you all about it, you 
know. But I say, is n't it jolly, though?" 
Philip did not look as if he thought it 
very jolly, but he tried to sympathize 
in his friend's pleasure. "There goes 
the bell ; I came in early on purpose to 
tell you, Phil, but I must be off now." 

In the course of the day it chanced 
that Tom was sent into the store by his 
father, as an extra hand was required, 
and for the first time for several weeks 
he noticed Philip, who was looking more 
than usually pale and weak. **Why, 
Quin," said he, ''how bad you look; 
what 's the matter ?" 



If 



126 



LYNTONVILLE. 



" I do n't know," replied he ; " I 'm all 
right, thank you." 

"But you don't look all right, I can 
tell you. Why don't you take some- 
thing ? I believe you ought to have port 
wine, you have n't got a bit of color in 
your face. Why do n't you ?" 

Philip smiled a melancholy smile as 
he thought of their narrow means. " We 
can't afford it," he said quietly. Hardy 
turned away quickly and asked no more 
questions. " I believe he 's going to die," 
thought he; "this hard work is killing 
him ; he 's not used to it." More slowly 
the idea forced itself iato Hardy's mind 
that this was his own work, and the idea 
once there, he could not get rid of it ; it 
followed him wherever he went, and once 
he woke with a start in the night dream- 
ing that he was being dragged ofif to pris- 
on, accused of Philip's murder. 

Harry had been gone very nearly a 



MR. HARDY'S STORE. 



127 



month, and Philip rejoiced much at the 
prospect of welcoming him back again 
so soon. October was passing quickly 
away, the trees were already leafless and 
bare, and sharp frosts had set in, which 
made poor Philip shiver and cough. He 
himself began to think that he should not 
be able to go on much longer, for some- 
times he became so dizzy he was obliged 
to sit down by the roadside, cold as it 
was, on his way to the store in the morn- 
ing; and he felt he could not lift the 
same heavy weights he did formerly. 
One day when he went as usual to the 
post-office for the. letters he found one 
addressed to himself, and greatly to his 
surprise, on opening it, he saw that it 
contained nothing but a ten dollar note. 
His heart was full of wonder and thank- 
fulness as he thought of the many little 
comforts this sum would procure for his 
mother, and all day he tried to think who 



<ii. 



128 



LYNTONVILLE. 



the kind donor could be. His mother 
had not seen him look so joyful for weeks 
as when he threw the letter into her lap 
and made her guess what was in it. 

"But who can have sent this money to 
us, Philip? I am afraid to use it without 
knowing." 

** Why, mother, surely some one who 
wishes to be kind to us. Oh do spend 
it," he cried, looking quite disappoint- 
ed. "It must be meant for us ; for, see, 
it is directed to me quite plainly." 

Mrs. Quin looked troubled as she 
examined the envelope. "I think, my 
boy," she said at length, " we had bet- 
ter not touch this note at present un- 
less we are driven to it. My heart mis- 
gives me, lest there should be any thing 
wrong." , ^ . 

Philip's bright look had quite vanish- 
ed now, but he never questioned for a 
moment his mother^s wishes. "Well, 



MR. HARDY'S STORE. 



129 



mother, I suppose you know best," he 
said, "but I am very sorry." 

Mrs. Quin locked up the letter, just as 
it was, in her desk, and they tried to 
think no more about it, though that was 
no easy task when they needed help so 
much. 

A few evenings after this occurrence, 
Philip came home so ill that Mrs. Quin 
felt sadly grieved. " My dear boy," she 
said, as he sat down at her feet and lean- 
ed against her knee, "you must not go 
again. See, I ' ave been able to get some 
employment too," and she showed him 
some needlework she had been busy with 
when he came in. "Phoebe Harris is 
going to be married, and she asked me 
if I knew any one who could help her 
for the next few weeks, and I gladly of- 
fered. You know I am a famous needle- 
woman." 

Philip looked up in mute dismay. "Oh, 



^yBleavfll*. 



9 



X30 LYNTONVILLE. 

mother, mother, that it should come to 
this. You must not do it. Indeed, in- 
deed, it will kill me to see you working. 
I cannot bear it." And in his weakness 
and excitement he laid down his head and 
sobbed. 

''My darling," she said, soothing his 
distress by her gentle tones, "you must 
not give way like this. Eather let us 
thank God that he has put this offer of 
work in my way. Indeed, I have been 
full of thankfulness ever since, for I have 
tried before to find employment without 
success ; and now, Philip, I must try and 
do it so well that I may make a reputa- 
tion," she added playfully, though her 
heart ached as she looked at her boy. 

"Mother, God has dealt very hardly 
with us." 

"Hush, my Philip," she said solemn- 
ly, "you must not say such words. 
*Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.' 



•^t^*' 



MB. HABDY'S STOBE. 131 

Our trials come from his loving hand, 
and you know, dear, he can remove them 
quite as easily when he sees fit." A long 
time they sat thus, and talked together 
as only those who are very near and dear 
to each other can; and before going to 
rest, they knelt together at the throne of 
grace to commit all their cares and sor- 
rows into the hands of Him who careth 
for his children. 

Philip resolved to go back to the store 
on the morrow, and to ask for a week's 
rest. He did not know then how very 
soon his connection with Mr. Hardy 
would be ended. 



'-^'X^P^^'"^' 




-Tr» 



132 



LYNTONVILLE. 



CHAPTER X. . 

THE MISSING NOTE. 

"Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth." 

Though feeling very ill next morning, 
Philip managed to crawl down to the 
store, but he had hardly entered the 
door before Joe accosted him, his eyes 
gleaming with malicious delight, 

"Oh, I say, isn't there a jolly row, 
that 's all. Here 's the * boss ' been storm- 
ing away all the morning, and asking for 
you. I expect you '11 catch it if ever you 
did in your life;" and Joe shrugged his 
shoulders and rolled his eyes in the most 
suggestive manner. 

"Why, what's the matter?" asked 
Philip, feeling rather uncomfortable, 



THE MISSING NOTE. 



133 



though not conscious of having done any 
thing wrong. 

"Ah, that's just it; who did it, I 
should like to know?" 

"Well, but, Joe, do tell me what it 



is. 



ji 



"I like your innocence," replied Joe; 
** 'do tell,' indeed. Just as if I should 
know any thing about it. Only I guess 
you 'U find out fast enough as soon as the 
* boss ' has done his breakfast ; you 'd 
better ask him what it is." 

Presently Mr. Hardy made his appear- 
ance. 

"Oh, you've come, have you?" said 
he harshly; "just walk this way ; I want 
to speak to you ;" and he collared Philip, 
and half led, half dragged him into the 
little inner room. 

"Look here, boy, I've missed some 
money from the till, and ten-dollar notes 
can't walk off by themselves. Now, do 



134 



LTNTONVILLE. 



you know any thing about it? You had 
better speak the truth, mind, for I'm 
determined to sift this matter to the 
bottom/' 

Philip stood aghast. "I, sir? I never 
took any money from the till. I assure 
you I would not do such a thing ; I know 
nothing of a ten-dollar note. Indeed I 
don't think I have seen a ten" — Philip 
suddenly stopped, colored, and hesitated ; 
the remembrance of the note they had 
received through the post flashed across 
his mind. 

"Ha," said Mr. Hardy, seizing him 
roughly by the arm, '* you do know some- 
thing about it then, after all, you young 
rascal, do you? I thought as much. Come, 
speak out." 

** Oh, sir, have you — do you ever mark 
your notes ?" 

"Mark them? Oh, you want to find 
out that, do you, to see whether it is 



IS 



THE MISSING NOTE. 136 

worth while to confess. You've taken 
a note with my private mark on it, and 
you 'd like to know if you can keep it 
without being detected. But I'll have 
the law of you, that I will, if I find this 
has been any of your doings ; and if it is 
marked, what then? You don't leave 
this room till — " 

"Mr. Lynton, sir," said Joe, opening 
the door at that moment, and Harry and 
his father entered. In an instant Har- 
dy's manner changed, and he dropped 
Philip's arm, who uttered a cry of joy as 
he saw his friends. 

"Oh, sir. Oh, Mr. Lynton," cried he, 
springing to his side, " God has sent you 
here, I am sure, for I am accused of 
stealing, and you know I would not do 
such a thing." 

Mr. Lynton looked from one to the 
other in astonishment. 

" What 's all this about, Mr. Hardy?" 



136 



LYNTONVILLE. 



" Well, you see, sir," said Hardy in a 
fawning tone, rubbing his hands in his 
usual manner, "appearances are sadly 
against him, and I was naturally roused. 
It was only to be expected, sir. Here 
I find this morning, counting over my 
receipts from the till, that a ten-dollar 
note is missing; and when I make inqui- 
ries, this young fellow gets as red as a 
turkey-cock, is. confused, and hesitates; 
and what am I to think ? It 's not the 
first little thing I 've missed lately, 
either." 

"This is a very serious accusation, 
Mr. Hardy," said Mr. Lynton with some 
severity. " I should like to hear Quin's 
story." ' 

" Oh, certainly, sir, certainly. I 'm 
willing, I 'm sure, to give the lad every 
chance of clearing himself; but it looks 
suspicious, sir, very suspicious." 

" We '11 judge of that presently," said 



THE MISSING NOTE. 137 

Mr. Lynton. "Hush, Harry; be silent, 
if you please. Well, Philip, what have 
you to say for yourself, my boy?" he 
added kindly. 

"Oh, sir, you don't believe I could 
be guilty of such a thing — you know I 
could n't. But I asked Mr. Hardy if it 
were marked, because — because we had 
one sent to us in a letter a few days ago, 
and I noticed a little round *o' in the 
corner." "Whew!" whistled Hardy, 
"a nice trumped-up story that is. You 
do n't come over me like that, my boy." 
Philip took no notice of the interrup- 
tion. "You can ask my mother, Mr. 
Lynton ; we 've got the note now." 
. " Well, if that does n't beat all," said 
Hardy ; " now, sir, you see I was not far 



wrong. 



jj 



"I can't say I view the case in that 
light, Mr. Hardy. When do you say 
this letter came, Philip ?" 



M 



iU 



138 



LYNTONVILLE. 



A}1 



**It was Monday or Tuesday, sir, I 
forget which," and the boy trembled so 
from excitement he could hardly stand. 

Mr. Lynton thought a moment. " I 
shall go at once to Mrs. Quin, taking 
Philip with me, to ascertain the truth of 
this matter, for I wish to see it satisfac- 
torily cleared up, and I beg you will fol- 
low, Mr. Hardy." ' 

"Yery well, sir; I will attend you 
most willingly." 

Mr. Lynton's conveyance was in. the 
village, and they drove immediately to 
Mrs. Quin's lodging. The widow's heart , 
sank as she saw Philip returning at this 
unusual hour in company with Mr. Lyn- 
ton, for she feared some new evil had 
happened to her boy, and she hastened 
out to meet them. ^ 

" We want you to settle a knotty 
point for us, my dear madam," said Mr. 
Lynton after his first friendly salutation. 



THE MISSING NOTE. 



139 



*' An unpleasant incident has occurred in 
Mr. Hardy's store ; some money is miss- 
ing, and Philip has mentioned that a 
note has come into your possession in an 
unaccountable manner, which seems to 
give a clue to the lost one." 

" How thankful I am," said Mrs. Quin, 
"I kept the note. Here it is, in the very 
envelope it came in ;" and she unlocked 
her desk, and placed it in Mr. Lynton's 
hands. "Although I thought it not 
improbable that some kind friend might 
have wished to surprise us, I could not 
r* feel comfortable In making use of it with- 
out some further knowledge." 

Mr. Lynton handed the note to Hardy, 
who instantly recognized it as his own. 

"That's it, sure enough," said he, "for 
here 's my private mark on it ; and now 
the question is who the thief may be, 
and that to my mind is as clear as day- 
light." 



140 



LTNTONVILLE. 



"And pray what is your solution of 
the difficulty, Mr. Hardy? for in truth I 
cannot see ray way through the busi- 



ness. 



11. 



**Why, it's just this, sir: the lad 
wants money; he takes the note, posts 
it to himself, and brings it home to his 
mother. I 'm sorry to say it, ma'am, for 
your sake, for I dare say you knew noth- 
ing about the matter; but your son's the 
thief, or I 'm very much mistaken." 

"Oh, mother, you don't believe I 
could have done it? Tell me, Oh tell 
me you know me to be innocent. God^ 
knows I am. Has he forsaken us alto- 
gether?" cried the poor lad, clasping 
his hands in an agony of despair. "Oh, 
Mr. Lynton, do, do believe me. I never 
saw the note until I took it out of the 
envelope; indeed, indeed I didn't. I 
assure you I am speaking nothing but the 
truth ; I never told a lie in my life." 



! 



THE MISSING NOTE. 



141 



of 



i 



" God have mercy upon us," said Mrs. 
Quin as the hot tears rolled down her 
face; "we have never seen such trouble 
as this." Harry stood by meanwhile, 
burning with indignation. Why did n't 
his father turn the fellow out ; how dared 
he say that Philip was a thief? But Mr. 
Lynton was too judicious to act hastily 
in such a case, knowing that he would 
injure rather than benefit Philip's cause ; 
besides, he felt that it must be thor- 
oughly investigated, and though his be- 
lief in the innocence of the boy remained 
unshaken, yet he could not but acknow- 
ledge that appearances were against 
him. 

** You say this note has been abstract- 
ed from your till, Mr. Hardy ; pray has 
no one else besides Quin had access to 
itr . • 

"Well, I can't say but there has; 
there 's Joe and may-be Jack, if he had 



142 



LYNTONVILLE. 



a mind to steal, might find some way to 
get at it ; but the thing is, you see, sir, 
that here ^s the very ideiiacal note, and 
it is n't a very likely thing that either of 
them would steal out of charity." 

"No," said Mr. Lynton, as an idea 
struck him, "but it is possible that this 
has been done to fasten suspicion upon 
an innocent person. I must examine the 
lads you speak of at once; and, Philip, 
you may rest assured that your previous 
character will go far to clear you from 
this imputation in the sight of your 
friends, until it is proved beyond a doubt 
that you are guilty." 

Philip had quite regained his com- 
posure ; but the hot flush had faded from 
his face, leaving him so deadly pale that 
Mr. Lynton was shocked to see the change 
that had taken place in his appearance 
in a few short weeks. 

"I cannot say more than I have said, 



IHE MISSING NOTE. 143 

Mr. Lynton, and my mother knows it is 
true. We have often wanted money, 
and when that letter came I thanked 
God that he had put it into the heart of 
some kind friend to send it. I little 
thought then it would be the means of 
such trouble to us ; and now I can only 
wait patiently till — " The door sud- 
denly opened, and all eyes turned tow- 
ards the new-comer. Tom Hardy, for it 
was he, walked straight up to his father. 

" Look here, father," said he, "stop all 
this ; do n't accuse Philip Quin of doing 
what you know it is not in him to do. I 
took the note." 

"You!" exclaimed all the party in 
various tones of surprise; and Harry 
shouted, "Tom Hardy for ever!" not 
caring in his glee who was the guilty 
party, so long as Philip was cleared. 

"You, you young scoundrel, you rob- 
bed your father's till!" cried Mr. Hardy, 



144 



LYNTONVILLE. 



turning upon hira furiously; "come along 
with me, and — " 

"Stop, Mr. Hardy, we have a right 
to hear the story out; speak out, boy." 
Tom Hardy looked Mr. Lynton full in 
the face, sullen, but resolute. 

" I '11 tell you why I took it, Mr. Lyn- 
ton. I saw Quin getting thinner and 
thinner ; I knew four dollars a week was 
barely enough to keep him from starv- 
ing, and that my father ought to give 
him more, and I thought to help him. 
I suppose you '11 say it was wicked. I 
pretty nearly always am wicked now," 
he added bitterly; "but I can't help it. 
If you knew all — " 

" Can't help robbing your father, you 
good-for-nothing boy?" screamed Mr. 
Hardy. "I'll teach you to say you 
can't help it," and he made a rush at his 
son as if he were going to administer 
summary punishment then and there. 



THE MISSING NOTE. 



145 



Philip, who had sunk down on a seat by 
his mother^s side, half bewildered by the 
sudden turn events had taken, started 
up. "Oh, Mr. Hardy, don't be angry 
with him, pray don't be angry; 1*11 do 
any thing if you '11 only promise not to 
punish him." 

"Never mind, Quin, let him beat me 
if he likes ; it does n't much matter. I 'm 
sure you need n't beg for me, for I 've 
only done you harm." 

"Wait a while, Mr. Hardy," inter- 
rupted Mr. Lynton. " Why did you not 
ask your father for the money, Tom ?" 

"Because I knew he wouldn't give it 
to me. I expected there 'd be no end of 
a row when it was discovered, but I 
didn't mean the blame to fall on him," 
and he pointed over his shoulder to 
Philip; "I thought he would have spent 
the money before now too." 

"And you actually braved your fa- 



Lj-ntonrlll*. 



10 



146 



LYNTONVILLE. 



ther's anger, and committed this theft, to 
do Philip Qnin a kindness?" For the 
first time the boy faltered and was silent. 
*'This is a very strange story, Mr. 
Hardy, and yet I am bound to believe 
it. I am also much pained to find that 
you have deceived me with regard to 
Quin. You are aware that before I left 
home some weeks ago, I had a conversa- 
tion with you on the subject; and you 
then professed yourself so well satisfied 
with the lad, that you agreed to increase 
his salary from that date ; this I find you 
have not done. After what has occurred 
to-day, if Mrs. Quin will permit me to 
take this matter into my own hands, 
Philip will no longer remain in your ser- 
vice ; and if your word is of any value, 
the note is still his by rights, the arrears 
of his hard-won earnings for the past five 
weeks, and you are yet six dollars in his 
debt for the present one." Hardy, bit- 



THE MISSING NOTE. 



147 



ing his lip to control his passion, threw 
down the money on the table and stalked 
out of the room without more ado; his 
son was about to follow, when Mr. Lyn- 
ton held out his hand to him. "As for 
you, Tom, you have done very wrong, 
but I believe you did it though tlessly^ 
and under a strong sense of the injustice 
done to Philip. If you come up to Lyn- 
tonville to-morrow, I shall be glad to 
speak to yoii." 

When they were left alone, Harry's 
joy could brook no further restraints. 
He clapped his hands, and capered about 
in the most eccentric manner. 

" Philip, my boy, I congratulate you," 
said Mr. Lynton, shaking him warmly by 
the hand, "and you also, my dear madam ; 
and now I think a little change of scene 
and rest after all this trouble and annoy- 
ance will do you no harm ; so if you will 
kindly put up any thing you may require^^ 



148 



LYNTONVILLE. 



I will come round in half an hour and 
drive you both back with me. Mrs. Lyn- 
ton is already prepared to welcome you, 
for I sent off a messenger some time ago, 
though I hardly hoped then we should 
have been so cheerful." 

Very shortly after, the happy party 
were all assembled once more in the hos- 
pitable old homestead of Lyntonville. 






THE CONFESSION. 



149 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE CONFESSION. 

*'I saw that I was lost, far gone astray ; 

No hope of safe return there seemed to be ; 
But then I heard that Jesus was the way, 
A new and living way prepared for me." 

The change was so pleasant to Philip, 
that he could scarcely realize at first his 
freedom from hard work and the watch- 
ful eye of his harsh master ; and when 
Mr. Lynton took him into his library, and 
pointed out a number of shelves from 
which he might choose any book he liked, 
his delight knew no bounds. Was it 
possible that his weary shop-boy life was 
over, and he had leisure once more to 
return to his much-loved studies ? But 
in a day or two the reaction came, and 
ihe exciting events of the past week in 



150 



LYNTONVILLE. 



particular began to wear on his feeble 
frame. 

Nothing was heard of Tom Hardy next 
day until Harry returned from school 
with the news that he had left the village, 
no one seemed to know why or wherefore. 
For a time, Philip seemed to be grad- 
ually recovering; but when the severe 
cold set in, and he was no longer able to 
leave the house, the slight improvement 
was checked, and he became very ill. 
Mr. and Mrs. Lynton would not hear of 
his leaving their hospitable roof, for they 
knew he needed tender nursing, and 
many comforts which his mother's slender 
means could not afford. 

"No, my dear friend," Mrs. Lynton 
would say, "you know it is quite an ac- 
quisition to us to have such an addition 
to our party in this dreary winter weath- 
er, and Harry is so delighted at having a 
com-panion again that it would be quite 



THE CONFESSION. 151 

cruel to leave him alone at present." 
The widow's eyes would fill with tears, 
as she thanked the kind friends whom 
God had raised, up for her in her sore 
distress. For a dark shadow hung over 
her. Her son, her only son was passing 
away, as she feared, before her eyes, and 
it seemed as though the light of her life 
would be quenched. It became necessa- 
ry soon to keep Philip a close prisoner 
to his room, for the only chance of sa,ving 
him seemed to be to nurse him carefully 
through the long winter, and his foad 
mother clung to the hope that new health 
and life might come to her boy with the 
breath of the sweet spring-time. Harry 
spent the greater part of his leisure with 
his friend, and helped to cheer him with 
his unfailing mirth and high spirits. He 
never thought for a moment that Philip 
was in any danger; so his merry laugh 
rang out clear as ever, as he rushed into 



162 LYNTONVILLE. 

his room with some tale of school-life, 
full of boisterous glee and rude health. 

One day he was running home as fast 
as usual, when he saw a boy skulking 
about near the house, and to his surprise 
Tom Hardy came up. 

"I've been watching for you this long 
time, Lynton ; tell me how Quin is." 

" Why, where have you sprung from, 
Hardy ? I thought you had gone away," 
said Harry, without answering his ques- 
tion, and wondering at his gaunt looks, so 
different from the last time they met. 

** Well, you see, I 'm here now, at any 
rate : but I want to know, how 's Quin?" 

"He's very ill," said Harry, looking 
grave. 

"Where is he now? Up here?" said 
Hardy, with a nod of his head in the di- 
rection of the house. 

" Yes, they ve been here ever since." 

"But tell me, Lynton, he isn't going 



THE CONFESSION. 



153 



to — to die?" said Tom, with quivering 
lips. 

Harry looked at him with astonish- 
ment; the idea had never struck him, but 
he did not like it nevertheless. "No," 
he answered shortly, "of course not." 

"I wonder if I — " 

"Why, Hardy, what's the matter?" 
asked Lynton in surprise, for the boy 
was so unlike his former self that even 
"careless Harry" could not fail to be 
struck by it. 

"I don't know; I 'm very hungry." 

"Why, man, come along; why didn't 
you say so before ? I '11 find something 
for you," cried Harry; "here, this way," 
and he led him towards the house. At 
the door Mr. Lynton met them. 

"Tom Hardy, you here; is it possi- 
ble ?" said he. 

"I'm going to get him something to 
eat, papa; he says he's hungry." 



154 



LYNTONVILLE. 



" I Ve had no food to-day, and scarce any 
yesterday," said Hardy, "or I wouldn't 
ask." 

" Poor fellow; why, how is this, Har- 
dy? But come in, you are not in a lit 
state to answer questions ;" and Mr. Lyn- 
ton brought him in, while Harry busied 
himself in getting a comfortable meal 
provided for his former school- fellow. 

"And now. Hardy, come into the li- 
brary, and tell me all about it," said Mr. 
Lynton, rising when he had finished. 
Tom followed him into the snug warm 
room. "I expected to see you again 
after the last time we met, but Harry 
came home and told us that you had dis- 
appeared. What happened then?" 

"Did n't you hear, sir, that my father 
turned me out of doors ? He told me 
that if I ever dared to come into his sight 
again, he would have me taken up and 
put in prison j so I ran away that night. 



THE CONFESSION. 



155 



Jack managed to put up some of my 
clothes for me on the sly, and I had a 
Jittle money. I walked as far as the 
'Four Corners/ where the stage stopped, 
and got a lift on to Midborough." 

"And what did you do when you got 
there?" 

- "Well, sir, I scarcely know how I 
have lived this last two months, but I got 
errands, and one thing and another, so 
that I did n't starve : and a woman who 
once lived about here, gave me lodging 
for a trifle, and a dinner too sometimes j 
but it was hard work." 

"But what brought you back here, 
Tom ?" 

The boy looked down and hesitated. 
His lips were no strangers to a lie : but 
Philip's life had not been without its ef- 
fect upon him. He had been kept from 
stealing many a time, when sore pressed 
by hunger, by .the memory of his patient 



156 



LYNTONVILLE. 



endurance j and now he had been drawn 
back to the neighborhood chiefly by a 
rumor of Philip's serious illness, which, 
had reached him by chance at Midbor- 
ough. He felt he must confess, for the 
weight on his conscience was more than 
he could bear. Philip might be dying, 
and he must ask his forgiveness before it 
was too late. Mr. Lynton's kind words 
too had not been thrown away, and he 
did not fear to meet him again, but he 
was not prepared to unburden his mind 
to him. He could not tell Mr. Lynton 
why he was there without betraying his 
secret. Mr. Lynton, surprised at his con- 
tusion, repeated his question. 

"I — I want to see Quin," he blurted 
out at length. 

" Well, you shall see him presently," 
said Mr. Lynton kindly ; "but what are 
you going to do with yourself after- 
wards?" 



THE CONFESSION. 



157 



**I don't know; going back, I sup- 
pose/' said Tom rather dubiously. 

" Well, I must see what can be done ; 
perhaps I may be able to find some em- 
ployment for you. Come in," he added, 
as Harry knocked at the door. 

** Philip wants to see Hardy, papa, 
when you have done with him." 

**You can go now, Tom," said Mr. 
Lynton ; and Harry led the way to the 
room which Philip occupied. The sofa 
on which he was lying was drawn tow- 
ards the window, and the pale crescent 
of the new moon shone in in the cold 
grey twilight of a winter's afternoon. 
Philip held out his wasted hand as Har- 
dy entered, and Harry left them together. 
"I'm sorry you're so bad, Quin," said 
Hardy, looking frightened and pale, and 
beginning to repent of his resolution to 
confess — H seemed so much more diffi- 
cult, now that the time had come. 



158 



LYNTONVILLE. 



** I wanted so much to see you, Hafdy ; 
you do n^t mind coming up, do you ? I Ve 
been ill, and sometimes I think I shall 
never be any better; and I thought I 
should like to give you this," said Philip, 
laying hip hand on the Bible by his side, 
which Mr. Elmslie had given him, and 
Tom had saved from the fire. "See, I 
have written your name in it ; and, Har- 
dy, you will keep it and read it for my 
sake, wont you?" he added earnestly. 
"Dear Tom, will you promise me?" 

"Oh, I can't, I can't have it," sobbed 
the boy, quite broken down by Philip's 
pleading words. "I've done you more 
harm than any one else ever did, and I 
can't — I can't." 

" Oh Hardy, you will? It is the last 
thing, most likely, I shall ever ask you, 
and you wont refuse me? I know you 
will not." 

Tom rose from his low seat bj^ Philip's 



THE CONFESSION. 



159 



side, and calming himself, spoke rapidly 
and with a strong effort. 

"Stay, you don't know all; wait till 
you hear, and then you will hate and de- 
spise me as I hate and despise myself 
now; but I must tell; I came here to 
tell you, for I can't keep it to myself any 
longer, and I don't care what becomes 
of me. I burnt do.wn your place there, 
I did, because I hated to see you getting 
the prizes and keeping above me in the 
class. Do you hear?" said he, seeing 
Philip looked neither surprised nor indig- 
nant ; " I tell you 't was I set fire to your 
arbor that night. I did n't mean to burn 
the cottage, but it caught. It was I that 
ruined you, Quin, and brought all this 
trouble upon you ; and if you die, I shall 
feel I have killed you: and now you 
know all." His forced composure gave 
way, and hiding his face in his hands, 
he sobbed as if his heart would break. 



IGO 



LYNTONVILLE. 



There was silence in the room for a min- 
ute, broken only by the sound of Hardy's 
weeping; and then Philip laid his hand 
gently on his arm. 

" Dear Hardy, I have known all this 
a long time." The boy looked up in 
blank amazement. ** Yes," continued 
Philip, **I suspected it from the very 
first, and I '11 tell you why. Do you 
remember losing your knife about that 
time ?" 

" Yes," said Hardy, " and I searched 
and searched for it again and again." 

"Well, I picked it up where you had 
dropped it that night, and I have ever 
since been pretty nearly sure that you 
did it. I let the knife fall into the hol- 
low tree up by Long Acre afterwards." 

"And you never told?" 

"No," said Philip ; " I was very angry 
at first ; but then I thought how it was — 
that it was worse than you meant it to 



THE CONFESSION. 



161 



be ; so I have always kept the secret. 
I did not mean to tell you now, only you 
spoke yourself." 

"Oh, Quin, how could yod ? And^you 
worked so hard, and were accused of 
stealing too, when you knew it was all 
my doing ; and you never spoke a word." 

"I prayed that God would help me, 
Hardy, and he did. I was very near 
telling two or three times though. If I 
had not had strength given me, I should 
have done so." 

" But, Quin, why did n't you speak up? 
My father would have been obliged to 
make it all straight j and besides, you 'd 
have had your revenge." 

" I have had my revenge," said Philip 
smiling; but Hardy broke down again. 

** Oh, Quin, if I had only known. I 
believe you arc really good ; I do. But 
I 've been taught to sneer and scolF until 
I scarcely know right from wrong. To 



liTntAiiTlll*. 



11 



162 



LYNTONVILLE. 



think that you should have known it all 
the time, and never spoke. Oh, I wish 
I could be good like you, I 'm so miser- 
able : but I never shall be ; I 'm too 
wicked for that ; and I 've got a fit pun- 
ishment for burning you out, for now I Ve 
no home to go to. I wish I were dead, 
that I do.'' 

** Oh, Tom, do n't say that,'/ said Phil- 
ip ; '* it makes me shudder to hear you 
speak so wickedly. Think what a sol- 
emn thing it is to die. Are you ready 
to appear in the presence of God, and to 
give an account of all you have dona in 
this world? Dear Tom, you have coi\.- 
fessed your fault to me, but let me ask 
you, have you ever thought of confessing 
your sins to God, and asking him to par- 
don you for Christ's sake ?" 

**No," said Tom, "I never thought of 
that, Philip ; you know I was not brought 
up as you have been. We were never 



THE CONFESSION. 163 

taught much about God, except in our 
lessons at school, and I tried to think as 
little of them as I could after they were 
said. I did not think God would care 
for what I did." 

" God cares for all, dear Tom ; he not 
only made the world, he rules it too. 
* His eyes are in every place, beholding 
the evil and the good.' He sees all that 
we think, as well as all that we do ; he 
hears every word we say ; and he has 
said that not only for every evil deed, 
but for * every idle word that men shall 
speak, they shall give account in the day 
of judgment."' 

Tom looked up anxiously at Philip. 
"Then what is to become of me?" said 
he ; "I have been so wicked, and have 
done so much evil. You are happy, 
Philip ; you have always been good ; 
you are sure to go to heaven ; but what 
is to become of me ?" 



164 



LYNTONVILLE. 



"I am not good, Tom ; and if I could 
get to heaven only by my own goodness, 
I should never get there at all. I feel 
that I am a sinner, that there is no good 
thing in me, and my only hope of being 
.saved is through what our Lord Jesus 
Christ has done for us. He died on the 
cross to save us poor sinners. I trust 
in him alone ; and he will save you too, 
if you ask him." ^ , 

"I learned that at school," said Tom, 
"but I never thought much about it. I 
did not think then that I was a sinner. 
I had not done any thing very bad till I 
burnt your house, and you know, Philip, 
that I did not mean to do such a wicked 
thing : I only meant to burn the summer- 
house ; artd you could easily have built 
that again. But somehow, ever since 
then I seem to have been going from bad 
to worse. I am bad enough now, I 
feel that. But still I think you have 



THE CONFESSION. 



165 



been good, Philip; you have been an 
honest boy and a good son." 

"Even if my outward conduct had 
been quite good," said Philip, "which it 
has not always been, still my heart has 
been wicked. Sin ruled in my heart by 
nature, as it does in the heart of every 
unrenewed sinner; and though I trust 
that I am pardoned for Christ's sake, 
and I strive against sin as a thing he 
hates, yet I feel daily need of forgive- 
ness, and pray daily that God would 
grant me his Holy Spirit, to purify my 
heart and keep me from evil." 

" What do you mean by 'every unre- 
newed sinner V " asked Tom. 

"Every one who has not become a 
new creature by having his sinful nature 
changed by the Holy Spirit, and his sins 
washed away by the blood of Christ. 
All need this change, and none can be 
saved without it; for our Lord himself 



166 



LYNTONVILLE. 



has said, * Except a man be born again, 
he cannot see the kingdom of God.' " 

"But will God change my heart?" 
said Tom ; " am I not too bad to become 
really good now ?" 

"Our Lord Jesus Christ welcomes all, 
even the worst, even the chief of sinners. 
He says, * I am not come to call the right- 
eous, but sinners to repentance;' and 
* him that cometh unto me I will in no 
wise cast out.' You will find many such 
promises in God's word. That 's why I 
want you to have my Bible ; it 's God's 
message to us, you know, and it teaches 
us what we must do. You will read it, 
wont you ? and then you will love it as 
I do." , 

"Well, I will for your sake ; otherwise 
I should hate to look at it, because it was 
partly envy about it that made me do 
wrong at first. But did the Bible teach 
you not to tell ? I do n't understand." 



THE CONFESSION. 



1G7 



Philip opened his little Testament, and 
pointed out several passages. They sat 
and talked together some time, and at 
last Hardy said, 

" I suppose I must go now, and I need 
not show my face to Mr. Lynton again, 
for you '11 tell now, Philip ?'' 

"Oh, Hardy, do tell yourself, you will 
feel so much happier ; I 'ra sure you will." 

" Well, but Mr. Lynton said he would 
try to help me, and he wont do it if I 
tell ; but if you do n't mind keeping the* 
secret, Philip, as you have done for so 
long," and a gleam of hope brightened 
his face, " perhaps he will ; and I 'm half 
starved now." 

Philip looked troubled. "It would n't 
be right. Hardy, indeed it would not. 
You must tell him, and I know he wont 
be angry, for he is so kind. Oh do, 
please do tell him yourself." 

"But, Quin, I can't; he'd be so aw- 



168 



LYNTONVILLE. 



fully angry. I 'd much rather go away 
and shift for myself." 

"He wont be angry, Hardy; and if 
you like, I '11 tell him for you, if you stay 
here ; Oh do let me." 

" But your mother, Philip, and all of 
them, they will never forgive me. No, 
let ine ^o away ; 1 can get on somehow. 
They think I 'm bad enough as it is, with- 
out this." 

" No, they will not; I wont let you go 
away. Hardy. Mother," he cried as he 
heard hf >' light step in the- adjoining 
room, " come and sit down here by me 
a little while. Here 's Tom Hardy ; I 
know you '11 be glad to see him ;" and 
very gently, and little by little, he helped 
Hardy to make his confession. Mrs. 
Quin was much astonished as the truth 
dawned upon her ; but his evident dis- 
tress and sorrow disarmed every feeling 
of resentment, and only thankfulness for 



THE CONFESSION. 



169 



the noble conduct of her boy remained. 
Mr. Lynton was told the whole story; 
and though he spoke very seriously to 
Hardy, it was not in displeasure, nor did 
he retract his promise of endeavoring 
to find him some suitable employment. 
Hardy could never forget Philip's kind- 
ness, or the earnest, pleading words he 
had spoken. The memory of that inter- 
view will remain with him till his dying 
hour ; and from that time he became an 
altered character. We do not mean that 
he suddenly became good and pious and 
unselfish, but that day was the turning- 
point in his life ; and Philip was the 
instrument, in God's hands, of working 
this happy change in one hitherto so 
unpromising. 

Suitable occupation was eventually 
obtained for Tom, but not before he had 
been reconciled to his father, through the 
kind intercession of Mr. Lynton ; but Mr. 



170 



LYNTONVILLE. 



Hardy having expressed a wish that he 
should have an opportunity of gaining 
experience elsewhere before settling 
again in Fairfield, Tom returned to Mid- 
borough, where he remained some years. 
Happily he fell into good hands, and as 
time advanced he was enabled, by the 
grace of God, to overcome the disadvan- 
tages of his early associations. If we 
take a glance into the future, we shall 
sep that he has so far gained the esteem 
and approbation of his fellow-citizens in 
a commendable and successful career, 
that if circumstances do not belie the 
expectations of his most sanguine friends, 
he will yet be a member of the Legisla- 
tive Council of his country. 



CONCLUSION. 



171 



CHAPTER XII. 



CONCLUSION. 



*' Be Btill, sad heart, and cease repining ; 
Behind the cloud is the sun still shining." 

*' Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the 

morning." 

March had set in with hard frosts 
and keen, biting winds, but every one 
rejoiced that the long winter was nearly- 
over; and as Philip seemed no worse 
than he had been for some months, hope 
began to grow strong in his mother's 
heart. But the doctor shook his head. 

"I fear the month of May more than 
any thing for him," he said one day to 
Mrs. Lynton; "the sudden changes of 
our climate are so trying to patients of 
this class. A sea- voyage might save 
him ; but I Ve not said so before, for in 



172 



LYNTONVILLE. 



Mrs. Quints circumstances it must be out 
of the o'ipstion." 

Philip, who was inclined to be rather 
desponding by nature, had long given up 
all hopes of recovering; and his most 
sorrowful thought was of the parting with 
his mother, and leaving her to fight the 
hard battle of life alone. Often thev 
would read together the descriptions of 
the heavenly land to which he seemed 
to be hastening, where there would be 
no more sorrow or parting, and where 
tears would be wiped from every eye. 
But the parting was not so near as Philip 
and his widowed mother feared, for the 
chastening hand which it had pleased 
God to lay upon them so long was about 
to be removed, and brighter days were 
in store. 

Not many days after Dr. Ford's last 
visit, a large packet of letters which had 
arrived by the last English mail was 



CONCLUSION. 



173 



brought in and laid before Mr. Lynton, 
as the custom of the house was, when the 
party were all assembled at breakfast. 
Every one was soon occupied in reading 
his own, when a sudden exclamation of 
surprise from Mr. Lynton attracted the 
attention of all. 

** Well, this is passing strange ; in- 
deed, I may sa-y providential. My dear 
madam, let me congratulate you most 
warmly," said he, rising and shaking 
hands heartily with Mrs. Quin. "I have 
good news for you,*^ I am informed that 
your son, Philip Walter Quin, has just 
fallen heir to the property, real and per- 
sonal, of his uncle Capt. W. P. Quin, 
who died suddenly on the tenth of April 
last. A long and fruitless search has 
been made for him, and now this letter 
is sent to me as the magistrate of this 
district, making inquiries concerning the 
whereabouts of the said Philip Quin, 



174 



LYNTONVILLE. 



who is supposed to be living somewhere 
in the neighborhood, as his presence is 
required at once, if possible, in Eng- 
land. I think," he added smiling, '* I 
shall be able to give the requisite infor- 
mation." 

Astonishment took the place of every 
other feeling in Mrs. Quin's mind at these 
unexpected tidings. 

"But are you sure this is true?" she 
said, " for one chief cause of our leaving 
Ireland, and our consequent troubles, 
was an unhappy quarrel between my 
husband and his brother, and any hopes 
of help from that quarter I had entirely 
given up for years." 

''Nevertheless it is undoubtedly true," 
replied Mr. Lynton, " for here are full 
particulars from his solicitor." 

Mrs. Quin took the letter; but her 
eyes were blinded by the fast-falling 
tears, as she thought that if this good 



CONCLUSION. 



176 



news had only come in time, her son 
might have been spared to her. 

"Oh," cried Mrs. Lynton, when she 
understood it all, **how thankful I am. It 
was only the other day Dr. Ford told me 
that a sea-voyage might yet save ""hilip, 
and I believe it will." The widow caught 
eagerly at her cheering words, and when 
the doctor came in later in the day and 
confirmed her most sanguine hopes, her 
joy and gratitude to the gracious Giver 
of all good things knew no bounds. 

"But 3'ou must break it to him very 
cautiously," said he, "for any great ex- 
citement in his weak state might prove 
fatal ; and the greatest care will be noc- 
essary in the land journey. Once get 
him to the sea, and there is not so much 
to fear." 

It was some time before the widowed 
mother could realize her happiness, for 
she hardly dared to believe that her be- 



176 



LYNTONVILLE. 



loved son might yet be spared to her. 
As she grew accustomed to the idea, and 
felt that their bitter days of poverty 
were over, her joy seemed almost too 
great. 

"How can 1 ever thank you, my dear, 
kind friends, for all you have done for 
me and mine?" she said. "Without 
your generous sympathy, our life would 
indeed have been sad — strangers and 
poor in a foroign land; but God will 
reward you." 

No one rejoiced more unfeignedly in 
the welcome tidings than Harry, and he 
showed his glee in the most characteris- 
tic manner. It was all they could do to 
prevent his rushing up to Philip at once, 
and telling him the whole story in his 
excited way ; but as this was strictly and 
seriously forbidden, he was obliged to 
content himself with fidgeting in and out 
of his room, and continually bursting out 



CONCLUSION. ~ 177 

into little bits of ecstacy, rubbing his 
hands and muttering to himself, " Oh, 
is n't it jolly ?" Then, suddenly remem- 
bering that a weighty secret was entrust- 
ed to his keeping which he was on no 
account to divulge, he would try to look 
grave and pull on a long face, until the 
next happy thoughts of his friend's good 
fortune would set him off again. It must 
be confessed that all this was rather 
trying to the young invalid, who being 
unacquainted with the cause of his odd 
behavior wondered what could possess his 
light-hearted companion. But Harry's 
patience was not destined to be put to a 
very severe test. Towards evening, Mrs. 
Quin went up to sit with Philip in the 
twilight, as was her wont ; and for a few 
moments after her first loving inquiries 
they were silent, his thin hand resting in 
the warm, loving embrace of hers. 

"God has been very merciful to us, 

12 



h 



178 



LYNTONVILLE. 



my darling," she said softly at length, as 
he leaned his head against her. 

"Yes," he answered; but he spoke 
sadly, for he was thinking of the parting 
which seemed so near. Then he looked 
up in her face, as the flame from the 
open stove glanced upon it in the dim 
light, and he saw that, though her eyes 
were glistening with tears, it wore a joy- 
ful expression. *' What is it, mother? 
something has happened." 

"I have just received the news of 
your uncle Walter^s death, Philip." 

"Oh, mother; but that does not make 
you glad, does it?" 

"God forgive me," thought she, "I 
have been seliBsh in my joy. No, my 
boy," she said aloud, "though I never 
saw him ; but, Philip, it alters our cir- 
cumstances very much." 

" Oh, I am so glad, so thankful. Now 
I shall die without a care, if I think you 



CONCLUSION. 



179 



are provided for. God has indeed been 
good to us ;" and the tears rolled down 
his face. 

"Yes, darling; and suppose you were 
to get well, Philip ; suppose it were now 
in our power to use the only means of 
doing you good." 

"Mother," said he, **you would not 
say so if you had not good hopes : tell 
me, Oh do tell me ; is it true ?" 

' * My son, in Grod's great mercy I believe 
it is, ^^ she replied solemnly. ' ' I would not, 
you know I would not, be so cruel as to 
raise false hopes ; but Dr. Ford assures 
me that a sea-voyage may yet restore 
you ; and now, thank God, we can go." 

"Oh, I am thankful, mother, dear 
mother. It would have been hard to part ; 
but if I am spared, may God give me 
grace to live more to his glory, and to be 
a greater comfort to you than I have 
been." The room grew darker and dark- 




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180 



LYNTONVILLE. 



er, but there was light and joy in their 
hearts, such as they had not known for 
many long days; and the mother and 
son rejoiced together in their great hap- 
piness. 

Little more remains to be told. Mr. 
Lynton had been long wishing for an op- 
portunity of sending Harry to finish his 
education in England, and though his 
parents were grieved at the thought of 
parting with him, yet they would no». ■ ::'e 
so good an opportunity; so it was at- 
ranged that he should accompany Mrs. 
Quin and Philip. Great care was taken 
of the young invalid, and they reached 
Quebec by short and easy stages. The 
journey did not try him so much even as 
they expected, and with the first breath 
of sea-air came a change for the better. 
They arrived in Liverpool after a pros- 
perous voyage, and soon after proceeded 
to London, where Harry sorrowfully 



CONCLUSION. 



181 



bade them farewell before entering alone 
upon the new and varied experiences of 
an English public school. He often miss- 
ed Philip's ready advice and help, and 
right glad was he when they met again 
once more. It was in Mrs. Quin's pleas- 
ant country residence that his happy holi- 
days were spent. Here was his second 
home, and he loved to call it so. 

Philip by this time had regained even 
more than his former health, and when 
Harry's holidays were over, he returned 
with him, to contend once more for the 
double honors of class and play-ground. 
The discipline of their early days was 
not lost upon either of them, and Philip 
especially never regretted the lessons of 
self-dependence and self-sacrifice which 
he had been taught in the stern school of 
adversity. 

And is there no truth that our young 
readers may learn from the little story 



182 



LYNTONVILLE. 



we have related? We think there is. 
The word of God tells us that "none of 
us liveth to himself." Each word and 
action of even the very youngest must 
exercise some influence for evil or for 
good on those around him ; and we have 
seen how Philip's quiet, consistent con- 
duct was the means, in God's hands, of 
leading one who seemed in every way 
most unpromising, to seek for pardon and 
peace through our Saviour Christ, who 
alone can bestow it. 

The work which God gives each one 
of us, young and old, to do, lies close to 
our hand ; and though the path of duty 
is sometimes rugged and steep, calling 
for patient self-denial, yet if we strive by 
God's grace to go straight forward in it, 
he will surely make use of our silent ex- 
ample for his own glory and the good of 
those about us. 

Years after, when Philip revisited the 



CONCLUSION. 



183 



scenes of his boyish trials, and once more 
renewed his acquaintance with his old 
companion and former foe, Tom Hardy, 
now become a good and worthy man, he 
was able to look back upon his early dis- 
cipline with thankfulness, and to feel that 
it had not been in vain that so many of 
*^is early days had been spent in the 
forest shades of 

i 

LYNTONVILLE. 




FOR CHILDREN AND YOUTH 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 150 NASSAU-STREET, 

NEW YORK. 



•*-¥• 



Flowers of Spring-time. Combming amusement and 
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Home Scenes. An elegant small quarto for the family, 
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Views from Nature. Forty scenes in nature and art. 
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Lullabies, Ditties, and Tales. Original short Poems 
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FOR SALE AT 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK; 
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