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FISHERMAN'S BOY. 



"ALL HAVE NOT THE SAME GIFTS." 




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ij>ij3L'feMJ^'-Pt THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 



150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 




THE NEW YORK 
PUBLIC LIBRARY 

589459 

A8TOR, LENOX AND 
TILDE N FOUNDATIONS. 

R is«3 L 



The following story is believed to be true to nature 
and to life, though the characters described are rather 
types of classes than portraits of individuals, and the 
incidents are such as a earful observer of men and 
things may safely group together, rather than a nar- 
rative of a real series of facts. 



Entered according to Act 'of Congi;ess, ,m tttie= year 1860, by the 
Ajierican Tract Society, in^the TlerJi'J d^^ofShe District Court 
of the Southern District of'tne tSfatfe of X&w York. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 
Jack Bundy 6 

CHAPTER II. 
Mary's boy - - — 9 

CHAPTER III. 
School • - - 15 

CHAPTER IV. 
Two comforters 25 

CHAPTER V. 
Oria's resolution - 32 

CHAPTER VI. 
An interview 39 

^' CEAPfER VjJ.' 
Five years later .'-.■-..-' 44 

; CHAP.TaR..;^niL 
The holiday — ' — — r --;-"»- ■%-'-''--' 51 

CHAPTER IX. 
Thomas Phipps 58 



^ CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER X. 
A sermon - 

CHAPTER XI. 
The voice of the book ^"^ 

CHAPTER XII. 
Home scenes '" 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Friends '^^ 

CHAPTER XIV. 
The schoolmaster °-* 

CHAPTER XV. 
Spring-tune ^^ 

CHAPTER XVI. 
Conclusion 



THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 



CHAPTER I. 

JACK BUNDY. 



On the borders of a pleasant bay, Jack Bun- 
dy the fisherman had built his humble cot- 



tage. 



Jack had never heard of a book on architec- 
ture, nor had he ever seen any building more 
beautiful than the old square red-brick "meet- 
ing-house," the glory of his native village. 

Jack had reason to bless that dear old church, 
and he loved it just next to his most precious 
earthly possession, his boat. Yet when he 
came to build a home of his own, he did not 
pattern after its great bare sides, or put a 
miniature steeple on his humble roof. No, no. 
Jack had better ideas than that. Somehow a 
love of the beautiful had crept into Jack's hon- 



6 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

est heart, perhaps because he loved the great 
C'rdator so dearly, who scatters beauty every- 
where with a free hand. 

Jack's neighbors wondered that he did not 
buy a lot facing on the Green, the tiny public 
square of the village, where he would be in 
full sight of the town-pump, and have a chance 
to count the cows and geese on the common, 
not to speak of the extra advantages for " train- 
ing dogs,'' without going off his own premises. 

Jack was of a different mind. No place 
would suit him but a spot just on the very 
shore of the bay, where the bluff had rounded 
away and made a quiet nook, with tlie high 
rocks at its back, and the noble sheet of water 
shining in front. 

Here Jack put his cottage. He helped to 
build it himself, and many pleasant thoughts 
he had as the work went on — thoughts of future 
happiness with his Mary. But not on earthly 
happiness alone was Jack's mind dwelling. 
As beam after beam, and stone after stone 
were laid. Jack thought of the temple raised 
"without sound of hammer," and of the " house 
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
There was no lack of hammering in the build- 



JACK BUNDY. 7 

ing of Jack's cottage, and yet he resolved it 
sliould be a temple of tlie Lord, so far as it 
could be consecrated by prayer at tlie family 
altar, and in the closet, and the devout walk- 
ing together of two faithful servants of God. 

True, he might n^ver occupy the home about 
which he was laboring so cheerfully. Jack 
knew that. A man accustomed to earn his 
bread among the uncertain waves was not like- 
ly to forget that truth. Yet the honest fisher- 
man's brow was not clouded by the thought of 
possible death. It but sobered his joy, and 
gavo a better and a brighter light to his eye j 
that light which comes when the true follower 
of Christ catches a glimpse of the glory in 
store for him when alx his earthly toils are 
over. 

Jack's home was done at last. A pretty 
place it was, with its dark upright posts, .filled 
in with the rocks that had been gathered from 
the very spot w^here it stood. Jack could not 
wait for the wild hanging vines to curtain it 
with green drapery, as they had done to the 
bluff at its back, so he coaxed the flowering 
beans to be growing outside while the plaster- 
ing went on within. 



8 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

The beans were all in blossom when Jack 
Bundy led liis Mary to her new home; but 
Jack did not look at the pretty flowers, he had 
no eyes but for his Mary ; and truly she was a 
wife well worthy of his honest, loying heart. 

Jack had been half afraid he should find a 
fisherman's lot a hard one, when it obliged him 
to be daily turning his back upon a pleasant 
home. He had forgotten his own contented 
spirit, sure to see a bright side to every thing, 
and to receive with thankfulness any lot sent 
him by his heavenly Father. 

When Mary stood at the door, pointing up- 
ward with her finger, as her last commending 
to heaven, Jack felt ^hat it was a pleasant 
thing to go out upon . deep waters, sure that 
he was followed by the true prayers of a lov- 
ing wife. 



MARY'S BOY. 9 

CHAPTER II. 

MARY'S' BOY. 

Time sped on, and Jack, in his spare hours,- 
had to turn his rough hands to new and dqli- 
cate work. A little baby had arrived, and 
Jack must do his share of the nursing. 

He made out very well, considering his in- 
experience at the business, and Mary soon de- 
clared that "iDaby'' would be still with his 
" pa " when nobody else could quiet him. To 
be sure nobody ever tried but Mary herself, 
and she did not try very long, for she dearly 
loved to see the little thing nestle in its fa- 
ther's strong arms, and to hear his deep voice 
grow low and gentle as he lulled his darling 
to sleep. 

What a darling that was. What a pet. 
Jack pretended that he loved him so, because 
the boy was like his mother; but Mary did 
not look for any excuse for the new tide of 
tenderness that was filling her heart. She 
hugged the little thing close, and thanking 
God for her treasure, felt at liberty to love 
him just as well as she pleased. 



10 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Orin, the baby was called, after Mary's fa- 
ther. It was not long before he began to say at 
least the first letter of his own name, and Mary 
thought he was going to be a famous talker, 
•and she had some dim notion that he might 
iproYQ as wonderful a preacher as good Mr. 
Sargent, who though he gave his people two 
sermons a Sunday for forty years, never wore 
out his own patience, nor that of his congrega- 
tion. 

That first letter " " seemed to be a favor- 
ite with the baby, for even when he could speak 
his whole name, it came again and again before 
the second syllable was added. 

Very hard work it was for Orin to learn to 
talk, in spite of his early promise. Jack and 
Mary had many a hearty laugh at his awkward 
attempts, and Mary often got tired of waiting 
for the reluctant words to come out, and finish- 
ed them off while Orin was stumbling over 
some troublesome syllable that seemed just 
when he wanted it to be anywhere but on his 
lips. 

All the neighbors said the boy was a sad 
stammerer, and that if he were not broken of 
the trick at once it would cling to him all his 



MARY'S BOY, 11 

life ; but the fond parents had not once thought 
that there could be any defect in their darling. 

Seven years had passed away, and Orin had 
learned a wonderful variety of things, about 
which many children of his age know nothing. 
He could tell a ship from a bark as far as he 
could see it. And asilfor sloops and schooners, 
he knew well enough how they should be built, 
for he had quite a fleet of his own construc- 
tion. Orin could tell you when it would be 
high tide on a certain day without going either 
to the almanac or his mother ; and as to fish- 
ing, he could talk about it as well as his 
father. 

Better knowledge than this the little Orin 
had gained. He could not remember when he 
first learned that Glod was the great Creator 
of all things, and now it seemed natural to him 
when he looked on the bright waters to say, 
" The sea is his, and he made it ; and his hands 
prepared the dry land." Orin could not recall 
the time when he had first folded his hands in 
prayer, and asked petitions in the name of 
Jesus. 

Mary's heart was too full of gratitude to 
God for her dear child, to forget to teach 



12 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

that child to know and love his lieavenly 
Father. 

To hear his mother read from the best of 
books was Orin's delight ; and as Mary noted 
his eager, earnest eyes fixed on her, she fancied 
she saw some realization of her wishes and her 
prayers for her darling.J^es, he is to be like 
Samuel, the Lord's from his youth, she some- 
times murmured to herself. He loves the 
word of God. He is obedient and truthful. 
It may be that the Lord has touched his 
heart, and written his name already in the 
book of life. 

Then would rise the old wish and hope that 
had throbbed in her bosom when he first open- 
ed his pretty lips to speak that welcome " 0." 
Perhaps her son would be a minister of the 
gospel, and stand up to speak the glad tidings 
to listening people. There was joy in that 
thought, and Mary cherished it until it became 
almost the settled purpose of her heart for her 
boy. 

A Sabba.th stillness was over the bay one 
lovely summer evening. Mary and Jack were 
sitting on the rustic porch, in front of their 
cottage, while Orin had climbed up a rock 



MARY'S BOY. • 13 

near at hand, and was humming sweet hymns 
as he looked out on the quiet waters. 

Then Mary, for the first time, told her hus- 
band of her plan for her child. 

"It may be too much for us to think of," 
was Jack's reply. " The Lord will make him 
useful in his own way. We must prepare the 
little craft for the Master's service, and he will 
tell him where to sail for. There 's no harm 
thougl^^n giving the boy a chance. Let 's see, 
he is seven years old. It 's time he went to 
school. He shall begin to-morrow." 

]^[ary thought of the long lonely days with- 
out her little companion, and for the moment, 
felt inclined to draw back from having his edu- 
cation commenced so promptly. " He shall be- 
gin to-morrow," repeated Jack, decidedly. 

The good wife knew that after that, it was 
of no use for her to say a single word. Jack 
was accustomed to being sole ruler of his own 
little craft, and he was not inclined to be under 
subjection when on shore. 

When the stars came out little Orin ran to 
his father's side, and all three knelt for even- 
ing prayers. 

Orin wondered to hear his father pray for 



14 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

him with more earnestness than usual, as one 
given up by his parents to the service of God, 
yet his heart cheerfully responded to those 
words of solemn dedication. 

As the little fellow rose from his knees, he 
realized that he was particularly set apart to 
serve his Lord, and was somehow to Ibe very 
useful. A poor little helpless child he felt 
himself, and in his simple way, he asked God 
to teach him to do good in the world, for. he 
was sure he did not know how. 

When Mary went to sleep that night, her 
thoughts were in the far future, picturing the 
career of her boy. Jack, meanwhile, had but 
asked strength for the morrow's duties, and 
then left himself and his dear ones in the 
hands of his heavenly Father. 



SCHOOL. 15 



CHAPTER III. 

SCHOOL. 

Monday was always a busy day with Mary, 
and this particular Monday she felt called 
upon to rise at an unusually early hour. 
While the stars were still shining, she startled 
the robins in their nest in the lilac bush by 
throwing open the kitchen shutters ; and when 
Jack came down stairs, rubbing his eyes, the 
white clothes that were flapping on the line 
told how busy she had been. 

Other work too Mary had accomplished. 
There sat Orin, the very pink and pattern of 
neatness, already dressed for school. He wore 
the blue and white striped suit that had hith- 
erto been kept scrupulously for Sundays, and 
been taken off after seryice as regularly as was 
Mary's " best bonnet." There he sat, perched 
on a high chair, to keep clean, and warned not 
to get off and indulge in any dangerous diver- 
sions under penalty of his mother's extreme 
displeasure. Surely Orin began to think " go- 
ing to school " might not, after all, be the de- 



16 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

liglitful thing he had fancied it. Yet he some- 
how connected it with the career of future 
usefulness that was before him, a,nd resolved 
at last to bear patiently this his present trial, 
though he saw as yet but dimly what good he 
was to do in the world.,: 

Ah, Orin on the high chair had caught a 
valuable truth, which his elders might learn to 
advantage. It is the doing well the duty of 
the present hour that is our best preparation 
for coming duties, be they what they may. It 
is useless to fancy that we shall one day preach 
like Paul, or suffer with Stephen's saintly pa- 
tience, if we have not piety enough to do 
cheerfully and faithfully the small duties of 
to-day. 

Orin had no idea that any body would moral- 
ize about him or his doings. Right glad was 
he when he was summoned to the breakfast- 
table. In spite of the brown towel that was 
pinned tightly round his neck, to screen him 
from collar to pantaloon hem, he managed to 
take a breakfast that would have been a good 
preparation for physical labor, whatever effect 
it may have had on his mind. 

Orin could not go down with his father to the 



SCHOOL. 11 

shore that morning, and wade in bare-legged, 
to give the boat a parting shove, and halloo, 
as it lightly danced over the waves. No, no. 
Orin had to be kissed as he sat in the chair, to 
which he had been duly returned when the 
breakfast was over. It was not a sorrowful 
parting though, for Jack laughed heartily at 
his "neat little man," as he called him, and bade 
him be a fine scholar at school, and he would 
find out the use of it some day. 

Jack had got to the door, when he turned 
back suddenly, and laying his hand upon the 
boy's head, said, so soberly, " God bless you, my 
son," that Orin felt anew that his going to 
school was connected with that "future useful- 
ness" about which his father had prayed. Very 
welcome was the school-bell to the small pris- 
oner on the chair. He jumped down with a 
bound, and the exclamation, " Now, mother, I 
may be off."- ■- 

" Wait, my son, I am going with you," said 
Mary, putting on her bonnet as she spoke. 

Now Orin had been accustomed to range the 
village alone ever since his two feet could carry 
him, and he did not exactly see why he was to 
be escorted on this particular morning, but he 

FisherBojr. 2 



18 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

prudently said nothing of his difficulties on that 
subject. 

Mary had no idea of entering the school- 
house herself. She could not have borne the 
curious look of the hundred young eyes gather- 
ed there, not to speak of the undesirable item 
of an interview with the schoolmaster. 

She was content to put the boy in at the 
door, like a delivered parcel, sure, like many 
other parents, that after that all would be right, 
though exactly how, she could not tell. 

It seemed very odd to Orin to see boys whom 
he had known in the wild frolic of the play- 
ground, or in the more risky pleasures of the 
shore, sitting demurely on benches, and only 
looking at him out of the corners of their eyes, 
without so much as giving him a nod. 

He began to feel very shy and uncomfortable, 
and an irrepressible wish to see his mother ac- 
tually brought a tear to his eyes, and he was 
afraid it was going to be all over with him. 
Oh, he should make a baby of himself before 
the assembled school. 

At this critical moment Henry Dearborn was 
ordered to bring his copy-book to be examined 
by the master at the desk. A whole minute 



SCHOOL. 19 

had elapsed since Henry had dashed off the 
last letter on his well-written page, and that 
minute he had spent in looking at little Orin, 
and trying to catch his eye, to give him an en- 
couraging glance. Now he managed, as he 
passed the child on his low seat, to give him a 
friendly shake of the hand, which set Orin up 
at once. 

There was something in the acknowledged 
presence of a friend, that was just what Orin 
wanted, and that friend was one of the "big 
boys" too, full twelve years old, and tall of his 
age. Henry had other claims for respect, as 
Orin soon learned by the approving glance the 
master bestowed on his copy-book. 

Our little boy was beginning to feel at home, 
and to look about him for amusement. Not 
that he was fishing for quill-strippings, with a 
pin-hook and a piece of thread, like some of 
the mischievous boys on the back benches. 
Orin was but noting all that passed, and his 
face grew bright as his friend Henry appeared 
at the head of two classes in succession, as they 
filed along the crack of the floor for recitation. 

At length Thos. Phipps, as the boys called 
him, was summoned to show his copy-book. 



20 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

r Tlios. was the most miscliievous scamp in the 
village. Now, he had dared to draw a picture 
of a sloop in distress opposite to the page 
where his cramped letters contrasted but poor- 
ly with his bold style of drawing. 

Of course, Thos. received a thundering re- 
buke, and would doubtless have had a whipping, 
if he had not been one of those very strong, and 
very naughty boys, whom tlie master thought 
it not prudent to undertake to whip, excepting 
in extreme cases. 

Orin had been feeling almost extinguished 
at being even a hearer of the rebuke adminis- 
tered to the delinquent Thos., when the master ^s 
eye suddenly fell on him. " Come here, and say 
your letters," said the master, speaking to the 
new scholar. 

" He has n't ever learned them," said Henry 
Dearborn, protectively. 

" Then he can begin now. Speak when you 
are spoken to, Henry, if you please," was the 
answer. 

Orin stood up at the master's side. He man- 
aged to repeat "A," after the teacher, without 
once lifting his eyes from the spot where the 
master's pencil pointed out the mysterious letter. 



SCHOOL, 21 

" B," said the master. " Say B." 

Orin looked long and hard at the letter, 
moving his lips wistfully, and at length gave 
a perfect volley of sounds, exploding the con- 
sonants, it would be called in these days. Orin's 
master had no such exercise in his school, and 
he was not inclined to have a new pupil intro- 
duce the fashion. 

The school was in a roar. A thundering rap 
of the ruler on the desk insured silence. The 
mischievous Thos. had tried the master's pa- 
tience sorely, and he was not in a mood to bear 
much more. 

" Try again," he said, making an effort to be 
calm. 

Poor Orin ! His vowels had forsaken him. 
He could but begin again and again the " B '^ 
he was so anxious to pronounce. 

Another roar followed his ineffectual at- 
tempts. 

" What do you mean?" said the master, taking 
the child furiously by the arm. 

"Please, sir," said Henry Dearborn, rising 
quickly, " Please, sir, the boy stammers ; he can't 
speak his own name without stuttering. It's 
no fault of his. He's been so always." 



22 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

" Then he had better not undertake to come 
to school," said the master, quickly. Then tap- 
ping the bell, he gave the signal for recess. 

Away poured the boys, helter-skelter, through 
the open door. 

Orin put on his little straw hat, far down 
over his eyes, and followed. He stopped not 
at the play-ground, but straight on he walked, 
past the high fence, and on under the wide- 
spreading trees that had looked so pleasantly 
to him in the morning. 

He could not see them now, his eyes were 
full of tears. 

Down on a quiet stone by the wayside, the 
little boy took his seat. Perhaps he could not 
carry the heavy load at his heart any farther ; 
perhaps he was unwilling to let his mother see 
sorrow in the face she so dearly loved. 

Orin's head was bowed on his knees, when a 
quick step brought some one to his side. 

'' Oh, here you are, Orin. I have been looking 
for you," said Henry Dearborn's pleasant voice. 
" Come play 'I spy;' the boys are all at it." 

"I — I am going home," said Orin, speaking 
with his usual difficulty. " He said it was of 
no use." Here Orin actually sobbed. 



SCHOOL. 23 

Henry managed to change places with Orin, 
so as to get the little fellow into his lap, and 
then he tried to comfort him. There was some- 
thing more in Orin's sorrow than mere morti- 
fication about his stammering. Henry knew 
he did not mind being laughed at about that. 
At length the secret was won from the weep- 
ing child. He managed to let Henry know that 
somehow he had expected to do a great deal of 
good in the world, if he learned well at school, 
and now he would be fit for nothing. The mas- 
ter had said it was of no use for him, and now 
" may-be he would never do any thing for the 
Lord all his life." 

Here was a trouble which it was out of 
Henry's power to relieve. 

The child of a home of plenty, quick in mind, 
and strong in body, Henry had never once 
thought of doing any thing for his heavenly 
Father. He had not even thanked him cor- 
dially for his mercies. Orin was doing work 
for the Lord at the very moment he was most 
in despair. Henry had caught a new idea. 

" Dear little Orin,^I do n't know what to say 
to you," said Henry, kissing the child. " Shall 
I walk home with you?" 



24 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

"You couldn't — you'd be too late," said 
Orin, in his own slow way, " and besides, per- 
liaps I had better go alone." Orin felt the 
need of a few moments of quiet before he met 
his mother. 

Henry's " Good-by, Orin," was full of kind- 
ness, and it cheered the little fellow, as he 
turned towards his homeward path, along the 
solitary beach. 



TWO COMFORTERS. 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

TWO COMFORTERS. 

Although it was only eleven o^clock, Mary 
had begun to run, at intervals, to the cottage 
door, to look for Orin. Not that she expected 
him yet ; she knew very well that school would 
not be over until twelve, but it was some relief 
to her loneliness to have his coming in her 
mind. 

A long, long morning it had seemed to Mary, 
and a tiresome one too. She had missed the 
willing little feet that were wont to save her 
so many steps. She did not know the child 
was so useful to her, until she came to wait 
upon herself once more. She was accustomed 
to have him playing along the beach, and coming 
in now and then, to tell her wonderful stories 
of vessels careening till the sails swept the 
water, or of strange sea creatures washed 
ashore and captured by curious boys. 

She missed his little talk. She did not 
mind his stammering. She could understand 



2G THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Lim well enough, and every word he said was 
pleasant to her ears. 

Mary had set the dinner-table an hour too 
soon. Her early start in the morning had put 
her work all in advance, and she actually did 
not know what to take hold of next. 

Mary was laying out her plan of operations 
for the coming hour, and at the same time look- 
ing absently down the road. Suddenly she 
spied a little figure coming slowly along the 
shore. It had none of the joyous movement of 
her Orin, and yet there were the striped pants. 
She could see the pattern, and that hat drawn 
down over the eyes was Orin's own hat, put on 
so^ cheerily in the morning. 

Mary ran to meet her darling, and peered 
tenderly at the shaded face. 

"Why, what^s the matter?'' she exclaimed. 
Orin's eyes were not often red with recent tears. 

The child threw himself into her arms and 
cried as if his heart would break. He had 
not meant to do so. He had thoroughly deter- 
mined to tell the whole story calmly, but that 
tender look of his mother's overcame him. 

Mary caught the boy up in her arms, and ran 
with him to her home; and sitting on the door 



TWO COMFORTERS. 27 

step, slie soothed liim on her bosom as if he 
had been an infant, while her own tears drop- 
ped to see his flow so freely. He could not tell 
his trouble, she knew that very well, until his 
burst of grief was over. It was hard work 
enough for Orin to talk when he had not that 
terrible swelling in his throat, which sometimes 
chokes the best of speakers. 

By slow degrees Mary learned the little that 
Orin had to tell. Then her indignation burst 
forth, that any one should say or think any thing 
to the disadvantage of her darling. Mingled 
with anger, was a bitter feeling of disappoint- 
ment, which made her a poor comforter. There 
was a lurking suspicion that all her fine plans 
for her boy were overthrown for ever. That 
suspicion stirred her inmost heart. A very 
dreary hour the two had passed together, so 
taken up with their doleful talk, that they had 
not noticed the dark shadows that had been 
creeping over the sky. A sudden clap of thun- 
der changed their current of thought in a mo- 
ment. 

" I wish Jack was safe at home," said Mary, 
looking out anxiously. 

"And so he is — God be praised," said a cheer- 



28 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

ful voice at her side, " and where 's our little 
man? Whereas Orin?" 

Mary pointed to the low seat, wliere Orin 
still kept his place. 

" What, at home and not come out to meet 
your father ! Have you got too wise to keep 
company with the old fisherman already?" 
said Jack, laughing. 

There was no responsive smile on the face of 
the boy. 

Mary drew her husband aside, and told him 
of the child's mortification and disappointment, 
trembling as she did so lest she should rouse 
an anger that would not be easily calmed. 

Yery sorrowful was Jack's face as he listen- 
ed, but there was no angry flash in his eye. It 
was tender pity for his child that was filling 
his heart. The shadow passed in a moment 
from the fine countenance of the hardy man. 
Springing into the cottage, he caught him in 
his arms, and gave him two or three rides 
round the room on his shoulders that were in 
themselves sufficiently exhilarating. " Why," 
he exclaimed, as he put the boy down at last, 
" why, then you are not to be a scholar, after 
all. I believe the master is ridit. We mis- 



TWO COMFORTERS. 29 

took 5"our business. There are more trades 
than one, my man." 

Jack sat down as he spoke, and took Orin on 
his knee. " Why, child," he continued, " learn- 
ing is n't every thing, for all it is very well for 
them that are made for it." 

Orin actually managed, without a flood of 
tears, to speak of his disappointment about 
being that very useful man to work for the 
Lord that he had thought about in the morn- 
ing, and had felt his parents meant him to be. 

" Keep up heart, Ory, my boy," said Jack, 
with one of his clear, bright smiles. " God 
has work for you to do yet. Do n't you know 
when Jerry Twining made my new boat, how 
he used first one tool, then another, little and 
big? They all came to hand, and did their 
work in good time. God needs all kinds of 
good men to work for him in this world. He 
wants good blacksmiths and carpenters, good 
fishermen and farmers, just as much as he wants 
the knowing men, with the learning in their 
heads, who stand up in the pulpits, or write 
great big books for other folks to read. If 
your heart is right, Ory, and you love the Lord 
as you should, he '11 have something for you to 



30 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

do for him one of these days. Never you mind 
3^our stammering, darling. Speak as well as 
you can ; but remember, it is not always those 
who talk the best who are the best men. Love 
God and do your duty ; that 's your business ; 
and just now you 've got to wash your face, 
and take off your Sunday suit, for I shall want 
you to help me bale out the boat by and by. 
I can see the waves washing into her as I sit 
here. Oh, how it pours." 

Orin was cheered and comforted. How he 
loved his father then. Precious as had been 
his mother's tender sympathy, even more wel- 
come was Jack's kind counsel. Orin put up 
his lips, and the father gave him a warm kiss, 
which seemed to be a sign between them that 
the trouble was over. 

Away bounded Orin to don his week-day 
dress, while Mary drew near to her husband. 

"Jack, you are so much wiser than I am," 
she said; "you always take hold of things by 
the right end. What a mercy it is our Orin 
has such a father." 

" And such a mother, too," said Jack, fondly. 
"He needs us both, the dear boy. So sensi- 
ble: there isn't such another in town," 



<:»m;'A 




TWO COMFORTERS. 31 

The storm that had hurried Jack Bundy 
home at midday, lasted but a few hours. The 
waves that had been lashed to sudden fury 
began to ripple quietly along the shore, and 
the anchored vessels were alive with the stir 
of approaching departure. Jack was busy 
baling out his boat, singing as he worked. 

There too was Orin, in his red flannel shirt, 
and his trowsers rolled up to the knees, feeling 
apparently as happy and contented as if he had 
never been the melancholy little boy who stood 
at the master's side in the school-room. Orin's 
troubles seemed to have passed away as swiftly 
as the storm, yet they had left their sad trace 
on his young heart. 

When he knelt that night in his evening 
prayer, he left out the petition, "Forgive us 
our trespasses as we forgive those who tres- 
pass against us." He did not want God to 
feel towards him as he felt towards the school- 
master. Ah, Orin had work to do for the Lord 
in the subduing of that feeling of resentment 
which, if encouraged, might carry him far, far 
from holiness and heaven. 



32 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

CHAPTER Y. 

ORIN'S RESOLUTION. 

The week following tlie important Monday 
passed away at Jack Bundy's cottage much as 
usual. The ordinary amount of scouring was 
done, and the place wore its wonted air of clean- 
liness and cheerfulness. 

Orin felt that his mother's manner was par- 
ticularly tender towards him; and when his 
father brought him home a new fishing-line as 
a present, Orin was inclined to tell them both 
that he did not deserve their kindness. 

Down, down in his heart there was a grow- 
ing feeling of resentment towards the school- 
master, that he had as yet been unable to check. 
When Jack read, at morning prayers, " Love 
your enemies ; pray for them that despitefully 
use you," Orin felt that he was particularly 
addressed. He did go, all alone under the 
bluff, and pray for the only man who had ever 
spoken harshly to him ; but he was sure, even 
after that, he did not love him. 

Perhaps if it had been easier for Orin to 



ORIN'S RESOLUTION. 33 

talk, he would have told his father his diffi- 
culty, sure of kind counsel and tender consid- 
eration. As it was, he buried his trouble in 
his heart, much cogitating as to what was to be 
done about it. 

Henry Dearborn, meanwhile, had not forgot- 
ten his little friend, and had been planning a 
special entertainment for his diversion, as a 
kind of set-off against that morning of sorrow. 

Saturday came, a pleasant day, much to the 
joy of all the children, who were to be released 
from school, and let loose on the village to 
amuse themselves. 

Henry Dearborn was early at Jack Bundy's 
cottage to beg that little Orin might be allow- 
ed to spend the day with him at his father's 
farm. Mary had never spared her darling 
from her for a whole day in all his short life ; 
but she was in a mood to be particularly indul- 
gent to him, and so gave a prompt consent. 

When in charge of a boy so much older than 
himself, she reasoned, he surely could come to 
no harm ; besides, good Mrs. Dearborn was 
known the country round as a careful, cleanly 
body, whose heart was as full of kindliness as 
were her pantries of good cheer. 

Fisherman's Boy. ■" £> 



34 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Orin could not of course lose tliis opportunity 
of showing Henry Ms new fishing-line, of which 
he was particularly proud. 

" Take it with you, Ory ; we '11 have a fine 
chance for fishing off the rock below the corn- 
fields. I caught an eel there last week, which 
was a perfect rouser." 

Orin liked any thing in the way of fishing; 
and as to eels, he considered them special dain- 
ties, just about the nicest things that ever a 
hungry boy could have for breakfast. 

Orin felt like a grown-up man as he walked 
off beside Henry, with a long fishing-pole over 
his shoulder and a covered basket in his hand, 
to bring home fish or blackberries, as the 
chances of the day might turn out. Like a 
man Orin felt in some respects, but there was 
something very sweet and childlike in the way 
he ran back to kiss his mother again, after he 
had once started, and to tell her not to be 
lonely, and to remember how much he would 
have to tell her on his return, to make up for 
her long day in the quiet cottage. 

It is not our purpose to dwell on the joy it 
was to Orin to climb farmer Dearborn's apple- 
trees, and fill his mouth and his pockets, with- 



OKIN'S RESOLUTION. 35 

out fear of being Trarned off by a cross man or 
a snappisli dog. We can but hint at Ms inno- 
cent wonder at seeing such stores of milk and 
butter, and such rows of pies as *Mrs. Dear- 
born's dairy and pantry contained. 

The visit to the stable and the poultry-yard, 
the barn and the cow-pasture, were full of 
pleasure ; yet, after all, Orin's delight seemed 
to have reached its climax when he sat at last 
on the high rock, with his fishing-rod in his 
hand, and Henry at his side. 

Pursuing his favorite diversion in a new 
place and in new company, gave it an especial 
zest. 

The fish did not seem to be in a mood to be 
caught in a hurry ; but Or in did not mind that, 
he was used to waiting for the whims of the 
sly creatures. Many pleasant thoughts he had 
had, sitting at the water-side. It was to him 
particularly pleasant to be roused from a long 
meditation on the building of boats, the rais- 
ing of hollyhocks, or some graver theme, by 
such a pull at his line as proved something 
there at last. It was no time now for silent 
thought, with such a friend at hand as Henry 
had proved himself. 



86 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

So Orin spoke out what was in his mind. 
"The apostles were fishermen, weren't they, 
Henry ; at least some of them ? I like to think 
that; do n't you?" 

Henry smiled, and said he didn't know as 
much about the apostles as Orin seemed to. 

" Well, I should n't know about them if 
mother did n't tell me about them ; and father 
reads about them too. I could say all their 
names, if I could speak them right." 

We give Orin's conversation without the 
stammering and pauses, which were its never- 
failing accompaniments. 

Henry was so used to his peculiarities, that 
he understood him as readily as a mother does 
the signs of her deaf and dumb child. 

Orin was the first now to give a check to 
their confidential talk. By a sudden placing 
of his finger to his lips, he gave token that he 
had a bite, to which he must give his whole 
attention. His cork did not go down under 
water, but it had that sly, occasional dimple 
that showed very well there was an eel in ques- 
tion. An eel, truly. A perfect sea-monster, 
in Orin's eyes, was drawn triumphantly up at 
last. Orin looked lovingly at the slimy crea- 



ORIN'S RESOLUTION. 3T 

ture, and would have stroked it tenderly, if 
his eelship would have permitted the famil- 
iarity. 

" What a breakfast that will make," said 
Orin, as he confined his treasure safely in the 
basket. 

At that moment a new thought struck him, 
and a saying of his father's rose to his mind. 
He had often heard Jack say, " When I owe a 
man a grudge, I do him a favor if I can, and 
that seems to ease my mind and helps me to 
get over the ugly feeling." 

" Here is something all my own, and I have 
a right to do as I please with it. How would 
it do to give it to the schoolmaster? He'd 
be mighty glad to get it, of course." 

So reasoned Orin with himself. " And Orin 
would be mighty sorry to part with it, and 
that too to somebody that was n't overkind to 
him." So suggested a tempter within. 

" I 'm going to give this eel to the master," 
spoke out Orin, quickly. He wanted to de- 
cide upon the thing at once, lest he should 
waver and fail entirely. " That 's just what I 
mean to do." 

" I would n't give it to him, by a long 



38 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

shot/' said Henry. " You do n't owe him any- 
thing." 

" But I feel hard towards him, and I think I 
should get over it easier if I give him this; 
and I mean to do it. I hav'n't said 'Our 
Father,' straight through, this week. I can't 
say that part about the trespasses, and I do n't 
feel right to go on so. We must make up 
somehow. I '11 try the eel." 

Orin peeped curiously into the basket to see 
if the proposed gift was safely there, and Hen- 
ry, meanwhile, gazed on his companion with a 
look half wonder and half tender respect. 

Time spent with Orin was not lost time to 
Henry Dearborn, and he was beginning to feel 
that it was not, in the depths of his heart. 



AN INTERVIEW. 39 

CHAPTER VI. 

AX INTERVIEW. 

Orin had no second bite that day at farmer 
Dearborn's to equal that sly attack that ended 
in the capture of the eel. The child's basket 
contained but a few small fishes and the de- 
voted treasure, when he started homeward tow- 
ards evening. 

Good Mrs. Dearborn had not let him go off, 
it is true, without a plentiful supper and a pock- 
et full of apples, but the very idea of parting 
with the eel had put upon it a practical value 
in his eyes. He thought he would go home 
and show it to his mother first; but as the 
master's house lay directly in his way, and he 
began to feel in his feet the efi'ects of his day's 
sport, he changed his mind, and determined to 
carry out his project at once. 

The schoolmaster had been enjoyiug his day 
of freedom from care, and was sitting in a ge- 
nial mood in his small front porch when Orin 
came in sight. 

The boy had imagined himself knocking at 



40 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

a closed door, and gaiDing courage while some- 
body slowly came to open it. Here was an 
unexpected state of things. Orin felt that he 
should give up unless he proceeded to business 
at once. Quickening his steps into a run, Orin 
was soon directly in front of the master. 

" I Ve brought you a present/' said Orin, 
stammering at each word, while the master 
looked at him in wonder. It was not easy to 
recognize the neat, demure boy he had seen on 
the little bench at school in the flushed child, 
whose week-day suit was none the cleaner for 
his day at the Dearborn's. The stammering 
accent served to jog the listener's memory, and 
to give him an uncomfortable twinge of con- 
science at the same time. He had thought 
often during the week that he had spoken 
roughly to the little stranger, and had wished 
he would come at least once more to show he 
had not been kept away by the harsh treat- 
ment. 

"What could the boy mean?" The school- 
master was silent, while Orin uncovered his 
basket and exhibited the contents, saying, 
" The eel, sir, I brought you. It is the biggest 
I ever caught." 



AN INTERVIEW. 41 

The master looked into the child's face, beau- 
tiful with the expression that reigned there. 
That true, clear glance was not to be mis- 
taken. 

''I thank you with all my heart,'' said the 
master, taking the child's hand. He would 
not have owned to anybody that there was a 
tear in his eye as he did so. " I thank you 
with all my heart," he repeated ; " and I will 
take it if you will answer just one question." 

There could be no harm in promising, Orin 
thought. He must make the present, at all 
odds ; so he promised. 

" I only want to know why you give this to 
me," said the master, with a searching glance. 

Orin was plunged in sudden confusion. 
There was no escape ; the truth must be told 
at all events. Slowly and with difficulty he 
replied, " I felt hard towards you, and I wanted 
to forgive you, and I thought this would be the 
best way." 

Now the master's hand had to sweep across 
his moist eyes in spite of himself. In another 
second he said, " Come in, come in, boy ; I want 
to speak to you." 

Orin was taken into the little parlor forth- 



42 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

with, and placed on the master's wife's best 
chintz-coYered sofa, even as he was, in his 
soiled week-day dress. 

" There now," said the master, when the boy 
was seated, "there, you've got hold of the 
right idea. I 've got something to get over, 
too. I did not speak right to you. I was 
hard on you before all the boys, about the mis- 
fortune God put on you; may he forgive me, 
and I want you to forgive me too." 

Orin wanted to say something, but he couldn't 
speak; it was just as well he did not. His 
face, and his sudden clasp of the hand said 
enough ; and the master went on : " I am going 
to teach you to read ; I 've made up my mind 
to it. You shall not come with the boys, but 
just a little while here, before school in the morn- 
ing, which will bring you on. May-be you will 
never read out, but you can read to yourself, 
and then you '11 have hold of that book I 'm 
sure you know about. Such notions as you 
have don't come out of any other." 

What more passed between him and the mas- 
ter we will not say. They learned to under- 
stand each other ; each knew the other to be 
walking heavenward in spite of many failings, 



AN INTERVIEW. 43 

trusting in Christ for forgiveness, and joyously 
looking forward to perfect holiness in the bet- 
ter country. 

A happy boy was Orin when he lay down 
that night. He could call God his Father 
without a misgiving, and pray that his tres- 
passes might be forgiven even as he had shown 
forgiveness. 



44 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

CHAPTER YII. 

FIVE YEARS LATEE. 

FiYE years slipped rapidly away, each mak- 
ing its own changes, and leaving its own tra- 
ces. Orin's once light, curly locks had been 
cut and clipped, until they never ventured 
even to wave, excepting in the hottest weather. 
His round, childish face had grown longer, 
and his little shapeless nose was getting quite 
a Roman bump on it; yet there was, after all, 
the same expression in his features. His brown 
eyes were full of kindliness and modesty ; and 
he had a sweet innocent smile that told that he 
was as yet " unspotted by the world." Qim 
was little Orin no more. The boy had grown 
amazingly. He was as tall now as his father, 
and could, he proudly said, see the top of his 
mother's head when she was standing. 

Orin had other work to attend to now than 
playing on the shore, or running on errands for 
his mother. 

The tall, strong boy was not wasting his 
strength. He had already chosen his occupa- 



FIVE YLARS LATER. 45 

tion for life, and seemed well contented with 
it. There was indeed genuine boyish pleasure 
in his work, as he turned off the smooth shav- 
ings from under his plane, or dove-tailed two 
boards together in the most approved manner. 
Orin was already a good workman. Pains- 
taking and industry will insure success in 
almost any occupation. 

There were a number of lads, some older, 
some younger, who were employed in the car- 
penter-shop, where Orin was daily to be found 
at his place. Of course there was a good deal 
of noise and nonsense among so many young' 
people, and Orin could exchange a joke as well 
as any of them. Yet there was ever with Orin 
a remembrance that kept him from the profane 
words and unprofitable talk that too often met 
his ears. 

As Orin skilfully used his tools, his thoughts 
often turned to that carpenter's shop at Naza- 
reth, where Joseph earned his daily bread, and 
the child Jesus was subject unto the humble 
man. 

Those words of Scripture, " Is not this the 
carpenter's son?" had had a great influence 
with him in his choice of a trade. He felt it 



46 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

an honor to liaTe an occupation which was so 
associated with the early life of our blessed 
Saviour. He ever remembered that He who 
was pleased to enter the carpenter's shop at 
Nazareth, is now present in every place of 
labor. 

Orin loved to fancy his Saviour visibly at 
his side; and he strove so to remember his 
continual presence that he might never speak 
words wounding to his pure ears, or contrary 
to his just law. On such thoughts as these 
Orin was dwelling one morning, as he busily 
plied his tools, when he was suddenly inter- 
rupted by a loud voice near at hand. 

" Hallo there, Ory Bundy -, what makes you 
look so pleasant?'' said Thomas Phipps, now 
an apprentice in the same shop with Orin. 

Orin returned a bright smile. No other an- 
swer seemed to be expected of him, for Thomas 
went on to say, 

•'An old friend of yours has come home. Of 
course you wont see much of him. I suppose 
he '11 be too much stuck up to take notice of us. 
Why, they say Henry Dearborn took Jii^st at 
the Academy." 

"He always was a splendid scholar," said 



FIVE YEARS LITEE. 47 

Orin enthusiastically ; " and has he really come 
home?'' 

" Yes, that he has, and knows where to find 
his old friends," said a merry voice, as Henry 
himself looked in at the door. 

" Ory, is this really you?" said Henry in as- 
tonishment, as he gazed at his once little play- 
mate. " I never saw a fellow grown so in my 
life." 

" I suppose you don't know we," said Thomas 
Phipps. 

" Well, you are not so much changed as to 
make me forget you," said Henry, giving his 
fair hand to the stout short lad who drew near 
to him. 

Orin had found it impossible to speak his 
joy at the sight of his friend, and was content- 
ing himself with holding Henry's slender hand 
between his own large hard palms. 

How he longed to know what had been go- 
ing on in Henry's heart, during his three years 
of absence at school. Had his growing inter- 
est in serious things deepened into a true de- 
votion to the Master's cause ? Would ho love, 
as he once did, to sing the old familiar hymns, 
while Orin whistled his speechless but devout 



48 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

accompaniment? Orin's deep, earnest gaze 
into the face of his friend, could find no an- 
swer to his questions. " God bless him, and 
make him truly his own," was Orin's silent 
prayer now in the midst of that noisy meeting. 

"How tall you are, Henry; why, you are a 
head above me," said Thomas, applying his broad 
back to Henry's slender figure, as if any meas- 
urement were necessary to prove the evident 
fact. Thomas was one of those thick-set, 
square-figured lads, doomed to be short, as 
could be seen at a glance. Thomas had no 
idea of being overlooked in the world for lack 
of growth, or of keeping in the background, 
because he had been the poorest speller and 
the most mischievous chap in school. He could 
boast of lifting the heaviest weights of any boy 
of fifteen in the town, and of having a greater 
knowledge of wickedness than was common for 
his age. 

Sorry boasts, truly ; yet Thomas would often 
make them, and was as proud of the one as of 
the other. 

Thomas was an inveterate talker; he had 
even been known to make speeches to little 
knots of boys, and thought the time would 



FIVE YEARS LATER. 49 

come when he should be a wonderful orator 
and great politician. 

He seemed determined that Henry Dearborn 
should find out that a certain Thomas Phipps 
was a person of consequence now, whatever he 
might have been in school- days. 

"We've got a splendid military company, 
Henry ; I started it. I went round and raised 
the fellows, and they turn out just when I say. 
I want you to join. To-morrow is training- 
day, and we mean to be out. Will you join, 
I say?'' 

" I could n't make much of an appearance in 
such a hurry," said Henry. 

" Why, Sam Williams is just your height, 
and he wont be out to-morrow. You can 
wear his clothes ; I '11 get them for you. You 
would look splendidly in regimentals. They 'd 
suit you to a T," said Thomas with a flattering 
look. 

Henry was of the same opinion; he had 
often been said to look like a soldier, he would 
like to try it. 

Orin knew too well that Thomas led his 
company into many things less innocent than 
marching up and down on the Common, and 

FJBher-Boy. 4 



50 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

he anxiously awaited Henry's answer. Orin 
longed to give at least a beseeching glance to 
induce Henry to decline ; but he remembered 
of old that Henry Dearborn was rebellious 
against all advice, and he dared not attempt 
to influence him. 

"Will you come?" continued Thomas. 

" May-be, if I can spare the time," said Hen- 
ry in his most dignified way; "but I must go 
now. I was to meet my father in town at just 
half-past eleven." Harry looked at his silver 
watch with evident satisfaction at its posses- 
sion, and then bade the boys good-by. "I 
must see you early to-morrow, Orin," were his 
last words. - ■ * %. 

Orin bowed assent, and as he did so he in- 
wardly repeated his prayer for his friend, " May 
God bless him, and keep him from evil." 

"Jolly, my boy, turn out with us in the 
morning!" were Thomas' parting words, ac- 
companied by as persuasive a glance as he 
could conjure up on his broad face. 



THE HOLIDAY. 61 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE HOLIDAY. 

Traixixg-day was always a holiday in the 
little town where Jack Bundy had his home. 
Shops were closed, and amusement seemed to 
be the order of the day. 

Long before nine o'clock the " meeting- 
house'' steps were gay as a flower-garden. 
There the little girls in holiday dress sat in 
rows, and their merry Yoices sounded out on 
the air, soon to be full of martial music. Mary 
Bundy said this was the only day in the year 
when she was out of couceit with her quiet 
home ; it seemed so far from the great centre 
of attraction, the village green. There was 
nothing left for her but to shut up house, she 
thought, and go to old Mrs. Phipps', whose lit- 
tle cottage faced the public-square, directly 
opposite to the meeting-house. 

At Mrs. Phipps' low window Mary had a 
comfortable seat given her, while Jack took a 
chair on the pavement outside, not to be shut 



52 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

up between four walls, lie said, when there 
was plenty of fresh air to be had. 

The little girls on the church steps had eaten 
up all their candies and pea-nuts, and had be- 
gun to send petitions to distant mammas for 
fresh supplies, when at last the parade com- 
menced. 

Near Jack's chair stood Grin. Of course 
he looked with admiration at the "Blues." He 
could never cease to wonder how all those 
white-trowsered legs could move at once, as if 
prompted by the same will, or how those mus- 
kets could be all raised at the same time, not 
a man forgetting his duty. 

It was not matter of criticism to Orin that 
those same muskets formed by no means paral- 
lel lines when they were all shouldered, or that 
now and then some new recruit gave a little 
skip in the ranks to get up wdth his file and 
fall into step again. To Orin it was as usual 
a splendid display, and yet he was impatient 
for an addition to the attractions of the day. 
Never had he so wished to see Thomas Phipps' 
volunteer company appear on the ground. 
They were unusually late in their appearance, 
though old Mrs. Phipps said that Thomas had 



THE HOLIDAY. 53 

been out since seven o'clock, and rumrfr, less 
reliable authority, reported Thomas and hi§ 
company to be going through with some rigid 
preparatory exercises in a field half a mile 
from toTrn. 

Orin had not forgotten Henry's parting 
words, and had been early at farmer Dear- 
born's, only to hear that Henry had already 
gone to town, with permission to pass thQ day 
from home as pleased him best. This was sad 
news to Orin. He trembled lest he should see 
his friend in Sam Williams' uniform, and doing: 
his best to make a good appearance in the 
" Go-aheaders," as Thomas called his company. 
Perhaps the very delay and extra drilling was 
owing to the presence of a stranger in the ranks. 

At length the very weak drumming was 
heard which announced the coming of Thomas 
and his men — men all under seventeen, with 
perhaps the exception of a tall new recruit. 

On they marched, amid the shrill huzzas of 
the smaller boys and the laughing shouts of 
the little girls ; on they marched. Orin scan- 
ned them every one, and then gave a long sigh 
of relief. Henry Dearborn was not there. 
"Thomas would make a very good captain if 



54 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

lie were a little taller/' said a voice close in 
his ear. 

Orin seized Henry's hand, and stammered 
out his delight that he was not parading on 
the green. 

" I came very near it. If it had n't been for 
you, I should have been in for it, for a certain- 
ty," said Henry. 

Oi;in looked inquiringly at his friend. " The 
fact was," said Henry, " you and Thomas both 
looked at me as I turned away, and your faces 
seemed to take hold of me just like two pic- 
tures. I felt that I had to choose between 
them. I am attached to Thomas; I wouldn't 
hurt his feelings for the world ; but his face is 
too red. His eyes do n't look like a boy's eyes. 
No matter, I liked my Ory's face best. I saw 
you didn't want me to go." 

Henry did not say how the expression on 
Orin's face had recalled the child Ory, talking 
in his poor way of the Lord he loved, and 
cleaving to duty in the midst of difficulties. 
He did not say how that look had been to him 
a reminder that they who pray, "Lead us not 
into temptation," should themselves keep their 
feet from evil, the path that leadeth to destruc- 



THE HOLIDAY. 55 

tion. Orin tliouglit not of himself at that mo- 
ment, in his joy that Henry had not been drawn 
into a dangerous position, where he might be 
led into sin. 

Mary from her low window saw the meeting 
of the friends, and it was to her a prettier 
sight than all the parade. Henry was certain- 
ly a noble- looking lad, but to her eyes Orin, 
with his earnest, truthful face, was the more 
attractive. Why was it her boy must labor 
in an humble shop, while Henry's friends 
already began to speak of the noise he was to 
make in the world with his talents, and the 
learning he acquired so easily? 

Ah, Mary Bundy, that was a sinful thought. 
A thankful heart would have become you better. 

Yet we must not be hard upon Mary. She 
is not the only one who has gone astray in like 
manner. The mother of the disciples James 
and John asked that her sons might sit the one 
on the right, the other on the left of our Lord 
in his kingdom. He forgave her that thought 
of pride. He honored her sons in his own way. 
They served their Lord, and suffered for him, 
and now they are with him in glory. 

God will bless the children of many pray- 



5(5 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

ers ; but they may Lave to suffer on earth, and 
win only the praise of angeis and the approval 
of their heavenly Master. 

Mary Bundy had yet that lesson to learn. 
Mary's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by 
an esclamation from " Goody Phipps/' as 
Thomas' grandmother was generally called in 
the village. 

" "Why, how Orin grows. He cUnH a bit like 
your family, Mary. They all have a kind of a 
weakly look. Two or three of them took to 
books, and it was the killin' of them ; and no 
wonder, I do n't see how any body can stand 
it. There was your mother's uncle Tim ; you 
do n't remember him, of course. He went off 
in a galloping consumption, just as he was come 
from the college and every body was a talking 
about him. No, no, there never was a Todd 
of you could stand sittin'. It 's a mercy Orin 
stammered, so he never could learn any thing." 

" Orin can read as well as any body, only ho 
do n't speak the words out ; and as to writing, 
there isn't a boy in the village can match him. 
It is quite a marvel to see him use his pen," 
said Mary indignantly. 

"Well, well, I meant no harm," said Goody 



THE HOLIDAY. 51 

Phipps, as she leaned from the window to catch 
the last glimpse of Thomas and his band as 
they turned a distant corner. 

^Mary's usually pleasant countenance was 
clouded for at least ten minutes after Mrs. 
Phipps' unfortunate remark. 

Mary did not like the idea of having a 
" weaklylook ;" to he called delicate was quite 
another thing. Then the slur cast upon her 
darling's education was by no means accept- 
able. Slowly her better feelings triumphed. 
Perhaps the impediment in his speech that had 
kept Orin from the course of study planned 
out for him, had been a blessing in disguise. 
Mary recalled the heavy cold which little 
Orin had had all one winter, and then shud- 
dered as she pictured to herself her dear boy 
coughing away his life. At that moment the 
tall healthy-looking lad passed the window, 
arm in arm with Henry Dearborn. Then the 
mother's heart gushed forth in thankfulness 
that she had yet her precious son spared to 
her in full vigor of body and mind. Silently 
she prayed that God would forgive her angry, 
repining thoughts, and make her ever grateful 
for the many blessings of her happy lot. 



58 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THOMAS PHIPPS. 

Far from the noisy village, Henry Dearborn 
and Orin passed the "training-day" spoken of 
in our last chapter. They had both much to 
hear and much to telL 

Henry was full of enthusiasm about his life 
at the academy, and of bright pictures of his 
college course, so soon to be commeoced. 

"And what do you mean to do when you get 
through college ?'' asked Orin hesitatingly. 

"I mean to be a minister of the gospel, if I 
am fit," said Henry. 

Why was it that a sudden pang smote the 
heart of Orin? For the first time in his life a 
bitter feeling of envy sprang up within him. 
He could not rejoice that his friend was to 
enter upon a calling which was for ever closed 
to him. 

Henry wondered at Orin's silence, but sup- 
posed he was engaged for the moment in some 
devout thought. 

Why is it, questioned Orin, that I, who am 



THOMAS PHIPPS. 59 

SO anxious to labor for the Lord, must be cut 
off from the privilege, while another, who I 
verily believe does not yearn one half as 
eagerly for usefulness, has the blessed calling 
open to him? 

Orin's conscience gave him the sharp and 
sudden answer. "You have yet work to do in 
your own heart. He who envieth is not wor- 
thy to preach in the name of Christ." 

Orin's humility was increased by the repent- 
ance which that moment of inquiry cost him. 
He looked upon himself anew, as but a worth- 
less sinner saved only by the blood of Christ, 
and but too greatly honored to be called by 
the name of his Lord, though not suffered to 
preach his gospel. 

Towards evening Henry and Or in turned 
their steps in the direction of the village. As 
they trod the winding path which led along 
the edge of the bluff, they heard the noise of 
fire-arms near at hand, followed by the wild 
commotion of angry voices and heavy blows. 

Hastening to the brink of the high rock 
which faced the bluff, they suddenly became 
witnesses of an exciting scene below. 

A party of fishermen had gathered on the 



60 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Bliore after the military manoeuvres of the day 
were over. Here too Thomas Phipps had led 
his band, just conscious that they were not fit 
to be in the midst of the village. 

The lads were all excited with the various 
drams which they had thought it manly to 
drink, as members of the " Go-aheaders,'' on 
this important day. 

The precaution of Captain Thomas proved in 
vain. He had not kept either himself or them 
out of difficulty by leading them to the shore. 
The fishermen were not inclined to show the 
lads the deference they thought they deserved, 
and a quarrel soon arose between them. 

Thomas fancied he was showing a martial 
spirit, as he called on the half-maddened boys 
to be true soldiers, and put down the fishermen 
at once. 

The discharge of the muskets produced no 
alarm among the hardy fishermen, who well 
knew that they were without balls. The 
strong-handed oystermen at once laid hold of 
the boys, and captured them without difficulty, 
preparing to carry them safely to their several 
homes. 

Thomas had no idea of having his dignity 



THOMAS PHIPPS. 61 

SO insulted, and hardly had a strong grasp 
been laid upon him, when Thomas by a sudden 
turn struck the fisherman a blow with his mus- 
ket that laid him on the sand in a moment. 

From above, Henry and Orin were witnesses 
of the scene, without the possibility of giving 
any assistance to the wounded man. He soon, 
however, had an anxious group gathered around 
him, among whom was Thomas, perfectly so- 
bered by the consciousness of what he had done. 

The fishermen, in their eagerness to render 
aid to their comrade, had let the lads escape, 
and they all made good their retreat. Thomas 
alone remained with those who were making 
every effort to restore the wounded man to 
consciousness. 

Their efforts were vain, and soon the low 
tramp of men, carrying a heavy burden, was 
heard along the shore. 

" Why do n't they turn towards the village ?" 
said Henry, impatiently. 

Orin, quick as thought, had read the answer 
to Henry's question, and had darted away. 

There was but one cottage below the bluff. 
The path the party had taken had led but to 
one house, and that was Orin's home. Even 



62 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

as the wounded man was drawing near to Jack 
Bandy's door, Orin came leaping down the 
steep path which he had often trod so joyous- 
ly. Mary was still with Goody Phipps, so 
that it was Orin's hand that opened the door, 
and his eager gesture that pointed out the bed 
where his wounded father was to be laid. 

Mary had lingered with old Mrs. Phipps 
that she might keep up her spirits while she 
anxiously awaited the return of her grandson, 
whom she yet dreaded to see. 

Thomas Phipps did not occupy his neat lit- 
tle room at his grandmother's that night. He 
had a prison cell, a prison bed, and prison fare, 
but these were trifling trials to him in compari- 
son with his own bitter, bitter thoughts. Dark 
indeed seemed to him the way of wickedness 
then ; deep and terrible the pit of destruction 
to which it surely leads. 

While Mary Bundy and Orin were moving 
about Jack's motionless form, Thomas was 
weeping tears more agonized than theirs. He 
had no voice of comfort in his ears, while to 
them were breathed the sweet words of conso- 
lation : " It is the Lord ; let him do what seem- 
eth him good.'^ 



A SERMON. 63 



CHAPTEK X. 

A SERMON. 

When the sun rose over the quiet waters of 
the bay, it was not to find Jack Bundy's cottage 
a house of mourning. His eyes had opened 
once more to look lovingly on the pale, anx- 
ious face of his Mary ; his hand had returned 
Orin's silent pressure. The physician had 
whispered, " All may yet be well." 

As the mother and child knelt to join their 
fervent thanksgivings, they lifted up their voice 
of gratitude as e^irnestly for another as for 
themselves. They thanked God that Thomas 
Phipps was not a murderer, and for the poor 
sinful boy they prayed as tenderly as if he had 
been their brother. 

He is an orphan. He has had no mother to 
teach him the love of Jesus, no father to lead 
him to the Lord. These thoughts had checked 
the first risings of indignation that stirred in 
Orin's heart, and now he yearned to do some- 
thing for the erring boy who was tasting thus 
early the wages of sin. 



64 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

There were many tongues to blame Thomas 
Phipps that day, and to cry out that nothing 
better could have been expected of him ; there 
were many to say that his grandmother's in- 
dulgence had done him no good. 

There were some kind neighbors to look in 
upon Goody Phipps, and try to soothe her 
boisterous sorrow; even Mary Bundy found a 
moment to speak a gentle word to the poor old 
woman. But who had sought the miserable 
boy in his silent cell ? The companions who 
joined him in the ways of temptation were 
careful to keep clear of him now. His grand- 
mother declared she never wished to set eyes 
again on the child, who had brought her grey 
hairs to shame. 

Yet there was the sound of a stranger's step 
along the prison entry; the key of Thomas' 
cell was turned to let in a visitor. 

" Orin." The word broke from Thomas in 
his surprise, and then he buried his face in his 
hands, and wept like an infant. He had no 
inclination to mock Orin's stammering accent 
then, as he so often had done, or to call on him 
derisively to make a speech. 



A SERMON. 65 

Like the sweetest music were Orin's slowly 
spoken words. 

Orin had come, the first moment he could 
be spared from his father's side, to give Thomas 
the glad news that he was not a murderer, not 
yet a follower of Cain. 

Ah, in the deep gasp that burst from Thomas 
at this announcement, there was a world of re- 
lief. Grin's words went home to his heart. 
*' Through God's mercy my father is alive." 

Yes, Thomas knew and felt that God's lov- 
ing hand alone had saved him from the depths 
of misery that seemed to have yawned before 
him. The punishment he deserved had been a 
while delayed, but the wages of sin he felt were 
yet sure to him, unless he turned to repentance 
and a better life. 

Orin had no time to linger with Thomas. 
He could but speak his message of mercy, and 
be gone. His lips could not, even if he had 
tried, have so besought Thomas to repent and 
be forgiven, as did his heart now pray for him. 

Grin's life had been to Thomas a daily preach- 
ing of the gospel, and this visit, prompted by a 
loving, forgiving heart, was better to him than 
many sermons. And did Thomas fall on his 

Fisherman's Boy. Q 



66 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

knees and ask God to pardon his iniquity, and 
wash away his sins, for Jesus' sake ? 

Ah, it is not so easy for the wicked to for- 
sake his ways, and the unrighteous man his 
thoughts. 

Thomas had turned his back on the Sunday- 
school, and mocked at the voice that reproved 
liim. His Bible was an unopened book; he 
had ceased even to say, " Our Father.'' He 
had hushed his conscience when it bade him 
" cease to do evil, and learn to do well." He 
had clouded his own mind, and hardened his 
own heart. Even the sudden calamity that 
had come upon him failed to open his eyes to 
the beauty of holiness, and to send him re- 
pentant to the feet of Jesus. 

Thomas was but touched by the power of 
Orin's piety, and moved at the thought that 
God had delivered him from the crime into 
which he had so nearly fallen. 

Had Thomas been set at liberty that day, it 
would have been to turn to his old courses, and 
lay up for himself greater condemnation. 



THE VOICE OF THE BOOK. 67 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE VOICE OF THE BOOK. 

Orin was walking slowly along a country 
road the evening after his father's accident, 
while his mother's sleek cow moved leisurely 
on before him. He looked on the quiet scene 
around him with new cheerfulness. His father 
had passed a tranquil day, and was pronounced 
out of danger. What a mercy it was to have 
such a father, and to receive him again, as it 
were, a new gift from the Lord. 

Orin wondered how Thomas was occupied, 
while he was free to enjoy the pure evening 
air. How often he had met Thomas bounding 
along that very road, full of mischief. How 
often Thomas had forgotten the errand on 
which he was sent, to indulge in some mad 
pranks with his favorite companions. 

The errand of Thomas, that was a fortunate 
thought. Who would drive home Goody 
Phipps' cow that evening? In another mo- 
ment Orin had let down the bars of a neigh- 
boring field. The cow, who had been stand- 



68 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

ing there impatiently, stepped into the road ; 
a pleasant smile lingered on Orin's face as he 
put up the bars. Orin loved to do a kind action. 

It was not to receive thanks that Orin stop- 
ped to speak with Goody Phipps that evening. 
It was to tell her that he had seen Thomas, 
and that the lad was well, though deeply 
grieved about what had happened. 

Orin stammered unusually in this short in- 
terview. It gave him a choking in his throat 
to see the old woman weaving to and fro on 
her low chair, and crying, " Oh dear, oh dear,'^ 
as if there were no help and comfort for her. 
He longed to talk to her about the loving 
Jesus, who plans every circumstance of our 
lives, and can bring blessings out of our great- 
est trials ; but it was of no use. He was but 
little fitted for a preacher ; less than ever that 
evening ; he could but lay the Bible in the old 
woman's lap, and then pray fervently for her 
as he walked rapidly away. 

Mrs. Phipps said her eyesight was failing. 
That was the excuse she made to herself when 
the minister urged upon his hearers a daily 
study of the word of God, as the only " lamp 
to our feet," the only " light to our path." 



JHE VOICE OF THE BOOK. 69 

Goody Pliipps had never made the Bible the 
daily companion and daily rule of her life, or 
she would not now in her old a2:e have turned 
back to darkness. 

Those same eyes that could see very well to 
spy a speck of dust on her white cap-border, or 
the slightest mark of the foot of her grandson 
on the door-sills, would have served her very 
well to read in her Bible, had she but tried 
them. 

And so she was convinced, as she opened 
the book which Orin had laid on her knee. In 
very desperation she looked in it for some- 
thing comforting. 

There are no words of comfort in that book 
for those who are not striving to obey the laws 
of God, and looking for forgiveness through 
the blood of Jesus. 

A long life spent in forgetfulness of God, is 
no preparation for finding comfort in the Bible. 
Something else must be found there first. 

God is only a true Father to those who are 
the brethren of the Lord Jesus, bought with 
his blood, and promised for his sake a share in 
his eternal home. 



10 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 



CHAPTER XII. 

HOME SCENES. 

Jack Bundy had many long days of weari- 
ness and pain before he began to feel like him- 
self again. The honest fisherman declared that 
he should for the future have great pity and 
sympathy for women, who were doing in-door 
work all their lives. He wondered his Mary 
could live on, day after day, as she did, with- 
out frowning or fretting or wishing she had a 
different lot. Jack sometimes watched her 
moving about the cottage until her quiet mo- 
tions fairly put him to sleep, and then he would 
wake up to go on with the same reflections, 
watching other people work, while he had to 
lie idle. 

Jack had now to struggle with a difficulty 
with which he had never before been troubled. 
He had all he could do to keep cheerful and 
good-humored, though, as he often said, he was 
but a poor Christian if he could not do that, 
when he had nothing else to attend to. 



HOME SCENES. 11 

Jack struggled manfully to keep clown im- 
patient words, and to look on the bright side ; 
but sometimes, at evening, he had to ask his 
own Mary to forgive him for having spoken 
harshly, and to say to Orin, '' I am a poor old 
sinner, my boy, and so you will have to over- 
look my bad ways, as the Lord does, I hope. 
He knows I am heartily sorry for them." Jack 
would have been glad to have kept Mary read- 
ing to him half the day, but she had other mat- 
ters to attend to, and was not, besides, the most 
fluent reader in the world. 

Very welcome then to Jack was Henry Dear- 
born's oifer to come every morning to read to 
him, while Mary was busy in the house, and 
Orin was away at the shop. After these daily 
visits began, Jack said he found it easier to 
keep down his impatience, and be contented 
" to be still and be waited on like a woman.'' 
The scripture he heard strengthened him, and 
gave him something to think of, he told Mary ; 
and then the dear boy's pleasant face was 
enough to make one cheerful, so bright and 
noble, reading the holy words as if he loved 
them. 

Jack was growing very fond of Henry, and 



72 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Henry felt that lie received more than he gave 
at the fisherman's cottage. 

Often in the midst of the reading Jack would 
cry out, "Stop, boy," and then would expound 
in his own clear way the passage that had been 
last read, until Henry saw light where all had 
before been darkness to him. 

" Good-by, Jack," said Henry one morning, 
as he stepped to his hardy friend's side and 
gave him a parting shake of the hand. 

" What, is this the last day for me ? Are 
you off for college to-morrow?" said Jack, 
quickly. 

" I go to-morrow morning," said Henry, 
cheerily. " But I shall be back in three years, 
if all goes well." 

" God bless you, my boy," said Jack, as he 
laid his hand devoutly on Henry's head. " God 
bless you, and keep you froiij evil." 

The door had hardly closed upon Henry, 
when Jack's feelings burst forth to his wife. 
" That is about the finest lad in town. So ten- 
der-hearted, and such a beautiful reader. It 
just seems to take away my pains to hear him 
bring out the words as he does. He seems 
made for the reading of Scripture. The com- 



HOME SCENES. *?3 

fort he's been to me; may the Lord reward 
him/' 

" Poor Orin/' said Mary, thoughtfully. 

Praise of Henry always seemed to set Mary 
thinking of her own boy. " Poor Orin. If he 
could only read out that way, he might have 
stood up with the best, for he 's got a head of 
his own. Poor boy. To think my only child 
should n't talk in his thirteenth year much bet- 
ter than a toddling baby. I am sure I never 
thought of such , a misfortune 's coming my 
way." 

" We have a better son than we deserve, 
Mary," said Jack, fixing his eyes full upon her. 

Mary dropped hers, and said quickly, "I 
know I 'm wrong. Jack ; but what 's in the 
heart will out sometimes." 

" More 's the pity it should be in the heart," 
said Jack, bluntly. "I should feel a great load 
off from me if you would just say you had done 
with those notions for ever." 

At that instant Orin came cheerily in. Mary 
turned from him, feeling at the moment as if 
he were almost to blame for his misfortune. 
She stepped into the little back-room to regain 
her composure, Orin followed her with his 



74 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

glance, while a pleasant smile played about his 
lips. He would have wondered to know that 
the tears which had been gathering in his 
mother's eyes, fell fast as she looked about the 
little room. 

Yes, there was a new table for her, made by 
Orin's hands in his spare hours. There too 
were the wooden pins she had been wishing 
for, placed along the wall exactly where she 
had wanted them. That little bench was just 
the footstool she had been needing. Those 
pretty wild-flowers were favorites of hers. 
Orin must have placed them just where she 
could see them when she was at work. 

God had given her a loving son, thoughtful 
for her comfort, and yet sh6 was repining that 
he had one blemish. Mary's heart was touch- 
ed, and once more she cried in her inmost soul^ 
" God be merciful to me a sinner." 

When she again returned to the larger room, 
it was to throw her arms round Orin's neck, 
and to declare, with an earnestness that aston- 
ished him, that he was the dearest, best boy in 
the world, and she was quite unfit to be his 
mother. 



FRIENDS. 75 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FRIENDS. 

The trees had shaken off their gaj leaves, 
and had been standing brown and bare in the 
winter sun for many a month. Good villagers 
had enjoyed sleighing to their full satisfaction, 
and people from all the country round had 
come into town on runners, bringing in a store 
of wood, turkeys, and dried apples that ought 
to have supplied a fortress. 

March had come, and yet the snow showed 
no signs of melting. Goody Phipps still had 
a white mountain before her door, which cut 
off her view of the "meeting-house" from her 
low window. Somebody cleared off her pave- 
ment for her after every storm. She knew 
very well who it was, yet Orin never got so 
much as "thank you" for all his kind offices to 
the desolate old woman. 

It was not thanks that Orin wanted ; he had 
something worth far more to him, when he 
slowly passed the cottage at evening. Then 



76 • THE FISHERMAN'S BOY 

he could see the candle placed on the three- 
legged stand, while Goody Phipps sat near it 
with the Bible on her knees. 

Farmer Dearborn declared he wouldn't mind 
the snow, knowing it was a good covering for 
the land during the hard winter, if it didn't 
so interfere with the mails. He had melan- 
choly stories to tell of letters from Henry two 
whole weeks on the road, when he ought to 
have had them in ten days at the least, stories 
that were sure to end in a cheery smile as the 
farmer declared that " Henry was an uncom- 
mon scholar, and just the son to make a father's 
heart glad." 

Mr. Dearborn did not have all Henry's let- 
ters. Some of them found their way to Jack 
Bundy's cottage, and were read over and over 
again during the long winter evenings, till the 
whole family well-nigh knew them by heart. 

Orin had gone up-stairs one night to put the 
precious package of letters away after another 
reading. He had just laid them in the box he 
had made expressly as a casket for them, when 
he fancied he heard a low tap at the window. 
Outside the window there was a roof, sloping 
almost to the ground. Could it be that any 



FRIENDS. 77 

one had climbed the roof, and was knocking 
there for admittance. 

Orin raised the window, and a voice in the 
darkness said, " Orin, hush. Orin Bundy, don't 
you know me?" 

Six months of prison-life had taken the color 
from Thomas Phipps' cheeks, and left hut the 
framework of his once sturdy form. His eyes 
looked wild and anxious as he repeated the 
question, " Orin Bundy, do n't you know 
me?" 

Orin, never quick at speaking, had been ut- 
terly silenced at the sudden appearance of the 
figure before him. His hearty grasp of the 
hand showed very plainly that he recognized a 
friend in his strcyige visitor. He knew that 
Thomas' time at the distant penitentiary had 
expired, but he had not expected so to meet 
him. 

Orin drew Thomas within the window, and 
then, after a hearty welcome, found words to 
say, " You must be terribly cold. Come down 
to the fire, and warm yourself." 

"No, no," said Thomas, shrinking back; "I 
just wanted to see you, Orin. You were so 
kind coming to see me when I was shut up 



78 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

Lere ; and the books you gave me, they let me 
keep them. I 've read them, Orin. I wanted 
to tell you that, and that I mean to lead a bet- 
ter life. I just come to see you, and then I 'm 
off to sea, to begin again, where nobody '11 
know me. I couldn't look anybody in the 
face here. I couldn't stand that, when I've 
been where I 've been." 

Orin knew the temptations of a sailor's life 
to a wild reckless nature like that of his com- 
panion. He longed to reason with him, but 
his speech seemed more broken, more hesitat- 
ing than usual. What should he do? Throw- 
ing his arm round Thomas, he drew him to the 
bedside, and kneeling, Orin silently prayed that 
God would deepen the repentance of the err- 
ing boy, and point out to him the best and 
safest course. 

The boys had just risen from their knees, 
when the door was thrown open, and Jack 
Bundy came in with a lamp in his hand. He 
had well-nigh let the lamp drop, in his aston- 
ishment at what he saw there. Mary had 
thought she heard the sound of voices up-stairs, 
and had begged Jack to go and see what was 
the matter, and he had complied, thinking he 



FRIENDS. 19 

was but gratifying a whim of hers, to be laugh- 
ed at when he came down. 

Thomas' first impulse was to spring towards 
the window and make his escape, but Jack's 
grasp was laid firmly upon him. The grasp 
was a friendly one, and the deep voice was full 
of tenderness which said, " Not so, my poor 
boy. You have no reason to turn from me. I 
forgive you with all my heart. Why, your 
hand is like ice. Come down to the fire, and 
Mary will warm you a cup of cofi'ee ; you look 
pale and tired." 

Thomas turned away his face, and said, " I 
can't, I can't. I only wanted to say good-by 
to Orin, and then I mean to be off to sea. I 
a'n't fit to live among honest folks. I 'd better 
go where nobody knows any thing about me. 
May-be I can lead a new life. Any how, I 
mean to try it, and I 'm sorry clear down in 
my heart that I hurt you. Jack." 

" That 's nothing ; that 's all done with, my 
boy ; but here 's the matter in hand. The sea 's 
no place to begin a new life. Stay here, where 
you 've got friends." 

"Friends," said Thomas, looking round sor- 
rowfully and helplessly. 



80 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

" Yes, friends," said Jack, taking one of the 
poor lad's hands, while Orin at the same time 
warmly seized the other. 

Thomas' tears fell fast as he murmured, " I 
do n't deserve this," and then added in a louder 
voice, "My grandmother, she wont speak to 
me. She sent me word before I went away 
never to darken her door again. I have no 
place to go to. I 'd better be off to sea." 

" You shall stay here till we get you a good 
place," said Jack, throwing his strong arm 
around Thomas, and so guiding him down the 
stairway. Then suddenly pausing, he said, 
"Wait here till I tell Mary. It might give 
her a start to see you suddenly." 

It did give Mary a start to hear that Thomas 
Phipps was in the house ; but when she heard 
of him as pale, weary, and repentant, she was 
ready to give him a kind welcome, and to busy 
her skilful hands in preparing for him the warm 
food which it was plainly seen he greatly need- 
ed. Orin sat lost in thought, while Thomas 
are, at first timidly and reluctantly, but pres- 
ently with the growing relish of one who is 
weary and hungry. 

At length a bright smile crossed Orin's face, 



FRIENDS. 81 

as he turned to his father, and said in a low 
voice, " The schoolmaster." 

" That 's it," said Jack, heartily. " The very 
thing." 

When Thomas had laid aside his knife and 
fork, Jack took down the great Bible, and said, 
*' We 11 have our evening prayers." 

In a deep, earnest voice Jack read the par- 
able of the Prodigal Son, and then the little 
group kneeled down together. 

Jack approached his heavenly Father as one 
ever ready to meet the repentant sinner, and 
thanked him for that abundant mercy in Christ 
Jesus, which forgives all that is past, and wel- 
comes him who would do better to a loving 
Father^s arms. 

A low sob burst from Thomas as Jack went 
on, and when the fisherman's voice had closed 
with a solemn "Amen," such words of deep 
penitence were slowly uttered by Thomas, that 
the three hearers rejoiced in their hearts over 
another wanderer brought back to the fold. 



82 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

CHAPTER XIY. 

THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

After twenty years service as a schoolmas- 
ter, Mr. Aiken had declared that his patience 
was quite worn out, and that he -yyas ready to 
retire from the business. This would not have 
been an easy matter, as Mrs. Aikin and her 
husband were still to be fed and clothed, but 
for the timely legacy left the worthy school- 
master at this critical juncture by a distant 
relative. Mr. Aiken forthwith bade good-by 
to spelling-books and birch-rods with more 
hearty satisfaction than ever any or all of his 
boys had heard that vacation had come. 

Now Mr. Aiken had no idea of taking the 
remaining years of his life for a play-time ; so 
he bought a little farm, and went to work with 
real vigor. To be sure, it was said that he 
called upon liis horses at the plough to do 
their duty, and keep to the line, as he would 
upon his pupils of old to mind the rules of the 
school. All the boys in the village might have 
laughed at the schoolmaster's queer ways as a 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 83 

farmer if tliey had pleased, and lie would not 
have cared. He did not feel that it was his 
business now to keep the young folks in order, 
and he could have laughed back without losing 
his dignity. 

He was not tried in this way, however. The 
schoolmaster in his school had made a very 
pleasant discovery. The troublesome lads 
whom he had trained and tutored had con- 
tracted a fondness for their old teacher, which 
seemed to stick by them like the memories of 
childhood. Little knots of them came out on 
winter evenings to chat by his fireside ; and 
now and then his heart was made warm by a 
letter from some distant city, containing thanks 
for the thorough drilling which had enabled 
the writer so to add up a column and write a 
clear hand, that he had risen in business as if 
some favoring breeze had blown him upward. 

The schoolmaster had a hard time sowing his 
seed. Many weary hours, and many a head- 
ache and heart-ache he had suffered from the 
boys' naughtiness, stupidity, and mischief. 
That was all past now. He that had sown in 
tears was reaping in joy. Harvest had come. 

The old man would hardly have given up 



84 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

one of those letters to save the whole of his 
tiny crop of grain from the fly. Much as he 
loved his fields, he loved his pupils better. 

Of all the lads he had ever known, none 
were more dear to Mr. Aiken than Henry 
Dearborn and Orin Bundy. Of Henry he was 
specially proud ; but to Orin the tie was of a 
tender and peculiar nature. Mr. Aiken felt 
as if Orin were a jewel cut by his own hand. 
Much patience on the part of both teacher and 
scholar had been needed before Orin could 
read his Bible and copy out the commandments 
in a fair round hand. Orin's handwriting had 
not ceased to be familiar to the schoolmaster 
in his retreat. When Orin could not spare 
time to visit his old teacher, he often dropped 
him a line, sometimes merely an expression of 
kind interest, but more frequently propound- 
ing some question which Orin had stumbled 
upon in his efforts to improve himself. The 
schoolmaster served Orin for a whole library 
of books of reference, and was in the lad's 
mind authority from which there was no ap- 
peal. 

Now Mr. Aiken sat at his fireside, poring 
over a letter of Orin's which seemed to turn 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 85 

upon some knotty point, particularly difficult 
of settlement. 

The worthy man read the letter through 
three several times, wiping his spectacles oc- 
casionally when he should have wiped his eyes, 
and clearing his throat as if he were going to 
speak, though he said not a word. 

Presently he rose, and stepping to the hall 
door, called, "Betsy, Betsy!" in a way that 
was not to be resisted. 

Mrs. Aiken had her hands in the bread-pan, 
but she almost instantly appeared with such 
white gloves on as naturally clung to her from 
the business in which she had been engaged. 

" Well, Mr. Aiken," she said, as she stood in 
the door-way, the very picture of good-humor 
and cheerfulness. 

For a moment Mr. Aiken made no reply, he 
was deep in the letter again. 

"Look at me; I can't wait very well," said 
Mrs. Aiken, with one of her pleasant smiles. 
Mr. Aiken looked up as if it were by no means 
disagreeable to do so, but he gave no answer- 
ing smile. His face was grave as he said, 
"Sit down here, and let me read you Orin 
Bundy's letter." 



86 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

"I tliink the letter might wait ; and I don't 
know what is to become of the bread if I leave 
it just now," said Mrs. Aiken with a puzzled air. 

"Dear!" was Mr. Aiken's expression of im- 
patience. 

"Come, YOU come with me. You can read 
it to me while I am at work," said Mrs. Aiken, 
her face clearing up at once. The schoolmas- 
ter picked up candle-stand, candle, and letter, 
and followed his wife without a word. 

"Now, Mr. Aiken," she said, when her fat 
hands were once more deep in the dough, " now 
for it." 

This announcement Mrs. Aiken had made 
purely to gratify her husband. He liked to 
read to her, and she generally contrived to let " 
him do so, although she did not consider it lack 
of respect to him to be planning to-morrow's 
dinner, while he gave her a literal translation 
from a Latin author, or explained the beautiful 
solution of some problem that had just struck 
his mind. 

She had no idea of being interested in Orin's 
letter, saving in the kind close, in which he 
never forgot to make pleasant mention of her. 
The good wife found herself thoroughly mis- 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 87 

taken. The bread was soon well-nigli forgot- 
ten, as the schoolmaster went on without allow- 
ing her to interrupt him, though she made sev- 
eral desperate efforts to get in a word. ''Now, 
Betsy," said Mr. Aiken, as he put down the 
letter and looked her full in the face. 

She held out that same face helplessly tow- 
ards him. He saw her difficulty at once, and 
made his hands do for her what her own could 
not at the moment. She did not look the less 
attractive to him for the tears that had at last 
actually rolled on to her cheeks. 

"I knew you'd feel as I do," said Mr. Aiken. 
"We'll take the boy and give him a fresh 
chance ; wont we, Betsy ?" 

" I do n't see any other way, as Orin sets it 
out," said Mrs. Aiken, speaking as people do 
when their very hearts are stirred. 

" I '11 turn my attention to him. I 've felt the 
need of a boy about the place," said Mr. Aiken. 

" Yes, it is hard for you to go out to the sta- 
ble snowy days, and your rheumatism grows on 
you so," said the good wife in a matter-of-fact 
way. 

Mr. Aiken gave a half smile. It was not to 
help him in his out-of-door work that he had 



88 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

felt the need of a boy about tlie bouse. He 
craved the sight of the young faces to which 
he had been accustomed. He wanted some- 
body to instruct and improve. As for his wife, 
he had long ago given up any idea of training 
her. He had concluded to take the dear, good, 
useful soul as she was, and be thankful for her. 
Now he did not explain to her her mistake, but 
only said, "It's just the thing I wanted." 

Yes, Mr. Aiken had been afraid he had not 
done as much for his lieavenly Master as he 
might have done, in days gone by. He felt 
that he had lost many opportunities of speak- 
ing a word in season, in his eagerness to drill 
into his pupils the knowledge of this world. 
Here was a chance to teach the best of wisdom. 

So Orin had secured a home for the repent- 
ant boy — a home where he would be screened 
from the rude attacks of his old companions, 
and be under the careful eye of a faithful 
master. 

When Mr. Aiken knelt that night beside his 
Betsy, his prayers had unusual fervency. He 
had strength to seek for his new and arduous 
undertaking; he had a blessing to ask for the 
poor lad who was to find a shelter in his house. 



SPRING-TIME. 89 

CHAPTER XY. 

SPRING-TIME. 

Orin was not contented with merely seeing 
Thomas Phipps established in his new quar- 
ters. He had accompanied the lad in the 
early dawn to Mr. Aiken's, and had walked 
sloYfly homewards, deep in thought. How 
should the news that her grandson was again 
in the neighborhood be brought to the old 
woman's knowledge? How should a reconcil- 
iation between the two be effected? He knew 
that Thomas was eager to ask forgiveness of 
his only relative, for all the wickedness and 
waywardness of his youtt. Thomas longed to 
hear his grandmother's voice speaking kindly 
to him once more; but he shrank from the 
thought of meeting her offended countenance, 
and of hearing her speak such bitter words of 
renunciation as had been the burden of her 
message to him. 

Orin at length hit upon the plan that pleased 
him best. He went, as was his wont, to do 
for Mrs. Phipps the little services that her in- 



90 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

creasing infirmities made necessary every day. 
He was sure that when she heard him busy 
preparing her wood for the day, her white cap 
would appear at the window, and the usual 
morning chat commence. 

Things turned out as he had expected. Orin 
patiently heard her go through with the list of 
her ailings, and marked with joy, that although 
she gave her symptoms with the usual particu- 
larity, the tone was less complaining, and she 
closed with an expression of thankfulness that 
she had at last a house over her head and the 
comforts of life, without coming on the town, 
which every poor old body" could not say. 
Orin listened almost in silence; but as he 
turned to leave her, he said suddenly, and with 
uncommon ease for him, 

" Thomas has come back, determined to be a 
good man. Mr. Aiken has taken liim on the 
farm." 

Orin walked rapidly away, without once 
looking to see the effect of his words. He 
left them to work on th& grandmother's old 
fondness for Thomas, which he was sure was 
still lurking somewhere in her apparently 
chilled heart. If, as he was beginning to 



SPRING-TIME. 91 

hope, she had sought forgiyeness for the sins 
of her long life, she would not continue hard 
towards her repentant grandchild. Day after 
day Orin was at Mrs. Phipps' at the accus- 
tomed hour ; day after day he heard of her 
restless nights, and those never-ceasing pains 
in her old bones ; but she spoke no word of 
Thomas. He saw that she looked anxiously 
and inquiringly at him ; he was sure her heart 
was yearning towards the lad ; but he waited 
for her to speak first on the subject that was 
in both their thoughts. 

So time went on. The snow-banks sank 
away, and the green grass peeped up along the 
fences, and happy children found fresh tufts of 
it on the sunny side of the old trees. 

Spring was coming. The villager, busy with 
his spade, was sure of it. Mr. Dearborn knew 
it, Mr. Aiken knew it, and industry seemed 
rallying everywhere with the budding and 
sprouting of old mother Earth. It was spring- 
time too with poor Thomas Phipps. He had 
passed through a hard, dreary, miserable win- 
ter, such a season as only comes to those who 
turn their back on their loving Saviour, and 
choose to do evil. Blessed be God, he who 



92 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

can bid the bare tree send forth its tender 
leaves, can touch the human heart, and give 
it strength to turn from the ways of evil, and 
seek reconciliation and peace. Thomas had 
come forth from prison determined to lead a 
new life. His resolutions had been strength- 
ened, and his whole character softened by the 
right hand of Christian kindness, stretched out 
to him in his hour of humiliation. As sun- 
shine and shower were doing their work in 
the out-of-door world, poor Thomas was warm- 
ing too, and increasing in the only growth that 
shall endure when this world hath passed 
away. 

Orin knew this, with deep rejoicing ; but on 
his part there was still silence ; on the grand- 
mother's, but a look of eager questioning. Was 
there no spring-time for her? Was not love, 
love to God and man, taking hold upon her 
heart? 

Orin had brought a handful of hyacinths for 
Goody Phipps one morning. Mary^s hyacinths 
were famed all over the village. Mary said 
they would grow nowhere as they did in her 
sheltered garden under the bluff. 

This morning Goody Phipps did not appear 



SPRING-TIME. 93 

at the window, as was lier custom. Orin saw 
at last that he must go into the house, or find 
somebody else to take his hyacinths. 

He knocked, gently at first, then louder. 
At length a feeble voice said, " Come in." 

Orin drew a long breath of relief. He had 
feared that the old woman had gone to her last 
home without once owning her Saviour, who 
must own her in the presence of his Father, if 
she were ever to enter his eternal kingdom. 

Goody Phipps felt nervous about sleeping 
alone in a locked house. She never did more 
than close her heavy door, sure that there was 
nothing in her humble home to tempt the mid- 
nio:ht robber. 

Orin found her still in bed — but not now had 
she to complain of the new pains that had kept 
her awake the livelong night. Her mind was 
on other things. 

"Thomas, Thomas," she said in a low voice, 
" I would not like to die without telling the poor 
boy I forgive him. There 's a great deal laid 
up against me I want wiped out. It isn't for 
me to be hard on anybody. May-be if I 'd 
trained him up right, he wouldn't have come 
to shame." 



94 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

''Shall I bring him to you?" Orin managed 
to say. 

" Yes, yes," said the old woman, quickly. 

Orin hurried away, but not towards Mr. 
Aiken's. He wanted to know that his mother, 
the physician, and the minister were with the 
old woman, ere he started on his long walk. 

Orin was not a half mile from the village 
Avhen farmer Dearborn overtook him. 

" Take a seat with me," said the portly far- 
mer, making room beside him in the buggy. 

Mr. Dearborn not only bade Orin " God 
speed," in his errand, but said, as he alighted 
at his own gate, "Take Black Bill, Orin, and 
you 11 get there the sooner. He'll stand fast 
driving." 

When Thomas entered his grandmotlier's 
door, he felt that he was indeed changed since 
he had last gone forth from it. Life was dark- 
ened for him, truly, but a light had arisen for 
him beyond the tomb — a light which would en- 
able him to go cheerfully through his earthly 
pilgrimage. 

" Thomas, Thomas," said the old woman, im- 
patiently, as the boy lingered on the threshold. 

The spectators gathered in that humble room 



SPRING-TIME. 95 

were nothing to Thomas, at that moment. He 
but realized the presence of his grandmother, 
and his God. 

" Say you forgive me. grandmother, I have 
been a very wicked boy," said Thomas, bowing 
down at the bedside. 

The old woman laid her wrinkled hand on 
the head of the kneeling boy, and slowly said, 
" I forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven. My 
gray hairs would not have come to shame, if I 
had taught you to love the Lord, and walk in 
his ways. May he forgive us both, for Jesus' 
sake. Amen." 

"Amen," was repeated by the kindly villagers 
who had gathered round Mrs. Phipps in her 
extremity. "Amen," said the solemn voice of 
the clergyman. "Amen, Amen," was fervently 
echoed in the depths of Orin's heart. 



96 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

CHAPTER XYI. 

CONCLUSION. 

Henry Dearborn liad returned from college. 
He found many changes in his native village, 
but only agreeable ones among our friends 
there. 

No funeral train had as yet gathered at 
Goody Phipps' door. The poor old woman had 
not been snatched away, leaving her friends 
but the doubtful consolation of a death-bed re- 
pentance. She had been spared to show, by a 
new life, the sincerity of her new principles. 

When her mind was once at peace, she could 
bear cheerfully the ills of old age, and smile at 
the mention of her repentant grandson. 

Thomas' weekly visits were looked forward to 
with pleasure, and keenly enjoyed. There was 
but one other house in the village which Thomas 
ever entered. In Jack Bundy's home there was 
a welcome for the humbled youth, and there he 
heard words of Christian counsel that strength- 
ened him in his upward course. Thomas could 
go cheerfully on with his daily duties, looking 



CONCLUSIOX. 9T 

forward to the joy in store for every sinner 
pardoned through Christ, yet he realized that 
the mark of shame was upon him. He shrank 
from the eye of his townsmen, and was thank- 
ful that he had the shelter of a retired home. 

Yet, for once, Thomas was to appear at a 
pleasant gathering of the villagers. 

Farmer Dearborn's heart was too full of joy 
for him to keep it to himself. His dear son 
was once more at home, crowned with college 
honors, yet as unassuming and kindly as in his 
boyish days. 

Farmer Dearborn was determined to have all 
his friends about him to welcome back his dear 
boy, and to rejoice over his future prospects. 

There was a stir in the village when that fact 
became known. It is not our part to speak of 
the new purchases that were made, or of the 
turning of dresses inside out and upside down 
for the occasion. One thing was certain, every 
body that was invited meant to go, and Goody 
Phipps was not an exception to the general rule. 

She said she had known the Dearborns, father 
and son, for four generations, and she would not 
miss giving her poor blessing to such a lad as 
Henry at such a time. Thomas too must be 

Fisher-Boy. *J 



98 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

present ; on this the old lady insisted ; and 
Henry seconded her so warmly, that Thomas 
gave his consent. 

The appointed afternoon arrived. Farmer 
Dearborn said he was not in favor of night 
parties, especially in the country, where folks 
might break their heads driving home in the 
dark. He had no friends he was ashamed to 
look in the face in broad daylight ; and as to 
his house, Mrs. Dearborn need not fear to have 
the sun shine in everywhere, the visitors would 
see nothing amiss. 

To have seen Mrs. Dearborn that after- 
noon, comely and clean, one would never have 
dreamed of the share she had had in preparing 
the good cheer which loaded the table around 
which all the guests were at last gathered. 
Not all, for Thomas Phipps lingered outside 
the door, and could not be persuaded to mingle 
in the cheerful throng. He said he could wish 
Henry well where he was, and that suited him 
best. 

When farmer Dearborn thought the guests 
had sufficiently enjoyed the good cheer to be 
at liberty to give him their attention, he called 
upon them all to join him in thanking God for 



CONCLUSION. 99 

the safe return of his child, and for the bright 
prospect before him. " He is to have the 
blessed privilege of preaching the gospel of 
his heavenly Master, and of leading the devo- 
tions of his brethren in the house of the Lord. 
I hope to see the day when my son will be a 
minister." As the farmer's words died away, 
the voice of the clergyman present said sol- 
emnly, " Let us pray.'' 

Ah, that was a true prayer, and a true 
thanksgiving. 

Henry Dearborn was deeply moved, and 
Orin was scarcely less affected. 

As Henry kindly received the congratula- 
tions of the villagers, Orin's eye was fixed lov- 
ingly upon him ; and when he began to return 
his thanks for all their kindly interest, Orin's 
lips moved with every word that he uttered. 
When Henry came to speak of the profession 
he had chosen, he paused for a moment ; and 
then said, with deep feeling, " I thank you all 
for the prayers you have offered, and for the 
bright hopes you have expressed as to my suc- 
cess as a minister of the gospel. Yet one thing 
I must say, if ever I shall have cause of rejoic- 
ing in souls won for my Saviour, there is 

581)459 



100 THE FISHERMAN'S BOY. 

anotlier present who will have equal cause to 
claim them as his trophies for his Master. 
Whatever good I may do in this world, it is 
Orin, my dear friend, working through me. 
But for him, I should have been the vain, self- 
confident, wilful boy I was by nature. His 
silent example has slowly led me to know and 
feel the beauty of holiness, and to seek that 
forgiveness and that grace which can alone 
make glad the heart. 

"If I can but preach what Orin has prac- 
tised, I shall indeed do well. May God bless 
him. God loill reward him." 

Orin vainly tried to speak. He could but 
wave his hand deprecatingly, and bow his head 
to hide his tears. 

A murmur of universal assent fille'd the 
room; then Mr. Aiken said earnestly, "Dear 
Orin, I have my thanks too for him. What he 
has been to me in my Christian course will 
only be known when the secrets of all hearts 
are revealed." 

Goody Phipps moved forward, and her lips 
parted as if she would have spoken; but she 
was suddenly silenced. 

There was a stir in the assembled crowd, as 



CONCLUSION. 101 

Thomas Pliipps stepped quickly forward and 
took Orin's hand. " He came to me in prison. 
He stuck by me when nobody else did. 1 11 
bless him with my dying breath. All I hope 
for, I owe to him. I felt I must say it," said 
poor Thomas ; and as rapidly as he had entered 
he moved away. 

" God bless my boy," said Jack Bundy fer 
vently. " God bless our sons, farmer Dear 
born, and give them strength to go on in the 
good work." 

And Mary, Mary Bundy, what said she? In 
her heart she cried, " God be merciful to me a 
sinner." She felt unworthy to receive the 
blessings of that day. 

She had given her child to the Lord to labor 
for him. God had accepted her gift, and fitted 
the laborer for his service. While her dim 
eyes had been closed to the truth, Orin, in 
spite of his misfortune, had been doing a work 
at which any clergyman in the land might re- 
joice. "All have not the same gifts," but 
every honest eftort brings a blessing; ever3f 
faithful liver is preaching the gospel. 



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