Chapter III

THE painted humming-top was a source of great pleasure to Ben. He would amuse himself with it for the hour together. But the book of pictures which the lithe girl had given him, delighted him still more. The stories that were printed with the pictures were all told in short easy words, so that Ben had no difficulty in reading them. As we said before, Ben had always lived in London, and therefore he knew very little of all the pleasant things the book spoke about. But his mother, who had lived in the country far away from crowded cities when she was a child, was able to explain everything to him.

One of the pictures was called "Haymaking," and in it was a waggon full of hay with a group of merry children sitting on the top. Ben had often seen great carts of hay going through the streets. But they did not look as nice as the one in the picture, and he had never seen any children riding on them.

Then his mother explained to him all about hayfields and haymaking. How, on a bright summer's morning, very early, before the sun had chased away the drops which sparkled on the grass, a pleasant sound was heard, "rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink." This was the mowers who were sharpening, or whetting, as it is called, their scythes, ready for cutting down the long grass. Soon they were hard at work, and when the grass was cut, it was shaken and spread out over the meadow by means of hay-forks.

Mrs. Holt told Ben that she and each of her brothers had a little hay-fork of their own, and that they all used to go and help to spread the hay in the sun. It was looked upon quite as a holiday, although it was often very hot in the hayfield, but the children did not mind that. Then they used to have their dinner under a shady tree in one corner of the field, and then to work again when the meal was over.

But the best part of it all was when the hay was made, that is, quite dry and ready for the rick. Then the waggon came along, and the haymakers would throw the hay into it with their long forks. When it was quite full, and ready to go to the rick-yard, all the children would be lifted up on to the top of the sweet-smelling hay, shouting and hurrahing for joy as they rode along.

Poor Mrs. Holt! It was long ago since all that pleasure had been hers, but her eye grew brighter, and her cheek lost something of its paleness as she recalled the happy days of her childhood. She told Ben, also, how kind the rough mowers would be to the poor little birds, some of whom, the ground-lark particularly, used to build their nests among the long grass of the field. When the mowers, as they were cutting the grass, came upon one of these tiny nests, they did not take it away, as some cruel boys would have done. But they gathered a branch from one of the trees in the meadow, and stuck it in the ground just over the nest, so that people might know it was there, and not tread upon it as they passed by. And the children would steal gently up to the spot and peep in at the tiny eggs. One of our poets has said—

"He prayeth best who loveth best
All creatures great and small;
For the great God who loveth us,
He made and cares for all."

Another picture in the book was a party of little boys and girls going into the woods to gather primroses, violets, and other sweet spring flowers. Poor Ben! All "he" knew of primroses and violets was seeing women and children selling them in little bunches in the streets. His mother told him how, in the early spring, they used to go into the woods, the dry leaves rustling under their feet as they walked. How, in some parts, the ground was covered with primroses, so that you could scarcely walk without treading on them, and how pretty they looked peeping up from amidst bright green leaves and feathery moss.

But there was one picture which pleased Ben almost more than any of the others. There were tall shady trees overhanging a little brook of clear sparkling water—so clear it was, that you could see every little stone at the bottom. Two or three boys about Ben's age had taken off their shoes and stockings, and were paddling about in the water. Ben's mother told him that there was a little stream, just like the one in the picture, flowing close to where she lived when a child, and that her brothers used frequently, on a hot summer's day, to amuse themselves as the children were doing in the picture.

Ben sighed as he looked at them.

"Did you always live in the country, mother, when you were young?"

"I never lived anywhere else until I was long past your age, Ben. Father and mother had a little cottage by the side of a great wood, which in spring-time, used to be full of wild flowers."

"Oh, mother, if I could but ride in a hay-cart!" said Ben.

"It's a fine pleasant thing, Ben. Many and many a time I've ridden in one; for father used to work for a farmer who had a great many hayfields."

"Where are your father and mother now?" asked Ben.

"In heaven."

"When did they die, mother?"

"Long, long ago, Ben."

"And who lives in the little cottage by the wood-side now, mother?"

"Ah, child, I'm sure I don't know. I did hear tell some years back, that my oldest brother Will had gone to live there. But I've never heard anything from him since I left home quite a girl, when father and mother died, and we children had all to turn out and get our living. It has been against my hearing from any of them that neither of us knew how to write. Often and often have I felt the want of it; and that made me so anxious that you should be as good a scholar as I could afford to make you, Ben."

"When I can write well enough, I will write to my uncle Will, mother, and ask him where he lives?"

"You must know that first, silly boy," said his mother, laughing.

"Then, mother, I tell you what I'll do. I'll make haste and learn as much as I can, and grow up to be a rich man, and thou we will go down into the country, and you shall show me the cottage by the wood-side, and we will see who lives there."

"That will be a very good plan, Ben."

Ben dreamed that night that he was picking primroses in the wood near his mother's old home. When he awoke in the morning, it was with a feeling of sadness that he looked out of the window, and saw nothing but the same smoky roofs of houses, and the same narrow strip of sky overhead.

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It was a sickly autumn time that year, and Mrs. Holt's face grew paler and paler, and her strength became less and less each day as she sat at work the long and weary hours in that small close room. Ben thought his mother seemed very ill; for her voice was so weak, and very often her head ached so badly that she could not bear the noise of the humming-top in the room. She was able to do very little work, and could not, therefore, earn much money; so that they were often very hungry, and lived on the poorest food. A half-crown a week had to be put by for the rent, come what would, or else they would have been turned into the street. Mrs. Holt had been obliged to sell a great deal of the furniture that she possessed when her husband lived, but her little room had still many tidy things in it. And she could not bear the thoughts of giving it all up, and going into the workhouse. So she still struggled on, and prayed to God to help her and little Ben.

The last bundle of work was taken by Ben to the shop; for his mother was too ill to go herself. He brought home three shillings and tenpence, the payment for it; and his mother put on one side half-a-crown for the rent the next Monday, and there was then only one shilling and fourpence left.

"I must keep you at home, Ben, after this week, until times get better, for I shall not be able to afford to pay the pence for your schooling."

"Never mind, mother; I can write a copy at home, and read to you every day. I can also nurse you and help to make you well. It will be better than you being by yourself all day long."

The parish doctor came that day, and told Mrs. Holt that all she wanted was plenty of nourishing things, and then she would soon be well.

The poor woman sighed as she felt how utterly impossible it was for her to buy suitable food when her whole worldly wealth was one shilling and fourpence, and she had no hope of earning more in her present weak state.

The next morning, when Ben went to school, he told the master that he should not be able to attend after that week, as his mother was ill, and could not afford to pay for him. The master was sorry to hear it, for Ben was a steady and promising pupil, and he thought it a great pity his studies should be interrupted. He asked Ben several questions about his mother, and planned in his mind to mention the case to a kind lady, who, he knew, had severed times paid for deserving boys when their parents were unable to do so. He said nothing about it to Ben, however, until he should be quite sure of the matter.

When Ben went home in the middle of the day, he found his mother much worse. A neighbour was with her, and Ben heard her say she was sure his mother would never get better unless she had something to strengthen her. Ben glanced at her pale thin face and wasted hands, and the thought suddenly came over him that his mother was going to die. The thought seemed more than he was able to bear, and falling on his knees by the bedside, he hid his face in the bed-clothes and burst into tears.

Mrs. Holt guessed what was passing in her son's mind.

"Don't cry, my own dear boy," she said; "I shall be better soon, please God; and if not, dear Ben, it will be all for the best, however hard it may seem at the time. If God should take me, Ben, He will watch over you and keep you from harm, so long as you pray for strength to do His will and try to be a good boy."

"Oh, mother, mother!" sobbed little Ben.

She spoke soothing words of comfort to him, and by degrees he became calmer. And having eaten a crust of dry bread for his dinner, she persuaded him to return to school, being unwilling that he should lose even the few days' instruction still remaining to him.

The neighbours had promised to look in at his mother now and then during the afternoon, and so Ben, who had always obeyed her slightest wish, went off to school but with a heavy, aching heart.

If he could only get some nourishing things for his mother! "Then," perhaps, she would soon be well. Oh, if he were only grown up, and could earn something for her? These thoughts ran in his mind all the time he was at school, but no one took any notice of the sad face of little Ben, for the master to whom he had spoken in the morning was not there in the afternoon.

It was the custom of the school for two of the boys to stay every evening after the others had left, to sweep and tidy up the room. This evening it fell to Ben's turn and that of Tom Wade, a boy some years older than Ben, and who likewise lived in White Horse Alley. Tom was not a good boy; and Mrs. Holt had never allowed Ben to be very intimate with him, although he was a near neighbour. He used bad words and played at pitch and toss, and other low games. He always seemed as if he had a grudge against Ben; perhaps it was because the latter would not be friends with him and share in his bad ways.

This afternoon, he was taunting poor Ben with his poverty, and telling him it was his own fault that he was not better off.

"Look here," he said, as he rattled some money in his pocket, and then drew out a good handful of halfpence. "I won them all at dinner time, and you might do the same if you were not so particular."

"But it is not honest, Tom."

"Not honest, isn't it? Well then, be honest and starve; and see your mother starve too."

Tom had heard that Mrs. Holt was very ill, and that she was unable to do any work.

The tears rose to Ben's eyes at this unfeeling speech. He did not answer, however, but went on busily with his work of sweeping. All at once his eye was attracted by something bright and shining amongst the heap of dirt and rubbish he had swept together. He stooped down to pick it up.

"Why, what's this?" he cried, as his hand grasped a small gold coin.

Tom was close to him, and looked over his shoulder as he spoke.

"What is it? Why, it's half-a-sovereign! Now you're all right!" continued Tom, slapping Ben on the back in a familial way. "You go halves with me, and I won't tell a word."

"What do you mean?" asked Ben, in utter amazement.

"Mean! Why, that there'll be five shillings apiece for us; and five shillings will buy plenty of good things for your mother," said Tom.

This was attacking poor Ben in his weakest part. Five shillings! Why, it seemed to Ben a little mine of wealth; and visions of his sick mother daily becoming stronger, and than getting quite well, rose up before his mind, and for a moment, banished every other thought.

But then his mother: had she not told him that he was always to try and do what was right, let the cost be what it might? In this case, the cost was very great; to Ben it seemed as if it were almost his mother's life, the precious life of his only earthly friend. But was even this to deter him? Ought he, under any circumstances, to do what he knew would be breaking one of God's commandments? These thoughts followed each other in quick succession through Ben's mind; and still, for a moment, he hesitated.

Tom saw his hesitation. "No one will know it," he whispered.

His voice had a hissing sound, and Ben shuddered as he listened.

Was it true? Would no one know it?

Thanks to the pious lessons of his mother, blessed as they had been by God's Holy Spirit, Ben knew that it was not true.

"God will know it, Tom!" cried Ben, pointing, as he spoke, to a text printed in large letters, and hanging on the walls of the schoolroom—

"THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE, BEHOLDING THE EVIL AND THE
GOOD."

"God will know it, Tom, and we should be thieves if we kept this money."

"You're afraid!" said Tom Wade, in a jeering tone. "You're a coward!"

Was Ben afraid?

He was afraid, and yet he was no coward. St. Paul tells us (Heb. xii. 28), that there is a "godly fear," which will help us to serve God; and David says in the Psalms (cxi. 10), that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." There can be no cowardice in having such a fear as that; on the contrary, we should pray earnestly that we may have that fear, that "holy fear" of every sinful way, which will enable us to "depart from evil."

"I'm afraid of doing wrong," said Ben, in answer to Tom's jeering remarks, "and for fear I should be tempted to keep the money, I will go and give it to the master at once."

"That you shan't," cried Tom, making a dart at the money which Ben held in his hand. "I'll keep it, if you're afraid to do so."

Tom was much bigger and stronger than Ben, but Ben had right on his side. It was Tom Wade who was the real coward after all,—the mean, dishonest boy who had not the courage, the moral courage, to do what was right.

Although not very strong, Ben was light and agile. And avoiding Tom's grasp, he made one spring, and reached the door, and was out of the room before Tom could overtake him.

A mocking laugh and threatening words rang in his ears as he ran across the yard towards the residence of the masters.

Dreading that Tom would pursue him, he rushed on, almost flew up-stairs, and, breathless and exhausted, entered the room where the teachers were just sitting down to tea.

"What is the matter, Holt?" they cried, in a tone of surprise.

Whilst the kind master to whom Ben had spoken in the morning, came up to the excited boy, and bade him sit down and recover himself a little before he attempted to speak.

"Take it, oh, please take it, sir!" cried Ben, putting the half-sovereign into the hands of his friend.

Mr. Marland had proved himself a real friend to Ben that day, although as yet the boy knew nothing of it.

Ben Holt's sad face whilst announcing that his mother could no longer afford to send him to school, had haunted the kind-hearted master all the day long. And he had been that very afternoon to call upon the benevolent lady of whom he had thought in the morning, and had told her of the illness of Ben's mother, and of Ben himself being obliged to stay away from school in consequence. She had promised to pay for his schooling until his mother was quite well again, and had given Mr. Marland five shillings for Mrs. Holt, should he find her case to be a really deserving one. Moreover, she had promised to call and see the poor woman herself in a day or two. All this Mr. Marland told to happy, grateful Ben, when having recovered himself, he sat eating a good meal by his friend's side.

Ben had confessed to him all his terrible temptation about the half-sovereign, but without mentioning Tom Wade's name in the matter. It turned out, after all, that it was not a half-sovereign, although in size it very much resembled one. It was a curious old half-guinea piece; and had Ben attempted to pass it, he would have been taken up to account for the manner in which he came by it. Mr. Marland gave Ben a couple of shillings to buy something nice for his mother as he was going home, and promised that his wife should come and see her early the next morning, and bring her the remainder of the kind lady's present. He took charge of the half-guinea, which he said he had little doubt belonged to a lady who had visited the schools in the morning, and who had taken out her purse whilst there.

"You are an honest boy, Ben Holt," said Mr. Marland, as he shook hands with Ben at parting, "and you are earning for yourself a good name which will stick to you through life. It will be better than great riches to you, my boy, for it will secure to you the respect and esteem of all good men."

Ben went home with a gladsome heart. On his way, he bought some tea and sugar, and a small loaf; and also some beef to make beef-tea for his mother. Mrs. Marland, who was an excellent nurse, had told him it was the best thing he could get for her.

Poor Mrs. Holt had been very anxious at Ben's prolonged absence from home. But her sorrow soon turned into grateful joy as she listened to all he had to tell her. Was it the comforting things that Ben had brought which filled her heart with gratitude? Oh no, she was truly thankful for them also; but her joyful feelings arose from learning that her very dear son had again proved himself an honest boy.