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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4628-h.zip b/4628-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..62dfd2f --- /dev/null +++ b/4628-h.zip diff --git a/4628-h/4628-h.htm b/4628-h/4628-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e095185 --- /dev/null +++ b/4628-h/4628-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6695 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Iron Rule, by T. S. Arthur +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iron Rule, by T. S. Arthur + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Iron Rule + or, Tyranny in the Household + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 18, 2009 [EBook #4628] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: February 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON RULE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE IRON RULE; +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +T. S. ARTHUR, +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE," "LOVE IN A COTTAGE," <BR> +"MARY MORETON; OR, THE BROKEN PROMISE," "AGNES; OR, THE POSSESSED," <BR> +"INSUBORDINATION," "LUCY SANDFORD," "THE ORPHAN CHILDREN," <BR> +"THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER," "THE DIVORCED WIFE," "PRIDE AND PRUDENCE," <BR> +"THE TWO MERCHANTS," "CECILIA HOWARD," "THE BANKER'S WIFE," ETC. <BR> +COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. +</H5> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Philadelphia: +<BR> +1853 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="14%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">XIV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE IRON RULE; +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<P> +ANDREW HOWLAND belonged to that class of rigid moralists who can +tolerate in others no wanderings from the right way. His children +were forced into the straight jacket of external consistency from +their earliest infancy; and if they deviated from the right line in +which they were required to walk, punishment was sure to follow. +</P> + +<P> +A child loves his parent naturally. The latter may be harsh, and +unreasonable; still the child will look up to him in weak +dependence, while love mingles, like golden threads in a dark +fabric, amid the fear and respect with which he regards him. Thus it +was with the children of Andrew Howland. Their mother was a gentle, +retiring woman, with a heart full of the best affections. When the +sunshine fell upon her golden locks in the early days of innocence, +it was in a home where the ringing laugh, the merry shout, and the +wild exuberance of feeling ever bursting from the heart of childhood +were rarely checked; or, if repressed, with a hand that wounded not +in its firm contraction. She had grown up to womanhood amid all that +was gentle, kind and loving. Transplanted, then, like a tender +flower from a sunny border, to the cold and formal home of her +husband, she drooped in the uncongenial soil, down into which her +heart-fibres penetrated in search of nutrition. And yet, while +drooping thus, she tenderly loved her husband, and earnestly sought +to overcome in herself many true impulses of nature to which he gave +the false name of weaknesses. It was less painful thus to repress +them herself, than to have them crushed in the iron hand with which +he was ever ready to grasp them. +</P> + +<P> +Let it not be thought that Andrew Howland was an evil minded man. In +the beginning we have intimated that this was not so. He purposed +wrong to no one. Honest he was in all his dealings with the world; +honest even to the division of a penny. The radical fault of his +character was coldness and intolerance. Toward wrong-doing and +wrong-doers, he had no forbearance whatever; and to him that strayed +from the right path, whether child or man, he meted out, if in his +power, the full measure of consequences. Unfortunately for those who +came within the circle of his authority, his ideas of right and +wrong were based on warped and narrow views, the result of a +defective religious education. He, therefore, often called things +wrong, from prejudice, that were not wrong in themselves; and +sternly reacted upon others, and drove them away from him, when he +might have led and guided them into the paths of virtue. +</P> + +<P> +The first year of Andrew Howland's married life was one of deep +trial to the loving young creature he had taken from her sunny home +to cherish in his bosom—a bosom too cold to warm into vigorous life +new shoots of affection. And yet he loved his wife; loved her +wisely, as he thought, not weakly, nor blindly. He saw her faults, +and, true to his character, laid his hands upon them. Alas! how much +of good was crushed in the rigid pressure! +</P> + +<P> +To Mr. Howland life was indeed a stern reality. Duties and +responsibilities were ever in his thoughts. Pleasure was but another +name for sin, and a weakness of character an evil not to be +tolerated. +</P> + +<P> +Enough, for our present purpose, can be seen of the character of +Andrew Howland in this brief outline. As our story advances, it will +appear in minuter shades, and more varied aspects. Seven years from +the day of his marriage we will introduce him to the reader. +</P> + +<P> +"What <I>shall</I> I do with this boy?" said Mr. Howland. He spoke +sternly, yet in a perplexed voice, while he walked the floor of the +room with a quickness of tread unusual. "If something is not done to +break him into obedience he will be ruined." +</P> + +<P> +"He needs all our forbearance," Mrs. Howland ventured to remark, "as +well as our care and solicitude." +</P> + +<P> +"Forbearance! I have no forbearance toward wrong, Esther. You have +forborne until the child is beyond your control." +</P> + +<P> +"Not entirely," was meekly answered, as the mother's eyes drooped to +the floor. +</P> + +<P> +At this moment a servant, who had been sent for the child, came in +with him. A few doors away lived another child, about the same age, +of whom little Andrew was very fond, and whose companionship he +sought on every occasion. Against the father of this child Mr. +Howland had imbibed a strong prejudice, which was permitted to +extend itself to his family. Rigid and uncompromising in everything, +he had observed that Andrew was frequently in company with the child +of this neighbor, and felt impelled to lay a prohibition on their +intercourse. But Andrew, a light-hearted, high-spirited boy, who +inherited from his father a strong will, was by no means inclined to +yield a ready obedience in this particular. He loved his little +companion, and never was happier than when in her society. +Naturally, therefore, he sought it on every occasion, and when the +positive interdiction of their intercourse came, the child felt that +a duty was imposed upon him that was impossible of fulfillment. +Young as he was, he could endure punishment, but not give up his +little friend. Advantage was therefore taken of every opportunity to +be with her that offered. Punishments of various kinds were +inflicted, but they acted only as temporary restraints. +</P> + +<P> +As to this little girl herself, let it be understood, Mr. Howland +had no personal objection. He had never seen anything that was wrong +in her, and had never heard a word of evil spoken against her. The +simple, yet all-embracing defect that appertained to her was his +dislike of her father; and this dislike had its chief foundation in +a wrong estimate of his character, the result of his own narrow +prejudices. Somewhat hastily, we will admit, did Mr. Howland utter +the word that was to separate the little friends, and the word was +half-repented of as soon as spoken. But once uttered, it was a law +to which he required the most implicit obedience. He thought not of +the wrong the separation might do his child; he thought only of +enforcing obedience—of breaking a stubborn will. Obedience in +children was, in his eyes, everything—and he visited, with the +sternest displeasure, every deviation therefrom. The consequence +was, that his little ones, in their nest at home, rarely saw in the +face of their father a smile of affection; rarely heard his voice in +words of tenderness. Something, in their conduct was ever +displeasing to him, and he attempted its correction by coldness, +repulsion, harsh words, or cruel punishment. He never sought to +lead, but to force them into the right way. +</P> + +<P> +The word of interdiction was uttered, but Andrew could not give up +his sweet little friend; and the word was therefore disregarded. +Stealthily, to avoid punishment, he went to her but watchful eyes +were upon him, and he was soon brought back. Gently and earnestly +his mother would chide his disobedience; harshly his father would +punish it—but all was of no avail. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, on returning home one evening +from his store, and not seeing the bright little fellow in the room +with his mother. This was on the occasion of his introduction to the +reader. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. He was here just now," replied Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw him a little while ago playing on the steps with Emily +Winters," said the nurse, who had come recently into the family, and +was not aware of the prohibition that existed in regard to the child +she had mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, angrily. Then he added in +an excited voice, "go and bring him home immediately!" +</P> + +<P> +The nurse left the room and soon returned with the child. In his +face was a look of blended fear, anger and resolution. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, sir?" sternly asked Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +The child made no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear me, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +A slight motion of shrinking and alarm might have been seen in the +little fellow as the angry voice of his father fell upon his ears. +But he did not look up or make a reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you answer me? Stubborn boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, now +catching hold tightly of Andrew's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you answer your father, my child?" said the mother, in a +voice that was tender and appealing. The tone reached the boy's +heart, and he lifted his large blue eyes from the floor and fixed +them on his father's threatening countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Say! Where have you been?" repeated Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"To see Emily," returned Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" +</P> + +<P> +The child's eyes sunk again to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Say! Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" +</P> + +<P> +But there was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! Andrew! why don't you answer your father?" came in +distressed and tremulous tones from his mother's lips. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland was about turning to chide sharply his wife for this +interference, when Andrew again raised his eyes and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why have you disobeyed me?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy's eyes fell again, and he remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll break you of this if I break your heart!" said Mr. Howland +severely, and, as he spoke, he almost lifted the child from the +floor with his strong arm as he led him from the room. A groan +issued from the mother's heart and she covered her face and wept. +</P> + +<P> +By the time Mr. Howland reached the chamber above, to which he +repaired with Andrew, the excitement of his anger had subsided; but +not his stern purpose in regard to his child, who had again +disobeyed him. The absolute necessity of obedience in children he +recognized in all its length and breadth. He saw no hope for them in +the future unless obedience were constrained at every cost. Happy +both for them and himself would it have been if he had been wiser in +his modes of securing obedience, and more cautious about exacting +from his children things almost impossible for them to perform. +Without a law there is no sin. Careful, then, should every parent be +how he enacts a law, the very existence of which insures its +violation. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland had sought, by various modes of punishment, other than +chastisement, to enforce obedience in this particular case. Now he +was resolved to try the severer remedy. Andrew had expected nothing +farther than to be shut up, alone, in the room, and to go, perhaps, +supperless to bed, and he was nerved to bear this without a murmur. +But when the rod became suddenly visible, and was lifted above him +in the air, his little heart was filled with terror. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father!" he exclaimed, in a voice of fear, while his upturned, +appealing face became ashy pale. +</P> + +<P> +"You have disobeyed me again, my son," said Mr. Howland, coldly and +sternly, "and I must whip you for it. Disobedient children have to +be punished." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father! Don't whip me! Don't!" came huskily from the lips of +the terrified child. But even while he thus pleaded, the smarting +strokes began to fall. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, sir!" at length said Mr. Howland, pausing with the rod +uplifted, "will you go into Mr. Winters' again?" +</P> + +<P> +The child hesitated, and down came a blow upon his tender limbs, +followed by the words— +</P> + +<P> +"Say! Will you go in there any more?" +</P> + +<P> +Still there was a reluctance to make this promise, and another and +harder stroke was given. The father was resolved to conquer, and he +did conquer. A promise was extorted from the child's lips, while, +his heart yielded nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, sir! See that you keep your word," said Mr. Howland, as +he released the writhing sufferer from his firm grasp. "If you +disobey me again in this thing, I will give five times as much." +</P> + +<P> +And he turned from the chamber leaving the wronged and suffering +child alone. +</P> + +<P> +"I've begun now, and I'll go through with it," muttered Mr. Howland, +as he reentered the room where his wife was sitting. "I never saw so +perverse and self-willed a child in my life. If he is not subdued +now, and forced to obey, his ultimate destruction is inevitable." +</P> + +<P> +"His fault was not a very great one," Mrs. Howland ventured to +suggest. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you call disobedience a little fault?" asked Mr. Howland, his +brow contracting as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not mean that," quickly answered Mrs. Howland. "I meant his +going in to see Emily Winters. The children are very fond of each +other." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have told him not to go in there, haven't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. That settles the matter. If he goes, he disobeys me; and +if he disobeys me, he must be punished." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Andrew—" +</P> + +<P> +"It is useless to argue about this with me, Esther. Entirely +useless. In your weakness you would indulge and ruin the boy. But I +know my duty better." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland sighed deeply and remained silent. Some ten minutes +afterwards, seeing her husband engaged with a book, she arose and +left the room. As soon as she closed the door, every movement was +suddenly quickened, and she sprung up the stairway to the chamber +from which had come down to her the screams of her boy, as he shrunk +under the cruel strokes inflicted by the hand of his father. +Entering, she saw Andrew sitting on the floor, with his arms resting +on a low chair, and his face buried in them. He raised his head +slowly, and turned to see who had come in. The instant he saw that +it was his mother, a flush came into his pale face, and tears dimmed +the light of his beautiful, tender, loving eyes. In another moment +he was sobbing on her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Andrew must not be disobedient again," said the mother, so +soon as her child had grown calm, bending close to his cheek as she +spoke, and letting her breath fall warmly over it. +</P> + +<P> +"Emily is a good little girl, and I love her. She ain't bad, mother. +She is better than I am," quickly returned the child, raising +himself up, and lifting his eyes earnestly to his mother's face. +</P> + +<P> +"But your father has forbidden you to go to her house, Andrew." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't he let Emily come to see me?" urged the child. +</P> + +<P> +"No, dear. He wants you to play with some one else." +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't want to play with any one else. Emily is a good girl, +and I like her so much. Indeed she ain't bad, mother. She's good." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, dear," answered the perplexed mother. "I know that Emily is +a good girl. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then why won't father let me play with her?" was Andrew's quick +interrogation. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't wish you to do so, my child, and you must be an +obedient, good little boy, and then your father will love you." +</P> + +<P> +"He don't love me!" said Andrew in a tone and with an emphasis that +startled his mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, he does! He loves you very much. Isn't he your father?" +replied Mrs. Howland in an earnest voice. +</P> + +<P> +"He wouldn't have whipped me so hard if he had loved me! I'm sure he +wouldn't, mother." +</P> + +<P> +And tears gushed from the eyes of the child at the remembrance of +his father's stern face, and the pain he had suffered. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew musn't speak so of his father," said Mrs. Howland in a +chiding voice. "Andrew was disobedient; that was the reason why his +father punished him. Andrew must be a good boy." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't bad, mother," sobbed the child. "I'm sure it ain't bad to +play with Emily. She never does anything naughty." +</P> + +<P> +"It is bad if your father forbids your doing so," replied Mrs. +Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"No—it can't be bad to play with Emily," said the little fellow, +speaking half to himself. "She's so good, and I love her." +</P> + +<P> +All in vain proved the mother's effort to make her boy see that it +was wrong to play with Emily. He wanted a reason beyond the +command of his father, and that she was not able to give. The more +she talked with him, the more plainly did she see that rebellion was +in his young heart, and that he would act it out in the face of all +consequences. Deeply saddened was she at this conviction, for she +well knew that obedience to parents is the good ground into which +the seeds of civil and religious obedience in manhood must be sown. +</P> + +<P> +As for herself, Mrs. Howland had no objection to little Emily +Winters as the companion of Andrew. She was, as the boy said, a good +girl, and her influence over him was for good. But the stern +prejudice of Mr. Howland had come in to break up the friendship +formed between the children, and his inflexible will would brook no +opposition. All must bend to him, even at the risk of breaking. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly half an hour did Mrs. Howland pass alone with her boy, +striving to awaken the better impulses of his heart, and as they +became active, seeking to implant in his mind a willingness to deny +himself, in order to obey his father. But the father asked too much. +There was no charge of evil against Emily as a reason for this +interdiction. All the mother could say, was— +</P> + +<P> +"It is your father's wish and command, my child, and you must obey +him." +</P> + +<P> +But this could not satisfy the boy's mind in a case where his +feelings were so deeply interested. At length, Mrs. Howland turned +to leave the room. Andrew followed her to the door, and looking up +with a sad light in his large eyes, murmured— +</P> + +<P> +"I do love you, mother!" +</P> + +<P> +A tear fell upon his face as his mother stooped to kiss him. A +little while after, and he was alone. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Howland, joining her husband soon after, +"that we have done wrong in prohibiting all intercourse between +Andrew and little Emily Winters." +</P> + +<P> +"Why so?" was quickly asked, and in no very pleasant tone of voice. +</P> + +<P> +"The children are very much attached to each other." +</P> + +<P> +"That is no reason." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be no reason if there was anything bad about Emily. But +there is not. She is a very good little girl." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw anything out of the way in her." +</P> + +<P> +"It's more than I can say of her father, then," was replied. "There +lies my chief objection. I want no intercourse between the families, +and do not mean to have any. In this I am entirely in earnest. +Andrew must seek another playfellow." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid we will have a great deal of trouble," sighed Mrs. +Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not, then. Let me know whenever he disobeys in this matter, +and I'll apply the remedy in a way to cure him. His will has to be +broken, and the present occasion is as good as any other for +effecting so all-important an object. The stronger he is tempted to +disobey, the more effectual will be the subjugation of his will, +when the conquest is made." +</P> + +<P> +It was useless for Mrs. Howland to argue with her husband. He never +yielded the smallest assent to any reasons she might bring, nor to +any position she might assume. So, with a pressure on her heart, and +a clear perception in her mind that he was wrong, she heard these +last words in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I call Andrew down?" asked the mother, as the tea-bell rung, +soon after. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Mr. Howland, firmly; "I wish him to understand that I +am in earnest." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think he has been punished sufficiently?" said Mrs. +Howland, timidly. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do not, or I would remit the penalty of transgression," +coldly returned her husband. "He's a stubborn, self-willed boy, and +must be made to feel that he has a master." +</P> + +<P> +"Kindness and persuasion often does—" +</P> + +<P> +"I will hear no more of that!" quickly returned Mr. Howland; "and I +wish you, once for all, to understand, Esther, that I will not +consent to an interference on your part with what I believe to be my +duty. Thousands of children have been ruined by this weak kindness +and persuasion, but this shall never be the case with mine." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland did not observe that his wife caught her breath, as he +uttered the first few words of his harsh report. She made no further +answer, but passed on with her husband to the tea-room. But she ate +nothing. Dreamily rested her eyes on vacancy, as she sat at the +table. Her mind took no note of images pictured on the retina, for +her thoughts were in another place, and with her inner vision she +saw the sad form of her wronged and suffering child shrinking in the +lone chamber where he had been banished. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I take Andrew some supper?" she asked, as she arose, at +length, from the table. +</P> + +<P> +"He can have some bread and water," was coldly and briefly answered. +</P> + +<P> +Will any one blame the mother, that she went beyond this? A few +minutes afterward she entered the room in which Andrew had been +punished, bearing in her hands a small tray, on which was a cup of +milk and water, some toast, and a piece of cake. The twilight had +already fallen, and dusky shadows had gathered so thickly that the +eyes of Mrs. Howland failed to see her child on first entering the +room. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" she called, in a low, tender voice. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" +</P> + +<P> +Still all remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +More accustomed to the feeble light that pervaded the chamber, Mrs. +Howland now perceived her boy in a corner, sitting upon the floor, +with his head reclining upon a low ottoman. He was asleep. Placing +the tray she had brought upon a table, Mrs. Howland lifted the child +in her arms, and as she did so, he murmured in a sad voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, papa! oh, don't strike so hard!" +</P> + +<P> +Unable to repress her feelings, the mother's tears gushed over her +cheeks, and her bosom heaved with emotions that spent themselves in +sobs and moans. +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes she sat thus. But the child slept on. Once or twice +she tried to awake him, that he might get the supper she had +brought; but he slept on soundly, and she refrained, unwilling to +call him back to the grief of mind she felt that consciousness would +restore. Undressing him, at length, she laid him in his bed, and +bending over his precious form in the deeper darkness that had now +fallen, lifted her heart, and prayed that God would keep him from +evil. For a long time did she bend thus over her boy, and longer +still would she have remained near him, for her heart was affected +with an unusual tenderness, had not the cries of her younger child +summoned her from the room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +THE tears of childhood are soon dried. Grief is but as the summer +rain. On the next morning, little Andrew's voice was heard singing +over the house, as merrily as ever. But the sound did not affect, +pleasantly, the mind of his father. He had not forgotten the scene +of the previous evening, and was far from having forgiven the +disobedience he had punished so severely. Had Andrew come forth from +his chamber silent and with a sober, abashed, and fearful +countenance, as if he still bore the weight of his father's +displeasure, Mr. Howland would have felt that he had made some +progress in the work of breaking the will of his child. But to see +him moving about and singing as gaily as a bird, discouraged him. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I made no impression on the boy?" he asked himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" said Andrew, running up, with a happy smile upon his face, +as these thoughts were passing through the mind of Mr. Howland, +"won't you buy me a pretty book? Oh! I want one—" +</P> + +<P> +"Naughty, disobedient boy!" +</P> + +<P> +These were the words, uttered sternly, and with a forbidding aspect +of countenance, that met this affectionate state of mind, and threw +the child rudely from his father. +</P> + +<P> +Andrew looked frightened for a moment or two, and then shrunk away. +From that time until his father left the house, his voice was still. +During the morning, he amused himself with his playthings and his +little sister, and seemed well contented. But after dinner he became +restless, and often exclaimed— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I wish I had somebody to play with!" +</P> + +<P> +At length, after sitting by the window and looking out for a long +time, he turned to his mother, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, can't I go and see Emily Winters?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Andrew, of course not," replied Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, mother? I like her, and she's good." +</P> + +<P> +"Because your father doesn't wish you go to her house. Didn't he +punish you last evening for going there?" +</P> + +<P> +At this the child grew impatient, and threw himself about with angry +gestures. Then he sat down and cried for a time bitterly, while his +mother strove, but in vain, to soothe him. For hours his +thoughts had been on his little friend, and now he cared for nothing +but to see her. Denied this privilege from mere arbitrary authority, +his mind had become fretted beyond his weak ability to control +himself. +</P> + +<P> +It was, perhaps, an hour after this, that Mrs. Howland missed +Andrew, and fearful that he might have been tempted to disobey the +command laid upon him, raised the window and looked into the street. +Just as she did so, she saw him running back toward his home from +the house of Mr. Winters, on the steps of which sat Emily. Entering +quickly, she heard him close the street-door with a slight jar, as +if he designed making as little noise as possible. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland as soon as he came +up to her room, which he did soon after. +</P> + +<P> +"Down in the kitchen with Jane," was replied without hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been nowhere else?" Mrs. Howland repented having asked +this question the moment it passed her lips, and still more when the +child answered as unhesitatingly as before, "No, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +Here was falsehood added to disobedience! Poor Mrs. Howland turned +her face away to grieve and ponder. She found herself in a narrow +path, and doubtful as to the steps to be taken. She said nothing +more, for she could not see clearly what it was best for her to say; +and she did nothing, for she could not see what it was best for her +to do. But she resolved to be watchful over her boy, lest he should +again be tempted into disobedience. +</P> + +<P> +The mother's watchfulness, however, availed not. Ere night-fall +Andrew was with his little friend again. Unfortunately for him, the +pleasure he derived from her society caused him to forget the +passing of time, and his stolen delight was, in the end, suddenly +dispelled by the stern voice of his father, who passed the door of +Mr. Winters on his way homeward. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly and in fear did the child obey the angry command to return +home. He knew that he would be punished with great severity, and he +was not mistaken. He was so punished. But did this avail anything? +No! On the next day he asked his mother to let him sit at the front +door. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid you'll go into Mr. Winters," said Mrs. Howland, in +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no; indeed I won't, mother," was the ready answer. +</P> + +<P> +"If you disobey me, I can't let you go to the door again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I won't disobey you," replied the child. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Andrew, I'll trust you. Now, don't deceive me." +</P> + +<P> +The child promised over and over again, and Mrs. Howland trusted +him. Ten minutes afterward she looked out, but he was nowhere +to be seen. A domestic was sent to the house of Mr. Winters, where +Andrew was found, as happy as a child could be, playing with his +little friend Emily. On being reproved by his mother for this act of +disobedience, he looked earnestly in her face and said— +</P> + +<P> +"You won't tell father, will you? He'll whip me so, and I don't like +to be whipped." +</P> + +<P> +"But why did you go in there?" said Mrs. Howland. "Haven't we +forbidden you? And didn't you promise me that if I'd let you go to +the front door, you would stay there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't help it, mother," replied Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you could." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I couldn't, mother. I saw Emily, and then I couldn't help +it." +</P> + +<P> +There was an expression in the child's voice as he said this, that +thrilled the feelings of his mother. She felt that he spoke only the +simple truth—that he could not help doing as he had done. +</P> + +<P> +"But Andrew must help it," she was constrained to reply. "Mother +can't let him go to the front door again." +</P> + +<P> +"You won't tell father, will you?" urged the child, lifting, +earnestly, his large, bright, innocent eyes to his mother's face. +"Say, you won't tell him?" +</P> + +<P> +Grieved, perplexed, and troubled, Mrs. Howland knew not what to say, +nor how to act. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear mother!" urged the boy, "you won't tell father? Say you +won't?" And tears began to glisten beneath his eyelids. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew has been disobedient," said the mother, trying to assume an +offended tone. "Will he be so anymore?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you won't tell father, I'll be good." +</P> + +<P> +The mother sighed, and fixed her gaze musingly on the floor. Her +thoughts were still more confused, and her mind in still greater +perplexity. Ah, if she only knew what was right! +</P> + +<P> +"I will not tell your father this time," she at length said, "but +don't ask me, if you are again disobedient." +</P> + +<P> +But of what avail was the child's promises. He had strong feelings, +a strong will, and, though so very young, much endurance. A law, at +variance almost with a law of his nature, had been arbitrarily +enacted, and he could not obey it. As well might his father have +shut him up, hungry, in a room filled with tempting food, and +commanded him not to touch or taste it. Had an allegation of evil +conduct been brought against Emily Winters; had any right reason for +the interdiction been given, then Mr. Howland might have had some +power over the strong will and stronger inclinations of the child. +But into the mind of Andrew, young as he was, came a sense of +injustice and wrong on the part of his father, and there was no +willingness, from filial duty, to yield obedience in a case where +every feeling of his heart was at variance with the command. +</P> + +<P> +The struggle so early commenced between the father and his child, +was an unceasing one. The will of Andrew, which by other treatment +might have been bent to obedience, gained a vigor like the young oak +amid storms, in the strife and reaction of his daily life. Instead +of drawing his child to him, there was ever about Mr. Howland a +sphere of repulsion. Andrew was always doing something to offend his +father; and his father was in consequence always offended. A kind +word from paternal lips rarely touched the ears of the boy, and, but +for the love of his gentle mother, home would have been almost +intolerable. Steadily, against all opposition, chidings, and +punishment, Andrew would seek the company of his little friend Emily +on every convenient occasion. To avoid the consequences he would +practice deception, and utter direct falsehood without compunction +or hesitation. At last, after a struggle of two years, even the +father became wearied and discouraged at the perseverance of his +child; and there came a suggestion to his mind, that probably, to +continue as he had been going on for so long a time, would do more +harm than good. It requires no little self-denial for a man like +Andrew Howland to yield in such a contention, and let the will of +his child remain unbroken. But, after a long debate with himself, +his better conviction triumphed over prejudice and the tenacity of a +mind fixed in its own opinions. He ceased to command obedience in +the case of Emily Winters, and therefore ceased to punish Andrew on +her account. Nevertheless, he rarely saw him in her company that the +displeasure he felt was not manifested by a frown, or some word that +smote painfully upon the ear of his child. +</P> + +<P> +Possessing an active, independent mind, Andrew failed not to excite +the displeasure of his father in many ways. In fact he was always in +disgrace from some cause or other and the subject of angry reproof, +harsh judgment, or direct punishment. Often his conduct needed +reproof and even punishment; but he was the victim of such frequent +wrong judgment and unjust reproof and punishment, that by the time +he was eleven years of age, he looked upon his father more as a +persecuting tyrant than a kind parent, who sincerely desired his +good. An instance of wrong judgment and unjust punishment we will +here give. +</P> + +<P> +As Andrew grew older and formed school boy associations, his +impulsive and rather reckless character brought him frequently into +collision with his companions, and he gained a reputation which was +by no means good. Every now and then some one would complain to Mr. +Howland of his bad conduct, when he, taking all for granted, would, +without investigation, visit the offence with severe punishment. +</P> + +<P> +One day, when in his twelfth year, as Andrew was at play during a +recess in the school hour, a boy larger than himself made an angry +attack upon a lad much below him in size, and was abusing him +severely, when Andrew, acting from a brave and generous impulse, ran +to the rescue of the smaller boy, and, in a sudden onset, freed him +from the hands of his assailant. Maddened at this interference, the +larger boy turned fiercely upon him. But Andrew was active, and kept +out of his way. Still the larger boy pursued him, using all the +while the most violent threats. At length finding that he was likely +to be caught and get roughly handled, Andrew took up a stone, and +drawing back his hand, warned the boy not to approach. He continued +to approach, however, vowing, as he did so, that he would beat the +life half out of him. True to his word, and in self-defence, Andrew +threw the stone, which struck the boy full on the forehead and +knocked him down. For some minutes he lay stunned and half-insensible. +Frightened at the consequences of his act, Andrew sprung to the side +of the fallen lad and tried to raise him up. Failing in this he ran +for the teacher, who was in the school-room. A little cold water +thrown into the boy's face revived him, when he went home to his +parents. The teacher made careful inquiries into the matter, which +satisfied him that Andrew was not very greatly to blame. +</P> + +<P> +A short time after this occurrence, a gentleman entered the store of +Andrew's father, and said, with much excitement of manner, +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Howland! I've come to make complaint against that boy of +yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Against Andrew?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. He's nearly killed my son!" +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, in a distressed voice. "What has +happened? How did he do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sir! without the slightest provocation, he took up a large +stone and struck my boy with it on the forehead, knocking him down +senseless. I have had to send for the doctor. It may cost him his +life." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear! dear! What will become of that boy?" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, wringing his hands, and moving up and down the floor +uneasily. "Knocked him down with a stone, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes sir And that without any provocation. I can't stand this. +I must, at least, protect the lives of my children. Every week I +have had some complaint against your son; but I didn't wish to +have a difficulty, and so said nothing about it. But this is going a +little too far. He must have a dreadful temper." +</P> + +<P> +"There is something very perverse about him," remarked Mr. Howland, +sadly. "Ah, me! What am I to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"There may have been some slight provocation," said the man, a +little modified by the manner in which his complaint was received, +and departing from his first assertion. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing to justify an assault like this," replied Mr. Howland with +promptness. "Nothing! Nothing! The boy will be the death of me." +</P> + +<P> +"Caution him, if you please, Mr. Howland, against a repetition of +such dangerous conduct. The result might be deplorable." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do something more than caution him, you may be sure," was +answered, and, as he spoke, the lips of Mr. Howland were drawn +tightly across his teeth. +</P> + +<P> +The man went away, and Mr. Howland dispatched a messenger to the +school for Andrew immediately, and then started for home. He had +been there only a little while, when the boy came in with a +frightened look. To his father's eyes conscious guilt was in his +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Go up stairs, sir!" was the stern salutation that met the lad's +ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Silence, sir! Don't let me hear a word out of your head!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy shrunk away and went up to his own room in the third story, +whither his angry father immediately followed him. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, sir, take off your jacket!" said Mr. Howland who had a long, +thick rattan in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed father," pleaded the child, "I wasn't to blame. Bill +Wilkins—" +</P> + +<P> +"Silence, sir! I want none of your lying excuses! I know you! I've +talked to you often enough about quarreling and throwing stones." +</P> + +<P> +"But, father—" +</P> + +<P> +"Off with your jacket, this instant! Do you hear me? +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father! Let me speak! I couldn't—" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word, I say! I know all about it!" silenced the pleading boy. +His case was prejudged, and he was now in the hands of the +executioner. Slowly, and with trembling hands, the poor child +removed his outer garment, his pale face growing paler every moment, +and then submitting himself to the cruel rod that checkered his back +with smarting welts. Under a sense of wrong, his proud spirit +refused to his body a single cry of pain. Manfully he bore his +unjust chastisement, while every stroke obliterated some yet +remaining emotion of respect and love for his father, who, satisfied +at length with strokes and upbraiding, threw the boy from him with +the cutting words— +</P> + +<P> +"I shall yet have to disown you!" and turning away left the +apartment. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<P> +WHILE Mr. Howland yet paced the floor in a perturbed state of mind, +after the severe flogging he had given to Andrew, and while he +meditated some further and long-continued punishment for the +offences which had been committed, a servant handed him a note. It +was from Andrew's teacher, and was to this effect— +</P> + +<P> +"From careful inquiry, I am entirely satisfied that your son, when +he threw the stone at William Wilkins, was acting in self-defence, +and, therefore, is blameless. Wilkins is a quarrelsome, overbearing +lad, and was abusing a smaller boy, when your son interfered to +protect the latter. This drew upon him the anger of Wilkins, who +would have beaten him severely if he had not protected himself in +the way he did. Before throwing the stone, I learn that Andrew made +every effort to get away; failing in this, he warned the other not +to come near him. This warning being disregarded, he used the only +means of self-protection left to him. I say this in justice to your +son, and to save him from your displeasure. As for Wilkins, I do not +intend to receive him back into my school." +</P> + +<P> +For a long time Mr. Howland remained seated in the chair he had +taken on receiving the teacher's note. His reflections were far from +being agreeable. He had been both unjust and cruel to his child. But +for him to make an acknowledgment of the fact was out of the +question. This would be too humiliating. This would be a triumph for +the perverse boy, and a weakening of his authority over him. He had +done wrong in not listening to his child's explanation; in not +waiting until he had heard both sides. But, now that the wrong was +done, the fact that he was conscious of having done wrong must not +appear. In various ways he sought to justify his conduct. At length +he said, half aloud— +</P> + +<P> +"No matter. He deserved it for something else, and has received only +his deserts. Let him behave himself properly, and he'll never be the +subject of unjust censure." +</P> + +<P> +It was thus that the cold-hearted father settled, with his own +conscience, this question of wrong toward his child. And yet he was +a man who prayed in his family, and regularly, with pious +observance, attended upon the ordinances of the church. In society +he was esteemed as a just and righteous man; in the church as one +who lived near to heaven. As for himself, he believed that severity +toward his boy, and intolerance of all the weaknesses, errors, and +wayward tendencies of childhood, were absolutely needed for the due +correction of evil impulses. Alas! that he, like too many of his +class, permitted anger toward his children's faults to blind his +better judgment, and to stifle the genuine appeals of nature. +Instead of tenderness, forbearance, and a loving effort to lead them +in right paths, and make those paths pleasant to their feet, he +sternly sought to force them in the way he wished them to go. With +what little success, in the case of Andrew, is already apparent. +</P> + +<P> +Angry at the unjust punishment he had received, the boy remained +alone in his room until summoned to dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't want anything to eat," said the servant, returning to +the dining-room where the family were assembled at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very well," remarked the father, in a tone of indifference, +"fasting will do him good." +</P> + +<P> +"Go up, Anna," said Mr. Howland to the servant "and tell him that I +want him to come down." +</P> + +<P> +That word would have been effectual, for Andrew loved his mother; +but Mr. Howland remarked instantly: +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! Let him, remain. I never humor states of perverseness. If +he wishes to fast he can be gratified." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland said no more, but she took only a few mouthfuls of food +while she sat at the table. Her appetite was gone. After dinner she +went up to Andrew's room with a saucer of peaches and cream. The +moment she opened the door the lad sprung toward her, and while +tears gushed from his eyes, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, indeed, mother, I was not to blame! Bill Wilkins was going +to beat me—and you know, he's a large boy." +</P> + +<P> +"But you might have killed him, Andrew," replied the mother, with a +gentle gravity that, in love, conveyed reproof. "It is dangerous to +throw stones." +</P> + +<P> +"I had to defend myself, mother. I couldn't let him beat me half to +death. And I told him to keep off or I would strike him with the +stone. I'm sure I wasn't to blame." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, was he going to beat you, Andrew? What did you do to him?" +asked Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you, mother," replied the boy. "He was pounding with his +fist a poor little fellow, not half his size, and I couldn't stand +and see it if he was a bigger boy than me. So I took the little +boy's part; and then he turned on me and said he'd beat the life out +of me. I ran from him and tried to get away, but he could run the +fastest, and so I took up a stone and told him to keep off. But he +was mad, and wouldn't keep off. So I struck him with it, and, +mother, I'd do it again to-morrow. No boy shall beat me if I can +defend myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you tell your father of this?" asked Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen to me," said the lad, +with ill-concealed indignation in his voice. "And he never will +listen to me, mother. He believes every word that is said against +me, and flogs me whether I am guilty or not. I'm sure he hates me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush! hush my boy! don't say that. Don't speak so of your father." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm sure he don't love me," persisted Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, he does love you. He only dislikes what is wrong in you. +My son must try to be a good boy." +</P> + +<P> +"I do try, mother; I try almost every day. But somehow I do wrong +things without thinking. I'm always sorry at first; sorry until +father begins to scold or whip me, and then I don't seem to care +anything about it. Oh, dear! I wish father wasn't always so cross!" +</P> + +<P> +While Andrew thus talked, his tears had ceased to flow; but now they +gushed over his cheeks again, and he leaned his face upon his +mother's bosom. Mrs. Howland drew her arms closely around her +unhappy boy, while her own eyes became wet. For many minutes there +was silence. At last she said, in a kind, earnest voice— +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought you a nice saucer of peaches and cream, Andrew." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want them, mother," replied the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be hungry before night, dear. It's nearly school-time now, +and you'll get nothing to eat until you come home again." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't feel at all hungry, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Just eat them for my sake," urged Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +Without a word more Andrew took the saucer. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't they nice?" asked Mrs. Howland, as she saw that her boy +relished the fruit and cream. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear mother! they are very good," replied Andrew; "and you are +good, too. Indeed I love you, mother!" +</P> + +<P> +The last sentence was uttered with visible emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, for my sake, try and do right, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland, +tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"I will try, mother," returned the boy. "I do try often; but I +forget myself a great many times." +</P> + +<P> +Soon after Andrew started for school. On arriving, his teacher +called him up and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Did your father get my note?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, sir," replied Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say to you?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy's eyes sunk to the floor and he remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent your father a note immediately," said the teacher, "telling +him that you were not to blame." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew looked up quickly into his teacher's face, while a shadow +fell upon his countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know whether he received it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No sir." +</P> + +<P> +The teacher called up another lad, and inquired if he had delivered +the note given him at the dwelling of Mr. Howland, as directed. The +boy replied that he had done so. +</P> + +<P> +"Very, well. You can take your seat." +</P> + +<P> +Then turning to Andrew, the teacher said— +</P> + +<P> +"Was it about William Wilkins that your father sent for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"You told him how it was?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"He didn't punish you, surely?" +</P> + +<P> +Tears trembled on the closing lashes of the injured child; but he +answered nothing. The teacher saw how it was, and questioned him no +farther. From that time he was kinder toward his wayward and, too +often, offending scholar, and gained a better influence over him. +</P> + +<P> +Not for a moment, during the afternoon, was the thought that his +father knew of his blamelessness absent from Andrew's mind. And, +when he returned home, his heart beat feverishly in anticipation of +the meeting between him and his parent. He felt sure that the +teacher's note had reached his father after the punishment had been +inflicted; and he expected, from an innate sense of right and +justice, that some acknowledgment, grateful to his injured feelings, +of the wrong he had suffered, would be made. There was no thought of +triumph or reaction against his father. He had been wrongly judged, +and cruelly punished; and all he asked for or desired was that his +father should speak kindly to him, and say that he had been blamed +without a cause. How many a dark shadow would such a gleam of +sunshine have dispelled from his heart. But no such gleam of light +awaited his meeting with his father, who did not even raise his eyes +to look at him as he came into his presence. +</P> + +<P> +For awhile Andrew lingered in the room where his father sat reading, +hoping for a word that would indicate a kinder state of feeling +toward him. But no such word was uttered. At length he commenced +playing with a younger brother, who, not being able to make him do +just as he wished, screamed out some complaint against him, when Mr. +Howland looked up, suddenly, with a lowering countenance, and said, +harshly— +</P> + +<P> +"Go out of the room, sir! I never saw such a boy! No one can have +any peace where you are!" +</P> + +<P> +Andrew started, and made an effort to explain and excuse himself, +for he was very anxious not to be misunderstood again just at this +time. But his father exclaimed, more severely than at first. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear me, sir! Leave this room instantly!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy went out hopeless. He felt that he was unloved by his +father. Oh! what would he not have given—what sacrifice would he +not have made—to secure a word and a smile of affection from his +stern parent, whom he had known from childhood only as one who +reproved and punished. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<P> +WRONGED and repelled, Andrew left the presence of his father, sad, +hopeless, yet with a sense of indignation in his heart against that +father for the wrong he had suffered at his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no use for me to try to do right," he murmured to himself. "If +I want to be good, they won't let me." +</P> + +<P> +As these thoughts passed through his mind, a feeling of recklessness +came over him, and he said aloud— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care what I do!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you, indeed?" +</P> + +<P> +The voice that uttered this sentence caused him to start. It was the +voice of his father, who had left his room soon after the expulsion +of Andrew, and was at the moment passing near, unobserved by the +boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't care what you do, ha!" repeated Mr. Howland, standing in +front of the lad, and looking him sternly in the face. "You've +spoken the truth for once!" +</P> + +<P> +For nearly a minute Mr. Howland stood with contracted brows, +scowling upon the half-frightened child. He then walked away, deeply +troubled and perplexed in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"What is to become of this boy?" he said to himself. "He really +seems to be one of those whom Satan designs to have, that he might +sift them as wheat. I sadly fear that he is given over to a hard +heart, and a perverse mind—one predestinated, to evil from his +birth. Ah me! Have I not done, and am I not still doing everything +to restrain him and save him! But precept, admonition, and +punishment, all seem, thrown away. Even my daily prayers for him +remain unanswered. They rise no higher than my head. What more can I +do than I am now doing? I have tried in every way to break his +stubborn will, but all is of no avail." +</P> + +<P> +While Mr. Howland mused thus, Andrew, oppressed by the sphere of his +father's house, was passing out at the street door, although +expressly forbidden to go away from home after his return from +school. For some time he stood leaning against the railing, with a +pressure of unhappiness on his heart. While standing thus, a lad who +was passing by said to him— +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Andy! there's a company of soldiers around in the Square. +Hark! Don't you hear the music? Come! I'm going." +</P> + +<P> +This was a strong temptation, for Andrew loved music and was fond of +sight-seeing. It would be useless, he knew, to ask the permission of +his father, who usually said "No," to almost every request for a +little liberty or privilege. Especially at the present moment would +the request of this kind be useless. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Andy! come!" urged the boy, for Andrew, restraining the first +impulse to bound away at the word soldiers, was debating the +question whether to go or not. +</P> + +<P> +Just then the air thrilled with a wave of music, and Andrew, unable +longer to control himself, sprung away with his companion. For half +an hour he enjoyed the music and military evolutions, and then +returned home. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, sir?" was the sharp question that greeted him +as he came in. +</P> + +<P> +"Around in the Square, to see the soldiers," replied Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Who gave you permission to go?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one, sir. I heard the music, and thought I'd just go and look at +them a little while. I've not been doing anything wrong, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Wrong! Isn't disobedience wrong? Haven't I forbidden you, over and +over again, to leave the house after school without my permission? +Say! You don't care what you do! That's it! Go off up stairs with +you, to your own room, and you'll get nothing but bread and water +until to-morrow morning! I'll teach you to mind what I say!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy went sadly up to his room. It had been a day of severer +trial than usual—of greater wrong and outrage upon him as a child. +For the time his spirit was broken, and he wept bitterly when alone +in his silent chamber, that was to be his prison-house until the +dawn of another day. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland, as her little family gathered +at the supper table, and she found that one was missing. +</P> + +<P> +"I've sent him up to his room. He can't have anything but bread and +water to-night," replied Mr. Howland, in a grave tone. +</P> + +<P> +"What has the poor child done, now?" inquired the mother, in a +troubled voice. +</P> + +<P> +"He went off to see the soldiers, though he had been expressly +forbidden to leave the house after coming home from school." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dear! He's always doing something wrong—what will become of +him?" sighed the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven only knows! If he escape the gallows in the end, it will be +a mercy. I never saw so young a child with so perverse an +inclination." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew had no dinner to-day," said Mrs. Howland, after a little +while. +</P> + +<P> +"His own fault," replied the father, "he chose to fast." +</P> + +<P> +"He must be very hungry by this time. Won't you allow him something +more than bread and water?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. If he is hungry, that will taste sweet to him." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland sighed and remained silent. After supper, she took food +to her boy. A slice of bread and a glass of water were first placed +on a tray, and with these the mother started up stairs. But, ere she +reached the chamber, her heart plead so strongly for the lad, that +she paused, stood musing for a few moments, and then returned to the +dining-room. A few slices of tongue, some biscuit, bread and butter, +and a cup of tea were taken from the table, and with these Mrs. +Howland returned up stairs. Unexpectedly, her husband met her on the +way. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that for?" he asked, in a voice of surprise, seeing the +articles Mrs. Howland was bearing on the tray. +</P> + +<P> +"It is Andrew's supper," was replied; and as Mrs. Howland said this, +her eyes drooped, abashed beneath the stern and rebuking gaze of her +husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther! Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. "Didn't I say that +Andrew must have nothing but bread and water for his supper?" +</P> + +<P> +"He has had no dinner," murmured the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care if he had nothing to eat for a week. I said he should +have only bread and water, and I meant what I said. Esther! I am +surprised at you. Of what avail will be efforts at correction, if +you counteract them in this way?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland never contended with her husband. In all expressed +differences of opinion, it was his habit to bear her down with an +imperious will. She was weak, and he was her strong tyrant. Not a +word more did she speak but returned to the dining-room, and +replaced the food she had prepared for Andrew by simple bread and +water. +</P> + +<P> +The feelings of childhood never run for a long time in the same +channel. Very soon after entering his room, Andrew's mind lost its +sad impression, and began to search about for something to satisfy +its restless activity. First he got upon the chairs, and jumped from +one to another. This he continued until his feet passed through the +slender cane-works of one of them. Then he turned somersets on the +bed, until more than a handful of feathers were beaten out and +scattered about the room. Next he climbed up the posts and balanced +himself on the tester, to the no small risk of breaking that slender +frame work, and injuring himself severely by a fall. Soon the +compass of the room became too narrow, and the elevation of the +bed-posts too trifling for his expanding ideas. He went to the +window, and, opening it, looked forth. Here was a new temptation. +The roof of a piazza, built out from a second story, came up to +within a foot of the window-sill. He had often ventured upon this +roof, and he sprung out upon it again without a moment's hesitation +or reflection, and running along, with the lightness of a cat, +gained the roof of the back building, which he ascended to the very +apex, and then placed himself astride thereof. Here he sat for some +minutes looking around him and enjoying the prospect. On the end of +the back building was fastened a strong pole, running up into the +air some ten feet. On the top of this pole was a bird-box, in which +a pair of pigeons had their nest. Two young pigeons had been hatched +out, and now nearly full-fledged and ready to fly, they were +thrusting their glossy heads from the box, and looking about from +their airy height. +</P> + +<P> +A fluttering of wings, as the mother-bird returned with food for her +young ones, attracted the attention of Andrew, and looking up, he +saw the young pigeons. Instantly came a desire to remove them from +their nest. But the way to that nest was too difficult and perilous +for him to think of securing his wish. This was the first +impression. Then he fixed his eye on the nest, and watched the old +bird, as she sat on a ledge that projected from the box, while she +distributed to her younglings the food she had brought. Thus sat the +boy at the moment his mother left the dining-room with the +comfortable supper she had prepared for him, and there she would +have found him in comparative safety, had she not been prevented +from carrying out the kind promptings of her heart. +</P> + +<P> +The longer Andrew gazed at the young birds, the more desirous did he +become to get them in his possession. Over and over again he +measured the height and thickness of the pole with his eyes, +calculating, all the while, his ability to climb it, and the amount +of danger attendant on the adventure. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I could do it," said he, at length rising from the place +where he sat and walking with careful step to the edge of the roof, +at the point above which the pole projected. Grasping the pole +firmly, he first leaned his body over until he could see in a +perpendicular line to the pavement in the yard below, a distance of +more than forty feet. For a moment his head swam, as he looked from +the dizzy height; but he shut his eyes and clung to the pole until +self-possessed again. Then he looked up at the bird-box and reaching +his hands far above his head, grasped the pole firmly and drew his +body a few inches, upward. Clinging tightly with his legs to retain +the slight elevation he had acquired, he moved his hands farther +along the pole, and then drew himself higher up. Thus he progressed +until he had reached a point some five or six feet above the roof, +when his strength became exhausted, and, unable to retain even the +position he had acquired, his body slowly descended the pole, +swinging around to the side opposite the roof. On reaching the +bottom it was as much as he could do to get himself once more in a +position of safety, where he stood for a few moments, until he could +recover himself. He then tried the ascent again. This time he nearly +reached the box, when his strength once more failed him, and he had +to slide down the pole as before. But Andrew was not a lad to give +up easily anything he attempted to do. Difficulties but inspired him +to new efforts, and he once more tried to effect the perilous +ascent, firmly resolved to reach the box at the third trial. In his +eagerness, he became unconscious of all danger, and commenced +clambering up the pole with as much confidence as if it had been +placed on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +Great violence had been done to the feelings of Mrs. Howland by her +husband. His stern rebuke hurt her exceedingly. She did not feel +that she was doing wrong in yielding to the appeals of her heart in +favor of her wayward, ever-offending boy. Her mother's instinct told +her, that he needed kindness, forbearance, and frequent exemption +from punishment; and she felt that it was better for him to have +this, even though in gaining it for him she acted in violation of +her husband's wishes and command—yea, even though her child knew +that such was the case. Sadly was she aware of the fact, that the +father's iron-handed severity had nearly crushed affection out of +the heart of his child; and that all obedience to him was extorted +under fear of punishment. And she well knew that her interference in +his favor, while it could not estrange him from his father more than +he was already estranged, would give her greater influence over him +for good. Such were the conclusions of her mind—not arrived at by +cold ratiocination, but by woman's shorter way of perception. And +she knew that she was right. +</P> + +<P> +Hurt in her own feelings was she, by her husband's harsh, rebuking +words, and sad for the sake of her boy, as she returned to the +dining-room. For some time she remained there, debating with herself +whether she should stealthily convey something more than the bread +and water to Andrew, or take him the meager supply of food his +father had ordered. In the end her feelings triumphed. A large slice +of cake and an apple were placed in her pocket. Then with the bread +and water she went up to her son's chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me! what a boy!" fell from the lips of Mrs. Howland, as she +pushed open the door and saw the disordered condition of the room. +The chairs were scattered about the apartment, and through the +caning of one of them was a large hole. The wash-bowl and pitcher +were on the floor, and a good deal of water spilled around. The +bed-clothes were nearly all dragged off; and it was plain, from the +feathers scattered about, that Andrew had been amusing himself with +jumping on the bed. Lifting her eyes to the tester, Mrs. Howland saw +nearly a yard of the valance torn away and hanging down. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what a boy!" she again murmured. "He seems possessed with a +spirit of mischief and destruction. Andrew!" +</P> + +<P> +She called the lad's name, but there was no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! where are you?" The mother looked searchingly about the +room. But she neither saw the boy nor heard his voice. Perceiving +now that the back-window was open, she sprung to it with a sudden +thrill of alarm. The first object that caught her sight, was Andrew +suspended in the air on the pole that supported the pigeon-box. He +was just about reaching the object of his perilous adventure. A wild +scream of terror came from the mother's lips, ere she had time to +think of self-control. The scream, as it pierced suddenly the ears +of Andrew, startled and unnerved him. A quick muscular exhaustion +followed, and ere he could recover from the confusion and weakness +of the moment, his hands were dragged from their hold, and he went +flashing down from the eyes of his mother like the passing of a +lightning gleam. Another scream thrilled on the air, and then Mrs. +Howland sunk swooning to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland was just stepping into the yard, when his son fell, +crushed by the terrific fall, at his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father!" came in a voice of anguish from the yet conscious boy, +as he lifted one hand with a feeble effort toward his parent. Then a +deathly whiteness came ever his face, and he fainted instantly. +</P> + +<P> +On the arrival of a physician it was found that Andrew's left arm +was broken in two places, his left ancle dislocated, and two ribs +fractured. As to the internal injury sustained, no estimate could be +made at the time. He did not recover fully from the state of +insensibility into which he lapsed after the fall, until the work of +setting the broken bones and reducing the dislocation was nearly +over. His first utterance was to ask for his mother. She was not +present, however. Her cries, at seeing the peril and fall of her +child, brought a domestic to the room, who found her lying +insensible upon the floor. Assistance being called, she was removed +to her own chamber, where she remained, apparently lifeless for the +space of half an hour. When she recovered, her husband was pacing +the chamber floor with slow, measured steps, and his eyes cast down. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! Is he dead?" were her first words. She spoke in a low +voice, and with forced composure. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland paused, and approached the bed on which lay his pale +exhausted wife, just awakened from her death-like unconsciousness. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Esther. He is not dead," was calmly replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he badly hurt"? +</P> + +<P> +The mother held her breath for a reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, badly, I fear," answered Mr. Howland, in the same calm voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Will he live?" almost gasped the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"God only knows," replied Mr. Howland. Then glancing his eyes upward +piously, he added, "If it be His will to remove him, I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Andrew! don't say that!" quickly exclaimed the mother. "Don't +say that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Esther, I will say it," returned Mr. Howland, in a steady +voice. "If it be His good pleasure to remove him, I will not murmur. +He will be safer <I>there</I> than here." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my poor, poor boy!" sobbed Mrs. Howland. "My poor, poor boy! +To think that he should come to this? Oh, it was wrong to send him +off as he was sent! to punish him so severely for a little thing. +Heaven knows, he had suffered enough, unjustly, without having this +added!" +</P> + +<P> +"Esther!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, "this from you!" +</P> + +<P> +The distressed mother, in the anguish of her mind, had given +utterance to her feelings, with scarce a thought as to who was her +auditor. The sternly uttered words of her husband subdued her into +silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not expect this from you, Esther," continued Mr. Howland, +severely, "and at such a time." +</P> + +<P> +And he stood looking down upon the mother's pale face with a +rebuking expression of countenance. Mrs. Howland endured his gaze +only for a few moments, and then buried her face in the bed-clothes. +Her husband, as his eyes remained fixed upon her form, saw that it +was agitated by slight convulsions, and he knew that she was +striving to suppress the sobs in which her heart was seeking an +utterance. For a little while he stood looking at her, and then +retired, without speaking, from the chamber, and sought the one +where the physician was yet engaged with Andrew. The lad was +insensible when he left him a short time before; now signs of +returning animation were visible. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!—mother! Where is mother?" he at last said, opening his +eyes, and glancing from face to face of those who were gathered +around him. +</P> + +<P> +"You have nearly killed your mother," replied. Mr. Howland, +expressing, without reflection, the feeling of anger toward the lad +that was still in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +An instant change was visible in the countenance of Andrew; a change +that caused the physician to turn suddenly from his patient and say, +in a low, severe tone— +</P> + +<P> +"Sir! Do you wish to murder your child?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland felt the rebuke, yet did not his eyes sink for a moment +beneath the steady gaze of the physician, who, after a moment's +reflection, added— +</P> + +<P> +"Pray, sir, don't speak to your child in this way at the present +time. It may be as much as his life is worth. If he have done wrong, +his punishment has been severe enough, Heaven knows! How is his +mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better. She has recovered from her faintness," replied Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened while he was yet speaking, and Mrs. Howland came in, +looking pale and agitated. The physician raised his finger to enjoin +prudence, and then turning to Andrew said, in a cheerful voice, +</P> + +<P> +"Here is your mother, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland came quickly to the bedside. As she bent over to kiss +the white-faced sufferer, the child sobbed out— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh mother!—dear mother!" +</P> + +<P> +The mother's frame quivered under the pressure of intense feeling, +and she was on the eve of losing all self-control, when the +physician whispered in her ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Be calm, madam—the life of your child may depend on it!" +</P> + +<P> +Instantly the mother was calm in all that met the eye. Close to her +child she bent, and with a hand laid gently on his clammy forehead, +she spoke to him words of comfort and encouragement, while the +physician proceeded in the work of bandaging his broken and injured +limbs. +</P> + +<P> +As for Mr. Howland, he walked the floor with compressed and silent +lips, until the physician's work was done. He pitied the suffering +boy, yet there was nothing of what he called weakness in his pity. +The idea that Andrew was suffering a just retribution for his wrong +conduct, was distinctly present to his mind. And he even went so far +as to put up a prayer that the pain he was enduring, and must for a +long time endure, might work in him a salutary change—might lead to +his reformation. +</P> + +<P> +In due time the poor boy was made as comfortable as the nature of +his injuries would permit, and quiet and order restored to the +agitated family. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, my son, that punishment always follows evil conduct." +These were the first words spoken by Mr. Howland to his suffering +boy, as soon as he found himself alone with him. And then he +lectured him on disobedience until the poor child grew faint. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<P> +THE boy recovered, in due time, from his injuries, but there was no +manifest change in his character, nor was there any relaxing of the +iron hand of authority with which his father sought to hold him back +from evil. It is no matter of wonder that he grew hardened and +reckless as he grew older; nor that, to avoid punishment, he sought +refuge in lying, secretiveness, and deceit. +</P> + +<P> +The other children—there were three beside Andrew—being different +in character, were more easily subdued under the imperious will of +their father, whom they feared more than they loved. Assuming, in +his own mind, that Andrew's will had been permitted to gain strength +ere an effort had been made to control it, Mr. Howland resolved not +to fall into this error in the case of the children who followed; +and, assuredly, he did not. Through the rigors of unfailing +punishment for every act of wrong-doing, they were forced into the +way he would have them go, and though rebellion was often in their +hearts, it was rare, indeed, that it found its way into act, except +when there was the utmost certainty that their misconduct would not +be found out. Thus they learned to act hypocritically toward their +father, and to regard him as one who marred, instead of promoting +their pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland had one son besides Andrew—one son and two daughters. +Mary was next to Andrew, Edward came next to her, and Martha was the +youngest. Edward resembled his father more than any of the other +children. He was cold and calm in his temperament, and little +inclined to be drawn aside by the restless, vagrant spirits that +were ever luring Andrew from the strict line laid down for him by +his father. Daily perceiving the great value attached by his father +to external propriety of conduct, Edward made a merit of what to him +was easy. This vexed Andrew, who had opportunities for knowing all +about the worth of Edward's apparent excellencies, and he sneeringly +applied to him the epithet of "Saint," which was the cause of his +drawing down upon himself, in more than one instance, the +displeasure of his father. But he had become so used to censure and +reproof, that it had little influence over him. Let him do wrong or +right, he was almost sure to be harshly judged, and he had, by the +time he was sixteen, almost ceased to care what others thought of +his conduct. +</P> + +<P> +Mary, whose age was next to that of Andrew, failed to acquire any +influence over her brother. She had been fretful and peevish as a +child, and he had worried her a great deal, and, in consequence, +received frequent punishment on her account. This tended naturally +to disunite them, and make them cold toward each other. Instead of +Mr. Howland striving, as their mother ever did, to reconcile their +difficulties, and make them friends, he would listen to Mary's +complaints against Andrew, and mark his displeasure by reproof or +punishment. Trifles, that would have been in a little time forgotten +and forgiven, were raised into importance by the stern father, and +sources of unhappiness and enmity created out of the most ordinary, +childish misunderstandings. Thus, in his mistaken efforts to destroy +what was evil in his children, he was only rooting the evils he +would remove more deeply in the groundwork of their minds. Instead +of harmonizing, his actions had the constant effect of disuniting +them. Brotherly love and sisterly affection had small chance for +growth in the family over which he presided. +</P> + +<P> +For all this, out of his family Mr. Howland was highly respected and +esteemed. He had the reputation of being one of the most upright, +just, and humane men in the community; and many wondered that he +should have so bad a son as Andrew, whose reputation abroad was +little better than at home. At school he was almost constantly +involved in quarrels with other boys; and, from the immediate +neighborhood of Mr. Howland, complaints frequently came of his bad +conduct and reckless annoyances toward neighbors. In truth, Andrew +was a bad boy; self-willed and overbearing toward his companions; a +trespasser on the rights and privileges of others; and determinedly +disobedient to his father. But for all this his father was to blame. +While sternly repressing the evil in his child, he had not lovingly +sought to develop the good. While vainly striving to root out the +tares which the enemy had sown, he had injured the tender wheat, +whose green blades were striving to lift themselves to the sunlight. +Alas! how many parents, in their strange blindness, are doing the +same work for their unhappy children. +</P> + +<P> +Amid all the perverseness that marked the character of Andrew; amid +all his hardness and wrong-doing; his attachment to Emily Winters +remained as pure and earnest at sixteen, as when a child he suffered +punishment rather than give up her society. Emily, who was about his +own age, had grown, by this time, into a tall, graceful girl, and +was verging on toward womanhood with a rapidity that made the boy's +heart tremble as he marked the distance which an earlier development +of body was placing between him and the only one, except his mother, +that he had ever loved. +</P> + +<P> +Between the families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters there was no +intercourse. Mr. Howland early imbibed a strong prejudice against +Mr. Winters, who did not happen to be a church member, and who, on +that account, was believed by Mr. Howland to be capable of doing +almost any wrong action, if tempted thereto. Certain things done by +Mr. Winters, who was independent in his modes of thinking and +acting, had been misunderstood by Mr. Howland, or judged by one of +his peculiar standards of virtue. From that time he was considered a +bad man; and, although Mrs. Winters, who was a woman beloved by all +that knew her, called upon Mrs. Howland when the family of the +latter came into the neighborhood, Mr. Howland positively forbade a +return of the call. Less obedient to his arbitrary commands did he +find his son. Andrew formed an early friendship for little Emily, +and sought every opportunity, spite of restriction and punishment, +to enjoy her society. +</P> + +<P> +This was continued until the children grew to a size that caused the +parents of Emily to observe the attachment as one far from being +agreeable to them, and to feel desirous of drawing a line of +separation between their daughter and a boy so notoriously bad as +Andrew Howland. When the children were twelve years old, they felt +bound to take some action in the case, and began by giving Andrew a +gentle hint, one day, to the effect that his visits to their house +were rather too frequent. This was enough for the high-spirited boy. +He left, with a burning spot on his cheek, vowing, in his +indignation, that he would never enter their door again, nor speak +to Emily. But it was much easier to keep the first part of this +promise than the last. As early as the next day he met Emily on his +way to school. She was going to school also, and had much farther +to, walk than himself. To enjoy her society, he went with her all +the way. This made him late, and he was in consequence, kept in by +the teacher, half an hour after his own school was dismissed. But +this punishment did not deter him from repeating the act on the next +day and on the next. From that time he rarely came to school until +ten or fifteen minutes after the session was opened; and, sometimes, +Emily was late also. Reproof and punishment doing no good, the +teacher sent a note to Andrew's father, complaining of his want of +punctuality. A severe reprimand was the consequence. This failing of +the desired effect, the boy was put on bread and water for days at a +time. But complaints from the teacher still arriving, corporeal +punishment was added. No change, however, followed. In the end +Andrew was sent home from school as incorrigible. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall I do with the boy!" was the despairing exclamation of +Mr. Howland, when this event occurred. "Idleness will complete his +ruin, and he is too young to put out." +</P> + +<P> +"I will send him to sea," was the final conclusion of his mind, +after debating the matter for some days, and talking with several +friends on the subject. Mr. Howland was generally in earnest when he +decided a matter, and but little given to change his purposes. And +he was in earnest now. But the moment his intention was announced to +his wife, there came from her an unexpected and vigorous opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Andrew," said she, with an emphasis unusual to her in +addressing her husband, "that must not be." +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you it must be, Esther," quickly replied Mr. Howland. +"Nothing else will save the boy." +</P> + +<P> +"It lacks only that to complete his ruin," said Mrs. Howland, +firmly. "Never, Andrew—never will he go on board of a vessel with +my consent." +</P> + +<P> +And the mother burst into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wish to have any contention about this matter, Esther," +said Mr. Howland, gravely, as soon as his wife had grown calm, "and +I don't mean to have any. But I wish you to understand that I am in +earnest. Being fully satisfied that the last hope for Andrew is to +send him to sea, I have fully made up my mind to do it. I have +already spoken to the captain of a vessel trading to South America. +A few months on ship-board will tame him. He'll be glad enough to +behave himself when he gets home." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no faith in this remedy," replied Mrs. Howland, somewhat to +the surprise of her husband, who expected to silence her, as usual, +with his broadly asserted ultimatum. "Severe remedies have been +tried long enough. In my view, a milder course pursued toward the +boy would effect more than any other treatment." +</P> + +<P> +"Mildness! Haven't we tried that, over and over again? And hasn't it +only encouraged him to bolder acts of disobedience?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland sighed. Her mind went back to the past, but none of +these instances of mild treatment could she remember. The iron hand +had been on him from the beginning, crushing out the good, and +hardening the evil into endurance. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew," said she, after sitting for some time with her eyes upon +the floor, speaking in a very calm voice, "he is my son as well as +yours—and his welfare is as dear to me as it is to you. As his +mother, I am entitled to a voice in all that concerns him; and now, +in the sight of heaven, I give my voice distinctly against his being +sent to sea." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland seemed startled at this bold speaking in his wife, +which, to him, amounted to little less than rebellion against his +authority. As the head of the family, it was his prerogative to +rule; and he had ruled for years with almost undisputed sway. Not in +the least inclined did he feel to give up now, the power which he +believed, of right, belonged to him. A sharp retort trembled for a +moment on his lips; but he kept back its utterance. He did not, +however, waver a single line from his purpose, but rather felt it +growing stronger. +</P> + +<P> +No more was said at this time by either. Mrs. Howland sought the +earliest opportunity to be alone with her son, when she informed him +of his father's purpose to send him to sea. Andrew was somewhat +startled by this information, and replied, instantly— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to go to sea, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor do I wish you to go, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. "You are too +young to bear the hard usage that would certainly fall to your lot. +But your father is very determined about the matter." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't go!" boldly declared the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! Andrew! don't speak in that manner," said the mother in a +reproving voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll run away first!" +</P> + +<P> +An indignant flush came into the lad's face as he said this. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland was both startled and alarmed at this bold and +unexpected declaration, and for a time she hardly knew what to say. +At length, in a voice so changed that Andrew looked up, half +wonderingly, into her face, she said— +</P> + +<P> +"My son, do you love me?" +</P> + +<P> +Not until the question was repeated did Andrew make any reply. Then +he answered, in a low, unsteady voice, for something in her manner +had touched his feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"You know I love you, mother; for you are the only one who loves +me." +</P> + +<P> +"For the sake, then, of that love, let me ask you to do one thing, +Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to your teacher, and ask him to take you into the school +again." +</P> + +<P> +A flush came warmly into the boy's face, and he shook his head in a +positive manner. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you to do it for my sake, Andrew," urged Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't, mother. And it would not do any good." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it will do good. You were wrong in not going punctually to +school. All that is now required of you is to acknowledge this, and +ask to be restored to your place." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew stood silent and gloomy by his mother's side. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you not wrong in absenting yourself from school at the proper +hour?" asked Mrs. Howland, in a calm, penetrating voice. +</P> + +<P> +There was no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Andrew?" urged the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I was." +</P> + +<P> +"Was not your teacher right in objecting to this?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so." +</P> + +<P> +"And right in sending you home if you would not obey the rules of +the school?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy assented. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Then you alone are to blame for the present trouble, and +it rests with you to remove it. For my sake, go back to school, +promise to do right in future, and ask to be reinstated. Will not +this be better than going to sea, or leaving your father's +house, as you thoughtlessly threatened to do just now?" +</P> + +<P> +The tender earnestness with which Mrs. Howland spoke, more than the +reasons she urged, subdued the stubborn spirit of the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"You know how determined your father is," she continued. "In his +intention to send you to sea he is entirely in earnest, and nothing +will prevent his doing so but your going back to school. You +threaten to run away. That would avail nothing. You are but a boy, +and would be restored to us in a week. Think of the trouble you will +bring upon me. Andrew! Andrew! unless you do as I desire, you will +break my heart." +</P> + +<P> +Giving way at this point to the pressure on her feelings, Mrs. +Howland wept bitterly; and, greatly subdued by his mother's grief, +Andrew drew his arm around her neck, and wept with her. +</P> + +<P> +"Go, dear," said Mrs. Howland, as soon as she had recovered herself, +parting the hair upon the forehead of her boy, and pressing her lips +upon it—"go, and secure your own self-approbation and my happiness, +by doing as I desire. Go, now, while your heart beats rightly. Go, +and save your mother from untold wretchedness." +</P> + +<P> +And again Mrs. Howland pressed her lips to his forehead. Happily, +she prevailed over him. Acting from the good impulses with which she +had inspired his better nature, he went to the teacher, who readily +consented to take him back into the school on his promise of more +orderly conduct in future. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew has gone back to school," said Mrs. Howland to her husband, +on his return home in the evening. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone back to school? I thought the teacher had expelled him." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew went to him, and promised amendment." +</P> + +<P> +"He did?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. After I had talked with him a long time, he consented to do +so." +</P> + +<P> +"It is well," briefly, and with much severity in his tone, replied +Mr. Howland. He was greatly relieved at this unexpected result; +although neither in word or manner did he let his real feelings +appear. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<P> +THE thought that came instantly to the mind of Andrew, when his +father's resolution to send him to sea was mentioned, was the +thought of Emily Winters. For the sake of spending daily a few +quickly passing minutes with her, he had subjected himself to +reprimand, punishment and disgrace. And his mind instantly reacted +against the idea of a separation such as was now threatened. Still +he was too proud and stubborn to think for a moment of retracing any +of the wrong steps he had made. Nothing but the tender appeal of his +mother, whom he did indeed love, amid all his perverseness, could +have subdued him. But for the strong attachment felt for Emily, he +would have received the intelligence that he was about to be sent to +sea, with, pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +For some time after this, Andrew's external conduct was more +orderly. But there was so much about him to offend his easily +offended father, that he did not escape for even a single day +without a frown or harsh word, which soon had the effect to +extinguish the few good impulses which the recent subjugation of his +will had awakened. He continued to meet Emily on his way to school, +but was careful not to linger in her company go long as before. But +this pleasure was at length denied him. A person who frequently saw +them together, mentioned the fact to Mr. Winters, who immediately +reproved his daughter for the association, and positively forbade +its continuance. Emily had ever been obedient to her parents in all +things, and this command, grievous as it was, she felt bound to +obey. On the day after it was given, Andrew lingered for her in vain +at the place where they had met daily, until after his school hour. +On the next morning he was there earlier than usual, and waited +until past his school hour again. But she did not come. Strictly +obedient to her parents, she had gone another way so as to avoid the +meeting. +</P> + +<P> +During that day, Andrew was absent from school. Having twice missed +his gentle friend, he had no heart to enter upon his studies, and so +went listlessly wandering about the streets until nearly twelve +o'clock. Then he repaired to the neighborhood of her school, and +waited to see if she was among the scholars at the time of their +dismissal. In a little while the children came pouring forth, and +among them his eager eyes soon caught the form of Emily. He was by +her side in a moment, saying, as he took her hand— +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been? I've looked for you these two days." +</P> + +<P> +A crimson flush overspread the face of Emily in an instant, and she +gently disengaged the hand he had taken. +</P> + +<P> +Andrew, who, with all his faults, was proud and sensitive, seemed +startled by this unexpected reception. For a moment or two he stood +gazing upon her downcast face, and then turned from her and walked +rapidly away. As he did so, the little girl lifted toward him her +gentle eyes, that were now full of tears, and stood gazing after him +with a sad expression of countenance until he was out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care for anything now!" Such was the ejaculation of Andrew, +pausing, and throwing himself, with a reckless air, upon a +door-step, so soon as he had passed beyond the view of the friend he +had so loved for years, but who now, from some cause unknown to him, +had become suddenly estranged. "I don't care for anything now," he +repeated. "Let them send me to sea, or anywhere else, if they will! +I don't care! I'm not going to school any more! What do I care for +school? I do nothing right, any how! It's scold, scold, or flog, +flog, all the time! Father says he'll beat goodness into me; but I +guess he's beaten it 'amost all out." +</P> + +<P> +With such thoughts passing through his mind, the unhappy boy sat, +with his face down, and his head supported on his hands, for some +two or three minutes, when he was startled by a well-known voice, +whose tones were ever like music to his ears, pronouncing his name. +</P> + +<P> +In an instant he was on his feet. Emily was before him, and her eyes +were now fixed upon his face with a sad expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew," said she, "don't be angry. It isn't my fault." +</P> + +<P> +"What isn't your fault?" eagerly inquired the boy, as he grasped her +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Father said I mustn't—" +</P> + +<P> +The little girl hesitated. It seemed as if she couldn't utter the +words. +</P> + +<P> +"Said what?" +</P> + +<P> +There was ill-repressed indignation in Andrew's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be angry! It frightens me when you are angry!" said Emily, +looking distressed. +</P> + +<P> +"What did your father say?" asked the boy, in milder tones. +</P> + +<P> +"He said that I mustn't meet you as I went to school any more," +replied Emily. +</P> + +<P> +The face of the boy grew crimson, while his lips arched with the +angry indignation that swelled in his bosom. He was about giving a +passionate vent to his feelings, when he was restrained by the look +of distress that overspread the face of his gentle friend, and by +the tears that came slowly stealing from her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't I as good?" +</P> + +<P> +Thus far Andrew gave utterance to what was in his thoughts, and +then, seeing the tears of Emily, checked himself and became silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't angry with me, are you?" asked the little girl, laying +her hand upon his, and looking earnestly in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"No; I'm not angry with you, Emily. I'm never angry with you. But +it's hard. I'd rather see you than anybody. I don't care what +becomes of me now! Let them send me to sea if they will!" +</P> + +<P> +At the word "sea" Emily's face grew pale, and she said in a choking +voice, +</P> + +<P> +"O! they won't send you to sea, Andrew?" +</P> + +<P> +"Father threatened to send me to sea if I didn't attend school +better." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will attend better, Andrew. I know you will. Oh, it would +be dreadful to be sent to sea!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I'd as lief be there as anywhere else, if I can't see +you!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you will see me sometimes. We can't meet any more as we go to +school; but we'll see each other often, Andrew." +</P> + +<P> +These words lifted much of the heavy weight that pressed on the +feelings of the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"When will we see each other?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," replied Emily. "Father said we musn't meet going to +school; but there will be other chances. Good-by! I wouldn't like +father to see me here, for then he would think me a very disobedient +girl." +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, Emily turned and ran fleetly away. Andrew's +feelings were relieved from the pressure that rested upon them. +Still he felt angry and indignant at Mr. Winters, and this state +increasing rather than subsiding, tended to encourage other states +of mind that were not good. With a feeling of rebellion in his heart +he returned home, where he found no difficulty in provoking some +reaction, and in falling under the quickly excited displeasure of +his father, who was ever more inclined to seek than overlook causes +of reproof. The consequence was, that when he left home for school +in the afternoon he felt little inclination to attend, and, after a +slight debate, yielded to this inclination. A little forbearance and +kindness would have softened the child's feelings, and prompted him +to enter the right way. But the iron hand was never relaxed, and +there was no room beneath it for the crushed heart of the boy to +swell with better impulses. +</P> + +<P> +At supper time, on that evening, the boy was absent. He should have +been at home nearly two hours before. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, as they gathered at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Mrs. Howland, in a voice touched +with a deeper concern than usual. +</P> + +<P> +"Has he been home since school was dismissed?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Was there ever such a boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"Most probably he has been kept in," suggested the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Edward, go round to the house of his teacher and ask if he was +dismissed at five o'clock," said Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +Edward left the table and went on his errand. He soon returned with +word that Andrew had not been to school all day. +</P> + +<P> +Knife and fork fell from the hands of Mr. Howland, and the mother's +face instantly grew pale. +</P> + +<P> +"I felt troubled about him all day," murmured the latter. +</P> + +<P> +"He was home at dinner time?" said Mr. Howland, as he pushed his +chair back from the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear!—oh dear! What is to become of him? I've tried everything +in my power to restrain him from evil, but all is of no avail." +</P> + +<P> +Just at this moment the street-door bell was rung very violently. As +each one paused to listen, and the room became perfectly silent, the +murmur of many voices could be heard in the street. For a few +moments all was breathless expectation. The sound of the servant's +feet, as she moved along the passage to the door, throbbed on each +heart, and then all sprung from their chairs, as a cry of distress +was uttered by the servant, followed by men's voices, and the +entrance of a crowd of people. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Mrs. Howland sunk to the floor, nerveless, while Mr. Howland +sprung quickly out of the room. The story was soon told. Andrew had +been out on the river with some other boys in a boat, from which he +had fallen into the water, and was now brought home to his parents, +to all appearance, lifeless. It proved in the end that vitality was +only suspended; after an hour's unremitted effort, by a skillful +physician, the circle of life went on again. +</P> + +<P> +The shock of this event somewhat subdued the mind of Mr. Howland. He +felt utterly discouraged about the boy. While in this state of +discouragement, he refrained from saying anything to him about his +bad conduct. Indeed, in view of this second narrow escape from +death, his feelings were a good deal softened toward Andrew, and +something like pity took the place of anger. During the two days +that the lad was convalescing, his father said little to him; but +what little he did say was spoken kindly, and with more of a +parental sentiment therein than had been apparent for years. +Electrically did this sentiment reach the heart of Andrew. Once when +Mr. Howland took his hand, and asked in a kind voice how he felt, +tears rushed to his eyes, and his lips quivered so that he could not +reply. This was perceived by Mr. Howland, and he felt that his boy +was not altogether given over to hardness of heart. In that moment +Andrew promised in his own mind, that in future he would be a more +obedient boy. +</P> + +<P> +Unhappily, Mr. Howland attributed this subdued and better state of +feeling in his son, to the narrow escape from drowning that he had +had, and not to the real cause—the change of his own manner toward +him. Through the feeble moving of sympathy and kindness in his own +heart, there was the beginning of power over the perverse boy, and +this power might have been exercised, had the father possessed +enough of wisdom and self-denial, until he had gained a complete +control over him. But alas! he did not possess this wisdom and +self-denial. He was a hard man, and believed in no virtue but that +of force. He could drive, but not lead. He could hold with an iron +hand, but not restrain by a voice full of the power of kindness. +Before the close of the second day he spoke harshly to Andrew, and +did, thereby, such violence to the boy's feelings, that he turned +his face from him and wept. +</P> + +<P> +On the third day after the accident Andrew went back to school, and +continued, for a time, to go punctually and to attend diligently +to his studies. But soon the angry reaction of his father, against +little acts of thoughtlessness or disobedience, threw him back into +his old state, and he was as bad as ever. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<P> +THUS the struggle went on, Mr. Howland's power to control his boy +growing less and less every year. Naturally, considering the +relation of the two families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters, and the +bad reputation of the son of the former, the intercourse between +Andrew and Emily was more and more restricted. Still their +friendship for each other remained, to a certain extent, +undiminished, and they met as often as favorable circumstances would +permit. To Emily, the kind feelings entertained for the wayward boy +proved sources of frequent unhappiness. Few opportunities for +speaking against him were omitted by her parents, and she never +heard his name coupled with words of censure without feeling pain. +One half that was said of him she did not believe; for she saw more +of the bright side of his character than did any one else. +</P> + +<P> +As before intimated, by the time Emily gained her sixteenth year, +she had developed so far toward womanhood, that Andrew, who still +remained a slender boy in appearance, felt his heart tremble as he +looked upon her, and thought of the distance this earlier +development had placed between them. And even a greater distance was +beginning to exist—the distance that lies between a pure mind and +one that is corrupt. As Andrew grew older, he grew worse, and the +sphere of his spiritual quality began to be felt, oppressively, at +times, by Emily, during the periods of their brief intercourse. +Moreover, she was ever hearing some evil thing laid to his charge. +At length their intimate intercourse came to an end, and, with the +termination of this, was removed the last restraint that held the +lad in bounds of external propriety. The cause of this termination +we will relate: As Andrew grew older, he grew more and more +self-willed, and strayed farther and farther from the right way. +Social in his feelings, he sought the companionship of boys of his +own age, and by the time he was seventeen, had formed associations +of a very dangerous character. Though positively forbidden by his +father to be out after night, he disregarded the injunction, and +went from home almost every evening. At home there was nothing to +attract him; nothing to give him pleasure. A shadow was ever on the +brow of his father, and this threw a gloom over the entire +household. But, abroad, among his companions, he found a hundred +things to interest him. All license tends toward further extremes. +It was not long before Andrew found ten o'clock at night too early +for him. The theatre was a place positively interdicted by his +parents; and, restrained by some lingering respect for his mother's +feelings, Andrew had, up to the age of seventeen, resisted the +strong desire he felt to see a play. At last, however, he yielded to +temptation, and went to the theatre. On returning home about eleven +o'clock, he found his father sitting up for him. To the stern +interrogation as to where he had been so late, he replied with +equivocation, and finally with direct falsehood. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking with unusual +severity of tone, and with a deliberation and emphasis that +indicated a higher degree of earnestness than usual, "if you are out +again until after ten o'clock, you remain out all night. To this my +mind is fully made up. So act your own good pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +The father and son then separated. +</P> + +<P> +Ten o'clock came on the next night, and Andrew had not returned. For +the half hour preceding the stroke of the clock, Mr. Howland had +walked the floor uneasily, with his ear harkening anxiously for the +sound of the bell that marked his son's return; and, as the time +drew nearer and nearer, he half repented the utterance of a law, +that, if broken, could not, he feared, but result in injury to the +disobedient boy. At last the clock struck ten. He paused and stood +listening for over a minute; then he resumed his walk again, and +continued his measured paces for over ten minutes longer, intending +to give his erring son the benefit of that space of time. But he +yielded thus much in his favor in vain. Anger at this deliberate +disobedience of a positive order then displaced a portion of +anxiety, and he closed, mentally, the door upon his child for that +night. +</P> + +<P> +Of his purpose, Mr. Howland said nothing to his wife. He hoped that +she would be asleep before Andrew returned, if he returned at all +before morning. But in this his hope was not realized. The fact of +Andrew's having staid out so late on the night before had troubled +her all day, and she had made up her mind to sit up for him now +until he came home. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Esther, it is time to go to bed," said Mr. Howland to his +wife, seeing that she made no motion towards retiring. +</P> + +<P> +"You go. I will sit up for Andrew," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew can't come in, to-night," said Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +The mother sprung to her feet instantly; her face flushing, and then +becoming very pale. +</P> + +<P> +"I told him, last night, that if he staid out again until after ten +o'clock, there would be no admission for him until morning. And I +shall assuredly keep my word!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Andrew! Don't, don't do this!" pleaded the unhappy mother, in a +low, choking voice. "Would you turn an erring son from your door, +when danger is hovering around him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He turns himself away. The act is his, not mine," replied Mr. +Howland, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, the bell rung. +</P> + +<P> +"There he is, now!" exclaimed the mother, starting toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther!" Mr. Howland stept in front of his wife, and, looking +sternly in her face, added, "Haven't I just said that there was no +entrance for him, to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"But it's early! It's only a few minutes after ten," eagerly replied +the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"It's past ten o'clock, and that settles the matter," returned Mr. +Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"But where will he go?" asked the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"To the Station House, if he can find no better place. To-morrow he +will most probably have a higher appreciation of the comforts of +home." +</P> + +<P> +As Mr. Howland closed this sentence, the bell rung again. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! I must let him in!" exclaimed the mother, in a tone of +anguish, and she made a movement to pass her husband. But a strong +hand was instantly laid upon her arm, and a stern voice said— +</P> + +<P> +"Don't interfere with me in this matter, Esther! As the father of +that wayward boy, it is my duty to control him." +</P> + +<P> +"This is driving him from his home; not controlling him!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bear the responsibility of what I am doing," said Mr. Howland, +impatiently. "Why will you interfere with me in this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is he not <I>my</I> son also?" inquired Mrs. Howland, passing, in her +distress of mind, beyond the ordinary spirit of her intercourse with +her self-willed husband. +</P> + +<P> +"I am his father," coldly replied the latter, "and knowing my duty +toward him, shall certainly do it." +</P> + +<P> +The bell was rung again at this moment, and more loudly than before. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Andrew! let me beg of you to open the door!" And Mrs. Howland +clasped her hands imploringly, and lifted her eyes running over with +tears to her husband's face. +</P> + +<P> +"It cannot be opened to-night, Esther!" was the firm reply. "Have I +not said this over and over again. Why will you continue these +importunities? They are of no avail." +</P> + +<P> +A loud knocking on the street door was now heard. By this time, a +servant who had retired came down from her room and was moving along +the passage, when Mr. Howland intercepted her, with the question— +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some one rung the bell," replied the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind; go back to your room. You needn't open the door." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew isn't in yet," said the servant, respectfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't I say, go back to your room?" returned Mr. Howland, in a +sharp voice. +</P> + +<P> +Twice more the bell was rung, and twice more the knocking was +repeated. Then all remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Esther!" said Mr. Howland to his wife, who was sitting on a +sofa, with her face buried in her hands. "Let us go up stairs. It is +late." +</P> + +<P> +The mother did not stir. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther! did you hear me?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly, more like a moving automaton than a living creature, did +Mrs. Howland arise from her place, and follow her husband up to +their chamber. There, without uttering a word, she partially +disrobed herself, and getting into bed, buried her tearful face in a +pillow. Mr. Howland was soon by her side. Both lay without moving +for nearly half an hour, and then the heavy respiration of the +husband told that he was asleep. The moment this was apparent, Mrs. +Howland, who had lain as still as if locked in deep slumber, crept +softly from the bed, and then, with a quick, eager motion, commenced +putting on a wrapper. This done, she drew a pair of slippers on her +feet, glided noiselessly from the room, and hurried down to the +street door, which she softly opened. +</P> + +<P> +The mother had hoped to find her erring son still there. But, as she +looked anxiously forth into the darkness, no human form was +perceived. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" she called, in a low voice, as she stepped from the door, +and threw her eyes up and down the street: "Andrew!" +</P> + +<P> +But all was silent. Descending to the pavement, she passed along a +few yards to the steps of the next house, a faint hope in her mind +that Andrew might have seated himself there in his disappointment +and fallen asleep. But this hope was not realized. Then she passed +on to the next house, and the next, with the same purpose and the +same result. She was near the corner of the street, when the sound +of a closing door fell upon her ear, and the thought that the wind +might have shut her own door upon her, filled her with sudden alarm. +Running back, she found that what she had feared was too true. She +was alone in the street, half-dressed and with her head uncovered, +and the door, which closed with a dead-latch, shut against her. +</P> + +<P> +To ring the bell was Mrs. Howland's first impulse. But no one +answered to the summons. Every ear was sealed in slumber, and, even +were that not the case, no one would come down, unless her husband +should awaken, and discover that she was not by his side. Again and +again she pulled the bell. But eagerly though she listened, with her +ear to the door, not the slightest movement was heard within. +</P> + +<P> +While the mother shrunk close to the door in a listening attitude, +the sound of a slow, heavy step was heard approaching along the +street. Soon the form of a man came in view, and in a little while +he was in front of Mrs. Howland, where he paused, and after standing +and looking at her for a few moments, said, +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter here?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland trembled so, that she could make no answer. +</P> + +<P> +The man put his hand on the iron railing, and lifted one foot upon +the stone steps leading to the door of the house, saying as he did +so, +</P> + +<P> +"Do you live here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" was replied in a low, frightened voice. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland now looking at the man more closely, perceived, by his +dress, that he was one of the night policemen, and her heart took +instant courage. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said she, forgetting, for the moment, the unpleasant +circumstances by which she was surrounded, and turning to the man as +she spoke, "have you seen anything of my son—of Mr. Howland's +son—about here to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Howland! Is it possible!" replied the man, in a respectful +voice. Then he added, "I saw him go down the street about half an +hour ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you! And do you know where he has gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, ma'am. He passed on out of sight." +</P> + +<P> +A low moan escaped the mother's lips at this intelligence. A few +moments she stood silent, and then placed her hand upon the +bell-pull and rung for admittance. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the door locked?" asked the watchman, manifesting surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"No; the wind blew it to, and it has become fastened with the +dead-latch." +</P> + +<P> +Both stood silent for some time, but no one answered the bell. The +night dews were falling upon the mother's head, and the night air +penetrating her thin garments. A shiver ran through her frame, and +she felt a constriction of the chest as if she had inhaled sulphur. +Again she rung the bell. +</P> + +<P> +"Does no one know of your being out?" asked the watchman. +</P> + +<P> +"All are asleep in the house," replied Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +At this the watchman came up the steps, and struck two or three +heavy blows upon the door with his mace, the sound of which went +reverberating through the house, and startling Mr. Howland from his +slumber. But not perceiving immediately that his wife was absent +from her place by his side, and thinking that his son had renewed +his efforts to gain admission, the latter did not make a motion to +rise. In a few moments, however, the repeated strokes of the mace, +to which was added the loud call of a man in the street below caused +him to start up in bed. He then perceived that his wife was not by +his side. With an exclamation, he sprang upon the floor, and +throwing up the window, called out— +</P> + +<P> +"Who's there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come down and open the door," was answered by the watchman. +</P> + +<P> +"Who wants to come in?" asked Mr. Howland, his mind beginning by +this time to get a little clear from the confusion into which it was +at first thrown. +</P> + +<P> +"I do," replied a voice that threw all into bewilderment again. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me! What does this mean!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, aloud, yet +speaking to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Open the door, quickly," called out Mrs. Howland, in a tone of +distress. "Come down and let me in." +</P> + +<P> +Hurriedly Mr. Howland now dressed himself and went down. As he +opened the door, his wife glided past him, and ran up stairs. The +watchman retired without speaking to the confused and astonished +husband, who, recovering his presence of mind, reclosed the door and +followed his wife to their chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther! What is the meaning of all this?" asked Mr. Howland, with +much severity of manner. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you speak?" said he, in a tone of authority. +</P> + +<P> +The home-tyrant had gone a step too far. The meek, patient, +long-suffering, much enduring wife, was in no state of mind to bear +further encroachments in the direction from which they were now +coming. Suddenly she raised herself up from whence she had fallen +across the bed, and looking at her husband with an expression that +caused him to step back a pace, involuntarily answered. +</P> + +<P> +"By what authority do you speak to me thus?" +</P> + +<P> +"By the authority vested in me as your husband," was promptly +answered. +</P> + +<P> +"I was on God's errand, Mr. Howland; searching after the weak, the +simple, and the erring! Have you anything to say against the +mission? Does your authority reach above His?" +</P> + +<P> +And the mother, lifting her hand, pointed trembling finger upward, +while she fixed an eye upon her husband so steady that his own sunk +beneath its gaze. +</P> + +<P> +For the space of nearly a minute, the attitude of neither changed, +nor was the silence broken. Twice during the time did Mr. Howland +lift his eyes to those of his wife, and each time did they fall, +after a few moments, under the strange half-defiant look they +encountered. At last he said firmly, yet in a more subdued, though +rebuking voice, +</P> + +<P> +"This to me, Esther?" +</P> + +<P> +"Am I not a mother?" was asked in response to this, yet without a +perceptible tremor in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a wife, as well as a mother," replied Mr. Howland, "and, as +a wife, are under a sacred obligation to regard the authority +committed to your husband by God." +</P> + +<P> +"Have I not just said to you," returned Mrs. Howland, "that I was on +God's errand? Does your authority go beyond His?" +</P> + +<P> +"When did He speak to you?" There was a covert sneer in the tone +with which this half impious interrogation was made. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard his still, small voice in my mother's heart," replied Mrs. +Howland, meekly, "and I went forth obedient thereto, to seek the +straying child you had so harshly and erringly turned from your +door: thus does God shut the door of Heaven against no wandering one +who comes to it and knocks for entrance." +</P> + +<P> +"Esther! I will not hear such language from your lips!" There was an +unsteadiness in the voice of Mr. Howland, that marked the effect his +wife's unexpected and searching words had produced. +</P> + +<P> +"Then do not seek to stand between me and my duty as a mother," was +her firm reply. "Too long, already, have you placed yourself between +me and this duty. But that time is past." +</P> + +<P> +As Mrs. Howland uttered these words, she passed across the room to a +window, which she threw up, and leaning her body out, looked +earnestly up and down the street. For a reaction like this Mr. +Howland was not prepared. He was, in fact, utterly confounded. Had +there been the smallest sign of irresolution on the part of his +wife—the nearest appearance of weakness in the will so suddenly +opposed to his own—he would have known what to do. But nothing of +this was apparent, and he hesitated about advancing again to the +contest, while there was so strong a doubt as to the issue. +</P> + +<P> +For a long time Mr. Howland moved about the room, while his wife +continued to sit, listening, at the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Esther," said the former, at length, in a voice greatly +changed from its tone when he last spoke. "You had better retire. It +is useless to remain there. Besides, you are in danger of taking +cold. The air is damp and chilly." +</P> + +<P> +"You can retire—I shall sleep none, to-night," was answered to +this. And then Mrs. Howland looked again from the window. +"Where—where can he have gone?" she said aloud, though speaking to +herself. "My poor, unhappy boy!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland made no answer to this. He had no satisfying +intelligence to offer, nor any words of comfort that it would be of +avail to speak. +</P> + +<P> +Thus the greater portion of that long remembered night was +passed—Mrs. Howland sitting at the window, vainly waiting and +watching for her son, and Mr. Howland walking the floor of the room, +his mind given up to troubled and rebuking thoughts. In his hardness +and self-will he had justified himself up to this in his course of +conduct pursued toward his children; but he was in doubt now. A +question as to whether he had been right or not had come into his +mind, and disturbed him to the very centre. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<P> +WHEN Mr. Howland threatened his son with exclusion from the house, +if he were away at ten o'clock, Andrew's feelings were in a state of +reaction against his father, and he said to himself, in a rebellious +spirit— +</P> + +<P> +"We'll see if you will." +</P> + +<P> +But after growing cooler, he came into a better state of mind; and, +in view of consequences such as he knew would be visited on him, +decided not to come in contact with his father in this +particular—at least not for the present. If turned from his own +door at midnight, where was he to find shelter? This question he +could not answer to his own satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +After supper, on the evening succeeding that in which he had visited +the theatre, Andrew left home and went to an engine-house in the +neighborhood, where he joined about a dozen lads and young men as +idle and aimless as himself. With these he spent an hour or two, +entering into their vicious and debasing conversation, when a person +with whom he had gone to see the play on the previous evening, +proposed to him to go around to the theatre again. Andrew objected +that he had no money, but the other said that he could easily +procure checks, and volunteered to ask for them. Still Andrew, whose +thoughts were on the passing time, refused to go. He meant to be +home before the clock struck ten. +</P> + +<P> +"Come round with me, then," urged the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"What time is it?" asked Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Only a little after nine o'clock," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. I heard the clock strike a short time ago. It isn't more +than a quarter past nine." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it was later than that." +</P> + +<P> +"No. It's early yet; so, come along. I want to talk to you." +</P> + +<P> +Thus urged, Andrew went with the boy. The theatre was some distance +away. Just as they reached it, a clock was heard to strike. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me!" exclaimed Andrew. +"Three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—TEN!" And, as he uttered +the last word, he started back the way he had come, running at full +speed. It was ten o'clock—the hour he was required to be at home, +under penalty of having the door closed against him. How troubled he +felt! How strongly his heart beat! He had not intended to disregard +his father's command in this instance. In fact, during the day, he +had reflected more than usual, and many good resolutions had formed +themselves in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could be better," he said to himself involuntarily, a +great many times. And then he would sigh as he thought of the +difficulties that were in his way. At dinner time he came to the +table with his feelings a good deal subdued. But it so happened, +that, during the morning, Mr. Howland had heard of some impropriety +of which he had been guilty a month previous, and felt called upon +to reprimand him, therefore, with considerable harshness. The +consequence was, that the boy left the table without finishing his +dinner, at which his father became very much incensed. The angry +feelings of the latter had not subsided when tea-time came, and he +met the family at their evening meal with the clouded face he too +often wore. The supper hour passed in silence. After leaving the +table, Andrew, to whom the sphere of the house was really +oppressive, from its entire want of cheerfulness and mutual good +feeling, went out to seek the companionship of those who were more +congenial. +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing pleasant here," he said, as he stood in the door, +half disposed to leave the house. "If there only was! But I won't +think of it!" he added with impulsive quickness; and, as he murmured +these words, he descended the steps to the street, and walked slowly +away. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, it will be seen, the wayward boy was virtually driven out by +the harshness and want of sympathy which prevailed at home, to seek +the society of those who presented a more attractive exterior, but +who were walking in the paths of evil, and whose steps tended to +destruction. +</P> + +<P> +But, though thus thrust out, as it were, from the circle of safety, +Andrew still preserved his intention of being at home at the hour +beyond which his father had warned him not to be away. It has been +seen how, through an error as to time, he was betrayed into +unintentional transgression. Not an instant did he pause on his +return from the theatre, but ran all the way homeward at a rapid +speed. Arriving at the door, he pulled the bell, and then stood +panting from excitement. For a short time he waited, in trembling +anxiety, but no one answered his summons. Then he rung the bell more +violently than before. Still none came to let him in, and his heart +began to fail him. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely father don't mean to keep me out!" said he to himself. "He +wouldn't do that. Where am I to go for shelter at this hour?" +</P> + +<P> +And again he pulled the bell, causing it to ring longer and louder +than before. Then he leaned close to the door and listened, but no +sound reached his ears. Growing impatient, he next tried knocking. +All his efforts to gain admission, however, proved unavailing; and +ceasing at last to ring or knock, he sat down upon the stone steps, +and covering his face with his hands, wept bitterly. For over a +quarter of an hour he remained seated at the threshold of his +father's house, from which he had been excluded. During that period, +much of his previous life passed in review before him, and the +conclusions of the boy's mind were at last expressed in these +words— +</P> + +<P> +"I believe father hates the very sight of me! He says I'm going to +ruin, and so I am; but he is driving me there. What does he think +I'm going to do, to-night? If he cared for me, would he let me sleep +in the streets? I have tried to do right, but it was of no use. When +I tried the hardest, he was the crossest, and made me do wrong +whether I would or not. I don't care what becomes of me now!" +</P> + +<P> +As Andrew uttered these last words, a reckless spirit seized him, +and starting up, he walked away with a firm step. But he had gone +only a block or two, before his mind again became oppressed with a +sense of his houseless condition, and pausing, he murmured, in a sad +under tone— +</P> + +<P> +"Where shall I go?" +</P> + +<P> +For a little while he stood irresolute, and then moved on again. For +several squares farther he walked, with no definite purpose in his +mind, when he came to a row of three or four unfinished houses, the +door of one of which was partially opened; at least so much so, that +it was only necessary to pull off a narrow strip of board in order +to effect an entrance. With the sight of these houses came the +suggestion to the mind of Andrew that he might find a place to sleep +therein for the night, and acting upon this, he passed up the plank +leading to the door least securely fastened, and soon succeeded in +getting it open. But, just as he stepped within, a heavy hand was +laid upon him from behind, and a rough voice said— +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing here, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Turning, Andrew found himself in the custody of a policeman. +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments every power of mind and body forsook the unhappy +boy, and he stood shrinking and stammering before the officer—thus +confirming a suspicion of intended incendiarism in the mind of that +functionary. +</P> + +<P> +"Come! you must go with me." And the officer commenced moving down +the plank that connected the door with the ground, drawing Andrew +after him. +</P> + +<P> +"I was only going to sleep there," said the frightened boy, as soon +as the power of speech had returned. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," returned the policeman, "I understand all that. But +I'll find a better place in which you can spend the night. So come +along with me." +</P> + +<P> +Remonstrance on the part of Andrew was all in vain, and so, watching +an opportunity, he made an effort to escape. But he ran only a few +yards before he was tripped up by the officer, when falling, he +struck his forehead on the curb-stone, wounding it severely. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here!" said the officer, in a resolute voice, passing his +heavy mace before the eyes of Andrew; "if you try this again I'll +knock you senseless!" +</P> + +<P> +Then grasping his arm more firmly, he added— +</P> + +<P> +"Move along quickly!" +</P> + +<P> +With his head aching severely from the fall, and the blood trickling +down his face from the wound on his forehead, Andrew walked along by +the side of the officer, who continued to keep hold of him. In +passing under a gas-lamp, they met a lady and gentleman. The former +Andrew recognized at a glance, and she knew him, even with his +bloody face, and uttered a cry of surprise and alarm. It was Emily +Winters returning with her father from the house of a friend, where +they had stayed to an unusually late hour. The officer was about +pausing, but Andrew sprung forward, saying as he did so, in an under +tone— +</P> + +<P> +"Don't stop!" +</P> + +<P> +At the same instant Mr. Winters urged on his daughter, and the +parties were separated in a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Unhappy boy!" said the father of Emily, who had also recognized +Andrew, "his folly and evil are meeting a just but severe return. +His poor mother!—when she hears of this it will almost break her +heart. What an affliction to have such a son!" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see the blood on his face?" asked Emily, in a choking +voice, while her hand shook so violently, as it rested on the arm +of, her father, that he felt the tremor in every nerve. +</P> + +<P> +"I did," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"What was the matter? He must be badly hurt. What could have done +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's been quarreling with some one, I presume," coldly replied Mr. +Winters, who did not like the interest his daughter manifested. +</P> + +<P> +Emily made no reply to this, and they walked the rest of the way +home in silence. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<P> +IT was within an hour of daylight when Mrs. Howland, worn down by +her long vigil, fell asleep, and an hour after the sun had risen, +before her troubled slumber was broken. Then starting up, she +eagerly inquired of her husband, who had already arisen, and was +walking about the room, if Andrew had yet returned. Mr. Howland +merely shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after, breakfast was announced, and the family assembled at the +table; but one place was vacant. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mary. +</P> + +<P> +No answer was made to this question; and Mary saw by the expression +of her parents faces, that to repeat it would not be agreeable. A +few moments afterward the bell rung. As the steps of a servant were +heard moving along the passage toward the door, Mr. and Mrs. Howland +sat listening in breathless expectation. Soon the servant came down, +and said that a man wished to see Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +At these words the latter started up from the table and left the +room. At the street door he found a man, whose appearance indicated +his attachment to the police of the city. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Howland!" said he, respectfully, yet with the air of a man who +had something not very agreeable to communicate. +</P> + +<P> +"That is my name," replied Mr. Howland, striving, but in vain, to +assume an air of unconcern. +</P> + +<P> +"You are wanted at the Mayor's office," said the policeman. +</P> + +<P> +"For what purpose?" was inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Your son is before his Honor, on a charge of attempting to set fire +to a row of new buildings last night." +</P> + +<P> +At this intelligence, Mr. Howland uttered an exclamation of +distress, and stepping back a pace or two, leaned heavily against +the wall. +</P> + +<P> +"Well! What is wanted with me?" asked the unhappy father, recovering +himself, after a few moments. +</P> + +<P> +"To go his bail," replied the officer. "The Mayor demands a thousand +dollars bail, in default of which, he will have to go to prison and +there await his trial." +</P> + +<P> +"Let him go to prison!" said Mr. Howland, in a severe tone of voice. +He was beginning to regain his self-possession. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Andrew!" came firmly from the lips of Mrs. Howland, who had +followed her husband, unperceived, to the door, and who had heard +the dreadful charge preferred against her son. "Don't say that! Go +and save him from the disgrace and wrong that now hang over his +head—and go quickly!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mr. Howland," said the officer, "your lady is right. You +should not let him go to prison. That will do him no good. And, +moreover, he may be innocent of the crime laid to his charge." +</P> + +<P> +"He must be innocent. My boy has many faults, but he would not be +guilty of a crime like this," said Mrs. Howland. "Oh, Mr. Howland! +go! go quickly and save him from these dreadful consequences. If you +do not, I must fly to him. They shall not imprison my poor boy!" +</P> + +<P> +"This is folly, Esther!" returned Mr. Howland, severely. "He has got +himself, by his bad conduct, into the hands of the law, and it will +do him good to feel its iron grip. I am clear for letting him at +least go to prison, and remain there for a few days. By that time he +will be sick enough of his folly." +</P> + +<P> +"I would not advise this," suggested the officer. "Depend upon it, +if his present position is of no avail toward working change for the +better—sending him to prison will harden, rather than reform him." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" said Mrs. Howland, with a firmness and decision of tone +that marked a high degree of resolution on her part—"if you do not +go his bail, I will find some person who will." +</P> + +<P> +"Esther!" The offended husband fixed a look of stern rebuke upon his +wife; but her large eyes looked steadily into his, and he saw in +them, not rebellion, or anger—but a spirit that his own heart told +him instinctively, it would be folly for him to oppose. That look +determined his action. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go with you," said he, after pausing a few moments, turning to +the officer as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +The charge brought against Andrew by the watchman, was an intention +to set fire to the buildings in which he found him. Several +unfinished houses had been burned of late, and there was some +excitement in the public mind thereat. Had it not been for this, +Andrew might have made his way into the building where he intended +to sleep, without, in all probability, attracting attention. +Unfortunately for him, a few matches were found in one of his +pockets. This fact, added to his attempt to escape, and the rather +exaggerated statement of the watchman, caused the Mayor to look upon +the case as one that ought to go before the Court. He accordingly +decided to require an appearance, under bail. +</P> + +<P> +Not a word was spoken to Andrew by his stern father, on the arrival +of the latter at the Mayor's office. Mr. Howland looked at the +evidence which went to support the charge of intended incendiarism +against his son, and to his mind, prejudiced as it was against that +son, the evidence was conclusive. In fact, the watchman's eyes had +seen rather more, than in reality, was to be seen, and his testimony +was strongly colored. +</P> + +<P> +The required security given, Mr. Howland, without turning toward his +son, or speaking to him, left the office. +</P> + +<P> +"You can go home, young man," said the Mayor, addressing Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sir!" exclaimed the unhappy boy, in a distressed tone—"I am +not guilty of this thing. Father turned me from the door because I +was not at home at ten o'clock, and I had no place to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"Disobedience to parents ever brings trouble," replied the Mayor, in +a voice of admonition. "Go home, and try to behave better in future. +If innocent, you will no doubt be able to make it so appear when +your trial comes on before the Court." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the lad arose, and with a troubled and downcast look, retired +from the office. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Andrew?" eagerly asked the mother, as Mr. Howland entered +the house, after returning from the errand upon which he had gone. +</P> + +<P> +"I left him at the Mayor's office," was coldly replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you go his bail?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't he come home with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't ask him." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland started at the tone of voice with which his name was +pronounced. Again there was an expression in the eyes of his wife +that subdued him. +</P> + +<P> +"I gave bail for his appearance at Court, and then came away. He +will, no doubt, be home in a few minutes," he replied. "But I do not +wish to hold any intercourse with him; for he has disgraced both +himself and me." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he not your son?" asked the mother, solemnly. +</P> + +<P> +"He is not a son worthy of affection and regard." +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! when the sons of men wandered far away from God, and broke +all his laws, did He turn from them as you have turned from this +erring boy? No! All day long He stretched forth His hands to them, +and said, in a voice full of infinite kindness, 'Return unto Me; why +will you die?' It is not Godlike to be angry at those who sin +against us; but Godlike to draw them back with cords of love from +error. Oh, Andrew! you have wronged this boy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Esther! I will not hear the utterance of such language from any +one!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, whose imperious nature could ill brook +an accusation like this. +</P> + +<P> +"I have uttered only what I believe to be true," answered the wife, +in a milder tone, yet with a firmness that showed her spirit to be +unsubdued. No further words passed between them. Half an hour +afterward, up to which time Andrew had not come home, Mr. Howland +left the house and went to his place of business. +</P> + +<P> +Time passed on until nearly noon, and yet Andrew was still away. +Mrs. Howland, whose mind was in a state of strong excitement, could +bear her suspense and fear no longer, and she resolved to go out and +seek for her wandering son. She had dressed herself, and was just +taking up her bonnet, as the door of her room opened, and Andrew +came in, looking pale and distressed. Across his forehead was a +deep, red mark, the scar left by the wound he received, when he fell +on the pavement, in the attempt to escape from the watchman. +</P> + +<P> +"My son!" exclaimed Mrs. Howland, in a voice that thrilled the poor +boy's heart—for it was full of sympathy and tenderness—and then +she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +Overcome by this reception, Andrew wept aloud. As soon as he could +speak, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, indeed, mother! I am innocent. You wouldn't let me in last +night, and I was going to sleep in the building, when the watchman +came and said I meant to set it on fire! I'm bad enough, mother, but +not so wicked as that! Why should I set a house on fire?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't believe it for a moment, Andrew," replied Mrs. Howland. +"But, oh! isn't it dreadful?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not to blame, mother," said the weeping boy. "I didn't mean to +stay out later than ten. But I was deceived in the time. I was a +good way off when the clock struck, and I ran home as fast as I +could. I'm sure it wasn't ten minutes after when I rang the bell. +But nobody would let me in; not even <I>you</I>, mother—and I thought so +hard of <I>that!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +With what a pang did these last words go through the heart of Mrs. +Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to let you in," replied the mother, "but your father said +that I must not do so." +</P> + +<P> +"And so you left me to sleep in the streets," said the boy, with +much bitterness. "I couldn't have turned a dog off in that way!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, don't speak so, Andrew! You will break my heart!" returned +the mother, sobbing, "I did open the door for you, but you were not +there." +</P> + +<P> +"I knocked and rung a good while." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. But I had to wait until your father was asleep. Then I went +down, but it was too late." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes, it was too late," said Andrew, speaking now in a firmer +voice. "And it is too late now. I am to be tried as a felon, and it +may be, will be sent to the State Prison. Oh, dear!" +</P> + +<P> +And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. +</P> + +<P> +What little comfort she had to offer her unhappy child, was offered +by Mrs. Howland. But few rays of light came through the heavy clouds +that enveloped both of their hearts. +</P> + +<P> +At dinner time, Andrew declined meeting his father at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Go and tell him," said the unyielding man, when the servant, who +had been sent to his room to call him to dinner, came back and said +that he did not wish to come down, "that he cannot have a mouthful +to eat unless he comes to the table." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, Andrew—don't say that!" quickly spoke Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I do say it, and I mean it," replied Mr. Howland, fixing his eyes +rebukingly upon his wife. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland answered nothing. But her purpose to stand between her +unrelenting husband and wandering son, was none the less fixed; and +in her countenance Mr. Howland read this distinctly. Accordingly, so +soon as the latter had left the house, she took food to Andrew, who +still remained in his room, at the same time that she expressed to +him her earnest wish that he would meet the family at the tea-table +in the evening. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to meet father," he replied to this. "He will only +frown upon me." +</P> + +<P> +"He is, of course, very much fretted at this occurrence," said the +mother. "And you cannot much wonder at it, Andrew." +</P> + +<P> +"He is more to blame than I am," was answered in an indignant tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't speak of your father in that way, my son," said the mother, a +gentle reproof in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I speak as I feel, mother. Is it not so?" +</P> + +<P> +An argument on this subject Mrs. Howland would not hold with her +boy, and she therefore changed it; but she did not cease her appeals +to both his reason and his feelings, until he yielded to her wishes. +At supper time he joined the family at table—it was his first +meeting with his father since morning. Oh, what an intense desire +did he feel for a kind reception from his stern parent! It seemed to +him that such a reception would soften everything harsh and +rebellious, and cause him to throw himself at his feet, and make the +humblest confessions of error, and the most truthful promise of +future well doing. Alas! for the repentant boy! no such reception +awaited him. His father did not so much as turn his eyes upon his +son, and, during the meal, maintained a frigid silence. Andrew ate +but a few mouthfuls. He had no appetite for food. On leaving the +table, he went into one of the parlors, whither he was followed in a +little while, by his younger brother, Edward, who was, by nature, +almost as hard and unsympathsizing as his father. It was the first +time, on that day, that the two boys had been alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Set a house on fire!" said Edward, in a half-sneering, +half-censorious, tantalizing voice. +</P> + +<P> +"If you say that again, I'll knock you down!" fell sharply from the +lips of Andrew, in whom his father's repulsive coldness was +beginning to awaken bad feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Set a house on fire!" repeated Edward, in a tone still more +aggravating. +</P> + +<P> +The words had scarcely left his tongue, ere the open hand of his +brother came along side of his head, with a force that knocked him +across the room. At this instant Mr. Howland entered. He made no +inquiry as to the cause of the blow he saw struck, but took it for +granted that it was an unprovoked assault of Andrew upon his +brother. Yielding to the impulse of the moment, he caught the former +by the arm, in a fierce grip, and struck him with his open hand, as +he had struck his brother, repeating the blow three or four times. +</P> + +<P> +Andrew neither shrunk from the blows, cried out, nor offered the +smallest resistance, but stood firmly, until his incensed father had +satisfied his outraged feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"You forgot, I suppose, that I could strike also?" said the latter +angrily, when he released his son from the tight grasp, with which +he held him. +</P> + +<P> +"No sir," replied Andrew, with a calmness that surprized, yet still +more incensed his father; "I thought nothing about it. I punished +Edward as he deserved; and if he says to me what he did just now, +will repeat the punishment, if it cost me my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Silence!" cried Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I said nothing but the truth," spoke up Edward. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say?" inquired the father. +</P> + +<P> +"I told him that he'd set a house on fire." +</P> + +<P> +"And lied when he said it," calmly and deliberately spoke Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Silence! I'll have no such language in my presence!" angrily +retorted Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"It is bad enough to be accused falsely by a lying policeman," said +Andrew, "but to have the charge repeated by my own brother is more +than I can or will bear. And I warn Edward, in your presence, not to +try the experiment again. If he does he will not escape so lightly." +</P> + +<P> +"Silence, I say!" +</P> + +<P> +Andrew remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Edward, leave the room," said Mr. Howland. There was little +sternness in his voice, as he thus spoke to his favorite boy. +</P> + +<P> +The lad retired. For several minutes Mr. Howland walked the floor, +and Andrew who had seated himself, waited in a calm, defiant spirit, +for him to renew the interview. It was at length done in these +words— +</P> + +<P> +"What do you expect is to become of you, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Not feeling inclined to answer such an interrogation, Andrew +continued silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Say!" repeated the father, "what do you think is to become of you?" +</P> + +<P> +Still the boy answered not a word. +</P> + +<P> +"Under bail to answer for a crime—" +</P> + +<P> +"Which I never committed—nor designed to commit!" spoke up Andrew, +quickly interrupting his father, and fixing his eyes upon, him with +an unflinching gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"It is easy to make a denial. But the evidence against you is +positive." +</P> + +<P> +"The evidence against me is a positive lie!" was Andrew's indignant +response. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't be talked to in this way!" said Mr. Howland, in an offended +tone. "No son of mine shall insult me!" +</P> + +<P> +"A strange insult to a father, for a son to declare himself innocent +of a crime falsely laid to his charge," replied Andrew, with a +strong rebuke in his voice. "A true father would be glad—" +</P> + +<P> +"Silence!" again fell harshly from the lips of Mr. Howland. +"Silence, I say; I will hear no such language from a son of mine!" +</P> + +<P> +Without a word, Andrew arose, and, retiring from the room, took up +his hat and left the house—the relation between him and his father +by no means in a better position than it was before. Within a few +minutes of ten o'clock the boy returned, and, being admitted, went +up to his room without joining the family. +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning, one or two of the daily papers contained an +account of Andrew's arrest, with his father's name and all the +particulars of the transaction. Any one reading this account, with +the reporter's comment, could not help but believe that Andrew was a +desperate bad boy, and undoubtedly guilty in design of incendiarism. +</P> + +<P> +"See what a disgrace you have brought upon us!" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, flinging a paper, containing this mortifying intelligence +in the face of his son. +</P> + +<P> +The boy took up the paper, and read the paragraph referred to with a +burning cheek. He made no remark, but sat for some time in a state +of profound abstraction. No one guessed the thoughts that were +passing through his mind, nor the utter hopelessness that was lying, +with a heavy weight, upon his spirit. Before him was the image of +Emily. She had seen him with his blood-disfigured face, in the hands +of the watchman; and now she would see this slanderous story, and +what was worse, believe it! +</P> + +<P> +Some two hours subsequently, while walking along the street, Andrew +perceived Emily, within a few paces of him. He looked her steadily +in the face, and saw that she saw him; for a quick flush overspread +her countenance. But, averting her eyes, she passed him without a +further sign of recognition. +</P> + +<P> +At night-fall, the boy did not return to his home. +</P> + +<P> +Anxiously did the time pass with Mrs. Howland until ten o'clock, and +yet he was away. Eleven—twelve—one o'clock, pealed on the ear of +the watching mother, but he came not. It was all in vain that her +husband remonstrated with her. His words passed her unheeded; and +she remained waiting and watching, until near the hour of morning, +but her waiting and watching were all in vain. +</P> + +<P> +Two days passed—yet there came no tidings of the absent boy. On the +third day, Mrs. Howland received the following letter:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR MOTHER:—I have left my home—forever! What is to become of +me, I do not know. But I can remain with you no longer. Father +treats me like a dog—or worse than a dog; and he has never treated +me much better. I have tried to do right a great many times; but it +was of no use. The harder I tried to do right, the more he found +fault with me. He was always blaming me for something I didn't do. +It is all a lie of the watchman's about my setting the house on +fire. Such a thing never entered my mind. Father wouldn't let +me in, and I had to sleep somewhere. He wouldn't speak a word for me +in the Mayor's office. So it's all his fault that I am to be tried +before the Court. But I'm not going to be sent to the Penitentiary. +Father is my bail for a thousand dollars. I shall be sorry if he has +to pay it; but it will be better for him to do that, than for me to +go to the Penitentiary for nothing. So, good-by, mother, I love you! +You have always been good to me. If father had been as good, I would +have been a better boy. Don't grieve about me. It's better that I +should leave home. You'll all be happier. If I ever return to you, I +will be different from what I am now. Farewell mother! Don't forget +me. I will never forget you. Don't grieve about me. The thought of +that troubles me the most. But it is better for me to go away, +mother—better for us all. Farewell. +<BR><BR> +"ANDREW." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<P> +A YEAR elapsed before any tidings of the wanderer came. Then Mrs. +Howland received a few lines from him, dated in a Southern city, +where he spoke of having just arrived from South America. He had +little to say of himself, beyond that he was well; and did not speak +of visiting home. +</P> + +<P> +After reading this letter, Mrs. Howland placed it in the hands of +her husband, who read it also, and then gave it back without a +remark. He checked an involuntary sigh as he did so. Not the +slightest reference was made to him by his son; a fact that he did +not overlook, and that he did not observe without a sense of +disappointment. The long absence of his wayward boy had softened his +feelings toward him; and with pain he remembered many acts of +harshness that now seemed to have in them too much of the element of +severity. At the term of the Court, which was held soon after Andrew +went away, the Grand Jury failed to obtain sufficient evidence to +justify the finding of a bill against him, and released the security +given for his appearance at Court. This fact, with a previous +questioning of the policeman by whom Andrew had been arrested, +satisfied Mr. Howland that the boy had been unjustly suspected of an +intention to commit a crime. But this conviction had come too late. +The effects of that unjust accusation had already fallen in sad +consequences upon the head of the poor boy; and the father could not +force from his mind the painful conviction that he was, mainly, +responsible for these consequences. +</P> + +<P> +Another year went by, but during all the time, no further tidings +came of Andrew. To his first letter, Mrs. Howland had immediately +replied, urging him, by every tender consideration, to return to his +home. But she had no means of knowing whether it had ever been +received. Upon her the effect of his absence had been, for a time, +of the most serious character. For a few weeks after he went away, +both body and mind were prostrated; to this succeeded a state of +mental depression, which continued so long that her friends began to +fear for her reason. Not until after the lapse of a year, when she +received the above-mentioned letter from her son, did her mind +attain to anything like its former state. The knowledge that he was +yet, alive, that he thought of her, and still cherished her memory, +gave a new impulse to her fainting spirit, and a quicker motion to +the circle of life. There was yet room to hope for him. But, as time +went on, there came not back even a faint echo to the voice she had +sent after him, her heart failed her again. Yet time, which imparts +strength to all in trouble, had done its work for her also. The care +and labor that ever attend the mother's position among her children, +had bent her thoughts so much away from Andrew, that, while his +absence left a constant weight upon her feelings, it did not crush +them down as before, into a waveless depression. +</P> + +<P> +The second year of Andrew's absence came to a close; but nothing +further was heard from him. And it was the same with the third, +fourth, and fifth years. In the meantime, there had been many +changes in Mr. Howland's family. Mary had married against her +father's wishes, and both herself and husband had been so unkindly +treated by him on the occasion and afterward, that neither of them +visited at his house. +</P> + +<P> +Henry Markland, the husband of Mary, had been rather a gay young +man, and this, with some other things which had come to his ears, +created a prejudice in the mind of Mr. Howland against him. As to +what was good in Markland, and likely to overbalance defects, he did +not inquire. The hue of his prejudice colored everything. Men like +Mr. Howland, who seek to bend everything into forms suited to their +own narrow range of ideas, are rarely successful in attaining their +ends. The principle of freedom is too deeply interwoven with all the +tissues of the human mind to admit of this. From earliest infancy +there is a reaction against arbitrary power; and, those who are +wise, have long since discovered that it is a much easier task to +lead than force the young into right ways. Those who would truly +govern children, must first learn to govern themselves. Let a parent +break his own imperious will before he tries to break the will of +his child; and he will be far more successful in the work he essays. +to perform. But not so had Mr. Howland learned his duty in life. +Without being, aware of the fact, he was a domestic tyrant, and +sought to establish a family despotism. And the worst of the whole +was, he did nearly all this work in the name of religion! Not that +he was a hypocrite. No; Mr. Howland was sincere in his professions +of piety. But he was a narrow-minded man, and did much in the name +of religion, that in no way harmonized with its true character. His +faith was a blind faith, and he sacrificed to the god of his +imagination in the unyielding spirit of a dehumanizing superstition. +Of necessity, he marred everything upon which he sought to impress +the form of his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +Erroneous judgment of others is almost certain to mark the +conclusions of such a man's mind; and it is no wonder that Mr. +Howland erred in his conclusions respecting the true character of +his daughter's husband, who had in him many good qualities, and was +sincerely attached to Mary. The great defect appertaining to him, +was the fact that he was not a church member. Mr. Howland did not +look past the veil of a profession, to see if there was in the +ground work of the young man's character a basis of right +principles—the only true foundation upon which a religious +structure can be built. Because he did not belong to the church, and +make an open profession, he classed him with the irreligious, and +considered him as one whose feet were moving swiftly along the road +to destruction. +</P> + +<P> +And so, instead of wisely seeking to win the confidence of the young +man, that he might gain an influence over him for good, Mr. Howland, +offended because his daughter could not obey him in a matter so +vital to her happiness, angrily repulsed and insulted both of them, +even after he saw that a marriage was inevitable. The consequence +was, as has been mentioned, that Markland, who possessed an +independent spirit, would not go to the house of his father-in-law; +and Mary, resenting the wanton attacks that had been made upon her +husband's feelings in more than one or two instances, absented +herself also. Mr. Howland, however much he might regret the hardness +of his unavailing opposition, was not the man to yield anything; and +so the breach remained open, in spite of all the grieving mother's +efforts to heal it. +</P> + +<P> +Of all his children, Mr. Howland saw most to hope for in Edward, who +early perceived it to be his best policy to humor his father, and, +by that means, gain the ends he had in view. Cold in his +temperament, he was generally able to control himself in a way to +deceive his father as to the real motives that were in his heart. +Thus, while Mr. Howland, by his peculiar treatment of his children, +drove some of them off, he made this one a hypocrite. +</P> + +<P> +Not the smallest affection existed between Edward and the other +children, who knew too well the selfish and evil qualities that lay +concealed beneath an external of propriety, put on especially for +his father's eyes. The mother, too, saw beneath the false exterior +assumed by her son, who treated her, except when his father was +present, with little respect or affection. +</P> + +<P> +Martha, the youngest, was a sweet tempered girl, who had managed to +keep, as a general thing, beyond the sphere of antagonism that +marked the intercourse of the other children. To her mother, as she +grew up, she proved a source of comfort; and she could, at almost +any time, dispel by her smiles the cloud that too often rested on +the brow of her morose father. +</P> + +<P> +On reaching his seventeenth year, Edward had been placed in a store +by his father, for the purpose of acquiring knowledge of mercantile +affairs. A young man in this position, if he has any ambition to +make his way in the world, soon gets his mind pretty well filled +with money-making ideas, and sees the way to wealth opening in a +broad vista before him. Every day he hears about this, that, and the +other one, who started in business but a few years before, with +little or no capital, and who are now worth their tens of thousands; +and he thus learns to aspire after wealth, without being made to +feel sensibly the fact, that the number who grow rich rapidly are as +one to a hundred compared with those who succeed as the result of +small beginnings united with long continued and untiring +application. Long before Edward reached his twenty-first year, he +had so fully imbibed the spirit of the atmosphere in which he +breathed, that his mind was made up to go into business for himself +as soon as he attained his majority. This idea Mr. Howland sought to +discourage in his son; but Edward never gave it up. Soon after he +was twenty-one, an offer to go into a business, that promised a +large return was made, provided a few thousand dollars capital could +be furnished. Not a moment did Edward rest until he had prevailed +upon his father, ever too ready to yield a weak compliance to the +wishes of this son, to place in his hands the amount of money +required. To do this, was, at the time, no easy matter for Mr. +Howland, whose own business was far from being as good as usual and +whose pecuniary affairs were not in the most easy condition. Six +thousand dollars was the amount of capital he was obliged to raise, +and it was not accomplished without considerable sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +Edward and his partner were what are usually called "enterprising +young men," and they drove ahead in the business they had undertaken +at a kind of railroad speed, calculating their profits at an +exceedingly high range. It is not surprising that, by the end of the +first year, they required a little more capital to help them through +with their engagements, the furnishing of which fell upon Mr. +Howland; who, in this emergency, passed his notes to the new firm +for several thousand dollars. +</P> + +<P> +It is not our purpose to trace, step by step, the progress of this +young man in the work of ruining his father and disgracing himself +by dishonest practices in business. Enough, that in the course of +three years, the "enterprising young men," who made from the +beginning such rapid strides toward fortune, found their course +suddenly checked, and themselves involved in hopeless bankruptcy. +But, with themselves rested not the evil consequences of failure; +others were included in the disaster, and among them Mr. Howland, +who was so badly crippled as to be obliged to call his creditors +together, and solicit a reduction and extension of the claims they +had against him. To Mr. Howland, this was a crushing blow. He was +not only a man who strictly regarded honesty in his dealings, but he +was proud of his honesty, and in his pride, had often been harsh in +his judgment of others when in circumstances similar to those in +which he was now placed. To be forced to ask of his creditors both a +reduction and an extension, humiliated him to a degree, that for a +time, almost deprived him of the power of doing business. From that +time, there was a perceptible change in the man of iron. His tall, +erect form seemed to shrink downward; his head bent toward his +bosom, and the harsh lines on his brow and around his less tightly +closed lips grew softer. His indignation against Edward was so +great, when he finally comprehended the character of the +transactions in which he had been engaged, involving as they did a +total absence of integrity, that he turned his back upon him +angrily, saying, as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"Never come into my presence again, until you come an honest man!" +</P> + +<P> +On the day after this utterance of the father's indignant feelings, +Edward left the city; and it was the opinion of many that he went +with a pocket full of money. They were not far wrong. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, of all his children, only the youngest remained with Mr. +Howland. All the rest were estranged from him; and in spite of all +his efforts to push the conviction from his mind, he could not help +feeling that he was to blame for the estrangement. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + +<P> +NEARLY eight years from the time Andrew Howland left his home have +passed, and we now bring him before the reader as a discharged +United States' dragoon, having just concluded a five years' service +in the far West. He had enlisted, rather than steal, at a time when +he found it impossible to obtain employment, and had gone through +the hard and humiliating service of a trooper on our extreme +frontier, under an assumed name, omitting to write home during the +entire period, lest by any chance a knowledge of his position might +be communicated to his mother, and (her memory had never faded) to +Emily Winters. The images of these two, the only ones he loved in +the world, were green in his bosom. They were drawing him homeward +with a force of attraction that grew stronger and stronger as the +end of his service approached. Nearly three years had elapsed since +he had met any one recently from the East who was able to answer, +satisfactorily, the few inquiries he ventured to make; and now he +was all impatience to return. +</P> + +<P> +Steadily, for a long time, had the young man looked forward to this +period; and in order to have the means of effecting a thorough +change in his external appearance, and to be able to support himself +after his return East, until he obtained some kind of employment, he +had left nearly all his pay in the hands of the disbursing officer. +It now amounted to nearly two hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +It was in Santa Fe that Andrew obtained his discharge from the +United States' service. This was soon after the conclusion of the +peace with Mexico, and about the time when the first exciting news +came of golden discoveries on the tributaries of the Sacramento. +</P> + +<P> +On the day after Andrew received his discharge, and while making +preparations for his journey eastward, a company, in which were +several new recruits arrived from the Wachita. Among them he +discovered a young man from P—, to whom he put the direct +question. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know a Mr. Howland of your city?" +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew Howland, the merchant?" inquired the young man, who was not +over twenty-one years of age. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," returned Andrew, in a tone of affected indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"His store is in the same block with my father's." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! What is your father's name?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man's eyes fell to the ground, and his face became +overspread with crimson. +</P> + +<P> +"Winters," he replied, at length recovering himself. +</P> + +<P> +Andrew turned partly away to conceal the sudden emotion this +intelligence had created. Mastering his feelings with a vigorous +effort, he lifted his eyes to the countenance of the young man and +at once recognized in him the brother of Emily. Restraining the +eagerness he felt to press many questions, Andrew asked him about +his journey from the last military post, and after getting a number +of answers to which he scarcely listened, said— +</P> + +<P> +"How long is it since you left P—?" +</P> + +<P> +"About six months," replied young Winters. +</P> + +<P> +"Do your friends know where you are?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed! Nor would I have them. So, please bear that in mind. I +answered your question almost on the spur of the moment." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know anything about Mr. Howland or his family?" asked +Andrew, without seeming to notice the young man's remark. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing very particular; only that the old gentleman failed in +business about a year ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! How came that?" +</P> + +<P> +"His son Edward broke him up." +</P> + +<P> +"His son Edward?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. The old man set him a going in business; but he soon run +himself under, and his father into the bargain. He made a terrible +bad failure of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Edward Howland. He went off soon after, and they do say, carried +his pockets full of money. And I imagine there is some truth in it. +He wasn't exactly the clear grit. Some people called him a +smooth-faced hypocrite, and I guess they were not very far wrong." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew asked no more questions for some time, but sat, thoughtful, +with his face so far turned away from the young man, that its +expression could not be seen. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Howland is living, I presume?" said he, at length, in a tone +as indifferent as he could assume; but which was, nevertheless, +unsteady. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She was living when I came away." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew drew a quick breath, and then his laboring chest found relief +in a long expiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor old man! I'm sorry for him," came from his lips in a few +moments afterwards. The tone was half indifferent, yet expressed +some sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"Everybody seems sorry for him," said Winters. "It has broken him +down very much. He looks ten years older." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he entirely out of business?" asked Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"No; he is still going on; but he doesn't appear to do much. I think +the family is poor. They've sold their handsome house, and are +living in a much smaller one. I heard father say that Mr. Howland +had received an extension from his creditors, but that he was too +much crippled to be able to go through, and would, in the end, break +down entirely." +</P> + +<P> +There was another pause, and then Andrew changed the subject by +asking the young man something about himself, and led on the +conversation, from step to step, until he got him to mention the +fact that he had a sister named Emily. +</P> + +<P> +"Is she older than yourself?" inquired Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. Some four years older," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Married, of course," said Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +The very effort he made to say this with seeming unconcern gave so +unnatural an expression to his tone of voice, that young Winters +looked at him with momentary surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"No, she is not married," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"She's old enough," said Andrew, speaking now in a tone of more real +indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but she'll probably die an old maid. She's had two or three +good offers; but no one appears just to suit her fancy. Father was +very angry about her rejecting a young man some two or three years +ago, who afterwards disgraced himself, and broke the heart of a +young creature who had been weak enough to marry him." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I should say that your sister was a sensible girl," remarked +Andrew, in a cheerful voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she is a sensible girl; and, what is more, a good girl. Ah, +me! I wish I were half as sensible and half as good." +</P> + +<P> +With what a free motion did the heart of Andrew beat after receiving +this intelligence! +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mary Howland married?" he asked. He knew that she was, for he +had seen the fact noticed in a newspaper. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; she married a Mr. Markland." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know much about, him. He's a teller in one of the banks." +</P> + +<P> +"How did the family like her marriage?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. They don't visit." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear knows! Old Mr. Howland is a hard sort of a man when he takes +up a prejudice against any one. He didn't like Markland, and said +that Mary shouldn't marry him. She felt differently, and did marry +him. The consequence was, that the old man said and did so much that +was offensive, that he and Markland have had no intercourse since." +</P> + +<P> +"Mary comes home, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I rather think not. I believe that she and her father have not +spoken in two years. At least, so I heard sister once say." +</P> + +<P> +"That is bad! Poor man! He is unfortunate with his children." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew, as he spoke, felt that he was unfortunate, and an emotion of +pity stirred along the surface of his feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed he is!" said Winters, who was disposed to be communicative. +"But I presume it is a good deal his own fault. They say that his +harsh treatment drove his oldest son from home." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He was a wild sort of a boy, and his father didn't show him +any mercy. The consequence was, that instead of leading him into the +right way, he drove him into the wrong way. He ran off from home a +great while ago, and has never been heard from since. It is thought +that he is dead. I once heard father say that, with all his faults, +he was the best of the bunch." +</P> + +<P> +Something interrupted the conversation of the two young men at this +point, and they separated. A couple of hours afterward, as Andrew +walked along one of the streets of Santa Fe, musing over the +intelligence he had gleaned from young Winters, a fellow soldier, +whose time of service had also just expired, met him, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"You're not going back to the States, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Such has been my intention," replied Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not going." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were." +</P> + +<P> +"I've altered my mind. A party sets off to-morrow for the gold +regions of California, and I'm going with them." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! That's a sudden change of resolution. But you don't believe +all the stories you hear of this El Dorado? +</P> + +<P> +"No, not all of them. But if even the half be true, there's a golden +harvest to be reaped by all who put in the sickle." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the half is encouraging enough," said Andrew, in a tone of +abstraction. The fact is, since he had heard from home, his desire +to return immediately was lessened. News of his father's altered +circumstances had softened his feelings toward him very much, and +created a strong desire to aid him in the extremity to which he had +been reduced. But he had no ability to do this. All he possessed in +the world was about two hundred dollars, and it would take at least +half of this to pay his passage home. Already had his thoughts been +reaching Westward, as the only point where, by any possibility, he +could better his fortunes to an extent that would enable him to help +his father. But there was so much of apparent romance in the stories +that reached his ears, that he had many strong doubts as to even the +main facts reported. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better join us," remarked the comrade. +</P> + +<P> +"How many are going?" inquired Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Seven. And we'd very much like to add you to the number." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm really half-inclined to go with you," said Andrew, speaking +with a good deal of animation in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never regret it," said the other. "Not only are the stories +about an abundance of gold authentic, but I have good reasons for +believing that the half has not been told. I talked with a man last +night, who says that he knew of several instances where lumps of the +precious metal, weighing several pounds, have been picked up. One +man collected ten thousand dollars worth of lumps of pure gold in a +week." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a large story," replied Andrew, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so; but it is not all a fabrication. At any rate, I am off +to this region, and my advice to you is, to join our little party." +</P> + +<P> +"When do you start? +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll think about it," said Andrew Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"You must think quickly," was answered. "There is no time to spare. +It is but two hours to nightfall; and we are to be in the saddle by +sunrise. So, if you conclude to join our party you have but small +space left for preparation." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew stood with his eyes upon the ground for nearly a minute; then +looking up, he said, in a firm voice— +</P> + +<P> +"I will go." +</P> + +<P> +"And, my word for it, you'll never repent the decision. Gathering up +lumps of gold by the peck is a quicker way to fortune than +dragooning it at five dollars a month—ha?" +</P> + +<P> +"My anticipations lie within a much narrower circle than yours," was +quietly answered to this; "but one thing is certain, if gold is to +be had in California for the mere digging, you may depend on Andrew +Howland getting his share of the treasure." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the spirit, my boy!" said the other, clapping him on the +shoulder—"the very spirit of every member of our little party. And +if we don't line our pockets with the precious stuff, it will be +because none is to be found." +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning, Andrew Howland started on his long and perilous +journey for the region of gold, with a new impulse in his heart, and +a hope in the future, such as, up to this time, he had never known. +But it was not a mere selfish love of gold that was influencing him. +He was acted on by a nobler feeling. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + +<P> +FROM the shock of his son's failure, Mr. Howland did not recover. In +arranging with his own creditors, he had arranged to do too much, +and consequently his reduced business went on under pressure of +serious embarrassment. He had sold his house, and two other pieces +of property, and was living at a very moderate expense; but all this +did not avail, and he saw the steady approaches of total ruin. +</P> + +<P> +One day, at a time when this conviction was pressing most heavily +upon him, one of the creditors of Edward, who had lost a good deal +by the young man, came into the store, and asked if he had heard +lately from his son. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland replied he had not. +</P> + +<P> +"He's in Mobile, I understand?" said the gentleman. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe he is," returned Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"A correspondent of mine writes that he is in business there, and +seems to have plenty of money." +</P> + +<P> +"It is only seeming, I presume," remarked Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"He says that he has purchased a handsome piece of property there." +</P> + +<P> +"It cannot be possible!" was ejaculated. +</P> + +<P> +"I presume that my information is true. Now, my reason for +communicating this fact to you is, that you may write to him, and +demand, if he have money to invest, that he refund to you a portion +of what you have paid for him, and thus save you from the greater +difficulties that I too plainly see gathering around you, and out of +which I do not think it is possible for you to come unaided." +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," was the reply of Mr. Howland, as he slowly shook his +head. "If he have money, it is ill-gotten, and I cannot share it. He +owes you, write to him, and demand a payment of the debt." +</P> + +<P> +"I am willing to yield my right in your favor, Mr. Howland. In your +present extremity, you can make an appeal that it will be impossible +for him to withstand. He may not dream of the position in which you +are placed; and it is due to him that you inform him thereof. It +will give him an opportunity to act above an evil and selfish +spirit, and this action may be in him the beginning of a better +state." +</P> + +<P> +But the father shook his head again. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Howland," said the other "you owe it to your son to put it in +his power to act from a better principle than the one that now +appears to govern him. Let him know of your great extremity, and he +may compel himself to act against the selfish cupidities by which he +is too plainly governed. Such action, done in violence of evil +affections, may be to him the beginning of a better life. All things +originate in small beginnings. There must first be a point of influx +for good, as well as for bad principles. Sow this seed in your son's +mind, and it may germinate, and grow into a plant of honesty." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland heaved a deep sigh, as he answered— +</P> + +<P> +"This is presenting the subject in a new light; I will think about +it." +</P> + +<P> +"May you think about it to good purpose," replied the friend, +earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +This communication disturbed Mr. Howland greatly. He had too many +good reasons for doubting his son's integrity of character; but he +was not prepared to hear of such deliberate and cruel dishonesty as +this. It was but another name for robbery—a robbery, even to the +ruin of his own father. +</P> + +<P> +"I will demand restitution!" said the old man, impatiently, as his +mind dwelt longer and longer on the subject, and his feelings grew +more and more indignant. From the thought of any appeal on the +ground of humanity, he revolted. It was something entirely out of +keeping with his peculiar character. He could not bend to this. +</P> + +<P> +So Mr. Howland wrote a pretty strong letter to his son, in which he +set forth in terse language the facts he had heard, and demanded as +a right, that restitution be at once made. +</P> + +<P> +Weeks passed and no answer to this demand was received. In the +meantime, another crisis in the affairs of Mr. Howland was rapidly +approaching. Unless aid were received from some quarter, he must +sink utterly prostrate under the pressure that was upon him, and +again fail to meet the honorable engagements that he had made. When +that crisis came, he would fall to rise no more. +</P> + +<P> +Ten days only remained, and then there would come a succession of +payments, amounting in all to over five thousand dollars. To meet +these payments unaided, would be impossible; and there was no one +now to aid the reduced and sinking merchant. There was not a friend +to whom he could go for aid so substantial as was now required, for +most of his business friends had already suffered to some extent by +his failure, and were not in the least inclined to risk anything +farther on one whose position was known to be extremely doubtful. +</P> + +<P> +The nearer this second crisis came, and the more distinctly Mr. +Howland was able to see its painful features, the more did his heart +shrink from encountering a disaster that would involve all his +worldly affairs in hopeless ruin. +</P> + +<P> +In this strait, the mind of Mr. Howland kept turning, involuntarily, +toward his son Edward, as toward the only resource left him on the +earth; but ever as it turned thus, something in him revolted at the +idea, and he strove to push it from his thoughts. He could not do +this, however, for it was the straw on the surface of the waters in +which he felt himself sinking. +</P> + +<P> +Painfully, and with a sense of deep humiliation, did Mr. Howland at +length bring himself up to the point of writing again to his son. As +everything depended on the effect of this second letter, he went +down into a still lower deep of humiliation, and after representing +in the most vivid colors the extremity to which he was reduced, +begged him, if a spark of humanity remained in his bosom, to send +him the aid he needed. +</P> + +<P> +With a trembling hope did the father wait, day after day, for an +answer to this letter. Time passed on, and the ninth day since its +transmission came and yet there was no reply. +</P> + +<P> +Nervously anxious was Mr. Howland on the morning of the tenth day, +for if no help came then, it was all over with him. His note for +fifteen hundred dollars fell due, and must be lifted ere the stroke +of three, or the end with him had come. +</P> + +<P> +A few mouthfuls of food were taken at breakfast, and then Mr. +Howland hurried away to the Post Office, his heart fluttering with +fear and expectation. A few moments, and he would know his fate. As +he came in sight of the long row of boxes, his eyes glanced eagerly +toward the one in which his letters were filed up. There was +something in it. In a tone of forced composure, he called out the +number of his box, and received from the clerk two letters. He +glanced at the post-mark of one, and read—"New York," and at the +other, and saw—"Boston." For a moment or two his breath was +suspended, and his knees smote together. Then he moved away, slowly, +with such a pressure on his feelings that the weight was reproduced +on his physical system, and he walked with difficulty. +</P> + +<P> +The letters were from business correspondents, and in no way +affected the position of extremity he occupied. For a greater part +of the morning Mr. Howland sat musing at his desk, in a kind of +dreamy abstraction. All effort was felt to be useless, and he made +none. At dinner time he went home, and sat at the table, silent and +gloomy; but he scarcely tasted food. After the meal, he returned to +his store—a faint hope springing up in his mind that Edward might +have submitted the aid he had asked for so humbly by private hand, +or through some broker in the city, and that it would yet arrive in +time to save him. Alas! this proved a vain hope. Three o'clock came, +and the unredeemed note still lay in bank. +</P> + +<P> +"It is all over!" murmured the unhappy man, as like the strokes of a +hammer upon his heart fell the three distinct chimes that rung the +knell of his business life. +</P> + +<P> +Taking up a newspaper, and affecting to read, Mr. Howland sat for +nearly an hour awaiting the notorial visit, which seemed long +delayed. At last he saw a man enter and come walking back toward the +desk at which he sat. Not doubting but that it was the Notary, he +was preparing to answer—"I can't take it, up," when a well-dressed +stranger, with a dark, sun-burnt, countenance that had in it many +familiar lines, passed before him, and fixed his eyes with an +earnest look upon his face. For a few moments the two men regarded +each other in silence, and then the stranger reached out his hand +and uttered the single word— +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew!" responded Mr. Howland, catching eagerly hold of the +offered hand; "Andrew! my son! my son! are you yet alive?" +</P> + +<P> +The great deep of the old man's heart was suddenly broken up, and he +was overwhelmed by the rising floods of emotion. His lips quivered; +there was a convulsive play of all the muscles of his face; and then +large tears came slowly over his cheeks. The man of iron will was +melted down; he wept like a child, and his son wept with him. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had the first strong emotions created by this meeting +exhausted themselves, when another person entered the store, and +advanced to where the father and son were standing. He held a small +slip of paper in his hand, and as he came up to Mr. Howland, he +said, holding up the piece of paper— +</P> + +<P> +"Your note for fifteen hundred dollars remains unpaid." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, but I can't lift it," replied Mr. Howland, in a low +voice that he wished not to reach the ear of his son; but Andrew +heard the answer distinctly, and instantly drawing a large pocket +book from his pocket, took out a roll of bank bills which he reached +to his father, saying, as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"Take what you want. How timely has been my arrival!" +</P> + +<P> +"My heart blesses you, my son, for this generous tender of aid in a +great extremity," said Mr. Howland in a trembling voice, as he +pushed back the roll of money. "But a crisis in my affairs has just +arrived, and the lifting of this note will not save me." +</P> + +<P> +"How much will save you?" asked Andrew. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have five or six thousand dollars in as many days," replied +Mr. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"This package of money will serve you then, for it contains ten +thousand dollars," said Andrew. "Take it." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot rob you thus," returned Mr. Howland, in a broken voice, as +he still drew back. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me have that note, my friend." Andrew now turned to the Notary, +who did not hesitate to exchange the merchant's promise to pay, for +three five hundred dollar bills of a solvent bank. +</P> + +<P> +A brief but earnest and affectionate interview then took place +between Andrew and his father, which closed with a request from the +former that he might be permitted to see his mother alone, and spend +with her the few hours that remained until evening, before the +latter joined them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + +<P> +IT is nine years since Mrs. Howland looked her last look on her +wayward, wandering boy, and eight years since any tidings came from +him to bless her yearning heart. She appears older by almost twenty +years, and moves about with a quiet drooping air, as if her heart +were releasing itself from its hold on earthly objects, and reaching +out its tendrils for a higher and surer support. With the exception +of Martha, the youngest, all her children have given her trouble. +Scarcely one of the sweet hopes cherished by her heart, when they +first lay in helpless innocence upon her bosom, have been realized. +Disappointment—disappointment—has come at almost every step of her +married life. The iron hand of her husband has crushed almost every +thing. Ah! how often and often, as she breathed the chilling air of +her own household, where all was constrained propriety, would her +heart go back to the sunny home in which were passed the happy days +of girlhood, and wish that something of the wisdom and gentleness +that marked her father's intercourse with his children could be +transferred to her uncompromising husband. But that was a vain wish. +The two men had been cast in far different moulds. +</P> + +<P> +Martha, now in her eighteenth year, was more like her mother than +any of the children, and but for the light of her presence Mrs. +Howland could hardly have kept her head above the waters that were +rushing around her. Toward Martha the conduct of her father had, +from the first, been of a mild character compared with his action +toward the other children; and this received a still farther +modification, when it become apparent even to himself, that by his +hardness he had estranged the affections of his elder children, and +driven them away. Gentle and loving in all her actions, she +gradually won her way more and more deeply into the heart of her +father, until she acquired a great influence over him. This +influence she had tried to make effectual in bringing about a +reconciliation between him and her sister's husband; but, up to this +time, her good offices were not successful. The old man's prejudices +remained strong—he was not prepared to yield; and Markland's +self-love having been deeply wounded by Mr. Howland, he was not +disposed to make any advances toward healing the breach that +existed. As for Mary, she cherished too deeply the remembrance of +her father's unbending severity toward his children—in fact his +iron hand had well nigh crushed affection out of her heart—to feel +much inclined to use any influence with her husband. And so the +separation, unpleasant and often painful to both parties, continued. +To Mrs. Howland it was a source of constant affliction. Much had she +done toward affecting a reconciliation; but the materials upon which +she tried to impress something of her own gentle and forgiving +spirit were of too hard a nature. +</P> + +<P> +On the afternoon of the day on which Andrew returned so +unexpectedly, almost like one rising from the dead, Mrs. Howland was +alone, Martha having gone out to visit a friend. She was sitting in +her chamber thinking of the long absent one—she had thought of him +a great deal of late—when she heard the street door open and shut, +and then there came the sound of a man's feet along the passage. She +bent her head and listened. It was not the sound of her husband's +feet—she knew his tread too well. Soon the man, whoever he was, +commenced ascending the stairs; then he came toward her door, and +then there was a gentle tap. The heart of Mrs. Howland was, by this +time, beating violently. A moment or two passed before she had +presence of mind sufficient to go to the door and open it. +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew! Andrew! Oh, Andrew, my son!" she cried, in a glad, eager +voice, the instant her eyes rested on the fine figure of a tall, +sun-burnt man, and as she spoke, she flung her arms around his neck, +and kissed him with all the fondness of a mother caressing her babe. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother! dear, dear mother!" came sobbing from the lips of Andrew, +as he returned her embrace fervently. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I dreaming? or, is this all really so?" murmured the happy +mother, pushing her son from her, yet clinging to him with an +earnest grasp, and gazing fondly upon his face. +</P> + +<P> +"It is no dream, mother," returned Andrew, "but a glad reality. +After a long, long absence I have come back." +</P> + +<P> +"Long—long! Oh, it has been an age, my son! How could you? But +hush, my chiding heart! My wandering one has returned, and I will +ask no questions as to his absence. Enough that I look upon his face +again." +</P> + +<P> +Andrew now led his mother to a seat, and taking one beside her, +while he still held her hand tightly, and gazed with a look of +tenderness into her face, said— +</P> + +<P> +"You have grown old in nine years, mother; older than I had +thought." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wonder at it, my son?" significantly inquired Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"I ought not to wonder, perhaps," replied Andrew, a touch of sadness +in his voice. "There is such a thing as living too fast for time." +</P> + +<P> +"You may well say that," answered Mrs. Howland, with visible +emotion, "Years are sometimes crowded into as many days. This has +been my own experience." +</P> + +<P> +Both were now silent for a little while. +</P> + +<P> +"And how are all the rest, mother?" asked Andrew, in a more animated +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father has failed a good deal of late," replied Mrs. Howland, +as she partly averted her eyes, doubtful as to the effect such +reference might have. +</P> + +<P> +"He has failed almost as much as you have, mother," was the +unexpected reply. "I saw him a little while ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you!" ejaculated Mrs. Howland, a light of pleasure and surprise +breaking over her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I called first at his store." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you did. Poor man! He has had his own troubles, and, I'm +afraid, is falling into difficulties again. He has looked very +unhappy for a week or two. Last night I hardly think he slept an +hour at a time, and to-day he scarcely tasted food." +</P> + +<P> +"I found him in trouble," said Andrew, "and fortunately was able to +give him the relief he needed." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland looked wonderingly into her son's face. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not come back empty-handed, mother," said Andrew. "A year +ago, when thousands of miles from home, I heard of father's +troubles. I was about returning to see you all again, and to make +P—my future abiding place, if I could find any honest employment; +but this intelligence caused me to change my mind. News had just +been received of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California, +and I said to myself, 'If there is gold to be had there, I will find +it.' I was not thinking of myself when I made this resolution, but +of you and father. In this spirit I made the long and wearisome +overland journey, and for more than eight, months worked amid the +golden sands of that far off region. And my labor was not in vain. I +accumulated a large amount of grains and lumps of the precious +metal, and then hurried homeward to lay the treasures at your feet. +Happily, I arrived at the most fitting time." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland was deeply affected by this relation, so strange and so +unlooked for in every particular. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, mother, what of Mary?" said Andrew, before time was given +for any remark upon this brief narrative. "Has she and her husband +yet been reconciled to father?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; and my heart has grown faint with hope deferred in relation to +this matter. I think Mary's husband is too unyielding. Your +father, I know, regrets the unkind opposition he made to their +marriage; and has seen many good reasons for changing his opinion of +Mr. Markland's character. But you know his unbending disposition. If +they would yield a little—if they would only make the first step +toward a reconciliation, he would be softened in a moment. And then, +oh, how much happier would all be!" +</P> + +<P> +"They must yield; they must take the first step," said Andrew, +rising from his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"That reconciliation would be the top sheaf of my happiness, today," +replied Mrs. Howland. +</P> + +<P> +"It shall crown your rejoicing," said Andrew, in a positive tone. +"Where do they live?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Howland gave the direction asked by her son, who departed +immediately on his errand of good will. +</P> + +<P> +For a time after Andrew left the store of his father, Mr. Howland +sat half bewildered by the strange occurrence that had just taken +place, while his heart felt emotions of tenderness going deeper and +deeper toward its centre. Though confessed to no one, he had felt +greatly troubled in regard to the iron discipline to which he had +subjected his wayward boy, and had tried for years, but in vain, to +force from his mind the conviction that upon his own head rested the +sin of his ruin. Long since had he given him up as lost to this +world, and, he sadly feared, lost in the next. To have him return, +as he did, without even a foreshadowing sign of his coming, was an +event that completely broke down his feelings. Moreover, he was +touched by the spirit in which his son came back; a spirit of +practical forgiveness; the first act flowing from which was the +conference of a great benefit. +</P> + +<P> +"There was good in the boy," sighed the old man, as he mused on what +had just occurred. "Alas! that it should have been so long +overshadowed. A milder course might have done better. Ah, me! we are +weak and shortsighted mortals." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Howland remained in his store until the late mails were +distributed at the post-office, when, unexpectedly, a letter came +from Edward. It contained a draft for a thousand dollars, and was in +these words— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"DEAR FATHER—I received your two letters. To the first returned no +answer; I need hardly give you the reason. It was a hard, harsh, +insulting letter, charging me with extensive frauds on you and +others, assuming that I was in possession of large sums of money +thus obtained, and imperiously demanding restitution. As to your +sources of information, I know nothing; but I trust, that before you +take such stories for granted, you will, at least, look well to +their authenticity. Your second letter was in a different tone, and +awoke in me a far different spirit from that awakened by the one +first received. I am pained to hear of your great embarrassment, +which I did not anticipate. I thought that the extension of time you +received, would enable you to meet all demands, and deeply regret +that such has not proved to be the case. Enclosed, I send you a +draft for one thousand dollars, which I have raised with great +difficulty; I wish, for your sake, that it were ten times the +amount. But it is the best I can do. When I came here I had about +fifteen hundred dollars in money; upon this I commenced business, +and have done tolerably well, but I am still on the steep up-hill +side, and it is far from certain whether I will go up or down from +the point I now occupy. Give my love to mother and Martha, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Affectionately yours, +<BR> +EDWARD." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mr. Howland mused for some time after receiving the letter; +then he turned to his desk, and wrote briefly, as follows— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR SON—I have your letter enclosing a draft for one thousand +dollars. I thank you for the remittance, but, happily, have received +aid from an unexpected quarter, and do not now need the money. With +this I return the draft you sent. I regret any injustice I may have +done you in a former letter, and hope you will forgive a too warm +expression of my feelings. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Yours, &c., +<BR> +ANDREW HOWLAND." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This letter was dispatched by the Southern mail, and then Mr. +Howland turned his steps homeward. He felt strangely. There was a +pressure on his bosom; but it was not the pressure of trouble that +had rested upon it so long, but a pressure of conflicting emotions, +all tending to soften and subdue his feelings, to bend the iron man, +and to mould his spirit into a new and better form. With a lively +pleasure was he looking forward to the second meeting with Andrew in +the presence of his mother, but he did not know how great a +pleasure, beyond his anticipations, was in store for him. +</P> + +<P> +On arriving at his house, Mr. Howland opened the door and went in. +He had passed along the entry but a few paces, when some one stepped +from the parlor. He paused, and looked up. It was his daughter Mary +who stood before him. In her arms was a sweet little girl, and on +her face was a smile, the warmth and light of which were on his +heart in an instant. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the only word she uttered. The tone of her voice, and the +expression of her face told all he wished to know. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear child!" fell warmly from the lips of Mr. Howland, as he +grasped his daughter's hand, and then kissed tenderly both her own +lips and those of her babe. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear father!" murmured Mary, as she leaned her head, in tears, upon +his breast. +</P> + +<P> +At this moment there was a movement of feet in the parlor, and the +husband of Mary presented himself. An open, frank, forgiving +expression was on his face, as he came forward and offered his hand, +which was instantly seized by Mr. Howland, in a hearty pressure. +Andrew and his mother joined the group, and, with smiles and +pleasant words, made perfect the sphere of happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"My children," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking in a trembling +voice, "my cup is full to-night. I must leave you a little while, or +it will run over." +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, he gently disengaged himself, and passed up to his +chamber, where he remained alone for over half an hour. When he +joined the family, his manner was greatly subdued, and in his speech +there was a softness which none had known before. +</P> + +<P> +In the glad reunion of that evening, how many heart-wounds were +healed, how many old scars covered over and hidden! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + +<P> +SHOCKED as was Emily Winters at the sight of Andrew, bleeding in the +hands of the watchman, and by the subsequent newspaper report of his +bad conduct; and estranged from her early regard for him, as she had +been, by these and other things that she had heard, the young girl +could not entirely banish from her mind the image of the boy who had +been to her so gentle and affectionate since the early and innocent +days of childhood. In spite of all her efforts to turn her thoughts +away from him, they were ever turning toward him; and, as time +passed on, and his long absence left all in doubt concerning his +fate, his memory became to her something like a hallowed thing. +</P> + +<P> +In passing on to the estate of womanhood, Emily, who possessed more +than common beauty, attracted admirers, and from two or three of +these she received offers of marriage. But in each case the suitor +had failed to win her heart, and she was too true a woman to give +her hand to any one unless her heart could go also. +</P> + +<P> +In at least one case her father took sides with the lover, and urged +his suit with a degree of feeling that resulted in a partial +estrangement of affection. But he afterward had cause to be well +satisfied with Emily's decision in the case. +</P> + +<P> +On the morning that had succeeded the day of Andrew Howland's return +to P—, Emily Winters, who had long since ceased to think of the +young man as alive, was informed that a gentleman had called, and +wished to see her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is he?" was the natural inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," replied the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"You should have asked his name." +</P> + +<P> +"I did so, but he said that it was no matter." +</P> + +<P> +After making some slight change in her dress, Emily went down to the +parlor. As she entered, a gentleman arose and advanced a few steps +toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Winters!" said he, while he fixed his eyes intently on her +face. +</P> + +<P> +The young lady bowed slightly in return, while she looked at him +inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know me?" said the stranger, with perceptible +disappointment in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +Emily dropped her eyes for a moment to the floor, and then lifted +them again to his countenance. There was a gentle suffusion on her +face, as she slowly shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen you before," she remarked, "but I cannot, at this +moment, tell where." +</P> + +<P> +"Years have passed since we met," replied the stranger, with +something of sadness in his voice; "but I had hoped you would not +forget me." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, he came nearer, and held out his hand, which Emily did +not hesitate to take. +</P> + +<P> +At the moment of this contact, a light flashed on the maiden's face, +and she exclaimed, with sudden emotion— +</P> + +<P> +"Andrew Howland! Can it be?" +</P> + +<P> +And she stepped back a pace or two, and sunk upon a chair. Andrew +did not relinquish her hand, but sat down by her side, replying, as +he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Emily, it is even so. After a long, long absence, I have come +back to my old home, wiser and better, I trust, than when I went +away." +</P> + +<P> +It was some time before Emily looked up or replied; but she did not +make a motion to withdraw the hand which Andrew held with no slight +pressure. +</P> + +<P> +"How often, Emily," continued Andrew, seeing that she remained +silent, "have I thought of the sweet hours we spent together as +children—hours, too often, of stolen delight. Their remembrance +has, many a time, saved me from evil when strongly tempted. But for +that, and the memory of my mother, I should long since have become a +castaway on the ocean of life." +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Andrew became tremulous as he uttered the last +sentence. It was then that Emily raised her eyes from the floor, +gently withdrawing her hand at the same time, and fixed them upon +his face. His words had sent her thoughts back to the old time when +they were children together, and when, to be within him, was one of +her highest pleasures; and, not only that, his words and tones had +reached her heart, and awakened therein an echo. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a long time since you went away," said Emily. "A very long +time." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it is a long time. But, the weary slow-passing years are +ended, and I am back again among early scenes and old friends, and +back, I trust, to remain." +</P> + +<P> +"How is your mother?" inquired Emily, after a slight pause. +</P> + +<P> +"I found her much changed—older by twice the number of years that +have elapsed since I went away." +</P> + +<P> +But all that passed between Andrew Howland and Emily Winters in the +hour they spent together at this first meeting, after so long an +absence, we cannot write. For a time, their intercourse was marked +by a reserve and embarrassment on the part of Emily; but this +insensibly wore off, and, ere the young man went away, their hearts, +if not their lips, had spoken to each other almost as freely as in +the days of childhood. +</P> + +<P> +Not many months elapsed ere the tender regard that was spontaneously +awakened in their bosoms when children, and which had never ceased +to exist, led them into a true marriage union, to which no one +raised even a whisper of opposition. Almost at the very time that +Andrew was holding his first interview with Emily, Mr. Winters was +listening to a brief account of his return, with some of the +pleasing incidents immediately attendant thereon. In a meeting with +the young man shortly afterward, he was prepossessed in his +favor, and when he saw that he was disposed to renew the old +intimate relations with Emily, he did not in the least object. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, after a lapse of over twenty-five years, two families, each +possessed of substantial virtues, and with social qualities forming +a plane for reciprocal good feeling, but which had been forced apart +by the narrow prejudice and iron will of Mr. Howland, came together +in a marriage of two of its members. Alas! how much of wrong and +suffering appertained to that long period during which they were +thus held apart! How many scars from heart-wounds were left; and +these not always painless! +</P> + +<P> +Can any summing up of the causes and consequences set forth in our +story give force to the lessons it teaches? We think not; and +therefore leave it with the reader to do its own work. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iron Rule, by T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON RULE *** + +***** This file should be named 4628-h.htm or 4628-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/2/4628/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Iron Rule + or, Tyranny in the Household + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 18, 2009 [EBook #4628] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: February 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON RULE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +THE IRON RULE; + +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. + + +BY + +T. S. ARTHUR, + + + +AUTHOR OF "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE," "LOVE IN A COTTAGE," "MARY MORETON; OR, +THE BROKEN PROMISE," "AGNES; OR, THE POSSESSED," "INSUBORDINATION," +"LUCY SANDFORD," "THE ORPHAN CHILDREN," "THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER," "THE +DIVORCED WIFE," "PRIDE AND PRUDENCE," "THE TWO MERCHANTS," "CECILIA +HOWARD," "THE BANKER'S WIFE," ETC. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. + + + + + +Philadelphia: + +1853 + + +JTABLE 7 14 1 + + +THE IRON RULE; + +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +ANDREW HOWLAND belonged to that class of rigid moralists who can +tolerate in others no wanderings from the right way. His children +were forced into the straight jacket of external consistency from +their earliest infancy; and if they deviated from the right line in +which they were required to walk, punishment was sure to follow. + +A child loves his parent naturally. The latter may be harsh, and +unreasonable; still the child will look up to him in weak +dependence, while love mingles, like golden threads in a dark +fabric, amid the fear and respect with which he regards him. Thus it +was with the children of Andrew Howland. Their mother was a gentle, +retiring woman, with a heart full of the best affections. When the +sunshine fell upon her golden locks in the early days of innocence, +it was in a home where the ringing laugh, the merry shout, and the +wild exuberance of feeling ever bursting from the heart of childhood +were rarely checked; or, if repressed, with a hand that wounded not +in its firm contraction. She had grown up to womanhood amid all that +was gentle, kind and loving. Transplanted, then, like a tender +flower from a sunny border, to the cold and formal home of her +husband, she drooped in the uncongenial soil, down into which her +heart-fibres penetrated in search of nutrition. And yet, while +drooping thus, she tenderly loved her husband, and earnestly sought +to overcome in herself many true impulses of nature to which he gave +the false name of weaknesses. It was less painful thus to repress +them herself, than to have them crushed in the iron hand with which +he was ever ready to grasp them. + +Let it not be thought that Andrew Howland was an evil minded man. In +the beginning we have intimated that this was not so. He purposed +wrong to no one. Honest he was in all his dealings with the world; +honest even to the division of a penny. The radical fault of his +character was coldness and intolerance. Toward wrong-doing and +wrong-doers, he had no forbearance whatever; and to him that strayed +from the right path, whether child or man, he meted out, if in his +power, the full measure of consequences. Unfortunately for those who +came within the circle of his authority, his ideas of right and +wrong were based on warped and narrow views, the result of a +defective religious education. He, therefore, often called things +wrong, from prejudice, that were not wrong in themselves; and +sternly reacted upon others, and drove them away from him, when he +might have led and guided them into the paths of virtue. + +The first year of Andrew Howland's married life was one of deep +trial to the loving young creature he had taken from her sunny home +to cherish in his bosom--a bosom too cold to warm into vigorous life +new shoots of affection. And yet he loved his wife; loved her +wisely, as he thought, not weakly, nor blindly. He saw her faults, +and, true to his character, laid his hands upon them. Alas! how much +of good was crushed in the rigid pressure! + +To Mr. Howland life was indeed a stern reality. Duties and +responsibilities were ever in his thoughts. Pleasure was but another +name for sin, and a weakness of character an evil not to be +tolerated. + +Enough, for our present purpose, can be seen of the character of +Andrew Howland in this brief outline. As our story advances, it will +appear in minuter shades, and more varied aspects. Seven years from +the day of his marriage we will introduce him to the reader. + +"What _shall_ I do with this boy?" said Mr. Howland. He spoke +sternly, yet in a perplexed voice, while he walked the floor of the +room with a quickness of tread unusual. "If something is not done to +break him into obedience he will be ruined." + +"He needs all our forbearance," Mrs. Howland ventured to remark, "as +well as our care and solicitude." + +"Forbearance! I have no forbearance toward wrong, Esther. You have +forborne until the child is beyond your control." + +"Not entirely," was meekly answered, as the mother's eyes drooped to +the floor. + +At this moment a servant, who had been sent for the child, came in +with him. A few doors away lived another child, about the same age, +of whom little Andrew was very fond, and whose companionship he +sought on every occasion. Against the father of this child Mr. +Howland had imbibed a strong prejudice, which was permitted to +extend itself to his family. Rigid and uncompromising in everything, +he had observed that Andrew was frequently in company with the child +of this neighbor, and felt impelled to lay a prohibition on their +intercourse. But Andrew, a light-hearted, high-spirited boy, who +inherited from his father a strong will, was by no means inclined to +yield a ready obedience in this particular. He loved his little +companion, and never was happier than when in her society. +Naturally, therefore, he sought it on every occasion, and when the +positive interdiction of their intercourse came, the child felt that +a duty was imposed upon him that was impossible of fulfillment. +Young as he was, he could endure punishment, but not give up his +little friend. Advantage was therefore taken of every opportunity to +be with her that offered. Punishments of various kinds were +inflicted, but they acted only as temporary restraints. + +As to this little girl herself, let it be understood, Mr. Howland +had no personal objection. He had never seen anything that was wrong +in her, and had never heard a word of evil spoken against her. The +simple, yet all-embracing defect that appertained to her was his +dislike of her father; and this dislike had its chief foundation in +a wrong estimate of his character, the result of his own narrow +prejudices. Somewhat hastily, we will admit, did Mr. Howland utter +the word that was to separate the little friends, and the word was +half-repented of as soon as spoken. But once uttered, it was a law +to which he required the most implicit obedience. He thought not of +the wrong the separation might do his child; he thought only of +enforcing obedience--of breaking a stubborn will. Obedience in +children was, in his eyes, everything--and he visited, with the +sternest displeasure, every deviation therefrom. The consequence +was, that his little ones, in their nest at home, rarely saw in the +face of their father a smile of affection; rarely heard his voice in +words of tenderness. Something, in their conduct was ever +displeasing to him, and he attempted its correction by coldness, +repulsion, harsh words, or cruel punishment. He never sought to +lead, but to force them into the right way. + +The word of interdiction was uttered, but Andrew could not give up +his sweet little friend; and the word was therefore disregarded. +Stealthily, to avoid punishment, he went to her but watchful eyes +were upon him, and he was soon brought back. Gently and earnestly +his mother would chide his disobedience; harshly his father would +punish it--but all was of no avail. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, on returning home one evening +from his store, and not seeing the bright little fellow in the room +with his mother. This was on the occasion of his introduction to the +reader. + +"I don't know. He was here just now," replied Mrs. Howland. + +"I saw him a little while ago playing on the steps with Emily +Winters," said the nurse, who had come recently into the family, and +was not aware of the prohibition that existed in regard to the child +she had mentioned. + +"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, angrily. Then he added in +an excited voice, "go and bring him home immediately!" + +The nurse left the room and soon returned with the child. In his +face was a look of blended fear, anger and resolution. + +"Where have you been, sir?" sternly asked Mr. Howland. + +The child made no answer. + +"Do you hear me, sir?" + +A slight motion of shrinking and alarm might have been seen in the +little fellow as the angry voice of his father fell upon his ears. +But he did not look up or make a reply. + +"Will you answer me? Stubborn boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, now +catching hold tightly of Andrew's arm. + +"Why don't you answer your father, my child?" said the mother, in a +voice that was tender and appealing. The tone reached the boy's +heart, and he lifted his large blue eyes from the floor and fixed +them on his father's threatening countenance. + +"Say! Where have you been?" repeated Mr. Howland. + +"To see Emily," returned Andrew. + +"Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" + +The child's eyes sunk again to the floor. + +"Say! Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" + +But there was no answer. + +"Do you hear me?" + +"Andrew! Andrew! why don't you answer your father?" came in +distressed and tremulous tones from his mother's lips. + +Mr. Howland was about turning to chide sharply his wife for this +interference, when Andrew again raised his eyes and said-- + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then why have you disobeyed me?" + +The boy's eyes fell again, and he remained silent. + +"I'll break you of this if I break your heart!" said Mr. Howland +severely, and, as he spoke, he almost lifted the child from the +floor with his strong arm as he led him from the room. A groan +issued from the mother's heart and she covered her face and wept. + +By the time Mr. Howland reached the chamber above, to which he +repaired with Andrew, the excitement of his anger had subsided; but +not his stern purpose in regard to his child, who had again +disobeyed him. The absolute necessity of obedience in children he +recognized in all its length and breadth. He saw no hope for them in +the future unless obedience were constrained at every cost. Happy +both for them and himself would it have been if he had been wiser in +his modes of securing obedience, and more cautious about exacting +from his children things almost impossible for them to perform. +Without a law there is no sin. Careful, then, should every parent be +how he enacts a law, the very existence of which insures its +violation. + +Mr. Howland had sought, by various modes of punishment, other than +chastisement, to enforce obedience in this particular case. Now he +was resolved to try the severer remedy. Andrew had expected nothing +farther than to be shut up, alone, in the room, and to go, perhaps, +supperless to bed, and he was nerved to bear this without a murmur. +But when the rod became suddenly visible, and was lifted above him +in the air, his little heart was filled with terror. + +"Oh, father!" he exclaimed, in a voice of fear, while his upturned, +appealing face became ashy pale. + +"You have disobeyed me again, my son," said Mr. Howland, coldly and +sternly, "and I must whip you for it. Disobedient children have to +be punished." + +"Oh, father! Don't whip me! Don't!" came huskily from the lips of +the terrified child. But even while he thus pleaded, the smarting +strokes began to fall. + +"Now, sir!" at length said Mr. Howland, pausing with the rod +uplifted, "will you go into Mr. Winters' again?" + +The child hesitated, and down came a blow upon his tender limbs, +followed by the words-- + +"Say! Will you go in there any more?" + +Still there was a reluctance to make this promise, and another and +harder stroke was given. The father was resolved to conquer, and he +did conquer. A promise was extorted from the child's lips, while, +his heart yielded nothing. + +"Very well, sir! See that you keep your word," said Mr. Howland, as +he released the writhing sufferer from his firm grasp. "If you +disobey me again in this thing, I will give five times as much." + +And he turned from the chamber leaving the wronged and suffering +child alone. + +"I've begun now, and I'll go through with it," muttered Mr. Howland, +as he reentered the room where his wife was sitting. "I never saw so +perverse and self-willed a child in my life. If he is not subdued +now, and forced to obey, his ultimate destruction is inevitable." + +"His fault was not a very great one," Mrs. Howland ventured to +suggest. + +"Do you call disobedience a little fault?" asked Mr. Howland, his +brow contracting as he spoke. + +"I did not mean that," quickly answered Mrs. Howland. "I meant his +going in to see Emily Winters. The children are very fond of each +other." + +"But I have told him not to go in there, haven't I?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. That settles the matter. If he goes, he disobeys me; and +if he disobeys me, he must be punished." + +"But, Andrew--" + +"It is useless to argue about this with me, Esther. Entirely +useless. In your weakness you would indulge and ruin the boy. But I +know my duty better." + +Mrs. Howland sighed deeply and remained silent. Some ten minutes +afterwards, seeing her husband engaged with a book, she arose and +left the room. As soon as she closed the door, every movement was +suddenly quickened, and she sprung up the stairway to the chamber +from which had come down to her the screams of her boy, as he shrunk +under the cruel strokes inflicted by the hand of his father. +Entering, she saw Andrew sitting on the floor, with his arms resting +on a low chair, and his face buried in them. He raised his head +slowly, and turned to see who had come in. The instant he saw that +it was his mother, a flush came into his pale face, and tears dimmed +the light of his beautiful, tender, loving eyes. In another moment +he was sobbing on her bosom. + +"Dear Andrew must not be disobedient again," said the mother, so +soon as her child had grown calm, bending close to his cheek as she +spoke, and letting her breath fall warmly over it. + +"Emily is a good little girl, and I love her. She ain't bad, mother. +She is better than I am," quickly returned the child, raising +himself up, and lifting his eyes earnestly to his mother's face. + +"But your father has forbidden you to go to her house, Andrew." + +"Won't he let Emily come to see me?" urged the child. + +"No, dear. He wants you to play with some one else." + +"But I don't want to play with any one else. Emily is a good girl, +and I like her so much. Indeed she ain't bad, mother. She's good." + +"I know, dear," answered the perplexed mother. "I know that Emily is +a good girl. But--" + +"Then why won't father let me play with her?" was Andrew's quick +interrogation. + +"He doesn't wish you to do so, my child, and you must be an +obedient, good little boy, and then your father will love you." + +"He don't love me!" said Andrew in a tone and with an emphasis that +startled his mother. + +"Oh yes, he does! He loves you very much. Isn't he your father?" +replied Mrs. Howland in an earnest voice. + +"He wouldn't have whipped me so hard if he had loved me! I'm sure he +wouldn't, mother." + +And tears gushed from the eyes of the child at the remembrance of +his father's stern face, and the pain he had suffered. + +"Andrew musn't speak so of his father," said Mrs. Howland in a +chiding voice. "Andrew was disobedient; that was the reason why his +father punished him. Andrew must be a good boy." + +"I ain't bad, mother," sobbed the child. "I'm sure it ain't bad to +play with Emily. She never does anything naughty." + +"It is bad if your father forbids your doing so," replied Mrs. +Howland. + +"No--it can't be bad to play with Emily," said the little fellow, +speaking half to himself. "She's so good, and I love her." + +All in vain proved the mother's effort to make her boy see that it +was wrong to play with Emily. He wanted a reason beyond the +command of his father, and that she was not able to give. The more +she talked with him, the more plainly did she see that rebellion was +in his young heart, and that he would act it out in the face of all +consequences. Deeply saddened was she at this conviction, for she +well knew that obedience to parents is the good ground into which +the seeds of civil and religious obedience in manhood must be sown. + +As for herself, Mrs. Howland had no objection to little Emily +Winters as the companion of Andrew. She was, as the boy said, a good +girl, and her influence over him was for good. But the stern +prejudice of Mr. Howland had come in to break up the friendship +formed between the children, and his inflexible will would brook no +opposition. All must bend to him, even at the risk of breaking. + +Nearly half an hour did Mrs. Howland pass alone with her boy, +striving to awaken the better impulses of his heart, and as they +became active, seeking to implant in his mind a willingness to deny +himself, in order to obey his father. But the father asked too much. +There was no charge of evil against Emily as a reason for this +interdiction. All the mother could say, was-- + +"It is your father's wish and command, my child, and you must obey +him." + +But this could not satisfy the boy's mind in a case where his +feelings were so deeply interested. At length, Mrs. Howland turned +to leave the room. Andrew followed her to the door, and looking up +with a sad light in his large eyes, murmured-- + +"I do love you, mother!" + +A tear fell upon his face as his mother stooped to kiss him. A +little while after, and he was alone. + +"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Howland, joining her husband soon after, +"that we have done wrong in prohibiting all intercourse between +Andrew and little Emily Winters." + +"Why so?" was quickly asked, and in no very pleasant tone of voice. + +"The children are very much attached to each other." + +"That is no reason." + +"It would be no reason if there was anything bad about Emily. But +there is not. She is a very good little girl." + +"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Howland. + +"I never saw anything out of the way in her." + +"It's more than I can say of her father, then," was replied. "There +lies my chief objection. I want no intercourse between the families, +and do not mean to have any. In this I am entirely in earnest. +Andrew must seek another playfellow." + +"I'm afraid we will have a great deal of trouble," sighed Mrs. +Howland. + +"I am not, then. Let me know whenever he disobeys in this matter, +and I'll apply the remedy in a way to cure him. His will has to be +broken, and the present occasion is as good as any other for +effecting so all-important an object. The stronger he is tempted to +disobey, the more effectual will be the subjugation of his will, +when the conquest is made." + +It was useless for Mrs. Howland to argue with her husband. He never +yielded the smallest assent to any reasons she might bring, nor to +any position she might assume. So, with a pressure on her heart, and +a clear perception in her mind that he was wrong, she heard these +last words in silence. + +"Shall I call Andrew down?" asked the mother, as the tea-bell rung, +soon after. + +"No," replied Mr. Howland, firmly; "I wish him to understand that I +am in earnest." + +"Don't you think he has been punished sufficiently?" said Mrs. +Howland, timidly. + +"Of course I do not, or I would remit the penalty of transgression," +coldly returned her husband. "He's a stubborn, self-willed boy, and +must be made to feel that he has a master." + +"Kindness and persuasion often does--" + +"I will hear no more of that!" quickly returned Mr. Howland; "and I +wish you, once for all, to understand, Esther, that I will not +consent to an interference on your part with what I believe to be my +duty. Thousands of children have been ruined by this weak kindness +and persuasion, but this shall never be the case with mine." + +Mr. Howland did not observe that his wife caught her breath, as he +uttered the first few words of his harsh report. She made no further +answer, but passed on with her husband to the tea-room. But she ate +nothing. Dreamily rested her eyes on vacancy, as she sat at the +table. Her mind took no note of images pictured on the retina, for +her thoughts were in another place, and with her inner vision she +saw the sad form of her wronged and suffering child shrinking in the +lone chamber where he had been banished. + +"Shall I take Andrew some supper?" she asked, as she arose, at +length, from the table. + +"He can have some bread and water," was coldly and briefly answered. + +Will any one blame the mother, that she went beyond this? A few +minutes afterward she entered the room in which Andrew had been +punished, bearing in her hands a small tray, on which was a cup of +milk and water, some toast, and a piece of cake. The twilight had +already fallen, and dusky shadows had gathered so thickly that the +eyes of Mrs. Howland failed to see her child on first entering the +room. + +"Andrew!" she called, in a low, tender voice. + +But there was no reply. + +"Andrew!" + +Still all remained silent. + +More accustomed to the feeble light that pervaded the chamber, Mrs. +Howland now perceived her boy in a corner, sitting upon the floor, +with his head reclining upon a low ottoman. He was asleep. Placing +the tray she had brought upon a table, Mrs. Howland lifted the child +in her arms, and as she did so, he murmured in a sad voice-- + +"Don't, papa! oh, don't strike so hard!" + +Unable to repress her feelings, the mother's tears gushed over her +cheeks, and her bosom heaved with emotions that spent themselves in +sobs and moans. + +For many minutes she sat thus. But the child slept on. Once or twice +she tried to awake him, that he might get the supper she had +brought; but he slept on soundly, and she refrained, unwilling to +call him back to the grief of mind she felt that consciousness would +restore. Undressing him, at length, she laid him in his bed, and +bending over his precious form in the deeper darkness that had now +fallen, lifted her heart, and prayed that God would keep him from +evil. For a long time did she bend thus over her boy, and longer +still would she have remained near him, for her heart was affected +with an unusual tenderness, had not the cries of her younger child +summoned her from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE tears of childhood are soon dried. Grief is but as the summer +rain. On the next morning, little Andrew's voice was heard singing +over the house, as merrily as ever. But the sound did not affect, +pleasantly, the mind of his father. He had not forgotten the scene +of the previous evening, and was far from having forgiven the +disobedience he had punished so severely. Had Andrew come forth from +his chamber silent and with a sober, abashed, and fearful +countenance, as if he still bore the weight of his father's +displeasure, Mr. Howland would have felt that he had made some +progress in the work of breaking the will of his child. But to see +him moving about and singing as gaily as a bird, discouraged him. + +"Have I made no impression on the boy?" he asked himself. + +"Father!" said Andrew, running up, with a happy smile upon his face, +as these thoughts were passing through the mind of Mr. Howland, +"won't you buy me a pretty book? Oh! I want one--" + +"Naughty, disobedient boy!" + +These were the words, uttered sternly, and with a forbidding aspect +of countenance, that met this affectionate state of mind, and threw +the child rudely from his father. + +Andrew looked frightened for a moment or two, and then shrunk away. +From that time until his father left the house, his voice was still. +During the morning, he amused himself with his playthings and his +little sister, and seemed well contented. But after dinner he became +restless, and often exclaimed-- + +"Oh! I wish I had somebody to play with!" + +At length, after sitting by the window and looking out for a long +time, he turned to his mother, and said-- + +"Mother, can't I go and see Emily Winters?" + +"No, Andrew, of course not," replied Mrs. Howland. + +"Why, mother? I like her, and she's good." + +"Because your father doesn't wish you go to her house. Didn't he +punish you last evening for going there?" + +At this the child grew impatient, and threw himself about with angry +gestures. Then he sat down and cried for a time bitterly, while his +mother strove, but in vain, to soothe him. For hours his +thoughts had been on his little friend, and now he cared for nothing +but to see her. Denied this privilege from mere arbitrary authority, +his mind had become fretted beyond his weak ability to control +himself. + +It was, perhaps, an hour after this, that Mrs. Howland missed +Andrew, and fearful that he might have been tempted to disobey the +command laid upon him, raised the window and looked into the street. +Just as she did so, she saw him running back toward his home from +the house of Mr. Winters, on the steps of which sat Emily. Entering +quickly, she heard him close the street-door with a slight jar, as +if he designed making as little noise as possible. + +"Where have you been, Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland as soon as he came +up to her room, which he did soon after. + +"Down in the kitchen with Jane," was replied without hesitation. + +"Have you been nowhere else?" Mrs. Howland repented having asked +this question the moment it passed her lips, and still more when the +child answered as unhesitatingly as before, "No, ma'am." + +Here was falsehood added to disobedience! Poor Mrs. Howland turned +her face away to grieve and ponder. She found herself in a narrow +path, and doubtful as to the steps to be taken. She said nothing +more, for she could not see clearly what it was best for her to say; +and she did nothing, for she could not see what it was best for her +to do. But she resolved to be watchful over her boy, lest he should +again be tempted into disobedience. + +The mother's watchfulness, however, availed not. Ere night-fall +Andrew was with his little friend again. Unfortunately for him, the +pleasure he derived from her society caused him to forget the +passing of time, and his stolen delight was, in the end, suddenly +dispelled by the stern voice of his father, who passed the door of +Mr. Winters on his way homeward. + +Slowly and in fear did the child obey the angry command to return +home. He knew that he would be punished with great severity, and he +was not mistaken. He was so punished. But did this avail anything? +No! On the next day he asked his mother to let him sit at the front +door. + +"I'm afraid you'll go into Mr. Winters," said Mrs. Howland, in +reply. + +"Oh, no; indeed I won't, mother," was the ready answer. + +"If you disobey me, I can't let you go to the door again." + +"Oh, I won't disobey you," replied the child. + +"Very well, Andrew, I'll trust you. Now, don't deceive me." + +The child promised over and over again, and Mrs. Howland trusted +him. Ten minutes afterward she looked out, but he was nowhere +to be seen. A domestic was sent to the house of Mr. Winters, where +Andrew was found, as happy as a child could be, playing with his +little friend Emily. On being reproved by his mother for this act of +disobedience, he looked earnestly in her face and said-- + +"You won't tell father, will you? He'll whip me so, and I don't like +to be whipped." + +"But why did you go in there?" said Mrs. Howland. "Haven't we +forbidden you? And didn't you promise me that if I'd let you go to +the front door, you would stay there?" + +"I couldn't help it, mother," replied Andrew. + +"Oh, yes, you could." + +"Indeed I couldn't, mother. I saw Emily, and then I couldn't help +it." + +There was an expression in the child's voice as he said this, that +thrilled the feelings of his mother. She felt that he spoke only the +simple truth--that he could not help doing as he had done. + +"But Andrew must help it," she was constrained to reply. "Mother +can't let him go to the front door again." + +"You won't tell father, will you?" urged the child, lifting, +earnestly, his large, bright, innocent eyes to his mother's face. +"Say, you won't tell him?" + +Grieved, perplexed, and troubled, Mrs. Howland knew not what to say, +nor how to act. + +"Dear mother!" urged the boy, "you won't tell father? Say you +won't?" And tears began to glisten beneath his eyelids. + +"Andrew has been disobedient," said the mother, trying to assume an +offended tone. "Will he be so anymore?" + +"If you won't tell father, I'll be good." + +The mother sighed, and fixed her gaze musingly on the floor. Her +thoughts were still more confused, and her mind in still greater +perplexity. Ah, if she only knew what was right! + +"I will not tell your father this time," she at length said, "but +don't ask me, if you are again disobedient." + +But of what avail was the child's promises. He had strong feelings, +a strong will, and, though so very young, much endurance. A law, at +variance almost with a law of his nature, had been arbitrarily +enacted, and he could not obey it. As well might his father have +shut him up, hungry, in a room filled with tempting food, and +commanded him not to touch or taste it. Had an allegation of evil +conduct been brought against Emily Winters; had any right reason for +the interdiction been given, then Mr. Howland might have had some +power over the strong will and stronger inclinations of the child. +But into the mind of Andrew, young as he was, came a sense of +injustice and wrong on the part of his father, and there was no +willingness, from filial duty, to yield obedience in a case where +every feeling of his heart was at variance with the command. + +The struggle so early commenced between the father and his child, +was an unceasing one. The will of Andrew, which by other treatment +might have been bent to obedience, gained a vigor like the young oak +amid storms, in the strife and reaction of his daily life. Instead +of drawing his child to him, there was ever about Mr. Howland a +sphere of repulsion. Andrew was always doing something to offend his +father; and his father was in consequence always offended. A kind +word from paternal lips rarely touched the ears of the boy, and, but +for the love of his gentle mother, home would have been almost +intolerable. Steadily, against all opposition, chidings, and +punishment, Andrew would seek the company of his little friend Emily +on every convenient occasion. To avoid the consequences he would +practice deception, and utter direct falsehood without compunction +or hesitation. At last, after a struggle of two years, even the +father became wearied and discouraged at the perseverance of his +child; and there came a suggestion to his mind, that probably, to +continue as he had been going on for so long a time, would do more +harm than good. It requires no little self-denial for a man like +Andrew Howland to yield in such a contention, and let the will of +his child remain unbroken. But, after a long debate with himself, +his better conviction triumphed over prejudice and the tenacity of a +mind fixed in its own opinions. He ceased to command obedience in +the case of Emily Winters, and therefore ceased to punish Andrew on +her account. Nevertheless, he rarely saw him in her company that the +displeasure he felt was not manifested by a frown, or some word that +smote painfully upon the ear of his child. + +Possessing an active, independent mind, Andrew failed not to excite +the displeasure of his father in many ways. In fact he was always in +disgrace from some cause or other and the subject of angry reproof, +harsh judgment, or direct punishment. Often his conduct needed +reproof and even punishment; but he was the victim of such frequent +wrong judgment and unjust reproof and punishment, that by the time +he was eleven years of age, he looked upon his father more as a +persecuting tyrant than a kind parent, who sincerely desired his +good. An instance of wrong judgment and unjust punishment we will +here give. + +As Andrew grew older and formed school boy associations, his +impulsive and rather reckless character brought him frequently into +collision with his companions, and he gained a reputation which was +by no means good. Every now and then some one would complain to Mr. +Howland of his bad conduct, when he, taking all for granted, would, +without investigation, visit the offence with severe punishment. + +One day, when in his twelfth year, as Andrew was at play during a +recess in the school hour, a boy larger than himself made an angry +attack upon a lad much below him in size, and was abusing him +severely, when Andrew, acting from a brave and generous impulse, ran +to the rescue of the smaller boy, and, in a sudden onset, freed him +from the hands of his assailant. Maddened at this interference, the +larger boy turned fiercely upon him. But Andrew was active, and kept +out of his way. Still the larger boy pursued him, using all the +while the most violent threats. At length finding that he was likely +to be caught and get roughly handled, Andrew took up a stone, and +drawing back his hand, warned the boy not to approach. He continued +to approach, however, vowing, as he did so, that he would beat the +life half out of him. True to his word, and in self-defence, Andrew +threw the stone, which struck the boy full on the forehead and +knocked him down. For some minutes he lay stunned and half-insensible. +Frightened at the consequences of his act, Andrew sprung to the side +of the fallen lad and tried to raise him up. Failing in this he ran +for the teacher, who was in the school-room. A little cold water +thrown into the boy's face revived him, when he went home to his +parents. The teacher made careful inquiries into the matter, which +satisfied him that Andrew was not very greatly to blame. + +A short time after this occurrence, a gentleman entered the store of +Andrew's father, and said, with much excitement of manner, + +"Mr. Howland! I've come to make complaint against that boy of +yours." + +"Against Andrew?" + +"Yes, sir. He's nearly killed my son!" + +"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, in a distressed voice. "What has +happened? How did he do it?" + +"Why, sir! without the slightest provocation, he took up a large +stone and struck my boy with it on the forehead, knocking him down +senseless. I have had to send for the doctor. It may cost him his +life." + +"Oh dear! dear! What will become of that boy?" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, wringing his hands, and moving up and down the floor +uneasily. "Knocked him down with a stone, you say?" + +"Yes sir And that without any provocation. I can't stand this. +I must, at least, protect the lives of my children. Every week I +have had some complaint against your son; but I didn't wish to +have a difficulty, and so said nothing about it. But this is going a +little too far. He must have a dreadful temper." + +"There is something very perverse about him," remarked Mr. Howland, +sadly. "Ah, me! What am I to do?" + +"There may have been some slight provocation," said the man, a +little modified by the manner in which his complaint was received, +and departing from his first assertion. + +"Nothing to justify an assault like this," replied Mr. Howland with +promptness. "Nothing! Nothing! The boy will be the death of me." + +"Caution him, if you please, Mr. Howland, against a repetition of +such dangerous conduct. The result might be deplorable." + +"I will do something more than caution him, you may be sure," was +answered, and, as he spoke, the lips of Mr. Howland were drawn +tightly across his teeth. + +The man went away, and Mr. Howland dispatched a messenger to the +school for Andrew immediately, and then started for home. He had +been there only a little while, when the boy came in with a +frightened look. To his father's eyes conscious guilt was in his +countenance. + +"Go up stairs, sir!" was the stern salutation that met the lad's +ears. + +"Father, I--" + +"Silence, sir! Don't let me hear a word out of your head!" + +The boy shrunk away and went up to his own room in the third story, +whither his angry father immediately followed him. + +"Now, sir, take off your jacket!" said Mr. Howland who had a long, +thick rattan in his hand. + +"Indeed father," pleaded the child, "I wasn't to blame. Bill +Wilkins--" + +"Silence, sir! I want none of your lying excuses! I know you! I've +talked to you often enough about quarreling and throwing stones." + +"But, father--" + +"Off with your jacket, this instant! Do you hear me? + +"Oh, father! Let me speak! I couldn't--" + +"Not a word, I say! I know all about it!" silenced the pleading boy. +His case was prejudged, and he was now in the hands of the +executioner. Slowly, and with trembling hands, the poor child +removed his outer garment, his pale face growing paler every moment, +and then submitting himself to the cruel rod that checkered his back +with smarting welts. Under a sense of wrong, his proud spirit +refused to his body a single cry of pain. Manfully he bore his +unjust chastisement, while every stroke obliterated some yet +remaining emotion of respect and love for his father, who, satisfied +at length with strokes and upbraiding, threw the boy from him with +the cutting words-- + +"I shall yet have to disown you!" and turning away left the +apartment. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +WHILE Mr. Howland yet paced the floor in a perturbed state of mind, +after the severe flogging he had given to Andrew, and while he +meditated some further and long-continued punishment for the +offences which had been committed, a servant handed him a note. It +was from Andrew's teacher, and was to this effect-- + +"From careful inquiry, I am entirely satisfied that your son, when +he threw the stone at William Wilkins, was acting in self-defence, +and, therefore, is blameless. Wilkins is a quarrelsome, overbearing +lad, and was abusing a smaller boy, when your son interfered to +protect the latter. This drew upon him the anger of Wilkins, who +would have beaten him severely if he had not protected himself in +the way he did. Before throwing the stone, I learn that Andrew made +every effort to get away; failing in this, he warned the other not +to come near him. This warning being disregarded, he used the only +means of self-protection left to him. I say this in justice to your +son, and to save him from your displeasure. As for Wilkins, I do not +intend to receive him back into my school." + +For a long time Mr. Howland remained seated in the chair he had +taken on receiving the teacher's note. His reflections were far from +being agreeable. He had been both unjust and cruel to his child. But +for him to make an acknowledgment of the fact was out of the +question. This would be too humiliating. This would be a triumph for +the perverse boy, and a weakening of his authority over him. He had +done wrong in not listening to his child's explanation; in not +waiting until he had heard both sides. But, now that the wrong was +done, the fact that he was conscious of having done wrong must not +appear. In various ways he sought to justify his conduct. At length +he said, half aloud-- + +"No matter. He deserved it for something else, and has received only +his deserts. Let him behave himself properly, and he'll never be the +subject of unjust censure." + +It was thus that the cold-hearted father settled, with his own +conscience, this question of wrong toward his child. And yet he was +a man who prayed in his family, and regularly, with pious +observance, attended upon the ordinances of the church. In society +he was esteemed as a just and righteous man; in the church as one +who lived near to heaven. As for himself, he believed that severity +toward his boy, and intolerance of all the weaknesses, errors, and +wayward tendencies of childhood, were absolutely needed for the due +correction of evil impulses. Alas! that he, like too many of his +class, permitted anger toward his children's faults to blind his +better judgment, and to stifle the genuine appeals of nature. +Instead of tenderness, forbearance, and a loving effort to lead them +in right paths, and make those paths pleasant to their feet, he +sternly sought to force them in the way he wished them to go. With +what little success, in the case of Andrew, is already apparent. + +Angry at the unjust punishment he had received, the boy remained +alone in his room until summoned to dinner. + +"He doesn't want anything to eat," said the servant, returning to +the dining-room where the family were assembled at the table. + +"Oh, very well," remarked the father, in a tone of indifference, +"fasting will do him good." + +"Go up, Anna," said Mr. Howland to the servant "and tell him that I +want him to come down." + +That word would have been effectual, for Andrew loved his mother; +but Mr. Howland remarked instantly: + +"No, no! Let him, remain. I never humor states of perverseness. If +he wishes to fast he can be gratified." + +Mrs. Howland said no more, but she took only a few mouthfuls of food +while she sat at the table. Her appetite was gone. After dinner she +went up to Andrew's room with a saucer of peaches and cream. The +moment she opened the door the lad sprung toward her, and while +tears gushed from his eyes, he said-- + +"Indeed, indeed, mother, I was not to blame! Bill Wilkins was going +to beat me--and you know, he's a large boy." + +"But you might have killed him, Andrew," replied the mother, with a +gentle gravity that, in love, conveyed reproof. "It is dangerous to +throw stones." + +"I had to defend myself, mother. I couldn't let him beat me half to +death. And I told him to keep off or I would strike him with the +stone. I'm sure I wasn't to blame." + +"Why, was he going to beat you, Andrew? What did you do to him?" +asked Mrs. Howland. + +"I'll tell you, mother," replied the boy. "He was pounding with his +fist a poor little fellow, not half his size, and I couldn't stand +and see it if he was a bigger boy than me. So I took the little +boy's part; and then he turned on me and said he'd beat the life out +of me. I ran from him and tried to get away, but he could run the +fastest, and so I took up a stone and told him to keep off. But he +was mad, and wouldn't keep off. So I struck him with it, and, +mother, I'd do it again to-morrow. No boy shall beat me if I can +defend myself." + +"Why didn't you tell your father of this?" asked Mrs. Howland. + +"I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen to me," said the lad, +with ill-concealed indignation in his voice. "And he never will +listen to me, mother. He believes every word that is said against +me, and flogs me whether I am guilty or not. I'm sure he hates me!" + +"Hush! hush my boy! don't say that. Don't speak so of your father." + +"Well, I'm sure he don't love me," persisted Andrew. + +"Oh, yes, he does love you. He only dislikes what is wrong in you. +My son must try to be a good boy." + +"I do try, mother; I try almost every day. But somehow I do wrong +things without thinking. I'm always sorry at first; sorry until +father begins to scold or whip me, and then I don't seem to care +anything about it. Oh, dear! I wish father wasn't always so cross!" + +While Andrew thus talked, his tears had ceased to flow; but now they +gushed over his cheeks again, and he leaned his face upon his +mother's bosom. Mrs. Howland drew her arms closely around her +unhappy boy, while her own eyes became wet. For many minutes there +was silence. At last she said, in a kind, earnest voice-- + +"I've brought you a nice saucer of peaches and cream, Andrew." + +"I don't want them, mother," replied the lad. + +"You'll be hungry before night, dear. It's nearly school-time now, +and you'll get nothing to eat until you come home again." + +"I don't feel at all hungry, mother." + +"Just eat them for my sake," urged Mrs. Howland. + +Without a word more Andrew took the saucer. + +"Ain't they nice?" asked Mrs. Howland, as she saw that her boy +relished the fruit and cream. + +"Yes, dear mother! they are very good," replied Andrew; "and you are +good, too. Indeed I love you, mother!" + +The last sentence was uttered with visible emotion. + +"Then, for my sake, try and do right, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland, +tenderly. + +"I will try, mother," returned the boy. "I do try often; but I +forget myself a great many times." + +Soon after Andrew started for school. On arriving, his teacher +called him up and said-- + +"Did your father get my note?" + +"I don't know, sir," replied Andrew. + +"What did he say to you?" + +The boy's eyes sunk to the floor and he remained silent. + +"I sent your father a note immediately," said the teacher, "telling +him that you were not to blame." + +Andrew looked up quickly into his teacher's face, while a shadow +fell upon his countenance. + +"You don't know whether he received it?" + +"No sir." + +The teacher called up another lad, and inquired if he had delivered +the note given him at the dwelling of Mr. Howland, as directed. The +boy replied that he had done so. + +"Very, well. You can take your seat." + +Then turning to Andrew, the teacher said-- + +"Was it about William Wilkins that your father sent for you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You told him how it was?" + +The boy was silent. + +"He didn't punish you, surely?" + +Tears trembled on the closing lashes of the injured child; but he +answered nothing. The teacher saw how it was, and questioned him no +farther. From that time he was kinder toward his wayward and, too +often, offending scholar, and gained a better influence over him. + +Not for a moment, during the afternoon, was the thought that his +father knew of his blamelessness absent from Andrew's mind. And, +when he returned home, his heart beat feverishly in anticipation of +the meeting between him and his parent. He felt sure that the +teacher's note had reached his father after the punishment had been +inflicted; and he expected, from an innate sense of right and +justice, that some acknowledgment, grateful to his injured feelings, +of the wrong he had suffered, would be made. There was no thought of +triumph or reaction against his father. He had been wrongly judged, +and cruelly punished; and all he asked for or desired was that his +father should speak kindly to him, and say that he had been blamed +without a cause. How many a dark shadow would such a gleam of +sunshine have dispelled from his heart. But no such gleam of light +awaited his meeting with his father, who did not even raise his eyes +to look at him as he came into his presence. + +For awhile Andrew lingered in the room where his father sat reading, +hoping for a word that would indicate a kinder state of feeling +toward him. But no such word was uttered. At length he commenced +playing with a younger brother, who, not being able to make him do +just as he wished, screamed out some complaint against him, when Mr. +Howland looked up, suddenly, with a lowering countenance, and said, +harshly-- + +"Go out of the room, sir! I never saw such a boy! No one can have +any peace where you are!" + +Andrew started, and made an effort to explain and excuse himself, +for he was very anxious not to be misunderstood again just at this +time. But his father exclaimed, more severely than at first. + +"Do you hear me, sir! Leave this room instantly!" + +The boy went out hopeless. He felt that he was unloved by his +father. Oh! what would he not have given--what sacrifice would he +not have made--to secure a word and a smile of affection from his +stern parent, whom he had known from childhood only as one who +reproved and punished. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +WRONGED and repelled, Andrew left the presence of his father, sad, +hopeless, yet with a sense of indignation in his heart against that +father for the wrong he had suffered at his hands. + +"It's no use for me to try to do right," he murmured to himself. "If +I want to be good, they won't let me." + +As these thoughts passed through his mind, a feeling of recklessness +came over him, and he said aloud-- + +"I don't care what I do!" + +"Don't you, indeed?" + +The voice that uttered this sentence caused him to start. It was the +voice of his father, who had left his room soon after the expulsion +of Andrew, and was at the moment passing near, unobserved by the +boy. + +"Don't care what you do, ha!" repeated Mr. Howland, standing in +front of the lad, and looking him sternly in the face. "You've +spoken the truth for once!" + +For nearly a minute Mr. Howland stood with contracted brows, +scowling upon the half-frightened child. He then walked away, deeply +troubled and perplexed in his mind. + +"What is to become of this boy?" he said to himself. "He really +seems to be one of those whom Satan designs to have, that he might +sift them as wheat. I sadly fear that he is given over to a hard +heart, and a perverse mind--one predestinated, to evil from his +birth. Ah me! Have I not done, and am I not still doing everything +to restrain him and save him! But precept, admonition, and +punishment, all seem, thrown away. Even my daily prayers for him +remain unanswered. They rise no higher than my head. What more can I +do than I am now doing? I have tried in every way to break his +stubborn will, but all is of no avail." + +While Mr. Howland mused thus, Andrew, oppressed by the sphere of his +father's house, was passing out at the street door, although +expressly forbidden to go away from home after his return from +school. For some time he stood leaning against the railing, with a +pressure of unhappiness on his heart. While standing thus, a lad who +was passing by said to him-- + +"Come, Andy! there's a company of soldiers around in the Square. +Hark! Don't you hear the music? Come! I'm going." + +This was a strong temptation, for Andrew loved music and was fond of +sight-seeing. It would be useless, he knew, to ask the permission of +his father, who usually said "No," to almost every request for a +little liberty or privilege. Especially at the present moment would +the request of this kind be useless. + +"Come, Andy! come!" urged the boy, for Andrew, restraining the first +impulse to bound away at the word soldiers, was debating the +question whether to go or not. + +Just then the air thrilled with a wave of music, and Andrew, unable +longer to control himself, sprung away with his companion. For half +an hour he enjoyed the music and military evolutions, and then +returned home. + +"Where have you been, sir?" was the sharp question that greeted him +as he came in. + +"Around in the Square, to see the soldiers," replied Andrew. + +"Who gave you permission to go?" + +"No one, sir. I heard the music, and thought I'd just go and look at +them a little while. I've not been doing anything wrong, sir." + +"Wrong! Isn't disobedience wrong? Haven't I forbidden you, over and +over again, to leave the house after school without my permission? +Say! You don't care what you do! That's it! Go off up stairs with +you, to your own room, and you'll get nothing but bread and water +until to-morrow morning! I'll teach you to mind what I say!" + +The boy went sadly up to his room. It had been a day of severer +trial than usual--of greater wrong and outrage upon him as a child. +For the time his spirit was broken, and he wept bitterly when alone +in his silent chamber, that was to be his prison-house until the +dawn of another day. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland, as her little family gathered +at the supper table, and she found that one was missing. + +"I've sent him up to his room. He can't have anything but bread and +water to-night," replied Mr. Howland, in a grave tone. + +"What has the poor child done, now?" inquired the mother, in a +troubled voice. + +"He went off to see the soldiers, though he had been expressly +forbidden to leave the house after coming home from school." + +"Oh, dear! He's always doing something wrong--what will become of +him?" sighed the mother. + +"Heaven only knows! If he escape the gallows in the end, it will be +a mercy. I never saw so young a child with so perverse an +inclination." + +"Andrew had no dinner to-day," said Mrs. Howland, after a little +while. + +"His own fault," replied the father, "he chose to fast." + +"He must be very hungry by this time. Won't you allow him something +more than bread and water?" + +"No. If he is hungry, that will taste sweet to him." + +Mrs. Howland sighed and remained silent. After supper, she took food +to her boy. A slice of bread and a glass of water were first placed +on a tray, and with these the mother started up stairs. But, ere she +reached the chamber, her heart plead so strongly for the lad, that +she paused, stood musing for a few moments, and then returned to the +dining-room. A few slices of tongue, some biscuit, bread and butter, +and a cup of tea were taken from the table, and with these Mrs. +Howland returned up stairs. Unexpectedly, her husband met her on the +way. + +"Who is that for?" he asked, in a voice of surprise, seeing the +articles Mrs. Howland was bearing on the tray. + +"It is Andrew's supper," was replied; and as Mrs. Howland said this, +her eyes drooped, abashed beneath the stern and rebuking gaze of her +husband. + +"Esther! Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. "Didn't I say that +Andrew must have nothing but bread and water for his supper?" + +"He has had no dinner," murmured the mother. + +"I don't care if he had nothing to eat for a week. I said he should +have only bread and water, and I meant what I said. Esther! I am +surprised at you. Of what avail will be efforts at correction, if +you counteract them in this way?" + +Mrs. Howland never contended with her husband. In all expressed +differences of opinion, it was his habit to bear her down with an +imperious will. She was weak, and he was her strong tyrant. Not a +word more did she speak but returned to the dining-room, and +replaced the food she had prepared for Andrew by simple bread and +water. + +The feelings of childhood never run for a long time in the same +channel. Very soon after entering his room, Andrew's mind lost its +sad impression, and began to search about for something to satisfy +its restless activity. First he got upon the chairs, and jumped from +one to another. This he continued until his feet passed through the +slender cane-works of one of them. Then he turned somersets on the +bed, until more than a handful of feathers were beaten out and +scattered about the room. Next he climbed up the posts and balanced +himself on the tester, to the no small risk of breaking that slender +frame work, and injuring himself severely by a fall. Soon the +compass of the room became too narrow, and the elevation of the +bed-posts too trifling for his expanding ideas. He went to the +window, and, opening it, looked forth. Here was a new temptation. +The roof of a piazza, built out from a second story, came up to +within a foot of the window-sill. He had often ventured upon this +roof, and he sprung out upon it again without a moment's hesitation +or reflection, and running along, with the lightness of a cat, +gained the roof of the back building, which he ascended to the very +apex, and then placed himself astride thereof. Here he sat for some +minutes looking around him and enjoying the prospect. On the end of +the back building was fastened a strong pole, running up into the +air some ten feet. On the top of this pole was a bird-box, in which +a pair of pigeons had their nest. Two young pigeons had been hatched +out, and now nearly full-fledged and ready to fly, they were +thrusting their glossy heads from the box, and looking about from +their airy height. + +A fluttering of wings, as the mother-bird returned with food for her +young ones, attracted the attention of Andrew, and looking up, he +saw the young pigeons. Instantly came a desire to remove them from +their nest. But the way to that nest was too difficult and perilous +for him to think of securing his wish. This was the first +impression. Then he fixed his eye on the nest, and watched the old +bird, as she sat on a ledge that projected from the box, while she +distributed to her younglings the food she had brought. Thus sat the +boy at the moment his mother left the dining-room with the +comfortable supper she had prepared for him, and there she would +have found him in comparative safety, had she not been prevented +from carrying out the kind promptings of her heart. + +The longer Andrew gazed at the young birds, the more desirous did he +become to get them in his possession. Over and over again he +measured the height and thickness of the pole with his eyes, +calculating, all the while, his ability to climb it, and the amount +of danger attendant on the adventure. + +"I'm sure I could do it," said he, at length rising from the place +where he sat and walking with careful step to the edge of the roof, +at the point above which the pole projected. Grasping the pole +firmly, he first leaned his body over until he could see in a +perpendicular line to the pavement in the yard below, a distance of +more than forty feet. For a moment his head swam, as he looked from +the dizzy height; but he shut his eyes and clung to the pole until +self-possessed again. Then he looked up at the bird-box and reaching +his hands far above his head, grasped the pole firmly and drew his +body a few inches, upward. Clinging tightly with his legs to retain +the slight elevation he had acquired, he moved his hands farther +along the pole, and then drew himself higher up. Thus he progressed +until he had reached a point some five or six feet above the roof, +when his strength became exhausted, and, unable to retain even the +position he had acquired, his body slowly descended the pole, +swinging around to the side opposite the roof. On reaching the +bottom it was as much as he could do to get himself once more in a +position of safety, where he stood for a few moments, until he could +recover himself. He then tried the ascent again. This time he nearly +reached the box, when his strength once more failed him, and he had +to slide down the pole as before. But Andrew was not a lad to give +up easily anything he attempted to do. Difficulties but inspired him +to new efforts, and he once more tried to effect the perilous +ascent, firmly resolved to reach the box at the third trial. In his +eagerness, he became unconscious of all danger, and commenced +clambering up the pole with as much confidence as if it had been +placed on the ground. + +Great violence had been done to the feelings of Mrs. Howland by her +husband. His stern rebuke hurt her exceedingly. She did not feel +that she was doing wrong in yielding to the appeals of her heart in +favor of her wayward, ever-offending boy. Her mother's instinct told +her, that he needed kindness, forbearance, and frequent exemption +from punishment; and she felt that it was better for him to have +this, even though in gaining it for him she acted in violation of +her husband's wishes and command--yea, even though her child knew +that such was the case. Sadly was she aware of the fact, that the +father's iron-handed severity had nearly crushed affection out of +the heart of his child; and that all obedience to him was extorted +under fear of punishment. And she well knew that her interference in +his favor, while it could not estrange him from his father more than +he was already estranged, would give her greater influence over him +for good. Such were the conclusions of her mind--not arrived at by +cold ratiocination, but by woman's shorter way of perception. And +she knew that she was right. + +Hurt in her own feelings was she, by her husband's harsh, rebuking +words, and sad for the sake of her boy, as she returned to the +dining-room. For some time she remained there, debating with herself +whether she should stealthily convey something more than the bread +and water to Andrew, or take him the meager supply of food his +father had ordered. In the end her feelings triumphed. A large slice +of cake and an apple were placed in her pocket. Then with the bread +and water she went up to her son's chamber. + +"Bless me! what a boy!" fell from the lips of Mrs. Howland, as she +pushed open the door and saw the disordered condition of the room. +The chairs were scattered about the apartment, and through the +caning of one of them was a large hole. The wash-bowl and pitcher +were on the floor, and a good deal of water spilled around. The +bed-clothes were nearly all dragged off; and it was plain, from the +feathers scattered about, that Andrew had been amusing himself with +jumping on the bed. Lifting her eyes to the tester, Mrs. Howland saw +nearly a yard of the valance torn away and hanging down. + +"Oh, what a boy!" she again murmured. "He seems possessed with a +spirit of mischief and destruction. Andrew!" + +She called the lad's name, but there was no answer. + +"Andrew! where are you?" The mother looked searchingly about the +room. But she neither saw the boy nor heard his voice. Perceiving +now that the back-window was open, she sprung to it with a sudden +thrill of alarm. The first object that caught her sight, was Andrew +suspended in the air on the pole that supported the pigeon-box. He +was just about reaching the object of his perilous adventure. A wild +scream of terror came from the mother's lips, ere she had time to +think of self-control. The scream, as it pierced suddenly the ears +of Andrew, startled and unnerved him. A quick muscular exhaustion +followed, and ere he could recover from the confusion and weakness +of the moment, his hands were dragged from their hold, and he went +flashing down from the eyes of his mother like the passing of a +lightning gleam. Another scream thrilled on the air, and then Mrs. +Howland sunk swooning to the floor. + +Mr. Howland was just stepping into the yard, when his son fell, +crushed by the terrific fall, at his feet. + +"Oh, father!" came in a voice of anguish from the yet conscious boy, +as he lifted one hand with a feeble effort toward his parent. Then a +deathly whiteness came ever his face, and he fainted instantly. + +On the arrival of a physician it was found that Andrew's left arm +was broken in two places, his left ancle dislocated, and two ribs +fractured. As to the internal injury sustained, no estimate could be +made at the time. He did not recover fully from the state of +insensibility into which he lapsed after the fall, until the work of +setting the broken bones and reducing the dislocation was nearly +over. His first utterance was to ask for his mother. She was not +present, however. Her cries, at seeing the peril and fall of her +child, brought a domestic to the room, who found her lying +insensible upon the floor. Assistance being called, she was removed +to her own chamber, where she remained, apparently lifeless for the +space of half an hour. When she recovered, her husband was pacing +the chamber floor with slow, measured steps, and his eyes cast down. + +"Andrew! Is he dead?" were her first words. She spoke in a low +voice, and with forced composure. + +Mr. Howland paused, and approached the bed on which lay his pale +exhausted wife, just awakened from her death-like unconsciousness. + +"No, Esther. He is not dead," was calmly replied. + +"Is he badly hurt"? + +The mother held her breath for a reply. + +"Yes, badly, I fear," answered Mr. Howland, in the same calm voice. + +"Will he live?" almost gasped the mother. + +"God only knows," replied Mr. Howland. Then glancing his eyes upward +piously, he added, "If it be His will to remove him, I--" + +"Oh, Andrew! don't say that!" quickly exclaimed the mother. "Don't +say that!" + +"Yes, Esther, I will say it," returned Mr. Howland, in a steady +voice. "If it be His good pleasure to remove him, I will not murmur. +He will be safer _there_ than here." + +"Oh, my poor, poor boy!" sobbed Mrs. Howland. "My poor, poor boy! +To think that he should come to this? Oh, it was wrong to send him +off as he was sent! to punish him so severely for a little thing. +Heaven knows, he had suffered enough, unjustly, without having this +added!" + +"Esther!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, "this from you!" + +The distressed mother, in the anguish of her mind, had given +utterance to her feelings, with scarce a thought as to who was her +auditor. The sternly uttered words of her husband subdued her into +silence. + +"I did not expect this from you, Esther," continued Mr. Howland, +severely, "and at such a time." + +And he stood looking down upon the mother's pale face with a +rebuking expression of countenance. Mrs. Howland endured his gaze +only for a few moments, and then buried her face in the bed-clothes. +Her husband, as his eyes remained fixed upon her form, saw that it +was agitated by slight convulsions, and he knew that she was +striving to suppress the sobs in which her heart was seeking an +utterance. For a little while he stood looking at her, and then +retired, without speaking, from the chamber, and sought the one +where the physician was yet engaged with Andrew. The lad was +insensible when he left him a short time before; now signs of +returning animation were visible. + +"Mother!--mother! Where is mother?" he at last said, opening his +eyes, and glancing from face to face of those who were gathered +around him. + +"You have nearly killed your mother," replied. Mr. Howland, +expressing, without reflection, the feeling of anger toward the lad +that was still in his heart. + +An instant change was visible in the countenance of Andrew; a change +that caused the physician to turn suddenly from his patient and say, +in a low, severe tone-- + +"Sir! Do you wish to murder your child?" + +Mr. Howland felt the rebuke, yet did not his eyes sink for a moment +beneath the steady gaze of the physician, who, after a moment's +reflection, added-- + +"Pray, sir, don't speak to your child in this way at the present +time. It may be as much as his life is worth. If he have done wrong, +his punishment has been severe enough, Heaven knows! How is his +mother?" + +"Better. She has recovered from her faintness," replied Mr. Howland. + +The door opened while he was yet speaking, and Mrs. Howland came in, +looking pale and agitated. The physician raised his finger to enjoin +prudence, and then turning to Andrew said, in a cheerful voice, + +"Here is your mother, my boy." + +Mrs. Howland came quickly to the bedside. As she bent over to kiss +the white-faced sufferer, the child sobbed out-- + +"Oh mother!--dear mother!" + +The mother's frame quivered under the pressure of intense feeling, +and she was on the eve of losing all self-control, when the +physician whispered in her ear. + +"Be calm, madam--the life of your child may depend on it!" + +Instantly the mother was calm in all that met the eye. Close to her +child she bent, and with a hand laid gently on his clammy forehead, +she spoke to him words of comfort and encouragement, while the +physician proceeded in the work of bandaging his broken and injured +limbs. + +As for Mr. Howland, he walked the floor with compressed and silent +lips, until the physician's work was done. He pitied the suffering +boy, yet there was nothing of what he called weakness in his pity. +The idea that Andrew was suffering a just retribution for his wrong +conduct, was distinctly present to his mind. And he even went so far +as to put up a prayer that the pain he was enduring, and must for a +long time endure, might work in him a salutary change--might lead to +his reformation. + +In due time the poor boy was made as comfortable as the nature of +his injuries would permit, and quiet and order restored to the +agitated family. + +"You see, my son, that punishment always follows evil conduct." +These were the first words spoken by Mr. Howland to his suffering +boy, as soon as he found himself alone with him. And then he +lectured him on disobedience until the poor child grew faint. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +THE boy recovered, in due time, from his injuries, but there was no +manifest change in his character, nor was there any relaxing of the +iron hand of authority with which his father sought to hold him back +from evil. It is no matter of wonder that he grew hardened and +reckless as he grew older; nor that, to avoid punishment, he sought +refuge in lying, secretiveness, and deceit. + +The other children--there were three beside Andrew--being different +in character, were more easily subdued under the imperious will of +their father, whom they feared more than they loved. Assuming, in +his own mind, that Andrew's will had been permitted to gain strength +ere an effort had been made to control it, Mr. Howland resolved not +to fall into this error in the case of the children who followed; +and, assuredly, he did not. Through the rigors of unfailing +punishment for every act of wrong-doing, they were forced into the +way he would have them go, and though rebellion was often in their +hearts, it was rare, indeed, that it found its way into act, except +when there was the utmost certainty that their misconduct would not +be found out. Thus they learned to act hypocritically toward their +father, and to regard him as one who marred, instead of promoting +their pleasure. + +Mr. Howland had one son besides Andrew--one son and two daughters. +Mary was next to Andrew, Edward came next to her, and Martha was the +youngest. Edward resembled his father more than any of the other +children. He was cold and calm in his temperament, and little +inclined to be drawn aside by the restless, vagrant spirits that +were ever luring Andrew from the strict line laid down for him by +his father. Daily perceiving the great value attached by his father +to external propriety of conduct, Edward made a merit of what to him +was easy. This vexed Andrew, who had opportunities for knowing all +about the worth of Edward's apparent excellencies, and he sneeringly +applied to him the epithet of "Saint," which was the cause of his +drawing down upon himself, in more than one instance, the +displeasure of his father. But he had become so used to censure and +reproof, that it had little influence over him. Let him do wrong or +right, he was almost sure to be harshly judged, and he had, by the +time he was sixteen, almost ceased to care what others thought of +his conduct. + +Mary, whose age was next to that of Andrew, failed to acquire any +influence over her brother. She had been fretful and peevish as a +child, and he had worried her a great deal, and, in consequence, +received frequent punishment on her account. This tended naturally +to disunite them, and make them cold toward each other. Instead of +Mr. Howland striving, as their mother ever did, to reconcile their +difficulties, and make them friends, he would listen to Mary's +complaints against Andrew, and mark his displeasure by reproof or +punishment. Trifles, that would have been in a little time forgotten +and forgiven, were raised into importance by the stern father, and +sources of unhappiness and enmity created out of the most ordinary, +childish misunderstandings. Thus, in his mistaken efforts to destroy +what was evil in his children, he was only rooting the evils he +would remove more deeply in the groundwork of their minds. Instead +of harmonizing, his actions had the constant effect of disuniting +them. Brotherly love and sisterly affection had small chance for +growth in the family over which he presided. + +For all this, out of his family Mr. Howland was highly respected and +esteemed. He had the reputation of being one of the most upright, +just, and humane men in the community; and many wondered that he +should have so bad a son as Andrew, whose reputation abroad was +little better than at home. At school he was almost constantly +involved in quarrels with other boys; and, from the immediate +neighborhood of Mr. Howland, complaints frequently came of his bad +conduct and reckless annoyances toward neighbors. In truth, Andrew +was a bad boy; self-willed and overbearing toward his companions; a +trespasser on the rights and privileges of others; and determinedly +disobedient to his father. But for all this his father was to blame. +While sternly repressing the evil in his child, he had not lovingly +sought to develop the good. While vainly striving to root out the +tares which the enemy had sown, he had injured the tender wheat, +whose green blades were striving to lift themselves to the sunlight. +Alas! how many parents, in their strange blindness, are doing the +same work for their unhappy children. + +Amid all the perverseness that marked the character of Andrew; amid +all his hardness and wrong-doing; his attachment to Emily Winters +remained as pure and earnest at sixteen, as when a child he suffered +punishment rather than give up her society. Emily, who was about his +own age, had grown, by this time, into a tall, graceful girl, and +was verging on toward womanhood with a rapidity that made the boy's +heart tremble as he marked the distance which an earlier development +of body was placing between him and the only one, except his mother, +that he had ever loved. + +Between the families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters there was no +intercourse. Mr. Howland early imbibed a strong prejudice against +Mr. Winters, who did not happen to be a church member, and who, on +that account, was believed by Mr. Howland to be capable of doing +almost any wrong action, if tempted thereto. Certain things done by +Mr. Winters, who was independent in his modes of thinking and +acting, had been misunderstood by Mr. Howland, or judged by one of +his peculiar standards of virtue. From that time he was considered a +bad man; and, although Mrs. Winters, who was a woman beloved by all +that knew her, called upon Mrs. Howland when the family of the +latter came into the neighborhood, Mr. Howland positively forbade a +return of the call. Less obedient to his arbitrary commands did he +find his son. Andrew formed an early friendship for little Emily, +and sought every opportunity, spite of restriction and punishment, +to enjoy her society. + +This was continued until the children grew to a size that caused the +parents of Emily to observe the attachment as one far from being +agreeable to them, and to feel desirous of drawing a line of +separation between their daughter and a boy so notoriously bad as +Andrew Howland. When the children were twelve years old, they felt +bound to take some action in the case, and began by giving Andrew a +gentle hint, one day, to the effect that his visits to their house +were rather too frequent. This was enough for the high-spirited boy. +He left, with a burning spot on his cheek, vowing, in his +indignation, that he would never enter their door again, nor speak +to Emily. But it was much easier to keep the first part of this +promise than the last. As early as the next day he met Emily on his +way to school. She was going to school also, and had much farther +to, walk than himself. To enjoy her society, he went with her all +the way. This made him late, and he was in consequence, kept in by +the teacher, half an hour after his own school was dismissed. But +this punishment did not deter him from repeating the act on the next +day and on the next. From that time he rarely came to school until +ten or fifteen minutes after the session was opened; and, sometimes, +Emily was late also. Reproof and punishment doing no good, the +teacher sent a note to Andrew's father, complaining of his want of +punctuality. A severe reprimand was the consequence. This failing of +the desired effect, the boy was put on bread and water for days at a +time. But complaints from the teacher still arriving, corporeal +punishment was added. No change, however, followed. In the end +Andrew was sent home from school as incorrigible. + +"What shall I do with the boy!" was the despairing exclamation of +Mr. Howland, when this event occurred. "Idleness will complete his +ruin, and he is too young to put out." + +"I will send him to sea," was the final conclusion of his mind, +after debating the matter for some days, and talking with several +friends on the subject. Mr. Howland was generally in earnest when he +decided a matter, and but little given to change his purposes. And +he was in earnest now. But the moment his intention was announced to +his wife, there came from her an unexpected and vigorous opposition. + +"No, Andrew," said she, with an emphasis unusual to her in +addressing her husband, "that must not be." + +"I tell you it must be, Esther," quickly replied Mr. Howland. +"Nothing else will save the boy." + +"It lacks only that to complete his ruin," said Mrs. Howland, +firmly. "Never, Andrew--never will he go on board of a vessel with +my consent." + +And the mother burst into tears. + +"I don't wish to have any contention about this matter, Esther," +said Mr. Howland, gravely, as soon as his wife had grown calm, "and +I don't mean to have any. But I wish you to understand that I am in +earnest. Being fully satisfied that the last hope for Andrew is to +send him to sea, I have fully made up my mind to do it. I have +already spoken to the captain of a vessel trading to South America. +A few months on ship-board will tame him. He'll be glad enough to +behave himself when he gets home." + +"I have no faith in this remedy," replied Mrs. Howland, somewhat to +the surprise of her husband, who expected to silence her, as usual, +with his broadly asserted ultimatum. "Severe remedies have been +tried long enough. In my view, a milder course pursued toward the +boy would effect more than any other treatment." + +"Mildness! Haven't we tried that, over and over again? And hasn't it +only encouraged him to bolder acts of disobedience?" + +Mrs. Howland sighed. Her mind went back to the past, but none of +these instances of mild treatment could she remember. The iron hand +had been on him from the beginning, crushing out the good, and +hardening the evil into endurance. + +"Andrew," said she, after sitting for some time with her eyes upon +the floor, speaking in a very calm voice, "he is my son as well as +yours--and his welfare is as dear to me as it is to you. As his +mother, I am entitled to a voice in all that concerns him; and now, +in the sight of heaven, I give my voice distinctly against his being +sent to sea." + +Mr. Howland seemed startled at this bold speaking in his wife, +which, to him, amounted to little less than rebellion against his +authority. As the head of the family, it was his prerogative to +rule; and he had ruled for years with almost undisputed sway. Not in +the least inclined did he feel to give up now, the power which he +believed, of right, belonged to him. A sharp retort trembled for a +moment on his lips; but he kept back its utterance. He did not, +however, waver a single line from his purpose, but rather felt it +growing stronger. + +No more was said at this time by either. Mrs. Howland sought the +earliest opportunity to be alone with her son, when she informed him +of his father's purpose to send him to sea. Andrew was somewhat +startled by this information, and replied, instantly-- + +"I don't want to go to sea, mother." + +"Nor do I wish you to go, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. "You are too +young to bear the hard usage that would certainly fall to your lot. +But your father is very determined about the matter." + +"I won't go!" boldly declared the boy. + +"Andrew! Andrew! don't speak in that manner," said the mother in a +reproving voice. + +"I'll run away first!" + +An indignant flush came into the lad's face as he said this. + +Mrs. Howland was both startled and alarmed at this bold and +unexpected declaration, and for a time she hardly knew what to say. +At length, in a voice so changed that Andrew looked up, half +wonderingly, into her face, she said-- + +"My son, do you love me?" + +Not until the question was repeated did Andrew make any reply. Then +he answered, in a low, unsteady voice, for something in her manner +had touched his feelings. + +"You know I love you, mother; for you are the only one who loves +me." + +"For the sake, then, of that love, let me ask you to do one thing, +Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. + +"What is that mother?" + +"Go back to your teacher, and ask him to take you into the school +again." + +A flush came warmly into the boy's face, and he shook his head in a +positive manner. + +"I wish you to do it for my sake, Andrew," urged Mrs. Howland. + +"I can't, mother. And it would not do any good." + +"Yes, it will do good. You were wrong in not going punctually to +school. All that is now required of you is to acknowledge this, and +ask to be restored to your place." + +Andrew stood silent and gloomy by his mother's side. + +"Were you not wrong in absenting yourself from school at the proper +hour?" asked Mrs. Howland, in a calm, penetrating voice. + +There was no reply. + +"Say, Andrew?" urged the mother. + +"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I was." + +"Was not your teacher right in objecting to this?" + +"I suppose so." + +"And right in sending you home if you would not obey the rules of +the school?" + +The boy assented. + +"Very well. Then you alone are to blame for the present trouble, and +it rests with you to remove it. For my sake, go back to school, +promise to do right in future, and ask to be reinstated. Will not +this be better than going to sea, or leaving your father's +house, as you thoughtlessly threatened to do just now?" + +The tender earnestness with which Mrs. Howland spoke, more than the +reasons she urged, subdued the stubborn spirit of the boy. + +"You know how determined your father is," she continued. "In his +intention to send you to sea he is entirely in earnest, and nothing +will prevent his doing so but your going back to school. You +threaten to run away. That would avail nothing. You are but a boy, +and would be restored to us in a week. Think of the trouble you will +bring upon me. Andrew! Andrew! unless you do as I desire, you will +break my heart." + +Giving way at this point to the pressure on her feelings, Mrs. +Howland wept bitterly; and, greatly subdued by his mother's grief, +Andrew drew his arm around her neck, and wept with her. + +"Go, dear," said Mrs. Howland, as soon as she had recovered herself, +parting the hair upon the forehead of her boy, and pressing her lips +upon it--"go, and secure your own self-approbation and my happiness, +by doing as I desire. Go, now, while your heart beats rightly. Go, +and save your mother from untold wretchedness." + +And again Mrs. Howland pressed her lips to his forehead. Happily, +she prevailed over him. Acting from the good impulses with which she +had inspired his better nature, he went to the teacher, who readily +consented to take him back into the school on his promise of more +orderly conduct in future. + +"Andrew has gone back to school," said Mrs. Howland to her husband, +on his return home in the evening. + +"Gone back to school? I thought the teacher had expelled him." + +"Andrew went to him, and promised amendment." + +"He did?" + +"Yes. After I had talked with him a long time, he consented to do +so." + +"It is well," briefly, and with much severity in his tone, replied +Mr. Howland. He was greatly relieved at this unexpected result; +although neither in word or manner did he let his real feelings +appear. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +THE thought that came instantly to the mind of Andrew, when his +father's resolution to send him to sea was mentioned, was the +thought of Emily Winters. For the sake of spending daily a few +quickly passing minutes with her, he had subjected himself to +reprimand, punishment and disgrace. And his mind instantly reacted +against the idea of a separation such as was now threatened. Still +he was too proud and stubborn to think for a moment of retracing any +of the wrong steps he had made. Nothing but the tender appeal of his +mother, whom he did indeed love, amid all his perverseness, could +have subdued him. But for the strong attachment felt for Emily, he +would have received the intelligence that he was about to be sent to +sea, with, pleasure. + +For some time after this, Andrew's external conduct was more +orderly. But there was so much about him to offend his easily +offended father, that he did not escape for even a single day +without a frown or harsh word, which soon had the effect to +extinguish the few good impulses which the recent subjugation of his +will had awakened. He continued to meet Emily on his way to school, +but was careful not to linger in her company go long as before. But +this pleasure was at length denied him. A person who frequently saw +them together, mentioned the fact to Mr. Winters, who immediately +reproved his daughter for the association, and positively forbade +its continuance. Emily had ever been obedient to her parents in all +things, and this command, grievous as it was, she felt bound to +obey. On the day after it was given, Andrew lingered for her in vain +at the place where they had met daily, until after his school hour. +On the next morning he was there earlier than usual, and waited +until past his school hour again. But she did not come. Strictly +obedient to her parents, she had gone another way so as to avoid the +meeting. + +During that day, Andrew was absent from school. Having twice missed +his gentle friend, he had no heart to enter upon his studies, and so +went listlessly wandering about the streets until nearly twelve +o'clock. Then he repaired to the neighborhood of her school, and +waited to see if she was among the scholars at the time of their +dismissal. In a little while the children came pouring forth, and +among them his eager eyes soon caught the form of Emily. He was by +her side in a moment, saying, as he took her hand-- + +"Where have you been? I've looked for you these two days." + +A crimson flush overspread the face of Emily in an instant, and she +gently disengaged the hand he had taken. + +Andrew, who, with all his faults, was proud and sensitive, seemed +startled by this unexpected reception. For a moment or two he stood +gazing upon her downcast face, and then turned from her and walked +rapidly away. As he did so, the little girl lifted toward him her +gentle eyes, that were now full of tears, and stood gazing after him +with a sad expression of countenance until he was out of sight. + +"I don't care for anything now!" Such was the ejaculation of Andrew, +pausing, and throwing himself, with a reckless air, upon a +door-step, so soon as he had passed beyond the view of the friend he +had so loved for years, but who now, from some cause unknown to him, +had become suddenly estranged. "I don't care for anything now," he +repeated. "Let them send me to sea, or anywhere else, if they will! +I don't care! I'm not going to school any more! What do I care for +school? I do nothing right, any how! It's scold, scold, or flog, +flog, all the time! Father says he'll beat goodness into me; but I +guess he's beaten it 'amost all out." + +With such thoughts passing through his mind, the unhappy boy sat, +with his face down, and his head supported on his hands, for some +two or three minutes, when he was startled by a well-known voice, +whose tones were ever like music to his ears, pronouncing his name. + +In an instant he was on his feet. Emily was before him, and her eyes +were now fixed upon his face with a sad expression. + +"Andrew," said she, "don't be angry. It isn't my fault." + +"What isn't your fault?" eagerly inquired the boy, as he grasped her +hand. + +"Father said I mustn't--" + +The little girl hesitated. It seemed as if she couldn't utter the +words. + +"Said what?" + +There was ill-repressed indignation in Andrew's voice. + +"Don't be angry! It frightens me when you are angry!" said Emily, +looking distressed. + +"What did your father say?" asked the boy, in milder tones. + +"He said that I mustn't meet you as I went to school any more," +replied Emily. + +The face of the boy grew crimson, while his lips arched with the +angry indignation that swelled in his bosom. He was about giving a +passionate vent to his feelings, when he was restrained by the look +of distress that overspread the face of his gentle friend, and by +the tears that came slowly stealing from her eyes. + +"Ain't I as good?" + +Thus far Andrew gave utterance to what was in his thoughts, and +then, seeing the tears of Emily, checked himself and became silent. + +"You ain't angry with me, are you?" asked the little girl, laying +her hand upon his, and looking earnestly in his face. + +"No; I'm not angry with you, Emily. I'm never angry with you. But +it's hard. I'd rather see you than anybody. I don't care what +becomes of me now! Let them send me to sea if they will!" + +At the word "sea" Emily's face grew pale, and she said in a choking +voice, + +"O! they won't send you to sea, Andrew?" + +"Father threatened to send me to sea if I didn't attend school +better." + +"But you will attend better, Andrew. I know you will. Oh, it would +be dreadful to be sent to sea!" + +"I don't know. I'd as lief be there as anywhere else, if I can't see +you!" + +"But you will see me sometimes. We can't meet any more as we go to +school; but we'll see each other often, Andrew." + +These words lifted much of the heavy weight that pressed on the +feelings of the boy. + +"When will we see each other?" he asked. + +"I don't know," replied Emily. "Father said we musn't meet going to +school; but there will be other chances. Good-by! I wouldn't like +father to see me here, for then he would think me a very disobedient +girl." + +And saying this, Emily turned and ran fleetly away. Andrew's +feelings were relieved from the pressure that rested upon them. +Still he felt angry and indignant at Mr. Winters, and this state +increasing rather than subsiding, tended to encourage other states +of mind that were not good. With a feeling of rebellion in his heart +he returned home, where he found no difficulty in provoking some +reaction, and in falling under the quickly excited displeasure of +his father, who was ever more inclined to seek than overlook causes +of reproof. The consequence was, that when he left home for school +in the afternoon he felt little inclination to attend, and, after a +slight debate, yielded to this inclination. A little forbearance and +kindness would have softened the child's feelings, and prompted him +to enter the right way. But the iron hand was never relaxed, and +there was no room beneath it for the crushed heart of the boy to +swell with better impulses. + +At supper time, on that evening, the boy was absent. He should have +been at home nearly two hours before. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, as they gathered at the table. + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Mrs. Howland, in a voice touched +with a deeper concern than usual. + +"Has he been home since school was dismissed?" + +"No." + +"Was there ever such a boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. + +"Most probably he has been kept in," suggested the mother. + +"Edward, go round to the house of his teacher and ask if he was +dismissed at five o'clock," said Mr. Howland. + +Edward left the table and went on his errand. He soon returned with +word that Andrew had not been to school all day. + +Knife and fork fell from the hands of Mr. Howland, and the mother's +face instantly grew pale. + +"I felt troubled about him all day," murmured the latter. + +"He was home at dinner time?" said Mr. Howland, as he pushed his +chair back from the table. + +"Yes." + +"Oh dear!--oh dear! What is to become of him? I've tried everything +in my power to restrain him from evil, but all is of no avail." + +Just at this moment the street-door bell was rung very violently. As +each one paused to listen, and the room became perfectly silent, the +murmur of many voices could be heard in the street. For a few +moments all was breathless expectation. The sound of the servant's +feet, as she moved along the passage to the door, throbbed on each +heart, and then all sprung from their chairs, as a cry of distress +was uttered by the servant, followed by men's voices, and the +entrance of a crowd of people. + +Poor Mrs. Howland sunk to the floor, nerveless, while Mr. Howland +sprung quickly out of the room. The story was soon told. Andrew had +been out on the river with some other boys in a boat, from which he +had fallen into the water, and was now brought home to his parents, +to all appearance, lifeless. It proved in the end that vitality was +only suspended; after an hour's unremitted effort, by a skillful +physician, the circle of life went on again. + +The shock of this event somewhat subdued the mind of Mr. Howland. He +felt utterly discouraged about the boy. While in this state of +discouragement, he refrained from saying anything to him about his +bad conduct. Indeed, in view of this second narrow escape from +death, his feelings were a good deal softened toward Andrew, and +something like pity took the place of anger. During the two days +that the lad was convalescing, his father said little to him; but +what little he did say was spoken kindly, and with more of a +parental sentiment therein than had been apparent for years. +Electrically did this sentiment reach the heart of Andrew. Once when +Mr. Howland took his hand, and asked in a kind voice how he felt, +tears rushed to his eyes, and his lips quivered so that he could not +reply. This was perceived by Mr. Howland, and he felt that his boy +was not altogether given over to hardness of heart. In that moment +Andrew promised in his own mind, that in future he would be a more +obedient boy. + +Unhappily, Mr. Howland attributed this subdued and better state of +feeling in his son, to the narrow escape from drowning that he had +had, and not to the real cause--the change of his own manner toward +him. Through the feeble moving of sympathy and kindness in his own +heart, there was the beginning of power over the perverse boy, and +this power might have been exercised, had the father possessed +enough of wisdom and self-denial, until he had gained a complete +control over him. But alas! he did not possess this wisdom and +self-denial. He was a hard man, and believed in no virtue but that +of force. He could drive, but not lead. He could hold with an iron +hand, but not restrain by a voice full of the power of kindness. +Before the close of the second day he spoke harshly to Andrew, and +did, thereby, such violence to the boy's feelings, that he turned +his face from him and wept. + +On the third day after the accident Andrew went back to school, and +continued, for a time, to go punctually and to attend diligently +to his studies. But soon the angry reaction of his father, against +little acts of thoughtlessness or disobedience, threw him back into +his old state, and he was as bad as ever. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +THUS the struggle went on, Mr. Howland's power to control his boy +growing less and less every year. Naturally, considering the +relation of the two families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters, and the +bad reputation of the son of the former, the intercourse between +Andrew and Emily was more and more restricted. Still their +friendship for each other remained, to a certain extent, +undiminished, and they met as often as favorable circumstances would +permit. To Emily, the kind feelings entertained for the wayward boy +proved sources of frequent unhappiness. Few opportunities for +speaking against him were omitted by her parents, and she never +heard his name coupled with words of censure without feeling pain. +One half that was said of him she did not believe; for she saw more +of the bright side of his character than did any one else. + +As before intimated, by the time Emily gained her sixteenth year, +she had developed so far toward womanhood, that Andrew, who still +remained a slender boy in appearance, felt his heart tremble as he +looked upon her, and thought of the distance this earlier +development had placed between them. And even a greater distance was +beginning to exist--the distance that lies between a pure mind and +one that is corrupt. As Andrew grew older, he grew worse, and the +sphere of his spiritual quality began to be felt, oppressively, at +times, by Emily, during the periods of their brief intercourse. +Moreover, she was ever hearing some evil thing laid to his charge. +At length their intimate intercourse came to an end, and, with the +termination of this, was removed the last restraint that held the +lad in bounds of external propriety. The cause of this termination +we will relate: As Andrew grew older, he grew more and more +self-willed, and strayed farther and farther from the right way. +Social in his feelings, he sought the companionship of boys of his +own age, and by the time he was seventeen, had formed associations +of a very dangerous character. Though positively forbidden by his +father to be out after night, he disregarded the injunction, and +went from home almost every evening. At home there was nothing to +attract him; nothing to give him pleasure. A shadow was ever on the +brow of his father, and this threw a gloom over the entire +household. But, abroad, among his companions, he found a hundred +things to interest him. All license tends toward further extremes. +It was not long before Andrew found ten o'clock at night too early +for him. The theatre was a place positively interdicted by his +parents; and, restrained by some lingering respect for his mother's +feelings, Andrew had, up to the age of seventeen, resisted the +strong desire he felt to see a play. At last, however, he yielded to +temptation, and went to the theatre. On returning home about eleven +o'clock, he found his father sitting up for him. To the stern +interrogation as to where he had been so late, he replied with +equivocation, and finally with direct falsehood. + +"Andrew," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking with unusual +severity of tone, and with a deliberation and emphasis that +indicated a higher degree of earnestness than usual, "if you are out +again until after ten o'clock, you remain out all night. To this my +mind is fully made up. So act your own good pleasure." + +The father and son then separated. + +Ten o'clock came on the next night, and Andrew had not returned. For +the half hour preceding the stroke of the clock, Mr. Howland had +walked the floor uneasily, with his ear harkening anxiously for the +sound of the bell that marked his son's return; and, as the time +drew nearer and nearer, he half repented the utterance of a law, +that, if broken, could not, he feared, but result in injury to the +disobedient boy. At last the clock struck ten. He paused and stood +listening for over a minute; then he resumed his walk again, and +continued his measured paces for over ten minutes longer, intending +to give his erring son the benefit of that space of time. But he +yielded thus much in his favor in vain. Anger at this deliberate +disobedience of a positive order then displaced a portion of +anxiety, and he closed, mentally, the door upon his child for that +night. + +Of his purpose, Mr. Howland said nothing to his wife. He hoped that +she would be asleep before Andrew returned, if he returned at all +before morning. But in this his hope was not realized. The fact of +Andrew's having staid out so late on the night before had troubled +her all day, and she had made up her mind to sit up for him now +until he came home. + +"Come, Esther, it is time to go to bed," said Mr. Howland to his +wife, seeing that she made no motion towards retiring. + +"You go. I will sit up for Andrew," was replied. + +"Andrew can't come in, to-night," said Mr. Howland. + +The mother sprung to her feet instantly; her face flushing, and then +becoming very pale. + +"I told him, last night, that if he staid out again until after ten +o'clock, there would be no admission for him until morning. And I +shall assuredly keep my word!" + +"Oh, Andrew! Don't, don't do this!" pleaded the unhappy mother, in a +low, choking voice. "Would you turn an erring son from your door, +when danger is hovering around him?" + +"He turns himself away. The act is his, not mine," replied Mr. +Howland, coldly. + +As he spoke, the bell rung. + +"There he is, now!" exclaimed the mother, starting toward the door. + +"Esther!" Mr. Howland stept in front of his wife, and, looking +sternly in her face, added, "Haven't I just said that there was no +entrance for him, to-night?" + +"But it's early! It's only a few minutes after ten," eagerly replied +the mother. + +"It's past ten o'clock, and that settles the matter," returned Mr. +Howland. + +"But where will he go?" asked the mother. + +"To the Station House, if he can find no better place. To-morrow he +will most probably have a higher appreciation of the comforts of +home." + +As Mr. Howland closed this sentence, the bell rung again. + +"Andrew! I must let him in!" exclaimed the mother, in a tone of +anguish, and she made a movement to pass her husband. But a strong +hand was instantly laid upon her arm, and a stern voice said-- + +"Don't interfere with me in this matter, Esther! As the father of +that wayward boy, it is my duty to control him." + +"This is driving him from his home; not controlling him!" + +"I'll bear the responsibility of what I am doing," said Mr. Howland, +impatiently. "Why will you interfere with me in this way?" + +"Is he not _my_ son also?" inquired Mrs. Howland, passing, in her +distress of mind, beyond the ordinary spirit of her intercourse with +her self-willed husband. + +"I am his father," coldly replied the latter, "and knowing my duty +toward him, shall certainly do it." + +The bell was rung again at this moment, and more loudly than before. + +"Oh, Andrew! let me beg of you to open the door!" And Mrs. Howland +clasped her hands imploringly, and lifted her eyes running over with +tears to her husband's face. + +"It cannot be opened to-night, Esther!" was the firm reply. "Have I +not said this over and over again. Why will you continue these +importunities? They are of no avail." + +A loud knocking on the street door was now heard. By this time, a +servant who had retired came down from her room and was moving along +the passage, when Mr. Howland intercepted her, with the question-- + +"Where are you going?" + +"Some one rung the bell," replied the servant. + +"Never mind; go back to your room. You needn't open the door." + +"Andrew isn't in yet," said the servant, respectfully. + +"Didn't I say, go back to your room?" returned Mr. Howland, in a +sharp voice. + +Twice more the bell was rung, and twice more the knocking was +repeated. Then all remained silent. + +"Come, Esther!" said Mr. Howland to his wife, who was sitting on a +sofa, with her face buried in her hands. "Let us go up stairs. It is +late." + +The mother did not stir. + +"Esther! did you hear me?" + +Slowly, more like a moving automaton than a living creature, did +Mrs. Howland arise from her place, and follow her husband up to +their chamber. There, without uttering a word, she partially +disrobed herself, and getting into bed, buried her tearful face in a +pillow. Mr. Howland was soon by her side. Both lay without moving +for nearly half an hour, and then the heavy respiration of the +husband told that he was asleep. The moment this was apparent, Mrs. +Howland, who had lain as still as if locked in deep slumber, crept +softly from the bed, and then, with a quick, eager motion, commenced +putting on a wrapper. This done, she drew a pair of slippers on her +feet, glided noiselessly from the room, and hurried down to the +street door, which she softly opened. + +The mother had hoped to find her erring son still there. But, as she +looked anxiously forth into the darkness, no human form was +perceived. + +"Andrew!" she called, in a low voice, as she stepped from the door, +and threw her eyes up and down the street: "Andrew!" + +But all was silent. Descending to the pavement, she passed along a +few yards to the steps of the next house, a faint hope in her mind +that Andrew might have seated himself there in his disappointment +and fallen asleep. But this hope was not realized. Then she passed +on to the next house, and the next, with the same purpose and the +same result. She was near the corner of the street, when the sound +of a closing door fell upon her ear, and the thought that the wind +might have shut her own door upon her, filled her with sudden alarm. +Running back, she found that what she had feared was too true. She +was alone in the street, half-dressed and with her head uncovered, +and the door, which closed with a dead-latch, shut against her. + +To ring the bell was Mrs. Howland's first impulse. But no one +answered to the summons. Every ear was sealed in slumber, and, even +were that not the case, no one would come down, unless her husband +should awaken, and discover that she was not by his side. Again and +again she pulled the bell. But eagerly though she listened, with her +ear to the door, not the slightest movement was heard within. + +While the mother shrunk close to the door in a listening attitude, +the sound of a slow, heavy step was heard approaching along the +street. Soon the form of a man came in view, and in a little while +he was in front of Mrs. Howland, where he paused, and after standing +and looking at her for a few moments, said, + +"What's the matter here?" + +Mrs. Howland trembled so, that she could make no answer. + +The man put his hand on the iron railing, and lifted one foot upon +the stone steps leading to the door of the house, saying as he did +so, + +"Do you live here?" + +"Yes!" was replied in a low, frightened voice. + +Mrs. Howland now looking at the man more closely, perceived, by his +dress, that he was one of the night policemen, and her heart took +instant courage. + +"Oh," said she, forgetting, for the moment, the unpleasant +circumstances by which she was surrounded, and turning to the man as +she spoke, "have you seen anything of my son--of Mr. Howland's +son--about here to-night?" + +"Mrs. Howland! Is it possible!" replied the man, in a respectful +voice. Then he added, "I saw him go down the street about half an +hour ago." + +"Did you! And do you know where he has gone?" + +"No, ma'am. He passed on out of sight." + +A low moan escaped the mother's lips at this intelligence. A few +moments she stood silent, and then placed her hand upon the +bell-pull and rung for admittance. + +"Is the door locked?" asked the watchman, manifesting surprise. + +"No; the wind blew it to, and it has become fastened with the +dead-latch." + +Both stood silent for some time, but no one answered the bell. The +night dews were falling upon the mother's head, and the night air +penetrating her thin garments. A shiver ran through her frame, and +she felt a constriction of the chest as if she had inhaled sulphur. +Again she rung the bell. + +"Does no one know of your being out?" asked the watchman. + +"All are asleep in the house," replied Mrs. Howland. + +At this the watchman came up the steps, and struck two or three +heavy blows upon the door with his mace, the sound of which went +reverberating through the house, and startling Mr. Howland from his +slumber. But not perceiving immediately that his wife was absent +from her place by his side, and thinking that his son had renewed +his efforts to gain admission, the latter did not make a motion to +rise. In a few moments, however, the repeated strokes of the mace, +to which was added the loud call of a man in the street below caused +him to start up in bed. He then perceived that his wife was not by +his side. With an exclamation, he sprang upon the floor, and +throwing up the window, called out-- + +"Who's there?" + +"Come down and open the door," was answered by the watchman. + +"Who wants to come in?" asked Mr. Howland, his mind beginning by +this time to get a little clear from the confusion into which it was +at first thrown. + +"I do," replied a voice that threw all into bewilderment again. + +"Bless me! What does this mean!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, aloud, yet +speaking to himself. + +"Open the door, quickly," called out Mrs. Howland, in a tone of +distress. "Come down and let me in." + +Hurriedly Mr. Howland now dressed himself and went down. As he +opened the door, his wife glided past him, and ran up stairs. The +watchman retired without speaking to the confused and astonished +husband, who, recovering his presence of mind, reclosed the door and +followed his wife to their chamber. + +"Esther! What is the meaning of all this?" asked Mr. Howland, with +much severity of manner. + +But there was no reply. + +"Will you speak?" said he, in a tone of authority. + +The home-tyrant had gone a step too far. The meek, patient, +long-suffering, much enduring wife, was in no state of mind to bear +further encroachments in the direction from which they were now +coming. Suddenly she raised herself up from whence she had fallen +across the bed, and looking at her husband with an expression that +caused him to step back a pace, involuntarily answered. + +"By what authority do you speak to me thus?" + +"By the authority vested in me as your husband," was promptly +answered. + +"I was on God's errand, Mr. Howland; searching after the weak, the +simple, and the erring! Have you anything to say against the +mission? Does your authority reach above His?" + +And the mother, lifting her hand, pointed trembling finger upward, +while she fixed an eye upon her husband so steady that his own sunk +beneath its gaze. + +For the space of nearly a minute, the attitude of neither changed, +nor was the silence broken. Twice during the time did Mr. Howland +lift his eyes to those of his wife, and each time did they fall, +after a few moments, under the strange half-defiant look they +encountered. At last he said firmly, yet in a more subdued, though +rebuking voice, + +"This to me, Esther?" + +"Am I not a mother?" was asked in response to this, yet without a +perceptible tremor in her voice. + +"You are a wife, as well as a mother," replied Mr. Howland, "and, as +a wife, are under a sacred obligation to regard the authority +committed to your husband by God." + +"Have I not just said to you," returned Mrs. Howland, "that I was on +God's errand? Does your authority go beyond His?" + +"When did He speak to you?" There was a covert sneer in the tone +with which this half impious interrogation was made. + +"I heard his still, small voice in my mother's heart," replied Mrs. +Howland, meekly, "and I went forth obedient thereto, to seek the +straying child you had so harshly and erringly turned from your +door: thus does God shut the door of Heaven against no wandering one +who comes to it and knocks for entrance." + +"Esther! I will not hear such language from your lips!" There was an +unsteadiness in the voice of Mr. Howland, that marked the effect his +wife's unexpected and searching words had produced. + +"Then do not seek to stand between me and my duty as a mother," was +her firm reply. "Too long, already, have you placed yourself between +me and this duty. But that time is past." + +As Mrs. Howland uttered these words, she passed across the room to a +window, which she threw up, and leaning her body out, looked +earnestly up and down the street. For a reaction like this Mr. +Howland was not prepared. He was, in fact, utterly confounded. Had +there been the smallest sign of irresolution on the part of his +wife--the nearest appearance of weakness in the will so suddenly +opposed to his own--he would have known what to do. But nothing of +this was apparent, and he hesitated about advancing again to the +contest, while there was so strong a doubt as to the issue. + +For a long time Mr. Howland moved about the room, while his wife +continued to sit, listening, at the window. + +"Come, Esther," said the former, at length, in a voice greatly +changed from its tone when he last spoke. "You had better retire. It +is useless to remain there. Besides, you are in danger of taking +cold. The air is damp and chilly." + +"You can retire--I shall sleep none, to-night," was answered to +this. And then Mrs. Howland looked again from the window. +"Where--where can he have gone?" she said aloud, though speaking to +herself. "My poor, unhappy boy!" + +Mr. Howland made no answer to this. He had no satisfying +intelligence to offer, nor any words of comfort that it would be of +avail to speak. + +Thus the greater portion of that long remembered night was +passed--Mrs. Howland sitting at the window, vainly waiting and +watching for her son, and Mr. Howland walking the floor of the room, +his mind given up to troubled and rebuking thoughts. In his hardness +and self-will he had justified himself up to this in his course of +conduct pursued toward his children; but he was in doubt now. A +question as to whether he had been right or not had come into his +mind, and disturbed him to the very centre. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +WHEN Mr. Howland threatened his son with exclusion from the house, +if he were away at ten o'clock, Andrew's feelings were in a state of +reaction against his father, and he said to himself, in a rebellious +spirit-- + +"We'll see if you will." + +But after growing cooler, he came into a better state of mind; and, +in view of consequences such as he knew would be visited on him, +decided not to come in contact with his father in this +particular--at least not for the present. If turned from his own +door at midnight, where was he to find shelter? This question he +could not answer to his own satisfaction. + +After supper, on the evening succeeding that in which he had visited +the theatre, Andrew left home and went to an engine-house in the +neighborhood, where he joined about a dozen lads and young men as +idle and aimless as himself. With these he spent an hour or two, +entering into their vicious and debasing conversation, when a person +with whom he had gone to see the play on the previous evening, +proposed to him to go around to the theatre again. Andrew objected +that he had no money, but the other said that he could easily +procure checks, and volunteered to ask for them. Still Andrew, whose +thoughts were on the passing time, refused to go. He meant to be +home before the clock struck ten. + +"Come round with me, then," urged the lad. + +"What time is it?" asked Andrew. + +"Only a little after nine o'clock," was replied. + +"Are you certain?" + +"Oh, yes. I heard the clock strike a short time ago. It isn't more +than a quarter past nine." + +"I thought it was later than that." + +"No. It's early yet; so, come along. I want to talk to you." + +Thus urged, Andrew went with the boy. The theatre was some distance +away. Just as they reached it, a clock was heard to strike. + +"Bless me!" exclaimed Andrew. +"Three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--TEN!" And, as he uttered +the last word, he started back the way he had come, running at full +speed. It was ten o'clock--the hour he was required to be at home, +under penalty of having the door closed against him. How troubled he +felt! How strongly his heart beat! He had not intended to disregard +his father's command in this instance. In fact, during the day, he +had reflected more than usual, and many good resolutions had formed +themselves in his mind. + +"I wish I could be better," he said to himself involuntarily, a +great many times. And then he would sigh as he thought of the +difficulties that were in his way. At dinner time he came to the +table with his feelings a good deal subdued. But it so happened, +that, during the morning, Mr. Howland had heard of some impropriety +of which he had been guilty a month previous, and felt called upon +to reprimand him, therefore, with considerable harshness. The +consequence was, that the boy left the table without finishing his +dinner, at which his father became very much incensed. The angry +feelings of the latter had not subsided when tea-time came, and he +met the family at their evening meal with the clouded face he too +often wore. The supper hour passed in silence. After leaving the +table, Andrew, to whom the sphere of the house was really +oppressive, from its entire want of cheerfulness and mutual good +feeling, went out to seek the companionship of those who were more +congenial. + +"There's nothing pleasant here," he said, as he stood in the door, +half disposed to leave the house. "If there only was! But I won't +think of it!" he added with impulsive quickness; and, as he murmured +these words, he descended the steps to the street, and walked slowly +away. + +Thus, it will be seen, the wayward boy was virtually driven out by +the harshness and want of sympathy which prevailed at home, to seek +the society of those who presented a more attractive exterior, but +who were walking in the paths of evil, and whose steps tended to +destruction. + +But, though thus thrust out, as it were, from the circle of safety, +Andrew still preserved his intention of being at home at the hour +beyond which his father had warned him not to be away. It has been +seen how, through an error as to time, he was betrayed into +unintentional transgression. Not an instant did he pause on his +return from the theatre, but ran all the way homeward at a rapid +speed. Arriving at the door, he pulled the bell, and then stood +panting from excitement. For a short time he waited, in trembling +anxiety, but no one answered his summons. Then he rung the bell more +violently than before. Still none came to let him in, and his heart +began to fail him. + +"Surely father don't mean to keep me out!" said he to himself. "He +wouldn't do that. Where am I to go for shelter at this hour?" + +And again he pulled the bell, causing it to ring longer and louder +than before. Then he leaned close to the door and listened, but no +sound reached his ears. Growing impatient, he next tried knocking. +All his efforts to gain admission, however, proved unavailing; and +ceasing at last to ring or knock, he sat down upon the stone steps, +and covering his face with his hands, wept bitterly. For over a +quarter of an hour he remained seated at the threshold of his +father's house, from which he had been excluded. During that period, +much of his previous life passed in review before him, and the +conclusions of the boy's mind were at last expressed in these +words-- + +"I believe father hates the very sight of me! He says I'm going to +ruin, and so I am; but he is driving me there. What does he think +I'm going to do, to-night? If he cared for me, would he let me sleep +in the streets? I have tried to do right, but it was of no use. When +I tried the hardest, he was the crossest, and made me do wrong +whether I would or not. I don't care what becomes of me now!" + +As Andrew uttered these last words, a reckless spirit seized him, +and starting up, he walked away with a firm step. But he had gone +only a block or two, before his mind again became oppressed with a +sense of his houseless condition, and pausing, he murmured, in a sad +under tone-- + +"Where shall I go?" + +For a little while he stood irresolute, and then moved on again. For +several squares farther he walked, with no definite purpose in his +mind, when he came to a row of three or four unfinished houses, the +door of one of which was partially opened; at least so much so, that +it was only necessary to pull off a narrow strip of board in order +to effect an entrance. With the sight of these houses came the +suggestion to the mind of Andrew that he might find a place to sleep +therein for the night, and acting upon this, he passed up the plank +leading to the door least securely fastened, and soon succeeded in +getting it open. But, just as he stepped within, a heavy hand was +laid upon him from behind, and a rough voice said-- + +"What are you doing here, sir?" + +Turning, Andrew found himself in the custody of a policeman. + +For a few moments every power of mind and body forsook the unhappy +boy, and he stood shrinking and stammering before the officer--thus +confirming a suspicion of intended incendiarism in the mind of that +functionary. + +"Come! you must go with me." And the officer commenced moving down +the plank that connected the door with the ground, drawing Andrew +after him. + +"I was only going to sleep there," said the frightened boy, as soon +as the power of speech had returned. + +"Of course," returned the policeman, "I understand all that. But +I'll find a better place in which you can spend the night. So come +along with me." + +Remonstrance on the part of Andrew was all in vain, and so, watching +an opportunity, he made an effort to escape. But he ran only a few +yards before he was tripped up by the officer, when falling, he +struck his forehead on the curb-stone, wounding it severely. + +"Look here!" said the officer, in a resolute voice, passing his +heavy mace before the eyes of Andrew; "if you try this again I'll +knock you senseless!" + +Then grasping his arm more firmly, he added-- + +"Move along quickly!" + +With his head aching severely from the fall, and the blood trickling +down his face from the wound on his forehead, Andrew walked along by +the side of the officer, who continued to keep hold of him. In +passing under a gas-lamp, they met a lady and gentleman. The former +Andrew recognized at a glance, and she knew him, even with his +bloody face, and uttered a cry of surprise and alarm. It was Emily +Winters returning with her father from the house of a friend, where +they had stayed to an unusually late hour. The officer was about +pausing, but Andrew sprung forward, saying as he did so, in an under +tone-- + +"Don't stop!" + +At the same instant Mr. Winters urged on his daughter, and the +parties were separated in a moment. + +"Unhappy boy!" said the father of Emily, who had also recognized +Andrew, "his folly and evil are meeting a just but severe return. +His poor mother!--when she hears of this it will almost break her +heart. What an affliction to have such a son!" + +"Did you see the blood on his face?" asked Emily, in a choking +voice, while her hand shook so violently, as it rested on the arm +of, her father, that he felt the tremor in every nerve. + +"I did," he replied. + +"What was the matter? He must be badly hurt. What could have done +it?" + +"He's been quarreling with some one, I presume," coldly replied Mr. +Winters, who did not like the interest his daughter manifested. + +Emily made no reply to this, and they walked the rest of the way +home in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +IT was within an hour of daylight when Mrs. Howland, worn down by +her long vigil, fell asleep, and an hour after the sun had risen, +before her troubled slumber was broken. Then starting up, she +eagerly inquired of her husband, who had already arisen, and was +walking about the room, if Andrew had yet returned. Mr. Howland +merely shook his head. + +Soon after, breakfast was announced, and the family assembled at the +table; but one place was vacant. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mary. + +No answer was made to this question; and Mary saw by the expression +of her parents faces, that to repeat it would not be agreeable. A +few moments afterward the bell rung. As the steps of a servant were +heard moving along the passage toward the door, Mr. and Mrs. Howland +sat listening in breathless expectation. Soon the servant came down, +and said that a man wished to see Mr. Howland. + +At these words the latter started up from the table and left the +room. At the street door he found a man, whose appearance indicated +his attachment to the police of the city. + +"Mr. Howland!" said he, respectfully, yet with the air of a man who +had something not very agreeable to communicate. + +"That is my name," replied Mr. Howland, striving, but in vain, to +assume an air of unconcern. + +"You are wanted at the Mayor's office," said the policeman. + +"For what purpose?" was inquired. + +"Your son is before his Honor, on a charge of attempting to set fire +to a row of new buildings last night." + +At this intelligence, Mr. Howland uttered an exclamation of +distress, and stepping back a pace or two, leaned heavily against +the wall. + +"Well! What is wanted with me?" asked the unhappy father, recovering +himself, after a few moments. + +"To go his bail," replied the officer. "The Mayor demands a thousand +dollars bail, in default of which, he will have to go to prison and +there await his trial." + +"Let him go to prison!" said Mr. Howland, in a severe tone of voice. +He was beginning to regain his self-possession. + +"No, Andrew!" came firmly from the lips of Mrs. Howland, who had +followed her husband, unperceived, to the door, and who had heard +the dreadful charge preferred against her son. "Don't say that! Go +and save him from the disgrace and wrong that now hang over his +head--and go quickly!" + +"Yes, Mr. Howland," said the officer, "your lady is right. You +should not let him go to prison. That will do him no good. And, +moreover, he may be innocent of the crime laid to his charge." + +"He must be innocent. My boy has many faults, but he would not be +guilty of a crime like this," said Mrs. Howland. "Oh, Mr. Howland! +go! go quickly and save him from these dreadful consequences. If you +do not, I must fly to him. They shall not imprison my poor boy!" + +"This is folly, Esther!" returned Mr. Howland, severely. "He has got +himself, by his bad conduct, into the hands of the law, and it will +do him good to feel its iron grip. I am clear for letting him at +least go to prison, and remain there for a few days. By that time he +will be sick enough of his folly." + +"I would not advise this," suggested the officer. "Depend upon it, +if his present position is of no avail toward working change for the +better--sending him to prison will harden, rather than reform him." + +"Andrew!" said Mrs. Howland, with a firmness and decision of tone +that marked a high degree of resolution on her part--"if you do not +go his bail, I will find some person who will." + +"Esther!" The offended husband fixed a look of stern rebuke upon his +wife; but her large eyes looked steadily into his, and he saw in +them, not rebellion, or anger--but a spirit that his own heart told +him instinctively, it would be folly for him to oppose. That look +determined his action. + +"I'll go with you," said he, after pausing a few moments, turning to +the officer as he spoke. + +The charge brought against Andrew by the watchman, was an intention +to set fire to the buildings in which he found him. Several +unfinished houses had been burned of late, and there was some +excitement in the public mind thereat. Had it not been for this, +Andrew might have made his way into the building where he intended +to sleep, without, in all probability, attracting attention. +Unfortunately for him, a few matches were found in one of his +pockets. This fact, added to his attempt to escape, and the rather +exaggerated statement of the watchman, caused the Mayor to look upon +the case as one that ought to go before the Court. He accordingly +decided to require an appearance, under bail. + +Not a word was spoken to Andrew by his stern father, on the arrival +of the latter at the Mayor's office. Mr. Howland looked at the +evidence which went to support the charge of intended incendiarism +against his son, and to his mind, prejudiced as it was against that +son, the evidence was conclusive. In fact, the watchman's eyes had +seen rather more, than in reality, was to be seen, and his testimony +was strongly colored. + +The required security given, Mr. Howland, without turning toward his +son, or speaking to him, left the office. + +"You can go home, young man," said the Mayor, addressing Andrew. + +"Oh, sir!" exclaimed the unhappy boy, in a distressed tone--"I am +not guilty of this thing. Father turned me from the door because I +was not at home at ten o'clock, and I had no place to sleep." + +"Disobedience to parents ever brings trouble," replied the Mayor, in +a voice of admonition. "Go home, and try to behave better in future. +If innocent, you will no doubt be able to make it so appear when +your trial comes on before the Court." + +Slowly the lad arose, and with a troubled and downcast look, retired +from the office. + +"Where is Andrew?" eagerly asked the mother, as Mr. Howland entered +the house, after returning from the errand upon which he had gone. + +"I left him at the Mayor's office," was coldly replied. + +"Did you go his bail?" + +"Yes." + +"Why didn't he come home with you?" + +"I didn't ask him." + +"Andrew!" + +Mr. Howland started at the tone of voice with which his name was +pronounced. Again there was an expression in the eyes of his wife +that subdued him. + +"I gave bail for his appearance at Court, and then came away. He +will, no doubt, be home in a few minutes," he replied. "But I do not +wish to hold any intercourse with him; for he has disgraced both +himself and me." + +"Is he not your son?" asked the mother, solemnly. + +"He is not a son worthy of affection and regard." + +"Andrew! when the sons of men wandered far away from God, and broke +all his laws, did He turn from them as you have turned from this +erring boy? No! All day long He stretched forth His hands to them, +and said, in a voice full of infinite kindness, 'Return unto Me; why +will you die?' It is not Godlike to be angry at those who sin +against us; but Godlike to draw them back with cords of love from +error. Oh, Andrew! you have wronged this boy!" + +"Esther! I will not hear the utterance of such language from any +one!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, whose imperious nature could ill brook +an accusation like this. + +"I have uttered only what I believe to be true," answered the wife, +in a milder tone, yet with a firmness that showed her spirit to be +unsubdued. No further words passed between them. Half an hour +afterward, up to which time Andrew had not come home, Mr. Howland +left the house and went to his place of business. + +Time passed on until nearly noon, and yet Andrew was still away. +Mrs. Howland, whose mind was in a state of strong excitement, could +bear her suspense and fear no longer, and she resolved to go out and +seek for her wandering son. She had dressed herself, and was just +taking up her bonnet, as the door of her room opened, and Andrew +came in, looking pale and distressed. Across his forehead was a +deep, red mark, the scar left by the wound he received, when he fell +on the pavement, in the attempt to escape from the watchman. + +"My son!" exclaimed Mrs. Howland, in a voice that thrilled the poor +boy's heart--for it was full of sympathy and tenderness--and then +she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. + +Overcome by this reception, Andrew wept aloud. As soon as he could +speak, he said-- + +"Indeed, indeed, mother! I am innocent. You wouldn't let me in last +night, and I was going to sleep in the building, when the watchman +came and said I meant to set it on fire! I'm bad enough, mother, but +not so wicked as that! Why should I set a house on fire?" + +"I didn't believe it for a moment, Andrew," replied Mrs. Howland. +"But, oh! isn't it dreadful?" + +"I'm not to blame, mother," said the weeping boy. "I didn't mean to +stay out later than ten. But I was deceived in the time. I was a +good way off when the clock struck, and I ran home as fast as I +could. I'm sure it wasn't ten minutes after when I rang the bell. +But nobody would let me in; not even _you_, mother--and I thought so +hard of _that!_" + +With what a pang did these last words go through the heart of Mrs. +Howland. + +"I wanted to let you in," replied the mother, "but your father said +that I must not do so." + +"And so you left me to sleep in the streets," said the boy, with +much bitterness. "I couldn't have turned a dog off in that way!" + +"Don't, don't speak so, Andrew! You will break my heart!" returned +the mother, sobbing, "I did open the door for you, but you were not +there." + +"I knocked and rung a good while." + +"I know. But I had to wait until your father was asleep. Then I went +down, but it was too late." + +"Yes--yes, it was too late," said Andrew, speaking now in a firmer +voice. "And it is too late now. I am to be tried as a felon, and it +may be, will be sent to the State Prison. Oh, dear!" + +And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. + +What little comfort she had to offer her unhappy child, was offered +by Mrs. Howland. But few rays of light came through the heavy clouds +that enveloped both of their hearts. + +At dinner time, Andrew declined meeting his father at the table. + +"Go and tell him," said the unyielding man, when the servant, who +had been sent to his room to call him to dinner, came back and said +that he did not wish to come down, "that he cannot have a mouthful +to eat unless he comes to the table." + +"No, no, Andrew--don't say that!" quickly spoke Mrs. Howland. + +"I do say it, and I mean it," replied Mr. Howland, fixing his eyes +rebukingly upon his wife. + +Mrs. Howland answered nothing. But her purpose to stand between her +unrelenting husband and wandering son, was none the less fixed; and +in her countenance Mr. Howland read this distinctly. Accordingly, so +soon as the latter had left the house, she took food to Andrew, who +still remained in his room, at the same time that she expressed to +him her earnest wish that he would meet the family at the tea-table +in the evening. + +"I don't want to meet father," he replied to this. "He will only +frown upon me." + +"He is, of course, very much fretted at this occurrence," said the +mother. "And you cannot much wonder at it, Andrew." + +"He is more to blame than I am," was answered in an indignant tone. + +"Don't speak of your father in that way, my son," said the mother, a +gentle reproof in her voice. + +"I speak as I feel, mother. Is it not so?" + +An argument on this subject Mrs. Howland would not hold with her +boy, and she therefore changed it; but she did not cease her appeals +to both his reason and his feelings, until he yielded to her wishes. +At supper time he joined the family at table--it was his first +meeting with his father since morning. Oh, what an intense desire +did he feel for a kind reception from his stern parent! It seemed to +him that such a reception would soften everything harsh and +rebellious, and cause him to throw himself at his feet, and make the +humblest confessions of error, and the most truthful promise of +future well doing. Alas! for the repentant boy! no such reception +awaited him. His father did not so much as turn his eyes upon his +son, and, during the meal, maintained a frigid silence. Andrew ate +but a few mouthfuls. He had no appetite for food. On leaving the +table, he went into one of the parlors, whither he was followed in a +little while, by his younger brother, Edward, who was, by nature, +almost as hard and unsympathsizing as his father. It was the first +time, on that day, that the two boys had been alone. + +"Set a house on fire!" said Edward, in a half-sneering, +half-censorious, tantalizing voice. + +"If you say that again, I'll knock you down!" fell sharply from the +lips of Andrew, in whom his father's repulsive coldness was +beginning to awaken bad feelings. + +"Set a house on fire!" repeated Edward, in a tone still more +aggravating. + +The words had scarcely left his tongue, ere the open hand of his +brother came along side of his head, with a force that knocked him +across the room. At this instant Mr. Howland entered. He made no +inquiry as to the cause of the blow he saw struck, but took it for +granted that it was an unprovoked assault of Andrew upon his +brother. Yielding to the impulse of the moment, he caught the former +by the arm, in a fierce grip, and struck him with his open hand, as +he had struck his brother, repeating the blow three or four times. + +Andrew neither shrunk from the blows, cried out, nor offered the +smallest resistance, but stood firmly, until his incensed father had +satisfied his outraged feelings. + +"You forgot, I suppose, that I could strike also?" said the latter +angrily, when he released his son from the tight grasp, with which +he held him. + +"No sir," replied Andrew, with a calmness that surprized, yet still +more incensed his father; "I thought nothing about it. I punished +Edward as he deserved; and if he says to me what he did just now, +will repeat the punishment, if it cost me my life." + +"Silence!" cried Mr. Howland. + +"I said nothing but the truth," spoke up Edward. + +"What did you say?" inquired the father. + +"I told him that he'd set a house on fire." + +"And lied when he said it," calmly and deliberately spoke Andrew. + +"Silence! I'll have no such language in my presence!" angrily +retorted Mr. Howland. + +"It is bad enough to be accused falsely by a lying policeman," said +Andrew, "but to have the charge repeated by my own brother is more +than I can or will bear. And I warn Edward, in your presence, not to +try the experiment again. If he does he will not escape so lightly." + +"Silence, I say!" + +Andrew remained silent. + +"Edward, leave the room," said Mr. Howland. There was little +sternness in his voice, as he thus spoke to his favorite boy. + +The lad retired. For several minutes Mr. Howland walked the floor, +and Andrew who had seated himself, waited in a calm, defiant spirit, +for him to renew the interview. It was at length done in these +words-- + +"What do you expect is to become of you, sir?" + +Not feeling inclined to answer such an interrogation, Andrew +continued silent. + +"Say!" repeated the father, "what do you think is to become of you?" + +Still the boy answered not a word. + +"Under bail to answer for a crime--" + +"Which I never committed--nor designed to commit!" spoke up Andrew, +quickly interrupting his father, and fixing his eyes upon, him with +an unflinching gaze. + +"It is easy to make a denial. But the evidence against you is +positive." + +"The evidence against me is a positive lie!" was Andrew's indignant +response. + +"I won't be talked to in this way!" said Mr. Howland, in an offended +tone. "No son of mine shall insult me!" + +"A strange insult to a father, for a son to declare himself innocent +of a crime falsely laid to his charge," replied Andrew, with a +strong rebuke in his voice. "A true father would be glad--" + +"Silence!" again fell harshly from the lips of Mr. Howland. +"Silence, I say; I will hear no such language from a son of mine!" + +Without a word, Andrew arose, and, retiring from the room, took up +his hat and left the house--the relation between him and his father +by no means in a better position than it was before. Within a few +minutes of ten o'clock the boy returned, and, being admitted, went +up to his room without joining the family. + +On the next morning, one or two of the daily papers contained an +account of Andrew's arrest, with his father's name and all the +particulars of the transaction. Any one reading this account, with +the reporter's comment, could not help but believe that Andrew was a +desperate bad boy, and undoubtedly guilty in design of incendiarism. + +"See what a disgrace you have brought upon us!" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, flinging a paper, containing this mortifying intelligence +in the face of his son. + +The boy took up the paper, and read the paragraph referred to with a +burning cheek. He made no remark, but sat for some time in a state +of profound abstraction. No one guessed the thoughts that were +passing through his mind, nor the utter hopelessness that was lying, +with a heavy weight, upon his spirit. Before him was the image of +Emily. She had seen him with his blood-disfigured face, in the hands +of the watchman; and now she would see this slanderous story, and +what was worse, believe it! + +Some two hours subsequently, while walking along the street, Andrew +perceived Emily, within a few paces of him. He looked her steadily +in the face, and saw that she saw him; for a quick flush overspread +her countenance. But, averting her eyes, she passed him without a +further sign of recognition. + +At night-fall, the boy did not return to his home. + +Anxiously did the time pass with Mrs. Howland until ten o'clock, and +yet he was away. Eleven--twelve--one o'clock, pealed on the ear of +the watching mother, but he came not. It was all in vain that her +husband remonstrated with her. His words passed her unheeded; and +she remained waiting and watching, until near the hour of morning, +but her waiting and watching were all in vain. + +Two days passed--yet there came no tidings of the absent boy. On the +third day, Mrs. Howland received the following letter:-- + + +"MY DEAR MOTHER:--I have left my home--forever! What is to become of +me, I do not know. But I can remain with you no longer. Father +treats me like a dog--or worse than a dog; and he has never treated +me much better. I have tried to do right a great many times; but it +was of no use. The harder I tried to do right, the more he found +fault with me. He was always blaming me for something I didn't do. +It is all a lie of the watchman's about my setting the house on +fire. Such a thing never entered my mind. Father wouldn't let +me in, and I had to sleep somewhere. He wouldn't speak a word for me +in the Mayor's office. So it's all his fault that I am to be tried +before the Court. But I'm not going to be sent to the Penitentiary. +Father is my bail for a thousand dollars. I shall be sorry if he has +to pay it; but it will be better for him to do that, than for me to +go to the Penitentiary for nothing. So, good-by, mother, I love you! +You have always been good to me. If father had been as good, I would +have been a better boy. Don't grieve about me. It's better that I +should leave home. You'll all be happier. If I ever return to you, I +will be different from what I am now. Farewell mother! Don't forget +me. I will never forget you. Don't grieve about me. The thought of +that troubles me the most. But it is better for me to go away, +mother--better for us all. Farewell. + +"ANDREW." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +A YEAR elapsed before any tidings of the wanderer came. Then Mrs. +Howland received a few lines from him, dated in a Southern city, +where he spoke of having just arrived from South America. He had +little to say of himself, beyond that he was well; and did not speak +of visiting home. + +After reading this letter, Mrs. Howland placed it in the hands of +her husband, who read it also, and then gave it back without a +remark. He checked an involuntary sigh as he did so. Not the +slightest reference was made to him by his son; a fact that he did +not overlook, and that he did not observe without a sense of +disappointment. The long absence of his wayward boy had softened his +feelings toward him; and with pain he remembered many acts of +harshness that now seemed to have in them too much of the element of +severity. At the term of the Court, which was held soon after Andrew +went away, the Grand Jury failed to obtain sufficient evidence to +justify the finding of a bill against him, and released the security +given for his appearance at Court. This fact, with a previous +questioning of the policeman by whom Andrew had been arrested, +satisfied Mr. Howland that the boy had been unjustly suspected of an +intention to commit a crime. But this conviction had come too late. +The effects of that unjust accusation had already fallen in sad +consequences upon the head of the poor boy; and the father could not +force from his mind the painful conviction that he was, mainly, +responsible for these consequences. + +Another year went by, but during all the time, no further tidings +came of Andrew. To his first letter, Mrs. Howland had immediately +replied, urging him, by every tender consideration, to return to his +home. But she had no means of knowing whether it had ever been +received. Upon her the effect of his absence had been, for a time, +of the most serious character. For a few weeks after he went away, +both body and mind were prostrated; to this succeeded a state of +mental depression, which continued so long that her friends began to +fear for her reason. Not until after the lapse of a year, when she +received the above-mentioned letter from her son, did her mind +attain to anything like its former state. The knowledge that he was +yet, alive, that he thought of her, and still cherished her memory, +gave a new impulse to her fainting spirit, and a quicker motion to +the circle of life. There was yet room to hope for him. But, as time +went on, there came not back even a faint echo to the voice she had +sent after him, her heart failed her again. Yet time, which imparts +strength to all in trouble, had done its work for her also. The care +and labor that ever attend the mother's position among her children, +had bent her thoughts so much away from Andrew, that, while his +absence left a constant weight upon her feelings, it did not crush +them down as before, into a waveless depression. + +The second year of Andrew's absence came to a close; but nothing +further was heard from him. And it was the same with the third, +fourth, and fifth years. In the meantime, there had been many +changes in Mr. Howland's family. Mary had married against her +father's wishes, and both herself and husband had been so unkindly +treated by him on the occasion and afterward, that neither of them +visited at his house. + +Henry Markland, the husband of Mary, had been rather a gay young +man, and this, with some other things which had come to his ears, +created a prejudice in the mind of Mr. Howland against him. As to +what was good in Markland, and likely to overbalance defects, he did +not inquire. The hue of his prejudice colored everything. Men like +Mr. Howland, who seek to bend everything into forms suited to their +own narrow range of ideas, are rarely successful in attaining their +ends. The principle of freedom is too deeply interwoven with all the +tissues of the human mind to admit of this. From earliest infancy +there is a reaction against arbitrary power; and, those who are +wise, have long since discovered that it is a much easier task to +lead than force the young into right ways. Those who would truly +govern children, must first learn to govern themselves. Let a parent +break his own imperious will before he tries to break the will of +his child; and he will be far more successful in the work he essays. +to perform. But not so had Mr. Howland learned his duty in life. +Without being, aware of the fact, he was a domestic tyrant, and +sought to establish a family despotism. And the worst of the whole +was, he did nearly all this work in the name of religion! Not that +he was a hypocrite. No; Mr. Howland was sincere in his professions +of piety. But he was a narrow-minded man, and did much in the name +of religion, that in no way harmonized with its true character. His +faith was a blind faith, and he sacrificed to the god of his +imagination in the unyielding spirit of a dehumanizing superstition. +Of necessity, he marred everything upon which he sought to impress +the form of his own mind. + +Erroneous judgment of others is almost certain to mark the +conclusions of such a man's mind; and it is no wonder that Mr. +Howland erred in his conclusions respecting the true character of +his daughter's husband, who had in him many good qualities, and was +sincerely attached to Mary. The great defect appertaining to him, +was the fact that he was not a church member. Mr. Howland did not +look past the veil of a profession, to see if there was in the +ground work of the young man's character a basis of right +principles--the only true foundation upon which a religious +structure can be built. Because he did not belong to the church, and +make an open profession, he classed him with the irreligious, and +considered him as one whose feet were moving swiftly along the road +to destruction. + +And so, instead of wisely seeking to win the confidence of the young +man, that he might gain an influence over him for good, Mr. Howland, +offended because his daughter could not obey him in a matter so +vital to her happiness, angrily repulsed and insulted both of them, +even after he saw that a marriage was inevitable. The consequence +was, as has been mentioned, that Markland, who possessed an +independent spirit, would not go to the house of his father-in-law; +and Mary, resenting the wanton attacks that had been made upon her +husband's feelings in more than one or two instances, absented +herself also. Mr. Howland, however much he might regret the hardness +of his unavailing opposition, was not the man to yield anything; and +so the breach remained open, in spite of all the grieving mother's +efforts to heal it. + +Of all his children, Mr. Howland saw most to hope for in Edward, who +early perceived it to be his best policy to humor his father, and, +by that means, gain the ends he had in view. Cold in his +temperament, he was generally able to control himself in a way to +deceive his father as to the real motives that were in his heart. +Thus, while Mr. Howland, by his peculiar treatment of his children, +drove some of them off, he made this one a hypocrite. + +Not the smallest affection existed between Edward and the other +children, who knew too well the selfish and evil qualities that lay +concealed beneath an external of propriety, put on especially for +his father's eyes. The mother, too, saw beneath the false exterior +assumed by her son, who treated her, except when his father was +present, with little respect or affection. + +Martha, the youngest, was a sweet tempered girl, who had managed to +keep, as a general thing, beyond the sphere of antagonism that +marked the intercourse of the other children. To her mother, as she +grew up, she proved a source of comfort; and she could, at almost +any time, dispel by her smiles the cloud that too often rested on +the brow of her morose father. + +On reaching his seventeenth year, Edward had been placed in a store +by his father, for the purpose of acquiring knowledge of mercantile +affairs. A young man in this position, if he has any ambition to +make his way in the world, soon gets his mind pretty well filled +with money-making ideas, and sees the way to wealth opening in a +broad vista before him. Every day he hears about this, that, and the +other one, who started in business but a few years before, with +little or no capital, and who are now worth their tens of thousands; +and he thus learns to aspire after wealth, without being made to +feel sensibly the fact, that the number who grow rich rapidly are as +one to a hundred compared with those who succeed as the result of +small beginnings united with long continued and untiring +application. Long before Edward reached his twenty-first year, he +had so fully imbibed the spirit of the atmosphere in which he +breathed, that his mind was made up to go into business for himself +as soon as he attained his majority. This idea Mr. Howland sought to +discourage in his son; but Edward never gave it up. Soon after he +was twenty-one, an offer to go into a business, that promised a +large return was made, provided a few thousand dollars capital could +be furnished. Not a moment did Edward rest until he had prevailed +upon his father, ever too ready to yield a weak compliance to the +wishes of this son, to place in his hands the amount of money +required. To do this, was, at the time, no easy matter for Mr. +Howland, whose own business was far from being as good as usual and +whose pecuniary affairs were not in the most easy condition. Six +thousand dollars was the amount of capital he was obliged to raise, +and it was not accomplished without considerable sacrifice. + +Edward and his partner were what are usually called "enterprising +young men," and they drove ahead in the business they had undertaken +at a kind of railroad speed, calculating their profits at an +exceedingly high range. It is not surprising that, by the end of the +first year, they required a little more capital to help them through +with their engagements, the furnishing of which fell upon Mr. +Howland; who, in this emergency, passed his notes to the new firm +for several thousand dollars. + +It is not our purpose to trace, step by step, the progress of this +young man in the work of ruining his father and disgracing himself +by dishonest practices in business. Enough, that in the course of +three years, the "enterprising young men," who made from the +beginning such rapid strides toward fortune, found their course +suddenly checked, and themselves involved in hopeless bankruptcy. +But, with themselves rested not the evil consequences of failure; +others were included in the disaster, and among them Mr. Howland, +who was so badly crippled as to be obliged to call his creditors +together, and solicit a reduction and extension of the claims they +had against him. To Mr. Howland, this was a crushing blow. He was +not only a man who strictly regarded honesty in his dealings, but he +was proud of his honesty, and in his pride, had often been harsh in +his judgment of others when in circumstances similar to those in +which he was now placed. To be forced to ask of his creditors both a +reduction and an extension, humiliated him to a degree, that for a +time, almost deprived him of the power of doing business. From that +time, there was a perceptible change in the man of iron. His tall, +erect form seemed to shrink downward; his head bent toward his +bosom, and the harsh lines on his brow and around his less tightly +closed lips grew softer. His indignation against Edward was so +great, when he finally comprehended the character of the +transactions in which he had been engaged, involving as they did a +total absence of integrity, that he turned his back upon him +angrily, saying, as he did so-- + +"Never come into my presence again, until you come an honest man!" + +On the day after this utterance of the father's indignant feelings, +Edward left the city; and it was the opinion of many that he went +with a pocket full of money. They were not far wrong. + +Thus, of all his children, only the youngest remained with Mr. +Howland. All the rest were estranged from him; and in spite of all +his efforts to push the conviction from his mind, he could not help +feeling that he was to blame for the estrangement. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +NEARLY eight years from the time Andrew Howland left his home have +passed, and we now bring him before the reader as a discharged +United States' dragoon, having just concluded a five years' service +in the far West. He had enlisted, rather than steal, at a time when +he found it impossible to obtain employment, and had gone through +the hard and humiliating service of a trooper on our extreme +frontier, under an assumed name, omitting to write home during the +entire period, lest by any chance a knowledge of his position might +be communicated to his mother, and (her memory had never faded) to +Emily Winters. The images of these two, the only ones he loved in +the world, were green in his bosom. They were drawing him homeward +with a force of attraction that grew stronger and stronger as the +end of his service approached. Nearly three years had elapsed since +he had met any one recently from the East who was able to answer, +satisfactorily, the few inquiries he ventured to make; and now he +was all impatience to return. + +Steadily, for a long time, had the young man looked forward to this +period; and in order to have the means of effecting a thorough +change in his external appearance, and to be able to support himself +after his return East, until he obtained some kind of employment, he +had left nearly all his pay in the hands of the disbursing officer. +It now amounted to nearly two hundred dollars. + +It was in Santa Fe that Andrew obtained his discharge from the +United States' service. This was soon after the conclusion of the +peace with Mexico, and about the time when the first exciting news +came of golden discoveries on the tributaries of the Sacramento. + +On the day after Andrew received his discharge, and while making +preparations for his journey eastward, a company, in which were +several new recruits arrived from the Wachita. Among them he +discovered a young man from P--, to whom he put the direct +question. + +"Do you know a Mr. Howland of your city?" + +"Andrew Howland, the merchant?" inquired the young man, who was not +over twenty-one years of age. + +"Yes," returned Andrew, in a tone of affected indifference. + +"His store is in the same block with my father's." + +"Indeed! What is your father's name?" + +The young man's eyes fell to the ground, and his face became +overspread with crimson. + +"Winters," he replied, at length recovering himself. + +Andrew turned partly away to conceal the sudden emotion this +intelligence had created. Mastering his feelings with a vigorous +effort, he lifted his eyes to the countenance of the young man and +at once recognized in him the brother of Emily. Restraining the +eagerness he felt to press many questions, Andrew asked him about +his journey from the last military post, and after getting a number +of answers to which he scarcely listened, said-- + +"How long is it since you left P--?" + +"About six months," replied young Winters. + +"Do your friends know where you are?" + +"No, indeed! Nor would I have them. So, please bear that in mind. I +answered your question almost on the spur of the moment." + +"Do you know anything about Mr. Howland or his family?" asked +Andrew, without seeming to notice the young man's remark. + +"Nothing very particular; only that the old gentleman failed in +business about a year ago." + +"Ah! How came that?" + +"His son Edward broke him up." + +"His son Edward?" + +"Yes. The old man set him a going in business; but he soon run +himself under, and his father into the bargain. He made a terrible +bad failure of it." + +"Who?" + +"Edward Howland. He went off soon after, and they do say, carried +his pockets full of money. And I imagine there is some truth in it. +He wasn't exactly the clear grit. Some people called him a +smooth-faced hypocrite, and I guess they were not very far wrong." + +Andrew asked no more questions for some time, but sat, thoughtful, +with his face so far turned away from the young man, that its +expression could not be seen. + +"Mrs. Howland is living, I presume?" said he, at length, in a tone +as indifferent as he could assume; but which was, nevertheless, +unsteady. + +"Yes. She was living when I came away." + +Andrew drew a quick breath, and then his laboring chest found relief +in a long expiration. + +"Poor old man! I'm sorry for him," came from his lips in a few +moments afterwards. The tone was half indifferent, yet expressed +some sympathy. + +"Everybody seems sorry for him," said Winters. "It has broken him +down very much. He looks ten years older." + +"Is he entirely out of business?" asked Andrew. + +"No; he is still going on; but he doesn't appear to do much. I think +the family is poor. They've sold their handsome house, and are +living in a much smaller one. I heard father say that Mr. Howland +had received an extension from his creditors, but that he was too +much crippled to be able to go through, and would, in the end, break +down entirely." + +There was another pause, and then Andrew changed the subject by +asking the young man something about himself, and led on the +conversation, from step to step, until he got him to mention the +fact that he had a sister named Emily. + +"Is she older than yourself?" inquired Andrew. + +"Oh, yes. Some four years older," was replied. + +"Married, of course," said Andrew. + +The very effort he made to say this with seeming unconcern gave so +unnatural an expression to his tone of voice, that young Winters +looked at him with momentary surprise. + +"No, she is not married," he answered. + +"She's old enough," said Andrew, speaking now in a tone of more real +indifference. + +"Yes; but she'll probably die an old maid. She's had two or three +good offers; but no one appears just to suit her fancy. Father was +very angry about her rejecting a young man some two or three years +ago, who afterwards disgraced himself, and broke the heart of a +young creature who had been weak enough to marry him." + +"Then I should say that your sister was a sensible girl," remarked +Andrew, in a cheerful voice. + +"Yes, she is a sensible girl; and, what is more, a good girl. Ah, +me! I wish I were half as sensible and half as good." + +With what a free motion did the heart of Andrew beat after receiving +this intelligence! + +"Is Mary Howland married?" he asked. He knew that she was, for he +had seen the fact noticed in a newspaper. + +"Yes; she married a Mr. Markland." + +"Who is he?" + +"I don't know much about, him. He's a teller in one of the banks." + +"How did the family like her marriage?" + +"Not at all. They don't visit." + +"Indeed! Why?" + +"Dear knows! Old Mr. Howland is a hard sort of a man when he takes +up a prejudice against any one. He didn't like Markland, and said +that Mary shouldn't marry him. She felt differently, and did marry +him. The consequence was, that the old man said and did so much that +was offensive, that he and Markland have had no intercourse since." + +"Mary comes home, I suppose?" + +"I rather think not. I believe that she and her father have not +spoken in two years. At least, so I heard sister once say." + +"That is bad! Poor man! He is unfortunate with his children." + +Andrew, as he spoke, felt that he was unfortunate, and an emotion of +pity stirred along the surface of his feelings. + +"Indeed he is!" said Winters, who was disposed to be communicative. +"But I presume it is a good deal his own fault. They say that his +harsh treatment drove his oldest son from home." + +"Ah?" + +"Yes. He was a wild sort of a boy, and his father didn't show him +any mercy. The consequence was, that instead of leading him into the +right way, he drove him into the wrong way. He ran off from home a +great while ago, and has never been heard from since. It is thought +that he is dead. I once heard father say that, with all his faults, +he was the best of the bunch." + +Something interrupted the conversation of the two young men at this +point, and they separated. A couple of hours afterward, as Andrew +walked along one of the streets of Santa Fe, musing over the +intelligence he had gleaned from young Winters, a fellow soldier, +whose time of service had also just expired, met him, and said-- + +"You're not going back to the States, are you?" + +"Such has been my intention," replied Andrew. + +"I'm not going." + +"I thought you were." + +"I've altered my mind. A party sets off to-morrow for the gold +regions of California, and I'm going with them." + +"Indeed! That's a sudden change of resolution. But you don't believe +all the stories you hear of this El Dorado? + +"No, not all of them. But if even the half be true, there's a golden +harvest to be reaped by all who put in the sickle." + +"Yes, the half is encouraging enough," said Andrew, in a tone of +abstraction. The fact is, since he had heard from home, his desire +to return immediately was lessened. News of his father's altered +circumstances had softened his feelings toward him very much, and +created a strong desire to aid him in the extremity to which he had +been reduced. But he had no ability to do this. All he possessed in +the world was about two hundred dollars, and it would take at least +half of this to pay his passage home. Already had his thoughts been +reaching Westward, as the only point where, by any possibility, he +could better his fortunes to an extent that would enable him to help +his father. But there was so much of apparent romance in the stories +that reached his ears, that he had many strong doubts as to even the +main facts reported. + +"You'd better join us," remarked the comrade. + +"How many are going?" inquired Andrew. + +"Seven. And we'd very much like to add you to the number." + +"I'm really half-inclined to go with you," said Andrew, speaking +with a good deal of animation in his voice. + +"You'll never regret it," said the other. "Not only are the stories +about an abundance of gold authentic, but I have good reasons for +believing that the half has not been told. I talked with a man last +night, who says that he knew of several instances where lumps of the +precious metal, weighing several pounds, have been picked up. One +man collected ten thousand dollars worth of lumps of pure gold in a +week." + +"That's a large story," replied Andrew, smiling. + +"Perhaps so; but it is not all a fabrication. At any rate, I am off +to this region, and my advice to you is, to join our little party." + +"When do you start? + +"To-morrow morning." + +"I'll think about it," said Andrew Howland. + +"You must think quickly," was answered. "There is no time to spare. +It is but two hours to nightfall; and we are to be in the saddle by +sunrise. So, if you conclude to join our party you have but small +space left for preparation." + +Andrew stood with his eyes upon the ground for nearly a minute; then +looking up, he said, in a firm voice-- + +"I will go." + +"And, my word for it, you'll never repent the decision. Gathering up +lumps of gold by the peck is a quicker way to fortune than +dragooning it at five dollars a month--ha?" + +"My anticipations lie within a much narrower circle than yours," was +quietly answered to this; "but one thing is certain, if gold is to +be had in California for the mere digging, you may depend on Andrew +Howland getting his share of the treasure." + +"That's the spirit, my boy!" said the other, clapping him on the +shoulder--"the very spirit of every member of our little party. And +if we don't line our pockets with the precious stuff, it will be +because none is to be found." + +On the next morning, Andrew Howland started on his long and perilous +journey for the region of gold, with a new impulse in his heart, and +a hope in the future, such as, up to this time, he had never known. +But it was not a mere selfish love of gold that was influencing him. +He was acted on by a nobler feeling. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +FROM the shock of his son's failure, Mr. Howland did not recover. In +arranging with his own creditors, he had arranged to do too much, +and consequently his reduced business went on under pressure of +serious embarrassment. He had sold his house, and two other pieces +of property, and was living at a very moderate expense; but all this +did not avail, and he saw the steady approaches of total ruin. + +One day, at a time when this conviction was pressing most heavily +upon him, one of the creditors of Edward, who had lost a good deal +by the young man, came into the store, and asked if he had heard +lately from his son. + +Mr. Howland replied he had not. + +"He's in Mobile, I understand?" said the gentleman. + +"I believe he is," returned Mr. Howland. + +"A correspondent of mine writes that he is in business there, and +seems to have plenty of money." + +"It is only seeming, I presume," remarked Mr. Howland. + +"He says that he has purchased a handsome piece of property there." + +"It cannot be possible!" was ejaculated. + +"I presume that my information is true. Now, my reason for +communicating this fact to you is, that you may write to him, and +demand, if he have money to invest, that he refund to you a portion +of what you have paid for him, and thus save you from the greater +difficulties that I too plainly see gathering around you, and out of +which I do not think it is possible for you to come unaided." + +"No, sir," was the reply of Mr. Howland, as he slowly shook his +head. "If he have money, it is ill-gotten, and I cannot share it. He +owes you, write to him, and demand a payment of the debt." + +"I am willing to yield my right in your favor, Mr. Howland. In your +present extremity, you can make an appeal that it will be impossible +for him to withstand. He may not dream of the position in which you +are placed; and it is due to him that you inform him thereof. It +will give him an opportunity to act above an evil and selfish +spirit, and this action may be in him the beginning of a better +state." + +But the father shook his head again. + +"Mr. Howland," said the other "you owe it to your son to put it in +his power to act from a better principle than the one that now +appears to govern him. Let him know of your great extremity, and he +may compel himself to act against the selfish cupidities by which he +is too plainly governed. Such action, done in violence of evil +affections, may be to him the beginning of a better life. All things +originate in small beginnings. There must first be a point of influx +for good, as well as for bad principles. Sow this seed in your son's +mind, and it may germinate, and grow into a plant of honesty." + +Mr. Howland heaved a deep sigh, as he answered-- + +"This is presenting the subject in a new light; I will think about +it." + +"May you think about it to good purpose," replied the friend, +earnestly. + +This communication disturbed Mr. Howland greatly. He had too many +good reasons for doubting his son's integrity of character; but he +was not prepared to hear of such deliberate and cruel dishonesty as +this. It was but another name for robbery--a robbery, even to the +ruin of his own father. + +"I will demand restitution!" said the old man, impatiently, as his +mind dwelt longer and longer on the subject, and his feelings grew +more and more indignant. From the thought of any appeal on the +ground of humanity, he revolted. It was something entirely out of +keeping with his peculiar character. He could not bend to this. + +So Mr. Howland wrote a pretty strong letter to his son, in which he +set forth in terse language the facts he had heard, and demanded as +a right, that restitution be at once made. + +Weeks passed and no answer to this demand was received. In the +meantime, another crisis in the affairs of Mr. Howland was rapidly +approaching. Unless aid were received from some quarter, he must +sink utterly prostrate under the pressure that was upon him, and +again fail to meet the honorable engagements that he had made. When +that crisis came, he would fall to rise no more. + +Ten days only remained, and then there would come a succession of +payments, amounting in all to over five thousand dollars. To meet +these payments unaided, would be impossible; and there was no one +now to aid the reduced and sinking merchant. There was not a friend +to whom he could go for aid so substantial as was now required, for +most of his business friends had already suffered to some extent by +his failure, and were not in the least inclined to risk anything +farther on one whose position was known to be extremely doubtful. + +The nearer this second crisis came, and the more distinctly Mr. +Howland was able to see its painful features, the more did his heart +shrink from encountering a disaster that would involve all his +worldly affairs in hopeless ruin. + +In this strait, the mind of Mr. Howland kept turning, involuntarily, +toward his son Edward, as toward the only resource left him on the +earth; but ever as it turned thus, something in him revolted at the +idea, and he strove to push it from his thoughts. He could not do +this, however, for it was the straw on the surface of the waters in +which he felt himself sinking. + +Painfully, and with a sense of deep humiliation, did Mr. Howland at +length bring himself up to the point of writing again to his son. As +everything depended on the effect of this second letter, he went +down into a still lower deep of humiliation, and after representing +in the most vivid colors the extremity to which he was reduced, +begged him, if a spark of humanity remained in his bosom, to send +him the aid he needed. + +With a trembling hope did the father wait, day after day, for an +answer to this letter. Time passed on, and the ninth day since its +transmission came and yet there was no reply. + +Nervously anxious was Mr. Howland on the morning of the tenth day, +for if no help came then, it was all over with him. His note for +fifteen hundred dollars fell due, and must be lifted ere the stroke +of three, or the end with him had come. + +A few mouthfuls of food were taken at breakfast, and then Mr. +Howland hurried away to the Post Office, his heart fluttering with +fear and expectation. A few moments, and he would know his fate. As +he came in sight of the long row of boxes, his eyes glanced eagerly +toward the one in which his letters were filed up. There was +something in it. In a tone of forced composure, he called out the +number of his box, and received from the clerk two letters. He +glanced at the post-mark of one, and read--"New York," and at the +other, and saw--"Boston." For a moment or two his breath was +suspended, and his knees smote together. Then he moved away, slowly, +with such a pressure on his feelings that the weight was reproduced +on his physical system, and he walked with difficulty. + +The letters were from business correspondents, and in no way +affected the position of extremity he occupied. For a greater part +of the morning Mr. Howland sat musing at his desk, in a kind of +dreamy abstraction. All effort was felt to be useless, and he made +none. At dinner time he went home, and sat at the table, silent and +gloomy; but he scarcely tasted food. After the meal, he returned to +his store--a faint hope springing up in his mind that Edward might +have submitted the aid he had asked for so humbly by private hand, +or through some broker in the city, and that it would yet arrive in +time to save him. Alas! this proved a vain hope. Three o'clock came, +and the unredeemed note still lay in bank. + +"It is all over!" murmured the unhappy man, as like the strokes of a +hammer upon his heart fell the three distinct chimes that rung the +knell of his business life. + +Taking up a newspaper, and affecting to read, Mr. Howland sat for +nearly an hour awaiting the notorial visit, which seemed long +delayed. At last he saw a man enter and come walking back toward the +desk at which he sat. Not doubting but that it was the Notary, he +was preparing to answer--"I can't take it, up," when a well-dressed +stranger, with a dark, sun-burnt, countenance that had in it many +familiar lines, passed before him, and fixed his eyes with an +earnest look upon his face. For a few moments the two men regarded +each other in silence, and then the stranger reached out his hand +and uttered the single word-- + +"Father!" + +"Andrew!" responded Mr. Howland, catching eagerly hold of the +offered hand; "Andrew! my son! my son! are you yet alive?" + +The great deep of the old man's heart was suddenly broken up, and he +was overwhelmed by the rising floods of emotion. His lips quivered; +there was a convulsive play of all the muscles of his face; and then +large tears came slowly over his cheeks. The man of iron will was +melted down; he wept like a child, and his son wept with him. + +Scarcely had the first strong emotions created by this meeting +exhausted themselves, when another person entered the store, and +advanced to where the father and son were standing. He held a small +slip of paper in his hand, and as he came up to Mr. Howland, he +said, holding up the piece of paper-- + +"Your note for fifteen hundred dollars remains unpaid." + +"I'm sorry, but I can't lift it," replied Mr. Howland, in a low +voice that he wished not to reach the ear of his son; but Andrew +heard the answer distinctly, and instantly drawing a large pocket +book from his pocket, took out a roll of bank bills which he reached +to his father, saying, as he did so-- + +"Take what you want. How timely has been my arrival!" + +"My heart blesses you, my son, for this generous tender of aid in a +great extremity," said Mr. Howland in a trembling voice, as he +pushed back the roll of money. "But a crisis in my affairs has just +arrived, and the lifting of this note will not save me." + +"How much will save you?" asked Andrew. + +"I must have five or six thousand dollars in as many days," replied +Mr. Howland. + +"This package of money will serve you then, for it contains ten +thousand dollars," said Andrew. "Take it." + +"I cannot rob you thus," returned Mr. Howland, in a broken voice, as +he still drew back. + +"Let me have that note, my friend." Andrew now turned to the Notary, +who did not hesitate to exchange the merchant's promise to pay, for +three five hundred dollar bills of a solvent bank. + +A brief but earnest and affectionate interview then took place +between Andrew and his father, which closed with a request from the +former that he might be permitted to see his mother alone, and spend +with her the few hours that remained until evening, before the +latter joined them. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +IT is nine years since Mrs. Howland looked her last look on her +wayward, wandering boy, and eight years since any tidings came from +him to bless her yearning heart. She appears older by almost twenty +years, and moves about with a quiet drooping air, as if her heart +were releasing itself from its hold on earthly objects, and reaching +out its tendrils for a higher and surer support. With the exception +of Martha, the youngest, all her children have given her trouble. +Scarcely one of the sweet hopes cherished by her heart, when they +first lay in helpless innocence upon her bosom, have been realized. +Disappointment--disappointment--has come at almost every step of her +married life. The iron hand of her husband has crushed almost every +thing. Ah! how often and often, as she breathed the chilling air of +her own household, where all was constrained propriety, would her +heart go back to the sunny home in which were passed the happy days +of girlhood, and wish that something of the wisdom and gentleness +that marked her father's intercourse with his children could be +transferred to her uncompromising husband. But that was a vain wish. +The two men had been cast in far different moulds. + +Martha, now in her eighteenth year, was more like her mother than +any of the children, and but for the light of her presence Mrs. +Howland could hardly have kept her head above the waters that were +rushing around her. Toward Martha the conduct of her father had, +from the first, been of a mild character compared with his action +toward the other children; and this received a still farther +modification, when it become apparent even to himself, that by his +hardness he had estranged the affections of his elder children, and +driven them away. Gentle and loving in all her actions, she +gradually won her way more and more deeply into the heart of her +father, until she acquired a great influence over him. This +influence she had tried to make effectual in bringing about a +reconciliation between him and her sister's husband; but, up to this +time, her good offices were not successful. The old man's prejudices +remained strong--he was not prepared to yield; and Markland's +self-love having been deeply wounded by Mr. Howland, he was not +disposed to make any advances toward healing the breach that +existed. As for Mary, she cherished too deeply the remembrance of +her father's unbending severity toward his children--in fact his +iron hand had well nigh crushed affection out of her heart--to feel +much inclined to use any influence with her husband. And so the +separation, unpleasant and often painful to both parties, continued. +To Mrs. Howland it was a source of constant affliction. Much had she +done toward affecting a reconciliation; but the materials upon which +she tried to impress something of her own gentle and forgiving +spirit were of too hard a nature. + +On the afternoon of the day on which Andrew returned so +unexpectedly, almost like one rising from the dead, Mrs. Howland was +alone, Martha having gone out to visit a friend. She was sitting in +her chamber thinking of the long absent one--she had thought of him +a great deal of late--when she heard the street door open and shut, +and then there came the sound of a man's feet along the passage. She +bent her head and listened. It was not the sound of her husband's +feet--she knew his tread too well. Soon the man, whoever he was, +commenced ascending the stairs; then he came toward her door, and +then there was a gentle tap. The heart of Mrs. Howland was, by this +time, beating violently. A moment or two passed before she had +presence of mind sufficient to go to the door and open it. + +"Andrew! Andrew! Oh, Andrew, my son!" she cried, in a glad, eager +voice, the instant her eyes rested on the fine figure of a tall, +sun-burnt man, and as she spoke, she flung her arms around his neck, +and kissed him with all the fondness of a mother caressing her babe. + +"Mother! dear, dear mother!" came sobbing from the lips of Andrew, +as he returned her embrace fervently. + +"Am I dreaming? or, is this all really so?" murmured the happy +mother, pushing her son from her, yet clinging to him with an +earnest grasp, and gazing fondly upon his face. + +"It is no dream, mother," returned Andrew, "but a glad reality. +After a long, long absence I have come back." + +"Long--long! Oh, it has been an age, my son! How could you? But +hush, my chiding heart! My wandering one has returned, and I will +ask no questions as to his absence. Enough that I look upon his face +again." + +Andrew now led his mother to a seat, and taking one beside her, +while he still held her hand tightly, and gazed with a look of +tenderness into her face, said-- + +"You have grown old in nine years, mother; older than I had +thought." + +"Do you wonder at it, my son?" significantly inquired Mrs. Howland. + +"I ought not to wonder, perhaps," replied Andrew, a touch of sadness +in his voice. "There is such a thing as living too fast for time." + +"You may well say that," answered Mrs. Howland, with visible +emotion, "Years are sometimes crowded into as many days. This has +been my own experience." + +Both were now silent for a little while. + +"And how are all the rest, mother?" asked Andrew, in a more animated +voice. + +"Your father has failed a good deal of late," replied Mrs. Howland, +as she partly averted her eyes, doubtful as to the effect such +reference might have. + +"He has failed almost as much as you have, mother," was the +unexpected reply. "I saw him a little while ago." + +"Did you!" ejaculated Mrs. Howland, a light of pleasure and surprise +breaking over her face. + +"Yes; I called first at his store." + +"I'm glad you did. Poor man! He has had his own troubles, and, I'm +afraid, is falling into difficulties again. He has looked very +unhappy for a week or two. Last night I hardly think he slept an +hour at a time, and to-day he scarcely tasted food." + +"I found him in trouble," said Andrew, "and fortunately was able to +give him the relief he needed." + +Mrs. Howland looked wonderingly into her son's face. + +"I have not come back empty-handed, mother," said Andrew. "A year +ago, when thousands of miles from home, I heard of father's +troubles. I was about returning to see you all again, and to make +P--my future abiding place, if I could find any honest employment; +but this intelligence caused me to change my mind. News had just +been received of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California, +and I said to myself, 'If there is gold to be had there, I will find +it.' I was not thinking of myself when I made this resolution, but +of you and father. In this spirit I made the long and wearisome +overland journey, and for more than eight, months worked amid the +golden sands of that far off region. And my labor was not in vain. I +accumulated a large amount of grains and lumps of the precious +metal, and then hurried homeward to lay the treasures at your feet. +Happily, I arrived at the most fitting time." + +Mrs. Howland was deeply affected by this relation, so strange and so +unlooked for in every particular. + +"And now, mother, what of Mary?" said Andrew, before time was given +for any remark upon this brief narrative. "Has she and her husband +yet been reconciled to father?" + +"No; and my heart has grown faint with hope deferred in relation to +this matter. I think Mary's husband is too unyielding. Your +father, I know, regrets the unkind opposition he made to their +marriage; and has seen many good reasons for changing his opinion of +Mr. Markland's character. But you know his unbending disposition. If +they would yield a little--if they would only make the first step +toward a reconciliation, he would be softened in a moment. And then, +oh, how much happier would all be!" + +"They must yield; they must take the first step," said Andrew, +rising from his chair. + +"That reconciliation would be the top sheaf of my happiness, today," +replied Mrs. Howland. + +"It shall crown your rejoicing," said Andrew, in a positive tone. +"Where do they live?" + +Mrs. Howland gave the direction asked by her son, who departed +immediately on his errand of good will. + +For a time after Andrew left the store of his father, Mr. Howland +sat half bewildered by the strange occurrence that had just taken +place, while his heart felt emotions of tenderness going deeper and +deeper toward its centre. Though confessed to no one, he had felt +greatly troubled in regard to the iron discipline to which he had +subjected his wayward boy, and had tried for years, but in vain, to +force from his mind the conviction that upon his own head rested the +sin of his ruin. Long since had he given him up as lost to this +world, and, he sadly feared, lost in the next. To have him return, +as he did, without even a foreshadowing sign of his coming, was an +event that completely broke down his feelings. Moreover, he was +touched by the spirit in which his son came back; a spirit of +practical forgiveness; the first act flowing from which was the +conference of a great benefit. + +"There was good in the boy," sighed the old man, as he mused on what +had just occurred. "Alas! that it should have been so long +overshadowed. A milder course might have done better. Ah, me! we are +weak and shortsighted mortals." + +Mr. Howland remained in his store until the late mails were +distributed at the post-office, when, unexpectedly, a letter came +from Edward. It contained a draft for a thousand dollars, and was in +these words-- + + +"DEAR FATHER--I received your two letters. To the first returned no +answer; I need hardly give you the reason. It was a hard, harsh, +insulting letter, charging me with extensive frauds on you and +others, assuming that I was in possession of large sums of money +thus obtained, and imperiously demanding restitution. As to your +sources of information, I know nothing; but I trust, that before you +take such stories for granted, you will, at least, look well to +their authenticity. Your second letter was in a different tone, and +awoke in me a far different spirit from that awakened by the one +first received. I am pained to hear of your great embarrassment, +which I did not anticipate. I thought that the extension of time you +received, would enable you to meet all demands, and deeply regret +that such has not proved to be the case. Enclosed, I send you a +draft for one thousand dollars, which I have raised with great +difficulty; I wish, for your sake, that it were ten times the +amount. But it is the best I can do. When I came here I had about +fifteen hundred dollars in money; upon this I commenced business, +and have done tolerably well, but I am still on the steep up-hill +side, and it is far from certain whether I will go up or down from +the point I now occupy. Give my love to mother and Martha, + +Affectionately yours, + +EDWARD." + + +Mr. Howland mused for some time after receiving the letter; +then he turned to his desk, and wrote briefly, as follows-- + + +"MY DEAR SON--I have your letter enclosing a draft for one thousand +dollars. I thank you for the remittance, but, happily, have received +aid from an unexpected quarter, and do not now need the money. With +this I return the draft you sent. I regret any injustice I may have +done you in a former letter, and hope you will forgive a too warm +expression of my feelings. + +Yours, &c., + +ANDREW HOWLAND." + + +This letter was dispatched by the Southern mail, and then Mr. +Howland turned his steps homeward. He felt strangely. There was a +pressure on his bosom; but it was not the pressure of trouble that +had rested upon it so long, but a pressure of conflicting emotions, +all tending to soften and subdue his feelings, to bend the iron man, +and to mould his spirit into a new and better form. With a lively +pleasure was he looking forward to the second meeting with Andrew in +the presence of his mother, but he did not know how great a +pleasure, beyond his anticipations, was in store for him. + +On arriving at his house, Mr. Howland opened the door and went in. +He had passed along the entry but a few paces, when some one stepped +from the parlor. He paused, and looked up. It was his daughter Mary +who stood before him. In her arms was a sweet little girl, and on +her face was a smile, the warmth and light of which were on his +heart in an instant. + +"Father!" + +It was the only word she uttered. The tone of her voice, and the +expression of her face told all he wished to know. + +"My dear child!" fell warmly from the lips of Mr. Howland, as he +grasped his daughter's hand, and then kissed tenderly both her own +lips and those of her babe. + +"Dear father!" murmured Mary, as she leaned her head, in tears, upon +his breast. + +At this moment there was a movement of feet in the parlor, and the +husband of Mary presented himself. An open, frank, forgiving +expression was on his face, as he came forward and offered his hand, +which was instantly seized by Mr. Howland, in a hearty pressure. +Andrew and his mother joined the group, and, with smiles and +pleasant words, made perfect the sphere of happiness. + +"My children," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking in a trembling +voice, "my cup is full to-night. I must leave you a little while, or +it will run over." + +And saying this, he gently disengaged himself, and passed up to his +chamber, where he remained alone for over half an hour. When he +joined the family, his manner was greatly subdued, and in his speech +there was a softness which none had known before. + +In the glad reunion of that evening, how many heart-wounds were +healed, how many old scars covered over and hidden! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +SHOCKED as was Emily Winters at the sight of Andrew, bleeding in the +hands of the watchman, and by the subsequent newspaper report of his +bad conduct; and estranged from her early regard for him, as she had +been, by these and other things that she had heard, the young girl +could not entirely banish from her mind the image of the boy who had +been to her so gentle and affectionate since the early and innocent +days of childhood. In spite of all her efforts to turn her thoughts +away from him, they were ever turning toward him; and, as time +passed on, and his long absence left all in doubt concerning his +fate, his memory became to her something like a hallowed thing. + +In passing on to the estate of womanhood, Emily, who possessed more +than common beauty, attracted admirers, and from two or three of +these she received offers of marriage. But in each case the suitor +had failed to win her heart, and she was too true a woman to give +her hand to any one unless her heart could go also. + +In at least one case her father took sides with the lover, and urged +his suit with a degree of feeling that resulted in a partial +estrangement of affection. But he afterward had cause to be well +satisfied with Emily's decision in the case. + +On the morning that had succeeded the day of Andrew Howland's return +to P--, Emily Winters, who had long since ceased to think of the +young man as alive, was informed that a gentleman had called, and +wished to see her. + +"Who is he?" was the natural inquiry. + +"I don't know," replied the servant. + +"You should have asked his name." + +"I did so, but he said that it was no matter." + +After making some slight change in her dress, Emily went down to the +parlor. As she entered, a gentleman arose and advanced a few steps +toward her. + +"Miss Winters!" said he, while he fixed his eyes intently on her +face. + +The young lady bowed slightly in return, while she looked at him +inquiringly. + +"You don't know me?" said the stranger, with perceptible +disappointment in his voice. + +Emily dropped her eyes for a moment to the floor, and then lifted +them again to his countenance. There was a gentle suffusion on her +face, as she slowly shook her head. + +"I have seen you before," she remarked, "but I cannot, at this +moment, tell where." + +"Years have passed since we met," replied the stranger, with +something of sadness in his voice; "but I had hoped you would not +forget me." + +As he spoke, he came nearer, and held out his hand, which Emily did +not hesitate to take. + +At the moment of this contact, a light flashed on the maiden's face, +and she exclaimed, with sudden emotion-- + +"Andrew Howland! Can it be?" + +And she stepped back a pace or two, and sunk upon a chair. Andrew +did not relinquish her hand, but sat down by her side, replying, as +he did so-- + +"Yes, Emily, it is even so. After a long, long absence, I have come +back to my old home, wiser and better, I trust, than when I went +away." + +It was some time before Emily looked up or replied; but she did not +make a motion to withdraw the hand which Andrew held with no slight +pressure. + +"How often, Emily," continued Andrew, seeing that she remained +silent, "have I thought of the sweet hours we spent together as +children--hours, too often, of stolen delight. Their remembrance +has, many a time, saved me from evil when strongly tempted. But for +that, and the memory of my mother, I should long since have become a +castaway on the ocean of life." + +The voice of Andrew became tremulous as he uttered the last +sentence. It was then that Emily raised her eyes from the floor, +gently withdrawing her hand at the same time, and fixed them upon +his face. His words had sent her thoughts back to the old time when +they were children together, and when, to be within him, was one of +her highest pleasures; and, not only that, his words and tones had +reached her heart, and awakened therein an echo. + +"It is a long time since you went away," said Emily. "A very long +time." + +"Yes; it is a long time. But, the weary slow-passing years are +ended, and I am back again among early scenes and old friends, and +back, I trust, to remain." + +"How is your mother?" inquired Emily, after a slight pause. + +"I found her much changed--older by twice the number of years that +have elapsed since I went away." + +But all that passed between Andrew Howland and Emily Winters in the +hour they spent together at this first meeting, after so long an +absence, we cannot write. For a time, their intercourse was marked +by a reserve and embarrassment on the part of Emily; but this +insensibly wore off, and, ere the young man went away, their hearts, +if not their lips, had spoken to each other almost as freely as in +the days of childhood. + +Not many months elapsed ere the tender regard that was spontaneously +awakened in their bosoms when children, and which had never ceased +to exist, led them into a true marriage union, to which no one +raised even a whisper of opposition. Almost at the very time that +Andrew was holding his first interview with Emily, Mr. Winters was +listening to a brief account of his return, with some of the +pleasing incidents immediately attendant thereon. In a meeting with +the young man shortly afterward, he was prepossessed in his +favor, and when he saw that he was disposed to renew the old +intimate relations with Emily, he did not in the least object. + +Thus, after a lapse of over twenty-five years, two families, each +possessed of substantial virtues, and with social qualities forming +a plane for reciprocal good feeling, but which had been forced apart +by the narrow prejudice and iron will of Mr. Howland, came together +in a marriage of two of its members. Alas! how much of wrong and +suffering appertained to that long period during which they were +thus held apart! How many scars from heart-wounds were left; and +these not always painless! + +Can any summing up of the causes and consequences set forth in our +story give force to the lessons it teaches? We think not; and +therefore leave it with the reader to do its own work. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iron Rule, by T. S. 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Arthur + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4628] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 20, 2002] + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Iron Rule, by T.S. Arthur +****This file should be named irnrl10.txt or irnrl10.zip**** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, irnrl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, irnrl10a.txt + +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com) + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + + + + + + + + + + +The IRON RULE; + +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. + +BY T. S. ARTHUR, + +AUTHOR OF "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE," "LOVE IN A COTTAGE," "MARY MORETON; OR, +THE BROKEN PROMISE," "AGNES; OR, THE POSSESSED," "INSUBORDINATION," +"LUCY SANDFORD," "THE ORPHAN CHILDREN," "THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER," "THE +DIVORCED WIFE," "PRIDE AND PRUDENCE," "THE TWO MERCHANTS," "CECILIA +HOWARD," "THE BANKER'S WIFE," ETC. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. + +Philadelphia: + +1853 + + + + + + +THE IRON RULE; + +OR, TYRANNY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +ANDREW HOWLAND belonged to that class of rigid moralists who can +tolerate in others no wanderings from the right way. His children +were forced into the straight jacket of external consistency from +their earliest infancy; and if they deviated from the right line in +which they were required to walk, punishment was sure to follow. + +A child loves his parent naturally. The latter may be harsh, and +unreasonable; still the child will look up to him in weak +dependence, while love mingles, like golden threads in a dark +fabric, amid the fear and respect with which he regards him. Thus it +was with the children of Andrew Howland. Their mother was a gentle, +retiring woman, with a heart full of the best affections. When the +sunshine fell upon her golden locks in the early days of innocence, +it was in a home where the ringing laugh, the merry shout, and the +wild exuberance of feeling ever bursting from the heart of childhood +were rarely checked; or, if repressed, with a hand that wounded not +in its firm contraction. She had grown up to womanhood amid all that +was gentle, kind and loving. Transplanted, then, like a tender +flower from a sunny border, to the cold and formal home of her +husband, she drooped in the uncongenial soil, down into which her +heart-fibres penetrated in search of nutrition. And yet, while +drooping thus, she tenderly loved her husband, and earnestly sought +to overcome in herself many true impulses of nature to which he gave +the false name of weaknesses. It was less painful thus to repress +them herself, than to have them crushed in the iron hand with which +he was ever ready to grasp them. + +Let it not be thought that Andrew Howland was an evil minded man. In +the beginning we have intimated that this was not so. He purposed +wrong to no one. Honest he was in all his dealings with the world; +honest even to the division of a penny. The radical fault of his +character was coldness and intolerance. Toward wrong-doing and +wrong-doers, he had no forbearance whatever; and to him that strayed +from the right path, whether child or man, he meted out, if in his +power, the full measure of consequences. Unfortunately for those who +came within the circle of his authority, his ideas of right and +wrong were based on warped and narrow views, the result of a +defective religious education. He, therefore, often called things +wrong, from prejudice, that were not wrong in themselves; and +sternly reacted upon others, and drove them away from him, when he +might have led and guided them into the paths of virtue. + +The first year of Andrew Howland's married life was one of deep +trial to the loving young creature he had taken from her sunny home +to cherish in his bosom--a bosom too cold to warm into vigorous life +new shoots of affection. And yet he loved his wife; loved her +wisely, as he thought, not weakly, nor blindly. He saw her faults, +and, true to his character, laid his hands upon them. Alas! how much +of good was crushed in the rigid pressure! + +To Mr. Howland life was indeed a stern reality. Duties and +responsibilities were ever in his thoughts. Pleasure was but another +name for sin, and a weakness of character an evil not to be +tolerated. + +Enough, for our present purpose, can be seen of the character of +Andrew Howland in this brief outline. As our story advances, it will +appear in minuter shades, and more varied aspects. Seven years from +the day of his marriage we will introduce him to the reader. + +"What _shall_ I do with this boy?" said Mr. Howland. He spoke +sternly, yet in a perplexed voice, while he walked the floor of the +room with a quickness of tread unusual. "If something is not done to +break him into obedience he will be ruined." + +"He needs all our forbearance," Mrs. Howland ventured to remark, "as +well as our care and solicitude." + +"Forbearance! I have no forbearance toward wrong, Esther. You have +forborne until the child is beyond your control." + +"Not entirely," was meekly answered, as the mother's eyes drooped to +the floor. + +At this moment a servant, who had been sent for the child, came in +with him. A few doors away lived another child, about the same age, +of whom little Andrew was very fond, and whose companionship he +sought on every occasion. Against the father of this child Mr. +Howland had imbibed a strong prejudice, which was permitted to +extend itself to his family. Rigid and uncompromising in everything, +he had observed that Andrew was frequently in company with the child +of this neighbor, and felt impelled to lay a prohibition on their +intercourse. But Andrew, a light-hearted, high-spirited boy, who +inherited from his father a strong will, was by no means inclined to +yield a ready obedience in this particular. He loved his little +companion, and never was happier than when in her society. +Naturally, therefore, be sought it on every occasion, and when the +positive interdiction of their intercourse came, the child felt that +a duty was imposed upon him that was impossible of fulfillment. +Young as he was, he could endure punishment, but not give up his +little friend. Advantage was therefore taken of every opportunity to +be with her that offered. Punishments of various kinds were +inflicted, but they acted only as temporary restraints. + +As to this little girl herself, let it be understood, Mr. Howland +had no personal objection. He had never seen anything that was wrong +in her, and had never heard a word of evil spoken against her. The +simple, yet all-embracing defect that appertained to her was his +dislike of her father; and this dislike had its chief foundation in +a wrong estimate of his character, the result of his own narrow +prejudices. Somewhat hastily, we will admit, did Mr. Howland utter +the word that was to separate the little friends, and the word was +half-repented of as soon as spoken. But once uttered, it was a law +to which he required the most implicit obedience. He thought not of +the wrong the separation might do his child; he thought only of +enforcing obedience--of breaking a stubborn will. Obedience in +children was, in his eyes, everything--and he visited, with the +sternest displeasure, every deviation therefrom. The consequence +was, that his little ones, in their nest at home, rarely saw in the +face of their father a smile of affection; rarely heard his voice in +words of tenderness. Something, in their conduct was ever +displeasing to him, and he attempted its correction by coldness, +repulsion, harsh words, or cruel punishment. He never sought to +lead, but to force them into the right way. + +The word of interdiction was uttered, but Andrew could not give up +his sweet little friend; and the word was therefore disregarded. +Stealthily, to avoid punishment, he went to her but watchful eyes +were upon him, and he was soon brought back. Gently and earnestly +his mother would chide his disobedience; harshly his father would +punish it--but all was of no avail. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, on returning home one evening +from his store, and not seeing the bright little fellow in the room +with his mother. This was on the occasion of his introduction to the +reader. + +"I don't know. He was here just now," replied Mrs. Howland. + +"I saw him a little while ago playing on the steps with Emily +Winters," said the nurse, who had come recently into the family, and +was not aware of the prohibition that existed in regard to the child +she had mentioned. + +"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, angrily. Then he added in +an excited voice, "go and bring him home immediately!" + +The nurse left the room and soon returned with the child. In his +face was a look of blended fear, anger and resolution. + +"Where have you been, sir?" sternly asked Mr. Howland. + +The child made no answer. + +"Do you hear me, sir?" + +A slight motion of shrinking and alarm might have been seen in the +little fellow as the angry voice of his father fell upon his ears. +But he did not look up or make a reply. + +"Will you answer me? Stubborn boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, now +catching hold tightly of Andrew's arm. + +"Why don't you answer your father, my child?" said the mother, in a +voice that was tender and appealing. The tone reached the boy's +heart, and he lifted his large blue eyes from the floor and fixed +them on his father's threatening countenance. + +"Say! Where have you been?" repeated Mr. Howland. + +"To see Emily," returned Andrew. + +"Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" + +The child's eyes sunk again to the floor. + +"Say! Haven't I forbidden you to go there?" + +But there was no answer. + +"Do you hear me?" + +"Andrew! Andrew! why don't you answer your father?" came in +distressed and tremulous tones from his mother's lips. + +Mr. Howland was about turning to chide sharply his wife for this +interference, when Andrew again raised his eyes and said-- + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then why have you disobeyed me?" + +The boy's eyes fell again, and he remained silent. + +"I'll break you of this if I break your heart!" said Mr. Howland +severely, and, as he spoke, he almost lifted the child from the +floor with his strong arm as he led him from the room. A groan +issued from the mother's heart and she covered her face and wept. + +By the time Mr. Howland reached the chamber above, to which he +repaired with Andrew, the excitement of his anger had subsided; but +not his stern purpose in regard to his child, who had again +disobeyed him. The absolute necessity of obedience in children he +recognized in all its length and breadth. He saw no hope for them in +the future unless obedience were constrained at every cost. Happy +both for them and himself would it have been if he had been wiser in +his modes of securing obedience, and more cautious about exacting +from his children things almost impossible for them to perform. +Without a law there is no sin. Careful, then, should every parent be +how he enacts a law, the very existence of which insures its +violation. + +Mr. Howland had sought, by various modes of punishment, other than +chastisement, to enforce obedience in this particular case. Now he +was resolved to try the severer remedy. Andrew had expected nothing +farther than to be shut up, alone, in the room, and to go, perhaps, +supperless to bed, and he was nerved to bear this without a murmur. +But when the rod became suddenly visible, and was lifted above him +in the air, his little heart was filled with terror. + +"Oh, father!" he exclaimed, in a voice of fear, while his upturned, +appealing face became ashy pale. + +"You have disobeyed me again, my son," said Mr. Howland, coldly and +sternly, "and I must whip you for it. Disobedient children have to +be punished." + +"Oh, father! Don't whip me! Don't!" came huskily from the lips of +the terrified child. But even while he thus pleaded, the smarting +strokes began to fall. + +"Now, sir!" at length said Mr. Howland, pausing with the rod +uplifted, "will you go into Mr. Winters' again?" + +The child hesitated, and down came a blow upon his tender limbs, +followed by the words-- + +"Say! Will you go in there any more?" + +Still there was a reluctance to make this promise, and another and +harder stroke was given. The father was resolved to conquer, and he +did conquer. A promise was extorted from the child's lips, while, +his heart yielded nothing. + +"Very well, sir! See that you keep your word," said Mr. Howland, as +he released the writhing sufferer from his firm grasp. "If you +disobey me again in this thing, I will give five times as much." + +And he turned from the chamber leaving the wronged and suffering +child alone. + +"I've begun now, and I'll go through with it," muttered Mr. Howland, +as he reentered the room where his wife was sitting. "I never saw so +perverse and self-willed a child in my life. If he is not subdued +now, and forced to obey, his ultimate destruction is inevitable." + +"His fault was not a very great one," Mrs. Howland ventured to +suggest. + +"Do you call disobedience a little fault?" asked Mr. Howland, his +brow contracting as he spoke. + +"I did not mean that," quickly answered Mrs. Howland. "I meant his +going in to see Emily Winters. The children are very fond of each +other." + +"But I have told him not to go in there, haven't I?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. That settles the matter. If he goes, he disobeys me; and +if he disobeys me, he must be punished." + +"But, Andrew--" + +"It is useless to argue about this with me, Esther. Entirely +useless. In your weakness you would indulge and ruin the boy. But I +know my duty better." + +Mrs. Howland sighed deeply and remained silent. Some ten minutes +afterwards, seeing her husband engaged with a book, she arose and +left the room. As soon as she closed the door, every movement was +suddenly quickened, and she sprung up the stairway to the chamber +from which had come down to her the screams of her boy, as he shrunk +under the cruel strokes inflicted by the hand of his father. +Entering, she saw Andrew sitting on the floor, with his arms resting +on a low chair, and his face buried in them. He raised his head +slowly, and turned to see who had come in. The instant he saw that +it was his mother, a flush came into his pale face, and tears dimmed +the light of his beautiful, tender, loving eyes. In another moment +he was sobbing on her bosom. + +"Dear Andrew must not be disobedient again," said the mother, so +soon as her child had grown calm, bending close to his cheek as she +spoke, and letting her breath fall warmly over it. + +"Emily is a good little girl, and I love her. She ain't bad, mother. +She is better than I am," quickly returned the child, raising +himself up, and lifting his eyes earnestly to his mother's face. + +"But your father has forbidden you to go to her house, Andrew." + +"Won't he let Emily come to see me?" urged the child. + +"No, dear. He wants you to play with some one else." + +"But I don't want to play with any one else. Emily is a good girl, +and I like her so much. Indeed she ain't bad, mother. She's good." + +"I know, dear," answered the perplexed mother. "I know that Emily is +a good girl. But--" + +"Then why won't father let me play with her?" was Andrew's quick +interrogation. + +"He doesn't wish you to do so, my child, and you must be an +obedient, good little boy, and then your father will love you." + +"He don't love me!" said Andrew in a tone and with an emphasis that +startled his mother. + +"Oh yes, he does! He loves you very much. Isn't he your father?" +replied Mrs. Howland in an earnest voice. + +"He wouldn't have whipped me so hard if he had loved me! I'm sure he +wouldn't, mother." + +And tears gushed from the eyes of the child at the remembrance of +his father's stern face, and the pain he had suffered. + +"Andrew musn't speak so of his father," said Mrs. Howland in a +chiding voice. "Andrew was disobedient; that was the reason why his +father punished him. Andrew must be a good boy." + +"I ain't bad, mother," sobbed the child. "I'm sure it ain't bad to +play with Emily. She never does anything naughty." + +"It is bad if your father forbids your doing so," replied Mrs. +Howland. + +"No--it can't be bad to play with Emily," said the little fellow, +speaking half to himself. "She's so good, and I love her." + +All in vain proved the mother's effort to make her boy see that it +was wrong to play with Emily. He wanted a reason beyond the (sic) +commannd of his father, and that she was not able to give. The more +she talked with him, the more plainly did she see that rebellion was +in his young heart, and that he would act it out in the face of all +consequences. Deeply saddened was she at this conviction, for she +well knew that obedience to parents is the good ground into which +the seeds of civil and religious obedience in manhood must be sown. + +As for herself, Mrs. Howland had no objection to little Emily +Winters as the companion of Andrew. She was, as the boy said, a good +girl, and her influence over him was for good. But the stern +prejudice of Mr. Howland had come in to break up the friendship +formed between the children, and his inflexible will would brook no +opposition. All must bend to him, even at the risk of breaking. + +Nearly half an hour did Mrs. Howland pass alone with her boy, +striving to awaken the better impulses of his heart, and as they +became active, seeking to implant in his mind a willingness to deny +himself, in order to obey his father. But the father asked too much. +There was no charge of evil against Emily as a reason for this +interdiction. All the mother could say, was-- + +"It is your father's wish and command, my child, and you must obey +him." + +But this could not satisfy the boy's mind in a case where his +feelings were so deeply interested. At length, Mrs. Howland turned +to leave the room. Andrew followed her to the door, and looking up +with a sad light in his large eyes, murmured-- + +"I do love you, mother!" + +A tear fell upon his face as his mother stooped to kiss him. A +little while after, and he was alone. + +"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Howland, joining her husband soon after, +"that we have done wrong in prohibiting all intercourse between +Andrew and little Emily Winters." + +"Why so?" was quickly asked, and in no very pleasant tone of voice. + +"The children are very much attached to each other." + +"That is no reason." + +"It would be no reason if there was anything bad about Emily. But +there is not. She is a very good little girl." + +"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Howland. + +"I never saw anything out of the way in her." + +"It's more than I can say of her father, then," was replied. "There +lies my chief objection. I want no intercourse between the families, +and do not mean to have any. In this I am entirely in earnest. +Andrew must seek another playfellow." + +"I'm afraid we will have a great deal of trouble," sighed Mrs. +Howland. + +"I am not, then. Let me know whenever he disobeys in this matter, +and I'll apply the remedy in a way to cure him. His will has to be +broken, and the present occasion is as good as any other for +effecting so all-important an object. The stronger he is tempted to +disobey, the more effectual will be the subjugation of his will, +when the conquest is made." + +It was useless for Mrs. Howland to argue with her husband. He never +yielded the smallest assent to any reasons she might bring, nor to +any position she might assume. So, with a pressure on her heart, and +a clear perception in her mind that he was wrong, she heard these +last words in silence. + +"Shall I call Andrew down?" asked the mother, as the tea-bell rung, +soon after. + +"No," replied Mr. Howland, firmly; "I wish him to understand that I +am in earnest." + +"Don't you think he has been punished sufficiently?" said Mrs. +Howland, timidly. + +"Of course I do not, or I would remit the penalty of transgression," +coldly returned her husband. "He's a stubborn, self-willed boy, and +must be made to feel that he has a master." + +"Kindness and persuasion often does--" + +"I will hear no more of that!" quickly returned Mr. Howland; "and I +wish you, once for all, to understand, Esther, that I will not +consent to an interference on your part with what I believe to be my +duty. Thousands of children have been ruined by this weak kindness +and persuasion, but this shall never be the case with mine." + +Mr. Howland did not observe that his wife caught her breath, as he +uttered the first few words of his harsh report. She made no further +answer, but passed on with her husband to the tea-room. But she ate +nothing. Dreamily rested her eyes on vacancy, as she sat at the +table. Her mind took no note of images pictured on the retina, for +her thoughts were in another place, and with her inner vision she +saw the sad form of her wronged and suffering child shrinking in the +lone chamber where he had been banished. + +"Shall I take Andrew some supper?" she asked, as she arose, at +length, from the table. + +"He can have some bread and water," was coldly and briefly answered. + +Will any one blame the mother, that she went beyond this? A few +minutes afterward she entered the room in which Andrew had been +punished, bearing in her hands a small tray, on which was a cup of +milk and water, some toast, and a piece of cake. The twilight had +already fallen, and dusky shadows had gathered so thickly that the +eyes of Mrs. Howland failed to see her child on first entering the +room. + +"Andrew!" she called, in a low, tender voice. + +But there was no reply. + +"Andrew!" + +Still all remained silent. + +More accustomed to the feeble light that pervaded the chamber, Mrs. +Howland now perceived her boy in a corner, sitting upon the floor, +with his head reclining upon a low ottoman. He was asleep. Placing +the tray she had brought upon a table, Mrs. Howland lifted the child +in her arms, and as she did so, he murmured in a sad voice-- + +"Don't, papa! oh, don't strike so hard!" + +Unable to repress her feelings, the mother's tears gushed over her +cheeks, and her bosom heaved with emotions that spent themselves in +sobs and moans. + +For many minutes she sat thus. But the child slept on. Once or twice +she tried to awake him, that he might get the supper she had +brought; but he slept on soundly, and she refrained, unwilling to +call him back to the grief of mind she felt that consciousness would +restore. Undressing him, at length, she laid him in his bed, and +bending over his precious form in the deeper darkness that had now +fallen, lifted her heart, and prayed that God would keep him from +evil. For a long time did she bend thus over her boy, and longer +still would she have remained near him, for her heart was affected +with an unusual tenderness, had not the cries of her younger child +summoned her from the room. + + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + + + + +THE tears of childhood are soon dried. Grief is but as the summer +rain. On the next morning, little Andrew's voice was heard singing +over the house, as merrily as ever. But the sound did not affect, +pleasantly, the mind of his father. He had not forgotten the scene +of the previous evening, and was far from having forgiven the +disobedience he had punished so severely. Had Andrew come forth from +his chamber silent and with a sober, abashed, and fearful +countenance, as if he still bore the weight of his father's +displeasure, Mr. Howland would have felt that he had made some +progress in the work of breaking the will of his child. But to see +him moving about and singing as gaily as a bird, discouraged him. + +"Have I made no impression on the boy?" he asked himself. + +"Father!" said Andrew, running up, with a happy smile upon his face, +as these thoughts were passing through the mind of Mr. Howland, +"won't you buy me a pretty book? Oh! I want one--" + +"Naughty, disobedient boy!" + +These were the words, uttered sternly, and with a forbidding aspect +of countenance, that met this affectionate state of mind, and threw +the child rudely from his father. + +Andrew looked frightened for a moment or two, and then shrunk away. +From that time until his father left the house, his voice was still. +During the morning, he amused himself with his playthings and his +little sister, and seemed well contented. But after dinner he became +restless, and often exclaimed-- + +"Oh! I wish I had somebody to play with!" + +At length, after sitting by the window and looking out for a long +time, he turned to his mother, and said-- + +"Mother, can't I go and see Emily Winters?" + +"No, Andrew, of course not," replied Mrs. Howland. + +"Why, mother? I like her, and she's good." + +"Because your father doesn't wish you go to her house. Didn't he +punish you last evening for going there?" + +At this the child grew impatient, and threw himself about with angry +gestures. Then he sat down and cried for a time bitterly, while his +mother strove, but in vain, to (sic) sooth him. For hours his +thoughts had been on his little friend, and now he cared for nothing +but to see her. Denied this privilege from mere arbitrary authority, +his mind had become fretted beyond his weak ability to control +himself. + +It was, perhaps, an hour after this, that Mrs. Howland missed +Andrew, and fearful that he might have been tempted to disobey the +command laid upon him, raised the window and looked into the street. +Just as she did so, she saw him running back toward his home from +the house of Mr. Winters, on the steps of which sat Emily. Entering +quickly, she heard him close the street-door with a slight jar, as +if he designed making as little noise as possible. + +"Where have you been, Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland as soon as he came +up to her room, which he did soon after. + +"Down in the kitchen with Jane," was replied without hesitation. + +"Have you been nowhere else?" Mrs. Howland repented having asked +this question the moment it passed her lips, and still more when the +child answered as unhesitatingly as before, "No, ma'am." + +Here was falsehood added to disobedience! Poor Mrs. Howland turned +her face away to grieve and ponder. She found herself in a narrow +path, and doubtful as to the steps to be taken. She said nothing +more, for she could not see clearly what it was best for her to say; +and she did nothing, for she could not see what it was best for her +to do. But she resolved to be watchful over her boy, lest he should +again be tempted into disobedience. + +The mother's watchfulness, however, availed not. Ere night-fall +Andrew was with his little friend again. Unfortunately for him, the +pleasure he derived from her society caused him to forget the +passing of time, and his stolen delight was, in the end, suddenly +dispelled by the stern voice of his father, who passed the door of +Mr. Winters on his way homeward. + +Slowly and in fear did the child obey the angry command to return +home. He knew that he would be punished with great severity, and he +was not mistaken. He was so punished. But did this avail anything? +No! On the next day he asked his mother to let him sit at the front +door. + +"I'm afraid you'll go into Mr. Winters," said Mrs. Howland, in +reply. + +"Oh, no; indeed I won't, mother," was the ready answer. + +"If you disobey me, I can't let you go to the door again." + +"Oh, I won't disobey you," replied the child. + +"Very well, Andrew, I'll trust you. Now, don't deceive me." + +The child promised over and over again, and Mrs. Howland trusted +him. Ten minutes afterward she looked out, but he (sic) wasnowhere +to be seen. A domestic was sent to the house of Mr. Winters, where +Andrew was found, as happy as a child could be, playing with his +little friend Emily. On being reproved by his mother for this act of +disobedience, he looked earnestly in her face and said-- + +"You won't tell father, will you? He'll whip me so, and I don't like +to be whipped." + +"But why did you go in there?" said Mrs. Howland. "Haven't we +forbidden you? And didn't you promise me that if I'd let you go to +the front door, you would stay there?" + +"I couldn't help it, mother," replied Andrew. + +"Oh, yes, you could." + +"Indeed I couldn't, mother. I saw Emily, and then I couldn't help +it." + +There was an expression in the child's voice as he said this, that +thrilled the feelings of his mother. She felt that he spoke only the +simple truth--that he could not help doing as he had done. + +"But Andrew must help it," she was constrained to reply. "Mother +can't let him go to the front door again." + +"You won't tell father, will you?" urged the child, lifting, +earnestly, his large, bright, innocent eyes to his mother's face. +"Say, you won't tell him?" + +Grieved, perplexed, and troubled, Mrs. Howland knew not what to say, +nor how to act. + +"Dear mother!" urged the boy, "you won't tell father? Say you +won't?" And tears began to glisten beneath his eyelids. + +"Andrew has been disobedient," said the mother, trying to assume an +offended tone. "Will he be so anymore?" + +"If you won't tell father, I'll be good." + +The mother sighed, and fixed her gaze musingly on the floor. Her +thoughts were still more confused, and her mind in still greater +perplexity. Ah, if she only knew what was right! + +"I will not tell your father this time," she at length said, "but +don't ask me, if you are again disobedient." + +But of what avail was the child's promises. He had strong feelings, +a strong will, and, though so very young, much endurance. A law, at +variance almost with a law of his nature, had been arbitrarily +enacted, and he could not obey it. As well might his father have +shut him up, hungry, in a room filled with tempting food, and +commanded him not to touch or taste it. Had an allegation of evil +conduct been brought against Emily Winters; had any right reason for +the interdiction been given, then Mr. Howland might have had some +power over the strong will and stronger inclinations of the child. +But into the mind of Andrew, young as he was, came a sense of +injustice and wrong on the part of his father, and there was no +willingness, from filial duty, to yield obedience in a case where +every feeling of his heart was at variance with the command. + +The struggle so early commenced between the father and his child, +was an unceasing one. The will of Andrew, which by other treatment +might have been bent to obedience, gained a vigor like the young oak +amid storms, in the strife and reaction of his daily life. Instead +of drawing his child to him, there was ever about Mr. Howland a +sphere of repulsion. Andrew was always doing something to offend his +father; and his father was in consequence always offended. A kind +word from paternal lips rarely touched the ears of the boy, and, but +for the love of his gentle mother, home would have been almost +intolerable. Steadily, against all opposition, chidings, and +punishment, Andrew would seek the company of his little friend Emily +on every convenient occasion. To avoid the consequences he would +practice deception, and utter direct falsehood without compunction +or hesitation. At last, after a struggle of two years, even the +father became wearied and discouraged at the perseverance of his +child; and there came a suggestion to his mind, that probably, to +continue as he had been going on for so long a time, would do more +harm than good. It requires no little self-denial for a man like +Andrew Howland to yield in such a contention, and let the will of +his child remain unbroken. But, after a long debate with himself, +his better conviction triumphed over prejudice and the tenacity of a +mind fixed in its own opinions. He ceased to command obedience in +the case of Emily Winters, and therefore ceased to punish Andrew on +her account. Nevertheless, he rarely saw him in her company that the +displeasure he felt was not manifested by a frown, or some word that +smote painfully upon the ear of his child. + +Possessing an active, independent mind, Andrew failed not to excite +the displeasure of his father in many ways. In fact he was always in +disgrace from some cause or other and the subject of angry reproof, +harsh judgment, or direct punishment. Often his conduct needed +reproof and even punishment; but he was the victim of such frequent +wrong judgment and unjust reproof and punishment, that by the time +he was eleven years of age, he looked upon his father more as a +persecuting tyrant than a kind parent, who sincerely desired his +good. An instance of wrong judgment and unjust punishment we will +here give. + +As Andrew grew older and formed school boy associations, his +impulsive and rather reckless character brought him frequently into +collision with his companions, and he gained a reputation which was +by no means good. Every now and then some one would complain to Mr. +Howland of his bad conduct, when he, taking all for granted, would, +without investigation, visit the offence with severe punishment. + +One day, when in his twelfth year, as Andrew was at play during a +recess in the school hour, a boy larger than himself made an angry +attack upon a lad much below him in size, and was abusing him +severely, when Andrew, acting from a brave and generous impulse, ran +to the rescue of the smaller boy, and, in a sudden onset, freed him +from the hands of his assailant. Maddened at this interference. the +larger boy turned fiercely upon him. But Andrew was active, and kept +out of his way. Still the larger boy pursued him, using all the +while the most violent threats. At length finding that he was likely +to be caught and get roughly handled, Andrew took up a stone, and +drawing back his hand, warned the boy not to approach. He continued +to approach, however, vowing, as he did so, that he would beat the +life half out of him. True to his word, and in self-defence, Andrew +threw the stone, which struck the boy full on the forehead and +knocked him down. For some minutes he lay stunned and +half-insensible. Frightened at the consequences of his act, Andrew +sprung to the side of the fallen lad and tried to raise him up. +Failing in this he ran for the teacher, who was in the school-room. +A little cold water thrown into the boy's face revived him, when he +went home to his parents. The teacher made careful inquiries into +the matter, which satisfied him that Andrew was not very greatly to +blame. + +A short time after this occurrence, a gentleman entered the store of +Andrew's father, and said, with much excitement of manner, + +"Mr. Howland! I've come to make complaint against that boy of +yours." + +"Against Andrew?" + +"Yes, sir. He's nearly killed my son!" + +"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, in a distressed voice. "What has +happened? How did he do it?" + +"Why, sir! without the slightest provocation, he took up a large +stone and struck my boy with it on the forehead, knocking him down +senseless. I have had to send for the doctor. It may cost him his +life." + +"Oh dear! dear! What will become of that boy?" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, wringing his hands, and moving up and down the floor +uneasily. "Knocked him down with a stone, you say?" + +"Yes sir And that without any (sic) provoeation. I can't stand this. +I must, at least, protect the lives of my children. Every week I +have had some complaint against your son; (sic) bnt I didn't wish to +have a difficulty, and so said nothing about it. But this is going a +little too far. He must have a dreadful temper." + +"There is something very perverse about him," remarked Mr. Howland, +sadly. "Ah, me! What am I to do?" + +"There may have been some slight provocation," said the man, a +little modified by the manner in which his complaint was received, +and departing from his first assertion. + +"Nothing to justify an assault like this," replied Mr. Howland with +promptness. "Nothing! Nothing! The boy will be the death of me." + +"Caution him, if you please, Mr. Howland, against a repetition of +such dangerous conduct. The result might be deplorable." + +"I will do something more than caution him, you may be sure," was +answered, and, as he spoke, the lips of Mr. Howland were drawn +tightly across his teeth. + +The man went away, and Mr. Howland dispatched a messenger to the +school for Andrew immediately, and then started for home. He had +been there only a little while, when the boy came in with a +frightened look. To his father's eyes conscious guilt was in his +countenance. + +"Go up stairs, sir!" was the stern salutation that met the lad's +ears. + +"Father, I--" + +"Silence, sir! Don't let me hear a word out of your head!" + +The boy shrunk away and went up to his own room in the third story, +whither his angry father immediately followed him. + +"Now, sir, take off your jacket!" said Mr. Howland who had a long, +thick rattan in his hand. + +"Indeed father," pleaded the child, "I wasn't to blame. Bill +Wilkins--" + +"Silence, sir! I want none of your lying excuses! I know you! I've +talked to you often enough about quarreling and throwing stones." + +"But, father--" + +"Off with your jacket, this instant! Do (sic) your hear me? + +"Oh, father! Let me speak! I couldn't--" + +"Not a word, I say! I know all about it!" silenced the pleading boy. +His case was prejudged, and he was now in the hands of the +executioner. Slowly, and with trembling hands, the poor child +removed his outer garment, his pale face growing paler every moment, +and then submitting himself to the cruel rod that checkered his back +with smarting welts. Under a sense of wrong, his proud spirit +refused to his body a single cry of pain. Manfully he bore his +unjust chastisement, while every stroke obliterated some yet +remaining emotion of respect and love for his father, who, satisfied +at length with strokes and upbraiding, threw the boy from him with +the cutting words-- + +"I shall yet have to disown you!" and turning away left the +apartment. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + + +WHILE Mr. Howland yet paced the floor in a perturbed state of mind, +after the severe flogging he had given to Andrew, and while he +meditated some further and long-continued punishment for the +offences which had been committed, a servant handed him a note. It +was from Andrew's teacher, and was to this effect-- + +"From careful inquiry, I am entirely satisfied that your son, when +he threw the stone at William Wilkins, was acting in self-defence, +and, therefore, is blameless. Wilkins is a quarrelsome, overbearing +lad, and was abusing a smaller boy, when your son interfered to +protect the latter. This drew upon him the anger of Wilkins, who +would have beaten him severely if he had not protected himself in +the way he did. Before throwing the stone, I learn that Andrew made +every effort to get away; failing in this, he warned the other not +to come near him. This warning being disregarded, he used the only +means of self-protection left to him. I say this in justice to your +son, and to save him from your displeasure. As for Wilkins, I do not +intend to receive him back into my school." + +For a long time Mr. Howland remained seated in the chair he had +taken on receiving the teacher's note. His reflections were far from +being agreeable. He had been both unjust and cruel to his child. But +for him to make an acknowledgment of the fact was out of the +question. This would be too humiliating. This would be a triumph for +the perverse boy, and a weakening of his authority over him. He had +done wrong in not listening to his child's explanation; in not +waiting until he had heard both sides. But, now that the wrong was +done, the fact that he was conscious of having done wrong must not +appear. In various ways he sought to justify his conduct. At length +he said, half aloud-- + +"No matter. He deserved it for something else, and has received only +his deserts. Let him behave himself properly, and he'll never be the +subject of unjust censure." + +It was thus that the cold-hearted father settled, with his own +conscience, this question of wrong toward his child. And yet he was +a man who prayed in his family, and regularly, with pious +observance, attended upon the ordinances of the church. In society +he was esteemed as a just and righteous man; in the church as one +who lived near to heaven. As for himself, he believed that severity +toward his boy, and intolerance of all the weaknesses, errors, and +wayward tendencies of childhood, were absolutely needed for the due +correction of evil impulses. Alas! that he, like too many of his +class, permitted anger toward his children's faults to blind his +better judgment, and to stifle the genuine appeals of nature. +Instead of tenderness, forbearance, and a loving effort to lead them +in right paths, and make those paths pleasant to their feet, he +sternly sought to force them in the way he wished them to go. With +what little success, in the case of Andrew, is already apparent. + +Angry at the unjust punishment he had received, the boy remained +alone in his room until summoned to dinner. + +"He doesn't want anything to eat," said the servant, returning to +the dining-room where the family were assembled at the table. + +"Oh, very well," remarked the father, in a tone of indifference, +"fasting will do him good." + +"Go up, Anna," said Mr. Howland to the servant "and tell him that I +want him to come down." + +That word would have been effectual, for Andrew loved his mother; +but Mr. Howland remarked instantly: + +"No, no! Let him, remain. I never humor states of perverseness. If +he wishes to fast he can be gratified." + +Mrs. Howland said no more, but she took only a few mouthfuls of food +while she sat at the table. Her appetite was gone. After dinner she +went up to Andrew's room with a saucer of peaches and cream. The +moment she opened the door the lad sprung toward her, and while +tears gushed from his eyes, he said-- + +"Indeed, indeed, mother, I was not to blame! Bill Wilkins was going +to beat me--and you know, he's a large boy." + +"But you might have killed him, Andrew," replied the mother, with a +gentle gravity that, in love, conveyed reproof. "It is dangerous to +throw stones." + +"I had to defend myself, mother. I couldn't let him beat me half to +death. And I told him to keep off or I would strike him with the +stone. I'm sure I wasn't to blame." + +"Why, was he going to beat you, Andrew? What did you do to him?" +asked Mrs. Howland. + +"I'll tell you, mother," replied the boy. "He was pounding with his +fist a poor little fellow, not half his size, and I couldn't stand +and see it if he was a bigger boy than me. So I took the little +boy's part; and then he turned on me and said he'd beat the life out +of me. I ran from him and tried to get away, but he could run the +fastest, and so I took up a stone and told him to keep off. But he +was mad, and wouldn't keep off. So I struck him with it, and, +mother, I'd do it again (sic) to-moorow. No boy shall beat me if I +can defend myself." + +"Why didn't you tell your father of this?" asked Mrs. Howland. + +"I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen to me," said the lad, +with ill-concealed indignation in his voice. "And he never will +listen to me, mother. He believes every word that is said against +me, and flogs me whether I am guilty or not. I'm sure he hates me!" + +"Hush! hush my boy! don't say that. Don't speak so of your father." + +"Well, I'm sure he don't love me," persisted Andrew. + +"Oh, yes, he does love you. He only dislikes what is wrong in you. +My son must try to be a good boy." + +"I do try, mother; I try almost every day. But somehow I do wrong +things without thinking. I'm always sorry at first; sorry until +father begins to scold or whip me, and then I don't seem to care +anything about it. Oh, dear! I wish father wasn't always so cross!" + +While Andrew thus talked, his tears had ceased to flow; but now they +gushed over his cheeks again, and he leaned his face upon his +mother's bosom. Mrs. Howland drew her arms closely around her +unhappy boy, while her own eyes became wet. For many minutes there +was silence. At last she said, in a kind, earnest voice-- + +"I've brought you a nice saucer of peaches and cream, Andrew." + +"I don't want them, mother," replied the lad. + +"You'll be hungry before night, dear. It's nearly school-time now, +and you'll get nothing to eat until you come home again." + +"I don't feel at all hungry, mother." + +"Just eat them for my sake," urged Mrs. Howland. + +Without a word more Andrew took the saucer. + +"Ain't they nice?" asked Mrs. Howland, as she saw that her boy +relished the fruit and cream. + +"Yes, dear mother! they are very good," replied Andrew; "and you are +good, too. Indeed I love you, mother!" + +The last sentence was uttered with visible emotion. + +"Then, for my sake, try and do right, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland, +tenderly. + +"I will try, mother," returned the boy. "I do try often; but I +forget myself a great many times." + +Soon after Andrew started for school. On arriving, his teacher +called him up and said-- + +"Did your father get my note?" + +"I don't know, sir," replied Andrew. + +"What did he say to you?" + +The boy's eyes sunk to the floor and he remained silent. + +"I sent your father a note immediately," said the teacher, "telling +him that you were not to blame." + +Andrew looked up quickly into his teacher's face, while a shadow +fell upon his countenance. + +"You don't know whether he received it?" + +"No sir." + +The teacher called up another lad, and inquired if he had delivered +the note given him at the dwelling of Mr. Howland, as directed. The +boy replied that he had done so. + +"Very, well. You can take your seat." + +Then turning to Andrew, the teacher said-- + +"Was it about William Wilkins that your father sent for you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You told him how it was?" + +The boy was silent. + +"He didn't punish you, surely?" + +Tears trembled on the closing lashes of the injured child; but he +answered nothing. The teacher saw how it was, and questioned him no +farther. From that time he was kinder toward his wayward and, too +often, offending scholar, and gained a better influence over him. + +Not for a moment, during the afternoon, was the thought that his +father knew of his blamelessness absent from Andrew's mind. And, +when he returned home, his heart beat feverishly in anticipation of +the meeting between him and his parent. He felt sure that the +teacher's note had reached his father after the punishment had been +inflicted; and he expected, from an innate sense of right and +justice, that some acknowledgment, grateful to his injured feelings, +of the wrong he had suffered, would be made. There was no thought of +triumph or reaction against his father. He had been wrongly judged, +and cruelly punished; and all he asked for or desired was that his +father should speak kindly to him, and say that he bad been blamed +without a cause. How many a dark shadow would such a gleam of +sunshine have dispelled from his heart. But no such gleam of light +awaited his meeting with his father, who did not even raise his eyes +to look at him as he came into his presence. + +For awhile Andrew lingered in the room where his father sat reading, +hoping for a word that would indicate a kinder state of feeling +toward him. But no such word was uttered. At length he commenced +playing with a younger brother, who, not being able to make him do +just as he wished, screamed out some complaint against him, when Mr. +Howland looked up, suddenly, with a lowering countenance, and said, +harshly-- + +"Go out of the room, sir! I never saw such a boy! No one can have +any peace where you are!" + +Andrew started, and made an effort to explain and excuse himself, +for he was very anxious not to be misunderstood again just at this +time. But his father exclaimed, more severely than at first. + +"Do you hear me, sir! Leave this room instantly!" + +The boy went out hopeless. He felt that he was unloved by his +father. Oh! what would he not have given--what sacrifice would he +not have made--to secure a word and a smile of affection from his +stern parent, whom he had known from childhood only as one who +reproved and punished. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + + +WRONGED and repelled, Andrew left the presence of his father, sad, +hopeless, yet with a sense of indignation in his heart against that +father for the wrong he had suffered at his hands. + +"It's no use for me to try to do right," he (sic) mnrmured to +himself. "If I want to be good, they won't let me." + +As these thoughts passed through his mind, a feeling of recklessness +came over him, and he said aloud-- + +"I don't care what I do!" + +"Don't you, indeed?" + +The voice that uttered this sentence caused him to start. It was the +voice of his father, who had left his room soon after the expulsion +of Andrew, and was at the moment passing near, unobserved by the +boy. + +"Don't care what you do, ha!" repeated Mr. Howland, standing in +front of the lad, and looking him sternly in the face. "You've +spoken the truth for once!" + +For nearly a minute Mr. Howland stood with contracted brows, +scowling upon the half-frightened child. He then walked away, deeply +troubled and perplexed in his mind. + +"What is to become of this boy?" he said to himself. "He really +seems to be one of those whom Satan designs to have, that he might +sift them as wheat. I sadly fear that he is given over to a hard +heart, and a perverse mind--one predestinated, to evil from his +birth. Ah me! Have I not done, and am I not still doing everything +to restrain him and save him! But precept, admonition, and +punishment, all seem, thrown away. Even my daily prayers for him +remain unanswered. They rise no higher than my head. What more can I +do than I am now doing? I have tried in every way to break his +stubborn will, but all is of no avail." + +While Mr. Howland mused thus, Andrew, oppressed by the sphere of his +father's house, was passing out at the street door, although +expressly forbidden to go away from home after his return from +school. For some time he stood leaning against the railing, with a +pressure of unhappiness on his heart. While standing thus, a lad who +was passing by said to him-- + +"Come, Andy! there's a company of soldiers around in the Square. +Hark! Don't you hear the music? Come! I'm going." + +This was a strong temptation, for Andrew loved music and was fond of +sight-seeing. It would be useless, he knew, to ask the permission of +his father, who usually said "No," to almost every request for a +little liberty or privilege. Especially at the present moment would +(sic) be request of this kind be useless. + +"Come, Andy! come!" urged the boy, for Andrew, restraining the first +impulse to bound away at the word soldiers, was debating the +question whether to go or not. + +Just then the air thrilled with a wave of music, and Andrew, unable +longer to control himself, sprung away with his companion. For half +an hour he enjoyed the music and military evolutions, and then +returned home. + +"Where have you been, sir?" was the sharp question that greeted him +as he came in. + +"Around in the Square, to see the soldiers," replied Andrew. + +"Who gave you permission to go?" + +"No one, sir. I heard the music, and thought I'd just go and look at +them a little while. I've not been doing anything wrong, sir." + +"Wrong! Isn't disobedience wrong? Haven't I forbidden you, over and +over again, to leave the house after school without my permission? +Say! You don't care what you do! That's it! Go off up stairs with +you, to your own room, and you'll get nothing but bread and water +until to-morrow morning! I'll teach you to mind what I say!" + +The boy went sadly up to his room. It had been a day of severer +trial than usual--of greater wrong and outrage upon him as a child. +For the time his spirit was broken, and he wept bitterly when alone +in his silent chamber, that was to be his prison-house until the +dawn of another day. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland, as her little family gathered +at the supper table, and she found that one was missing. + +"I've sent him up to his room. He can't have anything but bread and +water to-night," replied Mr. Howland, in a grave tone. + +"What has the poor child done, now?" inquired the mother, in a +troubled voice. + +"He went off to see the soldiers, though he had been expressly +forbidden to leave the house after coming home from school." + +"Oh, dear! He's always doing something wrong--what will become of +him?" sighed the mother. + +"Heaven only knows! If he escape the gallows in the end, it will be +a mercy. I never saw so young a child with so perverse an +inclination." + +"Andrew had no dinner to-day," said Mrs. Howland, after a little +while. + +"His own fault," replied the father, "he chose to fast." + +"He must be very hungry by this time. Won't you allow him something +more than bread and water?" + +"No. If he is hungry, that will taste sweet to him." + +Mrs. Howland sighed and remained silent. After supper, she took food +to her boy. A slice of bread and a glass of water were first placed +on a tray, and with these the mother started up stairs. But, ere she +reached the chamber, her heart plead so strongly for the lad, that +she paused, stood musing for a few moments, and then returned to the +dining-room. A few slices of tongue, some biscuit, bread and butter, +and a cup of tea were taken from the table, and with these Mrs. +Howland returned up stairs. Unexpectedly, her husband met her on the +way. + +"Who is that for?" he asked, in a voice of surprise, seeing the +articles Mrs. Howland was bearing on the tray. + +"It is Andrew's supper," was replied; and as Mrs. Howland said this, +her eyes drooped, abashed beneath the stern and rebuking gaze of her +husband. + +"Esther! Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. "Didn't I say that +Andrew must have nothing but bread and water for his supper?" + +"He has had no dinner," murmured the mother. + +"I don't care if he had nothing to eat for a week. I said he should +have only bread and water, and I meant what I said. Esther! I am +surprised at you. Of what avail will be efforts at correction, if +you counteract them in this way?" + +Mrs. Howland never contended with her husband. In all expressed +differences of opinion, it was his habit to bear her down with an +imperious will. She was weak, and he was her strong tyrant. Not a +word more did she speak but returned to the dining-room, and +replaced the food she had prepared for Andrew by simple bread and +water. + +The feelings of childhood never run for a long time in the same +channel. Very soon after entering his room, Andrew's mind lost its +sad impression, and began to search about for something to satisfy +its restless activity. First he got upon the chairs, and jumped from +one to another. This he continued until his feet passed through the +slender cane-works of one of them. Then he turned somersets on the +bed, until more than a handful of feathers were beaten out and +scattered about the room. Next he climbed up the posts and balanced +himself on the tester, to the no small risk of breaking that slender +frame work, and injuring himself severely by a fall. Soon the +compass of the room became too narrow, and the elevation of the +bed-posts too trifling for his expanding ideas. He went to the +window, and, opening it, looked forth. Here was a new temptation. +The roof of a piazza, built out from a second story, came up to +within a foot of the window-sill. He had often ventured upon this +roof, and he sprung out upon it again without a moment's hesitation +or reflection, and running along, with the lightness of a cat, +gained the roof of the back building, which he ascended to the very +apex, and then placed himself astride thereof. Here he sat for some +minutes looking around him and enjoying the prospect. On the end of +the back building was fastened a strong pole, running up into the +air some ten feet. On the top of this pole was a bird-box, in which +a pair of pigeons had their nest. Two young pigeons had been hatched +out, and now nearly full-fledged and ready to fly, they were +thrusting their glossy heads from the box, and looking about from +their airy height. + +A fluttering of wings, as the mother-bird returned with food for her +young ones, attracted the attention of Andrew, and looking up, he +saw the young pigeons. Instantly came a desire to remove them from +their nest. But the way to that nest was too difficult and perilous +for him to think of securing his wish. This was the first +impression. Then he fixed his eye on the nest, and watched the old +bird, as she sat on a ledge that projected from the box, while she +distributed to her younglings the food she had brought. Thus sat the +boy at the moment his mother left the dining-room with the +comfortable supper she had prepared for him, and there she would +have found him in comparative safety, had she not been prevented +from carrying out the kind promptings of her heart. + +The longer Andrew gazed at the young birds, the more desirous did he +become to get them in his possession. Over and over again he +measured the height and thickness of the pole with his eyes, +calculating, all the while, his ability to climb it, and the amount +of danger attendant on the adventure. + +"I'm sure I could do it," said he, at length rising from the place +where he sat and walking with careful step to the edge of the roof, +at the point above which the pole projected. Grasping the pole +firmly, he first leaned his body over until he could see in a +perpendicular line to the pavement in the yard below, a distance of +more than forty feet. For a moment his head swam, as he looked from +the dizzy height; but he shut his eyes and clung to the pole until +self-possessed again. Then he looked up at the bird-box and reaching +his hands far above his head, grasped the pole firmly and drew his +body a few inches, upward. Clinging tightly with his legs to retain +the slight elevation he had acquired, he moved his hands farther +along the pole, and then drew himself higher up. Thus he progressed +until he had reached a point some five or six feet above the roof, +when his strength became exhausted, and, unable to retain even the +position he had acquired, his body slowly descended the pole, +swinging around to the side opposite the roof. On reaching the +bottom it was as much as he could do to get himself once more in a +position of safety, where he stood for a few moments, until he could +recover himself. He then tried the ascent again. This time he nearly +reached the box, when his strength once more failed him, and he had +to slide down the pole as before. But Andrew was not a lad to give +up easily anything he attempted to do. Difficulties but inspired him +to new efforts, and he once more tried to effect the perilous +ascent, firmly resolved to reach the box at the third trial. In his +eagerness, he became unconscious of all danger, and commenced +clambering up the pole with as much confidence as if it had been +placed on the ground. + +Great violence had been done to the feelings of Mrs. Howland by her +husband. His stern rebuke hurt her exceedingly. She did not feel +that she was doing wrong in yielding to the appeals of her heart in +favor of her wayward, ever-offending boy. Her mother's instinct told +her, that he needed kindness, forbearance, and frequent exemption +from punishment; and she felt that it was better for him to have +this, even though in gaining it for him she acted in violation of +her husband's wishes and command--yea, even though her child knew +that such was the case. Sadly was she aware of the fact, that the +father's iron-handed severity had nearly crushed affection out of +the heart of his child; and that all obedience to him was extorted +under fear of punishment. And she well knew that her interference in +his favor, while it could not estrange him from his father more than +he was already estranged, would give her greater influence over him +for good. Such were the conclusions of her mind--not arrived at by +cold ratiocination, but by woman's shorter way of perception. And +she knew that she was right. + +Hurt in her own feelings was she, by her husband's harsh, rebuking +words, and sad for the sake of her boy, as she returned to the +dining-room. For some time she remained there, debating with herself +whether she should stealthily convey something more than the bread +and water to Andrew, or take him the meager supply of food his +father had ordered. In the end her feelings triumphed. A large slice +of cake and an apple were placed in her pocket. Then with the bread +and water she went up to her son's chamber. + +"Bless me! what a boy!" fell from the lips of Mrs. Howland, as she +pushed open the door and saw the disordered condition of the room. +The chairs were scattered about the apartment, and through the +caning of one of them was a large hole. The wash-bowl and pitcher +were on the floor, and a good deal of water spilled around. The +bed-clothes were nearly all dragged off; and it was plain, from the +feathers scattered about, that Andrew had been amusing himself with +jumping on the bed. Lifting her eyes to the tester, Mrs. Howland saw +nearly a yard of the valance torn away and hanging down. + +"Oh, what a boy!" she again murmured. "He seems possessed with a +spirit of mischief and destruction. Andrew!" + +She called the lad's name, but there was no answer. + +"Andrew! where are you?" The mother looked searchingly about the +room. But she neither saw the boy nor heard his voice. Perceiving +now that the back-window was open, she sprung to it with a sudden +thrill of alarm. The first object that caught her sight, was Andrew +suspended in the air on the pole that supported the pigeon-box. He +was just about reaching the object of his perilous adventure. A wild +scream of terror came from the mother's lips, ere she had time to +think of self-control. The scream, as it pierced suddenly the ears +of Andrew, startled and unnerved him. A quick muscular exhaustion +followed, and ere he could recover from the confusion and weakness +of the moment, his hands were dragged from their hold, and he went +flashing down from the eyes of his mother like the passing of a +lightning gleam. Another scream thrilled on the air, and then Mrs. +Howland sunk swooning to the floor. + +Mr. Howland was just stepping into the yard, when his son fell, +crushed by the terrific fall, at his feet. + +"Oh, father!" came in a voice of anguish from the yet conscious boy, +as he lifted one hand with a feeble effort toward his parent. Then a +deathly whiteness came ever his face, and he fainted instantly. + +On the arrival of a physician it was found that Andrew's left arm +was broken in two places, his left ancle dislocated, and two ribs +fractured. As to the internal injury sustained, no estimate could be +made at the time. He did not recover fully from the state of +insensibility into which he lapsed after the fall, until the work of +setting the broken bones and reducing the dislocation was nearly +over. His first utterance was to ask for his mother. She was not +present, however. Her cries, at seeing the peril and fall of her +child, brought a domestic to the room, who found her lying +insensible upon the floor. Assistance being called, she was removed +to her own chamber, where she remained, apparently lifeless for the +space of half an hour. When she recovered, her husband was pacing +the chamber floor with slow, measured steps, and his eyes cast down. + +"Andrew! Is he dead?" were her first words. She spoke in a low +voice, and with forced composure. + +Mr. Howland paused, and approached the bed on which lay his pale +exhausted wife, just awakened from her death-like unconsciousness. + +"No, Esther. He is not dead," was calmly replied. + +"Is he badly hurt"? + +The mother held her breath for a reply. + +"Yes, badly, I fear," answered Mr. Howland, in the same calm voice. + +"Will he live?" almost gasped the mother. + +"God only knows," replied Mr. Howland. Then glancing his eyes upward +piously, he added, "If it be His will to remove him, I--" + +"Oh, Andrew! don't say that!" quickly exclaimed the mother. "Don't +say that!" + +"Yes, Esther, I will say it," returned Mr. Howland, in a steady +voice. "If it be His good pleasure to remove him, I will not murmur. +He will be safer _there_ than here." + +"Oh, my poor, poor boy!" sobbed Mrs. Howland. "My poor, poor boy!" +To think that he should come to this? Oh, it was wrong to send him +off as he was sent! to punish him so severely for a little thing. +Heaven knows, he had suffered enough, unjustly, without having this +added!" + +"Esther!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, "this from you!" + +The distressed mother, in the anguish of her mind, had given +utterance to her feelings, with scarce a thought as to who was her +auditor. The sternly uttered words of her husband subdued her into +silence. + +"I did not expect this from you, Esther," continued Mr. Howland, +severely, "and at such a time." + +And he stood looking down upon the mother's pale face with a +rebuking expression of countenance. Mrs. Howland endured his gaze +only for a few moments, and then buried her face in the bed-clothes. +Her husband, as his eyes remained fixed upon her form, saw that it +was agitated by slight convulsions, and he knew that she was +striving to suppress the sobs in which her heart was seeking an +utterance. For a little while he stood looking at her, and then +retired, without speaking, from the chamber, and sought the one +where the physician was yet engaged with Andrew. The lad was +insensible when he left him a short time before; now signs of +returning animation were visible. + +"Mother!--mother! Where is mother?" he at last said, opening his +eyes, and glancing from face to face of those who were gathered +around him. + +"You have nearly killed your mother," replied. Mr. Howland, +expressing, without reflection, the feeling of anger toward the lad +that was still in his heart. + +An instant change was visible in the countenance of Andrew; a change +that caused the physician to turn suddenly from his patient and say, +in a low, severe tone-- + +"Sir! Do you wish to murder your child?" + +Mr. Howland felt the rebuke, yet did not his eyes sink for a moment +beneath the steady gaze of the physician, who, after a moment's +reflection, added-- + +"Pray, sir, don't speak to your child in this way at the present +time. It may be as much as his life is worth. If he have done wrong, +his punishment has been severe enough, Heaven knows! How is his +mother?" + +"Better. She has recovered from her faintness," replied Mr. Howland. + +The door opened while he was yet speaking, and Mrs. Howland came in, +looking pale and agitated. The physician raised his finger to enjoin +prudence, and then turning to Andrew said, in a cheerful voice, + +"Here is your mother, my boy." + +Mrs. Howland came quickly to the bedside. As she bent over to kiss +the white-faced sufferer, the child sobbed out-- + +"Oh mother!--dear mother!" + +The mother's frame quivered under the pressure of intense feeling, +and she was on the eve of losing all self-control, when the +physician whispered in her ear. + +"Be calm, madam--the life of your child may depend on it!" + +Instantly the mother was calm in all that met the eye. Close to her +child she bent, and with a hand laid gently on his clammy forehead, +she spoke to him words of comfort and encouragement, while the +physician proceeded in the work of bandaging his broken and injured +limbs. + +As for Mr. Howland, he walked the floor with compressed and silent +lips, until the physician's work was done. He pitied the suffering +boy, yet there was nothing of what he called weakness in his pity. +The idea that Andrew was suffering a just retribution for his wrong +conduct, was distinctly present to his mind. And he even went so far +as to put up a prayer that the pain he was enduring, and must for a +long time endure, might work in him a salutary change--might lead to +his reformation. + +In due time the poor boy was made as comfortable as the nature of +his injuries would permit, and quiet and order restored to the +agitated family. + +"You see, my son, that punishment always follows evil conduct." +These were the first words spoken by Mr. Howland to his suffering +boy, as soon as he found himself alone with him. And then he +lectured him on disobedience until the poor child grew faint. + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + + +THE boy recovered, in due time, from his injuries, but there was no +manifest change in his character, nor was there any relaxing of the +iron hand of authority with which his father sought to hold him back +from evil. It is no matter of wonder that he grew hardened and +reckless as he grew older; nor that, to avoid punishment, he sought +refuge in lying, secretiveness, and deceit. + +The other children--there were three beside Andrew--being different +in character, were more easily subdued under the imperious will of +their father, whom they feared more than they loved. Assuming, in +his own mind, that Andrew's will had been permitted to gain strength +ere an effort had been made to control it, Mr. Howland resolved not +to fall into this error in the case of the children who followed; +and, assuredly, he did not. Through the rigors of unfailing +punishment for every act of wrong-doing, they were forced into the +way he would have them go, and though rebellion was often in their +hearts, it was rare, indeed, that it found its way into act, except +when there was the utmost certainty that their misconduct would not +be found out. Thus they learned to act hypocritically toward their +father, and to regard him as one who marred, instead of promoting +their pleasure. + +Mr. Howland had one son besides Andrew--one son and two daughters. +Mary was next to Andrew, Edward came next to her, and Martha was the +youngest. Edward resembled his father more than any of the other +children. He was cold and calm in his temperament, and little +inclined to be drawn aside by the restless, vagrant spirits that +were ever luring Andrew from the strict line laid down for him by +his father. Daily perceiving the great value attached by his father +to external propriety of conduct, Edward made a merit of what to him +was easy. This vexed Andrew, who had opportunities for knowing all +about the worth of Edward's apparent excellencies, and he sneeringly +applied to him the epithet of "Saint," which was the cause of his +drawing down upon himself, in more than one instance, the +displeasure of his father. But he had become so used to censure and +reproof, that it had little influence over him. Let him do wrong or +right, he was almost sure to be harshly judged, and he had, by the +time he was sixteen, almost ceased to care what others thought of +his conduct. + +Mary, whose age was next to that of Andrew, failed to acquire any +influence over her brother. She had been fretful and peevish as a +child, and he had worried her a great deal, and, in consequence, +received frequent punishment on her account. This tended naturally +to disunite them, and make them cold toward each other. Instead of +Mr. Howland striving, as their mother ever did, to reconcile their +difficulties, and make them friends, he would listen to Mary's +complaints against Andrew, and mark his displeasure by reproof or +punishment. Trifles, that would have been in a little time forgotten +and forgiven, were raised into importance by the stern father, and +sources of unhappiness and enmity created out of the most ordinary, +childish misunderstandings. Thus, in his mistaken efforts to destroy +what was evil in his children, he was only rooting the evils he +would remove more deeply in the groundwork of their minds. Instead +of harmonizing, his actions had the constant effect of disuniting +them. Brotherly love and sisterly affection had small chance for +growth in the family over which he presided. + +For all this, out of his family Mr. Howland was highly respected and +esteemed. He had the reputation of being one of the most upright, +just, and humane men in the community; and many wondered that he +should have so bad a son as Andrew, whose reputation abroad was +little better than at home. At school he was almost constantly +involved in quarrels with other boys; and, from the immediate +neighborhood of Mr. Howland, complaints frequently came of his bad +conduct and reckless annoyances toward neighbors. In truth, Andrew +was a bad boy; self-willed and overbearing toward his companions; a +trespasser on the rights and privileges of others; and determinedly +disobedient to his father. But for all this his father was to blame. +While sternly repressing the evil in his child, he had not lovingly +sought to develop the good. While vainly striving to root out the +tares which the enemy had sown, he had injured the tender wheat, +whose green blades were striving to lift themselves to the sunlight. +Alas! how many parents, in their strange blindness, are doing the +same work for their unhappy children. + +Amid all the perverseness that marked the character of Andrew; amid +all his hardness and wrong-doing; his attachment to Emily Winters +remained as pure and earnest at sixteen, as when a child he suffered +punishment rather than give up her society. Emily, who was about his +own age, had grown, by this time, into a tall, graceful girl, and +was verging on toward womanhood with a rapidity that made the boy's +heart tremble as he marked the distance which an earlier development +of body was placing between him and the only one, except his mother, +that he had ever loved. + +Between the families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters there was no +intercourse. Mr. Howland early imbibed a strong prejudice against +Mr. Winters, who did not happen to be a church member, and who, on +that account, was believed by Mr. Howland to be capable of doing +almost any wrong action, if tempted thereto. Certain things done by +Mr. Winters, who was independent in his modes of thinking and +acting, had been misunderstood by Mr. Howland, or judged by one of +his peculiar standards of virtue. From that time he was considered a +bad man; and, although Mrs. Winters, who was a woman beloved by all +that knew her, called upon Mrs. Howland when the family of the +latter came into the neighborhood, Mr. Howland positively forbade a +return of the call. Less obedient to his arbitrary commands did he +find his son. Andrew formed an early friendship for little Emily, +and sought every opportunity, spite of restriction and punishment, +to enjoy her society. + +This was continued until the children grew to a size that caused the +parents of Emily to observe the attachment as one far from being +agreeable to them, and to feel (sic) desirons of drawing a line of +separation between their daughter and a boy so notoriously bad as +Andrew Howland. When the children were twelve years old, they felt +bound to take some action in the case, and began by giving Andrew a +gentle hint, one day, to the effect that his visits to their house +were rather too frequent. This was enough for the high-spirited boy. +He left, with a burning spot on his cheek, vowing, in his +indignation, that he would never enter their door again, nor speak +to Emily. But it was much easier to keep the first part of this +promise than the last. As early as the next day he met Emily on his +way to school. She was going to school also, and had much farther +to, walk than himself. To enjoy her society, he went with her all +the way. This made him late, and he was in consequence, kept in by +the teacher, half an hour after his own school was dismissed. But +this punishment did not deter him from repeating the act on the next +day and on the next. From that time he rarely came to school until +ten or fifteen minutes after the session was opened; and, sometimes, +Emily was late also. Reproof and punishment doing no good, the +teacher sent a note to Andrew's father, complaining of his want of +punctuality. A severe reprimand was the consequence. This failing of +the desired effect, the boy was put on bread and water for days at a +time. But complaints from the teacher still arriving, corporeal +punishment was added. No change, however, followed. In the end +Andrew was sent home from school as incorrigible. + +"What shall I do with the boy!" was the despairing exclamation of +Mr. Howland, when this event occurred. "Idleness will complete his +ruin, and he is too young to put out." + +"I will send him to sea," was the final conclusion of his mind, +after debating the matter for some days, and talking with several +friends on the subject. Mr. Howland was generally in earnest when he +decided a matter, and but little given to change his purposes. And +he was in earnest now. But the moment his intention was announced to +his wife, there came from her an unexpected and vigorous opposition. + +"No, Andrew," said she, with an emphasis unusual to her in +addressing her husband, "that must not be." + +"I tell you it must be, Esther," quickly replied Mr. Howland. +"Nothing else will save the boy." + +"It lacks only that to complete his ruin," said Mrs. Howland, +firmly. "Never, Andrew--never will he go on board of a vessel with +my consent." + +And the mother burst into tears. + +"I don't wish to have any contention about this matter, Esther," +said Mr. Howland, gravely, as soon as his wife had grown calm, "and +I don't mean to have any. But I wish you to understand that I am in +earnest. Being fully satisfied that the last hope for Andrew is to +send him to sea, I have fully made up my mind to do it. I have +already spoken to the captain of a vessel trading to South America. +A few months on ship-board will tame him. He'll be glad enough to +behave himself when be gets home." + +"I have no faith in this remedy," replied Mrs. Howland, somewhat to +the surprise of her husband, who expected to silence her, as usual, +with his broadly asserted ultimatum. "Severe remedies have been +tried long enough. In my view, a milder course pursued toward the +boy would effect more than any other treatment." + +"Mildness! Haven't we tried that, over and over again? And hasn't it +only encouraged him to bolder acts of disobedience?" + +Mrs. Howland sighed. Her mind went back to the past, but none of +these instances of mild treatment could she remember. The iron hand +had been on him from the beginning, crushing out the good, and +hardening the evil into endurance. + +"Andrew," said she, after sitting for some time with her eyes upon +the floor, speaking in a very calm voice, "he is my son as well as +yours--and his welfare is as dear to me as it is to you. As his +mother, I am entitled to a voice in all that concerns him; and now, +in the sight of heaven, I give my voice distinctly against his being +sent to sea." + +Mr. Howland seemed startled at this bold speaking in his wife, +which, to him, amounted to little less than rebellion against his +authority. As the head of the family, it was his prerogative to +rule; and he had ruled for years with almost undisputed sway. Not in +the least inclined did he feel to give up now, the power which he +believed, of right, belonged to him. A sharp retort trembled for a +moment on his lips; but he kept back its utterance. He did not, +however, waver a single line from his purpose, but rather felt it +growing stronger. + +No more was said at this time by either. Mrs. Howland sought the +earliest opportunity to be alone with her son, when she informed him +of his father's purpose to send him to sea. Andrew was somewhat +startled by this information, and replied, instantly-- + +"I don't want to go to sea, mother." + +"Nor do I wish you to go, Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. "You are too +young to bear the hard usage that would certainly fall to your lot. +But your father is very determined about the matter." + +"I won't go!" boldly declared the boy. + +"Andrew! Andrew! don't speak in that manner," said the mother in a +reproving voice. + +"I'll run away first!" + +An indignant flush came into the lad's face as he said this. + +Mrs. Howland was both startled and alarmed at this bold and +unexpected declaration, and for a time she hardly knew what to say. +At length, in a voice so changed that Andrew looked up, half +wonderingly, into her face, she said-- + +"My son, do you love me?" + +Not until the question was repeated did Andrew make any reply. Then +he answered, in a low, unsteady voice, for something in her manner +had touched his feelings. + +"You know I love you, mother; for you are the only one who loves +me." + +"For the sake, then, of that love, let me ask you to do one thing, +Andrew," said Mrs. Howland. + +"What is that mother?" + +"Go back to your teacher, and ask him to take you into the school +again." + +A flush came warmly into the boy's face, and he shook his head in a +positive manner. + +"I wish you to do it for my sake, Andrew," urged Mrs. Howland. + +"I can't, mother. And it would not do any good." + +"Yes, it will do good. You were wrong in not going punctually to +school. All that is now required of you is to acknowledge this, and +ask to be restored to your place." + +Andrew stood silent and gloomy by his mother's side. + +"Were you not wrong in absenting yourself from school at the proper +hour?" asked Mrs. Howland, in a calm, penetrating voice. + +There was no reply. + +"Say, Andrew?" urged the mother. + +"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I was." + +"Was not your teacher right in objecting to this?" + +"I suppose so." + +"And right in sending you home if you would not obey the rules of +the school?" + +The boy assented. + +"Very well. Then you alone are to blame for the present trouble, and +it rests with you to remove it. For my sake, go back to school, +promise to do right in future, and ask to be reinstated. Will not +this be better than going to sea, or leaving your (sic) fathers's +house, as you thoughtlessly threatened to do just now?" + +The tender earnestness with which Mrs. Howland spoke, more than the +reasons she urged, subdued the stubborn spirit of the boy. + +"You know how determined your father is," she continued. "In his +intention to send you to sea he is entirely in earnest, and nothing +will prevent his doing so but your going back to school. You +threaten to run away. That would avail nothing. You are but a boy, +and would be restored to us in a week. Think of the trouble you will +bring upon me. Andrew! Andrew! unless you do as I desire, you will +break my heart." + +Giving way at this point to the pressure on her feelings, Mrs. +Howland wept bitterly; and, greatly subdued by his mother's grief, +Andrew drew his arm around her neck, and wept with her. + +"Go, dear," said Mrs. Howland, as soon as she had recovered herself, +parting the hair upon the forehead of her boy, and pressing her lips +upon it--"go, and secure your own self-approbation and my happiness, +by doing as I desire. Go, now, while your heart beats rightly. Go, +and save your mother from untold wretchedness." + +And again Mrs. Howland pressed her lips to his forehead. Happily, +she prevailed over him. Acting from the good impulses with which she +had inspired his better nature, he went to the teacher, who readily +consented to take him back into the school on his promise of more +orderly conduct in future. + +"Andrew has gone back to school," said Mrs. Howland to her husband, +on his return home in the evening. + +"Gone back to school? I thought the teacher had expelled him." + +"Andrew went to him, and promised amendment." + +"He did?" + +"Yes. After I had talked with him a long time, he consented to do +so." + +"It is well," briefly, and with much severity in his tone, replied +Mr. Howland. He was greatly relieved at this unexpected result; +although neither in word or manner did he let his real feelings +appear. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + + +THE thought that came instantly to the mind of Andrew, when his +father's resolution to send him to sea was mentioned, was the +thought of Emily Winters. For the sake of spending daily a few +quickly passing minutes with her, he had subjected himself to +reprimand, punishment and disgrace. And his mind instantly reacted +against the idea of a separation such as was now threatened. Still +he was too proud and stubborn to think for a moment of retracing any +of the wrong steps he had made. Nothing but the tender appeal of his +mother, whom he did indeed love, amid all his perverseness, could +have subdued him. But for the strong attachment felt for Emily, he +would have received the intelligence that he was about to be sent to +sea, with, pleasure. + +For some time after this, Andrew's external conduct was more +orderly. But there was so much about him to offend his easily +offended father, that he did not escape for even a single day +without a frown or harsh word, which soon had the effect to +extinguish the few good impulses which the recent subjugation of his +will had awakened. He continued to meet Emily on his way to school, +but was careful not to linger in her company go long as before. But +this pleasure was at length denied him. A person who frequently saw +them together, mentioned the fact to Mr. Winters, who immediately +reproved his daughter for the association, and positively forbade +its continuance. Emily had ever been obedient to her parents in all +things, and this command, grievous as it was, she felt bound to +obey. On the day after it was given, Andrew lingered for her in vain +at the place where they had met daily, until after his school hour. +On the next morning he was there earlier than usual, and waited +until past his school hour again. But she did not come. Strictly +obedient to her parents, she had gone another way so as to avoid the +meeting. + +During that day, Andrew was absent from school. Having twice missed +his gentle friend, he had no heart to enter upon his studies, and so +went listlessly wandering about the streets until nearly twelve +o'clock. Then he repaired to the neighborhood of her school, and +waited to see if she was among the scholars at the time of their +dismissal. In a little while the children came pouring forth, and +among them his eager eyes soon caught the form of Emily. He was by +her side in a moment, saying, as he took her hand-- + +"Where have you been? I've looked for you these two days." + +A crimson flush overspread the face of Emily in an instant, and she +gently disengaged the hand he had taken. + +Andrew, who, with all his faults, was proud and sensitive, seemed +startled by this unexpected reception. For a moment or two he stood +gazing upon her downcast face, and then turned from her and walked +rapidly away. As he did so, the little girl lifted toward him her +gentle eyes, that were now full of tears, and stood gazing after him +with a sad expression of countenance until he was out of sight. + +"I don't care for anything now!" Such was the ejaculation of Andrew, +pausing, and throwing himself, with a reckless air, upon a +door-step, so soon as he had passed beyond the view of the friend he +had so loved for years, but who now, from some cause unknown to him, +had become suddenly estranged. "I don't care for anything now," he +repeated. "Let them send me to sea, or anywhere else, if they will! +I don't care! I'm not going to school any more! What do I care for +school? I do nothing right, any how! It's scold, scold, or flog, +flog, all the time! Father says he'll beat goodness into me; but I +guess he's beaten it 'amost all out" + +With such thoughts passing through his mind, the unhappy boy sat, +with his face down, and his head supported on his hands, for some +two or three minutes, when he was startled by a well-known voice, +whose tones were ever like music to his ears, pronouncing his name. + +In an instant he was on his feet. Emily was before him, and her eyes +were now fixed upon his face with a sad expression. + +"Andrew," said she, "don't be angry. It isn't my fault." + +"What isn't your fault?" eagerly inquired the boy, as he grasped her +hand. + +"Father said I mustn't--" + +The little girl hesitated. It seemed as if she couldn't utter the +words. + +"Said what?" + +There was ill-repressed indignation in Andrew's voice. + +"Don't be angry! It frightens me when you are angry!" said Emily, +looking distressed. + +"What did your father say?" asked the boy, in milder tones. + +"He said that I mustn't meet you as I went to school any more," +replied Emily. + +The face of the boy grew crimson, while his lips arched with the +angry indignation that swelled in his bosom. He was about giving a +passionate vent to his feelings, when he was restrained by the look +of distress that overspread the face of his gentle friend, and by +the tears that came slowly stealing from her eyes. + +"Ain't I as good?" + +Thus far Andrew gave utterance to what was in his thoughts, and +then, seeing the tears of Emily, checked himself and became silent. + +"You ain't angry with me, are you?" asked the little girl, laying +her hand upon his, and looking earnestly in his face. + +"No; I'm not angry with you, Emily. I'm never angry with you. But +it's hard. I'd rather see you than anybody. I don't care what +becomes of me now! Let them send me to sea if they will!" + +At the word "sea" Emily's face grew pale, and she said in a choking +voice, + +"O! they won't send you to sea, Andrew?" + +"Father threatened to send me to sea if I didn't attend school +better." + +"But you will attend better, Andrew. I know you will. Oh, it would +be dreadful to be sent to sea!" + +"I don't know. I'd as lief be there as anywhere else, if I can't see +you!" + +"But you will see me sometimes. We can't meet any more as we go to +school; but we'll see each other often, Andrew." + +These words lifted much of the heavy weight that pressed on the +feelings of the boy. + +"When will we see each other?" he asked. + +"I don't know," replied Emily. "Father said we musn't meet going to +school; but there will be other chances. Good-by! I wouldn't like +father to see me here, for then he would think me a very disobedient +girl." + +And saying this, Emily turned and ran fleetly away. Andrew's +feelings were relieved from the pressure that rested upon them. +Still he felt angry and indignant at Mr. Winters, and this state +increasing rather than subsiding, tended to encourage other states +of mind that were not good. With a feeling of rebellion in his heart +he returned home, where he found no difficulty in provoking some +reaction, and in falling under the quickly excited displeasure of +his father, who was ever more inclined to seek than overlook causes +of reproof. The consequence was, that when he left home for school +in the afternoon he felt little inclination to attend, and, after a +slight debate, yielded to this inclination. A little forbearance and +kindness would have softened the child's feelings, and prompted him +to enter the right way. But the iron hand was never relaxed, and +there was no room beneath it for the crushed heart of the boy to +swell with better impulses. + +At supper time, on that evening, the boy was absent. He should have +been at home nearly two hours before. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mr. Howland, as they gathered at the table. + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Mrs. Howland, in a voice touched +with a deeper concern than usual. + +"Has he been home since school was dismissed?" + +"No." + +"Was there ever such a boy!" exclaimed Mr. Howland. + +"Most probably he has been kept in," suggested the mother. + +"Edward, go round to the house of his teacher and ask if he was +dismissed at five o'clock," said Mr. Howland. + +Edward left the table and went on his errand. He soon returned with +word that Andrew had not been to school all day. + +Knife and fork fell from the hands of Mr. Howland, and the mother's +face instantly grew pale. + +"I felt troubled about him all day," murmured the latter. + +"He was home at dinner time?" said Mr. Howland, as he pushed his +chair back from the table. + +"Yes." + +"Oh dear!--oh dear! What is to become of him? I've tried everything +in my power to restrain him from evil, but all is of no avail." + +Just at this moment the street-door bell was rung very violently. As +each one paused to listen, and the room became perfectly silent, the +murmur of many voices could be heard in the street. For a few +moments all was breathless expectation. The sound of the servant's +feet, as she moved along the passage to the door, throbbed on each +heart, and then all sprung from their chairs, as a cry of distress +was uttered by the servant, followed by men's voices, and the +entrance of a crowd of people. + +Poor Mrs. Howland sunk to the floor, nerveless, while Mr. Howland +sprung quickly out of the room. The story was soon told. Andrew had +been out on the river with some other boys in a boat, from which he +had fallen into the water, and was now brought home to his parents, +to all appearance, lifeless. It proved in the end that vitality was +only suspended; after an hour's unremitted effort, by a skillful +physician, the circle of life went on again. + +The shock of this event somewhat subdued the mind of Mr. Howland. He +felt utterly discouraged about the boy. While in this state of +discouragement, he refrained from saying anything to him about his +bad conduct. Indeed, in view of this second narrow escape from +death, his feelings were a good deal softened toward Andrew, and +something like pity took the place of anger. During the two days +that the lad was convalescing, his father said little to him; but +what little he did say was spoken kindly, and with more of a +parental sentiment therein than had been apparent for years. +Electrically did this sentiment reach the heart of Andrew. Once when +Mr. Howland took his hand, and asked in a kind voice how he felt, +tears rushed to his eyes, and his lips quivered so that he could not +reply. This was perceived by Mr. Howland, and he felt that his boy +was not altogether given over to hardness of heart. In that moment +Andrew promised in his own mind, that in future he would be a more +obedient boy. + +Unhappily, Mr. Howland attributed this subdued and better state of +feeling in his son, to the narrow escape from drowning that he had +had, and not to the real cause--the change of his own manner toward +him. Through the feeble moving of sympathy and kindness in his own +heart, there was the beginning of power over the perverse boy, and +this power might have been exercised, had the father possessed +enough of wisdom and self-denial, until he had gained a complete +control over him. But alas! he did not possess this wisdom and +self-denial. He was a hard man, and believed in no virtue but that +of force. He could drive, but not lead. He could hold with an iron +hand, but not restrain by a voice full of the power of kindness. +Before the close of the second day he spoke harshly to Andrew, and +did, thereby, such violence to the boy's feelings, that he turned +his face from him and wept. + +On the third day after the accident Andrew went back to school, and +continued, for a time, to go punctually and to attend (sic) +dilligently to his studies. But soon the angry reaction of his +father, against little acts of thoughtlessness or disobedience, +threw him back into his old state, and he was as bad as ever. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + + +THUS the struggle went on, Mr. Howland's power to control his boy +growing less and less every year. Naturally, considering the +relation of the two families of Mr. Howland and Mr. Winters, and the +bad reputation of the son of the former, the intercourse between +Andrew and Emily was more and more restricted. Still their +friendship for each other remained, to a certain extent, +undiminished, and they met as often as favorable circumstances would +permit. To Emily, the kind feelings entertained for the wayward boy +proved sources of frequent unhappiness. Few opportunities for +speaking against him were omitted by her parents, and she never +heard his name coupled with words of censure without feeling pain. +One half that was said of him she did not believe; for she saw more +of the bright side of his character than did any one else. + +As before intimated, by the time Emily gained her sixteenth year, +she had developed so far toward womanhood, that Andrew, who still +remained a slender boy in appearance, felt his heart tremble as he +looked upon her, and thought of the distance this earlier +development had placed between them. And even a greater distance was +beginning to exist--the distance that lies between a pure mind and +one that is corrupt. As Andrew grew older, he grew worse, and the +sphere of his spiritual quality began to be felt, oppressively, at +times, by Emily, during the periods of their brief intercourse. +Moreover, she was ever hearing some evil thing laid to his charge. +At length their intimate intercourse came to an end, and, with the +termination of this, was removed the last restraint that held the +lad in bounds of external propriety. The cause of this termination +we will relate: As Andrew grew older, he grew more and more +self-willed, and strayed farther and farther from the right way. +Social in his feelings, he sought the companionship of boys of his +own age, and by the time he was seventeen, had formed associations +of a very dangerous character. Though positively forbidden by his +father to be out after night, he disregarded the injunction, and +went from home almost every evening. At home there was nothing to +attract him; nothing to give him pleasure. A shadow was ever on the +brow of his father, and this threw a gloom over the entire +household. But, abroad, among his companions, he found a hundred +things to interest him. All license tends toward further extremes. +It was not long before Andrew found ten o'clock at night too early +for him. The theatre was a place positively interdicted by his +parents; and, restrained by some lingering respect for his mother's +feelings, Andrew had, up to the age of seventeen, resisted the +strong desire he felt to see a play. At last, however, he yielded to +temptation, and went to the theatre. On returning home about eleven +o'clock, he found his father sitting up for him. To the stern +interrogation as to where he had been so late, he replied with +equivocation, and finally with direct falsehood. + +"Andrew," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking with unusual +severity of tone, and with a deliberation and emphasis that +indicated a higher degree of earnestness than usual, "if you are out +again until after ten o'clock, you remain out all night. To this my +mind is fully made up. So act your own good pleasure." + +The father and son then separated. + +Ten o'clock came on the next night, and Andrew had not returned. For +the half hour preceding the stroke of the clock, Mr. Howland had +walked the floor uneasily, with his ear harkening anxiously for the +sound of the bell that marked his son's return; and, as the time +drew nearer and nearer, he half repented the utterance of a law, +that, if broken, could not, he feared, but result in injury to the +disobedient boy. At last the clock struck ten. He paused and stood +listening for over a minute; then he resumed his walk again, and +continued his measured paces for over ten minutes longer, intending +to give his erring son the benefit of that space of time. But he +yielded thus much in his favor in vain. Anger at this deliberate +disobedience of a positive order then displaced a portion of +anxiety, and he closed, mentally, the door upon his child for that +night. + +Of his purpose, Mr. Howland said nothing to his wife. He hoped that +she would be asleep before Andrew returned, if he returned at all +before morning. But in this his hope was not realized. The fact of +Andrew's having staid out so late on the night before had troubled +her all day, and she had made up her mind to sit up for him now +until he came home. + +"Come, Esther, it is time to go to bed," said Mr. Howland to his +wife, seeing that she made no motion towards retiring. + +"You go. I will sit up for Andrew," was replied. + +"Andrew can't come in, to-night," said Mr. Howland. + +The mother sprung to her feet instantly; her face flushing, and then +becoming very pale. + +"I told him, last night, that if he staid out again until after ten +o'clock, there would be no admission for him until morning. And I +shall assuredly keep my word!" + +"Oh, Andrew! Don't, don't do this!" pleaded the unhappy mother, in a +low, choking voice. "Would you turn an erring son from your door, +when danger is hovering around him?" + +"He turns himself away. The act is his, not mine," replied Mr. +Howland, coldly. + +As he spoke, the bell rung. + +"There he is, now!" exclaimed the mother, starting toward the door. + +"Esther!" Mr. Howland stept in front of his wife, and, looking +sternly in her face, added, "Havn't I just said that there was no +entrance for him, to-night?" + +"But it's early! It's only a few minutes after ten," eagerly replied +the mother. + +"It's past ten o'clock, and that settles the matter," returned Mr. +Howland. + +"But where will he go?" asked the mother. + +"To the Station House, if he can find no better place. To-morrow he +will most probably have a higher appreciation of the comforts of +home." + +As Mr. Howland closed this sentence, the bell rung again. + +"Andrew! I must let him in!" exclaimed the mother, in a tone of +anguish, and she made a movement to pass her husband. But a strong +hand was instantly laid upon her arm, and a stern voice said-- + +"Don't interfere with me in this matter, Esther! As the father of +that wayward boy, it is my duty to control him." + +"This is driving him from his home; not controlling him!" + +"I'll bear the responsibility of what I am doing," said Mr. Howland, +impatiently. "Why will you interfere with me in this way?" + +"Is he not _my_ son also?" inquired Mrs. Howland, passing, in her +distress of mind, beyond the ordinary spirit of her intercourse with +her self-willed husband. + +"I am his father," coldly replied the latter, "and knowing my duty +toward him, shall certainly do it." + +The bell was rung again at this moment, and more loudly than before. + +"Oh, Andrew! let me beg of you to open the door!" And Mrs. Howland +clasped her hands imploringly, and lifted her eyes running over with +tears to her husband's face. + +"It cannot be opened to-night, Esther!" was the firm reply. "Have I +not said this over and over again. Why will you continue these +importunities? They are of no avail." + +A loud knocking on the street door was now heard. By this time, a +servant who had retired came down from her room and was moving along +the passage, when Mr. Howland intercepted her, with the question-- + +"Where are you going?" + +"Some one rung the bell," replied the servant. + +"Never mind; go back to your room. You needn't open the door." + +"Andrew isn't in yet," said the servant, respectfully. + +"Didn't I say, go back to your room?" returned Mr. Howland, in a +sharp voice. + +Twice more the bell was rung, and twice more the knocking was +repeated. Then all remained silent. + +"Come, Esther!" said Mr. Howland to his wife, who was sitting on a +sofa, with her face buried in her hands. "Let us go up stairs. It is +late." + +The mother did not stir. + +"Esther! did you hear me?" + +Slowly, more like a moving automaton than a living creature, did +Mrs. Howland arise from her place, and follow her husband up to +their chamber. There, without uttering a word, she partially +disrobed herself, and getting into bed, buried her tearful face in a +pillow. Mr. Howland was soon by her side. Both lay without moving +for nearly half an hour, and then the heavy respiration of the +husband told that he was asleep. The moment this was apparent, Mrs. +Howland, who had lain as still as if locked in deep slumber, crept +softly from the bed, and then, with a quick, eager motion, commenced +putting on a wrapper. This done, she drew a pair of slippers on her +feet, glided noiselessly from the room, and hurried down to the +street door, which she softly opened. + +The mother had hoped to find her erring son still there. But, as she +looked anxiously forth into the darkness, no human form was +perceived. + +"Andrew!" she called, in a low voice, as she stepped from the door, +and threw her eyes up and down the street: "Andrew!" + +But all was silent. Descending to the pavement, she passed along a +few yards to the steps of the next house, a faint hope in her mind +that Andrew might have seated himself there in his disappointment +and fallen asleep. But this hope was not realized. Then she passed +on to the next house, and the next, with the same purpose and the +same result. She was near the corner of the street, when the sound +of a closing door fell upon her ear, and the thought that the wind +might have shut her own door upon her, filled her with sudden alarm. +Running back, she found that what she had feared was too true. She +was alone in the street, half-dressed and with her head uncovered, +and the door, which closed with a dead-latch, shut against her. + +To ring the bell was Mrs. Howland's first impulse. But no one +answered to the summons. Every ear was sealed in slumber, and, even +were that not the case, no one would come down, unless her husband +should awaken, and discover that she was not by his side. Again and +again she pulled the bell. But eagerly though she listened, with her +ear to the door, not the slightest movement was heard within. + +While the mother shrunk close to the door in a listening attitude, +the sound of a slow, heavy step was heard approaching along the +street. Soon the form of a man came in view, and in a little while +he was in front of Mrs. Howland, where he paused, and after standing +and looking at her for a few moments, said, + +"What's the matter here?" + +Mrs. Howland trembled so, that she could make no answer. + +The man put his hand on the iron railing, and lifted one foot upon +the stone steps leading to the door of the house, saying as he did +so, + +"Do you live here?" + +"Yes!" was replied in a low, frightened voice. + +Mrs. Howland now looking at the man more closely, perceived, by his +dress, that he was one of the night policemen, and her heart took +instant courage. + +"Oh," said she, forgetting, for the moment, the unpleasant +circumstances by which she was surrounded, and turning to the man as +she spoke, "have you seen anything of my son--of Mr. Howland's +son--about here to-night?" + +"Mrs. Howland! Is it possible!" replied the man, in a respectful +voice. Then he added, "I saw him go down the street about half an +hour ago." + +"Did you! And do you know where he has gone?" + +"No, ma'am. He passed on out of sight." + +A low moan escaped the mother's lips at this intelligence. A few +moments she stood silent, and then placed her hand upon the +bell-pull and rung for admittance. + +"Is the door locked?" asked the watchman, manifesting surprise. + +"No; the wind blew it to, and it has become fastened with the +dead-latch." + +Both stood silent for some time, but no one answered the bell. The +night dews were falling upon the mother's head, and the night air +penetrating her thin garments. A shiver ran through her frame, and +she felt a constriction of the chest as if she had inhaled sulphur. +Again she rung the bell. + +"Does no one know of your being out?" asked the watchman. + +"All are asleep in the house," replied Mrs. Howland. + +At this the watchman came up the steps, and struck two or three +heavy blows upon the door with his mace, the sound of which went +reverberating through the house, and startling Mr. Howland from his +slumber. But not perceiving immediately that his wife was absent +from her place by his side, and thinking that his son had renewed +his efforts to gain admission, the latter did not make a motion to +rise. In a few moments, however, the repeated strokes of the mace, +to which was added the loud call of a man in the street below caused +him to start up in bed. He then perceived that his wife was not by +his side. With an exclamation, he sprang upon the floor, and +throwing up the window, called out-- + +"Who's there?" + +"Come down and open the door," was answered by the watchman. + +"Who wants to come in?" asked Mr. Howland, his mind beginning by +this time to get a little clear from the confusion into which it was +at first thrown. + +"I do," replied a voice that threw all into bewilderment again. + +"Bless me! What does this mean!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, aloud, yet +speaking to himself. + +"Open the door, quickly," called out Mrs. Howland, in a tone of +distress. "Come down and let me in." + +Hurriedly Mr. Howland now dressed himself and went down. As he +opened the door, his wife glided past him, and ran up stairs. The +watchman retired without speaking to the confused and astonished +husband, who, recovering his presence of mind, reclosed the door and +followed his wife to their chamber. + +"Esther! What is the meaning of all this?" asked Mr. Howland, with +much severity of manner. + +But there was no reply. + +"Will you speak?" said he, in a tone of authority. + +The home-tyrant had gone a step too far. The meek, patient, +long-suffering, much enduring wife, was in no state of mind to bear +further encroachments in the direction from which they were now +coming. Suddenly she raised herself up from whence she had fallen +across the bed, and looking at her husband with an expression that +caused him to step back a pace, involuntarily answered. + +"By what authority do you speak to me thus?" + +"By the authority vested in me as your husband," was promptly +answered. + +"I was on God's errand, Mr. Howland; searching after the weak, the +simple, and the erring! Have you anything to say against the +mission? Does your authority reach above His?" + +And the mother, lifting her hand, pointed trembling finger upward, +while she fixed an eye upon her husband so steady that his own sunk +beneath its gaze. + +For the space of nearly a minute, the attitude of neither changed, +nor was the silence broken. Twice during the time did Mr. Howland +lift his eyes to those of his wife, and each time did they fall, +after a few moments, under the strange half-defiant look they +encountered. At last he said firmly, yet in a more subdued, though +rebuking voice, + +"This to me, Esther?" + +"Am I not a mother?" was asked in response to this, yet without a +perceptible tremor in her voice. + +"You are a wife, as well as a mother," replied Mr. Howland, "and, as +a wife, are under a sacred obligation to regard the authority +committed to your husband by God." + +"Have I not just said to you," returned Mrs. Howland, "that I was on +God's errand? Does your authority go beyond His?" + +"When did He speak to you?" There was a covert sneer in the tone +with which this half impious interrogation was made. + +"I heard his still, small voice in my mother's heart," replied Mrs. +Howland, meekly, "and I went forth obedient thereto, to seek the +straying child you had so harshly and erringly turned from your +door: thus does God shut the door of Heaven against no wandering one +who comes to it and knocks for entrance." + +"Esther! I will not hear such language from your lips!" There was an +unsteadiness in the voice of Mr. Howland, that marked the effect his +wife's unexpected and searching words had produced. + +"Then do not seek to stand between me and my duty as a mother," was +her firm reply. "Too long, already, have you placed yourself between +me and this duty. But that time is past." + +As Mrs. Howland uttered these words, she passed across the room to a +window, which she threw up, and leaning her body out, looked +earnestly up and down the street. For a reaction like this Mr. +Howland was not prepared. He was, in fact, utterly confounded. Had +there been the smallest sign of irresolution on the part of his +wife--the nearest appearance of weakness in the will so suddenly +opposed to his own--he would have known what to do. But nothing of +this was apparent, and he hesitated about advancing again to the +contest, while there was so strong a doubt as to the issue. + +For a long time Mr. Howland moved about the room, while his wife +continued to sit, listening, at the window. + +"Come, Esther," said the former, at length, in a voice greatly +changed from its tone when he last spoke. "You had better retire. It +is useless to remain there. Besides, you are in danger of taking +cold. The air is damp and chilly." + +"You can retire--I shall sleep none, to-night," was answered to +this. And then Mrs. Howland looked again from the window. +"Where--where can he have gone?" she said aloud, though speaking to +herself. "My poor, unhappy boy!" + +Mr. Howland made no answer to this. He had no satisfying +intelligence to offer, nor any words of comfort that it would be of +avail to speak. + +Thus the greater portion of that long remembered night was +passed--Mrs. Howland sitting at the window, vainly waiting and +watching for her son, and Mr. Howland walking the floor of the room, +his mind given up to troubled and rebuking thoughts. In his hardness +and self-will he had justified himself up to this in his course of +conduct pursued toward his children; but he was in doubt now. A +question as to whether he had been right or not had come into his +mind, and disturbed him to the very centre. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + + +WHEN Mr. Howland threatened his son with exclusion from the house, +if he were away at ten o'clock, Andrew's feelings were in a state of +reaction against his father, and he said to himself, in a rebellious +spirit-- + +"We'll see if you will." + +But after growing cooler, he came into a better state of mind; and, +in view of consequences such as he knew would be visited on him, +decided not to come in contact with his father in this +particular--at least not for the present. If turned from his own +door at midnight, where was he to find shelter? This question he +could not answer to his own satisfaction. + +After supper, on the evening succeeding that in which he had visited +the theatre, Andrew left home and went to an engine-house. in the +neighborhood, where he joined about a dozen lads and young men as +idle and aimless as himself. With these he spent an hour or two, +entering into their vicious and debasing conversation, when a person +with whom he had gone to see the play on the previous evening, +proposed to him to go around to the theatre again. Andrew objected +that he had no money, but the other said that he could easily +procure checks, and volunteered to ask for them. Still Andrew, whose +thoughts were on the passing time, refused to go. He meant to be +home before the clock struck ten. + +"Come round with me, then," urged the lad. + +"What time is it?" asked Andrew. + +"Only a little after nine o'clock," was replied. + +"Are you certain?" + +"Oh, yes. I heard the clock strike a short time ago. It isn't more +than a quarter past nine." + +"I thought it was later than that." + +"No. It's early yet; so, come along. I want to talk to you." + +Thus urged, Andrew went with the boy. The theatre was some distance +away. Just as they reached it, a clock was heard to strike. + +"Bless me!" exclaimed Andrew. +Three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--TEN!" And, as he uttered +the last word, he started back the way he had come, running at full +speed. It was ten o'clock--the hour he was required to be at home, +under penalty of having the door closed against him. How troubled he +felt! How strongly his heart beat! He had not intended to disregard +his father's command in this instance. In fact, during the day, he +had reflected more than usual, and many good resolutions had formed +themselves in his mind. + +"I wish I could be better," he said to himself involuntarily, a +great many times. And then he would sigh as he thought of the +difficulties that were in his way. At dinner time he came to the +table with his feelings a good deal subdued. But it so happened, +that, during the morning, Mr. Howland had heard of some impropriety +of which he had been guilty a month previous, and felt called upon +to reprimand him, therefore, with considerable harshness. The +consequence was, that the boy left the table without finishing his +dinner, at which his father became very much incensed. The angry +feelings of the latter had not subsided when tea-time came, and he +met the family at their evening meal with the clouded face he too +often wore. The supper hour passed in silence. After leaving the +table, Andrew, to whom the sphere of the house was really +oppressive, from its entire want of cheerfulness and mutual good +feeling, went out to seek the companionship of those who were more +congenial. + +"There's nothing pleasant here," he said, as he stood in the door, +half disposed to leave the house. "If there only was! But I won't +think of it!" he added with impulsive quickness; and, as he murmured +these words, he descended the steps to the street, and walked slowly +away. + +Thus, it will be seen, the wayward boy was virtually driven out by +the harshness and want of sympathy which prevailed at home, to seek +the society of those who presented a more attractive exterior, but +who were walking in the paths of evil, and whose steps tended to +destruction. + +But, though thus thrust out, as it were, from the circle of safety, +Andrew still preserved his intention of being at home at the hour +beyond which his father had warned him not to be away. It has been +seen how, through an error as to time, he was betrayed into +unintentional transgression. Not an instant did he pause on his +return from the theatre, but ran all the way homeward at a rapid +speed. Arriving at the door, he pulled the bell, and then stood +panting from excitement. For a short time he waited, in trembling +anxiety, but no one answered his summons. Then he rung the bell more +violently than before. Still none came to let him in, and his heart +began to fail him. + +"Surely father don't mean to keep me out!" said he to himself. "He +wouldn't do that. Where am I to go for shelter at this hour?" + +And again he pulled the bell, causing it to ring longer and louder +than before. Then he leaned close to the door and listened, but no +sound reached his ears. Growing impatient, he next tried knocking. +All his efforts to gain admission, however, proved unavailing; and +ceasing at last to ring or knock, he sat down upon the stone steps, +and covering his face with his hands, wept bitterly. For over a +quarter of an hour he remained seated at the threshold of his +father's house, from which he had been excluded. During that period, +much of his previous life passed in review before him, and the +conclusions of the boy's mind were at last expressed in these +words-- + +"I believe father hates the very sight of me! He says I'm going to +ruin, and so I am; but he is driving me there. What does he think +I'm going to do, to-night? If he cared for me, would he let me sleep +in the streets? I have tried to do right, but it was of no use. When +I tried the hardest, he was the crossest, and made me do wrong +whether I would or not. I don't care what becomes of me now!" + +As Andrew uttered these last words, a reckless spirit seized him, +and starting up, he walked away with a firm step. But he had gone +only a block or two, before his mind again became oppressed with a +sense of his houseless condition, and pausing, he murmured, in a sad +under tone-- + +"Where shall I go?" + +For a little while he stood irresolute, and then moved on again. For +several squares farther he walked, with no definite purpose in his +mind, when he came to a row of three or four unfinished houses, the +door of one of which was partially opened; at least so much so, that +it was only necessary to pull off a narrow strip of board in order +to effect an entrance. With the sight of these houses came the +suggestion to the mind of Andrew that he might find a place to sleep +therein for the night, and acting upon this, he passed up the plank +leading to the door least securely fastened, and soon succeeded in +getting it open. But, just as he stepped within, a heavy hand was +laid upon him from behind, and a rough voice said-- + +"What are you doing here, sir?" + +Turning, Andrew found himself in the custody of a policeman. + +For a few moments every power of mind and body forsook the unhappy +boy, and he stood shrinking and stammering before the officer--thus +confirming a suspicion of intended incendiarism in the mind of that +functionary. + +"Come! you must go with me." And the officer commenced moving down +the plank that connected the door with the ground, drawing Andrew +after him. + +"I was only going to sleep there," said the frightened boy, as soon +as the power of speech had returned. + +"Of course," returned the policeman, "I understand all that. But +I'll find a better place in which you can spend the night. So come +along with me." + +Remonstrance on the part of Andrew was all in vain, and so, watching +an opportunity, he made an effort to escape. But he ran only a few +yards before he was tripped up by the officer, when falling, he +struck his forehead on the curb-stone, wounding it severely. + +"Look here!" said the officer, in a resolute voice, passing his +heavy mace before the eyes of Andrew; "if you try this again I'll +knock you senseless!" + +Then grasping his arm more firmly, he added-- + +"Move along quickly!" + +With his head aching severely from the fall, and the blood trickling +down his face from the wound on his forehead, Andrew walked along by +the side of the officer, who continued to keep hold of him. In +passing under a gas-lamp, they met a lady and gentleman. The former +Andrew recognized at a glance, and she knew him, even with his +bloody face, and uttered a cry of surprise and alarm. It was Emily +Winters returning with her father from the house of a friend, where +they had stayed to an unusually late hour. The officer was about +pausing, but Andrew sprung forward, saying as he did so, in an under +tone-- + +"Don't stop!" + +At the same instant Mr. Winters urged on his daughter, and the +parties were separated in a moment. + +"Unhappy boy!" said the father of Emily, who had also recognized +Andrew, "his folly and evil are meeting a just but severe return. +His poor mother!--when she hears of this it will almost break her +heart. What an affliction to have such a son!" + +"Did you see the blood on his face?" asked Emily, in a choking +voice, while her hand shook so violently, as it rested on the arm +of, her father, that he felt the tremor in every nerve. + +"I did," he replied. + +"What was the matter? He must be badly hurt. What could have done +it?" + +"He's been quarreling with some one, I presume," coldly replied Mr. +Winters, who did not like the interest his daughter manifested. + +Emily made no reply to this, and they walked the rest of the way +home in silence. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + + + +IT was within an hour of daylight when Mrs. Howland, worn down by +her long vigil, fell asleep, and an hour after the sun had risen, +before her troubled slumber was broken. Then starting up, she +eagerly inquired of her husband, who had already arisen, and was +walking about the room, if Andrew had yet returned. Mr. Howland +merely shook his head. + +Soon after, breakfast was announced, and the family assembled at the +table; but one place was vacant. + +"Where is Andrew?" asked Mary. + +No answer was made to this question; and Mary saw by the expression +of her parents faces, that to repeat it would not be agreeable. A +few moments afterward the bell rung. As the steps of a servant were +heard moving along the passage toward the door, Mr. and Mrs. Howland +sat listening in breathless expectation. Soon the servant came down, +and said that a man wished to see Mr. Howland. + +At these words the latter started up from the table and left the +room. At the street door he found a man, whose appearance indicated +his attachment to the police of the city. + +"Mr. Howland!" said he, respectfully, yet with the air of a man who +had something not very agreeable to communicate. + +"That is my name," replied Mr. Howland, striving, but in vain, to +assume an air of unconcern. + +"You are wanted at the Mayor's office," said the policeman. + +"For what purpose?" was inquired. + +"Your son is before his Honor, on a charge of attempting to set fire +to a row of new buildings last night." + +At this intelligence, Mr. Howland uttered an exclamation of +distress, and stepping back a pace or two, leaned heavily against +the wall. + +"Well! What is wanted with me?" asked the unhappy father, recovering +himself, after a few moments. + +"To go his bail," replied the officer. "The Mayor demands a thousand +dollars bail, in default of which, he will have to go to prison and +there await his trial." + +"Let him go to prison!" said Mr. Howland, in a severe tone of voice. +He was beginning to regain his self-possession. + +"No, Andrew!" came firmly from the lips of Mrs. Howland, who had +followed her husband, unperceived, to the door, and who had heard +the dreadful charge preferred against her son. "Don't say that! Go +and save him from the disgrace and wrong that now hang over his +head--and go quickly!" + +"Yes, Mr. Howland," said the officer, "your lady is right. You +should not let him go to prison. That will do him no good. And, +moreover, he may be innocent of the crime laid to his charge." + +"He must be innocent. My boy has many faults, but he would not be +guilty of a crime like this," said Mrs. Howland. "Oh, Mr. Howland! +go! go quickly and save him from these dreadful consequences. If you +do not, I must fly to him. They shall not imprison my poor boy!" + +"This is folly, Esther!" returned Mr. Howland, severely. "He has got +himself, by his bad conduct, into the hands of the law, and it will +do him good to feel its iron grip. I am clear for letting him at +least go to prison, and remain there for a few days. By that time he +will be sick enough of his folly." + +"I would not advise this," suggested the officer. "Depend upon it, +if his present position is of no avail toward working change for the +better--sending him to prison will harden, rather than reform him." + +"Andrew!" said Mrs. Howland, with a firmness and decision of tone +that marked a high degree of resolution on her part--"if you do not +go his bail, I will find some person who will." + +"Esther!" The offended husband fixed a look of stern rebuke upon his +wife; but her large eyes looked steadily into his, and he saw in +them, not rebellion, or anger--but a spirit that his own heart told +him instinctively, it would be folly for him to oppose. That look +determined his action. + +"I'll go with you," said he, after pausing a few moments, turning to +the officer as he spoke. + +The charge brought against Andrew by the watchman, was an intention +to set fire to the buildings in which he found him. Several +unfinished houses had been burned of late, and there was some +excitement in the public mind thereat. Had it not been for this, +Andrew might have made his way into the building where he intended +to sleep, without, in all probability, attracting attention. +Unfortunately for him, a few matches were found in one of his +pockets. This fact, added to his attempt to escape, and the rather +exaggerated statement of the watchman, caused the Mayor to look upon +the case as one that ought to go before the Court. He accordingly +decided to require an appearance, under bail. + +Not a word was spoken to Andrew by his stern father, on the arrival +of the latter at the Mayor's office. Mr. Howland looked at the +evidence which went to support the charge of intended incendiarism +against his son, and to his mind, prejudiced as it was against that +son, the evidence was conclusive. In fact, the watchman's eyes had +seen rather more, than in reality, was to be seen, and his testimony +was strongly colored. + +The required security given, Mr. Howland, without turning toward his +son, or speaking to him, left the office. + +"You can go home, young man," said the Mayor, addressing Andrew. + +"Oh, sir!" exclaimed the unhappy boy, in a distressed tone--"I am +not guilty of this thing. Father turned me from the door because I +was not at home at ten o'clock, and I had no place to sleep." + +"Disobedience to parents ever brings trouble," replied the Mayor, in +a voice of admonition. "Go home, and try to behave better in future. +If innocent, you will no doubt be able to make it so appear when +your trial comes on before the Court." + +Slowly the lad arose, and with a troubled and downcast look, retired +from the office. + +"Where is Andrew?" eagerly asked the mother, as Mr. Howland entered +the house, after returning from the errand upon which he had gone. + +"I left him at the Mayor's office," was coldly replied. + +"Did you go his bail?" + +"Yes." + +"Why didn't he come home with you?" + +"I didn't ask him." + +"Andrew!" + +Mr. Howland started at the tone of voice with which his name was +pronounced. Again there was an expression in the eyes of his wife +that subdued him. + +"I gave bail for his appearance at Court, and then came away. He +will, no doubt, be home in a few minutes," he replied. "But I do not +wish to hold any intercourse with him; for he has disgraced both +himself and me." + +"Is he not your son?" asked the mother, solemnly. + +"He is not a son worthy of affection and regard." + +"Andrew! when the sons of men wandered far away from God, and broke +all his laws, did He turn from them as you have turned from this +erring boy? No! All day long He stretched forth His hands to them, +and said, in a voice full of infinite kindness, 'Return unto Me; why +will you die?' It is not Godlike to be angry at those who sin +against us; but Godlike to draw them back with cords of love from +error. Oh, Andrew! you have wronged this boy!" + +"Esther! I will not hear the utterance of such language from any +one!" exclaimed Mr. Howland, whose imperious nature could ill brook +an accusation like this. + +"I have uttered only what I believe to be true," answered the wife, +in a milder tone, yet with a firmness that showed her spirit to be +unsubdued. No further words passed between them. Half an hour +afterward, up to which time Andrew had not come home, Mr. Howland +left the house and went to his place of business. + +Time passed on until nearly noon, and yet Andrew was still away. +Mrs. Howland, whose mind was in a state of strong excitement, could +bear her suspense and fear no longer, and she resolved to go out and +seek for her wandering son. She had dressed herself, and was just +taking up her bonnet, as the door of her room opened, and Andrew +came in, looking pale and distressed. Across his forehead was a +deep, red mark, the scar left by the wound he received, when he fell +on the pavement, in the attempt to escape from the watchman. + +"My son!" exclaimed Mrs. Howland, in a voice that thrilled the poor +boy's heart--for it was full of sympathy and tenderness--and then +she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. + +Overcome by this reception, Andrew wept aloud. As soon as he could +speak, he said-- + +"Indeed, indeed, mother! I am innocent. You wouldn't let me in last +night, and I was going to sleep in the building, when the watchman +came and said I meant to set it on fire! I'm bad enough, mother, but +not so wicked as that! Why should I set a house on fire?" + +"I didn't believe it for a moment, Andrew," replied Mrs. Howland. +"But, oh! isn't it dreadful?" + +"I'm not to blame, mother," said the weeping boy. "I didn't mean to +stay out later than ten. But I was deceived in the time. I was a +good way off when the clock struck, and I ran home as fast as I +could. I'm sure it wasn't ten minutes after when I rang the bell. +But nobody would let me in; not even _you_, mother--and I thought so +hard of _that!_" + +With what a pang did these last words go through the heart of Mrs. +Howland. + +"I wanted to let you in," replied the mother, "but your father said +that I must not do so." + +"And so you left me to sleep in the streets," said the boy, with +much bitterness. "I couldn't have turned a dog off in that way!" + +"Don't, don't speak so, Andrew! You will break my heart!" returned +the mother, sobbing, "I did open the door for you, but you were not +there." + +"I knocked and rung a good while." + +"I know. But I had to wait until your father was asleep. Then I went +down, but it was too late." + +"Yes--yes, it was too late," said Andrew, speaking now in a firmer +voice. "And it is too late now. I am to be tried as a felon, and it +may be, will be sent to the State Prison. Oh, dear!" + +And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. + +What little comfort she had to offer her unhappy child, was offered +by Mrs. Howland. But few rays of light came through the heavy clouds +that enveloped both of their hearts. + +At dinner time, Andrew declined meeting his father at the table. + +"Go and tell him," said the unyielding man, when the servant, who +had been sent to his room to call him to dinner, came back and said +that he did not wish to come down, "that he cannot have a mouthful +to eat unless he comes to the table." + +"No, no, Andrew--don't say that!" quickly spoke Mrs. Howland. + +"I do say it, and I mean it," replied Mr. Howland, fixing his eyes +rebukingly upon his wife. + +Mrs. Howland answered nothing. But her purpose to stand between her +unrelenting husband and wandering son, was none the less fixed; and +in her countenance Mr. Howland read this distinctly. Accordingly, so +soon as the latter had left the house, she took food to Andrew, who +still remained in his room, at the same time that she expressed to +him her earnest wish that he would meet the family at the tea-table +in the evening. + +"I don't want to meet father," he replied to this. "He will only +frown upon me." + +"He is, of course, very much fretted at this occurrence," said the +mother. "And you cannot much wonder at it, Andrew." + +"He is more to blame than I am," was answered in an indignant tone. + +"Don't speak of your father in that way, my son," said the mother, a +gentle reproof in her voice. + +"I speak as I feel, mother. Is it not so?" + +An argument on this subject Mrs. Howland would not hold with her +boy, and she therefore changed it; but she did not cease her appeals +to both his reason and his feelings, until he yielded to her wishes. +At supper time he joined the family at table--it was his first +meeting with his father since morning. Oh, what an intense desire +did he feel for a kind reception from his stern parent! It seemed to +him that such a reception would soften everything harsh and +rebellious, and cause him to throw himself at his feet, and make the +humblest confessions of error, and the most truthful promise of +future well doing. Alas! for the repentant boy! no such reception +awaited him. His father did not so much as turn his eyes upon his +son, and, during the meal, maintained a frigid silence. Andrew ate +but a few mouthfuls. He had no appetite for food. On leaving the +table, he went into one of the parlors, whither he was followed in a +little while, by his younger brother, Edward, who was, by nature, +almost as hard and unsympathsizing as his father. It was the first +time, on that day, that the two boys had been alone. + +"Set a house on fire!" said Edward, in a half-sneering, +half-censorious, tantalizing voice. + +"If you say that again, I'll knock you down!" fell sharply from the +lips of Andrew, in whom his father's repulsive coldness was +beginning to awaken bad feelings. + +"Set a house on fire!" repeated Edward, in a tone still more +aggravating. + +The words had scarcely left his tongue, ere the open hand of his +brother came along side of his head, with a force that knocked him +across the room. At this instant Mr. Howland entered. He made no +inquiry as to the cause of the blow he saw struck, but took it for +granted that it was an unprovoked assault of Andrew upon his +brother. Yielding to the impulse of the moment, he caught the former +by the arm, in a fierce grip, and struck him with his open hand, as +he had struck his brother, repeating the blow three or four times. + +Andrew neither shrunk from the blows, cried out, nor offered the +smallest resistance, but stood firmly, until his incensed father had +satisfied his outraged feelings. + +"You forgot, I suppose, that I could strike also?" said the latter +angrily, when he released his son from the tight grasp, with which +he held him. + +"No sir," replied Andrew, with a calmness that surprized, yet still +more incensed his father; "I thought nothing about it. I punished +Edward as he deserved; and if he says to me what he did just now, +will repeat the punishment, if it cost me my life." + +"Silence!" cried Mr. Howland. + +"I said nothing but the truth," spoke up Edward. + +"What did you say?" inquired the father. + +"I told him that he'd set a house on fire." + +"And lied when he said it," calmly and deliberately spoke Andrew. + +"Silence! I'll have no such language in my presence!" angrily +retorted Mr. Howland. + +"It is bad enough to be accused falsely by a lying policeman," said +Andrew, "but to have the charge repeated by my own brother is more +than I can or will bear. And I warn Edward, in your presence, not to +try the experiment again. If he does he will not escape so lightly." + +"Silence, I say!" + +Andrew remained silent. + +"Edward, leave the room," said Mr. Howland. There was little +sternness in his voice, as he thus spoke to his favorite boy. + +The lad retired. For several minutes Mr. Howland walked the floor, +and Andrew who had seated himself, waited in a calm, defiant spirit, +for him to renew the interview. It was at length done in these +words-- + +"What do you expect is to become of you, sir?" + +Not feeling inclined to answer such an interrogation, Andrew +continued silent. + +"Say!" repeated the father, "what do you think is to become of you?" + +Still the boy answered not a word. + +"Under bail to answer for a crime--" + +"Which I never committed--nor designed to commit!" spoke up Andrew, +quickly interrupting his father, and fixing his eyes upon, him with +an unflinching gaze. + +"It is easy to make a denial. But the evidence against you is +positive." + +"The evidence against me is a positive lie!" was Andrew's indignant +response. + +"I won't be talked to in this way!" said Mr. Howland, in an offended +tone. "No son of mine shall insult me!" + +"A strange insult to a father, for a son to declare himself innocent +of a crime falsely laid to his charge," replied Andrew, with a +strong rebuke in his voice. "A true father would be glad--" + +"Silence!" again fell harshly from the lips of Mr. Howland. +"Silence, I say; I will hear no such language from a son of mine!" + +Without a word, Andrew arose, and, retiring from the room, took up +his hat and left the house--the relation between him and his father +by no means in a better position than it was before. Within a few +minutes of ten o'clock the boy returned, and, being admitted, went +up to his room without joining the family. + +On the next morning, one or two of the daily papers contained an +account of Andrew's arrest, with his father's name and all the +particulars of the transaction. Any one reading this account, with +the reporter's comment, could not help but believe that Andrew was a +desperate bad boy, and undoubtedly guilty in design of incendiarism. + +"See what a disgrace you have brought upon us!" exclaimed Mr. +Howland, flinging a paper, containing this mortifying intelligence +in the face of his son. + +The boy took up the paper, and read the paragraph referred to with a +burning cheek. He made no remark, but sat for some time in a state +of profound abstraction. No one guessed the thoughts that were +passing through his mind, nor the utter hopelessness that was lying, +with a heavy weight, upon his spirit. Before him was the image of +Emily. She had seen him with his blood-disfigured face, in the hands +of the watchman; and now she would see this slanderous story, and +what was worse, believe it! + +Some two hours subsequently, while walking along the street, Andrew +perceived Emily, within a few paces of him. He looked her steadily +in the face, and saw that she saw him; for a quick flush overspread +her countenance. But, averting her eyes, she passed him without a +further sign of recognition. + +At night-fall, the boy did not return to his home. + +Anxiously did the time pass with Mrs. Howland until ten o'clock, and +yet he was away. Eleven--twelve--one o'clock, pealed on the ear of +the watching mother, but he came not. It was all in vain that her +husband remonstrated with her. His words passed her unheeded; and +she remained waiting and watching, until near the hour of morning, +but her waiting and watching were all in vain. + +Two days passed--yet there came no tidings of the absent boy. On the +third day, Mrs. Howland received the following letter:-- + +"MY DEAR MOTHER:--I have left my home--forever! What is to become of +me, I do not know. But I can remain with you no longer. Father +treats me like a dog--or worse than a dog; and he has never treated +me much better. I have tried to do right a great many times; but it +was of no use. The harder I tried to do right, the more he found +fault with me. He was always blaming me for something I didn't do. +It is all a lie of the watchman's about my setting the house on +fire. Such a thing never entered my mind. Father (sic) would't let +me in, and I had to sleep somewhere. He wouldn't speak a word for me +in the Mayor's office. So it's all his fault that I am to be tried +before the Court. But I'm not going to be sent to the Penitentiary. +Father is my bail for a thousand dollars. I shall be sorry if he has +to pay it; but it will be better for him to do that, than for me to +go to the Penitentiary for nothing. So, good-by, mother, I love you! +You have always been good to me. If father had been as good, I would +have been a better boy. Don't grieve about me. It's better that I +should leave home. You'll all be happier. If I ever return to you, I +will be different from what I am now. Farewell mother! Don't forget +me. I will never forget you. Don't grieve about me. The thought of +that troubles me the most. But it is better for me to go away, +mother--better for us all. Farewell. + +"ANDREW." + + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + + + + +A YEAR elapsed before any tidings of the wanderer came. Then Mrs. +Howland received a few lines from him, dated in a Southern city, +where he spoke of having just arrived from South America. He had +little to say of himself, beyond that he was well; and did not speak +of visiting home. + +After reading this letter, Mrs. Howland placed it in the hands of +her husband, who read it also, and then gave it back without a +remark. He checked an involuntary sigh as he did so. Not the +slightest reference was made to him by his son; a fact that he did +not overlook, and that he did not observe without a sense of +disappointment. The long absence of his wayward boy had softened his +feelings toward him; and with pain he remembered many acts of +harshness that now seemed to have in them too much of the element of +severity. At the term of the Court, which was held soon after Andrew +went away, the Grand Jury failed to obtain sufficient evidence to +justify the finding of a bill against him, and released the security +given for his appearance at Court. This fact, with a previous +questioning of the policeman by whom Andrew had been arrested, +satisfied Mr. Howland that the boy had been unjustly suspected of an +intention to commit a crime. But this conviction had come too late. +The effects of that unjust accusation had already fallen in sad +consequences upon the head of the poor boy; and the father could not +force from his mind the painful conviction that he was, mainly, +responsible for these consequences. + +Another year went by, but during all the time, no further tidings +came of Andrew. To his first letter, Mrs. Howland had immediately +replied, urging him, by every tender consideration, to return to his +home. But she had no means of knowing whether it had ever been +received. Upon her the effect of his absence had been, for a time, +of the most serious character. For a few weeks after he went away, +both body and mind were prostrated; to this succeeded a state of +mental depression, which continued so long that her friends began to +fear for her reason. Not until after the lapse of a year, when she +received the above-mentioned letter from her son, did her mind +attain to anything like its former state. The knowledge that he was +yet, alive, that he thought of her, and still cherished her memory, +gave a new impulse to her fainting spirit, and a quicker motion to +the circle of life. There was yet room to hope for him. But, as time +went on, there came not back even a faint echo to the voice she had +sent after him, her heart failed her again. Yet time, which imparts +strength to all in trouble, had done its work for her also. The care +and labor that ever attend the mother's position among her children, +had bent her thoughts so much away from Andrew, that, while his +absence left a constant weight upon her feelings, it did not crush +them down as before, into a waveless depression. + +The second year of Andrew's absence came to a close; but nothing +further was heard from him. And it was the same with the third, +fourth, and fifth years. In the meantime, there had been many +changes in Mr. Howland's family. Mary had married against her +father's wishes, and both herself and husband had been so unkindly +treated by him on the occasion and afterward, that neither of them +visited at his house. + +Henry Markland, the husband of Mary, had been rather a gay young +man, and this, with some other things which had come to his ears, +created a prejudice in the mind of Mr. Howland against him. As to +what was good in Markland, and likely to overbalance defects, he did +not inquire. The hue of his prejudice colored everything. Men like +Mr. Howland, who seek to bend everything into forms suited to their +own narrow range of ideas, are rarely successful in attaining their +ends. The principle of freedom is too deeply interwoven with all the +tissues of the human mind to admit of this. From. earliest infancy +there is a reaction against arbitrary power; and, those who are +wise, have long since discovered that it is a much easier task to +lead than force the young into right ways. Those who would truly +govern children, must first learn to govern themselves. Let a parent +break his own imperious will before he tries to break the will of +his child; and he will be far more successful in the work he essays. +to perform. But not so had Mr. Howland learned his duty in life. +Without being, aware of the fact, he was a domestic tyrant, and +sought to establish a family despotism. And the worst of the whole +was, he did nearly all this work in the name of religion! Not that +he was a hypocrite. No; Mr. Howland was sincere in his professions +of piety. But he was a narrow-minded man, and did much in the name +of religion, that in no way harmonized with its true character. His +faith was a blind faith, and he sacrificed to the god of his +imagination in the unyielding spirit of a dehumanizing superstition. +Of necessity, he marred everything upon which he sought to impress +the form of his own mind. + +Erroneous judgment of others is almost certain to mark the +conclusions of such a man's mind; and it is no wonder that Mr. +Howland erred in his conclusions respecting the true character of +his daughter's husband, who had in him many good qualities, and was +sincerely attached to Mary. The great defect appertaining to him, +was the fact that he was not a church member. Mr. Howland did not +look past the veil of a profession, to see if there was in the +ground work of the young man's character a basis of right +principles--the only true foundation upon which a religious +structure can be built. Because he did not belong to the church, and +make an open profession, he classed him with the irreligious, and +considered him as one whose feet were moving swiftly along the road +to destruction. + +And so, instead of wisely seeking to win the confidence of the young +man, that he might gain an influence over him for good, Mr. Howland, +offended because his daughter could not obey him in a matter so +vital to her happiness, angrily repulsed and insulted both of them, +even after he saw that a marriage was inevitable. The consequence +was, as has been mentioned, that Markland, who possessed an +independent spirit, would not go to the house of his father-in-law; +and Mary, resenting the wanton attacks that had been made upon her +husband's feelings in more than one or two instances, absented +herself also. Mr. Howland, however much he might regret the hardness +of his unavailing opposition, was not the man to yield anything; and +so the breach remained open, in spite of all the grieving mother's +efforts to heal it. + +Of all his children, Mr. Howland saw most to hope for in Edward, who +early perceived it to be his best policy to humor his father, and, +by that means, gain the ends he had in view. Cold in his +temperament, he was generally able to control himself in a way to +deceive his father as to the real motives that were in his heart. +Thus, while Mr. Howland, by his peculiar treatment of his children, +drove some of them off, he made this one a hypocrite. + +Not the smallest affection existed between Edward and the other +children, who knew too well the selfish and evil qualities that lay +concealed beneath an external of propriety, put on especially for +his father's eyes. The mother, too, saw beneath the false exterior +assumed by her son, who treated her, except when his father was +present, with little respect or affection. + +Martha, the youngest, was a sweet tempered girl, who had managed to +keep, as a general thing, beyond the sphere of antagonism that +marked the intercourse of the other children. To her mother, as she +grew up, she proved a source of comfort; and she could, at almost +any time, dispel by her smiles the cloud that too often rested on +the brow of her morose father. + +On reaching his seventeenth year, Edward had been placed in a store +by his father, for the purpose of acquiring knowledge of mercantile +affairs. A young man in this position, if he has any ambition to +make his way in the world, soon gets his mind pretty well filled +with money-making ideas, and sees the way to wealth opening in a +broad vista before him. Every day he hears about this, that, and the +other one, who started in business but a few years before, with +little or no capital, and who are now worth their tens of thousands; +and he thus learns to aspire after wealth, without being made to +feel sensibly the fact, that the number who grow rich rapidly are as +one to a hundred compared with those who succeed as the result of +small beginnings united with long continued and untiring +application. Long before Edward reached his twenty-first year, he +had so fully imbibed the spirit of the atmosphere in which he +breathed, that his mind was made up to go into business for himself +as soon as he attained his majority. This idea Mr. Howland sought to +discourage in his son; but Edward never gave it up. Soon after he +was twenty-one, an offer to go into a business, that promised a +large return was made, provided a few thousand dollars capital could +be furnished. Not a moment did Edward rest until he had prevailed +upon his father, ever too ready to yield a weak compliance to the +wishes of this son, to place in his hands the amount of money +required. To do this, was, at the time, no easy matter for Mr. +Howland, whose own business was far from being as good as usual and +whose pecuniary affairs were not in the most easy condition. Six +thousand dollars was the amount of capital he was obliged to raise, +and it was not accomplished without considerable sacrifice. + +Edward and his partner were what are usually called "enterprising +young men," and they drove ahead in the business they had undertaken +at a kind of railroad speed, calculating their profits at an +exceedingly high range. It is not surprising that, by the end of the +first year, they required a little more capital to help them through +with their engagements, the furnishing of which fell upon Mr. +Howland; who, in this emergency, passed his notes to the new firm +for several (sic) thonsand dollars. + +It is not our purpose to trace, step by step, the progress of this +young man in the work of ruining his father and disgracing himself +by dishonest practices in business. Enough, that in the course of +three years, the "enterprising young men," who made from the +beginning such rapid strides toward fortune, found their course +suddenly checked, and themselves involved in hopeless bankruptcy. +But, with themselves rested not the evil consequences of failure; +others were included in the disaster, and among them Mr. Howland, +who was so badly crippled as to be obliged to call his creditors +together, and solicit a reduction and extension of the claims they +had against him. To Mr. Howland, this was a crushing blow. He was +not only a man who strictly regarded honesty in his dealings, but he +was proud of his honesty, and in his pride, had often been harsh in +his judgment of others when in circumstances similar to those in +which he was now placed. To be forced to ask of his creditors both a +reduction and an extension, humiliated him to a degree, that for a +time, almost deprived him of the power of doing business. From that +time, there was a perceptible change in the man of iron. His tall, +erect form seemed to shrink downward; his head bent toward his +bosom, and the harsh lines on his brow and around his less tightly +closed lips grew softer. His indignation against Edward was so +great, when he finally comprehended the character of the +transactions in which he had been engaged, involving as they did a +total absence of integrity, that he turned his back upon him +angrily, saying, as he did so-- + +"Never come into my presence again, until you come an honest man!" + +On the day after this utterance of the father's indignant feelings, +Edward left the city; and it was the opinion of many that he went +with a pocket full of money. They were not far wrong. + +Thus, of all his children, only the youngest remained with Mr. +Howland. All the rest were estranged from him; and in spite of all +his efforts to push the conviction from his mind, he could not help +feeling that he was to blame for the estrangement. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + + + + +NEARLY eight years from the time Andrew Howland left his home have +passed, and we now bring him before the reader as a discharged +United States' dragoon, having just concluded a five years' service +in the far West. He had enlisted, rather than steal, at a time when +he found it impossible to obtain employment, and had gone through +the hard and humiliating service of a trooper on our extreme +frontier, under an assumed name, omitting to write home during the +entire period, lest by any chance a knowledge of his position might +be communicated to his mother, and (her memory had never faded) to +Emily Winters. The images of these two, the only ones he loved in +the world, were green in his bosom. They were drawing him homeward +with a force of attraction that grew stronger and stronger as the +end of his service approached. Nearly three years had elapsed since +he had met any one recently from the East who was able to answer, +satisfactorily, the few inquiries he ventured to make; and now he +was all impatience to return. + +Steadily, for a long time, had the young man looked forward to this +period; and in order to have the means of effecting a thorough +change in his external appearance, and to be able to support himself +after his return East, until he obtained some kind of employment, he +had left nearly all his pay in the hands of the disbursing officer. +It now amounted to nearly two hundred dollars. + +It was in Santa Fe that Andrew obtained his discharge from the +United States' service. This was soon after the conclusion of the +peace with Mexico, and about the time when the first exciting news +came of golden discoveries on the tributaries of the Sacramento. + +On the day after Andrew received his discharge, and while making +preparations for his journey eastward, a company, in which were +several new recruits arrived from the Wachita. Among them he +discovered a young man from P--, to whom he put the direct +question. + +"Do you know a Mr. Howland of your city?" + +"Andrew Howland, the merchant?" inquired the young man, who was not +over twenty-one years of age. + +"Yes," returned Andrew, in a tone of affected indifference. + +"His store is in the same block with my father's." + +"Indeed! What is your father's name?" + +The young man's eyes fell to the ground, and his face became +overspread with crimson. + +"Winters," he replied, at length recovering himself. + +Andrew turned partly away to conceal the sudden emotion this +intelligence had created. Mastering his feelings with a vigorous +effort, he lifted his eyes to the countenance of the young man and +at once recognized in him the brother of Emily. Restraining the +eagerness he felt to press many questions, Andrew asked him about +his journey from the last military post, and after getting a number +of answers to which he scarcely listened, said-- + +"How long is it since you left P--?" + +"About six months," replied young Winters. + +"Do your friends know where you are?" + +"No, indeed! Nor would I have them. So, please bear that in mind. I +answered your question almost on the spur of the moment." + +"Do you know anything about Mr. Howland or his family?" asked +Andrew, without seeming to notice the young man's remark. + +"Nothing very particular; only that the old gentleman failed in +business about a year ago." + +"Ah! How came that?" + +"His son Edward broke him up." + +"His son Edward?" + +"Yes. The old man set him a going in business; but he soon run +himself under, and his father into the bargain. He made a terrible +bad failure of it." + +"Who?" + +"Edward Howland. He went off soon after, and they do say, carried +his pockets full of money. And I imagine there is some truth in it. +He wasn't exactly the clear grit. Some people called him a +smooth-faced hypocrite, and I guess they were not very far wrong." + +Andrew asked no more questions for some time, but sat, thoughtful, +with his face so far turned away from the young man, that its +expression could not be seen. + +"Mrs. Howland is living, I presume?" said he, at length, in a tone +as indifferent as he could assume; but which was, nevertheless, +unsteady. + +"Yes. She was living when I came away." + +Andrew drew a quick breath, and then his laboring chest found relief +in a long expiration. + +"Poor old man! I'm sorry for him," came from his lips in a few +moments afterwards. The tone was half indifferent, yet expressed +some sympathy. + +"Everybody seems sorry for him," said Winters. "It has broken him +down very much. He looks ten years older." + +"Is he entirely out of business?" asked Andrew. + +"No; he is still going on; but he doesn't appear to do much. I think +the family is poor. They've sold their handsome house, and are +living in a much smaller one. I heard father say that Mr. Howland +had received an extension from his creditors, but that he was too +much crippled to be able to go through, and would, in the end, break +down entirely." + +There was another pause, and then Andrew changed the subject by +asking the young man something about himself, and led on the +conversation, from step to step, until he got him to mention the +fact that he had a sister named Emily. + +"Is she older than yourself?" inquired Andrew. + +"Oh, yes. Some four years older," was replied. + +"Married, of course," said Andrew. + +The very effort he made to say this with seeming unconcern gave so +unnatural an expression to his tone of voice, that young Winters +looked at him with momentary surprise. + +"No, she is not married," he answered. + +"She's old enough," said Andrew, speaking now in a tone of more real +indifference. + +"Yes; but she'll probably die an old maid. She's had two or three +good offers; but no one appears just to suit her fancy. Father was +very angry about her rejecting a young man some two or three years +ago, who afterwards disgraced himself, and broke the heart of a +young creature who had been weak enough to marry him." + +"Then I should say that your sister was a sensible girl," remarked +Andrew, in a cheerful voice. + +"Yes, she is a sensible girl; and, what is more, a good girl. Ah, +me! I wish I were half as sensible and half as good." + +With what a free motion did the heart of Andrew beat after receiving +this intelligence! + +"Is Mary Howland married?" he asked. He knew that she was, for he +had seen the fact noticed in a newspaper. + +"Yes; she married a Mr. Markland." + +"Who is he?" + +"I don't know much about, him. He's a teller in one of the banks." + +"How did the family like her marriage?" + +"Not at all. They don't visit." + +"Indeed! Why?" + +"Dear knows! Old Mr. Howland is a hard sort of a man when he takes +up a prejudice against any one. He didn't like Markland, and said +that Mary shouldn't marry him. She felt differently, and did marry +him. The consequence was, that the old man said and did so much that +was offensive, that he and Markland have had no intercourse since." + +"Mary comes home, I suppose?" + +"I rather think not. I believe that she and her father have not +spoken in two years. At least, so I heard sister once say." + +"That is bad! Poor man! He is unfortunate with his children." + +Andrew, as he spoke, felt that he was unfortunate, and an emotion of +pity stirred along the surface of his feelings. + +"Indeed he is!" said Winters, who was disposed to be communicative. +"But I presume it is a good deal his own fault. They say that his +harsh treatment drove his oldest son from home." + +"Ah?" + +"Yes. He was a wild sort of a boy, and his father didn't show him +any mercy. The consequence was, that instead of leading him into the +right way, he drove him into the wrong way. He ran off from home a +great while ago, and has never been heard from since. It is thought +that he is dead. I once heard father say that, with all his faults, +he was the best of the bunch." + +Something interrupted the conversation of the two young men at this +point, and they separated. A couple of hours afterward, as Andrew +walked along one of the streets of Santa Fe, musing over the +intelligence he had gleaned from young Winters, a fellow soldier, +whose time of service had also just expired, met him, and said-- + +"You're not going back to the States, are you?" + +"Such has been my intention," replied Andrew. + +"I'm not going." + +"I thought you were." + +"I've altered my mind. A party sets off to-morrow for the gold +regions of California, and I'm going with them." + +"Indeed! That's a sudden change of resolution. But you don't believe +all the stories you hear of this El Dorado? + +"No, not all of them. But if even the half be true, there's a golden +harvest to be reaped by all who put in the sickle." + +"Yes, the half is encouraging enough," said Andrew, in a tone of +abstraction. The fact is, since he had heard from home, his desire +to return immediately was lessened. News of his father's altered +circumstances had softened his feelings toward him very much, and +created a strong desire to aid him in the extremity to which he had +been reduced. But he had no ability to do this. All he possessed in +the world was about two hundred dollars, and it would take at least +half of this to pay his passage home. Already had his thoughts been +reaching Westward, as the only point where, by any possibility, he +could better his fortunes to an extent that would enable him to help +his father. But there was so much of apparent romance in the stories +that reached his ears, that he had many strong doubts as to even the +main facts reported. + +"You'd better join us," remarked the comrade. + +"How many are going?" inquired Andrew. + +"Seven. And we'd very much like to add you to the number." + +"I'm really half-inclined to go with you," said Andrew, speaking +with a good deal of animation in his voice. + +"You'll never regret it," said the other. "Not only are the stories +about an abundance of gold authentic, but I have good reasons for +believing that the half has not been told. I talked with a man last +night, who says that he knew of several instances where lumps of the +precious metal, weighing several pounds, have been picked up. One +man collected ten thousand dollars worth of lumps of pure gold in a +week." + +"That's a large story," replied Andrew, smiling. + +"Perhaps so; but it is not all a fabrication. At any rate, I am off +to this region, and my advice to you is, to join our little party." + +"When do you start? + +"To-morrow morning." + +"I'll think about it," said Andrew Howland. + +"You must think quickly," was answered. "There is no time to spare. +It is but two hours to nightfall; and we are to be in the saddle by +sunrise. So, if you conclude to join our party you have but small +space left for preparation." + +Andrew stood with his eyes upon the ground for nearly a minute; then +looking up, he said, in a firm voice-- + +"I will go." + +"And, my word for it, you'll never repent the decision. Gathering up +lumps of gold by the peck is a quicker way to fortune than +dragooning it at five dollars a month--ha?" + +"My anticipations lie within a much narrower circle than yours," was +quietly answered to this; "but one thing is certain, if gold is to +be had in California for the mere digging, you may depend on Andrew +Howland getting his share of the treasure." + +"That's the spirit, my boy!" said the other, clapping him on the +shoulder--"the very spirit of every member of our little party. And +if we don't line our pockets with the precious stuff, it will be +because none is to be found." + +On the next morning, Andrew Howland started on his long and perilous +journey for the region of gold, with a new impulse in his heart, and +a hope in the future, such as, up to this time, he had never known. +But it was not a mere selfish love of gold that was influencing him. +He was acted on by a nobler feeling. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + + + + +FROM the shock of his son's failure, Mr. Howland did not recover. In +arranging with his own creditors, he had arranged to do too much, +and consequently his reduced business went on under pressure of +serious embarrassment. He had sold his house, and two other pieces +of property, and was living at a very moderate expense; but all this +did not avail, and he saw the steady approaches of total ruin. + +One day, at a time when this conviction was pressing most heavily +upon him, one of the creditors of Edward, who had lost a good deal +by the young man, came into the store, and asked if he had heard +lately from his son. + +Mr. Howland replied he had not. + +"He's in Mobile, I understand?" said the gentleman. + +"I believe he is," returned Mr. Howland. + +"A correspondent of mine writes that he is in business there, and +seems to have plenty of money." + +"It is only seeming, I presume," remarked Mr. Howland. + +"He says that he has purchased a handsome piece of property there." + +"It cannot be possible!" was ejaculated. + +"I presume that my information is true. Now, my reason for +communicating this fact to you is, that you may write to him, and +demand, if he have money to invest, that he refund to you a portion +of what you have paid for him, and thus save you from the greater +difficulties that I too plainly see gathering around you, and out of +which I do not think it is possible for you to come unaided." + +"No, sir," was the reply of Mr. Howland, as he slowly shook his +head. "If he have money, it is ill-gotten, and I cannot share it. He +owes you, write to him, and demand a payment of the debt." + +"I am willing to yield my right in your favor, Mr. Howland. In your +present extremity, you can make an appeal that it will be impossible +for him to withstand. He may not dream of the position in which you +are placed; and it is due to him that you inform him thereof. It +will give him an opportunity to act above an evil and selfish +spirit, and this action may be in him the beginning of a better +state." + +But the father shook his head again. + +"Mr. Howland," said the other "you owe it to your son to put it in +his power to act from a better principle than the one that now +appears to govern him. Let him know of your great extremity, and he +may compel himself to act against the selfish cupidities by which he +is too plainly governed. Such action, done in violence of evil +affections, may be to him the beginning of a better life. All things +originate in small beginnings. There must first be a point of influx +for good, as well as for bad principles. Sow this seed in your son's +mind, and it may germinate, and grow into a plant of honesty." + +Mr. Howland heaved a deep sigh, as he answered-- + +"This is presenting the subject in a new light; I will think about +it." + +"May you think about it to good purpose," replied the friend, +earnestly. + +This communication disturbed Mr. Howland greatly. He had too many +good reasons for doubting his son's integrity of character; but he +was not prepared to hear of such deliberate and cruel dishonesty as +this. It was but another name for robbery--a robbery, even to the +ruin of his own father. + +"I will demand restitution!" said the old man, impatiently, as his +mind dwelt longer and longer on the subject, and his feelings grew +more and more indignant. From the thought of any appeal on the +ground of humanity, he revolted. It was something entirely out of +keeping with his peculiar character. He could not bend to this. + +So Mr. Howland wrote a pretty strong letter to his son, in which he +set forth in terse language the facts he had heard, and demanded as +a right, that restitution be at once made. + +Weeks passed and no answer to this demand was received. In the +meantime, another crisis in the affairs of Mr. Howland was rapidly +approaching. Unless aid were received from some quarter, he must +sink utterly prostrate under the pressure that was upon him, and +again fail to meet the honorable engagements that he had made. When +that crisis came, he would fall to rise no more. + +Ten days only remained, and then there would come a succession of +payments, amounting in all to over five thousand dollars. To meet +these payments unaided, would be impossible; and there was no one +now to aid the reduced and sinking merchant. There was not a friend +to whom he could go for aid so substantial as was now required, for +most of his business friends had already suffered to some extent by +his failure, and were not in the least inclined to risk anything +farther on one whose position was known to be extremely doubtful. + +The nearer this second crisis came, and the more distinctly Mr. +Howland was able to see its painful features, the more did his heart +shrink from encountering a disaster that would involve all his +worldly affairs in hopeless ruin. + +In this strait, the mind of Mr. Howland kept turning, involuntarily, +toward his son Edward, as toward the only resource left him on the +earth; but ever as it turned thus, something in him revolted at the +idea, and he strove to push it from his thoughts. He could not do +this, however, for it was the straw on the surface of the waters in +which he felt himself sinking. + +Painfully, and with a sense of deep humiliation, did Mr. Howland at +length bring himself up to the point of writing again to his son. As +everything depended on the effect of this second letter, he went +down into a still lower deep of humiliation, and after representing +in the most vivid colors the extremity to which he was reduced, +begged him, if a spark of humanity remained in his bosom, to send +him the aid he needed. + +With a trembling hope did the father wait, day after day, for an +answer to this letter. Time passed on, and the ninth day since its +transmission came and yet there was no reply. + +Nervously anxious was Mr. Howland on the morning of the tenth day, +for if no help came then, it was all over with him. His note for +fifteen hundred dollars fell due, and must be lifted ere the stroke +of three, or the end with him had come. + +A few mouthfuls of food were taken at breakfast, and then Mr. +Howland hurried away to the Post Office, his heart fluttering with +fear and expectation. A few moments, and he would know his fate. As +he came in sight of the long row of boxes, his eyes glanced eagerly +toward the one in which his letters were filed up. There was +something in it. In a tone of forced composure, he called out the +number of his box, and received from the clerk two letters. He +glanced at the post-mark of one, and read--"New York," and at the +other, and saw--"Boston." For a moment or two his breath was +suspended, and his knees smote together. Then he moved away, slowly, +with such a pressure on his feelings that the weight was reproduced +on his physical system, and he walked with difficulty. + +The letters were from business correspondents, and in no way +affected the position of extremity he occupied. For a greater part +of the morning Mr. Howland sat musing at his desk, in a kind of +dreamy abstraction. All effort was felt to be useless, and he made +none. At dinner time he went home, and sat at the table, silent and +gloomy; but he scarcely tasted food. After the meal, he returned to +his store--a faint hope springing up in his mind that Edward might +have submitted the aid he had asked for so humbly by private hand, +or through some broker in the city, and that it would yet arrive in +time to save him. Alas! this proved a vain hope. Three o'clock came, +and the unredeemed note still lay in bank. + +"It is all over!" murmured the unhappy man, as like the strokes of a +hammer upon his heart fell the three distinct chimes that rung the +knell of his business life. + +Taking up a newspaper, and affecting to read, Mr. Howland sat for +nearly an hour awaiting the notorial visit, which seemed long +delayed. At last he saw a man enter and come walking back toward the +desk at which he sat. Not doubting but that it was the Notary, he +was preparing to answer--"I can't take it, up," when a well-dressed +stranger, with a dark, sun-burnt, countenance that had in it many +familiar lines, passed before him, and fixed his eyes with an +earnest look upon his face. For a few moments the two men regarded +each other in silence, and then the stranger reached out his hand +and uttered the single word-- + +"Father!" + +"Andrew!" responded Mr. Howland, catching eagerly hold of the +offered hand.; "Andrew! my son! my son! are you yet alive?" + +The great deep of the old man's heart was suddenly broken up, and he +was overwhelmed by the rising floods of emotion. His lips quivered; +there was a convulsive play of all the muscles of his face; and then +large tears came slowly over his cheeks. The man of iron will was +melted down; he wept like a child, and his son wept with him. + +Scarcely had the first strong emotions created by this meeting +exhausted themselves, when another person entered the store, and +advanced to where the father and son were standing. He held a small +slip of paper in his hand, and as he came up to Mr. Howland, he +said, holding up the piece of paper-- + +"Your note for fifteen hundred dollars remains unpaid." + +"I'm sorry, but I can't lift it," replied Mr. Howland, in a low +voice that he wished not to reach the ear of his son; but Andrew +heard the answer distinctly, and instantly drawing a large pocket +book from his pocket, took out a roll of bank bills which he reached +to his father, saying, as he did so-- + +"Take what you want. How timely has been my arrival!" + +"My heart blesses you, my son, for this generous tender of aid in a +great extremity," said Mr. Howland in a trembling voice, as he +pushed back the roll of money. "But a crisis in my affairs has just +arrived, and the lifting of this note will not save me." + +"How much will save you?" asked Andrew. + +"I must have five or six thousand dollars in as many days," replied +Mr. Howland. + +"This package of money will serve you then, for it contains ten +thousand dollars," said Andrew. "Take it." + +"I cannot rob you thus," returned Mr. Howland, in a broken voice, as +he still drew back. + +"Let me have that note, my friend." Andrew now turned to the Notary, +who did not hesitate to exchange the merchant's promise to pay, for +three five hundred dollar bills of a solvent bank. + +A brief but earnest and affectionate interview then took place +between Andrew and his father, which closed with a request from the +former that he might be permitted to see his mother alone, and spend +with her the few hours that remained until evening, before the +latter joined them. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + + + + +IT is nine years since Mrs. Howland looked her last look on her +wayward, wandering boy, and eight years since any tidings came from +him to bless her yearning heart. She appears older by almost twenty +years, and moves about with a quiet drooping air, as if her heart +were releasing itself from its hold on earthly objects, and reaching +out its tendrils for a higher and surer support. With the exception +of Martha, the youngest, all her children have given her trouble. +Scarcely one of the sweet hopes cherished by her heart, when they +first lay in helpless innocence upon her bosom, have been realized. +Disappointment--disappointment--has come at almost every step of her +married life. The iron hand of her husband has crushed almost every +thing. Ah! how often and often, as she breathed the chilling air of +her own household, where all was constrained propriety, would her +heart go back to the sunny home in which were passed the happy days +of girlhood, and wish that something of the wisdom and gentleness +that marked her father's intercourse with his children could be +transferred to her uncompromising husband. But that was a vain wish. +The two men had been cast in far different moulds. + +Martha, now in her eighteenth year, was more like her mother than +any of the children, and but for the light of her presence Mrs. +Howland could hardly have kept her head above the waters that were +rushing around her. Toward Martha the conduct of her father had, +from the first, been of a mild character compared with his action +toward the other children; and this received a still farther +modification, when it become apparent even to himself, that by his +hardness he had estranged the affections of his elder children, and +driven them away. Gentle and loving in all her actions, she +gradually won her way more and more deeply into the heart of her +father, until she acquired a great influence over him. This +influence she had tried to make effectual in bringing about a +reconciliation between him and her sister's husband; but, up to this +time, her good offices were not successful. The old man's prejudices +remained strong--he was not prepared to yield; and Markland's +self-love having been deeply wounded by Mr. Howland, he was not +disposed to make any advances toward healing the breach that +existed. As for Mary, she cherished too deeply the remembrance of +her father's unbending severity toward his children--in fact his +iron hand had well nigh crushed affection out of her heart--to feel +much inclined to use any influence with her husband. And so the +separation, unpleasant and often painful to both parties, continued. +To Mrs. Howland it was a source of constant affliction. Much had she +done toward affecting a reconciliation; but the materials upon which +she tried to impress something of her own gentle and forgiving +spirit were of too hard a nature. + +On the afternoon of the day on which Andrew returned so +unexpectedly, almost like one rising from the dead, Mrs. Howland was +alone, Martha having gone out to visit a friend. She was sitting in +her chamber thinking of the long absent one--she had thought of him +a great deal of late--when she heard the street door open and shut, +and then there came the sound of a man's feet along the passage. She +bent her head and listened. It was not the sound of her husband's +feet--she knew his tread too well. Soon the man, whoever he was, +commenced ascending the stairs; then he came toward her door, and +then there was a gentle tap. The heart of Mrs. Howland was, by this +time, beating violently. A moment or two passed before she had +presence of mind sufficient to go to the door and open it. + +"Andrew! Andrew! Oh, Andrew, my son!" she cried, in a glad, eager +voice, the instant her eyes rested on the fine figure of a tall, +sun-burnt man, and as she spoke, she flung her arms around his neck, +and kissed him with all the fondness of a mother caressing her babe. + +"Mother! dear, dear mother!" came sobbing from the lips of Andrew, +as he returned her embrace fervently. + +"Am I dreaming? or, is this all really so?" murmured the happy +mother, pushing her son from her, yet clinging to him with an +earnest grasp, and gazing fondly upon his face. + +"It is no dream, mother," returned Andrew, "but a glad reality. +After a long, long absence I have come back." + +"Long--long! Oh, it has been an age, my son! How could you? But +hush, my chiding heart! My wandering one has returned, and I will +ask no questions as to his absence. Enough that I look upon his face +again." + +Andrew now led his mother to a seat, and taking one beside her, +while he still held her hand tightly, and gazed with a look of +tenderness into her face, said-- + +"You have grown old in nine years, mother; older than I had +thought." + +"Do you wonder at it, my son?" significantly inquired Mrs. Howland. + +"I ought not to wonder, perhaps," replied Andrew, a touch of sadness +in his voice. "There is such a thing as living too fast for time." + +"You may well say that," answered Mrs. Howland, with visible +emotion, "Years are sometimes crowded into as many days. This has +been my own experience." + +Both were now silent for a little while. + +"And how are all the rest, mother?" asked Andrew, in a more animated +voice. + +"Your father has failed a good deal of late," replied Mrs. Howland, +as she partly averted her eyes, doubtful as to the effect such +reference might have. + +"He has failed almost as much as you have, mother," was the +unexpected reply. "I saw him a little while ago." + +"Did you!" ejaculated Mrs. Howland, a light of pleasure and surprise +breaking over her face. + +"Yes; I called first at his store." + +"I'm glad you did. Poor man! He has had his own troubles, and, I'm +afraid, is falling into difficulties again. He has looked very +unhappy for a week or two. Last night I hardly think he slept an +hour at a time, and to-day he scarcely tasted food." + +"I found him in trouble," said Andrew, "and fortunately was able to +give him the relief he needed." + +Mrs. Howland looked wonderingly into her son's face. + +"I have not come back empty-handed, mother," said Andrew. "A year +ago, when thousands of miles from home, I heard of father's +troubles. I was about returning to see you all again, and to make +P--my future abiding place, if I could find any honest employment; +but this intelligence caused me to change my mind. News had just +been received of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California, +and I said to myself, 'If there is gold to be had there, I will find +it.' I was not thinking of myself when I made this resolution, but +of you and father. In this spirit I made the long and wearisome +overland journey, and for more than eight, months worked amid the +golden sands of that far off region. And my labor was not in vain. I +accumulated a large amount of grains and lumps of the precious +metal, and then hurried homeward to lay the treasures at your feet. +Happily, I arrived at the most fitting time." + +Mrs. Howland was deeply affected by this relation, so strange and so +unlooked for in every particular. + +"And now, mother, what of Mary?" said Andrew, before time was given +for any remark upon this brief narrative. "Has she and her husband +yet been reconciled to father?" + +"No; and my heart has grown faint with hope deferred in relation to +this matter. I think Mary's husband is too (sic) unyieldiug. Your +father, I know, regrets the unkind opposition he made to their +marriage; and has seen many good reasons for changing his opinion of +Mr. Markland's character. But you know his unbending disposition. If +they would yield a little--if they would only make the first step +toward a reconciliation, he would be softened in a moment. And then, +oh, how much happier would all be!" + +"They must yield; they must take the first step," said Andrew, +rising from his chair. + +That reconciliation would be the top sheaf of my happiness, today," +replied Mrs. Howland. + +"It shall crown your rejoicing," said Andrew, in a positive tone. +"Where do they live?" + +Mrs. Howland gave the direction asked by her son, who departed +immediately on his errand of good will. + +For a time after Andrew left the store of his father, Mr. Howland +sat half bewildered by the strange occurrence that had just taken +place, while his heart felt emotions of tenderness going deeper and +deeper toward its centre. Though confessed to no one, he had felt +greatly troubled in regard to the iron discipline to which he had +subjected his wayward boy, and had tried for years, but in vain, to +force from his mind the conviction that upon his own head rested the +sin of his ruin. Long since had he given him up as lost to this +world, and, he sadly feared, lost in the next. To have him return, +as he did, without even a foreshadowing sign of his coming, was an +event that completely broke down his feelings. Moreover, he was +touched by the spirit in which his son came back; a spirit of +practical forgiveness; the first act flowing from which was the +conference of a great benefit. + +"There was good in the boy," sighed the old man, as he mused on what +had just occurred. "Alas! that it should have been so long +overshadowed. A milder course might have done better. Ah, me! we are +weak and shortsighted mortals." + +Mr. Howland remained in his store until the late mails were +distributed at the post-office, when, unexpectedly, a letter came +from Edward. It contained a draft for a thousand dollars, and was in +these words-- + +"DEAR FATHER--I received your two letters. To the first returned no +answer; I need hardly give you the reason. It was a hard, harsh, +insulting letter, charging me with extensive frauds on you and +others, assuming that I was in possession of large sums of money +thus obtained, and imperiously demanding restitution. As to your +sources of information, I know nothing; but I trust, that before you +take such stories for granted, you will, at least, look well to +their authenticity. Your second letter was in a different tone, and +awoke in me a far different spirit from that awakened by the one +first received. I am pained to hear of your great embarrassment, +which I did not anticipate. I thought that the extension of time you +received, would enable you to meet all demands, and deeply regret +that such has not proved to be the case. Enclosed, I send you a +draft for one thousand dollars, which I have raised with great +difficulty; I wish, for your sake, that it were ten times the +amount. But it is the best I can do. When I came here I had about +fifteen hundred dollars in money; upon this I commenced business, +and have done tolerably well, but I am still on the steep up-hill +side, and it is far from certain whether I will go up or down from +the point I now occupy. Give my love to mother and Martha, + +Affectionately yours, + +EDWARD." + +Mr. Howland mused for (sic) sometime after receiving the letter; +then he turned to his desk, and wrote briefly, as follows-- + +"MY DEAR SON--I have your letter enclosing a draft for one thousand +dollars. I thank you for the remittance, but, happily, have received +aid from an unexpected quarter, and do not now need the money. With +this I return the draft you sent. I regret any injustice I may have +done you in a former letter, and hope you will forgive a too warm +expression of my feelings. + +Yours, &c., + +ANDREW HOWLAND." + +This letter was dispatched by the Southern mail, and then Mr. +Howland turned his steps homeward. He felt strangely. There was a +pressure on his bosom; but it was not the pressure of trouble that +had rested upon it so long, but a pressure of conflicting emotions, +all tending to soften and subdue his feelings, to bend the iron man, +and to mould his spirit into a new and better form. With a lively +pleasure was he looking forward to the second meeting with Andrew in +the presence of his mother, but he did not know how great a +pleasure, beyond his anticipations, was in store for him. + +On arriving at his house, Mr. Howland opened the door and went in. +He had passed along the entry but a few paces, when some one stepped +from the parlor. He paused, and looked up. It was his daughter Mary +who stood before him. In her arms was a sweet little girl, and on +her face was a smile, the warmth and light of which were on his +heart in an instant. + +"Father!" + +It was the only word she uttered. The tone of her voice, and the +expression of her face told all he wished to know. + +"My dear child!" fell warmly from the lips of Mr. Howland, as he +grasped his daughter's hand, and then kissed tenderly both her own +lips and those of her babe. + +"Dear father!" murmured Mary, as she leaned her head, in tears, upon +his breast. + +At this moment there was a movement of feet in the parlor, and the +husband of Mary presented himself. An open, frank, forgiving +expression was on his face, as he came forward and offered his hand, +which was instantly seized by Mr. Howland, in a hearty pressure. +Andrew and his mother joined the group, and, with smiles and +pleasant words, made perfect the sphere of happiness. + +"My children," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking in a trembling +voice, "my cup is full to-night. I must leave you a little while, or +it will run over." + +And saying this, he gently disengaged himself, and passed up to his +chamber, where he remained alone for over half an hour. When he +joined the family, his manner was greatly subdued, and in his speech +there was a softness which none had known before. + +In the glad reunion of that evening, how many heart-wounds were +healed, how many old scars covered over and hidden! + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + + + + +SHOCKED as was Emily Winters at the sight of Andrew, bleeding in the +hands of the watchman, and by the subsequent newspaper report of his +bad conduct; and estranged from her early regard for him, as she had +been, by these and other things that she had heard, the young girl +could not entirely banish from her mind the image of the boy who had +been to her so gentle and affectionate since the early and innocent +days of childhood. In spite of all her efforts to turn her thoughts +away from him, they were ever turning toward him; and, as time +passed on, and his long absence left all in doubt concerning his +fate, his memory became to her something like a hallowed thing. + +In passing on to the estate of womanhood, Emily, who possessed more +than common beauty, attracted admirers, and from two or three of +these she received offers of marriage. But in each case the suitor +had failed to win her heart, and she was too true a woman to give +her hand to any one unless her heart could go also. + +In at least one case her father took sides with the lover, and urged +his suit with a degree of feeling that resulted in a partial +estrangement of affection. But he afterward had cause to be well +satisfied with Emily's decision in the case. + +On the morning that had succeeded the day of Andrew Howland's return +to P--, Emily Winters, who had long since ceased to think of the +young man as alive, was informed that a gentleman had called, and +wished to see her. + +"Who is he?" was the natural inquiry. + +"I don't know," replied the servant. + +"You should have asked his name." + +"I did so, but he said that it was no matter." + +After making some slight change in her dress, Emily went down to the +parlor. As she entered, a gentleman arose and advanced a few steps +toward her. + +"Miss Winters!" said he, while he fixed his eyes intently on her +face. + +The young lady bowed slightly in return, while she looked at him +inquiringly. + +"You don't know me?" said the stranger, with perceptible +disappointment in his voice. + +Emily dropped her eyes for a moment to the floor, and then lifted +them again to his countenance. There was a gentle suffusion on her +face, as she slowly shook her head. + +"I have seen you before," she remarked, "but I cannot, at this +moment, tell where." + +"Years have passed since we met," replied the stranger, with +something of sadness in his voice; "but I had hoped you would not +forget me." + +As he spoke, he came nearer, and held out his hand, which Emily did +not hesitate to take. + +At the moment of this contact, a light flashed on the maiden's face, +and she exclaimed, with sudden emotion-- + +"Andrew Howland! Can it be?" + +And she stepped back a pace or two, and sunk upon a chair. Andrew +did not relinquish her hand, but sat down by her side, replying, as +he did so-- + +"Yes, Emily, it is even so. After a long, long absence, I have come +back to my old home, wiser and better, I trust, than when I went +away." + +It was some time before Emily looked up or replied; but she did not +make a motion to withdraw the hand which Andrew held with no slight +pressure. + +"How often, Emily," continued Andrew, seeing that she remained +silent, "have I thought of the sweet hours we spent together as +children--hours, too often, of stolen delight. Their remembrance +has, many a time, saved me from evil when strongly tempted. But for +that, and the memory of my mother, I should long since have become a +castaway on the ocean of life." + +The voice of Andrew became tremulous as he uttered the last +sentence. It was then that Emily raised her eyes from the floor, +gently withdrawing her hand at the same time, and fixed them upon +his face. His words had sent her thoughts back to the old time when +they were children together, and when, to be within him, was one of +her highest pleasures; and, not only that, his words and tones had +reached her heart, and awakened therein an echo. + +"It is a long time since you went away," said Emily. "A very long +time." + +"Yes; it is a long time. But, the weary slow-passing years are +ended, and I am back again among early scenes and old friends, and +back, I trust, to remain." + +"How is your mother?" inquired Emily, after a slight pause. + +"I found her much changed--older by twice the number of years that +have elapsed since I went away." + +But all that passed between Andrew Howland and Emily Winters in the +hour they spent together at this first meeting, after so long an +absence, we cannot write. For a time, their intercourse was marked +by a reserve and embarrassment on the part of Emily; but this +insensibly wore off, and, ere the young man went away, their hearts, +if not their lips, had spoken to each other almost as freely as in +the days of childhood. + +Not many months elapsed ere the tender regard that was spontaneously +awakened in their bosoms when children, and which had never ceased +to exist, led them into a true marriage union, to which no one +raised even a whisper of opposition. Almost at the very time that +Andrew was holding his first interview with Emily, Mr. Winters was +listening to a brief account of his return, with some of the +pleasing incidents immediately attendant thereon. In a meeting with +the young man shortly afterward, he was (sic) prepossesed in his +favor, and when he saw that he was disposed to renew the old +intimate relations with Emily, he did not in the least object. + +Thus, after a lapse of over twenty-five years, two families, each +possessed of substantial virtues, and with social qualities forming +a plane for reciprocal good feeling, but which had been forced apart +by the narrow prejudice and iron will of Mr. Howland, came together +in a marriage of two of its members. Alas! how much of wrong and +suffering appertained to that long period during which they were +thus held apart! How many scars from heart-wounds were left; and +these not always painless! + +Can any summing up of the causes and consequences set forth in our +story give force to the lessons it teaches? We think not; and +therefore leave it with the reader to do its own work. + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Iron Rule, by T.S. 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