HOW JOHN BARTON CAME HOME. CHAPTER I. THROUGHOUT the whole west country no working man was more respected or more respectable than Thomas Barton, the blacksmith, of Littleton. He was a capital hand at his trade, and was a sober, industrious fellow. Like Longfellow's blacksmith "Week in, weck out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low." Best of all, he was a man who feared God, "not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." Though he lived at a time when religion and education were rare amongst the working classes in our country districts, and when the better classes, instead of favouring these things, as they do now, were opposed to them, he yet brought up his large family religiously, and managed to get a good education for them. The villagers called him a fool because he stuck to his work all day, and at night stopped at home with his wife and children, instead of joining them in their drinking bouts. Tom Smith, the carpenter, who was the great wit at the "Blue Lion" tap-room, made a song about him, of which the chorus at the end of each verse was →→→ "We'll dance, and we'll drink, and we'll laugh for a week, While Barton sits doleful, the Methodist sneak." The neighbouring squires and farmers set themselves against him, and some of them went so far as to take away their work from him. But this was only for a time. No one did his work so well, and he could always be trusted. Squire Hardacre's famous chestnut hunter was lamed, and Farmer Brownjohn's best plough was broken by poor tipsy Grant, whose forge was at the other end of the village. Many similar mishaps occurred. So one after another all Barton's customers came back to him again. They used to laugh and sometimes to swear at him for a Methodist, but they had to admit that he was the best smith in all the country-side, and that they did not know what they should do without him. Thomas, by dint of industry and thrift, saved enough to buy the forge and the cottage in which he lived, with a nice bit of garden, and had a little money beside. Barton's eldest son Jack was a bright, clever, promising lad. For his station in life he was quite a scholar. His grandfather on the mother's side had been a schoolmaster in the neighbouring village of Ashby. Having saved a trifle of money, and now getting quite infirm, the old gentleman had come to end his days with his son-in-law, and he was delighted to teach Jack all he knew; and Jack was no less delighted to learn. At the age of fourteen the lad was put out to get a trade; for Barton said that there was not work enough at his forge to for which the district is famous. It was It was a sorrowful day when Jack started ville. It was the first time the family had lad reached his destination in the even- Meanwhile, however, things did not go on very well at home. A bad fever broke out in Littleton. Amongst those who suffered were the Bartons. All the children were ill; two of them died, and were buried on the same day. Thomas himself took a violent cold at the funeral, which turned to rheumatic fever, and for many months he was not able to work. His savings were sadly dimi nished during this time of trial, and before he got strong again he had only a few pounds left. Then the lawyer at Ashby, who had grandfather's money at interest, broke, and nearly the whole of that was lost. Thomas was advised to go to law about it, and was assured that if he did so he should be able to save part, at least, of the old man's property. But instead of getting any of the money back he had a lawyer's bill to pay, which came to nearly twenty pounds. Here was trouble Here was trouble enough surely. But this was not all. For about a year after, when he was just getting straight again, a young horse which he was shoeing kicked him violently, breaking his shoulder and three of his ribs, so that it seemed doubtful whether he would ever be able to follow his trade again. It was a dreadfully hard winter. Old people who are yet living remember it well. Bread was fifteenpence the quartern loaf. The King issued a proclamation calling upon the people not to use fine flour, and he himself set the example of always eating brown bread. All this time Thomas's forge was cold, he could not earn a penny, and much money had to go for food and medicine. At length he found it necessary to offer the cottage and smithy for sale. It was very hard to come to this, but there seemed no help for it. Jack heard of these troubles and sorrows which had come upon them at home with great concern. He did all he could for his parents, but that was not much. He was only eighteen, and his wages were not large. Besides which he had been taken into the office, and needed to dress respectably; so it was not easy to save anything. Still he managed to send them something every pay day, which was once a month-a parcel of groceries, or a warm shawl for mother, or a jacket for one of the boys; money they would not take from him. When they wrote to tell Jack that father had made up his mind to sell the cottage for what it would fetch, he did not reply for a day or two. Then there came the following curious letter from him:- "DEAR FATHER, "I am very sorry to hear that you are still in such trouble and unable to work. Do not sell the cottage yet. You can borrow £20 or £30 upon it. This will help you to carry on for a few months. I am going away for about half a year. It's a secret where I'm going and what I'm going for. Nobody must know anything about it. I hope soon to come back with lots of money in my pocket. Tell mother not to be uneasy about me. It's all right. My box will come by the carrier next week. Please to ask God to take care of me and guide me in a very important business. Love to all. "I am your dutiful JOHN BARTON." son, Of course this letter set them all wondering, and made Thomas and wife not a little uneasy. They got the shopkeeper of the village to make inquiries the next time he went to Coalville. He did so, but couli learn nothing except that John was a very steady, well-conducted young fellow, and that he had given up a capital situation of his own accord, and that nobody knew why. He thought, however, that the master knew more about it than he chose to tell. They determined to act as the mysterious letter advised them, and to wait awhile before selling the cottage. Half a year had passed away. Nothing more had been heard from John. The money they had borrowed was nearly exhausted; for the cold weather had brought on another attack of rheumatic fever, and Thomas was confined to bed again, quite unable to work. Things were looking very gloomy indeed. The whole family were full of concern and anxiety. The elders tried to keep their spirits up, and never failed night and mor ing to pray for John. But it was a hard trial of faith. The last day of the year had come. Never had a New Year looked so sad and hopeless before. But just before bedtime the village postman came with a letter from Coalville in John's own handwriting. It was opened and read with eager haste. "DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, "Hurrah! It's all right. I shall come home to-morrow with a hundred pounds in my pocket. By God's blessing my fortune is made and my master's too. Have a big pudding for dinner and a goose I shall ride part way so as to get in good time in the morning. Good-bye. "Your loving son, JOHN BARTON.” If the first letter made them wonder, this made them wonder still more. What did it all mean? They must wait awhile before they could know. But they were so brimful of happiness that they did not mind the delay. Next morning came. They were so excited that it seemed impossible to stop within doors. Long before it was possible for John to arrive the children were standing at the gate looking down the road, or running indoors to see what o'clock it was. Mrs. Barton said that it was quite impossible for her to have the dinner ready if they were not quiet and did not help her with the cooking. So little Polly was set to watch at the bridge that she might give the signal as soon as John appeared, and the rest let off their excitement by helping mother. About ten o'clock the joyful shout was heard-" Here he is! Here he is!" The whole family poured out of the house to meet him except father and old granny, who could not bear the cold. What huggings! What kissing! What tears of joy and gratitude! Was ever woman so proud and happy as Mrs. Barton when John took out a hundred pounds from his pocket and counted the money down On the table? The father fairly broke down and cried like a child, for he was very weak with his long illness. Clasping his hands he could only say, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and let all that is within me bless his holy name." But how had John Barton made this money? The answer to this question will appear in the next chapter. A A NEW START IN LIFE. T the door of a small but pretty and well-kept cottage stood a group of three persons. It was a chill autumn morning; the trees had not lost their leaves, but they were no longer fresh and green; their yellow and crimson tints chimed in with all around to proclaim the fast closing year. "It can't be long now," said one of the three, a woman of pleasing countenance, though it was just then clouded by sorrow. "No, no!" replied another of the group, an old man, whose silver locks and feeble form contrasted strikingly with the third of the party, on whose arm he leant, a youth in robust health, whose eyes were anxiously fixed on the turn of the road where the coach that was to carry him from his home was every moment expected to appear. "You'll be sure to remember all that grandfather has told you, Andrew," said the woman, wiping off her tears with her apron. "That's asking a great deal," said the old man, smiling, "for I've told him so much. You'll write to us to-morrow, my lad, when you're safe there, if God prospers your journey." The youth, who carefully abstained from looking at his mother lest he should have to get on the coach with red eyes, replied, in a cheerful tone, it was the first thing, the very first thing he would do when he got to Mr. Plummer's. Suddenly a clattering noise was heard in the distance, and the "Antelope," with its four spirited horses, was seen immediately after advancing at a rapid pace. A hasty embrace, a confused last farewell, and Andrew, with his scanty luggage, was on the top of the "Antelope" and out of sight of his home and his parents, who stood watching the last traces of his departure till the very dust that had clouded under the wheels had settled down again. All that day the old man was very silent, except when he said a word to Susan to comfort and strengthen her. In the evening he said, "Daughter, the more we miss him the greater should be our satisfaction; for the gentleness and love that made him such a blessing, are proofs of a good work begun in him; and what God begins he never fails to carry out; we have his word for that." Andrew's heart was with those he had left during the greater part of his journey, but he was young and full of high hopes, and as he drew near London, thoughts of the life before him began to fill his mind. He was well received by Mr. Plummer, who had known his grandfather in old times, and greatly respected him for his piety and wisdom. "Among all my acquaintances I have not one that I more sincerely respect than your aged parent, Andrew," he said; "and if you follow the counsels he has given you, and live as he has taught you, you will do well." For some time Andrew did follow his grandfather's counsels, and the praises he received were great. "I foresee," Mr. Plummer would say, "that Andy means to rise till he gets to the top of the tree, and gets into business for himself." Now Mr. Plummer said this in joke, so far as regarded the present time; but Andrew used to listen to him and colour up and smile, and wonder how long it would be before his master would take him into partnership. With all his natural amiability, and with all his apparent piety (for he seemed to have more than he had), Andrew had one great drawback to his usefulness to others and to his own happiness. This was self-conceit. He had had little opportunity of showing it at home, where every failing was watched over and kept in constant check; but in his new and comparatively unguarded life it gradually appeared and gained strength, till what was at first smiled at by the good-natured Mr. Plummer was at last a matter of vexation and anxiety to him; and his expressions of his good opinion of him, which still remained in a great measure, were usually guarded with an-"If he doesn't spoil everything by his conceit." There was a youth of his own age in the workshop (Mr. Plummer was a cabinet maker), who had been through poverty neglected in his education; he had been taken in to learn the business out of kindness, without a premium, by his benevolent master, who pitied him as the child of improvident if not vicious parents. In the eyes of this youth Andrew was a wonder -so clever! so good! and he didn't fail to show his admiration plainly, always going to him in every difficulty for help and advice. This was very pleasant to Andrew, who spared no pains to teach him; and Mr. Plummer, who was glad to see him so employed, encouraged and praised him for it. The youth, naturally grateful, begged Andrew to let his father and mother have a chance of thanking him by calling at their poor house. For some time Andrew objected, but a secret desire to be "made much of" prevailed, and he complied. He was not easy during the visit; there were evident proofs that poverty had been in a great degree self-imposed; both the man and his wife were habitual drinkers; and although he did not, from ignorance of such things, detest this, he felt something very like disgust and a strong desire to get away; but before he quitted the house their fine words and honeyed speeches altered his feeling; they were so thankful their Richard had met with such a friend! and if he would but come and see them, for they wanted doing good to as much as ever he did; would he come now and then and give them some good advice? He could not withstand this; he promised, and kept his word so faithfully that he seldom went out without seeing them before his return. From this time his master saw a slow but decided change in him. It was long before he could make the least guess at the cause. Andrew went out very often with Richard in the evening, but it was always on the understanding that they were going to a lecture or one of the many weekly services held in the neighbourhood. To this he could not object. One evening on their return he fancied that Andrew's clothes smelt of tobacco, and he said, half in joke, half in earnest, "Andy, do they smoke at Mr. Thomson's lecture?" Andrew coloured and replied he hadn't been smoking. "That's well," said Mr. Plummer; "but I think you've been among those that have." Andrew replied he thought he was old enough to choose for himself. "Oh, is that it?" said his master; "but you are not wise enough." Andrew answered that there was no way of getting good like doing good; and that the people he went to see needed instruction. "Well, well," said his master, "if they are so anxious to be taught, why don't they go to hear these lectures where you take Richard?" Andrew said they understood him better than any one, they said. "No doubt they do," said Mr. Plummer; "a good deal better than you understand yourself; and they like your religion, no doubt of that!" Andrew looked surprised, and Mr. Plummer went on, "They like it, but I don't; it's a religion without morality, Andy, and that's worse than none at all." Andrew's temper was roused; indeed, he was not quite himself. Seeing that he was about to answer insolently, his master told him to go to bed, and they would talk matters over in the morning; "and remember, young man," he said, "mine is the old-fashioned religion, like your grandfather's; it doesn't wink at lying and deceit, nor at drunkenness, nor at anything which the Bible forbids." |