'What shabby answer?' said Grant, with surprise; and Oakly repeated exactly the message which he received; and Grant declared that he never sent any such message. He repeated exactly the answer which he really sent, and Oakly immediately stretched out his hand to him, saying, 'I believe you; no more need be said. I'm only sorry I did not ask you about this four months ago; and so I should have done if you had not been a Scotchman. Till now, I never rightly liked a Scotchman. We may thank this good little fellow,' continued he, turning to Maurice, 'for our coming at last to a right understanding. There was no holding out against his good nature. I'm sure, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry I broke his tulip. Shake hands, boys; I'm glad to see you, Arthur, look so happy again, and hope Mr. Grant will forgive----' 'Oh, forgive and forget,' said Grant and his son at the same moment. And from this time forward the two families lived in friendship with each other.

Oakly laughed at his own folly, in having been persuaded to go to law about the plum-tree; and he, in process of time, so completely conquered his early prejudice against Scotchmen, that he and Grant became partners in business. Mr. Grant's book-_larning_ and knowledge of arithmetic he found highly useful to him; and he, on his side, possessed a great many active, good qualities, which became serviceable to his partner.

The two boys rejoiced in this family union; and Arthur often declared that they owed all their happiness to Maurice's favourite maxim, 'Forgive and Forget.'

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT;

OR,

TWO STRINGS TO YOUR BOW

Mr. Gresham, a Bristol merchant, who had, by honourable industry and economy, acc.u.mulated a considerable fortune, retired from business to a new house which he had built upon the Downs, near Clifton. Mr. Gresham, however, did not imagine that a new house alone could make him happy. He did not propose to live in idleness and extravagance; for such a life would have been equally incompatible with his habits and his principles.

He was fond of children; and as he had no sons, he determined to adopt one of his relations. He had two nephews, and he invited both of them to his house, that he might have an opportunity of judging of their dispositions, and of the habits which they had acquired.

Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham's nephews, were about ten years old. They had been educated very differently. Hal was the son of the elder branch of the family. His father was a gentleman, who spent rather more than he could afford; and Hal, from the example of the servants in his father's family, with whom he had pa.s.sed the first years of his childhood, learned to waste more of everything than he used. He had been told that 'gentlemen should be above being careful and saving'; and he had unfortunately imbibed a notion that extravagance was the sign of a generous disposition, and economy of an avaricious one.

Benjamin, on the contrary, had been taught habits of care and foresight.

His father had but a very small fortune, and was anxious that his son should early learn that economy ensures independence, and sometimes puts it in the power of those who are not very rich to be very generous.

The morning after these two boys arrived at their uncle's they were eager to see all the rooms in the house. Mr. Gresham accompanied them, and attended to their remarks and exclamations.

'Oh! what an excellent motto!' exclaimed Ben, when he read the following words, which were written in large characters over the chimneypiece in his uncle's s.p.a.cious kitchen--

'WASTE NOT, WANT NOT.'

'"Waste not, want not!"' repeated his cousin Hal, in rather a contemptuous tone; 'I think it looks stingy to servants; and no gentleman's servants, cooks especially, would like to have such a mean motto always staring them in the face.' Ben, who was not so conversant as his cousin in the ways of cooks and gentlemen's servants, made no reply to these observations.

Mr. Gresham was called away whilst his nephews were looking at the other rooms in the house. Some time afterwards, he heard their voices in the hall.

'Boys,' said he, 'what are you doing there?' 'Nothing, sir,' said Hal; 'you were called away from us and we did not know which way to go.' 'And have you nothing to do?' said Mr. Gresham. 'No, sir, nothing,' answered Hal, in a careless tone, like one who was well content with the state of habitual idleness. 'No, sir, nothing!' replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation. 'Come,' said Mr. Gresham, 'if you have nothing to do, lads, will you unpack those two parcels for me?'

The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with good whipcord. Ben took his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off the sealing-wax, began carefully to examine the knot, and then to untie it.

Hal stood still, exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into his hands, and tried, first at one corner and then at another, to pull the string off by force. 'I wish these people wouldn't tie up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone,' cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.

'Ben! why, how did you get yours undone, man? what's in your parcel?--I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off--I must cut it.'

'Oh no,' said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, 'don't cut it, Hal,--look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same; it's a pity to cut it; "_Waste not, want not!_" you know.'

'Pooh!' said Hal, 'what signifies a bit of packthread?' 'It is whipcord,' said Ben. 'Well, whipcord! what signifies a bit of whipcord!

you can get a bit of whipcord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence? Not I, for one! so here it goes,' cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord, precipitately, in sundry places.

'Lads, have you undone the parcels for me?' said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke. 'Yes, sir,' cried Hal; and he dragged off his half-cut, half-entangled string--'here's the parcel.' 'And here's my parcel, uncle; and here's the string,' said Ben. 'You may keep the string for your pains,' said Mr. Gresham. 'Thank you, sir,' said Ben; 'what an excellent whipcord it is!' 'And you, Hal,' continued Mr.

Gresham, 'you may keep your string too, if it will be of any use to you.' 'It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir,' said Hal. 'No, I am afraid not, if this be it,' said his uncle, taking up the jagged knotted remains of Hal's cord.

A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to each of his nephews a new top.

'But how's this?' said Hal; 'these tops have no strings; what shall we do for strings?' 'I have a string that will do very well for mine,' said Ben; and he pulled out of his pocket the fine, long, smooth string which had tied up the parcel. With this he soon set up his top, which spun admirably well.

'Oh, how I wish I had but a string,' said Hal. 'What shall I do for a string? I'll tell you what, I can use the string that goes round my hat!' 'But then,' said Ben, 'what will you do for a hat-band?' 'I'll manage to do without one,' said Hal, and he took the string off his hat for his top. It soon was worn through; and he split his top by driving the peg too tightly into it. His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day; but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful when he meddled with other people's things than when he managed his own. He had scarcely played half an hour before he split it, by driving the peg too violently.

Ben bore this misfortune with good humour. 'Come,' said he, 'it can't be helped; but give me the string, because _that_ may still be of use for something else.'

It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had been intimately acquainted with Hal's mother at Bath--that is to say, who had frequently met her at the card-table during the winter--now arrived at Clifton. She was informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham's, and her sons, who were _friends_ of his, came to see him, and invited him to spend the next day with them.

Hal joyfully accepted the invitation. He was always glad to go out to dine, because it gave him something to do, something to think of, or at least something to say. Besides this, he had been educated to think it was a fine thing to visit fine people; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes (for that was the name of his mother's acquaintance) was a very fine lady, and her two sons intended to be very _great_ gentlemen. He was in a prodigious hurry when these young gentlemen knocked at his uncle's door the next day; but just as he got to the hall door, little Patty called to him from the top of the stairs, and told him that he had dropped his pocket-handkerchief.

'Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, can't you, child?' cried Hal, 'for Lady Di's sons are waiting for me.'

Little Patty did not know anything about Lady Di's sons; but as she was very good-natured, and saw that her cousin Hal was, for some reason or other, in a desperate hurry, she ran downstairs as fast as she possibly could towards the landing-place, where the handkerchief lay; but, alas!

before she reached the handkerchief, she fell, rolling down a whole flight of stairs, and when her fall was at last stopped by the landing-place, she did not cry out, she writhed, as if she was in great pain.

'Where are you hurt, my love?' said Mr. Gresham, who came instantly, on hearing the noise of some one falling downstairs. 'Where are you hurt, my dear?'

'Here, papa,' said the little girl, touching her ankle, which she had decently covered with her gown. 'I believe I am hurt here, but not much,' added she, trying to rise; 'only it hurts me when I move.' 'I'll carry you; don't move then,' said her father, and he took her up in his arms. 'My shoe! I've lost one of my shoes,' said she.

Ben looked for it upon the stairs, and he found it sticking in a loop of whipcord, which was entangled round one of the banisters. When this cord was drawn forth, it appeared that it was the very same jagged, entangled piece which Hal had pulled off his parcel. He had diverted himself with running up and down stairs, whipping the banisters with it, as he thought he could convert it to no better use; and, with his usual carelessness, he at last left it hanging just where he happened to throw it when the dinner bell rang. Poor little Patty's ankle was terribly strained, and Hal reproached himself for his folly, and would have reproached himself longer, perhaps, if Lady Di Sweepstakes' sons had not hurried him away.

In the evening, Patty could not run about as she used to do; but she sat upon the sofa, and she said that she did not feel the pain of her ankle _so much_ whilst Ben was so good as to play at _jack straws_ with her.

'That's right, Ben; never be ashamed of being good-natured to those who are younger and weaker than yourself,' said his uncle, smiling at seeing him produce his whipcord, to indulge his little cousin with a game at her favourite cat's cradle. 'I shall not think you one bit less manly, because I see you playing at cat's cradle with a little child of six years old.'

Hal, however, was not precisely of his uncle's opinion; for when he returned in the evening, and saw Ben playing with his little cousin, he could not help smiling contemptuously, and asked if he had been playing at cat's cradle all night. In a heedless manner he made some inquiries after Patty's sprained ankle, and then he ran on to tell all the news he had heard at Lady Diana Sweepstakes'--news which he thought would make him appear a person of vast importance.

'Do you know, uncle--do you know, Ben,' said he, 'there's to be the most _famous_ doings that ever were heard of upon the Downs here, the first day of next month, which will be in a fortnight, thank my stars! I wish the fortnight was over; I shall think of nothing else, I know, till that happy day comes!'

Mr. Gresham inquired why the first of September was to be so much happier than any other day in the year. 'Why,' replied Hal, 'Lady Diana Sweepstakes, you know, is a _famous_ rider, and archer, and _all that_----' 'Very likely,' said Mr. Gresham, soberly; 'but what then?'

'Dear uncle!' cried Hal, 'but you shall hear. There's to be a race upon the Downs on the first of September, and after the race, there's to be an archery meeting for the ladies, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes is to be one of _them_. And after the ladies have done shooting--now, Ben, comes the best part of it!--we boys are to have our turn, and Lady Di is to give a prize to the best marksman amongst us, of a very handsome bow and arrow. Do you know, I've been practising already, and I'll show you, to-morrow, as soon as it comes home, the _famous_ bow and arrow that Lady Diana has given me; but, perhaps,' added he, with a scornful laugh, 'you like a cat's cradle better than a bow and arrow.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Playing at cat's cradle._]

Ben made no reply to this taunt at the moment; but the next day, when Hal's new bow and arrow came home, he convinced him that he knew how to use it very well.

'Ben,' said his uncle, 'you seem to be a good marksman, though you have not boasted of yourself. I'll give you a bow and arrow, and, perhaps, if you practise, you may make yourself an archer before the first of September; and, in the meantime, you will not wish the fortnight to be over, for you will have something to do.'

'Oh, sir,' interrupted Hal, 'but if you mean that Ben should put in for the prize, he must have a uniform.' 'Why _must_ he?' said Mr. Gresham.

'Why, sir, because everybody has--I mean everybody that's anybody; and Lady Diana was talking about the uniform all dinner time, and it's settled, all about it, except the b.u.t.tons: the young Sweepstakes are to get theirs made first for patterns--they are to be white, faced with green, and they'll look very handsome, I'm sure; and I shall write to mamma to-night, as Lady Diana bid me, about mine; and I shall tell her to be sure to answer my letter, without fail, by return of post; and then, if mamma makes no objection, which I know she won't, because she never thinks much about expense, and _all that_--then I shall bespeak my uniform, and get it made by the same tailor that makes for Lady Diana and the young Sweepstakes.'

'Mercy upon us!' said Mr. Gresham, who was almost stunned by the rapid vociferation with which this long speech about a uniform was p.r.o.nounced.

'I don't pretend to understand these things,' added he, with an air of simplicity; 'but we will inquire, Ben, into the necessity of the case; and if it is necessary--or, if you think it necessary, that you shall have a uniform--why, I'll give you one.'

'_You_, uncle? Will you, _indeed_?' exclaimed Hal, with amazement painted in his countenance. 'Well that's the last thing in the world I should have expected! You are not at all the sort of person I should have thought would care about a uniform; and now I should have supposed you'd have thought it extravagant to have a coat on purpose only for one day; and I'm sure Lady Diana Sweepstakes thought as I do; for when I told her of that motto over your kitchen chimney, 'WASTE NOT, WANT NOT,'

she laughed, and said that I had better not talk to you about uniforms, and that my mother was the proper person to write to about my uniform; but I'll tell Lady Diana, uncle, how good you are, and how much she was mistaken.'

'Take care how you do that,' said Mr. Gresham; 'for perhaps the lady was not mistaken.' 'Nay, did not you say, just now, you would give poor Ben a uniform?' 'I said I would, if he thought it necessary to have one.'