But just when I was considered sufficiently strong to be again allowed the care of my child, my husband was prostrated by the same disease from which I had just recovered, and in ten days I was left a widow with my helpless child. I cannot even now dwell upon this season of sorrow. All my former trials appeared as nothing when compared with this. Had it not been for my boy I could almost have wished I had not been spared to see this hour, but I banished such thoughts as wrong and impious, and tried to look the dreary future calmly in the face. I soon found it necessary to devise some means of support for myself and child. I thought of many plans only to discard them as useless. I once thought of opening a school as my own mother had done, but the care of my child prevented me from supporting myself in this way; and I would not consign him to the care of strangers. I at length decided to seek to support myself by the use of the needle, and accordingly rented two rooms on a respectable street, and removed thither with my child, where, by the closest industry I succeeded in keeping above want for more than three years, when my health failed from too close application to my employment. My physician strongly advised me to leave the city, as he thought country air would have a beneficial effect upon my health. I followed his advice, and, with the small sum of money which I had been able to lay by, added to what I received from the sale of my few articles of household furniture, I left the city. When I left Boston I had no particular place in view as to where I might find a home. I had decided upon opening a school in some country village if I could meet with encouragement in the undertaking. About fifty miles distant from this city I was taken ill, and for several weeks was unable to proceed on my way. When I was sufficiently recovered to allow of my again travelling I found it to be imperatively necessary that I should seek some place where I could earn a support for myself and child, as the small sum of money with which I left Boston was now nearly gone. The kind gentleman, in whose house I remained during my illness, informed me that he was well acquainted in the village of Walden, and he thought it a place where I would be likely to succeed in establishing a select school for young children, as he informed me there were many wealthy people residing here, who would patronize a school of this kind. With this intention I came to this village, and when I purchased my ticket for Walden I had but one dollar remaining in my purse, which, with the clothing and other articles contained in my trunk is all I possess in the world. But this matters little to me now, for I feel that my days on earth are numbered. I am unable to reward you for your exceeding kindness to myself and child; but I pray Heaven to reward and bless you, both temporally and spiritually. It is hard for me to leave my dear child, but I now feel resigned to the will of Heaven, knowing that whatever He wills is for the best."

CHAPTER IV.

And so the little orphan boy found a home and friends to love and cherish him.

Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey felt a tender love for the lovely and engaging orphan. Mrs. Humphrey, in particular, seemed almost to idolize him.

She had many years before lost, by death, a little boy, when of about the same age which little Ernest was when thus strangely cast upon her bounty; and this circ.u.mstance may have attached her more strongly to the child.

Mr. Humphrey was equally fond of the boy, but his disposition was less demonstrative than was that of his wife he was, therefore not so much inclined to indulge, the child in a manner which would prove injurious to him as he grew older.

Although the child had a very affectionate disposition he yet possessed a will that liked not to yield to that of another. Young as the child was, his mother had discovered this trait in his character and had, previously to her death, spoken of the matter to Mrs. Humphrey, and besought her--as she valued her own happiness and that of the child--to exact strict obedience from him when he should be left solely to her care.

"Even," said she, "should it require severe measures to break that will, it must be done. Remember it is for the best good of the child."

Had Mrs. Humphrey strictly followed the counsels of the dying mother in the early training of her child it might have spared her much after-sorrow.

Mr. Humphrey treated the child very kindly, but made it a point that he should yield to him a ready obedience in all things. But the little fellow was quick to notice that when Mr. Humphrey was not present he could usually, either by dint of coaxing or noisy rebellion, carry his point with Mrs. Humphrey.

Her husband often remonstrated with her upon the course she was pursuing in the management of the child. She used often to say--

"I cannot find it in my heart to punish the poor child when I consider that he is both fatherless and motherless, and I trust he will outgrow these childish ways."

Poor Mrs. Humphrey! She is not the only one that has been cheated by this hope, and has thereby allowed their child to grow up with an obstinate will that has marred their happiness for life.

In after years Mrs. Humphrey many times recalled to mind a remark which a friend made to her one day in regard to little Ernest, then six years old. He came into the parlor where the two ladies were sitting, and taking from the centre table an elegantly bound book, began turning the leaves with fingers that were none of the cleanest. Mrs. Humphrey gently requested him to replace the book, which request she was obliged to repeat two or three times before he paid the slightest attention to it.

And then it was only to say in a coaxing voice--

"Ernest wants this pretty book; do let me keep it."

Mrs. Humphrey replied that the book was not suitable for little boys, and again requested him to replace it on the table. When a few minutes had pa.s.sed, and he still continued to turn the leaves of the book, Mrs.

Humphrey again repeated her request in a decided manner, telling him to replace the book immediately, when his childish temper burst forth in a regular tempest. He tossed the book from his hand, and threw himself on the floor in a corner of the room, where he gave vent to his anger by a succession of screams, which were anything but melodious. But his desire to retain possession of the coveted book was yet strong, and when the ladies again became engaged in conversation he quietly approached the table and, hastily taking the book therefrom, left the room, and Mrs.

Humphrey, to save further trouble, appeared not to notice the act. The lady, who was an intimate friend, asked Mrs. Humphrey if she were not pursuing a wrong course in thus allowing the boy to do what she had once forbidden him?

"Oh," said Mrs. Humphrey, "he is but a child, and will become ashamed of such conduct as he grows older."

"I sincerely hope he may," replied the lady, "but I very much fear you will see a day when you will regret not having been more firm in your government of this child."

CHAPTER V.

Nine years have rolled by the with their various changes since we first introduced Earnest Harwood to the reader, a child of five years of age, weeping at the grave of his mother.

Let us again glance at him when he has nearly attained to the age of fourteen years. We find him grown a strong healthy youth, still retaining that wondrous beauty which had rendered him so remarkable in the days of his childhood.

The reader will doubtless be ready to enquire if his mind and character are equally lovely with his person. Would that it were in my power to give a favourable answer to the question. But the truth must be told, and, at the age of fourteen, Ernest Harwood was decidedly a bad boy.

When of suitable age he had been put to school, and for a time made rapid progress in his studies. From the first he was rather averse to study, but as he learned readily and had a most retentive memory he managed to keep pace in his studies with most boys of his age.

Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey exercised much watchfulness in regard to his companions, as, when he began to mingle with other boys, they discovered that he seemed inclined to make companions of such boys as they could not conscientiously allow him to a.s.sociate with. But, notwithstanding their vigilance, it was soon remarked that he was often seen in company with boys of very bad repute. He soon came to dislike school, and often absented himself from it for a very trivial excuse, and in many instances played truant, when Mr. Humphrey refused to listen to his excuses for being allowed to remain at home.

Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey endeavored to discharge their duty to the boy; and more than that, they loved him as their own child.

I cannot describe the sorrow they experienced on his account, when, as he grew older, he seemed more and more inclined to the company of vicious boys, and to follow their evil examples. Many of his misdoings never reached the ears of his foster parents, for they were very much respected by their neighbors, who disliked to acquaint them with what must give them pain. He soon became so bad that if a piece of mischief was perpetrated among the village boys, the neighbors used at once to say they felt sure that Earnest Harwood was at the bottom of it. Often when among his wicked companions, those lips that had been taught to lisp the nightly prayer at his mother's knee were stained with oaths and impure language.

Mr. Humphrey, one day, in pa.s.sing along the street, chanced to find him in company with some of the worst boys in the village, smoking cigars at the street corner. He was hardly able to credit his own eyesight. He requested him to accompany him home at once. He at the first thought of administering punishment with the rod, but as he had done so in former instances of misconduct with apparently no effect but to make him more defiant and rebellious, he thought in this instance he would try the effect of mild persuasion.

"My dear boy you little know the pain you are inflicting upon your best friends by thus seeking the company of those wicked boys who will certainly lead you to ruin, if you allow yourself to follow their example."

He talked long to him of his deceased mother, telling him of her many earnest prayers for the future good of her child.

For some time the boy maintained a sulky, defiant manner, but his heart at length softened, and, covering his face with his hands, he wept aloud. He begged of Mr. Humphrey to forgive his past misconduct, and he certainly would try to reform in the future.

For a time there was a marked change for the better in the conduct of the boy, and his friends began to indulge the hope that the change would prove to be lasting. But his resolutions of amendment soon yielded to the influence of his evil companions, from whom he found it very difficult to keep aloof. He was of a rash, impulsive disposition, and he soon forgot his good resolves, and became even worse than before.

Mr. Humphrey still maintained sufficient control over him to oblige him to attend church regularly, in company with himself and wife, but often, when they supposed him to be attending the Sabbath-School, would he join some party of idle, strolling boys, and spend the day in a very sinful manner. The Superintendent of the school hearing of this, called and acquainted Mr. Humphrey of the matter.

"I am obliged to you for your kindness in calling upon me," said Mr.

Humphrey, "although I fear I can do nothing that will have any good effect upon the boy. I have endeavoured to do my duty by the child, I know not wherein I have failed. I have counselled, persuaded, and even punished him, and you behold the result. I am at a loss what to do with him. I have brought up children of my own, who never caused me a real sorrow in their lives. Why is it, that this poor orphan seems so strongly resolved to follow only evil ways? Would that some one could advise me as to what my duty is, in regard to the boy, for, unless a change for the better soon takes place, he will be ruined for time and eternity."

Mr. Humphrey sighed deeply as he spoke, and seemed oppressed with sorrow. The gentleman with whom he was conversing, endeavoured, as well as he was able under the circ.u.mstances, to comfort him; telling him that they could only give him good counsel, and pray for him, and leave the result to an over-ruling Providence.

CHAPTER VI.

Previous to her death, the mother of Earnest had entrusted to the care of Mrs. Humphrey, a closely sealed package directed to Ernest in her own hand-writing. She had left the request that this package should not be given to him until he had reached the age of fourteen years. Many surmises were formed among the few who knew of this package, as to what it might contain. Some were of the opinion that it contained papers which might lead to the possession of wealth. But from what Mrs. Harwood had related to Mrs. Humphrey, concerning her early life, she thought this idea to be highly improbable.

However, she carefully laid by the package, and was very careful that it should sustain no injury. In the meantime, the boy had continued to go on from bad to worse, till he became known as the leader in every kind of mischief among the bad boys of the village. He now seldom spent an evening in his own home. In one or two instances he narrowly escaped being sent to jail. The respect entertained for his foster parents by the people of the village was all that caused them to show lenity to the erring boy. The conduct of Earnest had borne heavier upon them than their years; they had fondly loved the beautiful and friendless boy, and it almost broke their hearts to see him go thus astray. Many there were who advised them to cast him off, as he seemed given over to evil, and even treated them with unkindness and disrespect; but with all his faults, they still clung to him, hoping almost against hope that he would yet reform.

"I promised his mother," said Mr. Humphrey, "that I would care for her boy so long as I lived to do so, and that promise I intend to keep."

"And," added Mrs. Humphrey, "as long as we possess a home, he shall not be homeless. For if we can do no more we can at least pray for him; and I have a hope that the prayers offered in faith will yet meet with an answer."

Time pa.s.sed on, till the evening preceding the fourteenth birth-day of Ernest. Mr. Humphrey sat with his wife by their lonely fireside, Ernest had gone out directly after tea, and the hour was growing late. They were speaking of him, for they felt very sad.

"I often wonder," said Mr. Humphrey, addressing his wife, "in what duty I have failed to Ernest. I have endeavored to set before him a good example, and to do by him in all things as I would have done by my own son. I have prayed with and for him; and yet since quite a little child, he has been a source of grief and anxiety to us, by his evil conduct."

"I am conscious," replied Mrs. Humphrey, "that I have erred in his early training, by too often yielding to his childish will, rather than administer punishment to enforce obedience from him. I meant well, and if I have done him a wrong it is now too late to remedy it. I can only pray that he may yet forsake his evil ways. To-morrow will be his birth-day, let us hope that the contents of the package which so many years ago, his poor mother entrusted to my care, may have some influence for good upon his future life."

While they were yet speaking a rap sounded at the door. Mr. Humphrey rose and opened it, but stood speechless, when he beheld Ernest supported by two or three of his companions. At the first he supposed him either hurt or seriously ill. But upon going near to him what was his amazement when he discovered that he was too much intoxicated to allow of his walking without a.s.sistance. This was something entirely unexpected. Some had hinted that, added to his other faults, he was acquiring a taste for strong drink, but those whispers never reached the ears of Mr. Humphrey or his wife. And when he was brought home in this state, they had no words adequate to describe their feelings.