BEN HOLT'S GOOD NAME

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"Basil: or, Honesty and Industry," "Harry Blake's Trouble," etc.

[Charlotte O'Brien]

LONDON:

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

BEN HOLT'S GOOD NAME

CHAPTER I.

IT is no uncommon thing to hear children say, "how happy they should be if they were but rich." They seem to think people must be happy who live in grand houses and "fare sumptuously every day." Many a little boy, as he opens a common-gate to let a fine carriage pass through, has secretly envied those who were riding in it, and has thought what a good thing it must be to be borne about from place to place in a beautiful carriage, as easy as a bird and as grand as a prince.

Ah! Little boy, if you could have known what the lady in the carriage was thinking as she looked at your healthy, ruddy cheeks, and your merry countenance, you might have felt very differently on the subject. It is very likely that, weary with all the "pomp and vanities" of the empty world of fashion, something very like a sigh escaped from her as she thought, "How pleasant to have lived like that child amongst the blossoming May trees on the wild common, and never to have known the falsehoods of fashion and the evil ways of the world."

Some years ago an artist painted a picture, and named it "As happy as a king." What do you think the subject was? Perhaps you will imagine that it was some grand prince riding in a gilded chariot, drawn by cream-coloured horses, with music playing and soldiers in gay uniforms marching before and behind. Or it was a banquet, where all the guests were drinking out of golden cups. Nothing of the kind. It was simply a little peasant boy riding on the top of a five-barred gate, and waving his arms joyfully in the air as the gate swung to and fro.

But I do not want you to take my word alone for what I am saying. The Bible confirms what I have just been saying, but I will only quote one verse, which was written by the wisest of men; and he was not only the wisest, but the richest and most powerful monarch of his time. He was the "Solomon in all his glory" of whom our Saviour spake—the king whose throne was of "ivory, overlaid with the best gold," and who had none but golden drinking vessels. Surely "he" must have known the true value of riches! And what does he say?

"A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches."

Now, a good name may be possessed by every child who prays to God for grace and strengths to "live soberly and righteously in this present world." Moreover, riches often "make themselves wings, and fly away." And we know that even if they remain with us during our lives, we must lose them all when we die. But a good name will remain with us for ever and ever, and will do good in the world after our bodies are laid in the dust. The names of Samuel and David, of Luther and Howard, are still doing good in the world by the remembrance of the example they left behind them. The good name of many a simple village youth who was led during his short earthly life to trust in the merits of his Saviour, and who proved in whom he trusted by obedience to his parents, and by his honesty and good conduct, still lingers around his cottage home, an encouragement to his companions to "go and do likewise."

"The sweet remembrance of the just Shall flourish when they sleep in dust."

Are we then to despise riches if God thinks it well to bestow them upon us? By no means. Only we must remember that riches may become a snare to their possessor, and we must pray to God that we may not "trust in riches," or we shall find it very hard to enter into the kingdom of heaven. The true disciple of Christ will value money chiefly as it enables him to do good. He will remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how He said,—

"It is more blessed to give than to receive."

And his riches will be to him as a talent for which he knows he will one day have to give an account. If, on the other hand, God has seen fit, in His infinite wisdom, to place us in a condition of poverty, let us strive to say with St. Paul,—

"I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content."

For we may be quite sure that God knows far better than we do ourselves what is and what is not good for us.

The story we are about to tell is of a little boy who, whilst still very young, was enabled, through God's grace, to gain for himself a "good name." We think you will admit, when you have read his history, that this good name was of great value to him.

Ben Holt was a poor boy, and at the time when he first gained his good name, he had never seen such a thing as a green field in the country. As to buttercups and daisies, they would have been looked upon quite as "treasures of silver and gold" by the little boy who had lived all his life in a London alley. This alley was so narrow, that the utmost he could see even of the blue sky of heaven was a small strip between the two rows of tall, dirty houses, which were so close together that a person living at one side of the alley could almost shake hands with his opposite neighbour from their respective windows.

If any country child had asked Ben where he lived, the answer would have seemed to him rather puzzling—"White Horse Alley, No. 2, three pair back." And he would require to have it explained to him that there are parts of London, and of most large cities, where poor people live in narrow courts and alleys, and where the rents of even such places are so high that whole families have frequently to be contented with a single room to live in. In many quite small houses of not more than six rooms, sometimes there are twenty people living in them. This would seem very strange to children whose parents live in the country, and who have been brought up in a neat, roomy cottage, with a nice garden, and plenty of pleasant green meadows all around, and who have all their lives breathed the fresh pure air of the country. Such children little know how many more blessings they possess than little boys and girls who live in smoky courts and alleys, and who do not know what it is to walk in a shady green wood, or to gather a nosegay of wild flowers.

Ben Holt was an only child, and his mother was a widow. They lived in a small back room on the third floor of a house in White Horse Alley. That was the meaning of "three pair back." Whilst Ben's father lived, they had been much better off, and had two rooms to themselves on the first floor. He was a porter at a large wholesale house in the city, and received good wages; but he died very suddenly from injuries received in lifting some heavy weights, and then all was changed.

Mrs. Holt had to support herself and Ben by needlework, and could no longer afford the two nice rooms on the first floor. So she was obliged to move into the little top back room, for which poor accommodation she paid as much as the rent of many a four-roomed cottage in the country with a good bit of garden ground besides. But as Mrs. Holt made shirts for a shop near White Horse Alley, she was obliged to live in London, as she had to go to the shop almost every day to fetch or carry home her work.

She was not a woman of much education, having gone to service when very young, on account of the death of both her parents. But she had through life regretted not having had more "schooling;" for though able to read very well, she could not write at all, and she determined that her little Ben should be as good a scholar as she could afford to make him.

Ben, therefore, went regularly to school, and as he was nine or ten years old, he could read a chapter in the Bible without making one mistake, and was beginning to write large-hand very well. "Book-learning" is a very good thing and a very useful thing, but Ben Holt would never have gained his good name by merely knowing how to read and write and cipher. The heart must be cultivated as well as the head, and it is God alone who can do that through His Holy Spirit. Ben's mother knew that very well, and she did what all Christian mothers should do—she prayed to God night and morning for her dear little boy, and also that she might have strength and grace given her to set him a good example, and to bring him up in the right way.

In simple, earnest faith she prayed on, nothing doubting but that she would receive, in God's own time, an answer to her prayers; for she remembered those words of our blessed Saviour—

"Whatsoever ye shall ask, of the Father, in My name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son."

CHAPTER II.

YOU may be quite sure that Ben Holt had not many toys. Whilst his father lived, it had been very different; and the little boy had still the remains of a large wooden horse on four wheels, which had been given to him on his fourth birthday. But the wheels were all broken, and only one leg remained; yet still Ben clung to the wreck of his former plaything, for it seemed to remind him of the days when his kind father lived, and when his mother was not obliged to sit and work from morning to night, as she now had to do.

Often and often did Ben wake up after he had been in bed what seemed to him a whole long night, and there was his pale and anxious-looking mother stitching away by the light of a miserable candle, just where he had left her when he went to bed. Then Ben would feel a warm gush of love rise up in his heart for his poor mother, and he would long for the day to come when he should be able to earn enough to keep them both. Sometimes a deep sigh would escape him as he thought how young he was, and how long it would be before he was grown up. Then his mother would look round from her work with a kind smile, and tell him to go to sleep again; or she would leave her work for a moment to make his bed comfortable for him, little knowing the thoughts that were passing through Ben's mind at the time.

Ben was much more thoughtful than boys usually are at his age, one great reason for which was that his mother kept him with her as much as possible, not wishing him to associate with the rude boys in the alley. Having no brothers or sisters, and only his mother for a companion, Ben was rather old-fashioned in his ways for a little boy nearly ten years old. He would stand at the window of the little back room in which they lived, watching the smoke-dried-looking sparrows as they hopped about amongst the tiles and chimney pots. And he would think how beautiful the birds must be that are spoken of in the Bible—doves with silver wings and feathers like gold: he wished he could see some of them.

Sometimes he went with his mother to the shop for which she worked, and as they came home Mrs. Holt would, now and then, turn aside from the crowded, noisy streets, to where a large bridge, more quiet than the others, crossed the busy river. This was a great treat to Ben. He would stand on the stone seats on the bridge, and watch with delight the steamers going up and down, and would wonder whether they went very far, and whether the people in them ever saw doves with "silver wings and feathers like gold."

One day Ben had accompanied his mother to the shop, and whilst she was engaged in talking to the master of the shop about the work, and waiting for some more to be given to her, the little boy amused himself with standing at the door, watching the crowds of people who passed by. He liked doing that very much.

There was a large toy-shop just opposite, and as the street was not very wide, Ben could distinctly see all the pretty tempting things that were displayed in the windows. Drums, trumpets, horses, coaches, and, above all, some large, gaily-painted humming-tops. Ben had always longed-for one of those big humming-tops. He had sometimes seen a little boy spinning one in the parlour of the shop for which his mother worked, and had thought how nice it would be if he could only have one to amuse himself with, in their back room at home. The cheerful humming noise it made was so pleasant; Ben thought it would be as good as having somebody to play with. But he never said anything about it to his mother, for he knew how poor she was, and that sometimes she could hardly find money to pay the rent, for which a stern-looking man used to call every Monday morning. So Ben only stood at the shop door, and longed, perhaps a little more that day than usual, for a painted humming-top.

Presently, the door of the toy-shop opened, and a lady came out, accompanied by two children—a little boy about Ben's age, and a girl rather older. Both children were dressed very smartly, and their arms were full of toys. The boy had a great drum and a trumpet, and his pockets were quite full of things. They crossed over from the toy-shop to the side of the street where Ben was standing, and just then some large drops of rain began to fall from a very black cloud overhead.

The lady and her children stood up under an archway next door to the workshop, to wait until the shower was over. Several other persons took shelter in the same place; amongst them was a kind-looking old gentleman in spectacles. The rain came down very fast, and Ben laughed to see the people who had no umbrellas scampering along to get out of the wet. The street was soon quite empty.

The rain did not last long, however. And when it was nearly over, the lady and her son and daughter came out from under the archway, and passed close by Ben. They were evidently looking for a carriage of some kind, but every one that went by was engaged. They had scarcely passed the shop door where Ben was standing, when the little boy saw something floating along in the gutter at the side of the road, which the heavy rain had filled with water. It came just opposite to him, and he saw it was a painted humming-top, just such a one as he had so longed-for, and as he thought he saw peeping out of the little boy's pocket as he had hurried past with his mamma and sister.

Ben darted forward and seized the precious top, glanced round hastily, saw that no one was looking for it, that no one had missed it, and for an instant the thought, "'Now,' I shall have a humming-top," said he in his mind, with a look of joy. It was only for an instant though; and then better thoughts had evidently come into Ben's mind, for in a moment he was seen to run with all his might in the direction the lady and her children had taken.

The old gentleman in spectacles had watched the whole scene. He had beheld what Ben had not, namely, the top fall out of the boy's overcrowded pocket. He had also noticed Ben's wistful look as the longed-for toy came close to him, and had watched with trembling interest the short struggle which had gone on in the boy's countenance between right and wrong.

The old gentleman was a benevolent man, with many children and grandchildren of his own. He knew the temptation which Ben had undergone, and felt as thankful in his heart that God had enabled the boy to overcome it as if Ben had been his own child. One moment he paused, and then he too followed, but more slowly, in the direction Ben had taken. The street had become very full of people again, and Ben was much pushed about as he hurried along. He got within sight of the lady, who at that moment was just turning round to look after her little son and his drum. The first thing she saw was poor Ben in his shabby clothes and the gaily-painted humming-top in his hand.

"Oh, you wicked little thief! So you stole my son's humming-top?" she cried, catching hold of Ben's shoulder as she spoke.

"No, indeed, ma'am," stammered Ben, frightened by her angry voice. "I did not indeed, ma'am, I only—"

"Don't tell me any stories about it," said the lady; "it is the very top I bought for my little boy not ten minutes ago."

"Yes, ma'am, I know it is, but—"

"'You know it is!' You impudent little fellow," interrupted the lady; "then how dare you say you did not take it?"

By this time quite a crowd had assembled, and some were saying how dreadful it was for so young a child to be a thief. And a policeman came up and laid hold of Ben, so that, altogether, the poor boy was completely frightened out of what little sense he had left.

"Now, young one," said the policeman, "speak the truth, if you know how. What were you doing here?"

"Please, sir, mother is at the shop."

"What shop?"

"The workshop, just there, sir, and I came with her; and it rolled to me, indeed it did sir."

"What! The shop rolled to you, did it?" said the policeman, with a half smile on his face.

"No, sir, the top; it came swimming along in the gutter."

"A very likely thing, indeed," said the lady.

"Which pocket was the top in?" asked the policeman, turning to the lady's little son, who was looking very grave.

"This one," said the boy, pointing to a little pocket, even then more than half full of balls and marbles and other toys.

"It almost fell out once before, mamma," said the little girl, as she looked up in the lady's face, with her bright eyes filled with tears.

"I put it in for Ernest as we were crossing from the toy-shop, and afterwards the people did push so, that I dare say they pushed it out; and I don't think that little boy looks like a wicked robber," added she, in a kind and pitying tone.

But some one was now pressing his way through the crowd. It was the old gentleman, who soon set matters to rights, and proved that Ben was no thief, but a very honest boy.

Then everybody seemed very glad, and the lady and her children and the kind old gentleman, with one or two other persons who had been in the crowd, went back with Ben to the shop, when they found Mrs. Holt in great trouble about her son, not knowing what had become of him. The lady was very kind to Ben now, and told him she was sorry for having thought so badly of him, and that she would give him the painted humming-top to keep, at which poor Ben almost jumped for joy.

The little girl went and whispered something to her mamma, who answered, "Yes, if you like, my dear." And she went up to Ben, and put a gaily-bound book, full of pictures, into his hands, saying, "I am so glad you are not a thief, little boy, and mamma says I may give you this pretty book, and I hope you will soon be able to read it."

Ben thanked the little girl again and again for the beautiful book, and then the lady and her children left the shop.

The old gentleman stopped behind, and spoke very kindly to Ben and his mother. "You are bringing up your boy in the right way," he said to Mrs. Holt; "teach a lad early the value of a good name, and it will be better than a fortune to him through life. And you, my boy," added he, addressing Ben, "go on as you have begun, and thank God from your heart in your prayers to-night that He gave you strength to do your duty to-day."

He then asked Ben's mother where she lived, and gave her five shillings to spend as she thought best for her son.

So everything ended pleasantly, and Ben and his mother went home happily together.

That evening, Mrs. Holt spoke tenderly to Ben as she was putting him to bed. She was so fearful lest her boy should feel anything like pride or self-congratulation at the events of the day. The people had praised him very much, and had called him an honest boy; and now his mother tried to make him understand that it was not in his power to "think," much less to "do," a good action of himself, and that the only feeling he ought to have about it should be great thankfulness, and that he should pray to God always to lead him to do right. She told him, also, that he must not always expect to be rewarded for doing his duty as he had been that day, but that he must make up his mind to try and do what was right, let the cost be what it might.