NORTHCLIFFE BOYS.

BY CHARLOTTE O'BRIEN

AUTHOR OF "BASIL; OR, HONESTY AND INDUSTRY," "BEN HOLT'S GOOD NAME," ETC.

LONDON:

RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

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

———————————————————— WILLIAM RIDER AND SON, PRINTERS, LONDON.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I. GEORGE'S HOME

II. GEORGE AT WORK

III. GOOD NEWS

IV. TEMPTATION

V. GOOD FOR EVIL

VI. IN THE HOSPITAL

VII. IN THE NEW HOME

NORTHCLIFFE BOYS.

CHAPTER I.

GEORGE'S HOME.

AUTUMN winds were blowing in Northcliffe, and the streets and lanes were thickly strewn with the fallen leaves. It was a cold, damp afternoon, and everything looked dull and cheerless—everything and everybody, with one exception, and that was a boy about twelve years of age who was half running, half walking along the lane leading from Greychurch to Northcliffe and who whistled merrily as he went along, a strongly built lad, tall for his age, with a fair, ruddy Saxon face. He was well known in Northcliffe, and everybody had a good word to say for him. Always ready to do a kind turn for any one, every little child liked George Horbrook; and every dog in the town wagged his tail as the good-natured boy went by.

At the turning of the road which led into the town, a group of big boys were standing.

"Hollo," cried one of them to George as he was hurrying by, "where have you been?"

"To Greychurch, to see Mr. Day."

"What for?"

"He has promised to take me on as a mason's boy, and I am to go to work at the new terrace to-morrow morning."

Very happy was the tone in which these words were spoken, and very brightly sparkled the speaker's large blue eyes.

"'You!'" cried the boy who had first spoken. "'You!' Why, you've never carried a hod in your life."

"I suppose I can learn," said George.

"May be so; but Mr. Day has said over and over again he would never take a boy who didn't know something about his work. Why, it was only a week or two ago that any father asked him to take 'me,' and he wouldn't."

"All I know is, he has promised to take 'me,'" cried George, laughing; "and won't I try and please him, that's all! I am to have four shillings a week to begin with."

Fred Giles muttered something about it not being fair, and Tom Hunt, another of the boys said,—

"You'll be glad enough to have done with school, that's one thing, George."

"No such thing, Tom. I should have liked to stay a year longer at school; but father and mother want even my little help, so I'm glad to go to work for their sakes."

"You won't come to the Sunday school either now, I suppose?" said Fred.

George's merry laugh sounded above the wind. "Mr. Day don't work his boys on Sundays," he said.

"None of your impudence, George!" cried Fred, in a surly tone. "You know what I mean very well. You will be your own master now, and will not care about the Sunday school."

"Just the other way, Fred. The Sunday school will help to keep me straight; and as to being my own master, teacher says no one who reads his Bible can ever call himself that."

"Your good luck has turned your head I think, George," cried Fred jeeringly; "but you needn't try to preach to us, because—"

Here the boys set up a loud laugh. We have all our weak points, and George's was not liking to be laughed at.

He answered angrily, "I am not preaching, and I know very well what I mean, and—"

"Tell us, then."

"I mean, I mean!" cried George, getting more angry and more confused every moment.

"He 'doesn't' know what he means," said Fred, in a taunting voice.

George's passion was at its height, and he rushed forward with uplifted arm to strike Fred, when all in a moment the arm raised in anger fell quietly by his side, and with a great effort, he gulped down the bitter words just ready to issue from his lips, and stood breathless but calm before the group of boys.

"He's afraid!" they cried with one voice.

"I 'am afraid' of doing any more wrong," said poor George, very humbly. "I lost my temper, and I am very sorry for it; but all the time I did know what I meant to say, and that was that the Bible says, 'Neither be ye called masters; for "one" is your Master, even Christ.' Teacher made us learn that text the other day, and explained to us how that every one on earth, from the king to the beggar, is God's servant, and how we ought all to try to be good and profitable servants."

"We want no more preaching, George," said Tom Hunt, interrupting him. "All I know is, it's a shame you should be taken on by Mr. Day, when Fred Giles, who is nearly twice your size, has been refused."

The boys moved off as they spoke, and George, glad to be free from them, continued his way home; but he no longer whistled as he went. Why had Mr. Day refused to take Fred Giles? And was it really the unfair thing the boys had called it? Not at all.

Mr. Day had all the right on his side. He knew Fred Giles to be an idle boy. He had already been in several situations in the town, but had been discharged from them all before he had been in them many weeks. In his last place, there had been strong suspicions against his honesty; and although nothing was fully proved against him, his good name had suffered greatly.

Well might Solomon say, "A good name is better than riches." Fred's parents also did not bear the best of characters in the town; and all these things are taken into consideration by people when about to engage a boy.

"I will have nothing to do with that boy," is a common remark; "his father is a drunkard, and what can you expect from the son?" Or, "I should be afraid to try that girl; her mother is an idle woman, who has never taught her daughter habits of industry and tidiness." And thus the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.

George Horbrook's parents were very poor, but no one had a word to say against them. Poverty is no crime; and the Horbrooks had tried to bring up their children honestly and respectably; and where they had failed to do so, every one felt the fault had not been theirs.

George himself was a good and steady boy, his chief fault being that of a too hasty temper. At school he had done so well that the master had offered to keep him for another year free of expense to his parents, in consideration of the help he was able to give with some of the little boys. But the Horbrooks were so badly off, in consequence of the father's illness, that even the trifle George might be able to earn was a great object to them.

When Mr. Day had been spoken to about George, he said,—

"That boy comes of a good stock; and the schoolmaster gives him a good character for truthfulness and industry. I want another young hand just now, and I will give him the preference, although he knows nothing of the work."

So much for the value of a good name!

When George reached home and told the good news about his engagement to Mr. Day, his mother's pale and anxious face brightened up with a smile of thankfulness. Her husband had been laid up for many months through an injury he had received from the fall of a heavy stone upon his foot. There was no chance of his being able to work for some length of time, and meanwhile there were nine children, only one of whom was older than George, and that one, who should have been the comfort and stay of his parents, was a source of the deepest sorrow and anxiety to them.

It was a very poor home where the Horbrooks lived, only two rooms, and a third scarcely bigger than a cupboard. Mrs. Horbrook had at one time rented a larger cottage, and had earned some money by letting her spare rooms, but the owner of the house had wanted to reside in it himself, so the Horbrooks were obliged to leave, and there was no other vacant cottage to be had in all Northcliffe but the small one they now lived in.

Good cottages were very scarce in the town, and the report that a rich lady who owned land in Northcliffe was about to have some cottages built was hailed with joy by the overcrowded poor.

"Where's father, mother?" said George, as he took his baby sister from her and sat down to nurse it.

The child had been fretful all day, but Mrs. Horbrook always said no one could quiet a baby like her George. And certain it was that no sooner had he taken the little one in his arms than it began to crow and smile at him.

Janet Horbrook, a womanly little girl of nine years, used to say that it was George's "dancing eyes" that quieted babies so well.

"Your father's gone up to Dr. Bertram, George," said his mother, in answer to his question. "His foot has pained him more than usual to-day; and it was as much as he could do to limp along with the help of his crutches."

MINDING BABY.

"And where's Edwin, mother?"

"He's gone to Moor Park with a message from Dr. Bertram, and he is to have sixpence for going. I gave him a penny to add to it, and he will bring home a loaf for your suppers. He should be back by this time, but it was a long way for him to go. Dr. Bertram sent for you to go, but you were not at home."

Mrs. Horbrook had scarcely finished speaking when Edwin entered the cottage. He had a large loaf in his arms, and a lot of dripping which Mrs. Bertram had told her cook to give him.

The children were soon seated round the table, and were enjoying their supper when their father returned home. There was a sad and suffering look on his face, which not even the sight of the children and their supper nor the good news about George could dispel. He sat down by the fire, and sighed deeply.

"What is it, John?" whispered his wife. She laid her hand upon her husband's arm as she spoke, and looked brightly into his face.

"Matter enough, Susie dear. Dr. Bertram says he can do no more for me here, and that I must go to one of the large hospitals in London. He told me it is only losing time staying here."

"But if you do go to London, does he say you will soon get quite well, John?"

"No, Susie, he is not sure, and he prepared me for the worst, and said that—"

"That what, John?" said his wife, her cheek growing pale with her fear of what the answer might be.

"Not that I should die, dear wife, but that it might be I should—have to lose my foot."

"Oh, John!"

"It is not for myself I mind, Susie; it is when I think of you and all the young ones!"

John Horbrook's voice grew thick as he spoke, and the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Father, 'I'll' take care of mother whilst you are away," said a manly young voice at his side. "She shall never want whilst I can work."

"Bless you for your good, brave words, my boy!" said his father. "I know you will do your best, although that will be but little for some time to come."

"But I shall get on, father, I 'know' I shall. And who knows how soon I may be able to make a home for you?"

George's parents both felt that they could not be quite cast down when God had given them such a son?

CHAPTER II.

GEORGE AT WORK.

LONG after the younger children had gone to bed, husband and wife sat talking over the new trial which had fallen upon them. George had gone up to the school to tell the master of his engagement by Mr. Day, and little Janet sat at the table as quiet as a mouse, darning stockings.

Mrs. Horbrook spoke hopefully, although her heart was very sad.

"When you first came in and told me all sudden like about having to go away, I felt so taken aback; it all seemed so blank, so dreary, and then our little George spoke out so manfully. He little knows the good his words did me. And now, John, I seem as if I could look it all in the face, and trust in God that it will all be for our good."

"Well said, Susie," replied her husband; "and Dr. Bertram will be kind to you whilst I am away, and he has promised to give me a letter to one of the head surgeons who is a friend."

"And who knows but that in London you may chance to hear something of poor Tom?"

"May be so, wife, though they say London is a large place,—a mighty large place."

Neither John nor his wife had ever been out of the Isle of Wight, and would have had considerable difficulty in realizing the fact that London contains sixty times as many people as there are in the "whole" of the isle of Wight! Yet such is the fact, so there seemed but little prospect of John Horbrook coming across his son Tom.

Tom Horbrook had had every chance of doing well in life. He was a quick boy, and his parents had been able by strict economy to pay for his being taught a trade. But, unfortunately, Tom was fond of mixing with the wild and unsteady lads of the town; every town has its good-for-nothing portion of the population, and Northcliffe had its share. Over and over again did Tom's parents warn him of the ruin he was bringing on himself. At length, some money was missing from his master's counting-house, and grave suspicions fell upon Tom Horbrook. He disappeared suddenly from Northcliffe, and from that day no one had ever heard of or from him.

"If he had but written me one line!" his mother would exclaim, in the bitterness of her sorrow.

Two years had passed away since he left Northcliffe, and most people thought Tom Horbrook had met with some sudden death. Not so his mother, she clung to the conviction that "Tom would write some day." And every night the little ones prayed for their lost brother Tom; whilst Janet, in the quiet of her tiny room which she shared with her two younger sisters, never failed to ask God to "make Tom write to poor mother." And so matters stood when Mrs. Horbrook spoke of the chance of her husband meeting with his son in the far-off city of London.

When George returned home, he was accompanied by Mr. Gilbert, the schoolmaster.

"I hope I'm not intruding by coming so late," he said, as Mrs. Horbrook rose to get him a chair. "But George was telling me about your trouble, and I came round to see if I could be of any use to you."

"It is very good of you, Mr. Gilbert, I'm sure," answered John Horbrook. "It was a great shock to my wife and me just at first, but I think we see matters a little differently now; not but what it 'is' a trial, however we may try to make the best of it."

"There's no doubt about that," said the schoolmaster; "but, like many other trials, it may prove to be a blessing, that is, if used rightly."

"We were talking about that very thing before you came in," said Mrs. Horbrook. "But if the worst should happen," she continued, and her voice "would" tremble in spite of all her efforts to steady it, "what could John do if he returned home a—"

She could not bring herself to say the word "cripple," but Mr. Gilbert understood what she meant.

"It was just on that very point I wished to speak to your husband, Mrs. Horbrook. It is the part of a Christian man to look troubles in the face. If your husband should lose the use of his legs, he has still his hands to fall back upon. And George showed me only last week a pair of boots which he said his father had mended for him."

"John can do anything with his hands," said his wife proudly.

"Then let him take heart, and be assured that if God in His wisdom sees fit to close up one path of life to him, He will open another. There is plenty of work here for shoemakers and shoe-menders. And I will speak to my brother when your husband returns, and I know he will give him employment."

"I know something of shoemaking," said John Horbrook, "for when I was a boy, my father bound me to a shoemaker. But I was not a strong lad, and so much sitting did not agree with me. And after working at my trade for more than a year, I was obliged to give it up, and seek out-door employment."

"All right, Horbrook, see if you don't turn out a first-rate shoemaker, if occasion requires it of you. And how about George? It seems a pity that he should lose what knowledge he has gained; and we all know how soon anything forgotten that we make no use of. I have been telling him, therefore, that whenever he has a spare hour in the evening, and likes to come round to my house, I shall be pleased to give him a little help. In that way, we can manage so that at all events, he shall not forget what he has already learned; and he may add something to his stock of knowledge. No man can rise nowadays without some education. Nay, no thanks, Mrs. Horbrook, I am only doing as I would be done by."

"Mr. Gilbert has promised to teach me a little drawing, father," said George,—"the very thing I always longed for so very much!"

"It will be useful to him in his trade," replied the schoolmaster. "I saw a little sketch he made on a slate one day of some flowers one of the children had brought to school. Now a mason, with anything like a taste for drawing, will soon rise in the world. It was only this afternoon I was speaking to one of the stonemasons who are working at the new church. He was carving a group of flowers for the top of one of the pillars; and he told me that he can earn with ease seven or eight shillings a day."

"If 'I' should ever be able to do that!" cried George.

"There is no reason why you should not some of these days. Meanwhile, accustom yourself to sketch from nature—a leaf, a fern, a flower, you are surrounded by such things here. And the habit of copying nature will help you materially. No matter how roughly the thing is done; a bit of common chalk will serve you as well as a pencil. But I must now bid you good night; and if I can help you in any way, be sure and let me know."

As he spoke, he shook John Horbrook warmly by the hand.

And when he left the cottage, George and his parents sat for some time talking over the kind and hopeful words which had done them so much good.

George was up with the lark the next morning, and whistled as he went off to work.

Very few of the men had arrived when he reached the building. But the foreman was already there, and told George he was glad to see him come in good time, and that he hoped he would continue to do so.

A lad about two years older than George whispered to one of the men something about "new brooms sweeping clean," and looked at the new-comer with no very friendly glance. George took no notice, however, and was soon busy filling a hod with mortar, and carrying it up a ladder to one of the masons. This man, upon whom George was to wait, was a steady, industrious workman; and Mr. Day had told the foreman that he wished George to be under him.

"I'm glad to see Mr. Day has taken you on, Horbrook," he said; "and I hope you will do well for your father's sake. We have trouble with boys sometimes; they are apt to answer impertinently, and one cannot expect that the men will put up with that."

George worked well that day. The man upon whom he waited had never once to tell him to make haste with the mortar. And although, long before the day's work was over, George felt his shoulder becoming painful, he kept to his work as if nothing were the matter.

Matthew Hale said he had never had a better boy to wait on him; and George's eyes shone with pleasure, for Matthew was a man of few words, and not given to praise.

Larkins, the boy who had sneered at George in the morning, overheard what Matthew Hale said, and exclaimed, "So you are going to set up for a pattern boy, are you?"

"I am only going to try and do my duty," answered George quietly.

CHAPTER III.

GOOD NEWS.

WITHIN a week from the time of George's engagement by Mr. Day, his father left Northcliffe for London. Having made up his mind to follow Dr. Bertram's advice, it was clear that the sooner he did so the better. There was plenty to do in those few days, and Mrs. Horbrook was but too glad to be so fully employed, as it kept her from thinking too much. The last evening came.

George carried his father's box up to the station, and Mr. Day gave him leave to go with his mother the next morning to see his father off. Edwin was there also. And Janet longed to go, but there would have then been no one to mind baby, so the unselfish child remained quietly at home, and no one but God knew what it had cost her. She watched them all from the cottage window, until a turn in the road hid them from her sight, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. This was all.