ADOPTED SON

OR,

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LORD'S PRAYER.

BY

A. L. O. E.

AUTHOR OF "NED FRANKS," "PICTURES OF ST PAUL," "THE WHITE BEAR'S DEN," ETC.

GALL & INGLIS. London: Edinburgh:

25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 20 BERNARD TERRACE.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN

II. HALLOWED BE THY NAME

III. THY KINGDOM COME

IV. THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN

V. GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD

VI. FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THEM THAT TRESPASS AGAINST US

VII. LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION

VIII. DELIVER US FROM EVIL

IX. FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM, THE POWER, AND THE GLORY

X. FOR EVER AND EVER

THE ADOPTED SON.

CHAPTER I.

"Our Father, which art in heaven."

"Oh! As I said before, it's all a matter of opinion. I think it a man's duty to attend to his business, and get his children well on in the world," observed Goldie, the fruiterer, as the baker's wife handed to him a bag of captain's biscuits from behind her counter. "We must look to our advantage in this life, Mrs. Winter."

"Ay, and in the next also," replied the woman quietly. Then bending over the counter to a little flaxen-haired girl who had just entered the shop, "And what do you want, my dear?" she said.

"Please for twopenny-worth of sweet biscuits, three for a penny," answered the child.

Mrs. Winter slowly plunged her hand into one of the neat glass jars which, carefully labelled with their various contents, adorned the front of her window.

Mrs. Winter was a pattern of neatness, even to precision, her cap was ever of faultless white, her panes were as clean as hands could make them, not a crumb was ever suffered to rest on her counter, and her name over the door shone in bright gilt letters that might have been worthy of a shop in London. Precise and formal as some people deemed her, Mrs. Winter was a kind-hearted woman, too; much warm feeling lay under a stiff, cold manner; combined with a large share of good common sense. She had never been blessed with children, and her husband, though in some respects a worthy, honest man, kept his hands so tightly over his purse strings, as to gain for the couple a character of penuriousness, which was undeserved by his wife. Notwithstanding this, many were the stale loaves which found their way to some poor man's home, and many were the nights which Mrs. Winter had given to watching the sick-bed of a neighbour.

While the baker's wife was drawing forth the biscuits, Goldie entered into conversation with the little girl.

"So you're going to have a treat for once in a way, Nelly Viner. You don't trouble Mrs. Winter often for sweet biscuits, I should say."

"My new brother is coming home to-day," replied the child with a beaming look of pleasure.

"Your new brother! Who's he?"

"I do not exactly know, sir; but he is some one that we are to love, and be kind to. I shall be so glad to have a brother!"

"I should have thought," said Goldie in a careless manner, "that Viner had enough to do to look after his own without adopting the children of other people. Do you know who this boy is, Mrs. Winter?"

"I know that his name is Walter Binning; the son, I suppose, of some friend."

"A friend! Never were you more mistaken in your life. Why, that's the name of the man who almost ruined Viner—a heartless, unprincipled—"

Mrs. Winter glanced at the little girl, and put her finger on her lips. She placed the biscuits before Nelly, but Nelly lingered. "Are those not what you wished?" said the baker's wife, noticing the child's look of hesitation.

"Yes; but you have given me seven, and I have only paid for six," replied the little one, looking artlessly up in her face.

"Now, if that isn't like her father!" exclaimed Goldie, bursting into a loud laugh. "I could have known her for his child all the world over! Don't you know, little simpleton, that seven are better than six?"

"I thought that Mrs. Winter had made a mistake," replied the child, not liking the laugh, though she could not have told why.

"I think that it's you who made the mistake," said Goldie, laughing again. "Tell me, does not your father keep sugar plums as well as cabbages?"

"Yes," replied Nelly, "and very nice ones."

"Very nice; oh! I dare say that you know that pretty well. How many do you eat, my little maid?"

"Father gives me a brandy-ball every Sunday, or sometimes a piece of pink rock," said Nelly, smiling.

"Oh! That's what he gives, but what do you take?" asked the fruiterer, chucking her under the chin.

"I take what he gives. I don't know what you mean," said the little girl, looking bewildered.

"Simpleton!" muttered Goldie, glancing with a knowing smile at Mrs. Winter, but Mrs. Winter did not return the smile. "You never help yourself?" he continued to Nelly. "Never manage to taste a sugar-plum when father's back is turned?"

The child's face flushed crimson, she shrank back from his touch, looked full into his face with her open blue eyes, and seemed to feel it unnecessary to say "No!"

"Nelly is brought up in the fear of God," observed Mrs. Winter, "and knows that it would be better to touch live coals than anything dishonestly gained. Go home with your seven biscuits, my good little girl, and make ready to welcome your new brother."

As soon as Nelly had left the shop, Goldie exclaimed, "Well, I always thought that Viner was a little mad, but I never imagined that ever he would do anything half so wild as this! Is he really going to adopt the son of Walter Binning?"

"What do you know of the man?" inquired Mrs. Winter.

"Know! Why I know that he has been the worst enemy that ever Viner had. He was some distant relation of his, I fancy, and was for ever getting him into one trouble or another. Viner was once, I have heard, in very good business here—that was before I set up my shop opposite—and what first pulled him down, and half ruined the poor man, was becoming security for this Binning. What might have been expected happened—the rogue made off, and left his simple friend to pay, Ha! Ha! Ha! And now, like an honest man, discharges his debt by making him a present of his son!"

"I heard that the boy's father was absent beyond seas," said the baker's wife.

"To be sure, that means 'sent out of his country for his country's good.' I remember it now—Walter Binning was transported for seven years for theft! I wish Viner joy of the hopeful youth that he is going to adopt! He may not find him quite so apt a pupil as little Nelly. The child of a thief is not likely to be a saint. If the father half ruined poor honest Viner, perhaps the son may finish the business!" And so saying, with a nod to the good woman of the shop, Goldie took up his bag and went out.

The village in which our scene is laid was one situated by the sea-side, which had not yet grown into a town, though already a favourite resort of those who wished for sea breezes and quiet. It had, like other watering-places, its boats and its bathing-machines; fishermen spread out their nets on the shingles; donkeys, ready saddled, stood in a row prepared to carry visitors along the white chalky road, or the long line of smooth brown sand which was left wet and shining when the tide went down.

E— boasted a small circulating library consisting of little but old soiled novels, and a reading-room with benches in front, which were often occupied in summer by lady visitors, who, protected from the glare by parasols and broad-brimmed straw-hats, amused themselves with their knitting or their book, while enjoying the fresh air from the sea.

E— at the time at which my story commences, was little more than one narrow street, on each side of which small shops offered the necessaries of life, and in spring, on the upper windows of most of them the words, "Lodgings to let," announced their preparation to receive visitors. Of these small shops, one of the smallest and poorest in appearance was that on which was seen the name of Viner. It had a little wooden gate instead of door, and it seemed that its owner could not entirely depend upon his profits from the rows of onions, bunches of carrots, or baskets of beans which covered his board, for little bottles of sweetmeats as well as of nuts were ranged along a shelf in his shop, with a string of balls of twine hanging from the top, and a small supply of writing-paper in one corner, which was usually sold by the sheet, not the quire.

So small and unpretending was the shop—such a contrast to Goldie's large one opposite—that visitors seldom thought of entering to buy, and it was chiefly frequented by the people of the village, who knew the character of the man who kept it, and who never doubted, when they purchased a basket of fruit from Viner, that the lower ones were as good as those at the top.

In this shop now stood Nelly with her father, awaiting the arrival of their expected guest. Viner was a man still in the prime of life, though care and poverty had made him look older than he really was, and had streaked his hair with many a bright silver line. But the expression of his face was serene, even happy, especially when he looked upon his darling only child, the image of a wife whom he had tenderly loved, and for whom he had mourned—but not as one without hope.

"And now remember one thing, my darling," he said, laying his hand gently upon her head, "you must never speak to Walter about his father."

"But you love to speak about mother, and to take me to her grave, and to show me all the places that she marked in her Bible; if Walter's father has died and gone to heaven, he will like to speak about him too."

"You must not ask my reasons, Nelly, but obey my wishes. Ah!" thought the bereaved husband, as he recalled his own heavy loss, "How much sadder a thing is sin than death!"

Nelly stood thoughtfully for a moment, as if pondering over the words of her parent, then looked up with a grave expression on her usually merry little face as she said, "Oh! I remember now what I heard at Mrs. Winter's."

"What did you hear, my child?"

"Something about Walter's father—something very bad; it was Mr. Goldie who said it; you know when he spoke aloud, I could not help hearing; but Mrs. Winter put her finger to her lips."

"I am very sorry that Mr. Goldie should say anything, or know anything about the matter. You, at any rate, must take no notice of it. It is no fault of poor Walter's that he has been unhappy in his parent."

"Father," said Nelly, her own joyous expression returning, as she laid her little hand upon Viner's arm, and looked up full into his face, "will not you be a father to Walter? He shall be your son, and my brother too, and we shall all be so happy together!"

Viner only replied by a smile, and the child continued—"Mr. Goldie said a word which I thought meant that, something about your ad—I cannot just remember the word."

"Adopting, I suppose."

"Yes, that was it exactly! I think," added Nelly, with a graver air, "that there is some word like that in the Bible."

"There is, my Nelly, and a blessed word it is! All Christians are the adopted children of God; it is from His gracious adoption alone that we dare to address Him as 'Our Father, which art in heaven.'"

"To adopt is to take some other person's child, and call it your own, and love it as your own, end feed it, and care for it, as you will for Walter. Am I not right?" said Nelly.

"Quite right," replied Viner, stroking her fair hair.

"And if God adopts us, He will love us, and watch over us, and take care of us as long as we live, and take us home to Himself when we die! But were we ever any one's children but God's?"

"We were by nature, my Nelly, the children of wrath. Adam, our first father, had offended the Lord, and we are born into the world with a nature like his, bearing his sinful likeness, even as Walter Binning bears the name of his father. Man was not only a stranger to, but a rebel against God—he had no right to expect anything but punishment and pain from the hand of his offended Maker."

"And yet the Lord adopted him, and made him His son!"

"Yes, that mercy beyond all we could ask for or hope, was one of the blessings purchased for us by the death of the Saviour. It was as though the Lord Jesus had laid His pierced hand upon the sinner, and had led him to the feet of His Father, and that the Almighty, for the sake of his crucified Son, had deigned to receive the unworthy sinner, and make him His own child for ever!"

"Then if we are God's children," exclaimed Nelly, "we must all be brothers and sisters to one another."

"It is so," replied Viner earnestly, "though is our selfishness and pride we too often forget it. Those who love their Father in heaven will love His children on earth also, and form one blessed family of love."

"I never thought before," said Nelly, thoughtfully, "when I repeated the Lord's Prayer, why I should say 'Our Father,' instead of 'My Father;' but now I will try to remember every time, that I am one of a great family of love!"

Few more words passed between Viner and his daughter, until Nelly suddenly exclaimed, "Who is that stranger-boy coming this way with a bundle hanging by a stick over his shoulder, who looks up at the name over every shop, and seems so tired and sad? Father, do you think that this can be Walter?"

It was Walter indeed, the convict's son, who now received from Viner such a kindly welcome as the true Christian gives to the unfortunate.

Walter appeared, from his height, to be a boy of about ten years of age, but the expression of his sharpened careworn features made him look much older; it was not the expression of a child. There was at first a restlessness in his manner, as of one ready to take either offence or alarm, which gave Nelly a curious impression that he was like some wild creature that had been hunted. He usually fixed his eyes on the ground, and when he raised them, it was not with the straightforward look of a boy who has nothing to conceal or to fear. Poor outcast! The remembrance of his father's shame hung like a heavy cloud over him; the first fresh flow of youthful feelings had been checked at the spring, he was inclined to suspect others, and to feel himself suspected.

He could not, however, resist the influence of the unaffected kindliness which he met with from Viner and his little daughter. The best food at the simple meal was placed on his plate, there was consideration for his feelings, and attention to his comfort in everything that was said or done. His chilled heart began to warm under the power of kindness, gradually his manner appeared less shy, he became less silent and sad, and before the evening was over, was ready to smile, and even laugh at the playful words of Nelly.

The hour arrived for evening prayer. Everything else was laid aside, and the large Bible, the treasure of many generations, on whose blank page many family names were written—some so pale with age that they could scarcely be read—was reverently placed upon the table. To evening meeting for prayer Walter had, till now, been entirely a stranger. He was not altogether ignorant on the subject of religion; in the strange unsettled life which he had led in London with his father, he had met with a variety of characters, and gathered up knowledge upon many different subjects, but there was nothing clear, nothing defined, nothing holy. Yet it was with no irreverent manner that Walter listened to the Word of God, or the prayer from the lips of his benefactor. The conduct of Viner insensibly connected in his mind kindness and goodness with piety; and gratitude towards man seemed likely to be the first step to raise him towards gratitude to a higher Being.

When Nelly had received her father's evening kiss and blessing, and had bidden a kind good-night to her new brother, Viner led his guest from his parlour into his small shop, and kindly laying his hand on his shoulder, explained to him what his duties would be. Viner had not forgotten that boys are liable to temptation, that a youth brought up as Walter had been, would above all, be likely to yield to temptation—he would neither ask nor expect much.

"I know," said he, smiling, as he pointed to the sweetmeats, "that things such as these are liked by most young people, so you have my free permission to take some—Walter, I have no objection to that. You will remember, at the same time, that you are living with a poor man, with one who cannot afford to give his family all the enjoyments that might be wished, so that I am sure that you will not take too much."

A little colour came to Walter's pale cheek—it was so new a thing to be trusted. But a generous feeling was awakened in his breast, and as he pressed the hand held out to him, he silently resolved that Viner never should have cause to repent having confided in his honour.

"And now, my dear boy, I have but one thing more to add before we part for the night. You will help me in my business, and make yourself useful. No good boy would wish to eat the bread of idleness; but I receive you into my house as one of my family, and as long as you do nothing to forfeit the name, I shall regard you and treat you as my son."

Oh! How many a wanderer would be reclaimed, how many a prodigal led back to his home, if those who call themselves Christians, instead of shrinking from the outcast, and stamping him at once with the character of guilt, would seek to draw out the nobler feelings of a heart not yet seared and hardened! God be praised! There are yet some who, like their Saviour, go forth to seek and save that which was lost, and the child of the thief, and the young thief himself, are taught the path which leads to holiness and to Thee:

"OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN!"

CHAPTER II.

"Hallowed be Thy name."

THERE was a good deal of curiosity in the village to see the convict's boy whom Viner had adopted, and to know the result of his dangerous experiment—his romantic benevolence, as it was called. Nowhere was this curiosity stronger than in the home of Goldie, whose large handsome shop, as I before mentioned, stood opposite to the humble dwelling of Viner.

As Goldie and his family will often appear in the course of my tale, I may as well give here at once an introduction to them all.

A finer family than that of Goldie, the fruiterer, was not to be found in the village of E—. His three sons, when young children, constantly attracted the notice of visitors by their uncommon beauty—a painter of eminence had introduced their likeness into one of his pictures as cherubs, and the praises lavished upon them by strangers fostered the pride of their fond mother, who believed that her boys, especially Ned the youngest, were not to be equalled by any children in England.

As they grew older, Aleck, the first-born, displayed so much talent, that Goldie, persuaded that he wanted nothing but a good education to place him in the highway to fortune and fame, made every effort, scraped together all his gains, denied himself and family many comforts, to send him to a school where he might be with gentlemen's sons, and acquire the knowledge necessary for getting on in the world. Getting on in the world was a favourite expression of Goldie's, and to judge both by his conduct and his advice to his children, it appeared that to him it comprised the chief—I had almost said the only object in life. Yet Goldie did not consider himself exactly an irreligious man. He had no objection to piety as long as it did not interfere with profit; spoke very decidedly about upholding the Church, sometimes attended divine service himself when some one else would look after the shop, which he kept open on Sunday as usual, and kept a large handsome Bible in his parlour, which he never read or even opened.