THE CHEST OF TOOLS.

BY

AUNT HATTIE [MADELINE LESLIE]

AUTHOR OF THE "BROOKSIDE SERIES," ETC.

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"The lip of truth shall be established forever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment."—SOLOMON.

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CHICAGO: HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY. 1880.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by REV. A. R. BAKER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

AUNT HATTIE'S LIBRARY for her Little Friends.

SERIES II.

VOL. I. THE APPLE BOYS. VOL. II. LITTLE MISS FRET. VOL. III. THE FACTORY BOY. VOL. IV. FRANKIE'S DOG TONY. VOL. V. THE GOLDEN RULE. VOL. VI. LYING JIM.

To

NELLIE, ROLAND COTTON, ANNIE, AND FULLER APPLETON,

CHILDREN OF MY BELOVED NEPHEW,

THE REV. JOHN COTTON SMITH, D.D.,

THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD OF THE GREAT AND GOOD

Shepherd of Israel.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE CUT FINGERS

CHAPTER II. HENRY'S LIE

CHAPTER III. THE LIE FOUND OUT

CHAPTER IV. ANOTHER LIE

CHAPTER V. THE BROKEN KNIFE

CHAPTER VI. SEARCH FOR THE LIAR

CHAPTER VII. THE UNHAPPY LIAR

CHAPTER VIII. THE LIAR REFORMED

CHAPTER IX. CONCLUSION

THE CHEST OF TOOLS.

CHAPTER I.

THE CUT FINGERS.

MR. DRAKE was at work upon his carpenter's bench when he heard an angry scream; and then a shriek of distress from two boys, who were at play in the lower part of the shop.

One of the boys was his son Henry, the other, his nephew Ernest Monroe. He waited a moment to see whether the cry would be continued, when he was startled by hearing Henry exclaim,—

"O father! Come, come quick! Ernest has cut himself dreadfully."

The children were standing before an open tool chest, which Mr. Drake had often forbidden them to meddle with. In the midst of his fright, his anger was excited that they had dared to disobey him, and he called out, in a harsh voice,—

"Boys, how came my tool chest open? Which of you presumed to unlock it?"

Henry and Ernest were both silent. Henry dared not confess the truth, and his cousin, even if he had wished to tell tales, was at that moment too faint to speak. Indeed, just before his uncle reached him, he fell prostrate among the shavings that covered the floor.

"Why! Why! What does this mean?" exclaimed the carpenter, now seriously alarmed.

Then seeing the pool of blood, which had streamed from Ernest's poor, cut fingers, he caught up the child, and stepping over a low wall which separated his own from his sister's grounds, soon laid him pale and unconscious on his own bed.

"We must have the doctor here as soon as we can get him," he said, in an excited tone, "or Ernest's hand will be useless. Henry, what are you gaping round here for? Why, you ought to be half way to the doctor's!"

Mrs. Monroe trembled from head to foot; but, rallying very soon, she proceeded to make an examination of the wound. Though covered with blood, it was easy to see that three fingers of the right hand were cut to the bone; besides a bad gash in the palm.

She washed off the blood as well as she could, and then held the fingers in place, keeping them warm within her own, till the physician arrived.

The cut was so deep, the doctor found it necessary to take a few stitches in each finger, and then, having bandaged them, he gave the boy a soothing powder, and left, promising to call the next day.

All this time his uncle sat by, his face growing hard and stern. As soon as he perceived that Ernest could speak, he began,—

"Now I want to know how this happened. Who has dared to unlock my tool chest against my positive orders?"

"Stop, brother," said Mrs. Monroe, firmly, at the same time interposing herself between the carpenter and his nephew. "Ernest is too weak now to talk. When he is better, I will ask him all about it."

"But, Jane, it's a pretty business if I can't lock up my tool chest without the risk of having a lot of careless boys meddling with my things. There's my new adze I saw lying on the floor and covered with blood. I dare say it's spoiled, and—"

"John, you heard the doctor say Ernest must be quiet. If you will talk, come in here."

The boy heard a few loud, angry words from his uncle, and then the door was shut.

"Try to go to sleep," said his mother, bending over him and softly kissing his cheek.

"Yes, ma'am," faltered the boy; "but I do wish Henry would tell his father the truth."

"Would it make you feel easier, to tell me about it, now?"

Ernest sighed. "I did naughty, mother; but I didn't unlock Uncle John's tool chest. I began to play with the tools, though. The new adze was as sharp as a razor, Henry said; and so we tried cutting a hair with it. Henry did it twice, and then it was my turn; but he liked the fun, and wouldn't let me have it; so I tried to snatch it away, and I cut my fingers."

"I'm very sorry, indeed, my dear boy. But did Henry unlock the chest?"

"That was another naughty thing, I did, mother; I promised not to tell anybody. You know I tell you most everything; but this time I forgot."

"Well, Ernest, it is a sad affair; but we wont talk any more about it this morning. You'll feel stronger after you've had a nap."

She drew down the curtain at the foot of his bed, and, leaving the door ajar, went back to her morning work. Twice she crept to the bedroom, and peeped through the crack, and at last, finding him to be asleep, shut the door and left him.

CHAPTER II.

HENRY'S LIE.

IT was nearly noon when she heard a sound of voices in the bedroom. She wondered who could have gone there without her knowledge, and stopped outside the door to listen.

The visitor was Henry, and he was saying angrily,—

"No, you sha'n't. You promised certain true, black and blue, you wouldn't tell anybody. If Aunt Jane knows it, she'll tell father; and he'll half kill me. He's awful angry now."

"But, Henry," urged Ernest half crying, "he'll think I stole the key out of his pocket; and I didn't. It's too bad, if I have to have my fingers cut, and bear all the blame, too, when you did it. My cut smarts awfully."

Mrs. Monroe now made a noise to let them know she was near, and then opened the door, just in season to see Henry raise the window, and jump out.

"Ah!" said the lady to herself. "That's the way he came in without my seeing him."

"Have you been awake long, Ernest?" asked his mother.

"Henry waked me, getting in through the window. I wish he'd stayed away. He's made my head ache so."

"I've made you some milk porridge, dear; I'll bring you a cupful; and then perhaps you'll fall asleep again. I'll lock the window this time."

Ernest drank his favorite porridge; but he could not sleep. Henry's words were constantly recurring to his mind. "If you tell, father 'll half kill me. He's awful angry now."

Ernest was a timid boy, not tough and hearty, like his cousin, but feeble from his infancy; "only raised to the age of eleven years," as the doctor said, "by the unwearied nursing of a good mother."

Ernest had a great dread of his uncle's rough word's and hot temper, very different from the manners of his own parents. One time and another, from being a constant companion of his cousin, he had experienced a good deal of harsh treatment from the carpenter. Now he lay, tossing and turning his head on the pillow, thinking of Henry's words, wondering whether he could be induced to confess, and dreading his uncle's wrath.

At noon, when his father, who was a clock-maker, came home to his dinner, after hearing the story from his wife, he found his son's face burning with fever.

"O pa!" exclaimed the boy. "I'm so glad you've come. Is it ever right to break a promise?"

"That depends, my boy, on what kind of a promise it is. Suppose I, to escape an assassin, should promise a wicked man that I would help him murder his neighbor; ought I therefore to keep the promise?"

Ernest shook his head thoughtfully.

"Then, again," added Mr. Monroe, "if a boy were placed so that he were obliged to promise to do what he did not approve, to save his life, for instance, I think such a promise ought not to be binding."

"But suppose, pa, that a boy forgot, and promised he wouldn't tell something, when he had promised before that he would tell his mother everything he did; what would God want him to do?"

"You needn't worry yourself about that, Ernest," said his mother, coming into the room. "I know all you want to tell me; I know that Henry stole from his father's pocket the key of the tool chest and opened it."

"Did Henry tell you! Oh, I'm so glad!"

"I can't say how I learned it; but you may rest about your uncle's displeasure."

Ernest burst out crying.

"I was afraid Henry 'd make him think I did it; and he'd whip me, I know he would. He don't know what he's doing when he gets angry."

"If he dares to lay a finger on you," exclaimed the father, rising, "I'll have the law on him."

"Hush," said Mrs. Monroe, soothingly; "there is no danger; your fever has excited you, Ernest, and you must have some drops. How should you like to have me bring my work, and sit here this afternoon? Or perhaps I'll tell you a story."

"I'd like it first-rate."

"Well, I'll hurry and get through with my work. Do you want a piece of custard pie?"

"I don't want to eat anything, my head aches so."

CHAPTER III.

THE LIE FOUND OUT.

"THE moment I can leave work, I'll go to the shop, and have a talk with John," said Mr. Monroe, after they had for some time been seated at the table.

"No, I wouldn't," mildly said his wife. "I'm going to have a talk with Henry. It would be a great deal better to get him to confess."

"Henry is growing to be a bad boy. I wish they didn't live so near. Sometimes I think we shall have to sell our place. I don't want Ernest to associate with such a boy. Then everything that's lost or out of place is laid to our child, whether he ever saw it or not. I'm sick of living so."

"We cannot move away from trials, let us go where we will," was the pleasant reply. "Generally John is a good neighbor, and his wife I love dearly. Besides, Henry is unfortunate in being so afraid of his father, and would be worse than he is, if it wasn't for Ernest."

By this time, Mr. Monroe had finished his second piece of custard pie, and rose from the table with a smile, saying,—

"Well, Jane, have it your own way. You're generally right. 'Blessed are the peace-makers,' the Saviour says; and I'm sure you've made peace between John and me a score of times."

In the afternoon, when the mother was ready to sit by Ernest, he had fallen asleep again. His face was very pale, and, as she bent over him, her heart went up to God in prayer, that, if it was God's will that he should be weak in body, his head might be strong to resist evil; that he might be gathered into the fold of the good Shepherd.

Then she sat down close to the window, and presently she saw her brother's wife, stepping over the wall, on her way to the house. She went out to the sitting-room, softly closing the door behind her.

"I'm really sorry about Ernest," Mary Anne exclaimed, falling into the rocking chair, with a sigh. "Does Doctor Frost think he can save the hand?"

"Oh, yes, he hopes to! The only danger is that the muscles, which were cut quite off, will contract. I am hopeful, for I cut my finger once when a child, and for months had no use of it. But constant trying brought it round at last. See, it's as useful a finger as I have now." And she held up her forefinger for notice.

"What does he say about it?"

"He says he did not unlock the chest."

"That's true, Jane; I know he didn't."

The mother looked pleased.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Mary Anne. "If John wasn't so hot, I could set it all right, but,—well it's no use to cry-about what never will be different. I was making the beds when I heard Henry creep upstairs to the closet where his father hangs his clothes. I was going to ask him what he wanted when he said,—

"'Goody, here 'tis now!'

"He went down, and I heard the jingle of keys."

Mrs. Monroe then repeated the conversation, she had overheard between the boys, and added, "I do wish Henry would tell his father."

"Yes, he ought, but I don't believe he'll dare to. He has told ever so many lies already; for, when his father asked him, he said he was going along by the chest and he saw it open.

"'How came Ernest by my new adze?' John asked.

"I don't know, sir. I saw him with it, and told him to put it down; he wouldn't, and so I tried to make him. That's how he got cut.'

"It's dreadful for Henry to tell such falsehoods," said his aunt, shaking her head. "I'd much rather have Ernest cut his fingers, than to act so wickedly."

"I don't mean it as an excuse, of course," urged his mother; "but if John were like your husband, 'twould be easier for Henry to tell the truth."

"Mother, mother!" called out the sick boy.

Mrs. Monroe led the way to the bedroom, where she was followed by her sister-in-law.

"Where's Henry, Aunt Mary Anne? I want to see him," eagerly exclaimed Ernest.

"He's at work clearing the shop floor of shavings. His father has set him to do it."

"When he's done, please ask him to come here."

"Yes, I will."

"There is nothing that hardens the heart so much as lying," said Mrs. Monroe, "one lie leads on to another, until there is no knowing where it will end. I remember my mother used to say, 'There is no safety except in perfect truthfulness.'"

"Don't you believe I have told the truth, mother?" said Ernest, looking up at her inquiringly, as he spoke.

"Yes, Ernest, I do; and so does your aunt."

"I have never caught Ernest in a lie," said Mrs. Drake, sighing again. "If I had, I never should trust you again."

"It's hard sometimes to tell the truth right off," began the boy; "but it is a great deal harder to wait."

CHAPTER IV.

ANOTHER LIE.

"WE'VE been in to Mrs. Monroe's to see Ernest," said Mrs. Drake, when she was seated at the supper-table. "He looks as if he had lost a good deal of blood."

"Well, the young rascal deserves to suffer; it may save him from the gallows."

Henry shuddered, but did not speak.

"What do you mean?" inquired his wife.

"Mean!" he repeated the words in an angry tone. "Why, if it has come to this, that my pockets are picked, my trunks unlocked, and my tools ruined by a scamp of a boy, it's time something was done about it,—that's all! If I caught my boy in such tricks, I'd whip him within an inch of his life."

Henry's eyes were fastened, on his plate. If he had ever had an idea of confessing that he, instead of his cousin, was the guilty boy, it vanished at once.

When he had finished his supper, his mother told him that Ernest wished to see him. When he had left the room, she said,—

"I do wish, John, you wouldn't talk so strong. Don't you see that if Henry were to disobey you, he wouldn't dare to tell you of it. It seems to me, parents ought to show their children that if they are really penitent, they will be forgiven."

"I don't know what you're driving at, wife; but if it's anything about the tools, you may stop hinting. Just as soon as Ernest is out of bed. I'll haul him over the coals as sure as my name is John Drake. I never forgive, as you have learned long ago."

"Don't you remember the verse, that Maria repeated at the concert, which the minister explained so beautifully? 'If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.'"

Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Mr. Drake went out without answering.

His wife, with a heavy heart, began to collect the plates, when Henry burst into the room.

His cheeks burned like fire, and he was evidently excited; but as he volunteered no explanation, his mother, after a glance at him, went on with her work.

The truth is that both his Aunt Jane and Ernest had been urging him to tell his father what he had done. At first, he tried to hide his confusion by more lies, repeating the story he had told his father about finding the chest open. But Ernest exclaimed with such evident horror,—"O Henry! You told me you found the key in his pants' pocket," that he found it was no use to go on.

"If you don't tell, I'm afraid I must," said his aunt, firmly. "Ernest shall not suffer from your fault. It was very wrong of him to touch the tools when he knew that his uncle had forbidden it. If the adze is injured, he must take his spending money, and buy a new one. I'm afraid Henry, you don't realize what a wicked thing it is to tell a lie."

"I'm sorry I ever touched the old chest," exclaimed Henry, in a passionate tone. "I wouldn't if Ernest hadn't teased me to. I never should have thought of hunting up the key if he hadn't put it into my head."

"Stop, Henry; you are only adding sin to sin. The Bible says: 'All liars shall have their portion in the lake that burns with fire and brimstone.' If you are afraid to confess on account of your father's anger, why do you not fear the wrath of God, who knows every thought of your heart?"

Henry went to bed that night feeling that, turn which way he would, he was in trouble.

"If I tell father," he said to himself, "he'll half kill me; and if I don't, he'll find it out by Aunt Jane; and there 'll be a dreadful row."

The good Spirit whispered to him,—

"You have sinned. Confess your fault, and accept the punishment you deserve. Your heart will then be at rest."

But Henry would not listen to the good Spirit. He said to himself,—

"If I stick to my lie, he'll believe me sooner than he will Ernest; 'cause when he once gets an idea in his head, he wont give it up nohow. He thinks Ernest did it, and I—guess—I'll—let—him—think—so."

CHAPTER V.

THE BROKEN KNIFE.

SCHOOL commenced again the beginning of the week; but Ernest was not in his place. He was a good scholar, obedient to the rules of the school, and therefore a great favorite With his teacher.

"Henry Drake, do you know why Ernest Monroe isn't here?" she asked, when the class to which he belonged came out to recite.

"He's sick, ma'am."

"I must go and see him," said the teacher.

After recess, she learned the story as it was told by Henry to the scholars.

"Ernest stole father's keys, unlocked his tool chest, and cut his hand with a new adze."

"That does not sound true. I wont believe such a story till Ernest tells me himself," said the lady. "I'll call at Mrs. Monroe's on my way home."

She did call; and Henry, who saw her enter the house, slunk away feeling very much like a thief.

The next half hour was a very pleasant one to the sick boy. He frankly confessed to his teacher his fault; but when she asked who unlocked the chest, answered,—

"Mother knows. I'd rather not tell anybody else."

"Well," said the lady, rising at last to leave. "You must hurry and get well; for my first class miss you sadly. Can't you have your books at home, and keep up with the lessons?"

"Yes, ma'am. I should like it. Mother can hear me every day."

At the end of a fortnight, Ernest was in his desk, looking rather thin to be sure, but pleased to be back in school. His right hand hung in a sling, and his companions were very careful the half-healed fingers should receive no injury by their carelessness.

To the surprise of some of his class, Ernest went on with the lesson, which happened to be review, as if he had not been absent a day. At the close of the recitation in spelling, he unexpectedly found himself at the head of his class.

"Mother and I had a school at home," he exclaimed joyfully to his teacher at recess. "We took turns in hearing the class recite. She said I was very strict."

At the end of another week, the teacher one afternoon told her pupils to lay aside their books as she wished to talk to them.

"Two days ago," she began, "I lost a little knife, with a pearl handle. I used it in my desk, and felt quite sure I left it here; but, after searching in vain, outside and inside the desk, I made up my mind I had taken it home in my pocket by mistake. I would not suspect one of my scholars of so mean a thing as borrowing my knife without leave; and I dared not for a moment entertain the thought that any one here would steal from the teacher.