Archie's Mistake Part 3

"Would you be good enough, sir, to tell me where my son, Stephen Bennett, is? I hear he was taken ill last night."

"He's in the hospital. I'll take you--I was just going there myself,"

said Archie, who was with his father.

"Your son has had a hard life, I fear, in your absence," said Mr.

Fairfax, glancing curiously at the stranger, who did not look at all like a man capable of crime.

"Yes, sir," he answered somewhat bitterly; "it has pleased the Almighty to send me a heavy trial. First, I lost my wife; then I was accused, along with my fellow-workers in a brick-yard, of stealing f.a.gots. I was sentenced to three months' imprisonment, and my time would have been out next week. My boy, which he's one in a thousand--though he was that weakly he was hardly fit for work--he brought the little 'uns, five of 'em, all under fourteen, to this place. 'We shan't be known at Longcross, father,' he says, 'and I'll work for 'em all till you're out.' So he come here. And yesterday they come to me in the jail, and they says, 'Bennett, we find you're innocent. The man what took the f.a.gots, he's up and confessed, and he says as you've had nothing to do with it.' So they wrote me this paper to say I'm pardoned, as they call it, and I come away; but they couldn't give me back the three months of my life."

"No," said Mr. Fairfax; "you have suffered indeed. But I trust that even yet you may find good come out of evil, as it so often does. We have come to know and respect Stephen, and as soon as he is well he shall be moved into a comfortable house, which I have now to let, and which is at your disposal, if you like to take it. Other help, too, I hope to be able to render you."

Thus talking, they arrived at the hospital. Stephen had not made much progress, and was still alarmingly weak. Scanty food and constant anxiety had told terribly on his delicate const.i.tution. But when he saw his father, and heard that he had been set free, and declared innocent, a new life seemed to come into him.

"I shall get well now, father," he said; "I feel I shall--only my head's so bad where the blow came that I can't think much. But that doesn't matter now; you'll look after the little 'uns. 'Twas the having all them on me, and thinking about you, that seemed to crush me down; though I knew you was innocent, father--I knew it all along.

Thank G.o.d for making it clear, though. I asked Him to do it, night and day, and He's done it."

"Now, Archie, my boy," said Mr. Fairfax, as he and his son walked back together, "you see how entirely wrong you were in your hasty judgment."

"Yes, father, I do see;" and the lad's voice was full of feeling.

"Stephen may never lose the effects of this time of cruel hards.h.i.+p. I might have been his friend, and I was his enemy instead."

"If I had listened, or allowed the foreman to listen, to your guesses, he might have been turned off altogether. It should be a lesson to you, Archie, never to injure another person's character again without absolute certainty, and even then only if it is necessary for the general good. Once gone, it is sometimes impossible to win back."

"I know--I know, father. I _will_ try to be careful, and not so hasty."

"Don't judge merely by appearances, Archie. Above all, remember those words of the Great Teacher, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'"

"I KNOW BEST."

"So the choir treat is fixed for Thursday, and we're all going to the Crystal Palace! What jolly fun we shall have!"

The speaker was Walter Franklin, a village lad of eighteen. But Christopher Swallow, the friend to whom he addressed himself, a youth who looked rather older, did not receive the news with the pleasure Walter expected.

"The old Crystal Palace again!" he grumbled. "Bother! What's the good of going to the same place twice over? _I_ call it foolery and rubbish."

"Oh, but the rector said that no one but you and three of the older men had been before; and when he asked them whether they would like anything else better, they said no. Benjamin Sorrell said that once for seeing all over such a big place was nothing, and he'd like to spend a week there."

"Let him, then; one day's enough for me. Of course, we must go as it's settled; but you won't catch _me_ staying dawdling about, looking at the same old things over and over again as I see two years ago. I shall be off and enjoy myself somewhere else."

"But, Christopher, Mr. Richardson said most partic'lar we _must_ all keep together or we should get lost; and we're all to wear red rosettes on our left shoulders, that we may know each other at a distance, if we should get separated by any accident."

"Oh, did he indeed?" replied Christopher scornfully. "P'raps some'll do it. I think I know _one_ as won't."

Walter said no more. Chris was well known to be what the others called "cranky" in his temper; and when he considered, as he generally did, that he was right, and every one else wrong, there was nothing for it but to leave him alone.

When Thursday came, it was a most lovely September day. There was hardly any one among the thirty members of the Hartfield Parish Choir, who drove in two big wagonettes to the station, that did not look prepared to enjoy the day's outing to the utmost.

"Christopher don't look best pleased, though," thought Walter, as they drove along, glancing at his friend's gloomy face. "And there's Miss Richardson getting out the rosettes. I hope he won't go and make a row; but there's no telling."

The Hartfield Choir consisted of men, lads, and boys, with about half a dozen little girls. The boys and girls, of course, sang alto and treble; the lads alto, if they could manage nothing better; and the men ba.s.s and tenor. There were eight men between thirty and fifty years of age, six lads like Walter, and sixteen children.

Half were in one long brake with the rector, and half in another with the schoolmaster and Miss Richardson. About half-way between Hartfield and the station, Miss Richardson produced a white cardboard box, which she opened.

"Here," she said, taking out a very bright rosette made of red ribbon, and a packet of pins, "I want each of you to put one of these on your left shoulder, and then we shall know one another when we are too far off to see each other's faces. There, I've put mine on."

As she spoke she fastened one on to her jacket. Every one else did the same, amidst a good deal of laughing and joking--every one, that is, except one.

"Christopher, where's _your_ badge?" asked Mr. White, the schoolmaster.

"In my pocket, sir," was the answer.

"We can't see through that, man; it isn't transparent, like a gla.s.s window. Get out the rosette and put it on."

Christopher plunged his hands into his two jacket-pockets and fumbled.

Mr. White thought he was going to do as he was told, and took no further notice.

"Chris, you haven't put it on, now," whispered Walter, as the horses drew up at the station. "Ain't you going to?"

"Be quiet, will you? _You_ ain't master," said Christopher roughly; and Walter was silent.

He noticed, though, that his friend kept well out of sight behind the others, and also that in the train he took a seat on the same side as Mr. White, and as far off as possible. Miss Richardson was with the little girls in another carriage.

When the party reached the Crystal Palace station, they proceeded up the steps to the gardens.

"Now," said Mr. Richardson, when they got to the final flight leading into the great gla.s.s building--"now, I think we may as well separate for a bit. I will stay inside and take any who wish to see the poultry and rabbit show. The girls will like, I daresay, to go with Miss Richardson, and those who don't care for the animals can follow Mr.

White to the garden; only be sure you all come to the terrace by one o'clock for dinner."

So saying, he turned towards the corridor where an immense cackling and cooing announced the presence of the poultry and pigeons, followed by four of the lads and some of the men and boys.

"What shall you do, Chris?" whispered Walter.

"I shall see what schoolmaster's up to; and if I don't like what he does, I shall make off and get some jolly good fun by myself," was the answer. "You stick to me, Walter. I s'pose you don't want to be the only big chap among all them little 'uns?"

"No; I'll stick to you, Chris," he replied, but he did not feel very comfortable.

Walter was a well-meaning lad, but he was very weak, and easily led by the stronger-willed Christopher.

Mr. White knew the Crystal Palace well, and all its many attractions.

He took his party to see a show where cardboard figures were made to walk and jump and open their eyes, just like real people.

Then he proposed that they should try throwing sticks, provided for the purpose, at a row of penknives, and if any one knocked a knife over it would be his. This was amusing for a little while; but when no one could get anywhere near a knife, the boys grew tired of trying, especially as they each had to pay a penny for three tries.

At last they arrived at the place where a man has tricycles to let out. Every boy pulled out the rest of his money and begged for a ride.