Part 3

'Do you,' said Tom Blanchard; 'I will give you a bunch of mine.'

'No, I thank you, I cannot tell her I gathered them myself.'

'That's honest,' said the captain; 'no, let the boys have their flowers, they have a right to all the praise.'

When they reached home, it was after sunset. Mrs. Reed was at the door.

'I am glad to see you all safe at last,' said she; 'I began to be a little anxious; I hope you have enjoyed yourselves.'

'O yes,' said several, 'we had a royal time.'

Tom brought forth the basket of flowers, and presented them to Mrs. Reed.

'All these for me,' said she; 'you have been very industrious in my behalf. I am pleased to be remembered when absent. I thank you all, for I suppose all have contributed.'

Tom only made a low bow, and retired.

'Tom is generous,' whispered William Gardiner, 'to let us share in the credit of the flowers, is he not Lawrence?'

'How is my young friend, Frank Courtland?' said Mrs. Reed. 'It seems to me, you look sober; I hope you like our rural sports; perhaps you are fatigued.'

'Not in the least,' said Frank.

'Then it may remind you a little too much of home; your father has been here, and was pleased to hear you were gone on the party, and said you would be in your element in the woods. I told him I was glad that he was not uneasy at our letting you go away, for a whole day, with so many wild fellows'--he said 'no, he believed he might trust to his son's discretion; at least, he should never know, till he had put him to the trial.'

These words were daggers to Frank's heart; but he was obliged to command himself, and Mrs. Reed perceiving that the mention of his father, had affected him, changed the subject, and inquired about the manner, in which they had passed the day.

Albert Lawrence and William Gardiner were the spokesmen. They gave an animated and amusing account, of their journey to the wood, and various little adventures in cutting down, and cutting up the trees, and roots--of their feast on the flat-rock, &c. They told nothing that was not strictly true; and with this degree of honesty, appeared to satisfy their consciences, and to feel no compunction for the important part, which they had entirely omitted. They made out incident and occupation enough apparently, to fill the day. Mrs. Reed listened with interest and pleasure, to the account, and bestowed on them a smile, to which Frank wished from the bottom of his heart, that he could feel himself entitled.

Frank retired to his own room, before his companions, and his first impulse was to get his talisman, which he had not looked at for ten days. But a strong disinclination to open the box, arose in his mind. When at last he got resolution to do this, the sight brought compunction to his heart, such as he had never known before.

'It is deception that I have been guilty of,' was the distinct feeling of his mind. 'I never have deceived before. I am not as my mother has often called me, an honest boy; nobody deserves that name, who is not above all deception. Why am I alone here, without a friend? what can I do? it will weigh upon my mind, and I have no one to consult; if Tom Blanchard was not so much older than I am, I could consult him; yet he is such a stranger. If I write about it to mother, it will grieve her too much. If we are found out, I shall never be willing to stay here another day. I will repent of my fault; I will pray for pardon; I will be more watchful of myself; I will never omit to consult my talisman again.'

These ideas, passed rapidly, and some of them indistinctly, through Frank's mind, in much less time, than it would take any one, to read them. He heard the steps of the boys, coming up to bed, shut his trunk, assumed a more composed aspect, and began to undress.

'Don't go to bed yet,' said William Gardiner, as he entered the room, 'we are going to set in Albert's chamber a little while, and talk over things.'

Frank followed, almost unconsciously.

'Did not we make a good account of our day,' said Gardiner.

'It was good, as far as it went,' answered Frank, 'but it was not a true one.'

'I should be glad to be informed what there was in it untrue?'

'The part you did not tell,' said Frank. 'I am sorry to offend any of you, but I shall not be satisfied with myself, unless I declare, that I think we have done wrong; and if it were not for betraying my companions, I should confess the whole to Mr. Reed, bad as it would make me feel; but I will never lisp a word of it to any one. I hope Gardiner, you will not put that paragraph in the paper, for that will excite attention, and I think we may never hear of it again.'

'I have not any very serious intention of doing that,' said Gardiner, smiling; 'and I agree with you, that the less there is said of it, the better for us. We had a grand time; it went off nobly. You are a freshman, Frank; when you have been longer among boys, you will get used to their pranks, and not mind a little concealment. I think as much of honour, as any body need to, and would not tell a lie, or break a promise, to escape a good flogging; but there is no fun, when every thing is done in open daylight.'

Notwithstanding these, and other reckless expressions of Gardiner, and Lawrence, they could not disguise to themselves, the increased respect which they felt for Frank, in consequence of his bold avowal of his sentiment, and it would never have occurred to them, at that moment, to have called Frank a coward.

Frank's secret mortification at his fault did not wear off, and he gradually assumed a shy and reserved manner, towards Mr. and Mrs. Reed, which disappointed them, as he had appeared very frank the first time they saw him, and they were afraid he was not contented. Mrs. Reed, however, in time, gained his confidence, by her gentle and judicious conduct. She did not press him to converse either with herself, or any one else. She suggested objects of curiosity and enterprise, which drew him out, and displayed the quickness of his intellect, and the delicacy of his feelings. It must be owned, Frank became a favorite with her. This refinement, and even his reserve, interested her, and he was a frequent companion of her walks and rides.

In one of these excursions, when Frank was driving Mrs. Reed in their little waggon, Miss Reed, a niece of hers, who was also in the carriage, said, 'do aunt, if you go near the spot, call and see how old widow Black's granddaughter is.'

'What is the matter with her?'

'Why, have you not heard? it is a very strange thing. She went up into the woods to get spruce, winter green, and herbs for her grandmother, to make that nice beer, which you know she sells to travellers, who pass by her hut; there she trod on something, which set her stocking on fire, for she had a large hole in her shoe; she stamped, and stamped on it; but this did not put it out, but only made it burn more, and she had the thought to run as fast as she could to the brook, which, fortunately, was not far off. She put her foot in the water, and this relieved the pain, and as she believed, extinguished the fire; but as soon as she took it out of the water, it burnt again, and it never occurred to her to take off her stocking, till she reached home, dreadfully burned, and she has been unable to move a step, since.'

'Oh dear!' exclaimed Frank, with an emotion, which struck both the ladies, as very peculiar, 'do go to see her. I have a recipe for a burn. My mother told me always to keep it in my pocket-book; it is very efficacious, even after the wound has been made some time.'

The tears rolled down Frank's cheeks, in spite of all his efforts to check them. He remembered, the phosphoric matches, and could not doubt it must have been some of these carelessly dropped, and so covered, as not to get to the air, till the little girl had disturbed them, with her foot, which caused the mischief.

They stopped at the hut, and found the child as described.

'It is a very mysterious thing,' said the old woman; 'did you ever hear before, ma'am, of fire, which water would not put out?'

'Yes,' replied Mrs. Reed; 'there is a substance, called phosphorus, which, although kept under water, for a long time, will burn as soon as it comes into the air, and by stamping on a small piece, it is spread about, and burns quicker. I don't see, however, how this could have got into the woods.'

The girl was suffering a great deal. Frank produced his recipe, but the ingredients were not to be found in this humble abode, nor could they be obtained nearer than the apothecary's, in the village.

'May I run back for them,' said Frank?

'What, three miles!' said Mrs. Reed, 'no, there is not time; but we will ride back, as quick as possible, and send for them.'

'And then may I return, and bring them?' asked Frank, with great earnestness.

'Why, you are a noble young gentleman,' said the grandmother, 'to take so much pains for us poor folks.'

Frank felt more ashamed, than pleased, at this praise, his heart telling him all the while, that he was making but imperfect reparation for his fault.

When they got home, he ran to the apothecary's, with the prescription. It took some time to make the preparation, and it was nearly dark, before he returned. Mr. Reed said it was too late to trust Frank so far alone, as there was no moon.

'Then let one of the big boys go with me; let Tom Blanchard go.'

'Why, you are very earnest, my little fellow,' said Mrs. Reed.

'Mrs. Reed thinks it will answer to-morrow morning.'

'I will walk there, and back again, if you are afraid to trust me with the horse.'

'No,' said Mr. Reed, 'what should I say to your father, if any accident happened to you? I will let my man Amos, go on horseback, and take it; there is no need of any one's accompanying him; he knows the place.'

It was a disappointment to Frank, not to go, for he wanted to give the little girl some money; yet he did not like to send it.

'I must go,' said he, inadvertently.

'What is it makes you so eager in this affair,' asked Mr. Reed; 'it is quite unusual for you.'

Frank made no answer, for he could not tell the truth. Mr. Reed then turned away; and William Gardiner, who had gathered the story by listening to their conversation, came to Frank, and whispered in his ear, 'they will guess something, if you appear so earnest.'

Frank said no more. Amos took the medicine, and did not get back, till after Frank was in bed.

The next day, Frank longed to ask permission to go and inquire after the little girl, but had not courage. Mrs. Reed, remembering his feeling, the day before, proposed going, and asked him to drive her. When they arrived, Frank had the satisfaction to find that the application had allayed the pain, and would evidently cure the burn.

Frank went to the girl, and gave her a dollar, and begged her to accept it from him.

'I must first ask grandmother,' said she; which she did immediately.

'That is a large sum,' said Mrs. Reed, who was attracted by the little girl's question, to her grandmother. 'That is a large sum for you to give away; how came you to have so much?'

'My father,' answered Frank, 'said that I should have a dollar a month, while I was at school, for pocket expenses; I shall be able to do without, till next month. I would rather give it to her, than do any thing else with it.'

'I believe,' said Mrs. Reed, 'you could not give it where it is more needed, and as you sacrifice your own pleasure, merely, in making the donation, I shall not object.'

'That I shan't,' said Frank, in the same emphatic manner, which she had observed the evening before, and which appeared quite unaccountable to her.

They then took leave, after promising to call again the next time they rode that way.

Though Frank knew that money was a poor compensation for the little girl's pain, and could not obliterate the recollection of the circumstance which occasioned it, from his mind, yet the consciousness of having made a personal sacrifice, was the most satisfactory feeling he had experienced since the unfortunate day of the balloon.

Frank looked at his talisman, with more pleasure than he had done, since that time, and he began to resume his cheerfulness, and to make greater improvements in his studies. The mysterious way, in which the little girl's foot was burned, was several times alluded to, and the boys who had shared in the balloon, felt in jeopardy, whenever this happened, but the balloon itself was never heard of. It had probably caught in the tops of some trees, in a distant and unfrequented wood.

Lawrence, Gardiner, and the other boys, who had joined in the plan, soon ceased to feel any compunction, for the deed, and engaged in new projects of diversion, some of them innocent, while in others, they betrayed the want of nice, moral feeling, so rarely found, in those whose early impressions have not been carefully watched.

Frank, however, never forgot the lesson. It was a long time before he could even look at his talisman, without recurring to it, painfully, and seeing a stain on his character, which before, had been unblemished.

We must pass over many weeks, and even months, of Frank's school life, during which time, he had become quite domesticated, in Mr. Reed's family, and felt as much at ease there, as he did at home. His attachment to Mrs. Reed, had increased as his father had predicted, and he acknowledged that he loved her, now, next to his mother, and not such a great distance between them, either. I shall only insert one or two letters, written by Frank, during this period.

'DEAR MOTHER,

I do not wonder that you thought my last letter formal, for I wrote it on composition day, that is, on Thursday morning. All the scholars write something; either choose a theme, or write a letter to one of their friends. They show their composition to the master, who corrects it, and awards to each, so many merits. I got quite a high mark for that letter, though I believe it was for the hand writing. I knew it was not the least like such an one, as I should write, all by myself. I told Mrs. Reed what you said about it, and she advised me, to write to you in play hours, not show it to any one, and tell you every thing I could think of. So I have determined to write my play hour letters to you, mother, and my composition letters to father; and if you do not think this is treating you fair, I will now and then, write a composition letter to you; but I do not know as I shall ever venture to send one of the other kind, to father.

I suppose you will excuse me for telling you, that I am second of all the school, in arithmetic, as nobody else will tell you, and it will please you very much to know it. We had a trial of skill the other day; each took the same sum, it was a dreadful hard one, each began at the same moment. William Gardiner, who is fourteen years old, finished his first; I handed mine up second; when they were all done, Mr. Reed examined them, and only twelve were right, out of twenty; and mine was one of those which had 'correct' written on it. Mr. Reed praised me very much, and said I had paid great attention to his instructions, in cyphering, and that if the other boys had been as attentive, they might, at least, have equalled one so much younger than many of them. I was delighted when Mr. Reed spoke of my success at table, and praised me to Mrs. Reed, and after dinner, she came up to me, and took my hand, and said, in such a kind manner, 'I am glad you have gained so much credit, Frank.' I did feel elated, I must own, mother. When I went up to my room, at night, I took out my talisman: as soon as I put my eyes on it, I perceived the reason of my doing the sum right, and where the praise was due. It was to you, who took such pains, just before I left home, to make me perfect in the four first rules of arithmetic, so that let me cypher in what rule I may, I am sure to get right, because I never miss in adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing; and the truth is, I have been less _attentive_ to Mr. Reed's instructions in arithmetic, than most of the others, because I knew so well, for he takes great pains in this branch. After looking on my talisman a few moments, I was no longer at a loss what I ought to do, and though it was rather disagreeable, I resolved on it.

I had not the courage to apply to Mr. Reed, but I went to Mrs. Reed, and told her, I did not deserve the praise of being more attentive to arithmetic than the other boys; for in the whole, I had been less so, and that several of those who failed yesterday, had been very attentive; and then I explained how it happened, that _I_ did the sum, and asked her to tell Mr. Reed, that although the boys did not succeed as well as myself, yet they deserved as much praise for attention. This was in the morning, and I believe she told Mr. Reed after school; for at dinner this day, he began and said--'young gentlemen, I owe you an apology. I find you have been quite as attentive in your arithmetic, as Frank Courtland has;' and then he repeated what I had said, but added he, this 'ingenuousness deserves still higher praise, than what I bestowed yesterday. If Frank Courtland is not the best arithmetician, is he not the most honest boy in the school?' 'Yes sir, yes sir,' they all called out, and clapped their hands loud enough to stun us. This is the happiest moment I have had, since I left home; and if you knew some things which I cannot tell you, then you would understand why it delighted me so exceedingly, to be called an honest boy.

I have been three days, writing this letter, and yet I have not said half I want to say. I must beg you to excuse the writing, for I have written a good deal of it on the steps of the barn door, a shady place, where I often sit with my port-folio, you made me, and my little pocket inkstand. Love to Sam, I hope he has received my last letter; love to father, and a kiss to little Ann.

Your affectionate Son,

FRANK.'

'DEAR SAM,

I thank you for your long letter. I am glad you have written to me at last; for I began to think you never would. You need not have waited till you could write a better hand; for I am not obliged to show the letters I receive, unless I choose. I did show yours, because it was written so well. Mr. Reed said, that it did you great credit and also your instructor; so I thought I would tell him that it was mother who had taught you. He said he wished he could have another of mother's pupils in his school; and I wish to my heart you _could_ come. There are many clever boys here. I like some of them very much; but they think differently from you and I in many respects. They get into scrapes and get out of them wonderfully. They used to lead me into them, when I first came; but they don't invite me now, for they know I will not join them, if I think it wrong. They are good boys on the whole; and William Gardiner and Albert Lawrence are so brave and droll, and kind, that I can't help liking them; and so do all the boys. Thomas Blanchard is an excellent fellow, though rather serious; he is three years older than I am. He helped me very much about my latin, when I first came, or I am sure, I never should have got along; for it is harder than any thing I ever learned; and you must not suppose that it is as easy to learn a thing at school, as with mother; for you know how much patience she has, and how clear she makes it before she has done. I am glad you continue your studies with mother, for I know you are very desirous of learning, and it must be a great amusement to her.

As Tom Blanchard was so kind in helping me to get my latin lessons, I have taught him to draw. You will wonder how I could do this, since I know so little myself. I remembered mother's instructions and repeated them to him, and lent him my pencils and all my patterns; he is such a genius, that he has got on far before me, and draws very prettily. He has taken a view of Mr. Reed's house and garden for me. As I know you would like to see what a pleasant place I live in, I am going to send it to you. Tom says, he shall not be affronted. Will you shew it to mother? and tell sister Ann, that if she can write as well as you tell of, I wish she would write me a letter. I should be proud to shew one from a little sister, six years old.

I had no chance to send this letter the day I wrote; therefore I will fill the sheet.

We had a grand time, the day before yesterday. It was the fourth of July; we wished very much to celebrate it, and asked Mr. Reed a month before it came, to let us have some music, and invite the young ladies of this village, and some from Boston, and have a dance. Mrs. Reed begged him to consent, and so he did. My cousins came, and a great many more; and William Gardiner thought my cousin Emily was the prettiest girl in the room. I had a share in planning a very pleasant part of the entertainment. I proposed to Gardiner, Lawrence, and some of our best fellows, that after we had danced some time, we should take the musicians out among the trees in the garden; and that while the company were sitting down to rest, they should strike up some fine tunes, which would attract them to the door, and into the garden; and then we would have a number of sky rockets sent up, all at once, from the bottom of the garden. We boys were to club and pay for the rockets, and no one else was to know a lisp of the plan. I insisted on asking Mr. Reed's leave; but we wanted to surprise Mrs. Reed, so she was not told of it.

Mr. Reed consented on condition that we would take our allowance of spending money, and not incur any further expense, to which we agreed. And then we thought of another thing, which made it very pretty. We formed an arbour of evergreen branches and flowers and hung in it some coloured lamps, which William Gardiner procured in town; for he is a capital fellow to do any thing that he sets about. Tom Blanchard made a transparency, and wrote on it, 'In honor of Mrs. Reed,' which was to be put over the entrance of the arbour. But Albert Lawrence and some others said this was not appropriate; as it was the fourth of July, we ought to have something about independence. I thought they were right, though I was sadly disappointed, that we could not pay the compliment to Mrs. Reed. Tom altered the motto, and put the word independence on it.

The sky rockets went off grandly, and the arbour looked beautifully when it was lighted. Mrs. Reed and some of the ladies sat in it, and we handed them some fruit and flowers, of both which we had a great variety and abundance from the garden. If you do not know what coloured lamps or transparencies are, I will tell you when I come home, or you can ask mother. I shall have enough to tell you; we are always having some pleasant thing on foot; but we are obliged to study very hard, to procure these indulgences; for they are all given as rewards. I found this studying very tiresome when I first came: yet now I am used to it, I can do more in an hour, than I could in a forenoon at home.

Please to give my respects to your father and mother and brothers. Your affectionate friend,

FRANK.'