Part 4

The summer months passed rapidly away.--Frank continued to meet with temptations, which as he usually had the strength to resist them, served to confirm his self-control. If, as was now and then the case, he was betrayed into vanity, peevishness or imprudence, the sight of his faithful talisman brought conviction of the error to his mind, and inspired him with resolution, to make all the reparation in his power. The boys all loved and respected him; and many, who from timidity used to join a party they disapproved, were now emboldened, by his example, to abide by their better judgment, and mischievous projects became gradually less popular in the school.

Frank was spirited and active, and never refused to join in any thing however hazardous or fatiguing, provided it was not dishonorable. No one would venture to say, he wanted courage or ingenuity; though William Gardiner and a few others, still persevered in asserting, that he was squeamish; and they ascribed this to his having been kept during the first years of his life, out of the society of boys of his own age. The purity and moral sensibility which were by this means preserved in his character, more than compensated for any little defects, which the retirement of his childhood had occasioned. His kind and judicious parents had selected the right moment to change the influence to which he had been subjected; and had sent him from home when his principles had gained sufficient strength to resist the danger, to which a contact with others less pure than himself, might expose them; and before any bad habits or narrow views had become fixed in his character.

One such boy in a large school, so attractive in his manners and disposition, and at the same time, so inflexible in virtue, is of inestimable value. Their good influence over the other boys, the majority of whom are of that uncertain class who always follow a leader, and whose destiny depends on their finding a good or a bad one, cannot be too highly appreciated. Mr. Reed was fully aware of this, and it was with great pleasure that he communicated to his wife, a letter he had received from Mr. Courtland, requesting that Frank might return home to pass the autumn vacation, and engaging a place for him for the next term.

We shall only relate one more of the many little incidents which occurred to Frank, during this summer, and then take our leave.

'Frank,' said Mr. Reed one pleasant afternoon, 'you like a long walk; will you do me the favor to take this letter to Squire Brazer's and get an answer? It must go to night.'

'Yes, with pleasure,' answered Frank; and took his hat.

'You would like a companion?'

'If you please. Shall I ask William Gardiner?'

'You need not hurry yourselves; but take a pleasant walk and pick blackberries by the way; only get home by dark.'

The boys walked on a mile or two, stopping now and then to gather berries, and some of the last wild roses, which yet remained, in a few sequestered spots; and conversing very pleasantly, when they approached an old house, standing back from the road, and nearly concealed by a row of elm trees. At the fence, by the road side, was standing very quietly, though not fastened, an old horse, and rather a shabby chaise.

'That's Parson Allen's chaise,' said William Gardiner. I'll warrant you, he is making a sermon a mile long, to the old maids within; who, no doubt are listening to him with the most flattering attention: for I suspect, a call from a gentleman is a rare occurrence to them.'

'Yes,' said Frank, laughing; 'I dare say we might ride to the Squire's and back again in his chaise, before the sermon was ended; and the old horse would like it better, than standing here in the sun.'

'It is rather provoking,' said Gardiner; 'that as there is so much shade, he could not be put in it.'

'I make no doubt he was,' replied Frank; 'when the parson first stopped; but probably the sun has moved on to another place, since that time.'

'That is a good thought of yours, Frank,' said Gardiner; 'come get in, I will take all the risk, and pay all damages. It would be a lucky hit for his reverence, if we broke the vehicle, and had to get a new one.'

'More lucky for him than for us,' said Frank, who had his foot on the step, ready to get in; 'second thoughts are best; no, we had better not.'

'There is your ridiculous particularity; I don't believe there is another boy in the school, would refuse.--If the parson should come out, and find the horse had walked off, he would only go back and make the old ladies another sermon, which would be so much the more for the good of their souls.'

Frank's good genius prevailed; his talisman rose up to his thoughts like a guardian angel, and he said, 'it will be safest not to go.'

'Well, I will not be baulked of the ride,' said William,--'Lawrence says, that I once took the lead in every thing; but that now I am no better than your shadow; and that you govern me entirely; so I will go, if it is only to tell him, I have acted once for myself.'

'I will walk on with the letter,' said Frank, 'and shall probably meet you on my return.'

William Gardiner jumped into the chaise, and by dint of twitching the reins, and applying the whip, succeeded in getting the horse into a trot, and was soon out of sight. Frank proceeded with a light step, and a still lighter heart, and delivered the letter. After waiting half an hour for the answer, he returned, walking very fast, as it was late. When he passed the old house, he saw Mr. Allen's horse and chaise standing exactly in the same position in which they first found it; and a short distance beyond, he overtook William.

'You have been gone for ever,' said he; 'why, I do believe I have rode six miles, at least. I left the chaise in the same spot; nobody but yourself, I will venture to say, is the wiser for the expedition; for I turned down that unfrequented lane.'

They reached home before night; Frank delivered the answer to Mr. Reed. Gardiner told of his ride to Albert Lawrence and a few other boys. They had a good laugh,--said it was a capital trick, and they thought it would be a real kindness to the horse, to relieve him occasionally, from the tiresome business of standing an hour or two, in the same spot.

The next evening, the minister called on Mr. Reed, and finding he was in the play room, and all the boys round him, (for he often passed an hour with them in this way,) he walked in. Mr. Allen was an amiable man, and a group of happy young folks was always a pleasing sight to him.

The boys were relating remarkable occurrences; each one trying to recollect something strange, which he had lately heard or read of.

'I believe I can tell a singular story, which happened only yesterday,' said Mr. Allen; though it may be rather too sad to relate in this merry company. But they may as well look on the shadows now and then, in the morning of life; for their turn must come. I went yesterday afternoon to call on the Miss Bradford's, worthy women as any in my parish. The special object of this visit, however, was not themselves, but their niece, Miss Alice Bradford; who has been in a consumption for more than a year, and came out here six weeks ago, for the benefit of the country air. The change was rather hurtful than beneficial; she failed fast, and became too ill to be carried back. I had not, however, thought her quite so near her end, as she proved to be. When I got there yesterday afternoon, I entered into prayer with her, and found her spirit peaceful and resigned. The piety and innocence of her short life, gave tranquility and hope to her dying hour. Neither she nor her aunts appeared to apprehend immediate dissolution. I had witnessed too many death-bed scenes, not to know its symptoms, even when most deceitful. Her aunt said, that she appeared to have but one earthly wish remaining; and that they hoped to gratify, the next morning. It was to see her younger sister, who had been purposely kept away; as the sight of Alices' sufferings distressed her exceedingly. My mother has gone before me, said the sweet girl. I am ready to join her; though I had hoped it might be the will of our Heavenly Father that I should be spared to my sister. Not as I will, but as thou wilt, she added, after a moment's pause, and a great struggle; but I should like to take leave of her and give her a few words of advice; as they are the last, they will make a deep impression on her mind. I called one of the ladies aside, and told her the present was the only time; I did not believe her niece would be alive in the morning. She shuddered, and exclaimed, what shall I do! how can I send for her sister now. I have no horse,--no man. I will go, I replied; my horse is at the door I shall be back before it is late; I will go directly. Thank you, sir; thank you a thousand times; do go directly--and she returned to prepare the young woman to receive her sister.

When I went to the bottom of the avenue, my horse and chaise were not there; by the marks in the road, I found he had turned round, and presumed he had taken a homeward direction. I hastened there, when I arrived out of breath at home, no one had seen him. I resolved to lose no more precious time, for I knew that the sands must be nearly all out in the poor young creature's glass: so I hurried to Dr. Parker to beg him to lend me his chaise; the Dr. had gone to visit at Brookline: then I went to farmer Thomson; he willingly lent his horse, but had neither chaise nor waggon. I determined to go over to Mr. Welles' and borrow his chaise. In doing this, I of course, passed by Miss Bradford's house. I had lost nearly an hour and a half,--there I found my horse standing exactly as I had left him, in the former part of the afternoon. I could not stop to make either inquiries or reflections; but got in, hastened into town, and brought the young sister out in the shortest time possible.

Soon after my departure from Miss Bradford's, the unequivocal symptoms of death began to come on; but the poor creature made great exertion to keep up her strength, anxiously expecting the arrival of her sister, and wondering at the delay. She took some drops which revived her a good deal; and half an hour before I arrived, conversed freely with her aunts; spoke of her perfect reliance on the goodness of God, and the merits of the Saviour, and gave many injunctions in case she did not see her sister. Ere _we_ reached there, it was too late. She took her sister's hand, looked up in her face with an expression of disappointment which I shall never forget; but she was speechless. The hour and a half which I lost, in looking for a chaise, deprived her of that last and most earnestly desired satisfaction, the power of taking leave of her sister, and of giving her the invaluable instructions of her dying hour.

I went there again, this morning. She lived till daylight, but did not speak. The sister is overwhelmed with grief.--'Could she have spoken to me,--could I have been with her but one hour earlier I could have borne it,' was all she said.'

Every one present was deeply affected by the narration; all mirth ceased, and tears and sobs came in its place. Mr. Reed was himself surprised at the effect it had produced on some of the boys, touching as it was; he remarked a deadly paleness on William Gardiner's countenance; little did he suspect the true cause.

'I fear I have thrown a gloom over your happy family,' said Mr. Allen. 'It was not my intention to make the sad relation when I came among you; but I was led to it from the singular circumstance of my horse having gone off; for I have used him ten years, and never knew any thing of the sort to happen before. He knows all my parishioners' doors, I believe, as well as I do, and has never shown before, that he thought my visits to them too long.

I should have imagined that some mischievous fellow had taken him; but every body, even the smallest boy round this part of the country knows the animal, and I can't believe that there is one among them, would play me such a trick, and if any one had done so, I should not probably have found the horse returned quietly to the same spot in which I left him.'

'I must believe,' said Mr. Reed, 'that the horse was led away; and I would make inquiry about it.'

Will Gardiner could stand this no longer, but slipped out of the room, lest some questions should be asked.

'Did you pass Miss Bradfords' on your way to squire Brazer's, or did you take the other road, Frank?' said Mr. Reed.

'I passed that way,' answered Frank.

'Did you observe the horse and chaise, as you went?'

'Yes, it was at the gate.'

'And on your return?'

'It was there then also.'

'Well, well, say no more about it, Mr. Reed,' said the good clergyman; 'if it was a piece of mischief, I leave the person who committed it, to the reproaches of his own conscience; he need suffer no greater punishment, if he has any feeling. Though I own it would be a satisfaction to me to know, that my old faithful horse was not to blame.'

Mr. Allen took leave, and the boys soon retired. When Frank went to his room he found William Gardiner in bed; and believing him to be asleep, took a long look at his talisman, revolving in his mind, whether it was his duty to tell all that he knew about the horse, or to be silent on the subject, for William's sake. He remained undecided; but felt no pain or compunction, for he was conscious, that as soon as he had found out the right course, he should not fail to adopt it.

After he had been in bed a short time, William Gardiner raised his head and said, 'Frank, are you asleep.'

'No.'

'Why don't you talk then.'

'I thought you were asleep.'

'No, I am wide awake; I can't get to sleep. What is that little box you have been looking at, so earnestly.'

'It is something.'

'Well I suppose it is; but do you want to keep it a secret; if you do, I won't ask.'

'Why no, not exactly,' said Frank; 'it is something my mother gave me, the night before I left home.'

'Well, what is it, I say?'

'It is a talisman,' said Frank, rather hesitatingly.

'A talisman; what is that?'

'Have you never read of talismans in fairy tales? it is a charm which protects you from danger, as long as you keep it and consult it.'

'I know that is the description of them, in genii and fairy tales; but you do not believe in _such_ things do you?'

'No, but this is real; it has a charm for me, to keep me from doing wrong; this is the danger which my mother expected it would secure me against.'

'If it has that sort of power, I wish I had had it this afternoon; then I should have let alone that horse and chaise. Was it the talisman which made you turn away, when your foot was on the step, and you were just ready to jump in?'

'It was the thought of it, I am persuaded. I consult it so frequently, and like to look at it so much, that now it is fixed in my mind; and I see it as distinctly, as if it were really in my hand, whenever I am going to do wrong.'

'And does it stop you short, as it did this afternoon?' said William.

'Unless I am very earnest indeed, too earnest to attend to its admonitions.'

'What did it say to-night, when you looked at it?' asked William.

Frank repeated what the parson had said, after William left the room; the questions Mr. Reed asked, with his own answers; and told William that he was trying to come to a decision, what he ought to do.

'O you won't tell, will you? It is an evil spell that prompts you to betray a friend. Besides, what good can it do? If it could restore to the poor dead creature that one hour, I would tell myself instantly.'

'I have decided not to tell,' said Frank, 'without your consent.'

'Don't ask me to give that; it is impossible.'

'Why, you said just now, you would tell yourself, to restore that lost hour. This I know cannot be done; but something as valuable, which you have lost yourself, may be restored, by confessing the truth.'

'What is that?'

'Your own peace of mind; have you not lost that?'

'Yes, I have; I cannot shut my eyes without beholding that speechless, dying girl; it is frightful; I never was such a coward before. But I shall get over it I know, in a few days. Whenever I get into a scrape, I always feel horridly at first, for fear I should be found out,--but I never am, and I soon forget it.'

'But the consequences are seldom so serious, of any of our pranks,' said Frank.

'Why there was the widow's granddaughter who was burned so badly, all owing to my carelessness in dropping that piece of phosphorus, or some of the matches, on the day of our balloon frolic. It troubled me when I first heard of it, as much as it did you. I bought her a new pair of shoes, and I have given her or her grandmother something every time I go that way; and persuaded several of the other boys to do so too. The old woman said the last time I was there, that she hoped she should be brought to a realizing sense that every thing was ordered for the best; for Sally's accident had proved a real blessing to the family.'

'It is striking ten, William;' said Frank.

'Is it?' replied William.--'O dear! I shall never get asleep.'

Frank waked earlier than usual, the next morning; and he found William up and dressed.

'How early you are up,' said he.

'I am going to take a walk,' replied William. 'I feel as if I should smother, if I stay any longer shut up here.'

'Should you like to have me go with you?' said Frank.

'Will you? that's a good fellow.'

After they had walked a little way in silence, Gardiner said, 'I am glad Frank, that I know you have got something to help you to do right; for now there don't seem to be such a difference between us. Albert said, he believed you had a good genius always at your elbow, when you declined going into swimming with us, the day after the guards were broken by the high wind; and Mrs. Reed said your good genius was your virtuous thoughts; but she did not know the whole. If _I_ had not gone at that time, Greenville would have been drowned; for there was not a fellow among them all, who had the courage to jump in after him when he floated outside the bars; so I can't reproach myself for that.'

'You said,' replied Frank, 'Mr. Reed commended your courage very much: but he told you you were as wrong as the others in going; and that we must not do evil that good may come of it.'

'Well, Frank,' said William, 'what would you do in my place about the chaise? suppose I go and tell parson Allen the whole truth; where is the use of it? It would only disgrace the school, to have it talked about all over the neighborhood; and injure the other boys as well as myself.'

'I agree with you,' said Frank; 'but can't you tell Mr. Reed?'

'How could that make the matter any better?'

'You would be relieved from the dread you now feel, of being found out.'

'That is something, I acknowledge; for I never did feel so badly about being found out before.'

'Then,' said Frank, 'if you confess the fault and say you are sorry, you will have made all the reparation in your power, and your conscience will be lightened of a load.'

'I know it, and if I had your talisman, perhaps I should.'

'But you may, if you choose, have the good genius which Mrs. Reed thinks I have--_virtuous thoughts_.'

'I wish I always did have them, I am sure.'

'If you once brought your mind to confess this,' said Frank; 'I think you would never engage in any more mischief. You know that Mr. Reed told you the day you saved Greenville, that you were a noble fellow; and if you could break yourself of your little mischievous propensities, you might be one of the first in his school, in character, as you now are in talents.'

'Yes,' said William; 'and I remember he advised me to make you my model; and if I had the courage, I would do as you advise.'

'Will you agree to this,' asked Frank; 'you know the questions Mr. Reed asked me about the horse.'

'Yes.'

'I was sorry not to be able to tell all I knew; this will make it natural enough for me to speak of it first; and then I will say I had your consent to tell the whole; that you are very sorry, and are determined to break off your mischievous habits.'

'What will the boys say when they know it?' said William.

'Perhaps Mr. Reed will not choose to tell them; and if he does, all those whose opinions are worth caring for, will think the better of you.'

'I believe they will,' said William; 'for I know we did not think any the less of you, for what you said, the night of the balloon. Frank, I consent; only I should feel better to have you tell it to Mrs. Reed first, and let _her_ tell Mr. Reed,--she is so kind, she will make the very best that can be made of it; and she will not say a harsh word to me.'

'I will,' returned Frank; 'take courage, you will never be sorry, when it is once told,--like having a tooth out, it will be soon over, and you will be relieved.'

'When shall you tell?' asked William.

'When I get a suitable opportunity; don't be too anxious.'

As soon as Frank found Mrs. Reed disengaged, he related to her the whole affair; and represented as he could, with sincerity, that it was only meant as a harmless joke. He said as little of himself as possible, throughout the narration; and omitted almost entirely, the persuasion he was obliged to use, to induce William to take this step. Mrs. Reed sent for William into her own room, and remained alone with him some time; treating him with the tenderness of a mother, and taking care to say nothing which should make him regret for an instant, that he had opened his heart to her.

She then dismissed him, and in the course of the day communicated the matter to her husband; who, though mortified to find that the disgrace of such an affair belonged to any member of his family; yet rejoiced at this proof of an ingenuousness in William Gardiner, which he had almost begun to despair of ever seeing in his character.

In the interview which succeeded, he did not inform William whether he should disclose the truth to Mr. Allen or not; indeed, he had not at that time, made up his mind on the subject.--But he said he should not mention it to any one of the scholars. This indulgence he thought due to the great effort he knew it must have cost William to make the confession.

'I never should have done it, but for Frank; he persuaded me into it.'

'He is your good genius then, William; and I advise you to attach him as closely to your side as possible. Some how or other, he contrives to discern and preserve the right course more perfectly than any of you.'

'I believe,' said Frank, 'I do not deserve more praise on that account, than the others.'

'And why not, if you do in fact excel them?'

'Because,' said Frank, with some embarrassment,--

'Shall I tell?' said William.

'Yes.'

'Because he has something which none of us have; which helps him in doing right.'

'That must be a valuable possession in such a little world as this school,' said Mr. Reed; 'what can it be?'

'A talisman,' answered William; 'which his mother gave him, and said that it would secure him against all harm.'

'From moral harm,' said Frank; 'only from doing what I know to be wrong.'

'If he only just looks at it,' said William, 'it makes him do right.'

'It inspires me with courage to do right,' said Frank.

'May we see this curious treasure?' asked Mr. Reed.

'Yes sir,' said Frank. 'I have intended to show it to Mrs. Reed, for some time.'

Frank ran up to his trunk, took it out and brought it into Mrs. Reed's room. He opened the box and presented it to her. She smiled and looked surprised.

'There is a charm indeed; I do not wonder at its magical influence.--It is, said she--looking up at Frank,--

'My mother's picture,' he answered.

'What a delightful countenance,' exclaimed Mr. Reed. A glance at such features would, I am sure, drive away all evil thoughts. 'Especially if they were a mother's,' said Mrs. Reed; 'and these were the lips from which had proceeded, all your lessons of virtue.'