Home Lights and Shadows Part 27

"Yes, here is just four, thirty-five."

"That's right; yes, that's right," Mr. Levering spoke, somewhat nervously.

"The article came to six dollars and sixty-five cents, I believe?"

"Yes, yes; that was it!"

"Then three dollars and thirty-five cents will be my right change,"

said the lady, placing a small gold coin on the counter. "You gave me too much."

The customer turned away and retired from the store, leaving that dollar still on the conscience of Mr. Levering.

"I'll throw it into the street," said he to himself, impatiently.

"Or give it to the first beggar that comes along."

But conscience whispered that the dollar wasn't his, either to give away or to throw away. Such prodigality, or impulsive benevolence, would be at the expense of another, and this could not mend the matter.

"This is all squeamishness," said Mr. Levering trying to argue against his convictions. But it was of no avail. His convictions remained as clear and rebuking as ever.

The next day was the Sabbath, and Mr. Levering went to church, as usual, with his family. Scarcely had he taken a seat in his pew, when, on raising his eyes, they rested on the countenance of the lady from whom he had abstracted the dollar. How quickly his cheek flushed! How troubled became, instantly, the beatings of his heart!

Unhappy Mr. Levering! He could not make the usual responses that day, in the services; and when the congregation joined in the swelling hymn of praise, his voice was heard not in the general thanksgiving. Scarcely a word of the eloquent sermon reached his ears, except something about "dishonest dealing;" he was too deeply engaged in discussing the question, whether or no he should get rid of the troublesome dollar by dropping it into the contribution box, at the close of the morning service, to listen to the words of the preacher. This question was not settled when the box came round, but, as a kind of desperate alternative, he cast the money into the treasury.

For a short time, Mr. Levering felt considerable relief of mind. But this disposition of the money proved only a temporary palliative.

There was a pressure on his feelings; still a weight on his conscience that gradually became heavier. Poor man! What was he to do? How was he to get this dollar removed from his conscience? He could not send it back to the lady and tell her the whole truth.

Such an exposure of himself would not only be humiliating, but hurtful to his character. It would be seeking to do right, in the infliction of a wrong to himself.

At last, Mr. Levering, who had ascertained the lady's name and residence, inclosed her a dollar, anonymously, stating that it was her due; that the writer had obtained it from her, unjustly, in a transaction which he did not care to name, and could not rest until he had made rest.i.tution.

Ah! the humiliation of spirit suffered by Mr. Levering in thus seeking to get ease for his conscience! It was one of his bitterest life experiences. The longer the dollar remained in his possession, the heavier became its pressure, until he could endure it no longer.

He felt not only disgraced in his own eyes, but humbled in the presence of his wife and children. Not for worlds would he have suffered them to look into his heart.

If a simple act of rest.i.tution could have covered all the past, happy would it have been for Mr. Levering. But this was not possible. The deed was entered in the book of his life, and nothing could efface the record. Though obscured by the acc.u.mulating dust of time, now and then a hand sweeps unexpectedly over the page, and the writing is revealed. Though that dollar has been removed from his conscience, and he is now guiltless of wrong, yet there are times when the old pressure is felt with painful distinctness.

Earnest seeker after this world's goods, take warning by Mr.

Levering, and beware how, in a moment of weak yielding, you get a dollar on your conscience. One of two evils must follow. It will give you pain and trouble, or make callous the spot where it rests.

And the latter of these evils is that which is most to be deplored.

AUNT MARY'S SUGGESTION.

"JOHN THOMAS!" Mr. Belknap spoke in a firm, rather authoritative voice. It was evident that he antic.i.p.ated some reluctance on the boy's part, and therefore, a.s.sumed, in the outset, a very decided manner.

John Thomas, a lad between twelve and thirteen years of age, was seated on the doorstep, reading. A slight movement of the body indicated that he heard; but he did not lift his eyes from the book, nor make any verbal response.

"John Thomas!" This time the voice of Mr. Belknap was loud, sharp, and imperative.

"Sir," responded the boy, dropping the volume in his lap, and looking up with a slightly flushed, but sullen face.

"Did n't you hear me when I first spoke?" said Mr. Belknap, angrily.

"Yes, sir."

"Then, why did n't you answer me? Always respond when you are spoken to. I'm tired of this ill-mannered, disrespectful way of yours."

The boy stood up, looking, now, dogged, as well as sullen.

"Go get your hat and jacket." This was said in a tone of command, accompanied by a side toss of the head, by the way of enforcing the order.

"What for?" asked John Thomas, not moving a pace from where he stood.

"Go and do what I tell you. Get your hat and jacket."

The boy moved slowly and with a very reluctant air from the room.

"Now, don't be all day," Mr. Belknap called after him, "I'm in a hurry. Move briskly."

How powerless the father's words died upon the air. The motions of John Thomas were not quickened in the slightest degree. Like a soulless automaton pa.s.sed he out into the pa.s.sage and up the stairs; while the impatient Mr. Belknap could with difficulty restrain an impulse to follow after, and hasten the sulky boy's movements with blows. He controlled himself, however, and resumed the perusal of his newspaper. Five, ten minutes pa.s.sed, and John Thomas had not yet appeared to do the errand upon which his father designed to send him. Suddenly Mr. Belknap dropped his paper, and going hastily to the bottom of the stairs, called out:

"You John! John Thomas!"

"Sir!" came a provokingly indifferent voice from one of the chambers.

"Did n't I tell you to hurry--say?"

"I can't find my jacket."

"You don't want to find it. Where did you lay it when you took it off last night?"

"I don't know. I forget."

"If you're not down here, with your jacket on, in one minute, I'll warm your shoulders well for you."

Mr. Belknap was quite in earnest in this threat, a fact plainly enough apparent to John Thomas in the tone of his father's voice.

Not just wis.h.i.+ng to have matters proceed to this extremity, the boy opened a closet, and, singularly enough, there hung his jacket in full view. At the expiration of the minute, he was standing before his disturbed father, with his jacket on, and b.u.t.toned up to the chin.

"Where's your hat?" now asked Mr. Belknap.

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, find it, then."

"I've looked everywhere."

"Look again. There! What is that on the hat rack, just under my coat?"

The boy answered not, but walked moodily to the rack, and took his hat therefrom.