Father Brighthopes Part 8

"Yes, sir, and hurt my ankle, so't I can't walk," he added, beginning to blubber.

"How did you do that?"

Sam began, and detailed the most outrageous falsehood of which his daring genius was capable. He had met with the most dreadful mischances, by falling over a "big stun," which some villainous boys had rolled into the road, expressly to place his limbs in peril, as he pa.s.sed in the dark.

"But how did the boys know how to lay the stone so exactly as to accomplish their purpose?" asked Chester, suspecting the untruth.

For a moment Sam was posed. But his genius did not desert him.

"Oh," said he, "I always walk jest in one track along there by Mr.

Cobbett's, on the right-hand side, about a yard from the fence. I s'pose they knowed it, and so rolled the stone up there."

"You tell the most absurd stories in the world," replied Chester, indignantly. "Who do you expect is going to believe them? Now, let me tell you, if I find you have been lying about that horse, and if you have done him any mischief, I will tan you within an inch of your life!"

Sam hastened to declare that he had spoken gospel truth; at the same time feeling a dreadful twinge of conscience at the thought that, for aught he knew to the contrary, Frank might still be running, riderless, twenty miles away.

Mrs. Royden now usurped the conversation, to give him a severe scolding, in the midst of which he limped off to bed, to pa.s.s a sleepless, painful and unhappy night, with his bruised limbs, and in the fear of retribution, which was certain to follow, when his sin and lies should all be found out.

"I wish," he said to himself, fifty times, "I wish I had told about the horse; for, like as not, they wouldn't have licked me, and, if I _am_ to have a licking, I'd rather have it now, and done with, than think about it a week."

VI.

MORNING AT THE FARM.

On the following day Samuel's ankle was so badly swollen as to make a frightful appearance. Mrs. Royden had to call him three times before he could summon courage to get up; and when, threatened with being whipped out of bed, he finally obeyed her summons, he discovered, to his dismay, that the lame foot would not bear his weight.

With great difficulty Sam succeeded in dressing himself, after a fas.h.i.+on, and went hopping down stairs.

"You good-for-nothing, lazy fellow!" began Mrs. Royden, the moment he made his appearance, "you deserve to go without eating for a week. The boys were all up, an hour ago. What is the matter? What do you hobble along so, for?"

"Can't walk," muttered Sam, sulkily.

"_Can't walk!_"--in a mocking tone,--"what is the reason you cannot?"

"'Cause my ankle's hurt, where I fell down."

"There! now I suppose you'll be laid up a week!" exclaimed Mrs. Royden, with severe displeasure. "You are always getting into some difficulty.

Let me look at your ankle."

Crying with pain, Sam dropped upon a chair, and pulled up the leg of his pantaloons.

When Mrs. Royden saw how bad the hurt was, her feelings began to soften; but such was her habit that it was impossible for her to refrain from up-braiding the little rogue, in her usual fault-finding tone.

"You never hurt that foot by falling over a stone, in this world!" said she. "Now, tell me the truth."

Sam was ready to take oath to the falsehood of the previous night; and Mrs. Royden, declaring that she never knew when to believe him, promised him a beautiful flogging, if it was afterwards discovered that he was telling an untruth. Meanwhile she had Hepsy bring the rocking-chair into the kitchen, where Sam was charged to "keep quiet, and not get into more mischief," during the preparation of some herbs, steeped in vinegar, for his ankle.

The vein of kindness visible under Mrs. Royden's habitual ill-temper affected him strangely. The consciousness of how little it was deserved added to his remorse. He was crying so with pain and unhappiness, that when Georgie and Willie came in from their morning play out-doors, they united in mocking him, and calling him a "big baby."

At this crisis the old clergyman entered. He was up and out at sunrise, and for the last half-hour he had been making the acquaintance of the two little boys, who were too cross to be seen the previous night.

"Excuse me," said he to Mrs. Royden, who looked dark at seeing him in the kitchen; "my little friends led me in this way."

"Oh, you are perfectly excusable," replied she; "but we look hardly fit to be seen, in here."

"Dear me," cried the old man, with one of his delightful smiles, "I am fond of all such familiar places. And you must not mind me, at any rate.

I came to be one of the family, if you will let me."

Mrs. Royden replied that he was perfectly welcome; he did them an honor; but she was sure it would be much pleasanter for him to keep the privacy of his own room, where the children would not disturb him.

"There is a time for all things under the sun," answered the old man.

"There is even a time to be a child with children. But what have we here? A sprained ankle?"

"Yes, sir," murmured Sam.

"Ah! it is a bad sprain," rejoined the clergyman, in a tone of sympathy.

"How did it happen?" sitting down by Samuel, and taking Georgie and Willie on his knees.

Sam mumbled over the old story about falling over a stone.

"And you were mocking him?" said the old man, patting Willie's cheek.

"He cries," replied Willie, grinning.

"And don't you think you would cry, if you had hurt your foot as he has?"

The boy shook his head, and declared stoutly that he was sure he would not cry. But he, as well as Georgie, began actually to shed tears of sympathy, when their new friend made them look at the sprained ankle, and told them how painful it must be.

They were not heartless children; their better feelings only required to be drawn out; and from that time, instead of laughing at Sam, they appeared ready to do almost anything they thought would please him.

"I haven't had such an appet.i.te in months," said the clergyman, as he sat down at the breakfast-table with the family.

And his happy face shed a pleasant suns.h.i.+ne on all around. Mr. Royden invited him to ask a blessing on the food; and, in a fervent tone, and an earnest, simple manner, he lifted up his heart in thankfulness to the great Giver.

As Mrs. Royden poured the coffee, she appeared to think it necessary to make some apologies. They did not often use that beverage in her family, she said, and she was not skilled in its preparation.

"I am afraid it is not very clear," she added.

"No," said the clergyman, "it is not clear enough for me. The only drink that is clear enough for me"--holding up a gla.s.s of pure cold water--"is this."

"But you will try a cup of coffee? Or a cup of tea, at least?"

"I never use either, except when I need some such restorative. Last night a fine cup of tea was a blessing. This morning I require nothing of the kind."