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A 174J^ f^^ ^*^^l^ ^11^ ^^^^'^ The Baldwin Library SUniversity (^f~de-'^ -t^ --6UI-- /7 j45- , J I OLISA 40 SOLDIER SAM. SOLDIER AM, AND Sillit's @ram . BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE TRAVELLING SIXPENCE," "LOST AND RESCUED," ETC. LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 56, PATERNOSTER Row, 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, AND 164, PICCADILLY. CONTENTS. CHAPTER 1 PAGE A MISCHIEVOUS BOY 5 CHAPTER II. TROUBLE AT HOME 13 CHAPTER III. "A FRIEND IN NEED 22 CHAPTER IV. "A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 31 CHAPTER V. "A HAPPY ENDING 43 LILLIE'S DREAM 53 -- SOLDIER SAM. -C----O CHAPTER I. A MISCHIEVOUS BOY. E cried a good-natured work- ing man, as he finished his S dinner quietly under the "hedge where he was sit- ting until it was time to go to work again. The child he had been watching and laughing at was a sturdy little fellow of perhaps six years, dressed in cap, toy- sword, and drum, as a mimic soldier, whose mother now appeared at the 6 Soldier Sam. porch of a cottage looking round for the boy. "Sam, Sam! have done with that non- sense, and come in to your dinner! she said, somewhat sharply, as she heard the sound of his drum and caught sight of him; but Master Sam was not disposed to receive orders, and the result was a small scuffle, in which he was captured and carried to the cottage-gate strug- gling with all his might. Giles Stevens laughed again, and shook his head. "Best leave the young- ster alone, Mrs. Perry; he's a born soldier, it's plain to see, and you will never get it out of him, try how you may." Mrs. Perry sighed, and shook her head; but it was with a troubled glance she looked down at Sam's angry face and strong kicking legs, as she set him down in the path which led to the door of her little house. "He's got to mind what I say to him, Mr. Stevens, any A Mischievous Boy. 7 way," she answered. "Go in to your dinner, Sam." It was a tidy room, but poor, and there was not too much food on the table for the pale thin mother and her two children, Sam and Ally; but their rosy cheeks and strong limbs told of health, although bread, milk, and vege- tables were their chief support. "I'll soon grow big enough to be a soldier," said Sam, drumming on the table with the spoon and fork he held. "Mother, how old was father when he 'listed ?" Mrs. Perry's sad face grew a shade sadder. "Your father was a man full- grown before he took to soldiering, Sam; I've told you so times enough." "Well, I shall be one as soon as ever they will take me. Shall you not like to see me in my red coat, Ally ?" No," said Ally, watching her mo- ther's face as she answered; "don't talk so, Sam,-mother don't like it." 8 Soldier Sam. "Liking, or not liking, is little use, Ally," said Mrs. Perry, rising with a hopeless air; and she dropped a few tears when she set about washing up the plates and cleared the kitchen. Alice helped as well as she could; she was nearly nine years old, and a handy little thing for her age; but she eyed her mother gravely all the time, and at last as Sam's drumming was again heard from the garden, she asked, "Mother, does it hurt you when Sam talks of being a soldier ?" Mrs. Perry started, and gazed at the child for a moment, then pausing in her work, she said, "Alice, I'll tell you something I think you're old enough to understand now. It was turning soldier that changed your father from a steady hard-working man to one that nearly broke my heart before he died; and though Sam is little more than a baby, whenever I see him dressed up like that, as his poor father loved to A Mischievous Boy. 9 have him, I feel as if it would be easier to lay him in his coffin now he is young than to see him grow up to disobey his mother, and leave home." Alice Perry looked thoughtful for some time after that. It was only six months since her poor father died, who had lain so long a helpless invalid, until at last he grew worse and went off quite suddenly. It seemed as if she could see him again lying on his bed and laughing at Sam in his soldier's dress which he had once given the child in the time of his health, and then calling him close he would say, That's right, Sam, be father's boy, and go with the red-coats when you're big enough." All this Alice thought of now, and it seemed as if a light had dawned upon much which she could never understand,- upon her mother's tears, upon her often saying, "God forbid, John, that the boy should take that into his head!" The kitchen clock had struck. one Io Soldier Sam. before quiet' little Alice had spoken .again; and then, as her mother took up her sewing and sat down by the win- dow, she followed her and said, But, mother, can't soldiers be good at all ?" Yes, Alice; no matter where we are or what we do, we can all serve God if we ask Him to help us. But you couldn't understand, dear, how easy folks go wrong when they're tempted by bad companions; and a soldier's life is full of danger, and I can't bear to think of it for my Sam. There, don't worry your head about it, child. Ask God to take care of Sam, and me, and all of us, and then we shall do well." Five minutes after Alice went out into the little slip of ground before the cottage to look for her brother, and there she found him shooting at the old tabby cat as she tried to hide among the rows of peas and beans which grew there. "Sam, you are trampling over the beds; come off!" cried Alice. A Mischievous Boy. I "I shan't,"replied Sam, rudely. "There, I shall hit her now; ready, present, fire!" and this time Sam's aim was good, and he hit poor old "Tip" on her nose, as he intended. "Leave off, do, Sam!" cried Alice, seizing his arm. "You're a naughty, unkind boy!" But Sam shook himself free, and started off to discover more possible mischief, while Alice retired to the door step to watch him, and think of what her mother had told her. I know now why mother used to cry so when father said bad words, though she seemed very sorry when he died. Mother looks so sad, and gets so pale and thin over that sewing, and is so afraid lest she should not get enough to keep us. Well, I will help her as much as ever I can;" and with that resolve Ally thought of a long seam which she could do, but had left because she was tired of it, and went bravely in and did every 12 Soldier Sam. stitch of it before tea. When she saw a smile flit over her mother's face, I need not say that she was well repaid for her little act of love and sacrifice, and that it helped her to make many more such, because she felt that God's voice in her heart always whispered words of love and encouragement when she tried to do well for the sake of pleasing Him; and many a time when Sam was tiresome and cross, or when the troubles of home seemed very heavy, little Alice Perry found help to be patient from that habit, which she had happily learned so young, of looking simply to her heavenly Fa- ther. iip: CHAPTER II. TROUBLE AT HOME. ix years had passed over the little village of Dewbury. Many of the oldest inhabi- tants had been carried to the churchyard, many of the lads had grown to manhood and gone out in the world in dif- ferent ways; but Mrs. Perry still lived in the cottage on the turnpike-road with her two children, Alice and Sam. Sam was now a fine boy of twelve or thirteen years. "Soldier Sam," as every one -called him, had the flashing eyes and black curly hair of his father in his best days-some of that father's spirit and daring, too, which had given poor Mrs. Perry many an anxious day and 14 Soldier Sam. sleepless night during those six years of his early boyhood. It had been hard work to keep him to the village school,' for Sam was lazy over his books; he left all the plodding to Alice, who had grown each day more of a comfort and help to her mother. But the worst was now, that while many of the Dewbury boys as young as he were helping to keep themselves by doing jobs of work, Sam Perry was not one of these. As a tiny boy he had been too idle to begin to earn a few halfpence by frightening the birds from the fields or orchards with a clapper, as Farmer Robson proposed to him; and since then he might have been put to any of the tradesfolks round about, many of whom had given him a trial for his mother's sake, but none could put up with his careless ways. Meanwhile Mrs. Perry and Alice sewed hard, and washed and ironed, to keep their little home together, talking anxiously of Sam and Trouble at iHome. 15 trying to excuse the faults which they were forced to see in him. When his mother spoke to the boy seriously, he would promise to be all she wished, and really try for a day or two, but then he was off with a set of idle companions, and home and those in it were for the time forgotten. "I'm going to be a soldier, mother, and I can't do anything else," he would say, whistling lightly as Mrs. Perry tried to make him see that if he was so easily led astray, it was one of the last callings suited to him. "Well, Alice, we can only be patient with the boy, and ask God to manage it all," his mother would say. I used to trouble about it day and night awhile ago, but I've come to feel lately as if in some way all would be right with Sam, unlikely as it seems now." "Oh yes, mother!" said Alice, as cheerfully as she could. Boys do take all sorts of notions into their heads, but 16 Soldier Satn. they settle down quite differently after- wards. Mrs. Lucas was saying so only yesterday: her son Mike, who lives over in Eastonbury, you know, mother, was once as mad after soldiering as our Sam, but he took to carpentering, after all; and see how comfortable and well- to-do he is now." About six weeks after this con- versation, Sam came in one evening looking ill; he had "got a bit of a chill," he said, for he had been over to bathe in the river. "Oh yes, his clothes were mostly dry now," he answered to his mother's anxious questions; however, he would go to bed and get to sleep if he could. The news soon went round Dewbury that "Soldier Sam" was down with rheumatic fever, and the neighbours who went in to offer help came back shaking their heads and wiping their eyes as they described the lad's sufferings and Mrs. Perry's grief. Ah! it was a terri- Trouble at Home. 17 ble thing to the mother to hear him cry- ing out from his pain of body, but still worse to judge of the misery of his heart from his angry murmurings against God. Alice often said to her mother after- wards, in talking of that sad time, that it seemed as if they must have starved but for the kindness of their poor neigh- bours; one and all felt pity for the family who were so tried both by sick- ness and poverty, for attending upon Sam took up the hours they needed for their work. When Mrs. Perry sat think- ing during the night, her mind was bur- dened with care : there were little debts running up at the butcher's and baker's, and there would be a doctor's bill. There was the shop in Eastonbury, for which she had done needlework since her husband died, threatening to take some one in her place if she could not get done what they needed, and Alice grew thin; and her heart seemed ready to break under its weight of grief S32 18- Soldier Sam. And so she sat one night watching Sam, who slept uneasily, wondering what would become of them all, until at last she took to pacing softly about the room murmuring prayers for help; and then stopping before the little table in the window she took from it her well- worn Bible, and turned over the leaves, wishing some message of peace or help might come to her through that. She had opened it at the Book of Psalms, and one verse caught her eye directly, and caused her to sit and ponder over it: "Thou hast dealt well with Thy servant;" and it seemed at first as if her poor aching heart must cry out in its pain, No, no; Thou hast not dealt well with me-life is too hard." Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks, and the struggle to trust and believe was very difficult. On one hand, there were her trials and anxieties pressing heavily; on the other, God's infinite kindness and love during past years; but faith con- Trouble at Home. 19 quered, and slipping gently down on her knees, the poor weary woman sobbed out the sacred words, "' Thou hast dealt well with Thy servant, O Lord !' Yes, even though I am poor and needy and troubled, Thou wilt bring all right; in Thy own good time the clouds will pass away and help will come; meanwhile, I will trust in Thy goodness." Next morning Mrs. Perrysaid," Things seem dark now, Ally; but, please God, they'll mend by-and-by." "Oh, mother, mother! they don't look like mending !" said Alice. "Mr. Smith, at the baker's, looked quite cross at me when I went for a loaf, and asked me how long you were going to be till you paid up what is owing; and when I went into Eastonbury, Miss Frazer said if we couldn't get all the work done, instead of part, she'd find some one else this very week instead of us." "We must try and sew a bit harder, dear, and finish the rest; and as for Mr 20 Soldier Sam. Smith and the others, if they will only wait until Sam is well again, I shall pay them every one, if I sell all my things to do it." "But, mother, what shall we do ?" "Leave it to God, child; He will show us when the time comes." "Oh, but, mother, you don't always feel so!" said Alice. "You know how troubled you are very often, and I can't help wondering how we shall live." Mrs. Perry drew the poor child's head down on her lap, as she had often done when Alice was younger. "See here, dear; I know I have often mistrusted our good God, and felt as if He had for- gotten me, but I am not going to do it again. It seemed last night, Alice, as if He was speaking to me with His soft, kind voice-the same as He spoke to all the poor troubled mothers who came to Him when, He was a man on earth; and somehow it seems quite clear in my mind that He is going to help us Trouble at Home. 21 through, though I don't see how. Per- haps Sam is going to be better." Yes, mother; Mr. Adams said he hoped the worst was past. But then there's all the things to be paid for, and the medicine he's had, and he won't do much to help us even when he is well; and, oh, mother, I'm tired of it all!" And here Alice burst into a fit of crying, from which all her mother's comfort could not rouse her until Sam woke up, and she had to go and attend to him. 22 CHAPTER III. A FRIEND IN NEED. OOR Mrs. Perry is look- ing quite worn out, and Alice is as thin as can be. I'm right sorry for that woman; it would have been a mercy if it had pleased God to take the boy, for he'll never be any use to her." That was what Mrs. Stevens said to her husband Giles, whom we once saw laughing at the little mimic soldier as he sat eating his dinner on a turned-up wheelbarrow under the hedge in Dew- bury turnpike-road, and who was getting to look an old man since that time. He's getting well, is he, then ?" "Yes, but he'll never have the right A Friend in Need. 23 use of his feet. One leg's drawn up so, that Mr. Adams says he will have to "use a crutch." Old Giles lifted up both hands in dismay. "Poor lad, poor lad! Then it's all up with the soldiering; and it's been the one thought of his life since he was no higher than the table. I must go and tell his poor mother I'm sorry for her; for though she'd always set her mind against it, it would have been better than to have the boy on her hands for good and all." And off went Giles across the fields to Mrs. Perry's cottage to talk over their troubles with them. Eh, neighbour, but it's bad news my missis has been a-telling me about your lad," said the old man, as he greeted the widow woman. "And can't the doctors do anything for him ?" "I fear not, Mr. Stevens. They say he'll never be fit for much, and of course it almost breaks his heart to think he's 24 Soldier Sam. never to be a soldier after all the talk of it." Old Giles shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry for him, Mrs. Perry, and I'm sorry for you. It's a hard matter to have a big lad on your hands like that." By this time they were in the room where Sam lay mourning over his trouble; and when he saw the old man enter he said angrily, "You've brought him just to see I'm good-for-nothing, I suppose. You might let me be, mother." "Oh, Sam, dear, don't talk so !" said poor Mrs. Perry, bending over the bed, and smoothing his dark curls with her hand. "Giles knew your father when he was as young as you, and he's been a good friend to us. I thought maybe he would cheer you up a bit." "No one can cheer me," said Sam; but he turned round, nevertheless, and gave the old man a reluctant greeting. Dear me, here's a bad job! here's a bad job !" sighed out old Giles, putting A Friend in Need. 25 a hand on each knee, and gazing earn- estly at the invalid boy. But keep up your heart, lad; God's done it, and He knows best. You can be His soldier now, if you can't fight for the Queen and country." Sam turned his face to the wall, for he could not bear to hear his sorrow spoken of. And presently the old man took his leave, and Mrs. Perry sat down by the boy's side, and sewed away as fast as her fingers would fly, only gazing for an instant now and then at Alice bending over her work at the window. "Mother, do you think we can get done in time for me to go into the town to-night ?" the tired girl said presently. I don't think so, Alice; but I -shall sit up and finish, and then you can start first thing in the morning with the lot." "But, mother, we want the money to-night.". "Yes, I know;" and Mrs. Perry sighed, for there was not a penny in 26 Soldier Sam. the house, and only -a piece of stale bread and a small cup of milk for Sam. Not a sound was heard for a time but the needles flying through the calico, and Sam's moans and sobs. Dear boy don't grieve so," said his mother. "I know 'tis hard, but it's God's will, Sam, and He loves you." "Loves me !" said the boy, angrily. " Laying me here, good-for-nothing, for you and Alice to keep me! I can't bear it, mother. Let's go away where no one knows us." Mrs. Perry looked aghast for a mo- ment. To be in any place where no one knew them seemed terrible to her who had spent her whole life in Dewbury. "What good would that be to you, Sam ?" she asked. "It's the only thing I'd care for now," said Sam. I can't live here and hobble about on a crutch, and have all the fellows laughing, and saying, There goes Soldier Sam!'" A Friend in Need. 27 Any reply his mother might have made was cut short by a step approach- ing the door, and Alice calling out that "Mrs. Willis is coming." Mrs. Perry's face brightened as this kind friend appeared in the little room with that pleasant voice and smile which all the poor round Dewbury loved. "Mine is only a hasty visit to-day," she said. "I had some beef-tea to bring Sam, and I thought a few gro- ceries would come in handily." Mrs. Perry thanked the lady in a few words: the chief thanks went up to God, whose hand she recognized in every instance of human help. "And, Sam, I would have brought you some books to read if I had known you were so much better," added good Mrs. Willis. "Would it not amuse you to read a bit ?" Sam said he thought it would; for their visitor's presence seemed to exer- cise a charm even over him; and when 28 Soldier Sam. she bade him good-bye she said, I am going to send you the life of a soldier, Sam; one who was brave and strong, but who was also something far nobler and better-a true soldier of Jesus Christ." As Sam sipped his beef-tea, he seemed brighter and more inclined to talk. "I hope Mrs. Willis will send her book pretty soon; I think it would amuse me a bit." The mother sighed, and a little prayer went up to God that Sam might indeed be taught from above, and take up the battle against sin and self, and be what God would have him. But she did not speak of her wish then; she only said- Sam, would you like very much to go away from here ?" The boy's dark eyes glistened with something of their old brightness as he said, "Oh, mother, yes-anywhere for a change. I'd like to go to the sea; perhaps I might get better there; at any SA Friend in Need. 29 rate I should be happier. Let's .go, mother, and leave this stupid village." "Sam, father is buried here, and mother loves it," put in Alice. Never mind, Ally; that matters little if we have God with us, and He will be quite close wherever we go," said Mrs. Perry. "Then will you, mother ?" questioned Sam, eagerly; and she told him yes, that she was going to give up the cot- tage and sell the furniture to pay off every debt, and then they should be free to go anywhere. Of the pain it gave herself Mrs. Perry said nothing. A month later and the little cottage was empty, the furniture sold, and the widow and her boy and girl about to leave their native place for a little fish- ing town about forty miles distant, where Sam would be near the sea, which he fancied was to make him well, and where she hoped to earn money by washing and plain sewing, as she had 30 Soldier Sam. done in Dewbury. A little sum was in Mrs. Perry's pocket to take them on their way; but the future looked all dark to her, excepting for God's love and care. Poor woman, God speed her!" said the neighbours who watched the cart which was taking them to the town, until it was lost from sight. It's a heavy trouble for her to have that boy on her hands like this. What would his father have said if he'd lived to see 'Soldier Sam' a cripple !" And then they went back into their cottages to talk and work, while the travellers were getting farther and far- ther from the old house and friends they would never see again. 31 CHAPTER IV. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. H, mother, isn't it strange and lonely here?" said Alice Perry as she looked round the two little rooms which were now to be their home. Never mind, child, it's a healthy place; and they say there is a good chance of work here, and plenty of visitors all summer time who want washing done. Don't be down-hearted, child-I want you to help me to trust in God when my faith fails me." "Me! oh, mother, you know I can't do that!" said Alice, with quick tears filling her eyes. I do want to love God; but when we are so troubled to get along 32 Soldier Sam. and work isn't paid for, and food is so scarce, I forget that He can alter it all, if it is good for us." "Well, we must try and trust every- thing to Him now; and if He will only bring Sam to be patient and love Christ, I could be willing to bear all the rest, Ally." Ally glanced at Sam, who was sitting out on the shingle, a few yards from the cottage, with a happy look on his face once again. She could believe that he might get stronger and better, but it seemed too much to think of her brother turning to God, whom he had forgotten since his early childhood. In about a week after the Perrys set- tled at Wearmouth. They were fortunate enough to get washing and ironing for a large family, who were visiting the place; and though Alice was rather apt to grow careful and think of what was to be done when winter came, and Wearmouth was empty again, she tried to listen to her A Niew Acquainlance. 33 mother, who counselled trusting God day by day. Meanwhile Sam limped down with his crutch to the shingle every morning, and lay there the greater part of the day, flinging pebbles into the sea, watching the children making sand-castles, or sometimes reading a little in the book Mrs. Willis had given him at parting; but Sam found it very uninteresting to his mind, so he shut the book pretty soon, and amused himself in picturing what his life might have been if he had kept well and strong, until the thoughts generally brought some bitter tears, which he brushed away impatiently lest any one should notice him. Many of the visitors looked kindly at the boy; many bade him good morning, and would have drawn him on to con- versation, but Sam grew surly, and plainly showed he wished to have nothing to say to anybody. But there was one person at Wear- D 34 Soldicr Sam. mouth who was not going to be repulsed, and this was a little boy of about five years-a fisherman's child-who sat down about a yard from Sam, looking at him with grave, wondering eyes. "Come, young one-clear off!" the lad would say: "what are you here for ?" "Come to look at you," replied the tiny visitor; and nothing seemed to drive him away, so that at last Sam had to make the best of it, and begin to talk to the little fellow. In time they became quite friendly, and Bobby seemed never happy unless he was at Sam's side. "Tell me a tale," was the frequent re- quest; and though at first Sam refused impatiently, there was something in little Bobby's evident affection which led him afterwards to tell the child many simple tales he had himself heard years before from his mother, in the old cottage at Dewbury. At last Sam's stock was at an end, A New Acquaintance. 35 and in despair he bethought himself one day of the history of Daniel, and told it to Bobby, to his great delight. "I never knew that," said the little child. I knew about God, though He is up in the sky; He takes care of Bobby and of Sam." "Yes," said Sam; "and He took care of Daniel, and kept the lions from hurting him. I can't tell you any more stories to-day, Bobby. Run and tell Alice to fetch me in, for I don't want to stay out any longer." The child trotted off, and presently Alice came to help Sam back to the cottage, and Bobby went to his own home to ponder over what he had been told, until he pounced upon his friend next morning with a request for more Bible stories." From that time it was useless for Sam to put the little fellow off with tales of giants, or fairies, or shipwrecks, such as he had charmed him with at first: 36 Soldier Sam. nothing satisfied little Bobby but the Scripture stories of the Old and New Testaments, which Sam told. And what did he think of, as he re- peated the familiar histories to the delighted child ? Well, often enough he thought what a trouble all this was, and how he really would get rid of his companion; but that idea vanished at the first trustful glance of Bobby's earn- est eyes. Then he would begin to wish he could love and believe those stories as simply as the little one who listened to him; and thus Sam's heart was soft- ening towards God, against whom he had murmured and rebelled. Mrs. Perry and Alice knew nothing of all this: what they did know was, that Sam was kinder and happier, and seldom complained. They wondered often at his liking for Bobby, he who had always scouted the children of Dew- bury if they came near him. However, they asked no questions, but were glad A New Acquaintance. 37 to see a change in mind and body, which helped them to work and toil with courage and hope. Some of the ladies and gentlemen who strolled about the shingle would say what a nice interest- ing pair they made. The crippled lad, with his dark eyes and hair, lying on an old shawl under the shelter of some fish- ing-boats, and the tiny sun-burnt child in his cotton frock and pinafore, who was always by his side. Sometimes they drew near to listen to what the stories were about, which pleased Bobby; but Sam turned silent, and his secrets re- mained between himself and his little unsought friend. So summer passed, and just at its close the child grew -ill. Whether he had got cold or not his mother could not tell; but Bobby gradually wasted into a little weak shadow of his former sturdy self, and could hardly walk from his home to the shingle. But they carried him down to Sam's side, where 38 Soldier Sam. he lay nestling in the folds of the old shawl listening to the stories he loved so much. Bobby will see God soon, Bobby is going to Him," he said one day; and Sam felt a thrill of pain pass through his heart, which made him say, some- what sharply, "Don't talk nonsense, Bobby, or I won't tell you any more tales;" and then the little fellow said no more, but only seemed to cling closer- to his friend, as if the thought of parting was in his mind. Weeks passed by,-the autumn wind began to tell that the pleasant days of summer were ended, and a few gales had warned the people of Wearmouth of the weather they might prepare to expect now. Sam was forced to give up his place on the shingle and look at the tossing, moaning waves from the window of their little room; but there was some- thing he missed more, and that was SA New Acquaintance. 39 Bobby, for the child was very ill now in his own bed at home. One day a hurried step came up the stairs to the room where Mrs. Perry and Alice were sewing, while Sam lay on a bed they had made him by the window, gazing. out as usual with a thoughtful look on his face. It was. Bobby's mother, looking white and scared. He's going fast, my poor little lad! and all his talk is for Sam. Couldn't he come?" she added, glancing at Mrs. Perry.. Mrs. Perry looked from Sam to the window. It was a rough, wild day for him; but the lad never hesitated. "Of course I'll come to him, poor Bobby! Mother, give me your arm and a crutch, and I shall manage." So with difficulty and some pain Sam reached the cottage where Bobby lay dying; and if he needed reward he had it in the child's grasp of his hand and grateful look. 40 Soldier Sam. Oh, I am really going to God!" he gasped. Don't be angry with me for saying it, Sam. Tell me about Him again,-about Jesus who died on the cross to save sinners." . Sam's face flushed hotly. Should he humble himself to tell tales of Christ to the child-he who had tried to make his mother believe that all his faith in the Saviour had been put away as a foolish fancy ? There was a struggle; but Bobby's wistful glance decided it, and with a great lump in his throat, and a choking voice, Sam began, with his mother and the child's mother crying softly together at the foot of the bed. Their tears came from different causes though: the dying child's mother wept that her little one was going from her to God; Mrs. Perry's tears were of joy and thankfulness, for as she heard the sweet and sorrowful story of the death of Jesus drop from Sam's lips it seemed A New Acqzazntance. 41 as if God was giving her boy back to her once more. "Please, Sam, ask Him to come for me,-ask Him to take care of me all the way to heaven," came next from the little lips. "Say a prayer, dear Sam! I try to pray, but I can't remember the words." But Sam's head bent low then, down by little Bobby's wasted hands, and he murmured: "Oh, Bobby, I haven't prayed to God since I was as little as you; I can't now,-indeed I can't. You don't know how bad I've been. Pray for me, dear Bobby, and I'll be different all my life." There was a puzzled, dreamy look in the dark eyes, as if he did not under- stand, but seemed only to know Sam was in some trouble. "Don't cry, dear Sam !" he said, touching the lad with his tiny hand. "You are so good to tell me about Jesus, and He loves you,-oh, I wish I could remember my prayer 42 Soldier Sam. I said in the mornings and nights always." There was a moment's hush, and then Mrs. Perry knelt down by the bedside close by Sam, and prayed for all in simple earnest words; but her boy knew what was meant by her touch upon his bent head, and that she was blessing and thanking God for an answer to some request she had often urged before Him. 43 CHAPTER V. A HAPPY ENDING. SOT many days after that scene in the fisherman's cottage, little Bobby's body was laid to rest, Sand his soul was in the keep- i ing of the Good Shepherd. Most of the Wearmouth people mourned for and missed the little one, but none felt just as Sam did. He had looked shyly at his mother ever since that prayer by Bobby's bedside. It was as if there was something he longed to say to her, and yet pride or awk- wardness kept it from coming out. And Mrs. Perry's heart was yearning over her boy. She seemed to know that he was longing to get back to God; 44 Soldier Sam. that in his heart there was a strange stirring of good desires and resolves, against which no evil spirit would make war, and so she prayed for him more than ever, and waited until God showed her the time to speak. She had not long to wait, for on the day week of Bobby's funeral Sam him- self began to talk of the child, when he and his mother were alone together; and in a nervous, hurried way he added, " Poor little fellow I can't forget how he looked when I said I didn't know how to pray. Oh, mother, I wish with all my heart I had never left off." "My boy, God, who gives you that wish, is ready to hear you again. He knows how you have forgotten Him. He loves you, Sam." It seems as if He could not,-I have been so bad; and yet I more than half believe He does; I more than half believe He will forgive me and make me better, mother. I tried to think A Happy Ending. 45 there was not a God, or a heaven, or a hell: it seemed fine and manly, and other fellows said it; but, mother, in my heart I knew different all the time. And then when we came here, and poor Bobby would often come after me, and, do what I would, he wasn't to be driven away, but got me into telling him Bible stories, I believed more and more, in spite of all my trying not, until I grew so miserable I could scarcely bear it. Oh, mother, it is just as if the poor little boy was to bring me right again." "Thank God for bringing us here," said Mrs. Perry; and then Alice came in, and no more was said, although the mother and her boy could think of nothing but that of which they had spoken. The tiny congregation in the house of God at Wearmouth were surprised upon the next Sunday to hear the limping step of Sam Perry come up the aisle after his mother and Alice, and still more 46 Soldier Sam. surprised by his quiet conduct during the service and sermon; for the lad had made no secret of his bad conduct,- laughing at any one who had tried to lead him to do right, or who, in their pity for his ill health and useless state, had spoken some simple word about God's holy will. After that time, whenever Sam was well enough, and the winds were not too rough, he was always by his mother's side, so that every one ceased to wonder, excepting, indeed, if he was not there. By degrees as he listened to the prayers which were offered up; as he heard God's Word preached from time to time, the boy's heart opened to receive again the good seed which had once been cast there to wither from evil influence and neglect, but which now was sprung up into the sweet flowers of faith and love. All through that winter the Perrys were very happy, though many a time A Hafpy Ending. 4 7 want pressed upon them, and they knew not where the morrow's meat was to come from. God always, in one way or other, sent help. And soon Sam found little ways of usefulness which turned to account : either making neat boat- baskets, or drying sea-weed to arrange on card, and many such trifles, which all turned into money when visitors and summer came; and if ever the thought of his weak health and lameness cast a shadow on his face, his mother's looks chased it all away. So the winter passed, and the sun shone out over Wearmouth, and once more Sam came out upon the shingle. The old short surly manner was gone now, for the love of Christ was in his heart, and had softened all his hardness. Visitors to the little fishing village got to be in- terested in him, and some few drew from him his history, and cheered him with many marks of kindness. But Sam's love was all for the chil- 48 Soldier Sam. dren for Bobby's sake--little Bobby, whose short grave was all grown over with the tall grass by that time; and many of them grew to love standing round him to hear of Christ who loved little children, and died to save them from their sins; and in after years there were not a few who remembered the crippled lad who had put the first thought of God into their hearts. A quiet, dull life some would say for a boy who had ever been the flower of his native village; noted for his strength, his spirit, his courage; but it was a life he would not have changed, because he had found that peace which the world can neither give nor take away. And so Sam found his life-work in conquering his own nature, and in rooting out the evil of his own heart by the help of God's Holy Spirit. He was spared to see his dear parent pass from earth blessing God for the comfort of a good son, and then he died-died in still early life. A Happy Ending. 49 but not before he had won some souls to Christ, and left behind him the memory of acts of love and kindness done for God. Soldier Sam was buried in a still corner where few strangers would notice the simple stone which marks the spot; but the Wearmouth people, who knew and loved him, often go there in quiet moments and will say, Thank God that he came amongst us." E 32 50 ['hiistian Charity . F RIGHT source of everlasting love i To Thee our souls we raise: And to Thy sovereign bounty rear A monument of praise. Thy mercy gilds the path of life With every cheering ray; Kindly restrains the rising tear, Or wipes that tear away. What shall we render, bounteous Lord For all the grace we see? Alas! the goodness worms can yield Extendeth not to Thee. To tents of woe, to beds of pain, We cheerfully repair, And, with the gift Thy hand bestows, Relieve the mourner's care. The widow's heart shall sing for joy, The orphan's breast shall glow; Thus streams of mercy from our God, Through human channels flow. So passing through the vale of tears, Our useful light will shine; And others learn to glorify Our Father's name Divine, iXXR's ranim, I ILLIE'S DREAM, HERE was a small tumble- down cottage, built on the far side of Ashurst Com- mon-a wretched place, with no other house near it. Broken bits of wood and crockery lay outside; and the windows were choked up with dirt and cobwebs, with many a pane broken, and stuffed with paper and rags to keep out the draught. On a small mattress in one corner of the front room a little boy of some seven years was lying, his tangled hair nearly covering his face, his eyes bright with fever, his small wasted hands hot and 54 Lillie's Dream. burning, while he moaned and wailed constantly from weariness and pain. Charlie Benson and his sister Lillie were all alone in the miserable place they called home. "Charlie, Charlie, don't cry; I can't bear to hear you!" said the girl. Father will be home soon, and maybe he'll bring some money, and then I'll get you some- thing nice to eat;" but though she tried to cheer her sick brother, Lillie was far from expecting any such good fortune; for their father's return was the time for rough words and frequent blows and terrible curses, which made the children cower down together on the little mattress in fear of him. It had not always been so. Lillie, who was ten years old, could remember better than Charlie the time when their mother was alive, and then the tumble- down cottage had been as trim and clean as hands could make it; but since her death their father had taken to drink Lillie's Dream. 55 and idle ways, and the children knew what it was to go for days with nothing but hard dry crusts for their food. At times their father would have fits of kindness, and would go on steadily with his work, and make things more com- fortable; but it never lasted long, and Lillie had got so used to dirt and wretch- edness, blows and hunger, that she had given up hoping for anything different. But all this had brought on poor Charlie's illness; and though the doctor had given him medicine, and said that nothing particular ailed him, he did not get any better, but seemed weaker and thinner as days passed on. At last even his father grew anxious, and bitterly re- proached himself that he had spent so much of his money in drink, instead of buying the children proper food. Next day, instead of lying late in bed, the man got up and lighted the fire, and meant to get some breakfast, but he found the cupboard empty,-all but a 56 Lillie's Dream. dry hard piece of bread, which he knew the sick boy could not eat. He searched in his pockets, but not a coin was left; and then, in his sudden repentance, he seized his best coat, and going down into the town sold it for what he could get, and with the money brought home bread, tea, sugar, and butter, to the great joy and surprise of the children. "Oh, father, it is nice!" cried Lillie; "perhaps Charlie will get better now,- the doctor said he wanted food more than physic." "Will it be like this always, father ?" asked Charlie. Are you going to leave off coming home cross, and beating us ?" .and the tears stood in John Benson's eyes as he told Lillie and Charlie that he really meant to give up his bad com- panions, and make them happy once more. He was not at heart a'bad man, he did love his children; but he was weak, and easily persuaded to do wrong. Lillie's Dream. 57 Before he started for work he went to the little mattress and kissed Charlie- a thing he had not done for many a day,-and then he saw how hot and feverish the boy was. "Strawberries are plentiful now," he said; I'll get home early, Charlie, and bring you a few. You may look out for me by seven o'clock." All the long hot summer's day the sick child talked of nothing but the strawberries. "Oh, Lillie, how I wish it was night,-you don't think father will forget, do you dear ? Only fancy I shall have strawberries !-won't they be cool and nice ?" Then he would lie down and sleep for awhile, or ask Lillie to sing to him some of the hymns they had at Sunday school; but over and over again came the old wish for his father and evening; and when the sun had set, he sat up on the mattress, and listened eagerly for the sound of steps. 58 Lillie's Dream. Seven o'clock struck-they counted the strokes as they rung out from Ashurst church-tower,-eight o'clock- nine o'clock-but still no father. Poor Charlie's face, which had been crimson from excitement, grew very white and weary; and at last he fell into an uneasy sleep, with one arm round Lillie's neck, while she sang over and over again in a dreamy voice, "I think when I read the sweet story of old," which was the sick child's great favourite. How could it be that father was so late ? Lillie asked herself as time went on, and still he did not come; surely he had not forgotten his promise, surely he was not with his bad friends so soon again? And as she thought about it and puzzled over it, at last poor little anxious Lillie fell into a troubled sleep herself; and this is what she dreamed while she lay there with Charlie's arm about her neck, and his hot breath on her cheek. Lillie's Dream. 59 It seemed to her that they were alone together in that wretched room, when some one with a gentle pitying face came and looked at them, and his glance was so kind that Lillie did not feel at all afraid, but asked him to make Charlie well, and told him all her troubles from beginning to end. It seemed to her that the gentle visitor listened with his face growing sweeter and more pitiful as she talked; and when she had quite told all, he touched her with his hand, and said, "Lillie, you want your father to be a better man, and give up his bad ways and love God, don't you ? " Then it seemed to her that she had said, Yes, she wished it more than any- thing in the world-more even than for Charlie to get well, if that was possible;" and when she said so, the stranger smiled, and stretched out his arms as if to take Charlie; and when Lillie shook her'head, and clung to her little brother, the kind voice said, Give me Charlie; 60 Lillie's Dream. I can take more care of him than you. I will make him happy, and safe, and well; but he must go with me, and so I will give you your great wish." Just at this point Lillie woke up suddenly at the noisy entrance of her father, whose unsteady step and low- muttered oath, as he struck his foot against a chair, were enough to keep her silent, and even Charlie drew closer to her with a frightened whisper, saying, "Oh dear, then he hasn't brought the strawberries !" The two poor children cried quietly for a long time from disappointment, until Charlie slept again; but Lillie lay awake thinking of her dream, feeling as if it would have been almost worth parting with Charlie for any one to come and look as kindly on her as that stranger. Morning came. John Benson woke up when the sun was high and bright, to reproach himself bitterly for his last night's relapse, and for his unkindness Lillie's Dream. 61 to Charlie. He crossed over to the mattress to tell the boy he was sorry; but both children seemed asleep, and he went out quietly, bought strawberries, and came back to see Lillie bending over Charlie, and trying in vain to wake him. Oh, father, have you really brought the strawberries ? I'm so glad," she cried. He wanted them. so badly yes- terday; and though he wasn't cross a bit, he sobbed so when you didn't bring them. Charlie, Charlie! wake up! the strawberries have come, Charlie! Oh, why don't he answer?" she added, turning to her father, "and he's cold too,-not burning and hot as he was last night." Then an awful terror entered John Benson's heart. With a great effort he knelt down on the floor by the mattress, and then with a cry he fell upon his face by the child's side,-little Charlie was dead! Years have gone by. Lillie Benson 62 Lillie's Dream. is a great girl now, keeping a clean tidy home, in which you would scarcely re- cognize the tumble-down cottage where you first saw he* She is happy too, for the solemn promise her father made to God by the side of the dead boy has been sacredly kept, and he has been a steady, respectable Christian man ever since; for that terrible punishment awoke him to a sense of his own state, and kept him safe amidst temptation ever after. Well, then, might Lillie be happy,- for she knew Charlie was safe with the Saviour who loves little children; and though she never speaks of it, she hides deep in her heart the memory of that dream of long before, for she always believes it was sent to teach her, that only by the sorrow of her brother's death could her great wish have been granted; and her father brought back from sin and misery to God. LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSBI ]^^hs Eittle )-at" .-eri s, NEW SIXPENNY BOOKS. Printed in Large type, with Coloured Frontisfeces. x8mo., clot boards. 6d. Uniform witi this volum4. i. The Book of Books: The Story of the English Bible. 2. Springfield Stories. 3. Little Dot. 4. yohn Thompson's Nursery, & other Stories. 5. Two Ways to Begin Lifc. 6. Ethel Ripon; or, Beware of Idle Words. 7. Little Gooseberry, and other Stories. 8. Fanny Ashley, and other Stories. 9. The Gamekeeper's Daughter. So. Fred Kenny; or, Out in the World. I 1. Old Humphrey's Study-Table. 12. Jenny's Waterproof, and Nelly's Home. 13. The Holy Well: an Irish Story. * 14. The Travelling Sixpence. x5. The Three Flowers; or, Which is Best? 16. Lost and Rescued. 17. Light-bearers and Beacons. 18. Little Lottie; or, The Wonderful Clock. 19. The Dog of St. Bernard, & other Stories 20. Isaac Gould, the Waggoner. 21. Uncle Rupert's Stories for Boys. 22. Dreaming and Doing, and other Stories. 23. Many Ways of Being Useful 24. Rachel Rivers; or, What a Child may Do. 25. Lessons Out of School. 26. Setma, the Turkish Captive. 27. Show your Colours, and other Stories. 28. True and False Friendship. 29. Always Too Late, and other Stories. 30. Soldier Sam. 3 School Pictures Drawn from Life. 32. Stephen Grattan's Faith. 33. David the Scholar: a Scotch Story. 34. Tired of Home. 35. Setting out for Heaven. 36. The Stolen Money, and other Stories. 37. Helen's Stewardship. 38. Pat Riley's Friends. 39. Olive Crowhurst: a Story for Girls. 40. The White Feather. LoHDON : TnH RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIEry, PAT7-rs-TrI Row. |