All the impudence had faded out of Bob's face. "Oh, sir," he begged, clasping his hands in his earnestness, "please look over it this once. What shall I do if you turn me off? I dare not tell my mother; you know, sir, that she is ill, and what I earn is all we have. I deserve it perhaps, sir, but she doesn't—just this once!" he pleaded.

Mr. Carlton felt some one touch his sleeve; it was Charlie. "I beg your pardon, sir," said Charlie, in a low tone, "but will you please forgive him this time?"

Mr. Carlton looked at him with surprise. "Are you begging for him? have you forgiven him?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," answered Charlie. "I am very sorry I lost my temper so. I have been well taught, and perhaps he hasn't."

Mr. Carlton considered for a moment.

Bob could not hear what Charlie was saying, but he fancied from his manner that he was telling his wrongs, and a sullen, angry expression spread over his face.

"Come here, White," said Mr. Carlton. "I have consented to look over your bad conduct once more; but remember you owe it to this boy," putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder; "he has pleaded for you; he has returned you good for evil: see that you are not ungrateful." He then left them, after asking Charlie his name.

Bob stood still, feeling and looking very awkward. Charlie went up to him, and held out his hand. "You'll shake hands and be friends, Bob, won't you?"

Bob shook hands shyly, and turned away to his work without speaking; but Charlie fancied he saw tears in his eyes.

Soon after it was time for the men to leave. They came pouring out in all directions from the workings of the mine, and Charlie was kept busy. Hudson Brownlee came nearly last.

"How do you get on?" he asked kindly.

"Oh, pretty well; I'm getting more used to it already."

"Good-bye," said Brownlee, taking a step forward, and then standing still. "What was it you were saying about not being alone?" putting on a careless, off-hand tone.

"Oh," said Charlie, "I meant I should not feel lonely or afraid, because I knew God was with me. I remember father reading out of the Bible, 'Fear not, for I am with thee;' and I know it is true, don't you?"

"No," said Brownlee, thoughtfully, "I can't say that I do."

"If I had my Bible here, I think I could find the words directly."

"Ah," said Brownlee, "that's a book I don't know much about. You see I'm no scholar. I was careless about learning when I was young, and what little I did know I have almost forgot. It takes me such a while to spell out the words that I lose the meaning."

"What a pity!" exclaimed Charlie, "You see it's almost impossible to get on right at all without the Bible, because God tells us in it what we are to do, and what we're not to do," he went on impetuously. "I was just thinking, as we came along down here with our lamps, about that text, 'Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.' If we had not had lamps we should have been groping about in the dark, stumbling over things, knocking up against the props, hurting ourselves, and losing our way; but our lamps showed us the right path, and how to keep out of danger. And we should go groping and stumbling through the world in darkness, too, falling into all sorts of sin and temptation, hurting our souls, and losing ourselves altogether, if we had not the light of God's word to guide us."

"Where do you get all your learning from? you seem to know a deal for a boy," said Brownlee.

"Oh, father reads these things from the good book every day. I dare say he feels them comforting to himself when he's in the pit. Besides, I've been to a Sunday school."

"Well, they are true," said Brownlee, thoughtfully; he held up his lamp and looked at it. "For twenty years this has been the only sort of lamp I've troubled myself about, but please God, if it's not too late——" Charlie could not hear the rest, for he waved his hand and followed the other men.

At the end of the twelve hours Charlie was preparing to follow some men and boys to the shaft, when Bob White made his appearance. "It's rather queer," said Bob, shyly, "finding your way about here; will you go up with me?"

"Thank you," said Charlie heartily, setting off with him, and talking away as freely as he could to put Bob at his ease.

You may be sure Charlie was very glad to get home and rest after he had told his father and mother what he had seen and done. So ended his first day down the mine.



CHAPTER X.

A NEW FRIEND.

After the conversation with Brownlee about the Bible, Charlie took his pocket Bible down the mine regularly; his father wished him to read a little every day at his dinner-time. He was one of those people who never like to waste a minute, and in his dinner-time he managed generally to have something to read that was worth reading. Bob was really grateful to Charlie for interfering in his behalf, and lost no opportunity of showing it. It was astonishing how he improved: so much good in him that had been lying dormant was called out under Charlie's better influence. Sometimes he seemed half ashamed of his good behaviour, and would break out for a time into the old reckless way; but one night on their way home Charlie was talking in his own loving way about his dear father and mother, and their kindness to him; how his plans for being an engineer had been put aside by his father's illness; how he hoped soon to get more wages for their sakes, and so on, when in some unaccountable way Bob's whole nature seemed softened; and as if he could not help it, he poured out to Charlie his home troubles and all his old life; how he had fallen amongst bad companions, and grew up to be hardened and reckless, almost without even a wish to be better. Sometimes, when he saw Charlie and the other boys going to Mrs. Greenwell's class, looking so happy and clean and orderly, the wish that he was like them would creep into his heart; but he drove it away, and called after them with mocking words. All this and much more he told Charlie with tears streaming down his face, and his voice broken by sobs.

It almost frightened Charlie to see mocking, reckless Bob give way so completely. He was just wondering what he had better say to him, when Bob bid him good-night abruptly, and turned off home.

After that night Bob never again attempted to keep up his care-for-nothing-or-nobody tone before Charlie. He generally brought his dinner now to eat beside Charlie. The first time the Bible was brought out, when they had finished, which required a little courage at first, Bob got up and sauntered away; the second time he sat still and whistled popular song tunes in a subdued tone, while Charlie read to himself; the third time he sat quietly; the fourth day the Bible was brought out he shuffled about uneasily, and at last said, "You may as well read out if you must read; it's dull sitting here without anybody to speak to."

Charlie gladly agreed. "Let us read in turns," he said.

Bob did not object, for he read well, and was rather proud of it. After this the Bible reading was an established custom, and Bob got very much interested as he read the history of Joseph, Moses, and others. Hudson Brownlee, happening to pass one day, stopped to listen when he saw how they were occupied, and soon a third was added regularly to the little party. After a parable or any striking passage had been read they would each give their own idea of its meaning and teaching, spending much thought upon it in their eagerness to give it in the best and clearest way. Often during their work Hudson Brownlee, Bob, and Charlie too, would ponder over some passage they had heard or read, comparing the different opinions upon it, applying it, thinking it out, and turning it over in their mind, until some great truth would stand out from the rest, fixing itself immoveably in their hearts and understandings. And so this study of the Bible, begun without any real religious feeling (on Bob and Brownlee's part, at any rate), led them to higher things—to a knowledge of God's holiness, of their own sin and unworthiness, and their need of a Saviour.

But this was a work of time, and we must now go back a little in our history.

When Charlie had been two months down the mine as a trapper, he was advanced to a higher post and better wages as a putter. He might have had the increase of wages quite a month before, but he put off applying for the place until it was too late, and another boy had been appointed. Harry Greenwell lent him some elementary books on mechanics, for his old love for such things was as strong as ever, and now that he was putter he had many opportunities of examining the working of the engine stationed down the mine. Those were glorious days for Charlie when it was out of order, and the engineer had to come down; he would hover round him, holding the tools for the men, helping to lift or carry anything, glad of any excuse to be near. His questions were so sensible and thoughtful, and his suggestions sometimes, for a youth, so good, that the engineer became quite interested in him, and explained to him thoroughly the working of the engine, giving him really valuable teaching in mechanics; and this knowledge stood him in good stead, as you will hear.

On coming down to his work one morning he was surprised to find his favourite, the engine, at a stand-still. A number of the miners were near it, all talking together, trying to account for the accident, and deploring the absence of the engineer, who was away for a day or two's holiday.

Mr. Carlton, the viewer, looked vexed and annoyed; he was asking the overman to send to a mine a few miles off for their engineer. Charlie made his way to the engine, and soon saw what was wrong. It was not much, and he felt sure that if he had the help of a pair of strong arms he could get it into working order.

In his excitement he pushed his way to Mr. Carlton, and exclaimed, "I know what is wrong with her, sir; if you will just come and look, sir, I'll show you."

Mr. Carlton, surprised and amused, followed him, and Charlie, stooping down and pointing up, full of animation, explained so clearly and intelligently the nature of the misfortune, and how it might be remedied, that Mr. Carlton, no longer with the amused expression on his face, called to one of the men, "Come here, Shields, and help him."

In an hour's time Charlie's pet was working away as hard as ever.

"Well done, my boy," said Mr. Carlton; "tell me where you picked up all this knowledge."

The men were gone off to their work, and Mr. Carlton soon drew all Charlie's little history from him. He made no remark, excepting that when Charlie made his polite bow and turned off to his work, he asked him where his father lived.

In the evening, when Charlie got home, he thought his father and mother looked very smiling and mysterious, and after they had kept him guessing what was the cause for a little while, they told him that Mr. Carlton had been there; he thought they would like to hear of Charlie's success with the engine. "And here's good news for you," said his mother. "Mr. Carlton says that if you like to work as a putter six hours a day you may help the engineer, and learn all you can, the other six, and he will give you the same wages as you earn now."

Charlie threw himself into a chair, and sat quite still for a few moments. "Isn't it wonderful, mother?" he said at last—"isn't it wonderful? When I went down the pit there seemed no chance of my ever doing anything else all my life. The other seemed impossible; and yet how God has brought it all about! I shall be an engineer after all, and I have good wages too to begin with. If I hadn't given up all thoughts of it, and gone quietly down the pit because God made me feel it was my duty, I should have lost all this. I hope I shall never doubt Him after this. Won't it be capital, father?" he went on, getting excited. "When I get plenty of money you shall have such a beautiful garden and greenhouse! I think you're feeling better for the rest already, are you not?"

John Heedman could not bear to damp Charlie's happiness, so he turned off the question by saying, "Mr. Roberts, the clergyman, was here to-day. I told him about Brownlee and Bob White; he was very pleased to hear about you all meeting for Bible reading, and he is going to look out for them, and get them to a Bible class he has every week, and to the house of God."

The only drawback to Charlie's happiness now was the increasing illness of his father. Sanguine and hopeful as he was, he could not blind himself to the fact that every day his father got weaker and weaker.

A visit to John Heedman was a lesson in Christianity to any one,—his wonderful patience under suffering, his perfect trust in the Saviour, his quiet waiting for the end—happy to go, yet happy to stay and suffer so long as it pleased God.



CHAPTER XI.

SORROW, HUMILIATION, AND REPENTANCE.

We are quite sure that you have been very glad to read of the progress which Charlie has made since we first met him on the pier a little sunburnt boy only eight years old. You have seen what good, kind friends he met with; how well he was trained; how nobly he came out when his father was ill in denying himself and going down the mine, and how he was rewarded; and you have seen, too, how he tried to do something for God in helping Brownlee and Bob White; and yet we are so sorry to have to tell you that all this time his old habit of putting off was still growing up with him, and latterly a good deal of self-righteousness had crept into his heart. Unconsciously he began to have a very high opinion of himself, and would often think with pride how different he was from many boys that he knew.

Unfortunately he seemed to have no idea how completely he was in the power of his old enemy, procrastination. It would have made our story much too long if we had told you every instance in which he gave way to it, but we think you will see that this habit of putting off was his besetting sin, the one flaw in his character. The ship was sailing pleasantly along, with decks clean swept, with colours flying, and all looking well and prosperous; but there was a leak, one little treacherous leak, which, if it remained unnoticed and unstopped, would soon bring confusion and destruction upon the ship, gay and gallant though she looked.

We may often be deceived in ourselves, and think that we are going on well, but God cannot be deceived. He sees us as we really are, not as we appear to ourselves and to others. He is training each one of us, and He saw in Charlie's case that a fiery trial was needed to burn out of him that besetting sin that had been so long indulged. Just as gold is purified by being passed through a fiery furnace, so our hearts need to be purified sometimes by great sorrows, by fiery trials; and so it was that Charlie had to suffer a most bitter, a most sad and humiliating fall.

Eleven months had passed since John Heedman first called in the doctor; he had lingered so long, but now the end was very near. He would not hear of Charlie staying away from his work, although Mr. Carlton had kindly offered to let him have a few days at home.

One evening when Charlie came in from work his mother gave him a letter. "You had better go straight to the post with it," she said, afraid that he would put off. "Your father is very anxious it should go by to-night's post. Now, Charlie, do take care," she said, anxiously.

Charlie's good opinion of himself—his pride—was touched.

"I wish, mother, you wouldn't talk to me as if you thought I didn't know what I was about," he said, in an angry tone, slamming the door after him as he went out. He had not gone far when he met Bob White, who was going with a note from the clergyman to get some books out of the library. "Come with me," said Bob, "and we'll have a look through the books."

"I've got to go to the post office," said Charlie, "but there's time enough yet; I'll go with you." He argued with himself, "What's the use of putting the letter in ever so long before post-time if it won't go a bit the quicker." He was in an irritable humour, angry to think that he should have been doubted. If he had been like Tom Brown, or Joe Denton, or any of those careless fellows, it would have been a different thing.

Arrived at the library, both the boys were soon interested in looking over the books, and the time flew rapidly. "I'll just glance at these," thought Charlie, taking out two more with very attractive titles, "and then I must be off to the post."

Charlie took up a third, determined that it should be the last, when Bob said, "I think you had better inquire how the time goes."

"It's nothing like time for the post to close yet, is it, sir?" he asked of the librarian.

"It only wants three minutes to the time; it is not possible for you to save it, I am afraid."

Charlie dashed down the broad steps and along the streets as hard as he could run; but he was too late, the post had just gone, and he was obliged to drop the letter into the empty box. He walked slowly home, out of breath and out of temper, hoping no questions would be asked. "I don't see why I should say it was too late unless I'm asked," he argued, shrinking from confessing to his mother that she was justified in doubting him. Nothing was said about the letter that night; his father was much worse, and everything else was forgotten. Charlie was almost heartbroken to see him so ill, and miserable at the thought that he was deceiving him about the letter.

The next morning, as he was leaving the room to go out to his work, his father called him back. "Charlie," he said, "I am expecting a sister of mine to-night, and I want you to go to the train and meet her; she would get the letter you posted last night this morning, and will have time to get here by the half-past eight train to-night." He paused for a moment. Why did not Charlie undeceive him about the letter at once? He made up his mind to tell him, but put it off until his father had finished all he had to say.

"I have not seen my sister for years," said John Heedman; "she is the only relative I have living, but some misunderstanding rose up between us after my mother's death—at least, she took offence, and I do not know the reason even now. I wrote several times, but she did not answer. That letter you posted last night was to her; she will come, I know, when she hears that I am so near death. There must be something to explain away, and I am anxious for a reconciliation before I die; indeed, it is the only earthly wish I have left." He said this so earnestly, and with such an anxious, longing expression in his eyes, that Charlie was obliged to turn away; he could not bear it.

How could he tell him that she had not got the letter? If only he had confessed his neglect the same night, before he knew the contents of the letter, it would not have been half so bad.

"You had better go now, my boy," said his father, kindly, "or you'll be late at work."

Charlie went. I need not tell you that he had a miserable day.

At night his father called him into his room and gave him as careful a description of his sister as he could to guide him in knowing her. Charlie dressed and went to the station, and walked up and down the platform until the train came in, gazed at the people, and walked home again. It seemed as if he could not help it; instead of recovering himself after the first false step, he had gone on sinking deeper and deeper into sin and deception; he seemed powerless to help himself.

"Hasn't she come?" exclaimed his mother, seeing he was alone. "Oh dear, what will your father do? he has been almost living upon the expectation of seeing her these last few hours; he has watched the door ever since you went out. I'm afraid the disappointment will throw him back sadly."

Charlie could not trust himself to speak, but turned into the sick room. His father was propped up with pillows, and looked eagerly to the door when Charlie entered; he still waited in expectation until Mrs. Heedman came in and closed the door. "Where is she?" he asked; "where is Jane?"

"She has not come," said Mrs. Heedman, gently; "perhaps to-morrow morning will bring her.—You posted that letter in time, Charlie?" she asked.

"Yes, mother," Charlie answered, in desperation, and in a very low voice.

"It will be too late to-morrow," said John Heedman, sinking back on his pillows exhausted—"it will be too late." He lay so still for about an hour that Charlie thought he slept; after that he called Charlie to him, and wished him to sit up that night with his mother. He spoke very tenderly and lovingly, and told Charlie how happy his gratitude and love and obedience had made him, and how he thanked God that Charlie had never told him an untruth or deceived him, although he had still grave faults to overcome. He spoke for some time, every word sending a pang to Charlie's heart, who knew how unworthy he was of his confidence and praise. He sobbed hysterically, but was unable to speak.

What a night that was for Charlie, as he sat there with his mother hour after hour in the still and darkened room! His anguish and remorse became unbearable. How could he let his father die without undeceiving him and asking his forgiveness? He could not—he must not. Oh! if he had only spoken at first, when the first false step was taken, he would not have been led into all this sinful deceit, and that terrible lie would never have been told. Now it was such a difficult task—and yet he must do it. He glanced at the timepiece: when the hour-hand reached one he would tell him; he would think now what he had better say—how he should begin. How fast that hour seemed to fly! It was one o'clock, and he had nothing ready to say; he dare not begin; he would wait until two, perhaps his father would be awake then. Two o'clock came; his father still slept, looking so calm and peaceful—how could he disturb him to listen to his sad tale of sin and shame?

Soon after his father awoke; he started up and looked anxiously round. Charlie and his mother felt instinctively that it was death. In his terror, Charlie sprang towards him. "Father, forgive me," he burst out, in an imploring tone. "I did not post the letter in time. I told a lie—forgive me—speak to me! pray forgive me!" A look of unutterable anguish passed over his father's face. Charlie waited for an answer, but none came. His father was far away from him—he was at rest; he was in that home where sin and sorrow cannot come.

It is useless attempting to describe Charlie's misery, it was so great. His father, who had so loved and trusted him, had at last died, with his hope in him crushed, his confidence in him broken. His father had died, listening to his confession of sin and deception, and without being able to judge whether his repentance was sincere. The confession came too late for his forgiveness or counsel.

The thought of all this completely crushed Charlie. For hours he sat crouching on the floor in his own room, without a single comforting thought. He had not only deceived his father, he had offended God. He sat in his misery, feeling careless whether he lived or died. No tears came, but his heart throbbed with a dull, aching pain that was unbearable.

It was a bitter, bitter lesson to Charlie, but it did its work; it led him to think and pray more earnestly, and to watch; and by degrees the darling sin that had been so long indulged was crushed and rooted out.

You will be glad to know that he grew up to manhood, admired and respected by those who knew him not only for his talent as an engineer, but for his upright Christian character. One thing he was noted for, that was punctuality. "No fear of Scott being behind time or putting off," would often be said of him.

His good mother lived many years to see and share his happiness; and Harry Greenwell, who had always insisted that Charlie would come out well in the end, was delighted to see his prophecy fulfilled.

Yet, in the midst of his prosperity, how often Charlie's thoughts went back to that sad, sad time! all the old feelings of pain and regret would come back at the remembrance of his sin, and that look of anguish on his father's face, that could never be forgotten. Yet, although these thoughts left him saddened for a while, they also left him full of thankfulness to the Saviour, whose blood cleanseth from all sin, and grateful to the all-wise and merciful God, who had sent the trial to him in kindness and love. He saw clearly that if he had only humbly watched at first, that bitter day would have been spared.

J. AND W. RIDER, PRINTERS, LONDON.

THE END