her hardest trial.
“I think he was a fool to burn up,” said Frank, bound not to give in.
“I don’t. It’s a splendid piece, and everyone likes to speak it, and it
was true, and it wouldn’t be in all the books if he was a fool.
Grown people know what is good,” declared Jill, who liked heroic
actions, and was always hoping for a chance to distinguish herself
in that way.
“You admire ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade,’ and glow all over
as you thunder it out. Yet they went gallantly to their death rather
than disobey orders. A mistake, perhaps, but it makes us thrill to
hear of it; and the same spirit keeps my Jack true as steel when
once his word is passed, or he thinks it is his duty. Don’t be
laughed out of it, my son, for faithfulness in little things fits one
for heroism when the great trials come. One’s conscience can
hardly be too tender when honor and honesty are concerned.”
“You are right, mother, and I am wrong. I beg your pardon, Jack,
and you sha’n’t get ahead of me next time.”
Frank made his mother a little bow, gave his brother a shake of the
hand, and nodded to Jill, as if anxious to show that he was not too
proud to own up when he made a mistake.
“Please tell on, Jack. This is very nice, but I do want to know all
about the other,” said Jill, after a short pause.
“Let me see. Oh, I saw Bob at church, and he looked rather blue;
so, after Sunday School, I asked what the matter was. He said Jerry
bothered him for some money he lent him at different times when
they were loafing round together, before we took him up. He
wouldn’t get any wages for some time. The Captain keeps him
short on purpose, I guess, and won’t let him come down town
except on Sundays. He didn’t want anyone to know about it, for
fear he’d lose his place. So I promised I wouldn’t tell. Then I was
afraid Jerry would go and make a fuss, and Bob would run off, or
do something desperate, being worried, and I said I’d pay it for
him, if I could. So he went home pretty jolly, and I scratched
’round for the money. Got it, too, and wasn’t I glad?”
Jack paused to rub his hands, and Frank said, with more than usual
respect,
“Couldn’t you get hold of Jerry in any other place, and out of
school time? That did the mischief, thanks to Joe. I thrashed him,
Jill–did I mention it?”
“I couldn’t get all my money till Friday morning, and I knew Jerry
was off at night. I looked for him before school, and at noon, but
couldn’t find him, so afternoon recess was my last chance. I was
bound to do it and I didn’t mean to break the rule, but Jerry was
just going into the shop, so I pelted after him, and as it was private
business we went to the billiard-room. I declare I never was so
relieved as when I handed over that money, and made him say it
was all right, and he wouldn’t go near Bob. He’s off, so my mind is
easy, and Bob will be so grateful I can keep him steady, perhaps.
That will be worth two seventy-five, I think,” said Jack heartily.
“You should have come to me,” began Frank.
“And got laughed at–no, thank you,” interrupted Jack, recollecting
several philanthropic little enterprises which were nipped in the
bud for want of co-operation.
“To me, then,” said his mother. “It would have saved so much
trouble.”
“I thought of it, but Bob didn’t want the big fellows to know for
fear they’d be down on him, so I thought he might not like me to
tell grown people. I don’t mind the fuss now, and Bob is as kind as
he can be. Wanted to give me his big knife, but I wouldn’t take it.
I’d rather have this,” and Jack put the letter in his pocket with a
slap outside, as if it warmed the cockles of his heart to have it