CHAPTER II
THE WIDOW WESTON
Near the house of Captain Sedley, a sandy beach extended from the road,on the margin of the lake, down to the water's side. It was here thatCharles Hardy waited the return of his friend. He was thinking of thesacrifice they had concluded to make for the widow Weston; and it mustbe confessed that he felt not a little sad at the thought of resigningall the enjoyment he anticipated in connection with the excursion tothe city the following day.
On the water, secured by a pole driven into the sand, floated a raft,which some of the boys in the neighborhood had built, and with whichthey amused themselves in paddling about the lake. It was a rudestructure, made by lashing together four rails in the form of a square,and placing planks across the upper side of them. The boys who hadconstructed it lived farther down the lake in the direction of thevillage. They did not bear a very good character in the neighborhood.If an orchard was robbed, a henroost plundered, or any other mischiefdone in the vicinity, it could generally be traced to them. They alwaysplayed together, went to and came from school together, planned andexecuted their mischief together, so that they came to be regarded as aunit of roguery, and people never saw one of them without wonderingwhere the rest were.
The foremost of these unruly fellows was Tim Bunker. He was the rulingspirit of their party, and had the reputation of being a notoriouslybad boy. He was in the habit of lying, swearing, cheating, andstealing; and people, judging his followers by their ringleader, hadgot into the way of calling them the Bunkers.
Of course Captain Sedley was unwilling that his son should associatewith such boys as the Bunkers; and so much did Frank dislike theircompany that it was scarcely necessary to caution him to avoid them.
While Charles Hardy was waiting, he walked down to the water's edge.The sun was just sinking behind the green hills in the west, reflectingthe shadows of the beautiful gold and purple clouds upon the surface ofthe silver lake. A gentle breeze was blowing down the valley, and thelittle waves broke with a musical ripple upon the pebbly sands. It wasa lovely hour and a lovely scene, and Charles felt the sweet influenceof both. He looked out upon the lake, and wished he was floating overits tiny wavelets.
He stepped upon the raft, and thought how pleasant and how exciting itwould be to sail over to Centre Isle, as the little wood-crowned isletthat rose from the middle of the lake was called. Pulling up the stakethat held the raft, he pushed out a little way from the shore. Thesensation which the motion of the raft produced was new and strange tohim, and he felt a longing desire to sail farther. But just then Frankreturned.
"My father is not at home," said he.
"Can't you go, then?" asked Charles, as he pushed the raft to the shoreagain.
"Yes; I told my mother where I was going."
"Frank, let us go up to Mrs. Weston's on this raft. She lives close bythe shore of the lake."
"My father told me never to go on the lake without permission fromhim."
"Pooh! What harm can there be in it?"
"I don't know that there can be any."
"Let us go then."
"My father told me not to go on the lake."
"But he has gone away, you said."
"I cannot disobey him."
"He never will know it."
"You don't mean what you say, Charley. You would not have me godirectly contrary to what my father told me, just because he is nothere to see me."
Charles felt a little ashamed, and replacing the stake that secured theraft, jumped on shore.
"It is a delightful evening, and it would be so pleasant to take alittle sail!" said he.
"I don't think that raft is very safe. I saw the Bunkers on it theother day, and they stood ankle deep in water."
"I am not afraid of it."
"No matter; my father told me not to go on the lake, which is quitereason enough for me not to do so."
"But the Bunkers seem to have a first-rate time on it."
"Perhaps they do."
"But we fellows that have to mind what our fathers and mothers tell usare the losers by our obedience."
Frank smiled; he could not help doing so at the thought of one who hadjust been counselling him to disobedience making such a remark.
"I am quite sure I am contented."
"But don't you think the Bunkers have more fun than we do? Tim Bunkerdon't care any more about what his father says than he does about thefifth wheel of a coach, and he always seems to have a first-rate time."
"Appearances are deceitful," replied Frank with a sage smile. "Do youthink we should enjoy ourselves up to our ankles in water on thatraft?"
"The water wouldn't hurt us."
"Not so much as the disobedience, it is true; but I don't care muchabout such fun as that."
"Tim Bunker asked me to sail with him over to the island yesterday, andI had a great mind to go. If it had been any other fellow, I would."
"Your father told you not to go on the lake."
"He never would have known it."
"Perhaps not; but you would not have felt any better on that account."
"For my part, I hate to be tied to my father's coat-tails or mother'sapron-string when there is any fun going on. I don't see why weshouldn't have a good time once in a while, as well as the Bunkers, whoare no better than we are."
"I don't know how it is with you, but I can enjoy myself enough andobey my parents at the same time."
"Right, Frank!" exclaimed Captain Sedley, who at this moment steppeddown from the grove adjoining the beach, where he had overheard a partof the conversation. "So you think, Charles, that the boys who disobeytheir parents enjoy themselves most."
"No, sir. I don't exactly mean that; but the Bunkers have somefirst-rate times with this raft," replied Charles, very much confusedby the sudden appearance of Frank's father.
"But their lives are continually in danger," added Captain Sedley.
"Oh, sir, they can all swim."
"All of them?"
"Like ducks, sir."
"Suppose one of them should fall overboard half a mile from the land,where I saw them yesterday. Do you think he could swim ashore?"
"Tim could."
"There are a great many things to be considered in such a case. Hisclothes might encumber him; he might have the cramp; he might getfrightened."
"The others could save him."
"We do not know what they could do. Boys at play are very differentfrom boys in the hour of peril. When I was a sailor before the mast,one of my shipmates, a very expert swimmer ordinarily, fell from themainyard arm into the sea. Two of us jumped in to assist him; but hesank to the bottom like a lump of lead, and we never saw him again."
"That was strange," added Charles.
"He was taken unawares; he lost his self-command, and it might be sowith the Bunkers. This rafting is dangerous business, and I advise younever to engage in it;" and Captain Sedley walked off towards hishouse.
"Father, I want to go up to the widow Weston's a little while," saidFrank.
"Very well; but you must be back so as to go to bed and get up inseason for your excursion to the city to-morrow."
"Come, Charley, I guess we won't go up on the raft," said Frank with apleasant laugh.
"I guess not;" and the two boys walked towards the rude cottage of thewidow Weston.
It was situated near the lake, about half a mile from Captain Sedley's.Mrs. Weston was the widow of a poor laboring man who had died about ayear before our story opens. She was the mother of fourchildren,--three sons and a daughter. Her eldest son, who was nowtwenty-two years old, had been in California nearly two years, havingleft his home a year before the death of his father. She had receivedone letter from him on his arrival at San Francisco, since which shehad heard nothing of him, and had given up all hopes of ever seeing himagain. She had not a doubt but that he had found a grave in the goldensoil of that far-off land. She mourned him as dead, and all the earthlyhopes of the poor mother were concentrated in her remaining chi
ldren.
Anthony, the next son, whom everybody called Tony, was now thirteenyears old. He was an active, industrious boy; and all the neighborswere willing to employ him on their farms and about their houses, sothat he was able to do a great deal towards supporting the family. Hewas a good boy, so honest and truthful, so kind-hearted, and so devotedto his poor mother, that he was a great favorite in the vicinity; andsome of the richer folks, when they really had no work for him, wouldfind something for him to do, for he was so proud and high-spiritedthat he would not take money he had not earned.
Mary Weston, the daughter, was eleven years of age. Like her brother,she had a sweet and gentle disposition, and did all she could to assisther poor mother in the strait of her poverty. But Mrs. Weston, thoughshe had a hard struggle to get along, sent her daughter to schoolwinter and summer, preferring to deprive herself of many of thecomforts of life, rather than have her daughter forego the advantagesof a tolerable education. Mary, though her little hands were too feebleto work much, felt that she was a burden to her toiling, self-denyingparent; and though she could not persuade her to let her stay at homeand help her, used all her time out of school in taking care of littleRichard, then only three years old. By constantly striving to beuseful, and by continually watching for opportunities to be of serviceto her mother, she very sensibly diminished the burden of her cares.
Poor as the widow Weston was, hard as she was obliged to struggle for asubsistence, she was happy, and her children were happy. They had nofine house, no money, no rich carpets, no beds of down, as their richneighbor had, yet they were quite as happy as he was. The God of naturegave them the same beautiful prospect of lake and hills, and woods androcks, to look out upon; and if these things helped to gladden theirhearts, it was goodness which lay at the foundation of all their joys,and cast a ray of sunshine across the path of poverty and want. Theywere contented with their lot, hard and bitter as many others deemedit; and contentment made them happy,--prepared their hearts to enjoythe blessings of plenty, if God in his wisdom should ever bestow itupon them.
The boys found the family at supper, and Frank could not but contrasthis evening meal with that of the poor widow's family. He had justpartaken of the choicest fruits, nice cake, hot waffles and muffins,set before him; the Westons had only brown bread and very white butter.He had used silver dishes and silver forks; they ate their coarse farefrom a few half-broken plates. His father was rich, and they were verypoor.
"You are welcome, Master Frank; I am glad to see you, and MasterCharles too," said Mrs. Weston, rising from the table and handing themchairs. "I hope your father and mother are well."
"Very well, I thank you, ma'am," replied Frank. "I have called to seeyou about something, and I want to see you alone," added he in a lowtone; for he did not wish Tony, who was a great deal prouder than hismother, to know the nature of his errand.
Just then Tony finished his supper, and Mrs. Weston sent him out tofeed the hens.
"I have brought you a present, Mrs. Weston," continued Frank; "I hopeyou will accept it."
"Indeed, Master Frank, you are always very good to me; and your fatherand mother too," replied the widow.
"Here are seven dollars. Charles and I wish to give you this sum."
"Seven dollars!" exclaimed the widow; for to a poor woman like her thiswas a very large sum.
"Charles and I had saved it for the Fourth of July; but we thought howmuch good it would do you, who have to work so hard, and we determinedto make you a present of it."
"May God bless you both!" exclaimed the widow, wiping a tear ofgratitude from her eye; "but I cannot think of taking your money."
"But, Mrs. Weston, you _must_ take it."
"And you give up your pleasure for a poor body like me?"
"We give the money to you because it will afford us a greater pleasurethan to spend it for fire-crackers and gingerbread."
"How noble and generous! but you wrong yourselves."
"Oh, no, we don't," said Charles; and at that moment he felt happierthan if all the gingerbread and fire-crackers in the world had beenshowered down upon him.
"Hush! here comes Tony. Not a word to him about it if you please."
"Heaven bless you, boys!" said the poor woman as she put the money inher pocket.
Frank and Charles talked a few moments with Tony about the "gloriousFourth," and then took leave of the family.