_ CHAPTER IV
One rainy afternoon, while busied about the house, Mrs. Judson surprised me by saying suddenly: "I suppose you don't know what makes me take so to you, Walter; but I'll tell you, you remind me of my youngest boy, Reuben." I looked at the old lady with wonder, saying, "I did not know you had any children, Mrs. Judson." "True" said she, "I forgot you did not know; but no further than your mother lives from here she must remember that I once had two boys who were very dear to me, but perhaps she never told you about it. It ill becomes me to speak of
his faults, but I must say my poor boys had a hard life of it with their father. He had no patience with them when mere children, and matters grew worse as they became older. Do what they would, they could never please him, and he often beat them cruelly. But one way and another they got along till Charley was sixteen and Reuben fourteen years of age. Their father one day left them ploughing in the field while he went to the village; the ground was rough and stoney, and by some accident the ploughshare was broken. When their father came home and found what had happened, he seized the horse-whip and gave both the boys a terrible flogging. Neither of the boys had ever before given their father a word; but, when he stopped beating them, Charley stood up and said: 'You have beaten us, father, a great many times and for very little cause; but this is the last time.' That was all he said. His father told him to shut up his mouth and go about his work. After dinner he went back to the village, and some business detained him till late in the evening. I remember as if it were but yesterday how my two boys looked that night when they came home to supper. After supper they rose from the table, and Charley said: 'Mother, we are very sorry to leave you, but we must go. I don't know what we have done that father should treat us so; he seems almost to hate the sight of us, and it is better that we should go before his harshness provokes us to some act of rebellion. I am older than Reuben, and will do my best to care for him, and we will never forget you, mother; but I believe it to be for the best that we should leave home.' I had long feared this; and I begged of them to stay and try and bear it, at any rate till they should be older; but talking was of no use, the boys had made up their minds, and go they would. They each took a change of clothing in a small bundle, and prepared to leave the home which had sheltered them from their infancy. When I saw they
would go, I divided the little money I had of my own between them that they might not go forth into the world entirely destitute. I could not really blame the boys, for their father's harsh words, day by day, was like the continual dropping which wears the stone, and the poor boys were fairly tired and worn out with being continually censured and blamed. With a heart heavy with a sorrow which only a mother can know, I walked with the boys to the turn of the road where they were to wait for the stage. I felt sorrowful enough but I kept back my tears till the hour sounded which announced the arrival of the stage. They both shook hands with me and kissed me, and poor Reuben, the youngest, cried as if his heart would break.
"The sight of my youngest boy's tears affected me beyond the power of control, and the tears were very bitter which we all shed together, but the stage was fast approaching, and we must control our grief, 'Good bye, mother,' said the boys at last as they left me to take their places in the stage coach, 'Don't fret about us; we will try to do right and remember all you have said to us, and let us hope there are happier days to come, for us all.'
"These were their last words to me, and they were swiftly borne from my sight by the fleet horses of the stage-coach. This was five years ago last October." "But did they never come back," said I, looking in the old woman's face with a feeling of deep pity. "Bless you child, no," said she, "their father won't allow even their names to be spoken in his hearing. When the boys left home, they went to the State of Massachusetts, where they both learned a trade, and are doing well; they often write to me and send me money to buy any little thing I may want. About two years ago in one of their letters they asked me to talk to their father, and try to persuade him to forgive them; they also wished to gain his consent that they might return home for a visit, 'for,' said they, 'since we have grown up to manhood it has caused us much sorrow that we must live estranged from our father. Mother, we have long since cast aside the boyish resentment we may once have cherished, and would be glad to return and inform our father by word that we still feel for him the affection due from children to parents; we would gladly forget the past and be at peace for the future.' I feared to speak of this letter to my husband, but the strong desire to see my dear boys again gave me courage, and one day when he seemed in a better humour than usual I mustered up courage, and told him what the boys had written, but my sakes' alive, Walter, if you'd a seen the storm it raised in our house; it fairly took my breath away, and I didn't know for a while, Walter, if my head was off or on; you may think you have seen Mr. Judson angry, but you never saw him any thing like what he was that day. I must not repeat all he said, to you, but he concluded by saying: 'The boys went away without my consent; you connived to get them off, and if ever you mention their names to me again you'll wish you hadn't, that's all;' and from that day to this their names have never been mentioned between us. They still write often to me and some day I'll show you their letters. I suppose it was wrong for me to speak so freely to you (who are only a little boy) of my husband's failings, but somehow I couldn't help it, and it does me good to talk about my boys. I don't know as Mr. Judson can help his harsh, stern way, for it seems to come natural to him; but I can't help thinking he might govern his temper, if he would only try; as it is I try to do my duty by him, and make the best of what I cannot help; and every day for years I have prayed that a better mind may be given him by Him who governs all things, and that is all I can do."
After the above conversation, I more then ever regarded the old lady with pity, and sought by every means to lighten her cheerless lot. But the kindness which his wife evinced toward me only served to render Mr. Judson more harsh and unfeeling in his treatment. I remember one day hearing him say to his wife in a tone of much displeasure, "You spoiled your own boys, and set them agin me, and now you are beginning to fuss over this lazy chap in the same way; but I'll let you know who's master
here." Hard as was my lot at this time, my anxiety to lighten the cares of my mother caused me to bear it with a degree of patience which I have often since wondered at. I was fearful if I left this place I could not readily obtain another, and I toiled on, never informing my mother of the trials to which I was daily subjected. For a whole year I endured the caprice and severity of Farmer Judson. I had long felt that I could not much longer endure a life, which (to me) had become almost intolerable; and on the day of the incident noticed in the opening chapter of my story, my naturally high temper rose above control, and I left Farmer Judson's and returned to my home. _