MAKING A MAN OF HIM by Rose Hartwick Thorpe

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 21, 1882

MAKING A MAN OF HIM.

By Rose Hartwick Thorpe

Two men stood by the side of Mrs. Mathews' little cottage, conversing in low tones. There was a subdued gravity about their faces, which indicated that their conversation was not a pleasant one. A large lilac bush grew close to the porch where these men stood, and just on the other side, not three feet distant, a youth had thrown himself on the grass in the shade of the lilac bush, whose green foliage completely hid him from observation.

Mark Mathews had not sought this retreat in order to listen to a conversation not intended for him to hear. The base thought that such a motive had actuated him would have brought a flush of shame to his cheek and an indignant flash to his eyes; for, boy as he was, he had his own code of honor, to which he strictly adhered, but which, I am sorry to say, conformed to his own desires and wishes, and rarely compelled him to do anything distasteful or disagreeable. He was thoughtless and careless, perhaps a little selfish, but there were qualities in this boy's character which, under proper influence, would make a noble man of him; while this same peculiarity of temperament would also make him a ready tool in the hands of evil associates to work out his own ruin.

He was naturally indolent, seeming to prefer that which could be done with the least exertion and trouble. He had never aroused himself to any especial action, not even when death had robbed him of a kind father, and had left his poor mother desolate. He had wept and lamented over his loss, without once thinking that his own hands might lighten the burdens of his stricken, sorrowing mother. He had not only ignored the duties and responsibilities which his father's death had necessarily thrown upon him, but had also formed the acquaintance of some idle, dissipated associates; and by following their example, had laid another and a heavier burden upon his mother's frail shoulders. His very act of secreting himself under the lilac bush that spring morning was that, unobserved, he might indulge in a cigar which one of his companions had given him the night before.

The two gentlemen, who were conversing so earnestly on the other side of the bush, were friends of Mr. Mathews, who had come in at the widow's request to examine her husband's accounts and papers, and to ascertain, if possible, just what her prospects for the future were.

Mark was leisurely watching the smoke arise from his cigar, when the voice of one of the gentlemen speaking in an indignant tone aroused his attention. “A mortgage will have to be put upon the place to meet the indebtedness incurred during Mr. Mathews' sickness. Mrs. Mathews is in a poor condition to meet this extra demand upon her strength. Her long confinement during her husband's illness, together with the grief and mental suffering following his death, have made a heavy drain upon a constitution naturally fragile. If Mark would only arouse himself to action now, and apply all the energies of which he is capable to the task, I am sure that his strong, young arms might be a blessing to her who needs his assistance so much.”

“There is far more danger of his being a curse than a blessing,” answered the other sadly. “Young as he is, he has already formed habits which, I fear, will drag him down to ruin. Mrs. Mathews will be allowed to remain in the cottage for a while, and then her pretty house will be sold, and she will be obliged to go from house to house earning her livelihood, as many another delicately reared woman has done before.”

The two men walked away, down the path, and passed out of the gate together. Slowly Mark arose to a sitting position, the light of aroused energy burning in his eyes. Taking the half-consumed cigar from between his lips, he tossed it far from him, then arising to his feet he walked down the lane, pondering over the truths that had come to him in so disagreeable a form.

“I will show them that Mark Mathews can care for his mother,” he said firmly, the lines about his mouth assuming a determined expression; “and the things they said would come to her, never shall! She shall never go from house to house asking employment while I live.”

A few days previous, Mark had been offered fifty cents a day to work in Mr. Anderson's garden; but the work had seemed hard and the pay small, and he had decided to wait for something better to turn up; but now, with his own resolve burning in his breast, he settled his hat in a decided manner, and going directly to Mr. Anderson's, engaged to do the work. Throwing aside his coat and vest, he took the garden tools and entered upon his new duties with an energy that looked as though he meant to succeed.

When Mark entered the gate on his return home at night, he beheld his mother standing in the door. She was a frail, little woman, and her face had a tired, sorrowful expression that went straight to the boy's heart, and aroused all that was truly good and noble in his nature.

“Poor little mother,” he thought, “they've told her that her home must be mortgaged, and she is grieving over it.”

Going to her side, he put both strong, young arms about her, and snatched a hasty kiss ere she was aware of his presence. This loving act on the part of her boy brought a happy flush to her pale cheeks and a joyous sparkle to her eyes.

“I'm as hungry as a bear, mother,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his heated brow. “I've been at work in Mr. Anderson's garden all day. See, my hands are almost blistered, but they'll get used to it. I've babied them too much. Mr. Anderson is going to give me fifty cents a day and my dinners. It is so far from home that he thinks I'll lose more time coming after them here than the dinners are worth, and the economy will help us as well as him.”

Mark laughed merrily, but his face suddenly sobered, and coming a little closer he added in low tones: “You may count on the whole fifty cents, mother, for never a cent of my money shall go for cigars, or any thing worse, again.”

“O Mark!” she exclaimed joyfully, for his words, answering the earnest desire of her heart, had thrown her completely off her guard. “I believe that I could endure any hardship if I knew that you—”

She hesitated, lest her words should anger him, but he answered solemnly,

“You need not fear that I will disgrace you in that way again, neither. I've smoked my last cigar, and I've drunk my last glass of wine. I heard about the mortgage this morning, and I believe the knowledge has made a man of me. One can never tell what stuff he is made of until he is pushed against the wall, and has to fight his way out. But I'm so hungry.”

As she hastened out to prepare his supper, his eyes followed her, and as he remembered the words he had that morning overheard, he said indignantly,

“The idea of my letting her go out to work, such a frail little mother as she is, too!”

The very thought caused his chest to expand, and his lips to quiver with the emotions that filled his heart. How true it is that many a noble life has been wrecked upon the sea of poverty! Adversity calls into life all the latent energies of heart and brain, it arouses the indomitable will, and sets in action those qualities by which the coveted prize—no matter how lofty the object may be—is sure to be attained. The highest standard of human ambition and excellence has often been attained by the untiring energy and determination of boys who have nothing but the wealth of willing hearts and strength of young arms with which to push themselves through the barriers of oppression and difficulties.

When Mark Mathews arose from under the lilac bush that spring morning, he arose with the determination that a mortgage should never be placed upon his mother's home. And, though the future seemed dark and uncertain, still, he began the task of industriously and energetically applying himself to the present duties, not waiting in idleness for great ones, but advancing step by step, until one day he had the satisfaction of laying in his mother's hand a receipt for their indebtedness.

The look of pride and admiration with which she regarded him; the loving words that quivered on her lips; the pressure of her hand, in a blessing, laid on his head, were sufficient recompense for what he had done, to say nothing of the self-respect which his new mode of life had gained for him.—Rose Hartwick Thorpe.