JACK SPROUT'S CONVERSION.
By Sel.
Jack Sprout swore a terrible oath. In fact, he swore quite a number of oaths; for he was very angry. It was nothing wonderful for Jack Sprout to swear, even in the presence of his wife; for he was sadly given to the habit of using profane language. And yet Jack was a good husband, an indulgent father, an industrious man, an accommodating neighbor, and he possessed many other excellences of character which might have made him a valuable member of society, had it not been for certain loose habits which had marked his course from childhood. His parents had been careless and profane before him; his father had been a tough, rough customer; so Jack naturally enough came up in the same track. But he was good-looking, and kind-hearted, and genial, and social, and so he had gained for a wife one of the very best maidens of our town, as well as one of the handsomest. Master Freddy Sprout, aged five years, stood by his mother's side, with a sadly begrimmed and tear-streaked face, and his story was, that Solomon Gordon had whipped him with a stick, and the boy's legs still bore a few slight tokens of the castigation. Two other boys had come home with Master Freddy, and their testimony corroborated that which the sufferer had given. Freddy, with some of his playmates, had been throwing stones at Mr. Gordon's dog, and one of the missiles hurled by Freddy had hit the animal and caused him to howl with pain. Of course the stone thrown by such a tiny hand could not have inflicted much injury upon the canine brute; but Solomon Gordon loved his dog, and when he saw what had been done, he caught Master Freddy and gave him a thrashing; for be it known that Solomon Gordon was just such another man as Jack Sprout—warm-hearted, generous, and neighborly, but rough, uneducated, strong-willed, and impulsive. Jack Sprout put on his hat and prepared to sally forth. His lips were pale and tightly compressed, and the huge muscles in his arms worked like bundles of ropes. “Dear Jack,” pleaded his wife, “don't go out now.” “Let me alone, Abby. No man shall strike a child of mine without having a chance to strike me. I shall go and see Sol Gordon, and I'll give him such a licking as he won't forget in a hurry!” And Jack closed the sentence with a terrible oath. “No, no, Jack, don't go. What good will it do? Wait until you are more cool.” “Pshaw! Go away, Abby. There is not power enough on earth to save Sol Gordon from a drubbing, and I'll give it to him before the sun goes down.” And as Jack Sprout looked at that moment he gave awful evidence that he was able to make good his word; for a more magnificent structure of framework and muscle was not to be found in the town. “Dear Jack,” cried the wife, taking her husband by the arm, “O, do listen to me one moment. Freddy is not much hurt, and he ought not to have thrown stones at Gordon's dog. You know both Solomon and his family set everything by the dog, and he would not bark at the boys if they did not plague him. If you go and find Gordon as you are now, you will only make matters worse. O, I wish you would drop it.” Jack only shook his head and smiled one of those smiles which are so terrible upon the face of an angry man. “O Jack, if you would only try the effect of kindness upon Solomon. He is a good man at heart”— Jack interrupted his wife with a derisive sneer. “Don't laugh at me, Jack. I tell you it would be better to do so than to resort to blows. If you were attacked I would not blame you for fighting to protect yourself, but this is not a case that calls for your strength of muscle. There is a higher and nobler strength that you can use now.” “O ho!” uttered Jack, “you are preaching. You are giving me some of your Sunday-school lessons. But I don't want 'em. You may experience religion as much as you please, but you mustn't preach the stuff to me.” “Jack,” spoke his wife, with a stern solemnity, “have I been any worse since I have begun to have an interest in religious things?” “No, Abby, you were good always.” “Then why will you not listen to me? If you will stay with me now—if you will wait until your anger is cooled—and then go and speak kindly to Solomon Gordon, I give you my solemn word that you will feel a thousand times better than you will if you”— But Jack would not hear his wife out. He had sworn that he would thrash Solomon Gordon, and he would keep his word. His temper was at the boiling point, and he was fairly aching to get his hands upon the man who had dared to strike his boy; for Freddy was his pet, and every blow that had been laid upon the child's body had been a mark of fire upon his own heart. So he put his wife away from him, and hurried from the house, slamming the door after him. Away went Jack Sprout with rapid, heavy strides; and had Solomon Gordon fallen in his way just then he would most assuredly have been severely beaten; for though Solomon was a strong, bold man, yet Jack was a very Hercules. But Jack was destined to get pretty thoroughly cooled off before he met the object of his wrath. As he approached the bridge that spanned the river just below the falls, he heard loud cries of alarm, and upon hurrying forward he found that a boy had fallen from one of the projecting timbers into the water. He looked over the railing and saw the little fellow just coming to the surface of the foaming, boiling flood—a curly-headed boy, just about the age of his own darling Freddy—stretching forth his tiny arms in an agony of despair. It was a terrible place, that seething, roaring pool, where the waters of the great river came pouring down from a high dam, but Jack did not hesitate; he forgot his enemy,—forgot everything but the danger of the little one,—and only stopping to kick off his boots and throw aside his coat, he leaped down into the angry flood. He caught the boy in his arms, and then struck out for the shore. It was a mighty conflict, but the strong man persevered. More than once those who had gathered upon the rocks had reason to fear that neither the man nor the child would come forth alive; but Jack held his own against the mad torrent, and finally reached the shore, where many hundreds were ready to help him. As for himself, a few minutes' rest so far restored him that he was able to walk; and he had sustained no injury save a few trifling bruises. And as for the boy, he had come forth in safety; for Jack had held him above the water during all the time of his struggle. And when Jack Sprout had regained his breath and was able to speak, he looked to see the boy he had saved, and he saw that it was Andy Gordon, a bright-eyed, curly-haired, red-faced boy, not a year older than was his son Freddy. “Where's papa?” asked the dripping child. “He is coming,” answered some one in the crowd. Jack looked up and saw Solomon Gordon coming,—Solomon, pale and terror-stricken,—and with all possible haste he seized his coat and boots, and hurried away. He could not meet Solomon Gordon then. “Mercy! What is it, Jack?” Mrs. Sprout was alarmed. Her husband was dripping wet, his step was tottering, his breathing was labored, and there was a livid mark upon his forehead as though he had received a heavy blow. “Pshaw! D'ye think Solomon Gordon could have done this? I have been in the river. A little boy had fallen from the bridge right into the flood beneath the falls. I jumped in and brought him out.” “Yes, alive and unhurt,” replied Jack. “Oh, thank God! Whose child was it, Jack?” “Don't stop to ask questions now, Abby, but make me a cup of hot, strong tea, while I get on some dry clothes. My soul! I think I had a narrow dodge of it.” Jack put on dry garments, and when he had rested a while, he drank his tea, and in the course of an hour all traces of exhaustion had passed away. “I tell you, Abby, I have had a good many tough jobs in my day, but I never had one like that before. A weaker man than I am, could never have brought out that child alive.” “Oh, how grand it is, Jack, to use one's strength in such a cause. But whose child was it? Do you know?” Before Jack could answer, the outer door was unceremoniously opened, and Solomon Gordon entered the apartment. Abby shrank back in alarm when she saw how pale and excited the man looked, and how he trembled; for she did not notice the moist, brimming light that shone in his swollen eyes. “Jack,” spoke the newcomer, in a gasping manner, at the same time holding out both his hands. He choked and stammered, but presently gained strength to add, “O my God! what can I say? Jack! Jack!” Here the stout man broke fairly down, and burst into tears. Jack, almost as much affected as was his visitor, arose and took the extended hand. “Never mind, Sol. It's all right.” “No, no,” cried Gordon. “It isn't right. It never can be right. Oh! what can I do? Jack, if I could only go back to where I was this morning! I beat your child for a trifling thing, and you have saved mine from a terrible death, saved him almost at the expense of your own life. Kill me if you will. Beat me, Jack. Do anything you like, only forgive me, so that this saving act of yours shan't be always like a heap of coals upon my head.” And then with a sudden impulse,—under the influence of an emotion such as he never before experienced,—Jack Sprout said,— “Solomon, I tell you it's all right. You have no more reason to thank God that I saved your child than I have. When I went forth from my house I was full of wrath and madness, and curses were upon my lips and in my heart. I would have sought such revenge as the wild beast seeks. Is it not better that I found your little Andy in the flood? and is it not better that my great strength was used in saving his life? I forgive you, Sol, from the bottom of my heart. And now I say, It's all right.” And so was cemented a friendship holy and lasting. Seemingly slight perturbations in the current of a man's life sometimes work marvelous changes for good or for ill. “Abby,” said Jack Sprout,—it was late in the evening and they had been sitting for some time without speaking,—“I believe I am converted. Saul of Tarsus, that you read to Freddy about last Sunday, was not more suddenly brought to light than I have been. Really and truly, there is more virtue in kindness than in enmity; it blesses everything and everybody. He who bestows it is as much blessed as he who receives it.” And then the wife, with her arm placed gently around her husband's neck, kindly said,— “Dear Jack, wouldn't we both be happier if we would try to live by the blessed rules laid down by our Saviour?”—Sel.