BILLY'S DEBT OF HONOR by Louise M. Edwards

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 17, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 58.

BILLY'S DEBT OF HONOR.

By Louise M. Edwards

BY LOUISE M. EDWARDS.

"Miss FORREST, Mr. James will not be here this afternoon. Would you be willing to take part of his class?"

"Oh, certainly!" responded Miss Forrest pleasantly, but with an inward sinking of heart, for was it not enough to have those naughty boys next to her class without taking them into it? Her fears were not justified, however, that day, for the deportment of Joe and Harry Benson was above criticism, and mischievous Billy Long sat bolt upright all through the session, with an innocent expression, that was not always so honestly assumed.

Miss Forrest did not allow the acquaintance thus begun to cease with that day, for she liked the three rough boys, and through the spring she sought and found many opportunities of showing her interest in them. Joe was a freckle-faced boy, with a rough voice and a warm heart, and him especially was Miss Forrest anxious to influence for good. One day, seeing him alone, she questioned him as to what he intended to be when he grew up.

"I don't know yet what I'll be," he said.

"Well, I hope you will make a man that amounts to something. You can if you try. I like you, Joe, and that is why I want you to be a good boy and a good man."

There was no time for more, but Joe had received a new idea. It had never occurred to him that Miss Forrest liked him. He considered a moment.

"She has been awful nice to us boys, that's so; I like her too, and I'll try to please her."

But good intentions sometimes are forgotten, and the next Sunday whom should Miss Forrest see but the Benson boys and Jack Thompson helping themselves to apples from her yard? She went early to Sunday school that afternoon. The three culprits and Billy Long were in their seats, and she sat down in front of them.

"Don't you think it was too bad, boys, for you to steal the apples from our yard?" she asked.

Three heads were hung in confusion, but Billy, although a receiver of stolen goods, sat up very straight, and responded virtuously, "I didn't."

"No, I didn't mean you; I am talking to the others. I don't care for the apples, they are worth nothing; but," with a little break in her voice, "I care for you, boys. I do want you to grow up to be good men, and you know as well as I that that is not the way to begin. Now won't you all promise me that when you want apples from the yard you will come and ask for them? Will you promise, Jack?"

"Yes, ma'am," meekly answered Jack.

"Will you, Joe?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Harry?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you, Billy?"

"Yes, ma'am, always did last year."

Nothing was seen of the boys that week, but the next Sunday, when Joe and Billy were passing the yard on the way to Sunday school, two big apples lay temptingly on the grass. Each boy seized one, but suddenly Joe remembered his promise. He stood irresolute. Could he give up that beautiful apple? He remembered, too, that Miss Forrest had said she liked him. The apple fell to the ground.

"What's the matter?" asked Billy.

"Don't you know we promised not to steal these apples? I ain't going to take 'em."

Billy looked at him. "Ho, you're silly! I shan't keep no old promise, and, besides, she'll never know it," and he picked up the apple Joe had dropped.

Joe slowly walked away, while Billy, wishing to show his scorn of such foolish scruples, aimed a stone at another apple hanging in sight. It missed its mark, but a loud yelp from the shrubbery testified that it had found a victim.

Billy felt that he preferred not to face Miss Forrest that day, and seated himself at Sunday school with his back to her class. She was unusually late, and Billy, whose chair was near hers, without turning his head, heard her excusing herself to her boys.

"I am so sorry to be so late, but my little Floss has been badly hurt, and I stayed to see what could be done for him. He seemed to have been struck with a stone and badly cut."

Billy's heart gave a sudden jump.

"O Miss Forrest," exclaimed Fred Willis, "it was Joe Benson that did it, for I saw him running away from your yard just before school!"

"Oh, hush, Fred!" said his teacher. "You know I don't like to hear tales about each other."

Billy felt relieved, as he thought to himself, "There, now, she'll never suspect me." But Joe, would he like to be suspected? Joe was a jolly good fellow, and it was mean to let him be blamed. But how could Billy go and tell on himself. "Oh, well, never mind! I guess the dog isn't hurt much, and I shan't say anything."

But he felt uncomfortable, and tried hard to put aside the worrying thoughts that kept bobbing up during the rest of the day.

Next morning the first boy he met was Fred Willis, who began, "Say, you know that dog of Miss Forrest's?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's dead." Billy felt himself suddenly grow hot all over. Fred went on: "Joe Benson threw a stone and cut his side, so it killed him."

Billy continued his walk with a very uneasy mind. He certainly could not confess now that the dog was dead, for he had no money to pay, and perhaps they would arrest him. But how horrid it was to let Joe be suspected. Would they arrest Joe? he wondered; then he would certainly have to tell, and how Miss Forrest would look at him when she heard he had broken his promise. He wished he could run away. It was the first time he had ever consciously realized that the thing called conscience dwelt within him. It would not be still all the rest of the day. He went early to bed to silence its voice, but it awoke with him in the morning, and he felt more wretched than ever. And when, at breakfast, he saw Joe running up the yard, he felt that the day of judgment was at hand. Preferring to meet it out-of-doors, he snatched his hat and went forth to face Joe.

"Say, Billy," the latter burst out, "Miss Forrest's dog is dead. That stone you hit it with cut an awful hole in its side, and it died, and I say it's a shame, and I think you and me ought to go to work and pay for it; I ought to help, you know," he added magnanimously, "because I was with you when you did it."

Billy saw that Joe had not heard of the suspicion attaching to himself, and he felt very small as he growled out, "I'd like to know how we'd ever pay for it; I haven't no money."

"No, but we can work and earn it. There's six weeks till school begins, and we can do it, I know, and I know a man that has dogs to sell, so let's go down and see how much that kind of a dog will cost; then we'll know how much we've got to make."

Though this scheme cast some light on Billy's gloom, he felt decidedly skeptical as to their ability to carry it out; but as they walked along, Joe unfolded his plan.

"You see Mrs. Joy said she'd give me a dollar'n' a half to wheel away her ash pile, and Mr. Murphy'll give a dollar for weeding his onion bed, and you can have both those jobs, and Mrs. Parkin, that lives next to us, offered me ten cents a morning to mind her baby while she goes to clean offices. I said I wouldn't do it, the baby's awful cross, but I will; I don't suppose you'd want that, would you? and that would make three dollars and sixty cents in six weeks, not counting Sundays."

Billy finally agreed to try the plan if they found a suitable dog. Sure enough, there was one that seemed to be the exact counterpart of the deceased animal. The price was ten dollars. As a matter of fact, Floss, a pure Blenheim spaniel, had cost a much larger sum, but the lads did not recognize delicate distinctions in pedigree.

Joe addressed the proprietor: "Could you keep him for us till the middle of September?"

"No, I guess not; he'd be costing money all the time, you know. Why don't you take him now?"

"Why, you see we have no money now. Got to earn it."

"Sho! how can you two little fellows earn ten dollars?"

"Oh, weeding onion beds, and things! Oh, we'll earn it, I tell you! Got to have it," said Billy with emphasis.

The man laughed. "Ain't you Thomas Benson's son?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, he's a friend of mine, and I'd like to accommodate his boy. How much could you pay a week?"

Joe made a rapid calculation. "'Bout a dollar'n' a half, I guess."

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do; you can take the dog home and pay me one fifty a week till it's paid for, and if you don't make

it, I'll take the dog back and give you the money."

It was a bargain, and the boys, highly delighted, led their acquisition home with a string. Joe's mother was not so much pleased to have her kitchen thus invaded, but when Joe confided the story to her, she consented to the dog's remaining.

The next day the boys went bravely to work to earn their ten dollars. Morning after morning Joe struggled with the cross baby, feeling that the labors of Hercules were slight in comparison with his, but upheld by his devotion to Miss Forrest, and learning unconsciously many lessons of patience and perseverance. His afternoons were spent in various ways—sometimes brushing dishes for his mother, a task he hated, carrying home the clean clothes, running errands, or distributing bills. The pennies came in slowly, and some weeks it was hard work to scrape together his share of the money.

As for Billy, he found Mr. Murphy's onions very weedy, and Mrs. Joy's ash pile very solid, and felt, when he received his two dollars and a half, that it was money well earned. His employment for the rest of the season was carrying water for the laborers on the sewer; his wages, one dollar a week. The weather was hot, and the water bucket heavy, and many a time Billy felt like giving it up; but each Sunday a smile from Miss Forrest kept his contrition fresh, and each Monday he went to work with renewed energy.

Finally the last dollar was paid, and on Saturday evening the lads, leading the new Floss, rang Miss Forrest's bell. She opened the door herself, and as her glance fell on the dog, she exclaimed, "Why, how like my little Floss!"

" 'Tis your Floss," cried Joe, thrusting the string into her hand. "We earned the money and bought him."

She stared at him in surprise.

"You see," broke in Billy, very red in the face, "you see 'twas me that fired the rock that killed your dog, and Joe didn't have nothing to do with it. I was stoning your apple tree," he faltered on, determined to make a clean breast of it, "after I said I wouldn't, and—and I hope you'll forgive me," and he burst into tears.

Miss Forrest sat down on the step, and took his hand. "Of course I will forgive you, Billy, and you don't know how glad I am that you came and told me this. I'm sure you will never stone my trees again."

"No, nor nobody else's, neither," blubbered Billy.

"If it has taught you that lesson, I am very glad, for I do want you both to be good boys and good men. I know you will try now harder than ever, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, we will," answered Joe, while Billy was drying his tears on his coat sleeve.

"The dog is a little beauty," said Miss Forrest. "I feel as if it were too much for me to take it."

"Oh, you must take it!" cried both boys at once. "We bought it just for you."

"That was very thoughtful of you, and very honorable, and I shall prize him very highly. Good-night, and thank you very much."

Billy went down the steps feeling that he was once more a man; and Joe, as he gave Floss a farewell hug, left a tear on the dog's shiny coat.—N. Y. Observer.