View source for The Village Gossip CHAPTER 5.

'''Back to [[The Village Gossip]]'''
----
<p>Thoughtfully the stranger, mentioned in a preceding chapter, rode away from Cedardale. On first gaining one of the hills that overlooked the little cluster of houses which lay so cosily in the valley below, he could not repress an exclamation of pleasure, so impressed was he with the <em>harmony </em>and <em>beauty </em>of the picturesque, yet quiet landscape.<br><br>
How harshly jarred the ill-natured words of the crusty blacksmith upon this state of feeling; and quite as harshly jarred the words of the miller and the shoemaker. No wonder that he had murmured to himself, as he rode away, "What a pity that, where God has made all so perfect — there should be <em>no moral beauty!"</em><br><br>
Musing upon all that he had seen and heard, and half wondering at the strange lack of harmony between the visible things of nature and the hearts of the people, the stranger left the more thickly populated portions of the village. As he moved along, gradually ascending to the higher ground, and getting each moment a broader and more attractive view of the surrounding country, the charm of the scenery again impressed him vividly. He had checked his horse, and was letting his eyes range along the silvery course of the stream which wound through the lovely valley, when suddenly there came sharp, angry words to his ears. He looked around, and saw, under the shade of a large sycamore, three boys, who were quarreling — or, to speak more accurately, two of them were quarreling, while the third was endeavoring to bring the disputants to blows.<br><br>
The stranger on seeing this instantly dismounted, and after throwing the reins of his horse over a post, leaped the fence that separated the road from the field in which were the young wranglers, and quickly stood among them. He said nothing at first, and the boys, scarcely regarding his presence, showed no inclination to break off their quarrel. Two of them stood, each with a foot advanced until toe nearly touched toe, facing each other showing their teeth, and scowling most bitter defiance.<br><br>
"Hit me, if you dare, Bill Striker!" said one.<br><br>
"I dare you to strike first Ben White!" retorted the other.<br><br>
"You're a coward!"<br><br>
"You're afraid!"<br><br>
And such-like words were rapidly thrown backward and forward, while the third member of the trio, who was none other than <em>Dick Wimble</em>, the shoemaker's son, tried his best to induce one or the other to begin the combat. At last, fearful that neither Bill Striker nor Ben White would pluck up sufficient courage to give the first blow, he took a chip, and placing it on the head of the former, said —<br><br>
"Now, Bill, dare him to knock it off; and if he does, give it to him between the two eyes."<br><br>
"Knock it off, if you dare!" instantly cried Bill Striker. "I dare you to knock it off," he added quickly, bending his head forward to provoke his antagonist.<br><br>
"He's afraid!" said Dick Wimble.<br><br>
"Am I?" retorted Ben White, stung by this; and raising his hand, he would have swept the chip from its position, had not the stranger, with timely prudence, reached over and gently lifted the piece of wood from Bill Striker's head.<br><br>
"What did you do that for?" exclaimed the lad fiercely.<br><br>
"You can strike me, if you choose," said the man, in a firm, yet mild voice; "but if you do, I will not strike you back again."<br><br>
His words and manner made an instant impression on the young belligerents. They looked at him curiously, then at each other, and then cast their eyes upon the ground.<br><br>
"There is some trouble here, of course — some misunderstanding — but no cause for fighting," said the stranger. "In fact, there's <em>never </em>any cause for fighting, where people mean right and try to <em>understand </em>each other. Now, as I always think it time well spent to try and make up quarrels among both young and old, I'd like to have a little talk with you, and see if a better state of things can't be brought about. Come! here's an old log, suppose we all sit down."<br><br>
All this, from a stranger, was so different from what these lads had been used to, that they were not only surprised, but a good deal softened in their feelings. The usual way with most of the grown-up denizens of Cedardale, in an affair of this kind, was to threaten a flogging, or to stand by and see the difficulty settled by force of <em>fists</em>.<br><br>
"Come now, here's a seat all ready; and I hardly think we need fear interruption," continued the stranger.<br><br>
Influenced by a moral power which they neither understood nor felt inclined to resist, the three boys seated themselves on the log, while their <em>mentor </em>took his place immediately in front of them on the stump of a fallen tree.<br><br>
"Your name, I believe, is Bill Striker," said he, looking one of the lads in the face.<br><br>
"Yes, sir," replied the boy, wondering at the same time within himself how the man, whom he had never seen in all his life, should know his name. He did not remember that, in the excitement of the late quarrel, both his own and his antagonist's name were frequently repeated.<br><br>
"Does your father live in Cedardale?" was next inquired.<br><br>
"Yes, sir," briefly answered the boy, as before.<br><br>
"What business does he follow?"<br><br>
"He's a blacksmith."<br><br>
"Ah, indeed, he's the blacksmith?"<br><br>
"Yes, sir."<br><br>
"And your name is Ben White?" now speaking to one of the other lads.<br><br>
Ben gave a nod of his head in token of affirmation.<br><br>
"And what is your father's business?"<br><br>
"He's the miller."<br><br>
"The miller?"<br><br>
"Yes, sir."<br><br>
"You can see the mill away off there," spoke up Dick Wimble, with some animation, pointing down the valley.<br><br>
"I don't think I heard your name," said the stranger, speaking now to Dick.<br><br>
"His name's Dick Wimble. His father's a shoemaker." This information was volunteered by young Striker.<br><br>
"Ah, yes. Now I understand. You three boys are the sons of the miller, the blacksmith, and the shoemaker. But it seems to me rather strange that the sons of three men who naturally owe so much goodwill to each other, should get up a quarrel among themselves. What would the miller and the blacksmith do — if it were not for the shoemaker? And what, I wonder, would the shoemaker and blacksmith do — if the miller did not grind their wheat and rye and corn? They ought, therefore, to be fast friends; and the same kind feelings should exist between their children. Don't you think so, my little lad?" addressing Striker.<br><br>
Bill Striker hung his head, looked, as they say, sheepish, and made no answer.<br><br>
"What do you say, William White?"<br><br>
"I don't know," mumbled out the miller's son, his glance also tending downward.<br><br>
"I'm almost afraid you won't agree with me," said the stranger, looking steadily at Dick Wimble; for, now I remember that you were doing all in your power to set your two young friends to fighting, as if they were no better than <em>dogs</em>. And this reminds me that I haven't yet inquired as to the cause of this sad affair. What was the trouble, friend Striker? Suppose you enlighten me?"<br><br>
But Striker held down his head, and made no reply.<br><br>
"What do <em>you </em>say?" The miller's son was now addressed, and his immediate reply was —<br><br>
"Bill Striker said I robbed his hen's nest; and I didn't. I'm not a thief." He spoke in a tone of indignation.<br><br>
"How about this, Striker? Had you good reason for making so serious a charge as that of stealing?" The stranger looked very grave.<br><br>
"<em>Somebody </em>robbed my nest," said Bill, doggedly.<br><br>
"That may be; but before accusing anyone, you should be very certain. What reason had you for suspecting Ben White?"<br><br>
"I asked Dick Wimble if he knew, and he said he did."<br><br>
"Ah!" The stranger turned a penetrating glance upon the shoemaker's son, whose eyes drooped, and whose face became slightly flushed.<br><br>
"And did he say whom he believed it to be?" further inquired the stranger.<br><br>
"Yes, sir. He said it was Ben White; and that he saw him go to the nest."<br><br>
"He's a liar!" spoke out sharply and quickly the miller's son, clenching his fists, and looking angry defiance at Dick Wimble.<br><br>
"Gently — gently, my lad," said the stranger, soothingly. "Fighting never yet mended an injured reputation. If you are innocent, all will in the end be made clear, and the blame fall, where it ought to rest, upon the <em>false accuser</em>. Let us inquire more particularly into this matter. You say, Dick Wimble, that you saw White go to the nest of Striker?"<br><br>
The shoemaker's son, on whose face the now keen eyes of his interrogator were fixed, looked, in a confused manner, first to the one side and then to the other, but did not reply immediately.<br><br>
"Come, my lad, speak up." There was now an air of authority about the stranger. "Did you see Ben White go to Bill Striker's hen's nest?"<br><br>
"I saw him in the woods just back of Mr. Striker's blacksmith-shop; and I — I — <em>thought </em>he'd been to the hen's nest."<br><br>
"Is the hen's nest in the woods just back of the blacksmith's shop?" asked the man, looking steadily at Dick.<br><br>
"Yes, sir."<br><br>
"And you thought that Ben had been to rob this nest?"<br><br>
"Yes, sir."<br><br>
"It's a lie!" ejaculated the miller's son indignantly.<br><br>
"There — there" said the stranger mildly; "don't give way to passion. Angry words and hard names do no good."<br><br>
"Well, it is a lie," persisted White; "and he knows it. I haven't been in the woods back of the blacksmith shop in a week."<br><br>
"Whereabouts in this woods, is the hen's nest of Bill Striker?" asked the man, addressing Dick Wimble.<br><br>
"Right down by the old poplar, just in back of the shop," replied Dick promptly.<br><br>
"He knows so well, I wouldn't wonder if he'd robbed it himself," said Ben White. "I'm sure I never knew before where it was."<br><br>
Dick was hardly prepared for this sudden shifting of the accusation of theft to himself. All eyes were fixed upon him, and the stranger, as well as his two companions, felt at once, from the change in the boy's manner, that <em>he </em>was the real culprit.<br><br>
"What is that?" asked the man, glancing down at Dick's trousers, where a very striking protuberance was seen in the neighborhood of the pocket.<br><br>
"Nothing — nothing," answered Dick, now manifesting a good deal of confusion, and placing, as he spoke, his hand over his pocket so as to hide the protuberance which had attracted attention.<br><br>
"If there is nothing in your pocket, you will not, of course, have any objection to my searching it;" and, as he spoke, the man attempted to put his hand in Dick's pocket. This, however, the boy resisted. A slight struggle ensued, in which something in the pocket was crushed. Further effort at concealment being vain, Dick removed from his trowser's pocket two broken eggs, which the moment Bill Striker saw, he pronounced to have been taken from his hen's nest. All the eggs of his hen were speckled in a peculiar manner, and were hardly to be mistaken.<br><br>
If further proof were lacking, it was to be found in the guilty face of the boy.<br><br>
"And so," said the stranger severely, "you, Dick Wimble, are the real culprit in this matter. Was it not enough for you to <em>rob </em>the nest of Bill Striker, and then to <em>falsely accuse </em>Ben White of the crime — but you must, in the wickedness of your heart, do all in your power to set them fighting like two dogs? Oh, shame! shame! I did not believe there was a boy so evilly inclined as this!"<br><br>
Then addressing the other two lads, he continued, in a milder voice:<br><br>
"My dear boys, I hope this will prove a lesson to you, and one not soon forgotten. If I had not happened to come along just now, you would, instigated by this wicked companion, have beaten and torn each other, while there really existed no cause for a quarrel. Are you not sorry, Bill Striker, for having accused Ben White of robbing your nest?"<br><br>
"Indeed I am, sir," promptly replied the boy. "He was innocent, and I now take back all I said."<br><br>
"And what do you say, Ben?" The stranger now addressed young White.<br><br>
"All is forgiven; and here is my hand to it," as promptly responded Ben, extending his hand as he spoke, which was warmly taken by the other.<br><br>
"But I'll not forgive Dick Wimble," said he, compressing his lips and looking threateningly towards the shoemaker's son, who, in evident fear of consequences likely to be visited on his head, was already moving away.<br><br>
"Nor I neither," added Bill Striker. "If he doesn't feel the weight of these sledge-hammers" — doubling up his fists, "I'm mistaken."<br><br>
"Come, come, my lads, all this is wrong again," said the stranger; "and <em>two wrongs never made a right. </em>Dick is punished enough already; so, let what he has received suffice. And, in my opinion, he is more the object of your <em>pity, </em>than your <em>anger</em>. The wicked are never happy. They not only trouble others, but trouble themselves; and, as a general thing, are the greatest sufferers. They can only do occasional wrong to others; but they ever bear about them a dissatisfied, uneasy feeling, and often the severest pains of regret or mortification. No — no; seek not to be revenged on this unhappy boy, for that will be to act from the <em>same evil influences </em>which govern him. But rather seek to reclaim him from his evil ways."<br><br>
"It'll be a hard matter to <em>reclaim </em>Dick Wimble," replied the miller's son, smiling to himself at so novel a thought. "Why, everybody says he's the worst boy in Cedardale."<br><br>
"Evil communications seem, then, to have corrupted good manners," said the stranger to this, "if I am to judge from what I saw a little while ago."<br><br>
The lads understood this without explanation, and showed by their countenances that they felt the rebuke.<br><br>
The stranger, who had until now remained seated on the stump of a tree, arose.<br><br>
"I have now spent considerable time with you," said he, "and as I have some distance to ride, I must be going. I shall, in all probability, be passing through Cedardale again before a great while; and if this should happen, I will certainly look you up and learn whether you have profited any by the good advice now given. Before we part, there is one promise that I wish you both to make."<br><br>
The boys looked at the man curiously.<br><br>
"Will you promise?"<br><br>
Both the lads hesitated.<br><br>
"Do you think I would ask you to do anything <em>wrong</em>?"<br><br>
"No, sir," was the prompt reply of each.<br><br>
"I am sure I would not. <em>If you can do no good — then do no harm, </em>that is my motto. And it is a very good one. Well, which of you is willing to make me a promise?"<br><br>
"I will," said Bill Striker, forcing out the words in a way that showed some effort on his part.<br><br>
"I don't care! So will I," broke in Ben White.<br><br>
"Very well. That's bravely done. You know that I won't ask you anything wrong; and this willingness to promise, I take as an indication that you would like to do right. Now, all I have to ask is, that you would consider Dick Wimble as sufficiently punished for his fault, and promise not to say a single word to him either about robbing the hen's nest, or making against one of you, a false accusation of theft. Take my word for it, this will be best in the end. Will you promise?"<br><br>
"I will," promptly answered Ben White; and "I will" came as freely from the lips of Bill Striker.<br><br>
"Bravely done," returned the stranger encouragingly, as he laid a hand upon each boy's head. "You will be better, wiser, and happier for this. In a week or two, I hope to be in this neighborhood again, when, as before said, I will be sure to see you. So good-by now."<br><br>
And he shook their hands warmly. Then turning away, he remounted his horse, and rode off, without once looking behind.<br><br>
The two boys stood silently gazing after this strange man until he had passed entirely out of sight. Then they turned, and looked for some moments into each other's faces.<br><br>
"I wonder who he is?" said Ben White, speaking after a long breath and in a subdued tone of voice.<br><br>
"I don't know who he is; but I know one thing," replied his companion.<br><br>
"What is that?"<br><br>
"He's the right kind of man."<br><br>
"So say I. And what's more, I'm going to keep my promise; though I would just like to get my two sledge-hammers on that rascal, Dick Wimble."<br><br>
"And wouldn't I?" rejoined Striker. "But a promise is a promise, and I'm not going to break my word."<br><br>
In this spirit the two boys took their way slowly homeward.
----
'''Back to [[The Village Gossip]]'''