“now, about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant arbour made by the lord of the hill for the refreshment of weary travellers.”—pilgrim’s progress.
several days passed with but few events to mark them. mark did everything for ann to save her from exertion, and under his care her ankle became better. he also endeavoured to keep the cottage more tidy, and clear the little garden from weeds, remembering that “cleanliness is next to godliness,” and that if any man will not work, neither should he eat.
one morning madge burst into the cottage where mark and ann were sitting together. “he is coming!” she exclaimed in a breathless voice; “he is coming—he is just at the gate!”
“who?” cried ann and mark at once.
“the parson—the—”
“not mr. ewart!” exclaimed ann, starting up in terror.
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“yes it is—the tall man dressed in black.”
in a moment the woman rushed to the back room as fast as her ankle would let her. “i’ll keep quiet here,” she said. “if he asks for me, say that i have just gone to the miller’s.”
“mother’s precious afraid of a parson,” said madge, as a low knock was heard at the door.
with pleasure mark opened to his benefactor.
“good morning,” said mr. ewart, as he crossed the threshold. “i have not forgotten my promise to you, my friend. i hope that i have obtained a place for you as errand-boy to a grocer. being myself only a temporary resident in these parts, i do not know much of your future master, except that he appears to keep a respectable shop, and is very regular in attendance at church; but i hear that he bears a high character. mr. lowe, if you suit him, agrees to give you board and lodging; and if he finds you upon trial useful and active, he will add a little salary at the end of the year.”
“i am very thankful to you, sir,” said mark, his eyes expressing much more than his lips could. “i trust that you never will have cause to be sorry for your kindness.”
“is your mother within?” said mr. ewart.
mark bit his lip, and knew not what to reply, divided between fear of much displeasing his parent, and that of telling a falsehood to his benefactor.
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“she’s gone to the miller’s,” said madge boldly.
but the clergyman turned away from the wicked little girl, whose word he never thought of trusting, and repeated his question to mark, whose hesitation he could not avoid seeing.
“she is within, sir,” said the boy, after a little pause; then continued with a painful effort, as he could not but feel that ann’s conduct appeared rude and ungrateful to one whom above all men he was anxious to please; “but she would rather not see you to-day.”
“very well, i have seen you; you will tell her what i have arranged.” mark ventured to glance at the speaker, and saw, with a feeling of relief, that mr. ewart’s face did not look at all angry.
it was more than could be said for ann’s, as, after the clergyman’s departure, she came out of her hiding-place again. her face was flushed, her manner excited; and, in a fit of ungovernable passion, she twice struck the unresisting boy.
“lord jesus, this i suffer for thee!” thought mark; and this reflection took the bitterness from the trial. he was only thankful that he had been enabled to keep to the truth, and not swerve from the narrow path.
on the following day mark went to his new master, who lived in a neighbouring town. he found out the shop of mr. lowe without difficulty; and there was something of comfort and respectability in the appearance
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of the establishment that was very encouraging to the boy. to his unaccustomed eye the ranges of shining brown canisters, each neatly labelled with its contents; the white sugar-loaves, with prices ticketed in the window; the large cards, with advertisements of sauces and soap, and the malaga raisins, spread temptingly to view, spake of endless plenty and abundance.
mark carried a note which mr. ewart had given to him, and, entering the shop, placed it modestly on the counter before mr. lowe.
the grocer was rather an elderly man, with a bald head, and mild expression of face. he opened the note slowly, then looked at mark over his spectacles, read the contents, then took another survey of the boy. mark’s heart beat fast, he was so anxious not to be rejected.
“so,” said mr. lowe, in a slow, soft voice, as if he measured every word that he spoke, “so you are the lad that is to come here upon trial, recommended by the reverend mr. ewart. he says that you’ve not been well brought up; that’s bad, very bad—but that he hopes that your own principles are good. mr. ewart is a pious man, a very zealous minister, and i am glad to aid him in works of charity like this. if you’re pious, all’s right, there’s nothing like that; i will have none about me but those who are decidedly pious!”
mr. lowe looked as though he expected a reply, which
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puzzled mark exceedingly, as he had no idea of turning piety to worldly advantage, or professing religion to help him to a place. he stood uneasily twisting his cap in his hand, and was much relieved when, a customer coming in, lowe handed him over to his shopman.
radley, the assistant, was a neat-looking little man, very precise and formal in his manner, at least in the presence of his master. there was certainly an occasional twinkle in his eye, which made mark, who was very observant, suspect that he was rather fonder of fun than might beseem the shopman of the solemn mr. lowe; but his manner, in general, was a sort of copy of his master’s, and he borrowed his language and phrases.
and now, fairly received into the service of the grocer, mark seemed to have entered upon a life of comparative comfort. mr. lowe was neither tyrannical nor harsh, nor was radley disposed to bully the errand-boy. mark’s obliging manner, great intelligence, and readiness to work, made him rather a favourite with both, and the common comforts of life which he now enjoyed appeared as luxuries to him.
“i have been climbing a steep hill of difficulty,” thought he, “and now i have reached a place of rest. how good is the lord, to provide for me thus, with those who are his servants!”
that those with whom mark lived were indeed god’s servants, he at first never thought of doubting. was
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there not a missionary-box placed upon the counter—was not mr. lowe ever speaking of religion—was he not foremost in every good work of charity—did he not most constantly attend church?
but there were several things which soon made the boy waver a little in his opinion. he could not help observing that his employer took care to lose no grain of praise for anything that he did. instead of his left hand not knowing the good deeds of his right, it was no fault of his if all the world did not know them. then, his manner a little varied with the character of his customers. with clergymen, or with those whom he considered religious, his voice became still softer, his manner more meek. mark could not help suspecting that he was not quite sincere. the boy reproached himself, however, for daring to judge another, and that one so much more advanced in the christian life than himself. he thought that it must be his own inexperience in religion that made him doubt its reality in lowe.
thus a few weeks passed in comfort with mark; but the pilgrim was making no progress. it is not well for us to dwell amongst those whose profession is greater than their practice. the fervour of mark’s first love was a little cooled. alas! in weak, infirm mortals, such as we are, how inclined is that fervour to cool! there were no strong temptations to stir up the flame—no
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anxious fears to drive him to the mercy-seat—his prayers were perhaps more frequent, but they were less deep and earnest. mark was tempted to rest a little upon forms, and think that all must be right, because others approved.
the christian must not dream that he is only in danger whilst dwelling with the careless or profane. the society of professors may be quite as dangerous, by lulling his conscience to sleep. he is less on his guard against inward foes, less able to distinguish true religion in his heart, from the natural desire to please, and many of god’s children on earth have found the arbour more dangerous than the hill!
not that mark did much with which he could reproach himself, unless it were that he never sought an opportunity of going to see his mother. he connected nothing but ideas of persecution and unkindness with his home. he thought that by this time john dowley might have returned, a man who had ever treated him with unnatural cruelty; and to say the truth, mark rather dreaded going again near the place. i fear that my pilgrim is falling in the estimation of my reader; but i am drawing no sinless model of perfection; and, perhaps, if we closely examine our own hearts, even after they have been enlightened by the spirit, there may be something in our own experience which will remind us of this chapter of the life of the pilgrim. i
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said that mark suspected a little the sincerity of the religious professions of his master. this suspicion was painfully strengthened by an incident which occurred when he had been a few weeks under his roof.
one night, after the shop had been closed, and prayers said, and mark had retired to his small attic, he fancied that he heard a little noise down below, and crept from his chamber to listen. all was very still, only the clock on the stairs seemed to tick twice as loudly as usual. then again there was a slight sound, apparently from the shop, and mark wondered what, at that hour, it could be. softly he crept down the creaking stair, unwilling to disturb his master, who had retired to rest rather earlier than usual, happening to feel not very well. mark reached the door which opened into the shop, and there was no doubt left that somebody was within engaged in some occupation.
mark observed that the door, though nearly closed, was not shut, a narrow line of light showed it to be a little ajar; he pushed it very gently to widen the opening, and within, to his surprise, saw radley.
“who’s there?” exclaimed the shopman; “why, mark, is it you? that’s lucky, you’ll come and help me, i daresay. i am so sleepy to-night—but this must be done.”
“what are you doing?” said mark, with a feeling of curiosity.
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“i’m mixing this with that, as you see,” replied radley, pointing to two heaps of what looked like coffee on the counter.
mark’s indignation at deceit.
“why should you mix them?”
“oh, ask no questions, and i’ll tell you no stories!” said radley, quite dropping his usual formal manner, with a laughing look in his eye which startled the boy.
“do you mean—is it possible—” exclaimed mark, his face flushing with indignation as he spoke, “that you are mixing chicory with coffee in order to deceive our master’s customers?”
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“you are very green, or you would know that it is constantly done.”
“it cannot be right,” said mark, “to sell an article under a false name, and get a false price for it too! surely mr. lowe does not know what you are doing!”
“oh, you most simple of simpletons!” laughed radley; “do you suppose that i am doing it for my own diversion, to serve my pious master against his will?”
“you do it by his orders then?”
“of course i do.”
“i could never have believed that he could have been guilty of such a thing!” exclaimed mark, more shocked and disgusted by the hypocrisy of lowe, than by any of the open wickedness that he had ever witnessed. “and you, radley, how can your conscience let you do what is so wrong?”
“my conscience is my master’s, i only obey what he commands.”
“your conscience your master’s! oh no!” exclaimed mark; “you will have to answer for yourself before god.”
“if i refused to do this i should have to leave the grocer’s service.”
“better leave his service than the service of god.”
“i say, young man,” replied radley, still good-humouredly, though with some appearance of scorn,
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“mind your own business, and leave me to mind mine. when you carry the goods to the customers, no one asks you whether the parcel holds tea or gooseberry leaves.”
“but can you endure to kneel down, and repeat prayers to the almighty, when you know—”
“i tell you,” said radley, as though he thought it a joke, “my master’s religion and mine is like the articles in this shop, it is mixed. but what matter? it makes as good a show as any, it serves our purpose, and i really think that the world likes to be taken in. we get on, look respectable, and thrive; what can be better than that?”
“better to starve—better to struggle up hill all one’s life, beset with difficulties and trials.”
“we’ll leave the starving to you, if you like it; and as for struggling up hill, only fools do that, if they can find an easier way round! now go to your bed, and rest quiet my lad, and leave me and my conscience to settle our affairs together.”
startled as from a dream, mark returned to his attic, disappointed, disgusted, and grieved. “can a blessing ever rest on this house?” thought he; “can lowe ever, even in this world, be really a gainer by such awful hypocrisy and deceit? oh, i have been too little on my guard in this place, i have been a drowsy pilgrim on the way—blessed be god that i am awakened before too late!”
