Jim Bentley's resolve

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Chapter I

In a small wood-colored house on the outskirts of a village in Northern New York lived a family named Bentley. This family consisted of father, mother, a son of fifteen years, and a little daughter of five. At the time when our story commences a thick gloom enveloped the household. For many years a shadow had been deepening over the once sunny home. From being a moderate drinker, the husband and father had gradually become a confirmed inebriate. Poverty, like an armed man, had entered the house and taken possession of it. Bentley was now on his deathbed. Prematurely old, his vitality sapped by his excesses, his mind gnawed by remorse, he was already suffering the* penalty of his transgressions. He knew his end was near; he saw no hope for himself; but for those belonging to him, who had not partaken of his sin and folly, he predicted a brighter future.

Mrs. Bentley was a woman of much refinement and of fervent piety. She trained her children in the fear of the Lord, and constantly committed them to his keeping, earnestly praying that they might not be overcome by temptation. She had vainly striven against the demon of intemperance that had invaded her peaceful home, and now, when her husband was helpless and hopeless, she ministered to his wants with the utmost patience and tenderness.

One morning, as Mrs. Bentley was engaged in her accustomed duties, she observed that her husband was gazing intently at her; finally he spoke.

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“ Sarah, some good will yet come to you. It cannot be otherwise. Your God is a just God, and his justice will not let you suffer always on account of my sin. I shall pass away ; then you will not be drawn downwards contrary to your inclinations.”

He ceased speaking. The pale, tearful face of his wife turned towards him, while her fingers mechanically curled the fair hair of their little Ella. She tried to speak, but her utterance was choked. These unexpected remarks of her husband had struck a chord whose vibrations reached her inmost heart. For years he had manifested but little tenderness in his words or actions; for intemperance destroys all the finer nature of a man, and leaves but a withered, degraded wreck of his former self.

“ Can this be an indication of a healthier tone of mind, or remaining kindness of heart ?” thought Mrs. Bentley.

“ Where is Jim?” he at length asked.

“ He went out this morning to look for work,” she replied.

“ What work does the boy expect to find?”

“ I don’t know. He seemed full of confix dence and courage, and said that God would help him to find employment, if only for my sake.”

“ There it is. I suppose little Ella there knows that all the good must be expected through you, while all the evil and misery have been brought by me. Sissy, father has been a bad, naughty man, has n’t he ?”

“I don’t know; I don’t think so,” the child answered in a frightened way. “ 1 know who is a naughty man,” she said, brightening; “that old tavern man. Any way, I do n’t like him ; ’cause Katy Roberts said to me the other day when he went past, ‘ There goes the man that ’s got all your father’s money.’ Did he get into our house and steal our money before I could remember? I never saw much money here, only pennies.”

“ Hush,, little one,” said the mother.

Bentley groaned, drew the bedclothes over his face, and was silent for a long time. When he removed the covering there was a look of mingled grief and revenge on his countenance.

“Send for Turner,” said he; “I want to curse him before I die.”

“ O John, do n’t ! You must not get into a passion and waste your strength so. Perhaps you will yet get better and undo all the wrong you have done.”

“ Undo all the wrong I ’ve done! Then I must needs bring the dead back to life, since the scarlet-fever robbed you' of your children because they were John Bentley’s; for the doctor, thinking he would get no pay, or that they would be better out of the world, neglected them, and Jim only got through with the skin of his teeth. I remember,

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Sarah. I was sober at that time; but I was powerless in the meshes I had drawn around myself; and while you were yet weak and worn with watching, and suffering from the bereavement still so fresh, little Ella came to us ; and I, wretch that I was, left you to be cared for by strangers. God bless Priscilla Slocum for the care she gave you, if such a poor wretch’s prayers get higher than his head. Undo all I have done! when you at thirty-five look more like fifty ; when I have made my son almost hate me ; when every article worth taking has been dragged away and sold, and nothing is left but a few pieces of broken furniture ! Do n’t you think I ’ve had to see and feel since I ’ve been lying here? No, I can never undo the wrong I have done ; but let me have the satisfaction of cursing Turner. I must curse him to his face. I shall burst if I cannot.”

The wife went to the bedside and placed her hand on her husband’s forehead, where the great blue veins stood out almost to bursting.

“John, you must not; you must try to compose yourself — for my sake.”

“ For your sake F he replied bitterly. “ I have done so much for your sake!”

His wife burst into tears. Little Ella clung to her mother’s dress and wept for sympathy.

“Must Turner then go uncursed?” he said presently, in a more subdued tone.

“ He cannot,” his wife found voice to say, “ for God has pronounced a curse on him who putteth the bottle to his neighbor’s lips.”

“Well, then,” he said, “Turner is in for it ; let him go.”

“ John,” she said, “do you think it is well to nurse your anger, even towards him ?”

“ Perhaps not,” he replied, after a short pause, “ for if I had not been a fool, an infernal fool, he could not have trapped me.”

“No one is strong in his own strength, John, and therefore we should shun temptation”

“Yes; I remember that with the forbearance of a saint you often told me that, before I had got so far off the track; and much thanks you got for your trouble. When I contrast your looks this morning with what they were sixteen years ago, I am almost crazed. Well, if you will not let me send for Turner, I will do something very different. I will see if I cannot do one good deed yet: I will send for some of my neighbors who are going the same way I went, and warn them. I may prevent some misery in other homes.”

“ Well, it will be unpleasant for me,” she said, “ and too much for your strength, I fear ; but if you feel it to be your duty, I will not object.”

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Chapter II

Time passes even in the abodes of wretchedness, and the long day finally closed. As the sun disappeared a buoyant step was heard, and Jim Bentley sprang in, his face glowing with satisfaction.

“ Did n’t I tell you, mother !” he exclaimed.

“ What is it, my son ?”

“ I told you I should be prospered to-day, and I have been. What do you suppose I found ? A dollar-bill right in the road before me ! It was all crumpled up, and I did not not know what it was ; but something made me look at it; perhaps it was Providence,” he added in a low tone.

“ How did it look ?” asked Ella.

“ Here it is ; see for yourself,” said he, drawing it from his pocket. “ When you have seen it, hand it to mother. Now, Puss,

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do n’t interrupt me again ; I want to go on with my story. Well, I took it over to Deacon Slocum’s, for I did n’t know that it would be right for me to keep it.”

This Deacon Slocum was, by the way, a very excellent man, and much esteemed by all who knew him. Actively pious, he was always ready to extend a helping hand to all who stood in need. His educational advantages, so far as books were concerned, had been small, and his manner of speaking showed him to be a Yankee of the old stamp; but in the school of life and grace he had been no dull scholar, and his conversation was sensible and wholesome. Mrs. Slocum was so much like her husband in many respects, that one often seemed an echo of the other. They had one daughter, thirteen years old, a fine-looking, sweet-tempered child, and a great comfort to her parents. They lived in harmony, possessing both the will and the means to do good.

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So it was not strange that Jim went to the deacon for advice. He told him that he was seeking employment, and mentioned that he had found a dollar, stating his scruples about keeping it.

“Keep it? Yes, keep it,” said the deacon. “ One bill lying in the road so, it ’s no ways likely you ’d find the right owner. Half a dozen might claim it if you said anything about it, and I guess nobody needs it more ’n you do.”

“ Do you think I can buy an axe with a dollar?” asked Jim.

“ See here now ; I ’ve got through clearing up that timbered land, and I do n’t want so many axes. S’pose you take one of mine. I ’ve got a first-rate axe I ’ll let you have ; it has n’t been used much, either.”

“Would you sell it for a dollar?” asked Jim.

“ La!” said he, “ I do n’t want your money. Take the axe and welcome, Jim. Did you

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think of chopping more ’n you have to do at home ?”

“Yes; I would like to chop for some of the neighbors, if I could get a chance.”

“ Then you need n’t go any farther, for I ’ve got all my summer’s wood to chop, and the spring work coming on. If you want a job I can give you one. What do you say to it?”

“ I will take it, and be glad to get it,” said Jim ; and he went to work.

When night came the deacon brought three shillings to Jim, saying, “Maybe it’s a little more than it ’s worth ; you chop like a beginner ; but you ’ve got the right stuff in you, and it ’ll all be right by-and-by. Every day you ’ll fetch up a little, and you’ll soon do a good day’s work. Now take these fresh eggs to your mother. I ’d like to give you as many every night, you look kind o’ puny ; I guess you grow too fast ; but Priscilla uses a terrible sight of eggs, a terrible sight.”

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*7

Jim related the day’s experience, mimicking the tone and manner of the deacon.

“Jim, my boy,” said his father.

“ Well, sir,” said Jim.

“ Come here and look me in the face, for I want to tell you something you must never forget. Do not mimic people. I was always in demand with the wrong class, on account of my power of mimicry. You know the rest. It had much to do with my ruin.”

“ Well, then, father, I solemnly promise to drop it. I have resolved never to follow any bad example, but to shun everything that will unfit me to support my mother.”

“ That is good talk, boy ; but the strength of Another is what you need. Your mother will tell you about that; such words don’t come well from me. There is one thing I want you to do. I am anxious to warn those men you have seen me with so often. I want you to go and ask all of them to come here.”

Seeing the boy hesitate, he added in a pleading tone, “Tell them to-night, Jimmy, for my time is short.”

“ All right,” said the boy, and he hurried out, his eyes filling with tears, for to the young heart the near approach of death in any form is terrible.

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Chapter III

After an hour Jim returned and reported that they would all come.

“Will they?” said the father; “I feared they would not.”

“ They would not promise at first,” said Jim. “ They laughed, and wanted to know if you had turned preacher.”

He had scarcely ceased speaking when there was an irregular, uncertain knock at the door. Jim opened it. Higgins, the ringleader of the set, entered, followed by the others. Bentley extended his hand, which each one took in turn. Jim offered the three chairs, which were but half enough for the visitors. Three seated themselves, and the other three leaned against the wall, folded their arms, and looked hard at the sick man, not knowing what to think or say. Mrs. Bent-

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ley and Ella withdrew to a room still more comfortless. Higgins, gaining confidence by Bentley’s seeming embarrassment, began :

“ Well, Bentley, I thought you wanted to preach to us. Why do n’t you begin ? Where is your sermon ?” '

“ Look around and read my sermon. Look at everything.”

One of the men laughed a coarse laugh and said, “ There ’s precious little to look at.”

“ That is it precisely,” said Bentley. “ How many of you remember when I settled here sixteen years ago?”

“ I do,” and “ I do,” came from one and another until nearly every one answered in the affirmative.

“ Then let Change be the text.”

“Yes; there is change, and too much of it,” said Chester Crawford, the best-hearted man of them all. “ And, for one, this warning shall not be lost on me. I caught sight of Mrs. Bentley as she left the room, and she is but the shadow of her former self. I remember her when there was not a likelierlooking lady to be found. I remember, too, when no cottage had a prettier look than this one ; and that is not all I remember ; I remember when I had a more comfortable home myself — and I wish old Turner joy with all the money he gets from me after this.”

“ But,” said Higgins, “ I want to hear what Bentley has to say.”

“ Well,” said Bentley, “ I would like you, my misguided friends, to escape some of the misery I now feel. I would like you to stop in your course, so that when you come to your last sickness you will have a few pleasant years to look back upon. I do not want any one of you to be eaten with remorse as I am ; to remember that he has been a source of terror to every member of his family, through the violence he has used towards them ; that he has pawned every article of furniture, even his wife’s heirlooms; that he has stripped the curtains from the windows and the blankets from his children’s beds ; that he has stolen his wife’s clothing, even when furnished by her relatives, and the wedding dress had not enough of sacredness to exempt it from the fate of whatever was found salable.”

“ Bentley, stop,” said Crawford. “ Higgins, you ought not to have drawn him out so. You will have him dying on our hands while we stand here.”

For Bentley had been so exercised all day that he had little strength left, and his efforts to reform his companions by the rehearsal of his own shame and degradation soon exhausted him. Jim, who had withdrawn into the farthest corner of the room, where his tears could flow unobserved, now came forward, alarmed at the remark of Crawford.

“Jim, my boy, forgive your father,” whispered the unhappy man.

“Yes, O yes,” said the boy, seizing the long, thin hand and carrying it to his lips, in

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his earnestness to manifest his forgiveness, while tears rained from his eyes.

That was too much for Crawford; he wept too ; and in a little while scarcely a dry eye was in the room.

“ Ah, my boy,” said the father, “ that hand you kissed has dealt you many an undeserved blow.”

“ Never mind that now,” sobbed the boy.

“ If I could only be as sure of God’s forgiveness,” said Bentley, turning to his companions ; “ but that I do not hope for.”

“ Father,” faltered the boy, “ God is kinder than I am.”

“ Ah ! my son, he is wiser than to let his laws be broken with impunity, and juster than to forgive one who has sinned long years against light and knowledge, against a wife’s prayers and entreaties, and, above all, has looked lightly on the offers of mercy through his divine Son.”

Just here Mrs. Bentley appeared, and quickly observing the effect of the prolonged interview upon her husband, she said in a tremulous voice, “ Gentlemen, had you not better leave us ? I fear this excitement will prove an injury to my husband.”

“Yes, let them go, now that I know they can still weep at the misery of a drunkard’s family,” said Bentley.

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Chapter IV

“ Now, not a man of us for the tavern to-night,” said one of the number as soon as they were out of hearing.

“ Who made you spokesman for us all ?” said Higgins.

“ Well,” remarked a third, “ if any one of us goes there to-night, after what we have seen and heard, the devil will be sure enough of him.”

“ Say, Crawford, are you going to stick to what you said at Bentley’s ?” asked a fourth.

“ Of course he wont,” said Higgins.

“ Of course he will said Crawford, turning in the direction of his own home, as every man of them did but Higgins.

Crawford reached home before his wife retired. She was in the habit of working 4

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late at night. Her slender means added to her daily labor the nightly task of mending and making over clothing for her family.

Crawford had married later in life than Bentley, and his wife was much younger than himself. But traces of care and disappointment were but too apparent on her sunken face. She was experiencing what Mrs. Bentley had passed through years before — when hope, beset with many a fear, still struggled for a place in her bosom. Many a time, when Mrs. Crawford had worked far into the night, did she stay her busy fingers and listen for the wished-for, yet dreaded footsteps, while the throbbing of her poor, torn heart was all she heard; or she rose and, with noiseless tread, lest she should be startled at the sound of her own footfall, went to the door and vainly peered into the darkness, then turned to look at her sleeping little ones, and sitting down again wept herself into calmness.

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Ah ! they who are merry over the winecup little think what aching hearts are waiting for them at their homes ; little do they realize how sad their case is when love can no longer win back their straying feet ; when a tap on the shoulder, with a “ Come along,” from a companion in sin, is more persuasive than the tears and entreaties of a wife.

Somewhat earlier than usual, Crawford entered his own door and stood before his wife. She looked up with a quiet, searching glance, expecting the old state of things; but he stood before her with such a pitying look on his sober face that she uttered a cry of joy and threw herself into his arms.

“ Poor little Nellie,” he said, trying to smooth out the lines of care too early stamped on her forehead ; “ what an abused little woman it is.”

Then, like a child that is hurt, but does not cry until pitied, she burst into tears. He drew her to a seat, saying, “ There, stop crying, like a brave little body as you are, and I will tell you something. I have seen Bentley.”

“ Well ?”

“ Well, he is about to fill a drunkard’s grave.”

“ That is not strange.”

“ No,” he replied with a shudder. “You mean,” he continued, “ that it is but the natural ending to the course he has been pursuing.”

She bowed assent, and he continued.

“ I tremble to think where I have been standing; Bentley has just shown me where it was.”

“ Have you been with him ?”

“ Been at his house. He sent for me and some others.”

“ How came he to send for you?”

“ Oh, you do n’t know all ; nor need you, now. Bentley was a waggish, jolly fellow, and on that account he often got in with those not so far on the road to ruin as himself, notwithstanding his tatters. He never kept an article of clothing that could procure him the liquor he craved. Well, he sent for us, and called our attention to the change in himself and in his home ; and he has opened the eyes of at least one man, for I call God to witness that not another drop of the dangerous stuff that has wrought so much ruin shall ever pass my lips.”

“ God help you, Chester,” said his wife fervently.

3 °

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Chapter V

The morning found Bentley much worse. Jim went over to Deacon Slocum’s to tell him that, on account of his father’s condition, he could not work that day.

“ Priscilla,” said the deacon to his wife, “ you just go over there and see if you can ’t do something for them.”

Jim turned to go home.

“Wait for me, Jim,” said Mrs. Slocum. “ It wont take me more ’n three minutes to get ready.”

Presently she came from the pantry, bringing a large basket, which she set down by the door ; then she took off her apron, and, putting on a shawl and a stiffly starched sun-bonnet, she gave Jim the basket, saying, “ Carry this for me, wont you ?”

Jim was embarrassed, and looked as if he wanted to object ; for thus far his own earnings and a small stated allowance secretly remitted by his uncle had kept the family from eating the bread of charity. Jim had been intrusted with this secret for a long time ; but little Ella saw only the pennies, lest her busy little tongue should in some way make the fact known to her father.

“Your ma’s got no time to bake when your pa is so poorly,” said Mrs. Slocum, comprehending Jim’s look.

Thus reassured, Jim took up the basket, and the two soon reached the abode of the Bentleys.

That Bentley’s end was near was at once apparent to the practised eye of Priscilla Slocum. He was asleep, but the shadow of death was on his face. Mrs. Slocum said nothing beyond a whispered greeting, but quietly took the basket into the pantry. Mrs. Bentley followed her.

“ His time is short, is it not?” she asked.

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“ I think so,” replied Mrs. Slocum.

Mrs. Bentley became still paler, and caught at the door for support.

“ See here, Mrs. Bentley,” whispered Mrs. Slocum, “you go and sit right down. You look as if you had n’t slept a wink all last night.”

“ I did not, nor have I slept much for several nights.”

“ Well, you just sit right down, and let me take hold of the work.”

“ Thank you, but there is not much to be done ; and if there were, there is nothing to do it with. You would not know how to take hold of work in my house.”

“ Well, I ’ll just slip away a little while, and be right back.”

Mrs. Bentley looked distressed. Her neighbor, understanding the cause, added, “ There wont be any change before night, I reckon.”

Home went Mrs. Slocum, faster than she had come, for she was on an errand of love and mercy. On reaching home she went immediately to the back door and called, “Jonathan! Jonathan!”

“ Well,” said the deacon as he made his appearance at the barn door.

“ Will you harness up old Pete to the long-boxed wagon ? I want to use him.”

“ Well.”

In due time old Pete stood before the door.

“Come in, Jonathan,” called out his wife.

Jonathan carefully wiped his boots on the husk mat and came in.

“ Well ?” This was his almost unvarying answer to his wife’s calls and propositions.

“ See here, Jonathan, we ’ve got more chairs than we need. Now I ’d like to take an easy chair to that poor creature that ’s more dead than alive with sorrow and care. Then I want to take three of those kitchen chairs; there always was too many of ’em in 5

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there. And I want to take a pair of pillows. Seems to me, that man ’s lying on pillows stuffed with straw. Of course, he ’s been the cause of it if it is so ; but nobody can feel hard toward a dying man. I stood there looking at that man’s bed ; the quilt is all to pieces; and I got to thinking how nice my new goose-chase quilt would look on that bed, instead of that tattered one. But I thought, ‘ I ’ve just got it done.’ ‘ Never mind,’ whispered a voice in my heart. ‘ Inasmuch as you have done it’ — you know the rest of it, Jonathan ; so I came right along home to get it. And Jonathan, I believe I ’ll take that Boston rocker I ’ve just cushioned, for I ’d feel stingy to offer the other if its just the same as giving it to Him, you see. Then I ’ll pick up some little things I know we wont miss, and they ’ll be doing good over there. And then you just drive me over ’cross lots, because I do n’t want anybody peeking into what I ’111 doing. They might think I was

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doing a terrible sight, and ’t is n’t half enough, according to the way I read the Bible. Jonathan, I s’pose you ought to pray with him ; he ’s got a soul the same as anybody.”

Still talking and bustling about, she gathered articles enough to make quite a load, while her husband carried them to the wagon ; and, all things being ready, the deacon took up the lines and started.

“ Stop, stop a minute. Martha,” Mrs. Slocum called to her daughter, “you get those curtains you ironed yesterday. I ’ll get you some longer ones.”

While Martha was looking up the curtains, her mother remarked, “ Maybe that ’s giving what we do n’t value much. I s’pose the right way to give is to give till you feel it a little. But Martha ought to have the new ones, too, for she ’s a good girl and works hard. She says other folks have ’em come clear down to the floor. That ’s right, Martha,” taking the curtains from her hand.

“ Now, get the dinner as well as you can. See that the potatoes do n’t boil to pieces, and do n’t fry your eggs too hard.”

“ Get along, Pete,” said the deacon, and away the kind couple went as fast as the unsettled roads would permit.

They found Bentley sleeping still, and no perceptible change in him. No one thought best to arouse him, so the deacon spoke some comforting words to the wife, then set down the things he had brought, and turned his horse’s head toward home.

“Jim,” said Mrs. Slocum, “help me in with these things.” The rocker she took in herself, patted the neat cushion, and motioned to Mrs. Bentley to sit in it.

This unlooked-for kindness started the tears in Mrs. Bentley’s eyes. “ I have n’t had such a chair for ten years,” said she, as she sank into it.

Mrs. Slocum arranged the other things she had brought, and did it so quietly that

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Mrs. Bentley, in her weariness and drowsiness, did not notice the changes which were taking place around her.

“ Now, move that way a little,” said Mrs. Slocum, “ and I ’ll spread down this piece of carpet. It ’ll make the room look more cheerful.” And she nearly covered the bare floor with some partially worn, but whole and clean carpeting.