Frank Oldfield | Page 9

and always
spoke of him with a reverential smile, because his very name made him
happy. He had a wife, too, who loved the same gracious Saviour, and
joined with her husband in training up their children in holy ways.
They knew well that they could not give their children grace, but they
could give them prayer and example, and could leave the rest to God in
happy, loving trust. People who talked about total abstinence as a sour
and mopish thing, should have spent an evening at Ned Brierley's when
the whole family was at home; why, there was more genuine,
refreshing, innocent fun and mirth there in half an hour than could have
been gathered in a full evening's sitting out of all the pot- houses in the
neighbourhood put together. Ay, there were some who knew this, and
could say, "If you want gradely fun that leaves no afterthought, you
must go to Ned's for it." Of course Ned had won the respect even of
those who abused him most, and of none more truly than Thomas
Johnson. Spite of all his swaggering and blustering speeches no man
knew better than he the sterling worth of Brierley's character; no man
was more truly convinced, down in the depths of his heart, that Ned's
principles and practice were right. And so now, restless and wretched,
he was coming, he hardly knew exactly why, to ask counsel of this very
man whom he had openly abused and ridiculed at the very time when
he both envied and respected him.
Could there possibly be a greater contrast than between the house he
had just left and the one which he now entered?
Ned Brierley's dwelling was the end house of a row, which had been
recently built out of the united savings of himself and children. It was
rather larger than the rest, and had one or two out-buildings attached,

and also a considerable piece of garden ground belonging to it. In this
garden Ned and his sons worked at odd times, and everything about it
had a well-to-do air. The neat rows of celery, the flower-beds shaped
into various mathematical figures by shining white pebbles, the
carefully-pruned apple trees, and the well-levelled cindered paths, all
betokened that diligent hands were often busy there.
Johnson opened the little white gate, walked up the path, and
hesitatingly raised the latch of the house door. What a sight met his
eyes! it was a perfect picture. If the three sisters, Cleanliness, Neatness,
and Order, had been looking out for a home, they certainly might have
found one there. In some of the neighbours' houses, go when you would,
you would find the inmates always cleaning, but never clean; it was
just the reverse at Ned's, you always found them clean, and scarcely
ever caught them cleaning. Then, what an air of comfort there was
about the whole place. The arms and back of the couch-chair shone like
mahogany, the couch itself was plump and smooth, like a living thing
in good condition. The walls were a bright, lively blue, but there was
not very much to be seen of them, so covered were they with all sorts
of family-belongings and treasures. Against one wail stood a rather
ambitious-looking article, half chest of drawers, half sideboard, the
knobs of the drawers being of glass, which flashed in the bright
fire-light as if smiling their approbation of the happy condition of their
owners. Over the sideboard was a large and elaborate piece of
needlework, a perfect maze of doors and windows in green and red
worsted, with a gigantic bird on either side preparing to alight. This
was the work of the eldest daughter, and purported, in words at the
bottom, to be an accurate delineation of Solomon's Temple. Close by
stood a clock, tall and stately in its case, the hands of the brightest brass,
over which appeared the moving face of a good-tempered looking
moon. Then, on the next wall hung two large cases, one of butterflies,
which were arranged in patterns to represent griffins, dragons, and
other impossible animals; the other, of well-stuffed birds, with shining
legs and highly-coloured beaks. Other parts of the walls were adorned
with Scripture prints, more remarkable for brilliancy of colouring than
correctness of costume; and in a conspicuous place, evidently the pride
of the whole collection, was a full-length portrait of the Queen, smiling

benignantly down on her subjects. Below the cases of butterflies and
birds was a piano--yes, actually, a piano--and by no means a bad one
too. Then, near the fire-place, was a snug little book- case, well
furnished with books; and over the mantelpiece, in the centre of a
warm-looking paper, was the text, in large characters, "The love of
Christ constraineth us." The