Winning His Way | Page 7

not be better to keep the matter to
himself? But then he remembered that she had said, "Paul, I shall
expect you to tell me truthfully all that happens to you at school." He
loved his mother. She was one of the best mothers that ever lived,
working for him day and night. How could he abuse such confidence as
she had given him? He would not violate it. He would not be a sneak.
His mother and the Pensioner were sitting before the fire as he entered
the house. She welcomed him with a smile,--a beautiful smile it was,
for she was a noble woman, and Paul was her darling, her pride, the
light, joy, and comfort of her life.
"Well, Paul, how do you get on at school?" his grandfather asked.
"I got a whipping to-day." It was spoken boldly and manfully.
"What! My son got a whipping!" his mother exclaimed.
"Yes, mother."
"I am astonished. Come here, and tell me all about it."
Paul stood by her side and told the story,--how Philip Funk tried to
bribe him, how he called him names,--how, having got his lessons, he
made a picture of the master. "Here it is, mother." He took his slate
from his little green bag. The picture had not been effaced. His mother
looked at it and laughed, notwithstanding her efforts to keep sober, for
it was such a perfect likeness. She had an exquisite sense of the
ludicrous, and Paul was like her. She was surprised to find that he
could draw so well.
"We will talk about the matter after supper," she said. She had told Paul
many times, that, if he was justly punished at school, he must expect a
second punishment at home; but she wanted to think awhile before
deciding what to do. She was pleased to know that her boy could not be
bribed to do what his conscience told him he ought not to do, and that
he was manly and truthful. She would rather follow him to the
church-yard and lay him in his grave beneath the bending elms, than to

have him untruthful or wicked.
The evening passed away. Paul sat before the fire, looking steadily into
the coals. He was sober and thoughtful, wondering what his mother
would say at last. The clock struck nine. It was his bedtime. He went
and stood by her side once more. "You are not angry with me, mother,
are you?"
"No, my son. I do not think that you deserved so severe a punishment. I
am rejoiced to know that you are truthful, and that you despise a mean
act. Be always as you have been to-night in telling the truth, and I never
shall be angry with you."
He threw his arms around her neck, and gave way to tears, such as
Cipher could not extort by his pounding. She gave him a good-night
kiss,--so sweet that it seemed to lie upon his lips all through the night.
"God bless you, Paul," said the Pensioner.
Paul climbed the creaking stairs, and knelt with an overflowing heart to
say his evening prayer. He spoke the words earnestly when he asked
God to take care of his mother and grandfather. He was very happy. He
looked out through the crevices in the walls, and saw the stars and the
moon flooding the landscape with silver light. There was sweet music
in the air,--the merry melody of the water murmuring by the mill, the
cheerful chirping of the crickets, and the lullaby of the winds, near at
hand and far away, putting him in mind of the choirs on earth and the
choirs in heaven. "Don't mind it, Paul!" were the words they sung, so
sweetly and tenderly that for many days they rang in his ears.
CHAPTER II.
HARD TIMES.
How lonesome the days when dear friends leave us to return no more,
whom we never shall see again on earth, who will send us no message
or letter of love from the far distant land whither they have gone! It
tries our hearts and brings tears to our eyes to lay them in the ground.

But shall we never, never see them again? Yes, when we have taken the
same journey, when we have closed our eyes on earth and opened them
in heaven.
As the months rolled by, the Pensioner's eyes grew dim. He became
weak and feeble. "The Pensioner won't stand it long," the people said.
He did not rise one morning when breakfast was ready.
"Come, grandpa," said Paul, opening the bedroom door and calling him;
but there was no reply. He lay as if asleep; but his brow was cold, and
his heart had stopped beating. He had died calmly and peacefully, and
was forever at