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his manners."

"Stop, stop, boys. Give him fair16 play," shouted Blair; but Blair was no longer the object of attention.

The English boy, in spite of his struggles, was hurried to the edge of the wharf, and pushed relentlessly over the brink.

A thorough ducking to him, and the scattering of his precious basket of clothes, was all that the young rascals intended. To their horror, the stranger sank like a heavy load—rose, and then sank again.

"He can't swim; he can't swim. He'll be drowned!" burst from the lips of the spectators. All were paralyzed with fear.

Blair had forced his way through the crowd, and reached the edge of the wharf in time to see the pale, agonized face of the English boy, as he for the second time rose to the surface. In another moment Blair was diving where, far in the17 deep water, the pale face had vanished from sight.

There was a moment of breathless silence, then a deafening cheer, as Blair reappeared with the drowning boy in his arms.

There were hands enough outstretched to aid him in laying his burden on the shore. "Help me carry him, boys, straight to our house. Mother will know what to do for him," said Blair, speaking very quickly.

It was but a few steps down a neighboring street to Joe Robertson's pleasant home.

Blair did not fear to take in the dripping boy and lay him on his mother's best bed. He knew that mother's joy was to minister to the distressed and succor the unfortunate.

The water was soon pouring from the mouth, nose, and ears of the unconscious18 lad. Then he was rubbed and wrapped round with hot flannels, while Mrs. Robertson's own hands forced his lungs to work, until they again took their natural movement.

Not a word was asked as to how the accident had happened, until, out of danger, the rescued boy was in a sweet sleep.

The eager crowd who had followed Blair and his charge had vanished, and the mother sat alone with her son. Blair's dripping garments had been exchanged for another suit, but in the midst of the late confusion his mother's eye had silently and gratefully marked upon him the signs that to him the English boy owed his life.

"You saved him, my son. God be thanked. I may well be proud of my boy," said the mother earnestly and fondly.19

A sudden flush of shame crimsoned the cheeks of Blair Robertson. "Oh, mother, it was all my fault," he exclaimed. "If he had died—Oh, if he had died, that pale struggling face would have haunted me to my grave. I had been making one of my speeches to the boys, and it pleased me to see how I could rouse them. I had just shouted 'Down with the English!' and made them join me, when poor Hal came round the corner. Nobody would have noticed him if I had gone right on; but I pointed him out, and angry as they were, I could not stop them before they had thrown him into the water. They thought he could swim, I dare say; but I knew he couldn't. Oh, mother, what I suffered, thinking he might drown before I could reach him. But he's safe now. You think he'll get well, don't you, mother?"20

"Yes, my child," said Mrs. Robertson, trembling with deep feeling. "God's mercy has been great to you, my boy. May you learn this day a solemn lesson. You have a powerful influence over your companions. You know it, and I am afraid it has only fed your pride, not prompted you to usefulness. Is it real love for your country that leads you to these speeches; or is it a desire to see how you can rouse the passions of your listeners, and force them to do your bidding? For every talent we must give an account, and surely for none more strictly than the power to prompt men to good or evil. I believe you love your country, my boy. You love our dear country, or I would blush to own you as my son. But I fear you have as yet but a poor idea what it is to be a true patriot."

"A true patriot, mother? I think I21 know what that means. One who loves his country, and would cheerfully die for her," said Blair with enthusiasm.

"You might even love your country and die for her, and yet be no true patriot," said the mother. "You might be her disgrace, and the cause of her afflictions, while you shed for her your heart's blood."

"I don't understand you," said the boy thoughtfully.

"Perhaps Korah and his company thought themselves patriots when they rebelled against the power of Moses and Aaron. They doubtless moved the people by cunning speeches about their own short-lived honor; yet they brought destruction on themselves and a plague upon Israel. There is nothing more plain in the Bible than God's great regard to the righteousness or wickedness of individual men. Suppose that there22 had been found ten righteous men in Sodom, for whose sake that wicked city would have been spared its awful doom. Humble and obscure they might have been; but would not they, who brought such a blessing down on the neighborhood where they dwelt, be worthy of the name of patriots? My son, if you were willing to lay down your life for your country, and yet were guilty of the foul sin of swearing, and taught all around you to blaspheme, would you not be laying up wrath against your native land, though you fought with the bravery of an Alexander? These are times to think on these things, my boy, if we really love our country. No man liveth unto himself. His home, his state, his country is in a degree blessed or cursed for his sake. Dear Blair, you cannot be a true patriot without God's grace to help you rule your heart, guard your lips,23 and purify your life. May you this day begin, for your own sake as well as for that of your country, to serve the God of our fathers. He has mercifully spared you the bitter self-reproach to which you might have been doomed. Go in repentance to his footstool, and he will abundantly pardon. Resolve henceforward to walk humbly before him, trusting in his grace and striving to do his will, and you shall count this day the most blessed of your life."

Mrs. Robertson put her arm round the tall, strong boy at her side. He yielded to her touch, as if he had been a little child. Side by side they knelt, while the mother poured out such a prayer as can only flow from the lips of a Christian mother pleading for her only son.

Blair Robertson spent that long Saturday evening alone in his room. That was indeed to be the beginning of days24 to him. He was no longer to be a self-willed seeker of his own pleasure and honor. He was "bought with a price," and was henceforward to be a servant of the King of kings.

25 CHAPTER III. THE ENGLISH BOY.

No loving friends came to inquire after the fate of Hal Hutchings, the English boy. His efforts to save his basket of clean linen had been as vain as his struggles to free himself from the hands of his persecutors. The garments that had been starched and ironed with such scrupulous care were scattered along the wharf, and trampled under the feet of the thoughtless young mob. The old washerwoman on whose errand Hal had been sent forth, was too indignant at the destruction which had befallen her handiwork, to give one kindly thought to the poor boy who had so honorably striven to spare her the misfortune over which she lamented so dolorously. Her Sunday thoughts26 strayed far more frequently to the dingy, stained garments soaking in her back kitchen, than to Hal Hutchings, quietly lying in Mrs. Robertson's best bedroom.

"I wonder no one comes to inquire after him. Has he no friends, Blair?" said Mrs. Robertson as evening was drawing on.

"I dare say not, mother. I never saw him with anybody. He does errands round town, and has been sleeping at Mrs. McKinstry's, the washerwoman's. He didn't take his meals there, I know, for I've seen him eating bread and cheese in some corner just when other folks were sitting down to dinner. They call him 'Hal the English boy;' but I guess nobody knows much about him."

"A stranger in a strange land," said Mrs. Robertson thoughtfully; and then she rose up and went into the room where Hal was still lying.27

Blair took up his Bible. How precious that Bible seemed to him now—the light for his feet, the lamp for his path. With reverence he turned the sacred pages until he found the fifty-first psalm, which he read with solemn earnestness, making its humble petitions truly his own.

While Blair was thus employed, Mrs. Robertson was talking in her own kindly way to the stranger.

"So you are an English boy, Hal," she said. "That will not keep me from loving you, for you know the Bible says we must 'love our enemies;' but I don't believe you are such a very dangerous enemy, after all." Her pleasant smile was like sunshine to the heart of the lonely boy, and his reserve melted away before it.

"I'm Hinglish, because I was born in Hingland," said the boy. "I couldn't28 help that; and I couldn't blame my father and mother for it neither, for I never knowed them. I've been an orphan always. But I'm an American, because I chose this for my country, and I worked my passage over here, and I haven't begged from anybody."

"I'm glad you want to be an American," said Mrs. Robertson gently; "it is a great privilege. But there is something more to do for every boy who wants to be an American citizen, than just landing in this country and earning his own living, and then by and by voting for our rulers."

Hal opened his large pale blue eyes in confused expectation, and was silent.

Mrs. Robertson was not easily discouraged, and she went on. "You would think it very rude, Hal, if I were to invite a poor stranger to my house to dinner, and he should jump and laugh while29 I was asking God's blessing before eating; and then toss the plates about, breaking my dishes and scattering the food over my clean floor. You would think the least he could do would be to be civil, and keep the rules of my house while he was in it."

"Such a chap as that ought to have the door showed him right straight," said Hal warmly.

"Well, my boy, this is what I mean: When we welcome strangers to our free country, which our fathers fought for and gave their blood to win, we expect those strangers to fall in with our ways, and not disturb the peace and order of the pleasant home they have come to. Is not that right?"

"Yes, ma'am; and I haven't disturbed anybody's peace nor order," said Hal with another blank look of the blue eyes.

"No, and I do not believe you ever30 will; but I have not done yet. A free people, to be a safe people, must be a Christian people. Are you a Christian boy, Hal?" The question was asked with deep seriousness.

"I a'n't a heathen," said Hal in surprise.

"No, you don't bow down to a wooden idol, or worship snakes and bulls, as some heathen people do. But are you trying to serve God in all you think and do and say? Have you asked him to forgive you all your sins, for the sake of his dear Son; and do you believe he has forgiven you, and taken you to be his own dear child?"

"I never had anybody talk to me so before," said Hal with a confused look; "but I take it, I a'n't what you call a Christian."

"I dare say you do not understand me very well," said Mrs. Robertson. "God31 can make these things plain to you. Close your eyes, and I will kneel down here and ask him to teach you to know and love his holy will."

Hal had been at church many times in his life, and looked curiously on at the whole proceeding, as at a "show." Now for the first time he heard prayer made for him, for poor Hal

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