Owen's Fortune; Or, "Durable Riches"

His uncle thought Owen quite capable of carrying his own belongings, and led the way down a narrow street into a broader one, with some fine buildings; then, to the boy's surprise, over a bridge, which crossed a fine dock filled with shipping, for he had no idea that Barmston was a seaport town. He was tempted to stop and look at the busy life, where the twinkling lights of the lamps were reflected in the dark waters of the dock. But his uncle was walking with rapid steps, and he ran to keep up with him. As he turned into the broad market-place, he entered a bright, cheerful grocer's shop, over which Owen had just time to catch the name "Hadleigh" in large letters.

His uncle passed at once into the counting-house, and entered into eager conversation with a man who was there, and a young girl, who, Owen concluded, was his cousin. But nobody seemed to think of the orphan, who sat on his box in a corner of the bright and busy shop, unnoticed and uncared for. After a while he grew so interested in watching the various customers that he almost forgot where he was, till a clear voice close at his side asked pleasantly, "Are you my cousin Owen?"

CHAPTER III.

MAKING HIS FORTUNE

OWEN sprang up and acknowledged the relationship, following the girl through the back of the shop, upstairs to a pleasant room, where tea was already spread.

"Father is busy with Dawson just for a few minutes," she said, "but mother will be here presently. Oh, there she is. Mother, here is Owen; where is he to sleep?"

"In the little room at the top of the stairs," replied a middle-aged, active-looking woman, who stood before Owen, without giving him a word of greeting, saying, critically, "You look pretty capable; are you willing to work?"

"Oh yes, ma'am; I will do anything I can."

"That is right," said Clarice, kindly; "come, I will show you your room, and you can wash your hands and face, and then come down to tea. I expect you want something after your journey."

Owen looked gratefully at his cousin as he carried his box upstairs after her. The little room in which she left him was dreary and cold, so different to his pretty little bedroom at home, which his father had made so cheerful and pleasant. But Owen was determined not to look on the dark side. He peeped out of the window; it looked down on the busy street, and the tops of the houses. As far as he could see were house-tops, and he wondered how far off the country could be. He felt a little sore at his aunt's cool manner, and was almost inclined to cry, as he turned to the washstand to follow his cousin's suggestion. The cold water refreshed him, and things looked brighter when he made his way down to the parlour, and found only Clarice waiting for him.

"You and I will have tea by ourselves," she said, cheerfully; "father is not ready yet, and mother has gone down to him. Would you like a slice of ham? Here is bread, and a nice hot cup of tea. I wonder how you will like the town."

So Clarice chatted away, trying to make the boy at home. The warm tea revived him, and his cousin's kindness won his heart, so that when she said, "I am so glad you have come, I know we shall be good friends," he was able to respond, "Yes, I am glad too; you are good and pretty."

Clarice laughed. "Nobody ever told me that before. I have to work too hard to be pretty. Father and mother let no one be idle. We must do all we can to make a fortune." But she said it somewhat bitterly, and Owen did not know how to reply, though he said, after a pause, "Don't you want to make a fortune?"

"I would rather enjoy what money we have," said Clarice. "What is the good of going on heaping up money all your life, and never enjoying what it brings at all?"

"That is what Mrs. Mitchell said."

"Who is Mrs. Mitchell?"

"A neighbour of ours. She said it was best to get 'durable riches.'"

"What sort of riches are they?"

"I don't quite know, but they are in the Bible; I read it there."

"Oh," said Clarice, "I don't know much of the Bible. Perhaps it would be better if I did, but father would not like me to spend time reading it. Will you have some more tea? No? Then we had better go down, and father and mother can come up. Father never likes to leave the counting-house unless one of us is there, but I don't see why he can't trust Dawson."

Owen followed his cousin downstairs. The shop was now brightly lighted up, and the fragrant smell of newly-ground coffee pervaded the place. Looking out at the door, he could see the twinkling lights of the pier at the end of the broad street, and the tall, dark masts of the vessels in the river; while nearer were rows of bright shops, and many feet hurrying past. It was a great change for the country-bred boy.

"What time do the people go to bed here?" he asked, as he returned to his cousin.

"Why, not yet for a long time."

"They all look as if it was the middle of the day, and in Westbrook every one was at home and quiet after tea."

Clarice laughed. "You will see a great difference here, Owen."

The next morning his uncle told him he must set to work, and gave him some employment at once, quite to Owen's satisfaction, for he did not care to be idle. It was a new thing to be busy about a shop, but he liked the change. It had been arranged that he should serve his uncle for the first three months without payment, only getting his board and lodging; but after that, if he proved capable, his uncle promised him a small salary.

"Of course you will have to buy your clothes out of it. But if you really wish to make your fortune, take my advice, never spend more than you can help! Save up all you can, and never buy anything you can possibly do without."

Owen promised obedience, and threw his whole heart into his work. Poor lad, he seemed in danger of forgetting his father's advice, and the unworldly lessons he had learnt in earlier days, as he made haste to be rich. For no one in his uncle's household seemed to think of anything beyond this present life. His uncle was somewhat strict with him, though on the whole he treated him kindly, while his aunt was very cool and stern. But Clarice was very fond of her young cousin, and whenever she could obtain her father's consent, would take him out with her, and walk along the river-side, or round the docks, where the boy never ceased to wonder at the new and strange things he saw.

Among the men and boys employed in the shop, Owen was much attracted by a young errand-boy, about his own age, whom everybody called "David," and he soon made friends with him. David was very obliging, and always willing to help Owen any way he could, which was not the case with Norris, one of the young men, who seemed to take a delight in thwarting and hindering him.

One day when David had some extra heavy parcels to carry, Owen was sent out with him, and as they walked along, he asked him his surname.

"David Netherclift," he replied.

"What!" said Owen, "Netherclift, did you say?"

"Yes, why not?"

"Why, Sam Netherclift was my greatest friend down home. It is funny you should have the same name."

"Where is your home?"

"At Westbrook, near Allenbury; a long way from here."

"Westbrook? I have often heard my father speak of it; his brother lives there. I expect Sam is my cousin. I'll ask father."

"Oh, do. Does your father live near here?"

"Not far off. But we must not go there now."

"Why not?"

"Because this is the time for work. Father says it is as bad as stealing to take my master's time for my own use. I'll ask him all about it to-night, and tell you in the morning."

"I expect your father is something like mine was," said Owen; "he was so good, and never let me do wrong if he could help it."

"Is he dead?" asked David.

"Yes, he died some time ago. If he had been alive I should not be here, for I would never have left him."

When the boys returned to the shop, they were both set busily to work, and had no time for further conversation. But next day David found opportunity to say, "Sam is my cousin, and father says he hopes you will come and see him some day; he would like to hear about Westbrook."

Owen was getting rapidly initiated into business habits, and being a quick, intelligent boy, did not often want telling twice how to do a thing, so that his uncle regarded him with favour, and at times allowed him to help Clarice in the counting-house when she was extra busy. The boy missed the country life, the long walks, the skating, the thousand pleasures of unfettered rural life, and he sometimes wished he could have a holiday, though he never said so to his uncle, but stuck manfully to his work till late every night, and then threw himself on his bed, and went sound asleep.

Mr. Hadleigh seldom went to church; indeed, the whole family were generally too tired on a Sunday, after a week of incessant labour, to do anything but rest. In fine weather Clarice generally went for a walk in the afternoon, and her father sometimes accompanied her. But on winter evenings they sat round the fire, yawning and tired, wishing the hours would pass rapidly by, so that the shop could be opened again. Mr. Hadleigh really cared for nothing but business.

The first Sunday or two Owen was very miserable. Sundays had been such bright days in his old home. He had always gone to church with his father in the morning, and to a class he held for elder boys in the afternoon; and though he had not always taken heed to the lessons as he ought, he had at any rate enjoyed the time. And he looked back to the Westbrook Sundays as days of peaceful rest. The first Sunday after he had found out that David was a cousin of his old friend Sam, he ventured to ask his uncle if he might go and spend the afternoon with the Netherclifts. His uncle gave him leave, not caring what he did on Sundays, so long as he attended well to his work during the week.

Owen started off eagerly, and just round the corner saw David, who had come to meet him by agreement. They walked some little distance, till they reached a narrower street, with smaller houses—a dingy street Owen thought it. But David stopped at a house which looked brighter than the rest, having clean blinds and curtains to the windows, and a very white stone step at the door. Owen noticed this as he followed David in.

"This is Owen Hadleigh, father," he said, bringing him into the little sitting-room.

"I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Netherclift; "but I cannot rise to greet you. I am a constant prisoner with rheumatism."

And then Owen noticed that the man's hands, too, were twisted and swollen with the same painful disease. He hardly knew what to say. But Mr. Netherclift was anxious to set him at his ease, and bid David bring a chair forward, as he remarked—

"You have come from Westbrook, David tells me. I used to go there often, many years ago."

"Did you really?" asked Owen, eagerly, ready for a talk with one who knew his old home. "Did you know my father, too?"

"I have seen him, but I don't think I ever spoke to him. My visits to my brother were always short, so I did not get to know many of his friends. And so your father is now home with Christ; it is a blessed change even from such a pretty place as Westbrook."

"Yes, and he was glad to go; though he was sorry to leave me," said the boy, wistfully. "Mother died when I was a baby, so now I have nobody."

"Have you not got Christ?"

Owen looked up inquiringly; he did not quite know his friend's meaning.

"The blessed Saviour loves you, my boy; have you no love in your heart for Him? Those who belong to Him can never say they have nobody to love them. Are you not his child?"

The question was asked very tenderly, and Owen looked into the kind face that watched his so earnestly, as he said, slowly, "I don't think so."

"Then I am sure you are both poor and lonely."

"Yes, I am poor, because father had very little to leave me—only a few books and furniture. But I have come to Barmston to make my fortune."

"I hope you will find the truest fortune; it is already made for you, and all you have to do is to accept it."

"What is the truest fortune?"

"It is to belong to Christ, the King of kings. The peace and rest and joy He gives are riches of untold price, more valuable—infinitely so—than any wealth of earth. And they are riches that will last for ever."

"How can we get them?"

"By first of all realising our poverty, that we, you and I, are poor lost sinners in ourselves, fit for nothing but hell, and that we can do nothing to save ourselves. Then, knowing this fact, because God says it, to come just as we are, and believe in His Son, who died to save us from all sin."

Owen listened earnestly, the boy's heart was roused; it was God's message to him. He looked thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Presently he said, "Father's last words to me were to seek the heavenly riches."

"Have you sought them?"

"There is no time here in Barmston. From morning to night I am as busy as can be, often till ten o'clock, and then I am so tired I almost drop asleep while I am undressing."

"Poor boy, you are hard-worked. But remember this, God never puts you into any place where you cannot seek Him. Do you never read your Bible, or speak to God in prayer?"

"DID YOU KNOW MY FATHER?"—Page 33.

"Not now. Perhaps I shall have more time when I am older."

"Nay, never think that. God says, 'Now is the day of salvation.' You may not live to be older."

The conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Netherclift coming in with the tea, and directly after the two boys went out together to a neighbouring mission-hall, where David's father knew they would hear an earnest Gospel message. He, being unable to walk, remained at home, earnestly praying that both lads might get a blessing.

CHAPTER IV.

AN UNEXPECTED TRIAL

DAVID NETHERCLIFT ushered Owen into a small, but cheerful and brightly-lighted mission-hall. The place was nearly full, but they found comfortable seats, and the service almost immediately commenced. The singing was hearty, and the speaker's manner so earnest and manly that Owen's attention was gained even before he began to preach. But when he read out his text, the boy listened still more earnestly, for the words seemed to have some reference to the fortune he so eagerly desired. Slowly and deliberately they were read out: "Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich."

"You see here," began the speaker, "that One who was rich gave up His wealth, and became a poor man that you, poor men, women, and children, might become rich. It was a wonderful thing to do, for it was not only that He gave up home and comfort and wealth for poor people, but for those who cared nothing for Him, even for His enemies. And He did it out of His own great love and grace. Who was it who did this? It was the Lord Jesus Christ, the King of Glory, the God who made the world, and all those countless stars that fill our sky. If it was a good man that had done it, we should have thought it a great thing to do; but that God should stoop so low fills us with surprise. He might have stayed in heaven, rejoicing in His Father's love, listening to the songs and adoration of the angels, leaving us in our poverty and ruin to die eternally. But no; out of His boundless love and grace, He came to suffer and die—'for your sakes.'

"Yes, for our sakes, because we were poor, lost sinners, and He pitied us. So He came down from heaven, and lived a poor man, dying a death of shame to redeem us and save us from hell. Should we not then seek His rich salvation, and take the wealth the Saviour went through such deep poverty to win for us? You may refuse it; God does not force it upon you. But oh, the terrible punishment that will fall on those who neglect or reject God's salvation!

"You, here before me, are mostly poor; you would all like to be rich. Listen, then, to God's Word: 'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.' The heavenly riches never disappoint, never fly away, but last on, growing deeper and fuller, right into eternity. Who will come to Christ to-night, and seek His unsearchable riches?"

They were simple words simply spoken, but were God's message to many hearts. Owen did not say much as he walked home with his friend; but he did not forget the words he had heard. That night he opened his Bible for the first time since he came to Barmston, and knelt in prayer before he went to bed. All that week he was very thoughtful, longing for Sunday to come, that he might again have some help heavenward, for he was beginning to set his face that way. Not that he neglected his work. No; his uncle never found him more diligent and active, though he was on his feet from morning till night, and was often thoroughly tired out.

"No sorrow with it," he said softly to himself one evening, as he was copying some writing by his cousin's side in the counting-house.

"What do you say, Owen?"

The boy smiled. "I did not know I was speaking out loud," he said.

"But what did you say about 'no sorrow'?"

"It was something I heard on Sunday: 'The blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.'"

"Those riches must be worth getting," said Clarice, after a pause, with tears in her eyes. She had long known a deeply unsatisfied feeling in her heart, though no one suspected it; and she herself hardly knew how the uneasiness arose.

"Yes, I think so too," said Owen, as he went on busily with his work.

It was only a few days after this that Mr. Hadleigh called his nephew to him, and said, "Clarice has to go on business for me over to Horley, across the river, and she wants you to go too; so run and change your jacket, and get ready to go with her."

"Thank you, uncle," said the boy, delighted at the prospect of a change. He had never been on the river before, and it was a great charm to him to step on board the little steamer waiting at the pier-head, and start off in the fresh breeze across the river.

"How long will it take us?" he asked his cousin.

"About twenty minutes crossing; then we have to go into the village for father, and take the next boat back."

"How curious it feels; it looks as if the town and pier were moving away."

"Yes, it often does at first; but it is really we who are moving. You will see better when we get farther out into the river."

The shipping and the new sights occupied the boy the whole way across, and Clarice had to answer numberless questions, so that it was not till they had reached the other side, and were walking down a country road to the neighbouring village, that she was able to say, "Do you know why I asked father to let you come to-day?"

"Because you are kind, and wanted me to have a holiday."

"It was not altogether that," said the girl, looking down on the young boy at her side; "I wanted you to tell me more about that 'no sorrow.'"

"Why, I told you all I knew."

"Ah, but how can we get it?"

The boy hesitated. "You must come with me to the mission-hall on Sunday night, and hear the preacher yourself, Clarice. Then you will know all about it."

"I cannot do that; mother would not let me, nor father either, I fear."

"But they let me."

"Yes; but they had a talk about it the first Sunday evening you were gone. Mother said she did not like you to go at all, but father said as long as you did your work well he did not mind where you went on Sundays, as you are a boy. So you really must tell me more, Owen. No one but you can help me."

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't quite understand it myself yet. He said we were to read the Bible and pray, and seek the salvation God offers. He said the Lord Jesus loves us, and wants us to be His children."

"Are you His child?"

"I don't know. I want to be. Father and mother were, and–" the boy stopped.

"I must know more about it," said Clarice, earnestly; "you must listen for yourself and me too, Owen, when you go again, and try to remember all you can to tell me."

When they returned to Barmston, they found Mr. Hadleigh evidently in a bad temper. He was talking very loudly, and seemed considerably annoyed. The moment he caught sight of Owen, he called him to him.

"Didn't you put out that order for Mr. Davenport yesterday? I gave it into your hands."

"Yes, sir, I did it. I weighed out the things, and wrapped them up."

"This comes of trusting to boys," he said, bitterly; "but you seemed different to most. Mr. Davenport has just been in, and says the things never arrived."

"I packed them up all right," said Owen, respectfully, but firmly.

"Whose place was it to take them out?"

"It was David's round."

"Then the matter lies between you and David. Which of you stole the goods?"

"Oh, father!" exclaimed Clarice, "neither of them would do such a thing."

"Well, the goods must be somewhere," he replied, half-ashamed of his hot words. "Norris has often given me hints about the two, David and Owen; he says they are too much together for good."

"I expect Norris is at the bottom of it," said Clarice, eager to defend her young cousin.

"Nonsense. Norris has been with us for years. I would trust him as well as anybody. Owen, you can go to your own room for the present, till I decide what is to be done. Send David to me as soon as he returns."

Poor Owen, it was a sad ending to a pleasant little holiday. Things looked black, but he knew he had done as he was told, and that the goods had been carefully wrapped up, and laid on the counter ready to be taken away. Yet how could he prove it? Norris had seen him weighing the things out, but he had turned against him, and there was no other witness. He sat down by the side of his bed, and wondered what he should do if his uncle sent him to prison. Could he not run away? There were lots of ships about; perhaps he could get work on one of them. But better thoughts prevailed, and at last he sank on his knees, and prayed that some way might be found for him out of his trouble.

Meanwhile David had been questioned, and said that he had never been given anything for Mr. Davenport. He showed his book, stating what houses he had called at, and answered so straightforwardly that Mr. Hadleigh at once acquitted him of all complicity in wrong-doing.

"It is just that nephew of yours, Mr. Hadleigh," said his wife; "a little sneaking fellow, trying to toady himself into your favour by industry, and then returning it in this fashion."

"Owen never did it," said Clarice, decidedly.

"Ah, you always favoured him. You and your father should have believed me, and this would never have occurred," said her mother, sweeping out of the room.

Clarice possessed great influence with her father, so when they were alone, he asked, "Don't you really think it is Owen?"

"No, father, I don't. I am certain he would not do such a thing. His father brought him up too well for that. Things have been missing before he came. If I were you, I should look after somebody else."

Nothing more was said. Business went on as usual till ten o'clock; then the shop was closed, and the family went upstairs to the sitting-room. No one had been near Owen, or had even thought of taking him food, till Clarice suddenly remembered he had had nothing since breakfast; so filling a plate with some bread and butter, and a slice of cold meat, she hastily left the room, unquestioned by her parents.

Owen had fallen asleep, with his head resting against the washstand, and Clarice noticed that there were traces of tears on his face. She touched his arm, and he jumped up in a moment.

"I have brought you something to eat," she said, kindly; "I am so sorry I forgot to do so before; I am afraid you are nearly starved."

"No, it didn't matter; but I am glad to have it now. What is going to be done?" he asked, watching his cousin's face anxiously.

"Nothing can be done to-night. Father wants to find out the truth, of course. I think if we asked God to let it be seen who took the things, He would make it plain."

"I am sure he would if we were His children. But you see we are not." The words were said sorrowfully and slowly.