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CHAPTER II. WHILE HE WAS YET A GREAT WAY OFF."

HAT I had learnt of old Fred's history greatly increased my interest in him, and my desire to give his dreary life a little brightness. A few evenings after my conversation about him with Will Freeman I found my poor old friend sitting in his accustomed place

on the old stump. Now that I knew more about him, I fancied I could see a mournful look in his dim eyes. I spoke a few words on indifferent subjects, and then said, as gently as I could, and I hope showing some of the sympathy I felt, "Mr. Freeman has been telling me about your son, Fred. Has he ever written to you?"

A light came into the dull eyes, and a new expression into the vacant face, as he said, with a simple and most touching patience, "Noa, maister, not yet."

"Then you think he will some day ?"

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Yes, maister, please God he will."

"Yes," I said, "all hearts are in God's hands; and He only can bring any of us to a better mind."

Poor old Fred did not seem to understand me; but he said again, "Please God I shall see my boy again some day."

Was it faith, or only the dull instinct of hope? I was a young man then. It seems to me now that I was almost presumptuous in judging poor old Fred as I did. I am afraid I fancied he was too stupid and ignorant to trust in God, forgetting that He has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty.

"I hope you have prayed to God for your son, Fred ?" I said, presently.

"Ay, maister, I've said 'Our Father' for him every night since he went away," said Fred, simply.

"But do you know what the words mean? It is of no use to say words unless we know what they mean. You must not be hurt at my saying so, Fred. If there's anything I can explain, I shall be very glad.”

Poor old Fred looked puzzled, but did not answer.

"What do you think 'Our Father' means, Fred?"

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I ain't a scholard, maister," said Fred, presently. "I can't put it like you do. I don't know what it means, except that the Lord He'll bring me my boy back safe to me somehow. I've asked Him, and it says, 'For Thine is the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.' So He

can, ye see, maister."

Old Fred, who could neither read nor

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I did not speak. write, and could not put it" as I could, had shown me a simple faith such as I had never attained to. I had thought to teach him, but he had taught me.

I often used after this to get poor old Fred to talk to me about his son. Once, when in a remarkably confidential mood, he told me the whole story of young Fred's misfortune. He told me that Fred went to the village-school for a short time; "but he never would set still, and he give schoolmaister a deal o' trouble."

"I wonder he did not try to be more of a comfort to you and his mother," I said.

"Oh, sir!" replied old Fred, speaking almost quickly in his eagerness to excuse his boy," he allays had a good heart, my poor boy had. He wouldn't have been took that night if he hadn't a' gone back for the dawg-he were so fond o' that dawg. I kep' it for his sake till it died."

"It was better for Fred that he was caught, though," said I. "He might have gone on to worse things still; but now he will have another chance. Many who have gone as wrong as he did have repented, and lived honest useful lives after their punishment was over."

Poor old Fred had a notion that his son's "going wrong" was owing to himself being "no scholard."

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I couldn't make things plain to him ; 't warn't no wonder he didn't think much o' me. 'Ye never had the pluck to

do nowt yourself,' he says to me once when I'd been, a beggin' on him to leave the bad company he were a' keepin'. But the Lord, He'll bring him back, somehow, never fear, maister. Maybe I shan't live to see it; but it'll be. The Lord's got the power, and He'll do it."

One day old Fred invited me up the steep, short ladder which led to his loft. "Come here, maister; I'll show 'ce

something," he said.

He took me into one corner of his loft, and showed me a loose piece of board concealed by some projecting

wood-work. He lifted up this board, and I saw a small hole, which seemed to be merely a hollow in the beam supporting the floor of the loft. He drew something carefully from this mysterious hiding-place. "Look 'ee there, maister," he said, in a triumphant whisper.

It was an old stocking, and from it old Fred produced a very odd medley of copper and silver coins. There were some farthings, and a great many halfpennies and pennies, among which the shillings and half-crowns showed bravely. I suppose he had five or six pounds there altogether. The old stocking looked a very unsafe purse, and I told him so ; and also advised him to put the money into the savings bank.

“Noa, noa, sir,” said Fred, carefully restoring the stocking to its queer receptacle. "I baint no scholard. I don't rightly understand they banks. I've a' seed the books as they write it all down in, and, bless ye, sir, 't would fairly daze me. And then, don't ye see, maister, all this here's for my boy again' the Lord brings him back and I've heerd you can't get money out o' they banks for a week an' more sometimes; an' when my boy comes back maybe he'll be hungry, and his boots wore out, and that, ye see, sir. So I keeps this here handy, so as my boy be made comfortable at onst like, sir."

We were in a miserable little loft in which I could not stand upright, and the only furniture was a straw bed on the rough, uneven floor; and poor old Fred, dressed in a ragged smock-frock, with an old spotted handkerchief tied round his neck, looked very unlike the father who "divided his living" to his sons; but he was very like him, too; and I thought of the blessed words, which so many a returning sinner has thanked God for, "But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on

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his feet and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat, and be merry: for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."

I left M

CHAPTER III.-OLD FRED'S ANSWER.

soon after Fred had shown me the little hoard he was saving for his prodigal son, and heard no more of my poor old friend till I returned the next year. He ferried me and my luggage over the river, and his brightening face when he first saw me again was a very pleasant welcome.

"Have you heard from your son yet, Fred ?" I asked, as we were nearing the opposite side.

"Not yet, maister; but, please God, I shall," said Fred, as patiently and cheerfully as the first time I had asked him the question.

I am ashamed to say that I myself had little hope of old Fred's prayers being answered. It seemed to me so unlikely that punishment should soften a heart which had resisted kindness and love. The utmost I ventured to hope was, that "young Fred" might, when his time was up, be sick of the consequences of his evil ways. That the grace of God would really reach him in his convict life I had hardly faith to hope, much less to believe; but I would not for the world have let the poor old father guess my misgivings.

I had often spoken to my friends at the Holt Farm about old Fred's story. They well remembered the poaching fray, and of course they knew Fred by sight, so they took a kindly interest in him; and when one evening not long after my return the maid came in as we sat at tea to say that old Fred wanted to speak to me, Mrs. Rogers exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Aldridge, perhaps he has heard from his son !"

"That is too good news to be true," said I. "Poor old fellow! I never have the heart to tell him how little chance there is that his son will ever be a comfort to him."

But Mrs. Rogers only said, in her gentle voice, which age seemed to have only made sweeter, "With man it is impossible, but not with God, Mr. Aldridge."

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