# Her Benny/Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII.
The Question Settled.
Life's withered leaves grow green again and fresh with childhood's spring,
As I am welcomed back once more within its rainbow ring;
The past, with all its gathered charms, beckons me back in joy,
And loving hearts and open arms re-clasp me as a boy.
Massey.
Next morning Benny was unusually quiet, so much so that Mrs. Fisher thought he was not well; but he insisted that nothing was the matter with him, and she did not like to question him further. But when Mr. Fisher came in to breakfast he began to rally Benny at once, and to ask him how he got on with the grand folks on the previous evening.
"Very well, I think," Benny answered, simply; "they all seemed very grateful for the little service I had been able to render them."
"And did you find the ladies lions, Benny?" inquired Mrs. Fisher.
"Indeed no," said Benny, colouring; "they all of them made me think more of angels than of lions."
"Indeed?" said Mrs. Fisher, in a questioning tone.
"Yes, they treated me with the utmost kindness, every one of them; but, now I think of it, the ladies always have done so," said Benny, with a laugh.
​"I should think so," interposed Mr. Fisher; "but Mr. Munroe spoke to me about helping you in some way: did he say anything to you about it!"
"Yes; that was what he wanted to see me at his house for principally."
"Well, lad, out with it: did he make you an offer of some sort?"
"Yes, he made me a very kind offer indeed."
"Well, Ben, what was it like? You are precious slow this morning."
"Am I?"
"You are, indeed. He hasn't proposed suicide to you, has he?"
"Not quite. Bat I had better tell you all that passed between us."
"Of course you accepted his offer?" said Mr. Fisher, when he had done.
"No, I did not."
"You didn't?"
"No; I said I would like to talk to you about it before coming to a decision."
"You needn't fear, lad,'* said Mr. Fisher, with a little shake in his voice, "that I will put a straw in your way. I shall be very sorry to lose you, I confess, for you have been a great help to me, especially as neither Harry nor George would take to farming, and I know you have been a great comfort to the missus."
"That he has," said Mrs. Fisher, as if speaking to herself.
​"But," continued Mr. Fisher, without heeding his wife's remark, "I have thought for some time past that you might do better for yourself than slaving on a farm all the days of your life; and now that you've got the chance of bettering your condition, my advice is, accept it by all means, and think yourself a lucky dog for getting such an offer."
"Oh, yes, Benny," said Mrs. Fisher, "I think you had better accept Mr. Munroe's offer: such a chance does not often come twice in a lifetime; and, besides, you can still make this your home—that is, you will be able to come on a Saturday night and stay until Monday morning."
"Of course you will, Ben; I never thought of that," said Mr. Fisher. "I believe you have got into luck's way at last."
"But I have something more to tell you yet," said Benny, looking up with a smile.
"More in the way of good luck?" said Mr. Fisher.
"Well, I don't think the word luck will apply exactly, and yet what I have to tell you is to me very good news indeed."
"Well, lad, out with it: you are beating about the bush in tremendous style this morning, and no mistake."
"Oh, you are so impatient!" laughed Benny;" and I declare you look a great deal more curious than Mrs. Fisher does."
"Well, and what has that to do with it, you tantalizing young vagabond?"
​"Oh, a great deal"! said Benny, laughing; "you always profess that curiosity is a feminine weakness which you are a stranger to, and yet here you are as curious and impatient as a school girl!" and Benny laughed again.
"Well, Ben," laughed Mr. Fisher, "you have me this time, I'll admit. I am a bit curious, there's no denying it; so let us know what this piece of good news is."
"You have heard me speak," said Benny, "of the little girl who gave me my lucky shilling years ago?"
"The angel, you mean, Benny," said Mrs. Fisher, with a smile.
"Yes, that's who I mean," said Benny, blushing; "and I am not quite certain that she is not an angel yet."
"Well, and what of her?" said Mr. Fisher.
"I daresay you will think it a strange story, but it seems she is a niece of Mr. Munroe, and is staying at present at Brooklands. She was with Mr. Munroe the night the horse took fright, and so without knowing it I saved the life of the little girl who befriended me in the hour of my greatest need. A little girl no longer, however, for she has grown into a grand lady, and yet she seems as good and kind as ever."
"Well, I never!" said Mr. Fisher.
"And you recognized each other at once?" inquired his wife.
"No, that we didn't: she has grown out of recollection quite; and I suppose I have also."
"Well, I should rather think you have," said Mr. ​Fisher, with a broad grin; "you were a scarecrow when yea found your way here, and no mistake."
"Bat how did you find oat who she was?" said Mrs. Fisher.
"By the merest accident. But you would never guess, so I will tell you all about it." And he detailed the circumstances with which the reader is familiar.
"Well, if I ever!" " grunted Mr. Fisher.
"I'm so thankful, Benny," Mrs. Fisher remarked; "though the finding of the note can make no difference in our regard for you, for we never doubted your honesty for a moment."
"Thank you, mammy;" and he looked fondly up into the face of the good woman who for so many years had been as a mother to him.
After break&st Benny took a book and went out into the fields to read, but somehow to-day the letters got hopelessly mixed, and all the lines seemed to run into one. He did his best to fix his mind upon the subject of the book, but in vain: before he had read a dozen words the letters would fade away, and his thoughts would be somewhere else; and not only his thoughts, but his eyes kept wandering in the direction of Brooklands, and he found himself weaving all kinds of fancies. But in every pattern stood out the face of one he had never forgotten either in joy or pain. How grandly life was opening out before him again! The mountain heights that had been so long in darkness were once more bathed in light. The wilderness ​surely lay all behind him now. Ah! he had thought so once before, and had found out that he had only just commenced the journey across the dreary waste. Was it to be so again? Would this glorious morning close in darkness? Were hopes always delusive, and but the prelude of despair? He knew not; and yet he had no fear.
"The Lord," he said, "has always provided for me; I believe He always will."
Then a lark rose up from its lowly nest near him, and went singing upward through the sky, and as he listened to the full rich song that floated down to him, he seemed to hear in it the promise of an ever-faithful Friend—"And not one of them falls to the ground without the notice of His eye. … Are ye not much better than they?"
Towards the close of the afternoon Benny found himself in the lane that led down to the bridge that crossed the dell. He had no particular object in view, only he loved a quiet stroll through the country lanes in the quiet of the day, and he was useless on the farm till his arm got better. Below in the valley the river rippled pleasantly over its stony bed. To Benny's ears it sounded like a song, while his own fancy supplied the words—
"There is beauty all around
When there's love at home."
On turning the sharp corner of which we have already spoken, he came suddenly face to face with Eva Lawrence. Benny blushed scarlet; but Eva held out her hand in a simple childish manner, and said frankly—
​"I am pleased to see you—" (she was about to say "Benny," but checked herself), and added, "I hope your arm is still improving."
"Yes, thank you; it will soon be as well as ever."
"I am very glad; but how strange, isn't it, that I should have found you again?"
"Yes, very; but my life has been a strange one altogether."
"I suppose so. Do you remember telling me all about your life up to the time I first saw you on the landing-stage?"
"Yes, I remember. Do you remember giving me the shilling? Of course you do, for you mentioned it last night, but I wanted to tell you I have that shilling yet."
And Benny took the shilling out of his purse and handed it to her.
"How funny!" said she, taking the coin in her hand; "and is this the very same?"
"Yes; I have never had the heart to part with it, somehow, though I've wanted bread since you gave it to me. I call it my lucky shilling."
"How strange!" she said, more to herself than to him. "Then you have never forgotten us?"
"Forgotten you!" said Benny. "I should—" Then he checked himself, and added, after a pause, "No, I could not easily forget those who have befriended me."
By this time they had reached the bridge, and Eva sat down on the low parapet, and Benny took a seat ​opposite her. For awhile neither spoke, then Eva looked up and said—
"Would you mind telling me about yourself since that dreadful evening you had to leave pa's office?"
"If you care to hear it, though I fear it would be a very uninteresting story."
"I should like to hear it very much, for I have often wondered what could have become of you."
"I should not have kept silence all these years if I had thought any one cared to know what had become of me, but I supposed that I should best please those who had known me by keeping out of their sight."
"You were mistaken in that, I am sure; but never mind now, I am all curiosity to hear your story."
Benny could not resist this request, so he gave her an outline of what we have given in greater detail, making as little as possible, however, of his sufferings and privations, and dwelling at length, and with much feeling, on the kindness of his friends at the farm. Of his inner life he said nothing. His religious experience seemed too deep for words, too sacred for parade, and he had not framed an experience yet to use on public occasions, and he preferred also that his actions, rather than his words, should reveal his religious life.
Eva listened with great attention, and her quick imagination supplied what she felt he had left out. For awhile there was silence after Benny had told his story, save for the clear river that babbled down underneath the ​bridge, for both were thinking of the old days that had passed away for ever.
"Mr. Lawrence!" said Benny, in a tone of surprise.
At length Eva rose and held out her hand, and Benny took the little white fingers in his hard brown palm, and held them just for a moment.
"Good evening, Mr. Bates; I must go home now," she said.
​"Good evening. Miss Lawrence." And Benny watched her glide away among the shadows of the tall trees, in the direction of Brooklands, then turned and walked slowly home.
The next morning, as he was leaving the house, he almost stumbled over Mr. Lawrence, who on receipt of is daughter's letter had come over at once.
"Mr. Lawrence!" said Benny, in a tone of surprise
"'Then you are Benny, I suppose," he said, "as you recognize me, but I should never have known you."
"Yes, I. am Benny Bates, but you have not altered in the least; I should have known you anywhere."
"Well, Benny," said Mr. Lawrence with much feeling, taking his hand, "you cannot guess how thankful I am to see you alive and well." Then, glancing at Benny's arm, which he still carried in a sling, he added, "I beg pardon, I had forgotten your arm for a moment. I have to thank you also for saving my daughter's life."
"Do not mention it, Mr. Lawrence; I have received abundant thanks already."
"That may be, but I have much to say to you; can you spare time for a walk?"
"Yes, with pleasure; I am able to do nothing, as you see, and so time hangs rather heavy."
"Benny," said Mr. Lawrence, when they had gone some distance, "when I found that missing bank-note, I resolved that, if ever I saw you again or had the chance of speaking to you, I would ask your forgiveness for the wrong I did you."
​"Do not speak in that way, please," said Benny. "If you wronged me it was not intentionally, so that I have nothing to forgive; if I had, it should be freely granted."
"Thank you. And now, Benny, will you return to Liverpool again? Not to be office boy,*' he said, glancing at Benny's tall and well-knit frame; "I can find you something much better than that, and I should like to make you some reparation for all you have suffered through me."
" Thank you, Mr. Lawrence,*' said Benny firmly; "but I could not come simply to be tolerated because you fancied you had wronged me, and wished to make amends."
Mr. Lawrence looked up in surprise.
"You will understand what I mean, I think," said Benny. "I am too old and too big to be any longer an object of charity, but if you think I am able to fill the place you want filled, and am worth the salary that you are in the habit of paying, then I will consider your very kind proposal."
"I understand what you mean now," said Mr. Lawrence, "and I must say I admire your independence. I do not wish you to be an object of charity, for Mr. Munroe tells me that he finds, through inquiries that he has made, that you are a good penman, and quick at accounts, and if you will come and take the vacant stool in my office, I shall be sincerely obliged."
"Thank you; but do you know that Mr. Munroe has made me a similar offer?"
​"Yes."
"Do you require an answer now."
"To-morrow will do."
"Let it be to-morrow, then, please, and I will think about it in the meanwhile."
Benny had decided the question, however, before he slept that night. Manchester was a strange place, Liverpool was his home. He knew every street for half a mile around the Custom House as well as he knew the lanes around Scout Farm. He had spent his childhood there; his earliest, ay, and his happiest recollections were associated with it. It had been the scene of his greatest struggles and triumphs. It had witnessed his deepest joy and his bitterest sorrow, and though he had left it in disgrace and pain, he loved it still. There were a few people there he had pined to see. It was Joe Wrag's home; it was Nelly's resting-place; granny lived there, and his Sunday-school teacher, and Mr. Lawrence, and——But never mind, Liverpool was dear to him still, and in the very spot from which he had been driven in disgrace he would start afresh.
Next morning he walked across to Brooklands, and asked to see Mr. Munroe.
"I have come," he said, as soon as that gentleman appeared, "to tell you that I cannot accept your very kind offer."
"I guessed as much," said Mr. Monroe, with a smile, "when I heard Mr. Lawrence had been after you. So ​Liverpool has more attractions for you than Manchester, eh?"
"Yes, sir, Liverpool is my home, and Manchester would be strange to me; but I am very much obliged to you for your kindness."
"I do not blame you, Mr. Bates; on the contrary, I think you have acted wisely. Still, if at any time you should need a friend, you may reckon upon me."
"Thank you, sir," said Benny, with a shake in his voice, "thank you very much; and now, sir, could I see Mr. Lawrence?"
"Oh, yes, I will send him to you at once."
"Good morning, Benny," was Mr. Lawrence's greeting; "and have you settled the matter?"
"Yes, sir, I will accept your offer."
"That's right; I am glad to hear it. And now, when can you be ready?"
"In a week, sir."
"That will do; and in the meantime I will secure lodgings for you, and make things as straight and pleasant against your arrival as I possibly can."
"Thank you very much."
"Don't name it; but I will send yon word when I have secured a comfortable home for you, so that if you like to send on your luggage beforehand, you may do so."
The next few days Benny was busy getting his things together, previous to his departure from Scout Farm. Little Winnie followed him everywhere, and wanted him to ​promise her that he would not "do away." He did not think until he began to pack his things that the parting would cost him so much, nor did he know till then how closely the little prattling Winnie had twined herself around his heart.
"Benny does not 'ove his 'ittle Winnie, to do away," the child repeated over and over again, with choking voice and brimming eyes.
"Benny's pet," he would say, taking her up in his arms and kissing away her tears; "he loves you more than he can tell."
"Then Benny 'll stay with Winnie, won't he?"
"Do you want Benny to stay very badly, eh, pet?"
"Oh, yes, Winnie 'oves 'oo werry much; don't do away, Benny."
"I'll come back again at Christmas, Winnie, and then we'll have rare fun, and I'll bring you a new doll and heaps of oranges."
But the child would not be comforted.
At length the last morning of his stay arrived. It was a silent party that sat down to breakfast, for the hearts of all were too full for speech. Then the trap was brought round, and they all drove over to the station together. The train was in time this morning, for which Benny felt thankful. There was only time for a hurried good bye, an extra kiss for Winnie, and the train started for the busy town where Benny was to commence afresh the race of life.