Virtue

The story I am going to tell is an old story because it happened long ago, but it can also be called a new story for it was never told till now. It has lain in a person’s memory all these years and in that way safely kept though never written on paper. It was written on what Scripture calls “flesh tables” of a child’s heart, and every line can still be clearly read even though that child is now an old man. The human memory is a wonderful work of God. How many things can be written on it, one over the other; yet, the one does not blot out the other. Give thanks to God for His gift of memory and do not allow anything impure to be imprinted on its retentive page.

The little fellow I am going to tell you about was the youngest of a group of children who walked in company from several farms to the parish school. At one place the road passed over a stream by a stone bridge. The girls of the party usually walked over the bridge, but the boys, despising that luxury, usually crossed the stream below the bridge by stepping on the dry heads of boulders lying scattered in the bed of the little river. One morning after heavy rain the stream was swollen and discolored; it frothed along as if it were angry with everything that hindered its progress. That day only the tips of the largest stones were visible, but the boys were not daunted by the difficulty or dangers. They might have crossed the bridge with dry feet and ease, but rather, they longed for the adventure.

So down they went in a troop to try the stepping stones. At close quarters the sight was rather daunting, and some would have liked to retrace their steps, but one or two of the bolder spirits dashed safely over and tossed their caps for glee on the other side. The rest were then afraid. Afraid of what? Of falling into the stream? No, afraid of being laughed at for being cowards should they hesitate. So, eventually they all got across in safety except for our little fellow. He was small but no coward, except that he dreaded being taken for one. One or two of the older boys, realizing that Willie’s short legs could not be expected to cover the big gaps between the stones, now advised him to take to the bridge. The sense of safety drew Willie to the bridge, but the desire for glory dragged him to the danger. After a moment of suspense, he made a dash at the passage, but halfway over he slipped on a wet stone and disappeared into the rushing waters with a splash. In a moment he had risen to his feet and quickly waded ashore, soaked completely.

Now a word of advice to boys. Do not jeer at little ones on account of weaknesses belonging to their small stature and tender age. They are not to blame for these things. On the other hand, little fellows are often very troublesome to their older companions by their peevishness, or pride, or tormenting behavior. If that kind will foolishly pretend that they can do whatever the big boys do, they must suffer the consequences. When the young ones are gentle, unassuming, and obedient, generally they will draw from stronger hearts and hands an astonishing measure of kindly protection. However, let the younger member of the party be warned that if he be cheeky and make himself equal to his betters, they will leave him to his fate.

To resume—a council was held on the bank in which the sisters who had come over by way of the bridge also joined. It was unanimously resolved to send the dripping urchin home, for everyone knew that it would be wrong for him to go to school in wet clothes. They parted, the larger company onwards to school, and Willie homeward alone, this time by way of the bridge. The sun was bright and the wind strong, and as Willie at length drew near his home, he found to his horror that his clothes were nearly dry. Why should he count this a calamity though? Willie knew that his venture in the stream was a fault, but he reckoned correctly that the sympathy of his father, produced by his misfortune, would soften, if not completely blot out, the blame for his fault. As long, therefore, as he was wet, he trudged homeward hopefully, but when he discovered that he was dry, his hope faltered. He had lost the claim for sympathy, and the fault remained with nothing to shade or shield it. He was now afraid to go home lest, for lack of evidence, his story should be disbelieved. The older brothers and sisters could give ample testimony, but they would not return till evening, and the day seemed dreadful to the imagination of the child.

How was he to get out of his trouble? He was a resourceful boy, and that day he put his wits to the stretch. I ought to say here that he had no mother. His father was kind and just, but he was big and he was a man. His eldest sister, full-grown and in charge of the house, was a woman, but she was not a mother. I think if his mother had been alive and waiting in the house to receive him, he would have ventured all. As it was, what could he do but rely on his wits? His road lay by a quiet river, a different sort of water from the torrent which had earlier drenched him. Willie looked now at his clothes, alas, dreadfully dry, and now at the murmuring, friendly river. His mind was soon made up. Stepping in he waded to the middle, performed a sort of curtsey and so dipped himself up to the neck. He then climbed the bank, shook himself, and walked briskly home with a cool skin and a courageous heart. He had regained the lost evidence of his original plunge; he was wet. He was received with the tenderest affection, stripped in haste lest he should catch cold, and dressed in warm clothing. When the other children came home in the evening, they corroborated his story and all went well. Time passed—father, sister, elder brother, in succession were called away from this world and never knew of the little boy’s stratagem.

What do you think of this in its moral aspect? Here is a case where the evil and the good are curiously mixed. The dip in the river was very different from a forgery made to prove a lie. It was to support a truth, yet it was a kind of forgery. It was a device to make truth appear true. The best rule, however, is to leave truth to support itself. In the long run it will prevail, but this poor little fellow was unable to take the “long-run” into account. To lie under suspicion for a whole day, although it was certain that he would be justified in the evening, was too much for him, and he resorted to a trick.

Something, perhaps, might plausibly be said in defense of the trick. One might allege that the fall was a fact which could be proved by many witnesses. For a time, they were at a distance, but to begin with, Willie had a kind of documentary evidence on his person sufficient to prove the truth of his claim, namely, his wet clothes. Then, unfortunately, sun and wind rubbed out his evidence, and Willie merely rubbed it in again.

Whatever force there may be in this reasoning it would have been a grander thing to have trusted in truth and to have despised all underhand dealings in support of it. Therefore, leaving our readers to settle for themselves the precise amount of our hero’s guilt in this matter, we would suggest something for older people who may read this. Be careful not to tempt children to engage in such stratagems. When they show a disposition to be true, encourage that disposition by trusting them. To expect truth is at least one method of getting it from children. “The fear of man bringeth a snare,” and into that snare poor Willie fell.

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things” (Philippians 4:8).

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