Iligiit i Eigti CHAPTER I. AN OLD HOUSE; AND WHO LIVED IN IT. In the old-fashioned market-place of an old-fashioned town, there was, about thirty years ago, a strange looking old-fashioned house, which has since been pulled down, to make room for two prim new-fashioned houses, which have been built in its stead. It is of no use to argue about old and new fashions. 4 Almost every body in that town points to the new houses, and tells you how much the look of the market-place is im- proved by them, and what a very ugly old edifice stood there before they were built. But for my part, I cannot help wishing that the old house stood there still. It was an old friend, and we do not like to part with old friends, however much we may be pleased with making new ones. However ugly that old house might appear outside, it was very convenient within. It had been a grand one, too. When it was first built, which was live hun- dred years ago, or more, it was thought one of the best and handsomest houses in the 6 IUGHT IS EIGHT town, and became the residence of a rich and powerful nobleman. Fine doings there were in that mansion then. It is said that one king, at least, had slept a whole night in it ; and there was a room which had the name of the king's bed-chamber, until the very day that the masons came and pulled down the walls with their pickaxes. But long before this event happened, great changes had taken place. The house was no longer the residence of a nobleman, but of plain tradespeople. The lower part of it had been turned into a large shop ; some of the back buildings became ware- houses for huge hogsheads of sugar, butter firkins, piles of cheeses, and sides of bacon, while the other parts of the house, stripped of almost all the fine gilding and carving which had once adorned it, had been the home of two or three generations of shop- keepers, who knew little, and cured perhaps less, about the grand folks who hud gone before them. These grand folks, however, had left traces not so easily removed as fine carv- ing and gilding. At the back of the old house, and beyond a spacious paved yard or court, was a thick hedge of yew, which separated this court from a large and really beautiful garden, such a garden as you would scarcely hope to find belonging to a town house. The quantity of ground it covered was very great, for it spread be- hind half the other houses in the market- RIGHT IS 11IGHT. 7 place, while it was so shut in by thick hedges, high walls, and shrubberies, that, once in the garden, you would hardly fancy yourself to be near a busy town. I should take up many pages, were I to try to describe all the beauties of the garden, so I will not try ; only I must say, that there was a long serpentine walk in it, shut in between two hedges of yew ; that there was also a wilderness ; or laby- rinth, or maze ; (it went by all these names,) out of which it was difficult to find the way, when you were once fairly in ; and that there was a grotto, built of great rough stones, so chilly cold in summer, that in the middle of a hot day, you shivered to think of entering it, and yet would be almost sure to go in, if you happened to be near, its very coolness was so inviting. I shall say nothing of grass-plots, broad walks, flower-beds, yew-trees cut into strange shapes, to look like animals ; (and yet, how unlike !) of fruit-trees, and grape- vines. Neither shall I speak of the old gardener, who had laboured on that piece of ground for fifty years and more, and who would not believe there was a finer garden in England, to say nothing of all the world beside. Eut I have to speak of Edward Mason and his parents, and dear, dear Sarah, his blind sister, and Fanny, his dear sister also, who was not blind, but had a pair of as bright and dark eyes as are often seen — all RIGHT IS EIGHT. of whom lived about thirty years ago, in the old house just described. You might search through many large towns, and many pleasant villages, before you could find a happier family than this. If ever anything did disturb their comfort, and cause them for a little while to feel sad, it was poor Sarah's blindness. But she had been blind from her birth, and it seemed natural to her ; so that, in time, all the dif- ference it made, was that she was most tenderly loved by all about her. And, in- deed, she deserved their aiFection ; for it seemed to be the great business of her life to make every living thing around her happy. As to her affliction, no person in the house thought so little about it as she herself did. Having never known the blessing of sight, she knew nothing about the loss of it : nor would a stranger have guessed that the active cheerful girl who ran so quickly from room to room in the large old house — who knew every nook and corner in the rare old garden— whom not even the labyrinth could puzzle — whose needlework was so quickly wrought and so delicately finished — who was so clever at all kinds of games whith one is apt to sup- pose need the use of good sharp eyes to suc- ceed in : — I say, a stranger who witnessed all these and many other of Sarah's actions, would have found it hard to believe that to her ail the world was as dark in the brightest day as in the blackest night. RIGHT- IS HKJHT. 9 I speak of Sarah, first, because she was the oldest of Mr. Mason's children. At the time I am thinking of, she had been in the world about twelve years. Edward came next, lie was a frank, hearty, affectionate boy, not quite eight years old. Fanny was the youngest. Her age might be between four and five years. She was generally full of mirth and gladness ; — easily pleased, but, alas ! too easily offended. However,, she bore no malice in her childish anger. One moment sue might be seen with a flashed face *nd he^rd loudly declaiming against some fancied wrong ; and the next moment she wouid throw her arms round the neck of the offender, and beg to be for- given for being angry. These little fits of pettishness did not often occur, for her failing was known, and no one around her wished to provoke it ; while she herself, young as she was, was convinced that this was her failing ; and to do her justice, I be- lieve she got at length to strive against it. Her little qu arrels — if quarrels they may be called — were oftener with her brother Edward than with any one else. He certainly loved her too well ever to try to tease her ; though sometimes he was thoughtless. But we will not dwell any longer upon this subject. I never knew a pleasanter man than Mr. Mason, the father of these children ; nor a more kind and judicious mother than their mother, Mrs. Mason. Not that they were 10 RIGHT IS IUG1LT. perfect ; nor that there are not great num- bers of fathers and mothers as near as pos- sible like these old friends of mine. But there is no need to draw comparisons, nor to be too particular in finding out failings in any one. Ail I shall add here is that neither Sarah, Edward, nor Fanny, ever desired to see any improvement in their parents, and I dare say they were very good judges. As near as I can guess, when I first knew Mr. Mason, he was about thirty-five years old. His wife, perhaps, was a year or two younger. How I became acquainted with them, does not signify. All that need be told is, that I have proper authority for all I have written, or am about to write. From what has already been said about warehouses stocked with sugar, butter, cheese, and bacon, my readers will fairly have guessed that Mr. Mason's business was that of buying and selling such kind of goods. Thirty years ago, I believe he was looked upon as one of the most pros- perous tradesmen, and his shop as the best- furnished and busiest shop, in the town. It was a pleasure to pass by, and see live or six young men or lads always bustling about, serving customers, packing up goods, or, in some way or other with their hands full of work. It was pleasant also to see the market- carts as they stopped, two or three at a time, at the wide shop doors, waiting for their loads of groceries ; RIGHT IS KIGHT. 11 or to notice the heavy wagons which came into this town once a week from London, leaving at that same spot great packages of goods, in the shape of hogsheads, chests or bales. No fear of starvation, one might suppose, with such a store-house to go to. In the midst of all the bustle and hurry, and care too, that this flourishing business brought upon Mr. Mason, he seemed always at ease with himself and all around him. Not that he was an easy, — that is, an idle, careless man. lie was very far indeed from this. But he never suffered his mind to be overburdened with care and anxiety, as is unhappily the case with some persons. No doubt he had some troubles in his busi- ness ; but he did not suffer them to break his rest or his peace, nor yet to vex his temper. We may be sure that all about him were the happier for this contented — yes, that was it. — this contented disposition. His shopmen and porters and apprentices, all liked him as a master ; and you will believe that his wife and children did not love him any the less for his kind, cheerful, affectionate manners. Although a busy and industrious trades- man, Mr. Mason found time to enjoy him- self with his family. He was as fond of his garden as they were, and in fine wea- ther he contrived every day to spend an hour in it, at play with his children. Then, once,' or sometimes twice a week, he had to take journeys into the country on m 1UGIIT IS itlCUT. business, in Me pony-chaise ; and it was a sad disappointment if any thing happened to prevent at least one of them from accom- panying him, although, when the chaise was not thus engaged, their mother fre- quently drove them out in it, after their day's lessons were over. And, talking about lessons reminds me of one great omission I have made. Both Mr. and Mm Mason had received a good education, and they were desirous that their children, too, should be well taught. And who so fit to teach as a kind and gentle mother ? — that is, if she have time to teach, which many mothers have not. In this case, at least, it seemed an excel- lent plan ; and a pleasant little study had been fitted up, in which a few — not a great many — hours were passed every day very happily and usefully for both mother and children. Poor blind Sarah ! she could not indeed learn to read ; but, as I have already said, she learned to employ her hands, although her eyes were shut up in darkness. And it was surprising how quickly and readily she received instruction. Neither did she grow up in ignorance of what is contained in books ; for besides what she heard from her mother — and that was not a little — it would have been thought a dull evening in which her father did not take a book and sit for an hour by her side, pouring instruc- tion into her active and intelligent mind. ItlGHT 13 R1G1IT. 13 You may think it strange, but so it was, that Sarah, though she could not read a book, could write as nicely, and spell as correctly, as most children of her age who have the blessing of sight. But of all her accomplishments, music was that in which she most delighted. Early in life, her kind and anxious parents had discovered how quick and true her sense of hearing was, and how much she was pleased with musi- cal sounds. They were very thankful for this ; and great pains had been taken to instruct her. It was a treat — I am still writing of thirty years ago, when Sarah was twelve years of age — it was a treat to see her seated by the piano ; her pretty fingers dancing merrily over the keys — * her fine expressive face, shaded with glossy dark hair, turned a little, a very little, on one side, as though more clearly to catch the sound of every note — and to hear her soft, musical voice making melody more melo- dious. One thing more about dear blind Sarah shall finish this chapter. It was she who, more successfully than any one, could calm down in a moment her sister's little impetuous starts of temper ; and no one like Sarah could guide and govern her open-hearted and merry, but rather vola- tile brother. She was, indeed, full of love, and she seemed to have the power of using it for the advantage of ail who came near her. 14 III OUT IS RIGHT. CHAPTER II. LOSSES AND CROSSES. [x the same town in which our friends the Masons lived, was a handsome building which every body knew as the Bank. There was no want of activity within the walls of the Bank, any more than in Mr. Mason's shop, although it was of a diffe- rent kind. The business at the Bank was that of taking care of the money of those who had any to be taken care of, and who chose to place it there for security or for gain. This, at least, was one part of the Bank business. There were other parts of it which it is not needful to mention here. It was quite believed in the town, and the country for miles round, that the Bankers were very rich men. In conse- quence of this, great confidence was placed in them, and a very great deal of money was given into their keeping. What then was the surprise and terror of the whole neighbourhood when, one day, not quite thirty years ago, the Bank shutters were kept closed, the doors fast shut, and it was told from one to another, until the news spread far and wide, that these Bankers iad failed ! RIGHT IS RIGHT. 15 Great were the lamentations when it was found that this heavy news was true. And well they might be great, for hun- dreds of people suffered, not only at the time, but for the whole of their lives after- wards, in consequence of this very unex- pected and sudden event. Some lost all, or nearly all the savings of years of labour and industry ; and others, though they did not lose the whole of their property, lost so much of it, that after a few months or years of painful struggling, they sunk into poverty. I need not attempt to explain how it was, but it certainly did happen that just at the time of this disaster, Mr. Mason had a large sum of money in the Bank. I believe it amounted to several hundred pounds, and that a great part was to have been paid, in a few days, to the wholesale traders in London, of whom Mr. Mason bought his goods. You may suppose that Mr. Mason, al- though at that time not a poor man, could very ill afford to lose so much money. He did not, however, like some of the losers, fall into a great rage with the Bankers — accusing them of roguery and every kind of wickedness that could be thought of. Neither did he give way to profitless grief. He first, calmly and with courage, looked his misfortune in the face, to see how really great it was, and then he set himself industriously to remedy it. 10 RIGHT IS KIGIIT. c A sad piece of business this ! ' said a neighbour — a kind of busy-body — who found his way into Mr. Mason's little counting-house a day or two after the failure of the Bank : — ' A sad piece of busi- ness this ! • < You mean about the Bank, Mr. Dobbs. Yes, it is. I fear it will bring a great deal of distress into our town.' 6 Ah, yes ; they say you had a good round sum there : but. to look at your face, I cannot see how that can be. It must be one of the monstrous stories that have got about. 5 ' It is quite true, Mr. Dobbs, I had money in the Bank, which I dare say I shall never see again ' c Dear me ! do you really mean it ? Well now, I never saw any one take a loss so lightly to heart.' 4 Oh ! ' replied Mr. Mason, with a smile ; 6 if crying would do any good, perhaps I might cry ; but you know the old ditty, — * For every evil under the sun, There is a remedy, or there is none. If there be one, seek it and find it, If there be none, — then never mind it.' 1 Well, well, Mr. Mason,' said Dobbs, as he shuffled away, c I wish every body was as contented as you are ; but, for my part ' What more he said was never exactly known, and it does not in the least signify. But take it as calmly as he would ; Mr. EIGHT IS RIGHT. 17 Mason well knew that the consequences to him were likely to be serious : he there- fore; without loss of time, set about finding out the remedy. And now Sarah, Edward, and Fanny, all at once found that their father spent less time with them than he had been used to do. On the finest spring and summer days, when their school work was done, and they were ready for a game in the garden, they were told that 6 papa' was too busy to take any part in it. Sometimes they scarcely saw him from morning until evening. When they did see him, he was as cheerful and kind $g ever ; still it was quite plain that he worked harder in business than had been necessary but a short time before. Yet whatever else he did, or left undone, he never forgot dear blind Sarah, and the hour's pleasant reading and conversation with her before supper. And after a few weeks, Edward was allowed to stay up to have a share of this pleasure, to make up for the loss of his father's society through the day. Strive as he would, Mr. Mason, after two years' hard and patient struggling, found that he could no longer continue his busi- ness with any hope of overcoming his dif- ficulties. It was not altogether the loss of nis money in the bank, that had borne him down ; though the bank failure was the principal cause of all that followed. That event had led to the ruin of so many persons. IUGIIT IS 1UUJ1T. in business, and out of business, who owed money to Mr. Mason, that his first loss was soon doubled. Then, notwithstanding all his efforts, business fell off : . In short, when Sarah — poor blind Sarah — was about fourteen years old, and Edward : but they shall speak for themselves in next chapter. RIGHT IS RIGHT. 19 CHAPTER lit children's thoughts are not alway? foolish thoughts. • Oh, Sarah, Sarah, I shall never he happy again. To think that we must leave this dear old house and garden, where ' Here Edward began to sob so loudly that his words were swallowed up in grief. At this particular time, the brother and sister were seated on a rustic seat in the garden, under a large wide-spreading apple- tree. It was a fine spring afternoon. The fruit-trees around were all in full blossom : the lilacs were just putting forth their large bunches of florets. The air was quite scented with the perfume of numberless flowers, and filled with the hum of bees. How and then, a beautiful butterfly darted into sight; and as speedily disappeared. Little Fanny was at pjay on the grass with a favourite kitten, at a little distance from Sarah and Edward, but within the sight of one and the call of both. But neither the music of the bees, the sceht of the flowers, nor the sight of any living thing, seemed to have any effect upon poor Edward, except that of making him more unhappy. If it had been a cold. ft*. RIGHT IS RIGHT. dreary day, perhaps he w r ould not so much nave minded the sad intelligence which at that very hour and place had come upon him unawares. 'Never be happy again V said Sarah, in a soft sympathizing tone, replying to her brother. 6 Never again ! Oh yes, dear Edward, you will, if you are good, and hear this trial manfully. Look at papa and mama 5 they have had more trouble to beai- for a long time past, than we can tell ; see how they have borne it. They have not been miserable, have they V - To think/ said Edward, still sobbing, and paying but little attention to his sister : — ■ 6 to think of going away for ever from our own home, and of living in London — in some nasty, dirty, disagreeable place, I dare say, shut in with houses, houses, nothing but houses, on all sides ; never seeing a bit of green grass or a beautiful flower grow- ing where it ought to grow, — nothing but stones and bricks, and dust and dirt. But it is of no use to talk to you about seeing : and it is very well for you to say you will try and be as happy in London as here. It will be all the same to you/ 'Dear Edward/ replied Sarah, feeling first for his hand, omd kissing it, before she spoke — ' dear Edward, I am sure you do &oi mean anything unkind ; and if I am ^ieved, it is that you feel the sorrow so $ruch — so very much. It is indeed of no jese to talk to me about seeing 5 for I do HIGHT IS RIGHT. 2* not understand what it means. And yet I love to hear you speak of fine colours and beautiful sights, because they are things that please you, while all the difference I can find between one flower and another, is in the feel and the scent. But you are wrong, indeed you are, to say that it will be all the same to me whether we live fibde or in London. As if I did not know every step in this pleasant garden, and every corner in the dear old house in whidi we were born ; and as if I do not feel that iaq very air I shall breathe, will be strange, and perhaps painful, to me at first !■ i My dear patient sister, forgive mm? ex- claimed Edward, putting his arms around her, c how cruel it was of me to speak so co you ! I did not know what I was saying just then. Indeed I did not mean it : and I will try to be happy, even in London.' i We will both be happy, Edward ; aiid that will help to make home happy, wher- ever it is. But what could put it into vour wise little head that we shall be sure ,o live in a nasty, dirty, disagreeable, part uf London 'I As if papa would, or could, invi ^,at such % place for us. You and 1 do know much about London, dear brotner ; and perhaps, after ail, it is not such a ter- rible place.' c But still,' said Edward, mournfully, ft is very, very dreadful, that papa should lose all his money, as he has done ' ISfot dreadful, dear Edward. If you < 22 EIGHT IS RIGHT. 1, or papa, or mama, or dear little Fanny, had been burned to death, or starved to death — that would have been dreadful : but to lose money — no, no, Edward; — and the blind girl shook her head, as much as to say, 5 There, that matter is settled between us/ at the same time fondly stroking Edward's cheek. "'Well, not dreadful, Sarah — not dreadful perhaps ; but — but sad, sorrowful, mourn- ful, then ; £ May be, dear brother, — but perhaps, after all, it will not be so sadly sad : but you were going to say something else, Edward..' ' And that somebody else should come in our place, to enjoy all our pleasant things, and gain money too, while papa, who has worked at business ever since he was a man, has lost all he ever gained, and must be another person's servant all the rest of his life. Is it not enough to make us all sad V c It might be, dear Edward, if there were not something else to make us all happy again,' replied the blind sister. ( But as there arc more things than one to do this, I do not see why we should be so very, very mournful.' 6 What things V asked Edward, still in a peevish sort of tone, — though talking w T ith Sarah had relieved his mind a little. ' What things, dear Edward ? Why, first, you know, that none of these things happen IUGIIT IS RIGHT. by chance, any more than it happened by chance that you are able to see, as you say, all the beautiful things around you, while I was born blind, and cannot understand what you mean when you talk of seeing. You know that all our trials are meant to do us good, and make us holy and happy. Then another thing that should make us happy, is that we have so many good things left us. We are all healthy — papa and all — and he says that constant employment, and the regular walk to the counting-house every morning, and home again at night, will help to preserve his health. Then, after all, we shall not be so poor, — so very poor. Papa says he shall have a little pro- perty left when his business is quite settled ; and the situation he has taken is a very good one.' 4 Is it indeed Sarah, and does dear papa really say so ? Oh, I am so glad,' exclaimed Edward, with animation, and returning cheerfulness. i Well, after all, perhaps, it will not be such a dreary place to live in — that great, big, ugly London. 7 c Not if we do not make it so, dear brother. And then, perhaps, it may be a good thing for you, you know, to see more of business, when you are old enough I mean. I have been thinking what pleasant, happy evenings we shall have, in winter time especially — and why not in summer too 1 — after papa and you come home from the city, as the busy middle part of London is called, I believe ; — how full we shall all RIGHT IS 1UGIIT be of news, and what grand things you will have to tell : — but dear Edward, your hand trembles ; you do not like my plans.' 1 Dear, dear, Sarah/ paid Edward, once more fondly caressing her, \ indeed I was not thinking of myself then, but of you. I was thinking that if some of the great clever doctors in London could see you 5 'Do not think any more of it then, Edward. You know that papa has con- sulted many, many more than I can re- member. It has cost him much money ; but it was of no use, and never will be. Dear Edward, I shall never see ; and in- deed, I have not a wish about it. I shall see, though ; I was wrong to say never. Yes, dear brother, I shall see some day : but never in this world. But this is a digression, as papa would say, and there is another thing, Edward, that ought to make us happy. Only think how honour- ably papa has acted ! lie might have kepc on business longer ? 6 Then, I am sure I wish he had,' — Ed- ward's discontent was not quite removed — ' I heartily wish he had/ 6 Yes, but dear brother, if he had, he would have lost not only his own money, but that of others ; and I am sure you could not wish that. But now, he is able to pay all his debts. Do you not under- stand this % i w r ill tell you what Mr. EH Is said, — you know I was in the parlour while he and papa and mama w T ere talking to- gether about these things. He said, 'Weil, KIGIIT IS KIGHT. 25 Mr. Mason, not many tradesmen would have dealt so fairly by us, and I promise you the best situation our house can afford. Right is right ; and if you have lost money, you have gained honour — yes, and friends too." < Well, that is something, after all/ re- plied Edward, ' and I will try to be happy, even in London; but £ right is right' — £ right is right'- — to be sure it is — what an odd expression ! Just like saying, 5 brown is brown/ or, < trees are trees.' ' £ It means more than that, 1 think, Ed- ward. Mr. Ellis meant that what seems right to us in our conscience, is right to he done, though it may go against our wishes ; and that what is right in theory, is right in practice, and that to do the opposite thing would be wrong.' 6 Theory and practice — oh yes, I remem- ber that story of Jane Taylor's, that you liked so much when papa read it — about Frank and Harry. Well, right is right, then. I like it. It shall be my motto. Thank you, dear Sarah, for helping me out of my discontent. Yes, right is right ; and papa is right, and mama, and you are right too ; and I was wrong. And tiiere is Fanny, tired of the kitten, and wondering what keeps us so long from her, — poor Farm)', what will she say to the change, I should like to know ! Well, let us have one more good game at least in the dear old garden. Now Fanny, dear little good Fanny— who will get first to the grottc V 23 EIGHT IS KIGHT. CHAPTER IV. A. iN r EW nOME. GooD-byc to the country, the old house, and the pleasant garden ; our friends are now in London, big, ugly London, as Edward would have it ; and thither we must follow them. As Sarah had reminded her brother, Edward might have trusted his father to imd a home that should be neither dirty nor disagreeable. It is true, Mr. Mason could not obtain for his family in London, all the advantages they had enjoyed in the country ; but in choosing a house, he had consulted the tastes of his children, much more than his own convenience. It is very well known, that though London is, in some parts of it, crowded enough, and shut in, as Edward had said, with ( houses, houses, nothing but houses there are other parts more open and agree- able, and that there are, also, a number of pleasant villages, as they are called, though by no means like country villages, close joined on one side to the great city, but on the other, having green fields, and quiet rural walks. In one of these villages, about three miles from London-bridge, did Mr. Mason RIGHT IS RIGHT. 27 establish his family, and even Edward was constrained to say, that after all, the change was not so very terrible as he had expected it to be. The house in which they were hence- forward to live, was one of a row, built all after the same fashion ; rather small, and very prim. It had a little flower-garden in front, which was separated from the road, or street, by green palings ; and it had a narrow strip of ground behind, in which Edward discovered two apple-trees, one pear-tree, a glorious laburnum, and a really magnificent grape-vine, to say no- thing of a whole army of currant and goose- berry-trees, trained and nailed to the low brick, wall. There was a narrow border all round, trimly edged with box, then a neat gravel-path, then the grand bed in the middle, which contained the trees I have mentioned, and left room besides for such vegetables as the family might choose to cultivate. Altogether it was a garden, which though bearing no comparison with 6 our own dear old garden at home,' was still far better than none at all. The prospect from the windows — espe- cially of the upper windows at the back of the house, was not a bad one. When the wind was the right way, and did not blow the smoke of London in that direction, Edward and Fanny could see the green fields and hedges of Surrey — and very plea- sant ones they are. And though alas! dear 28 1UGUT IS KIGIIT. Sarah could not see them, she was pleased to hear them described to her, and antici- pated many a happy ramble in them with her brother and sister. It was a new life for them all ; and the very novelty of it had its charms for the young folks. Fanny especially, was de- lighted with everything she saw ; and Edward had the good sense to look at the bright side of things. As to Sarah, she Was the same cheerful, happy girl. You would not have guessed that her heart had room for a single regret for herself ; and you would have been astonished to see how soon she had learned her way all over the house, from the underground kitchen, to the small attic which was to be Edward's bed-room ; and how quickly she could run, after once or twice leading, round and round the gravel-walk in the garden, with- out making a false step in her progress. The change to the parents was very great, especially to Mr. Mason ; but what- ever they felt, they were not, in appear- ance, at all less happy than they had been in past years. ' Right is right/ Mr. Mason ^aid ; £ we are where it is our duty to be, and why should we fret about what can- not be helped '? All is for the best ; let us do what we ought, and peace will not leave us. 5 So, from the first day in which he entered on his situation as counting-house ch'rk, he cheerfully put up with all its inconvc- right is kight. 20 niences — rising in -winter before it w r as light, and walking through rain, snow, or wind, four long miles into the city, and back again at night — sometimes after his children were in bed, without a grumbling word ; but looking forward with pleasure to long summer days, when the walk would be more agreeable, and when, after his return, he should be able to take a pleasant evening stroll with his family in the neigh- bouring country ; or enjoy an hour's con- versation with them at home. Mrs. Mason, meantime, show T ed the same happy temper. She did not repine at the long* daily absence of her husband, but actively employed herself in her duties. She taught her children as before, dispens- ing at the same time with the help of a regular servant, in order that the expenses of the family might be kept within bounds. In all these household matters, Sarah, (blind though she was,) was more helpful than some daughters who have the full use of their eyes, but want the will to be use- ful ; and even Fanny, young as she was, soon became 4 a clever, "handy little maid/ And thus, nearly two years passed quickly away, without much variation. A trial now foil upon Mr. Mason and his children, which they felt more than all they had before passed through : this was nothing less than the dangerous illness of Mrs. Mason. For several weeks, after the first attack her life was almost despaired 30 RIGHT IS 1U.OHT. of. Then her affectionate husband felt the painful inconvenience of being daily called away by his duty, from a home which was dearer to him than ever. But ' right is right ; ? and except for two or three days, when the greatest danger was feared, and when he obtained the willing permission of his employers to be absent from the counting-house, Mr. Mason did not shrink from his post. On several evenings, indeed, he hurried home, yet dreading to enter it, lest he should find it desolated by death. This sad trial, however, was spared him. Meanwhile it had been necessary to make some alterations in the arrangements of the home. A suitable nurse, or house- keeper, was obtained, to wait on Mrs. Mason, and attend to the young people ; and Edward, now more than twelve years old, was placed at a public grammar-school, a mile or two distant, as a day-boarder. After a long illness, Mrs. Mason slowly recovered ; but so much weakness re- mained, that it was thought needful for her to pass several weeks, if not months, in the country, and it was arranged that Fanny should accompany her. It was a sorrowful parting for them all ; but still, as Mr. Mason said — (the words had never been forgotten since Mr. Ellis first used them, and were often repeated by all of them, especially by Sarah and her father) — £ Right is right : it is right for you to go, dear ; and it is right for us to lilOIIT IS KIGUT. 31 stay behind. Let us all do what is right, and what is good for us will follow/ So, places were taken for Fanny and her mother in the coach which, twenty-five years ago, travelled daily from Ludgate Hill, in London, to a certain town in Sus- sex. And here my readers may as well say ' good-bye 7 to them ; for their stay in the country was so much longer than was at first thought of, that I fear we shall not, in this little book at least, meet with them again. 32 HI GUT IS RIGHT. CHAPTER V. A TllIAL OF PRINCIPLE. The departure of Mrs. Mason and Fanny made a sad blank at home ; but after a little while, those who were left behind were cheered with good news about dear mama's health, and felt themselves able to settle down cheerfully to their regular duties. Dear blind Sarah found plenty of employment for her time at home, in num- berless little works which practice had made easy and pleasant to her. There was the housekeeper to take care of the house, and be society to Sarah through the day ; and the anticipation of Edward's return from school at five o'clock, and that of her father from his office at seven or eight, kept up her spirits wonderfully through the day. It was fine summer weather then, and sel- dom an evening passed without a pleasant ramble after the late tea ; or if this were out of the question, there were hundreds of things to talk about, letters to write to mama and Fanny, lessons for Edward to look over for the next da} r , and music — dear Sarah's delicious music — to listen to. Edward, especially, was generally full of life and spirits : but now and then there was something in his way of speaking — his tone of voice — and the subjects he chose RIGMT IS IIIGEIT. to talk al>out 3 wM#b did not quite satisfy his sister. She could not certainly say that it wm so, and she would scarcely suffer herself to think it, hut she began to fear that the companions he was with through the day, and the lessons he learned from them, were not of the best kind. In pro- portion as he became more youthful, and rapidly advanced— as was really the case- in knowledge of school learning, he seemed also, so dear Sarah feared, to have made progress in some of that knowledge which Solomon says c causeth to err.' He bi ought home, indeed, many tokens of his master's approbation ; but there were other tokens which made Sarah, who had more oppor- tunity for this observation than thcii father had, almost tremble for his safety. One half-holiday, when Edward wr more than usually elated with his suc< ess at school, he proposed to Sarah to take a long walk with nim, quite away from the houses, and sb*. willingly consented. In the course of their ramble they came to a pleasant lane, shaded with a thick hedge on either side. All at once Edward started forward, saying— 6 Stand still one moment, Sarah — there m a beautiful stick in the hedge that I must have. Wait till I have cut it/ 6 Have you a knife to cut it with, Ed- ward V Sarah asked. 6 1 thought you had lost yours.' c Yes, so I did lose my old one,' said Edward, from the hedge into which he had 34 right is Eiam thrust himself ; ' but stop until I get back to you, and you shall feel my new one J A minute afterwards, Edward was by his sister's side, and the knife in her hand, 6 What do you think of it V he asked. c It seems a very good one/ replied the blind sister ; c where did you get it ? ' : I bought it only yesterday — and a good bargain too/ he added, laughingly. 6 How was that 1 ' Sarah inquired. Was it Edward's conscience that struck him just at that moment, and caused him to falter and blush, and pretend not to have noticed the question ? We shall see. His dear Sarah seemed to know that something was amiss. She slipped her hand ( at of her glove, and passed it very gently over Edward- S face. The hand and the fa ie scarcely touched ; but the hand felt the blush. RIGHT IS RIGHT. 35 Edward turned pettishly away. ' You bought the knife a bargain, you were saying V Sarah quietly remarked. ' Oh, never mind the knife and the bar- gain/ said Edward ; 1 it does not signify a pin.' i You did not use to be mysterious with your dear blind sister/ Sarah replied, in a rather mournful tone. Edward hesitated one moment longer ; it was but a moment : — £ And I will not now, dear Sarah. I do not know how it is, but you always get the better of me. But now I am with you, I seem as if I could not make out a good story about the knife and the bargain, after all.' ' Do not try to make out a good story, dear Edward ; and tell me nothing, if you had rather not.' ' Yes, I will, Sarah ; after all, it was only fair play,— at least, Tom Brown, said so, and he was with me. 7 ' I do not know Tom Brown/ said Sarah, ' but I have heard more of him from you than I think is good. 1 'Tom Brown's father is a gentleman/ interposed Edward. ' Very likely, Edward ; but never mind Tom Brown now. If I were you, however, I would call him Thomas. It does not seem respectful nor creditable to use nick- names. You remember what Cowper say3 about — KIGHT IS BIGHT. ' The man avIio calls you Tom or Jack', And proves by thumps upon your back , How he esteems your merit. Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much a friend indeed, To pardon, or to bear it. 5 But we will not argue about tliis now. What was the bargain, Edward, which you and Thomas Brown think fair play 1 5 1 Well, about the knife, Sarah ; I bought it at a shop near the school. The price was a shilling; but it cost me only six- pence.' c That certainly was a bargain, Edward ; but Iioav could you get it for half-price V \ I know you will not think it right, but I said I wotdd tell you, and I will. I laid down half- a- crown to pay for it, and the silly stup 'The what, Edward V 'Why — the shopkeeper, then — you do take me up — criticise me, I mean ; you do criticise me so, I shall never get to \ho end of my story. The shopkeeper took the half-crown, and instead of eighteen- pence, he gave me two shillings in change. There, now you know it all.' ' Did he do this in mistake, dear Ed- ward 1 ; Sarah asked eagerly. ' To be sure he did. W ould he have been so silly else ? ' ' And you did not — dear, dear Edward ' — poor Sarah trembled with excitement — 6 and you did not tell him of it 1 7 RIGHT IS RIGHT. 37 c Xo ; it was his fault, not mine, that he lost the sixpence and I gained it.' 6 Edward/ said the blind girl, in a solemn » hut sweet, affectionate tone, ' have you quite forgotten the saying that pleased you so once, — more titan once : — 6 Right is right V "Edward was silent. His conscience told hi£> he had almost forgotten it, ' Was it doing to another as you would like another to clo to you, dear brother V Edward was still silent ; but he was fast coming over to Sarah's opinion, and to see his own conduct in no flattering light. 6 ( Edward, clear, was it not almost like stealing ? ' ' Stealing ! 5 he exclaimed. * Sarah, can you think so badly of me V \ It was taking an unfair advantage, at least, Edward ; and that, you know, is not honest. Do you think papa would have done so V ' Papa is a man, and I am only a boy f said Edward ; i but he would not have done it. No, I am sure he would not/ 'But if it were right for you, it would be right for him ; and what would be wrong in a man, is wrong In a boy. Do you not see this, dear Edward.' Yes, Edward did see it. He was con- quered, and had no more to say for himself, except that he wished the shopkeeper had the sixpence. But what was to be done ? 6 Only one thing Edward ; you must go EIGHT IS RIGHT. back directly, and return the money. I will go with you.' This was an unpleasant idea to Edward; and he made many excuses. First, the shop was three, if not four miles from where they then were. Then he had a lesson to learn that evening, and if they went so far out of the way, he should not have time to learn it before their father returned from the city. Then, Sarah would be too tired. And lastly and principally, he was ashamed to let it be seen, or even guessed by the shopkeeper, who probably now knew nothing of the mistake, how unworthily he had acted. But Sarah — dear persuasive Sarah — would not be convinced by these poor at- tempts at avoiding a duty. 6 You must do it : indeed you must. 3)oes it not seem right in thought?' she asked.