Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

“The place where I stand, sir,” he replied. “Where I have sinned there will I preach to men the Saviour of sinners.”

And he did preach, not with eloquence, perhaps, but with such fervour that many of his old comrades were touched deeply, and some were brought to Christ and joined his “Daniel Band.” Moreover, Ned kept to his own district and class. He did not assume that all rich church-goers are hypocrites, and that it was his duty to stand in conspicuous places and howl to them the message of salvation, in tones of rasping discord. No, it was noted by his mates, as particularly curious, that the voice of the man who could, when he chose, roar like a bull of Bashan, had become soft and what we may style entreative in its tone. Moreover, he did not try to imitate clerical errors. He did not get upon a deadly monotone while preaching, as so many do. He simply spoke when he preached—spoke loud, no doubt, but in a tone precisely similar to that in which, in former days, he would have seriously advised a brother burglar to adopt a certain course, or to carefully steer clear of another course, in order to gain his ends or to avoid falling into the hands of the police. Thus men, when listening to him, came to believe that he was really speaking to them in earnest, and not “preaching!”

Oh! that young men who aim at the high privilege of proclaiming the “good news” would reflect on this latter point, and try to steer clear of that fatal rock on which the Church—not the Episcopal, Presbyterian, or any other Church, but the whole Church militant—has been bumping so long to her own tremendous damage!

One point which told powerfully with those whom Ned sought to win was, that he went about endeavouring, as far as in him lay, to undo the evil that he had done. Some of it could never be undone—he felt that bitterly. Some could be remedied—he rejoiced in that and went about it with vigour.

For instance, he owed several debts. Being a handy fellow and strong, he worked like a horse, and soon paid off his debts to the last farthing. Again, many a time had he, in days gone by, insulted and defamed comrades and friends. These he sought out with care and begged their pardon. The bulldog courage in him was so strong that in former days he would have struck or insulted any man who provoked him, without reference to his, it might be, superior size or strength. He now went as boldly forward to confess his sin and to apologise. Sometimes his apologies were kindly received, at other times he was rudely repelled and called a hypocrite in language that we may not repeat, but he took it well; he resented nothing now, and used to say he had been made invulnerable since he had enlisted under the banner of the Prince of Peace.

Yet, strange to say, the man’s pugilistic powers were not rendered useless by his pacific life and profession.

One day he was passing down one of those streets where even the police prefer to go in couples. Suddenly a door burst open and a poor drunken woman was kicked out into the street by a big ruffian with whom Ned was not acquainted. Not satisfied with what he had done, the rough proceeded to kick the woman, who began to scream “murder!”

A crowd at once collected, for, although such incidents were common enough in such places, they always possessed sufficient interest to draw a crowd; but no one interfered, first, because no one cared, and, second, because the man was so big and powerful that every one was afraid of him.

Of course Ned interfered, not with an indignant statement that the man ought to be ashamed of himself, but, with the quiet remark—

“She’s only a woman, you know, an’ can’t return it.”

“An’ wot ’ave you got to do with it?” cried the man with a savage curse, as he aimed a tremendous blow at Ned with his right-hand.

Our pugilist expected that. He did not start or raise his hands to defend himself, he merely put his head to one side, and the huge fist went harmlessly past his ear. Savagely the rough struck out with the other fist, but Ned quietly, yet quickly put his head to the other side, and again the fist went innocently by. A loud laugh and cheer from the crowd greeted this, for, apart altogether from the occasion of the disagreement, this turning of the head aside was very pretty play on the part of Ned—being a remarkably easy-looking but exceedingly difficult action, as all boxers know. It enabled Ned to smile in the face of his foe without doing him any harm. But it enraged the rough to such an extent, that he struck out fast as well as hard, obliging Ned to put himself in the old familiar attitude, and skip about smartly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, friend,” said Ned at last, “but I can, you see!” and he gave the man a slight pat on his right cheek with one hand and a tap on the forehead with the other.

This might have convinced the rough, but he would not be convinced. Ned therefore gave him suddenly an open-handed slap on the side of the head which sent him through his own doorway; through his own kitchen—if we may so name it—and into his own coal-cellar, where he measured his length among cinders and domestic débris.

“I didn’t want to do it, friends,” said Ned in a mild voice, as soon as the laughter had subsided, “but, you see, in the Bible—a book I’m uncommon fond of—we’re told, as far as we can, to live peaceably with all men. Now, you see, I couldn’t live peaceably wi’ this man to-day. He wouldn’t let me, but I think I’ll manage to do it some day, for I’ll come back here to-morrow, and say I’m sorry I had to do it. Meanwhile I have a word to say to you about this matter.”

Here Ned got upon the door-step of his adversary, and finished off by what is sometimes styled “improving the occasion.”

Of course, one of the first things that Ned Frog did, on coming to his “right mind,” was to make earnest and frequent inquiries as to the fate of his wife and family. Unfortunately the man who might have guided him to the right sources of information—the City missionary who had brought him to a knowledge of the truth—was seized with a severe illness, which not only confined him to a sick-bed for many weeks, but afterwards rendered it necessary that he should absent himself for a long time from the sphere of his labours. Thus, being left to himself, Ned’s search was misdirected, and at last he came to the heart-breaking conclusion that they must have gone, as he expressed it, “to the bad;” that perhaps his wife had carried out her oft-repeated threat, and drowned herself, and that Bobby, having been only too successful a pupil in the ways of wickedness, had got himself transported.

To prosecute his inquiries among his old foes, the police, was so repugnant to Ned that he shrank from it, after the failure of one or two attempts, and the only other source which might have been successful he failed to appeal to through his own ignorance. He only knew of George Yard and the Home of Industry by name, as being places which he had hated, because his daughter Hetty was so taken up with them. Of course he was now aware that the people of George Yard did good work for his new Master, but he was so ignorant of the special phase of their work at the beginning of his Christian career that he never thought of applying to them for information. Afterwards he became so busy with his own special work, that he forgot all about these institutions.

When the missionary recovered and returned to his work, he at once—on hearing for the first time from Ned his family history—put him on the scent, and the discovery was then made that they had gone to Canada. He wrote immediately, and soon received a joyful reply from Hetty and a postscript from Bobby, which set his heart singing and his soul ablaze with gratitude to a sparing and preserving God.

About that time, however, the robust frame gave way under the amount of labour it was called on to perform. Ned was obliged to go into hospital. When there he received pressing invitations to go out to Canada, and offers of passage-money to any extent. Mrs Frog also offered to return home without delay and nurse him, and only waited to know whether he would allow her.

Ned declined, on the ground that he meant to accept their invitation and go to Canada as soon as he was able to undertake the voyage.

A relapse, however, interfered with his plans, and thus the visit, like many other desirable events in human affairs, was, for a time, delayed.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Home Again

Time passed away, and Bobby Frog said to his mother one morning, “Mother, I’m going to England.”

It was a fine summer morning when he said this. His mother was sitting in a bower which had been constructed specially for her use by her son and his friend Tim Lumpy. It stood at the foot of the garden, from which could be had a magnificent view of the neighbouring lake. Rich foliage permitted the slanting sunbeams to quiver through the bower, and little birds, of a pert conceited nature, twittered among the same. Martha Mild—the very embodiment of meek, earnest simplicity, and still a mere child in face though almost a woman in years—sat on a wooden stool at Mrs Frog’s feet reading the Bible to her.

Martha loved the Bible and Mrs Frog; they were both fond of the bower; there was a spare half-hour before them;—hence the situation, as broken in upon by Bobby.

“To England, Bobby?”

“To England, mother.”

Martha said nothing, but she gave a slight—an almost imperceptible—start, and glanced at the sturdy youth with a mingled expression of anxiety and surprise.

The surprise Bob had expected; the anxiety he had hoped for; the start he had not foreseen, but now perceived and received as a glorious fact! Oh! Bobby Frog was a deep young rascal! His wild, hilarious, reckless spirit, which he found it so difficult to curb, even with all surroundings in his favour, experienced a great joy and sensation of restfulness in gazing at the pretty, soft, meek face of the little waif. He loved Martha, but, with all his recklessness, he had not the courage to tell her so, or to ask the condition of her feelings with regard to himself.

Being ingenious, however, and with much of the knowing nature of the “stray” still about him, he hit on this plan of killing two birds with one stone, as it were, by briefly announcing his intentions to his mother; and the result was more than he had hoped for.

“Yes, mother, to England—to London. You see, father’s last letter was not at all satisfactory. Although he said he was convalescent and hoped to be able to travel soon, it seemed rather dull in tone, and now several posts have passed without bringing us a letter of any kind from him. I am beginning to feel anxious, and so as I have saved a good bit of money I mean to have a trip to old England and bring Daddy out with me.”

“That will be grand indeed, my son. But will Mr Merryboy let ye go, Bobby?”

“Of course he will. He lets me do whatever I please, for he’s as fond o’ me as if he were my father.”

“No; he ain’t that,” returned Mrs Frog, with a shake of the head; “your father was rough, Bobby, specially w’en in liquor, but he ’ad a kind ’art at bottom, and he was very fond o’ you, Bobby—almost as fond as he once was o’ me. Mr Merryboy could never come up to ’im in that.”

“Did I say he came up to him, mother? I didn’t say he was as fond o’ me as my own father, but as if he was my father. However, it’s all arranged, and I go off at once.”

“Not before breakfast, Bobby?”

“No, not quite. I never do anything important on an empty stomach, but by this time to-morrow I hope to be far on my way to the sea-coast, and I expect Martha to take good care of you till I come back.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Martha, looking up in Mrs Frog’s face affectionately.

Bob Frog noted the look, and was satisfied.

“But, my boy, I shan’t be here when you come back. You know my visit is over in a week, and then we go to Sir Richard’s estate.”

“I know that, mother, but Martha goes with you there, to help you and Hetty and Matty to keep house while Tim Lumpy looks after the farm.”

“Farm, my boy, what nonsense are you talking?”

“No nonsense, mother, it has all been arranged this morning, early though it is. Mr Merryboy has received a letter from Sir Richard, saying that he wants to gather as many people as possible round him, and offering him one of his farms on good terms, so Mr Merryboy is to sell this place as soon as he can, and Tim and I have been offered a smaller farm on still easier terms close to his, and not far from the big farm that Sir Richard has given to his son-in-law Mr Welland—”

“Son-in-law!” exclaimed Mrs Frog. “Do you mean to say that Mr Welland, who used to come down an’ preach in the lodgin’-’ouses in Spitalfields ’as married that sweet hangel Miss Di?”

“I do mean that, mother. I could easily show him a superior angel, of course,” said Bob with a steady look at Martha, “but he has done pretty well, on the whole.”

“Pretty well!” echoed Mrs Frog indignantly; “he couldn’t ’ave done better if ’e’d searched the wide world over.”

“There I don’t agree with you,” returned her son; “however, it don’t matter—Hallo! there goes granny down the wrong path!”

Bob dashed off at full speed after Mrs Merryboy, senior, who had an inveterate tendency, when attempting to reach Mrs Frog’s bower, to take a wrong turn, and pursue a path which led from the garden to a pretty extensive piece of forest-land behind. The blithe old lady was posting along this track in a tremulo-tottering way when captured by Bob. At the same moment the breakfast-bell rang; Mr Merryboy’s stentorian voice was immediately heard in concert; silvery shouts from the forest-land alluded to told where Hetty and Matty had been wandering, and a rush of pattering feet announced that the dogs of the farm were bent on being first to bid the old gentleman good-morning.