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      THE APRICOT TREE

      It was a fine evening in the beginning of autumn. The last rays of the sun, as it sunk behind the golden clouds, gleamed in at the window of a cottage, which stood in a pleasant lane, about a quarter of a mile from the village of Ryefield. On each side of the narrow gravel walk that led from the lane to the cottage-door, was a little plot of cultivated ground. That on the right hand was planted with cabbages, onions, and other useful vegetables; that on the left, with gooseberry and currant-bushes, excepting one small strip, where stocks, sweet-peas, and rose-trees were growing; whose flowers, for they were now in full bloom, peeping over the neatly trimmed quick-hedge that fenced the garden from the road, had a gay and pretty appearance. Not a weed was to be found in any of the beds; the gooseberry and currant-bushes had evidently been pruned with much care and attention, and were loaded with fine ripe fruit. But the most remarkable thing in the garden was an apricot-tree, which grew against the wall of the cottage, and which was covered with apricots of a large size and beautiful colour.

      The cottage itself, though small and thatched with straw, was clean and cheerful, the brick floor was strewed with sand, and a white though coarse cloth was spread on the little deal table. On this table were placed tea-things, a loaf of bread, and some watercresses. A cat was purring on the hearth, and a kettle was boiling on the fire.

      Near the window, in a large arm-chair, sat an old woman, with a Bible on her knees. She appeared happy and contented, and her countenance expressed cheerfulness and good temper. After reading for some time with great attention, she paused to look from the window into the lane, as if expecting to see some one. She listened as if for a footstep; but all was silent. She read again for about ten minutes longer, and then closing the Sacred Volume, rose, and, having laid the Book carefully on a shelf, opened the door, and went out into the garden, whence she could see farther into the lane, and remained for a considerable time leaning over the little wicket gate, in anxious expectation.

      "What can be the reason that Ned is so late?" she said, half aloud, to herself. "He always hastens home to his poor old grandmother as soon as he has done work. What can make him an hour later than usual? I hope nothing has happened to him. But, hush!" she continued, after a few minutes' pause, "surely I hear him coming now."

      She was not mistaken, for in a minute or two Ned appeared, running quite fast up the lane, and in a few moments more he was standing by her side, panting and breathless.

      "Dear grandmother," he exclaimed, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak, "I have a great deal of good news to tell you. Farmer Tomkyns says he will employ me all through the winter, and pay me the same wages that he does now. This is one piece of good news. And the other is, that Mr. Stockwell, the greengrocer, will buy all my apricots, and give me a good price for them. I am to take them to him next market-day. I had to wait more than half-an-hour before I could speak to him, and that made me so late. O how beautiful they are!" continued he, gazing with admiration at the tree. "O grandmother, how happy I am!"

      His grandmother smiled, and said she was glad to hear this good news. "And now come in and have your tea, child," she added; "for I am sure you must be hungry."

      "O grandmother," said Ned, as they sat at tea, "now that Mr. Stockwell will buy the fruit, you will be able to have a cloak to keep you warm this winter. It often used to grieve me, last year, to see you obliged to go to church such bitter cold weather, with only that thin old shawl on. I know you said you could not spare money to get a cloak for yourself, because you had spent all you could save in buying me a jacket. My tree has never borne fruit till this year; and you always said that when it did, I should do what I pleased with the money its fruit would fetch. Now, there is nothing I should like to spend it on better than in getting a cloak for you."

      "Thank you, Ned," replied his grandmother; "it would indeed be a very great comfort. I do not think I should have suffered so much from rheumatism last winter, if I had had warmer clothing. If it was not for your apricot-tree, I must have gone without a cloak this winter also; for, what with our pig dying, and your having no work to do in the spring, this has been but a bad year for us."

      "The money Mr. Stockwell is going to give me," resumed Ned, "will be enough all but sixpence; and I have a new sixpence, you know, in a little box upstairs, that my aunt gave me last June, when I went to spend the day with her; so when I carry him the fruit, I shall take that in my pocket, and then when I come home in the evening I can bring the cloak with me. O that will be a happy day!" continued Ned, getting up to jump and clap his hands for joy.

      "There is another thing I am very glad of," said he, sitting down again. "Master is going to turn Tom Andrews away next week."

      "You ought not to be glad of that, Ned. Tom is one of a large family; and his father being very poor, it must be a great help to have one of his children earning something."

      "But he is ill-natured to me, and often plagues me very much. It was only yesterday he broke the best hoe, by knocking stones about with it, and then told master it was my doing. Besides, he is idle, and does not mind what is said to him, and often gets into mischief."

      "And do you think being turned away from Farmer Tomkyns's will help to cure these faults?"

      "No," answered Ned; "I do not suppose it will."

      "On the contrary, is it not likely that he will grow more idle, and get oftener into mischief, when he has no master to look after him, and nothing to do all day long but play about the streets?"

      "Why, yes, that is true. Still, it will serve him right to be turned away. I have heard Mr. Harris, our rector, say that those who do wrong ought to be punished."

      "Pray, Ned," asked his grandmother, "can you tell me what is the use of punishment?"

      "The use of punishment!–" repeated Ned, thoughtfully. "Let me think. The use of punishment, I believe, is to make people better."

      "Right. Now, Ned, you have allowed that Tom's being turned away is not likely to make him better, but worse; so that I am afraid the true reason why you rejoice at his disgrace is because you bear resentment against him, for having been ill-natured to yourself. Think a minute, and tell me if this is not the case."

      Ned owned that his grandmother was right; and then observed, "It is very difficult not to bear ill-will against any one who has done us wrong."

      "Yet," rejoined his grandmother, "it is our duty to pardon those who have injured us. St. Paul says, in his Epistle to the Ephesians, 'Be ye kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.' And our blessed Saviour has commanded us to 'love our enemies,' to 'do good to them that hate us, and to pray for those that despitefully use us, and persecute us.' If you will look at the fourteenth and fifteenth verses of the sixth chapter of St. Matthew, you will see what else our Lord says on the subject."

      Ned took the Bible, and having found the place, read, "For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive your trespasses."

      "Before you go to bed," said his grandmother, when he had finished reading, "I wish you to get by heart these three texts, and repeat them to me."

      Ned did as he was desired, and then his grandmother kissed him, and bid him good-night.

      Ned loved his grandmother very much, for she had always been kind to him. His parents had both died when he was very young; and she then brought him home to live with her, and had taken care of him ever since. She taught him to read and write, and cast up sums; to be steady and industrious; and, above all, it was her great care to instil into his mind religious principles. She had often told him that the way to profit by what we read, as well as by the good advice that may be given us, is to think upon it afterwards; and she frequently desired him to make a practice of saying over to himself every night whatever verses from the Bible he had learnt by heart during the day.