of language, they could notdescribe their comforts to any one, so well as to themselves.
William and Jacob both spake highly of the school, and of the kindnesswith which they were treated; and, as the time for their going backdrew near, they rather expressed pleasure than regret at the thought ofreturning. Mrs. Goldsmith bade her boy farewell, with still greatercomfort than at the first; she was now assured of his improvement, andhad no fear of his continuing to do so. Jacob had tried to persuade himto become a shoe-maker like himself, at which employment he was gettingmore and more expert; but William had always shown a desire to be acabinet maker, and the gentlemen of the committee meant to indulge himin having him instructed in that trade, making it a point to consult thedisposition of the children, where it was possible.
In the course of the next half year, Mr. Beaufort paid a second visit toMr. Rawlinson; and while there, kindly called on Mrs. Goldsmith with thepleasing intelligence of William's advancement both in speaking,writing, and the business which he was now learning. The poor womanthanked him for his goodness, while he enquired after Lucy and theyoungest child, who was now two years old, and the fears of his motherunfortunately confirmed, as it evidently appeared he was a sharer in theaffliction which attended the others. Mr. Beaufort gave her hopes, that,as the fund increased the scheme would be enlarged, and that he shouldthen have it in his power to get one or both of them into the school,when they were of a proper age.
"I hope they will," said Henry Rawlinson, who had accompanied his oldfriend, (not now riding before him, as when they first met at thecottage, but on a little horse his father had bought for him,) "I hopethey will: it is such an advantage to William, that I should be sorrythe others should not share it likewise. And Jacob Goodyer, also, willbe able to get his living any where; his father says he will soon comehome, and make shoes for the whole parish." Mr. Beaufort smiled at thisinformation, and, as they returned, Henry enquired if the fund did notincrease. "I wish I was a man," said he, "I would give a great dealtowards it." "My dear boy," said Mr. Beaufort, "you give a great dealnow for your age;" (for Henry and Caroline also, had, from their firsthearing of this charity, contrived to lay by part of their pocket-moneytowards the support of it;) "if every boy and girl were to spare as muchfrom their weekly or quarterly allowance as you do, and your sister, howwould the fund be increased, as well as the pleasure they would receivefrom thus employing it. Perhaps three or four children might be admittedevery year, in addition to the present number; and thus they might be ameans of rescuing their fellow-creatures from a state worse than that ofoblivion!" "Oh, that they would;" said Henry, ready to spring from hishorse at the idea; "Oh, that they would! and did they but know thepleasure it gave to poor nurse Goldsmith to hear her son speak, I thinkthere would be no doubt of it."
We shall now proceed to relate the further benefit this benevolentinstitution was of to William, and how it enabled him, in some measure,to requite the kindness of Mr. Beaufort and Henry Rawlinson, as well asmaterially to assist his family when he grew up.
When Mr. Beaufort returned to town, he took Henry with him for afortnight's pleasure, and knowing it would be as great a one to him asany, to see William Goldsmith, and the manner in which he wasinstructed, almost the first place they visited, was the Asylum in whichhe was placed. He saw the method by which these unfortunate childrenwere taught to speak--the kind attention of their teachers--the way inwhich they lived--and how they were permitted to amuse themselves.William had great pleasure in speaking to him of these things, and thatHenry might carry the most accurate account of himself and hisproceedings to his mother, he showed him every part of the school, aswell as of his workmanship, from which the governors permitted him tosend her a small trifle of his own making.
During the time Henry staid with Mr. Beaufort, as a further pleasure tothem both, William was one day asked to dine; and after dinner, as Henryexpressed a wish to walk out, Mr. Beaufort gave him leave, and Williamto accompany him. The two boys set off together, highly delighted, andHenry made William understand that he would go and look at the Monument.He had been there once with Mr. Beaufort, but he wished to see it again;and he thought he knew the way: "if not," said he, "I can enquire, andwhat harm can happen to us?" William was equally pleased with hisintention; but before they had proceeded far on their way, so manyvarious things in the different shop-windows attracted their attention,and the crowds of people who were continually passing, with thenarrowness of the streets, all added to the difficulty they had inkeeping with each other; and at length, in crossing the road, they wereentirely separated. William had been standing at a shop-window, and who,from his want of hearing, had been more used to have his eyes employed,did not cross so soon as Henry, as he saw some carriages in the way; buthe hoped to find his friend waiting for him on the other side. How washe disappointed, therefore, on not finding him there. He looked on everyside, but could see no one like him; he walked on a little way, thenback again, fearing he might have passed him in the crowd; till, at adistance, and on the opposite side of the way, he saw two men bearingin their arms a boy of his size, and who appeared to be lifeless. Judgeof his alarm and distress, when, on pushing by the carriages, andhastening towards them, he saw it was Henry himself, whom they were thuscarrying. He followed them into one of the narrow lanes or alleys, withwhich London abounds; and saw them take him into a low, dirty-lookinghouse, into which he entered also. "He is not much hurt," said they, notat all attending to William's being there; "only stunned a little: he isa gentleman's son, I can see, by his clothes, and if we keep him here,he will be advertised, and we shall get a handsome reward." "_I_know who he is," said William; "_I_ know to whom he belongs," asarticulately as his agitation would allow him to speak. "Hollo!" saidone of the brutish fellows, "who have we here? a dumb boy! Don't let usmind what _he_ says, he may be a _fool_ for what we know."
It was well for Henry, and William also, perhaps, that the distress hefelt, prevented his speaking more distinctly at that time; for had theyfound that he could have been understood, they might have kept _him_there also, in order to conceal the place that Henry was in; from thehope, that the longer his parents were kept in suspense about him, thelarger reward would be offered. But supposing that William'sinformation would be unintelligible, or considered of no consequence,they forced him from the house; and he had the distress of seeing thatHenry had not recovered his senses, when he was thus obliged to leavehim.
He ran back to Mr. Beaufort's, with all the speed he was capable ofusing, feeling what none can enter into but those who are in a similarsituation--a dread of the danger his friend was in; anticipating thedistress, if not the displeasure, of Mr. Beaufort: and, above all,afraid that he should not be able to speak so as to be understood.Almost out of breath, and with a face pale and full of distress, herapped at the door. "What is the matter?" said the footman who openedit, alarmed at his countenance; but William could only answer by histears. On hearing this, Mr. Beaufort, who was still sitting with hiswine after dinner, hastened out of the parlour, and seeing only William,immediately guessed the cause of his distress. "You have lost Henry,"said he; "I was foolish to let you go out together." William tried invain to speak, but pulling him by the arm, he waved his hand for Mr.Beaufort to accompany him. The good man caught up his hat, and tellingthe footman to follow, he hastened, with the trembling boy, to the placein which he had left Henry. "Has any accident happened?" said Mr.Beaufort, looking steadily at William, who could only shake his head;till being a little recovered, he endeavoured to acquaint him with whathe had seen. Mr. Beaufort hurried on, and they were presently at thehouse.
The man who opened the door, on seeing William with the gentleman,thought it would be of no use to deny Henry's being there, he thereforeexpressed pleasure, rather than surprise, at seeing him; and said, "Wehave taken great care of the young gentleman, Sir, and he is betteralready." "Have you sent for a surgeon?" asked Mr. Beaufort; "let me seehim directly," and rushing forward, he discovered Henry lying on an oldblanket upon the floor, wi
th a bundle of rags for his pillow. His eyeswere open, and he instantly knew the friends who were about him. Williamwept for joy at again seeing him sensible, while Mr. Beaufort, withgreat indignation, exclaimed: "Do you call _this_ taking care of him?""Bless your honour," replied the man, "we are but poor folk, and have nobetter place; but my wife is gone out to see if she can get a bed forhim."
This was a made-up story, and William, by his countenance, showed hethought it so. Mr. Beaufort having sent his servant for a surgeon, heasked if there was not a chair in the house, in which Henry might beplaced, for none was in the room. The man brought in a very old one,and with his assistance Mr. Beaufort lifted him into it.
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