In a few minutes the frolic of the party was upon its former footing.
The young man sat down upon one of the benches, with the boy by his
side, and while the rest were loudly laughing and talking, they
two convers'd together. The stranger learn'd from Charles all the
particulars of his simple story--how his father had died years
since--how his mother work' d hard for a bare living--and how
he himself, for many dreary months, had been the servant of a
hard-hearted, avaricious master. More and more interested, drawing the
child close to his side, the young man listen'd to his plainly told
history--and thus an hour pass'd away.
It was now past midnight. The young man told Charles that on the
morrow he would take steps to relieve him from his servitude--that for
the present night the landlord would probably give him a lodging at
the inn--and little persuading did the host need for that.
As he retired to sleep, very pleasant thoughts filled the mind of the
young man--thoughts of a worthy action perform'd--thoughts, too, newly
awakened ones, of walking in a steadier and wiser path than formerly.
That roof, then, sheltered two beings that night--one of them innocent
and sinless of all wrong--the other--oh, to that other what evil had
not been present, either in action or to his desires!
Who was the stranger? To those that, from ties of relationship or
otherwise, felt an interest in him, the answer to that question was
not pleasant to dwell upon. His name was Langton--parentless--a
dissipated young man--a brawler--one whose too frequent companions
were rowdies, blacklegs, and swindlers.
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