THE TORN BIBLE

OR

HUBERT'S BEST FRIEND

BY

ALICE SOMERTON

AUTHOR OF "LAYTON CROFT" ETC.

LONDON FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. AND NEW YORK

He tried to open the window that he might throw it into the sea.
See p. 24.

TO GLANVILLE AND HIS EIGHT SCHOOLFELLOWS.

Perhaps, dear boys, you wonder why I should have dedicated this little book to you: it is that you may feel a deeper interest in it, and imbibe, from reading it, an earnest love and reverence for your Bible, which, like a good angel, can guide you safely through the world as long as you live. Like Hubert's mother, I ask you to read a portion every day; and, whatever be the battle of life you may have to fight, may God's blessing attend you, making you humble towards Him, dutiful to your parents, and a blessing to mankind.

Believe me,
Yours affectionately,
ALICE SOMERTON.

Contents

• CHAPTER I Hubert's Departure From Home.
• CHAPTER II Too Late For The Post-bag.
• CHAPTER III The Bible Torn.
• CHAPTER IV Ellen Buchan.
• CHAPTER V Hubert Wounded.
• CHAPTER VI The Time For Reflection.
• CHAPTER VII What The Torn Bible Had Done For Hubert.
• CHAPTER VIII Homeward Bound.
• CHAPTER IX True Friendship.
• CHAPTER X The Wanderer's Return.
• CHAPTER XI Home At Last.
• CHAPTER XII Memories Of Childish Days.
• CHAPTER XIII At Rest.

THE TORN BIBLE.

CHAPTER I.

HUBERT'S DEPARTURE FROM HOME.

May thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! * * * *
* * * What heaven more will
That these may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell.—Shakespeare.

The rural and picturesque village of Hulney, in the north of England, is a charming place; it is almost surrounded with well-wooded hills, and the little rivulets, which ever murmur down their sides, run into the limpid stream along the banks of which most of the cottages are built.

At the north end of the village, on the slope of a hill, is the church, so thickly covered with ivy that the only portions of the stonework visible are part of the ancient tower and the chancel window.

Legend and historic fact hang their mantle round this old church. History tells us that the brave, yet often cruel, Margaret, wife of Henry VI., fled there after a defeat in one of her battles; and it is also recorded that one hundred of the heroes of Flodden Field rested there on their return from the victory. Modern times have added to the interest which clings to this old place, and one thing especially which draws attention will form the subject of this story.

In that old churchyard, where the children of many generations lie side by side, there is many a touching or interesting record; but the stranger ever lingers the longest near seven white grave-stones, all bearing the name of Goodwin. Upon the one which has the most recent date is the following inscription:—"Sacred to the Memory of Hubert Goodwin, aged seventy years;" and below this a book, partly destroyed, with several of the loose leaves, is carved upon the stone: and though, perhaps, this description of it may not be striking, the exquisite carving of that destroyed book is such that people ask its meaning, and they are told that it is a "torn Bible."

Hubert Goodwin, the tenant of that grave, was the eldest of six children, blessed with pious and affectionate parents, well to do in the world, and descended from a family of some distinction.

Great pains were bestowed upon Hubert's education, as he grew up to youth; but from his birth he was of such a passionate turn, and at times so ungovernable, that he was the source of all the sorrow that for many years fell to the lot of his parents: he was different to their other children, and many a time when reproof had been necessary, and the little wayward one, after a troubled day, had retired to rest, his mother's heart, still heavy, led her softly to the bed where he lay sleeping, and there, kneeling down, she would commend him again, with perhaps a deeper earnestness, to that One who knew all her trouble, and whom she knew could alone help her. Once the boy awoke as his mother knelt beside him, and, as though in answer to her prayer that his heart might be changed, he burst into tears, and, throwing his arms round her neck, expressed deep sorrow at having grieved her, and promised to try and do better. Poor mother! her joy was brief; in a very short time he was as undutiful and rebellious as ever, and so he continued until he reached the age of twelve years, when, as he had determined upon being a soldier, his parents, much against their wish, sent him to a military school, to be educated for the army.

A year rolled away, and all the accounts that came from the master of Hubert's school informed his parents