HESPER AND HER FATHER.
MR. GREYSON, the father of Hesper, sat in his high-backed chair,
looking pale and very much distressed. His foot rested upon a pillow
in the chair before him, and he groaned as if in great pain. The fire
had gone out on the hearth, and the only light in the room was from a
tall candle which flickered and flared, making great dancing shadows on
the wall, and gleaming fitfully across the face of the sick woman who
lay upon the bed. Simple Johnny, the poor child of whom we have spoken,
sat in the chimney corner, sobbing and crying as though his heart would
break.
“Hush, hush!” said his father impatiently; but the poor child vainly
strove to suppress his grief. It was but for a moment, and then it
burst forth afresh. One could not wonder much, however, when the cause
was known. The little porringer of bread and milk which Hesper had
given him just before she went out, by an unlucky slip was overturned
upon the hearth, and Fido--a little black dog, with drooping ears and
white feet--was lapping it up in greedy haste. This was indeed a
serious misfortune. The supper of the children usually consisted of
bread and milk, and as it was portioned out in equal shares, therefore
what was lost could not be easily replaced. His supper, moreover, was
one of the great events in this poor child’s daily experience. His
porringer of bread and milk, his wooden horse and tin soldiers, with
now and then a run in the fields to gather flowers, made up his whole
round of enjoyment. The loss of a richly freighted ship could not have
more seriously affected a prosperous merchant, than did that overturned
porringer of bread and milk to this poor, simple child.
“Do hush, Johnny dear!” said his mother in a gentle tone, when she saw
how much it worried her husband. But the child could not be pacified.
“Strange!” said his father impatiently, “that he couldn’t have been
taught to mind better. If he had been constantly under _my_ eye for ten
years, it would have been different.” His wife sighed heavily as she
sank down again upon her pillow, but made no reply. Just then, in came
Hesper, all out of breath with running.
“Well,” said her father, “I hope you have stayed long enough. I wonder
if you ever think of anybody but yourself when you are away.”
Hesper did not reply. Her father did not like to be answered when he
was impatient, and he was uncommonly so to-night.
“I have a nice parcel of leaves,” she said pleasantly, as she unrolled
her apron and displayed them.
“Well, well,” he replied, “put them down, and stop that child’s crying
as soon as possible, or send him to bed.”
To Johnny, his father’s last words, which he perfectly understood, were
a most unwelcome sound, and he cried louder than ever.
“Poor fellow!” said Hesper, as she discovered the cause of his
grief--“no wonder he cries. He has lost nearly all of his supper. How
luckily things do happen sometimes,” she thought to herself. “Here I
have been so busy that I had quite forgotten my own supper; now Johnny
shall share it, and right welcome.” She poured the greater part of
the milk out of her own bowl into the porringer, and as she gave it
into his hand the glad smile which lit up the troubled countenance of
the poor child, and shone through his tears, was worth more to her
than victuals and drink. The next thing she did was to kindle a fire
and prepare the salve. When it was ready she spread it upon a nice
linen cloth, and laid it on the hearth, while she unbound her father’s
foot, for it had been bathed and wrapped up nicely, before. Her little
sympathising heart was full of compassion for him the moment she beheld
it. No wonder he groaned and was so impatient!
“May be,” thought Hesper, “I should make a much more noisy complaint if
it were myself.” She handled it very carefully, but her father worried
and fretted so, that her hands trembled violently, and she was afraid
that she was hurting far more than helping him.
“There,” said he, when she had finished, “I’m glad you are done. I
don’t believe it will do one bit of good.”
Hesper was quite disheartened, but she said nothing. She moved the
little pine table up to the fire, placed the candle upon it, and sat
down to her work. She was making a shirt, of stout, coarse cloth, for
Mose. It was the first time she had ever attempted to make one, and she
was doing it now by her mother’s direction. It was nearly finished, and
her fingers flew very fast, for she thought that when her aunt Betsey
came in next morning--as no doubt she would--she would show it to her,
and tell her she had made it all herself. She was not afraid to do so,
for she knew that she had taken pains enough to please even aunt Betsey.
Mr. Greyson sat very still, with his head laid back in his chair, and
his eyes almost closed. Hesper supposed he was asleep, but he was not.
He was watching her and thinking very earnestly about her. So much had
his mind been occupied by work and family cares of late, that he had
scarce bestowed a thought upon her. Now, when he saw how small she
was, and then remembered how much she did every day, he wondered that
it was possible. Then, too, she looked so cheerful and good-natured,
with her hair parted so smoothly on her forehead, and her face bent
down to her work, all glowing with pleasant thoughts. His heart was
drawn towards her, and he began to be sorry for the impatient words he
had spoken. Then he observed, also, her little, short, faded frock,
and he wondered how long she had worn, and where she had obtained it.
Certainly he had not bought her a dress for more than a year, and where
she had obtained that one was a mystery. He did not know that she had
often sat up late at night to patch and mend it, and that when, at
last, the waist and sleeves had given out entirely, she was obliged
to put on her little brown sack and wear it constantly, to cover all
deficiencies. His own trials had seemed so great that he had little
sympathy to spare for his children. This poor girl, therefore, had been
obliged to bear her own little cross of self-denial in silence, while
the saddening influences of her father’s gloomy disposition, cast a
continual shadow across her sunshine.
She had not the slightest idea at present, however, that he was
observing her; for while her fingers flew so swiftly, her mind was
busy with plans for the future. At precisely half-past nine the shirt
was completed, and as she held it up, she viewed it with the greatest
satisfaction. Had it been the most exquisite piece of embroidery, it
could not have afforded her a more heartfelt pleasure. She folded it
up neatly, and then turned her attention to Johnny. The happy little
fellow had eaten every drop of his bread and milk, and then fallen
asleep. His head rested wearily against the wall, and just then there
was such a beautiful and peaceful expression to his countenance, that
Hesper felt unwilling to disturb him.
“May be,” she thought, “he is dreaming of the angels, and what a pity
it will be for me to bring him back from their blessed company.” She
lightly raised the golden ringlets from his round, fair cheeks, and
regarded him with a look of intense interest. To this thoughtful girl
there had always been an unfathomable mystery in the silence which
brooded over the soul of her unfortunate brother. She felt, without
understanding, that there was something, away down in the depths of his
being, quietly waiting its own due time for utterance, and until that
time came, he must remain a simple, inexperienced child. At times, a
strange feeling of wonder and religious awe would come over her, as she
regarded him, for an almost angelic expression would sweep across his
countenance, and in his large, blue eyes, there would be such a deep
and tender light, that it almost made her weep. She looked upon him as
something holy, and in return, the child attached himself to her with
an affection which knew no change or diminution. To-night he had sat
up unusually late for him, and now his slumber was so deep and quiet,
that she found it very difficult to arouse him. He did not resist her,
however, as she raised him up tenderly and undressed him; for he was so
heavy with sleep he could scarce stand, and really did not know when
Hesper tucked up his bed and gave him a good-night kiss. The poor girl
herself was very tired, but she had one more duty to perform, which to
her was always pleasant. She drew up the little table, and taking a
book from the drawer, seated herself upon the side of her mother’s bed.
“Read quite low,” said her mother, “so as not to disturb your father.”
They both thought he was asleep, but he heard every word they said.
Hesper read on very slowly and thoughtfully, till she came to the
words, “Charity never faileth.” Aunt Nyna had spoken to her of this
particular chapter while they were together in the garden, and
therefore she had selected it.
“Mother,” she said, as she laid down the book, “I think love _does_
fail, sometimes, for I have tried very hard to love and please father,
but he never likes anything that I do.” Her mother sighed deeply, and
the tears came into her eyes, as she looked up in the face of the good
child.
“It don’t mean _that_, Hesper. Love often fails in what it attempts.
But it _does_ mean, that under all difficulties or discouragements,
true love never fails or grows weary, but remains the same forever and
ever. It is just like God himself.”
“Then,” said Hesper, as she glanced towards her father, “I will not
mind it much if he doesn’t love me, for it will make me very happy if
in one little thing I can be like God.”
“Your father wasn’t always so, Hesper,” said her mother, as the tears
streamed down her pale cheeks. She turned her face over into her
pillow, and while Hesper was finishing the chapter, she thought of
the first years of their wedded life. Then her husband was strong and
healthy, and they had a little cottage of their own, with holly-hocks
blooming by the door, and roses at the window. Next came long years of
suffering and sorrow, when both were broken down in health and spirits,
and they had not bread enough to fill the little hungry mouths that
cried out for it. No wonder he became gloomy and sad, and said at
times that his children would be better off in their graves. It was no
uncommon thing. Thousands of poor men had felt just so before him. Only
the brave heart of a Christian can bear poverty cheerfully.
Hesper had finished reading some time, and sat waiting for her
mother to speak, but as she did not, she supposed she was asleep.
“Good night, mother,” she whispered, for it was a comfort to the
tender-hearted child to speak the words, even though they were not
heard. Her mother raised her head.
“Good night,” she replied, and putting her arms about Hesper’s neck,
she kissed her.
Mr. Greyson turned away his face quickly, for he was heart-stricken at
what he had heard, and he could not bear to see their mutual love. The
next moment Hesper passed him on her way to her chamber, and he longed
to call her back and speak kindly, but something, he knew not what,
restrained him.
It was not till the poor girl sank down upon her pillow, that she was
conscious of being very weary. Her head ached with thinking, and her
limbs with long continued action; but it was a sweet consolation to
know that she had done all her duty. The moon shone in at the little
window near the foot of her bed, and as she looked out, she could see
the top of “Cottage Hill” covered with neat white houses and finely
cultivated gardens. Beyond this was the “Rolling Mill,” where her
father and Mose worked. The noise of the machinery could be heard
at a great distance, and day and night the red flames were pouring
constantly from the tops of the tall chimnies. As Hesper was watching
this, a thought came to her suddenly. “Why!” she exclaimed, as she
started to her feet in an instant--“Poor Mose hasn’t had a morsel of
supper!” In a few moments she was dressed and went softly down stairs.
Her father still sat in his great chair with his eyes closed, but even
then he was not asleep. She stole very gently into the pantry, and
wrapped up some broad slices of bread and meat which were left from her
father’s supper. Then she warmed some tea and poured into it the last
drop of milk from her own bowl, of which, as yet, she had not tasted.
When all was ready she wrapped her mother’s great shawl about her, and
carefully unbolted the door.
“Hesper,” said her father, “where are you going?”
She was very sorry he had heard her, for she feared he would not allow
her to go out so late at night.
“Only to carry Mose some supper, if you please, sir,” she said very
meekly. “Poor Mose! I am afraid he will faint before morning, if he
does not have some.”
“That is right; you are a good girl, Hesper,” he said in a pleasant
tone.
O, how those few, gently spoken words made her heart throb, and with
what joyful tears in her eyes did she spring from the door-step! Never
had she known him to speak so kindly before, and her whole affectionate
nature was drawn towards him in a moment.