THE SHEPHERD’S CALL.
IT was only a few evenings after Johnny’s adventure in the wood, that
Hesper stood hesitating and trembling on the great stone steps at the
doctor’s front door. She raised her hand to the silver bell knob, and
then withdrew it, as if her courage failed her.
“No,” said she at last, “I will not fear, for I am doing right, and I
know he is too kind to refuse me.” She did not allow herself another
moment for reflection, but gave the bell quite a vigorous pull. In a
few moments a great red faced Irish girl came to the door.
“Please, ma’am,” said Hesper, dropping a very respectful curtsey--“Is
Dr. Smiley in?”
“No;” said the girl, and she was just shutting the door, when a
pleasant voice called out from the parlor--
“Stop, Ellen; he came in just now, and went up to the library.” The
next moment, a very pretty young lady stepped into the entry.
“Come in,” she said, “and I will speak to father.”
Hesper timidly crossed the threshold, and stood in one corner. “I will
wait here,” she said, in a very humble manner, “if you will be so kind
as to tell the doctor that Hesper Greyson wishes to see him.”
“O please do come in,” said the young lady, as she took Hesper by the
hand and led her into the parlor. “Here is a nice warm fire, and I know
you must be cold.”
“Mother,” she continued, addressing an elderly lady who was seated by a
work-table, sewing--“Here is the very Hesper Greyson of whom father was
speaking--sister to little Johnny.”
There was another young lady--rather older than the first--seated at
the piano, who started up directly when she heard this.
“Let me give her a seat, Alice,” she said, “while you speak to father.”
She drew a velvet cushioned ottoman to the fire, and Hesper sat down,
though she felt very much out of her element.
“How do you do to-night, my dear?” asked the elderly lady, who laid
down her work and regarded Hesper with great interest.
“Quite well, I thank you,” replied the poor girl, though her pale face
and sorrowful eyes seemed to tell a very different story. “It’s my
brother that’s sick ma’am. Poor Johnny! he’s a simple child, but then
we all love him so much, that it troubles us sadly when anything ails
him.”
“What! Johnny sick!” said the doctor, who just then entered the
room--“and how long has that been?”
“Ever since the night he was lost in the wood, sir. We did not wish to
trouble you while we could do anything ourselves, but indeed, he has
grown sick very fast, and I hope you will not take it amiss that I have
come for you, for there was no one else to whom I dared go.”
“You have done just right, exactly,” said the doctor in a most
encouraging manner, “and I shall be right glad to render you every
possible service. I will go with you directly”--and he went out to get
his hat and coat.
Kate, the eldest daughter, also stepped out of the room. She soon
returned with a very pretty silk hood in her hand. “Here, Hesper,”
she said, “this is too small for me, and if it will be of any service
to you, you shall be right welcome.” As she spoke, she stooped down,
and loosening the handkerchief under Hesper’s chin, she tied the hood
upon her head in its place. The poor girl, worn down by watching and
anxiety, had come to the doctor’s house with many misgivings, and thus
to meet with such unexpected favor and kindness quite overcame her. She
could not speak, but the great tears, more eloquent than words, chased
each other swiftly down her cheeks.
“Dear girl!” said the elderly lady as she took off her spectacles and
wiped her eyes--“if there were more in the world like you, I should
want to spend all my life time in doing good.”
When the Doctor was ready, and Hesper arose to depart, the young ladies
followed her to the door, assuring her that they should be happy to
assist her in every possible way, and promised to call next morning and
see how little Johnny got along.
Upon arriving at the house, the doctor found the poor child tossing to
and fro upon his bed, in a small, close room, adjoining the kitchen.
It was a miserable place, but it was the best that could be afforded.
Mrs. Greyson lay upon her own bed in a corner of the kitchen, and
her husband sat by the fire in one chair, with his foot resting upon
another. Aunt Nyna, who was always a friend in need, was moving quietly
about with her usual placid look, making everything as neat and orderly
as possible, while Mrs. Grimsby, who had just brought in a bowl of
nice warm gruel for Mrs. Greyson’s supper, was seated by Johnny’s
bed-side. Fred and Charlie had been sent up to bed some time previous,
but contrary to the supposition of all, instead of being fast asleep,
they were then sitting mid-way of the stairs, shivering with cold, but
listening intently to all that was passing below. Hesper regarded the
doctor anxiously as he took Johnny’s hand in his own. The poor child’s
face was crimson with fever--he moaned and tossed about constantly,
and seemed to be insensible to all around. The doctor shook his head
doubtfully.
“He is very sick,” he said. “Can you tell me what you have done for
him?”
Aunt Nyna, who had taken upon herself the responsibility of being his
nurse, told him all, with the greatest precision.
“That is right,” he said, “I could not have done better myself. But,”
he continued, “I must be frank with you. I fear the poor child is
beyond the reach of medicine. His head has been affected from his
birth, and he has not sufficient vital energy to meet the trying
crisis.”
“Indeed sir!” said Hesper, with a faltering voice and a face white as
the drifted snow--“I can’t have our Johnny die.”
“Hesper! Hesper my dear girl!” said aunt Nyna, as she drew her close to
her bosom, “be patient, and let the Lord’s will be done.”
“Poor little fellow,” said the doctor, in a soft, sympathizing
tone--“it would indeed be a sad loss to those who love him, but to him
it would be a most blissful change.”
“Yes,” said aunt Betsey, who had just arrived, and entered the room
in time to hear the doctor’s words--“I think so too--you oughtn’t to
cry, Hesper--nobody ought to. Though it seems a hard thing to say, yet
it would be a mercy to you all if he should be taken away; for if he
should live to grow up, he would always be a poor miserable creature.”
Just then, Hesper wished that aunt Betsey was dead herself, or that
she never could hear her speak again. He “a poor miserable creature!”
Wouldn’t he always be a comfort and consolation to those who loved
him, if he should live a hundred years? So she reasoned, and she could
not see it otherwise; though when the first gush of sorrow was over,
she felt that the doctor had spoken truly, and that the better world
would give to the poor child, blessings and powers he never could enjoy
below. She was soon able to restrain her emotions, and then sat down by
his bed as quietly as before.
After the doctor had given the poor child a soothing draught--under the
influence of which he soon fell asleep--he went out, and began to talk
with Hesper’s father and mother. He stayed a long time, conversing in
a very friendly and encouraging manner, and offered to do whatever he
could for both of them. Mr. Greyson informed him, however, with a most
melancholy expression of countenance, that he would never get his pay.
The doctor’s only answer was a good-natured laugh, and when he left, he
promised to call again next morning.
Hesper did not close her eyes to sleep that night. She sat by Johnny’s
bed-side, carefully administering his medicines--soothing him in his
restlessness, and praying that a blessing of healing might descend upon
him from above. The night seemed very long, and as the clock slowly
struck each passing hour, Hesper grew faint with weariness, yet she
could not be persuaded to leave her post of duty. Towards morning,
however, she was rejoiced to see that Johnny rested more quietly upon
his pillow--the fever flush had faded from his cheek--his hands grew
cool and as he turned his eyes towards her, he seemed to recognize her
with an almost imperceptible smile, Her heart was so full of this happy
change, that she could have wept for joy. She longed to speak to aunt
Nyna, but the good old lady was dozing so peacefully in her chair,
that she was not willing to disturb her. So she stole quietly to the
window and looked out, to see if there were any signs of morning. The
eastern sky was already crimson with the early light, and the beautiful
day-star was shining clear and bright over the distant hill-tops. It
seemed to Hesper that it was like the great, cheerful hope which had
arisen in her heart, and she turned from the window with a joyful
countenance.
“Hesper,” said aunt Nyna, as she awoke from her sleep, “how is Johnny
now?”
“O much better,” whispered Hesper. “His fever has entirely left him,
and you cannot think how still and quiet he lies, though he is very
weak, and breathes so lightly I can scarce hear him.”
Aunt Nyna started up quickly at this, and went to his bed-side. She
looked him earnestly in the face, and counted the feeble beatings of
his pulse.
“Hesper,” she said seriously, “Johnny is no better. I fear he will
leave us very soon.”
Hesper said not a word, though her lips grow white and she trembled
violently. She bent over the dear child whom she had watched and tended
so carefully, and kissed his pale cheek.
“Johnny, darling,” she said in a low tone, “do you know me?”
He looked up with a faint smile--his lips moved, and he distinctly
whispered “Hesper.” It was the first word the child had ever clearly
spoken, and it was his last, for in a few moments after, he turned
wearily upon his side, and with one long drawn sigh, the spirit gently
departed.
“Poor lamb!” said aunt Nyna, as she brushed away the damp ringlets from
his forehead, and tenderly closed the long fringed lids--“he has heard
the Shepherd’s call and gone home to the fold of love.”
But Hesper heard not; she had never looked on death before, and it was
too great a trial for her loving heart. With a faint moan she sank down
by the bed-side, and when aunt Nyna raised her up, she found the poor
girl had fainted.