RUTH'S MISGIVINGS AND MENTAL AGONY.
It is now time that we should return to Ruth and her children.
After her husband had left her, as we narrated in the first
chapter, she was very sad, almost desolate, and she felt she must
retire to hold communion with Him who promised to give rest to the
weary soul who came to Him; so, leaving little Mamie in care of
Eddie and Allie, she retired to her room to weep and also to pray.
She was literally following the injunction of her Saviour--praying
to her Father in secret that He might reward her openly. The
reward she longed for was that He would protect her husband and
influence him to walk aright.
As she was thus alone--and yet not alone, for God was with her--her
memory took her back to the sunny days of her girlhood. How
bright those halcyon days appeared! She was in fancy again walking
amid the green fields and by the hedgerows of dear old England,
plucking the daisies from the meadows and listening to the sweet
strains of the lark as it carolled its lay to the morning. Sunny
visions of the past, with loved faces wandering in their golden light,
flitted before her; and her heart was filled with sadness as she
remembered the breaks that Time, with his relentless hand, had made
in that once happy number. She found herself unconsciously repeating--
"Friend after friend departs--
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That hath not here an end."
Then the thoughts of the days when Richard Ashton came wooing,
of moonlight walks, of music and literature--these incidents of joyful
days flitted before her, each for a moment, and then vanished
away, like dissolving views. Some who sought her then were now
opulent, filling positions of honor and great responsibility; and some
of her associates who then envied her, because she was more
sought after than they, were now presiding over palatial homes.
As these visions of the happy days of yore passed like fairy
dreams before her she heaved an involuntary sigh as she
passionately exclaimed: "Oh drink, thou hast been our curse;
turning our happiness into misery; our Eden of bliss into a waste,
weary wilderness of poverty and woe!"
"Mamma, mamma, may I tum, I have such a petty flower to show oo."
It was the voice of little Mamie, and, as her mother opened the
door, she came in, an almost perfect picture of innocent beauty;
as with eyes sparkling with delight she held up to her mother a
large and beautiful pansy.
"Isn't that petty, mamma? and wasn't Eddie a dood boy to get it
for me? Now, mamma, I'm dust going to save it for papa. Will you
put it up for him?"
Mrs. Ashton hastily turned away her head, and wiped her eyes, so
that her child might not see traces of her recent tears. She then
turned, and taking Mamie in her arms brushed her golden curls,
which, young as she was, hung down her back, falling in rippling
waves of sunlight over her fair young form, and assured her she
would put away the flower for dear papa.
Little Mary, or as they called her Mamie, was born, as we have
already noticed, a short time after they came to Rochester. She
was a beautiful child, and in some respects seemed to resemble
each of her parents; for she had the complexion and large, dreamy
eyes of her mother and the features of her father. And in
disposition and mental characteristics she also inherited
qualities from both father and mother; for she possessed the
sprightly animation of the former which ever and anon bubbled over
in gentle, kindly mischief. While she, also, possessed the
guileless trustfulness of the latter, and seemed never so happy as
when she nestled peacefully in the arms of one she loved, and
listened to a simple story of the good in other days, or was
charmed by some beautiful song or hymn, which it was her delight
to help sing.
As one looked at her fair young face--her sunny curls and regular
classic features--either sparkling with animation or melting with
tenderness, they wondered not that she was the pet of home, and
generally beloved, for with such beauty and such gentle witcheries
she could not fail to win hearts.
"Mamma," she said, after her mother had kissed her, "Why has papa
don away? I 'ove my papa ever so much, and I asked him, before he
went away, if he 'oved oo and Eddie and Allie, and he taid he did,
and that he 'oved me, his 'ittle sunbeam, too, and ett he has don
and left us all. I am so sorry papa has don."
As Mamie said this the tears began to glisten in her eyes, and
then sparkling for a moment, in their blue settings, ran in pearly
drops down over her cheeks. Her mother snatched her closely to her
to quiet her sobbings; but, in a moment or two, was weeping in
sympathy with her child.
"My darling," she said, "papa has gone away to find another home
for us all, and after awhile he will come back for us, then my
little Mamie will be her papa's sunbeam again."
"But, mamma, I don't want to go, I dust want to 'top where we are
now, for Eddie was saying, yesterday, that papa was in Tanada, and
that he was coming over after us. And he taid, mamma that Tanada
was so cold we would not have any petty flowers there, and I don't
want to leave all my petty flowers. I dust want to stay here in
our nice home."
"Eddie should not talk so to his little sister," said her mother,
"and I do not think we will find Canada much colder than this
country. God will take care of us there, Mamie, if we are good and
pray to Him, and He will also take care of papa if we ask Him to
do so."
"Will He, mamma?" said Mamie, "den I will ask Him."
She knelt down, and clasping her tiny hands looked heavenward with
sweet trustfulness as she murmured: "Dod bless my papa, and take
care of him." And then she added--the thought seeming to come
intuitively to her mind. "O, Dod, don't let my papa drink, taus
den he is tross to my dear mamma and to Eddie and Allie; and he
don't 'ove mamma den. Dust let him come home nice.--Amen."
Her mother was strangely moved at her child's prayer and murmured,
Amen. And as the little innocent knelt there, a perfect picture of
seraphic beauty, purity, innocence and faith, the thought of the
poet came to her mind--
"O man, could thou in spirit kneel beside that little child;
As fondly pray, as purely feel, with heart as undefiled;
That moment would encircle thee with light and love divine,
Thy soul might rest on Deity, and heaven itself be thine."
And she prayed that God might ever keep her as innocent and pure.