ALL IN CANADA.
Time seemed to creep along very slowly for the next two days to
Ruth Ashton. She sent Eddie to the Post Office, and when he came
without a letter she was terribly disappointed. She exclaimed:
"Oh, I am afraid he has broken his promise and is drinking again;
for he certainly would have written if he were not!"
If those Christians and respectable members of society, who favor
the drinking usages and oppose with all the power of their
intellect the passing of a law to do away with its sale, only
experienced for one short day the agony which wrung the heart of
that sensitive, loving woman, that experience would do what the
tongue of the most eloquent pleader would utterly fail to
accomplish; that is, turn them to hate the traffic as they hate
the father of evil.
Her mind was preyed upon by doubt, fear, terrible anxiety. "If he
were drinking, in a strange country, what would become of him? She
remembered he had considerable money with him; also, when he was
intoxicated he always became reckless, and would be almost certain
to display it, and thus, probably, tempt some hard character to
rob or murder him.
"Oh, my Father, protect him!" she exclaimed in her anguish, as she
knelt before Him who was her only help and consolation in such
times of trouble.
The next morning Eddie was again sent for a letter, and as he came
with one in his hand, the mother grasped it impulsively. But, a
moment after, thinking her action might appear strange to Eddie,
she kissed him affectionately, and said: "Excuse your mamma; my
boy, I was so anxious to read papa's letter that I forgot myself."
The reader has already been made acquainted with the contents of
that letter, and when Ruth had read it her worse fears were not
allayed--rather, confirmed.
She wrote to him immediately--not expressing her fears, but filling
her letter with words of love and confidence, thinking that by
thus doing it would influence him, at least to some extent, to
endeavor to prove to her that her confidence had not been
misplaced.
She did not hear from him again for more than two weeks, though
either she or the children wrote him several letters in the
meantime. The agony she endured during that period I will allow
the reader to imagine.
At length Eddie brought home the letter, the contents of which I
have given in a former chapter. It relieved her heart of a great
burden. In fact, she felt some compunctions of conscience--she
thought she must have judged him wrongfully, for it hardly seemed
possible to her that a stranger to her husband would have engaged
him, if he had presented himself immediately after a long
continued debauch.
That night, as she knelt by her bedside, she thanked God for His
loving-kindness to her, in her hour of great trial. But, after she
had retired and began to think over what the letter contained, she
found that while, on the whole, its contents gave her great cause
for thankfulness, yet, that it made her feel inexpressibly
sad--sad, because she would have again to part with tried and true
friends and go among strangers.
Never in her life had she been the recipient of more gentle
attentions and delicate expressions of kindness than since she had
resided in Rochester. True, some of her neighbors were more
curious in regard to her affairs than she thought was consistent
with good breeding, and sometimes they made inquiries which she
did not wish to answer, but which she did not know how to evade
without giving offence. However, this trait of a certain class of
her American friends--and which, by-the-bye, has furnished a fund
for humorists the world over--was more than redeemed by their
genuine kindness and willingness to help upon every possible
occasion. And some, she thought, were noble examples of what men
and women are when in them natural goodness is joined with
intelligence and culture; for they seemed to divine her wants like
a quick-witted person will catch at a hint, and any service
rendered was so delicately tendered that it almost left the
impression upon the mind of the recipient that a favor had been
granted in its acceptance. In fact, she had been favorably
impressed with her acquaintances in Rochester from the first, and
now she was about to leave, their kindly attentions endeared them
to her so as to make it very hard for her to separate from them;
for, day after day, they vied with each other in doing everything
which kindness could suggest to prepare her for her anticipated
journey.
And Ruth herself was employing every moment, for she never doubted
her husband would have a permanent engagement. She had clothes to
provide for the children, and her own wardrobe to replenish, so
that all might be well prepared to go among strangers.
Eddie and Allie, also, had their own sorrows and trials. At first
they said they would not leave their old home. Child-like, they
thought Rochester was the only place in the wide, wide world where
they could live and find pleasure; and as they had but dim
recollections of England, and all the persons, objects, and scenes
which they loved, and around which their memories lingered, were
centred there, it is not surprising it was the dearest spot on
earth to them, nor that it seemed very hard to leave their school
and school-mates, their trees and flowers, and the many and varied
objects which had been familiar to them for so many years.
"I do wish mamma would coax father not to move among strangers,
especially when it is a cold country like Canada he is going to. I
declare, it is too bad to leave everything we like behind, and go
among those we won't care for, and who will not care for us."
As Eddie spoke, the tears began to glimmer in his eyes, for he
certainly thought their lot was a hard one.
Allie agreed to use all her powers of persuasion to prevail upon
their mother to influence their father not to take them from
Rochester.
It was at one of these little indignation meetings they had given
expression to the speeches which had been reported to their mother
by Mamie. This called forth a remonstrance from her, and she
pointed out to them how selfish and sinful it was to talk as they
had been doing. This had the desired effect, and they promised not
to murmur again, and the promise was kept; for they truly loved
their mother, and would not do anything which they thought would
grieve her.
"I tell you, Allie," said Eddie, one day, "it won't be so bad
after all; for if we are lonesome, when we are not helping father
and mother, you can be working in your flower garden, and I can
help you; and if the fishing is as good as father thinks it is,
won't I enjoy it? I tell you it will be jolly, and if I catch some
big ones I will be able to write back and tell Harry Wilson and
Jim Williams about it."
The eyes of Eddie sparkled with animation as he was looking
forward and by anticipation enjoying these pleasures--forgetting,
for the time being, the hardships which a short period before had
stirred up such rebellious feelings; and then they settled into a
more thoughtful expression as he continued: "Father says there is
a good high school there, and I will, if I can, be the best in my
class there, as I have been here."
"Well," said Allie, "I think we were naughty to speak as we did,
and we caused mamma to grieve. She says God knows what is best,
and that we should be satisfied to leave everything in His hands.
I am sure I shall enjoy myself helping mamma and attending to my
flower garden; for I know you will help me to make the beds, and
we will also make a nice tiny one for Mamie, too. O! won't that be
splendid?"
"I hope," continued Eddie, "that father will keep from drink
there. I am sure mamma thinks he has been drinking since he has
been away, and she is almost grieving herself to death about it.
Oh, I don't see how it is that he don't leave whiskey alone!"
"I do wish he would," said Allie; "for sometimes, when I see mamma
looking so sad, I go to my room and cry, and, Eddie, I often pray
to God to keep papa from drink. Do you think He will hear and
answer me, Eddie?"
"I guess He will," said Eddie. "Mamma says so, and she knows. I
always say my prayers, Allie, but I don't do much more praying. I
think you girls are better than we boys, anyway."
"I don't know," replied his sister; "I think I am bad enough, and
I pray to God to make me better. I think the girls quarrel just as
much the boys, and though they may not swear and talk so roughly,
yet I think they speak far more spitefully."
"I never thought so," said Eddie.
"Well, they do. Why, just yesterday, Sarah Stewart, because I got
ahead of her in our spelling class, twitted me about father's
drinking, and said 'a girl who had an old drunkard for a father
need not put on such airs.' And, Eddie, I did not say anything to
her to make her speak so, only teacher put me up because I knew my
lesson better."
"If a boy, had twitted me like that I would have knocked him
down." And he clenched his teeth and doubled up his fist as he
spoke, which left no doubt in the mind of his sister that he would
have tried his best to have done as he said.
"Well, Eddie, that would have been wicked; it would have grieved
mamma, and, besides, it would have brought you to the level of the
one who insulted you. I was very angry at first, and almost felt
like slapping her, but then I thought how low it would be. When I
cried, the other girls, who heard what she said, shamed her. I
stopped them, for I pitied her. I would pity any girl, Eddie, who
could do so low a thing, and every night since then I have prayed
for her."
"You are a good little puss," said Eddie, as he kissed her.
"Not very good," she answered, "for I am sometimes quick-tempered
and hateful, but I do try to be good."
Richard Ashton gave good satisfaction, and was hired for a year
with a salary that exceeded his expectations. He rented a suitable
house, filling up in every respect the promises made in his
letter. Then, getting leave of absence for a week, he came over
for his wife and family.
He found a purchaser for his property in his next door neighbor,
who paid half down and gave him his note for the remainder, which
would expire a year from date.
He could not, try how he would, keep from feeling sad at leaving
his American home and many friends: for Richard was himself again,
and now saw, in its true light, his former foolishness. In his
heart he sincerely liked the Americans, and left them with regret.
The hearts of Ruth and her children were almost too full for
utterance, and when the time of parting came they did not attempt
to give expression to their sorrow in words. They parted with many
regrets from the dear old home that had sheltered them so long,
and that would be hallowed in their memory forever more; and from
the many friends who had treated them so kindly, some of whom they
would never meet again. In a few days they were kindly welcomed
and settled in their new home.