A HAPPY HOME.
Richard Ashton had now settled down to business as vigorously and
keenly as in the days of the past, and he seemed not to have lost
any of his faculties by what he had passed through. And yet,
physically, a great change had come over him in the last few
years. He had aged very fast, his thick, wavy hair had lost its
glossy blackness, and was now shaded with grey and white. The hand
was not so steady as in the days of the past; the step had not so
firm a tread.
Ruth saw this with loving apprehension, and while thanking God
that He had influenced her husband so that he was as of old in his
love and kindness to her and their children, and that they had
again a happy home, she prayed he might be kept from temptation;
for she was afraid, if he fell again, he would not be long with
them, as he was only now a wreck of his former self.
And Ruth herself, though time had dealt more kindly with her than
with her husband, knew that the care and anxiety of the last ten
years had, to a serious extent, undermined her constitution and
made her prematurely old. She was now much more easily fatigued
than of yore, and there were those certain indications of time's
ravages, "busy wrinkles," forming around her eyes, though her fair
complexion was favorable to her.
She was sitting at the window one beautiful summer evening,
listening to the carolling of a bird which was perched upon the
bough of a tree that shaded the house, and little Mamie was
playing at her feet, when Allie, who was in the parlor practising
on the piano, struck up with her full-toned soprano voice:
"Darling, I am growing old
Silver threads among the gold
Shine upon my brow to-day;
Life is passing fast away."
"Why, my mamma, dear, oo have silver threads among the gold," said
Mamie. "See dare," and she pointed to the shining silver threads
that were glimmering in the sunlight amid her mother's golden
hair. "I heard Eddie say to Allie that oo had."
Allie, hearing her little sister's remarks, came out and kissed
her affectionately; then, sitting upon her mother's lap, she
lovingly entwined her right arm round her neck, while she caressed
and smoothed her hair with her left hand, and said:
"Yes, mamma, dear, there are now a great many 'silver threads
among the gold,' and yet I don't think my own dear mamma is
growing old at all." And then, as the white tears glistened in her
dark eyes, she continued: "I hope my darling mamma's life is not
passing fast away, for Eddie was saying last night that he was
sure there never was another mother so patient, loving and good as
you are;" and she kissed her again and again.
Ruth returned her child's caresses and said: "I am sure, Allie
darling, I am very happy to know my children love me so fondly;
but if God saw fit to take me, He would care for my motherless
children. He has promised to be a 'Father to the fatherless;' but
tell Eliza to hasten up tea, for here comes your pa."
The conference between mother and daughter was suddenly broken up
by the husband and father's return to his tea. He was in high
spirits, and having brought home a beautiful gros grain silk dress
as a present to Ruth, he claimed a kiss as a bounty. He said to
her: "I want you to congratulate me, dear, for Mr. Gurney has been
so well pleased with me that he has raised my salary; so it will
be the same as what I received when in Rochester, and as our
living is much cheaper here, I consider it fully equal to a
hundred dollars a year more. I am sure, dear, you find the people
equally as considerate and kind as you did in your other home. Do
you not?"
"Yes, dear, I have every cause to be thankful." She could truly
thus speak; for, with the exception of the interview with Aunt
Debie, her intercourse with her neighbors had been of the most
pleasing character. They could not, in fact, do otherwise than
treat Ruth Ashton with considerate kindness, as her amiable
disposition drew all hearts to her, and her intelligent culture
caused even the comparatively ignorant to respect her; for they
instinctively realized she was a lady.
"I am sure, Richard, dear," she said, "that wherever you and our
children are, if we are enjoying health and comparative prosperity,
I cannot but feel contented. I should be very ungrateful, indeed,
if I did not do so. Have we not every reason to be thankful? We
are living in this delightful home, and is it not like Mount Zion,
beautiful for situation?" As she spoke she drew aside the curtain,
and looked out upon the flowers and gravelled walks which,
sweeping in a circle, enclosed a closely-cropped lawn, with
flower-beds on either side of and bordering them, and through
an opening they could see the broad river that gradually widened
until it entered the bay, which was dotted here and there with
white sails, and away in the dim distance they could just discern
the blue waters of the wide-sweeping Ontario. And, as she opened
the window the breeze came fresh from the bay, catching, as it
came, the fragrance of the clover and flowers, which had an
exhilarating effect upon those who inhaled its fragrance. In fact,
her words were emphasized by the silent but poetic eloquence
of the surroundings.
Just then Eddie came in, bringing a fine string of fish. He had
been angling in a stream which flowed into the river, a little
more than a mile from the town, and had succeeded in capturing
some really fine trout. His father, as he looked at them, said
they were "speckled beauties," and they were; for, after counting
them and finding there were nineteen, the scales were brought in,
when they were found to weigh ten pounds.
Eddie's eyes sparkled with triumph. He enjoyed his success all the
more because his father had indulged in a little good-natured
banter as he was starting away, asking him if he should send out a
cart to bring home what he would catch. He now felt he could turn
the laugh against his father.
But who has ever yet caught a fine string of fish without being
proud of his success? Even my reader, who may have reached life's
summit, and is now on the steep decline, if he ever has indulged
in the "gentle art," so beautifully delineated by quaint old Izaac
Walton, will, I think, acknowledge that even yet he feels somewhat
elated when he is so fortunate as to bring home a nice basket of
the "speckled beauties," thus manifesting to all that his hand has
not lost its cunning; but his feelings are cold when compared to
the joy that animates the youthful heart under similar circumstances.
Let any gentleman who may read these pages go back, in memory, to
the sunny days of boyhood, when he returned home with a "fine
string"--the result of a day's fishing--how enthusiastically he
entered into the description of the manner in which the big ones
were captured. And then, with a tinge of regret in the tones, how
graphically he related the escape of some monster of the stream,
which, probably, carried away the hook and part of the line. If
you can remember such episodes in your life, now, alas! in the
long ago--and if you cannot the author sincerely pities you--then
you can have some idea of the triumph of Eddie Ashton upon the
evening in question. He had fished on several occasions in the
river and bay, both with rod and with trolling line, and had been
moderately successful, catching some fine pike and bass--larger
indeed than he had ever seen before, even in the fish-market in
the city; but their capture did not animate him with pride like
this day's catch. He had often read of trout-fishing, and had
longed to participate in its exciting pleasures, thinking how
delighted he should be if he were ever so fortunate as to bring
home even a few; but never in his wildest dreams did he anticipate
anything like what he had now actually realized. That night he sat
down and wrote to Jim Williams, telling him of his success, and
then asking him if he thought Canada was such a slow place to live
in after all.
As the Ashton family gathered round the tea board in their neat
cosy dining-room that beautiful summer evening they presented a
picture of true happiness. They had still many things left which
they had purchased in the days of their opulence. The silver tea
set was shining upon the board as brightly now as it did fifteen
years before. The table was spread with a snow-white cloth--one
that had been brought from over the sea. The silver spoons and
china tea set were also mementos of the dear old home land. The
fare was simple but ample, and there was so much of kindly mirth
and genial wit that each one was happy.
Richard Ashton had not lost his fine sense of humor, and he dearly
loved to enjoy a joke with his wife and children, though he never
indulged in witticisms that would wound the feelings of the most
sensitive person; he was too much of a gentleman to thus torture
others.
If a person could have been present that night, without
restraining their innocent mirth, and participated in the joy of
that happy family, he would never have dreamed that less than one
short year before there had been a dark cloud of sorrow lowering
over them, shutting out all the sunlight from their view.
"Our business has been developing very rapidly lately," said Mr.
Ashton; "there has not been a period during the time in which Mr.
Gurney has been in business that the sales have equalled this
month. And this is the reason, I suppose, he has raised my salary
sooner than he promised. I think I have no cause to be discouraged
with the result."
The dark eyes of Richard Ashton flashed pleasure as he thus spoke,
and the eyes of his wife and children caught and reflected back
the light.
"Pa," said Allie, "my music teacher spoke very kindly to-day, and
said I had made much more advancement than any of his pupils. He
also said if I only had the opportunity I would be much above
mediocrity as a musician. I do wish, papa, that an opening might
occur. Ella Fair has been to Toronto for a year taking lessons
from one who is considered among the best teachers in Canada, and
yet my teacher told me to-day that neither her touch nor her
execution of difficult parts could be compared to my own."
"I am afraid," said her father, "that Mr. Stevens is praising you
so much that he will make you vain. You must remember you are only
a little girl as yet, and have to finish your studies at the High
School. I think there is too much superficiality in the education
of the young in this country, especially in the education of young
girls. There seems to be a desire for what is named the
accomplishments, while even the rudiments of an English education
are to a great extent neglected.
"Why, the young lady of whom you were speaking bought the material
for a silk dress from me to-day, and she undertook to make up the
bill, but failed to do so. I am certain I should have had no
difficulty in reckoning it when I was a mere child, eight years of
age; and though she appeared to be so estimable young lady, her
English was execrable and her slang phrases offensive to
cultivated ears. I concluded if she had only been thoroughly
taught in one of our common schools, she would have appeared to
much better advantage.
"I hope, Allie, you will not become so entirely absorbed in your
music as to neglect those primary studies, which certainly are of
much greater importance. Pastry is all very well for dessert; it
is, however, a very poor substitute for bread.
"But be diligent with your studies, dear, and then we will
probably, some day, see if something cannot be done. If you will
play a piece for me I shall be happy to listen to you after tea."
"I tay, papa," said little Mamie, "I'se going to have a foochoo,"
and she shook her head in coquettish consequence, till the curls
fell over her eyes and nearly hid them from view.
"A foochoo? What is that, little sunbeam? Is it a Chinese doll, or
a doggie, or what is it?"
Of course, by this time, the whole family had joined in a good-natured
laugh at little Mamie's expense.
"No, no, papa, a foochoo--a pant dat will have a petty fower, I
mean. Mrs. Gurney was here, and she taid she ood div me a foochoo
in a petty 'ittle pot, and dat den I ood have my own fowers, and
tood water and tend 'em all myself."
"Oh, it is a fuchsia that she is to give you! Well, I am sure papa
is glad that his little sunbeam is to have a pretty plant to tend;
and if she smiles as sweetly at it as she does at her papa, it
will be a very naughty plant indeed if it does not soon have a
great many beautiful flowers."
"Do you know, papa," said Mrs. Ashton, "that your little daughter
has learned another hymn to sing for you, and she would like to
sing it to you before you return to the store, if it will not
detain you too long."
"Is that so?" said Mr. Aston. "Then, by all means, papa must hear
it."
"I 'earned it from Allie," said Mamie, "and she has been teaching
me this 'ong, 'ong time; but dey told me I was not to 'et papa
know till I had dot it dood."
"Well, Allie," said her father, "you come and give me your piece,
and then I will hear my little Mamie."
Allie sat down at the piano and played Thalberg's "Home, Sweet
Home," and as she rendered it its sweet pathos went to the heart
of her father, and he paid her the highest compliment possible;
for when she had finished she found him with his head turned away
to hide his emotion.
It had brought back the dear old home of his boyhood, and the dear
ones who had made it so happy, but who had long, long ago gone to
the home above; and then his thoughts came back to his present
happy home, and he thought of the dear inmates who had been so
true to him when he had been so untrue to himself. The piece was,
in his estimation, the sweetest, the most thrilling, the most
delicately and tenderly touching of anything to which he had ever
listened.
"It is certainly very fine, my darling," he said, as he stooped
and kissed Allie. "I never had music exercise such a power over
me; it was almost painful in its thrilling ecstasy."
The fine dark eyes of Allie glowed with happiness as she listened
to the commendation of her father. Praise from any other lips
would be but as "sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal" when
compared with his; for her love for him, under every circumstance,
through evil as well as good report, was so great that she would
have died for him; and his praise of her singing filled her with
inexpressible joy.
"Now, little sunbeam," said Mr. Ashton, "I will hear you sing your
piece. Come, Allie, and play for her, for I must soon return to
the shop."
Allie again took her place at the piano and played the prelude,
and then started little Mamie, who sang:
"I am so glad that my Father in heaven
Tells of His love in the Book He has given.
Wonderful things in the Bible I see,
But this is the dearest--that Jesus loves me.
"I am so glad that Jesus loves me--
Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me;
I am so glad that Jesus loves me--
Jesus loves even me."
There was something in the singing of his little prattler which
filled Richard Ashton with strange awe. As she lisped out "I am so
glad," with note as clear as the carolling of a lark, the look of
seraphic rapture which overspread her face evinced that she had
entered into the spirit of the piece and that her little heart was
glad. As he looked into the face of his wife he saw, intuitively,
her thoughts were as his, and he whispered to her: "Ruth, dear,
she seems too fair, too sweet, too good for earth; I am sometimes
afraid that God will take her from us."
Mrs. Ashton made no reply; her heart was too full for speech. But
as he looked at Allie he saw she had caught his whispered words,
and--it seemed almost in unconscious harmony with her thoughts--her
fingers struck the keys and her lips warbled forth in sweetest
pathos the simple but tenderly touching words:
"Strange, we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown!
Strange, that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone!
Strange, that summer skies and sunshine
Never seem one half so fair
As when winter's snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air!
"Then scatter seeds of kindness," etc.
They each of them kissed the little one who was to them so dear.
"My little girl sang that beautifully," said her father, "but she
must not sing too much; I am afraid, if she does, she will injure
her voice."
"Call Eddie," he said; and Mamie ran out for him, for he had gone
out immediately after supper to exhibit his catch to the son of a
neighbor. Mamie met him, and told him that his father was waiting
to have prayer.
It was now the custom of Richard Ashton to gather his wife and
children around him at the family altar, both morning and evening,
to sing a hymn and read a portion of Scripture; and then to
supplicate the Father in heaven for His benediction upon the
little group that were there assembled.
He had commenced family worship when they were married, but as his
views changed he gradually desisted, and finally left off
entirely. This caused Ruth great grief, for she had ever been a
conscientious and consistent Christian. Since they came to Bayton
she had prevailed upon him to resume the custom that was such a
source of joy and comfort to them in the halcyon days of yore. He
always held the service in the morning before breakfast and just
after supper in the evening, as then all the children could be
present.
When Eddie came his father took down the family Bible. They then
sang an appropriate hymn, and, after reading a chapter, he carried
them all to a throne of grace in prayer.
The Bible from which he read the lesson had been in the family for
four generations, and in the family record there were the names of
some who had been gathered to their fathers for over a hundred
years. It had been left him by his mother, and almost her last
words were spoken as she presented it to him. She said: "Take
this, my son; it has been your mother's counsellor and guide
through life, and when other friends failed her it was true. Go to
it for counsel every day, my son; it will be better unto thee than
thousands of gold and silver."
The son took it with a determination to guard it as a precious
treasure, and to leave it as an heirloom to his children. He
penned upon its flyleaf the beautiful words of the poet Morris, as
they so explicitly expressed the incidents which were associated
with his own experience:
"This Book is all that's left me now;
Tears will unbidden start;
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree,
My mother's hand this Bible clasped,
She dying gave it me."
After prayer he went to his shop thanking God in his heart for His
mercy to him after all his lapses. And there was that glow of
happiness reigning in his soul which he only knows who has a happy
home.
Never were truer words penned than those of the poor wanderer,
John Howard Payne:
"Be it ever so humble,
There's no place like home."
If a man has hearts that love him there, he is better prepared to
successfully meet and overcome life's difficulties and to endure
buffetings from the outside world. It seems eminently felicitous
that heaven should be called home; for the name is associated with
the sweetest, purest, holiest joys that are experienced in this
life. It raises our hopes, and fills us with a glorious
expectancy, when we think of that place of rest as "home, sweet
home."