GEORGE BRANFORD'S HOME.
A low sigh, that was all, but the quick ears of Betsy Branford heard
it, and she looked toward the table at which her husband, with bowed
head, was sitting, and then a heavier sigh escaped her own lips. She
sat in a low rocker near one of the windows of their humble kitchen,
paler and thinner than usual, for at her feet was a cradle in which
a babe of only a few weeks lay. The babe slept quietly, however, and
after that sigh escaped her, she turned and gazed out of the window and
off toward the hills, with the same troubled look that had been in her
eyes all the morning.
George was in great trouble just then, but the change that brought
it was small compared with the change in him, wrought since the
winter before. Having once accepted Christ as his Saviour, he had
gone manfully about his daily duties amid his old temptations and
associations, and in spite of jeers and ridicule he had kept the faith.
He had grown wonderfully in grace also, and he and Sailor Jack had
become fast friends, and had more than once knelt together and prayed
for the Master's blessing upon the Black Forge people.
What a difference it makes in a man when he is "clothed and in his
right mind?" Betsy Branford would have told you that she could scarcely
believe herself that this strong, manly, sober, industrious George
Branford, was the wild, reckless, drinking, ungodly man whom she had
called husband so short a time before. He was so strong in his faith,
too; so sure that God heard and answered prayer, that she had, even
in these few months of his Christian life, come to lean upon him, and
to look to him for help in her own religious growth. When, now, he
happened to be cast down and discouraged, her own heart grew weak, and
her faith failed.
What was the trouble? Why this--and no wonder the strong man grew faint
for a moment: the last morsel of food in that house had been eaten that
morning. Not a mouthful remained for that frail mother; not a mouthful
for the little children; not even a drop of milk for that sleeping
babe. Nor was this extreme want due to any fault or neglect of that
strong, manly husband. The little that came to him when the Forge Mills
shut down had been carefully husbanded. He had used his money only for
the barest necessaries of life, and he had earned every cent he could
during the weeks the mills had been still. But with hundreds of idle
men seeking and clamoring for work, there had been but little for each
one, and the pay for that little was meagre indeed, and soon exhausted.
It was a large family, too, for one pair of hands to provide for. Mr.
Branford, Sr., ever since the strike, had hung about the saloons, and
the little he earned went into the rumseller's till, or was whiffed
away in smoke. He came around to the house, however, for his meals, and
uttered many a bitter oath if he was obliged to go away without them.
Then there were the three sisters, all Christians now, and practicing
self-denial in every way, and ready to do any honest work; but they got
little, and this was their only home. Even now they had gone out to the
hills with Betsy's older children, hunting for chestnuts that bright
October morning that they might sell them for bread. Of those older
children there were three, and now in the cradle lay a fourth; and then
there was the wife and mother, and lastly the strong, hearty husband
and father. Ten mouths in all! Is it any wonder that with his scanty
work and scantier pay, and with his most rigid economy, too, they had
now reached a condition of absolute want?
When the placards had announced the possibility of the mills starting
up early the next month, new hope had come to George Branford's breast.
This struggle with absolute want would be short, and soon over now, he
thought. He had met Mr. Bacon, in fact, only a few days before, and
that gentleman, stopping him, had asked:
"George, do you feel competent to take charge of the jack rooms, in
case we start up the mills next month?"
"Yes, sir," George had promptly answered, a great hope filling his
heart.
"Well, then, we'll book you for that position; but I'll see you again,"
Mr. Bacon had pleasantly replied, as he drove on.
This had meant more to George than you and I can realize; it would be
the best position and the largest pay he had ever received in his life.
One of the sisters could stay out of the mill now, and help Betsy with
the children and the housework, and it would be so much nicer for them
all. So he had built his day dreams for those he loved, and his heart
had swelled with gratitude toward God, who was dealing so graciously
with him. But this morning all those dreams and hopes had been rudely
dashed to the ground. The huge posters instigated by Hyde and his
followers had appeared, and it was rumored that now the mills would not
start up at all. For the first time, then, in all those weary weeks,
George had become despondent, and his despondency fell like a dark
cloud over his poor wife's heart. Without a word they had for an hour
sat there, she at the window and he at the table. He had not meant that
his low sigh should be heard. He had struggled hard to suppress it, but
for his life he could not keep it back. Perhaps it was the best thing
he could have done, however, for when Betsy looked over at him, and a
heavier sigh escaped her lips, he aroused himself. A Bible lay on the
table before him. He opened it listlessly. Was it chance that his eye
immediately rested upon these words: "Call unto me, and I will answer
thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not?"
He read the words aloud, and to Betsy, who had not even noticed that he
had raised his head, they came with a suddenness and power that brought
back her faith in God with a quick rush that overflowed her heart.
"Oh, George!" she exclaimed, rising and coming hastily over to his
side, "how could we doubt God so, just as though he could not even now
give us all we need and more?"
"You are right, darling," he said, resolutely. And with her he knelt
there, and together they asked God to forgive their lack of faith, and
to give them a trust that would leave all things temporal, as well as
spiritual, in his hands. They rose from their knees greatly comforted,
and walked over to the window together.
"There is Bill Davis' boat!" exclaimed George, suddenly, as his eye
fell on the rude dory hitched in the brook near the house. "I believe I
will borrow it, and go down the bay clamming. There will be a good tide
a little before noon. Then if the girls get some nuts they can exchange
them for crackers, and we shall be provided for to-day."
"Why not go down to Long Point--that is a good place for clams; and
then you can see Ray?" asked Betsy.
"I'm afraid he will insist on knowing how we are situated here at
home," replied her husband, "and will make me take some money. You know
when you were sick he made me take ten dollars, and then when here two
weeks ago he left five dollars with you. It seems too bad to take his
money when he is working so hard to get an education."
"Your going to Long Point won't make any difference about that," said
Betsy; "for if he don't see you before long, he will surely come here.
He knows well enough that you have hard work to get along, and he said
to me when here that he ought to bear his part of the expenses in this
crisis just as much as you."
"I know he feels so, and his willingness to do for us forms one of
the very reasons why I want to receive as little help from him as
possible," replied George. "But Long Point is a good place for clams,
and I will go down there, since you have suggested it. It may, perhaps,
be the way in which the Lord is going to answer our prayers." And
getting his basket and hoe, and putting on a pair of heavy boots, he
prepared to go.
Before he left the house, however, there came a knock at the door. On
opening it, Mr. Jacob Woodhull stepped in, with a large pail in his
hand.
"How are you, George? How do you do, Mrs. Branford? Fine day! I was
going up town, and thought I would bring you along a pail of milk," he
said, extending the pail he carried to George. "When you have three
or four of those fellows," and he pointed at the cradle, "milk always
comes in handy."
"Indeed, it does; and you don't know how thankful we are for it," Betsy
answered, while George went into the pantry to empty the pail.
"Perhaps I do now," the old gentleman replied, with a smile.
A moment later the husband and wife were alone. They looked at each
other a few moments, and then George slowly repeated the words: "Call
upon me, and I will answer thee," "God has begun to answer us already,
Betsy," he said, gently and reverently. Then kissing her and the
sleeping child, he left the house.
He had no difficulty in securing the boat, and soon was pulling rapidly
down the bay. An hour later he landed on Long Point, and, as the tide
was already well out, he took his basket and hoe and began his search
for the delicious bivalves. The tide proved to be a favorable one, and
his basket was nearly full, when a voice suddenly exclaimed:
"You have done well, George; but I'll show you a quicker way yet, and
we'll fill your basket. Then you must come up to the house and take
dinner with me."
It was Ray who spoke, and with a six-tined fork in his hand he came
down the bank to meet his brother. They shook hands cordially, and then
Ray, with a few turns of his fork, threw out enough to fill the basket
to its utmost capacity.
"There, now, pull your boat up, and secure it against the incoming
tide, George, while I cover these clams over with rock weed and set
them up there in the shade. Then we'll go up to the house," said Ray.
As they walked along, Ray questioned George as to the family, and soon
learned the condition of things at the old home. He also learned for
the first time of the threatening placards that had been put out, and
the probability that the mills would not start, after all.
"I tell you what it is, George," Ray said, as they drew near the house,
"I am coming up to the village to-morrow evening, and will come on
down home for a while. We'll then talk these matters over, and see
what the outlook for you is. But give yourself no anxiety as to the
future. I told you long ago I stood ready to help you. The trouble is,
you in your unselfishness have wanted to carry this burden alone, and
I selfishly have allowed you to do it. Ten mouths are a good many to
satisfy, and for the next month you must let me bear the whole burden."
"But you know you have helped me already, Ray," said George, "and I
knew how anxious you were to go to some good school this fall, so
I tried to get through with the burden as well as I could, without
letting you know about it."
"You great big unselfish brother!" replied Ray, tears coming into his
eyes. "I shall help you, nevertheless. God can provide a way for me to
go to school, if that is his will."
After dinner, Ray accompanied George back to the boat, wheeling on a
barrow two bushels of nice potatoes. Having placed them in the dory, he
handed George two dollars, saying: "This is all I have by me now, but
it will last you over to-morrow. I will get more of Mr. Woodhull when
he comes home this evening, and to-morrow night I will bring you enough
to pay your rent and keep you running until the mill starts up. If
anything prevents that, we'll see what else we can find for you to do."
George wrung the generous boy's hand until he winced with the pain, and
then, entering his boat, pulled with a light heart off toward home.
The next evening a high wind was blowing directly down the bay, and
heavy clouds covered the sky; so Ray drove around to the village.
Putting his horse under one of the First Church sheds, he did his
errands, and then walked on down to the Forge.
George and he were soon so busy talking over the family affairs, and
the prospect of the mills starting up, that he took no notice of the
lapse of time, and was surprised when the clock struck eleven.
"Well, George," he said, on rising to go, "if the mills start up on the
first of November, I should accept the position Mr. Bacon has offered
you. It is your right, and I should leave the result to God. Possibly
this threatening of Hyde and the others is all bluster, and if they
find that they cannot intimidate the corporation, they will back down,
as they did in July. I heard up at the village that the managers knew
where they could get all the men they wanted, and that they really
intended to start in November with a full force."
"I hope it may prove so," answered George, "but father was in this
noon, and he declared the mills would never start again. He is thick
with Hyde and Willis, and ought to know what they are about."
"Time alone can tell," replied Ray, "but here is the money I promised."
And he handed George thirty dollars, and his three sisters and Betsy
five dollars each. "I have some more yet which I have saved, and you
shall have every dollar of it if necessary." And to avoid their profuse
thanks he hurried out of the house.
As he turned the corner and came on the main street, he heard a step
behind him, and glancing quickly around he caught sight of a figure
hurrying off in the darkness. He needed no second glance to enable
him to recognize that stooping figure, and slow, shuffling gait as
belonging to his own father, and a desire to know where he could be
going at that time of night led him to turn and follow slowly along
behind him.
He had not far to go, for his father turned up the first side street
leading toward the mills, and soon stopped before a small building. Ray
knew it was a low groggery, but the shutters were down, and the place
seemed to be deserted. He found a moment later, however, that such was
not the real case, for at his father's knock, the door quickly opened,
and he entered.
"That means a night of wild carousing, with companions as reckless as
himself," said Ray, bitterly, as he turned to retrace his steps. "O
Lord," he then cried, "wilt thou not bring him soon to a knowledge of
thyself?"
As he turned on to the main street again, he glanced back along the
passage way. The door of the saloon was now open, and in the light
that streamed forth he recognized the four men who suddenly came out
and went on up the alley toward the mills. They were his father, a man
named Smith, and Blake and Hyde, the leaders of the strike. He also
heard some one in the groggery call out to the men as they hastened
away: "Come back here, boys, as quick as possible."
What could the men be going to do? A dark foreboding of some great evil
came to Ray's heart, as he noiselessly followed on after the four men.
Were they about to commit some crime? He did not dare approach too
closely, lest his presence should be discovered. And when he reached
the tall fence forming the mill yard he had lost sight of them. He
listened, but heard no steps; he could not even tell which way they
had now gone. He remembered that a ways down that side of the fence on
which he was standing there was a small door leading directly to the
mills, but it was seldom used. He would go down as far as that, and
see if it was closed. He soon reached it, and found that it was firmly
fastened. He breathed easier. Perhaps the men were only out on some
drunken frolic, after all; and provoked at himself for his needless
apprehension, he hurried back to the main street, and went almost on a
run up town. When he reached the hill he went more slowly, and at its
top he turned and looked down upon the village below.
Silence and darkness reigned everywhere. The wind blew terribly, and
sent the chilly night air to his very bones. He could not tell why he
lingered there, but he did with his eyes fastened upon that part of the
darkness which he knew hid the great mills from his sight.
Suddenly he gave a great start. He had seen a glimmer of light down
near the largest mill. It grew in brilliancy, and then lights flashed
forth from three other buildings in the mill yard, and streamed up into
the air, fanned by the fierce wind. He could not be mistaken. The Black
Forge Mills were on fire, and in that high wind no human power could
save them.