supper," said Maggie.
"Ah! my poor Coxcomb," said Mrs. Porter, "don't you think he is
pretty?"
"Yes," said Maggie, "he is very pretty but he is not a bit good. He
is not at all 'handsome is that handsome does--' pecking that dear
little yellow chicken! I'd rather be that brown guinea hen who is so
nice and good, even if she is not so very pretty."
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Porter, "that is the way, all the beauty in the
world will not make us loved if we are not kind and sweet."
The feeding of the fowls was scarcely done when they were called in to
their own supper; and when this was over, our little girls with their
elder brothers ran off to find Mr. Porter, and beg for the story about
old Sol.
The old man was seated outside the kitchen door, enjoying the lovely
summer twilight, and waiting, he said, to see if the children would
not come to claim his promise. He took Bessie upon his knee, and bade
Fanny bring a stool for Maggie, while Harry and poor limping Fred, who
came slowly after the others, sat upon the curb stone which ran around
the old well.
"It was just about this time last year," began Mr. Porter, when they
were all settled, "that I hired a new farm hand. His name was Ted,
and he was a simple, half witted fellow, easily led by those about
him. I don't think he had much judgment or conscience of his own, poor
lad, but was ready to do either right or wrong according as he was
persuaded at the moment. Tell him to do a certain thing in a certain
way and he would obey, unless some one else came along and told him
differently; when he would do as the last speaker said, and forget all
his former orders. He meant to be faithful, but of course he was not
to be trusted without a good deal of watching to make sure he was not
interfered with, and there were folks enough, bad boys and girls, who
were always ready to meddle with him and set him up to some mischief,
just for the bit of fun it would make for themselves. He was the son
of a poor widow in the village, who had hard work to keep herself and
her seven children fed and warmed through the winter; and Ted, who
was ready enough to help his mother so far as he knew how, could get
no steady work. No one had patience with the simple lad who was so
easily led astray without intending to do wrong; and who would come
and confess his mistakes with the most triumphant air, believing that
he must have done right since he had obeyed the last orders he had
received.
"But I thought with me and the boys to look after him, he could get
along here, so I hired him. He was a capital hand with horses, and his
work was mostly about the stable, feeding the horses, rubbing them
down and the like. He used to pet the dumb creatures and talk to them
as if they were human beings, and it was wonderful to see how fond
they all became of him, old Sol in particular. He would run to meet
Ted, and follow him about the fields just as your little Flossy there
follows you; or if he was in the stable would whinny with delight the
moment he heard his step.
"Ted had a way of curling himself up in Sol's manger and going to
sleep when his work was done, and the horse would never suffer any one
to come near or disturb him till he had had his nap out.
"Well, so Ted was doing very well, being obedient and industrious,
when one day about Christmas time my son Bill went down to the
steamboat landing to bring up a load of stores which had been brought
from the city. There was a deep snow on the ground, with a prospect
of more to come that day, and I did not feel just so willing to have
him caught in the storm. A snow storm on these mountain roads is not a
nice thing to be out in, I can tell you; but some of the stores were
pretty badly wanted, and we were afraid they would spoil, lying on the
dock.
"So Bill started off, taking Ted with him to help him load up, and
driving Sol and Nero before the sledge.
"When he reached the village he went to the post-office, where he
found a letter to himself, telling him his favorite brother Walter,
who was at college in the city, was very ill and wanted to see him.
There was but an hour or two before the train would be along, not time
enough for him to come up home and go back again; so he went to the
dock, loaded up the sledge, and giving the reins to Ted, bade him go
straight home and stop for nothing.
"Ted would have done this had he been let alone; but as he came back
through the village, a lot of mischievous fellows got hold of him and
told him he was to stop at the public house and rest his horses before
they set out for their pull up the mountain. When they had persuaded
him they led him on to drink, till he became noisy and more foolish
than ever; and when they had had their fun with him they let him go.
"As he was leaving, Seth Owen came out with his jug of whiskey and
begged to be taken up the mountain. Now I had many times warned Ted
against Owen, for I knew he was just the one to lead the poor fellow
wrong if it was only to spite me; but he told Ted I had sent orders
he was to take him home, and the lad was persuaded to do it.
"I suppose after they were on their way, Owen drank afresh himself,
and led Ted to do the same. However that was, the hours went by, and
when Bill did not come I began to be uneasy, all the more as by this
time it was snowing heavily. I was standing on the piazza, looking
down the road, and thinking if it was not best to yoke up a team of
oxen and go in search of my boy, when I saw the sledge coming up the
side of the lake. But no Bill and no Ted were with it, the horses
were alone, plodding along through the snow, and if ever it was said
without words, 'there's something wrong, come as quick as you can,'
old Sol said it that day. We pitched off the load, quick as lightning,
and I, with my other boys, started in search of Ted. My fears for Bill
were set at rest by finding, pinned to one of the bags, a note saying
where he had gone; for the dear thoughtful fellow had been afraid Ted
would forget to give it to me, and so put it where he knew I must see
it.
"Sol and Nero went straight ahead without orders or guidance, for I
just let them have the rein, thinking the faithful creatures knew
better than I did where they should go. Half way down the mountain
they went, and night was just beginning to fall, when they stopped
short in one of the most break-neck places on the whole road. We
looked about us, and there, sticking up out of the snow, was a man's
leg. We pulled him out in less than no time, but it was not poor Ted,
but Seth Owen. We searched all about for the poor lad in vain; when,
seeing old Sol was mighty uneasy, and stretching his neck out as if
he wanted to get free, I took him out of the harness, thinking the
creature might help us.
"Sure enough, he turned about, and going to a spot where the mountain
fell sheer down a hundred feet or so, he pawed away the snow, and
there, half on, half over the edge of the precipice, hung Ted, his
clothes caught by a bush, and holding him back from sure destruction.
He, as well as Owen, was dead drunk.
"We were putting him on the sledge when I saw Sol, who had trotted
back to the place where we found Owen, pawing away once more at the
snow, snorting and sniffing as if he were displeased. I went to see
what he was about, thinking here was some other fellow buried in the
snow; but as I came up to him, he uncovered the whiskey jug, the cause
of all this mischief. He smelled about it for a moment, and then,
with a snort of disgust, turned about, and dashing his heels upon it,
sent it flying over the cliff, then walked quietly to the sledge, and
placed himself ready to be harnessed, with an air which said, 'That
can do no more harm.' We lost no time in getting home, where Ted, and
Owen too, were brought round with difficulty. An hour more and they
would both have been frozen to death. So you may believe we have cause
to think much of old Sol."
"But how did the two men happen to fall from the sledge so nearly in
the same place?" said Harry.
"We supposed they were both stupefied, partly by drink, partly with
the cold, and that the sledge had run upon the bank, causing it to
tip sideways, and they had slipped off, while the load being securely
fastened with ropes had remained in its place."
"And did Ted ever get drunk again?" Bessie.
"Not while he was with me," said Mr. Porter, "and I hope he never will
again. When he was told of his narrow escape and of what old Sol had
done, he said, 'Nice old horse, nice old horse, he knew better than
Ted. He teach Ted never touch whiskey stuff again.' His mother moved
out west this spring, and he went with her; but I think his poor dull
brain has received a lesson it will never forget."
"And what did Owen say about his jug?" asked Fred.
"He was very angry, and swore he would make me pay for it, seeming
to think little of the saving of his life since he had lost that. He
managed to pick up another one in a day or two, and the lesson did him
no good."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
V.
_THE GARDENS._
BESSIE thought a great deal of those two poor, wicked, neglected
children, who had no one to care for them; and when she went up to bed
and had knelt at her mother's side, and said her evening prayers, she
paused a moment before she rose and said,--
"Please, dear Jesus, send some one to teach Lem and Dolly about you,
and how you loved little children, and let me help them a little if
there is any way I could do it, 'cause I am so sorry for them. Amen."
Mamma laid her hand very tenderly on her darling's head, though she
said nothing, for she did not see how it was possible for her gentle
little girl to help the two forlorn outcasts upon whom all kindness
seemed worse than thrown away.
"Yet who knows what even she might do?" thought the mother, as having
seen each little birdling safe in its nest, she went slowly and
musingly down stairs to join the rest of the family, thinking as she
went of Bessie's simple prayer, "who knows what even she might do?
for--
'Often such _childish_ heart is brought
To act with power beyond its thought,
For God by ways they have not known
Will lead his own.'"
It would not be the first time, as the mother knew, that the seed
innocently dropped by that baby hand had taken root, and brought forth
fruit rich and flourishing in the garden of the Lord.
"Maggie," said Bessie, the next morning as they sat together upon the
piazza step, waiting for Mr. Porter to take them to the garden and
give them their plots of ground, "Maggie, would you not like to do
something for Lem and Dolly?"
"Yes, that I would," said Maggie; "I would just like to give Lem a
good soaking in the lake, and to make Dolly's knee hurt just as much
as Fred's."
"But that would be naughty," said Bessie; "it's not the way Jesus
would like us to do, and it's not the Golden Rule that you like so
much, Maggie. I think it is to give evil for evil."
"Well, I s'pose it is," said Maggie; "and it is rather naughty, I do
believe, Bessie; but I do not mean I would do it, only I would like to
do it. I think I'll be about as naughty as that."
"Don't you think you can forgive them, Maggie?"
"No, not quite," said Maggie. "I'll forgive them a little, but I can't
give them the whole of my forgiveness. Why, they were so very bad, and
did so many mean things to us, when we did not do a single thing to
them. Don't you feel a bit angry with them, Bessie?"
"Yes," said Bessie, "I'm 'fraid I do. When I think about it I feel
pretty angry. But I want to try and forgive them enough to do a kind
thing to them if I have a chance."
"Oh," said Maggie, "we could never do a kind thing to them even if we
wanted to. You see they just come and do something bad, and then run
away, 'cause their guilty conscience knows they ought to be punished.
And besides, Bessie, they're not fit 'ciety for us. The copy book
says, 'Shun evil company,' and mamma said that meant we must not go
with wicked people. And they are so ragged and dirty. You would not
like to touch them or sit down by them, would you?"
"No," said Bessie, quickly, for she was very dainty and delicate in
all her ways, and the thought of coming near the miserable, dirty
children was not at all pleasant to her; "but maybe sometimes we might
say a kind word to them without going very close to them; and if we
showed them we did not feel very mad with them, perhaps they would not
be so naughty to us. I am so very sorry for them, 'cause they have no
one to teach them better, and no mother, and such a bad father, who
tries to make them more wicked. If you ever had the chance to do a
little bit of kindness for them, Maggie, would you not do it?"
"I don't know," said Maggie, "that's a great thing to make up my
resolution about, and I'll have to think about it a little. Oh, here
are Mr. Porter and the boys. Now let us go."
"Maggie and Bessie, mamma wants to speak to you in her room before you
go," said Harry, looking very full of glee.
The little girls ran in, and there, oh, delight! there stood mamma
with a tiny spade, rake and hoe in each hand. It was quite impossible
to mistake who they were meant for. They were just of the right size
for our two small gardeners; and mamma's look and smile as she held
them out told that they were for their use.
Maggie gave a shriek of delight and went capering all about the room;
and Bessie's bright smile and the color which flushed her cheeks told
that though less noisy, she was not less pleased than her sister.
"Oh, you darling, precious mamma," said Maggie, pausing in her capers
to examine the pretty toys, "they are just what we wanted. How did you
get them so quickly?"
"I brought them with me," said mamma, "thinking that some day when you
wanted, something to do, they might furnish you with a new pleasure;
but I did not think they would prove useful so soon. You must be
careful of them, and not leave them lying out in the damp, or they
will be spoiled."
The children readily promised, and ran off to show their treasures to
their brothers and Mr. Porter.
Mr. Porter soon measured off such a square of ground as he had
promised for each of them, adding one for Hafed, who was much pleased
to do as the others, and fell to with a good will at digging and
planting. Mr. Porter also kindly gave them such seeds as would do
to plant at this late season; and papa, who had driven down to the
village with the Colonel and Uncle Ruthven, came back with a number of
verbenas, heliotropes, geranium slips and other pretty things, which
were set out in the new gardens. Nor was this all, for Uncle Ruthven
had bought a small watering-pot for each child, and they had gone to
the carpenter's, where the Colonel had ordered two wheel-barrows, one
of a fit size for Maggie and Bessie, the other a little larger for the
boys, and these were to be done in a day or two. In short, nothing
seemed wanting to success but patience and industry on the part of the
young gardeners.
The girls chose to have only flowers in their gardens, but the boys
had some vegetables as well. Mr. Porter told them the beds must be
kept nicely weeded, and watered when the weather was dry.
There was only one fault which Maggie and Bessie could find with their
gardens, and that was that they lay at such a distance from the house
that mamma could not allow them to go there without their brothers or
nurse to have an eye upon them. Not that they were not to be trusted
out of sight, but mamma did not think it safe for two such little
girls.
For some days after this, the four boys, Harry, Fred, Hafed and Bob,
seemed to have an immense amount of whittling to do. At all odd times
they were found with their knives and small strips of wood in their
hands, and these bits of wood were all fashioned into one size and
shape. But to what use they were to be put was kept a grand secret,
until one day when Maggie and Bessie went with Jane to work in their
gardens, they found a neat little fence about five inches high all
around their plots. The kind brothers had made this agreeable little
surprise for them.
"Our peoples are always doing nice things for us," said Bessie, when
they had thanked the boys.
"Yes," said Maggie, "I am quite expecting to be surprised all the
time."
At which the Colonel and Mrs. Rush, who were standing by, laughed,
though Maggie could not see why.
Meanwhile nothing more had been seen or heard of Lem and Dolly. Mr.
Porter had found out that Owen had not returned with them, and that
the two children were alone in their miserable shanty. One day when
Maggie and Bessie were out walking with some of their older friends,
they came upon this wretched home, if home it could be called. The
rock against which it leaned formed one side of the house, the other
three were of single boards nailed together. A square hole was cut for
a window, but had neither glass nor casement; and the door hung by one
rusty hinge, which looked as if it might give way at any moment. There
was no one about; Lem and Dolly were away, probably busied in some
new mischief or theft, and our party peeped within the open door. No
furniture of any kind was there. A heap of dried leaves and dirty rags
upon the hard, uneven ground which formed the floor, was the only bed;
and the little girls drew back in disgust. Without, upon the rocks,
were the charred embers of a fire, and over them two crooked sticks,
and they, with a battered tin pan, and numberless bones and feathers
which lay scattered about, told that there the ill-gotten food was
cooked and eaten.
It must have been a hard heart which was not saddened by the thought
that this was all the home of two young children; and Bessie felt more
pity than ever for Lem and Dolly. Maggie felt it, too, and as they
turned away, she whispered to her sister,--
"Bessie, I never saw such a dreadful place to live in. I _would_ do a
kind thing for Lem and Dolly, if I could."
It was a lovely spot, too, but for the signs of poverty and filth
around. Before them the mountain fell suddenly away, leaving on two
sides a beautiful view of the open country, dotted with its fields and
farm-houses. Away to the north stretched range after range of blue
hills, till those in the distance were lost in the veil of mist which
hung over their tops. The woods around were full of wild flowers,
briar roses, delicate primroses, and the bright red columbine, and
even here and there, a late anemone; the little star-like flower,
looking almost as if it had dropped from heaven, and wondered to find
itself alone and solitary, so far away from its sister stars.
A perfect silence lay upon all around; not a sound was heard; not a
leaf seemed to stir in the summer air; not a bird was heard to utter
a note; and a hush fell upon the party as they turned into the lovely
little wood-path which led them homeward.
Bessie lingered a little, with her eyes fixed far away, and her head
on one side as if she were hearkening to something.
"What is it, darling?" asked her father. "Are you not ready to go?"
"Yes, papa," she answered, putting her hand into his; "I was only
listening to the _still_."
Her father smiled, and led her on till they had joined the rest. They
were quite near home when the Colonel, who had fallen a little behind
with his wife, called to Maggie and Bessie.
"To-morrow is Sunday," he said. "Have you found a place where you can
have your Sunday-school class?"
No, Maggie and Bessie said, they had not thought of it.
"But perhaps Mr. Porter will let us have it in one of his barns, as
Mr. Jones used to do last summer," said Bessie.
"I have found a better place than that for you," said Colonel Rush;
"that is, on a pleasant Sunday. When it rains, we must find cover
within doors. See, here, what do you think of this for a Sunday-school
room?" And he guided them a little to one side, where a sloping path
and four or five natural steps led down into a broad crevice or cleft
among the rocks which surrounded the lake.
A lovely room it was indeed, carpeted with moss, curtained and shaded
by the green trees which waved overhead, and furnished with seats made
by one or two fallen stones on one side, on the other by a ledge of
rock which jutted out at just such a height as to make a convenient
bench for little people. The steps by which they had descended, closed
them in behind; in front lay the lake; beyond that again the gray old
rocks, the mountain rising bold and stern above the peaceful waters.
No glimpse of the Lake House or its cheerful surroundings could be
seen, unless one peered around the edge of the inclosing mass of rock,
and this the Colonel would not permit the children to do, lest they
should fall into the water which washed at the very foot of the pretty
retreat.
The little ones were enchanted, as was their dear teacher, Mrs Rush,
or "Aunt May," as they always called her now.
"I thought you would like it," said the Colonel. "I was strolling
about this morning when I came upon this nook, and thought what a
pleasant Sunday-school room it would make. So convenient, too. See,
this great stone will do for a seat for May, and here is one for her
table; while this ledge makes a capital resting-place for you. Try it,
little ones."
The bench certainly did very well for Maggie, but Bessie's feet would
not touch the ground. However, the Colonel made that all right by
rolling over a flat stone which answered for a footstool, and Maggie
and Bessie thought there was nothing more to be desired.
"Harry and Fred want to come," said Bessie, "do you think you could
let them, Aunt May? Sunday evening we always tell them the stories the
Colonel tells us in the morning, but they say they would like to hear
them for themselves."
"And Uncle Ruthven would like Hafed to come too," said Maggie. "He
said he was going to ask you. Hafed likes to learn, Aunt May, and he
knows English pretty well now, and tries to understand all that is
said to him."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Rush, "they may all come if they wish, and then
we shall not miss Gracie and Lily so much."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VI.
_THE SUNDAY SCHOOL._
WHEN Sunday afternoon came they all met as had been arranged, in the
lovely nook the Colonel had chosen for them. The little girls were
there with Harry, Fred and Hafed. Bob Porter had asked that he might
come too. Mrs. Rush was quite willing, but she feared that such great
boys would not care for the simple lessons she taught to Maggie and
Bessie. She knew they were all too gentlemanly to interrupt or trouble
her; but she thought they might grow tired or think it was like
babies' play; so she told them they might go if they did not like it.
But she was quite mistaken, for they all, even Bob, who was the
oldest, listened not only with respect and attention, but also with
great interest, and joined in the lessons with the best of good will.
Frankie was there too, for he had begged to come, and had been allowed
to do so on the promise that he would behave very well and sit still.
Sitting still was even harder work for Frankie than it was for Maggie;
but he meant to be good and quiet, and would probably have kept his
word if he had not been troubled. For by and by they all found that
even in this quiet nook they were not to remain undisturbed.
Frankie sat as far as possible from Bob, with whom he was much
displeased, though he had no good reason to be so. A short time before
this, the little ones had all been playing on the grass in front of
the house, while the grown people sat upon the piazza. It would have
been thought that it was not easy for any one of them to get into
mischief or danger with so many to watch them; but Frankie had a way
of doing this which was quite surprising. Never was such a fellow
for climbing as that Frankie, and his neck was in danger half a
dozen times a day, in spite of all the care that could be taken. His
mother's eye had been off of him for scarcely two minutes, when she
was startled by hearing Maggie say in a terrified voice, "Oh, mamma,
do come to Frankie!"