CONCLUSION
Aunt Dorothy Grumbit did _not_ die! Her gentle spirit had nearly fled;
but Martin's return and Martin's tender nursing brought her round, and
she gradually regained all her former strength and vigour. Yes, to the
unutterable joy of Martin, to the inexpressible delight of Mr. Arthur
Jollyboy and Barney, and to the surprise and complete discomfiture of the
young doctor who shook his head and said "There is no hope," Aunt Dorothy
Grumbit recovered? and was brought back in health and in triumph to her
old cottage at Ashford!
Moreover, she was arrayed again in the old bed-curtain chintz with the
flowers as big as saucers, and the old high-crowned cap. A white kitten
was got, too, so like the one that used to be Martin's playmate, that no
one could discover a hair of difference. So remarkable was this, that
Martin made inquiry, and found that it was actually the grand-daughter of
the old kitten, which was still alive and well; so he brought it back
too, and formally installed it in the cottage along with its grandchild.
There was a great house-warming on the night of the day in which Aunt
Dorothy Grumbit was brought back. Mr. Arthur Jollyboy was there--of
course; and the vicar was there; and the pursy doctor who used to call
Martin "a scamp;" and the school-master; and last, though not least,
Barney O'Flannagan was there. And they all had tea, during which dear
Aunt Dorothy smiled sweetly on everybody and said nothing,--and, indeed,
did nothing, except that once or twice she put additional sugar and cream
into Martin's cup when he was not looking, and stroked one of his hands
continually. After tea Martin related his adventures in Brazil, and
Barney helped him; and these two talked more that night than any one
could have believed it possible for human beings to do, without the aid
of steam lungs! And the doctor listened, and the vicar and school-master
questioned, and old Mr. Jollyboy roared and laughed till he became purple
in the face--particularly at the sallies of Barney. As for old Aunt
Dorothy Grumbit, she listened when Martin spoke. When Martin was silent
she became stone deaf!
In the course of time Mr. Jollyboy made Martin his head clerk; and then,
becoming impatient, he made him his partner off-hand. Then he made Barney
O'Flannagan an overseer in the warehouses; and when the duties of the day
were over, the versatile Irishman became his confidential servant, and
went to sup and sleep at the Old Hulk; which, he used to remark, was
quite a natural and proper and decidedly comfortable place to come to an
anchor in.
Martin became the stay and comfort of his aunt in her old age; and the
joy which he was the means of giving to her heart was like a deep and
placid river which never ceases to flow. Ah! there is a rich blessing in
store for those who tenderly nurse and comfort the aged, when called upon
to do so; and assuredly there is a sharp thorn prepared for those who
neglect this sacred duty. Martin read the Bible to her night and morning;
and she did nothing but watch for him at the window while he was out. As
Martin afterwards became an active member of the benevolent societies
with which his partner was connected, he learned from sweet experience
that "it is more blessed to give than to receive," and that "it is
_better_ to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of
feasting." Dear young reader, do not imagine that we plead in favour of
moroseness or gloom. Laugh if you will, and feast if you will, and
remember, too, that "a merry heart is a continual feast;" but we pray you
not to forget that God himself has said that a visit to the house of
mourning is _better_ than a visit to the house of feasting: and, strange
to say, it is productive of greater joy; for to do good is better than to
get good, as surely as sympathy is better than selfishness.
Martin visited the poor and read the Bible to them; and in watering
others he was himself watered, for he found the "Pearl of Great Price,"
even Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world.
Business prospered in the hands of Martin Rattler, too, and he became a
man of substance. Naturally, too, he became a man of great importance in
the town of Bilton. The quantity of work that Martin and Mr. Jollyboy and
Barney used to get through was quite marvellous; and the number of
engagements they had during the course of a day was quite bewildering.
In the existence of all men, who are not born to unmitigated misery,
there are times and seasons of peculiar enjoyment. The happiest hour of
all the twenty-four to Martin Rattler was the hour of seven in the
evening; for then it was that he found himself seated before the blazing
fire in the parlour of the Old Hulk, to which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had
consented to be removed, and in which she _was_ now a fixture. Then it
was that old Mr. Jollyboy beamed with benevolence, until the old lady
sometimes thought the fire was going to melt him; then it was that the
tea-kettle sang on the hob like a canary; and then it was that Barney
bustled about the room preparing the evening meal, and talking all the
time with the most perfect freedom to any one who chose to listen to him.
Yes, seven p.m. was Martin's great hour, and Aunt Dorothy's great hour,
and old Mr. Jollyboy's great hour, and Barney's too; for each knew that
the labours of the day were done, and that the front door was locked for
the night, and that a great talk was brewing. They had a tremendous talk
every night, sometimes on one subject, sometimes on another; but the
subject of all others that they talked oftenest about was their travels.
And many a time and oft, when the winter storms howled round the Old
Hulk, Barney was invited to draw in his chair, and Martin and he plunged
again vigorously into the great old forests of South America, and spoke
so feelingly about them that Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Jollyboy almost fancied
themselves transported into the midst of tropical scenes, and felt as if
they were surrounded by parrots, and monkeys, and jaguars, and
alligators, and anacondas, and all the wonderful birds, beasts, reptiles,
and fishes, that inhabit the woods and waters of Brazil.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Martin Rattler, by Robert Michael Ballantyne