AN ORPHAN INDEED.
The spring advanced into summer, and on one of its calm and bright
evenings, Margaret, exerting her little strength, took William to the
grave-yard, and both seated themselves on the little green hillock
beneath which George Raymond awaited in peace the resurrection from
the dust. No costly monuments nor storied urns were in that simple
grave-yard. Some plain marble tablets marked the resting-places of the
dead; but there were memorials of deeper meaning and more lovely.
Trees waved their branches protectingly over the little mounds; kind
hands had planted them with flowers and kept them sacred. Thus it was
a pleasant spot, and full of hallowed remembrances. Margaret had never
spoken of her coming death to her son; but now, seated on the spot of
earth which must ere long be opened to afford a resting-place for
herself, she told him that soon, in a few weeks most likely, he would
be an orphan indeed, alone in the world, and with no friend but God.
How can the sorrow and astonishment of the poor boy be described?
Motherless and fatherless! what a deep and painful impression did the
words of that truly pious mother make upon him! He had dearly loved
his father, but the exertion he had at once made to help to support
his mother had prevented his viewing that great loss in all its
magnitude; but now, to lose her on whom, since his father's death, he
had hung his whole heart, was an idea so terrible that he could
scarcely comprehend it.
"Mother," he exclaimed, as he threw his arms around her and sobbed
wildly, "you will not die! surely you will not! I cannot live without
you; I shall have no home,--nobody to love when you are gone."
Poor Margaret, controlling her own emotion, tried to comfort her
weeping child, and at last succeeded; for strength from above was
given to her heart, and words to her tongue. She spoke so convincingly
of God's wisdom, and goodness, and righteous dealing in all things,
that the boy's grief abated, his eye once more lighted up, and peace
returned to his heart. The assurance that God, the Father of all, who
never forsakes the creature he has made, _would_ be to him more than
parents _could_, came plainly upon his soul, and filled it with trust.
"You will not be _alone_, my poor child," said Margaret; "God will be
with you. He has work yet for you to perform. See that you do all
_that he has commanded, and_ in a _proper spirit_, and you cannot fail
to be blessed--not, perhaps, with earthly prosperity, but with that
better portion, peace of mind, a good conscience, and the hope which
maketh not ashamed, whose end is eternal life. Never neglect your
Bible or the duty of prayer; avoid all bad company; keep your heart
pure; and God will be with you, to bless and protect you."
As if endued with strength to utter a last solemn admonition, she told
him of the evil nature and power of sin, how it separated man from his
Maker; of the temptations to be met with in the world, from the
deceitfulness and weakness of the human heart, and the example of the
ungodly, with whom she begged him to have no communion. She spoke of
the necessity there was for constant watchfulness and prayer; told him
to avoid all exhibition of self-will or disobedience; but above all to
shun falsehood, that most ruinous of all vices, since it is the first
step on the way which leads to eternal death. She bade him remember
how the Scriptures teach, "Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out
of it are the issues of life;" and that it is ever open to the
scrutiny of the All-Seeing Eye.
William listened attentively to her teaching, and it took deep root in
his soul. Was he to endure the trial of temptation? or would it
perish, like the seed sown by the wayside?
There were no near relatives of the family, to whose care Margaret
could think of consigning her child. A distant cousin or uncle by
marriage, who kept a shoe store in New York, and who had visited them
sometimes, was said to be rich, and she thought that if he would
undertake the guardianship of the boy, and keep him in his family for
some years, he might at last be promoted to the rank of clerk. She
therefore wrote to him, and as a satisfactory answer was soon
returned, the arrangement was settled, the good baker promising either
to take the boy to New York himself or send him with an acquaintance.
And now she felt more at ease. She had made this plan, as she judged,
for the best; the rest she left to the never-failing Wisdom to order,
as was right.
A few days after her walk to the church-yard she was confined to her
bed, from which she never arose. The pastor visited her daily, and as
William never left her for a moment, he was always present at their
spiritual conversations. Oh, how powerful was the impression he
received; how it operated, not only on his present, but future life;
and how often afterward did he thank his heavenly Father that he had
been thus early and spiritually taught!
William was very young; but we know that children at a very early
period are able to comprehend the most important truths of God's word;
and the sanctifying blessing accompanying, they are, like Timothy,
made wise unto salvation. It was not until after his mother's funeral
that William knew he was to go to New York, to be a shoemaker's
apprentice, and he was greatly troubled at the prospect. He would have
preferred remaining in the village. There was, however, no employment
for him there, and he was hardly strong enough for steady farm work.
His friend the baker had taken him home on the day of the funeral, and
he was happy with that kind family, for George Herman was his friend,
and they loved each other so well that they could not hear the thought
of parting. The good baker would not hear of his going for a month or
two, or at least until the first violence of his sorrow was past; and
thinking it better he should he with companions of his own age, he
sent him to school with his friend George.
The rudiments of a kind of drawing were taught there, and although
nothing but circles, squares, triangles, and ovals were practised, the
teacher saw, by the borders of William's slate, which way his talent
led; and pitying the boy who would be obliged to make shoes for a
living, while gifted so far above the ordinary standard, he would
gladly have taught him for nothing had his friend the baker permitted.
But Mr. Herman knew the opinion of his parents on that subject, and he
felt that it would be wrong for him to encourage that which they did
not. William, however, although he took no lessons, learned a great
deal of the, to him, forbidden art, and went on contentedly, knowing
nothing of the teacher's proposal or his protector's objection.