_SANDY’S VISIT HOME._
Up to this time we have been following Robert and his brother almost
completely. It will do no harm, however, to leave them for a little
time and to hark back to another home in the Old Land.
Robert’s influence on Sandy, strengthened by the heroic rescue, was a
lasting one. Many times during the return journey the old sailor longed
for the companionship and the sturdy manhood association of the lad
he had learned to regard so highly. With these thoughts and with his
changed life there naturally came into his heart feelings and longings
he had not known for years, and with these came a renewed love for his
home and parents and a longing to see his dear old mother again, an
experience which he could not remember since he had left home in the
first place. When the ship docked on her return journey, therefore,
Sandy was not long in breaking his long-continued connections and in
starting for the old home. He was wise enough to realize, however,
that his mother would scarcely like to see him as he was, and out of
the savings of his pay a new outfit of clothing was bought, and with a
clean shave and his hair trimmed he took the quickest way he knew of
getting home. On the way his misgivings were many. He had not written
home for over thirty years, and since his mother did not know of his
whereabouts it had been impossible for her to write to him. Had he
known how his mother had longed for a letter and how his father had
tried to cheer her when no news of their boy was forthcoming, he would
not have been so indifferent; but, like a good many boys, when he got
away from home these things did not trouble him much, particularly when
he was busy in new experiences which took up the greater part of his
time. His home lay well up in the Highlands, and, on the stage journey,
over and over again his thoughts went back to the day his mother said
good-bye to him, and he wondered with a good many doubts whether she
would still be alive. On the way, too, he remembered that this was the
first journey of any length he had made on land since he had left home,
and this remembrance was emphasized when he missed the rolling of the
sea and was made very uncomfortable by the bumping of the stage over
the hilly roads. He missed, too, his old friends among the crew, with
whom he had associated for so many years, and who in spite of their
roughness had become like brothers to him.
Wishing his visit to be a surprise he left the stage a little distance
from the village, and walking toward home along the neatly-kept road
he was surprised at first to meet many people whom he did not know.
Some of the younger folk, it is true, appeared to have something
familiar in their faces, but for a time he forgot he had been away for
thirty years and that no one would be likely to remember him. Finally
he came to the turn in the old, familiar road and began to climb step
by step up the old hill leading to the old, familiar cottage. He
remembered as well as if it were yesterday the fun he and the other
boys had with their sleds on this hill, and with this came in a flash
vivid remembrances of the homespun clothing and the warm mitts his
mother had made for him. He remembered again, too, the kisses which had
been given him as a little chap when he came back from his sleigh-rides
to be cuddled up in front of the big fireplace. As he came up over the
brow of the hill his step involuntarily quickened and his longings
increased. For the moment he forgot all about his forebodings, and it
seemed that he couldn’t quickly enough get to the old home to clasp his
dear old mother in his arms and to look into his father’s eyes.
Now he was able to look down into the little valley on the other side
of the hill where the cottage stood. Yes, it was still there. The same
old thatch roof came into view, though more moss had gathered on one
side than had been there. A few minutes later he came to the gate
between the low walls and looked up the path leading to the door of his
boyhood home. Then his fears came upon him again with a rush. The old
gate had fallen down, the hinges falling away from the decayed posts.
Along the path where his mother had in his boyhood days carefully
looked after the flowers, weeds were flourishing. The climbing rose
over the porch, which he remembered so well, no longer bloomed. He
waited for a moment, half expecting that his old dog would run out as
he used to in former days to bark him a welcome, but the place was
quiet with the quietness of a deserted spot. The door of the old home
was open. For a moment he hesitated, with his heart in his mouth.
Then with a hesitation which he could not understand, he walked in
and looked in vain for the smiling face which had been framed in the
doorway and for the outstretched arms which formerly had gathered him
into them. Half-dazed, he looked through the broken window in the back
of the room, as though he expected to see the familiar form of his
father in the garden, but no one was there. The silence and loneliness
was complete.
[Illustration: “FOR A MOMENT HE HESITATED, WITH HIS HEART IN HIS
MOUTH.”]
Then Sandy spent one of the bitterest moments of his life. Great tears
ran down his cheeks, and with bitterness he reproached himself for
having forgotten one of the most precious gifts this earth gives a man,
a loving, patient mother and a kind, careful father. Then, kneeling
for a moment in front of the old fireplace where, as he remembered now
but had forgotten so long, his mother had taught him in the old days to
say his prayers each evening, he made a resolution that with God’s help
he would not disappoint his parents again, but that he would be true to
his mother’s prayer as she had told it to him in the note enclosed in
the old Bible, and would live so that he would be ready to meet them in
a better land when his time came.
After a little time, Sandy realized that his regrets could do no good
now, and putting them so far as possible behind him he left the silent,
cheerless home and made his way again to the little village. Stepping
into the little postoffice, his heart was gladdened at once by the
sight of the postmaster who, though up in years, was still young in
heart and spirit, and here at least was one person who remembered him,
for he was recognized at once and was invited to stay over-night.
Then, when the postmaster’s duties for the day were done, the old
veteran, who had known the history of every family in the village and
throughout the surrounding districts, whose duty it was to keep a
record of the births, marriages and deaths, told Sandy something of the
experiences of the past years. The old man thought that it would not do
the wandering son any harm to suffer a little, since he did not then
appreciate the extent of Sandy’s repentance. Many and many a time he
had been touched when he had seen the sadness and disappointment on the
face of Sandy’s old mother when he had been forced to tell her, “No,
there is no letter to-day.” Often he had been asked to go over the mail
again, just to see if he hadn’t possibly missed a line from the boy,
Sandy. Had he known Sandy’s address, he himself would have tried many
a time to get in touch with the wandering son, but, of course, he had
been just as helpless as the mother.
Far into the night the old man talked to the sailor, telling him
purposely how week after week during the thirty years of his absence
the old mother had come, hoping against hope for word of her son, and
he said, “It hurt me to have to send her back every time with a heavy
heart. She was a good mother though, my boy. Never in all those thirty
years did she speak an unkind word of you. Her thought was always that
Sandy was a good boy and will be a good man, that he would write if he
could.” Then the old man went on, even more pathetically: “The last
time your mother walked to the office, Sandy, I knew she would never
return. She knew this also. The way she lingered, the way she longed
for a letter, all told plainly that it would be her last call, and
after she had gone up the road a little piece she turned and came back
again to ask me if a letter came that it might be sent on to the old
home. Your mother lived for you from week to week, Sandy,” he said,
“and her life clung to the hope of a letter. At last her strength was
not great enough to be told again, ‘There is no letter from Sandy.’”
[Illustration: “NO LETTER FROM SANDY.”]
The old man went on further, though he saw that the tears were now
running unrestrainedly down Sandy’s cheeks. “The love your mother had
for you has made a better man of you,” he said. “I do not believe she
could have walked home that last day if I hadn’t told her that possibly
for some reason we didn’t know you were up in heaven waiting for her.
She looked at me so earnestly then and her tears flowed freely, as they
did often, and finally she said:
“‘I hadn’t thought of that. Sandy must be in heaven or he would write
me.’
“After that she left the office with a lighter step and with even a
smile upon the face that before had been cast down.” After a little,
when Sandy managed to get hold of himself again, he was told how his
mother had been laid away in the old village churchyard five years
before. Also that his father had followed her in the next year, and
then the old man said:
“There is no one, Sandy, to put up a stone even, to mark where they are
laid. You know how poor we all are here. Some of us would have done it
if we could, but we had our own loved ones to look after.”
While it added a good deal to his pain, Sandy felt that it was only
his duty to visit the little churchyard the next day, and there he
was shown the graves of the parents who had loved him so long and
faithfully. Glad he was then that he had brought with him the pay he
had received from his last voyage. A stone such as he knew his old
mother would have been proud of was ordered, flowers were placed on the
graves, and every mark of respect arranged for. Even so, Sandy felt in
his heart that this did not begin to atone for his neglect for the long
years gone by, and for many months he stayed in the village, talking
with those who had known his father and mother, keeping the flowers
fresh on the graves in the churchyard, and trying to feel himself back
in the old home. After a time Sandy went back to his seafaring life.
When his old shipmates saw him they exclaimed at the wrinkles in his
face and wondered what had happened during his absence to make him
look so much older. At first he said nothing, but in the midst of the
voyage, when the long roll of the sea or the roar of the wind brought
back memories of his experiences with the heroic lad Robert, he told to
some of his mates the story of the pain which had come to him during
those months in the old home in Scotland.
Sandy lived like a real man for the rest of his life. He was strong
and true and clean. He read his Bible and as best he knew he tried to
follow the path laid out for him, so that some day he would be sure of
meeting his father and mother, when the great call came, in the place
where he knew they had gone already.