it, while his wife shook her head. “The same old story; it will be as
bad as ever in a week,” she said to herself.
The next day, the last we stayed at the Jeffries’, a traveller
presented me with a book entitled “Self Helps,” and never a miser
rejoiced more over his treasure than I did when I caught sight of its
contents. So there had been hosts of poor boys trying just as I was for
something better; and at last they found it; so should I.
At sunset Jennie and I walked back to our old home. Our new mother
received us kindly, and the baby crowed and clapped his hands, seeming
to regard us as old acquaintances.
The days and weeks passed, and it was the middle of autumn. There was a
little corn to be gathered, and a few potatoes to be dug; but father’s
good promises had all vanished. He was not cross, neither did he often
scold, but he stayed from home; and when he was there, he was too
stupid to care for any of us.
Winter came, and I attended a school nearly a mile from us; but this
time we had no such friend as Charles Brisbane. The teacher seemed to
know that we were poor and miserable; and when I went in late, as I
almost always did, he was sure to give me a sharp reprimand. In vain it
was to rise at four o’clock: there was fire to make, there were paths
to shovel, the cow to milk, and breakfast to get; for my new mother
would not rise until the room was warm, and this in our house could
not be till the fire had been burning a good while.
Poor little Jennie had to stay at home entirely. Still she studied, and
Miss Grimshaw out of the kindness of her heart sent us each a slate for
her Christmas present. Never were more acceptable gifts, and I question
if any Christmas since has brought us more pleasure, brightened as it
was by two new slates.
The winter proved to be unusually severe; the snow deeper than for
years. We managed to live, how I hardly know. There was plenty of wood
that could be had for the cutting; but I had not sufficient strength
to accomplish much in this way, and had to content myself with drawing
up fallen timber, and branches that the wind had scattered. Towards
spring, father was gone more than ever, sometimes not coming home till
late at night; and then not till Jennie and I had taken the lantern
and gone down to the village after him.
One night he was later than usual; the day had been unusually bleak, a
heavy snow-storm setting in before noon, and by sunset we could hardly
wade through it. Ten o’clock, and our mother for the first time grew
uneasy; the baby was asleep; she left Jennie to rock the cradle, and
giving me the lantern, we started for the village.
We had not made half the distance before we were covered with such
a thick mantle of snow as to render it necessary to stop and shake
ourselves; but my step-mother had a resolute will, when she chose to
put it in force. In vain I counselled her to return, and let me go
alone; finding she could not be persuaded, I waded through, making as
good a path as possible, holding up my lantern so that father could
see it if he was really on the way.
It was twelve o’clock when we reached the village; the lights were
nearly all out, only one room was open, and that was the fatal one that
tempted him so often from home.
“No, your father is not here,” they said in answer to my inquiries. “He
started for home before night. It is such a terrible storm, he may have
stopped on the way.”
“More likely that he has fallen in the snow,” said mother; “it is
frightfully cold, and the wind is drifting it in heaps.”
There were few words spoken as we went back. The storm had somewhat
subsided, and far as the eye could reach spread out before us one mass
of fleecy whiteness.
How our hearts thrilled, and then stood still, as we passed an
eminence where the snow lay high and uneven: under that white covering
father might be buried.
“Here is an uneven track,” and mother pointed to a pile of snow at the
foot of the hill, and very near our own door. I held up the lantern,
but for a moment could not move onward. So near us, and still we had
gone so far! Nerving myself at last, I followed the steps, now filled
with snow, but still perceptible.
It was as we feared. He had started for home, and had reached the foot
of the hill, when he fell, too chilled or too insensible to rise.
Oh the agony of that night! He was our father, and deeply as he had
erred, we loved him. Such a terrible death, and we knew not where to
look for comfort.
IV.
Jennie and I were alone now, for our new mother had taken her babe and
gone back to her parents. What could we do? I thought of others who had
worked out of just such extremities, and resolved that I would seek
employment, but not of Mr. Jeffries.
So making myself as tidy as possible, and curling Jennie’s hair over
my fingers as I had seen my own mother do, we shut the door of our
mountain home, and walked resolutely down to the village. Sure of
success, I kept Jennie laughing as I portrayed the future in glowing
colors, telling her of all that I would do, and the pretty home that I
would make of my own, where we would always live together, with plenty
of books and flowers--her sweet blue eyes looking up with such a glad
earnestness.
“It will be better than the story in the book, wont it?”
Our first call was on Miss Grimshaw. She was a milliner in the village,
and her one shop window was full of pictures of highly dressed women,
whose feathers, bonnets, and flowers made a great impression upon her
customers, to say nothing of the awe Jennie and I felt in the presence
of such magnificence.
Miss Grimshaw received us very cordially; and when I told her we wanted
work together, she shook her head.
After thinking a while, she said with sincere tenderness, “Jennie had
better stay with me. She is too delicate to do heavy work; I will give
her a light task, and let her have several hours to study every day:
and it is very probable that you can find employment in the village;
so it will not be much of a separation.”
It was soon settled that Jennie should remain with Miss Grimshaw; and I
went to look out for myself elsewhere. Fortunately the grocer who lived
directly opposite wanted a boy; and after examining me a little in
arithmetic, and also asking me to write his name and my own, he finally
said,
“You may try, although I will not promise to keep you a single day.”
Every little village has its great man; and the village of Claverton,
nestled at the foot of the green hills, was not without its rich man,
Esquire Clavers being the original proprietor from whom it took its
name.
He was a little wiry man, with sparkling eyes and a hooked nose, spare
thin hair, and whiskers thickly sprinkled with grey, and a voice that
sounded any thing but musical, especially to the poor.
Very precise in his toilet was Esquire Clavers; his linen was always
unexceptionable, his watch chain of the largest dimensions, and from it
dangled a massive seal and gold key, while his gold-headed cane seemed
almost a part of himself, for never was he seen without it. He lived
in a two-story yellow house at the head of the principal street, and
the people looked up to him with a deferential air given to no other
person, not even the minister.
Mr. Willett, the grocery keeper, was the next on the list; and it not
unfrequently happened, as his front shop was the largest one in town,
that it proved the rendezvous for politicians and news-mongers--Esquire
Clavers being of course the main speaker in the assembly, and the
oracle in matters of opinion in all Claverton.
It was spring, but not yet sufficiently warm to do without fires;
accordingly there was a trio around the stove the very morning I
commenced my work.
“I see you’ve got a new boy,” said Jared Peat the tailor.
“On trial just,” answered Mr. Willett.
“Not of much account, I’ll venture; a chip of the old block,” continued
Jared.
“Smart as a steel-trap,” said Esquire Clavers, “but altogether too fine
notions in his head. If a boy would be any thing, he must work for it.
It’s of no use trying to work and study too; one or the other will
be done badly. Jeffries was telling me of his being there; he could
hardly take a horse to water without having a book along to read while
the horse was drinking. For my part, I wouldn’t give him his salt if
he works in that manner.” Esquire Clavers had said it, and of course
I should find little time for books so long as I should be in Mr.
Willett’s employ.
I had heard that Esquire Clavers had once been poor, and I could not
but ask myself, Has he forgotten? or was it not so dark and hard to him
as it is to me?
Presently a customer asked for molasses, and I went into the back room
to draw it, Mr. Willett hastening after me.
“You should not fill the measure quite full, boy.”
“She asked for a quart, sir;” and I looked up, feeling sure he had not
understood, as I held but a quart measure.
“I know, but we never fill it quite full; it might run over, you know;
and when you stop it, see that not a drop is lost.”
He walked about, apparently finding something to do, but in reality
watching me. I saw the direction of his eye; and filling my measure,
with care that it did not run over, and that not a drop was lost, I
emptied it into the poor woman’s jug.
“Never stop to drain it; make quick work; somebody else will want you;”
and I followed him into the front room.
“I see he gives good measure,” Mr. Willett said to Jared Peat as he
resumed his place at the fire.
“Oh yes, such people are always honest.”
“I don’t know about that,” answered Esquire Clavers. “His father was an
honest man, though open-handed and generous, and I have heard say was
at one time a gentleman. It’s a pity he drank so.”
They did not seem to mind me at all, and still I felt pleased, although
saddened, to hear my father called an honest man, and that at one time
he had been in better circumstances. Thus thinking, and wishing that I
knew more of his early life, I leaned against the counter, and weighed
and tied up sundry packages; for this was, Mr. Willett said, my first
work, to tie packages handsomely.
On the day went. My hands were not idle, yet not unfrequently I found
my thoughts straying into the future. The vision loomed up with a
sudden brightness, a path tending onward in spite of difficulties and
temptations.
I did not know what trials would rise up from unseen places, what
snares and pitfalls where the flowers grew brightest. But I remembered
Mr. Kirby had said, as he climbed the mountain, “One step at a time;
and so in life. Do what you have to do well, and God will open a path
to something better.”
Little did I then see what He was to do for me; little did I then
understand my duty to him; but I thought of him, and felt a certain
sense of reliance, a feeling of security, which I have since vainly
endeavored to understand.
Near sunset, and just as I was balancing the question, wishing and
still fearing to ask Mr. Willett’s permission to study in the evening,
Jennie came in, her bright, happy face looking still prettier in a
light blue sun-bonnet that Miss Grimshaw had given her. I had only
time for a kiss when she asked for Mr. Willett. I showed her to his
desk, when she stepped forward and laid a tiny note before him. I saw
that his face lit up with a glad surprise, and his eyes sparkled with
pleasure as he laid it down.
“Yes, tell her I’ll come.” I afterwards discovered it was an invitation
to tea. Mr. Willett was a devoted admirer, and the little milliner held
his heart as he did his purse, tightly. What was said I never knew;
but the next morning Mr. Willett said if I was faithful and did my work
well, I could study every evening with Jennie, and Miss Grimshaw would
hear our lessons.
That night was an era in my life, and very happy and hopeful was I as I
crossed the street to the little side door Jennie had told me to enter.
Here I found a comfortable room, a round table in the centre of the
floor, with our two slates, an arithmetic, and geography; for Jennie
had every thing in readiness, including a tallow candle in a white
porcelain holder, the bottom shaped like a leaf, which Jennie thought
was a marvel of beauty. In the corner was seated grandma Grimshaw, a
stately looking woman with silver hair combed low on the forehead,
white muslin cap with long embroidered tabs, and spectacles.
“And this is Marston,” said she, taking my hand as I came in. “I’ve
heard Eliza speak of you as a good boy. She used to know your ma;” and
soon Miss Grimshaw came out of the front room, laid her hand on my
head, and said,
“You shall study two hours if you like, and then I will hear your
lesson.” I tried to stammer out my thanks, but something choked down my
words. “That is nothing, Marston. I used to want to study, but I had no
chance. I like to read, and I am familiar with arithmetic; I can help
you there as well as any one;” and she was gone.
“Eliza don’t get much time,” said her mother; “but she likes to help
others; and she used to think so much of your mother.”
Brushing away the tears that would come at the mention of my mother, I
turned to my slate. The first three rules I could understand perfectly,
but long division troubled me. I was sure to make some mistake that
would require me to go over and over again, and not unfrequently did I
feel inclined to throw it aside. But one look at my “Self Helps,” and I
worked away as resolutely as ever.
At nine Miss Grimshaw came in, heard Jennie’s lesson in geography, then
questioned me in arithmetic, and explained till the difficulties had
all vanished. Then we read for half an hour; at the expiration of which
she shut our books.
“I promised Mr. Willett you should be there five minutes before ten.”
“This is better than the boy in the book,” said Jennie, reaching up on
tiptoe to kiss me good-night.
It had been a busy day and evening, and I was tired. Still I had made
some advance, and at this rate it would not be long before I should
master arithmetic. I slept in a little back room; but weary as I was,
I could not at once quiet my thoughts; so I lay and watched one little
star as it stole across my window, and wondered if my mother could know
how and where I was, and that I did try to care for Jennie, although we
could not sleep under the same roof.
As spring came forward, the ordinary business of the day remained quite
the same, but how many pleasant things I had to think of. Long division
did not trouble me any more, neither did fractions; I was beginning to
understand interest, and my handwriting had much improved. There was
also a sensible difference in my outward appearance, and Jennie grew in
loveliness each day. How proud I was of that little sister; and never
did we go to church or Sabbath-school, but I wondered if mother could
know it.
When the summer heats were on us there was less to do, and sometimes
I got a walk with Jennie among the hills. A year had made a great
difference with both of us, while the mountain was just the same; and
we often thought of our last walk there, and of dear Mr. Kirby.
“If he could only know how kind Miss Grimshaw is to us,” said Jennie.
“It is God that puts it into her heart, isn’t it? and not for our
sakes, but for Christ’s sake. I used to think it was for mother’s sake;
but Christ died for us.”
Dear little comforter; her heart was full of sweet thoughts, while I
was ambitious for her; and this, together with Mr. Kirby’s words, kept
me from being gloomy and desponding when I fancied Mr. Willett was
impatient or exacting: “Do your work well, and God will open a path to
something better.” This gave me courage and strength; so that while I
worked in the present, I lived in the future.
One day I was sent to Esquire Clavers’ with a basket of groceries he
had ordered. As I went up the walk, Frank, his oldest son, a boy of
about my own age, was on the piazza, a spot embowered in roses and
honeysuckles, reading; a little girl in a blue lawn dress, with long
golden curls framing her face like a picture, reclined near him, her
head resting on the neck of a large Newfoundland dog. From the open
window the pleasant tones of a piano floated out on the air, and
involuntarily I stopped to listen. Frank looked up, and seeing me, came
down the avenue to meet me.
“What have you here? Oh, teas and things for mother. Do you like music?
Come, go in and hear sister play.”
“I should be glad to,” I answered, “but I was told to return
immediately.”
“Five minutes wont be missed; come in.”
“Not now, Frank,” for I thought of what Mr. Kirby had said; and handing
my basket to the servant, I took up Frank’s book.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Latin,” he answered; “and a grand old language it is;” and he began
reading aloud.
“Where do you go to school?” I asked.
“To the Rockdale academy. Have you never heard of it? It is vacation
now. We shall commence again in September. Oh, we have great times
there. I wish you would join us; you’d like the boys: some of them
study, and some are up to all sorts of fun.”
“I wish I could go,” I answered musingly.
“Well, why can’t you? it’s only four miles from here.”
I did not dare stay another moment; and taking my basket, I turned,
with a hasty good-by to Frank. Since the vacation commenced, he had
visited the grocery almost every day, and very fond he seemed of all
sports and amusements.
This boy has a home, I said to myself sadly, and parents to watch over
him; he does not have to look after himself; and his little sister is
no better than Jennie; and again I dared to question why Frank Clavers
had so much, and we were so destitute. But whatever feelings swayed me
for the moment, the controlling idea was still the same: “Do what you
do well, and God will open a path.”
Even then God was preparing a surprise that would melt me into tears.
For several days Miss Grimshaw had been saying that I was getting all
she knew of arithmetic; and when September came, she surprised me by
asking how I would like to go to the Rockdale academy.
“Oh, so much, Miss Grimshaw; but it is four miles from here, and--”
“It is only three miles by the river road, which is by far the
pleasantest. Three miles is not such a long walk for a boy like you.”
“Oh no, Miss Grimshaw; but you forget there is no school at night.”
“You are not going at night, but in the morning early;” and my white
face, as she told me afterwards, frightened her into exclaiming at once,
“Mrs. Jeffries says that she will board you; that is, she will send me
enough during the winter of such things as we need to pay the expense
of your board; and you are to go to Rockdale.”
I had no words, and Jennie seated herself on my knee, and kissed away
the tears. “I am so glad, brother; I only wish I could go too.”
“The walk is entirely too long for Jennie,” said Miss Grimshaw, who
overheard the last remark; “but you can help her some, and in this way
she will advance nearly as well as though at school all the time.”
“We shall get on very nicely. I cannot sufficiently thank you, Miss
Grimshaw.”
“It is not all my work, Marston. Mrs. Jeffries had quite as much to do
with it; she is anxious that you should both go to school.”
[Illustration]
V.
A great day it was when I started for the academy. With the amount
received from Mr. Willett, Miss Grimshaw had provided me with a neat
outfit, and also had enough left for a few new books.
“I used to have a little brother,” said Miss Grimshaw as we set out;
for the night previous, she had announced her intention of going with
me. “Had Johnny lived, he would have been about your own age. We always
intended to send him to college; for he loved books.”
But it was not a morning to be sad. A soft hazy atmosphere floated
around us, and softened into beauty the distant landscape. The hills
stretching away northward loomed up through their blue veil with almost
the majesty of mountain ranges; the green of the pines on their
crests, and the ragged lines of the wood which marked the courses
of the descending ravines, were dimmed and robbed of their gloom.
The valley was still fresh, and the great oaks by the brook had not
yet shed all their tawny leaves. A moist and fragrant odor of decay
pervaded the air, and the soft south wind occasionally stealing along
the valley seemed to blow the sombre colors of the landscape into
long-continued waves of brightness.
The hills, curving rapidly to the eastward, rose abruptly from the
meadows in a succession of terraces, the lowest of which was faced with
a wall of dark rock, in horizontal strata, but almost concealed from
view by the tall forest-trees which grew at the base.
The brook, issuing from a glen which descended from the lofty upland
region, poured itself headlong from the brink of the rocky steep, a
glittering silver thread. Seen through the hazy atmosphere, its narrow
white column seemed to stand motionless between the pines, and its
mellowed mist to roll from some region beyond the hills.
“We shall see Rockdale presently,” said Miss Grimshaw. “I am sorry now
that I did not let Jennie come. I did not think the walk would be so
beautiful, and I was afraid it would make her sick.”
“If you are willing, I would like to have her take this walk some time;
it would please her so much; neither do I think it would tire her. We
have both been accustomed to long walks. I have been to the top of the
highest point, and Jennie was familiar with almost every rock about
Mrs. Jeffries’.”
“She shall come,” continued Miss Grimshaw. “But there’s the academy.
It used to be only a private dwelling; but the owner died, and Mr.
Harlan, our minister then, thought it would be a good place for a
school. Terryville, just beyond, is much larger than our village, and
most of the boys board there.”
By this time we were near the house, a white two-story building, with a
broad veranda looking southward from the last low shelf of the hills,
with an ample school-room in the rear, and grounds fitted up with
arbors, rustic seats, swings, and all the paraphernalia of school life.
The avenue by which we approached was lined with maples, and on our
advance we passed clumps of lilacs and snowballs. But the house itself,
with its heavy windows and flagged walk before the door, was just the
same as before, Miss Grimshaw said. A few bunches of asters nodded
their welcome, and the chrysanthemums on the borders stood as erect as
though school-boys never passed them. We had reached the porch before
Mr. Harlan saw us.
“And this is Marston Howe,” he said, after greeting Miss Grimshaw with
marked kindness. “I am glad to see you, Marston; they tell me that you
are fond of books, and determined to study. Is that so?”
“I shall do my best, sir,” was all that I could say, while it seemed
that his eyes would look me through.
“It will be a long walk, Mr. Harlan,” Miss Grimshaw observed when she
rose to leave. “I should have been glad on many accounts could Marston
have boarded here; but for the present we could not arrange it so.”
“Oh, as for that matter, the walk will do him good; the harder one
studies, the more exercise he should have. It will deprive him of
companionship, save his books; but perhaps that will prove no loss. It
is a delightful walk. I make the trip sometimes, and always return well
paid for the trouble. I am only sorry I have so few pupils from your
village. Frank Clavers boards here, and goes home on Friday.”
When Miss Grimshaw had gone, Mr. Harlan led the way into a large room
where several boys and girls were studying. Taking his seat at the
desk, he motioned me near him, and began questioning me closely in
arithmetic and geography. When he had finished, he gave me a lesson in
Latin grammar, and then seated me at his right hand, and by the side of
another pupil, almost man grown, whom he called Lovell.
He then rung his desk-bell, and through the several doors came pupils
from the recitation rooms; another touch of the bell, and others went
out. There was no voice, no confusion; it was done with the order and
precision of clock-work.
Twelve o’clock, and then such a buzz and whirr in the school-room
I could neither see nor think. Soon Frank Clavers came with a
noisy welcome, and led me out to see a new swing he had just been
improvising, introducing me first to one and then to another.
“But you’ll know them soon enough, Marston. I only wish you boarded in
the house; such capital times as we have. Fridays I go home. I am glad
you are here to go with me.”
“But you do not walk, and I do all the time.”
“No matter. I have my pony sent down, and they can just as well send
another. But say, whom do you sit with?”
“Mr. Harlan called him Lovell.”