THE JOURNEY
Early the following week Daniel and his father started on their journey.
The dog accompanied them and sat on the front seat of the carriage, next
to the driver.
As Mr. Swift neared his home, the linen lying in the bleachery was
plainly discernible, and the dog, recognizing the locality, leaped out
of the carriage. Mrs. Swift and her daughters were wetting the linens
and the two boys were busy in the vineyard. The dog ran up to his old
mistress, sprang at her joyously, and then ran to her daughters. They
were much surprised to see the dog that they had thought dead. The sons
joined the group, and while they stood discussing the dog's return, they
heard the toot of the tally-ho horn. Suddenly the horses galloped up to
the door and halted.
Said Mrs. Swift, "What can this mean? The driver must have made a
mistake." But in an instant Mr. Swift alighted and greeted his family
warmly.
Mrs. Swift's expression was very grave as she said: "What ever possessed
you to return in such a carriage; and now that I look at you, I see you
are dressed in new clothes from head to foot. Even the dog, for which I
suppose you paid a good price, has a new collar. I always looked upon
you as a better business man than that, I fear now that nothing remains
of the legacy. Most likely you lost your senses when you saw so much
money. If you begin by spending it so lavishly it will soon be gone."
Mr. Swift laughingly replied: "Don't be so sure, my dear. Let me unpack
the things. You will see that not a penny of the legacy is missing." He
opened the trunk which the coachman had just brought in, took out a bag,
and shook the golden contents upon the table.
"Oh, my," cried his wife in glee, "so much money! I never saw that much
in all my life. It dazzles me. It seems as if I were dreaming--But, tell
me, where did you get the clothing?"
"O, never mind, just yet; I haven't shown you all, for I have brought
material for new suits for you and all the children." He laid out the
goods, the velvets, and the laces upon the table, which was scarcely big
enough to hold them all.
"This is too much. My reason actually refuses to take it in. Do tell me,
how did you get these costly things?" continued his wife.
"All these things, my dear wife, have been presented to you by my
fellow-passenger," pointing his finger at Daniel, who had kept somewhat
aloof.
[Illustration: "As I notice it now you are dressed in new clothes from
head to foot."]
Mother and children had scarcely noticed him in their happiness, but all
the while Daniel had been enjoying their rapture.
The mother looked sharply at Daniel and said: "This young man brings us
all these things! Well, who is he?"
Mr. Swift bent his head and folded his hands; then he spoke with devout
earnestness: "This friendly young man is your son, our child, whom we
mourned as dead. A rich merchant and his good wife took him into their
home and heart."
Daniel could no longer restrain himself. He fell on the neck of his
new-found mother and embraced her tenderly. Then he greeted his brothers
and sisters heartily. The ecstacy of moments like these is indescribable.
At first, a little shyness existed between the brothers and sisters and
this long-lost brother. But as he was entirely without vanity and modest
and friendly, he soon won their confidence and respect, and they
conversed with him as naturally as if they had been with him always.
One morning the family mounted the hill to show Daniel the spot where
they had spent the night of terror.
"Yes," said the father, "in the morning light, we found that our house
had been swept away. In the face of all that disaster, I remember
saying: 'This dreadful calamity will yet bring us some blessing,' and so
it has happened. The people in the whole country around became more
industrious than they had been in the time of their prosperity. Many who
had been haughty and extravagant became humble, thrifty and moderate.
God awoke many people to the performance of good deeds. Many a family
quarrel was terminated; all the people became peace loving; each helped
the other in the hour of need.
"Who would have believed that we would again see our beloved child? Who
would have thought it possible that we, who once spent on this hill the
worst night of our lives, would live to spend upon it the happiest day.
Let us learn not to give up hope, no matter how bad the prospect may
seem, for better times will come--God will make all things right at
last."
In the course of time, when Mr. Trent knew to a certainty of Mr. Swift's
honesty, he gave him the position of treasurer in his large business
enterprises. This position was accepted, and Mr. Swift transferred his
bleachery and vineyard to the care of his eldest son. With his wife and
the other members of his family he then moved to a house adjacent to the
Trents.
Daniel became his foster-father's assistant, and proved himself worthy
of all the care which had been bestowed upon him; and he remained a
good, true, helpful son to his own and his foster-parents.
[Illustration]
The Damaged Picture
Chapters.
I. The Artist.
II. The Picture.
III. The Discovery.
THE DAMAGED PICTURE
Chapter I
The Artist
If one had been seeking for a man who combined all the qualities of
goodness and greatness, one would have chosen artist Laurier. He bore
the title of "Master of Arts" and his works, mostly landscapes, were
famous far and wide. He had amassed a considerable fortune, and his
house was the handsomest building in the city, equipped with every
luxury. Besides, it was the home in which all artists, rich or poor,
found welcome at all times.
But conditions changed. Hard times, following quickly in the wake of
recent wars, had made the demand for art, particularly painting, less
and less urgent, till there was no market whatever for the artist's
works. Little by little, he had to draw upon his capital in order to
support his family. However, he continued to paint with unabated
diligence, for he hoped with the betterment of the times to sell his
paintings; or if he should not be permitted to live so long, he would
leave them as a heritage, for the benefit of his wife and children.
Alas, the great man did not live to carry out his purpose. A contagious
disease swept over the country, numbering him among its victims; and he
intuitively felt that he would never again rise from his sick bed.
One morning, following a night filled with great pain and misgivings,
his dutiful wife was seated at his bedside trying to cloak the great
sorrow which she felt at his approaching death. His two little daughters
stood at the foot of his bed. The dying man looked tenderly at his wife
and children, and said: "Be comforted and weep not. True, I can bequeath
you but little; but God, the Father of the widow and orphans, will watch
over you." He then invoked God's blessing upon them, and with his last
breath said, "In heaven we shall meet again." His eyes closed and he
passed out of this life. Mother and daughters stood convulsed in tears.
The widow now found herself in very straightened circumstances. Her
house was so heavily mortgaged that she could no longer hold it. The
pictures which her husband had bequeathed to her were valuable as works
of art, but the widow could not realize their worth in money. Soon it
became imperative to sell them at auction, at any price. Before the day
set for the sale, mother and daughters saw, with anguish, these works
hurried off to the auction room. The house, too, fell under the hammer.
The poor, miserable family left the home in which they had lived for
many years in love, peace and contentment. Still, a certain pride and
satisfaction filled the widow's heart when she realized that, though her
husband had died poor, yet he owed no one a penny--that his name stood
in the community respected and revered by all the good people. The poor
particularly held him in loving memory.
The widow was obliged to seek a new home in a cheap section of the city.
She was an expert in all household arts, particularly in the art of
sewing. Each night found the widow busily engaged with her work, the
proceeds of which kept the wolf from the door.
Her two daughters, whom she had brought up with the utmost care, were
her only joy. They grew into beautiful girlhood, were modest and good,
and loved their mother with all the tenderness of devoted childhood.
They, too, helped with the sewing; and their combined efforts, though
feeble, were not without visible returns.
Mother and daughters often talked about their departed father. "It gives
me great pain," said the mother, "that every picture which your father
painted should have been taken from us. If it were but a little
landscape that we possessed, how happy I should be. It would enrich our
otherwise barren home and make it equal to the most beautiful salon of
the grandest castle."
Mother and daughters rarely went anywhere, but every Sunday found them
attendants at a church at the other end of the city. There, on those
sacred walls, hung a beautiful painting executed by their father. "This
indeed is exquisite work," said the mother, and the children fully
agreed with her sentiments.
When the services were ended they all slowly wended their way through
the city to their modest home. Sunday after Sunday, rain or shine, found
them carrying out the same program, always returning with hearts filled
with reverence and peace.
The long, weary winter nights were passed reading the books which their
father had collected during his lifetime, and which, by the merest
accident, had not been disposed of.
Thus they passed their days, quietly and contentedly, each one
cheerfully doing her daily share of good deeds and good works in this
great vineyard of the world, where we have all been placed to do our
best.
Chapter II
The Picture
One day, as the mother was examining the apparel, she turned to her
daughters and said: "Children, I see that your summer frocks are really
very much worn and faded. As we have saved a little more than we
expected, I feel that I want to reward you for your diligence and
willingness in helping me so faithfully and uncomplainingly, by giving
you each some money, with which to buy material for a few new dresses."
She then handed each daughter a hard-earned ten dollar bill, and said:
"Select what you wish, and we can make the dresses ourselves."
Both daughters were elated with this generous gift; and at once began to
argue with each other as to the shade and material which would be most
desirable, and which would also be most durable, from an economical
standpoint. At last they started out to make the purchases. Soon they
found themselves before a massive building, upon which was placed a
sign: "Auction Sale of Paintings." Both girls, as an artist's daughters,
had an inherited love for pictures.
"Shall we go in?" said Lottie, the elder, to Louise--"Not to buy, of
course; for how could we do that? But just to look at the beautiful
works."
They stepped timidly and modestly into the great gallery where several
gentlemen and many richly gowned ladies had already assembled. Lottie
and Louise remained unnoticed, standing not far from the door.
The auctioneer just then raised a picture to view, and cried: "A
landscape, in a handsome gold frame, by the artist Laurier--ten dollars
for the first bid."
"Hm," said a portly gentleman, "this picture was certainly executed more
hastily than any of his other works. It lacks a certain finish. However,
I'm an ardent admirer of Laurier. I bid fifteen dollars."
The children had forgotten all about their dresses, and after a moment's
whispering and hesitation, Lottie called out with a beating heart and
trembling voice: "Seventeen dollars!"
Several of the ladies and gentlemen turned to see where this gentle,
timid voice had come from, and noticed the poorly clad children standing
so far back that they could scarcely see the picture. When the children
became conscious of the many eyes fastened upon them, they turned pale.
The portly gentleman, without taking any notice of them, continued: "I
give nineteen dollars."
Then Lottie said, timidly and almost inaudibly, "Twenty dollars."
"Oh, those dear children," said a friendly lady, "they are the artist's
daughters; let us bid no higher, so the picture may be theirs!"
Everyone was deeply affected, praised the deceased artist and father,
and respected the love of his daughters.
Then the auctioneer went on calling, "twenty dollars once--twice--for
the third and last time." He then summoned Lottie, the purchaser, to
take the picture.
Lottie stepped forward to the long table, and laid upon it the two ten
dollar bills which her mother had given her.
"You have made a good purchase, my child," said the portly gentleman,
"and were you not the daughter of the artist, I would not have let you
outbid me."
The assembled people wished the children luck; and taking the picture,
which was not large, both sisters hurried out of the gallery.
"O mother," they cried, as they entered the neat little living room of
their home, "we have had great good luck. The wish you have so long
expressed is at last fulfilled. See, here is a picture painted by our
beloved father."
The mother looked at it for a long time in deep silence, and at last
broke forth in tears of joy and homesick longing.
"Yes," said she, "the picture is his, though I cannot remember ever
having seen him work at it. But I know his art, his beautiful thoughts
and his delicate colorings. It is an exquisite landscape. Notice the
evening glow over the wooded hill, behind which the sun has just
disappeared; the huts, from whose chimneys the light-blue smoke ascends;
the distant village, with the old church tower which the last rays of
the declining sun still illumine; and the rosy, hazy light which spreads
over all. It is beautiful beyond description, and stirs within me
memories of the past. Such scenes have I ofttimes viewed in company with
your father. But how did you ever get this picture?"
Lottie related the incidents leading up to its purchase, and said:
"Louise and I are perfectly willing to wear our old clothes."
"We certainly have a treasure in the house now, in comparison with which
all the grandeur of the world counts as nothing," said the mother. "You
are, indeed, good children, and I appreciate your self-sacrificing
spirit. I consider that more acceptable than a great collection of
paintings. The love which you have shown for your departed father and
for me affords me unbounded joy. Come now, let us hang the picture at
once."
Often all three would stand before the painting and gather from it such
joy and strength that the work of the day seemed lightened and
brightened.
"When you study with exactness the details of a beautiful landscape,"
said the mother, "you will find more and more to admire at each view. So
it is with reading. We learn much that may befall us in life from
books, and by thinking and reviewing the good and the beautiful in the
lives of others we may better know how to act under the changing scenes
of life."
Chapter III
The Discovery
With the returning spring, the mother received an urgent letter from her
best friend, a widow, who lived in the country. This friend had been
seriously ill for some time, and her life was despaired of. She was
particularly desirous of seeing Mrs. Laurier about making a few final
arrangements.
The mother made hasty preparations, and at break of day started on her
journey, her two daughters accompanying her a short distance from the
house.
The mother gave them a parting injunction to work diligently and to
remain at home. "Within two or three days, I shall return," she said. "I
know that my friend has much to tell me, and will not hear of my going
sooner. Behave yourselves in such a manner that when I return, I may be
so pleased with your conduct that my troubles will be the lighter to
bear."
As the two girls returned to the house, Lottie said to her sister: "Do
you know, dear Louise, our rooms have become somewhat dingy during our
stay here. Let us, while mother is absent, have them painted. We could
launder the curtains and polish the floors. These bright spring days
seem to demand it. Then, when mother returns, steps into the house, and
sees its whitened walls, its beautiful fresh draperies and its
brightened aspect, what a pleasure it will give her. What do you think
about it?"
Louise clapped her hands in joy, and said: "You always have the
cleverest ideas. Yes, let us send for the painter at once."
The girls then worked industriously for two days, and everything seemed
to glide along swiftly and entirely to their satisfaction.
On the morning of the third day, Lottie said: "Everything is now in
readiness, and I will hasten to the market and order some things, so
that we may provide a good dinner for our mother when she returns this
evening."
"That is wise," said Louise, as she helped Lottie put on her coat.
When Lottie returned after an hour's absence, Louise rushed up to her
with red-rimmed eyes, and cried: "Oh, Lottie, I have met with a great
misfortune. Through ignorance, I damaged the beautiful painting. Come
quickly and see it."
Lottie looked at the picture, in horror.
"Oh," said Louise, "it seemed somewhat dusty to me, and I tried to wash
it off with soap and water. But, not until it was too late, did I notice
that the colors ran together and the beautiful painting was completely
ruined."
"Completely!" said Lottie, and began to cry. But, in order to reassure
her sister, she said, "Perhaps it may yet be restored by some good
artist."
As the two girls sat conferring as to the best method to pursue, the
mother stepped into the house. She was exceedingly delighted to find her
home in such exquisite order and newness. "You certainly are very
dutiful children. But what is troubling you? What has happened that I
find you both in tears?"
"Oh," cried Louise, "just look at the painting. I wanted to clean it. I
meant well, but met with such disappointment. Forgive me, forgive me!"
and she fell at her mother's feet.
The mother was greatly agitated, as she gazed at the painting. She paled
and trembled. "This misfortune is indeed pitiable," said she. "You know
not how much I would give had it not occurred." She drew on her glasses
and viewed the damaged picture scrutinizingly. "The colors," said she,
"were but water-colors, and that is why they were so easily blurred.
But, it is peculiar. I see, under these water-colors, a ground work of
oil paint, and there, I see a little finger, most assuredly painted by a
master. What shall I do? I will dare, as long as the picture is damaged
and past restoration, to wash it off entirely."
The mother then took a big sponge and deliberately began to wash the
painting. A hand, an arm, an angel's form appeared to view, such as only
the greatest master could portray. Though the mother hated to destroy
the work of her beloved husband, yet she worked assiduously to remove
all the water-colors, and lo! a painting of extraordinary beauty and
genius met her admiring gaze.
It was a historical picture of ancient times The figures stood forth in
living beauty and seemed to speak from out the canvas.
"If I see rightly," said the mother, "this is a painting by an old
master. On a journey, which I once took with your departed father, I saw
many paintings by this same artist. But this painting, unless I am very
much mistaken, is classed among his best productions. It is one of the
finest in art. Nothing in this picture is without purpose and shows the
stroke of a genius.
"I must seek advice from Mr. Raymond--an old, true friend of your dear
father. He is a connoisseur on works of art." So she hurriedly donned
her cape and hastened to his house.
The venerable gentleman was only too glad to welcome her to his home. He
had scarcely looked at the picture, when he cried in astonishment: "Yes,
truly, this painting is by one of the earliest Italian masters. It is
exquisite and sublime. And now it dawns on me how this beautiful work
came to be hidden by the brush of another artist.
"During the late war, as the besiegers were drawing nearer and nearer a
certain castle, the owner had his paintings and works of art concealed
in the cellar.
"As this picture, however, was the most valuable and the choicest of his
wonderful collection, he could not for one moment think of parting with
it. So he sent for your worthy husband to paint a picture over it in
water-colors, which could be easily removed, and yet serve to conceal
the picture's real value. In this way, he hoped to save it from the
hands of the besiegers.
"However, he did not live to see the war ended, and your dear husband
passed away also. This twice painted picture could have remained forever
undiscovered, but it has been destined otherwise. A wonderful treasure
has been sent to save you and your children from all future want. It
only now depends upon finding a lover of pictures, and an admirer of
genius, who will pay the full value for this work of art."
"But," said the good woman, "can I with a clear conscience keep in my
possession so valuable a picture, for which we paid but such a trifling
sum of money?"
"Of course you can, and no person can dispute your right to it. The
owner of this picture was a noble, right-living man, whom I knew well.
He had no relatives and did much good to the poor. For himself he needed
but little. His only pleasure in life was buying the paintings by the
old masters. Little by little, he collected quite a gallery. This
constituted his entire fortune. After his death, the pictures which had
been concealed in his home were brought forth and were sold, together
with this beautiful one. The late merchant, Mr. Pinole, purchased most
of them.
"If you take my advice, I would suggest that you advertise in the daily
papers the fact that you have this beautiful picture for sale. Then a
purchaser will surely present himself who will pay you its value."
Mrs. Laurier then asked him to undertake this responsibility, to which
he kindly acceded.
Soon the whole city was aware of Mrs. Laurier's wonderful possession,
and people were filled with astonishment. Mr. Pinole's son, at whose
salesroom the picture had been sold at auction, hastened to Mrs.
Laurier's house.
He had, he said, not only received less than half his due, but the
picture was worth a thousand times more than she had paid for it. As she
made no attempt whatever to return the picture to him, he left her
presence in rage, and determined to sue her at once.
When he presented the case to his lawyer, the latter explained that as
the picture had been sold at public auction, he could do nothing about
it. "Besides," said the lawyer, laughingly, "remember, your father paid
still less for it."
Disappointed and chagrined, Mr. Pinole returned to his home.
Through the untiring efforts of Mr. Raymond, the picture was at last
sold to a wealthy gentleman, who paid a high price for it.
The money which Mrs. Laurier realized from this sale enabled her to live
with her two daughters in comparative ease and comfort. The two girls
soon married well-to-do merchants, who succeeded in purchasing Mrs.
Laurier's former house, which happened just then to be on sale. It was
large and sufficiently commodious to admit of the two families occupying
it. The best room in the house was accorded to Mrs. Laurier.
The families lived together harmoniously, and vied with each other to
brighten the declining years of the mother's peaceful life.
MEMORIES AWAKENED
Chapter
I. The Change of Circumstances
II. The Revelation
MEMORIES AWAKENED
Chapter I
The Change of Circumstances
A very wealthy and worthy merchant, named Vollmar, lived in a large
commercial city. Here he carried on a prosperous business which had
descended to him from his father. By clever management, industry and
honesty, he succeeded in enlarging it; and thereby increased his wealth.
Up to the present time, Mr. Vollmar had had unusual success, but
circumstances were soon to change. One morning as the family was
breakfasting, the postman delivered a letter containing the information
that the ship which carried a valuable cargo belonging to Mr. Vollmar
had been lost at sea.
This was a severe blow; for the greater part of his fortune was now
gone. But as luck and riches had not made him proud, so this misfortune
and loss did not make him despondent.
Turning to his children, he said: "God gives and He also takes away. He
may restore all things unto us when His wise purposes have been
fulfilled. You can see that this is true, when you review the lives of
your grandparents and great-grandparents, whose pictures in the golden
frames grace this room so beautifully.
"Your great-grandfather, Lucas Vollmar, was the richest man in the city.
All that we once had and now have would not have equalled his fortune by
one quarter. Owing to the 'Thirty Years' War,' he lost all. He was
obliged to flee from the enemy. His wife did not survive the journey.
Their only son, my father, was then but a tender youth, and suffered
much during those troublous times.
"Soon this city was invaded by the enemy and plundered. Many bombs were
fired into it and homes were reduced to ashes. Into this very house,
which belonged to him, fell a great cannon ball which did much damage
but did not set it on fire. All the families, too, suffered the greatest
misery. Hunger and pestilence carried off many of them.
"Your worthy great-grandfather sought refuge in strange lands and
suffered many hardships. He had taken as much money with him as he could
carry, but on the way he was robbed. He earned his livelihood in various
ways, and soon put his son out as an apprentice. When the lad was
fourteen years old, he was called upon to face another hardship in the
loss of his father, who died in misery and poverty, although he had once
been the richest man in this city.
"This son, my father, now alone in the world, continued as an apprentice
and made progress in his trade. At last, when the war was over and peace
had been restored, he returned to this city, poor in the world's goods,
but rich in knowledge and goodness.
"Through a decision of the court, this house was returned to him. The
things that he found when he entered were empty chests and those two
pictures hanging on the wall opposite. Look at them. Do you not read in
those faces kindness and true worth? Yes, my children, they were indeed
good people.
"You never saw your great-grandparents, but you do remember your
grandfather, for he often held you both on his lap. He had to work hard
to build up a business, but through the help of his good wife he soon
acquired wealth.
"So, my children, you have now seen how from wealth one may be reduced
to poverty, and how from nothing one may rise and become something.
"My father showed me that no matter how rich he became, he always laid
by some money for the time of need. He employed the best workers and
paid the best wages; and was a great benefactor to the poor.
"His example and his teachings I have followed, or to-day we would be
very poor indeed, now that I have lost my goods at sea. We must be very
economical and, perhaps, in time we may retrieve our loss."
Other tradesmen, too, suffered by this shipwreck. Mr. Vollmar did what
he could to help them and, little by little, they were able to go on
with their business. But times changed, and there was little demand for
Mr. Vollmar's goods. Failure stared him in the face.
"If I must give up my business, it will comfort me to know that when I
have paid all my debts I shall still have a few dollars left. My
conscience will be clear when I know that no one has lost one cent
through me, and that my honor before God and man remains unspotted."
Pressed on all sides, he was almost forced to give up, but as a last
resort he made up his mind to seek aid from two friends, both very rich
men. But the one said: "I am sorry that I cannot help you, for I need my
money myself." The other man said: "I would lend you some money, but I'm
afraid I won't get it back."
This treatment at the hands of his best friends, pained him sorely, and
he returned in sadness to his home. Before entering, he seated himself
in a little bower to review the situation. The sun shone with a friendly
light; the birds sang their gladsome songs; and the flowers stood forth
in all their gay coloring.
"How hard it will be for me to leave this beautiful garden upon which I
have spent so much money, and in which I have enjoyed so many happy
hours. Who knows in what corner of the earth I shall be obliged to seek
a new home?"
He became sadder each moment, and, sinking upon his knees, he prayed for
help. Hearing footsteps, he arose, and, looking down the footpath, he
saw an old man with snow-white hair being led by a little boy. Both
seemed very poor, but they were neatly clothed.
Just then the boy said to his companion: "Here, under this tree, is a
nice seat. You are so tired, dear grandfather, rest here a little and be
comforted; for the way is not much longer." Then they both seated
themselves.
"It is a great undertaking for a man like me, blind and feeble, to
travel such a distance," said the old man. "'Tis true, oculists often
cure blind people, but I wonder if my blindness can be cured by that
doctor of whom we have heard so much? Besides, we have so little money,
and what will we live on while we're in the city? It must soon be fifty
years since I worked as a mason there. I really know no one to whom we
could apply for aid; for all my friends have passed on to a better land.
But I trust God will help us find some place to rest."
As Mr. Vollmar heard these words, he became greatly touched. "To be
blind," said he, "and not to see the blue sky, the trees, the flowers,
the sun and the people--that must be hard indeed. This man's sorrows are
greater than mine. I have my two strong eyes; and should I lose my whole
wealth, it would be as nothing compared to the loss of my sight.
"These poor people--this blind man, this brave boy--know how to find
comfort in their sorrow by trusting in God. I will learn from them and
trust, too."
Just then Mrs. Vollmar entered the garden with her two children, and Mr.
Vollmar beckoned them to join him. He related all that he had heard the
old man say.
"My dear husband," said Mrs. Vollmar, "let us take them into our house.
Though we are getting poorer each day, I am sure that what we do for
them will not hurt us; for, it is written: 'Be merciful and you shall
obtain mercy.'"
"True," said Mr. Vollmar, "and you certainly have a bigger heart than I
have. Let us not only give them food and shelter, but let us call in an
eminent eye doctor and have him examine this man's eyes."
Just then the old man rose to depart with the boy, but Mrs. Vollmar
hastened toward them, and said that they could remain with them for a
while.
Thanking them for this exceeding kindness, the strangers entered the
house, and soon the old man began to talk about himself.
"My name is Armand Seld. At one time I was a builder and mason, and
lived with my son in this city. I have been blind for the last seven
years."
As he seemed very tired, Mrs. Vollmar urged him to rest. She prepared a
repast for him and after he had partaken of it, she showed him to his
room.
On the following morning, Mr. Vollmar sent for the doctor. After
examining the old man's eyes, he said that they were both covered with
cataracts, of such a nature that he could remove them. He also held out
the hope that he could cure them in a very short time.
"But," said he, "the old man must rest for three days before I can
undertake the work."
After three days had elapsed the doctor returned and began the
operation. Then the eyes were bandaged and the old man was kept in a
darkened room. At the end of a week, the doctor removed the bandage from
the patient's eyes and slowly led him to the light.
"I see! I see the light!" cried the old man. "I see your faces! Oh, I
thank God!" Then he folded his hands and silence filled the room; for
each one was in sympathy with the old man and thanked God for his mercy.
"But now," interrupted the doctor, "we must cover the eyes again, and
let them become accustomed to the light by degrees, and each day they
will grow stronger. I will return daily and watch their progress;
meanwhile the patient must have nourishing food, in small quantities,
and he must be kept very quiet in order to save his strength." Then he
bade them good-bye and Mr. Vollmar and his wife escorted the doctor to
the door.
The children kept shouting: "He sees! he sees!" and tumult and joy ran
riot.
At last the bandages were removed for good, but the doctor warned the
patient not to strain his eyes nor look into the sunshine for another
week.
CHAPTER II
THE REVELATION
Armand Seld was now able to go about the house. The first room that he
entered, after his tedious stay in his own darkened bedroom, was the
dining-room, where the family loved best to sit. The walls of this room
were graced by the pictures of the Vollmar ancestors, together with a
landscape by a famous master.
The old man's attention was attracted to this painting.
"What do I see?" he shouted. "This picture I once saw by candlelight,
and I cannot forget it."
"Strange," said Mr. Vollmar, "that it should have made such an
impression upon you."
"May I ask," continued the old man, "have you owned this picture long?
Have you lived here some time?"
Mr. Vollmar replied: "This house, as well as the picture, descended to
me from my sainted grandparents. But why do you ask?"
"I must inquire still further before I can answer. Tell me--did your
grandfather die in this house, or did he flee to a distant country
during the war?"
"He died far from here, in a strange land. But it surprises me how you
should hit upon this question."
"Did your grandmother die first?"
"Yes; but your questions disturb me."
The old man continued: "Was your own father present before your
grandfather's death, and did he not disclose to him a very important
secret?"
"My grandfather died of a malignant fever which robbed him of his
senses. My father, then a boy, was sent for, but when he arrived he
found his father dead."
"One more question I must ask--and I know you will forgive me. Did your
father receive a big fortune?"
"My father," continued Mr. Vollmar, "returned to this city and this
house a poor man. He married a woman as poor as himself, but with
industry they at last became rich."
"Do you know," continued the old man, "you look just like your
grandfather? He, too, was about the same age as you are now, and I feel,
as I talk to you, as if he were here. But listen to my story and perhaps
it may be of value to you.
"Shortly before this city was plundered I worked as a mason. One day my
employer, a very honest man, received word to call at once upon a
gentleman who wished him to do some work which was to be kept a secret.
As my employer was sick, he sent me in his place, vouching for my honor
and trustworthiness.
"I entered the house and was ushered into a room where your grandfather
(for I have no doubts but that it was he) was seated. He started, and
was indeed surprised that my employer should have sent as a substitute
such a young man as I was then. After reading my recommendation, he
ordered the servants to light two candles and set them on the table over
which this picture hung. He made me vow never to tell the secret which
he would entrust to me, except in time of need, and then only to one of
his descendants. He spoke the oath and I repeated it, word for word,
looking up at this picture all the time.
"Then he led me into the cellar, down another stairway made of stone
into a lower cellar, where he opened a strongly bolted door. I gazed
into a hollow in the wall, where many chests were standing. 'These boxes
hold all my valuables, which I wish to save,' said he. 'Now, I want you
to cement this door so cleverly that no one will discover its
whereabouts.'
"As all the tools were lying there in readiness, and the mortar had been
previously prepared, I started to work at once. It cost a little labor
and much pains to do the work well and to hide the door, but I
succeeded, and received a gold piece for my labor.
"The gentleman laid his finger on my lips, and said: 'Remember your
vow.'
"Soon after the enemy appeared. Your grandfather fled and so did I.
Never again did I return to this city, nor did I think of the valuables
secreted in these walls. The sight of this picture, however, recalls to
my mind my vow." With a sigh of relief, Armand Seld continued: "My dear
Mr. Vollmar, God moved your heart to help a poor, strange, blind man. He
helped to open my eyes, so that I could behold this picture, and to
disclose to you your buried riches. Thus has He rewarded you for your
kindness to me."
Mr. Vollmar had listened attentively to the old man's story, and said:
"You need not thank me. I did only what was my duty. You may be right
about the treasure, for we often wondered what could have become of all
my grandfather's wealth.
"Being the wise man that he was, he would have known what havoc the war
would bring, and consequently would have collected his money and
possibly have hidden it somewhere. But where? Neither my father nor I
could ever get the slightest clue. What you have said of the little
stone stairway and the lower cellar describes exactly the place under
this house. I am more and more convinced, each moment, that my
grandfather hid his treasures there, but now the question is whether
they are still there. Let us go, at once, and find out."
[Illustration: "The chests were opened."]
They went, arm in arm. As they reached the lower cellar, the old man
shouted: "This is the place. I remember this little round spot that I
filled with putty and covered with cement."
By means of a long crow-bar, an opening was at last made, and one stone
after another fell to the floor.
"Victory!" shouted the old man. "Here are the chests, untouched. I know
my work. The treasure is still here."
Mr. Vollmar then called his son and a helper to his assistance, and the
chests were soon opened. Bags upon bags of money, jewels unnumbered,
silverware, hammered copper ornaments and some papers which had yellowed
and had almost fallen to pieces--all these, met their astonished eyes.
Taking the papers first, Mr. Vollmar read many important family records,
besides an index of the contents of the chests, and the disposition to
be made of them.
"Oh, what good luck this is! It has all been sent to us just when we
need it most," said Mr. Vollmar.
The family soon assembled to hear the good news and see the treasures.
A feast followed and fun and great merriment filled the house. The care
of the old man and his grandchild was willingly undertaken by the
Vollmars; and these good people lived together in peace and contentment
for many years.
THE INHERITANCE
CHAPTERS.
I. MR. ACTON AND HIS SON.
II. THE UNINVITED GUEST.
III. THE FLOWERING PLANT.
IV. THE TWO FAMILIES.
V. THE FEAST.
[Illustration: "By this time they had reached the grave, which was
graced by a flowering plant."]
THE INHERITANCE
CHAPTER I
MR. ACTON AND HIS SON
Mr. Acton was a clever and highly respected merchant who owed much of
his success in life to the system and exactness with which he carried on
his business. Then, too, he was so reliable, so honest, and sold his
goods so cheaply, that everyone preferred to trade with him.
His home, which he could have furnished luxuriously, was the model of
simplicity.
The only surviving member of his family was his son George, who was now
twenty years of age. He was a sturdy, manly, upright youth; willing and
obliging to his friends and kind-hearted to the poor. He reverenced God
and everything which should be held sacred in life. He was the joy of
his father's heart.
Partly on account of his father's business and partly to increase his
own knowledge and ability, George had journeyed to England, and Mr.
Acton daily awaited his return.
Late one afternoon, after a day of strenuous work, Mr. Acton sat
dreamily near the fireside, smoking his pipe. Mr. Richmond, his
bookkeeper, who had been one of his school-mates, and who on account of
his loyalty and honesty was classed as his nearest and dearest friend,
sat beside him. Together they were planning for a banquet which they
would give in honor of George's return.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and in response to
the pleasant "Come," the servant entered and delivered a package of
letters. Mr. Acton broke the seals and hurriedly glanced over them, in
turn. As he took one which seemed to please him, his face suddenly
changed color, and the hand which held the letter began to tremble. Mr.
Richmond became startled, for he well knew that business losses, which
Mr. Acton had often experienced and borne calmly, could not be the cause
of this agitation. He touched him lightly on the shoulder and said, with
deep concern: "Do tell me what has happened."
"There, read it," said Mr. Acton, with a deep sigh, as he handed him the
letter. Then, sinking back in his arm chair and folding his hands, he
stared blankly into the distance, his grief too deep for words.
Mr. Richmond read the letter which a fellow merchant in a distant city
had written, and which referred incidentally to the sinking of a ship in
the English Channel. Unknown to the merchant, this ship had been the one
on which George Acton was to have taken passage.
This sad news stunned Mr. Richmond, but he tried to reassure his friend,
and said: "Perhaps your son is among the saved, or possibly he may not
have embarked, owing to some business delay."
"You certainly do kindle a faint spark of hope in my heart, my dear
Richmond, but I fear it will be extinguished. Let us lose no time in
getting all the information we can." He rang, and said to the servant
who answered: "Go at once and send this telegram." Then taking up the
evening newspaper his eye glanced hurriedly over column after column,
and finally he read that the ship Neptune had been sunk, and that eleven
persons had been rescued, but no names had been reported.
Between hope and fear, the next day passed. He summoned all his courage
and waited anxiously for an answer to his telegram.
All the neighbors, in fact all the people of the town, held Mr. Acton
and his son in the highest esteem, and they awaited the news of George
Acton's fate in dread suspense. At last the answer arrived: "George was
numbered among the passengers on board, but not among those rescued."
Poor Mr. Acton was so overcome that his eyes held no tears. With dumb
grief he shut himself up in his room to find his comfort in God, alone.
Several days later, there came to Mr. Acton's house an old sailor, who
had been on the ill-fated vessel, and who could give an accurate account
of the calamity.
"We encountered a storm," said the sailor, "such as I, an old sea-dog,
have never experienced. It broke shortly before midnight, and in less
than two hours it had driven us out of our course and seriously damaged
our ship. Suddenly, we felt a great thud, which threw us off our feet,
and a dreadful crash told us that the ship had foundered. The water
poured into the vessel from all sides, and the ship was soon submerged.
"The helmsman, seven sailors, two passengers and myself swam through the
tempestuous sea toward the cliffs which had shattered our ship. The
brave captain and all the other passengers went to their watery grave.
"The loss of young George Acton," continued the sailor, as he dried his
eyes, "was deeply lamented by us all. The sailors loved him very much,
for he was always so helpful and friendly. I know positively that every
one of us would willingly have sacrificed his life, in order to save
that of your son. But there was no moment to wait; the ship went under,
and we were obliged to sink or swim.
[Illustration: The Helmsman.]
"I last saw him near the bow of the vessel, just as the storm was
threatening to break. From that time on, I saw no more of him; but I
chanced to find this wallet, as I descended from the rigging;" and he
passed it over to Mr. Acton.
"It contains several letters from you to your son, and a bank note of
value. That is why I wished to deliver it myself."
Mr. Acton took the wallet, and opened it with trembling fingers. He
found the letters there which he had sent his son. "My good boy," said
the father, "kept all my letters so carefully, carried them with him,
and as I would have wished, read them often!"
The affectionate father whose grief had been dumb and dry, for the first
time shed the tears that would give relief to his pent-up feelings.
The sailor continued: "On the morning following the disaster, we found
ourselves on the bare rocks, with nothing about us but the immeasurable
sea. We found a stick and a piece of sail which had been cast upon the
rocks, and this we hoisted. We were taken up by the sailors of another
ship and landed at Havre."
Mr. Acton had listened attentively to each word. Then, taking the money
from the wallet, he presented it to the sailor, saying: "Take this for
your love to my son and for your honesty in returning the wallet to me.
Lay the money by for your old age."
The sailor was astonished at this rich gift. He thanked Mr. Acton for
his generosity and then departed.
Mr. Acton felt the loss of his son more and more each day, and soon his
health began to fail. One Sunday morning, as he returned from church, he
suddenly became very ill. He hadn't the strength to remove his clothing,
but sank into the nearest chair.
Mr. Richmond, who had accompanied him, hoped that the illness would be
slight, and buoyed his spirits with the thought that he would soon
recover.
"My dear Richmond," the merchant said, "my hopes in this world are over,
and I must now set all my affairs in order. Come, seat yourself at this
table. There is pen, ink and paper. I wish to dictate to you my last
wishes. The notary can then sign and seal the instrument.
"The great wealth with which God has blessed me would, in the natural
course, all fall to my relations. But, as I know them, this would not be
the best thing for them, but rather unfortunate. They shall each receive
a suitable portion, with the understanding that the money be not wasted,
but invested and bequeathed to their children. If the children do not
wish to study and learn some trade, they shall not get a penny of mine.
"For you, my dear Richmond, and for all my faithful assistants who
helped me amass my fortune, I shall provide generously. The worthy poor
and the afflicted, I shall not forget. Come now, write quickly; I fear
the time is short."
Mr. Acton began to dictate, but suddenly he stopped and cried: "I hear
my summons. I must go. God, who has not permitted me to finish this
deed, will in His wisdom fulfill it, and let it reach my heirs to their
best advantage!"
He paused, prayed silently and passed away.
All the members of the household were grieved at their loss. Mr.
Richmond spoke gently to them and said: "Our good, helpful, pious friend
sleeps in peace. Richly did he sow good deeds while here on earth, and
now he has gone to the land beyond where richly he will reap."
CHAPTER II
THE UNINVITED GUEST
The death of Mr. Acton cast a gloom over all the people, with the
exception of his relatives, who felt such unbounded joy over the
unexpected inheritance, that it gave them much trouble to mask their
true feelings.
"The inheritance is enormous!" was all they could say and think. When
the time came to make the division, and it was found upon investigation
that the value of the estate to be divided was only about a million, the
heirs were heard to grumble at the amount. They reprimanded the worthy
bookkeeper, Mr. Richmond, and all the other able assistants, as if they
had embezzled some of the money. These good, faithful men, instead of
receiving what Mr. Acton had fully intended they should, were obliged to
accept reproaches and immediate dismissal.
Soon the heirs began to quarrel among themselves, and for a time it
seemed as if they would have to settle their affairs in the court.
However, their eagerness to possess the money soon brought them into
accord, and each one accepted his portion.
Then, one began to build; another bought a country estate; another gave
up his business, and rode about in his carriage. Not one of them ever
thought of Mr. Acton, much less of erecting a monument on his grave.
Mr. Acton's house, besides a large share of his money, fell to the lot
of a man named Mr. Bond. He immediately had the house renovated and
furnished magnificently, and when it was completed to his satisfaction,
he invited all his relatives to celebrate the event. On the appointed
night, hundreds of lights illumined the house and gleamed in the
crystal, like so many colors of the rainbow. They were reflected from
the mirrors and shone upon the highly polished silver.
All the heirs of the departed Mr. Acton had responded to the invitation,
and were dressed to honor the occasion. Especially happy were the wives
and daughters, whose elaborate gowns were works of art. Mr. Bond's
daughter resembled a princess in the elegance of her attire, and
strutted about, in order to display her beautiful diamonds.
After supper had been served, the guests retired to the grand salon. The
entrancing tones of the music soon led couple after couple to dance to
its rhythm, and the revelry ran high.
It struck twelve by the big church clock. Suddenly there flashed over
the faces of the assembled guests, consternation and horror. The music
stopped--the dancers seemed rooted to the floor. A sudden stillness,
broken only by the echoing tones of the clock, or here and there a gasp
of fear or an exclamation of surprise, hovered over all. In one instant
the doors had been thrown open, and there on the threshold, clad in
black, and with a countenance pale as death, stood George Acton.
If he had really returned from the grave, the fear and shock that his
appearance caused could not have been greater.
All present felt a shudder pass over them, as they realized the
certainty of his return. However courteous it would have been for them
to have hidden their displeasure and to have extended their greetings to
him, not one came forward. The loss of their fortune was too distasteful
to them; the awakening from a happy dream, from a life of joyous
forgetfulness of right and duty, to a life of hard work was too
revolting for them. Mr. Bond had been obliged to seat himself to recover
his strength. Some swooned and had to be carried out.
The noble George Acton had not for one moment thought that his entrance
would have caused his relations such a shock. So he withdrew to another
room. Then the questions were heard: "Do we sleep or dream? Was it
really he, or was it an apparition?"
The heirs could not understand how George Acton, who was considered as
dead by everyone, even by the courts, could have the audacity to live,
and by his unexpected return to give them such a blow; but it came about
in a very natural way.
George Acton had, on the night of the shipwreck, swung himself from the
fast sinking vessel to a plank. Wind and waves soon carried him many
miles. Then the storm had subsided and a gentle wind had arisen. He
found himself very much exhausted, for it had taken all his strength to
cling to the plank.
After a while he managed to seat himself upon the board. At dawn, all he
could see on every side was water and sky. Completely drenched, and
faint from hunger and cold, he passed the day.
As the sun was beginning to sink, he felt that there was nothing for him
but death. He raised his eyes to heaven and prayed silently. Suddenly,
in the distance he saw the smoke-stacks of a ship, lighted by the rays
of the declining sun. The ship came nearer and nearer. At last, he was
spied by the captain and saved. His thanks to God and man for his rescue
were as hearty as his prayers had been fervent. When George had been
warmed and nourished, he begged the captain to land him at the nearest
port.
The captain expressed his willingness to do all that lay in his power;
but, said he, "This is an English warship. I dare not deviate one hair's
breadth from my appointed course. You will be obliged, unless we meet
another vessel, to continue with us on the journey to St. Helena."
The ship reached its destination, and after a weary wait of several
months, George was advised to take passage on board a coaling steamer,
then in port, and bound for Lisbon. "From there you can easily get to
London," said the captain.
George accepted this good advice, but found himself in a very great
dilemma. He, the son of a rich merchant, was, what he had never thought
possible, without one penny. As he sat lost in thought, the captain
aroused him and said: "What is it that troubles you?"
George looked up at him abashed, and said: "How can I make this trip
when I am entirely penniless?"
"Is that all?" said the captain. "Well, I have provided for that."
Whereupon he counted out to the astonished George a good round sum of
money. "Now all I want is a receipt."
"What?" cried George. "You intend to trust me, a person of whom you know
so little, with this large amount of money! You know nothing of my
circumstances, but what I have told you."
"I know your sentiments, your thoughts," said the captain, "and that is
sufficient. I would willingly give you more, if I had it to give. But
the amount will be sufficient to carry you to your destination. Were I
not able to trust a boy like you, I should not want to deal with anyone.
Now perhaps you would not mind doing a little favor for me. When you
arrive in London, please deliver this money to my old mother, who needs
my help." George promised faithfully to carry out the captain's wish.
On the morning of departure, George bade the captain and his crew
farewell, and after a devious journey, he at last arrived in London. He
hurried to the home of his father's friend, at whose house he had so
recently sojourned.
The merchant was speechless with astonishment when he recognized George,
whom he had reckoned among the dead. But greater still was George's
grief and despair when he learned that his kind, loving father had
passed away.
Without further delay, he transacted the business which the captain had
deputed to him, bought some clothing for himself, and sailed with the
next steamer to Havre. From there he took the train to his native town,
arriving late at night.
With a heavy heart, he walked through the streets to his father's house.
He expected to find it quiet and gloomy, but the brightly illuminated
windows were a painful sight. The joyous laughter and the music all
wounded his saddened heart. He could not resist the temptation to
present himself, unannounced, and end this wild revelry, this dreadful
disrespect for the dead. So, it happened that he appeared on the
threshold of the grand ball-room--an uninvited guest.
CHAPTER III
THE FLOWERING PLANT
On the following morning, George wended his way to the cemetery to visit
his father's grave. After wandering about for some time, he thought:
"How strange it is that I can not find it." At last he met a worker
there, to whom he said: "Friend, would you be so kind, as to direct me
to the tomb-stone that marks the grave of the late Mr. Acton."
The old grave-digger thrust his spade into the newly, upturned sod, and
said to George, whom he did not recognize, "Yes, I can show you the
grave, but the tomb-stone is still missing. His heirs have set up no
stone, and probably will never erect one. They have forgotten the good,
noble old soul."
By this time, they had reached the grave, which was graced by a
beautiful hydrangea, handsomer than any plant of its kind that George
had ever seen. A mass of beautiful flowers crowded forward between the
dark-green leaves and thousands of dew-drops hung on the plant and
sparkled in the morning sun.
George stood there silent, with his hands clasped tightly before him,
and his head bowed in grief, while the tears fell on the grave. The
beauty of the plant was a little comfort to him.
After he had spent some moments thinking of his departed father, he
turned to the grave-digger, and said: "Who planted this beautiful bush?"
"Oh, that good child, Lucy, the oldest daughter of Mr. Richmond who was
the book-keeper for the late Mr. Acton, she planted it. She was very
much concerned because it seemed as if the good man were never to have a
tomb-stone.
"'Oh, that we were rich' said she, 'then he certainly should have the
finest monument here in the church-yard. However, I will do what I can.
I will plant this bush and, though it be not costly like a monument, yet
it represents no less in good intentions.'
"She bought the bush last April and brought it here; and with the spade
I loaned her, she dug the earth with her tender hands and set it here.
You see it is a long distance from yonder stream and yet, she brought
the water that distance, to wet this plant whenever she visited the
grave. She really felt grateful to Mr. Acton for his kindness to her
father. All her people, too, loved him."
While George listened with interest to the grave-digger's recital, a
young man from the village happened along. He joined the group and
admired the bush. After a pause, he added; "I, too, remember Mr. Acton,
everyone speaks of his goodness. It would have been better for the old,
honest Mr. Richmond and his children had Mr. Acton lived a little
longer, for then, they would have suffered no want. Nor would Mr.
Richmond have been thrust out of business so shamelessly.
"As one misfortune seldom comes alone," continued the stranger, "so it
happened that Mr. Richmond had put all his savings into Mr. Acton's
business, where he thought it would be well invested. The heirs accused
him of falsifying the accounts and brought him to court. But the case
was deferred, and put on the calender for some distant date. In the
meantime Mr. Richmond lost his all.
"His daughter's needle is now his only support, as Mr. Richmond's
failing sight keeps him unemployed. The other members of the family are
too young to earn anything."
George had been deeply touched by these revelations. He picked a flower
from the bush, and put it into his button-hole. Then he slipped a golden
coin into the old man's hand, asked for the street and number of the
humble house where the Richmonds now resided, and turned his steps in
that direction.
CHAPTER IV
THE TWO FAMILIES
The report that George Acton had returned was the talk of the town and
had reached the ears of the Richmond family in their out-of-the-way
home. Mr. Richmond had gone forth in search of more facts on the
subject. He returned highly elated, with the good news confirmed, and
stood in the midst of his family relating it to them. Lucy stopped
sewing and her hands dropped in her lap, for the news was such a
wonderful surprise to her. Mr. Richmond closed his remarks by saying
that he regretted his inability to find George Acton anywhere, and
nobody seemed to know what had become of him. To search for him in the
cemetery had not occurred to anyone.
Just then a knock at the door announced a visitor. The door was opened,
and George stepped into their midst. Everyone was dumbfounded. The old
Mr. Richmond ran forward and pressed him to his breast. Lucy and her
brothers kissed his hands and wet them with their tears. "Oh, that your
father were with us," was all Mr. Richmond could say.
George then seated himself and learned the history of his father's last
days. Mr. Richmond told everything as he remembered, and every eye was
moist. He told, too, how rough, mean and cruel the heirs had been,
particularly Mr. Bond.
Hours passed like seconds to George, who listened breathlessly. He
assured them of his good will and promised them soon to return and
better their condition. He then left to make a few visits and to attend
to some important business.
In the meantime, the affairs in Mr. Bond's household were not very
agreeable. Following the unfortunate feast and revelry, Mr. Bond and his
wife and daughter had passed the remainder of the night planning what
they would do next.
"Nothing worse could have befallen me," said Mr. Bond, "than the return
of this boy. I would rather that this house had tumbled in on us, and
killed us all as we stood there. When I return my inheritance to George
Acton, I become a beggar. What we have wasted, is twice as much as we
ever had, and nothing will be left for us."
"Oh," said his wife, "then we must sell our jewels and our carriages,
and I must again walk to the theatres, like other ordinary people. I
shall never survive it!"
"You will, most likely, never get to a place of amusement," said Mr.
Bond. "What we have spent in one night for pleasure alone, will have to
support us for almost a year."
His daughter, who had been admiring her diamonds, then said: "Must I
return my diamonds, too?"
"Yes," said her father, "jewels, gold, silver, house, garden, money must
be returned and all luxury is at an end."
Suddenly the Bonds resolved upon a plan to flatter George Acton, beg his
pardon for their seeming disrespect, and invite him to a celebration in
honor of his return. As they were still devising how best to carry out
the plot, George Acton entered. They jumped to their feet, hastened to
greet him and assure him that his return gave them the greatest joy and
happiness, and informed him of the feast with which they proposed to
honor him.
George hesitated a moment. Then, as if it had suggested some new idea to
him, he agreed, with the understanding that he would be the host on that
occasion, and that he would reserve the rights to invite a few of his
old friends. He also requested that the feast be postponed for two
weeks, as he wished to pass that time quietly, out of respect to his
father.
CHAPTER V
THE FEAST
The day that was to be crowned by a night of joy at last arrived. Late
that afternoon, George Acton called upon his friends, the Richmonds and
invited them for a walk. Lucy begged for a few moments in which to
change her dress, but George dissuaded her, saying that her simple frock
of beautiful white linen could not be improved upon.
After strolling leisurely for some time, they came to the cemetery. "Let
us go in," said George, "and visit my father's grave."
Lucy felt awkward, for she feared that he would consider the planting of
the bush as audacious on her part, but she said nothing. He stepped
toward the grave and held his hat in his hand. All were silent. Only the
breeze sighed through the trees, and scattered here and there a leaf or
flower upon the grave. Every eye was wet with tears.
"Lucy," said George, turning toward her, "the first bit of comfort that
came to my heart after I learned of my father's death, was the sight of
this bush, planted here by your hands. I always respected your high and
worthy thoughts and I have learned now to respect them even more. Were
my dear father living, I would lead you to him, and say that next to him
I cared most for you, and ask him to give us his benediction. But, now I
lead you to his grave, which to you as well as to me, is holy ground,
and here I ask you to give me your hand, that I may care for you and
protect you while I live; and I will ask your parents for their
blessing."
Mr. Richmond, quickly recovering himself from his surprise, said: "My
boy, remember that you have millions and that my daughter is penniless."
"Your daughter's kind heart is worth more than millions." He then broke
a flower, and placing it in Lucy's hair, said: "This flower with which
Lucy decorated my father's grave, represents her dower. My dear Mr.
Richmond, add your blessings."
Recognizing George's earnestness, then Mr. Richmond said: "God bless
you, my children, and may He keep you as happy, as He has made us all
this day."
Silent and engrossed in deep thought, they approached George Acton's
house. "Here," said he, "I am expected. It grieves me that I must spend
this night in the company of relatives who have dealt so cruelly with
you, my good people, whom I love so dearly. But I must remain, for I
have given my word; and you must all accompany me."
With Lucy at his side, followed by the Richmond family, George Acton
stepped into the brilliantly illuminated room, which was gorgeously
decked with flowers. They were greeted by soft strains of sweet music.
The Bonds were all prepared with flattering speeches, but the sight of
the Richmond family surprised them as greatly as George Acton's return
had done, and words failed them.
"They have complained to him," whispered Mr. Bond, "and so he has
dragged them here in their shabby clothes. Such impertinence on their
part."
George stepped forward into the ball-room and beckoned to the musicians
to stop. The guests had risen by this time, and stood about him in a
circle.
Mr. Bond then addressed George saying: "I know why you come with these
good people. Probably, it is on account of the law-suit which I have
brought. It gives me great pain to think that any difference or
ill-feeling exists between Mr. Richmond and myself, but I shall certainly
call off the law-suit and I will pay him the money which belongs to him,
this very night." Turning to his servant, he said: "Summon my
book-keeper, at once."
"Don't bother any further about it," said George, "for it is no longer a
matter which concerns you, but me. I will see to it that Mr. Richmond's
rights are restored to him. It was not for that purpose that I brought
him here. I have an entirely different object in view. Where do you
think we have been? We come, just as we are, from the grave of my
beloved father."
Mr. Bond felt embarrassed and said: "Oh, I feel very much disturbed that
the idea of giving your father a tomb-stone has never been carried out,
but the stone-cutter disappointed me so often."
Then his daughter took up the thread of the conversation and said: "Yes,
we regret so much that this delay has arisen, for only two days ago I
visited your father's grave, and thought how beautiful a monument would
look there, if it were chiseled from Carrara marble."
"If you were there but two days ago," said George, "then you must have
noticed that it has a tombstone, though not of marble. How did it please
you?"
She paled and began to stammer: "I was--I don't know--it must have--"
Then followed a painful silence which was broken by George saying: "It
is evident that you never visited the grave. However, that monument has
stood there several months.
"It pains me deeply, Mr. Bond, that you did not consider my father, who
so generously enriched you, worthy of a slight token of your thanks. Let
me tell you that this night my relationship to you changes."
Turning to the other members of the party, George said: "I notice in
this gathering many true friends of my father who loved me and esteemed
me as a boy. I feel gratified that you have come to celebrate my return.
But I must tell you that this celebration has a double purpose; for this
is the night on which I present to you my future wife--Lucy Richmond.
She it was who planted the flowering bush on the grave of my father,
never dreaming that it would be recognized by any one. But I think more
of that flower, than of all the riches of the world."
His friends came forward and with hearty cheers cried: "Long live George
Acton and his bride."
"Now," said he, "as this house and all the fortune of which Mr. Bond
still holds the greatest share, falls again to me, I take upon myself
the rights of host, and heartily invite all those who are my friends, to
spend the rest of the night in celebration of this threefold event: My
return, the restoration of my fortune and Lucy to share it."
One by one, the Bond family quietly slipped out of the room.
Later in the evening, during the feast, Mr. Richmond offered a toast to
the health and happiness of George and his daughter, and ended by
saying: "Noble purposes and noble thoughts are the only foundation for
happiness; and yield at all times buds and blossoms unnumbered."
HOW IT HAPPENED
CHAPTERS.
I. THE WOODED ISLAND
II. FAR FROM HOME.
III. THE SMOKE.
[Illustration: "As soon as David saw that the boat was firm on the rocks
he hurried out."]
HOW IT HAPPENED
CHAPTER I
THE WOODED ISLAND