WOODCLIFF.
BY
HARRIET B. McKEEVER,
AUTHOR OF "EDITH'S MINISTRY," "SUNSHINE," "FLOUNCED ROBE," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON.
1865.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN & SON. PRINTED BY SHERMAN & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.--The Sea-Shore
II.--A Ride on Horseback
III.--Maddy's Triumph
IV.--Too Proud to Bend
V.--Youthful Visions
VI.--A Scotch Matron
VII.--The Cottage and the Hall
VIII.--Boston Relatives
IX.--Home Again
X.--Sunshine at the Hall, Shadows at the Cottage
XI.--A Mother's Life Sorrow
XII.--Stars in the Night Season
XIII.--Driftwood
XIV.--Excelsior
XV.--Strife
XVI.--Rugged Hills for Weary Feet
XVII.--Mirage, or Madeline after a Triumph
XVIII.--The Early Dawn
XIX.--"Auld Lang Syne"
XX.--Out in the Light
XXI.--Searching for Scottish Friends
XXII.--Mist on the Mountain
XXIII.--Graham Hall
XXIV.--Wings Clipped that had Commenced to Soar
XXV.--Parting from English Friends
XXVI.--The First Link Lost and Found
XXVII.--Hearts' Ease
XXVIII.--Seaweed
XXIX.--Beatitudes
XXX.--Fellow Heirs of the Grace of Life
XXXI.--Reunion
WOODCLIFF.
CHAPTER I.
THE SEA-SHORE.
It is a summer afternoon--the light fleecy clouds float lazily over
the glowing landscape--the sun is shining brightly over the deep blue
waves, gilding their crested foam with sparkling diamonds, and
lighting up the golden hair of a little girl, who sits upon the
beach, gazing out upon the wide-spread ocean. It is a graceful form
which sits there, tapping her dainty little foot, and laying her hand
caressingly, every now and then, upon the head of her favorite old
dog, Hector.
Her hat is thrown down by her side, and leaves uncovered a head of
remarkable beauty: the deep blue eyes, fringed with their dark
lashes, express a world of feeling; the delicately arched nostril and
curved mouth betoken pride, but a troop of dimples is playing around
that expressive feature, lighting up the whole face with arch humor;
the transparent complexion, through which glows, in rosy tints, the
feelings of her sensitive nature, lends its finishing touch of
enchanting loveliness to the sweet picture; and, as the sea-breeze
lifts the flowing ringlets which lie in such rich profusion around
her shoulders, seldom could be seen such a revelation of bright and
happy childhood as the young being who sits there, singing one of her
favorite songs.
A passer-by, who knows something of the thorny paths of life's
pilgrimage, would scarce know which to do, to sigh or smile at the
glimpse of such a beaming face; but the ever-changing expression and
flitting color would be most likely to cause a sigh, as one might
anticipate the discipline which such a spirit must taste in a rough
and stormy world.
But we will not anticipate sorrows, sweet child!
Bright days of happy childhood are before thee!
She certainly dreams of nothing yet but joy, and hope, and love.
"You're a good dog, Hector--don't we love each other, old fellow?"
and Madeline stooped down to rub her cheek against her pet's shaggy
head.
Looking up in her face as though he understood all she said, he
seemed proud of his little friend's caresses, and making a kind of
pleasant growl, he put up his shaggy paw, as was his custom, when he
wanted to be especially petted. Not far from where she sits, may be
seen a group of children playing with their wheelbarrows.
A little girl of six, and two older boys are busily engaged in
filling their barrows with shining white pebbles, and while pursuing
their innocent play, they prattle merrily together about the riches
which they supposed themselves to be gathering.
But little difference is there between these children and men of
larger growth--for these are gathering pebbles, and men are gathering
dust.
"Look here! Philip," said the little girl, "I am sure that this is a
real diamond; don't you remember when John Stanley came from Cape
May, what a heap of diamonds he brought with him, and sold them for
ever so much money?"
"Yes, sis, but then you know that he said you might gather a great
many pebbles, before you get one diamond?"
"But I'm sure, Philip, that I have found a great many; so clear and
so big; I'm so glad, because I'll give 'em all to mother, and we
shall be so rich; she won't have to work so hard any longer; I could
work here all day if I could only see dear mother smile again."
"Well, you're a good little girl, sis, and I hope that we shall find
that you are right," and as they continued their innocent employment,
they sang cheerily, and little Susan, in her delight, would
frequently stop to clap her hands, and dance with joy. Just then, a
couple of boys came up, who had been watching the children for some
time.
They were clad in the height of boyish fashion, and with a conceited
air, approached our little speculators, tapping their pantaloons with
their canes, and with a supercilious manner, accosted them.
"What are you about there, you little fools?" said Harry Castleton.
"Do you call these stones that you have been wheeling up diamonds?
they're nothing but common pebbles, and you're a set of fools for
your pains--you'd better go home, and dig potatoes," and rudely
snatching the wheelbarrow, Harry tumbled it down to the edge of the
surf, and upset all the contents into the ocean; while Charles
Davenport stood by snapping his fingers with malicious delight.
It was a dreadful loss to poor little Susan, who burst into a bitter
fit of weeping, and Philip stood looking angrily on.
These were larger boys, and neither of Susan's brothers felt old
enough to attack them, although they were boiling with anger.
Just at that moment, a poor boy who had seen the whole proceeding,
stepped up.
'Tis true that he wore patched pantaloons, which were too short, and
an old threadbare jacket; but his linen collar, though coarse, was
white; and his shoes, though very old and worn out, were neatly tied
with black strings--poverty was stamped upon his attire, but nobility
upon his broad expansive brow.
A look of manliness which shot from his fine dark eyes, and the
firmness which compressed the lip, rather overawed the boys who saw
him advancing; but when their mean spirits perceived the poverty of
his attire, contempt mastered their temporary fear, and they stood
ready for the encounter.
"For shame! young gentlemen," said the boy, "couldn't you find your
equals in size and age when you attempt such cowardly acts?"
"Who are you, sir?" said Harry Castleton, "that you dare speak to
your betters in such a tone? take yourself off in a minute, or I'll
lay the weight of my cane across your face."
"I'm a boy like yourself, young gentleman, but I scorn to attack weak
little children in their plays, or to fight with puppies."
"Do you dare to call me a puppy?" shouted Harry Castleton, and flying
at the boy, he dealt him a violent blow across the face, causing the
blood to fly from his nose, and at the same moment, kicking the
little wheelbarrow out into the ocean.
The little girl with the golden locks had been looking on the scene,
but as soon as she saw the blow struck by the young upstart, she flew
towards the boy.
"Oh, Harry Castleton! aren't you ashamed of yourself! first to
disturb these poor little children, and then to make a coward of
yourself by attacking a boy that won't fight?" and hastening up to
the boy, she took her delicate handkerchief, and wiping his bleeding
nose, she said kindly,
"I am afraid that you are hurt."
"Not much, miss, it's only a trifle;" but as she seated the boy, she
perceived the blood gushing from a wound in the temple, that she had
not seen before.
Running to the surf, she brought the handkerchief back again, and
with the most tender, generous care, continued wiping the blood which
still kept oozing from the wound.
Charles and Harry stood by sneering.
"Really, coz," said Charles, "you are making a fool of yourself,
waiting upon a beggar boy, as if he were the son of a gentleman."
"I don't think that fine clothes always make the gentleman; for I'm
sure I've learned this afternoon, that the feelings of a gentleman
may lodge under a threadbare jacket; what is your name young
gentleman?" continued the child.
"My name is Roland Bruce," was the answer.
"And mine is Madeline Hamilton," was the frank response. "Why didn't
you knock Harry down! I should have been so angry that I'm sure I
should have struck back again."
"I was very angry, miss, but I've been taught that 'He who mastereth
his spirit, is better than he that taketh a city.'
"But when you are struck, I think that you ought to defend yourself."
"I did, by trying to ward off the blow; but I should have made it no
better by stooping to fight with such a boy as that."
"Well, I'm glad to see that you're a proud boy," continued the child,
laughing, "and I'm sure that you made those upstarts ashamed of
themselves--see how they're slinking off! I'm ashamed to call
Charles Davenport cousin--do you feel better?" added the little girl.
"Yes, thank you, I'm much obliged to you for your kindness; and here,
miss, is your pocket-handkerchief."
"I don't want it," said the child; "you must wear it home," and she
tied it carefully over the wounded temple.
As the boy raised his cap to bid her good afternoon, looking after
him, she said aloud, "I wonder what is meant by a nobleman, nature's
nobleman? I guess that's one--I'd rather call him cousin, with his
patched clothes, than that mean, contemptible pair."
Thus soliloquized Madeline Hamilton, the spoiled and petted child of
rich Mr. Hamilton, of Woodcliff. Turning to little Susan, who still
cried for her wheelbarrow, she said,
"Let us see if we can't find your barrow," and running down to the
shore, she found that it had been washed up, and was fastened between
a couple of large stones, from which she soon lifted it, and restored
it to the poor child.
"Come over to Woodcliff to-morrow, and Aunt Matilda will give you
something." Then giving the child particular directions, Madeline
returned to the spot where she had left her flat, and calling Hector,
hastened home. It was a tolerably long walk, and by the time that
she reached home, it was late sundown.
She entered full of excitement. Throwing down her flat, and seating
herself at the tea-table, she commenced telling her adventure.
"Aunt Matilda," continued the child, "what is a nobleman--nature's
nobleman?"
"Why, a nobleman is one who is born of a noble family, to be sure,"
was the answer. "Our descent is English, and our ancestors were all
nobles."
"Once I remember that you told me a nobleman was coming to dine with
us, and I expected to see a very grand person; and when he came, he
was only a little man, who took snuff out of a gold snuff-box, drank
wine, and talked about hunting. I didn't see anything noble about
him. Another time, our pastor said that Mr. Linwood would call upon
us, who had divided a very large fortune equally among his brothers
and sisters, though they had all been cut off by the father's will.
Our pastor called him noble, because he had done a noble deed. Now,
aunty, there is no use to try to make me believe anything
else--everybody is noble who does noble acts; and I don't care how he
is dressed, or where he lives. Now, aunty, don't be affronted, I
can't help my feelings; I do love good people, and high-spirited
people, even in rags; and I hate mean, low-minded people, even
dressed in fine clothes. I can't act deceitfully; they make me mad,
and I can't help showing it. Now, aunty, what is a gentleman?"
"One who is brought up with the manners of a gentleman, who dresses
like a gentleman, and who belongs to a genteel family."
"Well, aunt, I suppose then that you call Charles Davenport a
gentleman?"
"Why, to be sure I do."
"Well, I call him a vulgar, low-bred boy; and, aunt, I suppose that
you would call Roland Bruce, with his patched clothes, short
pantaloons, and old jacket, a common boy?"
"To be sure I would, child; why, what is he?"
"Why, I think he must be one of nature's noblemen, for he looked ever
so much grander than Charles or Harry, as he stood on the beach,
taking the part of poor little children, and wouldn't fight, either.
They looked really mean in their fine dress, and he looked like a
hero in his poor clothes. Give me nature's nobleman, after all,
aunty."
"Brother, just listen to the child," said Aunt Matilda; "did you ever
hear such horrid talk? I can't instil any proper pride into that
girl."
Mr. Hamilton threw himself back in his chair, and laughed heartily at
what he called "Madcap's spirit," and told his sister "not to be
alarmed, for he was afraid that they'd find too much pride there some
day, for either of them to manage."
Aunt Matilda loved her high-spirited little niece, and found it very
easy to forgive her; but she was often sadly afraid that she would
forget her rank, and disgrace her family, by improper connexions.
Soon after tea was over, Charles and Harry made their appearance, but
Madeline was still so indignant that she quickly left the room, and
steadily refused all her aunt's entreaties to return.
"They're a mean pair, aunty, and I can't see either of them this
evening," was all the response that she could obtain from her wilful
little niece.
Before retiring, the warm-hearted child sought her father's study,
and seating herself on his lap, laid her cheek softly against his,
and said, "Papa, kiss me before I go to bed. If I've said anything
wrong, forgive me, dear papa."
"No, little Mad-cap, you've done nothing wrong; only, dear, I don't
want you to associate with all kinds of common people." And thus the
impulsive child's faults were winked at by her indulgent father, and
false worldly sentiments inculcated by her frivolous aunt. The next
day, little Susan presented herself at Woodcliff, and Aunt Matilda,
who was really kind-hearted, gave her some very nice garments for her
mother and brothers; and Madeline, with the impulsiveness of her
nature, was loading gifts upon her that were wholly unsuitable, until
aunty came in to check the profuseness of the generous child; and
Madeline was sadly disappointed as she carried back to her wardrobe a
handsomely flounced pink lawn, and a pretty little jaunty hat trimmed
with flowers.
"I'm sure they would have been very nice for Sundays," soliloquized
the child; "at any rate, I wanted her to have them. Aunt Matilda is
so stingy and so cross--dear me! I wish I was a young lady, just to
do as I please. I'll have what I want, and give what I choose, then,
that I will."
Many a nice garment found its way to Mrs. Grant, for Madeline
regarded little Susan as her own particular protégé after the
adventure by the sea-shore, and the child herself was never tired of
telling her mother about the good boy that took her part so warmly,
and the beautiful child that wiped his face with her fine linen
handkerchief; and the mother could not help laughing as she mimicked
the manner in which Harry and Charles sneaked away after her
indignant rebuke; "and I am sure that they are no gentlemen, though
they were dressed ever so grand," was the conclusion that little
Susan always reached at the end of her story.