DRIFT-WOOD.
Farewells are spoken--trunks are strapped--Roland's carpet-bag is
well packed, filled by good Mrs. Jennings, for she has discovered
that he returns on foot.
Sleeping in barns, occasionally at farm-houses, at last he finds
himself in sight of Woodcliff; he passes Maple Lane school on his
way, and remembers the bright young face that used to smile upon him
so kindly, and the reverent folding of her little hands, as Maddy
listened to the teaching of her young mentor, so meek under his
reproofs, so fiery and impetuous with all others. He wondered how it
was now. On, on, past the cottage home, past the cemetery, he finds
himself at the gate of Woodcliff.
Walking up the familiar avenue, old Hector bounds to meet him, for he
was a staunch friend of Roland Bruce. Effie hears the noise, and
runs out to see what is the matter.
A glance at the tall young man is sufficient. It is her own dear,
dear brother! and in another minute, Effie is pressed to the warm
heart of her only relative. Roland holds her off, and looks
anxiously at his dear sister. Is she really paler, thinner; or is it
the mourning-dress that makes her look so pallid?
"Are you well, Effie?" asks the anxious brother.
"Oh, yes, Roland, and so happy; they are all so good to me here.
Miss Matilda will not let me overwork myself, and Mr. Hamilton is so
kind."
"Do you ever hear of Madeline, Effie?"
"Oh, yes, frequently; and she always asks about you, Roland; she is
just as glad as I am when you are successful at college."
"Has she been at home lately?"
"She was here at vacation; but it does not take place at the same
time with yours."
"Has she grown much, Effie?"
"Very much; she is growing tall, and so beautiful. You know,
brother, that I always thought that there was nobody so pretty as
Madeline."
"Is she like she used to be, Effie?"
"Not so wild, brother; but just as sweet and affectionate. She used
to go every day to see the rose-bush that you planted together, and
she was always singing the Scotch songs that you taught her. Where
will you stay, brother?"
"At old Peter's; that will do very well for me, Effie. Before I
return to college, I am going to the White Mountains; I want to see
them so much, and the journey on foot will do me good."
"How about your clothes, brother?"
"Oh, yes, you little rogue, you thought that I could not guess your
secret. Why, who else would send me the new shirts and handkerchiefs
but Madeline? You had no money, Effie, and she is the only one that
cares for me."
Effie smiled. "You've guessed right, brother. When she was at home
she gave me the money, and I made them all. What a happy little
thing she was when they were done! She skipped about, and danced
like a merry little kitten. 'Roland shall look like a gentleman at
college,' she said; 'and I know there's not one ahead of him there.'"
"Effie, do you remember our dear mother's last message? Oh, what a
comfort it has been to me! 'Looking aloft!' whenever I have felt as
if my heart would sink, I have remembered those sweet words, Effie,
and they have made me so strong."
"So have I, Roland. I am often very lonely, brother, and sometimes
very weak. Sometimes I feel as if my life will be a short time; then
the dear words come, 'Looking aloft!' and I think of all that they
mean, and they make me happy."
"Shall we go into the conservatory, Effie?" asked her brother.
"Oh, yes; I have taken good care of her flowers, Roland; and that
Scotch heather is always so pretty!"
Effie led her brother to the old spot. The flowers were in full
bloom. Roland plucked a branch from Madeline's own rose-bush, and
another from the heather, and turned away. Next, he entered the
library, and on opening one of the book-cases, there lay a glove of
his little friend; and in one of the books, a pressed branch of
sea-weed.
"I may have these, Effie?"
"Oh, yes; they are of no use to Madeline."
Roland laid them carefully away, and then turned to seek old Peter.
"I shall see you soon again, Effie. Good-bye, now."
"Good-bye, dear brother. I am so glad that you have come."
"Is that you, my lad?" said old Peter. "I'm right glad to see your
young face once more."
"Can you let me stay a few days with you, uncle Peter?"
"Why, yes, boy; but ours is a poor place; we can't do much for you."
"It will be well enough. I shall only be here for a few days."
Roland rambled around among the old familiar scenes, and towards
evening, returned to the sea-shore. Seating himself upon the rock
where he had passed so many happy days, he gazed out upon the wide
ocean. The music of its waves was sad, depressing. It spoke of the
past; for the future it had no voice. As he mused, a log of
drift-wood floated by. How solitary it seemed! All alone! floating
on the wide ocean, drifting whither the tide would wash it up at last.
"Is that like me?" thought Roland. "Am I so lonely in this wide
world? Am I such a creature of chance?" No human voice was near to
answer the question of his soul. The night birds sang their
melancholy song around him, and it was an hour of deep sadness.
"Why should I indulge in such a train of thought?" inquired Roland of
his heart. "This is the language of despondency, almost of despair.
Am I indeed nothing but driftwood?--so useless, so solitary!"
Looking upward, the bright fair moon was sailing overhead so serene!
so pure! so silent! With her voiceless majesty she answered, and the
mother's dying whispers came like sweet music to banish the language
of despair:
"'Looking aloft, Roland!' 'Looking aloft!' I will not be the
drift-wood of human life. I will seek to fit myself for my place on
this great globe, and, obedient to my Maker's laws as is that placid
moon, I shall with his blessing move on as surely to my destiny;
happy to serve my God here, and enjoy the fulness of His presence
hereafter. Float on, thou worthless log! thou shalt not symbolize my
fate! Sail on, thou placid moon! Let my course in life be steady,
calm, obedient, as thine."
The voice within quickened his pace as he walked up and down the
beach, repeating the Psalm of Life:
"Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
'Dust thou art, to dust returnest,'
Was not spoken of the soul," &c. &c.
Turning his steps towards Uncle Peter's cabin, he slept the quiet
sleep of recovered trust and confidence in God.
Next evening he sought his mother's grave. How soothing were the
words upon that marble head-stone! "She sleeps in Jesus." And how
sweetly did they speak of the dear little friend that placed them
there! He had not been seated long before Elsie Gibson made her
appearance. She seemed delighted to meet Roland again.
"Weel, Roland, the days o' youth are passing away, a'maist a mon.
Ye're the vera image o' ane I luve weel; may ye be a happier mon than
he."
"Whom do you mean, Elsie?"
"It matters na, my bairn; I'm glad to hear sic a good account o' ye,
Roland, at the college; there's a great wark before ye, my son, may
ye live to do it weel."
"Elsie," said Roland, "do you know anything about my father?"
"I used to ken a' aboot him, Roland, in days lang syne, when we were
baith young."
"Do you know where he is now, Elsie?"
"Why should ye ask sic a question, Roland? do ye na ken that the
vessel in which he sailed was lost?"
"I have heard so, Elsie; but strange thoughts have crossed my mind
lately."
"They are silly thoughts, Roland; ye maun think o' yer father as
dead. Good-bye, Roland, I maun be awa'."
Roland turned his steps again towards Woodcliff. This time he asked
Effie to let him sit alone in the library for a few minutes. He
turned over many volumes, which he knew Madeline was in the habit of
reading, and in many a page he found her mark. Taking up a small
portfolio which contained many scraps of paper, listlessly he
sketched the sweet face as he first saw Madeline on the sea-shore
with Harry, Charles, and the other children. Roland had cultivated
his taste for drawing, and had made a striking pencil-sketch of the
scene. Placing it almost unconsciously back in the portfolio, he
left the room, and, crossing the hall, met Mr. Hamilton.
"Why, Roland, I am rejoiced to see you. How greatly you have
grown,--almost a man!"
"Yes, sir; time makes changes."
"How are you progressing at college, Roland?"
"Very well, sir; there is one of our catalogues," handing one to Mr.
Hamilton.
"This is good news, Roland. I hope, my boy, that you will continue
to reap such high honors. Stay, and dine with us, Roland."
It was the first time that he had ever been invited to Woodcliff as a
table-guest, and with a modest blush, he accepted the courtesy. It
pleased him to find that Effie's place was also at the family table,
and with the well-bred ease of a native gentleman, he took Mr.
Hamilton quite by surprise.
"Madeline would like to see you, Roland; she was at home last
vacation, and has greatly improved; you would scarcely recognize
little Mad-cap; she is so much more sober."
"Does she sing as much as ever?" asked Roland.
"Yes, her voice is splendid; she shall have the best masters that I
can find, Roland. But do you know, boy, that I like the old ballads
she used to sing, more than the opera-style, which is now so
fashionable?"
Before Roland took his leave, Mr. Hamilton sought a private
opportunity to speak to him.
"Is there anything that I can do for you, Roland?"
He grasped Mr. Hamilton's hand warmly, as he answered, "I am already
your debtor, sir; and found your gift of inestimable value."
"You were kind to my little daughter, Roland; and I am always at your
service."
Roland bowed, and took his departure.
"That is a remarkable youth, Matilda," said Mr. Hamilton, as he
closed the door. "I don't know what to make of him; brought up
wholly in a cottage, without the advantages of refined society, he
has more of the manners of a gentleman than either Harry Castleton or
Charles Davenport. He must have had a remarkable mother, and the
soul within must be of the noblest mould."
"But really, brother, I don't think it well to encourage the intimacy
between this youth and our Madeline. He is growing to be a man, and
an attractive one to such a romantic child as yours. You really
talked of her to-day to Roland as if he were her equal."
"Really, Matilda, you are simply ridiculous; he is actually a
plebeian, and Madeline patronizes him; it has rather amused me to see
her independence."
"I don't approve of the levelling system, Lewis Hamilton. Let each
one keep his place in society; no good comes of these intimacies."
"I am not afraid, Matilda. I think our Maddy has a good share of
pride--enough to keep her from low associates."
"I tell you, Lewis, that Roland Bruce has more influence over that
proud and wayward child than any other living person,--a word from
him, a look of reproof, I am told, had more power to check her
impetuous nature, than all the teachers of Maple Lane school."
"Well, Matilda, he has never taught her anything wrong; she is
greatly improved since she knew the Bruce family."
"You are certainly possessed, brother, with a spirit of
contradiction; but I have borne my testimony,--you must have your own
way. I have said all that I mean to."
Roland's was rather a sad walk back to old Peter's cabin. He felt
that he was rapidly approaching the years of manhood, and that
Madeline would soon step over the sweet days of childhood, and enter
the enchanted ground of young maidenhood. Then, the difference in
their social position would raise the barrier over which he dare not
step; and Madeline Hamilton and Roland Bruce would henceforth belong
to different worlds.
It was a hard thought; but Roland had seen enough, and known enough
of worldly pride, to feel that this was so. Not with Madeline
herself, for she was too much a child of nature for that; but he must
not allow her to incur the displeasure of her father, but especially
her aunt, by forgetting the broad gulf between them.
On his next visit to Woodcliff, he was struck with something peculiar
in the look of Effie's eyes.
"Your eyes look weak, Effie. I fear that you sew too closely; is it
not so?"
"They do annoy me sometimes, Roland; they get so dim that I can
hardly use them."
"Do take care of them, sister; any disease of the eye is such a great
calamity."
"It would be a sore affliction to lose my sight, Roland; then indeed
I should find it difficult to look upward."
"Don't let us forget, Effie, that whatever befalls us, comes from our
Father's hand, and must be a part of the training by which He means
to fit us for the better world."
"It is a comfort, dear Roland, to feel that God cannot do wrong--if
we could only trust him always."
At that moment, Nanny called Effie.
"Here is a letter from Miss Madeline."
"I am so glad that it came while you were with us, Roland," said
Effie, as she broke the seal.
She read it hurriedly, and said--
"Here is something about you, Roland;" and she read the quotation.
"I suppose that you hear often from Roland; I should like to know
what he is doing--tell him that little Maddy is growing to be quite a
studious, serious girl. My chief companion here is Lucy Edmonds; she
is a dear, sweet friend; I wish that I were like her. I am learning
a great deal of new music, but I have not forgotten any of my old
Scotch songs. Take care of my rose-bush, Effie: I mean the one that
Roland planted; I hope that it will not die. Be kind to old Hector
for my sake, dear old fellow! Now that I am away, I think more of
Roland's good lessons than I did when at home; I am sure that I shall
never forget them."
Effie handed the letter to Roland, which he read quite through.
"She will be surrounded by snares, Effie, when her education is
finished; with all her wealth and beauty, I tremble for Madeline; but
still I do not believe that the world will wholly spoil our little
friend."
"When will you leave us, Roland?" asked his sister.
"In two days, I think; I have brought up my clothes for you to look
over, Effie; so soon as that is done, I shall take up my line of
march."
"Will you walk all the way, Roland? it is so far."
"I am used to that, Effie; indeed I prefer it; for I can stop where I
please, enjoy all that is beautiful, and rest when I am tired. Don't
be afraid of me, little sister; I am very brave and strong."
His preparations were soon made.
"Effie, you don't know what a comfort you are to me--while I have
you, I cannot feel alone. Some of these days we shall have a dear
little home, where you shall be the household fairy, and your brother
the guide and strong arm of his precious sister."
"Take care of yourself, dear Roland; don't be so daring; I don't
believe that you ever think of danger."
"I shall climb the highest mountain, Effie, it is such a pleasure to
conquer difficulties; and I will bring back to you the beautiful
ferns and mosses of the mountains--then you can make one of your
pretty baskets for Madeline."
Folding her once more to his heart, Roland took his final leave.
"I shall be back in a few weeks, Effie; good-bye for a little while;"
and looking back, he kissed his hand, and smiled upon his dear sister.
Effie looked after her brother with an admiring gaze, and thought
"How handsome he is! What a noble walk! God bless my dear, dear
brother."