FELLOW-HEIRS OF THE GRACE OF LIFE
"This is a trial," said Roland; "business calls me to New York, and
it will never do for me to be running down daily to Woodcliff; I
should be half of my time on the road. In the busy season, I shall
have to content myself coming every other day, unless we take
boarding in the city."
"Do you desire it, Roland? your wishes shall guide me, although I
should be sorry to leave dear Woodcliff; life is so very different in
that gay metropolis."
"I think that we had better remain here; we will go to the city for a
few weeks in the winter, that Annot may see some of the lions that we
have to show her."
Still the child of Providence, Roland rose step by step, until we
find him occupying posts of honor and trust, a self-made man, such as
thrive best in America. Life was very charming at Woodcliff; but
Madeline felt that it was time to furnish her young charge with some
useful pursuits, so one morning after breakfast she summoned her to
her sitting-room.
"Well, Annot, now you have run about like a wild bird for a few
weeks, suppose that we arrange some plans for improvement, dear; that
is what Uncle Malcolm wishes, you know."
"An' that is just what I desire, Madeline."
"I have written to one of the best teachers of music in Boston, and,
as it is but a few hours' ride, he can come twice a week to give you
lessons, and you will have abundant time for practice; then I am
going to ask your help in the Sunday-school, and will give you ten
families among the factory people to visit."
"Thank ye, dear Madeline; I hae always led a busy life, and I wad na
be happy in a state o' idleness."
The neighborhood around Woodcliff was rapidly increasing; the
factories had brought many new families, both of the working classes
and their employers; and the healthy, pleasant climate, the vicinity
of the sea, and the beauties of fine scenery, had attracted also many
summer residents, who were building picturesque cottages all around
in the pleasant lanes, on the hill-tops, and some nearer to the
sea-shore, where there was now a prospect of good bathing.
Consequently, the Sunday-school and the congregation rapidly
multiplied. Madeline began to think that it was time to think about
her favorite plan in earnest; there must really be a church at
Woodcliff.
It was a very happy household that dwelt beneath its roof; but there
must be something to disturb its quiet, for, to Madeline's surprise,
Lavinia wrote to say that Lucy and she were coming on a visit to
Woodcliff. A slight shade of annoyance passed over the face of the
young lady as she wondered what would bring Lavinia, after her
conduct at the time of her marriage; but Madeline was a Christian and
a lady, and sent an acknowledgment of the letter, with the
information that a room was ready for their reception. They
arrived--Lavinia, the same vain and frivolous girl; Lucy, the same
gentle, pious friend. A handsome wardrobe, with every variety of
fashionable folly, was intended to impress Annot Lindsay, but it
failed signally; for it simply excited her wonder, and offended her
pure and lady-like taste. Remarks were never made upon the subject
except by Lavinia herself, and Annot generally contrived to introduce
some more profitable conversation.
We will sit down with the family at a breakfast scene. Always
attired with the neat simplicity of a lady, Madeline had not yet
learned to appear before her husband with dishevelled hair, untidy
costume, or any neglect of ladylike habits; and yet she was busier
now than when Aunt Matilda expressed the fear that such might be the
case; for, in her leisure moments, she still scribbled privately for
the news-boys; but she had learned to live by system, thanks to the
master of the family.
"Roland, will you want the horses to-day?" asked the wife.
"I think not; do you wish to ride, Madeline?"
"Yes; I have a visit to pay; I have never returned Mrs. De Coursey's
call."
"I think that I shall have to refuse my wife the use of the horses
to-day."
Madeline changed countenance--to be refused! and before Aunt Matilda
and Lavinia, it was really too bad. She began to tap her little foot
under the table, and to play impatiently with her spoon.
"Why can I not have the horses, if you are not going to use them,
Roland?"
"I do not wish my wife to cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs. De
Coursey; she is not a proper associate for a pure-minded lady."
"Why, what is the matter with Mrs. De Coursey? for my part, I think
that she is charming; so sweet in her manners, so generous in her
charities!"
"Have you ever seen her ride with her husband, Madeline?"
"I cannot say that I have," was the reply.
"Have you not seen her riding repeatedly with that infamous George
Sinclair, Madeline?"
"I think I have, but he is her cousin; is he not?"
"Perhaps so; but in the absence of her husband, she is much too free
with gentlemen generally."
"And so you really refuse me the horses, Roland?"
"Do not let us talk about it now, my love; after breakfast, I will
explain my reasons more fully."
Roland looked deeply pained, Madeline angry and mortified, Lavinia
Raymond contemptuous, and Aunt Matilda utterly surprised. It was the
first ripple on the matrimonial surface.
The meal passed in silence--husband and wife were thoroughly
uncomfortable. After Madeline had washed her silver and glass, as
was her custom, she proceeded, with a dejected step, to her favorite
room.
Roland followed--she was sitting in silence before her secretary,
leaning her head on her hand, while she could not conceal the tears
that were stealing through her fingers.
"My dearest wife," said the young man, "have I pained you?" and he
seated himself by her, winding his arm around her waist, and kissing
away the tears, as they fell drop by drop from her eyes.
She did not answer; conscience was busily at work, for she felt that
she had been wrong.
"Can you not trust me, love? would I refuse you any thing which I
know was for your real good? but when the honor of my pure and noble
wife is concerned, then I must be the husband, Madeline. Do you know
that Mrs. De Coursey is not visited, even in New York, by any of the
really pure and good?"
"I did not know it, Roland, but I wish that you had refused me when
alone; it was so mortifying to be treated just like a----child!" and
she sobbed out the latter word, and threw herself upon his bosom;
"and then to see the look of triumph and contempt in Lavinia's face,
and surprise and pain on Aunt Matilda's."
"What need you care, my love, for the opinions of the world, if you
only know that you are right? It is right to avoid the society of
the impure, and it is right to be guided by your husband--is it not,
dear?"
Madeline turned her eyes full upon Roland's noble face, so full of
sorrow, and tender feeling. He had fully conquered; and she wound
her arms around his neck, as she whispered,
"Forgive me, dear Roland, you are always right--this is just some of
the leaven of my old hateful pride."
"And you the same sweet, ingenuous wife--do you think that I will
ever allow any thing to approach you, Madeline, that can even breathe
upon your reputation, or your happiness? now, darling--be comforted;"
and he kissed again and again the half-smiling, tearful face.
Madeline began to laugh, a little hysterically, at first, but at last
the showers passed away, and she was herself again.
Opening her secretary, she took out a draft of a church, which she
had brought from England, a copy of the pretty Gothic building at
Parkhurst.
"I want to ask your advice, Roland, about this church; you won't
refuse me dear, will you?"
"It is very pretty, Madeline; but I think that we must have something
added that is a little more useful."
"O, yes! it wants a Sunday-school--we cannot have that in a building
like this, without spoiling the proportions."
"We can have a building by itself of the same style, and then, you
know, that there must be a parsonage."
"Yes, that is fixed--no church without a house for the minister; I
think the time has come to set about building--but it will cost a
great deal of money."
"I will give a thousand, Madeline, out of my own means--I mean from
my practice."
"Can we not give two thousand, Roland?"
"I think so, but we must be careful, dear, not to go beyond our
ability, though our means are abundant; now, darling, come sit by me
a moment," and Roland drew the young wife by his side upon the sofa,
while he said softly,
"Do you not sometimes regret your loss of liberty, Madeline? just
tell me, darling, truly."
"Never, Roland, in the depths of my heart--there may he ripples of
the old pride disturbing the surface of my happiness; but the quiet
ocean of love cannot be ruffled by these little passing winds," and
she kissed her husband fondly; then rising said, "wait a minute, I
must get my bonnet and mantle, for I have some purchases to make
to-day."
Returning soon, every trace of sadness had vanished, and with the old
arch look of mischief in her face, she entered saying, with a mock
reverence of profound obeisance,
"'Most potent, grave and reverend signior!
My very noble and approved good master,'
If I have in aught offended your lordship,
I most humbly beg your gracious pardon--
The very head and front of my offending is in this;
That wilful woman like, I, like a fractious child,
Have sought to have my way, and not my lord's.
But now I lay down the weapons of my rebellion,
And Desdemona-like, bow to my lord Othello,
And say just love me well, my lord, and I am happy."
and as she concluded, placing her hand gracefully upon her heart, she
made another mocking obeisance; the long, drooping eyelashes hiding
the gleams of mischief that lurked in ambush. While she spoke these
words with such a winning grace, Roland looked and listened with
admiring gaze. It was the bewitching child of the sea-shore, and the
wild woods yet, that stood before him, with her bright look of
mischief gleaming from her deep blue eyes, and dimpling her
expressive mouth. He kissed the glowing cheek with fondest love, as
he replied,
"Well done! my love, where did you get that fine speech?"
"An imitation of Shakspeare, my lord; I was just seized with a fit of
mischief, and thought that I would be sweet Desdemona--have I
succeeded, Roland?"
"Admirably--now, what have you to ask, my darling? I know that there
must be something behind this pretty acting."
"Why, just this--to show that we are all right again, just take me
this morning to the store, and this evening to the hill above
Glendale; I want to show you a fine site for our church."
"My plans were all different for to-day; but you must carry me where
you please, Desdemona."
"That's noble, my lord Othello; now as soon as you can get the
carriage, I am ready."
In a little while the carriage drove up, and Lavinia was utterly
surprised to see Madeline, with beaming eyes and glowing cheek,
handed in by her husband.
Kissing her hand to those on the piazza, she drove off in high
spirits, and Lavinia said,
"Madeline lets that man lead her just where he pleases; I am
astonished that a girl of her spirit should be so tame--refuse her
own horses! I should like to see the man that could do that by me."
"It is mutual leading, Lavinia," replied Lucy. "I never saw a more
perfect union."
They rode happily along, their intercourse the dearer for the gentle
agitation that had disturbed it--but let young married persons beware
that they stir not these ripples too often, for they may raise
tempests at last.
Lengthening their ride, they remained away for two hours, and
Madeline was happy in having her husband at home all day. After an
early tea, another pleasant ride to Glendale, closed the day.
Arrived at the spot, Madeline led her husband to the top of a hill,
commanding a fine view of the whole country. On the brow of this
eminence stood a grove of fine old forest trees, that looked as if
they had grown there on purpose to shade the pretty church; on the
slope of the hill, facing the south, was an extensive lawn descending
gradually to a babbling stream, bordered on either side by wild
shrubbery, and fine old trees, dipping their branches into the
winding creek; pretty vines hung in graceful festoons among the
branches, forming charming resting-places for the strollers on the
banks of this rural stream.
To the left was one broad rolling hill, rising in gentle swells,
until it was lost in the distant outlines of misty blue hills.
This one eminence was partly covered with fine forest trees, crowning
it to the very top; and on the slopes at the foot of the hill were
pretty rural cottages, surrounded by shade trees, cultivated fields,
and thick clumps of woods. From one broad opening, peeps out the
dearest little miniature home, so like a bird's nest of love; as far
as eye could reach, for miles the country was one beautiful garden of
gentle hills and dales, and extensive woodlands; adding the
picturesque feature of a dark stone bridge over a neighboring stream.
The whole landscape was dotted with fine farms, gentlemen's
country-seats, and quiet rural homes; and bounding this whole
charming picture, on every side, were ranges of low hills, fading
away in the distance in tints of misty blue.
Viewed at sunset, it was a picture never to be forgotten--the whole
landscape was flooded in a halo of glory; the deep crimson of the
setting sun illumined the sky, and hung his veil of splendor over
every hill; gradually it changed to deeper hues, then to rich purple
and gold, tinging the trees with the reflected glow of sunlight;
slowly the hues faded, until the landscape was enveloped in the
sombre drapery of solemn evening.
"What a place for thought and study, Roland! This must be the site
for our church; we will call it Calvary; it shall be Gothic, with a
Sunday-school, and parsonage to correspond; we must have a good
minister; I have set my heart on George Stanley, he has been just
ordained; write to him, Roland; he might as well come down at once;
and if he becomes interested, he can help us to collect the funds,
for it will cost a large sum of money. The house must be Glendale
Parsonage, and I think Helen will be the lady; don't you, Roland?"
"I have no doubt of it; they are constantly engaged in the same good
works, and seem just suited to each other; he so strong and
self-reliant, she so gentle and dependent."
Madeline had passed a happy day; and, on their return, Lavinia and
Lucy were walking on the piazza. There was something so tender in
the manner of the young husband, as he lifted her from the carriage,
and so confiding in the deep blue eyes of the wife, that Lavinia was
full of wonder.
"I wonder how long the honeymoon will last," said Lavinia, as she
observed the perfect reconciliation of the married pair.
"I think for life, Lavinia," was Lucy's reply; "there are depths of
love and earnest piety in both characters; and such links are not
easily broken."
"For my part, I don't believe in such romantic notions, Lucy; give me
a handsome house and carriage, plenty of servants, and a long purse
of money, with a comfortable, easy husband, who will let me take my
path, and he choose his, and that is all that I care for."
Madeline and her husband, seated in the library, were looking over
some accounts connected with their charities; and, after an hour
devoted to business, she took her seat on a low ottoman at Roland's
feet; and leaning her head upon his knee, occasionally she looked up
in his face, with the true love of a wife shining in her expressive
eyes, while he laid his hand caressingly upon the soft brown hair.
"We are very happy, Roland," said the young wife, "and sometimes when
I read of the discipline of God's children, I tremble lest it should
be necessary to visit our nest of love."
"We must never forget, my wife, that we are but pilgrims, seeking
another, that is, a heavenly country; let our great object be to
glorify God, to love him supremely, and then we can trust him with
all our future. Looking aloft! dear, always, through joy and through
sorrow, that is the way to happiness and peace."
"How different, Roland, is the bond that unites us, from the cold and
selfish world! no wonder that there are so many wretched marriages,
when so few are founded upon the holy principles of the Gospel. Ah,
how many, when days of indifference and neglect overtake them, sigh
for a love that never existed!"
"If people would only study the epistles of the disciple whom Jesus
loved, and form their heart unions from such high and holy sources,
how different would be the loves and friendships of poor humanity!"
And thus holy was the heart communion of this true union.
"Do not forget, Roland, to write to Stanley to-morrow, and bring him
down with you next week to see the field of labor; it will be such a
privilege to have a church of our own."
"Now, dear, it is time for worship;" and Roland rang the bell which
summoned his family to the library.
While he reverently read and expounded the Holy Scriptures, all
listened with deep seriousness; Madeline always conducted the
singing; and guests and servants felt the value of that banner of
security thus daily spread over the family circle at Woodcliff. Even
Lavinia was obliged, much against her will, to pay the homage of deep
respect to the character of Roland Bruce.
The Eolian discoursed sweet music on that calm evening, as, arm in
arm, Roland and Madeline stood near the open window.
Edmund's visits to Woodcliff were much more frequent; a piece of
music for Annot, an hour's private talk with Roland, or a book for
Madeline, all served as so many pleas for weekly visits; until, at
last, Edmund was always expected on Saturday night, to return with
Roland, on Monday, to the city.
Tired of the frivolity of fashionable life, his heart turned with
delight to the home-circle of his friend, and he often wondered if he
should ever be blessed with such a happy household.
Annot had learned to listen for his footstep, and to blush when his
hand was upon the door-knob; always ready with some new music, or a
plate of especially choice fruit. Edmund gradually found that the
lovely Scotch lassie was necessary to his happiness; and the heads of
the family did not discourage the intimacy, for Roland knew his
worth; had watched his progress, and saw the gleams of spiritual life
as they developed themselves in his young protégé.
Therefore, when Edmund invited Annot to a walk on the piazza, to a
ramble on the sea-shore, or by the placid lake, to an evening ride in
the quiet lanes, there was no opposition; it rather pleased both
husband and wife to see the dawn of a virtuous attachment, so
elevating to the character of a young man.
Lavinia brought her visit to a close, for the tranquil pleasures and
useful pursuits at Woodcliff did not suit the worldly tastes of her
vitiated heart.
Stanley and Helen accompanied Roland on his next Saturday's return.
A long talk in the library between Roland and his friend about the
parish seemed to have ended harmoniously; for after an early tea, the
four took a ride to Glendale, for it was but a mile from Woodcliff.
Stanley was enraptured with the beautiful view from the hill-top, and
Helen more quietly enjoyed the scene.
"There, Mr. Stanley, will be a part of your parish," said Madeline,
as she pointed to the numerous pleasant homes scattered in all
directions from one to five or six miles distant; "many of these
people go nowhere to church, and if we should plant one in their
midst, I doubt not that we could soon raise a prosperous
congregation; the good Bishop of our Diocese is very anxious for such
an effort, for his family have a summer-cottage here; we have already
about one hundred in regular attendance, and large numbers of summer
residents could worship with us--we have a prosperous Sunday-school
with twelve teachers, and a Parish school under the care of an
excellent young person, Susan Grant."
Stanley listened with deep interest
"The call seems inviting, Mrs. Bruce, and nothing would please me
more than a home amidst just such a people; what do you say, Helen?"
At this direct and sudden appeal she blushed deeply--for, as yet,
only surmise had connected the two names.
"I think that it would suit you exactly, Mr. Stanley; this quiet,
shady hill, looks so inviting to thought and study."
Madeline could not resist the temptation as she whispered,
"And you, dear Helen, for the pastor's good little wife."
The sweet face was suffused with blushes, as she replied,
"Would you advise it, Madeline?"
"By all means, my dear girl; Stanley is the very companion for you,
my little lily."
This was all side-talk, while the gentlemen were engaged in
conversation of a more practical character.
The end of the conference was that Stanley should enter at once upon
his labors, and that active measures should be taken without delay
towards the erection of a church. He preached on Sunday to quite a
large congregation; and the manly, earnest character of his sermon,
so full of the unction of a pure gospel, made a deep impression;
Roland heard many saying as they left the school-room,
"I wish that we could have him for our minister."
Stanley soon came among them as their own pastor, and until his own
home was ready he took up his abode at Woodcliff. The church was
quickly planned, an architect and builders upon the spot, and under
the energetic perseverance of Roland and Stanley, it went forward
rapidly.
Daily did the character of Stephen Bruce's piety deepen; his mind
would probably never regain its tone, for it had been shattered too
long and powerfully for perfect restoration. He was very busy in
riding daily to the church; for although of another sect, he was
interested in all of Roland's plans, and reported daily progress,
with all the simple-hearted pleasure of a child.
Susan Grant, the little girl for whom Roland stood as the youthful
champion, was now an excellent young woman, and had charge of the
parish school, while Philip acted as librarian for the reading-room;
and the affectionate daughter had actually lightened her dear
mother's cares, and brightened her happy home, not, however, by
gathering diamonds, but by scattering seeds of knowledge. November
was now approaching, and Madeline remembered her promise to Annot,
that she should visit the city for a few weeks; accordingly, the
three took up their abode at one of the best hotels. Visiting all
the celebrated places in and around New York, Annot was pleased for
awhile, but her chief delight was in the happy evenings that she and
Edmund could now spend together.
At the end of six weeks, Annot came to Madeline with a pleading look
upon her face--"Shall we return to Woodcliff, dear?"
"I am glad to hear you make the request, Annot, for I must be there
by Christmas; and so you have seen enough of this great city, my
dear, and love the quiet of the country yet?"
"Luve it, Madeline! I dinna ken how I could e'er be happy in a great
city. Sic a bustle, an' sic a round o' folly, I ne'er could endure."
"And what, then, will you and Edmund do? You know his business is in
New York."
Annot hung her pretty head, and blushed as she replied,
"There is nae positive bond between us, Madeline."
"Not that of devoted hearts, Annot?"
"I did na say that exactly; but it wud na be right to make an
engagement o' that sort without Uncle Malcolm an' dear mother's
consent."
"Have you ever written to them, dear, upon the subject?"
"Oh, yes, Madeline! I ne'er hae ony secrets frae them; they want us
baith to wait until Edmund sees Uncle Malcolm. I hae been here noo
quite a year. I canna gae hame alone. In the spring, Mrs. Norris,
Jessie, an' Edmund, are all going to Europe, an' I shall accompany
them."
"You have every prospect of happiness with Edmund Norris, but I don't
know what Uncle Malcolm will say about parting with his darling
niece."
"Is it na strange, Madeline, that I could feel willing to leave dear
Uncle Malcolm, the guid friend o' a lifetime, an' my precious mother,
who has luved me sae fondly, to come awa' wi' a stranger, that I hae
only kenned intimately for one year? and yet I am willing; I could go
ony where wi' Edmund, to the north or south pole. Does it na seem
amaist a shame, Madeline, to say sae?" and Annot blushed rosy red, as
she hung her head down bashfully.
"I know all about that, Annot--it is not strange, dear, for does not
the Bible say, that a 'man shall leave his father and mother, and
cleave to his wife, and they twain shall be one flesh?' and it is
just the same with the wife; so don't distress yourself, little dear;
it is the ordering of our Father."
Christmas Eve at Woodcliff--what a bright, happy time! The parlors,
library, dining and sitting rooms, are all dressed with evergreens,
winter flowers and vases, in which the Scotch heather lifts its
pretty purple flowers among brighter blossoms; and a table with a
large white cover stands in the middle of the library, which has been
most carefully locked for the last week.
In the back parlor stands a Christmas tree (on the top of which rests
the Christmas angel), hung with numberless little gifts, and
decorated with red holly berries, lady-apples, colored glass globes,
and a profusion of variegated wax candles.
On a small table are spread piles of fancy covered books.
This has been the work of Madeline and Annot since their return from
New York; interesting several families in the neighborhood, they have
gathered together a large quantity of presents for the children of
the Sunday-school.
They are determined to have a happy Christmas at Woodcliff. Early in
the evening, the rooms are lit, and the ladies dressed. Madeline, in
Roland's favorite brown silk, with lace collar, and sleeves, with no
ornaments save a branch of ivy leaves and scarlet berries in her
hair, and a handsome carbuncle set, that her husband had
presented--Annot, in a pale blue dress, with a delicate lace frill
around the neck and sleeves, and a few white camelias in her golden
ringlets, that hung so gracefully around her shoulders.
Standing in eager expectation near the window, they listened for the
approach of their guests.
"I hear the carriage," said Madeline, for it had been sent to the
station to bring the expected company.
Hastening out to the piazza, she welcomed her friends; Roland had
brought out Edmund, with his mother and sister, and Helen Thornly.
"Well, this is beautiful, indeed!" said Roland, as he glanced around
at the preparations. "I think we Scotch people lose a great deal in
not making more of this joyous season; but really, Madeline, have not
the fairies been at work?"
"No, dear, neither fairies nor angels have had anything to do with
it, not even Santa Claus; human hands planned all."
"I know better, darling," whispered Roland; "a household angel has
gathered these lovely flowers, and lit up this bright festival; my
household angel, Madeline."
The ladies were soon disrobed, and ready to join the cheerful party
in the dining-room, where a genuine Christmas dinner was prepared.
After they had done full justice to the viands, Roland exclaimed,
smiling,
"And what is to be done with this Christmas tree? are we going back
to the days of childhood, Madeline?"
"You'll see after a while," was the arch reply, as the folding doors
were closed between the rooms.
In a few minutes, the tramp of little feet on the piazza, and the
buzz of children's voices, announced an arrival--ere they entered,
the children, under the guidance of Philip and Susan Grant, sang a
sweet Christmas carol.
They were then admitted into the front parlor, and strange to behold
were the large staring eyes, and open mouths of the wondering
children, who had never seen such grandeur before!
A sweet Christmas hymn, sung by ladies' voices, was heard in the room
beyond, and when the door suddenly opened, and the sight of the
splendid tree, illuminated from top to bottom, burst upon them, they
could no longer restrain their expressions of delight. The girls
clapped their hands, and the boys stamped their feet, as they
exclaimed,
"Oh! goody gracious! I never saw anything like that!"
"Just see the heap of apples!" said one little girl.
"Just look at that pretty doll!" said another.
"Look at them ere glass things! I wonder what they are."
"There's a gun!" said a boy.
"And there's a top!" said another; "and such a heap of things!"
"And there's a whole pile of books!" said another.
"Look at the bags of sugar-plums!" said a fat little urchin. "Hurrah
for the sugar-plums!" and the little fellow turned a summerset, and
rolled over and over on the floor.
After considerable trouble, they were all reduced to order, and
Roland held a hat, and gave each child a card with a number on it.
Madeline took her stand by the tree; one by one she took down the
gifts, and, calling out the number, each happy child came forward to
receive the present. Each child had also a bag of sugar-plums and a
book to take home, and a large slice of Christmas cake for present
enjoyment.
"Now, dear children," said Madeline, "we sent for you this morning to
wish you all a happy Christmas. This is the dear Saviour's birthday,
when he came down to make children happy. He gave a Christmas gift
to all, and that was himself. Now, because he was so full of love,
the people who love Jesus want to do something like him, and so they
give presents to their friends to show their love; each little gift
that you have in your hands, my little ones, is a gift of love. Now,
if any of you have a sick brother or sister, or little friend, who
could not come to-day, don't eat all your sugar-plums or cake, but
save some for them to show that you love them. The night that Jesus
was born, the angels sang in the clouds over the plains of Judea; now
let us sing our Christmas hymn," and Annot played, while Madeline led
the singing, in which all joined.
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around," &c.
It was a happy company that hurried home that night through the
sharp, frosty air, to tell about the wonderful tree, and the
beautiful things at Woodcliff.
Which was the happier? the little children, as they went home with
their pretty gifts, or the young mistress of Woodcliff, who hung the
Christmas tree to make them happy?
"And now for Blue Beard's room," said Madeline, as she led the way to
the library and unlocked the door.
A bell summoned the household; and as she uncovered the table with a
bright, beaming face, Roland looked upon his young wife, and felt
that he was indeed a proud and happy man.
"Now first, my lord and master, as a true and loyal wife," and
Madeline spread out a beautiful wrapper made by her own hands, and,
putting it on her husband, said--"Why it fits beautifully! it suits
the library exactly; and here's a pair of the prettiest slippers,
worked by Annot, and a cap and scarf for winter nights in the cars,
by Aunt Matilda. Now aren't you a rich man, sir? make your prettiest
bow to the lady of the house, sir."
As Roland obeyed the command in the most graceful manner, he
whispered words that made Madeline's cheeks glow with innocent
pleasure.
"A rich man, dearest! I do not envy the richest man in Christendom,
Madeline."
"What did he say, Madeline?" said Edmund; "there must be none but
public speeches to-night."
"Just a little sweet flattery, Edmund; let me enjoy it," and she
threw her head slightly back, smiling archly on the speaker.
Mr. Bruce was particularly pleased with his nice wrapper from
Madeline, and beautiful Bible with fine large print, and gold
spectacles, from Roland; Aunt Matilda with her handsome breastpin
from Madeline, and pretty watch from Roland.
"Here's my offering, Madeline," said her husband, as he opened a
small case, and produced an elegant watch and chatelaines; "your old
watch is not so good as formerly, dear, and I have got the very best
that New York could afford."
Madeline looked a world of thanks. Lastly, came the servants, who,
one by one, advanced to receive their gifts from the hands of their
beloved young mistress.
Aunt Matilda was rapidly losing her prejudices against Roland; but,
not willing to allow herself conquered, she attributed her change of
manner to the conviction that he really was of gentle birth at last.
Without her consent, he was gaining daily complete ascendency even
over her pride, yet she often wondered whether he were not more than
he pretended. One evening, seated together in the familiarity of
family intercourse, Aunt Matilda turned suddenly to Roland, and said--
"Are you sure, Roland, that you are not distantly connected with the
ancient Bruce? I have often thought you must be; for you certainly
could not have got your carriage and manners from the common classes.
Bruce and Gordon are grand names; I think that you must have had
noble relatives in some of the branches."
Roland smiled, as he replied--
"Can you not believe, Aunt Matilda, that God can choose a vessel of
common clay, and, by his grace, endow it with high qualities, if he
pleases? or must all your ideal great men be of the purest porcelain?"
"I cannot help thinking, Roland, that there must have been some
porcelain among them, even though you may not know it, or care for it
if you do."
"All I can boast, Aunt Matilda, in the way of pedigree, is that my
ancestors, as far back as I can trace them, were a hardy race of
plain Scotch farmers, shepherds, and mountaineers, among whom were
always found faithful, earnest ministers of the Lord Jesus; their
greatness consisting only in heroic deeds of calm and patient
endurance in the cause of truth and holiness."
Madeline smiled archly, as she asked--
"Aunty, what great deeds have the noble Hamiltons ever achieved? I
have never heard of any. I believe their grandeur consisted wholly
in their birth, in spending lives of idleness, and wasting their
fortunes--which, I believe, drove my grandfather to this country a
poor man--and in passing away from the world without recording one of
their names among those who wrought heroic deeds or benefited the
human family. Is it not so, aunty?"
Aunt Matilda was silent for a moment, but, with a mortified
expression, said, at last--
"You must allow that there is something in noble birth, Madeline."
"Not apart from goodness, aunty; for I have set up my husband against
all such pretensions."
"Well, you need not be telling everybody about Roland's birth,
anyhow."
"I certainly shall take no pains to conceal it, Aunt Matilda; I am
too proud of Roland Bruce himself."
"And so am I, Madeline; but I am not going to tell everybody about
his early days."
"Conquered at last!" said Madeline, laughing heartily, as Aunt
Matilda left the room.
"She cannot let go her prejudices, Madeline; but she is a very
kind-hearted aunt to both of us."
In the early spring, Annot returned to Scotland in company with the
Norrises; she was sorely missed at Woodcliff, but warmly welcomed by
Uncle Malcolm and Mrs. Lindsay, who could not but realize that she
was greatly improved by her sojourn with Madeline. It was a sore
trial to the good man to resign his beloved niece to any one,
especially to one living in a foreign land; but, true to his noble
character, seeking the happiness of those he loved, he said--
"Take her Edmund, she is yours; but ye maun leave her with us a year
ere ye claim her hand, and visit us as often as ye can."
"I know the sacrifice, dear Mr. Graham, but you need not fear to
trust your darling to me; we are all in all to each other, and, I
trust, humbly desire to live for a better world."
"I canna separate young hearts, Edmund; I know the pang, and can
ne'er inflict it on another."
A pleasant visit of a few months, daily increased Uncle Malcolm's
respect for Edmund Norris, and he felt before he left Graham Hall,
that in him he had found another dear son.
"I do not think that I shall always lead a city life, dear sir; our
tastes are for the country, and as soon as it can be possible, that
shall be our permanent home."
"Would that it could be in Scotland, Edmund; I should be so happy to
have ye with me."
"That is a subject for future thought, dear sir; my mother's wishes
must be consulted."
The young pair bade farewell with the sweet hope of meeting again;
but O, how long! for one whole year! and what might not happen? How
many hearts have asked the same sad question?