AT THE DEACON'S FIRESIDE
"Hugh, I do believe you will succeed in your undertaking, and that
Nick Lang is already firmly planted on the right path!" exclaimed the
old lady, with considerable warmth, when the story had been brought
up to date, bringing in an account of Hugh's most recent talk with
the former terror of the town.
"It looks encouraging, anyhow," he merely replied; though, of course;
he felt a flush of boyish pride at the warm look she gave him when
saying what she did.
"My husband has worked with many an erring lad," she continued
reminiscently; "sometimes with fair success, but only too often
without, apparently, winning him away from his bad companions. But
your idea was most unique. To think it all came of your reading
Hugo's masterpiece, and taking it to heart. But here comes Joel; and
we can soon be seated at the supper table."
The more Hugh saw of this remarkably genial old couple the closer did
he seem to be drawn to Deacon Winslow and his crippled wife. Indeed,
Hugh soon came to the conclusion that they were the warmest-hearted
pair he had ever known in all his life.
Mrs. Winslow was wheeled cheerily to her appointed place at the table
by her husband, who waited on her just as assiduously as though they
were lately married; instead of having "trudged along life's highway
in double harness," as the deacon, humorously put it, for a matter of
sixty years or so.
Of course, as Deacon Winslow was a deeply religious man, Hugh
expected he would ask a blessing before partaking of the bountiful
spread that was placed on the table; nor was he disappointed. The
deacon's deep-toned voice was wonderfully musical, and to Hugh it
sounded almost as though he were singing whenever he spoke. He never
grew tired of hearing the old blacksmith talk; though they would not
allow him to be a mere visitor, but, by asking many questions, kept
Hugh in the conversation.
The little fellow had been placed in a high chair. It looked of very
ancient vintage, Hugh thought, when first sighting it. Seeing the
look on his face the good lady of the house said in a voice that she
tried to keep from vibrating:
"It was our Joel's chair; somehow we have managed to keep it intact
through all the years. There was a time when I dreamed of some day
seeing this boy seated at my table in his father's high chair. But
your small friend, Hugh, fills a long vacant spot. I could almost
fancy he belonged there, he seems so like----"
Deacon Winslow must have seen that his wife was getting on forbidden
ground, for just at that moment he broke in with a question that
demanded an answer from Hugh; and so the subject was dropped. But
Hugh understood, and he felt his boyish heart throb with genuine
sympathy for this splendid couple, who had yearned to have a house
full of children, but somehow found their dearest wish set aside by a
mysterious decree of Providence.
They had a merry time at the table. Little Joey was as bright as
Hugh had ever known him to be, and fairly captivated the aged pair
with his prattle. The old lady in particular hung upon his every
word, as though in an ecstacy of delight. She anticipated his
childish wants, and, really, little Joey could never have sat down to
such a bountiful feast as on that memorable occasion.
Then the meal being ended they repaired again to the cheery fire.
The deacon put on fresh wood, and the crackle of the blaze was very
delightful on that cold night. Hugh had already spoken of the long
walk ahead of him, and how, perhaps, he had better postpone his visit
for another occasion, so as to get the child back home before it grew
too late.
"Don't think of it, son," said Deacon Winslow instantly, and in a
tone that would not be denied. "When the time comes I'll hitch my
horse to the big sleigh; we'll wrap the child up as snug as a bug in
a rug; and be over to your house in a jiffy. What if he does get a
bit drowsy; let him take a nap. I'm sure he'll be safe in the loving
arms of grandma."
At his mention of that last word the old lady hugged the child, and
bent her wrinkled kindly face close to his cheeks; but Hugh believed
it was to hide the rush of sacred emotions that swept over her.
Then they talked.
By degrees Hugh got his host started on the subject that was nearest
his heart, and which had to do with the wonderful habits of all the
small, wild animals of which the deacon had made a life-long study.
"It's a wonderfully fascinating subject, Hugh," the old blacksmith
philanthropist went on to say, as he started in. "I took it up just
as a fancy, but as the years went by it became a habit that grew on
me more and more. Yes, I have had an amazing lot of pleasure out of
my observations. As the good wife here will tell you, I've spent
hours on hours at night, hidden in the woods, with a light fixed on
some nest of a muskrat or gopher or fox, just to learn what the
cunning little varmint did betimes; when of rights I should have been
in my bed getting rested for another hard day's labor at my forge."
"His holidays have always been taken up in the same way," interrupted
Mrs. Winslow, smiling lovingly at her husband, whose heart she
evidently could read as though it were a printed book. "At first I
begrudged him the time, but later on I knew it was taking his
thoughts away from subjects that we were trying to keep out of our
minds, and I never tried to hold him back."
"It was my study of the habits of these small animals and birds that
gave me what little faculty I may possess for prophesying the weather
ahead," continued the old man. "They seldom, if ever, go wrong. If
I've hit it wrong now and then, the fault was mine, not theirs. I
had failed to properly interpret their actions, that was all."
So he went on to tell Hugh many deeply interesting experiments he had
undertaken along those lines. He also had a fund of wonderful
anecdotes, many of them quite humorous, connected with his little
friends of fur and feather.
The more Hugh heard him tell the greater grew his interest. He
resolved that at some time in the not distant future, when an
opportunity came along, he, too, would begin to pay more attention to
the multitude of interesting things that could be discovered in
almost any woods, if only the observer kept his eyes about him, and
did nothing to alarm the timid inmates of various burrows and hollow
trees.
So an hour passed, all too quickly.
Once Hugh took out his little nickel watch, as if under the
impression that it must be getting near time for him to think of
saying good-night; though he hated to leave such a jolly fireside,
and the fine couple.
"Please don't think of going home yet, Hugh," said the old man,
looking distressed at once. "The night is young, and I don't know
when I've enjoyed anyone's company as I have yours. My dreams in the
long ago were for just such a son as you. I envy your parents, my
lad. Providence, however, saw fit to turn my activities in another
direction; and I have done the best I could to be of some little help
to other people's sons. I only bitterly regret that I am able to do
so little."
"But I'm afraid the child may become too much bother for your good
wife, sir," Hugh was saying, although already deciding he would
remain longer.
The deacon laughed softly. He put out his big hand, and gently
touched Hugh on the sleeve.
"Look yonder, lad!" he went on to say; "does that strike you as if a
heavenly little sunbeam like the boy could ever be too much trouble
for her? See how her dear face is lighted up as she bends over him.
He's gone fast asleep in her arms, as contented as though with his
own mother. Ah! lad, it was a kindly act, your fetching that tiny
bit of humanity out to visit us. You have made her almost happy
again for once."
Hugh, looking, saw that the old lady was paying no further attention
to them, or listening to what they were saying. She touched the
sweet face of the child, and pressed her withered lips against his
soft skin. If a tear fell on the little fellow's head, was it to be
wondered at? He saw her open his clothes at the neck, as though the
heat of that blazing fire might be a little too much, in her matronly
estimation.
The deacon, too, was looking as though his heart might be in his
eyes. Such a spectacle as that must have been of rare occurrence at
his fireside, deeply as he regretted it.
Then he started talking again, for he had been in the midst of an
unusually interesting description at the time he drew the boy's
attention to the beautiful picture at the opposite side of the
fireplace. And Hugh, becoming wrapped up in the amusing episode for
the moment forgot all about little Joey and the loving soul who had
him held in her arms.
What the blacksmith was telling related to a thrilling happening he
had experienced on one occasion, when lying out in the woods watching
for a certain timid little rodent to commence moving around. At the
time the deacon had one of those new-fangled hand electric torches
with him, which he meant to use when the proper moment arrived.
Hearing voices drawing near he thought it best to warn the darkies
who were advancing in time, for, otherwise, they threatened to walk
directly over him in the pitch darkness. When, however, he flashed
his light suddenly toward them, he must have given them the fright of
their lives, for they uttered howls, and fled precipitately, despite
his reassuring calls.
"I afterwards learned," said the deacon, smiling broadly at the
amusing recollection, "that the three men were those colored players
who constitute the band you young people always have at your barn
dances, Daddy Whitehead, the leader, and his able assistants, Mose
Coffin and Abe Skinner. They really believed they had met something
supernatural in the woods, when taking a shortcut home, after
attending a dance somewhere out in the country. And, really, I never
had the heart to undeceive the poor ignorant chaps. But I warrant
you they kept to the highway after that terrible experience with
ghosts."
Hugh laughed at the mental picture of those three aged musicians, one
with his fiddle, another carrying a 'cello, and the third an oboe,
"streaking" it through the dark woods madly, possessed of a deadly
fear lest their time had come, and that they were pursued by
something from the spirit world.
He was just about to make some remark when the words froze on his
lips. Mrs. Winslow had given vent to a cry. It thrilled Hugh
strangely, as though he feared some agonizing pain had suddenly
gripped the old lady.
Both he and the deacon were instantly on their feet. As they glued
their eyes on the figure across on the other side of the broad hearth
they saw that she was sitting there with a marvelous look on her
wrinkled face--a look that seemed to tell of sheer amazement,
exceeding great joy, incredulity, and many other like emotions that
Hugh could not stop to analyze.