THE GABLED FARM.
OH the delicious smell of the sea as they emerged from the little
station at South Bay!
The elder ones volunteered to walk, and as the omnibus was considered
too shaky for Tom, a fly had been previously ordered, and stood waiting
for them.
The light frame of his couch, with his slender form, was easily lifted
and placed across the two seats, and they were soon driving along by
the edge of the sea before turning up the road which led to the Downs.
Tom stretched his neck to see as much as he could, and his mother tried
to raise him a little, but he looked so anxious and haggard that she
begged him to be satisfied to leave it all till to-morrow. The child
lay back exhausted, and the mother's eyes sought the nurse's anxiously.
"He will be better after his tea, ma'am," said Mary, in answer to this
look; "and to-morrow I hope he will be quite himself; won't you, dear?"
They were soon mounting the little hill that led to the farm, and Mrs.
Arundel said to Mary, "I hope you will not find this very heavy to push
him up and down."
"Oh, no, I do not think we shall; we must all help!" answered Mary
pleasantly. "You know, ma'am, we can't expect London pavements at South
Bay."
"Here we are!" said Mrs. Arundel as they drew up before a gabled
whitewashed house, with a gay little garden in front, and wide-open
white curtained windows, with old-fashioned tiny diamond lattices.
By the time Tom had been safely lifted out, and the nurse, baby, and
Dolly had been introduced to their nursery, there was a sound of
voices, and Mrs. Arundel turned to greet her merry party from the
station.
"How delicious!" said Ada.
"Delightful!" said Arthur, bounding up.
"This is lovely, mamma!" said Nellie.
And Isabel and Netta joined in the chorus of gratification; while
Simmons gave smiling approval.
"What a jolly sitting room! And that dear old bay window! I say, Ada,
we'll have nice times here," said Arthur.
"What a little drawing room!" exclaimed Ada, rushing across the landing
into the room looking towards the sea.
"Yes; that is my sanctum," said their mother, smiling.
"Quite right, too," said Arthur; "for I believe we do make an awful row
sometimes."
"Where's the nursery?" asked Ada.
"Here," said Dolly's little voice from the crack of the door close by.
"I've been watching you all this time. This is my nursery, and I like
it very much; but Tom doesn't."
"Let's see," said Arthur. "Oh, here you are, all of you, quite settled
in, I declare! Tea spread on the table, and baby looking as if he would
eat the loaf if he could!"
"Yes, he is so hungry," said Mary.
"I am not," said Tom wearily. "I wish I could come in with you, mamma;
I don't like being here."
"So you shall, dear, when we have taken our bonnets off. It is all
strange at present, but we shall soon get happy. Arthur dear, help
Simmons and Mrs. Ross up with some of our things."
They soon came down again, and Simmons and Arthur lifted the moveable
part of Tom's couch from the nursery to the sitting room sofa. And
there, slightly propped up with pillows, he was able to look round, and
began to feel himself more at home.
"I don't want any tea," he still assured them.
"Just one mouthful," said his mother with gentle decision as she held
his drinking-cup to his lips.
He obeyed without further demur, and then, placing the cup on his
little table, which had been brought with them in the train, and
putting one tiny piece of bread and butter between his lips, Mrs.
Arundel left him while she attended to the others. And amid all the
little bustle of preparation, Tom forgot to be cross, and unnoticed by
all but his watchful mother, gradually took up piece after piece of his
bread and butter till it had all disappeared. He looked all the better
for it.
And happily no one said, "There, you did want your tea after all;"
though it was on the tip of Ada's tongue several times.
By the time tea was over, it was getting dusk, and Mrs. Arundel advised
them not to explore till the next day.
"Oh, mamma," said Nellie, "would you mind our just running down for a
peep at the sea!"
Mrs. Arundel could not say no, and telling them "to wrap up, for it was
very different from London," she went to see after her little flock,
and in no time heard the three hurry out of the house and scamper down
the quiet lane.
The little ones were soon tucked into the white fragrant beds; and Tom
had been lifted upstairs on his light frame, and was now lying in the
twilight waiting for his mother's good-night kiss.
He stretched out his hand and stroked her face, then said suddenly, "I
wish I could run off down the lane with them."
"I wish you could, my precious," she answered tenderly; "but, Tom, God
has willed it differently, and we must try and be willing. Do try, my
dearest!"
"I can't," said Tom in a stifled voice. "It makes it worse to come here
and half see it all. I would rather have stayed in London."
"I hope it will do you good, my dear; and you will find to-morrow that
there are some pleasures you can share."
"I don't think there will be. Even baby could grab at the flowers at
our nursery window the minute he came in; but I—, I could only be
lifted as usual on to the sofa, and stick there."
A hot tear fell on little Tom's face.
"There now, I have made you cry," he said penitently. "Oh, mamma, I
wish I could bear it better!"
He clasped his arms about her neck, and after a minute or two, she
whispered his prayer, and then tenderly kissing him, she got up to go
away.
Tom would like to have seen her face—the face he loved so much—but it
was too dark; and he could only guess by her step that she was dejected
and sorrowful. This made him very sorrowful too, and burning tears
rolled down his cheeks when her footfall sounded on the last stair.
Being left alone reminded him of that other boy who had no mother;
that boy who had no white soft bed at the sea-side to rest in, but
was probably at this moment in a dark, unhealthy room, looking at the
shadow of the flickering gas-lamp on the dirty blind, in hot, dirty
London.
"I wish I had not grieved her," he thought, as he had thought a hundred
times before; "but I can't help it; I'm a miserable little boy, and
always shall be, till the end!"
"Till the end!" Was there an end? The thought roused him again, for he
was almost asleep. What made him think of that? Was it that beautiful
evening star shining so calmly down upon him? Or was it words which his
mother and father often spoke to him, and which, by the Holy Spirit's
power, were coming back to him? He could not tell; and while he thought
about it, his tired eyes closed, and he slept.
When Mrs. Arundel lifted her blind the next morning, and looked out
over the orchard laden with fruit, with its grass sparkling in the
morning dew and sunshine, she espied two figures, arm-in-arm, pacing up
and down the lane. They were Ada and Arthur. No time must be lost on
this first morning; and they were drinking in the fresh sea breezes,
and enjoying, as perhaps only town folks can, the first morning at
the sea-side. Very dear to their mother were these eldest children of
hers; but how she longed to see in them, besides their bright earthly
promise, the germ of heavenly growth.
"May Thy kingdom come in their hearts!" she said as she turned away.
A handful of gravel crashing against her window roused Nellie from her
slumbers. She started up frightened, and then smiled as she guessed
what it was.
"Nellie, Nellie!" called Arthur. "It's eight o'clock, and we want
breakfast!"
"What a lovely Sunday," said Mrs. Arundel, when she came down stairs
and found Nellie cutting the bread and butter.
"Yes; it is indeed, mamma. How I wish papa were here with us."
"Come, Arthur; come, Ada," called Mrs. Arundel from the door, "I am
sure you must be hungry."
"That we are, and I never did see such a jolly place, mamma! That
orchard, when the dew is off, will be as cool and as shady as possible;
and when we are tired of the beach—"
"Which we shall not be," interrupted Ada.
"Oh, yes, we shall; one cannot be everlastingly on the beach! It is the
very thing to complete our enjoyment."
"It is very nice," said Mrs. Arundel, "and is an especial pleasure to
me, because I shall be able to take my work there when I do not care to
go far."
After breakfast they all gathered together, and their mother read a
short passage from the Bible, and prayed a very simple prayer that
all could understand, asking God their Father to take care of them,
thanking Him for all His gifts, and praying that they might be enabled
to live to His glory.
After this, all who were old enough prepared themselves, and at
half-past ten set off to walk inland to a little church about a mile
away.
After dinner, Mrs. Arundel told them to bring their books to the
orchard, and little Tom was wheeled under the shade of one of the
largest trees, and they established themselves in various comfortable
attitudes round him. The baby rolled on the grass at their feet, Dolly
was absorbed in a Sunday picture book at Nellie's knee, and the rest
were sitting, with Sunday faces calm and bright, waiting to hear a
story which their mother was going to read aloud. The two servants,
with the maid from the farm, soon passed, going to afternoon service
in South Bay. And as long as the bells were chiming, Mrs. Arundel sat
silent, listening to the peaceful sound, and thinking of all whom she
loved who were far away.
The children were awed by the stillness and the music floating up on
the soft wind; and when the last note died away, they sat perfectly
quiet, till Mrs. Arundel turned to them and opened the book.
Just at this moment Alfy ran out from the wide-open front door, and
crossed the road, to have a good look at the new visitors. His exit was
unnoticed evidently, for no one followed him, and he made his way, not
at all abashed, into the midst of the little party. The children were
all rather surprised, and there was a pause to see what he would do.
"Me, too," he said, and seated himself amongst them very complacently.
"Here, Alfy," said Nellie, "I have some pictures here, come and see
them!"
Alfy turned round, and after examining her gentle face for a minute,
he scrambled to his feet and trotted towards her; and as they were
far enough away not to interrupt the others, Mrs. Arundel began her
reading, and Nellie kept her two little ones happy and good for half an
hour.
Just as Mrs. Arundel was shutting her book, Mrs. Ross appeared at the
door, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked anxiously in every
direction, at last calling in not a very pleased voice, "Alfy! Alfy!
Wherever are you?"
"Here he is," said Mrs. Arundel, raising her voice a little just to
reach the anxious grandmother.
"Oh, dear, ma'am, I'm sure I beg pardon for him—a naughty boy! However
did he come troubling you ladies?" said Mrs. Ross, coming near.
"Oh, never mind, he has been very good."
"I suppose it was this way. Molly, the girl, was off to church, and his
grandfather was having a nap, and I must needs fall asleep too. I beg
your pardon, ma'am. You see we're old folks to have him on us like; but
it's all we can do for him that's gone," glancing at her black Sunday
gown.
"Your son's child?" asked Mrs. Arundel kindly, sympathising with the
trouble in the old woman's face.
"Yes, ma'am, our only one. His wife died when Alfy was a year old; and
just a year after that, our boy went out one ugly night fishing, and a
storm came on, and the boats came back without his!"
All eyes were turned on Mrs. Ross; and even Alfy looked sober. Seeing
them silently ask for more, she went on.
"A few days afterwards we did find him, thank God; but our brave,
handsome boy, you would not have known him, ma'am; and we laid him by
his young wife up there under the trees where you went this morning;
and then we took Alfy home to us altogether."
"I daresay it is a comfort in some ways," said Mrs. Arundel, looking at
his pretty little face, and thinking of the sailor-father.
"Yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Ross hesitating, "it is in some ways; when
I think of him that's gone it is. But we're getting old, father and
me, and sometimes I'm afraid whether we look after him enough; and we
haven't time or strength to be always at his heels. I am afraid for him
if anything happened to us, or if he were to run wild. That's what our
own Alfred never did, ma'am."
Mrs. Arundel looked thoughtful. And as the children were getting tired
of sitting, Mrs. Ross took Alfy's hand and led the way to show them
a little brook where she could pick them some water-cresses for tea.
They all ran off after her; and Nellie came up to Tom, and placing the
good-natured baby by his side on the perambulator, within the circle
of his arm, she pushed them slowly up and down the shady lane, while
Mrs. Arundel walked by her side, and they enjoyed one of those peaceful
seasons that come but seldom to mothers and elder daughters of large
families, and are prized accordingly.
Nellie and her stepmother loved each other dearly, and each truly
sought to be a comfort to the other. It was wonderful how many ways
Nellie found of doing little things for her mamma. While in her turn,
Mrs. Arundel tried to fill a mother's place to the girl whom she had
taken to her heart a desolate, motherless child, of four years old,
just fifteen years ago.
This Sunday was long remembered; for that week a new era opened in the
lives of some of that happy little party.
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