Waiting and Serving
"I feel completely side-tracked now. Life moves forward, but here I am a
useless burden."
It was Parson John who spoke, as he leaned back in an easy-chair and gazed
dreamily out of the window.
Nellie laid down the book she had been reading aloud and looked anxiously
at her father. This was the third day they had been at Morristown, and it
was the first time her father had uttered any word of complaint. The
change had been restful, and he had enjoyed it thoroughly. There had been
so many things to see and to talk about with his brother that he hardly
missed the separation from Glendow. A sense of glad freedom had been his.
There was no responsibility of parish work, and no long, tiresome drives
ahead. He need not worry about sermons for the following Sunday, nor feel
concerned for any who might be sick. It was a luxury to sit there quietly
in the large, airy room with the fresh breath of spring pervading the
place, and to watch the trees putting forth their tender leaves and the
fields donning their robe of green, yellow and white. Occasionally Nellie
read to him from some favourite author, although much of her time was
taken up helping her aunt with various household duties. The change which
she beheld in her father caused her much joy. "It is just what he needs,"
she thought. "A good rest will restore him more than anything else." So
now on this bright afternoon to hear him complain of being side-tracked,
of no use in the world, worried her.
"You must remember, father dear," she replied, "it is well to be
side-tracked sometimes. Engines are often laid by for repairs, and I have
heard you say that we need rest that mind and body might be strengthened."
"True, very true, Nellie. But I seem to be useless. There are so many
things to be done, and but little time in which to do them. When one has
been engaged in a work for over thirty years it is not easy to lay it
suddenly aside. It becomes part of one's life. Some may think that rest is
sitting still and doing nothing. But to me such a thought is terrible.
'Rest,' as a great poet has well said, 'is not quitting life's busy
career. Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere!'"
"Yes, father, but did not blind old Milton say that 'They also serve who
only stand and wait.'"
"But how am I serving, Nellie? What is there for me to do here? I sit all
day long and think, while others serve me."
"Father," Nellie replied after a brief silence, "I believe a stroll would
do you good. You have been staying in the house too much. I have
discovered some very pleasant walks out from the village, and, if it will
not weary you, suppose we start off now."
Her father looked up quickly at the suggestion.
"Capital!" he exclaimed. "It's just what I need. I am becoming too moody,
and the fresh air will revive me."
He was almost like a child now in his eagerness to be off. With his stout
cane in one hand, and leaning upon his daughter's arm, he moved slowly
along the dry road, through the village and out into the country where the
houses were few.
"Oh, this is life, grand, true life!" and he stood for a few minutes
looking far away across the broad fields. The air laden with the freshness
of spring drifted about them; the birds flitting overhead were pouring
forth their joyous music, while on every side early flowers were lifting
their tiny heads. All nature seemed to combine to give a glad welcome to
these two wayfarers.
At length, coming to a cross road, Nellie paused.
"Look, father," and she pointed to a large tree near by. "What a cool,
shady spot! Suppose we rest there for a while, and I will read some from
the little book I have brought with me."
Willingly Mr. Westmore conceded to her wish, and soon they were snugly
seated on the grassy sward. With his back against the tree, Parson John
breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead
with a large, white handkerchief.
So absorbed did they both become in the book that neither noticed the
black clouds which had been gathering away to the south, and were now
rolling up fearful and threatening beneath the sun. A distant peal of
thunder, followed by a bright flash of lightning, startled them.
"A storm is coming!" exclaimed Nellie, springing to her feet. "We must
hurry home at once! The road to the right is shorter. I know it quite
well; we had better take that."
They had not proceeded far, however, before the peals of thunder became
more intense, and soon large drops of rain came spattering down.
"We're in for a heavy storm," panted Mr. Westmore. "It's about to burst
upon us. We must seek shelter!"
"There's a house right ahead," Nellie replied. "Perhaps we can get in
there."
They plodded on in silence now, and turned in at a little gate none too
soon. Scarcely had they entered the small porch in front of the house ere
the storm broke. Hail, mingled with rain, came thundering down upon the
roof, and, dashing against the glass, threatened to smash in every pane.
The thunder crashed and shook the house, while the lightning streaked the
air with blinding flashes.
"This is terrible!" exclaimed Nellie, clinging to her father's arm, her
face very white. "We must get into the house!"
They knocked upon the door, but received no response. Again they rapped
louder than before, and at length a key was slowly turned and a woman,
neatly dressed and fair to look upon, peered timidly forth. A relieved
look came into her face as she saw the two standing there.
"Come in," she said, giving a little nervous laugh. "This fearful storm
has quite overcome me."
She led the way into a cosy sitting-room, and offered her visitors chairs.
"You will pardon our intrusion, I am sure," explained Mr. Westmore. "We
came simply for shelter. We are much obliged to you."
"Not at all, sir," replied the woman. "I am so glad you came. I am alone
with the children, and they are all much frightened."
"And your husband is away?"
"Yes. He's been gone all winter. He was working in the woods for Rodgers &
Peterson, and is now on the drive."
"Dear me! it must be hard for you to have him away so much."
"It is, sir. But he will stay home after this. He has earned enough this
winter to make the last payment on our farm. We have been struggling for
years, saving every cent and working hard to get the place free from debt,
and now it will be our very own if--if--," and the woman hesitated.
"How glad your husband will be to be home," said Nellie, with her eyes
fixed upon several bright little faces in the doorway. "He must long to
see you all."
"Ay, indeed he does, but especially Doris. She is our invalid girl, you
see, and is very dear to us. She can't romp and play like the others, and
I suppose for that reason she appeals to us the more."
"Has she been ill long?" questioned Mr. Westmore, becoming now much
interested.
"For five years. It's hip disease, and she will never walk without a
crutch, if she does then. Perhaps you would like to see her."
They were conducted into a small bedroom, and the sight which met their
eyes moved them both. Lying on the bed was a girl of about fifteen years
of age, with a sweet, fair face, large, expressive eyes, and a high
forehead crowned by a wealth of jet-black hair, parted in the middle and
combed back with considerable care. The room was as neat and clean as
loving hands could make it. A bright smile illumined the girl's face,
which Nellie thought the most beautiful she had ever looked upon.
"It's so good of you to come to see me," she said. "Very few come, and I
do get lonely at times."
"You will be glad when your father comes home, will you not?" Nellie
remarked, taking the girl's thin, white hand.
"Oh, it will be delightful! He has been away so long. Let me see," and she
counted on her fingers. "He has not been home since Christmas."
"But he writes to you, though?"
"Yes, such lovely letters, all about his work. But the last one was so
sad. I have cried over it many times. I have it right here. Would you like
to read it? It's so interesting."
"Suppose you tell us about it, dear," said Mr. Westmore, taking a chair by
the side of the bed. "That will be better."
The girl's face flushed a little, and she hesitated.
"I'm afraid I can't tell it half as well as father does in his letter. You
know, the men were bringing the logs down Big Creek Brook, and they all
got stuck in a nasty place called Giant Gorge. One big log in some way, I
don't understand, stopped the rest, and it had to be cut out. It was a
dangerous thing to do, and the men drew lots to see who would go down into
that awful place. And just think, papa drew the paper with the mark upon
it, which meant that he was to do it! I shudder and cry every time I think
about it. Well, as dear papa was about to go, a young man, Tony Stickles,
sprang forward and said he would go, because papa had six children and a
wife who needed him. Wasn't that lovely of him? I should like to see him.
And just think, before papa could stop him he sprang upon the logs, cut
away the one which held the rest, and all rushed down right on top of him.
Papa said he was sure Tony would be killed, but he jumped from one log to
another, and when all thought he would get to the shore, the logs opened
and he fell into the water. Then something wonderful happened, so papa
said. As Tony was clinging there a boy suddenly came along, jumped upon
the logs, ran over them, and pulled Tony out just in time. But a log hit
the poor little boy, and Tony had to carry him ashore. Don't you think
that's a lovely story, and weren't they both very brave, real heroes like
you read about in books? Oh, I lie here hour by hour and think it all
over!"
The girl's face was quite flushed now, for she had spoken hurriedly, and
her eyes shone brighter than ever. She was living the scene she related.
"What a nice story you have told us," Nellie replied when Doris had
finished. "I am glad to hear what a brave deed Tony did, for we both know
him."
"What! you know him?" cried the girl.
"Yes, very well. Ever since he was a baby."
"How nice it must be to know a real hero!" sighed the girl. "Please tell
me about him."
And there in the little room Nellie told about Tony, his mother, brothers
and sisters, to which Doris listened most eagerly.
"We must go now," said Mr. Westmore rising to his feet and looking out of
the window. "The storm has cleared and the sun is shining brightly."
"But you will both come again, won't you?" Doris inquired as she held out
her hand.
"Yes, if you want us to do so," Nellie replied. "But we don't wish to tire
you."
"You won't tire me. I long for someone to talk to, and you know so much."
Parson John had now left the room, and Nellie was holding the girl's hand.
She glanced at the door to make sure that her father could not hear, then
she bent over the bed.
"Did your father tell you the name of that boy who saved Tony's life?"
"No. He said he didn't know."
"Did he say what he was doing there?"
"No, only he had a funny little letter for Tony. It was in his pocket, and
when they opened it a small rose fell out."
"And he didn't say what the letter was about?"
"No."
"Thank you, dear, I must go now," and as Nellie stooped down and gave the
girl a kiss, Doris suddenly clasped her arms about her neck.
"I love you! I love you!" she murmured. "You are so beautiful and good!
Come soon, will you?"
"Yes, dear, to-morrow, perhaps," and as Nellie left the room her eyes were
moist with the tears she found impossible to restrain.
As she walked along the wet road by her father's side her mind was busy
thinking over what she had just heard. Who was that boy? He must be a
stranger to that place, and what was the letter about? Could it be Dan?
How often had she and her father talked about the boy. They believed that
he would come back some day. Suddenly there flashed into her mind the
persistent efforts Dan had made to write a letter, and how he had time and
time again asked her the way to spell certain words. She had thought
little about it then, but now she remembered that one of the words was
"Tony." Her father looked up in surprise as Nellie paused, and clutched
his arm more firmly.
"What's the matter, dear?" he asked. "Are you tired? Perhaps we are
walking too fast."
"No, father," and Nellie gave a little laugh. "I was Only thinking, and my
thoughts run away with me sometimes. But I am glad we are almost home, for
the walking is heavy and our shoes are covered with mud. See that
beautiful rainbow, father!"
They both stood still for a few minutes, and looked upon the grand arch
spanning the heavens and resting upon earth.
"The bow of promise, Nellie," said Mr. Westmore. "It appears to-day, the
same as of old, to remind us all that 'His mercies still endure, ever
faithful, ever sure.'"
"Perhaps it's a sign to us, father, that our storm has past, and the sun
will break forth again." "It may be true, child. God grant it so," and
Mr. Westmore sighed as he turned in at the gate leading to his brother's
house.