HE BRINGS JOY INTO THE HOUSE.
All was silent and dark in the little house where Hanz Toodleburg lived,
when the wagon containing Tite and the inn-keeper drew up at the gate. A
dull, dreamy stillness seemed to hang over the place, and the little,
old house was in the full enjoyment of a deep sleep. The two men
alighted, and Tite stood for a few minutes viewing the scene around him.
How strange and yet how familiar everything seemed. He was at the
opposite side of the world only a few months ago, and time had sped on
so swiftly that it seemed as if he had gone to bed at night on one side
of the globe, and waked up in the morning at the other. Then he was on
an island almost unknown to the rest of the world, surrounded by scenes
so wild, so strange and romantic, that the reader would not believe them
real.
Here now was the old lattice gate, the vine-covered arbor leading
through the garden to the cracked and blistered-faced front door, the
stack of hop-vines in the garden-corner, and the rickety veranda where,
when a boy, he used to sit beside his father of a summer evening, for it
was here Hanz welcomed his friends and smoked his pipe. It was here,
too, that Angeline, the spirit of whose sweet face had been with him in
his wanderings, used to sit at her flax-wheel, spinning thread that was
famous in Fly Market.
Could this be a sweet dream, a beautiful delusion, a spirit-spell that
moves the soul with pictures of love and enchantment, and from which
some stern reality would soon awake him and dispel the charm? No, it
was reality, appealing more forcibly to all that was true and kindly in
his nature, and filling his eyes with tears.
The inn-keeper noticed the effect it was having on his feelings, and
made an effort to divert his attention. "Looks kind o' natural after
bein' round the world doesn't it, Tite?" he enquired.
"Yes--seems like home again," was the quiet reply.
"Zounds!" exclaimed the inn-keeper, suddenly; "but there's somethin'
heavy in it." In attempting to lift the valise from the wagon it had
fallen to the ground under its great weight. The inn-keeper shook his
head and rubbed his hands. "Had a lucky voyage, I reckon," he concluded.
"More than eighty pounds of solid gold in that," returned Tite, coolly.
The mention of so much gold astonished and delighted the inn-keeper.
"There'll be such a time when the town hears that!" said he. "There'll
be enough o' them that'll call you their friend."
"Left three times as much more in the city," resumed Tite. "And there's
enough on an island in the Pacific to buy a town as big as Nyack. And I
know where it is."
"Eighty pounds of solid gold!" said the inn-keeper, looking enquiringly
at Tite, then stooping down and testing the weight of the valise with
his hands. "It's so. I always did know you'd come home a rich man."
They now carried the valise into the veranda, knocked at the door, and
listened for footsteps within. The big old dog had been growling and
barking fiercely for several minutes. Now he recognized the friendly
voice of the inn-keeper, and barked them a welcome. He then ran to the
little room where Hanz was sleeping, and only ceased barking when he got
up.
Soft footsteps were heard inside, a dim light shone through the little
window opening into the veranda, and a voice inside enquired: "Who comes
t' mine house sho late?"
"Open the door, friend Toodleburg," replied the inn-keeper. "Shouldn't
have disturbed you at this hour; but there's a gentleman here would like
to see you--an' I'm sure you'd like to see him."
The old man opened the door at the sound of Bright's voice, and stood
gazing at the visitors with an air of bewilderment. "You prings me goot
news, eh, Bright?" he enquired. "Yes, I am shure you prings me shome
news ash ish goot."
"Father, father," said Tite, advancing with his right hand extended,
"you don't know me?"
"Ton't know mine own Tite? Mine poor poy Tite!" exclaimed the old man in
a paroxysm of joy. "Yes I does." And he raised his hands, and threw his
arms around Tite's neck, and wept for joy. "Ton't know mine own Tite,"
he repeated, raising his head and looking up in Tite's face, "yes I
does. Yes, I shay mine Tite will cum home; an' he cums home--and mine
poor old heart he pees sho glat. Yes, he pees you, mine Tite. You prings
shoy into mine house. Mine poor Tite--he com'd home t' mine house. Tar
pees no more shorrow now in mine house." The old man was overcome with
joy. The idol of the house was home again, and true happiness reigned
under that little roof.
"You ton't go away no more, mine Tite," he continued, patting him on the
shoulder and pressing his hand.
Angeline heard Tite's voice and came rushing into the room frantic with
joy. "Thank God! thank God!" she exclaimed. "He has brought our boy safe
back to us." And she embraced him, threw her arms around his neck, and
kissed him again and again.
"And I am so glad to get back to you, mother," he replied, returning her
affection, and pressing her to his breast fondly. "It is so good to be
in my old home, where I can receive your blessings, and be good to you."
And Angeline looked up in his face with such a sweet smile, as she
patted him on the shoulder, and their tears mingled in the sweetest of
joy as she invoked God's blessing on his head. Truly, God had heard
their prayer, had blessed them, and had again made their little home
bright with joy.
"I wish Chapman could look in here now," said Bright, "there'd be a
lesson for him on what happiness is worth." And he shook Tite by the
hand, told him to remember that his house was always open to him, and
left for the night.
Even the old dog seemed anxious to join in welcoming the young gentleman
back, for he would look up affectionately in his face, draw his body
close to his feet, and lay his huge paw on his knee.
And now a fire was lighted, and Angeline prepared supper for Tite, for
he had eaten nothing since morning. The chair that had stood empty so
long was filled now, and the happiness that reigned under that little
roof was such as gold could not purchase.