"The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!"
--_Proctor._
The summer vacation brought Edward Travilla home just in time for his
cousin Isa's wedding. He had grown so manly and so like his father in
appearance that at sight of him his mother was much overcome.
His first, his warmest, tenderest greeting was for her. He held her to
his heart, his own too full for speech, while she wept upon his
shoulder.
But only for a moment; lifting her head, she gazed long and searchingly
into his face, then, with a sigh of relief, "Thank God," she whispered,
"that I can believe my boy has come back to me as pure and innocent as
he went!"
"I hope so, mother; your love, your teachings and my father's have been
my safeguard in many an hour of temptation," he answered with emotion.
"Did you not seek help from above, my son?" she asked gently.
"Yes, mother; you had taught me to do so, and I knew that you, too, were
daily seeking it for me."
"Yes, my dear boy; I think there was scarce a waking hour in which I did
not ask a blessing on my absent son."
The mother dried her tears; grandparents, brothers and sisters drew near
and embraced the lad, servants shook him by the hand, and Ion was filled
with rejoicing as never before since the removal of its master and head.
Tongues ran nimbly as they sat about the tea-table and on the veranda
afterward; so much had happened to the young collegian, so many changes
had taken place in the family connection since he went away, that there
was a great deal to tell and to hear on both sides.
The voices were blithe, and there was many a silvery peal of laughter
mingled with the pleasant, cheery talk.
Isa's and Molly's matches were discussed in a most kindly way, for
Edward was quite curious to hear all about them and the preparations for
the approaching wedding.
Cyril had arrived earlier in the day, was taking tea at Roselands, but
would pass the night at Ion, which Edward was glad to hear, as he wished
to make his acquaintance.
A summer at the sea-shore had been decided upon some weeks ago, and
Edward, to his great gratification, had been empowered to select a
cottage for the family to occupy during the season, his Aunt Adelaide
and her husband assisting him with their advice.
He announced with much satisfaction that he had secured one that he
thought would accommodate them well--several guests in addition, if
mamma cared to invite any of her friends--and please every one.
"It is large, convenient, well--even handsomely furnished--and but a few
yards from the shore," he said. "The country is pretty about there,
too--pleasant walks and drives through green lanes, fields and woods."
"But where is it, Edward?" asked Violet.
"Not far from Long Branch; and there are some half-dozen other sea-side
places within easy driving distance."
There were exclamations of delight and impatience to be there from the
younger ones, while the mother covered up with a smile and a few words
of commendation to Edward the pain in her heart at the thought that her
best beloved would not be with his wife and children beside the sea this
summer, as in former years.
Her father and Rose were thinking of that, too, with deep sympathy for
her.
In a moment the same thought presented itself to Edward and Violet, and
they drew closer to their mother with loving, caressing looks and words.
But memories of Lester, and their walks and talks together when last she
was at the sea-shore, were filling the mind of the younger Elsie with
emotions, half of pleasure, half of pain. When should they meet again?
Then the sudden silence that had fallen upon the group about her mother,
and a glance at that loved mother's face, reminded her also of the
father who would return no more, and whose companionship had been so
dear a delight to her and to them all.
It was Rosie who broke the silence at length; "Mamma, can we not go
pretty soon?"
"Yes, daughter, in about a week."
The journey was made without accident, the cottage and its vicinity
found to be all that Edward had represented.
They had brought some of their own servants with them, and had nothing
to do with hotel or boarding-house life. Elsie had always loved the
quiet and seclusion of home, and clung to it now, more than ever; yet
for her children's sake she would not shut out society entirely; both
Edward and his sisters were free to invite their young friends to
partake of the hospitalities of their mother's house, but without noise
or revelry, for which indeed, they themselves had no heart.
For a while the society of his mother and sisters was quite sufficient
for Edward and his for them--they were all so strongly attached to each
other and he had been so long away from home that it was very delightful
to be together once more.
Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were at that time visiting relatives in
Philadelphia and its vicinity, and his grandfather's absence gave Edward
the long coveted opportunity to try how nearly he could fill his
father's place as his mother's earthly prop. It was a dear delight to
have her lean upon his arm, rely upon his strength, consult him about
business or family matters.
He was very proud and fond of his lovely sisters; prouder and fonder
still of his sweet and beautiful mother. He quite longed to show her to
all his college friends, yet would not for the world have her grief
intruded upon by them with their thoughtless gayety.
During these weeks that they were entirely alone she gave herself up
wholly to her children, seeking to secure to them the greatest possible
amount of innocent enjoyment. No tasks were set, there was no attempt at
regular employment, and almost the whole day was spent in the open air;
together they sported in the surf, strolled on the beach, or sat in the
sand revelling in the delicious sea breeze and the sight of the ever
restless, ever changing, beautiful ocean, with its rolling, tumbling,
dashing waves. They were there early in the morning, sometimes in season
to watch the sun rise out of the water; and often again when the silvery
moonlight lent its witchery to the scene.
But there came a day when the rain poured down so continuously and
heavily that they were glad to take refuge from it in the house.
They gathered in a room overlooking the sea, the ladies with their fancy
work, Rosie with her doll, while Harold and Herbert helped little Walter
to build block houses, and Edward read aloud a story selected by the
mother, as entertaining and at the same time pure and wholesome.
She was careful in choosing their mental food; she would no sooner have
suffered her children's minds to be poisoned than their bodies.
As Edward closed the book upon the completion of the story, "Mamma,"
said the younger Elsie, "do you quite approve of all the teachings the
author has given there? or perhaps I should rather say the sentiments
she has expressed."
"Not quite, but what is it you do not approve?" the mother answered with
an affectionate and pleased look at the earnest face of the questioner.
"I am glad to see that you are not ready to be carried about with every
wind of doctrine."
"It is her comment upon her heroine's effort to escape from her trouble
by asking help from God. She speaks as if, had the girl been older and
wiser, she would have known that God had the welfare and happiness of
other people to consult as well as hers, and couldn't be expected to
sacrifice them for her sake."
"Well, daughter?"
"It seems to me to show a very low estimate of God's power and wisdom.
Since he is infinite in both, can he not so order events as to secure
the best good to all his creatures?"
"Yes, my child, I am sure he can, and we need never fear that he is not
able and willing to help his people in every time of trouble. 'The name
of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is
safe.' 'The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them
out of all their troubles.' He does not always answer just as we
desire, it is true, but often in a better way, for we, in our folly
and short-sightedness, sometimes ask what would prove in the end a
curse instead of a blessing."
"Mamma, how happy we should be if we had perfect faith and trust," said
Violet.
"Yes; if we fully believed the inspired assurance, 'We know that all
things work together for good to them that love God,' we should not fret
or grieve over losses, crosses or disappointments. Strive after such
faith, my children, and pray constantly for it, for it is the gift of
God."
There was a little pause, broken only by Walter's prattle, the plash of
the rain and the murmur of the sea.
Edward seemed in deep thought. Taking a low seat at his mother's knee,
"Mamma," he said, "I want to have a talk with you, and perhaps this is
as good a time as any."
"Well, my dear boy, what is it?"
"Do you think, mamma, that I ought to go into the ministry?"
"My son," she said, looking at him in some surprise, "that is not a
question to be decided in a moment, or without asking God's guidance."
"You would be willing, mother?"
"More than willing--glad and thankful--if I saw reason to believe that
you were called of God to that work. To be truly an ambassador of Christ
is, in my esteem, to stand higher than any of earth's potentates, yet if
your talents do not lie in that direction I would not have you there. It
is every man's duty to serve God to the utmost of his ability, but all
are not called to the ministry; some can do far better service in other
walks of life, and I should prefer to have a son of mine a good
carpenter, mason or shoemaker, rather than a poor preacher."
"You do not mean poor in purse, mamma?" queried Harold, joining the
little group.
"No; a poor sermonizer--one lacking the requisite talents, diligence or
piety to proclaim God's truth with faithfulness and power."
"How can one tell to what work he is called, mamma?" Edward asked, with
an anxious, perplexed look.
"By watching the leadings of God's providence and by earnest prayer for
his direction. Also I think if a lad has a decided bias for any one
profession or employment it is a pretty sure indication that that is
what he is called to; for we can almost always do best what we most
enjoy doing."
"Then I think I should study medicine," said Harold, "for I should very
greatly prefer that to anything else. And don't you think, mamma, that a
doctor may do really as much good as a minister?"
"Quite as much if he be a devoted, earnest Christian, ready to do good
as he has opportunity: therefore I entirely approve your choice."
"Thank you, mamma. So I consider it quite settled," Harold returned with
a look of great satisfaction. "Now, Ed and Herbie, what will you be?"
"As Herbert never likes to be separated from you, I presume he too will
choose medicine," the mother remarked, with a smiling glance at her
third son, as he too came and stood at her side.
"I don't know, mamma; it seems to me doctors have a dreadfully hard
life."
"Ah! I fancy a life of elegant leisure would suit you best, my laddie,"
laughed his eldest brother.
But the mother's look was grave and a little anxious.
Herbert saw it. "Don't be troubled about me, mamma dear," he said,
putting his arms round her neck and gazing lovingly into her eyes. "I do
mean to fight against my natural laziness. But do you think I ought to
choose so very hard a life as Harold means to?"
"Not if you have talent for something useful which would better suit
your inclinations. Can you think of any such thing?"
"Couldn't I be a lawyer?"
"You could never rise to eminence in that profession without a great
deal of hard work."
"An author then?"
"The same answer will fit again," his mother returned with a slight
smile. "Has not your Cousin Molly worked very hard for a number of
years?"
Herbert drew a long, deep sigh, then brightening, "I might be a
publisher," he said. "I don't suppose they work very hard, and they can
have all the new books to read."
"Oh, Herbie," said Violet, "think of the great number of letters they
must have to write, and manuscripts to read, beside many other things."
"No, my boy, you cannot do or be anything worth while without work, and
a good deal of it," said his mother. "So I hope you will make it your
earnest, constant prayer that you may have grace to overcome your
besetting sin of indolence, and to 'be not slothful in business;
fervent in spirit; serving the Lord'. The Bible bids us, 'Whatsoever thy
hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Whatsoever ye do, do it
heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.'"
"Edward, you have not told us yet what you wish to be," said his sister
Elsie.
"My inclination," he answered in grave, earnest tones, "is to take my
father's place in every way possible, first in the care of my darling,
precious mother," taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, "after
that in cultivating the Ion plantation and making myself a good,
upright, useful church-member and citizen."
"A worthy ambition, my boy," the mother said with emotion; "my strong
desire is that you may follow as closely as possible in the footsteps of
your honored father. I never knew a better man, in the pulpit or out of
it. His was a truly Christian manhood, and, like his Master, he went
about doing good."
"Then, mother, with your approval my choice is made; and with your
permission I shall spend some time in an agricultural college, after
finishing the course where I am."
"You shall do as you wish; you shall have every advantage I can give
you. My other boys also, if they will improve them."
"Your girls, too, mamma?" asked Rosie.
"Yes, indeed," mamma answered, bestowing a smile and a kiss upon the
young questioner.
At that moment the tea-bell summoned them to their evening meal. Edward
took his father's seat at the table, his father's place in asking a
blessing upon the food.
As they left the table they perceived that the rain had ceased; the
clouds had broken away from the setting sun, and its red light streamed
over the dark waters like a pathway of fire.
They were all gathered on the porch, watching, as usual, the changing
beauty of the sea and the clouds, when a young man, in the undress
uniform of a lieutenant in the army, opened their gate, and came with a
brisk, manly step up the walk leading to the house.
As he drew near, he lifted his military cap, bowed low to the ladies,
then, stepping upon the porch, handed a card to Mrs. Travilla.
"Donald Keith," she read aloud, and holding out her hand with a sweet,
welcoming smile, "How do you do, cousin?" she said; "I am very glad to
see you. But to which branch do you belong?"
"I am a younger brother of the Reverend Cyril Keith, lately married to a
Miss Conly," the young officer answered, as he took the offered hand.
"He wrote me of your great kindness to him, and when I learned, a few
hours since, who were the occupants of this cottage, I felt that I must
come and thank you. I hope I do not intrude, cousin?"
"No, indeed; we are always ready to welcome relatives. Now let me
introduce these other cousins--my boys and girls."
The young man spent the whole evening in the company of these new-found
relatives, and went away highly delighted with them all.
He had several weeks' furlough, was staying at a hotel near by, and
promised himself great enjoyment in the society of the dwellers in the
cottage.
And they were pleased with him.
"He seems a very nice, clever fellow, mother," Edward remarked.
"Yes," she said, "he has very agreeable manners and talks well; and
knowing that he comes of a godly race, I hope we shall find him in all
respects a suitable companion for you and your sisters. I am glad of his
coming for your sakes, for I fear you may have felt the want of young
society."
"Oh, no, mamma," they all protested, "we could not have enjoyed
ourselves better. It has been so nice to have you quite to ourselves."