GUSTY.
“Thine was the shout! the song! the burst of joy!
Which sweet from childhood’s rosy lips resoundeth,
Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy,
And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth.”
MRS. NORTON
There she sat motionless. The only sounds were the beating of the rain
against the windows, and the racing of the rats through the cuddies. At
last the noise of footsteps tearing up the stairs, and a voice shouting
a sea-song startled the wild girl—she looked up just as Gusty Wilde
burst into the room, and running up to her, caught her around the neck,
and gave her a boisterous salute, exclaiming breathlessly,
“I just got home last night, Hagar! and have been wanting to run over
and see you so much, but mother detained me this morning, and I
couldn’t, but you see as soon as the storm subsided a little I ran over
here, ’specially as mother gives me a tea-party this evening in honor of
my coming home. She has baked a plum cake, and I have brought you home a
monkey; so, Hagar, you must return with me. I came on purpose to fetch
you; _you_ won’t be afraid to cross the swollen river.”
He was a fine, noble looking boy, stoutly built, with a full face, rosy
complexion, clear merry blue eyes, and an abundance of soft yellow curls
clustering thick around a brow of almost feminine whiteness. He wore a
sailor’s blue jacket, white trousers, and tarpaulin hat. He looked at
Hagar for her answer. Observing now for the first time the girl’s
disconsolate air, he sat down beside her, pulled off his tarpaulin hat,
and placing it between his knees, put his arm quietly around the neck of
the child, and kissing her dark brow gently, inquired,
“Hagar, what is the matter?”
She did not reply, but remained in her first posture with her elbows on
her knees, her chin propped up by her hands, and her black elf locks
streaming down each side of her face. He gently put her hair back from
her face, and tucking it behind her ears, asked kindly,
“Where is Rosalia, Hagar, and why are you up here in this cold, damp
room alone?”
“How did you know that I was here?”
“I met Tarquinius in the entry as I came in the house, and inquiring for
you the first one, he told me you were here—then I ran in, upset Father
Withers in my haste, kissed Sophie, and breaking away ran up here to
find you. But where is Rosalia? I expected to find her with you?”
“Rosalia is in old Cumbo’s lap warming herself before the kitchen fire,
and eating biscuits—and I—am I not always alone—when storms and floods
drive me to the house; but _they_,” added she, “shall not send me in
again; the wild beasts bear their raging, and so will I.”
“Why don’t you stay in the parlor?”
“In the parlor?” laughed the girl, bitterly; “Mr. Withers’s mastiffs and
bulldogs stay in the parlor, the old tabby cat reposes on the rug before
the parlor fire, and Aunt Sophie’s pet rabbit has its cushion in the
corner, but I, I am a parlor ornament, ain’t I?”
“Oh! Hagar, don’t do so! it is so very ugly in a little girl to act that
way, laughing and jibing and jeering with so much scorn and bitterness.
Now tell me why you are banished from the parlor, if you _are_
banished.”
“Look at me! this is the best suit of clothes I have in the world; do
you think Mr. Withers is going to let me stay in the parlor looking like
_this_, strict as _he_ is?”
Gusty glanced down at her torn and rusty calico dress—and at her, and at
her little feet protruding through her old stockings and shoes. Then he
said seriously, as he looked at her,
“Lord, Hagar, I don’t know now how I shall take you in that trim. But
why, child, did you not stay at the kitchen fire with Rose? That would
have been far more comfortable than this wet, cold garret.”
“I was driven from the kitchen, Gusty—driven from the kitchen because I
paid Tarquin well for hurting Rosalia—and only think, Gusty, _just_
think, Rosalia, who should have stuck to me, remained with the old woman
who drove me off for protecting _her_,” and the girl turned her eyes
flashing with scorn and bitterness towards the boy, who remarked—
“Rose did that, Hagar? It was not like Rose to do that. I shall not love
Rose if she becomes mean and selfish; but it can’t be so; something
remains to be explained.”
“Oh, yes,” laughed the wild child, “something remains to be
explained—she was hungry and cold—and Cumbo offered to feed and warm
her.”
How unusual and how frightful is a sneer on a child’s countenance, and
oh! what a tale of perverted nature it tells! After a while her
countenance relapsed into its serious cast, and she said,
“Since you left, Gusty, I have been quite alone; everybody has fallen
away from me and gone to Rosalia. Every one dislikes or forgets me, and
every one loves Rosalia.”
“I have not fallen away from you, Hagar.”
“No dear Gusty, _you_ have not—perhaps you _will_, though, when you see
more of Rose—” added she, sadly and doubtingly.
There was springing in her bosom the germ of that doubt of all things
and all persons that in after life became a distinguishing and fatal
trait in her character. Children are born with trust. The confidingness
of childhood is proverbial, but like all other childish instincts, it is
young and delicate, and easily crushed to death. Children _feel_ before
they can _reason_, and the impressions of childhood being well nigh
ineffaceable, the deceived and betrayed child is often parent to the
sceptical and scoffing man or woman.
“I will _never_ fall away from you, Hagar, nor can I see how Rosalia can
draw me away. Can’t I love you _both_? And now, little Hagar, you must
let me comb your hair and take you over to mother’s to tea. I should
like to take Rose, too, but she is too tender to brave the weather this
evening.”
And in all simplicity he took from his pocket a little comb, and began
to comb out Hagar’s elf locks. With wondrous skill he smoothed and
arranged her long hair into a simple knot behind her head, and passing
his hands two or three times over the surface of her hair, said
cheerfully,
“There, now, you little thing, why don’t you take pains with yourself?
You look so much prettier, now that your hair is shining like blue-black
satin, so that I can see my face in it. And, oh, Hagar! how I wish that
they would let you come and live with my mother; mother wants a little
girl so much, especially if I get my midshipman’s warrant and go to sea
again. Oh, if you were only with mother, how good and happy she would
make you—and you would grow pretty, too, for good girls always grow
pretty. There, you are smiling! do you happen to know that you have the
most beautiful smile in the world, Hagar?”
“I know that Rosalia has, for everybody says so.”
“Yes, Rose has a sweet, soft smile, like summer sunbeams on flowers;
pretty enough, and common enough; but _your_ smile, Hagar—I’ll tell you
what your smile is like. I have been at sea, near a wild coast full of
frightful breakers, shelving rocks, dark cliffs, and murky caverns, with
a stormy sea, a blackened sky, the whole landscape dark, gloomy, and
terrible, until suddenly out breaks the sun, lighting up the scene which
then becomes wild, grand, sublime! Such is your face, and such your
smile, Hagar. I gaze breathless at the wild beauty of both.”
Just at this moment, into the room broke Rosalia, and running up to
Hagar threw her arms about her neck, exclaiming, breathlessly, while she
thrust a biscuit into her hands,
“Here, here, Hagar! I only just waited till she gave me the biscuit she
promised, and then I came away and brought it to you! Here, here, take
it, Hagar! I ain’t hungry—no, not a bit.”
Thus would the sweet child’s native goodness sometimes break through the
shell of selfishness that was crusting over it. Hagar, with one of her
quick revulsions of feeling, burst into tears, and pressed the little
one to her bosom, and Gusty, snatching her up in his arms, gleefully
exclaimed while he ran around the room with her,
“There, there, there! Hurrah! I knew it. I could have sworn my soul away
upon the soundness of my little Rosebud! I knew there was not a really
selfish drop of blood in little Rose’s tender heart!”
Then returning and setting her down, he said, “Come, the rain has quite
ceased, the sun is setting in golden glory, mother’s cake is done, and
her tea is ready, and she is waiting for me, I know. Come, Rose shall
go, too. I will carry her in my arms. And Hagar, you little savage, you
can trip on before, and when I have got you both safe at the cottage, I
can send word to Sophie, and keep you all night.” So saying he led the
children from the attic.
* * * * *
Emily May was seated in the sober glory of her neat parlor, awaiting the
return of Gusty. The round tea-table was covered with a white damask
cloth, and graced by a little silver tea service. The plum cake stood in
the centre. It was with surprise and pain that she received the
children. Ignorant of the cause of Sophie’s neglect of them, she blamed
her in her heart for it, and determined upon the next day to ride over,
and use an old friend’s privilege of speaking to her upon the subject.
The next day that visit was made, and Emily saw the wasted, sorrowing,
patient look of her friend, the truth was partly guessed, and she
proposed to take the children, and especially Hagar, under her own
surveillance. To this proposition, Sophie tearfully and gratefully
acceded. Encouraged by having gained this point, and incited by her love
of children, she went a step further and proposed that both the children
should be sent to the cottage as pupils, and share with Gusty the
instructions of the young curate, her boarder. This plan was submitted
to the decision of Mr. Withers, and having received his acquiescence,
was immediately carried into effect. Soon the most favorable change was
apparent in the children. Rosalia’s beauty bloomed like her type, the
rose, refreshed by showers and sunbeams. Hagar’s black hair no longer
hung rusty with exposure, in tangled elf locks over her shoulders, but
was banded in satin-like folds. Their characters also seemed to undergo
modification. Hagar retained all her individuality, her brave, free,
wild spirit, her rather amazonian tastes, but lost the harshness and
bitterness that made no part of it. Rosalia retained all her delicacy,
her tenderness, yes, and sensuality, but lost the selfishness not native
to her gentle character, or at least these things _seemed_ so. The evils
growing in the children’s hearts were _cut down_; whether they were
_uprooted_ or not is doubtful. Seeds of evil once taking root in
children’s hearts are almost ineradicable. Years pass away.
* * * * *
There are times when the current of existence frets and boils along the
rocky channel of anxiety, among the rugged crags of care, grief, and
wrong; there are times when it dashes thundering over the precipice of
some awful crime or calamity—times when it stagnates in the fœtid
marshes of indolence and despair—times when it winds on between the
verdant banks of peace and amid the blooming isles of pleasure—and times
when, scarce marked by ragged crag or verdant isle, it flows on without
joy or sorrow, straight towards the ocean of eternity. Even thus calmly
flowed the lifestream of Sophie. Relieved from gnawing anxiety upon the
children’s account, she was able to give a more cheerful attention to
her husband, and soon the more happy effects were apparent. The gloom
into which he had fallen was dissipated by the sunshine of her smiles.
She now became conscious of a calm, pure, and holy affection for him,
such as angels may be supposed to feel for sorrowing man—such as we feel
for objects we have nursed and cherished. This sentiment deepened into
tenderness as she saw—what she could not fail to see—that as the rays of
intellect emanated clearer and clearer from his brain, they but served
to reveal the blackness of the shadow of death gathering thick and
thicker around him. And it was beautiful yet sorrowful to see how as the
sun of reason shone forth, all those clouds and fogs of selfishness and
suspicion vanished from his mind. This is not strange or even unusual in
the history of mental disease. It is a well known fact that insanity
frequently entirely reverses the natural character; thus, under its
influence the disinterested grow selfish and exacting, while the selfish
become generous, the timid bold, and the bold timid, and most frequently
the gentle and sensitive grow harsh and violent. His gloom softened into
sadness, into seriousness, into resignation, which soon brightened into
gentle cheerfulness, which but one thing in the world could ruffle, the
sight of Rosalia Aguilar; then indeed the tide of memory, laden with
bitterness, would flow over his soul filling it with sorrow. Upon this
account Rosalia became a permanent inmate of Grove Cottage; while Hagar,
no longer repulsed by the caprices of his disease, became his most
assiduous, and next to Sophie his best beloved nurse and companion. Thus
they “brightened the links of love, of sympathy;” _and this returning
confidence and affection of her uncle, gave Hagar the antidote for the
poison of her soul_. Thenceforth in Hagar’s vision “anger, hatred, and
malice, and all uncharitableness,” were greater or less degrees of moral
insanity.