“Well, it is nice to be going to eat in a house again and no strangers
by,” remarked Lulu when they had seated themselves at the table in Mrs.
McAlpine’s sitting-room, and the captain had asked a blessing on their
food.
“So it is,” responded Max; “it would seem something like home, if we
had Mamma Vi, Gracie, and the little ones here with us.”
“Yes,” assented their father with a slight sigh, “they make the best
part of home. We must look for the post-office when we are out. I hope
we shall find letters there from home, and I have one to mail to your
mamma.”
“Why, when did you write it, papa?” asked Lulu.
“While you were dressing.”
“Was I so very slow?”
“No, but you see I had the advantage of you in not needing to change my
dress.”
With that Marian, who had just brought in a plate of hot cakes, glanced
admiringly at Lulu’s costume.
“What a pretty girl that little Miss Raymond is, and so beautifully
dressed!” she remarked to her mother on going back to the kitchen. “It
must be a grand thing to be the daughter—”
“Don’t allow yourself to envy her, my child,” interrupted the mother,
“’tis God appoints our lot, and we must strive to be submissive and
content.”
“Mother,” cried the girl, almost fiercely, “ye needna tell me God
appointed this lot for you and me. I’ll never believe it, never! ’Twas
the father o’ lies brought us here an’ keeps us here, and oh, but I wad
we had never left bonny Scotland!”
“Hush, hush, child! bairn, your wild words but add to the weight o’ the
cross already almost too heavy for your mother to bear,” returned Mrs.
McAlpine, catching her breath with a half sob. “Here, carry this to the
guests in the sitting-room,” giving her another plate of cakes, just
taken from the griddle.
“Can you tell me where to find the post-office, Miss Marian?” Captain
Raymond asked, as she again stood at his side, offering her cakes.
“Yes, sir; ’tis just around the corner, on the way to the mine. If you
want to send there, sir, Sandy, my brother, will go for you willingly.
They must be making up the mail for the East now, and it will close
presently.”
“Then I accept your offer of your brother’s services, with thanks,” he
said, taking a letter from his pocket and giving it to her. “Please ask
him to carry this at once to the post-office, and see that it gets into
the mail; then inquire for letters for Captain L. Raymond, Master Max,
and Miss Lulu Raymond.”
“I will, sir,” she replied, taking the letter and hurrying from the
room with it.
A few minutes later a boy who looked to be two or three years younger
than Marian came briskly in and, laying a handful of letters on the
table beside the captain, said, “Several for you, sir, and one apiece
for Master and Miss. And the one I took for you is gone with the rest
o’ the mail for the East.”
“I am much obliged,” the captain said, putting a dime into his hand.
The boy glanced down at it. “That’s too much, sir, by half, the errand
wasn’t worth a nickel, and in fact I didn’t expect any pay for doing
it.”
“Then take the dime as a gift, my boy; I like your honesty,” returned
the captain.
“Thank you, sir,” responded the lad heartily, and with a grin of
satisfaction, as he turned and hastened away again.
“Papa, is there one for me?” asked Lulu, as her father took up the
letters and glanced at the superscriptions.
“Yes, daughter; and one for Max. But as we have all finished eating we
will go to our room to read them.”
The letters brought only good news; the dear ones left behind were all
well, and, though missing the absentees, content and happy, at least so
far as could be gathered from the cheerful tone of their epistles.
Lulu’s was the joint production of Eva and Grace, and gave an
interesting account of the doings and sayings of the babies and the
parrot.
The last-named, they said, was continually calling “Lu, Lu, what you
’bout? Where you been?”
The letter told, too, of the beautiful singing of Gracie’s canaries,
the doings of her kitten, and of Max’s big dog Prince. There was more
about the last-named in Max’s own letter, which was from Violet, with a
postscript by Grace.
The captain read his letter from Violet, first to himself, then
portions of it aloud to the children; then they offered him theirs, and
he read them aloud in turn, and chatted pleasantly with them about the
contents of all three.
“Well,” he said at length, “if we are going to take that walk, it is
about time we were setting out. Lulu, you may put on your hat, while I
glance over these other letters.”
That was a welcome order to the little girl, and it did not take her
many minutes to obey it. They found Mr. Short on the pavement before
the front gate as they went out.
“Ah, captain,” he said, “I was just coming to ask if you did not feel
inclined for a stroll about the town. May I have the pleasure of acting
as your guide?”
“It will be conferring a favor, sir, if you will do so,” replied the
person addressed, and the two walked on, leaving Max and Lulu to follow.
“I wish he hadn’t come,” she muttered discontentedly. “I thought I was
going to have the pleasure of walking beside papa with my hand in his.”
“That’s very pleasant for you,” said Max, “but I think you might care
almost as much to walk with me, considering that you’ll probably not
have many more such opportunities to do so.”
“Oh, I forgot that! Oh, I wish you weren’t going away from home, Max!”
she exclaimed. “I seem to grow fonder of you than ever when I think of
that!”
“Yes, blessings brighten as they take their flight,” he returned, with
a little laugh that sounded rather forced.
The new home made by his father for him and the others, and especially
the being taken by that father into a close intimacy, friendship, and
confidence, such as are seldom given by a parent to a son of his age,
had been so delightful that the thought of going away among strangers,
leaving all the dear ones behind, and having communication with his
father only by letter, instead of the pleasant daily and hourly
familiar intercourse, could not fail to cause the boyish heart a pang.
Yet, on the other hand, there was joy and exultation in the thought
that he was about to enter upon special preparation for his chosen
profession, the work that he was to do as a man; it seemed to him the
beginning of the putting away of childish things, the putting on of
the armor, and the gathering up of the weapons, for the great battle
of life, and at times he was eager for the day when he should appear
before the examiners at Annapolis.
“Yes, and you _are_ a blessing to me, Maxie; you always have been,”
Lulu said in reply. “And I am sure papa thinks you a very great one to
him.”
The captain’s quick ear caught the words, and he glanced smilingly
round at the two without pausing in his talk with his agent.
Mr. Short gave the names of the streets as they passed along, pointed
out the public buildings and the prettiest private residences,
telling to whom each one belonged, and sometimes adding a little
character sketch in a humorous or slightly satirical vein. He seemed a
good-natured, jovial sort of man, and anxious to entertain and amuse.
It did not take long to traverse the town, and having presently reached
the outskirts, they ascended an eminence from whence might be obtained
a bird’s-eye view of the whole place and its surroundings of valley and
wooded hills.
They paused here to gaze upon the landscape spread out at their feet,
and Lulu, stepping to her father’s side, quietly slipped her hand into
his. His fingers closed affectionately over it, and he gave her a
pleased, loving look, though he seemed to be listening attentively to
something Mr. Short was saying about the mine.
“I must visit it to-morrow, if the weather is favorable,” the captain
said in reply. “I want to take my children with me, and as I expect to
be in the vicinity for several weeks, there is no special haste; no
need of hurrying out there through a storm.”
“Oh, I do hope the weather will be good!” exclaimed Lulu, while she and
Max exchanged glances of delight.
“I think there is every indication of pleasant weather for some days to
come,” remarked Mr. Short.
“Is it far to the mine?” asked Lulu; “will we have to ride or drive?”
“No, Miss; I think even you could easily walk it,” replied Mr. Short.
“The distance is not over a mile.”
“Then I can,” she said; “I’ve walked more than two miles many a time.”
“No doubt of it,” said her father; “but you must have a pony for longer
excursions. Have you succeeded in securing a suitable one, Mr. Short?
Horses for myself and son, also?”
Short replied to the effect that he had succeeded in procuring a steed
for each of them, which, though probably by no means equal to those
they were accustomed to at home, would, he hoped, answer their purpose
quite well.
“Are you accustomed to riding horseback, Miss?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lulu said. “Papa gave me a pony of my own more than a year
ago, and before that I used to ride one belonging to somebody else.”
“Here come Mr. Austin and Albert up the hill,” said Max, and the next
moment the English gentleman and his son had joined themselves to the
little group.
They and Mr. Short had already made acquaintance. Polite greetings were
exchanged, and then all stood together watching the sun as he sank
behind the western hills.
It was a grand sunset, the whole western horizon ablaze with gold,
orange, and flame color, shading off here and there into the more
delicate shades—rose, pale-green, and amber.
They lingered for many minutes, silently gazing upon the ever-changing
panorama until most of its glories had faded away, then slowly
descended the hill and wended their way back to their temporary abodes.
It was growing dark, the stars coming out one by one overhead, and a
young moon showing herself above the hilltops, when the captain and his
children re-entered Mrs. McAlpine’s gate and walked up the path leading
to the front porch.
There were several persons sitting there, among them the lady of the
house. She rose, said “Good-evening,” and turning to a gentleman who
had risen also, introduced him as the Rev. Mr. Green.
He and Capt. Raymond shook hands cordially, each expressing pleasure at
the meeting, and when Max and Lulu had also been introduced, and all
were seated, the two gentlemen fell into earnest discourse, the mission
work and its interests and needs in that region of country being their
principal theme.
The children listened in silence, and presently learned from the
remarks of the minister, what was news to them—that their father had
given town lots for church, parsonage, and schoolhouse, and nearly the
whole amount of money their erection had cost.
“Papa must be rich, very rich, Max,” whispered Lulu in her brother’s
ear.
“Yes; and generous too; far more generous and liberal than most folks,”
Max whispered back. “I’m proud as can be of being his son.”
“And I of being his daughter,” she returned.
They gave expression to these sentiments in talking with their father
when, a little later, they found themselves alone with him in his room.
“My dears,” he said, “as I have often told you, the money is the Lord’s
and I am only his steward. How, then, could I do otherwise than use it
for the advancement of his cause and kingdom?”
“Yes, papa, and you did it for the good of our dear country, too,
didn’t you?” asked Lulu, taking a seat upon his knee and putting an arm
affectionately about his neck.
“Yes, daughter; for if we would ensure her safety, we must all do
battle earnestly against the threatening evils of ignorance, error, and
superstition; the only way to preserve the liberties of this land, and
make her a power for good to the rest of the world, is to instruct and
evangelize all classes, whether native or foreign born.
“Now,” he continued, opening a Bible which he had taken from his trunk
and laid upon a table, before going out, “we will close the day with
reading and prayer, as we do at home, and go to our rest, for we are
all in need of it, I think.”
He kept Lulu on his knee while he read, one arm about her waist, and
Max’s chair was drawn close up on the other side; then they all knelt
together, while the father gave thanks for all the blessings of the
past day, made confession of sins, and implored the protecting care
of their heavenly Father through the silent watches of the night; for
themselves and the dear ones far away.
The captain had always been careful not to make family worship seem
long and tedious to his children, and to-night it was shorter than
usual, in consideration for their weariness, consequent upon the long
journey but just completed.
When they had risen from their knees he took Lulu in his arms and
kissed her tenderly two or three times, saying, “Now you may go to your
own little room, my darling, and when you are quite ready for bed set
the door wide open, so that you can feel that papa is near enough to
hear you speak, should you want anything in the night.”
“Max, too,” said her brother laughingly, and giving her a kiss in his
turn, “so that if any danger threatens you there’ll be two knights to
fly to the rescue.”
“Thank you,” she returned gayly, “but if anything frightens me I shall
run right to papa,” giving him another hug as she spoke.
It was a very warm evening, and the windows of the room were wide open
to admit the air. Through one of them, looking upon the garden, Marian
McAlpine witnessed the little scene; the words spoken did not reach her
ear, but she saw the expression of the countenance of the captain and
his children, and the caresses given and received.
“What a good, kind father! and what happy, happy children!” she
murmured half aloud, as she turned away with a sigh that seemed to say
her own lot was not so blessed.
Passing round the house and into the porch she found her mother, now
sitting there alone.
Taking a chair close by her side, “Mother,” she said, “I think that
Captain Raymond must be a very good man.”
“I dare say he is, child; certainly he has been extremely liberal to
the mission cause in this town.”
“And he looks so good and kind and seems so fond of his children,”
Marian went on. “I saw him reading to them to-night—the little girl
sitting on his knee and the boy as close as he could well get by his
side; the Bible I suppose it was, for when he closed it they all three
knelt down together, and I could hear his voice as if he was praying,
though not the words. Then they got up and hugged and kissed each
other good-night. They’re the very happiest looking people I ever saw.”
“So I think. But, Marian, you shouldn’t be spying out what they are
doing in the privacy of their own room.”
“I didn’t mean to, mother, but I happened to look up at their
window—the light was so bright, you know—and I saw the girl help
herself to a seat on her father’s knee, just as if she was sure he’d
like her to, and put her arm round his neck, and it was such a pretty
scene I couldn’t help standing there and watching them a bit. They
don’t have to share their father with a lot of other children that are
not their mother’s too,” she added, in a suppressed and bitter tone.
“Marian, Marian, hush!” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpine, in a low voice
quivering with pain; “is your end of the cross heavier than mine?”
“No, mother, dear, not half so heavy: the cruelest part of it is seeing
you suffer—you, who are as good and pure as an angel!” returned the
girl passionately.
“Then for my sake, lass, try to suffer and be still. I’ve a hard enough
fight with my own rebellious heart; at times I feel I shall never be
able to bring it into meek submission to His will who doeth all things
well.”
“But it isn’t His will! it isn’t His doing! I’ll never believe it, no,
never!” cried the girl, clinching hands and teeth in impotent fury;
“it’s the will and the doings of the adversary of souls, the father o’
lies, him that the Bible tells us was a murderer from the beginning,
and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him.”
“Marian, Marian, ye’re tempting your mother to the sin she maun ficht
against nicht and day,” groaned Mrs. McAlpine, relapsing into Scotch,
as they were both apt to do under strong excitement, “an’ oh, beware,
lassie, that you dinna wrest Scripture to ye’r ain destruction and to
mine.”
“Wrest Scripture! ’tis they wrest it,” cried the girl, in tones of
fierce indignation; but before the words had fairly left her lips her
mother had risen from her chair and fled from her presence, as one
would fly from temptation.
Marian too rose, closed the house, and went to bed, while alone in her
own apartment the mother spent a long time upon her knees wrestling in
prayer for submission and strength to endure the cross she mistakenly
deemed that He, her loving Lord and Master, had laid upon her.