"THE VICTOR'S CROWN OF GOLD."
The Old Year was dying fast. It had wrapped itself in a soft white
mantle of snow, and was quietly waiting until the midnight bells
should announce the coming of the young New Year, laden under its
mysterious burden of joy and sadness, pain and pleasure, hope and its
fulfilment or its disappointment, that, day by day, it would unfold
before the busy world.
But although the New Year was anxiously awaited by many a soul, the
old one, now dying, had been a good friend to them all, and
especially to the little group now chatting in the Carters' library.
As Bess looked about among her boys, from Ted and Bert, now taller
than herself, who sat at her either hand, to Rob, who stood leaning
on the back of her chair, and then to Phil, who was perched on the
large table that filled the middle of the room, she could see many a
pleasant mark that the year had left on them. And even Sam. Hard as
the separation had been for those who were left behind, the boy was
so safe and happy, safe from the many temptations that follow our
boys through their lives, strengthening many a one, it is true, but
all too often overpowering and destroying some fine, manly lad, who
yet lacks just the courage to speak the one decided word that shall
leave him the victor in the fight. Yes, Sam had gained in the past
year, although it had been a sad lesson for the other boys, whose
careless fun had brought the loss to them.
And Fred? It was with a feeling of unmixed pride and pleasure that
Bessie surveyed the bonnie boy who was sitting opposite her, with
Fuzz on his knee. His figure and features were the same they had
been on that rainy November afternoon, a little over a year ago; but
that was all. In place of the pale, listless, sad boy that had
greeted her then, there sat an energetic, rosy, happy lad, whose
whole face was laughing at the frolic into which he had entered as
heartily as any of the other lads, a little gentler than the rest,
perhaps, but as full of fun and mischief as ever a boy could be.
"Yes," thought Bess, as she watched him, "Sam made the one grand
sacrifice that the world admires and talks of; but Fred's sacrifice
is a longer and harder one, even, than his, the constant fighting to
forget himself and his blindness, in trying to help make life
pleasanter to the rest of us. He is winning his 'victor's crown of
gold' most nobly and truly."
Half unconsciously, she hummed the line to herself. Phil gave her a
quick glance of understanding.
"Well, Phil?" she asked, rousing herself from her reverie.
"Nothing, only I guess I know what you were thinking about." And he
took up the air where she had dropped it.
"Yes, Phil; that was it, and I was feeling so happy as I looked
around at my boys, and saw what a good, faithful fight they have been
making."
"What is it?" asked Ted curiously.
"Only a little watchword between Fred and Phil and me," answered
Bess. Then with a smile of invitation she added, "We have formed
ourselves into a little army of three, to fight for the 'victor's
crown of gold.' Will you join it?
"I don't think I understand quite," said Bert slowly.
Bess repeated the verse to them, and then went on,--
"All is, we boys want to be as true and brave and unselfish from day
to day as we can possibly be, so that at the end of the years, as we
look back over the little battles we have fought all through our
lives, we can feel that we have conquered in them, and have won our
right to the crown. Not all of us will have the power or the
opportunity for one grand fight and unselfish victory like Sam's, the
day he went into the fire to save our Fred; but, after all, it is the
way we meet the every-day cares and troubles, the little petty ones,
such as we every one of us have, that shows our heroism as much as
the greater ones. If we study a lesson when we should prefer to be
playing ball, or do as our fathers and mothers wish, and do it
cheerfully and pleasantly, even if it isn't the very thing we choose,
or give up some little frolic we have been anticipating, because, by
doing that, we can make some one else happy, all these will be so
many battles won, and the winning them will give us the crown. What
do you think of our army?"
"It's a first-rate one," said Bert heartily, while Teddy pensively
added,--
"I'm afraid I shall have to spend all my days fighting slang."
Bessie laughed outright.
"No, Ted; for if you go on improving as fast as you have done in the
last six months, you will soon be free to fight another enemy than
that one."
"I wonder what mine is?" said Phil, swinging his heels thoughtfully.
"Covetousness," responded Ted promptly. "It's only two days since I
heard you wishing you had Miss Bessie's good temper."
"Poor Phil!" said Bess, reaching up to pat the brown head. "You'd
much better wish for something more than that."
"I wonder if we shall all be together here a year from now," said Rob
thoughtfully.
"Let us hope so," answered Bessie; "but that is something hidden
beyond our sight. As long as we can, my boys, we will try to be
together, here or somewhere else, on the last night of every year."
For some unexplained reason, Rob looked very wicked during the latter
half of his cousin's speech; but no one noticed it, for Ted inquired
just then,--
"What are you lads going to be when you grow up?"
"My father says I've got to be a doctor," remarked Bert ruefully,
"but I'd much rather go West on a cattle ranch, or else be an
architect. What shall you do, Bob?"
"Bugs and things," answered Rob briefly.
"Ted?"
"I don't know. Civil engineer, that is, if father can send me
through college. That's what I'd like best."
"Phil?"
"A minister, I s'pose," groaned Phil. "That's the family plan, but I
don't think I'm much suited for it."
"Think of the ugly duckling, and have courage," suggested Rob
consolingly.
"Fred?"
"Of course I can't tell yet what I can do," said Fred thoughtfully.
Then, suddenly turning to Bess with a smile, he went on: "What I want
most of all is to be your faithful soldier."
"And Sam has always said that he'd rather be a good mechanic than
anything else," added Bert. "That accounts for us all, Miss Bessie.
How do you like the assortment?"
"Very much," answered Bess. "I can have Bert to cure my body, and
Phil my soul, while Ted shall survey my garden, and Rob shall make a
collection of the insects that devour my crops. Fred I shall keep to
fight for me and with me. Then, at the end of every year, we will
all meet and talk over our battles, and make our plans for the next
campaign. And now, my boys, it is growing late, and I must send you
away. But, before you go, I am going to bring in some water, and
we'll drink a health to the Old Year that has given us so much, and
taken away one dear one from the half-dozen boys."
As they stood grouped about her, Bess slowly repeated the toast,--
"'Here's to those that I love; here's to those that love me;
Here's to those that love those that I love;
Here's to those that love those that love those that love me;
Here's to those that love those that I love.'"
"That's most everybody," said Ted, as he set down his empty glass.
"It ought to include all the world, on the eve of the New Year,"
answered Bess gently.
The last good-night had been said, and the boys were gone, leaving
Fred and Bess standing together in the hall.
"Need I go to bed yet?" asked Fred. "I'm not sleepy a bit, even if
it is late."
"No, dear; I have several things I want to talk over with you," said
Bess, smiling happily to herself as she led the way back to the
library fire.
Fred settled himself on a hassock at her feet, in his favorite
position, and turned his face to listen. But Bess seemed in no hurry
to begin the conversation. She thoughtfully stroked and patted the
boy's face, and played with his hair. Suddenly she asked,--
"Well, laddie, has the last year been any better than the one before
it?"
"Ever so much." Fred spoke with an air of happy conviction.
"Do you know why?" she went on.
"Of course I do," said Fred, as he reached up and took her hand.
"It's because you've done so much for me."
"No, Fred; that is a very small part of it. The change is all in
your own little self. It is because you have tried so hard to make
something of your life, even if you can't see; and I hope another
year will be a still happier one for you, happier and better."
Fred shook his head.
"Not happier, if I have to leave you, for my year here is almost
over. I wish it would last forever. But, Miss Bessie, it really
isn't near so bad as I used to think it was. You and the boys are
all so good to me, and you have taught me to do so many things, that
if I could only stay with you always, I shouldn't much mind the rest."
"That is my hero," said Bess tenderly. "But, Fred, this makes it
very easy to tell you of a letter I had yesterday from your father.
He says that he and your mother have decided to stay abroad another
year, and asks if you can still be with us. Are you willing to stay?"
No need to ask. Fred's gesture and smile were all the reply she
needed.
There was another long pause. Then Bess said slowly,--
"Fred, I have one more thing to tell you, something you ought to
know. I hope you will like it, for I am very, very happy. Mr. Muir
has asked me to be his wife."
"Mr. Muir! How splendid!" And Fred sprang up, in his delighted
surprise.
"So you are pleased? Well, sit down again while I tell you the rest.
Before the next year is over, I shall probably go with him, but it is
all settled that our little new home shall have one room in it that
will always be 'Fred's room.'"
It was long before Fred went to sleep that night. As he still lay
awake, thinking of the happy New Year opening before him, across the
still night air came the sound of a church bell. Slow and solemn
were its tones, as it tolled out the dying year. Then, at the stroke
of midnight, it quickened to a merry peal, to usher in the new-born
year, with all its hopes and fears. And, in a gentle undertone, he
heard from the distant city the chimes playing that grand old hymn,
so linked with sad, tender memories of Sam, so full of help and cheer
for himself,--
"Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on.
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene. One step enough for me."