Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THE OLD POSTMAN.]
AS MANY AS TOUCHED HIM
BY
EGLANTON THORNE
Author of "It's All Real True," "The Old Worcester Jug,"
"The Two Crowns," etc.
London
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW, AND 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. LOOKING FOR A LETTER
II. JERRY'S TRIAL
III. THE GREAT PHYSICIAN
IV. LEAVING HOME
V. IN THE WORK-ROOM
VI. SUFFERING FOR CONSCIENCE SAKE
VII. DREARY DAYS
VIII. A LONELY SUFFERER
IX. AN ALARMING INCIDENT
X. A CONVERSATION
XI. IN THE HOSPITAL
XII. SORROWFUL TIDINGS
XIII. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
XIV. JERRY'S FAITH HAS ITS REWARD
XV. TEN YEARS LATER
[Illustration]
AS MANY AS TOUCHED HIM
CHAPTER I.
LOOKING FOR A LETTER.
"OH dear! I do wish the postman would make haste and come," said Ellen
Mansfield to herself, as she stood at the farmyard gate, looking
eagerly up the narrow lane into which it opened.
It was a bright July morning, and the sun was pouring its warm rays on
her fair hair and rosy cheeks, as she waited bareheaded in the open
air, having no fear of the effects of such exposure to its influence.
She was so absorbed in her watch for the country letter-carrier, who
was never very punctual to his time, as to give heed to naught besides.
Wolf, the old sheep-dog, crept close to her side, and put his nose into
her hand, but his mute expression of affection met with no response.
The chickens gathered round her, and chirped in vain, with the hope of
attracting her attention, and being rewarded with some bread-crumbs or
grains of corn, such as she often bestowed on them.
Ellen's thoughts were all of the letter which she hoped would arrive
that morning. But presently, she was roused by the sound of her
mother's voice calling to her from within the house—
"Ellen, Ellen, where are you? I want you directly!"
Ellen looked annoyed, and her lip pouted.
"How tiresome!" she muttered to herself.
And instead of hastening to obey the summons, she went a few steps down
the lane, so that the thick hedge might hide her from her mother's
view, in case she came to the door to look for her.
Ellen was a tall, well-grown girl, about sixteen years of age, with a
bright, intelligent face, having the fresh complexion and clear blue
eyes which only country girls can boast. She was strong and active, and
her mother naturally expected much help from this daughter, the eldest
child of a family of ten. But Ellen hated house-work, and thought it a
hardship that she should be expected to undertake such tasks, and was
always glad when, as now, she managed to elude her mother's vigilance
and enjoy some minutes of idleness.
The minutes were many this morning, for the postman did not come any
the quicker because she was waiting for him. And her conscience told
her more than once that she ought to return to the house, yet still she
lingered. At last, she caught sight of the old man coming slowly down
the lane, sorting some letters in his hand as he came.
"Oh dear! Why can't he walk a little faster?" thought Ellen,
impatiently. "He moves like a snail. I am sure one of those letters
must be from Aunt Matilda."
There was a house on the other side of the lane for which the postman
was bound before he came to Ellen's home. Ellen watched him go in at
the gate, and waited anxiously for his reappearance. But when he came
out again, there were no letters in his hand.
"He must have one for us," said Ellen to herself; and she hurried
forward to meet him.
"No letter for you this morning," he said, in reply to her questioning
glance.
"No letter?" repeated Ellen, in dismay. "Are you quite sure? Have you
not made a mistake?"
"No, indeed; I don't make mistakes so easily," he replied, smiling at
the notion. "Bring you one to-morrow, perhaps."
So saying, he passed on his way, leaving Ellen overwhelmed with
disappointment. She had counted so on the arrival of this letter, and
had felt so sure that it would come, that she scarcely knew how to bear
the delay.
The idea of waiting another whole day, only perhaps to be again
disappointed, was disheartening. She stood still where she was, for
she felt little inclination now to set about the domestic tasks which
should have been commenced earlier.
As she stood idly leaning against the hedge, her face wearing a most
discontented expression, the sound of approaching steps fell on her
ear. A young man was walking quickly down the lane, looking about him
with the air of one unacquainted with the locality, and in search of
some particular place. Ellen observed him with curiosity, for he was
to her a stranger, and the appearance of a stranger in that rural
neighbourhood was a rare event. His demeanour was different from that
of any of the country folk thereabout. He was dressed in a black suit,
which showed a spotless shirt-front set off by a little black tie,
and wore a "wide-awake" hat. His was a pleasant, honest face, with a
kindliness of expression which conquered Ellen's usual shyness, as, to
her surprise, he stopped short on seeing her, and addressed to her a
question:
"Will you kindly tell me if this is the way to Farmer Holroyd's?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ellen. "But you must turn to the left when you get
to the bottom of the lane, and take the path across the fields, which
you will see. That will take you direct to the house."
"Thank you, thank you," said the stranger, standing still, however, and
looking about him with an observant eye. "Do you live in that house?"
"Yes, sir," answered Ellen.
"Will you tell your parents, for perhaps they may not have heard of
it, that there will be preaching this evening in Farmer Holroyd's barn
at seven o'clock, and that I shall be very happy to see them there, if
they are able to be present—and you also, if you can accompany them,"
he added, kindly.
"Thank you, sir," said Ellen, with some hesitation. "I'll tell them.
But father and mother are mostly too busy to go anywhere."
"Are they? I'm sorry for that. But you are not too busy, I suppose?"
Ellen coloured, for she knew she must appear to him an idler. She felt
no desire to attend the meeting in Farmer Holroyd's barn, yet was at a
loss for an excuse for not doing so.
"No," she said, in answer to his remark. "But I do not know that I
shall be able to come."
Her manner plainly said, "I do not care to come"; and so he understood
it.
"I shall be glad to see you there, if you can manage it," he said,
gently. "I should be sorry to think that your heart is indifferent to
Him who is your best friend. Do not, I pray you, make the great mistake
of finding time and inclination for everything save the 'one thing
needful.'"
With these words he turned away, and Ellen, feeling rather
disconcerted, and ashamed at having wasted so much of her morning,
hastened back to the house.
"Where have you been all this time, Ellen?" asked her mother, who was
engaged in hushing the baby to sleep. "I have been calling you for
the last quarter of an hour. It is too bad of you to get out of the
way when you know there is so much to be done. Here it is past nine
o'clock, and the beds are not made nor the breakfast things washed.
What have you been about?"
Mrs. Mansfield, a pale, anxious-looking woman, spoke in low, querulous
accents, as though she did not expect her remonstrances to have much
effect.
"I have been watching for the postman, mother," replied Ellen. "But he
brought no letter. I can't think why Aunt Matilda does not write."
"She would need to think awhile before she answered my letter,"
returned her mother. "She is not one to do things in a hurry. I could
have told you there would be no letter this morning. You'd much better
have been about your work than loitering at the gate."
Ellen gave her head an impatient toss at this rebuke, and began, with
much unnecessary bustle and clatter, to wash the cups and saucers which
had been used for the morning meal.
"Where is Lucy?" she asked, presently.
"Upstairs, giving Jerry his breakfast," her mother answered; adding
with a sigh, "The poor lad has had a bad night, and is sadly this
morning."
Ellen said nothing, but her mother's words awakened within her some
self-reproach, for in her eagerness to get the letter she had forgotten
the wants of her favourite brother, to whom she generally attended.
She worked busily for some time, in the vain hope of making up for lost
time, and the breakfast things were soon washed and replaced on the
dresser. She did not forget to tell her mother of the stranger she had
seen, and of the meeting to be held that evening in Farmer Holroyd's
barn.
"Ah!" remarked Mrs. Mansfield. "It's all very well for those who have
nothing else to do to go to those meetings, but it wouldn't do for me
to think of it."
Yet she sighed as she spoke, for she remembered that in her young days
she had attended such services with delight. And the recollection
induced her to add, "You can go if you like, Ellen."
But Ellen was not sure that she would like to go.