THE BIRTH-DAY FESTIVAL.
Her soul was full of tender thought,
Ardent and strong but gentle, too,
Like gems, in purest gold o'er wrought,
Or flowers that banquet on the dew.
Love seemed more holy in her heart,
Than human passions ever are;
She took from Heaven its purest part,
And found on earth its sweetest care.
It was Chester's birth-day, always a season of bright joy in his
little household. He had entirely recovered from the ill-effects of
his fall upon the ice. The little stranger, instead of being a burden
upon his narrow resources, became quite a help and comfort to them.
She had now been three weeks in the family, industrious as a bee,
meekly cheerful, and with a sort of homely sweetness in her manner
that won affection without effort. Never boisterous or obtrusive in
her desire to please she moved about the house like some meek and
good spirit, acting, not speaking, the soft gratitude with which her
little heart was brimming over. You could see it in her large and
humid eyes. You could feel it in the quick joy that came and went
over her face, when any one asked a service of her. She seemed
perfectly possessed of that most lovely of all earthly feelings, human
gratitude; yet she uttered but few words, and was always too busy
for extreme sadness.
Occupation, occupation!--what a glorious thing it is for the human
heart. Those who work hard seldom yield themselves entirely up to
fancied or real sorrow. When grief sits down, folds its hands, and
mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weaving the dim shadows, that
a little exertion might sweep away, into a funeral pall, the strong
spirit is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes our master. When
troubles flow upon you, dark and heavy, toil not with the
waves--wrestle not with the torrent!--rather seek, by occupation,
to divert the dark waters that threaten to overwhelm you, into a
thousand channels which the duties of life always present. Before
you dream of it, those waters will fertilize the present, and give
birth to fresh flowers that may brighten the future--flowers that
will become pure and holy, in the sunshine which penetrates to the
path of duty, in spite of every obstacle. Grief, after all, is but
a selfish feeling, and most selfish is the man who yields himself
to the indulgence of any passion which brings no joy to his fellow
man.
If little Mary Fuller did not reason thus--poor thing, she was only
twelve years old--she felt thus, and a good heart is, after all, your
best philosopher.
She was grateful, and that sweet feeling is, in itself, almost a
happiness. So, in her meekness and her industry, this little girl
might have shamed the fortitude of many a stout man, for there are
no sufferings so sharp as those that sting our childhood, and hers,
both of soul and body, had been bitter indeed.
It would have done your heart good to witness the pleasant bustle
going on in the policeman's dwelling on his birth-day. Mary Fuller
entered into the preparations with delightful spirit. There was the
kitchen table, spread out with currants and raisins, and boxes of
sugar, and plates of butter--and there was Mrs. Chester, with the
sleeves of her calico dress rolled up from her white arms, and her
slender hands, all snowy with the flour she was measuring out in a
tea-cup, while her sweet smiling lips were in motion as she counted
off each cupful, now of sugar, now of fruit, and now of butter for
the birth-day cake. There was little Isabel beating up eggs in a great
China bowl, and laughing as she shook back her curls, that threatened
every moment to drop into the snowy froth.
Down on a little seat by the stove, crouched Mary Fuller, with her
lap full of black currants, looking so mild and tranquil as she
gathered up the fruit, and allowed it to flow from one thin hand to
the other, blowing away the dust with her mournful little mouth, and
lifting up her eyes to Mrs. Chester now and then, with a look of such
quiet and trusting affection.
And now Mrs. Chester lifted up the bright tin-pan half full of golden
and fruit-studded paste between both her hands, with a satisfied and
happy look. Mary Fuller quietly opened the stove door, and the
precious cake was soon browning over, and rising in a soft cone,
almost to the top of the oven. Every other instant Isabel would take
a peep in, and thus fill the room with luscious fragrance, and Mary
was full of curiosity, for the composition of a cake like that was
quite a miracle to her, poor thing!
Then Mrs. Chester could not quite conceal her anxiety that Isabel
might interrupt the baking by constantly opening the door. In short,
you have no idea what an interest was felt in that birth-day cake.
It kept them quite anxious and animated for a full hour.
Then all this suspense was followed by such delighted exclamations
when the cake came out, done to a turn, so high, so delicately brown,
and with a light golden fissure breaking through the warm swell, like
the furrow in a hill-side, betraying the perfect lightness and spongy
perfection at the centre--altogether, the whole thing was quite a
household picture, a pleasant domestic scene, full of spirit and
happiness.
But this was only a preliminary of the day's work. There was the
frosting to put on, and there was a pair of plump little pullets
waiting to be stuffed, and so many things to be done, that with
bringing out little round wooden boxes and bright tin pans, and forks
and spoons, and putting them up again, everything was kept in a state
of pleasant excitement the whole day.
At nightfall it was perfectly surprising, the bower that lovely
housewife and her children had made of the room. The muslin curtains
were bordered with wreaths of evergreens; festoons of hemlock and
feathery pine tufts fell along the snow-white wall. On a little shelf
under the window, stood a bird cage sheltered by a miniature forest
of tea-roses and ivy geraniums. The golden feathers of its inmate
gleamed out beautifully from among the leaves and crimson flowers;
for the genial warmth seemed to have brought all the buds into blossom
at once, and there was a perfect flush of them among the glossy and
deep green leaves.
As if quite conscious that there was a birth-day developing in all
these cheerful preparations, the bird was in a joyous state of
excitement, and seemed to enter, with all its little musical soul,
into the spirit of the thing. Instead of going sleepily to his perch
as the sun went down, he kept chirping about, hopping hither and
thither, flinging off the husks from his seed on the bottom of the
cage, or standing on his perch with his head on one side, and eyeing
the tea roses askance, as if questioning them regarding this unusual
commotion. Then, as if satisfied with the blushing silence of the
flowers, he would hop upon his perch and break into a gush of song
that made the leaves around him tremble again, having, to all
appearances, made up his birdly mind not to give up before midnight
at the furthest.
Now everything was ready, save some petty arrangements of the
table-top which were in a state of progression.
Mary Fuller, arrayed in a Marino dress, almost as good as new, and
with her hair neatly braided, was busy with Isabel's curls, rolling
their glossy blackness delightedly around her finger, and dropping
them in shining masses over those dimpled shoulders, with far more
exulting pride than the little beauty felt herself.
She was a lovely creature, that fair Isabel, more beautiful from
contrast with the sallow child that bent over her. The pretty pink
frock looped back from those snowy shoulders, with knots of ribbon,
her embroidered pantalets peeping from beneath it, and those dainty
little slippers on her feet--altogether, the two girls made a charming
picture. The Canary stopped singing to watch them, giving out a chirp
of admiration now and then, as if he approved of the whole thing,
but did not care to make a scene about it.
At last, Mrs. Chester came forth, her cheeks all in a glow of blushes,
for she was rather shy of appearing before her children in that
pretty, white-muslin dress, fastened over the bosom with bows of pink
ribbon, and with a belt of the same color girding her waist.
The girls started up with exclamations of delight, for this dress
took them by surprise, and in order to get clear of her awkwardness,
Mrs. Chester kissed them both, while the bird went off in a fit of
musical enthusiasm quite astounding, hopping frantically about his
cage and throwing off gushes of song till his golden throat seemed
ready to burst with a flood of melody.
Mary Fuller stood, after the first outbreak of admiration, looking
wistfully from her benefactress to the crimson roses. Her keen sense
of the beautiful was excited.
"May I?" she said, softly bending down one of the crimson flowers.
Mrs. Chester smiled, and Mary broke off the half-open blossom.
"Please let _me_ put it in."
Again Mrs. Chester smiled, and sat down in her rocking chair, while
Mary placed the rose among the snowy folds on her bosom, and Isabel
hovered near, admiring the effect.
"Isn't she beautiful!" exclaimed Mary, gently exultant, standing back
to enjoy the contrast of the crimson leaves and the white muslin.
"Isn't she?" cried Isabel, in all the flush of her young beauty,
"Isn't she, my own, dear, pretty mother?" and she held up her arms
for an embrace.
Mary sighed very gently, for she thought of her mother.
And now four crystal lamps were lighted, two upon the mantel-piece,
and two before the looking-glass, which of course made four by
reflection, and a splendid illumination all this light made among
the roses and evergreens.
There was nothing more to arrange, so Mrs. Chester returned to her
rocking-chair. Isabel hung about her, sometimes with an arm around
her neck, sometimes playing with the folds of her dress. After a
little hesitation, Mary drew her stool to the other side and sat
there, smiling softly and with her eyes brimful of contentment, as
Mrs. Chester laid one hand kindly upon her head, while with the other
she caressed the beautiful Isabel. Thus forming a group that might
have served our inimitable Terry for a picture of Charity, Mrs.
Chester waited for her company.
And for what company was all this preparation made?
In the third story of the house lived a poor artist, whose eyesight
had become so dim, that he was only capable of doing the very coarsest
work. Sometimes a theatrical scene, or a rude transparency gave him
temporary support; but the little that he was able to do in this way
could not have kept him free from debt, humble as his mode of life
was, had he not possessed some other means of subsistence. His family
consisted of an only son, apparently not more than eleven or twelve
years of age. He was some years older than that, but the extreme
sensitiveness of his character and ill health gave unusual delicacy
to his appearance. A distant relative of the artist lived with these
two as a housekeeper, and by her needle managed to contribute
something toward the general support. The widow was not yet an old
woman, but loneliness and poverty had exhausted the little
cheerfulness of character that she once possessed. So pale and weary
with toil, she lived on, centering all the hopes and energies of her
dull life in the artist and his motherless boy, the object of his
especial love.
This old man--this worn, tried woman, whose toil was so constant,
and whose amusements were so few--and the delicate boy--these were
the guests that Mrs. Chester expected. Even in her amusements she
loved to blend the exquisite joy of charity. With every dainty
prepared that day, she had given some gentle thought of the rare
pleasure that it would bring to the old man and his family.
In the lower story of the house there was also a family, to whom Mrs.
Chester had extended her invitation. It was her wish that every one
sheltered under the roof with her husband should be as joyous and
happy as she was; but she entertained serious doubts whether this
invitation would be accepted.
The man in the attic sometimes went an errand or carried in a load
of wood, thus cheerfully earning a few shillings for the family at
home. The man on the first floor kept a small thread-needle
establishment. The difference was considerable, and the aristocratic
pride of the man who sold needles, might revolt at the idea of sitting
at the same table with the man who carried in wood.
Misgivings on this subject gave a slight shade of anxiety to Mrs.
Chester's sweet countenance, as she sat waiting for her guests. She
could just hear the two chickens that lay cosily, wing to wing, in
the oven, simmering in their warm nest. The potatoes in a sauce-pan
in front of the stove were slowly lifting up the lid and pouring their
steam about the edges; and everything promised so well that she began
to feel quite anxious that none of her invited guests should be
absent.
There really was some cause for apprehension, for the thread-needle
man stationed before the parlor grate below was that moment holding
conjugal council with a tall, dark-featured woman, on the very subject
which cast the one little shadow over Mrs. Chester's expectations.
Dear to him, as the apple of his eye, was the pride of his station;
but then the needle-merchant had members of the corporeal frame,
petted and prompted till it was difficult to resist them. He loved
his dignity much, but dignity was, after all, an abstraction, while
in a good supper there was something substantial. He had returned
home fully resolved not to accept Mrs. Chester's invitation, and in
this his tall wife reluctantly concurred, though a black silk dress
and a gay cap fluttering with straw-colored ribbons, revealed very
plainly that her own inclinations had pointed the other way.
The Chesters were pleasant people, and she felt that it would be
rather tantalizing to sit down stairs alone all the evening, while
they enjoyed themselves heart and soul above.
When aristocracy is a matter of opinion, not of power, every man of
course feels compelled to guard his claim to position with peculiar
watchfulness; so with a benign conviction that he and his taller half
had made a laudable sacrifice for the good of society, the little
needle-merchant and his wife sat down together over a weak cup of
tea, feeling rather miserable and disconsolate. They had no children;
and a social evening away from home now and then, was a relief to
the conjugal tete-a-tetes, which will sometimes become a little
tiresome when married people have nothing but themselves to talk
about.
While the worthy needle-merchant and his wife were sitting at the
table the outer door opened, and a light, quick footstep sounded along
the hall and ascended the stairs, seemingly two steps at a time. There
was something so buoyant and cheerful in this springing footstep,
that it quite aroused the needle-merchant, who got up and opening
the door carefully, peeped into the hall.
"It is Chester just coming home," he said, thrusting his rosy face
through the opening. "How happy the fellow looks. Hark! here comes
his wife to meet him all in white--upon my word she is a handsome
woman--and here is the little girl bounding forward with her arms
out--and, and--really, my dear, it is refreshing to hear a kiss like
that."
Here the little man turned ardently back, and standing on his toes
made a fruitless attempt to reach the tall lady's face with his little
pursed-up mouth, which his better half resented with great dignity.
"There, they have gone in now," continued the little man, going
sheepishly to the door again. "They cannot have closed the door
though--Laura--Laura! come here, is not this tantalizing?--turkey
or chickens, one or the other, I stake my reputation upon it,
and--hot--reeking with gravy and brown as a chestnut, nothing less
could send forth this delicious scent. What do you say, Laura? Speak
the word and I am half a mind to go up, notwithstanding the wood
carrier!"
"You know he does other things. I dare say it is not often that he
stoops to this!" said the wife brightening up and beginning to arrange
her cap before the glass.
"Probably not--besides he really is a gentlemanly old fellow enough.
I dare say he would not presume upon it if we did sit down with him
for once."
"Not in the least," replied the wife, fastening a cameo pin, as large
as the palm of her hand into the worked collar which she had just
arranged about her neck. "It will be our fault if he does! You know
it is easy to keep up a certain reserve, even at the same table!"
"Certainly--certainly--my dear, as you say, we can be _with_ them and
not _of_ them. Just hand out my satin stock from that drawer and give
my coat a dash with the hand brush!" and inhaling a deep breath, the
little man reluctantly closed the door and began a hasty and vigorous
toilet.
You never in your life saw a finer-looking fellow than Chester was
that night as he kissed his wife, gave the beautiful Isabel a toss
in the air, and patted little Mary on the head, all in the same
minute.
"Why Jane, what a winter bower you have made of the room," he cried,
his eyes sparkling with delight and surprise as he glanced at the
evergreens, whose soft shadows were trembling like pencil-work on
the walls. Why the very Canary seems all in a flutter of delight!
Cake too, frosted like a snow-bank, and--here he opened the stove
door, "have you been among the fairies, wife! I for one cannot tell
where you raised the money for all this?"
"Oh, yes, we have been among the fairies, haven't we, little Mary,"
cried Mrs. Chester, delighted with her husband's spirits, "the Jew
fairies that give out collars to stitch, and cloth caps to make."
Nothing but a tear breaking through the happy flash of John Chester's
eyes, could have rendered them so full of joyous tenderness.
"And so you have done all this for me. You and the poor little angel?
Why you must have worked night and day!--and Isabel, what portion
of the work has my lady-bird done?" added the happy man, sitting down
and placing the child on his knee.
"Oh, she has done a great deal!" said Mary in a low but eager voice,
creeping to Chester's side. "You have no idea how very handy she is
about the house, has he, Mrs. Chester?"
Mrs. Chester laughed and shook her head; but further than this she
had no time to speak, for that moment the old man from up stairs came
in, looking quite neat and gentlemanly in his black silk cravat, and
his darned and well-brushed coat. He led by the hand a tall delicate
boy with light brown hair and sad blue eyes; a smile seemed struggling
with a look of habitual pain on his face. He sat down and glanced
around, greeting Mary with a wan smile. The widow followed; her dress
was poverty-stricken but very neat, and upon her face was a look of
patient endurance, indescribably touching.
"I have invited them to supper," whispered Mrs. Chester to her
husband. "They came so soon I had no time to tell you. The people
down stairs, I expect them, too."
Chester comprehended it all in an instant. You would have thought
by the way he placed chairs and shook hands with his guests, that
he had been expecting them with the utmost impatience. His manner
brought a cordial smile to the old man's lips, and even the face of
the widow brightened with a pleasant glow.
"Let Joseph sit here," said Mary Fuller, rising from her stool with
moist eyes, as she saw a spasm of pain pass over the lad's face.
"Perhaps he would rather stay by me."
The boy lifted his blue eyes to her face, and his heart yearned toward
one who bore such traces of having suffered like himself.
"I should be glad to sit by her," he said, appealing to his father.
"She knows what it is."
The next instant his delicate hand was clasped within hers, and Mary
was soothing him in a low voice that sounded like the whisper of an
angel.
The table was spread, and the young fowls, plump with a rich load
of dressing, were placed upon it.
These were supported by a fine oyster pie, plates of vegetables, blood
red beets, and the greenest pickles, with a dish of cranberry sauce,
while a bunch of golden green celery curled in crisp masses over the
crystal goblet that occupied the centre of the table. The little
candle-stand on one side, supported the fruit cake, all one crust
of snowy sugar, with the most delicate little green wreath lying
around the edge. Over all this the four lamps shed their light, which
the looking-glass did its best to multiply. Indeed, nothing could
be more perfect than the whole arrangement, except it might be the
fullness of content which sparkled and shone over the face of everyone
present.
Just as the company were all standing--for each guest had resigned
a chair, which was placed by the table--the needle-merchant and his
wife made their advent, arm in arm, all pompous with a sense of
personal importance, and looking stiffly condescending as they bowed
to the old gentleman and the widow.
But it was quite astonishing how soon the bustle of sitting down to
supper, the cheerful faces and the fragrant steam that rose from the
plump pullet as Chester thrust his fork into its bosom, seemed to
soften down and carry off all their superfluous dignity. Before the
little needle-merchant knew it, he found himself quite interested
in the old man at his elbow, for after the ladies, Chester had helped
the artist first, and on his plate was a choice morsel of the
chicken's liver which made the little merchant's mouth water.
Now what does the old gentleman do but hand over this plate, with
a bow, to his next neighbor, and so handsomely, too, that it was quite
impossible for the little man to resist good fellowship a moment
longer? As the coveted morsel melted away in his mouth, the pride
fled from his heart, and in less than three minutes he was the most
natural and happy person at the table. It was delightful to hear him
complimenting Mrs. Chester, while he helped the children good
naturedly, as if he had been the father of a large and uproarious
family for years! Indeed, he was quite surprised at it himself
afterward, but just then it seemed the most natural thing in the
world.
There was room enough for all. There was pleasure for all. Even the
suffering boy had sunshine in his eyes and smiles upon his mouth,
as he lifted that delicate face to his widow friend; and for the first
time in months, her pale cheeks grew red, and she met the boy's glance
with a smile that did not threaten to be quenched in tears the next
instant.
Mrs. Chester luxuriated in all this happiness as a flower brightens
in the sunshine. She seemed to grow more beautiful every moment; the
needle-merchant told her so. Chester only laughed, and his own wife
did not frown, but glanced complacently down to her cameo breast-pin,
feeling confident that there she could defy competition.
The supper was over, the table cleared away, and around the bright
stove they all gathered in a circle, chatting, laughing and telling
stories. Here the old artist's talent came in play, and he made even
the tall lady shake with merriment behind her broad cameo; and the
gentle boy who had crept close to Mary Fuller again, was absolutely
heard to laugh aloud, while Mary's smile was softer and sweeter than
Isabel's shouts of merriment.
"I say," whispered Joseph to Mary Fuller, "how happy and bright father
is--wouldn't it be pleasant if we could do something to make all the
rest happy as he does?"
"But we don't know how, like him," answered Mary.
"I am worse than that, it makes people sad to look at me, but you
have done something, I dare say, to help make them happy?"
"I helped get the supper and make that," said Mary, pointing to the
birth-day cake which still lay glistening white beneath its wreath
of evergreens.
"Ah, that was a great deal for you. Now what if I try a little? Bend
down your head. I have a violin up stairs. Father bought it for me
new year's day. It did not cost much, but there is music in it, and
I have learned to play a little. Now I will just steal away and bring
it down without letting them see me. Won't it astonish them to hear
the music burst up all at once from our corner?"
The boy's eyes sparkled, and he seemed quite animated with his little
plot.
"That will be pleasant," replied Mary, equally delighted with the
idea. "Let me go! Where shall I find the violin?"
"In the corner cupboard--there is a little fire-light--you will not
miss it," answered the lad, smiling gratefully.
Mary stole away and soon returned with the violin. She contrived to
reach the boy without being seen, and the two sat close together,
while he noiselessly tried the strings and fixed the bow.
There was a momentary hush in the conversation.
"Now!" whispered Mary, "now!"
The boy drew his bow, and such a burst of music poured from the
strings, that even Mary started with astonishment.
"Ha, my son!" said the artist, "that was well thought of! now do your
best!"
The boy answered only with a smile, but his slender fingers flew up
and down on the strings, the bow flashed across them like lightning,
and the apartment rung with music.
Spite of all its good resolutions, the Canary bird had gone to sleep,
with its head under one wing, but with the first note of music it
was all in a flutter of delight, and set up an opposition to the
violin that threatened to rend its quivering little form in twain.
Isabel, light and graceful as the bird, sprang from her seat and began
to waltz about the room, her curls floating in the air, and her cheeks
bright as a ripe peach. She looked like a fairy excited by the music.
"Come, what if we all get up a dance?" said Chester, approaching the
needle-merchant's wife.
She looked at her husband.
"A capital idea!" cried the little man, all in a glow, seizing upon
the hand of the widow.
"Indeed, I--I--my dancing days are over," faltered the widow, half
withdrawing her hand, but looking provokingly irresolute.
"Oh, aunty, let me see you dance once, only this once!" cried the
boy, breaking the strain of his music.
The widow turned a look of tenderness upon her charge, and with a
blush on her cheek was led to the floor.
"They want another couple--who will dance with me?" said Mrs. Chester,
casting a smiling challenge at the old gentleman.
"Oh, father, do," cried the boy, "see, they cannot get along without
you."
"I shall put you all out--I haven't taken a step in twenty years,"
pleaded the old man.
"Never mind, we will teach you--we will all teach you--so come along,"
broke from half a dozen voices, and Mrs. Chester laughingly took the
old man captive, leading him to the floor with a look of playful
triumph.
Isabel, after a vain effort to persuade Mary to join her, took a side
by herself, quite capable of dancing enough for two at least.
Then the violin sent forth an air that kindled the blood even in that
old man's veins. The dancers put themselves in motion--right and
left--ladies' chain. It went off admirably. The old man was rather
stiff and awkward at first, but the young folks soon broke him in
and he turned, now the little girls then Mrs. Chester, and then the
tall lady with the cameo; true she was on the side, but then the old
gentleman was not particular, and his ladies' chain became rather
an intricate affair at last, he added so many superfluous links to
it.
But nothing could daunt him after he once got into the spirit of it,
and he went through the whole like an old hero; the only difficulty
was, he never knew when to stop.
Just in the height of the dance, when the needle-merchant was all
in a glow, balancing to every lady, and getting up a sort of
extemporaneous affair, made from old remembrances of "The Cheat" and
"The Virginia Reel," the whole company stopped short, and he
exclaimed--
"Bless my soul!"
And drawing forth a red silk handkerchief, he made a motion, as if
his forehead wanted dusting.
"Bless my soul!" he repeated, "Laura, my dear, have the goodness to
look, my love."
Mrs. Peters turned, and spite of her cameo defences, blushed guiltily.
"Dear me, my nephew, Frederick Farnham, who would have expected this?"
she exclaimed, instantly assuming her dignity, and gliding from among
the dancers.
"I couldn't help it, Aunt Peters, I know it is very impertinent for
me to follow you up here, but how could you expect me to stay down
yonder, with the floor trembling over head, and that violin--? I beg
your pardon, sir," continued young Farnham, addressing Chester, "but
the fact is, everything was so gloomy down stairs, and so brilliant;
up here besides you left the door open as if you'd made up your mind
to tempt a fellow into committing an impertinence."
"Don't think of it, there's no intrusion--my wife has found a
birth-day, and is making the most of it," answered Chester, advancing
toward the door with his hand frankly extended.
The youth stepped forward, and the light fell upon his face. His eyes
lighted up splendidly as they fell on Chester.
"What, my fine fellow, is it you?" he said, with a dash of young
Americanism that was only frank, not assuming, while Chester
exclaimed--
"I'm glad to see you--heartily glad to see you--come in, come in."
"Allow me," said Mrs. Peters, with a stately wave of the hand, "Mr.
Chester, allow me to present Mr. Frederick Farnham, my nephew, and
only son of the Mayor of New York--Mrs. Chester, Mr. Farnham."
"Never mind all about that, aunt," said the boy, blushing at his
pompous introduction, "this gentleman and I have met before--he knows
my father."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Peters, coming out from his retirement, "I am
delighted to hear it; nothing but this was wanting, my dear Chester.
I'm charmed to have been found enjoying your hospitality. Laura, my
dear, we are both charmed; my brother-in-law, the mayor, will be
charmed also--in short, Fred, we are having a charming time of it."
"I'm sure of it," answered Fred Farnham, pressing his uncle, and
looking earnestly at Mary Fuller till his face became quite serious,
then, turning to Chester, he said in a low voice, "so you keep the
poor girl; I'm glad of it--that was what brought me here."
No one had observed the artist while this interruption took place;
but as the youth stepped into the light and spoke, a vertigo seized
upon the old man, and staggering back to the wall he leaned against
it, pale and with a wild expression in his eyes. When Mrs. Peters
proclaimed the lad's name this strange agitation subsided somewhat
and took a shade of sadness, as if some train of thought had been
aroused that weighed down his spirits. He seemed to forget that his
partner waited, and sat down by the window, sighing heavily.
Mrs. Chester remarked this forgetfulness, and with a graceful smile
invited young Farnham to take the place which the old man had
abandoned. Fred smiled his assent, and the dance went on again; but
just as the young musician began to play, there came a knock at the
street door. Isabel ran down to open it, and came back with a letter
in her hand.
"It is for you, papa," she said, holding up the letter.
"Very well, put it on the mantel-piece. Some direction from the
captain or chief, I suppose," said Chester. "Come, Isabel, take your
place."
The little girl ran to her partner, and the dancing commenced again.
During this interruption, young Farnham happened to come close up
to the artist, and he was struck by the earnest gaze which the old
man fixed on him. Some strange magnetic influence was in the glance,
for it thrilled him from head to foot. He was seized with an
unaccountable desire to hear the old man speak, but all his natural
self-command forsook him. He could not find the courage to utter a
word. Those dark, earnest eyes seemed to have taken away his strength.
Joseph saw the strange pallor that had come upon his father's face,
and, laying down his violin, crossed the room.
"What is the matter, are you ill, father?" he inquired in his usual
low voice, "or is it only the light? I thought you looked pale across
the room."
The artist cast quick wild glances from his son to young Farnham.
At last he drew a heavy breath, and turned with a bewildered air to
his son.
"What did you ask, Joseph?"
"Are you in pain? What is the matter, father?" repeated the lad.
"Nothing--no; I--I am not used to this, you know," faltered the old
man. "Do not mind me, I am well."
Joseph went away, but cast wistful glances at his father over his
violin. According to the unaccountable desire that had seized him,
young Farnham heard the old man's voice. It ran through his veins
with a glow, as if he had drained a glass of old wine, and it was
some moments before he felt the thrill leave his nerves. Joseph took
up his violin, but anxiety had depressed him, and his music lost its
cheerfulness.
The dancers took their places, but Fred Farnham still lingered by
the artist. Another strange impulse seized him. He obeyed it and
touched the hand that lay upon the old man's knee.
The artist started, lifted his eyes and a smile broke over his face.
"Excuse me," said the youth deprecatingly, "I did not intend it."
Still the artist kept his eyes upon the boy, without speaking, but
the smile grew sad as he gazed; and when Fred turned to go away, the
hand he had touched was held eagerly forth.
"Don't--don't leave me yet," said the old man in a low, pathetic
voice.
"I will come back again," said the youth gently. "I could not help
it if I wished."
Again the old man smiled, and, bowing his head, allowed the youth
to regain his partner.
When the set broke up it was to assemble round the fruitcake, which
was cut up by Chester in broad, liberal slices, and then, after
another dance, and a plaintive song from the widow, Chester's
birth-day party broke up, leaving him alone with the family.
The old artist waited at the head of the stairs, and young Farnham,
who had remained a moment to speak with Chester, found him leaning
against the banisters as he came out.
"Good night," said the young lad with gentle respect, pausing in hope
of being addressed.
The artist took the extended hand, and held it between his, without
speaking. Fred felt those old hands tremble.
"Shall I never see you again?" inquired the artist.
"Will you let me come and see you?" asked the lad joyfully.
"Come, come! it will be like the break of day after a dark night."
"I will come," said the youth earnestly.
Still the artist kept the boy's hand in his clasp. At length he bent
forward and kissed the lad upon his forehead.
"God bless you--the God of Heaven bless you!" he said in a low, solemn
voice, and the old man glided away through the dark hall, leaving
Frederick strongly affected by the interview.
With all her cheerfulness, Mrs. Chester was a little weary after her
guests departed, and leaned against the mantel-piece, longing to sink
into the rocking-chair which the old man had just abandoned.
Chester approached his wife, and saw the letter lying at her elbow.
A moment of unaccountable dread came over him, but taking the note
in his hand he broke the seal. Mrs. Chester was looking at him as
he read the letter, she saw his face turn pale, then his eyes began
to flash.
"What is it! what evil news does the letter bring?" she faltered out,
for his countenance frightened her.
Chester crushed the letter in his hand.
"I thought that man would follow me!" he said bitterly--"that
cold-blooded, relentless Mayor!"
"What has he done? Do not keep me in this terrible suspense, Chester,"
said the anxious woman.
"I am ordered to appear before him to answer a charge of drunkenness,"
replied Chester, forcing himself to speak calmly, though the huskiness
of his voice betrayed the fierce struggle which the effort cost him.
"Drunkenness! you!" and a smile of proud scorn swept over the features
of that noble young wife.
"Let us go to rest," said Chester, taking her hand. "Let us try and
forget this letter!"
"We were so happy only half an hour since!" said Jane Chester, placing
her hand in that of her husband, and they disappeared in the little
bedroom.
"But for me, but for me, this had not been!" murmured poor little
Mary Fuller, cowering down by the stove and locking both little hands
over her forehead. "Oh, if I could help it now. If I had never rung
at that cruel man's door. What shall I do--what can I do!"
"Come, Mary--come roll up my hair--mother has forgotten it," said
Isabel, standing in the closet door where the two girls slept
together, and yawning heavily--for the child was weary with coming
sleep. "What a splendid night we have had--only I am so tired!"
Mary arose meekly, and sitting down on the bed, began to arrange
Isabel for the night. The eyes of the little beauty were heavy, and
she did not observe the tearful depression that hung over her patient
friend. But during all that night, the beautiful eyes of Isabel alone
in that humble dwelling, were visited with sleep. It was a weary,
weary night for Chester and his wife; but most unhappy of all, was
the poor child whom their charity had warmed into life.