CHANGES AT PINE FARM.
After her father's death, Mary was no longer the bright happy girl she
had been before. Even her favourite flowers seemed to have lost all
their beauty, and the pine trees near the farm looked as though they
were clothed in mourning. From time to time she attended the church at
Erlenbrunn; and when here she never failed to visit her father's grave.
On every opportunity she went to this sacred spot to weep for her
departed parent, and she never left the grave without having made fresh
resolutions to ignore the pleasures of the world, and to live only to
God. As time went on her grief gradually moderated, but she soon had
new trials to undergo.
Great changes took place in Pine Farm. The good farmer had given the
farm to his only son, an amiable, good-tempered young man, but unhappy
in his choice of a wife, whom he had married a short time before. She
was a handsome woman, and possessed of considerable means; but she was
vain to a degree, and cared for nothing but money. Pride and greed had
gradually imprinted on her features an expression of harshness so
striking that, with all her beauty, her looks were repellent. She was
violently opposed to religion, and was thus without any restraint on
her conduct. By every means in her power she sought to make the lives
of her husband's parents miserable. If she knew that anything would
give them pleasure, she delighted in doing the contrary, and when she
gave them the food which was their due, according to the contract they
had made with their son, it was always with a bad grace, and in a
grudging spirit.
The good old man and his wife lived the greater part of their time in a
little back room, seldom appearing outside. As for their son, he led a
miserable life; for his wife overwhelmed him with constant abuse, and
was constantly reminding him of the money she had brought him. Being of
a peaceable disposition, and averse to quarrelling and disputing, he
bore his sufferings in silence. His wife would never quietly allow him
to visit his parents, for fear, as she said, he would give them
something secretly. In the evening, after he had finished his work, he
used to try to find an opportunity to visit them, when he would
complain to them of his hard lot.
"Well," said his father, "so it is. You suffered yourself to be dazzled
by the thought of her gold, and to be fascinated by her good looks. I
yielded too easily to your wishes, and thus we are punished. We should
have taken the advice of old James, who was an experienced man and
never approved of this match when it was talked of. I well remember
every word he said on the subject, and I have thought of it many a
time. Do you remember," said he to his wife, "our having said that ten
thousand florins make a handsome sum. 'A handsome sum!' said James,
'no; for the flowers you see in your garden are a thousand times more
beautiful. Perhaps you mean to say it is a large and heavy sum. I will
acknowledge that. He must have good shoulders to bear it without being
bowed down to the earth, and without becoming a poor wretch, unable to
lift his head to heaven. Why then do you wish for so much money? You
have never wanted anything; you have always had more than sufficient.
Believe me, too much money produces pride. Rain is a useful and
necessary thing, but when too much falls there is danger of it
destroying the most healthy plants of the garden.'
"These were exactly the old friend's words we have lost," said the
farmer, "and I think I still hear him. And you, my son, once said to
him of your wife, 'She has a charming person, and is beautiful and
fresh as a rose.' 'Flowers,' answered James, 'have not beauty only;
they are good and pretty at the same time. They make so many rich
presents. The bee sucks in pure wax and delicious honey. Without piety,
a beautiful face is merely a rose upon paper, a miserable trifle
without life or perfume. It produces neither wax nor honey.' Such were
the reflections that James frankly made before us. We would not listen
to him--now we know how to appreciate his advice. That which appeared
then to us so great a happiness is now to us the height of misfortune.
May God give us grace to bear our misfortunes with patience!" Thus the
old couple and their son used to talk together.
Poor Mary had much to suffer also. The back room which she and her
father had occupied was given up to the old couple, and, although there
were two empty rooms in the farmhouse, the young farmer's wife, who
disliked Mary, gave her the most miserable apartment in the house;
beside which, she ill-treated her in every possible way, and loaded her
with abuse and fault-finding from morning to night. According to her,
Mary did not work enough and did not know how to do anything as it
ought to be done. In short, she made it very plain to the poor orphan
that she was despised and considered troublesome.
The old man and his wife were keenly conscious of the miserable life
that Mary led, but they were not in a position to interfere. They had
enough to do with their own griefs.
Mary thought often of going away from Pine Farm, but where to go was
the question. After some consideration she asked the minister's advice.
"My dear Mary," said the old minister, "it is impossible for you to
think of remaining longer at Pine Farm. They expect you to do more than
a strong man could accomplish. Still, I do not advise you to leave
immediately. Although your father gave you an excellent education, and
taught you all that it was necessary for a village housekeeper to know,
my advice would be to remain where you are for the present; to work as
faithfully as you can, and to wait patiently until the Lord delivers
you from your present hard circumstances. I will endeavour to get you a
place in an honest Christian family. Have confidence in God; pray
constantly, bear with this trial, and God will arrange all." Mary
thanked the good old minister and promised to follow his advice.
Mary's favourite place of meditation was her father's tomb, where she
had planted a rose tree. "Alas," said she, "if I could remain here
always, I would water you with my tears!" The rose tree was already
green, and the buds began to open their purple cups. "My father was
right," said Mary, "when he compared human life to the rose tree. It
offers nothing but thorns; but wait a little and the season will come
when it shall be decked anew in foliage and robed in the most beautiful
flowers. For me, this is now the time of thorns; but God help me not to
be cast down! I believe your word, best of fathers. Perhaps I may see
in my life the truth of your favourite maxim--'Patience produces roses.'"
Thus poor Mary consoled herself in her distress.
"Thou art, O Lord, my only trust,
When friends are mingled with the dust,
And all my loves are gone.
When earth has nothing to bestow,
And every flower is dead below,
I look to Thee alone."