When Mr. Martin and the young folks had got to the bottom of the steps,
Helen once more mounted her pony, and they proceeded down the glen till
they nearly reached the beginning of the green holm, when they again
turned up the public road, by the side of the river; Bob chose here to
make a stop, to drink some of the clear sweet water of the burn, before he
crossed it; and while he was gratifying his taste, John observing that the
late rains had washed away some of the stepping stones, which served to
prevent passengers from wetting their feet in getting to the other side,
began to bring the largest he could carry, for Mr. Martin's accommodation;
and by the time that Bob had finished his drink, had made quite a dry path
for him to cross. As for himself, poor fellow, stepping stones were not
necessary; for the boys in his rank in life in Scotland wear neither
stockings nor shoes during the week; only on Sundays are they indulged
with this piece of finery. Mr. Martin looked pleased with this attention.
"Thank you, John," said he; "that is being both a useful and observing
boy. Such little civilities to those around you, my dear, will make you
beloved by everybody;" and turning to Helen, he continued, "This is what
your dear mother calls natural politeness, and which she loves so much to
see in young people; as she says it is the mark of a good disposition."
Bob now moved on, Mr. Martin and John by his side, conversing upon
different subjects. Just after they had crossed the burn, they reached the
farm-house of David Little's master, Mr. Elliott, which stood on a rising
ground, at no great distance.
There was nothing remarkable in the house itself; but its situation was
extremely beautiful: the little burn running on one side of it, and the
more majestic Esk on the other; the garden in front extending quite to the
edge of the rock, at the bottom of which a narrow path had been cut,
barely sufficient to allow the small carts of the country to pass along.
"Here," said Helen to her father, pointing to it, "is the loveliest spot
in the whole dale for a residence. Were I rich, I should like to buy that
house and garden, and live in it with you and mamma; would you like to
live there, papa?" asked she. "Why," returned he, "my dear Helen, I think
you have certainly shown your taste by making choice, in the event of
being rich, of Mr. Elliott's cottage; for I have often thought as you do,
that it is the most beautiful situation in the dale; but I am not sure,
for myself, that I should like to live there, in preference to the snug
comforts of my own little manse. Custom has endeared my present home to
me, and I own that to me it would be a painful sacrifice, to be obliged to
move out of it; even were it to go to a rich home of yours. However, my
dear," continued he, "though I may, with the blessing of God, hope to end
my days in my present peaceful abode, yet, in the natural course of
events, you probably will have to look out, at some future time, for
another place of residence; and should you become rich, which at present
is not very likely, you then may be able to gratify your ambition, if a
knowledge of the world should not produce in you a change of mind, in
regard to this object."
Helen was silent for some minutes, considering what was meant by saying
she might be obliged to change her place of residence; and when her
father's meaning broke upon her mind, the tears stole gently down her
cheeks. Poor girl! it was almost the first painful thought her dear parent
had ever raised in her mind; and it was with great difficulty she
suppressed her emotion. She knew, however, that her kind mother was
extremely anxious, and indeed had spared no pains to teach her the
necessity of controlling her feelings, as she had a great dislike to that
sickly kind of sensibility which many children are in the habit of
indulging, by giving way to tears on trivial occasions; a habit which two
years before she herself had found great difficulty in overcoming. The
judicious management of her mother, aided by her own sincere desire to
please so good a parent, had now nearly corrected this habit. Of what
great and essential service this was to her happiness through life, will
appear in the course of this little tale. John had heard all that passed,
but did not quite comprehend what was meant. He walked on, however, in
silence, considering in his mind how much he should like to be rich enough
to gratify Miss Helen. Little did he think, poor boy, that the day would
come, when, in that very cottage, he would receive Miss Helen, and watch
over her declining health, with all the respect and affection of a
brother.
Mr. Martin, observing that his conversation had thrown a little gloom over
the faces of the young folks, said cheerfully, "Come, my dears! let us
think of something that will amuse us. Helen! suppose you sing us a song!
John has given us one already; and I heard you telling your mamma last
night that you had learnt a pretty new one; I should like to hear you sing
it very much." "Well, papa," said Helen, "I will try to please you; but I
am afraid I am not quite perfect yet. I hope you will excuse me, if I make
any blunders." She then began the following lines, which she sang in a
sweet, clear and natural voice: