to the menagerie with Uncle Ruthven, who knew so much of the wild
beasts and their habits, and who told of them in such an interesting
way, was no common treat. The day had been as April-like within as
without, clouds and sunshine by turns, ending at last in settled
brightness; and no one who had seen the happy faces of our Maggie and
Bessie would have thought that they could have worn such woeful looks
but a few hours since.
After reaching home, they were passing through the upper hall on their
way down to the parlor, where they had left papa and Uncle Ruthven,
when Aunt Patty's door opened, and she called them. They stood still
and hesitated.
"Come in," said Mrs. Lawrence again, in a gentle tone; "Aunt Patty
wants to speak to you."
Maggie and Bessie obeyed, but slowly and unwillingly, as the old lady
grieved to see, the former with drooping head and downcast eyes, while
Bessie peeped shyly up at her aunt from under her eyelashes.
"Aunt Patty was cross, and vexed you this morning," said Mrs. Lawrence;
"but she is sorry now. Come, kiss her and be friends."
In a moment Bessie's rosebud of a mouth was put up for the desired
kiss, but Maggie still held back. It was not that she was unforgiving,
but this meekness from Aunt Patty was something so new, and so contrary
to all the ideas she had formed of her, that she did not know how to
believe in it, or to understand it.
"Kiss her," whispered Bessie; "it is not 'bearing her burden' if you
don't."
So Maggie's face was lifted also, and as her aunt bent down and kissed
her, she was astonished to see how gentle and kind, although sad, she
looked. The "corners" were all out of sight just now, and Maggie even
began to feel sorry that she had wished Aunt Patty to be "a pillar of
salt which might be soaked away in the rain."
Mrs. Lawrence asked them if they had enjoyed themselves, and put a
question or two about the menagerie in a pleasant, gentle tone, which
showed that her ill-temper was all gone. Then there was a moment's
silence, the children wishing, yet not exactly knowing how, to run
away; at the end of which, Mrs. Lawrence said, in rather an embarrassed
voice, as if she were half ashamed of what she was doing, "Bessie,
where did you find that little hymn, 'Listen, oh, listen, our Father
all holy'?"
"Oh, it is in our dear little 'Chapel Gems,'" said the child. "Is it
not pretty, Aunt Patty? Mamma found it, and I asked her to teach it to
us, 'cause it was so sweet to say when any of us had been naughty. When
we sing it, I think it's just like a little prayer in music."
"Can you find the book for me?" asked the old lady.
"Mamma lent it to Mrs. Rush. She wanted to have the music, so we might
have it for one of our Sunday-school hymns. I'll ask mamma to let you
have it as soon as Aunt May sends it back."
"It is of no consequence," said Mrs. Lawrence, in a tone in which
Bessie fancied there was some disappointment. "Do not let me keep you
if you want to go."
Both children turned toward the door, but before they reached it,
Bessie lingered, also detaining Maggie, who held her hand.
"Aunt Patty," she said, sweetly, "I think it is of consequence if you
want it. And--and--I know 'Our Father all holy.' If you would like, I
can say it to you."
"Come, then, darling," answered the old lady, and standing at her knee
with Aunt Patty's hand resting on her curls, Bessie repeated, slowly
and correctly, this beautiful hymn:--
"Listen, oh, listen, our Father all holy!
Humble and sorrowful, owning my sin,
Hear me confess, in my penitence lowly,
How in my weakness temptation came in.
"Pity me now, for, my Father, no sorrow
Ever can be like the pain that I know;
When I remember that all through to-morrow,
Missing the light of thy love, I may go.
"For thy forgiveness, the gift I am seeking,
Nothing, oh, nothing, I offer to thee!
Thou to my sinful and sad spirit speaking,
Giving forgiveness, giv'st all things to me.
"Keep me, my Father, oh, keep me from falling!
I had not sinned, had I felt thou wert nigh;
Speak, when the voice of the tempter is calling
So that temptation before thee may fly.
"Thoughts of my sin much more humble shall make me,
For thy forgiveness I'll love thee the more;
So keep me humble until thou shall take me
Where sin and sorrow forever are o'er."[A]
"'I had not sinned, had I felt thou wert nigh,'" she said again, after
she was through with the last line. "I wish we could always remember
our Father is nigh; don't you, Aunt Patty? We know it, but sometimes we
forget it a little, and then the naughtiness comes, and so we grieve
him. But is not that a sweet hymn to say when we are sorry for our sin,
and want him to help and forgive us again? I felt it was yesterday when
I had been angry and spoken so naughty to you."
"Oh, child, child!" was all the answer Mrs. Lawrence gave. Her heart
had been softened before, now it was quite melted, and putting her arm
about Bessie, she drew her to her and kissed her on both cheeks; while
Maggie stood by wondering as she heard the tremor of Aunt Patty's voice
and saw something very like a tear in her eye.
"Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, Thou hast perfected praise,"
murmured the old lady to herself, when the door had closed behind the
children. "Lord, make me even like unto this little child, granting me
such faith, such grace, such patience, such an earnest desire to do thy
will, to live only to thy glory."
Yes, such were the lessons learned even by an old woman like Aunt Patty
from this little lamb of Jesus, this little follower of her blessed
Lord and Master. "Even a child is known by his doings."
"Who is for a summer among the mountains?" asked Mr. Bradford as the
family sat around the table after dinner.
"I am, and I, and I!" came from a chorus of young voices, for from
papa's look it was plainly to be seen that the question was addressed
to the children, and that the grown people had had their say before.
Even baby, who was learning to imitate everything, made a sound which
might be interpreted into an "I;" but one little voice was silent.
"And has my Bessie nothing to say?" asked papa.
"Is the sea at the mountains, papa?" said Bessie, answering his
question by another.
"No, dear," said her father, smiling, "but among the mountains to which
we think of going, there is a very beautiful lake, on the border of
which stands the house in which we shall stay."
"I am very fond of the sea, papa," answered Bessie, "and I think I
would prefer to go to Quam Beach again,--I mean if the others liked it
too."
"I do not doubt we should all enjoy ourselves at Quam," said Mr.
Bradford, "for we spent a very pleasant summer there last year. But
grandmamma does not think the sea-side good for Aunt Annie's throat,
and wishes to take her up among the mountains. The colonel's doctor has
also advised him to go there, so we shall not have the same delightful
party we had last summer if we go to Quam. About four miles from the
old homestead, and higher up in the Chalecoo Mountains, is this very
lovely lake set deep among the rocks and woods. Here lives a man named
Porter,--you remember him, Aunt Patty?"
"Certainly," answered Mrs. Lawrence, "he has been adding to and
refitting his house, with the intention of taking boarders, I believe.
Do you think of going there?"
"Yes. I remember even in former days it was an airy, comfortable old
place, and with the improvements which I hear Porter has made, I think
it will just suit our party. What do you say, Bessie? Would you not
like to go there with all the dear friends, rather than to Quam without
them?"
"Oh, yes," said Bessie; "I like my people better than I do the sea; but
then I do wish there was just a little bit of sea there, papa."
Papa smiled at Bessie's regret for the grand old ocean, which she loved
so dearly; but as he told her of the many new pleasures she might find
among the mountains, she began to think they might prove almost as
delightful as those of the last summer at Quam Beach.
So the plan was talked over with pleasure by all. Papa and Uncle
Ruthven were to start the next morning to go up to the lake, see the
house, and, if it suited, to make all the necessary arrangements. The
party was a large one to be accommodated,--grandmamma and Aunt Annie,
Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie, Colonel and Mrs. Rush, and Mr. and Mrs.
Bradford with all their family; and as soon as it was found to be
doubtful if this could be done, all the children, even Bessie, were in
a flutter of anxiety lest they should be disappointed. This was of no
use, however, for the matter could not be decided till papa and Uncle
Ruthven returned.
"I have a little private business with Maggie and Bessie," said papa,
as they rose from the table. "Young ladies, may I request the honor of
your company in my room for a few moments?"
Wondering what could be coming now, but sure from papa's face that it
was something very pleasant, the little girls went skipping and dancing
before him to the library, where, sitting down, papa lifted Bessie to
his knee, and Maggie upon the arm of the chair, holding her there with
his arm about her waist.
When they were all settled, Mr. Bradford said, "Uncle Ruthven and I
have a plan which we thought might please you, but if you do not like
it, you are to say so."
"Papa," said Maggie, "if it's any plan about that money, I think we'll
have to consider it a little first. You see it seems to us as if it was
very much Willie's money, and we will have to be a little accustomed to
think it must do good to some one else."
This was said with a very grave, businesslike air, which sat rather
drolly upon our merry, careless Maggie, and her father smiled.
"I shall tell you," he said, "and then you may have the next two days,
till Uncle Ruthven and I come back, to consider it. Dr. Dawson thinks
it necessary for Willie Richards to have change of air as soon as he
is able to travel. Of course his mother must go with him, to take care
of him; and, indeed, it is needful for the poor woman herself to have
mountain air. I have thought that we might find some quiet farmhouse
at or near Chalecoo, where Willie and his mother could go for two or
three months at a small cost; but I do not believe it is possible for
the policeman to afford even this, without very great discomfort and
even suffering to himself and his family. Now, how would you like to
use the money Uncle Ruthven gave you to pay the board of Willie and his
mother, and so still spend it for his good and comfort? As I said, you
may take two days to think over this plan, and if it does not suit you,
you can say so."
Ah! this was quite unnecessary, as papa probably knew. _This_ needed no
consideration. Why, it was almost as good as paying Dr. Dawson,--rather
better, Maggie thought.
But Bessie could not quite agree to this last. "I am very satisfied,
papa," she said, "but then it would have been so nice to think our
money helped to make blind Willie see his mother's face."
"Maggie, have you forgiven that old woman yet?" asked Fred, when his
father and little sisters had joined the rest of the family in the
other room.
"Oh, yes!" said Maggie. "I think she is lovely! She has made things a
great deal better for us, though she did not know it, and blind Willie
is to go to the country. But you are not to talk about it, Fred, for he
is not to be told till it is all fixed, and papa has found the place;
and we are to pay the board, and I'm so sorry I said bad things about
her, even if she was only the messenger, and some one sent her."
"Hallo!" said Fred, "anything more?"
"I am so full of gladness, I don't know what to do with it," said
Maggie, who very often found herself in this state; "but I am so very
tired I can't hop much to-night."
[Illustration: decoration, end of chap. 14]
[Illustration: Title decoration, chap. 15]
XV.
_WILLIE'S VISIT._
"There," said Mrs. Granby, holding Willie Richards at arm's length from
her, and gazing at him with pride and admiration,--"there, I'd like to
see the fellow, be he man, woman, or child, that will dare to say my
boy is not fit to stand beside any gentleman's son in the land."
Certainly Mrs. Granby had no need to be ashamed of the object of her
affectionate care. His shoes, though well worn and patched, had been
blacked and polished till they looked quite respectable; the suit made
from his father's old uniform was still neat and whole, for Willie's
present quiet life was a great saving to his clothes, if that were
any comfort; his white collar was turned back and neatly tied with a
black ribbon, and Mrs. Granby had just combed back the straight locks
from his pale, fair forehead in a jaunty fashion which she thought
highly becoming to him. There was a look of hope and peace on his
delicate face which and not been there for many a long day, for last
night his father had told him that the doctor had an almost sure hope
of restoring his sight, if he were good and patient, and that the
operation was to take place the next week. The news had put fresh heart
and life into the poor boy, and now, as Mrs. Granby said this, he
laughed aloud, and throwing both arms about her neck, and pressing his
cheek to hers, said,--
"Thank you, dear Auntie Granby. I know I am nice when you fix me up.
Pretty soon I shall _see_ how nice you make me look."
"Come now, Jennie, bring along that mop of yours," said Mrs. Granby,
brandishing a comb at Jennie, and, half laughing, half shrinking, the
little girl submitted to put her head into Mrs. Granby's hands. But,
as had been the case very often before, it was soon given up as a
hopeless task. Jennie's short, crisp curls defied both comb and brush,
and would twist themselves into close, round rings, lying one over
another after their own will and fashion.
"I don't care," said Jennie, when Mrs. Granby pretended to be very
angry at the rebellious hair,--"I don't care if it won't be smoothed;
it is just like father's, mother says so; and anything like him is good
enough for me."
"Well, I won't say no to that," said Mrs. Granby, putting down the
brush and throwing Jennie's dress over her head. "The more you're like
him in all ways, the better you'll be, Jennie Richards, you mind that."
"I do mind it," said Jennie. "I know he's the best father ever lived.
Isn't he, Willie?"
"S'pose that's what all young ones says of their fathers and mothers,"
answered Mrs. Granby, "even s'posin' the fathers and mothers ain't
much to boast of. But you're nearer the truth, Jennie, than some of
them, and it's all right and nat'ral that every child should think its
own folks the best. There's little Miss Bradfords, what you're goin' up
to see, they'd be ready to say the same about their pa."
"And good reason, too," chimed in Mrs. Richards. "He's as true and
noble a gentleman as ever walked, and a good friend to us."
"That's so," answered Mrs. Granby, "I'll not gainsay you there neither.
And that's come all along of your man just speaking a kind word or two
to that stray lamb of his. And if I'd a mind to contradick you, which I
haint, there's Sergeant Richards himself to back your words. The bairns
is 'most ready, sergeant; and me and Mary was just sayin' how strange
it seemed that such a friend as Mr. Bradford was raised up for you
just along of a bit of pettin' you give that lost child. It's as the
gentleman says,--'bread cast upon the waters;' but who'd ha' thought
to see it come back the way it does? It beats all how things do come
around."
"Under God's guidance," said the policeman, softly. "The Lord's ways
are past finding out."
"I'll agree to that too," answered Mrs. Granby, "bein' in an
accommodatin' humor this afternoon. There, now, Jennie, you're ready.
Mind your manners now, and behave pretty, and don't let Willie go
to falling down them long stairs at Mrs. Bradford's. There, kiss
your mother, both of you, and go away with your father. I s'pose he
ain't got no time to spare. I'll go over after them in an hour or so,
Sergeant Richards."
Here Tommy began very eagerly with his confused jargon which no one
pretended to understand but Jennie.
"What does he say, Jennie?" asked the father.
"He says, 'Nice little girl, come some more. Bring her doggie,'" said
Jennie; then turning to her mother, she asked, "Mother, do you b'lieve
you can understand Tommy till I come back?"
"I'll try," said her mother, smiling; "if I cannot, Tommy and I must be
patient. Run now, father is waiting."
Mrs. Granby followed them to the door, and even to the gate, where she
stood and watched them till they were out of sight, for, as she told
Mrs. Richards, "it did her a heap of good to see the poor things goin'
off for a bit of a holiday."
The policeman and his children kept steadily on till they reached the
park near which Mr. Bradford lived, where they turned in.
"How nice it is!" said Willie as the fresh, sweet air blew across his
face, bringing the scent of the new grass and budding trees. "It seems
a little like the country here. Don't you wish we lived in the country,
father?"
"I would like it, Willie, more for your sake than for anything else,
and I wish from my heart I could send you and mother off to the country
this summer, my boy. But you see it can't be managed. But I guess
somehow father will contrive to send you now and then up to Central
Park, or for a sail down the bay or up the river. And you and Jennie
can come over here every day and play about awhile, and that will put a
bit of strength in you, if you can't get out into the country."
"And then I shall see; sha'n't I, father? I hear the birds. Are they
hopping about like they used to, over the trees, so tame and nice?"
"Yes," answered his father, "and here we are by the water, where's a
whole heap of 'em come down for a drink." In his new hope, Willie took
a fresh interest in all about him.
"Oh, I hear 'em!" said Willie, eagerly, "and soon I'll see 'em. Will it
be next week, father?" and he clasped tightly the hand he held.
"I don't know about next week, sonny. I believe your eyes have to be
bandaged for a while, lest the light would be too bright for them,
while they're still weak, but you will have patience for that; won't
you, Willie?"
Willie promised, for it seemed to him that he could have patience and
courage for anything now.
"Oh!" said Jennie, as they reached Mr. Bradford's house, and went up
the steps, "don't I wish I lived in a house like this!"
"Don't be wishing that," said her father. "You'll see a good many
things here such as you never saw before, but you mustn't go to wishing
for them or fretting after the same. We've too much to be thankful for,
my lassie, to be hankering for things which are not likely ever to be
ours."
"'Tis no harm to wish for them; is it, father?" asked Jennie, as they
waited for the door to be opened.
"It's not best even to wish for what's beyond our reach," said her
father, "lest we should get to covet our neighbors' goods, or to be
discontented with our own lot; and certainly we have no call to do
that."
Richards asked for Mrs. Bradford, and she presently came down,
bringing Maggie and Bessie with her. Jennie felt a little strange and
frightened at first when her father left her. Making acquaintance with
Maggie and Bessie in her own home was a different thing from coming to
visit them in their large, handsome house, and they scarcely seemed to
her like the same little girls. But when Maggie took her up-stairs, and
showed her the baby-house and dolls, she forgot everything else, and
looked at them, quite lost in admiration.
Willie was not asked to look at anything. The little sisters had
thought of what he had said the day they went to see him, and agreed
that Bessie was to take care of him while Maggie entertained Jennie.
He asked after Flossy, and the dog was called, and behaved quite as
well as he had done when he saw Willie before, lying quiet in his arms
as long as the blind boy chose to hold him, and putting his cold nose
against his face in an affectionate way which delighted Willie highly.
There was no difficulty in amusing Jennie, who had eyes for all that
was to be seen, and who thought she could never be tired of handling
and looking at such beautiful toys and books. But perhaps the children
would hardly have known how to entertain Willie for any length of time,
if a new pleasure had not accidentally been furnished for him.
Maggie and Bessie had just taken him and his sister into the nursery to
visit the baby, the canary bird, and other wonders there, when there
came sweet sounds from below. Willie instantly turned to the door and
stood listening.
"Who's making that music?" he asked presently in a whisper, as if he
were afraid to lose a note.
"Mamma and Aunt Bessie," said Maggie.
"Would you and Jennie like to go down to the parlor and hear it?" asked
Bessie.
Willie said "Yes," very eagerly, but Jennie did not care to go where
the grown ladies were, and said she would rather stay up-stairs if
Maggie did not mind.
Maggie consented, and Bessie went off, leading the blind boy by the
hand. It was both amusing and touching to see the watch she kept
over this child who was twice her own size, guiding his steps with
a motherly sort of care, looking up at him with wistful pity and
tenderness, and speaking to him in a soft, coaxing voice such as one
would use to an infant.
They were going down-stairs when they met Aunt Patty coming up. She
passed them at the landing, then suddenly turning, said, in the short,
quick way to which Bessie was by this time somewhat accustomed,
"Children! Bessie! This is very dangerous! You should not be leading
that poor boy down-stairs. Where are your nurses, that they do not
see after you? Take care, take care! Look where you are going now!
Carefully, carefully!"
Now if Aunt Patty had considered the matter, she would have known she
was taking the very way to bring about the thing she dreaded. Willie
had been going on fearlessly, listening to his gentle little guide; but
at the sound of the lady's voice he started, and as she kept repeating
her cautions, he grew nervous and uneasy; while Bessie, instead of
watching his steps and taking heed to her own, kept glancing up at her
aunt with an uncomfortable sense of being watched by those sharp eyes.
However, they both reached the lower hall in safety, where Bessie led
her charge to the parlor-door. "Mamma," she said, "Willie likes music
very much. I suppose you would just as lief he would listen to you and
Aunt Bessie."
"Certainly," said mamma. "Bring him in."
But before they went in, Willie paused and turned to Bessie.
"Who was that on the stairs?" he asked in a whisper.
"Oh! that was only Aunt Patty," answered the little girl. "You need not
be afraid of her. She don't mean to be so cross as she is; but she is
old, and had a great deal of trouble, and not very wise people to teach
her better when she was little. So she can't help it sometimes."
"No," said Willie, slowly, as if he were trying to recollect something,
"I am not afraid; but then I thought I had heard that voice before."
"Oh, I guess not," said Bessie; and then she took him in and seated him
in her own little arm-chair, close to the piano.
No one who had noticed the way in which the blind boy listened to the
music, or seen the look of perfect enjoyment on his pale, patient face,
could have doubted his love for the sweet sounds. While Mrs. Bradford
and Miss Rush played or sang, he sat motionless, not moving a finger,
hardly seeming to breathe, lest he should lose one note.
"So you are very fond of music; are you, Willie?" said Mrs. Bradford,
when at length they paused.
"Yes, ma'am, very," said he, modestly; "but I never heard music like
that before. It seems 'most as if it was alive."
"So it does," said Bessie, while the ladies smiled at the boy's
innocent admiration.
"I think there's a many nice things in this house," continued Willie,
who, in his very helplessness and unconsciousness of the many new
objects which surrounded him, was more at his ease than his sister.
"And mamma is the nicest of all," said Bessie. "You can't think how
precious she is, Willie!"
Mrs. Bradford laughed as she put back her little daughter's curls, and
kissed her forehead.
"I guess she must be, when she is your mother," said Willie. "You must
all be very kind and good people here; and I wish, oh, I wish it was
you and your sister who gave the money for Dr. Dawson. But never mind;
I thank you and love you all the same as if you had done it, only I
would like to think it all came through you. And father says"--
Here Willie started, and turned his sightless eyes towards the open
door, through which was again heard Mrs. Lawrence's voice, as she gave
directions to Patrick respecting a parcel she was about to send home.
"What is the matter, Willie?" asked Mrs. Bradford.