THE PROPOSAL.
This one idea was so constantly in Gerald’s mind, that it could
scarcely be said to be ever absent from his thoughts. He dwelt on it as
he sat over his work by day; he dreamed of it at night; and he prayed
constantly for the blessing of God upon it. Still he said not a word
to any one, being afraid that should he do so, his plan might meet
with opposition. He feared that Margaret would say he was too young to
engage in such work.
When a little more than two years had elapsed, he began to think that
he might make known his plan with some hope of success. He was by this
time a fine tall lad of nearly thirteen. He thought the most suitable
season for making such a proposal would be as he and Margaret were
returning from one of their visits to the works. The state of health in
which they found poor Michael, at the next visit, favoured the project.
He was evidently much worn, and Margaret was almost broken-hearted when
she parted from him, thinking it probable that she should never see him
again alive.
As they walked home, the poor woman leaned on Gerald’s arm and wept
bitterly. ‘Now,’ thought he, ‘is the time for me to name my plan;’ so,
looking up tenderly in her face, he said, ‘I have something to say to
you, dear mother, which I hope will make you dry up your tears. I have
often tried to cheer you with the prospect of a happier time, but now I
think it is nearly come.’
‘You mean,’ said Margaret sorrowfully, ‘that I and my poor Michael
shall soon be together in a happier world.’
‘No, good mother, I don’t mean that,’ Gerald eagerly returned, ‘I hope
you will meet together in Heaven at last; but not very soon. Oh no, I
mean that you will ere long be happy together in our own home.’
‘Never, never, my dear boy,’ she cried, weeping afresh.
‘Don’t weep so, mother, but listen to what I am going to say to you,’
Gerald added, and a bright smile lighted up his intelligent face. ‘I am
now a tall, strong boy--almost as tall, and quite as strong, I think,
as dear father was when he was carried off; and I mean to take his
place and let him come home to you.’
Margaret looked up in amazement, but she did not speak, for her
feelings were too powerful to admit of words.
‘I mean,’ Gerald proceeded, ‘to go to the Czar myself. I hear that
he is generally to be found, either at his cottage in the island or
else overlooking the works. I am not afraid of the Czar, mother: the
errand on which I shall go will take away all fear. I feel as bold as a
lion--aye, and as strong too.’
‘Thou art a noble boy, Gerald,’ cried Margaret, at length finding
utterance. ‘Go,’ she added, ‘and may God bless thee.’
‘You consent then, good mother, you consent?’ cried Gerald in an
ecstacy of delight. ‘My only fear was, lest you should oppose my plan;
but if you consent, it will--it shall be done.’
‘Nay, my dear child,’ Margaret said, ‘I am not the only person likely
to oppose your plan; the Czar may not be willing to make the exchange.’
‘Surely he will,’ cried the boy, ‘surely this strong limb--holding out
his right arm--can do him better service than poor father’s now weak
one can do; and gratitude and affection for one who has done so much
for me will nerve it for its work.’
Gerald then begged Margaret not to say anything at home concerning
his design, and that she would allow him to put it into operation
immediately.
He had heard that it was the Emperor Peter’s constant practice to rise
at five in the morning, and he determined on seeking him at that early
hour, before his attention was taken up with the business of the day.
There were difficulties, however, in the way of his carrying out this
purpose. The little island on which Peter made his home, was a good
day’s journey from their village, and as the only houses built upon it
were the Czar’s (which was but a mere hut,) the prime minister’s and a
sort of inn, where Peter and his friends mostly spent their Sundays, he
was fearful lest he should not be able to get any conveyance across the
water.
Nothing daunted, by these seeming obstacles, he resolved on setting out
for the place the very next day.