Produced by Joel Erickson, Charles Franks, Juliet Sutherland
THE HERO OF HILL HOUSE
By Mabel Hale
CONTENTS
Home and Mother
The Stricken Home
Austin and His Father
Austin Goes to His Father
Humiliation for Austin
To the Country Again
The Runaway
Wayside Friends
The Captain’s Guest
With Uncle John Again
Austin Takes Care of Himself
The Revival
The Young Church-Member
Home Again
The Battle of Two Wills
Seeking New Pasture
To the Hay-Fields
Six Weeks of Haying
Indecision and Restlessness
Mother Hilman’s Opinion
Like the Troubled Sea
Planning for Themselves
Austin and Amy
A Shopping-Expedition
Harry Hill
Uncle Philip’s Children
The Family Circle Narrows
A Stormy Season
Austin’s New Home
The Opinions of Parson Hawley and His Wife
THE HERO OF HILL HOUSE
CHAPTER 1
HOME AND MOTHER
It was the evening of a quiet day in late autumn, and the inmates of the
little farm home were gathered safely together around the supper-table. I
say the family, but they were not all there. Father’s place was vacant, for
he had gone to town that afternoon and would not be home till late bedtime.
His reason for being late was the great shadow over this otherwise happy
home. The children, down to baby Doyle, three years old, knew that when he
came, he would be in no condition to be seen in the presence of his
children, and that money which was needed badly in his home would have been
spent for strong drink.
But all the others were there. Mother sat in her place at the foot of the
table, and little Doyle sat at her right hand in his high chair. The others
were ranged on both sides of the table, leaving the vacant place at the
head. There were eight children in all, the eldest a boy of sixteen, and
the youngest little Doyle. The three older children were boys, George and
Wilbur, sixteen and fifteen years old, respectively, and Austin, aged
thirteen. Then were two girls, Amy and Nell. After them came Harry, a fine
little fellow of seven, Lila, a tiny girl of five, and last of all the
baby.
Every child was robust and rosy, ready for a hearty meal and all the fun
that was to be had. Mother sat as queen, a dear, beloved queen, and the
children as they talked back and forth in happy freedom turned to her for
reference and sanction in all that was said. There was not one but bowed in
adoration at the beautiful mother’s feet. And her eyes, how lovingly they
rested upon them! And how she seemed to be treasuring them in her heart!
This was indeed her kingdom, and she was happy. But of course there was a
sadness in her happiness, because her husband and the father of her
children was choosing a path that took him out of the family circle. But
since such was his choice, she was determined to make it up to her lads and
lassies to the best of her ability, and throw her teaching and daily
instruction against the influence of their father. She was making this
evening pleasant that they might forget the shadow that hung over them.
With supper over and the evening chores done, the family gathered about the
fireside, some read, the little ones played, and Mother busied with her
sewing. An atmosphere of peace rested upon them, in spite of the shadow
that hangs over every home into which the demon drink has entered.
“Doyle, Lila, it is time for little people to be in bed. Harry, you have no
lessons, you had better go to bed also,” said the mother.
“So soon, Mother? May we not play a little longer?”
“Bedtime now, little man, and run along without waiting for more play.”
Three little people trooped off to bed to be tucked in a little later after
the good-night kisses and evening prayers. Soon the girls went sleepily off
to bed with a good-night kiss. Just Mother and her boys were left, and now
was the time for a quiet talk with them. A gentle word from her and the
conversation was begun.
Softly she led them on till they were telling her of their doings among the
boys, and their plans and hopes. It was only a friendly visit, but into it
she put wise counsel as well as thoughtful understanding. They wondered,
afterward, if she this evening felt the other shadow which at this time was
entirely hidden from their eyes, that she should talk to them so. Perhaps
she did. We can not know. But deeper than this was her yearning for her
sons just entering manhood. She knew that only a little way at best could
she go with them, and then they must choose their own path. She wanted the
little time left to be filled with those things that would make their
pathway light.
The evening passed, and after a time all were in their beds. Only one low
light remained, and that was set to guide the father when he should return.
When the father came, if he had been in condition to notice, he would have
seen a bare little room now that the mother was out of it, with signs of
poverty everywhere. The old table and worn chairs, bare floors scarred with
the tread of little feet, the scant cupboard, the worn shoes by the fire,
all told how little the queen of the home had to work with. There was
nothing of beauty here but herself and her love.
But Henry Hill did not think any of these thoughts. He was already half
asleep, and he crawled into his bed without a word or thought for those
whom he should have loved and protected. And in the morning each one of the
family secretly thanked God that Father had lain down without disturbing
them.
The morning brought another day of busy care for Elizabeth Hill. Her hands
were full from morning till night helping, lifting the heavy burdens, and
directing the work of the children, in all bearing the responsibility of
the family.
Was she happy? Yes, in their love, and in the anticipation of the future of
her children, especially her boys just entering manhood. Her thoughts were
always with them, and her prayers followed them in all that they did. So
much was at stake. Three lives to be made or marred. Three men to bless the
world or to curse it. And they had the blight upon them which their father
was bringing. Every woman who is a real mother knows that Elizabeth Hill’s
face was often wet with tears as she contemplated what the future might
bring. And happy are the sons who are blessed with such a mother. Her value
is untold. The wealth of the world has nothing to compare with her. Yet how
often it is taken for granted that she will be as good as she is, and her
life made unhappy by the ones for whom she works and prays!
If Elizabeth Hall had known, and if her boys had known, what lay just
ahead, perhaps the days would have been made fuller yet of loving counsel
and happy association. But the veil was before their faces, and they did
not know. Possibly that was best. If the veil were lifted and we knew our
future, our hearts might faint within us. It is enough that for each day is
given grace for its toils. Elizabeth loved her boys and was giving them the
best of herself, and that is all she could have done if she had known.