AUSTIN GOES TO HIS FATHER
One evening Austin and the children were coming home from their work in the
gardens, tired and lonely. They could not get used to coming to the house
so quiet and empty. Home was not as it used to be, but the brave children
were making the best of it.
“I wonder if there will be a letter from Papa,” Amy said as they drew near
the mail-box, “and if he has a new home for us yet. I should like to see
Grandma, and I do want to see Doyle and Lila.” Harry, running on ahead,
reached into the box and drew out a letter, at sight of which the other
children quickened their steps. It was addressed to Austin and was in their
father’s handwriting:
“Dear Austin, I have gotten things in shape to have you children come to
me. I will send you tickets in a few days. In the meantime dispose of the
things in the house excepting what you can bring in your trunks. Uncle John
will help you do this and see that you get started all right. Write me a
card early enough so that I shall know when to meet you. We are all well.
Henry Hill.”
Austin was trembling all over with excitement mingled with tears. He was
glad for the change, for the loneliness was nearly killing him, but he
hated to leave Uncle John and his family, and all the neighbors, and
Mother’s grave. He had almost ceased to hope that his father would send for
them, but here was the letter at last.
Henry Hill was careless, we must admit, in his duty, but he was not
careless of the opinions of others. Be had been stung to the quick more
than once by the insinuations and admonitions of his parents and
acquaintances that he was not doing his duty by his children. His mother
especially nagged him about it. He might have passed her words off as the
whims of childishness, but she was not alone in her condemnations.
“Henry, you are not doing right. Austin is only a little boy and you are
laying on him too great a burden,” she would say.
“That is where you are mistaken, Mother. Austin is as tall as I am, and
plenty strong enough to do all he is doing. They are getting along fine.
Austin says so in his letters,” he would answer.
“You are not doing right,” retorted his mother, and her tones implied more
than her words.
It seemed strange to Mr. Hill that he could not make any one understand the
situation. Austin had been willing to stay. He had expressed no reluctance
at all, and every week brought a letter from the children telling how well
they were getting along. He was not hurt by any remorse at their words, but
it seemed to him that they were unnecessarily partial to Austin in their
judgment, and he felt a sort of animosity toward him on that account.
Austin was only doing his duty by the children, so why should he be so
praised and pitied? But a man can not long stand the bite of a fly without
flinching, and Henry Hill found that he must do something to rid himself of
these criticisms. He hated to do it, but he would have to send for the
children and again set up housekeeping.
“O Elizabeth,” he thought, “why did you have to be taken from me when I
need you so much? If you were here, I would not have all this to bear. You
made my life easy and happy.”
It was with satisfaction that Mother Hill listened to her son explain that
he had already sent for the children and must look for a house for them.
After a hasty toilet and a little to eat the children took the letter over
to Uncle John’s. Mr. Moore read it through, then sat still for a while
without comment. At last he spoke, “What does Henry mean by laying such
heavy responsibility upon the boy? No instructions, no plans! One would
think he believed Austin to be of age.”
“I suppose the only thing, Austin, for you to do is to make ready to go to
him as your father tells us to do. I shall be glad to render you all the
assistance possible. But I hate to see you go. If you remained here I could
look after you and see that you get along all right. But it is not for me
to say how your father shall manage his affairs.” If John Moore expressed a
little bitterness in addressing the boy, he kept back most of what he felt.
He knew the habit of drink that bound his brother-in-law, and how it was
weakening his manhood, and he doubted either the interest or the capability
of the man to care for the children. He was certain a great deal of
responsibility would rest upon Austin, and he feared the father would not
always be just with him. But he wisely kept all these doubtful thoughts to
himself and helped the boy prepare for the journey.
The children were up early the next morning for their last day of work in
the gardens of Mr. Long. That gentleman was much concerned when Austin told
him of the letter and their plans.
“Austin,” he said, “you are a brave boy, and one that can be trusted. I am
going to ask you to promise me one thing. When you are with your father
again, do not follow in his steps. Your father has habits that are no good
to him, and would only ruin your life.”
“Mr. Long, I promised Mother long ago that I would never touch a drop of
liquor,” said Austin, knowing well what the man meant.
“Good for you, Austin; stand by that decision as long as you live, and it
will be well with you.”
Uncle John and Aunt Tillie were true to their promise about helping the
children prepare for the journey. They spent much of the time with the
children, and when the little house was empty of its furniture, they took
them to their own home till time for them to go. Every day they heaped
Austin with advice and counsel. The children heard them talking to him
telling him just how to make the changes on their journey and how to
arrange the baggage, and how to conduct themselves, and it filled them with
respect for their brother. They felt safe in his care and certain that he
would bring them safely to their father once more.
“Austin,” said his uncle one day, “there is one promise I wish you to make
me. You are a good boy and have started out the right way to make a noble
man. I want you to say that you will not follow in your father’s footsteps.
He is not the man he would have been without drink. He caused your mother
many heartaches. You will promise?”
“I promised Mama that before she died, and I will always keep it,” answered
Austin with feeling.
“I do not know how things will go when you are gone from here, but I tell
you now, boy, that if you ever need a friend or find yourself out of a
home, let me know, and I will send you money to come to us. I am sorry you
are going so far away. I want to see that you have a chance to make good in
life.”
To the neglected, over-burdened boy these tender words were like a balm to
his heart. He felt no sense of protection from his father, and he missed
his mother always. At times it seemed that his load was too heavy for him
to bear. Yet to his father he would make no complaint, lest the home be
broken up. He loved the children tenderly for their own sake, and with a
deeper love yet for her sake who had been called away from them. Sometimes
he had to forget that he was a boy and look ahead and think like a man.
“Austin, we hear you are going to your father. We are glad of it, but, boy,
take the advice of a friend of your father’s, do not follow his footsteps.
He is a good fellow and we like him, but he would have been a better man to
his family if he never had learned to drink. It would never do you any
good,” said Pete Dykes one day.
Pete was one of his father’s cronies, and this advice surprized Austin.
“Pete is right in that. You are better off if you never learn to drink,”
said Sam Phipps, Pete’s companion.
“I have that settled and mean to stay by my decision,” answered Austin
while his eyes rested on the two men in pity.
At last the day came to start, and everything was ready for the journey.
They would be at least a day and a night on the way, and would have to
change in the heart of a great city, but Austin was certain that by
following his uncle’s careful directions they would get along all right.
They started to the station early so that they should have time to stop and
speak to the neighbors who would be at their gates to bid the children
farewell. The eyes of the neighborhood were upon the children, and many
expressions of disapproval of their father’s management were made. Also the
kind people remembered with genuine sorrow the loss of their friend and
neighbor, Elizabeth Hill. Tears wet honest faces as the people bade the
children good-by.
Uncle John and Aunt Tillie stood with their arms about the children as the
great engine drew near, and clasped them once more to their bosoms in a
last caress, then they were on the train and away. This journey was like
their first month alone, too uneventful to deserve any comment. Their
father was at the station to meet them and took them directly to their
grandfather’s home. As this home was too small to accommodate them long,
their new home was waiting for them. Grandmother Hill received them with
open arms. She felt much more contented to have them where she could know
all was well. Lila and Doyle were delighted beyond measure to see their
sisters and brothers, especially Austin. In all it was a most happy
reunion, and it was with satisfaction that they went on down to the little
cottage that had been prepared for them.