SURPRISE--UNEXPECTED RELIEF--GRATITUDE.
On the morning of the day on which the events of the preceding chapter
took place, Mr. Townsend received by mail a letter notifying him that a
note of twelve hundred dollars, drawn by the firm that had failed, in
his favor, and by him endorsed, would be due at a certain bank on the
next day, and desiring him to see that it was duly honored. All this
was known to Mr. Townsend, but the formal notification thereof by the
holders of the maturing paper, made him feel worse even than he already
felt in the prospect of its being dishonored, both by the drawers and
himself. He had about two hundred dollars, and that was all he had. He
was in no position to borrow. The case, therefore, looked desperate.
A few recent business transactions with the now quite important house
of Jones, Claire, & Co. had brought him into contact with Albertson,
whom he very well remembered, and also the harsh rebuff he had given
him. Albertson was not only polite, but really kind, and had in two or
three instances, thrown business in his way, for which he could not but
feel grateful, although a recollection of the past stung him at times,
and made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. The thought of applying to
Albertson for temporary aid, in this important crisis of his affairs,
once or twice crossed his mind. But,
“No, no; not from him of all others!” he would reply, shaking his head.
To attend to business was impossible. During most of the morning, he
sat moodily at his desk, or walked uneasily about his store, searching
in his mind for some measure of relief, without meeting with a single
suggestion.
In the afternoon, in the anxious desire he felt to see the note falling
due on the next day paid, he partly made up his mind to make use of an
advance on goods then landing from a vessel on the wharf, which he was
to receive in the morning, in paying the note, instead of remitting
it to his consignors. But how was the amount to be made up afterward?
What right had he to use the money of others, without their consent,
especially when the prospect of replacing it immediately was very
doubtful? These questions threw his mind off of that dependence.
“It’s no use,” he at length said, as the day began to decline, “for
me to think about it. The note cannot be paid, and I must take the
consequences. I shall lose a number of good consignors in consequence,
and my business will suffer severely, perhaps be broken up. I shall be
sued at once, and, as I have no defence, judgment will be obtained in a
few weeks, and then will follow an execution, and I shall be swept out
to the last copper. Well, let it come! Perhaps I can stand that, also.
Humph! Providence! It’s a strange kind of Providence!”
The thought of Providence was connected in his mind with the thought of
Eunice. Her pure young face rose before him, and her mild eyes, full
of religious trust, were looking into his.
“Dear child!” he murmured, instantly subdued; “there is a Providence,
or such love as yours would never have been given to sustain me in this
extremity, and to teach me patience, reliance, and hope in something
above the world and its corrupting moth. For your sweet spirit, that
holds me up in these dark trials, Heaven knows I am thankful. Let
the worst come. All will not be dark. There will be one star in the
midnight sky, shining ever through rifted clouds.”
In this better state of mind, Mr. Townsend joined his family that
evening. Something in the expression of each face he met at home,
surprised him. At dinner time, a dead silence, broken occasionally by
a word, had pervaded the cheerless circle. If one looked into the eyes
of another, it was with a meaningless kind of gaze. But now, there was
light in the faces, and something so cheerful in the tones of his wife
and daughters, that he looked from the one to the other, involuntarily,
with surprise. But he did not ask, though he wondered, what could be
the reason. He missed something, too, from the little parlor, though
he did not think enough about this to inquire, even of himself, what it
was. It was more an impression than a thought.
Tea was announced, and they retired to their little dining-room, and
gathered around the table. Eunice looked into her father’s face with
a sweeter smile than he had seen for a long time, and her voice had a
more cheerful expression than it had borne of late. Eveline was more
silent; her spirit was oppressed with the good tidings about to be
poured in such a grateful stream upon the heart of her father. Mrs.
Townsend’s hand trembled as she served the tea, but even in her eyes
her husband noticed an unusual light.
Wondering, he could not help looking from face to face. Eunice tried to
talk at first, in a pleasant, indifferent way. But she soon found that
her voice was growing tremulous, and that, if she continued, she would
betray the emotion she felt; so she, like Eveline, became silent. Mr.
Townsend felt no inclination to talk, and therefore the meal proceeded
in silence. At its close they all returned to the parlor. They had been
seated there for only a few minutes, when Eunice said,
“Will you be able to meet your heavy payment, papa?”
Mr. Townsend half started at the question, which considerably disturbed
him. But he made an effort to appear calm, and replied, in a low,
subdued voice,
“No, child, I shall not be able to meet it.”
“Perhaps something unexpected will occur,” she said, with a tone and
smile that half betrayed her secret.
Her father looked into her face with renewed wonder. As his eyes
wandered away from the calm, but evidently changing countenance of his
daughter, it fell upon the part of the room where her piano had stood,
and suddenly he made the discovery that it was gone.
“Where is your piano, Eunice?” he asked quickly, and with a strong
expression of surprise.
“I have sold it,” replied his daughter, no longer able to control her
feelings; “and here is the money for you--seven hundred dollars. I told
you there would be a way opened!” Tears gushed from the eyes of the
lovely girl.
“And here are eight hundred dollars more,” said Eveline, coming
forward, and showing equal emotion with her sister. “It is for my
diamond pin, watch, and bracelets, and Eunice’s watch and bracelets.”
Mr. Townsend had risen, by this time, to his feet. Throwing an arm
around each dear child, he drew her tightly to his bosom, and looking
up, said, with deep fervor, while his eyes were overflowing,
“For love like this, my God, I thank thee! And even for the misfortunes
I have suffered, I thank thee! They have given me to know, what I
never would have known otherwise, the priceless value of these dear
children’s hearts. I feel now that my last days are to be my best days.
I acknowledge that there is a Providence, whose goodness and wisdom go
hand in hand.”