CHAPTER XV.
SIMPLE JOHNNY.
It was very hard for Hesper to keep up her courage and go about her work as usual, now that Mose was gone. Her father was more desponding than ever, and though her mother seemed cheerful, yet it was very evident that she had to make a great effort to be so. Every night, when Hesper laid her head upon her pillow, she felt that she would like to have a good long cry, but she resolutely kept back the tears, for she knew if she once began, she would soon become so disheartened that she could not attend to anything properly. So she remembered the last words of Mose, and consoled herself by doing as he had told her—to pray for him every night. These seemed to Hesper the darkest days she had ever known. Capt. Clark still remained a true and faithful friend and this kept her from wholly despairing. He did not often visit them, but out of his abundance, he gave them many things, without which they would actually have suffered. Yet even with his help, the prospect was very discouraging, and Hesper puzzled her brains night and day, to think of something she could do to earn a little money. Her mother needed medicine and comfortable food, and the boys’ clothes were getting sadly out of repair. Her father still had writing to do, but he only earned enough by this to pay the rent. His foot troubled him constantly, for he could not be patient till it got well, but he hobbled about on it every day, and thus made it a great deal worse. Beside this, his general health was very poor, and he always looked on the dark side of everything, which made him unhappy and discontented. He said very little, but one could easily tell by his gloomy countenance how he felt.
Late one afternoon, as Hesper was returning home with simple Johnny, who had been spending the day with aunt Nyna, she was overtaken by Mrs. Grimsby. The poor woman looked very tired, for her day’s work had been hard. Under one arm she carried her old wash-gown, and on the other was a large basket of clothes she was taking home to iron.
“O dear,” she said, “I feel as though I could not take another step! I don’t believe there’s a slave at the South that has to work harder than I. But then I get my pay for it, and in these hard times that is a great comfort.”
“Yes,” said Hesper, “I would like to go out a washing myself, if I were able.”
“You poor little thing!” said Mrs. Grimsby, in a tone of unusual kindness—“I’m glad you can’t, for you would work yourself almost to death. Why don’t you keep school, Hesper?”
This was a new thought, and for a moment Hesper’s heart beat quicker, but then it occurred to her directly, that she had no room, and she shook her head sorrowfully.
“No,” she said, “neither father or mother could bear the noise of the children at home, and there is no other place.”
“Fie!” said Mrs. Grimsby, “that is no excuse at all, for you can have my back kitchen just as well as not, and be right welcome, if you will take George and Benny and keep them out of mischief. I’m scarce ever at home, and if I was, the school would not trouble me at all. Come now, you had best take up with my offer at once, and to-morrow when I go out to work, I will look up some scholars for you.”
“Well,” said Hesper, without hesitation, “I will, though I hardly know how to thank you enough for your kindness.”
“Fie!” said Mrs. Grimsby, with seeming impatience, “I only do it for my own convenience, so you needn’t say anything more about it.”
Just then they reached home, and Mrs. Grimsby went directly into her own room, leaving Hesper with a hopeful heart and smiling countenance.
At the beginning of the next week the school was opened. There were eight scholars besides Fred and Charlie and the Grimsby boys. Juliana knew very little about reading and spelling, so she improved the opportunity, and soon was able to assist Hesper, which she did very willingly. As for simple Johnny, he could not be persuaded to stay in the school, so Hesper let him go out to play as he had been in the habit of doing. He knew very well how to take care of himself, Moreover, he had such an innocent expression of countenance, and was so gentle and inoffensive, that every one was kind to him. At first Hesper used to worry a great deal about him, but she soon became accustomed to having him away. He never went far from home, and almost always returned at the right time. They could easily tell where he had been by the little tokens he brought back. Sometimes he would have a pinafore full of blocks from the ship-yard—a bunch of field flowers, or a handful of smooth white pebbles gathered on the seashore. But of late, he had puzzled them, for he had returned several times with a most beautiful bouquet of choice garden flowers, tastefully arranged and tied with a string, and sometimes with his little basket full of ripe, rosy apples and peaches.
“Who could be so good to him?” said Hesper; “it must be some lady, I know.” But the poor child could not tell, so the matter remained a mystery. One night he was out later than usual. The weather was now quite cold, so that Hesper felt all the more anxious. She wrapped her mother’s shawl about her, and went out in search of him, though she did not feel much alarmed, for she expected every moment to meet him. First she went to the ship-yard and along the seashore. Next to Capt. Clark’s, where a large party of boys were husking corn—then to uncle Nathan’s and aunt Nyna’s, but he could not be found at any of these places. It was now almost dark. The wind was cold and chilly, and a few light flakes of snow were falling. Hesper’s heart beat quickly, and she ran home as fast as possible to see if he was there, but nothing had been seen of him. Again she hastened forth, questioning the people along the street, but they could give her no information. At length she met a little fellow, who told her he saw Johnny not long before dark, gathering acorns in the wood beyond the Rolling Mill. Away she flew as fast as her feet would carry her, and was soon ranging about in the midst of the wood. It was so dark among the trees she could not see the way before her—- the briers laid fast hold of her—she stumbled over the roots in her pathway, and finally lost one shoe in the low, swampy ground, whither she had unconsciously wandered, yet still she urged her way onward.
“Johnny! Johnny!” she called at the top of her voice, in the hope that he might make some sound in reply. She stopped to listen, but heard nothing save the mournful sighing of the winds among the pines, and the falling of withered leaves around her. She seemed utterly alone and desolate, and her heart failed her.
“O, merciful Father!” she exclaimed, “what shall I do!” and she burst into tears. Again she struggled onward in the midst of the darkness, till she came to the roadside. There, trembling with cold and excitement, she knelt down beneath a spreading oak, and lifting her hands, she cried out—
“O, Father in heaven! I pray thee to take pity on me and help me.” As she spoke, a bright light flashed upon her face, and looking out from the overhanging branches, she saw a man passing with a lantern.
“O, sir!” she exclaimed, as she sprang forward, “will you help me find my brother? He is lost in these woods, and it is so dark I cannot see one step before me.”
“Certainly! certainly!” he replied in a very friendly manner. “In these woods did you say? and how old a child?”
“About ten years, sir. Poor Johnny, he is a simple child, yet nevertheless he is very dear to us.”
“Indeed!” said the gentleman—“he must be the same child who has been to my house so often of late, and to whom my Kate and Alice took such a fancy. I will go with you by all means,” and he immediately led the way into the wood. He held up his lantern, looking carefully about, and calling at short intervals—but they heard no sound in reply. Hesper never seemed so weak and faint-hearted before. She wept like a child, and had it not been for the encouraging words of her unknown friend, she would have despaired of ever seeing Johnny again. She soon discovered from the gentleman’s speech, that he was the new doctor, of whose skill and kindness she had heard so much. He was very wealthy, and had always lived in the city till the past year, when he purchased an elegant residence in this town. She knew from what people had said, that he was very benevolent, and would do all he could to assist her. After they had searched through the wood in various directions, they went down over the other side of the hill, where there was a low, swampy hollow, not far from aunt Nyna’s. Here the bushes and trees grew very closely, and the long ivy vines interlaced the whole in such a manner, that it formed an almost impenetrable thicket. As the doctor held up his lantern and looked before him, he seemed to hesitate.
“Really,” he said, “if the poor child is here, it will be almost impossible to find him. I think, on the whole, we had best go back and get other assistance.”
As he spoke, Hesper felt something rub against her. She looked down, and to her inexpressible joy, beheld Bose, standing close beside her, wagging his tail and seeming very happy that he had met with her.
“O here, sir!” she called out to the doctor, “is this faithful old dog, and he will find him if anybody. I would trust him sooner than I would myself.”
“Here, Bose!” she continued, pointing to the thicket—“Johnny! Johnny!” Bose started in the direction in which she pointed, scenting the air keenly. Then he ran back again to Hesper, wagging his tail, and looking up in her face wistfully, as if very desirous of doing her will exactly, if he only knew what it was. She went with him then to the borders of the thicket, and pointing in again, called out, “Johnny! Johnny!” with all possible earnestness.
In sprang the dog at once, and she could hear the under-brush cracking beneath his feet, and the branches sweeping by him as he passed. After a few moments the doctor called again, and then, as they stopped to listen, they seemed to hear the sound of a child crying. Directly, out rushed Bose like a mad creature, and seizing Hesper by the frock, pulled her after him.
“O, he has found him! he has found him!” she exclaimed, and was about to spring at once into the thicket, when the doctor withheld her.
“Let me go first, with my lantern,” he said, “while you remain here, for I think I can be of more service to him than you, poor child.”
He turned his steps in the direction whence the sound had proceeded, and in a few moments, guided by Bose, found simple Johnny lying flat on his face, moaning and weeping most piteously. The child’s hat and little basket of acorns were upon the ground beside him, as though he had accidentally fallen asleep there. The doctor raised him up, and spoke to him kindly. He brushed away the long, wet ringlets from the poor child’s face—put his hat upon his head, gave him his basket, and then led him out to the place where Hesper was anxiously awaiting them.
The instant the poor child recognized her, he uttered a cry of joy. He seized her by the dress, and laying his head against her, made the low soothing sound he usually did when pleased. Hesper, unlike herself, scarce knew what she said or did, but when she minded how damp the child’s clothes were, and how he shivered with cold, she took off her great warm shawl and wrapped it closely about him. As they all three walked home together, the doctor asked her a great many questions about herself and family.
“Well, Miss Hesper,” he said at last, as he was about to leave her, “I am right glad that I have met with you, and shall endeavor to see you again, very soon.” He stooped down and kissed Johnny, and as he turned away, he dropped something into his basket, which afterwards proved to be a bright golden eagle.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHEPHERD’S CALL.
It was only a few evenings after Johnny’s adventure in the wood, that Hesper stood hesitating and trembling on the great stone steps at the doctor’s front door. She raised her hand to the silver bell knob, and then withdrew it, as if her courage failed her.
“No,” said she at last, “I will not fear, for I am doing right, and I know he is too kind to refuse me.” She did not allow herself another moment for reflection, but gave the bell quite a vigorous pull. In a few moments a great red faced Irish girl came to the door.
“Please, ma’am,” said Hesper, dropping a very respectful curtsey—“Is Dr. Smiley in?”
“No;” said the girl, and she was just shutting the door, when a pleasant voice called out from the parlor—
“Stop, Ellen; he came in just now, and went up to the library.” The next moment, a very pretty young lady stepped into the entry.
“Come in,” she said, “and I will speak to father.”
Hesper timidly crossed the threshold, and stood in one corner. “I will wait here,” she said, in a very humble manner, “if you will be so kind as to tell the doctor that Hesper Greyson wishes to see him.”
“O please do come in,” said the young lady, as she took Hesper by the hand and led her into the parlor. “Here is a nice warm fire, and I know you must be cold.”
“Mother,” she continued, addressing an elderly lady who was seated by a work-table, sewing—“Here is the very Hesper Greyson of whom father was speaking—sister to little Johnny.”
There was another young lady—rather older than the first—seated at the piano, who started up directly when she heard this.
“Let me give her a seat, Alice,” she said, “while you speak to father.” She drew a velvet cushioned ottoman to the fire, and Hesper sat down, though she felt very much out of her element.
“How do you do to-night, my dear?” asked the elderly lady, who laid down her work and regarded Hesper with great interest.
“Quite well, I thank you,” replied the poor girl, though her pale face and sorrowful eyes seemed to tell a very different story. “It’s my brother that’s sick ma’am. Poor Johnny! he’s a simple child, but then we all love him so much, that it troubles us sadly when anything ails him.”
“What! Johnny sick!” said the doctor, who just then entered the room—“and how long has that been?”
“Ever since the night he was lost in the wood, sir. We did not wish to trouble you while we could do anything ourselves, but indeed, he has grown sick very fast, and I hope you will not take it amiss that I have come for you, for there was no one else to whom I dared go.”
“You have done just right, exactly,” said the doctor in a most encouraging manner, “and I shall be right glad to render you every possible service. I will go with you directly”—and he went out to get his hat and coat.
Kate, the eldest daughter, also stepped out of the room. She soon returned with a very pretty silk hood in her hand. “Here, Hesper,” she said, “this is too small for me, and if it will be of any service to you, you shall be right welcome.” As she spoke, she stooped down, and loosening the handkerchief under Hesper’s chin, she tied the hood upon her head in its place. The poor girl, worn down by watching and anxiety, had come to the doctor’s house with many misgivings, and thus to meet with such unexpected favor and kindness quite overcame her. She could not speak, but the great tears, more eloquent than words, chased each other swiftly down her cheeks.
“Dear girl!” said the elderly lady as she took off her spectacles and wiped her eyes—“if there were more in the world like you, I should want to spend all my life time in doing good.”
When the Doctor was ready, and Hesper arose to depart, the young ladies followed her to the door, assuring her that they should be happy to assist her in every possible way, and promised to call next morning and see how little Johnny got along.
Upon arriving at the house, the doctor found the poor child tossing to and fro upon his bed, in a small, close room, adjoining the kitchen. It was a miserable place, but it was the best that could be afforded. Mrs. Greyson lay upon her own bed in a corner of the kitchen, and her husband sat by the fire in one chair, with his foot resting upon another. Aunt Nyna, who was always a friend in need, was moving quietly about with her usual placid look, making everything as neat and orderly as possible, while Mrs. Grimsby, who had just brought in a bowl of nice warm gruel for Mrs. Greyson’s supper, was seated by Johnny’s bed-side. Fred and Charlie had been sent up to bed some time previous, but contrary to the supposition of all, instead of being fast asleep, they were then sitting mid-way of the stairs, shivering with cold, but listening intently to all that was passing below. Hesper regarded the doctor anxiously as he took Johnny’s hand in his own. The poor child’s face was crimson with fever—he moaned and tossed about constantly, and seemed to be insensible to all around. The doctor shook his head doubtfully.
“He is very sick,” he said. “Can you tell me what you have done for him?”
Aunt Nyna, who had taken upon herself the responsibility of being his nurse, told him all, with the greatest precision.
“That is right,” he said, “I could not have done better myself. But,” he continued, “I must be frank with you. I fear the poor child is beyond the reach of medicine. His head has been affected from his birth, and he has not sufficient vital energy to meet the trying crisis.”
“Indeed sir!” said Hesper, with a faltering voice and a face white as the drifted snow—“I can’t have our Johnny die.”
“Hesper! Hesper my dear girl!” said aunt Nyna, as she drew her close to her bosom, “be patient, and let the Lord’s will be done.”
“Poor little fellow,” said the doctor, in a soft, sympathizing tone—“it would indeed be a sad loss to those who love him, but to him it would be a most blissful change.”
“Yes,” said aunt Betsey, who had just arrived, and entered the room in time to hear the doctor’s words—“I think so too—you oughtn’t to cry, Hesper—nobody ought to. Though it seems a hard thing to say, yet it would be a mercy to you all if he should be taken away; for if he should live to grow up, he would always be a poor miserable creature.”
Just then, Hesper wished that aunt Betsey was dead herself, or that she never could hear her speak again. He “a poor miserable creature!” Wouldn’t he always be a comfort and consolation to those who loved him, if he should live a hundred years? So she reasoned, and she could not see it otherwise; though when the first gush of sorrow was over, she felt that the doctor had spoken truly, and that the better world would give to the poor child, blessings and powers he never could enjoy below. She was soon able to restrain her emotions, and then sat down by his bed as quietly as before.
After the doctor had given the poor child a soothing draught—under the influence of which he soon fell asleep—he went out, and began to talk with Hesper’s father and mother. He stayed a long time, conversing in a very friendly and encouraging manner, and offered to do whatever he could for both of them. Mr. Greyson informed him, however, with a most melancholy expression of countenance, that he would never get his pay. The doctor’s only answer was a good-natured laugh, and when he left, he promised to call again next morning.
Hesper did not close her eyes to sleep that night. She sat by Johnny’s bed-side, carefully administering his medicines—soothing him in his restlessness, and praying that a blessing of healing might descend upon him from above. The night seemed very long, and as the clock slowly struck each passing hour, Hesper grew faint with weariness, yet she could not be persuaded to leave her post of duty. Towards morning, however, she was rejoiced to see that Johnny rested more quietly upon his pillow—the fever flush had faded from his cheek—his hands grew cool and as he turned his eyes towards her, he seemed to recognize her with an almost imperceptible smile, Her heart was so full of this happy change, that she could have wept for joy. She longed to speak to aunt Nyna, but the good old lady was dozing so peacefully in her chair, that she was not willing to disturb her. So she stole quietly to the window and looked out, to see if there were any signs of morning. The eastern sky was already crimson with the early light, and the beautiful day-star was shining clear and bright over the distant hill-tops. It seemed to Hesper that it was like the great, cheerful hope which had arisen in her heart, and she turned from the window with a joyful countenance.
“Hesper,” said aunt Nyna, as she awoke from her sleep, “how is Johnny now?”
“O much better,” whispered Hesper. “His fever has entirely left him, and you cannot think how still and quiet he lies, though he is very weak, and breathes so lightly I can scarce hear him.”
Aunt Nyna started up quickly at this, and went to his bed-side. She looked him earnestly in the face, and counted the feeble beatings of his pulse.
“Hesper,” she said seriously, “Johnny is no better. I fear he will leave us very soon.”
Hesper said not a word, though her lips grow white and she trembled violently. She bent over the dear child whom she had watched and tended so carefully, and kissed his pale cheek.
“Johnny, darling,” she said in a low tone, “do you know me?”
He looked up with a faint smile—his lips moved, and he distinctly whispered “Hesper.” It was the first word the child had ever clearly spoken, and it was his last, for in a few moments after, he turned wearily upon his side, and with one long drawn sigh, the spirit gently departed.
“Poor lamb!” said aunt Nyna, as she brushed away the damp ringlets from his forehead, and tenderly closed the long fringed lids—“he has heard the Shepherd’s call and gone home to the fold of love.”
But Hesper heard not; she had never looked on death before, and it was too great a trial for her loving heart. With a faint moan she sank down by the bed-side, and when aunt Nyna raised her up, she found the poor girl had fainted.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE NEW HOME.
Many weeks passed by after Johnny’s death, during which several important changes took place in the Greyson family, but Hesper was unconscious of them all, for she was very sick. Her youthful strength had been so overburdened with care and anxiety, that she sank beneath it, and a long and dangerous illness was the result. She knew nothing of the comforts and conveniences by which she was surrounded, or who they were that watched so faithfully by her bed-side. To her the passing time was one long, dark, troubled dream to which she saw no ending.
It happened at last, however, that one clear, bright, winter morning, she awoke from a peaceful slumber, and opened her eyes as it were on a new life. She gazed about her in silent wonder, but saw nothing that would remind her of the past. The neat and prettily furnished room which she occupied, was altogether new to her. The bed, with its covering and curtains of beautifully flowered chintz—the nice carpet—the cozy fire burning in the grate, and the picture of Christ with Mary sitting at his feet, above the chimney-piece, all seemed like objects in a dream. There was only one thing which had a familiar look, and that was a great rose-bush, in full bloom, which stood in the window seat, with the morning sunshine falling brightly upon it.
“O dear!” sighed Hesper, “I fear that this will all vanish, and the dark, terrible night come again.” Then she remembered of having heard said—when and where she could not tell—that some people believe that when they die, they come into a world where everything is so much like the one they have left, that they cannot realize they have passed through the change called death. So Hesper thought perhaps this had happened to her, for she could scarce recollect anything of the past.
The sound of some one moving near her, attracted her attention, and she was about to stretch out her arm to draw the bed-curtain aside, when she found that she was scarce able to move, and the sight of her own hand, so pale and wasted, greatly surprised her. In a few moments a door was opened, and some one asked, in a low tone—
“How is she this morning?”
“More comfortable, I think,” was the reply. “Father says that this sleep she has fallen into, is very refreshing, and he hopes she will be rational when she comes out of it.” The curtains were then drawn aside, and Hesper saw Kate Smiley’s fair, sweet face, bending over her, while near by stood Mrs. Grimsby with her bonnet and shawl on. She had her old wash gown under her arm, as usual, for she was going out to work, and had only stopped in a moment to inquire about Hesper.
“Where am I?” said Hesper, “and where are all the folks, and what has happened to me?”
“O!” exclaimed Kate, “she is wide awake, and quite herself again! Dear girl! How glad I am! Do you know that you have been very sick—so that we scarce thought you would live? Father said you would certainly die if you stayed where you were, so he had you and the family brought to this house, where you could be more comfortable, and Alice and I could care for you. Now I am so glad that you are better that I must run and tell father directly.”
She left the room, and Mrs. Grimsby sat down on the side of the bed.
“Hesper,” said she, “I cannot tell you how lonely we have been since your folks moved from our house. Juliana cries every day about it, and I never felt so sorry for anything in my life, for now I suppose since you have got into such a nice place, and have such fine friends to care for you, that you will forget all about us.”
“O Mrs. Grimsby!” said Hesper, “wasn’t you a friend to me in my greatest need? and didn’t you do for me what no one else could? No: I never shall forget you as long as I live”—and with her slender white fingers, she affectionately clasped the great toil-hardened hand which rested on the bed beside her, Mrs. Grimsby raised her checked apron and wiped away the tears which were flowing freely down her cheeks.
“There!” she said, as she started up with an effort to be cheerful, and drew her shawl around her, “I won’t be a child! but really, Hesper, I care more about such little things than any one would suppose.”
“Then don’t let that thought trouble you any longer” said Hesper, “but send Juliana and the boys to see me, and kiss little Tommy for me, for I shall always love you, and shall come to see you as soon as I am able.”
“That is all I ask,” said Mrs. Grimsby. “Good bye, darling. Be very careful of yourself”—and she left the room with a light step and smiling countenance.
Although Hesper was very much better, the doctor would scarce allow any one to enter the room for several days. Her mother stole in now and then, and Hesper was astonished to see how, fast she had improved under the doctor’s good, management, though she was still very weak and feeble. The poor girl thought she would like to see her father, and yet she dared not ask to, for he always appeared so cold and distant, and had so often spoken unkindly to her, that she had a secret dread of meeting him.
One evening, however, when she felt much brighter than usual, and was sitting up in bed, supported by her pillows, her mother came and told her that if she felt able, her father would like to speak with her. Hesper assented, and her heart beat violently, when, in a few moments after, she heard the sound of his approaching footsteps. With a half frightened look, she glanced up at his face as he bent over her. There were tears in his eyes, and his voice trembled as he spoke.
“God bless you, my precious child!” he said—“I cannot tell you how impatiently I have been waiting to see you, for I never knew how dear you were until I feared you would be taken from me.” He raised her gently in his arms, and drawing her close to his bosom, kissed her again and again. Hesper felt that the cup of her happiness was full. How pleasant it was to be resting in her father’s arms, while his tears mingled with her own. It seemed as if the prayer which she had so often repeated—“Let thy kingdom come”—was now fully answered, for the peace and joy of heaven was in her heart, and all her father’s past unkindness was forgotten.
“Hesper,” he said, “I have prayed night and day that God would spare you; for often, when I have observed your faith and patience, I have longed that you should love me as you did others, and I want to show how much I can love you in return.” Hesper’s pale cheek was pressed close to his—
“Father, I always have loved you,” she said, “but I never could say so till now.”
“I do not doubt it, my dear child,” he replied. He laid her gently upon her pillow again, and taking a seat beside her, he talked to her a long time about little Johnny—the letters they had received from Mose—their new home, with the fine large garden in the rear, which they would all take so much pleasure in cultivating when the spring opened, and many other things, to which Hesper listened with the deepest interest; and when he left her, she felt so tranquil and happy, that she sank into a pleasant sleep, which seemed to do her more good than all the medicine she had taken.
After this, she improved so rapidly that she was soon able to talk with all who visited her, and she was astonished to find how many kind friends she had. Among others, George and Benny Grimsby made their appearance, with their clothes neatly brushed, and their faces as clean and bright as soap and water could make them. At first the boys were very awkward, and scarce knew what to say, but Hesper soon touched an answering chord.
“Well, George,” said she, “I had a letter from Mose to-day, and he wrote that I must tell you, he had bought a real Guinea monkey.”
George opened wide both mouth and eyes, as he gazed at her in breathless attention, and Benny immediately drew his thumb from his mouth, where it had been, ever since he entered.
“He says, too,” continued Hesper, “that he means to teach him a great many comical tricks before he comes home, and then, if you have been good boys, you shall have him for your own.”
“Don’t you think we have been?” exclaimed George—“we did all we could to help your father when he moved, and we have been up here every day since you were sick to see how you were, and mother says she doesn’t know what she should do without us.”
“Yes,” said Hesper, “I don’t know of any better boys in town, and I will tell Mose so when he comes home.”
The boys looked very much gratified, and they continued talking about their expected present with great animation, until aunt Betsey came in, who looked so sharply at them, that they thought it was time to be going. They lingered at the door however, and in a whisper begged of Hesper a parting kiss. With many a side-long glance at aunt Betsey, they received the favor, which was readily granted, and departed perfectly satisfied.
“Fie!” said aunt Betsey, as she took off her moccasins and shook the snow from them against the grate—“I wouldn’t have such great lubberly boys kiss me; besides, I don’t think it will do you any good, listening to their noisy talk.”
“O,” said Hesper, “it is a real pleasure, now that I am so much better.”
“Well,” said aunt Betsey, “I am glad if you are, though I am sure, the night I watched with you, I hadn’t the least idea you would live till morning. I didn’t watch with you but one night, Hesper, for I was obliged to hurry so fast on my bed-quilt, that I could attend to nothing else.”
“Is it done yet?” asked Hesper.
“Done!” repeated aunt Betsey, as she closed her eyes, and leaning back in her chair, rocked nervously to and fro—“yes; don’t you know about it?”
“No;” said Hesper. “What is it?”
“Well, after working night and day, I finished it just in time for the great Exhibition. But, don’t you think! Mrs. Larkin sent in one which was considered a great deal the handsomest, and won the highest prize, while mine was hardly noticed. It was made of pieces only half as large as mine, put together in all sorts of fanciful figures. I said, when I looked at it, that it was a sin and a shame for people to waste so much time upon things which were of so little use. Mrs. Larkin had much better been making garments for the poor, or improving her mind by useful reading.”
“It is too bad,” said Hesper, in a sympathizing tone, for she knew that aunt Betsey must be greatly disappointed.
“So it is,” she replied, “for after all the time I have spent upon that bed-quilt, it is just good for nothing. I can’t bear the sight of it; and, Hesper, if you should ever live to be married, I will give it to you for a wedding present.”
Hesper thanked her for her good intentions, but she thought to herself that it was not at all likely she should ever marry, and if she did, she should not want a satin bed-quilt.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A PLEASANT SURPRISE.
The winter months passed swiftly away with the Greyson family, in their new home, but it was not till the spring opened, and the pleasant sunshine and warm air came again, with their invigorating influences, that Hesper was able to regain any of her former strength and buoyancy of spirits. When the weather was mild, and the sky clear, she would steal out and work for a short time in the little flower garden, but the good doctor still kept his eye on her, and would not suffer her to engage in any fatiguing employment. It happened, fortunately, that there was no need of it, for Hesper’s mother was now so much better, that she could attend to the household duties, and Mr. Greyson, who was constantly employed, earned enough to support them all, comfortably. The doctor had made some extensive purchases in the way of new lands, and what with ploughing and planting, draining meadows and clearing wood-lands, he not only managed to keep Mr. Greyson, but also Fred and Charlie busy. The services of the Grimsby boys too were often required, and though, as might have been expected, a crooked word or a hard look would often pass between them and the young Greysons, yet the promise which they had made to Mose, and the presence of Mr. Byers among them, prevented them from breaking out into open hostilities.
One clear, bright summer day, Mr. Greyson and the boys were at work in a beautiful pine grove—a part of the doctor’s woodland, clearing away the under-brush for the accommodation of a pic-nic, which was to be held there the following week. “Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Fred all at once, “there comes mother and Hesper.”
Mr. Greyson looked up, at Fred’s exclamation, and throwing down his hatchet, he took off his hat and waved it to them as they came down the green and shady road that led to the grove.
“I am right glad to see you,” he said, “though I am afraid it is ‘most too long a walk for two such invalids.”
“O, I have enjoyed every step of the way,” said Hesper, whose cheeks were as richly colored as the wild rose she held in her hand.
“I should think mother would be tired, though, for see, she has brought dinner enough for us all in her basket. We mean to have a little pic-nic of our own, so, while you and the boys are at work, we will spread our table by the spring.”
“I am right glad you thought of that,” said Mr. Greyson, “for I am both tired and hungry, and I shall relish my dinner much better for eating it in pleasant company.” He took the basket to the spring, and then left them to prepare their table. It was a most delightful spot they had chosen, for the grass was soft and green beneath their feet, while up above, the branches of the trees, interwoven with vines, screened them from the rays of the noon-day sun. Then, too, there was a pleasant humming of bees among the fragrant blossoms of the locusts, to which the musical ripple of the spring formed a sweet accord.
Fred and Charlie found it quite impossible to wait until they were called, and the cloth was scarcely spread, before they perched themselves upon the large stones they had provided for seats. It was not long, however, before everything was ready, and Mr. Greyson was summoned.
“I declare,” said he, as he threw himself upon the ground and wiped the perspiration from his brow—“I would not exchange this spot for the palace of a king, and if Mose was only here, I could desire nothing more.”
“Yes,” said Hesper, with a sad smile, “and little Johnny too.”
“Perhaps he is,” replied her mother, “though our poor eyes are not permitted to see his sweet little countenance.” Fred looked up at her thoughtfully, for a moment; then he started up, and rolled his stone a little one side.
“Here, Charlie,” he said, “let him have a place between us, for I like to think he is here.”
“Isn’t there room for one more?” said a pleasant voice, close beside them. They all looked up, and saw Juliana’s face peeping out upon them from the bushes.
“Yes, and welcome,” said Hesper. “But pray how came you here?”
“Why,” said Juliana, “mother stayed at home to-day, so I thought I would just run over and see you. When I came to the house I found no one there, but on my way back I met with Kate Smiley, who told me where you were. I thought, on the whole, I would venture to join your party, for I shall not have so good a chance to be with you again, as I open a school next week. Mother says she can’t earn money enough to supply all my need, so I must see what I can do for myself.”
“And I,” said Hesper, with a smiling countenance, “am going to school next week. Father has promised me that I shall go all summer.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Greyson, “Hesper shall have all she needs, if I work my fingers to the bone, and she shall enjoy her school to her heart’s content, for I mean to make up, if possible, for her working so hard last winter.”
“O dear!” sighed Juliana, as she glanced down at her old dress—“how much I wish that I could go too. But I can’t,” she continued, “so there’s no use fretting about it.”
They were still very much engaged in conversation, and had almost finished their dinner, when they heard the sound of a carriage coming along the road. They looked out from among the trees and saw Capt. Clark with a stranger in his wagon. They wondered who he could be, for they had scarce ever seen a more rough looking personage. His hair and beard were both long and bushy—over his shoulders he carried a stick with a bundle on it, and his clothes looked travel worn and dusty. The Captain stopped his horse just as they arrived at the spring.
“Hallo!” said he, “if here isn’t a gipsey party! Come, friend, let’s join them a few moments.” They both sprang from the wagon, and approached the little group.
“You see, here,” said the Captain, addressing Mr. Greyson and pointing towards the stranger—“a poor traveller, whom I overtook on my way from the city. The cars had started before him, and he was so anxious to reach home that he set out on foot.” Before he could finish speaking, the stranger threw down his stick and bundle, and clasping Juliana around the neck, he kissed her with all his might. The poor girl screamed with surprise, but the next moment she cried out—“father! father!” and returned his salutation with a good will.
Sure enough it was their old friend and neighbor, Mr. Grimsby, though his rude dress had so disguised him that it was difficult to recognize him.
“How is this?” said Mr. Greyson, as he shook hands with him—“we were not looking for you back so soon.”
“Ah!” he replied, “I have had famous luck—better than I could have possibly expected! and as I didn’t want my wife going out a washing, or my children wandering about the streets, while I was so well able to take care of them, I have come home to make them comfortable and happy.”
Juliana was so delighted that she laughed and cried, and scarce knew what to do, in order to express her joy.
“There, now,” said Hesper, “you will let her go to school with me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” said her father, “she shall live like a lady, dress like a queen, and be educated like a professor, if she wants to, for I am able to do it, and mean that there shall be one Grimsby, at least, who shall make a show in the world. So come along my girl, let’s go to your mother and the boys, and see if they like my looks as well as you do.”
Capt. Clark helped her into his wagon, with Mrs. Greyson and Hesper, who were right glad of this opportunity to ride home. Away they all started, with happy hearts and smiling countenances, while Mr. Greyson and the boys, who remained behind, sent three parting cheers after them.
CHAPTER XIX.
MR. BYERS ON MATRIMONY.
Hesper had at length completed her seventeenth year, but her early discipline of sorrow and toil had given her a judgment and experience far beyond that age. During the time that she attended school, a friendship had sprung up between her and Alice Smiley, the doctor’s youngest daughter. They were often together, and nothing could delight these girls more, than to secure Mr. Byers’ company in some of their walks, for his sage remarks and peculiar mode of expression, was to them a never failing fund of interest and amusement. At times, when a convenient opportunity offered, they would all drop into aunt Nyna’s, and sup with her from her little round table, which always seemed so comfortable and cozy. Bread and butter never tasted so good anywhere else, and tea, taken from those little China cups, so thin and small that they seemed almost like egg-shells, was perfectly delicious.
One night, the good lady had a larger party than usual, for she had previously sent out her invitations, comprehending both Juliana, and Kate, the doctor’s eldest daughter. Aunt Nyna was in fine spirits that day, on account of having received a letter from Harry, and with it quite a sum of money, which he desired her to use according as her pleasure or necessity demanded. After tea, when they had all sat down together, the good lady, in the fulness of her heart, besought the pleasure of reading the letter to the company, to which they readily assented. In it, there was, as usual, a message to his “little wife,” assuring her, that if he continued to succeed as well as he had of late, he should come home soon, and claim her as his bride in reality. The young people laughed when they observed that Hesper blushed deeply, and Mr. Byers immediately offered her a large palm-leaf fan.
“Thee shouldn’t notice it when ladies blush, friend Byers,” said aunt Nyna, as she laid down the letter and regarded Hesper with a pleasant smile. “Once the good child only laughed at such things, but now she blushes, and is silent. Canst thee tell me what makes the difference, Hesper?”
“O,” replied Hesper, still blushing and smiling, “it is because I am older, and because—because I don’t know why.”
“That’s it exactly,” said Mr. Byers. “I am entirely satisfied with your explanation, it is so perfectly natural.”
“But,” continued Hesper, recovering her self-possession, “I don’t see how Harry ever came to call me his ‘little wife,’ or why he still persists in doing so, now that we are both so old.”
“Then let me tell thee,” said aunt Nyna, with an expression of great interest. “I can well remember the first time he ever saw thee. He was five years of age, and thou only five days when I took him with me to see the new baby. I never saw a little fellow so delighted with anything in my life. He kissed the baby’s soft round cheeks, so tenderly—looked with wonder and admiration at the little tiny hands, and then prayed us to let him take her in his arms, just one moment. Finally, he asked the baby’s name. The father—he was well and cheerful then—told him it was Hesper. The little fellow shook his curly head thoughtfully, as he said—’I don’t like it—I would much rather have her named sissy, or little Miss Muffit,’ of whom he had learned in his nursery rhymes.
“We all laughed; at which the poor child seemed greatly disconcerted. ‘Look here, Harry,’ said thy father, and he took him kindly on his knee. ‘When my little baby first came to me, it was evening—the sun had gone down behind the hills, and the great clouds which were sailing through the sky, were of many beautiful colors. As I stood at the window, thanking God that he had given me such a precious little daughter, I looked up, and there I saw a beautiful bright star, in the midst of the clouds, shining calmly down upon me. It was the evening star, and years ago the people called it Hesper. It was so very bright and beautiful, that the same thankful, prayerful feeling came over me, that I had when I first looked upon the face of my new-born child. Then I said I will call my little daughter Hesper, for she came to me in the evening, when the night shadows were falling upon the earth, and it may be, as the years pass on, she will become like yonder star, a light to the pathway of many, so we shall bless God that he ever sent her into this world. That is the reason, Harry, why I called her Hesper.’ The little fellow sat in silence, a few moments; then he looked up with his face all aglow with pleasant thoughts. ‘I like it now,’ he said, ‘for the stars are the moon’s babies, and if she came down from God, it is right to call her Hesper, for she, too, is a little star baby.’ It was a simple, child-like thought, but it pleased us much, and for months after, thy mother called thee her ‘star-baby.’ When it was time to go, I could not make the little fellow willing to part from thee. He stole timidly up to thy mother’s bed-room and looked her long and earnestly in the face. ‘Please ma’am,’ he said, at length, in his coaxing, child-like way, ‘won’t you give me your baby?’ Thy mother laid her pale hand gently among his curls, and said—’My dear child, I would not part with my precious baby for all the wealth of the world.’ The little fellow was disappointed. His lips quivered, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Never mind, Master Harry,’ said thy father, by way of consolation. ‘Wait till you are older, and better able to take care of her, and then you shall have her for your little wife, if you will.’ He seemed well contented with this promise, and went away quite willingly. In after years, thy father disapproved of it, when Harry called thee by that name, but thy father himself was first at fault, for the child never forgot the promise, but has called thee his little wife, from that day to this.”
“And in all probability, he will call her so to the day of his death,” said Mr. Byers, “only in a higher and more truthful sense.”
“No, no;” said Hesper, seriously, “I never shall marry. I said so when I was a child, and I say so now.”
“Pshaw!” said Mr. Byers, with seeming impatience, “who ever heard such nonsense! A good looking, useful, affectionate girl, making a resolution at seventeen, to be an old maid to all eternity! Why, you deserve the censure of all sober-minded, rational people. If I were only a young man of twenty, the first thing I would do, would be to offer myself to you, and I don’t know,” he added, “but what, even now—” Here he hesitated, and looked over towards Hesper, with that indescribable twinkle of sly humor in his eyes which was perfectly irresistible. The whole company burst into a hearty laugh, and Hesper, falling in with the old man’s merry mood, signified her willingness at once to receive a formal proposal.
“Attention, girls!” said Mr. Byers, after the laugh had subsided—and putting on a more serious countenance, he assumed at once a lecturing attitude. “I have somewhat to say to you on this subject of matrimony. It is now more than sixty years that I have looked the world in the face, and I feel, by this time, that I have a right to say that I know something about it. From sixteen till twenty-one I sowed my wild oats like any young fellow. At twenty-five I married, and began life in real earnest. I was a poor man, and had to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow. As time passed on, and the little ones began to gather around my table, I thanked God and worked all the harder. But fortune often made wry faces at me, and sometimes cast me headlong into the slough of despond. I didn’t stay there long, however, for the thought of Hannah and the children set me on my feet again, and called up energies I never knew were mine. When Mary, the eldest, was sixteen, she went into a decline, and fading slowly like a spring violet, at length she died. It was a heart breaking thing to us, but before we had fairly recovered from it, Willie, our second child, was upset in a pleasure boat, and drowned. Scarcely a year after, our blue-eyed Charlie died of a fever. Then I cannot tell you how entirely we placed our affections upon sweet little Fanny, our last remaining one, nor how hopelessly we mourned, when we found that the hand of the Destroyer was upon her also. O, girls! Heaven grant that you may never know such hours of watching and anxiety as we experienced, when, one night in mid-winter, the dear child lay upon her pillow, suffering beneath the croup, that scourge of childhood. I never shall forget how piteously she moaned, stretching up her trembling hands to us, and praying us for relief. Our utmost exertions were in vain, and at length, after hours of suffering, the little creature sobbed and moaned her soul away into the hand of her Creator.” The old man was silent for a few moments, and then continued.
“It was too much for my poor Hannah, for the saddest, loneliest thing in this wide world, is the heart of a childless mother—one who has watched faithfully and tenderly over her little flock, and followed them one after another to the grave. She may carry a quiet face before the world, but inwardly the broken chords are still bleeding, and the busy fingers of memory, with frequent touches, keep the wound ever open. Thus it was with Hannah. She tried to be cheerful, but the blow was too heavy, and at length she sank beneath it. Twenty years she walked by my side, and shared the cup of my joy and sorrow. That score of years was full of toil, and care, and trouble. If I had never married, I might have escaped that experience. But no: I thank God for it! With all its shadows, the memory therof is pleasant, and I am twice the man that I should be without it. Girls! you will never know what real life is, till you have learned to love with all the heart and soul—- to live no longer for yourselves, but for others, never mind what the consequences may be.”
Kate Smiley looked up timidly, and in her own, gentle, unaffected manner, repeated these lines of Tennyson’s—
“I hold it true whate’er befall,—
I feel it when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.”
“That’s it, exactly!” exclaimed Mr. Byers; “God, knew when he placed us in this world, what was best for us, and all these sad experiences which spring from our hearts’ best affections, work out a wonderful weight of good at last. The ‘wise man’ says, ‘with all thy getting, get understanding;’ and I say to you girls, with all your getting, get husbands.”
“But,” said Kate Smiley, who had already refused several offers, “you certainly wouldn’t have a woman take up with anybody, for the sake of getting married, and may be if she refuses two or three offers, because they do not seem suitable, that she will have to be an old maid at last, in spite of herself?”
“No, girls, no!” said Mr. Byers with much emphasis, “don’t throw yourselves away, under any circumstances, but wait till Mr. Right comes along, if ‘tis half a century, and if he never comes, then die happy in the thought that you did the best you could.”
“But, supposing,” said Juliana, with a mischievous look, “that I, for instance, should think I had married Mr. Right, and in the course of a few years he should prove to be Mr. Wrong—perhaps take to drinking and other bad habits—abuse me shamefully—threaten my life, and make me in all things as miserable as possible.”
“O, that’s an extreme case,” said Mr. Byers.
“But then you know such things happen.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do,” said the old gentleman, very decidedly—“rake up the fire, turn the cat out of doors, tie up the baby in the table cloth, and taking it on your back, start for parts unknown immediately.”
They all laughed, but Hesper shook her head.
“No:” she said, “that would be utter selfishness. I should say stand by him till the last moment. Love, suffer, beseech and entreat, and if all availed nothing, then die for him, or with him, but never forsake him.” Mr. Byers regarded her seriously and affectionately.
“O Hesper! Star of Peace and never failing Charity,” he said, “where will thy long-suffering end! God grant thou mayest never be brought to the trial!”