CHAPTER 15. — THE BATTLE OF TWO WILLS
There were many changes to be made in the Hill household before it could be running smoothly. The children’s wardrobe was low, their father being a careless buyer and the girls being inexperienced in making and mending garments. Austin had anticipated this state of affairs when he had so carefully saved his own wages till he should come home. It was not long till his little hoard was gone. He had also had to buy a number of things for the house to make it comfortable and at all homelike.
Henry Hill had a most comfortable feeling to know that there was some one at home who was responsible for the children, so he took many opportunities to be away. In fact he felt better away with some of his friends than when at home with Austin. It is not a pleasant thing for any father to feel that the serious eyes of his own son rest upon him in disapproval and reproof. Every sight of the boy made him feel uncomfortable and as if he did not come up to what was expected of him. Austin was not a fellow to speak out his reproofs, but he thought them and his eyes told what his heart was saying. Every week found him and his parent farther and farther apart—if possible.
Austin expected no sympathy and asked for none from either his brother or father in the way he was taking. He perhaps went to the opposite extreme and was so indifferent to what they thought that it had the effect of antagonizing them. It is at least a fact that there was no feeling of sympathy nor cooperation between them, and that antagonism grew until it was almost open warfare between him and his father. He felt such a repugnance toward his father and a hatred of the way he was taking that it continually showed out in his attitude toward him. In later years Austin could understand, but now he was doing only what he believed necessary to protect his own soul from the discouraging influence.
Partly because he always liked to shirk responsibility, and partly because he and Austin had so few thoughts and feelings in common, the father stayed away from home more all the time. To this Austin was not averse, for it gave him more time with the children.
While Austin had been gone so long, his father had been in the habit of inviting in men like himself, and they had often played cards and drank till far into the night. Frequently the wee small hours of morning had found them still busy with their cards and bottles. When Austin came home, he could hardly endure to have a thing like this happen with the little children in the house. He had no right to forbid his father, but he did let him know how he felt about it. The result had been that the father felt most uncomfortable to have his associates gather at his home any longer.
Austin usually retired early with the children, and his father became aware of this. He had missed his social evenings with his friends, and wished to have them again, so he had invited three of the “boys” to come rather late, after all the children were in bed, and spend an evening together. It happened that Austin had gone out that evening and did not get back till late. When he came in, he was much surprized to find the four men occupying the kitchen-table with their cards. They had also in some way obtained drink.
With a quick searching glance at the table to see if there were signs of gambling, Austin went upstairs without a word. But so strong was his influence and disapproval that it killed all the interest, and the men all left.
Mr. Hill sat alone, after they had gone, with the same feeling he used to have when his father had caught him doing something mean. He rankled at the thought of this boy setting himself up as judge. He thought he ought to be the master of his own house. He did not reason that Austin had said nothing, that he was only battling with the boy’s thoughts. That night he determined that Austin should learn to keep his place. It was preposterous, he thought, that he could not entertain his friends as he pleased.
Austin’s feelings after he had reached his room were as serious and positive as his father’s, but he took an entirely different view of the whole matter. The question with him was how he should put a stop to such carousing in the house. He wanted to bring up the children in right paths, and how could that be done if they had to be thrown into such influence? It would be a matter of only a short while till Harry would be old enough to begin enjoying these evil associates. So while his father was contemplating how he should show Austin his place, Austin was wondering how he should be able to get to his father’s deceived heart something of what his duty was.
“You thought yourself pretty smart last night,” he said to Austin the next morning in his surliest voice.
“I was not spying, but was only out to prayer-meeting and came in a little late,” answered the boy.
“Looks like a man ought to have a right to entertain his friends in his own house without being ordered about by a boy,” continued the man in a growling manner.
“Nobody was ordering you about, so far as I know. I am sure I said nothing,” Austin replied.
Now was his time, Austin thought, to explain himself. “I do think it is no example for you to set before the children to have such a crowd in,” he said.
Here the conversation stopped for the time, but the feeling of antagonism only grew by the encounter.
Mr. Hill had promised to support the family; but Austin, when he had gotten everything to going smoothly, saw no reason why he should not work also, rather than stay at home all the time. With his help morning and evening it was not difficult for the girls, now fourteen and twelve years old, to do the work nicely.
This was a welcome decision to his father, and soon it was the old story, Austin working and giving all his wages to the support of the family, and his father helping only as was positively necessary.
It was not many weeks after Austin’s return home (for changes came rapidly in this household) that the father had forsaken his job and was again wandering about, leaving the family on Austin. It was a serious outlook for the boy. No longer did he entertain the optimistic view of life that he had held in the beginning of his experiences. When he was fourteen, he felt as if he should be able to support the family like a man, now at sixteen he knew that he could never do that and keep them together in the home besides. It took too much of his time and ambition trying to train the children and direct their minds in the right channels. His father was drinking all he could obtain and that was liquor of a very bad kind. In all, the outlook was serious as the summer drew to a close. Just what the winter would bring for him and his charges he hardly knew.
He had followed the advice of Pastor Bennet and had sought out a congregation with whom he met in worship. He had passed by the richer, finer church, and sought to find among the more humble congregations one that would be spiritual. Also he wanted to go where he could hope to take the children and have them look presentable. He hardly hoped to be able to dress them for a wealthy place. Every week showed Austin more clearly the battle that must be waged, not of fists or of tongues, but of wills, in the home. The children were growing older, and they, too, had lost for the father that feeling of reverence and respect which is right. They had been more than a year away from Austin’s influence and restraint, and while they out of sheer thankfulness yielded themselves to him when he returned, yet as the weeks went by Austin saw that he should have a very big undertaking on his hands just to hold them in control. Besides this was his father’s antagonism. The men did not quarrel, but cutting and sneering remarks, indifference to his wishes, and a general atmosphere of hostility prevailed in his father’s presence, while Austin stood against all this determined to hold his points and if possible keep the home clean. Gradually Austin’s influence in the home prevailed, and because of this, no doubt, his father was found more often away.
CHAPTER 16. — SEEKING NEW PASTURE
When David roamed over the hills of Bethlehem feeding his father’s sheep, he occasionally had to lead them into new pastures. He knew that sheep to thrive must feed on rich grasses and drink of living waters. When he sought out these feeding-places, he took into consideration the needs of the sheep, finding pasture where the young could feed as safely as those who were stronger.
God’s people are compared to sheep and their pastors to shepherds, and the Word of God preached to them is compared to the good pastures. Austin found himself a lone sheep separated from his flock and away from his shepherd with the responsibility of seeking out his own pasture. But you may be certain that he asked the guidance and assistance of the Chief Shepherd.
“Seek out as soon as you can, Austin, a spiritual people and worship with them regularly,” Pastor Bennet had said in his farewell counsel, and these words kept ringing in Austin’s ears. To a boy of less timid nature this would not have been so great an undertaking, but to Austin it was a serious problem. In the first place his knowledge was limited. His religious experience had been bounded by life under the care of Pastor Bennet, and he did not realize the great difference between church and church. That some churches were richer than others he knew, and that some Christians were less humble than others he was also aware. He was certain that the people who attended the larger churches would dress too fine for him and his family, and he would feel neither welcome nor comfortable. He therefore must hope to find his pasture among the smaller and more humble congregations. Pastor Bennet had expressly advised that he find a spiritual people. Why were not all Christians spiritual? Were they not all serving the same God!
The first Sunday he went alone to seek out his place. There were two reasons for this, first that he could go in and out with less notice and also listen with less distraction, and the other reason was that the children were without suitable clothing to go with him. They wanted to go, but he put them off with a promise for the future. He had been making inquiry about a place to worship and had learned of an earnest, zealous people who worshiped in a small building on a side street. From what he had heard, he felt attracted to this place. It seemed to have a reputation for earnestness and spiritual advancement more than any other.
He entered among the other worshipers and took a seat well back, and watched to see how the service was conducted and to compare this congregation with the one he had left. The people came in quietly and seemed humble and sincere. He found himself entering into the spirit of the meeting. The Sunday-school was not large, but was interesting, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. When the minister rose to speak, he had a message that cheered the hearts of his hearers. Austin sat attentively listening, his serious eyes dwelling on the face of the speaker. Pastor Gray was soon attracted to the earnest young listener, and when the service closed, hurried back to grasp his hand and speak to him. Others of the members also made him welcome with pleasant greetings and hearty invitations to return and worship with them again. Austin left the house cheered and comforted, with thankfulness in his heart that so soon he had found a feeding-place.
He told the children where he had been and that by the following Sunday he wanted to have them all ready to go with him and enroll in the Sunday-school. This was to be a new experience for the children, for they had been out of Sunday-school so long that the younger ones hardly knew what it would be like. All of them from Amy to Doyle were glad to make ready for the new experience.
The next Sunday morning was a busy one, but in due time Austin with his little flock about him walked down the dusty street to the place of worship. He was met at the door by the superintendent and made welcome, and the children were placed in their proper classes. When it came time for the study of the lesson, Austin took an active and interested part, which pleased his teacher very much and attracted the attention of the superintendent. They had been needing a teacher for the boys’ class, and at once that worthy person thought she saw in Austin just what was needed.
“Brother Hill,” she asked him after Sunday-school, “have you ever taught a Sunday-school class?”
“Yes, I had a class before I came here,” he answered.
“We are needing a teacher for a class of boys. Would you be willing to take it?”
Immediately Austin thought of Pastor Bennet’s instruction to his young converts, to take hold of any work that might be given them to do. Besides, he longed to be useful.
“I should be glad to do so,” was his answer.
This class of boys was a real blessing to Austin all through the summer, and he found himself taking each one into his heart. He wanted to be able to lead them also to his Savior. Soon he began going out to the evening services and to the midweek prayer-meetings, and found himself one of the little flock working for the Master. It was with gladness that he was able to write back to Pastor Bennet that he had indeed found a real home. So the summer wore away. Austin was as busy and as happy as he had ever been in his life. To be with the children and to feel he was being a blessing to them brought gladness to him, and added to this was the association with the little congregation of spiritual people. His heart swelled with thanksgiving to God.
Every boy with ambition in his heart feels great longings to be useful in this world, to accomplish something. According to each boy’s talents and inclinations these longings take different forms. One pictures himself a successful business man, another rises high in some of the professions, yet another becomes in his dreams a man who understands the sciences, or who digs deep into the mysterious things of this world. Every real boy has his dreams, and Austin was not an exception. He would not always be with the children. In a few years they would be grown, and he would be free. Then, oh, then he would go forth to his achievements! But when he looked forward, there was a broad expanse of years. And already his wings began beating against the bars. He longed to be out, to be free.
Again he found that the things which boys like appealed to him. There were outings and sports he would have liked to take part in, but his home responsibilities hindered him. He wanted often to do things which under other circumstances would have been all right, but by the doing of which he would lose influence with the children. Often he would have to steel himself against those things his boyhood called for and be as one much older. This gave him a manner rather stern and grave, and made him unlike other boys. It shut him off from those of his own age, and to a great extent made him unable to fully sympathize with his sisters in their girlishness. It seemed to him they ought to be steady and serious like himself, and often he gave them sharp reproofs, which were hard for them to bear. In later years they saw that he had more to carry than nature had made a boy ready for; and he realized that often he had asked too much of them.
The days were full of perplexities for Austin. The children had been left to themselves and had worked out their own problems, each in his or her own way, and the result was that they had lowered in moral tone and were in many instances crafty and deceitful. Austin was left alone with them for long periods at a time, and to bring the obedience that was necessary for the governing of such a household he had often to use sternness and even to chastise some of the younger ones. He must teach them some of the principles of obedience.
“Austin,” said his father one day, “I have a contract for putting up hay that will give work for all of us for six weeks or more. How would you like to load up the family and enough cooking-utensils for use in the camp and go out with us? Amy and Nell could do most of the cooking, and you could have wages just as I shall give Wilbur. We shall be in camp steady till the work is done.”
Austin considered this proposition, and accepted his father’s offer. It would be a change for all of them, and he had always been fond of outdoor life. If the contract was properly fulfilled, it would net a good sum of money for the family purse, which meant a great deal. All the children entered into the plans for their outing with enthusiasm. To live like Gipsies for a few weeks would be great sport they were certain.
CHAPTER 17. — TO THE HAY-FIELDS
They were to go to the hay-fields about the first of October, and the work would keep them a full six weeks, during which time they wished to remain constantly in camp. They would go to the more distant part of the fields and work toward town. The grass was upon hilly ground, making the work somewhat tedious in places. As the country was only thinly settled, they would be the entire time away from all social life. The camp would be moved several times, each time being pitched nearer town.
It would be a full day’s drive from home to the place for the first camp, with the wagons loaded as they would have to be, therefore all preparations for the start were made the day before. The bulky machinery needed for haying was loaded upon wagons, while the camping-outfit, bedding, clothing, and all things for family use were put upon a separate wagon, where the children were to ride also. Austin was to be the driver of this wagon, and from the first be given the oversight of the children. The party would consist of Mr. Hill, Wilbur, Ned Bailey (who had been hired to help on the job), Austin, and the children.
In gathering together the implements needed, some one had to make a trip across a small pasture-field from which the scrubby timber had not been cleared. Will had hitched a team of young mules to one of the wagons and gone on this errand. The mules were frisky fellows and enlivened this little journey by running away. Wilbur got them under control with little trouble, but it was noticed afterward that one of the wheels of the wagon had been injured by striking against a tree. Because his load would not be so heavy as the others, Austin was given this wagon.
The morning they were to start every one was up early and eager to be off; but as is always the case at such times, they found more to do than they had supposed, and it was nearly noon when they left the house. They stopped in town to get groceries and a few things needed for the work, and were off again. Only Mr. Hill knew where the hay-fields were located, and as the road led through a rough country, he took the lead, the others following, making a jolly little caravan.
They had not gone far on the way when all the joy of the trip was taken away for Austin. He saw a suspicious-looking brown bottle pass between Ned and Mr. Hill. Too well he knew what that meant, and how unreasonable and inconsistent his father would be when his brain should be fired by the bottle’s contents. In only a little while the silly jokes and ribald laughter of the two men floated back to those in the last wagon. Austin looked on the children in pity and was sorry that he had consented to take them on such a journey. But all they could do now was to go ahead, fare as they might.
Henry Hill still had a conscience, and at every draft from the hottle it lashed him harder, but he mistook it for Austin’s accusing thoughts. He felt the serious, reproving eyes of his son rest upon him every time he took a sup, and to avoid this unpleasant sensation he drove to one side, and when Austin came along by him, he ordered that he go to the lead.
He knew that dim as the road was and rough, Austin would have all he could manage with his driving and could give no time to what was going on behind him. Austin protested against this arrangement, for he did not know the way nor the condition of the roads. There were a number of small streams to be crossed, none of which had bridges, and all of which had treacherous quicksand beds, and he hated to drive first with the children. But his father was already past reasoning with and motioned Austin on with an imperative flourish of his hand. After getting the directions as well as he could Austin drove ahead. Presently they came to one of the little streams, the banks of which were steep and sandy, but by paying strict attention to what he was doing, Austin got into the water and out again on the other side without accident. The other wagons were not so fortunate, for one of them tipped over and spilled the machinery into the stream. It took some time to get everything out and on the wagon again, and the combined strength of the men was needed to accomplish it. To cheer themselves on their way Mr. Hill and Ned took several more drinks from the brown bottle. Fortunately for Austin and the children Wilbur was not drinking at all.
They had not gone far when Austin allowed his wagon to strike against a stone. Unfortunately it was the injured wheel that received this jolt, and it gave way. Here was a worse predicament than the first accident had been, for the wagon could not go at all. They unloaded one of the other wagons and reloaded it with the things from the one Austin was driving. It took some time to do all this, especially since half the men were almost past helping; already it was late. Mr. Hill had now come to the disagreeable stage of drunkenness and was furiously angry at this delay, especially because it had been Austin who had occasioned it. He did not think it best to vent his anger upon his son, so took it out upon the team. Talking loudly and swearing profusely, he stepped up to one of the horses and gave it a smart kick. This blow was unexpected by the animal and entirely uncalled for, and was spitefully resented—no sooner had the blow fallen on the horse’s side than it wheeled and kicked back viciously. The blow struck the man on the thigh, and he gave a loud yell of pain. The pain was as severe as if the leg had been instantly broken by the contact, and no doubt that is what Mr. Hill thought had happened.
The children, already excited over the accidents, were now thrown into great alarm at the scream of pain from their father, and began to cry with fright. But Austin felt a wave of gratitude to the fiery old horse for punishing the foolish man.
“Hush, children! he is not seriously hurt, and the pain will sober him so that he can tell us where to go,” said Austin with a good deal of inward satisfaction. As matters then were he had gone as far as he could without further directions, and his father was past giving any sensible orders. It had begun to look as if they must camp on the prairie till the man could sober up.
The boys helped the wounded man into his wagon and made him as comfortable as they could with some pillows and a bed-quilt, and went on with their work. Austin’s guess had been right, for by the time the boys were ready to start on, Mr. Hill was able to tell them where to go.
The accidents had hindered the little caravan so much that they did not reach their destination till long after dark. They were to camp that night in the yard of the man for whom they were to work, and it was very late when they drove in and gave the customary call. Mr. Jenkins came to his door and in a few minutes was out in the yard with them. Will and Austin were out of their wagons and explaining how they had been delayed. Mr. Jenkins looked about in some perplexity.
“Where is Hill, the man I contracted the work to?” he asked. “Father is yonder in the wagon. He had an accident on the way and is not able to get out of the wagon by himself,” explained Will.
Mr. Jenkins walked around to where Ned and Mr. Hill were nodding drunkenly, and turning to the boys he said, “Been drinking I guess.” The boys said nothing, for both of them were heartily ashamed of their father’s condition.
Mr. Jenkins, who had a kinder heart than tongue, said some very hard things that night to the stupid men, but helped the boys to get them off the wagons and into bed.
“If a man has no respect for himself, he ought to have some for his children. Think of your dad being out with his little girls on a trip like this and getting into such a condition,” stormed their host. The boys made little reply, for nothing they could say could mend matters nor make them less mean. As for Henry Hill, he was past all feeling or consideration, being as stupid as if he were not a man at all. He hardly knew when he was placed in his bed.
There was little room in the ranch-house, and beds had to be piled upon the floors of some empty bins in the barn. Here the weary children were soon in sweet, forgetful sleep. When Austin lay down to rest, with his little sisters sleeping near by, he thought soberly and earnestly. His lot had been cast among the wicked, but by the grace of God he meant to make the best of it anyway, and do what he could for the little ones. It was hard to have as kind a feeling toward his father as a Christian should, but he was able to conquer himself and keep peace in his soul. Never will he forget the battle he fought that night with apprehensions, discouragements, and evil feelings toward his parent. Lying there in the dusty granary with the mice scampering about, he prayed, “O God, give me grace to feel toward Father as I should. Help me in the coming weeks to always do right. Show me how to protect the children, and forgive me for consenting to bring them on such a hazardous journey.”
CHAPTER 18. — SIX WEEKS OF HAYING
Morning came at last, bringing light and warmth, and the children were up and ready for the remainder of their journey. Mr. Hill and Ned were sober now, and luckily the bottle was empty. They were very cross and out of sorts from the effects of their drinking, but able to help with the work. Mr. Hill could limp about on his injured leg, and so they were soon off to their first camp.
At last they drove to the place that Mr. Hill had previously chosen to set up camp, and soon the tent was up and the stove ready for the fire, and the few cooking-utensils in place. While part of the company were doing this, one man had already gone to the field, and the sound of the mower, as it cut the fragrant grasses, came in a merry tune to their ears.
Since the brown bottle that had caused them so much grief on their journey was empty, things went on very smoothly in camp. The girls did very well with the cooking, with Austin’s ever-ready help when they were in perplexity. Everything took on a more hopeful air.
“I am not going to work today, Father,” said Austin quietly the first Sunday morning.
“Not going to work! Are you sick? What is the matter with you?” gruffly answered his father.
“This is Sunday, the day set for worship, and I wish to have it for study and prayer even if I can not go to church.”
“We have no time for sentiment here. This work must be done in the quickest time possible. We are all going to work today the same as any other day,” said Mr. Hill decidedly.
“Do not count me in for today. I shall not work,” said his son just as decidedly.
Henry Hill looked at his son in a puzzled manner. He wanted to force him to do as he had bidden him, but he remembered another time when Austin had said just as decidedly that he would not do as he had been told, and the consequence of trying to use force. So without a word he turned about and went on to his work.
Austin thought a principle was at stake in this. His father had no sympathy with his desire to serve God and would have been glad to hinder him from careful obedience. If he gave in to ignore what he thought to be the teaching of the Word and to ignore the dictates of his own conscience in working on Sunday while he was here in the hay-field, he could not hope to have freedom in service to God in other things. He remembered how his first pastor had warned him to be bold and fearless in his home in serving God and he would keep the victory. When Mr. Hill had gone out, Austin helped the girls get their morning work done and dinner planned, then with his Bible in hand he strolled off to the shade of a hay-stack and spent a profitable season in study and prayer. The days had been so full that he had had little opportunity for communion with God during the week, and this was very refreshing to his soul.
“I see where you have the best of us,” said Ned at the dinner-hour, “for you get a day’s rest, and we do not.”
“My team and I can work all the better tomorrow for our rest today,” said Austin with conviction. “My father will lose nothing by my keeping Sunday. Man and beast need one day of rest out of the seven on a job like this.”
Austin was to see many trying places where neither his father nor his brother would be any help to him in his service to God, and it is well for his future progress that he learned right at the first to stand by his convictions. But it is not more true in his case than in the case of every young Christian. Those who will stand faithful in the tests of life are the ones who gain the crown at last. While it is true that God has promised to keep his children in the most trying circumstances, it is also true that the child must put his trust wholly in God and live obediently. The Christian can go through any dark place and endure any hardness if he keeps a firm trust in God and, his purpose strong and true, but he will falter in the smallest trials if he is not firm.
The young Christian need not hope to be always surrounded by those who are in sympathy with his religious life, but each must learn to serve God in spite of circumstances and surroundings. And the service of God is not a thing to be hidden away. If a man is a Christian, he will show it out every day. It will make a difference in his whole life. There will in all that he does and says be an influence for God and good. This is especially true of the young man who is thrown among those who are sinful and rough. The difference in the tone of his life and theirs is a constant reproof to sin that will, as in the case of Austin and his father, bring embarrassment to the sinner.
The days moved by in quick succession, with very little variation in the order of the day’s work. They rose early and worked late. Three meals a day were waiting for them in the tent, prepared by the faithful little cooks. Only on Sunday was there a variation in the routine, and on that day Austin refused to go to the field at all.
The hay had been finished around the first camp and they had moved back to another good center, only in a few days to move again. Now they had come to their last camp, which was but ten miles from town. Another week or ten days would let them out of their job and they could go home, but often the last week is the longest week when one is isolated. Austin longed to be back to his Sunday-school and to meet again with the congregation at the little chapel.
“Father,” he asked on Saturday evening before the sixth Sunday out, “may I have a horse to ride to town tomorrow?”
“What do you want to go to town for? We are not especially needing anything,” ungraciously replied his father.
“Tomorrow is Sunday and one team will be idle. I want to get back to my Sunday-school class and to meet with the people in church once more. I will not ride fast if you will let me have a horse.”
“No, you can not have a horse. I have them out here for work, not to run about,” snapped the man.
Austin said no more and went quietly back to his reading. Mr. Hill thought he had scored a victory and felt elated accordingly, but Austin was only waiting to consider what his duty might be. In the morning he rose before day and prepared himself for a journey. He took nothing to hinder his progress, but with his Bible under his arm he set out for town. If he had no bad luck, he could get a part of the Sunday-school and all the preaching service.
“Where is Austin?” asked his father at the breakfast-table, for his place was vacant.
“He started for town before we were up. He wants to get there in time for church,” said Amy.
“Ten miles to church. That is a record and no mistake,” laughed Ned. Wilbur and his father joined him in the merriment, but Mr. Hill felt a twinge of conscience. “I might have let him have a horse if he was so determined to go,” he said.
“I wonder how Austin made it this morning. Wonder if he will be back for work tomorrow,” remarked Wilbur at the dinner-table.
Austin was entirely unmindful of these remarks. He walked the full ten miles to town and arrived in time for about half the Sunday-school. He was too late to teach his boys, but promised to be with them the next Sunday. He went out to the house and rested during the afternoon and remained in town for the night service. He rose early the next morning and started back to his work, but this time he did not have to walk the whole way.
“Good morning, Parson, want a ride?” a cheery voice called. Austin looked up, a little abashed at being addressed as Parson, but glad for the offer.
“Thank you, sir, I should be glad to ride,” he said, climbing in.
“I took you for a parson when I saw that book under your arm, but you look too young for the part,” said the man looking at him curiously.
“No, I am not a preacher, but a hay-hand from Jenkin’s ranch. I walked in to church yesterday, and am just getting back this morning.”
“You are more serious about such things than some people I know, to walk that far to hear a sermon,” laughed the man.
“Perhaps, but I find it worth being serious about,” good-naturedly replied Austin.
The ride carried him within a short distance of his work, and he was ready to be in his place when the grass was dry enough to cut. He felt none the worse for his journey, and greatly refreshed in spirit for having met with the people of God.
Before the week was out they had finished the last acre of cutting, and topped the last stack. It was a thankful family of sunburned people who retraced their steps to their home at the edge of town.
CHAPTER 19. — INDECISION AND RESTLESSNESS
It was now the middle of November, and the children were not yet in school. Austin’s first duty after coming back from the hay-fields was to get them ready and started in for the rest of the winter. He himself would have to work every day to help with the support of the family. No time now for him to think of going to school, but the younger five should have a better opportunity than he had been given. Such was his vow as he started them off the next Monday morning. The children were delighted to be back in Sunday-school and to begin their school-year. The time spent in the opens had greatly increased their appreciation of home.
But troubles were ahead. The warfare between Austin and his father waged harder than ever. They had no common point of contact in their natures. Austin had a clear, definite conception of duty and right, while his father’s conception of such things was unusually dim and vague. Austin not only saw and understood his own duty, but he saw with equal clearness his father’s duty. Though he was not a boy to nag, yet so strong was his personality that his displeasure was keenly felt. Thus Henry Hill felt continually under criticism. He was lashed for every slip and lapse from duty by the unspoken condemnation of this clear-eyed, strong-souled son of his, and made extremely uncomfortable.
Austin was almost as restless as his father. He had continually to fight a disgust and hatred that should have no part in a Christian’s emotions. And he longed to be of service in the world. It was the call of youth in his veins that stirred these restless longings, but Austin had no one to explain this to him. It is not nature that a boy should settle down to carry a man’s responsibilities, and any boy who has it to do will either become a drudge or will suffer with restless longings that can hardly be controlled.
“I am out of work again and do not know where in these parts I can get the kind I want. While you are here to stay with the children, I believe I will get out and look around a while. Maybe I can locate something more suitable in another town,” said Henry Hill to his son one day.
It was the same old story. Restlessness, dissatisfaction, wanderlust, irresponsibility, shirking of duty. Austin’s lips curled just a little in scorn before he answered his father.
“Better get you a steady job here and settle down and keep the children in school. Even if you can not get just what you might want, you can have plenty of good-paying work, and be at home. Something brought in every week for the support of the children is needed here more than anything else.”
“I can not see my way clear to do that, Austin. While I am sticking with a poor job here, the very kind I want might be getting away from me. The thing to do in a case like this is to get out and hustle and find what you want,” reasoned the father.
“Well, as you will. But I shall need help to get on with the children. I can not do my duty by them and yet fully support them.”
“Do not worry about that. I usually keep up my part of everything,” said the father.
But he went away leaving practically nothing with Austin for the care of the children, and he was not seen in those parts again. Occasional letters came from him, and sometimes a little money accompanied these letters, but for the most part it was the labors of Austin’s hands that kept the wolf from the door.
It was the beginning of winter, the season when household expenses are the highest, and it was a hard struggle for the boy to carry the whole load all the weary weeks. The care of the children also was great. The irresponsible nature of their father ruled in some of their natures, and to Austin it at times seemed there was no use trying to make good citizens of them. But he remembered his mother and how hard she would have struggled to keep them together, and what efforts she would have made to bring them up right, and for her sake he struggled on. He hoped for nothing from the older boys, for they paid little attention to him and the children.
“Is Hill about anywhere?” asked a rough voice at the door.
“No, sir, he is not at home. Is there anything I can do for you!” asked Austin politely.
“No, perhaps not. I wanted to see him. He justly owes me a sum of money, and as I am needing it now I wanted to see if he would come across with it,” answered the man gruffly.
Austin had not known of any such debt and now inquired of his caller until he had the man’s side of the story. Later he investigated the matter until he was satisfied that it was a just debt. His father had left in his care a few hogs, and their sale would pay the debt and leave a little over. Austin was confident that his father would never come back and had intended not to pay the debt at all. He did not want such a blot on the family name, so determined to sell the hogs and pay the debt.
This he did, writing his father of the transaction, and receiving in reply a scorching reproof for his forwardness. He could not hope to be in his father’s good graces for a long time after this deed. “If he does not want straight dealing, he had better not leave his business in my hands,” was Austin’s mental comment as he read the letter. Austin was free also at this time in writing very pointedly to his father of the family needs and to insist that more money should be forthcoming to meet current expenses. He had none of those lofty feelings that had stirred his young breast when he worked in Mr. Long’s garden. He felt that he was being imposed upon.
At last the father sent the word that he had located the good job and was now ready for the family. He told Austin to dispose of the household goods and bring the children as soon as he could. But there was nothing to cheer Austin in doing this. It meant only another few months in a strange locality and then on again somewhere else. The only way for his father to settle down at all seemed to be for him to have the full responsibility of the children where he could not get away. Austin determined to give him a new lesson.
He disposed of the household goods, packed the bedding and things to be taken to the new home, and, putting the children on the train, sent them to their father; and he staid on with his work, for he had a good place. The children were unwilling for this, but Austin’s patience had worn out, and he felt he could not carry his father’s burden any farther.
Henry Hill was quite chagrined at the turn Austin had taken. He did not suppose the boy would leave the children again. But there was nothing else to do but take his load and carry it. Those weeks of waiting during the winter had been fruitful in the hearts of his children in developing in them all a genuine disregard for their father. Austin had not the ability of his mother to lead the children away from him and his influence. He had been so vexed with his father’s behavior that he had lent an influence of disrespect to the children. Now that they were under their father’s government, they grew every week more unruly and disobedient to him. He had no control over them. Even his dull eyes saw the danger into which Amy and Nell were drifting in the careless, unrestrained way they were taking. So in his helplessness he could only turn to Austin. Writing him something of his difficulties, he said: “I shall have to give up housekeeping entirely if you can not come, for the girls will get into trouble. They need some one over them who can manage them. They will not obey me at all.”
It had been a number of weeks since he had sent the children away, and in that time Austin had been far from happy. He felt that he was not doing his duty, yet he could not under existing circumstances feel that he should take the entire care and support of the children. But this S. O. S. aroused him to a knowledge of the present duty, and he went directly home.
The change which had taken place in the children in the weeks he had been absent amazed him. There had been something about their new environments that had developed the worst that was in them. They now lived in town, and the girls had been running about at their will. They had fallen in with companions who were not doing them any good, and at the present rate of speed would soon be past any control at all.
Austin took up the home cares as well as he could, though with a sinking heart. He was terribly alone and helpless. And again he was plucked up from his church-home, a sheep out on the barren mountains, it seemed to him. And in looking ahead he could see nothing bright to work toward. But he did not lose hold of the throne of God and did not forget to seek comfort and strength in prayer. And God helped him in those days.
He had been out from the house a short while one evening, and when he came in, his father said, “I wish you would go and find the girls.”
“Why are they away? I did not know they intended going out,” said Austin in some surprize.
“Well, they are gone and would tell me nothing about where they were going. They dressed in their best and set off down the street,” answered the father in a worried tone.
Austin set out, praying as he went. He had no idea where he was to go nor how he should find them, for the town was large and just at that time was filled with visitors attending some sort of circus just at the edge of the town. Tonight large crowds were going out there, and for several nights the conduct in and about the tents had been boisterous. It was no place for two little girls to go unattended. Toward this place Austin made his way, praying earnestly. And down the street he saw Amy and Nell drifting with the crowd and having the best of times. Hurrying till he overtook them, he touched them on the arms gently and said, “I have come for you girls. It is time you were at home.”
They looked at him in surprize for an instant, and while he met their eyes without flinching, he cried out to God from his heart. If they would not obey him he was helpless. But they obeyed without protest and went home with him. He questioned them a little and found that they had gone out without planning, just dressed up and gone out for what good times they could find. He explained to them something of the dangers of such a course, and they listened to him courteously.
This incident gave him both courage and uneasiness. Courage to hope that he might be able to govern them, but uneasiness about their sudden whims and turns. If he had been instructed of the changes in disposition that overtake all children at their age, he might not have been so troubled, but to him it seemed that his little sisters had suddenly determined to take the wrong course in spite of everything. He saw more plainly than ever that his father had trifled away his chance of influencing his children for good.