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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75676-0.txt b/75676-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64632f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2013 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75676 *** + +Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. + + +[Illustration: "I'VE SAID I'LL PUT A STOP TO IT AND I'LL DO IT."] + + + + TWO SECRETS + + AND + + A MAN OF HIS WORD + + + BY + + HESBA STRETTON + + AUTHOR OF "JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER," "ALONE IN LONDON," + + "NO PLACE LIKE HOME," "THE CHRISTMAS CHILD," ETC. + + + + London + THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY + 4, BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD + + + + BUTLER & TANNER + THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS + FROME, AND LONDON. + + + + STORIES BY HESBA STRETTON + + + The Children of Cloverley | The King's Servants + Enoch Roden's Training | Little Meg's Children + Fern's Hollow | The Lord's Purse-Bearers + In the Hollow of His Hand | Alone in London + Pilgrim Street | Lost Gip + A Thorny Path | Max Kromer + Cassy | The Storm of Life + The Crew of the "Dolphin" | Jessica's First Prayer + Jessica's Mother | Under the Old Roof + Left Alone | No Place Like Home + + + THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 4 BOUVERIE STREET + + + + CONTENTS + +TWO SECRETS + +A MAN OF HIS WORD + + CHAP. I. HIS ONLY CHILD + + " II. "CAST OUT" + + " III. HIS GRANDSON + + " IV. HIS OWN WAY + + " V. A CRITICAL MOMENT + + " VI. A TRUE MAN + + + + TWO SECRETS + + AND + + A MAN OF HIS WORD + + + + TWO SECRETS + + [Illustration] + +ABOUT a stone's throw from the last house in the small country town of +Armitage stood a cottage which had scarcely changed in aspect since it +had been built two hundred years ago. The gambrel roof was high-pitched +and closely thatched, with deep eaves, under which the swallows built +their nests; the little elbow in the slope of the gable gave it a +quaint look, as if the cottage had drawn a hood over its head. Along +the top of the roof grew a row of purple flags, which contrasted well +with the brown thatch and golden lichens. Casements, with small diamond +windows, glistened in the light. A garden full of old-fashioned flowers +ran down from the road to the little porch, which sheltered the door +from rough weather, and made a pleasant and shady seat in the summer. +It was certainly the most picturesque dwelling in the neighbourhood. + +"What is the name of your cottage?" asked an artist, who had just +finished a sketch of it. + +"Oh! It hasn't any name, sir," answered Joanna Terry—"it's nothing; +only our home." + +She had been born there, and had not been away from it for a whole +week at a time for fifty-five years. She hardly knew any other house. +The ground floor of the cottage contained a large, old-fashioned +living-room, with two very small ones opening out of it, one of which +was a kind of scullery, and the other the bedroom in which she had +been born, and where she had slept all her life. Under the gable of +the thatched roof there was a large attic covering the whole area of +the cottage, with sloping ceiling and two windows, one at each end, +looking east and west. Joanna's mind could not grasp the idea of any +improvement in the arrangement of her little homestead. + +The tall, spare old woman was still very active and alert, with an +eye keen to detect every weed venturing to grow in the garden, and +every speck of dust that might blow in through the open window and +door. Scarcely a bud opened on the roses and clematis climbing up the +half-timber wall without her notice. The hollyhocks and sunflowers, +standing as erect as herself, were every one known to her. The +potato-patch behind the cottage, which her husband, Amos Terry, +cultivated in his leisure time; the long rows of peas and beans; the +beds of onions and lettuce; the fruit-trees which paid their rent—they +were almost like children to her. Indoors, the old oak settle by the +fireside, the oak table and dresser, all shining with the active work +of her own hands, teemed with associations and memories which formed +the sum and substance of her life. The roof-tree was not more planted +to the spot than Joanna was. + +Still more firmly rooted there, if possible, was her only child, +Charlotte, who lived in the pleasant attic under the roof. She was +lame, and an invalid from a spinal complaint, the result of a fall when +she was a little child. It was very seldom that she felt well enough to +creep painfully down the rude staircase to the ground floor. But from +her two windows her eye could overlook both of the garden patches lying +before and behind the house; and she knew everything growing in them as +well as her mother did. Eastward her view was bounded by a low ridge of +hill, above which the morning clouds hung tinged with lovely hues some +time before the sun showed itself over the wooded outline. To the west +there was a wide stretch of undulating land, with meadows and coppices +and scattered cottages, ending far-off in a glimpse of the sea, which +often glittered like gold under the setting of the sun. Charlotte +seldom missed seeing both sunrise and sunset. + +She was thirty years of age now, pallid and emaciated, with the +pathetic look in her eyes which cripples and deformed people so often +have. She looked almost as old as her mother. The mother and daughter +had been slowly changing places for the last fifteen years. Charlotte +was the adviser now, the head of the little household, the referee to +whom every question was brought. She was always brooding over schemes +for her father and mother's comfort, and suggesting gently what their +actions should be from day to day. Joanna was still young in spirit, +apt to act impetuously; occasionally giving way to almost girlish fits +of temper, which she confessed and repented of by Charlotte's bedside. +It did not seem possible there could ever come a secret between these +two. + +Amos Terry, who was two years older than his wife, had been a rural +postman for thirty-seven years. The daily routine of his work had +never altered. At six o'clock, summer and winter, he presented himself +at the post-office in the town, and received the various letter-bags +which he had to convey along a route, the farthest point of which was +seven miles away. As it was out of the question for him to return home +and walk the same distance again, he remained at this farthest point +all day, and hired a small out-building, where he occupied his time +profitably in mending the boots and shoes of a considerable circle +of customers who valued his careful work. At four o'clock he started +homeward, collected the bags he had distributed in the morning, and +was timed to be at the post-office again at half-past six, soon enough +to make up the evening mail. The old church clock never struck seven +before he was at home, going first thing upstairs to his daughter's +attic. The sight of her face, wan and drawn as it was with pain, but +always lit up with a smile of welcome, was the most precious sight in +the world to him. He had never had a secret from her in his life. His +whole heart and mind and soul lay open to her as absolutely as it is +possible for one human being to be open to another. + +"I don't think there's anybody in the world as happy as me," said Amos, +perfectly convinced of the truth of his assertion, "at least, not one +bit happier; they couldn't be." + +"Not if Charlotte was strong and well?" suggested Joanna, with a sigh. +It was she who had let her child fall when a baby. + +"Maybe I should have gone away and left you," said Charlotte; "it 'ud +never have done for me to live idle here. Or I might have been married, +you know," she added, with a faint blush and a smile. + +"Anyhow, it is as the Lord has willed it," Amos answered, "and +sometimes I think He'll be weary of me sayin' how happy I am." + +There was very little to disturb that happiness. Ambition was unknown +to them. No religious or political questions perplexed their humble +souls. Care was a long way off, for they had more than enough for +their simple wants. They needed neither fine clothes, nor dainty food, +nor costly furniture. A few old-fashioned books, gathered together by +Joanna's forefathers, were enough for their mental requirements. The +"Pilgrim's Progress" and "Holy War," the "Vicar of Wakefield," the +"Fool of Quality," and "Paradise Lost," were ranged on a little hanging +shelf in Charlotte's attic, and with their Bible and a hymn-book +provided amply for Joanna and Amos, whilst more modern books were now +and then lent to Charlotte by friendly visitors from the town. They had +beautified their little home, and cultivated their garden according to +their own fancy; and if three wishes had been given to them, they would +have been puzzled to fix upon one. + +If Joanna knew and loved her house almost as her own soul, Amos also +knew and loved the route he traversed daily in all weathers. More than +six hundred times a year he passed the same cottages, tramped along the +same lanes between high hedgerows, and looked up to the same constantly +changing sky overhead. He loved it ardently though dumbly, possessing +no language that could express his feelings. He was fond of singing, +but he sang somewhat as the birds sing, that know only a strain or two. +Amos knew only a few hymns, and he generally sang them through again +and again as he went to and fro, until the cottagers on his route knew +when he was drawing near, and hastened to their doors or windows to +give him a friendly nod. + +It was getting well on In October. The low-lying hills were covered +with coppices of beech-trees, now wearing the loveliest tints of +autumn. Down each valley ran a little rivulet, joining a broad and +rapid but shallow stream, which hurried along a stony channel to the +sea. Amos seldom went home without taking some flower or leafy branch +for Charlotte; and he was gathering a cluster of crimson berries from a +climbing bryony, when a young man, the eldest son of Squire Sutton, of +Sutton Hall, where he had just called for the letter-bag, came running +quickly, though cautiously, after him. He did not shout or call to +Amos; and he was almost out of breath when he reached him. + +"Amos," he gasped, "here's a letter. It's a matter of life or death to +me. Let me put it into father's bag." + +He had brought the key with him, and Amos watched him unlock and lock +the bag again. He had recovered his breath now, and he looked at Amos +with a world of anxiety in his face. + +"You are never too late, I suppose?" he said. + +"Now, Master Gerard, you've known me all your life," answered Amos, +"and you might almost as well ask if the sun 'll set at the right time. +I have come and gone on this road nigh on forty year, and never missed +yet. Nobody ever gave me a letter for life or death afore; and it 'ud +be odd indeed if I missed tonight." + +As Amos trudged on the sun went down behind the sweet round outline of +one of the low hills, and the sky looking nearer than in the summer, +seemed about to close, like brooding wings, over the quiet woods. Two +or three robins were chirping cheerfully among the thinning leaves, +which came down with a rustle as the cool evening breeze blew up the +valley from the sea. A profound peace rested on all the silent lanes +and meadows he traversed, which would have been too solemn if he had +not loved it so profoundly. + +But all in a moment a tumult of children's voices scattered the +silence, and Amos saw a troop of terrified little ones running towards +him and screaming for help. Looking beyond them he saw that one of +their playfellows had fallen into the stream, which was carrying the +child swiftly away towards the sea. He had no time to deliberate; there +was not a moment to lose. In another minute the drowning child would be +abreast of the spot where he stood. He laid his bags down safely on the +bank, and waded into the shallow river, which, a few minutes ago, was +running like a thread of gold between its banks in the radiance of the +setting sun. + +There was no great risk in what Amos was doing. The river, unless it +was swollen by rain, was never more than breast-high. He caught the +child in his hands as the current bore it past him, and carried it +in safety to the bank. But there was no one in all the band of its +companions old enough to take care of the little creature. The child's +head had struck against a stone, and it lay a heavy load in his arms. +He must carry it himself to the nearest cottage, which was almost a +mile away. With his letter-bags slung across his shoulders, and his +clothes heavy with water, Amos could not make very rapid progress. The +cottagers were not very willing to take in a strange child, belonging +to nobody but gipsies, and he had some trouble to get them to relieve +him of his charge. More than an hour was gone before he could hasten on +his ordinary way. + +And he did hasten. In spite of his wet clothes and sodden boots, he +pushed on along the darkening lanes, and across the dusky meadows, not +losing a moment. It was always Charlotte's custom during the summer to +be at the window about the time he was due, to give him a smile as he +passed by; and when the evenings closed in early she placed a candle on +the window-sill, that its feeble glimmer should show him a welcome. The +candle was shining through the diamond panes, but he hardly saw it as +he rushed past. What Amos did see was the world of anxiety in the young +squire's face, as he said, "You are never too late, I suppose?" + +The postmaster was standing out on the pavement, looking down the quiet +street, and the gaslight was turned low in the office, usually so busy +a scene till the time for closing, when Amos staggered, breathless and +worn out, up to the familiar door. + +"Why, Amos, my man!" exclaimed the postmaster. "However is this? We +waited till the last moment, and the mail has gone down to the station +these ten minutes. Hark! There's the whistle! The train's off!" + +Amos reeled up against the door, as if struck by a gun-shot. He was +too late! It was some minutes before he could tell his story; and the +postmaster, with a good deal of sympathy and approbation, tried to +console him. + +"Nobody could blame you, Amos," he said. "I must report the matter to +headquarters, of course, and there will be some inquiry about it, no +doubt. Ten to one there is no letter of importance in your bags." + +"Oh, sir!" cried Amos. "Is there nothing can be done? Think if there is +anything can be done." + +"Well," he answered, after a moment's pause, "you might catch the +express at Norton Junction. It's perhaps worth trying, but I'm afraid +the department will not allow the expenses. We'll see about that. A +light cart and a good horse would run you into Norton in two hours." + +"I'll try for it," said Amos. "Please send word to my wife and +Charlotte, or they'll be fretting all night." + +It was an anxious night to Joanna and Charlotte, even though the +postmaster called himself to tell them all that had happened, and to +praise Amos to them. The praises were very gratifying; but the two +women could not help thinking of him driving through the chill October +night in his wet clothing. How sharp the air felt, when they opened the +window to see if there was any rain or fog! The hours wore slowly away. +Joanna kept up a good fire, and had the kettle boiling, and put the old +brass warming-pan ready to warm the bed as soon as Amos came in cold +and famished. But no one came. + +"Mother," said Charlotte, towards four o'clock in the morning, "of +course they'd never drive straight there and back again. The poor horse +'ud have to rest, you know." + +"Ay, dear love," answered Joanna; "but Amos might come home by the +mornin' mail, and that's just due, I'm thinkin'." + +Still the time crept on slowly, and there was no click of the garden +gate, and no step coming down the gravel walk. At the first dawn Joanna +looked out on the garden, with its tall hollyhocks and sunflowers still +bearing a little blossom; but all appeared dull, and grey, and gloomy +to her sleepless, aching eyes. If anything should happen to Amos, even +the Garden of Eden would be a desert to her. + +But the worst that happened was a sharp attack of rheumatic fever for +Amos, following upon a kind of fainting fit, which seized him just as +he delivered up his letters to the clerks in the travelling post-office +at Norton Junction. He was promptly carried to the Norton Cottage +Hospital; and there Joanna found him the following afternoon; and she +wept tears of mingled joy and sorrow as she sat at his bedside and +listened to the tale of his remarkable adventures. + +"We shall never leave off talkin' of them," he said with a smile, "when +I come home to you and Charlotte." + +It was six weeks before he came home. The doctors told him he was quite +well again and might resume his work, but he must take care of himself. +Amos knew this even better than they did. The old buoyant strength, the +careless, untiring delight with which he had been wont to stride along +the old familiar roads, were gone for ever. He loved them as much as +ever; but he did not go out of his way now to look into some secluded +dingle, and he could not afford to pause and listen to any strange cry +in the wintry woods. It was as much as he could do to accomplish his +task. He was even compelled to hire a substitute when the snow lay +heavy on the road, or when torrents of rain were falling. He had paid a +heavy price for saving the life of a tramp's child. No one had thanked +him for it; and he had not even the satisfaction of knowing whom or +where the little creature was. + +When he first called at Sutton Hall after his long illness, the +servants told him how the young squire had made a runaway match, much +to his father's displeasure. The young squire and his bride had gone to +foreign parts, nobody knew where; and his father refused to continue +his allowance, though he could not cut off the entail. This was the +matter of life or death; and Amos was not sure that he would have +driven off to Norton in his wet clothes if he had known the secret of +the young squire's anxiety. + +"But what's done is done," said Amos to himself; "and I thought I was +doin' what the Lord set for me." + +As time went on it became the custom for Joanna to take her husband's +bags, at least every other day, and always in bad weather. The +postmaster, who was friendly to them both, winked at this irregularity; +and none of the great people on the road complained of it. It was +little to Joanna to walk the seven miles out and back again; and the +load was never very heavy. But the long wait of seven or eight hours at +the farthest village was a severe trial to her. She took some sewing or +knitting; but her heart was at home, wondering how Amos and Charlotte +were going on, and longing after her accustomed work in the house and +the garden. Her home seemed, if possible, to grow dearer to her every +day; and her love was heightened by these enforced absences. There was +no other real place in the world to her; it was her world. The joy of +going back to it, and to those who lived in it, was the deepest earthly +joy her soul could feel. + +This home was held on a peculiar tenure, which she had all but +forgotten. Joanna's father and uncle had clubbed their money together +to buy it for three lives: their own, and the life of Joanna's cousin, +a lad fifteen years younger than herself, whose probable term of +existence was so far longer than hers. But as her father paid the +larger share of the purchase money, he had stipulated that Joanna +should have the right of inhabiting the cottage on payment of a low +rent to her cousin. When the three lives were ended the freehold went +back to the original owner. + + +It was nearly three years after Amos met with those adventures, which +had formed the topic of endless conversations, before the postmaster +succeeded in persuading him to resign his post and take the small +pension due to him for his forty years' service. This step would +make a radical change in their lives, and it was as important to him +personally as the resignation of a prime minister. + +"We shall get along rarely," said Joanna, though with a shade of +anxiety in her voice; "the garden is worth £12 a year to us; and when +you're at home to help, we shall make more of it. We can hire a bit o' +land, and grow more things, and your pension 'll be a grand help." + +"Surely! Surely!" assented Amos. + +"And, mother," said Charlotte gently, "let us remember the words of our +Lord Jesus, how He said, 'Take no thought for the morrow—'" + +"Ay; but somebody must take thought," Joanna interrupted, "or how 'ud +the work get done? How 'ud the seeds get sown, and the house minded, +and food bought in? Thee and Amos mayn't take thought, but it falls +upon me to do it." + +[Illustration: ONE MORNING, AFTER A NIGHT OF HEAVY RAIN, + JOANNA SET OUT FOR THE POST OFFICE.] + +"But, mother," said Charlotte, "it means, 'Be not anxious for your +life.' I used to puzzle over it hours and hours, because one must +use forethought, till Mr. Seaford told me the words meant, 'Never be +anxious.' Our Lord says, 'Your Father knows ye have need of these +things'—food, and clothing, and shelter—and He will provide them. Yes, +we shall get along finely." + +The question troubled no more any of the three simple souls. Amos was +to give up his work at Christmas, when he would complete the fortieth +year of daily work as a rural letter-carrier, and until then he or his +wife would carry the letter-bags along the familiar roads. One morning +late in October, after a night of heavy rain, Joanna set out for the +post-office, leaving Amos at home in bed, bearing his rheumatic pains +courageously and patiently. She made the fire up with a huge lump of +coal which would smoulder for hours, until Amos got up. + +It was still dusk when she passed the cottage on her journey out, and +the beloved roof, with its deep eaves, stood darkly against the cold +grey dawn. A thin column of smoke wavered upward in the dank air. +Joanna held a letter in her hand, directed to herself, which she had +got at the post-office; and the temptation was strong to go in and +strike a light and read it before she went on her way. She received a +letter so seldom! But then every other letter entrusted to her would be +delayed; and who could tell what might be the consequences if she was +unfaithful to her charge? Besides, Amos would be worried. She passed by +steadily, giving a loving nod to the old home under whose roof her only +two beloved ones were sleeping. + +It was not until she reached the end of her journey, and had delivered +the last bag at the village post-office, that she sat down in the shed +where Amos was wont to work as a cobbler, and took up the letter. She +read the outer inscription to herself solemnly, and carefully opened +the blue envelope. It was dated from Norton, and began with the word +"Madam!" + +"Oh, it's a mistake," cried Joanna, half aloud. "Nobody never called me +Madam!" + +But the address was plainly "Mrs. Amos Terry." + +"There's nobody else of that name in our place," she reflected, and +went on slowly spelling her way through the letter. + +It was to the effect, expressed in formal phraseology, that her cousin, +the third beneficiary under the tontine by which her cottage was held, +being now dead, the freehold fell to the original owner; and the writer +of the letter, being his agent, was instructed to give her immediate +notice to deliver up the cottage in good and tenantable repair. + +Joanna read and re-read the letter. She was an intelligent woman, but +at first she could not grasp the meaning in its full bitterness. No +word had come to her of her cousin's illness and death. It was true +they did not correspond except on the quarter-days when she sent the +rent and he acknowledged it. By-and-by her brain began to act clearly. +If her cousin was really dead, a man not much more than forty years of +age, then, of course, the tontine was ended, and the cottage was hers +no longer. At the thought of it, her heart died within her. + +She leaned her trembling grey head against the wall, and shut her +aching eyes. A phantasmagoria of the beloved home passed swiftly +through her mind. She saw it in winter with snow upon the thatch, and +long icicles fringing the eaves, all the garden round it sleeping in +wintry sleep, and nursing the roots and seeds in its frozen bosom; in +spring-time, with the young, fresh green of the lilacs and roses and +honeysuckles budding out around it; in summer, almost smothered in +blossoms; and in autumn, as she had seen it this morning, dank with +rain, but snug and dry as a nest within. Every flower that had bloomed +during the last summer, the fruit-trees laden with fruit, the long +rows of beans and peas—all seemed to stand up clearly before her eyes, +asking if it was possible for them to grow out of that soil under any +other care than hers. + +Then she had visions of herself: a baby crawling over the low +door-sill; a little child running in and out with her prattle to the +father and mother; a tall girl going to school and winning prizes to +take home to them; and then, when Amos came courting, how the click +of the garden gate sent her in trembling and blushing to her mother's +side. And all the years since—the long stretch of nearly forty peaceful +happy years—lived under the old roof, until every lifeless thing had +become alive with memories. Not a nail had been knocked in any wall, +not a patch put into the thatch, but she knew all about it: and having +not much else to think about, she could remember how and when and why +each slight change had been made. + +Joanna did no work that day. She sat still in the little shed, +oblivious of cold and damp and hunger, brooding over the terrible +letter. She forgot to eat the dinner she had brought with her. One +decision only she could come to—to keep her secret as long as she +could. Why should Amos and Charlotte suffer as she was suffering, until +she had done all she could do? + +It was hard to go in home that night. She must be her usual self, +cheery, and a little talkative, asking trifling questions about what +they had done all day, whilst her heart felt breaking at the sight of +every familiar object. But she did her best, not daring to complain +of any ache or pain, lest Amos should insist upon going out in the +continued bad weather. At last, the first fine day, when he could +undertake his duty, Joanna found some excuse for going to Norton. She +had learned to know the place well while Amos lay ill in the hospital. + +The agent who had written to her was in his office; and after a little +delay she was admitted to see him. He was a busy man, pompous in his +manner, and he could see nothing to interest him in a plain, ill-clad +country woman, whose homely face was no more eloquent than her words. +She had but little language in which to plead for what was a matter of +life or death to her. + +"My good woman," he said at last, rather angrily, "I have no time for +further discussion. I am instructed to sell the property; and £150 has +been offered for it. If you can make me a better offer, I am willing to +take it. If not, you must be out before Christmas." + +It was like listening to a death-sentence. The house was going to be +sold! Could she offer more than £150? She might as well think of buying +one of the crown jewels. Leave before Christmas! Why, that was only six +weeks off; and Amos and Charlotte had no thought of such a thing yet. +She went home stunned, not knowing what to do. It was as if Fate had +put a dagger in her hand, and bade her pierce the hearts of her two +beloved ones. She did her best to shake off the feeling of doom which +was crushing her; and for some days she went about her daily work with +a Spartan-like cheerfulness. But the bitterest anxiety and despondency +were gnawing at her heart. The only relief was when Amos was obliged to +stay at home, and she could trudge along the wintry lanes, unseen by +eyes that loved her homely face and watched it. + +But the time came at last when she could no longer delay to strike the +blow which would wound Amos and Charlotte as her own heart was wounded. +It was necessary to seek some other roof to shelter them; for December +was come, and on Christmas Eve they must leave the old home. + +"Amos," she said, in a tremulous voice one cold, dark night, after she +had come in from her long tramp, "my cousin's dead." + +"Ah! Dear heart!" he answered her. "And did he die happy?" + +She had never thought of that. + +"I don't know," she cried, bursting into tears, "but oh! Amos, we shall +have to lose our old place!" + +He had been stirring up the fire to make a cheerful blaze, but now he +sat himself down beside her on the oak settle, and put his old arm +round her, drawing her closely to him. He was trembling too with the +suddenness of the shock her words had given to him. The firelight +played upon their wrinkled faces, and upon the hard and withered hands +which clasped each other so fast. Both of them were silent for a few +minutes. Amos knew full well the anguish that filled his wife's heart. + +"Let us go and tell Charlotte," he said at last. + +It was one of her bad days, and she had not left her bed. A patchwork +counterpane, made by Joanna, covered her, and patchwork curtains +sheltered her from the draught of the window. Her aching head and +pallid face lay on a down pillow, with a linen slip spun and woven by +Joanna's mother. The attic looked like a home that had been long and +intimately occupied. Joanna sank down on her knees, with a deep moan, +beside the bed; whilst Amos, in a faltering voice, told the sad news +briefly. + +"Then that's what it means!" cried Charlotte, lifting up her head, and +looking at him with shining eyes. "All day long, for the last five or +six days, there's been a whisperin' in my mind, 'Though He slay me, yet +will I trust in Him.' It's God's voice, father. He's spoken beforehand +to me, to comfort you and me." + +Joanna raised her care-worn and tearful face, and Amos laid his rough +hand tenderly on his daughter's head. Neither of them doubted that God +had indeed spoken to her. + +"A father couldn't do anything to his child that seems worse than +slaying it," continued Charlotte, "but I've read of fathers, loving +fathers, that have done it rather than let them fall into the hands of +wicked men that would kill them cruelly. The children would trust their +fathers to kill them. 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.'" + +"Ah! Dear heart! We'll trust in Him," Amos answered. + +They sat up late that night talking over the utter change in their +future life, and trying to face the calamity from every point of view. +But, after all their discussion, there was nothing for it but to accept +the sorrow as God's will, to which they must meekly submit their own. + +The trouble fell most lightly on Amos. His home was where his wife and +daughter were; and he had lost neither of these. All his days had been +passed away from the cottage, and his life had not been so closely +interwoven with it. Besides, he was almost as ignorant as a child +about ways and means. His weekly wages had always been handed over, as +soon as he received them, to Joanna, who provided for him everything +he needed, leaving him only a few pence in his pocket to meet any +unforeseen contingency. The faculty of dealing with money, which is one +of the latest we acquire, and one of the earliest we lose, had never +been developed in Amos. No anxious foreboding troubled him as to food, +shelter, and clothing. Joanna was there; she would see to all that. + +Charlotte, also, had never had the spending of five shillings in her +life. All she needed came to her as the air and the light came, without +care and without thought. Joanna had shielded her always from all +anxiety. It would be a great grief to quit the old home; but there +rose in her something of the self-sustaining spirit of a martyr. If +she must suffer, she would suffer with rejoicing. There had been +women who trusted in God whilst they were wandering about in deserts, +and mountains, and caves, and holes in the earth, being destitute, +afflicted, tormented. This trial of her faith was nothing compared with +theirs. God should find her trusting Him through sorrow and trouble, +as she had trusted Him in peace and tranquility. She would take up the +cross willingly, and follow the Lord whithersoever He pleased to lead +her. + +Was the burden lighter to Joanna because the others bore it lightly? +All her life had been spent laboriously in providing for and shielding +her two beloved ones. Every shilling, for their sakes, had been made to +do the duty of thirteenpence. She had diligently practised industry, +and thrift, and forethought every hour of every working day; and now +she could not enter into the Sabbath rest of Charlotte and Amos. +The future loomed very dark and dreary. There would be no immediate +distress; for had not she scraped painfully together as much as £50, +which was safely deposited in the post-office savings bank? But she +always regarded that as a nest-egg for Charlotte, if she should happen +to outlive her and Amos. As she sought for some cheap and comfortless +lodging in the town, she wondered how she could manage where there was +no garden where she could grow vegetables and savoury herbs, and where +she could keep a few fowls. Every egg, every potato even, would have to +be bought; and the only money coming in would be the small pension due +to Amos. She foresaw herself spending, with a constant heart-pang, the +nest-egg laid by for Charlotte. + +Joanna fought hard against distrust of God. She listened, with a ghost +of a smile, to Charlotte's consoling and courageous thoughts, but she +could not enter into them. It was strange how this new misery made +everything about her start into greater vividness. Every object about +the cottage, and within it, seemed to be almost alive and thrusting +itself into her notice. Even the old cracks in the window-panes +impressed themselves upon her mind. Still more keenly did she see and +read afresh the familiar faces of her husband and daughter. Perhaps we +see least those whom we love most. They live so closely beside us that, +though their voices are in our ears, and the sense of their presence +is always with us, we hardly look at them, and time leaves traces +on their beloved features undetected by us. Joanna was startled to +recognise how Amos was looking an old man, and how pallid and worn was +Charlotte's face. Oh! If the blessed Lord would only let them all pass +away together from this world before the great sorrow came! + +A few days before Christmas the postmaster handed a foreign letter +to Amos when he came at six o'clock in the morning for the bags. He +read it, as Joanna had read hers, in his cobbler's shed. It came from +Madeira, and was written by young Squire Sutton, whose runaway marriage +he had unconsciously helped. There were only a few words, for in it +was enclosed a letter to Joanna, which was not to be opened or spoken +of till Christmas Day. Amos put the letter carefully aside, smiling +a little sadly to himself as he thought he had a secret as well as +Joanna. But he did not dwell upon his secret much. The dreaded crisis +had come, and his old home was being dismantled. These few days were +full of slow, suppressed anguish to Joanna, as one by one she carried +the smaller treasures of her home to the dreary lodgings in the town. + +Each night when Amos came in some familiar household goods were +missing, and their empty places stared him eloquently in the face. +Forebodings of the immediate future began to peer at him through the +shadow of the coming event. He almost forgot he had any secret, and he +ceased to smile when it crossed his mind. + +Christmas Eve came at last—the dreaded day. Heaven had not interfered +to prevent their exile. Only the heavier pieces of furniture remained +to be moved—the oak settle from the hearth; the old four-post bedstead +on which they had slept so peacefully all their married life, on which +Joanna's forefathers had died, and on which she and Amos had expected +to lie down and die as peacefully as they had slept. The tall clock in +the corner, which had stood there over a hundred years, must be taken +down. It was to Joanna as if she saw the roof-tree give way when she +watched their old friends touched by strange hands. Every stroke of a +hammer stunned her; every creak of the old furniture pierced her to the +heart. + +The doctor came in the middle of the day, and kindly carried Charlotte +away in his carriage to their new abode. Joanna was left alone, for she +had insisted upon Amos going this last day of all upon his round. He +would come back rich with Christmas boxes; but what were any gifts to +Joanna just then? She watched the cart-load of heavy goods start off, +and then she looked round with bitter despair at the dismantled rooms. +She went outside and paced mournfully round the beloved garden, dearer +to her than any other spot on earth. It was a clear wintry day, with +a blue sky, and a white frost which silvered over every leaf of the +evergreen bushes and every bare branch and twig of the trees. A fringe +of icicles hung from the eaves, sparkling like diamonds in the sun. But +there was no smoke rising from the chimney, no face at any window, no +sign of habitation. The cottage seemed to feel itself deserted. Such +forlornness had not befallen it for uncounted years. It and Joanna were +going to part, and it had already a forsaken look, which brought a +burst of bitter tears to her old eyes. + +She walked feebly away, looking neither to the right hand nor the +left, and the neighbours had compassion on her, leaving her alone with +her grief. The two rooms which formed their new home were in a state +of utter confusion. The men who had removed the heavy furniture were +putting up the bedstead in the room which must now be bed-chamber, +kitchen, and all. A little room at the back, opening on to walls, and +chimneys, and roofs, was to be Charlotte's. + +Joanna set to work at putting things to rights a little; but she was +bewildered and confused, and Charlotte, with a tender and gentle voice, +told her what to do, as if she had been in the habit of directing +household matters. Joanna obeyed her as if in a dream. + +Amos came in at his usual hour, and gave Charlotte a kiss, as he had +done each night ever since she came into the world. Then he looked +hesitatingly and shyly at his wife's sad face, and his old arm went +round her neck, and her head sank upon his breast. There was something +sacred and sacramental in the unwonted caress. It was the first moment +of consolation that had come to Joanna, and her face was brighter when +she lifted it up. At any rate, she had lost neither Amos nor Charlotte, +she said to herself. + +There was little sleep for any of the three that night. The +unaccustomed noises in the street, the closer air, the sense of being +in a strange place, all kept them awake. Joanna got up early in the +dark Christmas morning, and pottered about with a candle among their +littered goods to find the articles necessary for breakfast. + +"A happy Christmas to you, mother!" called Charlotte from the inner +room. + +A lump rose in Joanna's throat, and for a minute or two she could not +bring herself to speak. Fifty-seven happy Christmases had found her in +her old home; but now! Then she said in a whisper, "Lord, forgive me!" + +"A happy Christmas to you, Charlotte!" she called back in a shrill and +strained voice. + +It was a comfortless breakfast amid their disorderly possessions; but +Amos kept making light of it, and apologizing, as if in some way it was +his fault. As soon as it was ended, he and Joanna went into Charlotte's +room to reckon up the presents which had been given to him the day +before. He was an old man, and a favourite, and his Christmas boxes +amounted to more than five pounds. + +"But good sake!" he cried suddenly. "I've got a Christmas letter for +you, mother, and I shouldn't wonder if there weren't a pretty card or +something in it. It's from young Squire Sutton, and it came to me a +week ago, but I weren't to speak a word of it till Christmas Day in the +morning. Here, Charlotte; it's for your mother, my dear, but you'll +read the writin' the easiest." + +The young Squire began his letter by saying that but for Amos Terry's +promptitude in carrying on the letters entrusted to him he would +himself have missed the happiness of his life. He had heard the whole +story from a friend in the neighbourhood. + + "We were sorry to hear Amos was ill with rheumatism, and now we hear +that he is obliged to give up being postman. We have often wished to +share our happiness with you two old friends, and as soon as we heard +your cottage was for sale we commissioned an agent to buy the freehold +for you, and we ask you both to accept it as our Christmas gift. With +all our hearts we wish you a happy Christmas." + +Joanna fell down on her knees, and bowed her grey head upon her hands. +"Lord, forgive me! Lord, forgive me!" she sobbed. A positive pang of +gladness ran through her; it was like a rush of life poured into dying +veins. All the anguish and forlornness, all the dread and foreboding +were gone. The old home, dearer to her than ever, was hers again, and +by no uncertain tenure. Not only hers, but Charlotte's, if she should +outlive her. There was no danger now that Charlotte would ever be +homeless. When she lifted herself up and looked at her two beloved +ones, Charlotte's pale face had a tinge of colour, and Amos was looking +almost frightened at his fortune. + +"Amos!" cried Joanna. "We must go and look at it this minute!" + + +They stood together, the old man and woman, at the garden gate, gazing +down on the paradise they had almost lost. It looked more lovely, more +desirable, more home-like than it had ever done, and now it was their +own. It seemed almost as if God had sent them the gift direct from +heaven. + +"If it hadn't been for that tramp's child,"' said Amos slowly, "I +shouldn't ha' missed the mail that evenin'. And if I hadn't missed the +mail, the young Squire 'ud never have thought o' buyin' the house for +us. I've often and often wondered about that tramp's child; but there +now! 'Ye are of more value than many sparrows.'" + +"Ay! That's true," said Joanna, with a sob of happiness. + + + + A MAN OF HIS WORD + +CHAPTER I + +His Only Child + +IF you take a railway map of England and Wales, you will see that, in +spite of its close network of railroads, meeting and crossing in all +directions, there are still many tracts of country where the villages +must be several miles from any station. In these out-of-the-way +spots life is more at a standstill now than even in the days when +stage-coaches and wagons were wont to run from town to town, taking +the villages in their route, and carrying with them the common gossip +of a whole neighbourhood. Twenty-five or thirty years ago, before the +railway system was as fully developed as it is at present, but when +it had already given a death-blow to the old coaching business, many +a village was cut off thus from its former intercourse with the outer +world, and left to live apart from the common life of the nation, or to +find its own way to a reunion. + +In such a remote place, on the borderland which is half English and +half Welsh, lived Christmas Williams. The village was scarcely more +than a hamlet, having no pretension to a village street, its scattered +cottages standing alone in their own gardens. A brown, shallow, +brawling little river, which filled the quiet air with its singing, ran +along under the churchyard walls, over which the tall lime-trees threw +their deep shadows on the busy stream. West of the churchyard, still +on the bank of the river, lay Christmas Williams' garden: his special, +favourite garden, not the common piece of ground beside his house open +to every foot, but his own locked up, fenced-in plot, reached by a +footpath across his orchard. + +Just within sight of the church stood Christmas Williams' house, the +village inn, holding a conspicuous position on a slope of ground, with +a primitive sort of terrace in front of it; over the wall of which +he could often be seen leaning, to look down on the carts and wagons +passing in the lane below, and to send messages, some friendly and some +hostile, by the drivers to their masters, on the various farmsteads +lying round the village. + +There was no one in the neighbourhood who was considered better off, +or who had so widespread an influence as Christmas. He had been +churchwarden for many years, as well as constable of the township; for +rural police were not yet in existence. It was he who kept the keys of +the church, as well as of the crib, which was a small jail built in one +corner of the churchyard, and the terror of all the children of the +parish. + +Yet the crib was seldom occupied, except sometimes after a club-day at +the village inn, when any drunken brawl was sure to excite Christmas +Williams' wrath, and bring down swift punishment on the offenders. +It was in vain to urge the argument that hard drinking was to his +own profit; he only permitted his customers to have as much as he +considered good for them; and if by any mischance they overstepped the +doubtful line between sobriety and drunkenness, down came the keys +of the crib, to which, as constable, he felt pledged to commit all +brawlers and disturbers of the public peace. + +There was not a soul for miles round, as far as the distant town to +which he went to market twice a month, who did not know Christmas +Williams to be a just, upright man, and, above all, a man of his +word. His word was as good as another man's oath. His father had kept +the village inn before him, and had borne the same character. His +grandfather, too, had been landlord, churchwarden and constable; an +honest, plodding man. The house, with its wainscotted walls, and its +large, open kitchen, spacious enough to hold comfortably all the men in +the village; the office of churchwarden, with its close connection with +the rector; and the post of constable, making him the official guardian +of the public peace: all these had become almost as hereditary as the +estates of the duke, who owned a good part of the county. The duke was +not prouder of his descent and name than was Christmas Williams. + +It was a peaceful, pretty village, with low round hills encircling it, +their soft outlines stretching across the sky, with coppices of young +larch-trees and dark Scotch firs climbing up their slopes. The air, +sweeping over a thousand meadows, where cowslips and buttercups grew +in profusion, bore no slightest taint of the smoke of cities. A soft +tranquility seemed to brood over the place in almost unbroken silence. +The grey old church, with no charm about it except its age, wore a look +of idleness and disuse, as if it had done with active service, and was +resting before settling down into ruins. Even on Sundays the doors +yawned merely to admit a handful of old-fashioned, steady-going people, +who listened sleepily to the old rector, as he read to them one of +Blair's Sermons, out of a volume from his library, not even taking the +decent trouble of making a manuscript copy of it. + +The rector was an unmarried man, with few ideas beyond the pursuit of +country pleasures, which he had followed so long that they had mastered +him, and now held him in utter bondage. He was keen after a fox, and +could not keep away from a coursing match. His parishioners saw much +more of him in Christmas Williams' snug fireside corner than in his +desk and pulpit. + +Who can tell how the mischief crept in? Little by little, step by +step; first a Sunday-school class in Widow Evans' cottage; a quiet +prayer-meeting or two; then an afternoon preaching. A change was coming +over the village; or, more truly speaking, over a small portion of the +villagers, but those were the steadiest and best. Christmas took no +notice of it at first; and the rector cared for none of those things. + +The Sunday-school could hardly come under Christmas Williams' eyes, +for he spent the most of every Sunday in his garden by the churchyard, +scanning his well-kept beds, and strolling to and fro along the +walks, from which he could see the headstones on his father's and +grandfather's graves, and be forced sometimes to think of the far-off +time when his own should be standing beside them. It was the chief +trouble of his prosperous life that he had no son to carry on the name +of Christmas Williams. Still, his trouble was a slight one, for he had +a gentle, pretty little daughter, whom he had christened Easter, and +whom he loved almost as if she had been a son. Easter must marry young +and well, that he might hear her children call him grandfather. + +But when the afternoon preaching began, and Widow Evans' son, a young +stripling who was not yet out of his time as a draper's apprentice, +stood up boldly, and with ready speech taught his fellow-villagers +what he himself was learning in the distant market-town, of eternity, +of the Saviour, and of God, Christmas roused himself. Worse than that, +by-and-by the lad brought with him a grave, earnest, eloquent man, who +preached such words as pricked the people to their hearts, and sent +them home talking and pondering over these new things. It was high time +for Christmas to bestir himself, both as churchwarden and constable. + +"You can do nothing, Christmas," said the rector, sitting in his +favourite chimney-corner; while Easter, as she went about her work +softly and quickly, filled his glass for him from the brown jug on the +table between him and her father. "Come, live and let live. They don't +hurt me, and they ought not to hurt you. What harm is there in a bit of +psalm-singing and Bible-reading in a cottage? Bless you! I wonder any +one of them sets his foot inside the church; and I'll be the last to +blame them if they don't." + +"I've said I'll put a stop to it, and I'll do it," cried Christmas. +"I'm a man of my word. I'll duck young Evans in my horsepond, if I can +only catch him. They shall be cut up root and branch. You'll see I'll +make short work of it." + +"You cannot hinder them from meeting in Widow Evans' house, my man," +replied the rector; "and you cannot stop them singing, and praying, and +preaching, as they please. She's my tenant, and I'll not disturb her, +poor soul! Let the thing alone, I say. Nobody knows better than me that +it was a mistake putting me into the Church; I'm no more fit for it +than for heaven itself. If I believed it would do me any good, I'd go +to their meetings myself." + +He spoke sadly, and bent his head down for a minute; and Easter, seeing +it, drew nearer to the grey-haired old clergyman, whom she had known +and loved all her lifetime. + +"Well, if I cannot put a stop to it," exclaimed Christmas, "no man, +woman, or child goes from my house to any of those fools' meetings. +Whoever does that, shall never cross my threshold again." + +Easter's fair face grew pale, and her hands trembled as she rested them +for support on the table at which they were sitting. But there was a +steady light in her eyes, resolute as her father's, as she fastened +them upon his angry face. + +"Father," she said, in a low, tremulous voice, "father, I've been there +every Sunday since they began. And I am converted, and believe in God, +and I must obey Him rather than you." + + + +CHAPTER II + +"Cast Out" + +EASTER hardly knew how heroic an act was her confession of faith +in God. She was a little afraid of her father, but her love of him +was deep, though untried; and, like thousands of other converts to +Christianity, from the days of our Lord Himself, when the man born +blind was cast out and disowned by his parents, she had felt no fear +of the cruel and unnatural separation which might befall her through +any bigotry and obstinacy of her father. She stood in the flickering +firelight, which was bright enough for them to see, without any other +light, her eyes glistening, and the colour coming and going on her +face, ready to fling her arms round her father's neck, and burst into a +passion of tears upon his breast. + +But his face was harsh and stormy, as he stood up with his stern eyes +riveted upon her. "Say that once more, Easter," he muttered, "and +you'll never darken my doors again." + +"No, no, my man! No, no, Williams!" interposed the rector hastily. "Let +Easter alone. I'll answer for her. She has always been a good girl, and +she'll be a good girl now." + +"What does the girl mean, then," asked Christmas angrily, "talking +of being converted, and believing in God? I can say, 'I believe in +God Almighty,' and all the rest of it, as well as any man or woman in +England. Easter means more than that; don't you, girl?" + +"Yes, father," she answered, in a firm, low voice; "I mean they've +taught me how sinful I am, and how the Lord Jesus Christ did really die +on the cross to save me, and that God loves me as if He was my real +father. I'm not saying it like I used to say it in church, out of a +book. I believe it with all my heart." + +"Then you've taken up with a lot o' cant, and you may march out of my +house, and see what cant and them that cant will do for you!" said +Christmas, white with fury. + +It was all in vain that the rector remonstrated and pleaded for Easter, +and that Easter herself knelt at his feet and with many tears besought +him to let her stay at home. He vowed that unless she would recall all +she had said, and promise solemnly never to hold intercourse with any +of the canting lot again, he would never more call her daughter, or +look upon her in any other light than as an enemy. + +Next morning, at the earliest dawn of day, Easter quitted her home. +She had not tried to sleep; and she knew her father had not slept, for +she had heard his heavy footstep moving to and fro in his bedroom. It +had been his command that she should leave the shelter of his roof as +soon as it was light, and she was obeying him. For the last time she +opened her little casement, and looked out on the garden below, where +the roses and hollyhocks and sunflowers were in blossom, and where the +bees in the hive under her window were already beginning to stir. She +was going away, not knowing whither she went: but she believed that God +would be as faithful to His promises as her father was to his word. + +As she went slowly and sadly along the village lane, where the +cottagers were still asleep, all the old familiar places looked strange +at this strange hour and in the grey dawn. Even the churchyard, where +she had played for hours together as a child, seemed different and +foreign to her, as though she was cut off from all relations with it +and her past life. Where was she to go? Whom could she turn to? She +must not stay with Widow Evans, lest it should displease her father +more. She was passing under the rectory wall, when she heard the old +rector's voice calling her. + +"Easter!" he cried. "Easter, what are you about to do? Are you going to +forsake your father?" + +"He has cast me off," she answered, weeping; "he will not let me stay +if I do not deny God." + +"Dear! Dear! Dear!" cried the old rector. "He's an obstinate man, and +I don't know what to say between you. You are two wilful ones, I fear. +But I'll do my best to bring him round; and here, my lassie, here's +five pounds for you, and a letter to my cousin, who will find you a +place somewhere. Good-bye, and God bless you, Easter!" + +"Do you believe in God?" asked Easter, looking up at him through her +tears. + +"Of course I do," he answered testily, "and so does your father. We +believe in Him after one fashion, and you after another. But, Easter, +yours is the best, I know." + +He uttered the last words in a mournful tone, and watched her as she +went sadly on her lonely way, until the hawthorn hedge hid her form +from his sight. She was as nearly as possible like his own child +to him; he had watched her growing up from day to day through all +the changes of childhood and girlhood. He was a kindly old man, and +loved to be at peace and on good terms with every one. And here was a +brangle in the very centre of his parish, making desolate the house +he frequented most. Besides, he could recall a time when he had felt +the worth of a courageous faith like that which had sent Easter out +into a world she knew nothing of, in simple reliance upon God and +implicit obedience to the Saviour whose name she had taken. She was +a Christian. Was he a Christian, too? The old rector thought of his +self-indulgences, his country pleasures, and his neglected people; but +he felt his heart heavy and dull. He could not lift it out of the miry +clay in which it had grovelled so long. + + +Easter's absence made a greater difference to Christmas Williams +than he would ever have owned in words. He had never let her toil +laboriously with her own hands, as her mother and grandmother had +done before her; he had been too choice of her for that. Easter had +been like his favourite garden, where no common fruit or flowers were +suffered to grow. He had delighted in her dainty, winsome ways, as he +had delighted in his splendid show of roses, and of peaches growing +ripe in the sun. He missed her sorely. There was no pretty, smiling +face blooming opposite to him when he sat down to his now solitary +meals. There was no light footstep tripping about the house; no sweet +voice singing gaily or plaintively the old songs he had taught her +himself. She was never to be seen leaning over the terrace-wall, +watching for his coming along the lane. He had no one to buy some +pretty trifle for when he went to market. Christmas had not foreseen +the dreary change. Possibly, if he had foreseen it, he would never have +uttered the oath he had bound upon his conscience. + +All the neighbourhood took notice of the gloom that had fallen upon +Christmas and his once pleasant house. He had always been a masterful +man, but he grew morose and tyrannical as time passed on. His servants, +who had been used to stay long periods with him, were constantly +quitting his service, and carried away with them stories of his harsh +and unreasonable conduct. The home gradually became dull and dirty, +with no mistress to look after the maids. It was less and less tempting +to gather about the large fireplace of an evening, as had been the +practice for generations past. + +The rector had offended Christmas by interceding for Easter, and by +pooh-poohing his fiery zeal against the meetings in Widow Evans' +cottage, and he turned into the village inn but seldom now. Christmas +felt this to the very soul; but he was too proud to speak of it, or to +yield an inch to his clergyman. It was reported, moreover, that the ale +was badly brewed, or was kept in sour casks: a fact that might possibly +have had something to do with the rector's fewer visits, and with their +brevity when he came. + +Christmas made no effort to learn any tidings of his daughter; but +the neighbours took care he should hear them. She had taken a place +as upper nurse in the family of the rector's cousin, who lived in +the market-town he attended; and now and then he fancied he saw her +threading her way through the busy streets on a market-day. + + +A year or two after she left home, he heard she had married Widow +Evans' son, a poor, delicate young man, assistant only in the draper's +shop where he had served his apprenticeship. Christmas cursed him +bitterly in his heart; though he never uttered his name, or Easter's, +with his lips. The letters Easter wrote to him he returned unopened; +but none the less bitter was his resentment that she should marry +without his consent. She was his daughter still, though he vowed she +was not. + +Presently came the news that a grandson was born to him. His own +grandson! He heard it on market-day, and the farmers who were about +him, buying and selling their corn, watched him inquisitively to see +how he took the news. Not a change came over his hard, grim face; yet +suddenly in his mind rose up the memory of that sunny Easter Sunday, +when the bells were ringing joyously in the old church-tower for the +resurrection of the Lord, and some one brought to him his first-born +child. Another memory followed close upon it—the evening shadows of +the same day closing round him as he knelt beside his dying wife, and +heard her whisper in her last faint tones, "I leave my baby to you, +dear Christmas!" All his lonely way home that night these two visions +haunted him. + +Still six months later further tidings reached his ears. Two or three +of his oldest and most faithful guests, who yet lingered of an evening +on the old hearth, were talking together, seated within the old screen, +which concealed him from their sight, though they had a shrewd guess +that he was within hearing. + +"Widow Evans' son is dead," said one, "and he's left poor Easter a +widow, with her babe!" + +"What's she going to do?" asked another of the party. + +"They say she's bound to come home to Widow Evans," was the answer. +"She's ailing, is Widow Evans, and growing simple; she wants somebody +to fend for her. And who so natural as Easter, poor lass? They were +praying for her at the meeting last Sunday, and praying hard for 'him,' +as the Lord 'ud soften his heart. You know who! It'll take a deal o' +softening, I'm thinking." + +"Ay! Ay!" agreed all the company. + +"They say Easter's as white as a corpse," went on the speaker. "Eh! But +she'll be a sight to move a heart o' stone, I say, with her babe and +her pretty young face pinched up in a widow's cap. She's naught but a +girl yet; I recollect her birthday as if it was yesterday. Oh! But what +a feast we should ha' been sure of, in this very house, if Easter had +never taken up wi' those new-fangled ways, and had married to please +her father! But Christmas is too hard, I say." + +"Ay! That he is," rejoined the other voices with one consent. + +"Widow Evans' money is no more than five pounds a quarter," he +continued, "and it dies when she dies. It will be close living for two +women and a growing boy; though women know how to starve and famish +better than men do, God help them! And to think of Christmas being so +well off! Better than anybody knows fairly, with heaps of money in the +bank. He oughtn't to be so hard!" + + + +CHAPTER III + +His Grandson + +CHRISTMAS, as they guessed, overheard all their gossip, as he sat +in his own little room behind the screen, with the door ajar. He +felt pricked and stung, and he stole away noiselessly, that none +of them might know he had been there, and went down to his garden +beside the river, where he was secure of being alone. His heart had +always been readily melted at the thought of a widow's loneliness and +helplessness; and now Easter was coming back to her native place, his +little daughter, a poor, friendless widow, burdened with a child! +Why! It seemed but a few days ago that she was tottering along these +smooth walks, her little feet tripping at the smallest pebble, and her +little fingers clasping his own thick finger closely. How long was it +since she watched with him the ripening of the fruit upon the trees, +and with all a child's delight took from his hands the first that was +ready for gathering! How many a time had Easter been seated dry and +warm on his wheelbarrow, and watched him at work, digging, and pruning, +and grafting with his own hands, while he listened all the while to +her prattle! Those were happy, blessed days! And all these pure and +innocent joys might be beginning for him again. His little grandson +would soon be old enough to totter along these same garden paths, and +to call him grandfather. He felt almost heartsick as he looked at the +dream for a moment. + +But it was only for a moment. Christmas could not relent; his +long-cherished pride in being a man of his word could not so easily be +conquered. He lashed himself up into more bitter anger against Easter +for this momentary weakness. She might pinch and starve, for him. It +was a strange sort of religion that set a daughter at variance against +her father; and those who preached it might provide for those who +believed them. He would not suffer it, or any one who professed it, in +his house—no, not for a day. He would let Easter know that if she would +humble herself, and promise, even now, to have done with these new +notions, he would take her and her boy home again. But never—he looked +across at his father's and grandfather's graves as he swore it—never +should any canting nonsense be spoken under his roof! + +Easter was reluctant to come back to her native village, but there +was no one else to wait upon and nurse her aged mother-in-law. It was +harder work than any one supposed to live on eight shillings a week; +what had been just enough for one was far too little for three. Easter +hoped that it would be possible to get a little needlework from some of +the neighbours' wives; if not, she must take to field-work, and go out +weeding and hoeing with the poorest of the villagers. There proved to +be very little work for her needle; so Easter might be seen going out +to the fields early in the morning on those days when her mother was +well enough to take care of little Chrissie: for she had called her boy +after her father, both because she loved the old name and because she +cherished a secret hope that he would own him as his grandson. + +But that hope slowly yet surely died away as year after year passed +by, and no sign was given by Christmas Williams that he ever saw his +daughter. He could not but see her almost daily about the village, +and he could not go to his meadows without passing the little cottage +where she and her baby dwelt. He saw her plainly enough: the sad +girlish face, worn with sorrow and hard times, that gazed at him with +beseeching eyes. He had sent his message to her, and she had answered +firmly that she could not go back from professing her faith in Christ. +The first time they met after that, Easter turned pale, nearly as pale +as her dead mother had been when he saw her last in her coffin; and she +had uttered, in the same clear yet faint voice as that in which her +mother had breathed good-bye, the one word "Father!" + +Christmas heard her as distinctly as if the word had been shouted in +his ear, but he passed on in silence with a heavy frown upon his face; +though in his heart of hearts there was a secret hope that she would +run after him, and catch him by the arm, and hang about his neck, and +not let him go—let him speak as roughly as he might—until she had +forced him to be reconciled to her. If Easter had but known! + +Now that Easter was at home in her mother's cottage, the meetings, +which had become irregular on account of Widow Evans' failing health, +began again with renewed vigour. Every Sunday a large class was held +in the cottage, and Easter started a singing-class, taught by herself, +which attracted all the young folks of the place to it. There was +a slow, but quite a perceptible change in the little village. Even +the farmers and their wives would sometimes condescend to be present +at the service when some preacher from town was coming, for the old +rector was growing more and more careless of his duties, and the +conviction was spreading that there was need of some change. There was +a rumour that the duke had been asked to grant land for the purpose of +building a chapel, and that he was willing to do it if the majority +of the parishioners wished it. The rector said nothing against it, +but Christmas Williams, as churchwarden, opposed it with unflagging +vehemence. The scheme, if ever indeed there had been one, must have +fallen through for want of funds; but the mere rumour of it helped to +widen the breach between him and his daughter. + +In the meanwhile Chrissie was growing as fast as a healthy child grows +who is always out in the open air, braving all kinds of weather, and +only kept indoors by sleep. He was a lovely baby, and a bold, bonny +little boy, restless, daring, and resolute; a favourite with all the +neighbours, as Easter herself had been in her motherless childhood. +Chrissie was free of every house in the village: there was no door +closed to him except his grandfather's, and a seat at every table was +ready for Easter's child. His mother, busy with making both ends meet, +hardly knew how to put a stop to the boy's vagrant life. As soon as +he was old enough to dress himself, he would be up and away at the +earliest dawn, rambling about the fields and hedgerows, climbing the +trees, or helping to bring in the cows to be milked from the meadows, +where they had passed the short, cool, summer nights. Chrissie +seemed to be everywhere, and to know everything that passed in the +neighbourhood. Many an hour of silent prayer while she was at work, +and many an hour of wakeful anxiety during the night, did Easter pass. +So long, however, as Chrissie did not fall into any evil ways, she was +wise enough to leave him free. He was truthful and affectionate, and, +on the whole, obedient; and no child could be more apt to learn and +remember the little lessons she tried to teach him whenever she had +time. + +Such a child was sure to be constantly under the ken of his +grandfather. It was barely possible for a day to pass without Christmas +Williams having him under his eye half a dozen times. He could hear +the shrill young voice calling up the cows before he left his chamber +in the morning. He would find Chrissie swinging on the gates of his +neighbours' fields, never on his own, the handsome face rosy with +delight. Sometimes, in a more quiet mood, the lad would turn into +the old churchyard, close beside his garden; and one day, Christmas, +hidden behind a tree, hearkened to him spelling out the epitaph on his +forefathers' headstones in a clear, slow voice, loud enough for half +the village to hear. + +Was it love or hatred for the boy that filled his heart? Christmas +could not tell, though to himself he called it hatred. It was a +constant source of mortification and bitterness to see one of his own +flesh and blood wandering about in ragged clothing, and half barefoot, +and to know that he was fed by the charity of his neighbours, who +were poor folks compared with himself. After all, it was but little +satisfaction to look over his savings, and see how rich he was growing, +while the very boy who ought in nature to be his heir was hardly +better than a beggar. Not that he would leave a farthing to Easter or +her child. His will was already made, and his money was bequeathed to +rebuild the decaying church, of which he and his forefathers had been +faithful wardens so long, and where a marble tablet on the walls should +proclaim the deed and keep his memory alive. + +Churchwarden and constable he was yet; but the other post he had +inherited from his father was gone. Though no chapel had been built in +the parish, a new inn had been opened, and Christmas, in angry disgust, +had not renewed his old licence. He had a farm, which occupied him in +the daytime; but the evenings and nights were dreary past telling. The +large old kitchen, once filled with neighbours, was now always empty +and silent, and seemed to need more than ever the presence of a child +to cheer it up. Christmas used to fall into half-waking, half-sleeping +dreams, in which his little grandson was gambolling about the place, +and filling it with noise and laughter. He could see Easter, sitting +opposite to him, in the cosy chimney-corner, smiling back to him +whenever she caught his eye. Why had he ever vowed that such times +should never be? + +Loving him or hating him, Chrissie was never out of his grandfather's +thoughts. He took note of every change in him, as he shot up rapidly +from infancy to the age when lads like him, little lads of eight, +were sent to work in the fields. He knew the exact day when Chrissie +went out for his first day's work, and he watched him from afar off, +plodding up and down the heavy furrows of the ploughed land to scare +away the birds from the springing corn. He saw how footsore and weary +the little fellow was as he trudged homewards through the dusky lanes, +too tired to whistle and sing, as he was wont to do. + +Better than Easter herself, he knew how old Chrissie was when he began +to walk, or jump, or run, and he had seen what Easter did not see—the +first time Chrissie ever climbed a tree. The lad's childhood brought +back his own to him. He could look back upon the days when he had gone +nutting under the same hedgerows, and fishing for minnows in the little +brown river. Chrissie would stand patiently an hour at a time on his +own favourite spots, waiting for the long-hoped-for nibble. To watch +the boy was like reading over again an old, half-forgotten story. But +there was no softening of his heart towards Easter. Many a time he +wished the lad never crossed his path, or that he was a sickly, puny +child, such as his father had been before him, who 'stayed at home, +tied to his mother's apron-strings, singing hymns, and making believe +he was a special favourite with God Almighty.' + + + +CHAPTER IV + +His Own Way + +OLD Widow Evans died, and her small annuity died with her. What was +Easter to do, encumbered as she was with a big, restless, daring, bold +son, eight years of age? She could not bear to think of leaving him +to the care of the neighbours, and going out to service again. Yet it +would be hard work for some years to keep herself and him in anything +like decent poverty. Her cottage, however, was built on the glebe land, +and therefore belonged to the rector, who offered it to her rent-free +as long as he should live. + +But the rector was growing old and very feeble, being partially +exhausted by those habits of self-indulgence which he had not been +strong enough to break off. For a long while now his favourite vices +had clung about him like a heavy chain, which he could not escape from, +however sorrowfully his spirit chafed and fretted against its bondage. + +"Easter," he said, "I want to have you near at hand when I'm lying +on my deathbed. I cannot alter my habits now; but I long to be gone +away from them, and I shall want to have you near me when my last hour +comes, I know." + +"Why cannot you alter them now?" she asked. "God will help you." + +"It's too late; too late," he answered. "If I'd only been wise in time, +Easter! But I'm a foolish old man now." + +It was winter when these words were spoken, half-sadly, half-angrily, +by the rector. And all through the following spring and summer he +was ailing often; and Easter was always sent for in haste to nurse +him. He could find no rest or peace of mind without her. Chrissie, in +consequence, was left to run wilder than ever, his grandmother being +dead, and his mother frequently away from home. + +When she had to stay all night at the rectory, he went to sleep in some +of the cottages near at hand. The cottage folks made much of him, both +for Easter's sake and because they had a settled conviction that he +must some day or other inherit his grandfather's heaps of money. That +all the old fields, and the ancient house, and the wealth gathered +together by two or three generations, should go anywhere except to +Chrissie, seemed almost incredible. He was looked upon as too young to +pay much attention to what elder folks talked about; but he often heard +them speaking of the place as belonging in some way to him. In fact, +Chrissie began to look upon his dreaded grandfather himself as his +special property. + +Harvest-time had come: a rich and plentiful harvest, such as opened the +hearts of all who possessed golden cornfields. It was splendid weather, +too; and there was no stint of good cheer and grand harvest-home +suppers in all the farmsteads. Chrissie was in his element, riding +triumphantly on the high-piled wagons, or as willingly tugging at the +heads of the great horses that drew the heavy loads to the stackyards. +He was at every feast except his grandfather's; and even there +Christmas, while carving at the head of the table, caught sight of the +bright, brown little face peeping wistfully in through the open door. +All the village was present, for though Christmas had lost much of his +popularity, his old neighbours shrank from offending him by staying +away from his harvest-home. Not all, though. It had been the rector's +custom to be present at the yearly feast, but this autumn his familiar +face and voice were missing, and the mention of his name caused a +passing gloom to fall on all faces. + +"The poor old gentleman's not long for this world," said one of the +farmers; "they say Easter's never left him day or night this last week." + +Christmas Williams' face grew hard and dark at this bold mention of his +daughter's forbidden name; but he said nothing. The supper went on, but +while they were still singing their harvest songs, a messenger came +hurriedly from the rectory, to call Christmas to his old clergyman's +deathbed. + +He obeyed the summons with reluctance. Not because he had no wish to +bid his old friend farewell, and grasp his hand once more, but because +he dreaded meeting his daughter. It was as he thought. When he entered +the chamber of the dying man, there sat Easter beside the bed, pale, +and sad, and wan: nothing like the fair young girl she was ten years +ago, before he uttered his fatal oath. He would not let his eyes wander +towards her, but fastened them earnestly on the rector's shrunken face. + +"You see who is at my side?" said the dying old man. + +"Yes," he answered. + +"Christmas, my man," continued the rector faintly, "I want to do one +good deed before I die. Easter has been like a daughter to me. I beg of +you, for our old friendship's sake, be reconciled to her before I die." + +"I'm a man of my word," answered Christmas sternly, "and everybody +knows it. If Easter will give up her foolish, canting ways, and come +home to be as she used to be in my house, she may come and bring her +boy with her. But this is the last chance I'll give her." + +"Christmas," said the dying voice, "Easter's ways are the right ways; +her faith is the true faith. Would to God I could believe and feel as +she does! If I could only believe as she does, that God has forgiven +all my sins, and that I have only to close my eyes and fall asleep +under a Father's care! Do you think she will be miserable, as I am, +when she comes to die? And when you come to die, what will it avail you +that you have said with your lips, Sunday after Sunday, 'I believe in +God the Father Almighty,' if they are nothing but words to you? They +are only words in your mouth; they are truths to Easter. You are not a +man of your word in that, Christmas, my man." + +"Father," sobbed Easter, and her voice seemed to pierce him to the +heart, though he hardened it against her, "father, forgive me if I have +sinned against you! Oh! Forgive me, and be reconciled to me! I will do +anything—" + +Her voice was broken off by weeping. + +"Will you give up the ways I hate?" he asked doggedly and almost +fiercely. + +"I cannot!" she cried. "I cannot! I must obey God rather than you. I +must be true." + +"What has it to do with God?" he asked. "It's naught but your own +obstinacy. You are a wilful woman, Easter, and you will have your own +way. I don't see what God has to do with it." + +"Good-bye, old friend," said the rector, as Christmas turned away +to leave the room in a rage; "these are my last words to you. Be +reconciled to Easter if you desire to be reconciled to God." + +Christmas strode back to the bedside, grasped the old man's chilly +hand, and faltered out, "Good-bye." But he would not cast another +glance at his daughter. + +"Easter," said the rector, "I, too, have been a wilful man, and taken +my own way, and now God refuses to be reconciled to me. He is set +against me as your father is set against you." + +"Is He?" she answered softly. "Then don't you see that my father would +take me home again as his child, if I could only repent, and give up my +way to his! He is only set against me so long as I keep to my own way. +It is so with God. + + "'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our +sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' + +"And oh! He is always ready to be reconciled to us; He cannot set +Himself against any one of us. You have but to repent, and give up your +own ways, and He will take you home again." + +"But I am taken out of my own ways," he groaned; "I have nothing now to +give up." + +"Yet God knows if you truly repent of them," she urged. "He sees +whether you are willing to give them up. If you can only believe in our +Lord's words, even now! God is our Father, Christ tells us; and He is +watching for us to go home." + +The old man's weary eyelids closed, and his lips moved in a whisper. +Easter heard him repeating words to himself, which he had often uttered +carelessly in his church; but now he seemed to speak them from his +heart: + + "'I will arise and go to my Father, and will say unto him, Father, +I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to +be called thy son.'" + +She bent her head down to his failing ear. + +"'But when he was yet a great way off,' she said, 'his Father saw him, +and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.'" + +"I don't know what will become of you and Chrissie when I'm gone," he +said, after a while; "you'll have to leave your cottage. But never give +up your trust in God, Easter. Hold fast to that." + +"Yes," she answered quietly. + +"I ought to have been a better man among my people," he continued; +"they have been as sheep having no shepherd. God will forgive my sins; +but oh, Easter, it is a bitter thing to die, and be called into His +presence as an unprofitable servant, who can never hear Him say, 'Well +done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' +I have never done the Lord's work, and I cannot enter into the Lord's +joy." + +"Blessed is he whose sins are forgiven," said Easter softly. + +"Ay! But more blessed still he who has worked for Him," he whispered. +"I'm taking a lost and wasted life to lay before Him. Lord, have mercy +upon me!" + +His voice had grown fainter and weaker; and now it failed him +altogether. He lay all night, and till morning broke, in a stupor, +while Easter watched beside him. Then he passed away into the unknown +life, which he had wilfully forgotten until his last hour was come. + + + +CHAPTER V + +A Critical Moment + +EASTER was occupied at the rectory all the next day, and being +satisfied that Chrissie would be taken good care of, she gave little +thought to him. It had been a sorrowful harvest-time to her, and her +future had never seemed quite so dark as now that her best friend was +gone, and her father showed himself altogether irreconcilable. But her +trust in God was not shaken. Once, for a few minutes, when there came +a short interval of leisure, she stood at a window overlooking the +churchyard, where every tombstone was as well-known to her as the faces +of her neighbours. Then the blank, dark future presented itself to her, +and pressed itself upon her. + +There was no chance of remaining where she was, among the old familiar +places, surrounded by the sights and sounds which had filled up nearly +all her life. Where was she to be tossed to? What resting-place could +she find? It was with a strong effort that she turned away from the +dreary prospect. + +"Take 'no thought for the morrow,'" she said to herself, "'for the +morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the +day is the evil thereof.'" + +Christmas Williams had never been less master of himself than he was +all that day after hearing that the old rector was really gone. He had +been his clergyman for nearly forty years, and never had an unfriendly +word passed between them, unless he could call his remonstrances on +behalf of Easter unfriendly. He wished he had not left him in a rage +last night. Yet never had his servants seen Christmas so testy and +passionate; until at length, he shut himself up in his own little room. +A lad who crept timorously to peep through the lowest corner of the +lattice casement reported that the master was sitting with his face +hidden by his hands, and the big, strongly-bound family Bible before +him. + +But Christmas was not studying any portion of the printed pages; he had +taken it down from the shelf over his old-fashioned desk to pore over +the written entries made in his own hand, of Easter's birth on Easter +Sunday twenty-eight years before, and of her mother's death the same +evening. He had given Easter her last chance, and she had spurned it; +it was time to take her name out of the Bible. He had resolved to tear +the page out of the book, but he could not destroy the record of his +child's birth without destroying that of his wife's death. Which must +he sacrifice—his resolve to wreak his resentment against Easter, or his +lingering tenderness for the memory of his wife? + +The long hours of the day passed by miserably for Christmas Williams. +He was irresolute and troubled by vague doubts, such as had never +disturbed him before. How could he possibly be in the wrong? For his +opinions were those of his father and grandfather before him, and his +ways were like their ways. They had never given in to new-fangled +notions, to psalm-singing, and meetings for prayer in cottages. It +was well-known that they had always been true blue. The old church +was good enough and religious enough for them; and they had been +loyal to it, never missing to present themselves on a Sunday morning +in the churchwarden's pew, and to keep Christmas Day and Good Friday +with equal strictness. If God was not pleased with such service, why, +nine-tenths of the people he knew, living or dead, were in a bad way. +But how could they be in the wrong, those honest, thrifty, steady +forefathers of his, whose word was as good as their bond all the +country through? + +Yet he could not satisfy himself, or silence the still, small voice of +conscience. What sin was Easter guilty of? What was her crime that must +not be forgiven? She had always been good, and obedient, and true; she +had never crossed him until he required her to be false. There was the +point, and the sting of it. He prided himself on being true; but he +demanded of her to be false; false to herself, false to him, false to +God! + +Why should not Easter be true to her word, and resolute, as well as +himself? The old dying rector had declared that her way was really +better than his way. Did he actually believe in God? All these years he +had let the words slip glibly over his tongue every Sunday morning, and +thought no more of them. Had he verily been true in saying them, or had +he been in the habit of standing in the church, before God, with a lie +in his mouth? + +"Do you believe in God Almighty, and in Jesus Christ?—in God's Holy +Spirit, and in the forgiveness of sins?" asked his conscience. + +And a still deeper and lower voice gave the mournful answer, "No!" + +The afternoon had passed by, and the evening was coming on. Already +the sun had sunk low in the sky, and the long shadows fell from the +church-tower and the headstones upon the graveyard where his old +friend, the rector, would soon be lying quietly, after the sunset of +his life's long day. It was an hour when Christmas loved to linger in +his garden, strolling slowly along the walks, and watching his flowers +grow dim in the darkening twilight. The little river was singing the +same tune it sang in his boyhood, and the blackbirds were whistling +from the hedges, as if the years had not touched them as they had +touched him. For, though he was a strong man yet, his hair was growing +grey; and he knew he was going the down-hill path of life to the narrow +valley, soft and dim only for some, but of utter blackness to others. +The little clouds hastening towards the west gave a sweet promise of a +splendid sunset; and Christmas loved to see both sunset and sunrise. + +He sauntered leisurely through his orchard, where the commoner fruit +was ripening, to the well-fenced-in garden of his delight. There was +almost priceless fruit growing there, which he watched with a jealous +eye. Not a month ago he had caught a village urchin in his orchard, +and, in spite of all entreaties and beseechings, he had shut him up +in the crib, and taken him before the magistrate the next morning, +and heard him sentenced to three weeks' imprisonment in jail. That +offence was committed in his orchard; but to-day, as he drew near to +his garden, he could hear a sharp snapping of twigs, and the patter +of fruit falling to the ground. He crept cautiously and noiselessly +forward, and carefully lifted his head just above the fence. There was +a thief, and that thief was Easter's boy, his own grandson! + +All the passion of his mingled love and hatred flamed up in Christmas +Williams' heart. This merry, ragged, brown-faced, handsome lad was his +own flesh and blood, and seemed to have a natural right to be there. +He watched Chrissie swing himself down from the tree, and strip off +his tattered jacket, and pile up the precious fruit in it. But as the +boy caught sight of his grandfather's face, gazing at him over the +fence, his heart stood still for very fear, and his knees knocked +together. Yet he lifted up his eyes to Christmas with a wistful, +speechless prayer in them. Chrissie could not utter a word, to say how +the lad just returned from jail had lifted him over the fence, telling +him the fruit was all his own, or would be some day. When he met his +grandfather's stern frown and awful silence, his little heart died +within him. + +[Illustration: HE MET HIS GRANDFATHER'S STERN FROWN.] + +"Grandfather!" he cried at last, dropping his stolen load, and bursting +into tears. + +"A thief!" muttered Christmas, between his teeth. It was the first word +he had ever spoken to the lad. This boy of Easter's, this grandson of +his own, was a petty thief already! He thought of the urchin he had +sent to jail a month ago for precisely the same offence. But Chrissie +was so like himself when he was a boy! He could recollect plucking the +fruit without stint from these very trees, while his grandfather looked +on with delight at his dexterity and courage in climbing to the highest +boughs, and pointed out to him the ripest pears and rosiest apples. +Chrissie ought to be doing the same under his eye, not standing there +like a culprit, sobbing and trembling before him. Yet how could he keep +his word and make a difference between this lad and the one just out of +jail for the self-same thing? Besides, now he could make Easter feel; +perhaps bring her to her senses, if anything would do that. She had +been reckless of his displeasure so far; this would bring her on her +knees before him, ready to yield her will to his. + +Without uttering a word to the terrified child, he entered his garden, +and seized him by the arm, not roughly, but firmly. He had never +touched him before, and his hand, firm as it was, trembled. Chrissie +lifted his brown, tearful face to him, and submitted without any +attempt at resistance. Silently his grandfather led him along the +pleasant garden paths, across the deep lawn, and through the green +churchyard, under the window of the room where the dead body of the +rector lay, to that dismal and neglected corner, overgrown with +nettles and docks, where the crib was built. It was an old, small, +strongly-built place, with windows closely barred, and a door thickly +studded with iron nails. It looked prepared for the blackest criminals, +rather than for the starved and poverty-stricken poachers and the +frightened urchins who had been its usual occupants. There was a heavy +padlock on the outer door, and this Christmas slowly unlocked, holding +his grandson between his arms and knees, as his hands were busy at +their task. + +"Grandfather," sobbed the boy, "don't let mother know; it 'll break her +heart!" + +Christmas could not speak a word, for his tongue was dry and parched; +but Chrissie walked in through the dark door unbidden. He listened to +it being closed and fastened securely behind him. This place had been +a terror and dread to him from his earliest days, when he had now and +then strayed with baby feet to the moss-grown step, and heard the wind +moan through the keyhole of the old lock, which had been in use before +the padlock. He stepped over the threshold with the courage of despair. +No hope of softening the heart of his grandfather entered his own, and +he made no effort to do it. If only his mother might not know! + +At present there was still a little daylight, and through the close +cross-bars of the window he could see the crimson and golden cloudlets +hovering over the setting sun. He looked away from them with dazzled +eyes to examine shudderingly the interior of his prison. It was gloomy +enough; the only furniture was a low stone bench, but at one end of the +bench a chain was fastened to a ring in the wall, and handcuffs and +fetters were attached to the chain. He was almost glad to think that +his grandfather had not chained him to that ring in the wall. Sitting +down on the stone bench, Chrissie looked up again at the gradually +dying colours in the sky, not caring to turn away his eyes from them, +as they faded softly away into a quiet grey, which scarcely shed a +gleam of light into his dismal cell. + +Chrissie's courage had held out fairly; but as the darkness gathered, +his imagination awoke, and called up all the sleeping, lurking fancies +which dwell in every child's young brain. They had been only biding +their time, and now trooped out in crowds to haunt the lonely lad. All +the stories he had ever heard of people being imprisoned for many, many +years, and even starved to death, hurried through his excited mind. +There had been a tale told for generations in the village of a man who +had killed himself in this very place. And were there not outside the +wall, amidst the docks and nettles, the forsaken graves of people too +wicked to lie even in death among their better neighbours? Every one +dreaded being buried there. Was it true that ghosts of wicked people +could not rest in their graves, but came forth at night to visit the +places they had once dwelt in, and to tell fearful secrets to those +they found alone? How fast the night was coming on, and he was quite +alone! + +Nobody knew where he was, thought poor little Chrissie; nobody but his +grandfather, who hated him. He could not climb as high as the window, +barred as it was, to show himself through it. He was sorry almost that +he had asked that his mother might not know. She would never, never +know what had become of him, and he fancied he could see her weeping +for him through long years. For he felt certain he should die in this +dreary prison, and his grandfather would bury him secretly at night, +amid the wicked people who lay under the docks and nettles. + +The church clock struck ten. It was quite dark by this time, except +for the pale, ghostly gleam of the strip of sky seen through the bars +of the window. The child passed through long ages of pain and terror +before it struck eleven. The dreadful hour of midnight came creeping on +towards him. He had never yet been awake at twelve; and twelve at night +was the most awful and ghostly hour of all the twenty-four. What would +happen then he could not guess; but something beyond all words, and +beyond all thought. + +Chrissie could not ask God to take care of him; for had he not been +taken in the very act of breaking God's commandments? There was no +one, therefore, to stand between him and the unknown horrors that were +coming nearer every moment. There was no refuge, no Saviour for him. He +had offended God. + +A strange sound somewhere in the prison jarred upon his ear, and with a +scream of terror, which rang shrilly out into the quiet night, Chrissie +lost his senses, and fell like one dead on the stone floor. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A True Man + +CHRISTMAS WILLIAMS, after locking the strong, heavy door on his little +grandson, had gone back to his house, having no longer the desire to +spend a quiet, loitering hour in his garden. The smouldering passion, +which had burst into so sudden a flame, was not yet subsiding. He had +held his grandson in his hand, between his arms, had had his little +face close beside his own; yet he had neither embraced nor kissed him. +In the depths of his nature he was longing secretly to do so, and to +claim the bold, brave little rascal for his own. When the lad turned to +him and said, "Don't let mother know; it would break her heart," his +pride had well-nigh given way. + +But he had held out so long that it was like tearing up the roots of an +old tree to yield now. What would the world say, if he went back from +his word? How he would be jeered at if Easter was seen going from his +door to those canting meetings! + +He had some vague idea of an ancient magistrate who had doomed his own +son to death, because he had sworn so to punish the offenders against +the laws. He had heard read in church how Saul had pronounced the same +fatal sentence upon his eldest son, Jonathan: + +"God do so and more also: for thou shalt surely die, Jonathan," said +Saul. + +These were men true to their word. How could he look his neighbours in +the face if he meted out one measure of punishment to one thief and +another to his grandson? + +But for one of his own blood to go to jail! Christmas Williams' +grandson a jailbird! He wished earnestly he had not been so hard on the +young rascals who had robbed his orchard before, so that he might have +had a decent pretext for letting off Chrissie. He did not doubt that +it would break Easter's heart, and he had merely wished to break her +will. They said lads never got over the shameful fact of having been +sent to jail; that it clung to them for life. His own experience taught +him pretty much the same lesson; he had never known such a lad recover +from the disgrace and become a thoroughly respectable man. He could +count half a dozen instances. The shadow of the jail stretched itself +all across their after lives. If he had only given the last young thief +a few stripes, and sent him about his business, he might have done the +same for Chrissie. + +As the evening passed away, these troublous thoughts grew more +clamorous. He was sitting on the hearth where his forefathers had spent +their quiet evenings before him good, honest men; and possibly he +might live to hear of his grandson, their child as well as his, being +convicted of some great crime, and sentenced to transportation or penal +servitude for life. It would have been himself that had given the child +the first push down the long and awful flight of steps leading to the +terrible gulf. That would be the shameful end of his upright, thrifty, +truth-loving race. Had he, then, any right to doom his family, and its +own honoured name, to such a close? Could he not yet turn back only +a half-step, and take another road? He had not gone too far on this +perilous path. Not a soul knew that Chrissie was locked up in the old +crib. He would see if he could make the boy promise faithfully not +to tell if he released him. He had the old blood in his veins, and, +perhaps, young as he was, he could keep a promise. + +The clock had struck eleven before Christmas came to this conclusion, +a halting, half-false conclusion, of which he was inwardly ashamed. +He did not like taking a middle course, so he rose up slowly, and +leisurely opened the house-door, still hesitating about this compromise +with his resolution to treat Easter and her boy as if they were utter +strangers. He crossed the lane and paced along the churchyard with +very slow footsteps. All was silent in the village; the only sounds to +be heard were the brawling of the river and the hooting of the white +owl in his barnyard. There was but one light to be seen, excepting the +glimmer through the window of that room where the dead was lying, and +that light was up in one of the rectory attics, shining brightly into +the darkness of the night. Very likely it was Easter's candle, thought +her father; she loved to keep the window open on summer nights. + +Christmas was a man who knew nothing of fear, superstitious fear above +all. He paced to and fro in the dark churchyard, thinking of how he +should deal with the boy, and in what manner he should dispose of him +for the rest of the night. Certainly he would upbraid and threaten +him; call him a thief and a disgrace, young and little as he was. He +must frighten him well. But where was he to take his grandson? All the +cottagers were gone to bed; and it would never do to call them up to +take in Chrissie, and so learn the very weakness he wished to hide. + +It never occurred to him that the young child was already frightened +almost to death. He had seen him only as bold and daring, and he +could not understand a nature that was full of vague fancies and +imaginations, and superstitions fed on the village traditions. He +fitted the key into the padlock before he had quite settled what he was +about to do; and at that instant Chrissie's wild and agonized shriek +rang through the air. The sound almost paralyzed him. How he managed to +turn the key, he could not tell. He rushed into the utter darkness of +the cell, where he could see nothing and hear nothing. + +"Chrissie!" he cried. "Chrissie, my little man! I'm here; thy +grandfather, my lad. I'm not angry with thee any longer. Speak to me! +I've come to take thee home; and thou shalt have as many apples as thee +pleases. Oh, Chrissie! Whereabouts art thou? Rouse up and speak to me." + +There was neither voice nor sob to answer him or to guide him. Groping +about in the darkness, he found the little unconscious body of the +child lying in a heap on the stone floor. He lifted it up tenderly, +and pressed it again and again to his heart. He felt no longer any +kind of doubt as to what he would say or do. If he could only hear the +boy's voice, he would throw to the winds all his cherished anger and +resolution, and take his grandson and his daughter home again. + +He carried Chrissie into the churchyard, speaking to him imploringly to +wake up and give him some sign of life. As he looked up to the attic +window where the light was burning, he saw Easter's head leaning out. +The cry that had frightened him had startled her also; and she was +listening for it again. + +Christmas called to her. + +"Easter, come down," he cried, in a lamentable voice; "your boy is +dead, perhaps; and it's your father killed him. Oh, Chrissie! My little +grandson, rouse thee, and speak only one word!" + +In another minute Easter was down and beside them, chafing the cold +hands of her boy, and stroking his face, and calling him with her +tenderest voice. But still he lay like one dead on his grandfather's +breast. + +"Easter," said her father, with a deep-drawn breath, "I found the child +stealing apples in my garden, and I dealt with him as I've dealt with +others. I locked him up in the crib, and left him alone there. I was +about to let him free again when I heard that terrible shriek, and I +found him like this. Easter, can you forgive me?" + +"Father," she answered, in a mournful, solemn voice, "I forgive you +with all my heart." + +"What! If the child dies?" asked Christmas, trembling and faltering as +he uttered the words. + +"Yes," she said; "I know you did not mean to do it. But oh! He will not +die. My little Chrissie! My only little child! Pray God he may not die!" + +"Kiss me, Easter," said her father. + +With a strange sense of solemnity and sorrow, Easter kissed her +father's face, with the lifeless body of her child lying between them. + +"Come home, Easter, come home!" he said, sobbing. + +Almost in silence, Christmas and his daughter trod the familiar +churchyard paths once again together, trodden so many hundreds of times +by them both; but never as now. He bore his beloved burden, groaning +heavily from time to time. If he lost this disowned grandson, he felt +as though his heart must break. + +They laid Chrissie in his grandfather's own bed, and both of them +watched beside him all night. The doctor, who had to be brought from +his home five miles off, and who could not reach them till the day was +breaking, told them that Chrissie was suffering from the effects of a +severe shock, but that there was no reason to dread any abiding and +serious results, if he was treated with common care. + +Common care! It was no common care that was lavished upon the boy by +Christmas. All the pent-up tenderness of these long years overflowed +upon Chrissie and upon his daughter, now she was at home again. To his +great amazement, he discovered that the world, so far from jeering at +the reconciliation, applauded it far more cordially than it had ever +done his stern resentment. He was congratulated on every hand for +having taken home his daughter and her son; and old friends flocked +about him again as they had not done for years. The whole village +seemed to rejoice over the event. And when Christmas sent for the lad +who had been Chrissie's predecessor in the old crib, and took him his +word to into his own service, pledging his word to make a man of him if +possible, his popularity had never stood so high. + +It was then, after giving up his own self-righteousness, and pulling +down the wall he had built up to shut out the light of heaven, that +Christmas Williams became able to learn how man can believe in God +and in Jesus Christ who died for our sins. The creed he had uttered +so often with his lips became the true expression of his heart. As he +stood in the churchwarden's pew, reverently saying, "I believe in God +the Father Almighty," and in "the forgiveness of sins," he would often +glance towards Easter, who had taught him the meaning of those words; +and there was nothing he loved better than to hear Chrissie's voice +repeating them with him. + +It is probable that Christmas Williams would have been the first to +have helped, churchwarden as he was, in building a chapel, where the +simple Gospel of Christ could have been preached to the villagers; +but there was no longer any need for it. The clergyman who soon came +to occupy the place of the old rector was an earnest, true, and +enlightened servant of Christ, who knew his Master's will, and was +intent upon doing it. + +"A man can't be true," says Christmas, "until he is true towards God. +I prided myself upon being a man of my word, and meaning all I said, +though I spoke a lie every time I said, 'I believe.' I didn't believe +in God, nor in Jesus Christ our Lord, nor in having any sins to be +forgiven. A man must be made true in the darkest corners of his heart +before he can be a man of his word." + + + + THE END + + + + ——————————————————— + Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75676 *** diff --git a/75676-h/75676-h.htm b/75676-h/75676-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e6eda9 --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/75676-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2214 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Two Secrets and A Man Of His Word │ Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/image001.jpg" type="image/cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size:12.0pt; + font-family:"Verdana"; +} + +p {text-indent: 2em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.w100 { + width: auto + } + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 125%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t2 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3b { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center + } + +p.t4 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center + } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75676 ***</div> + +<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001"> +</figure> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002"> +</figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>"I'VE SAID I'LL PUT A STOP TO IT AND I'LL DO IT."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h1>TWO SECRETS<br> +<br> +AND<br> +<br> +A MAN OF HIS WORD</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t1"> +HESBA STRETTON<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +AUTHOR OF "JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER," "ALONE IN LONDON,"<br> +<br> +"NO PLACE LIKE HOME," "THE CHRISTMAS CHILD," ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +London<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +4, BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> +BUTLER & TANNER<br> +<br> +THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS<br> +<br> +FROME, AND LONDON.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<pre> + STORIES BY HESBA STRETTON + + + The Children of Cloverley | The King's Servants + Enoch Roden's Training | Little Meg's Children + Fern's Hollow | The Lord's Purse-Bearers + In the Hollow of His Hand | Alone in London + Pilgrim Street | Lost Gip + A Thorny Path | Max Kromer + Cassy | The Storm of Life + The Crew of the "Dolphin" | Jessica's First Prayer + Jessica's Mother | Under the Old Roof + Left Alone | No Place Like Home + + + + THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 4 BOUVERIE STREET +</pre> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p><a href="#Two_Se">TWO SECRETS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man">A MAN OF HIS WORD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_1"><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">CHAP. I. HIS ONLY CHILD</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_2"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"    II. "CAST OUT"</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_3"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"   III. HIS GRANDSON</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_4"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"    IV. HIS OWN WAY</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_5"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"     V. A CRITICAL MOMENT</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#A_Man_Ch_6"><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">"    VI. A TRUE MAN</span></a></p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> +<b>TWO SECRETS</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AND</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> +<b>A MAN OF HIS WORD</b><br> +<br> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t1"> +<b><a id="Two_Se">TWO SECRETS</a></b><br> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003"></figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>ABOUT a stone's throw from the last house in the small country town of +Armitage stood a cottage which had scarcely changed in aspect since it +had been built two hundred years ago. The gambrel roof was high-pitched +and closely thatched, with deep eaves, under which the swallows built +their nests; the little elbow in the slope of the gable gave it a +quaint look, as if the cottage had drawn a hood over its head. Along +the top of the roof grew a row of purple flags, which contrasted well +with the brown thatch and golden lichens. Casements, with small diamond +windows, glistened in the light. A garden full of old-fashioned flowers +ran down from the road to the little porch, which sheltered the door +from rough weather, and made a pleasant and shady seat in the summer. +It was certainly the most picturesque dwelling in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>"What is the name of your cottage?" asked an artist, who had just +finished a sketch of it.</p> + +<p>"Oh! It hasn't any name, sir," answered Joanna Terry—"it's nothing; +only our home."</p> + +<p>She had been born there, and had not been away from it for a whole +week at a time for fifty-five years. She hardly knew any other house. +The ground floor of the cottage contained a large, old-fashioned +living-room, with two very small ones opening out of it, one of which +was a kind of scullery, and the other the bedroom in which she had +been born, and where she had slept all her life. Under the gable of +the thatched roof there was a large attic covering the whole area of +the cottage, with sloping ceiling and two windows, one at each end, +looking east and west. Joanna's mind could not grasp the idea of any +improvement in the arrangement of her little homestead.</p> + +<p>The tall, spare old woman was still very active and alert, with an +eye keen to detect every weed venturing to grow in the garden, and +every speck of dust that might blow in through the open window and +door. Scarcely a bud opened on the roses and clematis climbing up the +half-timber wall without her notice. The hollyhocks and sunflowers, +standing as erect as herself, were every one known to her. The +potato-patch behind the cottage, which her husband, Amos Terry, +cultivated in his leisure time; the long rows of peas and beans; the +beds of onions and lettuce; the fruit-trees which paid their rent—they +were almost like children to her. Indoors, the old oak settle by the +fireside, the oak table and dresser, all shining with the active work +of her own hands, teemed with associations and memories which formed +the sum and substance of her life. The roof-tree was not more planted +to the spot than Joanna was.</p> + +<p>Still more firmly rooted there, if possible, was her only child, +Charlotte, who lived in the pleasant attic under the roof. She was +lame, and an invalid from a spinal complaint, the result of a fall when +she was a little child. It was very seldom that she felt well enough to +creep painfully down the rude staircase to the ground floor. But from +her two windows her eye could overlook both of the garden patches lying +before and behind the house; and she knew everything growing in them as +well as her mother did. Eastward her view was bounded by a low ridge of +hill, above which the morning clouds hung tinged with lovely hues some +time before the sun showed itself over the wooded outline. To the west +there was a wide stretch of undulating land, with meadows and coppices +and scattered cottages, ending far-off in a glimpse of the sea, which +often glittered like gold under the setting of the sun. Charlotte +seldom missed seeing both sunrise and sunset.</p> + +<p>She was thirty years of age now, pallid and emaciated, with the +pathetic look in her eyes which cripples and deformed people so often +have. She looked almost as old as her mother. The mother and daughter +had been slowly changing places for the last fifteen years. Charlotte +was the adviser now, the head of the little household, the referee to +whom every question was brought. She was always brooding over schemes +for her father and mother's comfort, and suggesting gently what their +actions should be from day to day. Joanna was still young in spirit, +apt to act impetuously; occasionally giving way to almost girlish fits +of temper, which she confessed and repented of by Charlotte's bedside. +It did not seem possible there could ever come a secret between these +two.</p> + +<p>Amos Terry, who was two years older than his wife, had been a rural +postman for thirty-seven years. The daily routine of his work had +never altered. At six o'clock, summer and winter, he presented himself +at the post-office in the town, and received the various letter-bags +which he had to convey along a route, the farthest point of which was +seven miles away. As it was out of the question for him to return home +and walk the same distance again, he remained at this farthest point +all day, and hired a small out-building, where he occupied his time +profitably in mending the boots and shoes of a considerable circle +of customers who valued his careful work. At four o'clock he started +homeward, collected the bags he had distributed in the morning, and +was timed to be at the post-office again at half-past six, soon enough +to make up the evening mail. The old church clock never struck seven +before he was at home, going first thing upstairs to his daughter's +attic. The sight of her face, wan and drawn as it was with pain, but +always lit up with a smile of welcome, was the most precious sight in +the world to him. He had never had a secret from her in his life. His +whole heart and mind and soul lay open to her as absolutely as it is +possible for one human being to be open to another.</p> + +<p>"I don't think there's anybody in the world as happy as me," said Amos, +perfectly convinced of the truth of his assertion, "at least, not one +bit happier; they couldn't be."</p> + +<p>"Not if Charlotte was strong and well?" suggested Joanna, with a sigh. +It was she who had let her child fall when a baby.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I should have gone away and left you," said Charlotte; "it 'ud +never have done for me to live idle here. Or I might have been married, +you know," she added, with a faint blush and a smile.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, it is as the Lord has willed it," Amos answered, "and +sometimes I think He'll be weary of me sayin' how happy I am."</p> + +<p>There was very little to disturb that happiness. Ambition was unknown +to them. No religious or political questions perplexed their humble +souls. Care was a long way off, for they had more than enough for +their simple wants. They needed neither fine clothes, nor dainty food, +nor costly furniture. A few old-fashioned books, gathered together by +Joanna's forefathers, were enough for their mental requirements. The +"Pilgrim's Progress" and "Holy War," the "Vicar of Wakefield," the +"Fool of Quality," and "Paradise Lost," were ranged on a little hanging +shelf in Charlotte's attic, and with their Bible and a hymn-book +provided amply for Joanna and Amos, whilst more modern books were now +and then lent to Charlotte by friendly visitors from the town. They had +beautified their little home, and cultivated their garden according to +their own fancy; and if three wishes had been given to them, they would +have been puzzled to fix upon one.</p> + +<p>If Joanna knew and loved her house almost as her own soul, Amos also +knew and loved the route he traversed daily in all weathers. More than +six hundred times a year he passed the same cottages, tramped along the +same lanes between high hedgerows, and looked up to the same constantly +changing sky overhead. He loved it ardently though dumbly, possessing +no language that could express his feelings. He was fond of singing, +but he sang somewhat as the birds sing, that know only a strain or two. +Amos knew only a few hymns, and he generally sang them through again +and again as he went to and fro, until the cottagers on his route knew +when he was drawing near, and hastened to their doors or windows to +give him a friendly nod.</p> + +<p>It was getting well on In October. The low-lying hills were covered +with coppices of beech-trees, now wearing the loveliest tints of +autumn. Down each valley ran a little rivulet, joining a broad and +rapid but shallow stream, which hurried along a stony channel to the +sea. Amos seldom went home without taking some flower or leafy branch +for Charlotte; and he was gathering a cluster of crimson berries from a +climbing bryony, when a young man, the eldest son of Squire Sutton, of +Sutton Hall, where he had just called for the letter-bag, came running +quickly, though cautiously, after him. He did not shout or call to +Amos; and he was almost out of breath when he reached him.</p> + +<p>"Amos," he gasped, "here's a letter. It's a matter of life or death to +me. Let me put it into father's bag."</p> + +<p>He had brought the key with him, and Amos watched him unlock and lock +the bag again. He had recovered his breath now, and he looked at Amos +with a world of anxiety in his face.</p> + +<p>"You are never too late, I suppose?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Now, Master Gerard, you've known me all your life," answered Amos, +"and you might almost as well ask if the sun 'll set at the right time. +I have come and gone on this road nigh on forty year, and never missed +yet. Nobody ever gave me a letter for life or death afore; and it 'ud +be odd indeed if I missed tonight."</p> + +<p>As Amos trudged on the sun went down behind the sweet round outline of +one of the low hills, and the sky looking nearer than in the summer, +seemed about to close, like brooding wings, over the quiet woods. Two +or three robins were chirping cheerfully among the thinning leaves, +which came down with a rustle as the cool evening breeze blew up the +valley from the sea. A profound peace rested on all the silent lanes +and meadows he traversed, which would have been too solemn if he had +not loved it so profoundly.</p> + +<p>But all in a moment a tumult of children's voices scattered the +silence, and Amos saw a troop of terrified little ones running towards +him and screaming for help. Looking beyond them he saw that one of +their playfellows had fallen into the stream, which was carrying the +child swiftly away towards the sea. He had no time to deliberate; there +was not a moment to lose. In another minute the drowning child would be +abreast of the spot where he stood. He laid his bags down safely on the +bank, and waded into the shallow river, which, a few minutes ago, was +running like a thread of gold between its banks in the radiance of the +setting sun.</p> + +<p>There was no great risk in what Amos was doing. The river, unless it +was swollen by rain, was never more than breast-high. He caught the +child in his hands as the current bore it past him, and carried it +in safety to the bank. But there was no one in all the band of its +companions old enough to take care of the little creature. The child's +head had struck against a stone, and it lay a heavy load in his arms. +He must carry it himself to the nearest cottage, which was almost a +mile away. With his letter-bags slung across his shoulders, and his +clothes heavy with water, Amos could not make very rapid progress. The +cottagers were not very willing to take in a strange child, belonging +to nobody but gipsies, and he had some trouble to get them to relieve +him of his charge. More than an hour was gone before he could hasten on +his ordinary way.</p> + +<p>And he did hasten. In spite of his wet clothes and sodden boots, he +pushed on along the darkening lanes, and across the dusky meadows, not +losing a moment. It was always Charlotte's custom during the summer to +be at the window about the time he was due, to give him a smile as he +passed by; and when the evenings closed in early she placed a candle on +the window-sill, that its feeble glimmer should show him a welcome. The +candle was shining through the diamond panes, but he hardly saw it as +he rushed past. What Amos did see was the world of anxiety in the young +squire's face, as he said, "You are never too late, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>The postmaster was standing out on the pavement, looking down the quiet +street, and the gaslight was turned low in the office, usually so busy +a scene till the time for closing, when Amos staggered, breathless and +worn out, up to the familiar door.</p> + +<p>"Why, Amos, my man!" exclaimed the postmaster. "However is this? We +waited till the last moment, and the mail has gone down to the station +these ten minutes. Hark! There's the whistle! The train's off!"</p> + +<p>Amos reeled up against the door, as if struck by a gun-shot. He was +too late! It was some minutes before he could tell his story; and the +postmaster, with a good deal of sympathy and approbation, tried to +console him.</p> + +<p>"Nobody could blame you, Amos," he said. "I must report the matter to +headquarters, of course, and there will be some inquiry about it, no +doubt. Ten to one there is no letter of importance in your bags."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir!" cried Amos. "Is there nothing can be done? Think if there is +anything can be done."</p> + +<p>"Well," he answered, after a moment's pause, "you might catch the +express at Norton Junction. It's perhaps worth trying, but I'm afraid +the department will not allow the expenses. We'll see about that. A +light cart and a good horse would run you into Norton in two hours."</p> + +<p>"I'll try for it," said Amos. "Please send word to my wife and +Charlotte, or they'll be fretting all night."</p> + +<p>It was an anxious night to Joanna and Charlotte, even though the +postmaster called himself to tell them all that had happened, and to +praise Amos to them. The praises were very gratifying; but the two +women could not help thinking of him driving through the chill October +night in his wet clothing. How sharp the air felt, when they opened the +window to see if there was any rain or fog! The hours wore slowly away. +Joanna kept up a good fire, and had the kettle boiling, and put the old +brass warming-pan ready to warm the bed as soon as Amos came in cold +and famished. But no one came.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Charlotte, towards four o'clock in the morning, "of +course they'd never drive straight there and back again. The poor horse +'ud have to rest, you know."</p> + +<p>"Ay, dear love," answered Joanna; "but Amos might come home by the +mornin' mail, and that's just due, I'm thinkin'."</p> + +<p>Still the time crept on slowly, and there was no click of the garden +gate, and no step coming down the gravel walk. At the first dawn Joanna +looked out on the garden, with its tall hollyhocks and sunflowers still +bearing a little blossom; but all appeared dull, and grey, and gloomy +to her sleepless, aching eyes. If anything should happen to Amos, even +the Garden of Eden would be a desert to her.</p> + +<p>But the worst that happened was a sharp attack of rheumatic fever for +Amos, following upon a kind of fainting fit, which seized him just as +he delivered up his letters to the clerks in the travelling post-office +at Norton Junction. He was promptly carried to the Norton Cottage +Hospital; and there Joanna found him the following afternoon; and she +wept tears of mingled joy and sorrow as she sat at his bedside and +listened to the tale of his remarkable adventures.</p> + +<p>"We shall never leave off talkin' of them," he said with a smile, "when +I come home to you and Charlotte."</p> + +<p>It was six weeks before he came home. The doctors told him he was quite +well again and might resume his work, but he must take care of himself. +Amos knew this even better than they did. The old buoyant strength, the +careless, untiring delight with which he had been wont to stride along +the old familiar roads, were gone for ever. He loved them as much as +ever; but he did not go out of his way now to look into some secluded +dingle, and he could not afford to pause and listen to any strange cry +in the wintry woods. It was as much as he could do to accomplish his +task. He was even compelled to hire a substitute when the snow lay +heavy on the road, or when torrents of rain were falling. He had paid a +heavy price for saving the life of a tramp's child. No one had thanked +him for it; and he had not even the satisfaction of knowing whom or +where the little creature was.</p> + +<p>When he first called at Sutton Hall after his long illness, the +servants told him how the young squire had made a runaway match, much +to his father's displeasure. The young squire and his bride had gone to +foreign parts, nobody knew where; and his father refused to continue +his allowance, though he could not cut off the entail. This was the +matter of life or death; and Amos was not sure that he would have +driven off to Norton in his wet clothes if he had known the secret of +the young squire's anxiety.</p> + +<p>"But what's done is done," said Amos to himself; "and I thought I was +doin' what the Lord set for me."</p> + +<p>As time went on it became the custom for Joanna to take her husband's +bags, at least every other day, and always in bad weather. The +postmaster, who was friendly to them both, winked at this irregularity; +and none of the great people on the road complained of it. It was +little to Joanna to walk the seven miles out and back again; and the +load was never very heavy. But the long wait of seven or eight hours at +the farthest village was a severe trial to her. She took some sewing or +knitting; but her heart was at home, wondering how Amos and Charlotte +were going on, and longing after her accustomed work in the house and +the garden. Her home seemed, if possible, to grow dearer to her every +day; and her love was heightened by these enforced absences. There was +no other real place in the world to her; it was her world. The joy of +going back to it, and to those who lived in it, was the deepest earthly +joy her soul could feel.</p> + +<p>This home was held on a peculiar tenure, which she had all but +forgotten. Joanna's father and uncle had clubbed their money together +to buy it for three lives: their own, and the life of Joanna's cousin, +a lad fifteen years younger than herself, whose probable term of +existence was so far longer than hers. But as her father paid the +larger share of the purchase money, he had stipulated that Joanna +should have the right of inhabiting the cottage on payment of a low +rent to her cousin. When the three lives were ended the freehold went +back to the original owner.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was nearly three years after Amos met with those adventures, which +had formed the topic of endless conversations, before the postmaster +succeeded in persuading him to resign his post and take the small +pension due to him for his forty years' service. This step would +make a radical change in their lives, and it was as important to him +personally as the resignation of a prime minister.</p> + +<p>"We shall get along rarely," said Joanna, though with a shade of +anxiety in her voice; "the garden is worth £12 a year to us; and when +you're at home to help, we shall make more of it. We can hire a bit o' +land, and grow more things, and your pension 'll be a grand help."</p> + +<p>"Surely! Surely!" assented Amos.</p> + +<p>"And, mother," said Charlotte gently, "let us remember the words of our +Lord Jesus, how He said, 'Take no thought for the morrow—'"</p> + +<p>"Ay; but somebody must take thought," Joanna interrupted, "or how 'ud +the work get done? How 'ud the seeds get sown, and the house minded, +and food bought in? Thee and Amos mayn't take thought, but it falls +upon me to do it."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>ONE MORNING, AFTER A NIGHT OF HEAVY RAIN,</b><br> +<b>JOANNA SET OUT FOR THE POST OFFICE.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"But, mother," said Charlotte, "it means, 'Be not anxious for your +life.' I used to puzzle over it hours and hours, because one must +use forethought, till Mr. Seaford told me the words meant, 'Never be +anxious.' Our Lord says, 'Your Father knows ye have need of these +things'—food, and clothing, and shelter—and He will provide them. Yes, +we shall get along finely."</p> + +<p>The question troubled no more any of the three simple souls. Amos was +to give up his work at Christmas, when he would complete the fortieth +year of daily work as a rural letter-carrier, and until then he or his +wife would carry the letter-bags along the familiar roads. One morning +late in October, after a night of heavy rain, Joanna set out for the +post-office, leaving Amos at home in bed, bearing his rheumatic pains +courageously and patiently. She made the fire up with a huge lump of +coal which would smoulder for hours, until Amos got up.</p> + +<p>It was still dusk when she passed the cottage on her journey out, and +the beloved roof, with its deep eaves, stood darkly against the cold +grey dawn. A thin column of smoke wavered upward in the dank air. +Joanna held a letter in her hand, directed to herself, which she had +got at the post-office; and the temptation was strong to go in and +strike a light and read it before she went on her way. She received a +letter so seldom! But then every other letter entrusted to her would be +delayed; and who could tell what might be the consequences if she was +unfaithful to her charge? Besides, Amos would be worried. She passed by +steadily, giving a loving nod to the old home under whose roof her only +two beloved ones were sleeping.</p> + +<p>It was not until she reached the end of her journey, and had delivered +the last bag at the village post-office, that she sat down in the shed +where Amos was wont to work as a cobbler, and took up the letter. She +read the outer inscription to herself solemnly, and carefully opened +the blue envelope. It was dated from Norton, and began with the word +"Madam!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a mistake," cried Joanna, half aloud. "Nobody never called me +Madam!"</p> + +<p>But the address was plainly "Mrs. Amos Terry."</p> + +<p>"There's nobody else of that name in our place," she reflected, and +went on slowly spelling her way through the letter.</p> + +<p>It was to the effect, expressed in formal phraseology, that her cousin, +the third beneficiary under the tontine by which her cottage was held, +being now dead, the freehold fell to the original owner; and the writer +of the letter, being his agent, was instructed to give her immediate +notice to deliver up the cottage in good and tenantable repair.</p> + +<p>Joanna read and re-read the letter. She was an intelligent woman, but +at first she could not grasp the meaning in its full bitterness. No +word had come to her of her cousin's illness and death. It was true +they did not correspond except on the quarter-days when she sent the +rent and he acknowledged it. By-and-by her brain began to act clearly. +If her cousin was really dead, a man not much more than forty years of +age, then, of course, the tontine was ended, and the cottage was hers +no longer. At the thought of it, her heart died within her.</p> + +<p>She leaned her trembling grey head against the wall, and shut her +aching eyes. A phantasmagoria of the beloved home passed swiftly +through her mind. She saw it in winter with snow upon the thatch, and +long icicles fringing the eaves, all the garden round it sleeping in +wintry sleep, and nursing the roots and seeds in its frozen bosom; in +spring-time, with the young, fresh green of the lilacs and roses and +honeysuckles budding out around it; in summer, almost smothered in +blossoms; and in autumn, as she had seen it this morning, dank with +rain, but snug and dry as a nest within. Every flower that had bloomed +during the last summer, the fruit-trees laden with fruit, the long +rows of beans and peas—all seemed to stand up clearly before her eyes, +asking if it was possible for them to grow out of that soil under any +other care than hers.</p> + +<p>Then she had visions of herself: a baby crawling over the low +door-sill; a little child running in and out with her prattle to the +father and mother; a tall girl going to school and winning prizes to +take home to them; and then, when Amos came courting, how the click +of the garden gate sent her in trembling and blushing to her mother's +side. And all the years since—the long stretch of nearly forty peaceful +happy years—lived under the old roof, until every lifeless thing had +become alive with memories. Not a nail had been knocked in any wall, +not a patch put into the thatch, but she knew all about it: and having +not much else to think about, she could remember how and when and why +each slight change had been made.</p> + +<p>Joanna did no work that day. She sat still in the little shed, +oblivious of cold and damp and hunger, brooding over the terrible +letter. She forgot to eat the dinner she had brought with her. One +decision only she could come to—to keep her secret as long as she +could. Why should Amos and Charlotte suffer as she was suffering, until +she had done all she could do?</p> + +<p>It was hard to go in home that night. She must be her usual self, +cheery, and a little talkative, asking trifling questions about what +they had done all day, whilst her heart felt breaking at the sight of +every familiar object. But she did her best, not daring to complain +of any ache or pain, lest Amos should insist upon going out in the +continued bad weather. At last, the first fine day, when he could +undertake his duty, Joanna found some excuse for going to Norton. She +had learned to know the place well while Amos lay ill in the hospital.</p> + +<p>The agent who had written to her was in his office; and after a little +delay she was admitted to see him. He was a busy man, pompous in his +manner, and he could see nothing to interest him in a plain, ill-clad +country woman, whose homely face was no more eloquent than her words. +She had but little language in which to plead for what was a matter of +life or death to her.</p> + +<p>"My good woman," he said at last, rather angrily, "I have no time for +further discussion. I am instructed to sell the property; and £150 has +been offered for it. If you can make me a better offer, I am willing to +take it. If not, you must be out before Christmas."</p> + +<p>It was like listening to a death-sentence. The house was going to be +sold! Could she offer more than £150? She might as well think of buying +one of the crown jewels. Leave before Christmas! Why, that was only six +weeks off; and Amos and Charlotte had no thought of such a thing yet. +She went home stunned, not knowing what to do. It was as if Fate had +put a dagger in her hand, and bade her pierce the hearts of her two +beloved ones. She did her best to shake off the feeling of doom which +was crushing her; and for some days she went about her daily work with +a Spartan-like cheerfulness. But the bitterest anxiety and despondency +were gnawing at her heart. The only relief was when Amos was obliged to +stay at home, and she could trudge along the wintry lanes, unseen by +eyes that loved her homely face and watched it.</p> + +<p>But the time came at last when she could no longer delay to strike the +blow which would wound Amos and Charlotte as her own heart was wounded. +It was necessary to seek some other roof to shelter them; for December +was come, and on Christmas Eve they must leave the old home.</p> + +<p>"Amos," she said, in a tremulous voice one cold, dark night, after she +had come in from her long tramp, "my cousin's dead."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Dear heart!" he answered her. "And did he die happy?"</p> + +<p>She had never thought of that.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she cried, bursting into tears, "but oh! Amos, we shall +have to lose our old place!"</p> + +<p>He had been stirring up the fire to make a cheerful blaze, but now he +sat himself down beside her on the oak settle, and put his old arm +round her, drawing her closely to him. He was trembling too with the +suddenness of the shock her words had given to him. The firelight +played upon their wrinkled faces, and upon the hard and withered hands +which clasped each other so fast. Both of them were silent for a few +minutes. Amos knew full well the anguish that filled his wife's heart.</p> + +<p>"Let us go and tell Charlotte," he said at last.</p> + +<p>It was one of her bad days, and she had not left her bed. A patchwork +counterpane, made by Joanna, covered her, and patchwork curtains +sheltered her from the draught of the window. Her aching head and +pallid face lay on a down pillow, with a linen slip spun and woven by +Joanna's mother. The attic looked like a home that had been long and +intimately occupied. Joanna sank down on her knees, with a deep moan, +beside the bed; whilst Amos, in a faltering voice, told the sad news +briefly.</p> + +<p>"Then that's what it means!" cried Charlotte, lifting up her head, and +looking at him with shining eyes. "All day long, for the last five or +six days, there's been a whisperin' in my mind, 'Though He slay me, yet +will I trust in Him.' It's God's voice, father. He's spoken beforehand +to me, to comfort you and me."</p> + +<p>Joanna raised her care-worn and tearful face, and Amos laid his rough +hand tenderly on his daughter's head. Neither of them doubted that God +had indeed spoken to her.</p> + +<p>"A father couldn't do anything to his child that seems worse than +slaying it," continued Charlotte, "but I've read of fathers, loving +fathers, that have done it rather than let them fall into the hands of +wicked men that would kill them cruelly. The children would trust their +fathers to kill them. 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.'"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Dear heart! We'll trust in Him," Amos answered.</p> + +<p>They sat up late that night talking over the utter change in their +future life, and trying to face the calamity from every point of view. +But, after all their discussion, there was nothing for it but to accept +the sorrow as God's will, to which they must meekly submit their own.</p> + +<p>The trouble fell most lightly on Amos. His home was where his wife and +daughter were; and he had lost neither of these. All his days had been +passed away from the cottage, and his life had not been so closely +interwoven with it. Besides, he was almost as ignorant as a child +about ways and means. His weekly wages had always been handed over, as +soon as he received them, to Joanna, who provided for him everything +he needed, leaving him only a few pence in his pocket to meet any +unforeseen contingency. The faculty of dealing with money, which is one +of the latest we acquire, and one of the earliest we lose, had never +been developed in Amos. No anxious foreboding troubled him as to food, +shelter, and clothing. Joanna was there; she would see to all that.</p> + +<p>Charlotte, also, had never had the spending of five shillings in her +life. All she needed came to her as the air and the light came, without +care and without thought. Joanna had shielded her always from all +anxiety. It would be a great grief to quit the old home; but there +rose in her something of the self-sustaining spirit of a martyr. If +she must suffer, she would suffer with rejoicing. There had been +women who trusted in God whilst they were wandering about in deserts, +and mountains, and caves, and holes in the earth, being destitute, +afflicted, tormented. This trial of her faith was nothing compared with +theirs. God should find her trusting Him through sorrow and trouble, +as she had trusted Him in peace and tranquility. She would take up the +cross willingly, and follow the Lord whithersoever He pleased to lead +her.</p> + +<p>Was the burden lighter to Joanna because the others bore it lightly? +All her life had been spent laboriously in providing for and shielding +her two beloved ones. Every shilling, for their sakes, had been made to +do the duty of thirteenpence. She had diligently practised industry, +and thrift, and forethought every hour of every working day; and now +she could not enter into the Sabbath rest of Charlotte and Amos. +The future loomed very dark and dreary. There would be no immediate +distress; for had not she scraped painfully together as much as £50, +which was safely deposited in the post-office savings bank? But she +always regarded that as a nest-egg for Charlotte, if she should happen +to outlive her and Amos. As she sought for some cheap and comfortless +lodging in the town, she wondered how she could manage where there was +no garden where she could grow vegetables and savoury herbs, and where +she could keep a few fowls. Every egg, every potato even, would have to +be bought; and the only money coming in would be the small pension due +to Amos. She foresaw herself spending, with a constant heart-pang, the +nest-egg laid by for Charlotte.</p> + +<p>Joanna fought hard against distrust of God. She listened, with a ghost +of a smile, to Charlotte's consoling and courageous thoughts, but she +could not enter into them. It was strange how this new misery made +everything about her start into greater vividness. Every object about +the cottage, and within it, seemed to be almost alive and thrusting +itself into her notice. Even the old cracks in the window-panes +impressed themselves upon her mind. Still more keenly did she see and +read afresh the familiar faces of her husband and daughter. Perhaps we +see least those whom we love most. They live so closely beside us that, +though their voices are in our ears, and the sense of their presence +is always with us, we hardly look at them, and time leaves traces +on their beloved features undetected by us. Joanna was startled to +recognise how Amos was looking an old man, and how pallid and worn was +Charlotte's face. Oh! If the blessed Lord would only let them all pass +away together from this world before the great sorrow came!</p> + +<p>A few days before Christmas the postmaster handed a foreign letter +to Amos when he came at six o'clock in the morning for the bags. He +read it, as Joanna had read hers, in his cobbler's shed. It came from +Madeira, and was written by young Squire Sutton, whose runaway marriage +he had unconsciously helped. There were only a few words, for in it +was enclosed a letter to Joanna, which was not to be opened or spoken +of till Christmas Day. Amos put the letter carefully aside, smiling +a little sadly to himself as he thought he had a secret as well as +Joanna. But he did not dwell upon his secret much. The dreaded crisis +had come, and his old home was being dismantled. These few days were +full of slow, suppressed anguish to Joanna, as one by one she carried +the smaller treasures of her home to the dreary lodgings in the town.</p> + +<p>Each night when Amos came in some familiar household goods were +missing, and their empty places stared him eloquently in the face. +Forebodings of the immediate future began to peer at him through the +shadow of the coming event. He almost forgot he had any secret, and he +ceased to smile when it crossed his mind.</p> + +<p>Christmas Eve came at last—the dreaded day. Heaven had not interfered +to prevent their exile. Only the heavier pieces of furniture remained +to be moved—the oak settle from the hearth; the old four-post bedstead +on which they had slept so peacefully all their married life, on which +Joanna's forefathers had died, and on which she and Amos had expected +to lie down and die as peacefully as they had slept. The tall clock in +the corner, which had stood there over a hundred years, must be taken +down. It was to Joanna as if she saw the roof-tree give way when she +watched their old friends touched by strange hands. Every stroke of a +hammer stunned her; every creak of the old furniture pierced her to the +heart.</p> + +<p>The doctor came in the middle of the day, and kindly carried Charlotte +away in his carriage to their new abode. Joanna was left alone, for she +had insisted upon Amos going this last day of all upon his round. He +would come back rich with Christmas boxes; but what were any gifts to +Joanna just then? She watched the cart-load of heavy goods start off, +and then she looked round with bitter despair at the dismantled rooms. +She went outside and paced mournfully round the beloved garden, dearer +to her than any other spot on earth. It was a clear wintry day, with +a blue sky, and a white frost which silvered over every leaf of the +evergreen bushes and every bare branch and twig of the trees. A fringe +of icicles hung from the eaves, sparkling like diamonds in the sun. But +there was no smoke rising from the chimney, no face at any window, no +sign of habitation. The cottage seemed to feel itself deserted. Such +forlornness had not befallen it for uncounted years. It and Joanna were +going to part, and it had already a forsaken look, which brought a +burst of bitter tears to her old eyes.</p> + +<p>She walked feebly away, looking neither to the right hand nor the +left, and the neighbours had compassion on her, leaving her alone with +her grief. The two rooms which formed their new home were in a state +of utter confusion. The men who had removed the heavy furniture were +putting up the bedstead in the room which must now be bed-chamber, +kitchen, and all. A little room at the back, opening on to walls, and +chimneys, and roofs, was to be Charlotte's.</p> + +<p>Joanna set to work at putting things to rights a little; but she was +bewildered and confused, and Charlotte, with a tender and gentle voice, +told her what to do, as if she had been in the habit of directing +household matters. Joanna obeyed her as if in a dream.</p> + +<p>Amos came in at his usual hour, and gave Charlotte a kiss, as he had +done each night ever since she came into the world. Then he looked +hesitatingly and shyly at his wife's sad face, and his old arm went +round her neck, and her head sank upon his breast. There was something +sacred and sacramental in the unwonted caress. It was the first moment +of consolation that had come to Joanna, and her face was brighter when +she lifted it up. At any rate, she had lost neither Amos nor Charlotte, +she said to herself.</p> + +<p>There was little sleep for any of the three that night. The +unaccustomed noises in the street, the closer air, the sense of being +in a strange place, all kept them awake. Joanna got up early in the +dark Christmas morning, and pottered about with a candle among their +littered goods to find the articles necessary for breakfast.</p> + +<p>"A happy Christmas to you, mother!" called Charlotte from the inner +room.</p> + +<p>A lump rose in Joanna's throat, and for a minute or two she could not +bring herself to speak. Fifty-seven happy Christmases had found her in +her old home; but now! Then she said in a whisper, "Lord, forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"A happy Christmas to you, Charlotte!" she called back in a shrill and +strained voice.</p> + +<p>It was a comfortless breakfast amid their disorderly possessions; but +Amos kept making light of it, and apologizing, as if in some way it was +his fault. As soon as it was ended, he and Joanna went into Charlotte's +room to reckon up the presents which had been given to him the day +before. He was an old man, and a favourite, and his Christmas boxes +amounted to more than five pounds.</p> + +<p>"But good sake!" he cried suddenly. "I've got a Christmas letter for +you, mother, and I shouldn't wonder if there weren't a pretty card or +something in it. It's from young Squire Sutton, and it came to me a +week ago, but I weren't to speak a word of it till Christmas Day in the +morning. Here, Charlotte; it's for your mother, my dear, but you'll +read the writin' the easiest."</p> + +<p>The young Squire began his letter by saying that but for Amos Terry's +promptitude in carrying on the letters entrusted to him he would +himself have missed the happiness of his life. He had heard the whole +story from a friend in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "We were sorry to hear Amos was ill with rheumatism, and now we hear +that he is obliged to give up being postman. We have often wished to +share our happiness with you two old friends, and as soon as we heard +your cottage was for sale we commissioned an agent to buy the freehold +for you, and we ask you both to accept it as our Christmas gift. With +all our hearts we wish you a happy Christmas."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Joanna fell down on her knees, and bowed her grey head upon her hands. +"Lord, forgive me! Lord, forgive me!" she sobbed. A positive pang of +gladness ran through her; it was like a rush of life poured into dying +veins. All the anguish and forlornness, all the dread and foreboding +were gone. The old home, dearer to her than ever, was hers again, and +by no uncertain tenure. Not only hers, but Charlotte's, if she should +outlive her. There was no danger now that Charlotte would ever be +homeless. When she lifted herself up and looked at her two beloved +ones, Charlotte's pale face had a tinge of colour, and Amos was looking +almost frightened at his fortune.</p> + +<p>"Amos!" cried Joanna. "We must go and look at it this minute!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>They stood together, the old man and woman, at the garden gate, gazing +down on the paradise they had almost lost. It looked more lovely, more +desirable, more home-like than it had ever done, and now it was their +own. It seemed almost as if God had sent them the gift direct from +heaven.</p> + +<p>"If it hadn't been for that tramp's child,"' said Amos slowly, "I +shouldn't ha' missed the mail that evenin'. And if I hadn't missed the +mail, the young Squire 'ud never have thought o' buyin' the house for +us. I've often and often wondered about that tramp's child; but there +now! 'Ye are of more value than many sparrows.'"</p> + +<p>"Ay! That's true," said Joanna, with a sob of happiness.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t1"> +<b><a id="A_Man">A MAN OF HIS WORD</a></b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_1">CHAPTER I</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>His Only Child</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>IF you take a railway map of England and Wales, you will see that, in +spite of its close network of railroads, meeting and crossing in all +directions, there are still many tracts of country where the villages +must be several miles from any station. In these out-of-the-way +spots life is more at a standstill now than even in the days when +stage-coaches and wagons were wont to run from town to town, taking +the villages in their route, and carrying with them the common gossip +of a whole neighbourhood. Twenty-five or thirty years ago, before the +railway system was as fully developed as it is at present, but when +it had already given a death-blow to the old coaching business, many +a village was cut off thus from its former intercourse with the outer +world, and left to live apart from the common life of the nation, or to +find its own way to a reunion.</p> + +<p>In such a remote place, on the borderland which is half English and +half Welsh, lived Christmas Williams. The village was scarcely more +than a hamlet, having no pretension to a village street, its scattered +cottages standing alone in their own gardens. A brown, shallow, +brawling little river, which filled the quiet air with its singing, ran +along under the churchyard walls, over which the tall lime-trees threw +their deep shadows on the busy stream. West of the churchyard, still +on the bank of the river, lay Christmas Williams' garden: his special, +favourite garden, not the common piece of ground beside his house open +to every foot, but his own locked up, fenced-in plot, reached by a +footpath across his orchard.</p> + +<p>Just within sight of the church stood Christmas Williams' house, the +village inn, holding a conspicuous position on a slope of ground, with +a primitive sort of terrace in front of it; over the wall of which +he could often be seen leaning, to look down on the carts and wagons +passing in the lane below, and to send messages, some friendly and some +hostile, by the drivers to their masters, on the various farmsteads +lying round the village.</p> + +<p>There was no one in the neighbourhood who was considered better off, +or who had so widespread an influence as Christmas. He had been +churchwarden for many years, as well as constable of the township; for +rural police were not yet in existence. It was he who kept the keys of +the church, as well as of the crib, which was a small jail built in one +corner of the churchyard, and the terror of all the children of the +parish.</p> + +<p>Yet the crib was seldom occupied, except sometimes after a club-day at +the village inn, when any drunken brawl was sure to excite Christmas +Williams' wrath, and bring down swift punishment on the offenders. +It was in vain to urge the argument that hard drinking was to his +own profit; he only permitted his customers to have as much as he +considered good for them; and if by any mischance they overstepped the +doubtful line between sobriety and drunkenness, down came the keys +of the crib, to which, as constable, he felt pledged to commit all +brawlers and disturbers of the public peace.</p> + +<p>There was not a soul for miles round, as far as the distant town to +which he went to market twice a month, who did not know Christmas +Williams to be a just, upright man, and, above all, a man of his +word. His word was as good as another man's oath. His father had kept +the village inn before him, and had borne the same character. His +grandfather, too, had been landlord, churchwarden and constable; an +honest, plodding man. The house, with its wainscotted walls, and its +large, open kitchen, spacious enough to hold comfortably all the men in +the village; the office of churchwarden, with its close connection with +the rector; and the post of constable, making him the official guardian +of the public peace: all these had become almost as hereditary as the +estates of the duke, who owned a good part of the county. The duke was +not prouder of his descent and name than was Christmas Williams.</p> + +<p>It was a peaceful, pretty village, with low round hills encircling it, +their soft outlines stretching across the sky, with coppices of young +larch-trees and dark Scotch firs climbing up their slopes. The air, +sweeping over a thousand meadows, where cowslips and buttercups grew +in profusion, bore no slightest taint of the smoke of cities. A soft +tranquility seemed to brood over the place in almost unbroken silence. +The grey old church, with no charm about it except its age, wore a look +of idleness and disuse, as if it had done with active service, and was +resting before settling down into ruins. Even on Sundays the doors +yawned merely to admit a handful of old-fashioned, steady-going people, +who listened sleepily to the old rector, as he read to them one of +Blair's Sermons, out of a volume from his library, not even taking the +decent trouble of making a manuscript copy of it.</p> + +<p>The rector was an unmarried man, with few ideas beyond the pursuit of +country pleasures, which he had followed so long that they had mastered +him, and now held him in utter bondage. He was keen after a fox, and +could not keep away from a coursing match. His parishioners saw much +more of him in Christmas Williams' snug fireside corner than in his +desk and pulpit.</p> + +<p>Who can tell how the mischief crept in? Little by little, step by +step; first a Sunday-school class in Widow Evans' cottage; a quiet +prayer-meeting or two; then an afternoon preaching. A change was coming +over the village; or, more truly speaking, over a small portion of the +villagers, but those were the steadiest and best. Christmas took no +notice of it at first; and the rector cared for none of those things.</p> + +<p>The Sunday-school could hardly come under Christmas Williams' eyes, +for he spent the most of every Sunday in his garden by the churchyard, +scanning his well-kept beds, and strolling to and fro along the +walks, from which he could see the headstones on his father's and +grandfather's graves, and be forced sometimes to think of the far-off +time when his own should be standing beside them. It was the chief +trouble of his prosperous life that he had no son to carry on the name +of Christmas Williams. Still, his trouble was a slight one, for he had +a gentle, pretty little daughter, whom he had christened Easter, and +whom he loved almost as if she had been a son. Easter must marry young +and well, that he might hear her children call him grandfather.</p> + +<p>But when the afternoon preaching began, and Widow Evans' son, a young +stripling who was not yet out of his time as a draper's apprentice, +stood up boldly, and with ready speech taught his fellow-villagers +what he himself was learning in the distant market-town, of eternity, +of the Saviour, and of God, Christmas roused himself. Worse than that, +by-and-by the lad brought with him a grave, earnest, eloquent man, who +preached such words as pricked the people to their hearts, and sent +them home talking and pondering over these new things. It was high time +for Christmas to bestir himself, both as churchwarden and constable.</p> + +<p>"You can do nothing, Christmas," said the rector, sitting in his +favourite chimney-corner; while Easter, as she went about her work +softly and quickly, filled his glass for him from the brown jug on the +table between him and her father. "Come, live and let live. They don't +hurt me, and they ought not to hurt you. What harm is there in a bit of +psalm-singing and Bible-reading in a cottage? Bless you! I wonder any +one of them sets his foot inside the church; and I'll be the last to +blame them if they don't."</p> + +<p>"I've said I'll put a stop to it, and I'll do it," cried Christmas. +"I'm a man of my word. I'll duck young Evans in my horsepond, if I can +only catch him. They shall be cut up root and branch. You'll see I'll +make short work of it."</p> + +<p>"You cannot hinder them from meeting in Widow Evans' house, my man," +replied the rector; "and you cannot stop them singing, and praying, and +preaching, as they please. She's my tenant, and I'll not disturb her, +poor soul! Let the thing alone, I say. Nobody knows better than me that +it was a mistake putting me into the Church; I'm no more fit for it +than for heaven itself. If I believed it would do me any good, I'd go +to their meetings myself."</p> + +<p>He spoke sadly, and bent his head down for a minute; and Easter, seeing +it, drew nearer to the grey-haired old clergyman, whom she had known +and loved all her lifetime.</p> + +<p>"Well, if I cannot put a stop to it," exclaimed Christmas, "no man, +woman, or child goes from my house to any of those fools' meetings. +Whoever does that, shall never cross my threshold again."</p> + +<p>Easter's fair face grew pale, and her hands trembled as she rested them +for support on the table at which they were sitting. But there was a +steady light in her eyes, resolute as her father's, as she fastened +them upon his angry face.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said, in a low, tremulous voice, "father, I've been there +every Sunday since they began. And I am converted, and believe in God, +and I must obey Him rather than you."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_2">CHAPTER II</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>"Cast Out"</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>EASTER hardly knew how heroic an act was her confession of faith +in God. She was a little afraid of her father, but her love of him +was deep, though untried; and, like thousands of other converts to +Christianity, from the days of our Lord Himself, when the man born +blind was cast out and disowned by his parents, she had felt no fear +of the cruel and unnatural separation which might befall her through +any bigotry and obstinacy of her father. She stood in the flickering +firelight, which was bright enough for them to see, without any other +light, her eyes glistening, and the colour coming and going on her +face, ready to fling her arms round her father's neck, and burst into a +passion of tears upon his breast.</p> + +<p>But his face was harsh and stormy, as he stood up with his stern eyes +riveted upon her. "Say that once more, Easter," he muttered, "and +you'll never darken my doors again."</p> + +<p>"No, no, my man! No, no, Williams!" interposed the rector hastily. "Let +Easter alone. I'll answer for her. She has always been a good girl, and +she'll be a good girl now."</p> + +<p>"What does the girl mean, then," asked Christmas angrily, "talking +of being converted, and believing in God? I can say, 'I believe in +God Almighty,' and all the rest of it, as well as any man or woman in +England. Easter means more than that; don't you, girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," she answered, in a firm, low voice; "I mean they've +taught me how sinful I am, and how the Lord Jesus Christ did really die +on the cross to save me, and that God loves me as if He was my real +father. I'm not saying it like I used to say it in church, out of a +book. I believe it with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"Then you've taken up with a lot o' cant, and you may march out of my +house, and see what cant and them that cant will do for you!" said +Christmas, white with fury.</p> + +<p>It was all in vain that the rector remonstrated and pleaded for Easter, +and that Easter herself knelt at his feet and with many tears besought +him to let her stay at home. He vowed that unless she would recall all +she had said, and promise solemnly never to hold intercourse with any +of the canting lot again, he would never more call her daughter, or +look upon her in any other light than as an enemy.</p> + +<p>Next morning, at the earliest dawn of day, Easter quitted her home. +She had not tried to sleep; and she knew her father had not slept, for +she had heard his heavy footstep moving to and fro in his bedroom. It +had been his command that she should leave the shelter of his roof as +soon as it was light, and she was obeying him. For the last time she +opened her little casement, and looked out on the garden below, where +the roses and hollyhocks and sunflowers were in blossom, and where the +bees in the hive under her window were already beginning to stir. She +was going away, not knowing whither she went: but she believed that God +would be as faithful to His promises as her father was to his word.</p> + +<p>As she went slowly and sadly along the village lane, where the +cottagers were still asleep, all the old familiar places looked strange +at this strange hour and in the grey dawn. Even the churchyard, where +she had played for hours together as a child, seemed different and +foreign to her, as though she was cut off from all relations with it +and her past life. Where was she to go? Whom could she turn to? She +must not stay with Widow Evans, lest it should displease her father +more. She was passing under the rectory wall, when she heard the old +rector's voice calling her.</p> + +<p>"Easter!" he cried. "Easter, what are you about to do? Are you going to +forsake your father?"</p> + +<p>"He has cast me off," she answered, weeping; "he will not let me stay +if I do not deny God."</p> + +<p>"Dear! Dear! Dear!" cried the old rector. "He's an obstinate man, and +I don't know what to say between you. You are two wilful ones, I fear. +But I'll do my best to bring him round; and here, my lassie, here's +five pounds for you, and a letter to my cousin, who will find you a +place somewhere. Good-bye, and God bless you, Easter!"</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in God?" asked Easter, looking up at him through her +tears.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," he answered testily, "and so does your father. We +believe in Him after one fashion, and you after another. But, Easter, +yours is the best, I know."</p> + +<p>He uttered the last words in a mournful tone, and watched her as she +went sadly on her lonely way, until the hawthorn hedge hid her form +from his sight. She was as nearly as possible like his own child +to him; he had watched her growing up from day to day through all +the changes of childhood and girlhood. He was a kindly old man, and +loved to be at peace and on good terms with every one. And here was a +brangle in the very centre of his parish, making desolate the house +he frequented most. Besides, he could recall a time when he had felt +the worth of a courageous faith like that which had sent Easter out +into a world she knew nothing of, in simple reliance upon God and +implicit obedience to the Saviour whose name she had taken. She was +a Christian. Was he a Christian, too? The old rector thought of his +self-indulgences, his country pleasures, and his neglected people; but +he felt his heart heavy and dull. He could not lift it out of the miry +clay in which it had grovelled so long.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Easter's absence made a greater difference to Christmas Williams +than he would ever have owned in words. He had never let her toil +laboriously with her own hands, as her mother and grandmother had +done before her; he had been too choice of her for that. Easter had +been like his favourite garden, where no common fruit or flowers were +suffered to grow. He had delighted in her dainty, winsome ways, as he +had delighted in his splendid show of roses, and of peaches growing +ripe in the sun. He missed her sorely. There was no pretty, smiling +face blooming opposite to him when he sat down to his now solitary +meals. There was no light footstep tripping about the house; no sweet +voice singing gaily or plaintively the old songs he had taught her +himself. She was never to be seen leaning over the terrace-wall, +watching for his coming along the lane. He had no one to buy some +pretty trifle for when he went to market. Christmas had not foreseen +the dreary change. Possibly, if he had foreseen it, he would never have +uttered the oath he had bound upon his conscience.</p> + +<p>All the neighbourhood took notice of the gloom that had fallen upon +Christmas and his once pleasant house. He had always been a masterful +man, but he grew morose and tyrannical as time passed on. His servants, +who had been used to stay long periods with him, were constantly +quitting his service, and carried away with them stories of his harsh +and unreasonable conduct. The home gradually became dull and dirty, +with no mistress to look after the maids. It was less and less tempting +to gather about the large fireplace of an evening, as had been the +practice for generations past.</p> + +<p>The rector had offended Christmas by interceding for Easter, and by +pooh-poohing his fiery zeal against the meetings in Widow Evans' +cottage, and he turned into the village inn but seldom now. Christmas +felt this to the very soul; but he was too proud to speak of it, or to +yield an inch to his clergyman. It was reported, moreover, that the ale +was badly brewed, or was kept in sour casks: a fact that might possibly +have had something to do with the rector's fewer visits, and with their +brevity when he came.</p> + +<p>Christmas made no effort to learn any tidings of his daughter; but +the neighbours took care he should hear them. She had taken a place +as upper nurse in the family of the rector's cousin, who lived in +the market-town he attended; and now and then he fancied he saw her +threading her way through the busy streets on a market-day.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A year or two after she left home, he heard she had married Widow +Evans' son, a poor, delicate young man, assistant only in the draper's +shop where he had served his apprenticeship. Christmas cursed him +bitterly in his heart; though he never uttered his name, or Easter's, +with his lips. The letters Easter wrote to him he returned unopened; +but none the less bitter was his resentment that she should marry +without his consent. She was his daughter still, though he vowed she +was not.</p> + +<p>Presently came the news that a grandson was born to him. His own +grandson! He heard it on market-day, and the farmers who were about +him, buying and selling their corn, watched him inquisitively to see +how he took the news. Not a change came over his hard, grim face; yet +suddenly in his mind rose up the memory of that sunny Easter Sunday, +when the bells were ringing joyously in the old church-tower for the +resurrection of the Lord, and some one brought to him his first-born +child. Another memory followed close upon it—the evening shadows of +the same day closing round him as he knelt beside his dying wife, and +heard her whisper in her last faint tones, "I leave my baby to you, +dear Christmas!" All his lonely way home that night these two visions +haunted him.</p> + +<p>Still six months later further tidings reached his ears. Two or three +of his oldest and most faithful guests, who yet lingered of an evening +on the old hearth, were talking together, seated within the old screen, +which concealed him from their sight, though they had a shrewd guess +that he was within hearing.</p> + +<p>"Widow Evans' son is dead," said one, "and he's left poor Easter a +widow, with her babe!"</p> + +<p>"What's she going to do?" asked another of the party.</p> + +<p>"They say she's bound to come home to Widow Evans," was the answer. +"She's ailing, is Widow Evans, and growing simple; she wants somebody +to fend for her. And who so natural as Easter, poor lass? They were +praying for her at the meeting last Sunday, and praying hard for 'him,' +as the Lord 'ud soften his heart. You know who! It'll take a deal o' +softening, I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>"Ay! Ay!" agreed all the company.</p> + +<p>"They say Easter's as white as a corpse," went on the speaker. "Eh! But +she'll be a sight to move a heart o' stone, I say, with her babe and +her pretty young face pinched up in a widow's cap. She's naught but a +girl yet; I recollect her birthday as if it was yesterday. Oh! But what +a feast we should ha' been sure of, in this very house, if Easter had +never taken up wi' those new-fangled ways, and had married to please +her father! But Christmas is too hard, I say."</p> + +<p>"Ay! That he is," rejoined the other voices with one consent.</p> + +<p>"Widow Evans' money is no more than five pounds a quarter," he +continued, "and it dies when she dies. It will be close living for two +women and a growing boy; though women know how to starve and famish +better than men do, God help them! And to think of Christmas being so +well off! Better than anybody knows fairly, with heaps of money in the +bank. He oughtn't to be so hard!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_3">CHAPTER III</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>His Grandson</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>CHRISTMAS, as they guessed, overheard all their gossip, as he sat +in his own little room behind the screen, with the door ajar. He +felt pricked and stung, and he stole away noiselessly, that none +of them might know he had been there, and went down to his garden +beside the river, where he was secure of being alone. His heart had +always been readily melted at the thought of a widow's loneliness and +helplessness; and now Easter was coming back to her native place, his +little daughter, a poor, friendless widow, burdened with a child! +Why! It seemed but a few days ago that she was tottering along these +smooth walks, her little feet tripping at the smallest pebble, and her +little fingers clasping his own thick finger closely. How long was it +since she watched with him the ripening of the fruit upon the trees, +and with all a child's delight took from his hands the first that was +ready for gathering! How many a time had Easter been seated dry and +warm on his wheelbarrow, and watched him at work, digging, and pruning, +and grafting with his own hands, while he listened all the while to +her prattle! Those were happy, blessed days! And all these pure and +innocent joys might be beginning for him again. His little grandson +would soon be old enough to totter along these same garden paths, and +to call him grandfather. He felt almost heartsick as he looked at the +dream for a moment.</p> + +<p>But it was only for a moment. Christmas could not relent; his +long-cherished pride in being a man of his word could not so easily be +conquered. He lashed himself up into more bitter anger against Easter +for this momentary weakness. She might pinch and starve, for him. It +was a strange sort of religion that set a daughter at variance against +her father; and those who preached it might provide for those who +believed them. He would not suffer it, or any one who professed it, in +his house—no, not for a day. He would let Easter know that if she would +humble herself, and promise, even now, to have done with these new +notions, he would take her and her boy home again. But never—he looked +across at his father's and grandfather's graves as he swore it—never +should any canting nonsense be spoken under his roof!</p> + +<p>Easter was reluctant to come back to her native village, but there +was no one else to wait upon and nurse her aged mother-in-law. It was +harder work than any one supposed to live on eight shillings a week; +what had been just enough for one was far too little for three. Easter +hoped that it would be possible to get a little needlework from some of +the neighbours' wives; if not, she must take to field-work, and go out +weeding and hoeing with the poorest of the villagers. There proved to +be very little work for her needle; so Easter might be seen going out +to the fields early in the morning on those days when her mother was +well enough to take care of little Chrissie: for she had called her boy +after her father, both because she loved the old name and because she +cherished a secret hope that he would own him as his grandson.</p> + +<p>But that hope slowly yet surely died away as year after year passed +by, and no sign was given by Christmas Williams that he ever saw his +daughter. He could not but see her almost daily about the village, +and he could not go to his meadows without passing the little cottage +where she and her baby dwelt. He saw her plainly enough: the sad +girlish face, worn with sorrow and hard times, that gazed at him with +beseeching eyes. He had sent his message to her, and she had answered +firmly that she could not go back from professing her faith in Christ. +The first time they met after that, Easter turned pale, nearly as pale +as her dead mother had been when he saw her last in her coffin; and she +had uttered, in the same clear yet faint voice as that in which her +mother had breathed good-bye, the one word "Father!"</p> + +<p>Christmas heard her as distinctly as if the word had been shouted in +his ear, but he passed on in silence with a heavy frown upon his face; +though in his heart of hearts there was a secret hope that she would +run after him, and catch him by the arm, and hang about his neck, and +not let him go—let him speak as roughly as he might—until she had +forced him to be reconciled to her. If Easter had but known!</p> + +<p>Now that Easter was at home in her mother's cottage, the meetings, +which had become irregular on account of Widow Evans' failing health, +began again with renewed vigour. Every Sunday a large class was held +in the cottage, and Easter started a singing-class, taught by herself, +which attracted all the young folks of the place to it. There was +a slow, but quite a perceptible change in the little village. Even +the farmers and their wives would sometimes condescend to be present +at the service when some preacher from town was coming, for the old +rector was growing more and more careless of his duties, and the +conviction was spreading that there was need of some change. There was +a rumour that the duke had been asked to grant land for the purpose of +building a chapel, and that he was willing to do it if the majority +of the parishioners wished it. The rector said nothing against it, +but Christmas Williams, as churchwarden, opposed it with unflagging +vehemence. The scheme, if ever indeed there had been one, must have +fallen through for want of funds; but the mere rumour of it helped to +widen the breach between him and his daughter.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Chrissie was growing as fast as a healthy child grows +who is always out in the open air, braving all kinds of weather, and +only kept indoors by sleep. He was a lovely baby, and a bold, bonny +little boy, restless, daring, and resolute; a favourite with all the +neighbours, as Easter herself had been in her motherless childhood. +Chrissie was free of every house in the village: there was no door +closed to him except his grandfather's, and a seat at every table was +ready for Easter's child. His mother, busy with making both ends meet, +hardly knew how to put a stop to the boy's vagrant life. As soon as +he was old enough to dress himself, he would be up and away at the +earliest dawn, rambling about the fields and hedgerows, climbing the +trees, or helping to bring in the cows to be milked from the meadows, +where they had passed the short, cool, summer nights. Chrissie +seemed to be everywhere, and to know everything that passed in the +neighbourhood. Many an hour of silent prayer while she was at work, +and many an hour of wakeful anxiety during the night, did Easter pass. +So long, however, as Chrissie did not fall into any evil ways, she was +wise enough to leave him free. He was truthful and affectionate, and, +on the whole, obedient; and no child could be more apt to learn and +remember the little lessons she tried to teach him whenever she had +time.</p> + +<p>Such a child was sure to be constantly under the ken of his +grandfather. It was barely possible for a day to pass without Christmas +Williams having him under his eye half a dozen times. He could hear +the shrill young voice calling up the cows before he left his chamber +in the morning. He would find Chrissie swinging on the gates of his +neighbours' fields, never on his own, the handsome face rosy with +delight. Sometimes, in a more quiet mood, the lad would turn into +the old churchyard, close beside his garden; and one day, Christmas, +hidden behind a tree, hearkened to him spelling out the epitaph on his +forefathers' headstones in a clear, slow voice, loud enough for half +the village to hear.</p> + +<p>Was it love or hatred for the boy that filled his heart? Christmas +could not tell, though to himself he called it hatred. It was a +constant source of mortification and bitterness to see one of his own +flesh and blood wandering about in ragged clothing, and half barefoot, +and to know that he was fed by the charity of his neighbours, who +were poor folks compared with himself. After all, it was but little +satisfaction to look over his savings, and see how rich he was growing, +while the very boy who ought in nature to be his heir was hardly +better than a beggar. Not that he would leave a farthing to Easter or +her child. His will was already made, and his money was bequeathed to +rebuild the decaying church, of which he and his forefathers had been +faithful wardens so long, and where a marble tablet on the walls should +proclaim the deed and keep his memory alive.</p> + +<p>Churchwarden and constable he was yet; but the other post he had +inherited from his father was gone. Though no chapel had been built in +the parish, a new inn had been opened, and Christmas, in angry disgust, +had not renewed his old licence. He had a farm, which occupied him in +the daytime; but the evenings and nights were dreary past telling. The +large old kitchen, once filled with neighbours, was now always empty +and silent, and seemed to need more than ever the presence of a child +to cheer it up. Christmas used to fall into half-waking, half-sleeping +dreams, in which his little grandson was gambolling about the place, +and filling it with noise and laughter. He could see Easter, sitting +opposite to him, in the cosy chimney-corner, smiling back to him +whenever she caught his eye. Why had he ever vowed that such times +should never be?</p> + +<p>Loving him or hating him, Chrissie was never out of his grandfather's +thoughts. He took note of every change in him, as he shot up rapidly +from infancy to the age when lads like him, little lads of eight, +were sent to work in the fields. He knew the exact day when Chrissie +went out for his first day's work, and he watched him from afar off, +plodding up and down the heavy furrows of the ploughed land to scare +away the birds from the springing corn. He saw how footsore and weary +the little fellow was as he trudged homewards through the dusky lanes, +too tired to whistle and sing, as he was wont to do.</p> + +<p>Better than Easter herself, he knew how old Chrissie was when he began +to walk, or jump, or run, and he had seen what Easter did not see—the +first time Chrissie ever climbed a tree. The lad's childhood brought +back his own to him. He could look back upon the days when he had gone +nutting under the same hedgerows, and fishing for minnows in the little +brown river. Chrissie would stand patiently an hour at a time on his +own favourite spots, waiting for the long-hoped-for nibble. To watch +the boy was like reading over again an old, half-forgotten story. But +there was no softening of his heart towards Easter. Many a time he +wished the lad never crossed his path, or that he was a sickly, puny +child, such as his father had been before him, who 'stayed at home, +tied to his mother's apron-strings, singing hymns, and making believe +he was a special favourite with God Almighty.'</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_4">CHAPTER IV</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>His Own Way</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>OLD Widow Evans died, and her small annuity died with her. What was +Easter to do, encumbered as she was with a big, restless, daring, bold +son, eight years of age? She could not bear to think of leaving him +to the care of the neighbours, and going out to service again. Yet it +would be hard work for some years to keep herself and him in anything +like decent poverty. Her cottage, however, was built on the glebe land, +and therefore belonged to the rector, who offered it to her rent-free +as long as he should live.</p> + +<p>But the rector was growing old and very feeble, being partially +exhausted by those habits of self-indulgence which he had not been +strong enough to break off. For a long while now his favourite vices +had clung about him like a heavy chain, which he could not escape from, +however sorrowfully his spirit chafed and fretted against its bondage.</p> + +<p>"Easter," he said, "I want to have you near at hand when I'm lying +on my deathbed. I cannot alter my habits now; but I long to be gone +away from them, and I shall want to have you near me when my last hour +comes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Why cannot you alter them now?" she asked. "God will help you."</p> + +<p>"It's too late; too late," he answered. "If I'd only been wise in time, +Easter! But I'm a foolish old man now."</p> + +<p>It was winter when these words were spoken, half-sadly, half-angrily, +by the rector. And all through the following spring and summer he +was ailing often; and Easter was always sent for in haste to nurse +him. He could find no rest or peace of mind without her. Chrissie, in +consequence, was left to run wilder than ever, his grandmother being +dead, and his mother frequently away from home.</p> + +<p>When she had to stay all night at the rectory, he went to sleep in some +of the cottages near at hand. The cottage folks made much of him, both +for Easter's sake and because they had a settled conviction that he +must some day or other inherit his grandfather's heaps of money. That +all the old fields, and the ancient house, and the wealth gathered +together by two or three generations, should go anywhere except to +Chrissie, seemed almost incredible. He was looked upon as too young to +pay much attention to what elder folks talked about; but he often heard +them speaking of the place as belonging in some way to him. In fact, +Chrissie began to look upon his dreaded grandfather himself as his +special property.</p> + +<p>Harvest-time had come: a rich and plentiful harvest, such as opened the +hearts of all who possessed golden cornfields. It was splendid weather, +too; and there was no stint of good cheer and grand harvest-home +suppers in all the farmsteads. Chrissie was in his element, riding +triumphantly on the high-piled wagons, or as willingly tugging at the +heads of the great horses that drew the heavy loads to the stackyards. +He was at every feast except his grandfather's; and even there +Christmas, while carving at the head of the table, caught sight of the +bright, brown little face peeping wistfully in through the open door. +All the village was present, for though Christmas had lost much of his +popularity, his old neighbours shrank from offending him by staying +away from his harvest-home. Not all, though. It had been the rector's +custom to be present at the yearly feast, but this autumn his familiar +face and voice were missing, and the mention of his name caused a +passing gloom to fall on all faces.</p> + +<p>"The poor old gentleman's not long for this world," said one of the +farmers; "they say Easter's never left him day or night this last week."</p> + +<p>Christmas Williams' face grew hard and dark at this bold mention of his +daughter's forbidden name; but he said nothing. The supper went on, but +while they were still singing their harvest songs, a messenger came +hurriedly from the rectory, to call Christmas to his old clergyman's +deathbed.</p> + +<p>He obeyed the summons with reluctance. Not because he had no wish to +bid his old friend farewell, and grasp his hand once more, but because +he dreaded meeting his daughter. It was as he thought. When he entered +the chamber of the dying man, there sat Easter beside the bed, pale, +and sad, and wan: nothing like the fair young girl she was ten years +ago, before he uttered his fatal oath. He would not let his eyes wander +towards her, but fastened them earnestly on the rector's shrunken face.</p> + +<p>"You see who is at my side?" said the dying old man.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Christmas, my man," continued the rector faintly, "I want to do one +good deed before I die. Easter has been like a daughter to me. I beg of +you, for our old friendship's sake, be reconciled to her before I die."</p> + +<p>"I'm a man of my word," answered Christmas sternly, "and everybody +knows it. If Easter will give up her foolish, canting ways, and come +home to be as she used to be in my house, she may come and bring her +boy with her. But this is the last chance I'll give her."</p> + +<p>"Christmas," said the dying voice, "Easter's ways are the right ways; +her faith is the true faith. Would to God I could believe and feel as +she does! If I could only believe as she does, that God has forgiven +all my sins, and that I have only to close my eyes and fall asleep +under a Father's care! Do you think she will be miserable, as I am, +when she comes to die? And when you come to die, what will it avail you +that you have said with your lips, Sunday after Sunday, 'I believe in +God the Father Almighty,' if they are nothing but words to you? They +are only words in your mouth; they are truths to Easter. You are not a +man of your word in that, Christmas, my man."</p> + +<p>"Father," sobbed Easter, and her voice seemed to pierce him to the +heart, though he hardened it against her, "father, forgive me if I have +sinned against you! Oh! Forgive me, and be reconciled to me! I will do +anything—"</p> + +<p>Her voice was broken off by weeping.</p> + +<p>"Will you give up the ways I hate?" he asked doggedly and almost +fiercely.</p> + +<p>"I cannot!" she cried. "I cannot! I must obey God rather than you. I +must be true."</p> + +<p>"What has it to do with God?" he asked. "It's naught but your own +obstinacy. You are a wilful woman, Easter, and you will have your own +way. I don't see what God has to do with it."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, old friend," said the rector, as Christmas turned away +to leave the room in a rage; "these are my last words to you. Be +reconciled to Easter if you desire to be reconciled to God."</p> + +<p>Christmas strode back to the bedside, grasped the old man's chilly +hand, and faltered out, "Good-bye." But he would not cast another +glance at his daughter.</p> + +<p>"Easter," said the rector, "I, too, have been a wilful man, and taken +my own way, and now God refuses to be reconciled to me. He is set +against me as your father is set against you."</p> + +<p>"Is He?" she answered softly. "Then don't you see that my father would +take me home again as his child, if I could only repent, and give up my +way to his! He is only set against me so long as I keep to my own way. +It is so with God.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our +sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"And oh! He is always ready to be reconciled to us; He cannot set +Himself against any one of us. You have but to repent, and give up your +own ways, and He will take you home again."</p> + +<p>"But I am taken out of my own ways," he groaned; "I have nothing now to +give up."</p> + +<p>"Yet God knows if you truly repent of them," she urged. "He sees +whether you are willing to give them up. If you can only believe in our +Lord's words, even now! God is our Father, Christ tells us; and He is +watching for us to go home."</p> + +<p>The old man's weary eyelids closed, and his lips moved in a whisper. +Easter heard him repeating words to himself, which he had often uttered +carelessly in his church; but now he seemed to speak them from his +heart:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I will arise and go to my Father, and will say unto him, Father, +I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to +be called thy son.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>She bent her head down to his failing ear.</p> + +<p>"'But when he was yet a great way off,' she said, 'his Father saw him, +and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what will become of you and Chrissie when I'm gone," he +said, after a while; "you'll have to leave your cottage. But never give +up your trust in God, Easter. Hold fast to that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered quietly.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have been a better man among my people," he continued; +"they have been as sheep having no shepherd. God will forgive my sins; +but oh, Easter, it is a bitter thing to die, and be called into His +presence as an unprofitable servant, who can never hear Him say, 'Well +done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' +I have never done the Lord's work, and I cannot enter into the Lord's +joy."</p> + +<p>"Blessed is he whose sins are forgiven," said Easter softly.</p> + +<p>"Ay! But more blessed still he who has worked for Him," he whispered. +"I'm taking a lost and wasted life to lay before Him. Lord, have mercy +upon me!"</p> + +<p>His voice had grown fainter and weaker; and now it failed him +altogether. He lay all night, and till morning broke, in a stupor, +while Easter watched beside him. Then he passed away into the unknown +life, which he had wilfully forgotten until his last hour was come.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_5">CHAPTER V</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A Critical Moment</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>EASTER was occupied at the rectory all the next day, and being +satisfied that Chrissie would be taken good care of, she gave little +thought to him. It had been a sorrowful harvest-time to her, and her +future had never seemed quite so dark as now that her best friend was +gone, and her father showed himself altogether irreconcilable. But her +trust in God was not shaken. Once, for a few minutes, when there came +a short interval of leisure, she stood at a window overlooking the +churchyard, where every tombstone was as well-known to her as the faces +of her neighbours. Then the blank, dark future presented itself to her, +and pressed itself upon her.</p> + +<p>There was no chance of remaining where she was, among the old familiar +places, surrounded by the sights and sounds which had filled up nearly +all her life. Where was she to be tossed to? What resting-place could +she find? It was with a strong effort that she turned away from the +dreary prospect.</p> + +<p>"Take 'no thought for the morrow,'" she said to herself, "'for the +morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the +day is the evil thereof.'"</p> + +<p>Christmas Williams had never been less master of himself than he was +all that day after hearing that the old rector was really gone. He had +been his clergyman for nearly forty years, and never had an unfriendly +word passed between them, unless he could call his remonstrances on +behalf of Easter unfriendly. He wished he had not left him in a rage +last night. Yet never had his servants seen Christmas so testy and +passionate; until at length, he shut himself up in his own little room. +A lad who crept timorously to peep through the lowest corner of the +lattice casement reported that the master was sitting with his face +hidden by his hands, and the big, strongly-bound family Bible before +him.</p> + +<p>But Christmas was not studying any portion of the printed pages; he had +taken it down from the shelf over his old-fashioned desk to pore over +the written entries made in his own hand, of Easter's birth on Easter +Sunday twenty-eight years before, and of her mother's death the same +evening. He had given Easter her last chance, and she had spurned it; +it was time to take her name out of the Bible. He had resolved to tear +the page out of the book, but he could not destroy the record of his +child's birth without destroying that of his wife's death. Which must +he sacrifice—his resolve to wreak his resentment against Easter, or his +lingering tenderness for the memory of his wife?</p> + +<p>The long hours of the day passed by miserably for Christmas Williams. +He was irresolute and troubled by vague doubts, such as had never +disturbed him before. How could he possibly be in the wrong? For his +opinions were those of his father and grandfather before him, and his +ways were like their ways. They had never given in to new-fangled +notions, to psalm-singing, and meetings for prayer in cottages. It +was well-known that they had always been true blue. The old church +was good enough and religious enough for them; and they had been +loyal to it, never missing to present themselves on a Sunday morning +in the churchwarden's pew, and to keep Christmas Day and Good Friday +with equal strictness. If God was not pleased with such service, why, +nine-tenths of the people he knew, living or dead, were in a bad way. +But how could they be in the wrong, those honest, thrifty, steady +forefathers of his, whose word was as good as their bond all the +country through?</p> + +<p>Yet he could not satisfy himself, or silence the still, small voice of +conscience. What sin was Easter guilty of? What was her crime that must +not be forgiven? She had always been good, and obedient, and true; she +had never crossed him until he required her to be false. There was the +point, and the sting of it. He prided himself on being true; but he +demanded of her to be false; false to herself, false to him, false to +God!</p> + +<p>Why should not Easter be true to her word, and resolute, as well as +himself? The old dying rector had declared that her way was really +better than his way. Did he actually believe in God? All these years he +had let the words slip glibly over his tongue every Sunday morning, and +thought no more of them. Had he verily been true in saying them, or had +he been in the habit of standing in the church, before God, with a lie +in his mouth?</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in God Almighty, and in Jesus Christ?—in God's Holy +Spirit, and in the forgiveness of sins?" asked his conscience.</p> + +<p>And a still deeper and lower voice gave the mournful answer, "No!"</p> + +<p>The afternoon had passed by, and the evening was coming on. Already +the sun had sunk low in the sky, and the long shadows fell from the +church-tower and the headstones upon the graveyard where his old +friend, the rector, would soon be lying quietly, after the sunset of +his life's long day. It was an hour when Christmas loved to linger in +his garden, strolling slowly along the walks, and watching his flowers +grow dim in the darkening twilight. The little river was singing the +same tune it sang in his boyhood, and the blackbirds were whistling +from the hedges, as if the years had not touched them as they had +touched him. For, though he was a strong man yet, his hair was growing +grey; and he knew he was going the down-hill path of life to the narrow +valley, soft and dim only for some, but of utter blackness to others. +The little clouds hastening towards the west gave a sweet promise of a +splendid sunset; and Christmas loved to see both sunset and sunrise.</p> + +<p>He sauntered leisurely through his orchard, where the commoner fruit +was ripening, to the well-fenced-in garden of his delight. There was +almost priceless fruit growing there, which he watched with a jealous +eye. Not a month ago he had caught a village urchin in his orchard, +and, in spite of all entreaties and beseechings, he had shut him up +in the crib, and taken him before the magistrate the next morning, +and heard him sentenced to three weeks' imprisonment in jail. That +offence was committed in his orchard; but to-day, as he drew near to +his garden, he could hear a sharp snapping of twigs, and the patter +of fruit falling to the ground. He crept cautiously and noiselessly +forward, and carefully lifted his head just above the fence. There was +a thief, and that thief was Easter's boy, his own grandson!</p> + +<p>All the passion of his mingled love and hatred flamed up in Christmas +Williams' heart. This merry, ragged, brown-faced, handsome lad was his +own flesh and blood, and seemed to have a natural right to be there. +He watched Chrissie swing himself down from the tree, and strip off +his tattered jacket, and pile up the precious fruit in it. But as the +boy caught sight of his grandfather's face, gazing at him over the +fence, his heart stood still for very fear, and his knees knocked +together. Yet he lifted up his eyes to Christmas with a wistful, +speechless prayer in them. Chrissie could not utter a word, to say how +the lad just returned from jail had lifted him over the fence, telling +him the fruit was all his own, or would be some day. When he met his +grandfather's stern frown and awful silence, his little heart died +within him.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>HE MET HIS GRANDFATHER'S STERN FROWN.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Grandfather!" he cried at last, dropping his stolen load, and bursting +into tears.</p> + +<p>"A thief!" muttered Christmas, between his teeth. It was the first word +he had ever spoken to the lad. This boy of Easter's, this grandson of +his own, was a petty thief already! He thought of the urchin he had +sent to jail a month ago for precisely the same offence. But Chrissie +was so like himself when he was a boy! He could recollect plucking the +fruit without stint from these very trees, while his grandfather looked +on with delight at his dexterity and courage in climbing to the highest +boughs, and pointed out to him the ripest pears and rosiest apples. +Chrissie ought to be doing the same under his eye, not standing there +like a culprit, sobbing and trembling before him. Yet how could he keep +his word and make a difference between this lad and the one just out of +jail for the self-same thing? Besides, now he could make Easter feel; +perhaps bring her to her senses, if anything would do that. She had +been reckless of his displeasure so far; this would bring her on her +knees before him, ready to yield her will to his.</p> + +<p>Without uttering a word to the terrified child, he entered his garden, +and seized him by the arm, not roughly, but firmly. He had never +touched him before, and his hand, firm as it was, trembled. Chrissie +lifted his brown, tearful face to him, and submitted without any +attempt at resistance. Silently his grandfather led him along the +pleasant garden paths, across the deep lawn, and through the green +churchyard, under the window of the room where the dead body of the +rector lay, to that dismal and neglected corner, overgrown with +nettles and docks, where the crib was built. It was an old, small, +strongly-built place, with windows closely barred, and a door thickly +studded with iron nails. It looked prepared for the blackest criminals, +rather than for the starved and poverty-stricken poachers and the +frightened urchins who had been its usual occupants. There was a heavy +padlock on the outer door, and this Christmas slowly unlocked, holding +his grandson between his arms and knees, as his hands were busy at +their task.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather," sobbed the boy, "don't let mother know; it 'll break her +heart!"</p> + +<p>Christmas could not speak a word, for his tongue was dry and parched; +but Chrissie walked in through the dark door unbidden. He listened to +it being closed and fastened securely behind him. This place had been +a terror and dread to him from his earliest days, when he had now and +then strayed with baby feet to the moss-grown step, and heard the wind +moan through the keyhole of the old lock, which had been in use before +the padlock. He stepped over the threshold with the courage of despair. +No hope of softening the heart of his grandfather entered his own, and +he made no effort to do it. If only his mother might not know!</p> + +<p>At present there was still a little daylight, and through the close +cross-bars of the window he could see the crimson and golden cloudlets +hovering over the setting sun. He looked away from them with dazzled +eyes to examine shudderingly the interior of his prison. It was gloomy +enough; the only furniture was a low stone bench, but at one end of the +bench a chain was fastened to a ring in the wall, and handcuffs and +fetters were attached to the chain. He was almost glad to think that +his grandfather had not chained him to that ring in the wall. Sitting +down on the stone bench, Chrissie looked up again at the gradually +dying colours in the sky, not caring to turn away his eyes from them, +as they faded softly away into a quiet grey, which scarcely shed a +gleam of light into his dismal cell.</p> + +<p>Chrissie's courage had held out fairly; but as the darkness gathered, +his imagination awoke, and called up all the sleeping, lurking fancies +which dwell in every child's young brain. They had been only biding +their time, and now trooped out in crowds to haunt the lonely lad. All +the stories he had ever heard of people being imprisoned for many, many +years, and even starved to death, hurried through his excited mind. +There had been a tale told for generations in the village of a man who +had killed himself in this very place. And were there not outside the +wall, amidst the docks and nettles, the forsaken graves of people too +wicked to lie even in death among their better neighbours? Every one +dreaded being buried there. Was it true that ghosts of wicked people +could not rest in their graves, but came forth at night to visit the +places they had once dwelt in, and to tell fearful secrets to those +they found alone? How fast the night was coming on, and he was quite +alone!</p> + +<p>Nobody knew where he was, thought poor little Chrissie; nobody but his +grandfather, who hated him. He could not climb as high as the window, +barred as it was, to show himself through it. He was sorry almost that +he had asked that his mother might not know. She would never, never +know what had become of him, and he fancied he could see her weeping +for him through long years. For he felt certain he should die in this +dreary prison, and his grandfather would bury him secretly at night, +amid the wicked people who lay under the docks and nettles.</p> + +<p>The church clock struck ten. It was quite dark by this time, except +for the pale, ghostly gleam of the strip of sky seen through the bars +of the window. The child passed through long ages of pain and terror +before it struck eleven. The dreadful hour of midnight came creeping on +towards him. He had never yet been awake at twelve; and twelve at night +was the most awful and ghostly hour of all the twenty-four. What would +happen then he could not guess; but something beyond all words, and +beyond all thought.</p> + +<p>Chrissie could not ask God to take care of him; for had he not been +taken in the very act of breaking God's commandments? There was no +one, therefore, to stand between him and the unknown horrors that were +coming nearer every moment. There was no refuge, no Saviour for him. He +had offended God.</p> + +<p>A strange sound somewhere in the prison jarred upon his ear, and with a +scream of terror, which rang shrilly out into the quiet night, Chrissie +lost his senses, and fell like one dead on the stone floor.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="A_Man_Ch_6">CHAPTER VI</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A True Man</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>CHRISTMAS WILLIAMS, after locking the strong, heavy door on his little +grandson, had gone back to his house, having no longer the desire to +spend a quiet, loitering hour in his garden. The smouldering passion, +which had burst into so sudden a flame, was not yet subsiding. He had +held his grandson in his hand, between his arms, had had his little +face close beside his own; yet he had neither embraced nor kissed him. +In the depths of his nature he was longing secretly to do so, and to +claim the bold, brave little rascal for his own. When the lad turned to +him and said, "Don't let mother know; it would break her heart," his +pride had well-nigh given way.</p> + +<p>But he had held out so long that it was like tearing up the roots of an +old tree to yield now. What would the world say, if he went back from +his word? How he would be jeered at if Easter was seen going from his +door to those canting meetings!</p> + +<p>He had some vague idea of an ancient magistrate who had doomed his own +son to death, because he had sworn so to punish the offenders against +the laws. He had heard read in church how Saul had pronounced the same +fatal sentence upon his eldest son, Jonathan:</p> + +<p>"God do so and more also: for thou shalt surely die, Jonathan," said +Saul.</p> + +<p>These were men true to their word. How could he look his neighbours in +the face if he meted out one measure of punishment to one thief and +another to his grandson?</p> + +<p>But for one of his own blood to go to jail! Christmas Williams' +grandson a jailbird! He wished earnestly he had not been so hard on the +young rascals who had robbed his orchard before, so that he might have +had a decent pretext for letting off Chrissie. He did not doubt that +it would break Easter's heart, and he had merely wished to break her +will. They said lads never got over the shameful fact of having been +sent to jail; that it clung to them for life. His own experience taught +him pretty much the same lesson; he had never known such a lad recover +from the disgrace and become a thoroughly respectable man. He could +count half a dozen instances. The shadow of the jail stretched itself +all across their after lives. If he had only given the last young thief +a few stripes, and sent him about his business, he might have done the +same for Chrissie.</p> + +<p>As the evening passed away, these troublous thoughts grew more +clamorous. He was sitting on the hearth where his forefathers had spent +their quiet evenings before him good, honest men; and possibly he +might live to hear of his grandson, their child as well as his, being +convicted of some great crime, and sentenced to transportation or penal +servitude for life. It would have been himself that had given the child +the first push down the long and awful flight of steps leading to the +terrible gulf. That would be the shameful end of his upright, thrifty, +truth-loving race. Had he, then, any right to doom his family, and its +own honoured name, to such a close? Could he not yet turn back only +a half-step, and take another road? He had not gone too far on this +perilous path. Not a soul knew that Chrissie was locked up in the old +crib. He would see if he could make the boy promise faithfully not +to tell if he released him. He had the old blood in his veins, and, +perhaps, young as he was, he could keep a promise.</p> + +<p>The clock had struck eleven before Christmas came to this conclusion, +a halting, half-false conclusion, of which he was inwardly ashamed. +He did not like taking a middle course, so he rose up slowly, and +leisurely opened the house-door, still hesitating about this compromise +with his resolution to treat Easter and her boy as if they were utter +strangers. He crossed the lane and paced along the churchyard with +very slow footsteps. All was silent in the village; the only sounds to +be heard were the brawling of the river and the hooting of the white +owl in his barnyard. There was but one light to be seen, excepting the +glimmer through the window of that room where the dead was lying, and +that light was up in one of the rectory attics, shining brightly into +the darkness of the night. Very likely it was Easter's candle, thought +her father; she loved to keep the window open on summer nights.</p> + +<p>Christmas was a man who knew nothing of fear, superstitious fear above +all. He paced to and fro in the dark churchyard, thinking of how he +should deal with the boy, and in what manner he should dispose of him +for the rest of the night. Certainly he would upbraid and threaten +him; call him a thief and a disgrace, young and little as he was. He +must frighten him well. But where was he to take his grandson? All the +cottagers were gone to bed; and it would never do to call them up to +take in Chrissie, and so learn the very weakness he wished to hide.</p> + +<p>It never occurred to him that the young child was already frightened +almost to death. He had seen him only as bold and daring, and he +could not understand a nature that was full of vague fancies and +imaginations, and superstitions fed on the village traditions. He +fitted the key into the padlock before he had quite settled what he was +about to do; and at that instant Chrissie's wild and agonized shriek +rang through the air. The sound almost paralyzed him. How he managed to +turn the key, he could not tell. He rushed into the utter darkness of +the cell, where he could see nothing and hear nothing.</p> + +<p>"Chrissie!" he cried. "Chrissie, my little man! I'm here; thy +grandfather, my lad. I'm not angry with thee any longer. Speak to me! +I've come to take thee home; and thou shalt have as many apples as thee +pleases. Oh, Chrissie! Whereabouts art thou? Rouse up and speak to me."</p> + +<p>There was neither voice nor sob to answer him or to guide him. Groping +about in the darkness, he found the little unconscious body of the +child lying in a heap on the stone floor. He lifted it up tenderly, +and pressed it again and again to his heart. He felt no longer any +kind of doubt as to what he would say or do. If he could only hear the +boy's voice, he would throw to the winds all his cherished anger and +resolution, and take his grandson and his daughter home again.</p> + +<p>He carried Chrissie into the churchyard, speaking to him imploringly to +wake up and give him some sign of life. As he looked up to the attic +window where the light was burning, he saw Easter's head leaning out. +The cry that had frightened him had startled her also; and she was +listening for it again.</p> + +<p>Christmas called to her.</p> + +<p>"Easter, come down," he cried, in a lamentable voice; "your boy is +dead, perhaps; and it's your father killed him. Oh, Chrissie! My little +grandson, rouse thee, and speak only one word!"</p> + +<p>In another minute Easter was down and beside them, chafing the cold +hands of her boy, and stroking his face, and calling him with her +tenderest voice. But still he lay like one dead on his grandfather's +breast.</p> + +<p>"Easter," said her father, with a deep-drawn breath, "I found the child +stealing apples in my garden, and I dealt with him as I've dealt with +others. I locked him up in the crib, and left him alone there. I was +about to let him free again when I heard that terrible shriek, and I +found him like this. Easter, can you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>"Father," she answered, in a mournful, solemn voice, "I forgive you +with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"What! If the child dies?" asked Christmas, trembling and faltering as +he uttered the words.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said; "I know you did not mean to do it. But oh! He will not +die. My little Chrissie! My only little child! Pray God he may not die!"</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, Easter," said her father.</p> + +<p>With a strange sense of solemnity and sorrow, Easter kissed her +father's face, with the lifeless body of her child lying between them.</p> + +<p>"Come home, Easter, come home!" he said, sobbing.</p> + +<p>Almost in silence, Christmas and his daughter trod the familiar +churchyard paths once again together, trodden so many hundreds of times +by them both; but never as now. He bore his beloved burden, groaning +heavily from time to time. If he lost this disowned grandson, he felt +as though his heart must break.</p> + +<p>They laid Chrissie in his grandfather's own bed, and both of them +watched beside him all night. The doctor, who had to be brought from +his home five miles off, and who could not reach them till the day was +breaking, told them that Chrissie was suffering from the effects of a +severe shock, but that there was no reason to dread any abiding and +serious results, if he was treated with common care.</p> + +<p>Common care! It was no common care that was lavished upon the boy by +Christmas. All the pent-up tenderness of these long years overflowed +upon Chrissie and upon his daughter, now she was at home again. To his +great amazement, he discovered that the world, so far from jeering at +the reconciliation, applauded it far more cordially than it had ever +done his stern resentment. He was congratulated on every hand for +having taken home his daughter and her son; and old friends flocked +about him again as they had not done for years. The whole village +seemed to rejoice over the event. And when Christmas sent for the lad +who had been Chrissie's predecessor in the old crib, and took him his +word to into his own service, pledging his word to make a man of him if +possible, his popularity had never stood so high.</p> + +<p>It was then, after giving up his own self-righteousness, and pulling +down the wall he had built up to shut out the light of heaven, that +Christmas Williams became able to learn how man can believe in God +and in Jesus Christ who died for our sins. The creed he had uttered +so often with his lips became the true expression of his heart. As he +stood in the churchwarden's pew, reverently saying, "I believe in God +the Father Almighty," and in "the forgiveness of sins," he would often +glance towards Easter, who had taught him the meaning of those words; +and there was nothing he loved better than to hear Chrissie's voice +repeating them with him.</p> + +<p>It is probable that Christmas Williams would have been the first to +have helped, churchwarden as he was, in building a chapel, where the +simple Gospel of Christ could have been preached to the villagers; +but there was no longer any need for it. The clergyman who soon came +to occupy the place of the old rector was an earnest, true, and +enlightened servant of Christ, who knew his Master's will, and was +intent upon doing it.</p> + +<p>"A man can't be true," says Christmas, "until he is true towards God. +I prided myself upon being a man of my word, and meaning all I said, +though I spoke a lie every time I said, 'I believe.' I didn't believe +in God, nor in Jesus Christ our Lord, nor in having any sins to be +forgiven. A man must be made true in the darkest corners of his heart +before he can be a man of his word."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> +———————————————————<br> +Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75676 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75676-h/images/image001.jpg b/75676-h/images/image001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5511ddc --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/images/image001.jpg diff --git a/75676-h/images/image002.jpg b/75676-h/images/image002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c14055 --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/images/image002.jpg diff --git a/75676-h/images/image003.jpg b/75676-h/images/image003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..72cfb0c --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/images/image003.jpg diff --git a/75676-h/images/image004.jpg b/75676-h/images/image004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc4dec0 --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/images/image004.jpg diff --git a/75676-h/images/image005.jpg b/75676-h/images/image005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36b75d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75676-h/images/image005.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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