He received my remark with such unruffled serenity that I was angry with myself for engaging in a wordy warfare with him, when he was sure to be victorious. He sat with us for a short time after dinner, chatting so graciously that I came to the conclusion he was not, after all, so out of sympathy with my little benevolent projects as his words often implied. When he rose to go he came to me, and, taking out his pocket-book counted out fifty dollars and laid them in my hand. He paused a moment with the pocket-book still open.
"This is a special case, little one," he said, kindly. "May I be permitted to contribute something for your friend?"
He laid another note in my hand, but I did not wait to see the amount. I started to my feet impulsively.
"Oh, Mr. Winthrop, I must confess to you. I have not been real honest. Won't you forgive me?"
I felt the tears rush to my eyes, and my lips quivered like some frightened child's, making me feel sadly ashamed of myself. He looked startled.
"What is it, Medoline?"
"I earned the money myself. I have been selling pictures."
"Is that the worst offense you have to confess?" he asked, with a keen look into my upturned face.
"It is the worst just now," I faltered.
"Very well, then, I will forgive you; but I must stipulate to see your pictures before they go to market after this, and also that you consult with me first before launching into other business enterprises. You might be tempted with something not quite so suitable for a young lady as picture-selling."
"You are so kind to me, Mr. Winthrop, I will tell you everything after this."
"No rash promises, please. Before the winter is over you will be plunged into tears and distress again over some fresh exploit."
"I won't mind a few tears if I get your forgiveness in the end."
He went directly to his study, leaving Mrs. Flaxman and myself to the cheerful quiet of our fireside. She turned to me saying,
"Tell me all about your blind friend, Medoline. How you first got to know him, and what he is like."
I very gladly gave her as full a picture as I was able of the Larkums and Mr. Bowen, their poverty and his goodness included.
"You have made all these discoveries in a few months, and been doing so much for them, and here have I been living beside them for years and did not even know of their existence. What makes the difference in us, Medoline?" she exclaimed sorrowfully.
"I think God must have planned my meeting in the train with Mrs. Blake. I would not have known but for her."
"I expect He plans many an opportunity for us to serve our generation, but we are too selfishly indolent to do the work he puts in our way."
"When I came to Oaklands at first it seemed as if my life was completed, and I wondered how I was to occupy the days, and years stretching out so long before me. Now I believe I could find work to occupy me for a thousand years; that is, if Mr. Winthrop lived too, and continued to help me with my reading and studies," I added, thinking how much the latter employment added to my enjoyment.
"If Mr. Bowen gets his eyesight, that will be a greatly added source of satisfaction to you," she said, wistfully.
"Yes, I shall seem to be looking at the green fields, and flowers, and starry skies through his eyes."
"You are as glad to have him so richly benefited through your means, as if he were rich and famous."
"Why, much more so. Think what a change there will be in his circumstances now."
"Medoline, I think your mother's prayers will be answered."
I turned around eagerly, "Was she a real Christian, Mrs. Flaxman?"
"Yes, a real one, especially after her children were born. Her great desire for them was that they might all be pure and unspotted from the world. All of them, save you, are with her in Heaven. You may have a life of peculiar temptation, but I believe you will be brought out of it among the pure in heart at last."
"Why should my life have peculiar temptations, Mrs. Flaxman?" I asked anxiously.
"I cannot explain to you now my reasons for thinking so. Some day I may tell you."
"I suppose it is because I am not like other girls of my age," I said with a sigh.
"No dear, that is not the reason. I should not have spoken so unguardedly."
"I might try to overcome the temptations if I were warned of their nature."
"You are a persevering child, Medoline—but still only a child in heart."
"I am over eighteen, Mrs. Flaxman. I wonder why you and Mr. Winthrop persist in making me out a child. When will I be a woman?"
"Not till your heart gets wakened."
"I wonder when that will be. Does it mean love and marriage, Mrs. Flaxman?"
"It means the former; the latter may not follow with you."
"Why not? But there, I do not want to leave you and Mr. Winthrop and Oaklands. No man could tempt me from you. But what did you mean by saying that I might love and yet not marry?"
"Because you are too true to your woman's instincts to marry any one unless it was the man you loved."
I fell into a brown study over her words, and the conversation was not again resumed.
Mrs. Larkum's recovery was slow, and it required all the nourishing food we could provide to start the springs of life working healthfully. Her mind had dwelt so long upon her bereavement, and dark outlook into the future that a naturally robust, and well-fed person might have succumbed, but when to a delicate organization had been added the most meagre fare possible to support human existence, it was no wonder nature rebelled. It was a new experience to me, and a very agreeable one, to watch the pinched faces of the children grow round and rosy, and to hear their merry laughter.
The mother waited with feverish anxiety for tidings from her father, but for several weeks no word came; at last she began to fear he might have died under the strain of the operation. Mrs. Blake began to get anxious too, while there flitted before her fancy gruesome thoughts as to what might have been done to the poor body left to the care of those heartless doctors.
"I can't see why they take such delight in mangling dead people to see how they are put together. With all their trying they'll never be able to make a body themselves."
"It is in that way they have learned how to cure diseases and relieve pain," I assured her. "We ought to be grateful to them for taking so much trouble to relieve us of our miseries."
"I dare say we'd ought, I never thought of it that way before; in fact I've been rather sot ag'in doctors. Perhaps if they hadn't cut into dead folks' eyes, they couldn't have done for the likes of Mr. Bowen."
"Assuredly not; and sometimes the very greatest doctors bequeathe their own bodies to the dissecting room; especially if they die of some mysterious disease."
"That is good of them. I've always reckoned doctors a pretty tight lot, who worked for their money jest the same's the Mill hands."
"No doubt many of them do; but some of them are almost angelic in their sympathy for the suffering, and their longing to lessen it."
"I believe you can see more goodness in folks than any one I know. Now when I get cross with folks when they don't do as I think they ought, what you say comes to my mind; and before I know I get to making excuses, too. It's done me a sight of good being with you."
"And you have done me good,—taken me out of self, and taught me to think of others. I do not know how I should have been filling up my vacant hours but for you."
"I wish somebody would say that much to me," Mrs. Larkum said, sorrowfully. "I don't think I am any use to any one."
"With these lovely children to care for, what more can you ask than to work for them?"
"Yes, I forget charity begins at home."
"If you hadn't fell in with me that day in the cars, and got helping us here on the Mill Road you'd a found some other good work to do. Most young ladies like you would a turned up their noses at a plain old creature like me, skeered most out of their wits, talking so bold like as I did; but you answered me so kind like, I never thought you were anything but common folks like myself."
"I am very thankful to God you did meet her that day. Most like I would have been dead by this time, and father and the children on the parish," Mrs. Larkum said, with a shudder.
"Yes, I am right glad, myself," Mrs. Blake said, very complacently.
"She might have been amusing herself visiting with the aristocracy," Mrs. Larkum continued, "and dressing up every fine day, instead of coming among us, bringing better than sunshine with her. Dr. MacKenzie told me folks wondered at her coming among us so much; but he said he wished more of her class was like her."
"Now I must leave you;" I said, rising suddenly. "When you begin to praise me, I shall always go away."
"Don't you like us to tell you how much you have helped us?" Mrs. Larkum asked wistfully. "It does me so much good to talk about you."
"I believe helping you gives me more pleasure than anything I do; so why thank me for what I enjoy?"
"You won't mind your own kind talking about you coming to us, and doing so much for the poor, will you?"
"Certainly not. While I am not dependent on my neighbors for my peace of mind, I will come to see you two as often as I can do anything for you."
"I am glad to hear that; I don't get over one of your visits for days. They brace me up to take hold of life, and do the best I can for father and the children."
"I guess if folks does talk about you, they talked about one that was better'n any of us. I was reading the other day about the respectable ones in their days complaining how Christ eat with publicans and sinners," Mrs. Blake said, giving me one of her strong encouraging glances.
"Thank you, Mrs. Blake; after that I can brave any criticism."
A few days later I walked in the early afternoon to the Mill Road. Cook had prepared some special dainties for Mrs. Larkum; so with a small lunch basket on my arm I started on my errand of mercy.
I had been standing at my easel a good part of the forenoon, and the satisfaction that comes from faithful work done, together with the assurance from Mrs. Larkum that my visits carried with them something better than sunshine, I trod swiftly over the frozen streets, quite content with life and its developments. I met Dr. MacKenzie on the way. He stopped to shake hands, and with an almost boyish eagerness, said: "Have you heard the news?"
"Not anything special. I hope you have some good news for me."
"Well, our friend Mr. Bowen has been heard from. The doctor has performed his miracle."
"Can he see as well as ever?" I cried joyously.
"I believe so."
I could not keep back the troublesome tears. "I am so glad you told me," I murmured, and then nodded my adieus rather abruptly, for I was ashamed of my emotion. It seemed perfectly fitting to me, as I walked briskly along, that Dr. MacKenzie should be the first to tell me the news; for, but for him, we should never have thought of making the experiment. That very evening I met him at a party at Mrs. Silas Markham's, when he gave me the full particulars I was too tender hearted to hear in the morning. In answer to his inquiries, the occulist had written to him some special circumstances of the case. He described Mr. Bowen's extreme patience. "Such an instance of perfect trust in God is refreshing to meet with," he wrote; "and but for this his case would probably have proved hopeless, since it was one of the worst cases we have treated successfully."
"His religion has helped him wonderfully all through his terrible affliction. I wonder will he be just as devout as ever?" I said.
"I think so. He is not made of the stuff that forgets favors received from God or man."
"I think he will have stronger reasons than mere gratitude to keep him close to the Lord," I said, thinking of the joy he had in communion with the Divine, even amid his darkness and poverty.
That same day, after leaving the doctor, I proceeded first to Mrs. Blake's to tell her the news. She threw a shawl over her head and accompanied me directly to Mrs. Larkum's. We found her sitting in a comfortable, though rather ancient easy-chair, which I had exhumed, along with a good many other useful articles, from the garret at Oaklands. The two older children we interrupted taking a lesson at their mother's knee. The primer was gladly laid aside, while the children came coyly to my side, quite certain there was a delectable bite for them somewhere in my pockets. I dismissed that care from my mind by dividing the sweets, and then gave Mrs. Larkum her lunch. She sat enjoying the dainty food, sharing now and then a taste with the little ones, who had a keen appreciation for Oaklands' cookery. I sat watching the group, glancing now and then at Mrs. Blake's eloquent face with a good deal of satisfaction. I was anxious to break the news carefully and scarce knew how to begin, when Mrs. Larkum looked up at me eagerly and said:
"Have you any news from father?"
"What makes you think she has news?" Mrs. Blake asked.
"I dreamed last night you brought me a letter, and I was afraid to open it, and woke up all trembling and frightened. When I saw you coming to-day, my heart stood still for a second or two."
"Your dream is partly true, only the news is good. Dr. MacKenzie told me they have every hope that your father will see as well as ever."
I was not prepared for the effect, my words produced. A pallor overspread her face; before Mrs. Blake could reach her she had fainted. That good woman was always ready for any emergency. She very calmly laid her down on the floor and proceeded to bring her back to consciousness. The children raised a dismal wail; but this she instantly quieted by marching them off to the bedroom.
While she applied cold water vigorously, and rubbed the nerveless hands, I asked in much alarm, seeing how long and deathlike was her swoon: "Is she really dead?"
"Bless you, no. She's one of them high-strung women that takes everything hard. She fainted over and over when her husband was fetched home dead. I did think then she'd drop off; but joy don't kill like trouble."
Presently the poor creature struggled back to consciousness.
"I am afraid I have frightened you," she said, with a feeble attempt at apology.
"Pray do not think of us. I may have been to blame in breaking the news so suddenly."
"No, indeed; the fault was not in you; but I have had so many shocks the least thing upsets me. Dr. MacKenzie told me that my heart is not in a healthy state."
"I should say that was the matter with your whole body. It's a pretty rickety concern, like my old rocking-chair. Every day I'm looking for it to go to pieces under me," Mrs. Blake remarked.
"I am not nearly so bad as that; I do not expect to fall to pieces for a good many years, now that father has got his sight. He will be able to keep us comfortable, like we used to be years ago."
Mrs. Blake having got her patient back into the chair, administered wine and water to prevent a recurrence of the malady.
A week or two after this Esmerelda informed me one morning that there were great rejoicings in the Mill Road.
"I think they would like to see you there. I heard Mr. Bowen and some of them talking about you last night, after meeting."
"Mr. Bowen—was he there?"
"Oh, yes; and he sees as well as anybody."
"I will go to-day," I said, with difficulty restraining my delight.
"Some of the people who attend Beech Street Church think you are a little above everybody in Cavendish."
Esmerelda spoke with great cordiality. Now that I had been to New York, and the dressmakers there had transformed me, outwardly, into a fashionable woman, I noticed that her respect had considerably increased; and, furthermore, that some of her own costumes had been made in almost exact imitation of mine. No higher compliment than this could Esmerelda have paid me; neither could I help acknowledging that she looked very graceful and lady-like in her Sunday garment, and often I fell to speculating how she would have appeared if half her life had been spent at a first-class boarding-school. A painful sensation, probably akin to jealousy, suggested that probably she would have satisfied my guardian's fastidious tastes better than I could ever do.
But I could never treat her in the same cordial way that I treated Mrs. Blake and the Larkums, and several others of her class. These instinctively made me feel that, no matter how friendly I might be, there was no danger of their trying to assert an equality, which I suppose has existed among the members of the human family since shortly after the expulsion from Eden. With Esmerelda the case was different.
That day I betook myself to the Mill Road with a good deal of expectancy. I was anxious to see the look of recognition in those once sightless, disfigured eyes, and to hear how the long-concealed delights of a visible world once more appeared. As I was walking rapidly along the street, I saw, approaching me on the Mill Road, one whom I had never noticed there before. He walked with a quick, energetic step, as if existence was a rapture and yet I saw, beneath the soft felt hat, gray hairs that betokened him a man past the prime of life. Strange to say, I did not recognize the pedestrian and was surprised to see him pause, and hold out his hand uncertainly, as if he were hardly sure of my identity.
"I think this is Miss Selwyn." Swiftly the assurance came to me that this was Mr. Bowen.
"Is it possible you should first recognize me? I did not for an instant think it was you."
"I had the conviction all along that I should know you, no matter where our first meeting might take place."
"Persons are generally disappointed in the looks of their friends after sight has been restored. You must be an exception to the general rule, or else your perceptions are keener than the average sufferers from loss of sight." I looked closely into the eyes of my companion, and saw that they were unusually fine and expressive. He turned with me, saying, with a beautiful deference:
"May I walk back with you?"
"I shall be disappointed if you do not give me a little of your time. I only heard to-day that you were at home, and have come on purpose to see you. My curiosity has been extreme to know how the world looks after your long night."
"Nearly everything is changed, but mostly man and his works. When the bandages were finally removed, and all the other necessary restrictions, I asked to have my first glimpse of the outer world into the starry night. I do not think our language has a well deep enough to express what I felt in that first glimpse. But the human faces are sadly changed. Poverty and care, I find, are not beautifiers. My own daughter looks a stranger; only when I hear her speak. My own face surprised me most. It is changed past recognition."
He spoke a little sadly. I could think of no comforting words. After we had walked on some time in silence, he said:
"I do not think the revelations after death will be any stranger than those of the past few weeks. My blindness and restoration to sight have, in a measure, anticipated the full return of all the faculties that death, for a brief season, takes from us."
"Do you think any experience we have in this world touches on those mysteries of the first hours of immortal life? I cannot imagine any sensation that will be common to the two existences."
"There is certainly one—probably very, very many. I cannot believe there will be much change in the relationship that exists between the consecrated soul and its centre of attraction. Deepened, intensified, it no doubt will be; but not radically changed."
My thoughts instantly turned to the words the oculist had written. No wonder a man living so far within the confines of the unseen should be able to exercise almost superhuman patience under the most trying exigencies of life. When we reached the broken gate leading into the house, he paused and turned to me. He was silent for a few seconds, and then said, apparently with an effort: "I want to thank you for what you have done for me. Last night, on my way home from the house of prayer, I was hunting up the constellations that once I loved to trace and call by name, and, in some way, you were brought to mind with all that you have generously done for me; and then, and there, I tried to frame some words of gratitude by which to express what I felt. In Heaven I may be able; for only there we shall have language for our utmost stretch of thought."
"Perhaps before we meet there, as I pray God we may do, I may have more reason for gratitude than you. Have you not told me that your daily prayer is for my salvation?"
I said good-bye hurriedly without waiting for a reply, and turned my face homeward. Gradually there was coming into my heart the hope that ere long I might come into the same wealthy place where he walked with such serenity even amid life's sore trials.
Christmas was rapidly approaching, and the pleasant English custom of celebrating it with good cheer, and in a festive way, Mrs. Flaxman told me, was a fixed rule at Oaklands. The dinner provided for the master's table was sufficient in quantity for every member of the household to share, down to the ruddy-haired Samuel. In addition to this, Mr. Winthrop remembered each one of his domestics when distributing his Christmas gifts. Mrs. Flaxman confided to me that Samuel was consumed with a desire to have his gift in the shape of a watch. I proceeded forthwith to gratify, if possible, this humble ambition, and first went to the different jewelers' establishments in Cavendish to see how much one would cost. On careful examination I was surprised to find a fine large watch could be got so reasonably. At the time I was as ignorant as Samuel himself of the interior mechanism of these clever contrivances to tell the hours. The day before Christmas I presented myself as was always the case, with some trepidation, before my guardian, following him into the library shortly after breakfast, even though I knew it was his busiest hour.
"I wish to consult with you about a couple of my Christmas gifts," I said directly, "if you have leisure to give me a few moments."
"I am never too busy to hear anything you may wish to say, especially anything in connection with your benevolent projects," he said, quite genially.
"Are you going to buy the stable boy a watch?"
"Certainly not anything so unnecessary for that wooden-headed youth. I doubt if he could make out the hour if he possessed one."
"Oh, yes he could. Boys are not nearly so stupid as you might imagine," I responded assuringly. "He is very anxious for one. I have been examining the jeweller's stock and can get a very nice-looking watch for five dollars. I was surprised, and think they are marvels of cheapness."
"You go entirely by looks, I see, in the matter; but that is all that bright-hued youth will require. Yes, by all means get the watch. Thereby you will add considerably to the pile of human happiness, for a short time, at all events."
"Would five dollars be too high to pay for one?" I asked doubtfully.
"If you can secure one at a lower price do so by all means," he said with apparent sincerity.
"There were some for two and a half dollars; but they looked rather large for a boy of his size."
"The less boy the more watch, I should say; but be sure and get a large chain. If the watch gets to be trying on his nerves, he can use the chain to put an end to his troubles."
"If he needed them, there are plenty of straps and rope ends about the stable; but Samuel enjoys life too keenly to be easily disconcerted at a few trials. I was looking at the chains too. I did not know before that jewelry was so low priced."
"Yes?" he responded, more as a question than affirmation.
"I saw elegant watch chains at one of the stores for fifty cents. I told the clerk who I wanted them for, and he very kindly interested himself, and showed me some that he called 'dead bargains.'"
"Go then, by all means, and secure a bargain for the boy. I will advance the money."
"Oh, thank you, I prefer making the gift myself. I want also to get something for Thomas, and I cannot think of anything but a gun or a book. Do you know if he likes to shoot things?"
"If Thomas developed a taste for fire-arms he might take to shooting promiscuously, and life at Oaklands would no longer be so safe as at present. I should certainly advise a book."
"But some of them say he cannot read."
"It is high time, then, for him to learn. Thomas is a marvel of thrift, and he won't be satisfied to have the book bring in no return. A school book would be a judicious selection."
"I saw a book down town about horses and their diseases and treatment. Cook says, 'Thomas dearly loves to fix up medicines for his horses.'"
"Very well. Now that matter is settled, have you any further inquiries to make about Christmas presents?"
"Not any more, thank you."
"Then I will tell you a bit of news. I expect Mr. Bovyer here this evening. It is a great favor for him to confer on us at this season—coming to brighten our Christmas."
"I fancied we had the prospect of a very joyous Christmas without help from abroad. To look at the pantry one might imagine we were going to entertain half of Cavendish to-morrow."
"I noticed a wistful look on your face when you came in that the purchase of a gun and watch could not wholly account for. Tell me, what is it?"
"Mr. Winthrop, can you really read my thoughts?" I exclaimed, in genuine alarm.
"Suppose I try. You would like to have a spread for your Mill Road pensioners; possibly at the Blakes or among some of them, and thereby utilize our overplus of provisions. Have I read aright?" My face flushed hotly, for this certainly had been in my mind for days; but I had not courage to make the request.
"You do not answer my question," he said, after awhile, seeing me stand silent.
"One cannot be punished for their thoughts, Mr. Winthrop."
"Then this was your thought?" he questioned.
"Surely you must be angry with me for wishing to do it. I did not mention it to Mrs. Flaxman, or any one."
"Why, not, indeed. If cook is willing to share her good things with the Mill Road people, and Mrs. Flaxman will accompany you to preserve the proprieties, I do not see anything to hinder. I will provide all the apples and confectionery your hungry crowd can consume for dessert."
I stood in amazement, scarce knowing how to express my gratitude. A sudden desire seized me to put my arms around his neck and give him a genuine filial caress.
"I wish you were my father, Mr. Winthrop," I exclaimed, impulsively.
"Why so?"
"I might be able then to thank you in some comfortable fashion."
"I understand what you mean, little one. I told you once that I was not anxious to have you regard me in a filial way." Then turning the subject abruptly he said:
"You can make all your arrangements regardless of any reasonable expense. One may permit themselves to be a trifle generous and childish once a year. If you see any more remarkable bargains, you can secure them and have a Christmas tree. Have the goods charged to me."
I did not attempt a reply. My heart just then was too near bubbling over to permit speech to be safe or convenient. I slipped quietly from the room. I had a comfortable feeling that my guardian could actually read my thoughts, and knew how I regarded his act and himself.
I went directly to Mrs. Flaxman. She entered cordially into my plans, but looked a good deal surprised when I told her it was Mr. Winthrop's suggestion.
"I believe, dear, in your unselfish, impulsive way, you have taken the very wisest possible course with him. I never hoped to see this day."
"I believe it amuses him. I have the impression that he is working me up into a book, only making me out more ridiculous than he ought. You cannot imagine how I long, and yet dread to see the book."
"But he does not write stories; so you need not be troubled about that."
"He can write them if he chooses, and very clever ones too, I am certain. He may be encouraging me to go on just to find out how it will all end, but I am only one in a universe full of souls; and if others, many others, get benefited, there will be far greater gain than loss."
"That is the true, brave spirit to have, and the only kind that will bring genuine happiness."
"Now to return to our festival. Do you think cook will be willing to share her abundance with us?"
"Go and ask her, I do not think she will disappoint you."
I went directly to the large, cheery kitchen, a favorite haunt of mine of late. It was always so clean and homely, and cook was usually in a gracious mood and permitted me to assist in any of her culinary undertakings when I was so minded.
Among my other enterprises I had an ambition to become a practical housekeeper in case I might some day be married to a poor man, and have a family to bake and brew for with my own hands.
When I entered the kitchen I found her more than usually busy, with both Reynolds and Esmerelda pressed into the service.
"Shall we ever get all your dainties eaten? Won't they spoil on your hands?"
"I dare say some of them will; but Christmas time we expect a little to go to waste."
"Don't you give away some?" I asked.
"All that's asked for."
"I am so glad to hear it. I want some ever so much."
"What's up now?" she asked, scarcely with her accustomed deference.
"I want so much to have a little treat for my friends, if you will only help. It all depends on you."
"Why certainly; it's my place to cook for all the parties you choose to make. It's not my place to dictate how the victuals is to be used."
"You do not understand me. It is not here that I wish to entertain my friends. Mr. Winthrop has given his permission, on condition you are willing." She was greatly mollified at this and responded heartily. "Of course I'm willing; and, bless me, there's plenty to give a good share to them that needs it; and I guess it's them you're wanting to give it to."
"Thank you very, very much. Now you must come to my Christmas tree, and see how much pleasure you have been able to confer. Without your consent nothing would have been done."
"Yes, I'll come and help you too, and you'll need me," she said, with much good humor. I did not wait long in the kitchen, so much now must be done. Alas, Christmas day was so near I could not celebrate my festival on that day; but another day might find us just as happy; and after all it would be "curdling" too much joy into one of the shortest of our days.
I put on my wraps and went immediately to confer with Mrs. Blake. I found her, like every one else, in the midst of busy preparations for Christmas.
"Dan'el got me a twelve-pound turkey and lots of other things; and he wants a regular old-fashioned Christmas, with all the Larkums here; and then I have one or two little folks I'm going to have in to please myself. Poor little creatures, with a drunken father and no mother worth speaking about."
"Have you very much trade now?"
"Well, consid'able; but if you're wanting me for anything I can set up later to-night."
"Oh, no, indeed. I just wanted to consult you about something, and I will help you stone these raisins while I sit with you."
"Dear heart, you needn't do that; I'll get the pudding made in plenty of time, but what kindness have you in your plans now?"
"A Christmas tree. I want you to tell me what to do, and where to have it."
"Why, the Temperance Hall, of course, just past the mills. I guess you've never seen it."
"That will be excellent. I did not know you had one here. Now, when shall we have it? To-morrow will be too soon, I am afraid."
"Yes, and it seems a pity to have so many good things all to onct. Most everybody has a Christmas of some sort. How would Friday do."
"Very nicely. That will be two days after Christmas. Little folks will have recovered from the effects of their feasting by that time."
"Well, Dan'el 'll get a tree and fix up the Hall; and tell, then, who you'll want to invite."
"All the children on the Mill Road may come. We will have something for each of them."
"I'm very glad; for there's a few children around here that hardly knows what it is to have anything good to eat; and it'll be something for 'em to think and talk about. They'll not forget it, or you, for a good many years, I can tell you. If rich folks only knew how much good they might do, I think they'd not be so neglectful."
I soon left Mrs. Blake to continue her Christmas preparations alone, feeling much relieved that Daniel was going to assume the responsibility of securing the Hall, providing the tree, and notifying my guests. I got my presents for Thomas and Samuel, and then set about the purchase of gifts for the Christmas tree. Picture-books, jack-knives, dolls, and other toys comprised my selection. These, I concluded, would give the children more pleasure than the more necessary articles which an older and wiser person would naturally have selected. I had got so absorbed in my work that I quite forgot our expected guest until I went into the dining-room, unfortunately a little late, and found them already engaged at dinner, and Mr. Bovyer with them. Mr. Winthrop explained my tardiness in such a way that I was left a little cross and uncomfortable, and took my dinner something after the fashion of a naughty child suffering from reproof. Before the evening was over, however, I had forgotten my passing dissatisfaction; for Mr. Bovyer was in one of his inspired moods when he sat at the piano.
I noticed afterward that Mrs. Flaxman's eyes were very red; but while he was playing my attention was taken up in part with the music, and partly in furtively watching Mr. Winthrop. He seemed ill at ease, and restless; while Mr. Bovyer's utmost efforts were powerless to move him to tears. When we had all drawn cosily around the fire, after the music was ended, I remarked with some regret, "I do not think Mr. Winthrop has any tears to shed. His eyes were as dry as a bone."
"The night is too fine for such an effect. Wait until we have a storm," he said, with a smile.
"Your nerves are too strong for a storm to affect them. Something very different will be required. I am afraid we must give you up."
"Life is too smooth with him for music or anything æsthetic to ruffle the deeper springs. Wait until he has storms and whirlwinds to withstand." Mr. Bovyer said, calmly.
"Oh I hope he will never have them, he has not patience like—some," I added, after a pause. I was going to say Mr. Bowen.
"You must know that my ward has taken my measure very correctly. She is better than a looking-glass. Indeed I was not aware until lately that I had so many shortcomings."
"Medicine for a mind diseased, administered by a gentle hand, cannot be hard to take."
"The softest hand can sometimes wound the deepest."
"Mr. Winthrop, surely I have never wounded you! I have not the power. To think so would give me pain; for, in your way, you have been kind to me—more so than I deserve," I said, impulsively.
"We are always trembling in the verge of tragedy," he said lightly, and then rang for refreshments; and after that we retired.
Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, the one drawback the lack of snow. Thomas had everything in readiness, and every one in the house was looking forward to a sleigh-ride. However, all the other Christmas customs were observed. Before breakfast was the general distribution of gifts. We were all assembled at the usual breakfast hour in the dining-room, when Mrs. Flaxman rang the bell for the servants to come in. Reynolds was the first to appear. She took her seat nearest to Mr. Winthrop; then Mrs. Jones, the cook, and Thomas, Esmerelda, and Samuel came in.
Reynolds got her present first—a nice black silk dress. I saw by the pleased flush in her face that she was considerably astonished. The others, each a five-dollar bill; and for Samuel, a jack-knife that would be the envy of all his comrades. Mrs. Flaxman had something for each one of them, and then I followed. When I reached Samuel and handed him the watch from which was suspended a glittering chain, his politeness quite forsook him. "Golly, but that's a stunner," he ejaculated involuntarily. Suddenly remembering himself he said, very humbly: "Thank you, ma'am." Thomas regarded his book with some apprehension; but turning over the leaves, the pictures of so many handsome horses reconciled him. After they had filed out I took my opportunity to deliver the gifts I had prepared with much care for Mr. Winthrop and Mrs. Flaxman; for the latter an idealized portrait of Hubert, in a heavy gilt frame, which I had painted from a photograph; and for Mr. Winthrop a much better picture of Oaklands than the one he already possessed.
I turned to Mr. Bovyer uncertainly, and, after a moment hesitation, said: "I have a bit of my work here for you; but it is so little worth. I am ashamed to offer it." I handed him the folded leaves, tied with ribbons, of Longfellow's "Reapers and the Angels," which I had spent some time in trying to illustrate, with the hope one day of turning it into cash. He thanked me, I thought, with unnecessary fervor, considering the smallness of the gift, and stood examining my poor attempt to express the poet's meaning by brush and pencil.
"I say, Winthrop, this is really clever for one so young."
Mr. Winthrop took the book and turned over the leaves.
"You have reason to be proud, Medoline, that one of our severest art critics has pronounced favorably on your work. Perhaps the being remembered on Christmas morning has made him blind to its faults."
"I find Mr. Winthrop a very healthy corrective against any flattering remarks of my other friends, I accept him as a sort of mental tonic," I said, turning to Mr. Bovyer.
"Our morning's work is not yet completed," Mr. Winthrop said. "Please excuse me a moment." He went into the library, and returning shortly, he went first to Mrs. Flaxman and gave her a good sized parcel. I was waiting so eagerly to see her open it that I scarce thought if I, too, should be remembered; but after standing for a few seconds by the fire he came to my side and gave me a tiny box done up carelessly in a bit of paper. I opened it, when the most beautiful diamond ring I ever saw glittered a moment after on my finger.
"Oh, Mr. Winthrop, is this really and truly mine?"
"Really and truly, yes."
In my surprise and delight I lifted the ring to my lips and kissed it.
"That is the prettiest compliment paid to a gift I ever witnessed," Mr. Bovyer said, with a smile.
"Medoline has her own way of doing things. I find her refreshingly original."
"That is almost better than the ring," I murmured gratefully, looking up into his face.
"Shall we have breakfast served now?" He turned abruptly round and touched the bell. I bethought me of Mrs. Flaxman and looked just in time to see her slipping off an elegant sealskin dolman, while her eyes looked very dewy and tender.
"Mr. Winthrop, you are making this Christmas-tide positively regal with your gifts. So many of us that you have gladdened—Mill Road folks and all," I said, not able wholly to restrain my affectionate impulses as I laid my hand lightly on his—the first time I had ever so touched him.
He folded his other hand over mine for an instant, and then we sat down to the breakfast which had just been brought in.
Mr. Winthrop and Mr. Bovyer spent the greater part of the day together alone. After breakfast they took a long horseback ride across country, only reaching home in time for luncheon, and then Mr. Winthrop had some choice additions to his library to exhibit, that kept them employed until dinner. Mrs. Flaxman smiled at the way Mr. Bovyer's time was engrossed by my guardian, but I do not think either of us regretted it; for we had so many happy fancies of our own to dwell upon that the brief December day seemed all too short. Just before dinner I went to the kitchen to see how Samuel was getting on with his timepiece, but found that he had been away all day.
"That watch of his has been more talked about in Cooper's Lane, where his folks live, than anything else, I'll warrant, this day," Thomas assured me. "He'll be back soon. The smell of dinner always fetches him home."
We had scarce done speaking when I heard his step at the door, and presently he came in. His watch-chain was arranged in most conspicuous fashion across his waistcoat, and caught the light very cheerfully as he stood near the lamp.
"What's the time?" Thomas asked soberly; but Samuel was too smart to be so easily trapped.
"There's the clock right afore your eyes."
"The time maybe'd be better from a bran new watch."
I did not linger to hear more of their badinage, but the look of satisfaction on Samuel's face found a reflection in my own heart, and I wondered in what way I could have spent a few dollars to procure a larger amount of happiness. We had quite a large dinner party that evening. Mr. Hill, our minister, was there, with his wife and grown-up daughter, and some half-dozen others of our Cavendish acquaintances. I found the hour at dinner rather heavy and tiresome. My neighbors on my right and left being—the one a regular diner-out whose conversation was mostly gustatory, and the other a youth whose ideas never seemed to rise above the part of his hair or cut of his garments. I noticed Mr. Bovyer sitting further up on the other side of the table looking quite as bored as I felt, his next neighbor being a young lady the exact counterpart in ideas and aims of the youth beside me. The dinner itself was a triumph of cook's skill, and, as is usually the case with a dinner suitably prepared, its effect was composing. Mr. Winthrop neither drank wine nor smoked, and did not encourage these habits in his guests; so that we all left the table together and proceeded to the drawing-room. I was the last of the ladies to pass from the room, and Mr. Bovyer joined me and accompanied me into the drawing-room. I was getting interested in his conversation, when Mr. Winthrop came and urged for some music.
"It is impossible just now; I do not feel as if I could do justice even to 'Hail Columbia.'"
"Then, Medoline, you will give us some of your German songs, and, by the time you are through, Mr. Bovyer will be in the mood to enchant us."
"With the exception of our school examinations, I never played before so many persons in my life. I shall find it very hard," I said, already beginning to tremble with nervousness.
"It will be an excellent opportunity to display your ring."
My face crimsoned. Possibly I had allowed the hand that wore my diamond ring a little too much freedom; but the sparkle of the beautiful gem, that just now reminded me of a huge tear-drop, pleased me; for I was still much of a child at heart.
As we were crossing the room, I said: "It is not good taste for me to take the piano first. There are others here who should have been invited."
"Tut, child; I never ask them. They would distract me with their noise."
"Is that not an indirect compliment for me?" I said, looking up at him, my good humor partially restored.
"I shall be compelled to designate you the mark of interrogation—call you rogue for shortness."
"After this morning's experience, I shall not be able to find any name nice enough for you," I said, gently.
"That is cruel—literally smothering me with coals of fire."
I turned over my music with trembling fingers; for, more than all, I dreaded Mr. Bovyer. Selecting one of the simplest songs, I sat down, determined to go resolutely through with it. When I ceased, I found that Mr. Bovyer had joined us. I rose hastily. "I am so glad you have come; you will reward my obedience to Mr. Winthrop, surely?"
"Yes—by asking for some more of that tender music of the Fatherland. My mother used to croon that song over us in childhood."
Mr. Winthrop joined his commands; so I complied, with a German martial song; and then, rising quickly, I went to the further side of the room, and took a seat beside Mrs. Hill.
"You have got tired before the rest of us, dear."
"I would not like to tire you. Mr. Bovyer is going to play now, and we shall none of us be in danger of weariness."
And he did play as I had never heard him do before, filling the room with harmonies that sometimes grew painful in their excess of sweetness. Conversation ceased utterly—a compliment not usually paid to musicians, I had noticed, in Cavendish.
I glanced occasionally at Mr. Winthrop, who had taken a seat not far from where I was sitting. He sat with eyes closed, but not betraying, by a single muscle of the strong, self-contained face, that the music was affecting him in the slightest.
"This evening has given us something to remember until our dying day," Mrs. Hill said, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, after Mr. Bovyer ceased playing. "It was exceedingly kind in Mr. Winthrop permitting us to share in the evening's enjoyment."
"Was it for this he invited you?" I asked, with surprise.
"That was the inducement to leave our homes on Christmas Day. But we do not need a special inducement to come to Oaklands; we always consider it a high privilege to be Mr. Winthrop's guest."
"Yes, he can be very charming when he chooses," I said, unthinkingly, but very sorry for my remark directly it was uttered. "Then you were only invited here this morning, since Mr. Bovyer had only just arrived?" I asked.
"Oh, no, indeed; our invitations were received a week ago. Mr. Winthrop knew he was coming."
All these people knew Mr. Bovyer was coming, and a gala time planned for Christmas, and I was kept in ignorance. Mr. Winthrop don't regard me of enough importance to be intrusted with the merest trifles of everyday life, I thought, sorrowfully; but just then my eye fell on the ring, when it flashed into my gloomy heart a ray of light brighter than any sunbeam.
The two following days I was so absorbed in my Christmas tree that I paid very little attention to our guest, or anything going on about me, save what was directly connected with the duty in hand. A list of all the names had first to be got, and then each gift properly labeled. Muslin bags, ornamented with bright-colored wools, were to be made, and filled with nuts and confectionery; and, last of all, the tree had to be dressed. Mr. Bowen and Daniel Blake entered so heartily into the spirit of the undertaking that I found my own labors greatly lessened. Thomas cheerfully gave up his most cherished plans to carry the supplies to the hall, and things generally went on very satisfactorily. Others, too, sent in hampers filled with Christmas dainties; among the rest, one from Mrs. Hill, to whom I had very fully described my undertaking. Mrs. Blake watched the heap slowly accumulating with a very preoccupied face; at last she spoke her mind freely:
"It seems a pity to have all these things eat up, and get no good from 'em. Now, I'd like to charge a trifle, and let every one come that wants to."
"What would be done with the money?"
"There's plenty of ways to spend it; but if I could have a say in the matter I'd like to give it to them poor little creatures I had for dinner Christmas. The mother's jest heart-broke. I believe you could count their bones; leastways all of them that's next the skin. I railly thought I could not get them filled; but I did at last, and then they was stupid like, they'd been short of victuals so long."
"Are their clothes as poor as their bodies?"
"Yes, indeed; and it does seem hard this cold weather for little children to have neither flesh nor flannels over the bones."
"I am perfectly willing to make a small charge, if you can let it be known in time for the people to be prepared."
"Oh, Dan'el and Mr. Bowen 'll see to that. Put up a notice in the mill and post-office; everybody 'll find it out."
So it was agreed that we should make the grown up folk pay something; but I insisted the price must not exceed twenty-five cents.
I went home to luncheon on Friday, very tired, but also very enthusiastic over our tree. If I could secure Mr. Winthrop's consent to a plain dinner, our entire domestic force could attend, and they were all eager to do so. He and Mr. Bovyer were engaged in a warm discussion over some knotty subject as they entered the dining-room, thereby compelling me to leave my question for sometime unasked. But Mr. Bovyer presently turned to me and said,
"Really, Miss Selwyn, you must think we have forgotten your existence."
"Oh, no, indeed; but I should like you to converse on something within nearer range of my faculties for a little while."
"We are all attention."
I turned to Mr. Winthrop as he spoke:
"Is it really imperative that you have a regular dinner to-day? Could you not take something easily prepared, a cup of tea, for instance, and some cold meats, and the like?"
"You propose a genuine funeral repast. Is anything about to happen?"
"Our Christmas tree; and our entire household is eager to go, yourself excepted."
"Why can't we all go?" Mr. Bovyer suggested, with considerable eagerness.
Mr. Winthrop looked aghast.
"They would think on the Mill Road the millennium was dawning if Mr. Winthrop were to step down among them," I said.
"Then by all means let us foster the illusion."
"I will take the baked meats, Medoline, or a cracker and cheese—anything rather than that crowd."
"That is ever so kind. I will come home to brew you a cup of tea myself. Ever since I was a child I have wanted to prepare a meal all alone—it will be really better than the Christmas tree; I mean more enjoyable."
"You have the greatest capacity for simple pleasures of any one I ever knew. We shall accept your services. Before you are through, you may find the task not so enjoyable as you think; but at the very worst we will give our help."
"Thank you very much; but one ignoramus blundering in the kitchen will be better than three."
Mrs. Flaxman looked greatly amused, but she very willingly gave her consent for me to come home while the guests were absorbed with their supper, and gratify my life-long yearning. The others were quite as well pleased as I; and cook permitted me to concoct, unaided, some special dishes for our repast. I laid the table myself, not accepting the slightest help from any one. My cooking ventures turned out quite successfully, and after a while my preparations were completed, so far as was possible, until the finishing touches just before dinner was served. I went and dressed myself for the evening's entertainment. I took equal pains with my costume, as if I were going to entertain a party of friends at home, and it may be I was foolish enough to have a feeling of elation that my Mill Road friends should see me for once dressed like a real lady. The picture that my glass gave back when the pleasant task was all completed was comfortably reassuring. Mrs. Flaxman I found waiting for me, when I went downstairs. Thomas had brought out at her direction a huge, old-fashioned carriage, that in the old days they had christened "Noah's Ark," and into it we all crowded, even including Samuel, who had an ambition for once in his life to have a drive with the aristocracy.
When we reached the hall, we found it already crowded, although it wanted a full hour before supper was to be announced. Mr. Bowen was doorkeeper, and on the table at his side I was glad to see a goodly heap of coin. Mrs. Blake stood near, regarding the money with unconcealed satisfaction, which considerably deepened when Mrs. Flaxman stepped up and shook hands with her. Daniel seemed to be master of ceremonies, and was walking around with a mixed air of anxiety and satisfaction. The work was new to him, and he was somewhat uncertain all the time what to do next. But on the whole he managed everything with good common sense. He had the children seated directly in front of the tree, some fifty of them, he assured me. Their faces were a picture of genuine childish delight. Probably memory would hold this scene clearly pictured on some of their hearts long after I was sleeping under the daisies. Long tables were ranged down each side of the house, on which was placed the food the people had come to enjoy. We walked slowly past them, and were surprised at the judgment and good taste of the arrangements. I waited until the children's tea was over. They were really the guests of the evening, and must be first served. Then in the bustle of getting the table in readiness for the older ones, I made my escape.
Thomas was waiting near to drive me home, his face quite radiant at the success of our enterprise. Arrived at Oaklands, I entered with great glee into our culinary operations, and soon had the dinner prepared. When my gentlemen came into the dining-room I was sitting, hot, and a trifle anxious, at the head of the table awaiting them. My respect for the powers in the kitchen that carried on our domestic machinery with so little jar, greatly increased. We had a laughable time changing the plates for our different courses. Thomas, who was installed in Esmerelda's place at the back of my chair, was about as awkward in his new situation as I was; but at the close of our repast, Mr. Winthrop, with apparent sincerity, assured us he had not enjoyed a dinner so much since his boyhood—a compliment that fully repaid me for my worry until I had thought it well over, and saw that it was capable of several meanings. I entertained them with a lively description of the scene going on at the Temperance Hall. Mr. Bovyer declared his intention of accompanying me on my return—a resolution, I could see, that was anything but pleasing to Mr. Winthrop. I was secretly very glad, since it was possible he might make a donation to our doorkeeper. Once on the way, Thomas drove his horses as I had never seen him do before. Possibly he was afraid the supper might all be consumed. He had paid his fee, and was resolved to get his money's worth. He may have hoped that by some happy chance he might sit down with those with whom he could not expect on any other occasion to have a similar privilege. I paid particular attention to Mr. Bovyer. As we passed Mr. Bowen's table I saw him drop, in quiet fashion, a bank note upon it. Mr. Bowen hastened to make change, but Mr. Bovyer shook his head and passed on. I turned to look at Mr. Bowen, and saw his face suddenly light up so cheerfully that I concluded he had received a generous donation. I led Mr. Bovyer up where the children, growing now very curious over the Christmas Tree, were with difficulty preserving the proprieties of the occasion. He looked them over carefully, as if they were some distinct species from another planet, and then turning to me, said, "Did you say these were all poor children?"
"Their fathers are day laborers, and some of them are without that useful adjunct to childhood."
"They look rosy and happy."
"I presume they would look happy under present circumstances if their fathers were tramps. You should see the homes some of them will return to when they leave here. You would wonder at the forgetfulness of childhood."
"How did you chance to think of this merry gathering?"
"I am not sure it was chance. All our thoughts do not come in that way."
"Are the children here who are to reap the largest benefit from this affair?"
"Yes. Do you see those pale, pinched-faced girls with the pink-cotton frocks on, sitting at the end of that farthest bench, and these two boys just in front with clothes several sizes too large?"
He stood silently regarding them for some time, and then said: "The world is strangely divided. It is one of the reasons that makes me doubt the existence of a beneficent All-Father."
"But these may get safely into the light and fullness of Heaven."
"Yes," he said, thoughtfully; "but how few of them will live up to the requirements of admittance to that perfect place?"
"The rich have as many shortcomings as the poor. Sometimes I think they have even more."
"You are very democratic."
"Is that a serious charge against me? The one perfect Being our world has seen chose poverty, and a lot among the lowly. When the world grows older, and men get wiser, possibly they will make the same choice."
"There have been solitary instances of the like along the ages—men of whom the world was not worthy—but the most of us are not such stuff as heroes are made of."
I turned to him with kindling eyes: "Wouldn't you like to be one of them, Mr. Bovyer?"
He gave me a look that some way I did not care to meet, and turned my eyes away quickly to a restless black-eyed little girl who was stretching eager hands to a pink-cheeked dollie.
"You feel the sorrows of the poor and suffering more keenly than the most of us, I fear, Miss Selwyn," he said—more to draw me into conversation than anything else.
"My sympathies are of a very easy-going, æsthetic kind. Some of your splendid music makes me cry. While I listen, I think of the hungry and broken-hearted. I seem to hear their moans in the sob and swell of the music. It was that which made Beethoven's Symphony so sad."
He did not say anything for a good while, and fell to watching the longing in the children's faces, and my heart grew very pitiful towards them. They were so near and yet so far from the objects of their desire. So I resolved while the supper table was being cleared to begin the distribution of my gifts, or rather, of Mr. Winthrop's.
I set Mr. Bovyer to work gathering the bags of confectionery, while I carried them around to the excited children, taking bench by bench in regular order, and filling the little outstretched hands, usually so empty of any such dainties. The people came crowding around to watch, while I began stripping the tree of its more enduring fruits. Mothers with tears in their eyes, as they saw their little tots growing rapturous over an unclothed dollie, or some other toy, beautiful to the unaccustomed eyes of the poor little creatures. The tree was stripped at last, and the children absorbed in the examination of their own or each other's presents. Most of them seemed perfectly content, but a few of the little boys looked enviously at the jack-knife in a companion's hand, while casting dissatisfied glances at what had fallen to themselves.
It was time at last for the little folks to go home, and mothers soon were busy hunting up children and their wraps.
The closing scene in the entertainment was the public announcement of the evening's receipts; and we all looked with surprised faces at each other when Mr. Bowen informed us that there was within a few cents of one hundred dollars. "Some of our guests this evening have treated us very generously; notably one gentleman in particular, who dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table beside me," Mr. Bowen said, in conclusion. I gave Mr. Bovyer a meaning glance and also a very grateful one; but it was apparently thrown away; for not a muscle of his face moved in response to my smile. Mrs. Blake went around for a while like one in a dream. "Deary me! it'll be jest like a fortin' to 'em," she ejaculated at last; "but Miss Selwyn 'll have to take charge of it, or that mis'able Bill Sykes 'll drink it up in no time."
And then it was decided to act on Mrs. Blake's suggestion, and the money was given to me to expend on Mrs. Sykes and her children as they required,—a task soon accomplished when their need was so urgent. We went home that night very elated at the success of our venture. Cook was slightly inclined to assume a large share of the credit, and as her labor in the matter of cake and pastry making was so much greater than anything I had done, I gracefully yielded her all the credit she could desire. No doubt, in all undertakings, from the capture of a kingdom to a tea meeting, there are many among to whom the honors by right belong.