LOST AND FOUND.A STORY OF TWO CHRISTMAS DAYS.ByEdwin Hodder,Author of “Memories of New Zealand Life;” “Junior Clerk;” “Tossed on the Waves,” &c.
ByEdwin Hodder,Author of “Memories of New Zealand Life;” “Junior Clerk;” “Tossed on the Waves,” &c.
If a merry day is associated with painful memories, its charm is lost, it is a day to be avoided, one would wish to let it pass unheeded; any attempt to make it gay only increases the gloom, and if the unpleasant remembrances are indulged, they come back on the day which commemorates them with a living reality, making the mind morbid and unhappy; and cherishing dead regrets is as vain and wrong a thing as retaining the remains of a loved life, which should be buried out of one’s sight.
Christmas day is not a sad and gloomy day to me now, but it was once; and then such a party as this you are giving to-night, Mr. Merry, would have been of all things in the world the one that I could not have endured, for it would have recalled so many sad circumstances to my mind, that, with all the fun and gaiety of you youngsters, I could not have thrown off the shroud of regrets which such a scene as this would have cast around me. But those days are past, and now Christmas day is one of the happiest of the year; and how all this came to pass I am going to tell you.
When I was a boy about fifteen or sixteen, I was at Dr.Spanker’s school, in Berkshire, and if anybody ever had a life like a long summer day, without a cloud or a cold nipping wind, that life was mine in those days. The boys were the heartiest, jolliest fellows that ever threw a quoit or kicked a ball; we knew every orchard, every bathing place, every level piece of land for racing or cricket, every hill side for nutting, and hedge-row for blackberrying, within twelve miles of the school. We were all hand-and-glove in every exploit, and many a glorious scrape we got into. Poor Dr. Spanker, how it was he did not go out of his mind we never could make out; but he was such an easy-going, good-natured man, and so thoroughly sympathised with young life, that he winked at many things which other schoolmasters would have made a terrible fuss about, and never punished anybody for their freaks unless those freaks infringed upon some moral law. We loved the old Doctor as cordially as if he had been our father, and in the whole school I don’t believe there was one boy who would not rather have had his teeth knocked down his throat than have wilfully said or done anything which would have given the dear old gentleman pain.
The boys were not mere school acquaintances, but real friends; and now, although years have passed away, the best friends I have in the world are those who were my friends when I was a boy at school. Andrew Morris was one of my great chums, and never did two boys “hit it” more thoroughly than did we. In sport, in study, and in more serious things, our thoughts, and desires, and aspirations were as one.
It was in the winter of 18— that my story commences. Christmas was at hand; the school had broken up for the holidays, and Andrew Morris had been invited to spend thefirst fortnight with me at my father’s house in Marantby. There were coaches in those days; and, as we sat on the roof wrapped up to the chin with the snow falling around us, we talked about our plans for the holidays, and wondered what sort of a programme they had drawn up at home for our amusement.
It was a cheery sight to see our house as it stood among the trees in the snow, with columns of smoke rising from the chimneys, and lights gleaming in the hall and from the windows. Long before the coach drew up, our loud hallos had brought all the family to the door; and then there was such a commotion as to who should get the first kiss, and who should carry in the boxes. In the commotion, my sister Nell ran up to Andrew Morris and gave him a good sound kiss, and then uttered a little scream, as if she had mistaken him for me. (O! Nelly, Nelly, sly little puss, that was not the first time you had seen Andrew, and that was not the last kiss he ever had from you.)
“Now for a surprise, John,” said Nelly, when we had taken off our coats and beaten off some of the snow. My mother, and I, and Andrew, and Cousin Mary, all crowded round, as Nelly, with her hand on the dining-room door, said “Open Sesame!” And when the door opened I confess I was surprised; such a sight burst upon me as I had never seen in my home before. The carpets were up, and the floors were chalked in the old-fashioned way, which has long since gone out; the furniture was removed, and rout seats were all round the room; the folding-doors had been taken down, so as to throw two rooms into one; the walls were decorated with banners and beautiful devices in evergreen; and, there was no mistake about it, that this year we were going to have a regular Christmas party.
“We have sent invitations to everybody,” said Nelly, “and to-morrow night, that is Christmas Eve, we shall have such a party as Marantby never saw before.”
Andrew Morris and I were enthusiastic in our admiration of the arrangements, and promised to give all the assistance we could to complete any plans that might yet remain for the evening’s entertainment. But, as soon as my father’s back was turned, I whispered to Nell, “However did you manage to get father’s consent to all this? He has always made such terrible objections, even to having a few friends, for fear he should be thought extravagant, that I cannot make out how he should have agreed to this.”
“Oh, mamma will tell you all about it by-and-bye. Come along and have supper, for, after your long ride, you must be half-starved.”
So, after supper, when the others had gone to bed, I got my mother into a cosy chat, and asked her all about it.
“Well, my dear John,” she said, “I’m rather anxious about your father. As you know, he is far from being a poor man, but he has, for the last two or three years, had a strange notion that his money will take to itself wings and fly away, and a terrible dread of poverty, and ultimately the workhouse or starvation, is always haunting him. There is not the slightest foundation for this fancy, which arises from some mental disorder; and, at times, he is perfectly aware that it is but a fancy, and has had the very best medical advice; but, at other times, the impression comes upon him so vividly that his life is perfectly wretched. So we are having this party for two or three reasons; one is to try and enliven him with a change of scene; another, to show him that he will not be ruined by the expense. Wemust all do what we can to make him enter into the spirit of the amusement; for, although he has given his free consent to all the arrangements, his manner has been very strange at intervals to-day, and I can see that something oppresses him. Do your best then, my boy, to cheer him up, and let us pray God to give him better health to enjoy the mercies with which He has surrounded us.”
I shared in my mother’s anxiety; but on the next day my father seemed so much better, and joined so very heartily in all we did, that in the bustle and excitement of expectation I almost forgot the conversation of the preceding evening. At last the carriages began to arrive, and the merry-making commenced. Everybody was in high spirits, for the weather was just the right sort for the season, with the snow thick upon the ground, and the difficulties in the journey to our house had made some fun for the guests, and put them in the cue for more. My father was as merry as any of us, and warmly welcomed each arrival; and when the music struck up for a set of quadrilles, he accepted the challenge of my mother, and danced with her. I could not help noticing, however, that when he was not engaged in conversation, his countenance fell, and a look of pain came on his pale face; but he recovered himself almost instantaneously, and was at once himself again. Merrily flew the hours, and never were charades played with greater spirit, or dances whizzed through with more delight. It was nearly supper time, and I went to find my father, who, on a plea of head-ache, had withdrawn for a little while into the study. But he had left the study, and so, fearing that he was really unwell, I went to his bedroom, but found that he was not there. For a moment a horrible undefined dreadcame over me; I trembled in every limb, and cold perspiration dropped down my face. There was no reason for this; there were twenty places where my father might be; it was not at all an unusual thing for him to seclude himself when he felt unwell, but for all that I could not divest myself of the strange feeling that came over me that something wrong had happened. I ran hastily through all the bedrooms, and then looked into every room down stairs, but he was not there. Old Williams, the gardener, was in the hall, and I asked him if he had seen my father? “Yes, Master John; he was here about half-an-hour ago. He put on a stout pair of boots, and his top coat, and said he should go into the stable to wish the horses and old Carlo a merry Christmas.” I went at once to the stables and called to him, but no answer came in reply. A lantern was in the loft, and, lighting it, I walked round the place to see if I could trace whether, by his footprints, he had been there. The snow marked his steps distinctly, but they were turned from the stable towards the paddock. Again that horrible dread, which had seized me in the bedroom, returned, for I knew that at the bottom of the paddock ran the river, swollen by the recent snows! Mechanically I followed the footprints, which led directly to the river. I tried to call out, but a suffocating feeling like night-mare rendered me speechless. I fell down on my knees in the snow, and cried with my whole heart to the merciful Father in heaven to avert the evil I so intensely dreaded. Strength came to me with the necessity; my voice came back to me, and I made the silent night ring with my father’s name. But no answer came, and now I stood at the edge of the rushing river, and the marks of the footprints had ceased! There was no time to be lost; the snow, which beforehad been falling gently, now began to descend in a storm, and every moment would serve to obliterate the tracks of his steps, if there were any more that might be found. With a cry to heaven to give me strength for all that remained to be done, I flew back to the house. Nelly was the first to meet me upon my return, and my face betrayed to her my anxiety. “My darling Nell, be calm and strong. I fear something has happened to father. Comfort mother while I and some of the friends are away. Go first to Williams, and tell him to come here with all the lanterns he can get, and then bid him saddle both the horses without delay.” A brave little woman was my sister Nell! I can see her pale face, and her white hands clenched together, as she stood beside me that night in her pretty evening dress, and heard my hurried news. In less than ten minutes I had a party of eight trusty men around me, to whom I told my suspicions, and begged their help. Among them was Captain Wray, an old friend of my father’s; he saw with a military instinct the position, and at once took the command of the expedition. “Let four follow each other through the paddock to the river,” said he, “and then divide, two to the right, and two to the left. John, Andrew Morris, Williams, and I, will go across the bridge, and adopt the same plan on the other side of the river. Now let us be off, and may God grant us success.”
A deep and earnest amen followed, and we started off.
I will not give you a history of that terrible time; in vain we searched for footprints, in vain we dragged the river; messengers were sent into every village round about, letters were sent to all the principal posting stations along the high roads, information was given to the London constabulary, rewardswere offered for any clue of the missing one; and every effort failed.
Had it not been for my good friend Andrew Morris, I do not know how I should have gone through the fatigue and anxiety of those days. He never seemed to tire; he was determined not to encourage a feeling of despair; at one moment he was devising some fresh scheme, and the next comforting my mother and Nelly with hope. At last Andrew and I, when we found every endeavour in our neighbourhood fruitless, determined to go up to London and seek forhimthere. We journeyed from street to street, gazing earnestly in the face of every passer by; we went from workhouse to workhouse, from shipping place to shipping place; and at last, worn out with fatigue, we returned to Marantby disappointed and distressed.
Time wore away; Andrew Morris went home to engage in business, and I returned no more to school, for the management of my father’s affairs now devolved in a great measure upon me. The spring time came, with its songs of birds and perfume of flowers; the glad summer sunshine played upon the murmuring waters of Marantby; the red leaves of autumn fell in gorgeous showers, and the silver traceries of frost sparkled in the wintry nights, but still our home was desolate; and so it came to pass that Christmas Day became a day full of painful memories.
Six years passed, and time, the great physician for the wounded heart, had taken the sting of our sorrow away. Our good Father in heaven never allows a sorrow to come into this world unless He sends a joy to counterbalance it; life would be a stunted and deformed thing, if, when the night enveloped it, the bright sunshine of morning did not as surely follow; and the law which regulates the outer world has its counterpartin the inner, that “while the earth remaineth, seed time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease.” Well, Christmas Day was coming round again, and we determined that we would spend it in London, with Andrew Morris. It was a cosy little party we made on Christmas Eve—I and my mother, and Captain Wray, Mr. and Mrs. Morris, sen., and Andrew and Nelly, and the baby. Whose baby? Why Nelly’s, to be sure, and never was there a prettier and prouder little mother, or a handsomer and happier young husband, than Nelly and Andrew Morris. There was no boisterous fun or merriment, but there was a great deal of quiet enjoyment amongst us as we sat at the table after dinner and played round games, or as Nelly and Andrew sang duets, while baby crowed a chorus. There was an air of homeliness, too, and comfort about the house, and that was increased tenfold from the fact that the night was bitterly cold. The wind roared along the streets, and every now and then the hail came down in a perfect cataract. The evening slipped rapidly away, and, as Martha came in at about ten o’clock to lay the cloth for supper, a pause in the rattle of the conversation within, and a pause in the rattle of hailstones without, enabled us to hear voices somewhere along the street joined in very good harmony, singing a Christmas carol. By-and-bye they came opposite our window, and struck up that fine old carol—
“When Christ was born of Mary free,In Bethlehem, in that fair citie,Angels sang then with mirth and glee,In Excelsis Gloria.”
“When Christ was born of Mary free,In Bethlehem, in that fair citie,Angels sang then with mirth and glee,In Excelsis Gloria.”
“When Christ was born of Mary free,In Bethlehem, in that fair citie,Angels sang then with mirth and glee,In Excelsis Gloria.”
“When Christ was born of Mary free,
In Bethlehem, in that fair citie,
Angels sang then with mirth and glee,
In Excelsis Gloria.”
Now I confess I never had a passion for street music, but this was much beyond the average of merit. It was a part ofmy education to love and venerate old customs, and it was a part of my creed always at Christmas time to relieve, as far as lay in my power, those who were excluded from the privileges which are enjoyed by those who have been more highly favoured by a kind providence. So, putting on my hat, I went to the door with a jug of foaming ale and a glass, and Andrew followed me with a good many shining pieces of silver in his hand, which he had collected in the room. As soon as I opened the door, an old man, with a lantern in one hand and his hat in the other, stood before us to receive the contribution. Just as Andrew was putting the money into his hat the light flashed up into his face. A spasm of joy and fear shot through me; I staggered back, and should have fallen, had not Andrew held me.The old man was my father!Wrinkled as the face was, white as the hair had grown, bent as was that once graceful figure, I was absolutely certain that I was not mistaken. In a moment my self-possession returned, and in that moment I realized the meaning of the phrase, “quick as thought.” For I remembered that I was only a boy when my father went away, and he could not recognise me. I remembered that a sudden shock of joy might deprive me of my mother, the very while it restored to me my father. I understood that Andrew had ascertained the meaning of my sudden emotion, for he had adroitly screened me from the gaze of my father and the minstrels, and was beginning to pour out the ale for them. I thought, too, that a sudden revelation of myself to my father might be injurious to him; and not knowing the state of his mind, it might be the most fatal thing to surprise him. So at once my plans were made; and all this happened in a moment! I whispered to Andrew, “Be spokesman, formy voice may betray me. Invite them to supper at the ‘King’s Arms’ in an hour, on condition that they will sing some carols. Say they shall be well paid. Follow them till then, and don’t let your eyes be off my father for an instant. I will gently prepare them indoors.”
“All right,” said Andrew, “but come inside with me first, while I get my coat, and tell them I am going. I will not damage your plan.”
There was great surprise when Andrew called for his coat, and said to his wife, “Nelly, my dear, I must leave you and our good friends for a little while. I know you will pardon me, but I have just seen an old friend who I knew in my school days, and he seems in distress. I can’t ask him in here to-night, but I will see him into the hotel at the end of the street; and, John, come for me in half-an-hour to release me, if I am detained so long.”
Without waiting longer than to give Nelly a kiss he was off, and the street door closed upon him. Then began an attack of questions which puzzled my ingenuity to parry. There was something remarkably strange in the event, and their curiosity was strongly excited. There was not much time to lose, and the questions were working me towards the subject. At last Nelly said, “Cannot you guess, John, at all, who this stranger is, or what he wants with Andrew.” And then I said, “I did not mean to tell you, or to awaken sad memories, especially to-night, but I think the stranger will be able to tell him something of the fate of father!”
I had said enough and seen enough to know that I might safely carry out my plan. Affected as my mother was by the news, she was perfectly calm. She did not weep, or dream offainting, or going into hysterics, but a holy joy lighted up her face, and her very smile was a thanksgiving. Brave little Nell clasped her hands together (it was just the attitude she used on thatotherChristmas Eve), and said, “Thank God.” For a minute or two there was a dead silence in the room, only broken by Captain Wray, who took snuff violently.
“John,” said my mother, at length, and her voice faltered just a very little, “John, you know more than you have told; let me hear it all. I am more than strong enough to bear it; I have waited for years in preparation of this hour. Tell me, when did it happen, and where?”
I sat down between her and Nelly, and said, as calmly as I could, “Now, my dearest mother, be brave and cheery, father is still alive. It would not be well for you to see him for some time, but he is in London, and well.”
The tears came at last; not a dry eye was in the room; but when I left them to go with Captain Wray to the “King’s Arms” (for he could not remain inactive), a voice had said to the storm of feeling, “Peace, be still;” and there was a great calm.
My story is nearly ended. That night I made myself known to my father, and the shock of feeling at seeing me and learning that my mother and sister were alive and near him, instead of doing him injury, effected a good that probably nothing else could have done. His was a strange wild history, and it was only little by little, and that extending over a long time, as the powers of mind and memory gradually returned, that I learnt it. When he left his home it was under the terrible delusion that nothing but the workhouse was before him, and he could not bear to see the distress that would come upon his family. He took ship to America, and on the voyagehis mind gave way. Arrived in that country, he was placed in proper care by the authorities, but in all the wanderings of his mind he never divulged his name or residence. Several times his reason became temporarily restored, but then the thought of his deserted wife and home was too terrible for him ever to think resolutely of returning thither. Years passed in this way, and during his rational periods he had to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. At last he so far recovered that his determination to return to his native land, and at least ascertain what had become of his family, was carried into effect. Penniless when he arrived, and the season cold and inclement, he had to endure severe hardships. Circumstances brought him into the company of a band of carol singers, to whom he engaged himself as money collector, and he had resolved to work his way to Marantby as soon as he was able.
The best medical advice that could be had in London was obtained for him, and, by the blessing of God, his health of body and mind was restored. I will not attempt to describe the meeting with my mother, for no eye saw it. The effect was not injurious, on the contrary, from that day his old habits and spirits began to return, and for many years his life was one of unmingled peace and happiness.
And so it came to pass that Christmas Day ceased to be a day of painful memories, for we could say, “He was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.” Now his body rests beside that of my mother in the little churchyard at Marantby, and their spirits are in the bright world, where, perhaps, the angels are singing again this night that beautiful song they sang years ago, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill towards men.”