AND what had become of Harry Hazeley in all this time? Let us go back a little.
Probably all would have gone well with the lad, who was beginning to see a new life stretching out before him under the sunny influence of his sister, had his father lived.
While Mr. Hazeley exercised but little restraining power over his son during his life, the fact that he had a father had considerable influence over Harry. When Mr. Hazeley was killed, Harry realized that he was thrown on his own resources, and the fact that he was subject to no higher authority, took a firm hold upon him. At first, the idea aroused in him an innate, but undeveloped manliness, and he determined to stand by his mother and sister, and be a comfort to them as well as a support.
But the inherent weakness in his character soon gained the supremacy, and for the time over-ruledall his resolutions, which had been made in his own strength.
It was inevitable that he should mingle with his companions in work, and soon they gained an influence over him that was not for his highest good. Being somewhat older than he himself was, they instilled into him a false idea of their superiority, and it was by this means they retained him in their "set"—a set of wild, dissipated young men.
Where was his judgment? Alas! he had inherited sufficient of his mother's weak disposition to over-rule it, and consequently, he was one of the kind most easily deceived and led.
One of the youths, whose name was Edward Hopkins, gained considerable influence over Harry. He it was who persuaded him to leave his mother and sister, and seek employment in another town, where, he said, work could easily be secured, with shorter hours and greater pay. This seemed very inviting to Harry, who, at that time, never thought of deserting his home, but was anxious to earn more money, and thus become better able to care for the family and have more for what he called pleasure—cards and gaming and wine, for hehad now become addicted to the use of the latter, through whose insidious influence he was fast losing his manly bearing.
Poor boy! How many noble men has Satan conquered and then cast off? How many homes has he ruined, and hearts broken, and hopes destroyed?
But I am glad to say that I shall not be obliged to trace Harry Hazeley to the bottom of the pit into which he had fallen, for God had most graciously heard the prayers of his loving, trusting sister, who had first set the example of prayer to the mother, who now frequently joined her, and he was not permitted to reach its utmost depths.
True, he went down pretty far, and his rescue was effected by rather severe means; but what mattered that, so he was saved?
After leaving home, Harry plunged into his new, reckless life, with a strength that not only surprised, but very soon disgusted Hopkins, who wished to preserve the appearance, at least, of a gentleman.
Harry had been able to secure a first-class, remunerative position very readily, but so much went to satisfy his craving for excitement, that none was left to sendhome to make life a little easier for Mrs. Hazeley and Flora.
After a while, however, his increasing unsteadiness secured for him dismissal from the shop where he had been employed. He was fortunate in securing place after place, but unfortunate in being unable to retain them, until at length he did but little work and a good deal of gambling. The work he then did was around and about the saloons where he had chances to game and drink.
One bitter cold night in December, a group of men stopped in front of one of these places, and after some discussion, entered. It proved to be Harry's stopping place, and he was sitting by the fire, for the time being idle.
To look at the sunken cheeks, restless eyes, and uncared-for appearance, one would never suppose this was the once straight, tall, active Harry Hazeley, so greatly was he changed.
The leader of the group of young men who entered the bar-room appeared to be attracted by the forlorn figure near the stove, as soon as he came in. He seemed to know him, for presently he walked over to him and tapping him familiarly on the shoulder, cried:
"Why, hello, old chap! How are you?"
Harry immediately recognized his old acquaintance, Edward Hopkins. He did not appear particularly glad to see him, however.
"Say, old fellow, you don't seem ready to shed tears of joy at seeing your old chum," remarked Ed, in a jovial tone, sitting down beside him.
Harry said nothing, but sat looking into the fire.
"Look here, now, Hal; you do look a little hard up. Haven't been getting along so well lately, I guess?"
"No, I haven't," said Harry, without turning around.
"Well, listen to me," resumed Ed. "The old proverb, 'a friend in need is a friend indeed,' is true, isn't it?"
"What of it?" questioned Harry, still apathetic.
"Just this," replied Ed, bringing his hand heavily down on his knee, "that I'm going to be a friend to you now."
Harry smiled incredulously. His confidence in the friendship of such a flashily-dressed fellow as Ed was, had been shaken.
"Come, don't be so glum, Hal. I've something to say to you," Ed continued, glancing around the room.
His comrades were all occupied in another part of the room.
"Now," went on Hopkins, lowering his voice, "we fellows," nodding toward the group, "are planning a little business. And if you want to, you can help us."
"What is it?" asked Harry, indifferently.
Edward took no notice of his manner, but went on:
"Well, we're going to—er—ah—walk into a small establishment, you know," and he winked slyly at Harry.
"Steal?" asked Harry, in a cold tone.
"If you like to put it that way, yes."
"Look here, Ed Hopkins," and Harry turned in scorn upon this hypocritical friend, who seemed so desirous of ruining him entirely. "Look here," he repeated, "let me tell you I don't want to share any of your 'little plans.' I've fallen low, I know, but I'm not a thief yet," and Harry straightened himself up and looked with a flashing eye into the crafty face beside him.
Hopkins was angry, as much because he had partially let Harry into his secret, as because he had refused to join him. However, he congratulated himself that he had not gone very far, and he left him abruptly, in a high temper, going over to the group at the other end of the room.
A heated discussion was progressing there about something in connection with the game of cards they wereplaying. They appealed to Hopkins as he joined the group. This did not seem to add peace to the scene, for the quarrel waxed hotter, and the voices grew louder.
Presently there was the sound of a scuffle, during which was heard the report of a pistol. Immediately there was a stampede, and when the officer, who had been attracted to the spot by the noise, rushed in, followed by a small crowd of men and boys, no one was to be seen but Harry Hazeley. He was lying on the floor by the stove, and gave no sign of life as the officer rolled him over. Whether the pistol had been fired accidentally or intentionally, nobody knew. The shot, however, was certainly not intended for the one who received it. It was found on examination that Harry was wounded in the side. He had also, in falling struck his head against the edge of the stove, and cut it.
"Well," said the officer, "I guess we'll have to take this young fellow to the hospital. From his looks he'll not be likely to have a better place to go to, even if he could tell where he belonged."
WHEN Harry Hazeley returned to consciousness, he found himself in bed in one of the wards of a hospital, with his head bound up, and a dull aching in his side. He was in too much pain to wonder how he came there, so he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, but he could not. It seemed as if his mind had never been so active as it was now that he longed to forget everything, in the hope that this might ease his throbbing head. But that troublesome thing, memory, would assert itself, and his thoughts would travel back to the home he had left, and the sorrowing ones in it, and,—perhaps it was owing to the weak state of his system,—the tears forced themselves from underneath his eyelids, and rolled down his cheeks. But what is the good of thinking about these things? he mentally asked, and so he impatiently brushed the tears away.
Poor Harry had a hard time of it. He did not improve very rapidly, although he had the best of attention andnursing. His system was so poisoned by the use of alcohol, and he was so weak from having been so long without nourishing food that, while his wound was not a very serious one, it nearly cost him his life.
The pain from his wound, together with a low fever, racked his system until it was almost unbearable. His brain, however, was unusually active, and over and over again did he recall his life since he left home, and each time his repugnance grew; and when he began to convalesce, and he realized there was hope for him, he determined to lead a different life as soon as he was able to be around again. He sincerely and deeply repented of the past, and he felt the need of a Saviour, as he had never done before. He longed for some one to come and tell him of the Christ and of his saving power. He fully realized that he must have a helper, stronger than his will or his resolutions.
One morning, when Harry was getting a little more strength, there hobbled over to his bedside a crippled young man, who supported himself upon crutches. His body was distorted, and his legs were drawn up and twisted in a sad manner; but his face was bright and cheerful and intelligent, and his shoulders, arms, andhands had a look of manliness and strength about them that was greatly at variance with the feebleness of the rest of his frame.
"Well, friend," said this odd mixture of strength and weakness, as he seated himself slowly and cautiously by the bed. "Well, friend, how goes the world with you?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Harry, drearily. "I haven't been caring much about the world lately. I ain't in much of a hurry to care either. There'll be time enough when I get out in it again."
"Time enough! Time enough! Yes, that's the cry," said the young man. "That's what has caused more misery in the world than anything else; it's a rope that has lost many a soul forever."
Harry turned away impatiently. He did not want to hear.
"Of course you don't want to hear me talk that way," said the lame man bluntly, divining his thought. "I didn't suppose you did. But, let me tell you, young fellow, there's enough of that rotten rope left for you to lose your soul with. Will you turn your head away when you feel it snap, and find yourself dying, with nothing to hold on to,I wonder?" Without more ado he grasped his crutches, and painfully hobbled away.
Harry tried to be glad he was gone. He did not succeed as easily, however, in dismissing from his mind the words he had heard. Perhaps it was the odd, abrupt way in which they were spoken, that made them fasten themselves so tenaciously on his memory. Certainly he would have been angry had any one else spoken so plainly and unceremoniously to him. The sight of his body, telling such an eloquent tale of suffering, made it almost impossible for any one to be angry with Joel Piper. Harry presently found himself wondering about him, and wishing he would come back and talk to him again.
He did not come, and one day Harry found courage to ask the nurse, who was busied near him, to tell him the name of the lame young man who talked to him one day.
"Oh, do you mean Joel Piper?" she asked in return.
"I didn't know that was his name," replied Harry, looking amused.
"Yes, it is," replied the nurse. "It's an odd name, I know, but he is just as nice as he can be. He's hada world of trouble and pain; but he's come out pure gold."
"Wasn't he always that?" asked Harry, curiously.
"No, indeed, he wasn't. He was one of the wildest young men, and it was that which brought on the sickness—rheumatic fever—which twisted him up so. It was this illness too, that brought about his conversion; and now he likes to visit the hospitals and talk to all the young men he can find, and try to get them to turn about. He says he's trying to make up for lost time. Some think he's crazy, but he isn't—only eccentric."
"Does he come here often?" asked Harry.
"Well, sometimes he does," was the answer. "Would you like to see him again?"
"I wouldn't mind having a little talk with him," admitted Harry.
"I'll tell him," said the kind woman.
Joel came; but Harry could not tell from his manner whether he was pleased or not at his having expressed a desire to see him.
Now that he was there, what should he say? Harry asked this question, but no answer came.
But Joel seemed to understand all about the matter, and began right away:
"You've had a rough time, eh? Didn't expect it, now, did you, when you started out? Going to have a good time, enjoy yourself, and all that? Well, it's all right. You've had about enough of that sort of thing, I guess. You'd like to turn right about face now, and go back to your mother, perhaps?"
"Who told you I had a mother?" asked Harry, sharply.
"Nobody," was the calm rejoinder.
"How did you know?"
"I didn't know; I only guessed. Somehow or other, you look as if you had. Have you?"
"Yes, I have," groaned Harry, "and a sister too; but I came away and left them, and now I'm ashamed to go back."
"Well, if you're made of the right kind of stuff you'll go to work as soon as you're out of this, and fix things so you'll not be ashamed to go back," said Joel. "Between us," he went on, bending over and looking at Harry with one eye shut up tightly, "I've got a mother and sister too. I did pretty much as you did, only worse, I guess. I've been working hard to make a manof myself before I go back to them. I'm going soon too."
"To work!" exclaimed Harry, looking at the crooked figure pityingly. "What canyoudo?"
"Do?" repeated Joel, raising his brows, and opening wide his eyes. "Look," and he held up his long slim fingers. "I can write beautifully," he continued, with the simplicity of a child. "And I'm a clerk in a large clock and jewelry establishment. A good kind friend who came to see me at the hospital when I was so ill, secured the situation for me. And if you mean to turn about sure enough, and no going back about it, I will try and get you taken on as a salesman."
Harry was completely won by Joel's plain, straight-forward manner and hearty kindness, and gave his promise to turn over a new leaf. What is of more importance he kept the promise faithfully.
When Harry was discharged from the hospital, he looked quite different from what he did when he first entered it, or rather when he was carried there. He was worn almost to a shadow, it is true; but his sickness had taken from him the look of the outcast, and his intercourse with his new friend, and the hopes he hadfor the future restored to him once more the ability to look the "whole world in the face."
He was clad in a suit that had been worn by Joel ere his body was so distorted by rheumatism. It was not a perfect fit, but it was clean and neat, and gave to Harry a very presentable air.
True to his promise, Joel tried and succeeded in getting the situation he spoke of for his young friend toward whom he had been strongly attracted.
Harry was also naturally smart and intelligent, and now that he had put off the shackles of the false friends with whom Satan had provided him, promised to do well in his new position. Joel was determined that through no fault of his should Harry fail. He never lost sight of him for any length of time. The two boarded at the same place, and Joel insisted on his accompanying him to church. They read, talked, and walked together, and as a natural consequence became much attached to each other.
IT was a dull, gray, rainy morning when our friend Flora found herself standing in front of the house that had been her home for so many years.
What a flood of memories the sight of the familiar scene brought to her! She paused a moment or two to revel in the pleasure she thus felt. She did not feel at all excited, or even curious as to the cause for, or the probable result of her trip. Turning to the house, she stepped to the door, and lifted the knocker.
The door was opened by the neat, but uncommunicative maid, who was in charge of affairs during Mrs. Martin's illness; and who silently, and apparently acting on previous arrangement,ledthe way direct to the sick room.
Although the day was dark and cloudy, the window shades were down, and heavy curtains lent their aid to darken the room still more.
Mrs. Martin's greeting was somewhat of a surprise toFlora as she stood on the threshold, scarcely knowing whether to enter the darkened chamber or not.
"Why don't you come in and shut the door?" came in fretful tones from the bed.
"I should like to do it, indeed, Aunt Sarah, if I could only see my way," returned Flora, mischievously. She wondered at her own temerity. At one time she would not have dared use such liberty of speech with this punctilious aunt. But she had grown to be very independent since she had been thrown so entirely upon her own resources, and had become accustomed to think and act both for herself and others. She felt that she had grown, in that she no longer stood in awe of Aunt Sarah's cold tones. Why should she? She had come to ask no favor.
"Well," came in questioning tones from the invalid.
"May I draw up the shades, Aunt Sarah?" asked Flora, advancing slowly into the room and closing the door softly.
"I suppose so. You can draw up anything you like, it makes no difference to me," was the somewhat ungracious reply.
Flora paid no attention to the tone, but drew upthe shades, making it possible to see what was in the room.
"Aunt Sarah, how thin you are!" she cried, incautiously. "Why, you have been sick."
"Of course I have. You didn't suppose I was pretending, did you?" retorted Mrs. Martin.
"No," said Flora, "I did not, nor did I know you were so ill. And now tell me, can I do anything to render you more comfortable?"
"No, I think not," she replied. "Yes, you might bring me some toast and a cup of tea," she added a moment later.
As she turned at once to leave the room, Flora wondered in her own mind, whether Mrs. Martin really wished for something to eat. The truth was, Mrs. Martin, now that Flora was here in the house, even in her very room, wished to decide how she could broach the subject which had lain on her heart so long. She was thinking deeply, and did not notice Flora's entrance until she heard:
"Here they are, Aunt Sarah, nice and hot."
"What?" the invalid returned, in a surprised way.
"The toast and tea," replied Flora.
"Oh yes, put them on the table."
Flora did so, daintily arranging them so as to be inviting to the eye as well as the palate, and inwardly wondering what new caprice her aunt would develop next. However, she had decided to yield to all her peculiarities, and to bear with her whims, and so with unruffled face, she turned to arrange the room, as only a woman's hand can. The grace and care were not lost upon her aunt, whose eyes closely followed every motion as she moved silently about the room.
"Sit down," said Mrs. Martin, after a few moments' silence.
Flora did so; and after a slight hesitation, Mrs. Martin began, having concluded to open the subject at once, for nothing was to be gained by delay.
"Niece Flora," she said, looking in the young girl's face, "I sent for you to tell you I feel that I have done what I had no business to do."
"What have you done, Aunt Sarah?" asked Flora, half suspecting what she wished to say to her.
"I mean in sending you away from here as I did," was the blunt reply.
"You had a right to do whatever you wanted to,"stammered Flora. She could stand unmoved before the cold, hard Aunt Sarah; Aunt Sarah repentant, she did not know how to meet.
"No, I had no right to do it," continued Mrs. Martin. It was plain she did not intend to spare herself in the least. "I had no right to do it. Sister Bertha wanted you to stay, and I know she did. I had no right to take her money, and live in her home, and use her things when I knew she only left them to me because she trusted me to do what she wanted."
"Never mind, Aunt Sarah; I knew nothing about it, so do not worry. It is all right." And Flora moved nearer the bed, and took her hand in her own and tenderly held it.
Instead of complying, Mrs. Martin seemed to gain strength, and she went on:
"No; you knew nothing about her wishes, but I did. And, Flora, I have not been happy in this house. In fact, I did not deserve to be."
"You can talk about that when you get well."
"I will never be well unless I make right what I have made wrong," returned Mrs. Martin. "I want to know, Flora, if you can forgive your selfish old aunt for driving—yes,driving is the word," as Flora started to speak—"you from the home which was intended for you? Will you not come back to it?" And the tears began to gather in the eyes that had long been strangers to such an expression of emotion.
Flora felt very helpless now in the face of all these different moods. She could think of nothing else to do but stroke the sick woman's forehead gently and soothingly. After a moment or two of silence, she said: "I forgive you, Aunt Sarah, if you think there's anything to forgive. Everything has turned out for the best, at least so far as I am concerned. As to coming back, I think I don't care to—that is, I couldn't leave mother, you know."
"I don't want you to leave your mother, child. Why can't she come too?"
"Do you mean to come here to live?"
"Yes; here to live."
"She would like that, I know," said Flora, adding mentally, "providing you were different."
She soon discovered that her unspoken thought had been realized before it had been expressed.
"Now," said the sick woman, drawing a breath ofrelief, "I can be at peace. It is not too late for me to make amends and carry out sister Bertha's wishes. Ah, child, you do not know what I have suffered of late; but it's all right now."
"Try to go to sleep now, won't you?" asked Flora, coaxingly, fearing the effect of the conversation upon the invalid.
"No; I don't want to go to sleep," said Mrs. Martin, with a shade of her old firmness; "I just want to lie here and think."
She did go to sleep, however, very soon, and awoke greatly refreshed, for her mind was at ease, and she was surprised to find how much more pleasant the prospect of recovery was since she had something to look forward to.
And Flora? She was delighted, for to her the old home had never lost its charm.
Faithfully she nursed the sick woman, who, in spite of her efforts to the contrary, now and then yielded to her old-time habit of fault-finding, when nothing pleased her. Mrs. Martin was very regretful for these outbursts, and after each, more carefully watched her own tongue, and the movements and manner of her young nurse anddaily became more attached to her; and the more necessary it seemed to her to retain her sunshiny presence.
Flora was as happy in her present position, and at her future prospects, as it was possible for her to be with the ever-present feeling of uncertainty and sorrow at the absence of her dearly loved brother, from whom she had expected such great things. She was a very sensible girl, and had learned long before this that to waste her time in worriment over what she could not help in any way, would not enable her to discharge her present duties as she would wish. Knowing this, as I say, so well, she put Harry into the charge of the One "who never slumbers nor sleeps," and went about her daily duties with a light step and merry smile. For days she planned her mother's coming, and how she would enjoy the life here. Her own pleasant little room was hers again, and many were the happy hours she passed there. Every few moments throughout the day she would be in her aunt's room reading to her, or perhaps giving her a daintily arranged meal, or placing the pillows more comfortably.
One of her greatest pleasures was in arranging her Aunt Bertha's old room, preparatory to the coming ofher mother, to whom she had assigned it. Very lovingly and carefully did she do this, for her heart was filled with tender memories of the past.
Mrs. Martin had told her to fix everything to suit herself, and refused to have a word to say further than to heartily approve of all her arrangements.
"I have been at the head of affairs a long time," she had said; "it is time now for us to change places."
"I think you are trying to spoil me, Aunt Sarah," remarked Flora, one day, when she had been told a number of times to do just as she liked.
"I think there is no danger of that, my dear," said Mrs. Martin.
She was right, for the experience Flora had gained in the years since she had been home had so strengthened and developed her that it would have been well-nigh impossible to "spoil her," as she had termed it.
As soon as her aunt was able to sit up, Flora was to return home to get her mother, and in fact the whole family, if she could find them, and bring them to Aunt Sarah's, to live there.
Mrs. Martin insisted that she wanted a house full; adding, smilingly:
"The more, the merrier, my dear."
Flora wished this could be possible—she longed to be able to bring Harry back with them; and, safe in that peaceful home, win him from his evil ways. She sighed, even as she thought, "That is quite impossible." She had forgotten for the moment that "With God, all things are possible."
DURING all these weary months, Harry Hazeley had not once written home; and neither his mother nor sister knew where he was.
His friend, Joel Piper, had written to his mother, but to his regret, had as yet received no reply. This saddened him, as in his letter he had told of the changes in him, not only in his body, but in his heart and life, for he wished his mother, who had done so much for him, to know.
Harry as yet had no news to write home. Joel was working slowly, it is true, to induce Harry to attend some meetings which were being held successively in different churches. Harry became interested, and later he had the happiness of knowing that he had accepted Christ, and been received by him.
In the meantime he had applied himself steadily and faithfully to his business, and not only earned the respect of his employers, but saved a good share of his money.
"And now," he thought, triumphantly, "there is nothing to prevent me from going home."
This thought took complete possession of him, and in his leisure moments he did little else than picture to himself his home-coming, and the sight of mother, sister, and brother. They would rejoice, he was sure, in his new life. He wondered if Flora had changed much, and in what way Alec passed away the days.
These thoughts of home and home-folks, together with the great desire to see them again, gradually wore away the feeling of shame with which he had been assailed whenever his thoughts had turned that way before.
"Joel!" he exclaimed, as they were sitting together, one pleasant evening, "I see no other way but to do it!"
"What is it you mean, my boy?" asked Joel, as he looked at Harry for a moment, and then returned to his book.
"To go home, and see them all," returned Harry.
"Believe I will too," said Joel, slapping his book by way of emphasis. "By the way, Harry," he continued, "my home isn't so very far from yours; only a couple of hours' ride. You live at Bartonville and I live at Brinton, or rather, I did."
"Is that so? Well, then, let us go together."
"What do you intend to do? Give up your situation here for good, or just ask for leave of absence?" asked Joel.
"Oh, I shall give it up entirely," was the answer. "I prefer to get something to do nearer home. What will you do?"
"I shall come back," said Joel, decidedly. "My people are farmers. I could be of no service now on a farm, you know, even if I cared for it, which I don't."
Thus the matter was decided, and arrangements were made accordingly.
One evening, as Mrs. Hazeley sat in her home, all alone, stitching away busily, she was startled to hear a loud rap on the door.
"Who can it be?" she thought, rising to answer the knock. She found herself confronted by a tall, rather slight young man, with a grave face, which, however, was now illuminated by a smile of expectancy.
"Harry! Harry! my boy Harry!" she cried, holding open her arms. The mother's quick instinct and penetrating love could not be deceived by appearances, no matter how altered. The form might be changed, andthe features matured, but there was something that brought to her the memory of her child, the baby of long ago.
After the first greetings were over, Harry settled down, and prepared to unburden his mind. His mother noticed that he glanced about him wistfully and inquiringly.
"No," said Mrs. Hazeley, answering the query in his eyes, "Flora is not here. She went to stay with your Aunt Sarah, who is very ill. I am expecting to go myself, whenever I hear from her to that effect. Alec too, is away. He is living with that good old man, 'Major Benson,' you used to call him, you remember. Alec enjoys a country life. He intends to be a farmer, he says. It was very kind of him to give the boy such an opening. The poor child was so afraid of being a burden to us. I have every reason to be grateful for my children."
"Except me, mother," said Harry.
"No, my boy," returned his mother, looking keenly at him. "I am sure I have reason to be grateful for you too. But tell me, Harry, where have you been, and why did you not write to us, and keep us posted?"
The entire absence of reproach or fault finding, and the warm affection with which he was received by his mother, touched the young man very deeply, and with his heartmade tender with these thoughts, he determined to confide fully all his past to his mother, from whom he felt sure he would receive ready sympathy.
When the story was told, Mrs. Hazeley could but exclaim, "Bless the Lord, oh my soul!"
"And forget not all his benefits," added Harry reverently.
They were interrupted at that moment by a knock upon the door—a quick, business-like, energetic knock.
"I know who that is," said Mrs. Hazeley, smilingly, as she arose to admit the new-comer. It was Flora.
"Did ever returned prodigal receive a more hearty welcome than I?" exclaimed Harry, laughingly, but gratefully.
His old habit of reserve was being gradually overcome, and he was becoming accustomed to express his feelings quite freely, much to the present and subsequent delight of his family.
This evening, a memorable one in the history of the little family, was by no means over. Just as the happy trio were seated, with heads bowed reverently in thankfulness to the Giver of all good, the knocker was raised another time.
As the heads were lifted, and Flora arose to open the door, she remarked, merrily:
"That must be Alec. I suppose the magnetism of our presence is drawing him to us."
It was not Alec It was our good friend Joel Piper.
"I was told Mrs. Hazeley lived here," said he.
"So she does," answered Flora, trying to recall where she had seen the familiar face before her. Joel was doing the same. He was the first to ask, however, "Haven't I met you before?"
"I was just thinking I had seen you somewhere," said Flora, looking puzzled.
"In Brinton, perhaps?" suggested Joel.
"That is just it—you know—Lottie Piper," exclaimed Flora disconnectedly.
"Yes, yes," said Joel, eagerly; "I'm her brother. I remember now. You are Flora Hazeley. Well, well," he cried, accepting Flora's invitation to enter the room, where he saw his friend Harry, for whom he was hunting. "I was just looking for you, Hal," said he, having first been presented to Mrs. Hazeley, who was delighted to welcome the young man who had done so much for her Harry. "I was looking for you, Hal, but I had no idea I shouldmeet an old acquaintance, in the shape of your sister. But that reminds me," he added, sadly, "I have been to the old home. No wonder I didn't hear from them. Sickness, death, and desolation! I found the home, but no one in it."
"How could that be?" asked Harry.
"I know," said Flora, gently. "I saw Lottie for a few moments the other day, and she told me all about it. I am so sorry."
"Is my sister here?" Joel asked, eagerly.
"Yes, she is here—in Bartonville; she is living with her aunt."
"I know," said Joel, "my father's sister. I shall be glad to see Lottie; but mother is gone, and now it is too late."
"No, no, Joel, don't talk that way," said Harry, soothingly. "You have no need to say that. You haven't come home as you left it. And suppose your mother is not here, don't you think she knows all about it? And then, there is your sister, you know."
"That is all true, Harry. It would have been hard to have come back as I went away, and found her gone. I could not have helped the little girl then. But one thingmore," he said, turning to Flora, who was wiping her eyes in sympathy. "Where is my father?"
"Lottie says he went away somewhere, to work."
"Then I shall hope to see him, some day, and that will be one consolation." Joel was comforted by his friends, and his own kind, helpful deeds were bearing fruit for him.
It was arranged that Joel should board—he would hear of no other arrangement—with Mrs. Hazeley until he should find his sister, and see how she was situated, before returning to his employment.
Flora's news was almost forgotten in the general rejoicing over Harry's unexpected return and the equally unexpected addition to the little household in Joel. But when things were somewhat quieted down, she had something wonderful to relate also.
"Well, well, well," said Mrs. Hazeley. "To think of sister Sarah softening, at her age. When will wonders cease!"
Harry did not approve of this proposed breaking up of their own little home. He feared it might be but a passing whim of Aunt Sarah's.
"Oh, no," maintained Flora, stoutly. "Whatever elseAunt Sarah is, she is not fickle. When she says she means to do a thing, that thing is as good as done."
"That's very true," said her mother. So it was settled that, after due preparation, the family should move to Brinton.
The only regret that Flora felt at leaving her home in Bartonville was that she would be obliged to part with her class of girls, whom she loved and who loved her. She comforted herself with the thought that she would have another, if possible, in Brinton. The girls she left behind always cherished the memory of their young teacher, and strove to imitate her gentle, earnest ways, and noble traits. Surely, the seed she had sown in their hearts would spring up, blossom, and bear fruit for the Master's kingdom.
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WELL! Things have come to a pretty pass! Here I've been running up and down, here and there and everywhere, like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to please Aunt Emmeline, and I'm just about as near doing it now as I was when I commenced. It's grumble, grumble, grumble, every minute in the day; and I will not stand it—not a day longer, now!" and Lottie gave the fire a vigorous shake that sent the sparks darting hither and thither, in every direction.
It was hard for her. Lottie conscientiously did all she could for the fretful invalid upstairs. But her efforts were not appreciated. Instead, Mrs. Durand seemed to grow more irritable daily. Nothing Lottie did pleased her; the tea was either too weak or too strong; the toast either too hot or too cold; the beef-tea was too highly seasoned, or not enough. Thus the fault-finding continued, day in and day out.
Heretofore Lottie had succeeded in bearing with hercaptious patient fairly well, her natural patience and sweetness of disposition being a great help to her. But this day her task seemed a little harder to bear than usual, and a short time before the outburst at the opening of the chapter the climax was reached, when her aunt struck her with the cane she used to aid her in getting about the room, for she was able to go about a very little during the day.
Lottie had been sent for some water, and in her zeal to please her aunt by being quick about it, had spilled a few drops in that good woman's lap, and she, without stopping to think, had given her niece a rap with her stick.
"No, I shall not stand it another minute," muttered Lottie, as she angrily paced the floor of the little room, whither she had rushed from her aunt's presence.
Apparently she had determined to do something, for she went to work energetically to put everything to rights. She put more coal on the fire, and, in fact, did everything she deemed necessary. Then she stole quietly up to her room, packed some things in a bundle, and noiselessly left the house.
Page 153Hazeley Family.Page 153.
Where was she going? She did not know. What was she going to do? She only knew that she was going far away from her Aunt Emmeline's, where she had been insulted. The old poplar solemnly waved its long, bare arms over her head, as if wishing her "good-bye." She had a vague idea she would go and find her friend Flora; she would at least advise her what to do, for, after once fairly in the street, the fact that she had no home but the one she was leaving behind, made itself felt very plainly.
She had not seen Flora since that first day when they had met accidentally, and she had almost forgotten the way she had come, for she had been in such a hurry she gave little heed to anything. She would go as best she could remember. It seemed to her that she was walking a great distance, and when at length she came to a small public square, she sat down upon one of the cold, damp seats, almost discouraged, and utterly unhappy. No mother, no home—nothing but misery. The tears were very near the surface, when she heard her name called at no great distance.
That was strange, though the voice sounded familiar. Stranger still, however, was the sight of a young man making his way rapidly toward her with a shuffling gait, and leaning upon two canes. Although the face seemedfamiliar, Lottie was frightened, and was preparing to run away when her steps were arrested by the strange young man saying, in half-laughing, half-vexed tones:
"Why, Lottie, girl, don't you know your brother Joel?"
"What? Not my brother Joel?" exclaimed Lottie, joyously, yet distrustfully.
"The very same, and yet not the same," replied Joel, sadly, as he remembered how great was the physical change in him, and which was so apparent.
"I was straight and strong when you last saw me, Lottie," he said, looking down at his twisted limbs. "I was straight and strong when I left the old home, and now you see what I am." And he seated himself beside Lottie, who had remained on the bench.
"Oh, Joel, what made you so?" she cried, in a distressed voice.
"Never mind about that now, little sister. I will tell you all about it some time. But mother——"
"Didn't you know? She is dead." And Lottie burst into tears, while the half-repressed sobs of the utterly miserable girl, shook her slender frame.
"Yes, I know," answered her brother, softly.
"How did you know?" asked Lottie, as she raised hertear-stained face in surprise at his knowledge, when she knew he had been away so long.
"Never mind that, either," returned Joel; "but tell me everything."
Lottie told about the death of their mother, then added:
"Oh, Joel, she so wanted to see you before she died, and now it's too late."
"Yes, too late." The words found an echo in the young man's own breast. He had put it off too long, this home-coming. Hoping and wanting to come back to his home and parents, well able to take care of himself and to help them too, he had waited, and worked, and saved, and now she for whom he so longed was not here to bid him welcome. The thought also came to him that it was well this "too late" came only in the disappointment of earthly hopes. Suppose it meant the loss of his soul as well? Then another thought came, this time full of comfort and peace:
"She will know I am changed, and I shall meet her in heaven."
Then he turned to his sister, feeling that here was a work for him—a legacy left him by his mother.
"Where is father, Lottie?" he asked a moment later, inwardly wondering at her presence here.
"Father? Oh, after mother's death he couldn't stay there any more, he said, and so he went away to work. Out west, I believe," she added, rather glad than otherwise to break the silence that had followed her last words. "I haven't seen him since he brought me to live here."
"Live here? With whom?" inquired her brother.
"With Aunt Emmeline." And then she poured forth into sympathetic ears a recital of her woes, inflicted largely by her aunt.
"What are you going to do?" asked Joel, when she finished. "Are you going back?"
"No, I am not. That settles it!"
"Never?"
"No, never!"
Joel was amused. He well knew that the angry girl would be obliged, sooner or later, to modify her emphatic and hasty assertions. However, he thought it best to make no criticism, at least until she should see her folly and mistake herself; so he only said:
"Well, I guess you had better come with me just now. Both of us will catch cold if we stay here much longer."
Unquestioningly, Lottie arose. She did not care where she went, so long as she was with Joel, who now was all she had to cling to.
The sight of poor, deformed Joel, hobbling painfully along, touched Lottie's heart as nothing else could have done, as she contrasted his shrunken body with her own strong, robust self. She felt almost glad her mother could not see him now—she had been so proud of Joel's strength.
At length they halted before a small house that appeared strangely familiar to Lottie, and Joel rapped on the door. What was her surprise and delight to see the door opened by Flora Hazeley.
"Lottie!" the latter exclaimed.
"Flora!"
Joel stood by, smilingly, while Lottie was introduced to the rest of the family.
"It seems so strange that both your brother and mine should be returned runaways, doesn't it, Flora?" remarked Lottie, when all were seated.
"How about Lottie?" slyly whispered Joel, as he sat by her side.
Lottie deigned no reply, but tossed her head willfully,while she thought: "No, I will never go back to Aunt Emmeline's."
It was a very pleasant little home party that sat and chatted in the old dining room that evening, but it was not until Lottie and Flora were alone in the room which they were to share for the night, that Lottie opened her heart, and poured out her woes into Flora's sympathetic ear.
"Oh, Lottie, how could you?" asked Flora, when the recital was over.
"Oh, Flora, of course I could do it, and so would you have done, in my place," returned Lottie, in an injured tone.
"Is it possible that you have left your poor, sick aunt all alone?"
"She isn't very sick; she only thinks she is," said Lottie, sulkily. "She can get about her room well enough. It won't hurt her to go a bit farther, and go downstairs."
Flora, after a few more ineffectual words, saw Lottie was feeling too bitter and hurt to be ashamed of her desertion of her poor, sick aunt, and, with her customary tact, dropped the subject entirely. For a few moments there was silence, each busy with her own thoughts.
As Flora was brushing her hair, of which she was justly proud, she said:
"Lottie, let us sit here in front of the fire. I often do, and watch the sparks as they flit here and there. I feel like talking to-night. I have listened to your story. Now, you come here with me; I want to tell you mine."
Nothing loth, Lottie seated herself, and listened attentively while her friend told of her own life, with all of its disappointments, hardships, and trials.
"What has all this to do with me?" asked Lottie, suspiciously, for she had a vague idea that Flora had an object in view.
"It has this to do with you, Lottie dear," answered Flora, as she put her own shapely hand, gently but firmly, over the rebellious one in Lottie's lap. "It will show you that none of us can have things exactly as we want them, and we are cowards if we run away from our duties. Had I been left to choose what I wished, I should not have chosen a single thing that came to me, and yet I am sure everything turned out for the very best. In the first place, Aunt Sarah's sending me home made me think and act for myself and others, and in doing so I became far stronger than I would have been had I stayed with,and depended on Aunt Bertha, if she had lived. In doing the second, I found pleasure, and now that after all our worrying Harry has come back so changed, I am just as happy as I can be. But suppose I had run away, when things were dark and discouraging, would I now have anything to be happy over?"
"But nobody ever struck you, Flora. That is different," said Lottie, looking less stubborn.
"No," replied Flora; "that is very true, dear; nobody ever struck me. But I have had other things quite as hard. Indeed, things that I thought I could not possibly endure. But, you know who helped me bear them, don't you, Lottie dear?"
"Yes," was the subdued reply. "You mean God helped you."
"Yes, and he will help you too, Lottie, if you will let him. But you must take up your duties again, you know."
"What? go back to Aunt Emmeline?"
"Yes, I mean just that. I am sure she did not intend to treat you badly. She will tell you so, I have no doubt, some day."
"I don't know about that," said Lottie; "but, I guessI ought to go. But, suppose she will not have me back again; what then?"
"Oh, don't borrow trouble. It will be time enough to think about that when it happens," replied Flora. "But come, it's time we were asleep."
Sleep, however, did not come to Lottie as soon as it did to her friend. Her mind was too busy, turning over the events of the day, and anticipating the possible ones of the morrow. Nevertheless, Lottie was not really a coward, and when she had decided on a certain course, she kept to it, as we have already seen.
NEXT day, Lottie informed her brother of her decision to return to her aunt, and apologize for her unceremonious departure.
Joel was very glad that she had come to this conclusion of her own free will, for he had feared he might have trouble in bringing her to it. He more than half-suspected that Flora had a good deal to do with his sister's present submissive state, and was accordingly grateful.
Lottie bade her friends good-bye, and with Joel to keep her courage up, turned her face determinedly toward her aunt's home, only making a comical grimace, as Flora whispered to her some words of encouragement, adding the assurance that all would come out right.
The brother and sister walked on together in silence, for some time; and then it was Joel who talked, for Lottie was too busy thinking to care for conversation. She acted as guide until they stood under the old poplar in front of the quiet little house, and then she took refugebehind her brother, who marched undauntedly up to the door, and gave a knock, which said plainly: "Here are some people who mean business."
The knock evidently surprised Mrs. Durand, for she opened the door herself, instead of telling them to "Come in," as was her usual custom.
At first she saw no one but Joel, and seemed strongly inclined to close the door upon him; but when she caught sight of Lottie, standing demurely behind him, she steadied herself firmly upon her canes, and inquired, "What do you want?"
"In the first place, Aunt Emmeline," said Joel, calmly, "I suppose you know me?"
"No, I can't say I do," was the reply.
"I am not much surprised. It has been some time since we met. I am Joel Piper, your nephew, and Lottie's brother."
Mrs. Durand said nothing, but only stood and looked.
"Lottie, come here; Aunt Emmeline, Lottie has something to say to you."
Lottie came from behind her brother, and speaking rapidly, as if she were afraid she would lose courage if she did not talk fast, said: "I've come to say that I amsorry I acted so badly, Aunt Emmeline, and if you will let me, I'll come back again."
"Come in," was the brusque command. Joel and Lottie entered, and Mrs. Durand closed the door. Then she turned to them, and said, simply:
"If you want to come back, I guess you may."
Lottie shrugged her shoulders. She wanted so much to say that she did not come back because she wanted to, but because she thought she ought, and she bit her tongue, by way of admonishing that unruly member to keep still.
Joel guessed something of what was passing in his sister's mind, and hastened to engage Mrs. Durand in conversation.
She seemed really touched as the young man recounted the history of his sickness and sufferings in a strange city; and Lottie, sitting silently listening, was more than half convinced that she had judged her aunt too severely. By the time Joel was ready to go, she was quite satisfied that shedidwant to come back. Then the old house really looked homelike, especially after the feeling of loneliness and homesickness she had experienced the day before as she walked the streets not knowing which way to look for shelter.
That evening, after everything was done, as Mrs. Durand was seated by the fire in her easy chair, and Lottie was hemming a table-cloth, Mrs. Durand asked abruptly:
"Why did you come back?"
Lottie looked up in astonishment, scarcely knowing what to say. But deeming it best to tell her exact reason, she said: "Because I thought it was my duty to do it."
For a while there was silence, during which Lottie glanced up timidly to see the effect of her words upon her aunt, but she could discover nothing.
"I suppose you were pretty angry with me, when you went?" was the next remark.
"Awful!" said Lottie, catching her breath at her own temerity.
Again there was silence.
"Well," returned Mrs. Durand, "if you hadn't been in such a hurry, I should have told you I didn't mean to strike you; but, I suppose I can tell you so now, can't I?"
"Oh dear, Aunt Emmeline, you needn't say anything at all about it," said Lottie, eagerly. "I acted just horrid; I know I did."
"I can't blame you much, child. Old people like me, with the rheumatism, are apt to be snappish. But I guesswe both have had a lesson we will not be likely to forget. Come, now, I think it is time you were in bed, so put away your sewing, and go."
"Can I get you anything, aunt?" asked Lottie, as she prepared to obey.
"Nothing at all, my dear," was the soft reply, that sent Lottie upstairs in a state of pleasurable surprise at the turn things had taken. Never had she felt more glad of anything than she was to find herself in the little chamber again, because it was home.
Joel, in the meantime, after he had seen his sister fairly reinstated in her old place, returned to Mrs. Hazeley's, where he duly reported the success of his visit.
Flora was very glad things were straightening out for her young friend, Lottie, for she was really fond of her, because of her open, truthful nature.
A few days more Joel spent with his friends, and then, after arranging with his aunt for his sister's future, insisting on supplying her needs outside of her board, for which Mrs. Durand would accept nothing, he left, to return to his work, feeling at least contented, if not carrying back with him the memory of a happy home welcome and reunion. It was good to have somebody to work for andcare for, and Joel was accustomed to placing full value upon present blessings or privileges, and his example had not been lost upon Lottie, whose lot, while greatly changed and improved, was by no means entirely freed from thorns, for Aunt Emmeline was still Aunt Emmeline, and was likely to continue to be so. However, since Lottie's return, she had treated the girl with a fair amount of consideration, much to her satisfaction and enjoyment. Lottie was beginning to feel at home. In fact, as the months rolled by, and she grew in age and experience, Lottie gradually became the household manager, and her aunt was content to oversee.
After a time, Mr. Piper grew tired of "rolling around," as he informed his sister and daughter, and determined to marry a second time. He moreover informed Lottie that it would be more agreeable to all concerned if she would conclude to remain with her aunt.
"Humph!" said that good woman. "It's well that it is agreeable to all; but suppose it wasn't? As it is, child," she added, "you know you are welcome to a home with me just as long as you want it. I have no wish to part with you. But I must say, your father is pretty cool."
At one time Lottie's heart would have beaten tumultuouslyat the prospect of a permanent home with Aunt Emmeline, but it was not so now, and she felt very grateful, when she lay down that night, that God had so cared for her, when she could not care for herself.
To return to our friends, the Hazeleys. They had all removed to Brinton, all but Alec, who seemed so well-contented with his quarters at Major Joe's, that he did not wish to change. There was really no necessity for him to do so. He was doing well at school, although he was by no means what might be considered a brilliant pupil. In fact, his own prediction that he would be no scholar, but a practical farmer, seemed likely to come true.
Major Joe had other help now, and Alec gave his time out of school and during holidays, to the owner of a large farm in the immediate neighborhood, where he was learning many things that were needful to know in his chosen calling. He always came home at night, and was known all around as a "fine lad." Major Joe had grown too feeble to attend market any longer, and so he had turned that part of his business over to the young man, who now had charge of his garden, and who, it seemed more than likely would have charge of Ruth some time in the future, when he had grown able to do so. The major remained athome, alternately nursing his rheumatic limbs, and helping "mother" and Ruth with the poultry, of which they raised a quantity, and, as Jem said, were "getting awful rich off the eggs and things." Ruth was a thrifty, thorough-going little housekeeper, one after her grandmother's own heart, while Jem was just a lively little girl, who insisted on bestowing her help, which, however, usually proved more of a hindrance. She was, however, the pet of the old people, and made things merry in the little cottage.
Alec Hazeley had gone to see his brother as soon as he had heard of his return, and had spent some days at home prior to the removal of the family. And he was the last object they saw as they steamed out of the station. Mrs. Martin was no longer the active, stirring woman she had been before her illness, but was now a confirmed invalid. She was much altered, in every way, and was very glad to have her sister and family with her; and they were altogether a peaceful, happy, little household.
It was not Harry's intention to remain at home long after he had seen his mother and sister settled. But, somehow—perhaps it was because every one seemed glad to have him there—he stayed longer than he had intended; and, surprising to himself, and altogether delightful toFlora and his mother, he one day informed them that he felt he had received a decided call to the ministry.
"Oh, Harry!" cried his sister. "How sudden! I wasn't dreaming of such a thing; but I amsoglad."
"Yes," answered Harry, seriously, "I feel as if I must prepare myself to preach. Something tells me, and I feel sure it is the voice of God, that I shall prosper at nothing else but winning souls for Christ. As I was snatched from the toils of the Evil One, so must I help save others. I believe that God rescued me for that very purpose."
Aunt Sarah was delighted, and would hear of nothing but that he should immediately begin to fit himself for his new work. The family circle was again broken, but this time, how different the circumstances, and how hopeful the future appeared, with all united in the bond of love for Christ and a hope for his re-appearing.