The Influences of a Good Home.
T
en years have elapsed. On a stormy September afternoon, in a room of a two-storeyed cottage, situate at the bottom of the Rohais, a woman lay dying. Her husband knelt beside her bed, holding his wife's hand.
The stillness that prevailed was only disturbed by an occasional sob from the husband, and the short irregular breathing of the dying woman.
The breathing suddenly became more regular. The husband looked at his wife. He saw that she wanted to speak to him, and immediately approached his head nearer to her.
"I am going, John," said the woman in a faint tone; "I feel that I am rapidly drawing nearer the end. I know you will take care of our son, and—if ever you marry——"
Here she paused as if unable to go on.
"Oh! don't mention that, I will never marry again, dearest. I will look forward with eagerness to our second meeting. I shall meet you there, Annie," he said, and, pressing her hand between both his own, he gazed earnestly into his wife's half-closed eyes.
Mrs. Mathers sank back on her pillow, exhausted with the effort which she had made to speak those few words. Presently a change came over her face. Her husband beckoned to Marie, theservant, who hardly dared to approach, awed as she was at having to witness a person in the grip of death.
The end came, swift and pangless. The soul passed from the body to its eternal resting place.
Marie stood beside the bed, her big eyes fixed on the corpse, hardly able to believe her senses.
"But, I thought Madame was better, much better," she said, half aloud, half to herself.
"Ah! unfortunately," said the widower, "'twas only the lull before the storm—a state which is common to people dying from consumption. Make haste," he continued to the bewildered Abigail, "put the blinds down."
Marie did as she was told and the man proceeded downstairs.
In the kitchen, seated on a chair, a boy was sobbing. His father had just told him that death had visited them. And the boy felt completely weighed down with grief. His mother had been so good to him. "Such an excellent mother," he said to himself; "ah, how I shall miss her."
He sobbed silently; the hot tears were few and far between. His grief was too intense to be demonstrative.
He stayed there for fully an hour, in the same attitude, bowed down as it were by this heavy load which had fallen upon him.
Let us go back into Frank Mathers' history—for Frank Mathers it was who mourned his mother's loss—for a few years.
Mr. Mathers, his wife and only son were seated round the fire one evening.
"You will be fourteen years of age to-morrow," said Frank's father, "it is time for me to think of finding you a situation."
Frank did not answer, the idea of leaving school did not please him; he looked up from his book for an instant, then pretended to resume his reading.
"I shall talk to Mr. Baker, the grain merchant; as you have a liking for books, I think you would do well in his office. Would you like to go?" said his father.
"If you think I am old enough to leave school," mumbled Frank.
"Certainly you are old enough," said his father, "we can't afford to keep you at school all your life."
Mrs. Mathers looked at her son sympathetically, she knew he loved his school immensely.
"You will only have to be at the office from nine till five, and, if you are diligent, you shall be able to study a few hours every day," she said.
"Yes," said the boy reluctantly.
In less than a week after this, Frank had left school and was settled in Mr. Baker's employment.
The winter was beginning to make itself felt, and the days were growing shorter and shorter. Ah! how Frank liked these winter evenings. He took his books, and, drawing his chair near a small table close to the fire, he kept plodding on, evening after evening, educating himself constantly.
At the age of nineteen, he obtained a situation as clerk in a bank. He possessed a good knowledge of English and French. He was also acquainted with German, Latin and Mathematics.
He had learnt unaided two systems of shorthand: one English and one French.
Neither was he ignorant of other useful sciences, of which he had striven to acquire at least a few elements.
Thus armed for the world's battle, he thought himself almost invulnerable. "I am bound to succeed," he sometimes said to himself. "I have done all that I possibly could do towards that end. I don't believe in chance. 'What a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'"
If ever a youth deserved to succeed, it certainly was Frank Mathers. He had sacrificed many pleasures for the sake of better fitting himself for life's struggle. Often, when his companions invited him to spend an evening in questionable pleasures; "No, he would answer, I have no time for that." At last, they ceased to torment him.
He liked these evenings spent at home, quietly, near the fire, alone with his mother, who sometimes lifted her eyes from her knitting or sewing, and affectionately gazed for a few moments upon her son.
They were nearly always alone, mother and son; for the father, who was a carpenter, spent his evenings in the workshop.
As her son neared his twentieth birthday, Mrs. Mathers felt that she would never live to see it. She was very anxious for her son's future. After all, would he always keep in the path in which he was now walking?
One evening when she felt worse than usual, her anxiousness for her son's welfare rose to such a pitch that she ventured to speak a few words to him.
"Frank," she began, "you know that I am not in very good health."
"Yes, mother."
"I don't think I shall live long," continued she, "and, I should so much like to know if you haveformed a decision to be a noble, good, and upright man."
"You are not going to die," said the youth in a half-frightened tone, "you will be better soon, I hope."
"No," she said, "I am slowly but steadily declining;" then she added in a very affectionate tone: "Will you promise me, Frank, that you will always strive to do what is right?"
"Mother," replied the son, his voice quivering with emotion: "I will be good."
Neither of them said another word for a few minutes. Their hearts were too full. Affectionate love, grief and resignation were filling their souls.
Soon, the father entered and the family retired.
Next day Mrs. Mather's prophecies were fulfilled. She felt much worse and stayed in bed. In less than a week, she was dead and buried.
Thus deprived of his mother, Frank Mathers felt intensely lonely. He suppressed his grief as much as possible, but it could be seen that he suffered.
He had his father, 'tis true, but Mr. Mathers was a man of a gloomy temperament. But a young man of nineteen ought not to be attached to his mother's pinafore! The house seemed so empty, it seemed quite large now, a roomy house with no furniture. The air he breathed was not perfumed with the sweet breath of love as it was wont to be.
He grew melancholy. He had never been of a very bright temperament, and the life of self-sacrifice which he had hitherto led, had not helped him towards being cheerful.
Besides, there was no one to cheer him now, no kind word to spur him on. "Ah! life withoutlove," he sighed, "life without love is hardly worth living."
From bad he went to worse. He almost ceased to eat. He lost a great deal of his former activity and was often absent-minded. His employers noticed this, for he often made false entries in the books.
One morning, the manager of the bank thought fit to speak to him. "I cannot make out what ails you," he said, "but you will have to be more careful in the future."
"Pull yourself up, Mr. Mathers, try and take more interest in your work, or I shall feel obliged to dispense with your services altogether."
"I must try," answered Frank. "Iwilltry, Sir."
And try he did, but all to no purpose.
A cloud seemed to hang over him; he was in a state of lethargy. "Am I going mad?" he said to himself more than once. No! he was not insane, not yet at any rate; he simply took no interest in life. Nothing seemed to distract him; he cared for nothing, spoke to no one except when questioned.
His father and Marie often tried to coax him into conversation.
In answer he sometimes said "Bah! life is but an empty bubble," oftener, he said nothing at all, but gazed fixedly at the floor all the time.
A few days after the manager had spoken to him, he ceased to go to work altogether. He did not send a letter to his employers, telling them of his intention to leave; of what use was it? everything was nothing to him.
It was not for his departed mother that he grieved. He grieved not. He hardly gave her athought now, and, when he did, his eyes seemed to brighten up and his lips muttered: "Thou art happy."
The doctor who examined him shrugged his shoulders. "Hypochondria," he said as he met the enquiring glance of Mr. Mathers; then he added: "He will probably be better in a few weeks."
The neighbours, without being consulted, said: "He is mad."
The days came and went, and after a few months of melancholiness he grew a little bit better. His father noticed that he began to take an interest in the culture of the garden.
"I shall have to find work for him," thought Mr. Mathers, and, one day, when his son seemed in a more joyous mood than usual, he spoke to him.
"Do you think that if I built a greenhouse you could take care of it?" he questioned.
"I think so," said his son.
"Work is slack just now," went on Mr. Mathers, "I might as well put up one in the garden as do nothing."
"I think I should very much like to grow tomatoes and grapes," Frank remarked.
"You feel better now, then," said the father. These were the first words which he ventured to speak to his son about his health, now that the latter's senses seemed to have returned to him.
"Have I been ill?" said Frank; and then after a pause——"Of course, I have not been very well lately,—yes, I am better, I think I am myself again."
"Well;" said his father, "it is agreed, we shall have a greenhouse. I think you had better go inthe garden and see if you can find something to do there."
Frank did as he was requested. The garden at the back of the house was a small one, covering some twenty-five perches; of these eight were to be blessed, or cursed, with a glass covering.
While Frank was engaged in tying up some Chrysanthemums, he was joined by Marie, the servant.
"Doin' a bit o' work, Master Frank," she said.
"Yes, a little," he replied.
"Well, that's better than mopin' about doing nothing," was the not over-particular rejoinder.
Frank smiled. "Well," he said, "a fellow must do something when he can, but there are times when he cannot."
"Perhaps," said Marie, rather absent-mindedly, as if she had not understood the meaning of his words.
She glanced around her, to make sure that there was no one about; then she came quite close to Frank. "Have you heard the news?" she said.
"What news?" questioned Frank.
"Why, they say your father is goin' to marry; didn't you know?"
Frank's face became livid, his lips tightened, his pruning knife dropped from his hand.
"What?" he exclaimed, as if he had not fully understood.
"Your father's going to marry again," said the servant in an undertone, "and I'll tell you who told me so, it was Jim Tozer, her brother; he ought to know."
"The brother of whom?" questioned Frank mechanically.
"The brother of Miss Tozer," informed Marie.
"I should have thought that your father would have stuck a little more to his word, for when your poor, dear mother was dying, she mentioned something to your father about marrying. He pretended to cry, and bawled out: 'Don't mention it, I'll never marry again; I'll never marry again.'"
"And mother been dead only five months," said Frank, more to himself than otherwise.
"But it won't be yet, you know," said Marie. "Jim Tozer told me they would probably wait till next year."
Then seeing Mr. Mathers coming towards them, she pretended to gather some parsley close by, and quickly re-entered the house.
Frank's father did not talk to his son then, but began taking measures for the greenhouse.
As for Frank, he was extremely angry with his father. He thought that his mother's memory was being slighted; but he resolved not to say a word about it to his father, and to let matters stand as they were.
Time passed on. The winter was over. It was the month of April. The birds sang in the trees, the grass was springing up, the fields were being clothed in verdure. Nature, which had lain so long dormant, was awakening. From the trees which looked dead a few weeks ago little buds were peeping forth, taking their first view of the world.
Frank Mathers was filled with delight as he watched this development of nature.
One evening when he had just finished planting some tomatoes, he was surprised to see his father enter the greenhouse.
Mr. Mathers' face was rather pale. He looked agitated.
"They look well," said the father, meaning the tomato plants.
"Yes, theydolook well," answered his son; "I was just thinking as much before you came in."
There was a long silence here. Frank knew that his father had something to communicate to him, and he guessed what it was. However, he did not help him out of his embarrassment.
Finally, after several preliminary hems to clear his throat, Mr. Mathers began: "It is a good thing that the tomatoes are planted; to-morrow you will not work, I suppose."
"I hope I shall, I have all these boxes to clear away."
"Yes, yes, but to-morrow I am going to be married."
Frank did not answer. He raised his eyes and looked straight at his father. His lips quivered and refused to utter a sound.
The son's gaze was more than a match for the father's. Mr. Mathers was not yet so hardened as to laugh and look back defiantly at his son. He, however, recovered his self-composure, tried to make himself believe that he was in his perfect right, and in a well-feigned voice—"Well?" he said interrogatively.
Not a word came from the son's lips; a deep sigh escaped him. He stepped forward and walked out of the greenhouse, leaving his father there—alone.
The couple were quietly married at the Greffe the next day.
Frank went about his work as usual, and when he came in to dine, his step-mother was awaiting him, her face beaming with smiles.
When Frank found himself thus confronted byMrs. Mathers No. 2, he did not feel nearly so hostile to her as he had felt towards his father.
He could not however welcome her warmly when his heart clamoured otherwise. He was not a hypocrite.
When the husband advanced with his wife, the youth took the outstretched hand and in a cold tone, his lips still uttering what his heart did not inspire, he said, as if welcoming a stranger: "I am happy to make your acquaintance, madam."
He soon perceived that he had gone rather too far. He had acted on the impulse of the moment. In fact, he had dug the abyss that was ever to lie between his step-mother and himself.
"After all," he said to himself, "it is better to obey one's heart." He did not even stop to think that there were two powers at work.
He was more to be pitied than blamed. He had loved his mother dearly, and now that she was dead, he revered her memory.
He now perceived the influence of a good home. It had rescued him from a life of idleness and perhaps of vice. The genial atmosphere of their little parlour had kept him at home even more than his books, which he, however, cared a good deal for.
But now, it was all finished. This place would no more be home. It was a house, a comfortable dwelling place; that was all. He would now have to live amongst unattractive and semi-hostile surroundings.
Through his own fault, he would suffer. One thought however strengthened him. Thousands of others had suffered for conscience's sake. He remembered how his blood rushed to his face, when he read about the tortures of the martyrs of religion;or the driving into exile of the patriots of Poland.
Strengthened with these thoughts, he rose, more determined than ever to do right; to champion the good; to work; to study; to strive to acquire wisdom.
The Reward of Inordinate Ambition.
F
rank Mathers had hours of dejection. Like every other person, he had his faults. In one of these fits of depression he grew impatient. Then, his ambition turned in the wrong direction. He was seized with a mania for getting rich quickly.
How to proceed, he did not know.
At last he thought that if he could invent something useful, and patent it, he would soon acquire what he so much desired to possess. Now, there are thousands who are constantly trying to do as much, but they are as likely to succeed as they were when they first began.
Frank was one day walking along a country lane when he perceived a cow which had broken loose.
She galloped about, her tail erect, her head lowered.
He pursued the animal, and after a prolonged chase and much dodging and capering on the part of both, he managed to grasp the rope which was tied round the brute's horns. He held it tightly and proceeded to tether his captive. But when he had driven the peg in the ground, he noticed that it was very easily pulled up.
He pondered over this as he proceeded towards his home. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. "I have it," he said to himself. "I will have apeg, which, when being driven, will go all right, but when pulled about, will release two small prongs at the sides. This will make it impossible for anyone to pull it up; a small knob will be affixed which, when turned, will replace the prongs, and the peg will come out in a jiffy."
"Ah!" he went on thinking, "this would be a useful thing, an article which would command a ready sale. Besides, it would be used wherever a good gripping peg would be necessary."
He was enthusiastic. His mind was already full of different schemes which he would start when he had acquired fame and riches.
When he came home, he was so sure of success that he imparted his idea to his step-mother, with whom he was not generally very confidant.
Poor Frank! the volley of mockery which he received quite baffled him.
"So you think to make your fortune in that way," she said. "No, no, my boy, you never will."
"But don't you see that it's a most useful thing, that——"
"Stop, stop," she interrupted, "don't make me laugh. Do you think that people are going to listen to your nonsense? Why! your peg would get clogged with earth and would not act."
"Wouldn't it though, at any rate, it's worth thinking over, so I'll do that."
"If you choose to spend your money in that fashion, you can do so," retorted the lady, smiling contemptuously.
"You won't laugh at me this day month," thought Frank as he made his exit.
Once alone again, he grew more determined than ever. His mind was completely dazzled with the bright future before him.
Next morning, he posted a letter to an inventor's agency in London. He stated that he had invented something he knew would be useful, and very much in demand if manufactured. The letter went on to detail in full length the "safety peg." Then he went on to say that he would very much like to have it patented and if they would kindly send terms and advice in the course of a mail or two, he would be thankful.
Two days afterwards, he hoped to receive the joyful news. "They will certainly write soon,—such a valuable article—besides, they have an interest in its being patented," he said to himself.
He accordingly watched for the postman, and as soon as he saw him, his heart beat wildly. To think that he had the precious missive. He approaches, and now he is going to open the gate,—no, he passes without even looking in the direction of the house.
"Surely he must be forgetting," thought Frank, and he shouted: "Mr. Pedvin, have you any letter for me?"
"No; not to day," said the postman—and he went on his way.
"What are they up to now?" thought the youth, "they ought to make haste. I'll wait till to-morrow, and if I don't receive any news, I'll send them a note, and a pretty sharp one too."
Next day he again watched for the postman's arrival. He felt miserable; the state of uncertainty in which he was, caused him to be depressed. Still he could not imagine that the letter would contain anything contrary to his hopes.
The idea was so far from his wishes that he shook it away at once; he could not even bear to think of it.
But the postman came not, and it was now ten o'clock. He remembered with pain that the day before he had passed by at half-past nine.
"I must attend to my work," he thought, "he will come presently." He went about the greenhouse, watering his plants, but every other minute he opened the door and anxiously watched for the bringer of good news to put in an appearance.
He came at last. He handed a letter to Frank who ran towards him to receive it.
"You seem very much in earnest," remarked the postman, "maybe it's a love-letter. And from London too," he added noticing the post mark.
"I'm not so foolish as that," said Frank; as if such letters were below his dignity; "this is about an invention which I am going to have patented."
The postman showed the whites of his eyes, then turned on his heels and continued his journey.
Frank tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter and read:—
"London."We are in receipt of your letter of the 3rd instant, and have much pleasure in informing you that your invention has not, to our best knowledge, been patented or manufactured."We think it would prove very well in rural districts."The best way for you, would be to secure it by provisional protection for nine months."Please forward us £2 10s., and we will send you, at our earliest possible convenience, the necessary documents."
"London.
"We are in receipt of your letter of the 3rd instant, and have much pleasure in informing you that your invention has not, to our best knowledge, been patented or manufactured.
"We think it would prove very well in rural districts.
"The best way for you, would be to secure it by provisional protection for nine months.
"Please forward us £2 10s., and we will send you, at our earliest possible convenience, the necessary documents."
"Hurrah!" shouted Frank joyfully. "I'll send them the money as soon as I can."
He read the letter a second time to make sure that his eyes had not deceived him. Suddenly he stopped reading. No, it was not in the letter. A thought had struck him. "I will have to mention the money matter to my step-mother, for she keeps the keys of my drawer," he said in a soliloquy.
He went into the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Mathers were there. Frank flourished the letter in his hand and exclaimed: "My invention is likely to be a success." And, holding the letter in both his hands, he read it to his parents.
He emphasized the points that were in his favour, with all the force which he was capable of displaying.
Mrs. Mathers looked satisfied enough till her step-son came to the money matter. Here her face lengthened and as soon as he had finished reading she said: "Clever people; they think they are going to pocket all this money with a few words of flattering."
"Someone must pay for the one pound stamp and other expenses," answered Frank.
"After all this spending of money, perhaps it would not prove," rejoined Mrs. Mathers.
"We won't know if we don't try," retorted Frank; "people don't make fortunes staring about them with their hands in their pockets."
"But you don't mean to say," almost angrily said Mrs. Mathers, "that you would send them your money in that fashion?"
"I do," answered the young man in a decided tone. He was growing impatient at what he thought to be a wanton check of progress on his step-mother's part.
Here, Mr. Mathers left the room without having said a word.
Frank watched him disappear and then remarked: "Do you think these people are going to work for nothing? They would be fools."
"Oh! 'tis nottheywho are fools," sarcastically remarked his step-mother.
The young man waxed hot. His whole being was rising in wrath within him. He, however, mastered his passions. It was his duty to bend, and he did so. "If I could convince her, if I could make her feel as I myself feel," he thought.
For one minute he was silent, not knowing how to begin the speech that was to bring conviction into her soul.
"Ah!" he thought as he looked at his step-mother who had resumed her work as if the debate was settled, "she checks me when I try to push myself; she tries to nip my plans in the bud. When, with a few words of encouragement, I might soon be a rising man. But I must convince her—I must. If I don't succeed in doing it, I will act alone. The money is mine, why should I not be able to do what I like with it. If, however, I could bring her to think as I do."
"I have always tried to push myself," he began in a somewhat tender and pleading tone, "and you never give me one word of encouragement or praise."
Mrs. Mathers looked up: "You try in the wrong direction," she said, "earn money by all means, but don't throw it away like a simpleton."
Unheeding this, Frank resumed: "If I do not try and make life a success I don't know anyone who will do it for me. I have studied. Many an evening have I sat up with my books thinking ofthe use my knowledge would be to me in future life; many an outing have I denied myself for the sake of studying; many a pleasure have I sacrificed for the sake of acquiring knowledge. I did not care, work did not seem heavy, because it carried with it a hope of future happiness. I worked on till late in the evening. I rose early in the morning to resume my studies. And, if sometimes I felt discouraged, worn out by the ceaseless toil, I said to myself: 'Take courage—science is bitter but its fruit is sweet.' I have tried to cultivate myself as much as possible, to fill my mind with all that is noble, pure, and elevating—to acquire good habits by shunning bad society and by reading good books—in short, I have sacrificed my past self for the sake of my future self.
"And now (his tone grew inexpressibly sad), when I try to gather a few of the fruits which I have grown, you throw yourself between fortune and me.
"It is exactly as I was reading in a book the other day, in which the writer said: 'The cause of many failures is that men wait for something to turn up instead of turning up something for themselves'——"
"You and your books," ejaculated Mrs. Mathers,—"but I'll have no more of this begging and grumbling; do as you like, throw your money to the dogs, give it to whomsoever you choose. Perhaps, when you know the value of money, you will learn to appreciate it more. For my part, I will have nothing more to do about this tomfoolery."
Frank left the room with a light heart. He was free, at liberty to do whatever he chose. He chuckled to himself: "Libertyissweet. I willnow show them what I can do when I have no one to hinder me. However, I will wait a day or two before sending the money. I must not act too quickly,—I will think it over."
He went about his work. He felt that manual labour was almost below his dignity now. What! he, an inventor—a benefactor of mankind—the probable millionaire of years to come—he, who would soon be looked upon as the foremost man of the island, pointed at and envied by everyone—watering tomatoes. Oh! it certainly was below his rank. However, he would work yet for a few days and then, well then he would appear in his proper sphere.
Poor fellow, he had yet another of life's lessons to learn. He little imagined the crushing blow that was to fall on him and scatter all his hopes.
That evening he went to bed with his head brim full of ideas and plans for the future. His heart overflowed with delight. He dreamt of nothing but inventions, huge fortunes and fame.
Next morning, when he awoke, his head had cleared, but his ideas were the same. He never doubted for a moment the certainty of his success.
During the course of the morning there were instants in which he felt less confident. What if he did not succeed—what would his step-mother say—what would he himself do, he who had made this scheme part of his being. But he would prosper, why, here (looking at the letter) was the opinion of people who had been amongst inventions for years.
A shadow seemed to cross the path of the greenhouse. "I think someone has passed by," he thought, "I will go and see." Suiting the action to the thought, he sprang at the door andopened it. What was his astonishment to see the postman. Two days following! it was an event, for they seldom received letters.
On hearing the noise which Frank made on opening the door, the postman turned round and handed him a letter. He was agreeably surprised to see that it was from the inventors' agency, but his delight was soon changed into bitter anger and bitterest disappointment when he had read its contents. It was worded thus:
"London."Dear Sir,—We are sorry to inform you that the invention we were about to patent for you, had, we have just found out, been patented before."The inventor, we have learned, ruined himself in trying to push it."
"London.
"Dear Sir,—We are sorry to inform you that the invention we were about to patent for you, had, we have just found out, been patented before.
"The inventor, we have learned, ruined himself in trying to push it."
He read it twice over. Alas! it was too true. Sadly and mournfully he went into the house, there to think of his misfortune.
He entered the little parlour, threw himself on a chair, took the letter from his pocket and re-read it.
He crumpled the letter in his hand and exclaimed: "'Tis too true, there is not the slightest hope; ah! this is indeed a cloud with no silver lining."
He rose, paced the room in an agitated state and muttered: "But yesterday, I thought myself a rising man, now, I have utterly failed; that upon which I had set my heart, upon which my thoughts had dwelt and upon which my hopes had been built, has fallen to the ground."
"Such joy ambition finds," something seemed to echo within him.
New Acquaintances.
F
or a week or so Frank Mathers grieved about his misfortune. At the end of that time, an event occurred which completely distracted him.
He was taking a walk a few miles from his home, not far from the Forest Church. When he came near the farm of "Les Marches," he perceived a man, who, seated on a branch, was sawing it. This branch projected over a quarry which was filled with water.
Suddenly, the branch gave way, and Mr. Rougeant (such was this man's name), fell into the water.
Frank at once ran towards the spot, taking off his coat as he hastened along. He was a good and plucky swimmer. When he came near the quarry, the drowning man was struggling for dear life. Frank seized the position in a moment. He saw that it would be useless to jump into the water, because, when once in, he would not be able to reach the edge of the quarry, for the water's surface was quite four feet below that of the ground. There was not a moment to lose. The man had already gone down twice; he was coming up for the second time. Frank took his coat in one hand, and, leaning over the edge of the quarry at the risk of falling in himself, he caught hold of a tuft of grass with the other hand, and awaited the drowning man's appearance.
The farmer rose to the surface, struggling. His eyes were dilated, his whole countenance presented a frightened and imploring appearance.
He uttered a cry, 'twas a cry in which he poured forth all his soul; his last and supreme appeal to heaven and earth; but one word, but ah! what a deep prayer to one, what an earnest appeal to the other, were centred in that word: "Help."
"Seize this, seize this," cried Frank.
The drowning man saw the dangling sleeve, his last chance of salvation. Frantically he clutched at it. Ah! he has missed it. No, as he was going down for the third time he threw out his arm once more. It was a forlorn hope, but it was successful. He caught hold of the coat with both his hands and raised himself. He found a creek in which he placed his foot, and with Frank's manly help, was soon extricated from his perilous position.
Mr. Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from a watery grave.
Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took off his boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did not describe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He had broad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and a formidable nose. Under his nasal organ, there bristled a short moustache.
When he had partly recovered his senses, he looked around him. "Where is my saw?" he questioned, then he added: "My hat, where is it?"
The hat, probably a leaky one, had gone to the bottom.
Frank was as much amused as he was astonished to hear him. He replied: "I suppose they must both be given up as lost."
"It is a pity," said the prostrate man, "it was a good saw, and a brand new one too."
The man spoke in the patois of the island, a kind of old Norman French which the young man understood very well. He, therefore, answered in the same language.
"Shall I go and call your people?" Frank said after a while.
"No, thank you, I think I can walk home."
He stood up and they both proceeded towards the farm-house.
"Not a word of thanks," soliloquized Frank, as he surveyed the strong frame and the powerful limbs of his companion.
Just then the farmer turned abruptly to him: "A good thing you were passing near at the time of the accident. I might have been drowned," he said.
"I am very glad of having been of service to you," answered Frank.
"You're a good fellow," resumed the farmer looking at him and nodding. "It's not everybody," he continued, "who would have had the sense to do as you have done."
They arrived at the farm-house, a two-storeyed house, without any pretence at architecture, and with a slate covering: the house was surrounded by stables, pig-sties, a small garden and a conservatory. In front of the house was a parterre, most tastefully arranged with flowers which surrounded an immense fuschia, five feet in height and covering an area of about fifty square feet.
The two men entered by the front door. Mr.Rougeant led his rescuer into the kitchen. Here was Jeanne, a French servant, occupied in poking the fire.
"Ah, but dear me," she exclaimed as she caught sight of the pair, "what has Mr. Rougeant been doing now?"
"I fell in the quarry," said the farmer gruffly, "go and prepare some dry clothing, be quick, make haste."
Jeanne immediately did as she was bid. She did not leave the room, however, without casting an inquisitive glance at Frank.
"Adèle," shouted Mr. Rougeant in a voice of thunder, "where are you?"
"Miss Rougeant is gone, she told me she would not be long," answered the servant from upstairs.
"Oh, yes, always gone," said the father of Adèle, in none too pleasant a tone; "those young girls are always out when most wanted."
Then he began to talk about his quarry. "Only a year ago that quarry was being worked. There were twenty men employed in it. It paid well then. But it's all over now. The man who worked it found a little bit of rubbish in his way, and, like a fool, he got frightened and left working it, and now you see it's full of water. Are the clothes ready?" This was said, or rather shouted to the servant.
"Yes, Sir, they're ready; I'm coming," said Jeanne.
"It's time," said Mr. Rougeant rising, "I am trembling all over now." He had been shivering for the last quarter of an hour.
When he was half way up the stairs he called out: "Of course you will wait till I come down again, I shall not be long Mr. ——."
"All right, Sir, don't hurry," answered Frank.
Left alone in the kitchen, the young man had time to examine the room. He had never been in a farm-house before.
On one side, ranged along the wall, was an oblong table which was bare. Above it, against the wall, was a shelf on which Frank could discern three or four big home-made loaves of bread.
On the opposite side, was a deal dresser on which were ranged saucers and plates, while cups and mugs were hung upon nails driven into the edge of the shelves; He was in the midst of his examination when someone entered the house by a back door. "Is it the girl of whom Mr. Rougeant spoke?" he wondered. Then he pictured her to himself: a tall overgrown country-lass, with hands like a working man's, and feet! well, one might just as well not think about them, they were repulsively large; it was a blessing that they were hidden from view.
He was in the midst of his imaginations when Adèle Rougeant stepped into the kitchen. On perceiving Frank she was a little astonished, but soon recovered her self-control and assumed a well-bred smile.
The young man immediately hastened to explain the cause of his presence. He was greatly astonished. Here, then, was the corpulent country-girl his imagination had fancied! Before him stood a young lady altogether different to anything he had pictured her to be. "A girl of about seventeen," he tells himself, but later on he discovered that she was one year older than that; plainly, but well dressed. Her gown fitted her slender form to perfection. Every detail in her dress was arranged with such taste, her smallshoes, the exquisite lace round her throat and such a charming face peeping out of it all. She was not beautiful, but she was pretty and attractive, she opened her mouth when she smiled as well as when she spoke.
"Pray be seated," said the young lady to Frank who had risen on her approach.
Frank sat down, quite confused and ready to run out of the room. He felt very timid, so far, as to be uncivil; in the presence of Adèle. A young man who has spent most of his time alone, studying, will be timid when he meets a representative of the softer sex.
He scarcely lifted his eyes from the floor. He knew she would think him ill-bred, he was ashamed of himself, but he could not help it. He was full of bashfulness. Now, bashfulness is almost always a sure sign ofamour-propre.
He scolded himself, but his red face grew redder. It was soon of a colour resembling peacock-blue.
Noticing his discomposure, Miss Rougeant could not help sharing some of it, and, doubtless, things would soon have come to an awkward point for both, if Mr. Rougeant had not put in an appearance.
"So this is the gentleman who saved your life?" said his daughter, speaking in English.
In the same language Mr. Rougeant replied: "Yes, this is he."
She had now regained all her former ease, and knowing her father's manners, thanked Frank most cordially.
He stammered out a few words of acknowledgement.
Seeing that her visitor cast glances at the quaint furniture, and anxious to break the confusingsilence, Adèle went on: "Doubtless you had not seen a kitchen like this before Mr. ——."
"My name is Frank Mathers," interposed the young man.
"And mine is Adèle Rougeant," said she.
"Fancy, putting you in such a kitchen. We must go into the parlour directly."
"This is indeed very quaint and certainly primitive furniture. I must explain the use of——, that is if——."
"I should be greatly obliged," said Frank, "but it really is giving yourself too much trouble."
"On the contrary, it gives me pleasure. This"—pointing to a low kind of bedstead—"was the sofa of our forefathers. We call it ajonquière. It was formerly stuffed with a weed which still grows near the coast; called jonquier—hence its name. These rods were used to hang thecraséauxon them. Acrasé, the singular ofcraséaux, is a lamp of the most primitive type."
"A vessel with a beak in which some oil is poured, and in the beak is placed a wick, while underneath the vessel another one is suspended as a receptacle for the oil which falls from the upper one. Only ten years ago we still used them. I remember it quite well."
"And these are what we call 'lattes,'" she said, pointing to a wooden rack which hung suspended from the ceiling and parallel to it. "As you see, the bacon is kept there."
She stopped here, and looked anxiously at her father. He was pale and trembling. "Are you ill, father?" questioned his daughter.
"No, I'm not ill, although I do not feel quite well. Make me atotaïe," he said, "then I'll go to bed and try to sleep off my indisposition."
His daughter did as her father requested.
When she was out of the room, Frank asked Mr. Rougeant what he meant by atotaïe.
"Oh, it's a capital thing," responded the latter, "toasted bread soaked in warm cider. You swallow cider and all; if that does not drive a cold away, nothing will."
While the young lady was busily engaged in toasting the bread, Frank thought it best to take his leave.
Mr. Rougeant asked him to pay them a visit on the morrow. The young man promised to call. He managed to overcome his timidity sufficiently to raise his eyes as he took leave of Adèle. Her eyes met his, she blushed and immediately dropped her eyelids.
Through the eyes the souls had spoken.