Elsie's Widowhood Page 9

  CHAPTER IX.

  "She led me first to God; Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew." --_Pierpont._

  Elsie's letter to Mrs. Carrington was despatched by the first morningmail, and directly after breakfast Mr. Dinsmore went in search of Boyd.

  Hardened as the man was, he showed some sense of gratitude toward thenew-made widow of his intended victim, when informed of her kindintentions toward himself; some remorse for his attempt to injure himwhom she had so dearly loved.

  "It is really a great deal more than I had the least right to expecteven for my aunt's sake," he said. "Why, sir, it will be like gettingout of hell into heaven!"

  "It is not for Mrs. Carrington's sake alone, or principally--strong asis the tie of friendship between them," replied Mr. Dinsmore, "butrather for the sake of the Master she loves and serves, and who bids Hisfollowers return good for evil."

  "Cant!" sneered Boyd to himself: then aloud, "Well, sir, I wish it werein my power to make some suitable return to Mrs. Travilla; but that cannever be, and unfortunately I cannot even undo the past."

  "No; and that is a thought which might well deter us from evil deeds.Now the next thing is to provide you with a bath, decent clothing, andsuitable attendant, and get you and him aboard the boat, which leaves afew hours hence."

  All this was done and Mr. Dinsmore returned to his daughter with asatisfactory report to that effect.

  Their party remained a few days longer in the Crescent City, thenembarked for Viamede, where they arrived in due season, having met withno accident or detention by the way.

  As on former occasions, they were joyfully welcomed by the old servants;but many tears mingled with the rejoicings, for Mr. Travilla had beengreatly beloved by all, and they wept for both their own loss and thatof their "dear bressed Missus," as they were wont to call her whom hisdeath had widowed.

  She was much overcome at the first, memory vividly recalling formerarrivals when he--her dearest earthly friend--was by her side, givingher the support of his loved presence and sharing her happiness.

  Her thoughts dwelt particularly upon the glad days of their honeymoon;and she seemed to see herself again a loved, loving, cherished bride,now wandering with him through the beautiful orange groves or over thevelvety, flower-bespangled lawn, now seated by his side in the veranda,the parlor, the library, or on some rustic seat under the grand oldtrees, his arm encircling her waist, his eyes looking tenderly intohers; or it might be gliding over the waters of the lakelet or gallopingor driving through the woods, everywhere and always the greatest delightof each the love and companionship of the other.

  Ah, how often she now caught herself listening for the sound of hisvoice, his step, waiting, longing to feel the touch of his hand! Couldshe ever cease to do so?--ever lose that weary homesickness of heartthat at times seemed almost more than mortal strength could endure?

  But she had more than mortal strength to sustain her; the everlastingarms were underneath and around her, the love that can never die, neverchange, was her unfailing support and consolation.

  She indulged in no spirit of repining, no nursing of her grief, but gaveherself with cheerful earnestness to every good work: the careful,prayerful instruction and training of her children as her first duty;then kindly attentions to her old grandfather, to parents and guests;after that the care of house servants, field hands, and the outside poorof the vicinity, neglecting neither their bodies nor their souls; alsohelping the cause of Christ in both her own and foreign lands, withuntiring efforts, earnest, believing prayer, and liberal gifts, strivingto be a faithful steward of the ample means God had committed to hertrust, and rejoicing in the ability to relieve the wants of His people,and to assist in spreading abroad the glad news of salvation throughfaith in Christ.

  There was no gayety at Viamede that winter, but the atmosphere of thehouse was eminently cheerful, its walls often echoing to the blithevoices and merry laughter of the children; never checked or reproved bymamma; the days gliding peacefully by, in a varied round of useful andpleasant employment and delightful recreation that left no room for_ennui_--riding, driving, walking, boating for all, and healthful playfor the children.

  Lester Leland had been heard from, was well, and wrote in so hopeful astrain that the heart of his affianced grew light and joyous. She wasalmost ashamed to find she could be so happy without the dear father solately removed.

  Her mother reassured her on that point: it was right for her to be ashappy as she could; it was what her papa would have highly approved andwished; and then in being so and allowing it to be perceived by thosearound her, she would add to their enjoyment.

  "We are told to 'rejoice in the Lord always,'" concluded the mother,"and a Christian's heart should never be the abode of gloom andsadness."

  "Dear mamma, what an unfailing comfort and blessing you are to me and toall your children," cried the young girl. "Oh, I do thank God every dayfor my mother's dear love, my mother's wise counsels!"

  It was very true, and to mamma each one of the six--or we might sayseven, for Edward did the same by letter--carried every trouble, greator small, every doubt, fear, and perplexity.

  No two of them were exactly alike in disposition--each required a littledifferent management from the others--but attentively studying eachcharacter and asking wisdom from above, the mother succeeded wonderfullywell in guiding and controlling them.

  In this her father assisted her, and she was most careful and decided inupholding his authority, never in any emergency opposing hers to it.

  "Mamma," said Harold, coming to her one day in her dressing-room,"Herbie is in trouble with grandpa."

  "I am very sorry," she said with a look of concern, "but if so it mustbe by his own fault; your grandpa's commands are never unreasonable."

  "No, I suppose not, mamma," Harold returned doubtfully, "but Herbie ishaving a very hard time over his Latin lesson, and says he can't learnit: it is too difficult. Mamma," with some hesitation, "if you wouldspeak to grandpa perhaps he would let him off this once."

  "Do you think that would be a good plan?" she asked with a slight smile."Herbert's great fault is lack of perseverance; he is too easilydiscouraged, too ready to give up and say 'I can't.' Do you think itwould be really kind to indulge him in doing so?"

  "Perhaps not, mamma; but I feel very sorry to see him in such distress.Grandpa has forbidden him to leave the school-room or to have anythingto eat but bread and milk till he can recite his lesson quite perfectly.And we had planned to go fishing this afternoon, if you should givepermission, mamma."

  "My son," she said with an affectionate look into the earnest face ofthe pleader, "I am glad to see your sympathy and love for your brother,but I think your grandpa loves him quite as well and knows far betterwhat is for his good, and I cannot interfere between them; my childrenmust all be as obedient and submissive to my father as they are to me."

  "Yes, mamma, I know, and indeed we never disobey him. How could we whenpapa bade us not? and made him our guardian, too?"

  Mrs. Travilla sat thinking for a moment after Harold had gone, thenrose and went to the school-room.

  Herbert sat there alone, idly drumming on his desk, the open book pushedaside. His face was flushed and wore a very disconsolate and slightlysullen expression.

  He looked up as his mother came in, but dropped his eyes instantly,blushing and ashamed.

  "Mamma," he stammered, "I--I can't learn this lesson, it's so very hard,and I'm so tired of being cooped up here. Mayn't I go out and have agood run before I try any more?"

  "If your grandpa gives permission; not otherwise."

  "But he won't; and it's a hateful old lesson! and I _can't_ learn it!"he cried with angry impatience.

  "My boy, you are grieving your mother very much," she said, sitting downbeside him and laying her cool hand on his heated brow.

  "O mamma, I didn't mean to do that!" he cried, throwing his arms abouther neck. "I do love you dearly, dea
rly."

  "I believe it, my son," she said, returning his caress, "but I want youto prove it by being obedient to your kind grandpa as well as to me, andby trying to conquer your faults."

  "Mamma, I haven't been naughty--only I can't learn such hard lessons asgrandpa gives."

  "My son, I know you do not mean to be untruthful, but to say that youcannot learn your lesson is really not the truth; the difficulty is notso much in the ability as in the will. And are you not indulging anaughty temper?"

  "Mamma," he said, hanging his head, "you don't know how hard Latin is."

  "Why, what do you mean, my son?" she asked in surprise; "you certainlyknow that I have studied Latin."

  "Yes, mamma, but wasn't it easier for you to learn than it is for me?"

  "I think not," she said with a smile, "though I believe I had more reallove for study and was less easily conquered by difficulties; andyet--shall I tell you a little secret?"

  "Oh yes, ma'am, please do!" he answered, turning a bright, interestedface to hers.

  "Well, I disliked Latin at first, and did not want to study it. I shouldhave coaxed very hard to be excused from doing so, but that I dared not,because my papa had strictly forbidden me to coax or tease after he hadgiven his decision; and he had said Latin was to be one of my studies.There was one day, though, that I cried over my lesson and insisted thatI could not learn it."

  "And what did grandpa do to you?" he asked with great interest.

  "Treated me just as he does you--told me I _must_ learn it, and that Icould not dine with him and mamma or leave my room until I knew it. And,my boy, I see now that he was wise and kind, and I have often beenthankful since that he was so firm and decided with me."

  "But did you learn it?"

  "Yes; nor did it take me long when once I gave my mind to it withdetermination. That is exactly what you need to do. The great fault ofyour disposition is lack of energy and perseverance, a fault grandpa andI must help you to conquer, or you will never be of much use in theworld."

  "But, mamma, it seems to me I shall not need to do much when I'm a man,"he remarked a little shamefacedly; "haven't you a great deal of money togive us all?"

  "It may be all gone before you are grown up," she said gravely. "Ishall be glad to lose it if its possession is to be the ruin of my sons.But I do not intend to let any of you live in idleness, for that wouldbe a sin, because our talents must be improved to the utmost and used inGod's service, whether we have much or little money or none at all.Therefore each of my boys must study a profession or learn somehandicraft by which he can earn his own living or make money to use indoing good.

  "Now I am going to leave you," she added, rising, "and if you do notwant to give me a sad heart you will set to work at that lesson with awill, and soon have it ready to recite to your grandpa."

  "Mamma, I will, to please you," he returned, drawing the book towardhim.

  "Do it to please God, your kind heavenly Father, even more than to makeme happy," she answered, laying her hand caressingly on his head.

  "Mamma, what is the text that says it will please Him?" he asked,looking up inquiringly, for it had always been a habit with her toenforce her teachings with a passage of Scripture.

  "There are a great many that teach it more or less directly," she said;"we are to be diligent in business, to improve our talents and use themin God's service; children are to obey their parents; and both yourgrandpa and I have directed you to learn that lesson."

  "Mamma, I will do my very best," he said cheerfully, and she saw as sheleft the room that he was really trying to redeem the promise.

  An hour later he came to her with a very bright face, to say thatgrandpa had pronounced his recitation quite perfect and released himfrom confinement.

  Her pleased look, her smile, her kiss were a sweet reward and a strongincentive to continuance in well-doing.