CHAPTER TWENTY.
FURTHER PROGRESS.
How greatly did Amos rejoice that now one portion of the great purposeto which he had devoted himself had been so thoroughly accomplished; hisdear sister had been restored to her earthly home, and the death of herunhappy husband had taken away all fear of her being withdrawn from itagain. And, better still, she, the poor wayward and wandering sheep,who till late did not love the fold nor the Good Shepherd's voice, hadbeen sought and found by him, and brought back from the wilderness withrejoicings. The heart of the good brother overflowed with gratitude andpraise for this, for it was more than he had yet dared to hope. Butthere could be no doubt about it. The eyes of his sister had beenopened to see how entirely she had hitherto been living to self, whileher husband's dying words had led her to see her duty to her children,and to mourn over her ingratitude to Amos.
There was one little circumstance which specially touched that brother'sheart. On the Sunday after her return from her parting visit to herhusband, Julia appeared at church in deep mourning, her children wearingthe same; and at dinner she had put on a neat widow's cap. Amos hadrather expected that she would have treated her married life as a thingso entirely to be forgotten--a thing of misery and shame, a thing of thepast to be henceforth to her and others as though it had never been,except so far as her children were concerned--that she would havecontinued to dress herself and her little ones as usual, so as not byany outward sign to remind those around her that she had suffered anyloss, or recall their thoughts to the man who had brought nothing butdegradation to herself and disgrace to her family. He was thereforedeeply thankful to see that she had taken a different course; for ittold of a subdued and chastened spirit, and of a willingness to bearpatiently and meekly the burden which her own fault, in a measure atleast, had laid upon her. Mr Huntingdon also appreciated her conductin this matter, and, pressing her fondly to him as she was retiring torest, kissed her tenderly, and whispered in her ear, as he lookedlovingly into her tearful eyes, "Dear child, this is as it should be;you are right, I am sure, in adopting this dress; it would have beenunworthy of you and unbecoming not to have done so." Old Harry,however, was not quite of the same mind; but he would not wound any ofthe members of the family upstairs by giving expression to his feelingson the subject. But in the kitchen he spoke out his sentiments withoutany reserve. "Put herself and the children in mourning for such ascoundrel as him! Why, if it had been me, I'd have clothed myself andthem in scarlet and gold, just to show how glad I was to be shut of sucha scamp for good and all. But perhaps I'm wrong; they tell me the poorman repented at the last. Well, a good thing for him if he did, for I'msure he'd a precious lot to repent of."
And now Amos bent his mind and energies towards the accomplishment ofthat part of his life's great purpose which lay yet nearer, if possible,to his heart than even his sister's restoration to her father's houseand affection. His mother was still a stranger to her home;--how shouldhe bring her back? He felt that he must deal in the matter with agentle and cautious hand. His aunt and the old butler were the onlymembers of the household who as yet knew of his desire and intention.Mr Huntingdon had come to acquiesce in his wife's absence as a sadnecessity, and it did not now occur to him to connect his daughter'sreturn with the possibility of its being directly or indirectly a linkin the recovery of the mother from her mental disorder. Walter alsonever put the two things together. Indeed, the state of his mother wasso distressing a subject, that he had come to act upon the convictionthat the less he thought about it the better.
But what could Amos do? Turning matters over in his mind, it became anestablished purpose with him to bring about his mother's perfectrestoration to sanity without letting his father have any suspicion ofwhat he was attempting. With all his love for that father, he could nothelp having a strong conviction that, were he to consult him in thematter, the attempt at restoration would probably prove a failure.Either Mr Huntingdon would take things into his own hands, and, actingwith characteristic impetuosity and bluffness, would most likely hinderwhere he meant to help forward, or else he would fail perhaps tounderstand and appreciate his son's views and methods of proceeding, andwould prevent a successful issue by his impatience or interference. SoAmos resolved that he would take the responsibility and mode of actionon himself. Should he fail, his father would not have to suffer thepain of disappointment from that failure; should he succeed, he wouldhave the happiness of bringing about a loving meeting again betweenthose parents so dear to him, which would be to his father all the moredelightful from its taking him by surprise. Secrecy, then, was anessential. No one must betray his purpose to his father. Therefore,when the family had all settled down peacefully, with the young widowsweetly and lovingly filling her place as a daughter and mother, Amos,one evening in the early part of the summer which followed his brother-in-law's death, betook himself to the butler's pantry.
"Harry," he said, having seated himself on the closed lid of the platechest, "I want just a word with you on a subject of great importance."
"As many words as you like, my dear young master," said the old man;"it's always a privilege whenever I gets a visit from you, or dear MissJulia as was, bless her. What a pity she ever changed Miss into Mrs;but perhaps some good man 'll get her to change it into a better Mrssome day, and wipe the taste of that horrid cruel man's name out of allour mouths."
"I don't know, Harry; things are better as they are at present. My dearsister's trial has been blessed to her, I can see; she is being broughtout by it decidedly on to the Lord's side."
"You're right, Master Amos, you're right; and I'm nothing but a stupidstumbling old donkey.--Now, please, sir, what's this here importantsubject you wants to talk to me about?"
"Just this, Harry. You know that I want to get back my dear motheragain among us, and I believe it can be done; but it will want a deal ofwisdom and what people call `tact' to bring it about. Now, I'm notgoing to speak to my father on the subject, because I think his feelingswould so stir and excite him if I did, he would be so eager andanxious--it's part of his nature, you know, and he cannot help it--thathe might spoil all."
"Just so, Master Amos; he'd just be going slap-bang about it, I daresay,and he'd drive the poor lady clean out of as many of her seven senses asshe'd got still left, poor thing."
"Something of that kind," said Amos, smiling. "Well, you see, Harry, ifI am to undertake the matter I must do it my own way; and it willrequire a great deal of care, and not a word must come out about it."
"Ah, I see, Master Amos," said the old man, "you want me to be `mum.'Now, you look here, sir--try now if you can get a word out of me." Sosaying, Harry closed his lips tight together, stuck his hands in histrousers' pockets, and walked about the pantry with his head in the air.
"I am quite satisfied," said Amos, laughing.
"You may well be so, Master Amos," said the other. "_Me_ speak aboutsuch a thing to them maids in the kitchen, or the coachman, or stable-boy, or any one else in the universal world! Let the whole on 'em puttogether try it on, that's all."
"Thank you, Harry," said Amos; "no one as yet knows about it but my auntand yourself. But I shall have to take my brother and sister into myconfidence, as I shall want their help in carrying out my plan."
"All right, sir, all right; and, if any one mentions the poor ladybefore me, you may depend upon it I shall look like a deaf and dumbstatty cut out of stone."
Amos then sought his aunt, and, having given her briefly his own views,asked his brother and sister to join him in Miss Huntingdon's room. Heunfolded to them his purpose, and then proceeded as follows: "What Ipropose to do is this: I want to spare our dear father all pain andtrouble in the matter, and, if I am permitted to carry out my plan withsuccess, to give him a gentle and happy surprise at the end. But I musthave the help of my dear brother and sister. The place where our dearmother now lives in retirement is a few miles inland from the sea-coast.At the sea-side nearest to her residence I intend takin
g a house for atime. When I have secured this, I shall invite you, dear Julia andWalter, to be my guests there for a season. I shall easily, I have nodoubt, persuade my father to spare you, on the ground that the littlechange to the sea-air will do us all good, which will be perfectly true,and that this short holiday has been a pet scheme of my own, which willbe equally true. My father will be much occupied about electioneeringbusiness the next two or three months, and as this will take him a gooddeal from home, he will not miss us so much as he might otherwise havedone; and Aunt Kate, who knows of my plans and approves of them, willkindly spare us for a while, and will look after the children, who willfollow us in a few days, and may be of use in carrying out my object."
"Capital," said Walter; "but you will want a mint of money to do allthis."
"Never mind that," replied his brother; "I have considered it all, andyou may safely leave the ways and means to me."
"And I am sure, dear Amos," said his sister, "we shall be only toothankful to be helpful in any way in bringing back our dear motheramongst us."
In about three weeks' time from this conversation, during which Amos hadbeen making his arrangements, he told his father of his sea-side scheme,and received his hearty approval. "It is very good of you, my dearboy," he said, "to provide such a nice change for your sister andWalter. Perhaps your aunt and I may run over and see you, if thiselection business will allow me any spare time."
Mr Huntingdon was well aware that the sea-side retreat which Amos hadselected was near the place where his poor wife was in her retirement,but this was not at all displeasing to him; for though he had neverhimself mentioned that place of retirement by name to any of his familyexcept his sister, he thought it not improbable that his children wouldhave become by this time acquainted with it, and the thought that theymight go over and see their afflicted mother once or more was a comfortto him. Not that he entertained any real hope of his wife's return tosuch a state of mind as would allow of her coming home again. No suchprospect had yet been held out to him, and, indeed, while his daughterwas still shut out from his house, he had felt that, had there beensufficient improvement in his wife's state to admit of her return, thecontinued absence of her daughter, and the very mention of thatdaughter's name being forbidden in the family, would have been likely tothrow her mind off its balance again. So he had learned to acquiesce inher permanent absence as a thing inevitable, and to drown, as far aspossible, all thoughts about that absence in a multiplicity of business.But now that Amos and his brother and sister were going to spend sometime in their poor mother's neighbourhood, there arose in MrHuntingdon's mind a sort of vague idea that perhaps good to her mightcome of it. But the bustling election business so absorbed him atpresent that he never thought of bringing that idea into a definiteshape.
It was now, as has been said, early summer. The little family partywere sitting at breakfast the day before the intended trip to the sea,when Walter remarked to his brother, "What do you say, Amos, to ourtaking our ponies to the sea with us? It would do them good, and itwould be capital fun to have some good gallops along the sands."
Amos turned red, and did not answer. Walter repeated his question. Hisbrother then replied, but with evident reluctance, "The fact is, I havesold Prince."
"Sold Prince!" exclaimed his brother and sister.
"My dear Amos," said his father, "what can have induced you to sellPrince? Surely you are imposing too great a burden on yourself. Iremember now that I have not seen you riding lately. I am very sorrythat you should have thought of such a thing. Why didn't you come tome?"
"My dear father," said Amos earnestly, and with a bright smile, "youhave quite enough to do with your time and money just now, so I have nottroubled you about the matter. I have a little scheme of my own whichis a bit of a secret, and it needs a little self-denial to carry it out.I want the money more than I want Prince just now. I have found acapital master for him, who will treat him kindly; and by-and-by I shallbe able to get him back again, perhaps. At any rate, will you becontent to trust me in the matter, dear father?"
"Trust you, my dear boy!" exclaimed the squire; "indeed I ought, andwill, for you thoroughly deserve my trust; only it grieves me to thinkthat you should have parted with your favourite pony."
"Oh, never mind that, father," replied Amos cheerily, "it will be allright. Thank you so much for your kind confidence; what I have donewill do me no harm."
The conversation then passed on to other subjects, but Walter wasclearly a little uneasy in his mind. "Amos," he cried, when his fatherhad left the breakfast-table for a few minutes to speak to a tenant whowanted an early word with him, "are you going into business soon?"
"Business, Walter! Not that I know of. What sort of business do youmean?"
"Oh, into the butter, cheese, and bacon line."
"I don't understand you."
"Don't you? Well, it seems to me that sundry pounds of butter whichhave not spread themselves lately on your bread or toast, as they oughtto have done, are intended to turn up somewhere one of these days."
The effect of this little speech on Amos was manifestly verydisconcerting; he turned red, looked confused, then with knitted browsgazed at the window. Walter, sorry to have given him pain, was justabout to make some further remark, when his eyes fell on the hands ofMiss Huntingdon, which were crossed on the table. Nodding his headprofoundly towards his aunt, he dashed off at once into another subject,and his brother soon recovered his equanimity.
That afternoon, Walter, with his sister leaning on his arm, came andseated himself by his aunt, who had taken her needlework to the summer-house. Amos did not join them, being busily engaged in preparations forthe morrow's journey. "And now, auntie," said Walter, "here are twovery docile and attentive scholars come for a promised lesson on moralcourage."
"Oh, but I have not promised them a lesson," said Miss Huntingdon,laughing.
"No, auntie, perhaps not; but your hands have,--these hands, which werecrossed at breakfast, they have promised the lesson."
"Well, dear boy, that is true in a measure, but I hardly know how tobegin. I have nothing to rebuke or find fault with in you, unless itwas just a little want of consideration in your dealing with Amos; but Iam sure you meant no unkindness."
"Certainly not, auntie, not a bit of it. But now I don't quiteunderstand about Amos and his leaving off taking butter. It hassomething to do with that selling of his pony, I'm sure. Perhaps youcan explain it, and give us a lesson of moral courage from it,illustrated by historical examples."
"I will try, dear boy. The fact is--and I am under no promise ofsecrecy in the matter; for while Amos is not one to sound a trumpetbefore him to proclaim his good deeds, he has no wish to hide them, asthough he were half-ashamed of them--the fact is that Amos wishes tosave every penny just now, in order to be perfectly free to carry outanything he may see it right to undertake in this scheme of his forbringing back your dear mother once more amongst us. Every farthingspent on himself he grudges, and he would not for the world draw on yourfather; so he has not only sold his pony, but has also given up takingbutter at meals, having made me promise, as I am housekeeper and holdthe purse, to give him in money the worth of the butter he would eat,that he may put it to this special fund for his cherished scheme. And Ihave gladly consented to his wish. It is but a small matter, and heknows it, but it is through small things that great good is broughtabout. As Martin Tupper says, `Trifles light as air are levers in thebuilding up of character.' This self-denial on the part of dear Amosbrings out and heightens the nobility of his character; and when theoccasion for such self-denial shall have passed away, it will leave himfar advanced on the upward and heavenward road."
"He's a brick, every inch of him," said Walter, in a voice half-chokedwith tears; "and much more than a brick too--he's a great square blockof marble, or Scotch granite, as fine a one as ever Freemason tappedwith a trowel--there. And now, auntie, for the historical examples."
"My first," said
Miss Huntingdon, "is that of a very remarkable man--John Wesley, the father of the Methodists. An order having been made bythe House of Lords in his day for the commissioners of excise to writeto all persons whom they might have reason to suspect of having platewithout having paid the duty on it, the accountant-general for householdplate sent to Mr Wesley a copy of the order, with a letter stating thathitherto he had neglected to make entry of his plate, and demanding thathe should do it immediately. Mr Wesley replied:--`Sir, I have twosilver tea-spoons at London, and two at Bristol. This is all the plateI have at present; and I shall not buy any more while so many around mewant bread.--Your obedient servant, John Wesley.'
"My next example is that of an equally remarkable man, Oberlin, theFrench pastor of Ban-de-la-Roche, a wild mountainous district betweenAlsace and Lorraine, where, single-handed, and in the midst ofextraordinary difficulties and privations, he was privileged to workwonders amongst a most ignorant and poverty-stricken people. Theknowledge of several pious and excellent institutions had reached thesecluded valley where Oberlin was stationed before it was received bythe rest of France. No sooner had he learned that there were Christianswho left their homes to convey to the benighted heathen the promises ofthe gospel, than he parted with all his plate, with the exception of onesilver spoon, and contributed the proceeds of the sale to mission work,expressing at the same time his regret that he was unable to send more.That one silver spoon he afterwards bequeathed as a legacy to the ChurchMissionary Society.
"I have yet another example of the same kind to bring forward. It isthat of a most earnest and devoted American missionary, Reverend GeorgeBowen of Bombay. This good man was once an infidel. His father was arich man; but when he himself was converted, he gave up friends,country, and fortune, and consecrated himself and his whole life to theservice of Christ among the heathen. For many years he lived in amiserable hut in the native bazaar, among its sadly degraded population.Yet he was a man of deep learning and refined manners, who hadtravelled much, and knew some dozen languages. After spending about ayear in India, he was led to believe that his influence would be greaterif he were not in the receipt of a salary from a missionary society; sofor thirty years past he has received none. For some years he earnedhis livelihood by giving an hour daily to private tuition; for a stilllonger time he has trusted to the Lord to supply his need without suchoccupation, and has always had enough and to spare.
"Now I have not mentioned these cases because I think we are all boundto do as these good men have done. When God calls to such specialsacrifice, he gives special faith and grace for it; but he does not callall Christians to the same. My reason for selecting these instances hasbeen that I might put them before you as beautiful examples of that kindof moral courage which is exhibited in acts of exalted self-denial. Andsurely we may learn from them this lesson, to be more willing than mostprofessing Christians are to deny self, that we may do good to others,or carry out some great and self-sacrificing purpose. And another thingis to be noticed in such examples as these, that it requires more moralcourage to go counter to our own tastes, likings, and habits incomparative trifles, and to persevere in this course, than to make somegreat sacrifice on the impulse of the moment."
"Thank you, dear auntie," said Walter. "Yes, you have hit the rightnail on the head; for our dear hero Amos has been showing just suchsteady, persevering moral courage. I see it all. Well, I hope I shallbe the better for what you have told us."
At dinner-time Walter was nowhere to be found; all that was known wasthat he had gone off on his pony, and had left a message behind him thathe had a little bit of business in hand, and that they must not waitdinner for him if he should happen to be late. The other members of thefamily were not particularly surprised at his absence, knowing that hewould be leaving home for the sea-side next day, and that he might havesome little matter to settle with some friend in the neighbourhood. Butthey became a little anxious when old Harry remarked, in reply to aquestion from his master, that he had seen Master Walter ride off twohours ago with his rifle and fishing-rod in front of him, and that itseemed to him a little late for catching a big fish and then blazingaway at him. By nine o'clock, however, Walter had returned, his ponyevidently having had a sharp gallop home.
"Much sport, Master Walter?" asked the butler, who was standing in thestable-yard when he rode up.
"Oh, pretty good," was the reply; "just a whale or two, and some half-dozen sharks."
"They must have been tremendous big 'uns, I should say," remarked theold man, "for they seem to have swallowed your rifle and your rod."
"Ah, they just were," replied Walter; and then he made his way rapidlyinto the house.
That same night, as Amos was preparing for bed, Walter looked in, andwalking up to his brother, said, "Here, Amos, take this; it's my littlecontribution towards the general expenses,"--saying which, he put tensovereigns into his brother's hand.
"Walter, Walter! what does this mean?" cried Amos, touched and greatlyagitated.
"It's all straightforward and above board," replied the other; "it meanssimply that I've been and sold my favourite rifle and fishing-rod, andone or two other trifles, and that's the money I got for them. Nay,don't look so astonished. What! you didn't think to have a monopoly ofthe self-denial, did you? You see I don't quite mean to let you."
Amos Huntingdon--by Reverend T.P. Wilson