XV.
_A FRIEND IN NEED._
THREE weeks had passed away, and still Dolly lay very ill. Theterrible rheumatic pains were better, it is true, and she could nowbe moved without causing her so much agony; but she had a rackingcough and much fever, and showed, in many other ways, how very sickshe was. Lem said she had had a cough for a good while before thatnight spent in the Ice Glen, and that she had always been complainingof feeling tired. The doctor from the village shook his head when hewas questioned about her, and so did Mr. Stanton and old Mrs. Porter.She had not wanted for such care as could be given her in her wretchedhome. Mr. Bradford had found a woman who, in consideration of beingwell paid, was willing to come and take care of her, and kind Mrs.Porter provided her with such food as she could take. Maggie andBessie, and some of the ladies from the Lake House, came up to see herevery day when the weather permitted, and would sing to her, and tellher of Jesus and His love.
It was strange to see how readily she listened, how eagerly she drankit all in, especially when Bessie talked to her. Perhaps the simple,earnest words of this little teacher were easier to be understoodby her poor, untaught mind, than those of others who were olderand wiser. Or it might be that she felt Bessie had been her firstfriend,--the first one to extend to her the hand of forgiveness andkindness,--or perhaps it was both of these things. However it was, shewas always glad to see the little girls and have them tell her of thatFriend above who was so full of pity, love, and forgiveness.
Dolly had heard of God before, but not as the kind, lovingFather,--the merciful, gracious Saviour,--who stands ready to receiveall who will turn to Him, who comes after us when we go from Him, andwho had now put out His pitying hand to draw to Himself this poorlittle stricken lamb who had wandered so far from his fold. She hadheard His holy name taken in vain every day of her miserable littlelife; she had never until now heard it spoken in love and reverence;and the only idea she had had of Him, had been as some great butterrible being who some day might find her out, and punish her forthe naughty things she had done. But the dread of this uncertainpunishment had not checked her in her wicked ways; and so she had goneon, till the God she did not love and scarcely feared, had laid hishand upon her, and then sent these little messengers to bring to herthe glad tidings of peace and pardon.
Day by day she grew more gentle, more humble, more quiet, more unlikethe Dolly of old, on whom kindness and harshness had both been thrownaway. Poor child, perhaps it was that she had had so much of thelatter, that she had not known how to believe in the former when itcame to her. It was touching to see her penitence for past offences,and how anxious she now became to be forgiven by those whom she hadwronged. But her ideas of right and wrong were still very strange, andrather difficult to deal with.
One day Mrs. Porter came to see her and brought some nice broth, withwhich she fed her. As she was leaving, Dolly called her back, and toldher to look in the corner beneath a heap of dried sticks and see whatshe would find. Willing to please the child, Mrs. Porter did so, anddrew out a soiled but fine pocket-handkerchief.
"There," said Dolly, "I'm going to give you that for your plate that Ibroke. I'm right sorry I broke it. Jesus didn't like me much then, Iguess."
Mrs. Porter was quite sure that Dolly had not come honestly by thehandkerchief, and would not take it, which greatly distressed thechild. Just at that moment, Mrs. Bradford came in, and Mrs. Portertold her the trouble.
"Dolly," said Mrs. Bradford, gently, "where did you get thishandkerchief?"
"Off old Miss Mapes' currant-bush," said Dolly, promptly; adding, inan aggrieved tone, "I want her to have it 'stead of her plate, and shewon't."
"Because it is not yours to give away."
"Then 'taint mine to keep," said Dolly; "and I guess Jesus don't wantme to have it."
"He wants you to give it back to Mrs. Mapes, because that is the onlyright thing to do, Dolly."
"Old Miss Mapes is hateful," answered Dolly. "She chased me off theroad when I didn't do nothin', and threw a hoe at me and cut my foot,and that's why I took it; I'd liever Miss Porter would have it. She'sgood."
"But if you want to be a good girl, and please Jesus, you must do whatHe wants you to, not what you had rather do yourself."
"Would He rather I'd give the handkercher back to Miss Mapes?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Bradford. "He was grieved when He saw you take it;and He will know you are truly sorry if you send it back to her."
"I'll do it, then," said Dolly; "you can take it to her: but don't youtell her I did it for her, 'cause I don't,--it's only for Him."
Poor child! it was perhaps as much as was to be expected from one soignorant; and Mrs. Bradford, fearing to do her harm, said no more,trusting that even this blind striving after right was pleasing in theeyes of Him who has said, that little should be required of him towhom little has been given.
"Say 'Gentle Jesus,'" said Dolly, turning to Bessie, who had stood bywhile her mother was talking.
Next to the two hymns which had first taken her fancy, this seemedto be the one Dolly liked best; and now she often asked for it.Bessie repeated it. When she came to the two last lines of the secondverse,--
"In the kingdom of thy grace, Give a little child a place,"
Dolly said, "I'm going to say, 'Give a better child a place,' 'causeI'll be a better child now: true I will."
"With Jesus' help, Dolly," said Mrs. Bradford.
"He did help me," said Dolly. "He let her"--motioning towardsBessie--"come and tell me about Him."
The small, dirty hut, with the hard ground for its floor, itsmiserable roof, and chinks and crannies which let in the wind anddamp, was no place for a sick child on these cool August nights; andnow that Dolly could be moved without putting her to so much pain,it was thought best it should be done. The poor-house was many milesaway, and now that Maggie and Bessie had come to take such an interestin her, and she in them, Mr. Porter said it would be cruel to send herso far, and offered to have her put in the old tool-house. So, for twoor three days, the four boys and Starr busied themselves in repairingit for her, papa and Uncle Ruthven furnishing what they needed tomake it comfortable. A few planks and nails, a little whitewash andpaint, a sash-window, and some willing hands, soon made it secureagainst wind and rain. Then Mrs. Porter had it cleaned, and a cot-bed,a pine-table, and two chairs were put in it. Plain and bare enough itwas, to be sure, but a wonderful contrast to Dolly's former home; andthe children thought with great pleasure of seeing her brought there.This was to be done in a few days, but Dolly was not to be told of ituntil the time came.
As Maggie and Bessie were on their way home with their mother, theymet Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie, the Colonel and Mrs. Rush, allgoing for a walk, and were invited to join them. Mamma agreed, ifBessie were not too tired, but the little girl declared she was not;and Uncle Ruthven promised to take her on his shoulder if she gaveout before they reached home. Many a ride had the little "princess"taken on this kind, strong shoulder during their mountain rambles,and she now often wondered that she could ever have had "objections"to this dear, loving uncle who was always so ready to help and pleaseher. So they all turned back together, and, passing by the end of thelake, struck into the road which led down the mountain. They strolledslowly down this for some little distance, and then Mrs. Bradford,and Colonel and Mrs. Rush, sat down to rest before they began theirhomeward walk; while Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and the two little girlswandered about, gathering wild flowers and mosses. Blue gentians,golden-rod, Michaelmas daisies, and the pretty, red partridge-berrygrew all about, and the children soon had their hands full.
Suddenly, Maggie spied a cluster of bright scarlet maple leaves, thefirst of the season. The gravelly side of the mountain sloped awayhere for a few feet, then fell sheer down in a tremendous precipiceto the valley beneath; and a foot or so below the edge grew thisbeautiful, tantalizing bunch of leaves. It was quite beyond Maggie'sreach, for she had been forbidden to go near that side of the road,where a slip, or false step
, might have sent her down, down a thousandfeet.
"O Aunt Bessie!" she cried, "look what a lovely bunch of red leaves.It is just what you said you wanted for that c'llection you aremaking. I wonder if Uncle Ruthven could not reach it for you."
Aunt Bessie turned and looked.
"I can reach it for myself," she said. "Uncle Ruthven is upon therocks, after those climbing-ferns. I will stand here and hook it upwith this crooked stick."
"Take care, Bessie, take care!" called her brother, the Colonel; "thatis loose gravel there; if it slips with you, you are lost;" and, "Comeback, Bessie, come back!" called her husband from above, seeing thedanger more plainly than any of the others.
It was too late. She looked up, kissed her hand gayly to her husband,and turned to obey. But her foot was already upon the treacherousgravel, and she slipped a little, recovered herself; then, startled,tried too suddenly to spring upon firmer ground, and slipped again.The gravel gave way more and more beneath her weight. She wentsliding, sliding down, and, in an instant, had disappeared from thesight of the terrified group above.
"Ruthven! O Ruthven!" was the wild cry that rang out on the stillsummer air, followed by a shriek of terror from the two little girls,and a groan from the Colonel's lips. Then a stillness like deathitself, and the next moment Uncle Ruthven stood among them.
But--how very strange Maggie and Bessie thought it--he did not seemfrightened at all. His face was very white, to be sure; but his voicewas steady and quiet, only it did not sound like Uncle Ruthven'svoice, but like that of some stranger, and as if it came from far, faraway.
"She is holding by the bushes below," he said; and, as he spoke, hethrew himself flat upon the ground, half on, half over, the edge ofthe precipice, and, reaching one arm, he succeeded in grasping, andbut just grasping, the wrist of his wife.
For it was as he had said. As she slid downwards, Mrs. Stanton hadclutched wildly at the bushes growing below, and had succeeded inlaying hold of them. But the bushes were slender, and not deeplyrooted in the loose gravelly soil, and though Mrs. Stanton was asmall, slight woman, even her light weight was too much for them, andthey were just giving way, when her husband's strong, firm grasp wasupon her wrist. Yes, he had her fast, holding back the precious life;but for how long? and what was to be done next?
Mr. Stanton dared not rise upon his feet or even upon his knees, andso try to draw her up; he was a large, heavy man; the treacherousedge, which would not bear his wife's far lighter weight, would giveway beneath his, and send them both to a fearful death below. Evennow loose pebbles and gravel were falling down, and striking upon thesweet, upturned face which looked to him for help. Had her feet evenbeen upon the slope, or the ledge beneath it, he might have drawn herup; but they were below it, hanging over that terrible precipice.
In vain did the Colonel, kneeling beside his brother-in-law, clasp hisarms about his waist, and so try to draw both him and his sister to aplace of safety; the ground only broke away more as the added straincame upon Mr. Stanton's arm, and a fresh shower of gravel and stonewent rolling down upon the poor sufferer below.
Then came her voice in feeble tones. "Ruthven, it is of no use, love;my clothes are caught and I cannot free them. Let me go, my husband:it is only throwing away your life."
"Not while God gives life and power to this hand. Courage, my darling,courage. Go, some of you, for help, ropes and men," he said, turninghis haggard face towards the others, and still speaking in thatstrange tone, so unlike his own.
In an instant, Mrs. Bradford was far up the road on her way to thehouse. To her little girls she seemed scarcely to touch the ground; toherself, it seemed as though leaden weights were upon her feet, andthat she made no way at all. Just as she reached the lower end of thelake, she met her husband coming down to join them. Scarcely pausing,she spoke half a dozen words which sent him in haste on his way; thenherself sped on towards the house.
Meanwhile, how long the moments seemed to the agonized group below.There was nothing more to be done till help came. Could Mr. Stantonhold on, could that cruel gravel bear them both, till that should be?God, in whom alone they trusted, only knew.
Mrs. Rush sat white and sick upon the bank, the little girls clingingto her and crying bitterly, but quietly. No sound broke that terriblestillness, except Uncle Ruthven's voice as he now and then spoke afew words of hope and encouragement to his wife, till a bird lighteda little way off, and broke into a joyous song. Maggie could not bearit: it seemed a mockery of their grief and agony; and, although atanother time she would have been shocked at herself for doing such athing, she now chased it away.
"Oh! why don't help come to us?" she sobbed out. "Why don't God sendus help?"
Bessie raised her head from Mrs. Rush's lap, where she had hidden herface.
"Maybe we did not ask Him quite right," she said. "Aunt May, say aprayer for Aunt Bessie and for us all."
Mrs. Rush tried to speak, but could not. One ceaseless, agonizedprayer had been going up from her heart; but she could not put it intowords, and only shook her head. Bessie looked at her for a moment, andthen, as if she understood, said,--
"Shall I say it, Aunt May?"
Mrs. Rush nodded assent; and, kneeling at her side, Bessie clasped herlittle hands, and looking up to heaven, said,--
"Dear Father in heaven, we are so very troubled, we don't any of usknow quite what to say; but you know what we want, even if we can'tfind the words, and our heart-prayers do just as well for you. Pleasesend dear Aunt Bessie some help very quick. Have pity on her, and makeher know our Father don't forget her. Amen."
It was said with many a gasp and sob of terror and distress; and, whenit was finished, the little one hid her face in Mrs. Rush's lap again.
But she was right. The all-merciful Father had heard their earnest"heart-prayers," which could not be put into words; and help, such asthey did not look for, was at hand.
None saw the figure bounding down the mountain side with such headlongspeed--now swinging itself down some steep ascent by the branches of atree, now springing from rock to rock like a wild goat--till it stoodamong them, breathless and eager.
The Colonel had risen to his feet, and, going a few steps up the bankwhere the ground was firmer, grasped the trunk of a tree for support,and looked over the edge at his poor sister. God had been merciful toher, and now sense and feeling had left her, and she hung unconsciousin her husband's hand. Colonel Rush saw now what he had not knownbefore,--a narrow ledge of rock, scarce six inches wide, jutted beyondthe slope of gravel, and, on this, his sister's form partly rested.Well that it was so, or not even her husband's tremendous strengthcould have supported the strain so long. The Colonel eyed this ledgeeagerly. It must have been on this that his brother-in-law relied,when he called for men and ropes. Could some one but reach it, and beheld from above, they might fasten a rope about his sister's waist,and so she be drawn safely up. Could Ruthven hold on till then?
The Colonel looked around him, for a moment, with a wild thought oftrying to reach it himself; the next he put it away as worse thanfolly. There was no rope, nothing to hold him or his sister; and ifthere had been, who was there to support and guide it? No one but aweak woman and two little children. He himself was a tall man, of nolight weight, and with a lame foot: the attempt was sure to bringdestruction upon himself, his sister, and her husband.
As he turned away, with another silent appeal for help, Lem stoodbefore him.
"I seen it up there," he said, hurriedly, "and thought I'd never githere. I say, mister,"--to Mr. Stanton,--"if I only had a rope, or abit of something to fasten about me, I know I could get down there,and put it about her, so you could histe her up."
The quick eye of the boy, used to all manner of make-shifts andhair-breadth escapes, had taken it all in, and saw a way of safety, ifthe means were but at hand. He looked around, and spied a light shawllying unheeded upon the ground. He snatched it up, tried its strength,and shook his head.
"'Twon't do," he said, "'taint long enough so;
and, if we split it,'twon't be strong enough."
The children and Mrs. Rush had risen, and were listening; and now aquick thought darted into Maggie's mind.
"Uncle Horace," she said, springing eagerly forward, and pointing tothe broad plaid ribbon about her sister's waist, "there's my sash andBessie's. Wouldn't they be of any use?"
"Thank God! the very thing!" exclaimed the Colonel; and, in aninstant, the broad, stout ribbons were untied from the children'swaists, and strongly knotted together.
"Can you hold the boy, Horace?" asked Mrs. Rush.
"With God's help, and what you can give me, I trust so," he answered.
"You must keep far enough from the edge not to slide over yourselves,you see," said Lem, coolly, as he and the Colonel drew strongly uponthe knot.
The Colonel measured the ribbon with his eye. Tied around Lena'swaist, it would scarcely give the length they needed, and it wasnot safe to fasten it to any of the boy's ragged, worn-out clothes.He snatched up the shawl, twisted and wound it about Lem's waist,fastening it securely, then drew the ribbon through it. As he did so,Bessie cried out,--
"Papa! here's dear papa! That is help."
No one could bring such help as papa, Bessie thought; and there hecame, running down the hill, and stood among them. A few words madehim understand what they were about; and, as Lem was now ready, he,with the Colonel, took fast hold of the long ribbon.
Slowly and carefully, with the Colonel's cane in his hand, the boystepped over the edge,--not just above Mrs. Stanton, but at the spotwhere the Colonel had looked over at her,--down, step by step, tillhe had disappeared from the sight of all but Mr. Stanton, who, lyingover the edge, watched him, God only knows, with what sickening hope;the loose soil crumbled and slid beneath him; but, light and sinewyas he was, his bare feet, trained to all kinds of mountain climbing,took hold where those of a heavier person, with shoes upon them, musthave faltered and slipped past all recovery. He had reached the ledge,and now, step by step, slowly neared the lady. Sure-footed as a goat,steady of head and nerve, reckless of danger, yet with sense enoughto remember the Colonel's charge not to look below him, he reachedher side, freed her clothes from the clinging bushes; then, with acare and steadiness which Mr. Stanton, spite of his agonizing anxiety,wondered to see, unrolled the shawl from his own body, and fastened itabout that of the senseless figure beside him; then gave the word toraise her.
Up, up, steadily, inch by inch, was the precious form drawn, till herhusband's arm could grasp her waist, and she was lifted safe,--butoh! so white and still,--and laid upon the grassy bank; while UncleRuthven, almost as white, fell exhausted beside her. But he was on hisknees and bending over her, by the time that Mr. Bradford and ColonelRush had lowered the ribbon again; and Lem, flushed and triumphant,was drawn up unhurt. The boy was very proud, and perhaps justly so, ofthe feat he had performed, and would have broken out into some loud,exultant expressions, if Mr. Bradford had not checked him; and then,before a word was spoken, the gentlemen uncovered their heads, and Mr.Bradford spoke a few words of earnest, solemn thanksgiving for thewonderful mercy just shown them. Lem stared, open-mouthed; and theinstant he was allowed to speak, sprang forward to Mr. Stanton,--
"I told you I'd do you a good turn, if I got the way, mister; and Idid, didn't I?"
"By God's mercy, yes," said Mr. Stanton. "May he bless you for this,my brave boy. I will be a friend to you as long as I live."
Lem immediately turned half a dozen somersets, which, in spite oftheir admiration and gratitude, greatly disgusted Maggie and Bessie;for they did not see how he could have the heart to do such a thingwhile dear Aunt Bessie lay there, so white and still. They couldscarcely believe Aunt May's assurance that she was not dead, but hadonly fainted, and were still filled with terror and distress.
And now, Uncle Ruthven lifted her in his arms, and they all set outon the way home; Lem keeping close to Mr. Stanton with his preciousburden, as if he felt that he had some sort of a claim on her. Butwhen they were about half way home, they met all the men and boys fromthe Lake House coming down the road with ropes, and Lem was taken witha sudden fit of shyness, and, turning about, rushed away without aword.