XVI.
_LEM'S SORROW._
IT would be impossible to tell what joy and gratitude filled thehearts of all at the Lake House that night. It was true, indeed, thatthe dear one who had been snatched from such a fearful death was veryill from the fright and shock, weak and exhausted, and dreadfullynervous. Her arm, too, was badly hurt with the long-continued strainupon it, and her sweet face scratched and bruised with the fallingstones and gravel; but the precious life had been spared, by God'sgreat mercy, and they might hope, that, in a few days, she would beherself again.
The whole family had been sadly shaken by the terrible accident. Notonly on that night, but for several succeeding ones, Maggie andBessie were constantly starting awake with cries of fear, and thenthey would sob and tremble so, that it was difficult to quiet them.Maggie would burst into tears for the merest trifle,--sometimes,even if she were spoken to suddenly, and then would cry and laughby turns; and Bessie was often found in some corner, with her facehidden, sobbing as if her heart would break. "Just because I could nothelp it, mamma," she would say, when asked the reason; and she wouldshudder and quiver all over, at the least mention of that dreadfulday. The shock had been too much for the tender young hearts, and ittook them some time to recover from it.
It was necessary to keep the house very still, on account of AuntBessie, who was so very nervous that the least sound disturbed her;and roguish, noisy Frankie was, by Aunt Patty's earnest request,allowed to go to her house, where, for a few days, he lorded it overthat humble servant of his to his heart's content. But there was noneed to send the little girls away; they were only too quiet, andmoped about the house in a way that was quite melancholy to see. Theweather was damp and rainy, so they could not be much out of doors;and, although their friends did all they could to divert them withstories, reading aloud, and games, they did not seem able to shakeoff their sadness. The truth was, they could not forget Aunt Bessie'sface, as they had seen it lying on Uncle Ruthven's shoulder, white andstill; and it scarcely seemed possible to them that she could ever bewell again.
But one day, grandmamma, coming out of Aunt Bessie's room, found thetwo little maidens sitting disconsolately on the stairs, lookingwistfully at the door of the sick-room. She stepped back, spoke a fewwords to those within, and then, coming to the children, asked them ifthey would like to go and see the dear invalid. Bessie sprang eagerlyforward, but Maggie, with the fear of seeing Aunt Bessie look as shehad done on that dreadful day, hung back a little, till Bessie urgedher forward.
They went in with hushed steps, for grandmamma said they must be veryquiet, stay but a moment, and on no account must they speak of theaccident. There lay Aunt Bessie on the pillows. Very white still washer face; but life and love looked out at them from the dear eyes: itwas Aunt Bessie's own sweet smile which welcomed them, her own gentlevoice which told them how glad she was to see them, her own warm kisswhich met theirs.
"Aunt Bessie!" said her little namesake, and then she nestled her faceon the pillows beside her, and said no more. But there was no need:there was a whole world of tenderness and joy in those two words, andAunt Bessie felt it.
Maggie said nothing, but stood with swimming eyes, and rising color,gazing at her aunt, till Mrs. Stanton said,--
"Have you not a word for me, dear Maggie?"
Then Maggie gave a wistful kind of a smile, and tried to speak, butbroke down in a half-choked sob.
"Do not be worried about me, dearie," said Aunt Bessie; "I shall bequite well again in a few days."
Maggie did not answer, except by gently kissing the poor hurt hand,which lay upon the coverlet; but it was plainly to be seen that shewas a good deal excited; and Uncle Ruthven, fearing one of her suddenbursts of crying, said the children had stayed long enough, and ledthem from the room.
Then Maggie's tears came forth, but they were happy tears, for she andBessie were both satisfied about Aunt Bessie now; and she soon wipedthem away, and from this time was her own bright, merry self.
And that afternoon there was a new subject of interest for them, forthe weather cleared up warm and beautiful, and it was thought safe tobring Dolly to the better quarters provided for her. Mrs. Bradfordand Mrs. Porter went to tell her what was to be done, and then cameJohn Porter and one of his brothers to carry her over. They lifted herbed between them, and moved as carefully as possible, but it was arough way, with many ups and downs, and spite of all their care Dollysuffered very much.
As they left the shanty, the sick child raised her head a little, and,looking towards the side where her flower-pots stood, cried out,--
"Oh! my posy boxes, bring 'em along, Lem."
Lem obeyed, and, taking up the two flower-pots which contained thescragly, sickly looking plants, trotted along beside Mrs. Bradfordwith one on each arm.
"She sets such a heap on the old things," he said to the lady as if inexcuse. "I'm sure I don't know what for; but since she's been better,she's like crazed about 'em, and would have 'em brought in every dayfor her to see. I've watered 'em all along 'cause _he_ told me to."
The _he_ of whom Lem spoke was Mr. Stanton; and whatever he saidand did had become right in the boy's eyes. Lem had improved a gooddeal during these three weeks, though the change was by no meansso surprising in him as it was in Dolly. Dolly was trying in herown simple, ignorant way, to please that Heavenly Friend of whomshe had so lately learned; while Lem, as yet, looked no higher thanman's praise. Still it was much that such a hold had been gainedupon the boy. He looked up to Mr. Stanton with a blind admirationand desire for his approval, which kept him from much mischief andwrong-doing. It was very strange, he thought, that this magnificentgentleman--whose appearance, tremendous strength, and wonderfuladventures, made him a great hero in Lem's eyes--should trouble andinterest himself so much about a poor, ragged boy, for whom every onehad a hard word; and who, Lem knew very well, richly deserved all thatcould be said of him. To please Mr. Stanton had now become the aim ofLem's life, and with this purpose he was learning to give up manyof his old bad ways. Mr. Stanton had even partly succeeded in curinghim of his habit of using bad words every time he spoke. One day whenhe was telling the boy a story in which he was much interested, Lemsuddenly broke out with some expression of delight, mingling with ita dreadful oath. Mr. Stanton immediately ceased his tale; and, whenasked by Lem why he did so, told him that he could not talk to a boywho dared to take the name of his Maker in vain. Lem was disappointed,and angry too, but it did him good; and when, the next day, thegentleman offered to finish the interrupted story, he was very carefulnot to offend again. This happened more than once, and each time Lembecame more unwilling to risk not only the loss of his story, but alsothe look of grave displeasure on his new friend's face. He also triedto keep the old place a little tidier, and, when he knew that any ofthe family from the Lake House were coming there, would wash his faceand hands; and a comb having been brought by some of the ladies forDolly's use, he would draw it a few times through his tangled locks.On the day before this, Mrs. Bradford had given him an old suit ofHarry's, and he was now dressed in this, which, though too large forhim, was at least clean and whole; and a proud boy was Lem as hewalked by the lady's side.
Lem thought himself rather a hero, and not without reason, for theshare he had had in saving young Mrs. Stanton's life; and was muchinclined to talk of it to any one who would listen to him. He wasstill rather shy of the boys; but since the little girls had been sooften to see Dolly, he had been quite friendly with them; and theywere ready enough to allow him all the credit he deserved for theservice he had rendered to their dear Aunt Bessie. Poor boy! praiseand encouragement were so new to him, that it was perhaps no wonder hecraved all that could fall to him.
On that memorable afternoon, he had been sitting on the rock in frontof the hut, watching our friends as they sauntered down the roadbelow him. He saw them stop, some sitting down to rest, while Mr. andMrs. Stanton and the little girls wandered about in search of flowers.
He saw the lady fall, and was off
in an instant, dashing over everything which lay in his way, with a reckless, headlong speed, that soonbrought him to the spot. Thanks to his wild, rambling life, Lem knewevery foot of the mountain, and, even as he went, thought of what hemight do, quite sure that he could keep his footing on that narrowledge, if he could but once reach it. How well he had done, we know;and Lem knew right well himself, and meant that others should know ittoo. Too much puffed up in his own conceit, he certainly was; but wemust remember how ignorant he was, and even this was better than thathe should feel himself the miserable, degraded outcast of a few weekssince, whose "hand was against every man, and every man's hand againsthim."
He had not seen Mr. Stanton since the day of the accident; for, nowthat his wife was ill, the gentleman had not the time and attention togive to him and Dolly that he had before; but he knew that he was notforgotten, for more than one kind message had been sent to him.
"Think I could get a sight of my gentleman, to-day?" he asked of Mrs.Bradford.
"Of my brother?" said the lady. "Yes, I think so; he said he would seeyou when you came to the Lake House."
"That was a fustrate job I did for him--getting the lady up; now,warn't it? He said he'd never forget it."
"We shall none of us forget it," said Mrs. Bradford; "but, Lem, whenone has done a great kindness to another person, it is better not totalk of it too much."
"No, I aint goin' to," said Lem, with a self-satisfied air. "I'll tellyou if it hadn't been for me, the lady would have been gone aforethose fellers got there with the ropes. He couldn't ha' held on muchlonger, and like enough they'd both gone down together."
Mrs. Bradford shuddered at the thought.
"Now, what do you s'pose he's goin' to do for me?" continued Lem."Somethin' fustrate?"
"I think he is going to try to teach you to do right, and to put youin the way of earning an honest living, Lem. What would you like himto do for you?"
"Well," said Lem, "you give me these clothes, and now I'd just aslieve he'd give me one of his old hats and a red shirt; so I'd bedecent-like; and then I'd like him to get me to be an engine driver onone of them railroads. If it wasn't for Dolly I'd like to be sent offon a ship to the place where the tigers and elephants is, so I couldhunt 'em. But then she'd be lonesome after me; and if I was enginedriver, I could come home every spell and see her. And I'm goin' tofix her a fustrate home, when I get a livin'. But I was thinkin'what will I do with her meantime. Do you think if _he_ spoke a wordfor her, Porters would let her stay round their place? I guess shewouldn't plague 'em none now; and, when she gets well, she could doerrands and such like for them."
Mrs. Bradford thought this a fitting time to tell Lem what he mustknow sooner or later.
"Dolly is going to a better home than any that you or we can give her,Lem," she said, gently. "She is going to that home which Jesus hasmade ready for her,--His own bright, glorious heaven, where she willnever be tired or sick or hungry any more."
Lem stopped short in the path, and turned to the lady.
"She aint, I tell you," he said, fiercely. "You mean she's a goin' tobe an angel,--what she's always talking about nowadays,--and she'llhave to die for that,--_he_ said so,--and she aint agoin' to. She'sbetter now, I know; for she don't screech out with the pain like sheused to."
"No," said Mrs. Bradford, standing still beside him, as he lookeddown the path after Dolly and her bearers, "she does not suffer as shedid; but she is more ill and grows weaker every day. She cannot livemany days, Lem; and she knows that she is going to Jesus, and wantedthat you should be told."
Lem set down the flower-pots, and dug his knuckles into his eyes.
"She shan't neither," he exclaimed. "I'm goin' to ask _him_ to makeher well. He can do it, I know; and, if he will, I won't ask him fornothin' else along of the good turn I done him, gettin' up the lady."
"My poor boy," said Mrs. Bradford, pityingly, "neither my brother, norany other person can do more for Dolly than to make her comfortablefor the few days she will be here. Her life is not in his hands, orin the doctor's, but in those of God, who sees best to take her toHimself."
Lem threw himself passionately upon the ground.
"'Taint fair," he sobbed. "She's all I've got, and I always was goodto her, now; ask her if I wasn't. I always gave her half what I got,and I saved her many a beatin'."
"Yes," said Mrs. Bradford, sitting down beside him, and laying herhand with a soothing touch upon his arm, "Dolly says you have been agood brother to her, and the only thing that makes her sorry to go isthe fear that you may miss her."
"Like enough I'll miss her," said Lem, in a sullen kind of sorrow.
"But," said Mrs. Bradford, "you may see her again if you will live sothat Jesus may some day take you to dwell with Him in His glorioushome. Will you not try to do this, Lem?"
"Couldn't no way," replied Lem, sitting upright; "they say only goodfolks get to heaven, and don't you know they say I'm the worst boyhere about? They used to say Doll was the worst girl too, and--don'tyou tell nobody I said it--she did do a heap of bad things, that's so!How's she goin' to get to heaven?"
"God says in His Word, 'believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thoushalt be saved.' Dolly does believe on her Saviour, and He will washher soul from all its sin and fit it to live with Him. He has givenher but little time to serve Him on earth since she has learned tolove and trust Him; but she is doing all that she can: she is sorryfor past sin, and whatever she thinks Jesus would like her to do, shetries to do."
"She's gettin' awful good, that's true," said Lem. "She made you takeback old Miss Mapes' handkercher, and made me go and tell Miss Jonesshe was sorry for unhookin' her clothes-line and lettin' down theclothes in the dirt; and, oh! do you think, there's the biggest kindof a squash down in Todd's cornfield, and I was a goin' to get it for_him_, and Dol coaxed me not. She said 'twant right; and, when I saidI guessed God had liever he'd have it than Farmer Todd, she said, No:God gave it to Todd, and so he ought to have it. She was so set aboutit, I had to tell her I wouldn't take it."
"Such things show Dolly's true repentance and love to her Saviour,"said Mrs. Bradford. "If we wish to please Jesus and come to Him, andare truly sorry for the wrong things we have done, we will try to undothem so far as we can."
She talked to Lem a little more of Dolly's new hope, and the Saviour'sgreat love and forgiveness, and then told him they had better go on.
"Wonder what she wants these for, if she's goin' away to leave 'em,"said Lem, sorrowfully, as he took up his flower-pots.
"Sick people often take such fancies," said Mrs. Bradford; "and whenDolly has gone you will be glad to think that you have pleased her byeven such a small thing as caring for her plants."
"And I do think they've picked up a bit," said Lem. "See, this one hastwo buds on it. I wouldn't wonder if they made flowers."
When Mrs. Bradford and Lem reached the tool-house, or "Dolly'shome," as the children now called it, they found the sick girl laidcomfortably in the neat bed which had been provided for her; whileMrs. Rush and Mrs. Porter were beside her, feeding her with some nicebeef-tea.
"Good Lem," she cried, when she saw the flower-pots; and then, turningto Mrs Porter, she asked, "Could you let them stay here?"
"To be sure, child," said Mrs. Porter; and Mrs. Bradford, takingthe flower-pots from Lem, placed them in the little casement windowopposite to Dolly's bed. Dolly looked pleased, but she was too muchworn out to say more; and, when she had taken her tea, turned her faceon her pillow, and fell into the most quiet sleep she had had sinceher illness.