CHAPTER XX.
Life at the Farm.
Source of my life's refreshing springs, Whose presence in my heart sustains me, Thy love appoints me pleasant things, Thy mercy orders all that pains me.
Well may Thine own beloved, who see In all their lot their Father's pleasure, Bear loss of all they love, save Thee-- Their living, everlasting treasure. --Waring.
Mrs. Fisher waited anxiously in an adjoining room for the coming of herhusband to tell her that Benny was no more. She could not go back intothe sick-room, she dared not see the child die. It was only such a shorttime ago she held her own dying Rob in her arms while he gasped out hislittle life, and the wound in her heart was not healed yet: she fanciedit never would be. The sick child in the next room, that she had takento her heart, had opened it afresh, and she felt that to see the littlefellow struggling in the agonies of death would be more than her nervescould bear. And so she waited while the moments dragged slowly along.
"How tenaciously the child clings to life!" she said to herself as shepaced restlessly up and down the room. Still her husband came not.
"Can he be fighting death all this while?" she said; "I hope thelittle spirit will be released soon." Then she fell upon her knees andprayed--prayed long and earnestly that, if it were the Lord's will, theboy that had been thrown upon their care might have speedy and sweetrelease from the burden of the flesh.
It seemed long since she had left the sick-room, and still the momentstravelled slowly on.
"It cannot be much longer," she said; then a step on the landing madeher look up anxiously, and her husband came quickly into the room.
"Come this way, Mary," he said, without waiting for her to speak.
"Is it all over?" she questioned, looking up into his face.
"No, I can't understand it at all: the lad seems better, though he'sevidently wrong in his head."
Without further remark, she went at once to the bedside, and laid herhand gently upon his forehead. Benny opened his eyes slowly, and raisedthem to her face, then tried to speak, but only a faint whisper escapedhis lips.
"What do you say, poor boy?" said Mrs. Fisher kindly, bending down herear to listen.
"May I see Nelly, please?" he whispered.
"Who is Nelly?" she replied.
"Nelly is my sister; may I not see her?" in the same faint whisper.
"Where is your sister, my boy?" said Mrs. Fisher, looking a littleperplexed.
"Nelly's in heaven," he said. "This is heaven, ain't it?"
"No, my boy, this is not heaven," she replied.
"Oh, I thought it wur," he said, closing his eyes with a look of pain.And Mrs. Fisher's eyes became moist, as she saw the big tears stealingout under the lashes, and rolling slowly down the pale wasted cheeks.
After a while Benny fell into a sound sleep, from which he did not awaketill morning. When the doctor came next day he rubbed his hands withglee.
"Never had but one case before to equal it!" he said, "but it'swonderful what children will pull through: just as you think they aregoing right over the precipice, they turn round, and coolly walk backinto health."
"Do you think he will get better?" said Mrs. Fisher.
"More likely than not," was the reply: "the tide has turned, evidently.He had reached the crisis when you thought he was dying last night, andinstead of kicking the beam, why, here he is ever so much better."
From that day Benny got better. Not rapidly; no, it was a slow comingback to health; still, he did get better. Day by day he gatheredstrength, though scarcely perceptible at times. The doctor ratherwondered at this, for he expected his recovery to be much more rapid.But the secret lay in the fact that Benny did not want to get better.And one day, about a week after the time of which we have spoken, hepositively refused to take his medicine.
"But it is to make you better," said Mrs. Fisher gently.
"But I dunna want to get better," said Benny; "I wants to go to heaven."
"But you should be willing to wait the Lord's time, Benny."
"I's waited so long," he said fretfully, "that I's tired of waitin'."
"But it's wrong to murmur at what is God's will, Benny."
"Are it?" he said. "I didn't know, but I's very tired."
"But you'll get rested after a while, if you'll be patient."
"Ah, then," he said, with a sigh, "I mun try, I s'pose."
But in spite of Benny's anxiety to die, health and strength came back tohim day by day, and one beautiful July Sabbath afternoon he was dressed,for the first time, in a suit of dead Rob's clothes, and carried intoanother room, and placed in an easy chair by the window, that he mightfeast his eyes on the beautiful landscape that stretched out beforehim. Benny submitted to the process without speaking a word, for he wasstill very weak; but after he had recovered himself a little, he lookedcuriously at the clothes in which he was enveloped, as if not at allcertain of his identity.
"I reckon I's not Benny Bates," he said at length.
"Oh, yes, you are," said Mrs. Fisher, who had been watching him with anamused smile upon her face.
"Then," he said, looking up, "these is not my togs."
"No; but I think I'll give them to you, Benny."
"Whew!" lifting his eyebrows. Then he began to search carefully all thepockets; that done, he lifted his white scared face to Mrs. Fisher, andsaid,
"Where's the bob, please?"
"Where's what?"
"The shillin'."
"What shilling?"
"The one the angel gived me. Ain't yer seen it?"
"No; where was it?"
"In the linin' of my wesket."
"Oh, then, perhaps we can find it."
"Oh, yes, do, please; I wouldna lose that bob for a hunderd poun'."
"A hundred pounds is a lot of money, Benny."
"Don't care; don't you see? an angel gived it to me."
"An angel, Benny?"
"Ay, an angel, a real one; but if you'll find the bob, I'll tell yer all'bout it."
After some searching the shilling was found, and Benny, as good as hisword, told Mrs. Fisher the story connected with it. In fact, he would,now that the ice was broken, have told that day all the story of hislife, but Mrs. Fisher insisted that it would tire him too much, and thatshe would hear it some other day.
So day after day as he sat by the window, with the soft summer breezefanning his brow, and with the songs of the birds in his ears, hetold the story that we have written. Told of his father's cruelty, ofJoe Wrag's friendship, and of his sister's love--told of his sorrowand loss, his hunger and despair, and of the angel that came to himin his hour of need--told of his success in Mr. Lawrence's office,of his thirst for knowledge, and of the bright hopes he cherishedfor the future. And he told her, too, of the charge of theft, ofhis imprisonment and temptation, of his release and resolve, of hisfierce battle with hunger and want; and how, to be out of the reach oftemptation, he had wandered away into the country until, worn out withhunger and fatigue, he lay down to die.
And while Mrs. Fisher listened, she felt thankful that she had been ableto befriend the homeless boy. Benny was winning his way to her motherlyheart in a wonderful manner, and was helping to fill the gap caused bythe death of little Rob. And could she have had her own way, she wouldhave adopted him as her own, and sent him to school when he was strongenough, with Harry and George. But Benny's independent spirit would nothear of it. He would stay at Scout Farm if he might be permitted to earnhis own living; but if they could not find employment for him he mustgo out into the great world once more, and try over again to earn, bysome means, his daily bread. So it was settled at length that he shouldstay, and learn to be a farmer; and then Benny grew strong rapidly, andere the sunny September days passed away, he was out in the breezyfields helping to gather in the late harvest, and trying to make himselfuseful in every possible way. He was willing, nay, anxious to learn, andthe work was by no means difficult. For the first few weeks he was v
erytired when evening came, but the fresh air gave him an appetite, and thework developed his muscles, and life once more became to him a joy.
He very soon got to know what to do without being told. He would tie upthe cattle in the evening as if he had been used to a farm all his life;groom the horses as if he and they were old acquaintances; and feed thecalves with all the dispatch of an old hand at the work. Mr. Fisher wasdelighted with him; "a handier little chap," he declared, "he had nevercome across." And instead of being in the way, as Mrs. Fisher feared hewould be, he soon made himself necessary to them.
When winter came, with its long dreary evenings, he found a new sourceof pleasure, and that was a night school. It was Mrs. Fisher--to whom hehad spoken of his thirst for knowledge--that persuaded him to attend.She knew he would not only derive pleasure, but profit. Benny wasconsiderably puzzled at first as to what a "night school" was like; buthe soon discovered its purpose, and night after night, through wind andrain, he plodded along the dark country lane to the neighbouring villageof Scoutleigh, eager to improve his mind and add to his small store ofknowledge. Never had a village schoolmaster a more diligent pupil thanhe, and rarely one that improved more rapidly.
Nor did he forget in the summer that followed what he had learnt duringthe winter. There were books in Mr. Fisher's house, to which he hadfree access, for though on the farm he worked side by side with thehired servants, in the house he was treated as one of the family; andwhen the day's work was done, he found in his books his most congenialcompanions. And so he grew in body and mind, and thanked God in hisheart for the haven he had found at last.
Time passed quickly at Scout Farm. There was always so much to be donethat he had little time to brood over the past, or sigh over "what mighthave been." Occasionally he longed for the busy life of the town he hadleft, but the feeling was only momentary. On the whole he was pleasedwith the life he was living, and though he saw no prospect of everrealizing the dreams that once he cherished, yet he tried to be content.So the weeks passed away, and lengthened into months, and the monthslengthened into years, almost unconsciously to Benny. He found himselfgrowing into a man almost against his will.
* * * * *
Six years passed away, and Benny had grown almost out of recognition. Noone would have thought that the tall, handsome young fellow that didso large a share of the work at Scout Farm, was the pale and famishedchild that dragged himself along the dusty highway six years before. Heused to laugh sometimes when reminded of the past, and say that he wasan example of what hard work, fresh air, and good food could accomplish.Mr. Fisher was almost as proud of him as if he had been his own son,and never seemed tired of declaring that "Ben Bates could swing ascythe, shear a sheep, plough a furrow, build a corn-stack, or thatch ahay-rick equal to any man for ten miles round." Nor was John Fisher theonly man that sang Benny's praises. The superintendent of the MethodistSunday-school at Scoutleigh averred that Benny was the most punctual,diligent, and successful teacher he had.
Benny always declared, however, that he learnt more than he ever taught.Up to the time that he commenced to teach, he had looked upon religionas stern, cold duty, and as that only; a question simply of doing or notdoing. It is true that he heard occasionally sermons on the subject ofexperimental religion, but he thought it was only a way the preachershad of expressing themselves. He had no doubt that he was a Christian.He had been trying to be one ever since the death of his little Nell;he said his prayers regularly, and always tried to do his duty; andhe asked himself what more could he do. Yet as he studied the NewTestament carefully week by week, in order that he might instruct hisclass of boys, he became slowly conscious of the fact that feelings andexperiences were hinted at in that Book of books that he was a strangerto. What did he know about that "peace that passeth understanding," orof "rejoicing with joy unspeakable"? Was his life "hid with Christ inGod," and was he certain what was meant by "holding communion with Godand fellowship with Christ"? He now began to pay more attention to thesermons that were preached, and to the hymns that were sung. One Sundaymorning he stopped singing at the verse,
"Jesus, Thine all-victorious love Shed in my heart abroad, Then shall my feet no longer rove, Rooted and fixed in God."
"What did it mean?" he asked himself, "this love shed abroad in theheart, inspiring the life, beautifying the character? Was religion asmuch a matter of love as of duty?" He heard nothing of the lesson thatwas read; but when the congregation stood up to sing again he was allattention. Slowly the words rang out, and filled the little sanctuary,
"Give me the faith which can remove And sink the mountain to a plain; Give me the child-like praying love Which longs to build Thy house again; Thy love, let it my heart o'erpower, And all my simple soul devour.
"Enlarge, inflame, and fill my heart With boundless charity divine! So shall I all my strength exert, And love them with a zeal like Thine And lead them to Thy open side, The sheep for whom the Shepherd died."
That hymn for the rest of the day became the burden of his prayer, andfor many days after, though when the answer came, or how, Benny neverknew. That it did come he had no doubt, for he discovered that religionwas no longer the cold formal thing he had once imagined it to be, but awarm living something that filled his whole life. Duty now became a joy,because love inspired it. Loving God, he loved His service and loved Hispeople; and at last he understood the words of the Master, "My meat isto do the will of Him that sent Me, and to finish His work."
I do not know that any one saw any change in Benny's life, exceptperhaps the superintendent of the school. He taught from henceforthas if his whole heart and soul were in the work; duty was no longerirksome, but a delight, and when some of the boys of his class wereraised to a higher one, he went out into the village and got otherboys to take their places. Thus in earnest Christian work he spent hisSabbath days; and on the Monday morning he would start out into thefields with a light heart, feeling all the happier and stronger fordoing the Master's work on the previous day.
For many months nothing had happened to disturb the quiet and peacefullives that were lived at Scout Farm. Harry and George were at college,one studying to be a doctor, the other to be a solicitor. Winnie,the baby--born since Benny came to the farm--had grown into a bonnylittle creature, the pet of all the household; and Mr. and Mrs. Fisherwere as contented with their lot as two people could be, and wantedno change of any kind. Benny was a little restless at times, but onthe whole was happy. But this quiet life could not be lived always,and soon afterwards a circumstance transpired which was destined toaffect Benny's future in a way that he had no conception of. What thatcircumstance was shall be told in another chapter.