CHAPTER XII.
MEMORIES OF CHILDISH DAYS.
I stand on the brink of a river, The river of life to me, Where the billows of memory quiver, And rise and fall like the sea.
I read in their tremulous motion The records of many a year, And like voices that come from the ocean Are the muffled words I hear.--ANON.
A bright morning beamed upon Hubert as he awoke from his slumber in hischildhood's home. He looked round the room; somehow there were manythings in it that he could recollect. There was the dark oak chest, withcurious figures carved upon the front, which had often been a source ofterror to him in early days, because on one occasion he was told thatthey were the likenesses of certain naughty boys, whose remains heverily believed were within that black chest, and though for many yearshe had forgotten all about it, the story, and the nurse who told it,came all back fresh into his memory. Then there was the old-fashionedfurniture upon the bed. "Why!" and he looked at it again, "it is thesame, the very same that covered me when last I slept here." And thatlarge arm-chair behind the door, he knew _that_; he remembered that itwas taken up there when his grandfather died, and he also rememberedthat it was where he always put his clothes when he went to bed. Manyother things there were that he remembered: very little, indeed, seemedchanged; and, as he looked round, his eyes lighted upon a stick, a bow,and a kite, tied together, hanging on the wall. He arose from his bed,and began to dress himself, scanning as he did so the various objects inhis room. Presently he saw a small picture over the mantel-shelf, andwent to look at it. He started back--it was intended for himself.Whether it had been a good likeness he was not able to judge, but itrepresented him as a young soldier just going from home, and beneath itwas written, "Our Hubert." It had been drawn from memory, and placedthere in remembrance of the lost one. Beneath it, on the mantel-shelf,was a little box, and Hubert raised the lid. Something more! Yes,something more. In that box lay a pair of slippers; they were littleones--a child of eight years old might have worn them; and Hubert, as hewas just closing the lid, saw written inside it, "Our Hubert's." "Mine,mine!" he said, as he took them out. "Not mine!" But then some flash ofmemory lighted up the past, and he thought he could remember when theywere his. Over these little slippers the soldier sat down and wept; forthe truth had suddenly come to him, and he pictured his parents,gathering up every little thing that he had owned, remembering all abouthim, except that he had gone away and forgotten them; placing from theheart upon canvas the features of the rebellious one, and loving himfondly to the last. Perhaps over these little slippers they had shedmany a tear; since they had covered the little feet, those feet had goneastray. What a dear relic they were of the past! how they reminded himof a time when he was pure and innocent! And he said, as he brushed awaythe tears from his cheeks--
"Oh! If I had only died then, I should have caused no sorrow, nor feltany, but been in heaven with the angels."
"Yes, Hubert, you would have caused sorrow," some spirit near him mighthave whispered; "first-born of that dwelling, they could not spare thee.He who gave thee as a blessing at the first, means thee to be a blessingstill."
Hubert replaced the slippers, and went downstairs to meet his father.
The old man was there first. Years had passed since he had risen soearly; but new life seemed to have been given to him; and, as he met hislong-lost son at the door, he forgot that he was no longer the littlechild of his love; he forgot, too, all the sorrow he had been to him;forgot the long years he had mourned him; and clasped him fondly to hisheart.
"Hubert," said his father, "it is thirty-nine years this very day sinceI received you, my first-born child; a second time you have been born tome, and we shall do well to rejoice. Your mother, dear sainted one, Iwould that she were here with us; but we will not wish her back--she ishappier in heaven, and we will not sorrow because she's gone; it wouldseem like reproaching that good God who, in His mercy, has restored youto me. Yes, boy, I know well that she bitterly wept your loss--yourabsence, I mean; but she wept the death of other dear ones, and God tookher to them: we shall, I hope, join them soon. Heaven bless you!"
It was a happy day, sanctified by a holy joy. Many friends, includingthe good minister of the parish, who, thirty-nine years before, receivedHubert at the font, and prayed to Heaven to bless him, brought theirmeed of welcome to the wanderer, and that faithful servant of hisheavenly Master spoke comfort to his aged fellow-pilgrim's heart.
"Master Goodwin," he said, "I told you, years ago, that if ye pray anddo indeed believe, that ye shall receive--it shall be as ye ask; it isthe prayer without faith that wins no blessing. God does not give us allwe ask, because we are sinning creatures, and know not what we ask; butthen, how many of us pray for things that we never want! and if we hadonly ourselves to judge what is best for us, instead of receiving ablessing, we should often receive a curse. When the heart asks God toteach it to pray, and then asks a blessing, believing that if it isGod's will that prayer will be granted, depend upon that, that prayer_is_ answered; if the actual thing is not given, the heart receivessomething in another way--at any rate, it _does_ get a blessing. Howmany years you have prayed for that son, and how many times youmurmured, and thought God had forgotten! but He never forgets; He hasremembered all your grief, and answered, what prayer? Why, the prayer offaith. If you look back you will find that it is only of late years thatyou have borne your sorrows without murmuring; they have been heavy, weknow; yet, for how many years the gilding of your prayers was tarnishedby the breath of sorrowful repining? and perhaps it was when your heartcould really say 'Thy will be done,' that the cloud of your troublesbegan to disperse, and the blessing was given. Oh that men would alwayspraise the Lord for His goodness! How well He knows all our need! Heknows when to smite and when to heal, and they who continue faithfulunto death, to them shall that mysterious Providence be more fullyrevealed. If much sorrow has been your portion, so has much blessing. Itis better to have saints in heaven than rebellious children on earth:and God has been very gracious to you."
"He has, indeed," said Hubert's father. "I feel it more truly now." Andas he grasped the faithful pastor's hand, he said, "He gave you to thisparish as one of my blessings, and your prayers have perhaps helped torestore me my son. Pray with us now, for our joy may be too great."
They knelt: a deep and earnest prayer fell from the pastor's lips uponthe stillness of the hour, and the tear upon the cheek told its power onthe heart. The prayer was over, and the good man, bidding them adieu forthe present, left them to rejoice over the once lost one, while he, inthe spirit of his mission, withdrew himself from the world, and thankedGod for having brought back the wandering sheep.
Hubert's return had filled his father with such joy that he wouldscarcely tell him anything about the family, so anxious was he to hearall about himself; and it was some time after his arrival before heheard of all the bereavement of that household. All gone! all whom hehad left in the beauty and strength of youth, when he went out to India,had been swept to the tomb; not one left round that desolate hearth,except the little orphan Richard, now nine years old, the only child ofhis second brother, who, with his young wife, had sunk into an earlygrave. One by one the hand of death had taken them from the fireside,and it was now his turn to mourn them. He saw plainly now how it wasthat his father had received him so fondly. Poor old man! his home hadbeen sadly lonely; the household gods had been all broken, and his agedheart nearly so. Hubert looked at his father as he told the history ofeach one as they had departed, and conscience told him that there wasbefore him a braver warrior than he had ever seen before--one who hadfought a stern battle, and had ever been in the thickest of the fight.Hubert's heart beat; he felt that he had added heavily to the burden andheat of his father's day, and, falling upon his knee before his parent,he cried, as his hands covered his face, "Oh, father, forgive me!"
"Forgive you! Oh, Hubert, did I forget to say I had forgiven you longago? There is nothing now to forgive, but I bless yo
u for coming home.Let the past be the past. Bless you for coming home to me! God is good;He gave, He has a right to take, but He has given you to me again." Butthe truth seemed to shine upon the old man's mind, and putting his armround Hubert's neck, he said--
"Ah! well, it's all forgiven; you might have done other than you havedone, perhaps; but never mind;" and he wept tears of joy upon the bosomof his son. This little rebuke from Hubert's father was more welcomethan the caresses he received, and Hubert opened his heart upon it, andbegan to tell his father of things which had befallen him in India;hitherto he had seldom spoken, except in answer to his father's manyquestions, for there was a weight of remorse in his bosom which nothingyet had removed; but now he was assured of his father's forgiveness, anda smile lighted up his hitherto sad face, as they sat round the firetelling many a story of his distant home; his father was delighted, andyoung Richard drew his little chair beside his veteran uncle, to listenalso. Many a week passed by; Hubert had ever something to tell hisfather, but of all the history of the past, or of all the fame he hadwon, nothing was so dear to the old man's heart as the "torn Bible;" hemade Hubert tell again and again all about it, its long neglect, and itsabuse. The field of battle, the capture, and the rescue from theIndians, and even the dreadful night in the jungle, when Hubert'slife-blood was draining from his wounds, were nothing compared with thestrong will broken, the heart subdued, and the torn, despised Biblegiving back a new and better life to the prodigal. Oh, how the old manloved to dwell upon that! many prayers from the long since silent hearthad been answered then, and he ever repeated in Hubert's ear the words,"Oh, yes, she knew all about it, for she was one of the angels in heaventhat rejoiced when you repented."
Hubert grew happier in the society of his father; and though at times akind of reflection on his past life would cast a sort of thoughtfulsadness over his brow, yet his health daily improved, and his heartbecame more and more attuned to the will of God.