“Well, it is nice to be going to eat in a house again and no strangers by,” remarked Lulu when they had seated themselves at the table in Mrs. McAlpine’s sitting-room, and the captain had asked a blessing on their food.
“So it is,” responded Max; “it would seem something like home, if we had Mamma Vi, Gracie, and the little ones here with us.”
“Yes,” assented their father with a slight sigh, “they make the best part of home. We must look for the post-office when we are out. I hope we shall find letters there from home, and I have one to mail to your mamma.”
“Why, when did you write it, papa?” asked Lulu.
“While you were dressing.”
“Was I so very slow?”
“No, but you see I had the advantage of you in not needing to change my dress.”
With that Marian, who had just brought in a plate of hot cakes, glanced admiringly at Lulu’s costume.
“What a pretty girl that little Miss Raymond is, and so beautifully dressed!” she remarked to her mother on going back to the kitchen. “It must be a grand thing to be the daughter—”
“Don’t allow yourself to envy her, my child,” interrupted the mother, “’tis God appoints our lot, and we must strive to be submissive and content.”
“Mother,” cried the girl, almost fiercely, “ye needna tell me God appointed this lot for you and me. I’ll never believe it, never! ’Twas the father o’ lies brought us here an’ keeps us here, and oh, but I wad we had never left bonny Scotland!”
“Hush, hush, child! bairn, your wild words but add to the weight o’ the cross already almost too heavy for your mother to bear,” returned Mrs. McAlpine, catching her breath with a half sob. “Here, carry this to the guests in the sitting-room,” giving her another plate of cakes, just taken from the griddle.
“Can you tell me where to find the post-office, Miss Marian?” Captain Raymond asked, as she again stood at his side, offering her cakes.
“Yes, sir; ’tis just around the corner, on the way to the mine. If you want to send there, sir, Sandy, my brother, will go for you willingly. They must be making up the mail for the East now, and it will close presently.”
“Then I accept your offer of your brother’s services, with thanks,” he said, taking a letter from his pocket and giving it to her. “Please ask him to carry this at once to the post-office, and see that it gets into the mail; then inquire for letters for Captain L. Raymond, Master Max, and Miss Lulu Raymond.”
“I will, sir,” she replied, taking the letter and hurrying from the room with it.
A few minutes later a boy who looked to be two or three years younger than Marian came briskly in and, laying a handful of letters on the table beside the captain, said, “Several for you, sir, and one apiece for Master and Miss. And the one I took for you is gone with the rest o’ the mail for the East.”
“I am much obliged,” the captain said, putting a dime into his hand.
The boy glanced down at it. “That’s too much, sir, by half, the errand wasn’t worth a nickel, and in fact I didn’t expect any pay for doing it.”
“Then take the dime as a gift, my boy; I like your honesty,” returned the captain.
“Thank you, sir,” responded the lad heartily, and with a grin of satisfaction, as he turned and hastened away again.
“Papa, is there one for me?” asked Lulu, as her father took up the letters and glanced at the superscriptions.
“Yes, daughter; and one for Max. But as we have all finished eating we will go to our room to read them.”
The letters brought only good news; the dear ones left behind were all well, and, though missing the absentees, content and happy, at least so far as could be gathered from the cheerful tone of their epistles.
Lulu’s was the joint production of Eva and Grace, and gave an interesting account of the doings and sayings of the babies and the parrot.
The last-named, they said, was continually calling “Lu, Lu, what you ’bout? Where you been?”
The letter told, too, of the beautiful singing of Gracie’s canaries, the doings of her kitten, and of Max’s big dog Prince. There was more about the last-named in Max’s own letter, which was from Violet, with a postscript by Grace.
The captain read his letter from Violet, first to himself, then portions of it aloud to the children; then they offered him theirs, and he read them aloud in turn, and chatted pleasantly with them about the contents of all three.
“Well,” he said at length, “if we are going to take that walk, it is about time we were setting out. Lulu, you may put on your hat, while I glance over these other letters.”
That was a welcome order to the little girl, and it did not take her many minutes to obey it. They found Mr. Short on the pavement before the front gate as they went out.
“Ah, captain,” he said, “I was just coming to ask if you did not feel inclined for a stroll about the town. May I have the pleasure of acting as your guide?”
“It will be conferring a favor, sir, if you will do so,” replied the person addressed, and the two walked on, leaving Max and Lulu to follow.
“I wish he hadn’t come,” she muttered discontentedly. “I thought I was going to have the pleasure of walking beside papa with my hand in his.”
“That’s very pleasant for you,” said Max, “but I think you might care almost as much to walk with me, considering that you’ll probably not have many more such opportunities to do so.”
“Oh, I forgot that! Oh, I wish you weren’t going away from home, Max!” she exclaimed. “I seem to grow fonder of you than ever when I think of that!”
“Yes, blessings brighten as they take their flight,” he returned, with a little laugh that sounded rather forced.
The new home made by his father for him and the others, and especially the being taken by that father into a close intimacy, friendship, and confidence, such as are seldom given by a parent to a son of his age, had been so delightful that the thought of going away among strangers, leaving all the dear ones behind, and having communication with his father only by letter, instead of the pleasant daily and hourly familiar intercourse, could not fail to cause the boyish heart a pang.
Yet, on the other hand, there was joy and exultation in the thought that he was about to enter upon special preparation for his chosen profession, the work that he was to do as a man; it seemed to him the beginning of the putting away of childish things, the putting on of the armor, and the gathering up of the weapons, for the great battle of life, and at times he was eager for the day when he should appear before the examiners at Annapolis.
“Yes, and you are a blessing to me, Maxie; you always have been,” Lulu said in reply. “And I am sure papa thinks you a very great one to him.”
The captain’s quick ear caught the words, and he glanced smilingly round at the two without pausing in his talk with his agent.
Mr. Short gave the names of the streets as they passed along, pointed out the public buildings and the prettiest private residences, telling to whom each one belonged, and sometimes adding a little character sketch in a humorous or slightly satirical vein. He seemed a good-natured, jovial sort of man, and anxious to entertain and amuse.
It did not take long to traverse the town, and having presently reached the outskirts, they ascended an eminence from whence might be obtained a bird’s-eye view of the whole place and its surroundings of valley and wooded hills.
They paused here to gaze upon the landscape spread out at their feet, and Lulu, stepping to her father’s side, quietly slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed affectionately over it, and he gave her a pleased, loving look, though he seemed to be listening attentively to something Mr. Short was saying about the mine.
“I must visit it to-morrow, if the weather is favorable,” the captain said in reply. “I want to take my children with me, and as I expect to be in the vicinity for several weeks, there is no special haste; no need of hurrying out there through a storm.”
“Oh, I do hope the weather will be good!” exclaimed Lulu, while she and Max exchanged glances of delight.
“I think there is every indication of pleasant weather for some days to come,” remarked Mr. Short.
“Is it far to the mine?” asked Lulu; “will we have to ride or drive?”
“No, Miss; I think even you could easily walk it,” replied Mr. Short. “The distance is not over a mile.”
“Then I can,” she said; “I’ve walked more than two miles many a time.”
“No doubt of it,” said her father; “but you must have a pony for longer excursions. Have you succeeded in securing a suitable one, Mr. Short? Horses for myself and son, also?”
Short replied to the effect that he had succeeded in procuring a steed for each of them, which, though probably by no means equal to those they were accustomed to at home, would, he hoped, answer their purpose quite well.
“Are you accustomed to riding horseback, Miss?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lulu said. “Papa gave me a pony of my own more than a year ago, and before that I used to ride one belonging to somebody else.”
“Here come Mr. Austin and Albert up the hill,” said Max, and the next moment the English gentleman and his son had joined themselves to the little group.
They and Mr. Short had already made acquaintance. Polite greetings were exchanged, and then all stood together watching the sun as he sank behind the western hills.
It was a grand sunset, the whole western horizon ablaze with gold, orange, and flame color, shading off here and there into the more delicate shades—rose, pale-green, and amber.
They lingered for many minutes, silently gazing upon the ever-changing panorama until most of its glories had faded away, then slowly descended the hill and wended their way back to their temporary abodes.
It was growing dark, the stars coming out one by one overhead, and a young moon showing herself above the hilltops, when the captain and his children re-entered Mrs. McAlpine’s gate and walked up the path leading to the front porch.
There were several persons sitting there, among them the lady of the house. She rose, said “Good-evening,” and turning to a gentleman who had risen also, introduced him as the Rev. Mr. Green.
He and Capt. Raymond shook hands cordially, each expressing pleasure at the meeting, and when Max and Lulu had also been introduced, and all were seated, the two gentlemen fell into earnest discourse, the mission work and its interests and needs in that region of country being their principal theme.
The children listened in silence, and presently learned from the remarks of the minister, what was news to them—that their father had given town lots for church, parsonage, and schoolhouse, and nearly the whole amount of money their erection had cost.
“Papa must be rich, very rich, Max,” whispered Lulu in her brother’s ear.
“Yes; and generous too; far more generous and liberal than most folks,” Max whispered back. “I’m proud as can be of being his son.”
“And I of being his daughter,” she returned.
They gave expression to these sentiments in talking with their father when, a little later, they found themselves alone with him in his room.
“My dears,” he said, “as I have often told you, the money is the Lord’s and I am only his steward. How, then, could I do otherwise than use it for the advancement of his cause and kingdom?”
“Yes, papa, and you did it for the good of our dear country, too, didn’t you?” asked Lulu, taking a seat upon his knee and putting an arm affectionately about his neck.
“Yes, daughter; for if we would ensure her safety, we must all do battle earnestly against the threatening evils of ignorance, error, and superstition; the only way to preserve the liberties of this land, and make her a power for good to the rest of the world, is to instruct and evangelize all classes, whether native or foreign born.
“Now,” he continued, opening a Bible which he had taken from his trunk and laid upon a table, before going out, “we will close the day with reading and prayer, as we do at home, and go to our rest, for we are all in need of it, I think.”
He kept Lulu on his knee while he read, one arm about her waist, and Max’s chair was drawn close up on the other side; then they all knelt together, while the father gave thanks for all the blessings of the past day, made confession of sins, and implored the protecting care of their heavenly Father through the silent watches of the night; for themselves and the dear ones far away.
The captain had always been careful not to make family worship seem long and tedious to his children, and to-night it was shorter than usual, in consideration for their weariness, consequent upon the long journey but just completed.
When they had risen from their knees he took Lulu in his arms and kissed her tenderly two or three times, saying, “Now you may go to your own little room, my darling, and when you are quite ready for bed set the door wide open, so that you can feel that papa is near enough to hear you speak, should you want anything in the night.”
“Max, too,” said her brother laughingly, and giving her a kiss in his turn, “so that if any danger threatens you there’ll be two knights to fly to the rescue.”
“Thank you,” she returned gayly, “but if anything frightens me I shall run right to papa”, giving him another hug as she spoke.
It was a very warm evening, and the windows of the room were wide open to admit the air. Through one of them, looking upon the garden, Marian McAlpine witnessed the little scene; the words spoken did not reach her ear, but she saw the expression of the countenance of the captain and his children, and the caresses given and received.
“What a good, kind father! and what happy, happy children!” she murmured half aloud, as she turned away with a sigh that seemed to say her own lot was not so blessed.
Passing round the house and into the porch she found her mother, now sitting there alone.
Taking a chair close by her side, “Mother,” she said, “I think that Captain Raymond must be a very good man.”
“I dare say he is, child; certainly he has been extremely liberal to the mission cause in this town.”
“And he looks so good and kind and seems so fond of his children,” Marian went on. “I saw him reading to them to-night—the little girl sitting on his knee and the boy as close as he could well get by his side; the Bible I suppose it was, for when he closed it they all three knelt down together, and I could hear his voice as if he was praying, though not the words. Then they got up and hugged and kissed each other good-night. They’re the very happiest looking people I ever saw.”
“So I think. But, Marian, you shouldn’t be spying out what they are doing in the privacy of their own room.”
“I didn’t mean to, mother, but I happened to look up at their window—the light was so bright, you know—and I saw the girl help herself to a seat on her father’s knee, just as if she was sure he’d like her to, and put her arm round his neck, and it was such a pretty scene I couldn’t help standing there and watching them a bit. They don’t have to share their father with a lot of other children that are not their mother’s too,” she added, in a suppressed and bitter tone.
“Marian, Marian, hush!” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpine, in a low voice quivering with pain; “is your end of the cross heavier than mine?”
“No, mother, dear, not half so heavy: the cruelest part of it is seeing you suffer—you, who are as good and pure as an angel!” returned the girl passionately.
“Then for my sake, lass, try to suffer and be still. I’ve a hard enough fight with my own rebellious heart; at times I feel I shall never be able to bring it into meek submission to His will who doeth all things well.”
“But it isn’t His will! it isn’t His doing! I’ll never believe it, no, never!” cried the girl, clinching hands and teeth in impotent fury; “it’s the will and the doings of the adversary of souls, the father o’ lies, him that the Bible tells us was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him.”
“Marian, Marian, ye’re tempting your mother to the sin she maun ficht against nicht and day,” groaned Mrs. McAlpine, relapsing into Scotch, as they were both apt to do under strong excitement, “an’ oh, beware, lassie, that you dinna wrest Scripture to ye’r ain destruction and to mine.”
“Wrest Scripture! ’tis they wrest it,” cried the girl, in tones of fierce indignation; but before the words had fairly left her lips her mother had risen from her chair and fled from her presence, as one would fly from temptation.
Marian too rose, closed the house, and went to bed, while alone in her own apartment the mother spent a long time upon her knees wrestling in prayer for submission and strength to endure the cross she mistakenly deemed that He, her loving Lord and Master, had laid upon her.