IN so large a school as that in Rockdale, of course there were various cliques, and each clique with its leader. Frank Clavers was at the head of the Senior class, and round him gathered good scholars and studious boys; while Richard Farden and Harry Gilmore, by virtue of wealth, good looks, and an easy, good-natured manner, took the lead in all sports and amusements; and Robert Lovell was looked up to and followed by all who had a thought of the future. Few enough there were of these; and to this clique I had attached myself. Hence the goodness that my room-mate was constantly reproaching me with, when I refused to join in their stolen revels.
“I am sure I should be on the ice half the time, if I could skate as you do,” said Harry Gilmore once as I joined the skaters during recess.
“So should I perhaps, had I nothing else to do,” I answered, skimming over the smooth surface with all the freedom of a bird on the wing. “It is a good deal of self-denial for me to stay at home, Harry. I own there are times when an hour on the ice would please me much better than sawing wood or making paths through the snow.”
“Why don’t you do it then? we have to beg you ever so long. I had no idea you could skate so beautifully.”
“I cannot afford the time,” I answered frankly. “I came here to study; and you know I nearly pay my board with what I can do during the hours that you have for recreation.”
“And your father don’t give you a cent?”
“My father and mother are both dead, Harry. I have the dearest little sister in the world; but as for money, I earn all I have with my own hands.”
“This is why you work and study then,” said he, linking his arm in mine and flashing across the pond. “It makes me ashamed of myself every time I hear you refuse to go with Richard; but I didn’t know that—”
“That I was so poor?”
“That your parents were dead, and you trying to educate yourself.”
“How is this?” shouted Richard Farden as soon as he turned the bend and came to shore—“how is it that you have got Howe on his skates? What arguments have you used, what inducements held out?”
“Golden ones, I’ll be bound,” shouted Charles Eaton, while the boys laughed uproariously.
“I have no influence over Marston Howe,” said Harry, calling me by my first name. “He has an influence over me, however, and I am resolved each day more and more to follow it.”
“How now? what’s the matter?” cried several voices as we unstrapped our skates.
I saw by the look of the sun that my time was up, and without another word I hurried up the hill and across the field to the academy.
Before the study bell rang, Harry Gilmore came to my room. “Have you a moment to spare, Marston?”
“Yes, a moment for you,” I answered.
“And you will not call it so much lost time?” drawing his chair to the table, and placing his feet on the fender. “To tell the truth, I am ashamed of the life I am leading this winter; the deception we practise is outrageous.”
“You do not deceive any one, Harry. Mr. Harlan may not know all of your nightly wanderings; but he knows who studies and who does not, and so do all the teachers.”
“Then why don’t they scold us as we deserve, send us home, or expel us?”
“Perhaps you would not do any better at home. They do all they can, both by precept and example; and they hope that time and your own good sense will at length compel you to do better.”
“And I am determined that I will. I have been led by Richard long enough. I am resolved to study for the rest of the term; and if I do, will you be my friend?” and he looked at me earnestly.
“You forget how poor I am. I pay my board by waiting on the household.”
“So much the more honor for you. My father was once a poor man. He’s rich now; worth half a million, I suppose. But that only makes me think meaner of myself. Only think of the money I spend every week, flinging it away, and you have none. You say you have a sister; so have I; and such good letters she writes me, telling me to use my time profitably, and not to be led away by ease-loving, indolent companions. I am going to try now, and you must help me.”
His look and tone touched me, and my words leaped out, “As far as I can I will help you to do right, Harry.”
“I shall be a better boy if you will let me come here sometimes and see you study. Say that you will, Marston. There goes the bell. Say that I may come.”
“As often as you like.”
“If my lessons are good to-morrow, you may take the credit of it;” and the door closed.
Presently Richard came in, flung down his cap and gloves, and hastily tore the envelope from a letter.
“I declare it’s too bad; not a cent of money. Father has no idea of the little things that draw upon the purse.”
“It cannot be that you have used the last he sent,” I exclaimed, seeing his look of distress.
“Yes, but I have though, and had to borrow besides. You see every thing is so high; our suppers have cost enormously; and now the lectures are coming on, and I have not a dime.”
“I have several tickets; that need not trouble you.”
“The lectures would be dull enough if it was not for something afterwards: and the sleigh-rides; I’ve promised ever so many I’d treat them to a ride. It’s just the time now; and the old fellow don’t seem to appreciate it at all.”
“He appreciates study more, perhaps.”
“I know it, Howe, as well as you do. I don’t study. I feel ashamed of it, and still I cannot do better. I mean to in the spring. I’ll turn over a new leaf, as Gilmore says.”
“Why not begin now?” I ventured to ask.
“Because I can’t; I’ve got out of the way of study, and to go back is not so readily done. I would not have father know how I spend my time; and my sister is always writing me to make good use of my opportunities. Poor mother, I am all the boy she has got, and I know how anxious she is about me. I don’t mean to be wild, but I’m afraid that I am.”
The last words, mournfully spoken, touched my heart. Besides, the idea of his trifling with a mother’s love moved me to speak.
“Why not try now to do what you feel to be right? You might easily be the first in your class.”
“I meant to be when I came here; but when I saw how some of the others managed, by degrees I fell into the same ways.”
“It is not too late to commence. Mr. Harlan told us that when we become conscious of an error, we should turn from it immediately. It is easy for us to do wrong; and to turn as soon as we become conscious of it, is the only true wisdom.”
“I don’t believe I can here; the boys all know me, and they will expect me to do just as I have done.”
A little tap at the door. Charles Eaton entered, and conversation took a more general tone.
A few evenings after this, in passing out of the supper-room, Mrs. Harlan handed me several papers, magazines, etc. Looking them over, I found a notice of the death of Charles Brisbane, my first teacher. My eyes grew dim as I gazed upon the record, which spoke of early promise, rare graces of mind, and the deep religious element underlying a character devoted to the elevation of the human race. I cannot describe the effect produced by the perusal of that short obituary. Mr. Brisbane’s words had roused me to action, and taught me my duty to myself and to my Maker; but his death gave to his well-remembered utterances all the force and power of a voice from heaven. Thenceforth I cherished his image still more, as one of my choicest treasures; and the desire of my heart was deepened to acquire knowledge and discipline, and to be, like him, a good and useful man.
And still, with all my resolves, I was conscious I failed in the most important, point. Did I love the Saviour as he did? Did I as closely follow Him?
Winter passed, and spring blossomed into beauty. Robert Lovell was again with us. There was more study; examination was coming, and all were anxious to make a good appearance. My room-mate was more studious, and Harry Gilmore was trying to redeem time. Out of school my time was taken up with gardening; and much pleasanter it was than making paths in the ice and snow. True, I had never done any thing of this before; but although a little awkward at first, it soon came easy. Besides, it brought me in continual contact with Mr. and Mrs. Harlan; and their remarks were not only pleasant, but profitable. In the room of feeling despondent, as I had now and then done during the winter, I was cheerful and happy; and without enjoying my books the less, I did enjoy my labors more.
“It is strange how quickly the weeds grow,” I said to Mrs. Harlan as I was thinning out the early vegetables.
“I never look at the weeds without thinking of my own heart,” she answered. “Goodness, patience, humility, and faith are here to be cultivated with constant care; while selfishness and passion spring up almost imperceptibly, and their seeds are, like the thistle-down, borne on the lightest breeze.”
“There is one comfort with the weeds,” I answered; “we can cut them up by the roots; but the evil in our hearts, the foolish and wicked desires that so often strive for the mastery, are not so easily managed.”
“Not by ourselves, Marston; but there is One that can help us in this. Like the careful gardener, that lops off and prunes the vine till it seems, as it did to you the other day, that it would die cut down so closely, so God deals with us according to the condition in which we are placed, lopping off a branch here and there, taking away a support, replanting according to our needs and necessities, and all to improve the growth and life, that the fruit may be more abundant. You remember in January, when the shade-trees were trimmed, you thought they were ruined, and exclaimed against it.”
“Yes, I thought they were cut too closely, the last year’s growth almost entirely cut away, leaving little but the bare trunk.”
“And you see now how they are putting forth new and vigorous branches. They had branches and leaves last year, but no beauty; and there was too much top for the roots; hence the necessity of cutting them closely: watch them, and you will see how much more beautiful and fruitful they will be for such severe pruning.”
“If we could always keep this in mind,” I answered; “but it is so easy to grow despondent when we cannot understand the why and wherefore of our trials.”
“The plants do not ask why and wherefore, but put forth all their energy in the direction to which they are guided,” was the reply.
“It is their nature; but with us it is not so easy and natural,” I said.
“How so? it is our privilege to be guided and supported. The Saviour is often represented under the figure of a gardener, his garden the world, and the plants in it the human beings for whom he died. If we are his servants, the afflictions and privations we are called upon to endure are only prunings from his hand. Neither should we ask why; but turning our gaze in the direction specified, seek to fulfil his purpose.”
“And if we try, does he see and notice our effort?”
“Yes, Marston, the fall of a sparrow is noted by him; and there is nothing connected with our well-being but interests him. He is moved with a feeling of compassion when he looks upon our suffering; and so great is his love, that if he could spare us the least pang he would do so.”
By this time I had finished the asparagus-bed, while the rows of lettuce stood neatly defined, and the delicate tendrils of the pea-vines began twisting themselves about for the support I had placed within their reach. Mr. Harlan suggested that one walk needed to be widened, and another to be gravelled. It was Saturday, and I took the wheelbarrow and crossed the pasture to the brook.
While shovelling gravel, with my coat off and sleeves rolled up, I heard shouts and voices. A light wagon, drawn by two spirited horses, and filled by half a dozen boys, was coming down the road from Terryville. Richard Farden was driving, and when opposite me, he stopped.
“We are going down to see Frank Clavers, and then on a fishing excursion up the river. There is room enough for one more; put down your sleeves and jump in; we’ve plenty of hooks and lines.”
“A grand treat it will be,” cried several from the back seat; “you had better come.”
“We shall have a splendid supper,” added Richard, “and then home by moonlight. Such a chance you don’t get every day. Come on.”
I longed to avail myself of the privilege. I had not had a ride, save on horseback, for a long time. And then it was to see Frank; and perhaps I could stop for a moment at Miss Grimshaw’s, and see Jennie. Still I had no time. Mrs. Harlan was expecting me back, and there stood the wheelbarrow half-full of gravel. “No,” I answered, “I cannot go. I have not the time; drive on;” and I took my shovel, not daring to look up till the handsome turnout was out of sight.
The next half hour was one of mingled feelings. Why was my lot so hard, and that of others so easy? “He deals with us according to our needs,” Mrs. Harlan had said; and I tried hard to work cheerfully, though saying to myself now and then, “It is Saturday, and no more than fair had I gone home. How much good it would have done me;” and plunging my shovel into the yielding bank, I started my wheelbarrow.
“Do not work so hard, Marston; you look heated;” and Mrs. Harlan looked up approvingly.
“What a difference it makes,” said she as I scattered the gravel in heaps, and then spread it evenly.
“It will require two or three loads more,” I answered; and on I went, feeling that any thing was better than to stand still.
Again had I reached the gravelled shore, and was shovelling away smartly, when Harry Gilmore leaped down the bank with his merry laugh and cheerful voice.
“If I was to envy anybody at Rockdale, it would be you,” he said, after a few words about the fishing party.
“Me!” and I pointed to my bare arms and my face dripping with perspiration.
“Yes, I believe you have more real comfort than any one of us who have rich fathers. You prize every hour in school, because it costs you self-denial; while we have never learned to value privileges that cost us nothing. Now let me help you,” he said, taking off his coat, “for I am to have a drive in the evening, and I want you should get through in time to join me.”
“A drive! where?”
“Anywhere you please; to Claverton, if you will.”
“Oh, that will be so good. Are you really to go?”
“Certainly I am to go, and you are to go with me. Now give me that shovel.”
“There’s nothing more to do with it just now.”
“What a pity there are not two wheelbarrows. I will go back with you and get another.”
“You forget your clothes,” I said, looking at his neat suit of broadcloth.
“Gravel is clean; it will all brush off;” and we started, each grasping a handle of the wheelbarrow and keeping step over the green sward.
With an amused look, Mrs. Harlan eyed us as we came up.
“Two boys work faster than one,” she said, as Harry scattered the gravel and I smoothed it.
“Two more loads will be enough, wont they, Mrs. Harlan?” asked Harry; and being answered in the affirmative, away he went to the wood-shed, and returned with a heavier wheelbarrow for himself.
“Not that, Harry; you are not accustomed to it. If you insist on going, you must take this.” With a few playful words we exchanged wheelbarrows, while Mrs. Harlan looked after us as we trundled down the path at a brisk pace.
“How stupid. I forgot that we had but one shovel,” said Harry with a light laugh.
“I will fill both,” I answered.
“No, I came to help you. I will sit still while you fill yours; then you shall rest till mine is ready, and we can start even.”
There seemed to be no other way, and I assented.
“There, old fellow,” said he as the gravel lay piled in my barrow, “now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, Harry, it will tire you out; let me,” I persisted.
“My back is no better than yours; go and sit down.”
Overcome by his kindness, I went and sat on the bank, hardly conscious of my own identity. I had felt so bitterly in the morning, thinking my lot so hard; and now to find that Harry had stayed at home to take me out for the evening, and then, fearing I should not finish in time, helping me himself—the boy that never had waited on himself doing this heavy work, and all for me.
“There, I am done,” leaving the shovel standing upright in the middle of his load.
“You will find it heavy; you had better tip out some,” I suggested.
“My arms are strong; have no fear,” he answered, and struck into the path ahead of me.
“Pretty warm,” said Harry, after a few moments. “I reckon I’ll tip off my vest instead of the gravel;” and I saw that his collar was limp and the linen on his shoulders wet through and through.
“This will be sufficient,” said Mrs. Harlan as we finished smoothing the walk. “You have worked so well, Marston, the rest of the day may be your own.”
“Mrs. Harlan,” and Harry stood with his cap in his hand, “I am to go to Claverton this evening, for the ride merely, and I would like to take Marston with me, if you have no objection.”
“To Claverton this evening! You will see Miss Grimshaw and Jennie,” turning to me.
“If I go, I shall hope to see them.”
“I will see;” and she crossed the veranda into her husband’s study.
“Yes, Mr. Harlan is willing you should go,” she said. “I hope the ride will be pleasant. Let me see you before you go, Marston.”
“All ready,” shouted Harry as he drove up in a pretty open buggy drawn by a high-spirited black horse, that pawed the ground just a little, to show his impatience.
“In a minute, Harry.” I had not yet seen Mrs. Harlan, and I flew down stairs and across the hall to the parlor.
“Not there, Marston,” and Mrs. Harlan called me to her own room. “Here are a few things that I intended for you before examination. It will be a good time to wear them this evening, however, and you may try them on at once; I am impatient to see if they fit.”
My hand trembled as I took them, and my voice still more.
“Do not be afraid to wear them, you have fairly earned them. Mr. Harlan told me that he owed them to you.”
They were a nice spring suit of light grey cloth. I could not stop to half thank her, but hastened into my own room, and slipping into them, gave one look into the little mirror, and then down stairs, under Mrs. Harlan’s kindly review, and then out to Harry.
“Why, Marston, what’s the matter? You are actually crying.”
“It was all so unexpected,” I murmured, dropping into my seat.
“They are not a bit too good for you; I was with her when she ordered them. The tailor measured me instead of you; that’s the reason they fit so nicely. I told Mrs. Harlan you could wear my clothes. But come, cheer up; don’t let a nice suit of clothes spoil your eyes. We shall have lots to see.”
Impatient as I was to see Jennie, the ride seemed short; and when we drove up to Miss Grimshaw’s little white gate, I thought I had never seen a picture half so beautiful. It was a soft spring day, the parlor windows open, and the white muslin curtains fluttering in the breeze. The breath of the lilacs perfumed the air, and the tulips were budding into beauty. Miss Grimshaw had moved her shop to a larger building, and we walked up the yard and were looking through the half-open door, when grandma spied us, and came forward, leaning on her staff.
“Why, Marston, is that you? I am so glad to see you. How you have grown, child.”
“And this is Harry Gilmore,” I answered, till then forgetting to introduce my companion.
“Sit down; Jennie will be in presently.”
“Where is she, grandma?”
“In the strawberry bed at the back of the house. I will call her.”
“No, grandma, let us go for her: and may we pick some strawberries?”
“As many as you wish.”
By this time Jennie had seen the buggy, and surmising who had come, started to meet us. One glad cry of surprise, and her arms were round my neck.
“Oh, brother, I am so glad to see you. I began to fear you would never come again;” then turning to Harry, as I named him, she held out her little dimpled hand. “I am glad you came to-day, the strawberries are so fine. This is the first day we have had them in abundance. Will you take some of mine?” holding up a bowl she had picked quite full, the red stain still on her fingers.
“Grandma said we might help ourselves.”
An hour passed deliciously, and then Jennie ran in, smoothed out her sunny curls, and put on a fresh pretty gingham, looking handsomer than I had ever seen her before. Miss Grimshaw came in for tea, and the nice white rolls were enjoyed by us with a peculiar zest, while the strawberries and cream were, as Harry said, beyond all praise. After tea we strolled out to the river, gathered violets, and talked of our studies.
“It looks natural, and still every thing wears a brighter hue,” I said to Jennie as we stood on the door-step. “I have never seen the spring half so beautiful.”
“Perhaps it is in ourselves,” Jennie said. “You have not forgotten what Mr. Kirby said: ‘If we think good and happy thoughts, we shall look through such a medium that every thing about us will wear the same hue.’”
“I like to hear you repeat what Mr. Kirby said,” I continued. “Sometimes I am afraid that I am forgetting him.”
“We both owe Mr. Kirby more than anybody else in the world. We must never forget him.”
Harry had been walking round the flower beds with grandma. They stopped near us, and she said, “You have grown tall, Marston, and I hear people say that you are getting to be a fine scholar. I do not know much of books, but I have picked up a verse that I want you to think of: ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.’”
“And you too,” she continued, addressing Harry. “You will both make better men for heeding it.”
“So my mother says,” was Harry’s reply.
We did not see Frank Clavers, neither hear any thing of the excursionists. At parting Jennie gave us a basket of strawberries for Mrs. Harlan, and stood with cheeks flushed and eyes misty with tears, the gold brown curls waving over her white shoulders.
“The prettiest picture that I have ever seen,” said Harry as we drove away. “You may well be proud of your sister, Marston.”
“And so I am,” I replied. “The best of all, she is as good as she is beautiful.”
For some reason we talked quite soberly during our ride back to Rockdale, going over the incidents of the past, and the changes that our short lives had witnessed. Then we talked of the future, which we robed in bright hues like the blossoms of that lovely spring time. True, Harry was the principal talker. My heart was full. Still I knew that I must scale steep heights, tread rugged paths, press on when footsore and weary, perchance to meet little earthly success. Ah, how mysterious a thing human life would be, could we not discern in it the threshold of a higher, purer existence.