BY rigid economy, by laboring in vacation, and performing various little offices in term time, I managed to continue at Rockdale two years. Latin was no longer a trouble to me, and Greek was becoming easy; but my purse was nearly empty. I was in need of several new books. And I began to turn in my mind what I could do towards defraying new expenses.
At this juncture the president of the board of trustees visited the school, where he remained the entire day, examining the classes, and inspecting the monthly reports. I had no suspicion of his purpose, and consequently gave my whole attention to my recitations. Although not as quick as many, I had been thorough, understood the principles of almost every thing that I had been over, and thus obtained correct answers. Greek and Latin were read easily, and the president was evidently satisfied with our progress.
That evening Mr. Harlan sent for me to his study. The time and the occasion were new to me, and I went with some trepidation. Mr. Harlan was not there, but in his place the visitor, Mr. Stovill.
“Mr. Harlan tells me that you intend to go through college, if your hands and your brains can take you there,” was his somewhat abrupt greeting.
“I am hoping to go. Others have done the same without more means.”
“What will you do to obtain the money? it will require a good deal for that.”
“I shall work for it.”
“Would you haul wood, build a stone Wall, or break stones on the street?”
“Any thing, sir, that offered me an equivalent.”
“Then you do not think that work will degrade you?”
“On the contrary, I think that labor will ennoble me. But as I wish to study, I should like to do that which would bring me the most for the least number of hours.”
He was silent, while I sat in suspense as to his purpose. What did he mean by all these questions?
“I believe you will do,” he said at length. “Young men are apt to think that work will degrade them. They forget that oaks spring from acorns, and little efforts lead to great results. The boy that will work to improve himself, will pretty surely merge into the man that will work for the good of others.”
In a few words he made known his plan. Robert Lovell was going to college; some one else must supply his place as under-tutor.
Mr. Harlan had suggested the names of two, Silas June and myself. Silas was very quick, and priding himself on this, he did not study. To be brilliant was his desire, and yet he might have been a thorough scholar had he studied. His quickness ruined him.
This situation, in consideration of my standing in class, was offered me, with sufficient remuneration to defray all my expenses.
I could hardly keep back the tears. This ray of light stealing through the darkness, was a reproof for all my faint-heartedness and despondency. “No right effort is ever lost.” There was a sun behind the clouds, though I had doubted it.
“I might have had that chance,” said June. “It was all my own foolishness. If I had only known the day Mr. Stovill was coming, I would have had my lessons; there would have been no trouble. My reports were against me.”
I could say nothing to comfort him, and the hour passed without words.
“If I could only begin again, I would not lean so much on my quickness. It is the same old story—the hare and the tortoise. You will get there quicker than I shall.”
“It is not too late for you,” said I; “try it.”
“I cannot do three years’ work in one. Besides, it is easier to fall into bad habits than to get rid of them. After all, I may get along just as well; but mother expected me to fill Lovell’s place. She wrote me in her last letter, that if I could not help myself a little, she should have to take my sister from school; she could not afford the expense of both. Poor mother.”
“Poor mother,” I echoed, and thought of what I should do, had I only a mother to write me letters full of loving words, and a sister that must be taken from school unless I could help myself in a measure. I was roused by his voice.
“We can never be young but once. I want my share of pleasure.”
“Do you find it?”
“Not yet; but I am hoping every day for something better.”
“Which you will never find, I am afraid. Judging from your own words, you are making your mother unhappy, and yourself miserable.”
“It is so; but what can I do?”
“Break off your idle habits; say good-by to your fun-loving companions, and begin to work right earnestly. This is the way others have done.”
“I ought to do it; but it is too late.”
“And you will oblige your mother to take that little sister from school?”
“Oh, I hope not; she is not so poor as she thinks. True, I have been spending a good deal this winter. Gilmore has a rich father, and I could not bear to be shabby in the suppers.”
This was my last year at Rockdale; and if the service was pleasanter, it was not less arduous. I had very little time for myself, a half hour’s stroll at twilight being my only recreation. Still I believed that I was improving, both intellectually and morally; and this sufficed me. Jennie was also climbing the hill of science rapidly. Frank Clavers’ sister had returned the year previous from boarding-school; and being pleased with Jennie, and learning that she could sing, she had offered to give her lessons in music. Seeing her fondness for books, Miss Clavers soon kindly offered to help her here also. This called for additional gratitude on my part; I had felt so troubled about this little sister, whom my mother left in my charge. Doing for myself, I hardly felt it to be right not to aid her personally more than my duties would allow. Now she had the benefit of example, and also the instruction of a young lady who was said to be a finished scholar.
Thus easily I slipped into Robert Lovell’s place as tutor, and also into his class in Sabbath-school. Teaching others is one of the best means of self-culture; and I was in this way sent to my Bible, if not more frequently, at least with a more intense desire to understand its teachings. Thinking, studying, meditating, I drew nearer the cross each day; each day began to realize more perfectly the beauty of His words who spake as never man spake, the glory of his countenance beaming with untold love; the terrible agony he suffered on the cross; his willingness to forgive sin; and above all, the encouragement in coming to him freely, as to a friend loved and confided in. Oh, why had I not seen this before? I had hopes that I did love him—that I did trust him—that I did follow him; but Oh, it was so far off. Had I been near, I should never have doubted as I had done; I should never have gone through all these months with my heart heavy, the waters going over my soul, striving to do only because I knew it to be right, and only half trusting the divine promise, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” Oh, blind and foolish heart, thus to grope in darkness when He was waiting with outstretched arms to receive thee.
How bright and beautiful my pathway now opened before me. Not that barriers were all removed, obstacles all cleared away; but I no longer felt troubled with a weak, half trust. I knew His promises were sure; that he would not leave me; that he would be in reality not a personal friend merely, but one closer than a brother. A long time had I been learning the lesson of his love, a long time discovering the depth of his tenderness; now, satisfied to rest on him, I found it joy unutterable.
