Amos Huntingdon Part 26

"Now I have not mentioned these cases because I think we are all bound to do as these good men have done. When G.o.d calls to such special sacrifice, he gives special faith and grace for it; but he does not call all Christians to the same. My reason for selecting these instances has been that I might put them before you as beautiful examples of that kind of moral courage which is exhibited in acts of exalted self-denial. And surely we may learn from them this lesson, to be more willing than most professing Christians are to deny self, that we may do good to others, or carry out some great and self-sacrificing purpose. And another thing is to be noticed in such examples as these, that it requires more moral courage to go counter to our own tastes, likings, and habits in comparative trifles, and to persevere in this course, than to make some great sacrifice on the impulse of the moment."

"Thank you, dear auntie," said Walter. "Yes, you have hit the right nail on the head; for our dear hero Amos has been showing just such steady, persevering moral courage. I see it all. Well, I hope I shall be the better for what you have told us."

At dinner-time Walter was nowhere to be found; all that was known was that he had gone off on his pony, and had left a message behind him that he had a little bit of business in hand, and that they must not wait dinner for him if he should happen to be late. The other members of the family were not particularly surprised at his absence, knowing that he would be leaving home for the sea-side next day, and that he might have some little matter to settle with some friend in the neighbourhood. But they became a little anxious when old Harry remarked, in reply to a question from his master, that he had seen Master Walter ride off two hours ago with his rifle and fis.h.i.+ng-rod in front of him, and that it seemed to him a little late for catching a big fish and then blazing away at him. By nine o'clock, however, Walter had returned, his pony evidently having had a sharp gallop home.

"Much sport, Master Walter?" asked the butler, who was standing in the stable-yard when he rode up.

"Oh, pretty good," was the reply; "just a whale or two, and some half- dozen sharks."

"They must have been tremendous big 'uns, I should say," remarked the old man, "for they seem to have swallowed your rifle and your rod."

"Ah, they just were," replied Walter; and then he made his way rapidly into the house.

That same night, as Amos was preparing for bed, Walter looked in, and walking up to his brother, said, "Here, Amos, take this; it's my little contribution towards the general expenses,"--saying which, he put ten sovereigns into his brother's hand.

"Walter, Walter! what does this mean?" cried Amos, touched and greatly agitated.

"It's all straightforward and above board," replied the other; "it means simply that I've been and sold my favourite rifle and fis.h.i.+ng-rod, and one or two other trifles, and that's the money I got for them. Nay, don't look so astonished. What! you didn't think to have a monopoly of the self-denial, did you? You see I don't quite mean to let you."

Amos Huntingdon--by Reverend T.P. Wilson

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

"BY THE SAD SEA-WAVES."

Next morning the brothers and their sister set off in high spirits for their temporary home at the sea-side. As Mr Huntingdon parted with Julia his voice trembled and his eyes swam with tears. She had got such a strong hold on his heart now that he felt it hard to part with her, even for a time. "She is so like what her mother was at her age," he said mournfully to his sister, as they turned back into the house, when the carriage had fairly carried the young people away. Old Harry was quite as much affected as his master, though he showed it in a different way. The sight of "Miss Julia as was" getting into the carriage to go off again was almost more than he could bear. She saw it, and kissed her hand to him. At this he gave a sort of jump, and then jerked his elbow against his side with all his might, a proceeding intended to suppress the outward exhibition of his emotion. Then, when his master and Miss Huntingdon had returned to the breakfast-room, he stood gazing at a full-length portrait of Mrs Huntingdon, taken in her younger days, which hung in the hall, and bore a very striking resemblance to Julia Vivian as she now looked. Having feasted his eyes with the portrait for a minute or so, Harry uttered out loud one prolonged "Well;" and them betaking himself to his pantry, sat down after he had slammed to the door, and put his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands.

And there he sat, his breast heaving, and his throat gurgling, till at last the simmering of his feelings fairly boiled over in a hearty flood of tears. "What an old fool I am!" he exclaimed at last. "It's all the better for her; and why, then, should I take on in this way? But, eh!

she getting so like an angel--not as I ever seed one, only in a picture- book, and that had got wings, and she ain't got none. But she's getting the right look now; she's got into the narrow way, and so has Master Walter too, only there's a bit of a swagger at present about his pilgrimage, but it'll all get right. They've got Master Amos with 'em, bless his heart, and it ain't much of the devil's head or tail as'll show itself so long as he's got the management of things. And they'll all be back again by-and-by, and the dear old missus too, I'm sure of it; so it'll all be well." Comforting himself with this thought, the old man wiped his eyes with his ample spotted pocket-handkerchief, and proceeded with his work, which he enlivened with a half--out--loud accompaniment of texts, sc.r.a.ps of hymns, and fragments of wise and proverbial sayings.

In the meantime the carriage was conveying the happy trio of travellers to the station, which being safely reached, they took train, and in the afternoon arrived at their destination. Amos had secured a nice little roomy cottage close to the seash.o.r.e, which was in the hands of a middle- aged motherly woman, who, with her only daughter, a girl some fifteen years of age, waited on her guests. Having deposited their luggage, and ordered a substantial tea, the little party strolled down on to the sands.

It was a lovely summer day, and the sun was now hastening to the west.

The tide was still running down, though it had come nearly to the turn, and its gentle rush, as it broke into a thousand sparkles of foam at each returning wave, made music in their ears. Far away to the left tall cliffs rose up, their majestic fronts scarred with the batterings of unnumbered storms. On either hand the sh.o.r.e swept round, completing the arc of one wide-extended bay, cleft in many places by paths which led up, now through lanes overhung by rocks of various coloured sand, and now along downs of softest turf, to the little town, or, further off, to solitary dwellings or cl.u.s.tering hamlets. Pebbles of dazzling whiteness lined the upper part of the slope down to the beach; and these were succeeded by a broad and even flooring of tough sand, along which visitors, old and young, found safe and ample s.p.a.ce for exercise. There was no grand esplanade or terrace with its throng of health and pleasure-seekers. It was emphatically a quiet place, with its few neat lodging-houses and humble shops, one solitary bathing-machine, and a couple of pleasure boats now hauled up high and dry. To those who might seek excitement at the sea, this little retreat would have proved insufferably dull; but to those who brought their resources with them in heart, mind, and purpose, there was all that could be needed to cheer, elevate, and delight,--the grand old ocean, outspread in its vast dignity of s.p.a.ce; the invigorating breezes; the pa.s.sing s.h.i.+ps; the glories of the most magnificent of nature's painters, even the sun himself, who spread his tints of gold, crimson, and purple in broad, dazzling bands from the extreme verge where sea and sky met up to the centre of the blue vault overhead, though here in hues paler, yet as intensely beautiful. And all around now breathed peace. No storm was now ploughing up the water into mountains of angry foam; but a quiet ripple and a gentle splash at regular intervals soothed the spirit by the harmony of their ceaseless fall.

The three travellers felt the tranquillising influence of the scene. To Amos it was one of unmitigated pleasure. The others, no doubt, would naturally have preferred a livelier spot, but now the consciousness that they were there to aid in bringing about a great and n.o.ble object made them content and happy for the time. So, after a long stroll on the beach, they returned, when the great glowing ball of the sun had withdrawn the extreme edge of his fiery rim below the horizon, to their cottage.

Having finished their evening meal, a consultation was held as to the best way of carrying out the purpose which had brought them from home.

The obvious thing seemed to be that Amos should go over alone to the house where his mother now lived, which was distant some eight or nine miles from their lodgings, and see what the physician in whose keeping she was might advise or suggest. So, early the next morning, he rode forth with a beating heart, and at the same time a happy trust, on his errand of love, his brother and sister having arranged to pay a visit for the day to a fas.h.i.+onable watering-place about five miles distant along the coast.

When Amos Huntingdon had reached his mother's retreat and told his errand, he confided to the good physician under whose charge Mrs Huntingdon was placed his great purpose, and the hope that it might now be accomplished, since his sister had returned to her home. The kind- hearted friend at once entered into his plans, and gave him every encouragement to hope that he would meet with good success. But care and judgment and tact must be used, lest, in endeavouring to bring back the mind to its old balance, anything should be done which might rather throw it further out. Nothing sudden or exciting must be attempted; for the delicate structure, which care and sorrow had disarranged, must be brought into a right adjustment by gentle and cautious treatment. The jarring chords could not be made to vibrate in tune by sweeping them with a rough and unsympathising stroke; all could be reduced to harmony only by some loving and judicious action which would draw up or slacken the discordant strings with a force which would be felt only in its results. It was therefore arranged that on the morrow the physician should bring his patient to the sea-side at noon, and that, while he and she were seated in view of the waves, and were listening to their soothing plas.h.i.+ng, Amos and his brother and sister should pa.s.s near, and be guided in what they should do as circ.u.mstances might suggest. "Your mother," said the physician, "simply wants her mind clearing; all is more or less confused at present. She grasps nothing distinctly; and yet she is often very near a clear perception. But it is with her mind as with a telescope: it is near the right focus for seeing things clearly, but simply it wants the adjustment which would bring it to the point of unclouded vision, and then, when that adjustment has been reached, it wants to be kept fixed at the right focus. I cannot but hope that we may be able to come near to that adjustment to-morrow."

Amos returned to his cottage much comforted. His brother and sister had not yet come back from their visit to the neighbouring watering-place; but at last they appeared, but not in the best of spirits. Something had gone wrong with them, but Amos was too anxious to talk over the morrow's effort to ask them many questions about their excursion.

And now the critical day arrived. The sun rose gloriously, lighting up the heavens as he emerged from his eastern bed with a fan-shaped outpouring of his rays which streamed up over one hemisphere of the heavens, painting the edges of myriads of small fleecy clouds with a transient crimson splendour. The sea was almost gla.s.s-like in its calmness, only heaving up and down sluggishly, as though reluctant to be moved in its mighty depths. But, further out, a gentle breeze was filling the snowy sail of some graceful cutter as it stole across the bay, or steadily swelled out the canvas of some stately s.h.i.+p as she sped on with all sail crowded on her towards the desired harbour.

Just a few minutes before noon, Amos, with beating heart, saw his friend the physician conducting two ladies to a sunny bench on the edge of the s.h.i.+ngles, facing the open sea. "Let us go," he said to his brother and sister, "and walk near them, but take no notice at first." So they all repaired to the beach, and with deeply anxious hearts drew near the little group. Which of the two ladies was their mother? One of them would probably be the physician's wife. They neared the sitters, and pa.s.sed on in front of them slowly, arm in arm. Who would have thought that mother and children, who had not met for years, were now so close to one another, and yet must for a while remain severed still? As the three on foot were pa.s.sing the bench, Amos just bowed his head to the physician, and then looked at his two lady companions; and so did his brother and sister. There could not be a moment's doubt--the children knew their mother at once. The dear familiar face was there, and not materially changed. And did the mother know her children? Something told her that they were beings in whom she had an interest; she saw in them something familiar. Yet she had not at all as yet grasped their relation to her with a realising consciousness.

"Pa.s.s on," said the physician softly; and they pa.s.sed on. A look of bewilderment and pain came over the face of the afflicted lady as the three walked forward. She followed them eagerly with her eyes. They turned towards her again, walking slowly back, and her face at once lighted up with a smile. "Sit down near us," whispered the physician to Amos, as he came up close to him, and all three sat on the sloping bank not many feet away from the bench. Oh, how the heart of Amos ached with yearning to throw his arms round his mother's neck; but he knew that it must not be yet. Julia and Walter also found it hard to restrain their impetuosity.

"Who are they?" at last said Mrs Huntingdon to the doctor. These were the first words that for seven years had fallen from that mother's lips on the ears of her children. How full of music were they to those who had so long mourned her loss!

"They are visitors come here for change of air and to enjoy the sea,"

was the reply.

She looked puzzled. "I think I have seen them before," she said, and put her hand to her forehead.

"Shall they sing something?" asked the physician.

"Oh yes! it will be so sweet; it will remind me of old times," she said.

Then Walter and his sister, at a nod from the doctor, began the touching duet, "What are the wild waves saying?"

Their mother listened with delight. Then she said, "That used to be one of my songs; I used to sing it with--with--ah, yes, with my husband Walter. Pray sing something else."

Then the three united in singing "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds."

As verse after verse was given by the three voices melodiously blending, a new light seemed to dawn into the lady's eyes. "Ah!" she cried, "I used to sing that hymn with my dear children. Let me see. Yes, with Julia, and Walter, and Amos.--These are my dear children, are they not?"

"Yes, yes, dear mother," cried Julia, unable to control herself.

"Who called me mother?" cried Mrs Huntingdon excitedly, and was about to rise, but the physician gently held her back, and motioned to her children to restrain themselves.

All was silent for a while, and then the medical man began to talk in an ordinary way with the young people on indifferent subjects, but all the while marking the effect of their voices on their mother. She was manifestly coming to feel that those voices were very familiar to her, and to have her heart and thoughts drawn out towards the speakers. "We will move on now," said the physician after a few minutes had been spent in general conversation. Then, giving his arm to his patient, he turned to her children and said, "Shall we meet here again the day after to- morrow at the same hour?" Amos bowed his a.s.sent, and, without any special word of farewell, they parted.

On the appointed morning the same party met on the beach. The good doctor at once began, "I have brought your mother to see you to-day, my young friends. She was a little confused when you last met, not having been quite well; but I believe you will find her comfortable now."

"Yes," said Mrs Huntingdon, "it is all right now. Yes, I see you are my dear children, Julia, and Amos, and Walter; but what a long time it seems since I last saw you! Come to me, my children."

They gathered round her, eager to show their love, and yet fearing to be too demonstrative.

"Ah, well," she continued, "Dr Atkin has told me all about it. He says that I have not been well--that my mind has been confused, but is getting better now. Yes, you are my Julia, and you are my Walter and Amos. How kind of you to come and see me. And--and--your father, my husband, how is he? How it all crowds back upon me!"

"You must not excite yourself, dear mother," said Amos.

"No, dear boy, that's true," she replied; "but all will be well, no doubt. Will you sing me a hymn?" So they all drew close to her, Julia laying her head in her lap, and there feeling a mother's tears dropping fast upon her forehead, while Amos and Walter each held a hand. Then all joined in a hymn, Mrs Huntingdon taking her part.

As the party were breaking up, Dr Atkin took Amos aside and told him that the lost balance was now nearly recovered, that his mother had become able to think connectedly, and that the tangle in her mind had, through the judicious intercourse with her children, and the a.s.sociations that intercourse had called forth, been unravelled and smoothed out. She might now form one of their party at the cottage, and by a careful avoidance on their part of all undue excitement, and the engaging her in cheerful and well-chosen subjects of conversation, the restored reason would become settled and strengthened, and she might return in a few weeks to her old home, and be able to bear by degrees the recurrence of old memories which old familiar scenes would call up, and the resuming of those duties and responsibilities from which her infirmities had so long shut her out.

Oh, with what thankfulness did Amos hear the physician's conclusion; and how warm and loving was the welcome which greeted the poor restored one as she entered, a few days later, the sea-side cottage, and took her place in the comfortable armchair arranged for her in a snug corner, where she could look out upon the sea, and at the same time be close to all those dear ones who were now once more truly her own. And day by day, as the mind of that beloved mother became clearer and stronger, they were able with prudent gentleness to make her understand the state of things at home and the sad history of her unhappy son-in-law; while at the same time Amos never lost an opportunity of directing his dear mother to that Word of consolation, which he knew would be to her, as it had been to himself, the only true and satisfying fountain of abiding peace. And thus it was that she now learned to love that Bible which, in former days, had never been really her stay, for she had not then given her heart to Him who is the author, the centre, and the giver of all truth, peace, and consolation.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

A SLIP ON THE ROAD.

It will be remembered that Julia and Walter had an excursion to a neighbouring fas.h.i.+onable watering-place about five miles distant, and spent the day there while Amos was making his first call at his mother's retreat, and that they returned in the evening out of spirits, something evidently having gone amiss with them. The incidents of that excursion will sufficiently explain the cause of their depression.