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No. 3G. RULES
OF THE
Universalist Sabbath School Library,
St. Johnsbury Center, Vt.
I.
Members of the Sabbath School and those who
attend the Universalist meeting are entitled to
take books from the Library.
iki
No volume can be retained from the Library
more than two weeks.
Lik.
A fine of two cents a week will be charged if
the books are retained longer than two weeks.
IV.
Persons taking books from the Library will be
held responsible for their return and for any
damage that may occur to them.
Vi
Not more than two volumes can be taken at
any one time by one person.
VI.
The Librarian shall keep an exact account of
all books received, loaned and returned.
UNIVERS!Ty |
__ ILLINOIS ee,
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
BOOKSTACKs
Wi) FATE
tq} iNET
a
AAT HA NH
NAGA UNA Mi HAN A
THE
HARVEST OF LOVE.
A STORY
FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.
BY
MINNIE S. DAVIS,
AUTHOR OF **MARION LESTER.??
e
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY A. TOMPKINS,
“ 38 & 40 CoRNHILL.
1860.
ad eo
Entered according to Act of ft Gegieke in the year 1859, by
We ; Ay TOMPKINS, . : i
In wee Clerk’ Office of the District Pom of the District of Massachusetts
PREFACH.
EE ooo
ENncouraGeD by the kindly welcome which
> greeted “Marion Lester,’ and in compliance
$ with the wishes of her friends, the author here.
‘> . presents an earlier work, — the first continuous
“effort of her pen. She has reviewed it with
care ; and, though conscious that it is still im-
‘perfect, she hopes it may not prove wae
unacceptable.
\ Though the author gattiered the suatennle for
her story only in the realms of imagination, she
2 believes there is nothing i in it untrue to nature.
“Doubtless many will be able to point out the
Niliving counterparts of some of the characters
Shere portrayed.
© Dear reader, are you seeking a “sensation
“novel,” gorgeously colored, with intricate plot
_ yand startling denouement ?— then lay this little
Sbook aside; it is not for you. But if you wish
g7C€- AE
®
IV PREFACE.
to find truth guiding the hand of fancy, —if
you love a simple, home story, developing such
characters as would bless and beautify that
spot where all the holiest affections of the heart
are centred,— perchance you may find pleasure
in perusing these pages.
: MINNIE 8. DAVIS.
BetHeL, May, 1859.
Ay
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. cements
CHILDISH CHARACTER, + + + + ++ e+ ee es eS Aa ena 7
CHAPTER If,
HOME INPLUENCH |. Bog 5 Peers) aso ected eke Ce a Eee 8
GHAPTER Tit.
THE POWER OF KINDNESS, ...- « Pare hat eee 1c 6.t ox oh eee
CHAPTER IV.
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING, . » « «= « ata gales uteuet ieee 33
CHAPTER V.
SOOO SCENES;) «ful ss FL aloes beanie Mens Boo eee AL
: CHAPTER VI.
PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT, . «+ «2 es es «© « » 51
CHAPTER VII.
PORESTADOWINGS 0% be Cis 6 te ee ve wa tae liek et eeemes 62
CHAPTER VIII.°
BORA VEEN Tn oie ee et Ae. ae al elite eh ape devel epee are (cae
CHAPTER 1X.
NiCWACOMEES, - 0 eile c Wop eh ratisceica LS leis hatcebial seraiee 76
GHA P Tt Roark.
CHENGHE Ge ah eee ets cok oe ia” eae ts Rake sh Cee 86
* ;
CHAPTER XxX £.
GeaeeVORTUNES OF OLINTON, 40 os, (so eet see se e+. 0 LOA
CHAPTER XII.
WEWeOBVPLOPMUNTO. oo ic). geo ef eueie bce +8) 0) eh 6 geiae 123
| GHA PTER: ALEL:
“EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES, + « «© © eo se ee wo - 181
CHAPTER XIV.
SORROW, — NOW PLANS, cote Sh eo ee bg wt ela 8 8 . 144
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XV.
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME, « .. . «eee Ar ae eu |)
CHAPTER XVI.
SPR UIOUN PTR LONG Wi! a Vref ae Sb ae ce Ly diechiwlh cis we fin te - 164
CHAPTER XVII
BETOOME MOME e'\cun eta) ish oso 0 tae os Sas le Tipts c aie iets Nae O
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS UPON THE STAGE, . . » « « « « « 189
CHAPTER XIX.
TUG ORS EDs 1 to ths tao tty ae ie ice (ie 8 as Lime a ee 191
CHAPTEHR. xX
GOMPORT: aici Vino ees iy reo ve the So tle ee hac eects Se Pe las
4CHAPTER XXI.
A ATANDER EE OROUND, 6°!" sw veh s js 6. oie te Gb. se Sea ee SL
CHAPTER XX Sis
LOVE. — HOPE WOT: OUP AETN, oe eee sete bo elm Walon Te 210
CHAPTER XXIII.
POMINA GD LMTERLOM Ss be ep evo. ook ce re eke OR Rae a 217
CHAPTER ele
OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES, »« «s+ ee ew ee 2238
CHAPTER UA AY.
HAPPINESS. —LAURETTA’S PRIDE, «1s ss 0 s+ 0 © © wo 229
CHAPTER XXVI.
UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA, “MH. .... lie in FOS, Sekt 288
CHAPTER XXVII.
RE BIO AS Shi cg tee Lgl ie Vie fete ae Tae ak Lp alee Ra drs Bas’.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A
TATRETTAS Sia Helin ye lie: Soot rege, Rive ae a fe fe Seles eres eOU
CHAPTER XXIX.
RO WUNAISEON,, a) ot 1 9b. we Lec Sata ameaicent acs gta icact es lecciv), «x tele
“*
¢
CHAPTER I.
CHIBDISH CHARACTER.
‘WHAT a naughty thing Clint Forrest is! He is
the worst boy in school. Just hear how wickedly he
talks.”
“OQ, Dora! I am sure he is not as bad as those
great boys who vex him so. Everybody tries to
plague poor Clint!”
‘But just see, Mina; he is kicking John Carter
with all his might; he is mad enough to tear him in
pieces. He has gota dreadful temper,—you can’t
dispute that? ”’
‘‘T know he acts very badly; but he hasn’t any
father or mother to teach him. I almost cry when I
think that he has nobody to love him. The boys
always blame him for everything ; and I don’t believe
he’d hurt any one if they didn’t provoke him to it.”
‘Perhaps he would n’t, Mina. I didn’t think any-
thing about his having no fafler and mother. Poor
Clint ! ” |
The group of quarrelsome boys, which the children
were passing, now dispersed, and they soon forgot
them. The little maidens were on their way to
school, and not a wild flower on the roadside escaped
their eager grasp; for they must all be presented as —
a love-token to their teacher. A childish though
beautiful friendship existed between the little eg
COC
a
a?
.
‘4
Re P st: ; ie ; a 3 $
& *
8 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
%
which had never been marred by the least difference
or coldness. They had been together daily from in-
fancy, and no sisters ever loved each other better.
Dora May lived with her widowed mother in the
pretty cottage close to Dr. Clement’s fine mansion.
She was the love and pride of that mother’s heart.
And well she might be, for the gay, spirited Dora
won all hearts by her sweet vivacity of manner.
Though six months older than Elmina Clement, she
appeared more than that younger. Her tiny figure
seemed quite babyish beside Elmina’s elegant form.
Her beautiful hazel eye beamed with a happy light.
One could not look upon her sunny face without a
thrill of pleasure. The little friends usually acted in
concert; but Elrfina’s was the guiding spirit. Hl-
mina possessed a maturity of mind, a precocity of in-
tellect, rarely “found in ‘a child of seven years. So
unconscious was she of this, that it’ did not destroy
the childishness so beautiful in childhood. Though
she was caressed and petted much, she was not
spoiled; that the spss care of her mother had
prevented.
Very happily did they ramble on their way. Dora
_had given Mina all her flowers, that there might be
one large bouquet. Elmina accepted them, saying
she would tell Miss Morris that Dora had gathered
half of them. |
Just then a boy, about nine years old, came run-
ning by them. ‘‘There is Clint,” said Dora; ‘‘ won-
der if he has got over his passion ? ”
The boy heard what she said, and turned back
spitefully.
“You wonder if Clint has got over his passion, do
you? Iam never going to get over it. I shall keep
in a passion all the time. Everybody hates me, and
I’m sure I hate everybody.”
CHILDISH CHARACTER. 9
“O, Clint, you ought not to say that! It is very
wrong,”’ said Mina.
‘Tt is very wrong!” he repeated, mockingly.
“*Q, don’t I wish I was a little lady, and had long,
black curls! How smart I should feel, wearing m
pink muslin frock and white apron, and telling folks
that didn’t care about anything or anybody, that
they were very wreng! ”’
‘Do go away, you disagreeable boy !”’ cried Dora.
‘You are vastly mistaken if you think I’ll go at
your order, miss.”’ Clint observed that Elmina car-
ried her flowers very carefully, and snatched them
from her, throwing them upon the ground, and tread-
ing them ito the damp earth. She stoed for a
moment silent with astonishment, then burst into
tears. ‘‘Q, you want your flowers, de you, you dear
little cry-baby? Here, take ’em an’ welcome.’’ So
saying, he gathered up the soiled and broken flowers,
with a handful ef mud, and threw them upon her neat
dress. | :
‘Clint Forrest, you are the worst boy in the
world! I don’t wonder everybody hates you,” cried
the indignant Dora.
“ Don’t think you ’ve teld me any news, for I knew
it all before.”” With a loud laugh he turned towards
the scheol-house. Q, what a laugh for a child like
him! It teld of a heart barren of all the sweet affec-
tions which love and kindness foster. It told fearfully
of the neglect of that young immortal. Child as he
was, his heart was incrusted with bitterness and dis-
trust. But down deep in that little heart were
springs capable of vibrating to the purest and holiest
emotions. Of their existence the boy himself was
ignorant. They had never been sought for. _
This last rude act seemed very cruel vand uncalled ee
ae
for to Elmina, when she felt so much kindness towards
*
10 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
him, and had expressed it so warmly. ‘The sensitive
child sobbed convulsively, while Dora vented her feel-
ings in the use of all the angry expletives she could
command.
‘“‘What is the matter, sis? ’”’ cried a pleasant voice,
and Elmina’s brother Frank put his arm kindly about
the little girl. ‘What is it, dear Mina?” he re-
peated. ‘‘ You don’t often cry like this. What has
happened, darling?’”’ She could not speak, though
she strove to suppress her sobbing.
Dora told the story with flashing eyes, and in so
spirited a manner, that Frank supposed it much worse
than it really was. He was as much displeased as
Dora could wish him to be. He soothed his little ,
sister with true brotherly kindness, and, when the
school-bell rung, her tears were wiped away, and she
was trying to smile. ‘‘ Don’t go into school now,
with your red eyes, Mina. You and Dora go down
to the brook and bathe your face. Wait till you are
smiling and cheerful, and I will excuse you to the
teacher.”? As soon as the little girls were out of
hearing, he muttered to himself, ‘‘'The young scamp !
to think of his hurting my sister! I suppose he’lJ
vex sweet little Dora next. Miss Morris shall know
it; and I hope she’! punish him severely. I’d like
to train him for one week !’’
The two children passed down a narrow path, lead-
ing behind the school-house, to the place where a
rivulet babbled over shining pebbles and glistening
sand. ‘The banks were high on both sides, except
where a large shelving rock rose a few rods from the
water. A spreading willow shaded the spot. In
summer it was a very inviting place, both for its cool-
ness and rude beauty. This was Dora’s and Elmina’s
favorite retreat. Here they brought their toys and
books, and played many: happy hours. Sometimes
CHILDISH CHARACTER. 13
«
Frank came and read stories to them, or brought his
hook and line and caught the tiny fishes that sported
in the water. They were so happy here, and loved
the place so well, that Frank had christened it
‘Happy Nook.’ The other school children did not
often molest them in their Happy Nook; for most of
them preferred rude and noisy games to the quiet
amusements that delighted our little friends.
To this pretty spot the children now turned their
steps. After Elmina had bathed her*heated brow
and swollen eyes in the cool water, they seated them-
selves upon the rock, their arms thrown lovingly about
each other. ‘I thought I should try to love that
rude Clint Forrest,” said Dora; ‘‘ but I don’t want
to love him now; he has so abused you, dear Mina.”’
‘‘T shall love him just as much as ever,” replied
Elmina. ‘I was not angry with him, only very
sorry.”’
“T should n’t think you would care much about
him, after he has mocked you, and called you proud,
and spoiled your flowers, and all that.. If Frank tells
. Miss Morris, he’ll get whipped for it. Don’t you
recollect that, when he pushed Lizzie French down
yesterday, and made her cut her lip, she said she’d
whip him the very next time he quarrelled with any-
body, or hurt any one?” ;
‘So she did, Dora. O, I hope Frank hasn’t told
her! I don’t want Clint to be whipped; for he
didn’t hurt me any. Come, let us hurry, Dora, so
that we can tell her that, if Frank has told her about
It.”’
Dora’s sympathies were aroused, and the two chil-
dren hastened to the school-room. When they
entered, they instantly perceived they were too late |
to save the little urchin from his threatened punish-
ment. He had already been chastised, and ston? é
Pi
12 THE HARVEST OF LOViRS
before his teacher with a stubborn and determined
expression on his face. His eyes were filled with the
tears which he was too proud to let fall.
‘‘T hope you understand me now, Clinton,”’ said
Miss Morris, in a cold, stern voice. ‘Take your
seat, and remember this day’s lesson.”
The boy took his seat, muttering, ‘‘ 1 wish I had
hurt her! I wish I’d half killed her!”
Miss Morris turned, and saw the children standing
near, with flushed and excited faces. She placed her
hand caressingly upon Elmina’s head, and asked, in a
kind ‘voice, if Clint had hurt her much. Elmina
did not reply to the question, but raised her eyes with
a reproachful look to her teacher’s face, and said,
‘‘Did you punish Clinton because he vexed me?”
“Yes, my dear. I was very sorry to be obliged to
do so; but it is my duty to try to prevent his bad
treatment of the scholars. Don’t feel so grieved
about it, Mina.’”’? She stooped, and would have kissed
the rosy, pouting lips, but the child prevented it by
turning quickly away. She took her seat, hid her
face in her apron, and wept. Miss Morris was much
surprised, and tried to comfort her, but she shook her
curly head very determinedly, and sobbed more
bitterly. ;
Clint peered at her through his tangled hair, atid
wondered. He could not understand Mina’s feelings ;
still he thought that he would rather be punished
again than see her crying for him. He sag remarkably
still all the afternoon, wondering how it happened
that a beautiful little girl, with so many nice clothes
and such a number of kind friends, could care enough
about him to cry because he was hurt; and one, too,
whom he had treated so very unkindly.
‘Where is that dear, little Mina?” cried one of
the large girls, at recess. No one could tell; not
» May e
a.)
*
ia [eo
i
ILDISH CHARACTER. 13
even Dora. What a tender-hearted child she is!
I wanted to put my arms about her and kiss her, when
she was crying as though her heart would break.”
‘* Did you notice,”’ said another, ‘‘ how proudly she
came out of the school-house ? Then, what a look she
gave Miss Morris! It told, better than she could have
expressed in words, her indignation. I did n’t know,
before, that she had so much spirit.”
‘Wor my part,’’ chimed in Jane Kent, ‘I think
she is a silly thing to make such a fuss about that
beggar-boy. I believe she made it more than half
just for the sake of the impression.’’
‘Why, Jane!” said the first speaker, ‘we all
know Elmina too well to believe a word of it. I
should think Clinten Forrest would be ashamed ever
to look at her again. I wonder where the little one
has hid herself?”
They could not find the runaway, and they gave
up the search, concluding that she had gone home.
She did not make her appearance at school again’ that
' . afternoon, and Dora went home sad and lonely without
her. )
CHAPTER II.
HOME INFLUENCE.
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command 5
And yet a spirit still and bright,
With something of an angel light.
WORDSWORTH.
THE beautiful Connecticut winds its silvery course
through: the green plains of Oakville, —a charming
rural “village. I'he emerald hills rise majestically
towards heaven, throwing their cool shadows across
the shining waters. How the heart of nature’s wor-
_ shipper revels in the grand scenery which the Inimi-
table Artist has pencilled along the banks of our own
» beloved Connecticut! A writer from the far-famed
West has called New England a noble “ panorama,”
which she should like to visit on a pleasure excursion ;
but thought a home in the fertile and luxuriant West
far preferable. Not so, Earth has no purer, sweeter
homes, than the thousands nestling in the green bosom
of New England. arth has no nobler, wiser men,
no gentler, truer women, than those who are the
dwellers in these homes.
One of these homes —a model home —a ‘ minia-
ture heaven on earth,” we will introduce to the reader.
The finest and most tasteful residence in Oakville is
the property of Dr. Clement, —a generous, public-
spirited man, and a skilful physician. He is emphat-
(IB) oe
a,
HOME INFLUENCE. 15
ically the man of the place. His wealth and station
in society render him influential, while his generosity
and affable manners make him popular. The poor do
not envy, nor the rich rival him. He is alike the
friend of the high and lowly. His wife and two
children, Frank and Elmina, are the treasures which
God has lent and enshrined within his heart and
home. 3
, The wife and mother is the guiding-star of this
happy family. What sunshine is to day, what health
is to life, what religion is to man, is she to every
member of the household. ‘A perfect woman, nobly
_ planned.”’ We think she must have been formed
after Wordsworth’s beautiful ideal. She possesses a
delicate and pleasing person, a refined and cultivated
intellect, and a heart where the religion of love dwells
as in a fitting temple. Her husband loves her almost
idolatrously, and her children reverentially.
One beautiful evening, Mrs. Clement sat by her
open window, watching the gentle falling of the cur-
~ tain which twilight spreads before the glory of re-
treatmg day. Karly September had added a soften- —
ing charm to nature, which had seemed almost too »
beautiful before. The birds were softly chanting whale eta
‘* sood-night songs,’”’ and the fragrance.of many flow-
ers was wafted to her on the wings of the zephyr.
She had
** Looked and listened, till the spell
Of music and of beauty fell
So radiant. on her heart,’’
that her senses seemed lost in a sweet revery. A
glad laugh and the sound of childish voices aroused
her. A happy smile danced ’neath the lids of her
eyes as she called, in her gentle, motherly voice,
‘Mina, bid Dora ‘good-night’ and come in to
“mamma, for the dew is falling.”
16 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
A moment more, and Elmina skipped into the room,
followed by Frank, who seated himself by the table,
and commenced studying his lessons for the morrow.
Elmina drew her little chair to her mother’s side, and
Jaid her head in her Jap, looking up into her face with
smiling eyes. )
Mrs. Clement parted the damp curls from her
daughter’s brow, saying, ‘‘Is my little girl sorry
when night comes,.and she must leave her play and
come in and stay with her mother ?”’
“OQ; no, mamma! I love Dora dearly, and papa
“and Frank ever so much; but you, mamma, I love
better than everybody else! It seems so nice to lay
my head in your lap when I am tired. O, mamma!”
she added, raising her head eagerly, with the sudden
thought, “tell me some more about the angels and
heaven. I wish I was an angel myself, when I hear
you talk about them.”
‘“‘T have told you all I know, my love. You must
recollect that 1 have never seen an angel; they live
with God in heaven.”
‘Then, mamma, please tell me about Jesus, who
slept in a manger, and how the angels sung when he
was born. When you tell me about that, I feel as
though I should always be good.”’
The pleased mother related, as she had many times
before, the story of the birth of our Saviour. She
interspersed it with judicious remarks calculated to
impress the plastic mind of her eager listener with
the value and beauty of religion. Child as Elmina
was, her greatest desire was to become good. Her
mother she deemed perfect ; and, as was most natural,
she looked upon her as her model and example. Mrs.
Clement knew this, and with earnest solicitude she
strove thus early to implant in the mind of her child
a love for that only perfect example and pattern—our
HOME INFLUENCE. 17
Saviour. She felt that her delicate and sensitive child
could never withstand the trials and temptations of
this life without His holy arm to lean upon. Though
she was anxious that her beloved children should attain
to intellectual. greatness, she considered that insig-
nificant when compared to a character adorned with
the Christian graces.
Mina listened to her mother’s words with great
seriousness. After she had ceased speaking, she sat
_ silent and thoughtful for some time. Mrs. Clement,
thinking proper to divert her mind to some lighter
and more trifling subject, inquired if they had had
a pleasant school that day.
The question seemed to confuse Mina; for she
blushed, and fixed her eyes upon her mother’s with a
troubled expression.
Mrs. Clement looked at her with surprise, and
asked if she had not been a good girl. |
The reply was in a low voice. ‘‘No, mamma, DP m
afraid that I have not been very good.
‘How have you been naughty, my dear? I hope
you was not so at school.”
‘Why, mamma, I looked cross at my teacher, and
would not let her kiss me.’
‘ Looked cross at your teacher, Mina! How came
you to be so disrespectful ? Tell me all about it.”
‘“‘T could n’t love her any!, She whipped poor
Clinton Forrest when he didn’t deserve it. Wasn't
it too bad, mamma? He did not hurt me at all; he
only spoiled my flowers.” Her eyes were sparkling ©
with tears. She forgot her own misconduct in her
childish indignation against her teacher.
‘You seem to think that I know part of the story.
You will have to tell me what Clinton did, before I
can understand it.”
2
«e
18 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘Tet me tell you about it, mother,’’ said Frank,
who had been listening to the conversation. ‘‘ Mina
seems to think it was a dreadful affair; though it
was n’t much, after all.” He then explained to his
mother his meeting the little girls, and Elmina’s
grief and Dora’s anger. “Then,” he continued, “I
was very angry 00, and told Miss Morris, and she
punished him, as she had been threatening to do for a
long time. I’m very sorry -I did, though, since
Mina takes it so to heart.’
‘“T scolded at Frank, too, when we came home,
because he told the teacher,” said Elmina. ‘I know
he did it because he loves me so, and don’t want me
to be treated badly.”
‘QO, never mind that, sis!’”? said Frank, good-
humoredly. “T should n’t know how to appreciate
your sweetness, if you were not a — cross some-
times.”
‘I do not wonder that you were ‘geleved, Mina,”
ae Irs. Clement. ‘‘ But I am sorry that you should
treat’ your teacher and brother unkindly. I am
glad, though, that it is nothing worse. I feared,
by your looks, that you had done something very
wrong.”
‘OQ, mamma, that is not all!’’ Elmina turned her
blushing and tearful face away from her mother’s
anxious gaze. ‘' When I went out at recess — -
“When you went out at recess!’ interrupted
Frank. ‘O, mother, I wish you could have seen
her! She went out like a queen, with her head
thrown back so proudly! Then she gave Miss Mor-
ris such a look—it would have annihilated a common
person ina minute! I never knew that Mina had so
much temper before. She didn’t come into school
again all the afternoon. Where did you hide your~
self, sis ?””
HOME INFLUENCE. ’ 19
‘¢T ran down to Happy Nook as quick as I could,
so that Dora .or anybody else couldn’t see me. I
did n’t mean to stay only a minute, but I felt so bad
thinking about poor Clint, that I could n’t go back. I
knew it was naughty to stay, but I could n’t bear to
see Clint, for fear he would hate me.”
Mrs. Clement listened with mingled emotions of
pleasure and pain. She was grateful to know that
her daughter was so tender to the poor and eppressed,
but grieved that she should manifest so rebellious a
spirit towards her teacher. It was something very new
in Mina, and she was surprised as well as grieved.
Hlmina argued, from her mother’s silence, that she
was very much displeased with her, and she hid her
face in the folds of her dress, and sobbed.
‘‘ Don’t cry, my love,” said Mrs. Clement. ‘I
think your teacher will forgive you, if you tell her
you are sorry. Iam willing to believe that you did.
not mean te de very wrong; that you were so sorry
for Clint that you forgot yourself.”’
‘You are such a good mother not to say I was a
bad girl!’ said Elmina, gratefully. ‘‘I did n’t mean
to be naughty to Miss Morris. I want to be good, so
everybedy will love me.’
‘Try very hard to u good, my dear child, and
ask God to help you every day.”
“Twill, mamma; but I wish I was as good as
you. I would never ask to be any better.”’
‘‘My darling, there is a perfect example — Jesus
Christ. If you take him for your guide, you may
become much better and wiser than your mother.”’
‘‘ Better than you, mamma! How can that be? I
thought you were always good.”
5) 0, no, Mina; I am often wrong, and need to
ask forgiveness of God. But let us talk about your
teacher. You said you did not love her. You must
20 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
recollect that she is older and wiser than you. She
punishes Clinton because she wishes to make him a
good boy.”
“0, do love my teacher, though I thought I
didn’t then. But she don’t love Clint, I’m sure. She
never says a word to him, only to tell him what to do,
or scold him when he is naughty.”
‘“‘Of course she don’t love him!” cried Frank.
‘‘ But she loves me, Frank,’’ said Elmina. ‘‘ She
kisses me, and calls me her little darling. And Dora
she calls her fairy. Why should-n’t she love Me
Clint?”
‘Why, Mina, if she didn’t love you and Dery
T should think she hadn’t any heart! It is quite
another thing to love that ugly Clint Forrest.”’
You shan’t call him ugly! I say he is hand-
some.’
‘‘ Handsome ! — what an idea of beauty !’’? — and
Frank laughed immoderately. ‘‘ Why, he is always
as. ragged “and dirty as any heathen need be. His
head forever looks like an oven-broom! ‘Then he has
such an ugly scowl that I can’t bear to look at him.”
‘“ Frank!’ said Elmina, reproachfully, ‘‘ you know
Clint has no mother to keep him neat. His hair would
be real curly if it was combed ; and his eyes are beau-
tiful. Did you ever notice them, Frank, when he was
good-natured? You would say they were handsome,
if you did.”
‘‘ Well, to please you, sis, I'll say he’s a beauty; _
but you can’t make me say he isn’t a bad boy.
Everybody says he is bad.”’
“That is it. Poor Clint!’ said’ Mrs. Clement.
‘Everybody says he is a bad boy, and I’m afraid
there are but few that try to love him and make
him better.”
‘No, mamma,” said Mina. ‘There isn’t anybody
HOME INFLUENCE. rat ae
that loves him. He said to-day that he hated every-
body, and everybody hated him. I’m sure I could n’t
be good at all, if I did not havea kind mother to show
me how.”
“‘T think Clinton never has had a fair chance,”’
said Mrs. Clement. ‘‘ He was always pushed about,
and called wicked, before he knew what the word
meant. I hope, dear Frank, that you will treat him
kindly. If you are so disposed, you may be the means
of doing him much good.”
‘“‘T believe you are right, mother,” said Frank.
‘‘ Clint has been neglected and abused. Ill try to
help him to be good. I’m afraid, as Mina says, that
Miss Morris does not try to get his love. I should
think Mrs. Kent would dress him better, and take
some pains with him.’
‘We will not think of- Mrs. Kent’s duty, my son,
but try to fulfil our own faithfully.”
. Elmina was rejoiced that she had succeeded in
enlisting the sympathies of her mother and Frank
in behalf of poor Clint. With a happy heart she
bade her brother ‘‘ good-night,’’ and followed her
mother to her bed-chamber. ‘Mrs. Clement conversed
a few minutes with her little girl, then listened to her
evening prayer, and, with a kiss and a blessing, left
her to her peaceful slumbers. When she’ returned
to the parlor, a lady, sitting in the chair she had left,
rose, and Mrs. Clement greeted her visitor with quiet
politeness.
“T thought I would run in just a minute,” said
the visitor, as she reseated herself, ‘‘and see if it
would n’t cheer me up a little. I have been so nerv-
ous all day, that I could hardly contain myself.”’
“What ig the cause of your nervousness, Mrs.
Kent? Are you not well?”
“QO; yes, I’m well enough; but Bill keeps me
‘a
BF THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
worrying about him half the time. He goes into
the water so much, that I am afraid he will have the
cramp and get drowned. All I say to. him don’t do
any good. ‘To-day he went off a-hunting with half a
dozen wild fellows. He doesn’t know anything about
a gun, and I’ve felt so anxious about him that I
have n’t enjoyed myself in the least to-day.”
‘‘T don’t wonder you are anxious; but is his father
willing to have him go?”
‘OQ, Mr. Kent always lets him do as he pleases.
He thinks everything Bill says and does is right.
He has spoiled him, that is sure! Now he is so old
T can’t make him mind. I don’t know what will
become of him !”’
“So old you can’t make him mind!” said Mrs.
Clement, in surprise. ‘‘ Why, he isn’t more than
thirteen, is he?”
‘No; just the age of your Frank. He has grown
strangely wilful of late. Lam completely discouraged.
The other day I told him I wished he would spend his
evenings at home, as Frank’ does. He replied that
‘he didn’t want to be tied to’ his mother’s apron-
string.’ Then he went and got one of his father’s
eigars (he knows I hate to have him smoke), and—
went off puffing like any man! But I can’t help
being proud of him,” continued the weak mother,
is so bold’and manly !” or
Mrs. Clement thought that she should never be
proud of such manliness in her boy, but rs | kept,
the thought to herself. *
It were scarce possible to find a character more
opposite to Mrs. Clement’s than that of Mrs. Kent,
who Was coarse and unrefined in manners, and pas-
sionate, yet weak and irresolute. Her children she
loved foolishly, for she spoiled them with indulgence,
and then comforted herself by throwing all the blame
Coe
he
es
HOME INFLUENCE. - 93°
upon her husband. Of course they neither loved nor
feared her, and in consequence her maternal anxieties
were often excited by their misconduct.
‘“‘T don’t understand,” said Mrs. Kent, ‘how you
manage to keep Frank with you somuch. Why, my
children never think of sitting down in theqhouse with
me, for half an hour. They would think it was a
dreadful thing, if I should make them.”’
“Tt requires no great exertions on my part, ”? re-
plied Mrs. Clement, smiling. ‘ Frank may sates
for himself if it is unpleasant for him.”
Mrs. Kent never received such a glance from her
son as that which now warmed Mrs. Clement’s heart.
With an affectionate smile, and a beaming eye, Frank
exclaimed, ue am never so happy as when neat my
dear mother !
Mrs. Kent's eyes filled, and a pang shot through
her heart, as she contrasted him with her own way-
ward and ungrateful son. But she never thought
of reproaching herself for the difference, —she only
wondered it was so.
‘“‘T think you'are a remarkable person, Mrs. Clem-
ent. Everybody seems to yield to your wishes, as
_ though they were happier for so doing. Ann 38 con-
tinually praising you up, and says she would not leave
you for another mistress, for all.the world. She says,
too, that you spend a great deal of time in talking to
Mina about religious things, and telling her Bible
stories. ‘That seems to me te be all nonsense! [
never tal to my children about such things; they ’il
find ’em out themselves as they grow older.” |
“‘T cannot agree with you there, Mrs. Kent. I
think our children should very early be taught the
difference between riglt and wrong, and then they -
will be more apt to choose the right. 9
“Of course, Mrs. Clement, I ‘teach mine that. I
24 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
tell them it is dreadful wicked to lie and steal, and I
should certainly whip them if I ever knew of their
doing so. But I mean there’s no use in talking to
children about religion and goodness half the time.
It makes them too sober.”
‘“T thought you approved of religious instruction
for children, as you send yours to the Sunday-school,”
said Mrs. Clement.
‘“O, la! I send them because everybody else does,
not because I’m so particular about their going.
Pray, what good would going to Sunday-school, or
all the good instructions in the world, do Clint
Forrest ?”
_ Mrs. Clement had been desirous of speaking of
Clinton to Mrs. Kent. It was a delicate subject, and
she knew not how to approach it, fearing to offend her
neighbor, and thus do more harm than good. She
said, gently, ‘Iam not sure but that it might im-
prove him. You don’t believe he is wholly bad, do
ou?”
‘ ‘““'Yes, indeed I do, Mrs. Clement! I’ve wasted
all the breath I ever shall in talking to him and
telling him how he ought to do. I do verily believe
he’s the worst child in the world!’’ She grew elo-
quent, as. she often did, when talking of Clint’s wick-
edness. ‘‘He is the great trial of my life. I said
last winter that he should not stay with fs; that I
would not try to do anything with him. But Mr.
Kent has taken him in hand lately, and has got him
a little broken under. He don’t dare to show out
his ugliness as he used to.”’
Mrs. Clement saw with pain how impossible it was
to awaken right feelings in Mrs. Kent’s heart, and
with great tact turned ‘the subject; still thinking in
her own mind of ways and means of befriending
poor, friendless Clinton.
CHAPTER CLL.
THE POWER OF KINDNESS.
- Miss Morris sat at the table, in her pleasant
school-room, writing letters. It was a quiet and con-
venient place for study, and she often brought her
books or writing thither. The morning was bright
and fair; and the gentle breezes dallied with the maps
upon the walls, or stole softly through the room, sigh-
ing, as if mourning for the sweet presence of the little
throng that daily gathered there. A light step ar-
rested her attention, and, looking up, she beheld Mina
by her side, with a peace-offering of flowers.
‘Here are some flowers for you, Miss Morris.”
‘Thank you, Mina; they are very sweet. I hope
my darling will not deny me a kiss this mornipg ?”’
Elmina clasped her arms around her t s neck,
and presented her cherry mouth for a kiss’ ‘‘ Mamma
thinks I was very wrong yesterday, and says I should
ask you to forgive me. I am very sorry indeed, dear
teacher.”’
‘Tt is easy for me to forgive you, little Mina, as
you never were naughty before, and now ask pardon
so sweetly.” And she sealed the forgiveness with
another kiss. ‘' There, I hear Dora’s voice; run out
and play till I ring the bell, for I wish to finish my
letter.” She thought Mina had gone, and turned to
her writing. A moment after, she was started with
the sound of a sigh, and, turning her head, she per-
(25)
26 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
ceived the child still standing by her side, and regard- *
ing her very wistfully.
‘‘ What is it you wish to say, little one?”
Her beautiful eyes deepened with expression and
feeling, as she met the lady’s gaze; and, with a voice
pleadingly, touchingly earnest, she said, ‘‘ You will
love poor Clint?’ Then, as if fearful she had
offended, she glided quickly away.
“You will love poor Clint ?”’ Like new, strange
music, did these words fall on the heart of little Clin-
ton ; for he heard them. He had followed Elmina as
she entered the school-room, and, hidden behind the
door, heard all. that passed. ‘‘ Could any one love
him, a ragged, dirty, wicked boy? Could the beau-
tiful Elmina, the pet and idol of the village, love
him?” The thought of a thing so joyful, but
strange, brought a gush of tears from his eyes. 9,
blessed tears!—the first ever brought from that long-
sealed fountain of tenderness and feeling. They be- |
dewed the wild flowers which he held in his hand, and
made them holy things.
These selfsame flowers Mina found upon her desk
when the school commenced. As she took them up,
wonderingly, she glanced at Clinton, and immediately
knew, by his looks, that he had placed them there.
Their language was, ‘‘that Clint was very sorry for
his unkindness.”” At least she read it so; and with a
glad smile she held them up to him significantly, nod-
- ding her thanks.
Clinton had watched her eagerly; and when he
saw that she understood him, and prized the flowers,
he hid his face with his book, for another gush of
tears flooded his eyes.
“You will love poor Clint?” Reprovingly, re-
proachfully, did the words and tone come to the ear
of Miss Morris. They wakened her to a keen sense
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 44
of her error in her management of the wayward boy.
They pointed out one path in which she had not tried
to lead him, — the path of love. The duties of the
day she performed mechanically, for she was. absent-
minded and thoughtful ; questioning her own conduct,
“talking with her past hours.’’ ‘‘ Had she performed
‘all her duty towards the poor orphan boy? She had
not!” Harnestly, oft prayerfully, as she had striven
to be worthy of her high calling, she was conscious
that she had sadly failed in the first, great duty of
obtaining the love of all her charges.
Miss Morris was not heartless. She had only
fallen mto the common error of considermg Clinton
as being incapable of yielding to the influence of
kindness, and naturally had adopted a course of
severity. QO, sad it was for her, but sadder still for
the much-wronged boy!
She blessed in her heart the angel-child who had. -
unconsciously taught her her duty. She spoke
_ kindly to Clinton, and strove to win him to her
side with love; but it was too late! The school
term closed in'three weeks, and it would have taken
a much longer time to turn his ill-will to confidence
and love. : ,
A few months later, and she was a happy bride,
loving and beloved. But never did she cease to regret
the golden opportunity she had lost, of blessing a
poor, friendless child with her own love and kindness.
About ten years before the-opening of our story, a
young man, by the name of Forrest, and his delicate,
pensive bride, came and settled in Oakville. He
engaged a neat tenement, and lived: very happily,
though frugally, with his sweet wife. It was evident
that they depended upon his daily earnings, for he
labored constantly, and with a right good will. They
98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
were from a distance, and strangers to all the vil-
lagers.
Those whose pleasure it was to visit them in their
simple home spoke of the tender and beautiful love
that existed between the young couple. The memory
of some sorrow seemed to give.a look of quiet sadness
to her pale, pensive countenance, which the husband
seemed ever striving to remove by increasing affec-
tion and tenderness. Perhaps he, in a measure, suc-
ceeded, for she grew more cheerful, and they appeared
happy as poor mortals can be. ;
This pleasing state of things was not to last long.
The spoiler entered their Eden. Death knocked at
the portal, and went not away alone! . Mr. Forrest
was violently seized with a fever, and in a few short
days his lifeless body was laid beneath the green
turf.
The first outbreak of grief on the part of the young
widow was overwhelming and terrible. But this soon
subsided into a cold and stony apathy, that was even
more distressing than her passionate sorrow. Her
neighbors tried to arouse her by talking of her friends,
and asking where they should send to find them. Her
only reply was a mournful shake of the head, or a
quivering sigh. They knew that they must soon lay
her by her husband, for already the death-angel was
hovermg near. After her fatherless babe was born,
the dazzling brilliancy of her eye, with its expression
of agony, told that she was fully conscious of her
desolate and bereaved condition. She would lay for
hours, regarding the tiny being by her side with a
mournful tenderness that was indescribably touching.
Good old Mrs. Wilkins, who took the care of Mrs.
Forrest upon herself, did all in her power to restore
her to life and health. But human aid was vain; the
poor lady was hourly passing away, — ever with her
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 99
eyes upon her babe, — ever with that pleading expres-
sion of love!
The sun was setting; and Mrs. Wilkins feared
her patient would never see it rise again. She was
exceedingly anxious to learn of the relatives of the
mother, that she might know where to send the
babe, and with great delicacy she approached the
subject.
‘‘ What shall we ar your baby, Mrs. Forrest?”
she said to the dying woman.
‘‘ We must have his father’s name, Clinton Edward
Forrest; it is all I can a him, poor thing!” was
the low answer.
“Mrs. Forrest,’’ said the nurse again, ‘‘ do you not
feel that God has called you; that you will soon meet
your dear husband ?”’
A faint, sweet smile parted the wan lips of the
sufferer, as she raised her fading eyes heavenward.
‘She ’s most there, sure!’’ thought the old lady, as
she wiped her tearful eyes. But she must be aroused
from this torpor, else it would be too late ever to gain
the so much desired information.
“ Dear lady, you would not leave your babe alone in
the world? Have you not strength to tell me where
I may find his father’s friends ?”’
The words seemed to call her from the borders of
the grave. With a look of sudden anguish she mur-
mured, ‘OQ, no, no! but Clinton was an orphan —
alone —”’
‘‘ But your friends, dear lady, tell me of them,”
said Mrs. Wilkins, bending low to catch the broken
and almost inaudible answer.
‘Yes, send him to them; they will care — brothers
will love my child —” ‘A spasm shook her frail
form, and her eyes closed heavily. After a moment,
seemingly of suspended life, the eyes opened with a
30 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
quick gleam of intelligence. As she moved her hand
feebly towards her babe, she murmured, ‘ Poor
Clint —”’ The fair hand dropped cold and lifeless
upon her breast; the lids closed over those eyes never
to open again; the pulsation of that burdened heart
had ceased forever !
Mrs. Wilkins bent over the clay in speechless
erief. The mournful death of the young creature
before her had shocked her kind heart; and she was
filled with apprehensions for the fate of the little
orphan.
The proceeds of the simple furniture, when sold,
barely covered the expenses of the sickness and death
of the young couple; there was nothing left for the
little one. Everybody was full of wonder and curi-
osity concerning. the strange silence of Mrs. Forrest
in regard to her friends. Even death could not repress
slanderous tales, or evil and suspicious whisperings.
But what should be done with the baby? Ah, there
were many to ask, but none to answer, the question!
Mrs. Wilkins would gladly have taken him to her
heart, and cherished him as her own, but she was
poor and dependent herself.
What should be done with the baby? Alas! there
was not one heart, not one home open to receive it.
It was carried to the poor-house. Sad fate it was for
the tender germ of humanity !
The matron of the house was a busy, bustling
woman, with a host of duties on her hands. She fed
the baby when she did not forget it, and washed and
dressed it when she had time. Sickly, and always
pining for the want of proper care and nourishment,
it was a peevish and fretful babe. The matron
declared she despised the pale, cross thing, and every
one in the establishment echoed the sentiment. ‘There
were no loving arms to fold around the little one; no
THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 31
tender breast to pillow his weary head; no careful
eyes to watch his infant steps; no kind voice to win
his heart to love and goodness!
When he became old enough to play out of doors
he grew robust and strong. At the age of three years
he was a sturdy little fellow, whose-striking charac-
teristics were an obstinate spirit, and a passionate
temper. Neglect and unkindness had not made him
timid or fearful. All the evil passions of his nature
were daily brought into active exercise, while good
and noble emotions were never awakened. At school
he early distinguished himself for wilful disobedience
and impudence, and soon earned the reputation of
being the worst boy in school.. He looked upon all
the scholars as his enemies; and, consequently, he
was insolent and quarrelsome. A year before the
commencement of our tale he was placed in the family
of Mr. Kent, who was to receive pay for his board
until he arrived at the age of eleven years.
Mr. Kent promised to give him the shoemaker’s
trade, and set him up in business, if he did well and
was a good boy. People thought he was perfectly
safe in making this conditional promise, as there was
small prospect of Clint’s ever becoming remarkably
good. Clinton was little better off in his new home,
though, being under stricter government, some of his
evil habits were restrained. Had Mrs. Kent tried to
gain his love she would easily have succeeded, -for his
heart was nearly bursting with the desire for affec-
tion. A kind word, a little forbearance on her part,
would have soon secured respectful and grateful obe-
dience. But she was ignorant of her duty to the
orphan, and never addressed a word to him, except
to command or reprove.
Reader, do you know a child like Clinton, — way-
ward, full of childish errors, yet needing, more than
ow
32 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
all things else, sympathy and love? Do you know
of a fatherless and motherless one, whom fortune
seems ever to frown upon? Is there near you a
little, throbbing, aching heart, growing cold and hard
for a want of kindly counsel? 0, speak tenderly to
him! A word may help him, a sentence may save
him !
CHAPTER IV.
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING.
THANKSGIVING-DAY had arrived—that time-hon-
ored New England festival—that “feast of good
things ’’— that reunion of kindred and loving hearts
— that home jubilee. What a busy, bustling, happy
time! How the children hasten to join the “ old
folks at home!’’ How the brothers and sisters,
uncles and aunts, and cousins, gather around the fes-
tive board in the dear old farm-house ! Hard, indeed,
it is for those whom fortune denies the privilege of
visiting ‘‘the loved ones at home’’ on this the glad
day of the year. What joyful greetings — what
hearty hand-shakings — what laughter — what telling
of news — what a destruction of edibles — O, what a
host of pleasures crowd into this Thanksgiving-day !
Thanksgiving-day! The “dew of feeling” moist-
ens the eye, as the memory of happy thanksgivings
presses upon the heart. Perhaps the light of a beauti-
‘ful eye is quenched in night; perchance a beloved voice
is hushed in death. ‘There are vacant seats at the
table, there are desolate hearth-stones, and there are
broken links in the chain of love. Perhaps the
mourning heart says, in its sorrow, ‘‘ There are no
more thanksgivings for me. I will go down to the
grave sorrowing for,the loved afd lost.’’
Christian, count thy blessings, if thou canst. There
are other aching hearts, other lacerated bosoms than
3 (83)
34 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
thine. Go, ‘visit the widow and fatherless in their
affliction; ’’? go, ‘‘ speak comfort to the sorrowing,”’
and thy life shall be one long Thanksgiving.
There was much running hither and thither in Mr.
Kent’s household on this Thanksgiving morning.
Extra preparations had been made on this occasion ;
for a score of relatives were expected to celebrate the
day with them. Mrs. Kent’s ample store-room was
filled to overflowing with every variety of baked
meats, rich pies and cakes, with innumerable nameless
dainties. Mrs. Kent was here, and there, and every-
Where, arranging this or that, and directing Betty,
who was dressing the great turkey. Miss Jane was
frettmg for fear her dress, which was still at the
mantua-maker’s, would not be completed in time
for her to dress for dinner. Master Bill was order-
ing every one, and strutting about, full of importance.
For once, Clint forgot to be either cross or unhappy.
Everybody. was so cheerful and busy, that he was glad
to be cheerful and busy too. He willingly went,
for the third time that morning, to inquire if Jane’s
dress was finished. It was just completed, and the
mantua-maker was carefully wrapping it in paper.
Jane received it with delight, and hastened away to
array herself in it.
‘Here, Clint, you lazy dog, take my boots and
black ’em!”’ cried Bill.
Clint had gone to work with a right good will,
when Jane returned to display herself to the admiring
eyes of Betty.
“OQ my! Miss Jane, you look fit for a queen,”’
cried Betty, to the great satisfaction of the vain girl.
Jane was really looking finely. Her beautiful dark
hair was arranged verg tastefully, and the new dress,
which was of blue thibet, richly embroidered, set off
her delicate complexion to advantage. :
or
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 3
“Do you think so, Betty?” said Jane, with
sparkling eyes. ‘I wonder if cousin Fred will call
me handsome, as he did last Thanksgiving, when we
were at grandpa’s?”
‘“T dare say he will,” said Betty. ‘But you
must n’t stay in this dirty kitchen, or you will spoil
your fine dress.’’
As Jane swept by Clinton, she brushed his arm
so rudely that a quantity of blacking, in the brush
which he held in his hand, was spattered upon the °
skirt of her beloved dress. Though it was an acci-
dent, and she the only one to blame, she fell into a
violent rage with Clint.
‘You envious, hateful boy! you have spoiled my
beautiful dress. I know you did it on purpose; you
could n’t bear to see me looking so well, so you
blacked my dress.”’
_ Clint was really sorry for the mischief he had
done, but he wouldn’t say so; and continued his
work very quietly. His apparent indifference exas-—
perated her so much the more, and she cried, pas-
sionately, ‘‘ You deserve to be half killed, Clint
Forrest! Don’t care, do you? I should black your
face for you!”
‘What is the matter, Jane?”’ said Mrs. Kent,
advancing into the room.
‘Just look at my dress, mother,”’ said Jane, half
crying. ‘‘Clint threw some blacking on it. He
could n’t be satisfied with blacking Bill’s boots, so he
must black my dress.”’
“Ts that true?” said Mrs. Kent, angrily.
‘Yes, indeed, it is, ma’m,’’ said Betty, who always
joined with the rest in the cry against Clinton. “TI
saw him doit myself.”
‘You wicked boy!” cried Mrs. Kent, seizing him
by the arm, and shaking him violently. “ 1’ll see if
OBO THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
I can’t teach you better than that!. IfI didn’t ex-
pect my company every minute, I’d get a stick and
whip you till you couldn’t stand! But you an’t
going unpunished. You shan’t have one mouthful of
Thanksgiving dinner. Betty, you see that he has
nothing but brown bread and milk.’’
Betty promised obedience, and Mrs. Kent turned
to examine more particularly the injury her daugh- .
ter’s dress had sustamed.
“Tt isn’t quite spoiled, after all, Jane. It can be
easily repaired ; for the spot is close to the seam. You
can wear-your silk apron, and that will hide it, to-day.’’
The mother and daughter, went away to smooth
their ruffled tempers before the arrival of their ex-
pected guests. Clinton looked after them with a
heart swelling, almost bursting with anger. He
clinched his fist, and set his teeth tightly together, in
a sort of suppressed fury. He would have flown
after them, and torn them in pieces, so terrible was’
his passion. * His mind could not remain long in this
state, and his wrath quickly subsided. He thought
- of the delicious feast which he had been anticipating ;
he thought of the expected company. He had fancied
that he should enjoy seeing the children play, and
perhaps, as they didn’t know how bad he was, they
would ask him to join their games. He sobbed with
grief as he thought that all his enjoyment for the day
was spoiled. He had incurred the displeasure of
Mrs. Kent, and he knew the consequences by sad
experience.
Soon he heard laughter and gay greetings in the
parlor, and he knew that the visitors had arrived.
“Why have n’t I any friends?” thought he. ‘‘ Why
is there no one glad to see me? QO, I know Thanks-
giving-days were not made for such boys as me; for
i’ve nothing in the world to be thankful for !”
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. oe |
When dinner was nearly ready, he crept into the
hall, close to the dining-room door. The tinkling of
glasses, the rattling of cups, and the clatter of knives
and forks, were tantalizing to the poor hungry boy.
A flurry of snow was whitening the ground; the
outer door was ‘open, and the chilly wind swept
through the hall, making him shiver with cold. Still
_ he refhained there, listening, as if in fascination, to the
conversat f the happy company gathering in the
dining-room. ‘There was a momentary hush, and he
heard a manly voice craving the blessing of God
before they partook of his bounty. A scornful
- gmile played over Clint’s features as he said to him-
self, ‘‘O, yes, they can sit down to their grand
dinner, and ask God to bless them, while they don’t
care if Clint starves!”’ :
After a short time the parlor-door opened, and a
little boy, elegantly dressed, came and steod upon
the door-step. He held out his fat, dimpled hap,
and laughed a happy laugh, to see the snow-flakes
melt upon it. Clint watched him eagerly, and wished
that he was as beautiful and happy. Presently a
lady appeared, and said, in a sweet voice, ‘‘ Willie,
dear, 1’m afyaid you will take cold if you stand at
the door. You had better come in with mamma.”
She took his hand gently, and looked into his laugh-
ing face with an expression of pride and love.
This little scene affected Clinton strangely. He
felt more keenly than before his desolate condition,
and he began to weep. He feared some one would
hear him, and he rushed out of the house, scarcely
knowing what he did es:
Dr. Clement’s family were gatltered in the cheerful
parlor. The glowing grate and sperm candles filled
the room with a brilliant light; the curtains were.
oS THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
drawn down early, that, as Frank said, it might seem
like a real winter evening. Mrs. May and her little
Dora were their only guests; for they had no rela-
tives near who could come to keep Thanksgiving with
them.
Lhe elder people were conversing cheerfully to-
gether, and the little folks were seated at a table,
playing a game of ‘‘ Dr. Busby,” with lively iffferest.
Altogether it was just such a cheerfulhappy group
as you doubtless have often helped to form.
Ann came in to ask if they would have tea in the
dining-room, or whether it should be brought into the
parlor.
‘‘O, bring it in here, if you please, Ann!” cried
Elmina ; ‘it is so bright and pleasant here that we
should like it much.” =
“Ves, let’s have it in here,” said Frank. “Tt
will be much pleasanter.”’
Dr. Clement laughed as he bade Ann do as the
children desired. When she came in again to spread
the crumb-cloth, she said, ‘‘ Clint Forrest is in the
kitchen, looking as though he had cried himself half
to death, and shivering and shaking like the ague.
I’ve no idea that Mrs. Kent has given him a mouth-
ful of Thanksgiving dinner.”
“T don’t believe she has, either,’’ said Frank. ‘Tt
would be just hke her not to.”
‘Hush, Frank,’”’ said his mother; ‘‘you are
speaking ill of another, and of a lady: too.” |
‘‘T don’t think I was any too harsh, mother; but
I will not speak so again if you think it wrong.”’
“T am unwilling to think so badly of any one,”
said Mrs. Clinton. ‘‘ You know we should not judge
others.”
‘Dora and I may go out and speak to Clint, may
we not, mamma?’’ said Mina. ~
4
i
THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 39
“ Certainly, my love ; and, if he is unhappy, try to
make him feel better.”’
They found Clint crouching ever the kitchen fire.
His hair hung wildly about his face, and his eyes were
swollen and distended with crying.
‘Why, Clint,” said Mina, “how woful you look !
What is the matter ?”’
Clint turned his red eyes upon her, without saying
a word.
‘You should look happy to-day, Clint, for it is
Thanksgiving-day,’’ said Dora.
‘What’s Thanksgiving-day to me, I’d like to
know?” said Clint, moodily. ‘‘I should think you’d
know that I have n’t anything to be thankful for.”
‘Not anything, Clint? An’t you thankful that
you are alive and well?”
‘No, not that! I wish I was dead, I do!”
The little girls were shocked. ‘‘I’m very sorry
for you,’’ said Mina, tearfully. ‘‘ Dora and I have
been as happy as birds all day, playing, and laughing,
and singing.”
‘‘ And I have been crying, and freezing, and starv-
ing, all day,” said Clint, bitterly.
“Starving!” cried Mina and Dora, with grief and
terror. ‘‘ Starving, Clint!”
‘Don’t be frightened, girls,’ said Clint. ‘‘I an’t
dead yet, for I had some supper last night.”
‘‘ But have n’t you had anything to eat to-day?”
asked Dora, in great anxicty.-
‘No. I forgot to eat any breakfast, I was so busy
doing errands; and Mrs. Kent said that, to punish
me, [ should n’t have anything but brown bread and
milk for my dinner. I would n’t eat that, when they
had such a nice dinner, if I starved !”’
‘ Neither would I, Clint, if I were you,” said Dora.
**T would n’t live with such a mean woman.”
40 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘©Q dear, I can’t help myself!”’ said Clint, resum-
ing his moody look and tone.
“T will run and ask my mother to come out
here,’ said Mina. ‘I know she will give you
_ some supper.”
Mrs. Clement soon appeared, and arranged, with
her own hand, a tempting supper for Clint. But the
poor boy was too sick and unhappy to eat. His long
stay out of doors, together with crying, made him
feel quite ill. He pushed the plate away, and sobbed
out that “he was too sick to eat; that his head ached
dreadfully.”
“T do not doubt it, poor boy,’’ said Mrs. Clement,
‘for it feels very hot to my hand.” She gently
bathed the aching head, and smoothed his tangled
hair; meanwhile, talking so soothingly and kindly,
that his sad heart was filled with gratitude.
Dr, Clement said the boy would be ill with a’ fever
unless he was doctored. He led him home, and bade
Betty bathe his feet in warm water, and’ make him
drink plentifully of ginger-tea. Betty was naturally
kind-hearted, and, conscience telling her that Clint
had been used too hardly, she obeyed the doctor’s
orders to the very letter.
os
CHA PLE Ret V.,
SCHOOL SCENES.
—— ‘* may prove,
Though some may wonder at his weakness,
The power that lurks in simple love,
The might of meekness !”’
GENTLE, sunny, smiling spring had changed the
frowns of winter into tears, which April poured upon
the earth, bringing to life the sleeping flowers, to
adorn’ the robe of*her sister May. ‘The children
clapped their hands and shouted; the birds trilled
their glad notes in ecstasy; the cascades and waterfalls
bounded and dashed along, as if mad with delight ;
the waving trees whispered to each other of their
happiness, and all nature laughed in the sunny
spring-time !
The old red school-house, which had ee closed
for two months, was now opened, and troops of happy
school children were hastening to make it echo again
to the hum of their voices, and brighten in the light
of their smiles.
Elmina and Dora started early, that they might
have time to go to “Happy Nook.” ‘They were
rejoiced to find that spring had not forgotten to visit
it before them; they thought the brook was wider
than ever before, the grass greener, and the little
star-flowers that ‘hid themselves at the foot of the
rock were fairer and brighter. x
. (41)
a
rns
49, THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Something splashing in the water started them, and
they saw Clinton Forrest lying on the bank close to
the brook. He smiled, and showed them his pockets
full of pebbles.
‘What are you going to do with them, Clinton?”
asked Mina.
“OQ, I’m going to roll them round the school-
house, to plague the ‘school-marm.’ Won't it be
fun ?”
‘What do you want to plague her for, Clint?
You don’t know but Miss Lee will be very kind.”
‘‘ But she won’t be kind to me, — teachers never
are; they always hate me, and I like to plague ’em.
And I am growing large,” he continued, stretching
himself to hig full height. ‘‘I won’t be whipped by
a woman many times more! O, I shall have glori-
ous times this summer! {I shall tease the teacher till
she “ll wish she had never come to Oakville.”’
Elmina looked at him sadly. ‘Clinton, had n’t
you rather be a good boy, and try to please your
teacher ? Perhaps. Miss Lee wants to love all her
scholars, and she will feel sad to have you so
naughty.”
“Tt is of no use for me to try to be good, I’m
so wicked. They all ay that I am the worst boy in
school.”
“Yes, there is use in it!” cried Elmina. ‘Do
try, Clint, just to please me. Be a good boy all sum-
mer, and we all shall love you. I don’t think you are
the worst boy — do try and be the best.”
Her words produced some effect on him, and he
began to drop the pebbles one by one upon the grass.
‘‘ But I am so ragged and dirty, Elmina; I believe
that is half what makes me so bad.”
‘You needn't be dirty,” said Dora; “you can
wash your hands and face in the brook.”
SCHOOL SCENES. 43
‘So Ican. Inever thought of that.” So. saying,
he threw the last stone into the water, and, kneeling
on the bank, thoroughly washed himself. Mina took
a comb from her pocket and smoothed his glossy black
hair.
“OQ, Clint, you look quite handsome!” cried Dora,
gleefully. |
‘Yes, indeed, you do,” said Mina. ‘You may
have this little comb for your own, and then you can
always keep your hair smooth. Now you are going
to be a real good boy, an’t you, Clint?”
“Tl try, dear, sweet, little Mina; but 16 won’t
do much good.’
‘There goes the nine o'clock bell,” said Dora.
‘How late we have stayed! Come, Clint, you go
with us.”
As the three children came up the bank behind the
school-house, Mr. Kent, who was passing by, cried
out, “‘Ah, Clint! I’ve caught you. Trying to be
tardy the first day, are you? It is past school-time,
you lazy boy. Come along, and I’ll give you an
introduction to the teacher. _ She needs a little warn-
ing about such a precious fellow as you.”
Mr. Kent took him by the arm, and pulled him into
the house. ‘‘ Here, Miss Lee,” he said, addressing a
beautiful young lady who stood near the door, ‘‘ here
is Clinton Forrest. He is a promising youth, I tell
you. He needs a flogging twice a day, to keep him
Within bounds. I will uphold you in governing him;
s0 you needn’t spare the rod.”
‘¢T will do the best I can for your son, sir.”
‘He is no son of mine, I’d have you understand,
. miss. He has no relations ’round here; and we have
concluded that he is a relative of the Evil One. He’s
a trial, believe me. I thought it might save you some
trouble if I warned you.”
Ae
it
2
44 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Dora and Elmina threw after the retreating form
of Mr. Kent most indignant glances. After such an
introduction as that, they feared Clint would fulfil all
his pleasant prophecies. They watched the counte-
nance of Miss Lee, who, with a look of pity, placed
her white hand on Clint’s finely-shaped head.
‘‘T think the gentleman said your name is Clinton.
That is'a pretty name; and I am fond of pleasant
names.”’
Clint was looking hard upon the ground. The
cheerful light, which a few minutes before brightened
his face, was now darkened, and the happy feeling in
his heart was changed to resentment. Miss Lee saw
how it was, and endeavored to remove these feelings.
‘‘T hope you are a good scholar, Clinton; for, if
you are not one already, I know by the form of your
head that you can learn readily. Look up, my boy,
and see if you don’t agree with me, in thinking we
shall be excellent friends.”
Clint threw a sidelong Sauces at her, and hastened
to his seat, while she turned with a winning smile to
the other scholars. He eagerly studied the personal
appearance of Miss Lee. The survey was very satis-
‘factory to him, for he pronounced her, in his own
mind, an angel; there instantly sprung up in his
heart a reverence that ‘he had never felt for any one
before.
. Josephine Lee was well worthy the love and admi-
ration which she inspired in the hearts of her pupils.
Her beautiful brown eye expressed the kindliest emo-
tions. Her face was one of rare loveliness, whose
greatest charm was.a_ mingled expression of intellect
and sweetness.
She had not lightly or carelessly assumed the holy
and responsible duties of a teacher; an earnestness,
a depth of purpose expressed itself i in every word and
SCHOOL SCENES. 45
motion. She would not labor alone in the priceless
mines of intellect, but would strive to mould aright
‘the moral natures, the affections of her pupils. Every
look, every word of hers might influence some un-
formed character, and her hourly endeavor was that
this influence might be pure and good.
Josephine was shocked at the unkind words of Mr.
Kent, in introducing Clinton to her. She trembled
at the thought of the responsibility resting upon her
in the care of such a boy. ‘This she resolved, how-
ever, that, as severity had hitherto failed to improve
him, she would try the potency of love and kindness.
There was something about the countenance of the
boy that drew her irresistibly towards him. Once,
when she observed him regarding her with a pleading
look, a strange and sudden feeling brought the pearl-
drop to her eye. From that moment she loved the
little, friendless boy, and, with all the energy of her
enthusiastic nature, she sought to lead him to the
‘‘oreen pastures’’ and beside the ‘living waters.”
Clinton remembered what his teacher said about
his capacity for learning, and he devoted himself in-
cessantly to study the whole day. Those who had
heard him boast of the fun he was going to have in
vexing the teacher, laughed at him, and tried to get
him into a quarrel at recess. ‘‘O, Clint is terrible
good all at once!” said Jane Kent. ‘‘ Miss Lee flat-
tered him up a little; but you wait a day or two, and
see if he don’t commence his old pranks.”
“Tf I were you, Jane,” said Frank Clement, ‘TI
would encourage him to be good, instead of laughing
at him.”
‘Wonder if Frank Clement has n’t taken sides
against us?” cried Bill Kent.
“If he has, we will pitch battle on him, instead
46 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
of Clint. He’ll like that famously,’ shouted John
Carter. |
The two boys set up a derisive laugh, in which a |
few others joined. But the majority of them waited
for Frank’s reply; for he was a great favorite with
them.
— * Boys,” said Frank, taking off his hat, and step-
ping upon a log, like ae‘stump-orator,” ‘boys, you
know, and I know, that Clint Forrest has always
been abused! He could n’t have been a decent boy
if he had tried. I see our teacher thinks she can
make something of him, and I am going to help her.
Sister Mina and Dora May are already his friends,
and I count myself one from this minute. And I’ll
say this for you, boys, that he who tries to hinder him
from becoming better and more respected, is meaner
than I ever wish to be!”
The tide of favor turned in behalf of Clinton. It. —
was amazing to see how the scholars patronized him,
and protected him from the assaults of the ‘‘ enemy,”’
as they styled the few who would not respond to
Frank’s speech. When Clinton continued to. go to
school with clean hands and face, and smooth hair,
and still continued to be studious and obedient, the
older and more thoughtful ones felt reproaches of
conscience that they had not been kinder to him be-
fore. He was like one in a happy dream, and, very
unlike his former self, gentle and submissive.
The winning kindness of Miss Lee, together with
_ the good-will of his playfellows, acted like a charm
upon Clinton. For weeks there was no better boy in
school. But he lacked principle, and the influence
of former good habits, to keep him in the right way.
He gradually flagged in his study; grew indolent,
-and often grieved his gentle teacher by his miscon-
duct. Josephine was partly prepared for this reac-
7
?
SCHOOL SCENES. 47
tion. Young and inexperienced as she was, she
understood human nature too well to think the heart,
rendered cold and distrustful by long neglect and
cruelty, could so easily be imbued with love and con-
fidence. Habits of indolence and disobedience are
hard to overcome, and Clinton had little to encourage
him in well-doing.
O, how earnestly did that youthful teacher strive
to lead her wayward pupil into higher and brighter
paths! Clinton loved the sweet girl who was so
gentle and patient with him; but he did not under-
stand her, he could not appreciate her. Sometimes
he made feeble efforts to regain her good opinion ; but
he was drawn backward by the power of his whole
previous life. .
One Monday morning, William and Jane Kent, and
Clinton, were absent from school. Upon inquiry, Miss
Lee found that William and Jane had gone to the city
to spend a week. ‘But where is Clinton?” she
asked of a bright-eyed boy near her.
“QO, I guess Clint is going to try his old fashion
of playing truant !”’
The little Yankee was right; for Clint was not seen
in school that week.
Saturday night, when the last busy little form had
passed gayly over the threshold, when the last sweet
‘“‘ sood-night’’ had been said, Josephine sat alone in
the hushed school-room. FORESHADOWINGS. 67
nosuvringS%and she thought so too, for she looked very
red when he went towards her.”
‘Het was very kind, I think,” said Elmina.
‘What is his name?” |
‘ Evans, I believe,” said Frank; ‘and you can’t
guess who he is, Mina. You recollect our old school-
teacher, Miss Willis, don’t you? Well, he’s her
husband, and she is with him. She looks just as she
used to. I knew her the minute I saw her.”
“So did I,” said Dera. “She went round, and
‘spoke to her old scholars, and shook hands with us
all, and seemed very glad to meet us. She inquired
for you, Elmina, and said she recollected you as one
of the loveliest, sweetest children in the school.”’
‘‘Yes, she shook hands with all but me,’’ said
Clinton. ‘‘A minute after, I saw her whispering
with her husband, and then she came back to me,
and seemed much pleased to see me. She said I had
altered so much that she did n’t know me. She com-
plimented. me on my fine recitations; but I didn’t
care’ about her compliments!” Clint’s lip curled,
and a shadow darkened his brow. ‘‘I never should
have deserved anything but blows, if she had always
been my teacher !”’ :
“Clinton,” said Elmina, gently, ‘‘don’t you think
“she meant to do right? You won’t think unkindly
of her, will you ?”’
‘“No, dear Mina, I’m sure I ought not,” said
Clint, his bright smile returning again; ‘‘for I am
quite sure she treated me as well as I did her. I
didn’t deserve Josie Lee’s kindness, and your father’s -
genergsity.””
“OQ, yes you did! At any rate, you deserve it
now, or my father would n’t think so much of you.
Do you know what he told me this afternoon? He
said that, as Mr. Kent is going té Europe to hunt up
68 ; THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
that fortune, and doesn’t want you any longer, he
intends to ask you to stay with us, and go to school
till you find something to do that you like better than
shoemaking.”
“That ’s just like Dy. Clement!” cried Dora;
‘the always tries to make everybody so happy.”
‘He has been hke a father to me,”’ said Clinton.
‘‘ He is too kind; I can never repay him.”
‘“ Pshaw!’’ said Frank; ‘‘don’t talk about that.
You ’ll be like a son to him while you stay with us,
and a good brother to Mina and me.” |
‘But your mother, — will she be pleased with the
arrangement ?”’
‘Can you doubt it?” said Frank, a little reproach-
fully. ‘‘My father is good, but my mother is good-
ness itself.”
‘Tt is a nice plan,”’ said Dora, ‘‘and will please
all, [ know. If Mr. Kent is really heir to that great
English estate, he will want no shoemaker boys; so
you can learn to do something that you like better.”
They were in high spirits, and chatted faster than |
ever, —all. but Elmina; for the mention of her mother
had brought the shadows again to her countenance,
and she leaned back on the lounge, and covered her
eyes with her hand. . ‘‘ Dear Mina, are you sick?”
said Dora, observing her.
‘“‘T’m very well, I thank you.”
‘We forgot,” said Frank, ‘‘that she has enjoyed
none of the pleasure which makes us so lively to-
night; and she has lost the prize, too, which she
hoped to gain. It is unkind in us to remind her of
her disappointment so often.’
“No, no, Frank, it ig not that. I was thinking
of poor mamma.’ :
_ “Of mother!’ said Frank, anxiously. ‘Is she
worse ?”’
FORESHADOWINGS. 69
Elmina’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with
tears. ‘I don’t know, Frank, but I fear she is very
ill.”
They looked from one to another with sorrowful
faces. A sudden and melancholy thought had come to
them; and an earnest prayer went up from each
heart that she might be spared. Just then Josie
Lee entered the room, with the freedom of a privi-
leged friend. She nodded ‘‘ Good-e’en ”’ to the little
circle by the fire, but embraced Elmina, and inquired
for her mother. ‘‘She seemed comfortable when I
left her an hour ago,” said Elmina; ‘‘but I fear she
is very sick.” : .
“Yet us go to her,’ said Josephine. ‘I have
come to take care of her to-night.’
‘She will be glad to see you, for she asked for her
friend Josie this morning.”
Together they ascended the softly carpeted stairs,
and entered the sick chamber. The doctor was sit-
ting by the bedside, holding the thin hand of his wife.
The expression of his face, as it turned towards Joseph-
ine, caused her heart to beat quickly and oye
it was full of woe, almost despair. He was glad to
see her; and, when he found that she would stay, he
said he would take the opportunity to visit .a patient
who needed his attention. Mrs. Clement smiled, and
held Josie’s hand to her lips. There was a deep
crimson spot on each cheek, and her eyes were large
and brilliant. Elmina, in her simplicity, thought it
was in token of returning health, and kissed her
mother’s brow tenderly, whispering, ‘‘ You are bet-
ter, mamma; your eyes are bright and your cheeks
rosy.’ The invalid smiled again, and attempted to
speak, but was prevented by a paroxysm of coughing,
which shook her weak! frame terribly.
Then she lay back ,on her pillow, completely, x
70 ' WHE HARVEST OF LOVE.
exhausted. Elmina saw that she was deadly pale, and
there was a look upon her face which she had never
seen before. Something seemed to whisper to her
that the hope with which she had just comforted her-
self was delusive; and a strange, vague feeling of
terror took possession of her heart, and she burst
into tears. Josie caressed her, but could say nOuanE,
for her own emotion choked her utterance.
For a time the sobbing of Elmina was the only
sound in the apartment; at length, Mrs. Clement
spoke in faint accents: ‘‘Mina, my darling one, I
must speak to you while I have strength, and thank
you for your kind and loving attentions. You have
ever been an obedient child and a great blessing to
your mother; this knowledge will be a comfort to
you when I am gone.”’
‘“Q, mother, mother!’’ sobbed Elmima, “ don’t talk
of leaving us — of dying. I will tend you so gently,
and do everything for you, if you will only get well.
You must not, shall not die!” She laid her head
on the pillow beside her mother's s, and clung to her
convulsively. for a moment the mother wept with
her child, and Josephine’s tears fell fast. But the
sick one was calm immediately, and spoke again, as
her wasted hand toyed with Mina’s disordered hair:
. “ My child, it would be pleasant for me to live longer
in this beautiful world, for the sake of those I love;
‘but heaven is so much more beautiful, that I am
willing to go. When I first knew that I must die,
O, my child, the thought was dreadful for me! I
thought I could not be parted from my husband and
children. But heaven seemed to grow nearer and
nearer each day, and at lasta sweet peace came intomy .
heart, and I now am ready to go when the Saviour
calls.” She paused, her eyes were raised upward, and
a beautiful, holy light overspread her countenance. It
FORESHADOWINGS. 71
was the brightening of the spirit in anticipation of a
glorious freedom.
Elmina raised her head, and looked upon her with
wonder and awe; she was hushed and subdued as if
in heavenly presence.
‘‘ Mina, comfort your father; be a true, loving
sister to Frank. Remember all my teachings, and
be good. QO, my own darling, strive ever to be good!
If you are ever doubtful as to your duty, think of me
as your guardian-angel, and act as you believe I
would have you.”
These words, though spoken slowly and faintly,
engraved themselves on Miuna’s heart in fadeless
characters. ‘‘I can say no more now, my Elmina,
for [am weary. Kiss me, love.”
She received the kiss, and then seemed to pass
Immediately into a tranquil slumber. Elmina sat
motionless, musing on her mother’s words. She tried
to comfort herself by thinking that her mother might
be mistaken; that God would yet spare her precious
life. A halfhour passed, and Mrs. Clement still
slept as calmly as a babe; but Josie perceived that a
change was taking place, and anxiously wished for the
doctor’s presence. He came soon, accompanied by
Frank. ‘There were tears on Frank's cheek. He
went directly to the bedside, and looked tenderly upon
the sleeper. Hlmina saw that her father grew very
pale as he glanced towards the bed, and then turned
quickly round; she saw his hand trembled so that he
scarce could hold his watch, which he drew forth to
note the time, and when he looked at her he groaned
aloud.
She knew it now,—her mother would die! A
mountain weight fell upon her heart, and she felt a
strained, choking sensation in her throat; a horrible
nightmare seemed to inthrall her senses, and she
Sites. .
72 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
feared she should shriek. ‘‘I can’t stay here,” she
thought; ‘‘I can scarcely breathe!’’ She hurried from
the room, down the stairs, and out into the open air.
The keen March wind swept wildly around the
house, throwing the light snow upon her dress and
hair. She heeded it not, but hurried on till she
reached a little arbor, which in summer-time was her
mother’s favorite seat. She sank upon the floor, and
wept in all the abandonment of sudden and terrible
sorrow. It was her first grief, and that —-O, God! —
how terrible for her childish heart! Will the light
ever shine again upon her head, — will joy ever tune
her heart again to his tripping measure? It seems
not so to her now; it seems as though the weight will
never be lifted from her breast; as though her heart
will never cease its painful throbbings. But, thank
God, his angels will come and lighten the burden ;
His peace will soothe her wounded spirit. In time
she will be able to think calmly of this night. But
how often, in her bereaved girlhood and early woman-
hood, will she yearn for that mother’s love! How
often will her pillow receive her scalding tears, and
the still night only hear her spirit’s wail for mother,
mother !
Other sorrows may come to her; other afflictions
may prostrate her spirit, and chill the life-blood in
her heart; but never can she weep again as she is
weeping now. ‘These are the first tears welling up
from that deep fountain in the soul over which the
angel of sorrow keeps guard, and unseals only when
Jehovah commands.
CHAPTER VIII.
BEREAVEMENT.
se Tis a time
For memory and tears.”’
WE draw a veil over the closing scene, which is too
sacred for stranger eyes to gaze upon. The sun rose
in all his wonted splendor, and in the deep blue
floated light fleecy clouds, rivalling in whiteness the
newly-fallen snow upon the earth. But she, who’
ever greeted the morning in gratitude and praise, had,
in the still watches of the night, sought that better
land whose light is the glory of God.
The beloved wife and mother slept,in the arms of
~ death! Mute was the loving breast that had throbbed
so purely and tenderly; voiceless the lips which never
opened but in blessing; and shaded were the beaming
eyes, for the spirit once speaking through them had
fled forever.
Dr. Clement had loved his companion with all the
strength of his manly heart; and he revered as well
as loved her, for her exalted character commanded his
deepest respect and confidence. His heart was
wrung with the anguish of parting, and he felt that his
house was desolate; yet, even then, heaven-born hope
whispered words of consolation, and he heard ’mid
the tempest of his grief. Then he sorrowed most for
his children; and they, unselfish even in that on
(73
14 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
fully trying hour, endeavored to hide their tears, that
they might comfort him. He saw and appreciated
their generous efforts at self-control, and thanked God
for his children. ,
But he was destined to receive another blow, which
nearly robbed him of his fortitude. The tidings
came of the death of his only and dearly Joved
brother. He read the sad missive, placed it in the
hands of Frank, and, without a word, retired to his
chamber. Only the pitying eye of* his heavenly
Father witnessed his renewed anguish, or the strug-
gles of his spirit for resignation and composure. And
when, after a lapse of several hours, he came forth,
pale and very grave, ’tis true, but with a serene
aspect, those who knew how. he had loved and
sorrowed, wondered whence that calmness came.
Poor Elmina! her heart was almost broken, and,
when her father was not by, she wept and mourned
incessantly.
She lay upon the bed in her own chamber, and
wished, in her rebellious sorrow, that she might never
rise again — that she might die, and be “with her
precious mother. She had» been alone for a little
time, when Josephine Lee entered the room with
quiet footsteps; she raised her head and pillowed it ©
upon her breast, and pressed a kiss eae her burning
row.
‘“Q, Josie, how can I live without my mother?”
cried Elmina, with another burst of agonizing tears.
‘« Poor, dear child!” murmured Josephine, softly
stroking her aching head.
‘QO, I want my mother, my dear, dear mother !”’
sobbed Elmina.
‘¢ She is in heaven,” said A; osephine, tenderly and
solemnly, ‘‘ with God and the angels. She isan angel,
now. Would yon call bor back to earth?” ;
BEREAVEMENT. cc
Her words penetrated Elmina’s heart, and she said
more calmly, ‘‘ No, I would not call her back, but I
wish I might die, too.”
_ Mina, don’t you remember your angel mother
said that you must comfort your father? Are you not
glad to live for his sake?”’
‘“‘My dear, dear father!’’ cried Elmina, with
still streaming tears; ‘QO, how I wish that I could
comfort him !”
‘You can — you will, I am sure,”’ said Josephine,
caressing the stricken child. ‘‘Calm yourself, and
listen tome. Do you know, my love, that God de-
signs afflictions for our good? It can hardly seem to
you that ‘it is better for you.to lose your mother’s
kind care; but God knows best. You will have
many trials now, that you would never have known
had she lived; and it is by trial that the spirit is
made strong, and fitted for heaven. I am sure,
Mina, that you will be patient and resigned; and
your dear smother will look down from heaven and
bless you.”’
Elmina grew composed as she listened. ¢T will
try to do as she would have me,” she said, with a
tremulous voice. Josephine continued to talk to her
So wisely and soothingly, that some of the noble
strength of her own character seemed imparted to the
young girl. From that hour she was at heart a
woman, théugh in years a child. Bravely did her
spirit rise above her selfish sorrow, and she was in-
deed a comfort to her father. Though mourning
still, she repined not; and a sweet cheerfulness
became habitual to her. Yet, alone at night, she
often struggled fearfully with her grief; but the
morning ever brought peace.
\
bY
GHAPTER IX.
‘© NEW-COMERS.”’
THREE weeks after the death of Mrs. Clement the
doctor received a letter from the widow of his broth-
er. It was evidently written ina state of great |
despondency, and a sort of whining, complaining tone
ran through the whole of the epistle. The doctor
was in too great afiliction himself to criticize any-
thing coming from one similarly bereaved. He knew
that his sister-in-law must be penniless, as his brother
had met with losses and died poor; and when he learned
that she was coming on from the West with her son,
he wrote her a very brotherly letter, bidding her wel-
come to his house as long as she chose to stay. He
proposed that she should keep his house for him, and
promised to educate her boy as his own son. She
accepted his kind offer with many protestations of
gratitude, and promised to be with them AY the last
of April.
When this arrangement was made ee to Ann
she felt some inward dissatisfaction, but was too sensi-
ble to express it. She had always been a kind and
willing girl, and now proved herself a capable
woman. She had been so long in the family that
they considered her as a friend, and she felt a lively
interest in all that concerned them. She rejoiced when
Clinton Forrest became a member of the family, and
(76)
‘¢ NEW-COMERS.”’ TT
took pleasure in performing any little service for him ;
but these ‘‘new-comers,’’ as she called them, would
make a great deal of trouble. She, unconsciously,
was prejudiced against a person she had never seen,
and knew nothing of. But Elmina’s generous heart
was filled with sympathy, and she made many
arrangements for their comfort and pleasure. A large
and pleasant chamber was allotted to her aunt; and a
neat little bedroom, at the end of the hall, was fitted
up for her cousin.
,lilmina thought less of her sorrow when engaged
in her active plans for the comfort of her expected
friends, and was almost light-hearted when the day
of their arrival came. She had formed a very
pleasant idea of her aunt, and fancied that she might,
im some instances, supply the place of her dear
mother.. She thought of her as a gentle woman,
with eafnest, affectionate ways, and her heart was
ready to lavish upon her its wealth of love.
With the evening stage came Mrs. James Clement
and cher son. The doctor’s welcome was cordial,
but he could not say much, for the many painful
emotions stirring in his heart. Elmina affectionately
embraced her aunt and cousin, and assisted Ann in
carrying away their outer garmentss She felt almost
a ludicrous sensation of disappointment as her fancy-
picture of her aunt fell to the ground. Mrs. James
Clement was a tall, masculine-looking woman, with a
restless, wandering eye, and an ill-favored mouth.
She spoke in a whining voice, which was meant to be
very sweet and plaintive. Observing that her broth-
er-in-law was struggling with emotion, she spoke in a
still more whining tone, and put her handkerchief to
her eyes. |
‘OQ, dear, O, dear!’’ she murmured, “it is so
dreadful to have our friends taken from us! I shall
78 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
never see another happy day, I know I never shall; ”
and she rocked back and forth despairingly. ‘There
was something in her manner very discordant with
the doctor’s feelings; something that painfully jarred
his wounded spirit. But he saw that she needed
sympathy ; and he was not the man to withhold kind
and encouraging words.
“You are wearied with your long journey, sister
Jane, and things look darker and more gloomy to you
than ‘they really are. You will be more cheerful by
and by. Here I have a comfortable home, and if is
yours as long as you please; and we will do all that
we can to make you and your son happy.”
‘‘T presume I shall appear more cheerful, for I
- have great command of my feelings; but 5 know
there ’s no more pleasure in this world for me.’
‘“O, don’t say that! You have a son, who, he is
a studious, obedient boy, will be a great source of
comfort to you. If he is well and happy, you will
certainly have cause to rejoice. I dare say James
will be a very pleasant addition to our circle of young
folks; he is just the age of Clinton Forrest, who isat
present one of our family. a
The comfort promised in her son seemed to tran-
quillize the afflicted lady, and she removed the kerchief ©
from her face to look fondly upon her boy. James
appeared awkward and ill at ease. Frank and Clin-
ton, observing this, invited him to go to their own
room, where he might feel more at home; and, with a
sort of sullen bashfulness, he allowed them to lead
him away. Now Mrs. James Clement talked volubly
of all the mishaps and discomforts of her Journey ;
of her own anxiety and weariness, and of poor Jim-
my’s headache; of the meanness of the landlords,
and the carelessness of the railroad agents. She
gave, in fact, a minute description of her travels from
‘¢ NHW-COMERS.”’ 79
beginning toend. The doctor listened with commend-
able patience and good-humor while Mina was filled
with innocent wonder and compassion.
At an early hour the lady signified her desire to
retire, and Mina lighted a small lamp and prepared
to accompany her. Mrs. Clement looked at her, and
intimated that she had expected the maid would at-
tend her.
‘Ann ig very busy,’’ was the reply. ‘I shall
take pleasure in doing anything you wish.”
‘Very well, child, you may take my carpet-bag
and shawl, — that’s all I shall want.’
- Elmina showed her aunt into a large and pleasant
chamber, furnished in a. generous and tasteful man-
ner.
oF te
t
§2 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
table, and wished her ‘‘ Good-night,”’ in a tremulous
voice. ‘There was an appealing, pleading expression
on her countenance as she turned away. A true
woman would have understood that mute appeal, and
would have taken the motherless girl in her arms; ~
she would have caressed her tenderly, and kissed
away her tears; she would have whispered loving
words, and breathed an earnest prayer above her
beautiful head. But Mrs. Clement understood not
the meaning of that tearful glance, and replied
‘ Good-night’’ in a cold and indifferent manner. El-
mina stood in the hall and struggled with her tears.
She could not define her emotions; but wounded feel-
ing, and a sense of disappointment, swelled in her
‘heaving breast. She had looked forward to the com-
ing of her aunt with an unconscious hope that she
would fill, in some degree, the aching void in her
heart.. She had nursed sweet fancies concerning her,
till the germs of affection were engendered, ready to
expand luxuriantly at the first demonstration of love.
But chilled and wounded was the upspringing affee-
tion, and it fell back upon a heart yet quivering with
the woe the death-angel had planted there. O, liow
wild was the yearning for her mother then! It.
required all her self-command to suppress a ery of
anguish.
O, it would have been a privilege could she have
wept until that burning pain was dissolved in tears !
But tears are telltales, and she thought of her fath-
er sitting sadly alone; so they were sent back: to
their fountain. A moment longer she struggled with
herself, and then, with composed features, she entered
the parlor. The doctor was sitting at the table, lean-
ing his head upon his hand; a look of settled melan-
choly overspread his face, and his eyes were bent on
the carpet with a vacant, ae gaze. He appeared
‘i,
i
*
—“NEW-COMERS.” 83
unconscious of Elmina’s presence until she laid her
hand upon his arm, and whispered, tenderly, ‘‘ Dear
father ! ”’
Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her,
but absently, as though his mind was far away.
‘¢ Father, ’? — and her voice was sweet and cheer-
ful as though no painful feelings had ever thrilled the
chords of her being, — ‘‘ shan’t I sing and play to
to you? You never ask me to now-a-days.”
“¢ Certainly, my dear; I should like much to have
ou.”
He did not alter his position when Elmina seated
herself at the piano. She did not stop to consider
that quick, loud music would jar painfully upon the
sensitive mind of her listener, or that tender, plain-
tive strains would augment his melancholy ; but with
an instinctive sense of propriety, which was with El-
mina a peculiar gift, she chose a graceful, airy ballad.
Her voice was clear and musical, and she sung with
her whole heart. When she finished the piece, he
changed his seat to one near the piano, and begged
for another song with a tone of interest. She sung
on, till her smothered anguish seemed wafted away
on ‘the wings of her own song.
After a time she ceased playing, and commenced a
cheerful conversation. No one who had looked upon
her unruffled brow and subdued smile, would have
dreamed that an hour before that sweet face was con-
vulsed with agony; or of the struggle which had
taken place in her young heart.
Her generous efforts at self-command were not unre-
warded; for her cheerful voice and smile quite charmed
away the shadows from her father’s brow, and he
called her his ‘‘ sweet comforter.”’-
Suddenly he said, ‘ Mina, do you know that you
are very like your mother ?’
e
84 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
She left the music-stool to sit upon his knee, and
laid her face on his shoulder to hide the tears — half
of pleasure, half of pain—which his words had
started. ‘Iam glad you think me like her, father ;
I hope I shall grow more like her every day.”
‘“T hope so, darling !”
He held her tightly to his breast. In the silence
that followed, each knew what was in the other’s
’ mind,— mournful, tender thoughts of the loved one
who had sought a purer home. There was a holy
hush in their hearts, for each felt that the spirit of
the dear one was with them, breathing comfort on
their wounded spirits. In that embrace the hed¥ts of
the father and child were woven closer together in
holier, tenderer ties. Such moments are blessed to
to the mourning heart, where Christian faith and hope
have made their altar; they bring a sweet peace, —
such peace as the Saviour left his disciples, — ‘‘ the
peace that passeth understanding.”
The clock was on the stroke of ten, and Elmina
made a movement to retire, when her father gently
detained her. ‘‘ Waita moment, Mina. I have a favor
to ask; won't you sing ‘When shall we all meet
again,’ for me? ”’ |
The hymn had been a great favorite of her mother’s,
and she had heard her sing it many times in her sweet,
mellow tones; it was blended with her mother’s name.
She feared she could not sing it, for there was a sud-
den swelling in her throat, and her lips quivered.
Her father observed her agitation; ‘I was wrong,”
he said, “‘ to ask you; you need not try.” 7
‘Yes, I will try.” With her face turned a little
away from his, she sang. Her voice was wavering
and weak at first, but she gained strength and com-
posure as she proceeded, and was enabled to sing the
last verse with surpassing sweetness. There were
‘¢ NEW-COMERS.”’ 85
tears in the doctor’s eyes as she finished. ‘‘ Bless
you, darling!” he whispered, pressing his lips to her
brow, ‘‘ bless you! it seems as though her spirit were
singing through your voice.”
‘Tt seemed so to me,” said Mina, softly; ‘‘ for I
had no strength when I commenced.”
Again her father kissed that pure brow; again he
breathed a blessing upon her beautiful head, and then
Elmina sought her pillow.
O, lovely were the dreams which mingled with
her rest that night! Sweet dreams of that land where
the pastures are ever green, and the living waters flow
in silver streams. ASG
commendations of his teachers, while James remained
in the same low place he had at first taken in his
classes, and was often reprimanded for his idleness
and inattention. Clint was a favorite with all the
boys, who thought no game was complete unless he
joined them; and James was daily left in the back-
ground, gnawing his nails and sulkily looking at his
unlearned lessons. Instead of emulating Clinton’s
virtues, James hated him for being a better boy, a
better scholar, and a greater favorite, than himself.
He nursed his jealousy till it embittered his heart,
and made him miserable. ‘The master sometimes in-
judiciously compared the conduct of one with the
other, and thus increased his hatred. He often taunted
Clinton with his dependence upon his uncle, and called
him pauper and beggar-boy. Clint bore all his coarse
jests with the utmost good-humor, for a sense of su-
periority and noble pride raised him above anger
towards one for whom he had neither love nor respect.
One bright afternoon Frank sat upon the piazza,
reading, when James came and threw himself on the
platform by his side. Frank perceived by his move-
ments that he was in bad-humor ; but this so frequently
occurred that it excited no alarm, and he read on, ap-
parently unconscious of his presence. James moved
uneasily about, evidently wishing to attract his cousin’s
attention; but, failing in this, he at length exclaimed,
as though he could no longer contain himself, “TI
hate Clint Forrest! actually hate him! and I don’t
believe he’s so mighty good either, as everybody
seems to think he is.”
‘What now?” cried Frank, laying down his book.
‘ What terrible thing has Clint been doing?”’
‘Doing? why, he’s always daing something to
make me mad. Just now he refused to let me copy
those ugly equations out of his note-book; he said
90 _ THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
he’d explain ’em to me; but I didn’t want any of
his explanations if he was so cross he wouldn’t lend
me his book; it would have saved me three hours’
work if he had. Now, I shall miss to-morrow again,
and the master ’Il scold.” ,
‘‘T should think he’d be ashamed,” said Frank,
gravely; ‘‘of course, he*did it only to get you down
mm the class, and because he was afraid of cheating
Mr. Hastings by showing you your lessons. I don’t
wonder you hate him! ”’
‘‘ And then,”’ said James, not perceiving the irony
in Frank’s voice, ‘‘it makes me all out of patience to
hear him praised all the time, while I am scolded till
I am sick of my life.” .
‘“‘T think it is too bad,’’ rejommed Frank. ‘Clint
ought to miss his lessons now and then, and get him-
self into a scrape every little while, just to be even
with you.”
James looked up into his cousin’s face, and saw the
roguery lurking round his mouth, and twinkling in
his eyes. An angry flush mounted his forehead, and
he leaned back against one of the vine-wreathed
. pillars in silence. After a momentary pause, Frank
spoke again. ‘‘ Now, in sober earnest, cousin James,
I think you are a foolish boy to be so jealous of
Clint. I advise you to follow his example, and you
will find yourself a better favorite very soon.”
‘“‘T shall notjfollow his example, Mr. Frank, for
your advice! I don’t see anything so mighty good
about him, for all everybody praises him up to the
skies; he tries to make folks think he’s wonderfully
good-tempered, but it is all hypocrisy. Yesterday he
was awful mad at what one of the boys said; his eyes
flashed like sparks of fire, and his face was hot enough
to light a candle; he went towards hima step or
two, and then turned round and went away as fast as
CHANGES. ‘ 91
he could. I-suppose he thought we should give him
the credit of being good-natured; but I understood
him too well for that.”’ ;
“Clint ’s got a hot temper, I know; but he is trying
to govern it, and it is much to his credit. He isa
noble boy, and scorns a mean action, and I tell you
again that you had better try and be more like hin,
instead of telling how much you hate him.’’
‘“T tell you,” cried Clement, ‘‘I shall never take
a begear-boy for my pattern. Because you happen
to be a little older than I, you think you are privi-
leged to lecture me as much as you please !”’
“QO, don’t be angry, Jimmy! I was only giving
you a little well-meant advice. And I tell you truly
that, if you scold so much about Clint, you'll lose
what few friends you have; for there never was a
more. universal favorite than Clinton Forrest.”
‘Clinton Forrest,’ repeated James, snéeringly.
‘TI don’t see what right a pauper, a beggar-boy, has
tossuch a fine name. I suppose some foolish old
woman gave it to him because he had none of his
own.”
‘You mistake, sir!”’ cried Frank, with rising.
temper; “‘you mistake, —it was his father’s name,
and his -by the best of right. And now I want you
to understand, James Clement, that he is my dearest
friend, and I will not hear him called beggar-boy by
any one; the words are very displeasing to me, and [
desire you never to use them again in my presence.”’
‘Indeed! ”’ sneered James; ‘‘and so I must
choose. my words when addressing your honor! [
certainly shall not choose my friends as you do, who
prefer a beggar-boy to your own cousin.”
“Did I not tell you I wouldn’t hear Clint Forrest
spoken of in that manner again?” cried Frank, now
really angry. ‘ What constitutes him a beggar-boy ?
92 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
@
Is it because he sits at my father’s table, and because
my father’s money pays for his schooling? If that
makes him a beggar-boy, I’d like to know what you
call yourself? Where’s the difference between you
two? I7ll tell you the difference; Clint is grateful,
and does all in his power to repay my father’s kind-
_ ness, and you are jealous because another enjoys the
same favors that you do yourself.”
James started up in a towering passion, and con-
fronted his cousin; but Frank’s flashing eye and erect
figure intimidated the craven-spirited boy, and he
turned away whimpering and muttering, ‘‘ You call
me a beggar, do you? Very kind to your poor orphan
cousin ;’’ and he passed round the corner of the house
with the air of one grieved and offended beyond all
endurance. Frank looked after him with mingled
feelings of scorn and self-reproach. As his temper
cooled, he felt lowered in his own esteem for yield-
ing to passion in a discussion with one so childish and
unreasonable. Presently he felt a light touch on, his
arm, and a sweet, reproachful voice whispered, “‘ QO,
how could you, Frank!”
“Why, Mina, how you started me! ” said he, put-
ting his arm about his sister. niga ais
“Did I, Frank?” said Elmina. ‘‘I’m sure I did
not mean to: but how could you speak such naughty
words?”
“Do what? say what? you little mystery.”
‘* Now, don’t be so ignorant, Frank, for I was sit-
ting by the window, and heard it all. James thinks
you have called him a beggar, and has gone away
very angry.”’
~ “I said nothing but what he deserved for his
impudence.”
“That is true,” said Elmina, ‘and I can’t blame |
you for getting angry at his disagreeable sayings ;
CHANGES. | 98
but don’t you see that it will make trouble? He will
tell his mother, and she ’Il feel insulted, and, may be,
will go to father with a complaint. At any rate she
will feel as though we were so selfish as to wish her-
self and James away 5 and perhaps she ’ll be so angry
as to really leave us.’
‘Why, Elmina,”’ said Frank, laughing, ‘‘ who ever
heard you, our hopeful sunbeam, borrowing trouble
before? I own I ought not to have said what I did
to James; but I don’t believe it will hurt him, and
though aunt Jane may take a fa it won’t last long,
I dare say.”
‘*T didn’t mean to borrow trouble,” said Elmina,
soberly; ‘‘ for there’s enough of it without borrowing.
But, if she should tell. papa, you’d excuse it to her,
so that he might not be angry with you, would n't
you, Frank? ”
‘Ah! I see how it is. Mina, you are afraid father
will be displeased with me; that is just like you.
But don’t flatter yourself that I shall ever make any
apologies to aunt Jane for anything I’ve said. I’m
too proud for that.”
‘©Q, brother!” said Elmina, in a sorrowful tone,
“it might save a great deal of trouble if you should
only say you were sorry, or something like it.”
‘Never, Mina, if I were ever so sorry, would I
acknowledge it to her. Id ask James’ pardon
first |”
‘You were not always so proud, brother. I have
often seen you with your arms around our mother’s
neck, telling of some wrong thing ‘you had done; and,
only a short time ago I “heard you begging ‘Josie
Lee’s forgiveness for a hasty Word you had spoken,
as though you thought her opinion was worth a great
deal.”’ ?
‘‘ And so it is to me, and to any one who knows
94 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
and loves her as Ido. I should be a mean, sneaking
fellow to wound her feelings, or those of any true
woman, and not make all the reparation im my power.
I am surprised you don’t understand me Elmina; that
you don’t see the difference, the reason why I could
never make apologies to aunt, J ane. You feel the
reason, though I can’t tell you.”
“Veg, Hy said she, with a sigh, ‘‘I think I under-
stand you.”
Elmina felt a sensation of relief when the tea hour
arrived, and her father was still absent visiting his
patients. It was not their custom to wait long for
him, and the family soon gathered round the supper-
table, over which aunt Jane presided with a most
frigid and haughty manner. She was apparently
speechless, never addressing a word to the group of
young folks around the board. James looked at
Frank, from under his scowling eyebrows, with an
angry, menacing glance, and curled his lip insult-
ingly at Clinton.
Clinton, seeing something was wrong, tried to Ge
. perse the ‘cloud “enveloping them by starting a con- -
versation ; but Frank answered only in monosyllables,
and Elmina could not answer at all, so sensitive was
she to any coldness or discord in their family circle.
It was an uncomfortable meal, eaten in silence and
haste, for each one was desirous of leaving the chilling
atmosphere which chained their tongues and saddened
their spirits.
In an hour the doctor returned, and Elmina
hastened to the dining-room to pour his tea and chat
with him as usual ; but her aunt intercepted her in
the passage, saying that she, would attend upon the
doctor. With flushed cheeks the young girl returned
to the parlor, where her brother had resumed his book,
CHANGES. 95
and was reading by the fast-fading light. He was
unconcerned and indifferent ; she, trembling and appre-
hensive.
That twilight hour seemed interminable to her;
she dreaded, yet desired, to have the moments pass.
She wondered of what Frank was thinking when he
laid his book aside and gazed, dreamily, upon the
sweet landscape, over which the evening shadows fell
with a softening grace. She felt that his revery was
a pleasant one; so she did not disturb him, but softly
drew her ottoman to his side, and sought to dissipate
her anxieties by studying his placid face.
She felt the blood flush to her brow when her
father came into the room, followed by her aunt, and
she bent her head so that she did not see the look of
displeasure upon his face.
Dr. Clement was of a generous, forbearing temper,
and a frown upon his brow, or reproof from his lips,
was of rare occurrence; but he was thoroughly angry
now, for Mrs. Clement had talked to him until he
was convinced that Frank had treated both herself
and son with actual insult.
‘‘ Frank, what do [ hear?”’ he said, with an effort
at self-command; ‘‘ what do I hear? Your aunt
Jane tells me that you. have taunted James of his
orphanage and poverty, twitted him of his dependence
upon me; even called him ‘beggar’! I am filled
with surprise, for this is so unlike what I expected
from you, so unlike your generous nature. Perhaps
even now you can make some explanation which will
palliate your fault. * Iftso; speak, I pray you.”
Frank raised his head with a deprecating glance,
and commenced to speak, with the intention of reliev-
ing himself from the disgraceful imputation, when
one look from his aunt changed his resolution, and he
dropped his head in silence.
96 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
“Have you nothing to say, no explanation to
offer?’ repeated the doctor sternly.
‘““He ‘does not deny it?’’ cried Mrs. Clement
pathetically; ‘‘he cannot deny it! O, I little
thought, brother, that your children would be jealous
of your kindness to me; but it is my fate, — poverty,
dependence, and insult! I have borne all my troubles
with fortitude; but this—O, this is too much even for
me to bear!’’ and she threw herself*tragically upon
the sofa, and buried.her face in her handkerchief.
Frank’s eyes lighted with a scornful flash, and his
lip curled disdainfully, as he replied: ‘‘ No, madam,
I do not deny it! I deny nothing! ”’
‘There, do you hear him!” cried the lady, rising
energetically; ‘“‘he denies nothing; then this is no
longer a home for me ;—TI will not eat the bread of
dependence given grudgingly and with insult.” She
fell back again upon the sofa with the air of one over-
whelmed with grief. The doctor looked at her as if
half-bewildered, then turned to his son and said, in a
tone of less severity, ‘‘ There is something in all this
that I cannot understand. I have asked an explana-
tion, which you have not chosen to give, and, as you
deny nothing, I am constrained to believe that you —
have been guilty of ungenerous conduct, —of such con-
duct as I had hoped my son never would confess to.
There is but one way in which you can atone for thus
wounding the feelings of your aunt, and I trust you
have the manliness to make an acknowledgment
immediately.”’ ,
If Frank had obeyed the first impulse, he would
have told him all; for he yalued his father’s good
opinion highly; but pride and a contempt of his
aunt’s ridiculous conduct kept him silent.
The doctor waited a moment, and then left the
room. He had not time to leave the hall before
CHANGES. 97
Elmina was by his side, saying, earnestly, ‘‘ Do not
go away in anger, dear father; let me tell you how
it was. Frank was not so very much to blame.”
‘‘My dear,”’ said the doctor kindly, ‘‘ you look as
anxious and grieved as though it were yourself who
had incurred my displeasure, instead of your high-
spirited brother.’ :
‘‘Tisten to me papa, and [am sure you will for-
give Frank.’’. In her earnest, truthful tones did
Elmina repeat the conversation which had caused
such a breeze in their usually quiet family. Gently
excusing her brother, yet speaking kindly of James,
she related the story without alteration or coloring.
‘Thank you, my dear little girl,”’ said her father
when she had finished; ‘‘ you ought to be called our
peacemaker. Frank was quite excusable for getting
angry with the saucy James; indeed, I wonder at
his forbearance. I blame him only for not explain-
ing the affair to me, though I presume I should have
‘been too proud when I was of his age to say much
for myself in the presence of a crying woman.”’
“Q, father,” cried Elmina, joyfully, ‘‘I am so
glad you are not angry with him now! Won’t you
go back and tell him? He must be miserable till you
do.” '
‘Yes, Mina, I will go back; and I must tell the
news which aunt Jane’s doleful story quite put out —
of my head.”
She led her father back in triumph. Her aunt
retained her disconsolate position upon the sofa, and
Frank sat leaning his head sorrowfully upon his
hand. He raised his eyes, humid with tears, to the
doctor, as he approached, and exclaimed: ‘ Forgive
me, father! my silly pride shall no longer permit you
to think me so much worse than I really am. I will
tell it all —” |
7
98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘““There’s no need of that, my son; Mina has got
the start of you, and led me back to make peace
between us.”’
Frank looked gratefully upon his sister, and took
his father’s hand with a swelling heart. ‘‘ Aunt Jane
will be as glad as any of us when she hears the truth
of the story,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ James was so blinded
with anger that he exaggerated greatly.”
“What am I to understand by this?”’ asked Mrs.
Clement, rising to a sitting posture, and fixing her
piercing black eyes upon her brother-in-law. *
“Why, Jane, ’tis nothing but a boyish quarrel
which you have ‘afflicted yourself so much about, and
has no connection with you.’
‘Ah, I see, I understand,” she cried, resorting to
her handkerchief again; ‘‘ you take sides with your
son against me, and this is no longer a home for me
and mine. QO, dear! 0, dear! I might have known
this would have been the end of it!” She flung
herself from the room in violent hysterics.
The remaining party looked at each other in blank
surprise. rank’s keen sense of the ludicrous over-
came other sensations, and he burst into a laugh,
saying, “It is as good as a play! I wish Cliné
could have seen her.”
‘The doctor laughed good- humoredly at this sally,
which he did not reprove; Elmina looked sober, —
‘‘ Tam sure she feels very unhappy, and I don’t think
we oucht to laugh about her.”’
‘‘Nor do I, Elmina,” said the doctor; ‘‘ we should
be indulgent to infirmities of temper, as re: as those
~ of the body. She will see things more clearly in the
morning, and, if we are all kind to her, will, I dare
say, he quite reconciled. Now, F rank, I have some
important news for you.”
“Yes, father, I am all attention’? >
CHANGES. | 99
‘JT have received two letters, — one concerning
yourself, and one about Clmton. You recollect Col.
Whitney, my old college chum, who was here last
summer? Well, he is going to spend two years in
Kurope, principally engaged im important public busi-
ness, but intends to spend some time in sight-seeing
or ‘pleasure-hunting,’ as he terms it. He needs a
secretary, and he does you the honer to say that he
knows of no young man whom he should prefer for
that office. He makes a most liberal offer, and desires
an immediate reply. How does the project please
ou?”
‘“T should be delighted to travel, father; but I
shall be twenty in two years, and of course could not
enter college until after my return, should I accept
Col. Whitney’s kind offer. Would it not be a long
time to put it off?”
“True; yet I am not certain that it would be
wise to reject this fine opportunity. Iam not of the
Opinion of those who think that man in immature
years is unfit for receiving benefit. from travelling.
The mind is fresh and unprejudiced in youth, and
recelves impressions more readily than at a later
period of life. In two years’ travel you might learn
what would be of incalculable benefit to you, and
undoubtedly would acquire an ease and polish of
manner which is very desirable. Indeed, I advise
you to accept the colonel’s invitation. I have such
confidence in my friend, that I should be happy in
trusting you to his guardianship.”’
‘‘Tf you approve, my father, I shall certainly go.
I feared you would think it unwise, as my studies
are unfinished; but, as you say, I shall be learning
a great deal. I dare say I could learn more of the
modern languages in travelling than in many years’
study. yrs :
ou THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
“You would, undoubtedly, Frank; and, if nothing
occurs to- prevent, you would be ready to enter upon
the duties of your profession at twenty-five, which is
in better season than I commenced.”’
‘Then shall not we consider the matter settled?
I grow more pleased with the plan as we talk about
it. But how soon does the colonel start ?”
“In about a month. He will write more par-
ticularly concerning it when he learns your decis-
ion.’
‘Then, pray, write immediately, father, and tell
him I accept his proposals, and will endeavor to per-
form my duties to his satisfaction. ‘T'wo whole years
in Europe! It seems like a dream. I cannot realize
it,”
‘Realize what?’ repeated Clinton, who had over-
heard the last words as he entered the room.
- Way, Clint, I’m going to Europe with Col.
Whitney ! — actually going to Kurope!”’
‘Going to Europe? ”’
“Don’t look 80 mystified, Clint,’’ said the for
laughing at the surprise depicted upon his face; ‘it is —
a fact. Col. Whitney has invited him to accompany
him on a tour through Europe, as his secretary, a
he has concluded to accept.”
‘* Accept! of course he’d accept such an offer,”
said Clinton. ‘‘ Why, how do you feel, Frank? I
should be crazy with joy had I sucha prospect. Why,
boy, you don’t act as though you cared any thing
about it!”
“‘T am glad, Clint, very glad, though I don’t go
Into ecstasies, as you would. I can be glad without
taking the house- -top off with my antics.”
‘Of course; but I never can be so cool about any-
thing. I have to act as well asfeel.”
‘‘Well, my boy, there’s a chdmce for your acting ;
ee
CHANGES. 101
for I have a second letter, which is as important for
you as the first was for Frank.” "ase
‘For me?” said Clinton; ‘it is something good,
I know, for good things never come singly.”
‘Tt is something pretty good, I think,” said the
doctor, ‘‘and you will be right glad, I’m sure. It
seems that Mr. Evans took a great fancy to you at
the time of the school examination. He told me at
that time that he should n’t lose sight of you. Well,
he and his lady (who, by the way, is an old school
teacher of yours) have been travelling through the
Canadas ever since they were here, and are intending
to visit the principal southern cities this coming au-
tumn, before they return to St. Louis, their place of
residence. He writes that if you will go with him
and assist him, during the intervals of the journey,
in copying business papers, etc., he will pledge him-
self to place you in a situation, where, with industry
and economy, you may make a fortune in the world.
Mr. Evans is an-influential business man, and would,
I doubt not, be able to keep his promise.”
‘“‘We is very kind,” said Clinton, modestly, ‘‘ to
have so good an opinion of me; but I am surprised,
sir, that he should take such notice of a poor orphan
boy like me.” ;
‘¢ All people are lable to their fancies and whims,
and it is very plain that this Mr. Evans fancies you.
There ’s nothing very wonderful about it, either, my
boy; have you not always been my favorite ?”’
“OQ, my kind benefactor!” cried Clinton, with
grateful warmth, ‘‘do not imagine me so vain as to
suppose myself the least deserving of all your favors
to me. It was from the fulness of your benevolent
heart that you cherished the fatherless boy. And
wherever I may go, whatever path I may walk in,
your name will be remembered with the tenderest
/gratitude.” « ~
O27 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘“‘T understand you, Clinton ; I know all you would
say; your grateful temper magnifies all that I have
done for you. But we must talk of Mr. Evans’ pro-
posals now.”
“Tf you, sir, think best, I should be glad to go.
Indeed, I think it would be wrong for me to neglect
so good an opportunity of gaining my own livelihood.”’
‘“‘T advise you to go, by all means; and my bless-
ing go with you,” said the doctor, earnestly. ‘‘ Mr.
Evans writes that he shall be in Oakville next week,
and hopes to find you ready te accompany him. El-
mina will be your little seamstress, so that you shall.
be ready in time.” | ry
“ Good luck. to you, Clinton!” said Frank. ‘Bes:¥>
fore I have my first patient you will be a rich meré
chant, without doubt.”
‘Thank you, Dr. Frank,” said Clinton, laughing;
“But I guess your bright prophecy will be a, dong
time in coming to pass. You will come home’from
Europe a travelled gentleman, and I shall be a poor,
plodding clerk.” : |
‘The two young friends chatted cheerily ef their
pleasant prospects, without thinking of the long sepa-
ration before them, and the doctor went to his study,
to answer the two important communications. Pres-
ently a quivering sigh startled our two castle-builders,
and they both turned, with one impulse, to Elmina,
whom they had forgotten. She stood looking mourn-
fully at them, her dark eyes swimming in’ tears, and
her lip trembhing. Then they realized that their httle
band must be broken up; their loving hearts widely
severed. . : |
“Q, Frank! Clinton! how can I part with both my~
brothers at once?” exclaimed Elmina, in a broken
voice. ee
‘Sweet sister, how can we leave you?” they cried
together. They encircled her in their arms, they —
é ,
De
va
ie ais el = & i
; Sa jb eg
We” so ee ae
. CHANGES. 103
“kissed her wet cheeks, and though each strove, with
boyish pride, to drive back their tears, they would
come, and fell upon her clustering hair. ‘ And
Dora, she will cry, too,” said Elmina, remembering
her sweet friend. 3
‘One moment ago,”’ said Clinton, ‘‘ I was full of
joy at the thought of going, and now it seems as
though I cannot go.”
“And I,” said Frank, “did not think how aba
two years is to be from one’s home and friends.’
Some natures, weak and dependent, when there is
a stronger heart to lean upon, grow brave and hopeful
in proportion to the waning courage of those around
: «them. Thus with Elmina. When she perceived the
wainful struggles in the minds of her brothers, she for-
tified her own heart to cheer and redssure those she
loved.
_ , How foolish we were,” she said, “to imagine that
e should always live together in the same pleasant
ay we have so long! Of course we must be sepa-y
rated some time, and we must have brave hearts now
the trial has come. What*a glad meeting we shall
have some time! Why, my dear brothers, where
would be' the delightful meetings we hear of, were
there no partings?”’
‘Mina hasn’t forgotten her old trick of finding
silver in every cloud,” said Frank.
‘She is always a sunshiny, hopeful spirit,’ said
Clinton. {It is Just like herself to conceal her own
grief to cons@le us.’
“‘ Flatterers!”’ said Elmina, playfully. “I should
scold you, were you not going away so soon. And
don’t talk of my concealing grief, —as though I shall
be completely forlorn when you are away! Not but
that I shall miss you sadly,’’ she continued, in a
changed voice, ‘ O, so sadly !”’
+
CHA PTEHRsA 1.
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON.
‘© How happy is he born and taught, —
That serveth not another’s will ;
‘Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill !”’
THREE months after the incidents recorded in the
previous chapter, Clinton Forrest visited for the second
time, the City of Brotherly Love. Not as before did
he tread those crowded, streets, with a bounding step
and a heart throbbing with excitement and eager curi-
osity, but soberly and thoughtfully ; a feeling of lone-
iness pressed painfully upon him, for not one of the
passing yaultitude had a thought or word for him.
He entered a fashionable street, and passed along
the line of elegant dwelling-houses, meanwhile pa-
tiently comparing the names upon the door-plates
with the superscription of a letter which he held in
hishand. At length he paused before a door on which
was engraved, in golden characters, ‘‘ Amos Gay;”’
and, after assuring himself that the names upon the
etter and door- plate agreed, he ascended the steps
and touched the silver bell-knob. His timid call was
immediately answered, and, upon his inquiry for the
master of the house, he was shown into a richly-
furnished apartment. Here was assembled a chéerful
group, consisting of an elderly gentleman, a fair,
matronly lady, and two ee young girls. Una-
(104)
»-
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 105
‘bashed by the stately elegance of everything about
him, or by the haughty stare of the elder young lady,
he advanced directly to the gentleman and presented
his letter of introduction. Mr. Gay took the letter
without a word, and then Clinton might have felt some
embarrassment, had not Miss Fannie Gay handed him
a seat, with a smile and a few sweet words, which
made him quite at ease. ;
After slowly reading the letter twice through, Mr. °
Gay arose and took Clinton by the hand, saying, ‘‘I
am glad to see you, Clinton Forrest. Mrs. Gay,
Marian, Fannie, this is Master Clinton Fofrest,” he
continued, introducing him to the ladies. Clinton
_ bowed gracefully, though with heightened color, and
Fannie pronounced him, in her own mind, the hand-
somest boy she had seen in all her hfe.
“Tf all that my friend, Mr. Evans, states, is liter-
ally true,”’ said Mr. Gay, r regarding our young hero
with a pleasant smile, ‘‘ he certainly has done me a
favor in introducing to my notice so enterprising and.
talented a young man. But were you not here in
the autumn, with Mr. Evans and his lady ?’
Clinton informed him that he had been for three
months with Mr. Evans, acting as his secretary.
‘‘So he writes,’ replied Mr. Gay, referring to
the letter; ‘‘and that fact is a standing certificate
for yourself. I know Evans well as a business
man. You have come just in time, for I need another
salesman, and, though you are young, I think I will
give you a trial. I dare say you will suit admirably.
Come into a library, and we will settle all the pre-
liminaries.”
While Clinton is closeted with the merchant, we
will take the opportunity to relate to the reader the
principal events which had conspired to place Clinton
in his present novel position.
106 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans were delighted with the lad
they had chosen for a travelling companion; indeed,
his intelligence and vivacity, with his obliging and
gentlemanly manners, made him a very desirable as-
sociate. Philadelphia was their first stopping-place,
and here they remained three weeks. In this great
metropolis, the eager, inquiring mind of Clinton found
a boundless source of interest. He labored faithfully
to prove to his new friends that the confidence they
reposed in him was not unfounded. Though novelty
and excitement tempted him sorely, he passed the
largest share of each day in copying and revising
business papers, casting accounts, writing letters,
etc. ; all of which he accomplished to the entire satis-
faction of his employer.
His first act, upon entering the city, was to write
to Elmina, the loved companion of his childhood hours,
the dear sister to whom he owed so much. His letter
contained a sprightly account of the incidents of his
journey, and was replete with brotherly affection.
He eagerly waited for a reply, but the days came and
went, and still no letter from Elmina. After a fort-
night had passed, his impatient spirit could brook no
longer delay, and he wrote again, desiring her to ad-
dress him at Baltimore, where they were intending
to pass some little time. But at Baltimore he was
doomed to disappointment; for, though he haunted
the post-office day after day, there was no missive for
him.
Much’ surprised and wounded at this unexpected
neglect, he trjed to console himself by forming ex-
cuses for Elmina; but he could think of none that
seemed plausible. Hven if she were sick and unable
to write herself, he felt that she should have answered
his second earnest and importunate letter through
some one else. Under a sudden impulse he com-
#
THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 107
menced to write again; but his proud spirit rose, and
he tore the sheet in twain. Then he thought of
writing to the doctor; but he put the thought quickly
away, for, if Hlmina valued his friendship so lightly,
he coule not expect the continued regard of her father.
O, it was a sore trial for the poor boy! He pon-
dered upon it, and each day felt the disappointment
and mortification more keenly. By Elmina’s unmer-
ited neglect of him he felt as if severed from all the
friends who had made the few past years of his life so
useful and happy. He concealed the cause of his
grief from Mr. and Mrs. Evans; yet they were not
unobservant of his abstracted manner and sober coun-
tenance. When his appetite forsook him his kind
friends became really anxious; and, fearing he had
worked too hard for his health, they planned excur-
sions of pleasure, and took every pains to restore him
to his former cheerfulness. »
Grateful for their kindness, Clinton tried to appear
cheerful, and he succeeded so well as to relieve all
their anxieties. Now the travellers resumed their
journey, with the intention of going to New Orleans
as quickly as consistent with comfort. Mr. Evans
had decided to pass the winter in New Orleans, as he
had two brothers resident there, one of whom was
sick with consumption.
Clinton began to reproach. himself for giving up
his Oakville friends so easily. ‘‘I will write to dear
Josephine Lee,” he thought; ‘‘she must be glad to
hear from her brother, as she always called me; and
Mina possibly had some reason for not writing before,
and may now be wishing to know where to direct a
letter. I will write a note to her, and inclose it in
Josie’s letter.” No sooner was the resolve formed
than acted upon, and then his spirits rose ten degrees,
inspired with hope and pleasing expectation. He re-
“
108 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
quested Josephine to address him at a.town nearly a
week from them in their journey, and where he knew
his friends intended to stop a few days to rest. This
arrangement, he felt sure, would give sufficient time
for a letter to reach him, even if Josephine should be
a little dilatory, which seemed’ to him would not be
the case. He was so strong in hope, that, when he
arrived at B , and found no letter waiting for him,
he would not acknowledge to himself that he was any
disappointed. But hope diminished every day, and
when, on the sixth day (the last of his stay in B yf
he heard the dreaded words, ‘‘ Nothing for you,” he
could not restrain the tears of disappuintment which
gushed from his eyes; and, when alone in his cham-
ber, he gave unrestrained vent to his grief.
“OQ, Josephine! Elmina!” he cried to himself in
sorrow; ‘‘you have been very, very kind to me;
too kind; for now [e@know that all your kind .
acts were performed through goodness of heart, not
friendship er affection. My heart is almost broken!
I was wrong to expect that two such lovely and
accomplished ladies would correspond with a poor
orphan boy like me. I will trouble them no more with
my letters; but some time in the years to come they
may not be ashamed to own me as a friend. Ah!
but Elmina must be changed! Could such a little
angel as she was become a proud, scornful woman ?
No, that could not be! Forgive me, dear Mina, for
such a thought. And’ Josie Lee’s last words were so
cordial, I thought they were sincere. If such as she
grow cold so soon, friendship is little worth to me. ,
Q, father, mother, sisters, brothers —there are none for
me—none on earth from whom I can claim affection! ”’
Thus did poor Clint mourn over his slighted friend-
ship; and, indeed, it was.a trial of no small magni-
tude for one situated like him. Josie and Mina had
THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 109
stepped into his unoccupied affections, and, at their
call, many friends had gathered around him; but of
all, these two were the dearest.
A resolve grew up in Clinton’s mind, strong and
deep, that he would never force himself upon the no-
tice of any, merely because they had befriended his
unfortunate childhood. His proud spirit forbade
another attempt to gain the attention of his former
friends in Oakville. “I will bid a long ‘ good-by’
to Oakville,’ was his mental exclamation; ‘ but
when I am a man,’’—and his head rose, while a
half-exultant smile gleamed through the falling tears,
— ‘fwhen I am a man, I will return, and then they
shall not be ashamed to take me by the hand; for,
God helping me, I will earn an honorable name
among men. ‘Though Josie Lee may forget the poor
boy to*whom she was so kind, I will never forget her
, good instructions.” Thus did Clinton, in the midst
of his sorrow, form high resolves for action; and the
sequel will show to the reader how well he acted upon
them. |
Mr. Evans was greatly shocked, upon arriving at
New Orleans, to see the ravages disease had made
upon his invalid brother. Towards spring the sick
man revived, and his physician declared that a trans-
Atlantic voyage would be beneficial, and expressed a
conviction that he might live several months in salu-
brious and sunny Italy. Mr. Evans felt it his duty
to accompany his brother, and with the kind offices of
affection smooth his decline to the grave. It was
soon arranged that they should go in March, and Mrs.
‘Evans was to go with them. Mr. Evans felt anxiety
and regret on Clinton’s account. He had promised
to place him in a lucrative situation under his own
supervision; but, after the sudden turn affairs had
taken, that would be impracticable. Clinton begged
y
110 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
him to feel no anxiety for him, and said that if he
would procure him a clerkship in some mercantile
house, he would be satisfied. Mr. Evans felt confi-
dent he could do that, and, after considering the mat-
ter a little time, concluded to send him to his old
friend, Mr. Amos Gay, a wealthy merchant of Phil-
adelphia.
Clinton bade an affectionate and regretful adieu to
his friends. He stood gazing upon the ship which
bore them away, until the white sails faded to a speck
i the’ distance, and then turned away with an
indescribable feeling of loneliness.
At parting, Mr. Evans placed a letter in his hand,
saying, ‘‘ Give this to Mr. Gay, and believe me, dear
boy, I feel assured it will secure you the attention
and respect of that gentleman. Serve him ag indus-
triously and faithfully as you have me, and I have no
fears for you. Good-by, and may God bless Yous Pay
Saddened and somewhat bewildered by the chang-
ing events of the past weeks, yet undiscouraged, our
young friend turned towards Philadelphia. The
reader is already acquainted with the manner of his
reception by Mr. Gay. The merchant was greatly
prepossessed in favor of the frank, handsome boy, and
readily engaged him for a month on trial.
Now behold Clint Forrest in a new and untried
- position, yet one very congenial with his tastes and
capacities. He studied to gain the approval of his
employer, and succeeded beyond his highest hopes. .
He boarded in Mr. Gay’s family, and sat at the same
table. Miss Marion Gay remonstrated with her fa-
ther upon the impropriety of treating a mere clerk with
puch respect; but the old gentleman was determined
it should be so, out of regard for Mr. Evans, and-the
young lady was obliged to acquiesce. Clint was not
long in winning the affection of the whole family.
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 111
Mr. Gay pronounced him a jewel of a clerk; the
lady of the mansion thought him the most gentle-
manly lad of her acquaintance; Fannie loved dearly
to laugh and chat with him; and even Marion ac-
knowledged that he was a very pleasant addition to
the family circle.
Clinton possessed a ready tact and a peculiarly pleas-
ing manner, which made him a most successful sales-
man. It was not long before it was acknowledged by all
in the establishment that he was the quickest and most
clever clerk among them. In fact, he created quite
an interest in the hearts of the buyers of silks and
ribbons. (Clint had grown rapidly of late, and
appeared older than he really was.) The old ladies
were charmed with his respectful attention to,them ;
the middle-aged praised his polite and genteel man-
ners, and the young girls thought him so handsome
and witty : each and all were desirous of being waited
upon by the black-eyed little clerk.
At the end of a month Mr. Gay engaged him for
a year at a liberal salary. When Clint modestly
expressed his surprise at his geferosity, his kind
patron assured him that, if he were always as faithful,
the indebtedness would all be on his own part.
Though Mr. Gay was a worthy man, he was some-
what irritable, and often very angry at the merest
trifle; but Clinton was avowedly his favorite, and ‘
every accident or short-coming on his part was over-
looked with the utmost good nature. Clinton was in
a dangerous position for one of his susceptible age;
but without being at all elated by the smiles and
praises lavished upon him, he performed his duties
quietly and humbly. We have spoken of him as be-
ing proud-spirited, yet it was not that kind of pride
which is stimulated by flattery or preferment, but the
principle belonging peculiarly to noble, self-reliant
112 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
minds. It was this very pride which lifted him above
all feelings of vanity. ‘There was one who looked
upon our successful hero with an envious eye. A
young man named Jackson, who had been connected
with the house from a boy, — first as errand-boy,
then gradually rising to more important places till he
had become one of the first clerks, —became extremely
jealous of him. He had secretly looked for still
greater preferment, and, through the agency of the
junior partner, his uncle, he had flattered himself
that, at a future period, his name would be added to
the firm. Jackson considered Clinton as his rival,
and, when he saw how he was beloved by Mr. Gay, he
wickedly determined to injure him in the opinien of
their employer.
Though Clinton possessed the happy faculty of
making the patrons of the store pleased with himself,
and with the articles he vended, he was too conscien-
tious to take advantage of the unsuspecting or igno-
rant. Jackson, ever ready to find fault with him,
scornfully called him ‘‘ Honest Clint,” and took every
occasion to deride @his punctilious regard for truth.
He would often hint to Mr. Sands, his uncle, that
their wonderful little clerk was not such a genius after
- all, for he missed many a good bargain.
‘You are more nice than wise,’’ Mr. Sands would
say to Clint. ‘This silly whim of yours will spoil
you after all, and it is too bad when you have such a
fine faculty. There comes a country woman; now
display your genius; you can sell her anything you
please at your own price.”’
But Clinton was not to bé flattered or frightened
away from the high standard which his native integ-
rity declared was right. He was obstinate, so Mr.
Sands said, and he complained to his elder partner,
who, laughingly, declared that honesty was so rare a
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 113
a fault it was quite a novelty, and that Clint should
have his own way.
Jackson was in despair, and vented his jealousy by
invidious fault-finding. ‘‘ You were a fool,’ he said
to Clinton one day, ‘‘to sell that lawn for three
shillings. The old woman thought it so fine that she
would have taken it at four shillings.’”
‘“‘T presume so,’’ said Clinton; ‘‘ but she paid all it
was worth, and only ten minutes ago I sold some off
the same piece to the rich Miss Morton for three
shillings. What reason can you give for making so
much difference between the two?”’
‘“‘Of course, if you had asked Miss Morton more
than that, she would have laughed in your face, but
that old woman would have thought it all right.”
‘* J should not have thought it right to cheat a poor
old lady in that way!” cried Clinton, indignantly.
‘Hallo, boy! don’t be so waxy,” said Jackson,
insultingly. ‘‘ No such thing as cheating about it.
She would n’t have been obliged to take it unless she
chose. So, where’s the harm?”
‘‘T shan’t stop to reason the matter with you,
but while I stay here I shall not play with my con-
science to please any one.”’
“While you stay here!” repeated Jackson, with
emphasis; ‘‘ that’s well put in; for, mark my word,
young sir, though you are up now, there’s a chance
for you to come down.”
Saying these malicious words, the young man
turned away, and Clinton forgot his vexation in the
pleasure of measuring off a yard of ribbon, and a half-
minute’s chat with sweet Fanny Gay.
Lovely spring had stepped aside for queenly sum-
mer, and summer was now about to yield her sceptre
to the glowing autumn. ‘The time had passed profit-
8
114 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
®
ably and pleasantly with Clinton; and, in spite of his
envious companion, he was steadily growing in the
affections and respect of all around him. But there
was a cloud in his horizon; yet he was happily uncon-
scious of the rising storm.
Late one afternoon several large bales of costly
goods were received, and there was much running and
confusion in getting them arranged for evening sale.
On opening a package of rich silks, they were dis-
covered to be considerably damaged. Mr. Sands was
much vexed at this circumstance; for the silks were
of a new style, and he had hoped to make quick sale
of them. He stood musingly a few moments, and
then said to his nephew, ‘‘ We can dispose of these
if we only take the right way. The store will be
thronged to-night; and we must make the best of it.
Clint Forrest can, if he is not too wilful, dispose of
every damaged piece; he is such a favorite with the
ladies that none would mistrust the possibility of his
palming off bad silk upon them.” _
“Ta, uncle,” replied Jackson, ‘‘ you can’t coax
‘honest Clint’ to carry on any such game, he’s such
a mighty pious chap! ’
“T shan’t coax him, but order!” said Mr. Sands,
impatiently. ‘‘ You go call him to me, and I’ll give
him his directions.”’
On a settee, at a little distanee from the scene of
this colloquy, sat a gentleman apparently engrossed
m reading; but a close observer could have seen, from
the keen glances which he now and then threw over
his paper, that he understood the state of affairs, and
was interested in the result. He was of a portly
figure, and possessed a countenance strikingly intel-
ligent. His broad: white brow overshadowed a pair
of eyes of the clearest, darkest blue. There was a
pleasant light in them when he smiled; but, when
\
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 115
fixed earnestly upon one, they seemed capable of
reading the inmost thought. .The timid or guilty
would have shrunk abashed from a glance of those
keen, searching eyes. His mouth was large, but the
snowy teeth, and the benevolent, genial smile which
hovered round it, relieved it of all unpleasantness.
He appeared easy and self-possessed, and was evi-
dently a leisurely gentleman. When Clinton appeared,
saying that he was ready to receive Mr. Sands’
instructions, the gentleman’s face lighted up with a
new interest, and, though the conversation was carried
on in an under tone, he looked as if he understood it
_all by intuition.
‘‘T want you to take your station here, Clinton,”’
said Mr. Sands. ‘‘ Arrange everything in’ the most
favorable position, and make it your business to sell
these silks. Sell every piece to-night, if possible! ’
“But these silks are all more or less injured, sir.”
“ Some of the pieces are not quite perfect, I know,”.”
replied the merchant, a little uneasily; ‘ but that’s”
nothing to you; your duty is to sell them.”
There was a flush on Clinton’s brow as he said,
deprecatingly, ‘‘ Will you be so kind, sir, as to let
me work somewhere else? I think Mr. Jackson
would succeed better in selling the silk than I should.”
‘‘There is no one who could succeed better than
you, if you only use your wits to the best advantage ;
so don’t make any excuses, but do just as I tell you.”
‘* But, sir,” pleaded the boy. ,
‘“No ‘but sirs’ to me!’ shouted Mr. Sands,
entirely thrown off his guard; ‘‘obey me!” The
clerks looked up from their writing at the outbreak,
to see the subject of this imperative command; and
some of the customers turned round in surprise.
Blushing and mortified, Clinton passed behind the
counter, and commenced arranging the multitudinous
“
Tie? THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
articles with which it was strewed. Mr. Sands looked —
at him sternly for a moment, then said, in a low voice,
as he turned away, ‘‘As you value your position in
this house, oe Forrest, you will obey my direc-
tions.’
Clinton Vaninted his work with burning checks
and downeast eyes. His mind was in such a tumult
that his actions were confused, and he stood bewildered
at his own awkwardness. Though Jackson was busy,
he watched him with one eye, and chuckled over his
discomfort. The gentleman on the settee threw down
his paper and leaned carelessly back with half-closed
‘eyes, yet he could see Clinton’s face, and, from its”
expressive features, read the workings of his soul.
When the lamps were hghted Clint drew a sup-
pressed sigh, and clasped his hands convulsively, as
if that moment his fate was sealed. The keen eyes
watching him opened suddenly, and their possessor
started as if he had a mind to leave his seat; but,
after a momentary hesitation, he leaned back again in
the same dreamy attitude as before.
A little girl now asked for some gingham, and
Clinton, blessing her in his heart that it was not silk ~
she desired, waited upon her politely. A lady called
for satin, another for delaine, cambric, &c., &c. The
ladies were very obliging, for they seemed to demand
everything but silk. He began to breathe more —
freely, when an elderly lady, with a stately air,
approached. A nervous fear possessed him that she
would ask for silk, —.yes, he knew she would want
silk! Though the lady spoke quietly, he fancied
her tone startlingly loud as she said, ‘I wish to look
at your nice silks.”’ ;
The dreaded moment had come! With a great
effort at self-control, he displayed the shining fabrics,
and, with composure that surprised himself, com-
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. aig
mented upon their richness of style and coloring.
The fair purchaser turned over pattern after pattern,
with a dissatisfied air. ‘‘ Have you no other greens
than these?” she asked.
‘That piece under your hand is very beautiful,
madam.’’
‘‘ Very true; but I want something darker. There
is a piece which I think will be just the thing,” she
added, pointing to a pile of dark patterns upon a shelf.
With a feeling of infinite relief, he threw down a
piece of dark green, which he knew to be of excellent
‘quality. The lady pronounced it to be ‘just thé
thing,” and bargained for the whole of it.
Then two young ladies wished to look at black silk.
With a trembling hand, Clinten displayed the article.
in demand. ‘The piece which appeared to please them
best, though fine and glossy, was so much injured as
to be nearly worthless. He tried to turn their atten-
tion te some other pattern, but they seemed quite set
upon that one.
The girls were dressed in deep mourning; and,
though genteel in appearance, it was iden they
were far from being wealthy. The tenes of their
voices, as they conversed softly with each other, were
«sad and touching. There was something very inter-
- esting about them. ' 6
“Tam afraid we can’t afford it, sister,’’ said one,
gently.
‘‘T know it is high,” said the other; ‘‘but it ap-
pears to be an excellent piece, and you know ’tis
always economy to purchase a good article.”
Clinton drew back respectfully while they discussed
. the question. Presently the elder one, turning a
pale, sad countenance towards him, desired him to
measure off two dress patterns.
The gentleman on the settee leaned breathlessly
¢ 4a
co
118 THE HARVESE OF LOVE.
forward, while Clinton, ignorant of the keen scrutiny
to which he was subject, hesitatingly balanced the
yard-stick in his hand. ‘‘ Young ladies,’’ said Clin-
ton, with sudden resolution, ‘‘{ am sure that silk
would not suit you. I cannot deceive you; the most
of it is badly damaged. I will show you some which
I know is perfect, and, though it is better in quality,
you shall have it at the same price.”” So saying, he
took from the shelf a piece of excellent quality, which
had been on hand several weeks. ‘The ladies expressed
themselves satisfied, and, thanking him for his candor,
departed with their purchase.
Jackson, who had watched Clinton exultingly, now
went to Mr. Sands, and told him that Clinton had lost:
half a dozen good chances for disposing of the injured
silk; that he was selling old silk instead of the new,
and telling everybody that the goods were damaged.
Glowing with passion, Mr. Sands called the boy
aside. “You are an impudent, audacious fellow !”’
he cried. ‘‘ You have most insultingly disregarded
my commands! I wish Mr. Gay were here. I think
this would’open his eyes.a little.”
“I, too, wish he were here,” said Clinton, calmly.
‘TY am certain he would stand my friend in this in-
stance.’”” ‘ ‘
“This is intolerable ! ”’ dxclaimen the merchant,
_ with an assumption of imsulted dignity. ‘In Mr.
Gay’s absence, you consider yourself at the head of
the establishment; but you will find that there are
other wills here besides yours. or the present you
must change places with Jackson, and to-morrow you
will hear more upon the subject.
Without a word, Clinton passed to the lower end
of the store, as Sands directed, His head was erect
with manly dignity, and his eye burned with scornful
indignation. ‘The gentleman who had watched him
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 119
with so much interest, noted his appearance with a
triumphant smile, and, nodding his head emphatically,
as if to express his approbation, he folded his paper
and leisurely left the store.
Mr. Gay had been absent from the city on a short
pleasure-excursion; and when he returned, on ‘the
morrow, his partner gave him an exaggerated and
misrepresented account of Clinton’s conduct. The
persecuted boy was called into his private counting-
room for a conference with him. ‘The old gentleman
was very angry, and, like all persons in that state,
exacting and unreasonable. Clinton readily perceived
from his countenance that an explanation, at that
time, would be worse than useless. ‘‘ Well, young
man,’’ were the words that saluted his ear, ‘‘ you have
gone to work strangely during my absence ; you have
been guilty of most reprehensible conduct; you have
meanly taken advantage of my favoritism; you have
insulted my partner, and attempted to take the order-
ing of affairs into your own hands; you have under-
valued my goods, and shown yourself very careless
of my interests.’’ |
The angry man paced the narrow apartment, as
waiting for a reply; but the poor boy was almost
breathless at such unexpected and undeserved charges.
‘J don’t wonder you are silent; silent with shame!
I did think. you were worthy of my affection; but I
now say that you are ungrateful — unworthy of my
patronage.”
“QO, my dear sir, do let me explain it to you —”
‘¢ Explain!’ interrupted Mr. Gay; ‘‘ I don’t want
any explanation. Hasn’t Mr. Sands told me the
whole story, and isn’t his word to be believed? But,
Clinton,” he continued, more calmly, for his dis-
tressed countenance softened him somewhat, ‘if you
120 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
will promise to make amends, and comply with Mr.
Sands’ orders, perhaps we can overlook this.”
‘7 will comply with all reasonable commands; but
T can’t sell goods that I know to be damaged.”
‘Not a word about damaged goods. Damaged
goods in my store, sir!’’ cried the merchant, hotly.
‘You shan’t stay in my employ a day longer, unless
you promise to obey implicitly all my directions and
those of my partner. I’m determined on that! So,
will you promise ?”’
Though greatly agitated, Clinton answered, respect-
fully, ‘‘I am sure I ought not to make such a prom-
ise; will you please to let me go away now,. for I
know you would not wish me to make the promise, if
you knew just how it was.” .
‘“No; I shan’t let you creep round me. I want
your word now. Will you promise ?”’
Nose?
. “Then I discharge you from this moment! You
are no longer my clerk. I command you to leave
my premises immediately.”
Half-astounded by these words, Clinton advanced,
with an imploring look, towards Mr. Gay.
“Go!” cried the enraged man, poimting to the
door; ‘‘go! I care not if I never see you again.”’
Clinton needed no further command, and, vainly
striving to compose his outraged feelings, he turnéd
his steps towards the mansion that, fer five happy
months, he had called home. He ascended to his
chamber, unobserved by any of the family, and hast-
ily placed his clothes in his trunk. Then he hailed
a passing coachman, and desired him to carry it to
J ’s Hotel. Now he tried to collect his disor-
dered thoughts, and arrange some plan of” action.
For a moment he was tempted to remain in the house
until Mr. Gay returned, as he imagined he might —
THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 121
relent towards him when his temper had cooled; but
he felt too much injured and outraged to harbor the
thought of suing for favor; and, even should Mr.
Gay voluntarily restore him to his former position,
he knew that both Sands and Jackson were his ene-
mies; and, such being the fact, he felt little desire to
remain. ‘‘ Yes,” he said to himself, ‘‘he bade me go,
and I will go; but first I must say good-by to Mrs.
Gay and the young ladies.” Though he tried to ap-
pear calm and self-possessed as he entered the parlor,
where the ladies were seated, Fannie instantly noticed
his altered looks. .
‘“* Are you sick, Clinton?’ she asked, kindly.
‘No, dear Fannie; I have come to bid you and
your mother and Miss Marion good-by.”’
‘“ How does that happen??? said Mrs. Gay. “I
hope you are not going to:leave us.’’’
“Yes, madam, "T must leave immediately. IT am |
no longer in your husband’s employ.”
0, you mustn’t go off!’ said Fannie. ‘‘ What
makes you dissatisfied? Something has vexed you,
I know, for I see ,you are angry now, though you
try to speak calmly.”
‘‘T have no choice,” said Clinton. ‘ Your father is
very angry with me, ‘and has discharged me.’
‘‘ Discharged you!’’ cried Fannie, incredulously.
Mrs. Gay looked surprised. ‘‘ You had better stay
till Mr. Gay returns. He is very hasty sometimes, .
and I dare say you will remain with us yet.”
““T thank you, dear Mrs. Gay; but circumstances
have occurred which make it impossible for me to
stay. So I must say ‘ good-by’ to you.’
‘hen you are really going?” said Fannie, with
starting tears.
“Yes, I must,” said Clinton, resolutely. ‘‘ You
will think of me, sometimes, Fannie? ”’
in
me ¢
122 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘Yes, yes, very often.”
‘Q, you will be back again in less than a week,”
said Marion, cheerfully ; “father will search Phila-
delphia through before he’d go without you, even if
he does send you off ina passion. Good-by, Clint!”
and she gave him her hand, with a pleasant smile.
He shook hands with Mrs. Gay, and once more with
Fannie, and hastened away, before they had time to
detain him longer.
‘‘T wonder what Clinton has done to anger father
so much?” said Mrs: Gay.
““T don’t believe he has done anything wrong,”
said Fannie, decidedly; ‘‘and I say it is too bad in
papa to send him away without a minute’s warning!”
The young girl buried her face in her a to hide
her streaming tears.
Marion looked at her weeping sister, ite a pecu-
liar smile played round her lips. If she had spoken
her thoughts aloud, she would have said, ‘‘ If they
were not such mere children, I should say it was a
lucky accident which separates my little sis and this
handsome, black-eyed boy so soon.”’
CHAP UDE R: XoL Eb.
NEW DEVELOPMENTS.
WEARIED and disheartened, Clinton leaned against
a jutting window, where varied autumn fruits were
temptingly displayed to allure the passer-by. It
was a rare, golden September day, whose very bright-
ness mocked the sad one. He took off his hat, and
the soft breeze and glittering sunbeams played with
his jetty locks, as he sighingly thought of the vexa-
tions and disappointments of the past two weeks.
How many streets had he traversed and retraversed ;
how many curt replies, cold rebuffs, and insulting
denials, he had received; how often had his heart
sunk with despondency, or throbbed with indignation
and wounded feeling, in his vain search for employ-
ment !
Kyen the smallest merchant insisted upon good
references; and if poor Clint acknowledged that he
had been the clerk of the rich Amos Gay, then came
a long series of questions, with the invariable conclu-
sion that he would ‘‘ not suit.’”’ Then he sought for
other kinds of employment; and when his small
stock of money.was nigh spent (Mr. Gay, in his
passion, had forgotten to pay him), his humble in-
quiry was for ‘‘anything to do.”’ By chance jobs he
now and then earned a few pennies; but the finger of
; (128)
124 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
fate seemed pointing sternly at him, and hurting all
hearts from him in coldness.
‘‘T will leave the city immediately,”’ he said to
to himself; ‘‘it 1s of no use for me to stay here
longer; fate is against me. I will go to Oakville, and
see if all have changed as have Josie and Mina. The
doctor’s last words were, ‘Clinton, remember I am
your true friend. In any trouble or emergency, do
not fear to apply to me.’ I will not accept anything
from him, but his influence will certainly secure mea
place where I can obtain an honest livelihood.” °
But Clinton could not put his resolution into im-
mediate effect, as he had not sufficient money to
earry him to his former home. Disagreeable as was
the task, he must renew his search for work, and
earn the requisite sum.
‘Sir, I am very anxious to get some work; could
you employ me, even for a few days?” he said toa
gentleman he was passing.
The gentleman stopped short, and stared at him as
if something in his appearance or his petition sur-
prised him greatly.
‘‘T am in search of some honest employment, ‘i
Clinton said, a little abashed by the keen, questioning
glance which followed the first look of wonderment.
‘“Q, you.want employment, honest employment?
That ’s well. But what do you prefer to do?”’
‘‘T should prefer to perform the duties of clerk
or secretary ; but I am ready and willing to do any--
thing.”
‘What have you been doing, and who has em-
ployed you?”
Clinton hesitated; then, remembering he had no
cause to be ashamed to confess that he had been dis-
charged from Mr. Gay’s establishment, he answered —
NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 125
candidly, ‘‘I have been clerk in Mr. Amos Gay’s
store during the spring and summer months.”
‘“‘ But you have left him, and are now seeking some
‘honest employment’ ?”’ said the gentleman, with a
tone of irony, and an insinuating smile, which brought
a flash to Clinton’s eye, and’ dyed his face with crim-
son. Clinton looked up questioningly into the gentle-
man’s face, but he could read nothing there; he was
evidently playing with him ‘1 -see you have
nothing for me to do, so I will not trouble you
longer,’ said the boy, with-the air of one who does
not choose to have his honor trifled with.
‘Wait, my boy,” cried the gentleman, his manner
suddenly changing, and a genial smile breaking like a
sunbeam over his noble countenance; ‘“ wait @ mo-
ment. I have really taken a great liking to you, and
must talk with you. I will be serious now, for I have
found out what stuff you are made of. Will you ex-
plain to me why you left Mr. Gay. Trust me, for I
am disposed to be your friend.”
Clinton could not withstand his friendly manner,
and he briefly but explicitly related the circumstances
occasioning his rupture with Mr. Gay.
The gentleman was charmed alike by the integrity
and modesty manifest in his simple narrative, and
indignant because of Mr. Gay’s hasty and unjust
conduct. Clinton begged him not to speak harshly
of his former friend and patron. ‘Though I felt
wronged by his passionate treatment,” said he, ‘‘ his
previous kindnesses to me demand my gratitude and
respect.’
“Well, well, my boy; glad to see you thus dis-
posed to remember favors. But I’m going to tell
you something that will surprise you a little, I fancy.
Twas in the store when Mr. Sands gave you your
orders for selling the silks; I saw your reluctance to
126. THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
comply with -his command, and watched with great
interest all your proceedings. I read the struggles in
your mind, and saw your triumph over temptation.
I knew you when you spoke to me,—should have
known you in France! There was something about
your face that struck me at first; and now, as your
black eyes grow big with wonder, it seems as though
Thad known you before. Strangely familiar those
eyes, and that firmly-set mouth!’ continued the
gentleman, as if talking to himself; ‘‘ who, who, does
he remind me of ?”” —
‘Clint Forrest! as I live! O, I’ve found you
at last, you young scamp!”’ cried Mr. Gay, seizing
Clinton by the shoulder with a hearty shake. ‘‘ What
did you hide yourself for? Gritty, were you? Well,
I can’t blame you for that, I suppose, when I’ve got
so much of the real grit myself; but come right
home with me before I lose you. They will all be
glad to see you. Fannie has half cried her eyes out
because you ran away.”
‘Indeed, Mr. Gay, this is very unexpected,” said
Clinton. ‘‘ Do you really wish to receive me again as
your clerk? ”’
‘Wish it! I insist upon it! Didn’t I engage
you for a year, and you ran off without giving any
warning? But I’ll forgive that,” said Mr. Gay,
with a good-natured laugh, ‘“‘and engage you for
another year, dating from to-day, with this express
stipulation, that, even if I discharge you three times
a week, in a passion, you are to stay till I tell you,
soberly and calmly, to go.”
‘¢ Before I accept your conditions, sir, I must know
whether or not you fully understand the cause of the
trouble between Mr. Sands and myself? ”’
** Yes, dear Clinton,” replied Mr. Gay, dropping
his playful tone. ‘‘ After inquiring into the affair, I
NEW DEVELOPMENTS. Bree 4
found that you were in the right. Sands did not
mean I should know anything about the injured
goods; for he was aware that it was against my prin-
ciples to have any such underhanded work as he
wished you to engage in. He and I have parted lots,
and, as I now am sole proprietor, I can’t possibly get
along without you.”
Clinton’s face beamed with pleasure as-he tried to
express his thanks.
‘‘ Don’t stand here stammering,”’ laughed the kind
old merchant; ‘‘come along, quick; I want to show
you to Fannie.”’
‘Stay, sir,” cried the gentleman to whom Clinton
had confided his grievances ; ‘‘I question your right
to hurry this lad away so unceremoniously. We were
conversing, and you interrupted us.’
He presented his card, which Mr. Gay accepted with
an apologetic bow. ‘ Ah, Iam happy to make your
acquaintance. Though I never have had the pleasure of
meeting with you before, your name is familiar to me.
You must excuse my interruption, but I had quite
given up finding Clinton Forrest, and was consequent-
ly much gratified to discover him.’’
‘Clinton Forrest,’’ repeated the gentleman, ‘‘ that
is an uncommon name, — Clinton Forrest! I must
gave a half hour’s talk with him in private. My
hotel is near; we will go there, and, after our con-
versation, with your permission I will accompany him
to your house.”
‘‘ Certainly, sir, most happy to see you; shall ex-
pect you to remain to tea. Clint,” he continued,
moving off, ‘‘I shall confidently expect you to make
no engagements with any persons except myself.’’
Clinton’s companion took him by the arm, and
hurried him along as though he were a refractory
child; then ushered him, without ceremony, into the
128 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
most luxurious apartment of a fashionable hotel.
‘Sit down, Clinton Forrest,’ he said to the bewil-
dered boy, ,‘‘and answer all my questions without
reserve, I beseech you. Who were you named
after ?”’
‘¢ My father, sir.”
‘¢ And what was your mother’s name, —her maiden -
Nameen gi iy
“T only know that it was Annie; for she died at
my birth, and my father died a few days before.”’
“Annie!” ‘The questioner’s voice was choked;
and, pale with agitation, he placed his chair close to
Clinton’s, and took his hand in his.
‘But don’t you know her last name ?”’
‘No, sir; I never could find it out, and I never
have seen a single relative in all my life.”
“This is all very singular,” said the gentleman, in
a low, musing voice, while Clinton’s surprise gave
place to vague, half-formed, yet delightful hopes, —
“very strange. ‘Tell me all you know about your
parents.”’
« ‘YT know nothing about them, except what my
acquaintances in Oakville (my native place) have told
me since I was old enough to feel curiosity about the
matter. My parents went to Oakville about a year
before I was born. ‘They were entire strangers, andg
seemed to avoid becoming acquainted with any of
their neighbors, so that no one in the place ever
found out where they came from, or the names of
any of their friends. People said they seemed devoted
to each other, though my mother was very melancholy,
and callers often found her crying. She was so
reserved that some folks called her proud, and others
said they guessed she wasn’t ‘any too good.’ But
I know that was all tattle,’’ continued the boy, becom-
ing warm in the defence of his mother, whom he had
’
NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 129
never known; “‘ for something in my heart tells me
that she was good and true. My father’s death was
a terrible blow to her. They say she never appeared
rational after that.”
‘‘ But she did n’t die without speaking of any of her
friends, without telling who she was?” eagerly asked
the attentive listener.
‘‘Yes; though the kind lady who tock care of her
tried to make her comprehend that she was leaving
me, her baby, “without a protecter or friend in the
world, she only murmured something about her
husband being an orphan, and that her brothers
would care for the poor baby.”
“Were there no papers to be found, which could give
any Clue to the whereabouts of her friends?”
‘‘Strange as it may appear, there could be found
no family record, or letters, except.a few on busi-
ness, which threw no light on the mysterious subject.
They had but very little furniture or clothing, which,
when sold, could only pay the expenses of their sick-
ness and funerals. I lived seven years in the alms-
house, a neglected, wretched child; but at last God
raised me up kind friends, who taught me self-respect,
and gave me the means of attaining a respectable
education. My mether were two rings, which the
lady whe nursed her saved for me. I always carry
them with me as precious mementos of my mether.”’
‘Show them to me!”’ was the eager exclamation.
Clinton drew from his pocket a small morocco
case, which he unclasped, and took therefrom a plain
gold ring, and one set with hair of three shades, with
the name ‘‘ Annie”’ engraved on the inner side. The
gentleman seized the latter, while his face grew pallid
with contending emotions. His eyes were fastened
upon the ring as if in fascination. He mournfully
9
130 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. —
turned it in his hand, kissed it, and placed it upon bis
little finger.
‘Tt was as I feared,”’ he said, in a low, tremulous
voice. ‘QO, Annie, you died alone, without a friend
to hear your last prayer, — our pet bird, our beauti-
ful one! ‘ Brothers would care for your babe’? OQ,
how gladly would they have cherished it had Provi-
dence only permitted!”
Tears streamed down his cheeks; his head sank
upon the table, and his whole frame shook with con-
vulsive sobs. ute with amazement, Clinton gazed
upon him, while tears of compassion filled his eyes.
‘You look wonderingly upon me,”’ said the gentle-
man, after a momentary indulgence of his emotion.
‘God grant that you may never shed such tears of
sorrow. O, my boy, this rmg assures me without
doubt that you are the son of my only and dearly-
beloved sister! I gave it to her on her eighteenth
birthday, with her hair, my own, and our brotheyr’s,
woven init. I little thought then that it would ever
come back to me with such a melancholy tale. You
have never known a mother’s love or a father’s care;
have never seen a relative in all your life! Poor
boy! poor boy! Come, my nephew, lay your head
upon my breast; let me fold my arms about you.
I will be father and mother to you, sister and brother,
—all that your desolate heart can ask !”’
With a joyful cry and a tumultuous burst of
tears, Clinton sprang into his uncle’s outstretched
arms. He had proved friendship fickle, and now,
with a blissful feeling of confidence and security, he
pillowed his head upon the breast of his new-found
relative.
CHAPTER XIII.
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES.
A LETTER! it has a magician-like power! Beneath
its seal lies an invisible spirit, ready to spring forth
with art to awaken any or every emotion of which °
the heart is capable. A letter! now the reader’s
eye dances with joy, and pleasure wreathes the lip
with smiles. ~Affection’s flame burns brighter as thie
glowing words daguerreotype themselves upon the
tablet. of the soul. Anon, a stroke of wit calls forth
a mirthful laugh, or a reminiscence fills the heart
with tender memories. Perchance the tale it tells is
of sorrow. Then tears rain on the speaking paper ;
or the breast may heave with slighted love, and swell
with angry resentment, as words of coldness or rebuke
pierce their arrows in the soul. Joy, sorrow, love,
hate, hope, fear, anger, and jealousy — each and every
passion of the human soul is subject to the sway of
that little, mystic thing —a letter ! |
Methinks written words coming from the handof a
beloved friend have greater weight than those that
are spoken; they assume.a palpable form that brings
conviction to the mind. We read the lines again and
again, imagining the look and tones of the writer,
while the subtle, invisible, still existing chain, linking
kindred minds, though mountains, seas, and mighty
countries intervene, is woven more closely round the
heart. . But to our story.
(181)
132 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Elmina was very lonely after the departure of her
two dear brothers; and, as her father had accompanied
Frank to Boston, she had no one at home to appreciate
her feelings. During the excitement of preparation
she did not realize how hard the parting would be to
her affectionate nature; but when the ‘ Good-by’ was
said, and they were really gone, she felt inexpressibly
lonely, and yielded to what she then thought her
inconsolable sorrow.
Under these circumstances, the companionship of
the cheerful, energetic Josie Lee was invaluable. By-
her judicious conversation and advice, Klmina resumed
her former studies and occupations; and soon the
quiet, placid smile, so peculiar to her lovely face,
played upon the features and sent its healing influence
down into her heart. If inward peace produces out-
ward cheerfulness, it is equally true that placidity, of
manner and determined cheerfulness, even if assumed,
will soften and make more endurable the concealed
sorrow. cae: .
When she received two letters, — one from her father,
telling all the circumstances of Frank’s embarkation,
and stating his own intention of remaining in the’
city several weeks, and the other from Clinton, — she
joyously sprang up the stairs into her own room,
where she might enjoy their perusal undisturbed.
With all her efforts at self-control, she could not
restrain the tears which flooded her eyes, or her
eager impatience to receive at once the whole import
of those welcome missives.
‘“‘T must answer Clint’s letter directly,” she said to
herself. ‘‘ As he is journeying about, I shall lose track
of him unless I do.”’ She seated herself at her little
writing-desk, drew forth a sheet, and soon her pen was
flying nimbly over the snowy page, embodying, in fit-
ting words, the warm outgushings of her heart. When
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 133
she had nearly finished her pleasant task, her aunt
Jane came in, and seated herself near the desk. With
a bright smile, Elmina tossed the letters into her
aunt’s lap, saying, ‘‘ I suppose you wish to hear from
father and Clinton.”
While Mrs. Clement read, she now and then paused
to look upon Elmina’s animated countenance, as she
plied her pen more assiduously than before. ‘‘ You
are writing to your father, are you not?”’
“No, aunt; [am answering Clinton’s letter, and
I want. to put it into the office to-night, for he may
leave Philadelphia very soon. I shall write to my
father to-morrow.”’
‘““Tt seems to me that you are neglecting your
father in your haste to correspond with this young
gentleman,” said Mrs. Clement with a disagreeable
intonation. Elmina made no reply, but wrote the
last line, and affixed her name at the end. ‘‘It is
a very unusual thing, and highly improper, in my
opinion,” continued her aunt, in the cautious manner
which some persons assume when they have a hidden
object to gain, ‘‘for a boy and girl of your ages to
hold a correspondence. J am sure your father would
not approve of it.”
Elmina looked up with innocent surprise, exclaim-
ing, ‘‘ Where can be the impropriety, aunt Jane?
Clint is just like a brother to me; almost as dear as
my own Frank!” ;
‘‘ Of course, child, you can’t see any impropriety
in it. Girls néver do in any of the silly and improper
notions they get into their heads. Clint isn’t your
brother, nor any relation at all; so your-calling him
brother don’t alter the matter in the least.”
Though unused to question the opinions of her
superiors, Elmina could not blindly yield her will to
what she felt to be unsound reasoning. She said.
1384 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
gently,. ‘‘ Don’t you remember, aunt, that father often
called Clint his son, and was pleased to have Frank
and me consider him as a brother ?”’
‘QO, yes,’ interrupted her aunt, ‘“‘ I remember
that he was petted and praised till he fancied himself
equal to the best in the house; and it is none of my
affair, of course, whether you write to him or not. I
have given my opinion, however; so my conscience
will be clear if you do make yourself ridiculous.”
The young girl revolved the question in her mind ;
there seemed but one conclusion, —that it would be ex-
tremely unkind to neglect the affectionate epistle she
had just received. As she folded and directed her
letter, she said, ‘‘ Please excuse me, aunt Jane, if I
do not take up with your advice. I cannot bear to
grieve Clinton by silence and neglect.” °
She expected Mrs. Clement would be angry with
her, and was agreeably surprised, when she rose, say-
ing, quietly, ‘‘ Well, I dare say ’t will do no harm,
for the boy will find new friends, and soon forget all
the favors he has received in this house. It is late
for you to go out, so I will take your letter and send
James with it to the office.”
Elmina thanked her, and, when left alone, fell to
wondering if it were possible that Clint could ever
forget her. She judged him by her own true heart,
and answered the mental question with a decided,
‘¢ No!”
One day, when she was ill with a nervous head-
ache, James brought Clinton’s second letter. It
affectionately chided her for not replying to his
_ previous epistle, and ended with an earnest petition
for her to write immediately. The unsuspecting girl
‘dreamed of no fraud, and, though surprised and .an-
noyed that her letter had been miscarried, she had
not a thought of blaming any one. She rose from
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 135
her pillow, and wrote a few words, assuring Clinton
of her unaltered friendship and regard, and apologized
for her short note on account of her headache. She
then called her cousin, and asked him to take it to
the post-office. James, who really loved Klmina,
willingly ‘accepted the little commission. As he
passed his mother’s room, she called him in, and, after
closing the door, inquired in a low voice if Elmina
had had not given him a letter for Clinton.
“You give it to me, James,’’ she said, after he
had answered in the affirmative; ‘‘ give it tome; you
need n’t carry it.”’
‘Why, mother, I promised Mina that I would;
and she will think it very strange if I do not.”
‘Leave the letter with me, and go down the
street so that she will have no suspicions. If she
asks you about it, tell her you gave it to the post-
master.”’ .
James looked at his mother inquiringly. This was
not the first lesson in deception which she had taught
him, but he could not understand her motive in this
instance.
_“T will explain my plan to you, James, or you
will defeat my object by some blunder. I am de-
termined to break off all communication between your
uncle’s family and Clint Forrest. If burned Mina’s
first letter, and, if I take care of this, I don’t think
Clint will trouble us with any more letters; for you
know he is sensitive and high-spirited. If we don’t
hear from him, your uncle will feel himself neglected,
and say the boy is ungrateful. That is just what I
want; for the doctor thinks so much of him now,
that like as not he will give him some of his proper-
ty, and I think he has spent enough already on that
_ beggar-boy. Just get him out of hearing, and you
will have a better chance to gain the doctor’s favor.
136 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
You see that a mother is always ready to do anything
to advance the interests of her children, and im this
case you will be glad to help me, for we have neither
of us a very particular affection for Clint.’”
As may be supposed, James made no opposition to
the scheme of his unprincipled ‘mother, and left the
letter with her, though he informed ee cousin, at °
night, that he had given it to the postmaster, and had
no doubt it would go safely. Thus was Elmina, as
well as Clinton, made the victim of a selfish, jealous
woman.
When the doctor returned from the city, one of his
first mquiries was for his young protege. He read
the letters his daughter had received with much pleas-
ure, and expressed impatience to hear from_him
again, as he wished to write to him himself. Week
after week passed away, and they wondered, and
made all possible and impossible conjectures as to. why
Clinton did not. write. ‘They heard regularly from
Frank, who wrote in fine spirits; but still the good
doctor felt disappointed and dissatisfied, and Elmina
extremely grieved, at the neglect of one whom they
had treated with so much affection and consideration.
Mrs. Clement often expatiated upon Chnton’s ap-
parent ingratitude, and assured her brother-in-law
that lie might always expect to be thus rewarded for
conferring favors on those out of his own family.
When Clinton’s letter to Josephine Lee reached its
destination it was in vacation time, and Josie was ab-
sent on a.journey; hence the reason of its being
unanswered. ‘This train of circumstances severed:
Clinton for many years from the place of his nativity
and the friends of his childhood.
About a year after the incidents above recorded,
Elmina discovered, by mere accident, the cause of the
OT
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 13T
before inexplicable silence of Clinton. One day, in
altering the arrangement of her drawers, Mrs. Clem-
ent threw a quantity of old papers upon the carpet,
and desired Elmina to take them away. She gath-
ered them up in her apron, but let them suddenly
drop with an exclamation of surprise, as she caught
sight of a sealed letter. Mrs. Clement endeavored to
snatch it away, with a look of apprehension; but El-
mina held it firmly. It was directed to ‘Clinton For-
rest, Baltimore.”’ For a moment the young girl was
motionless with®surprise, and then unsealed the letter.
There could be no mistake; it was the second letter
that she wrote to her dear, wandering brother.
“What is it, child, that strikes you so?” said
Mrs. Clement, with feigned composure.
“Why, ’tis one of the letters I wrote to Clint;
how could it possibly get there?”
The miserable woman tried to laugh it of. “ It is
rather strange, but probably it got into my drawer by
accident.”
“By accident!’ A shameful suspicion rose in
Elmina’s mind, and she spoke with unusual vehe-
mence. “Aunt J ane, how could this letter get into
your drawer by accident, when James agsured mo
that he delivered it safe to the postmaster? I can’t
understand it.”’
‘‘T hope’you don’t accuse me of knowing anything
about it.’’
‘‘T don’t accuse any one, aunt; but I must have
an explanation, for I know it could n . all happen by
accident.”’
‘‘ Must have an explanation !”’ cried Mrs. Clement,
losing all self-control: ‘‘ You demand it, do you?
Well, then, listen, and much good may it do you. I
took that letter away from James, and threw it inte
138 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
my drawer. I was a fool for not burning it, and then
it would never have been discovered.”
Elmina: stood transfixed with astonishment.
‘‘Don’t look at me in that way, child! Isay I
wish I had burned this, as I did the other! You
little thought I could punish you so handsomely for
scorning my advice.”
She clasped her«hands upon her heaving breast.
Anger, scorn, withering contempt, gleamed from those .
eyes, usually emitting so tender a light. She could
not speak, but her look was more *€xpressive than
words, even than the strongest words of passion and
reproach. |
Her aunt was almost beside herself. ‘‘ Elmina
Clement,’’ she screamed, ‘I know now that all your
pretended sweetness and gentleness is mere sham, for
you look like a perfect fury! Are you speechless !
if so, leave my presence, for I will not be looked
through and through by such a. minx.”
Without a word, and with the bearing of a princess,
Elmina left the chamber and entered her own apart-
ment. Here the unnatural tension of the nerves
gave way; her lip quivered, and her heart heaved
wildly. Resentment gave place to-grief, and she
wept bitterly. ‘‘O, dear Clint,” she murmured,
‘‘ how neglectful, how unkind, you must think me!
Poor, poor boy, while [ was blaming you unjustly,
you were wondering and grieving that Mina could
treat you so ill.”
Soon her tears ceased to flow, and she thought of
her aunt’s wicked conduct, which, to her pure, truth-
ful mind, assumed the darkest hue. She had tried to
love her; she had daily prayed for meekness and
patience; but now her heart swelled with a bitterness
that had ever before been ‘a stranger to her gentle
breast. The angel in her heart, called conscience,
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 139
whispered words of admonition. She fell upon her
knees by the bedside, and prayed for the spirit of
love and forgiveness. With tears and sobs, she called
upon her sainted mother {o help and bless her. Her
prayer seemed answered, for the quick sobs gradually
subsided, and, at last, she arose from her knees, with
a face calm as the summersky. A gentle tranquillity
sat upon her brow, and softened to indescribable sweet-
ness the expression of sorrow around her mouth.
She opened her Bible, her mother’s Bible, and read.
The holy words were, truly, to her wounded spirits,
like ‘‘apples of gold in pictures of silver.’’
The door was opened, and the kind-hearted Ann
stepped in. Elmina turned her transparent face
towards her, and smiled a welcome. ‘‘ Bless me! ”’
exclaimed the girl, with a look of affectionate admi-
ration, ‘‘ how like an angel you do look! Any way,
you look like the only angel I ever saw, your mother.
She was always an. angel—dear, sweet lady! I
did n’t expect to find you sitting here so ctlmly, con-
sidering with what an ‘air’ you came in, an hour
ago.”
a It would be very dreadful for me to feel as I did
then, for a whole hour,” said Elmina.
“‘T don’t think so,” replied Ann; “when I am
abused, it does me good to rave about it. O, Mina,
if you only knew how I hate that woman! I never .
have called her Mrs. Clement, and never will. I’ve
called your dear, blessed mother so too many times
to give the name to such a disgraceful woman. I
was dusting the shelves in the closet, and heard what
she said, and I saw you, Mina. O, I wish you
could have seen how handsome you looked, with your
eyes flashing so, and your face so full of scorn! You
would n’t have known yourself, though, but I love
140 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
you better for it; it shows that you have too much
spirit to be always trampled under foot.”
‘‘ Don’t try to make me better pleased with myself,
because I was so very angry,’’ said Elmina, seriously.
‘‘ Of course, no one could help feeling indignant at
such wicked conduct; but I was wrong to get into
such a passion.”
‘No, no, I shan’t let you blame yourself, when
you have borne so much and so long with such sweet-
ness and patience. I have wondered how you could
do it, many a time.”
i Ah, Anii, you forget how often I am irritated by:
aunt’s trying ways. Sometimes I despair of ever
doing as my mother would have me. I can’t a i
be patient. i
The kind-hearted but undisciplined girl looked at
Elmina as if she loved and admired her, but could
not quite understand her. ‘‘ Well, my dear,” she
said, ‘‘ I guess good will come out of this trouble, for
your father will be terrible angry. I don’t think he
will let your aunt Jane, as you call her (1’d never
call her aunt, though), stay another day under his
roof.”
Elmina’s countenance changed. ‘I have not
thought of ghat. Papa is most always ready to ex-
cuse people’s faults; but anything like this which
aunt has done I know he would not overlook.”
~“T am so glad!” cried Ann. ‘‘ She will surely
have to go away. O, I will keep the house just like
a new pin, and you will make such a darling little
mistress ! ’’
“T am afraid I ought not to tell my father,”
Elmina said, thoughtfully. ‘‘It would be such a dis-
grace to aunt, to be turned out of the house; and
then, you know, she ’d have to work very hard to earn
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 141
her own living. We must try and bear with her
longer.”’
‘‘T don’t care if she does have to earn her own
living. I should be glad if she was obliged to go out
washing ! ”’
‘Now, Ann, don’t talk so,”’ said, Elmina, persua-
sively. “I must think about it; and don’t, I beg of
you, tell the affair to any one, at present. Please go
away now, and, if you love me, you will be silent on
the subject.”
‘Tf I love you? You know I do, Elmina,” said
Ann, kissing the fair, upturned brow; ‘‘so I will
go about my work, and hold my peace.”
When Mrs. Clement’s passion had a little subsided,
she became alarmed for the consequences of her un-
guarded confession. She was fully aware that the
doctor would not tolerate her longer in his family,
when informed of the unworthy part she had played.
She concluded to unbend her haughty temper, and
conciliate her injured niece, if possible, so that she
might retain her pleasant and easy home. With a
face wreathed in counterfeit smiles, and her voice
tuned to its softest cadence, she sought Elmina, who
had already generously determined to ao her from
the anger of the doctor. ;
sak “hope you will excuse my harsh words, dear
Elmina, for you know that I am naturally hasty.”
Elmina bowed her reply. There *was neither
haughtiness nor anger in her manner, but a reserved
dignity, as though the two had suddenly changed
places, and the conscious superiority of virtue had
made an impassable gulf between them.
Mrs. Clement was secretly irritated, still she spoke
in the same bland tone. ‘‘It was regard for you,
child, that induced me to destroy your letters. I
thought it was improper for you to hold a correspond-
142 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
ence with one of the other sex; and, if I mistook -
my duty, I hope you will believe that my motive was
BOM e
att I believe that I fully appreciate your motive.’
Mrs. Clement looked puzzled. She was entirely
unprepared for such a dignified reception, and these
words of irony made her sit very uncomfortably.
She suddenly changed her tactics, and appealed to
the compassion of her young companion.
‘¢ Klmina, I am a poor widow, without a friend to
help me, except your father, and, if he should set me
adrift on thé world, I know not what would -become
of me. If you should tell him your story, I fear he
will be very angry with me.”
‘‘We would be, undoubtedly. I don’t think he
would retain you in the family a day longer.”
‘¢Then you will tell him?” cried Mrs. Clement,
resorting to her handkerchief. ‘‘O, dear! how can
you be so cruel? What will become of me and my
poor, fatherless boy? O, that I had never come here,
to be sent away in disgrace, and to starve !”’
Elmina could not help smiling at the tragic air of
her aunt. ‘‘ You distress yourself unnecessarily,”
she said; ‘‘I had resolved, before you came in, not
to tell my father anything about it, unless it became
my duty to do so in Clinton’s defence, and thus save
your wicked conduct from exposure.”
She winced at this bold speech, but the promise it
contained made it endurable. ‘‘Then you promise
not to tell him,” she said, eagerly. ‘‘ You will keep
your word? ”’
‘‘T give you my word,” said Elmina, in a meaning
tone, ‘‘and you can trust me.”
Elmina rose, as though she wished to put an end
to the interview. Her aunt looked upon her with in-
voluntary respect. ‘hough her form was girlish, it
EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 1438
enshrined a woman’s heart and mind. Mrs. Clement
felt this, and never addressed her as ‘ child’’ again.
Completely awed and humbled in the presence of her
whom she had tried to govern and bend to her own
will, she hurried away, thanking her stars that, for a
time, at least, she was to be saved from enduring the
just penalty of her sin.
CHAPTER XIV.
SORROW. — NEW PLANS.
YEARS have come and gone, bringing sad changes
to our friends in Oakville. Dr. Clement’s mansion
wears a lonely aspect. The blinds are closed; the
garden walks unswept, and the luxuriant vines un-
trained. No footstep echoes through the deserted
rooms, no voices break the strange stillness there.
He who was once owner of the place, has pass
over the threshold, never to return, and his sorrowing
children have left their desolate home for a season.
But three months ago Dr. Clement bade his daugh-
ter an affectionate adieu, as he left home for Charles-
ton, on business. Ah, little thought they it was the
last farewell! The steamer in which he sailed was
burned, and Dr. Clement was among the lost.
Frank Clement, who was at that time in Boston
practising medicine with a distinguished physician,
immediately went to Elmina, to weep with her, and
comfort her with brotherly love.
Dr. Clement was loved and esteemed by all about
him, and the intelligence of his sudden death sent a
thrill of grief and horror through the community.
The most respectful and delicate attentions were show-
ered upon the bereaved son and daughter, and often
repeated was the kindly inquiry, ‘‘ Can I do anything
for you?’’ Alas, there was nothing to be done!
This fact added weight to their anguish. They could —
(144)
Se
digg
‘e
SORROW — NEW PLANS. _ 145
not look upon the still form of their departed father ;
they could not lay his loved remains beside the sacred
dust of their’ mother; no flowers could they plant
above his resting-place, for he slept beneath the ocean
wave !
- They walked about the grounds which his taste had
beautified ; they gazed upon the trees he had planted,
upon the pretty arbors and trellises his hands had
made; and felt, with breaking hearts, that his loved
. presence never more would make glad the spot.
Mrs. James Clement had continued to be a member
of the family, and her son, though always talking of
choosing a profession, still idled away his time, freely
spending the money of his indulgent uncle. Now
the scene was changed. Mrs. Clement was really
shocked at the death of her brother-in-law, and, for a
few. days, appeared inconsolable. But when she
learned that he had left his property in a bad state,
and that, when all debts were settled, only the house
and adjoining grounds would remain to the heirs, she
speedily laid aside her grief and accepted proposals
of marriage from a rich old miser. Mr. Wells was a
selfish, ignordnt old man, who had spent his life in
hoarding wealth ; and only for his golden charms did
Mrs. Clement marry him.
A few weeks before Frank returned to his profes-
sional duties in Boston, Elmina declared her intention
of teaching school. Frank strongly objected to such
a plan, saying that he should esteem it a privilege to
provide for all her wants.
“But you are young,” persisted Elmina, ‘‘and
probably can earn only enough for yourself, for sev-
eral years to come. I am determined to do some-
thing for my own support, and I think I should like
teaching very much.”
‘* Indeed, tice I shall not consent to any such
)
*
146 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
.
thing,” said Frank, ‘“‘ while I have health my dear
and only sister shall not wear out her life in teaching
school. It is harder work than you think for, and
you are not very strong.”’
‘You make me out a useless thing, Frank. Now
let me reason with you.”
‘“Nay, Mina, let me reason with you,” said Frank,
drawing a letter from his pocket. ‘“‘ Here is a letter
from aunt Lucy Lincoln, which may influence you a
little.”’
Elmina read the affectionate epistle of her aunt
with glistening eyes. Mrs. Lincoln was the half-
sister of Dr. Clement, and twenty years his junior.
She had not visited Oakville since she was a young
girl, and consequently was a stranger to her brother's:
family. She expressed the kindest sympathy for the
grief of her nephew and niece, and spoke with regret
of the very limited intercourse which had existed
between her deceased brother and herself. She
begged Elmina to come to her, and make her house —
her home. She needed ‘‘a companion, a younger
sister ;’’ and her husband joimed in her earnest re-
quest. There was sincerity breathing through the
whole of the epistle, and the brother and sister felt
that every word was from the heart.
‘‘T know I shall love aunt Lucy,” said Elmina,
smiling through her tears; ‘I know P’shall love her.
She seems to possess as kindly a heart as did our
father.”’
‘'Yes,’’ said Frank. ‘TJ like her very much, as
she appears in her letter. There is a girlish simplicity
about it that makes me think her heart is fresh and
)
true; though I suppose her husband is very wealthy,
and she a fashionable lady. Then how kind her
Invitation for you to come and be her ‘ companion and
younger sister’! ”’
SORROW. — NEW PLANS. 147
‘But I cannot accept of the invitation unless she
permits me to teach her children, or do something
which will take away all feelings of dependence.”
“That’s right, Elmina; I am glad you are so
independent. I should like to have you teach our
little cousins ; for I have ‘no fear that you would be
called upon to exert yourself beyond your strength
in the house of our father’s gister. You had better
write to her now, telling her that you will visit her,
at least, and express the conditions upon which you,
will become a member of her family.”
An extract from Mrs. Lincoln’s reply will show
how Hlmina’s communication was received by her
New York friends.
“Though I am sorry that you will not accept
our ‘hospitality,’ as you term it, without the con-
ditions you mention, still 1 love you for the inde-
pendent spirit you manifest. George (he is my
husband) was delighted with your letter, and says
that, if you wish to teach our children, he should
entrust them to you with perfect confidence. Helen
and Grace say: ‘Do let our cousin teach us, for
we are tired of cross old governesses.’ Grace
and Bertie, my little twins, have picked out the
pleasantest apartment in the house for cousin El-
mina. Don’t lament the loss of your fortune, for
we have enough for ourselves and eae too.”’
Elmina was now nineteen years of age, and the
promise of her childhood was more than fulfilled. In
her character was united the cheerful energy of her
father with the sweet Christian temper which had
made her mother’s life so beautiful. Though death
had long divided them, the influence of the mother
over her child had beer wonderful, for Elmina had
_never forgotten her precepts or example.
hare
THE HARVEST « OF LOVE.
7,
0, who he express the worth of a true ‘Chats 7
mother ? ? Living or dying, her influence is most
precious. She rears her monument in the characters _
of her sons and daughters, and her memorial is written
on the tablets of loving hearts !
CHAPTER XV.
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME.
BEFORE leaving Oakville, Elmina promised Dora
May that she would write her long letters, in the
form of a diary, in order to lessen the loneliness of
separation. The first of these letters continue our
story so naturally, that we copy from them, prefer-
ring their conversational style to the common mode
of story-telling.
‘*New Yorx, Sept. 5, 18—. ~
‘My pEAREST Dora: Though scarcely rested
from the fatigue of my journey, I cannot let another
night pass over my head without writing to you.
With Frank for my escort, you will readily believe
me when I tell you that I had a very pleasant jour-
ney, which was happily free from all disaster.
‘We found uncle George Lincoln at the landing
with his carriage. He received us with cordiality ;
and, while we were waiting for the crowd to disperse,
I had leisure to study his personal appearance. ‘The
survey was very gratifying to me, and I felt acquainted
with him from the moment he took my hand in his.
His features are quite regular and pleasing, and it is
only his projecting brows and deep-set eyes that save
him from the charge of effeminacy. His abundant
brown hair looked as if he were too busy to spend
much time upon its cultivation, and his dress, though
fine in texture, was somewhat negligent ; he his
ae (149)
i,
tit
150 THE HARVEST OF LOYE.
bearing was so easy and courteous that I insiingtively
pronounced him a true gentleman.
“The carriage drew. up before a lordly mansion,
and uncle ushered us in without ceremony. The
drawing-room was vacant, but he requested us to be
seated, and sent a servant-girl in search of her
mistress.
‘‘Scarce three minutes had elapsed when aunt
Lucy came tripping down stairs with an eagerness
that was almost childish, but very charming in her.
She shook hands with Frank, and then flew to me,
and embraced me most affectionately. She called a
servant to remove my bonnet and cape, and then
insisted upon doing everything for me herself. All
this time she chatted to me with great vivacity, and
in the sweetest voice in the world. She had a white
muslin wrapper; her shining hair had been hastily
drawn into a knot and fastened with a gold pin,
while half a dozen stray tresses danced like threaded
sunlight over her shoulders; and, when she stepped
‘away “from me, I perceived that one foot was encased
in a congress boot, and the other in a white slipper.
rier hnghind looked upon her with a tender,
but roguish, smile, and playfully remarked upon the
strangeness of her attire. She blushed slightly as she
looked down upon her ah, and passed one hand over
her hair, saying, ‘Ah! you must excuse me; I
really didn’t expect you for an hour yet, and I had
such a delightful story that I delayed dressing too
long. Maggie had just taken down my hair when
-you sent for me, and of course I couldn’t keep the
dear children of my brother waiting while I com-
pleted my toilet; so I twisted up my hair, slipped
on the first shoes I could find, and hastened to.
welcome them.’ I expressed my pleasure in her
unaffected cordiality. She smiled, and, glancing
£
for cen)
iy sees
Bee
~ Aas ‘We
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 151
bewitchingly backward to her husband, excused her-
self, and glided away.
“f Ah!? thought I, ‘here is a “‘child-wife’” in
real life,’ as charmmg as Dickens’ Dora, though with
more character, and not a bit more lovely than the
dear Dora to whom I'am writing.
“Am I too exuberant, too minute in my descrip-
tion? I hope I do not weary you; for I wish you
to become acquainted with my relatives here, as fast
as I do, by my pen-and-ink introduction. I was then
shown into my apartment by a neat little maid, where
I exchanged my travel-soiled garments for those more
suitable to the parlor.
‘¢ After I had finished my toilet I returned to the
drawing-room. Aunt Lucy was there before me,
dressed with such elegance and taste as assured me
that she was far from being indifferent to the adorn-
ments of dress. Uncle Lincoln and Frank were
engaged in a pleasant conversation, and aunt Lucy
half-reclined upon a sofa. There was an air of
languor in her attitude, which I fancied was the re-
action of her former enthusiasm.. She pointed to a vo-
luptuously-cushioned chair, apologizing for not rising,
_as she was ‘so very weary.’ ‘Then she began to tell
me how happy she was because I had come, and how
much she knew she should love me. Her manners
were so ingenuous that I could not accuse her of
flattery; so I responded warmly. If she remembered
rightly, I resembled my father very much, though
my hai and eyes were darker. And when she saw
the tears that would come at the mention of that dear
name, she looked half-shocked, and tried to turn my
thoughts to other subjects, with such earnestness that,
for her sake, I resolutely banished every trace of
emotion. She seemed relieved when I smiled again,
152 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
and rung the bell, saying she would send for her
children, and present them to me.
‘‘My three little cousins embraced me with every
demonstration of pleasure. Helen is. seven, and
Grace and Herbert, the twins, are five years old. O,
Dora, I have seen beautiful children, but never before
such perfect gems of childish loveliness! Grace and
Bertie are exceedingly small, and dazzlingly fair.
Their features are so much alike, so exact in their re-
semblance, that, were they of the same sex, and
dressed alike, I think it would be impossible to distin-
guish one from the other. Hair like their mother’s,
only more golden, softer and more glossy, ripples in
shining curls over their snowy, dimpled shoulders.
Every feature is chiselled after the purest model, and
their eyes are as clear and blue as a June sky.
Even now, dear Dora, till you have seen them, you
can have no idea of the cherubic loveliness of these
little ones. /
‘‘T turned from the children to their girlish-looking
mamma (who has counted only twenty-five years),
and half repented that I had called her a ‘child-wife ;’
but, an hour afterwards, I involuntarily pronounced
her a ‘child-mother.’ She yielded herself to. their
simplest wish, and joined their play with such per-
fect abandon, that she seemed a very child among
‘them. Though each character was so becoming to’
her, and she appeared as happy as a bird, my heart
feared for her something which even my. own thoughts
could not define.
‘‘ At dinner I was introduced to the other mem-
bers of the family, Mr. Ike Lincoln, brother to aunt
Lucy’s husband, and Lauretta Fay, the gentleman’s
ward. Mr. Ike Lincoln is a very benevolent-looking,
portly bachelor of thirty-eight. He studied my face
all dinner-time; at last I grew nervous under his
©
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. £83
sharp glances (he has the keenest eyes I ever saw);
and, when he perceived it, he devoted himself to his
dessert, but with a peculiar smile upon his lips, which
[ tried in vain to read.
‘‘Miss Fay is handsome, and haughty, and cold.
I have hardly heard her speak yet. She seems to
look down upen my humble self as though I were
unworthy of her notice; still I may hike her much
-
upon acquaintance.
* Sept. 8.—I1 begin to feel quite at home now,
and think I shall be happy here. I wanted to com-
mence teaching my little cousins at once, but aunt
Lucy declared I should net while brother Frank
remains with us, which is to be but a few days.
“T like Mr. Ike Lincoln extremely well; he is
rather eccentric in hig ways; some people would call
it originality. I have almost forgotten the piercing
glances which so disconcerted me when I first met
him, for his eyes now beam with a friendly light.
Aunt Lucy says it is his peculiarity to look through
everybody until he ig satisfied in regard to’ their
character. He is a physiognomist, and says that
never, upon acquaintance with any one person, has he
had reason to change the first estimate he made of
his or he® character. Aunt Lucy laughingly tells
him that this is the very reason why he never has
been married, and why, she fears, he never will be;
for, if he can discover every defect of character at
first sight, he will be in little danger of losing his
heart.. For my own part, I might be embarrassed in.
the presence of such a skilful reader of human
hearts, were it not for his genial manners, which
throw a perfect charm around him.
‘He wishes me to call him ‘uncle Ike,’ as the
children do. I was much amused at the idea of
*
154 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
calling so young a man, who could not claim the title,
‘uncle;’ but he insists upon it so earnestly, that I
am forced to yield. In fact, he is ‘uncle Ike’ to the
whole family; aunt Lucy and Lauretta both call him
so, therefore I shall be in the fashion.
‘‘To-night there are several visitors in the draw-
ing-room. I grew weary of being among strangers,
and have stolen away to my own chamber to write to
thee, my dear Dora. There is a gentle knocking at
my door; it is my little cousins asking for admittance ;
so I must lay down my pen and chat a while with
them.
‘‘They have gone, the dear little ones, and I re-
sume my talk with you. They begin to call me
‘dear cousin Mina,’ and I love them dearly, though
T’ve not known them a week.
‘‘ Helen said, to-night, ‘I am glad you have come to
be our dear cousin and teacher, for I don’t think we
shall be lonesome any more.’
‘‘ T expressed my surprise that children, in such a
beautiful home, with so many books and costly play-
things, should complain of being lonesome. ‘I am
often lonesome, though,’ persisted Helen, ‘for, since
“our governess went away, I have only my music les-
sons to attend to. Mamma has company every day,
and visits somuch, that she hasn’t much tgne to talk
or play with us; but we have a nice frolic now and
then with her, and sometimes uncle Ike takes us out
to ride.’
‘‘* But you know we don’t go out often, Nellie,’
said little Grace, ‘and then it seems as though the |
long days never would let night come; and Maggie is
cross, and Lauretta don’t love to have children around
her. 1am glad you are not such a great lady, cousin
Mina.’ (Here the little one showered kisses on my
forehead, lips and cheeks.) ‘O, I do love you so
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 155
much! I shan’t ever call you governess; for goy-
ernesses are cross sometimes, and I know you never
will be. I shall call you ‘‘ cousin Mina;” and O,
we’ve got a “cousin Ned,” too! Did you ever see
him ?’
‘‘ How the little girls pitied me because I did n’t
- know ‘cousin Ned’! Cousin Ned was so handsome,
and so good, and funny, too! When he jas at home
they never thought of being lonesome, he told such
droll stories, and frolicked with them, and made them
lots of presents. Q, they wished he had stayed
with them, instead of going off to Hurope!
‘ Bertie raised his ringleted head from my lap,
where it had lain quietly during his sister’s rhapsodies
upon cousin Ned, saying, ‘ You have n’t told the best
thing he does; he tries to make us good, and teaches
us little songs about Jesus and the shepherds. Every
story he tells isn’t funny. Don’t you remember,
Grace, that one about little Moses in the basket, and
how his mother hid him in the rushes close to the
river? I like such stories best.’
‘“¢¢But, you have n’t told me who cousin Ned is?’
said I.
‘“*Q, I forgot that!’ cried Helen, laughing ; ‘ why,
' he is papa’s and uncle Ike’s nephew, and this is hig
home, only she has been gone to Hurope ever so long.’
‘¢¢ Uncle Ike calls him his boy,’ said Grace; ‘ but
he an’t a boy — he is a tall man, and uncle says he
is his ‘‘sole heir.’ What does “sole heir’ mean,
cousin Mina?’
‘‘' When I explained it to her, she laughed glee-
fully. ‘O, Iam glad, for then I shall have a cun-
ning little pony! Ned said he would get me one
when he had money enough. How rich he will be!
Don’t you know Uncle Ike is dreadful rich, even
richer than papa, and papa has got plenty of money ?’
156 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘¢¢ Are there any flowers about your home in the
‘country?’ asked Bertie.
“CQO, yes, a great many.’
‘¢¢ How I should love to live there!’ cried the
little fellow, a glow of delight overspreading his beau-
tiful features. ‘ We all went to the country in July,
and Gracie and I picked our hats full of the pretty
flowers every day.’
‘“¢< You are a beautiful flower, yourself,’ I thought,
as I kissed his blue-veined forehead. Their nurse
called them to go to bed, and they went away, saying,
‘good-night, good-night.’
‘Dear Dora, I have learned to-night that these
lovely children, though possessing affectionate and
amiable parents, and surrounded by every luxury
wealth can command, are hungry for that food which
nourisheth the soul. Every intellectual and physical
want is supplied, but chance is suffered to mould
their infant spirits. How unlike my own richly-
blessed childhood! That sainted mother, whose
memory is ever vernal in my heart, knew and under-
stood every want, every impulseeof my childish soul. .
While she lived, my spirit seemed to grow into hers,
so complete and beautiful was her influence over me.
Even now I feel her presence near me, prompting me
to teach these little ones those things which will germ-
inate heavenly plants in the garden of the heart.
May her spirit guide me, that I may do my duty
well! *
‘Sept. 12. — All of aunt Lucy’s children are
much petted and beloved, but little Bertie is the ido}
of the mansion. He is never chided, whatever he ©
may do, or wherever he may go. There is a charm
about the child ; his voice and smile seem to throw a
spell round every heart. 1 fecl it already myself.
é
aed
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME... 157
Though I love Helen and Grace dearly, I have un-
consciously given Bertie the largest share of my
heart.
‘¢ At first, I fancied that Grace and Bertie were as
much alike, in character and disposition, as they are
in form and feature; but I find it is not so. Grace is
like her mother, affectionate, impulsive, volatile. Over
Bertie’s face, and beaming from his eyes, there is a
spiritual light, never reflected from the countenance
of his gay little sister. He is a dreamy, earnest,
thoughtful child. Iam often startled by his quaint
, conceits, or by the holy expression of his face when
he sits quietly thinking. There is a heavenly pres-
ence about him; sometimes I think the angels are
communing with him.
‘ He is passionately fond of flowers, and often his
papa buys a choice bouquet for his darling. «It is
really affecting to see the joyful tenderness with
which he will examine the little floral gems. I must
tell him their names; and those which he has seen
growing, he regards with peculiar pleasure. The
vases in aunt Lucy’s chamber are always filled with
Bertie’s flowers. He often trims my hair with them,
_ or twines them among his own fair curls.
. ‘* Bertie loves everybody, but Grace better than
all others. She seems to be the sunbeam, the joy of
his life; and the buoyant Grace regards her more del-
icate brother with a strange mixture of tengerness
_and admiration. She will lead him about with a
patronizing air, and, when he is weary, lay his head
in her lap and sing to him, until the canary joins in a
wild chorus.
‘Uncle Ike will take him into the library, and
spend hours in turning over books of plates, and
listen with delight to his unanswerable questions.
The servants almost worship him; and was there one
158 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
particle less of the angelic in his composition, they
would spoil him with indulgence. Even Lauretta’s
haughty. smile is softened when he is by, and her
tones, in addressing him, are love-tones.
‘“‘ Dora, do you think my description of little Bertie
is too glowing to be actually true? Believe me, my
sweet friend, I have written with the pen of truth,
not imagination. Bertie is an angel ‘strayed from
Paradise,’ and I fear that earth cannot keep him long.
‘‘T hope you are not tired of my juvenile stories,
for I must tell you one more. Last night the chil-
dren called me into the nursery, where they were un-
dressing, and begged* me to tell them .a story while
they went to sleep. ‘ Please come in, cousin Mina,’
pleaded Bertie, ‘and hear us say our prayers. Mag-
gie is in such a hurry, we have to say them by our-
selves, only when mamma has time to come to us.’
‘“‘ T could not resist their entreaties; so I dismissed
Maggie, and put the snowy night-dresses on their
fairy forms, and tied over each little head a tiny ruf-
fled cap. ‘Then I sat down, and the darlings knelt
around me. A sweet solemnity rested down upon
my heart. I fancied the air vibrated with the rush
of angels’ pinions. Think you not itwas so? For, if
celestial guardians ever attend children, as I believe
they do, might not a bright band encircle them when
they knelt to pray? I felt they were there, holy and
glorious, but scarcely more pure than the sinless ones
bowed at their evening orisons. :
‘¢ Hirst, Helen repeated her prayer, slowly and rev-
erently, with her head bowed, and her hands folded
meekly upon her breast. |
‘ Bertie commenced, ‘Our Father,’ with his head
thrown back, and his clasped hands upraised. A rapt
smile played round his mouth, and his eyes seemed to
pierce the veil hiding heavenly things from our mor-
NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 159
tal gaze. His tones were exultant, as though his soul
rose upward on the holy words. A little child, pray-
ing thus! My heart stood still with awe. I feared,
in that ecstatic trance, his spirit, too beautiful, too
strong for his fragile body, would soar heavenward, and
leave untenanted the lovely clay. When the ‘amen’
was breathed, his head dropped slowly till it rested
in my lap, as if the strugglings of his spirit had ex-
hausted his tender frame.
‘hen Grace lisped her prayer in sweet accents,
with a roguish gleam in her blue eyes, which were
upturned to mine. With the last word upon her lips,
she sprang forward, and threw her arms about my neck,
telling me, ’mid a shower of kisses, ‘how very much °
she loved me’! © ~—#
‘‘ After they were in bed, I told stories to the coax-
ing girls until slumber kissed their white eyelids.
Bertie had lain quietly in his crib, but, when I rose
to go, he spoke out, suddenly, ‘ Cousin Mina, if I
should die, should I be an angel?’
‘“‘ XX.
THE BROKEN IDOL.
‘* Wert weary, gentle dove, of this cold world?
And didst thou long to rest thy little pinions
Far in those bri ight and beautiful dominions
Where they at last are furled?
‘* Wert homesick, darling? Could thy little heart
Yearn for a love more tender than we bore thee ?
Yearn for a watch more fond and faithful o’er thee,
That thou shouldst hence depart? ’’
C. M..8.
Lucy had returned late at night from a scene of
festivity. Before she laid aside her costly dress, or
unclasped the jewels decking her graceful person, she
glided with soft foot-fall to the nursery. It was the
instinct of her motherly tenderness which made he
_ , yearn to look upon her children before she slept.
Helen and Grace lay side by side, folded gently in
slumber’s embrace, beautiful models of health and
innocence. ‘The young mother kissed each white
brow with irrepressible fondness, then turned to
Bertie’s bedside. Why does her cheek pale, and her
breath come quickly, as she bends over the sleep-
ing cherub? Bertie’s face is flushed with crimson,
and the blue veins in his temples rise and fall with
fearful quickness; the little arms are tossed restlessly
above his head, and, ’mid hig labored breathing, he
murmurs incoherently. For a moment Lucy gazes
upon him, and then seeks her husband in nervous haste.
(191)
sb
192 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ;
‘‘George, come into the nursery quickly! I fear
Bertie is very sick.”’
‘You are fanciful, dear Lucy,” said Mr. Lincoln,
playfully, as he followed his wife. But one glance at
Bertie changed his unbelieving smile into an expres-
sion of alarm. ‘You are right, Lucy,’? he said; *
‘“‘he appears to be in a high fever.”
‘““O, send for the doctor, quickly!”’ cried Lucy,
clasping her hands.
““T will go myself; for delay might be dangerous.”
Lucy impatiently requested her maid, Maggie, to
waken Elmina, and ask her to come to her imme-
diately. Elmina needed not a second bidding. Spring-
ing lightly from her bed, she threw on a loose wrap-
per, and hastened to the nursery.
‘What do you think of him?”
‘He seems to be violently attacked with fever;
his breath is almost scorching,” replied Elmina, a
shade of anxiety overspreading her face.
Lucy wrung her hands. ‘*O Bertie, my dearest,
most beautiful child! If he should die! Elmina,
tell me, what shall I do?’’.
How strangely at variance was her gala dress with
the ‘pete written on her face.and her half-frenzied
words! Her unbound hair fell wildly over the
rich folds of her satin bodice, and the jewels on her
arms gleamed fitfully in the pale light. Elmina
looked at her with a strange fear chilling her heart;
still she said, with gentle composure, ‘‘ Dear aunt
Lucy, try and calm yourself. The doctor will be
here soon, and may relieve him immediately. I will
stay with Bertie while you go and put on a more
suitable dress.”
Lucy followed Maggie to her dressing-room. El-—
mina bathed Bertie’s burning limbs in cool water,
and bound a wet linen cloth about his forehead.
2S eee
THE BROKEN IDOL. 193
*¢ Wake up, darling, and drink some water,’’ she ten-
derly pleaded; but he only moaned and tossed fever-
ishly from side to side. ;
Soon the physician came, hut his skill seemed
baffled. All his remedies, all the efforts of agonized
love, failed, to shake off the stupor which bound the
senses of the precious one; and quicker, fiercer still
the life-current rushed through its tiny channels.
When the morning dawned upon their tearful vigils,
the doctor left them, saying there was no_ hope.
In wild delirium little Bertie rolled upon his downy
pillow. .
O, the days that followed —days of hopeless watch-
ings, and long nights whose agonized hours seemed
endless! Heavy gloom rested upon that gay and
worldly household. ‘Tripping footsteps and light
laughter were exchanged for the muffled tread and:
broken whispers. Eyes unused to weeping were
dimmed with grief-drops now, and pale, sad faces
haunted the stairway and entrance to Bertie’s cham-
ber.
How powerless is human aid when death broods
over a beloved one! How powerless is human sym-
pathy when such waves of anguish flood the soul!
Without the abiding presence of the blessed Comforter
in the stricken heart, there is indeed no hope, and all
words of consolation are but mockery.
Though the hearts that so idolized the little Bertie
were generous, and filled with kindly impulses, they
were undisciplined and thoughtless. They had looked
upon religion as a beautiful thing, to be praised and
revered, but they had no realization of its life-sustain-
ing power. It had no hold upon their affections, for
earthly objects and pursuits occupied their whole
attention. Now their idol was stricken with fearful
disease; the arms of death were opened to receive
13 .
194 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
their best loved. O, how wild was the rebellion
in their grief-wrought hearts! How fearfully love
struggled with iron necessity !
In all Elmina’s trials and afflictions, she had never
been entirely left a prey to haunting orief : for early
education had implanted in her breast a living Chris-*
tian faith. She was inexpressibly grieved to witness
the utter despair manifested by her uncle and aunt,
and, in fact, by the whole family. She alone was
serene and self-possessed. She constantly attended
upon the little sufferer, and directed the whole
arrangements of the sick room; for poor Lucy ap-
peared like one walking in a dream, and was com-
pletely unfitted for the least care.
In all the wanderings of Bertie’s mind, he mur-
mured of beautiful things, — of birds and flowers, of .
the sweet country, — and often the names of his best-
loved friends were upon his lips. Not until the morn-
ing of the fifth day did the cloud obscuring his mind
pass ‘away. Then, after an hour’s slumber, he woke
with a familiar smile upon his cherub face, and the
old loye-light in his eye. But his face was paler
than the frosted lily, and he had scarce strength to
speak above a whisper, or to raise his tiny hand.
‘‘Mamma,’’ he whispered, ‘‘ I am better.”
Lucy covered him with kisses, while joyful tears
streamed from her eyes. Elmina, too, was deceived,
and looked up at the doctor with a hopeful smile.
The doctor looked upon the child, whose spirit’s
pinions were already pluming for his heavenward
fight, and sadly shook his head. ‘‘I told you at the
first there was no hope,”’ he said, “‘and it would be
wrong in me to deceive you now. Bertie can never
see another sunrise.” _
‘‘Q, doctor, don’t say so! he must be better. See
THE BROKEN IDOL. 195
how natural he looks; he hag no fever now, for his
hand is cool and moist.”
The kind-hearted physician dashed aside a tear. He
could not look unmoved upon that mother’s imploring
face. He pointed to Bertie, over whose brow were
already stealing the shadows of death. Lucy had
never seen death, but she felt instinctively that it was
present now. With a faint cry, she hid, her face in
the bed-curtains. |
‘“‘Good-by, mamma!”
‘* Bertie, why do you say ‘good-by’?—you are not
going to leave mamma !.”’
‘Yes; there is an angel coming for me. There
are flowers there, mamma, such beautiful flowers ! ”’
“* Bertie, Bertie, don’t talk so! Are you not here
in your own little bed, with mamma beside you?”’
‘“‘T shan’t be sick in heaven, mamma. Mina says
angels never are sick. Good- “by ; — you will come,
too, some time.’
A rapt smile played over the little, wan face, the
blue eyes closed, and he slept, breathing gently.
‘“‘Q, I cannot see him die!” cried Lucy, falling into
insensibility. The poor, stricken mother was carried
away from the death-bed to her own chamber.
With blanched faces, the whole family gathered
round the bedside. When those little eyes unclosed
again, and the white lips parted once more, every
breath was suspended to catch the faintest accents.
‘‘ Dear, dear papa!’’ murmured the boy, as he
saw his father’s pale face bending over him. The
father imprinted one long last kiss upon his brow,
and turned away in anguish. Uncle Ike wrung
his brother’s hand, and cried, ‘‘O, my God, how
gladly would I give my wealth to add a ve days to
his precious life! ”’
Lauretta could not endure the scene, and went
196 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
weeping from the room. Helen and Grace broke out
into loud and bitter crying.
“ Nellie, Gracie, don’t.cry. Mina says Jesus loves
little children, and perhaps he will want you to-
morrow,” said the dying child. ‘‘ Please, Mina, take
me in your arms.”’
Clinton raised him from the pillow, and placed him
in Elmina’s arms. With silent awe they gazed upon
that face, where death’s mysterious, solemn seal was
set. ‘‘Good-by, two dear cousins, I love so well ! —
There are flowers there !”’
There was a slight quivering through that tiny
frame, a faint sigh, and, painlessly, the spirit parted
from the beautiful clay.
‘Blessed are the early dead.” O, Bertie, thy
life was one heautiful hour of love and happiness !
Now, in thy unsullied purity, thou art transplanted
to celestial gardens, where bloom immortal flowers.
‘Tt ig well with the child; it is well.”
Methinks, if those who are wailing over the lovely
temple, so lately enshrining the spirit, could look
upon his rapwrous flight upward, they would rejoice,
and say, ‘‘ It is well!”’
** Weep not for him — he was too pure
For such a world as this ;
No breath of guilt had dared to mar
His spirit’s holiness.
But, sinless as the golden flowers
That yield their breath in tropic bowers,
Or the bright gems that span the sky,
His few but joyous years went by.’’
CHAPTER XxX.
COMFORT.
&
Child-angel! O, a mission bright
With thy sweet life has ended ;
Sad are the hearts which thou didst light,
And with thine own were biended,
O, so tenderly !
“Do not bury him from my sight! Spare him to
me a little longer! 0, Bertie, Bertic, shall I never
hear your voice again ?”’
Lucy bent ever the little coffined form, moaning in
tearless anguish. Very beautiful was Bertie in death.
The flowers, which had been types of heaven to him,
were scattered over his satin pillow, and one half-
opened bud was laid upon his pulseless breast. His
long, bright hair had been cut away, but a few golden
rings lay about the lovely brow. The light of a
heaven-born smile diffused a hely serenity over every
lineament of his face.
Beautiful, but soulless clay! that must moulder |
back to its native element, while the pure spirit, once
animating it, expands forever in the eternal light of
heaven. It is not Bertie over which the mother
bends in frenzied grief; it is only the fair garment
which he wore for a little season, and has now thrown
aside for one more perfect and enduring.
But Lucy did not realize this. She felt that
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198 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
blackness had shut out the sunlight from her life-
path, and the cold winds of desolation swept over her
sensitive heart.
The religious services had been performed, and the
attendants were ready to bear away the dead; still
Tio clung to the coffin, crying, ‘‘ Let me have him
a little longer! I cannot spare him yet!’’
Her husband’s arm supported her, but his own
tears fell so bitterly that his influence made her still
weaker and more unreconciled. Elmina stood by
them. ‘‘ Dear aunt Lucy,” she said, beseechingly,
‘‘look again on Bertie’s face. See the holy smile
about his lips. Think upon the new life which he
has entered. You know that he is happy now.’
‘Yes, he is happy, to be sure; but I can’t feel it
—JI can’t realize it!”
‘Bertie fully realized it. His last words were,
‘There are flowers there.’ He was so. glad to go,
you cannot wish him here again.”
‘No, I ought not to wish him back again,” said
Lucy, more calmly, and with a changing counte-
nance. |
‘‘ Perhaps his glorified spirit’is hovering over you
now, trying to comfort you with the assurance that
he is still near you, and loves you.”
Lucy looked up suddenly, as though she expected
to see the gleaming of angels’ wings above her head.
She clasped her hands, crying, ‘‘ Bless you, Mina!
your words are coming true to me — Bertie is here! ”
Once more she embraced the little, still form, saying,
‘Carry him away now, for I feel that Bertie’s sweet
spirit is with me.”
The star of resignation had pierced through the
dark woe overshadowing her, and soon the Sun of
Righteousness was to dissolve into sweet hopes every
" vestige of darkness left.
COMFORT. 199
Grace had manifested little emotion, for she could
not comprehend the mystery of death. But when
they returned from the grave, she burst into passion-
ate crying, saying that they had hidden Bertie in
the ground, and she should never see him again.
Elmina took her in her arms, and gently stroked
her fair hair, whispering soothing words. Her touch
was magnetic ; for soon the child’s sobs were hushed;
the wet lashes rested upon her cheeks, and her soft,
deep breathing proclaimed that her grief was forgot-
ten in kindly slumber.
Elmina thought, as she gazed upon the sleeping,
child, ‘QO, if she could ever thus forget her griefs in
innocent sleep! But years may bring sorrows which
slumber cannot heal, and time only will rob of their
sharp edge.’ |
Grace awoke with a smile, so like that which had
constituted the peculiar beauty of Bertie’s face, that
Elmina tightened her clasp upon her, with a quick
heart-throb of fear.
‘‘Q, Mina, such a dream! I saw Bertie in a
beautiful garden, and there were lots of little childrer.
there. I thought they had buried him up in the
ground; but I shan’t ery any more, if he is in such a
pretty place.”
Bertie’s mantle fell upon his little sister. She
grew earnest, thoughtful, and spiritually minded; but
her buoyant health and rapid physical growth were
equal to her mental development.
At night, after the different members of the family
had retired to bed, Elmina sat alone in the parlor.
Her strong spirit had supported her through days of
watching and grief, but now she was completely
exhausted and unnerved. She felt the need of that
‘very comfort which ‘she had given to her afflicted
friends.
200 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Those who have felt it know the unspeakable deso-
lation resting upon the house from which the dead
have just been borne. The startling stillness ! — the
waves of woe, rolled back, leaving in the heart
an aching void, more dreadful than the first rude
shock !
Elmina felt all this with exquisite pain, and, before
she was conscious of it, she was sobbing aloud. But
a moment passed, and her head was raised and placed
“upon a manly breast, and Clinton’s voice said in her
ear, ‘‘ Brave, noble Mina! I did not half know you
before. I do not wonder you are weak and dispirited
now, after all your exertions. You have been an
angel of hope and consolation to this desolated house-
hold. Comfort yourself ‘with the thought that you
have acted a noble part. I.feel that little Bertie’s
death will not be in vain, for already my own heart is
lifted upward, and God and heaven seem nearer.”
Not in vain was Bertie’s short life — Q, not in
vain was his untimely death! What holy affections
had his smile and voice awakened! What wealth of
hopes and tenderness had been poured upon his
head! Living, he had bound many hearts to him
in deathless love; and dying, he had drawn upward
those hearts, with new hopes and higher aspirations.
O, when. Bertie entered heaven, a ray of its eternal
glory fell through the open portal! It brightens with
a holy gleam the places where he has been, and nour-
ishes in the mourners’ hearts a faith born of God!
CHAPTER XX I.
A WANDERER FOUND.
JOSEPHINE Emery did not remove into uncle
Ike’s new building, for that benevolent gentleman
said she should no longer toil with her needle. A
suite of rooms in a genteel quarter were furnished for
her, and uncle Ike’s influence procured for her a
small school, from wealthy families. ‘Thus she was
placed above want, or wearing physical labor.
Josephine was happy in the vocation which in her
girlish days had been so congenial to her tastes and
abilities. She entered upon her duties with cheerful
ardor, and soon won the rans of the young girls
intrusted to her charge.
When Lucy had recovered in a measure from the
stunning effects of her affliction, she called upon Jo-
sephine, and invited her to dine with them the next
day; for she was resolved to cultivate’ an intimate
acquaintance with one about whom she had heard so
many favorable reports. Josephine was touched by
her unaffected cordiality, and accepted the invitation,
knowing it would be very gratifying to Clinton and
Elmina. @.
Uncle Ike was always very courteous to the gentler
sex, and on this occasion he treated Josephine with
marked attentions. He drew her into conversation
with himself, and led the way to subjects of a high
order, such as are seldom introduced into the drawing-
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202 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
room. Elmina understood that he wished to sound
the depths of her mind, as well as to learn the senti-
ments of her heart; but she did not tremble for her
friend, as she felt that she would fully stand his crit-
ical test.
When Josephine was introduced to Lauretta, she
instantly recognized the lady for whom she had made
the rich evening dress; but there was nothing in the
unembarrassed ease with which she saluted her which
would have awakened a suspicion that they had ever
met before. She had the advantage of Lauretta, for
the latter was mortified and confused. .
As soon as she could, with propriety, the proud
girl hurried away by herself. ‘‘ How mortifying!”
she exclaimed. ‘‘ How could I know that that poor
seamstress would turn out to be a favorite of uncle
Ike’s — and so lady-like and well educated too! It
is so provoking! and I owe her three dollars; but I
shall never dare to pay her. Dear me, if uncle Ike
should ever find it out!”
Several months had passed peacefully away. Late
one afternoon, Josephine called to see one of her
pupils who had been detained from school on account
of sickness. She found the child very ill, and was
induced by the anxious mother to remain until night.
When she turned her steps towards home, she saw
that the street lamps were lighted. Somewhat startled,
for she had never been out alone in the evening be-
fore, she passed.on rapidly. A man stepped out from
an alley agd followed her. She was slightly alarmed,
for the aspect of the man was not prepossessing ; his
eyes were hidden by a large, slouching hat, and the
lower part of his face was covered with a thick growth
of beard. She crossed the street, and he followed a
few paces behind. Chiding herself for her foolish
A WANDERER FOUND. 203
nervousness, she stepped one side, that he might pass
her; but, to her great alarm, he wheeled round before
her, and grasped her arm, rudely.
The light of a lamp fell full upon Josephine’s pale
and agitated face. The stranger looked upon her in-
tently for an instant, and said, in a hollow voice, ‘I
thought it was you. O, J osephine ! ! Josephine !”
Seeing her alarm, he relaxed his hold upon her
arm, saying, ‘‘ Josie Lee, you see before you, your
long-lost, miserable brother Guilbert.’’
With a cry, half of doubt, half of amazement, she
looked upon the wretched being claiming to be her
brother.
‘You don’t know me,”’ said the man, wildly. ‘ In-
deed, I am your ae Gilbert, and, if you have a
home in the city, for mercy’s sake. take me to it
quickly! I am a poor, hunted, houseless, hungry
wretch !”’
‘“Q, my brother!” cried Josephine, weeping;
“ thus to find you, after such a long separation! But
come with me to my home.”
In silence they threaded their way, until fen
arrived at Josephine’s pleasant home.
“Am I safe here, Josie? ”’ said Gilbert, peering
suspiciously around the little parlor.
. Josephine, who perceived that he was slightly in-
toxicated, gently assured him that he was perfectly
safe; then she hastened to prepare him supper, with-
out asking any questions.
She soon appeared in. the parlor again, bearing a
waiter, with cold meat, bread, and hot tea. Gulbert
swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then threw himself
heavily upon the lounge.
‘You are sick,” said J osephine, vainly struggling
with her emotion.
‘““T don’t know,’ groaned the miserable man ;
204 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
‘‘T’ve not had an instant’s rest for more than a week.
Let me sleep now.”
The grieving, wondering sister placed a pillow
beneath his head, and watched him while he fell into a
deep slumber. Then she undressed her children,
who were loudly calling for her, and laid them in
their little bed.
Once more she stood by her brother. O, God!
could this man, with the traces of unbridled passions
engraven deep upon his face, be the same fair boy
whom she had called brother in childhood? It
seemed impossible, and yet her heart told her it was’ *
so. Now she remembered only his good qualities ;
his affectionate temper, and pleasant ways. Her sis-
terly love spoke eloquently in the tears which fell
thickly upon the sick man’s face.
Through what varied scenes had he passed since
their sad parting? What errors had he ¢ommitted;
how often had he needed his sister’s influence and
love, to shield him from temptation? Had he com-
mitted any actual crime, or were indolence and ine-
briation his chief faults? These and many like
queries crowded Josephine’s mind, as she watched
over her fallen brother.
The hours of that night seemed endless to her, as
she sat, still watching by his side, until the gray dawn
parted the curtain of night. ‘Towards morning, Gil-
bert grew restless and feverish. He moaned in his
sleep, and would often cry out, as if in fear or pain.
When he awoke, he gazed about, vacantly. Josie
spoke to him.
‘‘Q, [ remember it all now!’’ he said, putting his
hand to his head.
Josephine kindly inquired if she should get him
either medicine or food. No; he wanted nothing.
Suddenly, he‘ started up, fearfully : ‘Am I safe
A WANDERER FOUND. 205
here ?”’ he said, eagerly ; ‘‘can I stay here, free from
danger ?”’
oe Certainly, dear brother, replied Josephine, think-
ing his mind wandered. ‘‘I have a pleasant home,
and kind friends, who will rejoice with me that I have
recovered my lost brother.”
‘* Don’t tell anybody I am here; if you do, I must
go away.” He tried to raise himself up, but fell
back, weakly, upon his pillow.
‘Gilbert, you are very sick ; let me call a doctor.
T will do everything I can to make you well and
happy again.’
“T won't have a Aone and, for mercy’s sake,
don’t let anybody know I am here! I wish I could
get up and go away. What if somebody should come
in, and see me? Lock the door, Josephine quick !”’
Josephine grew sick at heart.
‘Lock the door, I say! Do fasten the door! I
can’t get up myself and do it.”
She felt, now, that it was not the mere wanderings
of a disordered mind which made him fearful. Could
it be the goadings of a guilty conscience? She fast-
ened the door, and he grew calmer.
_ Josephine sat down by the couch, and took one
fevered hand in hers. ‘‘ Dear Gilbert,” she said, in
pleading tones, ‘‘ tell me the meaning of this. Surely,
you are not afraid to confide in your sister?”
“No, Josie, [am sure I can trust you. You were '
always kind and forgiving; but, when you know that
I am a guilty wretch, will you still love and care
for me?”
‘““Q, Gilbert, what would affection be worth, if it
could not live through danger, and even disgrace ? I
implore you to tell me all, without reserve.’
The poor man turned ‘his head { BYay, He could
206 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
not repeat his story, looking upon her pure face, or
in the light of her tender eye.
It was a sad tale of error and misfortune, which he
poured into his sister’s ear. He told of his first
voyage, so long and crowded with misfortunes; of his
- unavailing regrets for his base ingratitude to his frier.ds,
and of his wearing home-sickness, which embittered
every moment. It was five years before he again
trod America’s shores; and then he learned, for "the
‘first time, that father, mother, and brother, were sleep-
ing In the grave. In bitter, remorseful. anguish he
wept over the green mounds concealing from his sight
his wronged, but ever-loving parents. ‘The pale,
deathly face of his father haunted him, and he felt
that that father had gone down to the grave mourn-
ing for him. He told of his yearning to see his dear
sister then. He sought her out, and hung around
Oakville several days, fearing, longing, and still
dreading, to make himself known to her. He told
of seeing her once, surrounded by a happy group of
children, and he drew near enough to hear the tones
of her voice. O, how he longed to fall at her feet,
and beg for her love and forgiveness! But she passed
him by, unconscious of his presence. Then he fell.
upon the ground in despair. He knew that she was
good and happy, and he ungrateful and unworthy.
. He had ever been a source of grief and anxiety to
her, and why should he recall to her mind all the sor-
rows of the past by intruding himself upon her?
He was sorrowful, even penitent: but he had no self-
reliance, no strong determination to reform. And,
feeling as he did that he could never become worthy
of her love, he resolved to let her continue to remain
in ignorance of his existence.
Again he embarked on a long, uncertain voyage,
caring little whither he went or what became of him.
‘A WANDERER FOUND. 207
At last he grew weary of his wandering, dissipated
life, and, with a determination to become a : better man,
he engaged himself to a wholesale flour-dealer in the
city. Gilbert spoke of his weak struggle against his
appetite for strong drink. But for that he might have
been favored and respected by his employer. Now
he grew restless and dissatisfied; he thought ‘f he
had a little capital he might set up business for him-
self in some country town. He confessed how this
thought came again and again, until it became his
strongest desire. He dreamed of finding money in
the street, and from that starting a great fortune.
One day a man handed him a roll of bank-bills to de-
liver to his master. His first impulse was to take the
money directly to the owner ; but it looked so tempt-
ing in his hand that he stopped to count it. ‘' Five
hundred dollars,” he said to himself; ‘‘ just the sum I
want.” His evil genius whispered, Take it, take
it; ’’ and he weakly, wickedly ) yielded to her fallacious
promptings.
_ He knew there would instantly be a search for him,
and hid himself in some by-place, thinking discovery
less likely than if he left the city for the open country.
Then he began to repent of his wicked deed. OQ,
how heartily he wished he had delivered the money
to his master! He loathed it; he hated it now, and
still he must conceal it about. his person for fear of
detection. For more -than a week he had wandered
about the city, stung with remorse, and writhing in
fear.
Josephine made no sound or motion when he fin-
ished his story. ‘‘ You are horrified, Josie,” he said.
‘“‘T knew you would be; but God is my witness that
I never committed theft before. I have been idle and
dissipated, but never criminal, only in deserting my
poor dying father. . But now, O, now I am ruined
208 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
forever! « There’s no use, now, for me to try to
reform ! ”
‘Gilbert, dear Gilbert, there is hope for you yet!
You are truly repentant, and will commence a better
life from this hour.”
‘‘God in heaven knows how true my sorrow is;
how I detest my past useless, miserable life. But it
is too late; I am now stained with a crime.”
‘You have not spent the money, brother; and
if you return it, humbly begging forgiveness, I am
sure that Mr. Jones will grant it. Then you will be
relieved, and will expiate your error by your future
good conduct.’’
‘ Josephine, if I should carry back the money, I
should be in jail before an hour. Mr. Jones isa
stern, relentless man. Once I saw him from one of
my hiding-places, and I heard him cursing me with”
cruel oaths. He said that he would find me, an
should feel the whole force of the law. I heard so
one say, ‘Perhaps he will repent, amd bring the
money back.’ Jones laughed spitefully, and sai
that no repentance would suit him; nothing short of
a term in the penitentiary would answer the purpose.
O, what can I do with this money, J osephine ? Take
it from my sight — it burns my fingers.”
Gilbert drew from his breast-pocket the fatal bills,
and handed them to Josephine. She opened a drawer
and placed the money safely within it, weeping si-
lently ; but, when she turned round again, her tears
were supplanted by a hopeful smile.
It was now time for Josephine to prepare for her
school; and, as Gilbert was much exhausted with his
long conversation, “she advised him to try and sleep
while she was gone. He would not let her go until
she promised solemly to hide the fact of his being
A WANDERER FOUND. » 909
there. He even insisted upon her locking the parlor-
door after her, and taking the key away.
Poor Josephine performed her school duties in an
abstracted, mechanical manner, and as soon as possi-
ble returned to her unfortunate brother. She found
him really sick. Exposure and anxiety had brought
on a slow fever. She begged to be allowed to calla
physician; but his morbid fears had increased so that
he was frantic at the bare mention of the thing, and
she could only soothe him with repeated promises of
concealment.
14
OCA Pe ey oe Ne
LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN.
Unote Ike desired Clinton to go on a business
trip, which would take him several weeks from home,
and the young man, happy to oblige his kind relative,
cheerfully accepted the commission. The separation
which he anticipated from his friends was so short,
that he made his adieus lightly and gayly. He
laughingly received the good-by kisses of Helen and
Grace, and shook hands with Lucy and Lauretta. “i
But, when he turned to Elmina, an,exquisite p
shot through his heart. He did not press his lps to
her pure brow with brotherly freedom, as had been
his wont, for the vague, undefined emotions of his
breast were in that instant revealed to him. The ex-
pression of his eye thrilled Elmina :.her beautiful lip.
trembled, and her eyelids dropped until their silken
fringes rested on her cheeks, now bathed with tints,
brighter than Atrora’s blush. No farewell words
were spoken, but one mute pressure of the hand
told all that language could not. They were no
longer brother and sister, but united by a tie infinitely
more precious.
As Clinton was borne quickly away by the swift-
winged steam-horse, a strange feeling of mingled as-
surance and doubt made his heart turn backward
with painful yearnings. He felt that Elmina was
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se
‘
LOVE. — HOPE FOR THE FALLEN. . 215
his; still unsatisfied, he longed to hear the blessed
assurance from her lips.
When Clinton and Elmina met, after their long
separation, which had brought them from childhood
to the first years of their “maturity, they renewed
their intercourse upon the old platform of brotherly
and sisterly affection. No false timidity, or foolish
trifling, cast a shadow upon the perfect confidence
ore
w
existing between them; but the interchange of re- .
fined thought and feeling daily brightened the link
uniting them. Unconsciously a kindred germ, exist-
ing in “the hearts of both, took reot in the deepest,
. holiest soil; and, ere they were aware, young love,
gently displacing fraternal affection, bloomed _ freshly
and purely in each heart.
‘¢Mina, cousin Mina!” cried Helen, with playful
impatience. ‘“T have asked you twice ‘to look at my
ue: »Have I shaded this castle right, and will
ho
you show me how to make the pretty shadows in the
water ?”’ .
‘Certainly, my dear; I think you have drawn it
very nicely.”
‘ But, you haven’t looked at it yet,” said Helen,
half vexed; ‘‘ you are looking straight at that little
blue flower in the carpet.”’
Grace laughed merrily. “ I guess cousin is asleep
with her eyes wide open, for she don’t mind a word
you sa
4 Asleep ! ’? Elmina started, with a high color.
‘‘ No, not asleep, only thinking very busily. Give
me your pencil, Nellie, and I will help you.”
With an effort, Elmina threw off the delicious revery
which had momentarily stolen all her faculties. Ono
glance at the pencilled castle on Helen’s paper dis-
solved the giitienng dream-castles with which fancy
~
212 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
had just peopled her mental world. A single touch
of reality sent imagination into the background,
silent and abashed.
When the children had finished their lessons El-
mina endeavored to engage her mind with books or
work, but to no purpose. A sweet unrest possessed
her. =
OH ACP PERK A VDL
LAURETTA.
** Wealth often killeth, where want but hindereth the budding ”*
In order to alleviate her disappointment and cha-
grin, Lauretta Fay plunged into the dizziest round of
fashionable amusement. She dressed more expens-
ively than ever befere; the costliest jewels and
finest fabrics were scarce worthy to deck her queenly
person. But all the blandishments of wealth and
~ fashion could not steal away the inward regret; her
laugh echoed over a heart weary and dissatisfied.
A. leisure hour was unbearable to her who had |
suffered her mind to remain vacant, while she merely
sipped the bright foam of superficial accomplishments.
She lived out of herself as much as possible. She
grew more exclusive, more fastidious in her dress,
more aristocratic and heartless, every day. f
In the height of her giddy career, when the rich
sought her favor, and even the good ‘and gifted were
dazzled by her beauty, the bubble of fortune burst.
Horrified at this unexpected revolution in the wheel
of fate, poor Lauretta felt as if wrecked on a dismal
shore, with a wild and stormy sea rolling between her
and the gay world she so loved.
Ike Lincoln could no longer conceal from his ward
the fact that she was lavishing an imaginary fortune,
for the real wealth had taken itself wings and flown
ey. He placed three thousand dollars in eo a
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LAURETTA. PAGS
with the information that it was all she possessed
except her wardrobe and jewels. The kind-hearted
man refrained from telling her that he took the three
thousand dollars from his own property, after settling
her unpaid bills.
Lauretta spread the money before her, gazing upon
it with distended eyes. Her fortune, which she had
imagined to be almost inexhaustible, was suddenly
contracted within the compass of anut-shell. O, what
was the world to her now—her world of summer
friends? Often had she passed slightingly by those
‘whom fortune had deserted; and now it was her turn
to shrink from the coldly-averted eye, the contempt-
uous smile, and, worse than all, the utter neglect of
those whom she had called friends. O, it was a hard
lesson for the proud girl!
She could not endure to remain in the city, now
that she could no longer appear to advantage in the
gay circles where she had shone preéminent ; there-
fore she resolved to retire to the country. Her health
and spirits were at the lowest ebb. At this moment
of her need she received a letter from Clinton and
Elmina, with a cordial and pressing invitation to visit
them. She hesitated but for a moment, for she was
humbled, and felt that she needed just such kind at-
tentions and advice as she knew she should receive
under their roof.
Our friends received her.with open arms, for they
were filled with compassion for the unfortunate girl.
No reference was ever made to aught unpleasant in
the past, while they treated her as a beloved friend.
The mighty power of kindness overcame the pride
and selfishness in Lauretta’s heart, and she acknowl-
édged, with penitential tears, that she had received
good for evil.
At first Lauretta suffered in the daily presence of
252 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
Clinton, and in beholding his tenderness for his bride ;
but in time this feeling wore away, and a better and ©
wiser one took its place. She began to feel pleasure
in the joy of others. Hre long she was fully domes-
ticated in this happy home, which seemed an ark of
peace to her worn spirit.
Lauretta was not entirely heartless. There was a
spring of womanly worth in her bosom, which was
hidden by the rubbish of false education, and the glit-
ter of outward display. Now the force of circum-
stances turned her thoughts within, and the slumbering
good was found; warm and true feelings bubbled
forth, refreshing withered virtues, and reviving forgot-
ten resolves. Tie
Elmina perceived with pleasure this radical change
in Lauretta, and, by her advice and example, assisted
her much. Lauretta was surprised that she could be
so happy in a quiet country:-home; she sang over her
sewing; and the cool grove and singing birds oft
wooed her out to learn a lesson of nature. Nature is
a sacred teacher; its influence was most blessed on
the gay. belle, whose perceptions of the pure and
beautiful were just springing into life. When six
months had passed, she acknowledged that, in the
height of her gay city career, she had never been
as happy as now. She ceased to regret the loss of
wealth, since she had gained what was more desirable,
health and quiet happiness. She now had time to
cultivate her mind, and she soon found a new occupa-
tion and delight; the fountains of knowledge were
unsealed to her.
In time Lauretta Fay became very unlike herself
of old. The haughty expression of her face was ex-
changed for one of cheerfulness, and she was affec-
tionate.and companionable. This transformation was
not effected without many struggles and prayers.
LAURETTA. 958
She would sometimes repine and despond ; sometimes
speak scornfully ‘to her dearest friends; and often
her proud ways would send away in disgust those
who would gladly have loved her. But she viewed
life from a new platform; she perceived her moral
obligations, and had a sincere desire to elevate her
character. She persevered. Preconceived prejudices
gradually loosened their hold upon her mind, and, ’mid
all-ennobling influences, she became gentle and loving.
She persevered, and the victory was hers —a glorious
victory, even the conquering of self.
CHA PTE Rr, Rex 2 Xs
CONCLUSION.
THE lights and shadows of twelve years have
thrown their changeful web over human life, and we
lift the curtain again to bid adieu to the characters of
our tale.
A country farm-house is now the home of Mrs.
Wells. A comfortable room is allotted to her use,
and the farmer’s kind wife attends faithfully to all her
wants. Yet she is lonely. No love-tone makes
music through the untuned strings of her heart, and
no touch of affection smooths the wrinkles on her
brow. Alone and unloved, she is passing down the
declivity of life. Premature age bows her form and
streaks her dark locks with gray. She is dependent
upon the bounty of Clinton Forrest. His generosity
provides her a comfortable home. Yes, he, who when
a boy she ill-treated and despised, came to her in her
poverty, and saved her from the almshouse. She
feels the galling weight of dependence, but no grati-
tude softens her heart. Sometimes Elmina comes
‘like a sunbeam, with her sweet words and smile, but
Mrs. Wells is too wretched, too much absorbed in her
deserved calamities, to reply only with peevish com-
plaints.
James Clement is a drunkard; and his wretched
mother sadly contrasts his fate with that of his
favored cousin Frank, but is all unconscious that her
(254)
CONCLUSION. 255
own weakness and folly sowed in childhood the seeds
of the harvest she is reaping now.
In a fair southern home, where every breeze is
redolent with perfume, and wealth and taste combine
to beautify, dwell the happy Arlington and sweet
Fannie Gay, now his wife and the mother of two
blooming children.
And would you hear a word of Lauretta Fay?
She is the queen of an humble, but happy home. A
worthy man has won her to himself, and she reigns
more proudly in his heart than ever in the gay
circles of fashion.
A fair and stately young matron, dignified, yet
cordial. Her cottage-home is sought bythe gifted
and true. Little children offer her flowers and look
wonderingly upon her beauty. The suffering and
needy rejoice in her gentle charities, and many an
invalid’s eye brightens at the tones of her voice. Her
husband folds her to his heart and blesses her and
the tiny one blossoming by her side, clings fohdly to
her.
_ Can this be Lauretta Fay ?
- Ay. The proud belle is metamorphosed into the
tender wife and mother; the fashionable lady into a
true woman. It is a beautiful change. Once happi-
ness was as a gilded air-bubble to her vision ; now it
has a tangible hold on all the springs of life.
Uncle Ike’s prophecy is now fulfilled: Frank
Clement and Clinton Forrest are the leading men in
the place. The present high moral and intellectual
tone of the community is owing very much to the
united labors of these energetic young men.
Frank has followed in the footsteps of his excellent
father, and he wears high honors in his profession.
And his home,—O, it is a happy one! Dora’s
smaile is as bright as in her girlish days, and her spirit
256 THE HARVEST OF LOVE.
as blithe and gay as ever. Is her husband’s brow
clouded? how quickly her voice dispels the shadows !
Is he weary and depressed? how she charms him
into forgetfulness of all save her love!
Clinton Forrest does not look upon his iioteaaien
merely as a road to wealth and eminence, but he
regards it as a responsible office, which, if honorably
filled, will elevate himself and those for whom he
labors. Right and Truth are his motto. He adjusts
petty quarrels with his kindly advice as a Christian —
man. But when the poor, the wronged and oppressed,
need him, his heart is fired with zeal and his tongue
with eloquence. Hlmina is the light of his home, the
star of his heart. Her voice is still dearer to him
than the world’s praises, and her love more treasured
than the wreath of fame.
Some tears have they shed. Flowers blossom on
the grave of a loved one; their beautiful first-born is
given back into the keeping of a Holy Father. But
their little Bertie still smiles upon them, and makes
music for their hearts.
Despite the clouds which drift across the sunniest
summer’s sky, — despite the thorns which will spring
where roses grow, — our friends are walking joyfully
the path of life. Honor and peace dwell with them,
and love, unaltered and undimmed, burns brightly in
each heart.
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