Part 10 (1/2)

”Do you never stop to consider the utter insignificance of all those little trials, compared with the immortal destiny of man?” replied Father Brighthopes. ”I remember when a blot of ink on a page I had written over would completely upset my temper. That was the labor of copying the spoiled ma.n.u.script? What are all the trivial accidents of life? What even is the loss of property? Think of eternity, and answer.

Afflictions discipline us. Sorrows purify the soul. Once an insulting word would throw me into a violent pa.s.sion; but to-day I will do what I think right; and smile calmly at persecution.”

The old man's philosophy had evidently made an impression. Mr. Royden went about his work in a more calm and self-supported manner than was his wont; and the children had never known their mother in a better humor, at that time of day, than when directing the household affairs, after breakfast.

Lizzie did not fail to remind Father Brighthopes of the book he promised her; and, in opening his trunks, he found not only what she wanted, but volumes to suit all tastes, from Sarah's down to Georgie's, and even a little picture-book for Willie. He also put his hand on something which he thought would interest Sam, laid up with his lame ankle; and selected one of the most attractive books in his possession to cheer the heart of Hepsy.

By this time the children were growing dangerously attached to him.

Willie wanted to sit on his knee all the time, and Georgie was unwilling to go and rock the baby, which was crying in the sitting-room, unless the clergyman went out there too.

But Father Brighthopes had a peculiar faculty of governing young people.

With a few kind words, and a promise of following soon, he despatched Georgie to work at the cradle, with a good heart; and, telling Lizzie and Willie that he wished to be alone a little while, he sent them away, well contented with the books and kisses he gave them.

Mrs. Royden's household affairs progressed unusually well that morning, and she was remarkably pleasant, until Sam, who could not keep out of mischief, even with his sprained ankle to take care of, occasioned a slight disaster. He had made a la.s.so of a whip-lash to throw over the children's heads when they should pa.s.s through the kitchen, and commenced the exercise of his skill upon the unfortunate Hepsy. Every time she pa.s.sed he would cast the loop at her neck, but entirely without success in his experiments; and at length the bright idea occurred to him to make an attempt upon her foot. Spreading out the la.s.so in her way, he pulled up suddenly as she walked over it, and, after several efforts, perseverance resulted in a capture. The loop caught Hepsy's toe.

Sam had not reckoned on the disastrous consequence of such a seizure.

The unsuspecting victim was stepping very quick, and the impediment of the whip-lash threw her head-foremost to the floor. She was not much hurt, but an earthen dish she was carrying was shattered to pieces.

Frightened at the catastrophe, Sam hastened to undo the loop; but Mrs.

Royden was on the spot before he had put the fatal evidence against him out of his hand.

”You careless creature!” she exclaimed, in a sharp key, regarding Hepsy with contracted features, ”can't you walk across the floor without falling down? If you can't----”

”Samuel tripped me,” murmured Hepsy, gathering up the fragments of the dish.

”O, I didn't!” cried Sam, putting up his elbows as Mrs. Royden flew to box his ears.

”What are you doing with that lash?” she demanded, after two or three vain attempts to get in a blow.

”Nothing; only, it was lying on the floor, and I went to pick it up just as Hepsy was going along; and, you see,” stammered Sam, ”she ketched her foot and fell down.”

”Give me the las.h.!.+” said Mrs. Royden, angrily.

”I won't have it out any more!” and Sam put it in his pocket.

”Give it to me, I say!”

”I don't wan't ter; you'll hit me with it.”

Mrs. Royden could not bear to be argued with on such occasions. She made a seizure of one of Sam's ears, and pulled it until he screamed with pain.

”There!” said she, ”will you mind next time, when I speak?”

”Yes. I don't want the old thing!” and Sam threw the contested property across the room, under the sink.

He knew, by the flash of Mrs. Royden's eye, as she hastened to grasp it, that danger was impending; and, starting from his chair with surprising agility, he hopped out doors. But his lame ankle incapacitated him to endure a long chase. Mrs. Royden pursued into the yard, and, coming up with him, laid the lash soundly upon his head and shoulders, until he keeled over on his back, and, holding his lame foot in the air, pleaded for mercy. There, as she continued to beat him, he caught hold of the lash and pulled it away from her; upon which she returned in her worst humor, to the kitchen.