Part 10 (2/2)
It was sad to see James escape to the barn when he saw the storm, and Sarah make an errand up stairs.
Poor Hepsy went silently and industriously to work to avoid reproofs, while her blue eyes filled with sorrowful tears. Georgie got his ears boxed for some slight offence, and his crying awoke the baby, which he had but just rocked to sleep.
At this crisis, Mrs. Royden called Lizzie; but Lizzie dreaded her presence, and hid in the garden, with the book Father Brighthopes had given her; and she made Willie lie down behind the currant-bushes and look at the pictures in his primer, while she read.
Mrs. Royden was casting around for some one besides the weak Hepsy to vent her ill-humor upon, when Chester made his appearance.
”I wish you would take that baby, Chester, and get it still! You must not be afraid to take hold and help while you stay at home. What have you got on those pantaloons for, this busy morning? Go and put on an old pair. You needn't think you are to walk about dressed up every day.”
”I am going to take Father Brighthopes to ride,” answered Chester, briefly.
”It is just as I expected!” exclaimed his mother. ”Half your father's time and yours will be taken up in carrying him around, and half of mine in trying to make him comfortable here at home.”
”I hope _the children_ will learn a little sweetness of temper of him, in return,” said Chester, significantly.
”You impudent fellow! This is the return you make me, is it, for fitting you out for school, and working my fingers to the bone to keep you there? We'll see----”
”Hush, mother! do!”
With a black frown, Chester strode across the room, having warned his mother of the clergyman's approach. With great difficulty she held her peace, as Father Brighthopes entered.
The advent of the old man's serene countenance was like a burst of suns.h.i.+ne through a storm. Without appearing to remark the darkness of Mrs. Royden's features, he took up the baby, and began to toss it in his arms and talk to it, to still its cries. The little creature was quieted at once.
”It is singular,” said the clergyman, ”I never yet found a child that was afraid of me. How I love their pure, innocent looks!”
Already ashamed of her ill-temper, Mrs. Royden hastened to take the babe from his arms; but he insisted on holding it. Georgie meanwhile had stopped crying, and Sarah came down from the chamber. To the latter Father Brighthopes finally relinquished the charge, and, taking his hat and cane left the house with Chester.
James brought out the horse, and helped his father put him into the wagon-thills.
”Where are you folks going?” asked Sam, hobbling along on the gra.s.s, with his foot in the air.
”Over to the village,” replied James.
Sam's heart sank within him; and it was with sickening apprehensions of calamity that he saw Mr. Royden ride off with Chester and the old clergyman. They could not go far, he was sure, without discovering the entire mystery of his lame leg; and the consequences seemed too dreadful to contemplate.
VIII.
COUNTRY SCENES.
It was a beautiful balmy morning in June; the whole earth rejoiced in the soft suns.h.i.+ne and sweet breezes; and around the sumachs and crab-apple trees, by the road-side fences, where the dew was still cool on the green leaves, there were glad birds singing joyously, as the wheels went humming through the sand.
No careless child could have enjoyed the ride more than the good Father Brighthopes did. It was delightful to hear him talk of the religion to be drawn from fresh meadows, running brooks, the deep solitude of woods, and majestic mountains crags.
”And to think that the good G.o.d made all for us to enjoy!” he said, with his clear blue orbs tremulous with tears.
”You give me new ideas of religion,” replied Mr. Royden. ”It always seemed to me a hard and gloomy thing.”
”Hard and gloomy?”--The old man clasped his hands, with deep emotion, and his face radiated with inexpressible joy. ”O! how softening, how bright it is! The true spirit of religion makes men happier than all earthly comforts and triumphs can do; it is a cold and mechanical adherence to the mere forms of religion,--from fear, or a dark sense of duty,--which appears gloomy. Look at the glorious sky, with its soft blue depths, and floating silvery clouds; pa.s.s into the shadowy retreats of the cool woods; breathe the sweet air that comes from kissing green fields and dallying on beds of flowers; hear the birds sing,--and you must feel your heart opened, your soul warmed, your inmost thoughts kindled with love: love for G.o.d, love for man, love for everything: and this is religion.”
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